Ubiquitous Techno Remix

First go here.

Then here.

Or vice versa.
Whatever. Just do it. Oh, not safe for work. Seriously. Do three hail marys after listening.


This is courtetsy of my darling Erik. Mwa!

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One of those girls...

Those of my readers who were in grad school with me will probably remember me coining a certain term about the second-year students. The term was quite catty, but seemed appropriate for the class above us who were mostly administration and development museum people. Oh and Randy the hipster butt-crack. A different bag from collections and exhibition people, to say the least. Necessary for museums to stay open (and for me to get a paycheck), but different cats all the same. The term got around so much that I'm almost embaressed to admit this...but I have to get it off my chest.

I, too, have become a pointy-toe shoe. It's true. I have several pairs in my closet and several blisters on my toes to prove it. Sure, sure, I tend to wear my soft-sole white Minnetonkas and my grandpa sweaters more... but the point is that I've crossed a line into a world I can't come back from: fashion trends.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! Run away, run away!

All kidding aside (can someone like me really say that with a straight face?!)...when I first moved from Missouri, I had a basic uniform of chunky glasses, short pixie hair, corduroys, cowboy shirts, and chuck taylors. Sometimes I'd mix in a jean skirt, overalls, or flip-flops if the weather was nice. Basically I wore Midwestern chic and nothing else. Even though DC is NOT a fashionable city by any means (seriously, are scrunchies required federal employee uniform wear?), but it was still more, ahem, "urban" than my "down-home" Arkansas-bred comfort clothes. I mean, time for the high school Widespread Panic concerts was over. Black Cat approved bans only for me now. I bought a nice wool coat (vintage, of course) to replace my Grandpa's chicken farm vests. And by Grandpa's, I don't mean style, but provenance. Somehow, someway (okay, it was at H&M) in the last three years I started buying feminine, multi-blend trend clothes. I also took out all of my all-the-way-up-my ear hoops and started wearing dangling earrings. DANGLING EARRINGS! Did you hear me? DANGLING EARRINGS! and POINTY TOE SHOES!!!!

FUCK!

Actually, I like it. Nothin' says D.C. gentrifying transplant like Midwestern chic mixed with pointy-toe shoes.

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PS.

Just to clarify, I'm certainly no Pollyanna. In fact, my bestest monkeyhead has dubbed me "Eliza-bitch" for my sometimes catty remarks about...well... anyone. But what I'm talking about is the complete disregard for someone's feelings. I mean, it's not like I actually ever went up to the nasty snatches at GWU who couldn't dress their body size and said "Nasty snatch, you need to dress your body size. Get a longer skirt." Of course not. Because one is funny among friends and the other is mean. Even if it is the truth.

Yes, I'm talking to you.

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"I'm just being honest!"

I am so tired of that excuse when people are assholes... Like Jeffrey on Project Runway... yes, I know, I'm ranting because of reality television. Whatever. And what's with that paranoia, by the way?!

Anyhow... I know I've written something along these lines before, but it still gets in my craw and won't stop driving me crazy. People who do this are treating honesty like it's some sort of absolute truth. They are giving their opinion, which is a judgmental, rude one. Whatever. Have that opinion. But don't hide behind "honesty" like it's some sort of badge of honor--I'm a stronger person than you, I say asshole things and hurt people's feelings because I'm honest. I exist at a higher level of self-awareness than you do. I have no regard for the fact that I am not the only person or only opinion in this world.

No! Fuck you. You just get pleasure and self-satisfaction out of being a jerk. And the thing that gets to me so much is that many of the people who use "I'm just being honest" or "I'm a bitch, what can I tell you?!" excuses are often liberal, progressive people who consider themselves open-minded, creative, and avant-garde. The one thing I have learned in my oh-so-many years on this earth is that liberal is not the same as open-minded. And that's a very important distinction to make... and no, open-minded about what chemicals you ingest is not what I'm talking about... Yes, I'm talking about you.

When the socially-open, supposedly caring people of my generation spend their time cutting other people down in the name of "honesty", it's no wonder everything's going further into the crapper. I don't expect us all to get along or to live in some naive peace utopia. But some basic human courtesy would certainly help things along. Especially when "liberals" are the people who are supposed to protect the rights of others during Bush's ushering of the New Dark Ages.

What?! I'm just being honest!

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Old Friends...

I just got home from a goodbye happy hour for a good friend moving to Maine this week... I got to see some old and dear friends from my time at NARA and it was really nice. Ate beef for the first time in a long time... The place was "Irish" and had little to no non-beef options, save the requisite "Chesapeake crabcake" on every menu down here. Sigh. We'll see how that goes over tomorrow morning...

Anyhow, I'm just really proud of my friend. She's leaving a good job, good money, and good friends to move in with the person that she loves. She feels all this pressure of modern feminism to choose career happiness (quote unquote artificial ideal of success) and I call bullshit. If family, partners (gay or straight) and love is more important to you than a high profile job, then that's great. The point of women's struggles was to create a world where women could CHOOSE how they shaped their lives. I have no problem with women who want to be stay-at-home moms as long as they are doing that because they WANT to, not because of some male-oriented, Christian ideal. Just as I think choosing to never have children (like myself...probably) is fine and dandy. My friend is one of the smartest women I know and very successful... but her heart is in Maine. And instead of following along with the new social pressures that discriminate against women who want love instead of prestige, she's going for what she wants...

And that's what a feminist looks like, bitches.

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Anybody?

I have the next two weeks to locate contact information for the Princess of Thailand and Nelson Mandela's Minster of Health.

Anybody?

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New Kid on the Block

So the job stress? Still not alleviated. Still love what I do but beginning to feel crunch time. Especially because someone needed something today and I couldn't do it...sure there are reasons, including one admitted by said someone--I don't have FUCKING time to do all the stuff I need to do. I felt really disappointed that I couldn't help this person, even though I have so many piles on my desk I can barely find my post-its reminding me of what I have to do. Yesterday.

This exhibition has been reorganized with me being the only exhibition coordinator in charge of assets. There used to be two. Other employees have also had duties shifted around and everyone is learning a new place. I'm certainly not the only busy person. And I'm not crying out for sympathy... I certainly don't want a pity party. This exhibition is huge--cosmic size huge. So many assets, so many contacts, so many storylines... but it's also wonderful, amazing, exciting, and challenging job. It's high profile. It makes me feel proud of myself. I brag about my job. If this is work, then I'll take it and the piles any day. It ain't pluckin' chickens, that's for sure.

In all honesty, I don't think it's all the work I have that's bothering me...it's more the uneasiness I still have as a new employee...much less one following an excellent predecessor. I have replacement lover syndrome... Am I as good? As pretty? As smart? As lovable? Of course, with a job, you can't actually ask those questions and keep the power relationship. You become a needy little girl. A child instead of an equal...

When do you stop being the new kid?

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and i don't want to know me better...

and i don't want to live forever
when the sky is full of little holes
exploding as they take my picture
let's explode...

why is it that even when i'm happy, these sorts of songs speak to me more than others? morose, self-critical, depressing, shoe-gazing. the sadder the better. the more internal struggle the better. is it because lively lizzy is really lugubrious liz at her core? is it because i've spent much of my life struggling with anxiety and depression... and songs like this make me feel that someone else out there knows exactly what's hiding on the inside of me?

or does the feeling of sadness, self-reflectiveness, or pensiveness give me some sort of high? an artificial sense of artistic and romaniticized sadness? does all sadness and depression have a little bit of this? the edgar allen poe, sylvia plath sexiness of moroseness?

i'm not sure. but damn i love that song.

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One moment...

...can change the course of human history. One person, one thought, one culmination of millions of coincidences can alter the afters unrecognizable from the befores. We just watched this very disturbing movie, C.S.A.: The Confederate States of America, which captures this truth. The film (mockumentary, I guess is more appropro) explores an alternate history of the US if the Dixies had won... it does so through a (fake) British documentary shown on Confederate network television... including commercials selling slave-based American products. Yes, it was funny...but, it was the sort of funny that is borne of uncomfortable, embarrassing realities. Like laughing at a funeral. It was not a Christopher Guest-type mockumentary. It was both a picture of how close we were to having a very different (inhuman, disgusting, abhorrent) future and how close we still are to a past that hasn't disappeared... it just goes unnoticed by most. Scary.

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In case you care and/or notice...

I only post blogs at night... in fact, I only write them at night because I work for the federal government, otherwise known as BIG BROTHER. All my phone calls and keystrokes are recorded somewhere by someone for some odious purpose that will someday restrict my civil rights. Yippee!!! My job is very very very far removed from Bushy-tail (in fact, run counters to many of his beliefs...like, for instance, education is good), but it's still a piece of pulled pork on the giant sandwhich of mass bureaucratictastic bureaucracy bbq... Yum yum.

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Stay Gold, Pony Boy

Jon Stewart just made an "Outsiders" reference... That makes me happy.

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It's not like it's a dog or something...

First off, I need to say that I love my job. It's amazing to not only do work that is creative, challenging, and socially relevant, but also for that job to be your dream job. But, from the very beginning, I've been very busy at work. A lot of people depend on me to do my job and I depend on them to do mine. It's a wonderful collaborative environment, but can also prove to be a vicious cycle of piles, plaintive pleas for help, followed by more piles. Normally, though, I leave my work anxieties at work. My piles don't attach themselves to my brain (okay okay I take some work home on weekends, but just reading). I let it go. Work is work, home is home. But the past couple of days, I have been stressing about work when I get home. I've been thinking about all the stuff I have to do the next day (which, because I work with museum objects, I can't bring home...) and being in a general state of fret. This is not good. It is just a job. A wonderful, exciting, good paying, important job. But a job, nonetheless...

So my solution? I've poured myself a drink, bought some celebrity trash magazines, put on my pajamas and am zoning out. I wasn't going to even turn on my Mac, but it was calling to me like a pitcher of beer on a hot afternoon. Yum.

Okay, now I'm seriously off to zone out. Ciao.

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All You Can Eat

Why do mosquitoes like certain people for chow and not others? Isn't it because some people have thinner skin to bite through? Or higher levels of nutrients? I have no idea... Anyhow, the point is that I was out watering my yard (okay, my 5ft by 5ft square in front of the rowhouse) for maybe 10 minutes and I am COVERED in bites. This happens anytime I go outside, skin covered or not. Seriously, I can be wearing jeans and somehow those damn buggers just munch right on down. Chomp, chomp, chomp, chomp. MMMM, yummy Elizabeth. Tastes like... blood.

In other news, why do people who sign up for kickball for the booze insist on taking it seriously? Against a group of (mostly) girls who not only haven't played team sports since elementary school, but also were last to be picked? Okay, it wasn't really that bad. Everyone was really nice, although it was a slaughter. In fact the ump politely suggested that we get some "base training" from any of us who might of played softball/baseball in the past. Husband, I'm looking at you.

I'm off to bed. Found out today in weekly staff meeting that our team is three weeks behind on a immovable deadline. Those three weeks are partly piled up on my desk, so I need to be ready for battle tomorrow. It probably doesn't help that my position was empty for a year... Funny how just because noone's doing the work, the work doesn't stop needing someone to do it.

Zzzzzzzzzzzz

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Meh.

I honestly think that the reason I'm not writing is that I'm constipated. No, I don't mean physically. Mentally. I have so many back stories here in my head that I don't even know where to start. I usually write most of my blogs in my head as they happen. I come up with trigger words and then at some later point, sit down and write. I use to do all of my papers this way... Anyhow. I have all sorts of new stories about the new place, idiotic eye exams debacles, new music, druken escapades... but I haven't gotten around to writing them and now I'm all clogged up.

So, here's the new deal: I will forget all the things that happened over the last four months. I was never there. You were never there. Blogs never almost came into existence. I'm aborting them. I change my mind. Fuck off, Jerry Falwell.

My writing bowels are now clean and hopefully blogs will starting flowing regularly again.

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Apparently things are good...

I love my job. I love DC. I love my new place (sans fruit flies...grrrrrrrr). And this translates to me not feeling that unending urge to vent, rant, cuss, and write in my blog. Saying that I've been too busy is a lame excuse, because I was just as busy (or busier) when I was in grad school and job hunting, and I wrote then. In high school I spent most of my free time writing free verse poetry and rants. And at the time, I was an huge basketcase with rollercoaster self esteem... Apparently writing is my way of focusing what I perceive to be the insane world around me. When things begin to fall into place, I don't need to create that order or vent those frustrations. As much as I'm happy that my lack of posts reflects some tranquility in the physical world, I want to try and change this pattern and start writing to stretch my brain out. I enjoy writing. I'm certainly not the best, most creative, analytical writer...but I like it. If expressing myself this way benefits me when my life is adrift, I wonder how much it can enhance me other times?

Anyhow... a short update for you loyal readers out there...

My job is fabulous! Every day I am excited to go to work, every day I am surprised that 8 hours have gone by. I'm overworked and underpaid, but it doesn't matter. I love the work. I love the staff. I love the pace. I still feel the need to pinch myself... Even though I've worked really hard, went to a great school, created a good portfolio, I still have a hard time believing the great job that I landed. I mean, I'm 25 years old and I am doing EXACTLY what I want to do. Not "sorta" what I want to do so I can do what I really want to do later, but RIGHT NOW, I'm doing what I hoped I'd be doing three years ago when I started my masters. Okay, now that I've tooted my own horn... I'm sure I impressed all of you out there and proven that I'm AWESOME.

In other news... the Honda was in a bit of an accident. Okay, it was totaled. Because of ducks. It's a long story, I'll post it and some pics later... We have to get a new car now, because even though I'm totally Metro-centric, my husband's job is not Metro accessible. It's a great system, but it's not perfect and it doesn't go everywhere we need to go.

We haven't had much time *cough cough money cough cough* to do anything "fun" lately. We started hanging pictures up in the house. That's very exciting, I know. We also have tickets to see the NSO perform the score to the Wizard of Oz with the movie playing in real time. It's supposed to be an awesome concert. Oh and I finally joined a kickball team. I know, now that EVERYONE's doing it, I finally find a team. I've been wanting to play for years, since I heard it was making a comeback back when I lived in Missouri. Kickball was one my better team sports. That's a relative "better" though... cause I suck at team sports. But still, it's cause for excitement. Play starts in a couple of weeks. I don't know too many people on the team, but I think it'll be a good way to meet some new people. Most of my crew has moved out of the DC area... which is good and bad... it means they have jobs, but that I miss them. It's also turning me into a bit of a hermit. I already have the propensity to hang out at home reading, watching movies, etc. In fact, I tend to go to dinner, shows, and movies by myself when I do get out of the house. I'm thisclose to crazy person living in a cave in the park. But if you find men's shoes in my cave, remember I'm not a weirdo transvestite, but an executive transvestite. If you get that joke, you are allowed to be my new best friend. Unless I hate you.

I honestly have to say the coolest thing lately is finding out that I'm three degrees of separation away from the woman who plays Tanya on Footballer's Wives. Seriously. One of my coworkers is from England, her mom is an acting professor, and Tanya was her student. Three degrees to awesomeness in the form of amazing coke-snorting nails and Satan-straightened hair. Rock on.

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Do do do de do...

Well, it's been a week and a half at my new job and the piles have already started overtaking my desk... and you know what?! I fucking LOVE it! Right now I'm just trying to get immersed in the new exhibit. I'm reading all of the synthesized materials and managing all of the assets. I'm the asset guru. How much does that rock? Okay, okay, I'm totally showing my geekiness within... but databases make me hot.

Not much else has been happening. We decided not to deal with the 4th of July celebrations on the Mall, even though watching fireworks from the steps of the Capitol while canons fire 1812 Overture makes me the closest to forgetting that Bush is president I can get these days, the crowds are unbearable. The great thing is that we didn't need to take the Metro to get a firework display--our neighborhood, Columbia Heights, and neighboring Shaw, Petworth, and Mt. Pleasant, all put on their own fireworks. People were just hanging out on the street, watching the kids and parents (and some elderly) shoot fireworks. Even though it kept me up until 2am, it was a great examples of how this part of DC is much more like a neighborhood than the gentrified, transient parts with summer interns who will never plant roots or pay for DC street parking.

Oooo, pot calling kettle black, you say? Well, it might interest some of you that we will be staying here for at least 6 years... My exhibits team only does one exhibit every three years and I would like to be a part of at least this one, Global Health, and the next, Native American Medical Practices. So, I will be getting those lovely "Taxation without Representation" tags for the ol' Honda and registering to vote in a geographic area where I actually have no voting rights. Yipee!!!! Who knows, maybe we'll even get our own little dilapidated rowhouse in Shaw and live here happily ever after? Sure, New York is more hip, but DC's got free museums suckas!

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To everything, there is a season... except the Monkey Chow Diet season

Well, I've been an awful blogger lately. Really, really bad. I wouldn't be surprised if people had stopped even checking the site to see if I've updated. Sigh.

I actually have several good reasons for not blogging. First and most importantly, my work G5 doesn't have internet access. I share a PC workstation with my boss, so no blogging while waiting 5 minutes for high res scans. Second, we moved about a month ago and we're STILL unpacking. We had to buy closet systems to store my gratuitous amounts of clothing and then build them. Okay, my husband built them. Then, I got bronchitis. And, we practically moved to IKEA. Half of our stuff is hidden (still in boxes) in closets. I secretly believe that our crap is humping like rabbits and multiplying before our eyes. Third, I've spent the last month going to three separate interviews for that exhibits job. But, as I posted, I got the job, so I'm not going to complain too much about that. Finally, we got cable and I had better things to waste my time with. Like Top Chef marathons. I love Dave. MMMMM, black truffle mac and cheese.

But, things have finally turned around and I'm feeling more like myself than I have in a long time. A year ago, my Grandma died, I graduated GWU, got married, and began looking for that "dream" job. After months of disappointment (not the marriage, of course), almost jobs, depression, anxiety, bitchiness, financial distress, and job opportunities at great places but not in my field, this exhibits job represents the changing of the seasons, so to speak. All the work I've put into school and life in general is finally paying off in my career. I get to work with an amazing exhibits team, collaborating with curators, designers, researchers, international specialists... I start in a couple of weeks and cannot wait. I went into museums because I want to work in a field where I can challenge the existing hegemony and educate a sadly misinformed public. I want to come home at the end of the day knowing that I'm creating something and educating the public... With this job, I finally get to do that.

This last year has been so emotionally difficult for a lot of reasons, and even though I didn't believe it at the time, I think that things do work out for the best. You might not see how while literally drowning in the muck, life may take twists and turns that you didn't expect...but if you keep yourself grounded, work hard, hang around good friends, and don't get too caught up in the ideals of "a hip/successful/amazing/perfect life," you can end up in unexpected, amazing situations. Sure, getting there might suck. And sure, where you end up might mean more work than just sitting on the sidelines. After a year of feeling like everything I had worked for was getting farther and farther away, no matter how hard I was working, I'll take whatever challenges come my way. We have to make our own lives, even if that means dealing with shit. Existentialism isn't necessarily a "happy" philosophy. But it's better than letting life just happen to you.

And it's definitely better than this guy's life:

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Finally...

I got the exhibits job!!!!

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Dear Lord

I just moved into a new place in Columbia Heights (love it love it love it), but can barely maneuver around the boxes. I am loving my new job at NARA, even though the lab I'm in is insanely busy. Digital Imaging is the wave of the future, and everyone's wanting to surf. Okay, that was really bad, but I'm tired and living out of boxes... Please forgive me. I had an interview for an exhibits job I applied to what feels like years ago, but was really only months... Stupid federal government job process... I am not actively looking for exhibits jobs, because I love my current position so much, but I went ahead and went to the interview... we'll see what happens. For now, I'm just trying to find what box has my underwear and my phone charger... Sigh.

I'll update more soon.

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Lucky Bastard

This last birthday I was once again reminded of what a lucky bastard I really am. In addition to receiving tons of birthday cards, phone calls, and awesome presents, my favorite friends here in the DC area took me to, da da da, MEDIEVAL TIMES DINNER AND TOURNAMENT!!!!!!



I got to eat chicken with my bare hands, watch a horse show, wear a friggin' crown, contemplate the bizarre cultural origins of a three time daily "medieval tournament" and, to Andrew's chagrin, win the group betting pool for the upteenth time. I always win and I never care about what I'm betting on. Usually it's the Superbowl, in the past it has been the quarter slots, this time it was the Yellow Knight. Perhaps I should consider a new career? Or at least Andrew should start betting with me instead of against me. What a great birthday!

I honestly don't know how I got so lucky with all the people in my life. Well, actually, I sorta do. Long ago, in a state far far away... I went to college and decided to become the Elizabeth I thought I should be and instead learned how lucky I already was. See, in high school, my core group of friends were the OrchDorks, a diverse little group of string players who weren't nerds (like the band geeks) or socially inept, but weren't popular in the traditional sense. People generally left us alone. There were 8 of us, including me and my twin. Invariably we were together on weekends scripting Britcom style interludes, planning complicated spying maneuvers, cooking, or just talking. Partying wasn't the core of our social interactions because some of the members of this group were more conservative and in fact still are. We had personalities that ranged from quiet, to wacky, to intellectual, to sweet, to weird, and everything in between. We even have a devout Libertarian thrown in the mix. Some of these friends didn't have an interest in the sort of music I liked and weren't liberal by any means... Some of them did, but would never shave their head. One of them wanted to be doctor, one a nurse, one a pirate, one a teacher, one an auditor, one a violist, and one a writer. All but the pirate have succeeded. Piracy is having a bit of a down-time right now. Anyhow, at the time I went to college, I thought that the fact that some of my friends would never drink a drop of alcohol (a fact proven wrong with time) or listen to Wilco was a personal liability. I thought that I wasn't living up to my full potential unless I was with people who had the same values, ideas, clothes, music as me. I didn't understand at the time that all each of these women wanted was a place to be who they are, whatever that meant to them.

So? So I went to college and made friends who acted, looked, listened, believed, and thought liked I did. I found other liberal, music-loving drunks. And you know what? They turned out to be the biggest bunch of insecure, annoying, close-minded, catty, and backstabbing bitches I've ever met. As a note, I'm using the past tense as I haven't spoken to any of them in years, so perhaps they've changed...well, one of them contacted me recently via Friendster and her message oozed of the same self-aggrandizing pomposity born of unrealized insecurity. But, like I said, benefit of the doubt... Anyhow, what I ultimately discovered is that I wouldn't trade my OrchDorks in a million years. I would rather have friends that had different beliefs than me, but listened to my point of view and perhaps even changed their opinion because of it. I would rather have friends who treated people in a respectful manner, than people who feel the need to put others down for their own low self-esteem. I would rather be with people who value more than what clothes you wear, what drugs you've done, and what hipper-than-hippest band you listen to as criteria for friendship. Liberal does not mean open-minded and the coolest people are the people who don't care what cool is. It's not even on their radar. I'll take my dorky, funny, caring, open-minded friends any day. And you know what, some of them might even listen to Wilco or Black Box Recorder or shave their heads. But that shouldn't be the requirement. I'll be the first to admit that the whole situation was because of my bad judgment. These girls couldn't help what catty little people they were. They had their own issues. And I got caught up in them.

Luckily I didn't burn too many bridges with my experiment gone wrong. And in the time since my hard-earned lesson I have met some of the best friends I've ever had. Some of them are little weird people like me, with lesbian-chic hair and a love of the booze and piercings. Some are as American as white bread, but secretly whole grain inside. Perhaps some are even Sourdough? Oh, or marble rye... Regardless, my criteria for friendship has completely reverted to what it was when I was in elementary school, before all the social pressures kicked in. Does this person make me laugh so hard I pee my pants? Do they listen to me, even when I'm being so irrational and neurotic I sound like a crazy-person? Will they build hamster duplexes with me in their free time? Do they love me for me, differences and all?

At this point in my life, I have to say that I am lucky enough to have more than a handful of friends like this, including 7 of the 8 original OrchDorks and some other unexpected long-term friends from high school, Mizzou and GWU... Friends, in fact, who even remember my birthday amidst their own busy lives far away.

Thank you to all for being exactly who you are and for loving me all the same.

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Hermione

During a recent catch-up on Popsugar, this image of Emma Watson drinking was posted. While some might go, "Hey, 15-year-old actress drinking a beer, that seems right," I screamed at my computer "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! Hermione doesn't drink!!!!!" Before you start telling me, Hermione is an imaginary character and Emma Watson is an actress playing her, I need to say this: Emma Watson is not a person. She only exists in the public world, my world, because she is Hermione. Therefore, I have the right to chastise her for public-un-Hermione-like behaviors.

Okay, okay, I give. I really don't think that, not really. Emma Watson can booze all she wants, as long as she doesn't drink and drive or beat up small animals in the course of doing so. Large animals are totally fine, though. Anyhow, my reaction did get me thinking about the idea of character ownership, especially related to literature characters. I am a huge Harry Potter fan, I admit, and when the movies came out I was a little nervous. In the end, I wholeheartedly accepted the children cast and in fact when I read the books, in my mind's eye I see Rupert Grint, Daniel Radcliffe, and Emma Watson. Thus, my belief that Emma Watson is Hermione. However, I'm not a true literal interpreter. I feel like I own the essence of the stories, but I don't get all in a tizzy when things are changed, like in Prisoner of Azkaban. Cuaron had to change some plot items and added/subtracted side-stories as he saw fit for his interpretation of the original story. I actually felt that Prisoner of Azkaban was the truest adaptation so far, in terms of capturing the feeling of the stories, of Harry's life.

My sister, on the other hand, is a true literal interpreter when it comes to her book/film adaptations. She essentially likes play-acting of what's in her head already. She hates Prisoner of Azkaban. It is her least favorite of all the Harry Potters, including the awful Chamber of Secrets. She also refuses to like the 2005 adaptation of Pride and Prejudice because it cut so much of the book out and because Keira Knightly is NOT Lizzy. Lizzy is actually a character where this ownership trait appears for a lot of people. Case in point: there were webpages devoted to anti-Keira Knightly as Lizzy, boycotts of the film, hate mail... And all because so many women feel that Lizzy is theirs, that she belongs to them, and that she deserves the movie that they have in their heads. For most P and P purists, the 1990s BBC version with Colin Firth hits the spot. It is nearly a line for line match of the novel and an image for image match of the imaginations of readers. Plus Colin Firth as Darcy makes most women weak in the knees. Myself included.

I personally liked the new adaptation. I think the director did a good job of capturing Bennett family life, Lizzy's spirit, and Darcy's love of her. He kept the essence of the novel in the film, which was a slight two hours compared to the eight hour BBC adaptation. It's become my P and P-lite. I watch it when I don't want to sit down for an entire week just for a Darcy fix.

In the end, whether you are an essence purist or a literal purist, there will be some films that fail to live up the reader's imagination at all. And there are some books that make better movies, I'm sure. But reading, unlike films, gives viewers the chance to place a bit of themselves in the interpretation, to imagine, to own the story. It's an amazing byproduct of the reading experience and one of the reasons that I'm a bookworm.

All the same, Emma Watson needs to keep away from the booze and stick to studying. Just like Hermione.

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Bad Kitty!

I've been a very bad blogger lately. I haven't posted in what feels like forever, even though I have several drafts of utmost social meaning rolling around in my head. I've just been so busy being important, I haven't had time for the little folks. I know I should be better, but, well, I'm too important for such things.

Actually, I have been really busy. I start my new job in about a week and I've been working late into the evenings and most weekends to finish up here at the Smithsonian. In addition, since I'm working out at Archives II, my commute from Arlington is about an 1 1/2 each way. My husband and I both agreed that I would not be a very fun person to live with if I did that everyday. Actually, I'm pretty sure I would be a terror. So, we've spent the last three weeks looking at places in Mt. Pleasant, Columbia Heights and Capitol Hill. We liked Capitol Hill/Eastern Market the best, but the space and price just wasn't what we were looking for. I don't want to spend all of my new money on a place to live. It would be nice to horde cash for a while, you know? Anyhow, we finally found a great little place in Columbia Heights, about three blocks from the Metro. It's a tad smaller than what we have now, but it's in a cute Victorian Rowhouse, has off-street parking (yes it's true, it does exist in the District), and will mean a 30 minute commute for me. Plus, even though Columbia Heights is going through the process of gentrification, it hasn't lost the diversity and community that makes it more appealing that yuppie-land Dupont or Cleveland Park.

I am sad that we are leaving our current neighborhood. We'll have to find new breakfast places, new pizza places, new takeout. But part of the fun of moving is discovering those things. We don't move until the end of April, though, so I will have to deal with the long commute until then. So, my posts will probably be few and far between as I will be sleeping most of my free time in order to get up at the crack-ass of dawn.

Sigh.

At least there is an end in sight. Along with a date with UHAUL. Whoopee!

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I'm Federal Now, B-yatch!

So, after over a year of working as an independent consultant for the Smithsonian (which is actually code for: sounds awesome, but really means no job stability or benefits), I have just accepted a federal permanent position at the National Archives and Records Administration!

My position is in the Special Media Preservation Lab and I will be working as a Digital Imaging Technician. Basically I will be digitizing really amazing photographs, letters, maps, negatives, etc. for exhibits use, public programming use, and for preservation purposes. Digital preservation is the wave of the future and I'm excited to be working at one of the top labs in the country. Digitizing original documents ensures their perpetuity and allows public use without damaging originals. It also means that Joe Schmo in North Dakota can access high quality captures of documents on the internet if he can't travel to D.C. to see them. What I'm most excited about, though, is that I will be working with the collection of the National Archives, basically the Rock Stars of archival documents. Letters by Jefferson, Washington, Lincoln... Supreme Court rulings... The Declaration of Independence. Well I probably won't be around that, per se, but you get what I'm saying.

The down-side is that I'm working at Archives II, as opposed to Downtown. I will have the schlep up to College Park every day from Arlington, which is around an hour and a half Metro ride each way. I did the commute before in Grad School and it's not awful, but it's also not great. So, David and I are moving into the District ASAP. We're looking at Eastern Market/Capitol Hill and Mt. Pleasant right now. My commute would be from thirty minutes to an hour then, which would be a lot better. Plus, I'd already be in DC on weekends. I don't want my only time in the District to be underground. I've gotten really used to being here every day for my current job and it makes me sad to leave. I'll also be sad to leave Pastries by Randolph and the Italian Store in Arlington, but I think I'll live. Well, I don't know, those pretzels Randolph makes on Saturdays are probably the best pretzels I've ever had... Mmmmmm, pretzels.

Oh and one final thing. It is in fact true that when it rains it pours. The very day after I accepted this position, I get called for an Associate Curator position at a history museum in Kansas City. Seriously, what's up with that? Now that they can't have me, they want me? It's some sort of sick employment law or something. The minute you say "yes" to something, five other great and amazing jobs will open to you.

Oh well, people can call all they want, 'cause I'm federal now, bitches!

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You Can "Flyover" My Ass

Growing up in Arkansas, I was surrounded by the ignorance, bigotry, and poverty one imagines existing in the South. I was also surrounded by far-right Christians/Republicans who had a severe distaste for both of the coasts. This dislike was partly based on the fact that the coasts are more liberal (and therefore morally corrupt), partly based on a deep distrust of the North from the time of the the Civil War and Reconstruction, and partly based on the impression that the West Coast and the East Coast (I'll call them Coasties from now on) look down on us Southerners/Midwesterners. We're nothing but the "flyover" only to be courted or cared about during election season.

As the extremely liberal child of a well-educated liberal family, I always chalked up the latter distrust of the Coasties to the same prejudiced-based mantra that the other distrusts came from. They were just being paranoid and trying to come up with any reason not to vote Democratic. To me, Boston, New York, DC, and San Francisco were meccas I couldn't wait to pilgrimage to, where I would find like-minded people who were open-minded, socialist, secular, and compassionate. After attending college in Missouri (where there were more liberals, but still a general distrust of the Coasties), I moved to DC for grad school. At first, it was everything that I imagined. I was surrounded (even during the Bush Administration) with people I thought were like me. They abhorred prejudice, ignorance, and wanted to change the world.

And then? I realized that the South and Midwest weren't actually that paranoid after all.

Over the last two years I cannot count the times that I or my fellow "Coastal immigrants" have encountered Coasties who would balk at saying anything negative about blacks or gays, but who take no second thought to insulting, stereotyping, and completely dismissing the South, the Midwest, and the millions of people who live there. I cannot count the times that I tell people I'm from Arkansas and they make a derogatory comment or face about either the South or about me. I cannot even recall the many times I've heard blatant bigotry spoken by people with high-caliber educations. From people who believe themselves to be educated, learned, cosmopolitan people. From people that I count as dear and beloved friends.

And the kicker? Most of these "Cosmopolitan people" have never even been to the Midwest or to the South. Some of these people want to travel the whole world, but refuse to go to Chicago because avoiding the Midwest/South is a "personal choice." For those that have ventured out, it was on the ubiquitous cross-country road trip that took them through the lower south or the straight middle. Yes, I admit, if my only experience with the South was the bigotry/poverty of Mississippi/Louisiana/Alabama, I might think that all the prejudice against Southerners I'd been taught growing up was true. But how is coming to that conclusion any different than being raised to hate black people, getting mugged by one and then saying that based on that one real-life experience all black people really are violent, worthless criminals? It's not. It's exactly the same, except that on the Coasts it's not okay to say that about black people anymore.

So here's the thing. Yes, there are lots of things about the South/Midwest that I am ashamed and disgusted by. Yes, there are lots of racists. Yes, it has lots of Protestant religious nuts. Yes, it has lots of poverty. Yes, it has a large rural population. Yes, it has a lot of Bush supporters. Yes, it has thick accents. Yes, it has people who hate women, gays, and anyone other than white men. But you know what? So does the North. So does California. So does Britain. So does pick-your-rural-town-of-choice. Idiots live everywhere. EVERYWHERE. For every KKK member in Mississippi, there's a Skinhead in NY. For every Confederate flag in Tennessee, there's a swastika in LA. For every Baptist preacher calling for the quarantine of all gays, there's a homophobic Catholic lady in Boston voting against gay marriage. For every trailer park-Yankee hating-"The South Will Rise Again" kid, there's a prejudiced/ignorant Coastie with illusions of moral superiority based solely on geography.

So, I'm here to set the record straight, 'cause I'm getting tired of people scowling at me when I tell them there's a job I want in Kansas City. I'm shouting because I'm tired of people treating me like my IQ is 50 points lower just because I'm from Arkansas. I'm bitching because I'm tired of my KC friend in LA getting dissed on by LA men who've never left Southern California in their lives. I'm putting up my fisticuffs because I'm tired of people asking my friend from Arkansas what "coast she's from" like those are the only two places intelligent people live. You know what? She's from the fucking middle.

There's a whole rest of America out there, with amazing music, spectacular novels, ground-breaking science, breath-taking art, fabulous microbrews. And, I admit it, it is a place where liberals sometimes have to fight tooth and nail to make a fucking difference. But doesn't that mean something? It's really easy to have an opinion when everyone else around you believes the same things. It's a lot harder (trust me) when saying what you believe means you might get threatened or ostracized. If there were nothing valid about "the middle," why would liberals stay put? Why wouldn't we all just pick up and move to Manhattan? The fact that there are liberals (and even entire "Blue" areas) shows how much there is to offer in what Coasties see as the amorphous and homogeneous "middle." Athens, GA is not the same culturally as Chicago, although they both have great independent music scenes. Wichita, Kansas has a completely different personality than rural Louisiana, but both offer a feeling of welcome and openness. Northwest Arkansas has more in common with the mountains of Tennessee than it does with the Delta lands of Northeast Arkansas, but all of Arkansas has beautiful, untouched nature unlike any other state. North Dakota is like a little Netherlands, windmills and all; while the Appalachians are like Scotland, fifes and all. During the 1990s, Lincoln, Nebraska was one of the great gay capitals of the US and Omaha became one of the hubs of the independent music scene. Iowa City, Iowa produces some of the best writers in the United States and Jackson, Mississippi is home to the Sweet Potato Queens, the funniest damn women in the country. This amazing diversity has resulted in some of the "great" American music traditions--jazz, rock 'n' roll, bluegrass, MoTown and the blues. It is where the trucker hats and cowboy boots Williamsburg, Brooklyn hipsters have appropriated come from. It is still the land of unmanned produce-stands, where you are trusted to pay for what you take. It is more than just "flyover" country. I may have moved away because of my career, but it's still my home.

I'm not saying that the middle is perfect. Yes, there are still a lot of problems. There is a disproportionate amount of poverty in some areas and an unreasonable amount of hatred in others. I'm not saying that everyone in the middle is "good." I'm not saying that there aren't things in the South that sicken me. I'm also not saying that I hate DC, Boston, NY, or San Francisco or the people I have met there, because I don't. What I am saying is that hating us just because of where we were born isn't going to make America any better. Stereotyping us all as ignorant, racist, and unworthy of respect does nothing for anyone. People like Bush are going to continue to win if things don't change, because, honestly, would you vote for a party whose members were bigoted against you and your family? Who only care about you when it means votes? Who don't even bother themselves with seeing what's out there, even when they have the means to? Probably not.

So the next time you're reading Tennessee Williams, admiring Bill Clinton, framing a print by Thomas Hart Benton, listening to Bright Eyes, or dancing to Nelly, remember that these people did not come from a vacuum. They are not anomalies or freaks. They are Midwesterners. They are Southerners. Most of all they are people.

And they deserve your respect and compassion, not your prejudice.

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Brick House

For those of you who know me, you know that, well... I'm a bit hippy. Not hippy dippy, but hippy-baby'sgoingtofallrightout-hippy. I'm not a fat girl, by any means. I am just that traditional Rubenesque, pear-shaped woman. I work out, I have good muscles, but I'm not nor have I ever been traditional skinny. Baby got back.

When I was younger, it really use to bother me. In fact, I was made fun of for my body shape all throughout school. Most of my friends are part of the more traditional idea of bodies. Sizes 2-8, if you know what I mean. My twin, in fact, has always been super little. While I was a size 12, she was a 4. It was really hard. Something happened, though, and I realized that no amount of starving or working out or obsessing is going to change my bones. I am what I am.

However, until I moved to DC there was always something that bothered me a bit. Even though I've dated/made out/whatever you want to call it with a lot of people and I'm happily married to a man who adores me, I was never really the girl who gets hit on when we all went out, no matter how much I shook the junk in my trunk. As cool as I was with my body, as proud as I was that even though my twin is a size 4, she can't run half the time I can, there's still something to be said for the boost that comes from getting checked out by people you don't know.

DC, however, has been different. I don't know if it's the diversity that exists here or what, but it seems like every other day I'm being objectified by some random stranger. Sometimes its gay women, which is also flattering, as I'm open...save the fact that I'm married. But most of the times, I'm saying 9 out of 10, it's a man of color. And it's not just whistles or shout outs or the stereotypical construction crew whoop. I'm talking being flat out hit on. For no other reason than the way I look. I don't know if it's a cultural thing or what... I don't want to make any sort of racial or cultural generalization, but I am not kidding that the only white man to hit on me in the last 3 years was my husband.

Case in point: Today, I was walking back home from the Post Office about a half mile up the way from my apartment and a white van pulls over. The driver, a beautiful black man with long braids starts talking to me. I pull out my ear buds so I can hear the dude, and he's asking me if I live in the area.

Dude: You live around here beautiful?
Me: No, I'm just walking to the Post Office.
Dude: Really? Awww, that's too bad. You wanna a ride?
Me: No thanks. I'm fine walking.
Dude: Well, what's your name?
Me: Elizabeth.
Dude: What would you say if I gave you my card, would you call me?
Me: I'm sorry, but I'm married.
Dude: Really???? Awwww...
Me (holding up my ring hand): Yep, really.
Dude: Baby, I just wanna be friends, that's all. I just wanna be your friend.
Me: I don't think my husband would like that...
Dude: Oh baby, let's just be friends.
Me: Sorry, man.
Dude: Well you take care Gorgeous.
Me: You too.

In actuality, my husband wouldn't care. I just don't know if I trust that the man just wants to be my friend. I mean, do you really pick up friends while driving a van down the street? The Dude sounds a little skeevy in the dialogue, but really he was nice. It wasn't threatening at all. In fact, the only time I've been threatened by anyone here in DC is when I wouldn't give some drunk belligerent money outside Metro Center. This encounter is just a typical example of what happens to me. People stopping their cars in the street, a dude in Radio Shack asking me if I'm biracial (and would like to go out), a man getting OFF the subway just to talk to me. I'm not kidding on that last one. I had a man see me from the window, get off the train, and ask if I wanted to go get coffee. He said he just wanted to get to know me. Again, sounds skeevy, but it wasn't. In fact, it's very flattering. Ask Allison, she was there. I may have a big butt, but I don't have a big head.

While the feminist in me is roaring that this sort of behavior is unacceptable, that it promotes a Rape Culture in which men (of all races and creeds) believe that they have the right to talk to or harass a woman just because of how she looks, another part of me giggles like a school girl. None of my encounters have ever made me feel threatened, although I'm not saying that it hasn't other women. That's the conflict. I might find flattery in a man stepping off of the Metro, but another woman could have felt very uncomfortable or harassed. Or the man that got off could have had totally bad intentions or a bad spirit. It's a hard thing for me to feel happy about, knowing what I know about America's Rape Culture... But I would be lying if I didn't say that it's nice to know that there are people out there who find me attractive. I guess it's a wobbly line.

In the end, I suppose what I'm saying is that after years of being ignored for my body, I'm glad that there are people out there who really do like it if baby got back.

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