A few of my live Oscar thoughts:
THIS OSCARS IS SO AWKWARD ALREADY
WAIT! WHY IS NPH HERE?!?! Did they get him just because Alec refused to dance? Is there anyone I’m more glad had a comeback? No there is not. No there is not indeed. I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but thank god for Harold and Kumar.
Oh, no. It’s awkward again. Oh wait, now it’s not. Okay, wait a minute. It’s awkward again. And it’s still awkward. Wait! It’s...oh, no. It’s just awkward.
Joe and I simultaneously: “…Ryan REYNOLDS?”
OH MY GOD WHY IS THIS THE MOST AWKWARD OSCARS EVER?!?
Monique. All of it. Every part.
DOM DELOUISE IS DEAD? WHY DON’T YOU PEOPLE KEEP ME INFORMED ABOUT THINGS THAT ARE IMPORTANT TO MY DAY-TO-DAY LIFE?
Yay, dancing to best original music! Oh, wait...it's just a Gap ad.
I’d like you all to meet my future husband: Colin Firth. Even if he is 100 years old, I will feed him apple sauce and roll him around in his wheelchair.
Oprah?! YOU get an Oscar! YOU get an Oscar! EVERY! BODY! GETS AN OSCAR!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSANDRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
So...I guess I need to see Hurt Locker?
Oh man! I forgot Alan Rickman is in this!! (Sorry, I switched over to Die Hard. Okay, no more writing my thoughts to my blog.)
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
The Conversationalist
Just kidding! Here's a post right here!
I’m always determined that the next place I go, the next thing I do, I will stop being so damn awkward.
I have yet to reach that goal.
I am seriously just the worst conversationalist, especially with new people. I actually know where I go wrong, too—I don’t ask questions. And for this, I blame my friends and my parents.
I have grown up around a series of people who have no problem telling their life story, whether solicited or not. So my repertoire of inquiries have always stopped at, “Hi, how are you?” No more questions needed. My dad could take that question and run with it until your ears fell off. Literally, if you let him, you would probably just whither away in the chair you sat. And the first to go would be the ears.
But, believe it or not, there are people in the world who will not just talk for hours on end without breathing. Weird, I know. And when I come across such people, I have no idea what to do. Atrophied from disuse, questions do not spill out of my mouth with an unwarranted flow of care and concern. They march out, like a red-coated army that you can see coming from across the battlefield.
“So where do you live, Emily?”
“Wicker Park.” *Pause. Pause. Pause. Pause.* “Where do YOU live?”
“Up at Belmont and Sheffield.”
“So like…that’s cool.” *Pause. Pause. Pause. Pause. “Have you lived there long?” (WHAT? You have twenty stories about that area! What about restaurants? El stops?! Getting locked outside there with two beagles and a Westie?!?!? Hellooo?)
Maybe it’s just that I hate small talk. I’d much rather get real with you. But when you just meet someone, you’re not allowed to say such things. I mean, how do you segue into the fact that you’d eat all your food by stabbing it with toothpicks if it were socially acceptable? How do you bring up your debilitating fear of one day having a daughter and not becoming the Laurelai to her Rory?
So I continue to bite my tongue, to the extent that I can’t let go of it to form simple sentences that will not scare people. I still think one day I will figure it out. One day I will be able to have a stimulating conversation with a near stranger. One day, when I’m a grown up.
I’m always determined that the next place I go, the next thing I do, I will stop being so damn awkward.
I have yet to reach that goal.
I am seriously just the worst conversationalist, especially with new people. I actually know where I go wrong, too—I don’t ask questions. And for this, I blame my friends and my parents.
I have grown up around a series of people who have no problem telling their life story, whether solicited or not. So my repertoire of inquiries have always stopped at, “Hi, how are you?” No more questions needed. My dad could take that question and run with it until your ears fell off. Literally, if you let him, you would probably just whither away in the chair you sat. And the first to go would be the ears.
But, believe it or not, there are people in the world who will not just talk for hours on end without breathing. Weird, I know. And when I come across such people, I have no idea what to do. Atrophied from disuse, questions do not spill out of my mouth with an unwarranted flow of care and concern. They march out, like a red-coated army that you can see coming from across the battlefield.
“So where do you live, Emily?”
“Wicker Park.” *Pause. Pause. Pause. Pause.* “Where do YOU live?”
“Up at Belmont and Sheffield.”
“So like…that’s cool.” *Pause. Pause. Pause. Pause. “Have you lived there long?” (WHAT? You have twenty stories about that area! What about restaurants? El stops?! Getting locked outside there with two beagles and a Westie?!?!? Hellooo?)
Maybe it’s just that I hate small talk. I’d much rather get real with you. But when you just meet someone, you’re not allowed to say such things. I mean, how do you segue into the fact that you’d eat all your food by stabbing it with toothpicks if it were socially acceptable? How do you bring up your debilitating fear of one day having a daughter and not becoming the Laurelai to her Rory?
So I continue to bite my tongue, to the extent that I can’t let go of it to form simple sentences that will not scare people. I still think one day I will figure it out. One day I will be able to have a stimulating conversation with a near stranger. One day, when I’m a grown up.
Move it Along. Nothing to See Here.
Sorry, no post today. But check in over the weekend! I've got a feeling my adventures might bring about some good, awkward posts.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
8 Rush Hour Rules for Your Sanity
Short-time freelancing out in the burbs! Work! Driving! Sentence fragments!
Things I learned during rush hour:
1. The love between you and the car in front of you during your arduous trip is a bond that can never be broken. Except by that damn Ford Taurus that cuts in between you. WE HAD A BOND, TAURUS. AND YOU RIPPED IT APART.
2. When your car reaches 10 MPH, do NOT gain hope. If you gain hope, Satan wins.
3. Remember when you thought your lane was the slowest lane? Remember how you switched lanes so you'd go faster? *SLAP!* Remember that pain. Remember THAT.
4. Yelling doesn't help. Stern, sarcastic lecturing does. Say it with me: "Oh, NOW you're getting over? NOW you are? REALLY?"
5. When no one is in your lane any longer, it isn't luck. It's because the lane ends in two seconds, but you were too busy reading the side of that truck to notice.
6. Would you like to hear about fun for the whole family at Great Wolf Lodge? No? How about Lady Gaga? I'm sorry, those are your only two options.
7. Your iPhone is a great tool for finding where you are on the map...two blocks after you should have turned. Slash, never.
8. The El is the most wonderful invention of all the inventions. And next time I ride it, I will kiss it. Even the grimy, gum-stained, homeless-smelling, pee-soaked part. Mmmm....public transportaaaaaaation.
Things I learned during rush hour:
1. The love between you and the car in front of you during your arduous trip is a bond that can never be broken. Except by that damn Ford Taurus that cuts in between you. WE HAD A BOND, TAURUS. AND YOU RIPPED IT APART.
2. When your car reaches 10 MPH, do NOT gain hope. If you gain hope, Satan wins.
3. Remember when you thought your lane was the slowest lane? Remember how you switched lanes so you'd go faster? *SLAP!* Remember that pain. Remember THAT.
4. Yelling doesn't help. Stern, sarcastic lecturing does. Say it with me: "Oh, NOW you're getting over? NOW you are? REALLY?"
5. When no one is in your lane any longer, it isn't luck. It's because the lane ends in two seconds, but you were too busy reading the side of that truck to notice.
6. Would you like to hear about fun for the whole family at Great Wolf Lodge? No? How about Lady Gaga? I'm sorry, those are your only two options.
7. Your iPhone is a great tool for finding where you are on the map...two blocks after you should have turned. Slash, never.
8. The El is the most wonderful invention of all the inventions. And next time I ride it, I will kiss it. Even the grimy, gum-stained, homeless-smelling, pee-soaked part. Mmmm....public transportaaaaaaation.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Mustache Thanks: Keith P; The Man, The Artist, The Legend.
Today is another thank-you day for those who donated to the Mustache cause. I bring to you two wonderful people: Keith P and my younger sister, Hannah. Keith and Hannah went to high school together. When I found out Keith had donated, I immediately got to work inventing a really great post about him. I started with a poem:
Keith, Oh my Keith. You wonderful boy.
You fill up my days with such bountiful joy.
'Twas on that fine day within Luscombe we met
You thought I was Hannah, and started to fret.
Why won't she say hi? Why won't she look here?
But soon you saw differences, though they were mere.
For, my hair was shorter, my eyes bit more round.
At once a new kinship was formed, I have found.
I know you know Hannah, but I'm so much better.
It's just that it's been some more time since you met her.
...Which is true, Hannah does know Keith better. And with that reasoning, I decided to introduce my first guest blogger, my sister Hannah. Take it away, Han!
What can I say about Keith P?
First of all, let me preface this post by noting that my family does (and always will) love Keith P. more than me, and that is just an established fact.
“But Hannah!” you say, “That can’t possibly be true. WHERE are the facts?”
Step into my office, stay a while.
On the day of my graduation, the day that I was meant to be honored and adored by all family near and wide, there was one picture taken of me while I crossed the stage to be handed my diploma. Fine. Good. Grand. I had no problems with this. I wasn’t exactly looking my best in a floor-length bottle-green robe (Harry Potter reference? Anyone?) And cardboard cap.
But there were THREE PICTURES taken of Keith P. by my family. And damn him, does the boy know how to pull off a bottle-green robe.
Second of all, Keith P. is an unstoppable musical machine and I am painfully jealous that he plays piano and cello and sings and acts and can do handstands while juggling and plays the harp with his toenails, blindfolded. (His eyes are blindfolded of course. His toenails aren’t blindfolded. That’d be cool, though.)
Where was I? Ah. Talent. The boy is talented in every way. This scored him major points with every freaking teacher in high school. Every time a play was coming up Keith would be summoned to the front of the class:
Mr. Schoenburg: “Oh KEITH (*gush gush*) (EDITORS NOTE: I SAID *GUSH GUSH* IN MY LAST POST! IT'S LIKE WE'RE SISTERS!!) I hear you’re going to be playing the part of Male Lead #1 and might I just say that you are perfect in every way and you smell like what I imagine Jesus must use as aftershave. By the way, Hannah is spreading a vicious rumor that you play the harp with your toenails. Any truth to that?”
But I digress…
Keith P. had talent in one much more important area. An area I like to call: Speech Team. Lets all take a moment of recognition for the fact that I was a big major nerdlinger in high school and absolutely loved speech team (as did Keith).
Boiled down to the essentials: in speech team you wear a suit and memorize an eight-minute speech that is written by you, or by someone else. Some are funny, some are dramatic, and some are serious. Some are done with a partner, and some are done by this terrible chick in the pink suit who thought she was all that but she wasn’t and GOD who fake cries during dramatic interpretation and REALLY?! A PINK SUIT?!?!
But I digress. Again.
Keith and I balanced our time at tournaments between performing our speeches, and stalking the people who we thought were good/terrible/wore pink suits and therefore had no reason to live.
How many "speech boyfriends" did I have? Lets conservatively say five.
How many of them knew who I was? Zero. Possibly one.
How many of them knew who Keith was? All. And they loved him. They would all go out on weekends and pick out matching china patterns.
And now Keith P. is a roaring success with reviews on his plays that would knock your socks off. He is going to be on Broadway and I’m going to show up with flowers, which he will politely accept and then add to his pile of gifts (including, I would have to assume, some sort of priceless antique china patterns that his old speech team buddies brought him...curse them.) And we will reminisce about the days of old when we would hang out in the music lab, and laugh at the gym teachers as they foolishly beg that we run at least one lap, and write wildly inappropriate notes in psychology, only to be discovered later by Mr. Reddel, the famed crazy man from crazytown. (EDITORS NOTE: DON'T YOU TALK THAT WAY ABOUT MR. REDDEL.)
So here’s to you, Keith P. I wish you success in everything you do.
P.S. Have you heard the rumor that Keith P. has nasty long toenails that he uses to play the harp? Spread it.
Keith, Oh my Keith. You wonderful boy.
You fill up my days with such bountiful joy.
'Twas on that fine day within Luscombe we met
You thought I was Hannah, and started to fret.
Why won't she say hi? Why won't she look here?
But soon you saw differences, though they were mere.
For, my hair was shorter, my eyes bit more round.
At once a new kinship was formed, I have found.
I know you know Hannah, but I'm so much better.
It's just that it's been some more time since you met her.
...Which is true, Hannah does know Keith better. And with that reasoning, I decided to introduce my first guest blogger, my sister Hannah. Take it away, Han!
What can I say about Keith P?
First of all, let me preface this post by noting that my family does (and always will) love Keith P. more than me, and that is just an established fact.
“But Hannah!” you say, “That can’t possibly be true. WHERE are the facts?”
Step into my office, stay a while.
On the day of my graduation, the day that I was meant to be honored and adored by all family near and wide, there was one picture taken of me while I crossed the stage to be handed my diploma. Fine. Good. Grand. I had no problems with this. I wasn’t exactly looking my best in a floor-length bottle-green robe (Harry Potter reference? Anyone?) And cardboard cap.
But there were THREE PICTURES taken of Keith P. by my family. And damn him, does the boy know how to pull off a bottle-green robe.
Second of all, Keith P. is an unstoppable musical machine and I am painfully jealous that he plays piano and cello and sings and acts and can do handstands while juggling and plays the harp with his toenails, blindfolded. (His eyes are blindfolded of course. His toenails aren’t blindfolded. That’d be cool, though.)
Where was I? Ah. Talent. The boy is talented in every way. This scored him major points with every freaking teacher in high school. Every time a play was coming up Keith would be summoned to the front of the class:
Mr. Schoenburg: “Oh KEITH (*gush gush*) (EDITORS NOTE: I SAID *GUSH GUSH* IN MY LAST POST! IT'S LIKE WE'RE SISTERS!!) I hear you’re going to be playing the part of Male Lead #1 and might I just say that you are perfect in every way and you smell like what I imagine Jesus must use as aftershave. By the way, Hannah is spreading a vicious rumor that you play the harp with your toenails. Any truth to that?”
But I digress…
Keith P. had talent in one much more important area. An area I like to call: Speech Team. Lets all take a moment of recognition for the fact that I was a big major nerdlinger in high school and absolutely loved speech team (as did Keith).
Boiled down to the essentials: in speech team you wear a suit and memorize an eight-minute speech that is written by you, or by someone else. Some are funny, some are dramatic, and some are serious. Some are done with a partner, and some are done by this terrible chick in the pink suit who thought she was all that but she wasn’t and GOD who fake cries during dramatic interpretation and REALLY?! A PINK SUIT?!?!
But I digress. Again.
Keith and I balanced our time at tournaments between performing our speeches, and stalking the people who we thought were good/terrible/wore pink suits and therefore had no reason to live.
How many "speech boyfriends" did I have? Lets conservatively say five.
How many of them knew who I was? Zero. Possibly one.
How many of them knew who Keith was? All. And they loved him. They would all go out on weekends and pick out matching china patterns.
And now Keith P. is a roaring success with reviews on his plays that would knock your socks off. He is going to be on Broadway and I’m going to show up with flowers, which he will politely accept and then add to his pile of gifts (including, I would have to assume, some sort of priceless antique china patterns that his old speech team buddies brought him...curse them.) And we will reminisce about the days of old when we would hang out in the music lab, and laugh at the gym teachers as they foolishly beg that we run at least one lap, and write wildly inappropriate notes in psychology, only to be discovered later by Mr. Reddel, the famed crazy man from crazytown. (EDITORS NOTE: DON'T YOU TALK THAT WAY ABOUT MR. REDDEL.)
So here’s to you, Keith P. I wish you success in everything you do.
P.S. Have you heard the rumor that Keith P. has nasty long toenails that he uses to play the harp? Spread it.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
As I Recall: Esther (But More Importantly, Eunuchs.)
I've taken on a new Bible challenge for this story. Since I have thus far failed in my search for a proper female lead (having tried once and given up...similar to my attempt at jogging) I took some advice from some of "my people" and set out in search of Esther, a Jewish Queen, and the reason behind Purim, which ended yesterday.
That's right. This chick even has a doll. A creepy, creepy doll
Now, even though I was able to deceive some into thinking I am Jewish (I can see how the brown hair and overwhelming love of matzoh might throw some people off) I can tell you now that I am not. I was raised in a stiff-upper-lip Protestant church, which still argues about whether or not the electric guitar is, in fact, a tool used by Satan to entrance us into Hell. My church valued the Bible, sure, but if you've read any of these recaps so far you know--either I didn't listen very often, or we just didn't hit on every story. Likely it's a little of both.
All this to say...I know NOTHING about Esther. Although I believe there is a Veggie Tales movie about her that I have not seen (Good Lord, there's no time to discuss Veggie Tales right now, people. Save it, SAVE IT.)
So, knowing nothing about Esther, I picked up my trusty Ol' Soggy and flipped laboriously though the stuck pages. And guess what?! The woman has her own book. Her own personal chapter, shall we say. All about her. And her awesomeness.
So this story begins with King Asomething, who commands his eunuchs to summon his Queen to his party so he can show off how hot she is.
AAAAAAAND TIME OUT. Eunuchs? Really? There are eunuchs in the Bible? I don't even know what the deal IS with eunuchs. Like, I know it has something to do with their bits. But is it that they have no bits? Born without bits? Mangled bits? Chopped-off bits? Frankly, I'm not sure I want to know. I'm easily queasy. But I didn't even know they were part of the Bible Plot Line! I just have so many questions! Do eunuchs still exist? Are they really as zombie-like as we portray them? What is the point of making eunuchs do your bidding? Is the will of the testicled SO powerful that they make terrible slaves? It's time to wikipedia this nonsense.
So anyway, the king is all drunk from partying and slurs to the eunichs to fetch him his queen but she refuses. So just in case word gets out and all women start thinking for themselves, they banish the queen to somewhere else and take a new queen. Phew, problem solved.
This is where Esther, the orphan/virgin/Jew stepped up to the plate. She didn't tell anyone about that last little tidbit about being Jewish. See, her Jewish name was actually Hadassah, which, I swear to God, means "myrtle."
MYRTLE.
Okay, let's move on.
No wait. MYRTLE.
Okay, let's really move on this time. So that no one knows she's Jewish, she changes her name to Esther, a Persian name that means "star." Lo and behold, the king loved her more than any of the other poor saps, and placed the Queen's crown on her head. PARTY TIME!
While all this is going on, Mordecai, who was the cousin/father-figure to Esther, hears a plot by two of the eunuchs to murder the king. Sooooo, I guess that solves that mystery because they still have anger and emotions? Frankly, it only confuses me further. WHAT IS YOUR PURPOSE, EUNUCHS?!?! Anyway, Mordecai overhears it and tells Esther, who tells the king, who has the two eunuchs murdered. Bit of a random tale, but it comes back later.
Now, this guy Haman is the Head Official...who knows of what, but he's very important. When he walks by, all the king's servants bow down to him except for Mordecai. Haman is piiiiiissed. He decides that it would be silly to hurt Mordecai for not bowing. Childish, in fact. What would be better would just be to kill ALL the Jews in the entire world. He asks the king if it's okay. The king of course consents because, well, damn those Jews and their ways! *shakes fist*
So I guess there's a bunch of murder and confusion amongst the Jews, and Mordecai is ripping off his clothes and wailing and throwing things and...dressing in "sackcloth?" Don't really know about that one. Anyway, I imagine him like Steve Carell in 40-Year-Old Virgin when he just walks through every room of his apartment yelling. Eventually he gathers himself up enough to ask Esther to get the king to call off all the murdering. So Esther hitches up her royal suspenders and goes to the king. This is actually a pretty big deal because a) the king doesn't know she's Jewish, and by his decree, she should also be killed. But also, the king tends to kill people who come to him without being summoned. So DOUBLE LIKELIHOOD OF DEATH. But the needs of her people are just too great. So she goes before him and the king's all swoony and not in any kind of mood to kill her. Phew! Esther requests that the king and Haman come to a banquet that she will prepare the next day. The king's already like, "Yes, yes dear. Whatever you want shall be yours. I'd give you half my kingdom, *Gush gush gush*" so no problems there.
That day, Haman's all happy because he's been invited to this banquet. But when he passes Mordecai he's like, "BLARG! That damn Jew is still there and he still doesn't quiver at my feet!" So he gathered all his friends and wife and tells them that no matter how great and awesome and strong and rich and amazing he is, none of that matters, because that one dude doesn't bow to him. His friends and wife (who are thinking the same thing as I am) are like, "Uhhh, okay? You know you have the power to just kill him right? Why don't you quit being such a whiny bitch about it?" Haman drums his fingertips together with an "eeeeexcellent" and commands them to build some gallows in preparation.
That night, the king can't fall asleep so he calls a servant to read aloud from the boring book of records. During this, he finds out about Mordecai being the one to save him from eunuch murder (again...so weird) so he decides to honor him. He asks if anyone from the high court is around. It just so happens that Haman is outside his door preparing his speech. ("King, we SHOULD hang Mordecai. No, no. King, WE should hang Mordecai. We should HANG Mordecai. Yeah, yeah, that last one.") So the King lets Haman in.
The king asks him, "What should be done for someone I want to honor?" And Haman tells him to get a robe and a horse wearing a crown (Oh my god. My Little Pony existed in the Bible. All my dreams...) and to lead him around the town square proclaiming that this is what the king does to honor someone. I'm a little confused by this entire encounter because I'm pretty sure it said this king has been leading for 12 years. So why he has never had occasion to honor a single person in that time is beyond me. But he's also the one who was like "Kill the Jews for no reason? Why, sure! Here's my literal seal of approval."
So anyway, this was what Haman suggested the king should do, and the king's all, "Totally! Smart. Okay, go do that for Mordecai, and don't leave out a single detail." HAR!! Sucks to be you, Haman. Haman does everything he's told and then goes home to wail. His wife is no help. She's basically like, "Yeah, hun. If this guy's Jewish, you're screwed." Because I guess she knew that Jews are awesome?
The next day Haman, the king, and Esther sit down to dinner. And the king is once again all, "What do you want? You can have anything, before I even find out what it is." So Esther drops on them that she wants the lives of the Jews back and it is all VERY Inigo Montoya and the king is up in arms to learn that Haman has done such a thing (but...he did it, too...so...) then he finds out about the gallows that Haman had prepared for Mordecai and orders Haman hanged there. Ouch.
Next the king sends out new commands to turn everything around--but rather than tell people to just get along, he orders the Jews to defend themselves! Now they can kill anyone who might attack them, along with the women and children, and plunder all their goods! Oh, praise Adonai! The Jews are now so mighty that non-Jews are claiming Judaism because they're so terrified. Yippee! We win! We win!!
Eventually the Jews took a break from all the hanging, slashing, and plundering to celebrate their victory with a feast and a party. Thus begins the holiday of Purim, a day of great celebration, food, and giving to the poor.
So what have we learned? Well, we've learned that one of the great women of the Bible, one who gets her own book and her own holiday is...still not really that amazing. She stood up to a man who clearly already adores her. That's what she did. I'm beginning to lose faith in the idea that there is even one serious female role model in the Bible. That's not to say that, within the thousands of years that the Bible was written, there weren't some kick ass women. And it's very possible that Esther was one of them. But the men who told their stories just didn't give a rat's ass about them, which sucks. We get virgins and liars and whores. That's who we get. Where's our lion-punching, giant-killing, ark-building, crazy-faced women? I want a girl who bares her teeth and growls. I say we picket.
What do we want?
A GIRL WHO BARES HER TEETH AND GROWLS!!
When do we want it?
NOW (BUT ALSO FOR THE PAST 5,000 YEARS OR WHATEVER)!!!!!
That's right. This chick even has a doll. A creepy, creepy doll
Now, even though I was able to deceive some into thinking I am Jewish (I can see how the brown hair and overwhelming love of matzoh might throw some people off) I can tell you now that I am not. I was raised in a stiff-upper-lip Protestant church, which still argues about whether or not the electric guitar is, in fact, a tool used by Satan to entrance us into Hell. My church valued the Bible, sure, but if you've read any of these recaps so far you know--either I didn't listen very often, or we just didn't hit on every story. Likely it's a little of both.
All this to say...I know NOTHING about Esther. Although I believe there is a Veggie Tales movie about her that I have not seen (Good Lord, there's no time to discuss Veggie Tales right now, people. Save it, SAVE IT.)
So, knowing nothing about Esther, I picked up my trusty Ol' Soggy and flipped laboriously though the stuck pages. And guess what?! The woman has her own book. Her own personal chapter, shall we say. All about her. And her awesomeness.
So this story begins with King Asomething, who commands his eunuchs to summon his Queen to his party so he can show off how hot she is.
AAAAAAAND TIME OUT. Eunuchs? Really? There are eunuchs in the Bible? I don't even know what the deal IS with eunuchs. Like, I know it has something to do with their bits. But is it that they have no bits? Born without bits? Mangled bits? Chopped-off bits? Frankly, I'm not sure I want to know. I'm easily queasy. But I didn't even know they were part of the Bible Plot Line! I just have so many questions! Do eunuchs still exist? Are they really as zombie-like as we portray them? What is the point of making eunuchs do your bidding? Is the will of the testicled SO powerful that they make terrible slaves? It's time to wikipedia this nonsense.
So anyway, the king is all drunk from partying and slurs to the eunichs to fetch him his queen but she refuses. So just in case word gets out and all women start thinking for themselves, they banish the queen to somewhere else and take a new queen. Phew, problem solved.
This is where Esther, the orphan/virgin/Jew stepped up to the plate. She didn't tell anyone about that last little tidbit about being Jewish. See, her Jewish name was actually Hadassah, which, I swear to God, means "myrtle."
MYRTLE.
Okay, let's move on.
No wait. MYRTLE.
Okay, let's really move on this time. So that no one knows she's Jewish, she changes her name to Esther, a Persian name that means "star." Lo and behold, the king loved her more than any of the other poor saps, and placed the Queen's crown on her head. PARTY TIME!
While all this is going on, Mordecai, who was the cousin/father-figure to Esther, hears a plot by two of the eunuchs to murder the king. Sooooo, I guess that solves that mystery because they still have anger and emotions? Frankly, it only confuses me further. WHAT IS YOUR PURPOSE, EUNUCHS?!?! Anyway, Mordecai overhears it and tells Esther, who tells the king, who has the two eunuchs murdered. Bit of a random tale, but it comes back later.
Now, this guy Haman is the Head Official...who knows of what, but he's very important. When he walks by, all the king's servants bow down to him except for Mordecai. Haman is piiiiiissed. He decides that it would be silly to hurt Mordecai for not bowing. Childish, in fact. What would be better would just be to kill ALL the Jews in the entire world. He asks the king if it's okay. The king of course consents because, well, damn those Jews and their ways! *shakes fist*
So I guess there's a bunch of murder and confusion amongst the Jews, and Mordecai is ripping off his clothes and wailing and throwing things and...dressing in "sackcloth?" Don't really know about that one. Anyway, I imagine him like Steve Carell in 40-Year-Old Virgin when he just walks through every room of his apartment yelling. Eventually he gathers himself up enough to ask Esther to get the king to call off all the murdering. So Esther hitches up her royal suspenders and goes to the king. This is actually a pretty big deal because a) the king doesn't know she's Jewish, and by his decree, she should also be killed. But also, the king tends to kill people who come to him without being summoned. So DOUBLE LIKELIHOOD OF DEATH. But the needs of her people are just too great. So she goes before him and the king's all swoony and not in any kind of mood to kill her. Phew! Esther requests that the king and Haman come to a banquet that she will prepare the next day. The king's already like, "Yes, yes dear. Whatever you want shall be yours. I'd give you half my kingdom, *Gush gush gush*" so no problems there.
That day, Haman's all happy because he's been invited to this banquet. But when he passes Mordecai he's like, "BLARG! That damn Jew is still there and he still doesn't quiver at my feet!" So he gathered all his friends and wife and tells them that no matter how great and awesome and strong and rich and amazing he is, none of that matters, because that one dude doesn't bow to him. His friends and wife (who are thinking the same thing as I am) are like, "Uhhh, okay? You know you have the power to just kill him right? Why don't you quit being such a whiny bitch about it?" Haman drums his fingertips together with an "eeeeexcellent" and commands them to build some gallows in preparation.
That night, the king can't fall asleep so he calls a servant to read aloud from the boring book of records. During this, he finds out about Mordecai being the one to save him from eunuch murder (again...so weird) so he decides to honor him. He asks if anyone from the high court is around. It just so happens that Haman is outside his door preparing his speech. ("King, we SHOULD hang Mordecai. No, no. King, WE should hang Mordecai. We should HANG Mordecai. Yeah, yeah, that last one.") So the King lets Haman in.
The king asks him, "What should be done for someone I want to honor?" And Haman tells him to get a robe and a horse wearing a crown (Oh my god. My Little Pony existed in the Bible. All my dreams...) and to lead him around the town square proclaiming that this is what the king does to honor someone. I'm a little confused by this entire encounter because I'm pretty sure it said this king has been leading for 12 years. So why he has never had occasion to honor a single person in that time is beyond me. But he's also the one who was like "Kill the Jews for no reason? Why, sure! Here's my literal seal of approval."
So anyway, this was what Haman suggested the king should do, and the king's all, "Totally! Smart. Okay, go do that for Mordecai, and don't leave out a single detail." HAR!! Sucks to be you, Haman. Haman does everything he's told and then goes home to wail. His wife is no help. She's basically like, "Yeah, hun. If this guy's Jewish, you're screwed." Because I guess she knew that Jews are awesome?
The next day Haman, the king, and Esther sit down to dinner. And the king is once again all, "What do you want? You can have anything, before I even find out what it is." So Esther drops on them that she wants the lives of the Jews back and it is all VERY Inigo Montoya and the king is up in arms to learn that Haman has done such a thing (but...he did it, too...so...) then he finds out about the gallows that Haman had prepared for Mordecai and orders Haman hanged there. Ouch.
Next the king sends out new commands to turn everything around--but rather than tell people to just get along, he orders the Jews to defend themselves! Now they can kill anyone who might attack them, along with the women and children, and plunder all their goods! Oh, praise Adonai! The Jews are now so mighty that non-Jews are claiming Judaism because they're so terrified. Yippee! We win! We win!!
Eventually the Jews took a break from all the hanging, slashing, and plundering to celebrate their victory with a feast and a party. Thus begins the holiday of Purim, a day of great celebration, food, and giving to the poor.
So what have we learned? Well, we've learned that one of the great women of the Bible, one who gets her own book and her own holiday is...still not really that amazing. She stood up to a man who clearly already adores her. That's what she did. I'm beginning to lose faith in the idea that there is even one serious female role model in the Bible. That's not to say that, within the thousands of years that the Bible was written, there weren't some kick ass women. And it's very possible that Esther was one of them. But the men who told their stories just didn't give a rat's ass about them, which sucks. We get virgins and liars and whores. That's who we get. Where's our lion-punching, giant-killing, ark-building, crazy-faced women? I want a girl who bares her teeth and growls. I say we picket.
What do we want?
A GIRL WHO BARES HER TEETH AND GROWLS!!
When do we want it?
NOW (BUT ALSO FOR THE PAST 5,000 YEARS OR WHATEVER)!!!!!
Monday, March 1, 2010
Mustache Thanks: Mommy Dearest
As promised, those of you who donated to the mustache cause over the last few weeks will be blessed with your very own blog post. I won't do them all this week because I've got a few other ideas up my sleeve (including a new Bible post, huzzah!)
But today will mark the very first Thank You Post. And first up is my mother. Of course she gets first dibs; the woman had to put up with me from the very beginning. While she was pregnant, I stuck around for two extra weeks, which I'm sure she appreciated (What? It was warm in there.) And then generally wreaked havoc until I was about twenty. Last night, my mom told me that she used to buy me scotch tape to keep me entertained. Not going to lie, I'm pretty sure that's all you'd need TODAY. I'd be all, "Hmm, there's nothing on TV besides Meet The Browns...guess I'll just sit here and unroll some tape. Zzzzzzzip! Zzzzzzzip! *Tee hee!*"
Now, you've already gotten one Mom story here. And there are certainly many to come, I'm sure.
So for this post, I want to share a story of my Mom that my aunt told me. It might be my favorite story about her to date. (Oh no wait..there's one more. Okay, TWO mom stories today!) I'm sure she'll be thrilled by both of these.
Okay the first one takes place in the 50's. My mom is, say, three. I've seen pictures; she was seriously adorable: auburn pigtails, freckles, light blue eyes. Adorable, that little Susie. Now little Susie, being young and impressionable, knows only one song. Just one. And that song is the theme to the television show, Wyatt Earp.
And who says television is ruining children? Well, they were right. But it's been happening for decades.
Every Sunday, my mom would skip to church along with the rest of her family. But because Wyatt Earp is the only song that my mom knew, that's the one she sang. Every time. Meaning, while everyone else is singing, say, "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God"...
...Little Susie is belting out a song about the kindly cowboy from Kansas.
Well, as you can imagine, eventually the hymn ends. The organ echoes it's last note, everyone closes their hymn books and sits back down. Welp, sorry folks! But the Wyatt Earp theme song is still going strong! Everyone turns around to see this little girl standing on the pew, belting out, "Wyyyyyatt Earp! Wyyyyyat Earp! Brave, courageous and BOLD! Long live his name and long live his glory and long may his story be toooooold!"
The second story of my mom is much more recent. I think about five years or so. And once again, it's a story I can only relay because I wasn't there.
My parents and two younger siblings went to see a movie together. Afterward, they decided to go to Baker's Square for some pie. Yum. So they're in the elevator on their way to the car in the parking garage. And the conversation goes as follows:
Dad: Well I thought that movie was pretty good.
Hannah: Yeah, I really liked how the main character changed at the end.
John: And the soundtrack was really great.
*silence*
Mom: .........Pie.
I don't know WHY this story makes me laugh so hard, but despite not having been there, I cannot repeat that story without cracking up. It's one of those where I just start laughing in the middle of telling it before I even get to the punchline, so by the time I actually say the word "pie" I'm completely unintelligible and anyone listening is laughing just because I'm laughing, but really they have no idea what the hell is so funny.
So those are my two Mom stories! I guess thanking my mom by telling two mildly embarrassing stories about her is not EXACTLY a proper thank-you, but I just couldn't pass up the opportunity. Of course she was and is a magnificent mom, and I love her very very much. But in my defense, she has always been the greatest supporter of my creativity and writing.
......Pie.
But today will mark the very first Thank You Post. And first up is my mother. Of course she gets first dibs; the woman had to put up with me from the very beginning. While she was pregnant, I stuck around for two extra weeks, which I'm sure she appreciated (What? It was warm in there.) And then generally wreaked havoc until I was about twenty. Last night, my mom told me that she used to buy me scotch tape to keep me entertained. Not going to lie, I'm pretty sure that's all you'd need TODAY. I'd be all, "Hmm, there's nothing on TV besides Meet The Browns...guess I'll just sit here and unroll some tape. Zzzzzzzip! Zzzzzzzip! *Tee hee!*"
Now, you've already gotten one Mom story here. And there are certainly many to come, I'm sure.
So for this post, I want to share a story of my Mom that my aunt told me. It might be my favorite story about her to date. (Oh no wait..there's one more. Okay, TWO mom stories today!) I'm sure she'll be thrilled by both of these.
Okay the first one takes place in the 50's. My mom is, say, three. I've seen pictures; she was seriously adorable: auburn pigtails, freckles, light blue eyes. Adorable, that little Susie. Now little Susie, being young and impressionable, knows only one song. Just one. And that song is the theme to the television show, Wyatt Earp.
And who says television is ruining children? Well, they were right. But it's been happening for decades.
Every Sunday, my mom would skip to church along with the rest of her family. But because Wyatt Earp is the only song that my mom knew, that's the one she sang. Every time. Meaning, while everyone else is singing, say, "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God"...
...Little Susie is belting out a song about the kindly cowboy from Kansas.
Well, as you can imagine, eventually the hymn ends. The organ echoes it's last note, everyone closes their hymn books and sits back down. Welp, sorry folks! But the Wyatt Earp theme song is still going strong! Everyone turns around to see this little girl standing on the pew, belting out, "Wyyyyyatt Earp! Wyyyyyat Earp! Brave, courageous and BOLD! Long live his name and long live his glory and long may his story be toooooold!"
The second story of my mom is much more recent. I think about five years or so. And once again, it's a story I can only relay because I wasn't there.
My parents and two younger siblings went to see a movie together. Afterward, they decided to go to Baker's Square for some pie. Yum. So they're in the elevator on their way to the car in the parking garage. And the conversation goes as follows:
Dad: Well I thought that movie was pretty good.
Hannah: Yeah, I really liked how the main character changed at the end.
John: And the soundtrack was really great.
*silence*
Mom: .........Pie.
I don't know WHY this story makes me laugh so hard, but despite not having been there, I cannot repeat that story without cracking up. It's one of those where I just start laughing in the middle of telling it before I even get to the punchline, so by the time I actually say the word "pie" I'm completely unintelligible and anyone listening is laughing just because I'm laughing, but really they have no idea what the hell is so funny.
So those are my two Mom stories! I guess thanking my mom by telling two mildly embarrassing stories about her is not EXACTLY a proper thank-you, but I just couldn't pass up the opportunity. Of course she was and is a magnificent mom, and I love her very very much. But in my defense, she has always been the greatest supporter of my creativity and writing.
......Pie.
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