nyt and credit cards

i know i haven't written in awhile, and i really don't have much to say now. except that i was reading an article on the NYT website entitled, "given a shovel, americans dig deeper into debt." this article was 4 pages long. every time i moved on to the next page, i got a pop up ad from american express. booooooo!!!!!

i typically only use credit cards for big purchases that i can't afford right now but feel compelled to make, i.e. plane tickets to see my family on holidays. but i slip every once in awhile, and when i do that, i tend to do it big. also, when i do this, my car will immediately break down, or i find out that i need to pay various fees or fines. i think this might be the universe's way of telling me to cut up all of my "shovels."

I was tricked by children's literature!

I’ve been thinking about the “Problem of Susan” for awhile now, ever since reading Neil Gaiman’s short story of the same name in the collection Fragile Things. I loved, loved, loved the Narnia Chronicles series when I was a kid. There were talking animals and secret passageways and witches….what else could a 10 year old fantasy enthusiast ask for?

I was in for a shock then, when the professor of my first literature course in college wondered aloud whether he should allow his child to read the books even though they contained a heavy-handed Christian ethic. WTF was he talking about? I didn’t remember any Jesus stuff in there! I resolved to reread the series. I only got through the first book. The symbolism leapt off the page and slapped me in the face. It was cloying, overly simplistic, and it made me angry. I felt tricked. Thinking critically back, I suddenly remembered the end of the series. Didn’t everyone but Susan end up in Narnia? Why was that again? I went to the library, found the C.S. Lewis shelf, and pulled down the Last Battle, and flipped through it. Apparently, everyone in Susan’s family…no seriously, everyone….dies in a train wreck and they all go to Narnia, but she can’t go because she was interested “in nylons, lipstick, and invitations,” and this made her “no friend of Narnia.” Susan’s adult femininity had made her unfit to be in paradise, or apparently, her own family’s presence. I was furious. Apparently, I’m not alone. The author of my favorite books, Philip Pullman also finds Lewis’s treatment of Susan to be noxious:

You're not alone in attacking Lewis but you are really vehement in your criticism. You've called his books 'detestable'. Why do you feel so strongly about them? Because the things he's being cruel to are things I value very highly. The crux of it all comes, as many people have found, with the point near the end of the Last Battle (in the Narnia books) when Susan is excluded from the stable.

The stable obviously represents salvation. They're going to heaven, they're going to be saved. But Susan isn't allowed into the stable, and the reason given is that she's growing up. She's become far too interested in lipstick, nylons and invitations. One character says rather primly: 'She always was a jolly sight too keen on being grown up.' This seems to me on the part of Lewis to reveal very weird unconscious feelings about sexuality. Here's a child whose body is changing and who's naturally responding as everyone has ever done since the history of the world to the changes that are taking place in one's body and one's feelings. She's doing what everyone has to do in order to grow up.Maybe one day she'll grow past the invitations and the lipstick and the nylons. But my point is that it's an inevitable, important, valuable and cherishable stage that we go through. This what I'm getting at in my story. To welcome and celebrate this passage, rather than to turn from it in fear and loathing.
Taken from an interview with Pullman at http://www.surefish.co.uk/culture/features/pullman_interview.htm

Writer J.K. Rowling has been quoted as saying “There comes a point where Susan, who was the older girl, is lost to Narnia because she becomes interested in lipstick. She's become irreligious basically because she found sex," Rowling says. "I have a big problem with that.” So do I. Given the choice between these amazing writers’ takes on Susan, and on the pro-Lewis articles (which I find are largely written by Christian-themed sites), I’ll stick with the former. If you haven’t already, I recommend listening to the audio book of Fragile Things, giving particular attention to The Problem of Susan. Why the audio book? ‘Cause Gaiman reads it, and he is awesome.

In a related story, my husband convinced me to see the new Narnia movie this weekend. Interestingly, the movie producers have decided to spice things up by having Susan plant a big sloppy kiss on Prince Caspian at the end. It was about the only part of the movie I enjoyed, and that was only because I’m sure it would make Lewis roll over in his frackin grave. Hee!

Briefly rocking out with The Detroit Cobras

I went to my first show at the 9:30 Club—a longtime DC favorite—last night. The headliner was X, a band in which I, as a person born in the last throes of the Carter administration, have absolutely no interest. However, a sort of retro-style 60s blues riff band called The Detroit Cobras was the opening act. Which is a pretty sweet band name. Pretty sweet band names are currently an obsession of mine as I just finished reading King Dork by Frank Portman. The main character and his stalwart friend in the alphabet have a mostly imaginary band, and they keep changing its name. Some of my favorites are the Chi-mos, Green Sabbath, and Tennis Rackets as Guitars. But nothing beats the author’s band name, the Mr. T Experience.

Anyway, so I’m at the concert, waiting for it to start and drinking my small $6 beer and having deep conversations with my husband about what nerds we were in high school—all in all, a pretty good time. The band finally comes on, and they are pretty fun in a boppy sort of way. Plus, the guitarist looked, as my husband said, “scary, like a girl you could never be sure whether she was going to kiss you or punch you in the face.” She was pretty rough-looking in a super hot kind of way. I was getting in to the music and dancing all around. So were about 5 other people. The rest of the audience? Looked like stone statutes. It was as if when I quickly hit the restroom before the set, Medusa had been the first opening act.

My conclusion? People in D.C. either a) don’t like to have a good time; b) do like to have a good time, but don’t like other people in D.C. to see them having a good time; or c) they really just thought the band sucked. I’m pretty sure it was option b. However, I think the band thought option c was probably it, as they played every song one after another with as little bantering as possible so that they could get their asses off stage and medicate their East Coast induced frostbite with liquor ASAP. So we only got about 30 minutes of music for our $25 tickets. Thanks D.C.!

an example of why i should have to wear a helmet

Okay, so this happened awhile ago, but I think I've finally stopped cringing about what a dork I am and can actually revisit it. It was 21st, the Friday before x-mas holidays, at about 3:30 in the afternoon. I was itching to leave work--I didn't have any assignments to do as I was switching departments after the break, the entire hall was empty of coworkers (who apparently had more vacation hours with me), and I was bored out of my mind. I was also worried that the xmas hat I was knitting for my husband, http://brooklyntweed.blogspot.com/2007/10/cap-karma.html, (in a lovely locally spun yarn I found at a DC Craft Mafia fair) was not going to get done on time. I finally decided, "what the hell" and pulled out the cap to begin finishing the decreases under my desk. So intent was I on my project that I didn't notice my new boss softly knocking on my partially open door. When he rapped louder, I jumped about three feet in the air and immediately dropped the project, which made a clanking noise as it hit the ground. The ball of yarn bounced and rolled, but luckily, did not escape the area beneath my desk. He looked at me with bemusement, probably wondering why I looked so guilty. Nonetheless, he asked me to take a tour of my new office with him.

While talking about that with him, I was slowly trying to ease the mess of yarn and needles more fully under the desk with the tip of my foot. Satisified that my contraband was safely hidden, I stood up to follow him out. As I strode to the door, I noticed something was dragging along behind me. Dammit!!! The effing yarn had wrapped itself against my foot! I ever so casually leaned against my office door for support and asked him a complex legal question while I desperately tried to shake the yarn loose by wildly kicking my right foot. My new boss raised an eyebrow, but began to answer my question. As he continued, I attempted one last fervant shake, and the ball of yarn finally came loose. And rolled to a stop right in front of his foot. I refused to look at it. My boss, a consummate professional, did not allow this to stop him from completing his answer. However, he couldn't help continually flitting his eyes down to stare at the mess on the floor. When he returned his gaze to my face, I quickly kicked the project out of sight and said "thanks for the clarification on that issue. I'd be happy to see my new diggs!" We continued on the tour and never spoke of the yarn incident again.

Shattering the Ivory High-Rise

Last week, I went to a pro-bono clinic sponsored by a local non-profit sponsored by a DC law firm. Its suite was gorgeous. The hallways were large and had floor to ceiling windows which let in a flood of sunlight. The flooring and walls and seating were all in light neutrals. The conference room was elegant, and the breakfast offered contained a plethora of choices. No, really, a freaking plethora. They even had French toast and bacon. I was well-fed and soothed by the tranquil environment.

I turned to the woman to my left and tried to start a conversation about the posh setting. She told me that she worked at another firm, and then immediately said in emphatic tone “I don’t like my job.” Her confession was like a separate entity with a mind of its own—and it refused to remain silent any longer. She looked embarrassed, mumbled something about paying off student loans, and turned back to studying her handouts. Later, during a break in the program, I went to get more delicious breakfast. The woman, and all of the other firm attorneys present, immediately pulled out their blackberries and started furiously typing, forgoing conversation and breakfast to snatch a few minutes of email review.

Often, I wonder if I made the wrong choice by going into the type of work that I did. This experience has not caused me to stop asking that question. But it did lay to rest one issue---should I have just sucked it up and taken the money? The façade falls away, the light-filled hallway seems a cage, and I’m glad to still be living on a budget.