I think I'm going to have to kill myself.
Spoiler alert if you haven't seen "Atonement." I actually really liked the movie. The jumps in time and narrator were interesting and kept you on your toes. The ending was so sad, but in a way, completely fitting. I don't wish for a happy ending. A bit dramatic? Sure. But it made for a great movie and the actors were great. Keira Knightly's green dress should have won an Oscar.
I decided I'd give Ian McEwan a try as I hadn't read any of his books. I had one sitting on my self, Amsterdam, which has won awards. But I happened to be at the library recently and spotted his latest on the shelf. So I picked up Chesil Beach and gave it a go.
I should have known. "Atonement" was a truly tragic movie and I don't think more deaths or ruined lives could have been fit in if Shakespeare had penned it. Chesil Beach is the story of two virgins who are celebrating their wedding night and trying to work through their first time in bed. The story jumps back and forth between the present, where wife is terrified and disgusted at the thought of sex and husband is an eager beaver, and the past as their relationship builds into an engagement. They blunder their way through the steps and things seem to be going OK, looking like they may work out when . . . (another spoiler alert) Bam! She's filing for divorce on grounds of nonconsummation and he's floating through life alone. The last 30 pages and it was so pathetic and awful I was hard pressed to actually finish it. Again, death after death, ruined life after ruined life. Come on, Ian McEwan! Can't you write anything that ends happy?
Now I know life isn't all roses, but not everything ends sadly. I totally support the (movie) ending of Atonement. (I add the disclaimer because I haven't read the book, but I would guess it's similar to the movie's plot line.) And while lots of people hated the way the movie "The Break-up" ended, I was OK with it. You kind of know it's going that direction and everyone goes their own merry ways. But do we really have to kill the budding romance of two young people and ruin their wedding night, not even allowing the pleasure of sex?
To add insult to injury, Ian McEwan is truly creepy looking. And he was staring at me through the last 40 pages of the novel. Yuck, McEwan. I'm not reading another of your pathetic stories.
Needless to say, I immediately got rid of "Amsterdam" and do not plan to read another of his books. Back to my serial killer mystery.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Waiting
Remember the old school over-sized golf carts that were driven around airports and picked up the elderly, families with lots of kids, and anyone random when they were bored? Well they are everywhere in the Minneapolis airport!
I had two hours to kill between flights today and slowly meandered my way from one end of the airport to the other. The airport was virtually empty. And I had to dive out of the way to save my life at least 5 times between gates. The cart guys would drive a few years, turn around and drive back. And then they’d pull up next to each other in cart gangs and shoot the shit.
I made a few cursory calls during the walk and noticed that my battery was getting low. I don’t really want to arrive at an empty, large office building at 1a without a working phone, so I hunted down an outlet when I arrived at my gate. Only problem – all of the outlets were on poles that were nowhere near the seating areas. So I plunked my stuff down and am resting up against a pole slightly in the middle of the walkway while I charge up.
I’m in between gates, so not in the way of people getting on and off the plane. And my stuff sticks out a bit around the pole, so you can’t miss me from the other side. Besides, I’m wearing a day-glo blue polo. I stick out like a sore thumb. But still, I’m in danger of losing a limb!
As I’m sitting here, two carts pull up and stop right in front of me, effectively blocking the entire walkway so that the people getting off the plane about 50 feet from me can’t get around them at all. And I’m about a foot and a half behind one of the carts so that people can’t dodge behind them. And what are they doing? Chatting. Are you kidding me?! All the while ignoring the woman with a foot problem who is struggling to walk just 3 feet in front of them. You have to wonder – how does one get a job like that?
Speaking of airports, read an interesting article in “Time” magazine about London Heathrow’s homeless problem. Apparently, the latest thing to do is move into the airport and pretend to be a stranded traveler. The people who are doing this go so far as to acquire fanny packs and Hawaiian shirts and carry their booty in duty free bags. The airport has started a coalition to seek out the homeless in the airports . . . wait, here goes another cart, but this one is creeeeeeping by me . . . and counsel them on their options for getting help. Sadly, they identified a ratty looking pair hunched in a corner in a men’s bathroom. They were using the only outlet they could find, much like I am at this moment, to play their handheld video game. And they had tickets to LAX. How crappy would you feel?
Alright, back to waiting . . .
I had two hours to kill between flights today and slowly meandered my way from one end of the airport to the other. The airport was virtually empty. And I had to dive out of the way to save my life at least 5 times between gates. The cart guys would drive a few years, turn around and drive back. And then they’d pull up next to each other in cart gangs and shoot the shit.
I made a few cursory calls during the walk and noticed that my battery was getting low. I don’t really want to arrive at an empty, large office building at 1a without a working phone, so I hunted down an outlet when I arrived at my gate. Only problem – all of the outlets were on poles that were nowhere near the seating areas. So I plunked my stuff down and am resting up against a pole slightly in the middle of the walkway while I charge up.
I’m in between gates, so not in the way of people getting on and off the plane. And my stuff sticks out a bit around the pole, so you can’t miss me from the other side. Besides, I’m wearing a day-glo blue polo. I stick out like a sore thumb. But still, I’m in danger of losing a limb!
As I’m sitting here, two carts pull up and stop right in front of me, effectively blocking the entire walkway so that the people getting off the plane about 50 feet from me can’t get around them at all. And I’m about a foot and a half behind one of the carts so that people can’t dodge behind them. And what are they doing? Chatting. Are you kidding me?! All the while ignoring the woman with a foot problem who is struggling to walk just 3 feet in front of them. You have to wonder – how does one get a job like that?
Speaking of airports, read an interesting article in “Time” magazine about London Heathrow’s homeless problem. Apparently, the latest thing to do is move into the airport and pretend to be a stranded traveler. The people who are doing this go so far as to acquire fanny packs and Hawaiian shirts and carry their booty in duty free bags. The airport has started a coalition to seek out the homeless in the airports . . . wait, here goes another cart, but this one is creeeeeeping by me . . . and counsel them on their options for getting help. Sadly, they identified a ratty looking pair hunched in a corner in a men’s bathroom. They were using the only outlet they could find, much like I am at this moment, to play their handheld video game. And they had tickets to LAX. How crappy would you feel?
Alright, back to waiting . . .
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Building My Hell
I just finished a book by Cecelia Ahern called There's No Place Like Here. It's an interesting dive into another world that houses all of lost possessions, people and memories. The book is imaginative and creative and even contains a mystery. I loved it. In many ways, it reminded me of Lucky Bones and Sebold's creation of Heaven.
(On a side note, I was curious about the author, who also penned the recent movie "P.S. I Love You." She's young (only 26!), the daughter of the Prime Minister of Ireland, and is also a writer for the ABC TV show "Samantha Who?".)
So back to my main story. Today I visited a teeny tiny town in the East Bay desert of California. One side of the old town is antique store after antique store. The other side of the street is a massive parking lot for a train. The town is was filled with middle-aged bikers revving their engines in the many parking spots they took up.
What does this have to do with the title? Today I saw what my version of hell would look like. It slowly built itself piece by piece in front of my very eyes. I hate antique stores. Hate with a capital 'h'. If you know me at all, you know that "organization" is my middle name. Antique stores are comparable only to Michael's in their disorganization. They are wall-to-wall crap in no random order. Finding things in those stores is virtually impossible. I know that makes it fun for some people, but I am not one of them. The overwhelming amount of "stuff" affects me physically: I hunch up, sink into myself and am constantly worrying about breaking something when my butt bumps it as I turn around. Ahh!
Add this to a loud train whistle every few minutes. At Hope College, the train ran right through the campus. It woke me up several times a night. It interrupted every dance class I took - we literally had to stop because the floors shook and you couldn't hear the music or the instructor. Train whistles make me cringe.
I think I inherited a few of Rachel's loud noise aversions, because motorcycles are definitely on my cringe-worthy sound list. Looking at ungroomed middle-aged men and listening to their nasty bikes - eww.
Last but not least. I arrived early for my obligation. I ate lunch in the weirdest little cafe. It was run by three Asian women who spoke almost no English. It was covered, wall to wall, with Egyptian stuff - murals, fake snakes, etc - everywhere! My sandwich, which only cost $5, was awful. On soggy white bread and just a terrible combo of items. After killing as much time as I could stand there, I still had an hour to go. So I walked up and down the street to seek out a cafe where I could have a cold drink, make a few calls and read a book. To my utter dismay, there was not a single cafe in the entire town!
Now I know what hell will look like if I ever have the displeasure of finding myself in one. My heaven? Container store, Crate and Barrel, Barnes and Noble and Starbucks. Complete with an underground train system and free of motorcycles.
(On a side note, I was curious about the author, who also penned the recent movie "P.S. I Love You." She's young (only 26!), the daughter of the Prime Minister of Ireland, and is also a writer for the ABC TV show "Samantha Who?".)
So back to my main story. Today I visited a teeny tiny town in the East Bay desert of California. One side of the old town is antique store after antique store. The other side of the street is a massive parking lot for a train. The town is was filled with middle-aged bikers revving their engines in the many parking spots they took up.
What does this have to do with the title? Today I saw what my version of hell would look like. It slowly built itself piece by piece in front of my very eyes. I hate antique stores. Hate with a capital 'h'. If you know me at all, you know that "organization" is my middle name. Antique stores are comparable only to Michael's in their disorganization. They are wall-to-wall crap in no random order. Finding things in those stores is virtually impossible. I know that makes it fun for some people, but I am not one of them. The overwhelming amount of "stuff" affects me physically: I hunch up, sink into myself and am constantly worrying about breaking something when my butt bumps it as I turn around. Ahh!
Add this to a loud train whistle every few minutes. At Hope College, the train ran right through the campus. It woke me up several times a night. It interrupted every dance class I took - we literally had to stop because the floors shook and you couldn't hear the music or the instructor. Train whistles make me cringe.
I think I inherited a few of Rachel's loud noise aversions, because motorcycles are definitely on my cringe-worthy sound list. Looking at ungroomed middle-aged men and listening to their nasty bikes - eww.
Last but not least. I arrived early for my obligation. I ate lunch in the weirdest little cafe. It was run by three Asian women who spoke almost no English. It was covered, wall to wall, with Egyptian stuff - murals, fake snakes, etc - everywhere! My sandwich, which only cost $5, was awful. On soggy white bread and just a terrible combo of items. After killing as much time as I could stand there, I still had an hour to go. So I walked up and down the street to seek out a cafe where I could have a cold drink, make a few calls and read a book. To my utter dismay, there was not a single cafe in the entire town!
Now I know what hell will look like if I ever have the displeasure of finding myself in one. My heaven? Container store, Crate and Barrel, Barnes and Noble and Starbucks. Complete with an underground train system and free of motorcycles.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Travel Log
My first few hours in Silicon Valley and already I have several stories!
After getting through check-in at the San Diego airport, I hopped in the ridiculously long security line that wound around the baggage claim. I'm standing there for maybe 5 minutes, and the line is moving pretty quickly, when this woman comes out of nowhere and walks up to a well-dress, middle-ages black couple a few ahead of me. This woman is also middle-aged, white, crazy hair, wearing a nasty tee and spandex shorts with a Sierra Club backpack. You get the picture. So obviously does not fit with the couple she joined. I can see her asking them something, I assume, is this the security line? So she just sort of stands next to them, doesn't walk back 30 feet to get in the back of the line. The two old guys behind the couple dodge her and walk around her as the line moves forward. Next thing I know, she's standing right in front of me and I can't get around her. I say, excuse me, but I think the back of the line is back there, and point waaaaay back while the girl behind me nods. The woman looks at me, and in the whiniest voice possible, says, well I was standing here and people just started walking from behind me. I've been in line. Um, I'm not stupid. I say, oh. What the hell am I supposed to say? No, you cut in line? So whatever, I just let her cut and don't make a big deal of it - and then have to stare at that nasty spandex-clad ass.
That's story number one. Time to go to event number one!
After getting through check-in at the San Diego airport, I hopped in the ridiculously long security line that wound around the baggage claim. I'm standing there for maybe 5 minutes, and the line is moving pretty quickly, when this woman comes out of nowhere and walks up to a well-dress, middle-ages black couple a few ahead of me. This woman is also middle-aged, white, crazy hair, wearing a nasty tee and spandex shorts with a Sierra Club backpack. You get the picture. So obviously does not fit with the couple she joined. I can see her asking them something, I assume, is this the security line? So she just sort of stands next to them, doesn't walk back 30 feet to get in the back of the line. The two old guys behind the couple dodge her and walk around her as the line moves forward. Next thing I know, she's standing right in front of me and I can't get around her. I say, excuse me, but I think the back of the line is back there, and point waaaaay back while the girl behind me nods. The woman looks at me, and in the whiniest voice possible, says, well I was standing here and people just started walking from behind me. I've been in line. Um, I'm not stupid. I say, oh. What the hell am I supposed to say? No, you cut in line? So whatever, I just let her cut and don't make a big deal of it - and then have to stare at that nasty spandex-clad ass.
That's story number one. Time to go to event number one!
Sunday, April 6, 2008
I'm Back!
I have decided to rename and revamp my blog. Jon will be deploying again in a couple of months, I'm traveling so much I sometimes can't keep up with myself, and I have a lot of fun plans that I want to share. So check in periodically and see what's up!
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