Behind the Wheel of Fortune

My hometown, Severna Park, Maryland, only boasts one bona fide celebrity: Pat Sajak. While we don't exactly need our own version of the Gawker Stalker, we're proud nonetheless.

And I couldn't be prouder, now, after reading this article, in which Sajak very succinctly takes Hollywood to task for all but ignoring the death of Theo van Gogh.

Sickly Productivity

In college, one of my roommates used to dress up especially nicely every time she felt a little bit sick. Mind over matter - it made her feel better if she had a skirt on. Today, I'm doing something similar - I'm trying to have an extra-productive day since I don't feel well. I've already done a few things around the house, etc. and I am about to tackle one of the uglier jobs out there: removing all of the wallpaper still leftover from the previous owners of our house.

I swear I will never, ever wallpaper any rooms in any house I own. Not after dealing with the horrendous taste of the last people to decorate here.

Oprah Backlash

My friends and I are finally accepting the fact that we're almost thirty, and we're starting a book club. I don't mind, really, as there will be wine and cheese involved and I always enjoyed English class anyway.

And interestingly, I wasn't the first of the group to mention that I don't want to read any Oprah books. I have a particular aversion to them. Something about the entire cult of Oprah rubs me the wrong way and always has.

Last night, Ann Althouse blogged about the appearance of the Seinfeld cast on Oprah. I cringed as I read the post - all those screaming women, just one step away from a Backstreet Boys concert (I was never that into boy bands, either, which is not to say I don't appreciate a good pop song, but that I can't handle zillions of screaming girls, no matter what their age).

Why is this kind of blind worship necessary? Like I said yesterday, people's desire (or willingness) to be spoon-fed makes me very nervous.

Message from the Future

This makes me feel like I'm part of something much bigger than myself. And it makes me nervous at the same time.

One of the greatest potential benefits of the blogosphere, I think, is that individuals have the capacity to be active participants in their consumption of the news. I decide what I consume. And everyday I stumble upon something new and interesting. Blogs make me smarter, and not because they reinforce my existing opinions (though they sometimes do) but also because they broaden my view of the world.

For years, the MSM was able to spoon feed the public one version of events. Not so anymore. But some people are more comfortable being spoon-fed, and only hearing data that confirms their existing opinions. Unfortunately, they can find a lot of that data in the blogosphere.

If the media evolves as suggested by the linked video, people all over the world will be regularly fed a diet of affirming media. Which then leads to even greater divisions among political, socio-economic and religious groups all over the world.

How do we avoid this outcome?

An Important Anniversary

Happy Birthday, Israel!

No Longer MIA

I've had an incredibly busy week, though not a particularly productive one. Last Sunday, my mother, grandmother and I went up to New York to visit my cousin, his wife and their new baby. Back on Monday afternoon, busy working Tuesday and Wednesday, then very busy with the requisite family events for the rest of the weekend. My brother and sister were both home for the long weekend, and we spent a lot of time together, which was nice.

The down side of the long, relaxed weekend has been the cold I managed to pick up along the way. I'm not feeling great now (just very stuffy and tired) and my thinking has DEFINITELY been affected. I've spent much of today wading through the internet, getting myself back up to speed on the Ukrainian situation, what's going on with the UN, and various other global issues. My thinking's so foggy, though, I have little to add to what's already out there.

Hopefully clarity will soon return.

My Favorite Books (in no particular order)

Madeline, by Ludwig Bemelmans (read for the first time when I was so little I can't remember)
The Westing Game, by Ellen Raskin (read for the first time at age 8 in Mrs. Mutch's fourth grade class)
From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, by E.L. Konigsburg (read at age 9 also in Mrs. Mutch's class)
Jason and Marceline, by Jerry Spinelli (read at age 12 on a family trip to Williamsburg, VA-also one of my brother's favorite books)
The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald (read at age 13, over the summer)
Catcher in the Rye, by JD Salinger (read at age 13, immediately following Gatsby)
Le Petit Prince, by Antoine St. Exupery (read - sort of - in French class at age 16)
The Sound and the Fury, by William Faulkner (read at age 16 as a pretentious AP English student)
Pretty much anything written by Peter Mayle or Nick Hornby or Nick Bantock (all of which I'm still reading)
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay , by Michael Chabon (read at age 26 while Cooper was away in Australia and New Zealand for 3 weeks)
The Harry Potter collection, by JK Rowling (which I am still reading)

It's amazing how the impact of specific books just tapers off. Now, when I read a book I really like, I automatically relate it to one of the books listed above. DaVinci Code? Basil E Frankweiler meets The Westing Game. And really, the Peter Mayle and Nick Hornby books are all derivations of one of the books I read when younger - Hornby is all about morality and coming of age and understanding what relationships mean as an adult (a mix of Salinger and Fitzgerald and Spinelli). And Mayle books (the fiction ones at least) are just straight entertainment, like The Westing Game, but set in a fantastically beautiful setting.

I almost wish I didn't appreciate these other books quite as much. It might be easier, then, for me to write something of my own.

Style du Jour

I've done a lot of writing in my life, from essays in high school and college to more businessy and research-related stuff afterwards. I've never really written much fiction, though, and I, of course, want to. I think I have a pretty distinct essay style, research report style and business/marketing style, but I have no idea what my fiction style is or could be.

Every time I read a new fiction book, though, I automatically imagine myself writing in the style of the author. I've probably been subconciously doing that forever, but I noticed it just about a month ago, when I reread The Great Gatsby for the first time in almost 15 years. After reading it, I wrote a little essay about it. A day later, I reread the essay and noticed about five times as many commas as in my normal writing. Apparently I think I'm F. Scott.

This week, I've read two books with styles I'd like to adopt as my own. One of them might even be my natural style, who knows. The first was Gaudi Afternoon by Barbara Wilson. It was written in 1990 and, sometime more recently, made into a movie staring Judy Davis. Set in Barcelona, which is why I read it (I like books set in Europe), and something of a casual mystery, which also appeals to me. What's unusual about Gaudi Afternoon, what makes it a little different than the books I usually read, is that the heroine is a lesbian with no desire to have a long-term relationship. One of the themes of the book involved definition of gender. It was an easy read, though, not an overwhelming lecture.

And today, I read The Finishing School by Muriel Spark. She's written trillions of books, but this is the first I've read. It was so simply written, but without being sparse. God, I hope I can write that way one day.

Both books, interestingly, use the same tool: one of the main characters is heavily involved in another book, and the story of the other book becomes a way to introduce and discuss deeper meaning without "themes" being overbearing. Cassandra, Gaudi's main character, is a translator working on a novel written by the "new female Gabriel Garcia Marquez." And the plot of Finishing School is anchored by a fictional account of the death of Mary Queen of Scots, being written by the prodigal student Chris.

Reading both of the books made me excited to write and I had ideas - for plot, characters and scene - as I read. Once finished, though, I become sort of paralyzed, as I can't help but analyze my own writing, as I write, just as I've analyzed the books I've read.

The Mystery of Asian Restaurant Decor

Last night, Cooper and I went out to dinner with some friends who live just north of us. We had a great dinner - sushi at Edo Sushi (in a cheesy strip mall in Timonium). Super fresh fish, good service, lots of fun all around. The restaurant is BYOB, which makes for a somehow relaxing atmosphere that's somewhere in between home and "out". (Our friends introduced us to a great bottle of Chardonnay from White Oak vineyard in Sonoma County - unfortunately, it's not sold anywhere around us and we can't have wine shipped to us).

What was really interesting about the restaurant, though, was it's simple and attractive decor. The place actually seemed designed to encourage easy discussion and some sort of privacy at individual tables. The walls were oddly lacking in bizarre and tacky artwork. Overall, it was...soothing.

My first sushi experience was at Joss in Annapolis - a great restaurant, but one that is so crowded and crazy it's hard to move. On one occasion, I went to Joss with my friend Matt. He didn't like the shirt I was wearing (it was a red t-shirt from Target with a sparkly white Target logo in the middle) and felt strongly enough about it that he told the people at the table next to ours that we were just friends, not "together." This would seem odd, except that the table next to ours TOUCHED our table. We were essentially seated with the people next to us. I'm not unfriendly, but I don't need to be that close to other people's dinner conversations, either.

Joss is saved by their amazing food, though. As is Bangkok Kitchen, a tiny Thai restaurant my parents go to. BK is in a ridiculously trashy shopping center near Fort Meade and has the most hideous decor I've ever seen. Shocking pink walls, kitschy Thai artwork, crappy tables. Yet it's not much different from most other good Thai restaurants inside.

It's as if there's some sort of unwritten set of rules among Asian restauranteurs: to be truly respected as authentic and "good" the dining environment needs to be just a little off. I guess it does add something to my experience...but that something is more a sense of wonder and bewilderment than any kind of respect. It's just weird.

Semi-Delicious Treats

After picking up my business cards, I was all enfused with that glow that comes with sense of purpose. So I decided I was due for a little treat. It was almost lunchtime, so I headed to the beautiful and new Super Fresh near my local Office Depot (as a fledgling business owner, my lunchtime "treats" do not, alas, run to three-martini lunches or involve bottles of Cristal).

I decided that I would make up for the lack of glamour with a lot of calories and sodium. So I picked up a Freschetta Brick Oven Thai Chicken pizza. At the time, it sounded fantastic. I brought it home, cooked it for the requisite 12 minutes, and bit into my little slice of heaven. And the first bite really was fantastic. Spicy and peanuty and a little pizza-y. Unfortunately, it went downhill from there. Too much sauce, too much intensity of flavor, too little differentiation between the flavors of the toppings (chicken, carrots and scallions should not be indistinguishable).

In good conscience, I cannot recommend this as a meal to anyone, ever. Such a disappointment.

Signs of Legitimacy

Finally, almost three months after officially starting my consulting business, I have business cards. I picked them up this morning and am feeling quite pleased with myself (there's just something about seeing "President" after my name).

It's amazing how much more credible I feel, even to myself, now that I have cards. It's also amazing how nice the cards look. I ordered them from Office Depot - they're very simple - and designed my logo myself - also very simple. I honestly didn't expect too much, especially after my excrutiating experience ordering the cards (the man behind the counter was very nice, but not the brightest). But the cards are great - crisp and clean and entirely (and surprisingly) sans typos.

I guess my next step will be to actually devote some time to new business development. I think I'll wait until after the holidays to get serious about that...since, you know, nothing really happens between Thanksgiving and New Year's anyway. (or I'll just keep telling myself that)

More on Portugal

I've been happily reminiscing about my honeymoon for the past few days, ever since I posted a few photos here, here and here. My rosy thoughts were shattered for a moment yesterday, though, when I learned that Cooper and I were almost in the line of fire for a nasty group of Dutch Islamic terrorists.

Thanks to the Portuguese government for being on top of that. Certainly would be one way to put a damper on a vacation.

The Good Kind of News

Just after I read about the imminent fall of the Kim Jong-il's regime, I received this picture from a friend (a fairly liberal, mainstream media-believing friend) by email:



The subject line of the email was "Pictures from Iraq that are too shocking and graphic for the mainstream media." When I'm getting stuff like this from my friends to the left of me...well it makes me think this country's not so hopelessly divided as it might seem.

Happy Times?

I spent most of this morning doing the kind of toiling writing that really feels like work: revising some copy for a client then editing my sister's English paper on Twelfth Night (which I've never read, making it even more like work). Once I finished all that, I prepared myself for my daily slog through the blogosphere. And I was pleasantly surprised.

Somewhere amid new reports of anti-Semitism in the Netherlands and the disgrace that is the UN these days, there was a bright spot: something good is happening in North Korea. No one seems to know exactly what to make of these recent developments, but any news like this seems like good news to me (unless it's some sort of devilish trick to lull the US into thinking positive thoughts about Kim Jong-il - which I sincerely doubt).

Just recently, on the anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall, I made a special dinner and spent the whole day feeling very good about how the world's improved during my lifetime (not that I ignore the problems of international relations every day, just that day). The fall of the Wall made a huge impression on me as a ninth-grader - and I still get the chills when I hear the Jesus Jones song Right Here, Right Now. This morning, reading about North Korea gave me that special little glow that I usually reserve for former Eastern bloc countries.

I hope the glow has reason to last.

Could It Be That Sound?

Over the past month, my Law & Order addiction has really blossomed (the title of this post references a TNT commercial for the show...played inumerable times during the show). On Mondays, if I'm not busy, I can watch SIX episodes - not back to back (there's a brief break for Angel and Charmed) - but six full hours of courtroom drama, nonetheless. Once I get started, I can't stop (and neither can Cooper). The stories hook me in. And I love that I don't have to get emotionally involved with the characters to appreciate the show.

Now, there are any number of reasons why my obsession should concern me. Six hours of TV is way too much to watch in one day, even if some of it is just background noise as I cook dinner or pay bills or whatever. But what shakes me up the most about all this L&W watching is what I've learned about myself psychographically. Not from the show itself, but from the commercials.

I'm all for cable advertising - any type of advertising that lets you target a specific audience and mindset for less cost than network advertising makes sense to me. And I know that advertisers do a good job figuring out who watches what. So why, then, do I see so many Cialis commercials? I'm a woman in my 20s!

Earlier this year, when I was obsessed with the MTV show Rich Girls, I thought the same thing. During that time, I saw one too many ads for the lastest and greatest hip hop album.

If what we consume (both tangible and intangible, I mean) helps define who we are, what does all of this say about me?

Only a marketer would have this crisis of self, huh?

Another Picture from Portugal

A picture of me - late in the evening during the Festa de Sao Joao. I'm posing with my personal hammer, underneath lights advertising the nature of the festival, strung across a Porto street. In the background, you can just barely see the crowds of people. By this time (probably around 2 am) we'd already seen fireworks by the water and people were making their ways back to the center of the city. We still had a long night of meeting grandmothers and dancing with old men ahead of us.

Calm before the Storm

My favorite picture from the Festa de Sao Joao. This was taken in a square in Porto, just before the madness erupted. It was around 9 pm and we were sitting in an outdoor cafe, watching people start to emerge from their homes.When I see this picture, I remember our anticipation perfectly - it was almost like just before a thunderstorm - the excitement was that palpable. And we knew something was coming, but we had NO idea what...

Healthy Nationalism in Portugal

The Euro 2004 throngs: we took this picture around 1 pm on a Tuesday. We were in Porto, walking down towards the water. Sweden and Denmark were playing that afternoon - the people in yellow are Swedish and the ones in red are Danish. It's really very handy to be able to identify people's nationality by the clothes they wear. Later that night, the teams tied. Made for very confusing eavesdropping in a cafe. We sat next to a table full of (drunk) and jovial Swedes AND Danes. The bits in English were too mangled for us to understand...we didn't realize they tied until we saw it on the news the next day, but that certainly did explain everyone's good spirits.

And So It Begins...

After several months of obsessive blog reading, I'm finally making my own debut. Maybe it was the conversation with my friends this weekend, when one of them mocked another friend for using "blogging" as a verb...and I defended him. Or maybe it's because, now that the election's over, without enough to read and next to no real work to do, my afternoons are filled with downtime. Or maybe it's just because it's nice out today, so I'm feeling energetic.

Whatever it is, here I am. Ready to share my otherwise useless observations on pop culture, marketing, and Baltimore, alongside my book topics du jour. Which really do change daily.

This week, I'm all about the origins of the Festa de Sao Joao celebrations in Porto, Portugal. Last June, I spent ten days in Portugal, on my honeymoon. We were lucky enough to be there during a) the Euro 2004 - soccer fans are nothing if not lively and entertaining and b) the saints' festival season. We were in Sintra for the Festa de Sao Pedro (an odd carnival full of acid washed jeans and inappropriate prizes for the kids' games) and in Porto for the Festa de Sao Joao.

The Sao Joao night was unlike ANYTHING I've ever experienced. It's a city-wide celebration that lasts all night, with fireworks and street stands and general craziness. But what really makes the holiday are the hammers and the garlic.

Somehow, for some reason, the tradition of the night involves tapping people on the head with stalks of garlic (flowers attached) or cheap plastic hammers that squeak like dog toys. This is, apparently, for good luck. And it really is in good fun - everyone's smiling and laughing, strangers tapping strangers, a general feeling of good will. I was absolutely beaming when I got a tap from a little old lady and her tiny grandchild early on. It's that kind of night.

In America, of course, I can only assume that the combination of heavy drinking and plastic hammers would end in riots. But in Porto, it's a beautiful experience, ending with an impossible walk to the ocean (several miles out of town) for sunrise. Cooper and I missed that walk - we retired around 3:30 am - but we did come home with a couple of hammers in our suitcases. God, it was great.

Now that we're home, though, I'm dying to know - why the hammers? I just don't get it. I've looked on the web, asked my Portuguese friends, even visited the Loyola College library to see if I could unlock the big secret. No dice. I can't find anything on this anywhere.

So I guess for now, that mystery will have to go unsolved. It makes for an alluring book topic, of course, since I don't actually know enough about it to have to write anything. I do love procrastinating in the name of curiosity...