The other day, Juan and I were finishing up the previous season of Bones (love that show) and Bones said something that really resonated with me. For those of you non-Bones watchers, Dr Temperance Brennan, aka Bones, is a hyper-logical, crazy smart forensic anthropologist. She doesn't get a lot of social cues and humor because she takes everything quite literally, but she understands the importance of humor and laughter in a community from an anthropological viewpoint. Emotions bother her. A lot. Mostly because emotions are often contradictory to what makes logical sense. For example, (according to the show) while anthropologically speaking we as humans are genetically programmed to feel upset when we see dead child, it makes no logical sense to actually feel bad about it because it's just another case, another murder needing to be solved, and she has no connection to the child so there is no logical reason for her to feel upset over the remains of a child. I think you're getting the picture. Over the seasons she comes to grips with her own emotions and expressing them.
Last season, toward the end, she turns to Booth, her FBI crime fighting partner, and tells him that she is trying to be strong, but not impervious. Because a substance that is impervious has no need to be strong for nothing can impact it. But to be strong is to endure and come out a better person, and that she was making the conscious decision to be strong, not impervious.
This really stuck with me because I too have always associated emotional strength with being impervious. But what Bones said is really true: something impervious has no need to be strong because nothing can touch it. I don't want to untouchable by my world or my surroundings. I want to have the strength to endure and come out a better person. It's as though she is saying that having emotions and expressing them does not make you a hysterical person or even an irrational person, but rather just a person who is trying to endure.
It made such clear sense to me, such simple, clear sense. A light bulb went off in my head and I said to myself, that's exactly what I want for myself. I know I'm not doing this revelation for myself any justice, that my processing seems really primitive and surface level, but making the decision to be strong but not impervious is really big for me. I think because this is challenging me to not stuff my emotions down into my gut and then cut myself off at the neck completely isolating my emotions from the rest of my life. I feel, and I feel strongly, but I have a hard time allowing myself to process all of that.
So here's to a new year with new goals for self. Here's to being strong, not impervious.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Organic vs Skippy
Sorry, organic, Skippy totally takes the cake on this one.
vs
The other week, I was super sick and Juan was stuck with doing the grocery shopping. He hates grocery shopping. I think he would rather see a dentist than go to the grocery store. The only thing I think he hates more than grocery shopping, is peanut butter. Don't ask, I don't understand it myself.
Anyways, I was out of peanut butter, so I asked him to go get some. But all the groceries we needed we could get at Trader Joe's. Except for the Skippy peanut butter, and Juan was very resistant to the idea of making a special grocery store trip for some stupid peanut butter. I kinda agreed. So I told Juan to just get the TJ kind, that peanuts were peanuts, and I just wanted some PB.
No offense to TJs, or to you organic PB lovers, but holy crap that ish is disgusting. The only way I could stomach it was to put it on some whole grain toast, and smother it with honey and brown sugar. I know, I know, Skippy is barely real peanut butter, it's got tons of sugar, totally processed, blah blah, real peanut butter is just a bunch of pulverized peanuts. Whatever. It's gross. Call my taste buds spoiled and uncultured if you will, but it's nasty.
So for those of you who are interested in the organic peanut butter, pass. Or if you find one that doesn't taste like ass, let me know. 'Cuz, wow, I'm sticking to my Skippy for dear life.
vs The other week, I was super sick and Juan was stuck with doing the grocery shopping. He hates grocery shopping. I think he would rather see a dentist than go to the grocery store. The only thing I think he hates more than grocery shopping, is peanut butter. Don't ask, I don't understand it myself.
Anyways, I was out of peanut butter, so I asked him to go get some. But all the groceries we needed we could get at Trader Joe's. Except for the Skippy peanut butter, and Juan was very resistant to the idea of making a special grocery store trip for some stupid peanut butter. I kinda agreed. So I told Juan to just get the TJ kind, that peanuts were peanuts, and I just wanted some PB.
No offense to TJs, or to you organic PB lovers, but holy crap that ish is disgusting. The only way I could stomach it was to put it on some whole grain toast, and smother it with honey and brown sugar. I know, I know, Skippy is barely real peanut butter, it's got tons of sugar, totally processed, blah blah, real peanut butter is just a bunch of pulverized peanuts. Whatever. It's gross. Call my taste buds spoiled and uncultured if you will, but it's nasty.
So for those of you who are interested in the organic peanut butter, pass. Or if you find one that doesn't taste like ass, let me know. 'Cuz, wow, I'm sticking to my Skippy for dear life.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Resetting My Day
Setting: Yesterday I was having a case of the Mondays. I woke up in a funk, kept walking into things, kept dropping things, was actually on the verge of tears at one point because I was so frustrated with my clumsiness. I was feeling needy, and pouty, and all together ridiculous. So I decided it was time to reset my day. I literally got back into bed and laid there for a bit, closed my eyes, and told myself that when I got out of bed it was a new day, and all would be well. Then Juanito, the apple of my eye, walks into our room, and the conversation went something like this:
Juan: What are you doing?
Me: (with eyes still closed) Resetting my day
Juan: Wha... (hysterical giggles)
Me: Why are you laughing at me?!
(20ish minutes or so of Juan's hysterical giggles and forcing him to snuggle me)
Me: Thanks, I'm feeling better
Juan: No problem. I'm tired
Me: Why are you tired?
Juan: Because you've spent the last 20minutes sucking out all my positive energy and happy thoughts, and so now I'm tired
Me: So now I'm a dementor??!
Juan: (laughing uncontrollably)
Cheers to being extroverted.
Juan: What are you doing?
Me: (with eyes still closed) Resetting my day
Juan: Wha... (hysterical giggles)
Me: Why are you laughing at me?!
(20ish minutes or so of Juan's hysterical giggles and forcing him to snuggle me)
Me: Thanks, I'm feeling better
Juan: No problem. I'm tired
Me: Why are you tired?
Juan: Because you've spent the last 20minutes sucking out all my positive energy and happy thoughts, and so now I'm tired
Me: So now I'm a dementor??!
Juan: (laughing uncontrollably)
Cheers to being extroverted.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Diagon Alley
Or you know, diagonally for you non-HP fans (shudders at the thought). Unfortunately, this post has nothing to do with Ms Rowling's Diagon Alley. I kinda wished it did. How rad would it be if I could be all, I just got my wand from Mr Ollivanders. Note to self: must get to London to visit King Cross station and attempt get onto Platform 9 3/4 (I may be a muggle but I will get into Hogwarts, dammit), and go to Universal Orlando where I can satisfy my childhood, adolescent and adult love for all the wonders that make up the amazing world and stories of Harry Potter. Universal Orlando, I swear to heaven if you're a flop and I am disappointed... no, I won't even go there... it's too torturous to think about...
ANYWAYS. Like I mentioned earlier, this post has nothing to do with HP, and everything to do with how I sleep: diagonally. See, I had the bigger of the rooms growing up. My older sister picked her room, so I've been told, because the window was higher up and she wanted to be able to literally grow up to the window. That's my sister for ya, goal setting and future planning at the tender age of three. So I got the bigger room, which could fit a bigger bed, and I went from my crib to my double size bed. That being said, it's only natural that I learned to take up as much room as possible sleeping in a bed that size, all to myself. You don't think a three year old can take up all that space? Clearly you did not know me when I was small.
We also had cats, and for those of you who have the pleasure of being owned by a cat, you will know exactly what I'm talking about. For those of you who don't have said pleasure, cats are miraculous creatures that have this magic ability to take over an entire bed with two adults in it, so overcoming one unconscious child, I stood no chance. Still not following? Okay. They start off at the foot of the bed, or maybe even snuggled up to your side, purring away all cute and welcoming, but definitely starting off sleeping around you. By the time you wake up, you're wondering how and why your back and neck are all jacked up, and then you realize that the reason why you feel like you can't move, is because you actually can't move because your beloved feline has managed to snuggle you out of the way, is now in the middle of the bed and is taking up as much space as possible, forcing you to contort yourself around them to make them comfortable. So, magic feline powers + large bed growing up = me learning how to sleep diagonally, sideways, backwards, you name it, because hey, I had the space. It's not all bad though, sleeping around felines. They give you special powers to. They can teach you how to roust yourself from your deepest sleep, flail about in bed when you hear that retching sound of them barfing to fling them off the bed, and then immediately fall back asleep once you know your blankies are safe.
The issue, for some at least, is that I still sleep that way. Except that instead of having my own double bed all to myself, I share a queen sized bed with a husband and two cats. This usually means that my husband wakes up on 1/4 of the bed with Simba curled up so high in between his legs we think Simba's trying to hatch his balls, I wake up in the very middle of the bed with limbs flailed awkwardly, and our other cat, Sazu, has half the bed and both of my pillows to himself. Mind you, the husband claims that I spent most of the night flailing like a fish out of water, smacking, kneeing and kicking him without ever waking up but apparently with quite a bit of force (did I also mention I'm a heat seeking missile and will always move toward the warmth, even if that means going to the other side of the bed?). And if that's all I did, then he actually got a good night's sleep. The nights I subconsciously hear the cat starting to barf on the bed and I stick all four limbs straight up and out and start kicking and punching the sheets and blankets and then stop and roll over as quickly as I started, those nights he's usually so pumped from the adrenaline of being startled awake to me behaving as though I'm being assaulted that he can't go back to sleep for a few hours, if at all.
It's a wonder I ever got married.
ANYWAYS. Like I mentioned earlier, this post has nothing to do with HP, and everything to do with how I sleep: diagonally. See, I had the bigger of the rooms growing up. My older sister picked her room, so I've been told, because the window was higher up and she wanted to be able to literally grow up to the window. That's my sister for ya, goal setting and future planning at the tender age of three. So I got the bigger room, which could fit a bigger bed, and I went from my crib to my double size bed. That being said, it's only natural that I learned to take up as much room as possible sleeping in a bed that size, all to myself. You don't think a three year old can take up all that space? Clearly you did not know me when I was small.
We also had cats, and for those of you who have the pleasure of being owned by a cat, you will know exactly what I'm talking about. For those of you who don't have said pleasure, cats are miraculous creatures that have this magic ability to take over an entire bed with two adults in it, so overcoming one unconscious child, I stood no chance. Still not following? Okay. They start off at the foot of the bed, or maybe even snuggled up to your side, purring away all cute and welcoming, but definitely starting off sleeping around you. By the time you wake up, you're wondering how and why your back and neck are all jacked up, and then you realize that the reason why you feel like you can't move, is because you actually can't move because your beloved feline has managed to snuggle you out of the way, is now in the middle of the bed and is taking up as much space as possible, forcing you to contort yourself around them to make them comfortable. So, magic feline powers + large bed growing up = me learning how to sleep diagonally, sideways, backwards, you name it, because hey, I had the space. It's not all bad though, sleeping around felines. They give you special powers to. They can teach you how to roust yourself from your deepest sleep, flail about in bed when you hear that retching sound of them barfing to fling them off the bed, and then immediately fall back asleep once you know your blankies are safe.
The issue, for some at least, is that I still sleep that way. Except that instead of having my own double bed all to myself, I share a queen sized bed with a husband and two cats. This usually means that my husband wakes up on 1/4 of the bed with Simba curled up so high in between his legs we think Simba's trying to hatch his balls, I wake up in the very middle of the bed with limbs flailed awkwardly, and our other cat, Sazu, has half the bed and both of my pillows to himself. Mind you, the husband claims that I spent most of the night flailing like a fish out of water, smacking, kneeing and kicking him without ever waking up but apparently with quite a bit of force (did I also mention I'm a heat seeking missile and will always move toward the warmth, even if that means going to the other side of the bed?). And if that's all I did, then he actually got a good night's sleep. The nights I subconsciously hear the cat starting to barf on the bed and I stick all four limbs straight up and out and start kicking and punching the sheets and blankets and then stop and roll over as quickly as I started, those nights he's usually so pumped from the adrenaline of being startled awake to me behaving as though I'm being assaulted that he can't go back to sleep for a few hours, if at all.
It's a wonder I ever got married.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Strong Body, Strong Mind, Strong Soul
I've recently vocalized an epiphany that I had almost a year ago. It's come up in conversation with a couple different friends of mine completely on it's own, and it got me thinking about how the whole thing came about and how I've gotten to where I am.
Three years ago, I took a look in the mirror, then a look at the calendar, realized I was getting married in 8months, and I had 30lbs to lose. I was the heaviest I had ever been, I was dangerously depressed, but I had a goal to be a skinny bride. So that's what I focused on: getting skinny for the wedding. I hired my friend Kris to be my personal trainer, who patiently pushed me to my limit and talked me through the world of fitness and nutrition. But I was still in the mindset that you exercise to not get fat, or to lose fat. If you want to lose weight, you don't eat pizza, you don't drink beer, you don't have ice cream... at least not every week. But I thought all of that from the same place: do x-y-z to be skinny and not get fat.
True to a certain extent, but so far from the whole story, and therefore the whole benefit of what an active lifestyle and eating healthy can offer. I managed to drop 20 of the 30lbs I wanted to lose for the wedding. I felt better, I had dropped a pant size, I knew I wasn't going to sob when I saw my wedding photos. I figured, goal accomplished.
But my mentality was still in the same place. Which made it incredibly easy to slip back into my old bad habits. I was smarter post-Kris, and I was able to keep the weight off by sticking to my mantra of do x-y-z to be skinny and not get fat. But it sucked. It was crazy hard, I felt like I was depriving myself of all the things I loved, I hated working out, and whenever I fell off the wagon, I would retreat into the dark and scary place of overbearing guilt and then kick myself for the next week forcing myself to sweat out every damn calorie I "wasn't supposed" to have.
Then one day, I don't know when, and I don't know when or how or why it happened. But I was given a moment of clarity and then it all made sense. I decided I was no longer going to focus on weight loss as my main goal, and instead focus on being active. I made a commitment to be active, be active about making good choices in life, be active about putting good food in my body, actively practice my commitment to physical activity, etc. Then all of the sudden, getting off the couch and exercising, was easy. Educating myself about food was less boring, and it was easier to make those good choices. It became easier to turn down the sweets that I love so much because I was no longer craving them to feed my tortured soul. Therapy has been a big help in that department as well. I was actively seeking ways to make myself healthy and happy in both mind and body, and that made all the difference in the world. I was no longer coming from a mind frame of avoiding getting fat, and instead coming from a place where I made a commitment to myself to have a healthy life. Anyone who has been down this road, knows that these are two very different things and places to be.
Do I still love cookies? You bet. Do I still on occasion give the dark chocolate cranberries to Juan and tell him to get them away from me (a la Shit Girls Say)? Yeah. Do I still have days like today where I am so friggen tired all I want to do is flop on my couch and nap until dinner? Totally. Despite my being a fitness instructor, I'm still human and I still have days where walking a mile might as well be climbing Mt Everest. The difference is, now if I miss a work out, I feel bad, but I don't hate myself. And I have grown to love myself enough to know that I can overcome any obstacle, fatigue, laziness, you name it, that is going to get in the way of me staying true to myself and to my commitment of being active about my health. My friend Jil's husband, Todd, calls this strength of spirit. We had a conversation the other weekend about how when you don't want to do something, like exercise, that is when you need to do it the most because you are disciplining your spirit to go the extra mile when your body can't take you there. And that having a strong spirit/soul, what have you, will strengthen your body and your mind in every part of every day.
And it's completely true. The mental and emotional health I have achieved since I made my commitment to my overall health is not because I'm constantly on an endorphin high from exercising more regularly. It's because I'm less focused on determining my self worth from size tag in my jeans and more focused on finding ways to make me happy and healthy, which motivates me to be active in every way of my life.
So here's to a strong body, a strong mind, and a strong soul.
Three years ago, I took a look in the mirror, then a look at the calendar, realized I was getting married in 8months, and I had 30lbs to lose. I was the heaviest I had ever been, I was dangerously depressed, but I had a goal to be a skinny bride. So that's what I focused on: getting skinny for the wedding. I hired my friend Kris to be my personal trainer, who patiently pushed me to my limit and talked me through the world of fitness and nutrition. But I was still in the mindset that you exercise to not get fat, or to lose fat. If you want to lose weight, you don't eat pizza, you don't drink beer, you don't have ice cream... at least not every week. But I thought all of that from the same place: do x-y-z to be skinny and not get fat.
True to a certain extent, but so far from the whole story, and therefore the whole benefit of what an active lifestyle and eating healthy can offer. I managed to drop 20 of the 30lbs I wanted to lose for the wedding. I felt better, I had dropped a pant size, I knew I wasn't going to sob when I saw my wedding photos. I figured, goal accomplished.
But my mentality was still in the same place. Which made it incredibly easy to slip back into my old bad habits. I was smarter post-Kris, and I was able to keep the weight off by sticking to my mantra of do x-y-z to be skinny and not get fat. But it sucked. It was crazy hard, I felt like I was depriving myself of all the things I loved, I hated working out, and whenever I fell off the wagon, I would retreat into the dark and scary place of overbearing guilt and then kick myself for the next week forcing myself to sweat out every damn calorie I "wasn't supposed" to have.
Then one day, I don't know when, and I don't know when or how or why it happened. But I was given a moment of clarity and then it all made sense. I decided I was no longer going to focus on weight loss as my main goal, and instead focus on being active. I made a commitment to be active, be active about making good choices in life, be active about putting good food in my body, actively practice my commitment to physical activity, etc. Then all of the sudden, getting off the couch and exercising, was easy. Educating myself about food was less boring, and it was easier to make those good choices. It became easier to turn down the sweets that I love so much because I was no longer craving them to feed my tortured soul. Therapy has been a big help in that department as well. I was actively seeking ways to make myself healthy and happy in both mind and body, and that made all the difference in the world. I was no longer coming from a mind frame of avoiding getting fat, and instead coming from a place where I made a commitment to myself to have a healthy life. Anyone who has been down this road, knows that these are two very different things and places to be.
Do I still love cookies? You bet. Do I still on occasion give the dark chocolate cranberries to Juan and tell him to get them away from me (a la Shit Girls Say)? Yeah. Do I still have days like today where I am so friggen tired all I want to do is flop on my couch and nap until dinner? Totally. Despite my being a fitness instructor, I'm still human and I still have days where walking a mile might as well be climbing Mt Everest. The difference is, now if I miss a work out, I feel bad, but I don't hate myself. And I have grown to love myself enough to know that I can overcome any obstacle, fatigue, laziness, you name it, that is going to get in the way of me staying true to myself and to my commitment of being active about my health. My friend Jil's husband, Todd, calls this strength of spirit. We had a conversation the other weekend about how when you don't want to do something, like exercise, that is when you need to do it the most because you are disciplining your spirit to go the extra mile when your body can't take you there. And that having a strong spirit/soul, what have you, will strengthen your body and your mind in every part of every day.
And it's completely true. The mental and emotional health I have achieved since I made my commitment to my overall health is not because I'm constantly on an endorphin high from exercising more regularly. It's because I'm less focused on determining my self worth from size tag in my jeans and more focused on finding ways to make me happy and healthy, which motivates me to be active in every way of my life.
So here's to a strong body, a strong mind, and a strong soul.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
I Think In Dance Steps
It's true. I don't remember if I mentioned this before, but I got licensed to teach Zumba®
I got licensed back in December and I taught my very first class this past Monday. It was freaking rad. The end. No just kidding, I plan on talking about it a lot more than that. Ha! You thought you were off the hook...
All day last Monday I felt like you do right before a really big and important test: half the time telling myself that I should be reviewing and studying the material until the actual exam, and the other half telling myself that I knew the material and studying would only freak myself out unnecessarily. So naturally, I was a complete basket case. What if no one liked it, what if it wasn't fun, what if it was boring, what if it's too hard, what if I didn't advertise enough, what if I forget all my routines and I mess up royally, what if all the intersections to get to the studio suddenly became blocked with massive car accidents all at the same time and no one could get to the studio and so no one can come, WHAT IF THE WORLD ENDS BEFORE I GET TO TEACH??!
In order to assuage myself of my ridiculousness, I booked my Monday pretty tightly. My morning consisted of menu planning, grocery shopping, buying a pair of exercise pants, walking the dog, doing about 6loads of laundry, all before lunch with some girlfriends. I purposely packed my morning full so that I could watch some TV and take a nap (yes, taking a nap is actually on the to-do list) in the afternoon because I'm still a little sick. I plopped myself down on the couch after lunch, and no sooner than my ass had touch the cushions did I spring right back up and start going through my routines. Then after about 3 full minutes of marking my routines, I sat back down on the couch, just to spring back up and repeat the whole process a bunch of times (please see internal turmoil of craziness above). Finally I gave up and gave myself a task, decided to repaint my nails, fingers and toes, but that took a lot less time than I thought it would, so I went back to the jumping off the couch and marking routines. Then I gave myself another task and did my make up and hair and put together my "outfit" - I know, I'm RIDICULOUS. But hey, I looked good. I got to the studio a half hour early to set up, which took all of 4 minutes, then I just waited, bug eyed for people to show up.
And did they show? Were all the intersections around the studio blocked by fatal accidents preventing access to the studio and therefore my class? Of course not, have I mentioned that I'm ridiculous? I had a PACKED class. We were so packed and danced so much and got so sweaty that we completely fogged up the windows at the studio and we ran out of parking. I didn't forget my routines, I had so much fun, everyone had so much fun. One of my friends who came even told me that she had a ton of energy the next day and she knew it was because of my class. I can't even begin to tell you how much that means to me.
This whole journey has taught me so much about myself, I can't even begin to describe what it has done for me. The best way I can describe it is that I literally come alive and I feel like I have rainbows coming out of my ass because of how happy it makes me. It's silly, it's fun, it's a phenomenal work out, and I get to share that with everyone who comes.
But now every time I listen to music, my brain immediately flips to trying to add steps to the song to see if it would be a good song for class. I find myself waiting in line at places and dancing in place, I dance in my car (that's not new I did that anyways), I dance in the shower, I dance on the dog walks, I dance everywhere and pretty much all the time. People look at me like I'm crazy, but whatever. I'll just have to hurry up and get my Zumba® instructor clothing that way at least my insanity is explainable.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Hey There, Honey
I've been sick. I've been feeling more or less okay, but what has been kicking my arse is this stupid, dry, seal bark of a cough. For the last week or so I just get slammed with these coughing fits that are sometimes so violent I turn bright red, start to sweat and freak out my husband. Silver lining, my abs look GREAT from all the coughing.
I've been medicating myself and drinking gallons (no, literally, gallons) of hot tea trying to soothe my throat. Friends of mine have been telling me I should nuke my throat and just take a whole bunch of meds and then chase it all down with a shot or two of tequila. I haven't done that because that literally sounds like I would just burn my throat into being healthy and as inconvenient as being sick is, I'm not into scalding myself.
So then my friend Abby suggested honey, because there's actually evidence to show that honey has medicinal purposes for helping sore throats. She teaches undergraduate level courses at a big university, she reads a lot, she knows a lot about food, I didn't even google to see if she was bullshitting me, I just trusted her advice blindly. Plus, it sounded tastier than taking shots of alcohol.
While my concoction of boiled water, honey and lemon juice, didn't suppress my cough entirely, it totally soothed my throat and made me let out a big sigh of, "Ahhhh" when I drank it. A week later, and I have damn near emptied a bear shaped bottle of honey and have given up on meds entirely. And I want to bake biscuits and drench everything I eat in honey, but I'm desperately trying to exercise self control.
So is she right? Is there empirical data to show that honey has medicinal purposes to help a sore throat? No idea. Totally don't care. It was tasty, it made me feel better, I no longer sound like a man, that's enough data for me.
I've been medicating myself and drinking gallons (no, literally, gallons) of hot tea trying to soothe my throat. Friends of mine have been telling me I should nuke my throat and just take a whole bunch of meds and then chase it all down with a shot or two of tequila. I haven't done that because that literally sounds like I would just burn my throat into being healthy and as inconvenient as being sick is, I'm not into scalding myself.
So then my friend Abby suggested honey, because there's actually evidence to show that honey has medicinal purposes for helping sore throats. She teaches undergraduate level courses at a big university, she reads a lot, she knows a lot about food, I didn't even google to see if she was bullshitting me, I just trusted her advice blindly. Plus, it sounded tastier than taking shots of alcohol.
While my concoction of boiled water, honey and lemon juice, didn't suppress my cough entirely, it totally soothed my throat and made me let out a big sigh of, "Ahhhh" when I drank it. A week later, and I have damn near emptied a bear shaped bottle of honey and have given up on meds entirely. And I want to bake biscuits and drench everything I eat in honey, but I'm desperately trying to exercise self control.
So is she right? Is there empirical data to show that honey has medicinal purposes to help a sore throat? No idea. Totally don't care. It was tasty, it made me feel better, I no longer sound like a man, that's enough data for me.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Book Review: Outlander
It took me forever to finish this book. Not because it's boring, but because I started reading it while sitting up in bed, and then would wake up the next morning to my dear husband telling me that I fell asleep while reading again and so he put the book on my nightstand, not sure where to put the bookmark. Then I would pick up the book, realize I didn't remember anything on those pages, further realizing that this meant I was probably nodding off while reading, which would force me to turn back a few pages at least and start the whole process over the following night. Then I was in school and my nighttime leisure reading was substituted out for academic reading, blah blah blah. One winter break later, and I having finally finished Outlander by Diana Gabaldon.
It's the first in the Outlander series, and I have every intention of picking up the rest of the books.
The premise: WWII nurse, Claire, gets thrown back in time 200years to 18th century Scotland, is forced into an at first loveless marriage, overcomes accusations of being an English spy and a witch, has to choose between staying in the past with her husband in that time or moving back to the present with her husband of that time, coping with the culture shock of no indoor plumbing and the general abrasiveness of Highland culture. It has political strife between the English and the various Scottish clans, inner turmoil of Claire as she falls in love with her 18th century husband while still being in love with her 20th century husband, and good god can this woman write a steamy, page turning love scene.
If you're into action, adventure, politics, romance and history, this book is most definitely for you. My grade: A+
It's the first in the Outlander series, and I have every intention of picking up the rest of the books.
The premise: WWII nurse, Claire, gets thrown back in time 200years to 18th century Scotland, is forced into an at first loveless marriage, overcomes accusations of being an English spy and a witch, has to choose between staying in the past with her husband in that time or moving back to the present with her husband of that time, coping with the culture shock of no indoor plumbing and the general abrasiveness of Highland culture. It has political strife between the English and the various Scottish clans, inner turmoil of Claire as she falls in love with her 18th century husband while still being in love with her 20th century husband, and good god can this woman write a steamy, page turning love scene.
If you're into action, adventure, politics, romance and history, this book is most definitely for you. My grade: A+
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Movie Review: The Help
Yes, I watched yet another movie while on vacation. My family and I watched this one as my sister and I gave ourselves manis and pedis, which, I don't know if you've ever tried giving yourself a mani and a pedi while watching a movie, but it takes almost the entire movie to do with all the pausing and looking up at the TV screen.
The Help
First, let me start by saying that I love the Civil Rights Movement. I love everything about it, and there is a part of me that wishes I were alive back then so that I could have participated in it. That being said, I might be a little biased towards this movie because of the plot line, but even still, this movie is rad.
The story is of a young white woman with southern roots who is aspiring to jump start her writing career after coming back home from college and deciding to write about the hired black help and what they have to go through on a day to day basis. It goes through the major civil rights movement that we all know in our history books, but also looks closely at the little injustices such as the employers marking the toilet paper in their homes to ensure that their hired help wouldn't use their restrooms. It touches on the whole 1960s mentality of Keeping Up With The Joneses and how reputation was everything and just threatening to reveal secrets was powerful enough to shut up even the most influential people (I guess that's still true today).
It's a serious flick with its moments of hilarity and irony. It's a little gut wrenching when you look at some of the ridiculous extremes people would go to to segregate back then, but it ends on a feel good note. And my god, Viola Davis is un-freaking-believable. My grade: A+
The Help
First, let me start by saying that I love the Civil Rights Movement. I love everything about it, and there is a part of me that wishes I were alive back then so that I could have participated in it. That being said, I might be a little biased towards this movie because of the plot line, but even still, this movie is rad.
The story is of a young white woman with southern roots who is aspiring to jump start her writing career after coming back home from college and deciding to write about the hired black help and what they have to go through on a day to day basis. It goes through the major civil rights movement that we all know in our history books, but also looks closely at the little injustices such as the employers marking the toilet paper in their homes to ensure that their hired help wouldn't use their restrooms. It touches on the whole 1960s mentality of Keeping Up With The Joneses and how reputation was everything and just threatening to reveal secrets was powerful enough to shut up even the most influential people (I guess that's still true today).
It's a serious flick with its moments of hilarity and irony. It's a little gut wrenching when you look at some of the ridiculous extremes people would go to to segregate back then, but it ends on a feel good note. And my god, Viola Davis is un-freaking-believable. My grade: A+
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