how about YOU shut up?

last summer i was invited to a screening of Shut Up and Sing, the documentary about the Dixie Chicks' freedom of speech showdown with right wingers (i like to call them wingnuts) after lead singer Natalie Maines said something about President Bush almost exactly four years ago. (something, it turns out, that's almost complimentary compared to the stuff people say about him today.)

i've been a fan of the Dixie Chicks for years - "Wide Open Spaces" was released at an ideal time for it to become my anthem, even though i'd loathed country music before then. when i got the call about the screening, i'd just been to see the Chicks live on their Accidents & Accusations tour - a truly amazing show - so of course i jumped at the chance to see the movie. it was so good, so unbelievably good, that i ordered my own copy when it was released on DVD last week and watched it again over the weekend. Al Gore is great and all, but this documentary kicks his in the ass, so much. it's incredible.

everyone knows the story by now - the Chicks opened their tour in England in March of 2003. there had been a gigantic war protest earlier in the day only a short distance from the theater, and the invasion of Iraq was imminent. that night on stage, Natalie was trying to endear herself to the fans, connect with them, so said she was on their side - she and the other Chicks felt the same way about the war, violence wasn't the answer. then she said, "And we're ashamed that the President of the United States is from Texas." and that one little sentence ignited a maelstrom so insanely out of proportion, it would be hard to believe if it weren't all on film.

the documentary is so great because it's done in cinéma verité. the filmmakers let the wingnuts speak for themselves; thus, their bass-ackwardness comes through loud and clear. their mass disposing and destruction of formerly beloved Dixie Chicks CDs just looks like a pitiful temper tantrum. their rants to country music station producers are almost comical. then there was the woman protesting outside a Dixie Chicks concert somewhere in the south. her powerful message? "screw 'em." then she tries to get her baby to say it. "right?" she says to the poor innocent kid. "screw 'em...c'mon, say it." the kid - clearly smarter than his mom - stayed quiet.

meanwhile, because it was still 2003, the Dixie Chicks had eight million consultants and publicists and god knows who advising them about damage control. one guy in particular was adamant about Natalie expressing her support for Bush and the war, because it was all going extremely well, the war would be over in another two weeks and the President would be a hero. oh, the irony. the bittersweet irony.

my absolute favorite part is when Natalie reads a transcript of Bush's comments about the Dixie Chicks controversy. during an interview with one of the evening news anchors, he said, "they shouldn't get their feelings hurt because some people don't want to buy their records." Natalie reads this with disgust and says, "we shouldn't get our feelings hurt? what a dumbf*ck!" then she looks into the camera, "you're a dumbf*ck!"

it's such a perfect moment in the movie because she was right. the war was a disastrous idea, now everyone is ashamed the President is from the United States, let alone Texas, and the country is so desperate for new leadership that the 2008 race is already underway. the current perspective makes what happened to the Dixie Chicks even more ridiculous - there were death threats and boycotts and a lot of hullabaloo over nothing. but, as everyone knows, the Chicks came out on top and i love that. i love that they wrote a passionate, no-holds-barred album, and then swept the Grammys. i love that Natalie hasn't shut her big mouth yet. and i love that someone was smart enough to make a documentary of the whole thing. maybe those wingnuts will finally shut up and watch it.

mb

dream girls

i got home around 10 o'clock last night from my writing class, all keyed up and starving. i poured myself a bowl of Smart Start and flipped on the television. and for the next hour i was riveted, watching Oprah's Building a Dream special on ABC.

i know that everyone has a different opinion of Oprah. some people think she's phony, some people think she's full of it or selfish or some other negative thing. but she used her money to build an incredible school that will save so many South African girls - girls who were living awful lives but now will have a chance to learn how to help others. i'm sorry; say what you will about Oprah, but i think she's fantastic.

these girls that applied to Oprah's Leadership Academy in South Africa were astounding. they were the brightest, most confident and articulate girls, despite living in squalor, despite having to fear being raped or abused every day on their way to school. most of them didn't have parents and were being raised by their grandmothers. most had only one meal a week, did their homework by candlelight, survived without running water. they all also had the most amazing smiles and incredible spirits. none of them felt sorry for themselves. they accepted the life that they had, and they lived as well as they could. the footage from their interviews was heartbreaking - these smart, sharp, beautiful girls talking so earnestly about being leaders, about loving mathematics, about needing a family. Oprah cried at their bravery. i was crying, too.

and once again, i started thinking about perspective. of course we have amazing girls in this country, too, girls who struggle and work hard and manage to beat the odds. but the ones who wind up being idolized are the ones with the best clothes, most friends, sleekest cell phones. we obsess over celebrities who do nothing but behave like morons, who add nothing to our lives but crappy movies and something to talk about during lunch. and, god, last night i wanted to change everything. i felt so humble listening to those girls. they had absolutely nothing, yet they were so much stronger than most people i know. including me.

the special is on again this Saturday night. check your local listings and watch it, or DVR it, whatever. because i really think you should see it. i'm not saying Oprah is the best person that ever lived, i'm not saying we'd all be better off if we had to live like they do in South Africa. i'm just saying there's a huge world out there, there are so many special people, so many things going on that we don't ever think about. and when we get the chance to take a glimpse, see things from a different view, i think we should pay attention.

mb

can i just say? vol 8

this Friday feature of mine has been on hiatus for a bit, but i'm bringing it back. there's just too much to blab about this week...

dear britney stay in rehab, stay in rehab, STAY IN REHAB! for pete's sake, child, get a hold of yourself! we you know you hate the paparazzi - and they really are evil worms - but beating an SUV with an umbrella is not the way to make them go away. they key is to get sober and become boring. it worked for Tara Reid, honey, and it can work for you. good luck.

american idle i could have sworn that Randy or Simon or someone was quoted before this season began, promising the closest, fiercest competition yet. initially, i assumed that meant there was a plethora of amazing talent. now i realize we'll all be picking the singer who sucks the least. what is going on with this show? with the except of maybe two guys and four girls, it was like nails on a chalkboard this week! and sooo boring. they chose all the wrong people when they picked the top 24. so what, Baylee Brown forgot her words during the group sing? i guarantee she would not have picked a (gouge my eyeballs out with a spoon) Celine Dion song to perform this week. it's just a weird show this season, a very weird show.

meredith lives not that it was any surprise. the show is called Grey's Anatomy. i thought Sandra Oh was awesome last night (especially her displaced passion for the 99-cent store) and i even sort of liked the Denny-in-the-afterlife aspect. what drove me mad was at the end, when Addison watched Derek in Meredith's hospital room, being so tender and so very dreamy, and said to McSteamy, "He never loved me that much" (or whatever). it brought up a burning question that's been rolling around in my head for a while now: what is so damn lovable about Meredith? is it the lisp? the freckles? (the freckles i could understand.) because she strikes me as whiny and needy and self-absorbed. she's skinny as a rail and her hair tends to be stringy. what's so appealing? i'm really not being catty, i promise. i just don't get it.

bern baby bern i am excessively sad about Bernie Williams not returning to the Yankees. i suppose there is still a sliver of a chance he could slip back into his #51 jersey, but it's not very likely. baseball is a business, they keep saying, and of course i get that. but this is Bernie. i always considered him on the same level as Paul O'Neill and i can't imagine Brian Cashman or any of the other Yankee brass treating Paulie this way. i guess it's one of those impossible situations - letting him go seems ridiculous, but there's no room to keep him. the roster is crowded with talent. not that i'm complaining about that, but it's too hard for me right now to imagine not seeing Bernie in pinstripes again.

so close i can smell it it's colder again today, which is reasonable since it's still February, but i swear the air smells like spring. that's enough to put a smile on my face (even as i'm wrapping my scarf tighter and stepping around piles of dark gray snow). less than a month to go...

happy weekend, kids. be good, and root for Little Miss Sunshine on Sunday night.

mb

what IS it about tequila?

winter has been so brutally cold this year that when the mercury hits 48 degrees, it feels like summer. and, when it feels like summer, naturally the first thing that comes to mind is margaritas. thus, the reason two of my most fantastic friends and i wound up at Tortilla Flats last night. it's a tiny, kitschy Mexican spot in the West Village, with tinsel hanging from the ceiling, lights strung everywhere, and great cheap food. most importantly, the margaritas are practically perfect (and last night they tasted especially good). we'd been there a few times before and knew to expect a careening, free-for-all atmosphere. but nothing could have prepared us for...wait for it...the 15th Annual Ernest Borgnine Night.

yes, it was Ernest Borgnine Night at Tortilla Flats. (i couldn't make this stuff up.) why? we still don't know. they have an affinity for him that defies explanation (and logic). we sat in our booth sipping our drinks and watching with bewilderment as people danced around with "Ernie" masks and Mardi Gras beads. we stared in amazement as more than a dozen people got up to compete in the annual Ernest Borgnine Impression contest, reading lines from an Ernest Borgnine movie off a cue card. we ducked for cover when the waitstaff (who'd been doing tequila shots) reenacted the tidal wave scene from another Ernie flick - i have no idea which one - throwing trays of nachos and hula hoops and falling on the floor. it was, in a word, surreal.

but we were laughing the entire time, and it took our minds off pretty much everything else going on. and - the best part - we got crazy commemorative tee shirts for free, featuring the beloved Ernest's face and the date of his day of honor. we put them on immediately and wore them home and said we'd always remember what we did on the evening of February 21, 2007: drank margaritas in winter and witnessed one of the most bizarre scenes we're ever likely to see. thank you, Ernest Borgnine. you must be one crazy dude.

mb

it's only life after all...

is it just me, or is unhappiness running rampant these days?

and i'm not just talking about all the celebrities-in-crisis recently. i'm talking about people i know, people i know of, friends of friends, etc. so many of them are miserable, conflicted, fraught, in some state of discontent. what is it about life right now? why are we making everything so damn hard? why is everything such a struggle?

i heard just a snippet of Oprah's show on Friday - i was in the car and it was on the radio - and one of her guests was talking about how, when things are so hard, so much a struggle, you're clearly going against the current of your life. rather than straining and fighting 'til you're so tired you're on the verge of drowning, just turn around and go with the flow. maybe it's a little esoteric, and definitely easier said than done (there's the whole trouble of figuring out which flow you're supposed to be going with). but it seemed to me a very simple piece of advice, yet one we all consistently ignore. for some reason, we seem to crave the struggle. why is that? do we feel like we're missing something if life is too easy? do we need the drama? is everyday life just too boring for us? god, i hope not.

i'm not a big fan of that expression "live every day as if it were your last." if i knew it was my last day, i would be torn between shoving as much chocolate cake in my face as possible, spending time with my friends and family, and maybe jumping out of an airplane just for the hell of it. clearly i can't live my life like that every day, not without severe consequences anyway. however, i do think that most of us take daily life for granted. we waste hours, days, weeks - worrying, fretting, comparing ourselves to other people, wishing for things we don't have, regretting decisions we made (sometimes years ago!), beating ourselves up... and sometimes taking all this disappointment and anxiety out on the people we love the most.

it makes no sense to me. i'm not saying that i'm not guilty of any of this. i have thrown many a pity party where i was the VIP guest. i'm just saying it seems a little out of control lately. maybe it's the society in which we live. with an excess of information about why you might be unhappy and just as much information about how to get happy, we're in a constant state of confusion. even if we actually are happy, we question it because how could it be possible? there are so many reasons, they tell us, to be unhappy.

i just want to scream "STOP!" we are all going to explode if we go on like this. we are all going to die thinking there were so many things missing in our lives when, in reality, we probably had everything we needed all along. that to me is a reason to be unhappy. and i wish i had a magic wand or a magic word or some other magical thing to make everyone snap out of it. i wish everyone could find more happiness in the little things - a great book, a clear blue sky, a big ice cream sundae, the subway arriving right as you get there, whatever - because then maybe the big things wouldn't seem so big. and definitely not so bad.

mb

ain't it a kick in the head?

today i was turned down for a job for the second time in two weeks. my interview at this particular company went exceptionally well. so did the subsequent writing test. the initial response was very positive. yet, it was a no-go. there were no explanations, really, no "she needs more of this or less of that" feedback. apparently it's just not in the stars for me. i was e-mailing with a friend this afternoon who said i sounded in great spirits, despite the bad news. she said, "it must be your age." she was kidding (she's five years younger than me) but i actually think she's right.

i know, i know - another post about turning 30. spare you. but i have to say that my future is full of question marks at the moment, for various reasons. five years ago, i was a puddle on the floor when just one question mark lay before me. right now, i'm sort of half-shrugging and thinking, your loss, Company X. i'm thinking, bring it on, Life. i may be using six different lotions on my face in order to fend off the wrinkles i'm certain are going to appear all at once any day now, and it may take me two days to recover from a night of drinking, and i may need to go to bed at 11 o'clock every night (Jon Stewart, how i miss you!) but there are definitely aspects of getting older that make life a lot more pleasant.

i never believed those women who said you stopped caring about the stupid things once you hit 30. to any youngsters reading: believe it, sister. it's the promised land.

mb

cupid shmupid

OK, honestly - is there anyone out there who truly loves Valentine's Day? even Mother Nature today seems to be sending a clear message: this holiday blows.

i actually used to love Valentine's Day when i was a kid. at school, we'd always be able to ditch the uniforms for a day and wear red, white and pink "dress down" clothes (which was probably annoying for the boys, but fantastic for the girls). i remember having to decorate paper bags with markers and construction paper - the bags, of course, would hold all the little flimsy (but somehow still awesome) Valentines everyone would write out for everyone else in the class. at the end of the day, you had 23 cards, covered with cartoon characters and silly messages. how could you not feel loved? at home my mom usually gave me some cute little piece of heart-themed jewelry, and i think my dad bought me flowers. i'm sure there was chocolate. (where there was me, there was chocolate.) then we'd go out to a nice dinner, our little family. how could i not adore February 14th?

then it all changed in sixth grade. Valentine's Day rolled around and i don't think i was paying much attention - i was busy with play rehearsals and struggling with pre-Algebra and planning my wedding to Joey McIntyre. then, not long after lunch, one of my best friends came running up to me with a cheesy little pink teddy bear in her hand. it was a gift - from a boy! a boy who was apparently her boyfriend! i so didn't understand the concept of dating then - i mean, what could you do together at age 12? where could you go? the family room, to watch Growing Pains? how romantic. and she wasn't the only one. suddenly all the girls around me had various five-dollar Valentine's gifts (the kind stashed by the cash register in drug stores, the ones found in the 'seasonal' aisle in the grocery store) all from the boys in our grade - boys we'd been in school with since kindergarten, some of whom we'd seen pee their pants in the library, or cry in gym class. they had to be kidding me.

of course, my indignation was just a cover-up. deep down i felt like a gigantic freak for not getting any stupid gifts myself. there were no boys breaking out in hives waiting for the perfect time (perhaps between Social Studies and Language Arts?) to hand me a plastic rose or a glow-in-the-dark heart pin. and not only was i not the recipient of any pre-pubescent love tokens, i hadn't even known i should have been. how had i missed all these developments, all these changes? the truth is, at that point i didn't want to be anyone's faux girlfriend. i had braces, a bad perm and besides, i was saving myself for Joey. but that's the funny thing about this holiday, isn't it? even when you're content with the way things are, something about all the jewelry commercials and shelves of heart-shaped boxes and endless mushy cards in Hallmark make you feel like you're missing something, like your life would be so much sweeter if only you had someone to love.

i might not have been fully aware of it, but i think i realized that afternoon in February of 1989 that Valentine's Day is a mostly insincere and manufactured load of crap. real love can't be celebrated in one day, can't be expressed with flowers that wilt or teddy bears with unnaturally-colored fur. i don't think love should get a holiday. it lets too many people off the hook the other 364 days of the year. so, no thanks, i'll skip the cupid hoopla and wait another month and three days for a holiday i can really get behind - St. Patty's Day.

mb

the writing life

so i'm taking this writing class, something i haven't done in about six years, and it's saving me from so many things right now: job woes, winter weariness, the gaping black hole between football and baseball season... i had this (really nerdy) moment last night when i was on my way home from class. i was walking through the tunnels at 14th Street, from the 2 train to the F train. i had a pile of Xeroxed packets in my arm (stories that had been passed out by the other writers in class), was gnawing on a stale Twizzler from a package i'd just bought at the subground newsstand (dinner) and something good (can't remember what) was playing on my iPod. i was wearing my black Converse lo-tops, my long green grandma coat, my old ratty scarf from the Gap - and i felt completely content. i just had this moment where i thought, "this is me."

(god, am i the only one who ever thinks these things? probably.)

anyway, i think this class is the best one i've ever taken, if only for the cast of characters who show up every week. i'd never taken a creative writing class before college. then sophomore year i took the intro course and my life was literally changed. for starters, i developed a ridiculous and enduring crush on my (very married) professor, Zach. but (more importantly) it was also the first time i got any substantial objective feedback on my fiction writing. it was through those classes that i discovered Lorrie Moore (Zach told me that my writing reminded him of her work - and if that's not considered a come-on, i don't know what is) and Alice Munro and why to avoid adverbs like the plague and how to get out of the passive voice... i was never happier during college than when i was in my dorm room, with my Lisa Loeb CDs blaring (might as well lay it all out there), creating and rewriting and reworking my stories.

that's probably why i sought out classes after college, even though i couldn't really afford them. Zach recommended i try a workshop taught by a friend of his (hmmmm, meeting his friends? it was getting serious) in the Village. so once a week i'd trek down to MacDougal Street and sit in the teeniest studio you can imagine, on old wooden folding chairs with four or five other writers - and Denver. he was the teacher. youngish, dark haired, brooding. i, of course, developed a pretty substantial crush on him, too (though he was also married - whatever) but i also learned a lot in those classes, like how to make my stories less "perfect" and when to take more risks. having my Wednesday night workshops to look forward to also kept me afloat during my rough transition to post-college life.

and now this class, at a Jewish community center on the Upper West Side - this one may take the cake. it's taught by a funny guy named Jon (i don't think he's married - i must be losing my touch!) and we sit in a nursery school classroom one night a week for two and a half hours, surrounded by finger-painted artwork and lessons about letters and numbers and baby dolls and toy kitchen sets. (although, if you think about it, you really can't find more fertile ground for creativity and imagination than a nursery school.) there are eleven of us in the class, the age range is approximately 25 to 65 and oh, what a mix of personalities. there's a hippie feminist with long gray hair who doesn't shave her armpits (i know this because she was sitting with her arms behind her head last night) and a young guy with an eye patch who had brain surgery last year and a smart ass middle-aged woman right out of a Woody Allen movie. there's a father of two young kids, a middle school teacher from the Midwest, a twentysomething girl from Montreal who has an awesome Coach scarf and an MFA, and this completely wacky older guy with unruly white hair who asks inane questions and peppers the class with ridiculous non sequiturs. i mean, it's crazy. mostly because i feel such affection for all these nuts already.

there's something about a writing class - when you're serious about writing - that bonds people instantly. you're forced to hand over your precious words to these virtual strangers (who are these people?) trusting them not to beat you down and judge you mercilessly and break your spirit. of course, you're all kindred spirits. the truth is, you're all after the same thing - just a glimmer of hope that you might actually be decent at this!

anyway, my point is: i love writing classes. i stopped taking them for so long because i thought it wasn't worth all the money. but last night, feeling in my bones that i was right where i should be, that i actually knew who i was - that, my friends, is a Mastercard commercial. priceless.

mb

the best advice i ever got

i've been thinking a lot this week about grace. four years ago, i was having a rough time of things. nothing was going particularly well in my life, and it seemed like i was in a current state of crisis, always feeling panicky, insecure, anxious. in short, i was having trouble getting a grip. my father - one of the rare kinds of people who actually gains wisdom from his mistakes, learns from experience, and takes the time to pass on what he knows - sat me down and told me how important it is to always act with grace. a simple concept, right? but something that had never really crossed my mind. it was a light bulb moment. that's not to say i was able to actually do it right away. but at least i was thinking about it. i was able to look back on certain moments or situations and realize when i didn't act with grace - and other times when i actually did.

it's gotten easier in the last year or two to practice grace more often. to me, it's mostly about inner-peace. it's about self-awareness, being self-possessed and having the confidence to know that a problem can be solved without attacking someone else, without creating hysteria, without falling to pieces. after all, in the greater scheme of things we're all just drops in a big cosmic bucket. our lives are no more significant than anyone else's in this universe, or any other universe that's out there (and who knows how many there are?). some may say that's a negative way to look at life; i think it relieves a hell of a lot of pressure.

anyway, i was thinking of grace this week as i watched the coverage of Lisa Nowak. clearly something snapped in her that caused her to act completely irrationally. damaging her marriage, abandoning her kids, attempting to hurt another person - an utter lack of grace. but to make matters worse, the covers of the New York tabloids branded her an "astro-nut" and a "loon." i found that extremely hateful. here's a woman - clearly a smart woman - who served her country, who risked her life, who was at one point trying to do good. she suffered a sad and severe lapse in judgment - and, it seems, a mental health breakdown. sure, it's a little newsworthy because she's part of NASA. but to this degree? does it need to be such a spectacle? such a joke? what is it about people that makes them take such pleasure in other people's pain and mistakes? that barely seems human, let alone graceful.

the other big story is, of course, Anna Nicole Smith. there is not a layer of this story free of tragedy. i admit i have no idea how she got to be so famous in the first place. yes, i know, there are actually two big reasons she got to be famous. but, in the last five years she's been celebrated for being a train wreck, a ticking time bomb. and the people around her were reportedly keeping her high, rather than helping her stay clean. she was the mother of a five-month old girl. now what happens to that baby? was anyone considering that as they handed Anna yet another "prescription"?

call me Pollyanna if you want, but i wish people thought about grace more often. during my rough patch a few years ago, i actually wore a rubber band around my wrist as a reminder to "act with grace," like my father said. these days, everyone's wearing a rubber band of some color - yellow, red, blue, pink - for some random cause or another. why not just a plain old putty-colored rubber band to remind people to be decent, to be humble - to live just a little more gracefully?

mb

i can't feel my fingers

my poor blog. i've neglected you so. i'm back, though i really don't have a theme for today's entry. i also don't have time for more than a quick update. (if anyone is giving away free vacations, please call me.)

it is bitterly cold here. i am against global warming, of course, but i do miss the way it was a month ago - 70 degrees and all freakishly warm. it's hard to believe now that the first Saturday in January i was walking around the city in a tank top and flip-flops. now i can't leave the house without two pairs of mittens on.

aside from the deep freeze, things have been rather hectic in The Life of Me. in the last week i've had two job interviews, worked like a maniac at my current job to meet sadistic deadlines, experienced a birthday party full of six-year-olds, made Buffalo wings from scratch, and survived my first writing class in six years feeling completely talentless afterward, but inexplicably hopeful. i also bought a funky coat on sale at Urban Outfitters that i thought was fantastic but now every time i wear it i feel like this:


oh well.

i thought the Super Bowl was boring, aside from the first-quarter kickoff return by Chicago. i may have been one of the few people who actually enjoyed Prince's halftime show (i think i was just amazed that a straight man would wear a kerchief like that! in front of a worldwide TV audience!) and i am sure i am the only person who got a kick out of the Blockbuster commercial with the mouse. i couldn't stop laughing.

lately i'm wondering when i'll be free of the awkward, chubby sixth grader i once was and who, it seems, is still lurking inside me. last week a co-worker referred to me as "not overweight" and, if you're a female and reading this, you know how mortifying it is to be called "not overweight." i thought about that comment way too many times over the weekend. then yesterday at an interview, i felt like the nerdy girl being slyly picked on by the super-cool girls. (you know how sometimes the super-cool girls act extra-nice to the nerdy girl, meanwhile the cool girls' minions are off to the side, laughing at the whole phony display?) i would totally accept this as a complex of mine, except i'm realizing more and more that much doesn't change in life after high school, does it?

anyway. is that enough randomness for one day? i have to be a copy machine this week. i need to turn out a ton for my current job, plus some top-quality stuff for the job i hope to have soon, and, oh yeah, a 20-page story to bring into my writing class next Monday.

poor neglected blog. i'll try to write again soon.

mb

this is how i feel this week

and the reason i haven't written much since Monday. hopefully i'll get back to it soon.

mb