Category: Thoughtful Reflection

I watched Adaptation last week. It’s a movie about a writer struggling to write a screenplay based on a best-selling novel about orchids. It’s a movie about a brother struggling with his twin brother’s writing talent. It’s a movie about a man struggling with his own adequacies. And it’s a movie about story.

As in, it’s about Story, the book about how to write a good story, written by Robert McKee. In the movie, the protagonist’s brother recommends that he read the book and attend the seminar on the book.  Charlie Kaufman, the protagonist, ends up reading the book, talking to the author, and entertaining dialogue ensues. I’ve decided to start reading the book as well, and there have been many a highlight-able passage.  In fact, I have been so inspired by the meaningful instruction in the book, that I feel compelled to write these passages down, repeat them and demand David discuss them with me. But writing them down on paper, I realized, would not be enough. I needed something bigger to reflect the gravitas of the ideas. So, we bought a whiteboard. On this whiteboard, we will draw elaborate diagrams that reflect brilliant brainstorming. Our visitors will marvel at the profundity of the Story quotations and of course, our creativity.

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When David first told me he was ready for us to grow our family, I was nervous and excited at the same time. We have only been married a little over seven months, but for us, that was enough time to build a foundation on which we could comfortably welcome not one but two new ones. We needed two of course: one for each of us.

Before I dive into the process of undergoing this big change, I would like to spend a moment stressing the importance of preparation.  Since it is an emotional and challenging lifestyle adjustment, it’s really important to prepare as much as possible. People say you can never prepare enough, but those people lack vision. You can always prepare, and you can certainly prepare enough. Resources on the web, ranging from images to interactive simulations, all help with the preparation stage. You can go clothes shopping, you can check your camera batteries and memory cards, you can make space, and you can research compelling learning activities. There is no shortage of what you can do while it’s still just the two of you.

Now, as you may have suspected, David and I are both very romantic, sensitive people. For example, last night our eyes glistened with tears after watching Chris Rene’s “Young Homie” performance on The X Factor. We were wracked with emotion when that performance was followed by Melanie Amaro’s powerful rendition of “Listen.” Two hours later, tears streamed down our cheeks as we watched The Help.  This is what we, as romantic, sensitive people do with our free time. We feel.

Anyway, we knew this wouldn’t be a “wham bam thank you ma’am” occasion. No, for this to happen, we both needed to be there, figuratively and literally, of course. And we knew the best place for this magical thing to happen would be none other than New York City, the city where we first really fell in love, and the city where we continue to make love. It was only fitting that this would also be the city where we would create love.

And so, when we were in New York on December 17, we set out to grow our family. We started out the day by attending a holiday concert, put on by the Brooklyn Youth Choir. During the concert, I selected features of several children that I appreciated most, such as hair style and color, disposition, voice quality, eagerness, etc. “David, how do you like the child that is the third from the left?” I would ask, trying to get a sense for what kinds of things David values. “Shhh,” he would respond, unhelpfully.  It was no matter. After the concert, we set out for a late and delicious seafood lunch.

Well then, then it was time for our big event! We boarded the subway and headed towards the 59th street/5th avenue station. There was a line to enter FAO Schwartz, so we had to stand for a little while. But even from outside the window we could see the delight within! When we finally entered the store, we headed straight for the factory. They handed us books, so that we could experiment with different designs, and we began the muppet making process. You can stick on different potential noses and eyes for your muppet and see what combinations you like best. Since I had done some online research, this process was less daunting than it might have been.

Then, you finalize your selections, sealing their fate and yours with a signature.

After that, the doctors take over, treating each newborn as if they were their own, careful to ensure all parts stay in tact and healthy.

When the work is complete, you have to let your new loved ones sit in the nursery for a little bit. This is so that the glue dries. Then, they are wrapped for transport. Warning! This image below may be jarring.

We got back on the subway, where everyone “ooh”ed and “awwww”ed. They could tell we were going to be one happy family.

Happy Holidays from our family to yours!

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The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins, is about an America in the future in which there are 12 districts, governed strictly by The Capitol. Every year, to punish the districts for an uprising that happened around 74 years ago, each district randomly selects two teenagers, a boy and a girl, to represent them in the Hunger Games. These games are a fight to the death. The victor then receives a lifetime of money and food and brings prestige to their respective districts.

Our protagonist is Katniss Everdeen, a young girl who has been caring for her family ever since her father was killed in a terrible mining accident. Katniss has a few qualities that make her decently equipped to win, including hunting skills, killer instincts and a love for her family that motivates her to live in such a twisted world. Unfortunately I only have one of these three qualities, and I suspect the one I have would be the least useful in a fight to the death.

So as you can imagine, I’m deeply troubled by this. If I ever have to fight to the death, I may not win. I become irritable when the temperature drops below 68 degrees Fahrenheit, I run at a mediocre speed, and my climbing skills have declined considerably since the need to retrieve balls stuck in trees went away 15 years ago. That leaves me to rely on my wits, which I suspect are also in decline. The other day I bought a cardigan that didn’t quite fit, just because the price was good. Who does that? Surely not the quick witted.

So after ruminating over this latest dilemma – survival, for those who have not been paying attention – I have come to some important realizations.  The most important of these realizations is that I need to build up some valuable survival skills.

Here are the top three skills I need to build, and how I will go about building them.

Skill 1:  Learn how to capture, prepare, and cook my own food.
In the book, Katniss captures game by using her bow and arrow and setting hunting traps in the wild. Because it is silly for me to use a bow and arrow in a grocery store, we will say that putting food into a grocery cart and then paying for it, counts as a successful capture. Katniss skins her game, and I, I will rinse it so that any bacteria on the plastic is less likely to end up on food. And finally, Katniss can build fires, so much like her, I will attempt to fire up our gas stove, assuming the capture and prepare steps have gone smoothly. If I can accomplish this, I am one step closer to being able to survive.

Skill 2: Learn how to run fast.
Obviously, running fast is necessary for survival in case zombies or animals are chasing me. I don’t know how to learn how to do this. So…um…maybe I can start by sprinting to Pinkberry, instead of my daily leisurely stroll.

Skill 3: Learn another language.
Katniss does not speak another language, but it’s not relevant to the world she lives in. In my case, it could be a really powerful skill.  What language should I learn? Well, Polish Foreign Minister Radoslaw Sikorski makes me think I should learn German: “I fear German power less than I am beginning to fear German inactivity,” he said, last week. This suggests to me that only speaking German might make me a powerful force without even doing anything else and more specifically, by doing absolutely nothing. This is much easier than sprinting to Pinkberry. German it is.

 

 

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I have two big goals in life. Goal number one is to publish a novel that is read and loved by strangers. I’m thinking lots of strangers, like 200 or 300. My second goal is to become an outstanding hip hop dancer. And when I say outstanding, I mean that I can position myself in the front row of hip hop dance class at the gym, and I know all the moves. When the instructor decides to stop dancing at the front of the class and instead jumps around throughout the room to yell the oh-so inspirational “Come on, girl!” to the less experienced students, every one looks to me for what to do next.  Every once in a while, maybe someone even mistakes me for the instructor – that’s how outstanding I aspire to be.

Well Saturday morning, in my effort to achieve goal #2, I got dressed for Zumba class at the gym.  Usually I put very little effort into my appearance when I prepare for the gym.  And on Saturday, I put in even less effort than usual.  I grabbed some baggy sweat pants out of the dirty laundry pile, put on a t-shirt I had gotten for free somewhere, and put on a thin hooded sweatshirt I found from nine years ago. Then I messily put one of those tight headbands in my hair: the kind that reminds the world my head is misshapen, and I would be nothing without my hair.  Some girls look cute in the headbands. These girls are wizards masquerading as athletic mortals.

Anyway, I looked disgusting. But I didn’t care, because I was going to the gym. I figured no one would know this was a “before” situation and not an “after an extensive workout at the gym” deal.  I walked down the hall, and at the elevator, I selected the down button. To my horror, I heard people talking. This meant that people who live in our building were in the elevator, and worse, when the doors opened, they would see me.  Before I could turn around and run towards the stairs, the elevator doors opened, and there stood what must be the four most beautiful people in the building – well, three of the most beautiful people, and one who was just okay.  They stopped their conversation and looked at me, as if I were too dirty to get on the elevator. I looked at them, as if they were too well-dressed to be on the elevator.  Then I stepped in and turned around and faced the door, hoping they would forget I was in there.  Luckily, they did, and resumed their conversation, which went like this:

Stylish Male #1: That’s why we don’t talk to Jared anymore. Annnnd we haven’t been around ….and all these things have been happening.

Stylish Female #2: Wow…

Me: Oooh! What did this Jared character do? It sounds like something terrible. I hope they give me more context.

Stylish Female: #2: I’m so happy for you guys.

Stylish Female #1: Aw, thank you.

Me: What?

Stylish Female #2: I’m so happy I’m going to cry.

Me: Did Stylish Female #1 just get engaged? Let’s casually look at her hands…no. She’s already married. Okay look back before they know you are listening intently.

Stylish Male #2: Congratulations. Definitely congratulations.

Stylish Female #2: I’m going to cry! I’m going to cry. This is amazing.

Me: What kind of news did you just share in the elevator? AND WHAT ROLE COULD THIS JARED CHARACTER HAVE POSSIBLY PLAYED?

Stylish Female #2: I’m going to burst into tears, I am SO happy for you two.

Me: This isn’t one of those fancy elevators that has tissue boxes, so you need to wait.

Then the elevator doors opened, and I ran out in a slight jog so that it was clear exercise was involved in my wardrobe decisions.

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“The most horrid thing just happened,” I told my dinner companions, as I sat down Friday evening. (Of course, I would have told you first, dear blog, but I was so distressed that the thought of putting pen to paper* during such a harrowing time escaped me.)  I put my shopping bag next to my chair and stared at its contents.  What had I done?

I turned my attention back to my dinner companions, ready to share.  “I went into the Lucky Brand Jeans store, and I told them about the problem I have. I said, ‘I have two pairs of jeans from here, both different styles, and the zipper is always coming down on its own on both of them. I love the jeans, but the zipper is a real problem.  I have to wear long shirts all the time!’ ”

The sales associate looked at me, and said, “Hmm, I’ve never heard of this problem.”

I looked back at her, shocked. “Never? No one else? Okay, well do you carry jeans with buttons instead of zippers?”

“Well I haven’t been here that long. Let me check with my manager about the zippers. The only jeans with buttons we have are the Sienna Tomboy, over here.” She walked me over to the jeans, which boasted a skinny fit and a slight tear in the thigh.

The cost: $129.  I looked around for a “sale” sign. Unfortunately, the only one I saw was a sign above the style of jean that I already owned and was in fact wearing that day, with a long shirt over it, of course, to hide the rogue zipper. They were $30 off! “For $30 off, should I buy another pair and tolerate this zipper farce?” I asked myself. I decided I would not, because I’m nothing if not a woman of principle. Zippers should stay up.

I decided to try on the jeans with buttons. She handed me two sizes, a size two and a size four, and while I was in the fitting room, she assured me she would ask her manager about the zipper issue I was having.  So there I was in the fitting room, trying on Sienna Tomboy jean. I tried the size four first, because as flattering as it is to be mistaken for a two, I am not one. The size four fit really well. It was comfortable, was not too tight, and most importantly, it looked good! Knowing that jeans stretch out, I decided to give the size two a chance. I put them on, and they were tight, but they fit too! I was feeling really good about myself, when the sales associate returned. “I talked to my manager, and do you find your zipper comes down when you are moving or sitting?”

“Yes!” I replied.

“Well, it’s possible you are wearing jeans that are not right for your body. You perhaps have big hips,” she said.

“I may have big hips,” I replied, trying to hide my bitterness. I wouldn’t use the word big. “I’m a woman!” I should have screamed. “Of course I have hips!”  would have appropriately punctuated my moment of empowerment. Instead I looked at her and blinked.

“Well let me bring some styles that might be better for your body type,” she said.

“Okay,” I replied.

I returned my attention to the mirror, pleased that I had just fit into a size two in these jeans with buttons.

The salesperson returned with some jeans for me to try on. I held the jeans up, and something felt amiss. I shrugged off the feeling and put the jeans on.  When I zipped up the jeans, I was not happy. They looked like jeggings – leggings with jean features painted on. “How do they feel?” she asked excited. I pulled open the curtain. “Those look GREAT on you,” she gushed. I stared at her, trying to find the right words to convey my thoughts. “They are more stretchy in the hip area, to fit your curves,” she explained.

I decided on my words. “I do not feel sexy in these.”

She didn’t seem sure what to say. I can’t blame her.  “Let me go find some other styles for your body type.”

She returned with another pair of jeans, much like the first set of mom jeans she had brought over.  I put them on and then immediately took them off.

It was time to make a decision. I chose the torn size two jeans with the buttons, designed for teenagers. I put them back on, jumped around to make sure the buttons didn’t come flying off, stared at my behind, tried to justify the price tag (and could not, but whatever). I took them off, put my own jeans back on, and headed over to the cash register with the jeans. I was in a bit of a hurry, and for some reason it was taking a long time to check out the people in front of me. This gave me some time to seriously evaluate what I was going to do: pay a lot of money for torn jeans that were a size too small and not appropriate for my body type.  Here is how the conversation went:

Future me: Why are you doing this?
Present me: For us. I’m doing this for us.
Future me: I’m the one who has to pay the credit card statement!
Present me: I wear jeans all the time. I wear them to work too.
Future me: These are torn jeans. I can’t wear them to work.
Present me: She said we have big hips. Wearing these jeans proves they are wrong.
Future me: We do have big hips.
Present me: You are going on a diet. Do you hear me?  A diet.
Future me: Our current jeans are fine. You don’t have to do this. Do you think you can ask for a discount because the jeans look used?
Present me: Maybe. I’m pretty sure that’s the style though. I noticed the tear is in the same spot in all of the sizes.
Future me: Okay, ask about a sale then.

My turn finally arrived. I handed over the jeans I had selected. “Will there be a sale anytime soon?”

“No….” she replied. The manager spoke up too, “Not anytime soon. We have one in January and one in June. And those jeans you have picked are our most popular model. Those aren’t going on sale.”

“Oh, really?” I replied, a bit surprised, “I’m just nervous because I’ve never paid so much for torn jeans before.”

He looked at me like I was lying. “Have you never bought jeans before?” He smiled. I should have slapped him.

I looked down at the jeans I was wearing, “Not ones with tears in them. All my other ones look clean.” I said, troubled.

I signed the credit card receipt and walked out.

“So now I’ve bought jeans that are expensive, torn, and not correct for my body and probably my age, all because I don’t want to accept that I have big hips,” I told my dinner companions. David stared at me. I sheepishly shrugged.

I can either return these jeans, or I can wear them all the time.

——-
*That’s figurative, of course. No one uses pen and paper anymore.

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