A coworker lent me Tina Fey’s Bossypants and I was excited to read it on the plane ride to Oregon. I expected a amusing read, but found myself, in chapter five, wondering, “when is it going to get funny?” The book is one 2-inch-long paragraph after the next, every other of which ends in a “funny-one-liner!”, often in the form of a question. For example: “What’s happening to my moral compass?” (p77). “But remember the beginning of the story where I was the underdog? No? Me either.” (p80). “What has your cult done for you lately?” (p82). “What kind of a way is that to live?” (p84). “Whaaa? More on that later.” (p87). Now mind you, those were only the funny question punch-lines at the ends of paragraphs within ten pages of fairly large print type face (size 12, 1.5 spaced? I’m not an expert). There are plenty more question one-liners interspersed between, and many more non-question one-liners at the ends of paragraphs (and of course, interspersed between as well). As I said, the rule of thumb is that every other paragraph ends in a one-liner. If you like "30 Rock" and now have Bossypants on your shelf, please refer to it now. You’ll see that the pattern is nearly a science in Tina Fey’s writing.
Further, her paragraphs jump around from topic to topic too much, and don’t always return to what she was initially talking about nor does it always connect with the title of the chapter, and that bothers me. Especially because, as the writing is so basic, I am not giving the book my full attention (I don’t need to. No one needs to), and “BAM” I suddenly find myself 10 years and two stories away from what I was just reading.
I considered mapping a chapter to prove my point, but I am sure you believe me regardless. Especially if you have the book and are following along.
However, my main reason for writing this particular entry was not to review Tina Fey’s comedic memoir but to express to you my new found distress: I do exactly the same thing! I compose useless nonsense in a very patterned style to entertain, ignoring rules of good writing to make you laugh. The biggest difference is that Tina Fey is famous for other talents and people will read her book.
But overall, I was very disappointed in Bossypants. It reminded me of the time I went to see Baby Mama. I expected to laugh, and was sorely let down. I thought the writing would be as good as "30 Rock", but it wasn’t, and in both cases, I bailed on Tina Fey half-way through.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Williamsburg: A Ghost Tour
Back to Williamsburg, Virginia....
Two weekends ago, I went to Williamsburg with my mother and older sister, Caitlin. We did very little in the town due to heat (90 degrees!) and boredom, but we did (along with my cousin who came down for the day) partake in a spectacular ghost tour.
Because we signed up late in the day and ghost tours are in high in demand, we were only able to go on a family-friendly tour, rather than the advanced, "not recommended for children" tour that I can only imagine was completely terrifying.
We left our hotel, where we had spent the later part of the afternoon keeping cool (or in Caitlin's case, sleeping), and feasted on a dinner of appetizers and wine. I, trying to be helpful, broke our coffee pot while putting away the dishes. My mom called for a replacement (which didn't come) but we left in good spirits, full of good food and drink.
Arriving in Williamsburg, we found it once again unbearably hot despite the later hour, but we carried on with our plans. Our tour guide was a short, petite, middle aged woman with puffy hair, formed in the shape of a triangle around her face. She wore glasses, sneakers, a Williamsburg staff polo shirt with capris, and resembled an adventurous elf--one who your would find exploring caves, canyons and deserts during the North Pole's off-season. It was clear that this elf worked in the assembly line fitting bits and pieces together rather than a in a more creative, skilled, or artistic role. I'm sure she is a dedicated worker, but likely not an advanced craftsman and certainly not a children's storybook writer. She had no mind for stories.
"I am going to tell you about the ghosts of today," she told us, and proceeded to tell us, over the course of an hour, 5 modern-day ghost stories as relayed to her (and the entire ghost story walking tour staff) by others who worked in the colonial village. They ranged from lights being left on, to retail items falling from shelves, to the occasional apparition. It seemed as though any time anything was out of place, it was blamed on the supernatural.
"One waitress at The Kings Tavern needed to use the bathroom, but didn't have time to go downstairs to use the staff bathroom. After finishing a table, she slipped in the patron's ladies room, but on her way out, do you know what happened?" (Our elf-guide loved to have us guess the next predictable event in her stories) "The door was locked! But it was a swinging door, which can't lock! The waitress pulled and pulled, for 10 minutes, and couldn't get out! Finally, she did."
We learned a plethora of details about the layouts of the buildings, where stairs are, what types of locks are on what types of doors, etc. We also heard speculations as to which deceased people might be haunting which locations, but the guide would only provide a best guess and never fully commit to the assumptions.
Another gem of a tale: "It was late one night, and a waitress was closing up Chowning's Pub. All the lights were off, when she looked up and saw through a window in the attached building (they buildings are attached by an underground tunnel, but you will see that there is a space between them), guess what she saw?"
You'll never guess.
"The light was back on!" The tale continued with the woman walking back and forth to turn off the light three times to no avail, and finally imploring the ghost to leave the light off as she was tired and wanted to go home. "And guess what happened?"
The light stayed off.
My favorite story was the one about the insolent worker whose complaints about working in a shop resulted in an angry ghost throwing a mounted chess board from the wall, hitting the poor girl in the head. I told Caitlin that she was probably high, tried to climb up on and pull a mounted board from the wall, fell, hit her head, and blamed it on a ghost. A lot of the gave me the eerie feeling that employees weren't doing their jobs well and found the best excuse was to fault a ghost.
The tour complete, we went back to our car, cranked up the air conditioning, and returned to the hotel. When we got back, we were in for a shocking surprise. The coffee pot I had broken was repaired! And in the same spot where I had left it! It was surely the work of a spirit, haunting the coffee machine!
"No, Ashley," my mother said, "I asked them to bring it up when I stopped by the desk before we left."
But I didn't believe her. I know supernatural when I see it.
Two weekends ago, I went to Williamsburg with my mother and older sister, Caitlin. We did very little in the town due to heat (90 degrees!) and boredom, but we did (along with my cousin who came down for the day) partake in a spectacular ghost tour.
Because we signed up late in the day and ghost tours are in high in demand, we were only able to go on a family-friendly tour, rather than the advanced, "not recommended for children" tour that I can only imagine was completely terrifying.
We left our hotel, where we had spent the later part of the afternoon keeping cool (or in Caitlin's case, sleeping), and feasted on a dinner of appetizers and wine. I, trying to be helpful, broke our coffee pot while putting away the dishes. My mom called for a replacement (which didn't come) but we left in good spirits, full of good food and drink.
Arriving in Williamsburg, we found it once again unbearably hot despite the later hour, but we carried on with our plans. Our tour guide was a short, petite, middle aged woman with puffy hair, formed in the shape of a triangle around her face. She wore glasses, sneakers, a Williamsburg staff polo shirt with capris, and resembled an adventurous elf--one who your would find exploring caves, canyons and deserts during the North Pole's off-season. It was clear that this elf worked in the assembly line fitting bits and pieces together rather than a in a more creative, skilled, or artistic role. I'm sure she is a dedicated worker, but likely not an advanced craftsman and certainly not a children's storybook writer. She had no mind for stories.
"I am going to tell you about the ghosts of today," she told us, and proceeded to tell us, over the course of an hour, 5 modern-day ghost stories as relayed to her (and the entire ghost story walking tour staff) by others who worked in the colonial village. They ranged from lights being left on, to retail items falling from shelves, to the occasional apparition. It seemed as though any time anything was out of place, it was blamed on the supernatural.
"One waitress at The Kings Tavern needed to use the bathroom, but didn't have time to go downstairs to use the staff bathroom. After finishing a table, she slipped in the patron's ladies room, but on her way out, do you know what happened?" (Our elf-guide loved to have us guess the next predictable event in her stories) "The door was locked! But it was a swinging door, which can't lock! The waitress pulled and pulled, for 10 minutes, and couldn't get out! Finally, she did."
We learned a plethora of details about the layouts of the buildings, where stairs are, what types of locks are on what types of doors, etc. We also heard speculations as to which deceased people might be haunting which locations, but the guide would only provide a best guess and never fully commit to the assumptions.
Another gem of a tale: "It was late one night, and a waitress was closing up Chowning's Pub. All the lights were off, when she looked up and saw through a window in the attached building (they buildings are attached by an underground tunnel, but you will see that there is a space between them), guess what she saw?"
You'll never guess.
"The light was back on!" The tale continued with the woman walking back and forth to turn off the light three times to no avail, and finally imploring the ghost to leave the light off as she was tired and wanted to go home. "And guess what happened?"
The light stayed off.
My favorite story was the one about the insolent worker whose complaints about working in a shop resulted in an angry ghost throwing a mounted chess board from the wall, hitting the poor girl in the head. I told Caitlin that she was probably high, tried to climb up on and pull a mounted board from the wall, fell, hit her head, and blamed it on a ghost. A lot of the gave me the eerie feeling that employees weren't doing their jobs well and found the best excuse was to fault a ghost.
The tour complete, we went back to our car, cranked up the air conditioning, and returned to the hotel. When we got back, we were in for a shocking surprise. The coffee pot I had broken was repaired! And in the same spot where I had left it! It was surely the work of a spirit, haunting the coffee machine!
"No, Ashley," my mother said, "I asked them to bring it up when I stopped by the desk before we left."
But I didn't believe her. I know supernatural when I see it.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Williamsburg: A Disguise
Last week, I was invited to join Ken and his friends for drinks in Brooklyn.
"Sweet!" I said, "We can wear our disguises!"
I have a hideous gray jacket with frills and flowers on it that I purchased at Salvation Army back in the days when I tried to "dress differently" and essentially dressed in garbage and had saved for its obvious usefulness in dressing up to go to Brooklyn.
Ken and I outfitted ourselves meticulously, put on our "I don't care faces," and were ready for a night in Williamsburg! I even bought glasses at American Apparel that afternoon.
No one remarked on my outfit, which means I fit in well. Ken's glasses (that look like this:
)
did receive a quite a few compliments.
"Sweet!" I said, "We can wear our disguises!"
I have a hideous gray jacket with frills and flowers on it that I purchased at Salvation Army back in the days when I tried to "dress differently" and essentially dressed in garbage and had saved for its obvious usefulness in dressing up to go to Brooklyn.
Ken and I outfitted ourselves meticulously, put on our "I don't care faces," and were ready for a night in Williamsburg! I even bought glasses at American Apparel that afternoon.
No one remarked on my outfit, which means I fit in well. Ken's glasses (that look like this:
did receive a quite a few compliments.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Williamsburg: A trip to Trader Joe's
On the first day of our vacation last weekend, my mom and I went to Trader Joe's to buy groceries. Any of you who have visited a Trader Joe's know that the cashiers are very talkative and friendly (I imagine this to be a job requirement) regardless of the state you may be shopping in. They are polite and friendly in Portland stores (expected) as well as locations on Long Island. It was no different in Williamsburg, Virginia.
As of 5PM last Saturday, we were not impressed by the people we interacted with, particularly at our hotel. The "concierge" did little more than give my sister hand lotion and write down the website for Busch Gardens (it's Buschgardens.com. We never would have figured that out without her). She did not help us purchase tickets ("Um, I can't do that"), offer to make a restaurant reservation (just said we should), or give any advice on discounts to the attractions we wanted to visit. She was less helpful than us doing the work ourselves on a laptop, which is what we ended up doing. We didn't understand her purpose. Even if we didn't have a laptop, it was clear that she would not help anyone do anything.
The man at the front desk was a second disappointment. He very rude and practically lectured me on not putting my key card near my cell phone. I cut him off, mumbling "I understand the concept" and walked away while he continued to scold me for my horrible misdeed.
Our impression of the local workforce so far was, "ugg, you are useless!", and was further reinforced at the grocery store check-out line.
"I love these," our cashier, an average-looking 20-year-old girl, told us, referring to the corn chips my mother was purchasing.
"Oh good," my mom responded, "I haven't had them."
"Yeah, they are great because they are easy to eat." They were oval-shaped rather than trianglular. "I can't figure our how to get the other kind in my mouth."
Are you serious? I thought. "You can't figure out how to put a chip in your mouth?" It isn't difficult to put chips in your mouth. Most people have learned to do that by now.
Well, she continued checking us out and she wasn't appallingly stupid. Her biggest problem was that she felt that she needed to keep talking, which was often unnecessary. (For instance, I learned that she is just shy of 20, and is excited to go to the one cool local bar, but is disappointed that it isn't as popular in the summer when most of the William & Mary students are away. I also listened to her ratings of several rides at Busch Gardens.) Finally, when I had almost forgotten her initial dim remark, she held up a cantaloupe and asked, "What is this again?"
"A cantaloupe," my mom told her politely. My mom is terrific at keeping a straight face. Her tone in no way implied that a 20-year-old grocery-store cashier should know what a cantaloupe is, or that a 20-year-old anyone should know what a cantaloupe is.
"I'm so bad at melons!"
As of 5PM last Saturday, we were not impressed by the people we interacted with, particularly at our hotel. The "concierge" did little more than give my sister hand lotion and write down the website for Busch Gardens (it's Buschgardens.com. We never would have figured that out without her). She did not help us purchase tickets ("Um, I can't do that"), offer to make a restaurant reservation (just said we should), or give any advice on discounts to the attractions we wanted to visit. She was less helpful than us doing the work ourselves on a laptop, which is what we ended up doing. We didn't understand her purpose. Even if we didn't have a laptop, it was clear that she would not help anyone do anything.
The man at the front desk was a second disappointment. He very rude and practically lectured me on not putting my key card near my cell phone. I cut him off, mumbling "I understand the concept" and walked away while he continued to scold me for my horrible misdeed.
Our impression of the local workforce so far was, "ugg, you are useless!", and was further reinforced at the grocery store check-out line.
"I love these," our cashier, an average-looking 20-year-old girl, told us, referring to the corn chips my mother was purchasing.
"Oh good," my mom responded, "I haven't had them."
"Yeah, they are great because they are easy to eat." They were oval-shaped rather than trianglular. "I can't figure our how to get the other kind in my mouth."
Are you serious? I thought. "You can't figure out how to put a chip in your mouth?" It isn't difficult to put chips in your mouth. Most people have learned to do that by now.
Well, she continued checking us out and she wasn't appallingly stupid. Her biggest problem was that she felt that she needed to keep talking, which was often unnecessary. (For instance, I learned that she is just shy of 20, and is excited to go to the one cool local bar, but is disappointed that it isn't as popular in the summer when most of the William & Mary students are away. I also listened to her ratings of several rides at Busch Gardens.) Finally, when I had almost forgotten her initial dim remark, she held up a cantaloupe and asked, "What is this again?"
"A cantaloupe," my mom told her politely. My mom is terrific at keeping a straight face. Her tone in no way implied that a 20-year-old grocery-store cashier should know what a cantaloupe is, or that a 20-year-old anyone should know what a cantaloupe is.
"I'm so bad at melons!"
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Christian Morals
I noticed something very interesting during the "children's moment" at church last Sunday. I attend a Presbyterian church, and during the service, the minister (or other member of the congregation) takes a moment to give a child-geared lesson. Last Sunday, our minister told the story of David and Goliath, and the thing I noticed was that it was difficult for him to use this story as an example of Christian Life. And not surprisingly, either. The story is about killing another person. Killing people is not something we want to praise in our church, and telling kids, no less, that God helped as young boy kill an enemy isn't considered a ------
Our pastor avoided using any language that admitted that anyone had died. David was to "take on" Goliath (he didn't even "fight" him), and in the end (after a pause on the part of the pastor), Goliath was "defeated." He was not slain, killed, destroyed or vanquished. Not last Sunday, anyway.
Our pastor avoided using any language that admitted that anyone had died. David was to "take on" Goliath (he didn't even "fight" him), and in the end (after a pause on the part of the pastor), Goliath was "defeated." He was not slain, killed, destroyed or vanquished. Not last Sunday, anyway.
Friday, May 27, 2011
The Breakup
Ever since moving in together, I base much of my attitudes and actions regarding my relationship with Ken on my sister Caitlin's comment on The Breakup, staring Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Aniston.
My sisters and I saw The Breakup when we went to Ireland. Because of the time difference, my parents liked to go to bed early, so we had them drop us off at the movie theater and we would just take a cab home. One night, we saw The Breakup, and because we all have little respect toward the acting abilities of both lead roles, we were shocked when we enjoyed the movie.
For those of you who haven't seen it, Jennifer and Vince break up, and don't get back together. Early on in the movie, they fight over the dishes. Essentially, Jennifer wants help doing dishes and Vince doesn't want to help. (you may watch the scene here)
I was on the side of Jennifer. Vince should do the dishes! I thought. However, after we exited the theatre, my wise older sister gave me the following gem by which I live by:
Caitlin felt that the situation was both sad and realistic. "They both just had different ideas of how to live. When they get home from work, Vince wants to relax and Jen want the house clean. Neither is wrong."
She said something like that. Anyway, I have never forgotten her wise words, and when I get annoyed at Ken for not washing out a pot that he used, I remind myself of Jen, Vince and Caitlin. If a clean apartment makes me happy, then I should clean it. (To an extent. Don't worry, readers, Ken cleans just as much as I do.) Clean isn't right. Just like going to bed early or not watching TV isn't right. It's just how I prefer things.
My sisters and I saw The Breakup when we went to Ireland. Because of the time difference, my parents liked to go to bed early, so we had them drop us off at the movie theater and we would just take a cab home. One night, we saw The Breakup, and because we all have little respect toward the acting abilities of both lead roles, we were shocked when we enjoyed the movie.
For those of you who haven't seen it, Jennifer and Vince break up, and don't get back together. Early on in the movie, they fight over the dishes. Essentially, Jennifer wants help doing dishes and Vince doesn't want to help. (you may watch the scene here)
I was on the side of Jennifer. Vince should do the dishes! I thought. However, after we exited the theatre, my wise older sister gave me the following gem by which I live by:
Caitlin felt that the situation was both sad and realistic. "They both just had different ideas of how to live. When they get home from work, Vince wants to relax and Jen want the house clean. Neither is wrong."
She said something like that. Anyway, I have never forgotten her wise words, and when I get annoyed at Ken for not washing out a pot that he used, I remind myself of Jen, Vince and Caitlin. If a clean apartment makes me happy, then I should clean it. (To an extent. Don't worry, readers, Ken cleans just as much as I do.) Clean isn't right. Just like going to bed early or not watching TV isn't right. It's just how I prefer things.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Sometimes it is better not to talk
The city has hardened me. I notice most when I go to my parents' house on Long Island. I move too quickly in stores, make little eye contact, and don't partake in conversations that are not necessary. I have often found myself unable to respond to a cashier or friendly customer because I have no idea what they say to me. Usually in New York, I don't have to listen to anything. You can respond adeptly to any interaction without hearing any words uttered (if any words are in fact uttered). In the suburbs, though, people actually talk to you, and to respond correctly, one has to listen to the specific words that comes from their mouths. Worse, yet, these people often mean what they say.
Anyway, most of the time I don't have to worry about this, and can go about with blinders on and with a general distaste for others.
One morning on the elevator, for instance, I overheard the following conversation, and just kept thinking, "Why are you talking at all? This conversation is completely pointless. There is no need to be speaking right now." However, when I recounted the story later in the day, I must have been in a better mood, and couldn't recall why it had bothered me so much. I will try to tell the story now as I first experienced it, with mild annoyance and my NYC attitude.
I work in a office building that houses different companies on various floors. The elevator I use services five floors, all of which are home to law firms save the one that belongs to my company. Standing in silence, I heard the man ask the woman who he clearly knew, "Is that tea with milk in it?"
"It's Chai Tea," she told him in the normal morning-trivial-conversation-way, "It's my addiction."
Really, Woman? Is that your addiction ? That is totally the weakest addiction I have ever heard, unless you are trying to imply that it is a waste of money to purchase tea every day when you can more easily make it, which I doubt you are, judging by the floor on which you work, and which you in no way implied.
"I should really switch from coffee to tea," Man said. Which he never will! Why say things that you have no intent in following through with. I often think I should live forever. Maybe I'll try that?
"Well, I just pretend this is better, but I have no evidence that it really has less caffeine than coffee," Woman responded.
No evidence?? While Chai tea does have more caffeine than many other types of teas, it (generally) has less caffeine than per ml than coffee. More importantly, it is very easy to find evidence of this.
Anyway, most of the time I don't have to worry about this, and can go about with blinders on and with a general distaste for others.
One morning on the elevator, for instance, I overheard the following conversation, and just kept thinking, "Why are you talking at all? This conversation is completely pointless. There is no need to be speaking right now." However, when I recounted the story later in the day, I must have been in a better mood, and couldn't recall why it had bothered me so much. I will try to tell the story now as I first experienced it, with mild annoyance and my NYC attitude.
I work in a office building that houses different companies on various floors. The elevator I use services five floors, all of which are home to law firms save the one that belongs to my company. Standing in silence, I heard the man ask the woman who he clearly knew, "Is that tea with milk in it?"
"It's Chai Tea," she told him in the normal morning-trivial-conversation-way, "It's my addiction."
Really, Woman? Is that your addiction ? That is totally the weakest addiction I have ever heard, unless you are trying to imply that it is a waste of money to purchase tea every day when you can more easily make it, which I doubt you are, judging by the floor on which you work, and which you in no way implied.
"I should really switch from coffee to tea," Man said. Which he never will! Why say things that you have no intent in following through with. I often think I should live forever. Maybe I'll try that?
"Well, I just pretend this is better, but I have no evidence that it really has less caffeine than coffee," Woman responded.
No evidence?? While Chai tea does have more caffeine than many other types of teas, it (generally) has less caffeine than per ml than coffee. More importantly, it is very easy to find evidence of this.
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