As discussion of one cultural zeitgeist came to an end last night--it was our last "What is Modernism?" class through the UT Odyssey program, and I must disappointingly admit that I walked out of the door with exactly zero new insights on modernism--a new cultural zeitgeist was born. Or rather, renewed.
Project Runway, welcome back to my life.
Welcome back Tim, who is wonderful and sincere; Michael, who is slightly less orange-looking; Nina, sour and underwhelmed as ever; and Heidi, not pregnant for the first time since season 1. The gang's all here. Here's who I love so far: the tall skinny blond guy and the fat guy. I mostly love the fat guy because, despite the editors' best efforts to make him the "Boing! This guy doesn't belong!" character, he turned out a really stunning dress. You go, guy who makes salad-themed dresses sometimes!
In other, non-fabric-related news, today is my parents' anniversary. They were married less than three months when they found out they were preggers with me. It kinda wrapped up a hell of a whirlwind year for them: met in the spring, married in the fall, pregnant the next spring. It was the 70s, so maybe that was de rigour, though it strikes me, of the post-Mary Tyler Moore generation, as pretty quick. Anyway, those quirky kids have been married for 32 years; they've been married longer than they were single. Weird when you can start to balance your life like that.
Showing posts with label heredity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label heredity. Show all posts
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
I have a cousin who's been missing for 2 1/2 years. Missing as in, no one knows where he is, why he went, what happened (to him), or if he'll ever come back. He didn't take his wallet or his keys or his cell phone. He just...vanished.
Because he fell in age right in the middle of all us girls cousins, he was always the groom when we played wedding on my grandma's front lawn. I remember him also having a certain zeal for the 1988 Olympic gymnastic team and for Patch and Kayla on Days of Our Lives. When he and his sister Amy used to come to our house, we would all sing along to the Footloose soundtrack.
The last time I saw him was right before I moved to Memphis in 1999. He seemed like the kind of person I would be friends with, but alas, as these things do, the cousins had all drifted apart over the years, and we only saw each other on Christmas Eves at Grandma's house.
I had a dream last night about him. In the dream my sister Kristin, cousin Aaron, Amy, and I were going to his apartment near Disneyland (he's never had an apartment near Disneyland, though Amy did work maintenance there one summer). When we got to the apartment, we were all sitting on the couch and talking when it dawned on me: Aaron was back. He was there. I'm not sure why it took so long for me to realize it, but when I did, I started frantically signaling my sister to make sure that she noticed, too.
Then I woke up, to the sound of dumpsters being emptied in the middle of the night.
Because he fell in age right in the middle of all us girls cousins, he was always the groom when we played wedding on my grandma's front lawn. I remember him also having a certain zeal for the 1988 Olympic gymnastic team and for Patch and Kayla on Days of Our Lives. When he and his sister Amy used to come to our house, we would all sing along to the Footloose soundtrack.
The last time I saw him was right before I moved to Memphis in 1999. He seemed like the kind of person I would be friends with, but alas, as these things do, the cousins had all drifted apart over the years, and we only saw each other on Christmas Eves at Grandma's house.
I had a dream last night about him. In the dream my sister Kristin, cousin Aaron, Amy, and I were going to his apartment near Disneyland (he's never had an apartment near Disneyland, though Amy did work maintenance there one summer). When we got to the apartment, we were all sitting on the couch and talking when it dawned on me: Aaron was back. He was there. I'm not sure why it took so long for me to realize it, but when I did, I started frantically signaling my sister to make sure that she noticed, too.
Then I woke up, to the sound of dumpsters being emptied in the middle of the night.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Because I can't resist. And I have access to my parents' photo albums.
Talking points:
1. Triangular hair.
2. Sally Jessie Raphael.
3. Baby evangelist.
4. White pumps.
School days, school days, dear old golden rules days.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
She's come undone.
Six-year-old Emily, my mom, and I, in the car.
E: Why does Cami get to pick everything we do?
M: Because she's the guest while she's here.
C: And because I'm a princess.
E: You can't be a princess; you're 30.
C: Oh yeah? So what am I instead--the wicked stepmother? The evil witch?
E: No; you're the donkey.
Emily and I, in the jacuzzi.
C: What did you do when Grandpa watched you while Grandma and your mom were out of town?
E: [conspiratorially] We threw a party for 100 of our closest friends.
E: Have you ever done this as a job?
C: No, but I've painted my nails before plenty of times.
E: You should work in a salon. Maybe boys would come in and buy gifts for people, and you could get a boyfriend. And then you could get married. And have a baby. Don't you want a baby?
C: ....
E: Well, you should work in a salon.
E: Why does Cami get to pick everything we do?
M: Because she's the guest while she's here.
C: And because I'm a princess.
E: You can't be a princess; you're 30.
C: Oh yeah? So what am I instead--the wicked stepmother? The evil witch?
E: No; you're the donkey.
***
C: What did you do when Grandpa watched you while Grandma and your mom were out of town?
E: [conspiratorially] We threw a party for 100 of our closest friends.
***
Emily and I, while I painted red polka dots on her nails.E: Have you ever done this as a job?
C: No, but I've painted my nails before plenty of times.
E: You should work in a salon. Maybe boys would come in and buy gifts for people, and you could get a boyfriend. And then you could get married. And have a baby. Don't you want a baby?
C: ....
E: Well, you should work in a salon.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
On claiming furniture for a future date.
My mom is down in the O.C. (don't call it that) this weekend for my grandma's 83rd birthday. And also to meet her new dad: my grandma's tying the knot this fall with husband #3. It's like having Liz Taylor as your grandma. Or J. Lo.
Also in town for this occasion are my mom's three sisters. Altogether, this is one big bunch of crazy, in the way that only your own genetics can be. I imagine it's a lot of talking around certain topics; spending time with the blushing bride-to-be while slowly realizing that there are no such things as 83-year-old brides, only older 18-year-old brides; and secretly taping your name onto the back of furniture you'd like to see become yours when the time comes (my mom's been doing this for years, but sometimes she just quietly palms little things here and there; it's a victimless crime). A fight breaks out whenever one of these taped names is discovered, and I'd be willing to bet that more than one piece of furniture has serepitiously had the name on back changed.
My mom was not exactly looking forward to this weekend. What is it about sisters that incites such a mixture of dread and potential hilarity? I have two of my own, of course, so I have my suspicions. These are the people I used to have to sleep in between in the king-size bed at my San Diego grandparents' house, and they would literally fight over me--waking the whole house--and then roll over and take the pillows with them. I was left in the middle without a pillow (my brother, being the only boy, was always stuck on the couch in the living room).
The problem with and blessing of sisters is that they know you too well. They know the soft parts that hurt, they know how to pinch those spots just so, they know how to protect them from other people. There's a lot of power there. And not always used for good and not evil. It's a dynamic that never goes away, I think. In fact, I'm fairly positive there is furniture at my parents' house that already has a name taped to the back.
Also in town for this occasion are my mom's three sisters. Altogether, this is one big bunch of crazy, in the way that only your own genetics can be. I imagine it's a lot of talking around certain topics; spending time with the blushing bride-to-be while slowly realizing that there are no such things as 83-year-old brides, only older 18-year-old brides; and secretly taping your name onto the back of furniture you'd like to see become yours when the time comes (my mom's been doing this for years, but sometimes she just quietly palms little things here and there; it's a victimless crime). A fight breaks out whenever one of these taped names is discovered, and I'd be willing to bet that more than one piece of furniture has serepitiously had the name on back changed.
My mom was not exactly looking forward to this weekend. What is it about sisters that incites such a mixture of dread and potential hilarity? I have two of my own, of course, so I have my suspicions. These are the people I used to have to sleep in between in the king-size bed at my San Diego grandparents' house, and they would literally fight over me--waking the whole house--and then roll over and take the pillows with them. I was left in the middle without a pillow (my brother, being the only boy, was always stuck on the couch in the living room).
The problem with and blessing of sisters is that they know you too well. They know the soft parts that hurt, they know how to pinch those spots just so, they know how to protect them from other people. There's a lot of power there. And not always used for good and not evil. It's a dynamic that never goes away, I think. In fact, I'm fairly positive there is furniture at my parents' house that already has a name taped to the back.
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