Dear Radio,

So here's the thing. I don't expect much from you; I really don't. I realize you do not have much to work with lately, and are forced to lower yourselves to the pablum lovers also known as tweens and people who suck, not that the two are necessarily mutually exclusive.

However, some days, such as today, I don't want to listen to my iPod. Partially out of principle because I think Macs are the most overrated things in the world and I am mad at Apple®. But more because it is the first day in ages that isn't gray, and I wanted to feel the way I did when I first started driving in the Spring of 1995, when I was young and did not yet know the horror that would be my twenties. When I could turn on the radio and flip from "Breakfast at Tiffany's" to "I know what you're dooooooing! BA-Byyyyyy" to "dum dum DUM, WE knew rockers JUST LIKE buddy HOLly, OH OH anddd Mary Tyler Moore!"

Are you feeling my flow? Sure, there was the occasional mine in the field like the overwrought treacle otherwise known as Early British Madonna (where you at, Fun Madonna?), but I'm just saying that was a great time.

And I realize that now is not that time, not for you, and it's okay. This is an "American Idol" world, and we just live in it. (No offense, Carrie Underwood, love you!) All I'm saying is that I am excellent with the dial. That's what she said. But I know where to find the good stuff, at least the passable stuff.

So when I go through an entire 20-mile drive to work, I expect that the best I will hear will decidedly not be some weird amalgamation that sounds like Kevin Little singing reggae, but at least there is a decent beat and some Spanish in it so I can pretend it's rigatoni. (The music, not the noodle.)

And even MORE decidedly do I not wish to realize that said best song was on freaking KTU! That station is the devil.

But you know, I realize that it's tough for you. And simple yelling helps no one, so I have compiled a list of guidelines for you, just to make sure that this morning's tragedy will never happen again.


1. That "Make a Memory" song by Bon Jovi? Just pretend it's not there, and maybe it will go away, because that was done as a favor for someone, and never meant to be taken seriously. So I tell myself to sleep at night.

2. That said, in addition, Bon Jovi has many other songs besides "Living on a Prayer." I mean, who do I have to sleep with around here to get some "Bed of Roses" or "Born to be my Baby?"

3. "Brown-Eyed Girl" should never be played again, anywhere, ever. Just because drunk girls in bars with brown eyes (the girls, not the bars) get all "This song is for ME" about things doesn't mean you have to play the song in regular society. Don't get me wrong, I love Van Morrison and we have the same birthday, but why not some "Into the Mystic" instead? Now THAT'S a song.

4. There is no need to be unintentionally ironic by playing that "Please don't stop the Music! Please don't stop the music!" Although I followed their instructions and turned that shit right off in order to find some actual music. Which I did not find, as you'll recall.

5. Can we please just leave Justin Timberlake to the "blonde" appletini chicks at Mulcahey's? And pretend no longer that his songs remain interesting for longer than 30 seconds, and only for that first time you hear them?

6. You MUST stop with the Hannah Montana bullshit.

7. Additionally, any and all country pop that came out around 1999 must cease. We've heard Shania Twain's barely passable ballads enough at every single person's wedding circa 1999-2004.

8. And for that matter, "Man, I Feel Like a Woman?" Not a song. Let's leave THAT particular mess to drunk groups of girls at karaoke, where you know there's like that pretty one, and then her friends? Yes, that group.

9. You may not know this, and understandably so, but there honestly is great hip hop out there. Good rule of thumb, if a song is all about bitches and bling, or sounds like your drunk Uncle Peter on a bender, it is probably not one of the good ones. Keep looking.

10. The next time you play that "Bubbly" song? I will cut you.


Thanks, and have a great day!


Love,

Judi :)





©2007

"Survivor" "strategy"

I don't know how many of you watch "Survivor," but I am a diehard fan not just of the show, but the game itself. I applied for it and heard nothing, so every time I watch something like what went down this season--ugh, it sucks. Because when done well, the strategy can be true art, and fascinatingly beautiful to watch. But this season (which I finished last night because I waited for Eric to come home so we could watch it together awww) was just full of some of the most ridiculous crap I've ever seen. And I was devastated at seeing my girl Amanda come in third when she should have won the game. Instead, we just have another example of a "boy wins, girl not nice, send her away" situation. The only time women win on this show is when they play meek games, and that pisses me off. I do like Todd and Courtney a lot, but that game was Amanda's to win, and she just threw it away.

But anyway, Jeffrey D. Sadow, the strategy expert for Reality News Online, wrote an article that voices my other frustrations with the season better than I have been able to. So, if you're interested, here it is.

Second Verse, Not The Same As The First

Usually when the plane is over the water, it nosedives straight in, or explodes on the way down. This time, it was hovering, like a UFO on "Twilight Zone" or something.

It did fall into the water, right in front of my face, but I stayed calm this time. Still horrifying, still couldn't believe it was happening for real, this situation I'd dreamed about for years.

But it didn't explode; there was no fire. It just fell in. And you got the feeling that maybe it could have made it. Doom was less inevitable than usual.

And this time, there was a person. Soaked pilot pulled out of the water, intact. They gave him CPR, but it was too late; he'd drowned.

But he was in one piece. And the plane did not fall apart.

So maybe next time, if we just try a little harder...













©2007

Takeoffs Or Landings?

In my dreams, I see you at the foot of some mountains
And we're taking some pictures or something
And we'd better hurry up
It's late and the sun keeps shooting through pine trees
And the grass stains are wet on your new jeans
And we'd better hurry up

~ Rilo Kiley



I am sitting on a bus with my mother. She is one row behind me, to the right. We're discussing my intense fear of airplanes. She is saying, "I don't mind airplanes, but I hate the process of getting off the ground and into the air."

And because it is a dream, she says this, and I can feel it, the takeoff. The loud noise and craziness until that one moment where, *poof* -- you're in the sky.

"Ohhh," I reply. "Taking off doesn't give me nearly the same terror as landing. You just crash to the ground and bounce along until you ideally stop, and I can't breathe until the plane slows down and I know it's all over."

And I can feel that too.

Then as if reading each other's mind, we both look out the front windshield onto the ground and laugh, because the bus not only appears to be lacking a driver, but is winding around a very narrow mountain with no guardrails. How ironic and possibly jinxing to discuss the scariness of airplanes when there's no guarantee we're getting anywhere safely right now.

So I just hang on for the ride and pray for the best.













©2007

O...Christmas Tree?

Colored lights. Little, not big, though now that no one has them anymore, big will work in a retro kind of way, but still not on the tree. Solid lights too; the option to have them spaz about is nice, but I need them to occasionally stay put.

Garland, preferably gold. Definitely not silver. The tinsel can be silver, but not clumped. Strands for accent. Although it's a moot point when cats are around, because the last thing I need is to be mocked by sparkly kitty litter.

An angel for the top, although since our low-budget angel of yore disappeared, I don't really care if the topper is a star, and I'd definitely rather a star than a garish big angel. But I still miss our old angel, which was little and had like a plastic doll head and sporadic yellow hair and a cardboard body.

Ornaments should be meaningful. Random balls and the like are all right as filler, but I want my tree bursting with nostalgia. Perfect example: my brother Robb made I think in nursery school (Robb?) this HUGE monstrosity of a paper "dove," complete with I believe glitter, his name, and--as with any self-respecting homemade ornament--pipe cleaners. I hated it at the time because I think I was probably in a phase where I was trying to be cool, but that is the kind of ornament I appreciate now. Probably in part because when my parents got married they had no money but my mom was an art major, and she painted approximately one billion wooden ornaments. So even our filler ornaments were meaningful.

Little bows, candy canes, pinecones, those are also things that go on the Christmas tree. They are cute and fun, but tie the tree together, giving it a cohesive look despite the paper dove and awkward class-picture ornaments.

That is my tree.

That was not Shannon's tree.

It was Christmas 2001, and Shannon and I were living in an apartment in evil Plainview. The apartment was nice and big, if a bit cold and dungeon-y. And Shannon is excellent at decorating, so the place looked really pretty. Basically, I didn't care what she did to the apartment, because she always made it work, and I got used to not *assuming* that things were what they seemed, like that a spice rack would hold spices or that a teapot would be for making tea. The rule is as I discovered, that if something has Disney characters on it and can break, or if it has shamrocks on it and can break, or if it is old-looking ("antique"), or if it is a pillow, you may not use it for its apparent purpose. But it is all very pretty.

So when Shannon told me that she intended to put beautiful bows on our tree, I was a bit taken aback that something inside me felt resistance. I quickly dismissed that resistance though, because it was Shannon! She knew how to make glittery snowflakes out of cardboard and magnets out of looseleaf! Mad skills. Carry on. And I'd seen strands of ribbon flowing down the fancy trees at Hick's Nursery; it was pretty. I felt very mature as I headed home to put up ornaments on the tree that Shannon was setting up with the basics (i.e., lights, garland, and now apparently, pretty delicate bows). Rock on.

I burst inside, happy to see that Shannon and her ubiquitous pajamas had been joined by her sister Devon and Bert. Bert being our friend and not our sister. (Usually.)

"HELLO EVERYONE HOW ARE YOU AND HOLY GOD WHAT IS THAT ON THE CHRISTMAS TREE?!?!"

Okay, these were not the unobtrusive ribbons my brain had imagined. These were big bows with huge red ribbons creeping like spider legs all over MY CHRISTMAS TREE.

The next half hour can be summed up in the following:


"WTF!"

"THIS IS HOW INTERIOR DESIGN WORKS!"

"YOU CAN'T EVEN SEE THE TREE!"

"&%^$*!!!!"

"%@%^&**!!!!!!!"

"FINE!"

RIP! Shannon tears the bows off the tree, and in the process...

...SMASH! Goes an ornament!

STOMP! Goes Shannon into her room!

SLAM! Goes her door!

SIGH! Goes Bert, obviously wondering why he hangs out with women in the first place, as he goes to Shannon's room to calm her down.


I sat out there with Devon, nervously giggling but feeling immediately like, "What a weird fight." You know how sometimes crap's going on, but there is the part of you that is like, "Well this is kind of funny!" but you can't just go with that aspect of it, because in the meantime, people are crying.

So of course since I couldn't laugh, I started to cry too, wailing to Devon about how I just wanted it to feel like Christmas, and I wasn't expecting the Spider-Bows.

Of course, Shannon and I made up and "bows" is now like "Pictionary" on "Friends," like "Ha ha, WATCH OUT!" But you know, as absurd as the argument was on a surface sense, how many people have their own version of Spider-Bow angst every year?

I do think that part of it has to do with the, and please forgive the cliché, consumerization and in this case, which I don't say very often at ALL, secularization of what is, at the end of the day, not supposed to be about any of this at all.

But I don't mean to throw the baby out with the bathwater. I love Christmas traditions. I love snow on glowing lights, and hot cider, and dancing Santa Clauses, and all of that. And I think that fighting the "Happy Holidays" bit is not only silly but offensive. Many don't celebrate Christmas, like to quote Willow for example, "Hello! Still Jewish!"

I don't mean that people should fall in line and celebrate Christmas if that's not their deal. But I do think that for those of us who do celebrate it, we have to be careful. Careful of how easy it is to make a holiday ostensibly about celebrating our Lord's birthday (and yes, I know the calendar doesn't match up, but I used to have birthday parties in October, so I think Jesus would be cool with having his party in December instead of April), about ourselves. Why did I get so upset at the bows on "my" Christmas tree? Why do people wander around every year complaining that it doesn't "feel" like Christmas? What does that mean? Because yes, the holidays make up an entire season that is undeniably a huge part of our culture. But in the literal sense, Christmas is, when you strip the rest away, a day to celebrate the most amazing gift of all -- love incarnate.

And isn't that what every person, regardless of religious beliefs, craves more than anything? Love? It just seems to me that we have the chance, despite the potentially hectic nature of this season, to really examine how we love, and where our selfish waters run the deepest. Maybe incorporate some internal selfish drainage system.

Colored lights. Gold garland. Light tinsel. Meaningful ornaments. That is my tree. But sometimes, if we are lucky, things reach a point where my becomes our, and we need to release the reins a bit so that tradition can breathe, and grow into something even more beautiful than before, because the only thing nicer than a tradition is a tradition without screaming.

(Usually.)

Happy holidays, everyone. Remember that not everything has to be perfect to be special. And we get a fresh new year very soon :)










©2007

Why Get Cross When You Can Get Kross?

Dear Z100,

Thank you for recognizing what many of us have known for years: namely, that Kriss Kross is the greatest band that ever lived. We could quibble over the semantics, but the point remains that Kriss Kross was awesome.

AWESOME.

The day? Gray. The air? Cold. The streets? Wet. The mood? Sad.

None of that mattered anymore when the dulcet tones of Chris & Chris filled my weary heart with joy, and my nonplussed face with a beam so great you'd have thought...well, I want to compare my joy to an even greater joy, but I am hardpressed to think of a greater joy than is brought by not only Daddy Mac, but also Mac Daddy.

And I was not alone. The response from the masses was across-the-board THRILLED. As it should be.

You have a chance here, Z100 to, as they say in "Survivor," "turn the game around." I don't blame you for the crap that comes across your airwaves, because your DJs are great. It's the people that I blame. The people who don't know better than to believe that JoJo is actually a viable part of culture. Or call in all day long requesting the nasally boy band du jour. You answer to the people, and I respect that in a this-is-our-country-land-that-I-love (and have you ever heard the Molly Ringwald version of that? Fantastic.) kind of way, but I think it's time to switch things up a bit. You have a captive audience whose members have soft infant heads, for all intents and purposes.

Don't try Z100, to compare Kriss Kross to another bad little fad. They are here to stay. Continue to play them, and I have a feeling your public vote of confidence will soar high. How high? Real high.

Thank you for making my Monday! And special shoutout to John Bell, who is unfailingly wiggidy wiggidy wiggidy wack! Unless that's a bad thing, never been too clear on that, in which case he is the opposite.



Renewed Love,

Judi :)

"Star Wars"

I realized while doing a survey (Suck it, Billy!) that many of you must be lying awake at night, wondering, "What are Judi's thoughts on the "Star Wars" franchise?" And far be it from me, Miss Ambien/Clonipin 2007, to knowingly deprive y'all of sleep. I will withhold no longer. With no further ado, I present to you:




"Star Wars": In My (Not So) Humble Opinion



A New Hope:

Good. Best part: Darth Vader. Obviously. Also the Millennium Falcon was pretty kick-ass. Also I was little. Also my grandparents' neighbors had a kid, Patrick, who had allllll the toys. And the toys were really really awesome. I loved them. But of course, in my ambivalent gender role, as much as I loved the toys, I always loved Princess Leia the most.


Empire Strikes Back:

Good, but I think a little overrated. That could be because I saw it after I lost all faith in George Lucas. I mean, I do appreciate the arguments for its being the best one, but...I don't know. Maybe I didn't understand it or something. But I did like those big tall things that loped around like giant metal Old Benjamins. Furthermore, my childhood best friend Kelly and her family (Hi Tiffany!) had the most awesomest thing ever, this tower in their yard from "Empire Strikes Back." And no, I'm not going to look it up on Google® for street cred. I'm keeping it real.


Return of the Jedi:

GREAT beginning. Based on all the festivities at Jabba's palace alone, it should have been my runaway favorite. The Rancor scene was one of my favorite scenes ever! Scary! And I liked Frozen Han Solo, and the worm pit, and of course, Jabba himself. Plus of course it inspired the "Friends" about the gold bikini, which is awesome although I personally just don't have it in me to be sexually attracted to Carrie Fisher, even in a gold bikini.

HOWEVER. George Lucas should have held a bake sale or something to get the budget for Wookies (Sometimes I know things! --Monica), because a movie of teddy bears flying around on motorcycles for what feels like seven hours...well, good in theory, bad for Star Wars. You know what I'm saying? The Emperor stuff was fine, but it is one of the most anticlimactic things I've ever seen in my life, and I watched the entire ninth season of "Seinfeld." Muffin tops, anyone?


The Phantom Menace:

Are you even serious right now.


Attack of the Clones:

I used to get into actual fights with my ex over this movie. There is nothing you can say to convince me that this movie didn't suck major, major balls. Natalie Portman can do very nice work at times. This was not one of those times.


The Last One:

Truthfully? I can't even remember the name of the last (third, whatever) movie. Something about death and fate or whatever that "Attack of the Clones" had the unmitigated gall to try and tease me with, like "Hey! Sorry! Sorry about those two hours of shit! Next one will be better! Promise!" Oh okay, it was "Revenge of the Sith." Right? I only remember "Sith" 'cause of "The Office," though. And I didn't see the last movie. I heard it was okay, but enough was enough, for me.

But seriously? George Lucas paved the way for guys like Joss Whedon, in the bad way, and I LOVE Whedon. Unquestionable creative genius ruined, or at least hindered, by unchecked ego. Didn't these dudes read any Shakespeare? Pride is ALWAYS the downfall of brilliant men. And Whedon is in my opinion more talented than Lucas overall, like at least he can write (Lucas can't), and cast (Natalie Portman anyone? Just because someone looks the part doesn't mean s/he can play it), and direct (Critics across the board, on "The Phantom Menace": "The actors all looked confused.").

But in my opinion, the deepest sign of an unchecked ego is to spring a horrible character on a captive audience. (Hello, Dawn.) Like, "HEY I KNOW YOU'RE ALL COMING TO MY MOVIE, HOW 'BOUT SOME JAR JAR EFFING BINKS!". I mean, REALLY. It takes a rabidly strong megalomania to take your billions of dollars and brilliant creativity and still need some dude on the Internet to edit out the biggest piece of crap from your movie, and STILL have it be mediocre at best.

Which makes me even more happy for Judd Apatow's success. 1999 was a turvy-topsy world where "The Phantom Menace" raked in the dough and got to have sequels (or prequels, whatever, I don't care), and "Freaks and Geeks" was thrown away by stupid NBC. I never want to go back to that world AGAIN.





©2007


ETA: I wanted to post Javier's opinion 'cause he is more informed and a fan, and I do agree with what he wrote, if that makes sense. AKA I don't HATE the movies, I just find flaws with the last four (chronological four, not prequel-wise), basically. Anyway here is what he wrote:


"I agree (that Eps 1 and 2 weren't so good). Ep 4 is just a classic and started the whole thing and for the 70s is still viable. 5th was the best. 6th should have been better, but I just can't believe that a couple of rebels and a bunch of little furryanimals using sticks and rocks defeated the Empire. Sorry, that's alittle far fetched. Ep 3 made up for Eps 1 and 2, well not entire, but at least it was good. I just wish George Lucas knew how to direct his actors to act. The only believable performance in the new movies is Liam Neeson, and they kill him off so there won't be any more good acting in the next two. And I LIKE Ewan McGregor and Natalie Portman. But Lucas even made Sam Jackson look bad!"

I'm on my way...

Home Sweet Home

"I was thinking about the apartment on ninth. The floor sags. Needs a paint job. Right now it's just this, this foreign place. But pretty soon it's gonna be home. You know, it'll be a part of me, in a way."

~ Noel

On July 28, 1988, my family moved from Merrick to Baldwin. I was excited to move there; we all were. It was definitely a trade up. Robb and I went to school in Levittown anyway, and despite a lot of awesome things about Merrick, the Baldwin house was just better. Wayyyy bigger. And it had a porch swing!

The day was hard of course, moving one house to another in the heat of summer. And at the end of the night, my mother could NOT get the air conditioner in the window. After much cursing and frustration, she finally walked up to Robb and me and said, "Let's just go home!"

So we drove back to Merrick, where the house was still technically ours for another day or two, and where an air conditioner was conveniently in the window. We slept on the floor in my parents' room, which was now empty. It wasn't the same, but for one last night, we could still sleep at home.

Tomorrow, the movers are coming. My father and brother are already on their way to the new house, but my house still looks like the same home I've known for almost 20 years. I closed my door tonight and looked at my room, my teenage bedroom. The room where I cried over so many boys it's ridiculous. The room where I grew up, became "me." I looked at the window that looks out onto the side of the house and thought about that first day here, when I felt so lucky to live in such a pretty, airy room. I used to read books next to that window and just feel very romantic about things in general.

That won't be my room soon. I'm moving up to the third floor, and someone else will be living in my current room. And that part, I can't wait for. It will be a truly amazing thing to have my house filled with friends that I love. It's a blessing to get to stay in the house itself.

But that time hasn't come yet. For now, I'm mourning my family's gradual absence from the house. Soon my house will be a new home, and it will be great. But never the same again. So tonight? I want to "just go home" for one last night.

Much love, Baldwin family house.



©2007