Making fun of Indiana should not be a pastime...

But sadly, for moviemakers, I'm afraid it's too late.

Yesterday, I saw that the preview for Johnny Depp's new movie Public Enemies (about John Dillinger) had been released. Since this movie involves three of my favorite things: violence, history, and violence in history, I am very excited for its arrival in theaters. However, about 1:08 minutes into the preview, all I could think was "Come on!" When told that he was being expedited to Indiana for trial, Dillinger replies, "I have absolutely nothing I want to do in Indiana." I mean I get it, born to a loser of a father in Indianapolis and imprisoned for a time in Crown Point, it's probably not his favorite state, but that had to make the preview!? Of all things important to this movie, Dillinger's distate for Indiana made the list? Okay, fine, I'll live with it. Although, I think eventually he would hate Wisconsin far more than Indiana, but whatever, I won't judge.



Moving onto another movie, The Royal Tenenbaums. While no Rushmore, I still enjoyed the film. Except for one part when Margot Tenenbaum, played by Gwyneth Paltrow, explained that she is adopted and at one point she went to find her family which, she deadpans, "live in Indiana." Cue the the ignorant hicks. (about 10 seconds into the video)



One last example from Mean Girls. Around the 3 minute mark, Rachel McAdams' character makes a remark about a past boyfriend, Kyle, who was "totally gorgeous but then he moved to Indiana." (cue eyeroll) It's Indiana people, not the Bermuda Triangle.



And these are only three of many, many examples of how Indiana has become the movie equivalent of a cultural wasteland where the great unwashed reside and can be referenced conveniently when needed. I'm not sure if it's laziness or prejudice, but I'm sorry, please stop referencing the Hoosier State in such a manner.

So, in my Lenten goal of finding happiness and letting go of bitterness, I offer you the clip below. It is one of the best examples found in a movie of what makes Indiana great. And if you don't know what movie this is from, I'm not sure we can be friends anymore.

In which I discover that I lack creativity

I'm in the middle of full-fledged writer's block. I haven't posted much lately as I feel like I have nothing to say and no creative way in which to share. My chubby cat isn't helping much either as every time I turn to him for inspiration, he's passed out belly up on his favorite green chair. Perhaps I'm channeling my energies elsewhere since I have a series of fantastic French classes where I actually feel like I'm at the level of fluency I should be. Thankfully I have some very exciting events coming up in my life which will hopefully spur the creative juices and I can once again impress the world with my wit and candor. But until then, below is a list of things that, like my creativity, I wish currently had in my possession:

1) The ability to create beautiful music
2) Cameo jewelry
3) Adaptability to any climate (especially the cold!)
4) Fun summer dresses
5) A new episode

My TV and I have broken up

Whoever said sleep is supposed to heal, I say they're full of crap and I'm quietly judging them right now.

You see, yesterday, I stayed home from work and cursed anything and everyone from my futon while I wallowed in kleenex, Advil, and cranberry juice. That said, lacking the cure for the common cold, I COUNTED on my TV coming through for me. And, like the CTA on a weekend, it let me down. I turned it on in the morning in anticipation of a day of bad (but oh so good) daytime television, and you know what I got...heartache and disappointment. In other words - black and white snow. I attempted to mess with the wires on the cable box and TV, but fatigued and sweaty thanks to my overtaxed white blood cells, I gave up after 15 minutes and switched to DVDs. I watched a couple of my favorite action films, but then switched to my other film love - French films. I finished out with The Triplets of Belleville, which is brilliant by the way, and went to bed to attempt to recover from both my cold and my disappointment in my cable.

My this morning, it only got worse...I went to watch The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, and got...sound, but no picture. What?!?! How am I supposed to heal without my Mathieu Amalric fix? I messed with some wires again, to no avail, and then did the only thing I could think of...called my parents to whine.

Long story short, my dad passed on some sage advice, and this evening after switching my cable boxes around, I discovered that the fault lies not with my cable or my DVD player, but with my TV. Sad face...

Now granted, the TV is oh, about 5 or so years old, and has been moved from Indianapolis to DC to Chicago and has now been owned by both Hall sisters, but I have expectations!! My 15 year old tiny 13 inch TV is still in fine form, and I have taken that thing everywhere and played it constantly...that is love and devotion, and for that I applaud Sharp. In fact, I give that company mad props. But my other TV, nothing - it's a sad monument to failed electronics everywhere.

So what's a girl to do? Well, actually, I called my parents again to whine. And now I'm looking for a new TV. If anyone knows where I can get a 1080p, 72-inch, LCD for $400 - let me know...because that would be a happy magical place where I would like to shop.

Blarghety Blargh Blargh

I know, I should have already blogged by now...I had been doing so well.

I could totes blog about the heinous pre-Broadway production of Dirty Dancing I saw last Wednesday. The weird Australian accent, the cheesy set, the lack of outstanding talent, and the empty void where Jerry Orbach should have been.

I could totes blog about how the current state of the economy is freaking this corporate fundraiser out, and how I'm practically reading the NYTimes Business section in my sleep.

I could totes blog about the fact that I've already seen Quantum of Solace twice. Including dressing up in formal wear for a martini party with friends and working it in 4 1/2 patent leather red heels at the theater.

I could totes blog about that fact that this past week, I never made it home before 10:30pm at night which resulted in an extremely cute, extremely needy Sugar. We're snuggling as I type.

I could totes blog about how I've taken 4 vacation days this entire year - not a good idea.

However, I totes won't - because today is apathetic Sunday. I've cleaned, grocery-shopped, organized, e-mailed, and downloaded pictures - all through a haze of blahness. Really, though, I kind of need these days every once in a while. I consider it saving my energy for the crazy week ahead.

Totes.

Try not to cry when you know...

I had read reviews of the book and was intrigued...

I entered the bookstore never intending to buy it...

I read the dedication page standing in the biography aisle...

I purchased it immediately and left the store...

I eyed it during work, wishing I was reading it instead...

I went home, talked on the phone, made some dinner, and cleaned...

I settled down late to read a few chapters...

I read about the struggle of growing up in Cambodia...

The violence, the terror, and willfullness of the Khmer Rouge...

The struggle of a young girl and the obedience her culture demanded...

I read her story of abuse and forced prostitution...

Of the pain, the filth, and the terror...

I listened to her speak of escape, shame, and the difficulty of recovery...

I followed her as she rose above it, and began to help others...

I felt her disgust at the increased violence that girls as young as five face every day...

Of the blind eye turned by the government and the corruption at every corner...

I read of her journey to overcome and the generosity of others...

Two hours later I had finished the book...eight hours later, I can't get it out of my mind.

A day to celebrate...but what?

They say on St. Patrick's Day, everyone in Chicago is Irish.

They should say on St. Patrick's Day, everyone in Chicago is drunk on green beer wearing MillerLite green foam leprechaun ears.

Let's be clear, my first St. Pat's Day in Chicago was a little disillusioning, and disheartening.

Like many people in the U.S., I can trace my ancestry back to Ireland. I attended Notre Dame - home of the Fighting Irish, and still wear a claddagh ring my mom gave me when I was in 7th grade. None of these things necessarily make me "Irish" but I have a love of the history and myth of the land.

So when I ended up in Wrigleyville today with a friend, I had a great time catching up with her and meeting other people, but I was really disappointed in what was around me.

Maybe because I'm not a big drinker, or because I have an old soul, but I was faintly disgusted by the behaviour of those around me: the drunkenness, the rudeness, the guy puking on the sidewalk, the guy yelling at every girl that he passed - "Show my your green boobs!", the MillerLite branded shamrock everything being worn and also tossed on the floor and the street and peoples' cars...well, let's just say not my thing.

For a holiday based on the life and spirit of a saint, for some reason it just bothered me. I'm not trying to come across as judgmental or superior, because I'm not, but the use of a holiday to act like a drunken idiot at 2:00pm just isn't right.

When the Starbucks guy his dreading all of the drunken customers around 6:00pm trying to sober up so they can start drinking again and then dreading is walk home because of all the puke on streets, that just doesn't seem right, either.

Maybe I just don't get it, or maybe I'm a party-pooper, but I think next year, I will be celebrating the holiday away from the crowds of wasted 20-somethings dressed in green.

Splendour in the Grass

What though the radiance

which was once so bright

Be now for ever taken from my sight,

Though nothing can bring back the hour

Of splendour in the grass,

of glory in the flower,

We will grieve not, rather find

Strength in what remains behind;

In the primal sympathy

Which having been must ever be;

In the soothing thoughts that spring

Out of human suffering;

In the faith that looks through death,

In years that bring the philosophic mind.

-William Wordsworth

Ah, Wordsworth...how can I qualify your talent? Your words are amazing and your sentiments timeless. Your ability to capture the emotion and feeling of a moment is unequaled, and for that I love your work. "Splendour in the Grass" is a lasting favorite of mine.

But why, dear readers, did I choose this poem? One praising the virtue of appreciating a moment and not regretting what has come to pass?

Because I am about to say good-bye forever to a very dear friend. One that has been with me for years and seen me through good times and bad. One that has never let me down and has given me countless good memories. One that helped me in grad school and then helped me start my career.

Alas, to mark this sad, sad parting, I have written a good-bye letter that I would like to share with you all to my friend:

Dear 1988 Chevy S-10,

I will miss you so much. I hated you when we first met in 2004. I'm not sure how my grandfather had bought so simple a vehicle. I hated you for not having air-conditioning, power brakes, power steering, or an FM radio. But most of all, you were a manual, and I, a devotee of automatic.

But we came together you and I, like a pegasus. Through hours at the Cub Foods parking lot and in the neighborhood, I learned how to lift the clutch and not kill the engine. I learned that taking off in 3rd was not necessarily a good idea - especially with the emergency brake on. And I learned that you and I could get along no matter our differences.

You came with me to Bloomington, when I only barely knew how to drive you. Parallel parking brought some frustration and inappropriate language, but you always kept going. You taught me that jumper cables can be a girl's best friend and that 4 people can fit on a bench seat. You hauled furniture, wine glasses, people, a piano, theater sets, and helped me bring home a brand-new kitty.

You travelled well, and when it was time to move to Texas, you were game. You lasted 17 hours of father-daughter bonding and got us safely the width of the United States. I learned quickly that I missed air-conditioning in a state where humidity is the most common pasttime. You put up with crazy Houston police and multiple trips to the opera. You withstood the taunts of the snobby security card who said you weren't good enough to park in front of the upscale apartment building.

You went with me to DC and stood by me through the tears, anger, and disappointment. You made countless trips to Target and Goodwill and helped some great people move new places. You bonded with others as your battery was changed and a new radio installed and let me change all of your lights. You withstood snow, ice, and annoying neighbors.

Alas, dear one, I couldn't take you to Chicago. I will miss you and your great chrome shifter and "I (heart) Wood" sticker and your leopard print seats. Saying good-bye to you is like saying good-bye to a family member and you will always be my first car. You taught me the value of driving a manual and now I can never go back.

But most of all, I'll miss the times we had together and hope that your next owner loves you as much as I do.

Love,

Katy