It Can Stop Now

One evening of snow in Atlanta is fun. But more today? Not so fun. Although Ralph would beg to differ.

This is NOT Hotlanta

Our first Atlanta snow of 2008 came today. The boys were happy, but confused (since we had told them it almost never snowed here).



It started a little after 5 pm.



And it continued for at least a couple hours.



Now it's raining. This will mean either a) a layer of ice or b) all the snow will melt by midnight. Either way, I'm fairly certain everyone around here has plenty of bread, milk, and liquor to last a couple weeks. Because guess who gave in to the hype and stopped at the store at 4:00 this afternoon? Gah.

I guess this is what I get for laughing at my family up north when I called them from the back deck earlier this month. And bragged about how nice it was to be sitting outside in January. Stupid karma.

The Dissertation I Will Never Write

I used to think pretty seriously about getting a Ph.D. in popular culture. (Yes, there are universities that offer such a degree.) The older I get, the less likely that becomes, but I'm still constantly on the lookout for my would-be research topics. My latest research idea has me so excited I felt the need to share it with my little corner of the Internets, in hopes that some current or future grad student will take it and run with it. Because, as the title implies, it is a dissertation I will never write.

Are you ready?

Here it is.

Friday Night Musical: Portrayal and Performance of Cultural Archetypes in Friday Night Lights and High School Musical.

Amazing, no? (Note that all dissertation titles must have a colon.)

Think about this. How are leading male athletes portrayed in FNL (I'm talking about the TV series, not the movie) and HSM (I'm talking mainly about the first movie, but kind of both)? Compare and contrast Matt Saracen and Troy Bolton. How are female ingenue characters portrayed? (Think Julie Taylor and Gabriella Montez.) Also, compare and contrast Buddy Garrity in FNL with the drama teacher in HSM. They both have parallels with Il Dottore, a stock character from commedia dell'arte who meddles in the lives of young lovers (and, apparently, sits atop a Gatorade cooler).


Let's talk about how both FNL and HSM have a coach/dad role who has certain expectations for his child and fairly traditional ideas about masculinity and femininity. Or how both FNL and HSM deal with the tensions between athletics and academics -- and/or the arts. And how both FNL and HSM feature students as performers, whether on the football field, the basketball court, or the stage. Why are they performing? For whom are they performing? What do their performances say?


When I get started on ideas like this, my husband and our friends often tell me how badly I need to go to grad school. Probably so I have an outlet other than rambling on and on to them about crazy things like this. But I have a feeling my "research interests" might not be that well received at an institution of higher learning.

So should I go to grad school? Or should I just stop reading so much into the stuff I see on TV?

Rationing

Living in a place where water has become a more precious resource than ever, I started stockpiling gallons of water in our garage months ago. Empty milk jugs get lightly rinsed, then filled with tap water and stored, just in case things here go from bad to worse. Call me an alarmist -- go ahead. But come the drought, my kids will have clean hair. Just don't tell the neighbors.

The other essential I've more recently started stockpiling is TV. Yes, TV. My DVR is packed with the latest episodes of several of our favorite prime time shows. And now that we're into 2008, and the writers' strike is still ongoing, I've begun rationing them. I'm saving them to relish slowly, like a stranded traveler who eats M&M's one by one, spacing them out several hours or even days apart.

I'm standing firm in insisting that I will not give into the horrible new offerings in reality TV. For some reason, watching new reality shows -- lowering my (already kind of questionable) standards in prime time viewing, giving in to Dance Wars: Carrie Ann versus Bruno -- would be an insult to the striking writers. And as the daughter of a retired union electrician, who weathered a number of strikes in my childhood, I'm sympathetic to the writers. Though I'm not sure if the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers stand with them.

Luckily, there is one new reality show that I'm continuing to enjoy, and it gives me no writer's strike guilt whatsoever. It's called Primary Season, and it's on at least a couple of channels nearly every minute of the day. This is the best reality show ever. Some of the contestants are a little over the top, and the weekly challenges are kind of lame (debates and town hall meetings instead of bug-eating contests or obstacle courses), but I think the prize package is way more awesome than anything I've seen on Survivor or Fear Factor or America's Next Top Model.

Hopefully the writer's strike will be resolved soon so I can end my obsession with Primary Season and get back to watching my usual stories. And so I never have to see this again:

Don't Disappoint Me, Iowa

I've lived in four different states in my adult life, but I still think of myself as an Iowan. It's where I was born and raised, where I was educated, where I met my husband, where I lived until I was 22 years old, where I returned for four years in my late 20's/early 30's, where I gave birth to our first child, and where some of my family and many of my friends still live.

I wish I was living there right now.

Yes, there's snow on the ground and freezing cold temperatures (as opposed to here in Atlanta today, where we have just the freezing cold temperatures). But I wish I could be a part of what is happening there tonight. I also wish I could be doing my own reporting on the campaigns, so I could show you that Iowans are not all 60-ish people sitting in quirky diners wearing festive sweaters or John Deere hats. Believe it or not, Iowa has Starbucks and Olive Garden and TGI Fridays, just like the rest of the country. But the reporters love getting the scoop from the folks at the Cork-n-Fork or Gramma's Kitchen (both real restaurants at which I have eaten). Because those places are just so, you know, Iowan.

In all the years I spent living in Iowa, I had the opportunity to caucus only twice, and I did it only once. It was in January 2000, when I was eight months pregnant, and Al Gore was the (fairly) obvious choice. No big discussion. No media circus.

The only other year I could have caucused was 1988. I was a freshman in college, and not nearly as politically aware as I would become in the next few years. (Although I do have vague memories of going to a Paul Simon rally that year.)

Not him:

Him:


I followed the 2004 caucus closely on TV while living in Ohio. Having been in Iowa over the holidays just a few weeks earlier, I had noticed Kerry stickers and yard signs all over my hometown. At the grocery store, the mall, my parents' church. I did some informal polling of my own and found a surprising level of support for Kerry. When we returned to Ohio after the holidays, I reported to many of my friends and co-workers that I thought Kerry would win in Iowa. They laughed. Several weeks later I got to say, "I told you so."

We haven't been back to visit Iowa since June, and I've done a lousy job of keeping in touch with many of my friends there lately. So I have no idea how tonight will turn out.

For now, I'll leave you with two of my favorite political quotes from members of my family.

"I didn't know you were making enough money to vote for Reagan."

"If Satan himself was the Democratic nominee, you would vote for him, wouldn't you?"

I wonder if they'll be caucusing tonight.

Published Elsewhere

I've also written for:

eMusic Magazine

- Q&A with Dan Zanes

- Music for Little Birds: Elizabeth Mitchell

Smart Television Alliance

MamaPop

Offsprung

CoolMomPicks

Panic at the Food Court

Today we went to the mall to buy new calendars. Half price calendars. It's become sort of a New Year's Day tradition for us, and usually it's a fun outing. But today's trip to the mall was a nightmare.

First, Ralph (almost 3 years old now) wanted to carry the Curious George calendar we had bought, wanted to get out of his stroller and run freely through the crowds, wanted to get an ice cream, wanted to yell, and basically wanted to do all sorts of things he couldn't/shouldn't do.

Secondly, we couldn't find a single Onion Page-a-Day calendar. This calendar has been a staple of my husband's morning routine for years. And there were none. Since arriving home, he's searched online and still can't find one. We're wondering if they even made them this year. [Anyone with any clues? Please email me. Pleeeease.]

The topper on this nightmarish trip to the mall was a group of three boys I spotted in the food court as we ate an afternoon snack. They could have been as young as 9 or as old as 12 -- it was hard to tell. Judging by size, I would have guessed 9 or 10. But their Emo hair and clothes made me think (or hope) that they must be at least 11 or 12. At least. Two of them were under 5 feet tall, and the third was maybe 5-foot 2. Their faces were young -- no sign of facial hair, or even acne. These were little boys.

And as I watched them order their food, find a table, wave at some of their friends across the food court, I began to panic. These boys weren't much older than Walter. How far is Walter from demanding an Emo haircut (or other trendy look)? How long until he insists on picking out his own jeans?

Walter might be unusual for an almost-8-year-old boy, but he still happily holds my hand when we're walking in a crowded places. He's still agreeable about wearing almost any clothes I buy for him. He still orders off the kids' menu and drinks milk with his meals. He still believes in Santa Claus (or at least pretends to, in order to keep the presents flowing). He's very much a little boy. But today I realized the clock is ticking.

Until now, I've enjoyed most of Walter's new ages and stages -- learning to read, being able to make himself a sandwich, even getting phone calls from his own friends. But I have a feeling that 2008 will bring some new interests, new firsts, new challenges. Already today, I had to deal with Walter's first friend to show up at our house wearing Heelys, those horrible shoes that can sprout wheels when you least expect it. When this boy started Heely-ing around on my kitchen floor, and I had to tell him to stop, I caught a glimpse of the future. Friends with Heelys will soon become friends with skateboards and violent video games. Then there will be friends with expensive, trendy jeans. Friends with their own Facebook and MySpace pages. Oh, my.

This may be the year that things start to change. The year Walter begins to reject the adorable Gymboree sweaters and the public hand-holding. But at least I'm fairly certain that if he starts discovering his own unique style, he'll have better taste than to go Emo.