The Mothra Effect, or: sensitive dependence on unexpected conditions

What happened was this: I was on the phone to cancel my credit card, having left my wallet on the plane, having called the airline and been told to fill out the form online, having insisted that I’d just gotten off the plane, that my wallet was definitely on the plane, that please could they connect me to the San Francisco desk as they’d probably found it by now, being on hold only to learn that no, my wallet had not yet been discovered, having gotten mad at myself for doing such a dumb thing, having only left my wallet on the plane in the first place because I’d gotten it out to pay for drinks, two whiskey gingers, having not been charged for the drinks, having said quietly to my boyfriend, woohoo, free drinks, and having not put my wallet back in my purse, having forgotten about it, having exited the plane.

So I was on the phone with Chase to cancel my credit card. The customer service rep expresses sympathy with me for having lost my card, offers to put a 48-hour hold on my card, I agree, and he asks me,

So, what’s it like, living in California…

[I laugh]

...with that movie San Andreas coming out?

What movie? I ask, I don’t know anything about it.

You know, it’s about the earthquake, the big disaster.

Ok, I say, I definitely know about the San Andreas fault, but I don’t know anything about the movie.

But what’s it like living so close to that?

I don’t really worry about it, I laugh again. I’ve lived in California almost my whole life, and I don’t really think about it.

I like your attitude about it, he responded approvingly.

You can’t really predict earthquakes, anyway, I add, so I don’t see the point in worrying.

But aren’t you concerned that there could be disaster at any moment?

I mean, everywhere is a little bit like that, right? Some places have hurricanes, tornadoes, tsunamis.

Yeah, but doesn’t it concern you that disaster could strike at any moment?

Well, really, the way they exaggerate these things for movies, too. I mean, Hollywood. You know, the last big earthquake we had here, that broke the bridge, only one person died, and that was because they were doing something weird with their car. The way they depict it in movies, it just doesn’t match the historical reality.

And wasn’t that with Mothman, too?

Ok, what? I laugh hugely. Mothman? What is Mothman?

You know, half-moth, half-man.

Wait, what does this have to do with earthquakes?

They saw it on the bridge, right? Before the earthquake.

I don’t know what you’re talking about man, I feel like I’ve stepped into an alternate reality here.

Yeah, well, it is 1:30am here in Florida, so…

All right. I don’t know. No one in San Francisco talks about Mothman.

You can watch it on Animal Planet, look for Lost Tapes.

I definitely will.

And I did.

grander and more dramatic

Still watching Girls? Spoilers, spoilers everywhere and not a drop to drink. K, you've been warned.

I finished watching season two of Girls. Well, that show certainly reminds me of bad decisions I have made in the past. So much so that it is uncomfortable to watch at times but, onward we move.

The only line of Hannah's writing that we've gotten to see on screen is, "A friendship between college girls is grander and more dramatic than any romance," but the season ends with the girls isolated from one another and generally in the arms of men. I strongly suspect, however, that it is the character Hannah who is betraying her ideals rather than the writer Lena Dunham. 

Hannah's (male) editor has just criticized her as being Jane Austen-esque, has made disparaging remarks about the "boring" stuff she's writing about female friendship, has in fact told her, "If you're not getting fucked right now, make it up." We know that Hannah doesn't handle criticism of her writing well, since *cough cough* last time someone tried, she accused him of homophobia (unrelated) and dumped him. So it doesn't seem too much of a stretch to imagine that part of what's going on in her anxiety-riddled head is a fear that her editor (who is also one of her literary heroes) is right, that she needs to have a man and/or be writing about a man to be truly interesting. And so she reaches out to Adam desperately, without first deciding "if he's the greatest person in the world or the worst," something she'd previously acknowledged she needed to spend some time sorting out (easily the wisest thing the character has ever said). Just a few episodes ago, Hannah was afraid Adam would break down her door. Now she thinks it sounds like salvation. We know something's wrong.

What I'm saying is: I don't believe this ending. I mean, I don't believe it as a "happy" ending. I think what Dunham is doing is pretty complicated: Presenting us with all the trappings of a happy ending, but with enough history and enough subtext that we all feel uncomfortable, mistrustful, and unsatisfied.

oh disney

Sure, it was the thirties.  On the other hand, that is a black doll yelling "Mammy!" and mooning the camera in Santa's workshop.   Yeesh. (start at 3:40)

cringing

The extent to which I identify with Mad Men's Peggy Olson is at times so immense that I'm not entirely convinced it's wise to write about it. That being said, I suppose I better hurry up and mention that I've never gotten pregnant, or even been a secretary - no, it's more the awkward eagerness, the determination to fit in, to do and have it all, while at the same time being so obviously stamped a square. Nowadays, I find myself comfortable in the world and with myself, but this was not always the case. She makes me feel seventeen again, in all the wrong ways. I keep watching.

p.s. I want this dress.

iBrow

I am currently re-reading "The Death of the Author" and getting ready to watch "Project Runway." I should be writing about other things, but I had one of those moments where I caught myself.

turning green

and not for environmental reasons. The BBC is, at its best, truly extraordinary - just look at the wonderful ways they've participated in April Fool's Day: in the 1950s and more recently. Now that's quality television.

the gentle way

This may not be new news, but it's more than a little amazing, no? How many world leaders are not only black belts in judo, but are also willing to release instructional videos so that we can learn to fight like them? Thanks so much, Putin!

what's the word for "confused horror?" or perhaps, "horrified confusion?"

As you can probably guess from the title, I just watched some clips from the Oscars. Now, I could employ a variety of rude expressions to express my utter disdain for this awards ceremony, but I won't bother. Suffice it to say that I was not the least dismayed to wake up Monday morning and not know who won, nor was I surprised when I eventually found out. This is despite the fact that I haven't seen any of the films nominated in the major categories.

Longstoryshort: When I eventually roused my somnolent curiosity enough to go to youtube, I was surprised to see that the first musical number had at least (or at most, I'm not going to bother to watch it again to check) three good jokes: 1) Frost and Nixon in love/Anne Hathaway inexplicably Richard Nixon, 2) I haven't seen "The Reader," and 3) I am Wolverine! Unfortunately, this raised my Oscar expectations from zero to something, and I proceeded to watch the Jackman/Beyoncé medley. Although I've recently developed an odd crush on Beyoncé (I like it when she tells the single ladies what to do with their hands. help me!), this bit of business sunk far below my worst imaginings. I kid you not, we did better Broadway medleys in my high school choir. My facial muscles are still sore from various expressions of revulsion.

same procedure

I was giving some instructions to one of my shyer students when he gave me a look that I can only describe as impish and asked me "Same procedure as last year?" At this, the other students (eight exceedingly tall German men, all in their 30s and 40s, all of whom work on airplanes, and all of whom semi-regularly pretend to be afraid of me because I'm so strict) burst into laughter. I voiced my confusion, and demanded to be let in on the joke. They were shocked that I was unfamiliar with their source material, "Dinner for One, or: The 90th Birthday."

They explained to me that this short film is shown on German television every year on New Year's Eve. Apparently it's a cult classic in Germany, and in a few other places on the Continent as well. This is despite (or perhaps because of) the fact that it is almost entirely in English, and unsubtitled. It's about 18 minutes long, black and white, and stars two British actors completely unknown to me, Freddie Frinton and May Warden. The sketch was originally written in the 1920s, but gained lasting fame with the 1963 recording for German television. It's funny, in an overblown-physical-comedy, light-heartedly alcoholic, British sort of way. If you feel so inclined, enjoy.

it's a great time to have a hero

I never would have said this in high school, but I really, really want to be a cheerleader.

For Kima Greggs.


Actually, think I want to be her sidekick. Yes, that’s more like it. I would REALLY like to be her sidekick. As far as I can see, the only potential obstacles that could possibly prevent me from achieving this goal are:
- she’s a fictional character
- her show is over
- she doesn’t really need a sidekick

Aside from that, I don’t anticipate any problems.

If you haven’t watched The Wire, which yes I know is over, but I am slow – and perennially dragging my feet at the end of the pop-culture parade, long after the band, the mayor, the beauty queens, and the float for the county feed store – and so I’m only partway through the second of five seasons. Thus far, at any rate, Kima Greggs is a hard-ass, semi-butch, wise-cracking, take-no-shit, African American lesbian cop. What a non-stereotypical television character, and yet the show is written in a way that shows the variety of human experience and nature, rather than dealing in easily recognizable cardboard people. So she doesn't stand out as "different," she's not a foil for a cute blond ladycop. Kima ain't no lady. Don't take my word for it, she'll tell you. I’m having a hard time recalling when – if ever – I admired a fictional tv character to this extent. Probably the closest runner-up is Alex Mack, but that was when I was about 12, so a few things have changed since then.

But how could I respond with anything but unbridled enthusiasm for a female character that is smart, confident, pragmatic, tough, funny, bold, unintimidated and unimpressed by the shenanigans and horseplay of her less committed and generally less intelligent colleagues, who are almost uniformly male. I think Sonja Sohn, the actor who plays Kima, is nothing short of tremendously perfect in the role, to understate the case a bit. I wondered briefly whether I was more interested in the actor or the character, and quickly decided that while I’d be happy to see Sohn do something else in the future, Kima Greggs is the one I’m really rooting for. And I do mean rooting – I watch Kima with nothing short of glee, occasionally augmented by verbal encouragement. This is how I find myself at times: alone in my room, watching a 4-year old tv program on my laptop; generally silent, but with occasional cheers.

Which tangentially, reminds me of when I was grocery shopping this evening. There was an old lady, who seemed more than a bit off. She was walking in uneven circles, pushing her cart around the store, and talking out loud. At one point I saw her stop in front of the Haribo display, and start singing in a warbly voice “Hallelujah” over and over, until she quit because she started laughing. For a moment I thought: she’s crazy, and then I thought: no, she’s just like me, only louder.