Like a lot of Los Angeles transplants, I come from a very conservative small town that bled for America. Like a lot of Los Angeles transplants, I had a lot of liberal ideas that didn't fit in with the conservative small town mind, like maybe we shouldn't murder people because they were gay. But for the past five years, I've had one belief so unfathomable to both the liberals and the conservatives that it has gotten me into quite a few screaming matches and has cost me a few acquaintances.
I believe that it is just as American to not vote as it is to vote.
The thought of somebody not voting - especially in an election year - is the liberal equivalent to the conservative outrage of someone being gay, having an abortion, and saying that you support Clinton - either one - all at the same time. Real quotes said to me in regards to this belief are:
"This is a real sore point with me, I am a little upset that you feel it's not important to vote."
"...by refusing for whatever reason to stand up and be counted, I believe we become complicit in whatever happens next, good or bad."
"Work up the energy to care about the country you're living in and the other people in it."
Nobody stopped frothing until I said that I vote.
I've seen a lot of PSA's and been to many school and after school functions where peer pressure has been a major point of discussion. We went over how to say no to drugs, alcohol, breaking the law, and sex. And the only time I've felt the ridiculous scripts we were given to act out were when I engage in the "Right to Vote" conversation with someone:
Voting Bully: Hey, are you going to vote on November 4th?
Victim: No, I don't really believe that either candidate would be an effective leader for this country.
Voting Bully: Oh, come on - it's just one little vote! All our friends are going to do it!
Victim: I wouldn't feel right. Plus, some of the props are written so that someone loses and someone stands to gain too much.
Voting Bully: If you don't vote, I'll tell everyone and then everyone will make fun of you for not being part of the democratic system!
Victim: I don't care! If standing up for what I believe in costs me some friends, then I guess you weren't really my friends to begin with!
Voting Bully: You'll be sorry when we're all voting to elect history and changing the world!
Victim: No, you'll be sorry in four years when you're back to saying that this is the most important election ever!
Voting Bully: Only losers don't vote!
Victim: Only a loser would give in to peer pressure!
Just sayin', folks.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
I will be puking hearts and lace by the time this weekend is over.
This weekend, one of my best friends is getting married to a right decent guy. This is for them until I can pay that diamond encrusted gravy boat they registered for. Congratulations, Elisa and Ryan - and I'll never forgive you for making me wear a dress. --Neva
“Love songs for loving lovers loving - Radio Romance – K106!”
You’re listening to Radio Romance with me, Roxanne. It’s seventy-two degrees, ten past the hour here on the Love Station…of…Love. I’d like to start this hour with a listener request. Elisa, I hope that you and Ryan are listening because this is to you from his heart.
Ryan writes…“Roxanne – a few years ago, I met the love of my life and her name was Elisa. Our motto is, “Love is only as strong as those who believe in it.” I met Elisa while I was dating her sister so we started out as just friends. When I told Elisa that the relationship had ended, she was hesitant at first, but soon we fell into each others arms. When Elisa’s sister told her that the relationship hadn’t ended…our love wasn’t so strong. But it wasn’t long before we were both believing again.
The course of love didn’t run smoothly – there was a time that Elisa didn’t trust in our love, didn’t trust in me and thought that I might be cheating on her. I told her that she was the only one in my heart, but after the tears, the pain and a trip to Planned Parenthood later, she left me for her anti-biotics medication.
But…the love we shared was stronger than the Chlamydia that she and I, her sister, her mother and – as I found out later – her Nana shared. She eventually forgave them and – to my relief – me.
We each decided to restart our relationship and each started a business. Elisa made jewelry to sell by the beach and I began to sell heroin. I never told Elisa – and soon, I became too ashamed to even live with her anymore. One of my greatest regrets was leaving Elisa that night, not telling her where I was going.
Another one of my greatest regrets was that the night I left was the night my customers figured out that the heroin was just refined packets of Sweet & Low and had come to our building in a mob to claim me. I wasn’t there for Elisa as they tortured her for information about where I was.
The third regret was that after the mob had their way with her and left her barely alive, I did not come back to her right away. As Elisa slowly got better in a rehab facility, I decided to wait until she was more healed before coming back to her. I spent that time living off of my fake heroin earnings in Indonesia. I numbed the pain of not being able to be man enough to be with her with alcohol, para-sailing, her Nana, and our miracle love child we named – of course – Elisa.
We finally did reunite, thanks to fate. We were both in Turkey for different reasons – Nana and Little Elisa and I were traveling through to reach the isles of Greece. Elisa had been sold into white slavery by an orderly at the hospital where she was being cared for. It only took a day and a half before Nana and I agreed to buy her freedom. I do hope that one day, she and her Nana will be reunited, but given how old she is now and how rough the Turks are, it is unlikely. I still hold out hope for a reunion with Little Elisa, though.
Today – Elisa is mostly healed from the physical and mental scars of the past and our time away. Though my love can no longer be on her feet for more than three minutes or effectively grasp items in her left hand, and is prone to having a seizure while opening the refrigerator - she is just as beautiful to me as the day we met – on the field of her junior varsity field hockey practice.
With my song request, I would also like to ask Elisa…would you do me the honor of giving me your hand in marriage?
With a love as strong as I believe,
Ryan”
Well, Elisa – I hope you and Ryan have the happy ending you two deserve. It's fifteen past the hour and seventy-two degrees and here is Ryan's request here on...Radio...Romance.
“Love songs for loving lovers loving - Radio Romance – K106!”
You’re listening to Radio Romance with me, Roxanne. It’s seventy-two degrees, ten past the hour here on the Love Station…of…Love. I’d like to start this hour with a listener request. Elisa, I hope that you and Ryan are listening because this is to you from his heart.
Ryan writes…“Roxanne – a few years ago, I met the love of my life and her name was Elisa. Our motto is, “Love is only as strong as those who believe in it.” I met Elisa while I was dating her sister so we started out as just friends. When I told Elisa that the relationship had ended, she was hesitant at first, but soon we fell into each others arms. When Elisa’s sister told her that the relationship hadn’t ended…our love wasn’t so strong. But it wasn’t long before we were both believing again.
The course of love didn’t run smoothly – there was a time that Elisa didn’t trust in our love, didn’t trust in me and thought that I might be cheating on her. I told her that she was the only one in my heart, but after the tears, the pain and a trip to Planned Parenthood later, she left me for her anti-biotics medication.
But…the love we shared was stronger than the Chlamydia that she and I, her sister, her mother and – as I found out later – her Nana shared. She eventually forgave them and – to my relief – me.
We each decided to restart our relationship and each started a business. Elisa made jewelry to sell by the beach and I began to sell heroin. I never told Elisa – and soon, I became too ashamed to even live with her anymore. One of my greatest regrets was leaving Elisa that night, not telling her where I was going.
Another one of my greatest regrets was that the night I left was the night my customers figured out that the heroin was just refined packets of Sweet & Low and had come to our building in a mob to claim me. I wasn’t there for Elisa as they tortured her for information about where I was.
The third regret was that after the mob had their way with her and left her barely alive, I did not come back to her right away. As Elisa slowly got better in a rehab facility, I decided to wait until she was more healed before coming back to her. I spent that time living off of my fake heroin earnings in Indonesia. I numbed the pain of not being able to be man enough to be with her with alcohol, para-sailing, her Nana, and our miracle love child we named – of course – Elisa.
We finally did reunite, thanks to fate. We were both in Turkey for different reasons – Nana and Little Elisa and I were traveling through to reach the isles of Greece. Elisa had been sold into white slavery by an orderly at the hospital where she was being cared for. It only took a day and a half before Nana and I agreed to buy her freedom. I do hope that one day, she and her Nana will be reunited, but given how old she is now and how rough the Turks are, it is unlikely. I still hold out hope for a reunion with Little Elisa, though.
Today – Elisa is mostly healed from the physical and mental scars of the past and our time away. Though my love can no longer be on her feet for more than three minutes or effectively grasp items in her left hand, and is prone to having a seizure while opening the refrigerator - she is just as beautiful to me as the day we met – on the field of her junior varsity field hockey practice.
With my song request, I would also like to ask Elisa…would you do me the honor of giving me your hand in marriage?
With a love as strong as I believe,
Ryan”
Well, Elisa – I hope you and Ryan have the happy ending you two deserve. It's fifteen past the hour and seventy-two degrees and here is Ryan's request here on...Radio...Romance.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Shows! And Politcs
Driving home today, I saw a bumper sticker that had the Obama logo on it that said, "Latinos for Obama". I liked that. And for some reason, I wanted nothing more than to get one for McCain-Palin. Something like this:
Monday, September 1, 2008
Klassic Cinema: Troop Beverly HIlls
I had a joke when I did stand up that went, "I have seen Xanadu. I have never seen Schindler's List. I think this says something about me."
Dove tailing on that, this weekend, I once again did not watch Schindler's List. I did watch Troop Beverly Hills. Klassy with a K.
I was the target demographic for this movie when it came out in 1989 - the girls were about 10-11, I was nine. They were Wilderness Girls, I was a Camp Fire Girl. They lived in one of the weathliest areas in Southern California, I lived in a trailer court in Southern Idaho. See? Perfectly paralell!
Watching this movie as a twenty-eight year old woman, it was a much different experience. Especially since this movie is laden with odd cameos, before they were somebodies and twilights of being somebodies. Most popular in the 'before" category is Rilo Kiley's Jenny Lewis. Also in the movie, a young Kellie Martin and Carla Gugino. And Willie Garson from Sex in the City fame. One that may not be so obvious comes in the form of the opening credits - that animated sequence? Done by John Kricfalusi, creator of Ren & Stimpy.
Twilights (and I am fighting not to put Shelley Long here because I saw Hello Again! in the theatre and though I was only seven in 1987, I knew that my mother should get her money back) include Heather Hopper. Poor Heather Hopper! Denied the chance to be on Saved By the Bell and having to only settle on the laurels Good Morning Miss Bliss only sort of provided. Also, Ami Foster - better known to the likes of me and any Punky Foster fan as Margeaux Kramer. And - because one natural red headed Jenny Lewis wasn't enough, Small Wonder's Harriet Bindle, aka Emily Schulman is in there.
But this movie wins in the cameo department. We are to believe that Shelley Long's character - the wife of a lawyer/entrepreneuer/muffler man - knows such lumanaries such as Pia Zadora, Dr. Joyce Brothers, Cheech Marin and Robin Leech!
Okay, that's totally believable. This movie is like the Love Boat. It even has Ace from the Love Boat. You know. Ted McGinley. THE Ted McGinley.
THE Ted McGinley!
But. The best cameo goes to NOT Frankie Avalon and Annette Funicello (as hard as that is to type) but Edd Byrnes.
Oh, yes. This one requires some thinking. In fact, my curiousity was picqued because I thought that it was Jon Voight at first. Upon some checking up, I flew into a fit of delight. Edd Byrnes...is Kookie.
KOOKIE. He is the ginchiest!
This movie isn't all pop culture, though. There are themes in this movie - serious themes - that run parallel to some of the sharpest and most clever films of today. Like The Prestige. Can you not deny the obvious dichotomy of Mary Gross's infiltration on Betty Thomas's insinstence to Shelly Long's organization, only to fall in love with her? That's right. Mary Gross is Scarlett Johansson to Betty Thomas's Hugh Jackman and Shelly Long's Christian Bale. Which makes Ted McGinley David Bowie, obviously.
Dove tailing on that, this weekend, I once again did not watch Schindler's List. I did watch Troop Beverly Hills. Klassy with a K.
I was the target demographic for this movie when it came out in 1989 - the girls were about 10-11, I was nine. They were Wilderness Girls, I was a Camp Fire Girl. They lived in one of the weathliest areas in Southern California, I lived in a trailer court in Southern Idaho. See? Perfectly paralell!
Watching this movie as a twenty-eight year old woman, it was a much different experience. Especially since this movie is laden with odd cameos, before they were somebodies and twilights of being somebodies. Most popular in the 'before" category is Rilo Kiley's Jenny Lewis. Also in the movie, a young Kellie Martin and Carla Gugino. And Willie Garson from Sex in the City fame. One that may not be so obvious comes in the form of the opening credits - that animated sequence? Done by John Kricfalusi, creator of Ren & Stimpy.
Twilights (and I am fighting not to put Shelley Long here because I saw Hello Again! in the theatre and though I was only seven in 1987, I knew that my mother should get her money back) include Heather Hopper. Poor Heather Hopper! Denied the chance to be on Saved By the Bell and having to only settle on the laurels Good Morning Miss Bliss only sort of provided. Also, Ami Foster - better known to the likes of me and any Punky Foster fan as Margeaux Kramer. And - because one natural red headed Jenny Lewis wasn't enough, Small Wonder's Harriet Bindle, aka Emily Schulman is in there.
But this movie wins in the cameo department. We are to believe that Shelley Long's character - the wife of a lawyer/entrepreneuer/muffler man - knows such lumanaries such as Pia Zadora, Dr. Joyce Brothers, Cheech Marin and Robin Leech!
Okay, that's totally believable. This movie is like the Love Boat. It even has Ace from the Love Boat. You know. Ted McGinley. THE Ted McGinley.
THE Ted McGinley!
But. The best cameo goes to NOT Frankie Avalon and Annette Funicello (as hard as that is to type) but Edd Byrnes.
Oh, yes. This one requires some thinking. In fact, my curiousity was picqued because I thought that it was Jon Voight at first. Upon some checking up, I flew into a fit of delight. Edd Byrnes...is Kookie.
KOOKIE. He is the ginchiest!
This movie isn't all pop culture, though. There are themes in this movie - serious themes - that run parallel to some of the sharpest and most clever films of today. Like The Prestige. Can you not deny the obvious dichotomy of Mary Gross's infiltration on Betty Thomas's insinstence to Shelly Long's organization, only to fall in love with her? That's right. Mary Gross is Scarlett Johansson to Betty Thomas's Hugh Jackman and Shelly Long's Christian Bale. Which makes Ted McGinley David Bowie, obviously.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Shut Up, Neva
"Shut up, Neva."
I swear that those three words comprise my first, middle, and last names. Since I began to talk, I don't think a day has gone by where this phrase hasn't made an appearance. My incessant questions, my desire to expose the truth, and my inability to accept that fact that not everybody gets the well placed Maude reference in everyday conversation.
The first time I've had this said to be by an entire classroom was in the second grade.
"Fact!" my oatmeal packet read. I was in the kitchen making myself breakfast on a gray day in February 1988, waiting for my mother to wake up and take me to school. "Christopher Columbus did not discover America, but the West Indies. He never made it to America."
My seven year-old world was rocked. Hard. I let the kettle whistle blow for a while as I steadied my dizzy head. I had just learned a few months ago that Columbus discovered the world was round and that he discovered America - could this oatmeal be telling the truth?
As class began that day, my second grade teacher, Mrs. Cahill, asked us if we had learned anything knew recently.
My hand must have made a sonic boom as it shot up. I prepared the class for the most earth shaking news they had ever heard. I did my best to set up that what I was about to say was going to change the way they looked at life.
"Columbus...did not discover America."
"Shut up, Neva." One classmate.
I tried to verify my statement. "It's true!"
"Shut up, Neva." Another classmate.
I tried to reach them with print. "I read it on my oatmeal packet! IT'S TRUE!"
"SHUT UP, NEVA!" Everybody.
What is odd is that I remember this chorus of "shut up" so clearly, I remember it happening in Mrs. Cahill's class, I remember getting my name on the board with a check mark telling someone else to shut up, and I do not remember anybody getting in trouble for saying this. Mrs. Cahill herself would have gotten a few as she muttered it under her breath as she shook her head in her hands, probably wondering why she had let me speak in class. Again.
What is crazy is that this became a grudge. In the sixth grade, when the truth about Columbus finally spilled out - when our social studies teacher, Mrs. Boatman, finally said out loud those words I had once said four years ago, I waited for the class to tell her to shut up. No one did and nobody even spoke a word...
..except me.
"You know, I found out about this in the second grade and nobody believed me!"
"Shut up, Neva."
I had to verify my statement. "It's true!"
"Shut up, Neva."
I had to reach them with print. "I read it on an oatmeal packet!"
"SHUT UP, NEVA!"
What is downright bonkers is that I am getting red faced just remembering this story. I just went to my class reunion this past June and recounted many specific stories about minor events that nobody remembered but me. And no one told me to shut up. They looked at me funny for a few moments, laughed, and went on. Wait. No. They looked at me funny, took a sip of their beer, laughed, and went on.
I think that means that sipping beer is the new "Shut up, Neva." Which is fine because I too had a beer. And I would sip it after they left. And I think that's the new "I read it on an oatmeal packet!"
I swear that those three words comprise my first, middle, and last names. Since I began to talk, I don't think a day has gone by where this phrase hasn't made an appearance. My incessant questions, my desire to expose the truth, and my inability to accept that fact that not everybody gets the well placed Maude reference in everyday conversation.
The first time I've had this said to be by an entire classroom was in the second grade.
"Fact!" my oatmeal packet read. I was in the kitchen making myself breakfast on a gray day in February 1988, waiting for my mother to wake up and take me to school. "Christopher Columbus did not discover America, but the West Indies. He never made it to America."
My seven year-old world was rocked. Hard. I let the kettle whistle blow for a while as I steadied my dizzy head. I had just learned a few months ago that Columbus discovered the world was round and that he discovered America - could this oatmeal be telling the truth?
As class began that day, my second grade teacher, Mrs. Cahill, asked us if we had learned anything knew recently.
My hand must have made a sonic boom as it shot up. I prepared the class for the most earth shaking news they had ever heard. I did my best to set up that what I was about to say was going to change the way they looked at life.
"Columbus...did not discover America."
"Shut up, Neva." One classmate.
I tried to verify my statement. "It's true!"
"Shut up, Neva." Another classmate.
I tried to reach them with print. "I read it on my oatmeal packet! IT'S TRUE!"
"SHUT UP, NEVA!" Everybody.
What is odd is that I remember this chorus of "shut up" so clearly, I remember it happening in Mrs. Cahill's class, I remember getting my name on the board with a check mark telling someone else to shut up, and I do not remember anybody getting in trouble for saying this. Mrs. Cahill herself would have gotten a few as she muttered it under her breath as she shook her head in her hands, probably wondering why she had let me speak in class. Again.
What is crazy is that this became a grudge. In the sixth grade, when the truth about Columbus finally spilled out - when our social studies teacher, Mrs. Boatman, finally said out loud those words I had once said four years ago, I waited for the class to tell her to shut up. No one did and nobody even spoke a word...
..except me.
"You know, I found out about this in the second grade and nobody believed me!"
"Shut up, Neva."
I had to verify my statement. "It's true!"
"Shut up, Neva."
I had to reach them with print. "I read it on an oatmeal packet!"
"SHUT UP, NEVA!"
What is downright bonkers is that I am getting red faced just remembering this story. I just went to my class reunion this past June and recounted many specific stories about minor events that nobody remembered but me. And no one told me to shut up. They looked at me funny for a few moments, laughed, and went on. Wait. No. They looked at me funny, took a sip of their beer, laughed, and went on.
I think that means that sipping beer is the new "Shut up, Neva." Which is fine because I too had a beer. And I would sip it after they left. And I think that's the new "I read it on an oatmeal packet!"
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Discomfort is on the Menu
I found this menu online a while back and I can't decide if it's charming, vintage, kitsch, or just uncomfortable to look at...
Courtesy of the Union Pacific Train.
Courtesy of the Union Pacific Train.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
The Secret Word is "Pancakes"
Dooce did a whole post about the secret word - pancakes. (Pancakes and her daughter. But there's only one of those things that is legal to cover in syrup and eat.)
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