This weird little show - Portlandia - is my latest TV obsession. They mock the hipster like no other. What's not to love. I love a kind mock. And while I love the hipsters I recognize their sometimes unbearable foibles and self-congratulatory/egomaniacal superior-ism.
I was part of a hipster crowd back in the day. Early '90s San Francisco was riddled with the fuckers. It was before the dot com boom made San Francisco impossible to afford for anyone but hedge fund managers and tech dudes from Google/Facebook/name the latest internet behemoth. San Francisco was populated with artists, musicians, non-profiteers and young people who liked to go to a lot of Raves. I made about $900/month at my entry level advertising agency job and was fine. I shared an apartment with other hipster girls (remember Manic Panic hair dye? That was our favorite Saturday night activity pre-Rave) and we had plenty of money for used hipster clothing at the Wasteland and keg beer for parties. I somehow think that would be impossible in today's San Francisco where the young cash challenged hipster has been overrun by what would have been called the Yuppie back in the 90s. Which I guess I qualify as now. From hipster to Yuppie. What a long strange trip it's been. I don't think they're called Yuppies anymore. What do we call them now? David Brooks would call them Bobos as in bourgeois bohemians.
Back to the show. The hipster still thrives in Portland, apparently, where the cost of living has remained reasonable. The show mocks every variety - the overly bearded suspender wearing artisanal cheese maker, the women's bookstore owner (I'm surprised they don't call the store "Womyn's Books") who thinks everything is a phallic offense, the self-satisfied savers of the world and dogs that all the while treats the people right in front of them like shit. Ahhh I love this one. The outfits are perfect here - Teva sandals, Patagonia vests and cargo pants. They should be carrying NPR tote bags. Their voices are always too loud. They have no children but want to tell everyone how to raise theirs. Oh and there are others. The agro bike messenger with a tufted chin beard and those African style ear things that stretch out the lobes, with one pant leg rolled up and one of those funny little cycling caps.
The show is pitch perfect. Fred Armisen (Saturday Night Live) and Carrie Brownstein (Sleater-Kinney band) play a host of different annoying Portland hipsters in a collection of vignettes. One of my favorites being about a "hide and seek league" that plays in the library. They have ironic tee-shirts and team names, they wear American Apparel style sweat socks and gym shorts to play this stupid made up game. Oh this could have been a thing at Stanford. An alternative activity for all the Ultimate frisbee players and hackey sackers (though the hackey sackers were more Hippie than Hipster).
The funny part is my 8 year old son loves the show. I don't know why. He can't possibly get all the references. Maybe there is enough obvious humor in it for him to get. Maybe he was born into hipster heaven (there are still some here in SF...just not as many as once upon a time) so it's in his bones to get it. Whatever it is, he likes singing the theme song - "The dream of the 90's is alive in Porland!"- and watching episodes with me repeatedly. He probably tells his friends in school about it. Kids that mostly like watching iCarly and Hannah Montana. That makes him a little weirdo which I love. It means he'll grow up to be an annoying hipster! A far better plight than a boring banker dude.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Thanks Mr. Policeman
Time for another birthday. Fantastic. I love birthdays but somehow their shine is wearing thin with age. I suppose mine is as well so it's fitting.
The best birthday gift I am sure to get happened today. I was racing to get my kids. I was late. I'd had to ask a favor of the ex to pick them up at school - which I don't relish doing (asking the favor, I mean; I love picking them up at school). I was going a tad too fast through the Broadway tunnel. I wasn't even aware (are we ever aware of speeding?) that I'd been 15 miles/hour above the speed limit when I got pulled over after exiting the tunnel. Truthfully I was so oblivious I couldn't really believe the motorcycled gent was waving his arms and flashing his lights at me. Where my head was I can't really say. Perhaps pondering the passing of another year, weighing the incredulity of being WAY closer to 50 years old than I am to 30 (I can barely see 30 from here). At any rate, my brain was in a fog. A fog that prevented me from looking at my speedometer, apparently.
I can't even remember ever getting a speeding ticket. I was remarkably calm considering.
Of course there were no hysterics, no theatrics, no fuck-you's and "ahh c'mon's". I sat patiently, handed him my license and registration and apologized. He went and did his little checking this and that thing back by his vehicle. When he returned and handed me back my license, he said: "Is this really your birthday? The one on your license?" Yes of course. Why would I lie on my license? "Yes."
"It's your birthday. I can't give you a ticket," he said.
"Well, it's not yet. It's tomorrow."
"Oh right well in that case, let me write this out." He smiled. "Kidding. Slow down a bit. They're cracking down in the tunnel."
"Of course. Really sorry. Thank you so much." And I was on my way.
What a lovely act of kindness. I deserved the ticket. I was apparently going 49 miles/hour in a 35 mile/hour zone. Who knew. Not me. But he cut me some slack. Thanks officer.
The best birthday gift I am sure to get happened today. I was racing to get my kids. I was late. I'd had to ask a favor of the ex to pick them up at school - which I don't relish doing (asking the favor, I mean; I love picking them up at school). I was going a tad too fast through the Broadway tunnel. I wasn't even aware (are we ever aware of speeding?) that I'd been 15 miles/hour above the speed limit when I got pulled over after exiting the tunnel. Truthfully I was so oblivious I couldn't really believe the motorcycled gent was waving his arms and flashing his lights at me. Where my head was I can't really say. Perhaps pondering the passing of another year, weighing the incredulity of being WAY closer to 50 years old than I am to 30 (I can barely see 30 from here). At any rate, my brain was in a fog. A fog that prevented me from looking at my speedometer, apparently.
I can't even remember ever getting a speeding ticket. I was remarkably calm considering.
Of course there were no hysterics, no theatrics, no fuck-you's and "ahh c'mon's". I sat patiently, handed him my license and registration and apologized. He went and did his little checking this and that thing back by his vehicle. When he returned and handed me back my license, he said: "Is this really your birthday? The one on your license?" Yes of course. Why would I lie on my license? "Yes."
"It's your birthday. I can't give you a ticket," he said.
"Well, it's not yet. It's tomorrow."
"Oh right well in that case, let me write this out." He smiled. "Kidding. Slow down a bit. They're cracking down in the tunnel."
"Of course. Really sorry. Thank you so much." And I was on my way.
What a lovely act of kindness. I deserved the ticket. I was apparently going 49 miles/hour in a 35 mile/hour zone. Who knew. Not me. But he cut me some slack. Thanks officer.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Go Katniss!
I took my kids to their first archery lesson yesterday. I found a place in Golden Gate Park, out near the ocean, right next to a golf course. We arrived at 9 a.m. I had no idea what to expect but the kids were giddy, had been for a weeks since I'd told them I'd found a place.
There were three instructors. Various forms of nerds. Fat smoking nerd, introverted Asian guy and slightly off but super nice white guy. They exchanged nerdy boy knowledge on all manner of weaponry while we waited in the drizzle for the rest of the students to arrive. My kids were going to love this. They too are obsessed with weapons. Not in a Columbine-building-explosives-in-the-garage kind of way. In a history kind of way. They construct weapons - of the bladed variety - out of cardboard, wood, electrical tape and silver paint; these Katanas, longswords, rapiers and daggers are harmless. They rarely even play fight with them. But they do learn all about history in the process of obsessively crafting them. They can tell you which side used what kind of blade (single, double, long, short, blah blah blah) in every battle up until the point where blades weren't used in battles anymore. Nerds.
They've incorporated bows into their lexicon of weaponry of late. Not least of all because of Katniss Everdeen, the star archer of the "Hunger Games". Love Katniss. And yes I let them read these books. True they're a bit violent. But the kids want to read. So I say, have at it boys. Certainly no worse than "Lord of the Flies" which we all read as kids.
The lesson lasted 2 hours. They start by learning basic form utilizing a short circle of red surgical tubing. They place their feet at a slight angle, pull the tubing taught towards the ground, raise it up to aim, release. They are taught to aim low because we automatically aim high (our eyes being above the target or some such thing... I missed some, didn't want to hover). After about 20 minutes of tubing shot into the bushes they graduate to real bows and arrows, aiming at a not too distant target.
They were wobbly at first. But they got the hang of it pretty quickly, hitting the target (not the bullseye) most every time. There were about 20 people there all together. Mostly adults, only four children including my two. Everyone shoots their 10 or so arrows, the targets at varying distances depending on the skill of the archer. Then a whistle is blown twice by the lead instructor and the archers collect their arrows. They return them to their designated orange cones, the whistle is blown again, indicating that it is time to resume your place behind the line and begin shooting again. It also means, don't wander around out by the targets anymore or you'll get hit. Time to shoot.
They shot (is it even called that?) for about 90 minutes. They would have kept going. I was amazed by their focused diligence. Each listened to the instructor provide helpful tips, each hit the bullseye a few times. Neither got frustrated. Wyatt didn't cry if Virgil did a bit better. He stayed in his own world, trying only to do a bit better each time than he did the one before. Given that he is prone to frustration if he isn't perfect and especially prone to frustration when he perceives his brother to be better at anything, I found this to be a small triumph.
We'll be going back.
There were three instructors. Various forms of nerds. Fat smoking nerd, introverted Asian guy and slightly off but super nice white guy. They exchanged nerdy boy knowledge on all manner of weaponry while we waited in the drizzle for the rest of the students to arrive. My kids were going to love this. They too are obsessed with weapons. Not in a Columbine-building-explosives-in-the-garage kind of way. In a history kind of way. They construct weapons - of the bladed variety - out of cardboard, wood, electrical tape and silver paint; these Katanas, longswords, rapiers and daggers are harmless. They rarely even play fight with them. But they do learn all about history in the process of obsessively crafting them. They can tell you which side used what kind of blade (single, double, long, short, blah blah blah) in every battle up until the point where blades weren't used in battles anymore. Nerds.
They've incorporated bows into their lexicon of weaponry of late. Not least of all because of Katniss Everdeen, the star archer of the "Hunger Games". Love Katniss. And yes I let them read these books. True they're a bit violent. But the kids want to read. So I say, have at it boys. Certainly no worse than "Lord of the Flies" which we all read as kids.
The lesson lasted 2 hours. They start by learning basic form utilizing a short circle of red surgical tubing. They place their feet at a slight angle, pull the tubing taught towards the ground, raise it up to aim, release. They are taught to aim low because we automatically aim high (our eyes being above the target or some such thing... I missed some, didn't want to hover). After about 20 minutes of tubing shot into the bushes they graduate to real bows and arrows, aiming at a not too distant target.
They were wobbly at first. But they got the hang of it pretty quickly, hitting the target (not the bullseye) most every time. There were about 20 people there all together. Mostly adults, only four children including my two. Everyone shoots their 10 or so arrows, the targets at varying distances depending on the skill of the archer. Then a whistle is blown twice by the lead instructor and the archers collect their arrows. They return them to their designated orange cones, the whistle is blown again, indicating that it is time to resume your place behind the line and begin shooting again. It also means, don't wander around out by the targets anymore or you'll get hit. Time to shoot.
They shot (is it even called that?) for about 90 minutes. They would have kept going. I was amazed by their focused diligence. Each listened to the instructor provide helpful tips, each hit the bullseye a few times. Neither got frustrated. Wyatt didn't cry if Virgil did a bit better. He stayed in his own world, trying only to do a bit better each time than he did the one before. Given that he is prone to frustration if he isn't perfect and especially prone to frustration when he perceives his brother to be better at anything, I found this to be a small triumph.
We'll be going back.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
My new favorite item of clothing
I just got this new hoodie from a new company called American Giant. I love hoodies. There is no better item of clothing. If I could wear a hoodie and jeans every single day I would. Well, I'd probably want to mix in a dress every now and then with a cute pair of patent leather red Ferragamo wedges just to feel cute. But my go to outfit is jeans and a hoodie. Much to my ex's chagrin. (We had a huge fight the day before our wedding - harbinger of doom? - because he hid my favorite gray hoodie; he was sick of looking at me in it. Understandable. Not exactly sexy.)
I digress. I got this new hoodie. Black. A men's small. I'm not a fan of the girly too small shrunken hoodies ala Juicy Couture. Yuck. Defeats the purpose of a comfy hoodie! So I have this new small men's black hoodie from American Giant. It is so old school in that awesome Champion/Russell standard issue college athletic department sweatshirt kind of way. I miss those. The ones you buy now at Gap or Old Navy or even Abercrombie (expensive!) are so disappointing. I love it when the fabric is heavy, gets a little stiff with washing while remaining soft on the inside, big cuffs, sturdy zippers. Like the one I used to have from the Stanford Athletic Department. Love those.
These are those. Awesome. They aren't cheap. They are American Made. And they'd cost more if they sold in department stores - mark up and all that. But because they only sell on-line ... well they aren't AS expensive as they could be given the quality.
I officially have my new favorite item of clothing. Nostalgia in a warm comfy perfect little sweatshirt. Yay.
I digress. I got this new hoodie. Black. A men's small. I'm not a fan of the girly too small shrunken hoodies ala Juicy Couture. Yuck. Defeats the purpose of a comfy hoodie! So I have this new small men's black hoodie from American Giant. It is so old school in that awesome Champion/Russell standard issue college athletic department sweatshirt kind of way. I miss those. The ones you buy now at Gap or Old Navy or even Abercrombie (expensive!) are so disappointing. I love it when the fabric is heavy, gets a little stiff with washing while remaining soft on the inside, big cuffs, sturdy zippers. Like the one I used to have from the Stanford Athletic Department. Love those.
These are those. Awesome. They aren't cheap. They are American Made. And they'd cost more if they sold in department stores - mark up and all that. But because they only sell on-line ... well they aren't AS expensive as they could be given the quality.
I officially have my new favorite item of clothing. Nostalgia in a warm comfy perfect little sweatshirt. Yay.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Hot pokers and Mania
I have this nagging suspicion that I have over-committed. Again. It isn't bothering me. I like being over-committed and semi-frantic. It makes me feel productive and jazzed and frankly... joyful. It gives me a giddy buzz. It's kind of like Ritalin (from what I've read, of course) - the racing around, the speedy heart beat, the non-stop energy! Woohoo! I know this makes me sound terribly unhealthy. But after a year and a half of "taking it easy" (for me, anyway)... I'm ready to dive into too much work. Not that I was really taking it easy in the last 18 months. I was getting divorced which takes a lot of one's mental and emotional energy. But my usual approach to some sort of trauma or discomfort would be to work. Harder. But I didn't. I took some time. Spent it with my kids. Picked them up from school a few days a week. Hung with them in the afternoons. My version of chilling out. While still working like a nutter.
But now... I've poured fuel on the fire. I've taken on this board appointment for Safe4Athletes, a cause I'm passionate about. I've taken on an extra little gig at work in addition to my day job. But it's fun! And scary! And all the things I like about new experiences because let's face it folks - anything you ever do that makes you proud of yourself is hard and scary. Period. If you never push yourself to do anything hard and scary, well, chances are you won't look back and go: I did that! Which may not matter to you. And more power to you if that is the case. You're probably a lot calmer and easier to be around than I am. But to me, it matters. It just does and I accept that about myself.
What else? I kind of said I'd write some books. A young adult series, a "Black Swan" meets gymnastics type of thing. I know about that stuff. Them books should write themselves! (Hah) I wrote a proposal. They liked it. And now I find myself in the position of having to write some chapters. I've got some pages. It's not a pipe dream. But I gotta do it.
And as if all that stuff wasn't enough, I got those pesky kids who I want to spend time with. And I haven't let that wane at all. I pick them up from school a few days a week, we hang out, we do homework, we cook dinner, we watch bad TV and laugh. We have adventurous Saturdays and brunch on Sunday mornings. We have fun.
And I've got a boyfriend I want to spend time with. And that time can't always be combined with kid time. Oh yeah, and I need to exercise. It sounds like I need an extra day or two in the week. Or to give up sleeping which I've been known to do in the past (ok, now I sound like a Bi-polar in a manic state). Is this remotely possible, what I've just laid out? Sounds like it isn't... but I'm going to try.
I'm a huge proponent of an "irons in the fire" approach to life. Get lots of stuff going. Something will work out. Get one thing going, well, the odds are less in your favor. You gotta go one for one in that particular instance. The danger in my approach is two fold: 1) you might drive yourself mad - develop insomnia or a problem with uppers; 2) everything might work out and then you've got WAY too much to do.
See right now, if I write a few chapters, the publisher might go: no thanks. One iron down. OR...they might like it, and suddenly...well now I've really got to finish the book.
I try to make sure the irons are all irons that are worth heating. Or else I'd end up with multiple hot pokers none of which I want to be holding. Ouch.
But now... I've poured fuel on the fire. I've taken on this board appointment for Safe4Athletes, a cause I'm passionate about. I've taken on an extra little gig at work in addition to my day job. But it's fun! And scary! And all the things I like about new experiences because let's face it folks - anything you ever do that makes you proud of yourself is hard and scary. Period. If you never push yourself to do anything hard and scary, well, chances are you won't look back and go: I did that! Which may not matter to you. And more power to you if that is the case. You're probably a lot calmer and easier to be around than I am. But to me, it matters. It just does and I accept that about myself.
What else? I kind of said I'd write some books. A young adult series, a "Black Swan" meets gymnastics type of thing. I know about that stuff. Them books should write themselves! (Hah) I wrote a proposal. They liked it. And now I find myself in the position of having to write some chapters. I've got some pages. It's not a pipe dream. But I gotta do it.
And as if all that stuff wasn't enough, I got those pesky kids who I want to spend time with. And I haven't let that wane at all. I pick them up from school a few days a week, we hang out, we do homework, we cook dinner, we watch bad TV and laugh. We have adventurous Saturdays and brunch on Sunday mornings. We have fun.
And I've got a boyfriend I want to spend time with. And that time can't always be combined with kid time. Oh yeah, and I need to exercise. It sounds like I need an extra day or two in the week. Or to give up sleeping which I've been known to do in the past (ok, now I sound like a Bi-polar in a manic state). Is this remotely possible, what I've just laid out? Sounds like it isn't... but I'm going to try.
I'm a huge proponent of an "irons in the fire" approach to life. Get lots of stuff going. Something will work out. Get one thing going, well, the odds are less in your favor. You gotta go one for one in that particular instance. The danger in my approach is two fold: 1) you might drive yourself mad - develop insomnia or a problem with uppers; 2) everything might work out and then you've got WAY too much to do.
See right now, if I write a few chapters, the publisher might go: no thanks. One iron down. OR...they might like it, and suddenly...well now I've really got to finish the book.
I try to make sure the irons are all irons that are worth heating. Or else I'd end up with multiple hot pokers none of which I want to be holding. Ouch.
On Market Watch - Safe4Athletes
Our Safe4Athletes launch continues on Market Watch. Not sure why they wanted to cover it. But heck, we'll take it! Wish us luck, lend your support, and if you're a coach or a parent, pledge to uphold the Safe4Athlete standards.
Thanks y'all. I promise to write something real. Soon.
Thanks y'all. I promise to write something real. Soon.
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