goddess of clarity: a blog about politics, culture, and serenity

Archive: August 16 - August 31, 2005

August 31, 2005 — 13:34 EST

Well, one thing's for sure: I'm never gonna complain about the snow up here in Rochester again.

Trying to imagine the city of New Orleans underwater is a bit of a mental leap. I've only been to New Orleans once, and I had a wonderful time. We did all the tourist-y stuff in the French Quarter: "beignets and au laits" at the Le Monde cafe, dancing and drinking at a zydeco place on Bourbon Street. One night we ended up off the beaten track a bit in a little piano bar a friend of ours knew about and it was one of those "movie perfect" situations: although the place was packed, we found one vacant table near the piano player. As we got the drinks in, he started in on a drunken rendition of "My Way," and everyone starting singing and swaying along. Maybe it was the Cuba Libras talking, but the whole scene took on that happy glow you get when you realize that for once you are in the right place at the right time.

So it seems especially sad to me when bad things happen to such a fun city—a city whose people love her—a city like New Orleans. Rochester is a nice place to live and all, but I'm not sure if anyone really loves it.

And maybe it's because I've just finished reading Nickel and Dimed, but events like this also bring home to me just how difficult it is to be poor in America and how lucky I am to be in possession of such luxuries as renter's insurance and a savings account. Imagine your city is under mandatory evacutation order. What if you don't have a car? Or the $25 bucks it now costs to fill up the tank? Or the money for a few nights in a hotel room whenever you get where you're going? And there will be no paychecks coming in for a few weeks because your job is under 12 feet of water? It's a scary thought.

But the other side of disasters like this is that, no matter how overwhelming things seem, people usually do manage to deal with it somehow. I guess while you're going through something you have no other option but to go through it. What are you gonna do, collapse into a useless puddle in a corner somewhere?

Laissez le bon temps roulet, New Orleans.

—lori.

August 29, 2005 — 13:34 EST

Fun With Random and Pointless eBay Items

Operating under the theory that "if you nail two things together that have never been nailed together before, some shmuck will buy it from you," I find it enlightening to search eBay every now and again using whatever words happen to pop into my head, just as my own little gauge on how truly weird we are as a people. I am rarely disappointed.

So it happened that today I found myself reading Slate's review of the cheesy reality series Brat Camp (which I am both sad to say and proud to say I didn't watch). The review contained this delightful passage: "Reality TV is not even a guilty pleasure anymore. It's as if our entire culture has reached the halfway point in a gigantic bag of Cheetos and just collectively decided to go ahead and finish it off."

Shortly thereafter, I was checking my auction items on eBay, when I was gripped by a powerful urge to search for "Cheetos." And I know better than to ignore the grip of powerful urges. So search, I did.

My efforts did not go unrewarded. Several items listed in the search results jumped out at me: the "limited edition" bag of Star Wars Twisted Cheetos that turn your tongue either "Yoda green" or "Darth Vader dark;" not one, but two penis-shaped Cheetos, and a Cheeto shaped like the Madonna with child (though I think this one also looks like a penis. Maybe all Cheetos look like penises).

But these were not the most disturbing to me. That honor goes to the Cheetos Lip Balm. I admit, I spent probably a little too much time thinking about why on earth someone would want to walk around with orange lips that tasted like fried cheese. When confronted with a product like this, it does absolutely no good trying to figure out what need or niche it is attempting to fulfill. The correct response is to simply shake one's head in resigned bemusement. Ah yes, we are a stupid people. Some segment of which, apparently, likes their lips shiny and cheesy.

—lori.

August 25, 2005 — 14:56 EST

Man, I only took three vacation days, and I feel like I've been gone for ages. You'd think I'd been on an African safari or something, instead of just an extended weekend in Pennsylvania. I'm out of the loop on everything, from work to the news of the day to movies (You mean, The 40-Year-Old Virgin has been out for nearly a *week* already and I haven't seen it yet?!).

We did manage to fit a hell of a lot into those several days: camping in southwestern PA, a visit to Fallingwater, driving all the way back across the state (Pennsylvania is big; it's like Pittsburgh and Philadelphia with Alabama in between) to Philly for my birthday barbeque with the folks, my first (and probably only) Phillies game of the season, and our semi-annual trip to IKEA.

Fallingwater was amazing. I don't know what I was expecting. I'm not really an architecture buff or a Frank Lloyd Wright fanatic. I think I was expecting something so designed, that it wouldn't feel like a real home. Like the moment you put down your newspaper or a bottle of beer the artist's vision would be shattered and the whole carefully crafted artifice would come crashing down around you.

(Here's some more Fallingwater photos.)

It wasn't like that at all. It really felt like a home. An incredibly beautiful home, to be sure. But I could imagine plopping down on one of the long low sofas with a book and a cup of coffee. Plus, there is almost as much square footage on the outside of the house in the form of decks and terraces as there is inside. It's a bit of a cliché, but Wright really does "bring the outside in." The hearth in front of the massive fireplace is a boulder that juts up from the Bear Run creek, which runs underneath the house. And all the windows are molded together at the corners so you wouldn't feel "boxed in" by window frames.

It's little details like that that make the place quite lovely. Mr. Goddess and I both fell in love with Wright's bedside lamps (as much as it is possible to fall in love with an electric lamp). The lamps are three-sided plinths that rotate on a base, so you can turn the light toward you for direct light while you're reading, and away from you for diffuse light when you are not. Mr. Goddess already achieves this effect at home by leaning books against the sides of our IKEA bedside lamp (see right) whenever "the light hurts my eyes." The effect if significantly less elegant but also less expensive to achieve; in the Fallingwater gift shop, those lamps will run you $420 a pop.

After a day of hiking and biking followed by a jump in the wonderfully freezing Youghiogheny River (I still can't pronounce it), we headed out to Philly. And this news just in from the world of sporting superstitions: I AM NO LONGER A JINX! The Phillies beat the Pirates 4-3 when Jason Michaels scored from first on a game-winning single by Bobby Abreu in the eighth. Very exciting stuff. There was only one problem: our seats were down the left-field line in one of only two sections out there that was not shaded by the deck above. Game time temperature: 94 degrees. Nary a cloud in the sky. Plus, I wore jeans, which turned out to be a poor fashion choice. Needless to say, my farmer's tan is still glowing a dull pinky-red along my forearms and neck. But no matter. The Phillies are now a game-and-a-half up in the National League wild card race, and all is right with the world.

Our shopping spree through IKEA was as crazy as ever. Since there are no IKEAs in all of western New York (yeah, thanks a lot, Sweden) we have to get our fix where and when we can. This time it was in Conshohocken, PA. Purchases this go round included: an area rug for the living room ("it really tied the room together"), a Lack coffee table, a filing cabinet, several magazine files, some candles, a tea kettle (for 5 bucks!), a tool set (for 5 bucks!) and yet another Pallbo footstool. With the exception of one bookcase purchased cheap at an antique shop, I think it is now officially safe to say that every stick of furniture in my house comes from either IKEA or Target. Oh well. If you're gonna buy particle board, it might as well be quality particle board.

—lori.

August 17, 2005 — 12:09 EST

Speaking of vacation, the goddess is taking a a couple days off this week to do some late summer camping and see a Phillies game. I'm *finally* going to visit the Frank Lloyd Wright house Fallingwater, which I've driven near many times but never actually seen. And I'm *finally* going to see a Phillies game in their new ballpark. Maybe the change of venue will break my Phillies curse.

See, I've been to about a dozen Phillies games in my long career as a long-suffering fan, and the Phillies have won exactly one. And that one took about 18 innings. They were playing the Dodgers at the Vet in 1993, and Mitch Williams was brought on with a lead in the ninth. He promptly blew the save, and it wasn't until about 2 o'clock in the morning that the Phillies finally scored the winning run on a base hit by Lenny Dykstra. It was a lot of fun, actually. By the end of the game, we'd moved all the way down from our nosebleed seats and were sitting right behind home plate.

My Phillies curse has followed me to games at Fenway Park and PNC Park in Pittsburgh. I feel almost guilty about attending this game, since we are currently in a close race for the NL wildcard. But still, it's a new stadium so I'm banking on the fact that the old superstitions no longer apply.

—lori.