scattered thoughts on thanksgiving weekend
November 30, 2011 § Leave a comment
Repeated viewings of Kung Fu Panda and its assorted spinoffs and sequels.
Bobby singing to my cat. Then chasing after her with a giant red totebag. Then putting her in the totebag. Then pretending the totebag is a swing or a rollercoaster.
Cooked Thanksgiving dinner all through the day on Thursday. The eight pound hunk of prime rib came out livid red when we got a knife in it. As we cut it up the deep grooves of the wooden chopping board slowly filled with blood.
Furiously resentful of having to go to the L.A. Auto Show, even though I suggested it in the first place. I thought I could get into the hybrid display, learn a bit about smart cars and sit in one and pretend I lived in a teacup and hung my clothes on a rack made from a paperclip, but the whole thing was kind of gross. Fleshly proof of our status- and brand-obsessed society. And lightly flavored with sexism, if you’re into that kind of thing! They had skinny women in tight, bare-sleeved dresses and stiletto heels slink around their cars, voluptuously repeating marketing copy to assembling on-lookers. Multiple instances of hip swayage occurred. A dark-haired lady charged by me, pushing a baby in a stroller (I was reading a book on the floor, feeling rebellious and nonconformist and probably sourly muttering to myself about the paucity of public transportation options in the larger Los Angeles region). As she approached the display, she repeated the car name to her baby. “Look baby, it’s an Audi! An Audi!” OH FOR CHRIST’S SAKE. IT’S A HUNK OF EMBOSSED METAL. PS. YOU LIVE AN EMPTY LIFE.
Belascos on Sunday night: Drank too much. Instant awkwardness when friend P. introduced me to some dudely dudes, then immediately followed up with the statements “she’s really smart” and “she’s applying to law school”. “Oh…cool.” was the typical response, followed by a bout of oogling. I was thinking about this in relation to my friend C., who is the kind of vociferous, opinionated, and supremo-confident striver that, by opening her mouth, instantly distinguishes herself from others in a classroom. There’s the feeling there, shared by her, and I, that those qualities that enable her in particular and women in general to succeed professionally, are also ones that work against her (and women) in the romantic sphere. True? False? If I didn’t have B., for example, would dudes hear “law school” and flee in droves? Or am I just making excuses for my own ineptitude? It’s not like my life as it relates to other young people would be socially frictionless even if I didn’t go to X college. But I don’t think it helps. Sometimes I think that people think that I think I’m better than them, that I’m not conversing because I’m snobby, when really I’m having to wrestle and floor-pin the insecurities and fears that, to my eye, they overcame long ago.
(I remember B.’s friend, JK, a Singaporean transplant. When we visited over the summer he told us he was on OK Cupid. “Oh, definitely,” he said, when asked about his preferred girl, “She’s gotta be UCLA or Berkeley caliber.”)
But man, clubbing. I had one of those nights where keeping upright is a trial. Why do I do it? Sometimes it’s plain sordid. B. said he saw two girls rubbing each other between their legs in a circle of men. It’s fun to dance but I can’t separate my enjoyment of it from the uneasy feeling that the whole get-up is predatory and crass and an affront to feminism. And if you must ask, I keep repeating that because many things are.