Chapter Five: Potentially Unamerican (or Yoga>Football)

So the SuperBowl is today - Americana at its finest (or worst).
Living on the West Coast up until last June, I was prepared for the SuperBowl to take place in the afternoon and halfheartedly was planning on watching some of it before my candlelight yoga class tonight.

Turns out, it's 3 hours later here. Go figure. So the game is on right in the middle of my yoga class. I am choosing yoga. Am I un-American?

Actually, kinda sorta maybe.

When I lived in France for my semester abroad my host family said I didn't look American. All of their friends who they later introduced me to concurred with this. The rationale was such: First and foremost I am skinny. Americans are fat, everybody knows that! Second, I was NOT blonde. And third, I was not tan.

I know, I am an enigma of an American.

Additionally, there is my choice of diet. The last time I ate a hamburger I was I believe a freshman in college. And now I don't really eat meat at all, so that takes care of hot dogs and steak too. I HATE apple pie. I do not eat fast food - at all. I say "no" to SPAM. I could live off of potatoes (hey, I'm Irish!) - and I DO NOT mean french fries (I get a stomach ache just thinking about them). I do not believe that milkshakes bring boys to the yard - nor do I know what this means. I do not imbibe Coca-Cola OR Pepsi on a regular basis - perhaps once every three months.

And of course, my shopping preferences. I don't frequent WalMart. I am obsessed with Etsy. Plus, as previously mentioned I am not buying clothes/shoes/accessories that are not absolutely necessary.

I guess I am a New Age/Environmentalist/Crazy American.

In many ways I would love to be an Expat. No, just flat out I would love to be an Expat (but only if I was to live in France - this is still on my docket of "things to do"). I envy the EU's activism concerning the environment and climate change. They are actually making drastic changes, while we over here are still arguing whether or not it exists!!! Ugh.

Of course, everything I just listed that renders me un-American are stereotypes of being American. That's just my point. Being American is a stereotype. I do not think there are many things that link us all together and define us. Politics certainly does not, nor does shopping/eating habits. I could cop out and say "oh it's a sense of Patriotism or love for one's country." Nope. I am not proud of half the things our country does. But I do like living here (for now), and the privileges that come along with it. I guess that's what makes me American...

That and my mixed heritage...

Yours,
SW

Chapter Four: Random Thoughts of the Day

Some items swirling in my mind at the present time:

• Nobody doesn't like the Beatles - if you say you don't you're a liar who must not like any genre of music at all because this band so heavily influenced EVERYONE

• when it is 12 degrees outside, you do not want to do laundry, you want to stay in bed and watch movies. unfortunately, I have to bundle up and haul my 3 weeks worth of laundry to the laundromat ugggggghhhhh

• Someday I will have a bitchin' art collection

• According to O Magazine (yes, the Oprah one) I am an intelligence seeker, unconsidered with people's perceptions and the status quo - Oprah, you pinned me once again you sly dog

• Some of the best movies I have ever seen are animated

• I finished two books this week. Boom roasted!

• Someone please come over and do my laundry for me...I think I might actually freeze to death if I go outside

• I am cycling tomorrow for rare cancer research...If you don't donate to my team I'll hold it against you...forever

• I plan on boycotting V-day this year - much like every other year - because I am edgy

• Someone please remind me to buy my mom's birthday present this weekend. Seriously.

• If someone went through my iTunes, they would think I was 5 different people (alt. rock, world music, indie/folk, french [this is so big it is NOT included in world], and a classical music snob). Truth: I AM 5 people....(I am cackling in my head)

• I missed my subway stop twice this week because I was engrossed in my reading. Zola, I commend you.

• I spend about 25% of my time convincing my friends to move to NYC now. No bites, but I shall persevere.
  

• Please do not ask me about hot/trendy clubs/bars in NYC. I know next to none. I have been to one club since moving here. I do know maybe a handful of cool bars. Ask me about museums and I will talk you into the ground. Dance - same thing.
  

• I am taking a Michael Jackson-themed dance class, and come February a Fosse class as well. Jealous (said in a John Lovtiz voice)

• I do not like outer space

• You could not PAY me to see Avatar. I'll stick with FernGully thanks, I don't need to see weird blue people wars...

Yours,
SW

Chapter Three: Waste Makes Waste

As I look around my apartment, there are certain things missing from it that some would consider de rigeur or necessities. First, I do not own a couch. I live on the 4th floor of a walk-up (aka no elevator, no doorman). I don't own one because I can't even imagine the hassle of getting it up here (EVEN with deliverymen - there are tight corners) and couches are ridiculously expensive. I get by just fine with floor cushions, a bean bag, and some comfy chairs.

Second, I still do not have a working tv. My dad was in town this week on business, and brought me a digital antenna to remedy the situation - however, it just cuts out and in. Annoying, but I don't watch enough tv to be truly bothered. Plus, I hulu, or at least I did.

Which brings my to #3: i don't have the internet in my apartment - well not really. It comes and goes. It's not that I'm cheap and won't pay for it. It's that I feel it is another "necessity" that may not be entirely so. Granted it is wondrous helpful when you need to pay bills online, skype, or just fight off boredom.

I think the 3 above things are not are necessary as we hold them. I can read a book instead of watching tv, I can always go to Starbucks or a cafe for wifi, and I have already mentioned how I my lounging plan works.

I recently read about the "American Apparel Diet" in which people take the pledge not to buy any items of clothing (shoes, accessories and underwear are okay'd) for one year. I think that the idea is great, but I would go even further and say that you can only spend money on real necessities.

These days, I try to only buy things related to my health and wellness. There is, however, my Netflix and my bills, but generally I try to spend my money on food and exercise. So, grocery bills are safe and so are my dance classes. Daily coffees or snacks are no-nos. If I go out to eat, I usually can get two meals out of it - so this goes in the health and wellness area as well.

In NYC, there is ALWAYS something that your brain is begging you to spend your paycheck on - broadway, dance performances, bands, crazy restaurants and bars, super hip clothing stores... I find that these are best enjoyed when someone else is paying for them (like my parents when they are in town) or when they are as a reward or celebratory. That makes them more special and actually worth the $$ you cough up to see them.

Now here is where I get preachy. Consumerism has obviously gripped our society. At times, it seems like one cannot even fight against it. When we do "give in" it should be done responsibly: Buy used books/cds/dvds (or rent them!), do a clothes swap with friends, shop at thrift stores (although thanks to the hipsters, the prices here are now exorbiant), etc. I tried to keep a shopping/spending journal last summer/fall and it was outrageous how it seemed I could not go one day without buying something - be it lunch, coffee, a magazine. It really opened my eyes. Of course, I am not a co-opy lady who grows her own fruit and veggies and composts and knits her own clothing. But since I live in one of the biggest cities in the world, I am trying not to take advantage of the consumer delights that are running rampant. I encourage people to examine their real needs/wants/necessities and then tone them down.

I didn't even mention the planet and global warming and the effects of our consumeristic society on the both - consider yourself lucky!

Yours,
SW

Chapter Two: A: Red Panda Q: What is NOT a panda, Alex?

I love the way the bears - and pandas in particular - walk. It is not so much a walk, as a saunter, a sashay, a wobble. They constantly look as if they are about to fall over or start dancing like Baloo (the Jungle Book people!). However, what I do NOT love is a masquerade, sirs.

A little while ago my friend told me there were pandas at the Prospect Park Zoo. I was in utter shock. My panda radar did not sense their presence. I was wary, but willing to believe. Oh how naive I was! Naturally, I went to the zoo's website for further investigation. It was what I feared most: the zoo had RED pandas, not panda pandas.

Red pandas are not, as the name implies, pandas that are red and white instead of black and white. I have no real idea what they are, I just know what they are NOT. I am sure that there is so distant relation in their Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family, Genus or Species - but I will hear none of it.

Red pandas are like shortbread without the butter, a high school dance where NO ONE cries in the girl's bathroom, a happy/normal Poe poem, a pair of heels that are comfortable... It is like Sesame Street's "one of these things is not like the other."

I know that pandas belong to the same family as raccoons, but raccoons scare the crap out of me, so I am going to ignore this fact. When you are young, raccoons seem nice and cute and friendly (thank you for your lies Pocahontas!). In reality, they are scary - especially when they are rummaging through the trash on the Bluff outside of your dorm!

For some reason, pandas have an innate Eeyore quality to them: they're just chill (not the whole suicidal thing).

I know at this point you are asking yourself if I just wrote a whole post on pandas. The truth is yes, yes I did. Don't worry I am planning a hard-hitting investigation on subways and why they always give me bruises soon.

Yours,
SW

Chapter One: Book Obsession

I admit it: I am pretentious. I love flouting my knowledge. I love being right. I love Jeopardy (I almost tried out for the college edition). I love reading classic French literature, and then saying I read classic French literature - I especially like arguing that Zola, NOT Balzac is France's greatest writer. I love sitting in the subway reading my Zola (in French) and feeling self-important. But hey, at least I admit it!

I am a devourer of books. I inherited this from my mother. When I visited home during college, there would be books on my bed that I just had to read. Even now, I am reading three books at one time. Aaaand, two of them are in my bed. Yes, I have progressed to sleeping with my books. It is truly sad.

I don't know how this happened. Wait, yes I do. I have a big bed and was reading late into the night and fell asleep. Sad.

My apartment does not show my book obsession. My room at my parent's house does. I even have them in piles by category (I know, I know, it keeps getting worse). Jogging my memory I have piles for: French books/grammar books, Harry Potter, Impressionism/Post-Impressionism/art, French history, fairytale literature, Jane Austen, and classic lit. I believe that is all.

My tastes are a bit odd. They range from anything to do with Van Gogh, to Austen, to Poe, to Zola, to the history of Paris, to chick lit.

These days, I am trying to only buy used books. I am a mild environmentalist and feel guilty about all the trees. Plus, I love reading other people's margin notes. I love it. Sometimes the notes are entirely insipid, but sometimes they surprise you and you end up reading an entire paragraph/page/chapter differently.

Right now I am reading Au Bonheur des Dames by Zola (I confess, I have read it in English as well), Sunflowers by Sheramy Bundrick, and I just finished the Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by I don't remember the authors because it is in the other room and I don't want to get up.

I am sure that my pretentious and assumed literary airs will seep through again. Be forewarned.

Yours,
SW

Prologue

I guess introductions are in order. My real name is Emily, though I feel I am rarely called by this moniker. When one is blessed with porcelain skin, chocolate hair and azure eyes, one is called: Casper, Frosty, Wednesday, Ice Queen, Ghost, etc. Additionally, my last name afforded the nickname Max by several guy friends. More recently there is Panda - black hair/white skin (original!). Mais, I digress...Snow White happened upon me primarily in college. I am not sure exactly of the particulars. I do know that during a trip to Disneyland for Spring Break my Sophomore year I stalked this aforementioned character and upon developing the photo, we looked like sisters.

My parents also bear mentioning for they have bestowed upon me figurines, a cardboard cut-out (for my 21st birthday), a Christmas ornament, and this year for Christmas the special edition DVD set complete with 7 stuffed dwarfs.

I guess it didn't help that my senior thesis was entitled "A Rhetorical Analysis of the Songs in Walt Disney's 'Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.'" I won't bore you with too many details, but my main finding was that Snow White is a character with a split dichotomy of helplessness and can-do attitude. For months my nose was burried in analyses of this classic fairytale, and, alas, now I can spout knowledge about this tale and the broader genre whenever I feel provoked.

But enough about my assumed alias. The other half of my title is rather easy to venture a guess at: the Big Apple=New York. I also thought that it served as a nice reference to my character as well.

Forthcoming chapters will be filled with god only knows what. I make no promises.

Yours,
SW