Attention Homeland Security Foes:
Pertaining to your immediate interest, the United States strictly monitors the country’s licensed motor vehicle drivers, in so that only the best and the brightest of our great nation shall exercise the privilege of operating a motor vehicle. For your protection, a 28-year-old stoner with an interest in pizza delivery was temporarily blocked from the state of Arizona’s roadways due to his funny little LEGAL name- FUN.
I assume I am not alone in this feeling, but for a few years now I have found my daily life pretty much devoid of female friendships. Yes, I have some who are destined to be my future bridesmaids. And yes, I have some I call frequently to rant about dating, friendships, home life and work. But in the little haven of Flagstaff it seems most of my girlfriends from school have rightfully moved out of town for better opportunities, effectively deserting me with my three male roommates and slew of male friends. So when “the girls” invited me to Lady Fest, aka dinner for five at Dara Thai, I was beaming with delight.
Much like a typical scene from a popular television series, we drank fancy cocktails, gorged on spicy Thai food and ran the gambit with such intriguing topics as shady roommates, men we’re dating, movies we’ve seen, tasty drinks, upcoming concerts, etc. It was laugh-out-loud intoxication—from the empowerment of five women PLUS the stiff drinks.
Soon a woman I know came over to our table and said, “I saw you all sitting here having such a great time. You look very Sex and the City tonight.” I was deeply flattered.
Then this is where girls’ night goes down the inevitable slope to just another Friday night.
After we closed down the restaurant, what a nice waitor, we went to one of the party’s homes and drank some more. We raved “Oh, my God! Can we do this EVERY Friday night?” and “This is soooo much better than hanging out with the guys”. We were ecstatically involved in the moment. The slope became slippery and BAM, we’re in our normal bar talking to the normal guys drinking cans of schwilly beer. One girl takes off with a dude, another ant marches off with a guy and three of us say, “well, I have to get up early tomorrow, soooo see ya later.”
I’m not attempting to get all feminatzi man-hating tripped up on the issue, but I thought I would debunk anyone’s preconceived notion that when women hang out together we have pillow fights and paint each other’s toenails. Although, I skipped Girls’ Night last weekend and apparently three of the five ended up making out.
I’m meeting a nice couple for drinks this weekend.
Now I understand the appeal of a blog. I can type away like this is going to be published and the world will "finally" hear my views… Shoot me if I start posing questions like "Is romance dead?" and "Where have all the straight men gone?" haha… maybe I watch too much HBO.
For as long as I can remember I have always poked fun at the worker bees that scuttle between home and the office Monday through Friday and then ignite a rocket in their asses to go downtown and play on Friday and Saturday nights. Well, I am now one of them. The thought of shooting pool on a Thursday night has me tickled pink, whereas it’s a given on Friday evening. I guess I should preface that for a long period of time I worked on Friday and Saturday nights in downtown Flagstaff. Ok, fine, I wasn’t closing the bar at 2 a.m., but I was on my feet slinging beer and burgers until 11ish. That counts.
Flash forward to the present and you’ll find me rockin’ my speed dial list come 6 p.m. Friday. "There’s got to be someone who wants to go bowling tonight!" There is no irony, just plain old hypocrisy. I guess I’m one of those cats the weekend bartenders (and beer slinging waitresses) ridicule now.
Soon to come… a description of girls night that I can’t wait to write.
Yesterday I called my parents in Tucson and the message on their voice mail box was my mom’s. For the past 7, nearly 8 years, the voice recorded is my own asking the caller to leave a message for either Tom, Connie or Molly. I sounded like a Muppet, or at least a teenage girl, because 7 or 8 years ago when I recorded the damn thing I WAS a teenage girl. Well, for the past 5 or 6 years I have been begging my folks to change the recording since I haven’t lived there for 5 or 6 years. Relentless begging, really. Their ears never understood my request and my voice lingered.
Then they finally changed it. Thank God, right?
Well, when I heard my mom’s voice asking the caller to leave a message for Tom or Connie I understood why they kept my voice on the machine for so damn long. One day you wake up and you’re out of school, your sibling is out of school, your mom is retired and your dad is not far behind. They both have grey spots of hair and their wrinkles are more evident. Since when do parents age? I swear, they’re supposed to be 45 for like EVER, right?
In Journalism school we’re taught the blacks and whites of conflicts of interests are easy to determine. You can’t write about someone you know.
Well, I have. In fact, without people I know my list of published works would be rather small. Tiny, in fact.
But now here’s a new one… My roommate books bands for the bar at which I once worked. He has asked me to write a big piece on an upcoming weekend at this bar. The article will run in the local arts and entertainment paper. The editor is aware that 1) I used to work at this bar and 2) the booker is my roommate.
So all is good, right?
Well, I have my own ideas for the article which are guaranteed to me as apart of my artistic freedom. But, as per request from my roommate, the article should be shifted toward highlighting the Saturday night performance of that weekend. Great as the article could be this way, I want to cover the singer-songwriter/ MUSIC JOURNALIST playing on Sunday night in great detail.
My editor said to remain objective… Isn’t the very idea of me writing a story to promote BUSINESS at a bar I’m intrically involved in SUBJECTIVE?
Woo, hope somebody understands my rant. If not, check out the article coming mid-February in Flagstaff Live.
Flagstaff received its first "measurable" dusting of snow on Sunday. Of course it melted before morning, but for a few moments there I was flailing around my friends’ front yard surrounded by beer-stuffed celebrants. It was awesome. Hopefully we can dance and sing praise to Father Winter/ Mother Nature again soon.
As a downhill skiier, lover of Flagstaff and the San Francisco Peaks, former employee of the Arizona Snowbowl, so-called objective journalist and obvious liberal, I am torn on this issue of snowmaking on the peaks.
In today’s Daily Sun article Save the Peaks activists compared the federal ruling to allow snowmaking to the genocide of the Holocaust. A bit overblown, I believe. But here’s the most poignant argument I have heard thus far. From an economics professor at NAU who skiis…
If Flagstaff (being its citizens, like the Daily Sun editorial calls for) said no to snowmaking, we could put our city on the map as one of the first in the nation to support Native Americans’ rights. Imagine the press we’d receive. Positive press. The Patagonians holding hands with the Navajo, Hopi and so many other tribes.
AND as this economic professor pointed out to me (I spoke with him in-depth for a research paper/journalism piece) who is to say the four or five guys down in the Valley who own the resort won’t just sell it immediately after the pipeline is laid down? Doesn’t a ski resort with a guaranteed ski season look profitable as compared to a ski resort that remains in the red even after its best ski season in recent history?
So, that’s my take on it. Respect the Native Americans and go skiing in Colorado.
As much as I detest the plight of teenage emotion-vomitting via blogs, I somehow believe the therapeutic value of gushing your innermost thoughts could be greatly appreciated. And since no one will ever read this nonsense, I don’t fear humiliation.
I will begin by asking for discussion on stability. How necessary is it? Is it ever really there or is it just perceived? I myself think "the only constant is change" and after having moved four times and worked four jobs last year, I think sleeping in the same bed for six months is the stability I’m looking for. My friend seems to disagree or at least require more, but maybe in one year he will find stability to be a a video rental store that always has a good DVD on its shelves.
If road-mapping every decision in life will guarantee stability, to hell with spontaneouty I guess. For God’s sake, spontaneouty and the courage to approach the unknown only brought us, like, into space and stuff…
Awfully cryptic, I know.
I do not know what will become of this site yet, but the url is friggin’ sweet. Thanks to Tim for setting it up.