I've thought long and hard about this and I'm just going to say it. I think Snuggies might have their benefits.
For those of you who don't know, a Snuggie is...essentially...a backwards robe that extends like a blanket. For those of you who know what a snuggie is, I bet I know what you're all thinking. You're thinking about that ridiculous infomercial. Particularly the scene at the baseball game in which normal society, as we know it, is sitting on the bleachers and they're a little cold. On cue, enter the fast-growing snuggie-wearing society, all cozy in their snuggies eating hotdogs. They look completely asinine. But they are not cold. Not cold at all.

No. They've got snuggies.

And I've been there with you. I've watched that same infomercial and pointed out its ridiculousness. Most of these bizarre contraptions are a shocking primary color or a gaudy fluorescent pink and there seems no logical explanation for using a snuggie over a heavy sweater, a robe or a blanket. But I'm here to admit that I was wrong. Dead wrong.

Because when your heat goes out (as mine did recently) and it's essentially negative degree temperature in your apartment (as mine was recently) and all the sweaters and blankets in the world just don't work and you're shivering on your couch and you need to go into the other room to make dinner to add some extra fat just to keep you warm , it's not so easy to strip that blanket off and do it. I wish I could have stayed wrapped up in that blanket...in the kitchen...in the bedroom...at my desk. And I couldn't without some seriously annoying maneuvering.
 
People...the unthinkable happened, I needed a snuggie.
 
So the next time I see that infomercial and I see those people in snuggies, I'm going to salute them. And you should too.

Winter Reading

The Telegraph came up with a list of '100 novels everyone should read'. And because I am obviously self indulgent enough to publish my own blog, I am also arrogant enough to believe that I should have my own list. So without further adieu:


10 novels Melissa thinks anyone who feels like it should read

10. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling
It's sold over 400 million copies worldwide. Do I have to justify it?

9. The Diary of A Young Girl by Anne Frank
If you're:
a. a cynic who has little faith in humanity
b. an idealistic dreamer
c. both (like me)
well...you should read this. Especially if you're over the age of 12 and you haven't read it in a while. Or ever.

8. The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett
I've already expressed my admiration for this book once before. But I truly think that it conveys such a simple and profound message: help things grow.

7. The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemmingway
I think if you're wandering through life trying to figure out what on earth to do with yourself, you might relate to Jake Barnes and his buddies.

6. To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee
In my opinion, if the first book you ever write gains this much success and you don't even feel the need to publish ever again, well, you must be pretty confident you've done something right.

5. The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri
Her prose is stunning, beautiful, perfect.

4. Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami
Murakami simply amazes me. This is not my favorite of his books. However, it is a starter book. And one that will get you hooked. And I want you to get hooked. I want you to get hooked so badly that you cry about it (tears of happiness of course)

3. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte
I'm not really sure you should read this. I just know that if you're 15 years old and you feel like the ugly girl chewing your hair in the back of the classroom, you might feel better after you read this.

2. The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand
I have never before been so engrossed in a fictional world. And, I'd like to marry Howard Rourke. The man. Not the symbol.

1. Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
It will blow your freaking mind.

I don't really feel I am any kind of authority on books. And you may have read all of these books already. And this list could obviously change tomorrow (like, say, after I finish Women in Love by D.H. Lawrence, which is practically begging me to be on this list!) But, ya know, it's winter. And you might be cold. And you might not feel like leaving your house ever again. You might feel like reading. And these books are probably pretty cheap on Amazon.

Milk, Mary, and other musings

Thinking about a lot of things lately and...so...much to my chagrin, I'm not sure this post will necessarily tie any thoughts together in a cohesive way. But here goes...

Saw Milk on Saturday and was truly inspired by the film. Gus Van Sant had a remarkable way of weaving together the historical and personal events of Harvey Milk's life. And it was a life I knew virtually nothing about going in. I was amazed at how seamless and well-told the story was. Especially since we were only given a small snapshot: 8 years of his life. Given that I am setting up a lot of backstory in my novel right now, I was impressed with how subtle and effective it was done in this film. Suicide is also a running theme throughout the film and there was this idea that Harvey's brief but instrumental role in politics made him a kind of political and personal 'savior'. This led me to think about whether any living person can live up to such a symbol. And if so, how? Just something I've been thinking about as we see Obama though his early days in office.

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of seeing Mary Poppins on Broadway. My mother insisted we go see it and, even though I pretended to put up a small protest, admittedly, I had no problems witnessing this wild spectacle. Mary Poppins is one of my favorite musical films of all time and, of course, it was Julie Andrews big coming out party back in the day and, for those of you who don't know, any connection to Julie Andrews, big or small, is a tie I never wish to sever. (And as you can see, I can't give much shoutout to the stage musical in the picture above. But only to Julie herself.) So I saw it and, despite its flaws, which really aren't worth getting into, I was truly inspired. In quite a different way than Milk. Any time you can see a woman fly through the air on an umbrella, no matter how cynical you may be, there has to be a kind of joy in your heart. It was made all that much better by the fact that my mother, in her own childish giddiness, questioned how they were able to achieve this illusion. Of course, I noticed how they had rigged her up because I was looking for it. But the lighting was good enough that it achieved the magic it was supposed to. So, for all intents and purposes, I saw Mary Poppins fly yesterday. And there ain't nothin' wrong with a little joy now and then. In fact, we need a whole lot more of it.

Bowtie Madness

While eating my pasta this evening, I was very aware of the fact that this starch was just slightly undercooked. It was bowtie pasta and, while a majority of it was soft and lovely, the little 'cinch' in the middle of the tie was just a little too hard. As I ate, I became completely obsessed with this small fact. I ate each little bowtie individually, wondering if the next one would be exactly the same. And the next one... And the next one... I began to wonder: how much longer could I have cooked my pasta? Did I really undercook it or is this an acceptable way to eat bowtie pasta? I briefly considered googling it. I wondered if Rachael Ray had ever found herself in this situation. Or Giada De Laurentis. And, it was then, that I realized something I had suspected for quite some time, I am completely and totally obsessed with food.

When I'm eating, I'm remarking on the food's taste, it's quality, it's texture. When I'm not eating, I'm wondering what my next meal will be. What time it will be at? Who will it be with? My social life practically depends on eating at restaurants with my friends and boyfriend. And my TV viewing is almost exclusively limited to the Food Network and Top Chef.

It got me thinking, how and when did this happen?

I went from being a skinny little slip of a thing who only ate cheese and ice cream (seriously, my dairy consumption as a child was completely out of control) to becoming a healthy, average-sized person (ok, I have a little buddha belly but flat stomachs are overrated) who eats anything anyone puts in front of me. Except cilantro. But more on that another time.

When I studied in London, I recall having a conversation about food. Someone relayed their opinion quite freely, 'A good meal was just as good as sex.' I could not fathom this. And trust me, it wasn't because I had an amazing sex life. Quite the contrary. But I just could not understand why a person would love food. Personally, I didn't even like it all that much.

Cut to 7 years later. I'm sitting at an afternoon meeting at Nickelodeon. And someone put out some snacks. Ya know, some cookies, some brownies, some fruit, your usual meeting fare. Suddenly, I noticed that something else had also been put out: chips and dip. Now, I've got to tell you. There are few things on earth that I feel are better than chips and dip. I can eat the stuff until I'm sick to my stomach and still go for my 100th dip. I wish I was exaggerating. So, setting out the chips was all well and good. Fantastic even. Except that the glorious chips and dip were at the completely opposite end of the loooong meeting table I was sitting at. I didn't listen to a word that was said at the meeting from that point on. I was absolutely fixated on that simple delicacy. It wasn't a formal meeting, but it wasn't the type of meeting where you could ask to pass the chips. And I watched and watched, as those lucky souls at the end of the table dug into those chips. And that dip. And I waited and waited until they finally called for a 'short break' when I noticed that those chips had been completely devoured with only one little cruddy onion from the dip hanging off the side of the bowl. I was devastated.

I'm trying to pinpoint the defining moment. When I went from seeing food as a boring but necessary source of nourishment to one of the most pleasurable experiences there could possibly be.

And I have to tell you, I'd much rather see my pants tighten a little bit and have to work out just a bit more, in order to eat some delicious grub. I just wish I didn't have to obsess over the hardness of my bowtie cinch all the time :-)

Can we? Many would say 'yes'.

I thought this was appropriate to post today. This is something I wrote November 3rd, 2004 after working for the DNC for many months. It is absolutely amazing how different I feel today.

I tried so hard to stay up last night to see who would take Ohio. At 1:30am I switched from channel to channel, looking at the little box in the corner that had Kerry's electoral count, CBS: 199, NBC: 199, ABC: 199, UPN: 199, CNN: 199, FOX: 144... I later turned to the internet, clicking to refresh yahoo.com, watching as the margin narrowed, 55%-45%, 52%-48%, 51% to 49%. Eventually, I fell asleep, literally dreaming of the red, white and blue map, all that RED, and the blue surrounding it, just a decorative border to that stronghold center.

I woke up this morning, and the results were loud and clear, and all I could think was: what the hell happened? I had all day to think about what happened. They say, let the best man win. A man who we're not really sure won the first time around. A man whose 2000 election beat-over-the-head catch phrase was the "Energy Administration" (the same administration that later oversaw gas prices rise to $2.50 in some states). A man who, despite snorts and smirks ("I know the difference Senator Kerry! ") clearly does NOT know the difference between Iraq and Afghanistan. A man who invents imaginary weapons, loses real weapons, distorts, manipulates and lies to it's people. A man who urges us to be fearless while ruling over us with fear. OR A man determined to erase the permanent marker of the last 4 years. A man who swore he identified with the middle class worker's strife, but never wore a blue collar or wandered the economic 'middle' a day in his life. A man who used his 3 purple hearts to win our hearts. A man who was not confident enough in the grey area we all understand, and, therefore, could not convince us of black and white. We did not have the best to choose from. And we should.

I respect John Kerry and the campaign I supported, the Committee I worked for, sometimes 17 hours a day, trying to convince the American people that all the sappy phrases, the 'mill worker's son', the 'help is on the way' were going to lead us in the right direction. I believed it when Barack Obama knocked all of our socks off. I even believed it when I was locked out of the fleet center, day four of the convention, minutes before Kerry's speech, begging the Secret Service to PLEASE, please, just let me back in to do my job and hear what he had to say. I wanted so badly to hear that the next four years would be better. Maybe even the best. I am dissappointed and disheartened with the decision the American people have made and the direction the nation is headed. I know that this sounds sappy and dramatic, but, for someone that has just recently begun to better understand the importance of the political process, let me have my lightbulbs dangle overhead. Like I said, we did not have the best to choose from. But we deserve the best. Now, we know we have to fight for it.

Recently, I read an article that said, if the 2004 election ballot read BUSH or NOT BUSH-- NOT BUSH would win. That makes it clear to me, that the American people are passionate, not necessarily about a man, but about a concept or an idea. They want to see their ideal realized. Every day, we have to fight for what we believe in, rather than who. That is what is most important.

I was so disheartened by that experience that I did not get involved in this year's election campaign at all. And I am more saddened by that than I was November 3rd, 2004. And so, it's happening. Today is happening. And I ask you. Did we get what we believe in this 2009? Maybe so...everybody. I certainly hope we did.

Dangling Conversations...

Tonight I was fortunate enough to see 'A Conversation with Stephen Sondheim and Frank Rich' at Lincoln Center. Stephen Sondheim, the composer and lyricist. And Frank Rich, an Op-Ed Columnist for the New York Times. It was a really fascinating discussion about Sondheim's early work and a lot about his recent revivals and latest creations. There was less talk about all that happened in the middle, which is probably the meat of his career, but I was none-the-less 'stoked' (and I feel that is the correct term) to be there.

Perhaps the best part of the event was simply hearing the stories about the relationships with his many collaborators and friends. While his referring to Leonard Bernstein as 'Lenny' and Richard Rodgers as 'Dick' kind of rubbed me the wrong way, it made me realize that artists lead lives. How silly that sounds. But it's hard to step back and think about successful figures who are often in the public eye and think about them having conversations and arguments and ideas in their daily lives. And, with Stephen Sondheim sharing these stories, those small quirks and behaviors become as fascinating as the art they created. While successful artists leave their work as a legacy, it's their character that we rarely hear about it. All those people whose work you admire, what do you know of them? It's ironic that we have to define artists by what they've created rather than who they are. Because, for me, it's their character I want to get at. How did you become someone who created that?

Unfortunately, I don't think Frank Rich asked the right questions for me to learn enough about who Sondheim really is and, in some way, I think the picture above may say more about him than this conversation did tonight. There was never the question 'why did you make that' and 'why did you make it that way'? Hmm. Oh well...

Music and Mulder

I spent a majority of my day uploading to my ITunes library and watching the 1st season of The X-Files. And I don't feel guilty about it for 3 reasons:

1. It feels like -20 degrees out there

2. I ran 3 miles at the gym this morning

3. I finished 15 more pages of my novel yesterday

So I spent it indoors wearing old jeans and an over-sized Cornell sweatshirt as I drank Wild Cherry Seltzer (my new obsession) and pulled my snack table really close to my couch in order to eat one of my favorite meals: rice and beans. Breezing through X-Files episodes was a real treat since I haven't seen the show since around 1999. And, let me just say, Fox Mulder is as perfectly wonderful as I remembered.

But I digress... In my Itunes uploading frenzy (I am rebuilding my entire library after a hard drive crash) I came across some old music. And I became really nostalgic. I found some old CD mixes that people had made for me. Even old mixes I had made myself. And a boat load of other music I hadn't heard in years. It's amazing how many memories a song can bring. (Please excuse the cheese.)

In my nostalgia, I wanted to share a lyric from a particular Dar Williams song that I stumbled upon. It truly touched me, as it had when I first heard it over 7 years ago. The song is 'After All'.

Well, the sun rose.

With so many colors it nearly broke my heart

It worked me over like a work of art

And I was a part of all that

Not only is it a beautifully crafted lyric, but it has always put things in perspective for me. And maybe it will for you too.