A Letter to the Universe

Dear Universe,

So it seems you’ve decided to prove Mick Jagger right. I can’t always get what I want; you’ve given me something I need instead.

Universe, before this recession started, I had more money saved up than I’ve ever had before, enough that I felt proud and secure for my future (at least in the short-term, I wouldn’t dare predict to be satisfied with my life to come). I’d almost reached my goal of ten thousand whole dollars when my freelance contract with my company ran out and I was booted, jobless but hardly without prospects, onto the warm autumn New York streets.

This was September of last year. We were still learning the depth of our future economic despair – or at least I was. I wasn’t worried. I’d been working steadily since the summer after my college graduation, two years before. I had contacts. I had connections. I had decent people on the lookout for my future; friends, former colleagues, even former bosses, one of whom I assumed powerful and kind enough to be a true asset (she turned out to be no such thing).

What happened next is probably obvious, and while unfortunate, not nearly as bad as other people suffer in the current economic climate. I assumed a life of underemployment and optimism, landing the occasional gig with a production house I’d had constant contact with at my last job. I learned how to manage slides for corporate presentations, and for the holidays I returned to my beloved college job at an expensive Swiss chocolate shop – only to find I’d outgrown it. Through New York Cares I started co-team-leading a drama club at an elementary school up in Washington Heights. My co-team-leader is an actress in the same boat I’m paddling. At any moment we knew either of us might abandon the other to re-enter the work-force – that inflexible mistress – fulltime.

It’s February now, and that hasn’t happened. The drama club will soon shake off its winter hiatus and I will be back, juggling along with it all the endeavors that have filled my own “hiatus.” These include an epic webisode series that I’ve written and produced (not alone, but with an old classmate who reached out for help), an internship with two producers who aspire to finance both their first film and new production company, putting the finishing touches on a short film I wrote and produced nearly a year ago, signing on as location manager for a friend’s short film, and preparing for a showcase my writers’ group plans to put up in June. Of course, I’m also writing as much as I can. Right now I’m trying to complete a script good enough to send me to LA for a year through a writing fellowship. As a side note, I don’t want to move to LA.

But in six months of un(der)employment, I’ve burned through my savings. My beautiful, hard-earned, softly-padded cushion of thousands are nearly gone, lost to rent, groceries, dinner meetings, books that must be read and films that must be seen in theaters (what kind of creative-type would I be if I gave those up??), holiday gifts and miscellaneous crap. The same optimism that knew this could happen (but also knew I was prepared for it!) made me spurn unemployment. As a Democrat, I shake my head at my own stupid prejudice against the government’s doling me out a weekly crutch. After all, aren’t I one of the poor people for whose gain I supported President Obama?

What it comes down to is this, dear Universe. I’m far from perfect. I work hard, but not my hardest. I try hard, but not my hardest. I’m creative but I don’t exercise my mind, or my discipline to the extent that I should. However. I did not roll over and give up, not even on my dreams. I’ve applied to every production job listing under the sun. I’ve emailed my contacts, asked for help, and most importantly to my mind, never stopped working, never stopped taking on projects, paid or not. I’m not saying that I’m too good or too special not to have a job in my field of choice. I’m saying that for my field, I’m a find.

That doesn’t explain today’s job offer. After six months of no luck in the entertainment industry, I retreated to what I could get, instead of even the cusp of what I wanted. Three years of on-and-off experience in high-end retail (oh, that delicious, aggravatingly expensive Swiss chocolate!), I thought maybe I had a shot on Madison Avenue. Turns out I was right, and today I accepted a job to work 30 hours a week at an upscale children’s clothing boutique. The pay is little more than half of what I earned at my last full-time position (though thankfully a little more than I earned at the chocolate store). I can break even again, even if my savings will never be the same with this job.

And so, Universe, you have given me the gift of getting by. I will go back to the world of retail, hoping that the stifled, tired feeling I felt at the end of every workday at the chocolate store will not follow me to this new job. After all, there are new people to meet, new tasks to master, and more responsibilities to assume. A slightly different clientele to serve. You’ve given me the luxury of continuing to seek out my dream job while paying my rent and hanging out with my friends (which in New York City, always means $$). For this gift, I am grateful. Oh, and fuck you.

Erica's Top 10 Songs of 2007

Here is a list of my favorite songs that I listened to this year. I recognize that some of these were actually released in 2006, but since I fell in love with them in 2007...

I provided links where possible. Enjoy!

"Love Song" by Sara Bareilles
She's not gonna write you a love song. Instead she's going to write a catchy tune about how you don't have your act together, but if you did, she'd totally LOVE to write you some sappy homage. I kind of hope you don't get it together, so that she'll write more songs like this one.

"All Along the Watchtower" by Bear McCreary and Bt4 (really by Bob Dylan)
Specifically written for the mind-shattering season three finale of Battle Star Galactica, this song is not only my favorite bad-ass rock song of the year, but I also used it our annual family Thanksgiving movie.

"Can't Stop"/"Makes Me Wonder" by Maroon 5
These are my two favorite songs off the new album "It Won't Be Soon Before Long." I also loved "Kiwi." And "Figure It Out." You see where I'm going with this. It took me a while to get into the completely different style of this album as opposed to the last one- it's almost a 70s thing they got goin' on there. I apologize in advance for the music video- I can't help if Adam Levine is a skeezy narcissist.

"That's How You Know" from Enchanted by Amy Adams and Marlon Saunders
I cannot get over the cuteness of this song, or this whole movie for that matter. Enchanted has the magic of our old Disney favorites such as The Little Mermaid or Beauty and the Beast, but this song has a very new magic all of its own. This movie will hopefully make Amy Adams a star, as I'd love to see more of her in the future. I especially like the back-flipping construction workers and the Calypso beat. And, as always... Patrick Dempsey's hair (talk about enchanted! How is it that awesome??).

"Shut Up and Drive" by Rihanna
Judge me not! I defy you to listen to this song and not imagine yourself on some open stretch of California road in a red Camaro, leaving everyone in the dust behind you except for that one black-and-white Ford Crown Victoria with the flashing red-and-blue lights that seems to be gaining... This song is just pure unadulterated adrenaline-rush fun.

"Set the Fire to the Third Bar" by Snow Patrol
The first time I heard this song I couldn't stand it. I thought it was just Snow Patrol singing along with a really annoying female singer. But then I listened to it again. And again. The best word I have to describe it is "haunting." I love the harmonies on the chorus!

"Gravity" by Sara Bareilles
Sara Bareilles part 2. I would've put this together with "Love Song" but in the end decided they were too different. "Gravity" is one of those rare songs that is almost too beautiful. Bareilles has such an incredible voice, and this song is a great showcase for it. The video I found is one of those crappy camcordered concert types, but you can certainly tell how fantastic this is despite the iffy quality.

"Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol
I know this song came out in 2006, but again, just like the other Snow Patrol song on this list, I didn't like it at first. It's classic Snow Patrol, and it grew on me, especially this line:
I need your grace
To remind me
To find my own.

"Bitter Song" by Butterfly Boucher
This song is so wonderfully different from a lot that's out there right now. It has no music video, so I'm including a video made by my friend Vera which, coincidentally, she made about the same kick-ass finale that featured "All Along the Watchtower." Feel free to admire her mad artistic editing skills even if you have no idea what the show's about.

"Before He Cheats" by Carrie Underwood
I am such a sucker for angry girl music. Let's face it- despite the fact that she is an American Idol winner for God's sake, this is clearly a country song, and I hate hate hate country music, it rises above these limitations with sheer awesomeness. This is what Alanis Morissette would be if she had been born blonde in Texas. You go, girl.

Speaking of Alanis... Special mention to "My Humps" by Alanis Morrisette. This isn't a real song, but I can never get enough of it! Thank you for putting the dumbest, most depraved lyrics into the harsh spotlight of one of your poetic emo ballads. You make me want mo' drama.

Golden Compass Spoiled (in more ways than one)

Dear New Line,

You have broken my heart. I'm not trying to be dramatic, I'm just trying to best summarize my body's physical, my mind's chemical, reaction to the movie you have just served me. I loved this book for nearly ten years, and I will go on to love it for many more. You took this beloved, genius book and you turned it into slop. Here's how ('why' is for you to answer, not me).

Let me start by reminding you that I am not dumb. Nor am I stupid, slow on the uptake, or in need of painful exposition to make me understand a world where people's souls manifest themselves as the creatures they best represent. There is no person in the world who has not asked herself or himself, "If I were an animal, what would I be?" Such is the genius of Phillip Pullman that he brings a simple aspect of our imagination to life. A recurring question I have for you is, why mess with genius?

Secondly, you have a fantastic main character, Lyra. I will give you credit where credit is due- you cast this role superbly, as you did with most of the others. Dakota Blue Richards is Lyra, feral and clever and selfish and sparkling. Why did you feel the need to dumb her down? When, in movie-goer history, have we balked at a child showing her smarts as well as her dimples? Mrs. Coulter (portrayed seriously and admirably by Nicole Kidman) spells out how Lyra can defeat Iofur, excuse me, Ragnur- king of the ice bears- when in the book, Lyra pieces together what she knows and comes up with a dazzlingly Occam's Razor of a plan.

Speaking of the ice bears, they were visually stunning. They roared and we shook with fear and admiration (the first six or seven times. After that, not so much, thanks). However! Pullman didn't just invent the concept of talking bears who live to war and leave it there, the way you did. No, he created a complex society of sentient animals who are, in fact, animals. And he invented Iorek Byrnison; gritty, flawed, gruff, loyal, with a killer's past and a strange group of friends. To humanize Iorek, you removed his controversial history (he lost his temper and KILLED a fellow bear, and this is part of who he is- unforgiven), gave him Ian McKellan's Shakespearean tones, and over-ripened his relationship to Lyra with unnecessary expressions of devotion till it stank. Iorek is not human, and does not strive to be. This is how he defeats his enemy- by being true to himself. Also, if Iorek lost in a fair fight, why should we root against Ragnur? Why should Iorek get a second chance? He may not deserve one, and we don't really undersand why Ragnur doesn't deserve a Daemon, even one as cute and helpful as Lyra .

Which brings us back to Daemons.. Or rather, the lack thereof. Nothing is so disgusting, so disturbing and awful as to be without a Daemon. It can't even be taboo, because it is a horror to great to even mention in their world. So please, feel free to replace Tony Markarios with Billy Costa, to make us care more. I have no beef with you there. You had the power, however, to show us just how wrong it was, what the Magisterium was doing. There should have been nothing so terrifying as a boy without his soul. Yet you blew it, watched it sail by. It would have been so easy- his mother should have been afraid to touch him. Lyra should have had to force herself to save him.

Where was the outrage, the fear and revulsion that you could have engendered in us? To answer poetically; lost in the howling Arctic winds of bad screenwriting, right along with all the scenes that contained action instead of exposition. With a curious, resourceful protagonist, these could have been in abundance. Instead, we watched the answers march up to Lyra and recite their lines.

Now we come to the subject I've avoided. All of these discrepancies and annoyances, I could have tolerated. I would've walked out of the theater and said, "Hmmm, yes, I suppose they did remove the soul of this movie, and I suppose creative aspects could have been better, but I still found a level of enjoyment in its base entertainment value and wondrous visuals." Except of course, for the end. Or, I repeat, the lack thereof.

In all the stories that I've been told, on the page or on the screen, few are as well-done as finale of The Golden Compass. The end is devastating, inevitable, tragic, sexy, and hopeful. It's as powerful an ending as any movie could dream of, especially a film designed to pack theaters for two more installments. In her passion and resolve, Lyra makes a mistake huger than the reckoning of her imagination. The man she believed in, that she forced we readers to believe in despite all evidence to the contrary, puts Mrs. Coulter and the Magisterium to shame with his wrongdoing. And it is, on a very real level, Lyra's fault. As she stands there weeping over her best friend's body, sacrificed in Asriel's quest through the looking glass, we see at last where she began- between the greatest powers she knows- her father Asriel and her mother Mrs. Coulter. Then Lyra takes the biggest step ever taken- into a new world and beyond.

What an ending!! Too bad it was cut for... time? No, I don't think so, the movie clocked in at under two hours. This is the studio that produced Lord of the Rings, for heaven's sake. For ratings then, perhaps? No, wait, this already carried a PG-13 rating (for no other reason that I could spot other than some vaguely gory bear-on-bear violence). That can't be it. To make us see the sequel? Ha! There's no way the original ending wouldn't have brought us back. Betrayal! The beginning of a new journey! Lyra's epiphany about Dust- could it be good? What if it's good!?

No, New Line, I must close with the most accurate description I have of what you have done. You have shot yourselves in the foot. My heart was just in the way.

SuperChicks: The Next Step, or Two Steps Back?

You can see them everywhere; adorning movie posters, flying across your television screen, gracing the covers of graphic and YA novels. Who are they? They’re SuperBabes. Good, evil, or mischievously undecided, they tend to share unparalleled athleticism, preternatural good looks, an aptitude for witty banter, and a penchant for high fashion. They’re more than super. They’re indefatigable, undefeatable.

Are they, in short, ideal? I’ve always been an unquestioning fan. We enthusiasts enjoy tracing this archetype- is Buffy really a descendant of Wonder Woman? Do we look further back, even? Does she descend from great literature, where Tess d’Urberville murders the man who done her wrong, sacrificing herself in a twisted quest for revenge and to save the undeserving man she loves (oh, Angel, what a hypocritical prick you really were), or from Heathcliff’s fiery, indomitable Cathy? Do we look to mythology, to Artemis and Athena, the steely eyed huntress and brainiac warrioress, or even- forgive the blaspheme- the Virgin Mary? Give the Holy Mother some credit, like Veronica Mars, she stood tall in the derision of her peers. She managed to hold onto her man without a shred of evidence that she wasn’t just a lying hussy and then gave a completely natural birth in a smelly manger to a divine being (I believe had this occurred today, divinity would have warranted a C-Section).

Here’s what, to my mind, being a SuperBabe is really about. It’s that moment when the camera, or narrative, focuses on our heroine’s eyes as she shuts out the world. It’s her ability to make the decision that has to be made, and to not whine, or cry, or dissect endlessly what brought her to this point. It’s Athena springing fully formed from Zeus’s skull, Artemis turning her stalker into a stag, Mary avoiding the camel droppings as she hunkers down on the stable floor, Esther confessing she is a Jew, Portia putting on her barrister’s robes. It’s the same clarity of heart (not mind, as these decisions are not always strictly moral) that Gabrielle shows when she throws her pacifism out the window to kill the Roman soldiers who will crucify her beloved Xena; when Alice from Resident Evil kills her handsome betrayer of a husband to save the world from Zombies; or how Buffy stabs Angel and sends him to Hell to seal the rift between dimensions, saving everyone but the love that consumes her life. Such excitement, such feminism! Surely Rosie the Riveter would applaud. Right?

Feministas may rejoice in these portrayals, but what worries me is- if the ability to be the ultimate badass in a world full of badasses is the cake, why ask us to believe the icing is what’s necessary to be a heroine? By “icing” I mean, must one be beautiful and possess supernatural slaying powers to love and be loved at the cataclysmic level of Buffy and Angel? Do we all need to redeem our wicked past and be able to consistently defy the laws of physics in order to deserve our friends’ unwavering protection, or is that kind of loyalty reserved for the Warrior Princess? Of course, this is television drama, so everything is heightened. We can translate for ourselves, turning Armageddon and mass murder into real, more personal tragedies. Personal, but not lesser. What wouldn’t a woman do to prevent the loss of a child, or to stop a loved one from walking down the road into destructive substance abuse?

Here’s the rub. We already know that these SuperBabes aren’t real, and that their powers don’t exist in our mundane reality. Without a genetic overhaul, women on the whole will never be physically stronger than men. This means, for every woman who fights of a would-be rapist, there are ten more who can’t, ten more who won’t turn in husbands or boyfriends for domestic abuse, ten more who will be harrassed or assaulted or (as is still the norm in countries as developed as Egypt) genitally mutilated. There are no magical gauntlets to ward off these attacks, and rescue never comes from a Lara Croft vigilante in between tomb raids; but in the form of law enforcement, or an observant neighbor, or the glacier-paced changing of backwards societal mentalities.

I believe one barometer for a society is its treatment of women, “the weaker sex.” Ours displays shining stars of women who can smash through a brick wall without breaking a nail. To me, this raises the question of whether this SuperBabe trend truly displays advancement in sexual politics, or if it’s merely placation. Should we really idolize these impossible women, or should we condemn these characters not only as exploitation, but the enforcers of unrealistic expectations?

For example, we love to see little blonde Buffy Summers pound large men into the ground. Other times, we like to be reminded that she is fragile, like when an ex-boyfriend attempts to rape her. Buffy’s vulnerability as a woman makes us appreciate all the more when she does what we ordinary women cannot- save the world, spit out the right pithy remark to cut her enemy down to size, and collect unbelievably hot immortal boyfriends like a lepidopterist. Buffy is stronger than any man alive- why is it acceptable for her to hurt them, but intolerable for them to hurt her? This is not equality, but the presupposition that women are superior to men.

The problem I see in this attitude is simple. I don’t want the world to expect superiority from us, and I don’t want us to expect it from ourselves. Don’t misunderstand me: I believe in fulfilling our greatest potential, whether we be women, men, or dancing bears. There is, however, a difference between raising the bar and requiring us to have superpowers to reach it.

I worry that I love these women not because I want to be like them, but because I know I can’t- no one can. I worry we will lose the value of true accomplishment, because the deeds of the real women of the real world just can’t dramatically measure up to Ripley’s defeat of a hostile alien predator. Authentic women’s endeavors are infinitely more important and should be measured as such. Certainly we should prize them more highly than those of women who tell us that we should be able to kick a man’s ass in high heels. We lose the high ground protesting violence against women when we take such delight in the fictional portrayal of violence against men. Men suffer from their portrayal in these modern narratives as much as we can suffer from the image that we should be perfect and undefeatable in any combat arena.

They’re not all James Bonds, after all.

Thoughts on His Death

Today my friend would have turned twenty-seven. He will never get to turn this age because he died on Februaury 5th of this year. An aggressive form of cancer spread till his body could no longer function. He was so talented, passionate, kind, dorky- a good friend, son, and brother.

We all know this isn’t fair. He didn’t deserve to die, and we didn’t deserve to lose him. Other things are less certain. Has he gone on to a better place? Is he at peace? Alone, or reunited with his predeceased family and friends? Something or nothing are not two options for what happens after our bodies fail us. There is nothing; or there is a spectrum of possibilities if we have consciousness after death. Fluffy clouds and angels with harps; re-absorption into the energy of life that surrounds us all; the ability to travel alongside when thought of by those who knew and loved us. The possibility of hell, though it has no place in the discussion of my friend’s death, who could not have been judged and found so wanting.

I imagine all these possibilities, because imagination is what I have instead of belief. I’ve spoken to my friend since he died, imagining (not pretending) that he could hear me, imagined him following where I choose to lead. He loved the Colbert Report in life- in fact, he was a competitor for Stephen’s green screen challenge and his video was shown on the program. I can’t forget how thrilled he was by this. Shortly after he died I went to building where they shoot the show he loved so much- and I took him with me. I cannot believe that he was there, that he saw what I longed for him to see because he was never able to arrive there in life, but I imagined it. Maybe I imagined just in case it was true, that he heard and saw it all, maybe I imagined just for my own solace.

What of those of us without faith? What are we to make of death? How unfair it is, that there are those who can take comfort in belief while I can’t. There are those who know that my friend is experiencing every euphemism in the book; resting, peaceful, with God, watching over us. I know no such thing. I only imagine. And I hope.

I also go on. I don’t think of my friend on a daily basis, and I remember the day I realized I hadn’t though of him in weeks. I think of him when I think of him, and sometimes I consult his memory when I make a decision. He wanted to do what I’m in New York to do, so his opinion matters a great deal to me on the subject of my aspirations. He comes to mind when I feel most alive, remembering that he will never fight or ride a bike or kiss again.

If he’d never been sick, we would never have grown so close. My friend was vital when he had his health. He loved to hike and make funny movies with lightsaber fight scenes. Before he spent hours and hours on the internet, where it no longer mattered that I lived 3,000 miles away, he was a boy I knew in high school who gave me an act of kindness when I needed it so very much.

This act took place on a high school band trip. I was the only freshman girl in the jazz band, which was largely populated by senior boys. My friend was one such. This arrangement was uncomfortable at best. The three other girls in the band, seniors themselves, had very little use for me. However, we all four had to share a hotel room, and though there were two large double beds, they forced me to sleep on the floor- under a moldy blanket, the night before our big performance.

Someone spent time with me on that trip, sat on the bus with me and talked to me and didn’t overlook or step on me. One person treated me like an equal when I was thirteen and scared in Idaho. It may not sound like much, but kindness is unforgettable if it’s given when we need it. That’s what I learned from jazz band.

I wish that this were our defining relationship! I wish that he were my friend who helped me out, who lived- and therefore could safely be forgotten (not that I’d wish to forget him whatever the case), and not my friend who died. It’s so unfair that such a kind, unforgettable person will forever be remembered as such.

That’s not something I can change. It’s the information age, and even harder to separate ourselves from death, from the dead. Facebook will remind me that September 5th would be his birthday for as long I’m a member. His AIM name begins with an A and so sits at the top of my Buddylist. His number is in my cell phone, and anytime I call my old job or my friend Tricia, I will see him in between the two. What can I do? Can I unfriend my lost friend? Can I delete him?

Can I remember him as who he was instead of who I’ve lost?

Trevor Homer was born on September 5, 1980 and died February 5, 2007. In between, he was my friend. I will always be his.

Barefoot Across Sunshine Days

I was born to catch dragons in their dens
And pick flowers
To tell tales and laugh away the morning
To drift and dream like a lazy stream
And walk barefoot across sunshine days.
- - - - James Kavanaugh "Sunshine Days and Foggy Nights"