Twenty-Something Angst

This is the time of year when transfer students show up on campus. There is a big info fair that includes lunch and whatnot and tours and course registration and so on and so forth.

I stood at our info table a couple days ago. I was next to another table where the person working the table was there... and joined by a friend. I don't think the friend ever stopped talking. 

Let's see.... she mentioned her non-gay gay friend. Basically, a straight dude who liked to shop. She graduated and is broke and apparently doesn't like one of her roommates. She discovered the show Girls from a friend (possibly the non-gay gay friend) and she really wanted the friend she was sitting with it to see it because it was so her and so them and they could so identify with it. But watch Tiny Furniture before, because it's the same girl who plays the main character in Girls (she didn't know names). It was about girls who had just graduated and they were broke and it was just so very good. 

I've blogged about Girls before. I like it. I wasn't sure at first. I warmed up to the characters. (Shoshanna being my favorite and realizing that the character Adam is really a decent human being. And cringing at Hannah's twenty-something selfishness. And being amazed at how much Jessa reminded me in looks and personality of my friend Cori.) But all around, what drew me into the series was the relationships between the friends. I think how they react to each other, how they hurt each other, and how they love each other is fairly real. 

But, this girl at the info fair, I so badly wanted to turn to her and say, "You and your generation didn't invent angst. You aren't the first to feel adrift after college. You aren't the first to move back in with your parents because you had no other choice. You aren't the first to resent the generation before you."

Us Gen Xers did the same thing. We resented the Boomers before us. Most my friends weren't the kids of Boomers and we knew we fell between two large generations--meaning we'd be forgotten. We moved back home because we didn't know what else to do. And even then, the parents of a high school friend of mine told me--when I was feeling like a failure for moving home--that when they were my age, most of their friends (themselves included) moved back in with their parents in order to save money and get started on their lives. And most of their friends were married when they moved home. And when talking about it with my mom--living with her, working minimum wage job--she told me she thought me and my generation were doing it the right way. We were taking the time to figure out what we wanted first. Her generation did it the other way: They did things because they were supposed to, finding out too late that what they were supposed to do wasn't what they wanted. 

So, basically, I wanted to turn to this girl and tell her that she wasn't special. Neither were her friends. Everyone goes through this crap. But I didn't.

I didn't want to be that Get-off-my-lawn kind of person. Or the back-when-I-was-your-age person. But it did make me think back to an afternoon in 1993, I sitting in some fast food restaurant with my BFF, trying to decide if I should drop out of grad school. This was a big deal since going to grad school was the only thing I had wanted for two years. And now I wanted out. I was tired. I was burned out. I just wanted a job. But did dropping out mean I was a failure? 

• Sitting there, moping, I asked: "Why does life have to be so hard?" 
• BFF said: "If life were easy it would be boring."
• I responded: "Who said that? Because that's bullshit."
• BFF: "You did. You said it to me [during a particularly bad break up she went through a year earlier]."
• Me: "Yeah? Well, then it's fucking brilliant. I'm fucking deep."

Not long after that, I withdrew. I made an expensive mistake, but it was the right decision. I moved home. It took me two years to find a steady job. And it sucked. Seriously sucked. But it set me up for what turned out to be a pretty decent life. 

So, there you go, Girl at Info Fair. Your angst is real. It's legit. But don't let it take over your life. Learn from it. Grow. Push yourself. But, remember: You aren't the first group of twenty-somethings to go through this. 

I completely forgot about this...

I decided to go back to the first year of posts on this blog. Sometimes I find something I fun. Most times I don't.

This time I found something fun: Like Paris Hilton Hot?

I remember this phone call. This guy was both annoying and entertaining. And one of the people that makes for excellent reference desk stories.

What's Making Me Happy This Week: Appreciation Day

What's Appreciation Day, you ask? It's a day when "each and every world citizen takes the time to say the nicest possible thing to each of the treasured people who surround us." This came from the mind of Stephen Thompson, NPR Music dude and Pop Culture Happy Hour contributor. It's simple: Say something sincere about people in your life.

Much of this is going on in the Twitterverse and you can follow it here: #AppreciationDay. And you know what? It's pretty fucking awesome. I sent out a few tweets. They were haphazard but heart felt. And I admit I felt a little silly at first, but the responses I got from were so great, I sent a few more. And then I wished I would've had more time to send more out. Or that more people I'd like to appreciate were on Twitter.

But I have to admit, seeing people Tweet such heartfelt thanks and appreciation to people in their lives, makes my cold, cynical heart grow a few sizes.

So, to all four of you who read my blog: Thanks for coming along for the ride. Most of you have been part of my life since I started the blog, and my life wouldn't be what it is now without you in it.

Hollywood

While I was in southern California, I went to Hollywood. I was beyond excited. Because it's Hollywood. I don't care that Hollywood isn't what it once was and is mostly, well, trashy. It's Hollywood.  Also, it should be known, when I say "Hollywood," in my head I hear it like Hollywood Montrose said it in the movie Mannequin. I tried to find a clip of it on YouTube, but I couldn't. But I did find out they made a Mannequin 2. I had no clue. (And truth be known, I saw Mannequin twice in 1987. At the drive in. One time with some friends in a 1957 Chevy that belonged to a guy I went to high school with and once with my brother and his friends.) Oh and every time  I say something or did something in Hollywood, I said it was "in Hollywood." "I had a vegan Big Mac... In Hollywood." "They were showing Ferris Bueller's Day Off on an outdoor screen off an alley... In Hollywood." You get the picture.

Anyway, I originally went to Hollywood to go to Doomie's for the vegan Big Mac. Steve and I walked around a bit and went to Amoeba Music on Sunset where we wandered through the used CD section. I picked up REM's last album, Collapse into Now because it was only $4. I thought I might appreciate it more knowing it was their last album. Nope. It still sucks. I also bought Uncle Tupelo's 89/93: An Anthology. Yeah, yeah... it's a greatest hits album and all that, but someone gave me a copy while I was in Madison and I lost it. I must've listened to it a lot, because as soon as it played the CD when I got home, I was standing in my living room in Madison. Music is a powerful thing.

Amoeba Music. Lots o' '50s architecture in the area. 

After we wandered around. Steve catered to my love of kitch and suggested we hit Grauman's Chinese Theatre. I may have squealed at this suggestion. So, after finding a parking spot, wandering through whatever that mall is that is connected to the Dolby (formerly Kodak) Theatre, and being disappointed that we couldn't see the Hollywood sign (it wasn't lit up; isn't it normally lit up?) and finding out that that the Oscars are held in a theatre attached to a mall, we hit Hollywood Boulevard.

Grauman's Chinese Theatre

I loved it. It was full of street performers (apparently Wolverine is of East European descent... at least he is based on the language I heard him speaking on Hollywood Boulevard) and tourists--like me. I saw Julie Andrew's star. And the Munchkins'. And Michael Jackson's. But I have to say, I really loved the hand/footprints and signatures in front of Grauman's--as long as I ignored the youngsters saying, "Do you know who any of these people are?"

Julie Andrew's star and my feet

I took tons of pictures of various hand/footprints. But my favorite was Humphrey Bogart. I adored Humphrey Bogart when I was a teen (I was an odd one) so seeing his signature just made me happy. Based on date, Mary Pickford had the oldest (however I'm not sure if that's true), but it would make sense that she would be one of the first. Others that made me go, "Awwww....": Clark Cable, Gary Cooper, Cary Grant, Marilyn Monroe, R2-D2/C-3PO/Darth Vader, Elizabeth Taylor, the cast from West Side Story... Yes, except for the Star Wars reference, all were from the Golden Age of Hollywood. Because when I see Grauman's, that's what I think of.

Mary Pickford

Marilyn Monroe. I couldn't get the full thing, so I just captured her signature.

Humphrey Bogart and our shadows. I loved this. So much. 

Steve and I wandered through the crowd while he told me more about the area. Steve's dad grew up in Hollywood and he remembered visiting his grandparents when he was younger. But what struck me was the split between the image of Hollywood and those who actually lived there. Hollywood Boulevard is pretty run down. While we were sitting in traffic, I was looking in the windows of a run-down hostel where kids were hanging out on the fire escape, drinking and smoking while a strobe light flashed inside. It made me wonder what that area was like during the Oscars. What happens to that hostel during awards season? Is it full of the same kids crashing there because it's cheap--or whatever--standing on the fire escape, drinking beer and smoking? Or does Hollywood Boulevard magically transform? My guess it's full of the same kids, but they are somehow hidden from the rest of the world.

After an hour or so, I was ready to head back to my hotel. And after sitting in traffic for an hour and a half (plus the actual driving time) I made it back, thrilled that I had visited Hollywood, no matter how run-down it was, it was pretty awesome.






...And if you're paying attention, you'll see it is the 4th of July. I did nothing. The 4th in the middle of the week kind of sucks as far as holidays go. And I live in the middle of the 4th madness so there is no reason for me to leave home. Also I can see the fireworks from my living room. Of course, since it gets dark so late here. they don't start until close to 10:30. And they are so close my windows rattle.

On Laziness

I'm lazy. I'm lazy and proud of it. I think more people should be lazy.

But I'm a Midwesterner. We aren't bred to be lazy. Lazy is bad. Lazy means you aren't working hard, and not working hard is bad. So while I am lazy and proud, it makes me feel guilty. This means I tend run around and do a bunch of shit in a short amount of time because then I won't feel guilty for sitting on my ass for the rest of the day.

I am fiercley protective of my time. And by "my time" I mean the time I get all to myself. If I don't protect it, I will work 60 hours a week and then end up burned out and bitter. I know because I've done it. Thing is, when I tell some people about this, I feel like I need to defend myself. It, like my choice to not have kids or not spending every waking second looking for a mate, makes some people suspicious.

Sometimes this bothers me. And I feel like there is something wrong with me because I don't want the things I'm supposed to. Not everyone has the luxury to be lazy--I get that. And I know people with kids are busy. I look at my life and have no clue how I could ever hold down a full time job and raise children at the same time--and retain one tiny bit of sanity. That's not the kind of "busy" I'm talking about. I'm talking about the busy we create for ourselves.

I feel that we as a society have decided that the less time we have to spend with our families, with our own thoughts, is bad. You know, "lazy." But it's time we learned to embrace our laziness. We need to remind ourselves that just decompressing for a day, an hour, a half hour can help us clear our heads, to refocus. Hell, one of the reasons I go to the gym five times a week is because it allows me to get out my frustration from work and daydream--both at the same time. It's what helps me not take my work home with me.

Anyway, this opinion piece, The 'Busy' Trap in the NY Times really struck me for many different reasons. Like how the people who spend so much time talking about how busy they are really aren't. These are the ones who feel the need to talk about how busy they are in order to feel as though they are accomplishing something. I see it in my students. Their days are scheduled to the very last second. I was busy in college, but I always made time to hang with friends, because I saw that as part of my education as my classes. And I still believe that.

As for how I feel, this pretty much sums it up: "I am not busy. I am the laziest ambitious person I know." That's me. This afternoon, I am half-watching the season five premier of Mad Men. I'm rereading The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks both because it is a great book and because I might use it in a class this fall. I'm typing this blog post. In the back of my mind I am sorting through all the other things I need to do: I have an article I need to finish writing; I need to write two reports for work; I have a binder full of articles to read. Part of me feels guilty for not doing these things. But the things I am doing this afternoon? I'm doing them because I want to.

The other things I need to get done? I'll do them. And I will do then at my own pace. That means I'll do them when I can give them my full attention. As for being ambitious, I am. But like everything else, I'm doing it at my own pace. (Confession: I decided last week that I wanted to be Dr. Yankee Librarian so the investigation for the appropriate doctoral program is under way.)

I don't really know when being lazy or relaxing or just being idle or reading for pleasure became bad. But I am unwilling to buy into this busy-equals-important bullshit.

I think the entire NY Times piece is good, but this is one of my favorite parts:

Idleness is not just a vacation, an indulgence or a vice; it is as indispensable to the brain as vitamin D is to the body, and deprived of it we suffer a mental affliction as disfiguring as rickets. The space and quiet that idleness provides is a necessary condition for standing back from life and seeing it whole, for making unexpected connections and waiting for the wild summer lightning strikes of inspiration — it is, paradoxically, necessary to getting any work done.

In order to be productive, to be whole, we need to give ourselves time to be lazy.

So, yeah, I woke up this morning, went to the gym, swung by the co-op, and then made pancakes. But I'm going to spend the rest of the day reading, watching TV, and possibly napping. Because I can.