Birth Rank And Its Privileges

March 6, 2008 – 11:55 pm

From fairy tales to film, everyone is obsessed with the idea of one’s “firstborn.” But what about the lastborn?

For my part, I’ve recently discovered that the lastborn child has magical abilities.

Of course, you have no idea what I’m talking about right now. Allow me to explain:

At the end of a long vacation week came a ski day for my wife, daughter and me. Discussions went back and forth as to where to go. Mount Wachusett never became an option given it is an over priced, over crowded, underwhelming experience in spite of their advertising (I think the slogan should be - “little mountain skiing at big mountain prices: you might find worse, but you won’t pay more”).

Other options included mountains around two hours away. We eventually settled on a return to Crotched Mountain where my daughter has been involved in a thoroughly enjoyable school ski program, in stark contrast to prior experiences at the operation criticized above.

I hadn’t been to Crotched Mountain in over twenty six years and found it to be a thoroughly pleasant, small mountain experience that likely could use a few more customers. It’s a perfect little place to take novice and intermediate skiers without having to pay for the lift tickets with a financing plan.

So, on Saturday we loaded up the car for a little quality time on the slopes. We planned our arrival perfectly, we would have about 20 minutes before the lifts opened to suit up and get on the mountain for some early groomed runs.

There was, however, one slight glitch that became apparent only after we parked in the Crotched Mountain parking lot.

My daughter forgot her ski coat.

The equanimity with which I took this news astounded me. It was if I left my own body and observed this aging, portly man operating with extreme calm. Read More »

By Feature Writer | Posted in Society, family, humor | Comments (0)

Peanut Butter and Magic

February 29, 2008 – 3:58 am

Why did I eat that doughnut? Why? What possessed me? I knew it looked sketchy, all sealed up in that plastic bag with a giant smiley face stamped on the front. My innards are so not smiling. Why couldn’t the flight attendants serve something real for breakfast? Like pancakes and peanut butter? Oh, man…I’m scared I’m going to have an airplane lavatory emergency…

I’m just going to write and ignore it. We’re going to land soon. Everything will be fine.

You’re probably wondering why I’m keeping a journal in the first place (whoever you are). Well, I’m leaving the country—leaving Urbana, Illinois, actually—for the first time in my life. I’m braving airplane rides and sketchy doughnuts to find adventure, at last. I’m off to Norway! The land of trolls, fjords, magic, new beginnings…

Oh, man. I don’t feel good. But we’re landing…

Not good.

Rushing to the lavatory while the plane is hitting the ground is much more exciting than I would’ve thought. I had to hang onto the rail and sink for dear life with my pants around my ankles as the plane bounced to a careening halt on the runway. I almost dropped my glasses down the toilet. Luckily, I feel much better now. I kicked open the lavatory door before the plane was completely stopped, made a flight attendant scream, and hurtled to my seat, where I buckled up and pretended like I’d been sitting the whole time.

It’s lucky I went when I did. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one affected by those doughnuts. When I got to baggage claim, crowds of people were shoving past each other to get to the bathrooms. I think there were laxatives in those things.

Anyway, if I’d been rushing to the bathroom then, I wouldn’t have seen the short, smiling lady, holding a sign that proclaimed, “Welcome Ellie Steelhart!”

I straightened my glasses and strode to meet her, trying not to gape. She looked like…like a creature from Norwegian lore. White hair puffed around her head like a mushroom cap. Her nose, pickled and ballooned, stretched out over a smile that reminded me of grandmothers and kindly old neighbors who bake cookies for the local kids. Only, since she looked she crawled out of a toadstool, I imagined she baked for the local gnomes. Read More »

By Feature Writer | Posted in Arts & Literature, YA, fiction, humor | Comments (1)

Acting Like a Rectal Polyp Does not a Feminist Statement Make

February 25, 2008 – 4:06 am

Any good idea can get hijacked for the sake of advancing asininity, and feminism is no exception.

Back in college, flyers tacked up on the walls of computer labs read that “feminism is the radical notion that women are people.” I agree. I’ve always felt human (except for that one year when the immortal genius of Arnold Schwarzenegger had me wishing that I was a cyborg), and believe that female friends and relatives are human as well - with the right to make reproductive choices, go to college, join the army, make a decent wage, be safe from rape and other forms of assault, wear overalls and sneakers instead of high-heels and frou-frou (thought I do like me some frou-frou), and so on.

However, I have recently been told that feminism is actually the radical notion that cheating and verbal abuse are OK, as long as it’s a woman who’s engaging in both. Apparently, because men abuse women, it’s morally defensible for a woman to abuse a man. It’s called “subverting the dominant paradigm” and any woman in a heterosexual relationship is entitled to it.

So, let’s wrap our minds around this illustrious bit of logic: abuse is a bad thing, and we will “subvert” it by actively engaging in it? Color me unimpressed. Read More »

By Natalia Antonova | Posted in Columnist, Society, humor, women | Comments (22)

Sleepovers: Invented By Satan

February 13, 2008 – 12:45 am

Women have an incredible ability to block out memories of sever physical pain; how else can you explain the fact that many sign up to endure labor again by having more than one child?

Surely it cannot be because children provide joy that somehow balances out the rigors of passing the rough equivalent of a bowling ball through one’s nether regions.

Children do have a way of making parents of both sexes stupid. We forget all sorts of horrific experiences we vowed never to do again. A few months pass, and, there we are, willfully signing up to do it all once more. Unlike child birth, we can’t blame it on a lack of – ahem – rhythm.

It’s just our abject stupidity.

Stupidity, of course, brings us to sleepovers. Normally such events take place in conjunction with birthday parties. Unfortunately for us, our three sons’ birthdays are a little more than six weeks apart, compressing this fun and frivolity into something more akin to an endurance test, or boot camp. Our daughter has yet to get into the mix, although that looms just around the corner, I am sure.

There have been good ones and there have been bad ones. Good ones usually mean the weather cooperates and the children can be run ragged outdoors in a controlled environment. The physical exertion generally means they will sit somewhat quietly once indoors for a prolonged period of time.

Bad ones remain hard to remember, which goes to illustrate the blocking-out thing we parents do as a form of self-preservation. I do dimly recall one sleepover where two of my charges were on Ritalin – during the weekdays. Taken off Ritalin on the weekends seemed to unleash unholy pent-up energy which they could not adequately harness. I, of course, learned this the hard way when I came downstairs at 2:00 a.m. to find one of them taking apart my computer. Read More »

By Feature Writer | Posted in Society, family, humor | Comments (3)

Superbowl Sociology and What It Means for the Human Species

February 10, 2008 – 6:39 am

The Patriots are 18-1; a man hides his face against my shoulder, because the world had suddenly become too much to bear.

A few seconds ago, I was trying to eat two chicken drumsticks at the same time, so you can imagine how dignified I must look. And yet I am the calm center of an emotional hurricane. It is mind boggling that this has come to pass.

Last week, people were ecstatic, people were depressed. People were vindictive and gloating, people were defensive and drinking to forget. I can’t say that this was a unique situation. Much the same scene was taking place all across the country, as people celebrated and mourned the particular ending of a particular game. A game which, for my taste, involved way too many “good game” pats to way too many plump buttocks encased in metallic tights.

As a mental exercise, I have hypothetically divided the world into two groups: Read More »

By Joe Sapien | Posted in Entertainment, humor, sports | Comments (1)

“Lost”: Sublime Transcendence and… Hey Sawyer, Take That Shirt Off!

February 10, 2008 – 5:58 am

A lot of my intellectual friends (the sort of people who, with a dignified cough, announce that they do not “indulge in mass media entertainment,” and other, less extreme types) repeatedly ask me why on earth is it that I watch “Lost.”

They talk to me like one would talk to an otherwise normal girl who, for some unfathomable reason, decided to date the biggest loser in one’s zipcode - complete with police record, regular stint in mom’s basement, and the miasma of unwashed socks.

“Why, Natalia? Why do you put yourself through that?” *deep sigh* “If you need help you know where to find me.”

I’m not one of those people who’ll threaten to chain you to the couch, tape your eyes open, and force you to watch every single episode while humming “Shambala” and cackling maniacally. If you don’t like “Lost,” you’re free to tell me that you think it sucks (or, as one esteemed blogger put it, that it’s better to “take a large amount of peyote and watch Gilligan’s Island” instead).

I’m all for television democracy, because, let’s face it, I never liked “Seinfeld,” I don’t watch “The Wire,” and “The Sopranos” just succeeded in making me feel that the world is a horrible place (perhaps rightfully so).

However, I do feel compelled to explain why is it that I love “Lost.” Now that the fourth season is upon us, the doubters have come out like zombies after dark:

“Three more seasons of that crap?” “It doesn’t even make sense!”

Well, you’re right, it doesn’t. But that’s not the point. Read More »

By Natalia Antonova | Posted in Columnist, TV, humor | Comments (2)

Soundtrack: An iPod Epic

January 29, 2008 – 2:43 am

This is where this particular story starts: I was listening to my iPod, and I had set it to shuffle.

I don’t necessarily like the shuffle function. I resort to it. Some folks enjoy the surprise of what’s coming next; I simply cannot choose one band over another.

I have about eleven gigs of music, and I find the variety paralyzing. Finally, I’ll choose one of the three artists that I always choose, and disgust myself with my own predictability. It’s a small, silent drama that gets played out to an audience of just one, and I prefer to skip it. So I shuffle.

The particular sequence of “random” songs I am about to relate seemed to tell a unique story. As I listened to it, I became absolutely positive that not only had my iPod gained some sort of terrifying self-awareness, but that it was playing tricks on me.

Or, here’s a simpler, more arrogant explanation: the universe was sending me a message, because I’m so important and handsome. Either way, this particular sequence of songs reminded me more than anything of the night I met a guy that I will refer to as Rafferty.

And so the story turned into a music retrospective, and an odyssey of me and Rafferty. It’s sad, creepy, and beautiful. Enjoy.

Brighton Rock (5:09) – Queen

I was ambushed. Expecting the standard lyrical, pop-genius that Queen has always provided, I was literally punched in my rat-eating face when the happy carnival intro morphed into complex progressions, power chords, and a guitar solo that would probably cause Mother Teresa to fling her bra onto the stage.

Freddie Mercury does his thing as well as ever, which makes this song evidence that he could also have been a great front man for Judas Priest. This is a song from my past that made a startling, happy reappearance; it would also be a fantastic tune to burn down a building to.

And so it goes that it was a summer between college semesters. I had ended up at a party, tagging along with a friend. And at this same party, I met this guy I had known from the third grade. I met Rafferty. And Rafferty had changed.

A lot.

Gone were the glasses, the tucked-in polo shirt, the short stature that had forced him to squint up at people. Present-day Rafferty had shoulder-length stoner hair. He seemed like the kind of guy that solved the problem of boredom by going out with a bat to set off car alarms. Apparently, he had been living on a diet of vodka and bovine growth hormone. He was huge, lively, cheerful, visibly wasted, and urging me to much of the same. I had an old new friend, and he was about to rock my face off.

Hey Mama (4:20) – Kanye West

When Kanye West forgets about how wonderful Kanye West feels Kanye West is, he really is one of the greats. And this song is a perfect example: Read More »

By Joe Sapien | Posted in Arts & Literature, Science & Technology, college, humor, music, sex | Comments (6)

British Airways - Baggage Atrocities

January 9, 2008 – 2:02 am

One World, Many Bags Lost - Should be the new British Airways tagline, as far as I’m concerned.

Every year, 10% of bags on average get lost or delayed by the airlines. BA seemed to have a good track record with dealing with lost bags, but this time was different:

I was one of the thousands of passengers who was caught up in the fog drama.

Fog drama? Oh yeah, that happens in Britain every year, and lost bags are nothing new. But, with new security measures it’s another world altogether.

It seems that the ‘one world’ airline seems keen to leave its passengers with ‘one change’ of clothing - and on a ski trip too.

I organised a 6.00 AM flight in order to get to the slopes of Gstaad at 9.00 AM, to fit in a day’s skiing. Unexpectedly, I ran into some friends who were on the same flight but headed to a different ski resort. We checked in together. The check-in desk was in chaos due to planes not taking off (insufficiently sophisticated technology battling the fog).

The man behind the desk was over-worked and exhausted, and mislabelled my bags for my friend’s bags. Luckily, I caught his mistake but was told it would take an hour to re-label the bags, so I would miss the flight (and the connecting mountain bus in Geneva). But, there was space on the next one arriving 4 hours later that would “definitely” have my bags on it.

Alas, in Geneva I was not reunited with my bags. The Swiss told me that my bags were scheduled to be on the next flight over and would be delivered to my address in the mountains that night.

“Thank god,” I thought. That night, I had a black-tie dinner in Gstaad. Gstaad is one of the most elegant ski resorts in the world and the competition to out-glam everyone is fierce.

After all, this is one of the world’s most glamorous places to spend your New Year’s. Listed as one of the worlds most expensive ski resorts, it’s full of dethroned royals, ex-rosey students, billionaire gangsters and the mega rich.

Never in one small town have I seen as many five-star hotels to choose from. I must point out that only one of them was full of stars, however. The Palace Hotel, where competition is takes on a whole new meaning - malice in the palace was in the cards. Read More »

By Feature Writer | Posted in Society, europe, humor, travel | Comments (3)

Words from a Bum Alum on His Distinguished Debt

January 3, 2008 – 4:33 am

This one is for everyone who will NOT be smugly ’starting out 2008 debt-free’

(I hate people who can actually say that - don’t you? Oh, it’s a jealousy thing? Really? Fancy that.)

Considering the schizophrenic economy in the U.S. and elsewhere, I imagine that many of you will be able to relate to this piece.

Sim Stafford, meanwhile, is a poet, musical genius, and guru to yours truly (and a great deal of other people as well).

Please look for more of his contributions this year.

- The Editor.

Please, look away! I am a hideous
sight, undeserving of your attention
to my diction. It is insidious
of me to crawl from my hole to mention
how stellar study in the liberal arts
plunged me into an infinite abyss.
Sallie Mae, that witch, has stolen my heart,
Leaving me a beast that no one will kiss.

Read More »

By Feature Writer | Posted in Arts & Literature, college, poetry | Comments (7)

New Year’s Resolutions

January 1, 2008 – 2:30 am

In this Southern North American region, it is expected of the women to make impassioned New Year’s resolutions to lose weight and look younger. Some of us are sincere in our resolve, others make the proper noises because it is expected of them. Some of us make a plan of action, others just go buy a low-fat-low-carb-low-flavor cookbook and leave it out for people to notice. Society has trained us to believe we must behave so.

Then, I see on TV that Valerie Bertinelli has lost nearly all of her extra forty pounds (and she looks marvelous, too!), since she has done it already she won’t have to resolve to do it next year! She gets weepy and flaps her hand, and tells us all to sign up. I am happy for Valerie, because she’s happy enough to get teary-eyed and hand-flappy. I’m happy that she lost unwanted weight. Truthfully, though, ah…she really doesn’t look all that different. To me.

I do not intend to lose weight. I’ve tried, with varying degrees of commitment, to be rid of the fifty pounds that have been dogging me for the last six years. I have learned that the weight does not wish to be lost, and all the New Year’s promises to self that self will work out and eat spinach every day simply don’t work. My body is steadfastly determined to remain prepared for a famine, and all the salads and glasses of water won’t change that.

I also have a deep and abiding love affair with food. I absolutely love to eat, eat many and varied things, at all times of day. My latest discovery (I’d heard of them but didn’t know how to go about making them) are fish tacos. Oh dear Gussie. I used talapia, and a fresh lemony cabbage slaw and a horseradishy sauce….mmm. I had been told by people as far away as San Diego that fish tacos were a wonder, and yet I was dubious. No longer.

I also love Thai food, with it’s peppers and peanuts and vinegary sauces, and Ethiopean cuisine with its heat and nutty breads, a delicious rare steak with an Argentinean chimmichurri sauce, the list goes on. How on Earth am I to keep the required Southern White Lady resolution to lose weight if people keep introducing me to the pleasures of diverse cuisine?

So, I have decided to break with custom and forget the weight issue. I’m going to eat what I like, when I want, and however much I want. Begone guilt, pass me a doughnut. Instead, I am resolving something else. Read More »

By Feature Writer | Posted in Society, beauty, creative nonfiction, food, humor, north america, women | Comments (1)