Thawing: One Reason Why Frozen Is So Important for Little Girls

My first impressions of Disney’s Frozen were positive, although not glowing. While it didn’t leave me with the same dreamy wonder of Beauty and the Beast, or even the madcap zip of Tangled, I enjoyed its premise and the ingenuitive way that it placed more importance on the relationship between two sisters than on romantic subplots. While it wasn’t my favorite Disney movie, something about Frozen crept its way into my heart and stayed there. Now almost two months after its premiere, the film is still on my mind, and I think I’m beginning to understand the reasons why. Continue reading

How I Work Out

I work out sporadically. I’m told that my lack of routine is a hindrance toward progress, but since working out is strictly based on the factors of guilt, boredom, and whether or not I can fit into my “average day” pants, workouts simply aren’t something that happens with any regularity. For those of you wondering what I mean by “average day” pants, here is a brief caveat: I have about three times too many pants in my closet. One-third of them are too little, ranging from “could lose 5 pounds” to “sausage casing tight”. One-third of them are too big for those days of lounging around or for days I feel huge. And one-third of them are just right. This Goldilocksian approach to fashion has made for a bursting closet, but there’s something optimistic about staring at a size 6 and going “I could probably… feasibly… get into that… if I took out my ribcage and ate nothing but leeks…” Continue reading

My 10 Favorite Songs Ever, Probably

I was recently challenged to write down my Top Ten Favorite Songs Ever by a friend. “I can’t!” I whined, “the computer with all my music is broken so I don’t think I’ll remember all the songs I want to!” To which the perfectly reasonable response was “Good, if you don’t remember them, then they can’t count as your favorites.”

That Draconian philosophy aside, here is my Top Ten List of Favorite Songs Ever Probably, in no particular order because that shit is madness: Continue reading

Back in Time: My Hypothetical Life as a Riot Grrl

Regarding the age-old party question “if you could go back in time and live during a certain era, what would it be?”: one answer is the 1920s, but only if I’m an amazing flapper straight from ‘Boardwalk Empire’ who dies of a gin overdose utterly FABULOUSLY before the Great Depression kicks off. Another answer is Ancient Rome so I can do Julius Caesar, even if he was gross, because think of how that’d set you up for life:

“Hey Whit, guess what – I got a new car today!”

“Whatever; I did Julius Caesar.”

More seriously: my MAIN answer to the question is that I’d go back for the birth of the Riot Grrl movement.

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Letter to a Past Me: Don’t Lie About Nirvana

Dear 13 year old W____,

You will not be cool. Destroy these aspirations and instead focus on your studies. Your studies won’t get you anywhere, but if you’re concentrating on the differences between electrons and neutrons, maybe you’ll think up less to lie about. You lie too much about too little.  Your lies are never whoppers; you don’t invent dead grandmothers or relations to presidents or where you were last Saturday night (because you were at home, being boring). Instead, you lie about what you know and what you like. You couldn’t tell the difference between Blues Traveler and the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion until you were 17, kid, so don’t even try.

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Misty Colored Flannel Memories

Help, I’m embracing nostalgia.

I made a promise to myself in my shallow teens that I’d never be one of those adults who were stuck in their favorite decade. It seemed like such an insidious way to date yourself. The women with blue eyeshadow and huge bangs.  Men wearing leisure suits and questionable haircuts. Glancing at these specimens, you could say “oh yeah, they peaked in 1984” or whatever happened to be their year of choice. It seemed lazy to my younger self. Why wouldn’t you want new music, new fashion?

Two things have happened to make me lose some of my interest in the new, new, new. The most obvious is of course the fact that I am growing older. I’ll be thirty this year, and while I am exponentially happier and hotter than I was in my teens, I nevertheless am beginning to look backwards for comfort. I bought a flannel shirt the other day – real flannel, none of this “sexy lumberjack” bullshit you sometimes see.  I plan on wearing it with jeans and Docs and my dark lipstick. I was never truly grunge, you see – I was too young – but I rocked the post-grunge gothy “The Craft” look very well. The second thing to have happened is somewhat unique to my situation – I lost about 40% of my wardrobe when the house burned down. Thankfully the largest chunk of my belongings were in Florida, but all my photos, books, furniture, keepsakes, and knick-knacks that I couldn’t cram into my tiny apartment were left in storage in Alabama.  It’s all gone.

And that was the easiest part about the fire. You’d think that it wouldn’t be, that the loss of possessions would ache like a tooth needing to be pulled.  And it’s tough, sure, but to be honest, we knew from the beginning that we were fortunate. My parents and brother got out.  The smoke detectors only started going off once the roof collapsed.  Had my family been asleep…

So I suddenly have a chunk of STUFF to replace. Some, I’ll never get back – my yearbooks, which hurt. I had so many great messages and signatures from friends that I’ll likely not see again.  I’m sad about my old paintings going up in flames, even if they weren’t that good. And I’m REALLY PISSED to have lost my Playstation. Sure, it was old, and I hadn’t played it in a few years, but I was planning on setting up a station to keep my Wii and Playstation together. And I never did beat Final Fantasy VIII.

But that’s all minor.  I know it.  My interest in purchasing the latest fashions and music has suffered for it.  I don’t know if I just don’t want to compile “new” because I’m subconsciously afraid of losing it, or if I’m beginning to plateau. There is nothing that makes me smile like turning my internet radio to the Red Hot Chili Peppers. And I didn’t even like the Red Hot Chili Peppers that much in school!

But when I hear those familiar guitar lines, I’m back in my car, driving through the mountains, sixteen and judgmental and terrified and half-tamed, and nostalgia is a welcome, if temporary distraction.