You say tax cuts, I say government programs.

A couple of months ago, I decided to take out my senior yearbook from high school, and look through it. Why? I have no earthly idea. But I did, and it was kind of interesting. I had forgotten how many things I was involved in, how many people actually signed my yearbook, and was kind of surprised that I didn't remember more names and faces.

However, the strangest aspect about my tip-toe through the teen years had to be the comments themselves. I cannot tell you how many different people wrote "Don't worry, you'll be a Republican someday." Or something akin to it, usually accompanied by a smiley cartoon face with a stuck-out tongue.

Let it be known that I was ridiculously outspoken in high school. And earnest! Earnestly out-spoken, out-spokenly earnest; that was me. I suppose this isn't altogether surprising considering that I'm an Aries, and I was one of only a few "out" democrats. Well, I wasn't a democrat yet; I wasn't of legal voting age. But you know what I mean  - I had scandalously democratic tendencies for a mostly conservative high school. I would dive, fearlessly, into political debates, determined to convince the multitudes of conservative children that medicare was helpful, welfare wasn't a waste of tax dollars, and women had the right to make decisions about their bodies.

Needless to say, I was always outnumbered. But damnit, I was born with the gift of a loud booming voice, and I wouldn't be my father's daughter if I didn't use it for the powers of good. I remember distinctly a conversation with my best friend and my Honors Economics teacher, a professed Libertarian, about taxes:

Teacher: "So okay, Ms. Liberal, let me ask you this: you're okay with the government taking a large piece of your hard-earned money to feed, clothe, and house other people? Even criminals and drug-addicts?"
Me: "Yes I am."
T: "Why?"
Megan: "Without taxes, we wouldn't have paved roads or garbage services. We wouldn't have education, Mr. Starnes. Your paycheck is paid for with taxes. Taxes help the government take care of its' people. There are socio-economic issues that more than likely went into those criminals and drug-addicts becoming criminals and drug-addicts."
T: "Wow. I don't like the government taking my money. I guess I'm just a selfish person."
Me: "I guess you are."

Discussions like this would stop the class for at least 20 minutes at a time, which was never a bad thing. But it's these kind of debates I'd get into all the time.

So I guess it's no wonder that the people who signed my yearbook would tease my earnest liberalness. But you know, it's been ten years. TEN YEARS. And I'm still a proud liberal. I won't say a proud democrat - the party system in our country is a little too ridiculous for me to grasp.

It also reminded me of a kind of idiom someone once told me:

"If you're not a liberal when you're young, you have no heart. If you're not a conservative when you're older, you have no brain."

I hate that expression. HATE it. Such complete horse shit.

I guess my point in writing this mini-rant, is for me to say that as I continue through life, edging further and further away from my "youth," I have yet to see or experience anything that has made me even consider becoming a conservative. I'm not stupid, I'm not wasteful. I just see things differently than you. And probably always will.

In hindsight, I'm really glad that I didn't go to my ten year reunion.

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Words you didn't know, wish you had, but probably won't know again...

One of the constants in my life has been feast/famine, which is rudely inconsistent. I didn't have a job for most of the fall, which meant I had much more time to write, which really was all I could afford to do. Then I applied to grad schools, left for Canada, came back from Canada, left a day later for Denver/Boulder, flew back, had a week to sort out my life, and then started my day job. And it's not even February yet.

I'm not complaining. I like being busy. I'm wildly productive when I'm busy; so not only do I get things done, but it means that I feel calmer, more confident, and much less lonely. Hey - I love my laptop, but I do love actual human interaction every now and then.

Canada was beautiful, Denver/Boulder was inspiring (I met with Shakespeare geeks AND saw how tea gets made at the Celestial Seasoning plant!), and I haven't heard from grad schools yet - which is a good thing; they send the rejection letters out first. And my day job! My day job is awesome. I'm creating/running/implementing a 6th grade Drama program at an under-achieving Middle School. RIGHT?!

So my insane life aside, one of the many themes of the conference in Boulder surrounded the sad fact that the vocabulary in the English language is shrinking. Observe:

William Shakespeare knew an estimated 25,000+ words.*
A few generations ago, the English speaking world knew about 18-20,000 words.
My generation is sitting pretty with about 11-13,000 words.
The children currently going through school are projected to know 7-8,000 words by the time they graduate high school.

* - keep in mind, Shakespeare created thousands of words, but for the sake of depressing statistics, let's say those are not included in his original 25,000+.

With the understanding that the previous statistics I can in no way justify through any kind of acceptable means, those are some really depressing numbers, no? Kind of makes me want to add a "word of the day" app to my non-existent smart phone.

Now, my ex-girlfriend, perhaps in a premonition of the discussions to come, bought me a desk calendar for Christmas. But not just ANY desk calendar my friends.  She bought me .............wait for it....................

a FORGOTTEN ENGLISH DAILY WORD CALENDAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And let me tell you, it's just as awesome as it sounds. Here are some examples of this modern miracle:

Nizzle - You thought it was a word created by Snoop Dogg, didn't you? Hizzle, my nizzles! Nizzle actually means: To be slightly intoxicated, to be the worse for liquor; to be unsteady; usually in past participle [nizzled].  (Joseph Wright's English Dialect Dictionary, 1898-1905)

Beats the Dutch - Something extraordinary; "That beats the Dutch, and the Dutch beats the Devil" is the superlative. (James Maitland's American Slang Dictionary, 1891)

Sport Ivory - If someone smiled, he sported ivory. (Morris Marples, University Slang, 1950)

Jugulator - Sounds like a Marvel Comic Villain, eh? Or perhaps what Jack the Ripper's imaginary friends called him. A Jugulator is actually a cutthroat or murderer. (William Whitney's Century Dictionary, 1889)

Googer - No, not Google's puny baby brother. It's actually a synonym for The Devil. (Walter Sleat's Specimens of English Dialects, Westmoreland, 1879)

Death Hunter - An undertaker, one who furnishes the necessary articles for funerals. Sounds kind of bad ass to me; dare I say it - Lord of the Rings-esque. (Francis Grose's Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, 1796)

Tree-Geese - A name given to barnacles, from their supposed metamorphosis [into geese]. I swear to you, I'm not making this up! (Robert Nare's Glossary [of] the Works of English Authors, 1859)

Gone to Texas - An American expression for one who has decamped, leaving debts behind. It was, and is, no unusual thing for a man to display this notice - perhaps only the initials G.T.T. on his door for the callers after he has absconded. Does that explain anything at all about the years from 2000-2008?? (Trench Johnson's Phases and Names: Their Origins and Meanings, 1906)

Toozle - To pull about, especially applied to any rough dalliance with a female. Perhaps after some Nizzle, for shizzle! (John Brockett's Glossary of North Country Words, 1825)

Bag of Nails - American thieves' cant. Confusion; topsy-turvydom; from "bacchanals." (John Farmer's Slang and its Analogues, 1890)

Scurryfunge - a hasty tidying of the house between the time you see a neighbor and the time she knocks on the door. See?? Some of these actually come in handy; I scurryfunge all the time! (John Gould's Maine Lingo: Boiled Owls, Billdads, and Wazzats, 1975)

Stick with me kids, and you too will become a bona fide nerd. As the year progresses, I'm sure these words will continues to find their way onto my page. Bonus points if you send me some rare words of your own ...

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The Year of the Bunny!

Hey there - happy 2011! I don't know about you, but this was what my collective being said/expressed/vented as the clock struck midnight, NYE, Mountain Standard Time:

"Oh, thank GOD."

Seriously. 2010 was not a super year. I can't say that it was the worst ever - I don't believe in long-term exaggerations. I know, I know, this is coming from a person who is constantly making up words to express  exaggerations in the first place. My Monkey constantly gets, "I love you the mostest!" And while I'm a person prone to passions, ginormous (see?) emotions, and an epically-scaled soul, I do not allow myself to look at life, time, or any other massively long-term scale in hyperbole.

That being said, 2010 was not kind. In fact, I would go so far as to call it mean; it was a mean year! And not in the rock-critic sense (e.g., "He plays a mean guitar!). I mean MEAN in the original dictionary definition, as an adjective: offensive, selfish, or unaccommodating; nasty; malicious. That essentially sums it up. Is it any wonder, then, that in the Chinese horoscope, 2010 was the year of the Tiger? I like Tigers as much as the next animal rights activist - I love them! But from a very, very far distance.

Now, 2011, again in the Chinese horoscope, falls under the year of the Rabbit. CAN YOU GET MORE OPPOSITE TO A TIGER, THAN A RABBIT??????? NO!!! Exactly! This calls for THE SNOOPY DANCE!!

The year of the Rabbit will theoretically bring luck and safety in the year to come. And so to you, I wish lots and lots of luck and safety.

But why am I so jazzed for this little woodland rodent's approach? I just applied to four graduate schools. This might not sound like a big deal, but it really is. Not only is this a big push for a life change/advancement, but the sense of rejection and dejection I experienced from the 2010 Tiger is still quite present with me. And the last time I applied to a grad school (just one, in that case), I was rejected. Only that was 2007, the year of the Pig. Oinkity bloody oink.

I was in Calgary for two weeks over Christmas and New Years, and in the Calgary Herald a couple of days ago, the paper's astrologist had a half page layout about what the year of the Rabbit was going to mean for me, as an Aries. And, perhaps prophetically, she told me that 2011 was going to be my year - the start to the next new phase of my life, culminating in achieving my career goals by 2018 (she's nothing if not specific). She also told me that I was going to feel like me again, after a year of feeling not at all like myself. She told me that making my move for advancement definitely needed to happen this year, and that my relationship would be fine, so long as my significant other didn't try to stifle my power and flow; I am Aries, here me roar!

Everything I've been reading lately, everything has been screaming at me, exasperatedly, "HOLD ON! It's about to get really, really good!" And I think that for the first time in a long time, I believe it - though more importantly, I'm able to SEE the universe gesticulating madly like an enraged baboon. I think I've just been too caught up, or too buried? Blinders pop up sometimes, out of a necessity to keep one's head down and protected. I've been keeping my head protected, and failing miserably.

Is it cliche to now say that I don't put actual stock in any of this? That is to say, I don't commit to astrology - I don't adhere to it as an absolute way of living my life, much like exaggerations. BUT - and this is a really big but - that doesn't mean that I don't find it informative and highly fascinating. Because I totally do.

While I call Liz my monkey, she calls me her bunny. I know, it's disgusting. This started as a joke after my sister brought home an actual rabbit after her first year at college - all the way from New Jersey. It later turned into a term of endearment that went from annoyingly funny to begrudgingly cute, on my end.

Tomorrow, I leave for a theatre conference in Boulder, Colorado. I sent the last of my grad school applications out a few hours ago. I start a new job next week starting a theatre program at a low-income middle school. But if all else fails, I can't say I didn't try - astrology or no.

Behold: The Year of the Bunny.

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It's looking a bit dusty in here ...

Good lord! Neglectful and disgraceful! I'm so, so, sorry!

The funny thing about life is that it moves on, whether you're ready or not. I've pondered at least half a dozen blog topics in the space of time in which I was monstrously missing. Did I write any of them? No. Do I remember what any of those blog topics are? Ha! And so I face you here now, embarrassed at my absence, and desperately searching for something interesting to say. And all I can think about is Christmas.

Christmas has come early this year - earlier for me than normal. In fact, until this year, I was ardently against the massive retail over-hauls that happen at Halloween's termination. I've not been a big fan of early Christmas, and will not accept the Christmas season until the Thanksgiving weekend is long over, around December 1st. If I heard so much as a "deck the halls" playing over retail radio speakers, I'd glower and clench my jaw, and hurl a "bah-humbug!" in anyone's general direction. Christmas has it's place, and it's time, and it's NOT in November.

However, this year, I needed Christmas to come early. I really, really did. 2010 has not been kind to me. It's been a hard year, a sad year, a heart-breaking, indigestible, painful, rejection-filled year. And I'm done with it. And so when the first decorations went up, and the dulcet tones of holiday cheer shot out of the grocery store audio system, instead of scowling and growling and being grumpy at our country's love of holiday retail madness - instead, I said, "Thank you." I breathed a sigh of relief, and smiled, and looked forward to the kinder, gentler days of greens and reds, of people tacking on "Happy Holidays!" or "Merry Christmas!" to the ends of their conversations, of seeing the ones I love and remembering that I am loved in turn.

But it's not just me who needed it early this year - I think we all did. I think everyone I know has more or less breathed a collective sigh of relief at finally reaching the end of a very long, tight, stress-filled year. I'm certainly not suggesting that the holidays are any less stressful. But with the end of the year comes the rising hope that the impending new year will be so much better. And after months and months of no hope, of being unemployed, or removed from a home, or deaths of loved ones, or whatever the case may be - the new year looms with tidings of comfort and joy and hope for a fresh start, a fresh chance to make our lives better; not with resolutions, necessarily (though they're nice, too), just that the tide will turn, our luck will change, and we can move on to something better.


We can be better.

For the first time - ever - I'm sending out Christmas cards. This is a big commitment for me, because I'm terrible at this sort of thing. But I've been thinking about people who are not around me, and I think I should tell those people - just because I don't talk with them very often, doesn't mean I don't love them, or that I'm not thinking of them. I believe that's the reason that people originally started sending Christmas cards, though I'm no expert on the subject.

My Christmas cards have Polar Bears on them.

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Lesbian Turkey Day!

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Is it because of the food?? Absolutely. But it also has a little something to do with family. Thanksgiving is family. Not just blood family - world family. 

What? What's that? "World Family" sounds hoaky, cliche, and ultra lesbian????? EXACTLY. 

Let me explain.

This Thanksgiving, my family is away. Back in August or September, my Dad said, "Hey, I'll pay for you to go to Calgary or to Olympia for Thanksgiving, if you want." And I said, "Great!" And then I thought about it - Thanksgiving in Canada is in October - so no one would be off, and I'd just be celebrating for myself, and that's just awkward. Olympia was where I spent Thanksgiving in College - I LOVE Thanksgiving in Olympia. However, I wanted to be able to share it with my monkey (since it IS my most favoritest holiday - I was serious). And then, I started wondering who ELSE was around .... 

And I thought of my ex, Lara, who wasn't going to home to the Mid-West. Me, Liz, and Lara for Thanksgiving. Then I discovered my oldest friend in the world, Crystal, had no place to go on Turkey Day, and I invited her too. Crystal's NOT a lesbian, but she might as well be. On an off-chance, I thought of my good friend Josh, who's from Colorado, and doesn't usually go home for the Holidays. Would he like to come over too? Yes, in fact, he was! Josh - also not a lesbian. But he's funny, and he's been friends with me for a long time now, and he might as well be. 

Then, on Friday, Lara calls me. "Can I bring a guest to Thanksgiving?" Lara's been dating a woman in LA for a few weeks now, and I figured she could only mean Susan. So ... this Thanksgiving is going to be Me, my wonderful girlfriend, my wonderful ex-girlfriend, the woman she's dating, my oldest friend who might as well be a lesbian, and my friend Josh who should be a lesbian. 

THE MOST LESBIAN THANKSGIVING EVERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But all kidding aside, this is the very reason I love Thanksgiving. It's a transient holiday - a holiday where giving is the goal, and generosity is truly king. Christmas is wonderful, and likes to claim these things, but the commercialism that's invaded Christmas doesn't seem to make this true any more. Christmas is very much about family. Thanksgiving, is very much about giving whatever you can, to whomever you can. Don't have anywhere to go? Come over here! Share my turkey, let me cook for you. The best part, is that the meaning is in the name: It's the giving of thanks in as many ways as you can. That's it. And this year, it truly is. And that makes me so very happy!

This will ALSO be my first attempt at COOKING Thanksgiving dinner. It's going to be quite the experiment. Pictures will be taken. Let's just hope I don't burn the house down. 

I'll blog after the event - but I wish you and everyone at your table, whomever they may be, many many happy wishes.  

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My very own Inferno...

For the last two weeks, I worked a retail re-merchandising job inside of a Staples store between the hours of 8:00 p.m. and 4:30 a.m.* "What is re-merchandising?" You ask. Somehow, I don't think it's performing bizarre acts of manual labor in the wee hours of the morning, but that's what I was doing. For $11.00 an hour. Oh temp work ... how ... awful weird unsatisfying sucky interesting you are. But you know what? It's money. And bear's gotta do what a bear's gotta do.  I've decided that my college diploma doesn't get to be framed until it starts working for me. Until then, it's going to stay in the decorative protective envelope in my closet where it currently belongs; doing me not a lot of good. 

[*I also worked over time, so 4:30 a.m. actually turned into more like 6:00 a.m. most nights of the 2nd week]

Anyway, as I was lifting 60-75 lb. boxes up and down stock ladders, contemplating the shear perfection in which a semi-trained gorilla could do my job, I had often listened to the retail music loop that played every. day. for 10 days. Most of it was totally fine; some of it was even enjoyable. But the other 10% ... the other 10% made my eyeballs cringe and roll backwards in my head, like a Felix the Cat clock gone batty. 

And in the middle of a refrain from "I Want it That Way" by the Backstreet Boys, on a night when I was constantly fantasizing about dropping every MADE IN CHINA piece of useless crap on the floor from the top of my ladder - it hit me - I might be in hell. This might be my very own version hell. Which mercifully changed my thoughts from retail destruction to the deep contemplation of songs that, if played in a loop over and over, would almost certainly mean that I was in hell. Because if I believed in hell (which I do not), I would imagine that hell (and consequently heaven) would be specifically made on an individual level. So the songs that would play in my little flame-filled corner of Hell would not (necessarily) be the songs that would play in your little flame-filled corner of hell. Right?  So then ... what songs would play in my hell?

There are 10 - chiefly because, if played in a loop, would inflict the maximum amount of pain and torture. And when the devils and demons wanted to be REALLY sadistic, they'd change the loop order occasionally, just to lure me into a false hope of change, and then WHAM! It would be just another voyage of the 10 most cringe-worthy songs to my person, and the despair would begin anew.

10. Orinoco Flow, by Enya (I don't mind it once or twice, but in a loop? I think I'd despise it.)

9. Two Princes, by The Spin Doctors (An ultra low-spot in an otherwise interesting music decade)

8. Kiss on my List, by Hall & Oates (*gag!*)

7. Sk8ter Boy, by Avril Levigne (every morning in the dorm bathrooms for a semester in college was enough)

6. Everything I Do/Have You Ever Really Loved a Woman/most anything he's ever done, by Bryan Adams (Sorry Canada, he and Avril Levigne are MAJOR lemons on a nearly flawless record)

5. Desert Rose, by Sting (it's a loop in itself...)

4. Follow Me, Uncle Kracker (it verges on offensive, and I don't just mean the lame chord progressions)

3. Moondance, by Van Morrison (I seem to be the only person in the world that thinks this...so I apologize if I offend anyone. But I hate it.)

2. Truly, Madly, Deeply by Savage Garden (MAJOR. CRINGE.)

1. American Woman, cover by Lenny Kravitz (no words. only rage.......lots and lots of RAGE)

So there you go. 

My best friend and I once had a very lengthy, and impassioned discussion about the elements that need to be present in a good song. We basically boiled it down to more than 3 repetitive chords, and better lyrics than rhyming "love" and "dove." I think out of the above, the song that actually meets those requirements is Moondance. But it still drives me nuts. (I can't explain it, people ... my hatred is on a purely cellular level.) My gorgeous girlfriend hates Mr. Roboto with a passion, though also can't explain it. She loves Van Morrison, I love Mr. Roboto ... so long as neither song is played at our wedding, I think it'll be okay. 

Okay ... throw some at me!

PS - a song that I'm currently loving?

BAM.

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An Open Letter to Shonda Rhimes

Dear Ms. Rhimes, (may I call you Shonda?)

Firstly, allow me to say I'm a big fan. I think the scripts you continually smith on both Grey's Anatomy and Private Practice are among the best on television; quirky, fresh, and continually empathetic in creative and touching ways. I also think that your shows have been, since their genesis, leaders in diversity - and I cannot tell you what that means to me, personally. There are more actors of various colors on your shows than the rest of prime-time television put together; from your leads right on down to your extras. You've got a veritable human cornucopia of race and ethnicity, and it thrills me to no end!

There is one thing I'd like to say to you - and this isn't a criticism, so much as it's a plea.

Please, please, PLEASE - Shonda, I beg of you - do NOT write off the lesbians. (I mean that literally, I'm not being euphemistic) Do you realize that Grey's Anatomy is the only show on network TV that has a lesbian couple? And not just a lesbian couple - a non-stereotyped, empathetic, interesting lesbian couple. Do you realize how long people like me have waited for this? Do you know how *awful* sifting through 5 seasons of the L Word was?? It was like chewing glass and having to say "Thank you," through the painful lacerations continually opening and re-opening in my mouth, while swallowing at the same time.

I know Jessica Capshaw is away on maternity leave. I love that Callie needs to stay in Seattle, because let's face it, she has a lot to learn. But please, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, keep Callie on the Sapphic side of relationships. I'll freely admit that I love Callie and Arizona together - but I'm not going to tell you how to write your show. If Arizona comes back and the relationship picks up again - GREAT. If not, I know for a FACT that Seattle has a HUGE lesbian population for Callie and Arizona to mine. But I don't think my little lesbian heart can take another trip with Callie to Mensville. Especially with (no offense!) the incredible heterosexuality of Seattle Grace ... lots of boy/girl meetings in supply closets, you know? It could be its own drinking game.

So please, Shonda. Do this longing lesbian a solid, and keep Callie on the female side of life. I can't stand another "bi-curious lesbian dalliance" joke made in the past-tense. I just can't.

Oh. And also, thank you for keeping Amy Brenneman on television. I love her a lot, and kudos to you for keeping her working, and televisionally married to Tim Daly. Whom I also love, and am glad he's working too.

This lesbian is for you and your continued success,
The Polar Bear

PS - I apologize for the gross over-usage of the emphatic ALL CAPS. It's ridiculously unruly, but as the science of fonts has yet evolve, it's all I have to work with.

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