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A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…

I was born 4 days after the original Star Wars was released, 30 years ago tomorrow. It’s great to have this classic bit of science fiction cinema as my contemporary, for it’s the perfect barometer to compare myself against. So who aged better… me or Star Wars?

Stars Wars started with a distinct advantage, as it was fully-formed upon birth, jumping out of George Lucas’s mind like a battle-clad Athena. “After a generation of movies with tortured antiheroes who couldn’t order a sandwich without making A Statement, it seemed remarkably fresh,” says this tribute here. Me, I was just a baby.

Growing up, we’ve both had our Jar Jar Binks moments. And we’ve both reinvented ourselves: Me, continuously building on my strengths; Star Wars, rendering itself non sequitur (“Prequels included, the series still ends with Darth Vader smiling from the afterlife while Ewoks dance, which is like ending “Band of Brothers” in a disco roller-rink with Hitler doing the Hustle with Gene Kelly.”)

30 years later, I’m in the prime of my life, and Star Wars is an entertaining but cheesy schlockfest with out-dated special effects. Still, Star Wars has the trump card: The entire franchise has made over $22 billion dollars, according to Forbes. I’ve made… nowhere near that amount.

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By Meredith – May 24, 2007

Road Trip!

This is my last post until next week. I’m going on a road trip with my best friend Amy. It’ll be just like Thelma and Louise, had Thelma and Louise been college-learned Yankees in good relationships who don’t consider murder to be an affirmation of femininity and who don’t “hoot” to express joy.
[This is also the last time I harp about turning 30, because it’s getting downright unflattering…]

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By Meredith – May 24, 2007

It’s the Springtime of my Life

Ten years ago, on the cusp of turning 20 years old, I complained to a Cumberland Farms co-worker – a mid-20s guy from Colombia named Diego – that my life was over. “I’m old,” I moaned. “All the hot boys won’t want me. I’m not a teenager anymore. It’s all downhill from here.”

Diego took my belly-aching quite seriously, which only lead to more consternation. Had he flipped my concerns away as feminine crazy talk, I would not remember what he said: “A woman in her 20s is in the prime of her life. Take care of yourself, and you’ve got at least 10 years before you hit the wall.”

So here I am, hitting the wall. Eff you, Diego. Smacked with laugh lines and burgeoning chair butt. Bammed by official estrangement from distrustful youth. Walloped by the ticking of my biological clock.

I joke with Mr. Pinault that this is the last week he’ll get to romance a woman in her 20s, so he better make the most of it, because it’s all downhill from here, ha ha ha. I laugh; he doesn’t dare. His mind computes all conceivable responses and weighs them against probable ramifications like tears and fury. “You’ll always be a younger woman to me,” he says. I preen and flirt, thinking, Smart man! And then he blows it: “Besides, no one can stay 29 forever.”

Technically, the Fountain of Youth is accessible to delusional liars or suicides. But then again, I look forward to age 39, when I can look back on this moment with a grimace: “I though that was the beginning of the end? Stupid child!” (Can you sense the distracted preoccupation with mortality lately? My god, I posted a picture of a gravestone last Sunday. How ghoulish.)

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By Meredith – May 23, 2007

The Fundamental Things Apply As Time Goes By

Recently, I’ve been thinking about leaving Bank of America. It’s hard to do, because it’s a comfortable, stable relationship, and Bank of America is always there when I need a few fresh 20s to succor my lonely wallet. But Bank of America’s little habits grate my nerve – the snap-judgment overdraft fees, the bizarre customer service behavior, the creepy megacorp polish of their marketing materials. I can’t help but to fantasize about all the other banks out there, and what they’re like to do banking with.

Then, in today’s mail, I received a letter from Bank of America, informing me that “At 2:00pm, August 17 2007, we will be closing the Amherst Banking Center at 75 E Pleasant Street, Amherst, Massachusetts.”

Why would I, a resident of Natick, care that they’re closing a bank branch over 80 miles away? Because 12 years ago, that Bank of America was a Bay Bank, a bank that I excitedly signed up for as a college freshman. The balance of my savings account was perpetually $4.25, the exact cost of a veggie calzone from DP Dough. I can remember many hungry nights when that $4.25 taunted me with its inability to be withdrawn from an ATM. I was so young and reckless, and so, so poor!

Of course, relationships do change. BayBank became Bank Boston. Bank Boston became FleetBoston. FleetBoston became Bank of America. But even a dizzying series of buyout and mergers can’t erase the history we have together. Somewhere in its megalithic computer system, it remembers that I joined Bay Bank 12 years ago. If that’s not romance, I don’t know what is.

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By Meredith – May 22, 2007

Chagrinning in Spinning

The Sunday morning spinning class is way more mellow than Saturday morning, which is why I only go if I’m feeling lazy. The instructor is a middle-aged yoga devotee who whispers about elevated heart-rates amid trance techno songs with names like “Blaze of Life” and “Soul Drumming.” The regulars are a tight-knit group of forty-ish moms who regard the instructor as their Alpha.

Last Sunday was the instructor’s birthday, and someone brought in a song to play, a comic spoof that riffed on hot flashes, memory loss, and the other inconvenient facets of female aging. They all found it hilarious. The instructor apologized to the one male in the class for “the surging estrogen in the class this morning.”

“Or lack of estrogen!” a woman called.

I suppose their good-natured acceptance of their gradual croning is admirable, but I don’t buy it. I’m turning 30 in exactly one week, and my sole consolation is that I’m unscathed from the brunt of the physiological pitfalls of aging that the women in my spinning class found so mirthful. All my squibbles are vanities.

Like, about how my general appearance requires more maintenance as my hair loses its youthful gloss and my face melts out of its skeleton. I’m trying to sooth my pride with philosophical platitudes, like: Why care about spreading hips when you’ve got a spreading 401K account? Is it better to have age-acquired wisdom and experience, or look cute in baggy sweat clothes and no make-up? And hey: 30 is 10 long years away from 40.

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By Meredith – May 22, 2007

The Final House

I didn’t plan on posting a picture of a gravestone. Considering the day was spent on the Framingham Historical Society’s Seventh Annual House Tour, I thought I’d come away with some quaint pictures of a rambling farm house from the 1780s, or a turreted Victorian, or a 20th century Tuscan estate. But whilst inside the fanciful 19th century home with four chimneys and 8-foot ceilings, poor Mr. Pinault was scolded by an elderly lady for attempting to photograph a charming bedside table. She primly noted that “There are no cameras allowed! These are people’s homes! Have you no humanity, young man?”

We stopped at the only non-private residence on the tour, a historic Congregational church from the 1850s. Refreshments were available (catered by Whole Foods, no less.) After snagging a few tarts from the clutches of three dozen greedy biddies, we headed outside to check out the cemetery. Strange, the weather had been rainy and gray all weekend, but the moment we entered the graveyard, the sun bloomed in a clear blue sky. And no one in the graveyard complained when we took pictures.

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By Meredith – May 20, 2007

So, What’s Your Take on Shags?

The two ‘artists’/guerilla marketers who terrorized Boston last January by littering Aqua Teen Hunger Force electronic advertisements all over the city, and then enraged the public and the media by holding a sophomoric press conference about haircuts in the ’70s (“What was it like to spend the night in jail?” “That’s not a hair question”), are now trying to milk the attention for all its worth before their star power fades completely. The “Today” show doesn’t want them, but today the Boston Globe published the “first extended interview” with the duo, in which they riff about peace and love and the fear-mongering media. The best part of the article was when the reporter mentions that the two artists are close friends who “share a penchant for at-times rambling soliloquies,” hinting that maybe it was better when they refused to talk about anything but hair.

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By Meredith – May 19, 2007

I’m with Stupid

While brainstorming possible post topics … all my mind can stick to is this dumpy 50-ish woman who I saw today, pacing in front of South Station and bawling “Ok, I’m stupid! Yeah, I’m stupid! I’m stupid!” over and over again into a bulky cell phone held with a clumsy grasp. I was embarrassed to witness her public spectacle amid the flurry of the afternoon rush hour commute, but also fascinated by her banal cotton slacks, stiff plastic raincoat, flat Payless shoes, and wind-tossed perm – the trademarks of an unassuming person who literally lives to avoid drama and scrutiny. Small pauses spaced out each self-proclamation of stupidity. Was she berating herself for forgiveness? Agreeing with her rebuker? Sincere? Sarcastic? Nuts?

I’m obsessively turning her over in my mind, picking her apart, speculating on her situation. Lady, whoever you are, you aren’t stupid. You are a most glorious, pure expression of humanity’s turmoil in a world where so much of reality is scripted, rehearsed, hyped, and performed. You are the diametrical opposite of Jenna Jameson publicly endorsing Hillary Clinton.

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By Meredith – May 17, 2007

When I Grow Up, I Want to be a War Czar

A few months ago, Bush realized that the whole Iraq and Afghanistan thing was going badly because… no one was managing it! There was no ‘one guy’ who was aligning the goals and philosophies across scores of turf-conscious military and government agencies. Even worse, people were blaming Bush himself, as if Bush were somehow responsible. As if Bush were, like, the Commander-in-Chief who is bound by the US Constitution to manage the wars that he declares. Hell, Bush is just tired of dealing of the whole mess. Hence… a War Czar is born!

After at least three retired four-star generals ran screaming from the proposed position, today it was announced that three-star General Douglas Lute accepted. Bush describes Lt. Gen. Lute as “a tremendously accomplished military leader who understands war and government and knows how to get things done”, which is high praise… if it came from nearly anyone but Bush.

Analysts describe Lute as being “skeptical” of the troop surge and in favor of diplomatic resolution as opposed to military build-up. So Bush scoured the top ranks of the Pentagon, and ended up with a no-name three-star general who doesn’t even agree with him! But it’s a Catch-22, isn’t it? Bush needed someone crazy enough to take the job and support Bush’s vision, but anyone that crazy couldn’t qualify for the job.

Posted in In the News.

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By Meredith – May 16, 2007

Oy Vey

The Washington Times is reporting that NYC Mayor Michael Bloomberg is prepared to spend $1 billion of his fortune on a presidential campaign, should he decide to run. Insiders report that Bloomberg has met with Ross Perot’s “senior people” to discuss the harrowing logistics of the rich guy third-party presidential run. Unfortunately, it cannot involve the late, great Admiral Stockdale as a running mate, but when you’ve got a billion dollars, you can hire a whole army of old men to stand at your side and ask “Who am I? Why am I here?”

The 2008 Presidential Election is on pace for record-breaking fundraising. The candidates are building up their arsenals by glad-handing wealthy contributors, with an occasional whistle-stopping the proles. I saw Mitt Romney on TV last week, eating at a local diner. He looked terrified, forking pie in his stiff mouth while a teased-hair waitress and a dozen cameras looked on. Are Mormons allowed to eat pleasurable foodstuffs like pie, in mixed company, with unclenched bowels?

Even though I voted for him as Governor as Massachusetts, I just don’t see Mitt Romney winning. In fact, I don’t see any of the current crop being wholly embraced by a majority of Americans. Maybe it’s their fault, maybe it’s our fault, but my point is: The more money that is involved, the more catty, corny political advertisements we will be subjected to.

Enter Bloomberg and his rich guy power grab. Welcome to my farcical dystopian nightmare. I have nothing against Bloomberg, but after 8 years of corruption and non-accountability, America needs integrity. We need a candidate who is buoyed to the top by the optimism and confidence of voters, not $1 billion dollars cash. We need… um… is Christopher Walken really running?

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By Meredith – May 15, 2007