The intersection of race and Netflix

I use Netflix. A lot, actually. I watch a lot of series that way, and I like movies, and I don't have TV reception, so it works well for me.

I have issues with the "Movies You'll Love" function, though.

They generate the "Movies You'll Love" list based on movies you've already rated. So if you liked Season 1 of The Office, they'll recommend Season 2 of The Office, or the first season of the UK version of The Office. I like stuff like that.

Among the nearly 200 movies I have rated is:

• Malcolm X

As a result (and I know that it's as a result of that movie, because Netflix tells me so), the movies that have been recommended to me include but are in no way limited to, because probably 40 percent of my recommendations are now because I liked that one movie:

• Hotel Rwanda
• Brother to Brother
• Ray
  
• Richard Pryor: Live on the Sunset Strip
• Chris Rock: Never Scared
• A Piece of the Action
• The Best Man
• Yesterday
• The Brother from Another Planet

As far as I can discern, the only things those movies all have in common with each other, or with Malcolm X, is that they all have black people in them. Some of them have an actual civil rights/activist/biopic bent, but the common thread seems to be, just, black people.

Thoughts? It's weird, right?

Salad days

Quick hypothetical question: Let's say you have a pot luck at work. And you agreed to bring the salad, because you were in Washington and weren't going to have time to make something. So you bring lettuce and cherry tomatoes and a bowl and some dressing into the office.

How do you dry the lettuce?

Friend of Dorothy

If you've been reading Achieving Conceiving, you know that Kay and James have two very tiny very beautiful baby girls now.

I got to hang out with Kay and James and their kids for a little bit. I am going to be godmother to these wonderful children, it seems, and that makes me very happy.

Although, you know, "Always a godmother, never a god," as Dorothy Parker would say.

Right to embellish

Back at Union Station this morning, I saw a group of people who'd clearly been in town protesting. One of them had a beautiful faux-fur coat on, and a GIANT cross. One of her friends was a little more casually dressed, but she was carrying maybe two dozen fake roses.

They had a sign, which said, "Look what you lose when you choose," and had a picture on it. The picture had a baby in it, but the baby was sort of in the background, out of focus. The foreground was a picture of presumably the mother's hand with a wedding band on it, with the baby's hand resting on top of it. The script on the sign was lovely, and sparkly scrapbook-store-looking silver and gold snowflakes surrounded the picture.

Some thoughts:

• I don't care where you stand on this issue*, the sign was pretty.
• A lot of people spell "lose" as "loose" already. That drives me crazy. I am glad that these folks got it right, even when rhyming it with "choose," which I would think would make one more inclined to misspell it.
• I saw several protesters of several kinds this week, and all of them were well-behaved and not acting like jackasses. No screaming profanity, no "God Hates Fags." Seriously.
• What do snowflakes have to do with abortion? Is there some kind of every-one-of-us-is-a-perfect-and-unique-individual thing going on in the pro-life movement these days? Because if so, I have not been keeping up. Also if so, they need to be more explicit, because I am pretty smart and also inclined to think in metaphors, and it took me about eight hours to come up with that.
• The sign had it almost right. You are more likely to convince people not to abort with pictures of cute babies than with pictures of fetuses that look like aliens.
• The sign was just a little off. The dominant image was definitely the wedding band. I am not sure that wedding bands are what people lose when they choose, literally or figuratively.
• The sign was also a little bit off here: Under current law, everyone chooses. The people who choose what the pro-lifers want them to are still choosing. For that matter, since most of those folks seem to be Christians (and these ones certainly were), under the doctrine of free will everyone chooses. That is what theoretically makes choosing not to abort so superior, that it is an exertion of free will. If we don't have free will, everyone does what God wants us to anyway.
  

*Where I stand on this issue, for the record: Firmly in the pro-choice camp. I have spent enough time making signs, though, to appreciate a well-crafted one.

...you bastards

If for some reason you really like "Hail to the Chief" and would like to appreciate it as instrumental music, you should not watch the movie My Fellow Americans.

If, on the other hand, you would like a hilarious movie that you could watch with your grandmother without blushing, particularly if you are old enough to have strong impressions of George H.W. Bush, Bill Clinton, and Dan Quayle, and you would like to giggle every time you hear "Hail to the Chief," I cannot recommend it strongly enough.

I last saw it years ago, and still think of the invented lyrics to that tune every time I hear it played, and often when I do not.

At least

As we crossed Constitution Avenue with all the people that have ever lived on this or any other world, my father and I heard a guy in his 20s remark to his friends, "There have to be at least a thousand people here!"

My father and the guy's friends and I all laughed, a lot, which inspired him to try to improve on his original success ("Hundreds!" "Dozens!"), but really, you can only nail something like that once per audience, and he got it the first time.

Selves, evident

Sixteen years ago this week, I was a senior in college. I'd been volunteering for Habitat for Humanity in Florida with a group from my college, and on our way back to New Jersey, I asked if the group could leave me off in D.C., where I'd stay with my grandmother and go to Clinton's first inauguration. Granny was too frail (and maybe too conservative) to go with me, but I went alone and had a fantastic time in the middle of all those people. I even ran into a guy I knew. The amazingness of the event was made even amazinger by this coincidence, and definitely contributed to the mood of the day.

So on Tuesday, when my father and I went down to the Mall, I thought about that day, and that old friend (recently re-found on Facebook). My dad and I discussed whether it was more likely or less that I'd run into someone I knew. On the one hand, there were a lot more people there to see President Obama get sworn in. On the other hand, I know a lot more people in Washington now.

I was a little less surprised but not less amazed, then, to run into one of my closer old work buddies on the Mall. She was working, shooting video of people who were selling stuff and also trying to do a cool intro of different people saying, "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable [Although I think we were saying inalienable. I know I was.] Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." She shot me first, as practice, and my father second, as more practice. We attracted some attention, which brought her her third and fourth subjects. I helped with the camera work (and by "helped with the camera work," I mean, "stood near the camera, mostly not touching it, and did practically nothing").

My bishop

I got to hear my bishop on Sunday, along with a lot of other people, but not, apparently, the HBO viewing audience.
If you missed him Sunday, he's here:

(full text of the prayer available here.)

If you missed him on The Daily Show on Tuesday, he's here:

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

Bishop Gene Robinson

Barack Obama Interview
John McCain Interview

Sarah Palin Video
Funny Election Video

Shared a cab with...

More people than have ever been in Washington, D.C. + the usual number of cabs = no one takes a cab alone.

At Union Station, I was herded into a cab with a man and a woman I assumed were together, since they got out of the same spot in the cab line together. They both looked to be in their 30s or early 40s, and happy to finally have a ride. He got in on the driver's side. I held the passenger's side door for the woman so she could sit next to her husband/boyfriend/brother/secretary.

"Oh, you go ahead," she said, apparently graciously. Except.

Except that when you don't think a pair of people are together (and she could not have thought that he and I were together), that just means you're forcing a stranger into the middle seat, which is just snotty.

So we all get settled into the cab, and she gazes up at the Capitol building and starts making noises about how she doesn't remember the last time she felt good about looking at the Capitol.

"Why?" asks our cab driver, clearly just being playful, clearly not in any way trying to start a fight. "Because of Obama?"

"Yes!" said this woman, who I couldn't place, but who looked familiar. Local newscaster, maybe? Or friend of a friend? Someone's ex-girlfriend? Or maybe she's really, really famous, but looks different in person?

"He's just another man," said the cab driver, still playing.

"Be born in this country and then give me your opinion," she snaps. This is the point at which I decide that if she is someone I sort of know, I am not admitting it to her or anyone. Then, in direct contrast to her previous statement, she said, "It just sends such a great message to the world." I later found out our driver was from Kenya. Who, exactly, is in a better position to know what message this sends to the world?

The very nice man also sharing our cab took that opportunity to ask us all what Broadway shows we'd seen lately, since he knew that the woman (who he'd been talking to in line) is from New York. She hadn't seen much lately, but had opinions on several shows she hadn't seen, including Billy Elliot ("I saw the movie. Dancing's not for boys.") and Hedda Gabler ("Might as well just slit your wrists and be done with it.") When we got to movies, she had seen a few things, and recommended Slumdog Millionaire and The Wrestler, as did the man she was by now clearly not with, who was from L.A.

Our driver dropped her off first, and as she got her luggage out, the nice man's garment bag fell on the ground. "There goes the last crease in the tux," he joked, and he and I started talking about what balls he was going to (several, including the Latino Ball and the Green Ball and one he missed because our train was late, which is too bad, because it cost him $500 and he wasn't even sure the money was going to a good cause) and whether he had tickets for the inauguration (he did, and was picking them up from Sen. Feinstein the next day). He also strongly encouraged me to go to the HRC party the next night, for the season premiere of The L Word, since the HRC ball was sold out and I would have missed it because our train was late even if I had been able to get tickets.

As we got close to his hotel, he chuckled. "Did you recognize her?" he asks, gesturing to my side of the cab, where our cabmate had been sitting.

"Almost," I said. "Is she famous?"

"She's an actress," he said. "Did you watch Sex in the City?"

"Not really," I said. "I sort of hate that show."

"She was Nina Katz," he said. "She dated Aidan, and gave Carrie The Look. She was the booker for Saturday Night Live, Heather Graham's friend."

"Oh, right!" I said, excited because this is actually one of the roughly five episodes I've ever seen, and that is totally who she was. "I think I've seen her in other things, too."

"Yeah," he said. "She's been on a lot of shows. She always plays the rude New Yorker."

"Hm," I said.

Amtrak lies

If you are taking a train from Brattleboro, Vermont, and you are worried that there is no long-term parking, and you call Amtrak to ask if there is long-term parking, they will tell you that there is.

They are lying.

If you show up to the train station and try to park in this alleged long-term parking, you will find that it does not exist. If you look dumb enough, and desperate enough, you will be permitted to leave your car in short-term parking for four days, although the station attendant will shake his head at you disgustedly, and your car may well be covered with snow when you get back.

Also, this strategy is probably successful on a first-come, first-served basis.

Policy

Friday morning last week was cold in New Hampshire: It was well below zero when I left the house at 7:30. Whatever; all of last week was like that. I was used to it. And my car starts pretty well in the cold for an old lady, though I do try to give her a few minutes when it's that cold to warm up.
Friday morning was also a little rushed. So was Friday afternoon. But I was having drinks with friends and trying to run into some other folks, so I decided to run home between work and drinks to change and look just a teensy bit cuter.
Good thing, too. When I got home a little after 5, I saw that I'd left the door open. Not unlocked, not ajar a little. All the way wide open. When I went inside, nothing was missing, although a few houseplants were the worse for wear. The indoor temperature was 51. I cannot imagine how much oil I burned to keep it that warm with the door open all day long.
Also, I am never allowed to live in the big city again.

Hail

The last several days have been pretty eventful, and I suspect it'll take a few posts to get it all in. Sorry I haven't been blogging all along (you will see that I have plenty to say), but it seems like a bad idea to tell the whole Internet your house will be empty for days, so I didn't. The irony of this will be explained in my next post.
Also, the DSL wasn't yet hooked up in my parents' apartment, where I was staying.

I went to D.C. on Saturday and stuck around until this morning. The ones of these that require more explanation will get their own posts (some with photos!), but some points worth noting, in approximately chronological order:

• Amtrak lied to me.
• I stood in a very long, very cold line at Union Station after midnight.
• I shared a cab with Nina Katz.
• I shared a cab with the nicest apparently very connected and wealthy man in the universe
• My father learned the word "Jumbotron," though he was annoyed that The Washington Post did not define the word when it used it. My explanation that that was because everyone already knows that word surprised him. Was I wrong?
• I prayed with my bishop and an in-person crowd more than fifteen times the size of our whole diocese.
• I ran into a good friend in the midst of a giant inaugural crowd — again.
• I laughed and prayed with several million strangers.
• Both "Hail to the Chief" and "Lift Every Voice and Sing" got stuck in my head. As a combination, you could do a lot worse.
• I met my beautiful new goddaughters.
• I threatened to get too drunk to appreciate my friends, but did not. I am not sure that level of drunk exists, actually, but if it does, I did not achieve it.
• I encountered the least offensive (and most sparkly) pro-life protesters I have ever seen.
• I left the food my parents lovingly prepared for me for the train, and the mystery I'd half-finished, in a cab.
• I failed to eat Mexican food, though that is, food-wise, what I miss most about D.C.

Fix-it, man

I am not sure whether this is a country thing or just an I'm-unbelievably-lucky thing, so I'll leave it to some of my other country folk readers to let me know.
This morning, a guy was supposed to come to fix the dishwasher, sometime between 8 and noon. I was told he could call me half an hour before he came. And then he called me, at 7:50, and showed up, at 8:20. He's fixing the dishwasher now.
This happens every time anyone has to come to do anything in my house up here. They give me a window, they say they'll call, they call, they come in the early part of the window. Repair people, electricians, even the movers (except for That Guy himself, and I think we all know he is an exception to any notion of decent customer service).
I do not think that happened one time when I lived in the D.C. area. If people came within the window at all (which they usually did not), they failed to call. I used to spend hours waiting for people who never came — people I needed to fix important things, usually.

Coffee filter

It has come to my attention that it might be time for another "lexicon of New England" discussion.

If you go into a Dunkin' Donuts or local coffee shop or diner in New England, and order a coffee regular (or regular coffee) (or coffee regulah), you are going to get a cup of coffee with cream and sugar in it. That is what coffee regular means up here.

When I was a kid, that wasn't a problem, because no one who didn't know the code would ever ask for a regular coffee. If you wanted your coffee black, you'd say, "black coffee," or "coffee," and if they asked if you want cream or sugar, you'd say, "no, thanks, pally."

But now, there are these thousand other kinds of coffee. There's stuff with flavoring in it, and there are cappuccinos and lattes and other things with funny names. There are fourteen kinds of sweeteners and seven kinds of dairy and nondairy coffee lighteners. There are extensive coffee menus, which prompt many people to exclaim with exasperation that they "just want a regular coffee!"

And in most of the country, at most fancy coffee shops, that will get you an amused little smirk and a cup of black coffee.

But not up here.

It is my secret suspicion that that is why so many coffee shops and diners now put the lighteners and sweeteners out for you to do what you want with them. Which works, unless you're in a drive-through. In which case, "coffee regular" will still get you coffee with cream and sugar.

40 lashes

I think my eyelashes have gotten longer.
Is that likely?

Cold day in hell

I am brutally, miserably sick. It's just a bad cold, but I hate it.

You know what that means.

It means it's your job to entertain me.

Leave comments with jokes, links to hilarity on the internet, names of old TV shows I should be watching on hulu, whatever.

Go.