wpid-img_2097.jpgI think nearly everyone who is close to me laughs a little because I’m feeling-lady. I’ve had people tell me not to cry and I’ve actually had to explain that my tears were a natural expression of emotion and everything would be just fine. But, I also struggle to be more emotionally open to people, because I, like most Appalachian people, received a healthy dose of keep-your-private-business-private.

I tell my daughter she and her friends are the oversharing generation. It’s all on FB (or Instagram or Twitter or, or, or). And yet, she nurses her hurts in private, like most of us. I think they overstate in order to be engaging constantly, interesting at all times, and shocking. They live in a magazine layout or a liquor commercial because someone is always watching.

But it’s not genuine (speaking generally, not her specifically). They’re selling what their peers are buying. So, maybe we don’t need to ban them from Facebook or humiliate them on street corners. I get it. I might even do it, if I felt the situation called for it. I’m nothing, if not discipline inventive.

I’m just wondering, do we need to be teaching them less about what we find appropriate and more about being genuine? Might they (potentially) be more satisfied in their lives (and less likely to share inappropriate, bathroom-mirror selfies) if they were okay, their feelings were okay, their flaws were okay?

Just something this video, which I adore, of Mr. Rogers got me thinking about…

siglori

 

 

Tweet: On being feeling-lady, genuine, and okay. | @lorisizemore http://ctt.ec/03dhl+,/p.

image I’ve been building myself (okay, the internet isn’t helping) into a frenzy about the upcoming Veronica Mars movie. Okay, wait. Let me start at the beginning.

There was this show. I once wrote that it [the first season] was the “the most perfect season of television in the history of ever.”

There was this sarcastic, dark, twisty detective (also a teenage girl).

She was hilarious and vulnerable, loyal and jaded, wickedly clever and terribly isolated. The show also featured every best secondary and tertiary ever created and banter so good, you could cry. Yeah, I think that covers it.

This show was critically adored so, of course, it constantly struggled to stay on the air. It made it for three seasons (maybe in large part due to fan campaigns). And then, like all wonderful things in life, it ended.

I wish I were kidding when I tell you I walked around for a month singing Michelle Branch’s Goodbye to You and tearing up. I’m not ashamed at all of my frequently quoting dialogue in conversation to. this. day.

But, then something unheard of happened.

Since, hello? They couldn’t muster enough ratings to make it past three seasons, nobody in Hollywood said, “For purely sentimental reasons, here’s a couple million bucks. Go make a movie.” The creator of the show, Rob Thomas, started a Kickstarter campaign, broke a bunch of records, and raised the money in like ten hours.

Then, as far as I can tell, every single person came back for the movie (despite many of them going on to more success) and the movie was filmed over 28 days last summer. (Does this sound like a fairy tale to anyone else?) It will be released on 3.14.14.

I’m almost giddy with excitement. My season 1 DVDs arrived Friday to begin the obligatory rewatch before the movie premieres. To aid in this, Amazon has all the season DVDs on sale. (I’ll include links at the bottom.) It’s possible, I suppose, that Amazon is just making savvy and timely marketing choices, but I prefer to think of them as my considerate best friend. I’ve certainly purchased enough Kindles for them to want to stay on my good side.*

So, in closing, 2014 is the year I turn 40 and the year my fangirl dreams come true.

The movie’s first look trailer is included just below here, and I’m including some crunchy resources from all over the internet.

I was going to end with a VM quote, but I can’t pick one. Go watch this show. Now.

siglori

 

Linkage for you

*PS. Apparently, they’re also available to Amazon Prime members for free streaming.

You know I posted about watching good TV to become a better writer? This isn’t like that.

I had this major day-job thing going on the last few months, and I’ve been relieving stress by watching television. Specifically, soapy drama. Private Practice, the new Dallas. Which led me and my incredibly awesome daughter who enjoys the same odd things I do to old Dallas.

We’re on Season 2. And it’s… wow. It’s so bad it’s good. Like how everyone used to love to hate J.R. Amiright?

There are these “Oh, no, he did NOT!” moments, and “Disco [dancing] is creepy…” moments, and “They’re playing dramatic music, so we’ll know something dramatic is happening.” moments. Then there are the moments where my daughter looks at me like… that was really wrong/offensive/racist/sexist.

And I don’t really know what to say. Except, yes. Things were really like that three decades ago. Yes, Miss Ellie did advise that violent man if he had issues with his wife cheating he should go home and take it out on her. Yes, the white woman Sue Ellen was going to buy a baby from did say that if her situation weren’t so bad, she wouldn’t have to live with people (in an apartment building) that “weren’t [her] kind.”  You know what she meant because they showed lots of people of different races lazing about outside and they played music that kind of reminded me of Sanford and Son (which my grandfather used to watch and we only had one TV and three channels back then, people). Yes, “forced seduction” was a thing, and, yes, she did just totally get overwhelmed by lust when he practically raped her and gave in at the last second.

Don’t get me wrong–I’m enjoying tripping through the 80’s with my kid. I’m enjoying the cheesefest of awesome. It’s my guilty pleasure. But, it’s also a slice of culture. And that’s interesting, too.

The other day, I was driving to work. And I turned on the radio, like ya do, when work is only ten minutes away and it’s too much work to dig out a CD and you’re running late anyway.

And Hey, Soul Sister by Train was on the radio. And, it’s an earworm. Try to deny it. But, then, I realized this song is always like an accident you can’t look away from for me. Because it’s all, “Oh, that’s pretty. Poetic, even.” And then you’re all, “What did you just say? Why… why would you say that?”

You know I come with examples.

Your lipstick stains on the front lobe of my left side brains

Brains. Plural. He has only one front(al) lobe, but extra brains.

But it’s okay, because, by the time he’s singing about colliding and deciding, I’m singing along. Then he does this:

Hey soul sister, ain’t that mister mister on the radio, stereo

Mister, Mister? Really? I can’t even remember a single song from them. And I grew up in the 80’s. Not like I was born then. No, I lived through them. I started high school in the fall of ’88. I. Was. There. So, really? Mister, Mister makes you go all, “Hey, listen! It’s Mister, Mister on the radio! This is like the best day ever.”

I mean we had Madonna, Michael Jackson. The Boss and Guns and Roses. And Mister, Mister does it for you? Gives you that mushy feeling?

But, okay. It rhymes with sister, so… poetic license. Or, whatever.

But, then, my friends, then we get to the blow-my-mind portion of the song. The part where I stop listening altogether and try to figure out in what context this next part is ever a good thing:

My heart is bound to beat right out my untrimmed chest

And, now, I see that he actually references Madonna in that next line. And I never knew that. You know why? Because I can’t figure out why you’re telling this girl your chest is untrimmed.

Like it’s never been cut on? Or it’s outrageously hairy? Or… what? In fact, I can’t even decide when an untrimmed anything is good. Shaggy haircut? Sloppy. Big, grown out hedges, sticking out in all directions? You’re lazy. Long, nasty toenails? Ew.

Why, Train? Just, why?

Photo used with permission from stock.xchng. Photo by: ratnesh bhatt.

It’s kinda late and I have to get up early tomorrow which explains why I am wasting time on Facebook. But, luckily I was. Because two different ads showed me what is the “perfect blend of horror and comedy.” It’s horrmedy.

First of all, apparently, the cabin in the woods that everyone is so afraid of is a Rubik’s cube. Ever wondered what it would be like to LIVE in a Rubik’s cube? Probably “sexy, funny, scary, and bold.” And, second? Is that mouth thing supposed to scare me? A mouthful of razor sharp teeth with a mouthful of razor sharp teeth? For all that is good in the world, why? Horrmedy. That’s why.

It reminds me of the time my daughter called my house phone with my cell phone and when she said, “Hello,” it caused an infinite loop of hellos that, frankly, creeped me out and made me doubt my place in the time-place continuum. It was actually scarier than this movie looks.

 

As mentioned on many occasions, I have become a full on convert to the digital reading experience. However, I still enjoy the occasional magazine (I got suckered into a year’s subscription when my kid was fundraising so she could have a fifty cent toy).

So, I’m scanning through the magazine, and I see this ad.

And so many thoughts occur to me. I will share.

  • She has Oscar Mayer food, including Jello, in her purse. Sometimes, I throw my lunch in my purse for the ten minute drive to the office. I get how this could happen. But… there’s no context here. Just… Jewel likes Oscar Mayer so much, she carries it in her purse.
  • There’s makeup and guitar picks (which I totally get–I’m a writer. Good luck catching me without a pen and something to write on.). But… seashells? Seashells. Really?

  • There’s a picture of her and her husband in there. Aw. And peaking out of the very top is a tube of Butt Paste. No, you guys. It’s for babies. But, there’s absolutely nothing else in her entire purse to indicate she has children. So I look some more. Hair stuff, mix CDs, a pen, makeup. No, no kid stuff.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m so not above carrying Butt Paste in my purse. But it’s not top of the list. I’d probably have some toys in there, a snack (for my kids, not this Oscar Mayer fancy Triscuit and Jello mousse crap), some wipes. What mother doesn’t carry wipes? I just… don’t buy it. Either she has a diaper bag and the Butt Paste was thrown in there for effect or she is the most ill prepared parent in the history of ever. What the hell, Jewel?

In closing, I can only say this: Don’t show me what’s in your purse–I will judge you.

An article on CNN has a woman describing the 10 things she learned from her mom. It caught my attention right away with this:

“What’s the worst case scenario?” is a good approach to any dilemma.

I’m that mom. I always catch myself saying, “Okay, worst case scenario, X happens. So what can you do?” I’ve always believed that not only do you prepare for the worst so you can handle anything, but also that the worst isn’t all that scary when it has a name.

Other Me-Truisms

You can’t control how you feel, but you can control how you handle those feelings.

Feelings aren’t right or wrong, good or bad–they just are. But when we act on those feelings, we make the choice between doing the right thing or the wrong thing.

It is what it is.

I remember reading a couple of years ago that this saying had won a spot in the top ten most annoying sayings. I can’t give it up, though. It still rings so true to me. Life’s unfair, bad things happen to good people. No wailing or whining is going to change a situation. That’s called being a grown up. Yes, it sucks. Now what?

What are you going to do about it?

Too often, people feel out-of-control, powerless to change things. But putting the focus back on yourself and the fact that, yes, you can take action, can change all of that. Maybe it won’t end the situation, but we always have the chance to change potential outcomes.

I believe in personal responsibility and ownership. At least, the sayings I find myself pulling out when things get tough, would point to those things.

What core ideas or beliefs do you find yourself coming back to?