Night Two at Grantford Manor

Let's see...

In local news today, the generator's working. Our neighbor had to hit it with a rubber mallet a few times, but it's working. Our house is slowly warming up again, so I'm told. The generator is only capable of running the heating, water pumps, and a few lights; the only cooking to be had is via microwave. Truly the Stone Age. So I'm told. I wouldn't know. Nope. Tonight is...

Night Two at Grantford Manor.

In many ways, I do feel bad seeking refuge here in Hanover. My parents can cope, but my poor brother looked like a puppy needing rescue from a storm drain after a hurricane. Cold, wimpering, attention-starved. Poor guy. But, fuck that. I'm not freezing out of pity. No, just kidding, I really do feel bad. I'm just glad to be warm with my Tuany.

Anyway, I did go home today for a bit to meet up with my mom before heading off to the Nutcracker. We went to the Claremont Opera House which is far smaller, er, more intimate, than I remembered, but for its size it does seem to attract pretty impressive acts. My parents have seen many rock and folk artists there in the past. I saw Bill Clinton there way back in January before the New Hampshire Primary. My God that was a long time ago. But that's not the point. The point I'm trying to get to is that for all the incredible acts--Stevie Nicks, Capitol Steps, etc.--The Nutcracker, as performed by the New Hampshire Ballet company (or something to that effect) was decidedly un-incredible. I'm not going to go on to write a thorough review of the performance, for they are a ballet school first and foremost and I really do think it's fantastic for these kids to get an opportunity to perform, but my mom is right, "there are just some jobs where you need to be skinny." That is not to say that this was some sort of novelty fat camp show or something, but I think my mom suggested that the Dew Drop Fairy should wear a corset. Women can be so cruel. Tsk tsk.

What was interesting was hearing all the good ol' townsfolk talk about their cousin so-and-so or their good friends from across the state, all who did not have power and might not have it for the foreseeable future. And then there was this bitch behind me who not only bragged about only having lost power for a few hours, but then proceeded to hold a jabbering two-year-old at what felt like mere inches from my right ear for the entirety of the performance. Rather than get annoyed with the child, who had no choice in attending the ballet and I'm sure would rather have been nearly anywhere else at that moment in time, I began to listen. Now, I have always loved how innocent kids are, and how perceptive their most basic questions are. This child, however, was disappointingly unprofound, but I must admit I laughed out loud when he told his mother that "girls shouldn't dress like boys and boys shouldn't dance." Then I began to think about how we as a society construct gender until I realized I was no longer at Vassar and no one in the real world gives a damn about gender construction. (Though, for the record, the Nutcracker is racist as shit. The Egyptians and Chinese portrayals in particular smacked with Eurocentrism, complete ignorance mixed with a certain sense of I-don't-give-three-fucks-about-your-culture. And don't get me started about the sexism inherent in a ballet around a girl's fantasies about a virile soldier who fends off nasty ROUS-type rats and whisks her off to watch the aforementioned Egyptians and Chinese along with a slew of other "exotic peoples.")

I tried not to go off on race and all that, but now that I'm on the topic, you know what really grinds my gears (I hope you all read that in Peter Griffin's voice)? Good people who are still racist as, you guessed it, shit. A coworker the other day, who is among the most selfless people I've ever met (I think, anyway. When I first met her I thought she was just trying to win my friendship by sucking up to me but now it appears she's actually that way. That or she's a serial killer. Whatever.) said, "I know this is going to sound rude or whatever, but oriental people are the rudest people on earth." Once I collected my jaw from the carpet, I called her a racist in the most loving way I knew, and we haven't talked about it since. It's a hard line to walk, remaining conscious of ignorant speech while trying not to come off as holier-than-thou obnoxious, but also not allowing too many people a free ride on spewing pre-hate speech. Apparently that line is increasing fuzzy when those ignorant pricks are buying grossly over-priced Ivy League apparel made in a sweatshop somewhere (Oh shit, there I go again. Damn social sensitivity. I just have to be more careful!) Whatever. I really do hate the Ivy League though. Motherfucking elitist pricks.

So for those of you who just skipped to the bottom hoping for a brief synopsis: No electricity still, nitpicky mothers and hardly morbidly obese ballerinas, gender construction, the racist and sexist art form known as ballet, and general racism. Oh, and racist motherfucking Ivy League elitist pricks.

Finally, back by popular demand, the YouTube Clip of the Day: the "I'm a vegetarian" music video. Creepy fucks.