Here's some food for thought: what exactly are you buying when you "purchase" a song from iTunes, Rhapsody or another music application or website? Those of you who are more tech/Internet-savvy than I am may have known about the vagaries of DRM (Digital Rights Management) for years, but I didn't hear about it - or didn't pay much attention to it - until a few months ago, and I still didn't know anything about it other than that it was basically a service agreement with iTunes.
I first stumbled onto the fact that "my" music, purchased from the iTunes store, wasn't limitlessly mine when I got a new computer at the end of October. I had transferred all of my files, and went to play a song I had downloaded through iTunes, but had to enter my account password before the system would let me play it. iTunes then warned me that I was assigning this computer as one of the five my purchased music could be played on. Five? Why would there be a limit on it? I bought the song, just like I used to buy CDs!
Chris Pirillo, CNN's new tech expert and a self-proclaimed "Geek, Internet Entrepreneur and Shameless Self-Promoter" (among many others), talks about what DRM really is and what he thinks about it with far more humor - and knowledge! - than I'm capable of on techie issues in today's "Digital-music buyer, don't be a fool," which I highly recommend reading.
What got me thinking about the digital music scene today was a co-worker's mention this morning of a new site called Lala - it's a legal(!), internet-based application that allows you to upload apparently limitless quantities of your own music through a free program called Music Mover, and then listen to it from any computer with an internet connection. You can purchase web songs, which are song files that live only on the web, for 10 cents each, and MP3 files (which you can download into the same Music Mover software) for about 89 cents each. If you buy a web song and later go back and buy an MP3 of the same song, the 10 cents you paid for the web song is credited toward the purchase price of the MP3.
You can explore other users' collections and listen to any song once for free before you need to "add" it, which means buying the web song. And you get 50 web song credits ($5.00 worth of music) when you sign up for an account - also free, no subscription necessary.
The best part (as if that weren't enough already!)? Lala.com is DRM-free. So any MP3 you purchase and download is yours forever, and any web song you purchase is yours as long as Lala exists.
I'm still a Lala newbie, but so far, I'm completely sold - what a great idea!
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Whose prayer?
As moved and inspired as I was by President Obama's inauguration and his inaugural speech, and as pleased as I am with the work he's been doing since, there was one part of the inaugural ceremony that really left me cold, to borrow an expression of my mom's when she's supremely annoyed about something: Rick Warren's recitation of the Lord's Prayer during the invocation.
I was skeptical about the selection of "Pastor Rick" as the religious leader to give the inaugural invocation, but was willing to listen with an open mind. I was unimpressed by most of what he said, but more or less mollified by his statement that "we are Americans, united not by race or religion or blood but to our commitment to freedom and justice for all." At least he was focusing on what unites us. Until he segued into "Our Father, who art in heaven..." I actually paused, waiting for him to continue in some other way than "hallowed be thy name," thinking he couldn't possibly be reciting the Lord's Prayer, an indisputably Christian-only devotion.
I was raised in the Protestant tradition and the Lord's Prayer actually has very significant personal meaning for me, but I was furious that anyone would think to make such an incredibly sectarian statement during a national ceremony, since ours is, after all, a secular government. I stood there, tight-lipped, arms crossed, teeth clenched, all but tapping my foot as I heard some of the people around me slowly start to chime in in quiet murmurs. Are you kidding me? I thought. This is ridiculous. A day of national celebration and renewal, and this jerk is taking it away from probably half the people watching.
Even to me, who learned the words he was speaking before I was old enough to fully understand their import, it felt like a slap in the face. I can't imagine how anyone not raised in or adherent to a Christian tradition must have felt. It was as though this man was telling them they weren't American, not really, not when the words he was speaking, to one very specific conception of a deity, were foreign to them.
I've heard different reactions to this, from ones in the "Oh, it's just Christmas!" vein to "He's an evangelical pastor, you got what you paid for," to ones similar to my own. I'm curious to hear your thoughts - was Rick Warren out of line - should he have continued in the inclusive tone he began with? Or does the invocation and its sentiment belong to the religious tradition of the person speaking it, and everyone else is just out of luck? What do you think?
(And on a completely unrelated note: Hugh Jackman is hosting the Academy Awards this year - yes! As Jackman is up there with James McAvoy on my to-drool-over list, I'll definitely tune in for at least part of it!)
I was skeptical about the selection of "Pastor Rick" as the religious leader to give the inaugural invocation, but was willing to listen with an open mind. I was unimpressed by most of what he said, but more or less mollified by his statement that "we are Americans, united not by race or religion or blood but to our commitment to freedom and justice for all." At least he was focusing on what unites us. Until he segued into "Our Father, who art in heaven..." I actually paused, waiting for him to continue in some other way than "hallowed be thy name," thinking he couldn't possibly be reciting the Lord's Prayer, an indisputably Christian-only devotion.
I was raised in the Protestant tradition and the Lord's Prayer actually has very significant personal meaning for me, but I was furious that anyone would think to make such an incredibly sectarian statement during a national ceremony, since ours is, after all, a secular government. I stood there, tight-lipped, arms crossed, teeth clenched, all but tapping my foot as I heard some of the people around me slowly start to chime in in quiet murmurs. Are you kidding me? I thought. This is ridiculous. A day of national celebration and renewal, and this jerk is taking it away from probably half the people watching.
Even to me, who learned the words he was speaking before I was old enough to fully understand their import, it felt like a slap in the face. I can't imagine how anyone not raised in or adherent to a Christian tradition must have felt. It was as though this man was telling them they weren't American, not really, not when the words he was speaking, to one very specific conception of a deity, were foreign to them.
I've heard different reactions to this, from ones in the "Oh, it's just Christmas!" vein to "He's an evangelical pastor, you got what you paid for," to ones similar to my own. I'm curious to hear your thoughts - was Rick Warren out of line - should he have continued in the inclusive tone he began with? Or does the invocation and its sentiment belong to the religious tradition of the person speaking it, and everyone else is just out of luck? What do you think?
(And on a completely unrelated note: Hugh Jackman is hosting the Academy Awards this year - yes! As Jackman is up there with James McAvoy on my to-drool-over list, I'll definitely tune in for at least part of it!)
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Welcome to Washington, Mr. President
My legs are half-frozen, my hair is a tangled disaster, my shoulders are knotted and sore from hunching against the wind...and I've never been more thrilled, inspired or hopeful in my life. Why? Because I stood on the National Mall at noon today and watched President Barack Obama take his oath of office as the 44th President of the United States.(Above, the Washington Monument from across the (half-frozen!) Potomac.)
I was not an Obama fan during the primaries. I was pulling for John Edwards, then for Hillary Clinton, shaking my head at Obama's lack of experience and rolling my eyes at his celebrity status with so many people my age. But then, the last few months of the primaries, I started really listening to what he had to say, watching the way he interacted with people and the effect he had on them.
Once I started paying attention, I couldn't actually find anything to dislike about Barack Obama at all.
(Below, the crowd at the Lincoln Memorial, around 9:30am)
As the general election heated up, so did my enthusiasm for the Democratic candidate, this husband, this father, this basketball pl
ayer, this statesman whose love of country resonates in every word he speaks. Well before November 4th, I was committed to doing what I could to see him elected, not only because he was my party's candidate but because I finally saw in him the spark that so many others were drawn to before me. The hope, the commitment to change not only for the betterment of this country but for that of the world, and the unflagging patriotism that acknowledges our country's failings at the same time that it reminds us of its greatness and its potential.On November 4th, I cast one of the millions of ballots that helped turn Virginia blue, then sat on the floor in front of the TV with tears streaming down my face as President-elect Obama gave his address from Grant Park in Chicago. And today I stood on the Mall, again with tears in my eyes, and listened to President Barack Obama speak for the first time - seriously, hopefully, determinedly - to the American people.
I've always been proud to be an American, proud of the dreams and determination that have made us what we are, proud to be part of the astonishingly diverse heart of this country. But I've never been as filled with hope, and the belief that the status quo can change for the better, as I am today.
(Above, my vantage point from the WWII Memorial)
The day before the election, I wrote a post for my non-profit's blog, an excerpt of which I've been thinking about for the last week or so:
"I have a challenge for our next president, whether he turns out to be Barack Obama or John McCain:Hold onto the sense of community that’s grown among your supporters, among the citizens of this country, during the campaign. It’s been a long one and we’re all tired of it, but we’re united in our desire to see a better, brighter future for America. Take that unity and hold it up for the country to see, make it clear that regardless of who any one person voted for, the next steps in American history are up to all of us. Foster that sense of community among the diverse voices that comprise the citizenship of our country – if you do, I believe that you’ll be able to accomplish more than any president in the last twenty years has dreamed possible.
Use the collective energy of that community to fix what’s broken...Gather [it] around minority groups who are too often the innocent victims of attackers who don’t understand them and only recognize them as different and therefore dangerous. Pit the enormity of that positive vibe against the negativity of...extremist positions, and let’s see if we can’t overwhelm them in such a way that makes the[m] obsolete.
I believe the American people have the power to accomplish all that and more and I challenge you, Mr. President, to harness it. The marathon[ of the election]’s almost over, but the real test of strength has yet to begin. I hope you have the guts to meet it head-on, and win."
(Above, President and Michelle Obama - on one of the Mall's jumbo trons - as he takes his oath of office)
I'm sure no one in President Obama's closest circles (and probably not many in mine, for that matter) has read that post - November 3rd was kind of a busy day for them! - but listening to him speak, the following night and this morning, I feel heard. And I believe that with President Obama in office, the dream of a united America, of an active citizenry and a government - or at least a White House - that hears and fights for the needs of its citizens can once again be a reality.
(At left, the crowd at the WWII Memorial)
If I didn't believe that, I probably wouldn't have walked the 4.5 miles from my apartment to downtown D.C. in this morning's 20-some-odd-degree weather, bundled up in tights, knee-highs, wool socks, jeans, tank top, long-sleeved tee, sweater, windbreaker, scarf, coat and fleece headband, with hand warmers in my pockets and toe warmers in my shoes, to stand with the mass of people that filled the entire length of the Mall and the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and watch the swearing-in of our 44th president. If I didn't believe that, I would likely have spent this Inauguration as I spent the last one: ignoring it, and wishing the motorcades and barricades and military checkpoints would stop messing with my routes through the city.
But I do believe it, so I wanted to be there, to watch history in the making, to watch the first moments of a presidential term I believe will bring extraordinary and much-needed changes to America. And to say: Welcome to Washington, Mr. President!
Friday, January 16, 2009
What language est-ce que I parle?
If I haven't mentioned it already, translation is one of my passions. It's kind of a geeky thing to get excited about, I know, but I can't help it - it really is an absolutely fascinating process, and one that I love diving into because it gets my brain working. It's both creative and analytical, similar to music (or at least its composition), which is probably a big part of the reason it appeals to me.
In the most literal - and boring - sense, translation is just the substitution of one word for another that means the same thing in a different language. That's what I thought I was getting myself into when I found out I had to take English to French Translation the second semester of my year abroad, but I couldn't have been more wrong.
Yes, you're taking words from one language and putting them into another, but finding the right ones and the right way to put them together is about a lot more than just individual words: idiomatic expressions, sector-specific phrases ("valeur" means "value," but in a business sense there are several other possible meanings as well) and most importantly, the author's voice. Someone reading a translation shouldn't know it is one, and often doesn't, if the translator has done a good job, unless they happen to glance at the title page and see that little "Translated By." Just as everyone has their own unique voice when they talk - distinguished by things like phrasing, emphasis and often-used expressions - authors have one when they write, and it's a translator's job to figure out how to bring that voice to life in the target language (that's translator/interpreter-speak for the language they're translating/interpreting into).
But I'm digressing from what I actually wanted to talk about (how unusual!)...
I'm in the middle of my first big freelance translation project, and between reading in French while typing in English and thinking back and forth between the two, my brain keeps slipping up and forgetting there's a difference when I'm not in translation mode. I'll be sitting in a meeting at work, talking about First Amendment rights, and all of a sudden I can't think of any word for "rights" except "droits," which is the French. Of course I know what the word means in both languages, concept-wise, but I just can't find the English word in my head. It's a little disconcerting!
My first experience with this internal mélange of words was during my year abroad, although it started more with an internal vocabulary black hole. About halfway through my first semester in France, my friends and I would be talking (in French - it was an immersive program and we'd all signed a contract agreeing to speak French 100% of our time there), and one of us would come to a stuttering halt mid-sentence. It was what I started calling "l'espace vide" - the empty space, the void - between English and French. And it's frustrating - you know exactly what you mean, and can define the word you're looking for in both languages, but the actual word for it in either one has momentarily vanished from your head.
A couple of weeks after the beginning of second semester, I was walking back to my host family's apartment from the Saturday market, and suddenly realized I had no idea which language I was thinking in. When I focused - cautiously! after all, who knew what was going on in there? - I thought it seemed like a sort of mental double-speak: both languages running through my mind simultaneously, or in very quick echoes of each other, and the conscious part of my brain not entirely sure which was louder. After that is when the mental word substitution started - I'd be talking, thinking or writing as usual, and all of a sudden there'd be a word in my head in the wrong language, acting as a mental roadblock for a minute.
It usually happens when I'm talking about a concept in the language I didn't learn it in. Anything involving wine almost always comes to my head in French first, because the first wine-tasting class I took was in France, so I learned to talk about it in French. Certain words also seem to me to sound more like what they mean, as far as connotations go, in one language or the other. "Awkward," for instance, works so much better in English, because the word itself is awkward, by sound as well as definition. "Maladroit" or "gênant" ...technically they mean the same thing, but they don't feel like the definition the way the English does. "Soulagement" is one I've been having issues finding the English for lately, because to me, the French embodies the full concept - of relief, ease, solace, comfort - better than any one English word does.
It's a peculiar problem to have, but since it makes me think I don't really mind. I do sometimes wish I spoke a third language fluently - the mental gymnastics would probably be exhausting, but I'm curious as to what it sounds like inside a trilingual person's head!
So if you're talking to me and I stop mid-sentence and get a confused and/or frustrated look on my face, bear with me or ask me for the definition so you can tell me what word has escaped me. And if you're curious, ask me what it is in French!
In the most literal - and boring - sense, translation is just the substitution of one word for another that means the same thing in a different language. That's what I thought I was getting myself into when I found out I had to take English to French Translation the second semester of my year abroad, but I couldn't have been more wrong.
Yes, you're taking words from one language and putting them into another, but finding the right ones and the right way to put them together is about a lot more than just individual words: idiomatic expressions, sector-specific phrases ("valeur" means "value," but in a business sense there are several other possible meanings as well) and most importantly, the author's voice. Someone reading a translation shouldn't know it is one, and often doesn't, if the translator has done a good job, unless they happen to glance at the title page and see that little "Translated By." Just as everyone has their own unique voice when they talk - distinguished by things like phrasing, emphasis and often-used expressions - authors have one when they write, and it's a translator's job to figure out how to bring that voice to life in the target language (that's translator/interpreter-speak for the language they're translating/interpreting into).
But I'm digressing from what I actually wanted to talk about (how unusual!)...
I'm in the middle of my first big freelance translation project, and between reading in French while typing in English and thinking back and forth between the two, my brain keeps slipping up and forgetting there's a difference when I'm not in translation mode. I'll be sitting in a meeting at work, talking about First Amendment rights, and all of a sudden I can't think of any word for "rights" except "droits," which is the French. Of course I know what the word means in both languages, concept-wise, but I just can't find the English word in my head. It's a little disconcerting!
My first experience with this internal mélange of words was during my year abroad, although it started more with an internal vocabulary black hole. About halfway through my first semester in France, my friends and I would be talking (in French - it was an immersive program and we'd all signed a contract agreeing to speak French 100% of our time there), and one of us would come to a stuttering halt mid-sentence. It was what I started calling "l'espace vide" - the empty space, the void - between English and French. And it's frustrating - you know exactly what you mean, and can define the word you're looking for in both languages, but the actual word for it in either one has momentarily vanished from your head.
A couple of weeks after the beginning of second semester, I was walking back to my host family's apartment from the Saturday market, and suddenly realized I had no idea which language I was thinking in. When I focused - cautiously! after all, who knew what was going on in there? - I thought it seemed like a sort of mental double-speak: both languages running through my mind simultaneously, or in very quick echoes of each other, and the conscious part of my brain not entirely sure which was louder. After that is when the mental word substitution started - I'd be talking, thinking or writing as usual, and all of a sudden there'd be a word in my head in the wrong language, acting as a mental roadblock for a minute.
It usually happens when I'm talking about a concept in the language I didn't learn it in. Anything involving wine almost always comes to my head in French first, because the first wine-tasting class I took was in France, so I learned to talk about it in French. Certain words also seem to me to sound more like what they mean, as far as connotations go, in one language or the other. "Awkward," for instance, works so much better in English, because the word itself is awkward, by sound as well as definition. "Maladroit" or "gênant" ...technically they mean the same thing, but they don't feel like the definition the way the English does. "Soulagement" is one I've been having issues finding the English for lately, because to me, the French embodies the full concept - of relief, ease, solace, comfort - better than any one English word does.
It's a peculiar problem to have, but since it makes me think I don't really mind. I do sometimes wish I spoke a third language fluently - the mental gymnastics would probably be exhausting, but I'm curious as to what it sounds like inside a trilingual person's head!
So if you're talking to me and I stop mid-sentence and get a confused and/or frustrated look on my face, bear with me or ask me for the definition so you can tell me what word has escaped me. And if you're curious, ask me what it is in French!
Thursday, January 15, 2009
"What's speed-dating actually like?"
That's something I've wondered, off and on, since I first heard about the practice when I was in college. And last night, I found out!
There's a group called Professionals in the City (with events in Baltimore, Boston, L.A., NYC and Philadelphia, as well as D.C.) whose email list I somehow ended up on around the time I graduated - they hold regular "mixer" events, from introductory language workshops to galas for various celebrations. Speed-dating - which they call "Four Minute Dating" - seems to be one of their specialties, and the variations on the basic idea they offer are legion. They've held Four Minute Dating sessions for "travel lovers," "Jewish singles" and "international professionals," along with a Mini Four Minute Dating series that they cap at a much lower number of attendees, a strategy they advertise as less hectic.
I've been curious about these things for a while, and finally decided in November that I was actually going to go to one. But between the holidays and a December Pros in the City event schedule that didn't offer much for the under-25 crowd, I didn't get around to it until last night's "Twentysomethings Seated Four Minute Dating." A girlfriend and I, talking about the idea over happy hour late last year, decided it was the kind of thing that would be much less scary if you didn't go alone, so when I saw the "Twentysomethings" event on the schedule, I nagged her into going with me. If it turned out to be totally awful, I reasoned, at least we'd be able to sit next to each other and laugh at how terrible it was.
We arrived at the appointed time, got our nametags (first name only, plus an ID number assigned by the staff to keep track of everyone) and walked into the venue before grabbing a drink from the bar. Apparently the opinion that meeting people gets exponentially harder after dorm life is over is a popular one, because there were a lot more people than I was expecting!
The Pros in the City staff called us to some semblance of order after about 15 minutes to explain how the evening would work: girls would sit on one side of the numbered tables and sofas in the room and guys would sit on the other, rotating up one numbered seat every four minutes. They handed out sheets of paper with places to write down the ID number and name of everyone we talked to, plus a place to check off "interested" or "not interested" (which I didn't actually use, since the paper was visible to the people I was talking to - that just didn't seem fair!) and room for comments.
I kept up pretty well with the names and ID numbers of the guys I talked to, but didn't do so well with writing comments. Looking at the paper now, I've got the name of a movie I'm supposed to watch (Idiocracy - although I'm also supposed to pretend the suggestion came from the guy's friend that I talked to right before him, since the movie is apparently a little vulgar), a couple of countries people were from or where they had studied/worked/traveled, some hobbies and "MCM!" for the jazz percussionist who, like me, ran the Marine Corps Marathon this past fall.
Going in, I was pretty sure it would be awkward at least part of the time, and it was, but I was surprised that my overall opinion upon leaving - and well before that, actually - was, "That was fun!" The pace was slightly frantic and there were some people I had no interest in talking to again, but the exercise of making (quick!) conversation with such a variety of personality types was really interesting. And, being a people person, one I enjoyed.
The highlights...
Positives:
Final take: Not something I'd do particularly often, but definitely a fun time every once in a while!
There's a group called Professionals in the City (with events in Baltimore, Boston, L.A., NYC and Philadelphia, as well as D.C.) whose email list I somehow ended up on around the time I graduated - they hold regular "mixer" events, from introductory language workshops to galas for various celebrations. Speed-dating - which they call "Four Minute Dating" - seems to be one of their specialties, and the variations on the basic idea they offer are legion. They've held Four Minute Dating sessions for "travel lovers," "Jewish singles" and "international professionals," along with a Mini Four Minute Dating series that they cap at a much lower number of attendees, a strategy they advertise as less hectic.
I've been curious about these things for a while, and finally decided in November that I was actually going to go to one. But between the holidays and a December Pros in the City event schedule that didn't offer much for the under-25 crowd, I didn't get around to it until last night's "Twentysomethings Seated Four Minute Dating." A girlfriend and I, talking about the idea over happy hour late last year, decided it was the kind of thing that would be much less scary if you didn't go alone, so when I saw the "Twentysomethings" event on the schedule, I nagged her into going with me. If it turned out to be totally awful, I reasoned, at least we'd be able to sit next to each other and laugh at how terrible it was.
We arrived at the appointed time, got our nametags (first name only, plus an ID number assigned by the staff to keep track of everyone) and walked into the venue before grabbing a drink from the bar. Apparently the opinion that meeting people gets exponentially harder after dorm life is over is a popular one, because there were a lot more people than I was expecting!
The Pros in the City staff called us to some semblance of order after about 15 minutes to explain how the evening would work: girls would sit on one side of the numbered tables and sofas in the room and guys would sit on the other, rotating up one numbered seat every four minutes. They handed out sheets of paper with places to write down the ID number and name of everyone we talked to, plus a place to check off "interested" or "not interested" (which I didn't actually use, since the paper was visible to the people I was talking to - that just didn't seem fair!) and room for comments.
I kept up pretty well with the names and ID numbers of the guys I talked to, but didn't do so well with writing comments. Looking at the paper now, I've got the name of a movie I'm supposed to watch (Idiocracy - although I'm also supposed to pretend the suggestion came from the guy's friend that I talked to right before him, since the movie is apparently a little vulgar), a couple of countries people were from or where they had studied/worked/traveled, some hobbies and "MCM!" for the jazz percussionist who, like me, ran the Marine Corps Marathon this past fall.
Going in, I was pretty sure it would be awkward at least part of the time, and it was, but I was surprised that my overall opinion upon leaving - and well before that, actually - was, "That was fun!" The pace was slightly frantic and there were some people I had no interest in talking to again, but the exercise of making (quick!) conversation with such a variety of personality types was really interesting. And, being a people person, one I enjoyed.
The highlights...
Positives:
- Talking to a lot of people you'd probably never meet otherwise, many of whom are really nice.
- Having a "safe space" in which to meet everyone and another one to follow up: Pros in the City sent every participant a log-in for their site today, where you can go to write a note to up to six people you'd want to talk to again. Their server patches messages back and forth, and your contact information remains confidential unless you decide to share it.
- Realizing that I have at least one common interest with a decent cross-section of the population.
- Laughing. A lot.
- The volume! There were almost 100 people there, and with everyone talking at once, you had to nearly yell to be heard. When I got home, my throat felt like I'd spent the evening at a soccer game or a concert.
- There were so many people that we got through less than half. Although if I'd talked to any more people (I talked to more than 15 as it was), I'm not sure I'd remember them clearly.
- There were more guys than girls!
Final take: Not something I'd do particularly often, but definitely a fun time every once in a while!
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
The Winter Coat Conundrum
It's a terrifying question: what winter coat to buy? Having grown up less than two miles from the beach in sunny southern California, this is an issue I never had to confront before my first winter in college. I shrugged, said, "Yeah, sure" when my mom showed me a gray peacoat she had found on sale in August, stuffed it in the bottom of my suitcase and didn't give it a second thought until we hit 55 degrees at the end of October. (When 65 degrees has been "chilly" enough to pull on a sweatshirt for 18 years, 55 requires some of the heaviest clothing you own.)
I quickly realized, however, that there are specific rules that must be followed when it comes to the purchasing and wearing of winter coats - although they don't seem to apply west of Chicago.
First and foremost, the colors acceptable in a winter coat are limited: black and camel/tan are the classics, with the less-frequently-available gray, red (women only) and brown mixed in. For women (sorry, guys) there's also winter white and occasionally cream, for those who have the baffling ability to wander around a dirty, often wet and slushy city for three or four months without attracting a single smudge.
Next, cut and fabric: when in doubt, a classic wool coat is the way to go. Double- or single-breasted, peacoat, walking or full-length are all acceptable, but beware the detachable hood, as you may end up the recipient of one of those pitying "What are they wearing?" looks should you happen to be walking around with yours partially detached. Non-wool coats are tricky, but can be pulled off. The key to successfully wearing a "puffer" or ski-style coat in the city is to ensure that it's one you could never actually wear for any appreciable amount of time in the snow (i.e. your rear-end would freeze, you'd get snow up your sleeves or down your neck, etc.).
Finally, style: scarf or no scarf, open or closed, (attached) hood up or down, belted or belt looped and tied at your back? These are the essential questions when it comes to actually wearing the coat you've picked, and the answers vary from year to year. Spend a few minutes watching any of the tween or teen dramas on the CW at the beginning of the cold season each year and you'll be up to speed before you know it.
Since, as you've probably noticed, all of this strikes me as more than a little ridiculous (it's a coat, it's bulky by definition, you wear it outside and in particularly cold buildings to keep warm - why does it have to be an annual fashion statement?), I've come up with my own set of quick-and-dirty rules on coat buying and wearing:
Now if only I could get people on the east coast to realize that it's much more comfortable to dress according to the weather, and not according to what the calendar says it should be...
I quickly realized, however, that there are specific rules that must be followed when it comes to the purchasing and wearing of winter coats - although they don't seem to apply west of Chicago.
First and foremost, the colors acceptable in a winter coat are limited: black and camel/tan are the classics, with the less-frequently-available gray, red (women only) and brown mixed in. For women (sorry, guys) there's also winter white and occasionally cream, for those who have the baffling ability to wander around a dirty, often wet and slushy city for three or four months without attracting a single smudge.
Next, cut and fabric: when in doubt, a classic wool coat is the way to go. Double- or single-breasted, peacoat, walking or full-length are all acceptable, but beware the detachable hood, as you may end up the recipient of one of those pitying "What are they wearing?" looks should you happen to be walking around with yours partially detached. Non-wool coats are tricky, but can be pulled off. The key to successfully wearing a "puffer" or ski-style coat in the city is to ensure that it's one you could never actually wear for any appreciable amount of time in the snow (i.e. your rear-end would freeze, you'd get snow up your sleeves or down your neck, etc.).
Finally, style: scarf or no scarf, open or closed, (attached) hood up or down, belted or belt looped and tied at your back? These are the essential questions when it comes to actually wearing the coat you've picked, and the answers vary from year to year. Spend a few minutes watching any of the tween or teen dramas on the CW at the beginning of the cold season each year and you'll be up to speed before you know it.
Since, as you've probably noticed, all of this strikes me as more than a little ridiculous (it's a coat, it's bulky by definition, you wear it outside and in particularly cold buildings to keep warm - why does it have to be an annual fashion statement?), I've come up with my own set of quick-and-dirty rules on coat buying and wearing:
- Don't pick the "in" coat for the year (or any coat. period.) if it makes you look like a scarecrow or impedes your ability to walk with your arms at less than a 45 degree angle.
- In fact, ignore what's "in" - last year's coat is still warm, probably still fairly neutral, fashion-wise, and still probably cost you a couple hundred dollars. You don't need another one that fits the same description.
- Don't shop for a coat before January if you can possibly avoid it. For reasons that escape me, designers think January is the perfect time to start breaking out the bikinis and stores start to panic about all the coats still in stock. I bought my current coat last February (after wearing the previous one exclusively for three and a half winters) and saved more than $100 on a coat (red!) that will last me for years. I was also able to wear it for a month and a half immediately after buying it.
- Snap decisions, when it comes to coats, are bad. Start looking around early, seeing what colors and styles you like - that you'll feel comfortable wearing for at least several years - and get a handle on a few general "looks" (color, cut, fabric, etc.) you'd be happy with, then watch for them to go on sale. And once they go on sale at department stores, check out the web: Overstock and Amazon can offer some great deals on winter outerwear. Less well-known sites like shop.com and pricegrabber.com take a little more time to wade through, but can also yield some great low prices.
Now if only I could get people on the east coast to realize that it's much more comfortable to dress according to the weather, and not according to what the calendar says it should be...
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Resolution
I've never been fond of making New Year's resolutions, mostly because I find the whole idea kind of silly. Yeah, new year, new beginning and all of that, but it doesn't make much sense to decide to become resolved about something based on an arbitrary day on the calendar. January 1st isn't particularly different from all the other days of the year: it comes around once every 12 months, it has special meaning for some people because of a birthday or anniversary, it's preceded and followed by the same two days every year...the only unique thing it has going for it is that it's the day we put a new calendar on the wall and start trying to remember to change the last digit or two of the year whenever we write the date.
Resolution isn't something you can flick on and off like a switch. It involves a lot of willpower and a sincere desire for change if it's going to last more than five minutes, five hours or five days. It gets given up on a lot, because resolving to do something usually involves doing it the hard way, and we all know how easy it is to slip back to what's, well, easy.
So in my mind, the best time to make a resolution is when you're feeling resolved about something. Our most important national resolution was announced to the world on July 4th, which is about as far away from January 1st as you can get in a year. And as far as I know, January 1st isn't a particularly popular wedding date, although wedding vows are among the most serious resolutions out there. We don't know from one day to the next what the rest of the year will bring, so why not incorporate resolutions into our lives as we find them necessary, rather than on a particular date?
Resolutions, like the new year, invoke the idea of new beginnings (which is probably why we've linked them together - it makes sense, although I think we got it backwards), which are usually exciting and almost always a little scary. The difference is that while the calendar can mark the time, it can't create any real change in our lives; we make our new beginnings ourselves, or are pushed into them by circumstance.
I'm looking forward to diving into 2009, even though I'm not making any resolutions today. 2008 was something of a rough year for me, involving the deaths of two people and a dog, all of whom I love, the end of a relationship that meant a great deal to me, several tumultuous and stressful months at work that I'm not entirely certain are over and the over-arching stress of having all of those things happen one after another at the rate of about one per month. For a number of weeks this summer and fall, I felt like I was in the middle of an ocean, being pummeled by waves - one after another - managing to tread water in between them, but not making any real progress toward catching my breath or striking out toward dry land.
I'm still working through some of the emotional aftermath of last year, but I know that I'll carry some solid life lessons with me into 2009, along with good memories that were, either directly or indirectly, the result of 2008's turmoil. As a result of my grandmother's death, I spent a wonderful weekend in New York with family I rarely get to see. I wallowed after the break-up, that day and many others, but I also dragged myself out of bed at 6am the next day and ran a 10K faster than I ever had before - and have continued to run even faster since. After several generally frustrating and sometimes painful months, I learned (I think) to put my own needs first, personally and professionally, and to always strive for balance between the two.
If I were going to make a resolution for 2009, it would be to make the most of it, the bad as well as the good. To take the bad in stride, learn what I can from it and keep going, all the while holding fast to the good and pulling it along with me, both for present happiness and for warmth in darker times to come.
But that isn't a resolution for a year, it's a resolution for a lifetime. And it's one I try to remind myself of whenever I'm feeling cranky or blue. Sure, it sometimes gets lost in the shuffle of the day-to-day, but whenever I feel like I've been kicked into the dirt and am sitting there gasping for breath, that resolution usually surfaces somewhere in my mind between bouts of tears, anger or grief and eventually convinces me to pick myself up, brush off the dust and get moving again. After all, time doesn't wait for anyone and I certainly don't intend to waste much of it on the downside of life.
So here's wishing you all a very happy new year, and success in any resolutions you make, today or any other.
Resolution isn't something you can flick on and off like a switch. It involves a lot of willpower and a sincere desire for change if it's going to last more than five minutes, five hours or five days. It gets given up on a lot, because resolving to do something usually involves doing it the hard way, and we all know how easy it is to slip back to what's, well, easy.
So in my mind, the best time to make a resolution is when you're feeling resolved about something. Our most important national resolution was announced to the world on July 4th, which is about as far away from January 1st as you can get in a year. And as far as I know, January 1st isn't a particularly popular wedding date, although wedding vows are among the most serious resolutions out there. We don't know from one day to the next what the rest of the year will bring, so why not incorporate resolutions into our lives as we find them necessary, rather than on a particular date?
Resolutions, like the new year, invoke the idea of new beginnings (which is probably why we've linked them together - it makes sense, although I think we got it backwards), which are usually exciting and almost always a little scary. The difference is that while the calendar can mark the time, it can't create any real change in our lives; we make our new beginnings ourselves, or are pushed into them by circumstance.
I'm looking forward to diving into 2009, even though I'm not making any resolutions today. 2008 was something of a rough year for me, involving the deaths of two people and a dog, all of whom I love, the end of a relationship that meant a great deal to me, several tumultuous and stressful months at work that I'm not entirely certain are over and the over-arching stress of having all of those things happen one after another at the rate of about one per month. For a number of weeks this summer and fall, I felt like I was in the middle of an ocean, being pummeled by waves - one after another - managing to tread water in between them, but not making any real progress toward catching my breath or striking out toward dry land.
I'm still working through some of the emotional aftermath of last year, but I know that I'll carry some solid life lessons with me into 2009, along with good memories that were, either directly or indirectly, the result of 2008's turmoil. As a result of my grandmother's death, I spent a wonderful weekend in New York with family I rarely get to see. I wallowed after the break-up, that day and many others, but I also dragged myself out of bed at 6am the next day and ran a 10K faster than I ever had before - and have continued to run even faster since. After several generally frustrating and sometimes painful months, I learned (I think) to put my own needs first, personally and professionally, and to always strive for balance between the two.
If I were going to make a resolution for 2009, it would be to make the most of it, the bad as well as the good. To take the bad in stride, learn what I can from it and keep going, all the while holding fast to the good and pulling it along with me, both for present happiness and for warmth in darker times to come.
But that isn't a resolution for a year, it's a resolution for a lifetime. And it's one I try to remind myself of whenever I'm feeling cranky or blue. Sure, it sometimes gets lost in the shuffle of the day-to-day, but whenever I feel like I've been kicked into the dirt and am sitting there gasping for breath, that resolution usually surfaces somewhere in my mind between bouts of tears, anger or grief and eventually convinces me to pick myself up, brush off the dust and get moving again. After all, time doesn't wait for anyone and I certainly don't intend to waste much of it on the downside of life.
So here's wishing you all a very happy new year, and success in any resolutions you make, today or any other.
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