These Are (A Matter of Privilege) Troubled Times

1) Not to complain about my communal living situation, but it isn't all sunshine and roses in our household these days.

Last week, I did a little budget reconsideration. Turns out that the amount of money I had budgeted for food every month was about half of what I have actually been spending. Between random lunches out, trips to the convenience store to get bottled water, and my twice weekly trips to Caribou Coffee for a cup of java and a scone (yummy!), my food budget had soared out of control. No wonder I have no money for my monthly shopping spree!

So I made up a list of every damn meal for the next week and went to the grocery store to get every possible item I would need. Rather than go the c-store four times a week and spend a dollar each time getting water, I bought a 16-pack of water for $4. Rather than eating lunch out, I will make a huge pot of vegetable soup and eat it for five meals (yes, it's planned for FIVE meals). No trips to Caribou allowed. I will have lots of tea and toast.

Okay, this is great, but back to the problem of communal living. I share a side-by-side fridge with three other adults. We don't share food, except for the occasional nicking of someone's milk, usually to be used as a cream for coffee or tea. I have access to one shelf all my own and a crisper for fruits and vegetables that is shared. The freezer is currently broken. When I first began this crusade to cut my food budget, I never took this lack of space into consideration. The fridge is close to bursting. And I'm taking a bit of advantage of the fact that my roommates won't actually confront me on my excessive use of the shared space.

2) A couple of months ago, I talked to a friend who lives in another state by phone. We talked for a while and suddenly she burst out, "oh, no!! We've been talking for over twenty minutes! Your long distance bill!"

Huh?

Oh, yeah. You landline people.

But my privileged world of communications has recently reached a stumbling block. My cell phone is flaking out on me. It's screen goes blank, it randomly turns itself off, and it clearly is possessed by the devil.

I wish I had a landline, unpossessed by the devil.

3) Oh, yeah, I have a pesky dissertation to write. Damn it.

More Letters from NGS

Okay, this may explain why my productivity isn't what it should be.

Project Runway letters:

Dear PR Producers,
You suck. Just because you didn't expect Uli to win doesn't mean you don't get to eliminate someone. Jeffrey or Michael should have been gone. Furthermore, the person who gets the $10,000 fan favorite money should have been someone who didn't get a chance to show at Fashion Week. Not one of the Final Four. You bite.

Thanks,



Dear Bradley,
You look quite hot now. You are a shining example of why facial hair is bad, bad, bad. Thank you for shaving (and the haircut is nice, too!). I will officially like you now.

Thanks,



Dear Keith,
You cheated. You need to own it. Don't try to pretend that the producers colluded to get you kicked off. Bite it. And take your fashion books with you.

Thanks,



Dear Vincent,
Hate.
Thanks,



Gilmore Girls letters:

Dear New Director,
Did you know that a lot of us love the Palladinos? You have big shoes to fill. And having Luke and Lorelei fight in a superstore (not Doosie's Market) is not the way to win our hearts. Showing Luke and Lorelei fight in the middle of the road, with wide shots, not focused on the faces of the actors, is also not the way to win our hearts. Furthermore, your new sets and your new newness is not welcome. Oh, and where are Richard and Emily?

Thanks,



Dear Rory,
Cut the bangs. You slept with a married man. It's hard for me to believe that you were so upset with your mom for sleeping with someone when she was not married and he was not married. Because you know what? You slept with a married man. I remember three seasons ago and a lot of other people do too. You're a spoiled, spoiled brat. No one was married. Sex was allowed, imprudent though it may have been.

Thanks,



Dear Lauren Graham,
You are gorgeous. Don't ever let them dress you in a kimono again.

Thanks,



And letters from the editor:

Dear Mark Foley,
You sent sexually explicit messages to minors through the internet. You're a complete, complete idiot. Don't make me think you're a more of an idiot by blaming it on childhood abuse or because you are gay. Don't you think people who were abused as children and gay people have a hard enough life without this? People like you blaming their misdeeds on being gay or being abused makes it harder and harder for people to get respect (gay folks) and help (abuse survivors). Please own up to your mistakes, take responsibility, and stop making excuses.

Thanks,



Dear Denny Hastert,
Perhaps I should have copied you on a letter I just wrote to Mark Foley. Please don't make excuses. If you knew about ethical misconduct in your party in your House, you need to admit it, own up to it, and take responsibility.

Thanks,



Dear Republicans,
I would have rather the 2006 election been about issues like the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan or Social Security reform, but if you want to make it about campaign finance scandals and sordid internet dealings, so be it.

Thanks,

Transportation Woes

I have one roommate who has a regular 9 to 5 job. Which is to say that he's always long gone before I wake up in the morning. So this morning, when I stumble down at 8:30 and start to pull out pans to make my breakfast (which my cousins in Pennsylvania call breakfaxt), I notice that my roomie has left his water bottle on the kitchen counter. Now, this particular roommate is a bit crazy about his water bottle. I remember last Thanksgiving, there were wine glasses on the table, pop cans littering the kitchen counter, even some little shot glasses here and there, but right there, hanging in, was the blue Nalgene bottle.

Jeez, he's going to be sad today. That's all I thought. Until I saw him come in the back door.

He had not forgotten the water bottle. His car wouldn't start. He was annoyed. He was waiting for a tow truck and a loaner. When he entered the kitchen, his first response was to question if I was just getting out of bed (yes, I am - you, too, can be a grad student if you don't want to have money to be able to afford a "loaner car" when your car breaks down) and his second response was to go into a tirade about how American made cars suck.

Now, when you start talking to a woman who openly roots for the Detroit Tigers and the Detroit Lions and admits, admits to being from MICHIGAN, this is a throw down. "Your car is ten years old. You have aver 150,000 miles on it. And you get mad when there's a slight electrical problem that will take a mechanic a day to fix. Pardon me if I don't agree with your non-American cars standard."

Then, on the way home from school today, my bike got a flat tire (that's an odd phrase, isn't it? Like my bike said, "today I will acquire a flat. I want a flat. I will get it."). I immediately began muttering, "stupid Canadian manufacturing."