Harry Potter workout

Recently, Mudha and I started doing the Harry Potter workout. We’re trying to get into better shape, and I’m not much of a runner, so this sounded like a good starting point. The plan is to go through all eight movies using this list, doing the workout twice for each movie. Every Thursday we start a new movie; every Sunday we work up the tallies for the next movie, in case we need to do any fiddling; every Monday we do the second (and last) workout for the movie.

Let me say this is a way that isn’t confusing. We started Sorcerer’s Stone on Thursday, May 17. We tallied up the workouts for Chamber of Secrets on Sunday, May 20. We did the last workout for Sorcerer’s Stone on Monday, May 21. We started Chamber of Secrets on Thursday, May 24.

Along the way, we’ve discovered a few things. For one thing, we have definitely had to fiddle with the list to get the most of our workout. The list is really great for Sorcerer’s Stone, but for later movies we’ve had to substitute items. Also, it is a way better workout than it sounds like it would be. The Harry Potter movies are long, and while there are pauses, some longer than others, between exercises, there are also times when you have to pause the movie because someone decided to say Voldemort five times or there was a duel.

I’m sure this is because Mudha and I are such good friends, but we tend to laugh our way through the workout. More often than not, it’s because I’ve said something stupid, but it adds another layer of fun to exercising. (And I thought being able to watch HGTV was the epitome of a fun workout before.)

I’ll be honest, I feel pretty silly when I tell people about it. But after the movie is over, I generally have to be peeled off the floor. If nothing else, it’s a good, entertaining way to get me back into the habit of working out. Too often I look at the size of my closet studio and decide that the most I can do is some light yoga, and that only after I’ve cleaned.

Definitely try the HP workout, at least once. You’ll be surprised how well it works your muscles. But if you’d rather live vicariously and laugh a little, we’ve got a hashtag that we use on Twitter (#HarryPotterWorkout) for it.

what to do when unemployed

I am one of those people who gets really depressed and fidgety if I don’t have a plan, so I’ve been applying to jobs like there’s no tomorrow for a couple of weeks now. Nothing’s happened. The longer I wait, the more antsy and irritable I get, and the more jobs I apply for. So, I’ve discovered other ways to keep myself busy and feel productive.

1. Try to write a novel. This is frustrating, yes, but there is a certain satisfaction with creating something straight from your brain and translating it to the page.
2. Take more photographs. You always mean to take more photos, and this is just a good excuse to do it.
3. Walk a lot. I mean, gas isn’t cheap and buying transportation passes sort of sucks, so walk. You’ll see more (get more photographs), and you get a bit of a workout. All good things.
4. Develop a work out routine. Make it fun, or it will be just one other thing to irritate you. Personally, I’m going for a a Harry Potter work out. It’s sort of like a drinking game, only instead of drinking every time someone casts a spell (for example), you do jumping jacks or push-ups or crunches or something.
5. Start learning a new instrument, or practice on an old one. Personally, I’m learning stuff on the uke and practicing the guitar, both things that I’ve been saying I want to do for months.
6. Reorganize your space. It takes up more time than cleaning, and it shows a definite difference when finished.
7. Join more fun and somewhat-pointless social media sites. I chose Pinterest.
8. Catch up on television shows. I knew that I needed a solid chunk of time to catch up on Supernatural or finally watch Firefly.
9. Talk to your mom on the phone. A LOT. She might get annoyed, but hey, she’ll look back on this fondly when you are super busy again in six months.
10. Read books, particularly ones that you didn’t have time to read in the last six months or so. You’ll enjoy them and feel like you’ve scratched a goal off your list. Win-win.

(Witches of) Eastwick

I spent the better part of early this week watching Witches of Eastwick and Eastwick for comparison. Don’t worry; I didn’t go far enough to read the Updike novels. Before you say it, I did not watch Eastwick just because Darren Criss is in it, and no that is not the reason that I like it better. (Though he was adorable. I really miss his crazy-curly hair.) Basically, my mom mentioned the movie (because she really likes Cher) and I thought, “Well, I’ve got some spare time, so I’ll look it up.”

It turns out it took a lot of my time. I got really involved in it. Basics of the plot-line: Three friends discover they have magical powers around the same time that a mysterious (and odd) man comes into town. They all end up in some sort of relationship with him, but when things take a turn for the worse, they depend on each other and set things right.

I automatically find this storyline more interesting than Charmed, even though they are basically doing the some of same work, because it involves friends instead of family. This means that the friends choose their relationship, if that makes sense, and they choose to place importance on it. Plus, they are not dependent on doing spells all the time. The concept of even using spells doesn’t come up until later, in both Witches of Eastwick and Eastwick.

Let’s get to the important bit: I liked the television series better. This might be partially because it took a solid twenty minutes for me to accept the fact that Jack Nicholson was going to sleep with Michelle Pfeiffer, Susan Sarandon, AND Cher. (Sorry, Jack, but that would never happen in real life.) That sort of convincing takes away from the movie watching. But more importantly, the series was more interesting, and the acting was better.

Although, yes Mom, Cher did a great job. As did Susan and Michelle.

The television series took off as if it was happening in modern day, and with new characters that were similar to the original, but just a shade more complex. For example, the children in Witches of Eastwick run amok, but the children present in Eastwick have personality and purpose all their own; they play an integral part in motivations for the characters (as it should be). The pasts of the characters are shown with more depth in Eastwick, but not in a flashback way. Plus, the dialogue and cinematography are better, and there isn’t the weird-ass ending that happens in Witches of Eastwick. (I mean, what the hell, Jack Nicholson grows into a giant outside the window and then gets stuck inside a wall of TVs in the nursery.)

Perhaps the biggest crux for me is the way that the women are represented. In Witches of Eastwick, it probably sticks close to what the book represented. I say this because Updike was accused of being misogynist for the way he wrote the women in this novel. (Of course, he was also praised for breaking the gender stereotypes, so who knows what he was really after.) The women in the movie do get angry with each other once they figure out that Van Horne (Nicholson) is sleeping with all of them, but then they all live together like a happy, albeit often-naked, family. They live in his house, depend on him, and nearly are incapable of defeating him. In fact, it takes some serious manipulation (involving their now-pregnant bodies) to get enough time to go through his things to find the materials capable of defeating him.

However, the women in Eastwick don’t fall for Van Horne’s scheme nearly as easily. They are wary of him from the beginning, though all for different reasons. They figure out he’s lying for themselves, and it has very little to do with how the town in reacting to him. Perhaps this is because the series got cut off early, but Van Horne doesn’t seem as over-the-top evil in the television show, making all the confusion among the women and the town more believable. This might be silly, but I also like that using their powers has consequences on their physical bodies in the show, too (i.e. when the healer uses her powers too often it causes her to become physically ill). It’s more logical, if that can be even be used when talking about a show based around magic.

The stakes are higher in Eastwick because their lives are more interwoven with the community. They aren’t outcasts. They choose to live and stay in this town. They have connections and friends and children and jobs. These facts make their decisions have more weight, and it makes all the emotional ups and downs have more logic to them. (Seriously, I’ve got to stop using that word in reference to this show.)

Let’s be honest, if you’re looking for something with closure, Witches of Eastwick is the way to go because it finished. Eastwick didn’t get that chance, but I really wish it had. (And not just because it would mean that Darren got to keep his pretty hair.)

Either way you go, I think this was free time well spent. Now, excuse me while I start Firefly into Serenity, and then write a post about that.

on Young Adult

There is something about Young Adult that is obsessed with the formative years, the years when children try to be adults without all the responsibilities. I am, of course, referring to the movie Young Adult, not the category of literature.

I had to watch this movie based on nothing other than the fact that it was about a YA author who was obviously at a low point in her life. Within the first ten minutes, Charlize Theron’s life is painted in a bleak picture; her apartment is empty but for her dog and clutter, her book series is being cut off, and she has at least two one night stands. She looks tired; she drinks alcohol like it has an expiration date; she avoids her small hometown and all the people in it because she believes that they’re all suffocated there, trapped.

Basically, and I say this with a fair degree of hyperbole and self-derision, it’s my future. This woman all alone at 37 and floundering, wondering why everyone else is so happy–that sounds unfortunately like me. Though hopefully I won’t be drinking like a sailor on leave.

The good news is, that’s where the storyline in this movie and my life part ways. See, in the movie, Theron returns to her hometown in hopes of winning back her old beau from high school, who is happily married and a new father. She is manipulative. She is crazy. She is a bitch without any sense of compassion for others and unapologetic about it. (Of course, she’s also beautiful, lonely, and confident.)

To be honest, there isn’t much about this character that’s like-able. I won’t pretend that likeability is essential to a good story, but a turn-around of sorts is often wanted. In the end, Theron’s character drives back to the big city, her book series finished, and will return pretty much to the lifestyle that she ran from. Big whoop.

When I finished the movie, I felt somehow twisted. I couldn’t pinpoint it. The music was well used, the characters believable, the scenery lovely, the town painted perfectly. I did feel a little strange about how selfish the main character was, but we’re all inherently selfish (though hers does seem more blatant) so I let that slide.

But then I realized: it was the bits where the writing of the novel kicked in. It isn’t that the prose being read was terrible, or that it was perfect. It wasn’t even how the writing closely mirrored the situation that Theron’s character was in, though that made me a bit queasy as a YA writer. I’ll go one step further and say that it wasn’t even the timeline of how she wrote the book–which seemed like it took place over a week.

The problem was the ending. The sense of hope that was supposed to be instilled was just… so apathetic. There is nothing hopeful about this movie in any sense. And, again, that’s fine, but paired with the novel ending that was being read, I suddenly thought Theron’s character was so incredibly manipulative. She read exactly what she wanted to out the situation. The ending impression was that ALL young adult authors were obsessed with their high school years, forever trying to relive them, and that they just kept writing more books so they could keep tweaking the ending.

I heard in writing panel once that YA authors write from a time in which they are stuck. The fact that my main characters tend to be 16, naively so, is supposed to indicate that I’m stuck there in some fashion. I’m not sure if I believe that, but I’ll go with it much more than the idea that Young Adult seemed to harp on. Because, trust me, I have no desire to relive my high school years. AT ALL.

It’s sort of like Will Shuester said in Glee (I know, not a great authority on the subject, but go with it): teachers choose to suffer the torture of high school all over again every day, some of the worst years of their life. They do it so that they can make a difference in the kids they meet. I personally think YA authors do the same thing.

So perhaps my life will be a bit like the Theron’s from Young Adult, but it will be making more of a positive difference on those around me. Or at least I hope so.

cheer up

Basically, this past week was no fun. A lot of crazy things happened to me, and a lot of horrible things happened to pretty much everyone I know here in Chicago (and a good handful of the ones I know in Arkansas).

Daisies always cheer me up.

I don’t know about you, but I sort of like it when circumstance makes it to where I am not the only one I know that’s miserable–not because I’m a vindictive witch (though I’m sure there is some ex out there that would try to argue that case), but because it makes me get outside of my own head and focus on someone else. This has, strangely, always been the benefit of having a family where something is always going wrong. (I kid you not, something dramatic happens in my immediate family on a weekly basis. We are incapable of having a steady, solid week.)

And though there has been family drama this week, the people that my heart is really anxious for right now are some of my friends (ahem, I’m sure you know who you are). This is the point in the post where I should say something profound and comforting, but I don’t really have any revelations. At least, not any that they don’t know (i.e. life sucks, it’ll get better, things have a way of working for the best, etc.). And let’s be honest, that sort of cliche talk doesn’t make me feel any better when everything seems to be going to straight to hell.

So instead, I will say these three things: One, I am here for you to talk to if you need it. Two, I may not have been in the exact situation you are in, but I’ve probably felt something similar to what you’re feeling right now. You are not alone. Three, I am going to give you a list of songs that cheer me up. Because honestly, Hugh Grant had it right in Music and Lyrics, pop music can cheer you up quicker than anything else.

Here are some peppy songs: Don’t Stop by Fleetwood Mac, Walking on Sunshine by Katrina and the Waves, Don’t Rain on my Parade from Funny Girl, Respect by Aretha Franklin, What Doesn’t Kill You by Kelly Clarkson, I Feel Better by Gotye, Footloose by Kenny Loggins, Right Here by Heyhihello, The Way You Make Me Feel by Michael Jackson, Shake It by Metro Station, and Coin-Operated Boy by The Dresden Dolls.

And if none of those songs work, here is a video playlist of me dancing or singing stupidly to music. (This one is unlisted, and the most recent.) Laughing at something will help, and I have no problem volunteering to be the person you giggle at.

Otherwise, I suggest eating your favorite food, drinking your favorite drink, watching your favorite movie, going for a walk in a park, or hanging out with friends or family. The point being, stop thinking about it and focus on something that makes you happy for awhile. At some point, you’ll be able to stop making yourself have fun and just have it. I look forward to that day for you, whoever is reading this, because you deserve a good day.

AWP lit magazine haul

AWP bookfair is legendary amongst conference-goers. It’s a set of rooms filled with editors of literary magazines and independent presses. Not to mention school programs, with their faculty and famous writers. It is the perfect place to scope out magazines for their potential to house your own work.

Literary magazines are still important to writers because they provide potential publishing credits. Sort of like working an unpaid job so you can put it on your resume, having publishing credits is one way to possibly impress an agent or editor when querying them because you’re trying to publish a book-length work. This is true across genres. Being involved in the literary community is very important. It proves to these potential agents that you don’t just say you’re a writer; you’re really doing something about it. It makes it active and less in-your-head.

Below is a list of literary magazines that I picked up while I was at AWP this year. Check them out. Support them. Submit to them. Decorate your coffee table with them so people think you’re savvy in the field of contemporary literature. Use them to fill in gaps on your bookshelf or create an art piece. Whatever. But definitely look them up.

Fairy Tale Review – It’s a magazine dedicated to fairy tales. What is there to not love about that? They label their issues by color (i.e. the brown or gray issue). This issue is pretty thick because they only publish once a year, but it’s all quality. The next issue is yellow, and that’s the theme they’re sticking to this time around, and the submissions for that close on in May, so get going!

Make Magazine – This is a Chicago based literary magazine, which means I’m a little biased. But let me tell you, I was first drawn to this magazine because it is so beautifully designed. It’s actually magazine-sized, which isn’t too common among literary magazines. And it integrates the work with images in a seamless way. It publishes fiction, nonfiction, reviews, interviews, and poetry in its biannual issue. On first glance, it is clear that the editors are all right with disjunctive, experimental, or more traditional forms of writing. It literally has it all. So lovely. And, like many other literary magazines, it often tries to keep each issue feeling like a complete whole by declaring a theme, so be on the look out for that.

Unstuck – Another annual journal that publishes work that is literary, but gives a nod to genre. They like it weird, and we like reading it. They respond to submissions really quickly, but considering they have people like Aimee Bender and Lindsay Hunter contributing, it’s hard to get in.

Hoot Review – a literary magazine done entirely on postcards. It’s brief, but each one of these “issues” is gorgeous. Plus, the people at the booth were super nice.

Camera Obscura – I picked up this magazine because it’s gorgeous. I’ve yet to really read it. They go for prose ranges from 500-8,000 words, and they are one of the only magazines willing to publish a novella, if you’re so inclined.

Artifice – non-profit literary magazine. I think they’re from Chicago, but I am not completely positive about that. The editors were, again, very nice and helpful. I haven’t really read an issue yet, but I’m very excited about it. I’ve got a friend that’s obsessed with this magazine, and she has great taste in contemporary literature. I’d say that’s a good recommendation.

Settle Down by Julia Nunes

Let me save you some time, in case you have no desire to read this somewhat-lengthy album review: this album is wonderful. You should go buy it if the song above appeals to you at all.

For those of you that stuck around. Let’s start this shindig. The basics are this: a YouTube sensation with a raspy, poppy voice and a ukulele who used Kickstarter to fund the making of this album so she could bypass traditional publishing routes. Dig a little deeper: This is a girl who has sang on Conan O’Brien, opened for Ben Folds, and was sponsored by a major ukulele maker after she won a contest. She is blunt. She is funny. She makes the uke into a diverse instrument. She writes witty, poignant lyrics. She sings lovely harmonies. She is absolutely fantastic live, and genuinely sounds even better than she does on the album.

Perhaps someone who isn’t a Julia Nunes fangirl should be writing this. But I’m a fairly new fan. Don’t get me wrong, she’s been on my radar for quite some time, but it wasn’t until I decided to buy my own uke that I began to seriously listening to her. She’s fantastic.

Instead of breaking down this album song by song and singing its praises, I am going to point out my top five favorites (no easy task). In no certain order: “Nothing’s That Great,” “Waiting,” “To the Damsels: Run,” “Balloons,” and “This Is What I Used to Know.” (Honorable Mention goes to “Comatose,” because the album version of this let’s Julia go all diva, and I love that.)

Nothing’s That Great: has great lyrics (“Everyone I know’s broken, or broke, or both, and I’m sick of seeing things not turn out right”), is true and relateable, builds up instruments and harmonies in an organic way. It feels simple and honest in the best way possible.

To the Damsels: Run: There is something kickass about this song. Perhaps it’s the lyrics–”I can’t be saved; I’m not so frail. Fighting my battles, tooth and nail. Searching for truth to no avail.” It makes me want to clap, really, which doesn’t sound badass at all. It’s pretty steady throughout, at least in instrumentation and harmony. It just lets Julia do her things, strumming away on her uke. This is one of the songs on the album that made me go, “Huh, I had no idea you could rock on a uke.”

This Is What I Used to Know: This song is a nostalgia fest. It’s so specific to Julia, stories from her own childhood, and something about that makes it so vulnerable. The harmonies on the simple chorus are beautiful. The instrumentation on this is pretty spot on, too. A piano is used when talking about the piano teacher, an accordion sound is used when talking about a romance bit (very Bella Notte reminiscent, probably a melodica), and it strips to just her and the uke when talking about her dad. Just very well done.

Balloons: These lyrics should be cheesy; they do try very hard to be nostalgic and sentimental. (I don’t know if she meant for me to think of Up, but I totally do. It makes it just a bit sweeter.) Her voice is really shown in range here, and there is something in the intensity of it that makes the song genuine and lovely.

Waiting: I have a real weakness for songs that build up in layers like this. Live, she made the crowd keep singing the “I’m alone tonight” part. Chills. Serious chills. This is sparse in instrumentation but lively with different layered melodies and harmonies. Just perfect for the lyrics. It makes my heart ache just a little. It was, in my opinion, the perfect way to end this album, just as “Stay Awake” was a wonderful beginning.

who is listening?

I often feel like I’m screaming in a crowded room and no one cares or is paying attention. (It’s very Mr. Cellophane of me.) But if you look at the great family and friends that I have in my life, you’ll see that’s not true at all. Or rather, it’s only true if I’m keeping things from them. Which I do about 97% of the time.

I’ve always been a bit passive aggressive about this sort of thing. Well, about everything really. I’m too nice or too insecure (or both) to aggressively ask or take or demand the things that I want or need. Instead, I leave cryptic tweets or write really vague poetry or skirt around all the painful bits in my nonfiction.

It’s communication without all the difficult parts–the clarity.

Maybe it’s because I’m trying to write my novel right now, but I’m beginning to wonder exactly who I’m trying to get to listen. With my novel, I have a clear audience, or at least I feel like I do, and I know them well. But with my nonfiction, with poetry, with stupid tweets or obnoxious blog posts, who am I trying to make listen to me? Who am I hoping leaves a comment or asks me about it later?

Here is what I’ve discovered: I want someone to see through my bullshit. (Sorry for the cursing, kids.) I want someone to read my post on how nerds are now the cool kids and be able to say, “You know, Jenna, you’ve been sorta cool all along. You didn’t need to write this post or track changes in media to prove to every one else that it’s all right to be as nerdy as you are.” I want someone to read a stupid tweet about unrequited crushes and connect the dots through my weird interactions with people, determine who I’m talking about, and tell me I’m being stupid. Or that I’m better off.

I love it when a nonfiction essay I consider complex and emotional can be boiled down to “Jenna’s boy crazy! Who knew?” or when someone can read a poem and know whether it’s confessional or fictional.

That’s why I am actually friends with my mom; she sees through all of it. She knows the semi-destructive habits that I get into, knows the weird psychological reasons that I remain perpetually single when I’m such a die-hard romantic. I’ve had friends get close to that; I can think of three in particular, and it’s how I know they are going to stick.

But the thing is, I don’t want the entire world to see me that transparently. I don’t want every one who happens upon this blog or listens to my radio show or sees me on YouTube to know why I’m in a certain mood or who I am passive-aggressively mad at. I want it to be someone real, someone I trust and admire, someone who really knows me. It’s time to consider my audience in all aspects of my life, and to stop assuming that no one is paying attention.

Sorry, in reflection, for the vague tweets and posts that have happened in the past. I might still be vague in the future, but I think it’ll have more purpose. I have no idea who is reading this, but if you can see straight through all my bullshit, let’s keep it between us.

a lesson in beauty from my bathroom

A thing of beauty is a joy forever. –John Keats

Fuzzy robe with peace signs, clock, speakers,
seven towels—green, purple, orange, blue with turtles,
gray, small brown one to step on when I get out
of the shower, purple hand towel to wash my face.

Fingernail clippers, pink nail file, glasses cleaner,
nail polish—clear, black, teal, and pink; vitamins,
Disney Princess band-aids, tampons, cold medicine,
nose spray, q-tips, triple antibiotic ointment,
toenail clippers, ibuprofen, nail polish remover.

Little White Dress deodorant with Pure Clean scent
and no smudge marks, honeysuckle body spray,
Berry Kiss spray, lavender vanilla lotion, hand lotion,
body-firming lotion, honeysuckle body butter, aloe vera,
razor, sensitive-skin razor blades, smoothing shaving gel
with soy, hydrating crème body wash.

Hairbrush, moisturizing shampoo and conditioner,
bobby pins, hair dryer, comb, ½ inch hair straightener,
curly-hair-specific hairspray, shampoo, and conditioner,
hair clips, round hair brush, 1 ½ inch hair straightener,
smooth and silky dandruff shampoo, leave-in conditioner,
pony-tail holders, frizz-ease spray, mousse, straight guard,
mousse and leave-in conditioner combo, deep conditioner.

Spearmint-flavored mouthwash, floss, toothbrush,
baking soda and peroxide toothpaste, chapstick, anti-fatigue
eye cream, redness-reliever eye drops, eye brightener,
three eye shadow brushes, moisturizer with sun-block,
pore cleansing strips, three blush brushes, tweezers,
thirty eye shadows, shimmer mascara, Fairly Light
foundation, black and brown eye liner, eyelash curler,
blush in Hint and Ombre Ajoues, deep cleansing face wash.

Ladies and gents, that is my example of a list poem. I chose to do one cataloging the things in my bathroom to show how crazy our idea of beauty is. It is, believe it or not, very purposely constructed. (Notice that the stanzas get one line longer each time and seem to have a focus to each stanza, like hair, for example.) It is not, however, one I will ever attempt to publish because it’s crazy. So enjoy.

correlation or coincidence?

When reading Infinite Jest, I get an urge to eat. Yes, I have correlated the hmmmm, I think I’m hungry feeling to this weighty book. There are four possible explanations:

1. I am feeling empathetic for the characters, who are almost all on some sort of munchie-inducing drug, and I therefore feel the need to eat.
2. I am getting so frustrated by the book that I eat to comfort the feeling with food.
3. The book is giving me a work-out, burning calories by the heavy lifting, and therefore makes me hungry. (I really hope this isn’t the case, because if so, I really need to start working out more often.)
4. Because the reading is so dense, I have to take a lot of breaks, and in order to feel productive during these breaks I cook. (Or do dishes.) If I eat whatever I cooked immediately, not only does it feel less wasteful, but it prolongs the break from the book.

The other two explanations are that 1) I am sick, and being sick always makes me eat a lot of small meals (I am a snack-oriented being by default.) or 2) I am merely more conscious of my eating when reading this novel and I’m not really eating more or less than I usually do.

Either way, it’s clear to see, David Foster Wallace is making me overanalyze even the smallest details in my life. Perpetual headache. But given that no other book has made me carefully analyze every day decisions to this obsessive extent, I guess it speaks highly of DFW’s ability to engage the mind. Right?

Or I’m going insane.