Petition for Riker as Sacramento's Villain - Home and (resisting) Growing Up

I don't believe in outgrowing things.

Theoretically, I can understand the idea of maturing beyond a love for pacifiers and applesauce, but really whenever people claim to have outgrown something, I think they're really just saving face. I, on the other hand, have no shame of any sort.

I still love Gargoyles. Ponies are still awesome. A test during this holiday break proved that The Lord of the Rings is still the best trio of movies ever. (Granted, my commentary is slightly dirtier than it was back in 2001.) I still think that a pint of ice cream should constitute a complete meal, that broccoli sucks, and that peanut butter tastes better with some sugar. (Yes, this is a heart attack waiting to happen.) Disney movies are an acceptable form of group entertainment. (It's the songs. They're delightful.) And okay, I may not adore ponies with the same ardor I once had, but that doesn't mean I don't get giddy when I see one looking pretty off in the distance.

I say this because I just got back to the big city after my vacation in my home town, and I admit that I'll miss it a lot. Which I think confuses a lot of people. "But, you're living in New York City!" Well, yes. But as amazing as New York City is, and as much as I don't want to leave any time soon, it isn't home.

When I take people to Sacramento, they're typically not all that impressed. It's hard to explain that a place isn't just made up of bright lights, attractions, and local landmarks (although, let me just point out, Sacramento has all of these. In smaller amounts than other places, but still). A place is memories. And Sacramento is, understandably, saturated with them. Trying to explain that a restaurant is actually the site upon which many a dramatic teenage conversation was had about life doesn't seem to impress people. The taffy shop in the old part of town where many a cavity was aggravated doesn't convey a sense of warmth to others. A bar that feels just right, without flash or dramatics, shouldn't be nearly as exciting as I find it to be. A cinnamon roll on Christmas day with baby sausages don't really warrant the joy I appoint to them.

Maybe it's a flaw on my part, but I get enthusiastic about the familiar. It's not to say that I'm not going to plunge into the big wide world and have some adventures, but it does mean that coming home will always be my end-game. And maybe my definition of 'home' will change in the future, but Sacramento will always be like Gargoyles to me. I will always love it, it will always remind me of awesomeness, and I'll always want to return to it, for the memories. (The only downside is that Sacramento, alas, doesn't have Riker from Star Trek playing the villain. This is a terrible oversight on Sacramento's part, and I'll be complaining about it in the near future.)

Empowerment Pies - Waitress and Real-World Feminism

I love romantic comedies.

Which is more than a little bit embarrassing, since I'm supposed to be an 'enlightened' and 'educated' young woman of means (ish) and I should know better. (Please don't get me started on my favorite musicals.)

The point - I sorta think Waitress is one of the most feminist films I've seen. At least, according to my skewed version of feminism.

Feminism is something that I - to some extent - grew up with. I always knew I had a choice. That I had a certain amount of power and freedom and privilege. Which isn't to say my life was populated by a huge number of strong women (because it wasn't), or that I never felt trapped (because I did), but I never directly felt the crushing weight of patriarchy on my shoulders. The idea at the heart of feminism - the notion that power isn't something to be taken by those who are the strongest, but a right to be given to all - is one that I've always known. Because I've been damn lucky.

Which is why I like Waitress so much. Because the experience of the women in this film is exactly opposite of mine. They haven't had choices, they've had no power, and they know what it means to be utterly confined to a life you can't stand because you have no other options. Waitress is impressive because it doesn't try to dress up Jenna's situation, doesn't make light of the fact that her circumstances are fairly hopeless (and sometimes dangerous), but it still manages to be funny. And charming. And romantic. And even empowering. And it does all this without giving anyone a traditional 'happy ending,' without mocking the people it portrays, and without stepping too far outside of the realm of reality.

Don't Kill The Bar, Man - Finding "The" Bar

McGee's Pub, West 55th Street

There are lots of reasons why people want to move to New York City, and I feel like a tiny part of every person wonders what it would be like to live here. (Not that any of the sensible ones would ever admit to it.) Whether for the Broadway shows, the 'ultimate' experience of "city life," an amazing music scene, more different types of diversity (oh yeah. I just said that) than you can shake a stick at, a culture of reading that I haven't seen in such concentrations anywhere else (yay!), or some omitted gem of wonder that I can't guess at, New York has a lot of dreams taking residence in its dirty streets and crowded subways. (And well it should.)

That's not to say that everyone who secretly yearns for a bit of New York would ever actually want to live here. After all, a piece of New York is way different than the whole shebang, and god knows I wouldn't have worked up the gumption to move here if opportunity hadn't have come knocking, despite my little dream. (Or how much I'm enjoying the city now that I'm here actually here.)

But a dream I did have. A small vision of what New York City could offer me. A reason beyond all others to quest after this indomitable city, to aspire to one day exist in this bustling metropolis.

I want to find the bar, dammit.