Tag Archives: friends

It’s International Friendship Day, and I needed blog fodder.

The exploding fortune cookie of internet wisdom informs me that today is International Day of Friendship. There seems, increasingly, to be a national or international day of everything—coffee, chocolate, margaritas, hotdogs—why not friendship? Without friends, whom would you share your hotdogs and margaritas with? (Notice I don’t mention coffee or chocolate. I typically don’t share precious commodities, the noted exception being an exchange in which I’m given alcohol to drown my sorrows over parting with my chocolate).

Friends share secrets, rejoice in your successes, commiserate over your failures, and insist you eat the last chocolate chip cookie on the plate (unless, again, you’re me, in which case, you arm-wrestle for it). Literature, film, and television are all inundated with famous fictional friendships: Holmes and Watson, the Doctor and his (or her) companions, the great trifecta that is Harry Potter, Rom Weasley, and Hermione Granger. Here, then, are four of my favorite (and admittedly random) quotes to celebrate International Day of Friendship.

1. “So you’re saying that friendship contains within it an inherent obligation to maintain confidences? Interesting. One more question, and perhaps I should have led with this, when did we become friends?”- Sheldon Cooper, from “The Big Bang Theory”

Yes, Sheldon, that’s how it works, although it’s also wise to confirm that the friend in question in fact has the ability to keep a secret. Once, during high school, I confided to a friend that I had a crush on a certain guy; if this story ended well, I wouldn’t be telling it. Somehow, the guy in question discovered my feelings (probably because I don’t do subtlety very well). The resulting conversation with my friend went something like this:
Friend: so he pulls me aside and says, “I need to ask you something. Does Fran have a crush on me?”
Me (already contemplating changing my name and fleeing the country): And…what did you say?
Friend: I told him of course you didn’t, obviously.
Me: Oh, thank God. You’re the best.
Friend: Yeah, well, there’s something else. I should probably tell you I’m a terrible liar.

I don’t know what ever happened to that girl, but it’s probably safe to say she didn’t pursue a career in espionage.

2. “If we have friends, we should look only for the best in them and give them the best that is in us.”- Anne of Green Gables
Spoken wisely, Anne girl, as always. We can’t expect others to look past our faults and love us anyway if we can’t be willing to do the same. (And, okay, I do agree with Anne; sharing chocolate does give it a sweeter taste, but if it’s chocolate and peanut butter, it’s all mine. Deal?)

3. “We’re with you whatever happens.”- Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
Simple yet profound, and not at all coincidental that Hermione makes this promise to Harry just after Dumbledore’s funeral. Hard times bring out the best in some and the worst in others, and we can all agree that Ron and Hermione fall into the former category. Battling three-headed dogs, breaking into the Ministry of Magic
, and camping all over England looking for bits of Voldemort’s soul that might or might not have been stashed God knows where aren’t jobs for the fair-weather friend. To paraphrase Sheldon Cooper, friendship—real friendship—involves certain “inherent obligations,” but sometimes, if you’re lucky, you’ll find a few friends who take these obligations way beyond the call of duty.

It takes a special friend to drive you to the emergency vet at 8:00 on a Sunday morning when your dog is displaying alarming symptoms of what could either be an intestinal infection or the result of accidentally swallowing nuclear weapons. (Not that I’m speaking from my own experience, but the less said about that the better). Sufficed to say, a friend who willingly takes crap from you—in more ways than one—deserves all the love and respect you can give, mixed with vodka. A lot of vodka.

4. “As Tom said, if Miss Havisham had had some jolly flatmates to take the piss out of her, she would never have stayed so long in her wedding dress.”- Bridget Jones: the Edge of reason
In other words, friends don’t let friends wallow in the pain of a broken heart—or, you know, spend 50 years in a wedding dress, wearing one shoe, counting cobwebs and waiting to die. Friends will allow you to shed the tears necessary to cleanse your soul of the emotional toxins that breakups cause. They’ll help you scoop up the shattered remnants of your relationship and let you sob over the pillow that still bears traces of your ex’s aftershave before wrestling it from your hands and tossing it into the trash where it belongs. It’s said that a friend knows the song in your heart and can sing it back to you when you’ve forgotten the words, and this involves knowing when to remind you that life, however challenging, does go on.

So, what are your favorite friendship quotes? Who are your favorite fictional friends?

The Cultured Cocktease: or, Why you can’t Take a Blind person to an Art Exhibit

Beauty, they say, is in the eye of the beholder, but if, like me, your eyes don’t behold much beyond shadows and the occasional patch of sunlight, beauty, or at least visually-appealing beauty, is bound up in the equally creative art form of the descriptions relayed to you by sighted companions.

so when a group of friends and I decided to head into downtown Gainesville several weeks ago to check out the local art walk, I anticipated an evening of free entertainment provided by my friends’ running commentary. As I meandered in and out of each gallery, I admit to being more preoccupied with the challenge of nibbling pretzels, sipping lime punch, and weaving through the maze of masterpieces while silently praying that my guidedog wouldn’t suddenly demolish the entire display with a single sweep of his lethal Labrador tale. I was also teetering precariously on high-heals, a dangerous fashion choice in the current environment for someone who epitomizes the proverbial rhinoceros in an antique shop. Still, considering I have about as much class as blue jean cutoffs at a 5-* restaurant, I managed rather well despite feeling a bit like Eliza Doolittle at the embassy ball. I kept waiting for someone to expose me as the uncultured, squashed cabbage-leaf of Covent Garden—I, who probably can’t tell the difference between a priceless Renoir and a child’s finger-painting, even with the gift of two working eyes.

My last trip to an art gallery of any kind had occurred when my college roommate and I paid a mandatory visit to our university’s local art exhibit to complete an essay assignment for an online class in which we were both enrolled. My roommate, understandably, chose what seemed the least complex of the pieces on display to describe to me: a glass jar filled with sand, containing a miniature car, palm tree, house, and scattering of seashells—some eclectic assortment of items you’d expect to find in South West Florida.

“OK, I don’t get it,” my roommate declared after describing the piece to me.
“What don’t you get? It seems pretty straight-forward to me,” I replied.
“Well,” continued my roommate, “the piece is called Neapolitan Landscape, and I don’t get what any of this has to do with ice-cream.”
“Please tell me you’re kidding,” I managed between bursts of hysterical giggles.
“What’s so funny?” asked my roommate.
“Well,” I said slowly, “I’m not exactly an art expert, but I’m pretty sure ‘Neapolitan Landscape’ isn’t referring to a flavor of ice-cream. I’m pretty sure it’s a reference to Naples, Florida. You know…the city we live in?”

I couldn’t help recalling this story as I wandered past various carvings, photographs of mountain-ranges and sunsets, and the occasional hunk of twisted metal masquerading as a masterpiece. Suddenly, the friend with whom I was walking paused and laid a hand on my arm.

“You need to see this,” she said. I should point out that she was using that phrase fairly loosely; by “see,” she naturally meant “Someone really needs to point this out to you, because your inability to see it shouldn’t deprive you of what the rest of us have to suffer.” It was rather like the time in middle school when a friend of mine insisted on removing the rubber bands in her braces at the lunch table and thought she would enliven the process by making noises so that I wouldn’t feel left out of the entertainment. While I love my friends, I think I can safely say that this just takes the concept of accommodation to a level beyond appropriate.

Anyway, it turned out that my friend and I had stopped before a sculpture of what was unmistakably a naked man. This in and of itself wasn’t terribly shocking; what my friend felt compelled to point out was the fact that the artist, for one reason or another, decided to represent the man’s genitals with a pine cone. Perhaps Said artist was attempting to remind the viewer of the link between man and nature, or maybe he’d just run out of whatever material he was using for the sculpture. In any case, because my inner child has the maturity of your average 4 year-old, I was intrigued by, well…pine cone private parts.

“You’re not serious.”
“I’m totally serious. It’s…definitely interesting,” said my friend. This description wasn’t nearly colorful enough to satisfy my curiosity.
“Are we allowed to touch it?” My friend hesitated.
“I…don’t think so. There’s a sign that says don’t touch.”

Well, this was disappointing, mostly because suggestively fondling a piece of local art would have been the most action I’d gotten in some time. Reluctantly I went off in search of a piece of art on display that was less touchy about being handled, but needless to say, I left that night with a very different impression of the concept of the cock tease than what is generally meant by the expression.

Question: what is the strangest piece of art you’ve ever seen?

Here Comes the Bride’s Maid (or, reflections on growing up)

After a typical hither-and-thither Sunday afternoon of church and errand-running, I leaned against my kitchen counter and idly scrolled through my cell phone to check for any missed calls or texts, expecting the usual ‘0’. To my surprise, I had not one, but two missed calls from my oldest and dearest friend: two missed calls, but no voicemail or text. With the mind-reading efficiency that comes only as the result of a friendship spanning two decades, I deduced that my Siamese twin (hereafter referred to as S.T) had something to tell me that she deemed of too great importance to communicate in a voicemail or text.

With best-buddy antennae tingling, I settled on the sofa to return her call, with a very clear suspicion of what I was about to hear. After greetings and small-talk were exchanged, I waited in breathless anticipation for what I knew was coming.
“I’m engaged!” (Ha! Girl Sherlock wins again! Seriously, if I could high-five myself in admiration of my kick-ass deductive reasoning powers, I’d be doing that right now.).
“And I wanted to ask you if you’d be one of my Bride’s maids?” Um, hello? Does Colin Firth look hot in a wet shirt?
“Honey, we only planned this about, what, 20 years ago?”
“I know, but I had to ask. Make it official.”

Congratulations were given, dates were discussed, and the call ended far sooner than either of us would have liked, but adult responsibilities called. Gone were the days of spending hours on the phone inventing elaborate contraptions that did everything from math homework to unenjoyable chores. Speaking of being an adult: holy shit, batman, my best friend is getting married! And I’m not talking about Game-of-Life-add-a-little-blue-plastic-dude-in-a-car getting married. I’m talking about an actual wedding, with an actual bride and groom. This is the same girl who split granola bars with me at lunch; who read my teeny-bopper fanfiction (not that I wrote teeny-bopper fanfiction); who dutifully remembered the secret code name of every single boy I had a crush on; who inadvertently saved the life of a classmate while impersonating the “lice lady” and finding a tick in her hair. If you want to put our friendship in quantifiable terms, between the two of us, we’ve held about 8 million conversations, shed nine thousand buckets of tears, and consumed a rough estimate of 84 million calories in brownies and ice-cream. Most of the sleep debt I accrued before graduate school is probably the collective result of every single Siamese twin slumber party we ever held.

Still cradling my phone in my hand, I sat on the sofa and gazed out the window as a slideshow of memories rolled in my brain, amazed, and feeling supremely blessed, to have kept that solemn oath of friendship made with clasped hands on a school playground long ago: “One for all and all for one…and a partridge in a pear tree!”

Considering the fact that I fell asleep that night and had a very strange dream involving Livia Firth designing me a sustainable bride’s maid dress woven out of something resembling palm-tree branches and a pair of shoes made of recycled Coke cans, this whole experience is going to offer significant amounts of blog fodder.

Question: Have you ever been in a wedding party?

BBC Naked: the Clever Coverup that Reveals all!

The other night I finally had the opportunity to watch the final episode of the BBC’s Series 2 of “Sherlock” with my friend and colleague, the lovely and talented K. K and I have spent many a Saturday night at my apartment, watching and re-watching some of our favorite films, most recently BBC’s “Sherlock” (about which we are publishing a long-anticipated book chapter…watch this space for details). Well-equipped with equal measures of wit and wine, K keeps up a live descriptive video commentary. As she has frequently pointed out, my blindness shouldn’t rob me of essential (and sometimes non-essential) visual details. So adept has she become at transmitting visual information that, in true Sherlockian fashion, I have often declared, “I’m lost without my describer.”

This past Saturday night’s viewing of “The Reichenbach Fall,” in addition to the usual routine of giggling, pausing, rewinding, and giggling some more, was responsible for the coining of a new catchphrase about to take the world by storm. Partway through the episode, K drew my attention to two particularly enticing scenes. IN the first, John Watson (Martin Freeman) emerges from the shower at the Baker Street flat he shares with Sherlock Holmes (Benedict Cumberbatch).

K: John just walked into the room, and he just got out of the shower, and his hair is wet, and it’s really sexy. Oh, and he’s wearing a robe. Nothing else. Just a robe. You need to know that. It’s important.
Me: And he’s clearly naked under the robe, even though you can’t see anything, because, you know, this is the BBC.
K: Yes, exactly, and he looks really sexy. I mean, really. I just think you need to know. I don’t want you to miss out.

Scene Two: Sherlock and John are in their Baker Street flat, finishing dressing for a court appearance.

K: OK, so, get this. Sherlock and John are in the flat, and they’re finishing getting dressed for court. IN the same room. Sherlock is buttoning up his shirt, and John is adjusting his tie, and oh…Sherlock is totally undressing John’s reflection in the mirror with his eyes. So, they either were just naked, or they’re thinking about getting naked.
Me: They’re BBC naked!

And thus was coined the phrase “BBC Naked,” adjective- a state of appearance in which a character’s clothing is arranged in such a way as to suggest a prior state of nudity or to encourage the audience to visualize the character in a state of nudity to circumnavigate the awkwardness of actual televised nudity. Perhaps one of the best-cited examples of BBC naked is this scene:


Enough said. And you’re welcome.

Discussing the scene in an Interview with Terry Gross on NPR’s “Fresh Air” several years ago, Colin Firth (whose dripping Darcy has become iconic among fans and scholars of Austen alike) revealed that in the original script, Darcy dives into the lake completely naked. “But,” Firth pointed out, “the BBC didn’t consider that acceptable…so, then in the end I thought, well, what’s second most spontaneous to taking all your clothes off and diving into a pond? And I suppose, really, not taking any of them off.” Thus the image of him emerging from the lake to confront Elizabeth Bennet, dripping and distinctly flustered, while intended to lend an air of propriety to the sexually-charged scene, had precisely the opposite effect.

Hence my assessment of the above “Sherlock” scenes as prime examples of the BBC naked strategy, particularly in scene two. The ritual of dressing together is sumptuously sensual. If John and Sherlock are not dressing after an episode of intense lovemaking (which K and I have in fact theorized is the case), the depiction of dressing together intensifies their level of intimacy and comfort with one another, which, sexualized or not, is an oft-inevitable result of sharing domestic spaces and routines.

Now, of course, having coined this catchphrase, I am presented with a daunting task, because with great power comes great responsibility. It is now my mission to re-watch every BBC series to which I have ever been exposed to seek out examples of “BBC nakedness,” which extensive list will serve as evidence for introducing the term into popular discourse. It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.

Raise Your Cup of Joe: Celebrating National Coffee Day!

Yet again, I have Twitter to thank for reminding me of the existence of arbitrary holidays: today, National Coffee Day!

As is probably glaringly obvious given my professional pursuits, coffee is my elixir—a daily blend of ritual and routine without which my physical and mental state would probably be more chaotic than it already is. I begin each day with it, rain or shine; during the work week, it’s the source of fuel that sets my gears in motion; on a Saturday morning, it’s the lazy luxury I linger over as I check e-mail, read a book, or just sit on my porch and drink in the details of the morning that all too often I find little time to appreciate in the workaday whirl. A friend once suggested to me during a year when I had difficulty deciding what my Lenten sacrifice would be, that I should give up coffee, to which I pointed out that spending 40 days in a comatose state would do little toward enabling me to experience the spiritual benefits of Lent. Besides, the purpose of Lent is penitence and spiritual growth; prompting my friends, family, coworkers, and students to contemplate murdering me because of my under-caffeinated crankiness would do little for their spiritual welfare, let alone mine. As my brother is fond of saying, Jesus suffered so we wouldn’t have to.

Coffee, at any rate, has filled every aspect of my life with its aroma; many a cup has kept me company during long, sleepless nights; it fills the cracks in my heart with comfort when I’m feeling low-spirited; some of my most memorable heart-to-hearts with my best friend have occurred over a cup of Joe; I saw immediate relationship potential in my most recent boyfriend during our first encounter at a local coffee shop (two years before we even considered dating). Any man who can defend Dunkin’ Donuts coffee over Starbucks with the fervor of political debate and logically argue his preference for mountain-grown coffee over coffee produced at lower altitudes is worthy of consideration as the potential father of my children.

Are you a coffee drinker? What role does coffee have in your daily routine? Is it a perky afternoon pick-me-up? A morning wake-up call? Do you drink so much of it that you’re in the market for an intravenous caffeine drip? Whatever, whenever, and however you take it: have yourself a cup of Joe and celebrate the full, flavorful, aromatic awesomeness that is coffee!