On Satire and Bigotry

Last night, for the first time in God only knows how long, I watched the Daily Show and the Colbert Report with Andrew and his roommate. By this, I mean I watched the reruns from the night before. Those shows air way too late for this old woman.

The Colbert Report had a segment on the recent tragedy in Norway, which can be found here, which the Colbert writers referred to as the "Norwegian Muslish Gunman's Islam-Esque Atrocity."

I suppose I may have noticed this myself, were I the type to have television, but I haven’t seen anything but Netflix streaming episodes of Buffy in weeks now, and I get my news mainly from The New York Times website (although my twenty free articles for the month are gone, so…).

Evidently, in the hours immediately following the events in Norway, though Norwegian authorities were hesitant to point fingers regarding the culprits, American newstations, reporters, and newsbloggers the country over were attributing the attacks to Al-Qaeda, and even after the Norwegian and white Breivik claimed responsibility for the attacks, American newscasters were still asking questions such as "What do you make of the fact that he looked Nordic?" and "experts" were still responding with answers such as "Maybe it was a good disguise."

Steven Colbert reminds us, of course, that "Just because Norway's confessed murderer is a blond, blue-eyed, Norwegian-born, anti-Muslim crusader doesn't mean he's not a swarthy, ululating madman."

What the hell is wrong with America? Not all Muslims are terrorists, and not all terrorists are Muslims. Hasn't any at all seen Die Hard, Die Harder, Die Hard with a Vengeance, or Live Free or Die Hard?

Rewards

Have I mentioned how much I love treats? After a percocet-less day full of thesis-writing, I feel like I deserve more than one. Several episodes of Buffy, an ice pack, and a pomegranate liqueur gin & tonic later, I am ready for round two of my reward: a modified caprese, Harry Potter 7, and a(nother) quiet night in with my chubby cheeks.

I could pretend to you that the modifications are meant to take it easy on my poor mouth. Honestly, though, the substitution of home-made ricotta--though delicious--may be slightly easier to chew than mozzarella, but really I only used it because the half-used ball of mozz in my refrigerator was sprouting...

I expect that in a few hours, I'll be ready for my third treat, which will consist of a serving of Triple Cookie Fudge Sundae and more of this girl.

Ahhh, I love treats. If only I could justify a fourth one.

A List of Things I thought I could the day after getting my wisdom teeth pulled....

1. Go to work.
2. Drive myself to work.
3. Write a bunch of my thesis.
4. Clean my apartment.
5. Go to a friend's house for glasses of whiskey. Yes, plural.
6. Open my mouth.

I really had no idea, did I?

And, because I'm not proud and we've all been there before, here's a picture for your viewing pleasure.

Space Ghost, Coast-to-Coast

I spent much of yesterday on the North Shore of Massachusetts Bay, an area north of the Cape that a friend once described as the Massachusett’s elephant’s brain. I suppose, if you squint, the shore of Massachusetts might look like an elephant, the Cape itself serving as a curved trunk, and if you screw your face up to the point of tears, the peninsula that is formed by Gloucester (pronounced Gloss-ter, for those West Coasters out there, or gloss-tah if you’re a Southie) and Rockport may just be considered that elephant’s occipitofrontal.

But this isn’t about elephants, or about borrowing jargon from the doctors I often spend my weekends with. This is about beaches. And the issues I tend to have with East Coast beaches, to be specific. Beach culture on the East Coast is surprisingly different from West Coast culture. You may think that water + bikinis and suntan lotion is always going to add up the same way, but it doesn’t. Especially when you throw thousands of people, hundreds of beach umbrellas, and a twenty-five dollar entrance fee into the mix. I’m going to be honest with you. I’d never even seen a beach umbrella in real life before I moved to the East Coast.

But it’s more than just the ubiquitous umbrella of the east juxtaposed with the basic beach towel of the west. The relationship that people have with the beach is drastically different on each coastline. One of the most noticeable differences is the sheer number of beach visitors on the East Coast. An utter lack of lakes (or perhaps, lakes without too many mosquitoes…) means that the coastline is one of the only places for the millions of New Englanders to beat the summer temperatures (you thought I was going to say heat, didn’t you?), which means beaches that are literally covered in humans. Two summers ago, when I first saw an East Coast beach, I must admit I was a little grossed out.

More importantly than quantity, though, is quality. And—for once—I don’t want to only endorse West Coast beaches and shout for the death of all things East Coast, because you can’t beat the sand they’ve got over here. A friend explained the difference by saying that West Coast beaches, and the Pacific in general, is just a more intense experience than the Atlantic and the coastlines of the East. The West Coast is craggy and the water is cold and often…I wouldn’t say angry but just unforgiving, perhaps. The Atlantic Ocean, with the sand on its shores and its temperatures that are actually swimmable, is a place that people use. The Pacific is a place that (and maybe this is getting back too far into my West Coast snobbery) that people respect.

While I will certainly will miss spending more than a hot freezing minute in the ocean water, and the feeling of sand instead of sharp rocks under my feet, I’m looking forward to views like this, something you just can’t find on this other coast.