F-A-D spells stupid.

Okay, guys, here's a question. What is up with pop culture and spelling bees? I mean, the musical, the movies, and now, get this, a Frosted Mini-Wheats commercial? I just don't get it. Were spelling bees ever really that exciting or cool? No! They weren't! The kids that win them think so for a few years, but even they have to admit that the prestige quickly fades. I mean, when it gets to a certain point in a battle of wits, throwing out "Well, I won the all-school spelling bee in fifth grade!" really doesn't further your argument. Why, then, has the world gone spelling-bee crazy?

I, of all people, understand the thrill of big words. Don't get me wrong there. I was the kid that got really excited for a box of 500 vocabulary flashcards and played games with them for fun. I mean, prefixes and suffixes are some pretty cool things. Even I, however, know that this is not really good material to make a movie about.

So why is this so popular? Why is Starbucks endorsing it? Is it the whole geek chic thing? The thinking that America is so stupid that intelligence is novel and cool? I couldn't tell you, honestly. I kind of thought geek chic was over. I could be wrong though, easily. I am in no way a pop culture expert, in fact I'm far from it. However, the spelling bee fad has intrigued me. Tell me what you think, kids...

Quality time

"Zinzi, I hate this."

Zinzi trots over and stands in front of me. I look inside my house, barely able to make out my living room furniture for the glare. I am sitting on the steps to my back patio that come out of our dining room. The steps are green, and our patio is the faded, whitish color that asphalt gets when it hasn't been properly maintained. I look down at my dog, then again at the window, squinting. This time I can see my grandmother sitting inside, reading a book, and my grandfather stooping over a newspaper propped on the footstool. Zinzi sits down.

"What will you do, Zinzi, if you don't make any new friends in Maryland?"

She inches towards me to rest her chin on my lap.

"What if the other dogs there are all just a bunch of golden retrievers and labaradors? What there aren't any poodles, or Spainish water-dogs, or cumberland spaniels? What if they're mean to you?"

Zinzi snorts.

"Awww. Well, we will come bakc and you can visit your friends from the pooch parlor, Zinzi, don't you worry. Even if the doggies there aren't nice, we'll come back to see your puppy friends."

Zinzi sees a bird and chases it. I sit still, by myself now.

Zinzi can't come back for visits. They don't let poodles on airplanes. As much as I want to tell my dog that she will get to come back as much as she wants, and that she'll be happy, it might not be true. Zinzi will probably never see her puppy friends again, quite frankly. Zinzi, though, will get along just fine. You see, Zinzi likes other dogs. She does not think she is too good for some, or dislike the nature of others. She wants to be friends with everyone. She is very nice to other dogs, and does not cynically disapprove of their decisions or motivation. Zinzi will be very happy.

"Come on, puppy, inside we go."

She bounds back and grins at me, in that goofy way that only a friendly dog can, and trots ahead of me to the door.

"Go on, Zinzi."

I hold the door open and she walks in. I follow her, and sigh.

Today is one of those days where I don't really have anything to blog about. It also happens to be one of those days when I nothing better to do than blog.

I did spend the last twenty or so minutes myspacing out. Now, I don't have a myspace,nor do I particularly like them, but I've found the website a useful tool for research. I look up a town that I will probably be living in next year, such as Catonsville, and find high school/college age students that live in or are from the area. It is through this research that I have decided that I hate Ellicott City. I hate Catonsville less, but don't get me wrong, it still sucks. You see, Catonsville is the sort of small town that isn't small. It's got its historic small town feel, with a downtown area, (which I must say was better than Ellicott City's historic downtown, which had only hippie shops and yuppie shops) but was still a bit "quaint" for my liking. Given, I'll take Catonsville quaint-ness over Columbian sprawl, but I still find it irritating.

Anyway, Catonsville highschooloers: Are they cool? This is what I'm struggling with. I mean, they have myspaces, wich already lame-ifys them, but that aside, would I like them? I'm sure that if I saw some of my current friends' myspaces that I would like them less, but it is some indicator of personality and interst...The Catonsville kids altoghether seem to be an artsier, more offbeat crowd than Ellicott City, but I've got some problems with them. I'm going to make you a list describing the Catonsville youth, as per Myspace. Draw your own conclusions.

1. Every Catonsville myspace that I saw had Harry Potter listed under its "Favorite Books".

2. There are self-described "theatre kids"...

3. There was this, which displays a disturbing amount of town pride, but was actually kind of funny. It even made me like Catonsville for a minute there...

4. There were far fewer trying-to-look-sexy/beauty/airbrushed fifteen-year-old type profile pictures.

5. There were far fewer drunken/polo-wearing/asshole-looking/party-at-John's house-'cause-his-dad-has-a-full-bar-in-his-basement-and-we-can-totally-get-some-chicks-drunk-and-hook-up-with-them pictures.

6. There were less myspaces.

So overall, Catonsville is "Less Up Its Own Ass than Towson" (a suburb we looked at but was too far away and sucked)but still not great.

In Desperate Need of some Bulgarian Lovin'

Feta cheese. Is that all I've got? Is that really the only thing that makes me excited, satisfied, and validated? Is it possible for a salty, crumbly, smelly, hunk of dairy product to affect me more than any other pursuit of interest? I should certainly hope not...

...And yet, it does. I think, and I write this with utmost despair, that it is time for a bit of a change.

The problem I am now faced with is this: What to do with myself? I'm obviously not going to ignore my feelings for feta cheese, but I feel moving on is not only inevitable, but necessary. How can I, without betraying my feelings for feta, move on with my life and direct my passion towards a more fruitful, sensible, and accessable interest? Is it possible? Will I learn to live with out the constant cravings for some good Bulgarian lovin'(er, eating...they're very similar, you know), or will I distance myself from the cheese, but never really stop craving it, and thus starve?

These are truly times of uncertainty for me. As it is, I find the notion of anything replacing feta's high position in my ladder of appeal and desire slightly ridiculous. But then, all things can change. Maybe with time and a little direction, feta and I can, while maintaining a fairly close relationship, function apart.

I think it might get a bit lonely, really. I'll be lying awake at night, worrying, only I won't have a tasty companion to distract myself with. I'll have to resist my urges to slice off a hunk, close my eyes, and just devote myself entirely to the pleasure which feta brings. I'm going to become independant. I don't want to have to rely on something that I can't always have, or something that when thought about, triggers only salivation. No, I'm going to focus on something else. Something, perhaps, that actually matters. Maybe it will be Russian literature, or current events. I could become an activist or a devoted fan of something. I could be a writer, a painter, or a volunteer for a worthy cause! I could be passionate about something that has influence and bearing in this world! I could broaden my mind, help the less fortunate, stand up for what is right! For some people, these things are like feta. They think about them, dedicate time to them, and look forward to enjoying the benifits of these activites.

Maybe someday. Right now though, there's a little bit of feta in the fridge, and even if never again , it's got my name written all over it.