By AMANDA BENSEN
Published in The Post-Star (G2) 6/7/07
"You are speeding," an electronic sign warned me as I drove home on the Northway one night.
I slowed down to match the speed limit in the construction zone, but not without grumbling. Forty-five miles an hour seemed like a snail's pace.
But then I reconsidered my reaction -- what was my hurry, anyway? I had no plans for the evening, other than making dinner and catching up on some e-mail.
Americans are always in a rush, it seems.
We zip through fast-food restaurants to consume calories, then pop "instant weight loss" pills to get rid of those calories.
We'll honk at the car in front of us if they take a millisecond too long to hit the gas after the traffic light turns green.
We don't like to wait in line at the grocery store, so we'll take the self-checkout option even though we're stymied when the computer demands the produce code for broccoli crowns. We prefer ATMs and electronic passes to potentially slow bank tellers and tollbooth collectors. Some of us have even tried "speed dating."
I admit it -- I'm addicted to speed, too. But I've found that travel can be an excellent form of rehab.
In France and Spain, I learned to enjoy long, leisurely dinners and savor every sip of wine. In Austria and Germany, friends explained that a waiter generally won't bring the check unless you ask for it, because they don't want you to feel rushed. How nice.
In Africa, I learned that everything follows a tangibly slower tempo, from the pace of pedestrians on city sidewalks to the schedules of important events. When my friends and I showed up on time to attend a 4 p.m. wedding in Kampala, Uganda, we watched four other happy couples leave the church before things finally rolled around to our friends' wedding an hour and a half later. Instead of throwing a temper tantrum, the waiting bride and groom just shrugged their shoulders and smiled.
And on a 30-hour train ride across the face of India, I learned to enjoy looking out the window, chatting with strangers, and just laughing when the train inexplicably creaked to a halt for long stretches of time. Simple pleasures, like eating an orange or playing a card game, gained a new sheen of fascination in contrast.
My most recent trip was much less exotic -- a weekend of camping on an Adirondack lake -- but it also reminded me that it's important to slow down sometimes. Separated from my laptop, cell phone (which also serves as my watch), and car, it simply wasn't possible to hurry anywhere or even check the time. It felt wonderful.
I woke at sunrise and sat at the edge of the lake for a while, listening to the gentle gulping of the water against the rocky shoreline. I didn't have to be anywhere else, or do anything else.
Eventually, I paddled out in a canoe.
I didn't have a destination in mind, but I knew I was definitely not speeding.
-- Amanda Bensen is a features writer for The Post-Star. She only uses her car horn to scare ducks out of the road.
Showing posts with label 20something. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 20something. Show all posts
Friday, June 08, 2007
Friday, May 25, 2007
20something column: Leave me alone...I think
By AMANDA BENSEN
Published in The Post-Star (G2) 5/24/07
I went to see a play by myself a few weeks ago, and got a free serving of pity with the candy bar I bought at intermission.
"You're all alone," said the guy behind the concession booth, in a tone of voice that suggested this was perhaps the saddest thing he'd ever witnessed.
As I headed back to my seat, I looked around. He had a point -- everyone else in the room was part of a couple or group of friends. Heck, even the play itself was about a couple. I started feeling a bit self-conscious. Was I supposed to have stayed home because my boyfriend had to work?
I remembered feeling this way at other times, often while traveling. Last time I went out to dinner alone, the waiter treated me like I was naked in public and should be ashamed.
"I'll rush your order, so you don't have to stay here alone for long, sweetheart," he promised.
So after the play, I decided to prove to the world (or at least myself) that there's nothing weird about a young woman going out by herself. I went to my favorite jazz bar and ordered a glass of wine, prepared to just relax and people-watch for a while.
Of course, I forgot that it was around 10 p.m. on a weeknight, and there were only about three people there to watch. Within about two sips, my bravado was completely gone, and my desire to disappear was battling with my innate sense of thrift (you shouldn't waste an $8 glass of wine).
I imagined that the two girls engrossed in conversation at the other end of the bar were peering at me with disdain, as though I was a kind of spider lying in wait to entrap hapless boyfriends. I've seen that look whenever I show up alone at parties.
I tried not to stare at the man chugging expensive scotch a few seats down -- you don't chug scotch unless you've got some serious problems -- and focused intently on the television instead. That is, until I realized that the object of my faux fascination was one of those embarrassing medical commercials.
Eventually, I caved. I reached for my cell phone, and texted a friend to see if she would join me.
"No, I have a headache," came the reply.
Okay, I thought, chugging my wine. Time to back out with my tail between my legs.
Suddenly my wine glass was full again.
The bartender's shift had ended, and he was on my side of the bar now, buying me a drink. I realized that my misguided attempt at singles empowerment appeared nothing short of pathetic, and I had to laugh. It was a relief to have someone to talk to.
My friend changed her mind and arrived a few minutes later. Maybe she figured that only a serious crisis could have landed me at a bar by myself on a Wednesday night. I was OK, but I'm still glad she showed up. Because, in the end, there's a reason people tend to go out in groups: Friends are fun.
-- Amanda Bensen is a features writer for the Post-Star. She's not trying to steal your boyfriend.
Published in The Post-Star (G2) 5/24/07
I went to see a play by myself a few weeks ago, and got a free serving of pity with the candy bar I bought at intermission.
"You're all alone," said the guy behind the concession booth, in a tone of voice that suggested this was perhaps the saddest thing he'd ever witnessed.
As I headed back to my seat, I looked around. He had a point -- everyone else in the room was part of a couple or group of friends. Heck, even the play itself was about a couple. I started feeling a bit self-conscious. Was I supposed to have stayed home because my boyfriend had to work?
I remembered feeling this way at other times, often while traveling. Last time I went out to dinner alone, the waiter treated me like I was naked in public and should be ashamed.
"I'll rush your order, so you don't have to stay here alone for long, sweetheart," he promised.
So after the play, I decided to prove to the world (or at least myself) that there's nothing weird about a young woman going out by herself. I went to my favorite jazz bar and ordered a glass of wine, prepared to just relax and people-watch for a while.
Of course, I forgot that it was around 10 p.m. on a weeknight, and there were only about three people there to watch. Within about two sips, my bravado was completely gone, and my desire to disappear was battling with my innate sense of thrift (you shouldn't waste an $8 glass of wine).
I imagined that the two girls engrossed in conversation at the other end of the bar were peering at me with disdain, as though I was a kind of spider lying in wait to entrap hapless boyfriends. I've seen that look whenever I show up alone at parties.
I tried not to stare at the man chugging expensive scotch a few seats down -- you don't chug scotch unless you've got some serious problems -- and focused intently on the television instead. That is, until I realized that the object of my faux fascination was one of those embarrassing medical commercials.
Eventually, I caved. I reached for my cell phone, and texted a friend to see if she would join me.
"No, I have a headache," came the reply.
Okay, I thought, chugging my wine. Time to back out with my tail between my legs.
Suddenly my wine glass was full again.
The bartender's shift had ended, and he was on my side of the bar now, buying me a drink. I realized that my misguided attempt at singles empowerment appeared nothing short of pathetic, and I had to laugh. It was a relief to have someone to talk to.
My friend changed her mind and arrived a few minutes later. Maybe she figured that only a serious crisis could have landed me at a bar by myself on a Wednesday night. I was OK, but I'm still glad she showed up. Because, in the end, there's a reason people tend to go out in groups: Friends are fun.
-- Amanda Bensen is a features writer for the Post-Star. She's not trying to steal your boyfriend.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
20something column: Why are women on TV so weak?
Published in The Post-Star (G2)
5/10/07
By AMANDA BENSEN
Where have you gone, Clair Huxtable?
I have to agree with a New York Times article I read recently critiquing the lack of strong female characters in current TV fare. There are plenty of women with powerful careers -- doctors, lawyers and cops -- but they've got some powerful neuroses, too. Do scriptwriters
believe viewers only like women with obvious vulnerabilities?
In "Grey's Anatomy," it's easy to forget that the leading lady, Meredith, is actually a doctor -- she's the one who usually needs to be taken care of. Her self-centered fragility has quickly morphed from endearing to annoying. Another main female character, Izzie, defies the stereotype of "dumb blonde," but seems to have the emotional impulse control of a 2-year-old.
And now Addison, the red-headed Ob/Gyn who showed signs of developing real character strength as she coped with the disintegration of her marriage, is crumbling into the kind of chick who talks to herself in elevators.
Rumor has it that she'll be the star of a new spin-off, and if last week's episode was a prelude to that drama, I probably won't be watching.
In that episode, Addison faced her own fears about ending up in middle age without a family, and tried to get pregnant by artificial means. When she couldn't, she wept that she was "all dried up."
The underlying message is: It doesn't matter if you are a highly skilled doctor with a shiny red convertible, good friends and posh jobs falling into your lap. As a woman, you need a baby to be fulfilled.
And if you can't have a baby -- because, in Addison's case, biology refuses -- well, you can settle for having sex appeal. That's right, her midlife crisis was miraculously resolved by a kiss from a handsome near-stranger in a stairwell. (To give her some credit, though, she turned him down when he offered a repeat performance later).
That will only work for another decade or so, maybe more if she gets some help from her ex-lover the plastic surgeon. But someday, Addison, and the rest of us women, are going to get old. It would be wise to base our self-worth on something less transient than sexiness.
And that's just "Grey's Anatomy." Don't get me started on "Desperate Housewives."
I don't mean to downplay the importance of motherhood, of course. Let's go back to Clair Huxtable for a minute, on "The Cosby Show," played by Phylicia Rashad.
She never experimented with drowning herself to get attention, although with five kids, her personal life was at least as challenging as Meredith Grey's. And although she was a warm, loving character, her brain had just as much power as her heart when it came to decision-making.
She embodied the marvelous notion that a female could be strong and successful -- and still be likable.
-- Amanda Bensen is a features reporter for The Post-Star. She thinks her mother deserves her own TV show.
5/10/07
By AMANDA BENSEN
Where have you gone, Clair Huxtable?
I have to agree with a New York Times article I read recently critiquing the lack of strong female characters in current TV fare. There are plenty of women with powerful careers -- doctors, lawyers and cops -- but they've got some powerful neuroses, too. Do scriptwriters
believe viewers only like women with obvious vulnerabilities?
In "Grey's Anatomy," it's easy to forget that the leading lady, Meredith, is actually a doctor -- she's the one who usually needs to be taken care of. Her self-centered fragility has quickly morphed from endearing to annoying. Another main female character, Izzie, defies the stereotype of "dumb blonde," but seems to have the emotional impulse control of a 2-year-old.
And now Addison, the red-headed Ob/Gyn who showed signs of developing real character strength as she coped with the disintegration of her marriage, is crumbling into the kind of chick who talks to herself in elevators.
Rumor has it that she'll be the star of a new spin-off, and if last week's episode was a prelude to that drama, I probably won't be watching.
In that episode, Addison faced her own fears about ending up in middle age without a family, and tried to get pregnant by artificial means. When she couldn't, she wept that she was "all dried up."
The underlying message is: It doesn't matter if you are a highly skilled doctor with a shiny red convertible, good friends and posh jobs falling into your lap. As a woman, you need a baby to be fulfilled.
And if you can't have a baby -- because, in Addison's case, biology refuses -- well, you can settle for having sex appeal. That's right, her midlife crisis was miraculously resolved by a kiss from a handsome near-stranger in a stairwell. (To give her some credit, though, she turned him down when he offered a repeat performance later).
That will only work for another decade or so, maybe more if she gets some help from her ex-lover the plastic surgeon. But someday, Addison, and the rest of us women, are going to get old. It would be wise to base our self-worth on something less transient than sexiness.
And that's just "Grey's Anatomy." Don't get me started on "Desperate Housewives."
I don't mean to downplay the importance of motherhood, of course. Let's go back to Clair Huxtable for a minute, on "The Cosby Show," played by Phylicia Rashad.
She never experimented with drowning herself to get attention, although with five kids, her personal life was at least as challenging as Meredith Grey's. And although she was a warm, loving character, her brain had just as much power as her heart when it came to decision-making.
She embodied the marvelous notion that a female could be strong and successful -- and still be likable.
-- Amanda Bensen is a features reporter for The Post-Star. She thinks her mother deserves her own TV show.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
20something: Is it hot in here, or is it just me?
Published in The Post-Star (Go)
March 29, 2007
Nothing is neutral.
A sociology professor terrified me with that statement in college. I'm not good at making quick decisions, so it was overwhelming to suddenly feel surrounded by them.
She made the point that even the simple act of eating comes with a lot of baggage, thanks to globalization. You can choose between organic and non-organic; fair-trade and non; New York or New Zealand apples. Your dollars make a statement, whether you want them to or not.
The weather, apparently, isn't neutral either.
Sure, rain is rain, and you'll get wet whether you're liberal, conservative, green or a member of that obscure "Rent is Too High" party that showed up in last year's gubernatorial elections.
But drop the words "global warming" into any of those circles, and you'll definitely get some mixed precipitation.
Most liberals and greens will unleash a hurricane of anxiety, pelting their listeners with statistics about the imminence of climate change and free viewings of "An Inconvenient Truth."
Many conservatives will respond with an icy drizzle of skepticism.
"Global warming? Riiiight ... Al Gore didn't notice that snowstorm last month. Guess he was busy inventing the Internet!"
(As for that last party, I can only assume they would say something like: "The planet is in danger? Will that reduce my rent?")
I recently overheard a group of middle-aged men debating global warming in these terms. One argued that scientists are still divided on the issue, and it's only those crazy liberals who are scaring everyone because ... well, that's the part I must have missed. Is there some sort of secret kickback system, where a dime of every dollar spent on reducing carbon emissions gets donated to the Democratic Party?
Another man responded with earnest outrage that millions of people will die by the time the proof is undeniable, and it's only those crazy conservatives who are dilly-dallying because ... hmm, I didn't catch that one either. Are all conservatives accepting bribes from the oil industry? (Why haven't I been offered one? I've voted for at least one Republican.)
They droned on for an hour or more, accomplishing nothing besides annoying everyone in earshot. I wish I could say this surprised me, but I've heard the same debate so many times it hurts my head.
How did what should be a scientific issue get so tied up in a political tug-of-war? The result is that people who vote on issues, rather than party lines, are bewildered into a false sense of neutrality that feels more like paralysis.
Nothing is neutral, and it's foolish to pretend otherwise. But that doesn't mean everything needs to become a battle, either, especially not a politicized one. The world's got enough war on its hands already.
Amanda Bensen writes features for The Post-Star. She agrees that rent is too high, but probably won't be voting that way.
March 29, 2007
Nothing is neutral.
A sociology professor terrified me with that statement in college. I'm not good at making quick decisions, so it was overwhelming to suddenly feel surrounded by them.
She made the point that even the simple act of eating comes with a lot of baggage, thanks to globalization. You can choose between organic and non-organic; fair-trade and non; New York or New Zealand apples. Your dollars make a statement, whether you want them to or not.
The weather, apparently, isn't neutral either.
Sure, rain is rain, and you'll get wet whether you're liberal, conservative, green or a member of that obscure "Rent is Too High" party that showed up in last year's gubernatorial elections.
But drop the words "global warming" into any of those circles, and you'll definitely get some mixed precipitation.
Most liberals and greens will unleash a hurricane of anxiety, pelting their listeners with statistics about the imminence of climate change and free viewings of "An Inconvenient Truth."
Many conservatives will respond with an icy drizzle of skepticism.
"Global warming? Riiiight ... Al Gore didn't notice that snowstorm last month. Guess he was busy inventing the Internet!"
(As for that last party, I can only assume they would say something like: "The planet is in danger? Will that reduce my rent?")
I recently overheard a group of middle-aged men debating global warming in these terms. One argued that scientists are still divided on the issue, and it's only those crazy liberals who are scaring everyone because ... well, that's the part I must have missed. Is there some sort of secret kickback system, where a dime of every dollar spent on reducing carbon emissions gets donated to the Democratic Party?
Another man responded with earnest outrage that millions of people will die by the time the proof is undeniable, and it's only those crazy conservatives who are dilly-dallying because ... hmm, I didn't catch that one either. Are all conservatives accepting bribes from the oil industry? (Why haven't I been offered one? I've voted for at least one Republican.)
They droned on for an hour or more, accomplishing nothing besides annoying everyone in earshot. I wish I could say this surprised me, but I've heard the same debate so many times it hurts my head.
How did what should be a scientific issue get so tied up in a political tug-of-war? The result is that people who vote on issues, rather than party lines, are bewildered into a false sense of neutrality that feels more like paralysis.
Nothing is neutral, and it's foolish to pretend otherwise. But that doesn't mean everything needs to become a battle, either, especially not a politicized one. The world's got enough war on its hands already.
Amanda Bensen writes features for The Post-Star. She agrees that rent is too high, but probably won't be voting that way.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
20something column: Not a morning person
By AMANDA BENSEN
Published in The Post-Star (Go)
March 15, 2007
I'm not a morning person. It must be biological, because I've had plenty of behavioral training to the contrary.
My high school was about 30 miles away, which meant I had to leave the house by 7:15 a.m., and I was usually still staring blankly at my closet around that time. It feels like my brain doesn't fully switch on before the hours hit double digits.
My mother tried the cheerful drill sergeant approach -- marching into my room, giving the blankets and window shade a vicious tug as she sang ditties like "Good Morning, Good Morning," and "Rise and Shine" -- but that only made me more determined to hide my head under a pillow.
Friends tried the gentle, coaxing approach, especially after I nearly gave one of them a bloody nose as I tried to shoo away the nasty noise disturbing my slumber. They laughed and rolled their eyes on Sunday mornings when I was late for youth group -- quite a feat since it took place in my own living room.
Realizing that I was developing a reputation for being lazy, I tried setting my alarm to a radio station that hosted a screaming fire-and-brimstone preacher in the early morning time slot. That worked pretty well, although I still dawdled in the stage between getting out of bed and getting out the door. Fortunately, I was a good student and my teachers usually let the tardiness slide.
These days, I have plenty to incentive to get up at a reasonable hour. I have a day job, and I usually look forward to going to it, unlike school. It helps that I live on a street with alternate-side parking that switches at 8 a.m. every day, and a truly dedicated parking enforcement official who begins his patrol about 15 minutes later (thanks, City Hall, you keep me on my toes).
I still love lazy mornings, but I've grown up enough to realize that some things are more important. Last weekend, I went to visit some old friends and their 3-year-old daughter, who is the closest thing I have to a niece.I slept on their couch -- or tried.
That cup of coffee after dinner probably wasn't such a good idea, and their cat kept yowling. I think I finally fell asleep about 3 a.m., which was actually 4 a.m. because of the daylight savings time change.
About three hours later, a little voice pierced my dreams from the upstairs hallway:"It's da mornin!" the 3-year-old announced, as though delivering a present.
Her dad brought her down to the kitchen for breakfast, pointing out the lump on the couch with a whisper as they passed. He offered her a bowl of cereal.
"No thanks, Daddy, cereal is noisy, and she's sleeping," she responded at full volume.
I smiled, and got up.
Amanda Bensen is a features reporter for The Post-Star. She tried unsuccessfully to wake up early this morning to write this column.
Published in The Post-Star (Go)
March 15, 2007
I'm not a morning person. It must be biological, because I've had plenty of behavioral training to the contrary.
My high school was about 30 miles away, which meant I had to leave the house by 7:15 a.m., and I was usually still staring blankly at my closet around that time. It feels like my brain doesn't fully switch on before the hours hit double digits.
My mother tried the cheerful drill sergeant approach -- marching into my room, giving the blankets and window shade a vicious tug as she sang ditties like "Good Morning, Good Morning," and "Rise and Shine" -- but that only made me more determined to hide my head under a pillow.
Friends tried the gentle, coaxing approach, especially after I nearly gave one of them a bloody nose as I tried to shoo away the nasty noise disturbing my slumber. They laughed and rolled their eyes on Sunday mornings when I was late for youth group -- quite a feat since it took place in my own living room.
Realizing that I was developing a reputation for being lazy, I tried setting my alarm to a radio station that hosted a screaming fire-and-brimstone preacher in the early morning time slot. That worked pretty well, although I still dawdled in the stage between getting out of bed and getting out the door. Fortunately, I was a good student and my teachers usually let the tardiness slide.
These days, I have plenty to incentive to get up at a reasonable hour. I have a day job, and I usually look forward to going to it, unlike school. It helps that I live on a street with alternate-side parking that switches at 8 a.m. every day, and a truly dedicated parking enforcement official who begins his patrol about 15 minutes later (thanks, City Hall, you keep me on my toes).
I still love lazy mornings, but I've grown up enough to realize that some things are more important. Last weekend, I went to visit some old friends and their 3-year-old daughter, who is the closest thing I have to a niece.I slept on their couch -- or tried.
That cup of coffee after dinner probably wasn't such a good idea, and their cat kept yowling. I think I finally fell asleep about 3 a.m., which was actually 4 a.m. because of the daylight savings time change.
About three hours later, a little voice pierced my dreams from the upstairs hallway:"It's da mornin!" the 3-year-old announced, as though delivering a present.
Her dad brought her down to the kitchen for breakfast, pointing out the lump on the couch with a whisper as they passed. He offered her a bowl of cereal.
"No thanks, Daddy, cereal is noisy, and she's sleeping," she responded at full volume.
I smiled, and got up.
Amanda Bensen is a features reporter for The Post-Star. She tried unsuccessfully to wake up early this morning to write this column.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)