apropos of anything

I’ve had several posts in my head over the last week, but I haven’t actually written any of them out to completion, partly because of work and partly because of carpal tunnel and partly because I’ve simply haven’t had time to write things down lately.

I had a piece half written about World Refugee Day and the exclusive interview Angelina Jolie, superstar extraordinaire, UNCHR Goodwill Ambassador, and new mom, offered Anderson Cooper, except that happened almost a week ago, and I haven’t watched it yet. The original airing I missed because the Mavs/Heat game was on (and as an aside, I’m so disappointed by the outcome of that game) and mostly because I don’t want to be up as late as the show was going to run. I figured I’d catch it in more manageable doses, at a more manageable time, the next day, or some other time whenever it was repackaged as a CNN Presents piece.

But I believe Anderson Cooper when he says the focus of the interview will be on African refugees because I don’t think Angelina Jolie would do it any other way. It’s actually the reason I’m even planning on watching a celebrity interview because I don’t really care how much hair Shiloh has on her head, or what color her eyes are, but I do care about the message Angelina Jolie is trying to spread.

Thursday, Heather and I went to see Breakfast at Tiffany’s at Screen on the Green. It was my first time back at SotG since The Sound of Music with Aisha and Sadia a few years ago. Some things are still the same as they were then, but the high-backed chairs have gotten better even if the smoking hasn’t. Also, Heather and I arrived later than normal, so we got a spot on the hill rather than right smack up in the front. I think I actually prefer the hill now that I’ve done both.

I had never before seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s, despite having it on my list for a while now. I loved it, even though I kept wanting to tell Fred (or Paul, but like Holly, I can only call him Fred) that he couldn’t keep fixing Holly’s problems, that he couldn’t keep taking care of her and making it all better because she had to do those things for herself. I know things were different in the sixties, which is why I can accept it in a movie, but I know if I saw the same thing in a film set in modern times, I’d be pretty upset. As it is, the movie was beautiful and romantic and classic and all of that, but it also made my heart hurt just a little.

Friday was a lot of back and forth to the Georgia Aquarium for corporate-type, work-related things. They bused us over in the morning, but Carlos and I decided to walk back because we apparently need to have our heads examined. It was so hot and muggy that even the short five-minute walk left us sweat, so of course that meant I worried the entire rest of the day that I smelled. When it was time to go again, the sky had clouded over and there were actual drops of rain, so it wasn’t quite so bad going or coming, and I did love both opportunities to see the fish (hi, whale sharks, and we missed you, Gasper!) without smacking somebody in the face. Oh, and there was ice cream. Lots and lots of ice cream.

Saturday, I had an engagement party. (My entire office finds no end of amusement in how many engagement parties and weddings I attend, especially as they usually coincide with some upgrade or another that we’ve got scheduled.) I decided at the last minute not to wear the clothes I’d had set aside for weeks and doing a sari instead, which meant first I had to find a sari that had a blouse in my size, and then I had to go to the fabric store to find matching material for a scarf, and then I had to do it all over again when the store didn’t have the right material in the right color. Now, looking back, I wish I’d gone with a shalwar kameez after all.

I think I’m off saris for a while. Actually, I’ve been off saris for a while already, but on Saturday I thought perhaps I was ready to end that streak, and it turns out I’m not, really. I’m just having the hardest time finding blouses and scarves to go with all of my mother’s fancy saris, and my fancy saris that I brought back, blouses sewn, from India are too fancy for just any event. It would help if I had a reliable tailor to make blouses for me in Atlanta. I do have a reliable tailor — an awesome reliable tailor I recommend to everyone who needs alterations or whole outfits made — but that particular shop is American, and for sari blouses, I need somebody Indian. Not desi — Indian. They know their way around a shalwar, but Pakistanis just cannot make good sari blouses.

In between, I have been watching a lot of the World Cup, the American games in particular. The match against Ghana was painful, especially towards the end as it became more and more obvious that we were not going to get the win we needed to advance to the quarterfinals even though Italy was holding up their end by beating the Czechs. And I know a team that only scores one goal in four matches doesn’t really deserve to advance, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t roll my eyes as the Ghana team flopped all over the pitch on Thursday. The stretcher team got a nice workout, running back and forth onto the field every time yet another Ghana player lay moaning on the ground.

But no, I’m not bitter.

Really, I’m not. We probably should have won that game, but if we wanted to advance, we should have shown up against the Czechs in the first place.

If you want bitter, get me started on the Braves this season. Or, for all our sakes, don’t.

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