Tag Archives: Battlestar Galactica

Life in the Nest

Yesterday morning, I read an article in the Courier Journal that made me so mad I nearly ripped my sleep tank from my chest. I think it was my first experience with roid rage. I’m not usually one to throw a tantrum over a newspaper article, but this one really upset me. I’ll probably sit in the dark later and fume about it in my diary .

The article is called “Adult kids can need a push to leave the nest,” so right off the bat I questioned this columnist’s sanity. I’m 22 years old and living in a nest, do you really think I want to be here? I don’t need a push, a nudge or even a passive-aggressive verbal cue to get me more motivated to ditch this unfortunate situation that I can only refer to as indentured servitude. I’m sleeping in an office for crying out loud. My days consist of grocery shopping, picking up family members’ prescriptions, grooming Buster, feeding Buster, cleaning up Buster’s vomit after he eats too quickly, lawn mowing, unpaid internships, dog sitting, kitchen cleaning and other miscellaneous requests. I’ll probably start wearing a visor and headset sometime soon, like I imagine personal assistants and PTA-executive-board-members wear.


Buster: Cranky & waiting to be fed

My nights consist of a part-time restaurant job or, if I’m off, watching Battlestar Galactica, the Tennis Channel, and/or ridiculously depressing indie movies with my parents until 9 p.m. when they call it a night. I can’t handle depressing movies and my parents know it. For some reason, they insist on watching these disturbingly heavy films anyways, leaving me alone on the couch, hyperventilating and contemplating the meaning of life after they’ve gone to bed. I’ve started dressing in all black for family movie nights, and I’m considering purchasing a beret for added theatrical emphasis. I’ve really gone off the deep-end here, people. The fact that I’ve spent the entire summer pining for a fictional spaceship pilot does not help my case. For the record, I’m talking about Helo Agathon. I’ve moved on from Captain Apollo (see 8th & 9th paragraph in this post). He turned out to be a sentimental basket-case and I just can’t handle all of that romantic, emotional turmoil. I’m rapidly becoming a graphic-tee-wearing teenage boy who spends his days googling World of Warcraft cheat codes. I’m moments away from subscribing to Gamefly and ordering Halo.

Do you think I want to be here?

The author of this article really throws herself under the bus with her opening line: “One of my favorite movies is ‘Failure to Launch.'” Woof. Any journalist intending to write a meaningful piece who begins their article with a sub-par Sarah Jessica Parker movie reference should really reconsider where things are headed. I’ll admit I’m a huge fan of SJP. I’m overjoyed when I’m able to watch her in something that doesn’t involve any scenes with her sourpuss, redheaded friend Miranda. However, no matter my feelings towards Ms. Carrie Bradshaw, ‘Failure to Launch’ is not a starting point I would use to begin an intellectual argument.

The author goes on to explain that parents are suffering because they can’t gather the strength to “cut the financial ties” with their children. She states that about 60 percent of parents have given or are currently giving financial support to their college grad kids. How unreasonable of them. Especially with this booming economy and incredibly fertile job market. I’m working unpaid internships during the day and a part-time paying job at night. I apply for jobs multiple times per day. I spend hours drafting cover letters and job applications, sending emails and searching online for any connection that might lead to another internship or potential job. I even call random companies and leave incredibly uncomfortable voice mail messages. I work very hard to earn my “rent” (as my dad calls it). I’m entirely grateful for all my parents do for me, and they are well aware of it.

I have no doubt in my mind that this author worked very hard to get to where she is today, but I bet if she quit her job and put herself in my shoes, she’d change her tune faster than Buster scarfs and spews his mid-morning snack. I respect her opinion, but surely things aren’t the same today as they were when she graduated from college. I fully acknowledge that there are some post-grads living at home, refusing to grow up and putting more effort into rolling joints than finding jobs, but from where I’m standing, they are the exception. Not the rule.

One of the many sanitation problems in our household. Please note my dad’s repulsive footwear.

I’d like this woman to have a conversation with my parents. Although I’ve already admitted a strong desire to fly the coop, my parents are adamant about keeping me here until I can financially support myself. Also, I’m fairly certain they need me here for their health. My dad doesn’t believe in expiration dates, or germs for that matter. Last week, we were making homemade pizza and he dropped nearly every ingredient, including the dough, on the floor. “425, Jo. 425 degrees,” he’d say every time he brushed an orange tuft of fur from a sliced tomato. His rationale was that we’d just bake the hell out of every pathogen, and the remaining floor residue would “boost our immune systems.” Needless to say, I supervise about 90 percent of all kitchen activity.

If my parents kicked me out, there’s no way I’d be able to completely support myself while fully focusing on job-hunting. They’re 100 percent okay with me living at home until I get on my feet. If not, I’d probably end up living in a cardboard box in the backyard, feeding on mulch and whatever scraps of food they toss into the compost pile. Perhaps I’ll try it and write a blog about it. Then I’ll send a letter to this author and ask her for money.

In the last paragraph, she does admit that she’s “all for helping but not enabling.” I’m not a drug addict, so I’m not entirely sure what she means by that, but I appreciate her less than enthusiastic support.

Side note: I realize this post sounds a little spiteful. I understand that for the most part, she’s probably referring to college grads who stay with their parents for years on end. Nevertheless, it’s still a sore spot. Don’t take my rant too seriously, I’m not an angry person. Unless Goodfellas sells out of cheese pizza anytime after 2 a.m.


Angry Elk, Rogue Newts and Battlestar Galactica

I’m finally home from my 10-day family vacation. All in all, I’d say it was a success… except for the trip home, which included a dead car battery at 2:00 am and someone trying to feed me a Philly cheese steak.

Hiking along Hurricane Ridge in the Olympic Mountains

The Olympic Peninsula turned out to be a great place to visit, although I’m a little disappointed that I didn’t get to see more woodland creatures. On one of our hikes, we were warned numerous times to stay at least 100 yards away from any elk. Apparently the elk were getting annoyed with hikers and had resorted to charging people down. I’ve seen similar behavior in Buster when he was young and spry, and I remember bits and pieces from “The Horse Whisperer,” so I was confident that I’d be able to connect with the angry elk and come to some sort of truce. Unfortunately, we did not come across any elk so I did not get to test my theory.

Newt Warning

On another hike, we saw a poster that said, “WATCH OUT! Newts on the trail!” I’m not sure what’s so dangerous about a couple of rogue newts, but I imagine they were running some sort of pickpocketing business to take advantage of unsuspecting tourists.

When we weren’t in the mood to hike, we took day-trips to various towns along the Olympic Peninsula. On our day trip to Port Townsend, my sister and I stumbled upon a local brewery. Since we are both working on the beginnings of modest beer bellies, we wanted to go in for a beer tasting. My mom, trusting our judgment, gave us a couple bucks and sent us in to get a few bottles. Once inside, my sister and I decided it was of the utmost importance to support local businesses, and so we took it upon ourselves to contribute to the “Buy Local” cause by purchasing a gallon of home-brewed beer. It came in handy later that night when my Grandma made us all sit down and watch “An Officer and a Gentleman.”

We spent the last 3 days of our trip in Seattle. I finally got my wildlife fix at the Seattle Aquarium, which is by far one of the best aquariums I’ve ever visited. I have a slight obsession with aquariums/marine life in general, and I seem to have a twisted relationship with sharks. I refuse to swim in murky water or the deep-ends of pools for fear of being attacked, but I can’t tear my eyes away from Shark Week.

When I was little, I wanted to be a marine biologist and work at Sea World. My favorite tune was the Free Willy song by Michael Jackson, aka “Will you be there?” I didn’t understand the words, so I’d walk around singing, “Hold me, holy bologna,” instead of whatever they really say in the chorus. I distinctly remember my mom calling the phone number on the screen at the end of Free Willy, but I’m not sure if we ended up adopting a whale or not.

Mermaid rescue mission at the Seattle Aquarium

While we were at the Seattle Aquarium, I fantasized about working for Sea World, perhaps doing their advertising or event planning. On my weekends off, I’d saddle up a sea lion or whale and ride until my wetsuit began to chafe. I’ve always loved the sea lions, even though they scare me. When I was little, I leaned too far over the sea lion exhibit at the Louisville zoo. I dropped my pacifier into the water. It was traumatic.

The next thing we did while in Seattle will go down in history as the nerdiest thing I’ve ever done. My family and I were exploring the Seattle Center when we stumbled upon the Science Fiction Hall of Fame museum. My dad loves science fiction. When I was younger, he’d tell me and my sister bedtime stories about black holes, giant space worms and other imaginative alien creatures. It’s a wonder I’m not more screwed up than I already am. My sister and I grew up watching Star Trek episodes with him, so we both have a solid understanding of spaceship protocol and a deeply rooted appreciation for the Syfy channel. That being said, we were all fairly interested in buying tickets to the museum but couldn’t decide if it was worth the steep entrance fee.

A dream come true.

Our deliberation came to an abrupt halt when we saw a certain advertisement hanging outside the museum: they had a Battlestar Galactica exhibit. I almost peed my yoga pants when I saw the face of Captain Apollo smiling down at me. He’s my newest crush. If I was still in school, I’d most certainly make a Captain Apollo collage for my binder and/or locker. Since I’m supposed to be an adult now, I settled for making him the desktop background on my Mac.

Nerd Alert! Me with a Battlestar Galactica Viper

Anyways, the exhibit was awesome. I won’t go into great detail as I’m sure only a small portion of the population shares my Battlestar Galactica obsession. But I will say that I now have several photos with the actual spaceships used in filming the series. Jealous? I didn’t think so, but oh well.