Everyone Loves a Boston Girl

Marth Stewart wrote on my Facebook wall You have nooo idea how excited I was when I saw the e-mail in my inbox stating “Martha Stewart wrote on your wall.” And please don’t tell me that it wasn’t really Martha and it was just one of her PR people, because I want to believe that Martha really took the time to read my blog and post on my Facebook wall, and I’m going to.

My mom didn’t even believe me, but then again, I think I got her somewhat stuck on the whole Facebook thing. When I finally got her to understand she said, “Susie, Martha doesn’t have time for that, do you know how busy she is?” and went on to describe everything Martha has done on her show for the last 2 weeks. “Dad tapes it for me every day…you know, he made it so the TV does it automatically.” “DVR, Mom?” Right. She also knew every detail about Usher’s new cologne. I hung up and then it hit me I didn’t realize my mom even knew who Usher was. I guess she’s learning a lot from Martha Stewart.

I should back this up by saying that my mom actually is quite cool when it comes to pop culture; she listens to any music I tell her to and is obsessed with Coldplay and Chris Daughtry. There was that time she was going around singing Pink’s “You and Your Hand” and told me she sang it at work all day. You try explaining to your mom what that song means.

Anyway, Martha Stewart and I are better friends than you and she will ever be. You should be jealous. Seriously though, I’m making it my new goal to learn some of her craftiness–this could be disasterous, but hopefully I will meet some successes.

After mentioning hipsters yesterday, I feel the need to delve further into the topic. Why? Because I am seriously intrigued by the idea of the hipster. Before I attended my extremely artsy, middle of the city graduate school, I wasn’t even clear on what a hipster was. I had heard the term, but couldn’t define it. One night in my column writing class, a classmate wrote about attending a Shins concert and how much the crowd sucked because it was filled with “hipsters.” Since we were workshopping her piece, I felt that understanding what a hipster is was quite important, so I asked. “Walk outside of this building and check out every student standing outside…those are hipsters.” Ok, got it. Yes, they’re all annoying posers, I agreed.

But upon further discussion, my class came to the conclusion that it was much more complicated than that. Though all of my classmates claimed to dislike hipsters, they said that some people would actually refer to them as hipsters too. “But we’re not…seriously. Hipsters suck. They wish they were us,” they’d say. Basically, the point of being a hipster is to not conform, but in labeling a group that tries to be so unique, you’re taking away their individualism. It’s nearly impossible to meet someone who will label themself a hipster; they would cease to exist if they called themselves hipsters. So essentially, there are no such thing as hipsters. Confused? I am, because I know a lot of people who fit in with a lot of my hipster descriptions but aren’t actively trying to be different; they just honestly don’t care what other people think. So are these hipsters or not? I refer to this category of people as the hipster-types.

I guess I have to use the term lightly since I am clearly confused. But I’ve recently come to the realization that I quite enjoy hipster-types. I’m making total sweeping generalizations and I openly admit this, but hipsters are like a breath of fresh air to the people I’m usually used to dealing with.

If you’re trying to determine whether or not someone is a hipster-type, here are some extremely stereotypical guidelines (keep in mind I’m mostly focusing on male hipsters here):

They wear wide-rimmed glasses
They wear skinny jeans
They have bed-head hair
They listen to indie music and other music that hasn’t even been invented yet
They wear ironic t-shirts that are too tight for them
They talk about their emotions and feelings
They’re usually rich (or have rich parents) but usually spend their money trying to look not rich
Lots of times they wear makeup, especially guyliner
They pretty much only drink PBR (or maybe Miller High Life)
They sometimes have a lot of tattoos and piercings
They generally aren’t athletic
Some hipsters are straight edge, some do coke
You rarely see overweight hipsters; in fact, they’re usually extremely skinny

The hipster-types I go to school with are seriously nicer than many other people I’ve come across in this world. They’re accepting of me, even as I’m waltzing around in my Ugg boots and pink North Face fleece. Maybe they find that my lack of irony actually makes me ironic. Is that possible? As I went through life raised in a preppy suburb and attended a relatively preppy and/or hippy (hippy is very different from hipster) college, I didn’t meet many hipsters. I hung out with guys who were quite the opposite of hipster-types. Athletes for whom a tight t-shirt meant Nike dry-fit, wearing baggy pants with perfectly gelled hair, driving luxury cars, drinking Sam Adams, listening to pop music, and acting a lot tougher than they really were. So, I think being immersed with hipster-types has done me a world of good. They are deep, they are writers, they talk to me about books and their feelings. Just to be clear, I’m talking about hipster-types; the people who come off as hipsters but honestly just don’t give a crap about what the world thinks. I’m not used to that.

Anyway, I’m pretty convinced I’m going to end up marrying a hipster-type who will stay up all night talking to me about his thoughts and feelings. But he won’t really be a hipster at all…he’ll just be himself. And won’t care what anyone else thinks. Oh, and no guyliner allowed.

P.S. Ironically, as I’m writing this, Say Anything’s “Admit It,” which I think is basically bashing hipsters, started to play on my computer. Not only is this ironic because I’m writing about hipsters, it’s ironic because hipsters love irony. Hmmm.

Tonight I officially began my last semester of my graduate school career. More specifically, my last class. Wow. How did this happen? It feels like yesterday I was freaking out over attending orientation and trying to find something to wear that would make me semi-fit in with my classmates (no pink! no Prada! no sparkles!). Even if I didn’t think I would totally fit in with the rest of the student body, I knew this was the school I belonged at. I had refused to even apply here for my undergraduate schooling because the students were “nothing like me;” but by the time I graduated undergrad in rural New Hampshire, I specifically wanted to be around people not “like me.” How do you learn anything when everyone you’re surrounded by is pretty much just like you? It makes for a narrow education.

I’m extremely depressed that my graduate career is ending. I’m not excited to graduate because I didn’t go to school for the degree. In this field, degrees don’t really count for much; it’s all about your talent and skills. I went to graduate school for the classes; to learn and to make myself a better editor, writer, reader, and person. I went there because I am in love with my profession and want to learn every thing about it. And I don’t want it to be over. Ever.

My last class promises to be a good one and is all about the relationships between magazine editors and writers. One of my favorite professors is teaching the class, but then I’ve been lucky and actually have 4 or 5 favorite graduate school professors. Fittingly, while trying to shove my way through the crowds of undergrad students congregation on the sidewalks, I ran into the first graduate school professor I had and it hit me how far I’ve come in 2 years.

I had “W” for my very first grad school class and I’ll never forget the first paper I wrote for his class. I thought it was pretty damn good. But when I got it back, he had written, among other things in red ink, “this is not graduate school work; you should go to the writing center!” Was he even serious? I practically ran the writing center in undergrad. I almost started crying in the middle of class, but instead I jogged to my then-bf’s apartment and sat on his bed and cried all night. I told him I wanted to drop out of school: “I don’t belong here…everyone is so smart except for me…nobody likes me…I suck…I can’t even write…what am I doing here??” He calmed me down, telling me a “B” really wasn’t that bad (it wasn’t the grade that got to me; it was the comments!) and he assured me that I got into the school because I belonged there and deserved it. “They wouldn’t have accepted you if you couldn’t handle it,” he said.

Within a few weeks, I came to find out that “W” made almost everyone cry their first semester of graduate school. He made one girl almost drop out after he handed her back her paper and said, “I don’t know where you did your undergrad work, but here, you’re among smart people.” After I realized this was his idea of tough love, I became adept at dealing with his BS and even eventually took another class from him. He’s the only professor I’ve had in my 2 years who I didn’t actually like as a person, though I can certainly appreciate and respect his knowledge and skill in the industry. And I did learn a great deal from him. Two years later and I laughed to myself thinking about how he almost caused me to quit before I even began.

So here we are. Who knows what’s next. I went in to graduate school hoping to be the next big thing in book editors, and I’m coming out of graduate school ridiculously confused and much more interested in magazines and electronic publishing than books. Two years ago, I wasn’t sure I’d fit in. Now I realize that not fitting in means you’ll have the opportunity to learn more than you ever thought possible. Two years ago, I didn’t even know what the term “hipster” meant. Now I can kind of, sort of feel like I belong when I’m among hipsters (more on this tomorrow maybe; the whole hipster thing really intrigues me). Two years ago, I thought graduate school would keep me on my path to securing my dream job, but it has done so much more. It has taught me how much potential I have, how many opportunities I have, and just how much more I have to learn. Thank God. I hope it never ends.

P.S. Martha accepted my Facebook friend request. Interestingly, she has a lot of applications on her site, including the “fun wall.” And tonight she even has a status up: ” Martha Stewart is a little bit tired this evening.. excited for tomorrow!” Wonder what she’s up to tomorrow…Ohhh yes, I will Facebook stalk her! Also, I just noticed I’m on Martha’s “top friends” list. Probably randomly generated…but I’m freaking out about it none the less. I am ranked 17th out of 506!

Today I friend requested Martha Stewart on Facebook. I’m anxiously waiting to see if she accepts my request. She currently only has 160 friends, so she must be fairly discriminating when deciding who to allow as her Facebook friend. Either that or she’s brand-new to the Facebook community. In any event, when I read today on Ad Age that she was a Facebook user, I immediately knew I had to be her friend.

I have always been in the camp that believes Martha Stewart is a Goddess and that any haters are purely jealous of her talents. I mean come on, who wouldn’t want to be able to do everything in the world? Honestly, the woman can cook anything, decorate anything, build anything, grow anything, raise anything, and solve pretty much any problem you could ever come across. I think it’s ridiculous when people pretend they don’t want to be her. You know you do.

I admit I am insanely jealous of Martha Stewart and would give pretty much anything to have half her talents. I’m actually jealous of anyone with a crafty bone in their body, because I have none. I can’t make greeting cards. I can’t sew or knit. I can’t do woodworking, painting, pottery, drawing, or wreath making. I consider myself an OK cook, but how hard is it to follow a recipe? And even with my cooking skills, I still feel most comfortable with Martha’s Everyday Food, which is pretty cooking hour for amateurs. I also hold Martha in high regard because I believe she was one of the very first to foresee the current extreme popularity of cupcakes. It must have been back in 1998 that she was telling people to make tiers of cupcakes instead of wedding cakes. SMART.

There’s nothing I hate more than when people argue that Martha doesn’t have a personality. If you’ve ever seen her on Conan or Leno, you know she can actually be a lot of fun. She has amazing guests on her new show and my mom told me she was hanging out with Usher the other day. Sure, maybe she’s a little full of herself, but ummm wouldn’t you be full of yourself if you could throw a wedding and take care of every single detail yourself? Yeah, I thought so. She’s also a savvy businesswoman. Uhh crafty and entrepreneurial…seriously my idol.

So, as I sit here and wait for Martha to accept my request, I fantasize that we will become fabulously close Facebook friends. Maybe she’ll invite me to NYC to teach me to make flower arrangements in egg shells. Or maybe she’ll invite me to her house in Connecticut or Maine to meet Paw Paw, one of her many dogs. Or seriously, she’s more than welcome to come to my apartment to help me organize my drawers or sew me a new duvet cover.

At the very least, I hope Martha will write me a comment on my Facebook wall. Sigh.

The best of Martha Stewart <3

I feel like every time I go home to my family I end up gushing about it, but I just can’t help it. I went home this weekend because my sister was visiting from Chicago with her boyfriend, so I spent a couple of fabulous nights there.

-I basically didn’t do a thing the whole weekend. I walked through the garage and into my kitchen at 3:30 p.m. on Saturday and at 9:30 p.m. I realized I hadn’t even left the kitchen the entire time. I basically sat at the counter and ate the whole time. Until today at 4:00, I didn’t even leave the house.

-My parents felt bad that they made haddock, swordfish, salmon, and shrimp without me and then went to Maine and had lobster without me, so they decided to buy some more lobsters and make Saturday night surf and turf. Basically I ate a lot.

-My mom bought the hugest cake I’ve ever seen to celebrate her and my birthdays since my sister won’t be home for them. Obviously I ate a lot.

-My dad knows I don’t like eating corn on the cob because it annoys me, so when we sat down to eat dinner on Saturday night, he had a bowl of corn that he had personally cut off the cob for me. Even at 24, my dad would still do anything for me!

-My mom did at least 6 loads of laundry for me. I swear I brought it home to do myself. When I thanked her, she said she liked “feeling needed.” Good to know.

-My sister and her boyfriend took me to the Red Sox game tonight. Obviously they lost and I’m pretty sure they’re going to ban me from Fenway Park because I’ve only attended to 1 game that they’ve actually won…and that was when I was like 8. I think I jinx the place. Oh, and I ate a lot there too. Obviously.

So yeah, good weekend. Tomorrow I’m in need of a good work out. Seriously.