because then I could comfortably make a list of items I would like to be found underneath my Christmas tree. However, as a Jew, and one who will conveniently be traveling on December 25th, I imagine I will have to resort to alternative methods of capitalist perpetuation. Perhaps I can pray for a Chanukah miracle.
Since Chanukah starts obscenely early this year– December 1st to be precise, it may be a quicker means to material attainment. And yes, as a senior on the verge of a nervous breakdown, my list is rather long. I have abbreviated it for the purposes of maintaining reader interest.
1. Tickets to Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, the Broadway musical based on the 1988 Pedro Almodovar film of the same name. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I love musicals. They infuse an otherwise mundane reality with a choreographed form of spontaneity that inevitably makes my otherwise pessimistic state a little more optimistic. Yes, basically they make me smile; kind of like a grande skinny vanilla latte, but only calorie-free.
And this particular musical also captures some important life lessons about being a woman– in this case, in Spain– but in a more generalized sense, in a society on the verge of its own sort of post-modern feminist reawakening. Over the course of a 48 period, the lives of four women unfold on stage, and the power of sisterhood is both challenged and reinforced. Or so the online description claims.
I identify with the woman in red.
2. An Anthropologie gift card. I admit that gift cards tend to result in new obsessions for me. I mean my mother gave me a Starbucks gift card for Chanukah my senior year of high school, and well, she basically created a monster of the hyper-caffeinated variety.
However, as someone in the midst of refurbishing my wardrobe for my impending introduction into the real world/work environment, in which jean skirts and turtle-covered cardigans do not scream, “lean, mean, and professional,” I believe investment in clothing to be more of a necessity than anything else. And, as Michal can attest, I am fully capable of walking into and out of Anthropologie without charging my mother’s credit card.
Of course, in addition to purchasing appropriate professional attire, I am also kind of craving a certain Christmas-esque sweater that involves the Wellesley mascot: the Fearless Squirrel
3. Pre-order of the SmittenKitchen cookbook. This, in my opinion, is the most practical gift. Since SmittenKitchen is the reason I tamed my inner Western feminist and began enjoying the experience of being a 21st century woman in the kitchen, I feel it is only appropriate to purchase her official cookbook (set to be released early next year).
I suspect my grandmother may pay for this little culinary conquest, as she has countless of times reminded me, “Yaffa, dear, no man will marry a woman who can’t cook.” I know it’s wrong to play the marriage card, but if it going to be a constant matter of discussion between my grandmother and myself (the one she refers to as the “barren grandchild”), then I might as well find a means to profit from this inevitable pre-Sabbath phone conversation.
And seriously, who can resist sweet potatoes with pecans and goat cheese?
4. An apartment in the Webster Apartments— a relatively affordable means of living in New York without paying the egregious rents. Yes, I am still bitter that the Rent is Too Damn High candidate did not win the race for governor. The only catch with the Webster Apartments– no men allowed. Now I am almost certain my grandmother will not support this residential endeavor, but I believe that after four years of the ya-ya sisterhood, I can survive in a testosterone-less residence– at least temporarily.
Also, it strongly resembles a brownstone, which is what the Beloved Roommate and I aspire to own– ideally on the Upper West Side, but we are open to geographical, Manhattan-based suggestions.
5. A blackberry that is not possessed by some evil, developmentally slow spirit. My current blackberry, which I should mention is only a month old, has a tendency to act disabled. It freezes up on command– kind of like those fainting goats, who “faint” or fall over every time their muscles are about to contract.
And while I know I should probably drop by my neighborhood Verizon store, I am holding out for a Chanukah miracle. Or, at least waiting until I finish my finals period, at which point in time I can pretend to embrace the land of the living once more.