Things I've Learned Over the Summer

Some thoughts on things that I've learned over the summer:

• S'mores cupcakes are quite possibly the most delicious cupcakes in the entire world.
• Nothing beats a lazy day on a beautiful beach, lazing around in the water full on Margaritas and Pina Coladas.
• No matter how tan you think you are, you can always end up even more tan.
• The humidity in the South is just bad enough to make my skin, which is usually pretty cooperative, break out. When it's that humid, you go from washing you face once a day to washing it twice a day. Before each wash, open up your pores by laying a hot towel or wash cloth dipped in hot water and rung out on your face for five minutes. Close your pores afterword with a cold compress or damp rag dipped in cold water.
• Popsicles are amazing. No matter how old you get, you're never too old for a popsicle.
• Lime-a-rita's are delicious with chorizo tacos.
• Life can change in an instant. Rolling with the punches is an art you will never truly get the hang of.
• Your real friends are the ones who are there for you when the going gets tough and never judge you or expect anything in return. They just want your friendship.
• Girls at bachelorette parties are hilarious. No exception.
• Girls at bridal showers are also a load of fun. No exception.
• People act much different outside of work (in a good way, from what I've seen).
• Don't forget your bugspray when you walk in the forest.
• Take time to appreciate the beauty in your life every day, because before you know it, the seasons will change and you'll start a whole new chapter without remembering the little things you experienced along the way.
• The difference between a pig pickin cake and a hummingbird cake: a pig pickin cake has mandarin oranges and whipped icing and coconut. A hummingbird cake has banana and pecans and is more like a spice cake.
• You look as good in a bikini as you believe you look.
• The best drinking partners are laid back, low maintenance girls-they're usually so relaxed that they have a high tolerance.
• Going up and down over the same ten pounds is perfectly fine, as long as you have a fun time doing it.
• There are two yoga studios in Morehead City. TWO!
• There is no fried chicken like home made fried chicken.
• There are no brownies like home made brownies.
• Oliver Reibly is the cutest goshdarn kid in the world, and should not grow up past the age of 3.
• There is nothing like hearing a 3 year old ask if you will "snuggle buggle" with him.
• Flip flops are the greatest invention ever.
• You can exfoliate your face once a week using the clay masks and peel off masks from walmart for only about $8 a month.
• Yes, you can make a smoothie that's great for you and delicious. Don't be afraid to add spinach leaves and pumpkin seeds to your bananas and apples.
• Lace is okay. We're bringing it back.
• There is no pie like a peach pie.

My Favorite Album: "Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge"

It's so hard sometimes to pick a favorite album; that is, until you find that one album that you can't forget. I've been reminiscing on different music from my teenage years for the past week, and it really got me to thinking about the album that started the love for it all: My Chemical Romance's "Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge".

Growing up, I listened to all kinds of music. Living in Philadelphia, I grew up on salsa and bachata that I heard at my Uela's or my Titi's house whenever I would go over there. Even hearing Latin music now gives me flashes of my childhood-going around the corner to a house that was handing out juice boxes and cheese danishes to all of the kids on the block; driving in the car with my Uela yelling at the other drivers; and the heat of the hot city pavements. When I was 4 and my mom and I moved to Wildwood, it was all about country music and classic 20's, 30's and 40's; a strange mix, but a result of living with my mom and my Nana (my great grandmother). I got into R&B and hip hop when I was around 12; I was still caught up in the pop phase of Backstreet Boys and NSync, and I listened to a little bit of Matchbox Twenty and some other light rock. But for some reason, no one artist or album really struck a chord with me until the Spring of 2005.

I was going to a performing arts school and still trying to figure out my "musical identity". My natural singing voice was deep for a girl, and the only time I sung higher was when singing soprano notes in choir. I couldn't belt. I had a hard time singing songs by female pop singers. I couldn't sing R&B. In addition to this, I was going through the normal teenage struggles: I had a boyfriend who I was always arguing with; I had schoolwork that was never finished; and I knew for sure that I was going to fail algebra and have to come up with 200 bucks for summer school. I also lost my after-school job at a deli mid way through the school year, so I was basically frustrated and angry all year. I was frustrated with the world and everyone in it. And my only escape, singing, was turning into a chore because of my lack of ability to identify any kind of music that I could sing well and that touched me enough to want to sing it. And then "Helena" came out.

I had seen the video for "I'm Not Okay (I Promise)" a few months before on MTV, and I knew who My Chemical Romance were. I would hum "I'm Not Okay" and we talked about how funny the video was. But one day, as I was brushing my teeth for school, I saw a flash of red, white and black and heard a bass line that caught my attention. I stared at the TV in wonder, watching Gerard Way in a black suit and red tie perform with dancers-dancers!-in black suits and dresses, doing the most emotive dances every. The coloring of the video was unique, the ballet section incredible. And the song was a monster. Coming in like a train in the distance with a distinctive bass line and Gerard's raspy voice somewhere between a whisper and a haunting lower register, then grabbing your full attention with Frank and Ray's guitars and an unrelenting drum line. The bridge was suspenseful-if you could ever imagine a section of a song to be suspenseful-and the ending to the song slammed to a close, leaving you wanting more even after the last stray guitar chords dropped off. I wanted to hear more.

I borrowed the CD from a friend (I can't remember which) and immediately burned myself a copy. I brought it to school in my CD player every day, listening to it on a loop throughout any breaks in classes I had, on my way home on the NJ Transit, and sometimes even in class.

"Helena" was just the first song on the album. The second track "Give 'Em Hell, Kid" had an even more unrelenting bass guitar line and lyrics that spawned merchandise and a nickname for the MCR fan base: The NJ Murder Scene. "To The End " begins with Gerard Way over one strong guitar that sounds like the epitome of rock and roll electric guitar riffs. As he whispers the fourth line of the song, then swoops into the next line ("Let's go down"), the second guitar chimes in with a dizzying guitar loop that sets the pace for the rest of the song, which doesn't slow down until it screeches to a halt. On one of my three personal favorites, "You Know What They Do to Guys Like Us in Prison", the band quiets down a bit, letting Gerard's Freddie Mercury-esque vocals take the spotlight. Guest singer Bert McCracken, from the Used, adds a giddy dynamic that escalates the songs status from simply a theatrical rock song to something unique, something that's both smooth and honest and mental-asylum insane at the same time. There's endless standouts on the album. "I'm Not Okay" is a frenetic pop-punk song that cements the band's true identity. "The Ghost of You" is a haunting ballad about lovers and war that will make you choke up and stick in your memory for a long time. "Thank You For The Venom" is a screaming, stomping anthem for the early 2000's pop-punk movement, and gave My Chem fans another tag line: "Hallelujah, lock and load". " The closer (and rounding out my three favorites), "I Never Told You What I Do For A Living" grabs you with the opening 30 seconds and doesn't let you go, taking you on a hard rocking, shouting story that doesn't sound like anything else in the music scene circa 2005. Quite simply, there was nothing like My Chemical Romance. There was nothing like aggressive rock, punk rock, hard rock, pop punk-rock music was mine. It was for me. It was what I connected with. And ever since then, I have been a die hard My Chemical Romance fan. Every song on that album defined my sophomore and junior year of high school and helped me make it through into the next year feeling a little bit better about who I was. I loved rock and roll. It shaped me as a person, helped me find my identity, and became therapeutic as the years went on. Rock music is still my favorite kind, and I can't wait until my next mosh pit. And it's all because five guys from Jersey said "f*** the system" and made the music that they wanted to make, leading the pop-punk movement and creating a new culture of rock fans.

My Chemical Romance will always be my favorite band because they define the misfits, the socially awkward, the people who think outside the box. And that's something that we need a little bit more in life. "Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge" is a fantastic album that truly embodies everything that the new wave of unrelenting alt-punk-rock is all about.

My Take and Feelings On the Chick-Fil-A Controversy

I read two things today that struck me about this whole Chick Fil A controversy.

The first was an anonymous blog post by a gay Chick Fil A employee that I found on Google. You can read the full length post here.

Honestly, it broke my heart and frustrated me. It's posts like these, in times like right now, amid the peak of Chick Fil A's long-running public persona as a stauntly religious, anti-gay company, that bother me more than anything. More than Dan Cathy going on a radio program and finally solidifying his stance on gay marriage. More than Chick Fil A giving their customers money to organizations that move to suppress gay rights, rather than donating to say, local churches and homeless shelters that may need it more or charities that work to send missionaries to less fortunate countries, such as Africa and Guam. Posts like the one above bother me because of one simple fact: it underscores the seemingly unending culture of hatred that, apparently, is the backdrop of America. Welcome to the "Free World", indeed.

Being an openly gay adult is basically like being the new kid in grade school: you introduce yourself and everyone is quite polite and friendly to you, exchanging pleasantries and asking questions until you both let your guards down a bit. But then, you screw up. You say something about yourself that you didn't think would matter, because it's just a part of you. When you were in grade school, it might have been "I really love playing Dungeons and Dragons!" But now, it's "I'm openly gay". And suddenly, the person you're talking to shifts. It can go one of two ways. The first way is this: "Oh, that's cool," and maybe, if you're lucky, "Oh, I am too". The second way is this: "Oh." This second way is followed by anything ranging from alienation, to disgust, to pompousness, to, unfortunately, insults.

A person's feelings should not be considered only if they're straight. A person's feelings and beliefs should be considered regardless of who or what they are. Isn't that what this country is supposed to be all about? Who are we to say things like the employees in the above article, who unfortunately said that "Gays should starve" and praised the support for Dan Cathy that was shown when customers came in and spouted their hatred towards everyone in earshot? If a black man was a manager at a clothing store, and an employee said to a fellow employee, "I don't understand why they hired a nigger as a manager", I'm positive that he would be tattled on by someone in earshot and swiftly fired. If someone came into a Denny's where the kitchen staff was mostly Hispanic and said, "I support your company because you keep those immigrants in the back where they belong", I'm positive that they would be reprimanded by the acting manager or even a staff member before they continued ordering their breakfast. So why is this not the same for gays who just happen to work around straight staff members? Why is no one coming to their defense in the workplace? Why are customers not thinking about the feelings that they're hurting when they're spouting such hate? It feels to me that the answer to these questions is purely fear and ignorance: fear of the repercussions of standing up for how you really feel, instead of the beliefs that you were raised with, and the ignorance to blindly follow where everyone else is going simply because you refuse to educate yourself; fear of change and accepting people's differences, and the ignorance to again, refuse to educate yourself about gays and why they truly are gay. Fun fact: many of my friends have told me themselves that they did not choose to be gay. Because trust me, being straight would be much easier. I bet you weren't thinking of that when you were saying "I'm so glad you don't support the queers, now I can eat in peace" to that gay employee who waited on you, made your food, and took your money , all the while knowing that said money was going towards suppressing his rights, were you?

Furthermore, are we not in the 21st century now? Because I'm sincerely wondering when we decided to transport back to the 1920's. I'm not comparing the anti-gay movement to racism and segregation; racism may be mostly eradicated, but it is unfortunately something that will always be passed down and contested among the population and will be an undercurrent for centuries due to generations and generations of unchanging beliefs among the ignorant (again, welcome to the "free world"). I'm comparing it to something even more ridiculous, or that at least seems ridiculous now: the oppression of women. Remember when women couldn't vote? Remember when women could not go to school? Remember when women were married when they were 15 years old and were only allowed to stay at home with the children, not hold a job? Hell, remember when women couldn't wear pants? Yes, that does seem ridiculous now, doesn't it? But it happened. And after all of that oppression, after all of that fighting, all of the trailblazers that had to speak out and march to change society's perception of women, the 19th amendment was passed. And a century later, with stay-at-home dads becoming just as normal as stay-at-home moms and 2 percent more working women holding college degrees than men, it's ludicrous to even think about a time when women were oppressed. So why, when we have so much history showing that oppressing minorities of people simply doesn't work out, do we feel the need to go through the rigamorole of oppressing a group of people who simply want to love? LGBTs don't want to make you LGBT. They just want to have the same rights as straight people. And really, we're all God's people after all. Doesn't it seem a bit ridiculous that we're still rallying against gays when they've waited patiently for decades for the government to make a change, and are only now speaking out? And doing it through peaceful protest, I might add, in the form of a "Kiss In" at Chick-Fil-A on August 3 (which is tomorrow-looking forward to the pictures from that). I don't see the Westboro Baptist Church performing a peaceful protest any time soon.

For all of you who are pointing to your bibles and pulling out the old standbys of 1 Corinthians 6:9-10, Leviticus 18:22, Leviticus 20:13, and your verses about sodomites, remember a couple of things:

-The translation of 1 Corinthians 6:9-10 has been hotly debated for years, due to the use of the Greek word "arsenokoite" in the original Greek scripture. The two root words are the same terms often used to refer to any premarital/extramarital sex, not just homosexual sex. When the Bible was translated, there was a margin of human error, regardless of the fact that Jesus spoke to the original disciples and had them write His word directly from his lips. Even with divine scriptures, we need to allow for human error.

-Sodom and Gemorrah were burned down for more than homosexuality. Sodom and Gemorrah were cities that were destroyed because of the crimes going on-the pedophilia, the rape, the excess. Homosexuality was looped in with those sins somewhere along the way, and sodomy suddenly became an acceptably interchangeable term for-well, you know. But that's just it: much of the aura surrounding Sodom and Gemorrah is because the names of the cities, due to the judgement that was brought upon them, have become synonomous with excess and crime, and therefore are technically just references ("slang terms", if you will) that have been passed down and twisted through the ages. 

-Most importantly: what is the verse that all of us true, born-again Christians know by heart? The very first verse you learn at your very first Sunday School class? John 3:16: "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in Him, should not perish, but have everlasting life". It doesn't say "For God so loved the world, excluding those who lie with mankind as womankind". It says "For God so loved the world". If we are to truly stand by this verse, the verse that we quote from the time we are children, the verse of redemption and hope, then we are to also believe that God really meant it when he said "whosoever believeth in Him". That means everyone. Even the LGBT community. We write it on paper crosses, we quote in in church, we've made a damn sing a long in a round to this verse-it's time for us to truly pay attention to it, listen to it, and believe in it.

And by the way, here's a sidenote for my LGBTs that are reading this: Not all of us Christians are the same. Not all of us are like Billy Graham. And it does hurt our feelings when you call us crazy religious whack-job bible thumpers, because there are those of us who are behind you, 100 percent. The reason why you can't see us is because the negative voices are, unfortunately, always the ones who speak the loudest.

The second thing I read today that struck me, and may seem silly to you, is a simple Facebook status by a close friend from high school. It stated the following:

"Why is everyone flipping shit about Chick-fil-a now? Seriously, their stance on gay marriage and lifestyle is nothing new guys. I'm not complaining about the recent press their opinion has got, but it's a little comical when last year I've refused to eat at CFA once I learned about their position and support of suppressing gay rights and when I told my friends about this they were like "But dude, the food!"

Lol, look at you now kid."

What followed was a series of statements from the most reasonable voice in this argument that I've seen yet:

"I wouldn't have had beef with them if it were just saying "Rar, we don't like Gays" and I would probably be like "Psh, whatever, you're lame, give me waffle fries and a milkshake."

But when my money is also being used to go towards anti-gay groups, it'll be like loading a bullet into the chamber and then Chick-Fil-A using the gun."

"I know they hire gays too, here's the thing.


If I knew someone who gambled on dog fights, I'd have a problem hanging out with them. That person would be supporting them.


If I knew someone who openly said "I give money to make sure Black people and Women can't vote in next years election" I'd have a problem with them.


Chick-Fil-A has been giving revenue to anti-gay groups, something I don't support. I have a problem with that."

"...this information has been available for a long time. I've told my friends and tried to show them and they were like "psh, it's just food." and now I see all this "ZOMG, THEY HATE GAYS" and it's funny. It's like, where were you when it was just two or three people not eating at Chick-Fil-A?"

The point that I'm making by posting these is this: Chick Fil A's stance is nothing new. Dan Cathy isn't going to retract his statements and beliefs anytime soon (and if he says he does, he's lying for the sake of business). Religious statements don't belong in business. Religion is religion, just like politics are politics. They are hot topics that don't belong in that arena. What people should really think about, outside of the current controversy that is going on, are the things that they truly believe in. Do you really feel that Dan Cathy is right in voicing his opinion on gay marriage and donating company funds to anti-gay organizations? Then by all means, enjoy your chicken nuggets. But if you really, truly don't want to support Chick Fil A, just don't buy from them. Chick Fil A is a restaurant that has been around for decades, and it won't be going away any time soon or-I'm sure-making any other religious statements any time soon. Chick Fil A will always be Chick Fil A-delicious food, served by people who just need a job, and run by a man with core values that date back through centuries of ancestors. If we just ignore Chick Fil A and stop buying from them from now on (and I mean really stop buying-no cheating with a Georgia Peach milkshake, not even in July) then maybe all of this mess will be worth something. Maybe this ugly controversy can turn into something good: an opportunity for those who were not previously aware of the values Chick Fil A has had since their inception to refuse to buy and effectively shut down some stores, one by one. At the very least, enough people boycotting will make a little dent in Dan Cathy's pocket. And if it doesn't, then at least our conscience is clear because we know where are money is not going. Forget about the haters and naysayers and protesters, because they will get their comeuppence. Just focus on keeping your own conscience clear, and only good things can come of it. Let's focus on taking those two or three people that have not been eating at Chick Fil A and turning that number in hundreds and thousands. It's just another form of peaceful protest-and if it worked for some of history's greatest leaders, then it can work for us.

As a side note, I'd like to take a random moment and thank two of the people that were instrumental in changing my mind on this subject as a teenager: my friends Jeremiah and Natalie. Going to chARTer-Tech opened my mind, but you guys were the two that really kicked it off, and I'm not sure you were aware of that. I'll always love you two for that, and will always be grateful for our friendship, no matter how many miles apart we are.

Rant: A "Feminist's" Issue with "Fifty Shades of Grey"

Let me begin by saying this: I have never considered myself a feminist. I don't like to wear power heels and step on the faces of men around me while I claw my way up the corporate ladder. I don't wear hiking boots and go to rallies about how women are still oppressed in society, even though it's the 21st century. I don't think that I'm more capable of doing every single job better than a man could-if I were a roofer, people would laugh at me, and I've never started a lawnmower in my life (and don't plan on it, I should mention). In contrast, I'm the kind of woman who knows how to cook and enjoys baking brownies. I'm not the cleanest person in the world, but I know that I have to attempt to clean the house and do chores, and I don't look down my nose at my boyfriend as if they've just asked me to eat a toad when they ask for the occasional back massage or a sandwich after a really long work day. But today, my modern feminist side spiked in me when I started reading "Fifty Shades of Grey".

Now, maybe it's the writer/reading enthusiast in me. Because, speaking as a writer, and as someone who reads A LOT of books, I just don't feel all of the characters. I don't understand why Anastasia Steele would let Christian Grey talk to her like she's a piece of trash. Because he's good looking? That doesn't sound like a modern woman to me. I don't understand why Christian Grey would pursue someone like Ana when he keeps telling her to stay away, especially after he reveals that he doesn't normally sleep with women and that the only relationships that he has are of the S&M/Bondage variety. I don't understand why we need to have yet another story centered around a mousy, quiet girl who suddenly discovers her dark, "tigress" side. And quite frankly, the writing falls pretty flat until the erotic scenes in the book-which, by the way, account for about 90 percent of the book.

I think mainly, I'm just surprised that so many women have taken to this book-nay, trilogy of books (I shudder as I type those words) considering the contents. Am I surprised that women like porn? No. But why this kind of erotica? My thoughts are that, since this is s&m bondage erotica with about 10 percent of the book masking as an actual story, and with no pictures of men riding steeds on the front cover and a plain, unassuming title, the only real appeal to this book is that it is a way for women to read porn around people and defend it. It's a way for women to sit around at work and eat yogurt and fantasize without being embarrassed by the fact that they're reading porn. Is this what our society has come to? Is porn for women cleverly disguised as actual literature the next big thing in writing culture? Because honestly, I'm pretty sure that Bronte, Austen, Dickins-geez, even Stephenie Meyers, whose own "Twilight" books were the original inspiration for this ill-conceived series-would probably be extremely disheartened if this is the direction that books begin to take.

As I write this, I'm beginning to realize that the reason "Fifty Shades of Grey" has its appeal with women in popular culture and literary culture is purely because it's something forbidden. A female author has finally figured out a way to write a mainstream trash novel: just write your trash novel, replace the normally puddle-brained characters with arrogant, young college students and entrepreneurs who "raise the class" of the book by quoting British literature and speaking uncomfortably proper, businesslike English, give it an ambiguous name, and bam! There you have it. The next New York Times Bestselling novel. If these are the depths that American literature has sunk to, I'm highly disappointed.

I understand that these "books" are just for entertainment. I understand that there are people out there who enjoy this sort of thing, and hey-who am I to judge them for it? I understand that I shouldn't be so deeply annoyed by the 127 pages that I read today-and yes, I gave up on page 127, and that's why I know how many pages I read. I do not plan on reading the other two books, or even finishing this one. What I don't understand is how women can complain that they're still being paid less than men, that they're still not respected as much as men, and that men see them as nothing but sexual objects, and then fawn and swoon over a book that basically degrades the whiny, virgin main character to nothing but a submissive, silent pawn in a man's game of rough, unforgiving, harsh, cold, sadistic sex. Isn't this what we've been trying to avoid for decades now? Why should we degrade ourselves back down to that?

Again, I don't see myself as a feminist. Many of you probably don't either. Maybe this book just isn't my cup of tea. But I sincerely dare you to, as a modern woman with a working mouthpiece that is probably used on a daily basis, begin reading "Fifty Shades of Grey", and, if you can make it through the beginning of the book with its poorly formulated characters (except for Christian Grey, of course), I dare you to not close this book (or at least balk in disgust) when the following passages regarding Christian's "rules" for Ana if she wishes to be his submissive, comes up on pages 105 to 106:

"Food:
The Submissive will eat regularly to obtain her health and well-being from a prescribed list of foods (Appendix 4). The Submissive will not snack between meals, except for fruit."

"Clothes:
During the Term, the Submissive will wear clothing only approved by the Dominant."

"Exercise:
The Dominant shall provide the Submissive with a personal trainer four times a week in hour-long sessions at times to be mutually agreed upon between the personal trainer and Submissive. The personal trainer will report to Dominant on the Submissive's progress."

"Failure to comply with any of the above will result in immediate punishment, the nature of which shall be determined by the dominant"

Erotic? Maybe some see it that way. But definitely not me. I don't wish to be taken into some fantasy world where I'm treated poorly by an arrogant, imaginary man and used for sex. The book may have some redeeming qualities about it further down the line, but I'm already turned off. I'm not sticking around to see.

What I Will and Won't Miss by Nora Ephron

This list by Nora Ephron, which closes out her 2006 book "I Remember Nothing", is a peek inside her cheeky wit. I wanted to repost it in rememberance of her.

What I Won't MissDry skin
Bad dinners like the one we went to last night
E-mail
Technology in general
My closet
Washing my hair
Bras
Funerals
Illness everywhere
Polls that show that 32 percent of the American people believe in creationism
Polls
Fox TV
The collapse of the dollar
Bar mitzvahs
Mammograms
Dead flowers
The sound of the vacuum cleaner
Bills
E-mail. I know I already said it, but I want to emphasize it.
Small print
Panels on Women in Film
Taking off makeup every night

What I Will Miss

My kids
Nick
Spring
Fall
Waffles
The concept of waffles
Bacon
A walk in the park
The idea of a walk in the park
The park
Shakespeare in the Park
The bed
Reading in bed
Fireworks
Laughs
The view out the window
Twinkle lights
Butter
Dinner at home just the two of us
Dinner with friends
Dinner with friends in cities where none of us lives
Paris
Next year in Istanbul
Pride and Prejudice
The Christmas tree
Thanksgiving dinner
One for the table
The dogwood
Taking a bath
Coming over the bridge to Manhattan
Pie

Nora Ephron Passes-June 26,2012

Nora Ephron, an essayist and humorist in the Dorothy Parker mold (only smarter and funnier, some said) who became one of her era’s most successful screenwriters and filmmakers, making romantic comedy hits like “Sleepless in Seattle” and “When Harry Met Sally,” died Tuesday night in Manhattan. She was 71.
The cause was pneumonia brought on by acute myeloid leukemia, her son Jacob Bernstein said.

In a commencement address she delivered in 1996 at Wellesley College, her alma mater, Ms. Ephron recalled that women of her generation weren’t expected to do much of anything. But she wound up having several careers, all of them successfully and many of them simultaneously.

She was a journalist, a blogger, an essayist, a novelist, a playwright, an Oscar-nominated screenwriter and a movie director — a rarity in a film industry whose directorial ranks were and continue to be dominated by men. Her later box-office success included “You’ve Got Mail” and “Julie & Julia.” By the end of her life, though remaining remarkably youthful looking, she had even become something of a philosopher about age and its indignities.

“Why do people write books that say it’s better to be older than to be younger?” she wrote in “I Feel Bad About My Neck,” her 2006 best-selling collection of essays. “It’s not better. Even if you have all your marbles, you’re constantly reaching for the name of the person you met the day before yesterday.”

Nora Ephron was born on May 19, 1941, on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, the eldest of four sisters, all of whom became writers. That was no surprise; writing was the family business. Her father, Henry, and her mother, the former Phoebe Wolkind, were Hollywood screenwriters who wrote, among other films, “Carousel,” “There’s No Business Like Show Business” and “Captain Newman, M.D.”

“Everything is copy,” her mother once said, and she and her husband proved it by turning the college-age Nora into a character in a play, later a movie, “Take Her, She’s Mine.” The lesson was not lost on Ms. Ephron, who seldom wrote about her own children but could make sparkling copy out of almost anything else: the wrinkles on her neck, her apartment, cabbage strudel, Teflon pans and the tastelessness of egg-white omelets.

She turned her painful breakup with her second husband, the Watergate journalist Carl Bernstein, into a best-selling novel, “Heartburn,” which she then recycled into a successful movie starring Jack Nicholson as a philandering husband and Meryl Streep as a quick-witted version of Ms. Ephron herself.

When Ms. Ephron was 4, her parents moved from New York to Beverly Hills, where she grew up, graduating from Beverly Hills High School in 1958. At Wellesley, she began writing for the school newspaper, and in the summer of 1961 she was a summer intern in the Kennedy White House. She said later that perhaps her greatest accomplishment there was rescuing the speaker of the house, Sam Rayburn, from a men’s room in which he had inadvertently locked himself. In an essay for The New York Times in 2003, she said she was also probably the only intern that President John F. Kennedy had never hit on.

After graduation from college in 1962, she moved to New York, a city she always adored, intent on becoming a journalist. Her first job was as a mail girl at Newsweek. (There were no mail boys, she later pointed out.) Soon she was contributing to a parody of The New York Post put out during the 1962 newspaper strike. Her piece of it earned her a tryout at The Post, where the publisher, Dorothy Schiff, remarked: “If they can parody The Post, they can write for it. Hire them.”

Ms. Ephron stayed at The Post for five years, covering stories like the Beatles, the Star of India robbery at the American Museum of Natural History, and a pair of hooded seals at the Coney Island aquarium that refused to mate.

“The Post was a terrible newspaper in the era I worked there,” she wrote, but added that the experience taught her to write short and to write around a subject, since the kinds of people she was assigned to cover were never going to give her much interview time.

In the late 1960s Ms. Ephron turned to magazine journalism, at Esquire and New York mostly. She quickly made a name for herself by writing frank, funny personal essays — about the smallness of her breasts, for example — and tart, sharply observed profiles of people like Ayn Rand, Helen Gurley Brown and the composer and best-selling poet Rod McKuen. Some of these articles were controversial. In one, she criticized Betty Friedan for conducting a “thoroughly irrational” feud with Gloria Steinem; in another, she discharged a withering assessment of Women’s Wear Daily.

But all her articles were characterized by humor and honesty, written in a clear, direct, understated style marked by an impeccable sense of when to deploy the punchline. (Many of her articles were assembled in the collections “Wallflower at the Orgy,” “Crazy Salad” and “Scribble Scribble.”)

Ms. Ephron made as much fun of herself as of anyone else. She was labeled a practitioner of the New Journalism, with its embrace of novelistic devices in the name of reaching a deeper truth, but she always denied the connection. “I am not a new journalist, whatever that is,” she once wrote. “I just sit here at the typewriter and bang away at the old forms.”

Ms. Ephron got into the movie business more or less by accident after her marriage to Mr. Bernstein in 1976. He and Bob Woodward, his partner in the Watergate investigation, were unhappy with William Goldman’s script for the movie version of their book “All the President’s Men,” so Mr. Bernstein and Ms. Ephron took a stab at rewriting it. Their version was ultimately not used, but it was a useful learning experience, she later said, and it brought her to the attention of people in Hollywood.

Her first screenplay, written with her friend Alice Arlen, was for “Silkwood,” a 1983 film based on the life of Karen Silkwood, who died under suspicious circumstances while investigating abuses at a plutonium plant where she had worked. Ms. Arlen was in film school then, and Ms. Ephron had scant experience writing for anything other than the page. But Mike Nichols, who directed the movie (which starred Ms. Streep and Kurt Russell), said that the script made an immediate impression on him. He and Ms. Ephron had become friends when she visited him on the set of “Catch-22.”

“I think that was the beginning of her openly falling in love with the movies,” Mr. Nichols said in an interview, “and she and Alice came along with ‘Silkwood’ when I hadn’t made a movie in seven years. I couldn’t find anything that grabbed me.” He added: “Nora was so funny and so interesting that you didn’t notice that she was also necessary. I think a lot of her friends and readers will feel that.”

Ms. Ephron followed “Silkwood” three years later with a screenplay adaptation of her own novel “Heartburn,” which was also directed by Mr. Nichols. But it was her script for “When Harry Met Sally,” which became a hit Rob Reiner movie in 1989 starring Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan, that established Ms. Ephron’s gift for romantic comedy and for delayed but happy endings that reconcile couples who are clearly meant for each other but don’t know it.

“When Harry Met Sally” is probably best remembered for Ms. Ryan’s table-pounding faked-orgasm scene with Mr. Crystal in Katz’s Delicatessen on the Lower East Side, prompting a middle-aged woman (played by Mr. Reiner’s mother, Estelle Reiner) sitting nearby to remark to her waiter, indelibly, “I’ll have what she’s having.”

The scene wouldn’t have gotten past the Hollywood censors of the past, but in many other respects Ms. Ephron’s films are old-fashioned movies, only in a brand-new guise. Her 1998 hit, “You’ve Got Mail,” for example, which she both wrote (with her sister Delia) and directed, is partly a remake of the old Ernst Lubitsch film ‘The Shop Around the Corner.”

Ms. Ephron began directing because she knew from her parents’ example how powerless screenwriters are (at the end of their careers both became alcoholics) and because, as she said in her Wellesley address, Hollywood had never been very interested in making movies by or about women. She once wrote, “One of the best things about directing movies, as opposed to merely writing them, is that there’s no confusion about who’s to blame: you are.”

Mr. Nichols said he had encouraged her to direct. “I knew she would be able to do it,” he recalled. “Not only did she have a complete comprehension of the process of making a movie — she simply soaked that up — but she had all the ancillary skills, the people skills, all the hundreds of things that are useful when you’re making a movie.”

Her first effort at directing, “This Is My Life” (1992), with a screenplay by Ms. Ephron and her sister Delia, based on a novel by Meg Wolitzer about a single mother trying to become a standup comedian, was a dud. But Ms. Ephron redeemed herself in 1993 with “Sleepless in Seattle” (she shared the screenwriting credits), which brought Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan together so winningly that they were cast again in “You’ve Got Mail.”

Among the other movies Ms. Ephron wrote and directed were “Lucky Numbers” (2000), “Bewitched” (2005) and, her last, “Julie & Julia” (2009), in which Ms. Streep played Julia Child.

She and Ms. Streep had been friends since they worked on “Silkwood” together. “Nora just looked at every situation and cocked her head and thought, ‘Hmmmm, how can I make this more fun?’ ” Ms. Streep wrote in an e-mail on Tuesday.

Ms. Ephron earned three Oscar nominations for best screenplay, for “Silkwood,” “Sleepless in Seattle” and “When Harry Met Sally.” But in all her moviemaking years she never gave up writing in other forms. Two essay collections, “I Feel Bad About My Neck: And Other Reflections on Being a Woman” (2006) and “I Remember Nothing” (2010), were both best sellers. With her sister Delia she wrote a play, “Love, Loss, and What I Wore,” about women and their wardrobes (once calling it “ ‘The Vagina Monologues’ without the vaginas”) and by herself she wrote “Imaginary Friends,” a play, produced in 2002, about the literary and personal quarrel between Lillian Hellman and Mary McCarthy.

She also became an enthusiastic blogger for The Huffington Post, writing on subjects like the Las Vegas mogul Steve Wynn’s accidentally putting a hole in a Picasso he owned and Ryan ONeal’s failing to recognize his own daughter and making a pass at her.

Several years ago, Ms. Ephron learned that she had myelodysplastic syndrome, a pre-leukemic condition, but she kept the illness a secret from all but a few intimates and continued to lead a busy, sociable life.

“She had this thing about not wanting to whine,” the writer Sally Quinn said on Tuesday. “She didn’t like self-pity. It was always, you know, ‘Suck it up.’ ”

Ms. Ephron’s first marriage, to the writer Dan Greenburg, ended in divorce, as did her marriage to Mr. Bernstein. In 1987 she married Nicholas Pileggi, the author of the books “Wiseguy” and “Casino.” (Her contribution to “Not Quite What I Was Planning: Six-Word Memoirs by Writers Famous and Obscure,” edited by Larry Smith, reads: “Secret to life, marry an Italian.”)

In addition to her son Jacob Bernstein, a journalist who writes frequently for the Styles section of The Times, Ms. Ephron is survived by Mr. Pileggi; another son, Max Bernstein, a rock musician; and her sisters Delia Ephron; Amy Ephron, who is also a screenwriter; and Hallie Ephron, a journalist and novelist.

In person Ms. Ephron — small and fine-boned with high cheeks and a toothy smile — had the same understated, though no less witty, style that she brought to the page.

“Sitting at a table with Nora was like being in a Nora Ephron movie,” Ms. Quinn said. “She was brilliant and funny.”

She was also fussy about her hair and made a point of having it professionally blow-dried twice a week. “It’s cheaper by far than psychoanalysis and much more uplifting,” Ms. Ephron said.

Another friend, Robert Gottlieb, who had edited her books since the 1970s, said that her death would be “terrible for her readers and her movie audience and her colleagues.” But “the private Nora was even more remarkable,” he added, saying she was “always there for you with a full heart plus the crucial dose of the reality principle.”

Ms. Streep called her a “stalwart.”

“You could call on her for anything: doctors, restaurants, recipes, speeches, or just a few jokes, and we all did it, constantly,” she wrote in her e-mail. “She was an expert in all the departments of living well.”

The producer Scott Rudin recalled that less than two weeks before her death, he had a long phone session with her from the hospital while she was undergoing treatment, going over notes for a pilot she was writing for a TV series about a bank compliance officer. Afterward she told him, “If I could just get a hairdresser in here, we could have a meeting.”

Ms. Ephron’s collection “I Remember Nothing” concludes with two lists, one of things she says she won’t miss and one of things she will. Among the “won’t miss” items are dry skin, Clarence Thomas, the sound of the vacuum cleaner, and panels on “Women in Film.” The other list, of the things she will miss, begins with “my kids” and “Nick” and ends this way:

“Taking a bath

Coming over the bridge to Manhattan

Pie.”

This article was originally posted by The New York Times Online.

10 Reasons I Love Being Puerto Rican

1.) We have the best music ever! Latin music is so catchy, and everyone knows what it is as soon as it comes on. Whether it's fast or slow, it's the perfect soundtrack to anything. Even a shower is better with latin music playing in the bathroom.
2.) We throw the best parties. We are fully prepared to be up all night and have stocked the bar with rum and Corona, thank you very much.
3.) Puerto Rican women have the best curves. And we're pretty much genetically incapable of losing them.
4.) Puerto Rican women also know how to treat a man. We won't let you step on us, but we will make sure that you are cooked for and taken care of constantly.
5.) We have the best food. Rice and beans? Arroz con gandules? Benid? Yes please.
6.) Our family trees are as long as our names. I swear, I probably haven't even met part of my Puerto Rican side of the family! And trust me, there's a lot already. Wherever you turn, there's aunts, cousins, grandparents, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, and someone else gets married into the family every few years.
7.) We have the second most recognizable flag in the world. I'm just saying: tell me what a Canadian flag looks like. Now tell me what a Puerto Rican flag looks like. There you go.
8.) Two words: San Juan. If you've never been there, book the trip. San Juan is just scratching the surface of the beauty of Puerto Rico, but it's a good place to start.
9.) You always know what we're thinking. Our mouths don't shut very easily. My Uela (my nickname for my Abuela) is well known for talking to someone very sweetly while alternately yelling at and beating the crap out of someone else with a chancleta.
10.) No matter where you go, you can find us easily! I swear, I moved down to North Carolina, thinking there would be no Puerto Ricans down here-I met three my first day!

You Know You’re Puerto Rican If …
You have Cilantro growing in the windows and fire escapes, or anywhere that it fits.
You’ve ever used your lips to point something out.
You’ve ever been hit with “chancletas”, ……………….a soft flip flop mom is wearing, and she beats you with it while pissed..and it's so soft you end up laughing and she beats you harder..
or: with the cord of the iron ,she is using to iron with at the moment
You’ve gone to Titi’s house and passed through the “bead
curtain” in the living room.
You step into a house that has all those little figurines taking
up every inch of space on the TV and under the TV.
Your grandmother has a porcelain cat, dog, Buddha or elephant in her
living room.
Almost everyone you know is nicknamed “mira”.
You’ve eaten “esporsoda” with butter.
You have a perpetually drunk neighbor.
You know your mom is sneaking up on you because you can hear the
‘clack-clack’ of her “chancletas”.
Someone in you family is name “Maria”.
You have actually met several people named “Jesus”.
You treat fevers with “alcoholado”.
You need a cup of coffee after every meal.
Your uncle owns more gold than the jewelry shop down the street.
You’ve sat in a two-passenger car with over seven people in it,
and there’s a person shouting “Subete que caben mas!”.
You know at least four of your last names.
You remember Ricky Martin as the little one from Menudo.
You were raised on Goya products (Si es Goya, tiene que ser
bueno).
Your sofa or rug is covered in plastic.
You start clapping when your plane hits the runway.
Your mother, tia, or hermana’s hair is black cherry, “sun in”
red, or a burgundy that would make Celia Cruz jealous.
You go to a wedding or Quinceanera party, gossip about how bad
the food is, but take a plate to go.
You can dance to merengue, cumbia, or salsa without music.
You think Christina can beat Oprah any day.
You can get to your house blindfolded because the smell of
chuletas is SO strong.
Your mother yells at the top of her lungs to call you to dinner
when you live in a one bedroom apartment.
Telenovenas have the status of holy ceremonies.
You think platanos are a whole separate food group.
You have a picture of “Cristo” in your house.
You walk around saying “Chacho”, or “Chacha” or “Ay Bendito”.
Others tell you to stop screaming when you’re really talking.
You know someone who drives a “Cheby”.
A balanced meal consists of rice and beans and some kind of meat.
You know the difference between “Carolina Rice” and everything
else.
The thought of eating fried pork intestines filled with blood
and rice reminds you of Christmas.
You have at least 30 cousins. At least!
You can tell the difference between “Cafe Crema” and “Bustelo”.
And last, but not least:
Your grandmother thinks Vick’s Vapor Rub is the miracle cure for
everything!