Bob's Burgers: A Review By Someone Who Hates Animated TV Shows For Adults

 My love affair with Bob’s Burgers started out slow. First, I would just watch an episode here, two episodes there with my boyfriend while he was binge-watching it. Completely out of order (for me). And then, he finished, and I found myself starting it from the beginning, on my own. I have long proclaimed that I hate animated TV shows. (For adults. I have nothing against Phineas and Ferb and the like. Who doesn't love Phineas and Ferb?!) I don't like the Simpsons, Family Guy, or South Park. For some reason they're all too crude, grating, and just plain ridiculous for me, and I am someone who thrives on crudeness. But Bob's Burgers is different. What I love about this show is that sure, it's silly, but the reason it's different (for me anyways) is that they're actually a really great family. They may be a little bit weird or stupid sometimes, but instead of making fun of each other, they just love and support each other. This show brings me so much joy because it features quintessential family values integrated with my particular brand of sarcastic, awkward humor. 

 Bob Belcher, for example, is a really great father who loves his kids and is passionate about his job even if it doesn't pay the best. (Or much of anything, really.) He doesn't have unrealistic expectations for his kids, doesn't put pressure on them to be what they're not, and teaches them through his actions that it's more important to be happy than to be rich.

 Linda Belcher is a wonderful mother who encourages and loves her children no matter what. She's also a woman who feels the impending doom of aging, and yet she's never a stereotype. In an episode where it’s Linda’s birthday and she’s feeling the weight of getting older, in the end the message is— I’m getting older, but I’m getting better. I’m strong, and not getting weaker with age. I can still kick a tough day in the butt. And I think that's a pretty inspiring message to include in an animated television show.

 Louise Belcher, the youngest of the Belcher kids, is a horrible, witty, sarcastic, biting person, that most 19 year olds I know can relate to more than any other character on television. She's also a nine year old girl who never takes off her pink bunny hat. Yet her sarcasm is only reserved for people who deserve it, and though we can always hear her tone of voice and assume she is being mean, when it is addressed at Tina, Gene, or any other member of her family, she is never serious. They don't get her bite. In a show with inferior writing, Louise would be incapable of love. (Because of course someone who is as sarcastic and witty as she wouldn't love their family.) But Louise is complex, and ultimately human. She loves her family and accepts them as they are, quirky flaws and all, because they in turn accept her abrasive tone and love her not in spite of it, but for it.

 Gene Belcher both is and is not a normal 11 year old boy. He's obsessed with his fart keyboard, pranks, and puns (in much the same way as his dad is). Although there is pressure from society, though never from his family, to be more masculine and stereotypically male than he is, he never gives in. Tina Belcher, who is probably the most infamous and recognizable Bob's Burgers character, is a wonderfully hormonal thirteen year old girl who defies gender norms. She's boy crazy in a way that I believe is a step towards normalizing female sexuality, loves horses, and has an indifferent, deep, groaning tone of voice that makes it sound like everything she is asked to do it the most inconvenient thing in the world. She is essentially a modern day, female Eeyore, and she's also an overachiever. She gives a more realistic voice to the kid I (and many of my friends) were in high school. Tina raises her hand first but doesn't have the high pitched, spirited voice that her stereotypical counterparts have. But that doesn't mean she's not passionate. She's real.

 The best thing about the Belcher kids is just that-- they're kids. They aren’t idiotic nine, eleven, and thirteen year olds. They are complex. The creators of Bob's Burgers have done children everywhere a service by showing them as they are, and as they might be one day, all in one. Specifically in Louise's case they show that kids can be little assholes, but also be more than capable of love, empathy, selflessness and heart. There are so many positive messages in this show, along with so many fantastic puns. It’s the Parks & Recreation of animated TV shows, and I don’t say that lightly.

-Fran

Last Week #12 | Room to Grow

This week, I had the inexplicable yet powerful urge to clean out. Specifically, my bookshelves. My bookshelves have for a while been a source of pride for me, related to owning things. It was like, look at my shelves, look how full they are. A modern day version of Ariel's "look at this stuff, isn't it neat...wouldn't you say my collection's complete?" But recently when I've looked at them I haven't seen a complete collection but an outdated and no longer relevant one. The objects we own are often reflections of ourselves, and the things I had on my bookshelves no longer reflected who I am. So, I cleaned out.

 During the process, I found myself wanting to get rid of half of the books and stories I'd collected over the past three years. Finding myself a different person than I was then, and not necessarily wanting to erase that old version, but wanting to clear out the outdated remnants of her. I felt like I got a software update this week. I cleaned out those books that I no longer feel the need to hold on to. And while there were pieces I just couldn't let go of-- like my Harry Potter books, there are also pieces of me my body won't let me let go of-- like my anxiety.

 This week, for the first time in a long time, I got extremely anxious around people again. It was frustrating, disheartening, and ultimately uncomfortable, but I realized that it doesn't mean I'm the same person I was, just because I can't give away that part of myself as easily as I can give away a box of books. I've been seeing this theme lately-- that anxiety will always be with me, it may always affect me, maybe for the rest of my life. That is a distinct possibility I have always accepted. But there's a difference now. Just because it affects me doesn't mean it has to hold me back. I used to see each anxiety attack as a reason not to try. A reason to stop in my tracks, and take a turn away from the thing that gave me anxiety to begin with. Because that's what logical people do, right? When something hurts them, they stop doing it. But I've learned that courage is being afraid and doing it anyway. So I'm going to keep trying, even when it's hard. I'm going to move on and I'm going to do what scares me and I'm going to KEEP COMING BACK until those things doesn't give me anxiety anymore.

I looked at my shelves yesterday and didn't like how barren and empty they seemed. I felt like I had lost pieces of me. But this morning, I look at them and see that I've simply discarded the clutter, and given myself room to grow. Room to grow into myself. I made room for new this week. On my shelves, and in my life.

 -Fran

Last Week #11 | The Disconnect

 At the end of this week, following the glory of last, my boyfriend was called away on family business and I had to deal with being away from him after a weekend of being so close to him and my friends. Since I am not very good at coping and rather skilled at escapism, my sister and I decided to go to “the lake” (our family’s lake house in the Finger Lakes). This was our first trip as adult people, going on our own without our parents to a place we’d been a million times before. And it went surprisingly well. If you have a sister, you'll understand that the previous statement is really not an insult, but actually quite generous. 

What I learned from this weekend is this: the days are long when you're in control of them, and longer still when you aren't, and when you're without the people you love most. While my days were long and breezy, others' were not so much. I tried to do what I could to enjoy my time, and make theirs better where I could. 

And I succeeded. I laid out in the sun and flicked the ants of worry and anxiety and even sadness away. Though, my anxieties are persistent, so time after time they kept crawling back. But instead of focusing on them, I read. I wrote. I went for a walk and listened to my favorite music. I made my grandparents happy by visiting with them for an hour. I continued watching Seinfeld and dreamed. I didn't worry. 

As a young person, I hear a lot about how we are “always immersed in our screens” and how we “need to unplug more.” It’s kind of an incessant criticism. But the criticizers don’t ever stop to ask if we want it too. They might be surprised by the answer. This weekend, my sister and I both had the same goal— disconnecting. For her, it is because she is a senior in high school and being connected to the world through her phone means crazy amounts of stress pouring in at every turn— emails, reminders, tasks, more and more things she has to do at the so called “best time in her life.” For me, I wanted to escape for many of the same reasons. If I can’t connect to email, I can’t be reminded of all the things I’m not doing. Of all the time I’m wasting. And if I’m not connected, and instead have a glorious nature getaway in front of me, I also can’t focus on missing the person I love so much. I think we young people are always so connected to our "screens" nowadays for a multitude of complex reasons. Sure, we do engage socially there, but that’s not even the tip of the iceberg. They help us stay organized, keep on task, and it’s basically the nature of the job market nowadays. If you aren’t easily contactable, you aren’t getting the job. I think older generations fail to see that the screens we seem to love so much are also our worst enemies, and as difficult to extract ourselves from as X-Men-like wings on our backs. It's not that we don't want to put the "screens" down. It's that we can't rationalize disconnecting from so many opportunities, tasks, and emails that might get us somewhere in the world. 

Nevertheless, disconnecting was as good for me as it was for my sister, and just as necessary. To do nothing is an enormous task, especially for two "overachievers" such as ourselves. We talked about how when you wake up at 8 am with the whole day ahead of you, at 1 pm you are amazed at how seemingly little time has passed. I’m quite familiar with the feeling of— the day is already half over, and I haven’t done nearly as much as I planned! But this weekend, the feeling was more like: The day isn’t even half over, and we’ve already done all the nothing we could ever imagine with it! In my day to day life, the hours run screaming by me, ignorant and indifferent to my desperate attempts to catch them. So I don't know if the lake is magic or something, but this weekend I made time my bitch. 

 -Fran

Last Week #10 | It's Always Sunny in #frelidalphia

 A year ago, all of this would have seemed like a dream.  For instance, the fact that I spent the Thursday before Memorial Day in a car crossing state lines with my friends and boyfriend, for a weekend of relaxation? Impossible. You may not know this about me, but much of my anxiety is related to sleeping in new places. So vacations, sleepovers, and weekend trips are things I've come to avoid. But when Kelsey and Sam suggested we take a trip to Philadelphia to visit the infamous La Colombe and just have fun for a weekend, I couldn't turn it down. So I spent the last few months since we booked the trip practicing, preparing, meditating, doing yoga and trying to get myself to a good mental place before we left. 

And when the worst case scenario happened, I survived. I started to have an anxiety attack, late at night when it was time for bed, and I worked through it alone. And then we worked through it together. Things weren’t always perfect on this trip. We got on each other’s nerves, we made mistakes, but most importantly, we learned and grew in spite of it. My friendships and relationships with these people are stronger as a result. I’m glad I nearly had an anxiety attack. Because I'm, no-- we're, freaking better for it. 

On the second day we met up with friends from home, serendipitously in the city the same weekend as us. As we sat there in a strange place talking about the life we'd been living miles away from home, I thought about how nothing new is impossible if you have the right people by your side. Any place can feel like home with them. And it suddenly dawned on me how two of our friends made the seemingly impossible decision to pick up and move to the other side of the country. It’s because they had each other. In that moment I realized that I could do the same, with these people. Because I already had. I took a huge step this weekend. I chose to say "fuck you" to my anxiety and do something I wanted to do anyway. That's no small feat, and a lot of the credit should probably go to me, for being strong enough to do it. But a sizable portion of that credit should be given to my friends, for creating an environment in which I felt safe enough to take chances my anxiety ordinarily wouldn't let me take.

I’ve been thinking a lot about family lately. Who matters, and more specifically why they matter. It's different for everyone, but I think some people cling to the archaic, dictionary definition of family in the hopes of keeping the status quo. But that doesn’t always work. If people are meant to, they will drift away regardless of whether or not you dig your heels in and demand they stay. Family is however you define it. For me, it is a hybrid. It’s the people I live with, sure, but it’s also the people I want to live with. It’s my best friend, her boyfriend, my boyfriend. It’s my boyfriend’s family. It’s my mentors, my therapist, my teachers, the people who inspire me and help me to live my best life. It’s the people who care, basically. 

On this trip, I think I saw a flash of the future. I saw a version of us that I suspect could be the real us. A group of genuinely happy people, full of life and love to give. Talented people who are going places. I knew that about us before, but I saw it more clearly in the bright Philadelphia sunlight. 

For me, this meant letting things go. I’m always connected. To technology, to the world, to my worries and anxiety, to this clear cut version of myself I have in my head. I reply to emails within a few hours of when I receive them (if not minutes). I'm practical. I don't like concerts. I can't go on trips because I have anxiety. But this weekend, I simply didn’t do that. I quit cold turkey. I checked my email maybe once a day, but never replied. I watched the anxieties and worries passing through my head, but didn't buy in or subscribe to any of them. I was as impractical and silly as I am physically capable of being. I went to a concert that I actually loved, discovered why people love concerts, and realized that I would see that artist a million more times live. And I learned something that’s kind of life changing. Nothing matters as much as I think it does in the moment. Like, maybe the long weekend vibes got to me, but I just felt like nothing was all that pressing. I wasn't really missing anything by being off the grid. The grid could wait. I could take time to myself, because people don’t actually email me as much as I think they do. At 9:30 am on a Friday, I laid in my bed in Philadelphia listening to Phil Collins’ Drum Duet and writing, having left all my stress back home. 

You can watch my weekly vlog from this week right here. It's one of my favorites. I can tell this will be a vlog I watch when times are tough, to remind me that it will be okay, or at least... it's always sunny in #frelidalphia.

-Fran

Last Week #9 | Honesty

 I'm a planner. And when I say planner, I don't just mean I like to make plans. I sure do, but that's not the extent of it. I like to make plans, and then I like to white knuckle grip the calendar in anticipation of my plan going awry. I clutch desperately to my plan, even if it's abundantly clear it's not going to work. And to be honest that has always worked for me, because I've only ever had to answer to myself, and things always got done that way. But now, something I'm learning as I progress and grow in friendships and relationships and adulthood, is that the plan isn't set in stone, and clinging to it like it is doesn't help anything. If something doesn't work, it doesn't work, and we should just do ourselves a favor and let it go. 

 This is easier said than done. Case in point-- I wrote the first paragraph of this blog post at the beginning of last week, and I meant it. I went on to talk about how "Things felt easier this week. Plans felt like they just came together, fell together. Although I did feel myself getting worked up about "the plan" at times, I tried to keep it in check, and not give in to that anxious crutch."

 I even went on to describe each day in detail, and talk about how things just fell together on each one of them, despite my not making explicit plans for them. For my grand finale I finished with, "I rolled with the punches this week, and I think it's because I did my best to channel my inner Idina and LET IT GO.  To all you planners out there, I challenge you, nay I urge you to unhand the calendar a little bit this week. Not to your detriment-- you should still use it to remember when that dreaded dentist appointment is, but remember that things will still get done even if you don't stare at it and check things off every five seconds. It's as much of an addition as technology or chocolate. Break up with your calendar this week. Or at least...take a 'break.'"

 But then, Sunday rolled around. And for some mysterious reason that I couldn't, and still can't figure out, I couldn't get out of bed. I've had depression for a good portion of my life I'd say. I've felt depressed before, I've been in the depths of it, and thought I'd seen and felt it all. But this, this not being able to get out of bed, this not being able to find a reason to get up despite the dozens of things I have to look forward to- in the immediate and long term future- this was new to me. And until about the middle of the afternoon, I couldn't cope with it. But then, I accepted some help. I allowed my boyfriend to come over, and we watched Bob's Burgers and ate Panera and randomly went to Old Navy so I could get out for a bit. It wasn't my original plan for the day, and there were parts of it that were ugly, but at the end, it was beautiful. 

 I decided early last week that I was going to start really writing on this blog. I'm not going to shy away from things anymore, I told myself. I'm going to tell the truth. The hard, ugly, blurry truth. So when it came time to finalize this blog post, I couldn't rationalize using the original draft, because it felt hypocritical to leave out the ugly bits just to prove my point. So I wanted to tell you the truth in this blog post. And the truth is, I have a lot to learn, even about things I thought I knew everything about. There are some things I'd rather not know more about, like the unexplored depths of my own depression. But even though it might not be my plan to learn more about it, even though I'd rather not go there, I have to realize that fuck-- things don't always go according to plan. I may very well see more depths, even amidst these many peaks. I'm working on coming to terms with that today, last week, and every day in the future. 

 -Fran

Anxiously Aware

 May is mental health awareness month, so I wanted to take this time to talk about a topic that is near and dear to my heart, and so many others' as well.

 The scariest thing about mental illness isn't the illness itself, but the lack of awareness, appreciation, and sympathy people have for it. If someone says, "I have the flu" they are met with hoards of well-wishes and offers for medicine and pick-me-ups like soup or funny TV shows. But if someone says, "I have anxiety" or "I've been feeling really anxious lately," they are often met with comments like, "just calm down," "relax," "chill out," or are simply told that they're overreacting. There is an astounding lack of sympathy for sufferers of mental illness of any kind, not just anxiety.

 Anxiety is kind of like being in a room full of laser beams. You might successfully step over one just to collide with the next one, one you hadn't even previously known was there. And when you do come up against your fears and anxieties there are real, tangible consequences, as the symptoms of anxiety are a lot bigger than anyone understands. With anxiety (and many other mental illnesses), you're constantly dodging and weaving through a maze of worry and insecurity, and it is completely exhausting. But it's a silent struggle, and a lot of times it might not seem to other people like anything is actually wrong. So they tell you, "relax, it's fine" or, "you always worry for no reason," and that can make you second guess what you're feeling, and pretend it's not happening. No, it's fine. You might tell yourself. Other people do this and they're okay. I'm fine. But it's not fine, and this cultural apathy only serves to continue the pain and suffering, in situations where it might have been helped.

 What pains me the most as a sufferer myself, and someone who has been speaking fairly openly about my anxiety for about five years now, is that I still find myself apologizing when I tell someone what's going on with me. I'm still downplaying it, still using a smaller voice to try to make it seem like it's not a big deal. I find myself saying, "Oh, I've just been feeling kind of anxious lately..." and shrugging, like it's not totally kicking my ass. Like it doesn't make me want to completely give up sometimes. I've had anxiety since I was about seven years old, so I've had years to get to know it, and become familiar with the nitty gritty, ugly highs and lows of it. And yet even I still sometimes fall victim to this unfeeling and unforgiving cultural mindset about mental illness.

 What I'm saying is, there needs to be more sympathy for sufferers of mental illness, and it starts with us. If you suffer, please, treat yourself well. Try your best not to negate your feelings in your own mind. Allow yourself to feel bad, because in my experience admitting that you feel bad is the first step (on a sometimes long road) to feeling better. Do I still feel like total shit about the fact that going to the movies has been making me crazy anxious lately? Yes. Do I feel bad about the fact that I had to leave the theater a few weeks ago before the movie was even over because of this anxiety? Yes. Do I horribly guilty for making my boyfriend leave that movie as well? Yes. Do I feel bad about the fact that "normal" activities are harder for me, and require more thought and preparation beforehand than most? Yes. Am I afraid that something as small (and ordinarily FUN) as a simple road trip to Philadelphia might end in disaster? Yes. Am I sometimes I afraid that this will effect my whole life, that I'll never do the things I dream of because my anxiety will hold me back? Yes. Am I cripplingly afraid of letting fear control me? Yes would be an understatement.

 It's okay to admit all that, but it's also okay to cut yourself some slack. Do people with the flu apologize for sneezing? Well, maybe, if they do it impolitely and get someone else sick, but ordinarily-- NO. They are met with, and I'll say this word again for emphasis, SYMPATHY. Kindness. Well-wishes and pats on the back (even if it's from a distance and with hand sanitizer at the ready). So maybe it's high time we do the same for people with mental illness. Unlike the flu, it isn't catching. You don't have to avoid the subject for fear you'll catch it yourself. This month, I'd urge you to be more mindful, considerate, and open to conversation about mental illness, in the hopes that one day it will be a natural reflex rather than a conscious effort to be sympathetic about this topic.

 -Fran

Last Week #8 | New Developments

 Last week, I was very focused on saying "yes." I don't know whether it's the improv class, or... Oh, yeah, it's definitely the improv class.

 Although I had an abundance of meetings and tasks and last minute finalizations to complete, I really wanted to make sure that the fullness of my schedule didn't effect the quality of my work. I tried to make sure that I was also enjoying moments in my life for me, and not just focusing on getting to and through the next task.

 To that end: I read a lot. I wrote a lot. I drew a lot. I tried to find beauty and notice it, even though tough moments were happening. I tried to remain optimistic, but inevitably, I discovered something new about myself. I now find being alone a little bit difficult. In the moments where I was, unintentionally, alone, I found myself going to bed at 9:30 because I didn't know what else to do. I want to work on that. Because as someone who so prided herself on her ability to work, to be alone, to make the best of every crappy moment, I now seem to have lost the ability to do that. So that's something I am going to be working on this week.

 I hope you enjoy the week ahead, and find the strength to tackle whatever personal or creative challenges are daunting you.

 -Fran