April 16, 2008
I seriously can't stand MySpace
I really hate MySpace because you can find everybody on it. Like people that you don't want to find, but you do anyway, because you get sucked into the hole of being online and your curiosity gets the better of you, and the next thing you know, you're in Wonderland. And until just this moment, it never occured to me that Wonderland could mean like, "hmmm, I wonder." Not necessarily like, "wow, that's WONDERful." Yeah, curiosity sucks. Especially when it's unsatisfied.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
The "L"
So, I've been riding the "L" to work every morning this week since I've been staying in the city, and I have discovered that if you aren't reading or listening to your IPod, riding public transportation is extremely interesting (astounding observation, I know). But in a city of almost 3 million people, there's no one to talk to. Is it because we're afraid that the person next to us will be crazy? Is it because we can't think of anything to say? Are our thoughts really that much more interesting than a conversation with someone else? Are there people out there who have really in depth conversations with people on public transportation, and if so, who are you, and why aren't you sitting next to me? I really want to know the answers to these and other questions, so if you happen to read my Blog and have something to say on the subject, let me know. I'll probably make a movie out of this someday.
Comments :
i talk to fuckin every crazy and/or homeless person on the el....... i think they sense that i wont shun them......
even if they arent crazy or homeless.......
i once had a 30 min conversation with a lady at the harlem green line stop about the difference between white guys cock and black....... it was awesome.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Just got out of the shower
I'm starting to realize that I may be one of the few people who actually posts blog entries on MySpace. Does that make me a giant MySpace loser? Does this mean that I have way too much time on my hands to post blog entries? I have been the most productive individual in the past month. I got a new job, I'm writing four screenplays simultaneously, I'm knitting a scarf and reading three books. I'm also posting blogs on MySpace. I think I need some more friends. So, whoever wants to go clubbing, just message me. We'll go. As soon as I finish knitting my scarf.
Comments :
i blog my ass off.
plus, if you wrote in a journal no one would think you were a loser and thats really what it is, blogging.
clubs? si, si , senorita
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Vintage Blogs
My first foray into blogging happened on my MySpace page, which I am now phasing out until it shall pass into oblivion.
However, I don't want all my hard work to pass along the same road.
So I'm going to gradually transfer my vintage blogs into my new one. It'll give me something to write about for awhile.
However, I don't want all my hard work to pass along the same road.
So I'm going to gradually transfer my vintage blogs into my new one. It'll give me something to write about for awhile.
Coming to Bed So Edible OR Never Felt Like Such A Girl
This is a song I've been listening to a lot lately, and incidentally, it's by one of my favorite bands. I have a really annoying habit of writing down song lyrics and commenting on them - as I've previously mentioned - but since I really can't think of much else I should write about today, I'm gonna share them. Also, I've been so terrible about writing on my blog recently that I need to start forcing myself to do it again - have I said that before?
So I won't hesitate no more. It just so happens this song is slightly relevant in my life right now.
To preface, I'll note that in the past few weeks, after months and months of what one might term inertia, my life has started to move again - not sure if it's forward - but it has begun to move, and I'm really not about to stop it no matter what the consequences might be.
In the wheel of my life, there have always been those little bits of road gravel that get wedged in the grooves and create a little wear and tear.
The following song is one that never fails to make me feel that all those complicated bits of life are great reasons to sing and dance - which I do while I'm getting ready every morning :
American Girls
Counting Crows
She comes out on Fridays every time and stands out in the line
I could've been anyone she'd seen
She waits another week to fall apart
She couldn't make another day
I wish it was anyone but me
I could've been anyone, you see
She had something breakable just under her skin
American Girls are weather and noise
Playing the changes for all of the boys
Holding a candle up to my hand
Making me feel so incredible
She comes out of closets every night but then she locks herself away
Wish she could keep everything from me
I could've been anyone, you see
She's nothing but porcelain underneath her skin
American Girls are weather and noise
Playing the changes for all of the boys
Holding a candle right up to my hand
Making me feel so incredible
Little shiver shaking me everyday
But I could get this same thing anywhere
So if she goes away, well, it's alright and I'm okay
She said, "Come back again tonight."
And I said, "I might, I might, I might."
She said, "Well, that's alright if it's alright, it's alright with you then it's alright, it's alright with me."
I waited for an hour last Friday night, and she never came around
She took almost everything from me
I'm going through my closets trying on her clothes
Almost everyday
I could've been anyone, you see
I wish it was anyone but me
There's nothing but pills and ashes under my skin
American Girls are weather and noise
Playing the changes for all of the boys
Holding a candle right up to my hand
Making me feel so incredible
If I made you cry, just tell me why
I'll try again if you let me try
American Girls are feathers and cream
Coming to bed so edible
American Girls, oh American Girls
American Girls oh, oh, oh, oh
American Girls, oh American Girls
American Girls oh, oh, oh, oh
You made me cry
You made me cry
You made me cry
Yeah, you made me cry
You made me cry, hey miss American Girl
This song might never make it into the top 100 list of any given group of experts on the subject of music, but it makes me feel great every time I hear it.
Generally speaking I really love songs that sound really fun and poppy but are about something a little bit deeper - maybe not a lot, but a little - and this one falls into that category.
Sometimes there are those moments when, for one reason or another, we need to surrender to our slightly naughtier side. Knowing that the choices that we make with regards to someone else might not be the wisest or the most rational isn't always going to keep us from making them anyway.
Usually there is something fascinating about the person our eyes fall on, or at least that's what we convince ourselves of. And although the relationship may not be one for the ages, it's sure fun while it lasts.
This is not a love song. It's a song about finding someone with whom you know you shouldn't necessarily travel down a dark and dangerous path, and yet there is nothing you can do about being completely and inexplicably drawn to them. Sometimes the best rational decision is just too boring to be allowed, and so instead of being smart, we act based on something else.
It's clear that this American Girl is not the most stable person on earth, probably not the best choice for an adult relationship - the same could be said for the man. These are not two people who have to be together no matter the cost. They are both looking for something in the wrong places. But there is a beautiful vulnerability in each of them that draws them together. Neither of them really wants to know the other in that way that makes you want to know everything about a person you love. But they really do love a good roll in the hay together. These two people have probably wounded each other in small ways - like the way we wound ourselves with paper cuts - not the profound ways in which we can only wound those we love. But nonetheless, there exists between these people a desire to be together. And clearly neither of the two involved have the strength to turn down that opportunity.
This is a song that says so much more than I could ever say about the way it feels to want what you know you shouldn't - and in a much cooler way. But I'm writing about it anyway, because even though someone's five-year-old daughter could have written this blog, she didn't. And I did.
So I won't hesitate no more. It just so happens this song is slightly relevant in my life right now.
To preface, I'll note that in the past few weeks, after months and months of what one might term inertia, my life has started to move again - not sure if it's forward - but it has begun to move, and I'm really not about to stop it no matter what the consequences might be.
In the wheel of my life, there have always been those little bits of road gravel that get wedged in the grooves and create a little wear and tear.
The following song is one that never fails to make me feel that all those complicated bits of life are great reasons to sing and dance - which I do while I'm getting ready every morning :
American Girls
Counting Crows
She comes out on Fridays every time and stands out in the line
I could've been anyone she'd seen
She waits another week to fall apart
She couldn't make another day
I wish it was anyone but me
I could've been anyone, you see
She had something breakable just under her skin
American Girls are weather and noise
Playing the changes for all of the boys
Holding a candle up to my hand
Making me feel so incredible
She comes out of closets every night but then she locks herself away
Wish she could keep everything from me
I could've been anyone, you see
She's nothing but porcelain underneath her skin
American Girls are weather and noise
Playing the changes for all of the boys
Holding a candle right up to my hand
Making me feel so incredible
Little shiver shaking me everyday
But I could get this same thing anywhere
So if she goes away, well, it's alright and I'm okay
She said, "Come back again tonight."
And I said, "I might, I might, I might."
She said, "Well, that's alright if it's alright, it's alright with you then it's alright, it's alright with me."
I waited for an hour last Friday night, and she never came around
She took almost everything from me
I'm going through my closets trying on her clothes
Almost everyday
I could've been anyone, you see
I wish it was anyone but me
There's nothing but pills and ashes under my skin
American Girls are weather and noise
Playing the changes for all of the boys
Holding a candle right up to my hand
Making me feel so incredible
If I made you cry, just tell me why
I'll try again if you let me try
American Girls are feathers and cream
Coming to bed so edible
American Girls, oh American Girls
American Girls oh, oh, oh, oh
American Girls, oh American Girls
American Girls oh, oh, oh, oh
You made me cry
You made me cry
You made me cry
Yeah, you made me cry
You made me cry, hey miss American Girl
This song might never make it into the top 100 list of any given group of experts on the subject of music, but it makes me feel great every time I hear it.
Generally speaking I really love songs that sound really fun and poppy but are about something a little bit deeper - maybe not a lot, but a little - and this one falls into that category.
Sometimes there are those moments when, for one reason or another, we need to surrender to our slightly naughtier side. Knowing that the choices that we make with regards to someone else might not be the wisest or the most rational isn't always going to keep us from making them anyway.
Usually there is something fascinating about the person our eyes fall on, or at least that's what we convince ourselves of. And although the relationship may not be one for the ages, it's sure fun while it lasts.
This is not a love song. It's a song about finding someone with whom you know you shouldn't necessarily travel down a dark and dangerous path, and yet there is nothing you can do about being completely and inexplicably drawn to them. Sometimes the best rational decision is just too boring to be allowed, and so instead of being smart, we act based on something else.
It's clear that this American Girl is not the most stable person on earth, probably not the best choice for an adult relationship - the same could be said for the man. These are not two people who have to be together no matter the cost. They are both looking for something in the wrong places. But there is a beautiful vulnerability in each of them that draws them together. Neither of them really wants to know the other in that way that makes you want to know everything about a person you love. But they really do love a good roll in the hay together. These two people have probably wounded each other in small ways - like the way we wound ourselves with paper cuts - not the profound ways in which we can only wound those we love. But nonetheless, there exists between these people a desire to be together. And clearly neither of the two involved have the strength to turn down that opportunity.
This is a song that says so much more than I could ever say about the way it feels to want what you know you shouldn't - and in a much cooler way. But I'm writing about it anyway, because even though someone's five-year-old daughter could have written this blog, she didn't. And I did.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Is Everyone a Little Bit Racist? (OR This Post Has Been Killing Me For Awhile...)
There is an ongoing argument in my family regarding a song from the musical Avenue Q titled "Everyone's a Little Bit Racist." This song has been the subject of much debate for several years now as a result of its obviously controversial lyrics. Half of the family thinks that it's offensive and that it only serves to perpetuate racism in its failure to recognize the seriousness of the issue it addresses. The other half of the family thinks it is a funny song that is part of a funny play, and the whole point of the song is to help people lighten up a little bit in order to be able to discuss the subject of racism without feeling that its a taboo subject.
The lyrics are below - please keep in mind that it is a musical, so the format of the art is somewhat compromised by the fact that you can't hear the accompanying music. Also, the colors of the words are for the purposes of distinguishing one character's lines from another's. I could've also used different fonts, but I was lazy. The colors in no way correspond to my feelings about one character's race or another.
The only reason I'm including the lyrics here is so that those who are not familiar with the play can understand the reason behind the debate and also so that my personal shortened interpretation does not bias the reader in his or her opinion of the song, which is as follows :
Princeton: Say, Kate, can I ask you a question?
Kate Monster: Sure!
Princeton: Well, you know Trekkie Monster upstairs?
Kate Monster: Uh huh.
Princeton: Well, he's Trekkie Monster, and you're Kate Monster.
Kate Monster: Right.
Princeton: You're both Monsters.
Kate Monster: Yeah.
Princeton: Are you two related?
Kate Monster: What?! Princeton, I'm surprised at you! I find that racist!
Princeton: Oh, well, I'm sorry! I was just asking!
Kate Monster: Well, it's a touchy subject. No, not all Monsters are related. What are you trying say, huh? That we all look the same to you? Huh, huh, huh?
Princeton: No, no, no, not at all. I'm sorry, I guess that was a little racist.
Kate Monster: I should say so. You should be much more careful when you're talking about the sensitive subject of race.
Princeton: Well, look who's talking!
Kate Monster: What do you mean?
Princeton: What about that special Monster School you told me about?
Kate Monster: What about it?
Princeton: Could someone like me go there
Kate Monster: No, we don't want people like you -
Princeton: You see?! You're a little bit racist.
Kate Monster: Well, you're a little bit too.
Princeton: I guess we're both a little bit racist.
Kate Monster: Admitting it is not an easy thing to do...
Princeton: But I guess it's true.
Kate Monster: Between me and you, I think
Both: Everyone's a little bit racist sometimes. Doesn't mean we go around committing hate crimes. Look around and you will find no one's really color blind. Maybe it's a fact we all should face everyone makes judgments based on race.
Princeton: Now not big judgments, like who to hire or who to buy a newspaper from -
Kate Monster: No!
Princeton: No, just little judgments like thinking that Mexican busboys should learn to speak goddamn English!
Kate Monster: Right!
Both: Everyone's a little bit racist today. So, everyone's a little bit racist. Okay! Ethnic jokes might be uncouth, but you laugh because they're based on truth. Don't take them as personal attacks. Everyone enjoys them - so relax!
Princeton: All right, stop me if you've heard this one.
Kate Monster: Okay!
Princeton: There's a plane going down and there's only one parachute - And there's a rabbi, a priest...
Kate Monster: And a black guy!
Gary Coleman: Whatchoo talkin' 'bout Kate?
Kate Monster: Uh...
Gary Coleman: You were telling a black joke!
Princeton: Well, sure, Gary, but lots of people tell black jokes.
Gary Coleman: I don't.
Princeton: Well, of course you don't - you're black! But I bet you tell Polack jokes, right?
Gary Coleman: Well, sure I do. Those stupid Polacks!
Princeton: Now, don't you think that's a little racist?
Gary Coleman: Well, damn, I guess you're right.
Kate Monster: You're a little bit racist.
Gary Coleman: Well, you're a little bit too.
Princeton: We're all a little bit racist.
Gary Coleman: I think that I would have to agree with you.
Princeton/Kate Monster: We're glad you do.
Gary Coleman: It's sad but true! Everyone's a little bit racist -All right!
Kate Monster: All right!
Princeton: All right!
Gary Coleman: All right! Bigotry has never been exclusively white
All: If we all could just admit that we are racist a little bit, even though we all know that it's wrong, maybe it would help us get along.
Princeton: Oh, Christ do I feel good.
Gary Coleman: Now there was a fine upstanding black man!
Princeton: Who?
Gary Coleman: Jesus Christ.
Kate Monster: But, Gary, Jesus was white.
Gary Coleman: No, Jesus was black.
Kate Monster: No, Jesus was white.
Gary Coleman: No, I'm pretty sure that Jesus was black-
Princeton: Guys, guys...Jesus was Jewish!
All: (Laugh)
Brian: Hey guys, what are you laughing about?
Gary Coleman: Racism!
Brian: Cool.
Christmas Eve: BRIAN! Come back here! You take out lecycuraburs!
Princeton: What's that mean?
Brian: Um, recyclables.
(All laughing)
Brian: Hey, don't laugh at her! How many languages do you speak?
Kate Monster: Oh, come off it, Brian! Everyone's a little bit racist.
Brian: I'm not!
Princeton: Oh no?
Brian: Nope! How many Oriental wives have you got?
Christmas Eve: What? Blian!
Princeton: Brian, buddy, where you been? The term is Asian-American!
Christmas Eve: I know you are no intending to be, but calling me Oriental - offensive to me!
Brian: I'm sorry, honey, I love you.
Christmas Eve: And I rove you.
Brian: But you're racist, too.
Christmas Eve: Yes, I know. The Jews have all the money, and the whites have all the power, and I'm always in taxi-cab with driver who no shower!
Princeton: Me too!
Kate Monster: Me too!
Gary Coleman: I can't even get a taxi!
All: Everyone's a little bit racist, it's true, but everyone is just about as racist as you! If we all could just admit that we are racist a little bit, and everyone stopped being so PC, maybe we could live in - harmony!
Christmas Eve: Evlyone's a ritter bit lacist!
And now for the weigh in : CLEARly this song is a little bit racist. I don't think that is an arguable fact (and since I'm in charge of this blog, it won't be a point that is argued - not to mention the fact that very few people read it). I've been trying to finish this paragraph for awhile, and I think part of the reason is that I can see the argument from both sides (of course I can - I'm a Libra). But the fact of the matter is that "everyone makes judgments based on race," at least everyone I know does. I can't count the number of discussions I've had with my friends of all backgrounds and races who have made comments about their race or someone else's race based on their experiences or the opinions of others.
Does it mean that we're all a little bit racist? Maybe. But I've found as I've gotten older and had more of these discussions that the more I talk about the topic of race with people - particularly those who are a different race from me - that every conversation brings about a little more understanding about the people with whom I'm speaking. Because I get an idea of who they are, where they come from, and their personal opinions on the matter and other matters.
In short I've become closer to the people around me as a result of bridging the gap of the "race" taboo.
Communication of any kind can help people come to a greater understanding of the overall picture of any topic. So no matter how improperly worded the song may be, I believe the aim of it is to open up conversations, and yes, even arguments on the subject of race. Because if the topic remains taboo, no understanding will ever be met.
Yeah, I'm ready. Bring on the comments....
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Teddy Bear Picnics OR An Extended Metaphor for Getting to the Bottom of an Existential Crisis
Coming back to life after a long hibernation takes a lot of committment. Most creatures think that once springtime rolls around, the bears and bees and birds are suddenly skipping through green fields full of wildflowers after a long and peaceful nap.
And honestly I'm not sure if this is the case or if it isn't, but for the purpose of this post, we'll assume that waking from hibernation is a long, arduous and potentially painful process during which the bears think to themselves, "remind me again why I can't just stay asleep? I was warm and comfortable and I was having this great dream where I was standing underneath this waterfall thing - only instead of water, honey was flowing over the edge of the cliff above - a honey-fall, HA! and I was standing under it, and like the whole sky was full of golden honey and the whole world smelled and tasted oh-so-sweet!!! So anyway, what I really want to do is close my eyes and go back to sleep so I can smell and taste some more of that sweet, golden sky. It's hard out there anyway. The spring isn't all it's cracked up to be with people always cutting down my favorite trees and bees always hanging around and getting in my fur and forest fires, you know, the list goes on. This year I think I'm just gonna stay right here in my cave. Going out is over *yawn* rated."
So there he stays.
But try as he might, he can't quite recreate that honey-fall dream he was having. He keeps hearing shouts and laughter from all those teddy bears having picnics outside. The birds keep chirping and the bees keep buzzing, and pretty soon he starts to realize his dream is of venturing back out to see the blue sky and smell the flowers. And how exciting would it be if he could terrorize some of those bastards who are always starting fires in his forest and cutting down his favorite trees?
Yeah, that would be great.
But the cave is still pretty comfy, and it's so bright out there. He's not sure if he remembers how to do all that terrorizing and he's not really sure he remembers how to act at the teddy bear picnics. It's been so long since he's been invited, maybe some things have changed. "What if I'm just not good at it anymore?" he asks himself.
Nevertheless, he thinks maybe he should just sniff out the situation. They're cookin' up something good at that picnic.
If you were a bee in that wildflower meadow on that day, you would see the slightest touch of black emerging from a cave ever-so-slowly and think to yourself, "what the....??"
Blinking in the sunlight, the bear finally pokes his head out of the cave and is amazed at all the hulabaloo around him. It seems like people are having fun (you know, bears, that is) and all the birds are singing and bees are landing on flowers, etc. So much commotion, though, after such a long winter is hardly what he had in mind. He really had wanted to find a soft and quiet spot underneath a tree to enjoy something refreshing and juicy. Maybe he could just tiptoe through the picnic, pick up a snack and then sit over in the corner without being noticed too much. Inching over toward the food table, he heads for the bear equivalent of potato salad when his old friend shows up and starts grilling him (metaphorically) for answers. "Dude, it's been a long time. Where you been? I was starting to think maybe you got locked up or something. Haven't seen you since last fall. You missed some killer parties. You should see the new cubs hanging out around here. You would not believe their....." Our bear has kind of stopped listening and is looking for his exit. He makes a quick excuse about being late for something or other or forgetting to turn off the space heater and quickly heads back toward the cave.
Whoa. That was a LITTLE overwhelming for the first time out of the cave. He really didn't expect to have to answer so many questions and feel so cornered on all sides. Maybe he really isn't ready for this. Maybe he should just try to keep his head down and be a quiet observer for awhile.
*sigh*
Well, we all know how that turns out. After a few weeks, he really starts to think about how much fun he is missing. His friend was just concerned is all, and really, he wouldn't mind seeing what it is that's so special about all the young cubs. Hmmm. Maybe he should just try once more.
The perfect opportunity arises later that week when his buddy comes over to the cave and tells him they're going to have a midnight picnic this time, and "dude, if you miss this party, you will regret it for the rest of your life. There is this one cub, Susie, and she is just the type of girl you've been waiting to meet. So make sure you take a bath or something."
Yeah, he thinks. This could be kinda fun. I know how to do this. It's just like riding a bike. All I have to do is go outside the cave. And talk. Just like thinking - only out loud. Okay. I'm gonna do this. I'm gonna go meet Susie.
But there are butterflies in his tummy. No, it's just the clover he ate for lunch. It always gives him indigestion. But still he hasn't done this in awhile. What if he embarrasses himself? Shut up! He's going. How bad could it be? Yeah....how bad could it be? After all, he can't hibernate forever.
Right?
And honestly I'm not sure if this is the case or if it isn't, but for the purpose of this post, we'll assume that waking from hibernation is a long, arduous and potentially painful process during which the bears think to themselves, "remind me again why I can't just stay asleep? I was warm and comfortable and I was having this great dream where I was standing underneath this waterfall thing - only instead of water, honey was flowing over the edge of the cliff above - a honey-fall, HA! and I was standing under it, and like the whole sky was full of golden honey and the whole world smelled and tasted oh-so-sweet!!! So anyway, what I really want to do is close my eyes and go back to sleep so I can smell and taste some more of that sweet, golden sky. It's hard out there anyway. The spring isn't all it's cracked up to be with people always cutting down my favorite trees and bees always hanging around and getting in my fur and forest fires, you know, the list goes on. This year I think I'm just gonna stay right here in my cave. Going out is over *yawn* rated."
So there he stays.
But try as he might, he can't quite recreate that honey-fall dream he was having. He keeps hearing shouts and laughter from all those teddy bears having picnics outside. The birds keep chirping and the bees keep buzzing, and pretty soon he starts to realize his dream is of venturing back out to see the blue sky and smell the flowers. And how exciting would it be if he could terrorize some of those bastards who are always starting fires in his forest and cutting down his favorite trees?
Yeah, that would be great.
But the cave is still pretty comfy, and it's so bright out there. He's not sure if he remembers how to do all that terrorizing and he's not really sure he remembers how to act at the teddy bear picnics. It's been so long since he's been invited, maybe some things have changed. "What if I'm just not good at it anymore?" he asks himself.
Nevertheless, he thinks maybe he should just sniff out the situation. They're cookin' up something good at that picnic.
If you were a bee in that wildflower meadow on that day, you would see the slightest touch of black emerging from a cave ever-so-slowly and think to yourself, "what the....??"
Blinking in the sunlight, the bear finally pokes his head out of the cave and is amazed at all the hulabaloo around him. It seems like people are having fun (you know, bears, that is) and all the birds are singing and bees are landing on flowers, etc. So much commotion, though, after such a long winter is hardly what he had in mind. He really had wanted to find a soft and quiet spot underneath a tree to enjoy something refreshing and juicy. Maybe he could just tiptoe through the picnic, pick up a snack and then sit over in the corner without being noticed too much. Inching over toward the food table, he heads for the bear equivalent of potato salad when his old friend shows up and starts grilling him (metaphorically) for answers. "Dude, it's been a long time. Where you been? I was starting to think maybe you got locked up or something. Haven't seen you since last fall. You missed some killer parties. You should see the new cubs hanging out around here. You would not believe their....." Our bear has kind of stopped listening and is looking for his exit. He makes a quick excuse about being late for something or other or forgetting to turn off the space heater and quickly heads back toward the cave.
Whoa. That was a LITTLE overwhelming for the first time out of the cave. He really didn't expect to have to answer so many questions and feel so cornered on all sides. Maybe he really isn't ready for this. Maybe he should just try to keep his head down and be a quiet observer for awhile.
*sigh*
Well, we all know how that turns out. After a few weeks, he really starts to think about how much fun he is missing. His friend was just concerned is all, and really, he wouldn't mind seeing what it is that's so special about all the young cubs. Hmmm. Maybe he should just try once more.
The perfect opportunity arises later that week when his buddy comes over to the cave and tells him they're going to have a midnight picnic this time, and "dude, if you miss this party, you will regret it for the rest of your life. There is this one cub, Susie, and she is just the type of girl you've been waiting to meet. So make sure you take a bath or something."
Yeah, he thinks. This could be kinda fun. I know how to do this. It's just like riding a bike. All I have to do is go outside the cave. And talk. Just like thinking - only out loud. Okay. I'm gonna do this. I'm gonna go meet Susie.
But there are butterflies in his tummy. No, it's just the clover he ate for lunch. It always gives him indigestion. But still he hasn't done this in awhile. What if he embarrasses himself? Shut up! He's going. How bad could it be? Yeah....how bad could it be? After all, he can't hibernate forever.
Right?
Friday, October 2, 2009
Naked Blogging - Punishment
I haven't been punishing myself enough lately by writing on my blog. I've given myself a break from hanging out in front of the computer screen, and it hasn't really done me much good.
Seriously, this is a well-deserved flogging, because it's 1 am before a day on which I have to be at work at 9:30 and go out to celebrate my friend's 30th birthday.
I'm supposed to look phenomenal at this party as well, because there is a good chance there will be attractive single men there.
And yet here I am on my blog - a somewhat unglamorous task trying to drag something interesting from my brain out through my fingertips, and let's face it - it's not working.
A few things I can write about and probably won't:
My stomach is growling because all I've put in it since the quesadillas at lunch has been three Jim Beam and Diet Caffeine-Free Cokes.
Newspaper clippings sure do bring back memories.
How much shit can pile up on my desk next to my computer before 1.) I decide to organize it or 2.) it actually falls over?
Sub-question - if organizing it were so important, why would I be wondering how long I could keep the pile going before it would fall over?
Why do I feel the need to push the limits of everything in my life including junk mail?
I wonder how late I can stay up tonight and still not feel like complete garbage tomorrow morning?
Pretty sure I'm past that point already.
Seriously, this is a well-deserved flogging, because it's 1 am before a day on which I have to be at work at 9:30 and go out to celebrate my friend's 30th birthday.
I'm supposed to look phenomenal at this party as well, because there is a good chance there will be attractive single men there.
And yet here I am on my blog - a somewhat unglamorous task trying to drag something interesting from my brain out through my fingertips, and let's face it - it's not working.
A few things I can write about and probably won't:
My stomach is growling because all I've put in it since the quesadillas at lunch has been three Jim Beam and Diet Caffeine-Free Cokes.
Newspaper clippings sure do bring back memories.
How much shit can pile up on my desk next to my computer before 1.) I decide to organize it or 2.) it actually falls over?
Sub-question - if organizing it were so important, why would I be wondering how long I could keep the pile going before it would fall over?
Why do I feel the need to push the limits of everything in my life including junk mail?
I wonder how late I can stay up tonight and still not feel like complete garbage tomorrow morning?
Pretty sure I'm past that point already.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
a small story
"'Don't punish yourself,' she heard her say again, but there would be punishment and pain, and there would be happiness too. That was writing." - Markus Zusak
Monday, September 14, 2009
The Inheritance of Loss Part II
I've wanted to write this blog for awhile (since the day after my original post on this topic), and I've put it off for two reasons. 1.) My internet got shut off, and I haven't had a chance to get it restored yet. 2.) I think that my original post reflected what I needed to say at the time, although it wasn't exactly what I wanted to say when I started writing it.
First of all, I didn't exactly exPLAIN what it was that I wasn't going to do in my current blog that I had done in previous blogs and that is write about quotes and songs and stuff that inspires me or touches me in some way. It was sort of a trademark of my other blog, and although it was a helpful tool to get me writing at times, it sort of became a crutch, so I was trying to avoid the practice, but I've decided that hey, it's my blog, and I can write about what I want.
Secondly, what I wrote is true, or WAS true at the time I wrote it. What is equally true is that the passage I included in that post is much more meaningful than I indicated and is about more than just some silly drama between two individuals, although it is about that as well.
On that particular day, the passage burrowed into my heart for the reason I previously stated, but I think that it resonated with me on a deeper level too. There is this "spiritual" element to my life that I've recently been attempting to examine. For a long time, I shunned the whole concept of god, religion, spirituality, and anything having to do with those topics because I had decided that I really didn't believe in any of it. And I still don't - at least not in the "traditional" (read Judeo-Christian) sense.
But I have decided that there is a possibility that I rejected the entire concept too hastily instead of simply modifying my initial idea of - you know - god thing.
I've kind of started to direct my energy at the universe and see what happens. So far, so good. It's not like I'm praying, or maybe I am, but I think I've just been trying to channel my energy in ways that I think are productive and focus my thoughts on those types of things as well - some people have referenced The Secret when I've discussed it with them, but I've never read The Secret nor have I seen the film, so I'm not sure it's the same thing, but regardless, I think it works for me.
But the fact remains that this particular passage from The Inheritance of Loss is still pertinent. There is just too much complexity in this world for things to make sense on a small scale to one person - at least to make sense in our made-up view of how justice works. Justice may actually exist, but the chances that we will be around to see it in action are pretty much nil.
As far as the relationship I referenced goes, I haven't decided to end it. Not really. To a certain extent, I've made the decision not to think about it as a complete entity yet, but I'm not letting that ruin my life either.
For the time being, I'm just hoping it's on hold. Maybe it's just that I can't see the big picture yet. Maybe I'm in denial. But I'm just not ready to make a decision that final.
I've always had this vision in my mind of how relationships work: everyone is born in a little canoe, and we are all floating downstream in our canoes. We may like to think that we are in charge of rowing, but ultimately, the current of the stream is just too strong for us to control. The stream takes us where it will. Sometimes we float alongside someone for a long time and when the river steers us off in a different direction, we may resist it. But the more we resist the current, the more we struggle against it, the weaker we will become and eventually we will not be able to see the path we are meant to be on because all our energy is focused on trying to catch someone else's drift. I think it's very difficult to stay in your canoe facing forward when faced with this situation. It's hard to remember the beauty of the stream itself. If the river decides, the canoes will eventually float back together. Until then all we can do is enjoy it.
First of all, I didn't exactly exPLAIN what it was that I wasn't going to do in my current blog that I had done in previous blogs and that is write about quotes and songs and stuff that inspires me or touches me in some way. It was sort of a trademark of my other blog, and although it was a helpful tool to get me writing at times, it sort of became a crutch, so I was trying to avoid the practice, but I've decided that hey, it's my blog, and I can write about what I want.
Secondly, what I wrote is true, or WAS true at the time I wrote it. What is equally true is that the passage I included in that post is much more meaningful than I indicated and is about more than just some silly drama between two individuals, although it is about that as well.
On that particular day, the passage burrowed into my heart for the reason I previously stated, but I think that it resonated with me on a deeper level too. There is this "spiritual" element to my life that I've recently been attempting to examine. For a long time, I shunned the whole concept of god, religion, spirituality, and anything having to do with those topics because I had decided that I really didn't believe in any of it. And I still don't - at least not in the "traditional" (read Judeo-Christian) sense.
But I have decided that there is a possibility that I rejected the entire concept too hastily instead of simply modifying my initial idea of - you know - god thing.
I've kind of started to direct my energy at the universe and see what happens. So far, so good. It's not like I'm praying, or maybe I am, but I think I've just been trying to channel my energy in ways that I think are productive and focus my thoughts on those types of things as well - some people have referenced The Secret when I've discussed it with them, but I've never read The Secret nor have I seen the film, so I'm not sure it's the same thing, but regardless, I think it works for me.
But the fact remains that this particular passage from The Inheritance of Loss is still pertinent. There is just too much complexity in this world for things to make sense on a small scale to one person - at least to make sense in our made-up view of how justice works. Justice may actually exist, but the chances that we will be around to see it in action are pretty much nil.
As far as the relationship I referenced goes, I haven't decided to end it. Not really. To a certain extent, I've made the decision not to think about it as a complete entity yet, but I'm not letting that ruin my life either.
For the time being, I'm just hoping it's on hold. Maybe it's just that I can't see the big picture yet. Maybe I'm in denial. But I'm just not ready to make a decision that final.
I've always had this vision in my mind of how relationships work: everyone is born in a little canoe, and we are all floating downstream in our canoes. We may like to think that we are in charge of rowing, but ultimately, the current of the stream is just too strong for us to control. The stream takes us where it will. Sometimes we float alongside someone for a long time and when the river steers us off in a different direction, we may resist it. But the more we resist the current, the more we struggle against it, the weaker we will become and eventually we will not be able to see the path we are meant to be on because all our energy is focused on trying to catch someone else's drift. I think it's very difficult to stay in your canoe facing forward when faced with this situation. It's hard to remember the beauty of the stream itself. If the river decides, the canoes will eventually float back together. Until then all we can do is enjoy it.
Friday, August 28, 2009
The Inheritance of Loss
I've been trying not to do this too much since it was extremely indicative of my previous blog, but I'm going to bite the bullet since I think it's kind of indicative of my style in general and not to include the following (and I'm sure many posts to come) would mean a decision to omit a large part of what inspires me from my blog, which seems, you know, couterproductive and wrong.
So I'm reading this book called The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai, a strikingly beautiful Indian-American woman. Her language is very poetic throughout the novel, and there are very many passages that have struck me profoundly, but there was one that I read today that I felt I had to share. The following passage is an observation by the author made after some of the characters discuss the relative virtues of different religions in their ideas of what ultimately means justice i.e. the afterlife or karma, etc.:
The fact was that one was left empty-handed. There was no system to soothe the unfairness of things; justice was without scope; it might snag the stealer of chickens, but great evasive crimes would have to be dismissed because, if identified and netted, they would bring down the entire structure of so-called civilization. For crimes that took place in the monstrous dealings between nations, for crimes that took place in those intimate spaces between two people without a witness, for these crimes the guilty would never pay. There was no religion and no government that would relieve the hell.
This particular passage means something to me today because I have recently been carrying around a mountain of hurt on my shoulders as a result of the breakdown of what I considered an important relationship in my life. I saw it coming from a mile away, but I was desperately hoping that I would be proven wrong in this instance. The sheer scope of instances in which I was to blame for this situation is seemingly endless, but ultimately there was nothing I could have done to change the outcome.
And that is the most bitter pill to take.
In this particular situation, the crime perpetrated by two individuals against each other will never be judged by an impartial witness. There is no way to measure and balance out the damage that was done by each party over the long course of time.
The only truth I've been able to find is in silence. The more I talk and think and write about it, the more confusing it becomes for me, and it does not bring me peace.
The only thing I can do to relieve myself of this hell is to make the decision for it to end. But that brings with it another inherent burden. It will have been my choice. And once it is made, I don't think I can unmake it.
I know it's the love I can't bear to part with more than its object.
So I'm reading this book called The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai, a strikingly beautiful Indian-American woman. Her language is very poetic throughout the novel, and there are very many passages that have struck me profoundly, but there was one that I read today that I felt I had to share. The following passage is an observation by the author made after some of the characters discuss the relative virtues of different religions in their ideas of what ultimately means justice i.e. the afterlife or karma, etc.:
The fact was that one was left empty-handed. There was no system to soothe the unfairness of things; justice was without scope; it might snag the stealer of chickens, but great evasive crimes would have to be dismissed because, if identified and netted, they would bring down the entire structure of so-called civilization. For crimes that took place in the monstrous dealings between nations, for crimes that took place in those intimate spaces between two people without a witness, for these crimes the guilty would never pay. There was no religion and no government that would relieve the hell.
This particular passage means something to me today because I have recently been carrying around a mountain of hurt on my shoulders as a result of the breakdown of what I considered an important relationship in my life. I saw it coming from a mile away, but I was desperately hoping that I would be proven wrong in this instance. The sheer scope of instances in which I was to blame for this situation is seemingly endless, but ultimately there was nothing I could have done to change the outcome.
And that is the most bitter pill to take.
In this particular situation, the crime perpetrated by two individuals against each other will never be judged by an impartial witness. There is no way to measure and balance out the damage that was done by each party over the long course of time.
The only truth I've been able to find is in silence. The more I talk and think and write about it, the more confusing it becomes for me, and it does not bring me peace.
The only thing I can do to relieve myself of this hell is to make the decision for it to end. But that brings with it another inherent burden. It will have been my choice. And once it is made, I don't think I can unmake it.
I know it's the love I can't bear to part with more than its object.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Naked Blogging: I'm Bad at My Life
Lately I've kind of lost it. I'm not talking about nervous breakdowns here. I'm talking about the fact that I used to be really good at things. Like everything that people are supposed to be good at.
I could instantly tell you where you were and where you wanted to go. I was inVOLved. I knew the latest Hollywood gossip and what was going on with important TV programs. I had read all the news and had opinions on current affairs.
I used to know the seasonal fashion trends and who was wearing them and what makeup and nail polish colors were going to set them off perfectly.
It used to be that I could answer questions on Jeopardy! and Who Wants to be a Millionaire, because I was just that up-to-date on pop culture and not so pop culture. I was sharp.
But lately I've been feeling very mushy.
This evening someone stopped on the street and asked me what the address was where we were - as in what hundred block is this? And I looked around like I had no idea where I was. Incidentally, I was half a block from home. There was an old man with an umbrella walking behind me who said, "1400." Of course we were in the 1400 block.
(Interesting real-time aside: I think I just heard someone having sex outside my window).
Then the guy who had stopped me on the street asked which way to the 900 block? And I pointed the opposite direction of where he was heading. The old man with the umbrella replied (correctly), "East. Straight ahead, east."
This incident caused me to accept the fact that I am not good at my life. People want to talk to me, strike up harmless conversations like, "how long have you been waiting at the bus stop?"
It actually takes me time to think about these types of questions these days. Usually the answer is something like, "not long," but I'm always absorbed in some internal dialogue or a convoluted reverie about the best ways to turn down marriage proposals or whether there is ever an acceptable reason to purchase clothing made in Indonesia or whether or not I should care about changes to the health care system in the United States.
This type of thinking does not make you sharper and more desirable to talk to, I've found.
Usually people don't want to talk about this sort of thing on a daily basis. They just want to know which way they should go. You know, practical sorts of concerns that plague the life of your normal person. I find myself using the phrase, "I'm kinda out of it today," much more frequently than I'd like. Not because I'm really out of it, but because I'm so focused on something that has absolutely no relevance to what it is that I'm doing at the present moment.
1.) Do most people have these problems?
2.) Is this a symptom of something else?
3.) Would I be a more fulfilled and relaxed individual if I were more concerned about what the address was?
I could instantly tell you where you were and where you wanted to go. I was inVOLved. I knew the latest Hollywood gossip and what was going on with important TV programs. I had read all the news and had opinions on current affairs.
I used to know the seasonal fashion trends and who was wearing them and what makeup and nail polish colors were going to set them off perfectly.
It used to be that I could answer questions on Jeopardy! and Who Wants to be a Millionaire, because I was just that up-to-date on pop culture and not so pop culture. I was sharp.
But lately I've been feeling very mushy.
This evening someone stopped on the street and asked me what the address was where we were - as in what hundred block is this? And I looked around like I had no idea where I was. Incidentally, I was half a block from home. There was an old man with an umbrella walking behind me who said, "1400." Of course we were in the 1400 block.
(Interesting real-time aside: I think I just heard someone having sex outside my window).
Then the guy who had stopped me on the street asked which way to the 900 block? And I pointed the opposite direction of where he was heading. The old man with the umbrella replied (correctly), "East. Straight ahead, east."
This incident caused me to accept the fact that I am not good at my life. People want to talk to me, strike up harmless conversations like, "how long have you been waiting at the bus stop?"
It actually takes me time to think about these types of questions these days. Usually the answer is something like, "not long," but I'm always absorbed in some internal dialogue or a convoluted reverie about the best ways to turn down marriage proposals or whether there is ever an acceptable reason to purchase clothing made in Indonesia or whether or not I should care about changes to the health care system in the United States.
This type of thinking does not make you sharper and more desirable to talk to, I've found.
Usually people don't want to talk about this sort of thing on a daily basis. They just want to know which way they should go. You know, practical sorts of concerns that plague the life of your normal person. I find myself using the phrase, "I'm kinda out of it today," much more frequently than I'd like. Not because I'm really out of it, but because I'm so focused on something that has absolutely no relevance to what it is that I'm doing at the present moment.
1.) Do most people have these problems?
2.) Is this a symptom of something else?
3.) Would I be a more fulfilled and relaxed individual if I were more concerned about what the address was?
Sunday, August 23, 2009
The Inevitable Move to a Blog Post of a Political Nature OR Why People Need to Learn the Difference Between a Nazi and a Communist
It was inevitable. That means in literal terms unavoidable. It was ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN to happen that I would start writing blogs about political issues and stray from the everyday stuff. Although when you think about it (read: when I think about it), political issues ARE everyday stuff for most Americans. It's just the everyday stuff they're happy to let someone else deal with and then turn around and bitch about when it doesn't work out the way THEY would have chosen - if in fact their goddamn Senator or Congressperson had voted like they were elected to do.
Fine.
So here I am about to bitch about something that I've been bitching about to every person who would let me have a second's attention over the last few years of my life: the national healthcare crisis.
I am allowed to call it a crisis, because in fact, several tons of people die each year because they have little to no healthcare coverage. Another several hundred tons of people go into enormous amounts of debt as a result of another inevitable thing : sickness or injury.
Why, you might ask, don't these idiots who can't afford healthcare, and as a result of that oversight are so obviously inferior to you and me who do have the good God-given sense to pay for health insurance companies to pretend to cover our doomed asses realize that they just don't have the LUXURY of getting sick or injured? Or why don't they at least do it in such a way that obliges someone else to cover their healthcare costs?
We may never understand the answer to these and others of life's mysteries.
But there is another bigger underlying query which may soon rock all of humanity (that lives in the United States of America)...
When the government tries to step in and get their filthy little noses into a business that so obviously concerns them (a business that, if our government had any sense at all, they would have long since begun to regulate), do we call them Nazis or Communists?
The answer for many outraged voters who are about to continue getting the same level of health insurance coverage they received before is a resounding BOTH.
Yes. The government of the United States qualifies as both Nazi and Communist in their attempts to interfere in the long-standing tradition of allowing the health insurance industries to ass-rape people for years just so their claims can be denied when they most need coverage i.e. when a human being develops cancer or heart disease or get shot by stray bullets in the mean streets of Idaho.
Now Nazis, for those of you who are unaware of the distinction, are defined as people who subscribe to "a form of socialism featuring racism and expansionism and obedience to a strong leader," socialism being "any of various theories or systems of social organization in which the means of producing and distributing goods is owned collectively or by a centralized government that often plans and controls the economy." Our great nation, as it turns out, is the exact opposite of a socialist system, because not only does the government not control the producing and distributing of goods, the producers and distributors of goods control the government through their various and sundry "charitable" contributions to campaigns and administrations. (The only source I'll cite here is freedictionary.com - thanks for the definitions).
Communists are described as supporters of "a system of government in which the state plans and controls the economy and a single, often authoritarian party holds power, claiming to make progress toward a higher social order in which all goods are equally shared by the people."
Apparently, the people who are so all-fired-up over the proposal for the eensiest little change in our health care system, which still allows for health insurance companies to get fat and happy for years to come, think that our government is both racist/power hungry for world domination AND eager for everyone to get equal shares of everything.
Makes sense to me.
Now I'm not asking a lot here. I do not think that our government is above rebuke, and certainly the people who are running it are not without fault. But in fairness, aren't we only serving to lower ourselves to an even baser level by name-calling? And if we are going to sink to that level, shouldn't we at least have a basic understanding of what we're saying before we go around turning ourselves into morons because we think that Nazis and Communists are the same thing? (They aren't - if you didn't catch that point).
What I will say is this: who is widely considered the most patriotic American actor today? The one without whom the free world would be instantly doomed on a weekly basis?
You guessed it: Kiefter Sutherland.
And none other than Kiefter Sutherland's grandfather, Tommy Douglas (also known as The Greatest Canadian), was instrumental in implementing what is today the biggest difference between the U.S. and Canada - the universal healthcare system.
Now at first Canadians weren't all that crazy about universal healthcare themselves. Especially the doctors. They were afraid that their pay would decrease as a result of government funded healthcare initiatives. They believed that less expensive foreign doctors would be imported in order to lower the cost of healthcare to the Canadian government thereby reducing the quality of healthcare provided to their patients. Lucky for us here in the good ol' U.S. of A., we don't have those silly problems, because we know beyond a shadow of a doubt that we're nowher near having to face those issues because our government is so quagmired in legal jargon and red tape that we'll never see the onset of universal healthcare for our citizens. At least not in our lifetime.
Fine.
So here I am about to bitch about something that I've been bitching about to every person who would let me have a second's attention over the last few years of my life: the national healthcare crisis.
I am allowed to call it a crisis, because in fact, several tons of people die each year because they have little to no healthcare coverage. Another several hundred tons of people go into enormous amounts of debt as a result of another inevitable thing : sickness or injury.
Why, you might ask, don't these idiots who can't afford healthcare, and as a result of that oversight are so obviously inferior to you and me who do have the good God-given sense to pay for health insurance companies to pretend to cover our doomed asses realize that they just don't have the LUXURY of getting sick or injured? Or why don't they at least do it in such a way that obliges someone else to cover their healthcare costs?
We may never understand the answer to these and others of life's mysteries.
But there is another bigger underlying query which may soon rock all of humanity (that lives in the United States of America)...
When the government tries to step in and get their filthy little noses into a business that so obviously concerns them (a business that, if our government had any sense at all, they would have long since begun to regulate), do we call them Nazis or Communists?
The answer for many outraged voters who are about to continue getting the same level of health insurance coverage they received before is a resounding BOTH.
Yes. The government of the United States qualifies as both Nazi and Communist in their attempts to interfere in the long-standing tradition of allowing the health insurance industries to ass-rape people for years just so their claims can be denied when they most need coverage i.e. when a human being develops cancer or heart disease or get shot by stray bullets in the mean streets of Idaho.
Now Nazis, for those of you who are unaware of the distinction, are defined as people who subscribe to "a form of socialism featuring racism and expansionism and obedience to a strong leader," socialism being "any of various theories or systems of social organization in which the means of producing and distributing goods is owned collectively or by a centralized government that often plans and controls the economy." Our great nation, as it turns out, is the exact opposite of a socialist system, because not only does the government not control the producing and distributing of goods, the producers and distributors of goods control the government through their various and sundry "charitable" contributions to campaigns and administrations. (The only source I'll cite here is freedictionary.com - thanks for the definitions).
Communists are described as supporters of "a system of government in which the state plans and controls the economy and a single, often authoritarian party holds power, claiming to make progress toward a higher social order in which all goods are equally shared by the people."
Apparently, the people who are so all-fired-up over the proposal for the eensiest little change in our health care system, which still allows for health insurance companies to get fat and happy for years to come, think that our government is both racist/power hungry for world domination AND eager for everyone to get equal shares of everything.
Makes sense to me.
Now I'm not asking a lot here. I do not think that our government is above rebuke, and certainly the people who are running it are not without fault. But in fairness, aren't we only serving to lower ourselves to an even baser level by name-calling? And if we are going to sink to that level, shouldn't we at least have a basic understanding of what we're saying before we go around turning ourselves into morons because we think that Nazis and Communists are the same thing? (They aren't - if you didn't catch that point).
What I will say is this: who is widely considered the most patriotic American actor today? The one without whom the free world would be instantly doomed on a weekly basis?
You guessed it: Kiefter Sutherland.
And none other than Kiefter Sutherland's grandfather, Tommy Douglas (also known as The Greatest Canadian), was instrumental in implementing what is today the biggest difference between the U.S. and Canada - the universal healthcare system.
Now at first Canadians weren't all that crazy about universal healthcare themselves. Especially the doctors. They were afraid that their pay would decrease as a result of government funded healthcare initiatives. They believed that less expensive foreign doctors would be imported in order to lower the cost of healthcare to the Canadian government thereby reducing the quality of healthcare provided to their patients. Lucky for us here in the good ol' U.S. of A., we don't have those silly problems, because we know beyond a shadow of a doubt that we're nowher near having to face those issues because our government is so quagmired in legal jargon and red tape that we'll never see the onset of universal healthcare for our citizens. At least not in our lifetime.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
It's the Heart That Matters More
I've been making a vain attempt over the last few days at posting some blogs that I've failed to post in the past as a result of them not being ready for publication because I was either too unsure or too lazy to post them at the time. They've gotten gummy with time and sort of unflexible in a way, and I'm thinking of trashing them entirely and moving on.
There is a part of me that wonders if when blogs get too old if it's best to let them just expire in a natural way rather than trying to relive them; forcing them back into being by trying to breathe life into them. Perhaps a life they're all to happy to let pass.
Or maybe it's that I've never given them a fair shake at life. Perhaps I need to reexamine what I was feeling and thinking at the time I began them. Maybe I was wrong about those blogs to begin with and all they need is a little time to ferment before they can reach their peak of flavor and richness.
Speaking of wine, I've had a bit this evening, so perhaps it's clouding my judgment. However, I do not think it is quite time to dispose of my dear friends just yet. They may yet have something to say. Something I'm not quite ready to discount. You never know. Sometimes the things closest to you have the capacity to surprise you even after you've known them for years.
Like that one time in My So-Called Life when Graham tells Patty that RuPaul strikes him as being pretty secure.
Okay, if you've never seen My So-Called Life, you probably aren't cool enough to be reading my blog.
There is a part of me that wonders if when blogs get too old if it's best to let them just expire in a natural way rather than trying to relive them; forcing them back into being by trying to breathe life into them. Perhaps a life they're all to happy to let pass.
Or maybe it's that I've never given them a fair shake at life. Perhaps I need to reexamine what I was feeling and thinking at the time I began them. Maybe I was wrong about those blogs to begin with and all they need is a little time to ferment before they can reach their peak of flavor and richness.
Speaking of wine, I've had a bit this evening, so perhaps it's clouding my judgment. However, I do not think it is quite time to dispose of my dear friends just yet. They may yet have something to say. Something I'm not quite ready to discount. You never know. Sometimes the things closest to you have the capacity to surprise you even after you've known them for years.
Like that one time in My So-Called Life when Graham tells Patty that RuPaul strikes him as being pretty secure.
Okay, if you've never seen My So-Called Life, you probably aren't cool enough to be reading my blog.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Proceed with Caution
Hello friend(s):
My blog is under construction, because as you know, I have been on vacation and haven't had a chance to do much typing. I am currently working on a few different things that have been in the works for awhile now as well as writing some new stuff which I plan on posting soon.
I wanted to get some of that up and running tonight, but as it turns out, I'm kinda tired, and I write better when I'm not falling asleaa;wwriha;lgi;oasdnigkn;aoign..............
Time for bed.
My blog is under construction, because as you know, I have been on vacation and haven't had a chance to do much typing. I am currently working on a few different things that have been in the works for awhile now as well as writing some new stuff which I plan on posting soon.
I wanted to get some of that up and running tonight, but as it turns out, I'm kinda tired, and I write better when I'm not falling asleaa;wwriha;lgi;oasdnigkn;aoign..............
Time for bed.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Lack
There are many terrible feelings in the world:
- Being lied to
- Stubbing your toe
- Hurting someone you love
- Being left by someone you love
- Realizing someone you thought was a friend is not a friend
- Papercuts
- Being hit in the face with a baseball bat
- Realizing you aren't going to grow up to be a cowgirl or a ballerina
The list goes on indefinitely. I'm going to make an argument that the worst of all bad feelings is the feeling of helplessness you often feel when someone you love, respect, and want nothing but the best for is suffering, and there is nothing you can do to help them.
Right now I really wish I had a magic wand that could make dreams come true. If I had one wave, I would wave it for Erin May Jackle.
I do not have such a wand.
- Being lied to
- Stubbing your toe
- Hurting someone you love
- Being left by someone you love
- Realizing someone you thought was a friend is not a friend
- Papercuts
- Being hit in the face with a baseball bat
- Realizing you aren't going to grow up to be a cowgirl or a ballerina
The list goes on indefinitely. I'm going to make an argument that the worst of all bad feelings is the feeling of helplessness you often feel when someone you love, respect, and want nothing but the best for is suffering, and there is nothing you can do to help them.
Right now I really wish I had a magic wand that could make dreams come true. If I had one wave, I would wave it for Erin May Jackle.
I do not have such a wand.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Return from Hiatus OR The Best Vacation EVER
Hello my dear friend(s). I am back from vacation, which incidentally was a vacation from blogging as well.
I was fortunate enough to have been able to take a trip to New Hampshire to visit my cousins and aunt and uncle and then travel on to Prince Edward Island, Canada.
To some people this might seem like a fairly boring vacation, but to me, that was the allure of it. For someone who has consistently been working at a job she hates for the last three months while trying to supplement her meager income by working part time for her father in the suburbs, generally resulting in a seven day work week, the lack of excitement was definitely the draw.
On the 31st of July, I left for New Hampshire and as soon as I got there, everything seemed instantly more enjoyable. I sat around and drank coffee all day, I read books, I listened to music, I debated the relative benefits of songs from Avenue Q (multiple times). I ate delicious New Hampshire food and walked around Manchester. I was able to view my cousin, Laura's films that she had completed throughout her junior year at Keene's film school (they were awesome - especially the claymation one). I got to hear all about my cousin, Alison's year of teaching English in China, which included many adventures, I agreed and disagreed with my cousin, Jade, on many issues, and I was able to see my cousin, Julia, play violin in a concert at her band camp (and also got a private concert in the living room while she practiced piano).
I got to have ice cream at Goldenrod. For those of you who have never had this distinct pleasure, I am sorry for you.
On Sunday the 2nd, we all piled in a van (pretty typical of my family) and made the long drive up to Prince Edward Island. We scared the customs officer.
When we finally arrived there, we were so happy to be out of the car after twelve hours of driving that we all decided to get back in the van and drive an hour to Charlottetown so that we could get Subway. Then we went back to the cabin to watch Anne of Green Gables on Wonderworks.
The next few days went by far too quickly, but I have decided that PEI just might be the most beautiful, natural, and peaceful place I've ever been. The potatoes there are the best I've ever tasted, everyone is friendly, and the scenery is absolutely breathtaking. I don't think I could let another fourteen years of my life pass without going back there.
One morning my sister and I got up early and went for a walk down the red sand streets and over the hills. We wandered around for about an hour and ended up behind someone's farm house. Standing there at the top of the hill looking at the old house and acres upon acres of nothing but plants and trees, I felt like I had traveled back in time. I never wanted to leave.
We came back down to New Hampshire and spent the next few days watching TV and going to the mall and checking out a Fisher Cats game (New Hampshire's minor league baseball team). It just reminded me of how much I miss the Northeast. Something about being there took me back to my childhood and to what I'm really like.
But coming home has reminded me that I can be happy here as well. And even during the commute downtown today on the crowded El train with all the crazy Chicagoans, I smiled to myself and thought what a beautiful day it was going to be.
I was fortunate enough to have been able to take a trip to New Hampshire to visit my cousins and aunt and uncle and then travel on to Prince Edward Island, Canada.
To some people this might seem like a fairly boring vacation, but to me, that was the allure of it. For someone who has consistently been working at a job she hates for the last three months while trying to supplement her meager income by working part time for her father in the suburbs, generally resulting in a seven day work week, the lack of excitement was definitely the draw.
On the 31st of July, I left for New Hampshire and as soon as I got there, everything seemed instantly more enjoyable. I sat around and drank coffee all day, I read books, I listened to music, I debated the relative benefits of songs from Avenue Q (multiple times). I ate delicious New Hampshire food and walked around Manchester. I was able to view my cousin, Laura's films that she had completed throughout her junior year at Keene's film school (they were awesome - especially the claymation one). I got to hear all about my cousin, Alison's year of teaching English in China, which included many adventures, I agreed and disagreed with my cousin, Jade, on many issues, and I was able to see my cousin, Julia, play violin in a concert at her band camp (and also got a private concert in the living room while she practiced piano).
I got to have ice cream at Goldenrod. For those of you who have never had this distinct pleasure, I am sorry for you.
On Sunday the 2nd, we all piled in a van (pretty typical of my family) and made the long drive up to Prince Edward Island. We scared the customs officer.
When we finally arrived there, we were so happy to be out of the car after twelve hours of driving that we all decided to get back in the van and drive an hour to Charlottetown so that we could get Subway. Then we went back to the cabin to watch Anne of Green Gables on Wonderworks.
The next few days went by far too quickly, but I have decided that PEI just might be the most beautiful, natural, and peaceful place I've ever been. The potatoes there are the best I've ever tasted, everyone is friendly, and the scenery is absolutely breathtaking. I don't think I could let another fourteen years of my life pass without going back there.
One morning my sister and I got up early and went for a walk down the red sand streets and over the hills. We wandered around for about an hour and ended up behind someone's farm house. Standing there at the top of the hill looking at the old house and acres upon acres of nothing but plants and trees, I felt like I had traveled back in time. I never wanted to leave.
We came back down to New Hampshire and spent the next few days watching TV and going to the mall and checking out a Fisher Cats game (New Hampshire's minor league baseball team). It just reminded me of how much I miss the Northeast. Something about being there took me back to my childhood and to what I'm really like.
But coming home has reminded me that I can be happy here as well. And even during the commute downtown today on the crowded El train with all the crazy Chicagoans, I smiled to myself and thought what a beautiful day it was going to be.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Get Naked With Me
My last blog featured a promise to get ORGANIZED! And tonight I found an organizational tactic:
Naked blogging.
"What," you ask yourself with a crinkle on your brow, "is naked blogging? Does it mean that she's sitting at her computer in the NUDE????!!!!" (How scandalous!)
That really isn't the point. The point is to keep it as stripped down as possible, whether I am actually sitting at my computer in the nude or not. (wouldn't you like to know?)
The whole impetus for Naked Blogging came about because I went this evening to see a show at the good ol' National Pastime Theater called Naked July. Actually, the festival of which the show is a part is called Naked July, and the show I saw is called Living Canvas: Nocturne. Basically it was comprised of a man in a suit who came out onstage with a brief case and proceeded to strip naked (yes, completely naked) and dance around with several other naked men and women for about an hour.
During this naked hour, there were several different imaged projected onto their bodies and music played and there were other bits that contained lines from children's books. All in all it was a pretty amazing show to say the least. There was one segment where all the actors were onstage together and they were dancing to a Paul Simon song that represented the children's book "Where the Wild Things Are" and they were just dancing around, swinging their arms freely all over the place, and I thought, "Wow. I wish I could do that."
So I decided to come home and get naked too. Because it just feels good. You should try it sometime.
Strip yourself down to the bare minimum, because for the most part we spend our time shrouded in a buncha crap.
Join me every weekend for a new edition of naked blogging.
And if you have a chance, go to the National Pastime Theater next weekend for the final performance of Naked JULY 2009!
They will be returning in 2010, so don't worry. If you can't make next weekend, there is still plenty of time to see naked people dancing in public.
Naked blogging.
"What," you ask yourself with a crinkle on your brow, "is naked blogging? Does it mean that she's sitting at her computer in the NUDE????!!!!" (How scandalous!)
That really isn't the point. The point is to keep it as stripped down as possible, whether I am actually sitting at my computer in the nude or not. (wouldn't you like to know?)
The whole impetus for Naked Blogging came about because I went this evening to see a show at the good ol' National Pastime Theater called Naked July. Actually, the festival of which the show is a part is called Naked July, and the show I saw is called Living Canvas: Nocturne. Basically it was comprised of a man in a suit who came out onstage with a brief case and proceeded to strip naked (yes, completely naked) and dance around with several other naked men and women for about an hour.
During this naked hour, there were several different imaged projected onto their bodies and music played and there were other bits that contained lines from children's books. All in all it was a pretty amazing show to say the least. There was one segment where all the actors were onstage together and they were dancing to a Paul Simon song that represented the children's book "Where the Wild Things Are" and they were just dancing around, swinging their arms freely all over the place, and I thought, "Wow. I wish I could do that."
So I decided to come home and get naked too. Because it just feels good. You should try it sometime.
Strip yourself down to the bare minimum, because for the most part we spend our time shrouded in a buncha crap.
Join me every weekend for a new edition of naked blogging.
And if you have a chance, go to the National Pastime Theater next weekend for the final performance of Naked JULY 2009!
They will be returning in 2010, so don't worry. If you can't make next weekend, there is still plenty of time to see naked people dancing in public.
Friday, July 24, 2009
HHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH
I'm thinking I should probably try to organize my blog in some way so that I am forced to write on a regular basis instead of just coming home from work and plopping in front of my computer and casting around for inspiration on some kind of important topic.
I'm not going to do any kind of organizing tonight, because this has been one of the most disorganized days of my life beginning with the insanely disturbing and extremely vivid dream I had that actually woke me up this morning and put my head in a fog for most of the day.
Yuck.
Has this ever happened to you where you have a dream that is so real that you are convinced that it is actually happening or has actually happened or will actually happen? Or at least that the thoughts and feelings that accompanied the dream are real? And then they affect you all day? That's been happening to me more often lately than I care to admit, although last night it could've had something to do with the Lemongrass Coconut-Saketini...
Not sure.
But the whole day I've had this cloud hanging over my head, and I didn't feel like I could do anything productive. I even saw my reflection in the window scowling at this really cute guy on the bus this evening. Not a good way to catch a husband.
So what I am going to do is put on my cowgirl boot slippers and pajamas, read some Harry Potter, and drink a cup of tea before bed. Hopefully by tomorrow morning, I'll have some fantastic plan strategized about how my blog is going to look from here on out.
I'm sure all you people who are reading this (Erin and maybe Erin) will much appreciate it.
Love you.
I'm not going to do any kind of organizing tonight, because this has been one of the most disorganized days of my life beginning with the insanely disturbing and extremely vivid dream I had that actually woke me up this morning and put my head in a fog for most of the day.
Yuck.
Has this ever happened to you where you have a dream that is so real that you are convinced that it is actually happening or has actually happened or will actually happen? Or at least that the thoughts and feelings that accompanied the dream are real? And then they affect you all day? That's been happening to me more often lately than I care to admit, although last night it could've had something to do with the Lemongrass Coconut-Saketini...
Not sure.
But the whole day I've had this cloud hanging over my head, and I didn't feel like I could do anything productive. I even saw my reflection in the window scowling at this really cute guy on the bus this evening. Not a good way to catch a husband.
So what I am going to do is put on my cowgirl boot slippers and pajamas, read some Harry Potter, and drink a cup of tea before bed. Hopefully by tomorrow morning, I'll have some fantastic plan strategized about how my blog is going to look from here on out.
I'm sure all you people who are reading this (Erin and maybe Erin) will much appreciate it.
Love you.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
A Fine, Fine Line
I just got done hurting someone I used to really care about. Part of me still cares.
But there was no choice other than to say "I don't want to talk to you." Because that is the truth. I didn't choose silence. I didn't make up an excuse. I simply said, "I don't want to talk to you."
It sucked.
I surrendered all control over what that person thinks of me now. I could go the rest of my life without ever knowing that this person who was once so important to me became something amazing.
And I chose to shut the door in a very permanent way.
So the joke's on me.
But there was no choice other than to say "I don't want to talk to you." Because that is the truth. I didn't choose silence. I didn't make up an excuse. I simply said, "I don't want to talk to you."
It sucked.
I surrendered all control over what that person thinks of me now. I could go the rest of my life without ever knowing that this person who was once so important to me became something amazing.
And I chose to shut the door in a very permanent way.
So the joke's on me.
The Importance of Being Honest
Please understand that when I say I want the truth, that is what I mean. It isn't so much that I like to hear things about how what you are doing is moving away from me and starting a life that does not include me at all. This isn't the moment I've always been dreaming of.
But if it's the truth, that's all I can handle.
I'm beginning to think that lying is something that people do. On a regular basis. As a way of dealing with things. I'm not mad about it, but it does confuse me quite a lot.
How am I supposed to relate to someone who constantly lies? What am I supposed to say? How to respond when I realize that I am being lied to?
When a person lies to you or distorts reality, he or she creates an uneven playing field. There is an unfair advantage when a person lies, because once the lie is introduced, an alternate reality is also introduced into the situation. What am I supposed to do with this? How is it possible to respond? Should I act on the basis that what I'm being told is the truth, or should I use my critical thinking skills to deduce that what I'm being told is a lie?
If the latter is the case, should I wait until the actual truth has been uncovered or should I simply act as though the initial premise is false?
One way or the other, the situation has become increasingly less simple to handle because I am not aware of what the actual situation that exists in reality is.
It might be ugly.
It might be mean.
It might be frightening.
It probably isn't what you want to hear coming out of your mouth.
Well, too bad.
Just do it.
Tell the truth. Tell the truth. Tell the truth.
And if you don't know what the truth is, figure it out.
And then tell it.
But if it's the truth, that's all I can handle.
I'm beginning to think that lying is something that people do. On a regular basis. As a way of dealing with things. I'm not mad about it, but it does confuse me quite a lot.
How am I supposed to relate to someone who constantly lies? What am I supposed to say? How to respond when I realize that I am being lied to?
When a person lies to you or distorts reality, he or she creates an uneven playing field. There is an unfair advantage when a person lies, because once the lie is introduced, an alternate reality is also introduced into the situation. What am I supposed to do with this? How is it possible to respond? Should I act on the basis that what I'm being told is the truth, or should I use my critical thinking skills to deduce that what I'm being told is a lie?
If the latter is the case, should I wait until the actual truth has been uncovered or should I simply act as though the initial premise is false?
One way or the other, the situation has become increasingly less simple to handle because I am not aware of what the actual situation that exists in reality is.
It might be ugly.
It might be mean.
It might be frightening.
It probably isn't what you want to hear coming out of your mouth.
Well, too bad.
Just do it.
Tell the truth. Tell the truth. Tell the truth.
And if you don't know what the truth is, figure it out.
And then tell it.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Me and Dr. Robbins
In writing this post, I am either showing a.) great courage b.) great stupidity or c.) nothing that great at all. So here goes.
My family is mildly obsessed with Tom Robbins. He is a really great writer. Empirically. I admit that there are some people who might not LIKE his stories, might not LIKE what he has to say, might not LIKE his writing style, and probably even more who just don't get it. But when I say he is a great writer, it is not a matter of opinion.
I have read five of his novels, which admittedly does not really cover his whole catalogue, but I do feel that I have a pretty good understanding of what he believes in and what he wants to say, and and even better understanding of how he likes to say it.
Recently (after my quest to get through Anna Karenina), I gave myself a literary break by reading Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events. And then I decided to continue on my kick with Even Cowgirls Get the Blues. (yeah, this is my idea of a break).
My sister, Bridget, gave me a copy of Even Cowgirls Get the Blues as a gift, because it is her favorite one of Tom Robbins' novels. If you haven't read the story, there is not a really good way to describe what it is about, although I will venture to say that if you have the desire to understand life in a simple, beautiful, and humorous way, you might want to read it.
The rereading of Cowgirls this year was a very cathartic experience for me, because even though you may not realize it when you pick up a great book, sometimes there is a rhythm to life that just makes it the perfect thing to be reading right at that moment.
And when I started to read Cowgirls again for the second (definitely not last) time, I had caught a heavy sneeze, and had a lot of birds of sadness nesting in my hair. So as the story of Sissy Hankshaw and Bonanza Jellybean and the whooping cranes (don't forget the Chink!) unfolded before my very eyes again, it was like a very good friend was holding my hand and saying, "hey, Podner, it's alright. You gotta Live the Beauty of Your Own Reality." Which incidentally is pretty much what the book says.
But whenever I get caught in a storm of depression, it's nice to have a good slap in the face that wakes you up like a rifle shot echoing across the Great Wide Open Plains and reminds you that there is magic in the world if you have the bravado to believe in it.
"Ladies, Gentlemen. Shhh. This is the way truth is. You've got to let those strange hands touch you."
And sometimes the truth is really painful. After all "success can eliminate as many options as failture," and in order to really squeeze the puddin' out of life, sometimes it is necessary to really create an art out of failing. You have to fail in the most unimaginable ways. Perhaps in ways that haven't even been invented yet. You may have to be the best failure to ever walk the earth and still not have found what you came here for. Failure and I have been spending a lot of time together lately, and I've come to recognize that some people can spend a lot of time on earth in a state of real contentment. I mean, some people are just really satisfied.
The thought of it actually exhausts me.
Even more than spending weeks on end punching my pillow and crying my eyes out and wandering around in circles in my mind for so long that I've created tracks in my head's living room.
Of course there are moments when I wish that I could stop fighting so hard against all the failures in my life (real and perceived). There are certainly times when I just wish that for ONCE I could succeed at something I really cared about. And of course there are times when I wish that I could care about my successes as much as I care about my failures.
But what's the fun in that?
These are the sorts of internal dialogues you're forced to have if you decide to read Tom Robbins. Or if you are lucky enough to be incarnated as someone who has been termed "the insatiable child." Maybe the two go hand in hand.
So...
For the Gift of a beautiful story that will never leave your side, not for a second, in the deepest moments of despair, a million times and to the end of the world, thank you to my beautiful and intelligent sister, Bridget. She's the girl who had enough bravado to get Bonanza Jellybean tatooed on her belly. Gotta admire that kind of dedication.
I do.
My family is mildly obsessed with Tom Robbins. He is a really great writer. Empirically. I admit that there are some people who might not LIKE his stories, might not LIKE what he has to say, might not LIKE his writing style, and probably even more who just don't get it. But when I say he is a great writer, it is not a matter of opinion.
I have read five of his novels, which admittedly does not really cover his whole catalogue, but I do feel that I have a pretty good understanding of what he believes in and what he wants to say, and and even better understanding of how he likes to say it.
Recently (after my quest to get through Anna Karenina), I gave myself a literary break by reading Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events. And then I decided to continue on my kick with Even Cowgirls Get the Blues. (yeah, this is my idea of a break).
My sister, Bridget, gave me a copy of Even Cowgirls Get the Blues as a gift, because it is her favorite one of Tom Robbins' novels. If you haven't read the story, there is not a really good way to describe what it is about, although I will venture to say that if you have the desire to understand life in a simple, beautiful, and humorous way, you might want to read it.
The rereading of Cowgirls this year was a very cathartic experience for me, because even though you may not realize it when you pick up a great book, sometimes there is a rhythm to life that just makes it the perfect thing to be reading right at that moment.
And when I started to read Cowgirls again for the second (definitely not last) time, I had caught a heavy sneeze, and had a lot of birds of sadness nesting in my hair. So as the story of Sissy Hankshaw and Bonanza Jellybean and the whooping cranes (don't forget the Chink!) unfolded before my very eyes again, it was like a very good friend was holding my hand and saying, "hey, Podner, it's alright. You gotta Live the Beauty of Your Own Reality." Which incidentally is pretty much what the book says.
But whenever I get caught in a storm of depression, it's nice to have a good slap in the face that wakes you up like a rifle shot echoing across the Great Wide Open Plains and reminds you that there is magic in the world if you have the bravado to believe in it.
"Ladies, Gentlemen. Shhh. This is the way truth is. You've got to let those strange hands touch you."
And sometimes the truth is really painful. After all "success can eliminate as many options as failture," and in order to really squeeze the puddin' out of life, sometimes it is necessary to really create an art out of failing. You have to fail in the most unimaginable ways. Perhaps in ways that haven't even been invented yet. You may have to be the best failure to ever walk the earth and still not have found what you came here for. Failure and I have been spending a lot of time together lately, and I've come to recognize that some people can spend a lot of time on earth in a state of real contentment. I mean, some people are just really satisfied.
The thought of it actually exhausts me.
Even more than spending weeks on end punching my pillow and crying my eyes out and wandering around in circles in my mind for so long that I've created tracks in my head's living room.
Of course there are moments when I wish that I could stop fighting so hard against all the failures in my life (real and perceived). There are certainly times when I just wish that for ONCE I could succeed at something I really cared about. And of course there are times when I wish that I could care about my successes as much as I care about my failures.
But what's the fun in that?
These are the sorts of internal dialogues you're forced to have if you decide to read Tom Robbins. Or if you are lucky enough to be incarnated as someone who has been termed "the insatiable child." Maybe the two go hand in hand.
So...
For the Gift of a beautiful story that will never leave your side, not for a second, in the deepest moments of despair, a million times and to the end of the world, thank you to my beautiful and intelligent sister, Bridget. She's the girl who had enough bravado to get Bonanza Jellybean tatooed on her belly. Gotta admire that kind of dedication.
I do.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Reading Summer OR Poverty and Its Real World Effects
I've been doing a lot of reading this summer, as you may have surmised from the title of my post. It's been mostly fiction with a smattering of self-realization books thrown in for good measure. I'm not sure, all things considered, that those two categories can really be separated, but for the purposes of my experiment on NOT self-editing too much, there you have it.
The way I see it, I started out with Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. This book has a great deal of significance in my life for many reasons. First, it is a book that spanned a long period of time, both in story and in my life specifically. I started to read Anna Karenina several years ago when one of my sisters was reading it and happened to leave her copy in the bathroom at my parents' house in Aurora. At the time it was still my parents' house and not, as it has become since then, my father's house, so in a way, I started to read this novel a lifetime ago.
Also, it was just after a friend of mine, in true character, had written me an email including a line from Anna about something political and then had followed it up with a few well-worded and somewhat cryptic comments about the absolutely dreadful and desperate state of affairs in the world. (This person has since made a complete turnaround and is the most astonishing optimist). So I picked it up because that's what you do when you see a book in the bathroom at your parents' house in Aurora, especially one your friend's just quoted to you in a desperate email. I've actually finished a lot of books I should have read years before but never quite got around to because I was sitting in the bathroom. It's completely embarrassing to admit to this, but again, self-editing is out.
Anyway, at that time I never got around to finishing the book. I had every intention of doing it, but things got in the way, I got busy, and until this past spring, I didn't have another really good opportunity or really, the desire, to finish reading this long and involved work of Russian literature. I did, however, manage to blaze through Crime and Punishment. So I went to Borders one day and saw it sitting there. And I bought it. Ill-advised though this decision was, (poverty is the other theme of this post) I knew that if I took it out from the library, it would eventually cost me more than if I just bought it.
It was a great rediscovery. I really fell in love with some of the characters and found the whole history of that time period to be fascinating and really felt like I kind of understood the whole political atmosphere when Communism began to rear its scarlet head in Russia and how the aristocracy of the period could be so torn about the issue and how it really affected them personally, etc., etc. And I was lugging this book with me to work every single day, because I knew that I would have a lot of time to sit around and read between clients (take clients between reading). So I had this giant tome laying out on the countertop one day when a woman I work with (who happens to be Russian and also happens to have no sense of self-editing) took one look and said, "Whose book is this? Is it yours?"
"Yes." I replied proudly.
"This is the worst book I've ever read." And she giggled, as she is prone to do after every statement she makes. She proceeded to explain to me that reading this book in English was completely useless because the Russian language is so complex that it actually CAN'T be translated, not to mention that the ideas contained in the text are difficult to understand even in Russian. Getting that the situation was ridiculously futile and that no matter how hard I tried to really GRASP what Tolstoy was getting at, there was no way that I could even begin to THINK about the vastness of this story.
"Well, I guess I'll just have to learn Russian and read it again."
She laughed at me. "No," she said, "it is too difficult language."
I just smiled politely and sat down with my book, now even more determined to finish it.
Now one thing that I have failed to mention previously is that Anna Karenina has another giant significance in my life. Possibly my favorite book of all time (don't quote me on that) is The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera. This might be the most pretentious thing I've ever said. But it's true. I have a relationship with that novel that can't be fully explained here. What I will say is that Anna Karenina plays a very important role in that story as well. In the beginning when Tereza shows up on Tomas' front door step with her heavy suitcase in hand, she is carrying a copy of Tolstoy's Anna Karenina, which for anyone who has ever read the thing or felt the need to lug it around knows that it represents weight. Literally and metaphorically, because damn, those Russians can't write anything unless it makes you feel like the weight of the world is resting squarely on your shoulders. Not to mention that the book itself is somewhere around 700 pages.
Long story short, I have always thought that being Tereza would be one of the most depressing things, because she created all these ties for herself that were constantly dragging her down. I mean there's a whole chapter devoted to talking about how she was clumsy and falling all over the place. And here I was, dragging my giant book around with me, which of course required its very own tote bag, which I proceeded to fill with a bunch of other crap I didn't need to be carrying around with me, so by the time I reached the halfway point (after Anna decides she has to leave Karenin, but before Levin and Kitty get married), I'd shrunk two inches and needed a therapist.
But seriously this is not a beach read. No matter what the women's magazines try to tell you.
And I finished it. And made a vow that everything I read from then on would be able to fit in my little green plaid knapsack. So I can walk swinging both arms.
So far, so good. I followed it up with:
A Series of Unfortunate Events Book 1 The Bad Beginning by Lemony Snicket
Even Cowgirls Get the Blues by Tom Robbins
Skinny Legs and All by Tom Robbins
Paradise by Toni Morrison
Dark Places by Gillian Flynn
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling
Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling (can't read the first one without reading the second)
There are personal stories that go along with each one of these as well. Some are much shorter and much less involved than the one for Anna. Some are not. But they are ALL the result of a girl with no money and WAY too much free time at work.
By the way, one thing that people don't tell you is that the story goes on after Anna goes back to the train station. (We'll call it that here for those of you who don't want me to spoil the most exciting part of the book). You don't really need to read all the stuff that comes after. In my opinion, it's just Tolstoy stroking his ego a bit and trying to really hammer you with all the pseud0-philosophical stuff that goes through Levin's mind. And Levin is just a really thin veil for Tolstoy's own mental meanderings. So if you're a glutton for punishment, read on. But if you're committed to getting through Tolstoy, you probably are.
The way I see it, I started out with Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. This book has a great deal of significance in my life for many reasons. First, it is a book that spanned a long period of time, both in story and in my life specifically. I started to read Anna Karenina several years ago when one of my sisters was reading it and happened to leave her copy in the bathroom at my parents' house in Aurora. At the time it was still my parents' house and not, as it has become since then, my father's house, so in a way, I started to read this novel a lifetime ago.
Also, it was just after a friend of mine, in true character, had written me an email including a line from Anna about something political and then had followed it up with a few well-worded and somewhat cryptic comments about the absolutely dreadful and desperate state of affairs in the world. (This person has since made a complete turnaround and is the most astonishing optimist). So I picked it up because that's what you do when you see a book in the bathroom at your parents' house in Aurora, especially one your friend's just quoted to you in a desperate email. I've actually finished a lot of books I should have read years before but never quite got around to because I was sitting in the bathroom. It's completely embarrassing to admit to this, but again, self-editing is out.
Anyway, at that time I never got around to finishing the book. I had every intention of doing it, but things got in the way, I got busy, and until this past spring, I didn't have another really good opportunity or really, the desire, to finish reading this long and involved work of Russian literature. I did, however, manage to blaze through Crime and Punishment. So I went to Borders one day and saw it sitting there. And I bought it. Ill-advised though this decision was, (poverty is the other theme of this post) I knew that if I took it out from the library, it would eventually cost me more than if I just bought it.
It was a great rediscovery. I really fell in love with some of the characters and found the whole history of that time period to be fascinating and really felt like I kind of understood the whole political atmosphere when Communism began to rear its scarlet head in Russia and how the aristocracy of the period could be so torn about the issue and how it really affected them personally, etc., etc. And I was lugging this book with me to work every single day, because I knew that I would have a lot of time to sit around and read between clients (take clients between reading). So I had this giant tome laying out on the countertop one day when a woman I work with (who happens to be Russian and also happens to have no sense of self-editing) took one look and said, "Whose book is this? Is it yours?"
"Yes." I replied proudly.
"This is the worst book I've ever read." And she giggled, as she is prone to do after every statement she makes. She proceeded to explain to me that reading this book in English was completely useless because the Russian language is so complex that it actually CAN'T be translated, not to mention that the ideas contained in the text are difficult to understand even in Russian. Getting that the situation was ridiculously futile and that no matter how hard I tried to really GRASP what Tolstoy was getting at, there was no way that I could even begin to THINK about the vastness of this story.
"Well, I guess I'll just have to learn Russian and read it again."
She laughed at me. "No," she said, "it is too difficult language."
I just smiled politely and sat down with my book, now even more determined to finish it.
Now one thing that I have failed to mention previously is that Anna Karenina has another giant significance in my life. Possibly my favorite book of all time (don't quote me on that) is The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera. This might be the most pretentious thing I've ever said. But it's true. I have a relationship with that novel that can't be fully explained here. What I will say is that Anna Karenina plays a very important role in that story as well. In the beginning when Tereza shows up on Tomas' front door step with her heavy suitcase in hand, she is carrying a copy of Tolstoy's Anna Karenina, which for anyone who has ever read the thing or felt the need to lug it around knows that it represents weight. Literally and metaphorically, because damn, those Russians can't write anything unless it makes you feel like the weight of the world is resting squarely on your shoulders. Not to mention that the book itself is somewhere around 700 pages.
Long story short, I have always thought that being Tereza would be one of the most depressing things, because she created all these ties for herself that were constantly dragging her down. I mean there's a whole chapter devoted to talking about how she was clumsy and falling all over the place. And here I was, dragging my giant book around with me, which of course required its very own tote bag, which I proceeded to fill with a bunch of other crap I didn't need to be carrying around with me, so by the time I reached the halfway point (after Anna decides she has to leave Karenin, but before Levin and Kitty get married), I'd shrunk two inches and needed a therapist.
But seriously this is not a beach read. No matter what the women's magazines try to tell you.
And I finished it. And made a vow that everything I read from then on would be able to fit in my little green plaid knapsack. So I can walk swinging both arms.
So far, so good. I followed it up with:
A Series of Unfortunate Events Book 1 The Bad Beginning by Lemony Snicket
Even Cowgirls Get the Blues by Tom Robbins
Skinny Legs and All by Tom Robbins
Paradise by Toni Morrison
Dark Places by Gillian Flynn
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling
Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling (can't read the first one without reading the second)
There are personal stories that go along with each one of these as well. Some are much shorter and much less involved than the one for Anna. Some are not. But they are ALL the result of a girl with no money and WAY too much free time at work.
By the way, one thing that people don't tell you is that the story goes on after Anna goes back to the train station. (We'll call it that here for those of you who don't want me to spoil the most exciting part of the book). You don't really need to read all the stuff that comes after. In my opinion, it's just Tolstoy stroking his ego a bit and trying to really hammer you with all the pseud0-philosophical stuff that goes through Levin's mind. And Levin is just a really thin veil for Tolstoy's own mental meanderings. So if you're a glutton for punishment, read on. But if you're committed to getting through Tolstoy, you probably are.
Dear My Blog
Dear My Blog,
We need to have a talk. I'm not saying that we should chat about the weather, Blog. We need to have a serious heart-to-heart. It's about our relationship. I feel like over the past few months we've grown apart. I am feeling neglected. I think you may be too. And I am sorry for that. You know, we get busy sometimes. We forget to take care of the things that matter. Life gets in the way. But things have come to a point where I cannot ignore the serious lack of communication we are experiencing. Things just haven't been the same since we haven't had the chance to get together and really hash things out. So much has built up over the last few months that I feel like it's now or never if our relationship is going to continue.
Now I'm not saying it's all your fault. I'm definitely willing to accept some responsibility here. It's just that sometimes when I don't call for awhile, you just forget about me. It's almost like I never existed. And I think we are at a turning point in our relationship as well. Some things need to change around here, Blog. When you and I started out, it was all fun and games with the photos and the creativity. But there is some serious business that we need to discuss now, and I think it may be awhile before you and I can really let loose and have a good time again.
But we will get there, I promise.
Until then I'm just glad to have you back in my life. Because without you, I am seriously lost.
Sincerely,
Meghan
We need to have a talk. I'm not saying that we should chat about the weather, Blog. We need to have a serious heart-to-heart. It's about our relationship. I feel like over the past few months we've grown apart. I am feeling neglected. I think you may be too. And I am sorry for that. You know, we get busy sometimes. We forget to take care of the things that matter. Life gets in the way. But things have come to a point where I cannot ignore the serious lack of communication we are experiencing. Things just haven't been the same since we haven't had the chance to get together and really hash things out. So much has built up over the last few months that I feel like it's now or never if our relationship is going to continue.
Now I'm not saying it's all your fault. I'm definitely willing to accept some responsibility here. It's just that sometimes when I don't call for awhile, you just forget about me. It's almost like I never existed. And I think we are at a turning point in our relationship as well. Some things need to change around here, Blog. When you and I started out, it was all fun and games with the photos and the creativity. But there is some serious business that we need to discuss now, and I think it may be awhile before you and I can really let loose and have a good time again.
But we will get there, I promise.
Until then I'm just glad to have you back in my life. Because without you, I am seriously lost.
Sincerely,
Meghan
Monday, January 26, 2009
In Bruges - A Vintage Post
This post is actually one that I wrote quite awhile ago, but never quite finished. I pulled it ouf of the unpublished archive this evening, because I knew I had to post something, but couldn't quite make it work. So here is my first foray into Vintage Blogging:
I suppose this is officially my first blog post, because the others were kind of just an obligation I had to fulfill. For the time being, I'll probably be writing about fairly simple things being that I have neither the time nor the internet connection to be blogging constantly, but as part of my personal well-being, I need to have some sort of creative outlet, and so blogging it is.
Being that it is awards season, I've been watching a lot more movies than I normally would during the year, and in fact, prior to the last three weeks, I honestly can't remember the last film I saw in the theater. Recently, I've seen Revolutionary Road, Milk, and Slumdog Millionaire in the theater, and I began to remember how much I absolutely love movies in general, and movies in the theater specifically. But despite all that, I must admit that my favorite movie of 2008 (that I've seen so far, of course) is In Bruges.
This one I watched in the comfort of my own home, and I deeply regret that I didn't get a chance to see it in the theater. It is one of the finest black comedies I've ever seen, and the performances were stunning, particularly Colin Farrell, who plays a very confused hit man stuck in a small town in Belgium.
As unrealistic as the premise was, two hit men sent to Bruges to lay low after a job went wrong, the writing and the range of human emotion was spot on. I can hardly describe the plot without giving anything away, but if you haven't seen it, please do.
This film brought a little bit of magic into my life, and sometimes it is hard to remember that magic is afoot.
I suppose this is officially my first blog post, because the others were kind of just an obligation I had to fulfill. For the time being, I'll probably be writing about fairly simple things being that I have neither the time nor the internet connection to be blogging constantly, but as part of my personal well-being, I need to have some sort of creative outlet, and so blogging it is.
Being that it is awards season, I've been watching a lot more movies than I normally would during the year, and in fact, prior to the last three weeks, I honestly can't remember the last film I saw in the theater. Recently, I've seen Revolutionary Road, Milk, and Slumdog Millionaire in the theater, and I began to remember how much I absolutely love movies in general, and movies in the theater specifically. But despite all that, I must admit that my favorite movie of 2008 (that I've seen so far, of course) is In Bruges.
This one I watched in the comfort of my own home, and I deeply regret that I didn't get a chance to see it in the theater. It is one of the finest black comedies I've ever seen, and the performances were stunning, particularly Colin Farrell, who plays a very confused hit man stuck in a small town in Belgium.
As unrealistic as the premise was, two hit men sent to Bruges to lay low after a job went wrong, the writing and the range of human emotion was spot on. I can hardly describe the plot without giving anything away, but if you haven't seen it, please do.
This film brought a little bit of magic into my life, and sometimes it is hard to remember that magic is afoot.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Creative / Theatrical Makeup
Creative
The creative category was definitely my favorite to compile. There are so many amazing creative looks out there and still more to discover, so this category proves that there is nothing you can't do with makeup! I used this as an opportunity to include men in the look book by choosing photos from several recent films in which men had the opportunity to show off their good, bad, and ugly sides. The final three photos are of myself with a landscape on my face and my face map. Unfortunately, I don't have access to the high tech tools required to create something of the magnitude you'll see in the professional photos below.
The creative category was definitely my favorite to compile. There are so many amazing creative looks out there and still more to discover, so this category proves that there is nothing you can't do with makeup! I used this as an opportunity to include men in the look book by choosing photos from several recent films in which men had the opportunity to show off their good, bad, and ugly sides. The final three photos are of myself with a landscape on my face and my face map. Unfortunately, I don't have access to the high tech tools required to create something of the magnitude you'll see in the professional photos below.
I included two photos of my beautiful creation here because I couldn't decide which one was better :)
I'm guessing this is my interpretation of some sort of alien creature.
Runway Makeup
Runway
Runway was a difficult category to fulfill because there are truly endless possibilities for runway looks depending on what type of clothing is being displayed, what time of year it is, and the appearance of the model herself among other factors. I attempted to choose a variety of looks from very extravagant to more restrained. This is the only category for which I didn't attempt a makeup look on myself, so the only photo that was my creation is the face map.
Evening Makeup
Evening
For the evening category, I once again opted to showcase celebrities of different ages, skin colors, hair colors, and ethnic backgrounds because this is such a broad range of options for a beautiful evening look. I also included a photo of my own personal evening makeup look (not the clothing I would choose), and finally a face map.
Daytime Makeup
Daytime
In the daytime category, I felt it was important again to show different skin colors and hair colors as well as showing a range of different ages. I mainly used photos of celebrities in order to demonstrate that looking your best doesn't always necessitate a great deal of makeup (or money). I've also included a creation of my own - not that I would leave the house dressed like this...
My usual daytime makeup look
And finally, the face map
Bridal Makeup Looks
Bridal
In order to create a profile of bridal looks, I looked for brides with varying skin tones and hair colors with makeup that ran the gamut from traditional to modern. Also included is an Indian bride whose makeup is more extravagant than what we normally see as traditional bridal in the U.S. I also used two makeup looks from my friends who were recently married, so these looks are reflective of real brides and not simply bridal magazines. Finally, I included a photo of my own makeup creation (on myself) although hopefully I won't be wearing an old grey tank top at my own wedding :)
Mrs. Erin May Jackle - my best friend (thanks for letting me include you in my look book)
Mrs. Meredith Rensa Nadolny - another of my good friends (thanks for letting me include you in my look book).
And finally the face map for bridal. It is much more difficult than one might think to make a piece of paper look pretty.
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