3/25/16
Peebody's law
Why is it that anything you drop in the bathroom, always ends up in the most unreachable spot behind the toilet?
1/27/16
1/23/16
Blast from the past
The other thing that seems weird to me is the prevalence of 'impostor' stories - you know, like, The Return of Martin Guerre, or (more recently), Phoenix. I don't know how anyone could mistake a loved one's voice for someone else's, whether they've been disfigured, or missing for 10 years, or whatever. I mean, one of the dudes at my car repair shop could call me out of the blue in 10 years, and I'd know exactly who he was - voices are as unique as fingerprints. So as a plot point, it just doesn't hold water.
Angstious
This is my first post since 2010. Since my Dad died. And I'm typing it on a smartphone in the middle of a blizzard.
I've been thinking a lot about anxiety lately. Probably because there's been more of it than usual in my life these last few years. I think that many people look at it as if it were some deeper brand of pessimism - why do you let yourself worry about stuff like that?! Look at the statistics; the chances of [insert tragedy] are practically nil! There's no benefit in being so negative!
...But I don't really have the sense that anxiety is actually rooted in negative thinking or pessimism. It's not some bizarrely self-indulgent clinging to fear and disaster. To me, it feels more like the 'it won't happen to me' mechanism inside people gets broken. Or stunted, so it only functions some of the time, or in certain situations.
-You know that mechanism, that self-protective delusion that allows folks to go about their daily lives, secure in the knowledge that they have a future, secure in the knowledge that they'll make it to work, being able to focus on the way the Starbucks barista misspelled their name, or how long it'll take them to finish that report for their boss, instead of getting caught up in the real facts of their everyday vulnerability and mortality.
So I think for folks with anxiety, that certain security has been swept away- either by genetics, or socialization, or trauma. They realize- they are actively conscious in real time- that they are not immune. To anything. And the older they get, and the more crazy-ass shit they hear about, the less immune they feel.
Sometimes the immunity mechanism works for everything except elevators. Or bridges. Or planes. Or heights. Sometimes it's had so many holes poked in it by life that there are only shreds of it left. But it's not negativity- it's really the absence of a comfortable delusion- cause bad stuff can happen to anyone at any time.
I guess the key is in making peace with that.
I've been thinking a lot about anxiety lately. Probably because there's been more of it than usual in my life these last few years. I think that many people look at it as if it were some deeper brand of pessimism - why do you let yourself worry about stuff like that?! Look at the statistics; the chances of [insert tragedy] are practically nil! There's no benefit in being so negative!
...But I don't really have the sense that anxiety is actually rooted in negative thinking or pessimism. It's not some bizarrely self-indulgent clinging to fear and disaster. To me, it feels more like the 'it won't happen to me' mechanism inside people gets broken. Or stunted, so it only functions some of the time, or in certain situations.
-You know that mechanism, that self-protective delusion that allows folks to go about their daily lives, secure in the knowledge that they have a future, secure in the knowledge that they'll make it to work, being able to focus on the way the Starbucks barista misspelled their name, or how long it'll take them to finish that report for their boss, instead of getting caught up in the real facts of their everyday vulnerability and mortality.
So I think for folks with anxiety, that certain security has been swept away- either by genetics, or socialization, or trauma. They realize- they are actively conscious in real time- that they are not immune. To anything. And the older they get, and the more crazy-ass shit they hear about, the less immune they feel.
Sometimes the immunity mechanism works for everything except elevators. Or bridges. Or planes. Or heights. Sometimes it's had so many holes poked in it by life that there are only shreds of it left. But it's not negativity- it's really the absence of a comfortable delusion- cause bad stuff can happen to anyone at any time.
I guess the key is in making peace with that.
6/26/10
hope
When you've been banging your head against the same wall for a long time - for years - you can decide to stop banging your head, and there's a bit of relief. For a while. Your skin heals up, and you look better. But the wall is still there.
That sucks.
What I should do instead is invest in a wrecking ball.
That sucks.
What I should do instead is invest in a wrecking ball.
6/25/10
the high rates of unintended roadkill
Last weekend I was heading towards Massachusetts on I-88, which is an empty stretch of highway between Albany and Binghamton in the oh-so-beautiful state of New York. -Two relatively straight lanes in each direction, passing through farmland and rolling hills. There is so much of nothing happening on this road that folks often have the chance to read their morning newspapers while commuting to work.
Therefore, when I saw a number of dead deer on the side of the road, and passed over numerous other bloody smears left by the tragic demise of other animals, I thought - how is it that, in all this emptiness, those cars and those animals ended up occupying the same few square inches of space at the same time?! Really, I mean, what are the chances?! It seems so unlikely, and yet....
...and yet I've heard a similar story elsewhere, I think. Pregnancy. Pregnancy, which I've been told is only possible to achieve during a few short hours each month. And I've seen how hard it is - I've watched my friends, with their calendars and their thermometers and their daily testing of cervical mucus, and their months or years of disappointment before success. I've seen some of them plop down thousands of dollars to have it done for them because it just wasn't happening on its own. So how is it that there are so many unplanned babies; how do those eggs and sperm end up occupying those same few square micrometers of space at the same time, at exactly the right time?! Really, I mean, what are the chances? It seems so unlikely, and yet....
Therefore, when I saw a number of dead deer on the side of the road, and passed over numerous other bloody smears left by the tragic demise of other animals, I thought - how is it that, in all this emptiness, those cars and those animals ended up occupying the same few square inches of space at the same time?! Really, I mean, what are the chances?! It seems so unlikely, and yet....
...and yet I've heard a similar story elsewhere, I think. Pregnancy. Pregnancy, which I've been told is only possible to achieve during a few short hours each month. And I've seen how hard it is - I've watched my friends, with their calendars and their thermometers and their daily testing of cervical mucus, and their months or years of disappointment before success. I've seen some of them plop down thousands of dollars to have it done for them because it just wasn't happening on its own. So how is it that there are so many unplanned babies; how do those eggs and sperm end up occupying those same few square micrometers of space at the same time, at exactly the right time?! Really, I mean, what are the chances? It seems so unlikely, and yet....
O iPod! Wherefore art thou 'Shuffle'? Deny thy randomness and come clean!
Ok. Here's the thing:
My iPod has over 5,000 tracks on it. [And here I must say that a) I'm very very lucky to have an iPod and b) I'm very grateful to have one that can hold that much music and c) I'm very lucky to have that much music to put on it!]
...That established, I'll come to my point:
Of those 5,000+ songs, maybe 40-odd tracks are from Prokofiev's ballet of Romeo and Juliet. When I put the iPod on the 'shuffle' setting - which purportedly makes it play an absolutelytotallycompletely random selection of the songs it contains - it inevitably plays tracks from this ballet. Every time. More than once in the same hour.
But the creepy is yet to come: The tracks my iPod randomly decides to play are always a) fight scenes or b) the death of Mercutio or c) the death of Romeo and/or Juliet at the end of the ballet. No love scenes; no pas de deux, no gentle bits of Juliet playing with her doll and teasing her Nurse. Nope, just cold hard steel.
WTF?! iPod - you are either too much of a realist, or too much of a cynic... or maybe just all-around depressing. But don't try to convince me that your 'shuffle' setting is Without-Plan.
My iPod has over 5,000 tracks on it. [And here I must say that a) I'm very very lucky to have an iPod and b) I'm very grateful to have one that can hold that much music and c) I'm very lucky to have that much music to put on it!]
...That established, I'll come to my point:
Of those 5,000+ songs, maybe 40-odd tracks are from Prokofiev's ballet of Romeo and Juliet. When I put the iPod on the 'shuffle' setting - which purportedly makes it play an absolutelytotallycompletely random selection of the songs it contains - it inevitably plays tracks from this ballet. Every time. More than once in the same hour.
But the creepy is yet to come: The tracks my iPod randomly decides to play are always a) fight scenes or b) the death of Mercutio or c) the death of Romeo and/or Juliet at the end of the ballet. No love scenes; no pas de deux, no gentle bits of Juliet playing with her doll and teasing her Nurse. Nope, just cold hard steel.
WTF?! iPod - you are either too much of a realist, or too much of a cynic... or maybe just all-around depressing. But don't try to convince me that your 'shuffle' setting is Without-Plan.
3/16/10
age
It seems like this is what should happen as you get older: you become more and more aware that you know absolutely nothing, while the importance of knowing anything becomes less and less. That way you maintain a comfortable equilibrium.
2/24/10
guesstimati
"Cincinnati" is the sort of word that, when written in cursive, it's easier to just put a ton of dots over it in random places rather than trying to figure out which of the little bumps are i-s.
2/7/10
stuff II
I don't own anything that I don't use or need at least once a year... except my books - they're on more of a three-year rotation. And my two huge iron outdoor butterfly chairs, since I don't have an 'outdoor' to use them in. :-( And my wooden pendulum metronome; I just keep that cause it's hella cool.
1/18/10
stuff
If you don't own anything, then all the stuff that requires maintenance (like dishes, laundry, dusting, organizing, putting songs on your iPod) can't take up your day.
If we all went around naked and ate with our fingers, think of the time we'd save!
If we all went around naked and ate with our fingers, think of the time we'd save!
1/11/10
harmony
You know, sometimes things feel right. And sometimes they don't.
Sometimes they don't feel right and you deliberately ignore that fact, because you are so invested in them feeling... well, right. Sometimes you're hoping they'll feel wrong, and they don't. Often they're a little of both, and then you just go along making the best of it. But sometimes you don't have to think about it at all; you just know they're right, instantly, on-the-spot, and you don't bother to consider any other options.
Examples of the kinds of things in my life that have instantly felt right:
-the college I went to
-what I ordered for dinner at the restaurant last night
-friends, the first time I met them
-the apartment I live in
-moving across the country (the first time)
-certain clothing
-the wording I chose while writing something, or saying something
-adopting a stray cat
-picking up a piece of furniture out of the trash, with an eye to refurbishment
-travel plans
-the extra pinch of something I added to a dish that wasn't in the original recipe
-music
-the earrings I put on yesterday morning
-the idea of getting into bed right now and reading until I fall asleep.
Sometimes they don't feel right and you deliberately ignore that fact, because you are so invested in them feeling... well, right. Sometimes you're hoping they'll feel wrong, and they don't. Often they're a little of both, and then you just go along making the best of it. But sometimes you don't have to think about it at all; you just know they're right, instantly, on-the-spot, and you don't bother to consider any other options.
Examples of the kinds of things in my life that have instantly felt right:
-the college I went to
-what I ordered for dinner at the restaurant last night
-friends, the first time I met them
-the apartment I live in
-moving across the country (the first time)
-certain clothing
-the wording I chose while writing something, or saying something
-adopting a stray cat
-picking up a piece of furniture out of the trash, with an eye to refurbishment
-travel plans
-the extra pinch of something I added to a dish that wasn't in the original recipe
-music
-the earrings I put on yesterday morning
-the idea of getting into bed right now and reading until I fall asleep.
I'll take one of those!
Someone... or more likely, something, keeps posting spammish comments on my last post. They seem to be advertising something - but what that something is, why anyone would want it, or how anyone would get it, I was unable to determine.
I'm thinking that they have not sold very many whatever-they-ares lately.
Call it a hunch.
I'm thinking that they have not sold very many whatever-they-ares lately.
Call it a hunch.
12/26/09
well, and Love
I wasn't really thinking about this, or trying to figure it out; it just occurred to me the other day:
The theme of my life is communication.
Everything boils down to that.
Weird.
The theme of my life is communication.
Everything boils down to that.
Weird.
12/22/09
christmas
I had planned to take our recycling to the dump this morning before work, because it was my last chance to get it out of the apartment before hosting holiday folks.
I take our recycling there because my landlord doesn't provide us with a recycle bin (and if he did, people would put garbage in it anyway). The recycling center is about 10 minutes away, and would have involved a 25-minute round-trip... which (given that I was dragging my feet this morning) was time I didn't have; I would be at least 10 minutes late for work.
But it was my last chance to do it, so I gritted my teeth and lugged the heavy [loudly clanking] slippery plastic bags down the steep back staircase, gripped the whole mess painfully in one hand so I could reach the back door handle, and stepped out onto the brilliant morning sunlight.
Obscuring my view was a garbage truck, also very late on its rounds (they usually come around 6:30 am), and standing just behind the truck was a cheery man who said, "Good morning, ma'am! Is that your garbage? No? Recycling? OK!" And he whisked the bags out of my hands and within seconds they were gone; my workday was left intact, my car saved extra miles, my brain free of the stress created by rushing and being late... and I felt a sudden happy Scrooge-like awakening to the simple pleasure of the profound gratefulness one feels when being selflessly assisted by a generous fellow being, and to the wonder of happy accident, and to the joyful fullness of the season. And I sat in my car and thanked the Universe for everything I could think of that I'm thankful for.
It took awhile. I was almost late for work.
I wish everyone in the world such wonderful gifts this Christmas!
I take our recycling there because my landlord doesn't provide us with a recycle bin (and if he did, people would put garbage in it anyway). The recycling center is about 10 minutes away, and would have involved a 25-minute round-trip... which (given that I was dragging my feet this morning) was time I didn't have; I would be at least 10 minutes late for work.
But it was my last chance to do it, so I gritted my teeth and lugged the heavy [loudly clanking] slippery plastic bags down the steep back staircase, gripped the whole mess painfully in one hand so I could reach the back door handle, and stepped out onto the brilliant morning sunlight.
Obscuring my view was a garbage truck, also very late on its rounds (they usually come around 6:30 am), and standing just behind the truck was a cheery man who said, "Good morning, ma'am! Is that your garbage? No? Recycling? OK!" And he whisked the bags out of my hands and within seconds they were gone; my workday was left intact, my car saved extra miles, my brain free of the stress created by rushing and being late... and I felt a sudden happy Scrooge-like awakening to the simple pleasure of the profound gratefulness one feels when being selflessly assisted by a generous fellow being, and to the wonder of happy accident, and to the joyful fullness of the season. And I sat in my car and thanked the Universe for everything I could think of that I'm thankful for.
It took awhile. I was almost late for work.
I wish everyone in the world such wonderful gifts this Christmas!
10/16/09
unsettled
Yesterday I had a craving for Chinese food. So I stopped at the nearest restaurant after work and ordered take-out: a cup of hot & sour soup, an egg roll and 6 California rolls (our local Chinese restaurant also specializes in sushi, for reasons known only to them).
While I was standing at the counter waiting for my food, I glanced down and saw an open box on the restaurant counter, filled with cheap-looking earrings, all labeled for sale at $1.00. The top pair of the pile were rather large, with pressed, flat metal centers, and 6 dangling faux-crystal plastic beads. They were flashy, in a dollar-store kind of way. I liked them. They made me think of old-west bordellos. After looking through the rest of the bunch, I picked them up and put a dollar bill on the counter.
The young cashier looked at the bill, and looked at the earrings, and looked at me, and said, "Aren't they pretty? I was looking at them too", in a tone that contained enough regret that I immediately said, "Hey, you should totally have them! Here!" "No", she said, "I won't use them. I was thinking of buying them for my wedding, but...." "Ah, cool, you're getting married?" I asked, with (what I hoped was) an encouraging smile. "Yes... well, not really; we haven't decided on a date yet", she answered. "We can't really afford the rings." I sighed, not really knowing how to respond to that, and then said unhelpfully, "You know, nowadays tons of people get married without wedding rings." She shook her head, somewhat sadly, and then brightened up and said, "Well, my boyfriend can't wear a ring anyway, 'cause he's allergic."
And now the earrings are sitting on my kitchen table, still in their little clear plastic package. I haven't touched them or put them on yet; every time I look at them, I feel an odd mixture of things - a sort of bizarre sense that I'd be putting on someone else's wedding jewelry, and stealing a moment that isn't mine; a sadness that she isn't setting her sights higher than a pair of dollar earrings from a bin at the Chinese restaurant; an embarrassment that my thoughts are so judgmental and classist; and mostly, an overwhelming urge to send that kid everything in my bank account so that she can have the wedding she wants, and rings that won't make her fiancé’s skin break out in a rash.
While I was standing at the counter waiting for my food, I glanced down and saw an open box on the restaurant counter, filled with cheap-looking earrings, all labeled for sale at $1.00. The top pair of the pile were rather large, with pressed, flat metal centers, and 6 dangling faux-crystal plastic beads. They were flashy, in a dollar-store kind of way. I liked them. They made me think of old-west bordellos. After looking through the rest of the bunch, I picked them up and put a dollar bill on the counter.
The young cashier looked at the bill, and looked at the earrings, and looked at me, and said, "Aren't they pretty? I was looking at them too", in a tone that contained enough regret that I immediately said, "Hey, you should totally have them! Here!" "No", she said, "I won't use them. I was thinking of buying them for my wedding, but...." "Ah, cool, you're getting married?" I asked, with (what I hoped was) an encouraging smile. "Yes... well, not really; we haven't decided on a date yet", she answered. "We can't really afford the rings." I sighed, not really knowing how to respond to that, and then said unhelpfully, "You know, nowadays tons of people get married without wedding rings." She shook her head, somewhat sadly, and then brightened up and said, "Well, my boyfriend can't wear a ring anyway, 'cause he's allergic."
And now the earrings are sitting on my kitchen table, still in their little clear plastic package. I haven't touched them or put them on yet; every time I look at them, I feel an odd mixture of things - a sort of bizarre sense that I'd be putting on someone else's wedding jewelry, and stealing a moment that isn't mine; a sadness that she isn't setting her sights higher than a pair of dollar earrings from a bin at the Chinese restaurant; an embarrassment that my thoughts are so judgmental and classist; and mostly, an overwhelming urge to send that kid everything in my bank account so that she can have the wedding she wants, and rings that won't make her fiancé’s skin break out in a rash.
10/15/09
brrrrrr!
Dear Mr. Ding-A-Ling ice-cream man (whose cyclical insane-making song is now playing outside my window):
It is mid-October. It is after 7 pm.
It is dark, and there are snowflakes falling from the sky.
I admire your pluck and perseverance, but jeepers!
It is mid-October. It is after 7 pm.
It is dark, and there are snowflakes falling from the sky.
I admire your pluck and perseverance, but jeepers!
10/2/09
old school
You know that the current culture of technology has reached the dusty depths of office record-keeping when you find that "Facebook" and "MySpace" and "Twitter" are options in the computer system's drop-down list of official sources for a federal loan borrower's personal information.
What, "Transcripts", "DMV" and "Collection Agency" weren't good enough for you?!
What, "Transcripts", "DMV" and "Collection Agency" weren't good enough for you?!
9/25/09
wtf?!
Life is uncertain and unpredictable.
You know you might die today, but that it's possible you may live to be a hundred. You must be patient and wait for things to unfold in their own time, yet make sure you don't put anything important off until tomorrow.
Be wholly present! But don't forget to make that dentist appointment for next week.
Take it one step at a time! But really think about where you want to be in five years.
Don't worry, be happy! But remember to save for retirement.
Yes, we should make deliberate, strategic plans to be completely carefree and in-the-moment at all times.
-If the Great Spirit is trying to confuse the hell out of humanity, I'd say it's doing a kick-ass job.
You know you might die today, but that it's possible you may live to be a hundred. You must be patient and wait for things to unfold in their own time, yet make sure you don't put anything important off until tomorrow.
Be wholly present! But don't forget to make that dentist appointment for next week.
Take it one step at a time! But really think about where you want to be in five years.
Don't worry, be happy! But remember to save for retirement.
Yes, we should make deliberate, strategic plans to be completely carefree and in-the-moment at all times.
-If the Great Spirit is trying to confuse the hell out of humanity, I'd say it's doing a kick-ass job.
7/25/09
interconnectedness-es (ie: synchronicity)
I'm just gonna start a list and keep adding to it, cause I think these are just freakin' cool.
06/30/09: My cousin's friend Mike, who's a journalist/reporter, had written a column in which he'd mentioned J. Seward Johnson, an artist and sculptor. (I had never heard the name before, and didn't realize that I had seen his work.) Later that same afternoon, I was talking with a family friend and his son, and he mentioned the same artist, and the only pieces of his that I'm familiar with, which happens to be on an off-the-beaten-track road in New Jersey.
07/11/09: I was staying at a cottage in Maryland for the weekend with some friends-of-family, and one of them mentioned a lake in the Adirondacks that I'd only vaguely heard of years before [and have now forgotten again] - and the day after I got home, my step-mother brought up the same lake in conversation.
07/24/09: After my cousin asked people for advice about whether or not to detour onto the Blue Ridge Parkway during an extended roadtrip with his family, the next day I was organizing old bills and paperwork in my living room, and came across a brochure for the Blue Ridge Parkway.
07/25/09: I couldn't remember my cousin Jamie's word for these little coincidences, so I looked at his blog (where I knew he'd posted about them) to find the word - and saw that his latest post was about how he likes to read about guys living to 113 years, because then he doesn't feel middle-aged. -Which is exactly what my friends and I were talking about over dinner 2 hours before.
07/29/09: on the way to my sister's house, I was driving along I-81 towards Philly, remembering the previous visit to my Philly cousins' house - just then I looked up and saw that the truck in front of me was painted with a huge logo for Black Horse trucking.
07/29/09: on the same trip, I was listening to my iPod on shuffle; a DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince song came on; at the same instant I saw the first sign for Philadelphia, they sang the lyrics "Philadelphia, Pennsylvania".
08/04/09: Playing Yahtzee with my friend Sylvie, I was dismayed when she rolled her third Yahtzee, while I had none. She suggested that I go again, and I said, "What, you want to give me an extra turn to see if I can get a Yahtzee?!" I rolled, and got one. (this sorta doesn't really count, but it was still weird. ;-))
08/20/09 Bob Dylan has come up in 3 separate contexts today.
09/03/09 The Director of Financial Aid came to my office door to discuss a student's situtation. I had been entering information in an Excel sheet that contained names of all the 1400+ students on campus. As I looked down at my computer screen, I realized that my cursor was one space above the name of the student she'd been talking about.
09/06/09 I spent the weekend with my aunt and uncle, and discussed with them whether or not they could fit their dog into their new kayak for a paddle on the lake. The next morning at work, I opened an email from my co-worker - she'd sent me a photo of her husband and their dog taking a ride in a kayak.
01/18/10 Last week, my cousin posted on Facebook that she'd had to recite the Declaration of Independence for class, which got me thinking about the Gettysburg Address; the only other historical text I'd memorized in high school - and I was remembering the trip I took to that battlefield a few years ago. That same night, I had my dad over for dinner, and he brought up a book he's reading called "Lincoln's Melancholy" -and in the course of telling me about the book, he brought up Gettysburg and talked for quite awhile about the battle.
02/23/10 Yesterday, for some reason, a line from Lorca's play Blood Wedding came into my head "Good esparto harvest." Tonight I had dinner with my father, and mentioned the play and the line. He said he'd just looked the word "esparto" up today, because he was researching the etymology of "spire" and the two words are related.
07/13/10 (I've missed quite a few, but here's another) I was just going through old tuition promissory notes at work, and had a pile ready to shred sitting on my desk. Then the day's mail came, which included returned mail sent to a student - I updated the address and set the returned envelope on top of the pile of promissory notes, reminding myself to file it. When I got up to do so, I realized that the student whose promissory note was topmost in the pile, was the same student whose address I had just updated.
06/30/09: My cousin's friend Mike, who's a journalist/reporter, had written a column in which he'd mentioned J. Seward Johnson, an artist and sculptor. (I had never heard the name before, and didn't realize that I had seen his work.) Later that same afternoon, I was talking with a family friend and his son, and he mentioned the same artist, and the only pieces of his that I'm familiar with, which happens to be on an off-the-beaten-track road in New Jersey.
07/11/09: I was staying at a cottage in Maryland for the weekend with some friends-of-family, and one of them mentioned a lake in the Adirondacks that I'd only vaguely heard of years before [and have now forgotten again] - and the day after I got home, my step-mother brought up the same lake in conversation.
07/24/09: After my cousin asked people for advice about whether or not to detour onto the Blue Ridge Parkway during an extended roadtrip with his family, the next day I was organizing old bills and paperwork in my living room, and came across a brochure for the Blue Ridge Parkway.
07/25/09: I couldn't remember my cousin Jamie's word for these little coincidences, so I looked at his blog (where I knew he'd posted about them) to find the word - and saw that his latest post was about how he likes to read about guys living to 113 years, because then he doesn't feel middle-aged. -Which is exactly what my friends and I were talking about over dinner 2 hours before.
07/29/09: on the way to my sister's house, I was driving along I-81 towards Philly, remembering the previous visit to my Philly cousins' house - just then I looked up and saw that the truck in front of me was painted with a huge logo for Black Horse trucking.
07/29/09: on the same trip, I was listening to my iPod on shuffle; a DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince song came on; at the same instant I saw the first sign for Philadelphia, they sang the lyrics "Philadelphia, Pennsylvania".
08/04/09: Playing Yahtzee with my friend Sylvie, I was dismayed when she rolled her third Yahtzee, while I had none. She suggested that I go again, and I said, "What, you want to give me an extra turn to see if I can get a Yahtzee?!" I rolled, and got one. (this sorta doesn't really count, but it was still weird. ;-))
08/20/09 Bob Dylan has come up in 3 separate contexts today.
09/03/09 The Director of Financial Aid came to my office door to discuss a student's situtation. I had been entering information in an Excel sheet that contained names of all the 1400+ students on campus. As I looked down at my computer screen, I realized that my cursor was one space above the name of the student she'd been talking about.
09/06/09 I spent the weekend with my aunt and uncle, and discussed with them whether or not they could fit their dog into their new kayak for a paddle on the lake. The next morning at work, I opened an email from my co-worker - she'd sent me a photo of her husband and their dog taking a ride in a kayak.
01/18/10 Last week, my cousin posted on Facebook that she'd had to recite the Declaration of Independence for class, which got me thinking about the Gettysburg Address; the only other historical text I'd memorized in high school - and I was remembering the trip I took to that battlefield a few years ago. That same night, I had my dad over for dinner, and he brought up a book he's reading called "Lincoln's Melancholy" -and in the course of telling me about the book, he brought up Gettysburg and talked for quite awhile about the battle.
02/23/10 Yesterday, for some reason, a line from Lorca's play Blood Wedding came into my head "Good esparto harvest." Tonight I had dinner with my father, and mentioned the play and the line. He said he'd just looked the word "esparto" up today, because he was researching the etymology of "spire" and the two words are related.
07/13/10 (I've missed quite a few, but here's another) I was just going through old tuition promissory notes at work, and had a pile ready to shred sitting on my desk. Then the day's mail came, which included returned mail sent to a student - I updated the address and set the returned envelope on top of the pile of promissory notes, reminding myself to file it. When I got up to do so, I realized that the student whose promissory note was topmost in the pile, was the same student whose address I had just updated.
7/16/09
virtual pack-rat
The odd and wonderful thing about computers is that they allow to you to keep everything, if you want. Multiple copies, versions, years and years of accumulated clutter, all in one tidy cube. They're the ultimate in closet organizers.
I've started taking photos of stuff I'm getting rid of; stuff I hate to part with, but can't justify keeping. And so there it all is now, still visually accessible and nostalgia-ready - yet reduced to a tiny pile of data, neatly stacked in a small folder on my hard drive.
Amazing.
Too bad I can't do the same with all the condiments clogging up my refrigerator.
I've started taking photos of stuff I'm getting rid of; stuff I hate to part with, but can't justify keeping. And so there it all is now, still visually accessible and nostalgia-ready - yet reduced to a tiny pile of data, neatly stacked in a small folder on my hard drive.
Amazing.
Too bad I can't do the same with all the condiments clogging up my refrigerator.
elementary school
...was when we were taught to stay to the right on wide stairways, to allow others to descend freely on the opposite side. It was when we were told that we should smile at and greet anyone we met in passing; when they taught us to move over and walk single file to let people pass on the sidewalk. In those years, I learned about the importance of having a firm handshake, and of looking the other person in the eyes when we were introduced. I learned how to eat with a fork in my left hand, and a knife in my right. I learned that it was best to keep my elbows off the table, to cover my mouth when I coughed, and to make sure to thank anyone who had done anything nice for me; both verbally on the spot, and by sending a follow-up card.
I'm not sure kids are taught many of those things anymore, and I wonder why? Are they unimportant; scattered vestigial pieces of a repressed society? Are we freer and more spontaneous now, more ‘ourselves’? Or are we losing out; are the elements of kindness and courtesy (and self-discipline) in our culture slowly crumbling into the rising seas?
It's hard to tell.
I'm not sure kids are taught many of those things anymore, and I wonder why? Are they unimportant; scattered vestigial pieces of a repressed society? Are we freer and more spontaneous now, more ‘ourselves’? Or are we losing out; are the elements of kindness and courtesy (and self-discipline) in our culture slowly crumbling into the rising seas?
It's hard to tell.
7/13/09
an alternative to eating dinner this evening-
I was indulging in a spot of teenage-style melancholy tonight, and walked aimlessly around Oneonta for a few hours listening to a Duncan Sheik album on repeat.
Pretty satisfying, really.
And it got me thinking about two things - one, being my elementary school, and the other - the odd human microcosms that exist in our lives: in a small town that goes not much more than a mile in any direction, there are places I may not see for years, streets I'll seldom walk down. Seems remiss on my part, to neglect them; they're perfectly good streets.
One of those streets that I haven't been on in at least... I'd say at least three years... is Central Ave. And I walked up it tonight.
It passes the side doors to my elementary school; the ones I used to use when I was in third grade and my classroom was in the old building; the other years my classes were in the 'new' building and I used the main entrance.
There was something that drew me about those doors - I walked up to see if they were the same as in the old days; I could almost feel the cold, slightly-slimy metal of their smooth handles on my palms, and I had an urge to touch them again and find out if my memory was accurate - but the doors had been replaced and had new black handles, so I touched the old stone of the building instead, for a moment, and then turned to walk away.
Which is when I noticed that the gate to the schoolyard was open, behind the school. I'd last set foot in it during one of the final lunch recess periods of sixth grade, 26 years ago. To break that record, I walked in.
It was exactly the same; the same broken asphalt, the same black-painted metal railing dividing the upper and lower playground areas; the concrete wall had been patched but not replaced. And there was where I'd sat on the ground reading a Nancy Drew mystery; there's where I'd wandered on my own, far away from the other students, so that I could sing to myself without being teased. Over there was where Judith and I used to stand and play one-two-three-SWITCH! with the red kickball. -I could almost see the aides Mrs. Lent and Mrs. Ross standing there, watching me walk in the dusk, watching my friends and me digging excitedly in the snow under that tree, pulling out little colored plastic beads; they must have been from someone's cheap broken necklace, but to us they were magic; strange bright offerings from the winter landscape. Down there was where I scraped my knee that day, and had to go to the nurse's office; over on the side was where Mary and I would hang out in later years to get away from Mark, a pudgy kid who had a crush on me. (Boys -uggh!) And right there, right in the middle, was where we danced and shrieked and threw our hands in the air, amidst the conflicting clamor from all the local church bells, the day they released the Iranian hostages.
I walked around the schoolyard for awhile, seeing ghosts in every square inch of blacktop. And then I came home, walking past the trees where a sixth-grader named Kenny used to lie in wait and scare us by brandishing his jackknife, making our kindergarten commute fraught with fear; past the driveway where I ran into a car the same year, and mashed my ankle and had to be on crutches; all the while listening to Duncan Sheik on my iPod.
All of which leads me to conclude (as I conclude every day) - that life just doesn’t make any freakin’ sense.
Pretty satisfying, really.
And it got me thinking about two things - one, being my elementary school, and the other - the odd human microcosms that exist in our lives: in a small town that goes not much more than a mile in any direction, there are places I may not see for years, streets I'll seldom walk down. Seems remiss on my part, to neglect them; they're perfectly good streets.
One of those streets that I haven't been on in at least... I'd say at least three years... is Central Ave. And I walked up it tonight.
It passes the side doors to my elementary school; the ones I used to use when I was in third grade and my classroom was in the old building; the other years my classes were in the 'new' building and I used the main entrance.
There was something that drew me about those doors - I walked up to see if they were the same as in the old days; I could almost feel the cold, slightly-slimy metal of their smooth handles on my palms, and I had an urge to touch them again and find out if my memory was accurate - but the doors had been replaced and had new black handles, so I touched the old stone of the building instead, for a moment, and then turned to walk away.
Which is when I noticed that the gate to the schoolyard was open, behind the school. I'd last set foot in it during one of the final lunch recess periods of sixth grade, 26 years ago. To break that record, I walked in.
It was exactly the same; the same broken asphalt, the same black-painted metal railing dividing the upper and lower playground areas; the concrete wall had been patched but not replaced. And there was where I'd sat on the ground reading a Nancy Drew mystery; there's where I'd wandered on my own, far away from the other students, so that I could sing to myself without being teased. Over there was where Judith and I used to stand and play one-two-three-SWITCH! with the red kickball. -I could almost see the aides Mrs. Lent and Mrs. Ross standing there, watching me walk in the dusk, watching my friends and me digging excitedly in the snow under that tree, pulling out little colored plastic beads; they must have been from someone's cheap broken necklace, but to us they were magic; strange bright offerings from the winter landscape. Down there was where I scraped my knee that day, and had to go to the nurse's office; over on the side was where Mary and I would hang out in later years to get away from Mark, a pudgy kid who had a crush on me. (Boys -uggh!) And right there, right in the middle, was where we danced and shrieked and threw our hands in the air, amidst the conflicting clamor from all the local church bells, the day they released the Iranian hostages.
I walked around the schoolyard for awhile, seeing ghosts in every square inch of blacktop. And then I came home, walking past the trees where a sixth-grader named Kenny used to lie in wait and scare us by brandishing his jackknife, making our kindergarten commute fraught with fear; past the driveway where I ran into a car the same year, and mashed my ankle and had to be on crutches; all the while listening to Duncan Sheik on my iPod.
All of which leads me to conclude (as I conclude every day) - that life just doesn’t make any freakin’ sense.
5/23/09
things I'd like to get done this year
1) Get my old Philco cathedral-style radio repaired.
2) Paint an alligator on a backpack. =DONE
3) (deleted on a whim)
4) Do something about our ugly-ass couch!!!!
5) Download Eddie Vedder's soundtrack to Into The Wild = DONE
6) Invite people over for dinner.
7) Follow whimsey!
8) Dance under the stars.
9) Reject pain and invite joy = DAILY TASK
10) Run around screaming.
11) Hunt some ghosts.
12) More stained glass.
13) Paint more alligators more places.
14) Do enough cartwheels to make my legs ache. =DONE
15) Breathebreathebreathebreathesingsingsingsingbreathe.
16) Stay up really late on May 23, 2009. = DONE
2) Paint an alligator on a backpack. =DONE
3) (deleted on a whim)
4) Do something about our ugly-ass couch!!!!
5) Download Eddie Vedder's soundtrack to Into The Wild = DONE
6) Invite people over for dinner.
7) Follow whimsey!
8) Dance under the stars.
9) Reject pain and invite joy = DAILY TASK
10) Run around screaming.
11) Hunt some ghosts.
12) More stained glass.
13) Paint more alligators more places.
14) Do enough cartwheels to make my legs ache. =DONE
15) Breathebreathebreathebreathesingsingsingsingbreathe.
16) Stay up really late on May 23, 2009. = DONE
4/28/09
what the....?!
Recently, my friend posted about Kurt Cobain on his Facebook page - about how this month it would be the 15th anniversary of his death. He wrote about what he'd been doing when he'd heard about it - and a bunch of his friends had posted comments about where they'd been when they'd gotten the news. Sort of a JFK kind of thing.
I, too, remembered exactly where I'd been when I found out - in a bar a few streets from my host family's house in Segovia, Spain. I remember the night vividly - I'd gone with some friends, and we had just gotten there, and we were standing closer to the entrance of the bar, waiting for the rest of our group to arrive. I can see the reflection of the lights in the bottles and glasses over the bar, I can feel the ambiance. And I can still remember the looks of shock and bewilderment on my classmates' faces when the other half of our party walked in and informed us that Kurt Cobain had killed himself. I'd never heard of him or the band, though I was familiar with one of their songs, and I remember trying to understand the depth of my classmates' horror and sorrow - they had really cared about this man.
Reading the Facebook posts, and remembering that night, I googled Kurt Cobain to (perhaps morbidly) find out the day of his death, so I could pinpoint which night in April I'd been at that bar... and I finally did the math and realized that he'd died in 1994.
-Which came as somewhat of a shock, since my trip to Spain had happened in 1992.
I, too, remembered exactly where I'd been when I found out - in a bar a few streets from my host family's house in Segovia, Spain. I remember the night vividly - I'd gone with some friends, and we had just gotten there, and we were standing closer to the entrance of the bar, waiting for the rest of our group to arrive. I can see the reflection of the lights in the bottles and glasses over the bar, I can feel the ambiance. And I can still remember the looks of shock and bewilderment on my classmates' faces when the other half of our party walked in and informed us that Kurt Cobain had killed himself. I'd never heard of him or the band, though I was familiar with one of their songs, and I remember trying to understand the depth of my classmates' horror and sorrow - they had really cared about this man.
Reading the Facebook posts, and remembering that night, I googled Kurt Cobain to (perhaps morbidly) find out the day of his death, so I could pinpoint which night in April I'd been at that bar... and I finally did the math and realized that he'd died in 1994.
-Which came as somewhat of a shock, since my trip to Spain had happened in 1992.
4/27/09
i sure miss boston legal
Alan Shore has brought his very own personal soapbox with him, and sets it in the middle of the floor;steps up onto it, and buttons his jacket for good measure.
Judge Gloria Weldon: What are you doing?
Alan Shore: Climbing on my soapbox, Judge. I do it once a week.
Judge Gloria Weldon: Get off that thing now, Mr. Shore!
Alan Shore: You sure? This is vintage soapbox stuff. You’ve got God, money, steps off soapbox politics, homosexuality. Has anyone ever heard of restless legs syndrome? It’s where you move your leg about in your sleep. It’s awful. You may have it. It may not keep you awake; it doesn’t really harm you in any way. It may not bother you in the slightest, but nonetheless it’s awful. The pharmaceutical companies have declared it so. So they’ve invented a drug, and you simply must take it. If you haven’t heard of restless leg, by the way, you probably have attention deficit disorder. Awful. We’ve got a lot of drugs for that one. You must take them. You’re depressed. Cut to a female juror who looks somewhat sad
Alan Shore: You’re not sleeping enough.
Cut to Denny Crane, who IS sleeping!
Alan Shore: You think you’re shy, but you’ve actually got a social anxiety disorder.
Cut to male juror who looks a bit uncomfortable with the attention.
Alan Shore: as camera pans across an older male juror Weak stream. and another male juror Irritable bowel syndrome. You people have all kinds of ailments you don’t know about. Luckily, we’ve got drugs for every one of them. You must take them. My colleague has a case involving a “Forgetting Pill.” You can take that one to forget you ever had restless leg or irritable bowels!
Judge Gloria Weldon: Mr. Shore, what are you talking about?
Alan Shore: Same-sex Attraction Disorder. And what troubles me is why the folks in Big Pharmaceutical haven’t invented a pill for this disease. Clearly, they’re in the business of selling sickness. If there was a profit to be made, they would make it. And with an estimated gay population of over 10 million in the U.S. alone, here’s certainly a big enough market. Could it be that they can’t cure it? Well, not to worry. If Big Pharmaceutical can’t do it, maybe Big Religion can. And they are. They’re the ones who coined the term, “Same-Sex Attraction Disorder.” It’s a very good name. Very important, a good name. It’s a crucial first step in disqualifying homosexuals as a segment of the population and categorizing them as a disease. Makes homosexuals seem less like people and more like the flu. And with terrible, awful symptoms. makes a face But curable, and therefore less concerning when it comes to things like an individual’s rights: freedom, privacy, marriage. Big Religion is very concerned with marriage. Big Religion is the one filling the pockets of Congress. It actually got them to propose a Constitutional ban on gay marriage. Think about that. A governmentally-imposed, systematic prejudice against a class based on their sexual orientation. Never mind that one of the most trusted evangelical advisors to the President was himself having a homosexual affair on the side. Never mind that one of our Congressmen was writing naughty e-mails to his teenage male pages. Isn’t it just a disease? And I thought it was curable. That’s what they told me down at the church. Well, you can legislate against it. You can give it a clever name and treat people for it. You can shut your eyes, have sex with your wife, and pretend it all feels right. You can join the church and swear to be celibate. You can drive around on a Saturday night with a baseball bat and try to beat it out of some poor soul you happen to meet. You can even come to this courtroom and testify as to your new leaf and how well it’s all working. What a miracle! My only response is: "Give it time. We’ll see." Meanwhile, this company took $40,000 from my client, promising to cure him of his gayness. Only in America! Only in a country that overtly and notoriously celebrates its prejudice against a class of people by proposing Constitutional amendments. God bless us all! Home of the brave! Shame on you. Couldn’t you have at least offered a money-back guarantee, and thrown in a blender?
Judge Gloria Weldon: What are you doing?
Alan Shore: Climbing on my soapbox, Judge. I do it once a week.
Judge Gloria Weldon: Get off that thing now, Mr. Shore!
Alan Shore: You sure? This is vintage soapbox stuff. You’ve got God, money, steps off soapbox politics, homosexuality. Has anyone ever heard of restless legs syndrome? It’s where you move your leg about in your sleep. It’s awful. You may have it. It may not keep you awake; it doesn’t really harm you in any way. It may not bother you in the slightest, but nonetheless it’s awful. The pharmaceutical companies have declared it so. So they’ve invented a drug, and you simply must take it. If you haven’t heard of restless leg, by the way, you probably have attention deficit disorder. Awful. We’ve got a lot of drugs for that one. You must take them. You’re depressed. Cut to a female juror who looks somewhat sad
Alan Shore: You’re not sleeping enough.
Cut to Denny Crane, who IS sleeping!
Alan Shore: You think you’re shy, but you’ve actually got a social anxiety disorder.
Cut to male juror who looks a bit uncomfortable with the attention.
Alan Shore: as camera pans across an older male juror Weak stream. and another male juror Irritable bowel syndrome. You people have all kinds of ailments you don’t know about. Luckily, we’ve got drugs for every one of them. You must take them. My colleague has a case involving a “Forgetting Pill.” You can take that one to forget you ever had restless leg or irritable bowels!
Judge Gloria Weldon: Mr. Shore, what are you talking about?
Alan Shore: Same-sex Attraction Disorder. And what troubles me is why the folks in Big Pharmaceutical haven’t invented a pill for this disease. Clearly, they’re in the business of selling sickness. If there was a profit to be made, they would make it. And with an estimated gay population of over 10 million in the U.S. alone, here’s certainly a big enough market. Could it be that they can’t cure it? Well, not to worry. If Big Pharmaceutical can’t do it, maybe Big Religion can. And they are. They’re the ones who coined the term, “Same-Sex Attraction Disorder.” It’s a very good name. Very important, a good name. It’s a crucial first step in disqualifying homosexuals as a segment of the population and categorizing them as a disease. Makes homosexuals seem less like people and more like the flu. And with terrible, awful symptoms. makes a face But curable, and therefore less concerning when it comes to things like an individual’s rights: freedom, privacy, marriage. Big Religion is very concerned with marriage. Big Religion is the one filling the pockets of Congress. It actually got them to propose a Constitutional ban on gay marriage. Think about that. A governmentally-imposed, systematic prejudice against a class based on their sexual orientation. Never mind that one of the most trusted evangelical advisors to the President was himself having a homosexual affair on the side. Never mind that one of our Congressmen was writing naughty e-mails to his teenage male pages. Isn’t it just a disease? And I thought it was curable. That’s what they told me down at the church. Well, you can legislate against it. You can give it a clever name and treat people for it. You can shut your eyes, have sex with your wife, and pretend it all feels right. You can join the church and swear to be celibate. You can drive around on a Saturday night with a baseball bat and try to beat it out of some poor soul you happen to meet. You can even come to this courtroom and testify as to your new leaf and how well it’s all working. What a miracle! My only response is: "Give it time. We’ll see." Meanwhile, this company took $40,000 from my client, promising to cure him of his gayness. Only in America! Only in a country that overtly and notoriously celebrates its prejudice against a class of people by proposing Constitutional amendments. God bless us all! Home of the brave! Shame on you. Couldn’t you have at least offered a money-back guarantee, and thrown in a blender?
meet your newest match: Mr. Passive-Aggressive Maneuver - the most successful unsuccessful marketing strategy
(this is copied directly from the dating site)
Account Information
You are about to close your [popular online dating service] account. This will permanently close all of your existing matches.
If you are closing your account because you've met a special person to share your life, congratulations. If you haven't yet made that connection, I'd like you to consider the following points:
*Research shows only 1 in 4 American marriages are actually happy.
*Choosing the right mate is the KEY to creating a compatible, loving relationship.
*Finding a soul mate on your own and knowing if you're really compatible has never been more confusing or difficult.
Account Information
You are about to close your [popular online dating service] account. This will permanently close all of your existing matches.
If you are closing your account because you've met a special person to share your life, congratulations. If you haven't yet made that connection, I'd like you to consider the following points:
*Research shows only 1 in 4 American marriages are actually happy.
*Choosing the right mate is the KEY to creating a compatible, loving relationship.
*Finding a soul mate on your own and knowing if you're really compatible has never been more confusing or difficult.
4/18/09
post #273 - a bedtime story
Once upon a time, there was a bear. He was small and furry and well-meaning, and he lived at a house in Attleboro, Massachusetts. For a time, he must have had a family, and maybe even some friends, but they don't come into this story except at the beginning. And at the beginning of this story, the bear's friends and family weren't treating him very nicely. They had grown tired of him, and had put him out with the trash, where he sat overnight in a bin at the end of their driveway.
During the night, it rained, and it was very cold, and the poor bear felt very wet and uncomfortable. He was upside-down in the trash can, on top of some cardboard and an old hat, and his nose felt cramped. He also felt very sad, and very confused.
Now, there was a girl who lived a long way away from the bear, in another state. But she came to visit her mother in Attleboro. And her mother lived in a tall white house across the street from the bear's family. The girl arrived very late at night, and didn't notice the bear, upside-down in the trash can at the end of the driveway across the street from her mother's house. Instead, she got out of her car, and took her bag, and went in her mother's warm apartment to spend the night.
In the morning, when it was light, the girl woke up and went down to her car to get something she wanted to give to her mother, and this time she did see the bear. What she saw were two furry fuzzy grey legs sticking up in the air out of a black trash can that was full of garbage. She looked, and she looked, and she knew she needed to do something to help the animal who belonged to those legs.
She glanced up and down the street, and then she walked across to the garbage can. And she reached in and pulled the bear out and looked at him. He looked back at her. She could feel that he was wet all over, and he looked sad and lost. "Bear", she said, "You are going to come with me. I will wash you and dry you all over, so you will be comfortable again."
And she took him and washed all the rain and wind and dirt out of his fuzzy grey fur, and she dried him and set him down so that he could look around and get his bearings. He saw a nice bright living room and a sofa and some cushions, and everything was very warm and soft.
Then the girl's visit with her mother was over, and she took the bear under one arm down the staircase and out to the street, and she set him right in the middle of the front seat of her car. She said, "Bear, this will probably be one of the longest trips you've ever been on, but I am taking you home. And if you like the drive, you can sit in the front seat of my car every time I travel to visit my friends, and keep me company."
The bear was very happy.
And for many years, as long as she owned the car, the girl took her bear with her when she traveled, and he always sat on the front seat of her car, right in the very middle. He loved to look out the window, and he liked the music she played on the cassette player, and he liked to hear her sing along to it. The bear felt very very happy.
Then one day the girl had to give her car away. It was very old and didn't run anymore. So she took the bear out of the front seat, and took him up to her bedroom and put him next to her bed. "Bear", she said, "It's going to be winter again soon, and you should be warm and cozy, so I'm going to keep you here inside for awhile. You can tell me if you want to go on more trips, and I will always take you with me if you want to go!" The bear decided he was quite content to stay at home.
Now, one day, a long time after that, on a day that might or might not be today, the girl got in her new car and drove to New Jersey to visit her friends for the weekend. She left the bear at home, but she did think about him quite a bit while she was driving. And I will tell you why.
She was driving on a big, big highway, and there were lots of signs with the names of all the places she was passing - all the other cities and roads that you can get to from that highway. And just as the girl was getting close to her friends' house, she suddenly looked up and saw a huge sign that said: Bedminster Pluckemin. She thought it was a funny sounding name, and she said it over to herself a few times, just very quietly in her head. It reminded her of another name she'd heard: Buckminster Fuller. She liked how the name sounded so much that she thought she'd better give someone that name, and just then she thought of the bear. He'd gone a very very long time just being called "Bear", and it was time for him to have a name.
And so she named the bear Bedminster Pluckemin. She knows he will be very happy with his new name, and she can't wait to get home and tell him all about it!
The End (of the Beginning)
During the night, it rained, and it was very cold, and the poor bear felt very wet and uncomfortable. He was upside-down in the trash can, on top of some cardboard and an old hat, and his nose felt cramped. He also felt very sad, and very confused.
Now, there was a girl who lived a long way away from the bear, in another state. But she came to visit her mother in Attleboro. And her mother lived in a tall white house across the street from the bear's family. The girl arrived very late at night, and didn't notice the bear, upside-down in the trash can at the end of the driveway across the street from her mother's house. Instead, she got out of her car, and took her bag, and went in her mother's warm apartment to spend the night.
In the morning, when it was light, the girl woke up and went down to her car to get something she wanted to give to her mother, and this time she did see the bear. What she saw were two furry fuzzy grey legs sticking up in the air out of a black trash can that was full of garbage. She looked, and she looked, and she knew she needed to do something to help the animal who belonged to those legs.
She glanced up and down the street, and then she walked across to the garbage can. And she reached in and pulled the bear out and looked at him. He looked back at her. She could feel that he was wet all over, and he looked sad and lost. "Bear", she said, "You are going to come with me. I will wash you and dry you all over, so you will be comfortable again."
And she took him and washed all the rain and wind and dirt out of his fuzzy grey fur, and she dried him and set him down so that he could look around and get his bearings. He saw a nice bright living room and a sofa and some cushions, and everything was very warm and soft.
Then the girl's visit with her mother was over, and she took the bear under one arm down the staircase and out to the street, and she set him right in the middle of the front seat of her car. She said, "Bear, this will probably be one of the longest trips you've ever been on, but I am taking you home. And if you like the drive, you can sit in the front seat of my car every time I travel to visit my friends, and keep me company."
The bear was very happy.
And for many years, as long as she owned the car, the girl took her bear with her when she traveled, and he always sat on the front seat of her car, right in the very middle. He loved to look out the window, and he liked the music she played on the cassette player, and he liked to hear her sing along to it. The bear felt very very happy.
Then one day the girl had to give her car away. It was very old and didn't run anymore. So she took the bear out of the front seat, and took him up to her bedroom and put him next to her bed. "Bear", she said, "It's going to be winter again soon, and you should be warm and cozy, so I'm going to keep you here inside for awhile. You can tell me if you want to go on more trips, and I will always take you with me if you want to go!" The bear decided he was quite content to stay at home.
Now, one day, a long time after that, on a day that might or might not be today, the girl got in her new car and drove to New Jersey to visit her friends for the weekend. She left the bear at home, but she did think about him quite a bit while she was driving. And I will tell you why.
She was driving on a big, big highway, and there were lots of signs with the names of all the places she was passing - all the other cities and roads that you can get to from that highway. And just as the girl was getting close to her friends' house, she suddenly looked up and saw a huge sign that said: Bedminster Pluckemin. She thought it was a funny sounding name, and she said it over to herself a few times, just very quietly in her head. It reminded her of another name she'd heard: Buckminster Fuller. She liked how the name sounded so much that she thought she'd better give someone that name, and just then she thought of the bear. He'd gone a very very long time just being called "Bear", and it was time for him to have a name.
And so she named the bear Bedminster Pluckemin. She knows he will be very happy with his new name, and she can't wait to get home and tell him all about it!
The End (of the Beginning)
4/15/09
small town business
I just got an advertisment in the mail from Citizens Bank.
They have all sorts of exciting incentives for me to do business with them, including three convenient locations!
They even tell me where the branches are located:
1000 Main Street - Price Chopper Plaza
3092 County Highway 11
191 Main Street - In between two gas stations
-I would love to understand the thought process of the person who felt that the address was incomplete without "In between two gas stations".
They have all sorts of exciting incentives for me to do business with them, including three convenient locations!
They even tell me where the branches are located:
1000 Main Street - Price Chopper Plaza
3092 County Highway 11
191 Main Street - In between two gas stations
-I would love to understand the thought process of the person who felt that the address was incomplete without "In between two gas stations".
3/16/09
more ya-hadda-be-there with Joel
Me: Do you like this shawl? Janice gave it to me last weekend. Funny - I've always wanted one of these.
Joel: Hmm... interesting - and recently you said you'd always wanted a Laurel Burch bag and then you got one... perhaps you're under some sort of acquisition spell.
Me: Yeah, maybe. So I should start wishing for more really good stuff!
Joel: But remember the old Chinese curse-
Me: What's that?
Joel: 'Be careful what you wish for - you just might get it'.
[long pause while Joel stares quizzically at the ceiling]
Joel: ...Or maybe it's 'May you live in interesting times'.
Joel: Hmm... interesting - and recently you said you'd always wanted a Laurel Burch bag and then you got one... perhaps you're under some sort of acquisition spell.
Me: Yeah, maybe. So I should start wishing for more really good stuff!
Joel: But remember the old Chinese curse-
Me: What's that?
Joel: 'Be careful what you wish for - you just might get it'.
[long pause while Joel stares quizzically at the ceiling]
Joel: ...Or maybe it's 'May you live in interesting times'.
3/6/09
Bernie talking about her dad
"My dad sends me a card for everything, even St. Patty's Day... and I'm not even Irish!"
3/4/09
It was a dark and stormy night... in Forks, WA.
-Here are some of my favorite sentences from the Twilight saga (I will add more as I find them):
"The doorbell peeled again, too long, someone holding down the button."
"The blood slithered from my face."
"While I was pondering this, I caught the unmistakable scent of a smoking burner rising from the kitchen."
"I didn't move, my thoughts twisting into snarls around Jacob's name."
"A sharp jolt of unease pierced my stomach as I realized how short the time really was."
"My heart thumped unevenly at the emptiness of the picture he painted."
"His familiar husky voice sent a wave of wistfulness through me. A thousand memories spun in my head, tangling together - a rocky beach strewn with driftwood trees, a garage made of plastic sheds, warm sodas in a paper bag, a tiny room with one too-small shabby loveseat. The laughter in his deep-set black eyes, the feverish heat of his big hand around mine, the flash of his white teeth against his dark skin, his face stretching into the wide smile that had always been like a key to a secret door where only kindred spirits could enter."
"As I drove home, I wasn't paying much attention to the road that shimmered wetly in the sun."
"A swell of quiet sadness crashed over me; maybe it was a mistake to get closer to Angela now."
"The fire crackled, sending another explosion of sparks glittering up against the night. Billy cleared his throat, and, with no more introduction than his son's whisper, began telling the story in his rich, deep voice. The words poured out with precision, as if he knew them by heart, but also with feeling and a subtle rhythm. Like poetry performed by its author."
"My face went from white to scarlet in a sudden blaze of chagrin."
"And I'd always been too intimidated by the tall, blond vampire who looked like a brooding movie star to ask him outright."
"The doorbell peeled again, too long, someone holding down the button."
"The blood slithered from my face."
"While I was pondering this, I caught the unmistakable scent of a smoking burner rising from the kitchen."
"I didn't move, my thoughts twisting into snarls around Jacob's name."
"A sharp jolt of unease pierced my stomach as I realized how short the time really was."
"My heart thumped unevenly at the emptiness of the picture he painted."
"His familiar husky voice sent a wave of wistfulness through me. A thousand memories spun in my head, tangling together - a rocky beach strewn with driftwood trees, a garage made of plastic sheds, warm sodas in a paper bag, a tiny room with one too-small shabby loveseat. The laughter in his deep-set black eyes, the feverish heat of his big hand around mine, the flash of his white teeth against his dark skin, his face stretching into the wide smile that had always been like a key to a secret door where only kindred spirits could enter."
"As I drove home, I wasn't paying much attention to the road that shimmered wetly in the sun."
"A swell of quiet sadness crashed over me; maybe it was a mistake to get closer to Angela now."
"The fire crackled, sending another explosion of sparks glittering up against the night. Billy cleared his throat, and, with no more introduction than his son's whisper, began telling the story in his rich, deep voice. The words poured out with precision, as if he knew them by heart, but also with feeling and a subtle rhythm. Like poetry performed by its author."
"My face went from white to scarlet in a sudden blaze of chagrin."
"And I'd always been too intimidated by the tall, blond vampire who looked like a brooding movie star to ask him outright."
rebirth
alone
mocked or misunderstood
while battle surrounds me and arrows fly-
I am Whole! weightless
invincible
mocked or misunderstood
while battle surrounds me and arrows fly-
I am Whole! weightless
invincible
3/3/09
more exchanges with Joel
Me: OH! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to elbow you in the groin.
-Pause -
Joel: How tall do you think I am?!
-Pause -
Joel: How tall do you think I am?!
2/25/09
illogical
I am totally grossed out if I find a piece of hair in my food - even if the hair is mine.
I am not bothered at all by finding a piece of cat fur in my food - even if the cat is someone else's.
I am not bothered at all by finding a piece of cat fur in my food - even if the cat is someone else's.
2/24/09
Autumn
Love... romantic love....
I thought about it at length today, walking home from work... ok, well, then I thought about it for 15 minutes or so.
It's a wonderful thing. I guess.
I suppose.
It's like the summer - expansive and delicious, sultry, full of fun and anticipation, dreams and daydreams. And you throw yourself at it, you leap joyfully and trust that you will be caught; reason flees and enthusiasm takes over, you feel omnipotent, courageous, tender, full and fulfilled. You believe. You believe that everything is good and possible; it’s all at your fingertips, just waiting to be reached for. And you are going to reach, and it’s going to be yours.
And it feels great, at the time.
But at the end of a relationship, after a long haul, when you finally turn the corner and realize you’re alone again and that it’s truly over - it’s such a relief, coming back to my senses – it’s like waking up – and the world is clear again, my head is clear again - and it feels like a crisp clean autumn day after a hot muggy summer; full of new strength and renewed purpose.
And all is well.
I thought about it at length today, walking home from work... ok, well, then I thought about it for 15 minutes or so.
It's a wonderful thing. I guess.
I suppose.
It's like the summer - expansive and delicious, sultry, full of fun and anticipation, dreams and daydreams. And you throw yourself at it, you leap joyfully and trust that you will be caught; reason flees and enthusiasm takes over, you feel omnipotent, courageous, tender, full and fulfilled. You believe. You believe that everything is good and possible; it’s all at your fingertips, just waiting to be reached for. And you are going to reach, and it’s going to be yours.
And it feels great, at the time.
But at the end of a relationship, after a long haul, when you finally turn the corner and realize you’re alone again and that it’s truly over - it’s such a relief, coming back to my senses – it’s like waking up – and the world is clear again, my head is clear again - and it feels like a crisp clean autumn day after a hot muggy summer; full of new strength and renewed purpose.
And all is well.
2/11/09
by the way
I've decided that the post I wrote a couple of posts down, about relationships, is total bullshit.
If people can't handle things being said, it's their own damn fault.
If people can't handle things being said, it's their own damn fault.
ambition
This is something I've been told I have very little of.
It's an odd thing - I just looked up the word, and it's defined as: 1) goal (n.) -aim, objective, aspiration, dream, hope, desire, purpose 2) drive (n.) -determination, get-up-and-go, motivation.
I'd say I have all those things. I have goals and dreams, and determination and motivation. And yet... no ambition, apparently.
Kinda weird.
Walking home from work last night, I was listening to music and just walking along, feeling the breeze on my face, smelling the good earthy smells from ground that had just had its first warm day in months, looking up at the stark black branches in the sky, enjoying their shapes; enjoying the firmness of the non-snowy ground under my feet; enjoying the twilight solitude, and the mood of the song on my headphones.
And again I was reminded of why I tend not to stretch for jobs or degrees or recognition - it all just seems so superfluous to Life. I just can't bring myself to care about any of that - though I've tried to care. I've tortured myself over it for years. And I mean, sure, I'd love a more interesting job, I guess, but really, no matter what I've done in my life, or where I've lived, it all comes down to the same common denominators - the earth, the stark branches against the sky, the scents in the air... and friends and family and laundry and cooking... reading before bed... getting up early... looking forward to a free day.
I noticed that first when I was 15 and we lived in Spain. "OH!" everyone gushed, "How wonderful, how romantic, oh I would love to spend a year in a foreign country! Oh you must have changed so much!"
Their enthusiasm made me feel guilty and inadequate - I felt like I should have a special sheen and sparkle, somehow. But in Spain I went to the grocery store, I did laundry, I went to school, I had a crush on a boy who didn't know I existed, I dreamt, I was lonely, I ate too much, I wrote letters, I paid bus fares, I did homework, I slept, I woke early and stared at patterns on the ceiling. It was just as difficult and boring and beautiful as my life in Oneonta.
There is nothing and nowhere in life that is more or less romantic, or more or less common, than anything or anywhere else. It may just seem that way, if you haven't spent much time with it.
Ambition seems inherently tied to the illusion that the grandeur in life is to be found somewhere other than where you are currently standing.
-Which isn't an argument for maintaining the status quo - just a reminder that you have it all right now. And if you do something different, you'll still have it all.
It's an odd thing - I just looked up the word, and it's defined as: 1) goal (n.) -aim, objective, aspiration, dream, hope, desire, purpose 2) drive (n.) -determination, get-up-and-go, motivation.
I'd say I have all those things. I have goals and dreams, and determination and motivation. And yet... no ambition, apparently.
Kinda weird.
Walking home from work last night, I was listening to music and just walking along, feeling the breeze on my face, smelling the good earthy smells from ground that had just had its first warm day in months, looking up at the stark black branches in the sky, enjoying their shapes; enjoying the firmness of the non-snowy ground under my feet; enjoying the twilight solitude, and the mood of the song on my headphones.
And again I was reminded of why I tend not to stretch for jobs or degrees or recognition - it all just seems so superfluous to Life. I just can't bring myself to care about any of that - though I've tried to care. I've tortured myself over it for years. And I mean, sure, I'd love a more interesting job, I guess, but really, no matter what I've done in my life, or where I've lived, it all comes down to the same common denominators - the earth, the stark branches against the sky, the scents in the air... and friends and family and laundry and cooking... reading before bed... getting up early... looking forward to a free day.
I noticed that first when I was 15 and we lived in Spain. "OH!" everyone gushed, "How wonderful, how romantic, oh I would love to spend a year in a foreign country! Oh you must have changed so much!"
Their enthusiasm made me feel guilty and inadequate - I felt like I should have a special sheen and sparkle, somehow. But in Spain I went to the grocery store, I did laundry, I went to school, I had a crush on a boy who didn't know I existed, I dreamt, I was lonely, I ate too much, I wrote letters, I paid bus fares, I did homework, I slept, I woke early and stared at patterns on the ceiling. It was just as difficult and boring and beautiful as my life in Oneonta.
There is nothing and nowhere in life that is more or less romantic, or more or less common, than anything or anywhere else. It may just seem that way, if you haven't spent much time with it.
Ambition seems inherently tied to the illusion that the grandeur in life is to be found somewhere other than where you are currently standing.
-Which isn't an argument for maintaining the status quo - just a reminder that you have it all right now. And if you do something different, you'll still have it all.
"Sometimes I'm not sure which"
Well, that's as far as I got last night, scribbling what I thought was a brilliant title for my next post on a piece of paper. I was interrupted before I could finish. Now I have no idea how that thought ended.
Recently I bought a book about feng shui. It's supposed to help me clean out my house. And, miracle of miracles, it's working better than I expected. It talks a lot about stagnation. Mental and emotional stagnation encouraged and perpetuated by environmental stagnation. I'm supposed to be throwing out all my broken dishes, purging the purported piles of random stuff that have accumulated in the corners of my rooms... and at the same time, loosening the death grip my brain has on the past. Or vice-versa; loosening the past's grip on my mind.
Following the same train of thought, I was considering weight-loss.
-Rather than a goal of thinness, or fitting into smaller pants, or becoming physically healthier, I was wondering about approaching it from the new angle of anti-stagnation. Ridding myself of bodily clutter.
Following that thought further, I envisioned myself going backwards through years of accumulated stores - this week, I'd work through 2008 Christmas chocolate and Thanksgiving turkey... next month, perhaps my birthday cake from the summer, or last year's Easter candy. Maybe after awhile, I could finally rid myself of meals I ate in 2001; my body will be flying through time, gaining speed as the ballast falls away.
Sounds great... in a totally psychotic way.
Recently I bought a book about feng shui. It's supposed to help me clean out my house. And, miracle of miracles, it's working better than I expected. It talks a lot about stagnation. Mental and emotional stagnation encouraged and perpetuated by environmental stagnation. I'm supposed to be throwing out all my broken dishes, purging the purported piles of random stuff that have accumulated in the corners of my rooms... and at the same time, loosening the death grip my brain has on the past. Or vice-versa; loosening the past's grip on my mind.
Following the same train of thought, I was considering weight-loss.
-Rather than a goal of thinness, or fitting into smaller pants, or becoming physically healthier, I was wondering about approaching it from the new angle of anti-stagnation. Ridding myself of bodily clutter.
Following that thought further, I envisioned myself going backwards through years of accumulated stores - this week, I'd work through 2008 Christmas chocolate and Thanksgiving turkey... next month, perhaps my birthday cake from the summer, or last year's Easter candy. Maybe after awhile, I could finally rid myself of meals I ate in 2001; my body will be flying through time, gaining speed as the ballast falls away.
Sounds great... in a totally psychotic way.
1/9/09
relationships
Based on all the evidence I've collected over the years, I'm finally forced to draw the conclusion that the deepest, most intense, most important things one feels about another person are best left unspoken (and unanalyzed).
Which, on the face of it, seems like a really stupid system to me.
And I guess my problem is that I always end up trying to say them.
Which, on the face of it, seems like a really stupid system to me.
And I guess my problem is that I always end up trying to say them.
12/18/08
12/10/08
hmm... PS to 'people'
The interesting thing is that you can also have those moments while engaged in a project - writing, for example. I know, when writing, when things 'click' - my focus becomes narrow; I forget my surroundings, and my cheeks start to burn, and I feel a bit feverish - then I know there's something real in what I'm saying. --Or when I'm sucked into sewing, or making something, or cooking - you know when you've left yourself and have become one with the process. That's God too, I think.
12/9/08
people... again
I'm going to start this post the way I started the last post titled 'people' -
People are awkward things to be around.
Not because of them - because of me. I'm always aware of the disconnect - the breakdown of communication that happens because we're not psychic; we can't 'dreamfast' and get into each others' thoughts and memories like the Gelflings in The Dark Crystal.
I'm just thinking of this because Joel and Geri and Mary and Tammy and I just got back from seeing 'Twilight' - a thoroughly enjoyable film, and one that very effectively takes you (in my opinion) back [emotionally] to a high schoolish time where love could blossom not through shared interests or fascinating conversations, but because of some minute, unspoken connection - a glance, or a touch.
In this movie, the characters risk everything for each other, and you feel that they understand each other intimately, and yet what do they know of each other, really? They're both familiar with Debussy's 'Claire de Lune' - that's about all I can figure they have in common. But we're taken in, and we trust their relationship completely.
In direct contrast is James Spader's character's statement from last night's [last :-( ] Boston Legal - "...and there's no requirement that a couple be 'in love'; in fact, given the current divorce rate, one might say the most insidious problem with marriage is that people make life-altering decisions while 'in love'. It's a drug, a toxic one at that, and scientifically proven to wear off."
But I digress - to get back to the disconnect... so much of the time I feel apart from people, even when I'm with them. I feel alien, and one-sided. There are things I want to say that I can't say, things I do say that come out wrong and are misunderstood or misconstrued, things I try to say but my tongue gets garbled; statements I make that cause everyone at the table to look at me funny, like I've got green hair or a horn sticking out of my head.
In my daydreams, in my dreams, being with people is easier - they know where I'm coming from, intrinsically, without asking, without being told. They see me as me, the me I am when I'm alone; not some them-version of me. You know, I've got at least 10,000 versions of me; one for every person I've met - never do I feel 100% me with anyone.
[as I'm writing this I'm thinking -that almost sounds kinda cool - imagine being able to be 10,000 distinct people! The possibilities!]
But then there are the moments that click - and I think that's where God comes into play. I think that's where, for a moment, we humans leave the imperfect-disconnect human plane and touch something divine in each other. And we've all had those moments - a shared gigglefest with a girlfriend; an evening sitting with friends by a campfire in the darkness; a shared smile; a hug that lasts longer than normal; an hour of magical time after the kids go to bed; standing with a friend watching trees wave in the wind before a thunderstorm; christmas breakfast; skinnydipping under the moon; and, well yes, being in love - the list goes on and on - these moments where you feel so close that things can be unspoken and yet still commonly understood; where energies mesh without effort, where (as my friend Filippo put it one evening after hanging out with me and 5 of my friends) "I knew we all felt as if each of us could have kissed the others." - and it wasn't sexual, but just a momentary, sacred melding of souls in a certain space and time. It's something you have to wait for - you can't make it happen, you can't control it, you can't repeat it. It just Is.
I know those are the moments of connection that I live for, and long for, and that keep me from going off and becoming a hermit.
People are awkward things to be around.
Not because of them - because of me. I'm always aware of the disconnect - the breakdown of communication that happens because we're not psychic; we can't 'dreamfast' and get into each others' thoughts and memories like the Gelflings in The Dark Crystal.
I'm just thinking of this because Joel and Geri and Mary and Tammy and I just got back from seeing 'Twilight' - a thoroughly enjoyable film, and one that very effectively takes you (in my opinion) back [emotionally] to a high schoolish time where love could blossom not through shared interests or fascinating conversations, but because of some minute, unspoken connection - a glance, or a touch.
In this movie, the characters risk everything for each other, and you feel that they understand each other intimately, and yet what do they know of each other, really? They're both familiar with Debussy's 'Claire de Lune' - that's about all I can figure they have in common. But we're taken in, and we trust their relationship completely.
In direct contrast is James Spader's character's statement from last night's [last :-( ] Boston Legal - "...and there's no requirement that a couple be 'in love'; in fact, given the current divorce rate, one might say the most insidious problem with marriage is that people make life-altering decisions while 'in love'. It's a drug, a toxic one at that, and scientifically proven to wear off."
But I digress - to get back to the disconnect... so much of the time I feel apart from people, even when I'm with them. I feel alien, and one-sided. There are things I want to say that I can't say, things I do say that come out wrong and are misunderstood or misconstrued, things I try to say but my tongue gets garbled; statements I make that cause everyone at the table to look at me funny, like I've got green hair or a horn sticking out of my head.
In my daydreams, in my dreams, being with people is easier - they know where I'm coming from, intrinsically, without asking, without being told. They see me as me, the me I am when I'm alone; not some them-version of me. You know, I've got at least 10,000 versions of me; one for every person I've met - never do I feel 100% me with anyone.
[as I'm writing this I'm thinking -that almost sounds kinda cool - imagine being able to be 10,000 distinct people! The possibilities!]
But then there are the moments that click - and I think that's where God comes into play. I think that's where, for a moment, we humans leave the imperfect-disconnect human plane and touch something divine in each other. And we've all had those moments - a shared gigglefest with a girlfriend; an evening sitting with friends by a campfire in the darkness; a shared smile; a hug that lasts longer than normal; an hour of magical time after the kids go to bed; standing with a friend watching trees wave in the wind before a thunderstorm; christmas breakfast; skinnydipping under the moon; and, well yes, being in love - the list goes on and on - these moments where you feel so close that things can be unspoken and yet still commonly understood; where energies mesh without effort, where (as my friend Filippo put it one evening after hanging out with me and 5 of my friends) "I knew we all felt as if each of us could have kissed the others." - and it wasn't sexual, but just a momentary, sacred melding of souls in a certain space and time. It's something you have to wait for - you can't make it happen, you can't control it, you can't repeat it. It just Is.
I know those are the moments of connection that I live for, and long for, and that keep me from going off and becoming a hermit.
Joel... again
Me: [on the way to 'Twilight', glancing at the eyeglasses on my dashboard] "Is this movie likely to have subtitles?"
Joel: "I can't believe you just asked me that. You know I've already seen this movie."
a pause...
Me: "Does this movie have subtitles?"
Joel: "That's better! No, no it doesn't."
Joel: "I can't believe you just asked me that. You know I've already seen this movie."
a pause...
Me: "Does this movie have subtitles?"
Joel: "That's better! No, no it doesn't."
11/25/08
PMS
I just cried over a generic thank you e-card from the American Red Cross.
-It was so *sniff* beautiful! And the little CG leaves fell off the tree, reminding us of the enduring cycle of life, and it talked about *sniff* how all our donations helped all the families facing disasters this year, and isn't it wonderful how we all help each other, and we're all in this together and....
Hormonal imbalance is really frickin' annoying.
-It was so *sniff* beautiful! And the little CG leaves fell off the tree, reminding us of the enduring cycle of life, and it talked about *sniff* how all our donations helped all the families facing disasters this year, and isn't it wonderful how we all help each other, and we're all in this together and....
Hormonal imbalance is really frickin' annoying.
11/24/08
lunchtime revelation [from the DraftVault 04/27/07]
Ineffective reassurance:
Me: "...so, does that make me a bad person?"
Person: "oh, no, of _course_ not; you're not a bad person at all!"
Effective reassurance:
Me: "...so, does that make me a bad person?"
Joel (smiling): "No, Kate, not that. It's all the _other_ stuff about you that makes you a bad person!"
Me: "...so, does that make me a bad person?"
Person: "oh, no, of _course_ not; you're not a bad person at all!"
Effective reassurance:
Me: "...so, does that make me a bad person?"
Joel (smiling): "No, Kate, not that. It's all the _other_ stuff about you that makes you a bad person!"
hmm.... [from the DraftVault 07/30/08] ha ha ha
I was talking with Janice on the phone last night and she commented
sports [from the DraftVault - 08/18/08]
I think it's weird that there's this whole thing out there that takes up tons of peoples' time and attention and money, and that I don't follow it. My family doesn't follow it. My friends don't follow it. There is nothing in my daily life to remind me that sports are even out there and people are playing them except for when I see occasional blurbs in online news, and when I talk with my cousin Jamie.
I mean, right now there's this incredibly popular thing going on called the Olympics. I know something about its history, I know that people made a big stink about it being in China this year, and that's about it. I don't watch it, I don't know who's won what. I don't even really know what sports they compete in. I found out yesterday, for example, that there's a division of (it seemed to be) beach volleyball. ??!!??!! Bizarre. People actually compete for gold medals in beach volleyball?
And then there's the Super Bowl which is football. At least, I think it is. That's what someone told me in college, anyway. I remember the moment: I was in Runyan Center and someone said "Oh, they're watching the Super Bowl." And I said, "Which sport is that?" And he said, "Football."
I was really happy to finally have it nailed down.
And I've triumphantly referenced that memory ever since, every time someone says "Super Bowl." For a minute, I can't think which sport it is, and then I think - but no! I have that Runyan memory! What did that person tell me?... Football! It's football! Yay!
Though I don't know why the word "bowl" is in there when it's not about bowling.
And then there's the World Series, which is only baseball teams from the US. At least, I think that's how it goes. It's all very misleading.
Oh, I just remembered! I actually watched some of the Super Bowl last year. This year. Whenever it was. I spent the whole time being fascinated by the fake line they put on the field that isn't really there. That was cool.
I do try, I really do. When people tell me stuff about sports, I think it's interesting, and I try to remember it. I even can remember it... for a few hours. But then it goes away again - it's like I've got a mental block. I have a sports-related learning disability.
It's sad.
I mean, right now there's this incredibly popular thing going on called the Olympics. I know something about its history, I know that people made a big stink about it being in China this year, and that's about it. I don't watch it, I don't know who's won what. I don't even really know what sports they compete in. I found out yesterday, for example, that there's a division of (it seemed to be) beach volleyball. ??!!??!! Bizarre. People actually compete for gold medals in beach volleyball?
And then there's the Super Bowl which is football. At least, I think it is. That's what someone told me in college, anyway. I remember the moment: I was in Runyan Center and someone said "Oh, they're watching the Super Bowl." And I said, "Which sport is that?" And he said, "Football."
I was really happy to finally have it nailed down.
And I've triumphantly referenced that memory ever since, every time someone says "Super Bowl." For a minute, I can't think which sport it is, and then I think - but no! I have that Runyan memory! What did that person tell me?... Football! It's football! Yay!
Though I don't know why the word "bowl" is in there when it's not about bowling.
And then there's the World Series, which is only baseball teams from the US. At least, I think that's how it goes. It's all very misleading.
Oh, I just remembered! I actually watched some of the Super Bowl last year. This year. Whenever it was. I spent the whole time being fascinated by the fake line they put on the field that isn't really there. That was cool.
I do try, I really do. When people tell me stuff about sports, I think it's interesting, and I try to remember it. I even can remember it... for a few hours. But then it goes away again - it's like I've got a mental block. I have a sports-related learning disability.
It's sad.
O-bam-a! [from the DraftVault]
Well, we did it! I still get all good-feely inside when I think about it, and hopeful about the future in a way that I haven't felt for years.
And I've been watching the wave of almost-religious (or, hell, just plain religious) fervor that's been sweeping the country - the world, in fact - as a result of the results of this election - and I have to admit that as wonderful and literally awe-some it is (on the one hand) to see this kind of reaction, and the positive momentum that has built, I kinda have mixed feelings about it. It scares me a little, in the way that any kind of idolatry scares me, religious or otherwise, because it's inherently false, or misplaced [from the Greek eidolon - an image, phantom, apparition] - the object of devotion cannot but fail to completely live up to expectation - and as such, it can so easily go awry - it can so easily turn negative, or even violent.
And I don't even mean non-Obama-supporters against the rest of us, or even against Obama - I mean Obama supporters against each other... I catch a whiff here and there of suspicion - am I as true an Obama-believer as the next Obama fan? Do I have real Faith, or did I just go and vote... hmm....
It's a paradox, really - my friend Kristen and I were talking about it the other night - that in order for a public figure to move the masses, he/she has to inspire. And to inspire, she/he has to [by definition] be inspirational - to reach the deepest depths of our human emotion, and get us going. And the minute the deepest depths of our human passions are reached... well, goodbye rational thinking; hello weird fanatic maniacs. It's the history of Christianity all over again. But that's the thing -you can't have the one without the other. Any figure who inspires - Jesus, Gandhi, MLK, hell, even Lennon - also inspires irrationality and insanity in some percentage of the population -the people who can't take the spiritual heat, and react in fear, or over-zealousness. The people who miss the point, and confuse the man with the message.
Maybe. My hope is that most of us can stay sane and balanced, while still pouring forth all the hope and positive energy that's been bottled up in us during 8 long winter years. And not towards a man (albeit a great man), but towards the dream of a better America.
Hmm... (she goes off on a slight tangent) - this suddenly seems like a Narnia moment - the White Witch only has a few more days to rule; soon those of us turned to stone will roar again, and the trees will dance and rejoice - the battle is won!
(after we deal with that nagging economic crisis)
And I've been watching the wave of almost-religious (or, hell, just plain religious) fervor that's been sweeping the country - the world, in fact - as a result of the results of this election - and I have to admit that as wonderful and literally awe-some it is (on the one hand) to see this kind of reaction, and the positive momentum that has built, I kinda have mixed feelings about it. It scares me a little, in the way that any kind of idolatry scares me, religious or otherwise, because it's inherently false, or misplaced [from the Greek eidolon - an image, phantom, apparition] - the object of devotion cannot but fail to completely live up to expectation - and as such, it can so easily go awry - it can so easily turn negative, or even violent.
And I don't even mean non-Obama-supporters against the rest of us, or even against Obama - I mean Obama supporters against each other... I catch a whiff here and there of suspicion - am I as true an Obama-believer as the next Obama fan? Do I have real Faith, or did I just go and vote... hmm....
It's a paradox, really - my friend Kristen and I were talking about it the other night - that in order for a public figure to move the masses, he/she has to inspire. And to inspire, she/he has to [by definition] be inspirational - to reach the deepest depths of our human emotion, and get us going. And the minute the deepest depths of our human passions are reached... well, goodbye rational thinking; hello weird fanatic maniacs. It's the history of Christianity all over again. But that's the thing -you can't have the one without the other. Any figure who inspires - Jesus, Gandhi, MLK, hell, even Lennon - also inspires irrationality and insanity in some percentage of the population -the people who can't take the spiritual heat, and react in fear, or over-zealousness. The people who miss the point, and confuse the man with the message.
Maybe. My hope is that most of us can stay sane and balanced, while still pouring forth all the hope and positive energy that's been bottled up in us during 8 long winter years. And not towards a man (albeit a great man), but towards the dream of a better America.
Hmm... (she goes off on a slight tangent) - this suddenly seems like a Narnia moment - the White Witch only has a few more days to rule; soon those of us turned to stone will roar again, and the trees will dance and rejoice - the battle is won!
(after we deal with that nagging economic crisis)
despair
In addition to the conversations I have with parents that I was complaining about on my Facebook page ["If you have 9 oranges and I take away 4, what do you have left?"] - I also get to have conversations like this one all day:
Me: Hi, this is Kate, can I help you?
Alumna: Hi - I'm calling with some questions about my loan... [questions]
Me: I can check on that for you, but it may take a few minutes - can I call you right back?
A: Sure.
Me: What's your number?
A: 555-70-20..
Me: [interrupting] ...Wait, is this your Social Security number?
A: No
Me: [confused] This is a phone number?
A: Yes
Me: OK - so 555-70-...
A: 555-70-2053.
Me: [still confused] 555-70-2053?!
A: Yes
Me: There're not enough numbers there. You said '555-70-2053'?!
A: Yes
Me: Listen, there aren't enough numbers. The area code is 555, then you have 70... there have to be 3 numbers there - what's the other number?
A: Oh! 8. 555-870-2053.
Holy [as Joel would say] Holy flaming shitballs!
Me: Hi, this is Kate, can I help you?
Alumna: Hi - I'm calling with some questions about my loan... [questions]
Me: I can check on that for you, but it may take a few minutes - can I call you right back?
A: Sure.
Me: What's your number?
A: 555-70-20..
Me: [interrupting] ...Wait, is this your Social Security number?
A: No
Me: [confused] This is a phone number?
A: Yes
Me: OK - so 555-70-...
A: 555-70-2053.
Me: [still confused] 555-70-2053?!
A: Yes
Me: There're not enough numbers there. You said '555-70-2053'?!
A: Yes
Me: Listen, there aren't enough numbers. The area code is 555, then you have 70... there have to be 3 numbers there - what's the other number?
A: Oh! 8. 555-870-2053.
Holy [as Joel would say] Holy flaming shitballs!
11/21/08
Friday
I keep starting posts and then not posting them. My post list is full of 'drafts' - I suppose I lack the motivation (or interest) to finish my thoughts.
...or maybe the focus. Yeah, I'm thinking focus seriously lacking lately.
I'm going to publish this just to spite myself.
...or maybe the focus. Yeah, I'm thinking focus seriously lacking lately.
I'm going to publish this just to spite myself.
11/16/08
Sunday am
Me: [looking through local newspaper] Oh my god, here's a photo of my third grade teacher! She looks exactly the same as she did in 1979 !
Joel: [glancing over] She looks exactly the same? Vampire!
Me: Yeah, I'll show you. I've got my third grade class picture in that album on the shelf over there... [hunting].... Here it is! ...But wait, she's not in it! What the hell?! Why isn't she in the photo?
Joel: Vampire!
Joel: [glancing over] She looks exactly the same? Vampire!
Me: Yeah, I'll show you. I've got my third grade class picture in that album on the shelf over there... [hunting].... Here it is! ...But wait, she's not in it! What the hell?! Why isn't she in the photo?
Joel: Vampire!
11/15/08
walking home with Joel thru throngs of college students
Joel: Honey, how come we don't go out and get drunk like all these cool people?
Me: I dunno.
Joel: Are we destined to be un-cool for the rest of our lives?
Me: Mm-hmm.
Joel: Damn. I'm depressed.
Me: I dunno.
Joel: Are we destined to be un-cool for the rest of our lives?
Me: Mm-hmm.
Joel: Damn. I'm depressed.
11/4/08
time crunch
5:15 - left work; walked down the hill to the car with Regina; drove home; checked the mail, grabbed a book to read at the polls; switched cars and drove to vote; had to stand in two lines cause I didn't know my ward number; voted; walked back to the car; tried to call Erin; decided to do some grocery shopping-drove towards Hannaford; at Hannaford, decided instead to get window cleaner; drove towards Wal-Mart; decided to pass Wal-Mart and drive out to Pine Lake instead; got to the lake; parked and walked down the road in the dark to the edge of the water; stood in the darkness and listened to the lake sounds; thought about the world, the election, friends, people I love, the future; stood for a long time listening to the fish flip out of the water and various animal rustlings; watched the clouds over the moon; watched the fog rise over the water; finally walked back to the car; drove back into town; parked at home; turned on the computer and checked email, Facebook and wrote a blog entry.
6:50 - left the house to drive to Mike's to watch the election.
6:50 - left the house to drive to Mike's to watch the election.
10/31/08
well
Now that I've openly declared my completely un-back-upable dislike of some of the best music on the planet... I'll try to get some work done and retain a smidgen of self-respect.
10/29/08
makeover
I need a new direction for this blog.
I've always disliked the "I did this, and then we went here, and then we did that" kinds of blogs - seems tediously like a diary of events, and who can possibly care that much if I had toast with jam for breakfast and then went jogging?
But the posting-random-thoughts-as-they-occur-to-me thing is also getting a bit dull.
I'll think about it and get back to you.
(I should work on the jogging part too.)
I've always disliked the "I did this, and then we went here, and then we did that" kinds of blogs - seems tediously like a diary of events, and who can possibly care that much if I had toast with jam for breakfast and then went jogging?
But the posting-random-thoughts-as-they-occur-to-me thing is also getting a bit dull.
I'll think about it and get back to you.
(I should work on the jogging part too.)
Billy Joel, Elton John, Queen and Neil Diamond
If anyone can get me to like _their_ music... there'll be wedding bells ringing fer sure.
one of the nice things about Oneonta
This morning:
7:30 - my alarm went off
7:55 - after lounging, I got out of bed
8:27 - I left the apartment
8:32 - I arrived at the Post Office to mail a package - there was only a short line, and I got to chat with Brian Carey's mother as she waited on me.
8:37 - I left the Post Office and headed for work.
8:44 - After battling the heavy morning traffic, I pulled into the parking lot at work.
8:47 - I turned my computer on and sat down to write some emails before the office opened at 9.
7:30 - my alarm went off
7:55 - after lounging, I got out of bed
8:27 - I left the apartment
8:32 - I arrived at the Post Office to mail a package - there was only a short line, and I got to chat with Brian Carey's mother as she waited on me.
8:37 - I left the Post Office and headed for work.
8:44 - After battling the heavy morning traffic, I pulled into the parking lot at work.
8:47 - I turned my computer on and sat down to write some emails before the office opened at 9.
10/28/08
order gender
It just struck me oddly that we say:
mom and dad
nieces and nephews
boys and girls
Mr. and Mrs.
Ladies and Gentlemen...
men and women
brothers and sisters
etc.
Funny how jarring it feels to reverse them, and strange that there's no consistency.
mom and dad
nieces and nephews
boys and girls
Mr. and Mrs.
Ladies and Gentlemen...
men and women
brothers and sisters
etc.
Funny how jarring it feels to reverse them, and strange that there's no consistency.
10/19/08
10/15/08
what's in a song OR a song by any other name
Well, I just got back from having dinner at Jodi's, and tried to watch a couple of minutes of the presidential debate. Finding that even a couple of minutes were more than my blood pressure and stomach equilibrium could take, I've now decided to post something on my sadly-neglected blog.
And now the die is cast, so it won't matter if I watch it later.
[Funny - I assume that ^ refers to dice and games, but in my mind it's always been associated with die casting.]
So on the way home from Jodi's, I was listening to a mix I'd made awhile back - the first three songs being 1) Neil Young 2) Ry Cooder (from the Paris, Texas soundtrack) and 3) Audrey Hepburn (singing Moon River from Breakfast at Tiffany's). And halfway through Ry Cooder, I suddenly wondered if I'd still like that track so much, if it weren't associated with all sorts of stuff in my head.
Like, you know how you play a song for someone - one of your favorite songs in the world - and they just don't get it at all? What if it had less to do with the song itself, and more with the fact that they were lacking the good associations you have with the song?
Cause Neil Young - would I have ever started listening to his music if I hadn't been head-over-heels for Kurt when he gave me a cracked LP of After The Gold Rush in high school? Would I like it if I didn't enter a certain mental zone every time I hear it - a zone that is full of high school memories, and also connected with the years I worked at PhotoTime, when Neil's wife would bring rolls of film in to be developed, and my friend Julie lived up on King's Mountain, just down the road from his house - Every time I hear a Neil Young song, all that goes through my head - years of memories. Would his songs seem so full to me if they didn't contain all of those things?
Or Ry Cooder's guitar - which reminds me so much of the western emptiness of that movie that I can almost smell the dirt and sagebrush, ...and of Rob, and living in Menlo Park, and how I used to always get Paris, Texas mixed up with True Stories, and how I tried to get my mom to watch True Stories, but she never did.
The more I think about it, the associations kinda take over, and the actual content of the songs seems increasingly irrelevant.
Here’s a test – the next time someone plays you a song you don’t like, imagine that the person you’re in love with has just told you that it’s their favorite song ever – and see if it improves.
And now the die is cast, so it won't matter if I watch it later.
[Funny - I assume that ^ refers to dice and games, but in my mind it's always been associated with die casting.]
So on the way home from Jodi's, I was listening to a mix I'd made awhile back - the first three songs being 1) Neil Young 2) Ry Cooder (from the Paris, Texas soundtrack) and 3) Audrey Hepburn (singing Moon River from Breakfast at Tiffany's). And halfway through Ry Cooder, I suddenly wondered if I'd still like that track so much, if it weren't associated with all sorts of stuff in my head.
Like, you know how you play a song for someone - one of your favorite songs in the world - and they just don't get it at all? What if it had less to do with the song itself, and more with the fact that they were lacking the good associations you have with the song?
Cause Neil Young - would I have ever started listening to his music if I hadn't been head-over-heels for Kurt when he gave me a cracked LP of After The Gold Rush in high school? Would I like it if I didn't enter a certain mental zone every time I hear it - a zone that is full of high school memories, and also connected with the years I worked at PhotoTime, when Neil's wife would bring rolls of film in to be developed, and my friend Julie lived up on King's Mountain, just down the road from his house - Every time I hear a Neil Young song, all that goes through my head - years of memories. Would his songs seem so full to me if they didn't contain all of those things?
Or Ry Cooder's guitar - which reminds me so much of the western emptiness of that movie that I can almost smell the dirt and sagebrush, ...and of Rob, and living in Menlo Park, and how I used to always get Paris, Texas mixed up with True Stories, and how I tried to get my mom to watch True Stories, but she never did.
The more I think about it, the associations kinda take over, and the actual content of the songs seems increasingly irrelevant.
Here’s a test – the next time someone plays you a song you don’t like, imagine that the person you’re in love with has just told you that it’s their favorite song ever – and see if it improves.
10/2/08
more from Joel
Me: "That's the problem with stuffed animals - you can hug them, and hug them, and hug them, and they never look any happier."
Joel: "I would be more worried if over time they did look happier."
Joel: "I would be more worried if over time they did look happier."
9/28/08
Joel sez:
"Bush's approval rating is the lowest of any president, ever - it's dwindled to three guys in Texas. And one of them's related to him."
9/19/08
elementary
I've found that my brain occasionally has moments where it gets confused on very basic stuff.
In addition to regularly losing track of my lefts & rights, I've twice in the past month looked down at my car's odometer and been surprised when it's flipped from 159 to 160 miles, instead of 200. I've had to think for a minute to realize it's recording miles, and not time.
My earliest recollection of such confusion was a day in 3rd grade, when we were taking a math test. We were being asked to subtract one large number from another larger number. Let's say 2637 minus 1854. Although I'd routinely done that kind of arithmetic in class, that day when I looked at the numbers, my brain suddenly decided that the way to determine the value of each number was to add up the individual digits that comprised it. In doing so, I found that both numbers resulted in the same sum, and I remember becoming very confused and finally going up to Mrs. Nielsen to ask how we were supposed to subtract one number from the other, because it was the same number.
Of course, she looked at me very strangely and explained that 2637 was the larger number, at which point the proper perspective flooded back and I felt like a complete idiot.
It's always a weird sensation to re-gain perspective and realize how out in la-la-land I've just been.
In addition to regularly losing track of my lefts & rights, I've twice in the past month looked down at my car's odometer and been surprised when it's flipped from 159 to 160 miles, instead of 200. I've had to think for a minute to realize it's recording miles, and not time.
My earliest recollection of such confusion was a day in 3rd grade, when we were taking a math test. We were being asked to subtract one large number from another larger number. Let's say 2637 minus 1854. Although I'd routinely done that kind of arithmetic in class, that day when I looked at the numbers, my brain suddenly decided that the way to determine the value of each number was to add up the individual digits that comprised it. In doing so, I found that both numbers resulted in the same sum, and I remember becoming very confused and finally going up to Mrs. Nielsen to ask how we were supposed to subtract one number from the other, because it was the same number.
Of course, she looked at me very strangely and explained that 2637 was the larger number, at which point the proper perspective flooded back and I felt like a complete idiot.
It's always a weird sensation to re-gain perspective and realize how out in la-la-land I've just been.
9/18/08
election reds
Taking my car to the shop earlier today, I drove past a bright red SUV that was parked illegally, blocking traffic, and that had (of course) a McCain sticker in the back window. A couple of blocks later, I passed a house with a McCain sign in the front yard.
And I just have to say, again (and again, and again) - who the hell are these people?! What could possibly be going through their minds, that they would consider - even for a second- that McCain and his rabid partner would be a viable choice to lead our country?! It's just really weird and disturbing.
A few days ago my cousin Laurie forwarded around an email of an editorial blog written by one Michael Seitzman, (a writer/director who wrote North Country, among other things) - that expressed how I'm feeling particularly well:
"Now, I want to be clear and speak directly to those of you who LOVED that Palin interview. You're an idiot. I mean that. This is not one of those cases where we're going to agree to disagree. This isn't one of those situations where we debate it passionately and then walk away thinking that the other guy is wrong but argued well. I'm not going to think of you as a thoughtful but misguided person with different ideas who still really cares about the country and the world. No, sorry, not this time. This time, if you watched those interview excerpts and weren't scared out of your freakin' mind, then you're mentally ill, mentally disabled, or mentally disturbed. What you are NOT is responsible, informed, curious, thoughtful, mature, educated, empathetic, or remotely serious. I mean it.
But I like to think that anyone can change.
Stop voting for people you want to have a beer with. Stop voting for folksy. Stop voting for people who remind you of your neighbor. Stop voting for the ideologically intransigent, the staggeringly ignorant, and the blazingly incompetent. Vote for someone smarter than you. Vote for someone who inspires you. Vote for someone who has not only traveled the world but who has also shown a deep understanding and compassion for it. The stakes are real and they're terrifyingly high. This election matters. It matters. It really matters. Let me say that one more time. This. Really. Matters. "
And I just have to say, again (and again, and again) - who the hell are these people?! What could possibly be going through their minds, that they would consider - even for a second- that McCain and his rabid partner would be a viable choice to lead our country?! It's just really weird and disturbing.
A few days ago my cousin Laurie forwarded around an email of an editorial blog written by one Michael Seitzman, (a writer/director who wrote North Country, among other things) - that expressed how I'm feeling particularly well:
"Now, I want to be clear and speak directly to those of you who LOVED that Palin interview. You're an idiot. I mean that. This is not one of those cases where we're going to agree to disagree. This isn't one of those situations where we debate it passionately and then walk away thinking that the other guy is wrong but argued well. I'm not going to think of you as a thoughtful but misguided person with different ideas who still really cares about the country and the world. No, sorry, not this time. This time, if you watched those interview excerpts and weren't scared out of your freakin' mind, then you're mentally ill, mentally disabled, or mentally disturbed. What you are NOT is responsible, informed, curious, thoughtful, mature, educated, empathetic, or remotely serious. I mean it.
But I like to think that anyone can change.
Stop voting for people you want to have a beer with. Stop voting for folksy. Stop voting for people who remind you of your neighbor. Stop voting for the ideologically intransigent, the staggeringly ignorant, and the blazingly incompetent. Vote for someone smarter than you. Vote for someone who inspires you. Vote for someone who has not only traveled the world but who has also shown a deep understanding and compassion for it. The stakes are real and they're terrifyingly high. This election matters. It matters. It really matters. Let me say that one more time. This. Really. Matters. "
9/17/08
meaning
We create it. In many ways it's a purely human phenomenon.
We create it, and then it destroys us.
But I'd still rather have it, and suffer at its hands, than live blissfully without it.
Although it does seem like some (though few) people can live blissfully with it.
I'm not yet that evolved.
We create it, and then it destroys us.
But I'd still rather have it, and suffer at its hands, than live blissfully without it.
Although it does seem like some (though few) people can live blissfully with it.
I'm not yet that evolved.
9/12/08
more religious venting
And what's up with the bible stuff? Is there anyone in that Presbyterian church who really, actually thinks that the bible was written by God? I doubt it.
In fact, this is how the minister started the reading last Sunday:
"Most biblical scholars agree that this passage was added later by leaders of the early church. Listen now to the Word of God."
--And ended with, "So ends our reading from God's Word. Thanks be to God."
-But... uhh... wait, like, didn't you just say the thing was written by leaders of the early church?!
And I know people would say "Well, we believe it was inspired by God." or "Well, that's just what we say 'cause it's a holy text." - but no, it matters.
Words matter. Say what you actually mean, or don't say anything; when it's something people have died for, when it's something that keeps homosexuals from being treated as equal citizens in our country, when it's something that starts wars and dissolves families, don't say "oh, well, we say it's the word of God, we say that Jesus died for our sins; we say that we're going to live forever if we follow him, we say that Jesus was the divine son of God and that he was resurrected and ascended into heaven, we say that he'll come again in glory to judge the living and the dead and that his kingdom will have no end... but we all really know that we mean something else."
In fact, this is how the minister started the reading last Sunday:
"Most biblical scholars agree that this passage was added later by leaders of the early church. Listen now to the Word of God."
--And ended with, "So ends our reading from God's Word. Thanks be to God."
-But... uhh... wait, like, didn't you just say the thing was written by leaders of the early church?!
And I know people would say "Well, we believe it was inspired by God." or "Well, that's just what we say 'cause it's a holy text." - but no, it matters.
Words matter. Say what you actually mean, or don't say anything; when it's something people have died for, when it's something that keeps homosexuals from being treated as equal citizens in our country, when it's something that starts wars and dissolves families, don't say "oh, well, we say it's the word of God, we say that Jesus died for our sins; we say that we're going to live forever if we follow him, we say that Jesus was the divine son of God and that he was resurrected and ascended into heaven, we say that he'll come again in glory to judge the living and the dead and that his kingdom will have no end... but we all really know that we mean something else."
put the sanity back in christianity
Along the same lines as the post below, I have to vent about something else- (And I'll probably offend a bunch of people in the process, but so be it.) :
What is up with Christianity?
Seems like most of us look at the history of Christianity and say -oh, well, yeah, in the past people have done some terrible things in Jesus' name. But now it's the 21st century and we're all enlightened.
Yeah, right.
In fact, I just attended a [run-of-the-mill laid-back Presbyterian] church service where they showed a bunch of 4-7 year-olds a video about Sin. "A long time ago" [the video began], "God created the Earth, and it was perfect. But then people did bad things." Yes, people started to sin. And 'Sin' was shown as two kids fighting in karate-style stance; two other kids whispering "She's so weird!" about another girl.
And what's the lesson being taught? - "The price of Sin is Death!", the narrator intoned, while the video showed these kids a photograph of a gravestone in a cemetery. "But Jesus died for all our sins, and Jesus will make us live forever."
-How the hell is a 5-year-old supposed to understand the abstract concepts in this message?! I can barely get my brain around them myself. And is watching this video going to make these children more loving? Is it going to make them feel warm and accepted? Is it going to give them a personal comfort level with the concept of "God"? Is it going to make them understand, on a practical level, why gossip and fighting might be harmful to those they love? Yah, I think not.
And how would Jesus feel about that message? Nauseous, I imagine.
The whole thing makes me incredibly uncomfortable. Made me so uncomfortable and angry that I almost got up and walked out of the service; in retrospect, I should've. How can responsible, educated parents sit back and let their kids be exposed to narrow, damaging messages like that? Or worse, endorse those messages? That's 'Sin' in my book.
It just doesn't make sense to me. It just doesn't make any freakin' sense.
What is up with Christianity?
Seems like most of us look at the history of Christianity and say -oh, well, yeah, in the past people have done some terrible things in Jesus' name. But now it's the 21st century and we're all enlightened.
Yeah, right.
In fact, I just attended a [run-of-the-mill laid-back Presbyterian] church service where they showed a bunch of 4-7 year-olds a video about Sin. "A long time ago" [the video began], "God created the Earth, and it was perfect. But then people did bad things." Yes, people started to sin. And 'Sin' was shown as two kids fighting in karate-style stance; two other kids whispering "She's so weird!" about another girl.
And what's the lesson being taught? - "The price of Sin is Death!", the narrator intoned, while the video showed these kids a photograph of a gravestone in a cemetery. "But Jesus died for all our sins, and Jesus will make us live forever."
-How the hell is a 5-year-old supposed to understand the abstract concepts in this message?! I can barely get my brain around them myself. And is watching this video going to make these children more loving? Is it going to make them feel warm and accepted? Is it going to give them a personal comfort level with the concept of "God"? Is it going to make them understand, on a practical level, why gossip and fighting might be harmful to those they love? Yah, I think not.
And how would Jesus feel about that message? Nauseous, I imagine.
The whole thing makes me incredibly uncomfortable. Made me so uncomfortable and angry that I almost got up and walked out of the service; in retrospect, I should've. How can responsible, educated parents sit back and let their kids be exposed to narrow, damaging messages like that? Or worse, endorse those messages? That's 'Sin' in my book.
It just doesn't make sense to me. It just doesn't make any freakin' sense.
9/11/08
my neighbors
Well, the folks who live next to (and below) me have now given me three different labels, and I feel it's time to display them proudly.
1) Middle-class:
A couple of years ago, during a violent lightening storm (which had already struck elsewhere in town and was now right overhead), I declined an invitation from my neighbor to leave the porch and stand with him under the tall tree in our front yard. "Oh, you're so middle-class!" he yelled at me from the street.
2) Lesbian:
I was recently informed by another neighbor that the whole neighborhood thinks I'm a lesbian. Why? One, because I live with Joel, and they all know he's a great guy so if we're not together that must be the reason and two, because I'm regularly visited by "that girl."
-Which girl? I asked him. "That girl, you know, the one who comes from Massachusetts all the time to see you." Oh yeah, my mom.
3) Someone who "doesn't talk to people"
A third neighbor approached me hesitantly the other day. "Excuse me!" she said, staying quite some distance away, but craning her head towards me, as if I were a wild animal she wanted to inspect. She said, "I know you don't talk to people, but I thought I'd introduce myself. My name is Sharon, and I'm your neighbor." "Hi, nice to meet you," I replied, "My name's Kate. But I don't know what you mean about not talking to people?" It took three times of her introducing herself again, and again mentioning that I "ignore people", and me asking her what she meant by that, before she finally told me why she had formed this opinion: One day there had been a bookseller out in front of the house looking for me, and he had had to call to me twice to get my attention, because I was at the back of the house loading some things in my car and didn't hear him the first time.
Yep. I'll be interested to see what they come up with next.
1) Middle-class:
A couple of years ago, during a violent lightening storm (which had already struck elsewhere in town and was now right overhead), I declined an invitation from my neighbor to leave the porch and stand with him under the tall tree in our front yard. "Oh, you're so middle-class!" he yelled at me from the street.
2) Lesbian:
I was recently informed by another neighbor that the whole neighborhood thinks I'm a lesbian. Why? One, because I live with Joel, and they all know he's a great guy so if we're not together that must be the reason and two, because I'm regularly visited by "that girl."
-Which girl? I asked him. "That girl, you know, the one who comes from Massachusetts all the time to see you." Oh yeah, my mom.
3) Someone who "doesn't talk to people"
A third neighbor approached me hesitantly the other day. "Excuse me!" she said, staying quite some distance away, but craning her head towards me, as if I were a wild animal she wanted to inspect. She said, "I know you don't talk to people, but I thought I'd introduce myself. My name is Sharon, and I'm your neighbor." "Hi, nice to meet you," I replied, "My name's Kate. But I don't know what you mean about not talking to people?" It took three times of her introducing herself again, and again mentioning that I "ignore people", and me asking her what she meant by that, before she finally told me why she had formed this opinion: One day there had been a bookseller out in front of the house looking for me, and he had had to call to me twice to get my attention, because I was at the back of the house loading some things in my car and didn't hear him the first time.
Yep. I'll be interested to see what they come up with next.
9/9/08
petty pet peeve
Seems like every time I get someone's voicemail box nowadays, they say the same weird thing. It's 'professional' wording, but it just doesn't make sense - like they're all parroting the phrase that people use when leaving messages, but they're using it backwards-
They say, "Please leave your name and number, and a brief message, and I'll get back to you at my earliest convenience."
At my earliest convenience - that's essentially saying, yeah, dude, you may think what you're calling about is important, but I'm going to take my own sweet little time getting back to you; gotta wait till it's nice and convenient for me.
They say, "Please leave your name and number, and a brief message, and I'll get back to you at my earliest convenience."
At my earliest convenience - that's essentially saying, yeah, dude, you may think what you're calling about is important, but I'm going to take my own sweet little time getting back to you; gotta wait till it's nice and convenient for me.
9/5/08
religions... elections... leaders... idols... cults... Mary Kay representatives....
Really – extremes creep me out. People who get too enthusiastic about anything – whether it be a good thing in my book or not - they make me nervous.
Being passionate about something, sure, that’s great. Believing in something, working towards it, fine. But more than that… it’s unbalanced. When you can’t recognize that there are some pieces of the thing (or person) (or idea) you love that aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, or when you follow someone blindly rather than doing your own thinking, you become very dangerous.
Being passionate about something, sure, that’s great. Believing in something, working towards it, fine. But more than that… it’s unbalanced. When you can’t recognize that there are some pieces of the thing (or person) (or idea) you love that aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, or when you follow someone blindly rather than doing your own thinking, you become very dangerous.
9/4/08
and boy am I glad
It wasn't till recently that I realized there's an upstate NY accent. It's all nasally, with open vowels - lots of eenh and wanh sounds. And words ending with 't' turn into a kind of grunt. 'Didn't' becomes 'dinh', 'different' comes out 'diffrenh'
I don't talk that way; the one Oneonta word I've picked up is "prolly". -I'll prolly write something even more boring tomorrow.
In fact, I picked up more pronounciation weirdness from my brief stint in the midwest - to this day I still say 'halse' instead of 'house'.
But as yet I've managed to avoid adopting the Phillean 'wudder', thank god.
I don't talk that way; the one Oneonta word I've picked up is "prolly". -I'll prolly write something even more boring tomorrow.
In fact, I picked up more pronounciation weirdness from my brief stint in the midwest - to this day I still say 'halse' instead of 'house'.
But as yet I've managed to avoid adopting the Phillean 'wudder', thank god.
9/1/08
ridicule-ous
Seems like the key to changing peoples' minds is dispassionate passion. If you get too het-up about something, nobody listens.
Or they snicker at you behind your back.
It's a shame I still haven't mastered it.
Or they snicker at you behind your back.
It's a shame I still haven't mastered it.
alignment
When my brain gets all off-track, I find that watching Harold and Maude is a good fix. It works like a magnet on metal filings; puts all the chaos in order.
8/21/08
oranga-tang
There's something about the "Alice and Wonderland" phenomenon [see below] that's reminding me of how my friend Janice used to complain (when she worked at Barnes & Noble) that people used to come in all the time and ask her to direct them to the non-fiction section of the store.
[By the way, I must take this opportunity to point out that the store's name is Barnes & Noble. Not (as is commonly said in these parts) Barnes & Nobles.]
Or how, when I worked at the photo lab, many customers would get extremely upset if an employee dropped the film they'd handed in for processing. "Look what you've done!" one customer said to me after a roll slipped through my fingers and hit the counter. "Now all my pictures will be blurry!"
[By the way, I must take this opportunity to point out that the store's name is Barnes & Noble. Not (as is commonly said in these parts) Barnes & Nobles.]
Or how, when I worked at the photo lab, many customers would get extremely upset if an employee dropped the film they'd handed in for processing. "Look what you've done!" one customer said to me after a roll slipped through my fingers and hit the counter. "Now all my pictures will be blurry!"
8/20/08
hmm...?
A rather extreme and somewhat misled young person just left a comment on one of my recent posts.
So I followed the link and looked at his blog.
And noted that he had listed "Alice and Wonderland" as one of his favorite books.
I then saw that 39 other bloggers have also listed this non-existent book as one of their favorites.
Very mysterious. Makes one seriously consider the possibility of parallel universes.
So I followed the link and looked at his blog.
And noted that he had listed "Alice and Wonderland" as one of his favorite books.
I then saw that 39 other bloggers have also listed this non-existent book as one of their favorites.
Very mysterious. Makes one seriously consider the possibility of parallel universes.
rollover
When you've been in a position long enough to help four generations of employees in an adjoining office learn the same ropes in a particular program, you've been in that position way too long.
noche noire
Although, of course, the advice below was given in response to me asking him what he thought of me sneaking back into Arnold Hall after-hours and taking a bunch of art off the walls.
(Which my dad and mom and I put up in the '70s - seems like nobody's bothering with them, and the building is coming down soon, and everything's a mess. I'm hoping that eventually someone will say "What happened to all those paintings in Arnold?" And then I'll say - here they are!)
Yes, it was a full night of crime. First I took a bunch of paintings down - came up with Joel in the dark and snuck around in the hallways and tried to pretend that we weren't walking around with a screwdriver and a bunch of picture frames.
And then went over to JC Penney's and used both of my one-per-customer coupons by going to different cash registers.
I'm surprised they haven't arrested me yet.
(Which my dad and mom and I put up in the '70s - seems like nobody's bothering with them, and the building is coming down soon, and everything's a mess. I'm hoping that eventually someone will say "What happened to all those paintings in Arnold?" And then I'll say - here they are!)
Yes, it was a full night of crime. First I took a bunch of paintings down - came up with Joel in the dark and snuck around in the hallways and tried to pretend that we weren't walking around with a screwdriver and a bunch of picture frames.
And then went over to JC Penney's and used both of my one-per-customer coupons by going to different cash registers.
I'm surprised they haven't arrested me yet.
words of wisdom
My dad just gave me great advice:
"Do what you think is right, and don't ask permission."
"Do what you think is right, and don't ask permission."
8/18/08
(another) conversation with Joel
Me: Hi.
Joel: Hi. You gonna be home for lunch?
Me: Yeah, probly.
Joel: You're stressed, you know.
Me: What?
Joel: You're stressed out.
Me: I guess. And I think I've been a bit short with you lately; I'm sorry.
Joel: And it's the first time in the history of the world that someone has been stressed out and has been a bit short with their friend. [laughing] ...This perfection that you seek, how goes it?
Joel: Hi. You gonna be home for lunch?
Me: Yeah, probly.
Joel: You're stressed, you know.
Me: What?
Joel: You're stressed out.
Me: I guess. And I think I've been a bit short with you lately; I'm sorry.
Joel: And it's the first time in the history of the world that someone has been stressed out and has been a bit short with their friend. [laughing] ...This perfection that you seek, how goes it?
8/16/08
muse-ings
Tonight I decided not to watch TV. At all.
Instead, I went out to Pine Lake and took a canoe across the lake and swam, all by myself, just before the sun went down. The air was moist and all the smells were green and brown and growing. I paddled out into the middle of the lake and sat for a long time, just thinking, just letting the canoe drift.
And then I came home and watered my plants and made some tea.
And darned some slippers and cleaned the living room and trimmed the cactus in the kitchen window, and moved the avocado tree into my bedroom, and went through some photographs, and weeded some DVDs out of my collection and put them in the box to go to the Salvation Army.
And then I hooked up the record player that my friend Mark gave me a couple of weeks ago, and I listened to a bunch of music. The Barn Dance record, and Peer Gynt.
I ended with Bach’s Air from Suite No. 3 in D (for orchestra), which is one of my all-time favorite pieces.
And here’s the point of this whole ramble – I’d really like to paint that music. I know that anything I’d attempt, for real, would be far inferior to how I imagine it in my head. But the [Bach] piece is so visual – so many different strands of tone, all winding around each other, intertwining like the branches of a vine; a perfect vine. A vine that’s been filmed by National Geographic and is being played back at a high speed so you can see it stretching and unfurling as if it were some strange animal. And then sometimes one strand, that’s been growing and turning with the rest, suddenly reaches for the sunlight and outruns its companions. For a minute it stands alone, brilliant, and then the others find it again and it falls behind and lets another run forward.
I still don’t understand how something so mathematical – just these frequencies of sound, scheduled specifically to meet or miss each other over the span of a period of time – can be at the same time so organic, completely uncontrolled, passionate, and able to touch us so deeply.
Music is kick-ass.
[But I suppose all of life is that way – it’s simultaneously art and chemistry, molecules and beauty, math and passion – all made up of the same stuff. Which is one reason I’ve never understood why they separate the different disciplines in school. Biology is Painting is Literature is Music.]
Instead, I went out to Pine Lake and took a canoe across the lake and swam, all by myself, just before the sun went down. The air was moist and all the smells were green and brown and growing. I paddled out into the middle of the lake and sat for a long time, just thinking, just letting the canoe drift.
And then I came home and watered my plants and made some tea.
And darned some slippers and cleaned the living room and trimmed the cactus in the kitchen window, and moved the avocado tree into my bedroom, and went through some photographs, and weeded some DVDs out of my collection and put them in the box to go to the Salvation Army.
And then I hooked up the record player that my friend Mark gave me a couple of weeks ago, and I listened to a bunch of music. The Barn Dance record, and Peer Gynt.
I ended with Bach’s Air from Suite No. 3 in D (for orchestra), which is one of my all-time favorite pieces.
And here’s the point of this whole ramble – I’d really like to paint that music. I know that anything I’d attempt, for real, would be far inferior to how I imagine it in my head. But the [Bach] piece is so visual – so many different strands of tone, all winding around each other, intertwining like the branches of a vine; a perfect vine. A vine that’s been filmed by National Geographic and is being played back at a high speed so you can see it stretching and unfurling as if it were some strange animal. And then sometimes one strand, that’s been growing and turning with the rest, suddenly reaches for the sunlight and outruns its companions. For a minute it stands alone, brilliant, and then the others find it again and it falls behind and lets another run forward.
I still don’t understand how something so mathematical – just these frequencies of sound, scheduled specifically to meet or miss each other over the span of a period of time – can be at the same time so organic, completely uncontrolled, passionate, and able to touch us so deeply.
Music is kick-ass.
[But I suppose all of life is that way – it’s simultaneously art and chemistry, molecules and beauty, math and passion – all made up of the same stuff. Which is one reason I’ve never understood why they separate the different disciplines in school. Biology is Painting is Literature is Music.]
8/14/08
relationship rant
What is it with men liking to get bossed around by their wives/girlfriends? It makes no sense to me at all. If my husband organized my social life for me and insisted on me changing my clothes when I didn’t want to, and packed my suitcase for me and told me to change the message on my answering machine and made me go to the dentist more often, it would drive me insane. It even drives me insane to have to watch it happen with other couples - seeing the poor guy go all flabby and watching his wife on some weird power trip. What is up with that dynamic?! I think it's disrespectful. If I ever marry, it's gonna be to someone who can make his own decisions and take care of his own life and his own frickin' suitcase and isn't hanging around waiting for me to tell him what to do.
[which probably means I'll never marry]
-----
PS - after reading Osvaldo's comment, I was trying to figure out a way to more clearly pinpoint what I mean, and I remembered a passage in a book by Dorothy Sayers that sorta better illustrates it:
“Oh, my dear – don’t upset yourself like this. Say the word, and we’ll go right away. We’ll leave this miserable business and never meddle again.”
“Do you really mean that?” she said, incredulously.
“Of course I mean it. I have said it.”
His voice was the voice of a beaten man. She was appalled, seeing what she had done.
“Peter, you’re mad. Never dare to suggest such a thing. Whatever marriage is, it isn’t that.”
“Isn’t what, Harriet?”
“Letting your affection corrupt your judgment. What kind of life could we have if I knew that you had become less than yourself by marrying me?”
He turned away again, and when he spoke, it was in a queerly shaken tone:
“My dear girl, most women would consider it a triumph.”
“I know, I’ve heard them.” Her own scorn lashed herself – the self she had only just seen. “They boast of it – ‘My husband would do anything for me….’ It’s degrading. No human being ought to have such power over another.”
“It’s a very real power, Harriet.”
“Then,” she flung back passionately, “we won’t use it. If we disagree, we’ll fight it out like gentlemen. We won’t stand for matrimonial blackmail.”
[which probably means I'll never marry]
-----
PS - after reading Osvaldo's comment, I was trying to figure out a way to more clearly pinpoint what I mean, and I remembered a passage in a book by Dorothy Sayers that sorta better illustrates it:
“Oh, my dear – don’t upset yourself like this. Say the word, and we’ll go right away. We’ll leave this miserable business and never meddle again.”
“Do you really mean that?” she said, incredulously.
“Of course I mean it. I have said it.”
His voice was the voice of a beaten man. She was appalled, seeing what she had done.
“Peter, you’re mad. Never dare to suggest such a thing. Whatever marriage is, it isn’t that.”
“Isn’t what, Harriet?”
“Letting your affection corrupt your judgment. What kind of life could we have if I knew that you had become less than yourself by marrying me?”
He turned away again, and when he spoke, it was in a queerly shaken tone:
“My dear girl, most women would consider it a triumph.”
“I know, I’ve heard them.” Her own scorn lashed herself – the self she had only just seen. “They boast of it – ‘My husband would do anything for me….’ It’s degrading. No human being ought to have such power over another.”
“It’s a very real power, Harriet.”
“Then,” she flung back passionately, “we won’t use it. If we disagree, we’ll fight it out like gentlemen. We won’t stand for matrimonial blackmail.”
backwards
There is one advantage to the increase in child obesity - I can now buy most of my clothes in the juniors section.
8/13/08
California
Things I love:
dry heat
prickly landscape
spiny plants
sage
rosemary bushes
lavender
flowers everywhere
eucalyptus trees
ocean
the strong white sunlight
cool mornings
lawn sprinklers
the smell of wet pavement
geraniums
Peet's coffee
dry grass
moody San Francisco fog
the dark scent of bay laurel trees
good mexican food
live oaks
winter rains
the irish-green spring hills
rainbows
walking at the Dish
Jamba Juice
clear skies at night
the darkness
the distance of the mountains
wild pigs
wild parrots
dim sum
curvy roads
the quiet earthiness of redwood forests
crazy thunderstorms
wisteria
coyotes
innovative thinking
Chinatown
fruit trees along the street
fresh avocados
the Stanford Theatre
organic produce
recycling everything
walking at the baylands
Things I can live without:
commuter traffic
smog
earthquakes
shopping centers
high prices
apartment complexes
mudslides
rotating blackouts
dry heat
prickly landscape
spiny plants
sage
rosemary bushes
lavender
flowers everywhere
eucalyptus trees
ocean
the strong white sunlight
cool mornings
lawn sprinklers
the smell of wet pavement
geraniums
Peet's coffee
dry grass
moody San Francisco fog
the dark scent of bay laurel trees
good mexican food
live oaks
winter rains
the irish-green spring hills
rainbows
walking at the Dish
Jamba Juice
clear skies at night
the darkness
the distance of the mountains
wild pigs
wild parrots
dim sum
curvy roads
the quiet earthiness of redwood forests
crazy thunderstorms
wisteria
coyotes
innovative thinking
Chinatown
fruit trees along the street
fresh avocados
the Stanford Theatre
organic produce
recycling everything
walking at the baylands
Things I can live without:
commuter traffic
smog
earthquakes
shopping centers
high prices
apartment complexes
mudslides
rotating blackouts
7/27/08
sadness...and other stuff
I was going to comment on how glad I am to not be a sickeningly 100% happy person. I always think that people who are too happy are missing out somehow; disregarding things in themselves, ignoring life tugging at their sleeves in their excitement at rushing ahead... yep, I was going to make a good case for moodiness.
But I've been distracted-- there's a particularly heavy freight train coming through Oneonta right now. I can tell it's extra heavy because the house is moving more than usual; my chair is shaking, the plants are swaying. If I were in CA, I'd be wondering how long to wait before heading under the table to avoid falling objects.
(Which prompts me to comment on the strange fact that, until last year [when I was in CA and we had a 5.6], the strongest earthquakes I'd ever experienced were in Oneonta; one in 1983, and one in 2002 [both were 5.1] - but none of which were at all startling to me, cause it's such a familiar rhythm; I grew up being rocked to sleep by freight trains. )
But I've been distracted-- there's a particularly heavy freight train coming through Oneonta right now. I can tell it's extra heavy because the house is moving more than usual; my chair is shaking, the plants are swaying. If I were in CA, I'd be wondering how long to wait before heading under the table to avoid falling objects.
(Which prompts me to comment on the strange fact that, until last year [when I was in CA and we had a 5.6], the strongest earthquakes I'd ever experienced were in Oneonta; one in 1983, and one in 2002 [both were 5.1] - but none of which were at all startling to me, cause it's such a familiar rhythm; I grew up being rocked to sleep by freight trains. )
I miss T-Max.
Tomorrow, when I have a faster connection, I will post my favorite photo of her. I miss her so much.
never again. ever.
I was just going through some of Rob's old VHS tapes, and I found one mysteriously labeled '02.26.02'.
So I watched it.
It turned out to be a video letter I sent to Rob at that time; 8 months after moving back to Oneonta.
Based on how this new evidence supports my memory of that event, I have now officially labeled 2001 the worst year (to date) of my entire life. By 'worst', I mean: unbearably painful, emotionally damaging, and just generally horrible on a daily basis. Add to that the fact that my income that year was $11,000.
Yep, in the immortal words of Joel, "It sucked shit through a straw."
So I watched it.
It turned out to be a video letter I sent to Rob at that time; 8 months after moving back to Oneonta.
Based on how this new evidence supports my memory of that event, I have now officially labeled 2001 the worst year (to date) of my entire life. By 'worst', I mean: unbearably painful, emotionally damaging, and just generally horrible on a daily basis. Add to that the fact that my income that year was $11,000.
Yep, in the immortal words of Joel, "It sucked shit through a straw."
7/25/08
my blood runs cold, my memory has just been sold....
OK, I was in a really shitty mood when I wrote 'Jobs'. Sorry.
So, last night when I was leaving work, that J. Giles band song - Centerfold - came on the radio.
That was the first radio song I ever paid attention to. I would have been...10 or 11... when did it come out? 1982. 11, then. I was in that phase where I was spending tons of time in the basement, cleaning stuff; washing things by hand and hanging them over the hot water pipes to dry. (You know, like how most 11-year-olds spend their time.) And while I washed and cleaned, I listened to the radio, which was something I'd never done before.
And I remember that song; I remember particularly noticing the second time I heard it. Not the first; then it was just one of a run of songs I didn't know. But the second time, I thought - wow, I know this song! And I sang along, and felt like I was being given the key to a secret club. A secret club of people who were in the know. It was cool.
So, last night when I was leaving work, that J. Giles band song - Centerfold - came on the radio.
That was the first radio song I ever paid attention to. I would have been...10 or 11... when did it come out? 1982. 11, then. I was in that phase where I was spending tons of time in the basement, cleaning stuff; washing things by hand and hanging them over the hot water pipes to dry. (You know, like how most 11-year-olds spend their time.) And while I washed and cleaned, I listened to the radio, which was something I'd never done before.
And I remember that song; I remember particularly noticing the second time I heard it. Not the first; then it was just one of a run of songs I didn't know. But the second time, I thought - wow, I know this song! And I sang along, and felt like I was being given the key to a secret club. A secret club of people who were in the know. It was cool.
7/23/08
Jobs
If I can just
force
myself
into this shape
one more time
one more day
there is no other choice
Adulthood means
bills to be paid
insurance premiums
No space to breathe, move, stretch
to let it happen
because the rent is due
Our society
works
on five days six days forty hours
away from life, home, children
Self
forced to fit
a rhythm so unnatural
I don’t see how
I could ever be
working happy
force
myself
into this shape
one more time
one more day
there is no other choice
Adulthood means
bills to be paid
insurance premiums
No space to breathe, move, stretch
to let it happen
because the rent is due
Our society
works
on five days six days forty hours
away from life, home, children
Self
forced to fit
a rhythm so unnatural
I don’t see how
I could ever be
working happy
7/21/08
I couldn't'a put it better myself
There are faces, there are smiles, so many teeth, too many arms and legs and eyes and flashing buttons all around me
I'm a-watching, I'm a-breathing, I'm a-pushing, I'm a-wishing
That these walls would not be talking quite so loudly
I have lost it once before I've pulled myself up from the floor
And I am looking for a reason to stay standing
But sometimes it's just too much or not enough or something else
It's so much bigger than my head, it's too demanding
Sometimes the fastest way to get there is to go slow
And sometimes if you wanna hold on you got to let go
I'm gonna close my eyes
And count to ten
I'm gonna close my eyes
And when I open them again
Everything will make sense to me then
(from Count to Ten - Tina Dico)
I'm a-watching, I'm a-breathing, I'm a-pushing, I'm a-wishing
That these walls would not be talking quite so loudly
I have lost it once before I've pulled myself up from the floor
And I am looking for a reason to stay standing
But sometimes it's just too much or not enough or something else
It's so much bigger than my head, it's too demanding
Sometimes the fastest way to get there is to go slow
And sometimes if you wanna hold on you got to let go
I'm gonna close my eyes
And count to ten
I'm gonna close my eyes
And when I open them again
Everything will make sense to me then
(from Count to Ten - Tina Dico)
7/15/08
procrastination
Procrastination is not about wasting time. No, procrastination is about being busy. It's about being incredibly busy doing something that you would never have bothered to do if there weren't something else that you are trying to find an excuse not to do.
In my case, today's procrastination involved going through the entire list of contacts in my cell phone, detailing on each of the numbers, and taking out the extraneous 1- preceding each area code.
This was very important to do, because now I can look at each contact and see the full phone number, including area code. I used to be able to only see the last 7 digits of the number, because the extra 1- in there made the number too long to display all at once.
Now that this crucial project is complete, I will proceed to email my cousin about animatronic dolls.
In my case, today's procrastination involved going through the entire list of contacts in my cell phone, detailing on each of the numbers, and taking out the extraneous 1- preceding each area code.
This was very important to do, because now I can look at each contact and see the full phone number, including area code. I used to be able to only see the last 7 digits of the number, because the extra 1- in there made the number too long to display all at once.
Now that this crucial project is complete, I will proceed to email my cousin about animatronic dolls.
7/11/08
po-stiiing
I have been very not-postingish lately.
There have been times that I've thought of things I wanted to write about, but I was usually in the car.
I did, however, want to comment on the sad lack of financial-planning education in our public schools. It's an issue that came to my attention a number of years ago, when I was working at the Catskill Regional Teacher Center. There was a group trying to get some grant funds to start a program locally... I remember applauding their efforts, and simultaneously wishing that they weren't needed.
Somebody higher up should see that it's in our country's best interest to teach kids how to save, how to balance a checking account, how to invest money, how to keep credit card bills low, how to contribute to retirement accounts, etc.
For example, most of the students I interact with have absolutely no idea how to write or endorse a check. Seems very odd that it should fall to me to teach them. They've read Shakespeare, they've written research papers, they've studied world history and economics, they've learned foreign languages and mastered musical instruments. -And then they had someone open a bank account for them, and they're wandering around with ATM cards and checkbooks, completely at a loss as to what to do with them.
The more I think about it, the more it seems like some huge governmental conspiracy to keep the rich kids on top (cause their families will pass down the required financial knowledge), and the kids from poor families clueless and left behind.
Or maybe that's too cynical of me.
There have been times that I've thought of things I wanted to write about, but I was usually in the car.
I did, however, want to comment on the sad lack of financial-planning education in our public schools. It's an issue that came to my attention a number of years ago, when I was working at the Catskill Regional Teacher Center. There was a group trying to get some grant funds to start a program locally... I remember applauding their efforts, and simultaneously wishing that they weren't needed.
Somebody higher up should see that it's in our country's best interest to teach kids how to save, how to balance a checking account, how to invest money, how to keep credit card bills low, how to contribute to retirement accounts, etc.
For example, most of the students I interact with have absolutely no idea how to write or endorse a check. Seems very odd that it should fall to me to teach them. They've read Shakespeare, they've written research papers, they've studied world history and economics, they've learned foreign languages and mastered musical instruments. -And then they had someone open a bank account for them, and they're wandering around with ATM cards and checkbooks, completely at a loss as to what to do with them.
The more I think about it, the more it seems like some huge governmental conspiracy to keep the rich kids on top (cause their families will pass down the required financial knowledge), and the kids from poor families clueless and left behind.
Or maybe that's too cynical of me.
6/17/08
I hate death
They've put up a new building next to the one I work in. They've been building for a long time now. And it's finally finished, and it smells like paint and new carpet and any number of other noxious-fume-producing things.
They're going to take down the building I work in. By the end of August, the room I'm sitting in won't exist anymore. The walls I've looked at every day will be gone, taken out or filled in.
And today, right now, in preparation, they're killing the tree outside my window. They started sawing about half an hour ago, and then it went down, the branches scraping my window with a last desperate scrabbling as it went by and hit the ground. What was tall and alive and beautiful and green just minutes ago has been violently torn down.
And now, as if that weren't bad enough, they're going at it with the chainsaws, hacking it to bits like homicidal maniacs, putting it through the wood chipper with no honor or ceremony, nothing to acknowledge its years of life, no effort to remember all the summer days it shaded us from scorching sun, all the winter mornings that the shadows of its branches showed dark and beautiful on our walls.
I quite literally cannot bear this. I hate it. I hate everything about the way this is being done. I don't care what you say, I just can't get with this thing, this bullshit thing that everyone says, about how new things can't come unless old things go. I like the old things better. I don't want the new things.
And if you absolutely have to kill something, for godsake, at least honor it first.
They're going to take down the building I work in. By the end of August, the room I'm sitting in won't exist anymore. The walls I've looked at every day will be gone, taken out or filled in.
And today, right now, in preparation, they're killing the tree outside my window. They started sawing about half an hour ago, and then it went down, the branches scraping my window with a last desperate scrabbling as it went by and hit the ground. What was tall and alive and beautiful and green just minutes ago has been violently torn down.
And now, as if that weren't bad enough, they're going at it with the chainsaws, hacking it to bits like homicidal maniacs, putting it through the wood chipper with no honor or ceremony, nothing to acknowledge its years of life, no effort to remember all the summer days it shaded us from scorching sun, all the winter mornings that the shadows of its branches showed dark and beautiful on our walls.
I quite literally cannot bear this. I hate it. I hate everything about the way this is being done. I don't care what you say, I just can't get with this thing, this bullshit thing that everyone says, about how new things can't come unless old things go. I like the old things better. I don't want the new things.
And if you absolutely have to kill something, for godsake, at least honor it first.
5/6/08
ahhhhhhhh
Today I have sinned. I have given in. I have given way.
I have left my high-fiber low-fat diet and plunged to the depths of depravity.
Yes, I ate a Texas Hot for lunch.
Tuesdays and Thursdays I have class, so I don't take a lunch.
Since I am notoriously and self-admittedly unable to make lunches for myself and bring them to work, on Tuesdays and Thursdays I often go without.
But not today. Today my boss said she would be lunching at a local ice-cream joint with her husband. She offered to get me something; said the Texas Hots were really good.
What is a Texas Hot, you ask? As I found out today, it is a thoroughly fatty beef frank in a bun, covered with rivers of gorgeous chili, mounds of chopped fresh onion, and mustard.
A mess of a meal, in fact.
But absolute heaven - the hotdog, glorious with grease, drowned in spicy beans and ground beef, and swirled with bright yellow mustard, little chunks of tasty onion hidden underneath, dyed red and yellow from the mingling sauces.... Yep, I don't think I've ever tasted anything so wonderful.
I have left my high-fiber low-fat diet and plunged to the depths of depravity.
Yes, I ate a Texas Hot for lunch.
Tuesdays and Thursdays I have class, so I don't take a lunch.
Since I am notoriously and self-admittedly unable to make lunches for myself and bring them to work, on Tuesdays and Thursdays I often go without.
But not today. Today my boss said she would be lunching at a local ice-cream joint with her husband. She offered to get me something; said the Texas Hots were really good.
What is a Texas Hot, you ask? As I found out today, it is a thoroughly fatty beef frank in a bun, covered with rivers of gorgeous chili, mounds of chopped fresh onion, and mustard.
A mess of a meal, in fact.
But absolute heaven - the hotdog, glorious with grease, drowned in spicy beans and ground beef, and swirled with bright yellow mustard, little chunks of tasty onion hidden underneath, dyed red and yellow from the mingling sauces.... Yep, I don't think I've ever tasted anything so wonderful.
4/11/08
Hmmm???
What is happiness, anyway?
Is it the giddy excitement, the rattling energy in your bones you feel when everything is going just right, and you have so much to look forward to?
Is it the heartbreaking feeling that beauty leaves in your chest when you sit and watch the sun going down, golden, past layer after increasingly-blue layer of rolling hills, and you hear the peeper frogs start to sing, and the air blows warm and soft through your hair?
Is it the quiet contentment when you're home on a rainy afternoon and you have uncommitted hours stretching out in front of you, and you can sit at the kitchen table with a steaming mug of tea, a good book, and a plate of freshly-baked chocolate cookies?
Is it the deep trust that things will come 'round right in your life, that the world will keep turning, that birth and death are all one and the same, and that even when you're by yourself, you're not alone?
Is it all these things, or none? Or perhaps just a fleeting, ineffable moment, impossible to capture, impossible to pin down?
It's always confused me when people have said that they are "happy"- I've never understood how that could be characterized as a constant state. Like sadness, it seems inevitably something that comes and goes.
05/06/08: New information received today - happiness is a Texas Hot. ;-)
Is it the giddy excitement, the rattling energy in your bones you feel when everything is going just right, and you have so much to look forward to?
Is it the heartbreaking feeling that beauty leaves in your chest when you sit and watch the sun going down, golden, past layer after increasingly-blue layer of rolling hills, and you hear the peeper frogs start to sing, and the air blows warm and soft through your hair?
Is it the quiet contentment when you're home on a rainy afternoon and you have uncommitted hours stretching out in front of you, and you can sit at the kitchen table with a steaming mug of tea, a good book, and a plate of freshly-baked chocolate cookies?
Is it the deep trust that things will come 'round right in your life, that the world will keep turning, that birth and death are all one and the same, and that even when you're by yourself, you're not alone?
Is it all these things, or none? Or perhaps just a fleeting, ineffable moment, impossible to capture, impossible to pin down?
It's always confused me when people have said that they are "happy"- I've never understood how that could be characterized as a constant state. Like sadness, it seems inevitably something that comes and goes.
05/06/08: New information received today - happiness is a Texas Hot. ;-)
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