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.
12/26/09
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.
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