I saw an interview with Madonna last night. I have to say that I am gaining more and more respect for her as the years pass. Musically, she may be on a decline (though I haven’t heard the new album yet, so I can’t say that for sure), but I really respect her as a person. You can see that she is growing and learning and maturing and that, to me, is a wonderful thing. Kudos to you, Madonna.
Wednesday, April 30, 2003
Tuesday, April 29, 2003
I feel bad for men in contemporary American society. I really do. It is something I have been meaning to talk about for a while now and I was determined to do so today and then I saw an article linked in my friend’s blog talking about pretty much this exact topic and I thought to myself, “How appropriate.”
Men have it rough. I’m serious. There is a lot of anti-male sentiment out there and at least from my perspective, a lot of it is undeserved. Yes, there are bad men out there. But there are bad women out there, too. And maybe I am extraordinarily lucky, but I know a staggering number of really fine men. Men who are respectful and intelligent and funny and dependable. And in a lot of ways, these men are forced to suffer because of the actions of a few bad eggs. Think about it – a couple of employers behaved inappropriately with their female employees and now every male worker has to watch himself or he might get sued for telling his co-worker that she looks particularly nice one day. Yet that same man is accused of being insensitive if he doesn’t say those same exact things to his wife or girlfriend.
And let’s take a moment to think about how a man is supposed to go about finding a wife or girlfriend. Co-workers are off limits, often by company policy. Any woman a man approaches in a bar is going to instantly dismiss him as a sleaze bag (thanks to some real sleaze bag who approached her in the past (another instance of a few bad eggs ruining it for everyone)). If a man meets a woman online or through personal ads, he is often teased by his friends for it. If a guy takes up some outside activity that appeals to him, he might meet some women (depending on the activity), but constant interaction with these women in such a social situation eventually puts those women on par with co-workers and good female friends, making them un-datable, too. So how is a man supposed to find a wife or girlfriend? Through a friend? Maybe?
But for the sake of argument, let’s say a man has found a woman through some channel. Now he has her. Now he has to keep her. But she keeps changing the rules on him. She can run hot and cold on him, say it’s her menstrual cycle, and he just has to accept that. If he stands up for himself, he’s an insensitive bastard.
I'm not saying that every man out there wants to find a wife or a girlfriend. But think for a moment, if you will, about the societal opinions of homosexual relationships. For the most part, lesbians are considered hot and gay men are considered an abnormality. It is not only acceptable but in some cases condonable for a woman to experiment with homosexuality. If a guy admits to his friends that he has even thought about kissing another guy, he is shunned. But let's say that a man finds a nice man to spend his life with. What sort of role models does he have to look up to? Sure, Will on Will and Grace is a gay man in a lead role on prime time television, but has he had a meaningful relationship since that show started? And isn't he still in constant competition with Jack to be better looking and whatnot?
And what about the break up? Often times in today’s society, men find themselves without a good group of friends. Once men graduate from high school or college, they are no longer in a position to make friends easily. The advertising world tells men that they have to be strong, muscular, and alone. Think about it: when was the last time you saw the Marlboro man in an ad with someone else? Nine times out of ten, if you do see two men together in a commercial, a gay joke is made. Men are taught to compete with one another for better cars, better jobs, prettier women. Men are not encouraged to build strong, lasting friendships with one another. So take Average Joe and give him a girlfriend. Chances are, he will end up spending time with her friends because chances are that she has them. Women are encouraged to have friends, male and female. And women are encouraged to stay in close contact with their families. So Average Joe finds himself in a relationship with a woman, hanging out with her friends and family. When they break up, those other people are still her friends and family – Average Joe is left with nothing. The article linked on my friend’s blog said something like 90% of a high school boy’s time is consumed with thinking about a break up after it happens. I don’t know what the statistic is for women, but to spend 90% of your time thinking about a break up can’t be good for anyone. And then that man is faced with once again, trying to find if not a new girlfriend, at least some friends to hang out with.
I feel for men. I really do. I know some really, truly wonderful men who are going through some rough times, thanks to the women in their lives. I wish I could ease their pain. I wish I could create a world wherein pain like this didn’t exist. I wish I could create a world wherein people could just walk up to one another and say “hi” and nobody would play with anyone else’s hearts. I know I can’t, but I wish I could. All I really can do is encourage everyone to be a little bit more compassionate towards one another. Historically, women have had it rough, and in many ways, we still do. But men have it rough, too. So how about we all treat each other as individuals and see how that goes.
Men have it rough. I’m serious. There is a lot of anti-male sentiment out there and at least from my perspective, a lot of it is undeserved. Yes, there are bad men out there. But there are bad women out there, too. And maybe I am extraordinarily lucky, but I know a staggering number of really fine men. Men who are respectful and intelligent and funny and dependable. And in a lot of ways, these men are forced to suffer because of the actions of a few bad eggs. Think about it – a couple of employers behaved inappropriately with their female employees and now every male worker has to watch himself or he might get sued for telling his co-worker that she looks particularly nice one day. Yet that same man is accused of being insensitive if he doesn’t say those same exact things to his wife or girlfriend.
And let’s take a moment to think about how a man is supposed to go about finding a wife or girlfriend. Co-workers are off limits, often by company policy. Any woman a man approaches in a bar is going to instantly dismiss him as a sleaze bag (thanks to some real sleaze bag who approached her in the past (another instance of a few bad eggs ruining it for everyone)). If a man meets a woman online or through personal ads, he is often teased by his friends for it. If a guy takes up some outside activity that appeals to him, he might meet some women (depending on the activity), but constant interaction with these women in such a social situation eventually puts those women on par with co-workers and good female friends, making them un-datable, too. So how is a man supposed to find a wife or girlfriend? Through a friend? Maybe?
But for the sake of argument, let’s say a man has found a woman through some channel. Now he has her. Now he has to keep her. But she keeps changing the rules on him. She can run hot and cold on him, say it’s her menstrual cycle, and he just has to accept that. If he stands up for himself, he’s an insensitive bastard.
I'm not saying that every man out there wants to find a wife or a girlfriend. But think for a moment, if you will, about the societal opinions of homosexual relationships. For the most part, lesbians are considered hot and gay men are considered an abnormality. It is not only acceptable but in some cases condonable for a woman to experiment with homosexuality. If a guy admits to his friends that he has even thought about kissing another guy, he is shunned. But let's say that a man finds a nice man to spend his life with. What sort of role models does he have to look up to? Sure, Will on Will and Grace is a gay man in a lead role on prime time television, but has he had a meaningful relationship since that show started? And isn't he still in constant competition with Jack to be better looking and whatnot?
And what about the break up? Often times in today’s society, men find themselves without a good group of friends. Once men graduate from high school or college, they are no longer in a position to make friends easily. The advertising world tells men that they have to be strong, muscular, and alone. Think about it: when was the last time you saw the Marlboro man in an ad with someone else? Nine times out of ten, if you do see two men together in a commercial, a gay joke is made. Men are taught to compete with one another for better cars, better jobs, prettier women. Men are not encouraged to build strong, lasting friendships with one another. So take Average Joe and give him a girlfriend. Chances are, he will end up spending time with her friends because chances are that she has them. Women are encouraged to have friends, male and female. And women are encouraged to stay in close contact with their families. So Average Joe finds himself in a relationship with a woman, hanging out with her friends and family. When they break up, those other people are still her friends and family – Average Joe is left with nothing. The article linked on my friend’s blog said something like 90% of a high school boy’s time is consumed with thinking about a break up after it happens. I don’t know what the statistic is for women, but to spend 90% of your time thinking about a break up can’t be good for anyone. And then that man is faced with once again, trying to find if not a new girlfriend, at least some friends to hang out with.
I feel for men. I really do. I know some really, truly wonderful men who are going through some rough times, thanks to the women in their lives. I wish I could ease their pain. I wish I could create a world wherein pain like this didn’t exist. I wish I could create a world wherein people could just walk up to one another and say “hi” and nobody would play with anyone else’s hearts. I know I can’t, but I wish I could. All I really can do is encourage everyone to be a little bit more compassionate towards one another. Historically, women have had it rough, and in many ways, we still do. But men have it rough, too. So how about we all treat each other as individuals and see how that goes.
Monday, April 28, 2003
So I was listening to the radio on my way in to work (as I am wont to do) and I heard that the Cubs are in first place. And then it all clicked. The Cubs are in first place, it has been unseasonably cold in Chicago in April -- hell must be freezing over. I knew it would happen one day. I just didn't think I'd actually get to witness it.
Friday, April 25, 2003
So yeah, I think I'm going to write a book. I'm not sure if it would be classified as fiction or non-fiction because the way I am envisioning it now, it would be very much like this blog. I'd talk about a different topic in each chapter, just kind of explain my world views and such. I already have the introduction to the book pretty much laid out in my head -- it would be one giant disclaimer that the contents of the book are my opinions and my opinions only and should not be taken as fact. And that I have a tendency to talk out of my ass sometimes (my jaw muscles get tired). So if there are any topics you would like to see me write about, please send them to me. I'm not guaranteeing that I will include them, but I will do my best. And I'm not guaranteeing that the book will even be published because seriously, are that many people interested in reading my blitherings? But I think it will be fun to write. And I think I'll call it Atypical Twenty Something because it leaves open the nice, "Did she say 'atypical' or 'a typical?'" debate, as well as the option for follow-up books that I could do in ten or twenty years. I like that.
No, I don't work for WXRT, but I would like to say that WXRT puts a smile on my face on a pretty consistent basis. So thank you, WXRT. And if you would like to offer me a job, call my office and my secretary (me) will set up an appointment to go over my needs.
Thursday, April 24, 2003
We got a piece of mail today for Mary. No last name. Just Mary. The one and only Mary who might be accepting mail at a University with thousands of employees and tens of thousands of students. Her mail came to our office. “Mary – University of Illinois at Chicago” It’s sweet in its sadness. I couldn’t bring myself to throw it out. I think we’ll keep this piece of mail for Mary until she comes looking for it. It could be our mascot.
I think that one of the most valuable things that we can do for one another as human beings is to listen to one another. Truly listen. There is a difference between hearing and listening – listening is a full-body activity. It requires one’s rapt attention. It requires reading body language. It requires processing the words coming out of the other person’s mouth and letting them have an effect. A proper listener is exhausted and exhilarated at the end of a listening session.
I know that often times, people equate listening with an opportunity to spout random bits of advice. I do it, too. But I learned last night that even more valuable than advice is quiet understanding. So I want to apologize to any of you out there who have been subjected to my bouts of supposed wisdom. I should have been listening better at the time and seen that what you needed from me was my ear, not my mouth. I will try my best to listen better in the future.
But seriously, think about how many problems in the world could be solved or prevented if we just took the time to listen to one another. Maybe it’s naïve of me, but I think that racism, homophobia, religious differences, all kinds of problems could be lessened or wiped out if we would just sit and listen to one another. Why do Bush and Hussein suck as world leaders? Because they don’t listen to their people. Why do people spend billions of dollars on therapists every year? Because they need someone who will listen to them. It makes me kind of wonder how many therapists actually listen and how many are eager to diagnose. I don’t know how one would go about getting that statistic, but it would be an interesting one, I think.
I think, also, that hearing has become more common than listening because we’re all in such a hurry all of the time. We need fast cars and fast internet connections and fast medical treatments and quick solutions for everything. It is much easier to tune out what a friend is saying to you so that you can organize your grocery list in your head or plan out your evening activities for the next week than it is to push all of those other thoughts aside and focus on the words landing in your ears. You feel like you are multi-tasking; you’re being a good friend and an organized, efficient member of society all at the same time. But you’re not really listening. You’re hearing. And your friend can, on some level, tell. So your friend continues to worry or hurt or whatever and has to go find someone else to talk to, who will also just be hearing. It is easier and faster to hear than it is to listen. But, like many things, faster is not necessarily better. Listening is much more satisfying for both parties.
I know I am going to work on my listening skills. I spent a year learning how to listen as a follow; I can spend however long it takes learning how to listen as a person. And I would recommend that each of you do the same. Don’t disregard the crazy person on the bus – listen to him for a minute until you have to get off at your stop. Don’t assume you know what your parents or children or lovers are going to say next – wait to hear them say it and pay attention to how they say it and what they are doing when they say it. Listen to each other. Call me crazy, but I’m guessing that this will improve your relationships with other people and with yourself.
I know that often times, people equate listening with an opportunity to spout random bits of advice. I do it, too. But I learned last night that even more valuable than advice is quiet understanding. So I want to apologize to any of you out there who have been subjected to my bouts of supposed wisdom. I should have been listening better at the time and seen that what you needed from me was my ear, not my mouth. I will try my best to listen better in the future.
But seriously, think about how many problems in the world could be solved or prevented if we just took the time to listen to one another. Maybe it’s naïve of me, but I think that racism, homophobia, religious differences, all kinds of problems could be lessened or wiped out if we would just sit and listen to one another. Why do Bush and Hussein suck as world leaders? Because they don’t listen to their people. Why do people spend billions of dollars on therapists every year? Because they need someone who will listen to them. It makes me kind of wonder how many therapists actually listen and how many are eager to diagnose. I don’t know how one would go about getting that statistic, but it would be an interesting one, I think.
I think, also, that hearing has become more common than listening because we’re all in such a hurry all of the time. We need fast cars and fast internet connections and fast medical treatments and quick solutions for everything. It is much easier to tune out what a friend is saying to you so that you can organize your grocery list in your head or plan out your evening activities for the next week than it is to push all of those other thoughts aside and focus on the words landing in your ears. You feel like you are multi-tasking; you’re being a good friend and an organized, efficient member of society all at the same time. But you’re not really listening. You’re hearing. And your friend can, on some level, tell. So your friend continues to worry or hurt or whatever and has to go find someone else to talk to, who will also just be hearing. It is easier and faster to hear than it is to listen. But, like many things, faster is not necessarily better. Listening is much more satisfying for both parties.
I know I am going to work on my listening skills. I spent a year learning how to listen as a follow; I can spend however long it takes learning how to listen as a person. And I would recommend that each of you do the same. Don’t disregard the crazy person on the bus – listen to him for a minute until you have to get off at your stop. Don’t assume you know what your parents or children or lovers are going to say next – wait to hear them say it and pay attention to how they say it and what they are doing when they say it. Listen to each other. Call me crazy, but I’m guessing that this will improve your relationships with other people and with yourself.
Wednesday, April 23, 2003
Our receptionist took the rest of the week off to spend time with her daughter, who is on Spring Break. Which is great. Except it means I have to play receptionist for a couple of days.
But this morning/early afternoon, I have gotten the opportunity to watch a spider build a web on one of the lights on the reception desk. It's really fascinating. I think she's taking a lunch break, though, because I'm not sure where she went. And to think, if I was up in my own office, I wouldn't get to witness this. And our receptionist probably would have killed the spider by now. So our receptionist gets to spend time with her daughter, I get to watch a spider web be constructed, and the spider gets to live. I'd say it's an all-around good day.
But this morning/early afternoon, I have gotten the opportunity to watch a spider build a web on one of the lights on the reception desk. It's really fascinating. I think she's taking a lunch break, though, because I'm not sure where she went. And to think, if I was up in my own office, I wouldn't get to witness this. And our receptionist probably would have killed the spider by now. So our receptionist gets to spend time with her daughter, I get to watch a spider web be constructed, and the spider gets to live. I'd say it's an all-around good day.
One of the nicest things in the world is to hear one's radiators come on all by themselves right after one hears about overnight frost advisories. My towel was nice and hot when I got out of the shower this morning. I love that. Though I would be just as happy if it decided to be warmer outside in general. That would be fine, too.
Tuesday, April 22, 2003
This morning on my way in to work, I was flipping through the radio stations and I found myself oddly mesmerized by one of those brain-sucking stations. You know, one of those stations that has a morning DJ somewhere in Los Angeles pawning himself off as being local when he’s really heard all over the country and the most interesting things he talks about are the reality television shows from the night before. How sad is it that there is reality television on every night of the week? And how much of it has to do with relationships? But I digress.
So I’m listening to a snippet of this morning program wherein they were discussing Christina Aguilera and the fact that a lot of people want to hold her accountable for turning their daughters into sluts. Now, before I go off on my little tirade, I want to make sure you know that I know that you know that this is one of those issues where any blame that is to be placed cannot be solely placed in one area. Young girls dress like sluts because they see Christina do it who saw someone else do it who was told by her manager that she should do it because society says that’s sexy and it will sell more records and where are the parents in all of this anyway and so on and so forth. Yes, I know all of that stuff. That said, some of the arguments on the radio this morning were ludicrous. One woman said that we shouldn’t be so focused on Christina’s clothes, that we should focus on her message and her songs. I don’t even know where to start ripping this statement apart. Her clothes deliver a very strong message to young girls – dress this way and the boys will want to sleep with you. And her songs? We should focus on her songs. “Feelin’ so dirty.” Okay. She can’t even spell “dirty” properly. Even back in the day when she was more “innocent,” she was sixteen years old singing “What a Girl Wants” (at sixteen, a girl wants a boyfriend with a car) and “I’m a genie in a bottle/You gotta rub me the right way.” Yeah, those are great things for impressionable teenage girls to be focusing on.
Then there was another caller whose basic argument was that if you’ve got it, you should flaunt it. Hi, thirteen-year-old girls (in general) don’t have anything to flaunt. Except maybe the fact that they’ve outgrown their baby fat. Woo hoo! While that may seem like a large achievement to some, I still don’t think it merits halter tops and micro mini skirts.
I don’t want to sound like an ultra-conservative stick in the mud, here, which is how I’m pretty sure I’m coming off. But if I can draw from The Simpsons to make a point here, I’d like to reference the episode wherein Lisa Kudrow was one of the guest voices. She played a classmate of Lisa’s who had a credit card and wore perfume and wanted to have a school dance and be dating and stuff at eight years old. By the end of the episode, we see that she is the only kid in school really ready to deal with that. Lisa’s argument is that we only have a short time to be kids – to play in the mud and eat junk food without worry and not bathe for three days – and that we should embrace and enjoy that time before we try to grow up. Aside from the not bathing thing, I have to agree with her.
Christina Aguilera is free to dress however she wants to dress. She is an adult and is allowed to make her own decisions. I have to give her some credit for having the balls to wear that stuff. But at the same time, it does make me a little bit sad that twelve and thirteen year old girls feel the need to wear that stuff, too. I don’t think they fully understand the statement Christina is trying to make. Sometimes, I’m not sure Christina fully understands the statement she is trying to make. Hell, I’m not sure I fully understand the point I’m trying to make. I wouldn’t forbid my daughter to wear clothes like that. I probably wouldn’t buy them for her, but I wouldn’t forbid her. I guess I would just hope that she would understand what a bold, sexual statement she is making and that she is prepared for the consequences of her statement, whatever they might be. Dressing like that will get a woman attention, positive and negative. And I hope my daughter would be able to disregard the negative and focus on the positive energy that comes from being comfortable in her own skin.
Maybe that’s what bugs me about it. For me, being comfortable in my own skin means I don’t have to show it off all of the time in order to get attention. I don’t fully understand the exhibitionist mindset. Maybe one day I’ll get to play an exhibitionist and then I’ll understand it. Until then, I'm stickin' with my green corduroy pants.
So I’m listening to a snippet of this morning program wherein they were discussing Christina Aguilera and the fact that a lot of people want to hold her accountable for turning their daughters into sluts. Now, before I go off on my little tirade, I want to make sure you know that I know that you know that this is one of those issues where any blame that is to be placed cannot be solely placed in one area. Young girls dress like sluts because they see Christina do it who saw someone else do it who was told by her manager that she should do it because society says that’s sexy and it will sell more records and where are the parents in all of this anyway and so on and so forth. Yes, I know all of that stuff. That said, some of the arguments on the radio this morning were ludicrous. One woman said that we shouldn’t be so focused on Christina’s clothes, that we should focus on her message and her songs. I don’t even know where to start ripping this statement apart. Her clothes deliver a very strong message to young girls – dress this way and the boys will want to sleep with you. And her songs? We should focus on her songs. “Feelin’ so dirty.” Okay. She can’t even spell “dirty” properly. Even back in the day when she was more “innocent,” she was sixteen years old singing “What a Girl Wants” (at sixteen, a girl wants a boyfriend with a car) and “I’m a genie in a bottle/You gotta rub me the right way.” Yeah, those are great things for impressionable teenage girls to be focusing on.
Then there was another caller whose basic argument was that if you’ve got it, you should flaunt it. Hi, thirteen-year-old girls (in general) don’t have anything to flaunt. Except maybe the fact that they’ve outgrown their baby fat. Woo hoo! While that may seem like a large achievement to some, I still don’t think it merits halter tops and micro mini skirts.
I don’t want to sound like an ultra-conservative stick in the mud, here, which is how I’m pretty sure I’m coming off. But if I can draw from The Simpsons to make a point here, I’d like to reference the episode wherein Lisa Kudrow was one of the guest voices. She played a classmate of Lisa’s who had a credit card and wore perfume and wanted to have a school dance and be dating and stuff at eight years old. By the end of the episode, we see that she is the only kid in school really ready to deal with that. Lisa’s argument is that we only have a short time to be kids – to play in the mud and eat junk food without worry and not bathe for three days – and that we should embrace and enjoy that time before we try to grow up. Aside from the not bathing thing, I have to agree with her.
Christina Aguilera is free to dress however she wants to dress. She is an adult and is allowed to make her own decisions. I have to give her some credit for having the balls to wear that stuff. But at the same time, it does make me a little bit sad that twelve and thirteen year old girls feel the need to wear that stuff, too. I don’t think they fully understand the statement Christina is trying to make. Sometimes, I’m not sure Christina fully understands the statement she is trying to make. Hell, I’m not sure I fully understand the point I’m trying to make. I wouldn’t forbid my daughter to wear clothes like that. I probably wouldn’t buy them for her, but I wouldn’t forbid her. I guess I would just hope that she would understand what a bold, sexual statement she is making and that she is prepared for the consequences of her statement, whatever they might be. Dressing like that will get a woman attention, positive and negative. And I hope my daughter would be able to disregard the negative and focus on the positive energy that comes from being comfortable in her own skin.
Maybe that’s what bugs me about it. For me, being comfortable in my own skin means I don’t have to show it off all of the time in order to get attention. I don’t fully understand the exhibitionist mindset. Maybe one day I’ll get to play an exhibitionist and then I’ll understand it. Until then, I'm stickin' with my green corduroy pants.
I went to therapy last night and ran into a guy I hadn’t seen in a while. That was kind of nice. I didn’t do as well as one might have hoped, but there were a lot of powerhouse musicians in the crowd, so I wasn’t really surprised, either. It was nice. Yes, I still got really nervous, but I didn’t feel as competitive about it as I have in the past, which I think is a good thing. It’s not about whether or not I take home money at the end of the night; it is about me conquering my fears. It’s kind of nice to feel that coming into perspective.
Monday, April 21, 2003
They’re building a building right next door to my building. It’s kind of neat to watch. I’ve been here long enough that I remember the old building. I remember the mass exodus of cockroaches that happened when they knocked that building down. I remember when they put up the crane. I remember when my building was next to a giant hole in the ground. And now, the spot that was a giant hole just a few short months ago is filled with two stories of concrete and steel infrastructure. Yes, it will still be a long time before the building next to my building is an actual building, but it’s kind of neat to watch them building it. And I like to use the word building.
It’s not even 11:00 in the morning and I’m ready to go home. I’ve had enough of this today already.
It was reinforced to me again this weekend what a wonderful family and group of friends I have. A bunch of them came out to see my show and really enjoyed it. And I got to see my family for Easter dinner, even though I don’t really do Easter. But my aunt really went out of her way to make sure there would be enough for me to eat, too. It was amazing and really touching. I don’t know if my saying thank you a lot really got across how much it means to me that she put in the time and effort to feed me, too, so thank you to my aunt.
And I watched some early X-Files last night that I inherited over the weekend. Man, was that a great show. They were really creepy. I had kind of forgotten about the creepy factor.
But despite all of this, I’m feeling the need to take some time off, socially speaking. Take a day or two from work and not talk to anyone. New York is calling to me, too. I’d really like to go back there. Eat at TeaNY. Maybe I should just spend my afternoon reading Moby updates and then I’ll feel better. Yummy tidbits of Moby goodness. I’m not even sure what is wrong, if anything is actually even wrong. Maybe it's the fucking weather. Maybe I am one of those people who doesn’t feel right if nothing is wrong. Things have been really good for a while now. Something to think about. If I had a day when I didn’t have to be here.
It was reinforced to me again this weekend what a wonderful family and group of friends I have. A bunch of them came out to see my show and really enjoyed it. And I got to see my family for Easter dinner, even though I don’t really do Easter. But my aunt really went out of her way to make sure there would be enough for me to eat, too. It was amazing and really touching. I don’t know if my saying thank you a lot really got across how much it means to me that she put in the time and effort to feed me, too, so thank you to my aunt.
And I watched some early X-Files last night that I inherited over the weekend. Man, was that a great show. They were really creepy. I had kind of forgotten about the creepy factor.
But despite all of this, I’m feeling the need to take some time off, socially speaking. Take a day or two from work and not talk to anyone. New York is calling to me, too. I’d really like to go back there. Eat at TeaNY. Maybe I should just spend my afternoon reading Moby updates and then I’ll feel better. Yummy tidbits of Moby goodness. I’m not even sure what is wrong, if anything is actually even wrong. Maybe it's the fucking weather. Maybe I am one of those people who doesn’t feel right if nothing is wrong. Things have been really good for a while now. Something to think about. If I had a day when I didn’t have to be here.
Friday, April 18, 2003
Thursday, April 17, 2003
I am a firm believer in the fact that the shoes can make or break the outfit. That being said, I am really amused by a lot of women’s shoes. The whole platform shoe thing seems to have passed, somewhat, but really thick-soled shoes seem to still be pretty popular. And they just look funny to me.
I know a lot of short women wear platform or platform-type shoes so that they can appear taller. Okay. Fine. Whatever. But take a particularly petite woman who wears maybe a size five shoe. That’s a pretty small shoe. Any smaller, and it is a large child’s shoe. But let’s say for argument’s sake, it’s a sneaker. It probably has a rounded toe on it, which makes shoes look even smaller than they really are. And then you put a three-inch sole on it. The sole is now thicker than the shoe is long. It no longer looks like a tall woman wearing sneakers; it looks like a short woman walking on phone books that she tied to the bottoms of her feet to make her look taller. It’s amusing to me.
Yet another reason why I call myself a hippie: I like to be in contact with the ground. I like the feeling of my feet hitting the ground. It is comforting somehow to know that I am in touch with the earth on which I reside. So I wear shoes with minimal soles on them (enough padding to be comfortable, but not so much that I look like I’m on stilts) and I can’t help but chuckle at the women who look like they are walking three inches above the ground all the time. I’d get tired of being up there. I guess I’m too grounded for platform shoes.
I know a lot of short women wear platform or platform-type shoes so that they can appear taller. Okay. Fine. Whatever. But take a particularly petite woman who wears maybe a size five shoe. That’s a pretty small shoe. Any smaller, and it is a large child’s shoe. But let’s say for argument’s sake, it’s a sneaker. It probably has a rounded toe on it, which makes shoes look even smaller than they really are. And then you put a three-inch sole on it. The sole is now thicker than the shoe is long. It no longer looks like a tall woman wearing sneakers; it looks like a short woman walking on phone books that she tied to the bottoms of her feet to make her look taller. It’s amusing to me.
Yet another reason why I call myself a hippie: I like to be in contact with the ground. I like the feeling of my feet hitting the ground. It is comforting somehow to know that I am in touch with the earth on which I reside. So I wear shoes with minimal soles on them (enough padding to be comfortable, but not so much that I look like I’m on stilts) and I can’t help but chuckle at the women who look like they are walking three inches above the ground all the time. I’d get tired of being up there. I guess I’m too grounded for platform shoes.
Wednesday, April 16, 2003
I’m drained. And it’s only Wednesday. When did weeks start lasting for months?
I know exactly why I’m drained, too, but it’s not something I’m really going to go into detail about here on my blog for the rest of the world to see. Believe it or not, I do keep some things to myself. I know, hard to believe, huh? I spit out the waste material that collects in my brain willy-nilly, but I do keep some things in there for just me to enjoy. And if any of you were Art Linkletter, you would be asking me right now for an example of that. Like when he used to ask kids, “What did your parents tell you not to say when you came on the show?” on Kids Say the Darndest Things. That was such a good show when Art Linkletter did it. It was such a miserable failure when Bill Cosby did it. Why do they do that? Why does Hollywood try to remake everything that was good and make it better? Haven’t they learned yet that it doesn’t work? The point of Kids Say the Darndest Things was not that Art Linkletter was funny; it was that the kids were funny. Somehow, that concept was lost in the remake and it became a show about Bill Cosby’s comments on what the kids said and his comments weren’t all that funny. There is a wonderful IRC 60 Second Rant with Frank Whaley about exactly this: why does Hollywood remake the good stuff (ultimately making it worse) instead of remaking the bad stuff to make it better? Of course, he rips on Swing Kids which I cannot in good conscious do because I am a lindy hopper and I did spend a great deal of time dancing just as badly as they do in that film, but the point is still an important one. How about a remake of The Shadow or The Phantom Menace? Something that had potential that just wasn’t realized. Those would be Hollywood dollars well spent. Or, they could save all that money by just not making crap in the first place. I should be a Hollywood executive. Get the film industry back on the right track, producing quality films like they did back in the day before studio films were a joke. Man, I really am talking out of my ass pissing people off today, aren’t I? I should stop that before I get myself blacklisted.
See what happens when I get drained and then try to type? Friends don’t let friends post tired.
I know exactly why I’m drained, too, but it’s not something I’m really going to go into detail about here on my blog for the rest of the world to see. Believe it or not, I do keep some things to myself. I know, hard to believe, huh? I spit out the waste material that collects in my brain willy-nilly, but I do keep some things in there for just me to enjoy. And if any of you were Art Linkletter, you would be asking me right now for an example of that. Like when he used to ask kids, “What did your parents tell you not to say when you came on the show?” on Kids Say the Darndest Things. That was such a good show when Art Linkletter did it. It was such a miserable failure when Bill Cosby did it. Why do they do that? Why does Hollywood try to remake everything that was good and make it better? Haven’t they learned yet that it doesn’t work? The point of Kids Say the Darndest Things was not that Art Linkletter was funny; it was that the kids were funny. Somehow, that concept was lost in the remake and it became a show about Bill Cosby’s comments on what the kids said and his comments weren’t all that funny. There is a wonderful IRC 60 Second Rant with Frank Whaley about exactly this: why does Hollywood remake the good stuff (ultimately making it worse) instead of remaking the bad stuff to make it better? Of course, he rips on Swing Kids which I cannot in good conscious do because I am a lindy hopper and I did spend a great deal of time dancing just as badly as they do in that film, but the point is still an important one. How about a remake of The Shadow or The Phantom Menace? Something that had potential that just wasn’t realized. Those would be Hollywood dollars well spent. Or, they could save all that money by just not making crap in the first place. I should be a Hollywood executive. Get the film industry back on the right track, producing quality films like they did back in the day before studio films were a joke. Man, I really am talking out of my ass pissing people off today, aren’t I? I should stop that before I get myself blacklisted.
See what happens when I get drained and then try to type? Friends don’t let friends post tired.
Tuesday, April 15, 2003
Okay, so I have a question for you. Why is it that whenever a woman washes her face in a commercial for a facial cleansing product of some sort, she never washes her forehead? You see her lather up her cheeks, chin, and nose, but not her forehead. Why is this? Is this another one of those magical things that only happens on television – women’s foreheads don’t get dirty? I know for a fact that mine does. When I’m out dancing, my forehead sweats. And then my hair gets all stringy and sticks to it and everything. It’s really not pretty. So I make a point of washing my forehead. Hell, that’s half my face. What is the cosmetic industry trying to tell us by showing women washing only half of their faces? No wonder we're so concerned with acne provention products. If we would just wash our whole face, the acne industry would go out of buiness.
Monday, April 14, 2003
People do interventions for smokers. People do interventions for alcoholics. People do interventions for drug addicts. Does anyone ever do an intervention for a woman with an unhealthy body image? Why not?
I have been finding myself embracing my physical form more and more lately. I’m not sure why, I just am. My attitudes towards diet and exercise have changed and I feel like I am leveling out at the weight/shape that my body is supposed to be. And I love not hating what I see when I look in the mirror in the morning.
But it makes me look around at my female friends who complain about frizzy hair or big thighs or small breasts or whatever and it makes me really sad that they aren’t as happy with themselves as I am becoming with myself. So I would like to propose the formation of an organization that will do interventions for women with unhealthy body images to get them to change their attitudes and embrace themselves. We’d get together the woman’s closest family and friends and we would go to her house. We would show her pictures of normal women – not supermodels – so she can see what real women look like and are supposed to look like. We would make her sit there while everyone in the room showered her in compliments on her personality and spirit and we would not leave until the positive energy gets through. And at the end of all of it, we would have a brownie demonstration, wherein every woman in the room would eat a brownie and we would all see that the world does not end if one allows oneself little indulgences.
Wait a minute. That’s called being a friend, isn’t it?
I’m sorry. I feel like I have found this wonderful bit of knowledge and I want to share it with the rest of the world, with all of the women out there who wake up in the morning, look in the mirror and are depressed by what they see. And I know I can tell my friends that they are beautiful, and I do as often as I can. I just wish I could deprogram them enough so that they could look in the mirror and see beauty, too. I’m going to have to think about this one for a while. Come up with a solid plan of attack.
I have been finding myself embracing my physical form more and more lately. I’m not sure why, I just am. My attitudes towards diet and exercise have changed and I feel like I am leveling out at the weight/shape that my body is supposed to be. And I love not hating what I see when I look in the mirror in the morning.
But it makes me look around at my female friends who complain about frizzy hair or big thighs or small breasts or whatever and it makes me really sad that they aren’t as happy with themselves as I am becoming with myself. So I would like to propose the formation of an organization that will do interventions for women with unhealthy body images to get them to change their attitudes and embrace themselves. We’d get together the woman’s closest family and friends and we would go to her house. We would show her pictures of normal women – not supermodels – so she can see what real women look like and are supposed to look like. We would make her sit there while everyone in the room showered her in compliments on her personality and spirit and we would not leave until the positive energy gets through. And at the end of all of it, we would have a brownie demonstration, wherein every woman in the room would eat a brownie and we would all see that the world does not end if one allows oneself little indulgences.
Wait a minute. That’s called being a friend, isn’t it?
I’m sorry. I feel like I have found this wonderful bit of knowledge and I want to share it with the rest of the world, with all of the women out there who wake up in the morning, look in the mirror and are depressed by what they see. And I know I can tell my friends that they are beautiful, and I do as often as I can. I just wish I could deprogram them enough so that they could look in the mirror and see beauty, too. I’m going to have to think about this one for a while. Come up with a solid plan of attack.
“And then you had to bring up reincarnation/Over a couple of beers the other night.”
I get asked on occasion if I believe in reincarnation or not, probably because I’m a hippie and all hippies believe in reincarnation, right? And all generalizations are bad. But the more I think about it, the more I find it hard not to believe in reincarnation of one sort or another. I don’t necessarily think that has to mean I was Eleanor Roosevelt in my last life or anything, I think it is just a general part of the universal recycling that happens. I mean, think about it. In science class in elementary school, you learn about the hydrogen cycle and the nitrogen cycle and the carbon cycle and stuff – everything in the universe is recycled to one degree or another. Vegetables grow, I eat them, I digest them, microorganisms feed on my waste matter and produce their own waste matter from which vegetables get the nutrients they need to grow and so on and so forth all over the place. So why is it so out there to think that a soul has been recycled?
There is so much that goes on in the universe that we can’t see or understand. Like when you meet someone for the first time and instantly feel as if you have known him or her your entire life. Or when you meet someone and get a really bad vibe from him or her when you shake his or her hand. The scientist in me wants to believe that there is a logical explanation for these phenomenon. And if that explanation is that part of person’s soul has been recycled and I am running into an old friend or an old enemy in a different form…okay, yeah, maybe I should write for Star Trek or Quantum Leap or something. I miss Quantum Leap. That was a great show. But I digress.
I met an old friend for the first time this weekend and it was really nice. Maybe we knew each other before; maybe I’m full of hot air. Feel free to chalk it up to me being a hippie if you want, but if being a hippie means I can go outside and lie in the grass and enjoy this absolutely beautiful spring day, and I can be totally comfortable with a person I just met, then I’m proud to be a hippie. So there.
I get asked on occasion if I believe in reincarnation or not, probably because I’m a hippie and all hippies believe in reincarnation, right? And all generalizations are bad. But the more I think about it, the more I find it hard not to believe in reincarnation of one sort or another. I don’t necessarily think that has to mean I was Eleanor Roosevelt in my last life or anything, I think it is just a general part of the universal recycling that happens. I mean, think about it. In science class in elementary school, you learn about the hydrogen cycle and the nitrogen cycle and the carbon cycle and stuff – everything in the universe is recycled to one degree or another. Vegetables grow, I eat them, I digest them, microorganisms feed on my waste matter and produce their own waste matter from which vegetables get the nutrients they need to grow and so on and so forth all over the place. So why is it so out there to think that a soul has been recycled?
There is so much that goes on in the universe that we can’t see or understand. Like when you meet someone for the first time and instantly feel as if you have known him or her your entire life. Or when you meet someone and get a really bad vibe from him or her when you shake his or her hand. The scientist in me wants to believe that there is a logical explanation for these phenomenon. And if that explanation is that part of person’s soul has been recycled and I am running into an old friend or an old enemy in a different form…okay, yeah, maybe I should write for Star Trek or Quantum Leap or something. I miss Quantum Leap. That was a great show. But I digress.
I met an old friend for the first time this weekend and it was really nice. Maybe we knew each other before; maybe I’m full of hot air. Feel free to chalk it up to me being a hippie if you want, but if being a hippie means I can go outside and lie in the grass and enjoy this absolutely beautiful spring day, and I can be totally comfortable with a person I just met, then I’m proud to be a hippie. So there.
Friday, April 11, 2003
I just looked down at the little clock on my computer and noticed that it is 3:35pm. Now, I know we just had daylight savings time, but I also know that it can't only be 3:35pm because I got to work at 7:30 this morning and I have been here for SIXTY-TWO HOURS already today. So you see, it is not only 3:35 in the afternoon on a Friday. It is really the middle of the day on Sunday and I should be outside enjoying the beautiful weather we're having before next week comes and it is winter again.
Have a lovely weekend, kids!
Have a lovely weekend, kids!
So I was thinking about it last night and I’ve started to rethink my position as a mutant in the world of dating. This might not be a bad thing.
I went on a first date last night. It was fun. He was a cool guy. The conversation kept going though a lot of various topics. I think it is safe to say that fun was had by all. But as I’m sitting there talking to this guy, it occurs to me that I can’t come up with any real “demons” that might frighten a guy away. I used to have them, sure. Depression, not being over fucknut, that kind of thing. But I am over fucknut now. And I’m not depressed. And it may be a really naïve belief, but I do believe that I won’t be depressed again. I think I have enough other mechanisms in place in my life to be able to see that coming and head it off at the pass before it gets too terrible. So what else is there? I have bouts of self-consciousness, but who doesn’t? I get nervous, but who doesn’t? I’m actually probably a lot more balanced than a lot of the women out there. As I was talking to my date last night, I realized that a lot of the things coming out of my mouth were probably things your average guy doesn’t expect to hear a woman talk about on a first date. But in the good way.
Or maybe I’m manic and delusional.
But in all honesty, I’m feeling pretty good about my date tonight. I’m looking forward to it. He already knows a fair amount about me and I don’t know that it’s going to get any worse than that. Except for maybe the vegan thing. Hopefully he’ll look past that. Or he’ll be one, too. Wouldn’t that be great?
I went on a first date last night. It was fun. He was a cool guy. The conversation kept going though a lot of various topics. I think it is safe to say that fun was had by all. But as I’m sitting there talking to this guy, it occurs to me that I can’t come up with any real “demons” that might frighten a guy away. I used to have them, sure. Depression, not being over fucknut, that kind of thing. But I am over fucknut now. And I’m not depressed. And it may be a really naïve belief, but I do believe that I won’t be depressed again. I think I have enough other mechanisms in place in my life to be able to see that coming and head it off at the pass before it gets too terrible. So what else is there? I have bouts of self-consciousness, but who doesn’t? I get nervous, but who doesn’t? I’m actually probably a lot more balanced than a lot of the women out there. As I was talking to my date last night, I realized that a lot of the things coming out of my mouth were probably things your average guy doesn’t expect to hear a woman talk about on a first date. But in the good way.
Or maybe I’m manic and delusional.
But in all honesty, I’m feeling pretty good about my date tonight. I’m looking forward to it. He already knows a fair amount about me and I don’t know that it’s going to get any worse than that. Except for maybe the vegan thing. Hopefully he’ll look past that. Or he’ll be one, too. Wouldn’t that be great?
Thursday, April 10, 2003
First dates. First meetings. First impressions. They’re kind of daunting and something I think I have yet to master. Though if you talk to other people, they might say I do just fine, but once again, I’m the one who knows the real story. It’s like going on an audition except it’s much more personal than an audition. When I go in to read for a role, there are any one of a million reasons why a director would choose not to cast me – physical appearance, I didn’t interpret the character the way the director wanted, my schedule is too crazy to be able to work with me, or as good as I was, there was just plain somebody better. I’m used to this breed of rejection. In a strange way, it makes sense to me. I have learned that it really isn’t personal and has no bearing on my abilities as an actor or my marketability.
But meeting someone for the first time…there’s no good way to put it. It is personal. Completely personal. And of course you want that other person to like you. Unless you’re Eminem who seems to want the world to hate him. Whatever, that’s his thing. I, on the other hand, want people to like me when I first meet them. That’s a lot of pressure to place on oneself. Especially when one doesn’t have any special tricks or lines or moves or anything. First dates are the one situation in which I sometimes wish I could be something other than myself. I wish I could be the girl who is happy with mundane conversation and manages to keep the guy interested enough so that he watches her walk away as she goes to the rest room. I wish I could flip on the happy, perky switch and keep my date laughing all night. But I’m not that girl and I don’t want to present anyone with an image of me that is anything other than me. And I’m still naïve enough to believe that there is a guy out there who will appreciate me for me and will appreciate the fact that I’m not putting on a show for him. That’s a lot of pressure, though, to be oneself in front of an absolute stranger, yet still, somehow, get that person to like you. Needless to say, I get nervous.
I find myself ranking first meetings in the same way that I rank auditions. There are auditions that I go on just for the sake of auditioning. I know I will not be cast, but I need to keep my auditioning skills up to speed, so I go. These are low-pressure auditions. I might not pull out my lucky outfit or my greatest monologue and I usually don’t need to call my friend in San Francisco afterwards to have her tell me that I’m still a good person. These ones just slide right off. But if I’m auditioning for a part I really want, I get really nervous. I put in extra effort to look appropriate for the character. I select a monologue that is closest to what I think the character would say. I spend at least an hour, if not two, before the audition, prepping myself for it and when it is over, I am exhausted. And then I hem and haw over my performance for another hour afterwards, muttering things to my cat like, “How can I possibly show this director what kind of actor I am in thirty seconds? I’m more dedicated than anyone else they will see today and I could do this part standing on my head with one hand tied behind my back. I would kill to do this part standing on my head. I didn’t really show that in my thirty seconds, though, did I?” And when I don’t get called back from those auditions, I’ll admit that I am disappointed. I know it’s not the end of the world, but the disappointment monster stops by for a visit anyway.
Meeting a new friend for the same time is like a low-pressure audition. Meeting a potential suitor for the first time is like a high-pressure audition. You try to pick out clothes that are flattering, yet appropriate for the venue. You try to put your best face forward. You feel this strange obligation to stick to small talk at a first meeting, all the while you’re dying to ask the interesting, meaty questions. Because as we all know, “Men don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses,” be they physical glasses or metaphorical ones. You find yourself walking this fine line of flirtation versus real conversation because if the conversation gets too deep, you plant yourself instantly in friend territory, but if you flirt too much, you turn into a one night stand and you’ll never get to the good conversation.
In case you couldn’t guess, I have a couple of first meetings coming up soon. I am looking forward to them and I am nervous about them. But since the one thing I pride myself on more than anything is my ability to just be myself, I guess that will have to be my plan of attack. Though I would like to say to any directors out there and to any potential suitors, please bear with me if I seem nervous. That just means I really want to be there.
But meeting someone for the first time…there’s no good way to put it. It is personal. Completely personal. And of course you want that other person to like you. Unless you’re Eminem who seems to want the world to hate him. Whatever, that’s his thing. I, on the other hand, want people to like me when I first meet them. That’s a lot of pressure to place on oneself. Especially when one doesn’t have any special tricks or lines or moves or anything. First dates are the one situation in which I sometimes wish I could be something other than myself. I wish I could be the girl who is happy with mundane conversation and manages to keep the guy interested enough so that he watches her walk away as she goes to the rest room. I wish I could flip on the happy, perky switch and keep my date laughing all night. But I’m not that girl and I don’t want to present anyone with an image of me that is anything other than me. And I’m still naïve enough to believe that there is a guy out there who will appreciate me for me and will appreciate the fact that I’m not putting on a show for him. That’s a lot of pressure, though, to be oneself in front of an absolute stranger, yet still, somehow, get that person to like you. Needless to say, I get nervous.
I find myself ranking first meetings in the same way that I rank auditions. There are auditions that I go on just for the sake of auditioning. I know I will not be cast, but I need to keep my auditioning skills up to speed, so I go. These are low-pressure auditions. I might not pull out my lucky outfit or my greatest monologue and I usually don’t need to call my friend in San Francisco afterwards to have her tell me that I’m still a good person. These ones just slide right off. But if I’m auditioning for a part I really want, I get really nervous. I put in extra effort to look appropriate for the character. I select a monologue that is closest to what I think the character would say. I spend at least an hour, if not two, before the audition, prepping myself for it and when it is over, I am exhausted. And then I hem and haw over my performance for another hour afterwards, muttering things to my cat like, “How can I possibly show this director what kind of actor I am in thirty seconds? I’m more dedicated than anyone else they will see today and I could do this part standing on my head with one hand tied behind my back. I would kill to do this part standing on my head. I didn’t really show that in my thirty seconds, though, did I?” And when I don’t get called back from those auditions, I’ll admit that I am disappointed. I know it’s not the end of the world, but the disappointment monster stops by for a visit anyway.
Meeting a new friend for the same time is like a low-pressure audition. Meeting a potential suitor for the first time is like a high-pressure audition. You try to pick out clothes that are flattering, yet appropriate for the venue. You try to put your best face forward. You feel this strange obligation to stick to small talk at a first meeting, all the while you’re dying to ask the interesting, meaty questions. Because as we all know, “Men don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses,” be they physical glasses or metaphorical ones. You find yourself walking this fine line of flirtation versus real conversation because if the conversation gets too deep, you plant yourself instantly in friend territory, but if you flirt too much, you turn into a one night stand and you’ll never get to the good conversation.
In case you couldn’t guess, I have a couple of first meetings coming up soon. I am looking forward to them and I am nervous about them. But since the one thing I pride myself on more than anything is my ability to just be myself, I guess that will have to be my plan of attack. Though I would like to say to any directors out there and to any potential suitors, please bear with me if I seem nervous. That just means I really want to be there.
Wednesday, April 09, 2003
One of the things I miss about working in a costume studio (besides getting to wear overalls to work) is the opportunity to dress someone in really horrible clothes. Things with ball fringe on them. Or putting plaids, stripes, and polka dots in the same outfit. There is always one character in every show who you can just dress badly and have it work for them. And I kind of miss that. The majority of my wardrobe is black, white and gray so I even have problems making myself look horrible sometimes (though if I try hard enough, I can do it).
So today, I am wearing my really awful orange polyester shirt that I got for free from the costume studio where I used to work. My co-workers there misinterpreted my love of making one character look horrible in every show as a love of really horrible clothes. So they would find really bad polyester shirts or leopard print halter-tops and think they were perfect for me. Most of the time, they were wrong. But this one bad orange polyester shirt is really wonderful. It is loud and obnoxious and has a huge 1970’s collar on it and I really love it. It feels very indulgent to wear it because it satisfies that craving within me to dress someone really badly. I use myself in an experimental capacity in many other ways, I might as well play with my own clothes every once in a while, right?
So today, I am wearing my really awful orange polyester shirt that I got for free from the costume studio where I used to work. My co-workers there misinterpreted my love of making one character look horrible in every show as a love of really horrible clothes. So they would find really bad polyester shirts or leopard print halter-tops and think they were perfect for me. Most of the time, they were wrong. But this one bad orange polyester shirt is really wonderful. It is loud and obnoxious and has a huge 1970’s collar on it and I really love it. It feels very indulgent to wear it because it satisfies that craving within me to dress someone really badly. I use myself in an experimental capacity in many other ways, I might as well play with my own clothes every once in a while, right?
Tuesday, April 08, 2003
So I unhid my personal ad just to see what kind of response I would get and I have to admit, it’s a little overwhelming. And now I’m stuck with the question of who do I respond to and who do I not respond to. I feel like I should at least take the time to say thank you to all of the people who e-mailed me for taking the time to e-mail me, you know? But by the same token, there are some in there who I really don’t want to encourage and perhaps my silence is the best way to handle that. Or the least potentially painful way. I have responded to some guys who haven’t written me back and no sweat, you know? Then again, I’m an actor, so I’m used to rejection.
But part of me would like to deal with this as an experiment. And experiment in human interactions. Find out if some of those guys who don’t have the best pictures really are as great as their profiles sound. See if maybe there are some great friends out there to be made. But does that constitute playing? I guess if I am honest with each and every one of them, there really is no harm in talking to people, right? Or am I just trying to justify behavior that makes me slightly nervous?
I am still being confronted by people who I know who are just finding out who I am. What I am capable of. I’ve always known that I have a lot of offer people and it is kind of nice to see that being noticed. Maybe I’m just in a place right now where I am ready to show more people what I am made of. Who knows. But I have a few e-mails to send, so I’m going to stop this now.
But part of me would like to deal with this as an experiment. And experiment in human interactions. Find out if some of those guys who don’t have the best pictures really are as great as their profiles sound. See if maybe there are some great friends out there to be made. But does that constitute playing? I guess if I am honest with each and every one of them, there really is no harm in talking to people, right? Or am I just trying to justify behavior that makes me slightly nervous?
I am still being confronted by people who I know who are just finding out who I am. What I am capable of. I’ve always known that I have a lot of offer people and it is kind of nice to see that being noticed. Maybe I’m just in a place right now where I am ready to show more people what I am made of. Who knows. But I have a few e-mails to send, so I’m going to stop this now.
Monday, April 07, 2003
I think it has been proven today that Mother Nature doesn’t approve of what is going on over in the Middle East right now. We’ve had pretty crappy weather since this whole skirmish started and now, this morning, we wake up to an inch of snow on the ground. That really heavy, thick, wet snow that insulates everything. It was very unnerving this morning when Owen woke me up at about 4:00 (like he always does) to not hear any traffic noises outside my window. It’s odd how I have come to depend on traffic noises to help me fall asleep. But there was no noise. There was a beautiful blanket of snow covering everything and everything was still. And despite the fact that one cardinal rule of springtime has been broken (no snow after daylight savings time), things really do look pretty covered in snow. I’m thinking that Mother Nature is thinking that there is too much ugliness going on in the world right now and just wanted something pretty and peaceful and still for a little while.
One of my own family members forwarded an e-mail to me this morning encouraging me to boycott the new stamp put out by the United States Post Office commemorating the Muslim EID holiday. This e-mail said that usage of this stamp is a slap in the face to every person who lost their life or a loved one in one of several incidents (the two attacks on the World Trade Center, etc) that were led by Muslims. It was really hard for me to not reply to her and say that perpetuating that kind of hatred is exactly why these incidents happened in the first place, and that I was offended not only that she sent me the e-mail, but that she would expect me to forward it along to others. Instead, I just deleted the message and then emptied my trash folder. There is enough ugliness in the world right now. I don’t need to add to it.
So we are covered in a blanket of snow. Sure, it’s a temporary fix that only makes things look pretty, but it makes things look pretty for a little while. I think we could all use something nice to look at every now and again. I know I could.
One of my own family members forwarded an e-mail to me this morning encouraging me to boycott the new stamp put out by the United States Post Office commemorating the Muslim EID holiday. This e-mail said that usage of this stamp is a slap in the face to every person who lost their life or a loved one in one of several incidents (the two attacks on the World Trade Center, etc) that were led by Muslims. It was really hard for me to not reply to her and say that perpetuating that kind of hatred is exactly why these incidents happened in the first place, and that I was offended not only that she sent me the e-mail, but that she would expect me to forward it along to others. Instead, I just deleted the message and then emptied my trash folder. There is enough ugliness in the world right now. I don’t need to add to it.
So we are covered in a blanket of snow. Sure, it’s a temporary fix that only makes things look pretty, but it makes things look pretty for a little while. I think we could all use something nice to look at every now and again. I know I could.
Friday, April 04, 2003
I saw The Hours last night. And I think I’m losing my edge ‘cuz I don’t think I got it. I understand that we’re watching three stories about three women who are all feeling trapped in one way or another and we see three different resolutions to their problems. But none of them are really satisfactory resolutions and there are a lot of things that just seemed to pass by without getting the attention they should have and there was a lot more exposition that I would have liked to have had in there to make things a little bit easier to understand and I think I should read the book so I can find out what was going on. Why I am supposed to care about these women, beyond the fact that I can relate to them.
I remember being depressed. I remember feeling trapped. I remember considering death as a way out of my situation. I remember the need to hide all of those thoughts and feelings from everyone around me. I don’t think Julianne Moore did a very good job of hiding those things. But I did find myself feeling incredibly lucky watching this film that I no longer feel that way. That I no longer feel trapped. That I no longer feel the need to hide everything. I have outlets for my feelings and thoughts now and I feel that I am much healthier and happier because of that. And yes, this blog is one of those outlets. Maybe that’s why I don’t want to give it up.
I was also hit yesterday with another Clash of Perceptions. My friend and I went out for a drink after seeing the movie and having dinner (yummy tempeh burger…mmm…tempeh). We ran into some of our other friends and really just had a pleasant evening. But one of these other friends had just encountered my online persona for the first time and said his image of me skyrocketed upon reading some of the stuff that I post in various places. He said he never knew I was so clever and witty and intelligent because I am kind of quiet when I go out. Another friend chimed in saying that one of the reasons she started pursuing conversations with me a while ago is because of the intelligence and humor in the things I have posted in various places. And of course, they are talking about me in the third person while I’m sitting there turning bright red (‘cuz we all know I don’t handle compliments very well). But again, I was faced with people who see me as kind of quiet who are amazed to find out that there is a lot more to me than that. I kind of like it that I can still surprise people. I really like it that I can still surprise myself. I wouldn’t say, though, that I am hiding who I am from people. I’m just not advertising all of it. I like that.
Man, that was a random entry. I guess the gist of it is that I feel very lucky in that I don’t have to hide who I am from people, but that I’m still much more complex than the average person would think. I’m feeling happy to be me today.
I remember being depressed. I remember feeling trapped. I remember considering death as a way out of my situation. I remember the need to hide all of those thoughts and feelings from everyone around me. I don’t think Julianne Moore did a very good job of hiding those things. But I did find myself feeling incredibly lucky watching this film that I no longer feel that way. That I no longer feel trapped. That I no longer feel the need to hide everything. I have outlets for my feelings and thoughts now and I feel that I am much healthier and happier because of that. And yes, this blog is one of those outlets. Maybe that’s why I don’t want to give it up.
I was also hit yesterday with another Clash of Perceptions. My friend and I went out for a drink after seeing the movie and having dinner (yummy tempeh burger…mmm…tempeh). We ran into some of our other friends and really just had a pleasant evening. But one of these other friends had just encountered my online persona for the first time and said his image of me skyrocketed upon reading some of the stuff that I post in various places. He said he never knew I was so clever and witty and intelligent because I am kind of quiet when I go out. Another friend chimed in saying that one of the reasons she started pursuing conversations with me a while ago is because of the intelligence and humor in the things I have posted in various places. And of course, they are talking about me in the third person while I’m sitting there turning bright red (‘cuz we all know I don’t handle compliments very well). But again, I was faced with people who see me as kind of quiet who are amazed to find out that there is a lot more to me than that. I kind of like it that I can still surprise people. I really like it that I can still surprise myself. I wouldn’t say, though, that I am hiding who I am from people. I’m just not advertising all of it. I like that.
Man, that was a random entry. I guess the gist of it is that I feel very lucky in that I don’t have to hide who I am from people, but that I’m still much more complex than the average person would think. I’m feeling happy to be me today.
Thursday, April 03, 2003
A friend of mine is going to try yet another diet now. It’s driving me nuts. If she feels that she has put on weight and wants to do something about it, fine. But the reasons she always gives me for wanting to lose weight are things like, “I overheard some guys talking about how I have gained some weight and it made me feel ugly.” So what? That is not motivation to go on a diet. That is motivation to slap those guys in the mouth and tell them to mind their own fucking business.
I just hate to see her on the whole yo-yo diet thing. If one trick doesn’t work, move on to the next. If she is really serious about changing her body shape, it is a lifestyle change that needs to be made, not a quick eating fix. Portion size, portion content, meal times, exercise, all of these things contribute to a person’s general appearance. You can alter one for a little while and you will alter your appearance for a little while. But if you don’t go in whole-heartedly and make an all out lifestyle change, the temporary change won’t stay.
I hate to sit here and proselytize, but this is one of the reasons I love being vegan. I made a lifestyle choice that suits me. I feel good. I don’t feel fat anymore. I know I’m still not a stick figure, but I think I look pretty good. I have more muscle and more tone than I used to because my overall diet is lower in fat and cholesterol and I started working out. But I don’t deprive myself of things I really love. I don’t starve myself only to binge later. If I want chocolate, I’ll eat some chocolate. And I don’t beat myself up if I miss a day of working out. And since I have stopped restricting myself so much, I don’t eat as much. It’s a really strange psychology. (And yes, I am aware of the fact that it sounds really strange to hear me talk about eliminating my eating restrictions when I am on what some people consider the most restrictive diet known to man.) But if I am hungry at three in the morning, I’ll have a little something. If I want junk food, I’ll have some junk food. I have, essentially, eliminated the guilt that accompanies eating so now I can eat for sustenance instead of for pleasure or comfort or out of boredom. And my body is working/has worked the rest of it out.
I want so badly to be able to tell her this and make her understand it. I want so badly for her to know that she is beautiful no matter what her size is. I want so badly for her to appreciate the fact that she has found her life partner and to listen to him instead of what random guys on the street or anyone else says about her. I want so badly for her to love and accept herself. I want so badly to be able to give that wisdom to her. And it kills me that I can’t. With all of the external pain and suffering that is going on in the world in times of war and in times of peace, I wish that I could free my friend from her internal struggles as they are often times far more damaging.
And I hate the society that has made generations of women believe that they have to look a certain way in order to be loved. But that is a whole other entry.
I just hate to see her on the whole yo-yo diet thing. If one trick doesn’t work, move on to the next. If she is really serious about changing her body shape, it is a lifestyle change that needs to be made, not a quick eating fix. Portion size, portion content, meal times, exercise, all of these things contribute to a person’s general appearance. You can alter one for a little while and you will alter your appearance for a little while. But if you don’t go in whole-heartedly and make an all out lifestyle change, the temporary change won’t stay.
I hate to sit here and proselytize, but this is one of the reasons I love being vegan. I made a lifestyle choice that suits me. I feel good. I don’t feel fat anymore. I know I’m still not a stick figure, but I think I look pretty good. I have more muscle and more tone than I used to because my overall diet is lower in fat and cholesterol and I started working out. But I don’t deprive myself of things I really love. I don’t starve myself only to binge later. If I want chocolate, I’ll eat some chocolate. And I don’t beat myself up if I miss a day of working out. And since I have stopped restricting myself so much, I don’t eat as much. It’s a really strange psychology. (And yes, I am aware of the fact that it sounds really strange to hear me talk about eliminating my eating restrictions when I am on what some people consider the most restrictive diet known to man.) But if I am hungry at three in the morning, I’ll have a little something. If I want junk food, I’ll have some junk food. I have, essentially, eliminated the guilt that accompanies eating so now I can eat for sustenance instead of for pleasure or comfort or out of boredom. And my body is working/has worked the rest of it out.
I want so badly to be able to tell her this and make her understand it. I want so badly for her to know that she is beautiful no matter what her size is. I want so badly for her to appreciate the fact that she has found her life partner and to listen to him instead of what random guys on the street or anyone else says about her. I want so badly for her to love and accept herself. I want so badly to be able to give that wisdom to her. And it kills me that I can’t. With all of the external pain and suffering that is going on in the world in times of war and in times of peace, I wish that I could free my friend from her internal struggles as they are often times far more damaging.
And I hate the society that has made generations of women believe that they have to look a certain way in order to be loved. But that is a whole other entry.
Have you ever had a day when you just felt…simple? There really isn’t any other way to describe it. If someone were to ask you how you were feeling, your only real answer would be, “I’m five.” Because that’s how you feel. You find yourself looking at the world through five-year-old eyes and you see that it is a big scary place and you don’t really belong there, but you have to thrust yourself into the melee and try anyway. So in order to gain some perspective, you focus on the simple things, simple tasks that can get you through the next ten minutes. All that matters is drinking some juice and curling up with your blankie. And you try really hard not to suck your thumb as you pray that you’re a grown-up again soon.
Or is it just me?
Or is it just me?
There is a dead bird outside the window. Not just some random bird that fell out of the sky and died. Not some bird that was shot with a BB gun or anything. This bird was attacked and eaten by another animal. All that is left is the head (with spinal cord still attached) and the scapula/wing bones. The bones have been picked clean – they are pristine and white. And the head is completely untouched. It is disturbing in a way to have that outside the window. You don’t normally see things like that in the city. And it is fascinating, too, somehow, because you can see the skeletal structure of a pigeon up close and personal. I took a picture of it on my way home from work yesterday. I’m not sure why. Maybe, as Ricky Fitts would say, “Because it’s beautiful.”
Wednesday, April 02, 2003
Two random snippets for today:
Random snippet #1 -- Ten of the most beautiful words in the English language are "There will be no increase to your rent this year."
Random snippet #2 -- When people ask me why I like Moby so much, I may just point them here from now on.
Have a lovely day. Get outside and enjoy the nice weather!
Random snippet #1 -- Ten of the most beautiful words in the English language are "There will be no increase to your rent this year."
Random snippet #2 -- When people ask me why I like Moby so much, I may just point them here from now on.
Have a lovely day. Get outside and enjoy the nice weather!
Tuesday, April 01, 2003
And now Blogger is having some sort of unnamed problems and it isn't letting me publish. I'm guessing it's all a big April Fool's Day joke.
You know, out of all the holidays, I think April Fool's Day is my least favorite. Yes, there are some good jokes that are played from time to time, but most people don't know when to stop. Mooning someone is not an April Fool's Day joke. Following everyone else's sentences with "No you didn't. I did." is not an April Fool's Day joke. A good April Fool's Day joke is convincing your entire family that you are pregnant and letting them believe that for three weeks before you say April Fool's to them.
So Blogger, if this is some sort of joke, it's not very funny. A good joke for you would be to say that Blogger.com was shutting down and we all had to copy and paste all of our entries elsewhere by noon today or they would be lost and then set up a fake Blogger site for everyone to re-start their blogs in and call it Regglob.com or something. That would be a good joke. This whole "The site is broken" thing is kind of weak. I'm just sayin'.
You know, out of all the holidays, I think April Fool's Day is my least favorite. Yes, there are some good jokes that are played from time to time, but most people don't know when to stop. Mooning someone is not an April Fool's Day joke. Following everyone else's sentences with "No you didn't. I did." is not an April Fool's Day joke. A good April Fool's Day joke is convincing your entire family that you are pregnant and letting them believe that for three weeks before you say April Fool's to them.
So Blogger, if this is some sort of joke, it's not very funny. A good joke for you would be to say that Blogger.com was shutting down and we all had to copy and paste all of our entries elsewhere by noon today or they would be lost and then set up a fake Blogger site for everyone to re-start their blogs in and call it Regglob.com or something. That would be a good joke. This whole "The site is broken" thing is kind of weak. I'm just sayin'.
I wrote a new song last night. Well, it’s one that I’ve been kind of playing with for a while now, but last night, I got it to a point where I kind of dig it. It’s a very simple little song – simple chords, simple lyrics, simple structure – but it is called “Simple Answer,” so I think it is okay that it is simple. And it is the kind of song that if anyone were to actually produce it, it has some space in it to do interesting, fun things. But I really like it. It’s another one of those songs that I could make big, sad, puppy dogs eyes to the camera in the music video for it. It kind of tugs at the heartstrings a little bit. Or at least I hope it does. There is something so satisfying about a good, sad song. So yeah, I’m looking forward to playing it for people one of these days. Maybe I’ll go back to the open mic night on Monday. I haven’t been there in a while.
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