("Sticking to the pan is what we do around here," said the recalcitrant plums, thumbing their plum noses at me.)
Sunday, September 28, 2008
let this be a lesson for you
"This is what we do with recalcitrant plums around here," I said.
("Sticking to the pan is what we do around here," said the recalcitrant plums, thumbing their plum noses at me.)
("Sticking to the pan is what we do around here," said the recalcitrant plums, thumbing their plum noses at me.)
Going Crutchless
(This should be preceded by Crutch Removals Numbers One and Two, but I haven't written those yet.)
Crutch Removal Number Three
The phone rang. Well, it shouted, really. (Her bag was too enormous for anything short of the most annoying ring set to the highest volume to be successful.)
Frank's face flashed onto her phone, identifying her caller with one of his less attractive photos. (It's not her fault he likes to ham it up for the camera.) She answered happily, as Frank was always a delight to talk to, even when drunk, which she hoped he wouldn't be at 5:45 on a Friday -- especially since, for him, it was really 3:45 out in Nebraska.
"What's going on?" she asked, in a wild-and-crazy-guy kind of voice.
"I just got a new tire on my back."
"You what?"
"I got a new tire on my back."
She stopped, squinted her ears and tried desperately to figure out which word she was screwing up.
"Ok," she said, "your accent's getting in the way. You got a tire on your back?" Frank was Australian, and his accent (one of her many favorite things about him) occasionally made conversation with him into an audial house of mirrors. Sometimes he swapped out familiar words with foreign ones ("bloke" for "guy," etc.), but more often it was the tweaking of a pronunciation that threw her. "Weird" became "weeid," "smart" became "smot," and "party" very often became "poddy."
"No, Jane, on my bicycle. I got a new cover for the wheel of my bicycle."
"Oh, ok. I thought you were just getting fat."
Jane was browsing the aisles of Dean & Deluca aimlessly, killing time until Mallory showed up for dance class. More focused on her conversation than the high end food and wares, she periodically tuned back in to what she was seeing and was baffled. Anise salt? That sounded disgusting. What could you possibly use that for? And quinoa flour -- for all a girl's gluten-free baking needs, thank god! Balsamic jelly. Jane conjured up images of the sixty year old mint jelly in her parents' fridge and wanted to barf. Fancy food seemed like an awful lot of work these days.
"So what else is going on?"
He told her about work, about the poddy he was at last weekend where they set the backyard on fire, how his roommate with the possession conviction was faring with the prospect of pending jailtime (and how he'd gotten a little Jesus-y lately), and finally he wended his way back around to what she really wanted to know.
"So May and I have been seeing someone, you know, kind of working out our issues together."
"Oh, that's great," she said as enthusiastically as she could muster. May was his ex-girlfriend, nearly his wife, and Jane had met Frank soon after they broke up. Now, Jane was all for people working out their issues -- especially Frank-- but she wasn't 100% sold on May. The few stories he had told Jane about her were ugly -- angry, abusive and childish. Like the time she had smashed a window in his car because he didn't want to leave the bar when she did, or when she changed the locks on the front door because he didn't come back from a business trip when he said he would, even though he called to let her know.
Truth was, Jane didn't necessarily want Frank anymore, but she didn't want him to be involved with someone who mistreated him.
"Yeah, kinda."
"What do you mean, 'kinda'?"
"Well, May's got this thing about you."
Jane stopped being the bigger person for a minute and smack in the middle of the cookie cutter aisle, she flat out hated May. "Why?" she demanded, hopefully not as petulantly as she felt.
"Well, she thinks I was sneaking around on her with you."
Deep breathing keeps the nerves calm. (Jane needed periodic reminders.)
"That's ridiculous, Frank. It's nearly impossible to sneak around with someone who lives on the other side of the country." She started contemplating sending a basketload of anise salt and balsamic jelly to May, except that petty revenge should never cost over $60.
"I know, but she saw that you called me once, near the beginning, and freaked out about me seeing someone before she had moved out."
For a brief moment, the earth stopped spinning on its axis. The $14-an-ounce spices flew off their racks, the sushi got up and walked out of the case, and rolling pin after rolling pin fell from the sky to hit Jane on the head. Either Jane had not known, or she had conveniently forgotten the fact that Frank and May were still living together when Frank and Jane hit it off on the train to Boston.
"Ok."
"She wants me to not talk to you anymore."
The silence that ensued burned up all the oxygen in the store, collapsed Jane's heart and sent the sushi marching back to its refrigerated case.
Jane loved Frank. He was funny, smart, sexy, cute, and 1,662 miles away. He was also a little bit of a jerk, and if not an alcoholic, verging on it. So friendship it was for them. No more pining for him, hoping he'd say just what she needed to hear when he was sober, and only hearing it when he was drunk. No more cross-country flights to feel welcomed, yet ridiculously out of place in his world of big trucks, heavy drinking and owned property. And really, no more hoping he would just turn that corner and become the man she knew he could be, if he only tried. Just emails, phone calls, acceptance of the man as he is, and sporadic inappropriate text messages. And, of course, the understanding that if either party picked up a significant other, the party of the first part would tone it down a bit.
And that's what Jane had done when she first found out (by email-- and not in a dedicated email, either, but as a parenthetical addition to an innocuous, regular old email) that Frank and May were speaking again. Any urge she had to text him at 2 in the morning was quashed (even though it was only midnight there and he gets texts all the time and they don't sound any different on his phone than a voicemail message does, and he wouldn't have to check it if she was around).
Jane was silent as the tears welled up in her eyes.
"It's you, specifically, Janie. Not any of the other girls I dated."
Jane knew well enough to take that as a compliment. In general, women aren't threatened by unworthy opponents, and Jane knew she had had quite an impact on Frank. If the tables had been turned, and someone as fantastic as Jane had come along into Jane's (albeit imaginary) boyfriend's life, sure, she'd be threatened, but she wouldn't turn around and issue ultimatums. She learned that lesson in college: her then actually-cheating boyfriend had eventually married The Other Woman, ultimatum or no ultimatum.
"Ok."
Focus on the cheese, Jane. Count the linoleum tiles. Head down, don't let them see you cry. No one here is going to care and goddamnit, where's Mallory??
"It's not what I want, Jane."
"I know. It's not what I want either. But I don't seem to have a say in the matter."
"Well, then maybe it doesn't have to happen." And he changed the subject completely, babbling on about his truck, how it needed to take it to the shop because it was squeaking so badly, but it was going to be expensive and blah blah blah. All Jane could hear was the resounding echo of the stamp of her inner six year old's foot. It's not fair.
This is retarded, thought Jane. I don't want him as a boyfriend, so why should it hurt so bad to lose him as a friend? She counted the reasons: Maybe it was because May was almost ten years younger than she was. Maybe it's because May represented acceptance of everything Jane could never find her way around. Maybe it's because Jane held out hope that Frank would come around. Maybe it's that Jane was just lonely and didn't want to lose another friend. Maybe it's because May was being a selfish little bitch, and that's what Jane wanted to be.
"... and the acceleration's busted so I really need to --"
"Frank? I have to go to dance class now."
"Oh, ok."
Silence.
"Talk to you soon, then, Jane."
"Ok, bye."
She snapped the phone shut before he could reply and the tears spilled down her cheeks. When Jane was younger, her sister got in trouble for something minor, and stormed off to her room. Moments later there was a sign hanging from her sister's door, made from a dry cleaner's hanger that read "NON-FIANK!" in multi-colored crayon. When flipped to the other side, it read simply, "FIANK." When asked what the sign meant, Jane's sister replied that when something wasn't fair, it was NON-FIANK. Jane hung her imaginary NON-FIANK sign on the doorknob of life, and waited for Mallory.
All things considered, Jane reminded herself, I'm doing very well with this. No scene, no big dramatic climax, not much of anything at all. And then she cried all over again.
Jane positioned herself by the window, mostly to distract herself from her thoughts (which got progressively more negative and tended towards the ever-present you're not good enough) and moments later Mallory bustled in, carrying three bags and a jacket.
"I'm sorry I'm late!" she said, hugging Jane in a oh-my-god-I'm-sweaty-but-you-really-look-like-you-need-a-hug kind of way. "What's the matter?"
"Frank just told me that he and May are getting back together and May doesn't want him to talk to me."
"That's stupid!" said Mallory, adding some finality to the situation.
"That's what I said. Well, I didn't really say it, but I implied it by not saying it."
Mallory grabbed some sushi and they sat by the window while she ate it. She regaled Jane with stories of shoe shopping and her latest crush and did a fairly excellent job of taking Jane's mind off of things. One of Mallory's greatest strengths was cheerleading for Jane, and Jane had come to rely on it over the last few years. Oh, and Mallory was really great at smooching boys.
"So then I told him that he was NOT coming in my house, and he was all annoyed, like I hadn't said so when I got in the car. He knew what he was doing, driving me all the way out there. Nobody put a gun to his head and made him do it. So I just made out with him in the car for a bit and went home. Alone. Not bad, huh?"
"No, not bad at all."
"Jane, don't worry about it. Either he'll work things out with her and find a way to stay friends with you, or he won't. There's nothing you can do about it. Brooding won't help."
"You're right. But ginger will." And she stole half of Mallory's pile.
The next day, when Jane got into work, there was an email waiting there from Frank. It had two pictures, one of him in a t-shirt she had bought for him months ago, and another of his truck. The text of the email was, "One good looking thing and one expensive one. You tell me which is which."
Jane was tempted to fire back a witty response, remind him of how much fun she was, how great it was to be friends with her, how worth it she was to make changes for, but instead, she stepped up to become the change she wanted to be in the world. (You're welcome, Gandhi, or Buddha, or whoever, she thought.)
She took close to an hour to compose the following:
Hey Frank,
You know I love to hear from you, but this is getting complicated for me. I don't think May's demands are reasonable, but I'm willing to respect them (albeit reluctantly) because if I were her, I would want that same respect from me. And, more importantly, from you.
If you really do want to work things out with May, I think it's important that you figure out the sacrifices you will have to make to make that happen, and the rewards you will get in return. Are the compromises worth it for you? (And I'm not just talking about me here.) What are you getting in return? More of the same, or something new? While I respect May's wishes, my main concern is you, of course, and it's generally a red flag to me when a woman makes restrictive demands on the man she's with.
The long and the short of it is that I'm fine (not happy, but fine) with parting ways if it's what YOU want -- not just what May wants. If working it out with her will make you happy and give you what you deserve, then I will back silently out of the picture.
But in true Janetastic fashion, I would really like you to think about it. Because I lose something, too, and don't really get to have a say about it.
The parting party of the second part,
Jane
She sent it off, and that was it. She didn't hear back for the rest of the day.
For the week, really. And then, before she knew it, a month had gone by.
She called Mallory one night with a sizeable realization.
"You know I'm crutchless these days, right?"
"What?"
"I mean that when Frank left, I realized that he was the last of my crutches. That I no longer have some guy to call when I feel crappy, who I know will tell me just what I want to hear. I have nobody to fall back on if I start to get really old and lonely and more willing to make compromises. I mean that, as of about a month ago, I am Totally Alone."
"Well, not really. You still have me."
"Well, duh. And my family, and Sheila, and Robin and Bruce, and tons of others. But no crutches."
"So... how's it feel?"
"It sucks." They both laughed. "No, it's not that bad, really. I mean, there's a big, Frank-shaped emptiness in my heart, but every day, it gets a little smaller, like an ear piercing closing up on itself. Maybe by the time this all closes over, I'll be ready to get my ears pierced again!"
"Um, Jane, you don't have pierced ears."
"I know, Mal, it was a metaphor. Now what are we doing Friday night? I was thinking that, since I have no crutches, we should go dancing."
Crutch Removal Number Three
The phone rang. Well, it shouted, really. (Her bag was too enormous for anything short of the most annoying ring set to the highest volume to be successful.)
Frank's face flashed onto her phone, identifying her caller with one of his less attractive photos. (It's not her fault he likes to ham it up for the camera.) She answered happily, as Frank was always a delight to talk to, even when drunk, which she hoped he wouldn't be at 5:45 on a Friday -- especially since, for him, it was really 3:45 out in Nebraska.
"What's going on?" she asked, in a wild-and-crazy-guy kind of voice.
"I just got a new tire on my back."
"You what?"
"I got a new tire on my back."
She stopped, squinted her ears and tried desperately to figure out which word she was screwing up.
"Ok," she said, "your accent's getting in the way. You got a tire on your back?" Frank was Australian, and his accent (one of her many favorite things about him) occasionally made conversation with him into an audial house of mirrors. Sometimes he swapped out familiar words with foreign ones ("bloke" for "guy," etc.), but more often it was the tweaking of a pronunciation that threw her. "Weird" became "weeid," "smart" became "smot," and "party" very often became "poddy."
"No, Jane, on my bicycle. I got a new cover for the wheel of my bicycle."
"Oh, ok. I thought you were just getting fat."
Jane was browsing the aisles of Dean & Deluca aimlessly, killing time until Mallory showed up for dance class. More focused on her conversation than the high end food and wares, she periodically tuned back in to what she was seeing and was baffled. Anise salt? That sounded disgusting. What could you possibly use that for? And quinoa flour -- for all a girl's gluten-free baking needs, thank god! Balsamic jelly. Jane conjured up images of the sixty year old mint jelly in her parents' fridge and wanted to barf. Fancy food seemed like an awful lot of work these days.
"So what else is going on?"
He told her about work, about the poddy he was at last weekend where they set the backyard on fire, how his roommate with the possession conviction was faring with the prospect of pending jailtime (and how he'd gotten a little Jesus-y lately), and finally he wended his way back around to what she really wanted to know.
"So May and I have been seeing someone, you know, kind of working out our issues together."
"Oh, that's great," she said as enthusiastically as she could muster. May was his ex-girlfriend, nearly his wife, and Jane had met Frank soon after they broke up. Now, Jane was all for people working out their issues -- especially Frank-- but she wasn't 100% sold on May. The few stories he had told Jane about her were ugly -- angry, abusive and childish. Like the time she had smashed a window in his car because he didn't want to leave the bar when she did, or when she changed the locks on the front door because he didn't come back from a business trip when he said he would, even though he called to let her know.
Truth was, Jane didn't necessarily want Frank anymore, but she didn't want him to be involved with someone who mistreated him.
"Yeah, kinda."
"What do you mean, 'kinda'?"
"Well, May's got this thing about you."
Jane stopped being the bigger person for a minute and smack in the middle of the cookie cutter aisle, she flat out hated May. "Why?" she demanded, hopefully not as petulantly as she felt.
"Well, she thinks I was sneaking around on her with you."
Deep breathing keeps the nerves calm. (Jane needed periodic reminders.)
"That's ridiculous, Frank. It's nearly impossible to sneak around with someone who lives on the other side of the country." She started contemplating sending a basketload of anise salt and balsamic jelly to May, except that petty revenge should never cost over $60.
"I know, but she saw that you called me once, near the beginning, and freaked out about me seeing someone before she had moved out."
For a brief moment, the earth stopped spinning on its axis. The $14-an-ounce spices flew off their racks, the sushi got up and walked out of the case, and rolling pin after rolling pin fell from the sky to hit Jane on the head. Either Jane had not known, or she had conveniently forgotten the fact that Frank and May were still living together when Frank and Jane hit it off on the train to Boston.
"Ok."
"She wants me to not talk to you anymore."
The silence that ensued burned up all the oxygen in the store, collapsed Jane's heart and sent the sushi marching back to its refrigerated case.
Jane loved Frank. He was funny, smart, sexy, cute, and 1,662 miles away. He was also a little bit of a jerk, and if not an alcoholic, verging on it. So friendship it was for them. No more pining for him, hoping he'd say just what she needed to hear when he was sober, and only hearing it when he was drunk. No more cross-country flights to feel welcomed, yet ridiculously out of place in his world of big trucks, heavy drinking and owned property. And really, no more hoping he would just turn that corner and become the man she knew he could be, if he only tried. Just emails, phone calls, acceptance of the man as he is, and sporadic inappropriate text messages. And, of course, the understanding that if either party picked up a significant other, the party of the first part would tone it down a bit.
And that's what Jane had done when she first found out (by email-- and not in a dedicated email, either, but as a parenthetical addition to an innocuous, regular old email) that Frank and May were speaking again. Any urge she had to text him at 2 in the morning was quashed (even though it was only midnight there and he gets texts all the time and they don't sound any different on his phone than a voicemail message does, and he wouldn't have to check it if she was around).
Jane was silent as the tears welled up in her eyes.
"It's you, specifically, Janie. Not any of the other girls I dated."
Jane knew well enough to take that as a compliment. In general, women aren't threatened by unworthy opponents, and Jane knew she had had quite an impact on Frank. If the tables had been turned, and someone as fantastic as Jane had come along into Jane's (albeit imaginary) boyfriend's life, sure, she'd be threatened, but she wouldn't turn around and issue ultimatums. She learned that lesson in college: her then actually-cheating boyfriend had eventually married The Other Woman, ultimatum or no ultimatum.
"Ok."
Focus on the cheese, Jane. Count the linoleum tiles. Head down, don't let them see you cry. No one here is going to care and goddamnit, where's Mallory??
"It's not what I want, Jane."
"I know. It's not what I want either. But I don't seem to have a say in the matter."
"Well, then maybe it doesn't have to happen." And he changed the subject completely, babbling on about his truck, how it needed to take it to the shop because it was squeaking so badly, but it was going to be expensive and blah blah blah. All Jane could hear was the resounding echo of the stamp of her inner six year old's foot. It's not fair.
This is retarded, thought Jane. I don't want him as a boyfriend, so why should it hurt so bad to lose him as a friend? She counted the reasons: Maybe it was because May was almost ten years younger than she was. Maybe it's because May represented acceptance of everything Jane could never find her way around. Maybe it's because Jane held out hope that Frank would come around. Maybe it's that Jane was just lonely and didn't want to lose another friend. Maybe it's because May was being a selfish little bitch, and that's what Jane wanted to be.
"... and the acceleration's busted so I really need to --"
"Frank? I have to go to dance class now."
"Oh, ok."
Silence.
"Talk to you soon, then, Jane."
"Ok, bye."
She snapped the phone shut before he could reply and the tears spilled down her cheeks. When Jane was younger, her sister got in trouble for something minor, and stormed off to her room. Moments later there was a sign hanging from her sister's door, made from a dry cleaner's hanger that read "NON-FIANK!" in multi-colored crayon. When flipped to the other side, it read simply, "FIANK." When asked what the sign meant, Jane's sister replied that when something wasn't fair, it was NON-FIANK. Jane hung her imaginary NON-FIANK sign on the doorknob of life, and waited for Mallory.
All things considered, Jane reminded herself, I'm doing very well with this. No scene, no big dramatic climax, not much of anything at all. And then she cried all over again.
Jane positioned herself by the window, mostly to distract herself from her thoughts (which got progressively more negative and tended towards the ever-present you're not good enough) and moments later Mallory bustled in, carrying three bags and a jacket.
"I'm sorry I'm late!" she said, hugging Jane in a oh-my-god-I'm-sweaty-but-you-really-look-like-you-need-a-hug kind of way. "What's the matter?"
"Frank just told me that he and May are getting back together and May doesn't want him to talk to me."
"That's stupid!" said Mallory, adding some finality to the situation.
"That's what I said. Well, I didn't really say it, but I implied it by not saying it."
Mallory grabbed some sushi and they sat by the window while she ate it. She regaled Jane with stories of shoe shopping and her latest crush and did a fairly excellent job of taking Jane's mind off of things. One of Mallory's greatest strengths was cheerleading for Jane, and Jane had come to rely on it over the last few years. Oh, and Mallory was really great at smooching boys.
"So then I told him that he was NOT coming in my house, and he was all annoyed, like I hadn't said so when I got in the car. He knew what he was doing, driving me all the way out there. Nobody put a gun to his head and made him do it. So I just made out with him in the car for a bit and went home. Alone. Not bad, huh?"
"No, not bad at all."
"Jane, don't worry about it. Either he'll work things out with her and find a way to stay friends with you, or he won't. There's nothing you can do about it. Brooding won't help."
"You're right. But ginger will." And she stole half of Mallory's pile.
The next day, when Jane got into work, there was an email waiting there from Frank. It had two pictures, one of him in a t-shirt she had bought for him months ago, and another of his truck. The text of the email was, "One good looking thing and one expensive one. You tell me which is which."
Jane was tempted to fire back a witty response, remind him of how much fun she was, how great it was to be friends with her, how worth it she was to make changes for, but instead, she stepped up to become the change she wanted to be in the world. (You're welcome, Gandhi, or Buddha, or whoever, she thought.)
She took close to an hour to compose the following:
Hey Frank,
You know I love to hear from you, but this is getting complicated for me. I don't think May's demands are reasonable, but I'm willing to respect them (albeit reluctantly) because if I were her, I would want that same respect from me. And, more importantly, from you.
If you really do want to work things out with May, I think it's important that you figure out the sacrifices you will have to make to make that happen, and the rewards you will get in return. Are the compromises worth it for you? (And I'm not just talking about me here.) What are you getting in return? More of the same, or something new? While I respect May's wishes, my main concern is you, of course, and it's generally a red flag to me when a woman makes restrictive demands on the man she's with.
The long and the short of it is that I'm fine (not happy, but fine) with parting ways if it's what YOU want -- not just what May wants. If working it out with her will make you happy and give you what you deserve, then I will back silently out of the picture.
But in true Janetastic fashion, I would really like you to think about it. Because I lose something, too, and don't really get to have a say about it.
The parting party of the second part,
Jane
She sent it off, and that was it. She didn't hear back for the rest of the day.
For the week, really. And then, before she knew it, a month had gone by.
She called Mallory one night with a sizeable realization.
"You know I'm crutchless these days, right?"
"What?"
"I mean that when Frank left, I realized that he was the last of my crutches. That I no longer have some guy to call when I feel crappy, who I know will tell me just what I want to hear. I have nobody to fall back on if I start to get really old and lonely and more willing to make compromises. I mean that, as of about a month ago, I am Totally Alone."
"Well, not really. You still have me."
"Well, duh. And my family, and Sheila, and Robin and Bruce, and tons of others. But no crutches."
"So... how's it feel?"
"It sucks." They both laughed. "No, it's not that bad, really. I mean, there's a big, Frank-shaped emptiness in my heart, but every day, it gets a little smaller, like an ear piercing closing up on itself. Maybe by the time this all closes over, I'll be ready to get my ears pierced again!"
"Um, Jane, you don't have pierced ears."
"I know, Mal, it was a metaphor. Now what are we doing Friday night? I was thinking that, since I have no crutches, we should go dancing."
Friday, September 26, 2008
that magnificent window
I am grateful for two very important windows today.
First, the cable guy actually came in the 8-12 window as was promised me.
And second, the plums have finally seemed to reach their ripening-but-not-yet moldering window.
This bodes well.
First, the cable guy actually came in the 8-12 window as was promised me.
And second, the plums have finally seemed to reach their ripening-but-not-yet moldering window.
This bodes well.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
a few quick things
1. I was listening to a Yale podcast this morning about green chemistry -- science that focuses not only on the project at hand, but also sees the long-term effect of the discovery. As they put it, green chemistry cannot focus on the application without also focusing on the implication.
I'm no chemist, but that idea scratches an itch somewhere deep in my little green soul.
2. If you are an aerobics instructor and you have absolutely no sense of rhythm whatsoever, PLEASE CONSIDER A CAREER CHANGE.
Thank you,
The Management
3. I like to think that I'm a very self-aware and constantly growing person, (thankyouverymuch). But there are some times (like this week, say) when I just have to take a break. When I can no longer do inquiry. When I just want to be right, instead of free. When I want to stay in that pattern, even though it doesn't serve me, because way too much is changing, and I just am not up to handling it. These are also the weeks that tend to coincide with certain lunar phases, and exceedingly restrictive pants.
4. I recently bought a workout skirt.
I have yet to wear it.
I am nervous.
5. I love, Love, LOVE my family. There's a whole post in this, but I'm simply announcing it to the world that I think I have the greatest family in the entire world.
More soon.
I'm no chemist, but that idea scratches an itch somewhere deep in my little green soul.
2. If you are an aerobics instructor and you have absolutely no sense of rhythm whatsoever, PLEASE CONSIDER A CAREER CHANGE.
Thank you,
The Management
3. I like to think that I'm a very self-aware and constantly growing person, (thankyouverymuch). But there are some times (like this week, say) when I just have to take a break. When I can no longer do inquiry. When I just want to be right, instead of free. When I want to stay in that pattern, even though it doesn't serve me, because way too much is changing, and I just am not up to handling it. These are also the weeks that tend to coincide with certain lunar phases, and exceedingly restrictive pants.
4. I recently bought a workout skirt.
I have yet to wear it.
I am nervous.
5. I love, Love, LOVE my family. There's a whole post in this, but I'm simply announcing it to the world that I think I have the greatest family in the entire world.
More soon.
what orville never counted on...
I've been meaning to write forever, but haven't gotten around to it yet.
[insert variety of excuses here.]
Until I do write, however, I encourage you to enjoy this:
[insert variety of excuses here.]
Until I do write, however, I encourage you to enjoy this:
Friday, September 19, 2008
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
hi lights!
I’ve been reading book three of Teenage Vampires (and Werewolves) In Love, so I’ve been very busy. (Ok, ok, it’s actually called Eclipse, by Stephanie Meyer, and I can’t help it that I’m a sucker for teen fiction.) I pried myself away from the book for a few minutes, though, to share with you some powerful reflections. (Which vampires do have, in this book, by the way.)
1. It’s funny how different things make different people lonely. For me, not having any plans all day and all night makes me feel really lonely. My friend, though? She feels lonely when she logs on to Facebook and sees that people she’s called have time to play on the internet, but not time to call her back. Another friend? He feels lonely when he goes out and can’t find anyone at the bar that he knows. Another friend gets lonely when her boyfriend’s away on business. It’s interesting to note what, specifically, triggers loneliness.
2. The other day I splurted a little bit of yogurt onto my keyboard. Not enough to cause a short circuit, but enough to drip down between the keys. I grabbed a letter opener and started prying off the yogurt-covered keys in order to de-Axelrod them, and promptly beaned myself in the eyeball with a lemony R. Awesome. (It hurt way more than I think you might be imagining.)
3. Do you ever walk into a grocery store and think, “Soon, all of this will be either trash or poop”?
4. No mints grow in winter. No mints taste like winter. So why the hell is there a “wintermint” flavor?
5. I have these three plums in my kitchen that have petulantly and steadfastly been refusing to ripen. Two weeks now, we’re talking! I imagine the memos exchanged between them:
From: Plum One
To: Plums Two & Three
Re: Our Mission
Well done, Plums. We have successfully remained here for two weeks now. The end is in sight!
Do not forget: Our mission is to stay as hard and yet get as mealy as possible. This is crucial to our survival. Do not give in to softening temptations. Do not even think of releasing ripening hormones.
If we succeed, we will be thrown out and turned into compost. If we fail… Stomach Acid.
-------------
(Little do the plums know that if they fail in NYC, it’s not compost, it’s rats. Sorry little plums.)
1. It’s funny how different things make different people lonely. For me, not having any plans all day and all night makes me feel really lonely. My friend, though? She feels lonely when she logs on to Facebook and sees that people she’s called have time to play on the internet, but not time to call her back. Another friend? He feels lonely when he goes out and can’t find anyone at the bar that he knows. Another friend gets lonely when her boyfriend’s away on business. It’s interesting to note what, specifically, triggers loneliness.
2. The other day I splurted a little bit of yogurt onto my keyboard. Not enough to cause a short circuit, but enough to drip down between the keys. I grabbed a letter opener and started prying off the yogurt-covered keys in order to de-Axelrod them, and promptly beaned myself in the eyeball with a lemony R. Awesome. (It hurt way more than I think you might be imagining.)
3. Do you ever walk into a grocery store and think, “Soon, all of this will be either trash or poop”?
4. No mints grow in winter. No mints taste like winter. So why the hell is there a “wintermint” flavor?
5. I have these three plums in my kitchen that have petulantly and steadfastly been refusing to ripen. Two weeks now, we’re talking! I imagine the memos exchanged between them:
From: Plum One
To: Plums Two & Three
Re: Our Mission
Well done, Plums. We have successfully remained here for two weeks now. The end is in sight!
Do not forget: Our mission is to stay as hard and yet get as mealy as possible. This is crucial to our survival. Do not give in to softening temptations. Do not even think of releasing ripening hormones.
If we succeed, we will be thrown out and turned into compost. If we fail… Stomach Acid.
-------------
(Little do the plums know that if they fail in NYC, it’s not compost, it’s rats. Sorry little plums.)
Sunday, September 14, 2008
an ode to my loneliness
There's a hole in my heart that goes all the way to China.
There's an ache in my soul that lands somewhere near Nepal.
There's a lack in my day that is stronger than ten ponies.
I'm so bored and so lonely that my body wants to stall.
There's a drag to my step that reminds me that I'm solo.
There's a slump to my spine that protects me and my fear.
The refrain in my brain just goes over, over, over,
"You're alone today, kid, and there's none but me to hear."
So I hurt, and I yearn, and build a new agenda,
And I plan out my day to distract me from the ache.
While I play by myself I feel raw and remember
If I focus on drowning, I will never cross this lake.
So I take a deep breath, and I plunge into the water,
And it's cold and it's lonely, but hey, look, I didn't die.
A whole day by myself and I'm only getting stronger.
All alone, on my own, but with loneliness nearby.
There's an ache in my soul that lands somewhere near Nepal.
There's a lack in my day that is stronger than ten ponies.
I'm so bored and so lonely that my body wants to stall.
There's a drag to my step that reminds me that I'm solo.
There's a slump to my spine that protects me and my fear.
The refrain in my brain just goes over, over, over,
"You're alone today, kid, and there's none but me to hear."
So I hurt, and I yearn, and build a new agenda,
And I plan out my day to distract me from the ache.
While I play by myself I feel raw and remember
If I focus on drowning, I will never cross this lake.
So I take a deep breath, and I plunge into the water,
And it's cold and it's lonely, but hey, look, I didn't die.
A whole day by myself and I'm only getting stronger.
All alone, on my own, but with loneliness nearby.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
to produce or support, that is the question
Dear Hamlet,
Forget about to be or not to be. You know full well that, eventually, you're going to be the King of Denmark. (That is, of course, if nobody offs you before you grow up.) So you've never had the fun of going through the What the Hell Am I Supposed To Do With My Life game. Let me tell you, it's a trip.
Now, I know you're going to say "wah wah wah, poor me, you have no idea what it's like deciding whether or not to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune!" Well, to that I say: would you rather deal with a few slings and arrows, or have a job you find unfulfilling and begin the quest for a new one?
I think thou wouldst not choose the Quest For Thy Future.
Now, you know I've got some daddy issues. Hell, you can probably relate. But I had an interesting conversation with mine the other night about what I wanted to be when I grow up. (By the way: it doesn't in any way, shape or form involve a nunnery, so keep your helpful suggestions to yourself.) He made a very useful distinction in the world of business between producers and supporters.
All my (professional) life, I've been a supporter. First an admin, then a legal sec'y, and now a trainer. (I'm leaving the acting out of it for the moment.) So I have no real idea what it even means to be a "producer," although I understand my father's concept -- someone who delivers a product, whether that's a sale, a presentation, a speech, or what have you. I have always enjoyed my support role, but I see the sex appeal and allure of the producer role -- producers get a lot more of the kudos and prestige. Supporters get the sense of well being that comes with helping.
My father's convinced I would make a good producer. (I fear that it's similar to how your father thought you would make a good avenger, though, so I'm not going to bring your dad into this for now.) I already know I'm a good supporter. I shy away from the producer roles while imagining the Perfect Future. Is that because I'm not capable of producing? Or simply because I have a natural affinity for supporting?I know not.
It's interesting to think about. I'll wager that there're some gender differences at play here, though I'll be the last one to say that women don't make good producers. I also think it's an issue of confidence being born from experience.
Or maybe I just want to sleep with my mother.
Hard to say.
Anyway, Hamlet, hope you're doing well.
xoxo
k8
p.s. Yorick says hi.
Forget about to be or not to be. You know full well that, eventually, you're going to be the King of Denmark. (That is, of course, if nobody offs you before you grow up.) So you've never had the fun of going through the What the Hell Am I Supposed To Do With My Life game. Let me tell you, it's a trip.
Now, I know you're going to say "wah wah wah, poor me, you have no idea what it's like deciding whether or not to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune!" Well, to that I say: would you rather deal with a few slings and arrows, or have a job you find unfulfilling and begin the quest for a new one?
I think thou wouldst not choose the Quest For Thy Future.
Now, you know I've got some daddy issues. Hell, you can probably relate. But I had an interesting conversation with mine the other night about what I wanted to be when I grow up. (By the way: it doesn't in any way, shape or form involve a nunnery, so keep your helpful suggestions to yourself.) He made a very useful distinction in the world of business between producers and supporters.
All my (professional) life, I've been a supporter. First an admin, then a legal sec'y, and now a trainer. (I'm leaving the acting out of it for the moment.) So I have no real idea what it even means to be a "producer," although I understand my father's concept -- someone who delivers a product, whether that's a sale, a presentation, a speech, or what have you. I have always enjoyed my support role, but I see the sex appeal and allure of the producer role -- producers get a lot more of the kudos and prestige. Supporters get the sense of well being that comes with helping.
My father's convinced I would make a good producer. (I fear that it's similar to how your father thought you would make a good avenger, though, so I'm not going to bring your dad into this for now.) I already know I'm a good supporter. I shy away from the producer roles while imagining the Perfect Future. Is that because I'm not capable of producing? Or simply because I have a natural affinity for supporting?I know not.
It's interesting to think about. I'll wager that there're some gender differences at play here, though I'll be the last one to say that women don't make good producers. I also think it's an issue of confidence being born from experience.
Or maybe I just want to sleep with my mother.
Hard to say.
Anyway, Hamlet, hope you're doing well.
xoxo
k8
p.s. Yorick says hi.
Monday, September 8, 2008
my heart belongs to daddy
I had brunch with a friend this weekend and, as has been happening quite a bit lately, talk of my Future Life Plans came up, and I got all stressed out. I snapped at my friend's wise advice, bit my lip to fight back the tears, childishly pushed the remains of an overdressed salad around my plate and generally slumped into a pathetic little foot-stomping misery. (Oddly, this somehow convinced my friend to buy brunch for me.)
This time, though, it wasn't simply because I didn't know what to do with my life.
It was because I had somehow decided that no matter what I did, unless it was corporate, my father wouldn't approve of it.
Now, I know, I know, it shouldn't matter what my father thinks, and I was probably making it up anyway, blah blah blah. (Trust me, my better self made these same arguments for HOURS on Sunday.) This isn't a discourse on whether I should seek approval or not. It's simply my story.
I got home and called my mother, mostly to get confirmation of my fear and to crap-talk my father. (I only realized later that this was actually what I wanted. At the time, I thought talking to mom would just make me feel better. After looking at my motivation, though, I realized I didn't want to feel better, I wanted to be right about my dad and my fears. But I digress...)
Mom answered the phone, and then proceeded to put me on speakerphone with Dad. Not. What. I Wanted. We chitchatted for a while, and then, when the tears came back, I asked mom to pick up the receiver.
"If I don't end up with a corporate job, Dad won't approve of what I do."
(Insert massive crying jag, with lots of sniffles and a side of gut-wrenching.)
"I disagree with you," said Mom, "And I think we should talk about this. Ok?"
"(snurffle) Ok."
She put the phone back on speakerphone, and Dad joined in, and I sputtered out a repeat of my fear.
"Kate, that's not true. I just want you to be happy. If I seem to land on the corporate side of things, that's just because it's what I know. And if I'm not sympathetic to your struggle to figure out what you want, it's just because I've never really had to do it. I've always wanted to work corporate, and I've always worked corporate. It's never been as hard for me as it is for you.
"You're not a line on my resume. You're my daughter. I don't compare myself to other people in terms of you girls. I just want you to be happy."
(snuffle, glurp, pha-blooey)
I'm so grateful for my parents. For their support and love. And mostly (today) for my mother's maturity in encouraging me to confront my fears head on, instead of taking the low road and being the little shit she jokes about me being.
While I work on releasing the need for my father's approval, it's nice to know I have it anyway.
This time, though, it wasn't simply because I didn't know what to do with my life.
It was because I had somehow decided that no matter what I did, unless it was corporate, my father wouldn't approve of it.
Now, I know, I know, it shouldn't matter what my father thinks, and I was probably making it up anyway, blah blah blah. (Trust me, my better self made these same arguments for HOURS on Sunday.) This isn't a discourse on whether I should seek approval or not. It's simply my story.
I got home and called my mother, mostly to get confirmation of my fear and to crap-talk my father. (I only realized later that this was actually what I wanted. At the time, I thought talking to mom would just make me feel better. After looking at my motivation, though, I realized I didn't want to feel better, I wanted to be right about my dad and my fears. But I digress...)
Mom answered the phone, and then proceeded to put me on speakerphone with Dad. Not. What. I Wanted. We chitchatted for a while, and then, when the tears came back, I asked mom to pick up the receiver.
"If I don't end up with a corporate job, Dad won't approve of what I do."
(Insert massive crying jag, with lots of sniffles and a side of gut-wrenching.)
"I disagree with you," said Mom, "And I think we should talk about this. Ok?"
"(snurffle) Ok."
She put the phone back on speakerphone, and Dad joined in, and I sputtered out a repeat of my fear.
"Kate, that's not true. I just want you to be happy. If I seem to land on the corporate side of things, that's just because it's what I know. And if I'm not sympathetic to your struggle to figure out what you want, it's just because I've never really had to do it. I've always wanted to work corporate, and I've always worked corporate. It's never been as hard for me as it is for you.
"You're not a line on my resume. You're my daughter. I don't compare myself to other people in terms of you girls. I just want you to be happy."
(snuffle, glurp, pha-blooey)
I'm so grateful for my parents. For their support and love. And mostly (today) for my mother's maturity in encouraging me to confront my fears head on, instead of taking the low road and being the little shit she jokes about me being.
While I work on releasing the need for my father's approval, it's nice to know I have it anyway.
Friday, September 5, 2008
a little nothing for your weekend
The other day, I looked at a jar of applesauce that said that it was an "Excellent Source of Vitamin C!" But when I checked the label, each serving only had 20% of your recommended daily allowance.
I thought about that for a while, and decided that if I did just 20% of my job, I'd be doing an "Excellent Job!" (Frighteningly (or blessedly, depending on how you see it), my supervisor agrees.)
-----------------------
After my hike this past weekend, I developed a blister the size of Tennessee on my right heel. (Blame me for wearing snow boots hiking.) (Look, I thought it was going to rain.) As that finally healed (ha! pun!) I went running in the park on Wednesday morning and developed a nasty blister the size of Minnesota on my right toe. Apparently, I am very thin skinned on my feet, which is ridiculous, since I have spent the whole summer summerizing them. And, to boot (ha! pun!) my feet are not particularly good looking, so there's no reason for them to be so pansy-assed.
-----------------------
Speaking of the park -- WATCH OUT! It's Shark Week in Prospect Park! Or at least it looks like it is, or was.
You know those guys who are painted on the walking lane? The ones with no hands and feet, but somehow keep on trekking? Well, in Prospect Park, they're missing more than just hands and feet. Whole legs are gone. Half-heads remain. It's carnage. Don't look if you don't have to.
-----------------------
I went to the beach this weekend with my folks and my friend Kiara, who is Venezuelan. As we sat in our bikinis (public wearing number three!) there were some fishermen approaching the water near us, jabbering away in Spanish. I understood about every thirteenth word -- "chair," "water," "fish" -- but Kiara assured me that they were, in fact, talking about us. But it was ok, they were saying good things.
Apparently they also like action heroes, because when the umbrella blew over and I got up to save the whole beach from destruction and flying umbrella spokes, they chattered up a storm! I never really thought about how much fun it must be to understand people who don't think you can. It's like Kiara has superpowers, too! "Thank God! Umbrella Gal and Spanish Lady are here to save us!")
-----------------------
Thank you, and have a nice weekend.
I thought about that for a while, and decided that if I did just 20% of my job, I'd be doing an "Excellent Job!" (Frighteningly (or blessedly, depending on how you see it), my supervisor agrees.)
-----------------------
After my hike this past weekend, I developed a blister the size of Tennessee on my right heel. (Blame me for wearing snow boots hiking.) (Look, I thought it was going to rain.) As that finally healed (ha! pun!) I went running in the park on Wednesday morning and developed a nasty blister the size of Minnesota on my right toe. Apparently, I am very thin skinned on my feet, which is ridiculous, since I have spent the whole summer summerizing them. And, to boot (ha! pun!) my feet are not particularly good looking, so there's no reason for them to be so pansy-assed.
-----------------------
Speaking of the park -- WATCH OUT! It's Shark Week in Prospect Park! Or at least it looks like it is, or was.
You know those guys who are painted on the walking lane? The ones with no hands and feet, but somehow keep on trekking? Well, in Prospect Park, they're missing more than just hands and feet. Whole legs are gone. Half-heads remain. It's carnage. Don't look if you don't have to.
-----------------------
I went to the beach this weekend with my folks and my friend Kiara, who is Venezuelan. As we sat in our bikinis (public wearing number three!) there were some fishermen approaching the water near us, jabbering away in Spanish. I understood about every thirteenth word -- "chair," "water," "fish" -- but Kiara assured me that they were, in fact, talking about us. But it was ok, they were saying good things.
Apparently they also like action heroes, because when the umbrella blew over and I got up to save the whole beach from destruction and flying umbrella spokes, they chattered up a storm! I never really thought about how much fun it must be to understand people who don't think you can. It's like Kiara has superpowers, too! "Thank God! Umbrella Gal and Spanish Lady are here to save us!")
-----------------------
Thank you, and have a nice weekend.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
a community of the spirit
I'm having one of those days where I'm so stressed out it's hard to breathe. So here I sit at 10:58, listening to Justin Timberlake, drinking root beer and reading Rumi:
There is a community of the spirit.
Join it, and feel the delight
of walking in the noisy street,
and being the noise.
Drink all your passion,
and be a disgrace.
Close bogth eyes
to see with the other eye.
Open your hands,
if you want to be held.
Sit down in this circle.
Quit acting like a wolf, and feel
the shepherd's love filling you.
At night, your beloved wanders.
Don't accept consolations.
Close your mouth against food.
Taste the lover's mouth in yours.
You moan, "She left me." "He left me."
Twenty more will come.
Be empty of worrying.
Think of who created thought!
Why do you stay in prison
when the door is so wide open?
Move outside the tangle of fear-thinking.
Live in silence.
Flow down and down in always
widening rings of being.
It's a truly interesting night tonight.
There is a community of the spirit.
Join it, and feel the delight
of walking in the noisy street,
and being the noise.
Drink all your passion,
and be a disgrace.
Close bogth eyes
to see with the other eye.
Open your hands,
if you want to be held.
Sit down in this circle.
Quit acting like a wolf, and feel
the shepherd's love filling you.
At night, your beloved wanders.
Don't accept consolations.
Close your mouth against food.
Taste the lover's mouth in yours.
You moan, "She left me." "He left me."
Twenty more will come.
Be empty of worrying.
Think of who created thought!
Why do you stay in prison
when the door is so wide open?
Move outside the tangle of fear-thinking.
Live in silence.
Flow down and down in always
widening rings of being.
It's a truly interesting night tonight.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
my own inner Statler and Waldorf
You know those muppets who sit on the balcony, kvetching about the show the whole way through? They're Statler and Waldorf. And I seem to have my own version of them in my head, endlessly muttering about what I'm doing, what I'm not doing, and whether or not I'm doing (or not doing) things I'm doing (or not doing) the right way.
It's annoying.
Anyway, over the weekend, I really socked it to them, and managed to shut them up for a whole afternoon!
I went for a hike this weekend with Outdoor Bound (which I'd totally recommend for anyone stranded in the city and desperate for some hiking action) and found myself in a group where not one, but TWO of the guides were really cute. I chatted with both as the hike began, and discovered that I'd have a really flirty, good time if, when the groups split, I went in their group. However, the non-cute-guide group was smaller and was going to go on a slightly more hard-core hike, and I was drawn to that.
When we were splitting up, Statler and Waldorf started to chatter.
Statler: What's she doing? Is she going on the easy hike just because the guides are CUTE?
Waldorf: I think so.
Statler: I thought she wasn't dating for a while.
Waldorf: She ISN'T!
Statler and Waldorf: Wah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
(Am I unfairly representing their style? I always thought they laughed awfully hard at things that were barely funny.)
Anyway, before the groups got too far apart, I changed my mind, and joined the hard-core group. I'm not focusing on dating right now, I'm focusing on me, and what I want, and who I am, and the choices I make that have to do with me, and not boys. And that meant I was doing the more hard-core hike.*
And boy, did Statler and Waldorf not know what to say to that!
(In the end we all reconvened and hiked back together as a group, and there was some charming chatter exchanged, but I did that with my self-regard rather high, thankyouverymuch. Nothing beats sticking to a promise I make myself.)
*Editor's note: as it is used in this post "hard-core" means "less wussy and more hikey" but in no way implies that I'm remotely a badass.
It's annoying.
Anyway, over the weekend, I really socked it to them, and managed to shut them up for a whole afternoon!
I went for a hike this weekend with Outdoor Bound (which I'd totally recommend for anyone stranded in the city and desperate for some hiking action) and found myself in a group where not one, but TWO of the guides were really cute. I chatted with both as the hike began, and discovered that I'd have a really flirty, good time if, when the groups split, I went in their group. However, the non-cute-guide group was smaller and was going to go on a slightly more hard-core hike, and I was drawn to that.
When we were splitting up, Statler and Waldorf started to chatter.
Statler: What's she doing? Is she going on the easy hike just because the guides are CUTE?
Waldorf: I think so.
Statler: I thought she wasn't dating for a while.
Waldorf: She ISN'T!
Statler and Waldorf: Wah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
(Am I unfairly representing their style? I always thought they laughed awfully hard at things that were barely funny.)
Anyway, before the groups got too far apart, I changed my mind, and joined the hard-core group. I'm not focusing on dating right now, I'm focusing on me, and what I want, and who I am, and the choices I make that have to do with me, and not boys. And that meant I was doing the more hard-core hike.*
And boy, did Statler and Waldorf not know what to say to that!
(In the end we all reconvened and hiked back together as a group, and there was some charming chatter exchanged, but I did that with my self-regard rather high, thankyouverymuch. Nothing beats sticking to a promise I make myself.)
*Editor's note: as it is used in this post "hard-core" means "less wussy and more hikey" but in no way implies that I'm remotely a badass.
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