Friday, November 30, 2007
I hope I win something guuud.
Oh! And hey, YOU, stay tuned, because May in the Bay doesn't go away just because November is over.
Anyway, Delia's thread began with the occasion of her parents’ 37th wedding anniversary. Kudos to them for 37 years together, and snaps to still being together period, however many years, with today’s rate of divorcing parents. My father and mom were barely together long enough to make me. I’m somewhat of a souvenir along that short and strange trip they took together.
Delia mused, “37 years....could i be with anyone for 37 years? i haven't even been with myself for 37 years . . . Do I want a partner? Do I even want one and if I do is it because that's how I've been conditioned? What happens then to all the people in my life I get to spend one-on-one time with? There's always going to be that sacrifice ...”
Later she wrote: “I have met people (and I am one) who seem to have lost a part of themselves by choosing to be with someone else. It's great if you find someone you click with, if you enjoy doing the same things. If you are yourself but an even ‘better’ version of yourself, with (not literally with all the time though) this person.”
And, finally, in a later post, she wrote: “People, stop having kids, stop attaching yourself to just one person, try to meet and open yourself up to as many people as possible. Get new points of view, get new histories. Give people who may scare you some love. Because if they're scaring you, they were sacred once.”**
Despite having all the hetero trappings of marriage and bourgeoisie settling, I often have wondered about the same things. I don’t doubt that Dave is the person I am meant to share my life with, and that my life is infinitely better with him in it. But, too, sometimes I’m disappointed with myself for turning out so . . . normative/conformative.
For a while there, I honestly thought I might end up somewhere else entirely. When I was still living in New York, I pictured this entire other future for myself, which involved—above all other persons, places, or things—Wife. Seriously. Everyone thinks we were joking, and most of the time we were, but on a deeper level I wasn’t joking in the slightest. I imagined making a commitment to her, for the REST OF MY LIFE, in the way I had yet to make a commitment to anyone else, and letting the boys/men be the ones that came and went—yes, yes, very Sex and the City.
I guess even this innerlife*** of mine misses Delia’s intent—to “stop attaching yourself to just one person, try to meet and open yourself up to as many people as possible”—but what can I say, I’ve always been a serial monogamist. I’m one of those girls that always likes to have that other girl best friend. Always. In preschool, it was probably Oh Sook. In elementary school, it was both Julieann and Tracy. In high school, it was an elaborate square dance over the years between Karen, Lei, and Jennifer. But from the first day of college on, it was Laura. And it remains Laura. And it will always be Laura. And with Laura, the love reached new heights (LINK HERE). I even wrote bad poetry in honor of her like this one:****
For Laura, Amazon Queen of my heart. April 24, 2005.*****
What are we now
but Amazon Queens
to take one step closer.
While around us everyone falls
(suburbs, weddings, china, dogs, babies)
—we stand still
our “diamond”-studded tiaras glittering fierce,
bared breasts heaving in ruffles and lace,
and we pretend, for us,
it will never be so.
This one last year, we can leave it alone.
we can pretend
I’m not choosing that cookie-cutter too,
that I’m not leaving,
and that our exquisite partnership—
(wifeys, twins, roommates;
the fiercest party-throwers in all the land;
you, the vessel of my every secret;
we, the Amazon Queens)
—will go on and on and on.
Sometimes I wish it really could go on.
We could be celibate of heart,
like nuns pledging themselves to Jesus.
Only I’d give you title to my heart,
and you’d make me Duchess over yours.
And we’d always have the Boys—
or, as we grew older, the Men—
and we could flirt, kiss, fuck, whatever,
then crawl home to cuddle on the couch
and say: oh, wifey, how was your day?
But instead we’ve got this year
and these wispy, nebulous feelings
that don’t fit into stanza form.
Later today, I’ll tell you
I tried to write you a poem this morning.
There were words, lots of words,
but none that capture the elusive You and Me,
reigning Amazon Queens of hearts,
stepping back into our lush kingdom,
ready to defend whatever it is we have
from even words.
You can tell how much I miss her. I blog about her all the damn time.
Obviously I’ve come to some sort of peace on the matter, having so invested in the institution of marriage-and-moving-to-a-suburb-and-learning-to-cook-and-forgetting-to-leave-the-house. And my hubby, well he’s both hubbahubba and the best damn hubby there ever was, and I haven’t looked back once about weaving our lives together. In fact, I welcome with open arms and a brand-new affinity for aprons that normative conformativity in all its glory: suburbs! cooking! pets! kids! fences! houses!
To each their own, and so forth . . . But I still think Delia’s premise is interesting, and smart, and good to think about.
I’m sort of rambling. You’re probably wondering where all this came from. Let’s just leave it with I shared some very good news today with Laura, and she had The Best Possible Reaction Ever in the History of Reactions, and for that I love her and miss her all the more.
Oh—and P.S., Internet?—I totally get her for New Years Eve this year, and I am beyond thrilled.
* You should totally read her blog, wherever it comes to rest. It is smart, it is funny, it is heartfelt, it is political, it is intruiging, and above all other things it is passionate.
** By “sacred” I think she meant “scared.” But I sort of liked the typo too.
*** Innerlife is a term I steal from my wife. We’re married so what’s mine is hers and what’s hers is mine, BUT as an editor/writer I always feel compelled to properly credit the source.
****Though, of course, bad poetry hardly can compete the Laura cake, the recent mix “Songs to Wear Pants to,” and the collective effort of the annual von Hottie calendar.
***** Again, it may be crap, but please be sportmanlike and don’t steal my bad poetry.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Go ahead, call me. I may even answer.
And if I don't, well at least rest assured I'm not cursing at my phone.
I give you money and send you into the grocery store to pick up 5 items. You can only pick one thing from the following departments.. what is it?
1. Produce: these little sweet amazing tomatoes that are so delicious roasted w/herbs. or those yummy little green beans that come in the microwaveable bag.
2. Bakery: Studebaker's mini cheesecake with the slight caramel and chocolate swirls. OR fresh sourdough bread.
3. Meat: probably chicken. maybe a fish.
4. Frozen: ice cream. ooooh, or frozen blueberry waffles.
5. Dry goods: pasta!!!!!
(CLEARLY I have trouble following directions because I picked two things in almost every aisle.)
Let's say we're heading out for a weekend getaway. You're only allowed to bring 3 articles of clothing with you. So, what's in your bag?
1. COWBOY BOOTS
2. a dress
3. a sweater
(This combination can go very far, indeed, although I hope underthings are also in my bag.)
If I was to listen in on one of your conversations throughout the day, what 5 phrases or words would I be most likely to hear?
1. I [swear word, swear word] HATE TELEMARKETERS. (Wyndam Vacation has been ruining my beauty sleep by calling my home office every day around 9am. FOOLS! I work from home! I don't get up by 9am!!)
2. Mmmmmmmm, coffee.
3. I [swear word] HATE PHONES.
4. I love you.
5. Mmmmm, hus-band.
So, what 3 things do you find yourself doing every single day, and if you didn't get to do, you probably wouldn't be in the best mood?
3. write (this *totally* includes blogging and journalling, btw)
You're driving down the road, and suddenly you're hit with this sense of road rage. What 3 factors probably contributed to it?
1. That I'm being forced to drive a car at all.
2. That A**hole is on their cellie, misdriving again.
3. That I'm lost (because I probably am) in a bad neighborhood.
Sweet, you just scored a whole afternoon to yourself. We're talking a 3 hour block with nobody around. What 5 activities might we find you doing?
(and BONUS 6. Drinking)
We're going to the zoo. But, it looks like it could start storming, so it'll have to be a quick visit. What 3 exhibits do we have to get to?
You just scored tickets to the taping of any show that comes on t.v. of your choice. You can pick between 4, so what are you deciding between? (imagine they are actually taped in front of an audience)
1. Sex and the City
2. Desperate Housewives
3. A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila
You're hungry for ice cream. I'll give you a triple dipper ice cream cone. What 3 flavors can I pile on for ya?
1. mint chocolate chip
2. something really dark and chocolatey
3. baileys flavored yummyness
Somebody stole your purse/wallet…in order to get it back, you have to name 5 things you know are inside to claim it. So, what's in there?
1. Burberry sunglasses (I'm not proud of the brand, but they do look damn good on my face)
2. Cell phone
4. regular seeing-eyeball glasses, because I am blind w/o some kind of corrective lens.
5. wallet with zero cash in it. Not because someone stole it. Because I never have cash.
You are at a job fair, and asked what areas you are interested in pursuing a career in. Let's pretend you have every talent and ability to be whatever you wanted, so what 4 careers would be fun for you?
1. A semi world-famous writer who still has her privacy (I'm envisioning this life to look like a cross between Carrie Bradshaw's and my don Victoria Redel's)
2. Marine biologist
3. Manager of wildly successful independent tea/coffee shop and bookstore
4. Ballerina/hip-hop video ho. (both)
If you could go back and talk to the old you, when you were in high school, and inform yourself of 4 things, what would you say?
1. Say what you really think and don't play dumb. You're smarter and better than those you're trying to impress. Oh--and while we're on the subject, slap those idiot boys that keep making comments about your rack.
2. Don't hookup with him. Yecchh, or him. GOD! Or him.
3. Don't let your mother dress you.
4. Go talk to Dave Poe. No, really. I know you're nervous, but trust me, he's going to figure into your future in a big way, and he really is as wonderful as you think he is, so don't waste time. You're going to thank me later for this advice.
OK, SO I TAG . . . WHOMEVER IS BORED ENOUGH/INTERESTED ENOUGH IN DOING THESE MEMES.
Oh wonderful nog of egg, oh sweet saturated fat, oh holy hideout of holiday calories, how I love thee! I continue to count the ways . . .
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
I just realized that today is November 28, which means that two days ago was November 26, which was when Dave and I passed the six month marker of having been married. wheee! Can't you tell how good we're going to be at this anniversary stuff??
Can you imagine?! Six months have already gone by. We've just barely recovered from the wedding, Dave still has to finish a few thank you notes, and I still haven't done a damn thing about putting the pictures on the web or getting any of the many deserving people copies of wedding pictures . . . except our parents.*
So far? The being married part is pretty great. I warm his slippers by the fire, he fixes me extra-dirty martinis every night. Actually, more like I warm my cold feet on his warm skin at night, and he fixes dinner while I blog, but whatever, close enough.
You know . . . if a bride and groom can survive financing and co-planning their own wedding, I think they have a decent shot at beating the odds. Right, everything I needed to know about marriage I learned from our wedding. Something like that. I could write a dissertation on the subject, probably, but I won't because the wedding is over, we're glad, and marriage is swell.
* The link above is courtesy of Lucas Stoffel, my very very dear friend who was wonderful enough to come to all the wedding events, look quite dashing, charm everyone, and document the goings on. We would have totally wanted him there anyway, but it was also wonderful to take advantage of his talent. Please please check out his website, buy his stuff, and support him in any way you can. He is tremendous beyond words. These are still the only pictures of the wedding lurking freely on the web. Sorry.
According to World Can't Wait org and the New York Times, Colorado is considering not only making abortion illegal but also trying women as murderers for having abortions or using contraceptives. World Can't Wait goes on to detail how "Purity Balls" have sprung back up, where girls pledge their virginity to their fathers, and how "well" the whole "abstinence only" education campaign is going.
Brilliant, people, brilliant.
I still remember--with seething hatred, mind you--the experience I had at Planned Parenthood Golden Gate. I was simply there for the usual once a year "tune-up," so to speak, and to get some birth control pills, but I was accosted on the sidewalk by a 70+ year-old lady who asked me so sweetly "please don't kill your baby today." To think that a few moments earlier I thought she was cute and that perhaps she was there for a tune-up as well. By the time I got back out of the appointment, she had gathered a crowd of more anti-abortionists and anti-anti-abortionists, and I was ready to punch Granny if she tried that on me one more time. A clinic worker told me that usually volunteers show up to guide women into PPGG and to shield them from the demonstrators. Legally PPGG could do nothing, because you know the sidewalk is, like, public, and there's that niggling little detail of free speech, but GEEZ! PEOPLE THAT TAKE AWAY THE RIGHTS OF OTHERS? YEAH, YOU. SHUT THE FUCK UP. And this happened in San Francisco, of all places, which I consider one of the more liberal cities in the United States (gay/lesbian/transgender/transsexual rights often go hand-in-hand with women's rights, I find).
SERIOUSLY! Does anyone else think we should just reorganize the United States so that the blue states are all to the North, the red all to the South (again), and then force the lower half to secede?!
Until they do, check out what the various 2008 Presidential candidates have to say about abortion as you educate yourself about who to vote for.
But when I woke up, I was covered with tiny scratch marks.
Did my dream kitten scratch me?
Or did I dream about kittens because I was already itchy, and cats tend to make me more so?
Dani rocked that meet-and-greet shit. And so did her wonderful and sincere mother, her frank and awesome grandmama, her hipstery cousins or whatever boy relative types they were, and the sort-of unremarkable aunt. Anyway, they were wonderful and they made TT feel at home.
Up next . . . Bobby, Amanda, and Tila head to MEXICO for a vacation and the further narrowing of prospects. What saddens me is that from the next previews, it seems that Amanda is going to go the cutthroat bitch road--to the point of saying in one interview that nothing would make her happier than Dani dead. Umm, okay, breathe! Dude! Amanda played it cool thus far just being herself, and being sweet and warm, and now she's going to play strategy?! That sucks! And, again from the previews, Bobby seems to get really moody one day, to the point that Tila calls him on it, asking if he's going to be a moody asshole today, and he said yeah it looks like he would be. I'm counting on jealousy about TT hooking up with Amanda getting him to that moody point. Dani seems to play it close to the chest as usual, slowly inching her way closer to TT but not pissing anyone off. DANI 4 EVER!!! DANI FOR PREZ!!!!!!
PREDICTIONS: Amanda will go home next, and it will come down to Bobby and Dani, I'm telling you now. And then, in just a few short weeks, Dani will take it *all* home. SHE WILL!
This is what winning looks like and tastes like.
Gets better and better each time! Look how adorable Dani is holding the grapes over TT's head like so much mistletoe. Awwww . . .
* Will TT take the errr . . . goods for a test drive before she narrows it down to "the one"? Flavah of Love and I Love New York always indicated/hinted that goods were being test-driven. TT often plays herself on the Internet as a big slut, but she's kept it pretty well-behaved on the show so far. Will she or won't she?!
* How long will she and whomever she picks last? As mentioned earlier, TT reportedly "found love" on the show and is, therefore, not interested in a second season. But what if there is a big reveal in the "A Shot of Love" reunion, and some big secret breaks up TT and the winner, as happened to New York and Tango in the reunion following the first season of "I Love New York"?! How long do you give them?
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
No doubt the flags entered my subconscious due to watching the Thanksgiving Day parade, but what the hell was Lei doing in my dream? And the real question: why would she ever want colorguards at her wedding??
TAURUS (April 20-May 20): If you had a few spare minutes or hours, I could regale you with stories about employing myself as a professional astrologer… oh, the clients I've seen (though, I add as a serious aside, I can't really tell you the good stories due to my commitment to client confidentiality)… oh, the uncanniness of it all, engaged in a mystical profession where I can't even explain, in scientifically provable terms, how I do what I do… and oh, the perpetual sweating to author all those words, week in and week out, that end up becoming rubbish once their expiration date passes, and can you imagine having this zen-like time-sensitive challenge to produce work and then dispose of it… and all the while I'm going on and on about what I do, you can't help but wonder, 'What the fuck does any of that have to do with me?' And the answer is: You are absolutely right in your thinking, Taurus, that you shouldn't allow everyone around you to waste your valuable time over their trifling concerns, unsolvable problems, and beds they made that now they must lie in. While they're busy stressing out, you can get a steaming ton of crap accomplished—if you are willing to shut out their constant attempts to interrupt you, gruffly if need be. Whether I really think being a professional astrologer is endlessly fascinating or brutally difficult or any other exaggerated descriptor I can come up, that is an existential line of questioning for me to concern myself with… and for you to dismiss as irrelevant to all that you would like to get through this week. Crank up the tunes on your iPod, or shut your office door. Stop checking your emails more than once or twice a day. Choose productivity over indulging others, and work quietly by yourself.
So. In direct contrast to my horoscope last week, this week I am to ignore people and get my shit done. You hear that, Universe? Anyone with drama should just steer clear of me, because I am to gruffly interrupt you from your expounding.
Then again, I am also supposed to not check my e-mail more than twice a day. Riiiiight. We'll see how well this "productivity week" goes.
Make up your mind, Universe! Am I supposed to talk to people or not?!
Monday, November 26, 2007
Check it out!
Sunday, November 25, 2007
I'll make coffee and you'll read the paper,
we'll talk about our plans,
and I'll keep saying how lucky we are.
--Meiko, "How Lucky We Are"
Today was day 2/3 of our weekend, and it was even more leisurely than Saturday. We rose barely by noon, cranked up the iTunes, Dave hauled out his guitar to follow along, and I made us some coffee and brunch. For brunch, it was cheat version Monte Cristos (and we might as well call 'em Monte Criscos, btw, for the naughtyness of frying your sandwich in butter. . . but hey, they did taste awfully good).
Another yummy sandwich idea that I enjoyed recently at the SF Farmer's Market is the San Francisco Lox Sandwich, which calls for sourdough bread, topped by cream cheese, red onion, heirloom tomato, and a dusting of lavender salt. Yummmmmm! It was transcendent, truly. In replicating it at home, though, I like to change it from an open-faced 'wich to a regular 'wich, and I much prefer the heirloom tomatoes diced up than in one big slab. But as they say, "tomayto, tomahto"--either way it's another damn good breakfast sandwich.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Beowolf: Ok. I know I read this book back in 10th grade English or something, but after watching the movie I can safely say I had forgotten every single point of its plot. And I agree with Cynematic: I remain unconvinced and unwonover by CGI. Sure, it's cool that CGI artists have managed to make their art this convincing, but . . . there's still a way to go. Call me crazy, but why not just make movies with good old-fashioned actors and actresses doing the things their bodies and special effects and stunt people humanly allow them? I have nothing against a little CGI slipped in to create things that don't really exist (dragons and the like), but for human characters, well . . . we do still have actual humans that could be used for more than just their voices. Call me crazy.
But I'll admit it . . . I was just going to see the movie to see how naked Angelina Jolie really was. And uhhh. Yeah. She was naked alright. I read some entertainment news site that said even Angie ended up embarassed by how naked she felt and how "realistic" CGI was . . . further fueling the dreams of adolescent boys and women with latent lesbian fantasies everywhere. Ha.
After Beowolf got out, we did our usual sneak-into-another-movie tactic, which basically involves making sure to hold onto our now-empty soda, slipping into the restroom, and nonchalantly coming out of the bathroom and heading down the opposite hallway. Usually I put on my coat like I've just come in from the cold. Silly. Honestly, those employees get paid pretty near minimum wage, so I honestly don't think they care half the time, but it still gives me a nervous thrill to see 2 or even sometimes 3 movies for the $10+ entrance fee!
August Rush: I loved every single minute of this film. In general, it is a lovely storyline, with pretty and good-natured and talented people such as Keri Russell and Jonathan Rhys Meyer, and, well, who doesn't like a touching movie about orphans right around the holidays? (see also Martian Child, another holiday season heartbreaker).* And okay that kid--Freddie Highmore, of Finding Neverland and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory fame--is cute too (although I privately think he's going to be a spectacularly uncute adolescent, so he best be riding his fame while he can).
But my particular and private enjoyment of August Rush probably had a lot to do with the fact of the cello being prominently featured, and how that instrument will always remind me of schoolgirlish crushes, of first falling in love with Dave, back in high school, back in orchestra class where he was first chair and I was pretty near last, back before love between us seemed possible. All of this sounds so very romantic and tortured, so very Romeo and Juliet, but really all it took for us to get together was that I relearned to speak in the English language around him rather than becoming a prelinguistic fool. I've now forgotten how to play that instrument better than I ever actually played it. It's been so many years that I can't even tell you the name of the different strings. Dave, I believe, actually remembers the strings' names,** but sadly he plays about as often as I do--that is, never.
After August Rush got out, we strolled back to our car, talking about the movies and culminating in the following exchange:
Dave: Didn't that inspire you to play cello again?
May: No, not really. How about you?
Dave: Me neither.
May: [punches Dave--lightly, lovingly] You should play again! It's sexy! That was the whole reason I first fell in love with you!
Dave: I guess my ploy worked.
May: [slaps*** Dave but also starts laughing] You're not a player, you're a ployer.
* Cassie totally liked it too.
** They are C, G, D, A starting from the most bass string.
*** After rereading this exchange, I had to check with Dave whether I was abusive. I did indeed hit him twice, but neither time hurt! I swear! And yes, he did walk into a door and fall down some stairs . . . ok, I know, so not funny.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Thursday, November 22, 2007
* Link to the person that tagged you, and post the rules on your blog.
* Share 7 facts about yourself.
* Tag 7 random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.
* Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.
1. I am an only child, but I was supposed to be a twin. Unfortunately, my mom miscarried my twin. I guess two of me was more than the world could handle.
2. I was born in Sacramento, CA, and no offense to California's capital but I've been running from it ever since.
3. I was a colorguard in high school marching band and I did not die from the shame.
4. I am 1/2 Japanese, 1/8 American Indian, 3/8 various European stock (Irish, English, German, I think). My husband is 1/2 Filipino, 1/8 Chinese, and 3/8 Hawaiian. Together, someday, we will have children who *are* the United Nations.
5. I used to want to be all of the following: a ballerina, a marine biologist, a hotel manager, the host of a cooking show, and a librarian.
6. I HATE phones. I just don't enjoy phone conversations at all, but I try to improve on this otherwise I lose track of my many friends that don't live near me.
7. One of my favorite food dishes--the world over--is probably my husband's grandma's afritada (a delicious Filipino dish). Followed closely by coffee, alcohol, chocolate, and green beans.
** you seven, you're it**
the indulgence of self
laura von holt inc
oh, the joys of being a woman playwright
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Seriously, Astrobarry! Quit it! Get out of my head. It's a little bit scary. I don't 100% believe in all this hocus-pocus, but I don't 100% doubt it either.
I was doing just fine in my safe little box, thankyouverymuch, before this horoscope came along. I was enjoying the safe and distant view from inside, my flimsy walls keeping the mass of people at bay. I was at home in Hawaii, and feeling as absolutely alone and foreign as I did at my lowest point in New York. The last two days in Hawaii so puzzled me--which was obvious, in that they found me at one point fully clothed and shivering at Waimanalo Beach on an overcast day, ominous clouds knitted thickly above.
It was two days before I was to leave, I had run into no one and done nothing I loved.
But the last two days . . . I remembered. Instead of fighting the feeling, I went with it. Instead of the feeling that I needed to be different, to look different, to stand out, to shout to the world that I had been places and done things and lived in New York and San Francisco, and I was somebody, and that somebody was not the person everybody went to school with or choir with . . . instead, those last two days I found myself longing for the selfsame things I used to long for when I was younger and called Hawaii home.
On Saturday, I did research for the new libretto I'm trying to write, about Hawaiian paniolo, so found myself at Native Books and Beautiful Things. There I had a lovely encounter with one of my choir "aunties" and a wonderful exchange with an older "auntie"* working at the store. This was a turning point, believe it or not. Something so simple as being among beautiful Hawaiian things and gorgeous new Hawaiian books, hugging and talking story with "Auntie" Mailelauli'i** and having a stranger (the older auntie) for once take me to be local and not some haole because of my different clothes and pale skin.
You see, it's one thing for Dave to come home, with his beautiful brown skin, that easy smile, his Polynesian frame, and his large and intense brown eyes--not to mention the two tattoos that mark him as "from home." People take one look at him and they know. Even in Tahiti, he blended in as a local, and despite not speaking French or Tahitian was actually able to communicate with locals. I used to be the same way. My skin was darker, my hair was longer, my clothes were PIKO tshirts or tank tops and shorts, my shoes were slippers, my tongue was pidgin (except at school), my wrist dripped gold Hawaiian bracelets, and my sensibility was Hawaiian at heart. But now people don't know what to make of me unless it is Dave on my arm, and even then I merely have the local streetcred to have "landed" a local, not proof that I am one.
On Sunday, the confusion continued. The day started off wonderfully, which is sort of surprising considering we went to a funeral. The services were for the surfer, activist, and long-time Hawaii resident John Kelly. The services were beautiful because despite the sad occasion (John’s death) everybody was smiling. People were joyfully sharing, reminiscing, laughing, talkingstory, and remembering the life of the man, rather than solemnly mourning his death. Can you think of a better tribute? It was an amazing feeling, to be immersed in that much aloha. There were so many people in that room, most of them Hawaiian activists and community leaders, and each one of them was there outpouring their hearts to each other about this man who so made a difference for Hawaii. And there was a surprising number of young people in this crowd, around Dave’s and my age, some younger, some older, some newly married, or new parents—and almost all of them deeply invested in these same issues. Save the beaches. Save Makua from the military. Clean up Kaho’olawe. Replant kalo and koa and et cetera. Don’t overdevelop Hawaii to the point that it ceases to be Hawaii and instead of just another city, but one stuck in the middle of the friggin’ Pacific Ocean. They were strong, intelligent, educated, and genuine people, and ok I’ll admit it they were a very handsome group as well (men, women, and babies). It was both heartening and a bit sad that they were fighting the same issues their parents had the generation before.
I felt a kind of heartrush, you know the feeling you get when you are filled with so much love and joy you don’t know where to put it all. My only sadness in all of this was that I had never gotten to know this man until this day, his funeral, and that this amazing feeling—of being part of something, of being rooted to place and people, of being knitted into a community of intelligent, passionate, educated people who cared about their home and their people enough to raise their voices—wouldn’t last.
Of course, you know how the day ended though: with me totally confused about if I belonged anywhere, and if somewhere, then where?; with me totally clothed, still shivering, and writing lousy haiku at Waimanalo Beach with the sky so overcast it was obvious it was going to rain.
In under one week, I went from feeling like I could never move home to Hawaii—ever—to feeling like I could not wait to move home to Hawaii and begin to knit our life into the place.
In short, I felt crazy.
And all because of people. That was the theme of my trip home to Hawaii: people. Interactions. Connections. In the SF bay area, I can sometimes go for days without seeing anyone but myself and Dave. And sometimes it is this I willingly choose. It can be so much cleaner and neater to hole up in our pretty little apartment, gazing out at the world outside, and not confronting the messyness that comes from interacting with people: dealing with their idiosyncracies, handling their misperceptions of you, letting things go and calling them on things that cannot be let go, disappointing and being disappointed, seeing them and letting them see you in all that glorious human imperfection. Sometimes there is much more comfort in being with a person who I know almost as well as my own self, whose heart twins my own, and otherwise being in a fictional world I myself have created. But I forget, sometimes, that it is not fancy degrees, tax brackets, home or car ownership, glory-filled job titles, resumes, and numbers of children and dogs that prove your success in the world. It is people. It is people, and your interactions with them, and the web you build round you, and the roots you put down. How much the world and people will miss you someday when you’re gone is directly proportional to how much you invest in those people and the world. Will you one day have a solemn funeral of fashionable people listening to a long list of your accomplishments and accolades, or will you have a rocking good party of a funeral, with people laughing so hard they cry, and talking story, and telling amazing stories about how you changed their life one day, and how you changed the world, in small ways, every single day?
There is this idea in many cultures that the world is the shell on the back of a turtle. I feel a little bit like that turtle these days, like the only way I can have somewhere to call home, the only way I can feel like I belong somewhere or to something, is to carry it on my back. Home is where your heart is, and my skin is my own zipcode, or something along those lines. And as adventurous and exciting and fun as it can be to pick up and move and start over again, sometimes it’s really hard to be the turtle when you want instead to put down the deepest of roots.
I leave you with the perfect Hawaiian song, "Ku'u Home O Kahaluu."
I remember days when we were younger/We used to catch 'o'opu in the mountain stream/'Round the Ko'olau hills we'd ride on horseback/So long ago it seems it was a dream
Last night I dreamt I was returning/and my heart called out to you/But I fear you won't be like I left you/Me ke aloha ku'u home o Kahaluu
I remember days when we were wiser/When our world was small enough for dreams/And you have lingered there my sister/And I no longer can it seems
Last night I dreamt I was returning/and my heart called out to you/But I fear you won't be like I left you/Me ke aloha ku'u home o Kahaluu
Change is the strangest thing/it cannot be denied/It can help you find yourself/or make you lose your pride/Move with it slowly/as on the road we go/Please do not hold on to me/we all must go alone
I remember days when we were smiling/When we laughed and sang the whole night long/And I will greet you as I find you/With the sharing of a brand new song
Last night I dreamt I was returning/and my heart called out to you/To please accept me as you'll find me/Me ke aloha ku'u home o Kahaluu
* In Hawaii, anybody you like who is older than you and/or whose name you don't know or have forgotten may be properly called "auntie."
** But Auntie Maile is barely "auntie," because she's barely older than me and hardly acts it. And I mean that as a compliment. We've had some good times in several cities, "auntie" and us former Hawaii Youth Opera Chorus kids.
As just one example, on inspiration, Sy Safransky, the Ed.-in-Chief, recently wrote:
"If I sit here waiting for the perfect sentence to show up, I've got a long wait ahead of me. Maybe the perfect sentence doesn't want me to wait. Maybe the perfect sentence is tired of one-night stands with writers who fall in love too easily, who can't be trusted to stick around when the perfect sentence turns out to be not so perfect after all."
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
So, in tonight's episode, Tila finally said ciao to Domenico. He was sweet, but whatever that ain't gonna win you the BigBoy prize. Now it's down to Bobby, Ryan, Dani, and Amanda. And next week, Tila will travel to each of their hometowns and meet their families and friends.
I am ridiculously excited at the prospect, especially because from the sneak peek, it seems that Dani's family is the only one that really handles it well. Bobby's parents (esp. his mum) freaks out, Ryan tries to hook up with Tila at his parents house during dinner, Amanda's parents are cool, but NOBODY is as cool as Dani's grandmother to whom Dani comes out for the first time in that episode. I mean, holy shit, Tila gives Dani's grandma a lapdance, and Granny takes it in stride, telling Tila to "get that cute little tush over here." (Fuckin-A, Grandma is cool.)
I think the next to go will be Ryan, because he respects her and his parents so little that he would hook up with her during dinner. That ends up making Tila look cheap and him look like an asshole. Then I think Amanda will go. I think the last episode will come down to Dani and Bobby, and then Dani will take all.
As it has been said before, Dani is a hot lady firefighter which is a totally sexy occupation, whereas Bobby is just 21 and still a student. Dani has more to offer Tila. Plus Dani knows how to turn it on and how to take the lead without being a caveman about it, slinging Tila over her shoulder or dragging her by her hair back to a cave to make out. Tila says she wants the strength and agression of a man, but does she really? Because everytime a dude got too forward, he was the one who got eliminated. Consider Marcus and even Steven.
TILA, YOU OBVIOUSLY HAVE TO END UP WITH DANI. DUH.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Homecoming leaves me unmoored
'aina stays constant.*
* This is why haiku is hard. Because really what I want to say is "only 'aina stays constant," only the land/feeling of the land/spirit of the land stays the same, but hey I ran out of syllables, so there you have it.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
My mom is still off running or climbing some mountain or something, which is why you get two posts in under five minutes. Dave is off to Japan again this morning. I am in Hawaii till tomorrow's redeye flight back to LAX and then back to SFO. I will never be so glad to see my little home office again. The last few days have been a bit exhausting. Dave's parents came home from their trip yesterday, and so we had five of us in their house, just stepping all around each other constantly. And talking story. Whoa. It's not them, really, it was me ... but shit, when you work from home, alone, and talk to people only via e-mail, a real life situation where four other people want your attention--mind you, while you are supposed to be writing fiction--is quite a challenge.
Ok, really, that is all that has been going on here. Some people show you that Hawaii is paradise, others want to show you the track marks on the arm of paradise, and I am showing you that sometimes it can be out-of-your-fricken-mind booorrrriiiiinnnnnggg. This is probably because I didn't have time to see any friends and was trying to do work the whole time, and even that was unsuccessful.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Two nights ago I dreamed I was some kind of rebel soldier/revolutionary. And a comrade and I got captured, but "they" detained her instead of me. I was the real ring-leader, and the other girl didn't know anything, but they kept questioning her and detaining her in order to psychologically torture me. They released me to an Embassy, where I schmoozed at the Embassy bar, conversationally sipping a drink and trying to get some high-level officials to listen to me, that I knew where our comrade was being held, and et cetera. Well, right then, before the big "reveal," I keel over dead from poison (in my drink). The weird part is that throughout my whole dream I was a girl, until I died and then in death I looked like the dude in this picture (bottom-right), a victim of radiation poisoning.
Yesterday afternoon, when Dave came home from work, he told me that that morning I sat straight up in bed and said to him, rather crossly:
"I was having a nice dream about bunnies and kangaroos, but then your alarm went off and I killed the President! HmmpH!"
And then I huffily laid back down and went to sleep.
I have also dreamed about hanging out with two friends I see about once a year each: Kristopher, with whom I had a long and involved discussion about tattoos, and Mahi'ai, with whom I partied at a very large bar in New York.
It seems my subconscious is as much a traveller as me these days. LOL.
Stay tuned . . . the post will appear later when I feel less discouraged.
This week has not been as productive as I hoped. I wonder if I should have stayed in Burlingame and chained myself to my computer? The Stegner app is due on the 30th and I feel like I've forgotten how to write. Great. Not like I'm "competing" for one of five slots or anything . . . sigh.
Cynematic tagged me … and in retribution I stole some of her extragood words. Haha. What can I say, I ran out of coffee and am operating at half capacity today.
Rules: List a word that describes you for every letter of the alphabet. Offer as much or as little explanation as you wish. Please keep the words positive (for example, don’t use “fat” for F or “lame” for L), and feel free to get creative. Tag as many or as few people as you wish. Link back to your tagger and forward to your taggees.
B. Brave. (At least trying to be.)
H. Hawaiian at heart.
U. Underpaid. (Non-profits are bullshit. I would be for profit if I could get a damn job that interested me enough.)
X. X-traordinary. (Truly there are hardly any adjectives that start with “x”!)
Z. Zaftig. (In the complimentative luscious connotation of the word. Nevertheless, trying to diet.)
OKAY … whew, that took a while. I have a feeling I could kick some ass at Scrabble right now. Anyway, I tag …
5. julesKrissa ... hee hee).
Thursday, November 15, 2007
I've been trying to work on fiction all morning. I won't say it's been going very well. But in my attempts to meld together pieces of old and new, I stumbled across something I wrote back in 2004, in a journal. Back then, I was contemplating an undesired, eventual, inevitable move west--most likely to Hawai'i. Dave and I were not yet engaged, and if I remember correctly I was still pissed at Dave for leaving NY in August 2003 moving back to Los Angeles. I was constantly trying to puzzle out this decision between my love for a man and a city.
So, for lack of beautiful new things written, I'll share something old.
---February 12, 2004--
It’s about David forever, a home together, a big-footed puppy, beaches, family, community, a job that doesn’t matter but a hopefully zen-like “settling” into the rest of one’s life. Growing-up, I guess they call it.
That or else it’s about learning to be much more brave in this life. Taking chances, making mistakes, lots of heart pain, brave as if I was born into it brave. It’s about hoping you’ve made the right decision in chasing an education, a career, a nightlife, a well educated, politically savvy city man. It’s hoping that by the time you’re thirty or forty, you’ve made it “big” so you don’t look back and clearly see and regret all you gave up. The boy that loves you uncomplicatedly. The dog. The home. The beach. The sound of children and the sound of waves. A smaller arc. A closer world. A shorter story. Simpler things. Ultimately, less complicated happiness. Family. Love. Abstractions. Emotions. Forever. A kind of happily ever after.
All that up for the mere shining glory of the possible. A man both tall and fine who is every bit as complicated as the city and as you yourself have become these years that have passed living in this faster, harder world. The small apartment in the “trendy” neighborhood. In a neighborhood that’s always a trend because frankly it’s New York, and you’re in the club, you are, you’ve done it, finally. Your closet takes up one of the few rooms. Your shoes are petted and groomed. There’s little room or need for dogs and children. There are no fences or yards, just parks bigger than city blocks, shared green with such different, difficult, divine, delicious, dirty, diverse people. There is no nature unless it’s been caught and held between cracking cement and metal fences, but it’s enough nature for a fix, except in the winter and who really needs nature in winter? You’re too busy either avoiding the cold, admiring the falling snow, or minding the ice on the dirty, shiny slick streets. The whole world on a tiny strip of island. The chance always of something else, something new, something fantastically different. Do you grow out of such a thing? A novel of a life. Or a single word on a blank white page, so simple, so complex, so open for interpretation. Never completely happy because there’s always more to want from life. Always. Friendships. A beautiful teeny tiny studio apartment. The next $18 roll of sushi. A gorgeous complicated man. The next rung on whatever ladder you’re climbing. That purse, those shoes, this gala opening, that museum membership. Evenings at the theater, books, CDs, movies. Things, beautiful things, always more desirous things.
OK. So. What to blog about then?!
* I'm not trying to be coy or make you beg for this. I just need a few more weeks. That said, the Very Big Issues do not involve me being pregnant, so don't worry. There is no honeymoon baby in the hopper.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Domenico is so sweet, but there is no chemistry there; still Tila kept him on. Steven got sent home. There was one more elimination to go. When it came down to the last two standing, it was Vanessa and Brandi, and Brandi won, which led to Vanessa taking Brandi down in the mother of all cat fights. Vanessa refused to leave the house by throwing herself on the ground in front of the front door, and Brandi told Tila she loved her but she couldn't keep putting herself through all of this drama.
I think it may come down to Dani and Bobby, at least if Tila continues to try to keep the gender ratios equal. Tila had all the contestants vote for the Most and Least Compatible for her (not including themselves), and Dani SWEPT that shit up, by far winning Most Compatible. Even Tila admitted in one interview that although she usually goes for more feminine, lipsticky lesbians that she was very attracted to Dani and that she's starting to realize Dani might be the best of both worlds. Like, DUH. Didn't I say that a few episodes ago?! Plus, their making out is totally heating up.
Dude, I am starting to really believe that Dani might take it. DANI 4 PREZ! DANI 4-EVA!
It is sort of an obvious point, but one worth making again, that the self one sees in a mirror is much different from what others see. Even this is a simplification, for the self that a close friend sees is different from the self that family, acquaintances, strangers on the street, and myspace “friends” see—just as there is more than one view that the self sees. I, for example, am becoming more conscious that I have a public self that is quite different from my private self. When I meet someone new or enter a new kind of social situation/setting, I am eager to put my “best” foot forward, even if it’s not the most truthful foot. It’s like when two people start dating, and each is on his or her best behavior for a handful of dates before the façade starts slipping.
To a certain extent, even when one looks into one’s own mirror at one’s own most private self, there is another, different kind of façade reflected there. It is the private construction of self, cobbled from bits of actual achievements in addition to the friendly little lies and embellishments we tell ourselves in order to go forward into the day. For most, I would hope, it is an extremely flattering image, because, shit, you should have at least one safe place in the world in which you like yourself. When I was eight or so, and superdeeply into Madonna, for example, I used to wait till I was home alone and then I would make up brilliant choreography to “Where’s the Party?” and dance on top of the couches and tell myself I was the most amazing dancer ever. More recently, when I have doubts about my physical self-image, there is one incredible black swimsuit that with a pair of high heels and the lights dimmed makes my confidence sky-high again. Obviously this is also done when home alone in the house. (I can’t believe I just admitted this.) These are kind of silly examples. I don’t want to get too into detail here, because there is a reason my private self is private, but others might include a view of myself as a generally nice person, a invested and caring friend, a nurturing and supportive girlfriend/wife, a talented writer, a capable manager/editor/boss, a charming personality, an impeccably dressed young lady, and someone clearly meant for the finer things in life.
Everyone is aware of their own self-image. And on bad days, we are even aware of the parts of them that are less true, or at least less exponentially true than we usually let ourselves believe.
But what gets really interesting is when you are confronted—as were the Fellows and Doctors of the episode of House—with an image of your self as reflected by someone else, perhaps a facet you yourself have never seen or had reason to believe existed. This theme has been coming up for me a lot lately. Recently I’ve interacted with a couple of different people who had the entirely wrong idea about me, who have seen a me that I think simply doesn’t exist. I find it weird and yet fascinating how people could have me sussed out so entirely wrong. And then I found that, at times, when pegged entirely wrong, it was easier to just act out whatever role because it is the path of least resistance. But then if I continue to interact with such persons I get stuck in the role, and all it does is make me uncomfortable around them. This is what we call a “lose-lose” situation. And then I find myself wondering if this side of me actually is a part of me, but I just can't see it because I lack perspective.
This whole thing reminds me of the Johari window exercize, except those categorizations are mostly flattering.
This entry is all over the place. I guess that’s because I’m far from having figured “it” out, so I’m stumbling through my thoughts as they come. Apologies for the disarray; your thoughts/comments/musings/ramblings more than welcome, as maybe they’ll help me make sense of this stuff.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
dreamed . . .
it was like i was in some kind of reality TV show, minus the cameras. it was girls versus guys, kind of like on "a shot at love." we had been doing a series of challenges, which culminated in a white-water rafting challenge. i remembered the last (and first) time i went white-water rafting, and that someone had gone overboard and our guide had to hoist her back on board, so i became concerned when it was mentioned that there would be no guide in the boat with us. i became embroiled in a debate with myself about what to wear, just in case i should go overboard. should i be wearing a swimsuit? where were the life jackets? didn't we need reef shoes? or should we wear sneakers? or go barefoot?? i didn't know. meanwhile my teammates and our opposition had already dressed and made it down to the shore. i hurried to follow, feeling apprehension gnawing at me: i didn't know what to wear or what to do, i didn't get my questions answered, and now i was late on top of everything else.
i got down to the shore and saw that my team had started without me. it was white-water rafting, only it wasn't a big inner-tube they were paddling out of but a HUGE boat/watercraft. i dropped all the extra clothes i had brought while still unsure about what to wear, and jumped in the water in just a swimsuit, barefooted and uncaring. i swam for all i was worth, caught up with the boat, and nearly caught hold, but the currents were strong and i was tired. but i was determined, so i caught up again and somehow hoisted myself aboard. once aboard, a teammate tossed me an extra paddle. then i paddled extrahard to make up for the paddling my team had done without me. it was comical, really, the boat was so far above the water, i had to lean 3/4 of the way out to even touch the paddle to water.
we had to reach another shore with spectators on it, round a buoy, then make it back to the original shore. we almost missed the first buoy, in fact we nearly crashed into it, it was so close i could have embraced it, but instead i physically pushed myself and used my paddle to turn the boat. the weird thing was throughout the race i could really feel the difference my one paddle made and knew that each of my teammates counted that much as well: each of us made that much of a difference. because we all wanted "the win" that badly.
we caught up to the other team, but they finished slightly before us.
once ashore, my teammates and our opponents started back to the house at which we were all staying. but our host/coach/whatever was getting on my case about having lost and kept taunting me in front of the others. "see what happens? your team was paddling and you were too busy primping to even get to shore? now that your team lost, do you think your hairdo was good enough to paddle with, princess?" and et cetera. i keep my cool until my teammates are gone, then i turn to him and say as calmly, clearly, and firmly as possible:
"i like outdoor stuff and water sports. i do. i want you to know that. but i am at my core a nervous person. you have no idea what it took for me to make it to shore at all, nevermind swim to catch up with the boat and paddle rapids with my team. you don't know that instead of fixing my hair and makeup (as you seem to think i was doing), i was instead trying not to throw up out of nervousness. but even though it freaks me out, that doesn't seem like a good enough reason to not do something i am learning to enjoy. you don't have to stop teasing me, you can taunt me all you want, but i thought you should at least understand what was really going on."
. . . then awoke.
I was recently half-reading, half-skimming an article about dream meaning in Real Simple. The article basically states that when people first fall asleep, they enter a light sleep wherein they process the events of the day. But when they fall deeper and enter REM cycle sleep, they use the areas of their brain that deal with the past to process events, problems, worries, questions, et cetera that are currently plaguing them. For example, if you were anxious about giving a presentation at work, you might dream about another time that you were similarly put on the spot and how you handled it. Or you might dream about you handling the situation in a way that a character on TV or in a book did. And so forth.
I wrote the dream down quickly when I awoke, before it could get away. Then I wrote "WORD, self" because obviously my subconscious was hard at work last night with my self-conscious. And that is no doubt a very good thing.
I'm at HNL, waiting for Mom, waiting for D. Mom's due to pick us both up at 1 pm. Dave's here for temporary duty, and I surprised myself and came along for the ride, mostly as a consolation prize for being unable to afford to accompany him to Japan this time. Eh, he's stuck by Narita again this time, so it would have been boring for me anyhow.
Hawaii is striking a hard note. The landing was smooth, the ocean so blue, the land so green, so red, so brown. The day so great and beautiful staring back at us. There are so many ways in which moving home could and would be a pleasant exercize. And yet, so many other ways in which it would not.
To be submerged among family and deep friendships again, to enjoy the physical beauty of the place, to hear the languages, the tongues, to see the beautiful Polynesian men--sorry, but this will always be a selling point! Married or not, I can still look--these are some of the things that make it tempting. To become so entangled in family and community responsibilities that we never leave again, that is the #1 major thing that keeps both Dave and I from wanting to move home. There are other reasons involving careers and the fact that I like big cities and my vainglorious need to be living somewhere "cool," but the #1 reason is that we wouldn't want to let others down by leaving once they've reinvested in us and we wouldn't want to let ourselves down by not leaving.
It's awesome because the airport employees, the Hawaiian band with their hula dancers performing well-worn hapa-haole songs, the other locals travelling are all just going through their own chosen motions, but it ends up being an elaborate show for me, a display to consider the merits of a move home. HNL International Airport still--alas--is not what it used to be pre-9/11, with families and friends coming en masse to see each other off on long journeys, with spontaneous kanikapila* at every gate, but where in the world is? Everything has changed, and the current threat level will ever be orange because our guard was down once and something so horrible happened. Still, it's something new, this War on Terror. We had no alert levels back when Pearl Harbor got bombed, for example, nor did Japan when we bombed them back.
Whoa. Got off-topic. It happens.
After seeing what there was to see at the airport, I got to wondering was what do people see when they see me coming home? In the row behind us on the plane, this one tourist haole guy (I'm almost certain he wasn't local) took it upon himself to comment on my person once we landed. The seatbelt light had gone off, and we all stood to collect our belongings. He turned to Dave and said, "You better watch out. She slept the whole damn way. Now she's going to be raring to go" (or something along those lines). He then kept implying (this was like a 5+ minute long joke) that I would want to go shopping. Is that how I seemed to him, is that how I come off to people?! I was not even dressed as my most materialistic self (and believe me she exists and not to be stuck up but she is a looker). I'm wearing sneakers, jeans, a tank top, a henley, my hair is semi-acceptably messy, my face bare, and I am wearing a single bracelet. And he sees in this: (1) a fellow tourist and (2) a shallow girl that wants only to shop on such a beautiful day? I protested lightly that I didn't have any desire to go shopping, but he was convinced, and Hawai'i chills you out so it's never worth a real battle. Except on the very rare occasion. Anyway, I don't want to read too much into it because he was probably judging me just for being female. In any case, I don't really care what he sees, per se, as long as other (local) people see something else. Something better.
* When a bunch of people get together and "jam" together, singing, harmonizing, ukulele playing, guitars, etc.
Monday, November 12, 2007
If you have ever met my mother, you will understand why I didn't have time to blog at all today. We were driving the North Shore, and eating, and shopping, and sight-seeing, and then eating more, and drinking, and then playing marathon mah jongg for four hours. It was delightful and awesome but also really really really busy and tiring.
Tomorrow Dave goes off for his first day of temp duty, to start at 5am. He will be briefing pilots of SIX flights when at SFO he usually has to deal with only one, maybe two flights. CRAZY. My plan is to get up and have a leisurely morning of blogging and writing ... and possibly even some editing.
My only dilemma is that we're staying at Dave's parents place ... and they don't have a coffeemaker!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! UHH OHHH!
May (not in the bay but in the middle of an even larger body of water: the Pacific!)
Sunday, November 11, 2007
For my lazy man's offering of a blog entry, I direct you to some new blogs I've found via NaBloPoMo that I've been really enjoying reading. They have become a part of my mornings, as surely as several cups of coffee and the old standbys under "my daily cuppa." Check 'em out!
* For inspiration about following your dreams, check out Roam to Rome.
* For beautiful pictures and the adventures of "a twenty-something single gal" in Portland, OR, who has some awesome tattoos, check out le cassandre.
* For the passionate blogging of a wicked smart Asian American mommy and filmmaker, check out Pillowbook.
Sorry for the weak entry. More later.
* This is not nearly as interesting or mysterious as it sounds. It just ends up that I'm going home and I wasn't planning to, even a few days ago. This is what happens when your husband gives you flight benefits and you fly by the seat of your pants.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
I would go back in a heartbeat.
I'd go back knowing furthermore that things would be different and not how I remembered them and not how I can even imagine they will be. Friends are making lives for themselves without me, and fitting back into that wouldn't be easy.
I would go back fully recognizing I was just buying time, that it would be a temporary solution and not the most sensible one at that. Because I'm not one of those people that other people look at and say, "Of course you live in NY. You will also die in NY. They will have to drag your carcass out of NY, because even dead you'll still be the life of the party." That is not me. I'm meant for apron-wielding and cupcake-baking, and multiple children and dogs, and fences with yards and green-growing things. I am meant, someday, for fresh air and early bedtimes, for homecooked meals and endless tv-watching late at night, for passing out in our old man and old lady armchairs.
But still I'd go in a heartbeat. If it were possible.
Just to have my NY years not be over.
* In the interests of full disclosure, these were "What Goes Around Comes Around" (season 3, episode 47), "Cock a Doodle Do" (season 3, episode 48), "The Agony and the Ex-tacy" (season 4, episode 49), and "The Real Me" (season 4, episode 50). Followed by my THREE FAVORITE EPISODES OF ALL TIME, all of which make me bawl: "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" (season 3, episode 42), "An American Girl in Paris: part une" (season 6, episode 93), and "An American Girl in Paris: part deux" (season 6, episode 94).
Friday, November 9, 2007
On white hair, which sadly I've been finding from time to time on my own head:
Me: It has to do with hair follicles. Something… They can’t produce pigment.
Dave: At least there’s still hair. I can produce pigment, but it’s a pigment of my imagination.
In short, they’re total “lovetards.”
Now, I love my friend. We go way back. And I’m not writing this entry to lay this person’s shit bare, but because I worry.
“I couldn’t help but wonder”: How soon is too soon to do the parental meet-and-greet?
When I first started dating, and I managed to have a relationship actually last for a few months, I still wasn’t rushing home to do introductions—though I’ll admit this was partially me not wanting to scare away those commitment phoebes I was at the time dating. It was also because why get the parents all excited if you’re not sure where you’ll end up. And finally, in time, it became because timing is everything, and I figured why throw more problems/issues in the mix before absolutely necessary.
That said, it has been argued (sometimes successfully) that connection is measured not by time but depth, not quantitatively but qualitatively. Anyone who hasn't already followed petithiboux's moving lovestory should put aside a few hours and read through her archives. Cygnoir's account of finding love swiftly is also wonderful. Even I can’t completely discount this theory because I sure as hell rushed headlong* into the relationship that later led to my marriage. However, I did invest some serious time into crushing on my husband and/or being superclose friends with him (about three years) before I rushed him, so I didn’t require a lot of getting to know him once we had gotten together. But I worry for my friend because this person has a tendency (a wonderful, trusting one) to fall like a ton of bricks—really hard and superfast. On the other hand, we're getting to be at the age that the persons our friends are meeting may be the person for the rest of their lives, and the leaps, bounds, and lengths they are willing to go--and the speed at which they do so--may end up being part of yet another slightly batty but absolutely admirable love story. Who am I to say?
Is this none of my business? (Yes.) Am I focusing on this because I am in denial about my writing non-career? (Probably.) Am I blogging about anything because it’s easier than writing fiction? (Totally!!) Am I still quite genuinely worried about my friend? (Completely.)
* Translation: I was a complete asshole.
TAURUS (April 20-May 20): Is it getting hot in here? Or are you just attaining some new (or recurrent) level of self-confidence… and thus oozing unstoppable appeal (sexual or otherwise) out your every pore? Don't argue with my assessment, Taurus, because the unfortunate side-effect of your not feeling the confidence I describe (if, in fact, that's what you're claiming) would be an unstoppable sense of envy for, or obsession with, somebody else who represents that sort of thing to you. And why, oh why, would you want to project all that delectable goodness onto another person… instead of happily owning it yourself? Contrary to what your resistant mind might tell you, it really is as simple as deciding to embrace the riskier possibilities, defiantly refusing to give a damn what anybody else thinks. That, my friend, is confidence personified. You mustn't feel obliged to explore this expanded courage on your own, by the way. In fact, bringing along a trusty pal as your wingman or -woman is a wonderful idea, so you two can invent a protective system of subtle signs and convincing excuses that'll leave you a failsafe 'out', should things go too far. With that built-in safety gauge, what could go wrong? It is actually getting hot in here—well, as hot as you allow it to get. The heat's coming from you. Brave enough to admit it?