If that's not reason enough... Philip Seymour Hoffman is fantastic and deserves your admiration and love, and is acting in this movie.
But seriously. See it. Then talk to me.
Merry Christmas some more!
Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Merry Christmas! (Or, I saw this movie you should see)
I forgot to say before, please see Charlie Wilson's War. I don't want to say much about it until people have seen it, but I want you to see it so I can talk to you about it.
Merry Christmas! (Or, random thoughts about my dad)
Here I am, with my beautiful new laptop, having beautiful internet in my very own room at home, and sadly my phone has to be plugged in around the corner and so at the moment is more awkward to reach than my computer... but no one is online to talk to me!
Well, that's not true... the automated moviefone thing is online, as is a person I only knew on the internet except for meeting once randomly in person, but with whom I have not spoken in any context for some time. And some people have away messages up.
But that's ok, because I have a delightful public-private inner-thoughts-to-outer-world forum to keep me company until my phone gets more charg-y. Or until I just get sleepy, and forget all the things I wanted to say, which seems to be happening right now.
It's been an interesting time so far. I spent some time with my dad Saturday and Sunday, and that was good. It's amazing how I can feel so connected to him in some ways, like when we talk about the big stuff of life and the spirit, which sounds, as such things often do, ridiculous to write down, except that I really mean it... and I feel like we're really sharing something important, and special, and we are... and then I try to tell him what I think about a movie, or what I'm doing next year, and it seems like we're communicating but suddenly he says something that has all the ingredients of what I've been saying, but isn't actually my point at all... and then I look at the picture we took together using Photo Booth, and our smiles do the same thing to our faces, our noses are the same, the stretch of our mouths... or I see him almost-sleeping on the couch and he moves his thumbs against each other restlessly like I know I do, or his feet, absurdly high arch tucked and rubbed against the top of the other foot, and that is just like me. And somehow all these things, connections, disconnections, awkwardness, alikeness-- come from the same person, in not even 48 hours. And he tells me he wants to know more about what I like and I am quiet, not knowing what to say. (We are talking about music, should I give a list?) And sometimes I think he creates an idea of me quite fully out of pieces of true things, and sometimes I think he knows me in ways I cannot know myself.
This is ironic, since part of our discussion, a real heart of it, was how you cannot see yourself, how if you look for the self you cannot find it, that self-hood itself (ha) and everything around it is created... but if there is no self, created by whom? This is one of those statements that should maybe come with warnings, like the Cloud of Unknowing: Don't read me or think about me unless you're way gung-ho about the whole spiritual path deal. Or maybe I'm just posturing. (Who is? Ha.)
He can irritate me intensely, and I am terribly afraid of displeasing him in some small way. He bought me beautiful shirts-- in size extra-large. I take a stupid pleasure in being more educated than he is, in thinking silently that I understand more while he speaks. Especially about eastern religions.
I can see now how crippled he has been, because he is not so big and full of power as he used to be. When he hugs me, he is still the strongest person in the world, the whole world still goes away. I think he is trying to protect me from his family, or protect himself through me. I think he has systematically removed me from their reach... he may be fully conscious of this, or totally unconscious, or I may be incredibly wrong.
I love him. I can't decide if that statement encompasses all of this I have said before, or not.
So, there's actually a lot more I have to say, about things other than my dad, like... my mom! ;) Well, and how Christmas Eve went and how it was singing at Mass and how my extended family is responding to my telling them about Charlotte with a wonderful outpouring of love and support so far... and how I got some cool presents at Jeff's family's party, and... well, but this will all have to wait.
In the meantime, the merriest of Christmases to you all! I love you! (Or I don't know you, but you can have some love too, if you want!)
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Notes to (or on) the World
It's snowing. It's been a real winter so far. Several real snowstorms and lots of trudging through ice and snowbanks and having big snow crystals in my hair and finding my feet sliding out from under me. I think I'm happy about it. Or, it's a pain, and it's cold, and it's difficult to get around, but somehow I feel some kind of strange joy when I am out in it nonetheless. I did this morning, anyway.
And last night, I was cutting home through the woods and I suddenly noticed how beautiful it was, and how quiet. I looked over and I saw this small tree, thin and curvy and bent, standing by itself. I felt like this was Christmas, or Advent, this was something I'd been waiting for. So I stood there looking for awhile, debating whether I wanted to get my feet wet to go over to it, and then I got off the path and trudged through the snow, and when I made it to the tree I fit perfectly against the curve of it, with my arm around the side and my cheek against the cold, wet bark.
I hope this will do as a resumption of posting. If I have any faithful readers left. ;)
A more petty note is that people should not write in library books. Ever. Especially not if it's a complicated novel like Midnight's Children which I am trying to read and pay attention to, but somebody has underlined half of every page and written crap like "style" and "shows failure of omniscient narrator" all over the margins. Just read! Don't write! Or, if you must, get your own book or write notes on a notebook or something.
And last night, I was cutting home through the woods and I suddenly noticed how beautiful it was, and how quiet. I looked over and I saw this small tree, thin and curvy and bent, standing by itself. I felt like this was Christmas, or Advent, this was something I'd been waiting for. So I stood there looking for awhile, debating whether I wanted to get my feet wet to go over to it, and then I got off the path and trudged through the snow, and when I made it to the tree I fit perfectly against the curve of it, with my arm around the side and my cheek against the cold, wet bark.
I hope this will do as a resumption of posting. If I have any faithful readers left. ;)
A more petty note is that people should not write in library books. Ever. Especially not if it's a complicated novel like Midnight's Children which I am trying to read and pay attention to, but somebody has underlined half of every page and written crap like "style" and "shows failure of omniscient narrator" all over the margins. Just read! Don't write! Or, if you must, get your own book or write notes on a notebook or something.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Calling in the Night
Since I last dropped in, my Rumiesque guest house self has entertained many garden variety fears and anxieties, nasty cramps, and recursive thought loops, but also a very beautiful moment of understanding.
The latter is due to a sort of coming together of insights offered by Krsna, Charlotte, Roz's mix cd, and Christ crucified.
Holy Week, here I am. In the midst of the teeth-grinding what comes next day to day terror.
I should sleep. Goodnight.
The latter is due to a sort of coming together of insights offered by Krsna, Charlotte, Roz's mix cd, and Christ crucified.
Holy Week, here I am. In the midst of the teeth-grinding what comes next day to day terror.
I should sleep. Goodnight.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
My Valentine, In Fact, Is In All Ways Better Than The Aforementioned.
I was taught, never brag or shout,
still it's hot, just like how you read about,
and also caring, and never too uncouth,
that's the simple truth.
Can you tell, I have been revised?
It's so swell, dammit, even I'm surprised.
We laugh, we fumble, we take it day by day...
What more can I say?
--William Finn
Happy Valentine's Day, darling.
George W. Bush is Not My Valentine
He talks to us as though we are five, and about people in other countries as though they are infants. Unfortunately, he also handles incredibly dangerous situations as though he is a slightly older playground vigilante fighting to be king of the hill.
In what universe are people going to listen when we say "we can have nuclear weapons, but not you, because we know best and we say so"?
Good Lord, this money restriction thing is going to be a problem.
He does look tired, and gets so irate so easily. He's like someone being called onto the carpet and grasping at defensive straws. His arguments do not make sense, but he presents them as though to disagree is a basic failure in intelligence and understanding. Wow, he's totally going off. Do presidents usually get so snippy?
I wish I understood more about this Iran thing. Does anyone have any insight into the situation there beyond what I am hearing in this conference?
In what universe are people going to listen when we say "we can have nuclear weapons, but not you, because we know best and we say so"?
Good Lord, this money restriction thing is going to be a problem.
He does look tired, and gets so irate so easily. He's like someone being called onto the carpet and grasping at defensive straws. His arguments do not make sense, but he presents them as though to disagree is a basic failure in intelligence and understanding. Wow, he's totally going off. Do presidents usually get so snippy?
I wish I understood more about this Iran thing. Does anyone have any insight into the situation there beyond what I am hearing in this conference?
Friday, April 21, 2006
A Month in Review
Wow, it's truly been far too long since I posted last, as some faithful readers have pointed out. My apologies!
I'm not sure where to start, but in the past month I have:
*Visited Harvard Divinity School and accepted their offer of admission for the fall. (Yikes!)
*Entertained various guests, including Liz.
*Turned 24 (that yesterday)!
*Read lots of books, including A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court by Mark Twain, My Brother is Getting Arrested Again by Daisy Fried (my former poetry teacher, who recognized me when I went to her reading!), A Woman Like That by lots of people, The People of Paper by Salvador Plascencia (one of the weirdest books ever, in terms of structure and layout, and in lots of other ways too. Interesting, though), and I know I am missing some in the middle here... or I think I am... but more recently, Close Range: Wyoming Stories by Annie Proulx (including Brokeback Mountain, a really interesting but sometimes overwhelmingly bleak collection) and The Icarus Girl by Helen Oyeyemi, who graduates from college this year.
*Thought about many things, tried to worry less and do more, wrote a bunch of poems, some better than others.
*Cleaned about half my room.
*Celebrated Easter at home with my family.
Hmmm. That's boring. I've decided list posts are not too fun! I will be more descriptive, and hopefully more prolific, now that I have resumed posting!
;)
I'm not sure where to start, but in the past month I have:
*Visited Harvard Divinity School and accepted their offer of admission for the fall. (Yikes!)
*Entertained various guests, including Liz.
*Turned 24 (that yesterday)!
*Read lots of books, including A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court by Mark Twain, My Brother is Getting Arrested Again by Daisy Fried (my former poetry teacher, who recognized me when I went to her reading!), A Woman Like That by lots of people, The People of Paper by Salvador Plascencia (one of the weirdest books ever, in terms of structure and layout, and in lots of other ways too. Interesting, though), and I know I am missing some in the middle here... or I think I am... but more recently, Close Range: Wyoming Stories by Annie Proulx (including Brokeback Mountain, a really interesting but sometimes overwhelmingly bleak collection) and The Icarus Girl by Helen Oyeyemi, who graduates from college this year.
*Thought about many things, tried to worry less and do more, wrote a bunch of poems, some better than others.
*Cleaned about half my room.
*Celebrated Easter at home with my family.
Hmmm. That's boring. I've decided list posts are not too fun! I will be more descriptive, and hopefully more prolific, now that I have resumed posting!
;)
Saturday, March 18, 2006
St. Patrick's Day at a Club
Well, even though I'm two books behind, I figure you all might want to hear about something other than my reading habits. These past two weeks have been insane, but last night was fun and interesting. Rachel and I went to Pure, which is a club we first found when we went to see Shut Up and Dance last year. I really liked it, because it reminded me a bit of Trexx, the gay club I cut my teeth on back home with Bekah and Morgan. I think it mostly reminded me of Trexx in that it was ostensibly gay but had a good mix of people (though this time the gay/maleness was more pronounced, I think), played good dance music, and... that's about it, I guess.
But anyway, I finally got to wear the exciting black corset top that I'd gotten with Liz... in October, I think, and a black and gold skirt, and just so I didn't look too much like every other girl showing off her breasts and her legs, I wore my gold sneakers and (to celebrate St. Patrick's Day) a little green turtle pin and a tiny sparkly St. Patrick's Day hat that my mom had sent me, which Rachel helped me attach to my sleeve with a safety pin. Oh, and green eyeshadow for St. Pat's Day, too, though I probably would have worn it anyway, since I'm feeling rather enamored of that eyeshadow lately. And Rachel wore this sort of pinstriped tube top she has... which probably gives a slightly wrong picture of it, but I'm not sure how to describe it... and this great skirt which is blue with gold and silver sequins all over it. Which I just realized is funny, because at some point she didn't like sequiny things, I thought. Anyway, though, it's neat. And she also wore her new silver high-top sneakers.
When we finally completed our outfits and got to Pure, it was almost totally deserted. Apparently things don't pick up there until 1:30 or 2, even though it closes at 3. There's also a bizarre membership system which we did not understand, but only members can buy drinks. That's ok, though, because neither of us wanted to buy drinks anyway. Though, retrospectively, I bet we could have if we wanted to. Unless there was some card showing or different identifying marks that the members had, I don't know. But anyway, we didn't really know what to do and so we hung around, and talked about maybe leaving and coming back, but didn't, and we went upstairs and checked out al the different rooms and areas of the club, which actually has a pretty cool layout. I think I like the place, though this time I did feel the maleness of it more, as I said before. Not that there weren't a good number of women there... I don't quite know how to describe it. Oh, and I ran into Randi upstairs. Which was perfectly surreal, because I'd had this feeling right before I saw her that I was going to run into Randi. And there she was. So we exchanged friendly-yet-slightly-awkward pleasantries, and then I saw her later on the dance floor and we waved at each other. I mean, I guess it wasn't a big surprise, given that I know Randi likes to go out and live it up, and this was a hotspot for... shall we say LGBTQ activity, so I could put two and two together and figure I might see the most partying T I know at the party. Well, the only T I know. Well, anyway, it was weird. I mean, who likes to run into people from work while enjoying the nightlife? Though there are definitely worse people to run into. After we sat around upstairs near Randi for a little bit, we went back down... to a still mostly dead room. Before the dancing started, I thought I was going to go nuts just standing there. A few people would start dancing, and then it would all fall apart again, and there would just be this one weird guy wandering around the dance floor... not dancing, just sort of walking. Oh, and while we were hanging around to the side of the dance floor, this friendly but odd Latino (I think) guy named Neville (I think!) came up to us and danced with us and welcomed us effusively to Pure, saying that we should dance and do whatever our hearts feel and that if "they" didn't like it, "fuck the faggots" and to remember his face and that he loved females and had great respect for females and his mother was a female and she had him, so he and females were like this, and he made some gesture of solidarity, and enjoined us again to dance and do whatever we wanted, and welcomed us again, and said if anyone gave us any trouble we should find him. And he asked our names and kissed our hands, individually and then together, and went back to whatever he had been doing prior to this. Oh, and one seemingly straight man on the street, one muscular man acting as proxy for his boyfriend in speaking to us, one transvestite (also on the street), and one very old dancing man at the club, all complimented Rachel's skirt. Ladies, remember, the lesson is: blue with sequins = man magnet. Maybe mostly gay man magnet, but still.
Oh, so finally I got Rachel onto the little upper dance floor with me, even though the music wasn't that great. But the advantage was that a) people were dancing there, b) it was smaller so that it took less to fill the space in a satisfactory way, and c) one of the two most fascinating people at the club was dancing in there. She was this girl in a green man's shirt with short but stylish hair and a tie, and she was unbelievably hot. Like, took my attention away from every single man in the place hot. Maddie, she reminded me a lot of that one in If These Walls Could Talk II, and was definitely that hot. So I sort of danced hopefully near her for awhile, but she took no notice of me, so we went down to the other dance floor with the good music and started dancing there, and I feel, personally, that we were responsible for getting the party started, because from the time we started dancing, the number and mix of people dancing just steadily increased until we left.
The dancing was great! It was so good to dance, and I love that music for dancing. I love that giddy rising feeling of delight that comes into me when I am just dancing and not thinking about anything and letting my body go, and I love watching other people dance, especially the unexpected ones. I was particularly pleased by this old man who danced all around by himself. His dancing was kind of odd, but he gave me joy and courage because of his joy and courage in his own body. I also liked this eminently ordinary looking woman... like, ordinary face, ordinary hair, ordinary body, middle aged (I think, maybe a little younger), wearing just a plain shirt and jeans and sneakers, who was really into dancing. Then... I saw the other most fascinating person in the club. He was a tall black man and he had two small white scarves, although actually I might better call them little flags, because they were sort of stiff and attached to something that helped him get a hold of them, I think. Anyway, he danced with these scarves and it was incredible. I was just utterly captivated. It was so, so incredibly beautiful and amazing and fascinating. I was dancing a good distance away to give him room, but I felt like I was dancing with him, because all my movements were just naturally in reaction to his. I feel like maybe everyone felt that way, too. I felt so much more free and poetic in my movements and let my body just sort of flow in a much more creative way, because somehow I couldn't feel self-conscious while such a beautiful thing was going on. He just whirled the scarves all around... I don't know how to describe it. Enthralling, just enthralling. I think if I'd actually gotten a chance to dance with him and those scarves I'd either have danced better than I ever have in my life or just fainted or something. ;) Anyway, it was great.
So, after quite some time we got tired and took a break, and this man leaning on the wall next to me struck up a conversation. Turns out he's Hispanic, in fact from Chile, and so we started talking in Spanish. That was really exciting; it felt great to speak Spanish. And he was repeatedly complimentary of my Spanish and my accent... he said I had pretty pronunciation, and really, since I'm actually quite self-conscious about my accent, that was all he needed to say to have my attention for at least a little while. He invited me to dance and I said yes. The thing was, he was pretty old. I mean, not old. But old for me. I don't know how old, but I would say between 35-40. I mean he was handsome, quite handsome actually... but. So, I was having a really good time and all, but I started to hope that he understood that this was definitely a platonic relationship, something that's hard to get across when you're grinding on a dance floor. But I tried to keep moving and keep intimate moments brief. Rachel was dancing with us too, and there was this weird guy on drugs who was grabbing everyone, including me once and her twice, and she slapped him across the face and he went away. The moment of the slap was kind of fascinating. It was just a huge crack, like in the movies, and then he stumbled around confused and left. Anyway, so after a bit more dancing I was exhausted, and we went upstairs and sat there chatting for awhile. Which was ok, but began to be sort of stretched thin like conversation gets with someone you don't really know. At least it does if you're me and tired. ;) We engaged in chit-chat, switching fluidly between Spanish and English, and he asked for my number so that we could continue to talk in Spanish. I gave it to him, hoping he meant what he said and deciding to sort it out later. Then he asked me to go dance in the other little room, so we did, but that got weird. It was super crowded, and these guys were, in my opinion, basically having clothed sex on the wall next to us. Like, pressed right flush against each other and writhing, with these strained expressions of exertion and pleasure on their faces... well, it was a bit much for me. Especially I was struggling to keep everything not too sexy with my senor (insert tilda over the n, I don't know where to get it.) And he seemed to be getting more sexy, sliding down my body (in a non-touching way) and then touching my hair and my head. That was kind of the last straw for me. I don't know why, but touching my hair just seems very intimate for a stranger. It's interesting, the whole thing is interesting, because the style of dancing is just so very sexualized, that I for some reason am pretty comfortable wedging my legs together with some stranger and bobbing up and down, or pressing ass-to-groin and grinding, but pulling my head close and stroking my hair? That was too much. It was curious. So I excused myself, and we said our goodbyes, with perfunctory cheek kisses that I carefully kept perfunctory, and left.
Which brings me to another set of observations. One: I am a foreign man magnet. In the past year five men have made some kind of advance toward me, even if it was only sustained for an evening. Two Americans, yes, but also one Italian, one Indian, and one Chilean man. Interesting. I don't know why this is. Two: In clubs, I often get in these moods where I really want to pick someone up, and I have this sort of aimless sexual energy. I attract a man and pick him up, and we start talking/dancing/flirting. I get bored. I start to feel like it's weird. I want to disengage myself from his company. He just wants it to go on and on. Finally, I have to deliberately remove myself from the situation. Hopefully, this is because I am not super interested in these particular men... not some strange sexual hang up or something like that. I think it's really the former, but it struck me this time as a pattern.
Anyway... I had fun. It was a good St. Patrick's Day celebration. And I still managed to get up today and get to Wayne with Rachel, where I bought a giant stuffed turtle, rose petal soap, and earrings.
:)
But anyway, I finally got to wear the exciting black corset top that I'd gotten with Liz... in October, I think, and a black and gold skirt, and just so I didn't look too much like every other girl showing off her breasts and her legs, I wore my gold sneakers and (to celebrate St. Patrick's Day) a little green turtle pin and a tiny sparkly St. Patrick's Day hat that my mom had sent me, which Rachel helped me attach to my sleeve with a safety pin. Oh, and green eyeshadow for St. Pat's Day, too, though I probably would have worn it anyway, since I'm feeling rather enamored of that eyeshadow lately. And Rachel wore this sort of pinstriped tube top she has... which probably gives a slightly wrong picture of it, but I'm not sure how to describe it... and this great skirt which is blue with gold and silver sequins all over it. Which I just realized is funny, because at some point she didn't like sequiny things, I thought. Anyway, though, it's neat. And she also wore her new silver high-top sneakers.
When we finally completed our outfits and got to Pure, it was almost totally deserted. Apparently things don't pick up there until 1:30 or 2, even though it closes at 3. There's also a bizarre membership system which we did not understand, but only members can buy drinks. That's ok, though, because neither of us wanted to buy drinks anyway. Though, retrospectively, I bet we could have if we wanted to. Unless there was some card showing or different identifying marks that the members had, I don't know. But anyway, we didn't really know what to do and so we hung around, and talked about maybe leaving and coming back, but didn't, and we went upstairs and checked out al the different rooms and areas of the club, which actually has a pretty cool layout. I think I like the place, though this time I did feel the maleness of it more, as I said before. Not that there weren't a good number of women there... I don't quite know how to describe it. Oh, and I ran into Randi upstairs. Which was perfectly surreal, because I'd had this feeling right before I saw her that I was going to run into Randi. And there she was. So we exchanged friendly-yet-slightly-awkward pleasantries, and then I saw her later on the dance floor and we waved at each other. I mean, I guess it wasn't a big surprise, given that I know Randi likes to go out and live it up, and this was a hotspot for... shall we say LGBTQ activity, so I could put two and two together and figure I might see the most partying T I know at the party. Well, the only T I know. Well, anyway, it was weird. I mean, who likes to run into people from work while enjoying the nightlife? Though there are definitely worse people to run into. After we sat around upstairs near Randi for a little bit, we went back down... to a still mostly dead room. Before the dancing started, I thought I was going to go nuts just standing there. A few people would start dancing, and then it would all fall apart again, and there would just be this one weird guy wandering around the dance floor... not dancing, just sort of walking. Oh, and while we were hanging around to the side of the dance floor, this friendly but odd Latino (I think) guy named Neville (I think!) came up to us and danced with us and welcomed us effusively to Pure, saying that we should dance and do whatever our hearts feel and that if "they" didn't like it, "fuck the faggots" and to remember his face and that he loved females and had great respect for females and his mother was a female and she had him, so he and females were like this, and he made some gesture of solidarity, and enjoined us again to dance and do whatever we wanted, and welcomed us again, and said if anyone gave us any trouble we should find him. And he asked our names and kissed our hands, individually and then together, and went back to whatever he had been doing prior to this. Oh, and one seemingly straight man on the street, one muscular man acting as proxy for his boyfriend in speaking to us, one transvestite (also on the street), and one very old dancing man at the club, all complimented Rachel's skirt. Ladies, remember, the lesson is: blue with sequins = man magnet. Maybe mostly gay man magnet, but still.
Oh, so finally I got Rachel onto the little upper dance floor with me, even though the music wasn't that great. But the advantage was that a) people were dancing there, b) it was smaller so that it took less to fill the space in a satisfactory way, and c) one of the two most fascinating people at the club was dancing in there. She was this girl in a green man's shirt with short but stylish hair and a tie, and she was unbelievably hot. Like, took my attention away from every single man in the place hot. Maddie, she reminded me a lot of that one in If These Walls Could Talk II, and was definitely that hot. So I sort of danced hopefully near her for awhile, but she took no notice of me, so we went down to the other dance floor with the good music and started dancing there, and I feel, personally, that we were responsible for getting the party started, because from the time we started dancing, the number and mix of people dancing just steadily increased until we left.
The dancing was great! It was so good to dance, and I love that music for dancing. I love that giddy rising feeling of delight that comes into me when I am just dancing and not thinking about anything and letting my body go, and I love watching other people dance, especially the unexpected ones. I was particularly pleased by this old man who danced all around by himself. His dancing was kind of odd, but he gave me joy and courage because of his joy and courage in his own body. I also liked this eminently ordinary looking woman... like, ordinary face, ordinary hair, ordinary body, middle aged (I think, maybe a little younger), wearing just a plain shirt and jeans and sneakers, who was really into dancing. Then... I saw the other most fascinating person in the club. He was a tall black man and he had two small white scarves, although actually I might better call them little flags, because they were sort of stiff and attached to something that helped him get a hold of them, I think. Anyway, he danced with these scarves and it was incredible. I was just utterly captivated. It was so, so incredibly beautiful and amazing and fascinating. I was dancing a good distance away to give him room, but I felt like I was dancing with him, because all my movements were just naturally in reaction to his. I feel like maybe everyone felt that way, too. I felt so much more free and poetic in my movements and let my body just sort of flow in a much more creative way, because somehow I couldn't feel self-conscious while such a beautiful thing was going on. He just whirled the scarves all around... I don't know how to describe it. Enthralling, just enthralling. I think if I'd actually gotten a chance to dance with him and those scarves I'd either have danced better than I ever have in my life or just fainted or something. ;) Anyway, it was great.
So, after quite some time we got tired and took a break, and this man leaning on the wall next to me struck up a conversation. Turns out he's Hispanic, in fact from Chile, and so we started talking in Spanish. That was really exciting; it felt great to speak Spanish. And he was repeatedly complimentary of my Spanish and my accent... he said I had pretty pronunciation, and really, since I'm actually quite self-conscious about my accent, that was all he needed to say to have my attention for at least a little while. He invited me to dance and I said yes. The thing was, he was pretty old. I mean, not old. But old for me. I don't know how old, but I would say between 35-40. I mean he was handsome, quite handsome actually... but. So, I was having a really good time and all, but I started to hope that he understood that this was definitely a platonic relationship, something that's hard to get across when you're grinding on a dance floor. But I tried to keep moving and keep intimate moments brief. Rachel was dancing with us too, and there was this weird guy on drugs who was grabbing everyone, including me once and her twice, and she slapped him across the face and he went away. The moment of the slap was kind of fascinating. It was just a huge crack, like in the movies, and then he stumbled around confused and left. Anyway, so after a bit more dancing I was exhausted, and we went upstairs and sat there chatting for awhile. Which was ok, but began to be sort of stretched thin like conversation gets with someone you don't really know. At least it does if you're me and tired. ;) We engaged in chit-chat, switching fluidly between Spanish and English, and he asked for my number so that we could continue to talk in Spanish. I gave it to him, hoping he meant what he said and deciding to sort it out later. Then he asked me to go dance in the other little room, so we did, but that got weird. It was super crowded, and these guys were, in my opinion, basically having clothed sex on the wall next to us. Like, pressed right flush against each other and writhing, with these strained expressions of exertion and pleasure on their faces... well, it was a bit much for me. Especially I was struggling to keep everything not too sexy with my senor (insert tilda over the n, I don't know where to get it.) And he seemed to be getting more sexy, sliding down my body (in a non-touching way) and then touching my hair and my head. That was kind of the last straw for me. I don't know why, but touching my hair just seems very intimate for a stranger. It's interesting, the whole thing is interesting, because the style of dancing is just so very sexualized, that I for some reason am pretty comfortable wedging my legs together with some stranger and bobbing up and down, or pressing ass-to-groin and grinding, but pulling my head close and stroking my hair? That was too much. It was curious. So I excused myself, and we said our goodbyes, with perfunctory cheek kisses that I carefully kept perfunctory, and left.
Which brings me to another set of observations. One: I am a foreign man magnet. In the past year five men have made some kind of advance toward me, even if it was only sustained for an evening. Two Americans, yes, but also one Italian, one Indian, and one Chilean man. Interesting. I don't know why this is. Two: In clubs, I often get in these moods where I really want to pick someone up, and I have this sort of aimless sexual energy. I attract a man and pick him up, and we start talking/dancing/flirting. I get bored. I start to feel like it's weird. I want to disengage myself from his company. He just wants it to go on and on. Finally, I have to deliberately remove myself from the situation. Hopefully, this is because I am not super interested in these particular men... not some strange sexual hang up or something like that. I think it's really the former, but it struck me this time as a pattern.
Anyway... I had fun. It was a good St. Patrick's Day celebration. And I still managed to get up today and get to Wayne with Rachel, where I bought a giant stuffed turtle, rose petal soap, and earrings.
:)
Thursday, February 23, 2006
This Would Be Entirely Self-Pitying, Were it Not for the Matter of the Opera
Well, I forgot about this.
The part where Hell Week always has at least one day or evening or whatever that is, actually, hellish. I'm sure it's just superstition, but it did hold true for most years at Bryn Mawr. And then there was last night. Really, I don't know what was wrong with me last night... and isn't that the worst? Just this feeling of anxiety that has no clear root and doesn't seem to go anywhere no matter how many times you remind yourself that, in fact, there is no impending doom. Not a full-blown panic attack or anything, just this feeling where you can't sit still, but you can't quite start doing anything, because it's totally unclear what needs to be done, but totally clear that there are many important things that must happen, and probably should have started happening a long time ago.
Add to this that for some reason I was suddenly much less attractive yesterday than I had been in several days. I looked strange and full of bulges, and my face was abruptly much less pleasant to look at, and I noticed the slight differences in the way I walk. Isn't it odd how perception can change in a flash? I'd been very pleased with my appearance for several days preceeding yesterday.
Add to this that Cristina may or may not be coming tonight, and she's had a really hard week. So I really want to be present to her and help, but I'm afraid I'll stay in Weird Stressland, and there's this selfish part of me that is afraid now I won't get my own crap done, getting ready for Friday, etc. Even though in truth I want to be with her. Feelings are so damn complicated. And when we got home last night she had left this message telling me that she wasn't going to work tomorrow, but she might still want to come today, and she was crying the whole time... and I really wanted to call her back, but she'd said she was going to bed, so I didn't. I think one of the problems is that whenever I think about this whole situation and I can't be with her I feel anxious and agitated and helpless. I mean, that's inevitable. When I can be with her I feel much stronger, much more certain and open and clear. So, we'll see, but goddammit. I wish I could fix it. I really do.
Add to this that I got a thin little letter from Cornell saying that I was not accepted to their English department, but they're sure I'll have a fine career anyway. I really thought I'd get in there. I also thought I'd get in to Duke. I don't know why, but I was much more worried about getting in to other schools. So now, I have this horrible feeling that I did all my applications wrong in some indefinable way and I won't get in anywhere. My mom and Liz will be disappointed that I'm not coming back close to home, though maybe it's good. I guess I have to trust that it's good, and that I'll end up somewhere right for me, just like at Bryn Mawr. But ugh. I hate hearing no. I hate the slippery hold I sometimes have on confidence and faith.
Add to this that we're trying to clean the apartment by Friday, a task I really applaud and want to do, but which is sure to lead to at least a few bouts of paralysis. I get so... irrationally fearful of actually dealing with the messiness. As though somehow that will actually make it worse, or prove that it is impossible to fix. Not helped by the fact that putting liquid plumr (or however that odd thing is spelled) in my toliet made the contents of it it bubble, turn green, and come this close to overflowing all over my feet (which circumstance was staved off my frantic plunging) before just sitting there. That is really not what I was hoping for in my efforts to clear the clog. I mean, actually we got a lot done in the living room. By which I mean that Rachel got a lot done and I put some decorations away, but still. It's a great start. I just have trouble seeing it.
I think that's all there is to add at the moment, but this morning I was just... dreading everything, especially the part where I left the house and went to work. I stumbled down the stairs and had my first shock of pleasure when I saw that there was still a cluster of people at the bus stop-- I hadn't missed it! I hurried over to join them, and there he was. This middle aged black man, casually dressed in jeans and work boots and a sensible, dark, puffy winter coat, with a stubbly almost-beard, carrying one of those little tape recorders, the flat ones about the size of a hardcover book, playing opera. Beautiful opera music shared with everyone! Well, I'm sure everyone didn't love it, but I did. I loved this crazy image of all of us just standing around waiting for the bus while this music floated all around us. I loved the music. It made me smile, this sudden spontaneous smile, and he was smiling too... and well, here I am at work, and I don't really feel that much more together or confident or anything. But I am going to try to remember the opera...
The part where Hell Week always has at least one day or evening or whatever that is, actually, hellish. I'm sure it's just superstition, but it did hold true for most years at Bryn Mawr. And then there was last night. Really, I don't know what was wrong with me last night... and isn't that the worst? Just this feeling of anxiety that has no clear root and doesn't seem to go anywhere no matter how many times you remind yourself that, in fact, there is no impending doom. Not a full-blown panic attack or anything, just this feeling where you can't sit still, but you can't quite start doing anything, because it's totally unclear what needs to be done, but totally clear that there are many important things that must happen, and probably should have started happening a long time ago.
Add to this that for some reason I was suddenly much less attractive yesterday than I had been in several days. I looked strange and full of bulges, and my face was abruptly much less pleasant to look at, and I noticed the slight differences in the way I walk. Isn't it odd how perception can change in a flash? I'd been very pleased with my appearance for several days preceeding yesterday.
Add to this that Cristina may or may not be coming tonight, and she's had a really hard week. So I really want to be present to her and help, but I'm afraid I'll stay in Weird Stressland, and there's this selfish part of me that is afraid now I won't get my own crap done, getting ready for Friday, etc. Even though in truth I want to be with her. Feelings are so damn complicated. And when we got home last night she had left this message telling me that she wasn't going to work tomorrow, but she might still want to come today, and she was crying the whole time... and I really wanted to call her back, but she'd said she was going to bed, so I didn't. I think one of the problems is that whenever I think about this whole situation and I can't be with her I feel anxious and agitated and helpless. I mean, that's inevitable. When I can be with her I feel much stronger, much more certain and open and clear. So, we'll see, but goddammit. I wish I could fix it. I really do.
Add to this that I got a thin little letter from Cornell saying that I was not accepted to their English department, but they're sure I'll have a fine career anyway. I really thought I'd get in there. I also thought I'd get in to Duke. I don't know why, but I was much more worried about getting in to other schools. So now, I have this horrible feeling that I did all my applications wrong in some indefinable way and I won't get in anywhere. My mom and Liz will be disappointed that I'm not coming back close to home, though maybe it's good. I guess I have to trust that it's good, and that I'll end up somewhere right for me, just like at Bryn Mawr. But ugh. I hate hearing no. I hate the slippery hold I sometimes have on confidence and faith.
Add to this that we're trying to clean the apartment by Friday, a task I really applaud and want to do, but which is sure to lead to at least a few bouts of paralysis. I get so... irrationally fearful of actually dealing with the messiness. As though somehow that will actually make it worse, or prove that it is impossible to fix. Not helped by the fact that putting liquid plumr (or however that odd thing is spelled) in my toliet made the contents of it it bubble, turn green, and come this close to overflowing all over my feet (which circumstance was staved off my frantic plunging) before just sitting there. That is really not what I was hoping for in my efforts to clear the clog. I mean, actually we got a lot done in the living room. By which I mean that Rachel got a lot done and I put some decorations away, but still. It's a great start. I just have trouble seeing it.
I think that's all there is to add at the moment, but this morning I was just... dreading everything, especially the part where I left the house and went to work. I stumbled down the stairs and had my first shock of pleasure when I saw that there was still a cluster of people at the bus stop-- I hadn't missed it! I hurried over to join them, and there he was. This middle aged black man, casually dressed in jeans and work boots and a sensible, dark, puffy winter coat, with a stubbly almost-beard, carrying one of those little tape recorders, the flat ones about the size of a hardcover book, playing opera. Beautiful opera music shared with everyone! Well, I'm sure everyone didn't love it, but I did. I loved this crazy image of all of us just standing around waiting for the bus while this music floated all around us. I loved the music. It made me smile, this sudden spontaneous smile, and he was smiling too... and well, here I am at work, and I don't really feel that much more together or confident or anything. But I am going to try to remember the opera...
Friday, February 17, 2006
Happy Valentine's Day to Me... and to You. :)
I think it started when I was walking home from the gym on Monday. It felt great to exercise, and I felt suddenly healthier and more capable in the world. Then, as I was walking home, I saw the most beautiful silver-white moon against a dark blue sky. And spindly trees stretching up to touch it. It felt wonderful. I was suddenly at peace, and happy to be by myself, experiencing this lovely night.
I had been feeling some trepidiation about Valentine's Day. I'd been in a generally gray mood lately, quick to self-pity and slow to relaxation. And the thing is, I've never, never been one to complain about Valentine's Day. I like it, and I'm always remembered, even if it's never been romantically meant. But this year... I was feeling complainy. Rachel has a girlfriend, and my other friends are occupied on Tuesday nights, or not at all in the area. I was getting antsy about the idea of being alone. Quite frankly, I thought maybe the day might suck, and I was rather displeased with myself for joining the ranks of the alone-on-Valentine's complainers. But, as it approached, I began to notice how much care I was getting from all different sources. Two adorable cards from my mom, a present from Jeff (her boyfriend), a really hilarious card from Bekah, a card from my aunt and uncle (who always remember me on Valentine's Day), the promise of mail from Katie (which has now come! a wonderful, thoughtful card), and really beautiful and tender cards from Rachel, too. I've never really done much for Valentine's Day in terms of gifts or cards for others, and it touched me that all these people would be so thoughtful and kind and loving to me.
So, on the lovely walk home on Monday, I decided I would take myself out for Valentine's Day, and buy myself a present. I was thinking about comfortable and sexy lingerie, as I have none. I thought maybe I would also take myself to dinner, and see if anything else appealed to me, like seeing a movie or some kind of event. I also had this sudden and striking thought, in the way that sometimes words just appear in your head... that I had no idea what my romantic life would hold. I had no idea who I would end up loving in that way... it could be a man, as I have mostly assumed and sought, but it could also be a woman, which seems oddly more possible (in terms of my own internal compass) now that I am not at Bryn Mawr... it could even, though it's hard for me to imagine, be more than one person... anything was possible. But whatever it will be, the fact that it hasn't started yet is not a judgement on me... it just means there's a surprise coming, and knowing now would ruin the surprise. I don't know where this idea came from, but it was very clear and it felt very good.
Then, Valentine's Day itself started out fine. Almost everyone in the office wore red or pink, which was very pleasing. And I got a valentine from Courtney, with whom I don't even interact that much. But the highlight of the work portion of my day came when we were supposed to have a staff meeting, and instead we had a nice lunch/Valentine's party, courtesy of DeVida. It was yummy and exciting.
Throughout the day, I browsed online for activities and events happening in the evening, and I found this thing called Night of a Thousand Plays. Basically, it was many many little tiny plays (though not actually 1,000) all performed one after the other, by different groups of actors. I was kind of intrigued, though I had no idea whether this format would actually work for me. But they had a half price Valentine's Day special, and I decided to print out the coupon and see if I felt like going when it came time. Meanwhile, I was talking online to this man who had messaged me while I was messing around on Okcupid, with whom I had hit it off decently in our brief conversation... and I mentioned the show, and he seemed interested. So I invited him. And he said yes. Boom, Valentine's Day date. :) I was so surprised! We decided to meet for dinner and he gave me his number and his name (Swami, short for something really really long and Indian).
The plan we made was that I would go to the theater after work and try to pick up the tickets. I did, but the box office was not yet open. So I called him and we set a time to meet for dinner. Of course, there wasn't time to go home and change. Happily, I was wearing a new red skirt and nice shirt, but less happily, I was wearing my very very beat up and scuffed snow boots. I haven't bought new ones yet because I can get spendthrifty about shoes and clothes and I figured, hey, they're still workable. Which they are. But last night, I was suddenly very self-conscious and worried about them. So I found a shoe store, and went in. The cheapest shoes I found in there were over $100, and most were $300 or $400. Um, no. I'm even used to more high end shoes, or so I thought, because my foot is sometimes hard to fit. But PLEASE. What could they possible have done to a few pieces of nice leather or whatever to make it worth $300? NOTHING, at least not from where I and my bank account stand. So I got out of there, beginning to despair of my shoe changing plan... when I turned a corner and saw an Aerosoles shoe store! I went in, and found lovely little red suede boots, with tassels, in my size, for $30. So I bought them. And some tan trouser socks. And popped over to the McDonald's bathroom to change them, stuffing my mismatched cotton socks and scuffed up boots into the Aerosoles bag. Feeling new and spiffy, I hurried out to meet Swami by 6:30.
When I arrived at the appointed corner, at first I saw only an old man. But then I caught sight of a young man on the opposite side of the road, surveying everyone who passed. We ascertained our mutual identities and he came over to my side of the street. To my delight, he was handsome! He had dark, full, wavy hair and beautiful dark eyes with long eyelashes. He gave me a hug hello, which was interesting to me, because I had been debating between a hug and a handshake. We headed down the street to a little Italian restaurant right across from the theater, and got seats even though we didn't have a reservation. It was a really pretty, cozy place, and all the waitstaff were very friendly.
We talked throughout the meal about various things. He's really smart. I mean, he's about to get his PhD from Penn in physics (he'll be done in December) and he's only 25. Apparently in India he just had this really driven life and had to go go go all the time... and now that he's here, he's sort of sick of science and he doesn't really want to keep on with it as a career. He's more interested in the artistic arena, apparently, and tried many things before he settled on this improvisational jazz thing that he does. He plays percussion. But it's funny how I could notice his scientific training coming through in his way of perceiving and noticing things. For example, there was a candle on our table, and we were watching the light come through the candleholder and splinter into little points on the tabletop. And suddenly he tells me that he did a project on why light does that in just that way. It was kind of fascinating. He also told me that he loved to play with fire as a child and he has little scars on his hands from it. Which sounds like he's way more edgy than he mostly seemed, and I'd almost forgotten that until I wrote it down here.
We also talked about adjusting to a new culture, and movies... he asked if I thought he should see Brokeback Mountain, and of course I responded enthusiastically in the affirmative, and then that led to an interesting discussion of how he has trouble connecting emotionally to gay stories. He basically said that he can understand and accept it intellectually, but emotionally he hasn't made that connection. So... I tried to indicate how connected I am to such matters without exactly saying "some of my best friends are gay." Though that's basically what I said, because even though it sounds silly, it's absolutely true. And he hastily assured me that he lived in an "artists' house" and that most of the time when they had parties there were gay people making out all over the place... though it didn't seem he was entirely comfortable with this. Yet, he could hardly be entirely uncomfortable or he wouldn't have brought up Brokeback Mountain, I suppose. Anyway, we had a pretty lively talk about the movie, and how I really thought he should see it because I think it's ideal for making exactly that emotional connection. He expressed some skepticism about "Oscar movies" in general, which I found a bit pretentious, but you can't win 'em all, right? This discussion led me to ask about cultural differences in this area of thought between India and the US, and he said that, because men and women were mostly kept apart until marriage, the bonds between male friends there are much more at the level of intimacy that is expected between female friends here. I think this is really interesting, though it makes me wonder if he had much contact with women his own age before coming here.
We also talked quite a bit about the intellect, and what kind of importance it has to us, or has had in the past... he said that for his whole life he has been so focused on the intellect as the paramount thing, but now he realizes that it is not the most important thing, and he really wants to branch out and explore other parts of himself. It's funny, because he's obviously excellent in an academic environment, but I got this strong sense of him being, more than anything, sick of it. I told him about my decision to take time off after Bryn Mawr. I think, in a lot of ways, he's in a similar mental place now as I was then, even though he's light years ahead in terms of the schooling he has finished. Although from how he speaks, his work in physics is never going to be his life commitment, or even his job beyond a few money making years. He said something about wanting to work for a few years and save up money to do something else, like open a restaurant. That surprised me, since he also said he didn't like/know how to cook. So I don't know what's up with that. Really, it seemed like his real love was this percussion/improvisation/free jazz thing. I find this kind of fascinating, because I can see that trait in him (starting with the fact that he was often drumming with his fingers and working out a rhythm in pauses in conversation, especially in the theater and once we were out of the restaurant). According to him, he just decided that science was not his thing (which continues to astonish me, given how far he's going with it), and that he wished to engage artisticially. He then tried writing and painting, among other things, and finally hit on his affinity for music. Maybe this is baffling to me because I had my strongest affinities from a very young age... the first thing I was going to be was an actress who writes her own plays. And, the way Swami tells it, he was all science science science, and then one day decided art was it for him, instead. It's a very different sort of experience.
He asked me lots of questions, but I think I did the same. There were a few awkward pauses, but less than you might expect for two total strangers. Overall, I really enjoyed it. He was an interesting combination of being rather shy-seeming and a little deferent (sp??) on the one hand, and being sort of suddenly extremely committed to his opinion (the Oscar movie thing, for example). And dinner was quite excellent. I had lobster ravioli, and he had some kind of other seafood/pasta dish. Oh, this was kind of odd- at the beginning of the meal, when we were looking at the menus, I asked him if he wanted to get wine. He responded right away by saying he didn't drink. I said ok. Then he said I could get it if I wanted to, of course. Then he said he would have wine if I picked one for him that wasn't too strong. He said he was happy to try things but he didn't like them too strong. So I picked cabernet sauvingnon for myself, and then asked the waitress if she had a suggestion for a sweeter, less dry wine. She seemed very confused about what I was asking, for some reason, and finally pointed one out that said "dry" in the description. So I had no idea what was going on there, and I decided to order him chardonnay, since I find that sweet and in general white is sweeter and more palatable to less enthusiastic wine drinkers than red. I don't know if he liked it. He ate like a bird... only about half his entree (I find many restaurant entrees big, but this was just the right size, to me) and maybe half of his wine. I polished off my whole entree and my whole glass of wine, which, just to give you a picture, came in a glass the size of my head. I mean, it was not full, of course. But his came in this tiny, delicate wine glass. I know it's something I would understand if I knew more about wine, but it was odd. I had the briefest moment of being insecure about my dramatically larger appetite, but it passed quickly. I was hungry, and I decided to be ok with that. :-) I think it was interesting (word of the day, sorry), too, that were had this sort of odd back and forth in who took what kind of role in the evening. I mean, I invited him, made the plans, ordered his wine, and paid for his theater ticket. He, on the other hand, carried my shopping bag, paid for dinner, stood on the bus behind me instead of sitting somewhere else, and initiated all of the (awkwardly executed yet warm and pleasant) cuddling that took place during the play. So I don't know. I probably wouldn't be this obsessed with it if I didn't worry a little that he will suddenly turn into a real partriarchal type. Or, to be honest, that the cultural differences between us mean that he has expectations of women of which I'm fundamentally unaware. Well, who knows, I guess.
By the end of our dinner he'd expressed interest in my theological leanings (I told him about applying to grad school), and we discussed my thesis briefly. He latched onto the idea and said he could tell me about parallel situations in Indian religion and mythology. I'm super excited about that. I tried to explain it carefully and well, without assuming that he had or didn't have a base knowledge about Christianity. I can't wait to see what ideas he has about it...
Anyway, we finished up our dinner, and headed out. The waitress came running after me to give me a rose, which apparently she was supposed to bring to the table! I was thrilled! A pretty red rose, just for me, just because it was Valentine's Day and I was a woman and there. :-) Though I've also been thinking lately how men must sometimes feel less special than women, overall. I mean, I won't say that women don't still get the raw end of the deal, because we do, and I would trade being coddled for being powerful any day... but still. On Lost, there was this part with two men talking about the possible destruction of an Iraqi village in the first Gulf War. And the one said to the other, think of everyone who will be killed. Innocent women, children. And I thought, what about innocent men? What does it say that men are consistently told that women are somehow more "precious" than they are? I'm not saying I don't understand the concept of "women and children first," or whatever, but just as it is destructive to women to assume that we are inherantly sweet and innocent, it is destructive to men to assume that they are inherantly not, or that women have some kind of uncorrupted innocence/worth that men must seek to protect even at the expense of themselves, because men are powerful, and therefore not innocent. My dad said that as a kid he hated hearing that girls were "sugar and spice and everything nice" and boys were "snakes and snails and puppy dog's tails." He didn't understand why he didn't get to be nice things, too. Bah, the whole dualistic hierarchical gender system hurts everybody!
But that was a loooooong soapboxy tangent. I was delighted with my rose. Let's go back to that. ;-) We went to the show, and I insisted on paying for his ticket (it was, after all, still much less than the meal). It was at the Adrienne, in this space called the Playground, which was a really nice little theater. I wanted to sit front and center, and he was startlingly adamant about sitting back (and side, which I thought would be the worst view), and we agreed at last to sit back and center. I wasn't sure why this was such an important thing to him, like, we were looking around and i was like, well, we could sit up front, and he was like, no. Back. It was odd. Aggressive reticence? I don't know.
The play was good. I know if you've made it this far you probably are getting a little overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information in this post, but it was, and I feel I should say something about it, too, not just my date. For the first couple of little three minute (or so) bits, I wasn't sure if it would be good. Then either I wrapped my head around the format or they hit their stride or both. There was one that was basically ruined because for some reason one of the young women was on book, which was utterly distracting for us, for her, and for the other actors. And there were a bunch that fell flat. But there were also wonderfully hilarious ones, especially as the evening wore on. There was one that reminded me a lot of Dilexi, in a way! It started with this coffee barista trying to sell coffee to a rushed man. The man kept asking for something plain, and she would offer him a ridiculously complicated list of choices. It seemed a funny, if ordinary set-up. But then, the man remained calm, and the barista got all crazy, saying that he couldn't win, and the way the sketch had to go was that she kept offering him all these pointless choices until he became overwhelmed and collapsed to the ground. And then another woman came in and she and the man started flirting, and exchanged names, and the barista was freaking out because they weren't supposed to be able to do any of this... well, it was funny and exciting. The best one, hands down, was this one about a really reserved, precise man who got into a totally unexpected sexual situation... i was so funny and so well acted. There were also a couple of songs done by this guy who apparently was the musical director of Hedwig and the Angry Inch. I don't know where, but they seemed pretty proud of this, so maybe it was the original production. Anyway, he was very good.
And, true to his proclivities, I guess, it was during the musical numbers that Swami started snuggling up to me. As I said before, most of this was done rather oddly and awkwardly, but... I find him attractive, so it was nonetheless quite pleasant and I didn't mind. Though there was one moment where for some reason he started stroking my throat quite a bit, and that got weird, so I guided his hand away. But generally, aside from the awkward and abrupt way in which he intiated most of our contact, it was very gentle and nice and exploring, without being too much or going to the wrong places. And he smelled really good. ;-)
After the show we waited for the bus together, having discovered we live about three blocks apart! This got a bit long, and was the part of the evening where I was most aware of not being sure of what to talk about. But we finally got on the bus, and he stood behind me as aforementioned, and pet my head from time to time, and told me a bit about his family and also his taste in ice cream. Oh, yes, this is also when I though he was telling me something more about his grandmother's education, and I said "Wow" with a big smile, and then realized he was telling me that his grandmother had died. Whoops. That was my most awkward moment of the night. But we got over that, and when he left he bent and kissed my forehead before getting off, and we made plans to get together again sometime next week.
I was a happy camper coming home, and I put my rose in water and went online to tell people about my night... where I was promptly engaged in conversation by this other boy from Okcupid, and I found an email from a man who wanted a date for Margaret Garner (an opera I am so eager to see) saying that though he'd already gotten someone to go, I was really cute. And I still have to deal with Mark, who continues to call and email me though I haven't responded in a bit... (I know, it's not a good way to handle it. But I'm not used to this). I think that's the bottom line. This is all really great... but I'm not used to it! Apparently all of a sudden all I have to do for male attention is stretch out my hand... it's soooooooooo so so different from my previous experiences. Not that I'm complaining, but it's... weird. And I definitely want to see Swami again, but it all makes me a bit nervous as well. Like, I've gotten so used to being single I can hardly imagine what it would be like to be otherwise. Bah, I sound like I'm at least middle aged, and I'm not trying to be pretentious... but you know? It's true.
Ah, but all that aside, it was fun. It was fun fun fun and cozy and pleasant and I felt attractive and smart, even though he was definitely also attractive and probably smarter, or at least more educated. (God, at one point he was saying that he should learn a foreign language and I asked if he had studied any, and he was like, no, I just speak six Indian languages, completely serious, and I was l
Anyway, the whole thing left me grateful and happy: Grateful for my first "romantic" Valentine's Day, grateful for my truly wonderful friends and family, who are so central to my life, and grateful for the fact that I really, actually do enjoy my own company... and that I was willing to have a go at being lonely to figure that out.
:-) I wish you all the same sorts of experiences, in whatever way they work for you. And those of you who I know read this... I love you! Thank you for being in my life. It means the world.
I had been feeling some trepidiation about Valentine's Day. I'd been in a generally gray mood lately, quick to self-pity and slow to relaxation. And the thing is, I've never, never been one to complain about Valentine's Day. I like it, and I'm always remembered, even if it's never been romantically meant. But this year... I was feeling complainy. Rachel has a girlfriend, and my other friends are occupied on Tuesday nights, or not at all in the area. I was getting antsy about the idea of being alone. Quite frankly, I thought maybe the day might suck, and I was rather displeased with myself for joining the ranks of the alone-on-Valentine's complainers. But, as it approached, I began to notice how much care I was getting from all different sources. Two adorable cards from my mom, a present from Jeff (her boyfriend), a really hilarious card from Bekah, a card from my aunt and uncle (who always remember me on Valentine's Day), the promise of mail from Katie (which has now come! a wonderful, thoughtful card), and really beautiful and tender cards from Rachel, too. I've never really done much for Valentine's Day in terms of gifts or cards for others, and it touched me that all these people would be so thoughtful and kind and loving to me.
So, on the lovely walk home on Monday, I decided I would take myself out for Valentine's Day, and buy myself a present. I was thinking about comfortable and sexy lingerie, as I have none. I thought maybe I would also take myself to dinner, and see if anything else appealed to me, like seeing a movie or some kind of event. I also had this sudden and striking thought, in the way that sometimes words just appear in your head... that I had no idea what my romantic life would hold. I had no idea who I would end up loving in that way... it could be a man, as I have mostly assumed and sought, but it could also be a woman, which seems oddly more possible (in terms of my own internal compass) now that I am not at Bryn Mawr... it could even, though it's hard for me to imagine, be more than one person... anything was possible. But whatever it will be, the fact that it hasn't started yet is not a judgement on me... it just means there's a surprise coming, and knowing now would ruin the surprise. I don't know where this idea came from, but it was very clear and it felt very good.
Then, Valentine's Day itself started out fine. Almost everyone in the office wore red or pink, which was very pleasing. And I got a valentine from Courtney, with whom I don't even interact that much. But the highlight of the work portion of my day came when we were supposed to have a staff meeting, and instead we had a nice lunch/Valentine's party, courtesy of DeVida. It was yummy and exciting.
Throughout the day, I browsed online for activities and events happening in the evening, and I found this thing called Night of a Thousand Plays. Basically, it was many many little tiny plays (though not actually 1,000) all performed one after the other, by different groups of actors. I was kind of intrigued, though I had no idea whether this format would actually work for me. But they had a half price Valentine's Day special, and I decided to print out the coupon and see if I felt like going when it came time. Meanwhile, I was talking online to this man who had messaged me while I was messing around on Okcupid, with whom I had hit it off decently in our brief conversation... and I mentioned the show, and he seemed interested. So I invited him. And he said yes. Boom, Valentine's Day date. :) I was so surprised! We decided to meet for dinner and he gave me his number and his name (Swami, short for something really really long and Indian).
The plan we made was that I would go to the theater after work and try to pick up the tickets. I did, but the box office was not yet open. So I called him and we set a time to meet for dinner. Of course, there wasn't time to go home and change. Happily, I was wearing a new red skirt and nice shirt, but less happily, I was wearing my very very beat up and scuffed snow boots. I haven't bought new ones yet because I can get spendthrifty about shoes and clothes and I figured, hey, they're still workable. Which they are. But last night, I was suddenly very self-conscious and worried about them. So I found a shoe store, and went in. The cheapest shoes I found in there were over $100, and most were $300 or $400. Um, no. I'm even used to more high end shoes, or so I thought, because my foot is sometimes hard to fit. But PLEASE. What could they possible have done to a few pieces of nice leather or whatever to make it worth $300? NOTHING, at least not from where I and my bank account stand. So I got out of there, beginning to despair of my shoe changing plan... when I turned a corner and saw an Aerosoles shoe store! I went in, and found lovely little red suede boots, with tassels, in my size, for $30. So I bought them. And some tan trouser socks. And popped over to the McDonald's bathroom to change them, stuffing my mismatched cotton socks and scuffed up boots into the Aerosoles bag. Feeling new and spiffy, I hurried out to meet Swami by 6:30.
When I arrived at the appointed corner, at first I saw only an old man. But then I caught sight of a young man on the opposite side of the road, surveying everyone who passed. We ascertained our mutual identities and he came over to my side of the street. To my delight, he was handsome! He had dark, full, wavy hair and beautiful dark eyes with long eyelashes. He gave me a hug hello, which was interesting to me, because I had been debating between a hug and a handshake. We headed down the street to a little Italian restaurant right across from the theater, and got seats even though we didn't have a reservation. It was a really pretty, cozy place, and all the waitstaff were very friendly.
We talked throughout the meal about various things. He's really smart. I mean, he's about to get his PhD from Penn in physics (he'll be done in December) and he's only 25. Apparently in India he just had this really driven life and had to go go go all the time... and now that he's here, he's sort of sick of science and he doesn't really want to keep on with it as a career. He's more interested in the artistic arena, apparently, and tried many things before he settled on this improvisational jazz thing that he does. He plays percussion. But it's funny how I could notice his scientific training coming through in his way of perceiving and noticing things. For example, there was a candle on our table, and we were watching the light come through the candleholder and splinter into little points on the tabletop. And suddenly he tells me that he did a project on why light does that in just that way. It was kind of fascinating. He also told me that he loved to play with fire as a child and he has little scars on his hands from it. Which sounds like he's way more edgy than he mostly seemed, and I'd almost forgotten that until I wrote it down here.
We also talked about adjusting to a new culture, and movies... he asked if I thought he should see Brokeback Mountain, and of course I responded enthusiastically in the affirmative, and then that led to an interesting discussion of how he has trouble connecting emotionally to gay stories. He basically said that he can understand and accept it intellectually, but emotionally he hasn't made that connection. So... I tried to indicate how connected I am to such matters without exactly saying "some of my best friends are gay." Though that's basically what I said, because even though it sounds silly, it's absolutely true. And he hastily assured me that he lived in an "artists' house" and that most of the time when they had parties there were gay people making out all over the place... though it didn't seem he was entirely comfortable with this. Yet, he could hardly be entirely uncomfortable or he wouldn't have brought up Brokeback Mountain, I suppose. Anyway, we had a pretty lively talk about the movie, and how I really thought he should see it because I think it's ideal for making exactly that emotional connection. He expressed some skepticism about "Oscar movies" in general, which I found a bit pretentious, but you can't win 'em all, right? This discussion led me to ask about cultural differences in this area of thought between India and the US, and he said that, because men and women were mostly kept apart until marriage, the bonds between male friends there are much more at the level of intimacy that is expected between female friends here. I think this is really interesting, though it makes me wonder if he had much contact with women his own age before coming here.
We also talked quite a bit about the intellect, and what kind of importance it has to us, or has had in the past... he said that for his whole life he has been so focused on the intellect as the paramount thing, but now he realizes that it is not the most important thing, and he really wants to branch out and explore other parts of himself. It's funny, because he's obviously excellent in an academic environment, but I got this strong sense of him being, more than anything, sick of it. I told him about my decision to take time off after Bryn Mawr. I think, in a lot of ways, he's in a similar mental place now as I was then, even though he's light years ahead in terms of the schooling he has finished. Although from how he speaks, his work in physics is never going to be his life commitment, or even his job beyond a few money making years. He said something about wanting to work for a few years and save up money to do something else, like open a restaurant. That surprised me, since he also said he didn't like/know how to cook. So I don't know what's up with that. Really, it seemed like his real love was this percussion/improvisation/free jazz thing. I find this kind of fascinating, because I can see that trait in him (starting with the fact that he was often drumming with his fingers and working out a rhythm in pauses in conversation, especially in the theater and once we were out of the restaurant). According to him, he just decided that science was not his thing (which continues to astonish me, given how far he's going with it), and that he wished to engage artisticially. He then tried writing and painting, among other things, and finally hit on his affinity for music. Maybe this is baffling to me because I had my strongest affinities from a very young age... the first thing I was going to be was an actress who writes her own plays. And, the way Swami tells it, he was all science science science, and then one day decided art was it for him, instead. It's a very different sort of experience.
He asked me lots of questions, but I think I did the same. There were a few awkward pauses, but less than you might expect for two total strangers. Overall, I really enjoyed it. He was an interesting combination of being rather shy-seeming and a little deferent (sp??) on the one hand, and being sort of suddenly extremely committed to his opinion (the Oscar movie thing, for example). And dinner was quite excellent. I had lobster ravioli, and he had some kind of other seafood/pasta dish. Oh, this was kind of odd- at the beginning of the meal, when we were looking at the menus, I asked him if he wanted to get wine. He responded right away by saying he didn't drink. I said ok. Then he said I could get it if I wanted to, of course. Then he said he would have wine if I picked one for him that wasn't too strong. He said he was happy to try things but he didn't like them too strong. So I picked cabernet sauvingnon for myself, and then asked the waitress if she had a suggestion for a sweeter, less dry wine. She seemed very confused about what I was asking, for some reason, and finally pointed one out that said "dry" in the description. So I had no idea what was going on there, and I decided to order him chardonnay, since I find that sweet and in general white is sweeter and more palatable to less enthusiastic wine drinkers than red. I don't know if he liked it. He ate like a bird... only about half his entree (I find many restaurant entrees big, but this was just the right size, to me) and maybe half of his wine. I polished off my whole entree and my whole glass of wine, which, just to give you a picture, came in a glass the size of my head. I mean, it was not full, of course. But his came in this tiny, delicate wine glass. I know it's something I would understand if I knew more about wine, but it was odd. I had the briefest moment of being insecure about my dramatically larger appetite, but it passed quickly. I was hungry, and I decided to be ok with that. :-) I think it was interesting (word of the day, sorry), too, that were had this sort of odd back and forth in who took what kind of role in the evening. I mean, I invited him, made the plans, ordered his wine, and paid for his theater ticket. He, on the other hand, carried my shopping bag, paid for dinner, stood on the bus behind me instead of sitting somewhere else, and initiated all of the (awkwardly executed yet warm and pleasant) cuddling that took place during the play. So I don't know. I probably wouldn't be this obsessed with it if I didn't worry a little that he will suddenly turn into a real partriarchal type. Or, to be honest, that the cultural differences between us mean that he has expectations of women of which I'm fundamentally unaware. Well, who knows, I guess.
By the end of our dinner he'd expressed interest in my theological leanings (I told him about applying to grad school), and we discussed my thesis briefly. He latched onto the idea and said he could tell me about parallel situations in Indian religion and mythology. I'm super excited about that. I tried to explain it carefully and well, without assuming that he had or didn't have a base knowledge about Christianity. I can't wait to see what ideas he has about it...
Anyway, we finished up our dinner, and headed out. The waitress came running after me to give me a rose, which apparently she was supposed to bring to the table! I was thrilled! A pretty red rose, just for me, just because it was Valentine's Day and I was a woman and there. :-) Though I've also been thinking lately how men must sometimes feel less special than women, overall. I mean, I won't say that women don't still get the raw end of the deal, because we do, and I would trade being coddled for being powerful any day... but still. On Lost, there was this part with two men talking about the possible destruction of an Iraqi village in the first Gulf War. And the one said to the other, think of everyone who will be killed. Innocent women, children. And I thought, what about innocent men? What does it say that men are consistently told that women are somehow more "precious" than they are? I'm not saying I don't understand the concept of "women and children first," or whatever, but just as it is destructive to women to assume that we are inherantly sweet and innocent, it is destructive to men to assume that they are inherantly not, or that women have some kind of uncorrupted innocence/worth that men must seek to protect even at the expense of themselves, because men are powerful, and therefore not innocent. My dad said that as a kid he hated hearing that girls were "sugar and spice and everything nice" and boys were "snakes and snails and puppy dog's tails." He didn't understand why he didn't get to be nice things, too. Bah, the whole dualistic hierarchical gender system hurts everybody!
But that was a loooooong soapboxy tangent. I was delighted with my rose. Let's go back to that. ;-) We went to the show, and I insisted on paying for his ticket (it was, after all, still much less than the meal). It was at the Adrienne, in this space called the Playground, which was a really nice little theater. I wanted to sit front and center, and he was startlingly adamant about sitting back (and side, which I thought would be the worst view), and we agreed at last to sit back and center. I wasn't sure why this was such an important thing to him, like, we were looking around and i was like, well, we could sit up front, and he was like, no. Back. It was odd. Aggressive reticence? I don't know.
The play was good. I know if you've made it this far you probably are getting a little overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information in this post, but it was, and I feel I should say something about it, too, not just my date. For the first couple of little three minute (or so) bits, I wasn't sure if it would be good. Then either I wrapped my head around the format or they hit their stride or both. There was one that was basically ruined because for some reason one of the young women was on book, which was utterly distracting for us, for her, and for the other actors. And there were a bunch that fell flat. But there were also wonderfully hilarious ones, especially as the evening wore on. There was one that reminded me a lot of Dilexi, in a way! It started with this coffee barista trying to sell coffee to a rushed man. The man kept asking for something plain, and she would offer him a ridiculously complicated list of choices. It seemed a funny, if ordinary set-up. But then, the man remained calm, and the barista got all crazy, saying that he couldn't win, and the way the sketch had to go was that she kept offering him all these pointless choices until he became overwhelmed and collapsed to the ground. And then another woman came in and she and the man started flirting, and exchanged names, and the barista was freaking out because they weren't supposed to be able to do any of this... well, it was funny and exciting. The best one, hands down, was this one about a really reserved, precise man who got into a totally unexpected sexual situation... i was so funny and so well acted. There were also a couple of songs done by this guy who apparently was the musical director of Hedwig and the Angry Inch. I don't know where, but they seemed pretty proud of this, so maybe it was the original production. Anyway, he was very good.
And, true to his proclivities, I guess, it was during the musical numbers that Swami started snuggling up to me. As I said before, most of this was done rather oddly and awkwardly, but... I find him attractive, so it was nonetheless quite pleasant and I didn't mind. Though there was one moment where for some reason he started stroking my throat quite a bit, and that got weird, so I guided his hand away. But generally, aside from the awkward and abrupt way in which he intiated most of our contact, it was very gentle and nice and exploring, without being too much or going to the wrong places. And he smelled really good. ;-)
After the show we waited for the bus together, having discovered we live about three blocks apart! This got a bit long, and was the part of the evening where I was most aware of not being sure of what to talk about. But we finally got on the bus, and he stood behind me as aforementioned, and pet my head from time to time, and told me a bit about his family and also his taste in ice cream. Oh, yes, this is also when I though he was telling me something more about his grandmother's education, and I said "Wow" with a big smile, and then realized he was telling me that his grandmother had died. Whoops. That was my most awkward moment of the night. But we got over that, and when he left he bent and kissed my forehead before getting off, and we made plans to get together again sometime next week.
I was a happy camper coming home, and I put my rose in water and went online to tell people about my night... where I was promptly engaged in conversation by this other boy from Okcupid, and I found an email from a man who wanted a date for Margaret Garner (an opera I am so eager to see) saying that though he'd already gotten someone to go, I was really cute. And I still have to deal with Mark, who continues to call and email me though I haven't responded in a bit... (I know, it's not a good way to handle it. But I'm not used to this). I think that's the bottom line. This is all really great... but I'm not used to it! Apparently all of a sudden all I have to do for male attention is stretch out my hand... it's soooooooooo so so different from my previous experiences. Not that I'm complaining, but it's... weird. And I definitely want to see Swami again, but it all makes me a bit nervous as well. Like, I've gotten so used to being single I can hardly imagine what it would be like to be otherwise. Bah, I sound like I'm at least middle aged, and I'm not trying to be pretentious... but you know? It's true.
Ah, but all that aside, it was fun. It was fun fun fun and cozy and pleasant and I felt attractive and smart, even though he was definitely also attractive and probably smarter, or at least more educated. (God, at one point he was saying that he should learn a foreign language and I asked if he had studied any, and he was like, no, I just speak six Indian languages, completely serious, and I was l
Anyway, the whole thing left me grateful and happy: Grateful for my first "romantic" Valentine's Day, grateful for my truly wonderful friends and family, who are so central to my life, and grateful for the fact that I really, actually do enjoy my own company... and that I was willing to have a go at being lonely to figure that out.
:-) I wish you all the same sorts of experiences, in whatever way they work for you. And those of you who I know read this... I love you! Thank you for being in my life. It means the world.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
A (More Than Semi) Right Guid Willy Waught
I want to post about New Year's before I get so far into other things that I forget.
God, it was lovely. A bit of a whirlwind, so that I was very disoriented when I got back home/to work, and felt that much more time had passed than just a weekend. But lovely.
As sentimental as it may sound, my arms and my heart just feel more full with those people close by. It felt so right to be together again, even if not absolutely everyone could be there. And it was wonderful to be together with no obligations for once, too. Nobody was doing anything, performing anything, running around... we were just there to enjoy each other. And we did!
I'm glad Rachel and I decided to go on Friday. It was good just to arrive there, and fight our way through Times Square. And I was so excited when we were waiting for Lilah and Julia to appear! And then meeting Chelsea in Grand Central, and Maddie and Katie R. the next day... it felt like coming home. And I got most lovely presents. A work voodoo doll from Chelsea, which I'm sure will come in handy, a pair of pins from Julia which she said made her think of me... they make me think of me, too, and, completing the pin them with a flourish, a Saint Sebastian pin cushion from Lilah! I was SO excited about that... I cannot even express my excitement. And, of course, I had previously received a wonderful book of restoration plays called Libertine from Charlotte and Olivia Saves the Circus (by Ian Somethingorother!) from Katie R. Lovely, lovely, lovely. Which apparently is the word of the hour.
Friday night at Julia's we couldn't stand to actually separate ourselves into reasonable sleeping arrangments (i.e., one person per bed, as had been arranged), and instead Chelsea, Rachel, and I all snuggled together on one big matress, and we pulled the other matresses together so Lilah and Julia were within reach as well.
Saturday we hung out sleepily for much of the day at Katie's, as her sister plied us with champagne. In the midst of all this we got lunch and I managed to submit my Duke application. Then, we realized that the MOST IMPORTANT THING TO DO for the New Year was to learn ALL the verses of Auld Lange Syne in Scottish. (The title comes courtesy of the last of those verses.) This filled me with joy. We sounded quite beautiful, in Katie's sister's living room, and I felt the meaning of the song in a totally new way as I looked around at all the faces. I think everybody else did, too.
Eventually, we got dressed and dolled up (in a manner of speaking), and headed out for dinner and Beauty Bar, where we planned to ring in the New Year. Dinner ended up being at a marvelous diner called Joe Jr.'s. It was the most decorated place I have ever seen in my life. There were Christmas decorations, New Year's decorations, Hanukkah decorations (including a big fuzzy blue Star of David)... all on every possible wall and hanging from the ceiling and everything. When we arrived in our big crew of 7, one of the waiters kept insisting we were eight and trying to add himself to the party. They also tried to convince us to split up into two booths, but we were not to be deterred from excessive togetherness. The waiters continued to be extraordinarily solicitous... when we asked what the soups of the day were, they brought us two small bowls and seven spoons! And after the meal, they asked if it was anyone's birthday, and we said it was Katie R's in a week, so they brought us two slices of apple pie covered in vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry ice cream and whipped cream! Then the waiter who had tried to join us earlier also tried to pay his share... which Katie R. said was, in fact, the whole bill. Oh! And as we were eating, a whole ENORMOUS parade of vehicles went by, all with giant menorahs atop them! And there were big vans that said "Mitzvah Mobile" and stuff. It was really incredibly cool.
After our fabulous meal, we went off to Beauty Bar, and were admitted amid a flurry of ID checking and cover charge paying. We had Dirty Girl Scouts to start, officially my favorite shot, and then Lemon Drops, and then... I had a rum and cranberry... and waited a little before having a gin and tonic... and later at some point had a B52, and finally champagne at midnight. I was really drunk, mostly because I've never done lots of shots before. But in a mostly fun way, no sickness or anything. Though there was definitely a period of time when Katie R. and I were clinging to a parking meter outside, and it felt sooo nice and cool and stationary, and we definitely discussed how odd we must look. And we took a whole series of Affectionate Women pictures, to compliment Rachel's present to Maddie (a book called Affectionate Men). And I kissed everyone at midnight, I think, though I have no memory of where I started. And, of course, we sang Auld Lange Syne... all the verses... in Scottish.... really loudly and not so prettily, but we got them all, even drunk. It was marvelous. There was lots of dancing. Good music! They said they didn't have Mr. Brightside, but they played it anyway. I got really hot and had to take my sweater off, revealing my very tight "Book Worm Walk" shirt underneath, but apparently it went over well, since two strange boys danced with me, and one seems to want to get together for coffee next week. I'm not yet sure what I think about that. Lilah's boyfriend Joe showed up and lei'd us all, and Katie R. and Rachel and he and I had a lovely dance entangling ourselves in the unraveled cord of plastic lei. Everything has this sort of colorful haze over it in my memory, though by the end I was much less drunk... since I stopped drinking shortly after midnight and we went home around 4. And it's not that I was perfectly happy the entire time... it's more that everything felt right in some hard-to-pin-down kind of way.
We went home and collapsed, emerging slowly the next day, and I made scrambled eggs with delicious cheese and ham, and we went to see Casanova, which was a rollicking good time, full of fun and sweetness and visual loveliness (in people and location) and silliness and laughter. And then we parted ways with the crowd going back to Julia's, and Katie R's lovely sister took Katie and Rachel and I out for Chinese food. Rachel and I finally made it home about 1:00 AM, and I slept forever and ever, and got up and did my applications.
And that was my New Year.
:)
God, it was lovely. A bit of a whirlwind, so that I was very disoriented when I got back home/to work, and felt that much more time had passed than just a weekend. But lovely.
As sentimental as it may sound, my arms and my heart just feel more full with those people close by. It felt so right to be together again, even if not absolutely everyone could be there. And it was wonderful to be together with no obligations for once, too. Nobody was doing anything, performing anything, running around... we were just there to enjoy each other. And we did!
I'm glad Rachel and I decided to go on Friday. It was good just to arrive there, and fight our way through Times Square. And I was so excited when we were waiting for Lilah and Julia to appear! And then meeting Chelsea in Grand Central, and Maddie and Katie R. the next day... it felt like coming home. And I got most lovely presents. A work voodoo doll from Chelsea, which I'm sure will come in handy, a pair of pins from Julia which she said made her think of me... they make me think of me, too, and, completing the pin them with a flourish, a Saint Sebastian pin cushion from Lilah! I was SO excited about that... I cannot even express my excitement. And, of course, I had previously received a wonderful book of restoration plays called Libertine from Charlotte and Olivia Saves the Circus (by Ian Somethingorother!) from Katie R. Lovely, lovely, lovely. Which apparently is the word of the hour.
Friday night at Julia's we couldn't stand to actually separate ourselves into reasonable sleeping arrangments (i.e., one person per bed, as had been arranged), and instead Chelsea, Rachel, and I all snuggled together on one big matress, and we pulled the other matresses together so Lilah and Julia were within reach as well.
Saturday we hung out sleepily for much of the day at Katie's, as her sister plied us with champagne. In the midst of all this we got lunch and I managed to submit my Duke application. Then, we realized that the MOST IMPORTANT THING TO DO for the New Year was to learn ALL the verses of Auld Lange Syne in Scottish. (The title comes courtesy of the last of those verses.) This filled me with joy. We sounded quite beautiful, in Katie's sister's living room, and I felt the meaning of the song in a totally new way as I looked around at all the faces. I think everybody else did, too.
Eventually, we got dressed and dolled up (in a manner of speaking), and headed out for dinner and Beauty Bar, where we planned to ring in the New Year. Dinner ended up being at a marvelous diner called Joe Jr.'s. It was the most decorated place I have ever seen in my life. There were Christmas decorations, New Year's decorations, Hanukkah decorations (including a big fuzzy blue Star of David)... all on every possible wall and hanging from the ceiling and everything. When we arrived in our big crew of 7, one of the waiters kept insisting we were eight and trying to add himself to the party. They also tried to convince us to split up into two booths, but we were not to be deterred from excessive togetherness. The waiters continued to be extraordinarily solicitous... when we asked what the soups of the day were, they brought us two small bowls and seven spoons! And after the meal, they asked if it was anyone's birthday, and we said it was Katie R's in a week, so they brought us two slices of apple pie covered in vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry ice cream and whipped cream! Then the waiter who had tried to join us earlier also tried to pay his share... which Katie R. said was, in fact, the whole bill. Oh! And as we were eating, a whole ENORMOUS parade of vehicles went by, all with giant menorahs atop them! And there were big vans that said "Mitzvah Mobile" and stuff. It was really incredibly cool.
After our fabulous meal, we went off to Beauty Bar, and were admitted amid a flurry of ID checking and cover charge paying. We had Dirty Girl Scouts to start, officially my favorite shot, and then Lemon Drops, and then... I had a rum and cranberry... and waited a little before having a gin and tonic... and later at some point had a B52, and finally champagne at midnight. I was really drunk, mostly because I've never done lots of shots before. But in a mostly fun way, no sickness or anything. Though there was definitely a period of time when Katie R. and I were clinging to a parking meter outside, and it felt sooo nice and cool and stationary, and we definitely discussed how odd we must look. And we took a whole series of Affectionate Women pictures, to compliment Rachel's present to Maddie (a book called Affectionate Men). And I kissed everyone at midnight, I think, though I have no memory of where I started. And, of course, we sang Auld Lange Syne... all the verses... in Scottish.... really loudly and not so prettily, but we got them all, even drunk. It was marvelous. There was lots of dancing. Good music! They said they didn't have Mr. Brightside, but they played it anyway. I got really hot and had to take my sweater off, revealing my very tight "Book Worm Walk" shirt underneath, but apparently it went over well, since two strange boys danced with me, and one seems to want to get together for coffee next week. I'm not yet sure what I think about that. Lilah's boyfriend Joe showed up and lei'd us all, and Katie R. and Rachel and he and I had a lovely dance entangling ourselves in the unraveled cord of plastic lei. Everything has this sort of colorful haze over it in my memory, though by the end I was much less drunk... since I stopped drinking shortly after midnight and we went home around 4. And it's not that I was perfectly happy the entire time... it's more that everything felt right in some hard-to-pin-down kind of way.
We went home and collapsed, emerging slowly the next day, and I made scrambled eggs with delicious cheese and ham, and we went to see Casanova, which was a rollicking good time, full of fun and sweetness and visual loveliness (in people and location) and silliness and laughter. And then we parted ways with the crowd going back to Julia's, and Katie R's lovely sister took Katie and Rachel and I out for Chinese food. Rachel and I finally made it home about 1:00 AM, and I slept forever and ever, and got up and did my applications.
And that was my New Year.
:)
Friday, December 23, 2005
And To All a Good Night
Well, I probably won't be online during the next few days, since I'll be computerless in Syracuse... so, for anyone I won't talk to before/during then...
Merry Christmas!
Happy Hanukkah!
I hope it is lovely and snowy (if you so desire) and filled with light. :)
Merry Christmas!
Happy Hanukkah!
I hope it is lovely and snowy (if you so desire) and filled with light. :)
Monday, November 28, 2005
Five Questions From Alex
Alex, your questions are fascinating, but rather hard! I have done my best:
1. Name one skill or talent you always wish you had developed more fully or pursued. What do you think kept you from following this path?
Well... it's hard to say, really, because there aren't a lot of talents I'm aware of that I haven't pursued at all. I would say singing, since it's been a couple of years since I really sang with any official regularity, though I hope to get back into that again soon. It's funny, because I do notice the lack of singing, but it's something other people point out to me more. Like at Thanksgiving, Skip (my mom's friend's husband) told me he had always imagined me pursuing a musical career, and then my dad asked, "What about your music, your singing?" as we were talking about various developments and pursuits in my life. I think I also wish I had time/space/inclination at the time to have studied more history in college. I still really like history but I feel that my education in it has been completely cut off. I think that in terms of the singing, I was never certain that I loved it enough to pursue it to the exclusion of other activities, and in college it became hard to be as pluralistic as I had been in high school. Now, I am nervous that I will not find a group that I am trained enough for, or that I will have to sight read or do something scary... but mostly I hope that soon I find a good singing group and the time to do it. In terms of history, it was simply a matter of where my coursework led me at the time. One thing I sort of hate about higher education is that you get more and more specialized the higher you go, so in some ways you learn less.
2. [ Alright, this isn't particularly creative, but it's a question I tend to ask people] Would you rather wake up one morning and find yourself deaf or blind? Why?
This is quite difficult, but I think deaf. Simply because I think it would be harder to navigate the world without my vision, and also because I couldn't read without it, and whatever misfortune befell me, I'm sure that reading would help me cope with it. Also, (sorry, this is trite), while God forbid I should ever have to use it exclusively, I have become rather enamored of finger-spelling as of late.
3. You've found yourself suddenly transported to a space ship where you are confronted by a group of aliens who have just decided that Earth must go. You are given the chance to give them, show them, or tell them about 3 things to try to convince them to do otherwise-- what do you choose?
This is the hardest one, and I've saved it for last. So hard, Alex! But a really great question.
1. The most colorful, fragrant, interesting flowers I can find.
2. I would show them a baby, and (assuming this terrible task gives me a certain omniscience) tell them the entire history of the baby's ancestry and all the people who have in some way gone into creating this baby, good and bad and indifferent, and also the complete mystery of the baby's future life.
3. I would tell the story of a war or other horrible event, with all the good and evil wrapped up together like lovers... the terrible acts and the selfless ones... I don't think it would be fair to not be honest, and I would like to think this would in truth be a strong argument to let us continue trying.
4. I know I don't get a fourth, but I really want to sing a song. Maybe I could make one of my stories an opera? Or wrap a lullaby into the baby thing?
Wow, this is making me so nervous. I hope my choices could save the world....
4. You get to spend a week in any fictional place (it can be from any source--tv/movie/books/comics/myths/etc) where do you choose and why? [if you feel so inclined you can get into what you would do there/who you would want to meet and so on)
Considering that I used to stand under lampposts in hope, I would have to pick Narnia. And I suppose I would most want to meet Mr. Tumnus (is that spelled right?) and Reepicheep and Puddleglum. Well... and Aslan, certainly. Wow, as unlikely as this is, I'm getting all excited about it. Oh, the why is basically because it is the first fantasy world I really inhabited in my imagination, and it is so... formative, to me. The experiences I've had of Narnia have colored the way I view a lot of things. Sort of in terms of ideas, but even more in terms of atmosphere... every single time I have gone abroad there has been something that related back to Narnia. When I am in tunnels or caves I chant to myself, "Many sink down to the underworld, but few return to the sunlit lands." I had to try Turkish Delight when I finally found it in a candy store. I named my lizard Eustace Clarence Scrubb. My knowledge of mythical creatures is heavily Narnian. I know why the wardrobe worked. And every time I see a real wardrobe, I remember that it would be very foolish to shut myself inside... but I also have to feel the back to make sure. I learned what single combat and treachery are because of their presence in the books. And whenever I imagine a hell I can imagine (as in, not the vengence of an angry God), it is really the non-vision of a circle of hungry dwarves. This is not really a description of what I would do in Narnia so much as a hymn to my love of the stories... but it's hard to say what I would do. Aside from retrace the steps of my friends... I think I would like to see what Father Christmas would give me, if given the chance. And of course I would want to go to Caer Paravel. But mostly I would want a real adventure... with companions and purpose and danger and everything... whatever the Lion would send me! ;)
5. Is there a piece of art/literature/music that you feel draws a gut level response or reaction from you no matter how many times you see it (or read it, or hear it)? What is it and what is the reaction?
I don't know if this is literally every time, but I definitely cried the first several times I heard Leningrad by Billy Joel. Something about the message of universality made through such specific imagery, and maybe the fact that I could concretely connect the historical events he describes in that song to my parents... but it totally hit me, in this very visceral way. I think because it seemed so sad and real the way that we cut ourselves off from each other according to the political/national "enemies" that we are supposed to have... and actually kill for that... but the differences we die for are not as real as the similarities. I'm not sure that says what I want it to say, but the song is really something. I can think of very few songs that have ever made me cry, even ones I care a lot about, or I think are very beautiful. In fact, that might be the only one that actually did, as opposed to just choking me up or something.
I want to say "Six Apologies, Lord," by Olena Kalytiak Davis because I just worked real hard to find it, but I'm not sure it makes quite such a strong impression on me this time around. It's still a really wonderful and fascinating poem, though, so here you go:
I Have Loved My Horrible Self, Lord.
I Rose, Lord, And I Rose, Lord, And I,
Dropt. Your Requirements, Lord. 'Spite Your Requirements, Lord,
I Have Loved The Low Voltage Of The Moon, Lord,
Until There Was No Moon Intensity Left, Lord, No Moon Intensity Left
For You, Lord. I Have Loved The Frivolous, The Fleeting, The Frightful
Clouds. Lord, I Have Loved Clouds! Do Not Forgive Me, Do Not
Forgive Me LordandLover, HarborandMaster, GuardianandBread, Do Not.
Hold Me, Lord, O, Hold Me
Accountable, Lord. I Am
Accountable. Lord.
Lord It Over Me,
Lord It Over Me, Lord. Feed Me
Hope, Lord. Feed Me
Hope, Lord, Or Break My Teeth.
Break My Teeth, Sir,
In This My Mouth.
Well, after reading it over a few times, it seems to still have a strong pull for me, so good. In that vein, the "Batter my heart, three-personed God," sonnet of John Donne's is always impactful. I think I always love the combination of somewhat helpless faith and defiance and submission... in a way. Reminds me of this homily I just heard where the priest compared everyone to sheep or goats. And I was like, um, I'm definitely a goat, but that doesn't mean I don't believe in God... I really didn't care for him.
Mmm, and jumping back to music, the Moonlight Sonata always takes me on a journey through mystery, darkness, and hope... such beautiful, meaningful sounds.
I'm going on and on here, aren't I? But I'm not ready to stop. Let me add: The Winter Prince by Elizabeth Wein, because it is always incredibly beautiful and captivating to me, and in a way that apparently is particular to me, which I think is interesting.
And finally, for visual art... that one in the Philadelphia art museum with the soldiers all photographed rather grotesquely always shocks/fascinates me. Likewise the one where you have to look through a little peephole in the wooden gate. And that picture of the two girls... I never remember the name or anything, but Rachel will...
1. Name one skill or talent you always wish you had developed more fully or pursued. What do you think kept you from following this path?
Well... it's hard to say, really, because there aren't a lot of talents I'm aware of that I haven't pursued at all. I would say singing, since it's been a couple of years since I really sang with any official regularity, though I hope to get back into that again soon. It's funny, because I do notice the lack of singing, but it's something other people point out to me more. Like at Thanksgiving, Skip (my mom's friend's husband) told me he had always imagined me pursuing a musical career, and then my dad asked, "What about your music, your singing?" as we were talking about various developments and pursuits in my life. I think I also wish I had time/space/inclination at the time to have studied more history in college. I still really like history but I feel that my education in it has been completely cut off. I think that in terms of the singing, I was never certain that I loved it enough to pursue it to the exclusion of other activities, and in college it became hard to be as pluralistic as I had been in high school. Now, I am nervous that I will not find a group that I am trained enough for, or that I will have to sight read or do something scary... but mostly I hope that soon I find a good singing group and the time to do it. In terms of history, it was simply a matter of where my coursework led me at the time. One thing I sort of hate about higher education is that you get more and more specialized the higher you go, so in some ways you learn less.
2. [ Alright, this isn't particularly creative, but it's a question I tend to ask people] Would you rather wake up one morning and find yourself deaf or blind? Why?
This is quite difficult, but I think deaf. Simply because I think it would be harder to navigate the world without my vision, and also because I couldn't read without it, and whatever misfortune befell me, I'm sure that reading would help me cope with it. Also, (sorry, this is trite), while God forbid I should ever have to use it exclusively, I have become rather enamored of finger-spelling as of late.
3. You've found yourself suddenly transported to a space ship where you are confronted by a group of aliens who have just decided that Earth must go. You are given the chance to give them, show them, or tell them about 3 things to try to convince them to do otherwise-- what do you choose?
This is the hardest one, and I've saved it for last. So hard, Alex! But a really great question.
1. The most colorful, fragrant, interesting flowers I can find.
2. I would show them a baby, and (assuming this terrible task gives me a certain omniscience) tell them the entire history of the baby's ancestry and all the people who have in some way gone into creating this baby, good and bad and indifferent, and also the complete mystery of the baby's future life.
3. I would tell the story of a war or other horrible event, with all the good and evil wrapped up together like lovers... the terrible acts and the selfless ones... I don't think it would be fair to not be honest, and I would like to think this would in truth be a strong argument to let us continue trying.
4. I know I don't get a fourth, but I really want to sing a song. Maybe I could make one of my stories an opera? Or wrap a lullaby into the baby thing?
Wow, this is making me so nervous. I hope my choices could save the world....
4. You get to spend a week in any fictional place (it can be from any source--tv/movie/books/comics/myths/etc) where do you choose and why? [if you feel so inclined you can get into what you would do there/who you would want to meet and so on)
Considering that I used to stand under lampposts in hope, I would have to pick Narnia. And I suppose I would most want to meet Mr. Tumnus (is that spelled right?) and Reepicheep and Puddleglum. Well... and Aslan, certainly. Wow, as unlikely as this is, I'm getting all excited about it. Oh, the why is basically because it is the first fantasy world I really inhabited in my imagination, and it is so... formative, to me. The experiences I've had of Narnia have colored the way I view a lot of things. Sort of in terms of ideas, but even more in terms of atmosphere... every single time I have gone abroad there has been something that related back to Narnia. When I am in tunnels or caves I chant to myself, "Many sink down to the underworld, but few return to the sunlit lands." I had to try Turkish Delight when I finally found it in a candy store. I named my lizard Eustace Clarence Scrubb. My knowledge of mythical creatures is heavily Narnian. I know why the wardrobe worked. And every time I see a real wardrobe, I remember that it would be very foolish to shut myself inside... but I also have to feel the back to make sure. I learned what single combat and treachery are because of their presence in the books. And whenever I imagine a hell I can imagine (as in, not the vengence of an angry God), it is really the non-vision of a circle of hungry dwarves. This is not really a description of what I would do in Narnia so much as a hymn to my love of the stories... but it's hard to say what I would do. Aside from retrace the steps of my friends... I think I would like to see what Father Christmas would give me, if given the chance. And of course I would want to go to Caer Paravel. But mostly I would want a real adventure... with companions and purpose and danger and everything... whatever the Lion would send me! ;)
5. Is there a piece of art/literature/music that you feel draws a gut level response or reaction from you no matter how many times you see it (or read it, or hear it)? What is it and what is the reaction?
I don't know if this is literally every time, but I definitely cried the first several times I heard Leningrad by Billy Joel. Something about the message of universality made through such specific imagery, and maybe the fact that I could concretely connect the historical events he describes in that song to my parents... but it totally hit me, in this very visceral way. I think because it seemed so sad and real the way that we cut ourselves off from each other according to the political/national "enemies" that we are supposed to have... and actually kill for that... but the differences we die for are not as real as the similarities. I'm not sure that says what I want it to say, but the song is really something. I can think of very few songs that have ever made me cry, even ones I care a lot about, or I think are very beautiful. In fact, that might be the only one that actually did, as opposed to just choking me up or something.
I want to say "Six Apologies, Lord," by Olena Kalytiak Davis because I just worked real hard to find it, but I'm not sure it makes quite such a strong impression on me this time around. It's still a really wonderful and fascinating poem, though, so here you go:
I Have Loved My Horrible Self, Lord.
I Rose, Lord, And I Rose, Lord, And I,
Dropt. Your Requirements, Lord. 'Spite Your Requirements, Lord,
I Have Loved The Low Voltage Of The Moon, Lord,
Until There Was No Moon Intensity Left, Lord, No Moon Intensity Left
For You, Lord. I Have Loved The Frivolous, The Fleeting, The Frightful
Clouds. Lord, I Have Loved Clouds! Do Not Forgive Me, Do Not
Forgive Me LordandLover, HarborandMaster, GuardianandBread, Do Not.
Hold Me, Lord, O, Hold Me
Accountable, Lord. I Am
Accountable. Lord.
Lord It Over Me,
Lord It Over Me, Lord. Feed Me
Hope, Lord. Feed Me
Hope, Lord, Or Break My Teeth.
Break My Teeth, Sir,
In This My Mouth.
Well, after reading it over a few times, it seems to still have a strong pull for me, so good. In that vein, the "Batter my heart, three-personed God," sonnet of John Donne's is always impactful. I think I always love the combination of somewhat helpless faith and defiance and submission... in a way. Reminds me of this homily I just heard where the priest compared everyone to sheep or goats. And I was like, um, I'm definitely a goat, but that doesn't mean I don't believe in God... I really didn't care for him.
Mmm, and jumping back to music, the Moonlight Sonata always takes me on a journey through mystery, darkness, and hope... such beautiful, meaningful sounds.
I'm going on and on here, aren't I? But I'm not ready to stop. Let me add: The Winter Prince by Elizabeth Wein, because it is always incredibly beautiful and captivating to me, and in a way that apparently is particular to me, which I think is interesting.
And finally, for visual art... that one in the Philadelphia art museum with the soldiers all photographed rather grotesquely always shocks/fascinates me. Likewise the one where you have to look through a little peephole in the wooden gate. And that picture of the two girls... I never remember the name or anything, but Rachel will...
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
I Know These Are MUCH More Interesting To Me Than To Anyone Else, but You Can Take it Too.
Found this in Nathaniel's Blog.
Two Names You Go By
1. Becky
2. James
Two Parts of Your Heritage
1. Irish Catholic
2. German Lutheran (I feel like my mom would be sad if I didn't also say Italian even though it didn't fit in with the contrast-making!)
Two Things That Scare You
1.Being attacked by people I pass outside at night, mostly men.
2. That I'm going to suddenly go irrevocably and cosmically wrong with my life path, and therefore sacrifice all happiness and acheivement forever.
Two of Your Everyday Essentials
Two Names You Go By
1. Becky
2. James
Two Parts of Your Heritage
1. Irish Catholic
2. German Lutheran (I feel like my mom would be sad if I didn't also say Italian even though it didn't fit in with the contrast-making!)
Two Things That Scare You
1.Being attacked by people I pass outside at night, mostly men.
2. That I'm going to suddenly go irrevocably and cosmically wrong with my life path, and therefore sacrifice all happiness and acheivement forever.
Two of Your Everyday Essentials
1. A satisfying lunch
2. A little time to read
Two Things You Are Wearing Right Now
1. Cool brown and blue suede boots with manageable heels. (Arguably the most attractive and stylish footwear that I own, being that I own very little.)
2. Brown skirt that is tighter than it used to be, which fact I am not fond of.
Two of Your Favorite Bands or Musical Artists
1. Gogol Bordello! Gypsy punk!
2. William Finn (not really a band or a musical artists, but related to music and a favorite)
Two Things You Want in a Relationship
1. A place for my spirit to be free and my imagination to be fed.
2. Sex-- at the right time and in the right way and when I'm sure it's a good idea... but also with a sort of wanton and consuming passion. Hmm.
Two Truths
1. The world can be incredibly frightening, dangerous, and savage. Which sometimes I believe, and sometimes I don't.
2. To (perhaps quote, perhaps paraphrase) Julian of Norwich: All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well. Which sometimes I believe, and sometimes I don't.
Two of Your Favorite Hobbies
1. Theater of any stripe except certain mainstagey weird stripes that pretend to be stripes but are actually polka dots.
2. Singing-- I miss it.
Two Things You Want Really Badly
1. To be a published writer.
2. To understand my direction in life and be at peace about it.
Two Places You Want to go on Vacation
1. India
2. Canada
Two Things You Want to Do Before You Die
1. Visit every continent at least once (including Antarctica!)
2. Walk in beauty every day. And go into space. Both are difficult, but worthwhile.
Two Ways that you are stereotypically a Chick/Guy
1. Wonderful and circuitous language skills.
2. Confusion about all things mechanical, or which have to be manually assembled.
Two Things You Normally Wouldn't Admit
1. What people think of me matters to me way too much (taken from Nathaniel because he's right)
2. I think about sex, my own sexuality, and tie myself in knots over real or imagined attractions more than I would EVER say. And I get very jealous about such matters.
Two Things You Are Thinking About Now
1. How to promote a Christmas Carol at Thanksgiving.
2. If anyone other than the people I know about actually reads this journal... and whether I want them to.
Two Stores You Shop At
1. A Garland of Letters
2. The Last Word (I'm picking the cool sounding favorites, not the grocery store and stuff)
Two people I would like to see take this quiz
1. Rachel
2. Katie (Because they will read it)
Two people I haven't talked to in a while
1. Cristina (and I really should because I'm head over heels about her being in Philly)
2. Kirstin (and I really should because I'm head over heels about her being in Pennsylvania)
2. A little time to read
Two Things You Are Wearing Right Now
1. Cool brown and blue suede boots with manageable heels. (Arguably the most attractive and stylish footwear that I own, being that I own very little.)
2. Brown skirt that is tighter than it used to be, which fact I am not fond of.
Two of Your Favorite Bands or Musical Artists
1. Gogol Bordello! Gypsy punk!
2. William Finn (not really a band or a musical artists, but related to music and a favorite)
Two Things You Want in a Relationship
1. A place for my spirit to be free and my imagination to be fed.
2. Sex-- at the right time and in the right way and when I'm sure it's a good idea... but also with a sort of wanton and consuming passion. Hmm.
Two Truths
1. The world can be incredibly frightening, dangerous, and savage. Which sometimes I believe, and sometimes I don't.
2. To (perhaps quote, perhaps paraphrase) Julian of Norwich: All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well. Which sometimes I believe, and sometimes I don't.
Two of Your Favorite Hobbies
1. Theater of any stripe except certain mainstagey weird stripes that pretend to be stripes but are actually polka dots.
2. Singing-- I miss it.
Two Things You Want Really Badly
1. To be a published writer.
2. To understand my direction in life and be at peace about it.
Two Places You Want to go on Vacation
1. India
2. Canada
Two Things You Want to Do Before You Die
1. Visit every continent at least once (including Antarctica!)
2. Walk in beauty every day. And go into space. Both are difficult, but worthwhile.
Two Ways that you are stereotypically a Chick/Guy
1. Wonderful and circuitous language skills.
2. Confusion about all things mechanical, or which have to be manually assembled.
Two Things You Normally Wouldn't Admit
1. What people think of me matters to me way too much (taken from Nathaniel because he's right)
2. I think about sex, my own sexuality, and tie myself in knots over real or imagined attractions more than I would EVER say. And I get very jealous about such matters.
Two Things You Are Thinking About Now
1. How to promote a Christmas Carol at Thanksgiving.
2. If anyone other than the people I know about actually reads this journal... and whether I want them to.
Two Stores You Shop At
1. A Garland of Letters
2. The Last Word (I'm picking the cool sounding favorites, not the grocery store and stuff)
Two people I would like to see take this quiz
1. Rachel
2. Katie (Because they will read it)
Two people I haven't talked to in a while
1. Cristina (and I really should because I'm head over heels about her being in Philly)
2. Kirstin (and I really should because I'm head over heels about her being in Pennsylvania)
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Ghosties and Ghoulies and Long-Legged Beasties
And things that go bump in the night.
This post could be so many things. I'm waiting to see what is actually going to come out of me. Because I feel that I could be philosophical, or wildly angry, or just tired. Perhaps I'll have a shot at all of them.
First, I think, the anger. Yesterday anger was definitely my deadly sin of choice. First of all, Septa is certainly aptly named, if by Septa we wish to refer to a sort of sluggish and fetid septic system: it is irritating and it stinks, but you'd sure as hell rather it worked (in its own inimitable way) than not at all. And I DO NOT want to pay the normal amount for my transpass, and then have to pay all kinds of taxi charges and walk my legs off anyway because the train and the LUCY whatever don't actually run at the right times or take me where I want to go. But I don't know if I can keep getting up at 7 AM to get to work by 9. I mean, there were ways in which it was nice today, but I'm really tired now and it's only 10 AM, and because of the show I will have to be here for about 12 more hours. Same for the walk home- generally I like it, but sometimes I like to get home and start dinner BEFORE 8 PM. Septa: YOU DO NOT STAND UP TO THE TIGER. YOU SUCK HIPPODICK. PLEASE WORK AGAIN, OR FOR THE FIRST TIME.
Then, the CREEPY FUCKING NEIGHBORS. The CREEPY FUCKING NEIGHBORS decided to decorate their CREEPY FUCKING HOUSE for Halloween with a carefully detailed assortment of bloodied and mutilated baby dolls, complete with bloody handprints all up the front columns of the house and little nooses in the trees. Fucking gross, tasteless, creepy, and disturbing. I began to cringe from passing the damn place. But, at the same time, it is their house and they can, I suppose, decorate it as they please, whether or not I find it acceptable or pleasant. Granted, I don't actually feel this way... of course, I wanted to take all their baby dolls away and paint flowers and rainbows across their windows (in a vindictive kind of way). But I do understand what is the law of the land, and it makes sense to me. So I, while not accepting their decorations as such, was prepared to live in peace. However, I'm coming home from work... after a LONG day, with irritations that may be described hereafter... and I am hungry, and I've been walking for about an hour and forty-five minutes (see above re. Septa). And I see this crowd of people outside the CREEPY FUCKING HOUSE, having, apparently, a CREEPY FUCKING PARTY. Except at first I just thought it was a party. I even felt more kindly disposed toward them... I thought, hey, they're just having a Halloween party like everybody else, obviously they just got... carried away with the babies, and probably they are normal human beings after all. The I see this man in a creepy staring mask, walking up and down the sidewalk, dragging his shovel behind him so it scrrrrrapes all along the cement, then scrrrraping it back the other way. I don't know what the man is doing. At first I do not suppose it has reference to me. (I'm not sure why I'm switching tenses wildly in this narration, but please forgive as I do not feel like going back and making it all consistent.) Then, as I get closer, he starts following me down the sidewalk. I saw his creepy blank staring leering face entirely too close to mine, and I heard his shovel dragging and scraping along behind me even when I refused to look back, and it made me shudder and put my hand to my face, and I was sooooooooooooooooo angry at him for frightening me. I was a little electric bundle of anger and fear. Right before I went in my own building, I saw this man carrying a garbage bag coming toward me out of the shadows and my whole body tensed. It was a nice old Asian man, smiling at me as he brought out his trash! But my body did not believe.
Then Rachel came home and I gave her a violet plant and a card for our cohabitation anniversary, and we decided to go to the Indian buffet because they would have dinner ready right away and that is what we required at that time. So... back out the door, back down the street, and as we got close to the CREEPY FUCKING HOUSE I began to hear that scrape scrape scraping again and I saw the masked man was still going up and down the sidewalk. He started following close to Rachel and I as we passed, and this time we were hedged in on the other side by a man in a red demonic mask leering up at us too. The blankness of the masks was the most horrible thing about it. The fact that I could not tell where their real faces began, that they could see my whole, real face with my feelings on it and all I could see of them was leering, malevolent rubber. I felt such malice, from them and toward them. I was so hungry! I wanted to scream obscenties at them in a way I have never done. I walked a bit faster, and when I turned my head and saw the red mask right beside my face, tilted in ill-intended curiosity, it was more than I could take. I don't really know how it happened, but I felt something break inside of me and suddenly I was charging down the street away from them, not running but marching as fast as I could, getting away. I walked like this until I was halfway down the next block I was trembling deep inside with anger. Anger was all I could feel, and tension, and nerves, and a terrible boiling rage with only the lid of my skull to keep it inside me. I kept marching all the way to the restaurant. Ocassionally I felt my mouth stretch in a strange nervous/bitter parody of a smile, the social-ness of my self breaking through, the feelings breaking through in a way they knew was appropriate. But mostly... tension, anger, anger, anger, tension, fear, anger, anger, rage. This wholly hot and consuming, absorbing rage, and so much tension that I flinched when a man in a doorway lit up a cigarette, the flame flashing into its small life pulling some string inside of me. I could not calm down. I could not stop feeling it, though somehow I knew that it was my choice to feel it. How both of those things could be true I don't know. When I could finally speak I began to rant about what they had done, this harrassment, how they had no right to follow me and frighten me... and Rachel said, "They're just idiots, it's Halloween." And I heard my voice passionate and trembling, rage and tears bundled and wound up inside it, saying, "I don't care what they are, I don't care what it is." No forethought in that voice, no reason. Only pain and rage, and a sort of vocal ultimatum... I remember the feeling: They are my enemies, don't ever defend them, even with their own stupidity. The sound of my voice was... striking. Different. I stewed inside my anger, on and on, and I began to wish for it to stop. I had been imagining impossible revenges, and had taken great satisfaction in imagining stumbling upon a police car, magically stopped on a curb, waiting, and telling them that there were people harassing passers-by. But at 40th st., in front of the Fresh Grocer, I imagined killing them. It didn't just cross my mind, "I'll kill them," I imagined doing it. I imagined their fear. I imagined their pain. I imagined cutting their throats and I saw the blood. I wanted to kill them for real, and I imagined it all. And as the bloody images passed through my mind, I felt my shoulders begin to relax. I felt the tension seep out of my chest.
I had been thinking just hours before about compassion, and forgiveness, for matters so far beyond being scared and harrassed in the street. And here I was with this violent, explicit, burning anger in the heart of me. And I still feel it, when I think about what happened. In some ways I love my anger, although I refuse it often and I fear it, too. But it makes me feel more powerful, to know that it is there.
I have been thinking so much lately about evil and violence... Capote, Turtles Can Fly, The Autobiography of God... it's like I asked the universe, Evil 101, please. I've been dreaming about powerful male captives that kill and charm and break away. Captives I should perhaps kill but that I never do. My dreams have been very full, very vivid, very frightening. I am always in charge, and I capture these men, and I do not kill them, and they escape again. What is this evil of my soul? What am I to do with it? Has it been there all along?
Evil. The destruction of our spirits, the desecration of our bodies, the blinding of our eyes. Evil... the chimney stacks of Auschwitz. That evil before which our whole society trembles and turns away. That skeleton face with eyes gone that will haunt me forever. Evil, evil, evil... the death of a soul. Evil in the choosing not to see, not to know the evil that is done by other hands. Evil in the silence and evil in too much speaking. Evil in killing, in dogmatism (of any kind), evil in the refusal to listen and understand. Evil in the giving in to manipulators, be they rich or poor. Evil in the rejection of the self. Evil in the mis-seeing of another. Evil in my heart. Evil in the grasping, greedy, frightened parts of the whole. Evil in putting away the things I wish to do in the name of confusion or lethargy. Sometimes I am dogged by evil, followed by it like a man with a shovel, and I can feel it dragging, hear it scraping behind me though I dare not turn around and look.
I am tired. Evil is insidious. And I do not begin to understand it. Is there something in the cross, beyond all voyueristic sadomasochistic ecstasies of pain, that can teach me about evil? Standing at an intersection to itself, wrapping evil in the mantle of holy blessedness? (Or blessedness in a cloak of evil?)
Since it is All Saint's Day, and I have the litany in my head:
Mary Magdaline my name-saint, pray for us,
Peter chosen patron, pray for us,
Sweet beloved John, pray for us,
searching Augustine, pray for us,
Martha, Mary, Miriam, pray for us,
Sarah, Hagar, and Rebekah, pray for us,
Felicity, Perpetua, pray for us,
and all forgotten women, pray for us.
Andrew and Michael, pray for us,
John XXIII, pray for us,
Frank, Patrick, and Jon, pray for us,
Uncle Alan and my brother, pray for us,
Jane Divo, Father Norcott, pray for us,
Judas and Shawna's mother, pray for us.
All who perished under evil hands, pray for us,
all the hands which dispatched them, pray for us,
Pilate, Johnson, Lincoln, Kennedy, pray for us,
Theresa and Julian, pray for us.
C.S. Lewis, Meister Eckhart, pray for us,
Rumi and Mohammed, pray for us,
Hallaj and the Bal Shem Tov, pray for us,
Margery and Margaret, pray for us,
Paul and John the Baptist, pray for us,
Chrysogonus and Blaise, pray for us,
Lucy, Anne and Catherine, pray for us,
Rachel and Elizabeth, pray for us.
All you holy men and women, pray for us.
All the mysteries, and the greatest mystery of all to me is me.
I still feel the surge of fire-anger-heat inside, and the prick of fear.
November has come. I am stepping into it; take my hand.
This post could be so many things. I'm waiting to see what is actually going to come out of me. Because I feel that I could be philosophical, or wildly angry, or just tired. Perhaps I'll have a shot at all of them.
First, I think, the anger. Yesterday anger was definitely my deadly sin of choice. First of all, Septa is certainly aptly named, if by Septa we wish to refer to a sort of sluggish and fetid septic system: it is irritating and it stinks, but you'd sure as hell rather it worked (in its own inimitable way) than not at all. And I DO NOT want to pay the normal amount for my transpass, and then have to pay all kinds of taxi charges and walk my legs off anyway because the train and the LUCY whatever don't actually run at the right times or take me where I want to go. But I don't know if I can keep getting up at 7 AM to get to work by 9. I mean, there were ways in which it was nice today, but I'm really tired now and it's only 10 AM, and because of the show I will have to be here for about 12 more hours. Same for the walk home- generally I like it, but sometimes I like to get home and start dinner BEFORE 8 PM. Septa: YOU DO NOT STAND UP TO THE TIGER. YOU SUCK HIPPODICK. PLEASE WORK AGAIN, OR FOR THE FIRST TIME.
Then, the CREEPY FUCKING NEIGHBORS. The CREEPY FUCKING NEIGHBORS decided to decorate their CREEPY FUCKING HOUSE for Halloween with a carefully detailed assortment of bloodied and mutilated baby dolls, complete with bloody handprints all up the front columns of the house and little nooses in the trees. Fucking gross, tasteless, creepy, and disturbing. I began to cringe from passing the damn place. But, at the same time, it is their house and they can, I suppose, decorate it as they please, whether or not I find it acceptable or pleasant. Granted, I don't actually feel this way... of course, I wanted to take all their baby dolls away and paint flowers and rainbows across their windows (in a vindictive kind of way). But I do understand what is the law of the land, and it makes sense to me. So I, while not accepting their decorations as such, was prepared to live in peace. However, I'm coming home from work... after a LONG day, with irritations that may be described hereafter... and I am hungry, and I've been walking for about an hour and forty-five minutes (see above re. Septa). And I see this crowd of people outside the CREEPY FUCKING HOUSE, having, apparently, a CREEPY FUCKING PARTY. Except at first I just thought it was a party. I even felt more kindly disposed toward them... I thought, hey, they're just having a Halloween party like everybody else, obviously they just got... carried away with the babies, and probably they are normal human beings after all. The I see this man in a creepy staring mask, walking up and down the sidewalk, dragging his shovel behind him so it scrrrrrapes all along the cement, then scrrrraping it back the other way. I don't know what the man is doing. At first I do not suppose it has reference to me. (I'm not sure why I'm switching tenses wildly in this narration, but please forgive as I do not feel like going back and making it all consistent.) Then, as I get closer, he starts following me down the sidewalk. I saw his creepy blank staring leering face entirely too close to mine, and I heard his shovel dragging and scraping along behind me even when I refused to look back, and it made me shudder and put my hand to my face, and I was sooooooooooooooooo angry at him for frightening me. I was a little electric bundle of anger and fear. Right before I went in my own building, I saw this man carrying a garbage bag coming toward me out of the shadows and my whole body tensed. It was a nice old Asian man, smiling at me as he brought out his trash! But my body did not believe.
Then Rachel came home and I gave her a violet plant and a card for our cohabitation anniversary, and we decided to go to the Indian buffet because they would have dinner ready right away and that is what we required at that time. So... back out the door, back down the street, and as we got close to the CREEPY FUCKING HOUSE I began to hear that scrape scrape scraping again and I saw the masked man was still going up and down the sidewalk. He started following close to Rachel and I as we passed, and this time we were hedged in on the other side by a man in a red demonic mask leering up at us too. The blankness of the masks was the most horrible thing about it. The fact that I could not tell where their real faces began, that they could see my whole, real face with my feelings on it and all I could see of them was leering, malevolent rubber. I felt such malice, from them and toward them. I was so hungry! I wanted to scream obscenties at them in a way I have never done. I walked a bit faster, and when I turned my head and saw the red mask right beside my face, tilted in ill-intended curiosity, it was more than I could take. I don't really know how it happened, but I felt something break inside of me and suddenly I was charging down the street away from them, not running but marching as fast as I could, getting away. I walked like this until I was halfway down the next block I was trembling deep inside with anger. Anger was all I could feel, and tension, and nerves, and a terrible boiling rage with only the lid of my skull to keep it inside me. I kept marching all the way to the restaurant. Ocassionally I felt my mouth stretch in a strange nervous/bitter parody of a smile, the social-ness of my self breaking through, the feelings breaking through in a way they knew was appropriate. But mostly... tension, anger, anger, anger, tension, fear, anger, anger, rage. This wholly hot and consuming, absorbing rage, and so much tension that I flinched when a man in a doorway lit up a cigarette, the flame flashing into its small life pulling some string inside of me. I could not calm down. I could not stop feeling it, though somehow I knew that it was my choice to feel it. How both of those things could be true I don't know. When I could finally speak I began to rant about what they had done, this harrassment, how they had no right to follow me and frighten me... and Rachel said, "They're just idiots, it's Halloween." And I heard my voice passionate and trembling, rage and tears bundled and wound up inside it, saying, "I don't care what they are, I don't care what it is." No forethought in that voice, no reason. Only pain and rage, and a sort of vocal ultimatum... I remember the feeling: They are my enemies, don't ever defend them, even with their own stupidity. The sound of my voice was... striking. Different. I stewed inside my anger, on and on, and I began to wish for it to stop. I had been imagining impossible revenges, and had taken great satisfaction in imagining stumbling upon a police car, magically stopped on a curb, waiting, and telling them that there were people harassing passers-by. But at 40th st., in front of the Fresh Grocer, I imagined killing them. It didn't just cross my mind, "I'll kill them," I imagined doing it. I imagined their fear. I imagined their pain. I imagined cutting their throats and I saw the blood. I wanted to kill them for real, and I imagined it all. And as the bloody images passed through my mind, I felt my shoulders begin to relax. I felt the tension seep out of my chest.
I had been thinking just hours before about compassion, and forgiveness, for matters so far beyond being scared and harrassed in the street. And here I was with this violent, explicit, burning anger in the heart of me. And I still feel it, when I think about what happened. In some ways I love my anger, although I refuse it often and I fear it, too. But it makes me feel more powerful, to know that it is there.
I have been thinking so much lately about evil and violence... Capote, Turtles Can Fly, The Autobiography of God... it's like I asked the universe, Evil 101, please. I've been dreaming about powerful male captives that kill and charm and break away. Captives I should perhaps kill but that I never do. My dreams have been very full, very vivid, very frightening. I am always in charge, and I capture these men, and I do not kill them, and they escape again. What is this evil of my soul? What am I to do with it? Has it been there all along?
Evil. The destruction of our spirits, the desecration of our bodies, the blinding of our eyes. Evil... the chimney stacks of Auschwitz. That evil before which our whole society trembles and turns away. That skeleton face with eyes gone that will haunt me forever. Evil, evil, evil... the death of a soul. Evil in the choosing not to see, not to know the evil that is done by other hands. Evil in the silence and evil in too much speaking. Evil in killing, in dogmatism (of any kind), evil in the refusal to listen and understand. Evil in the giving in to manipulators, be they rich or poor. Evil in the rejection of the self. Evil in the mis-seeing of another. Evil in my heart. Evil in the grasping, greedy, frightened parts of the whole. Evil in putting away the things I wish to do in the name of confusion or lethargy. Sometimes I am dogged by evil, followed by it like a man with a shovel, and I can feel it dragging, hear it scraping behind me though I dare not turn around and look.
I am tired. Evil is insidious. And I do not begin to understand it. Is there something in the cross, beyond all voyueristic sadomasochistic ecstasies of pain, that can teach me about evil? Standing at an intersection to itself, wrapping evil in the mantle of holy blessedness? (Or blessedness in a cloak of evil?)
Since it is All Saint's Day, and I have the litany in my head:
Mary Magdaline my name-saint, pray for us,
Peter chosen patron, pray for us,
Sweet beloved John, pray for us,
searching Augustine, pray for us,
Martha, Mary, Miriam, pray for us,
Sarah, Hagar, and Rebekah, pray for us,
Felicity, Perpetua, pray for us,
and all forgotten women, pray for us.
Andrew and Michael, pray for us,
John XXIII, pray for us,
Frank, Patrick, and Jon, pray for us,
Uncle Alan and my brother, pray for us,
Jane Divo, Father Norcott, pray for us,
Judas and Shawna's mother, pray for us.
All who perished under evil hands, pray for us,
all the hands which dispatched them, pray for us,
Pilate, Johnson, Lincoln, Kennedy, pray for us,
Theresa and Julian, pray for us.
C.S. Lewis, Meister Eckhart, pray for us,
Rumi and Mohammed, pray for us,
Hallaj and the Bal Shem Tov, pray for us,
Margery and Margaret, pray for us,
Paul and John the Baptist, pray for us,
Chrysogonus and Blaise, pray for us,
Lucy, Anne and Catherine, pray for us,
Rachel and Elizabeth, pray for us.
All you holy men and women, pray for us.
All the mysteries, and the greatest mystery of all to me is me.
I still feel the surge of fire-anger-heat inside, and the prick of fear.
November has come. I am stepping into it; take my hand.
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
Mayday, I'm on the fringes...
Wow... what a strange couple of days it has been. Before I say anything else, I want to say this: WE GOT INTO THE NY FRINGE! And it's my play, and the admission is based purely on our merits!! Though the news is still hitting me, that's helping make life a lot better right now. "We" for the uninitiated, is The Uncut Pages Theater Company. www.uncutpages.org. Please go, and donate money. ;)
The news about the Fringe couldn't have come at a better time, literally right on the heels of May Day, my first May Day as an alum. I had a really good time for most of the day. For some reason I decided to get very drunk in the afternoon, but not (I hope) obnoxiously so, or to the point where I got sick or could not speak or walk. I hope I continue with the record of never getting to that point, because I would not like to see the scorn I tend to have for other people who do (more the obnoxious than the sick) turned on myself. But... it was a beautiful day, after a coldish and cloudy beginning. The sun came out right in the middle of the May Hole dance, as the vigorously shaken purple parachute launched flower petals into the air and everyone danced around in giddy feminist circles. (Sometimes I am struck by how much of what we do/have done at Bryn Mawr seems like the kind of thing that only happens in movies or books. But it's real. These things do happen. Does everybody have such moments in their lives? What does it mean that the cinematic or literary creations, mirrors, and takes on reality become the reference points for our real lives? Especially interesting since so many, many people commented on how the events of September 11, 2001 felt like a movie, or they thought they were actually watching a movie. Anyway. Bryn Mawr is like this in a much more lovely, idealistic kind of way.)
The rest of the day was lovely. I went dancing and skinny dipping about, and generally did all things appropriate to May Day.
I did not see my flower fight girl, who I have had a flower fight with every year since I came to Bryn Mawr. Katie told me she was there, but, superstitiously, I did not seek her out. I guess it felt like a cycle had come to an end, and I should not interfere.
More when we fix the internet at home. :(
The news about the Fringe couldn't have come at a better time, literally right on the heels of May Day, my first May Day as an alum. I had a really good time for most of the day. For some reason I decided to get very drunk in the afternoon, but not (I hope) obnoxiously so, or to the point where I got sick or could not speak or walk. I hope I continue with the record of never getting to that point, because I would not like to see the scorn I tend to have for other people who do (more the obnoxious than the sick) turned on myself. But... it was a beautiful day, after a coldish and cloudy beginning. The sun came out right in the middle of the May Hole dance, as the vigorously shaken purple parachute launched flower petals into the air and everyone danced around in giddy feminist circles. (Sometimes I am struck by how much of what we do/have done at Bryn Mawr seems like the kind of thing that only happens in movies or books. But it's real. These things do happen. Does everybody have such moments in their lives? What does it mean that the cinematic or literary creations, mirrors, and takes on reality become the reference points for our real lives? Especially interesting since so many, many people commented on how the events of September 11, 2001 felt like a movie, or they thought they were actually watching a movie. Anyway. Bryn Mawr is like this in a much more lovely, idealistic kind of way.)
The rest of the day was lovely. I went dancing and skinny dipping about, and generally did all things appropriate to May Day.
I did not see my flower fight girl, who I have had a flower fight with every year since I came to Bryn Mawr. Katie told me she was there, but, superstitiously, I did not seek her out. I guess it felt like a cycle had come to an end, and I should not interfere.
That feeling is probably also why I felt so strange at the end of the night. Like the cycle of being at Bryn Mawr and leaving Bryn Mawr had completed its course, and now I was really and truly gone. Sometimes I hate so very very much that I have been out of college for a year and I'm still afraid of leaving college, which, after all, I have already done. I feel so inept whent that fear comes over me...
But this entry has been going on forEVER, and it's time to end it before I get kicked off here as has happened about 500,000 times when I tried to finish it.More when we fix the internet at home. :(
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