My Dearest Mr.Crowe,
Let me begin by throwing my own personal celebration in honor of your immeasurable genius. The muses have bestowed upon you more than your fair share of creative gifts. I am certainly not complaining, I am grateful, in fact. Grateful that you use your powers for good and share them with the masses. Myself of course, being a humbly awed member of the masses.
That said, in spite of our being complete strangers, I have something to ask of you. Sorry- it's this thing I do and I won't forgive myself for not at least making the attempt. I have placed my request in a diamond dish, doused it in pearly whipped cream, showered it in pretty please and cascaded it in rubied cherries. Mmmmm...Yummy...(holding spoon out) hear TASTE it...Okay...while your mouth is full...let me verbalize my teeny little wish for you...(kneeling down and gazing hopefully into his eccentrically electrified eyes)...
Write me...I mean, make my movie?
please, Please, PLEASE....I am not in the habit of begging. I mean I never, EVER do. But THIS could be monumentally significant. At least to me.
Don't answer right away- let it percolate. Play with those cherries for a bit- roll them around on your tongue- (I TOTALLY laced them with "There Is No Saying No To Me Serum")staining your lips with their pungent red deliciousness...
Here is my end of the deal. If you see fit to grace me with your gifts, I promise to continue my quirky quest of all things fascinating, real and inspiring. And you can cast me and enhance me and make me endearingly and irresistibly captivating. Something everyone strives for-but hoping I am the most convincing and possibly the first to think to ask this of you.
Anyway, that IS what you do best. So obviously what you were placed on this earth to do. Work your magic. You paint your subject with such intuitiveness that their humanity glows under the tender mastered stroke of your tempered brush. Each canvas reveals the bewitching complexities and alluring vulnerabilities of every subject that you are commissioned to COMPLETE (like that shameless Jerry McGuire reference?). Let ME sit for you. Make me SPARKLE...I vow to do my best to return the favor.
So Cam', ahem... I mean... Mr.Crowe. You relax and savor every last drop of the bejewelled sundae I prepared for you and consider my proposal. I will rub your neck and gush shamelessly and unabashedly about how much I ADORED Elizabethtown. Yes, I know that it was released a few years ago. See how um...provocative and multi faceted I could be? Riveting even. Typically movies are reviewed upon release-but I was saving it...in order to savor every nuance...to be untarnished by the unsolicited opinions of the less worldly, less perceptive mass members. And I am overjoyed that I did because I got to discover it on my own. Much more fulfilling that way. But now, after a second viewing- I cannot hoard it awayin secrecy any longer. Time to share it with the class.
Elizabethtown opens with a shipment of recalled athletic shoes being returned to a warehouse. Cut to Drew Baylor (played intuitively by the well coiffed and impressively non accented Orlando Bloom) reticently boarding a helicopter- lumbering under the world weight he removed from Atlas' shoulders- staring wistfully out the window at the ground below him...beckoning him to jump.
Drew's voice over...
"As somebody once said, there is a difference between a failure and a fiasco. A failure is simply the non presence of success. Any fool can accomplish failure. But a FIASCO- a fiasco is a disaster of mythic proportions. A fiasco is a folk tale told to others that make other people feel more alive because it DIDN'T HAPPEN TO THEM..."
We learn that Drew has sacrificed family social and other professional endeavors in his single goal to create the perfect trainer shoe. Before it is officially released however, the shoe is recalled. Drew is held personally responsible by his boss (played humorously by Alec Baldwin- wonder why he plays a tool so well. Hmmm?) for the company's loss of nearly one BILLION dollars and is asked to publicly take responsibility in an interview to a National Publication that will not be leaked/released for one week. Aware of his own impending doom before the rest of the world is made aware.Time to prepare oneself? Or torment oneself?
As a result of his failure, Drew has lost not only the seven years he has invested in the development of Spasmodica (Said recalled shoe) but he loses everything. His Job, his dreams, his ambition, his hope, his office girlfriend (who just so happens to be Jessica Biel . I think that having and losing her would have been reason enough to propel most men deprived of parachutes from the helicopter window. To me she will always be Mary Camden). Life as Drew knows it is over.
So Drew drags himself back home and purges his worldly possessions, leaving them on the street to be taken by celebratory looters. He then attempts to end himself by means of duct taping a very sharp knife onto the moving arm of his workout equipment. Like a slasher film gone awry...death by knife wielding elliptical seems like harsh and bizarre punishment. Just as Drew is about to unceremoniously bid the cruel world goodbye...his cell phone rings out" I can turn your grey skies blue" ...After ignoring it once and getting an immediate callback, " I can turn your grey skies blue"....Drew finally picks up. His distraught sister, Heather Baylor (played by Judy Greer) is on the other end of the line. tearfully breaking the news that their father passed when visiting Elizabethtown and the family needs him to go there to bring his body back home.
Hesitantly, Drew delays what he considers his imminent date with destiny and flies home to console his mother and sister and to retrieve his father's favorite blue suit. He then heads out on an empty red eye flight to Elizabethtown and carry out his reconnaissance mission so he can return home to cease his existence. Enter flight attendant Claire Colburn. Interestingly casted as Kirsten Dunst- Let me take a moment here Mr. Crowe (mouth gaping at your infinite skill) marvelling that you even manage to make her believable and LOVABLE. (Ready for another sundae? EXTRA cherries. Yes? That's my Good Genius)
I also need to take a pause for redirection as the winds have changed and shifted my focus yet again. Hahaha...In appreciation of the subtle greatness and the intricate balance of subtle nuance and raw emotion of this film. To model a pinch of the absolute artistry of thematic and character development shaped so precisely in your capable hands, Mr. Crowe...Because of this film's depth...its' relevancy-I now realize that the mere description of this film would be like reading the Cliff's Notes to Hamlet-and expecting the same cathartic result. Or listening to the muzak version of American Pie, or humming Jimmy Hendrix, sketching The Kiss...There simply is no doing it justice.
Allow me instead to share some of my favorite lines...No one alive today speaks truth like you. In no particular order I present you with your own AWESOMENESS: Quoting the movie is the only way to do shed any kind of light on it's glory.
Go ahead marvel at your own craft. Impossible not to. (Wiping gooey cherry juice from his chin...)
Drew Baylor: And I thought I was so mysterious...
Claire Colburn: Trust me. Everybody is less mysterious than they think they are.
Ellen Kishmore: Drew, it was real, and it was great, and it was really great.
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Bill Banyon: Is there such a thing as partial cremation?
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Claire Colburn: Do you ever just think I'm fooling everybody?
Drew Baylor: You have no idea.
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Claire Colburn: Men see things in a box, and women see them in a round room.
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Claire Colburn: I think I've been asleep most of my life.
Drew Baylor: Me too.
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Claire Colburn: What they say is, it *will* hit you, it could be ten minutes or it could be ten years from now.
Claire Colburn: [voiceover] Don't get lost!
Drew Baylor: You know, there is nothing greater than deciding in your life that things maybe really are black and white! And this guy Ben, who clearly takes you for granted, who serially takes advantage of you, is bad! And what I'm saying is good! See what I mean? You shouldn't be the substitute for anybody. This guy should be right here, right now, doing this
[kisses Claire]
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Drew Baylor: What is that word...? Whimsical!
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Claire Colburn: I am wearing these clothes- I mean, have you ever had unlucky clothes? This dress that you like-good things have not happened to me in this dress. But I saw it tonight and said "I am going to give you one more chance." and I REFUSE to be let down by this dress again."
Drew Baylor: Ben's very lucky, all we did was kiss.
Claire Colburn: Most of the sex I've had in my life was not as personal as that kiss.
Drew Baylor: And don't worry. Because as great as you look tonight, you are safe with me.
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Claire Colburn: [voice over] Some music *needs* air. Roll down your window.
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Claire Colburn: I don't know a lot about everything, but I do know a lot about the part of everything that I know, which is people.
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Drew Baylor: I've just recently decided that the things we know aren't black and white.
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Claire Colburn: And so we all became helpers, which I *so* can't help. I can't help helping.
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Claire Colburn: I've spent so much time thinking about all the answers to the problem, that I forget what the problem *actually* was.
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Drew Baylor: You're smart, you'll just wear your shoes and *never* ask any questions. Just enjoy your footwear.
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Claire Colburn: To have never taken a solitary road trip across country? I mean every body's got to take a road trip, at least once in their lives. Just you and some music.
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Chuck Hasboro: Death and life. And death and life. Right *next door* to each other! There's like, there's a hair between them.
Drew Baylor: Because we have a moment here, let me tell you that I have recently become a secret connoisseur of 'last looks'. You know the way people look at you when they believe it's for the last time? I've started collecting these looks.
Drew Baylor: I'm not used to girl's like you.
Claire Colburn: That's because I am one of a kind.
Claire Colburn: You have five minutes to wallow in the delicious misery. Enjoy it. Embrace it. Discard it and proceed.
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Drew Baylor: Can you imagine an entire life wrapped up in a shoe?
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Hollie Baylor: All forward motion counts.
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Claire Colburn: I want you to get into the deep beautiful melancholy of everything that's happened.
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Hollie Baylor: It takes time to be funny. It takes time to extract joy from life.
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Claire Colburn: I'm walking out the door... in last night's clothes.
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Claire Colburn: Hey, now we actually have a shot at being friends for the rest of our lives.
Drew Baylor: The rest of our lives... hmmmm...
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Claire Colburn: Welcome to the annual meeting of people who annually meet, and we'll see ya'll next year.
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Claire Colburn: Sadness is easier because its surrender. I say make time to dance alone with one hand waving free.
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Claire Colburn: So you failed. Alright you really failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You think I care about that? I do understand. You wanna be really great? Then have the courage to fail big and stick around. Make them wonder why you're still smiling.
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Hollie Baylor: We were complete opposites and it worked. And something happened between us that was not part of the plan... we were in love.
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Drew Baylor: In that moment, I knew success, not greatness, was the only god the world served.
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Hollie Baylor: I was still waiting for everything to start, and now it's over.
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Claire Colburn: I'm going to miss your lips. And everything attached to them.
I have this unique thing for you...
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Claire Colburn: You know, You're always trying to break up with me, and we're not even together.
Drew Baylor: I know... We're not?
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Drew Baylor: I'm fine.
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Jessie Baylor: This loss will be met with a hurricane of love.
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Jessie Baylor: I teach my kids about the things that really matter. I will teach them about Abraham Lincoln and Ronnie Van Zandt, because they are equally important in my house.
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Drew Baylor: You're great, Claire. Actually, you're kinda amazing.
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Claire Colburn: [after learning that Drew's father is Mitch] Ah, so you're a son of a Mitch.
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Claire Colburn: Never met a Mitch I didn't like. Fun, full of life. Like... everyone wants to be a part of Mitch's club.
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Drew Baylor: We should've taken this trip years ago.
Look at us- you with your many almost great projects and me with my fiasco. Oh God! Both of us working SO hard. For what? We should have taken this trip years ago...and the fact that I am going home to kill myself, is really not your fault." Spoken to his father's urn as he drives it across country spreading his ashes.
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Hollie Baylor: [looking at a picture of Mitch] I love you. This is for you. Your favorite song on a Saturday night.
[Moon River plays] Then Susan Sarandon tap dances...she is made for this type of role.
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(text written on a cloth above the stage): If it wasn't this... it'd be something else.
Drew Baylor: And who says we have to listen to 'them'?
Claire Colburn: *They* do!
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Claire Colburn: Just tell me you love me and get it over with!
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Phil DeVoss: I am ill-equipped in the philosophies of failure.
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Claire Colburn: Life cannot be so cruel that we don't deserve to be together... to eat.
Drew Baylor: As a specialist in the field of last looks- this one- was pretty iconically- Claire.
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Drew Baylor: By the way, I didn't say 'million,' I said 'billion.' A billion dollars; that's a lot of million.
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Claire Colburn: Or look for a girl in a red had who is waiting for you with an alternate plan.
Drew Baylor closes with: No true fiasco ever began as a quest for mere adequacy. The motto of the British Special Service Airforce is:
Those who risk, win.
A single vine chute is able to grow through cement.
The Pacific Northwestern Salmon beats itself bloody on it's quest to travel hundreds of miles upstream against the current with a single purpose- (sex of course), but also...
LIFE...
*******
Heeheehee...There it is! NEARLY all that I love about Elizabethtown. Think I quoted the entire screenplay. UNBELIEVABLE! The entire script is unbelievable and unforgettable. WOW...the way you bring love to vivid technicolor cinematic life.
You spoil girls for the real boys. They can't all be Lloyds and Drews.
So...Mr. Crowe. Cameron- I appreciate your work too much to use such formality...what do you say?
In the words of Claire,
"I know- I'm impossible to forget, but I am hard to remember."
If you would see fit to toss in one of those killer soundtracks and unbelievable American landscapes...Put some Crowe-wise words into my mouth...(I don't LET anyone speak for me)... I am ACTUALLY pleading with you to...
I just thought you might help me remedy the "hard to remember part"
There is no forgetting your own masterpiece.
Of course...you can answer after your cherry drunkenness allows you to speak...
April 26, 2009
April 18, 2009
Oh Those Things...That Don't Make Sense
As adults we are prone to try to make sense of things. It gives us comfort to know that the people and the duties and the living of life can be straightened and tidied, explained and compartmentalized. We desperately desire for the elements of our chaotic universe to add up-to fit together.
Life is messy and sometimes the numbers don't equate no matter how many times we carry the one. And the colors won't blend-they clash no matter how we try to scheme them. Occasionally the pieces that make us up refuse to fit- And then what? Do we abandon them or take the trip?
If you have experienced faith in a Higher Power-you have by now come to terms with the fact that while your brain feels the need to sift through the information, you certainly cannot explain faith using solely logic. Faith is a well rounded experience. Solid because it engages your mind and your soul. Just like you can't adequately explain a timeless piece of music that plays your pain note for note- word for word. Or describe the play or the book that effortlessly brought you to life and gave yourself back to you. The painting that is so flawlessly beautiful that you gasp in awe and tear even now as it's essence haunts you. Certainly you can attempt to describe any of these with logic and words, but without the experience the definition falls pathetically and unjustly short.
If you have ever been unfathomably, unfalteringly, heart over head in love or have been genuinely, unselfishly adored and cherished by another- then you could not be more keenly aware that the initial attraction passes through the eyes and spreads to the brain and depends on the mental challenge and engagement to sustain the intrigue. At some point however, the heart takes over and puts the brain on auto pilot. Enter the overwhelming, the ravenous inexplicable... The kind of unanswerable question that keeps you hanging on even if the object of your desire and affection tears your heart out so you can watch them slowly squash it in their seemingly faultless hands. Or maybe- if your lucky...let's not mince words- if you happen to have won the eternal lottery...love has indefinably inspired another to SEE you. Allow you to lay yourself down on them with all your faults and simple complexities-in the brutal light of honesty and still you see nothing but radiant, infallible acceptance and desire reflected in their eyes. Explanation would destroy something so utterly undeserved.
True gifts should just be accepted. Without our vain attempts for clarification.
Hope. Love. Compassion, Faith. Passion. Forgiveness. Beauty. All inexplicable. Yet how foolish would we be to abandon these things the mind cannot explain. Aren't we giving our brains too much credit? I mean...I cannot seem to recall what year it was that Columbus sailed the ocean blue... rhymes with two...and how do you discover a place that has inhabitants? Or square roots...or Spanish verb conjugations. I could fill a library with the things that I don't know.
The tastiest, deepest, most poignant experiences in life are inexplicable.
Maybe...there are times when we should stop questioning the unanswerable.
And just, EXPERIENCE, ABSORB, GIVE, RELISH...
LIVE.
Just might be worth getting our hands dirty and putting our thoughts to bed.
Life is messy and sometimes the numbers don't equate no matter how many times we carry the one. And the colors won't blend-they clash no matter how we try to scheme them. Occasionally the pieces that make us up refuse to fit- And then what? Do we abandon them or take the trip?
If you have experienced faith in a Higher Power-you have by now come to terms with the fact that while your brain feels the need to sift through the information, you certainly cannot explain faith using solely logic. Faith is a well rounded experience. Solid because it engages your mind and your soul. Just like you can't adequately explain a timeless piece of music that plays your pain note for note- word for word. Or describe the play or the book that effortlessly brought you to life and gave yourself back to you. The painting that is so flawlessly beautiful that you gasp in awe and tear even now as it's essence haunts you. Certainly you can attempt to describe any of these with logic and words, but without the experience the definition falls pathetically and unjustly short.
If you have ever been unfathomably, unfalteringly, heart over head in love or have been genuinely, unselfishly adored and cherished by another- then you could not be more keenly aware that the initial attraction passes through the eyes and spreads to the brain and depends on the mental challenge and engagement to sustain the intrigue. At some point however, the heart takes over and puts the brain on auto pilot. Enter the overwhelming, the ravenous inexplicable... The kind of unanswerable question that keeps you hanging on even if the object of your desire and affection tears your heart out so you can watch them slowly squash it in their seemingly faultless hands. Or maybe- if your lucky...let's not mince words- if you happen to have won the eternal lottery...love has indefinably inspired another to SEE you. Allow you to lay yourself down on them with all your faults and simple complexities-in the brutal light of honesty and still you see nothing but radiant, infallible acceptance and desire reflected in their eyes. Explanation would destroy something so utterly undeserved.
True gifts should just be accepted. Without our vain attempts for clarification.
Hope. Love. Compassion, Faith. Passion. Forgiveness. Beauty. All inexplicable. Yet how foolish would we be to abandon these things the mind cannot explain. Aren't we giving our brains too much credit? I mean...I cannot seem to recall what year it was that Columbus sailed the ocean blue... rhymes with two...and how do you discover a place that has inhabitants? Or square roots...or Spanish verb conjugations. I could fill a library with the things that I don't know.
The tastiest, deepest, most poignant experiences in life are inexplicable.
Maybe...there are times when we should stop questioning the unanswerable.
And just, EXPERIENCE, ABSORB, GIVE, RELISH...
LIVE.
Just might be worth getting our hands dirty and putting our thoughts to bed.
April 16, 2009
Five Things That I Can Successfully Accomplish in Five Minutes
Like so many others, I find myself jobless in these trying, uncertain, turbulent, listless, unsettled times. Really, for the first time. For the first time since I have had an actual necessity for a job.
I have observed that my unemployed days go by in a general blur. Officially unemployed, it is not as though I nothing to otherwise employ my time, occupy my mind. Or should it be employ my mind and occupy my time?
Days are marked by my son's school schedule and whatever meager social plans are on the books. Shopping is out. No job- no new shoes. Not that I NEED new shoes. Is it about needing. Really? Haha I am okay with it- truly. Changing old habits is all. Staying home more.
Actuality isn't all it's cracked up to be. On a sunshiny day though-I find a new perspective refreshing. A motivation for reevaluating- sometimes reinventing. Strange as it may be however, this unexpected free time leaves me much more restless, than bored. There is always something captivating and distracting to ward off boredom. This restlessness finds me constantly trying to find innovative, interesting, yet constructive ways to break up the day.
So meet the brain baby of Restlessness...For now I am calling her...Eva- as in am I Eva going to figure it all out? Deep down, I hope not... But sometimes it seems that uncomplicated is pleasant albeit personally unattainable.
And so I try to be constructive.. Clean a little-cook (even I am laughing) and maybe even organize. Hahaha..,( laughing uncontrollably now- tears rolling down my face...)TRY is the operative word. Actually I have refined skills at alphabetizing, color coding... Organizing by style- it is the steps leading up to that point that I don't adore- correction- chemically resist.
Without further adieu ( or blah, blah, blah) here are five tasks that I can successfully accomplish in five minutes. Little micro- increments of day. Keep in mind that I am not speedy by any means. I am a take it in, take my sweet time savorer. I am a strong believer in anything worthwhile is worth waiting for and unless you are the actual boss of me- that you are not the boss of me.
I am banking on being worthwhile. Cross your fingers for me and hope that works out.
1. Decisions are tricky for me. Especially the insignificant ones. Also I thrive on variety... Does that make me fickle? Noncommittal? Indecisive? Whatever. Really doesn't matter. It is what it is. So- In five minutes... I can successfully select an outfit, choose a lip gloss, coordinate the shoes, grab a scarf and dig out a matching pair of earrings. This time constraint does not obviously include putting them into place. Be reasonable. I do of course realize that this is not particularly impressive, but it is practically a festivus miracle for me that developed with years of practice and fine tuning. Keep in mind that this involves two flights of stairs and some serious selective skills.
2. I can choose and discard action verbs for my resume like no body's business. Resumes seem so hokey to me. Understand why they are necessary. I just find them... restrictive. The process makes me feel like I am talking about myself in the third person...btw I hate when people do that. How significant can you really be?!- Did you see the Seinfeld about that? Think the guy's name was Jimmy. And "Jimmy liked Elaine"-only she thought he was talking about someone else- not himself. So anyway-here is my current top five action verbs that describe me... Heehee. You be the judge. Thirty second impression. Ready? Here goes...
1. Challenging 2. Innovative 3.Accessorizing? 4. Um... Mildly entertaining
5.Whimsical?-Creative.
I am hardworking and dedicated... But that is so cliche.
How marketable am I? Really?
Not very- true story. I have this unbridled optimism that allows me to believe that perfect fits exist in every aspect of life. Realistically however, I know that our humanity and selfish ambitions often blind us to and separate us from the serendipitous, coveted hand in glove relationships in life.
I can use the same five minutes on a different day to make up jobs and titles for which I am perfectly suited. Many of them don't ACTUALLY exist- but if they did- I would be the PERFECT girl for them. Minor technicalities. I will save that for another blog.
3. I can think of twenty seemingly unrelated things that are linkable in my own interpretation of reality. I take great pride in being able to trace the connection should I be thinking out loud and should anyone be listening and call me on the seeming randomness- ramdomitity? of my thought processes. Sometimes I trace the mind journey for myself. I know there is a connection- but it is not always immediately traceable. A bit of a self indulgent challenge... This cyclical process that is occasionally responsible for keeping my weary eyes open when my heavy head is cradled soothingly by my vanilla lavender infused pillow. One thought begets another, befriends another, embraces yet another, tempts another, screams in fury at one- contradicts another, interprets the next...chases the monstrous ones back under the brain bed..I find that I write a lot about my busied mind. Sorry...analytical- maybe. Inquisitive- more likely. Unsettled- mostly. I can remember early on in school wishing I could zone out- mind nowhere- like the kids with their heads leaning on their arm eyes glazed over. Temporarily vacant.
4. I can make the perfect cup of coffee. My perfect cup. Something rich and dark- maybe flavored. Had cherry coffee recently. Steamy, dreamy deliciousness. Splenda and enough flavored creamer to turn it the color of the Statue of David. You can tell me how to make your perfect cup one day. Confident I can craft it with my own two little hands in five minutes or less. Not a barista, but I have the soul of an artist nonetheless.
I think that personal preference, coffee, tea- iced or hot... What you take in yours- be it naked (meaning your coffee wears nothing- I.e. black) vanilla, cinnamon, honey, raw sugar, splenda, pink stuff- no matter...I think it is interesting- revealing even. I DO find people fascinating. I like learning new things, experiencing new people. Some more than others. Another blog, another day- I know...
5. Dance it out or sing it out. Preferably a concoction of the two. Temporarily therapeutic and cleansing. I already inflicted a whole blog on you describing the art of dancing it out. I am not particularly discerning when it comes to the music that inspires this process...whatever is on the radio will do. It helps if the song is familiar- comforting- like a favorite perfectly worn sweater. Even better if you know at least eighty percent of the words. Mandatory to the process though, is that you fully commit. Go all out- put some heart into it. No rules as long as you feel it. Otherwise it doesn't work it's magic- will leave you feeling more pent up and repressed than liberated and cleansed. That is a bad thing. SO not what we are going for here.
So that's pretty much it... I can make much more out of ten minutes. I realized while I was coming up with this list that my day is comprised of long spaces and short bursts of energy and productivity broken up by lulls of nothing special.
What can you successfully accomplish in a mere five minutes?
Greatness?
Take my breath away...
I have observed that my unemployed days go by in a general blur. Officially unemployed, it is not as though I nothing to otherwise employ my time, occupy my mind. Or should it be employ my mind and occupy my time?
Days are marked by my son's school schedule and whatever meager social plans are on the books. Shopping is out. No job- no new shoes. Not that I NEED new shoes. Is it about needing. Really? Haha I am okay with it- truly. Changing old habits is all. Staying home more.
Actuality isn't all it's cracked up to be. On a sunshiny day though-I find a new perspective refreshing. A motivation for reevaluating- sometimes reinventing. Strange as it may be however, this unexpected free time leaves me much more restless, than bored. There is always something captivating and distracting to ward off boredom. This restlessness finds me constantly trying to find innovative, interesting, yet constructive ways to break up the day.
So meet the brain baby of Restlessness...For now I am calling her...Eva- as in am I Eva going to figure it all out? Deep down, I hope not... But sometimes it seems that uncomplicated is pleasant albeit personally unattainable.
And so I try to be constructive.. Clean a little-cook (even I am laughing) and maybe even organize. Hahaha..,( laughing uncontrollably now- tears rolling down my face...)TRY is the operative word. Actually I have refined skills at alphabetizing, color coding... Organizing by style- it is the steps leading up to that point that I don't adore- correction- chemically resist.
Without further adieu ( or blah, blah, blah) here are five tasks that I can successfully accomplish in five minutes. Little micro- increments of day. Keep in mind that I am not speedy by any means. I am a take it in, take my sweet time savorer. I am a strong believer in anything worthwhile is worth waiting for and unless you are the actual boss of me- that you are not the boss of me.
I am banking on being worthwhile. Cross your fingers for me and hope that works out.
1. Decisions are tricky for me. Especially the insignificant ones. Also I thrive on variety... Does that make me fickle? Noncommittal? Indecisive? Whatever. Really doesn't matter. It is what it is. So- In five minutes... I can successfully select an outfit, choose a lip gloss, coordinate the shoes, grab a scarf and dig out a matching pair of earrings. This time constraint does not obviously include putting them into place. Be reasonable. I do of course realize that this is not particularly impressive, but it is practically a festivus miracle for me that developed with years of practice and fine tuning. Keep in mind that this involves two flights of stairs and some serious selective skills.
2. I can choose and discard action verbs for my resume like no body's business. Resumes seem so hokey to me. Understand why they are necessary. I just find them... restrictive. The process makes me feel like I am talking about myself in the third person...btw I hate when people do that. How significant can you really be?!- Did you see the Seinfeld about that? Think the guy's name was Jimmy. And "Jimmy liked Elaine"-only she thought he was talking about someone else- not himself. So anyway-here is my current top five action verbs that describe me... Heehee. You be the judge. Thirty second impression. Ready? Here goes...
1. Challenging 2. Innovative 3.Accessorizing? 4. Um... Mildly entertaining
5.Whimsical?-Creative.
I am hardworking and dedicated... But that is so cliche.
How marketable am I? Really?
Not very- true story. I have this unbridled optimism that allows me to believe that perfect fits exist in every aspect of life. Realistically however, I know that our humanity and selfish ambitions often blind us to and separate us from the serendipitous, coveted hand in glove relationships in life.
I can use the same five minutes on a different day to make up jobs and titles for which I am perfectly suited. Many of them don't ACTUALLY exist- but if they did- I would be the PERFECT girl for them. Minor technicalities. I will save that for another blog.
3. I can think of twenty seemingly unrelated things that are linkable in my own interpretation of reality. I take great pride in being able to trace the connection should I be thinking out loud and should anyone be listening and call me on the seeming randomness- ramdomitity? of my thought processes. Sometimes I trace the mind journey for myself. I know there is a connection- but it is not always immediately traceable. A bit of a self indulgent challenge... This cyclical process that is occasionally responsible for keeping my weary eyes open when my heavy head is cradled soothingly by my vanilla lavender infused pillow. One thought begets another, befriends another, embraces yet another, tempts another, screams in fury at one- contradicts another, interprets the next...chases the monstrous ones back under the brain bed..I find that I write a lot about my busied mind. Sorry...analytical- maybe. Inquisitive- more likely. Unsettled- mostly. I can remember early on in school wishing I could zone out- mind nowhere- like the kids with their heads leaning on their arm eyes glazed over. Temporarily vacant.
4. I can make the perfect cup of coffee. My perfect cup. Something rich and dark- maybe flavored. Had cherry coffee recently. Steamy, dreamy deliciousness. Splenda and enough flavored creamer to turn it the color of the Statue of David. You can tell me how to make your perfect cup one day. Confident I can craft it with my own two little hands in five minutes or less. Not a barista, but I have the soul of an artist nonetheless.
I think that personal preference, coffee, tea- iced or hot... What you take in yours- be it naked (meaning your coffee wears nothing- I.e. black) vanilla, cinnamon, honey, raw sugar, splenda, pink stuff- no matter...I think it is interesting- revealing even. I DO find people fascinating. I like learning new things, experiencing new people. Some more than others. Another blog, another day- I know...
5. Dance it out or sing it out. Preferably a concoction of the two. Temporarily therapeutic and cleansing. I already inflicted a whole blog on you describing the art of dancing it out. I am not particularly discerning when it comes to the music that inspires this process...whatever is on the radio will do. It helps if the song is familiar- comforting- like a favorite perfectly worn sweater. Even better if you know at least eighty percent of the words. Mandatory to the process though, is that you fully commit. Go all out- put some heart into it. No rules as long as you feel it. Otherwise it doesn't work it's magic- will leave you feeling more pent up and repressed than liberated and cleansed. That is a bad thing. SO not what we are going for here.
So that's pretty much it... I can make much more out of ten minutes. I realized while I was coming up with this list that my day is comprised of long spaces and short bursts of energy and productivity broken up by lulls of nothing special.
What can you successfully accomplish in a mere five minutes?
Greatness?
Take my breath away...
April 5, 2009
Fast and Furious...Worth it's Weight in Diesel
Gentlemen Start My Engine...
Vvrrrooommmm, Vrrroooommmm, Vrrroooooommmmmm...
Heehee-Sorry, that simply was NOT to be resisted. Too obvious. I would be a lesser girl for passing it up.
Went to see Fast and Furious yesterday...I have been chomping at the bit to see it (or I would have been, had I been a horse-Why DO I use these expressions anyway?) since I saw the preview for it and witnessed first hand that Vin Diesel WOULD (round off, cartwheel into splits) in fact be in this one...COMPLETELY the most persuasive element for me. I sat the two sequels following the original out because they did not include the original cast. There was a little nod to the Tokyo one at the beginning of Fast and Furious that I caught without having seen it-very impressed with my skills of observation. So, I am easily impressed...at least with myself. Why I like Ellen and John Stewart...feel clever when I get their jokes in real time. Other than that little reference,this F&F pretended the other cheap impersonation knock-off movies never happened. Well played since nobody saw them. Okay so Vin Diesel, Paul Walker, Michelle Rodriguez and the girl who plays Vin's sister and will make a career of looking a bit like Demi Moore-I mean, Jordana Brewster- all back for Fast and Furious. Do you like how they removed the "The's" and pretended it was an all new title? Action movies are by definition uncomplicated. They would lose seventy percent of their audience if they started throwing in fifty cent words and sub plots. This movie was exactly what the title promises however, Fast and Furious. Ca-ching! Triple cherries.
Let me just say that previous to yesterday, I had given up action movies (for a minimum of five years). Not for lent- I am not Catholic- (can you give action movies up for lent? Pretend you ACTUALLY like them...) but for the following reasons...I feel myself drifting into a cliche tinted de ja vous coma every time I witness the same five or so actors deliver the same predictable lines ( I predicted at least five in F&F before they were uttered -correction...Vin purrs them-like an engine. SO MUCH BETTER x-)) All the same "plot" lines...for example- heroes girlfriend, wife, or endearing family member is killed or kidnapped by villain. Hero is wrongly accused of a crime by a corrupt police force. Hero from the wrong side of the tracks get tangled with the wrong kind of crowd...Hero is a bad guy with a heart of gold...bad guy gone good...blah, blah, blah. Bank robberies ,car chases, plane crashes, jail breaks, heists. Loss of a partner or good friend at the hands of the foe to provoke the hero. Obvious guilt on the part of the hero...giving him a renewed hunger for justice. Gratuitous skin shots thrown in for flavor..Followed by shoot shoot-grisly offing of assistant bad guy boom kabaam...Hero gets his revenge when coming face to face with his disturbingly corrupt nemesis (these are of the crooked police chief, foreign drug lord, hero partner gone to the dark side...handsome Bond type villain...or devily gorgeous leather clad villainess variety. Frequently however, villains have deep facial scarring or are albino, or have some other bizarre identifying manifestation of their inner turmoil.)...drop, punch, slam, sirens, bang, fiery explosion...
Insert memorable three to five line catch phrase that with any luck will be badly impersonated for years to come and you have yourself an action hit. If your action movie stars Nicholas Cage- add horribly executed southern dialect...why do they add that when it is irrelevant and the actor can't pull it off? Why? They just don't care-people with see it anyway. Irrelevant. Who needs quality when you have fast cars, muscly heroes, hot scantily clad chicks, grizzly villains, fabulous scenery, lots of fire and violence...a few well choreographed fist fights, a story line and script that could be written by an eighth grader with a limitless major studio budget? I guess no one,...except me- I usually opt for the Action Films mature and oh so much more enticing older brother- the Epic Film. That way I get my cake and eat it too...only the butter cream icing...
I am not even going to delve into the earthly disaster films. Why pay money to see that...Got CNN? Pretty sure sensationalizing news and impersonating disaster films is the soul purpose of Anderson Cooper...Toss in Geraldo Rivera for the spontaneous, comedic element and voile obliterates any inexplicable need for disaster movies.
So the point. Fast and Furious. Dom and his gang- with some new additions as many of the original group met an untimely end in THE Fast and THE Furious- not to cause any confusion- are not only stealing cars, they are stealing gasoline. Way to bring theft relevance into the year 2009... Dom eventually leaves Letty, his friends and his family to protect them because the feds are on his tail...and why wouldn't they be? Right? We ARE talking Vin Diesel...admirable tail. Sorry! Focusing... Paul Walkers character is still the loose canon, driven man in blue...sorta' sometimes donning a blue Donna Karan or Boss suit- does that count?...Btw- even in man size-Paul Walker (as Brian O'Conner) brings forth visions of Ricky Shroeder when he was on Silver Spoons, Zach from Saved by the Bell and Justin Timberlake in his curly long hair like the boy in the creepy adolescent Brooke Shield island movie N'Sync days...I think it is an age thing. That- or he is made to look like the JV squad bench sitter in the glory of Vin's machismo gladiator grease stained mechanic type shadow. I don't want to give too much away. Obviously the two are reunited...they race against each other in an illegal street race scene and of course true to the name- lots of sizzling driving scenes with brightly colored, revvy, purry, hummy, noisy,turny,jumpy,crashy,super shiny,ultra fast cars doing all sorts of unbelievable tricks and stunts that made me shiver. Things that I have no inclination to do behind the wheel of a Honda Pilot, but I would gladly hand over the keys to Dom...as long as he promised to keep talking in that voice that sounds like he ate gravel and broken glass for breakfast followed by a carton or two of Camels...unfiltered. He can recite the preamble if he wishes...but if I had my druthers...(another funny word) I think I would pick Prince lyrics...pre symbol...or Neruda, or Crash by Dave Matthews, something by Jay-Z...Maybe Fast Car by Tracy Chapman...and wear a white ribbed wife beater...Pure-strike that- drizzled...in Deisel-iciousness...That's not asking too much. Just the cat's pajamas- told you I was bringing it back. Hear me roar...
Anyway a must see- in a purely entertainment and thrills kind of way.
Get your engine revved.
Vvrrrooommmm, Vrrroooommmm, Vrrroooooommmmmm...
Heehee-Sorry, that simply was NOT to be resisted. Too obvious. I would be a lesser girl for passing it up.
Went to see Fast and Furious yesterday...I have been chomping at the bit to see it (or I would have been, had I been a horse-Why DO I use these expressions anyway?) since I saw the preview for it and witnessed first hand that Vin Diesel WOULD (round off, cartwheel into splits) in fact be in this one...COMPLETELY the most persuasive element for me. I sat the two sequels following the original out because they did not include the original cast. There was a little nod to the Tokyo one at the beginning of Fast and Furious that I caught without having seen it-very impressed with my skills of observation. So, I am easily impressed...at least with myself. Why I like Ellen and John Stewart...feel clever when I get their jokes in real time. Other than that little reference,this F&F pretended the other cheap impersonation knock-off movies never happened. Well played since nobody saw them. Okay so Vin Diesel, Paul Walker, Michelle Rodriguez and the girl who plays Vin's sister and will make a career of looking a bit like Demi Moore-I mean, Jordana Brewster- all back for Fast and Furious. Do you like how they removed the "The's" and pretended it was an all new title? Action movies are by definition uncomplicated. They would lose seventy percent of their audience if they started throwing in fifty cent words and sub plots. This movie was exactly what the title promises however, Fast and Furious. Ca-ching! Triple cherries.
Let me just say that previous to yesterday, I had given up action movies (for a minimum of five years). Not for lent- I am not Catholic- (can you give action movies up for lent? Pretend you ACTUALLY like them...) but for the following reasons...I feel myself drifting into a cliche tinted de ja vous coma every time I witness the same five or so actors deliver the same predictable lines ( I predicted at least five in F&F before they were uttered -correction...Vin purrs them-like an engine. SO MUCH BETTER x-)) All the same "plot" lines...for example- heroes girlfriend, wife, or endearing family member is killed or kidnapped by villain. Hero is wrongly accused of a crime by a corrupt police force. Hero from the wrong side of the tracks get tangled with the wrong kind of crowd...Hero is a bad guy with a heart of gold...bad guy gone good...blah, blah, blah. Bank robberies ,car chases, plane crashes, jail breaks, heists. Loss of a partner or good friend at the hands of the foe to provoke the hero. Obvious guilt on the part of the hero...giving him a renewed hunger for justice. Gratuitous skin shots thrown in for flavor..Followed by shoot shoot-grisly offing of assistant bad guy boom kabaam...Hero gets his revenge when coming face to face with his disturbingly corrupt nemesis (these are of the crooked police chief, foreign drug lord, hero partner gone to the dark side...handsome Bond type villain...or devily gorgeous leather clad villainess variety. Frequently however, villains have deep facial scarring or are albino, or have some other bizarre identifying manifestation of their inner turmoil.)...drop, punch, slam, sirens, bang, fiery explosion...
Insert memorable three to five line catch phrase that with any luck will be badly impersonated for years to come and you have yourself an action hit. If your action movie stars Nicholas Cage- add horribly executed southern dialect...why do they add that when it is irrelevant and the actor can't pull it off? Why? They just don't care-people with see it anyway. Irrelevant. Who needs quality when you have fast cars, muscly heroes, hot scantily clad chicks, grizzly villains, fabulous scenery, lots of fire and violence...a few well choreographed fist fights, a story line and script that could be written by an eighth grader with a limitless major studio budget? I guess no one,...except me- I usually opt for the Action Films mature and oh so much more enticing older brother- the Epic Film. That way I get my cake and eat it too...only the butter cream icing...
I am not even going to delve into the earthly disaster films. Why pay money to see that...Got CNN? Pretty sure sensationalizing news and impersonating disaster films is the soul purpose of Anderson Cooper...Toss in Geraldo Rivera for the spontaneous, comedic element and voile obliterates any inexplicable need for disaster movies.
So the point. Fast and Furious. Dom and his gang- with some new additions as many of the original group met an untimely end in THE Fast and THE Furious- not to cause any confusion- are not only stealing cars, they are stealing gasoline. Way to bring theft relevance into the year 2009... Dom eventually leaves Letty, his friends and his family to protect them because the feds are on his tail...and why wouldn't they be? Right? We ARE talking Vin Diesel...admirable tail. Sorry! Focusing... Paul Walkers character is still the loose canon, driven man in blue...sorta' sometimes donning a blue Donna Karan or Boss suit- does that count?...Btw- even in man size-Paul Walker (as Brian O'Conner) brings forth visions of Ricky Shroeder when he was on Silver Spoons, Zach from Saved by the Bell and Justin Timberlake in his curly long hair like the boy in the creepy adolescent Brooke Shield island movie N'Sync days...I think it is an age thing. That- or he is made to look like the JV squad bench sitter in the glory of Vin's machismo gladiator grease stained mechanic type shadow. I don't want to give too much away. Obviously the two are reunited...they race against each other in an illegal street race scene and of course true to the name- lots of sizzling driving scenes with brightly colored, revvy, purry, hummy, noisy,turny,jumpy,crashy,super shiny,ultra fast cars doing all sorts of unbelievable tricks and stunts that made me shiver. Things that I have no inclination to do behind the wheel of a Honda Pilot, but I would gladly hand over the keys to Dom...as long as he promised to keep talking in that voice that sounds like he ate gravel and broken glass for breakfast followed by a carton or two of Camels...unfiltered. He can recite the preamble if he wishes...but if I had my druthers...(another funny word) I think I would pick Prince lyrics...pre symbol...or Neruda, or Crash by Dave Matthews, something by Jay-Z...Maybe Fast Car by Tracy Chapman...and wear a white ribbed wife beater...Pure-strike that- drizzled...in Deisel-iciousness...That's not asking too much. Just the cat's pajamas- told you I was bringing it back. Hear me roar...
Anyway a must see- in a purely entertainment and thrills kind of way.
Get your engine revved.
March 31, 2009
One Word...five minutes
Okay so in my senior year of high school I had this teacher, Mr. Taylor. Mr. Taylor taught English and had a multitude of unorthodox teaching techniques and unique viewpoints. He definitely left an impression on all of us...
Anyway, Mr. Taylor used to have us journal for the first five minutes of every class. He would provide us with a word or a quote (sometimes from literature) and we had to free write on whatever came to mind with regards to his provided subject for five minutes. The one rule was that we were not allowed to pick up our pen from our paper until the five minutes were up. So...I am going to give it a try...I am a bit rusty and I am using a keyboard rather than a pen...but Mr. Taylor- this is for you...sort of. Oh this is for you...anti-perspirant is your friend, go into the Shower Clean scented light...it will be okay. Promise.
Here are the rules according to Mr. Taylor and revised by me...I am going to open a book, choose the first word that jumps out and set the timer on my I-Devil...here goes nothin'...
The word is frustrated...Haha funny that should be the word that I see first. I get frustrated much more frequently and easily than I should. Not angry-frustrated per se- just generally frustrated. When things don't go my way-when I can't have what I want, when and how I want it...Did I just admit to being a spoiled brat? I think that I did...which I knew about myself. Work REALLY hard to hide/change that aspect of myself, but I don't often admit to it... ESPECIALLY when called out on it...oh well. Haha I am most guilty of this because I guess I get frustrated when I fail to meet my own undefined expectations. Frustrated by my own inadequacies... and shortsightedness...at my numerous imperfections...Why I have to be flaming scarlet hot or icy blue frozen and can't just wade around in the lukewarm pool of indifference...like everybody else. Seems so much easier. I find myself exhausting. That is frustrating too. Frustrated that I care too much, think too much, say too much...but not in that order- the thinking usually comes in last place. Makes me weary.
Also I get frustrated that I get frustrated because it is a total waste of time and emotion and hard to work out, but that doesn't keep me from rolling around in it like a mud wrestler taking down a worthy adversary from time to time...haha stretch for a metaphor-I know...but
I don't want to be a pig in mud...thanks for indulging me that...
Let me think of some things that frustrate me about myself...lack of vision, lack of patience...I am the absolute worst judge of time to ever roam this crazy earth... As in how long it will take to get ready to go somewhere. Shower, makeup, hair, clothes, shoes, accessories...repeat most of these steps for the kiddos...minus the make up...Although I do this most days, I often do not have to do this on a schedule...which according to me should be a four letter word...never to be uttered in my presence.Did I mention how long it takes to find my keys? ESPECIALLY if they are where the are SUPPOSED to be. How long it will take to get loaded up and into the car, how long it will take to drive to the desired location and how much longer it will take if there is traffic, an empty gas tank or an accident...If I get lost...even with the aid of Gretchen Pearl Steinbacher-my GPS with the British accent that I changed accidentally and now she just sounds so much better informed and seems more capable of directing me to my desired location...Or if the Monkeys fight the whole way and I have to try to stunt drive while I referee and THEN I have to try to put back the hair I pulled out of my scalp before I can go anywhere publicly... How long I will be in a place once I finally arrive...forget about if I see anything shiny, or run into anyone I want to speak with...or have to ask for help... and how long it will take me to get back home again...You see my predicament? The clock is not my friend. If I set my stubborn mind- not to be late it is only successful because I have literally allowed an hour more than should be reasonably necessary...Let's not talk of being reasonable. A whole 'nother can of worms...or olives...that sounds better.
I get frustrated at my sensitivity, my vulnerability. I get frustrated that I am not only a poor judge of time...but of situations...and restrictions...hmmm...I get frustrated at my lack of parenting skills...that I am too big of a child myself to be the example that I would like to be .All mature and responsible...Wise... I get frustrated that I have no desire to do things that I believe I should WANT to do like cook...and sometimes communicate effectively. I get frustrated that I do not have enough room in my closet to hang all my clothes effectively...I get frustrated at my adorable but noisy puggle...because sometimes he becomes too much for me with the scratching and the whining and the crying...grrr...he has the worst habits I have ever seen in a dog and it is due to total lack of training...Where is the Dog Whisperer when I need him?...tsk...tsk...submit... HELP...how can he do that anyway? I get frustrated that life never quite meets up to my expectations, nor I to it's- I am sure...
Saved by the bell. hahaha...Added the paragraphing after the fact.
Now I am frustrated by my inability to adequately describe my thoughts on frustration in five minutes...Heehee
Anyway, Mr. Taylor used to have us journal for the first five minutes of every class. He would provide us with a word or a quote (sometimes from literature) and we had to free write on whatever came to mind with regards to his provided subject for five minutes. The one rule was that we were not allowed to pick up our pen from our paper until the five minutes were up. So...I am going to give it a try...I am a bit rusty and I am using a keyboard rather than a pen...but Mr. Taylor- this is for you...sort of. Oh this is for you...anti-perspirant is your friend, go into the Shower Clean scented light...it will be okay. Promise.
Here are the rules according to Mr. Taylor and revised by me...I am going to open a book, choose the first word that jumps out and set the timer on my I-Devil...here goes nothin'...
The word is frustrated...Haha funny that should be the word that I see first. I get frustrated much more frequently and easily than I should. Not angry-frustrated per se- just generally frustrated. When things don't go my way-when I can't have what I want, when and how I want it...Did I just admit to being a spoiled brat? I think that I did...which I knew about myself. Work REALLY hard to hide/change that aspect of myself, but I don't often admit to it... ESPECIALLY when called out on it...oh well. Haha I am most guilty of this because I guess I get frustrated when I fail to meet my own undefined expectations. Frustrated by my own inadequacies... and shortsightedness...at my numerous imperfections...Why I have to be flaming scarlet hot or icy blue frozen and can't just wade around in the lukewarm pool of indifference...like everybody else. Seems so much easier. I find myself exhausting. That is frustrating too. Frustrated that I care too much, think too much, say too much...but not in that order- the thinking usually comes in last place. Makes me weary.
Also I get frustrated that I get frustrated because it is a total waste of time and emotion and hard to work out, but that doesn't keep me from rolling around in it like a mud wrestler taking down a worthy adversary from time to time...haha stretch for a metaphor-I know...but
I don't want to be a pig in mud...thanks for indulging me that...
Let me think of some things that frustrate me about myself...lack of vision, lack of patience...I am the absolute worst judge of time to ever roam this crazy earth... As in how long it will take to get ready to go somewhere. Shower, makeup, hair, clothes, shoes, accessories...repeat most of these steps for the kiddos...minus the make up...Although I do this most days, I often do not have to do this on a schedule...which according to me should be a four letter word...never to be uttered in my presence.Did I mention how long it takes to find my keys? ESPECIALLY if they are where the are SUPPOSED to be. How long it will take to get loaded up and into the car, how long it will take to drive to the desired location and how much longer it will take if there is traffic, an empty gas tank or an accident...If I get lost...even with the aid of Gretchen Pearl Steinbacher-my GPS with the British accent that I changed accidentally and now she just sounds so much better informed and seems more capable of directing me to my desired location...Or if the Monkeys fight the whole way and I have to try to stunt drive while I referee and THEN I have to try to put back the hair I pulled out of my scalp before I can go anywhere publicly... How long I will be in a place once I finally arrive...forget about if I see anything shiny, or run into anyone I want to speak with...or have to ask for help... and how long it will take me to get back home again...You see my predicament? The clock is not my friend. If I set my stubborn mind- not to be late it is only successful because I have literally allowed an hour more than should be reasonably necessary...Let's not talk of being reasonable. A whole 'nother can of worms...or olives...that sounds better.
I get frustrated at my sensitivity, my vulnerability. I get frustrated that I am not only a poor judge of time...but of situations...and restrictions...hmmm...I get frustrated at my lack of parenting skills...that I am too big of a child myself to be the example that I would like to be .All mature and responsible...Wise... I get frustrated that I have no desire to do things that I believe I should WANT to do like cook...and sometimes communicate effectively. I get frustrated that I do not have enough room in my closet to hang all my clothes effectively...I get frustrated at my adorable but noisy puggle...because sometimes he becomes too much for me with the scratching and the whining and the crying...grrr...he has the worst habits I have ever seen in a dog and it is due to total lack of training...Where is the Dog Whisperer when I need him?...tsk...tsk...submit... HELP...how can he do that anyway? I get frustrated that life never quite meets up to my expectations, nor I to it's- I am sure...
Saved by the bell. hahaha...Added the paragraphing after the fact.
Now I am frustrated by my inability to adequately describe my thoughts on frustration in five minutes...Heehee
March 30, 2009
I Don't Like Mondays...
Tell Me Why...I don't like Mondays...I DON'T LIKE MONDAYS....
Not enough that it is true. Now we have to dwell on it because the song works it's way into our head and just sticks there...like toilet paper to our shoe. Ewww...
You know that one, right? Shooting it down seems a bit drastic...maybe just a smidge...
Who really does? Like Mondays, that is... Look at what music alone has to say about it...Manic Monday- kissing Valentino by the crystal blue Italian stream being the only real redeeming qualities to the entire day and that is only because her alarm hasn't roused her out of the fantasy and shattered her illusion to the harsh reality of Monday and what little-it has to offer her.
Monday, Monday...Can't Trust That Day......not looking so good.
I Don't Like Mondays...couldn't be more clear...Not a fan to be found.
What is it about Monday exactly-that makes it so difficult to endure...Like a Full House marathon...it seems to roll on and on- all up hill...in sweltering heat and you're wearing those pointy shoes that make that unbearable circular blister on your little toe that takes days to heal...
I will start with the obvious...
Going to Bed Early: Coming off of the weekend high, going to bed early Sunday so that we can drag ourselves out of bed on Monday begins the cycle of resentment that repeats every seven days. ...Preemptive as our attempts may be...going to bed early-Never DOES work anyway...because our brains and our bodies don't care that the boss expects us in at seven sharp- We have inadvertently altered our sleep cycle. Might as well face it...those eyes aren't shutting until 11:17pm. The more we stare at the clock- the more likely that we will be watching vacuum, work out DVD, mineral make up and multi level marketing commercials at one a.m.- with four hours left to sleep. Resist the urge to stare at those digital numbers...silently recite the lyrics to 80's rock ballads instead- much more conducive to sleep...
We both lie silently still
In the dead of night
Although we both lie close together
We're still miles apart inside
Was it somethin' I said, or somethin' I did-
did my words not come out right..."
Sleepy...right?
When I had a regular job...I would lay out my clothes,pack my bag, put everything into my car... Set my coffee on the timer to brew all by itself...best creature feature known to man...that and heated seats-which I no longer have. Sniff, sniff... Anything I could do to get me out of the house on time Monday...because I knew that my curled up snuggliness would be victorious over the drone of my alarm at five a.m. and that the chill of the bedroom floor could not compete for my affections with the perfect dent my head had worn into my feather pillow.
It also never fails that on the days I know that I have to rise early...I spend a half hour searching aimlessly for my emerald Too Face foil liner, my left vintage silver earring, or the lid to my pink coffee travel mug. Any item that hasn't been relevant enough to recall in the last month-suddenly becomes an urgent need. This defies explanation. Curse that Murphy and his blasted laws...heehee
Okay...so reason one for dreading Monday-Getting up early and not being able to sleep at a decent hour Sunday night...
Two- Ineffective use of preparation-getting ready time...often resulting in waves in the back of my hair and that sense that I have forgotten something that stays with me all day long.
Three -Surrendering the weekend...Think Surrendering the weekend is a the biggest deterrent to showing Monday some love...Underlying reason: the weekend allows us to cut loose- stay up late, play a little, do something simply because we FEEL like it.
Returning to the grind reminds us of our numerous responsibilities...Our grown up-ness...I hate to admit it, but my first REAL sign of optimism comes on Thursday. I don't know if this started when Friends used to run on Thursday night, or now because it is Grey's, Private Practice night...or if it has not a thing to do with Must See Tv (heehee) and it is simply because Thursday nestles at the bosom of Friday...but Thursday has been filled with the twinkle of optimism for me-as long as I can recall. Glimmer of hope...end in sight...light at the end of the work week tunnel. You know the bit.
Poor Monday- should be viewed as a new beginning. Fresh...invigorating...full of new challenges to be conquered... Not so much...Perhaps though, if we could change our perspective, tweak it here and there...we could do that whole "Accentuate the positive" thing...think how many Mondays we drag ourselves through in general distaste. Maybe they could be useful for something...Since the entire country is being moved by the spirit of conservation and all...maybe we could have a green view on Monday...not sure how that translates, but...
There has to be something redeeming about it...right?
We do HAVE to suffer through Monday in order to embrace Friday.
That's something...
Best not shoot Monday down just yet. Does serve it's purpose...
How about- I don't completely and utterly detest Mondays with every ounce f my composition...?
Not enough that it is true. Now we have to dwell on it because the song works it's way into our head and just sticks there...like toilet paper to our shoe. Ewww...
You know that one, right? Shooting it down seems a bit drastic...maybe just a smidge...
Who really does? Like Mondays, that is... Look at what music alone has to say about it...Manic Monday- kissing Valentino by the crystal blue Italian stream being the only real redeeming qualities to the entire day and that is only because her alarm hasn't roused her out of the fantasy and shattered her illusion to the harsh reality of Monday and what little-it has to offer her.
Monday, Monday...Can't Trust That Day......not looking so good.
I Don't Like Mondays...couldn't be more clear...Not a fan to be found.
What is it about Monday exactly-that makes it so difficult to endure...Like a Full House marathon...it seems to roll on and on- all up hill...in sweltering heat and you're wearing those pointy shoes that make that unbearable circular blister on your little toe that takes days to heal...
I will start with the obvious...
Going to Bed Early: Coming off of the weekend high, going to bed early Sunday so that we can drag ourselves out of bed on Monday begins the cycle of resentment that repeats every seven days. ...Preemptive as our attempts may be...going to bed early-Never DOES work anyway...because our brains and our bodies don't care that the boss expects us in at seven sharp- We have inadvertently altered our sleep cycle. Might as well face it...those eyes aren't shutting until 11:17pm. The more we stare at the clock- the more likely that we will be watching vacuum, work out DVD, mineral make up and multi level marketing commercials at one a.m.- with four hours left to sleep. Resist the urge to stare at those digital numbers...silently recite the lyrics to 80's rock ballads instead- much more conducive to sleep...
We both lie silently still
In the dead of night
Although we both lie close together
We're still miles apart inside
Was it somethin' I said, or somethin' I did-
did my words not come out right..."
Sleepy...right?
When I had a regular job...I would lay out my clothes,pack my bag, put everything into my car... Set my coffee on the timer to brew all by itself...best creature feature known to man...that and heated seats-which I no longer have. Sniff, sniff... Anything I could do to get me out of the house on time Monday...because I knew that my curled up snuggliness would be victorious over the drone of my alarm at five a.m. and that the chill of the bedroom floor could not compete for my affections with the perfect dent my head had worn into my feather pillow.
It also never fails that on the days I know that I have to rise early...I spend a half hour searching aimlessly for my emerald Too Face foil liner, my left vintage silver earring, or the lid to my pink coffee travel mug. Any item that hasn't been relevant enough to recall in the last month-suddenly becomes an urgent need. This defies explanation. Curse that Murphy and his blasted laws...heehee
Okay...so reason one for dreading Monday-Getting up early and not being able to sleep at a decent hour Sunday night...
Two- Ineffective use of preparation-getting ready time...often resulting in waves in the back of my hair and that sense that I have forgotten something that stays with me all day long.
Three -Surrendering the weekend...Think Surrendering the weekend is a the biggest deterrent to showing Monday some love...Underlying reason: the weekend allows us to cut loose- stay up late, play a little, do something simply because we FEEL like it.
Returning to the grind reminds us of our numerous responsibilities...Our grown up-ness...I hate to admit it, but my first REAL sign of optimism comes on Thursday. I don't know if this started when Friends used to run on Thursday night, or now because it is Grey's, Private Practice night...or if it has not a thing to do with Must See Tv (heehee) and it is simply because Thursday nestles at the bosom of Friday...but Thursday has been filled with the twinkle of optimism for me-as long as I can recall. Glimmer of hope...end in sight...light at the end of the work week tunnel. You know the bit.
Poor Monday- should be viewed as a new beginning. Fresh...invigorating...full of new challenges to be conquered... Not so much...Perhaps though, if we could change our perspective, tweak it here and there...we could do that whole "Accentuate the positive" thing...think how many Mondays we drag ourselves through in general distaste. Maybe they could be useful for something...Since the entire country is being moved by the spirit of conservation and all...maybe we could have a green view on Monday...not sure how that translates, but...
There has to be something redeeming about it...right?
We do HAVE to suffer through Monday in order to embrace Friday.
That's something...
Best not shoot Monday down just yet. Does serve it's purpose...
How about- I don't completely and utterly detest Mondays with every ounce f my composition...?
March 29, 2009
Dance It Out
I feel the need to "dance it out" today.
Purge my soul...empty my brain...set my body free.
For those non-Grey watchers...Meredith and Christina...best friends and Resident Surgeons on the show (sometimes other female characters on the show join in-you know, common bond and all)...when they suffer the inevitable man troubles, have hearts on the mend, are crushed by the weight of troubled minds, suffering guilt from mistakes they have made (in their case-often life altering errors), or merely need to release aggression,frustration, aggravation or burn off stress... Jeans/scrubs off...whatever could be deemed constricting...Freedom of restriction is completely mandatory to the process...
and then, they "dance it out."
In full out pajama party fashion-they turn up the music loud...louder...right there perfect. Screaming thoughts drowned out by impassioned lyrics and penetrating rhythms.
Feet start out tapping, then stepping...as the momentum in the music builds and swells...jumping in time...Stomping guilt out under the pound pounding of their feet. Aching heart eased by the beloved distraction as it's busted free from it's mournful, rhythmic beat and it speeds with the building movement. Boom, boom, boomity boom...
Weary body gives itself over to the music as the melody washes straight through. Baptism by bass. Hips swaying, then shaking, pumping-circling...Shoulders roll, arms raised in surrender. Swaying, Hands grasping, punching, circling as dictated by the pulsating beat. Sadness seeps...anger works it's way out- frustration releasing in the form of energy spilling through every pores...Back snake like and writhing...releasing pain with each rolling motion. Hair moving with every sway and shake of the head...Feeling anything but the music becomes impossible...
Move it, rock it, feel it, twirl it, kick it, roll it, heal it, groove it, get it, round and round... move it up, take it down... sway and swing. Jump, bounce-shout... spin and turn until it sorts itself out.
Beat gets louder, faster, building...higher... keep momentum. Climbing... Maintain at full speed as long as you possibly can...it's the only way.. Whatever it takes. .one song, two, seven...ten...
Crescendo.. panting...harder-until all that is left to do is gasp...
Collapse.
Either in exhaustion, laughter filled tears or tear filled laughter.
Possibly blissful release.
"Dancing it out" is reserved for high low and in between...
For the thrilling, exhilarating, can't get any higher... filled to the rim and over flowing. Bubbling over with bliss. This moment could not be richer...I am so full I could burst- exploding in a exulted state of unadulterated joy...
For the stuck in the middle...got to do something to make me EXIST... be it exultation, anguish, rage or gratification. Splash vivid color on my canvas, speed my pulse...depart from this nothing redundancy that slumps us all from time to time. Breeding the hunt for the FEEL.
and...
For what I call "no air moments"...when the one thing I need is the sweet cleanse of deep breathing...but instead my lungs clench up...my nostrils paralyzed...panic sets in...Prayer seems mandatory...but I am suffocated by the neediness of my humanity... Like the fear so deep that all you can do is scream out but irony has yanked your voice. , For those dark moments when I feel like breaking... giving myself-soul, mind and body-over to the million tiny cuts I spend my life trying to mend with band aids of futility...only to find a deeper one when the bandage is lifted for inspection...When I want to lay in a ball on the floor and let the darkness set in because there aren't arms big enough to encompass me...
Those are my "dance it out moments"...
Girls have been dancing it out for years...to slightly alter the words of Edward (my favorite vampire and yours)...
Dancing "is exactly my brand of heroin"...
of which I have never partaken...
but I get the drift. If it provides a release that is anything like dancing.
Who needs therapy when you have music?...Haha- and a blog.
Don't believe me?
I'll show you how this works...turn up the music...
I could teach a class...call it Cathartic Funk.
Purge my soul...empty my brain...set my body free.
For those non-Grey watchers...Meredith and Christina...best friends and Resident Surgeons on the show (sometimes other female characters on the show join in-you know, common bond and all)...when they suffer the inevitable man troubles, have hearts on the mend, are crushed by the weight of troubled minds, suffering guilt from mistakes they have made (in their case-often life altering errors), or merely need to release aggression,frustration, aggravation or burn off stress... Jeans/scrubs off...whatever could be deemed constricting...Freedom of restriction is completely mandatory to the process...
and then, they "dance it out."
In full out pajama party fashion-they turn up the music loud...louder...right there perfect. Screaming thoughts drowned out by impassioned lyrics and penetrating rhythms.
Feet start out tapping, then stepping...as the momentum in the music builds and swells...jumping in time...Stomping guilt out under the pound pounding of their feet. Aching heart eased by the beloved distraction as it's busted free from it's mournful, rhythmic beat and it speeds with the building movement. Boom, boom, boomity boom...
Weary body gives itself over to the music as the melody washes straight through. Baptism by bass. Hips swaying, then shaking, pumping-circling...Shoulders roll, arms raised in surrender. Swaying, Hands grasping, punching, circling as dictated by the pulsating beat. Sadness seeps...anger works it's way out- frustration releasing in the form of energy spilling through every pores...Back snake like and writhing...releasing pain with each rolling motion. Hair moving with every sway and shake of the head...Feeling anything but the music becomes impossible...
Move it, rock it, feel it, twirl it, kick it, roll it, heal it, groove it, get it, round and round... move it up, take it down... sway and swing. Jump, bounce-shout... spin and turn until it sorts itself out.
Beat gets louder, faster, building...higher... keep momentum. Climbing... Maintain at full speed as long as you possibly can...it's the only way.. Whatever it takes. .one song, two, seven...ten...
Crescendo.. panting...harder-until all that is left to do is gasp...
Collapse.
Either in exhaustion, laughter filled tears or tear filled laughter.
Possibly blissful release.
"Dancing it out" is reserved for high low and in between...
For the thrilling, exhilarating, can't get any higher... filled to the rim and over flowing. Bubbling over with bliss. This moment could not be richer...I am so full I could burst- exploding in a exulted state of unadulterated joy...
For the stuck in the middle...got to do something to make me EXIST... be it exultation, anguish, rage or gratification. Splash vivid color on my canvas, speed my pulse...depart from this nothing redundancy that slumps us all from time to time. Breeding the hunt for the FEEL.
and...
For what I call "no air moments"...when the one thing I need is the sweet cleanse of deep breathing...but instead my lungs clench up...my nostrils paralyzed...panic sets in...Prayer seems mandatory...but I am suffocated by the neediness of my humanity... Like the fear so deep that all you can do is scream out but irony has yanked your voice. , For those dark moments when I feel like breaking... giving myself-soul, mind and body-over to the million tiny cuts I spend my life trying to mend with band aids of futility...only to find a deeper one when the bandage is lifted for inspection...When I want to lay in a ball on the floor and let the darkness set in because there aren't arms big enough to encompass me...
Those are my "dance it out moments"...
Girls have been dancing it out for years...to slightly alter the words of Edward (my favorite vampire and yours)...
Dancing "is exactly my brand of heroin"...
of which I have never partaken...
but I get the drift. If it provides a release that is anything like dancing.
Who needs therapy when you have music?...Haha- and a blog.
Don't believe me?
I'll show you how this works...turn up the music...
I could teach a class...call it Cathartic Funk.
March 26, 2009
A Peek at the Cat's Pajamas
Dinner mint colored prom dresses and finger curls...bobby socks and soda fountains...Poodle skirts and rebels with greased back hair...
Although I am quite certain that being a teenager in any decade is /was a challenge-think it would have been pretty fab to be a teenager back in the fifties so that I could be an extra in Blue Hawaii or some old Franky and Annette movie...dance in a harem behind Elvis while he played his guitar in his Hawaiian shirt and swim trunks. Afterward I could utter some amazingly cheesy lingo in the background like "boss, backseat bingo, cherry, big daddy, dream boat, swell...and the cat's pajamas" Mostly, I would say "the cat's pajamas". (Actually I think that originated in the 20's but let's fast forward it to the fifties...)
On second thought, I AM going to bring that back... Why not?
The cat's pajamas is defined by the Urban Dictionary as:
Lingo describing someone (something) who is great, incredible or special. Usually indicating stylishness or innovation. Pajamas were a relatively new fashion in the 1920s. The term "cat" was beginning to be used as a term to describe the out going and unconventional jazz-age flappers.
The cat's pajamas will be cozy right up to my eclectic group of adjectives such as: dreamy-which I use regularly and -tall glass of water...which I reserve for special occasions. Heehee... Oh and I of course turn non words into adjectives by adding "y" and I am NOT the only one. Admit it, you do it too. The English language as it currently exists...need a little flair from time to time. And I am just the girl for the job. So...I didn't want to engage you in another extended kitty metaphor. So I spare you. Just this once. You're welcome.
Instead...dadadada.... picture me unveiling my grand scheme in a sequined Price is Right Girl gown...smiling my best bimbo smile...now...(removing the red velvet curtain) Viola....
Since I like cats and pajamas...and Elvis movies and fifties beach movies starring people from the mickey mouse club and peanut butter commercials... and I worked for a year in a fifties theme restaurant called Angel's (really...it was a family restaurant-sounds like adult entertainment. With juke boxes on the table, pictures of Elvis, James Dean, Marilyn and Bogart all over and Looney Tunes-which I never figured out how those fit in to the theme. I made a million milk shakes and served ridiculously giant pieces of cake- oh I had to wear a red bow tie which I detested and a red apron-yyyuuuuccckkkkk!) when I was in college and I still indulge in vanilla cokes and cherry cokes and vanilla cherry cokes...all with extra cherries and even though I don't know much about them, I have an appreciation of old cars- really LOVE them! Anyway, hopefully you see my point, I think I had one.
Oh there it is, Sit up please- your head fell on it and you leaked a little drool on it during my long drawn out monolog. RUDE! Hahaha abut understandable. Moving on...I am going to give you a peek at the cat's pajamas... According to the definition, let us just pretend I am a hipster. Let's talk pajama talk and I will give you a peek at some of my favs. Some silky, some sassy, some silly, all soft...all mine.
This all came upon me the other day when I was sadistically attempting to put all of my clean clothes away. Like clowns in a circus car. Cramped-not creepy as all get out. Had chick flicks running in the back ground-so it was slightly better than community service. The picking up trash from the side of the highway in a florescent vest kind-but only slightly...Other than clean and dirty- there is no methodology to my "system." So mixed in with suits and dresses, jeans and sweaters-were pajamas...loads of them. More than I remember purchasing...was mesmerizing really...all the fabrics and colors and silhouettes...They distracted me long enough from my drudgery that I will give you a peek- I'm a sharer...sometimes. Right now I am...
So I have a thing for pajamas. The matching kind. There are a few reasons for this. First, I am matching obsessed. Not matchy, matchy...but everything has to "go". Even when I am only going to bed. Have you ever seen the poster for Pajama Game? The male lead is wearing the bottoms of men's pajamas with no shirt and the female lead is wearing the coordinating pajama top with no pants. Two piece Dick Van Dyke style pj's are my among my favorites (but the femme version...in girly prints, colors and fabrics) and for basically the reason that the poster conveys. No-not so I can share half of them with anyone -although Harry is wearing the pants on the most recent poster. He can share my jammies he wants. Haha......hmmm....
NO! BECAUSE you can wear just the top and no bottoms, you can wear the bottoms with a tank or a bra or you can wear the two pieces together. Versatility. right? Of this variety, I have mint green plush ones, red silky polka dot ones, winter blue polka dots with satin trim, hot pink with cup cakes, white with cherries and blue birds and pies... (I have a cherry love too-so I have all kinds of cherry wear.), blue with strawberries , plaids and florals and two pair with sock monkeys on them..not really sure how THAT happened. One pair is summer and one winter-BOTH with sock monkeys some on the beach, some on sleds...Both blue-different shades. Moving on. The half brother to the Van Dyke jams are the pajama pants- not sweat pants. Pajama pants. Boxer style shorts or hipsters. Worn with a tank. Another good mix. Oh and the half sister is the cami and matching panties ideal in summer. Short sets cute too.
Once I sorted out all the two piece pj's and had caught about 7 minutes of the Holiday- I hung a hundred tanks on those little hangers with the hooks for the straps-the ones they always fall off of..I moved on to the nighties...all baby dolls. All of them. Lace and floral, eyelet and satin, silk,chemise, cotton, polka dots and ribbon ...and one Betsy Johnson black ribbed slip style with pink trim and pink ribbon straps and ruffled bottom. Probably Kitten's favorite pajamas...but too cold for them in the winter. I could wear them, but I would never set foot out of the toasty refuge of my over pillowed over blanketed bed.
Will spare you the robe chat. In short- robes allow for the bra and panty as pj's combo... The robe that matches the cute sets...and allow you to have your curtains open and not die a horrible hacking death of pneumonia- all be it in fetching attire.
So those are this cat's pajamas...
Also googled a company called The Cats Pajamas... Obvious what they make...clever-right? I miss pajama parties. Going to bring those back too-while I am at it. Just as soon as I finish pressing my petti-coat.,,the one that won't fit into my closet with all these pajamas.
I bet Gidget could help. Maybe Wally Cleaver.
Although I am quite certain that being a teenager in any decade is /was a challenge-think it would have been pretty fab to be a teenager back in the fifties so that I could be an extra in Blue Hawaii or some old Franky and Annette movie...dance in a harem behind Elvis while he played his guitar in his Hawaiian shirt and swim trunks. Afterward I could utter some amazingly cheesy lingo in the background like "boss, backseat bingo, cherry, big daddy, dream boat, swell...and the cat's pajamas" Mostly, I would say "the cat's pajamas". (Actually I think that originated in the 20's but let's fast forward it to the fifties...)
On second thought, I AM going to bring that back... Why not?
The cat's pajamas is defined by the Urban Dictionary as:
Lingo describing someone (something) who is great, incredible or special. Usually indicating stylishness or innovation. Pajamas were a relatively new fashion in the 1920s. The term "cat" was beginning to be used as a term to describe the out going and unconventional jazz-age flappers.
The cat's pajamas will be cozy right up to my eclectic group of adjectives such as: dreamy-which I use regularly and -tall glass of water...which I reserve for special occasions. Heehee... Oh and I of course turn non words into adjectives by adding "y" and I am NOT the only one. Admit it, you do it too. The English language as it currently exists...need a little flair from time to time. And I am just the girl for the job. So...I didn't want to engage you in another extended kitty metaphor. So I spare you. Just this once. You're welcome.
Instead...dadadada.... picture me unveiling my grand scheme in a sequined Price is Right Girl gown...smiling my best bimbo smile...now...(removing the red velvet curtain) Viola....
Since I like cats and pajamas...and Elvis movies and fifties beach movies starring people from the mickey mouse club and peanut butter commercials... and I worked for a year in a fifties theme restaurant called Angel's (really...it was a family restaurant-sounds like adult entertainment. With juke boxes on the table, pictures of Elvis, James Dean, Marilyn and Bogart all over and Looney Tunes-which I never figured out how those fit in to the theme. I made a million milk shakes and served ridiculously giant pieces of cake- oh I had to wear a red bow tie which I detested and a red apron-yyyuuuuccckkkkk!) when I was in college and I still indulge in vanilla cokes and cherry cokes and vanilla cherry cokes...all with extra cherries and even though I don't know much about them, I have an appreciation of old cars- really LOVE them! Anyway, hopefully you see my point, I think I had one.
Oh there it is, Sit up please- your head fell on it and you leaked a little drool on it during my long drawn out monolog. RUDE! Hahaha abut understandable. Moving on...I am going to give you a peek at the cat's pajamas... According to the definition, let us just pretend I am a hipster. Let's talk pajama talk and I will give you a peek at some of my favs. Some silky, some sassy, some silly, all soft...all mine.
This all came upon me the other day when I was sadistically attempting to put all of my clean clothes away. Like clowns in a circus car. Cramped-not creepy as all get out. Had chick flicks running in the back ground-so it was slightly better than community service. The picking up trash from the side of the highway in a florescent vest kind-but only slightly...Other than clean and dirty- there is no methodology to my "system." So mixed in with suits and dresses, jeans and sweaters-were pajamas...loads of them. More than I remember purchasing...was mesmerizing really...all the fabrics and colors and silhouettes...They distracted me long enough from my drudgery that I will give you a peek- I'm a sharer...sometimes. Right now I am...
So I have a thing for pajamas. The matching kind. There are a few reasons for this. First, I am matching obsessed. Not matchy, matchy...but everything has to "go". Even when I am only going to bed. Have you ever seen the poster for Pajama Game? The male lead is wearing the bottoms of men's pajamas with no shirt and the female lead is wearing the coordinating pajama top with no pants. Two piece Dick Van Dyke style pj's are my among my favorites (but the femme version...in girly prints, colors and fabrics) and for basically the reason that the poster conveys. No-not so I can share half of them with anyone -although Harry is wearing the pants on the most recent poster. He can share my jammies he wants. Haha......hmmm....
NO! BECAUSE you can wear just the top and no bottoms, you can wear the bottoms with a tank or a bra or you can wear the two pieces together. Versatility. right? Of this variety, I have mint green plush ones, red silky polka dot ones, winter blue polka dots with satin trim, hot pink with cup cakes, white with cherries and blue birds and pies... (I have a cherry love too-so I have all kinds of cherry wear.), blue with strawberries , plaids and florals and two pair with sock monkeys on them..not really sure how THAT happened. One pair is summer and one winter-BOTH with sock monkeys some on the beach, some on sleds...Both blue-different shades. Moving on. The half brother to the Van Dyke jams are the pajama pants- not sweat pants. Pajama pants. Boxer style shorts or hipsters. Worn with a tank. Another good mix. Oh and the half sister is the cami and matching panties ideal in summer. Short sets cute too.
Once I sorted out all the two piece pj's and had caught about 7 minutes of the Holiday- I hung a hundred tanks on those little hangers with the hooks for the straps-the ones they always fall off of..I moved on to the nighties...all baby dolls. All of them. Lace and floral, eyelet and satin, silk,chemise, cotton, polka dots and ribbon ...and one Betsy Johnson black ribbed slip style with pink trim and pink ribbon straps and ruffled bottom. Probably Kitten's favorite pajamas...but too cold for them in the winter. I could wear them, but I would never set foot out of the toasty refuge of my over pillowed over blanketed bed.
Will spare you the robe chat. In short- robes allow for the bra and panty as pj's combo... The robe that matches the cute sets...and allow you to have your curtains open and not die a horrible hacking death of pneumonia- all be it in fetching attire.
So those are this cat's pajamas...
Also googled a company called The Cats Pajamas... Obvious what they make...clever-right? I miss pajama parties. Going to bring those back too-while I am at it. Just as soon as I finish pressing my petti-coat.,,the one that won't fit into my closet with all these pajamas.
I bet Gidget could help. Maybe Wally Cleaver.
March 24, 2009
The Way That I Remember It
Life is colored with experiences-like a kaleidoscope with brilliant shades of stained glass in varying hues of violet, jade, emerald, azure, amber, crimson, sienna, and marigold. A myriad of shapes that form a fresh and unique design when shifted and turned by the slightest twist of fate. Shapes formed by the experiences that we race to the edge and dive into their icy cool surface shattering with it all of our inhibitions- and the ones we hide away from under the warm, lavendar fluffy blanket of familiarity and security. Those that I have shied from or the choices I made in the name of comfort- I have lived to regret. I view them as unsightly scars of weakness and fear forever marring my life's masterpiece...curses though, still researching the subject...
Our lives are shaded by individuals who have left their mark on us. Those we remember with tangible tenderness and those whose recollection causes the air to escape our lungs and brings to our cheeks the pallor of a corpse. Triangle shaped memories of the places we can't help but envision when we close our eyes' curtains on the troubled day and lie in bed waiting for the illusive Slumber Angel to whisper the peace thick secrets that lull and numb our heavy minds and caress our restless hearts leaving them still.
Words leave their vibrant hues on our life's canvas as well. Recorded by our memory-often without our permission .For posterity. Words that I forgot to remember. Those that I felt certain I had adequately buried or forgotten come flooding down on me at the first sign of frailty-like the scene in Magnolia when frogs rain down from the heavens-because how do you prepare yourself for something like that? Weighing down your existence with all the vengeance of an Egyptian plague.
Hahaha...that was a lot of set up for what I have to share. Playing with my words today. Like play dough in my fingers-rolling, tearing, smoothing, folding rubbing, twisting...seeing what I can form with them. Also like the play dough, I may place the tiniest bit of my words on my tongue to make sure they taste as good as they smell.Metaphor gone awry. TMPI...heehee....
So my life has taken this unplanned detour... Not that I was ever on my best day, a planner. I let things happen to me- much more than I should. I just get taken in by the visual and soulful spectacle of it all and sometimes I forget to take the stage in full command of my character, deliver my lines with conviction and take a well deserved bow. Partially this is due to the reliance on my belief that it is only fifty percent up to me anyway. I will let that one hang in the clouds of pondering for another day's musings.
Anyway- this detour...this rest stop...is referred to by Theodore Geisel (aka Doctor Seuss) as the Waiting Place in the book we all got as a high school graduation gift-The Places You Will Go. In the waiting place, my being...and all it's complicated, damaged, dangerous, turbulent,raw, tortured, naive,inquisitive, hungry, insatiable, soul searching and glorious pieces...those- and the ones I don't have names for yet...multiple personality disorder is a full time position. Hahaha .
Each of these over crowded conflicted internal siblings- they keep stacking on top of each other and tearing themselves down and rebuilding-taking on a new form. Making curious concoctions ranging from despondence and apathy to unguarded vulnerability and unabashed glee. When the doubtful brother takes over as chemist...and the memorex of my mind feels generous...she starts to play back words that soothe me- defending me against him. Stroking my uncertainty. So-when I was hovering in doubt and utterly undefined yesterday-She played back this memory to me in an effort to drown out Doubt.
When I was about fourteen or so, phasing out of the gawky all limbs caterpillar phase and coming out more wavy than straight. I felt a bit like I do now. Waffling between fascination and reluctance...and so naturally, I started to behave differently. I have never been scholastically brilliant, but have always had a gentle grasp on most things educational. Anyway this particular memory is set at church. I arrived with my new butterfly wings...but had not yet learned how to spread them and fly-the result- was general confusion and moodiness. Details here are sketchy. Basically our teacher who was a college student asked me a few questions that I evaded or laughed off-or something like that...and I was apparently behaving in a flighty manner-because he asked me to see him outside of the classroom. Again- not too clear here, but knowing myself at that age, I probably rolled my eyes and said "Sure, Whatever..." Once in the hall...His end of the conversation went something like this:
"I am not sure what you are doing in there or why, but I want to make something clear to you. You are not a dumb girl and you shouldn't pretend to be.Not ever. I don't know if this is about boys- or what, but you don't need to act that way to get attention. Don't compromise who you are for anyone. If someone doesn't appreciate you for what you have to offer, then you don't need them. Now I expect you to go back in there and be the bright girl I have come to expect you to be. Are we clear?"
I think I was flabbergasted. Shocked that he had so accurately identified something that I wasn't conscious that I was doing...for reasons that were being shaken up with my insane hormones like a soda bottle on a hot summer day. I am still oblivious to my entire self-often-if not always. My ever changing view of myself leaves me utterly blind to what others see in me. I may be physically blind one day and if I am-I hope to posses an iota of the inner beauty that Andrea Bocelli has that he so generously bestows on the rest of us...won't be singing.;0)
He probably wouldn't remember this and honestly-I didn't know that I had retained it until recently. I think my memory played this back to me now-not because I am playing dumb for anyone-but because I am feeling insecure and conflicted, much like then. Funny how having somebody care about you enough to just take the time and tell the truth can stay with you.
So for today, this memory of a teacher who cared enough about me to take my hand and lead me toward the exit of the Waiting Place is pacifying me until I get up the strength to lick my wounds, shake off doubt and injury, head for the fire exit and take another turn on the kaleidoscope in hopes of a more idyllic shape the next time fate takes a turn at my wheel.
Our lives are shaded by individuals who have left their mark on us. Those we remember with tangible tenderness and those whose recollection causes the air to escape our lungs and brings to our cheeks the pallor of a corpse. Triangle shaped memories of the places we can't help but envision when we close our eyes' curtains on the troubled day and lie in bed waiting for the illusive Slumber Angel to whisper the peace thick secrets that lull and numb our heavy minds and caress our restless hearts leaving them still.
Words leave their vibrant hues on our life's canvas as well. Recorded by our memory-often without our permission .For posterity. Words that I forgot to remember. Those that I felt certain I had adequately buried or forgotten come flooding down on me at the first sign of frailty-like the scene in Magnolia when frogs rain down from the heavens-because how do you prepare yourself for something like that? Weighing down your existence with all the vengeance of an Egyptian plague.
Hahaha...that was a lot of set up for what I have to share. Playing with my words today. Like play dough in my fingers-rolling, tearing, smoothing, folding rubbing, twisting...seeing what I can form with them. Also like the play dough, I may place the tiniest bit of my words on my tongue to make sure they taste as good as they smell.Metaphor gone awry. TMPI...heehee....
So my life has taken this unplanned detour... Not that I was ever on my best day, a planner. I let things happen to me- much more than I should. I just get taken in by the visual and soulful spectacle of it all and sometimes I forget to take the stage in full command of my character, deliver my lines with conviction and take a well deserved bow. Partially this is due to the reliance on my belief that it is only fifty percent up to me anyway. I will let that one hang in the clouds of pondering for another day's musings.
Anyway- this detour...this rest stop...is referred to by Theodore Geisel (aka Doctor Seuss) as the Waiting Place in the book we all got as a high school graduation gift-The Places You Will Go. In the waiting place, my being...and all it's complicated, damaged, dangerous, turbulent,raw, tortured, naive,inquisitive, hungry, insatiable, soul searching and glorious pieces...those- and the ones I don't have names for yet...multiple personality disorder is a full time position. Hahaha .
Each of these over crowded conflicted internal siblings- they keep stacking on top of each other and tearing themselves down and rebuilding-taking on a new form. Making curious concoctions ranging from despondence and apathy to unguarded vulnerability and unabashed glee. When the doubtful brother takes over as chemist...and the memorex of my mind feels generous...she starts to play back words that soothe me- defending me against him. Stroking my uncertainty. So-when I was hovering in doubt and utterly undefined yesterday-She played back this memory to me in an effort to drown out Doubt.
When I was about fourteen or so, phasing out of the gawky all limbs caterpillar phase and coming out more wavy than straight. I felt a bit like I do now. Waffling between fascination and reluctance...and so naturally, I started to behave differently. I have never been scholastically brilliant, but have always had a gentle grasp on most things educational. Anyway this particular memory is set at church. I arrived with my new butterfly wings...but had not yet learned how to spread them and fly-the result- was general confusion and moodiness. Details here are sketchy. Basically our teacher who was a college student asked me a few questions that I evaded or laughed off-or something like that...and I was apparently behaving in a flighty manner-because he asked me to see him outside of the classroom. Again- not too clear here, but knowing myself at that age, I probably rolled my eyes and said "Sure, Whatever..." Once in the hall...His end of the conversation went something like this:
"I am not sure what you are doing in there or why, but I want to make something clear to you. You are not a dumb girl and you shouldn't pretend to be.Not ever. I don't know if this is about boys- or what, but you don't need to act that way to get attention. Don't compromise who you are for anyone. If someone doesn't appreciate you for what you have to offer, then you don't need them. Now I expect you to go back in there and be the bright girl I have come to expect you to be. Are we clear?"
I think I was flabbergasted. Shocked that he had so accurately identified something that I wasn't conscious that I was doing...for reasons that were being shaken up with my insane hormones like a soda bottle on a hot summer day. I am still oblivious to my entire self-often-if not always. My ever changing view of myself leaves me utterly blind to what others see in me. I may be physically blind one day and if I am-I hope to posses an iota of the inner beauty that Andrea Bocelli has that he so generously bestows on the rest of us...won't be singing.;0)
He probably wouldn't remember this and honestly-I didn't know that I had retained it until recently. I think my memory played this back to me now-not because I am playing dumb for anyone-but because I am feeling insecure and conflicted, much like then. Funny how having somebody care about you enough to just take the time and tell the truth can stay with you.
So for today, this memory of a teacher who cared enough about me to take my hand and lead me toward the exit of the Waiting Place is pacifying me until I get up the strength to lick my wounds, shake off doubt and injury, head for the fire exit and take another turn on the kaleidoscope in hopes of a more idyllic shape the next time fate takes a turn at my wheel.
March 17, 2009
The Sounds of Summer
March is SUPPOSED to be the snowiest month in Colorado. Today is March the seventeenth. St. Patrick's Day. Hooray! I believe in celebrating every day...ESPECIALLY the seemingly random selection of days we have coined, "holidays." Plus I love green....just not in my beer. Overly techno-colored foods look unnaturally vibrant and taste weird. Sorta' creep me out. But here, I'll pour you one. Just brush your teeth right after or they'll stay that color.
Not the point.
So this unseasonably warm weather fills my head with Summer, even though it isn't even Spring. Spring in Colorado is a complete and utter tease. She whets your appetite with the sweet promise of unclouded days and wavy,navy nights...then runs away-leaving you with the extreme chill of an April blizzard.
But summer! Summer is the union of yin and yang, fire and ice relationship that melts to warmth in the gooey center blurring the line that separates the two-forming a perfect whole. The blend of severe and mild. That rarity of finding someone that has the innate sense of knowing precisely what you need and gives it to you before the desire reaches your own consciousness. By far the most seductive of all the seasons. The heat, the bronzed, glistening skin, the sweet fruit and powdery floral scents that fill your nostrils. Summer possesses an effortless sensuality, the frivolity, the water, the sand...there is just no competing with Summer. Winter hibernates the senses and Summer heightens them...breathe it in with me....close your eyes, throw your head back in reckless abandon..that's right...now!mmmmmmmmmmmmm... And the sounds! splashing, crashing, humming, purring,pulsating, rhythmic, sizzling... that sensation when the sun mingled wind-tugs your hair, the sun spilling out over your skin...and the music! It always comes back to the music. Doesn't it? At least it does for me. So...before I get too, too carried away. Here is my soundtrack of Summer.
Top 10 Summer songs, artists, sound tracks...
1. Anything from Dirty Dancing, Grease, Footloose,Stand by Me or Top Gun
To this day when Sylvia and Mickey (the song Johnny and Baby reenact in Johnny's studio-apartment on that sweltering summer day-Come hear Lover Boy...oh Lover Boy...? That's the one) , Hungry Eyes,the Time of My Life, She's Like the Wind, Stay, Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow- or anything else from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack (either of them) drowns me in summer's essence...Oh, oh, oh and makes me wish Patrick Swayze would have taught me to dance...on a log over a river. The only time I will EVER wish I was Jennifer Gray.
Grease- Summer Lovin' and You're the One That I Want... Still think of myself as a Pink Lady...bababumba...and at seven after seeing Grease, I started 'smoking" those skinny little pretzels and saying, "Tell me about it- stud"...My parents LOVED that one- especially when I did it at the church picnic.
Foot Loose- theme song and Let's Hear it for the Boy-still would like to try that car trick where she has one foot in each car...not sure insurance covers idiocy though...and the barn dancing was memorable too.
Stand by Me...If you don't love this movie, stop reading now. This movie captures youth and summer more than any other that I can bring to mind...and my mind is over flowing with useless information. Keep reading if you don't believe me. River Phoenix, Will Wheaton, Corey Feldman, and Vern (always forget his name-the guy who is married to John Stamos' ex-wife Rebecca Romaine-no longer Stamos)...also Shawn Astin(sp?) (whom I met at a cheer competition in ninth grade- post Goonies, pre Rudy-super sweet) and Keifer Sutherland... for whatever reason I have thought of him as uber cool for the past...twenty years. Anyway the sound track is oldies...like Let the Good Times Roll, Lollipop and duh...Stand by Me.
Don't let me forget-
Top Gun-Take My Breathe Away, Danger Zone and Playing With the Boys...Great Balls of Fire...and the guitar theme with no words... puts me on the back of Maverick's motorcycle in my aviator Ray Bans and a white tank...Cocktail movie and soundtrack summery too...WHAT happened to Tom Cruise?!? Guess after Top Gun, he had nowhere to go but down. Bless his heart, God Love Him...
Think I could still quote most of the lines to ALL these movies.
I SO cheated. Counting those all as one. My game, my rules. Deal...;0)
2. Jimmy Buffet...OBVIOUSLY his shtick-right. Parrot heads, pina colada's, island paradises and margaritas...My favorites are Margaritaville, Cheeseburger in Paradise, Volcano,Fins, He Went to Paris, Come Monday and Son of a Son of a Sailor...I feel freckled and hungover just thinking about it. I am the "woman to blame"...heehee. Gonna' get the hat that says so, just cuz' I think it's cute.
3. Bob Marley...No Woman, No Cry,Stir it Up... nothing like reggae-it reeks of Summer in the best way.Steel drum bands,coconut oil, Jamaican beaches, palm trees swaying in the tropical breeze..When in Jamaica...I lay on a hammock strung between two palm trees sipping on a frozen drink called a hummingbird.I drifted to the whispered lullaby of the blue topaz ocean and read some bubble gum novel- I can't remember which..I have never been so shimmery, coppery brown in my life, nor will I probably allow myself to be again...safe sun and-not wanting my face to look like a leather handbag in fifteen years. Oh and at night! The resort had this club where they played old school rap and Shaggy... and drinks were always full...So to this day, I can't resist It Wasn't Me...or Ricky Martin...La Vida Loca or Shake Your Bon- Bon...It's no wonder why Stella went there to Get Her Groove Back.
4. Again- kind of his soul purpose...Kenny Chesney embodies the sizzle of summer. Not saying HE is hot...LOVE his music, some of it is irresistibly sultry... but he does nothing else for me. Sure the feeling is mutual...hahaha. Think I have everything he has ever done, including the Christmas CD. When the Sun Goes Down, There's Something Sexy About the Rain, Anything but Mine, She Comes From Boston, Old Blue Chair, She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy and Being Drunk is a lot Like Loving You -are just a few of my gazillion Kenny Chesney favorites. Think he is the heir to Jimmy Buffet's throne, there may actually be a written agreement between the two of them.
5. Jack Johnson...perpetually barefoot on the beach with his guitar. He is a beach boy in the most literal sense...and his music is like liquid sunshine. Drink it, it's delectable. Probably BEST known for doing the soundtrack for Curious George. One of my favorite Jack Johnson songs is "Banana Pancakes." His music makes me want to live in a beach hut, barefoot and disheveled. Surfing all day-this part may require a lesson or two...hundred. But in my dream, I just know how.Have to stick a bonfire on here, only because fire, summer and salt water...all part of the beachy theme.
6. Billy Pilgrim. One of my favorite groups of all time. They are folky and soulful and I used to see them at summer festivals here. Lyrically they are unbelievable, but musically simple. Do yourself a favor and if you don't know Billy Pilgrim-get to know them. INCREDIBLE. They make my soul reverberate in ecstasy. Hoolahoop is an especially summery song of theirs. Obscure...but a buried treasure. I promise.
7. Seventies rock like The Eagles, CCR, Steve Miller Band...songs like Boys of Summer, Hotel California, Life's Been Good to Me so Far,Sweet Caroline,Sweet Home Alabama, Joker oh and anything by Van Morrison. Love Van Morrison...American Pie, the Pina Colada Song...make me want to joyride in a convertible on a sweltering summer night with the top down, tires melting into the fiery asphalt... hair blowing...devil may care -he has to catch me first...and all of that.
8. 80's and 90's Rock and Kid Rock- Anything from the Go-Go's...Vacation! Manic Monday and In Your Room by the Bangles, Think We're Alone Now by Tiffany, Prince, Little Red Corvette, Purple Rain, Let's go Crazy, Raspberry Beret...David Lee Roth's California Girls. Michael Jackson The Way You're Makin' Me Feel, Def Leopard, Billy Joel, "Only the Good Die Young", Cindy Lauper, Boy George,The Cars, The Police, "One Headlight " by the Wallflowers. Madonna,Poison,Motley Crew, Aerosmyth, Blondie and Pat Benetar...the Eddie and the Cruisers Soundtrack, Kid Rock's All Summer Long and Cowboy...Beastie Boys...Ice, Ice, Baby, Jessie's Girl...Salt n' Peppa...Raw Base. The Rhythm of the Night. Black Crows, Sheryl Crow, Counting Crows (see a theme?) Richard Marx-Endless Summer Nights...Turn the Radio Up, INXS...Mystify and Devil Inside...George Michael Faith cd, Spin Doctors- Bryan Adams, John Couger, Sonia Dada. I cannot neglect to mention NKOTB's new Summertime song. Love that too...so reminiscent. I am now jumping up and down on the couch with a n over sized man's button down and knee socks, sun glasses on and a hair brush for a microphone...Let the neighbor's look. Join me? We'll give em' a show.
9. The fifties stuff...Under the Boardwalk, Save the Last Dance,And Then He Kissed Me, Do Wa Ditty, Summertime, What a Night, Surfer Girl, Fun, Fun, Fun...Elvis, Beach Boys, Beatles...and more musicals...Mama Mia! Which btw I rolled my windows down and raced at top speed down the highway to just yesterday. Told you I had spring fever. Oh and... A-Know this isn't fifties, IS before my time...B-If you have not seen the movie-check it out. Music and scenery alone are worth the price of admission and C-you can blame me when you have ABBA stuck in your head for a week. "Don't go wasting your emo-tion. Lay all your love on me..."
10. This is a song thing...my favorite summer song of all time...Summertime by Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince. LOVE IT!!! ADORE IT...Summer, summer summer time...time to sit back and unwind... I will never get tired of this song. Something about Will Smith and my age...haha...makes me feel like we grew up together. Plus everything he touches seems to have some sort of redeeming quality to it... "Now this is a story all about how, my life got flip-turned upside down..." Oh and just ask my mom- everything she did that was to my disliking at age twelve, was met with my poorly adapted rendition of "Parents Just Don't Understand"...Subtlety comes with experience. Haha...it is true though...they still don't understand.
Also love Will Smith's Switch
That's my summer hit list. Love it or leave it... make up your own. Regardless- ooey, gooey, drippy, sandy, sweaty, salty, liquefied, gritty, edible, tangible, caramel, alluring, steamy, dreamy Summer-is on it's way. Embrace it. I will...
"Hello Lover..."
Not the point.
So this unseasonably warm weather fills my head with Summer, even though it isn't even Spring. Spring in Colorado is a complete and utter tease. She whets your appetite with the sweet promise of unclouded days and wavy,navy nights...then runs away-leaving you with the extreme chill of an April blizzard.
But summer! Summer is the union of yin and yang, fire and ice relationship that melts to warmth in the gooey center blurring the line that separates the two-forming a perfect whole. The blend of severe and mild. That rarity of finding someone that has the innate sense of knowing precisely what you need and gives it to you before the desire reaches your own consciousness. By far the most seductive of all the seasons. The heat, the bronzed, glistening skin, the sweet fruit and powdery floral scents that fill your nostrils. Summer possesses an effortless sensuality, the frivolity, the water, the sand...there is just no competing with Summer. Winter hibernates the senses and Summer heightens them...breathe it in with me....close your eyes, throw your head back in reckless abandon..that's right...now!mmmmmmmmmmmmm... And the sounds! splashing, crashing, humming, purring,pulsating, rhythmic, sizzling... that sensation when the sun mingled wind-tugs your hair, the sun spilling out over your skin...and the music! It always comes back to the music. Doesn't it? At least it does for me. So...before I get too, too carried away. Here is my soundtrack of Summer.
Top 10 Summer songs, artists, sound tracks...
1. Anything from Dirty Dancing, Grease, Footloose,Stand by Me or Top Gun
To this day when Sylvia and Mickey (the song Johnny and Baby reenact in Johnny's studio-apartment on that sweltering summer day-Come hear Lover Boy...oh Lover Boy...? That's the one) , Hungry Eyes,the Time of My Life, She's Like the Wind, Stay, Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow- or anything else from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack (either of them) drowns me in summer's essence...Oh, oh, oh and makes me wish Patrick Swayze would have taught me to dance...on a log over a river. The only time I will EVER wish I was Jennifer Gray.
Grease- Summer Lovin' and You're the One That I Want... Still think of myself as a Pink Lady...bababumba...and at seven after seeing Grease, I started 'smoking" those skinny little pretzels and saying, "Tell me about it- stud"...My parents LOVED that one- especially when I did it at the church picnic.
Foot Loose- theme song and Let's Hear it for the Boy-still would like to try that car trick where she has one foot in each car...not sure insurance covers idiocy though...and the barn dancing was memorable too.
Stand by Me...If you don't love this movie, stop reading now. This movie captures youth and summer more than any other that I can bring to mind...and my mind is over flowing with useless information. Keep reading if you don't believe me. River Phoenix, Will Wheaton, Corey Feldman, and Vern (always forget his name-the guy who is married to John Stamos' ex-wife Rebecca Romaine-no longer Stamos)...also Shawn Astin(sp?) (whom I met at a cheer competition in ninth grade- post Goonies, pre Rudy-super sweet) and Keifer Sutherland... for whatever reason I have thought of him as uber cool for the past...twenty years. Anyway the sound track is oldies...like Let the Good Times Roll, Lollipop and duh...Stand by Me.
Don't let me forget-
Top Gun-Take My Breathe Away, Danger Zone and Playing With the Boys...Great Balls of Fire...and the guitar theme with no words... puts me on the back of Maverick's motorcycle in my aviator Ray Bans and a white tank...Cocktail movie and soundtrack summery too...WHAT happened to Tom Cruise?!? Guess after Top Gun, he had nowhere to go but down. Bless his heart, God Love Him...
Think I could still quote most of the lines to ALL these movies.
I SO cheated. Counting those all as one. My game, my rules. Deal...;0)
2. Jimmy Buffet...OBVIOUSLY his shtick-right. Parrot heads, pina colada's, island paradises and margaritas...My favorites are Margaritaville, Cheeseburger in Paradise, Volcano,Fins, He Went to Paris, Come Monday and Son of a Son of a Sailor...I feel freckled and hungover just thinking about it. I am the "woman to blame"...heehee. Gonna' get the hat that says so, just cuz' I think it's cute.
3. Bob Marley...No Woman, No Cry,Stir it Up... nothing like reggae-it reeks of Summer in the best way.Steel drum bands,coconut oil, Jamaican beaches, palm trees swaying in the tropical breeze..When in Jamaica...I lay on a hammock strung between two palm trees sipping on a frozen drink called a hummingbird.I drifted to the whispered lullaby of the blue topaz ocean and read some bubble gum novel- I can't remember which..I have never been so shimmery, coppery brown in my life, nor will I probably allow myself to be again...safe sun and-not wanting my face to look like a leather handbag in fifteen years. Oh and at night! The resort had this club where they played old school rap and Shaggy... and drinks were always full...So to this day, I can't resist It Wasn't Me...or Ricky Martin...La Vida Loca or Shake Your Bon- Bon...It's no wonder why Stella went there to Get Her Groove Back.
4. Again- kind of his soul purpose...Kenny Chesney embodies the sizzle of summer. Not saying HE is hot...LOVE his music, some of it is irresistibly sultry... but he does nothing else for me. Sure the feeling is mutual...hahaha. Think I have everything he has ever done, including the Christmas CD. When the Sun Goes Down, There's Something Sexy About the Rain, Anything but Mine, She Comes From Boston, Old Blue Chair, She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy and Being Drunk is a lot Like Loving You -are just a few of my gazillion Kenny Chesney favorites. Think he is the heir to Jimmy Buffet's throne, there may actually be a written agreement between the two of them.
5. Jack Johnson...perpetually barefoot on the beach with his guitar. He is a beach boy in the most literal sense...and his music is like liquid sunshine. Drink it, it's delectable. Probably BEST known for doing the soundtrack for Curious George. One of my favorite Jack Johnson songs is "Banana Pancakes." His music makes me want to live in a beach hut, barefoot and disheveled. Surfing all day-this part may require a lesson or two...hundred. But in my dream, I just know how.Have to stick a bonfire on here, only because fire, summer and salt water...all part of the beachy theme.
6. Billy Pilgrim. One of my favorite groups of all time. They are folky and soulful and I used to see them at summer festivals here. Lyrically they are unbelievable, but musically simple. Do yourself a favor and if you don't know Billy Pilgrim-get to know them. INCREDIBLE. They make my soul reverberate in ecstasy. Hoolahoop is an especially summery song of theirs. Obscure...but a buried treasure. I promise.
7. Seventies rock like The Eagles, CCR, Steve Miller Band...songs like Boys of Summer, Hotel California, Life's Been Good to Me so Far,Sweet Caroline,Sweet Home Alabama, Joker oh and anything by Van Morrison. Love Van Morrison...American Pie, the Pina Colada Song...make me want to joyride in a convertible on a sweltering summer night with the top down, tires melting into the fiery asphalt... hair blowing...devil may care -he has to catch me first...and all of that.
8. 80's and 90's Rock and Kid Rock- Anything from the Go-Go's...Vacation! Manic Monday and In Your Room by the Bangles, Think We're Alone Now by Tiffany, Prince, Little Red Corvette, Purple Rain, Let's go Crazy, Raspberry Beret...David Lee Roth's California Girls. Michael Jackson The Way You're Makin' Me Feel, Def Leopard, Billy Joel, "Only the Good Die Young", Cindy Lauper, Boy George,The Cars, The Police, "One Headlight " by the Wallflowers. Madonna,Poison,Motley Crew, Aerosmyth, Blondie and Pat Benetar...the Eddie and the Cruisers Soundtrack, Kid Rock's All Summer Long and Cowboy...Beastie Boys...Ice, Ice, Baby, Jessie's Girl...Salt n' Peppa...Raw Base. The Rhythm of the Night. Black Crows, Sheryl Crow, Counting Crows (see a theme?) Richard Marx-Endless Summer Nights...Turn the Radio Up, INXS...Mystify and Devil Inside...George Michael Faith cd, Spin Doctors- Bryan Adams, John Couger, Sonia Dada. I cannot neglect to mention NKOTB's new Summertime song. Love that too...so reminiscent. I am now jumping up and down on the couch with a n over sized man's button down and knee socks, sun glasses on and a hair brush for a microphone...Let the neighbor's look. Join me? We'll give em' a show.
9. The fifties stuff...Under the Boardwalk, Save the Last Dance,And Then He Kissed Me, Do Wa Ditty, Summertime, What a Night, Surfer Girl, Fun, Fun, Fun...Elvis, Beach Boys, Beatles...and more musicals...Mama Mia! Which btw I rolled my windows down and raced at top speed down the highway to just yesterday. Told you I had spring fever. Oh and... A-Know this isn't fifties, IS before my time...B-If you have not seen the movie-check it out. Music and scenery alone are worth the price of admission and C-you can blame me when you have ABBA stuck in your head for a week. "Don't go wasting your emo-tion. Lay all your love on me..."
10. This is a song thing...my favorite summer song of all time...Summertime by Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince. LOVE IT!!! ADORE IT...Summer, summer summer time...time to sit back and unwind... I will never get tired of this song. Something about Will Smith and my age...haha...makes me feel like we grew up together. Plus everything he touches seems to have some sort of redeeming quality to it... "Now this is a story all about how, my life got flip-turned upside down..." Oh and just ask my mom- everything she did that was to my disliking at age twelve, was met with my poorly adapted rendition of "Parents Just Don't Understand"...Subtlety comes with experience. Haha...it is true though...they still don't understand.
Also love Will Smith's Switch
That's my summer hit list. Love it or leave it... make up your own. Regardless- ooey, gooey, drippy, sandy, sweaty, salty, liquefied, gritty, edible, tangible, caramel, alluring, steamy, dreamy Summer-is on it's way. Embrace it. I will...
"Hello Lover..."
March 8, 2009
A Day Like Today
On a day like today-
I would take over the world. On second thought, I really don't want much of the world. I have no need, nor desire for it's multiple issues that seem to reproduce like Ferrel cats. The thousands of years worth of baggage and complications pose a significant deterrent to me. But on a day like today I believe that I could conquer this damaged place- if I so chose. I would just take over the most desirable parts- Of course I would be queen...but the figure head kind. The one that gets her way all the time and is adorned with robes crafted by the most skilled hands and wears timeless jewels so naturally they would be as my own skin. I would have no real responsibility- other than to make people feel better about their lives, smile-wave and kiss babies.
On a day like today...
I would dive into a blue topaz ocean curled comfortably beside the pearlized sand-asparkle with iridescent vastness. There would be just the right amount of frothy waves -so I would take up surfing in a matter of moments-dancing over the surface of the water- exhilarated with the perfect blend of ecstasy and adrenaline...Without so much as a fear of sharks. The sharks would leave me be -because I would be embodying THAT much ferocity. Even though I am teasing them with my tastiness, sharks don't engage in battles that don't promise certain victory.
When I get tired I would bathe myself in nothing but sun- the kind that emblazoned the Incan empire like a celestial kingdom. Its' majestic rays would dry every inch of my flesh with its' delightfully fiery kiss . I would bask there on the deck of a white yacht that doesn't belong to me until the precise moment when my skin was sufficiently bronzed...and the scent of coconut was oozing from my every pore. I would then dip back through the cool diamond clear surface of the water and channeling my inner mermaid, would rendezvous with the myriad members of ocean life I would encounter there. In and out of currents we would glide, stopping briefly to explore pirate ships buried miles below the surface and mingling around the edges of uninhabited islands.
I would then swim effortlessly back to the unblemished beach. Dress in my island cotton sundress and winged sandals borrowed from Hermes (Messenger of the gods)and take flght.
On a day like today...
I would spend years living in all the most fascinating locations-but consuming just hours of reality time...Exotic beaches, tranquil castles, untamed jungles, exuberant cities...I would meet brilliant people with colorful lives and gulp every drop of what they held to my thirsty lips. I would fill on the tempting taste of their endeavors, escapes, achievements, conquests, passions, journeys, wars, escapades, treasures, mysteries...philosophies and religions...I would wander home drunk from my experience-utterly satisfied.
On a day like today
I would shimmer with the alabaster cold ones and we would light the day with our incandescent glory. Together like crimson tainted angels we would race with packs of wild wolves in the velvety blanket of night and howl with abandon at whatever aroused our instincts. -And we would scuffle and soar, waltz and hunt. I would be utterly invincible.(Thanks to Miss Meyer for my vampire obsession)...
Weary from this display of power-
On a day like today I would summon my personal unicorn who on powerful silver-white crinoline wings would sink me into my very own plump, supple cloud glistening with sticky sugar drops and lulling me with the sweet smell of vanilla and I would be ferried through a sea of stars on fairy guided wing into my bed and dream...
about another day like today.
I would take over the world. On second thought, I really don't want much of the world. I have no need, nor desire for it's multiple issues that seem to reproduce like Ferrel cats. The thousands of years worth of baggage and complications pose a significant deterrent to me. But on a day like today I believe that I could conquer this damaged place- if I so chose. I would just take over the most desirable parts- Of course I would be queen...but the figure head kind. The one that gets her way all the time and is adorned with robes crafted by the most skilled hands and wears timeless jewels so naturally they would be as my own skin. I would have no real responsibility- other than to make people feel better about their lives, smile-wave and kiss babies.
On a day like today...
I would dive into a blue topaz ocean curled comfortably beside the pearlized sand-asparkle with iridescent vastness. There would be just the right amount of frothy waves -so I would take up surfing in a matter of moments-dancing over the surface of the water- exhilarated with the perfect blend of ecstasy and adrenaline...Without so much as a fear of sharks. The sharks would leave me be -because I would be embodying THAT much ferocity. Even though I am teasing them with my tastiness, sharks don't engage in battles that don't promise certain victory.
When I get tired I would bathe myself in nothing but sun- the kind that emblazoned the Incan empire like a celestial kingdom. Its' majestic rays would dry every inch of my flesh with its' delightfully fiery kiss . I would bask there on the deck of a white yacht that doesn't belong to me until the precise moment when my skin was sufficiently bronzed...and the scent of coconut was oozing from my every pore. I would then dip back through the cool diamond clear surface of the water and channeling my inner mermaid, would rendezvous with the myriad members of ocean life I would encounter there. In and out of currents we would glide, stopping briefly to explore pirate ships buried miles below the surface and mingling around the edges of uninhabited islands.
I would then swim effortlessly back to the unblemished beach. Dress in my island cotton sundress and winged sandals borrowed from Hermes (Messenger of the gods)and take flght.
On a day like today...
I would spend years living in all the most fascinating locations-but consuming just hours of reality time...Exotic beaches, tranquil castles, untamed jungles, exuberant cities...I would meet brilliant people with colorful lives and gulp every drop of what they held to my thirsty lips. I would fill on the tempting taste of their endeavors, escapes, achievements, conquests, passions, journeys, wars, escapades, treasures, mysteries...philosophies and religions...I would wander home drunk from my experience-utterly satisfied.
On a day like today
I would shimmer with the alabaster cold ones and we would light the day with our incandescent glory. Together like crimson tainted angels we would race with packs of wild wolves in the velvety blanket of night and howl with abandon at whatever aroused our instincts. -And we would scuffle and soar, waltz and hunt. I would be utterly invincible.(Thanks to Miss Meyer for my vampire obsession)...
Weary from this display of power-
On a day like today I would summon my personal unicorn who on powerful silver-white crinoline wings would sink me into my very own plump, supple cloud glistening with sticky sugar drops and lulling me with the sweet smell of vanilla and I would be ferried through a sea of stars on fairy guided wing into my bed and dream...
about another day like today.
March 5, 2009
The Ppuuurrrrr that Drives the Kitten
"The tail that wags the dog". A well known expression...a movie title even. We have all witnessed the reality of it-in business, in relationships, in life. Generally this imbalance (or ANY imbalance) is viewed as detrimental and often it is. Living it though, breathing it- defining it. This is something else completely. Not healthy to view your state of being as diseased. Hahaha-I would say it is more nature and instinct. I am not dismissing free will, not in the least-I am merely pointing out that when wrought with sensory and emotional sensitivity-self control and judgement occasionally are shoved into the backseat and told to shut up. Now!
Just to clarify, Wiktionary defines "the tail wagging the dog" as:
The reversal of a normal control-reaction relationship. Often used in reference to relationships of authority and subjugation. Normally a dog wags its tail, not the other way around. To have misplaced priorities, with the less important part controlling the main thing.
To start at the beginning...Your welcome, this will be much clearer than starting mid process -where I often like to begin. I firmly believe that woman-kind are much more feline, than canine in nature. Not an original notion, but again-cliches become such for a reason. A few basic characteristics qualify females as catlike. With the exception of tripping over our stilettos from time to time, we tend to be more graceful than lumbering. We also love with discretion and for those of us who are doing it right-we lounge just inside the bounds of blue ember hot and hypothermia cold. For a comparison of puppy love and kitty love I offer the following analogy: Exhibit A:
When dragging yourself through the front door after a tiresome day, your dog will rise without delay from his spot in the sun and saunter up, tail wagging gratefully and lick your face. He proceeds to grab your paper and lay his head in your lap before sacrificing his entire body on (not at) your feet where he will remain whether or not you reciprocate his attentions. On the other paw, your cat gazes sideways imperceptibly toward the door and continues preening at a calculated pace. She observes and assesses. Then when she is certain that she has your full attention, she stretches languidly and nonchalantly glides across the room. She acknowledges your presence by brushing her body slowly against your leg. If you do not reach down and stroke her, she struts away as if the whole ugly thing never happened. She will however, hold a grudge against you for this act of neglect and you will have to earn your way back into her good graces. Sound familiar?
Dogs make no qualms about their devotion. For this, I am quite certain is why they have earned their position as "Man's Best Friend" -they are adorably low maintenance and free if not reckless with their affections. They are sweetly simple. Cats although likely loyal, require daily attention in exchange for their affections-tit for tat, give and take. Literally each sunrise brings with it a new beginning-a gift to be opened-according to her feline timing. They keep their dedication to you on the down low and keep the relationship captivatingly subtle. A cat will allow herself to be held, even relish it-but she has to choose. When, where, how... A puppy, yours for life-no question...a cat(though likely not going anywhere as long as her needs are met) makes you wonder if she might exchange her life with you for a better one. Dogs and cats do share the excitability factor. There is a range of two definitive emotions in both...bliss and fury...these extremes are just manifested in different ways. I could go on, but I am straying from the point at hand...paw.
So I am FINALLY prepared to spin the tail wagging the dog, rather than the dog wagging the tail. In my felininity (new word- do you like it? Hang on, more where that came from)it is the purr, or rather the motivation for the purr that drives this Kitten. I am fully, achingly aware that as an allegedly mature woman...the kitten should have complete control of her purr. If I am honest (which I strive to be- there are definitely instances where I should be a smidge less honest), my purr is a lose canon. When and where and how my purr will break free is a often a mystery-even to me. This is a bit of a confession, which secretly I have always wanted to do- confess, that is. To unload all my spiritual and emotional secrets on some wise, darkened Listener who is forbidden to disclose a single tid-bit to another soul-ever. Very enticing-probably where the whole Thorn Birds mystique/attraction derived, Scarlet Letter too- although that didn't end so well.
Back to the point, I am a reticent slave to my impulses...I am able to escape my bonds occasionally-when my wardens are preoccupied, but my purr remains the underlying and ultimate goal of my every endeavor- conscious or unconscious. Overall, I am like an infant when it comes to my resistance,desires and passions. Thankfully I am much more cat-like in my tactics. This disclosure is not a boast, but an admission. It seems to be so much healthier, simper and zen to exist in a dependable, predictable balance...to be more dog like. As it is, I control my uncontrolability by avoiding certain places, people and things because it is easier than controlling my mouth, my actions, my thoughts...well you get the point. In short, I am really not a grown up at all...but a kitten...meow...
This unfortunate condition of mine is a fork in the road of reasonable existence. I have come to blame my senses (or in keeping with the cat metaphor-my instincts)for being forever frozen at an exceedingly heightened state. With one exception. I was born with a condition (hahaha not so fast, bet you were thinking "that explains a lot"). A condition that allows me to only see color and shrouded shape through one eye. Deep down I have always blamed this physical weakness for my mental, emotional and spiritual short sightedness. Makes sense if you are me. That's right, don't even try...
In compensation for my lack of foresight and literal sight...my ears pick up the slightest sound, hearing the hesitance, frustration or anticipation in something as basic as a breath. My fingers take in every texture, sensing exhilaration and resistance with a mere stroke...my favorite trick of all though, kneading my claws. Tongue tasting and exploring flavors ranging from delectable to bitter...Nose- inhaling the most subtle musk and faintest floral. All feeding my soul and causing the coordinating reaction in my body-twitching my tail and igniting my purr. It follows unfortunately, that my sensory system picks up the slightest trace of unpleansantry. Each sense has a penetrating, seemingly unreignable affect on me. My emotions and actions taking cues from my surroundings and are often set astray by changes in the climate. So this heightened sensual awareness- makes me more instinctive, more intuitive, causes me to gravitate eternally toward the things that indulge my senses and in so doing- soothe my soul. For those that do soothe my soul there are no limits, hence the purr factor. When multiple senses drink in too much, or receive too little input, I become unpredictable. Well...like a cat.
So the senses rule the purr...but the heart-the heart, rules the senses. Like a protective big sister, she relentlessly bullies her way into every situation. Imagine having a Chow, Pit-Bull mix for a Seeing Eye Dog- She has taken it upon herself to ...compensate for my lack of vision...often I see things through the eyes of my emotions rather than for what they are in reality because she has usurped power over my mind. She plays the role of the single eye the Graeae hags (the senses-and btw there are more than five, who knew?) of mythology share- her visions dictate my future actions and reactions. It is she that keeps my judgement pinned in the backseat, afraid to speak.
Felines indulge in bliss and fight discomfort with a vengeance...aka cat-fight. In the same way, Violators of my senses and spirit (and more so, of those that I hold dear) will be clawed and bitten in my fight to free myself (or them) from the factors of life that offend the system. You should hear me hiss. It is very impressive.
In short...I am a kitten hunting for the sensual experiences that make me purr... and using my nine lives to fight the villainous obstacles that threaten the ebb and flow of this existence. Like a cat, it is innate and instinctive-nature. Not what I have chosen, but who I am.
What this looks like is a not so subtly chaotic...A blur of shine and sparkle, bold colors in brilliant shades of Vincent proportions. Tainted on the edges with a fragrance that tickles my nostrils ranging from sultry sweet vanilla to fresh freesia, midnight pomegranate to summer lilac...mmmmmm and coconut! Tongue searching out the extreme flavors, in salt and spice and sugary sweet... The touch of luxurious textures...smoothe-granite...feathery light. Increasing and decreasing pressures-in the tempting tango of the tender tickle and the shiver evoking grasp. Heart longing for the comfort of a favorite blanket, the memories recaptured by a treasured trinket, the tears evoked by a beloved song, the purr brought forth by the tempered touch or those perfect words-delivered in the melodic tone at that one moment- filling my ears...mixed with a bottle of passion infused with the essence of emotion and a dash of thoughtfulness, perspective, introspectiveness and wisdom to taste. When baked in intense heat or frozen in frigid temperatures- the result is indubitably feline.
Hmmm...and there it is.
Oh well, at least I will always land on my feet...so I have that going for me, which is good...
Not hopeless or helpless...not justifiable or defensible...like everything, it has it's benefits and detriments...I have no choice but to embrace my inner kitty and make her purr whenever her requests are reasonable...Although I may not be the best judge of reason...he is still being held hostage by my tyrant of a heart. I am however an expert on instinct and intuition.
Here kitty kitty...
Just to clarify, Wiktionary defines "the tail wagging the dog" as:
The reversal of a normal control-reaction relationship. Often used in reference to relationships of authority and subjugation. Normally a dog wags its tail, not the other way around. To have misplaced priorities, with the less important part controlling the main thing.
To start at the beginning...Your welcome, this will be much clearer than starting mid process -where I often like to begin. I firmly believe that woman-kind are much more feline, than canine in nature. Not an original notion, but again-cliches become such for a reason. A few basic characteristics qualify females as catlike. With the exception of tripping over our stilettos from time to time, we tend to be more graceful than lumbering. We also love with discretion and for those of us who are doing it right-we lounge just inside the bounds of blue ember hot and hypothermia cold. For a comparison of puppy love and kitty love I offer the following analogy: Exhibit A:
When dragging yourself through the front door after a tiresome day, your dog will rise without delay from his spot in the sun and saunter up, tail wagging gratefully and lick your face. He proceeds to grab your paper and lay his head in your lap before sacrificing his entire body on (not at) your feet where he will remain whether or not you reciprocate his attentions. On the other paw, your cat gazes sideways imperceptibly toward the door and continues preening at a calculated pace. She observes and assesses. Then when she is certain that she has your full attention, she stretches languidly and nonchalantly glides across the room. She acknowledges your presence by brushing her body slowly against your leg. If you do not reach down and stroke her, she struts away as if the whole ugly thing never happened. She will however, hold a grudge against you for this act of neglect and you will have to earn your way back into her good graces. Sound familiar?
Dogs make no qualms about their devotion. For this, I am quite certain is why they have earned their position as "Man's Best Friend" -they are adorably low maintenance and free if not reckless with their affections. They are sweetly simple. Cats although likely loyal, require daily attention in exchange for their affections-tit for tat, give and take. Literally each sunrise brings with it a new beginning-a gift to be opened-according to her feline timing. They keep their dedication to you on the down low and keep the relationship captivatingly subtle. A cat will allow herself to be held, even relish it-but she has to choose. When, where, how... A puppy, yours for life-no question...a cat(though likely not going anywhere as long as her needs are met) makes you wonder if she might exchange her life with you for a better one. Dogs and cats do share the excitability factor. There is a range of two definitive emotions in both...bliss and fury...these extremes are just manifested in different ways. I could go on, but I am straying from the point at hand...paw.
So I am FINALLY prepared to spin the tail wagging the dog, rather than the dog wagging the tail. In my felininity (new word- do you like it? Hang on, more where that came from)it is the purr, or rather the motivation for the purr that drives this Kitten. I am fully, achingly aware that as an allegedly mature woman...the kitten should have complete control of her purr. If I am honest (which I strive to be- there are definitely instances where I should be a smidge less honest), my purr is a lose canon. When and where and how my purr will break free is a often a mystery-even to me. This is a bit of a confession, which secretly I have always wanted to do- confess, that is. To unload all my spiritual and emotional secrets on some wise, darkened Listener who is forbidden to disclose a single tid-bit to another soul-ever. Very enticing-probably where the whole Thorn Birds mystique/attraction derived, Scarlet Letter too- although that didn't end so well.
Back to the point, I am a reticent slave to my impulses...I am able to escape my bonds occasionally-when my wardens are preoccupied, but my purr remains the underlying and ultimate goal of my every endeavor- conscious or unconscious. Overall, I am like an infant when it comes to my resistance,desires and passions. Thankfully I am much more cat-like in my tactics. This disclosure is not a boast, but an admission. It seems to be so much healthier, simper and zen to exist in a dependable, predictable balance...to be more dog like. As it is, I control my uncontrolability by avoiding certain places, people and things because it is easier than controlling my mouth, my actions, my thoughts...well you get the point. In short, I am really not a grown up at all...but a kitten...meow...
This unfortunate condition of mine is a fork in the road of reasonable existence. I have come to blame my senses (or in keeping with the cat metaphor-my instincts)for being forever frozen at an exceedingly heightened state. With one exception. I was born with a condition (hahaha not so fast, bet you were thinking "that explains a lot"). A condition that allows me to only see color and shrouded shape through one eye. Deep down I have always blamed this physical weakness for my mental, emotional and spiritual short sightedness. Makes sense if you are me. That's right, don't even try...
In compensation for my lack of foresight and literal sight...my ears pick up the slightest sound, hearing the hesitance, frustration or anticipation in something as basic as a breath. My fingers take in every texture, sensing exhilaration and resistance with a mere stroke...my favorite trick of all though, kneading my claws. Tongue tasting and exploring flavors ranging from delectable to bitter...Nose- inhaling the most subtle musk and faintest floral. All feeding my soul and causing the coordinating reaction in my body-twitching my tail and igniting my purr. It follows unfortunately, that my sensory system picks up the slightest trace of unpleansantry. Each sense has a penetrating, seemingly unreignable affect on me. My emotions and actions taking cues from my surroundings and are often set astray by changes in the climate. So this heightened sensual awareness- makes me more instinctive, more intuitive, causes me to gravitate eternally toward the things that indulge my senses and in so doing- soothe my soul. For those that do soothe my soul there are no limits, hence the purr factor. When multiple senses drink in too much, or receive too little input, I become unpredictable. Well...like a cat.
So the senses rule the purr...but the heart-the heart, rules the senses. Like a protective big sister, she relentlessly bullies her way into every situation. Imagine having a Chow, Pit-Bull mix for a Seeing Eye Dog- She has taken it upon herself to ...compensate for my lack of vision...often I see things through the eyes of my emotions rather than for what they are in reality because she has usurped power over my mind. She plays the role of the single eye the Graeae hags (the senses-and btw there are more than five, who knew?) of mythology share- her visions dictate my future actions and reactions. It is she that keeps my judgement pinned in the backseat, afraid to speak.
Felines indulge in bliss and fight discomfort with a vengeance...aka cat-fight. In the same way, Violators of my senses and spirit (and more so, of those that I hold dear) will be clawed and bitten in my fight to free myself (or them) from the factors of life that offend the system. You should hear me hiss. It is very impressive.
In short...I am a kitten hunting for the sensual experiences that make me purr... and using my nine lives to fight the villainous obstacles that threaten the ebb and flow of this existence. Like a cat, it is innate and instinctive-nature. Not what I have chosen, but who I am.
What this looks like is a not so subtly chaotic...A blur of shine and sparkle, bold colors in brilliant shades of Vincent proportions. Tainted on the edges with a fragrance that tickles my nostrils ranging from sultry sweet vanilla to fresh freesia, midnight pomegranate to summer lilac...mmmmmm and coconut! Tongue searching out the extreme flavors, in salt and spice and sugary sweet... The touch of luxurious textures...smoothe-granite...feathery light. Increasing and decreasing pressures-in the tempting tango of the tender tickle and the shiver evoking grasp. Heart longing for the comfort of a favorite blanket, the memories recaptured by a treasured trinket, the tears evoked by a beloved song, the purr brought forth by the tempered touch or those perfect words-delivered in the melodic tone at that one moment- filling my ears...mixed with a bottle of passion infused with the essence of emotion and a dash of thoughtfulness, perspective, introspectiveness and wisdom to taste. When baked in intense heat or frozen in frigid temperatures- the result is indubitably feline.
Hmmm...and there it is.
Oh well, at least I will always land on my feet...so I have that going for me, which is good...
Not hopeless or helpless...not justifiable or defensible...like everything, it has it's benefits and detriments...I have no choice but to embrace my inner kitty and make her purr whenever her requests are reasonable...Although I may not be the best judge of reason...he is still being held hostage by my tyrant of a heart. I am however an expert on instinct and intuition.
Here kitty kitty...
March 3, 2009
Neighbors in Barbie's Malibu Mansion
As an inhabitant of a typical American suburban neighborhood, I am a member of a standard American family. Husband, wife, two kids, a puggle and three betas. An atomic family...right? I have not taken Economics in at least a decade, so my terminology may be antiquated. Something about the term atomic reminds me of that movie Blast From the Past where Brendon Frasier and his family live in their basement/bomb shelter...starts in the fifties and somehow they are preserved in time and exit the capsule/shelter forty years or so later to a completely unrecognizable current day America.. Don't worry, you didn't miss anything. Anyway, I live the stereotypical Warhol twist on Rockwell's interpretation of the American ideal.
While I consider myself to be a friendly neighbor: I have house sat, watered plants, fed cats, had neighborhood children over for play dates...I even participated in "boo-ing" my neighbors last Halloween. Although it was not my idea, I try to be a good sport. Sorry though, I don't do casseroles or cookies. If I am going to play out domestic goddess for a day, my family own should be the the beneficiaries. Anyway, different from the Reid, Cleaver, Cunningham days of yore, being a good neighbor (in my mind at least) means offering assistance when it looks like your neighbor is in need and minding your own business when they don't. A bit of truth to the whole Robert Frost's "Good Fences Make Good Neighbors" thing. The redundant existence of suburban life however, often leaves little for an active imagination to entertain itself.For this reason, on particularly dull days I imagine that we are all neighbors in Barbie's Malibu mansion...you know, the big pink one with the violet deck and fuchsia swimming pool complete with floral decal adorned water slide. Sort of like Melrose Place but everything is done in shades of pink...blush and bashful, petal...the possibilities are endless. Oh...right! And everything is plastic...
Let me just say that I know the names of about eight people that live on our street, another sign of the times. I actually think it is kind of a sad state. Four of the eight neighbors I know, live in the same house. The rest...at least the ones that are within ten years of my own age...I have named after Barbies...or Ken dolls as the case may be. Allow me take you on a virtual tour...please take a ride with me in my hot pink convertible and don't forget to buckle up, I have stickers for headlights, not at all sure that meets safety guidelines.
One door down you will see Active Sport Ken...Active Sport Ken participates in every recreational activity known to Ken kind. He runs, bikes, roller blades, plays in line hockey...and although I don't know this for a fact, I am sure he swims, hikes and plays racquetball. He is not a Professional Trainer, so I imagine his job must be extremely flexible to allow for all of his athletic endeavors. IF I had to guess, Active Sport Ken has probably completed a dozen triathlons and taken first place in three. Active Sport Ken had an Active Sport Barbie. She drove a galaxy bowling ball blue convertible and had a bob. She moved out of the Barbie mansion to work in Chicago and now he has replaced her with Active Sport Skipper. They run together. Very um...racy? A.S.K. seems lovely, he once used his bionic speed to catch our runaway dog. He uses his powers for good.
If you will turn your attention across the hall, I will introduce you to Work Out Barbie. She keeps to herself for the most part. Of course we always do the smile and wave, anything else would be un-Barbie-like. However, due to our limited social interaction, I struggle every time I see her because although she has told me her actual name at least three times in the last year,it always escapes me...So I have to secretly get her to reveal it every time the uncomfortable situation presents itself. This is getting more challenging to do discreetly. Work Out Barbie is single, at least I think she is now. She dated a goofy looking guy that wore jean shorts and ankle socks, but I haven't seen him around in awhile. He disappeared right around the same time as Active Sport Barbie. Thought Active Sport Ken and Work out Barbie might hookup. But sadly, no....that would have been so deliciously Desperate Housewives. She does however, mow the lawn all by herself which I find very impressive because she is about five-foot-nothing. That-and as the youngest of three girls, I have never mowed a lawn in my life. Let me add that my college aged boy cousins love ogling Work Out Barbie mowing when they come to visit in the summer because they can watch her work from the comfort of our couch. I don't think she is an actual aerobic instructor, but she looks like one, minus the wristbands,leotard and leg warmers....I wish she would wear that perfect wardrobe for the Barbie Dream House.
Follow me if you will, up the street um...stairs. Here we will meet a tall, tan, rugged couple. I like to call them Outdoor Barbie and Ken, or perhaps Field and Stream Barbie and Ken?...Track and Trail? Anyway they have two little outdoor tykes in their brood, complete with toddler sized Timberlands and quilted sub zero vests. Outdoor Barbie and Ken are not very creatively named. They camp and kayak and ride the bikes with the wheeled, covered ride alongs for the little ones. If it can legally be done outside, I am pretty sure they do it. They come complete with a moss green Subaru Outback...so they can blend perfectly into their rugged surroundings. Field and Stream Barbie is also the street organizer/camp counselor. She is always coming up with some sort of scavenger hunt type activity or another for the entire street to join in. Field and Stream/Outdoor Barbie and Ken don't talk much...but they seem very pleasant. I think their quiet nature has likely developed because conversation is difficult over the roar of the rushing rivers and it is best to keep quiet when canoodling with ravenous bears. Also don't want to frighten the fish away.
That is the last stop on our tour. I hope you enjoyed Barbie Mansion Tours and enjoyed meeting the tenants. Please exit to the right side of the vehicle.Yadda, yadda, yadda...
Again, with the good fences thing. I am not at all voyeuristic. I am however observant and though I know nothing of their actual lives, (nor do I care to)...it can occasionally be intriguing to use my superficial observations to aptly name the neighbors after Mattel toys. Try it sometime. You might like it. In the meantime pool party anyone?
While I consider myself to be a friendly neighbor: I have house sat, watered plants, fed cats, had neighborhood children over for play dates...I even participated in "boo-ing" my neighbors last Halloween. Although it was not my idea, I try to be a good sport. Sorry though, I don't do casseroles or cookies. If I am going to play out domestic goddess for a day, my family own should be the the beneficiaries. Anyway, different from the Reid, Cleaver, Cunningham days of yore, being a good neighbor (in my mind at least) means offering assistance when it looks like your neighbor is in need and minding your own business when they don't. A bit of truth to the whole Robert Frost's "Good Fences Make Good Neighbors" thing. The redundant existence of suburban life however, often leaves little for an active imagination to entertain itself.For this reason, on particularly dull days I imagine that we are all neighbors in Barbie's Malibu mansion...you know, the big pink one with the violet deck and fuchsia swimming pool complete with floral decal adorned water slide. Sort of like Melrose Place but everything is done in shades of pink...blush and bashful, petal...the possibilities are endless. Oh...right! And everything is plastic...
Let me just say that I know the names of about eight people that live on our street, another sign of the times. I actually think it is kind of a sad state. Four of the eight neighbors I know, live in the same house. The rest...at least the ones that are within ten years of my own age...I have named after Barbies...or Ken dolls as the case may be. Allow me take you on a virtual tour...please take a ride with me in my hot pink convertible and don't forget to buckle up, I have stickers for headlights, not at all sure that meets safety guidelines.
One door down you will see Active Sport Ken...Active Sport Ken participates in every recreational activity known to Ken kind. He runs, bikes, roller blades, plays in line hockey...and although I don't know this for a fact, I am sure he swims, hikes and plays racquetball. He is not a Professional Trainer, so I imagine his job must be extremely flexible to allow for all of his athletic endeavors. IF I had to guess, Active Sport Ken has probably completed a dozen triathlons and taken first place in three. Active Sport Ken had an Active Sport Barbie. She drove a galaxy bowling ball blue convertible and had a bob. She moved out of the Barbie mansion to work in Chicago and now he has replaced her with Active Sport Skipper. They run together. Very um...racy? A.S.K. seems lovely, he once used his bionic speed to catch our runaway dog. He uses his powers for good.
If you will turn your attention across the hall, I will introduce you to Work Out Barbie. She keeps to herself for the most part. Of course we always do the smile and wave, anything else would be un-Barbie-like. However, due to our limited social interaction, I struggle every time I see her because although she has told me her actual name at least three times in the last year,it always escapes me...So I have to secretly get her to reveal it every time the uncomfortable situation presents itself. This is getting more challenging to do discreetly. Work Out Barbie is single, at least I think she is now. She dated a goofy looking guy that wore jean shorts and ankle socks, but I haven't seen him around in awhile. He disappeared right around the same time as Active Sport Barbie. Thought Active Sport Ken and Work out Barbie might hookup. But sadly, no....that would have been so deliciously Desperate Housewives. She does however, mow the lawn all by herself which I find very impressive because she is about five-foot-nothing. That-and as the youngest of three girls, I have never mowed a lawn in my life. Let me add that my college aged boy cousins love ogling Work Out Barbie mowing when they come to visit in the summer because they can watch her work from the comfort of our couch. I don't think she is an actual aerobic instructor, but she looks like one, minus the wristbands,leotard and leg warmers....I wish she would wear that perfect wardrobe for the Barbie Dream House.
Follow me if you will, up the street um...stairs. Here we will meet a tall, tan, rugged couple. I like to call them Outdoor Barbie and Ken, or perhaps Field and Stream Barbie and Ken?...Track and Trail? Anyway they have two little outdoor tykes in their brood, complete with toddler sized Timberlands and quilted sub zero vests. Outdoor Barbie and Ken are not very creatively named. They camp and kayak and ride the bikes with the wheeled, covered ride alongs for the little ones. If it can legally be done outside, I am pretty sure they do it. They come complete with a moss green Subaru Outback...so they can blend perfectly into their rugged surroundings. Field and Stream Barbie is also the street organizer/camp counselor. She is always coming up with some sort of scavenger hunt type activity or another for the entire street to join in. Field and Stream/Outdoor Barbie and Ken don't talk much...but they seem very pleasant. I think their quiet nature has likely developed because conversation is difficult over the roar of the rushing rivers and it is best to keep quiet when canoodling with ravenous bears. Also don't want to frighten the fish away.
That is the last stop on our tour. I hope you enjoyed Barbie Mansion Tours and enjoyed meeting the tenants. Please exit to the right side of the vehicle.Yadda, yadda, yadda...
Again, with the good fences thing. I am not at all voyeuristic. I am however observant and though I know nothing of their actual lives, (nor do I care to)...it can occasionally be intriguing to use my superficial observations to aptly name the neighbors after Mattel toys. Try it sometime. You might like it. In the meantime pool party anyone?
March 1, 2009
Purging with Tim Burton
So in an effort to lighten the mood...I broadened my horizons a bit today. I did a little Spring purging...that is the step (at least at my house) that must proceed the Spring Cleaning. You can't clean what you can't get to.... I know this is utterly undomesticated- almost un-womanly certainly not motherly of me- but although I like things to be clean. The act of cleaning brings me not a single ounce of joy. In fact, I sort of abhor it. This doesn't mean that I never do it. I tidy a lot...I really don't have a choice if I don't desire to be buried in Buzz Light-years,or meet an untimely death by tripping over My Little Ponies.
Running the vacuum, doing the dishes, washing clothes...all fall under the list of things that must be endured...But folding, putting away, scrubbing floors and cleaning bathrooms are torturous tasks that I usually wait until the last possible second and then knock it all out at once...sort of like tearing off a disgustingly rancid band-aid- still stings though. First, as I mentioned comes the purging...still working on that. I started to make stride in this area when we decided to take the Munchkins to see Coraline...so...I pushed the contractor bag overflowing with laundry aside...and with it the answer to the question, "How can it be that I have NOTHING to wear?"
Anyway, Coraline is an animated movie directed by Tim Burton. If you have not had the pleasure of seeing Edward Scissorhands or Nightmare Before Christmas, Corpse Bride,or James and the Giant Peach...you should definitely check them out. Unless you have an intolerance for the dark, creative genius variety of life. Then you should stay away...could give you a rash, or make your throat close up...I can't handle that kind of responsibility. Anyway, from what I understand-Coraline was a comic style book that was adapted to screenplay. About a little girl whose parents write botany magazines, I think. Anyway they move into this old house that is split into apartments with all sorts of eccentric characters occupying each one. Coraline feels alone and her busy parents don't have a lot of time for her, so when she receives a doll that looks like her from her neighbor Wyborn-she pretends to be annoyed while dragging it with her from room to room in her quest for entertainment. While on one of her in house adventures, Coraline finds a small door in the living room that is bricked up. The night that the doll arrives, Coraline dreams that she is lead my mice through the door into an alternate universe...where her house is warm and captivating and her parents adorably charming,fascinating and attentive...I found it a little eerie that the "other mother" resembles me quite a bit...from her exaggerated backside, to her choppy dark hair and red lips...eerie because she turns out to be all evil.
Anyway, thoroughly enjoyed it and as a result, did not one more bit of Spring Purging after I returned...Tomorrow perhaps...or atleast sometime before spring...maybe?
Running the vacuum, doing the dishes, washing clothes...all fall under the list of things that must be endured...But folding, putting away, scrubbing floors and cleaning bathrooms are torturous tasks that I usually wait until the last possible second and then knock it all out at once...sort of like tearing off a disgustingly rancid band-aid- still stings though. First, as I mentioned comes the purging...still working on that. I started to make stride in this area when we decided to take the Munchkins to see Coraline...so...I pushed the contractor bag overflowing with laundry aside...and with it the answer to the question, "How can it be that I have NOTHING to wear?"
Anyway, Coraline is an animated movie directed by Tim Burton. If you have not had the pleasure of seeing Edward Scissorhands or Nightmare Before Christmas, Corpse Bride,or James and the Giant Peach...you should definitely check them out. Unless you have an intolerance for the dark, creative genius variety of life. Then you should stay away...could give you a rash, or make your throat close up...I can't handle that kind of responsibility. Anyway, from what I understand-Coraline was a comic style book that was adapted to screenplay. About a little girl whose parents write botany magazines, I think. Anyway they move into this old house that is split into apartments with all sorts of eccentric characters occupying each one. Coraline feels alone and her busy parents don't have a lot of time for her, so when she receives a doll that looks like her from her neighbor Wyborn-she pretends to be annoyed while dragging it with her from room to room in her quest for entertainment. While on one of her in house adventures, Coraline finds a small door in the living room that is bricked up. The night that the doll arrives, Coraline dreams that she is lead my mice through the door into an alternate universe...where her house is warm and captivating and her parents adorably charming,fascinating and attentive...I found it a little eerie that the "other mother" resembles me quite a bit...from her exaggerated backside, to her choppy dark hair and red lips...eerie because she turns out to be all evil.
Anyway, thoroughly enjoyed it and as a result, did not one more bit of Spring Purging after I returned...Tomorrow perhaps...or atleast sometime before spring...maybe?
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