Pi

I finally finished my final paper on the film Pi incorporating Plato, Sedgwick, and Freud. It was a stretch at times, but not really. Maybe it was just my organizational skills, which are rather lazy lately. Anyway, as always, I found new parts to pick apart. The sun behind the trees especially. I never noticed that in the last scene, the leaves are very much gray instead of black. And that nature prevails in so many other ways - the ants! And that some things are too bright for us to see and better left there in our darkness. And sometimes I think finding meaning in Pi is         i n f i n i t e.

The Forgotten

I saw Hiroshima Mon Amour. It was an "artsy" French black and white 1959 film about the idea of forgetting... or at least that's what I understood. The director fuses the storytelling narrative and techniques used in documentaries against the backdrop of the reconstruction of Hiroshima - well after the bombing. History and love are sort of made to parallel each other. It was strange, a Japanese man and a French woman making love, but trying to forget. Recognizing they will forget. Meaning their meeting is more than just a secret affair. Each has caught a glimpse of the other's history and believes they have seen. Neither allows the other to really see. Their reflections taking on new meaning. I'm not sure why I'm even writing about this. Towards the end, the French woman, an actress, becomes this symbol of what has been forgotten... maybe along with what happened to Hiroshima. The Japanese man, an architect, names her Nevers (in France) after the rural place where she was born, but hadn't returned to. The film made me think of December and how most people reflect during this time. Some people unknowingly are choosing what to forget. What should be forgotten. So they breathe new life into it. Or never see it again.

Red Hook

I went to Red Hook.       Change is what kept me. I've always been afraid of it. Something so arbitrary, yet essential. Inevitable really. It is more like reluctance than fear. Waiting by a window for it. That anticipation. The smell of winter. The budding bloom of color in Spring. I look at my dying plants, because there is never quite enough light, and the thought of ending it, possibly changing the landscape makes me uneasy. Maybe it’s the letting go more than the change.        I went to Red Hook.         Thoughts of change. A city of change. Constant. Moving around like yellow cabs or sleepwalking city dwellers. Stop and go. Stop. Go. Thank G*d I’m here and not there. That’s too much change, too fast. I let go all the time. Honest, I do. Getting used to that was never easy. Not with all the dried flowers in my room. And even that kind of change is palatable. The easing into. Slow moving change. Candle wax and sandy scrolls and ever-changing patterns in the sky.        I went to Red Hook.        I hated not knowing. So I went. Maybe they’ve changed? And what if I haven’t? I’m still here while they rotate right along with everything else. Or what if I’ve changed? And my change is just plain different. So different that going no longer matters and you end up with nothing but letting go.        I made it to Red Hook.        I realized it didn’t matter. I have changed, but was willing to rub up against theirs. Fearless. Letting go, but also taking in. Just my thoughts that kept me. Too much thinking. Something worse than change. I got there and was hooked. Like the red of a flower still standing up straight. I got there and was hooked.

A Twang To My Chord

I saw Tom Stoppard tonight and listening to him was more
like a perfectly tuned F sharp than a "twang,"
but the remark itself was one of many
wonderfully witty ones.

A Past

Recognizing the past is always a struggle for me. Perhaps because in the present, the past seems to come from a better, more productive place where there is no alone. As if then, I knew less, but cared more. I was watching myself as a child in a home movie my dad insisted upon. In those days, the 70s, my "artistically inclined" uncle studied film. And so there is endless footage of expression and movement from our family and his friends. Not really a home movie. This particular film, myself as a child, was really about my parents on a motorcycle. They were in a gang. Hippies with a sense of responsibility and desire to succeed in the land of opportunity. Success, of course, meaning a home and an education. But my parents were young and still learning. They rode motorcycles and listened to Zeppelin. My uncle intended to capture their lifestyle. The film itself was silent. Sound erroded with time. In this scene, the one I saw, mom and dad kissed me goodbye. I watched from the alleyway as they got on the bike, strapped on helmets, and rode off into the sunset. For that moment, my uncle kept the camera on me. I stood there with an aunt, a year older, and a childhood friend. We waived, but I wasn't smiling. I stopped. They, the two delighted little girls, continued to waive and as the camera focused in, I blocked their arms - I looked down -
For that second, past becoming present.

Darth

Vadar says happy halloween



and enjoy the dark side people.

Boy Discovery

Wow. The boy called. He learned something, I think. I hope. I'm dumbfounded. Great. Now I have to tell him it's over. I mean, um, I'm not interested, but yeah, it was really great meeting...yadda, yadda, yadda.

Boy Disaster

I called the boy. I kept my word. It was pouring out, so I couldn't concentrate because my hands were on the wheel. The boy kept asking questions. He's not really my type, but the attention felt nice. The first thing I said was, "I just wanted to call because I said I would and it was great meeting you and - " Boy talks too much. Turns out he plays bass. I tried again with, "Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that it was nice meeting you and well, I think it's - " Coincidence, we both go to school at night. I began again, "So I think it's best that - " Nope, didn't get it out then either, but I did spell my name out for him. Lets just say my call was a disaster of sorts. Oh yeah, he wants to go on a date. With any luck he learned nothing from my attempt to keep my word and will just completely bail. Ha!

Boy Dilemma

On Friday night, I stopped by a bar in Long Island where my friend's band was playing. I wasn't feeling particularly great about being in public just because I was tired and thought it was noticeable. Who wants to socialize with some tired girl? Once I found my friends in the audience, I woke up a bit. In fact, I actually had a Bass and a Lemon Drop, wo! We watched the Mets get slaughtered on tv, chatted, listened as singer/songwriter, Glenn Geiger and crew, rocked the melodies. Anyway, it was almost time for me to leave when some dudes walked in the bar and came straight toward our group. One of them immediately started asking me questions. What's your name? Do you live around here? Would you like a drink? It was all very smooth and I just smiled demurely. There might of been a little eyelash batting action, but it certainly wasn't a typical reaction from me when approached. Then he asked for my number. I avoided the question. Once I realized that was just silly I said, "I'm much older than you." He's 23, by the way. "No you're not" and "Age is just a state of mind" were his responses. So I said, "Listen, I'm 35." Not even a flinch. He countered that with a, " my last girlfriend was 37." Now, the boy lives out east, works as an electrician, talked like a player, most likely is a player, but the fact that he was unphased, um and easy on the eyes, was refreshing. He asked for my number again. I said, "How about you give me yours?" After some more attempts, he finally caved. He wrote down his number on a napkin and made me promise to call. I did and even said I was too old not to keep my word. Yikes, dumb move. Now it's Sunday. I'm still tired. I have the wrinkled napkin resting on my coffee table. What to do, what to do. Mind you, I have no interest in dating a 23 year old, but I promised one phone call and can't stand when boys flake on girls. It's just so immature. So I ask you, my blogger friends, do I call or just let it lie?

Review: A Trip To Canterbury

Snap Dragon and I, Blue Violet, met in Huntington Village yesterday evening to celebrate our fabulous 25th (plus 10) birthdays. To do so, we decided to journey into Olde England. We were on a quest for her fine cuisine and knew just the place. We walked into The Original Canterbury Ales shivering. Being seated in the coldest corner next to the wooden saloon doors didn't help. It did, however, add to the ambience. We could almost hear the galloping horses, and the carriages, and the jousting, etc...

Now it's important when looking over a menu of this caliber to plan ahead. Snap Dragon and I were well aware of their secret weapon - dessert to die by a sword for. I meant to order light, but Snappy has a big firey belly and I am not one to be outdone. She ordered the Buffalo Canterburger with Canterbury Chili, fries, and a glass of pinot noir, the alcoholic. I love getting tipsy myself and beer seemed appropriate. Unfortunately, I was sniffling. A reprieve was best. I also figured that in the comfort of my own bed, I could "wine taste" without worrying about driving, the alcoholic, too. Anyhoo, I ordered the Young Squireburger with cheddar, nothing better, and the killer fries.

As we perused Canterbury's delights, we admired the Common Market section with such classic dishes as Fish & Chips (I've had this. Yes, it's fresh, greasy, & delicious), Scottish meat pies, Ploughman's Lunch, and Scottish Bridies, which is basically a meat turnover. The Beefeaters Section, for the "snappier" types (who order wine at pubs), included English Brown Stew, Shephard's Pie, Steak & Kidney Pie, Prime Rib, etc.... The House Sandwiches section, usually considered food for pansies, tips it's feathery hat to Mr. Chaucer himself with names like The Prioress and The Pardoner. I've had the Lady Diana (sauteed onions, mushrooms, garlic, on a kaiser roll - heaven) Lastly, but not leastly, were the Canterburgers. We like our meat cheap... or cheapER, anyway, than the Beefeaters. And they don't mess around with hearty meals like the Archbishop's Squireburger, Archbishop's Canterburger, and of course what we ordered, which was jolly good. The meat was meaty and cooked exactly how we wanted. The vegetables and fruit (tomato, hello) were fresh. Oh and the fries were fried in potato slices, as they should be. Sidenote: if you want to go the extra mile, try their sweet potato fries. Yummmm.

After all that eating, we did our best to make room for the ultimate birthday gift. It was totally sinful. We ordered Marianne's Toffee Fudge Brownie and Marianne's Raspberry Fudge Brownie. These desserts are so rich and smooth, you feel like a Queen...or King... or Queenie. Marianne is a real person and makes these treats from scratch. "A worthy woman," as Chaucer would write.

The place is a pub and damn it I'll have the beer next time. The service was excellent and everyone is friendly. In fact, two older gentlemen saw me trembling and one offered his coat. He insisted I wear it around my shoulders. How chivalrous. Some of the windows are stained glass and the rest of Canterbury is all wood. Worth the slightly higher price on the menu.

The Original Canterbury Ales gets 4 out of 4 pints from Snap Dragon and Blue Violet.

At The Movies

I was dreaming about the movies today. The role they play in our lives. How we are drawn in. Why certain stories resonate. And I wanted to be that someone on screen. Finding resolution the way most characters do. To project that feeling you get from a good one - the wishes of never fading to black.

My Friend, the Chip Eating Monster

F Zero

Speaking of weather, yesterday an F zero tornado hit East Massapequa, Long Island. It was predicted, at first, that there was a possibility of one forming in Manhattan, Bergen County, and the Bronx. Then television showed us a funnel cloud on the Doppler Radar or some other fancy machine. It was nearing Queens. You can imagine my delight! The day did go dark and at some point it was thundering rain. Maybe even hail! But then the sun shined as if it had been there all along. So my little storm headed east and spun it's mighty wind and I just waited for more rain and more wind.

Someday...

Fair Weather

I think fair weather friends are much like erratic storms and wonder if I have been like this to anyone. I bet it’s difficult to see clearly since that one lazy eye is covered in a world of agendas. I know I’ve got mine. Still, what's troublesome is that there are too many wrecking what we build and I can’t hold onto something securely with my shoulders up against the walls, so there is nowhere to rest my head.

X

Last night Los Angeles ruled NYC.
One of my favorite punk bands played
their aging little hearts out
and put the city youngin's to shame.
Last night I wanted to be a rockstar...

in the form of Billy Zoom, Exene Cervenka, John Doe, or DJ Bonebreak

Rock n roll!

Eagle Eye

I saw a bald eagle perched on a tree from a reservoir. We were close to Woodstock, but I couldn't tell you exactly what town. She was 2 feet in length and had a 5 foot wingspan is all I really know. Her expression seemed pensive and maybe they just look this way. Facing the water. Head held high. Alive, yet focused. Looking beyond the horizon. Perhaps wondering about a lost love or her nest and lack there of.

Off the Mark

I got a phone call today from my friend, "Mark." It happens every so often and I do welcome the chat. I've known him since I was 8, I think. A long time. We flirted, rode our bikes, played shark, swam in the river, went on camping trips, watched "The Dukes of Hazzard" together every Friday. It was interesting to grow into adulthood & discover that nothing had changed. We were still goofing around like a couple of prepubescent kids. So I never understood why, when we kissed, because that did happen once or twice, he never took it to the next level. I say he because I was willing to try. We enjoyed each other, so I know it might have been wonderful. I wondered why until I got tired and bored and moved on. Yesterday, when "Mark" called, he wanted to revisit this "issue." Why? I'll never know.

Six Degrees

This weekend I saw six very important men in my life. Three of them I love unconditionally, always. Two I loved at one point or another. But because of the way things go for us “sensitive folk” and because people must change, or maybe - more so - I changed, it was bittersweet. The last I fell in love with years ago and for whatever reason, this one resonated. Seeing him as a complete stranger was rather strange. I didn’t expect to feel relieved by my remembering that feeling. I was.

Sol Y Sombra

I lucked out last night. Of course this is a conclusion I'm making after the fact. I did my first performance of the year with the Sol Y Sombra Dance Company in Huntington Village. What made this experience special was being billed (my name) on the program this time. I suppose dancing in 4 numbers instead of the usual 2 had a little something to do with it. I'm not quite sure what to say. My nerves were relentless. We had to be there at 4pm for sound check. That's 4 hours of pacing, applying makeup, pacing, prepping, putting on my poker face, and pacing some more. It was painful. The rain never came, which would have meant cancelling the show. I guess, in some way, Mother Nature knew what I needed. She brought in the sun right when shade would soon follow. I felt ill. Then of course I actually fell. It was during rehearsal for sevillanas - an old traditional flamenco dance from Sevilla that is typically done with a partner & castanets. All the musicians asked me if I was OK. Try "yes, but my ego just jumped over a cliff." Anyway, the worst had passed & it could only get.. sunnier. By curtain time, I had forgotten all about fear & sunnier arrived. Aside from the occassional misteps & flowers flying out of my hair, I made it through unscathed. My family showered me with compliments afterwards. They took it a step further by saying some of their friends, whom I've never met, thought I was the best one. Ego boost? Check! Even if they were biased, it's what I needed. The best part was the salsa piece we did with a little flamenco peppered throughout. I had a chance to showcase everything I ever learned from the salsa queen herself, my mom, since I was like 3 years old.

The whole day I had made up my mind to give up dancing. The stress wasn't worth it. Truth is I really wasn't "the best one," far from it. But I felt alive. And I just can't say no to alive.

Review: Fiona & Damien

Last night I went to go see two very different performances. First, Damien Rice. A straightforward, honest, bare-your-soul type of show. There was a lot of electricity, so he rocked out, sang a lullaby, then rocked out again. An amazing guest vocalist, Lisa, who gave Fiona a run for her money in the sultry & deep tones department, a cellist, a kick ass drummer, and the bassist stood on stage. No backdrop, no cool effects, no sharp threads. I was smitten. Then came my dear Fiona. She's so lost. I kept waiting for paramedics to take her away in a straight-jacket. Then I thought a group of priests would storm in from the Vatican to perform a very special exorcism. She was breathtaking at times. There were moments of pure brilliance. But something happened once she crossed that very strange line. It got awkward. The edge of insanity is usually occupied by geniuses like Bjork or Iggy Pop, but a Ms. Apple? Hmmm... All in all I had a great time. I still love her, found a new love in Damien, and became inspired. That's a damn fine time if I do say so myself.

A Pocket Watch -

Since I was a little girl, I’ve wanted one. I thought enclosing a watch into a little round metal compartment meant controlling time. The idea that time could be kept hidden appealed to me. That it was tangible and vulnerable. That maybe it could be stopped! There was also all this history, or so I imagined. Like maybe a pocket watch belonged to someone very special, someone from centuries ago. I figured the mechanical ones (of course) would never tick endlessly and haunt me when I was typing, rubbing my chin, riding a bike, painting my nails, or any other ordinary activity that might become a reminder of time running out. It would simply sit in my pocket until I was ready. Time waiting on me for a change. Clearly, I didn’t know what pocket watches really were… that they were even more magical.

My father’s side of the family is planning this huge surprise party for my grandfather. He will be 80. Someone in our pretend 10-person committee (only 5 of us are doing all the work) suggested the gift be a wrist watch. I pulled the “head of the committee,” my uncle Nacho, to one side and made my case for the pocket watch. Majority has ruled for it. Finally, I’ll get to see an heirloom in the making for someone who’s been around a long, long time. Ah, yes, someone very special.

Noche Flamenco

Flamenco embodies everything that I am. If you really want to know me, watch a gypsy glide and with one swift move take your breath away. Ok, so maybe I don't have that kind of presence since I am a bit clumsy and bubbly, but I'm tellin' ya I can migrate (figuratively speaking) like there's no tomorrow.

On a more serene note, I sat in Central Park on this very still night and watched "Noche Flamenco" by a small company of musicians and dancers from Spain. I'm completely rejunivated. Tomorrow when I stand with the other girls in class, I'm going to dance with some... class.

IndepenDANCE

My weekend was filled with so much dancing I thought my feet would grow some... feet & walk away refusing to carry the rest of me, so I'd simply collapse. It was either a death wish or some insane obsession to move freely. I danced Thursday evening at my cousin's salsa lesson. I persuaded him to meet friends at a lounge where I danced some more in my pumps and business suit. I danced on Saturday for flamenco class and again at a garden party under the Brooklyn stars. I danced on Monday for salsa and flamenco rehearsal. Later that night I went out again for some goth/new wave/punk/alternative dancing. I can't stop dancing even if today my feet have left the building.

Summertime

Today, the first day of summer, we had a memorial for the president of my company. He died. Some people in the industry spoke. Others played musical pieces they had written just for the occassion. A month has passed since the wake, so it was different than grieving. We were in a dark place - all of us - knowing the sun was beating down hard and heavy like a drum. But - all of us - wanting to risk going outside. Listed on the program was an executive and the widow. She stood there in silence as he began to play the first notes of jazz. Her voice was shaken. At times I thought she wouldn't make it all the way through...

One of these mornings
You're going to rise up singing
Then you'll spread your wings
And you'll take to the sky

Livin' ain't so easy sometimes.

Sex Without Love

Sex Without Love
Sharon Olds (1942- )

How do they do it, the ones who make love
without love? Beautiful as dancers,
gliding over each other like ice-skaters
over the ice, fingers hooked
inside each other's bodies, faces
red as steak, wine, wet as the
children at birth whose mothers are going to
give them away. How do they come to the
come to the come to the God come to the
still waters, and not love
the one who came there with them, light
rising slowly as steam off their joined
skin? These are the true religious,
the purists, the pros, the ones who will not
accept a false Messiah, love the
priest instead of the God. They do not
mistake the lover for their own pleasure,
they are like great runners: they know they are alone
with the road surface, the cold, the wind,
the fit of their shoes, their over-all cardio-
vascular health--just factors, like the partner
in the bed, and not the truth, which is the
single body alone in the universe
against its own best time.

Ain't No Mountain High Enough

I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stay silent for all of June. I’m in love and I want to shout it out from the mountain tops! How would I get up there you ask? With my new love, the Lava Dome. It’s only the coolest, chromoly (steel), purple (almost violet blue), Kona mountain bike ever. It was so much fun test riding it around Sayville. One of the boys at the shop even took me on a mini trail just so I could really feel the weight and choose the best frame size. There was no question that I needed the 14, which is pretty damn small. In fact, if you put some training wheels, a bell, and tassels on the handle bars, I’d look like a 7 year old. No worries though. I plan on making it to the top of a mountain with or without the frills and the training.

I ordered my Lava Dome yesterday and will pick it up next week!

Silent in June

I promised myself that in June I'd revamp my "space" with colors, a picture of happier times, and a song for a project I'm working on. I did it. I met the first part of my goal and so far I've gotten a nice response. I'm not sure if people are just being kind, but it doesn't really matter right now. I'm happy I was able to overcome whatever was keeping me silent.

On a Date

I'm on a date with a man, who I can't for the life of me understand. We are polar opposites, but I agreed to meet him again. Connections are important and I am still hopeful. The problem is I might as well be alone. Here we are. I'm typing this while he reads and I wait... for him to go home.

May Leaves

I feel the tension fading steadily.
And the sadness sets in like a curled
Leaf resting on my cheek. I twirl
It from the stem and pray for trees.
Make them dance for me –
Let it rain leaves.

My Poseidon Adventure

Since the trailer for “Poseidon” (2006) was unleashed, I’ve been having this recurring dream. A giant wave that looks like a sculpture under the moon strikes. I drown in darkness. Oh, and there are sharks surrounding me, too. Then I wake up mistaking my sweat for saltwater, so for a second I’m thinking, “That was no boating accident!” First of all, what the f*ck am I doing doggie paddling in the middle of the ocean? No lifejacket. No flippers. No oxygen tank. No fins. No capsized ship. No icebergs. No floating trunks that I can hop on. Anyway, I haven't had the "wave/shark dream" since I was little. Thanks Richard Dreyfuss (again).

Case of the Missing Tree

I am on a mission. I must recover the trees. They’ve gone missing in my neighborhood. It’s my number one pet peeve…. Yes, I’ve got a long list of them (honestly, I wouldn’t be a New Yorker if it wasn’t long). Trees are being chopped down as if we all lived in some forest. I’ve been given many possible reasons from the NYC Department of Parks and Recreation, Forestry Division. They tell me it could be disease, beetle nesting, obstruction, improper growth, etc… Something tells me they don’t really know. Instead of these cats extracting the root, they chop them at the limb. Most inhumane. I stand in front of a stump on my block sometimes to inspect what’s left. A solid mass of patterns, rings, and memories. The root claws into a patch of dirt and concrete as if it had felt the pain of her execution. Cold bloody murderers! Yet, those very same claws were lifelines once. What’s worse is that the tree has not been replaced, which was supposed to happen in March/April – tree planting season, thereby allowing it to regenerate and all other living things. The Department asked me to call back in August after they've conducted an investigation or as they call it, “a survey.” Hopefully, a new tree will be planted soon. I asked if they could check out 8 other stumps I found around the way, but was told that I can only report one. One tree on the block of a neighborhood in a careless city full of missing trees. There’s something wrong with this system, but I'll find a way around it. I’ll never stop until I make things right, kid. That’s my mission

(light up cigarette, pull fedora down, lift collar up, cross my street, and fade to black).

9 Years

the president of my company died today. he had been battling lukemia for 9 years and came to work like the rest of us. only a select few knew about the illness. i suspect he preferred living a normal life over pity. the vp called everyone into the cafeteria at 4:30pm and made an announcement. it was weird watching the most intimidating man, more so than was the deceased, break. the controller broke and so did the director of human resources. next were the marketing and accounting managers. the web designer and purchasing agent followed. i didn't know our president. in fact, i'm not sure anyone did. he only spoke to a select few. my brief encounters with him were in the hallway and i didn't really exist there. i've been working at this place for 9 years, so it's fair to say he had other, more important, things on his mind.

when i left my company, i walked into rain. just the right amount of rain with the kind of gray skies that bear a hint of the future.

A Day Off

I didn't go to work. Instead, I went to school on a day that the sun, though not visible, tormented. My goal was to start my research paper. There was no shade around so I parked my car under a blinding, flourescent, yellowish-white patch of nothing else. I finished "Passing," by Nella Larsen, then drove off in search of a tree. Once I found it I felt quenched. I sat for a while to watch young students passing by. I wasn't quite ready to make that transformation.

Later, I walked into the cafeteria and blended in. It must have been the Pumas, bookbag, and water bottle. Either way, I knew I was one of the oldest. A 20-something year old passed me in a Misfits t-shirt with a smirk on his face. It reminded me of those days when I thought I knew everything. He went back to his corner where the other gothic/punk rockers wore black. They were probably tormented, too.

Right now I'm in a computer lab. The blinds are closed to keep all the machines from overheating. I wonder when this heat wave will pass, so I can go home.

Weekend Rain

I was angry Friday night. I cried until it actually rained outside. It hasn’t stopped. First drizzle, then plain rain. Afterwards a downpour. Now it’s giant droplets that keep banging sporadically against my air conditioner. Loud as guns. The cars drive by in waves washing away dirty streets. Maybe I can stick my feet out of the window and wait for the coming tide. That could be a relief until Monday's weather.

My Neighbor

My neighbor came over to say hello. Me being the industrious gal that I am I asked him to help me lift up my mattress in order to place a freshly washed bedskirt on the boxspring. It's such a waste of time anyway because I have hardwood floors and the dustballs form in a matter of seconds after I sweep. They manage to cling on to the cotton, so I have to wash the darn thing all over again. But if I don't have a bedskirt, you'll be able to see the boogie-dust monster underneath and he likes his privacy. Now this neighbor of mine tends to drop by unannounced, which is probably not proper etiquette for a gentleman trying to impress a lady. Maybe I'm no lady... I just assume all men try to impress (anything in a [bed]skirt) as best they can, so of course he complied with my request. We are both standing against the wall of the bedroom/living room that is a complete mess thanks to my bright idea of Spring cleaning on NY's first gorgeous weekend. I straighten out the sheet. Then he grabs my arm and kisses me on the cheek. Really he was shooting for my lips...twice! You can imagine the shock. I took a wild guess and asked in between giggles, "I thought you were seeing someone?" Much to my surprise he responded, "I am." What the ^&*%(!? He apologized about 7 times before he left my apartment. Did I give him some kind of signal that says, hey I'd like someone with a girlfriend (of 4 years!) to f*** me tonight?" Jeeez. Maybe he's no gentleman...

D-n-B

If we are all but
dreams
and bones,
then why must
an awakening
break them
both?

Drifting

Lately I find myself drifting from dream state to altered states to reality to reality television to driving long distances to daydreaming to fighting sleep to crunching numbers to falling in love to falling out of love to finding past loves to avoiding the future to sunsets to moon gazing to outer space to my-very-own-space to blogging or just reading what writers won’t say to struggling with words to drifting like a piece of broken wood that was once a sailboat on a windless sea.

V

"Remember, remember, the fifth of November,
The gunpowder treason and plot.
I know of no reason why the gunpowder
treason should ever be forgot." - V

I need to learn how to throw knives.

We’ve Got the Jazzzzzzzz

I think I've got the jazz. Though, I always appreciated its smooth, complex sound; the way it coats a soul with ease and pizzazz and all the blues of spirits so profound, it was far and away. Oh but I'm slowly coming around. I feel connected in this newness as if I had been crooning all along. The players from the past speak to me. So much so, that recently, I was compelled to answer back. I did something wild. I formed a jazz quartet and – we’ve all got it now. The group wants to explore and expand on this art form. They want to be decent and honor the greats. Me? I just want to understand, not only the sound, but what is behind or underneath. The blueprints - to keep getting it for a while.

"We've got the jazz, we've got the jazz, we've got the jazz, we've got the jazz, we've got the jazz, we've got the jazz, we've got the jazz" - A Tribe Called Quest (1995 album A Low End Theory)

A Model Confession

While I'm engrossed in the silly catfights and self-important tirades of a Misssszz Tyra wanna-be-Oprah Banks on a certain model "reality" show, a lot of awkward insecurities settle in between commercials. Why couldn't I have luscious lips or dreamy blue eyes? Why couldn't I have naturally tanned, flawless skin or striking cheekbones? Why couldn't I have long, lean legs or flowing, fluid locks? Why can't I get paid to travel, pose, wear fabulous clothes that cost more than my car, drink, chain smoke, date rockers & actors, totally drop my last name, quit eating, get caught snorting coke & still have a career?! Maybe it sounds glamorous, but beautiful? I wonder why those silly thoughts ever enter any woman's mind. There has to be more to "the struggle" than aesthetics. Not that it's impossible for model-wannabees to worry about deeper issues. I also don't want to imply that I don't care about looking my best every damn day. But, these girls are so lost in ego, airtime, fame. They think little of anything else... or so it seems and this attitude extends outside of the fashion industry. There is a Look-at-ME generation brewing. After an episode, I usually come to the same conclusion. I got other sh*t to worry about on "the inside." Now that's a tricky business because there's a lot of work to be done there. It's a different kind of "beautiful" I'm aiming for, I suppose. One that will hopefully matter long after that show is cancelled.

The B&M Theory

My old friend "Mark" and I came up with this theory today...

Men are focused when they're young because all they want is to have sex. The mission is clear. Get laid - Next, please. Now what they do to achieve this goal is how they play the game. And oh what a dirty game it is. When they get older, the mission gets a little fuzzy. Why? Because they realize they're getting too old. It's time to think about settling down, but they don't want to lose their freedom. So the game is peppered with some genuine confusion and more sex. A battle brews within. To commit or not to commit. "Argh, I need a beer...and more sex."

For women it's ass backwards. When they're young they are soooo confused. "I want to have fun. No I don't, I want a boyfriend. I want to get married. No I don't, I just want to sleep with you and have my independence, but love me and only me. I'm cool. I'm afraid. I'm in love after a week." They tell men they can handle anything, but ultimately, sex = love. End of story. There's no separating the two. Now when women get older, they know what's up. They know what they want. There is no time for games. So they start playing the game. Lie, manipulate, even watch sports on Sunday just to get that damn ring. And yes, sex still = love.

This is stuff you already know and doesn't necessarily apply to everyone. "Mark" and I just had fun talking about men versus women and vice versa (that wasn't too confusing). It was also fun thinking we were cool because we called it "a theory." Lastly, it's purely based on our own observations and experiences.

We hooked up once. See if you can guess what that means and how it turned out...

Don't Hate the Player

Attention all males in your thirties. I need to know. Why are you still playing games? This question I pose is not an angry one or inspired by such. Although, just between you, me, and the lamppost, I have been known to express frustration by spontaneously overflowing with powerful emotion (thank you Mr. Wordsworth) after a heartbreak. Seriously, can anyone tell me what the deal is about dating? The old enough guys are so anxious and confused. Ay-ya-yay. I’ve been talking to someone, who I think is interested. It’s sad that I have to use the word “think” even though he practically molested me 2 weeks ago. This incredibly passionate kiss I received threw me for a loop. It was delicious, but probably not meant to have deeper meaning. In fact, I'm pretty sure he's unsure about getting involved. Last night I got the “I’m checking in” phone call. He nonchalantly mentioned some past relationships (as a warning to me of what not to do), let me know that he was “taking it easy” (from now on), name-dropped some girl-friends (or girlfriends, who the hell knows), asked me what I was doing this weekend (he wants to see me), etc... The game was cute for about a minute. Mostly it was tiresome. What is so scary about getting to know one good woman?! Maybe I'll just concentrate on the kiss. There, done.

Dancing Fools

What is it about the rhythms and melodies of a good house track or flamenco piece that enlightens and moves? I'm alive when I'm dancing. It's as fullfilling as reaching the peak of a mountain in Colorado or Austria or Nepal. Ok maybe not, but certainly there's a sense of liberation. Exhiliration. Butterflies. Take my parents for instance. They are pretty devoted to each other. Since they began ballroom dancing, however, something changed. It happens every time there hands touch. I can see it... they soar. Though their dance is to a different rhythm with a very different melody, I'm sure they feel much like I do when I just can't stop. It's love, baby, love.

Me and...

I don't want to wait to do this
living. I just walk around. I
want to be swept off my feet,
you know? I want my children
to have magical powers. I am
prepared for amazing things
to happen. I can handle it.

- Richard, "Me and You and Everyone We Know" 2005 film

Friends Like These

Suprisingly, Valentine's Day was quite lovely. My dad text messaged me while I was at work for the first time ever! He wished me a happy one and told me he loved me. Being the sap that I am, I teared up some. Then Ritz, who serves double duty as sister & best friend, sent me an e-card with a most beautiful note. After hearing all the "aaahhhs" and "ooohhhs" from the braggers at work receiving flowers, I felt content with my gifts. When I left work I was unsure of how the evening would play out. The color of the sky was almost flourescent over a sea of cars on the highway. On the verge of darkness. Then the phone rang. My darling uncle invited himself over to help me shovel snow. He brought flowers and took me out to a new Hibachi restaurant. I think it was an an attempt to change my sullen mood. Why so sad? Well, the day before I had canceled on a few romantic interludes with a gentleman. I guess you can say we were or are or were dating. The problem is I have known for some time that he isn't "the one" (sorry...for lack of a better term). It's weird how these realizations about people happen at lightening speed in your 30's. I'm fine with my decision... just beaten up by this whole dating thing or maybe it's the snow... my back hurts from shoveling 3 days in a row. Gotta love those city plows. Anyway, my uncle and I ate like kings and laughed like queens. It was the best. During that time I received calls from my mom, my cool cousin "John," & another best friend, "Elizabeth." Ok, I have a lot of best friends, so sue me.

Tonight, I am sipping a really sweet 2000 merlot from Strong Island in preparation for my little jazz project. It's delicious and as that warm sensation caresses me, I wonder if I can make it through another irrelevant holiday. Of course I can with friends like these.

A Woman Scorned

Women often find themselves in a precarious position when they fall in love. They are lead by their hearts, which have been entrusted to someone else, so they spend a whole lot of time making sure it's well preserved, still beating, alive. This can lead to some pretty whacky behavior. When that someone else begins to slip away, there's a sense of urgency. A code black. The heart stops and then how does one breathe? I know a woman very dear to me, "Maria," who is scorned. My advice to her was to forget the ex-love and move on. She has, but they continue to be "friends." Then I discovered that he sends text messages asking for forgiveness. "Maria" won't budge. How could she? He runs errands or does special favors in hopes of winning back affection. She won't budge. How could she? He calls her when he's had too much to drink to profess his undying devotion. Still, she won't. The problem is Maria reads the messages, accepts the favors, & takes the calls. I believe the love has ended. After so many years of waiting & working, "Maria" simply gave up and became hardened by the experience. He's under a more optimistic impression. So in truth, the moving on part is a work in progress. It is not easy to walk away. To let go when the someone else carried your heart, your prized possession, and gave it back to you all broken. My judgment was harsh, I think, and I am a little more understanding of her struggle. I suppose I had forgotten what that was like... mending what is broken. Lately, I date men without giving mine up. How could I?

An Old Wound

I never thought about blogging before nor did I understand its purpose. Then, of course, the unexpected happened. An old wound opened up a new door. And like some cruel ghost that only rattles chains when you sleep, this man that I might have loved, "the old wound," sent me his link. So here I am with virtually nothing to say except that I've read his words.

Lately, I check to see if there are any new entries. There are. I won't read anymore. I move quickly into someone else's and do it vehemently because I know he doesn't really exist. Only when I sleep.