Running Woman 2

Nope. I still don't like it. I'm gonna shoot for a morning run very soon. If I can stop hitting snooze.

Homonyms & Such

I saw the movie Babel over the weekend, which was so gripping it woke me out of my after-midnight slumber. Brad Pitt doesn't know how not to be beautiful. He's even better aged. Like wine, I suppose. Before that was Lost in Translation and before that I was feeling (and maybe still do) like I can't find the right words. So I guess everything is linked & packaged neatly into this tiny little box called blog. Anyway, I thought about Babel as I watched Bebel perform the other night. She's a Brazilian New Yorker who apparently whispers in a very heavy mix of accents. I couldn't understand her or anyone else. There was babble in the Hall that reverberated. Growing louder as the songs got creamier. This music was meant to entrance and I stood lost in reality. Part of that reality, too, was knowing I was in Columbia's neighborhood. Last week, I finally went on an official date with him. I'm smitten, but have a hard time accepting that. In fact, it's starting to hurt, so I decided to let go. My timing is always terrible. He's too difficult to figure out. It's morning. Instead, I'd like to focus on Colombia. I'm going back soon. I wonder if they, the people I used to refer to as "my people," will accept me or will I be mourning.

what do poets do

with degrees?

just wondering, since i spent the day with one who every time i glanced over was deep in thought. and when he wasn't thinking, because i asked what was on his mind, too, searched for what to think next.

Char's Echo

If you fear rejection, then you can’t find acceptance either…

Freudiant Thoughts

I've been thinking a lot about Freud and his theories on melancholia versus mourning. In particular, this idea that when one experiences loss, you must detach from the love-object and find a substitute. There are other processes that happen first, but ultimately, the idea is to avoid a serious spiraling into the melancholia, which I suppose is very difficult to climb out of, but remains elusive even to Freud. I was wondering if I, and others, too, have in fact been successful at finding substitutes or if we have simply learned to live with this new strain of sad. Functioning, some of us, in society like sleepwalkers and everything is part of breathing.

Just Call Me Cheetah Rivera

I bought a cheetah print, 3/4 sleeve, A-line, v-neck, jersey dress, dollface... to go with my maryjanes, of course.

Here's To The New

Today, was my first jazz rehearsal with the pianist, S. I was apprehensive because S is a real musician. When not tickling the ivory, he teaches music. In any case, he seemed enthused about working with a new voice. That made me doubly so. Nightmares, like this morning's, about the dissolusion of the JB Jazz Project, have been ongoing. I sometimes think my creative endeavors coming to an end hurt me more than heartache & crushes combined. Maybe there's no difference.

Yesterday, my friend, L, drove a speedboat on her own for the first time. It was mine, too, as a passenger. We "sped" up to 25 miles an hour (hey, she was nervous) around the Jones Beach inlet. Considering my fear of gigantic waves and even bigger sharks, I was thrilled to be there. The best was falling asleep, then waking up to Captain L and boatman G arguing over how on earth we got lost. Apparently, all bridges look alike to us rookies. Being lost on the water is so unique. It takes great patience and skill to find your way. I gladly helped read the map and counted green & red bouys back to Freeport. More fun than it sounds, I swear.

Afterwards, we met friends for M's birthday. Us girls drank and hooked up (not literally) with two Canadian brothers. I allowed myself to enjoy the compliments of the younger one, who I wouldn't be interested in if it weren't for his hottie-ness and my blood alcohol level. Talk about shameless flirting. It was almost as freeing as my earlier excursion.

Lastly, the day before yesterday, was Rob Zombie's Halloween. Once again, I made a big production of what was supposed to be only a handful of people going to the movies. Can you blame me? It's Michael Myers, one of the greatest villains of all time! Truth be told, I didn't think John Carpenter's classic needed a retelling, but I suppose it's nice to be bold enough to offer something new in perspective.