Land of Talk

I've said too much. Always do. Is that a girl thing? I hope not. Otherwise, I'm really making us look bad. Maybe the talking will turn into one of those things a man cradles a woman for while she washes dishes. The stroking of my cheek or chuckling after I'm done telling, after I'm gone. Funny, I remember at times being silent when craving that kind of response most. Irony for the girls from the land of talk, I guess.

Thank g*d for live music. I was in there tonight, so I got to just listen. I'm good at listening.

Cycle 4

On Sunday I rode with a Puerto Rican vegan, whose dreads, among other things, would make Bob Marley proud. We drove to Central Park in a nifty jeep and did about 7 miles fairly quickly since it looked like it would downpour any second. I went down my first traily hill without falling. It/I was super cool. Later that day, I lost my balance admiring a f*cking brownstone in the midst of posh 10+ story buildings. Super lame. My left knee hit the hexagonal concrete and now I have a war wound with a cheesy back story to it. Damn you, yuppy scum!

Montauk

Antique shops, the Old Stove Pub, a pond surrounded by trees with old-lady elbows for branches, more vineyards, tiny cemetaries, horsies, those sacred dunes, a cliff, and the lighthouse... my head is swimming with impressions. Sadly, I only have these photos from an obsolete 3.3 megapixel camera. I'm hoping the others will be more of the "something-like" what I saw on March 24th.

My Favorite...

thing to do on Fridays, open up a bottle of wine and listen to jazz. Tonight on the bill is a 2005 Long Island Sauvignon Blanc by Macari and Billie Holiday Live at the Jazz Philharmonic. "No one but me and my memories..." - they sing. Feels so right.

Cycle 3

I rode with a pagan Lithuanian speedfreak, who looks a little like Gary Oldman in Bram Stoker's Dracula (top hat scenes). A movie I just saw for the first time last weekend. It was windy (again), but I had on enough layers for snow. I also wore brand new, overpriced, cycling shorts (underneath pants of course... I'm no metrosexual!) with the extra padding. They were worth every penny. My big butt doesn't hurt.

Progress Report

Montauk - Not only did I make it, I took 3 different cameras! I'm so cool. So much about my trip meant nothing & everything all at once. 3 cameras were not enough.
Yoga - Shoveling snow w/dad all day forced me right out of procrastination mode & into yoga stretches. Not sure which was harder.
Jazz lounge - Postponed until I learn &/or I'm "On the Sunny Side of the Street." Slooowly inching across.
Cell Phone - Sleep time set. All caught up, too.
Friends - Got 3 down here for grub/wine/dessert/movie, so far.
Books - They keep popping up like dandelions & am I ever slow. Starting with D. Young instead of D. Koller. Is it cheating if it's due to an assignment?
Amaryllis - Withered. Snipped. Read there might be a bud left before dormancy. Keep an eye out.
Big Pot - Saw tulips at the market. Very tempting, but haven't decided between them & this weird plant with cool spider web patterns I saw at HD (Home Depot).
Pets - Just because pets (i.e. turtles) are slow doesn't make them easy to take care of. Stick w/bettas for now. Research starfish and seahorses (yes, that's my girlie side). Just got a lead on crawfish.
Salsa - Si.
Ride - First Sunday was tough. Blaming the tires and the wind :)
Hang art - This is lame. I don't have a hammer anymore. Plus, need another set of eyes for measuring. They (eyes) will probably want to check out what I'm hanging up? Ayayay. Plan b: Hang "Cyclops," then switch.
Max - I was THIS close!
Poem - Posted on March 21 and already I'm a little lighter.
Photos - Scroll down please.

Lingonsylt

I went buck wild at Ikea and bought Swedish lingonberry preserves. Now I just have this urge to stick my finger in the jar.

spring promise

I didn't exactly make one, but I did mention, on a list, something about sharing. It's officially spring, so what better time. Things have gotten heavy lately. My back hurts. And well, I workshopped this one last night. The sharing here will only be temporary. What season isn't.

What happens....

when you start doubting the one friend who insists - in the way you adore, but would never admit - that "you are beautiful"
?

A little of this maybe...

I am poured out like water,
and all my bones are out of joint;
my heart is like wax;
it is melted within my breast;
my mouth is dried up like a potsherd,
and my tongue sticks to my jaws;
you lay me in the dust of death.

-Psalms 22:14-15.

Sunny, but Windy...

and I'm out of shape.

Bike Log: Low tire pressure. Stomach growling. Neither is good for riding. Most gas stations charge for air. Not like the good old days. Next time carry change. A Russian (cyclist) pumped air in my tires. A Frenchman (neighbor) bought me lunch. Who says we all can't get along?

Voila!

"Lost" Time

I'm taking a break from lots of things. In this case, I've been writing Tipsy for a whole year. It's time. But, before I go, here is a list. A friend of mine posted one & it looked like fun. Things to do before I return:

- Make it to Montauk with a real camera.
- Restart yoga in the morning.
- Go to the "singer's open mic" at a Manhattan jazz lounge.
- Set my cell phone alarm clock for bedtime.
- Have each of my friends - the ones I owe - over for dinner, dessert, wine, a movie, or all of the above.
- Read books from "the pile," but start with Koller, then borrowed, then HP, then the rest.
- Check the amaryllis.
- Plant something in the big pot. Maybe tulips.
- Research pet turtles and other pet fish.
- Salsa!
- Get insurance for the '65 Chevy.
- Ride my bike on the first sunny Sunday.
- Hang up some more art pieces, especially the nude - she's beautiful, but take her down when I hear the buzzard.
- No more dating until the semester is over... unless I can't resist.
- Meet Max Roll (Charlotte knows why).
- Use my refund to buy a floor screen, a vacuum, & a plane ticket.
- Practice the castanets.
- Decide if I'm dancing this summer, going to school, or actually using the plane ticket.
- Post a workshopped poem & photos of my Montauk trip or of anything else listed. I will do this while on break.

Feel free to add anything to the list that I may have forgotten. Perhaps it will inspire me.

Off to watch "Lost." Perfecto!

Dear Soloman

Tonight, when we discussed Ecclesiastes and I heard myself say that the style in which it was written suits the randomness of life, or something to that affect, it hit me. What I think is random in mine is often caused by the patterns I fall into. And so with that in my mind, I'm thinking - of course, I should have hung up on R___. It was the right thing to do. Yes, it was immature. Hell (ha!), I'll never do it again 'cause it's just disrespectful and not me. But damn it, I'm going to "enjoy and be merry" with that one for a while. As for everything else, maybe I'd better shake things up a bit. Lay low. Toil. Drive to Montauk and finally use a real camera.

Two Buds and a Sculpture

Recently I discovered that my amaryllis sprouted two buds. I kept the bulb in the fridge for too long, so this is truly a miracle. I'm also usually all thumbs, none of which are green, when it comes to planting. Now I dream of colors. What will be. Enjoying the possibilities that don't feel very infinite, but are still at the very least two.

Another plant, singled out for the dried up leaves & soil, sits on my window sill, which is over the radiater. For a while it flourished on my coffee table. Leaves like giant spoons. I mixed the soil, watered it, gave it some sun, and one by one leaves froze and withered. I kept trying though. Knowing they would. Usually, oh and this is usual, I march off to Home Depot and buy a new plant, not wanting to recognize my failure. So why this one, whose name I forgot, is kept at all is a mystery.

I am looking at amyryllis in the midst of the little island jungle I created for winter and my solitary plant sculpture, once a bunch of giant spoons. Which is more beautiful? There's just no telling.

After Hours

I’ve been losing countless hours of sleep for as long as I can remember. As far back as age 6, staying over mamita's wondering when my parents would come for me. Vacationing in Medellin at 14 and realizing I wasn’t from there anymore. Losing it at 18 by drawing and painting all night, so I wouldn’t forget. At 20, finding a friend for life in my sister... when the nights were too long. In my mid twenties, it was tossing and turning over the in-love not being enough. Sometime during that time, discovering music and dance could be. Turning 30, in familiar territory, remembering what great risks can do. Then taking one anyway and staying awake until he was gone again. Buying something big at age 32, so my sleepless nights were filled with compressing the remembered into suitcases and cardboard boxes. Now here I am at 35. Awake and counting.

A Waltz in Astoria

Tonight I went to the Waltz-Astoria, a place I highly recommend. I expected to go alone and sing with a piano player I never met before. He is the organizer of their jazz night and well, I was taking my first jazz risk. It wasn't wonderful because there was no control. I was being swept back and forth by the keys and it was difficult to find my rhythm. I sang "Willow Weep for Me" and "Like Someone in Love." It was all very apropos considering... I took even more risks by taking a drag off of a cigarette, pretending it was heroine in a Harlem dive maybe, and drinking 2 glasses of wine like an old pro. A friend of mine came along. Unexpected. I was kind of giddy, which was really an attempt to mask my nerves from being with someone or just being. After confusing the word "misogynistic" for "massaging his d*ck" (I swear I thought that's what my friend said in conversation), I realized it was time to go home.

I'm home.

Review: Proof

     In 2002, Snap Dragon and I went to see the play, "Proof." By then, it had already won a Tony, Drama Desk Awards, and even a Pulitzer. Jennifer Jason Leigh played the lead as a budding mathematician, Catherine, who is derailed by her father's mental breakdown and subsequent death. The father had been a reknowned, mathematical genius and she inherits that gift along with his instability. There is no better person to capture such a complex role than Ms. Leigh. She was born to play them. The roles that walk that fine line, where you have to fight for sanity (I love this theme. See Pi). She also possesses a kind of beauty you must make time for. As for the storyline, it was compelling. Snappy and I were excited to see math romanticized. After all, we both work with numbers and that is in fact how we became good friends - in our 11th grade math class. Ah, dear Mrs White, our teacher, could make perfect circles on the blackboard without using those chalk compass thingys. She was so proud of this particular talent. Number crunching is not what Snappy and I envisioned doing in our 30s, but it pays the bills. We also know all too well that it isn't very "elegant," as Catherine describes... at least not in business.
     In 2005, the film version of "Proof" was released with some heavyweight Hollywood actors and Anthony Hopkins. After 2 years, Snappy and I were excited to see it together again just because we like circles or coming to a full one anyway. What we discovered was that it just didn't add up. Mr. Hopkins was very good and dignified. But, the rest was bland melodrama. When the credits rolled I did my usual, "Ok, lets talk, what did you think, what parts worked, and more importantly, what didn't you like?" Snappy's immediate response, "um, I didn't like the parts with the crazy blonde in it." So after goofing on some scenes that made madness seem more like a bad case of drunkeness, I realized something about us. Math is attractive because it's dependable. There is the problem and a solution. A right answer. Usually. After everything that has happened in our lives, between Mrs. White, "Proof" on Broadway, and our little movie session, Snappy and I always crave this dependability. It's why we get along. And while we both loathe your basic math problems (like splitting the bill & leaving a decent tip because we both share a brain cell when we hang out) and we maintain our small senses of adventure (believe it or not), we like what it promises. We know and we can prove it!

-Snappy was a contributor to this entry. We gave the play 3 1/2 out 4 playbills and the movie 2, by the way :)

Octavio

My aquatic roommate is displeased. He burrows against the rocks lately. Away from the books. No longer playful when I wake up early for work or come home late from everywhere. Then again, he's terribly temperamental. I ought to know better. Sometimes I forget to check. Dust what little I have up there. Make things tidy. Inspect. I’ve been wanting to buy a plastic sailboat or plant to place in the bowl for privacy, but I can never find one real enough. Octavio deserves it - authenticy, especially when so close to Emily. He's just too fussy. Enjoys space. Playmates would be nice. Sadly, he's a loner in the way I can’t understand. The entire library is enough. Once we moved out because it was necessary. I sent him off with an uncle. He turned lily white and ate less than usual. When it was safe again, I set up his quarters. A rose-poppy glow reappeared as he chased his tale. Not today. Peeved is his mood. I can tell. He faces my picture instead of my direction and still nothing. Too proud to need me. It’s time I start paying more attention to what’s on my shelf. Visit some old friends. Do a little reading. See about Octavio.

Less is More or Less

Tuesday night I took my first and probably last, for a while, flamenco class with the advanced students. They usually get asked to perform with Sol Y Sombra (dance co), yet success feels like it's measured by what is acquired outside of the studio. Rings, weddings, husbands, babies, degrees, status, dresses (from Spain), vacations (in Spain), homes, SUVs, etc... These things always separating me from them. Mostly it's experience. The one that matters. I've only been dancing with Maria Loreta since 1995. I took a break to try my hand at love, music, & Austrian life. I moved back soon after with no strength left for dancing. Finally, in 2000 I started private lessons and quickly moved into intermediate-advanced. I haven't stopped, but these advancees have more history, more cash, & more stuff. Maria believes I've got what it takes. She wants me on Tuesdays. There are just other, more pressing, matters for me to tend to on those nights. When she started us on the Colombianas (slight coincidence), I realized a weakness more than ever. The girls were unaffected by their own reflection. I, on the other hand, felt self-conscious. It wasn't aesthetics. It was simply knowing, who I am and what I don't possess. Though my definition of success is more abstract, I wondered if everyone else looking back saw less.

Never Go Back?

A friend of mine told me recently that you can never go back. I thought about all the possibilities or the missing ones since you are, in a way, limiting yourself. Basically, I’m trying to understand what never going back or not really means. What the connotations are. Backwards bound seems always to fall in the negative and here I’ve done it 100 times. I told my friend that change, growth, and maturity makes revisiting what’s back there a completely different experience. But still, I had a hard time pleading my case. Maybe I was unsure it could be a good experience. I know I’ve changed, grown, matured, actively. Of course, when those changes are physical, I’m actively trying to halt the process, thank you very much strand-of-gray-hair. Anyway, I want to change (for the better presumably). Others do, too. So not everyone gets stuck and the journey can be positively grand. I guess my friend's point, because the comment was really about something specific, was to move forward and recognize that if the past doesn’t work, you can’t go back and even if it did work, you can’t go back... unless... What I say now is I go back because it IS there sometimes. I see it there waiting to be plucked and prodded. Waiting to be written about and painted. Waiting to be serenaded. To be loved. And sometimes it just fades like Hiroshima.