Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly... All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise... blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these sunken eyes and learn to see all your life, you were only waiting for this moment to be free

Monday, August 30, 2004

I'm just inviting you to a no frills, no big thing happy hour this Thursday (August 2nd) from 4pm til who knows when at the Triple Rock in celebration of the culmination of my two years of "professional volunteerism" or if you like "indentured servitude to the nation." Call it what you will, I'll be celebrating at my favorite little punk bar and you are welcome to join me.

Friday, August 20, 2004

*rumors and lies*

off-shoots of conversations last night about lies told by parents left some intriguing unanswered qustions. i did some googling this morning to ascertain the levels of truthfulness. it turns out that parents are equal parts correct and full of shit. mom and dad always told me to eat my bread crusts because "they're good for you." i held this as gospel, always priding myself on finishing the entire slice, until embarassingly recently (college??) when it finally dawned on me that: crust = over-cooked bread. parents can make kids believe anything--they hold a frightening amount of power (at least mine did over me). case in point the edict given by many a worried parent pool- or beachside: "wait an hour after eating before going in the water or you'll get a cramp and drown!" i remember sitting glumly by lake michigan nagging mom every five minutes if i'd waited long enough after my push pop. with the help of my trusty internet, i confirmed that i've been duped by mom and dad yet again. more recently my father informed me that french pressed coffee is more unhealthy than filtering or dripping. i tended to believe him, as dad generally speaks the truth, and filtration most often leads to cleaner/purer substances. however, given the above revelations, i couldn't help remain doubtful--what element of coffee grounds is harmful without purification? in this case, there is some truth behind dads disparagement of french pressation. cafestol is a chemical in coffee that results in higher levels of "bad" cholesterol when not filtered--filtration reduces the levels of cafestrol to negligible amounts. this site claims certain health benfits of coffee drinking--i remain skeptical.

Tuesday, August 17, 2004

the crappiest place on earth

My weekend in Orlando certainly turned out to be an adventure, but as far as vacationing (fun, sun, low stress) it was shit. Being in Charley's direct path was exciting, scary for a few moments, but mostly he put a severe damper on any outdoor activities and familial excursions. My Floridian relatives spent most of Saturday chopping stray tree limbs and hauling debris. I helped for approximately five minutes, then retired to the couch to read -- way to pull through during a crisis mrd! I should have taken more pictures (oh how I pined for a digital camera)-- giant trees uprooted and toppled across roads, street signs and telephone poles mangled and standing at precarious angles, trunks busting through roofs and fences. All the broken limbs and foliage strewn around produced a lovely backwoods odor, and there was an eerie beauty in the jungly nature of the streets and yards filled with leafy debris and gigantic exposed root systems. We weren't in the most devastated area, by any means, but the destruction was pretty intense. They're predicting people will be without power in the Orlando area for at least a week. The lights went out on Friday around 8pm so we spent the whole weekend (except for the reception, which fortunately was held at a hotel that could generate its own juice) in the dark -- it was hot. No really, I sweated profusely for two days straight. Amid the obvious tragedies, we managed to squeeze in some fun -- hung out with the fun Illinois cousins, and crazier Connecticut aunt and uncle, and navigated the streets of Orlando (half of which were blocked due to downed trees) while trapped in a car with mom and dad, without too much yelling. My twin aunts, Pat and Pam, not native Floridians, stated bluntly, "Orlando is paradise." I bit my tongue, thinking it rather a sweltering hell-hole of sprawling urban commercialistic fakeness, a city built on the coattails of Mickey Mouse, that I couldn't wait to leave. Did I mention how my love for Minneapolis grows? -- what a thrill to be chilled to the bone at last night's outdoor showing of "The Getaway." Outdoor social events + temperate climate = my kind of paradise.

Friday, August 13, 2004

The city is a very different place just after 5 in the morning. For one thing I am rarely there.

The moon was glowing off to the east set in indigo gradients. Morgan held up her hand to take the brightest sliver as the tip of her nail. As we drove south we seemed to be heading back into the night, escaping the light that was creeping slowly over head.

The airport was already buzzing with people who had gotten up much earlier than we had. There is such a sense of possibility in airports.

I drove home with those that aoid rush hour; it was 6 o'clock. Entering the building I was thinking about the fact that I was just arriving home, still in yesterday's clothes. What intrigue. I had hours before work yet. Instead of staying up and busy as I had planned I shut my shades and crawled into bed.

Thursday, August 12, 2004

I always thought it was just me. Guess that tells you something about how often I'm near other sleeping people or people about to sleep. Evidently there is a medical hypothesis about the sensation of falling right as you fall asleep and the sudden spasms that your body experiences when falling asleep.

Learning something new. Look at me go!

Tuesday, August 10, 2004

*Next time we're in Chicago we'll have to check out the Green Zebra if I'm believing what the New York Times says it sounds as if it were made for me. (Obviously the me that can spend $40 on a dinner -- I mean I haven't met that me yet, but I'm sure she'll appear someday... right?)

*Am still thinking that Skin by Shelley Jackson is just about the coolest new book being published these days. Would love to see a hardbound picture book of the book someday, but realize that according to the rules it won't happen.

*Wishing I would have had enough money to buy the new Ouija Radio cd Last Night On Earth. Was at their cd release party Friday night (ok... we went to see the Mellismatics, but what a great biproduct of the evening-- found out about a great band). Also thank you to the girl who was at their merch table. She was so kind to give me a button for free and not laugh at me when I explained my lack of funds. Anyway - go to their shows! Buy their CD!

Monday, August 09, 2004

"Let a hundred flowers bloom: let a hundred schools of thought contend."

Life has been really busy and really good for a little while now... what with last week's birthday week extravaganzas with Maria and general contentment on my part regarding life. I suppose it is only appropriate that it is Monday and it is raining a perfect book end to the uber hectic schedule I've been keeping.

Return of the Phone Stand

I'd like to say a little something about my general contented outlook at the moment. I've been biking. This is not the first time that I've been biking in the city. No, I don't have a helmet yet, yes, I'll be getting one --- soon. I hadn't been biking since the summer after sophomore year in college. I had coerced my parents into transporting my bike from home down to my little on-campus apt the fall when I moved back to school but proceded to keep the bike in our apartment (at the foot of my bed) for the remainder of the year. It came to be known as "the phone stand"I'm not sure whether it was Jill or I who dubbed it this, but it was appropriate as my green phone sat on the back of my cute little dusty rose ten speed for the entire year. Even now the moniker has remained. When I told Jill that I had been out riding she said "What!" and dropped her jaw, "You were doing what?! with the phone stand?" Yes, on July 31st I walked my rusty pink bike over to the gas station, paid 25 cents for air and rode back to my apartment. I had thought that I needed new tires for most of the summer and with August approaching and I still hadn't done anything about it I figured I should at least test them out. They work! At least the leaks are slow enough to hold me for the amount of bike rides I fit into one or two days. My first ride consisted of biking from my apartment to Calhoun Square (to do some Saturday morning banking) to Lake of the Isles and back to my apartment. It was glorious. I was nervous about biking amongst cars (still am and rightfully so) but the feeling of wind through my hair and arms and legs and toes did everything to overtake that. The feeling that I was fueling my movement and going rather rapidly at it as well was so freeing. It felt like I was that girl that I had wanted to be when I moved down to the cities. Like as if all the pieces were coming together and this was it.

Even now when I'm writing about it I get this little thrill through me. Part of the exhilaration was the fact that the Monday before I had run into a friend of mine from college at movies and music in the park. I had been sitting there with MRD, Maria, Amanda, and Jill inbetween the music and the movie (which they fell asleep for) watching the people when I noticed him standing there on the edge of the path. I turned around again and waved. I hadn't seen him since we said goodbye two summers earlier. What do you do when you're crazy in love with someone who doesn't feel the same way about you. You anguish, you torment yourself, you pray to the love of all that exists that they leave town. He did. It was good. I was kinda seeing someone else at the time so that made things a little easier, it didn't help the past though, I still wrestled with that in drunken 4a.m. moments at later times. He had called the fall before to invite me to some art show but I had been heading out of town and hadn't been able to make it. I've been told that I left the New Years party a year ago just ten minutes before he showed up (in town on a visit) and also that out of the two party options for Halloween this year he showed up at the one that we didn't quite make it to. I have no idea how that all worked out, at the time I was a little upset about missing him -- or greatful because I was dressed as a really ugly "Designing Woman", but I'm so thankful now. So thankful because I needed the time.
When he came and sat next to me I realized that I had nothing to say to him. Which is a little bizarre for me to keep looking at "I had nothing to say to him" because when I think about it I never really said much to him at all. I mean, we talked had great conversations, but really I was the sponge in our relationship. I wanted to absorb all that he was. I wanted to be part of all of it. I wanted to know all of it. It was where we were when we were. He and all that he found value in were all that mattered to me. But sitting there I had nothing to say to him. I listened as he told me that he had just gotten back from Wisconsin with his significant other and he handed me a berry flavored beer. I noticed how he casually slipped that in there, but really that wasn't it.
For whatever reason I always had seen myself as the martyred woman. He was my Che and I was the woman who couldn't hold a candle to his revolution. I clung to this fantasy, either knowing or refusing to acknowledge the fact that it was only a fantasy. I think I mainly knew but held on nonetheless. Unfortunately it took me two years of not seeing him -- physical, mental and emotional distance to grow on my own. Then realizing as I sat next to him in the park that I had nothing to say to him. It wasn't so much that his podium had suddenly crumbled - that happened without me realizing it within those two years. All of a sudden he was sitting next to me and that was all that it was, we were level and suddenly he wasn't so special anymore. As Jill and I were talking over a glass of box wine later she brought up that she thought talking with him that he hadn't changed at all. He was still that same crazy boy - but I was someone so different than that girl who had fallen for him six years earlier.

After seeing him however I got really upset - but not in the oh-shit-I've-seen-him-again-and-opened-up-all-the-old-wounds but I was just really pissed off. Jill was right by my side ready for damage control. She asked how I was and I said fine, but you could tell that something was off. Maria and MRD who had never met him before and I hadn't even bothered to introduce made bewildered comments of "that was him?" They were obviously not impressed. I went home that night still angry and in a way trying to wallow in what should have been depression. Cursing the fact that I had run into him. The thing is though that seeing him I felt nothing. I wasn't depressed and the next morning when I tried to get all worked up about it upon waking I finally began to realize that I really wasn't angry about seeing him. The issue came from the fact that when I saw him I didn't react, I was getting angry because I didn't feel anything else and didn't know what to do about it. Somehow I had regained all that power that at one time I had voluntarily given to him. It was mine and I was confused about what I should be doing with it.

So on Saturday I went for a bike ride. It was exhilarating not because bike riding fills everyone with such and extrodinary thrill - but because I was beginning to realize that I am the girl that I wanted to be. Six years later I'm that bike riding, book reading, writing, people watching, solo apartment having, optimistic, great set of friends having, freedom fighting, peace loving, girl that I wanted to be. I'm doing it without having some of the things that I thought were necessary at one time --- a boyfriend and a stable job.

I'm living and it's good.

Wednesday, August 04, 2004

He just knows! It's like he's f*'ng psychic or something...

TAURUS (April 20-May 20): To hint at the potentials of the coming week, I'll appropriate the words of avant-garde music composer and author John Cage. In describing his work, he once said, "I have nothing to say/and I am saying it/and that is poetry." Here's an altered version, Taurus, created especially to suit your current astrological needs: You have nothing to do/and you are doing it/and that's your genius.