running around the graveyard

fall, leaves. rip down
your wrinkled remains. the sun's high
in the autumn sky, but everyone's
on to winter.

listen--city buses, church pews
barber chairs--the incessant chatter
of the unrelenting chill.
this isn't small talk.

no one consults the calendar,
the thermometer--the vital signs
of your future that reason weeks
more orange & yellow.

people hear your crunch as they walk
like a death rattle. an echo
of their fear, of the looming
dark days and icy streets.

they know better

but willingly excuse themselves
with complaints that "it just goes so fast."

fall, leaves. stop clinging
to temperate times. cut loose
your full veins, cover these cracked stones
like a life less decoration.

it's the same circle every year.

universe, you've done it again.

in my unexpected day off, i was going through some things and found this. i'm not sure what the source is, but it obviously it spoke to me at the time and certainly does today.

"a knowledge of the existence of something we cannot penetrate, our perceptions of the profoundest reason and the most radiant beauty, which only in their most primitive forms are accessible to our minds: it is this knowledge and this emotion that constitute true religiosity. in this sense, and only this sense, i am a deeply religious man... i am satisfied with the mystery of life's eternity and with a knowledge, a sense, of the marvelous structure of existence -- as well as the humble attempt to understand even a tiny portion of the reason that manifests itself in nature."

plucked feathers

a man stands in his store front--stares
thru a window separating him
from the world.   wears an apron
separating him from a mess.

the sign frames
this glass-box scene.   claims
"pollos vivos" which means
"live chickens" which, of course, really means
dead chickens.   the way hello
can really mean
good bye.

waking up

early morning
in the alley. tentative sparrows
bounce towards the expanding water pool--a mushroom cloud
of skunked beer, spit, and piss.

so much beauty in dirt.

all i want for christmas:
Pictorial Webster's: Inspiration to Completion from John Carrera on Vimeo.

but i will ask for this version.

on my way home from work i make up stories about people.

the man, who believed himself to have the gift of x-ray hearing, sat on his front stoop and twiddled his arthritic knuckles, irritated with the disbelievers. a girl walked by. he closed his eyes to appreciate the swish swish plink of her full bladder. at the intersection she pulled a metal bottle from her bag and downed the last gulps of water.

working from home--kind of like a richard scarry book

the cats are at the kitchen table. i work at the computer and they watch out the window, keeping tabs on the kids come and go to school; the pigeons sweeping the streets for city crumbs; the cars compete with the bikes; the leaves resting--happy to not be terrorized by wind and rain for a time.

without moving, things are changing

tonight i found that the markers of my childhood had run dry.

dirty projection

"two people looking at each other, each thinking that they are perceiving one another, but really perceiving themselves projected onto the other."

i got star struck

last night i had the great thrill of going to the where the wild things are pre-screening, thanks to an invite from a very boring store. with the anticipation of other things going on this week, i hadn't given the screening much thought. when i got there just after 5:30 the line-up at the door was huge, so clearly it was on the minds of many other chicagoans.

the night included a few nice surprises: max* records was there and did a Q&A, led by dave eggers, before the screening. he talked about the eccentric audition spike jonze put him through and what it was like to be on the set in australia. my favorite part was when someone said something like so you're pretty young but do you see yourself doing more things like this in the future? max replied with a pause and an ummm and finally well, i guess it depends on the project. and then followed up with another huge cliché like, we'll just see what comes my way. the audience erupted, and i don't think max had a clue why. it was touching to see a 9-year-old that was so mature and yet so innocent.
[*in line for the bathroom after the movie, a little girl asked her mom, do you think they only interviewed boys named max for the movie?? yes little girl. yes they did. welcome to the wild world of discrimination.]

the showing of the movie was interesting because the screen was much smaller than a "normal" size screen. giving up the screen size in favor of the music box's atmosphere was alright by me, though. as for the movie itself, i thought it was great. i was most impressed by how dave eggers and spike jonze took this short, illustration-heavy book and turned it into a full-length film with developed characters. in reading the book i always took the land of the wild things as pure escapism on max's part-- a secret place where he could flee to, be reckless and untamed, and be the "ruler." the movie, however, revealed the wild things as an extension of max. carol, THE wild thing, is dealing with the same issues in his world as max is at home. not to mention, all the other wild things (the bull is still my favorite) have their own personalities and problems.

i also loved how the movie treated the mother-son relationship. in the q&a spike jonze mentioned how disliked the book was by certain groups when it was published because of it's unconventional portryal of parenting. like the book, the movie shows an undeniable love between mother and son, and yet there are complications and problems. at times, the roles almost reverse and catherine keener becomes more child-like as she asks max to tell her a story or falls asleep while he's eating at the kitchen table. i think that's why i loved the movie so much: while it reminds us what it is to be a child--all the strife, all the joy, all the adventures--it suggests that it shouldn't stop after adolescence. oh, and everything else about the movie was awesome too. karen o. can officially do no wrong by me! the way the score was so seamlessly integrated into the movie so that you didn't know whether it was her or the wild things bansh-y-ing was perfect.

after the movie spike jonze and catherine keener (another surprise!) did a Q&A. sj seemed incredibly nervous, which i found both surprising and endearing. ck was quiet and a little loopy, but it was a nice mix of the two. they made mention of a few interesting things like how sj shot dave eggers with a BB gun on set and that ck has never seen being john malkovich even though she was nominated for best supporting actress. to end the night, sj opened up his itunes to show a film that he and ck had made for maurice sendak's 82 birthday. he had a whole list of items in the "movie" section (umm, duh.), one of which i spied titled as "adidas hello tomorrow". oh yah, just in case you forgot you were in the same room as a REALLY awesome and famous person!!!!

then i rode home in the cold rain with my paper crown on my handle bars. i jumped in the hot shower and then put on my pj's, and as i towled my hair dry i howled a little wild things howl.

the determination of 100 arctic tern

the arctic tern is a seabird famous for its migration pattern. each year it flies from the arctic to antarctica, which is the farthest any animal is known to travel habitually.

as i sit here writing this, it is difficult to type because i'm shaking. why am i shaking you might ask? it is not because i'm cold. it is not because i drank too much last night. it is not because i'm in a vibrating chair. it is because i'm stupid. and also suffering from severe muscle fatigue.

a co-worker was having a moving sale today, which coincided with my plans to go to ikea. as i drove to her place this morning i had the pleasure of listening to sound opinions and was then greeted by some cool finds: two colorful schlitz trays, a framed cityscape drawing, a coffee grinder, and t.s. eliot's old possum's book of practical cats, which my mom used to read to me when i was little. pretty good haul. on my way to ikea i listed to this american life and fairly easily navigated the insanity that is a saturday spent at the swedish home furnishing store. my single lady self and prius conquered the few smaller items i got at ikea as well as the billy bookcase.

the drive home was easy, and i was marveling at all i had accomplished in just 3 hours. when i arrived at home there was even a parking spot! i unloaded everything but the bookcase, figuring i could call a favor on someone in the building to help me out. i knocked on a few doors, but no one answered. despite the fact that a friend had said she'd lend her helping hand the next day, i really didn't want to wait.

if you clicked on the link above you were taken to the ikea product page for the bookcase in question. you may have noticed the specs on said bookshelf: 79.5" tall and 11" deep, which is essentially the size of the box in which it's packaged. i should also note, that on the product's shelf in ikea there was a little yellow sign with red lettering that warned: attention! this item is more than 50 pounds and may require assistance. yes, well, we'll see about that.

somewhere, somehow there must be some semblance of drunken frat boy mentality in me because i quickly examined this situation and decided that i had enough brute strength to compensate for all the caution i had just thrown to the wind. i hauled the 6.5' box out of the car and was able to stretch my measly wingspan far enough to get myself in the middle and balance the several feet of box protruding beyond me and walk it to the front steps. after a brief break i even managed to get the box up to the front door and inside. at the foot of the flight of stairs, i rested for a few moments before grabbing the box again, assuming i could just walk it up. wrong. i made it 3 steps before my legs were shaking so badly i had to slide/drop it back down the stairs. at this point, most people would have stood the box upright in the corner and said, fine. i tried. i'll wait til tomorrow. not me. that's when the idiot in me decided, oh look how far i've come. there has to be another way to do this!

and indeed there was. i laid the box on its side and slid it up the stairs stopping at the stairs' curve to rest (really not much of a rest when you're holding a 50 pound box against your thigh). the sweat was starting to drip in my eyes, and i realized this was the half-way point on the monkey bars. as much as i wanted to turn back, doing so required as much effort as going forward. the difference here, however, was that the way forward was harder because i had jammed the box into the corner, not compensating for the curve. i also realized at this point how easily the leverage on this box could turn against me, pushing me down a full flight of stairs with 50 pounds of bookcase plus momentum following, squashing me like a gnat/fruit fly on a kitchen counter. but alas, i gathered every last drop of adrenaline i had positioned myself with about 3 feet of box in front of me and 3.5 feet behind, and wrangled it up the last few steps. by the time i pushed the box in my door, i felt like i had earned a spot on both this list and this list.

thus the reason i possess the determination of 100 arctic tern. or the stupidity of 100 lemmings.

to group or not to group

i have a window in my office. my desk is right in front of said window, and my computer is on said desk. if you've been following along this means that anything that happens within the frame of my window i can see by shifting my gaze a millimeter from the computer screen to the window.

this is both a blessing and a curse.

i was a good kid growing up. yes, i was talkative and got in some trouble for that, but i never got called to the principal's office or severely disciplined other than a few errant detentions. in first grade, however, mrs. greenlee did call my mother and set up a parent-teacher-student (parent = my mom; teacher = mrs. greenlee; student = me) meeting after school one day. at this meeting mrs. greenlee explained that while i was a very bright student i seemed to have some "focus" issues. she said that i had trouble following directions not because i couldn't understand them but because i would always get distracted as they were said. she did comend me, however, on always knowing whose pencil it was that was rolling across the floor and who was walking down the hall. it was determined, as a result of this conference, that i would devote more energy to focusing on instructions and "important" matters. my desk was also moved from the prime real estate by the interior window to the front row of the classroom.

now, after decades of "focus" and determination i have regained my rightful seat in front of a window. but goddamn, if i don't look up from an email every time a pigeon flies by! the worst/best part is that thanks to our office building being in a "U" shape, i can co-workers busy at work in their offices across the way.

as i was eating lunch today i saw a group of four ladies from work walking across the loading dock/lot. i assumed they were going to lunch, but they were really dressed down. one woman even looked like she was wearing pajama pants. about 45 minutes later i see the foursome walking back and they're all guzzling water, which made me realize they had probably all gone to the gym. mystery solved.

instead of closing tupperware and gmail and getting back to work, i instead opened this blog and starting thinking: what if we were more like pack animals? what if we did everything together. at first it seemed kind of nice. i mean the two cats living in my house certainly seem to enjoy the campionship. plus, it's fun to cook dinner with someone or talk while folding laundry. but animals seem to share everything. birds bathe together, for instance. bathing with someone else can be awesome but that's under some pretty specific circumstances. imagine having to share the shower with a sibling or a roommate at 6:30am while half-awake and potential late. awful. or eating. birds fucking chew up their food and spit it into each others mouths! awful!! or walking in a line. ducks, quail, all those foul waddle along in a line. one line leader that's not paying attention or drunk steps out into traffic during a No Walk sign and the whole lot gets run over. AWFUL!

group activities may seem fun, but after further reflection i'm a little wary. maybe that's why i was always keeping such close tabs on my classmates back in first grade.

and also why i'm always watching when those pigeons come and go out my window now.
not really to be trusted, are they?

email updates

i love when our IT department sends out emails regarding the functionality of our website. it makes me feel like i work a very high-profile, very top-secret, very dangerous job:


Sent: Tuesday, September 22, 2009 12:40 PM
To: ala-allstaff
Subject: ALA Web Site

This morning our web site came under attack again, causing the site to be slow to the point of non-responsive.  I should say that it came under heavier attack than usual, since we're always under attack.  The extremely short version is that we were the target of a denial of service attack, that is, a huge number of requests were sent to the web site, from a rotating series of sources, making it impossible for the servers to keep up with the requests.  Since the source of the requests isn't fixed, blocking those requests is more difficult.

We're currently stable, and are watching closely.

good city morning

this morning was like any other morning; in other words, unremarkable. yet it was a perfect morning. the bus window in the back where i was sitting was open, and rather than gust of air, it was a refreshing breeze. every encounter favored the positive aspect this morning. people smiled and said good morning, the bus came right away, and all the walks sign hit in my favor. if it could have smelled delicious or noxious it was the former. the bakery on chicago was going full force and filled the bus with sweet carb-y goodness and the shopping cart man collecting bits of other people's trash smelled neutral, which compared to his potential, is fantastic. that was what made this ordinary morning extraordinary, though. the homeless man was still there, we had to wait longer than usual at the milwaukee/chicago intersection, i got off a stop early...but, for whatever reason, every banal encounter was surrounded with some sort of beauty or optimism, and before i kill that with some sarcastic comment about how sentimental and fuzzy it all is, i'll just stop writing.

sometimes i sit on the bus and think. other days i read. today i did both.

by 8:15 this morning, i'd already had several striking realizations: (this, in itself, was a striking realization seeing as how i usually don't have any realizations at all during the day.)

-at age 24, i've finally hit my stride with reading

-oprah taping on michigan ave is like a real-life version of rex manning day and probably attended by the same women

-98% of the time it's really good that cats don't have opposable thumbs. the other 2% of the time, however...

couldn't have picked a better book myself. seriously. i couldn't.

a friend gave me the road by cormac mccarthy for my birthday. it comes at a perfect time: just finished an interesting, action-adventure book that was fun, if not fluffy. the wild girl was relief after reading 660 pages about somewhat worthless, allwhat depressing characters in seven types of ambiguity. not that that book wasn't excellent, because it was. there were passages that made me feel like perhaps truer words had never been spoken about the human race. (sorry mr. shakespeare.) it was also very inter-connected and layered, which one might expect with a title like that...nonetheless it was a long, descriptive book and i was looking for some punchy writing. then along came the road, and knocked all my teeth out.

not only is this book a stark contrast from the past 1500 pages of reading i've done, it's pretty much unlike any other book i've read. this man describes gray in more ways than the eskimos name ice. not to mention he infuses suspense into pages where the same thing is happening, which is more or less nothing. i'm only about 70 pages in, but i'm hooked. also, the guy doesn't use apostrophes in contracted modals like couldn't, shouldn't, etc. i feel like that's on par with salinger's use of italics in dialogue. and even though i don't like salinger, i can still recognize his genius.

also, i can't read this book before i go to bed anymore.
because it's gotten scary.
and i'm a little girl.

words of wisdom

"Upon the paper would be the words, in ancient script spun into curlicues and banister shapes: 'Thou must want to be bigger than big, as big as a life-sized map of the Himalayans. Thou must be flamboyantly big or not only will greatness be impossible, but it will be laughably thin and tinny, and feel like a clammy grope from a disgusting wino with smelly pants and a toothless smile. Greatness is making people want to get sweaty together, wanting to glitter and get gold. You will know it when you see it so get to work.'"

-sean moeller 

funny ha ha

Dear Film Club Members: It’s true, Ang Lee has made a movie that is not a suicidally depressing meditation on impossible love. His new movie, Taking Woodstock, is, rather, about happiness. Please come see it anyway. Happiness, it turns out, is not a particularly normal subject for American movies, when you think of it. American movies feature protagonists, who experience conflicts, overcome obstacles, and, by the end of the movie, engage in heterosexual sex with women portrayed by actresses who, on average, make about one-third of the salaries of their male counterparts. The other male actor featured in American movies—the antagonist, who is paid between one-fourth and one-half of the male star’s salary—is either dead or humbled by the final act. These laws are buried deep within the Motion Picture Academy of Arts and Sciences bylaws, and can only be broken through special dispensation. And they result in films where what is achieved by the time the final credits roll is, as a rule, relief. I’m all for relief, and even exultation—their mass production is the economic engine that drives our entertainment industry. Happiness, however, is a more elusive cinematic goal: it is not an achievement— it is not the result of a victory, nor is it a prize. But it is a feeling that Ang wants you to share by the end of his film—and sharing is indeed the essence of it, the essence of the small taste of the Woodstock experience he celebrates. And so our protagonist, Elliot Tiber (played by the inimitable Demetri Martin) is an accidental one, at least by Hollywood standards. Stuck in his parents’ dumpy Catskill motel three miles down the road from Max Yasgar’s farm, he has goals, obstacles, dreams, frustrations—just like all of us. But, for one weekend, he and his family also have 500,000 friends show up in their back yard to help them sort out their destinies, to remind them of the power of love, a power that both clarifies and dissolves all goals and dreams. If Elliot never quite makes it all the way over the hill to Max’s that weekend, he takes a trip that takes him—and we hope, you—even farther. Peace, James Schamus, writer/producer

french friday

comme tout le monde sait ce que on n'utilise pas, on perd. pour cette raison j'ai décidé d'écrire en français ici de temps en temps, même si le poste est plein de fautes comme résultat.

alors, une langue différente mais toujours le même problème: de quoi j'écris?  peut-être juste un petit sommaire du semaine? comme d'habitude il me semble qu'il y a beaucoup de coïncidences. je sais que souvent c'est simplement la tête qui reconnais et donc fait cette connections--qu'il y a toujours des événements qu'on peut reconnais, et c'est seulement quand on veut les voir qu'ils deviennent un .  n'importe! 

mardi j'ai déjeuné en dehors avec une amie de boulot. après nous avons fini, elle est allé pour faire un visite à trader joe's pendant que j'ai cherché un bon coin dans le soleil. le petit tache que j'ai trouvé c'était sur les étages de l'église où se trouve une autre amie de boulot que j'ai voulu voir pendant pratiquement le mois d'août entier. nous avons parlé et puis un homme avec qui j'ai eu se croisent. hier soir, c'était même chose sauf qu'un autre homme. mes parents et leurs amis, nous avons en train de manger au resto. en rentrant de la salle de bain, mais voilà-- il était là aussi, avec une fille belle. ça suffit de mon passé pour quelques jours. 

le prochain hasard est beaucoup moins mélodramatique. juste une décision de préparer du quinoa pour le dîner. pendant que je le mangeais un ami me dit que ce jour était la première fois qu'il a entendu de ce grain! un peu bizarre, non?

il y avait un ou deux de plus, mais j'ai les oubliés.

j'ai vu le film cœur en papier ce semaine. au début, j'étais un peu déçu. la vedette, charlyne yi, me semble complètement affecté--comme hyper conscient de son apparence aux yeux des autres même si elle est fameux pour ne penser pas de cette choses. mais, comme le film a déroulé j'ai oublié ce criticisme pour penser sur les idées que le film a nous présenté. à la fin, il n'y a pas des grandes conclusions au sujet d'amour. quelle surprise! mais j'ai trouvé une consolation dans ces personnages familiers--mêmes émotions, mêmes problèmes... et là dans cette confusion était la clarté.  pour maintenant je ne cherche pas; seulement prendre plaisir dans ce que j'ai. et avec ce qui je l'ai.     

a quote

"Yet only the atrocities of the conquered are referred to as criminal acts; those of the conqueror are justified as necessary, heroic, and, even worse, as the fulfillment of God's will. What difference, finally, between the civilized man and the savage?"

-jim fergus, the wild girl

poema sujo

i have never gone to a city and hated it. some cities, like green bay, wisconsin, i have arrived in and not minded when it came time to depart, but i've never travel led to a city and really hated it. it's a bit surprising then that there are cities i love. it seems the cities on this list are there not only because of their aesthetic and culture but also because of the memories and experiences i have connected to them.

paris is one of these cities. i don't "love paris" in the same way that people who have visited the city for three days come back and tell their coworkers, oh my god, i just looooved paris. i love it in the way you love your first blanket--the one that has that peculiar smell to everyone else but you. to you it's one of the best smells, the strongest smells, even if you have no idea how to describe the scent. maybe the best way is as home. home not because i took my first steps there or have family there but home because i grew so much while there and parts are so familiar, comfortable, and welcoming. i will never forget the smell of the florist that hit me every monday - thursday right after exiting gaîté, right before turning left on rue daguerre; the white tiles from the park next to the monoprix where i walked djinn every third night; the bearded, crouched man who sat on the right side of the steps at duroc; the way it felt to unhinge the window and look out over the city and feel the breeze...

chicago is another one of these cities, but for completely different reasons. if paris is beautiful for it's overall appearance, the way it seems to have been crafted like one giant, intricate page in a pop-up book, chicago is exactly the opposite to me. it's beauty does not lie in it's whole but in it's parts. there are summer nights when the evening light makes everything appear like a stage movie scene. i want to walk through every door and see into the house with the ornate stained-glass windows, the apartment with the peeling window paint, the basement of the formidable church. compared to other big cities chicago feels small. that's the exact thing that makes it manageable to me, though, and from that desire to explore all its navigable parts, makes it huge once again.


la ville est dans l'homme
presque comme l'arbre
vole dans l'oiseau qui le quitte

see previous posts

all day i wanted to run across the vast blank screen.

olé!

i have become a foster kitty mom. this weekend i welcomed vladimir cat into my home with open arms. it's unfortunate that hit catmate to be has not been quite as accepting. while they have yet to claw or bite at eachother there has been enough hissing and low growling to fill a soundtrack for a movie about, well, two cats who are very unsure about eachother.

at first, vlad was playing the dominant male role. he would stalk tilly and then chase her under the bed or couch when she turned to run away. despite this, tilly would always creep back into the room, interested on seeing what the new cat was up to.

tonight it seems to have reversed. perhaps tilly is pissed that vlad's getting all the attention, or maybe she's just got her nerves up, but all night it's been tilly chasing vlad. just a moment ago vlad was sitting in the window sill and tilly pushed the door so that vlad was basically trapped in the window!

as all this unfolds i sit and watch and say things like "good tilly" or "good boy" or "tilly, you bitch! stop hissing!" sometimes i approach to ensure i'm in the middle to dissolve any potential cat fight, other times i watch as they seem to be incredible uncomfortable only to flop over on their backs like they want to play. really it just feels like i have two bulls in the house and i'm desperately waving my red cape. and as i look down i realize i'm wearing red pj pants...

birds of a feather

why do people hate pigeons? probably the reason my grandma hated all birds: they are dirty.
"they can't be much dirtier than us, plus they fly, grandma! so they don't even have to walk on the ground as much." she wasn't impressed with my logic. and looking back, if i was obsessive compulsive, that reasoning probably wouldn't have driven me to accept the winged creatures lovingly into my home either.

i spent a few hours in the park today watching the pigeons peck their way back and forth across the grass, terrorizing some prissy girls on a towel. the birds were in turn terrorized by two young boys with bikes. although the pigeons were smart enough to disperse as the boys rode their bikes through the middle of their pigeon huddle, they weren't smart enough to actually flee the area. again and again they danced: group of pigeons coo cooing as they waddle around a patch of grass. little boys circle around then dart at the birds. pigeons take flight to evade the youngsters. pigeons return to the same spot several minutes later. through all this back and forth i noticed that pigeons' flapping wings sound just like rustling leaves.

today is day 1 of 2 of the chicago air and water show, and when the pigeons weren't flying, i attempted to locate the fighter jets through the clouds. they can go a lot faster than their sound waves travel, so i was constantly looking in the wrong place. i was also tricked several times when the el rumbled by and i mistook it for a plane's roar.

the pigeons sound like leaves and the el sounds like a fighter jet.
that's practically a bad poem.

happy birthday to us!

in honor of certain important birthdays, a math problem: today mr. president is exactly twice as old as katharine who, 12 years ago, was a quarter of mr. president's current age. how old are they?

nighttime

i had climbed in bed, stretched, yawned, and arranged the blanket. i savor those first seconds. all the day's tension diffuses, displaced by comfort--a comfort that's more valued because it's fleeting and soon gives way to hot sheets and a smashed pillow. if i can keep my mind at bay during this time, it's suddenly 3:00am and i'm waking up to a cat on my head. if, however, a huge explosion goes off outside my house then it makes for a bit more trouble falling asleep. which is what happened. after several more crackles, the boom revealed itself as just one of a series of firecrackers, but it got me thinking all apocalyptic. not quite in the terrifying way the end of the world really would be, but more imagining so much humanity and activity just one day disappearing.

during this time i must've had my eyes closed because i opened them to find a huge object looming right above my face. it was so close, so big, and so nondescript. a shot of adrenaline ran through me before i realized what it was: a pillow.

i've thought about death a lot lately. seems to be the result of actual deaths, watching dead like me, and a few ridiculous conversations with my mom about where she'll live after my dad dies....a friend at work hates when people even mention the word. i understand it's not pleasant to think we'll one day all be six feet under, but that's just the thing--one day we will all be six feet under, or else a million little ashes. it's one thing we can all rely on. like the saying goes, death is the great equalizer. and in a weird way, i find it sort of reassuring. it's not like there's a chance you could be the only one of your friends and family that goes while everyone else is left to live for the rest of eternity. sure, you might kick it a few years or--worse case--decades before everyone else, but what's 20 years on an endless timeline?

this isn't to say i'm not scared of dying. frankly, i'm not quite sure how i feel about it, but i do know that me ignoring death won't result in death ignoring me. plus, contemplating it now as opposed to on my death bed seems likely to make the whole ride a bit smoother.

last night when i was striken with terror as a foreign, black shadow loomed in the room only to be a harmless cloth stuffed with feathers, i wondered if that wasn't what death might be: something we spend our whole lives fearing only to find that not only will it do us no harm, but it makes sleep a lot more comfortable.

in the quotidian

under soapy hot
water and most banal chore
skin glows red with joy

day 28

day 28 on kitchen island. everyone has deserted me, and i am left to fend for myself. luck was on my side this evening, though, and i was able to spear a small fish.

* * *

okay, so i'm not really stranded on an island, although when it comes to cooking i often feel that way. i'm giving it my best attempt, though, and with the friends i have and the knowledge they have i should be able to make at least 4 dishes come 2012.

on saturday i ate quinoa for the first time. people had boasted about this complete protein, and after eating it, i see what all the fuss was about. this dish had a basil-lemon dressing and was served cold with craisins and raspberries. tonight i was determined to recreate it, but dominicks had no quinoa to be found, so instead i bought cous cous. the end result was nothing like the dish from saturday, but considering i dumped all the ingredients for the cous cous into the pot at the same time as opposed to letting the liquid ones boil first then adding the cous cous, i'm pretty pleased it's even edible.

i truly did cook up a small fish--a salmon. that was terrifying. try cooking a meat that's the same color before it's prepared as it's supposed to be after it's prepared. these things should come with some kind of bell or light to indicate their ready. i think i cooked it in a little too much oil, but that's probably for the best as it helps mask the fish's overdone texture.

to add some green to the plate, i did up some broccoli and green beans very plain but tasty. they went well with the salmon unlike the cous cous which was sort of like eating peanut butter with bacon-- i've done it, but most wouldn't.

i paired this dish with a screw top red wine that had been allowed to breath for exactly 7 days. because this was a last minute discovery and a much needed drink, it was consumed at a slightly cooler temperature than typically recommended--refrigerator temperature.

no fires, no food poisoning, no trips to the hospital.
all in all, quite a success i'd say!

once, i was a little girl, and i didn't ask questions. i talked to strangers about their dogs and favorite colors. in the middle of the day i would announce an evening concert and perform a tap dance wearing a polka-dotted leotard and pink plastic pearls. i yelled when i was angry, and i cried when my animal balloon popped. i didn't hesitate.

then, i was very old and reminiscing one early morning, huddled into the paisley comforter, unable to sleep because of aches. i contrasted this little girl to the decades that ensued and wondered where all that uninhibited zest went. moreover, i wondered why i wasted all those years--all those years that went by like tics on the second hand--worrying rather than doing.

this and that

oh blog. how you've been neglected.

because of this. and this.
and also this [but not this].
and a few other things, which are unlinkable.

but after this, this will pick up again.
and then there will be this:

four square

how did i forget
about this game?!

death by cotton

tomorrow my nephew turns 9. i was 14 when we was born, and i have no recollection what 14 felt like anymore. on the phone yesterday my mom sounded exactly like my grandmother used to: she kept interrupting me because she thought she knew what i was going to say, or else she just couldn't really hear. i've been out of high school for a decade.

on monday i was sitting on the red line subway with my sunglasses on and my ipod in. i wasn't in a bad mood by any means, just in the post-work zone out. i was listening to grizzly bear's veckatimest for the second time. something about the music, the motion of the train, the way i had isolated myself in this sea of people, it all led me to thinking about death. in the time it took to go from the chicago stop to the north/clybourn stop, i felt more alarmed about dying than i had in a long time. i used to say i wasn't afraid to die, and i think that was true. i also don't think i was looking it square in the eyes.

this morning, when walking to the el, there were thousands of the those little cottony things that come from who knows where this time of year. there were so many it looked like it was snowing, and i was admiring the beauty of the feathery wisps and marveling at this snow scene in june when all of the sudden one of those little fuckers flew directly into my eye!
that's what i imagined death to be like the other day on the train.

i cannot lay out these pictures/captions as i wish.

my parents have finally mastered the technology of a scanner. in their excitment they've been sending family photos all day. i love looking at old photographs, even if they're not of my family. there's something about the colors and textures that amazes me as if the world really looked different then. i love the picture of my grandpa. there are so many of him like this that make me nostalgic for a time i never experienced. my brother striking a deal with yosemite sam. probably selling him his soul. camp richard is the overnight camp where my brothers went. apparently one of the camp counselor's told chris such a scary story that it has "scarred him for life." he hates talking about camp richard, which i find hilarious. my dad with the governor of illinois. what kind of creepy handshake is that?

freudian slip (i.e. i'm a judger)

when studying abroad i became friends with a few people whom, under more normal circumstances, i probably would not have formed a friendship. (more normal circumstances being relative, of course, but at least those in which english was the first language.) it wasn't that those particular people in this small group of friends that had formed were bad people or that i even disliked them, they were just sheltered, and in that foreign experience it was often irritating to hear them complain, worry, and lament. i often found myself thinking when listening to their monologues, oh, i'm sorry. i didn't realize you were forced to embark on a really amazing chance to study in paris for half of your school year. that's so awful; you must really be suffering.

the worst offender of these few people was a girl that was two years older than myself. at times i truly felt sorry for her because this time away from her family, friends, and comfortable routine was really affecting her. it was revealing some uncomfortable realities about her life and its direction, and she was flirting with actually confronting them in a way that could have substantially changed her life. (positive changes, in my opinion.)

i say "could have" because upon returning home it became pretty obvious through the good ol' facebook that she chose to ignore everything that had come to light while away. the biggest of all these things was her boyfriend of several years whom she seriously considered breaking up with in paris because she realized that they maybe just weren't that great of a match. more than not being compatible, she felt like he was unmotivated, passive, and that they were growing in different directions. rather than end this dubious relationship upon her return home, however, they...got engaged! yea for marriage!! yea for settling!!

anyway, i outline all of this because i now only glimpse her goings-on via her frequently changing status updates on the facebook. today's was no different than most: banal looks into what she and her new husband are doing, but it came with a fantastic and what i can't help but assume is a prophetic typo!

"RSC and Bill just put the first coat of pain on the walls in their master bedroom!"

all i can say is, if those walls could talk...

hot cross buns

i never quite new what precocious meant until i came face to face with it a few months ago. its name is isabella. she is six years old and armed with a 1/2 sized violin, which every monday i attempt to teach her to play. i say attempt because our 30 minute lesson is usually only about 15 minutes of playing. the rest is isabella introducing me to blackie the plastic, winged creature from the field museum and stretch joe-joe the stuffed tiger, or cataloging her scrapes and temporary tattoos, or informing me of how she and her friend made a hamock for the family guinea pig--and it actually worked!!

the best was the lesson when she said that she was doing a science experiment and, "of course her hypothesis" was correct. for the most part i'm half-amused, half-amazed by this little gal. but as i stood there counting the number of syllables in hypothesis, i felt a certain irriation bubbling. what the hell does this six year old know about hypotheses. she's probably just repeating a word she heard her teacher say at school. she has no idea what it actually means. so i played dumb and asked her what hypothesis meant. and, of course, without blinking, she explains that it's one's guess in science. it's something you test. well, duh! who doesn't know that?! she was sitting on the couch as she went on to explain the experiment in more detail. after several minutes i felt we should get back to playing, and i asked her to play one of her songs. she didn't really move and then exclaimed, "my toe is stuck!!" i look down to see her toe stuck in her violin. the girl who throws out words i didn't learn until 5th grade suddenly has her toe stuck in her violin. all i could do was laugh. and help extract her toe from between the pegs.

despite isabella's brilliance, she still is just a kid. so while i was surprsied that she had difficulty understanding the concept of a roommate, it did make sense seeing as she had only lived with her family before. after going to great length to explain that a roommate is similar to living with a mother, sister, brother, father, etc. and receiving blank stares i gave up and just stared back. then isabella ventured, "so it's like a maid, but she doesn't clean?" yes! exactly. i'm so glad we've cleared that up!

she's learning a lot, but the next thing i need to teach her is that when you're six, you can't tell a story and say, "when i was younger..." you are young. yesterday you were young, today you are young, and tomorrow you will still be young.

c'est la vie

i should've known better. it was way too easy. she lulled me into a false sense of relief with her sneaky mother-like ways she's had 23 years to perfect, and i fell for it. like a sucker.

being the good daughter i am, i called her at the beginning of my lunch hour to reassure her that 1). my down payment was still in tact
2). my identity was not yet completely compromised
3). i had acquired a temporary debit card and could buy myself a pack of gum or shoe laces if i so desired

then out of nowhere she hit me with it: the guilt trip of a lifetime. she even pulled out the god card! "i keep reminding myself that the christian faith tells us that we disappoint god the father everyday, and he constantly forgives us. i'm just trying to remember that and apply it to this situation."

how does one respond to that?

i wanted to ask whether she had just compared herself to god, but thought it probably not wise. i also wanted to clarify whether i had gotten a tattoo or committed a murder or had an abortion. again, some part of me decided that would probably only lengthen this lovely lunchtime chat.

after we talked at length about the best way for me to break it to my dad, she seemed immensely cheered by the fact i had agreed to tell him in person. my assured suffering at the crestfallen look of my father seemed to ease her own pain at now having a daughter destined to work a life of non-profits. they don't allow tattoos in here.

irresponsible irresponsibility

the justification went like this: i've been doing a lot of responsible things lately and taking charge of my life. doing things that dump me into the category of "adult" more than any other, which needs to be outweighed by some childish, immature act.

it was a joke, though. clearly, knowing for over a year what i wanted permanently inked into my skin and carrying around the cut-out photocopy for weeks substantiated that i was preparing for what some might call this "irresponsible act" with a great deal of responsibility.

so that happened friday, and was followed by binge drinking, getting home at 4am, waking up at noon, and a monster headache. at 2pm, still in pajamas, my roommate and i were talking about our friday nights. her boyfriend had lost his phone, which launched us into a conversation about lost wallets and phones during drunk nights out. i explained how i was shocked that in a big city like chicago everyone i've known has recovered their lost wallet and/or phone. somewhere in the back of my mind i can guarantee some smug asshole comment was brewing: yes, but i've never lost my wallet or phone. never even had it stolen--not in all these years, not even in all my travels.

well karma's a bitch because now here i sit researching the steps for getting an illinois driver's license, hoping that the bar will call me back and say they've found my wallet that i discovered was missing when i tried to pay for my cab at 4:45 this morning, or that some benevolent stranger will fill my facebook inbox with a message of great clarity.

looks like i finally managed my irresponsibility.

it comes and grows

the other day i was walking west on cornelia and came across this patch of dirt that someone had obviously taken great pains to seed and then cover with hay and then a layer of tight-mesh screen, assuring that the growth of this grass would not be interrupted by heavy footfalls or disrupted by hungry birds.

yesterday i walked by the same patch to see dozens of seedlings--some nearly 3 inches tall already--coming up through the hay and screen. of course, there wasn't a blade of grass to be seen. it was all weeds. why is it that what comes so easily, so abundantly is almost always what's least desired?

why are you blue blog?

there goes the neighborhood

last night I was sitting in bed and realized that in the past 24 hours I had signed two things: an offer representing hundreds of thousands of dollars and a bottle of jameson.

then I smiled, thought "success," and fell asleep.

a conversation of two luddites

me: just got the matt and kim. baller.

Tegan: what?? the new one?

me: yeeeeea

Tegan: i neeeeeeeeeeds

me: what. no. you have it. what? is there a newer one?

Tegan: i dont have it digital though

me: ooh.

Tegan: which means i cant listen on the bike. you are talking about grand right?

me: yeah. we did it this super cool way. i'll email you instructions.

Tegan: ok

me: this is sort of going to be like a scavenger hunt. but it's worth it

Tegan: ok

--email sent--
me: alright. see if you can do it. i probably explained it incorrectly but hopefully not

Tegan: i love the stuffer

me: oh me too

Tegan: smash smash smash

Tegan: ok so its got a little folder that says the unarchiver on my desktop. do i just go and click click on steves thingy

me: well is the unarchiver an icon yet on your desktop?

Tegan: which link there are two?

me: okay, so the stuffit thing has run?

Tegan: yeah its like a manila envelop or some shit

me: cool. okay yeah now click on steve's link

Tegan: which one there is a short one and longer one that says indubitably

me: the longer one

me: how's that working?

Tegan: good good

my compy just slow as hell

magnolia in the wind

does your pulchritude
lie in your fragile bloom or
its fierce destruction?

snail mail

there's something about getting real, enveloped, post-marked mail that makes my day. (the "real" qualifying it as something from a person not a company.) in a time when almost anything can be emailed, texted, phoned, or faxed--to think that someone took the time to figure out your address, to obtain the right size envelope, and to discover what the hell a postage stamp is now worth, well...people typically don't take that time anymore.

today i got real mail delivered to my home, through our mail slot by our postwoman, and it made my day. who cares what was inside. and to thank the sender, i'm going to send them something in return.

because heaven knows it takes about 1000 times as long to get something sent out through the chicago postal service than it does to post on someone's facebook wall.

ps. if you also find receiving mail a thrill then leave your address in the comments. i can't promise what you when you'll get something via usps, but i can promise.

here comes monday

at work, i endure the joy of being the recipient of 3 generic email addresses, in addition to my personal work email. below is a particularly great email i received. after reading it, i sat for a moment, truly dumbfounded. all i can say is, fail. on so many levels. fail.


Email Sent 4/3/2009 12:30:57 PM

A visitor to the ALA Online Store filled out your feedback form. Below you will find their contact information and inquiry.
------------------------------

Subject: Failed Book Purchase
Name: MW
Email Address: (omitted to protect the idiot)

Visitor Comment:
I received in the mail a book I had tried to order through the ALA store. The ordering online process failed and I am returning the book.Storytime Magic. I would like to have my credit card purchase for the book corrected.

waiting, watching, wondering

my absolute, all-time, favorite seat on the train is the single seat positioned perpendicular to the window in the middle of the car. this seat allows for maximum city-seeing with minimal interference.

in the morning, however, i'm happy to take any seat i can get. today i was in one of the two seats that faces two more seats directly across the aisle. to my left was a man in a suit and probably his early 30s. across from me was a girl about my age who had gotten on at southport.

at north & clybourn, our forced quartet was completed as a man sat down in the last remaining spot. at first glance i assumed this man to be some bad-ass bike messenger. he had a small frame and not an ounce of fat. i'm pretty sure he had more muscle in his skinny right calf than i do in my whole body. he had a shaved head and donned thick, leather workboots, a bulky brown vest, and sunglasses. the train sped towards clark & division, and i watched him. i was staring, but i couldn't help it. and the more i observed the more i wondered if my initial impression was incorrect.

was that chipped, red fingernail polish on his pinky or dried blood? through his lightly tinted sunglasses i could see his eyes darting around the train car--not settling on anyone or anything, refusing to rest.

was that toothbrush in his sleeve pocket a means to keep his bike free of mud and rust? or was it used every morning with toothpaste? as the girl next to him readjusted, he quickly moved the arm closest to her in a manner suggesting he wanted nothing to do with personal contact.

was that leather belt and piece of coated wire tied around the loop in his vest a bike messenger's talisman or a homeless man's morning find? i had my earphones in, but his lips formed sentenced- length shapes. whether a silent voicing of internal thoughts or casual conversation to his seatmate, however, i couldn't tell.

was that deep dent in the upper part of his forehead a part of the natural, uneven topography every skull displays? or was it the reason he was now repeatedly banging his right elbow into the partition separating the exit and the aisle? was he pumping himself up for a long day of riding, or preparing to jump off the train and beat someone down?

as the train pulled into chicago & state, i stood to exit the train. he remained seated but raised his arms straight up in front of him and held them there. was this gesture a silent request for me to take his bony hands and help him to his feet?
or was he pretending to be a zombie?

was nice to know you

i frequently catch the cat drinking out of water glasses, and have relayed this to my parents who scoff in disbelief. tonight, she shoved her face into my glass. as i was on my computer, i decided to get a picture for proof.

you would think that after going so far as to take a picture of the act i would remember, 15 minutes later, that the cat--the cat who drools nasty mucus, the cat who has horrible smelling breath, the cat who drinks out of the toilet--had drank my water.


you would think.
but i didn't think.
and i just drank the rest of the water.

i hate myself.

why?

i was recently asked why i keep a blog and responded with a vague, bumbling response.
this quote, which i came upon today, elucidates my reason.

"Creating your own blog is about as easy as creating your own urine, and you're about as likely to find someone else interested in it." -- Lore Sjöberg

i do it for me.

today's theme is

papercuts.
responses?

because

1. because tiny is tinier than tin.
2. because he told him not to touch it.
3. because i kick and nothing happens.
4. because sometimes the leaves are green and sometimes they're brown.
5. because i never said that.
6. because i've said it a hundred times.
7. because shellfish makes her throat close.
8. because your mother was a whore.
9. because no one said it would be fun.
10. because we got a seat on the train.
11. because both beds were taken and someone had puked on the couch.
12. because broccoli is my favorite vegetable.
13. because it got bit off.
14. because the book was brand new.
15. because i couldn't fold it properly.
16. because once bit twice shy.
17. because it's cliché.
18. because you can spell it with or without an e.
19. because he sent me a letter.
20. because of you.
21. because everything's been bought and sold.
22. because the p is silent.
23. because she wanted to be a secret agent.
24. because he told her that if he didn't love her so much he'd hate her.
25. because they were blessed.
26. because she slept too late, and missed the call.
27. because it's a disco.
28. because you don't know what the button does.
29. because he woke up wearing socks.
30. because i hate all caps.
31. because mix tapes.
32. because mixed drinks.
33. because it was password protected with the names of various mythical creatures.
34. because "i don't know" was the wrong answer.
35. because the therapist was actually an actor.
36. because she sneezed and a peanut came out.
37. because new mexico city isn't the capital of new mexico.
38. because brackets became popular.
39. 'cuz i don't got no money.
40. because post options.
41. because some verbs are nouns.
42. because a buzz filled the ears.
43. because he was a buzz kill.
44. because the killer bee buzzed.
45. because i ain't never seen no buzzard.
46. because the french use double negatives.
47. because i felt a chill in june.
48. because she heard footsteps.
49. because liquid expands to fill a container.
50. because everyone does the best they can?

life is hard. on a scale of 1 to 10, it's a 10.

i have come to depend on two kinds of people. those with orange tongues and those with orange hair.

apologies in advance

they say that smell is the sharpest sense; that it can pull you back to a memory faster than a visual cue or a sound. something tonight prompted me to go back to ani. listening to 'little plastic castle' certainly gave the aforementioned theory a run for its money. i played the album relentlessly when i first got it freshman year. it was the first strong female voice i'd heard, and despite my upper-middle class, suburban background, i identified with her. (for which she would probably hate me.)

then 2nd semester of freshman year started, and i left the album for the bright eyes, andrew bird, the weakerthans, and others. then, the beginning of sophomore year, and eventually i left a lot more than just my music.

the beginning of 2nd semester sophomore year, i dug out ani again and listened voraciously. when i listen to songs like swandive, loom, independence day, and not a pretty girl, it shakes me up. details i haven't considered in years--the putrid yellow tiles in our bathroom--hit. the difference is now they hit as memories, as the past, as something that was lived through, and there is an odd comfort in them for that reason.

our senses are for taking in our conscious present, for being alert and aware of our current situation. they can throw us back to a past, and yet they have no reach into the future.

sort of like the odyssey

so. i believe we
have a mouse
visitor. based to the
ongoing ruckus last
night, feral cat may
have gotten it. just
wanted to warn you
either way!
to: alison downs
sent: mar 16, 7:49 am


--immediate response has been lost due to human error.--


from: alison downs
haha yes. well if
tilly did catch it
(awesome
mar 16, 8:18 am


1. thank god you are
the roommate you
are 2. not sure.
thats why i'm not
entirely convinced
its dead. also, she
better not put the
carcass in my
slippie.
to: alison downs
sent: mar 16, 8:25 am


from: alison downs
NOT DEAD YET! i
just saw it run from
her. oh my god. ha.
whoa. but tilly is on
the hunt.
mar 16, 8:36 am


omg! is it missing
limbs? i only signed
on to live with one
pair of whiskers!
to: alison downs
sent: mar 16, 8:38 am


from: alison downs
haha seriously.
looked like it was
all still intact.
brown little thing
with a high pitched
little scream. . .
this is clearly going
to be an epic battle.
mar 16, 8:44 am

12 words

twelve words to succinctly describe so many in our generation who do exactly what everyone else deems appropriate, mainly graduate, marry, move, procreate.


"we closed our minds, we shut our traps / we built a house, the house collapsed"
-when we were alive, the thermals

signs

fiddle lesson

zack: the rolls are mainly accomplished through the swooping bow and a strong rhythm of the ornament. swooping and good rhythm.

me: so many things require swooping and good rhythm.

zack: yes, a little metaphor for life.

casual friday

despite going out thursday night, i awoke friday ready to take on the last day of the work-week. standing in front of the closet, i wondered what to wear on "casual friday." by any other company's standards, the ALA is casual monday - thursday, and on friday the dress code just sighs, "i give up." i'm suspicious that one coworker comes into work in whatever he fell asleep in, which might also explain the musty smell wafting out of his office...

regardless, i was energized, i was dressed [down], and i was early. as i shut the door behind me, i took a moment to peer in the window, curious as to what matilda-the-feral-maniac first decides to destroy when i leave each morning. instead, i saw her yellow eyes staring back at me as she sat in the window sill. i flashed back to kansas, walking off to elementary school, looking back to see phil [the best dog ever] sitting in the front window, watching me walk away. i smiled, waved goodbye to matilda, and made to put in my headphones.

a shot of pain in my lower back, i'm looking at the sky, my flailing hand's ripping away from the banister, another slap across my should blades, six more stairs, a hard landing on the concrete, and what the FUCK was that?! it is then that i realize i've fallen down the front steps. i slowly stand up and gather my discombobulated ipod. pretending as if nothing is out of the ordinary--why, yes, that's always how i make my morning exit--i concentrate very hard on wrapping the extra length of headphones around the ipod, mentally assessing the damage. it's hard to breath deep. can you feel internal bleeding? doesn't matter, my hand is bleeding. rather than navigate those fucking stairs again to clean myself up, i find a receipt in my bag, slap it over my bloody thumb, pull on my mitten, and march off to the el.

i was lucky enough to get a seat on the train and spent the ride wondering about my toughness. i gave myself the following ratings.
toughness of spirit: A-
toughness of mind: A
toughness of body: B-
toughness of ego (when prepared for criticism): A
toughness of ego (when unprepared for criticism): D

after settling on that, my mind wandered to thoughts of survival. imagining myself forced into certain situations, i again rated myself on my likelihood of surviving.
soldier in civil war: 62%
soldier in WWII foxhole: 74%
sinking ship in shark-infested waters: 28%
homeless in chicago: 83%
trapeze artist in circus: 3%

coming home from work, all the ice had melted off the stairs, and matilda was perched on the sill shaking her head, don't pretend. i saw you fall this morning and you looked pretty stupid. on a scale of 1 to 10, i rate your grace a 0, your poise a 3, your dignity an 8, and your resourcefulness a 9. now feed me, i'm hungry.

if we just keep on talking

used the night as a cover to notice what typically got missed. the glass church windows sparked like a million tiny fires when the streelights bleed through. got home from the job and worked out my drunkness.

the steam poured out of a bricked up pipe like music from a trumpet, to fan and disperse. crept up on a woman, watched her rearrange her purse and clutch at her car keys. heard her sigh of relief upon realizing the shadow was smaller and whiter.

there is the frustration in it, yes. but it is more the empathy that stings. the "so close and -- yet -- so far away."

the muscles that tensed when those words were spoken clenched again, and because we hold such hard associations you know it's the jaw. if only we knew all the things we needed to know.

and the light still flickers
and the fridge still hums
and the night still beckons
and i walk on

an urban version

the red wheelbarrow

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

-williams carlos williams

oh, irony

Word of the Day for Saturday, February 14, 2009

myopia \mahy-OH-pee-uh\, noun:

1. an abnormal eye condition in which only closeup objects are seen clearly; nearsightedness
2. shortsightedness; lack of foresight

too much thinking

sometimes when i try to view things full size, they resolve at the same size.

ptsd

last night i had a dream, which included this blog and google.

as far as i can remember, this is the first time i've dreamed about the interwebs. regardless, in my dream there was a very angry, hurt male mentioned previously. his emotional distress was a direct result of discovering he'd been mentioned in such a negative light within these virtual pages.

whether inspired by my dream or just curious, i decided to google my name tonight. a variety of boring things came up, but i did happen upon this. indeed, it is a little bizarre to see your name popping up in other's blogs, especially if they're strangers.

if i had to examine all this i'd say i'm perhaps suffering from some twisted merger of guilt and karma that has resulted in my subconscious experiencing a case of post traumatic stress disorder.

absence and presence

a black vest and long shirt still formed to the shape they once encased, but lying on the ground, commemorating the snowman's last breath.

footprints sunk deep into dried concrete-- filled with rain water.

we are everywhere in our presence and absence.

is this real life?

okay... i have two fingers.

oh really?

i disagree.

p.l.f.

they were three. three intrepid individuals, come together for one purpose.

as they gathered underground that night, however, this was unknown. in the room-- where the light quality lent itself to being either "day" or "night" but nothing in between (no late-afternoons or early-mid-mornings)-- the three busied themselves, unaware of the developing mission.

certainly the cloudless sky and fanged moon played their part-- an appropriate background for which the goings-on underground could unfurl. (most don't want a bubble bath during gunfire or whimpering amongst the tulips).

neither can it be denied that the all-kinds-of-liquids, which took to the size and shape of their containers, assisted as well. the tall, round, and golden filled the elastic organs as easily as the hot, squat, and piquant.

it was flowing and fuzzy.

creeping out of the styrofoam woodwork, uncurling from the lace curtains, the room was suddenly crawling with hidden purpose. it gathered and slithered up the metal table legs and assumed its position, big and fat, on the lazy susan.

the three couldn't ignore it, after all they now had a purpose-- a collective duty and mission for something they had neither felt nor smelled before. how had it surprised them? they had been surrounded in purpose the whole night-- knocking on its fibers, walking on its veins, sitting on its threads. but they understood, without hesitation or regret, that they were now the three and only members of the puffin liberation front (p.l.f.).

the one with rosy cheeks grabbed the camera for documentation. the one with curly hair alighted on the purple parasol. the one with large glasses seized the key, and they tore off to liberate the puffins.

the journey was shorter than one might have imagined for a mission of such magnitude. in a matter of seconds they were at the terrible vehicle which contained the two large-billed birds. without confrontation or struggle, the pair of winged creatures were rescued from their cramped and confined compartment. the parasol opened to shield them from lurking cleptoparasites while flashes filled the dark to capture the joy. out in the night the animals took a new shape (like the aforementioned liquid) and filled the space that had been their hopeless spirit. as the p.l.f. retreated back underground, the puffins dug at their itchy feathers with the anticipation of freedom and cheered their muffled chainsaw cheer.

blather

today was one of those days that feels like several days-- has several different stages, so that by the time you finally fall asleep it's like you've lived a whole week.

i'm guessing a big component to today's feel was the fact i took a mega dose of nighttime syrupy medicinal goodness last night. at 3am i woke up with pins and needles in my arm thanks to a cat sleeping on it. i remember thinking i should move, but when my alarm went off 4 hours later i was still in the same position minus sleeping cat and sleeping arm but a mouse instead. (it's like a circus in my bed. [i wish]).

the rest of my day proceeded as such:

---
Share drive/T:/Editions marketing/Jill.Katharine/ what the hell am i looking for in this folder...?

do something. at least blink or nod or head or smile or show some sort of human response in this meeting. dear god, i feel like i'm dead. maye i am dead. is it snowing outside? i thought it wasn't supposed to-- katharine, are you okay? --me?! yes! i'm fine. hey look everyone, it's snowing!


---
2:00pm- finally alert
3:00pm- extreme productivity
4:00pm- multiple paper cuts


---
the quality of the light was beautiful walking out of work. when it's overcast- not cloudy, but angry with precipitation-- for so many days in a row, you soon start considering certain types of gray skies as 'sunny'. this afternoon it was overcast, but overcast like if you were making a sky out of layers of faded tissue paper.


---
took a different route home; savored the incense burning in the el station; some small things caught my attention; ignored some big things; conversed with strangers; acquired objects


---
your shameless self-promotion on facebook and gchat status makes me sick. you're not a good writer, only a good shmoozer. not to mention you can't dress yourself and the number 1 adjective that comes to mind when describing you is smarmy.

lull

"i'm all for moderation but sometimes it seems
moderation itself is a kind of extreme"

and also:

sometimes i find the possibility and access and innovation a crippling creative force.

random notes on revolutionary road

i'm willing to bet that revolutionary road is one of the top three films i see this year, full realizing that it's only 18 days into 2009.

when leaving the movie, a couple on the elevator was discussing the movie.
man: i don't know, i just didn't find it that interesting. a husband and wife screaming at each other for 2.5 hours just didn't do it for me.
woman shrugs shoulders
man: i get enough of that at home.
woman: oh, shut up.

in a way, i can't argue with the guy. but whereas he saw a boring story depicting two people fighting, i saw a fascinating portrayal of the turmoil that can dismantle any serious relationship. the film took something so basic and yet so universal and tailored it to a fictitious couple to whom, i imagine, anyone could relate.

beyond questioning the functionality of the couple's relationship, the film examined what it is to be *normal*, revealing exactly how subjective it is but how frequently it's asserted as something objective-- something that can be measured, something you meet or fail to meet. after the couple shares their plans to leave their current life in the suburbs with their friends, you later see the friends discussing how immature and unrealistic they felt the couple's plans were, which i felt revealed their own insecurities about the life they were living. it seems that their friend's decision to push beyond the status quo registered with them, but only enough to dismiss it as something childish because it inserted discomfort into their lives.

truth was another heavily explored element of the movie-- not just honesty with each other, but with yourself as well. the most honest character was also the man who had recently spent time in a mental institution of sorts and was labeled as "crazy" several times.

i appreciate that the movie didn't side with the husband or wife. it gave a pretty straight view of both sides and let you decide. more than letting the viewer decide, however, i think it aimed to show how two people who are seemingly so similar, in interest, in values, etc. can have inherently different approaches to life.

one scene gripped me unlike almost any other. it's one of the last of the movie and is so brilliant in how it takes the colors of the set and allows them to speak. it's subtle, undeniable, and nuanced all at once and when the camera zooms out to reveal the horrible stain on her skirt and the growing blood on the carpet it's chilling.

so much of this movie was horrific but not in a scary way. horrific in a this-could-become-my-life-so-easily kind of way. you would think one might actively have to choose a life like that but it seems like it so easily occurs. and maybe that's why-- it takes action to stay engaged and alive.

today's most beauitful encounter

...Eggers says it's like when the Incredible Hulk changes from man to monster. His vision blurs, his body tingles and he can barely hear. According to his friend Larry Gower, who often serves as a public liaison for him, in those moments, Eggers gets extremely loud. They both agree that Sadie is one of the few things keeping Eggers from snapping.

Sadie rides around town on Egger's back in a bright purple backpack specially designed to hold her cage. When he gets upset, she talks him down, saying: "It's O.K., Jim. Calm down, Jim. You're all right, Jim. I'm here, Jim." She somehow senses when he is getting agitated before he even knows it's happening. "I still go off on people sometimes, but she makes sure it never escalates into a big problem," he told me, grinning bashfully at Sadie. "Now when people make me mad I just give them the bird," he said, pulling up his sleeve and flexing his biceps, which is covered with a large tattoo of Sadie.

Soon after what he calls "the Archbishop Incident," Eggers got Sadie from a friend who owned a pet store. She'd been neglected by a previous owner and had torn out all her feathers, so Eggers nursed her back to health. He didn't initially train her as a service animal, he says; she did that herself. When Eggers had episodes at home, he'd pace, holding his head and yelling: "It's O.K., Jim! You're all right, Jim! Calm down, Jim!" One day, Sadie started doing it, too. He soon realized that she calmed him better than he calmed himself.

--Rebecca Skloot, "Creature Comforts", The New York Times Mangazine (January 4, 2009)

phantom other

here we were all those years ago. some spinning like tops while other spun like ballerinas, hands over head in a soft arc-- an ever so slightly protected bubble. enough to shelter themselves and still let others close. (this is a range i have yet to master.) but we were there, and whether toys or dancers we were all chewing. sucking out the moment's pulp, pulling off the last bloody tendon, not caring if bone chips lodged in our throat. through the spinning and digesting came a song. a humming that was joined by one whistle and two claps and some off key singing. and for one beautiful second, or month, we were a tuning fork. struck, held steady&buzzing, held up for consideration & quiet admiration. held until silenced and put away.

that palpable clarity we held in our hot little fists. like greedy dogs we ran home and dirtied our paws digging. like guilty thieves we checked over both shoulders. like old ladies, nervous with heavy cash, we stored our treasure. to a hole-in-the-ground, we devoted our precious findings.

we abandoned. we fled. we stilled.

---

every now and then i'll hear the bees' angry whispering, or trip on an unlikely groove under foot, and pretend it's our buried treasure nudging like a phantom other.

VaR: very absolutely relative

i read an article in the new york times magazine on risk, specifically in light the financial crisis. i found it rather intriguing, which surprised me. usually my dad and brother get going about the market, dividends, puts & calls, and you can bet they only puts and calls i'm registering are calling on them to put me out of my misery.

in this article, though, a great emphasis was placed on VaR (value at risk). if i understand it correctly, a group of really smart people came up with this collection of statistics and probabilities that, when taken together, assesses a portfolio's (and on up to the company's) risk in a 24 hour period. so, for example, if you have $50 million of weekly VaR that means that over the next week there is a 99% chance your portfolio won't lose more than $50 million.

the article goes on to discuss whether the financial blow-out was a result of the VaR not being all it was cracked up to be, or if it was (it was basically a tool formed by a group at j.p. morgan in the early 90s that turned industry standard in a decade.) wall street depending so heavily on this VaR that they lost sight and perspective of this mathematical machines capabilities.

one man called taleb warned against the VaR and the dangerous implications relying on it so heavily could cause. his main criticism is that while you can predict 99% of the time what will happen you have no idea what will happen that 1% of the time, and while that 1% is small it still exists. if there's a 99% chance the most you can lose in one week is $50m that consequently means there's a 1% chance that the least you can lose is $50m.

there's a 99% chance you will live through this week and only get a paper cut. and there's also a 1% chance that a paper cut is the least you'll endure.

the animals have turned human.

this is what i live with.

a once graceful, meek feline, matilda has now turned into ma' the beer-guzzling, tv-watching wench.

actually, it should be noted no TV is on. she's just staring into the void, contemplating when to take her next nap.

i have no idea how she got herself into this position, although i'm sure she was planning it all day.