Whoops ... There Goes My Update

I forgot to update since last Wednesday. I know this is an obvious truth already, but I figured I would acknowledge my awareness of it. Likely that will be the only concrete thing I have to report.

I'm keeping other reports under my hat for the time being. Things are quite interesting and not so bad, however.

Other noteworthy news items in my life include,

1. My brain is full of gravy.
2. This brain gravy means I can do nothing this morning except stare at a blank page (since about 7:50 a.m.).
3. I need a day off (and will get at least one self-imposed one soon for my birthday next week).
4. The new air conditioning repair people are coming tomorrow, and I hope they will be able to get my annual issue taken care of before the 88-degree Wednesday.

one bad day does not deserve another

Yesterday was not the best day in history, and I'm hoping today will not be a repetition of this.

I don't have a lot to report today, other than that yesterday was marked by a sick cat, work woes, awkward e-mails and obstacles galore. I didn't have time to think or make sure my head was even affixed to my body. I need to focus on some personal life issues that are hanging in the balance at the moment (one in particular).

Resolution is still elusive.

the paralysis of taking an apology

On the surface, I deal very well with change. Underneath, change is my worst nightmare, and when I feel it sweeping through, I usually need to take some moments of silence before I can embrace it.

I saw this coming a mile away; I felt the breeze shifting subtly from somewhere unknown, as I usually do in these situations, and I knew something huge was about to hit. Someone that, in spite of my best efforts, has come to mean a lot to me in a short time called to offer the apology I deserve, and I have yet to be able to do my part and call back. It was what I've been waiting for, but I'm afraid of what is beyond the apology. I accept it may be just that and a dead end that implodes on itself, but I want there to be another step: that elusive door to something really, legitimately good. Likely it is a gateway, but to more uncertainty. Still, exercising my excellent forgiving skills (it's one of my best qualities) could also bring me some positive surprise that I can't define until I just leap (isn't that what happens to those that are good to other people? Well, I say, "Not necessarily" if my experience is any indication).

About a decade of navigating a sky of devastating things crashing all around me has pushed me from optimism to a middle, boring point of realism (I think we live in an economic world at the moment where this is also true, so everything is in boring, predictable, unoriginal alignment). I'm not quite pessimistic yet, but I've crept miles closer to negative absolutism, and I don't want to be there. No good can come of it, and I need to force myself back into personal risk taking that can only happen through staying at least secretly sunny. My skin is thick enough to take much worse than the worst that could likely happen in this case. And I have a feeling it will only take one small positive outcome to bring me halfway back to sparsely-clouded optimism, so I should throw more good, hot irons on the fire. It really can't get worse than this.

I've been feeling that "something huge" wind change the past week. As my friend R. said last night when I was feeling really overwhelmed and also impatient for something to just happen to bring things to an obvious step instead of keep them in unknown limbo: "But you're in it right now. It's happening."

I also realize I'm a true defeatist, and that's not good either. I'm not one of those wishy-washy, self-serving armchair defeatists who says, "Nothing good will ever happen to me and I will never get who or what I want" hoping that by declaring defeat out loud I will convince some unknown force I've really given up and am not expecting anything, thus opening me up to be blindsided by some miraculous event. I honestly believe to my core that it could go on in a straight, boring line forever, and that it is more likely than not that dreams of mine will never come true.

So, I'm taking a moment (and I swear it will be brief -- not 5 weeks) to think through this change ... and perhaps hoping for some grander gesture. Also, I'm throwing it out into the "void" that pays attention to this passive aggressive void that is this blog, I am going to need the same patience, care and persistence I have always exhibited with this situation. I'm still a little angry (after all, I've had about 5 plus weeks of unfair, aggressive, hurtful negligence and it's built up a lot of seething annoyance) ... but it's definitely going to go away. You already know why.

When You're a Grown Up ...

... You get to sing your own love songs into the void and watch them become about something new that has not yet begun.

Today was a great day at the 2010 Ukulele Festival. I am in awe of this woman, who called me "amazing" today (I feel so unworthy, because, wow, what a force). I have admired her (and her uncle Bill Tapia) since hearing them for the first time at last year's uke fest. Anything I can do to get closer to Elvis can't be bad:

http://www.myspace.com/mihanahawaii

Many kisses and alohas were exchanged, and it makes me know I have to do some Hawaiian writing soon. The music is wrought with expressive possibility.

I'm also glad she and others that are geekily musical got to hear my odd love songs today, which I think have stopped being about what they were about (a very singular person that so may people struggled through with me) and have moved into other sheepy pastures.

Also, I'd like to extend a personal note (too personal? Maybe there's no such thing) to someone that is making some bad decisions with my heart lately:

I hope you'll do right, as you suggest you will. I am also "fond," and I definitely deserve way more credit than you've given me, and at least half a say. It was just the very, very beginning, and you quit. But it's not too late, I assure you. There are way more powerful things in me than that. I stand behind calling you a coward, and I hope you can prove I was right about you before instead of giving up on yourself and assuming you're, metaphorically speaking, "obese with a cane" in my and others' eyes. I could be more eloquent about it if you would actually talk to me, but that's what it is for right now.

I don't need more material for yet another bittersweet "Could've been" novel, I assure you.

I don't think even you think it's 100% done.

Easy as ... Crustless Pie ... or "Modified" Cow Pies

A pie without crust is no pie at all.

And that is my point, I guess, with this likely incredibly lame "entry" (if you can call it that). Keeping up with this is not that easy on days when I have to write a lot of only borderline creative material. I'm really hoping to keep those non-sentimental sentiments out of here, because I am already on the brink of becoming way too interested in politics and business, thanks to all the writing of that sort I've been doing lately. This needs to stay sort of sacred, and definitely as unprofessional as possible without being full-on offensive (that's for other blogs).

I'd love nothing more than to share the excitement and wonderment of my forays into business writing this week, or the website relaunch (which shall remain nameless only because, "not here"), or the interviews and the fun and creative twists I'm trying to sneak into the writing that can sometimes get a little boring if carried out by the wrong fingertips.

Since I can't, I guess I have nothing to say.

My only observation today came on a quick run over the foot bridge to Randall's Island and back. The foot bridge is apparently (and quite unfortunately) the "river hobos'" go-to place for some privacy when they need to poop. Someone should really clean it more often, if only because it's going to become a health hazard. I bet someone could make a killing in this city starting a waste removal service for human excrement. I don't know who would enthusiastically take on that challenge, but I would imagine it would be the same type of person (but maybe a little more urbo-savvy and perhaps "creepier than") that would happily start one for pets in the suburbs.

How's that for informal?

And here I was, trying not to talk about entrepreneurialism ...

Welcome to Bikini Island: Where Genetic Mutation is Likely and Inventions Are Sexy

Because I'm not feeling personally creative, I present a history lesson (or at least a history lesson in my sense of the word "history," which is in my world really the same as "trivia"):

I was doing some research to help out with the creation of a fun magazine quiz today and was amused by the history of the bikini, which was created by French engineer Louis Réard in 1946. He apparently marketed the suit with the tag line "smaller than the world's smallest bathing suit." He also purposely named it "bikini" as an homage to Bikini Island, the site of the July 1, 1946 Operation Crossroads nuclear weapons test. Why? Because during that era, people were just starting to describe awesome inventions as "atomic" ... and Réard didn't have a self confidence problem, and thus reasoned that his little labor of love would cause a sensation that would be as explosive as a nuclear bomb.

Now I'll admit, I am actually a little obsessed with this creepy little engineer that decided to design what were then racy women's garments. I feel that I need to know more about his design process. What was life like in that lab, and was there cross dressing (I think I know the answer to this; it was France, after all)? Thanks to the Internet, I can find out and report back.

On Mother's Day ...

Every year, obviously, I think about my mom on Mother's Day. It's hard to believe it's been almost six years since I last spoke with her (she passed away on August 4, 2004), and sometimes I get concerned that I'm going to forget her voice and other nuances (both irritating/frustrating and positive). I miss her every day and am constantly frustrated not to have her input as I face major life events (even though her input was sometimes completely unsolicited and a little unwelcome).

I never thought I'd live out my 30s without a mom, but here I am, doing it, and somehow managing (though it's not the same). Below is a copy of the speech I read at her memorial service:

Everyone close to my mom has been talking about different ways they have felt her presence in the past couple weeks. Each time something extraordinary happens, whether a steady series of phone calls with no one at the other end, the jingling of the wind chimes on the back porch when the weather is completely still, or a spectacular meteor shower, she gets the credit for it. These signs have been great comforts to people who held her so close for so long, signals from some force greater than all of us to indicate that no one really just disappears when she ceases to be in corporeal form. I will admit it’s been really difficult for me to find her in those comet tails, or hear her favorite concerto in the scattered notes of the chimes, or even sense that she is anywhere at all. At first this made me feel incomplete in some way, as if I was the only one who was disconnected from her, from the world, maybe even from the spiritual powers greater than myself. Instead of having tiny bits of her that appeared everywhere, I found myself missing her in all the places she used to be. But, then I realized that my thinking was just not small enough, and, that, if the signs were too big, and if all of them were for everyone, they would not fit her style at all. In life, she was much more constant to me, and to so many others, so much steadier and quieter than a flash of light or a brief burst of sound. And, while it was often her method to be as vocal as possible about her opinions, the best parts of her were beautifully subtle. The only sign I received was several days after my mom’s death, the night of the day we committed her ashes to the columbarium. I had been sleeping in the same room all week, and, put down my suitcase briefly on the bed to get something out of it. When I lifted it again, there was a tiny sow bug on the bedspread. Sow bugs plagued the house I grew up in, but had rarely, if ever, been spotted in the new house my parents bought after my sister and I were far removed from the neighborhood. In fact, my mom caught me eating a sow bug (because my sister had dared me to, of course) in the backyard, near the sand box when I was about four years old. It was one of her favorite stories to tell as often as possible whenever the topic of bugs came up throughout our lives together, and, the fact that she would send one as a messenger to the guest room just as I was feeling emptiest couldn’t have been more fitting. And it was just enough to reconnect me and remind me of how sometimes frighteningly omniscient she always was. My mom had an involvement in my life that verged on the supernatural. And even when I went from seeing her every day to seeing her several times a year because of the distance between us, her physical presence was replaced by sometimes obscene amounts of phone calls to work, home and my mobile phone that increased in frequency when her psychic, motherly sense kicked in and convinced her I was doing something dangerous. Strangely enough, she was much better at knowing when I was trying to get myself into trouble when I was no longer geographically close than she ever was when I lived under the same roof, or in the same town, even though I think that was just because she had so many more worries floating through her mind that she had a better chance of eventually getting it right. I got away with much less trouble once I moved on and became an independent adult, and, there was even an unspoken 1 a.m. curfew when I moved to New York. If I didn’t pick up her phone call, she would call into the night, alternating phones until I did, without leaving a message. It was as if the cord had reappeared and strengthened and, unbeknownst to me, I was feeding her silent stories of exactly what I was doing at every moment. The reward for my willingness to go along with all these check-ins was all the calls from the mall or the car or the living room couch when my dad was out of town to tell me tidbits of gossip or to painstakingly describe a pair of pajamas she was thinking about impulse-buying me or to ask me what I was going to watch on television so she could watch the same thing and feel like in some way we weren’t as far away as we were. In attempting to prepare some words to say today, I found myself suddenly in a line from a poem by Rainer Maria Rilke. I’ve always had it in the back of my mind, but, it has never made so much sense to me until now: “Be in advance of all parting, as though it was behind you like the winter that is just going.” When my mom first found out she was sick, her first instinct was to live just as she always had, if not even more than before, and to continue to understate her importance in everyone’s life by not making the illness a spectacle, by not constantly anticipating saying good-bye. I think at first, when she was so suddenly absent, I felt that maybe because we didn’t daily acknowledge the giant monster she was facing, we weren’t prepared for her death , and worse, that she wasn’t prepared and had spent years trying to pretend that monster didn’t exist. But now I see that she was just following the theory behind that poem’s line, and her own style. She had put the future behind her, out of the way, so we could all live the best and most unlimited lives we could. My mom made sure the weight of the eventual farewell never got in the way of the present task of living, and that her life made more noise than her death. Because we were able to live the present that she wanted, now I feel that we can have no regrets about the past.

Friday Beautiday

I have a lot of opinions today, but I am resisting the urge to express them in a "Dear Diary" way because I would rather bask in the weatherific beauty that has been almost this entire week (and I will likely not be having many "Dear Diary" moments around these parts). It's definitely a week to wear the springy dresses (even though the wind has been a bit blowier than I'd like). Even if you are a guy, you should wear springy dresses, in my opinion. Yes, it's that nice outside.

In other news, I'm trying to come up with some stellar weekend plans (beyond just working and running, both of which will also be happening). I used up much of my weekending on Wednesday, but there will still be some room for more carousing, I suspect ...

Basking in the Food of Literature ...

I am hard-pressed for interesting stories these days, hence why the infrequent updates. A doctor-imposed meningitis quarantine will do that to you. It's also hard to semi-censor yourself to make sure you're not committing an act of T.M.I., which is the danger. I have no desire to create an online "journal," forcing very unwanted personal food down someone's throat. I started this blog with the hope of no rules, but unfortunately, I have standards, a career and pride, so I can't be in-my-head candid (I certainly would not want to hear the innermost workings of someone's brain a la an unfortunate Ignatius P. Reilly). I have no desire to be pitied or make someone feel personally embarrassed.

Yesterday, newly-known Beth and I went for a very special Women in Love (if D.H. Lawrence was Norwegian) style High Tea at Podunk in the East Village. It was one of the most wonderful culinary experiences of my life, and I'm my senses are still reeling. "Tea for Two" was far more than for two, with a combination of savory and sweet, cold and hot treats that included delicious honey mustard, caramelized onion tarts, scones of many varieties, creamed strawberry jam with whipped cream, vanilla apricot iced tea (because it was far too steamy out for hot tea), cheddar biscuits with creamed filling, mint berry jam, lemon cakes, fresh berries ... I actually can't even list everything, because it was so varied and decadent. Hopefully the picture will better explain. I was happily full and wishing for a corset at the end of it ... and also a time machine so I could go back to a time when corsets were standard. Actually, I think they should come back, because it would allow women the delightful experience of being full of delicious food while still looking quite presentable.

Also, there was almond shortbread, cookies and finger sandwiches (radish and cream cheese, standard cucumber, ham and Swiss cheese). I may not ever be able to stop listing ... It was topped off by a free treat (offered by owner Elsbeth) of homemade lime lavender and Earl Gray ice cream inside a graham cracker pastry shell (which we ate as we continued to talk about food on the way to the subway).

I can't stop.

I am continuing the feeling apparently, because I am watching "Antiques Road Show" and wishing I had a slew of costume jewelry to don whilst drinking cherry cordials or brandy ... or wishing I were watching the BBC film adaptation of Pride and Prejudice with Colin Firth. Deliciousness abounds.

Bask in a photo of our ridiculous decadence:



I want to continue to come back to life, because I've been a little lagging lately. I hope that happens. I also hope to see someone coming to senses soon, because said person is missed, inexplicably.