getting out

I realize that it's been quite a few years of frugal living. Unfortunately, that mostly has to continue, but I'm finding myself lacking in the observation department the past few months. You know you need to get out more when you're a writer that mostly observes/dissects the human psyche and your nighttime/social life observational opportunities happen about 3-4 weeks apart.

A friend recently expressed concern that I was online all the time. She had come to believe I was a shut-in and needed some sort of intervention. Of course, I leave my house frequently to run errands, get food, go running (5-6 times per week lately in fact) and generally walk around. Her assumption that because I work hard it means I am a social deviant was actually beyond annoying to me. She's clearly not paying attention ... or she has a much different work ethic (not that she doesn't work hard ... it's probably more a slight difference in life goals).

I'm not sure what I'm going to do about this yet, but I think I just have to make the most of the times I am in the presence of ridiculousness (aka, out at night, on a weekend or a weekday ... there's plenty of ridiculousness to be had around these parts regardless of time of night). It shouldn't be too hard to find some funny trouble, since some seems to find me every time I step out my front door.

apocalyptic events

There are definitely things brewing right now in my life, and I'm not even close to disappointed by them. However, it's not time yet to write about most of the positive revolution that is percolating. Maybe it's a fear of jinxing, maybe it's just that I'm growing up and learning the art of enjoying the happiness that can come from just having a lot of good things on the brink of happening. There's a certain degree of faith in that process, and I think my semi-abandonment of more organized spirituality (though I've certainly retained a deep connection to the "supernatural") has made me forget what that's all about. Some events can't be rushed. Oh, how we keep growing, sometimes in spite of our best intentions.

I came across a very fitting quote last week. I was actually just looking for something about patience, because mine was wearing thin. I'm not really one to be reverently inspired by random quotes outside the context of a larger literary work, song or treatise (or force other people to gain inspiration from them), but this one from American theologian, editor extraordinaire Lyman Abbot struck me:

"Patience is passion tamed."

It seems simple enough. And, it made me realize that I've been looking for more passion when my problem was too much passion and not enough respect for the time needed to enjoy the results of having so much of it. And, I've recently come into contact with some things and people (or perhaps one remarkably special person) who is going to teach me a lot about this part of me and a lot about how to stop rushing the life excitement I always think I'm waiting for, but that is actually in the process of happening as I type and breathe. And here I've been waiting for the world to explode, when everything I want is in the process of happening right now.

Here are some things I'm excited about:

1. I have three music reviews coming out in Bitch magazine very shortly. It will be my first time seeing myself in physical print with a byline, and I'm probably a little bit too excited about that. I hope I can get used to a lot of it in the future, or perhaps I should say, "I have faith I will get used to a lot of it in the future."

2. Job things are happening. I'm just waiting for a few things to finalize, and I think this dry spell will finally pass. I'm trying to retain enthusiasm without getting too enthusiastic in a way that will ruin what I need to do to keep working hard.

3. Previously mentioned special person expedite shipped what I'm expecting will be a funny bad movie, and is oddly apocalyptically related. I'm pretty sure it (and perhaps we) are going to blow up the world (or at least my world). I'm irrationally excited to see it and spend time with someone that seems to legitimately appreciate and even adore my flaws and stupidity as much as some of my good traits:



Stay tuned. Change is happening ... right now ...

Don't bother me ... I'm spinstering!

For the first time in my long history of watching Antiques Road Show in the privacy of my own home, I experienced a moment of acute awareness about my own penchant for behaving like an elderly person, and it's given me a pretty good chapter topic for my essay book. The gist of it I confessed to a certain special someone that I happened to be talking to while it was happening (and the approximate time of the admission was around the early hour of 8:15 p.m.):

"I just want you to take in this moment, because it will never be more spinstery than this (God, I hope not): I am on the couch eating a cookie in my pajamas while watching some woman get her doilies appraised."

I decided I'm going to call this practice (and I might also remind you, I have a cat) "spinstering." So, you heard it here, and it's the new "it" word. I'm pretty sure if it were 1984, it would be deemed a "Sniglet."

Incidentally, that woman's doilies appraised for $70,000. So, if you were having sex or even just making out with someone at that very same moment, you can just eat your cash-poor heart out!

Rip-Off Distraction

I think I'm starting to understand Lady Gaga's madness, at least when it comes to trying to make as much of a spectacle of herself as possible. She's just trying to distract us from the fact that she's re-writing all of Madonna's old hits and hoping no one will notice. Some of them were created before she was born, I suppose, so it's almost as if it never happened. It was in that creatively dormant time "B.G."

Alejandro = La Isla Bonita
I Was Born This Way = Express Yourself

I have no more deep thoughts on this today, but I'd like to make a request for Cherish or This is Not a Love Song. I always kind of liked those two. And in the case of the latter, be careful. Prince gets a little litigious when it comes to his intellectual property.

Oh Rachmaninoff my Rachmaninoff

Last Wednesday a dear person took me to see the St. Petersburg Philharmonic at Carnegie Hall. On the program was just about my favorite piano piece of all time, Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 2. As I sat in a box, surrounded by what felt like old New York, I realized how lucky I've been to live in this fair city and randomly get to enjoy things like this courtesy of generous people that I would never meet if I didn't continue to take huge risks in my life.

blocked subjects

Lately, I can't seem to think of any interesting subjects to write about. And for someone that is a very definite over observer, this fact is frustrating me to no end. I can describe events and even people to others in a way that makes them certain when they encounter them in their own lives that these things are exactly what I was describing. Someone recently told me, "You make everything fascinating" (though I would say that might be a little bit of an exaggeration). I guess I've been a little bored with describing the "mundane" lately. And, the not mundane that's happening in my life is attached to some writing/communication paralysis. Either that or I don't want to incriminate any of the people involved (yet) until I see where some situations are going to take me. Sometimes I feel like if I write about things before they've had a chance to fully play out/settle in I might manipulate outcomes. Is that the definition of a writing God complex? If so, it's a good thing I'm not a surgeon ...

sleep walking

I don't think I could string together a coherent sentence if I tried. I was watching TV tonight at a friend's house and found the only comments I could muster were mono-syllabic observations (sometimes just calling out names of objects) of things I was seeing on the screen. I am currently the poster girl for what lack of sleep can do to a person on all levels. I'm glad to report that most of the "difficulties/struggles" I have to report these days (at least those that are not going to be short lived) are what I'm going to call "happy people problems." The happy people problems are also the cause of my insomnia (which is less insomnia and voluntary staying awakeness). Sometimes it's pretty nice to be blindsided. Stay tuned ... Also, work is picking up at an alarming pace. However, I'm realizing there's always time for the important things.

schmupdate

It's been a roller coaster of a week, and I've been a bit too overwhelmed by it to update (plus, I felt an "obligation to classiness" that prevented me from fully disclosing what was happening with job-type things this week). I had a whole plan for an epic saga describing an event in my work life that imploded onto itself, but that whole thing managed to right itself in about 12 hours flat.

I'm feeling rather inspired to write something thematic soon (as well as a song, but that's not really relevant/translatable in this forum), so I suppose stay tuned ... ?

the word is "precocious"

The other phrase is "terrible at keeping up with this blogging thing." I don't even have any good excuse, and this is going to be quick as I get back into the swing of creativity (which, thankfully, has been majorly kicked in the seat of the pants by the things that inspired the theme of this entry).

I just got back from Chicago Saturday, which was a trip that was a mixture of keeping up with my NYC job(s), hanging out with my dad ... and going through some of the many, many boxes my pack rat mother saved that contained all memories and accomplishments from my childhood. And that's not a daunting task, right? What I discovered was that I clearly had a psychological problem growing up: I could not stop writing stories. There were thousands of pieces of stories (and an entire 200-page book I don't even remember writing that I apparently wrote in 5th grade) crammed into everything imaginable.

My favorite find can act as the punchline to this entry: A story I entered into a writing contest in kindergarten (likely my first contest ... and incidentally, likely my first contest winner) about two dogs who were friends. They went to the park for the day and played, then went over to each others' houses and played. It was really nothing special. However, the dogs' names made me fall in love with a 5-year old me and oddly fall in love with writing all over again (and inspired me to return to the time when I knew I was going to be a writer. And I will let that now motivate me to kick it into high gear, "for realsies" this time).

Wait for it ...

"Muffin" and "Barky."