tiny excerpts

Because I can't think of anything interesting to write about (save maybe the fact that an entire night spent awake watching TV with a favorite on Friday was confusingly punctuated by a Dusty Rhodes documentary at 9 a.m. -- none of which was interesting), I will post a tiny excerpt from a very rough essay book chapter I'm working on currently (and I hope to finish this at some point this week, along with at least one other thing):

"My bad bike karma began innocuously, with some unimpressive tumbles on breezy, traffic-free residential side streets. My mom, dad and sister took family bike rides on crisp spring and hot summer weekends to a semi-secret meadow of honeysuckles and lilacs, even though everyone in my family was desperately allergic. The blossoms stared at us all in a row, the entrance to a long field that seemed untouched despite being the dividing border between two neighborhoods. Sometimes we would walk our bikes across the field, entering into the alternate universe of the houses just behind ours, which we could usually only glimpse through the narrow slats of our backyard fence. (Years later, my mother would break down and excitedly plant a lilac bush in our very own backyard. I imagine the ashes of my childhood shaggy dog, Cindy, are still buried there, unbeknownst to new owners.) On the way back or to the lilacs, I would sometimes end up laid out on the hood of a car or thrown into a cozy patch of grass at the request of my awkwardly-pedaling limbs."

 

the continuation of inspiration

Today, my drive to do things continues. I have been trying to continue the precious feeling of non-rushed calm that I tried to cultivate while I was in Chicago for almost a month from mid-September - mid-October. I actually find I get less done when I worry about some of the meaningless details about career advancement and general accomplishment -- like how many pages or notes of creative content I should be writing in a day, when the last minute I can finish a transcription is before I'm deemed lazy, when I need to start writing a bio for someone. I sit and spin my wheels for days, feeling guilty about watching TV or anything I do that is not directly contributing to my output.

No more.

Why don't I just wake up and write something ... anything? The worst that can happen is something semi brilliant.

In other news, I want, I want, I want ...

Also, I need to finish my bio and other website content.

And finally, my sister turns 40 today, and I feel this has to be impossible. 

I suffer therefore I write ... therefore, am I?

This cliche question brought to you by my realization (and I know all writers realize this at some point) that sometimes the only time I can create poignant/heartbreaking/affecting writing is when I am miserable. Actually, it's not really when I am miserable that I can create, rather when my heart, mind and soul (and bank account) are in limbo. This state of being is pretty much the definition of existential misery.

I hate waiting. And I have been doing it my whole life ... or at least for the past 11-12 years.

If I am basically satisfied with my life, will I stop noticing interesting things in the world and stop being capable of stringing words together that mean anything?

When I feel less of myself, I seek to find more of it in language. When I feel more myself, I feel no need to reaffirm my connection to the planet through words.

It's stupid, simple and complicated, all at the same time.

I am currently pushing to get my website up so I can feel that I have accomplished something rather than am just keeping myself alive. I also need to get back on the "approaching agents" horse. I went through a bit of a freshly-rejected period (after getting some rejections, none of which implicated I was anything but a fantastic writer) where I didn't want to do anything with that part of my life.

Then again, emptiness is hard to fill with more emptiness.

there goes my neighborhood ...

Once again, I fall short of my own self-imposed expectations by not keeping up this blog.

However, the good news is, I manage to be really kicking ass at working with artists on their bios ... and really enjoying writing them. The quality of the music has started really going up too, so I think that's a good sign that I'm fine tuning my process, and that my attempt to work hard for people is working, and that my psychoanalytic abilities are pretty decent.

Maybe I missed my calling as a therapist.

In other yet somehow still related news news, my week is not going so well in some personal/emotional areas. But, I'm not one to go into "Dear Diary" mode.

Also, I often get the feeling that I am really underachieving, especially when I am able to do something work related very quickly, then the next day, start a grueling process of procrastination that lasts for three weeks. 

The End.

Female Topless Boxing

My Office software has officially arrived, meaning there will be no stopping the productivity from flowing now. I no longer have any excuse not to get right on the ball with everything (though I am still -- albeit quickly -- getting used to the very uptown problem of the keys being in strange places on the keyboard).

First personal warm-up project:  I plan to update the Movie Deuce blog to review a terrible (and fairly emotionally traumatizing for us both) film J and I watched in tandem called "Punch." Have you ever wondered about the fictitious yet wildly popular Canadian sport of female topless boxing? Well, that's just the tip of the iceberg with this one. It is actually baffling that the fact that this "sport" appears in the film is the least of its problems. You basically very quickly forget how strange the concept is and just accept that it exists.

However, this film is an affront to the actual sport of women's boxing and has probably set that sport back at least 20 years.

  

change, now ...

After many years with a janky, inhibiting computer, I am finally typing from a brand, new computer, thanks to the kind trust of a friend and the fire I have lit under myself to get going on the rest of my life. Now that I have some excitement around creating things again (since it is once again easy for me to do what I love), I plan to do much more active contributing of the things that matter most to me to the world. I am also legitimately VERY actively working on getting my book published and building a new website for myself. I am beyond excited about the possibilities and trying to keep realistic expectations of happiness (I think that's one thing I have learned -- both the hard way and the normal way). 

This feels more "Dear Diary" than I would like, but I'm trying to practice accountability in my life. Writing things down is always a major step in that process!

I'm hoping for funnier, better and in general more meaningful posting in the future. And for this blog soon to migrate over to my own newly-designed website at juliarogers.com.

It's been a difficult summer, but growth is magical. And there has been plenty of that.

I am trying actively not to make the same mistakes again, to avoid listening to the judgments of people that might not understand why I need to do the things I need to do or love the people I love and generally not let excuses get in the way of getting things done and thriving on the nourishing food of change.

One Week Ago ...

Last Friday was my dad's retirement party, during which 200 people I haven't seen all together at once in probably 30 years all descended on me at once (and of course, on my sister and my dad).




Here is the speech I gave, because I realize I need to write more, and this is the only thing I've written recently:





I have processed that my dad is retiring, but I’m still not 100% convinced that he will actually go through with it. The thought of him being able to stop teaching – even when forced – is actually kind of laughable.



My dad has been teaching my sister and I for well over 30 years now. Being that my parents were both teachers, both of them always pushed us to be curious about the world, explore it and learn …whenever we did anything. As a result of this, certainly, almost nothing in my life has ever been without meaning or an opportunity to learn something valuable – not only when I lived in their house with them, but also as I’ve gone out into the world. However, don’t think this has always been an inspired and inspiring process. Having a dad this dedicated to teaching – who makes sure others always (and I mean always) learn something – can be fairly …to put it kindly, “challenging.”



If you lived in my house growing up, there was no such thing as a simple question or a simple answer. You had to learn how to get answers to your questions yourself, often with detailed demonstrations and lots of additional questions. I definitely blame my work ethic and the ridiculously long emails I now send to my friends and the people I work with on this. He created teaching opportunities everywhere he went. If we wanted pizza delivered for dinner, we had to have the experience of ordering it ourselves (and put up with some gentle yet persistent coaching while we were on the phone). If you wanted to learn how to use his new computer, you could expect a fair amount of hovering and for him to provide you almost frustratingly detailed instructions about how to press the power button. I also still remember spending hours (or what felt like hours) packing the car for family vacations or when we went away to college each year. If things didn’t fit in right, or if the rest of us were not as delighted by the process of learning how to put together the delicate puzzle of suitcases, etc. as he was, he had no problem totally unpacking everything and doing it again. He was always on a quest to find a better, but more importantly, more enjoyable way to do everything.



Because he wants everyone around him to be well informed yet always inquisitive, whenever you talk to him, you can expect to see things in ways you never saw them before. Just last night, my sister and I were going to use the car to run an errand, and the detail with which he explained the apparently “special” and sensitive process of putting the key in the ignition, adjusting the mirrors, turning on the lights, adjusting the seat (and thousands of other minute car-related details) almost made us question if we’d been driving cars the wrong way for the past 20 years.



I always knew my dad was a teacher, through and through, it wasn’t weird at all having him as a teacher at HF. First of all, thankfully, all his students have always liked him, so I never had to apologize for him. I’m not implying he didn’t occasionally do “embarrassing dad things,” usually involving intricate puns, on class trips, at concerts or in the classroom. I went on three orchestra tours with him. And even when my entire family of four was present (when my sister and I were chaperones on the Spain trip and my mom also went along), he never made it feel like an awkward family trip with 80 other people along for the ride. For the most part, he was pretty well-behaved at school and fair to a fault. And even his quirks only encouraged people to celebrate their own quirks more.



Yes, you’ll be able to get him out of the physical HF building (and probably not even have to use excessive force), but likely all of us will have to continue to deal with his habit of teaching.



So, here’s to my dad. I question that you are really retiring, but congratulations anyway!