Holiday Rants - Volume Six

Dear Faithful Blog Reader,

You thought I'd forgotten, didn't you? Well, never fear, your dear Citygirl won't let you down.

But be prepared, it's a short list this year. That's what happens when the bad season drifts swiftly by, without so much as a whisper, for a change.(knock on wood)

So, without further rambling, here are your rants for 2011.

1. Holiday Decorations at Work - First of all, if you spend 45 minutes of the staff meeting talking about holidays and the reindeer games you're planning, that's problem number one. It shouldn't be that difficult. Which leads to the second act of incompetence; waiting until the week before Christmas to decorate and annoy
your co-workers with crap hanging from the ceiling.


It's too late, people, it's just too late. Also, don't ask me for money to buy these decorations. If it's that important to you bring it in yourself. This is a true story. See that? I've been staring at that ladder for a week now.



2. It's Still Happening: Car Decorations - I know I mention this almost every year, but when I saw this one the first week of November, I knew it had to be said again. Please, for the love of all that is holy, or unholy for that matter, we must stop this madness. It's not cute, it's just dumb.

If you can do this to your car, why can't you drive? Clearly, you have a lot of time on your hands. But I guess there wasn't enough time left to study the driver's handbook.

3. Food Pushers - This can really be more of a year-round problem but it's heightened at this time of year due to the prevalence of butter-laden baked goods floating around absolutely everywhere. I'll admit to being an enabler of the bad eating choices, as I enjoy baking and then giving it away. However, if you decide you don't want my delicious cookies because you are on the path of clean eating, I promise to not be offended in the least. Food pushers; not so much. "But it's the holidays!", they protest. That may very well be but fighting your way to balanced eating is not just something that happens on Tuesdays, Fridays and every other Sunday. It's 25/8, just like Mary J. said, so back off with your mediocre baked goods and gravy.

Happy Holidays!

Human Movement Through Water Revisited

I'm a quitter.

I'm learning the Butterfly but have no confidence in success. My swim classmates are picking it up easily and I am still being given the drills of just the arms or the kick. It's a difficult stroke and I am frustrated by my lack of ability to perform it even remotely correctly. So I quit. I am a quitter.

In the middle of the lane, there I am, treading water, scanning the pool deck to check if Donald is watching so I can just finish the lap with breaststroke instead.

This is not a formula for success, I assure you, but unfortunately it is sometimes my modis operandi. First sign of frustration, I become a quitter with a capital K. Then eventually, I take a deep breath and struggle through the little tiny details and mechanics of the steps toward the correct outcome. And then like magic, it somehow becomes easy.

I don't think it will happen with the 'fly' but I hold a nano-nugget of optimism. It's floating around my head somewhere, along with the well of untapped determination to conquer this completely unnecessary stroke.

Sometimes quitting is a good strategy. It gives you distance from the problem in order to find a solution. The trick is remembering to un-quit though as soon as possible. I am not ready to tackle the fly yet though. I'd like to stick to perfecting my breaststroke that has just recently improved. I don't need the fly for the lifeguard testing, but the breast is a requirement. I may remain a quitter on the fly, sorry to say.

These are 'problems' I never thought I'd have where swimming was concerned. As I've navigated the treachery of the YMCA pool, and become a legitimate 'fast lane' swimmer, I've realized that I want to be in the water all the time.

After stumbling upon the beauty of the ASU student rec center pool, it became all the more clear that the career change I needed no longer involved a desk or a 9-5 program. I needed to be outside, near chlorinated water features as soon as humanly possible. The research began in earnest.



The first order of business was whether or not I would need to move to Arizona and attend ASU for the rest of my life in order to swim in that beautiful and bewitching pool. It was that blissful. It called to me; my precious.

But the reality was, the thought of moving away from the beloved city of Los Angeles (my other precious) filled me with dread and anxiety. I don't like dread and anxiety all that well. So on to plan B; find a 50-meter competition pool that can substitute right here. You know, where I already live. (Which by the way, isn't say, Paducah, Kentucky so it's not that tall of an order. But man, that ASU pool had powers I tell ya!)

The first find was the Santa Monica Swim Center. It's a popular place. The class I attended contained no less than 40 or 50 people sharing four lanes and one instructor doling out the most basic of information. I left without confirmation or denial of my technique. The cost was high and the distance far. It was not to be.

Then I found the City pool. Chock full of serious lap swimmers, always conscious of lane etiquette, close to home and two bucks with a library card, this one had potential. (Run-on sentence anyone?) I swam there a couple of times but there weren't any classes where someone could tell me if my flip turns were even being executed properly. They did have lifeguard training programs though but still more research was needed.

I started telling my tale to others and the words LA Valley College were uttered. I protested. The initial research had alluded that this pool was not open to the public. But I went back to Google to ask again.


LAVC it turns out is ready and available to assist you and yours with all kinds of water activity needs. I went to investigate.

Could it rival my precious? Could it even try? I doubted.

I met the teacher and spoke of my feats of pool strength; 120 laps nearly nightly. (Yes, that's non-stop in the questionable YMCA cess-pool) I did not have confidence that this would be the place; I was sure I'd have to keep looking but I signed up anyway.

You know how it ends from here. It's where this story started. LAVC isn't ASU but it's a close second; truly a hidden gem. And Donald has inspired and effected improvements in my freestyle, taught me a continually evolving backstroke; declared me a strong swimmer and ready to tackle the lifeguard training.

What I've learned the most is that I am through with the manufactured crises of the media business where lives aren't being saved and chests aren't being cut open, (although you'd think that was what was happening) in exchange for a career where life saving is truly an actual possibility. I am focused and determined now. I feel as though I have found a purpose and one where I also posses two key factors; a love for it and keen ability.


I vow not to quit.

Strangers Named Candy

I have a constant battle raging; a daily struggle between the limitations of my physical being and my tenacious desire to be well.

It's nothing new but as the years amble on, the war is harder won.
I swim, I walk, I run, I lift, I stretch. I ache in body and soul.

You see, the war is just as much emotional as physical.
The mental wrangling one must do to convince the brain that 60 minutes on the elliptical trainer is a much better choice than sitting in an easy chair with potato chips is, well, a really significant amount.
When your DNA also isn't akin to assisting with this plan AND the results of the efforts aren't apparent, you need all the encouragement you can get.

Everyday at lunch time, I walk. First, I walked a mile and then two and now it's four and some change. I walk through the lovely bucolic neighborhoods with light dappling through the trees. I never miss a day.
There is no good reason to stay at a desk at a hateful job for the hour that OSHA grants me. Nothing is that important. It's a bad trend in our culture that people would rather sit in misery than leave the building. I could happily expound on this and the hatred I have for the current employment I've found myself in but I'm pretty sure it's clear enough in these few sentences. So, we'll move on. The bottom line is that the hour belongs to me and I am using it wisely.

I've been walking the same route now for some time. Adding an extra block or two gradually but always loop back the same way.
One bright sunny day in April I was about to cross the street and this lovely blonde woman waves to me and says "Do you mind if I ask you something?"

I stop, taking the headphone out of my ear. "Not at all."

"Sometimes I sit on my porch with my dog and I've seen you walking. I don't know if you are trying to lose weight but boy, you look great!"

Now, with her first words it seemed a little scary. Someone watching me; that can be unnerving sometimes, but that quickly dissipated once she finished her thought.

"Thank you so much. I've been working really hard," I said.

"Well keep it up, you are really doing well and you are just melting away!"

"Wow, thank you, that's really nice of you. I'm Citygirl, what's your name?"



"Candy, and this is Tahsa," as she held up her dog.

"It's nice to meet you Candy. Thank you for making my day. It really means a lot!"

"It's nice to meet you too Citygirl. See you soon!"

And with that I was off to finish the last leg of my walk. Changed.
I was changed in those few moments and by the kind words of a complete stranger.

Her simple words of encouragement lifted me, told me that my commitment was worth it and that I must, at all costs, persevere in this quest.

Sure enough after purchasing my first scale in more than ten years, Candy's pronouncement was confirmed; I'd lost ten pounds.

This buoyed me even more. Her simple, easy gesture of a few words earned my eternal gratitude.

A few weeks later I brought her some mums and a note to say thanks. Telling her how much it meant that she would be so brave and so kind to a stranger. I was just going to leave it for her but she was home. We had a nice little chat on her porch for a few minutes and then I was on my way.

Of course I see her every now and then on the return loop and we wave and smile. The other day she told me she replanted the flowers and they were thriving. She also told me that my note was something she would keep forever. And that really got me because not only could I not even fathom that, it is the gift that keeps on giving, you see.

Her kindness, earned her kindness in return. It softened us both, which will soften us in traffic or at work or whenever softness is needed. This is not a new revelation; our eternal connected-ness. I've written it about it before, here and here (oh, and also here) but it's one of those lessons learned that is never remembered. The universe has to keep sending us reminders.

And I will remember her words again and again when my spirits are low or a I want a cookie or I'd rather have a tooth pulled than swim laps.

I will know that someone, a stranger named Candy, cared enough about her fellow man to speak up and offer encouragement.

It's My Party

I have gathered you all here to this blog to reveal that I have turned another year older.

I've decided that I'm none too thrilled about it, thank you very much. My previous stance on "my birthday" is being revoked.

"What brings about this change," you ask? "Birthdays are fun", you say. "Birthdays celebrate YOU!", you exclaim! "Birthdays are magical days full of wishes", you implore.

Hear that sound? It's the distinct clink of the pin in the balloon.


These things were only true at my seventh birthday, when I got the Play-Doh supermarket set, the Golden Barbie doll and the bubble bath that the giver poured down the sink to make sure that it worked.
And on my tenth, when I wore my mom's cute purple shirt, white ribbon in my hair and got my first ten-speed bike.




As a 'grown-up' I've expected too much of that promised birthday magic and thus have been led to these new more appropriate feelings of magic-lessness. No, it's not a reverse psychology strategy. Like all the other hallmark holidays, that I now loathe (you know who you are valentine's day), they are about forced feelings of cheer, or love or joy and excuses to eat fat and sugar without guilt. I'm no longer buying it.

So, this birthday ends quietly and without the usual heaps of disappointment as my expectations were for once appropriate. No one made me a cake or threw me a party. It was just another day and the DMV sent me a new license.

Except for this:

My best gift this year was in the poetry of a lyric from the guest blogger.
It's perfect.
I'll share it because no one likes a mystery, but part of me wants to keep it in my heart just for myself.

You went to the doctor, You went to the mountains
You looked to the children, You drank from the fountain
There's more than one answer to these questions
pointing you in a crooked line
The less you seek your source for some definitive
The closer you are to fine.

The closer you are to fine.

The closer you are to fine.

Tradition!

Fiddler on the Roof was on last night. It doesn't really have anything to do with Easter time that I can recall (I wasn't able to watch all of it) but television programmers seem to schedule it this time of year along with The Ten Commandments like clockwork.
The one thing Fiddler is strong on is the thread of Tradition!, it's one of the songs after all.

Easter time has many traditions in my family. In fact I like the traditions of Easter better than Christmas any day.

We dyed eggs on Good Friday, and on Saturday night faithfully put our plastic grass-filled baskets and Sunday shoes out for the Easter Bunny to fill with candy and eggs.



There were certain traditional German foods that were always made too. The one I never liked until very recently was the bread called Baska (busk-a). (If you follow the link it describes it more perfectly and exactly how it was in our house too, than I am doing here) It's anise flavored and I always hated it, especially the ones with raisins. The raisin ones were for Dad. It gets baked in tin coffee cans, so it pops out and sort of looks like Easter eggs. My Dad always ate his with a hard boiled egg.

But somewhere along the way, because Mom made it faithfully every year, I tried it again and liked it; no, I actually loved it. When it's toasted and buttered it's the most delicious bread you'll ever eat.

In 2004 I had a moment you could call 'realizing your mortality' around the Easter season. I thought, "the only person in my family who knows how to make this bread is Mom. Who will make it when she is no longer here? I must learn to make it and keep the tradition of my family."
I called Mom for the recipe.

The people who came before us worked hard. Everything they did was labor intensive including the cooking. I don't think anyone works this hard anymore. Making the Baska that year was so difficult and time consuming but it was worth it. In making it I knew the love that my Mom and my Grandmother before her put into every loaf.

I made the Easter Baska again this year, it was a bit easier this time but I still had to call* Mom for help for all the little nuances that aren't written in the recipe. I'm glad I know how to make this bread of my genealogy. It makes me connected to the women who made it every Easter before me and well, that's pretty cool to be creating something that stands the test of time. Nothing stands the test of time these days.


I plan to update the recipe with those details so someday I can pass it to the next generation because it's tradition!

Gotta go now, I'm in need of a slice of Baska toast with butter.

Happy Easter!



















*it was actually texts; it is the digital age for crying out loud

The Zeitgeist of 2011

I feel as though one shouldn't leave a holiday post up for too long after the holiday has passed and it's already been too long. An entire quarter has drifted by. I really have nothing to write about at the moment although in the "Coming Attractions" portion of this blog I am working on a post about traditions.

We are simply in a momentary period of brighter discontent. Where things are at an even pace, no disasters have occurred and time sweeps swiftly by; the piles of dust just keep shifting from place to place.

What can one say in these moments while you wait for another shoe to drop?

I, for one, have had some burdens lifted while others remain. I can offer no further insights to this human condition than I already have; we must keep plugging away, striving to be better, wiser, more content than we were the day before if at all possible.

I am working on those daily. My laps are plentiful and easy now and the bicep muscle is making a showing again, thank you very much. It won't be long until I reclaim my pre-surgical wardrobe. I will eat cookies that day in a moment of celebration and perfect irony.


There are still endless rants about traffic and reality television but I'm tired of those, even though I'm pithy and clever.

Except in this post.


So, instead I'll give you some music recommendations.

Adele is my Debbie Gibson of these thirtysomething years. Her record "21" is life altering. I'm also moments away from getting a set of those eyelashes for my very own and wearing all black. Much more sophisticated than that hat, and face drawn on the knee.

The Civil Wars are the Alison Krauss of 2011.

Don't forget about the fun that is Natasha Bedingfield to power through a workout or the newest Avril Lavinge also gets major points for fun too.

Enjoy the 2nd quarter of the year and stay tuned for the traditions post and yet another birthday post!

Holiday Rants - Volume Five

Well kids, it's that time again. But you know what? I'm just not feelin' it.
I know; it's shocking! The acerbic wit is taking a break.
Don't worry, I still loathe that crap people put on cars, Christmas music bleating well before its time and the fake niceness.

But this year there has been some change that has been like a burden has been lifted (yes, despite the feelings uttered in the last post) and well, that creates lightness in all areas of life.
In other words, the Bad Season has turned itself around a little bit. I know! I can hardly believe it myself.
I can still indulge in a little bit of ranting though so here goes!


1. Helicopter Parents - You don't need seven cameras recording the exact same performance of your kid at the holiday light show especially if you are both standing in the same place and all the cameras have the same shot. Zoom in already. There's a big pile of regret waiting when you get home.

2. The Costco Basket of Stuff No One Wants to Eat - This is disguised as a gift. It's not. It's an experiment or rather a dare; like a Letterman sketch. "Will you eat it?" (Also, no, it probably won't float. Those are going to be sinkers.)

3. Obligatory Gifting - see #2. Just bring a bottle of wine or a poinsettia if you feel you must bring something. Flammable liquids in the form of libations are always a good way to go. Unless your friends are alcoholics. Then you have bigger problems.

4. The Disappearance of Actual Christmas Cards - A mass text to your contact list is not a heartfelt wish. Save those characters for your Facebook status and annoy those people instead.

Have a happy holiday season everyone and be sure to make a very special wish on 1-1-11!





-Citygirl

Clouds Over My Heart

It probably started earlier than 2005 but that's the timestamp I can remember.
That's when the first events of the Bad Season began.

I know I wrote about it then. This blog proves it here (although you'll have to scroll). What I didn't know is that every autumn from there forward would have terrible things happen.

Fall 2005: That's when the clouds over my heart started to really roll in and well, the storm continues to build one Bad Season at a time.

I'm obviously writing about this because it's happening again.

I thought, foolishly of course, that this year would be different. The Bad Season would not yield any new events in 2010 and it would just be a memorial year of all the other Bad Seasons gone by. Wrong. Dead wrong.



This year the Bad Season doesn't disappoint. It is full of loss and 'bad' change. Change that I don't want. Mostly because again I didn't choose it.
This is where a philosophy class comes in handy because it's a waste of time arguing about the positive versus negative aspects of change, forced or otherwise. It isn't either. It just is. If change is anything, it is completely balanced with both of those qualities.
Go ahead and take a second here to consider that point for yourself.

No, really, we have plenty of time. I'll wait.


When I first heard the news about this life altering event, I felt like I'd been punched squarely in the jaw. My face was hot and felt like it would melt but I didn't cry (for once!). I chalked it up to the Bad Season rearing its ugly head and well, I'd better kick things in to high gear to get out in front of the storm.
A storm I'd already started preparing for, by the way, just like when people used to stock bomb shelters in the 50's.

And even with all the canned peaches and jugs of water in the cellar, there is no emotional preparation that works for these storms; when your loved ones are ripped away from you, up into the funnel cloud. There aren't umbrellas big enough to shield you from the rainfall, as you watch them float away.
The bonds are broken and nothing is ever the same. Nothing.



I've had very few tears until today. (Prompting this post) I am watching the twister take all the things that have been keeping me from wandering off into the darkness never to be found again Bad Season after Bad Season. Over-dramatic? Yes, probably, but that's what it feels like. Of course it's survivable, just like all the other Bad Seasons that have come before it. This doesn't change the fact that I have too many tallies in the 'lose' column. Too many storms weathered with the clean-up still in progress. Where is Brad Pitt to rebuild that house??!

Do not derail my pity party. I am logical and sane and I 'get' it. I have been engaged in the futile efforts of working toward 'just being Happy!' and "Cheering UP!" for 36 years and several thousand dollars safely in the hands of incompetent therapists. Trust me when I say I know how this goes.

So, like it or not (and I don't), the storm is rolling in. The only thing constant is the balanced winds, no, tornadoes of change.
I better get back to gathering more supplies and make my way down to the cellar.

Human Movement Through Water

It's hard to stay focused when you're swimming. You can't read a magazine or listen to music or watch television. There is nothing to distract your brain from the fact that you are exercising, that your lungs are burning, that you still don't know how to do a successful flip turn in the shallow end.

I have been utterly satisfied by this, however. I have found my stride and some consistency with my lap swimming. Surprisingly enough I've made improvements.

It was not without it's trials. There is a constant battle between me and everyone else. Which I don't doubt will continue. It seems to be a trend in the world. Inconsiderate people are multiplying faster than they can update their Facebook status.

These kerfuffles in the pool aren't even funny stories to re-tell although I know that usually that's what we're looking for; the funny in the end.
But I'm here to attest that following the rules of lap swimming has only gotten me hit in the face, the leg and the butt by grown men who have no clue about how to split a lane or remember the old ways of simple respect for the fairer sex.

And while I turn my head to breathe I come to these conclusions about my life. Following the rules has gotten me nothing. I should have risked more and more often. I am the way I am (acerbic, intolerant of foolishness, efficient, alone) because I know how to grin and bear it extremely well.

'They' are often fond of saying "It's never too late." I disagree.
Sometimes this is all there is. No better, no worse.

Stroking through life one lap at a time, getting hit in the ass by a loser who backstrokes; then moving faster than the stupid lady who is exercising in the lap swim lane when she knows she's not supposed to and then the rare moments when you get a swimmer who keeps the rhythm or when you have the lane to yourself for all the flip turn practice you can stand. Then you do it all over again.

Up and down the pool until your body is done.

The Devil Won

"There is nothing for me now. Not one thing that is good. Not one thing I can hope for."

Insomnia has returned with a vengeance. It's not the mild version I've grown used to. This is the up-all-freakin'-night kind. The kind that kills you completely.

I think it's because I am at a very significant fork in the road. You see, I was again not given the promotion or the raise and also no goals because I am already exceeding expectations. There is no direction for which I am to go. So, what am I to do now?

There is this feeling deep in my being that I cannot shake and that is why I cannot sleep. I KNOW that I must DO something about this.
I am fighting the part of me that knows better; the part that has already been down this road too many times to count. The part that is exhausted from starting over and over and over and over again. And the part that refuses to be a traffic spinster, doing more than my share and them some, I might add.

I am so unhappy. I am so very, very lost. And so utterly and completely alone. But what difference does that make to anyone but me? We can only save ourselves.

I don't have much else to say other than that. I wish my friend hadn't died. I wish you still talked to me. I wish I would have gone to ASU like I wanted to. But then if I had I wouldn't have known you. And that would be the bigger tragedy I think. So, I suppose we are somehow always choosing the right path, wherever it takes us.

I think I'm tired now.

Fester Further Flaxey

I've been batting around some thoughts for awhile now. They are best left unpublished. They'll be misinterpreted for sure. So, I'm going to keep them in my head to fester further for now.
Instead I'll share this song lyric because it says some of it better than I can right now. Thank you Annie Stela for writing it and KCRW for playing it that day.
I strongly suggest you give it a listen too.







Heart

Hallelujah, the spring is bringing bombs of purple on the street
I walk the dog and I crush them with my feet
Oh, the morning
The sun too bright and the moon not bright enough
I got nothing new to say except I think I’ve had enough

I don’t believe you when you tell me I’m a good girl

There must be a heart that keeps me here
Away from the panic and the fear
There must be a heart that keeps me here

Did I break you?
I really did not think it could be done
And suddenly the cards had all been played and I had won
So where is the good feeling?
Where is the lighting up?
Where are the thousand voices screaming, telling me this is enough?

I don’t believe you when you tell me I’m a good girl

There must be a heart that keeps me here
Away from the panic and the fear
There must be a heart that keeps me here

Oh, everyday and ordinary, does it make me happy?
Does it curl beneath the surface of my skin
Will I let it in?

There must be a heart that keeps me here
Away from the panic and the fear
There must be a heart that keeps me here

Holiday Rants - Volume Four

It's time again. Although I missed it last year. Here they are, just under the wire.

1. The bad economy has almost eliminated the vehicle adornments from cars. I guess even stupid people are more interested in their shrinking bank balances enough to stop frivolous spending on decorations for their cars. Bad Economy - One, Stupidity - Zero. (although I'm sure that will change)

2. Holiday songs are not that great. Musicians aren't that fond of them. So don't act so surprised when we don't want to hear Celine Dion scream O Holy Night or Jingle Bells for the 30th time. Let's get some Lady Gaga on that playlist and call it a day, alright?

3. It is not okay for neighborhood light viewing to cause a traffic problem. I want to get home and your gawking is preventing me from entering my driveway. Move out of the way. I live here, you don't and go put lights up on your own house already.

4. Enough with the countdown lists. This really applies to the whole year, especially on E!, (I suspect it's because they have nothing better do) but these are especially prevalent at the end of every year and now we must bear the decade countdowns this year as well. People love lists I suppose. It gives them something to talk about at cocktail parties.

And so another rant closes. Good luck navigating 2010. I'm sure there's a list for that.

My Sympathy Tank Has Been Removed

I'm waiting for a cake to bake. I knew I needed to bake it but ended up not coming home right away to do this chore before 11pm tonight.

That of course is not the point but it could be I guess. I feel like I am always putting off moving toward a real goal or moving the needle toward something worthwhile.

My definition of that is only two-fold. It's always been these two seemingly simple items but knowing this is clearly not enough as I've veered so far off the course that I don't think I can find my way back.

I think I can sum it up in one sentence; I do not want to be a traffic spinster. I see them all around me and last summer, the shining, glaring really, example set before me gave me great pause. I knew that if I kept on this trajectory that I may as well throw it all in now. And yet, here I am a summer later and I am losing my will to resist. And frankly, I am better than that, I am smarter than that and I am more talented than that. My glass has not yet found it's level.




You see, I didn't think I'd ever recover from last years calamity. I was heavily medicated, in pain and hateful to many people who cared about me. Now here I am, I made it through; a chance to change, a chance to take real steps to those goals and to hopefully mend relationships and be forgiven by those who suffered my wrath. But all I feel is lost and exhausted. I struggle to find the point and time keeps moving more swiftly each day and people keep drifting further and further away from true connection (one that doesn't include a status update).

And I'll tell you, THAT, is all I truly want. That is all anyone wants, which is why it baffles me that 'we' keep moving further and further away from it. It's like the movie WALL-E has predicted our future; where humans are blobs that hover around, eyes glued to a screen, remote in hand and a liquid concoction at their lips.

The cake is done, my eyes are closing and so must these thoughts.

It's the Birthday Beagle, Charlie Brown!

I have nothing to say about my impending 35th birthday. Instead, I offer this pictorial.

Spelling Counts

That's it. That's the whole post. Spell check isn't a fail-safe. Sometimes words that are similar but aren't the word that is meant will fall the through the cracks of spell check because they are spelled correctly, but it's not going to be the right word.

So re-read those letters, posts, comments and papers before they go public.

I Have Learned Nothing

Here are my thoughts - they aren't particularly clever or well put but here they are.

I want out. I want the secret of the universe to NOT be the law of attraction because it doesn't work for me even though I understand it completely and know that it works.

I want my air conditioning to WORK. I'm sick of being told that it does when it has been on all day, costing me a small fortune and it's still 100 degrees in my apartment.

I want stupid people to get off the streets and highways.

I want my neighbor to stop doing the dishes at midnight because I can hear it even though he pretends it isn't him. It is YOU.

I want to stop being so nice. I want to not get the shaft all the freaking time.

The law of the universe blows.

Blank

I cannot think of anything to say. It's 4AM Pacific Standard Time and I have yet to sleep. I'm not sure which is worse the cause or the cure. So, far the cure stinks because I am awake at 4AM Pacific Standard Time.

Here is a picture. I hear they are worth a thousand words. You decide. That's it. Goodnight, I hope.

Bug Me Once

There is a serious issue in my bathtub. That's right more bugs. A spider this morning and Tuesday another centipede or millipede.

What is that about? It's not a weather change because they were here in the heat and now it's cooling off. So that theory is null.

Whatever it is I am no longer amused.

Dear Insect and Arachnid Kingdom Leaders,

Please move on to someone else's bathtub or drain. I don't have time, especially in the mornings to enforce policies that you have been well aware of for so long.

Thanks in advance.

Insect City

So, yesterday morning my bathtub had yet another resident make its way to the surface streets. A very large brown spider was at the very popular non-drain end just hanging out. His furlough didn't last long. That's right; the shoe. There is no photo this time (see artist's rendering left), but trust me he was big.

This is a short post that will end with the following music recommendations; Pink's latest Funhouse is a good record. Snow Patrol also released a new one yesterday as well, but it's marginal at best. I am totally digging Matt Nathanson. He's my new John Mayer.

Hope Springs Eternal

I was challenged to pen a blog on hope and I am struggling to complete the task.

So, let's start with the definition of hope. Our friends at Wikipedia say this...
Hope is a belief in a positive outcome related to events and circumstances in one's life. Hope is the feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best. To hope is to wish for something with the expectation of the wish being fulfilled, a key condition in unrequited love. Hopefulness is somewhat different from optimism in that hope is an emotional state, whereas optimism is a conclusion reached through a deliberate thought pattern that leads to a positive attitude.

People are hoping all the time. They hope for political change, emotional change, physical change (outward and inward); they are really hoping for difference. And yet, different things cause fear and loathing. Change also is fear inducing and full of anxiety. No one likes it and yet these are the things we HOPE for. So, really we are looking for FEAR. I think that is irony. Whose definition I'm much more clear on than I used to be.

I don't know what to say about hope. I know that I have hoped for hopeless things. I know that I have felt hopeless. I know that I have hoped for others more than for myself. I know that if I type or read the word hope one more time I'll...

It's a funny little word and it really gets us into trouble most of the time.

It's really not a real thing. It's like 'try' and we know what Yoda said about that.

I think it causes inaction. It traps us into non-movement. It keeps us stuck and immobilized. And let me assure you, inaction is still a choice and rarely the best one. I guess that is the coma of hope; inaction. After all, that's what a coma is, immobilization and non-movement and those around your bedside are hoping for movement, action, mobilization and their hope keeps them from those very things.

Getting out of a coma is no easy task, as coma patients will surely tell you. But we are all in our own little comas daily. We are trapped and immobilized by the things we refuse to take action on for as many reasons as there are therapists.

I don't like to be trapped and that takes work. That takes unlocking the cages we've put ourselves in. Sometimes they're really gilded and it's harder to leave but I believe it's worth it.

I think that if your heart is truly open and you are willing to be vulnerable, foolish even, you are already in possession of the key to that cage. It may hurt more if your wings are damaged and you don't have a safe place to land when you start to fly out. But every minute of freedom will heal those broken feathers faster.

So there it is, hope; a definition, an analysis and my off-the-cuff theory. Take from it what you will. I am hopeful that you find some truth and resonate on some level and maybe make a phone call that you had hoped the other person would have made first.
You get the idea. Just remember that nothing really changes with hope, it changes with activity in one direction or another.