...it's friday
...for my family, who rocks
...for beta blockers
...for levon helm and robbie robertson
...for xm radio
...for austin, texas
...for employment
...for good friends
...for the fact that tonight i will be asleep before 1 am
...for cold fronts
...for me finally being done with moping around about being old and single
...for baby will, who weighs three pounds, and isn't even due for another two months
...for phone calls and text messages
...for blue skies and green grass and brown dirt, my favorite color trio
...for friday night football games and hot chocolate and knowing i'm not in the band anymore
...for annie lennox's whole "bare" album. i don't care if it sold well or not, i love that thing.
...for "long ride home" by patti griffin
...for mix cds from your friends who sometimes know you better than you know yourself
...for canolis with extra chocolate chips
...for vueve cliquot champagne
...for lone star light beer in a bottle
...for buy one get one free anything
...for you
...for me
mil besos--r
29 September 2005
27 September 2005
up to speed
well, for those of you who've asked, and for those of you who haven't, here's a snippet of what the book is turning into...
let the fun begin...
In thinking about graffiti, I’ve come to the conclusion that there are several types of graffiti artists (and it is art, friends and neighbors, just look at the budding Picassos who make their mark on the insides of truck stop bathrooms...)
One: “I’m so in love and I want the whole world to know.”
These are the dumb girls who write “Amy Hearts John 4-ever” in black Bic on the inside of every restroom they pass on their way to and from Spring Break, or after Homecoming, or the Prom. As a mark to their undying fidelity, and the undoubted “awesomeness” of their boyfriend, they not only write these little ditties in their algebra notebook, they clutter up the wall space in Wal Mart, Target, their high school and college bathrooms, and in the gas stations used by you and me. Their devotion knows no bounds. And neither does their scorn. I have seen this ditty crossed out, maybe by the artist, and maybe by some tacky passerby, saying that Mr. Wonderful practices poor personal hygiene, or that he doesn’t even like girls, or that he sucks at life. That is where the first kind of graffiti artist turns into the second kind of graffiti artist.
Two: “Today I hate the world”
These are the people who mark though their own or someone else’s “Amy Hearts John 4-ever” and makes disparaging remarks about one or both of those parties. They are also the people who have nothing better to say than “Rudy sucks ballz all day and all night”. Rudy may be the guy who got the promotion at work, instead of the artist. Rudy may be the guy that got the girl (or guy, depending on Rudy’s preference) that the artist had his or her eye on. Rudy may be the kid who stole the artist’s lunch money and shoved him or her into the locker during a passing period. Rudy could be the nicest, most polite, and unassuming person on the block, or Rudy could be a real jerk who deserves to have shit talked about him. In any event, the artist who has nothing good to say in his or her graffiti is intent on letting his or her frustrations OUT, and my bet is that they make their graffiti in fits of anger, wanting nothing more than to say what they have to say, and be done with it. They probably don’t think of the restroom in which they committed character assassination fondly, unlike type 1’s, who will undoubtedly drive by the restroom location with a faint smile on their face, or always have a special place in their heart for Love’s Truck Stops. No, type 2’s just get their angry on and leave.
Three: “Disgusting Perverts with Sharpies”
I can remember a road trip pit stop when I was small, probably about 6 or 7. Someone had gotten after the ladies’ bathroom with a black permanent marker and had drawn the human form, both male and female, in its entire nude splendor. At least I guess that’s what the artist thought the male and female bodies looked like. I have learned in later years that that representation wasn’t all that accurate. At the time, I don’t know who was more surprised, me or my mother. All I could think of was that someone was going to be in big trouble for marking up the bathroom with markers.
I imagine that the people who write swear words and draw genitals on bathroom walls are frustrated people. Maybe they never had the birds and the bees explained to them. Maybe they are struggling with their adult sexual identities. Maybe they were potty trained too early and are mad at their bodies when they have to go to the bathroom. Whatever the case may be, I’m not sure what motivates people to scrawl depictions of coitus, genitals, or things I’ve never even heard of sexually on bathroom walls. But they are there, and so is their artwork. Heaven help the little kids who’s parents’ don’t clear up what’s written on those walls…
Four: “Bigoted Morons “
Unfortunately, we’ve probably all seen more than our share of these tags. They are not a far cry from type 2’s. Their anger is directed at minority groups, all men, all women, countries, ideologies, etc. They spew their anger and hate in ball point pen and marker because they don’t know or don’t want any other avenue to express or educate themselves. This is the kind of graffiti that makes me angry and sad. I imagine this is the kind of graffiti that gas station attendants and restaurant bus staff spend hours scrubbing with abrasives and steel wool, or painting over with white-out or paint matching the stall walls.
Five: “Kilroy Was Here”
These are my one of my favorite type of graffiti artists. They write limericks, snatches of songs, draw cartoons, or tell jokes. They are clearly joyful people, bored while doing their business. They want nothing more than to spread their happiness or humor to other folks. They are the people who came up with my personal favorite piece of graffiti:
Here I sit
Broken hearted.
Came to shit
But only farted.
They are as harmless and well meaning as the people who scrawl the “Amy Hearts John 4-ever” kind of things in bathrooms across the country. They are goofy and wonderful. I know a lot of folks who would and probably do make this kind of graffiti, and my life is better for knowing them.
Six: “Closet Philosophers”
I discovered this kind of graffiti artist in one of my favorite bars in Austin, the Gingerman. In the women’s restroom, in every stall, was a story about a gnome finding his way home through many hardships. The story started in the far restroom and continued through each successive stall. I have also read inspirational religious messages in the form of graffiti, which I adore. These artists want to impart knowledge, or ideas, or just brighten up the day, in another kind of way besides the type five variety’s levity. These people are also fond of passing on health information—like how much the condoms in the vending machine cost, and if they are any good. I imagine they are thoughtful people in their daily life, and just don’t always have the wherewithal to express that in their life outside the bathroom stall.
mil besos--r
let the fun begin...
In thinking about graffiti, I’ve come to the conclusion that there are several types of graffiti artists (and it is art, friends and neighbors, just look at the budding Picassos who make their mark on the insides of truck stop bathrooms...)
One: “I’m so in love and I want the whole world to know.”
These are the dumb girls who write “Amy Hearts John 4-ever” in black Bic on the inside of every restroom they pass on their way to and from Spring Break, or after Homecoming, or the Prom. As a mark to their undying fidelity, and the undoubted “awesomeness” of their boyfriend, they not only write these little ditties in their algebra notebook, they clutter up the wall space in Wal Mart, Target, their high school and college bathrooms, and in the gas stations used by you and me. Their devotion knows no bounds. And neither does their scorn. I have seen this ditty crossed out, maybe by the artist, and maybe by some tacky passerby, saying that Mr. Wonderful practices poor personal hygiene, or that he doesn’t even like girls, or that he sucks at life. That is where the first kind of graffiti artist turns into the second kind of graffiti artist.
Two: “Today I hate the world”
These are the people who mark though their own or someone else’s “Amy Hearts John 4-ever” and makes disparaging remarks about one or both of those parties. They are also the people who have nothing better to say than “Rudy sucks ballz all day and all night”. Rudy may be the guy who got the promotion at work, instead of the artist. Rudy may be the guy that got the girl (or guy, depending on Rudy’s preference) that the artist had his or her eye on. Rudy may be the kid who stole the artist’s lunch money and shoved him or her into the locker during a passing period. Rudy could be the nicest, most polite, and unassuming person on the block, or Rudy could be a real jerk who deserves to have shit talked about him. In any event, the artist who has nothing good to say in his or her graffiti is intent on letting his or her frustrations OUT, and my bet is that they make their graffiti in fits of anger, wanting nothing more than to say what they have to say, and be done with it. They probably don’t think of the restroom in which they committed character assassination fondly, unlike type 1’s, who will undoubtedly drive by the restroom location with a faint smile on their face, or always have a special place in their heart for Love’s Truck Stops. No, type 2’s just get their angry on and leave.
Three: “Disgusting Perverts with Sharpies”
I can remember a road trip pit stop when I was small, probably about 6 or 7. Someone had gotten after the ladies’ bathroom with a black permanent marker and had drawn the human form, both male and female, in its entire nude splendor. At least I guess that’s what the artist thought the male and female bodies looked like. I have learned in later years that that representation wasn’t all that accurate. At the time, I don’t know who was more surprised, me or my mother. All I could think of was that someone was going to be in big trouble for marking up the bathroom with markers.
I imagine that the people who write swear words and draw genitals on bathroom walls are frustrated people. Maybe they never had the birds and the bees explained to them. Maybe they are struggling with their adult sexual identities. Maybe they were potty trained too early and are mad at their bodies when they have to go to the bathroom. Whatever the case may be, I’m not sure what motivates people to scrawl depictions of coitus, genitals, or things I’ve never even heard of sexually on bathroom walls. But they are there, and so is their artwork. Heaven help the little kids who’s parents’ don’t clear up what’s written on those walls…
Four: “Bigoted Morons “
Unfortunately, we’ve probably all seen more than our share of these tags. They are not a far cry from type 2’s. Their anger is directed at minority groups, all men, all women, countries, ideologies, etc. They spew their anger and hate in ball point pen and marker because they don’t know or don’t want any other avenue to express or educate themselves. This is the kind of graffiti that makes me angry and sad. I imagine this is the kind of graffiti that gas station attendants and restaurant bus staff spend hours scrubbing with abrasives and steel wool, or painting over with white-out or paint matching the stall walls.
Five: “Kilroy Was Here”
These are my one of my favorite type of graffiti artists. They write limericks, snatches of songs, draw cartoons, or tell jokes. They are clearly joyful people, bored while doing their business. They want nothing more than to spread their happiness or humor to other folks. They are the people who came up with my personal favorite piece of graffiti:
Here I sit
Broken hearted.
Came to shit
But only farted.
They are as harmless and well meaning as the people who scrawl the “Amy Hearts John 4-ever” kind of things in bathrooms across the country. They are goofy and wonderful. I know a lot of folks who would and probably do make this kind of graffiti, and my life is better for knowing them.
Six: “Closet Philosophers”
I discovered this kind of graffiti artist in one of my favorite bars in Austin, the Gingerman. In the women’s restroom, in every stall, was a story about a gnome finding his way home through many hardships. The story started in the far restroom and continued through each successive stall. I have also read inspirational religious messages in the form of graffiti, which I adore. These artists want to impart knowledge, or ideas, or just brighten up the day, in another kind of way besides the type five variety’s levity. These people are also fond of passing on health information—like how much the condoms in the vending machine cost, and if they are any good. I imagine they are thoughtful people in their daily life, and just don’t always have the wherewithal to express that in their life outside the bathroom stall.
mil besos--r
22 September 2005
nowhere on the list
a catastrophic hurricane was nowhere near the list of things i wanted for my birthday this year. seriously, the only rita i wanted anything to do with was the margarita i was thinking about asking my mom to take me out for on monday, when i actually turn the big 27. looks like we'll still be holed up in the house playing dueling newscasts with cnn and fox, trying to figure out what the hell happened to the beach.
1) i am thankful that my cousins are smart people and are getting the hell out of dodge. i am also thankful that baby charlie is coming to visit me, even though it's because of the hurricane.
2) i am thankful that i didn't take that job in houston, otherwise, i'd be stuck on i-10, chainsmoking and crying to my mother on a rapidly dying cell phone.
3) i am thankful that i have good memories of galveston from when i was little. galveston was the site of my first ever beach trip. if you come see me, i will show you the picture of my and my gramps on stewart beach, before all the medical waste started washing up on it in the mid-80's.
4) i am thankful that i never got rid of the giant sand-dollar that brendan gave me when i was 9, that he got when our families took a joint trip to galveston. i look at that sometimes and remember what a fun trip we had, and what a great friend he has been to me over the years. incidentally, that was also the trip where brendan's mom bought one of those pill-shaver things for removing pills from your sweater. only she and my mom called them "ball-shavers". brendan and eric were very afraid when mom and aunt candy got home and told them what they'd bought at the store. i just remember thinking it was funny that they were hiding under the beds, and screaming about having their balls shaved. and i remember how hard my mom and aunt candy laughed when they explained that the ball shavers were for sweaters, and not for brendan and eric.
5) i am thankful that i have my set of relish forks, in several assorted plastic colored handles, with the words "Galveston, Texas" embossed in genuine imitation gold leaf. i love those things.
6) i am thankful that people are getting out of harms' way. i am thankful that there are good highways in Texas.
that's all. there's a lot to do between now and saturday. pray...
mil besos--rmg
1) i am thankful that my cousins are smart people and are getting the hell out of dodge. i am also thankful that baby charlie is coming to visit me, even though it's because of the hurricane.
2) i am thankful that i didn't take that job in houston, otherwise, i'd be stuck on i-10, chainsmoking and crying to my mother on a rapidly dying cell phone.
3) i am thankful that i have good memories of galveston from when i was little. galveston was the site of my first ever beach trip. if you come see me, i will show you the picture of my and my gramps on stewart beach, before all the medical waste started washing up on it in the mid-80's.
4) i am thankful that i never got rid of the giant sand-dollar that brendan gave me when i was 9, that he got when our families took a joint trip to galveston. i look at that sometimes and remember what a fun trip we had, and what a great friend he has been to me over the years. incidentally, that was also the trip where brendan's mom bought one of those pill-shaver things for removing pills from your sweater. only she and my mom called them "ball-shavers". brendan and eric were very afraid when mom and aunt candy got home and told them what they'd bought at the store. i just remember thinking it was funny that they were hiding under the beds, and screaming about having their balls shaved. and i remember how hard my mom and aunt candy laughed when they explained that the ball shavers were for sweaters, and not for brendan and eric.
5) i am thankful that i have my set of relish forks, in several assorted plastic colored handles, with the words "Galveston, Texas" embossed in genuine imitation gold leaf. i love those things.
6) i am thankful that people are getting out of harms' way. i am thankful that there are good highways in Texas.
that's all. there's a lot to do between now and saturday. pray...
mil besos--rmg
20 September 2005
what dreams may come
ok, so a skunk definately got all scared outside my bedroom window last night. the smell was so bad that a) it woke me up, and b) actually cleared out my sinuses. the smell was so pungent that it infiltrated my dreams for the rest of the night. i can't remember what they were about, but it had something to do with scooping feathers into shoeboxes so that my children would be able to function in a good universe. i know, weird.
additionally, i've been doing a lot of thinking about what anonymous had to say about my last post. you know, it's not the wonderful things your friends and family say to or about you that make lasting impressions. no, it's the nasty, snide responses from casual observers that really get stuck in your craw. so, without further ado, anonymous, this is for you.
before i turn 28 (which is in barely a year, 27 is creeping up like a haunt in the night...) i will accomplish the following things for myself, without regard to anyone's schedule but mine. so even though i was up half the night on friday trying to figure out what the hell you meant and who the hell you think you are to make such statements, and even though i know you will probably never coem across this page again, i want to thank you for being such a catalyst. addtionally, my little brother is quite angry with you and said nice things to me about what a pinheaded comment you made. yes, you touched a raw little nerve. congratulations.
here's the list...
1) i will drive route 1, from florida to maine
2) i will see the grand canyon
3) i will see niagra falls
4) i will save enough money to take a trip to europe for six weeks
5) i will finish my book and start the second
6) i will journal at least two days a week
7) i will write five good songs
8) i will go out on five dates with nice guys. i will go out on inumerable dates with mediocre guys in pursuit of the nice guys.
9) i will pay off my credit card
10) i will stop being a romantic and concentrate on being a realist
11) i will write at least one real letter a week, and actually mail it
that's what i've got for the moment. i'll keep you posted. and if any of you want to come along on any or all the adventures, feel free to hop in, anytime.
mil besos (even to you, anonymous),
--rmg
additionally, i've been doing a lot of thinking about what anonymous had to say about my last post. you know, it's not the wonderful things your friends and family say to or about you that make lasting impressions. no, it's the nasty, snide responses from casual observers that really get stuck in your craw. so, without further ado, anonymous, this is for you.
before i turn 28 (which is in barely a year, 27 is creeping up like a haunt in the night...) i will accomplish the following things for myself, without regard to anyone's schedule but mine. so even though i was up half the night on friday trying to figure out what the hell you meant and who the hell you think you are to make such statements, and even though i know you will probably never coem across this page again, i want to thank you for being such a catalyst. addtionally, my little brother is quite angry with you and said nice things to me about what a pinheaded comment you made. yes, you touched a raw little nerve. congratulations.
here's the list...
1) i will drive route 1, from florida to maine
2) i will see the grand canyon
3) i will see niagra falls
4) i will save enough money to take a trip to europe for six weeks
5) i will finish my book and start the second
6) i will journal at least two days a week
7) i will write five good songs
8) i will go out on five dates with nice guys. i will go out on inumerable dates with mediocre guys in pursuit of the nice guys.
9) i will pay off my credit card
10) i will stop being a romantic and concentrate on being a realist
11) i will write at least one real letter a week, and actually mail it
that's what i've got for the moment. i'll keep you posted. and if any of you want to come along on any or all the adventures, feel free to hop in, anytime.
mil besos (even to you, anonymous),
--rmg
16 September 2005
geeze oh man
i just got a picture cd from my last mission trip. while i am not, and never have been, a fan of my own photograph, i have to say that the pictures of me on this particular trip were particularly unflattering. seriously, i look like the wrath of G-d almighty. in every picture, i either look like i'm about to beat the holy hell out of someone, or die of exhaustion. and i had a huge zit that week. the one good picture is of me in pigtails. and i have on sunglasses. and you can see all my worry lines. blah.
however, the photos got me to thinking. thinking about how tired i was in july. every day felt like i was getting up to run a marathon, and in a way, i was. there are moments when i miss my job, miss my kids, even miss the frenzy of my old life. and then i remember the nights i didn't sleep because some kid had confided some secret in me that had broken my heart for them. i remember the panic attack i had at then end of march, and how scared i was that i was really working myself to death, and the realization that i didn't want to die in my bed alone. i remember how scared i was that my heart was racing, and no matter what i thought about, i couldn't make it slow down. those were long nights, and they made for long days.
granted those days were buffered by wonderful collegues and friends. they were buffered by my family and my nearest and dearest. they were buffered by the hand of a merciful and gracious G-d. for that, i am greatful and happy just to wake up everyday and know that that part of my race has been run, and that i did the best job i could do.
lately, i've been trying to write and take good pictures. i've been hanging out with the sweet baby a, and his crazy brother critter j, and it's incredible. there are days when i wonder what is next, what it is that i'm supposed to be doing for the next part of the journey. i said a few posts ago that i thought the preparation was going to have to entail shedding some things, and i still believe that. what i'm trying to figure out is how to shed and get rid of things without loosing myself in the process. i feel like i'm just starting to get a grip on myself again. and maybe that's the key--letting go entirely.
i don't mean going off hermit-style and renouncing my life to gain enlightenment. at least, i don't think i mean that. i don't mean getting all philisophical and starting to talk in abstract nihilistic metaphors. i guess i mean really learning how things work, how i work, and coming to an acceptance about that. i live in this bizarro world where i believe that if everyone could sit down and listen to each other, maybe things wouldn't be in such a muddle. i stress myself out wondering how to mediate conflict, how to get my point across, how to see the other person's point and not condescend or be defensive. maybe it's time i woke up and realized that some conflicts will just rage, regardless of what i think about it, no matter who or what is involved. maybe it's time i woke up to the fact that there is no magic word, no amount of begging G-d, no amount of breast-beating that will teach me who i am and what i'm supposed to be. maybe it's time to let go of answers, and just embrace the questions.
when i used to go to camp as a little girl, we sang a lot of songs. we sang songs on the way to the beach, on the way to the wildlife refuge, on the way to the dining hall, and always in chapel. the other day, on my way home after a long, long, long day, a snatch of a song came flying back at me with such force and clarity that i almost cried. i could smell the sunblock, the sand residue, the bug repelent, and the carpet in the chapel, and i could hear my 12 year old self singing my guts out--"Jesus said, 'I am the light of the world. You people come and follow me. If you follow and love, you'll learn the mystery of what you were meant to do and be'".
i sang that song 100 times at camp, maybe even more, and i believed it every stinking time i sang it. i want to sing that song everyday and believe it everytime i sing it. i want that. i want to sing it and believe it, even though now i know much more than i did when i was 12. i want to remember that G-d takes care of the birds and the flowers, so G-d will take care of me. i want to remember that my life is a prayer, my work is worship, and that i live in the hands of a mighty and loving G-d, so there's nothing really to trouble myself over, in the long run. i want to remember how to do that, and still maintain my edge. see what i mean about letting go? i don't want to do without either of those things, but i know that they can't coexist, or maybe they can. like in college, when i reconciled my ideas about creationism with evolution. or when i reconciled my understanding of human reproduction with the virgin birth. i just don't know. all i do know is that i had just as many questions as my 12 year old self as i do now, they were just simpler questions, then.
that's all, really. just me, rambling and checking in. hope all is well where ever you may find yourself today/tonight.
mil besos--rmg
however, the photos got me to thinking. thinking about how tired i was in july. every day felt like i was getting up to run a marathon, and in a way, i was. there are moments when i miss my job, miss my kids, even miss the frenzy of my old life. and then i remember the nights i didn't sleep because some kid had confided some secret in me that had broken my heart for them. i remember the panic attack i had at then end of march, and how scared i was that i was really working myself to death, and the realization that i didn't want to die in my bed alone. i remember how scared i was that my heart was racing, and no matter what i thought about, i couldn't make it slow down. those were long nights, and they made for long days.
granted those days were buffered by wonderful collegues and friends. they were buffered by my family and my nearest and dearest. they were buffered by the hand of a merciful and gracious G-d. for that, i am greatful and happy just to wake up everyday and know that that part of my race has been run, and that i did the best job i could do.
lately, i've been trying to write and take good pictures. i've been hanging out with the sweet baby a, and his crazy brother critter j, and it's incredible. there are days when i wonder what is next, what it is that i'm supposed to be doing for the next part of the journey. i said a few posts ago that i thought the preparation was going to have to entail shedding some things, and i still believe that. what i'm trying to figure out is how to shed and get rid of things without loosing myself in the process. i feel like i'm just starting to get a grip on myself again. and maybe that's the key--letting go entirely.
i don't mean going off hermit-style and renouncing my life to gain enlightenment. at least, i don't think i mean that. i don't mean getting all philisophical and starting to talk in abstract nihilistic metaphors. i guess i mean really learning how things work, how i work, and coming to an acceptance about that. i live in this bizarro world where i believe that if everyone could sit down and listen to each other, maybe things wouldn't be in such a muddle. i stress myself out wondering how to mediate conflict, how to get my point across, how to see the other person's point and not condescend or be defensive. maybe it's time i woke up and realized that some conflicts will just rage, regardless of what i think about it, no matter who or what is involved. maybe it's time i woke up to the fact that there is no magic word, no amount of begging G-d, no amount of breast-beating that will teach me who i am and what i'm supposed to be. maybe it's time to let go of answers, and just embrace the questions.
when i used to go to camp as a little girl, we sang a lot of songs. we sang songs on the way to the beach, on the way to the wildlife refuge, on the way to the dining hall, and always in chapel. the other day, on my way home after a long, long, long day, a snatch of a song came flying back at me with such force and clarity that i almost cried. i could smell the sunblock, the sand residue, the bug repelent, and the carpet in the chapel, and i could hear my 12 year old self singing my guts out--"Jesus said, 'I am the light of the world. You people come and follow me. If you follow and love, you'll learn the mystery of what you were meant to do and be'".
i sang that song 100 times at camp, maybe even more, and i believed it every stinking time i sang it. i want to sing that song everyday and believe it everytime i sing it. i want that. i want to sing it and believe it, even though now i know much more than i did when i was 12. i want to remember that G-d takes care of the birds and the flowers, so G-d will take care of me. i want to remember that my life is a prayer, my work is worship, and that i live in the hands of a mighty and loving G-d, so there's nothing really to trouble myself over, in the long run. i want to remember how to do that, and still maintain my edge. see what i mean about letting go? i don't want to do without either of those things, but i know that they can't coexist, or maybe they can. like in college, when i reconciled my ideas about creationism with evolution. or when i reconciled my understanding of human reproduction with the virgin birth. i just don't know. all i do know is that i had just as many questions as my 12 year old self as i do now, they were just simpler questions, then.
that's all, really. just me, rambling and checking in. hope all is well where ever you may find yourself today/tonight.
mil besos--rmg
12 September 2005
personally offended
i went to san antonio today to do some shopping. i met up with my buddy erin and hung out at two fabulous malls. i also had the distinct displeasure of viewing one of the worst pieces of visual crap, ever.
the brothers' grimm was awful. it was so bad that it made me angry. it was so bad that i was, as the title of the post indicates, personally offended. i figured that two hours of heath ledger and matt damon would be great, story line aside. eye candy lacking in the new b, and so i was all set to kick back with my illicit popcorn (still adkinsing) and watch a movie with one of my nearest and dearest. ladies and gents-- if schlock like this is the future of hollywood, we are in big trouble. i figured with a director like terry gilliam, it couldn't be too bad, no matter what the review on cnn.com said. i was wrong. half-way through, i thought about leaving, but i figured i had 8.25 plus snacks riding on this, and i had already sat through a chunk of it, i was going to by-God finish it. i had a similar feeling when i read the celestine prophecy. what a piece of crap. but by the time i realized it was a piece of crap, i'd already invested about 3 weeks of nighttime reading, and didn't feel like stopping.
as with my determined reading of the aforementioned tome, i kept wondering when brothers' grimm was going to get good, sure that the next scene would provide the right twist, dialogue, or something to make it worth my while. the most satisfying moment of the whole movie-going experience was the gigantic tinkle i made after holding most of a medium diet coke in while waiting for the "good part". what a wreck.
additionally, i'd like to point out that the movie is set in germany. but the principle actors, with the exception of the bumbling politicos, spoke with a rather posh english accent. does that bother anyone other than me? i mentioned it to erin, who was also somewhat dismayed. this brings up a trend my mom and i have noticed in so-called "historical" programs on the large and small screen, which seems to be, when in doubt, play it english, even if that's dead wrong. what the hell people? in this particular movie, actors pulled off french and italian accents, but there was not a german glottal stop to be heard, and the freaking thing was SET IN GERMANY. some cable channel is doing a series on ancient rome, and the actors are speaking in an english accent. pursuant to a convo with momma, we agreed that a latin accent prolly sounds a lot like an italian accent, so what the hell are the directors doing using english accents with ceasar and his generals? it's madness. it's verbal revisionism, and i don't like it one little bit.
the spoken language is a wonderful thing. i dislike pretension in the spoken word almost as much as i detest grammatical errors, or blatant mispronunciation. i mean, seriously, i heard a retired general refer to ceasar crossing the "rubrican" once on tv. for the sake of the sweet baby jesus, the man was talking about one of the seminal moments in military history, and he is a GENERAL, it's like part of his job to know that crap. i think a little tiny piece of me died that day. kind of like in peter pan, when some says "i don't believe in fairies" and that makes a fairy fall down, dead. i'd like to point out that the only way to bring back the fairy is to clap, very loudly. i think the only way to retrieve that sad, cold, shrunken part of me, is to say "rubican" three times and send me a happy thought.
i'd also like to point out that i realize i make mistakes in the spoken and written language on a daily basis. for that, i am terribly sorry. but i do try. and that's really all i'm asking from hollywood, from pundits, and from my fellow people. end of rant. peace out, foo's.
mil besos--rmg
the brothers' grimm was awful. it was so bad that it made me angry. it was so bad that i was, as the title of the post indicates, personally offended. i figured that two hours of heath ledger and matt damon would be great, story line aside. eye candy lacking in the new b, and so i was all set to kick back with my illicit popcorn (still adkinsing) and watch a movie with one of my nearest and dearest. ladies and gents-- if schlock like this is the future of hollywood, we are in big trouble. i figured with a director like terry gilliam, it couldn't be too bad, no matter what the review on cnn.com said. i was wrong. half-way through, i thought about leaving, but i figured i had 8.25 plus snacks riding on this, and i had already sat through a chunk of it, i was going to by-God finish it. i had a similar feeling when i read the celestine prophecy. what a piece of crap. but by the time i realized it was a piece of crap, i'd already invested about 3 weeks of nighttime reading, and didn't feel like stopping.
as with my determined reading of the aforementioned tome, i kept wondering when brothers' grimm was going to get good, sure that the next scene would provide the right twist, dialogue, or something to make it worth my while. the most satisfying moment of the whole movie-going experience was the gigantic tinkle i made after holding most of a medium diet coke in while waiting for the "good part". what a wreck.
additionally, i'd like to point out that the movie is set in germany. but the principle actors, with the exception of the bumbling politicos, spoke with a rather posh english accent. does that bother anyone other than me? i mentioned it to erin, who was also somewhat dismayed. this brings up a trend my mom and i have noticed in so-called "historical" programs on the large and small screen, which seems to be, when in doubt, play it english, even if that's dead wrong. what the hell people? in this particular movie, actors pulled off french and italian accents, but there was not a german glottal stop to be heard, and the freaking thing was SET IN GERMANY. some cable channel is doing a series on ancient rome, and the actors are speaking in an english accent. pursuant to a convo with momma, we agreed that a latin accent prolly sounds a lot like an italian accent, so what the hell are the directors doing using english accents with ceasar and his generals? it's madness. it's verbal revisionism, and i don't like it one little bit.
the spoken language is a wonderful thing. i dislike pretension in the spoken word almost as much as i detest grammatical errors, or blatant mispronunciation. i mean, seriously, i heard a retired general refer to ceasar crossing the "rubrican" once on tv. for the sake of the sweet baby jesus, the man was talking about one of the seminal moments in military history, and he is a GENERAL, it's like part of his job to know that crap. i think a little tiny piece of me died that day. kind of like in peter pan, when some says "i don't believe in fairies" and that makes a fairy fall down, dead. i'd like to point out that the only way to bring back the fairy is to clap, very loudly. i think the only way to retrieve that sad, cold, shrunken part of me, is to say "rubican" three times and send me a happy thought.
i'd also like to point out that i realize i make mistakes in the spoken and written language on a daily basis. for that, i am terribly sorry. but i do try. and that's really all i'm asking from hollywood, from pundits, and from my fellow people. end of rant. peace out, foo's.
mil besos--rmg
10 September 2005
stumble bum
ok, so today, i went to albertson's to get my mom some sugar-free popsicles. while on the way to the self-check out lane, i blantantly walked right into a display of campbell's soup sippy cup things. i knocked the whole damn thing down, and was lucky i didn't go flying ass-over-teakettle in the process. the crappy thing was that i did it at the front of the store, in plain view of everyone checking out, and the service manager was about 5 feet away from me when it happened. no chance whatsoever in walking away and pretending like it didn't happen. i have no idea what happened to my sense of depth perception. i'm sure the service manager thought i was high or a bit touched. at any rate, he helped me clean up the wreckage, and i went on my merry way.
go freaking figure. however, my awful stomach issues finally paid off. i found two great pieces of graffiti in the alberton's bathroom. saaaa-weet.
life is good. once i get all my shelves put up on the wall, thanks to a stud finder i borrowed from my cousin, sabrina, i will be able to put my books and knick-knacks up, and will be totally unpacked. i wish sabrina had another kind of stud finder...but that's a different post for a different day. blah.
at any rate, i'm 10 pages into the book. i'm looking for a free lance editor(s), so if you'd like a preview, or just want and opportunity to fawn over my budding genius, or want to rip me a new one because i'm a talentless hack, let me know.
mil besos--rmg
go freaking figure. however, my awful stomach issues finally paid off. i found two great pieces of graffiti in the alberton's bathroom. saaaa-weet.
life is good. once i get all my shelves put up on the wall, thanks to a stud finder i borrowed from my cousin, sabrina, i will be able to put my books and knick-knacks up, and will be totally unpacked. i wish sabrina had another kind of stud finder...but that's a different post for a different day. blah.
at any rate, i'm 10 pages into the book. i'm looking for a free lance editor(s), so if you'd like a preview, or just want and opportunity to fawn over my budding genius, or want to rip me a new one because i'm a talentless hack, let me know.
mil besos--rmg
05 September 2005
alaskan sockeye salmon
salmon swim upstream, to the place of their birth, to spawn and die, to make their life-span come full circle. i'm sure it's not intentional in any cognitive way. they just know to do it. i went to my old home town this weekend. i had no intention of spawning or dying. neither happened, in case you were curious. no, it was just time to go back and see what had changed, what had stayed the same, and to find out more about myself for the next part of the journey.
i came away with two new thoughts. one: this next phase of the journey is all about preparation. for what, i'm not entirely sure, but i know i'm preparing for something. two: preparing is going to have to entail saying goodbye to a lot of things i thought i needed, thought i wanted, and thought i understood. and that is probably going to mean doing what i did last weekend in a lot of different places. driving in, camping out on someone's couch or in a spare room, looking and listening at what's going on around me, in all my old haunts, places i've visited and thought i knew, etc. preparing is going to mean shedding, not necessarily building up, which is the way i have always prepared before. and i have to admit that i am a little scared. ok, i'm a lot scared. and for all my bravado, i have no idea what is next. i know that the book is coming, ever-changing in scope, but not in character. it's still about bathroom graffitti. but i think it's a travel-log and a memoir, too. a kind of pen and ink child that is begging to be born, and that i can do nothing but push out from my mind and hope for the best.
this weekend was fun. not the wild crazy fun that i remember from college goat fests, or even the goat fests of two or three years ago. we have all grown up, and have things to tend to other than sunday morning hangovers. it was odd to be in a group of people i've known my whole life, and in some sense, feel like a total stranger. i'm not married. i'm not dating some fabulous guy. i'm not pregnant or being a parent. i don't work for some a-hole corporation. i don't push paper. i haven't had some life-altering illness or experience. i'm still just me, the chubby girl with the pretty face who knows more than she lets on, and probably runs her mouth too much, except when she can't figure out what to say or how to say it. i am disappointed that i didn't relax more-- maybe i was tired from my work week. maybe i did the chevy chase labor day vacation thing and built up how much fun it was going to be to a level that could never be achieved. maybe i'm disappointed that i missed out on conversations with two dear friends that i just couldn't seem to pin down, because they seemed so otherwise occupied, and i didn't want to be obnoxious. who knows? in the end, it's done. and i learned some good things.
i also learned that i need to put some sunblock in my NEW CAR, so that i don't get a burn on my shoulders when the top's down.
that's all for now. more musings later, i'm sure.
oh, and please pray for my louisiana relatives-- they all got totally cleaned out in the hurricane. they are all alive and well, though, thanks be to God.
and a BIG happy b-day to aunt inez.
mil besos--r
i came away with two new thoughts. one: this next phase of the journey is all about preparation. for what, i'm not entirely sure, but i know i'm preparing for something. two: preparing is going to have to entail saying goodbye to a lot of things i thought i needed, thought i wanted, and thought i understood. and that is probably going to mean doing what i did last weekend in a lot of different places. driving in, camping out on someone's couch or in a spare room, looking and listening at what's going on around me, in all my old haunts, places i've visited and thought i knew, etc. preparing is going to mean shedding, not necessarily building up, which is the way i have always prepared before. and i have to admit that i am a little scared. ok, i'm a lot scared. and for all my bravado, i have no idea what is next. i know that the book is coming, ever-changing in scope, but not in character. it's still about bathroom graffitti. but i think it's a travel-log and a memoir, too. a kind of pen and ink child that is begging to be born, and that i can do nothing but push out from my mind and hope for the best.
this weekend was fun. not the wild crazy fun that i remember from college goat fests, or even the goat fests of two or three years ago. we have all grown up, and have things to tend to other than sunday morning hangovers. it was odd to be in a group of people i've known my whole life, and in some sense, feel like a total stranger. i'm not married. i'm not dating some fabulous guy. i'm not pregnant or being a parent. i don't work for some a-hole corporation. i don't push paper. i haven't had some life-altering illness or experience. i'm still just me, the chubby girl with the pretty face who knows more than she lets on, and probably runs her mouth too much, except when she can't figure out what to say or how to say it. i am disappointed that i didn't relax more-- maybe i was tired from my work week. maybe i did the chevy chase labor day vacation thing and built up how much fun it was going to be to a level that could never be achieved. maybe i'm disappointed that i missed out on conversations with two dear friends that i just couldn't seem to pin down, because they seemed so otherwise occupied, and i didn't want to be obnoxious. who knows? in the end, it's done. and i learned some good things.
i also learned that i need to put some sunblock in my NEW CAR, so that i don't get a burn on my shoulders when the top's down.
that's all for now. more musings later, i'm sure.
oh, and please pray for my louisiana relatives-- they all got totally cleaned out in the hurricane. they are all alive and well, though, thanks be to God.
and a BIG happy b-day to aunt inez.
mil besos--r
ok, a little trip down memory lane... this parking lot, right across the street from the radio station was the scene of my first kiss, ever. i had on cut-off levi's, a gray shirt, and my favorite blue and gray nikes. it was 10:47 on a saturday night in february 1996, and alanis morrisette was on my radio.
29 August 2005
small favors
last night, i went to sleep thinking about New Orleans. i was remembering my first benignet, when i was 9. i burned the heck out of my tongue. i was remembering the French Quarter through the eyes of my 9 year old self-- how scared i was and how much my little brother loved it. i was remembering the bubble gum icecream cone i ate in jackson square, and the street performers, working for tips in the shadow of St. Louis Cathedral. i was thinking how grateful i was that my new orleans family, and my new orleans friends are safe and out of harm's way. and i was praying that city park was fairing well, and that the animals in audobon park were ok, too. i was hoping that the nice lady at pat o'brien's, who gives you mints and paper towels in the ladies' room was ok. i was hoping that the little man who read my palm in jackson square had found a safe place to weather the storm, as well. i was glad that my nanny and fred were safe with the baby Jesus, and high up in a mable wall, and that nanny didn't have to worry about not being able to get shrimp for months.
new orleans is a great town-- it's a giant whore of a town, to be sure, but a whore more in line with belle watling from gone with the wind, than some nasty angry woman of ill-repute. as an adult, i have loved new orleans. i have loved walking through the quarter, hearing the jazz and blues seep seductively out of every crack and crevice on and off bourbon street. i have loved walking off my buzz from a hurricane, and topping it off with a caffiene buzz from too much french market coffee and a hand rolled cigar. i have experienced the perfect poached egg at commander's palace, because brunch is the most important meal of the day. and if you're going to new orleans, leave your diet at home. the perfect night out in new orleans? oh, i've had it, and thank the sweet baby Jesus, i might get to have one again...and this time, i will get the red haired lady to take our picture at pat o's, and i'll keep my glass, too.
and while new orleans is the most famous city getting ripped a new one, it bears repeating that other people in other places need our thoughts, and prayers, too.
Lord, have mercy.
mil besos--rmg
new orleans is a great town-- it's a giant whore of a town, to be sure, but a whore more in line with belle watling from gone with the wind, than some nasty angry woman of ill-repute. as an adult, i have loved new orleans. i have loved walking through the quarter, hearing the jazz and blues seep seductively out of every crack and crevice on and off bourbon street. i have loved walking off my buzz from a hurricane, and topping it off with a caffiene buzz from too much french market coffee and a hand rolled cigar. i have experienced the perfect poached egg at commander's palace, because brunch is the most important meal of the day. and if you're going to new orleans, leave your diet at home. the perfect night out in new orleans? oh, i've had it, and thank the sweet baby Jesus, i might get to have one again...and this time, i will get the red haired lady to take our picture at pat o's, and i'll keep my glass, too.
and while new orleans is the most famous city getting ripped a new one, it bears repeating that other people in other places need our thoughts, and prayers, too.
Lord, have mercy.
mil besos--rmg
26 August 2005
world class napper
that's what i'm on my way to becoming, again, friends and neighbors. thank the sweet baby Jesus i haven't lost everything i learned about world class napping in college, because this getting up at 5:45 every morning is kicking my adkin's shrinking butt, real hard. before this week, the last time i was up before six was to clear security before an airplane flight to boston. what the hell people?
my nearest and dearest know that morning is really not "my" time of day. i do really well, exceptionally well, from about 11am-3am. the eight hours inbetween are just not pleasant to witness. thankfully, the only person who has to deal with me from 5:45 to about 6:20 is myself. and the only person who has to deal with me from 6:20 until 8:15 is sweet baby a, and he loves me because i sing to him while i dress him for school. and he gets a good pep talk. this kid loves the green cards, whom i love, also. when the green cards come on the radio, we both smile, and sometimes he giggles. like i said in an earlier post, with a 12 year old cerebral palsy patient, it's the little victories that make you the happiest.
i think i'm going to get my dream car on wednesday or thursday. i'm so freaking psyched. btw, i owe the texas grandparents major graditude for wanting the buick. i feel like i can breathe, now. and if all goes well, i will finally have the bug convertible i've dreamed about having since i was about 14. holy crap, people. i am so excited. and goat fest is this next weekend. and i think i'm going to a kinky friedman rally tomorrow night. having a life is fun. remind me why, at 26, i've finally decided to have one? what the hell was my problem? i know, i know, i was loving on some kids, and i will never regret that for one minute. but still, i hope all the fun hasn't passed me by...
despite my angst, and the angst of my generation, i have to say that the old adage of "the journey of a 1000 miles begins with one step" is quite true. sometimes the best decision you can make is to just pick a hand and jump out there. like baz lurhman says, your chances are 50/50. so are everyone else's.
seize something, whether it's the day or not, because teddy roosevelt said that honor goes to the people who had the stones to try, and not the wusses in the corner who kept counting the cost of fighting for something, that's a paraphrase, of course. goethe said "be bold, and mighty forces will come to your aid". jesus said, "consider the lilies of the field". i think i like that merging of minds. it kind of makes me want to go kick a little booty and take names later. but i'll probably just make sweet baby a's brother, critter j, do his homework and drink some juice. 12 year olds are curious creatures. God bless my mother for not drowning me when i was 12. what a crappy age.
for those of you who care: i found some hilarious notes from high school government class the other day, which can be bought for a price. does anyone remember the flow chart of "death, tyranny, and slavery"? also, i have some clandestine notes that esteban and i passed during our senior year. we were funny bitches then, and we are funny bitches now, only slighty more jaded, which makes us more funny, and slightly more bitter. ah life, you are a grand comedy.
in case you haven't noticed, there was no coherent theme in this post. in fact, if i submitted this post for diagnostics, i'd prolly be diagnosed with adult add. hope you enjoyed, anyway.
mil besos-rmg
my nearest and dearest know that morning is really not "my" time of day. i do really well, exceptionally well, from about 11am-3am. the eight hours inbetween are just not pleasant to witness. thankfully, the only person who has to deal with me from 5:45 to about 6:20 is myself. and the only person who has to deal with me from 6:20 until 8:15 is sweet baby a, and he loves me because i sing to him while i dress him for school. and he gets a good pep talk. this kid loves the green cards, whom i love, also. when the green cards come on the radio, we both smile, and sometimes he giggles. like i said in an earlier post, with a 12 year old cerebral palsy patient, it's the little victories that make you the happiest.
i think i'm going to get my dream car on wednesday or thursday. i'm so freaking psyched. btw, i owe the texas grandparents major graditude for wanting the buick. i feel like i can breathe, now. and if all goes well, i will finally have the bug convertible i've dreamed about having since i was about 14. holy crap, people. i am so excited. and goat fest is this next weekend. and i think i'm going to a kinky friedman rally tomorrow night. having a life is fun. remind me why, at 26, i've finally decided to have one? what the hell was my problem? i know, i know, i was loving on some kids, and i will never regret that for one minute. but still, i hope all the fun hasn't passed me by...
despite my angst, and the angst of my generation, i have to say that the old adage of "the journey of a 1000 miles begins with one step" is quite true. sometimes the best decision you can make is to just pick a hand and jump out there. like baz lurhman says, your chances are 50/50. so are everyone else's.
seize something, whether it's the day or not, because teddy roosevelt said that honor goes to the people who had the stones to try, and not the wusses in the corner who kept counting the cost of fighting for something, that's a paraphrase, of course. goethe said "be bold, and mighty forces will come to your aid". jesus said, "consider the lilies of the field". i think i like that merging of minds. it kind of makes me want to go kick a little booty and take names later. but i'll probably just make sweet baby a's brother, critter j, do his homework and drink some juice. 12 year olds are curious creatures. God bless my mother for not drowning me when i was 12. what a crappy age.
for those of you who care: i found some hilarious notes from high school government class the other day, which can be bought for a price. does anyone remember the flow chart of "death, tyranny, and slavery"? also, i have some clandestine notes that esteban and i passed during our senior year. we were funny bitches then, and we are funny bitches now, only slighty more jaded, which makes us more funny, and slightly more bitter. ah life, you are a grand comedy.
in case you haven't noticed, there was no coherent theme in this post. in fact, if i submitted this post for diagnostics, i'd prolly be diagnosed with adult add. hope you enjoyed, anyway.
mil besos-rmg
18 August 2005
prelude to a kiss
i submitted an essay to national public radio's program "this i believe". i guess it's a way to test the waters of this new vocational direction i seem to be throwing myself. it's a paring down of something i wrote in february. pasted below is what i sent the fine peeps at npr. lemme know what you think. maybe i'll even get to be on the radio (freaking finally, since i never got to dj for knel, like all the other cool people in brady...). i'll keep you posted.
I believe that eating humble pie is vitally important to me maintaining my grounding as a human being. Several months ago, I got a major dose of pie. Two heartbreaks, one professional, and the other personal, had put me on my guard and prompted what can only be described as a month-long fit of self-righteous indignation. I couldn’t see anything but my hurt, my desires, all the things I had done to make situations right and what everyone else had done to make the situations wrong. A dose of humble pie was in order.
That piece of pie didn’t come in some cataclysmic way, it came to me while I was staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, getting ready for work one day. I realized that I had refused to see that the professional and personal situations went south with a little help from me, as well. I realized that I wasn’t blameless, but I surely wasn’t being persecuted. I realized that humble pie covers a multitude of messes, and that I had a big steaming wedge with name on it.
The humble pie I recently ate wasn’t the first, and I know it won’t be my last. However, it just might be my most memorable piece of humble pie ever, because I was so aware of what was going on. I have this mental picture of the waitress of the universe just standing over me with a chipped truck-stop variety plate containing a big chunk, of humble pie, handing me a giant plastic spork, and a glass of skim milk. She’s standing over me, snapping her gum and smoking a 120, and yelling at me in the “Flo” voice from "Mel's Diner"-- "Eat the damn pie, sweetheart, 'cause we ain't got all day, and someone else needs that booth."
Being humble means being a realist-- there are days when I just don't get it—don’t get life, don’t get my family, don’t get my friends, don’t get my purpose in life, I just don’t get it, period. Being humble, to me, means being able to admit that, and live with the lessons life presents me to learn how to get it. It also means accepting that every other person in the world struggles with “getting it” just like I do. That admission , and the acceptance that goes along with it is some of the hardest work I will ever do. And I will do it again, and again, and again over the course of my life.
Yes, I believe in humble pie, because I believe that being humble is a virtue we can use more of in this world. Humble pie reminds me not to feel too guilty about the chances to which my pride has blinded me, but to stay focused on the chances that I can see, the love I can offer and accept, once I am willing to pick up my fork and eat.
mil besos--r
I believe that eating humble pie is vitally important to me maintaining my grounding as a human being. Several months ago, I got a major dose of pie. Two heartbreaks, one professional, and the other personal, had put me on my guard and prompted what can only be described as a month-long fit of self-righteous indignation. I couldn’t see anything but my hurt, my desires, all the things I had done to make situations right and what everyone else had done to make the situations wrong. A dose of humble pie was in order.
That piece of pie didn’t come in some cataclysmic way, it came to me while I was staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, getting ready for work one day. I realized that I had refused to see that the professional and personal situations went south with a little help from me, as well. I realized that I wasn’t blameless, but I surely wasn’t being persecuted. I realized that humble pie covers a multitude of messes, and that I had a big steaming wedge with name on it.
The humble pie I recently ate wasn’t the first, and I know it won’t be my last. However, it just might be my most memorable piece of humble pie ever, because I was so aware of what was going on. I have this mental picture of the waitress of the universe just standing over me with a chipped truck-stop variety plate containing a big chunk, of humble pie, handing me a giant plastic spork, and a glass of skim milk. She’s standing over me, snapping her gum and smoking a 120, and yelling at me in the “Flo” voice from "Mel's Diner"-- "Eat the damn pie, sweetheart, 'cause we ain't got all day, and someone else needs that booth."
Being humble means being a realist-- there are days when I just don't get it—don’t get life, don’t get my family, don’t get my friends, don’t get my purpose in life, I just don’t get it, period. Being humble, to me, means being able to admit that, and live with the lessons life presents me to learn how to get it. It also means accepting that every other person in the world struggles with “getting it” just like I do. That admission , and the acceptance that goes along with it is some of the hardest work I will ever do. And I will do it again, and again, and again over the course of my life.
Yes, I believe in humble pie, because I believe that being humble is a virtue we can use more of in this world. Humble pie reminds me not to feel too guilty about the chances to which my pride has blinded me, but to stay focused on the chances that I can see, the love I can offer and accept, once I am willing to pick up my fork and eat.
mil besos--r
17 August 2005
ch-ch-changes
life moves pretty fast-- ferris bueller said that, and i believe it. mom and the texas grand parents are going to b-town this weekend to close up shop at the old house. there will be the requisite garage sale, so if you're in the neighborhood, be sure to drop by for some good swag. slightly used swag, but good swag, never the less. the movers are picking up the rest of the stuff on monday and moving it down here.
my alabama grandparents are also moving out of their house. they've lived in the same town and the same house for 40-odd years. they have alot of stuff to move, as well. and they are moving to be closer to granny's irish twin, my aunt cynthia, and her husband, uncle devon (pronounced dee-von). they will also be closer to my uncle pedro and aunt inez, which is a good thing. i'm sure if you're in the neighborhood for that garage sale, you could also pick up some nice, slightly used swag, as well.
all the moving and scurrying is a little disconcerting. i still wake up from dreams sometimes wondering what house i'm in, or apartment, or dorm room. it's a little bizarre, but it's part of life.
tuesday night, i will be sleeping in my new/old bed. get this-- the bedroom suit i'm using was bought for me before i was born, at a random estate sale/garage sale in the b-town. it was my first bed, after i graduated from my baby bed. and the mattress is the same one i've had since i was 10. it's a good mattress. it will be good to be in that bed, again. life seems to be asking me to go back home, for a little while. and i don't care what any one says, you can go home, again. i know it because i'm there.
in retrospect, the last five years since i graduated college have been on fast-forward-- i haven't stopped for longer than ten days to stop and evaluate in that whole time. prolly not such a hot idea. and my psyche and body are kicking my ass for that lack of rest. but family is good for the soul, and mine is surely being soothed. can't wait to get all the way back on my feet and start visiting the far flung relations and the far flung friends. life is good, and getting better every day.
mil besos--r
my alabama grandparents are also moving out of their house. they've lived in the same town and the same house for 40-odd years. they have alot of stuff to move, as well. and they are moving to be closer to granny's irish twin, my aunt cynthia, and her husband, uncle devon (pronounced dee-von). they will also be closer to my uncle pedro and aunt inez, which is a good thing. i'm sure if you're in the neighborhood for that garage sale, you could also pick up some nice, slightly used swag, as well.
all the moving and scurrying is a little disconcerting. i still wake up from dreams sometimes wondering what house i'm in, or apartment, or dorm room. it's a little bizarre, but it's part of life.
tuesday night, i will be sleeping in my new/old bed. get this-- the bedroom suit i'm using was bought for me before i was born, at a random estate sale/garage sale in the b-town. it was my first bed, after i graduated from my baby bed. and the mattress is the same one i've had since i was 10. it's a good mattress. it will be good to be in that bed, again. life seems to be asking me to go back home, for a little while. and i don't care what any one says, you can go home, again. i know it because i'm there.
in retrospect, the last five years since i graduated college have been on fast-forward-- i haven't stopped for longer than ten days to stop and evaluate in that whole time. prolly not such a hot idea. and my psyche and body are kicking my ass for that lack of rest. but family is good for the soul, and mine is surely being soothed. can't wait to get all the way back on my feet and start visiting the far flung relations and the far flung friends. life is good, and getting better every day.
mil besos--r
14 August 2005
unloading
i'm dumping my apartment tomorrow. i am so relieved. seriously, this is a huge step, and i'm so glad things have worked out, up to this point. i surely didn't want to pay rent on some place i was no longer living. it was a good apartment, and i'll miss it a little. but it's time for it to belong to someone else. btw, craiglist is amazing. i highly recommend them for unloading stuff, and to peruse job opportunities.
i'm slightly less tired than i was two weeks ago, and am feeling more and more like myself, again. and those horrid lines on my forehead are growing a bit more faint, thank God for small favors, huh? and i feel a bit more relaxed. it's good to not be a total wack-job, anymore. the further i get away from my former situation, the more sure i am that i did the right thing. i mean, i miss the kids, who are still calling me to say hello and keep me updated on their drama. that's nice.
in a not so nice section of this week, i was horribly disappointed in a person whom i had placed a fair deal of trust. it occured to me, as i was crying, screaming, and trying not to swear on the phone with this person, that dante was right to put traitors in the lowest circle of hell. geeze oh man, what a mess. it's also taught me that, while i am usually a pretty good judge of character, there are those for whom loyalty means nothing compared to their own selfish interest. it will be a long time, and maybe ever before i speak to this person again. and while there is a measure of forgiveness that i am willing to offer, that time is not now, and i will never forget this situation.
forgetting, in my opinion, is not part of forgiveness, which is a two way street. when you forgive someone, you become a partner in their life, and must be willing to hold that person accountable for their actions, which isn't to say that you are responsible for constantly bulldogging that person. it's a fine line. but there is a big fat line between being someone's friend and confidante and being what amounts to a horrid a-hole. that line was most definately crossed. it's been a long time since i've been this angry at anyone, it's been a long time since i've yelled at anyone on the phone. and i can't tell you the last time i was willfully betrayed. it makes me want to cry and throw up and call that person just to hang up. hang up like how you can only do on a real phone--slam it into the wall and then pick it up and slam it again. there is no point to hanging up a flip phone with any kind of vehemence. blah.
so, long story short, and this one is surely a cautionary tale, guard your friendship cards, and if you have a friendship card, freaking protect it like it's your own beating heart. seriously. because good friendships are hard to find, hard to maintain, and who wants to cash in all that work and all those memories? those who are willing to put their own wants and needs above their friends, in the way that this person performed, are the reason that so many superficial realtionships exist, and the reason that so many people of faith, especially in my age bracket, take being "right" over being "righteous". for myself, i have no need and no desire for superficiality, in life or in friends. but it still sucks, and it still hurts.
sorry for the downer, it's just kind of where my head is right now. that's about all i have to report. hope all is well on the other end of this thing. life is still good, because it's real and messy, and sometimes, it hurts like hell, but it's mine, and it's the only one i've got. but i'll take hurting like hell because i invite people into my universe over stearing this ship of life on my own any day of the week. like goethe says, "nothing is worth more than this day".
mil besos--r
i'm slightly less tired than i was two weeks ago, and am feeling more and more like myself, again. and those horrid lines on my forehead are growing a bit more faint, thank God for small favors, huh? and i feel a bit more relaxed. it's good to not be a total wack-job, anymore. the further i get away from my former situation, the more sure i am that i did the right thing. i mean, i miss the kids, who are still calling me to say hello and keep me updated on their drama. that's nice.
in a not so nice section of this week, i was horribly disappointed in a person whom i had placed a fair deal of trust. it occured to me, as i was crying, screaming, and trying not to swear on the phone with this person, that dante was right to put traitors in the lowest circle of hell. geeze oh man, what a mess. it's also taught me that, while i am usually a pretty good judge of character, there are those for whom loyalty means nothing compared to their own selfish interest. it will be a long time, and maybe ever before i speak to this person again. and while there is a measure of forgiveness that i am willing to offer, that time is not now, and i will never forget this situation.
forgetting, in my opinion, is not part of forgiveness, which is a two way street. when you forgive someone, you become a partner in their life, and must be willing to hold that person accountable for their actions, which isn't to say that you are responsible for constantly bulldogging that person. it's a fine line. but there is a big fat line between being someone's friend and confidante and being what amounts to a horrid a-hole. that line was most definately crossed. it's been a long time since i've been this angry at anyone, it's been a long time since i've yelled at anyone on the phone. and i can't tell you the last time i was willfully betrayed. it makes me want to cry and throw up and call that person just to hang up. hang up like how you can only do on a real phone--slam it into the wall and then pick it up and slam it again. there is no point to hanging up a flip phone with any kind of vehemence. blah.
so, long story short, and this one is surely a cautionary tale, guard your friendship cards, and if you have a friendship card, freaking protect it like it's your own beating heart. seriously. because good friendships are hard to find, hard to maintain, and who wants to cash in all that work and all those memories? those who are willing to put their own wants and needs above their friends, in the way that this person performed, are the reason that so many superficial realtionships exist, and the reason that so many people of faith, especially in my age bracket, take being "right" over being "righteous". for myself, i have no need and no desire for superficiality, in life or in friends. but it still sucks, and it still hurts.
sorry for the downer, it's just kind of where my head is right now. that's about all i have to report. hope all is well on the other end of this thing. life is still good, because it's real and messy, and sometimes, it hurts like hell, but it's mine, and it's the only one i've got. but i'll take hurting like hell because i invite people into my universe over stearing this ship of life on my own any day of the week. like goethe says, "nothing is worth more than this day".
mil besos--r
11 August 2005
perseids and other falling things
the perseid meteor shower is set to begin in a few hours. i know, i am a huge nerd. the perseids are the last of the summer showers, and we have to wait until november for the leonids to give us some more fodder upon which to wish. my college astronomy teacher would be so proud of me for knowing that...he was a huge nerd, too.
but seriously, i wish i could go find a big flat rock, still hot from the oven of a day we had today, lay back and just watch the sky. funny what you take for granted-- like free time, or meteor showers, or being able to see the inky blackness of the "real" night sky. if i weren't so completely pooped out, you can bet i'd be in the middle of some hay field, praying for no snakes, and wishing my little heart out on those tiny pieces of dust that fly through the air once in a season. besides, i cheated and got to see a few of the geminids when i was out west on vacay...lucky me.
the new job is harder than i thought it would be. 12 year old cerebral palsy patients are sometimes very hard to carry. and 12 year old cerebral palsy patients who can't tell you what's the matter are sometimes very hard to soothe. but i've teased a smile or two out of sweet baby a, and those were what i've realized are called "little victories", and i am more thankful for those than just about anything i've managed to make onmy own in the last 5 years.
5 years...that's a long time. that's when i graduated college and thought i was moving to dc to take over the world with good policy and love for all people. and i was still 21. what a sucker, huh? it's amazing to me that i was ever that idealistic. it's even more amazing to me that i still have that crazy tendency to hope that things will turn out for the best, that wishing on that one shooting star could really turn the tide, make the difference, fix the situation, ect. funny, huh? sort of, i guess. either that or i'm finally just giving in to the madness. and maybe that's ok, too. ultimately, i have to go back to one of my favorite movies, the shawshank redemption (also a great short story, btw), in which the protagonist (andy dufresne) reminds the hardened lifer-con (red) that "hope is a good thing...maybe the best thing". that loop gets stuck in my head, and even on days when i don't believe that hoping something will happen will make it so, i feel a tiny bit better.
as a further downer aside, and to really stink this post up with some nostalgic drivel for the masses, i'll go ahead and say that i was very saddened by this week's passing of peter jennings. what a great man. seriously. and while i was watching mr. rogers with sweet baby a yesterday, i had the melancholic and probably over-dramatic idea that three men who were very pivotal in helping make me the person i am today passed away at what seems to be sort of critical junctures in my pursuit of adulthood. my dad died before i started college, which sucked, because i was still trying to figure out what i wanted to do when i grew up, and i fully expected him to be around for that little venture, and he taught me about life as a real, authentic person with screw ups and personality flaws and relationships that are sometimes better than others, and how to say that you're sorry and mean it, how to deal and not deal with strengths and weaknesses, and how to accept God's grace andmercy so you can offer them to those around you--he and mom taught me about who i wanted to be as a person, and tried like hell to show me how to get there. mr. rogers died right as i was beginning to teach children about God and the universe and doing good things, and he taught me that everyone was my neighbor, and that we all lived in the same neightborhood, and that make-believe was for grown-ups, too. peter jennings died as i was beginning to venture out of my comfortable little existence and see what kind of life i could carve out for myself in the wide world, and he was always the one (i used to watch world news tonight at 6:30 every night in my dad's lap, or by his chair, without fail, until i was in high school and had too much shit to do) who told me if the world was the same as when i woke up, and i expected to know who our collective friends were, who was screwing stuff up and how, etc. bizarre, no?
anyway, it's been a long week. i'm so freaking glad tomorrow is friday. i may buy a bottle of wine on the way home from work tomorrow and drink the whole thing (maybe share a glass with mom, since she's letting me sponge, and cooking me real dinner every night, and packing me a lunch and snack every morning...and she has cable. i could get very comfortable here, for a while, anyway...seriously, how amazing and wonderful and full of love is it that the woman who's body i invaded for 9 months is letting me invade her house and life all over again, just at the point at which i'm supposed to be doing stuff on my own? she's amazing. she's my hero. love my momma big...i also love parentetical phrases real big, too...and elipses...) while i try and sort out the chaos of boxes that seem to be growing like some kind of paste-board rabbit colony. seriously, i don't remember having this much shit in my personal possession...
viva la adkins. i miss real chocolate...
mil besos--rmg
but seriously, i wish i could go find a big flat rock, still hot from the oven of a day we had today, lay back and just watch the sky. funny what you take for granted-- like free time, or meteor showers, or being able to see the inky blackness of the "real" night sky. if i weren't so completely pooped out, you can bet i'd be in the middle of some hay field, praying for no snakes, and wishing my little heart out on those tiny pieces of dust that fly through the air once in a season. besides, i cheated and got to see a few of the geminids when i was out west on vacay...lucky me.
the new job is harder than i thought it would be. 12 year old cerebral palsy patients are sometimes very hard to carry. and 12 year old cerebral palsy patients who can't tell you what's the matter are sometimes very hard to soothe. but i've teased a smile or two out of sweet baby a, and those were what i've realized are called "little victories", and i am more thankful for those than just about anything i've managed to make onmy own in the last 5 years.
5 years...that's a long time. that's when i graduated college and thought i was moving to dc to take over the world with good policy and love for all people. and i was still 21. what a sucker, huh? it's amazing to me that i was ever that idealistic. it's even more amazing to me that i still have that crazy tendency to hope that things will turn out for the best, that wishing on that one shooting star could really turn the tide, make the difference, fix the situation, ect. funny, huh? sort of, i guess. either that or i'm finally just giving in to the madness. and maybe that's ok, too. ultimately, i have to go back to one of my favorite movies, the shawshank redemption (also a great short story, btw), in which the protagonist (andy dufresne) reminds the hardened lifer-con (red) that "hope is a good thing...maybe the best thing". that loop gets stuck in my head, and even on days when i don't believe that hoping something will happen will make it so, i feel a tiny bit better.
as a further downer aside, and to really stink this post up with some nostalgic drivel for the masses, i'll go ahead and say that i was very saddened by this week's passing of peter jennings. what a great man. seriously. and while i was watching mr. rogers with sweet baby a yesterday, i had the melancholic and probably over-dramatic idea that three men who were very pivotal in helping make me the person i am today passed away at what seems to be sort of critical junctures in my pursuit of adulthood. my dad died before i started college, which sucked, because i was still trying to figure out what i wanted to do when i grew up, and i fully expected him to be around for that little venture, and he taught me about life as a real, authentic person with screw ups and personality flaws and relationships that are sometimes better than others, and how to say that you're sorry and mean it, how to deal and not deal with strengths and weaknesses, and how to accept God's grace andmercy so you can offer them to those around you--he and mom taught me about who i wanted to be as a person, and tried like hell to show me how to get there. mr. rogers died right as i was beginning to teach children about God and the universe and doing good things, and he taught me that everyone was my neighbor, and that we all lived in the same neightborhood, and that make-believe was for grown-ups, too. peter jennings died as i was beginning to venture out of my comfortable little existence and see what kind of life i could carve out for myself in the wide world, and he was always the one (i used to watch world news tonight at 6:30 every night in my dad's lap, or by his chair, without fail, until i was in high school and had too much shit to do) who told me if the world was the same as when i woke up, and i expected to know who our collective friends were, who was screwing stuff up and how, etc. bizarre, no?
anyway, it's been a long week. i'm so freaking glad tomorrow is friday. i may buy a bottle of wine on the way home from work tomorrow and drink the whole thing (maybe share a glass with mom, since she's letting me sponge, and cooking me real dinner every night, and packing me a lunch and snack every morning...and she has cable. i could get very comfortable here, for a while, anyway...seriously, how amazing and wonderful and full of love is it that the woman who's body i invaded for 9 months is letting me invade her house and life all over again, just at the point at which i'm supposed to be doing stuff on my own? she's amazing. she's my hero. love my momma big...i also love parentetical phrases real big, too...and elipses...) while i try and sort out the chaos of boxes that seem to be growing like some kind of paste-board rabbit colony. seriously, i don't remember having this much shit in my personal possession...
viva la adkins. i miss real chocolate...
mil besos--rmg
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