-The polar bear is not doing so well. According to the nature program bears apparently have a very long memory for what to eat, where to eat it and when it is available. And this knowledge is passed on from mother to cub. Grizzly bears know about salmon, and eating berries, and shellfish and squirrels because they learn from their moms. Polar bear moms and cubs take advantage of what they can in new environments, but so far, miss out on lots of food because they have no one to show them what to eat.
-The State of Texas now has a $50 lotto scratch game which is proving to be an extremely effective way to tap into the meager earnings of their poor and their people on welfare. It's working so well that they are talking about putting out a $100 lotto scratch game. Who needs taxes?
-Mining companies are lousy about safety regulations and protecting their workers and many of the mining deaths that we heard of and don't hear of didn't have to happen.
-We have a $9 trillion Federal debt. Maybe we should all get a second job.
-Over half of Americans don't believe in evolution.
-Freelancers get screwed out of small amounts of money. Client will refuse to pay figuring that the freelancer cannot afford the legal proceedings required to collect that $200.
-If you are a Freelancer in some states you can join the Freelancers Union and get Health, Dental, Disability, and Term Life Insurance.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Sunday, February 17, 2008
a silent period punctuated by coughing
"I'm sick"
"I was home sick"
"I was so sick last week"
"I've been home sick for two weeks"
"Cough"
"Coff"
"Cough cough"
I have heard these things from people I know. The information was taken in but did not register significantly until now when I am sick myself. It has been a week.
I am certainly not the only one battling virus in the City, on the train earlier this week I observed the phenomenon of the sympathetic cough. Everyone wants to cough but is stifling it until one person lets out a big old hack which causes other people to let out a cough in seemingly timed sequence in response.
I tell myself that it would be so much worse had I not had my flu shot. Of course, if it were much worse, I might die. It is hard to keep in mind while in the midst of it that this will all pass that I will eventually regain the power of speech and song, that I will be able to taste things, and stop coughing, that I will feel better. I have been housebound, basically bedridden, and silent for four days which is not how I had hoped to spend this long weekend. I am not even muttering to myself because I physically can't.
I lay around and urgently urge my immune system to kick this thing already and wish that I had spent more time studying immunology so that I could individually cheer on each cell type and immune strategy. While my Macrophage and T-cells are going to bat for me, I'd like to be able to offer them my sincere thanks and give them much encouragement.
The flu is not going to help me lose any weight. I've been through a bag of licorice Twizzlers, a bag of parmesan flavored goldfish, two cans of chicken noodle soup, a two liter of ginger ale, several pots of chamomile tea, a pot of sleepytime (didn't work), and a pot of wild berry zinger, four cans of peaches, a bag of frozen raspberries, two plates of melted cheese, a tuna sandwich, a fried egg sandwich, a chicken sandwich, half a pot of badly made fettucine alfredo (not enough cheese), and some toast with apricot preserves. Clearly, we are feeding this fever. Yet, in the midst of all of this glorious consumption, I did not remember to buy myself a bottle of Nyquil.
Chicken noodle soup has undergone some kind of transformation since my youth. Used to be the pieces of chicken in the soup can were tiny, two little bitty cubes tossed in grudgingly to demonstrate that chickens were used on the making of the soup. Now there are three pieces that are the size of my thumb. So it would seem that sometimes new and improved is actually improved in the world of food science.
I've recently had a similar experience with a can of pork and beans. All through my youth I would stir the beans around looking for the pork to no avail. And recently I spied a big old piece of fat in a can of beans. Not as happy to see this as I thought I would be. It was not as good as the chicken thing.
In this downtime, besides tucking into my canned goods, I have caught up on episodes of "One Tree Hill" (Bad Nanny! Bad Bad Nanny!) and "Reaper" (Sam is so dreamy.). I have heard good things about "Ugly Betty" from a few friends so I watched a bunch of episodes. The one that I really liked was the one in which Betty and Henry go to see "Wicked" although the poisoned perfume one was good too. Gio is a delightful guy. But overall I was not knocked out.
I watched episodes of "Lipstick Jungle" and "Cashmere Mafia." Andrew McCarthy's character has been morphed into the kind of delightful imaginary man that will be used as a measuring stick by women to make real male humans miserable. Much in the same way Lloyd Dobbler made life much more difficult for men of a certain age in their youth. Each series is described as a dramedy. So far, "Lipstick Jungle" edges closer to Drama (soap opera) and "Cashmere Mafia" closer to Comedy (and "Sex in the City"). I watched some Sunday PBS programming which did what it always does, entertain, inform, and freak me out about the state of the world.
It's been hard to concentrate on reading or communicating. But I did read an online version of Eric S. Raymond's essay "The Cathedral and the Bazaar" which is an "ancient" account of how Raymond used the Linux / open source model to develop a mail program. I come to it as a latecomer as I do with so many things. It's a pretty interesting read. The roots of internet culture are curious indeed espousing ideas and values not generally in line with the mainstream. We shall see how much of it will survive the the efforts of Corporations to grab grasp and control the nets.
Did you know that 48 million internet users who have posted content, such as blogs or photos, to the Internet. That's you and me.
"I was home sick"
"I was so sick last week"
"I've been home sick for two weeks"
"Cough"
"Coff"
"Cough cough"
I have heard these things from people I know. The information was taken in but did not register significantly until now when I am sick myself. It has been a week.
I am certainly not the only one battling virus in the City, on the train earlier this week I observed the phenomenon of the sympathetic cough. Everyone wants to cough but is stifling it until one person lets out a big old hack which causes other people to let out a cough in seemingly timed sequence in response.
I tell myself that it would be so much worse had I not had my flu shot. Of course, if it were much worse, I might die. It is hard to keep in mind while in the midst of it that this will all pass that I will eventually regain the power of speech and song, that I will be able to taste things, and stop coughing, that I will feel better. I have been housebound, basically bedridden, and silent for four days which is not how I had hoped to spend this long weekend. I am not even muttering to myself because I physically can't.
I lay around and urgently urge my immune system to kick this thing already and wish that I had spent more time studying immunology so that I could individually cheer on each cell type and immune strategy. While my Macrophage and T-cells are going to bat for me, I'd like to be able to offer them my sincere thanks and give them much encouragement.
The flu is not going to help me lose any weight. I've been through a bag of licorice Twizzlers, a bag of parmesan flavored goldfish, two cans of chicken noodle soup, a two liter of ginger ale, several pots of chamomile tea, a pot of sleepytime (didn't work), and a pot of wild berry zinger, four cans of peaches, a bag of frozen raspberries, two plates of melted cheese, a tuna sandwich, a fried egg sandwich, a chicken sandwich, half a pot of badly made fettucine alfredo (not enough cheese), and some toast with apricot preserves. Clearly, we are feeding this fever. Yet, in the midst of all of this glorious consumption, I did not remember to buy myself a bottle of Nyquil.
Chicken noodle soup has undergone some kind of transformation since my youth. Used to be the pieces of chicken in the soup can were tiny, two little bitty cubes tossed in grudgingly to demonstrate that chickens were used on the making of the soup. Now there are three pieces that are the size of my thumb. So it would seem that sometimes new and improved is actually improved in the world of food science.
I've recently had a similar experience with a can of pork and beans. All through my youth I would stir the beans around looking for the pork to no avail. And recently I spied a big old piece of fat in a can of beans. Not as happy to see this as I thought I would be. It was not as good as the chicken thing.
In this downtime, besides tucking into my canned goods, I have caught up on episodes of "One Tree Hill" (Bad Nanny! Bad Bad Nanny!) and "Reaper" (Sam is so dreamy.). I have heard good things about "Ugly Betty" from a few friends so I watched a bunch of episodes. The one that I really liked was the one in which Betty and Henry go to see "Wicked" although the poisoned perfume one was good too. Gio is a delightful guy. But overall I was not knocked out.
I watched episodes of "Lipstick Jungle" and "Cashmere Mafia." Andrew McCarthy's character has been morphed into the kind of delightful imaginary man that will be used as a measuring stick by women to make real male humans miserable. Much in the same way Lloyd Dobbler made life much more difficult for men of a certain age in their youth. Each series is described as a dramedy. So far, "Lipstick Jungle" edges closer to Drama (soap opera) and "Cashmere Mafia" closer to Comedy (and "Sex in the City"). I watched some Sunday PBS programming which did what it always does, entertain, inform, and freak me out about the state of the world.
It's been hard to concentrate on reading or communicating. But I did read an online version of Eric S. Raymond's essay "The Cathedral and the Bazaar" which is an "ancient" account of how Raymond used the Linux / open source model to develop a mail program. I come to it as a latecomer as I do with so many things. It's a pretty interesting read. The roots of internet culture are curious indeed espousing ideas and values not generally in line with the mainstream. We shall see how much of it will survive the the efforts of Corporations to grab grasp and control the nets.
Did you know that 48 million internet users who have posted content, such as blogs or photos, to the Internet. That's you and me.
Friday, February 15, 2008
It was the D of the V, y'all
My two favorite holidays are Halloween and Thanksgiving. One holiday that requires costumes and candy and one in which you stuff yourself silly with your nearest and dearest.
My two least favorite holidays are New Years and Valentine's Day.
One year, I bought the man I loved the soundtrack from the movie, "The Piano" and he gave me a speech about how much he hated stupid holidays popularized by Hallmark that suggested that you only express your love on one day rather than all year around. Years later after we broke up, he admitted that this was a really stupid and shitty thing to say to your girlfriend.
The best Valentine's Day of my life was spent with BBFK. We were each dating some lame-o who didn't want to do anything for Valentine's Day so we went out together and saw a college production of "The Vagina Monologues." We did invite our sig o's along but they politely declined.
This evening was a super close second. I woke up sicker than sick. I was coughing up things, strange things, unspeakable things. On the plus, my UPS delivery came *yay!*, on the minus, the light bulb in my bedroom blew out, leaving me sitting in the dark *wah!*
And I thought I would not make it to the VD is Nasty festivities. I went as far to tell everyone this. But upon hearing that AN was also sick but planning to power through the party, I decided to do the same.
The staff had informed the lovely hostesses that they did not have Karoake in English and there was an ensuing panic that we would all be inventing words and melodies to accompany the greatest pop hits of China. CK practiced in the ways of the Jedi dispensed with this problem. The force is strong with that one.
The second point of concern was in that fact that getting a private room for Karaoke and food would require a $500 minimum. Being that the food was plentiful and inexpensive as was the booze, we kept ordering dish after dish,wine and more wine, and beers by the six pack. We each left with a booze party favor tucked in our bags, a bottle of Tsingtao or a bottle of wine. But after a ton of food, much booze, and six hours of Karaoke we all felt that we got our money's worth. The staff was certainly ready to send us on our way...
The rooms was gorgeous and mostly soundproof unless you were in the ladies room where one could hear everything except the karaoke backing tracks. And we almost had our chance to corrupt the youth when a little 7 year old boy pressed his face up to the glass door. A opened it and tried to coax him into our scary den of song, "sin" and sea cucumber but the boy hesitated and eventually ran into the sheltering arms of his concerned father.
Thankfully, they did not have the Depeche Mode song "Somebody" in their Karaoke library. So I was spared laughing while peeing and barfing trifecta. MomVee, we did sing "I can't fight this feeling any more" in your honor. And Radiohead's "Creep" was a surprisingly excellent Karaoke tune appealing to both genders.
I sang myself hoarse which brought back memories of a sweet sweet piece of hell from college we commonly referred to as Call Backs.
At the end of the night I even got a flower passed to me third hand from a cab driver who got it from a cab rider who got it during what must have been a not very good Valentine's date. After all, people on good dates don't give their flowers to cab drivers.
I hope this gift comes around to that person in the form of a best or second best Valentine's next year. C'mon Universe, what do you say?
And if even I can't speak for a month or die tomorrow, I wouldn't trade tonight for anything.
It was a good night. Better than a room full of flowers and chocolate covered candy hearts.
My two least favorite holidays are New Years and Valentine's Day.
One year, I bought the man I loved the soundtrack from the movie, "The Piano" and he gave me a speech about how much he hated stupid holidays popularized by Hallmark that suggested that you only express your love on one day rather than all year around. Years later after we broke up, he admitted that this was a really stupid and shitty thing to say to your girlfriend.
The best Valentine's Day of my life was spent with BBFK. We were each dating some lame-o who didn't want to do anything for Valentine's Day so we went out together and saw a college production of "The Vagina Monologues." We did invite our sig o's along but they politely declined.
This evening was a super close second. I woke up sicker than sick. I was coughing up things, strange things, unspeakable things. On the plus, my UPS delivery came *yay!*, on the minus, the light bulb in my bedroom blew out, leaving me sitting in the dark *wah!*
And I thought I would not make it to the VD is Nasty festivities. I went as far to tell everyone this. But upon hearing that AN was also sick but planning to power through the party, I decided to do the same.
The staff had informed the lovely hostesses that they did not have Karoake in English and there was an ensuing panic that we would all be inventing words and melodies to accompany the greatest pop hits of China. CK practiced in the ways of the Jedi dispensed with this problem. The force is strong with that one.
The second point of concern was in that fact that getting a private room for Karaoke and food would require a $500 minimum. Being that the food was plentiful and inexpensive as was the booze, we kept ordering dish after dish,wine and more wine, and beers by the six pack. We each left with a booze party favor tucked in our bags, a bottle of Tsingtao or a bottle of wine. But after a ton of food, much booze, and six hours of Karaoke we all felt that we got our money's worth. The staff was certainly ready to send us on our way...
The rooms was gorgeous and mostly soundproof unless you were in the ladies room where one could hear everything except the karaoke backing tracks. And we almost had our chance to corrupt the youth when a little 7 year old boy pressed his face up to the glass door. A opened it and tried to coax him into our scary den of song, "sin" and sea cucumber but the boy hesitated and eventually ran into the sheltering arms of his concerned father.
Thankfully, they did not have the Depeche Mode song "Somebody" in their Karaoke library. So I was spared laughing while peeing and barfing trifecta. MomVee, we did sing "I can't fight this feeling any more" in your honor. And Radiohead's "Creep" was a surprisingly excellent Karaoke tune appealing to both genders.
I sang myself hoarse which brought back memories of a sweet sweet piece of hell from college we commonly referred to as Call Backs.
At the end of the night I even got a flower passed to me third hand from a cab driver who got it from a cab rider who got it during what must have been a not very good Valentine's date. After all, people on good dates don't give their flowers to cab drivers.
I hope this gift comes around to that person in the form of a best or second best Valentine's next year. C'mon Universe, what do you say?
And if even I can't speak for a month or die tomorrow, I wouldn't trade tonight for anything.
It was a good night. Better than a room full of flowers and chocolate covered candy hearts.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
VDay alternatives
If I didn't alreayd have plans for the VDay I might check out this madness:
Between rounds there will be "face melting bands." And this is all happening at someone's house. I am overcome.
PUNK ROCK PILLOW FIGHT is a Sixteen Person pillow fighting tournament that truly decides who is the MASTER and THE MISTRESS OF THE MATTRESS. There will be an Open Tournament up to sixteen people separated by gender. Men Vs Men, Women Vs Women. The winner from each gender tournament will receive a custom made CHAMPIONCHIP BELT among another prizes!!
In addition to the tournament there will be THE SWINGERS PARTY! A match that pits up to FOUR INTER-GENDER tag teams against each other until ONE PERSON is left standing. The winner will be declared THE 1 SWINGER.
Here are the Rules:
1. One knee down you're still around, Two knees down you're out.
2. Off the mattress. You're out.
3. If a match goes the time limit, the Ref with help of the audience will decide the winner.
4. No offensive shoving. (Offensive shoving looks like a Sumo Wrestler pushing someone off the mattress, while defensive shoving happens naturally as pillows get tangled and must be separated)
5. You can not "load up" your pillow. (no rocks, no spikes, no salt, etc. in your pillow) Regulation pillows will be provided, but you can bring your own.
6. No punching, kicking, headbutting, etc. (this is a PILLOW FIGHT, not a real fight.)
Violations of 4-6 will get you disqualified.
Teeth guards are suggested.
Costumes are MANDATORY. (If you don't bring your own costume, there will be a costume grab bag to choose your outfit)
Between rounds there will be "face melting bands." And this is all happening at someone's house. I am overcome.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Other Synonyms for Happiness
I guess there are those among us who are looking for a synonym for happiness that is not a Hall and Oates song.
According to Wikipedia, synonyms are words that have an identical or similar meaning. If you are looking a synonym, a blog called "Things to Do" is probably not your best bet.
I don't know that many synonyms for Happiness. In the process of listing them I find that I deviate from the word pretty quickly:
Bliss - Contentment - Joy - Delight - Peace - Laughter - Ecstacy - Full (as in full stomach)- Rest - Quiet - Hugs - Warm - Dance - Bounce - Friendship - Gimlet - Ink - Action - Thought - Learning - Cheese - Love - Discovery - Understanding - Puppies - Kitties - Chocolate - Ice Cream - Longing - Desire - Sunshine - Fresh from the Dryer - fruit flavored - Connection
Right. So I went to thesaurus.com and shook out the following:
Felicity - Glee - Satisfaction - Cheer - Enjoyment - Euphoria - Success - Well-being - Prosperity - Ardor - Rapture - Accomplishment - Serenity - Relief - Gratification - Fullfillment - Cheerfulness - Amusement - Jubliation - Exhilaration - Elation - Buoyancy - Gladness - Gaiety - Diversion - Exuberance - Tranquility - Calmness - Mirth - Hilarity - Joviality -Joyousness - Giddiness - Jubilance - Exultation - Relish - Ebullience - Exuberance - Joyfulness - Peacefulness
I don't include the entire daisy chain of words like Happiness here.
There are a few words I came across that are new to me: beatitude, delectation, ataraxia, gladsomeness.
When trying to list synonyms for happiness it's easy to fall into listing what makes me happy rather than words that represent the state of happiness. It's not just me, the question of whether prosperity, success and accomplishment are actual synonyms for happiness is likely to be one worth some discussion. They certainly can contribute but they cannot be said to be the whole of it.
My father believes that good health is a synonym for happiness. And some would argue that security is another.
In looking at different words for happiness there are differences in quality to consider as well, contentment and jubilation are not mutually exclusive but they are also not identical.
One trick to happy might be understanding that happiness is not necessarily one size fits all in path or destination. And it's okay if your happiness is different from someone else's. That's kind of the whole point.
Today, I am finding it through a bar of dark chocolate and a jar of peanut butter. Tomorrow, I hope to find it through steamed vegetables and brown rice. I am not holding my breath on that one.
According to Wikipedia, synonyms are words that have an identical or similar meaning. If you are looking a synonym, a blog called "Things to Do" is probably not your best bet.
I don't know that many synonyms for Happiness. In the process of listing them I find that I deviate from the word pretty quickly:
Bliss - Contentment - Joy - Delight - Peace - Laughter - Ecstacy - Full (as in full stomach)- Rest - Quiet - Hugs - Warm - Dance - Bounce - Friendship - Gimlet - Ink - Action - Thought - Learning - Cheese - Love - Discovery - Understanding - Puppies - Kitties - Chocolate - Ice Cream - Longing - Desire - Sunshine - Fresh from the Dryer - fruit flavored - Connection
Right. So I went to thesaurus.com and shook out the following:
Felicity - Glee - Satisfaction - Cheer - Enjoyment - Euphoria - Success - Well-being - Prosperity - Ardor - Rapture - Accomplishment - Serenity - Relief - Gratification - Fullfillment - Cheerfulness - Amusement - Jubliation - Exhilaration - Elation - Buoyancy - Gladness - Gaiety - Diversion - Exuberance - Tranquility - Calmness - Mirth - Hilarity - Joviality -Joyousness - Giddiness - Jubilance - Exultation - Relish - Ebullience - Exuberance - Joyfulness - Peacefulness
I don't include the entire daisy chain of words like Happiness here.
There are a few words I came across that are new to me: beatitude, delectation, ataraxia, gladsomeness.
When trying to list synonyms for happiness it's easy to fall into listing what makes me happy rather than words that represent the state of happiness. It's not just me, the question of whether prosperity, success and accomplishment are actual synonyms for happiness is likely to be one worth some discussion. They certainly can contribute but they cannot be said to be the whole of it.
My father believes that good health is a synonym for happiness. And some would argue that security is another.
In looking at different words for happiness there are differences in quality to consider as well, contentment and jubilation are not mutually exclusive but they are also not identical.
One trick to happy might be understanding that happiness is not necessarily one size fits all in path or destination. And it's okay if your happiness is different from someone else's. That's kind of the whole point.
Today, I am finding it through a bar of dark chocolate and a jar of peanut butter. Tomorrow, I hope to find it through steamed vegetables and brown rice. I am not holding my breath on that one.
Monday, February 11, 2008
button up your overcoat
I am not sure which children's book it was but I think it was "Little Women." There is a passage in which the author describes how the winter is bitterly cold and each of the girls holds a hot baked potato in their mittened hands to keep them warm on their way to school. And then have a baked potato for lunch, I guess.
Today is that kind of cold.
Today is that kind of cold.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
more cheese please
This weekend TBW turned 30. In honor of this he invited some of his nearest and dearest out for some dinner and dancing. Dinner was at a Swiss restaurant. The whole place smelled potently of cheese. The place is well known for its fondue.
While I did have chocolate fondue with Toblerone for dessert, which was just lovely, I did not have cheese fondue. No one at my table was really in the mood for it, I guess.
But I did order Raclette as an appetizer. Raclette is a salty swiss cheese. It was served as a big melted mass of cheese dusted with paprika on a warm plate with some potatoes and gerkins pickles. And Friends, let me tell you, it's delicious. All I can think about is melted cheese on a plate now.
Afterwards we went to the Beauty Bar and danced until 4am. Because that was the plan. I slept until 6pm today and woke up sore and hungover with a powerful craving for more Raclette.
While I did have chocolate fondue with Toblerone for dessert, which was just lovely, I did not have cheese fondue. No one at my table was really in the mood for it, I guess.
But I did order Raclette as an appetizer. Raclette is a salty swiss cheese. It was served as a big melted mass of cheese dusted with paprika on a warm plate with some potatoes and gerkins pickles. And Friends, let me tell you, it's delicious. All I can think about is melted cheese on a plate now.
Afterwards we went to the Beauty Bar and danced until 4am. Because that was the plan. I slept until 6pm today and woke up sore and hungover with a powerful craving for more Raclette.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Surviving Exposure
C-belle and I went to the erotic love letter writing workshop at Babeland last month. The lesson learned from it was: read more James Joyce, his letters to his wife Nora were perverse, filthy, passionate and loving all at once. The workshop was in some ways like any writing workshop and much of the advice given was good advice for any writer. Except that some people were reading passages with graphic personal sexual content and we were sitting in room surrounded by dildos, vibrators, and whips.
It was the close of a three part tour I took attending three events having to do with sex and words. Interestingly, they were all organized by the same woman, Rachel Kramer Bussel.
All of this went down in January and I have put off writing about it. Because I came to no clear thoughts or conclusions about it. The readings, while all being about sex, were diverse in topic and presentation and treatment, at turns funny, embarrassing, surprising, informative, thought-provoking, boring, trite, disturbing, sexy, unsexy, etc and so on. And my reactions to them were far ranging as well.
Clearly, I did not die of embarrassment. But I am not sure that my comfort level with public discourse on the topic has increased, at least not by much.
At the point in the workshop where we were asked to turn from writing a love letter to writing something erotic, I totally blanked. I just sat there and blinked while everyone around me was furiously writing.
I keep flip flopping back and forth on whether to post my letter. The letter itself is really tame, PG at best. But it's about a real person. And as much as I try to edit it, and change details, and scrub it to protect them that needs protecting, for now I can't bring myself to post it. Even with every single detail changed it feels naked.
Which is the thing about sex reading and writing. The graphic stuff and the funny stuff and the shocking stuff is what you expect and on some level or another it will always deliver.
But it's the intimate and revealing stuff where the writer is vulnerable and naked that feels really dangerous.
It was the close of a three part tour I took attending three events having to do with sex and words. Interestingly, they were all organized by the same woman, Rachel Kramer Bussel.
All of this went down in January and I have put off writing about it. Because I came to no clear thoughts or conclusions about it. The readings, while all being about sex, were diverse in topic and presentation and treatment, at turns funny, embarrassing, surprising, informative, thought-provoking, boring, trite, disturbing, sexy, unsexy, etc and so on. And my reactions to them were far ranging as well.
Clearly, I did not die of embarrassment. But I am not sure that my comfort level with public discourse on the topic has increased, at least not by much.
At the point in the workshop where we were asked to turn from writing a love letter to writing something erotic, I totally blanked. I just sat there and blinked while everyone around me was furiously writing.
I keep flip flopping back and forth on whether to post my letter. The letter itself is really tame, PG at best. But it's about a real person. And as much as I try to edit it, and change details, and scrub it to protect them that needs protecting, for now I can't bring myself to post it. Even with every single detail changed it feels naked.
Which is the thing about sex reading and writing. The graphic stuff and the funny stuff and the shocking stuff is what you expect and on some level or another it will always deliver.
But it's the intimate and revealing stuff where the writer is vulnerable and naked that feels really dangerous.
Friday, February 08, 2008
The Scale of Passion
I am going to spend Valentine's Day this year with a bunch of single people. In case you were wondering what kind of outing this will be, the invite for this party has the tagline: "VD is nasty." I had suggested a number of anti-romantic activities for it which were vetoed in favor of Karaoke. Which means there is a good chance that by the end of the night we will all be drunk and hollering along to Air Supply, some of us with tears running down our faces.
Now where was I?
Right, so you know how Elizabeth Barrett Browning said "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways." Well, Friends, you can now take a step back from having to memorize that poem or enumerate all the things about Pookie that make you tingle and express your passion in a quantitative way.
Let me offer you a crack at the Passionate Love Scale Questionnaire. This is a real questionnaire created by Elaine Hatfield (psychologist) and Susan Sprecher (sociologist) that is still used by professionals today.
Please don't ask me what kind of professionals, the mind reels at the thought. And I will do a follow up to this at some point, I promise. For an added layer of legitimacy (illegitimacy?) I will confess that this questionaire is ganked from a Time magazine article sent to me by CK. I will also confess that typing out these statements, even referring to a blank line, is mortifyingly embarassing, but not quite as nauseating as thinking about the Depeche Mode song, "Somebody." Although, if ANYONE sings that song at Karaoke next week I will probably pee my pants from laughing and then barf on the person next to me.
But I digress.
On to the Scale:
For each of the sentences below insert the name of your beloved in the blank and pick a number from 1 (not at all true) to 9 (definitely true). 5 is moderately true.
1. I would feel deep despair if ____ left me.
2. Sometimes I feel I can't control my thoughts; they are obsessively about ____.
3. I feel happy when I am doing something to make ____ happy.
4. I would rather be with ____ than anyone else.
5. I'd get jealous if I thought ____ were falling in love with someone else.
6. I yearn to know all about ____.
7. I want ____ physically, emotionally, mentally.
8. I have an endless appatite for affection from ____.
9. For me, ____ is the perfect romantic partner.
10. I sense my body responding when ____ touches me.
11. ____ always seems to be on my mind.
12. I want ____ to know me - my thoughts, fears and hopes.
13. I eagerly look for signs indicating ____'s desire for me.
14. I possess a powerful attraction for ____.
15. I get extremely depressed when things don't go right in my relationship with ____.
You then add up your total which will range from 15 to 135.
Elaine Hatfield has a pdf on her site which breaks the scores down into 5 categories. I am going to try to slightly reduce the bias by not including it here.
And don't worry, if your love is constant but not so intense, make that card and compose that poem, bring bottle of booze, a little gift - Pookie will be putty in your hands.
Now where was I?
Right, so you know how Elizabeth Barrett Browning said "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways." Well, Friends, you can now take a step back from having to memorize that poem or enumerate all the things about Pookie that make you tingle and express your passion in a quantitative way.
Let me offer you a crack at the Passionate Love Scale Questionnaire. This is a real questionnaire created by Elaine Hatfield (psychologist) and Susan Sprecher (sociologist) that is still used by professionals today.
Please don't ask me what kind of professionals, the mind reels at the thought. And I will do a follow up to this at some point, I promise. For an added layer of legitimacy (illegitimacy?) I will confess that this questionaire is ganked from a Time magazine article sent to me by CK. I will also confess that typing out these statements, even referring to a blank line, is mortifyingly embarassing, but not quite as nauseating as thinking about the Depeche Mode song, "Somebody." Although, if ANYONE sings that song at Karaoke next week I will probably pee my pants from laughing and then barf on the person next to me.
But I digress.
On to the Scale:
For each of the sentences below insert the name of your beloved in the blank and pick a number from 1 (not at all true) to 9 (definitely true). 5 is moderately true.
1. I would feel deep despair if ____ left me.
2. Sometimes I feel I can't control my thoughts; they are obsessively about ____.
3. I feel happy when I am doing something to make ____ happy.
4. I would rather be with ____ than anyone else.
5. I'd get jealous if I thought ____ were falling in love with someone else.
6. I yearn to know all about ____.
7. I want ____ physically, emotionally, mentally.
8. I have an endless appatite for affection from ____.
9. For me, ____ is the perfect romantic partner.
10. I sense my body responding when ____ touches me.
11. ____ always seems to be on my mind.
12. I want ____ to know me - my thoughts, fears and hopes.
13. I eagerly look for signs indicating ____'s desire for me.
14. I possess a powerful attraction for ____.
15. I get extremely depressed when things don't go right in my relationship with ____.
You then add up your total which will range from 15 to 135.
Elaine Hatfield has a pdf on her site which breaks the scores down into 5 categories. I am going to try to slightly reduce the bias by not including it here.
And don't worry, if your love is constant but not so intense, make that card and compose that poem, bring bottle of booze, a little gift - Pookie will be putty in your hands.
Book love
I was stuffing my face in the lunch room just now and realized that one thing that rocks about books (there are so many) is that there are no ads. You buy it, you own it, you take it home, you read it and no one bugs you to send them more money. No one threatens to cut off your access. No one is shoving ads or surveys at you and there are no annoying flashing animations or noises.
Just you, the pages, and some light.
Just you, the pages, and some light.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
about the world we live in and life in general
On Monday at the end of a very nice party I was singing along to the song "Somebody" by Depeche Mode with BY and CK.
When I was a sophomore in high school I liked this song a lot. But since then I have developed an active dislike of it. The song makes me want to barf. Just thinking back to the memory of singing that song on Monday makes me cringe.
Oh man, those lyrics.
They rhymed support with support. What about comfort? Report? Retort? Car port?
But reflecting on them leads me to wonder if each member of Depeche Mode found - somebody who will put their arms around him and kiss him tenderly?
I am torn between bitter cynical groans and a sincere hope that they did.
When I was a sophomore in high school I liked this song a lot. But since then I have developed an active dislike of it. The song makes me want to barf. Just thinking back to the memory of singing that song on Monday makes me cringe.
Oh man, those lyrics.
They rhymed support with support. What about comfort? Report? Retort? Car port?
But reflecting on them leads me to wonder if each member of Depeche Mode found - somebody who will put their arms around him and kiss him tenderly?
I am torn between bitter cynical groans and a sincere hope that they did.
when your relatives are relatively famous
This evening I had the notion to look up a Ring Lardner story called, "I can't Breathe." It's the one Lardner story I have read. The narrator is a character that I am slightly fixated on.
During this search I came across a NYTimes article by his grandson James Lardner in 1985.
Which I find to be a very interesting observation about the active and participatory nature of reading.
I had to read this next passage twice before I got it. It was worth the second try.
Someone made a comment at the event to the question of why RL didn't write a novel that he was not sure of RL's ability to write a good one.
I might have to pick up an anthology and spend a little time with this Ring Lardner Fella.
During this search I came across a NYTimes article by his grandson James Lardner in 1985.
"My grandfather has been described as a bitter writer, and I was afraid he might prove too bitter for me. Instead, I discovered that he had changed too, keeping pace with my change. The delusions and posturings of his comic characters brought as much delight as ever but also a sadness I hadn't felt before. My emotions expanded into the vacuum created by an unfeeling narration - just as, I now realize, the author intended."
Which I find to be a very interesting observation about the active and participatory nature of reading.
I had to read this next passage twice before I got it. It was worth the second try.
"Rereading ''You Know Me Al,'' I laughed again at Jack Keefe's performance in verbal battle. ''I got a notion to take a punch at you,'' he announces. ''Oh you have have you?'' says one of his fellow ballplayers. ''Yes I have have I?'' Jack replies triumphantly. I laughed, but the laughter was suffused with the memory of errant comebacks of my own."
Someone made a comment at the event to the question of why RL didn't write a novel that he was not sure of RL's ability to write a good one.
"If he means a novel in which the author or his hero searches for fundamental meaning and asks deep questions en route, I'm also doubtful. The characters my grandfather focused his attention on spent much of their mental energy in the pursuit of money, power, respect and other short-term gains. Self-awareness was not their strong suit. Nor was awareness of other people and their feelings. His protagonists didn't learn much from life, and that was frequently the point of his stories and the source of their humor. His themes may have been more suited to the short story than the novel. So, perhaps, is a good deal of life as most people live it."
I might have to pick up an anthology and spend a little time with this Ring Lardner Fella.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
six of one, half dozen of the other
MomVee tagged me for this meme:
1) Link to the person that tagged you.
2) Post the rules on your blog.
3) Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.
4) Tag at least three people at the end of your post and link to their blogs.
5) Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.
6) Let the fun begin!
1) I think my clothes fit me better when I am wearing eyeliner.
2) I love educated men with East Coast accents.
3) I cannot walk by a box of free books on the street without stopping to pick through them.
4) When I eat healthy I find myself craving a slice of cheese pizza, a cheeseburger, a basket of zucchini sticks, and a chocolate milkshake.
5) I consider my chin to be disproportionately big. How do I know? My orthodontist told me. So it must be true.
6) A good Vodka Gimlet makes me happy.
The Bloggers I tag are: Kat E (who really has more important things on her mind right now!), Ldbug, and BeckyBumbleFuck.
1) Link to the person that tagged you.
2) Post the rules on your blog.
3) Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.
4) Tag at least three people at the end of your post and link to their blogs.
5) Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.
6) Let the fun begin!
1) I think my clothes fit me better when I am wearing eyeliner.
2) I love educated men with East Coast accents.
3) I cannot walk by a box of free books on the street without stopping to pick through them.
4) When I eat healthy I find myself craving a slice of cheese pizza, a cheeseburger, a basket of zucchini sticks, and a chocolate milkshake.
5) I consider my chin to be disproportionately big. How do I know? My orthodontist told me. So it must be true.
6) A good Vodka Gimlet makes me happy.
The Bloggers I tag are: Kat E (who really has more important things on her mind right now!), Ldbug, and BeckyBumbleFuck.
Worst thing for a hangover
No matter how delicious and tempting they look do not eat Sour Patch Kids while hungover. Wreaks havoc on your digestive system. Waaaaay too sour.
Monday, February 04, 2008
aspirations in the clouds
This morning it snowed big fuzzy fluffy happy flakes.
Although by the time I got to the Island Manhattan, it was more rainy than snowy.
For whatever reason I am recalling a lovely movie called "Waitress." At one point in the movie they play a cover of the Howard Jones song "No One Ever Is to Blame."
The Emile Millar cover in conjunction with this scene in the movie and the story of this waitress is exquisitely heartbreaking from the opening line:
It might be the kind of thing that hits you differently at 37 than at 15.
Although by the time I got to the Island Manhattan, it was more rainy than snowy.
For whatever reason I am recalling a lovely movie called "Waitress." At one point in the movie they play a cover of the Howard Jones song "No One Ever Is to Blame."
The Emile Millar cover in conjunction with this scene in the movie and the story of this waitress is exquisitely heartbreaking from the opening line:
"You can look at the menu but you just can't eat
You can feel the cushions but you can't have a seat."
-Howard Jones
It might be the kind of thing that hits you differently at 37 than at 15.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
re-visions of history
At the bookstore yesterday I literally tripped into a book called "A Perfect Mess: The Hidden Benefits of Disorder - How Crammed Closets, Cluttered Offices, and On-the-Fly Planning Make the World a Better Place" by Eric Abrahamson and David H. Freedman.
Someone wrote a book in defense of the way I live.
I opened it up and read the following passage:
I was practically on the floor from pure surprise, laughing my ass off.
They go on to say that while improvisation was important in serious music back in the day, J.S. Bach was "infamous for the extent and boldness of it."
Apparently, Johann was a wild and crazy guy.
It does explain why the cadenzas on some solo violin pieces were written so small. They were suggestions but way back when, soloists were supposed to go off and play the hell out of those measures as they saw fit showing off their mad skills to the nth degree.
I have to say that if my violin teachers had encouraged me play my own cadenzas, I might have practiced more than I did. I would have had a reason besides fear of the wrath of my Mother.
Someone wrote a book in defense of the way I live.
I opened it up and read the following passage:
"Of all the jazz artists and jam-banders who might spring to mind when it comes to improvisation, the superstar musician who may be the greatest improvisationalist of all time is well known to the public for everything except his improvisation. Yet so intense was this performer's dedication to jumping beyond the music as written that otherwise adoring audiences and backup musicians sometimes became annoyed at the length and off-the-wall intricacy of his extemporaneous musical wanderings, and he lost gigs over it. Even when sitting in with other musicians, he couldn't resist changing their compositions on the fly.
The irrepressible improviser was Johann Sebastian Bach."
- Abrahamson and Freedman
I was practically on the floor from pure surprise, laughing my ass off.
They go on to say that while improvisation was important in serious music back in the day, J.S. Bach was "infamous for the extent and boldness of it."
Apparently, Johann was a wild and crazy guy.
It does explain why the cadenzas on some solo violin pieces were written so small. They were suggestions but way back when, soloists were supposed to go off and play the hell out of those measures as they saw fit showing off their mad skills to the nth degree.
I have to say that if my violin teachers had encouraged me play my own cadenzas, I might have practiced more than I did. I would have had a reason besides fear of the wrath of my Mother.
Friday, February 01, 2008
Stick out your chin, and grin and say ... one scoop in a cup please
It was one of those days.
It was raining.
I got up on the wrong side of the futon.
It was a day full of tiny little disappointments.
I tore a hole in my purse. I left the office building for lunch without my wallet and had to go back and get it. I made suggestions that people at work disliked. I missed a deadline that I had set for myself. I did not do any of the things that I was sort of thinking about and kind of looking forward to this evening. The concert I wanted to see was sold out. And so on and so on. Minor minor little things that meant nothing except that one followed another all day today. The only free seat on the train was wet. And then I decided to make a gloomy day a little greyer. I had time to ponder past mistakes and missteps and missed opportunities. The rather large number of entirely futile things that I do on a daily basis. Lost love. The lack of love. The death of love and the novel and the decline of civilization, the inherent horribleness of man and the imperfection of everything in existence and my mortality and the mortality of those that I love and those that I admire. The death of my sad and much neglected office plants. (Be kind to plants, do not give them to me. You are better off liberating them in the forest.)
My interior dialogue as I walked home was something like this:
"I am gloomy."
-"You got no cause to be gloomy."
"I am gloomy."
-"What would make you feel better?"
"Ice cream!"
-"Ice cream? That will make you fat and do all kinds of terrible things to your health. Have you taken a look at your belly lately? How about a nice bowl of beans?"
"Beans?"
-"You'll have beans and then clean the apartment. That'll be good. It will make you feel good about yourself."
"Beans and cleaning. Could my life get any gloomier."
-" ... okay let's get ice cream."
I get a scoop of chocolate ice cream from Baskin Robbins and head home.
-"Feel better?"
"No. I'm still gloomy."
-"Oh for God's sake! I bought you chocolate ice cream. What more could you want?!"
At which point I laughed out loud. After all, I had a point. And I sat down on my floor and had me some ice cream. It was delicious.
It was raining.
I got up on the wrong side of the futon.
It was a day full of tiny little disappointments.
I tore a hole in my purse. I left the office building for lunch without my wallet and had to go back and get it. I made suggestions that people at work disliked. I missed a deadline that I had set for myself. I did not do any of the things that I was sort of thinking about and kind of looking forward to this evening. The concert I wanted to see was sold out. And so on and so on. Minor minor little things that meant nothing except that one followed another all day today. The only free seat on the train was wet. And then I decided to make a gloomy day a little greyer. I had time to ponder past mistakes and missteps and missed opportunities. The rather large number of entirely futile things that I do on a daily basis. Lost love. The lack of love. The death of love and the novel and the decline of civilization, the inherent horribleness of man and the imperfection of everything in existence and my mortality and the mortality of those that I love and those that I admire. The death of my sad and much neglected office plants. (Be kind to plants, do not give them to me. You are better off liberating them in the forest.)
My interior dialogue as I walked home was something like this:
"I am gloomy."
-"You got no cause to be gloomy."
"I am gloomy."
-"What would make you feel better?"
"Ice cream!"
-"Ice cream? That will make you fat and do all kinds of terrible things to your health. Have you taken a look at your belly lately? How about a nice bowl of beans?"
"Beans?"
-"You'll have beans and then clean the apartment. That'll be good. It will make you feel good about yourself."
"Beans and cleaning. Could my life get any gloomier."
-" ... okay let's get ice cream."
I get a scoop of chocolate ice cream from Baskin Robbins and head home.
-"Feel better?"
"No. I'm still gloomy."
-"Oh for God's sake! I bought you chocolate ice cream. What more could you want?!"
At which point I laughed out loud. After all, I had a point. And I sat down on my floor and had me some ice cream. It was delicious.
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