My book club has chosen yet another fun piece of literature to read this month and although I am only ankle deep, I am greatly enjoying The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde (not to mention that I think Jasper is a terrific name in general and have grown rather fond of it while discussing this author with people at work, the library, Borders, and various other venues about town). It's great to have stumbled on another work that is linked to a series, since I do like reading franchises a lot and have a soft spot in my heart for characters that I become familiar with.
I am also reading a second book, called Brimstone by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child. Much like their previous books Relic, Riptide, and Ice Limit, this one has also gone off topic horribley and although I would love to just put it down, I am into it 300 plus pages, and feel obligated to finish. Not to mention that I have a special fondness for Special Agent Pendergast, a character that is much like Robert Crais's character Joe, in that he is revealled in bits and pieces that are both tantalizing and frustrating at the same time. You want more, but you like the tease.
My book on tape right now is Clive Barker's Coldheart Canyon with his handome face on the cover. I borrowed it from the library and admit that I adore Frank Muller's reading (it's a shame that the accident left him to impaired to continue his career). The story thus far is not really a classic Barker horror piece and I am struggling with deciphering the genre, but since I am only on the 5th CD of 19, I figure I'll stick with it to see if it can redeem itself a bit further in. I am enjoying the writing even if the plot seems to be thick and plodding right now.
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Monday, June 27, 2005
Hollywood Bowl
Last night we went to the Hollywood Bowl to see the beginning of the KCRW hosted series of concerts that will be performed there this summer. David Byrne was headlining and he was absolutely phenomenal! The below was my favorite song that David Byrne performs (from his Talking Head days), well, he performed it on Sunday night along with the band The Arcade Fire. They were rather good as well, although not my favorite of the opening acts. I preferred Sise, who had a more eclectic and worldly feel, not as dark sounding to me as The Arcade Fire.
THIS MUST BE THE PLACE (Naive Melody)~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Home is where I want to be
Pick me up and turn me round
I feel numb- born with a weak heart
So I guess I must be having fun
The less we say about it the better
Make it up as we go alone
Feet on the ground
Head in the sky
It's OK I know nothing's wrong... nothing
Hi Yo I got plenty of time
Hi Yo you got light in your eyes
And you're standing here beside me
I love the passing of time
Never for money
Always for love
Cover up - say goodnight... say good night
Home- is where I want to be
But I guess I'm already there
I come home - she lifted up her wings
Guess that this must be the place
I can't tell one from another
Did I find you, or you find me?
There was a time
Before we were born
If someone asks, this is where I'll be... where I'll be
Hi Yo we drift in and out
Hi Yo sing into my mouth
out of all those kinds of people
you got a face with a view
I'm just an animal looking for a home
Share the same space for a minute or two
And you love me till my heart stops
Love me till I'm dead
Eyes that light up, eyes look through you
Cover up the blank spots
Hit me on the head Ah ooh...
It's really the music to this song that I wish you could hear, I'll have to figure out how to link it here. That really is my next step in growing as a blogger...creating hotlinks. Because the musci just swells aroung you from this song and makes you feel so happy, safe, and secrure. It's very optimistic music...of course a lot of David Byrne music feels that way to me. It makes my heart feel light. Billy Joel makes me feel that way too. I know people are giggling at me saying that, but it's very true. I used to put on "Second Wind" when I was crying or in a bad mood, because how could you possibley resist grinning when he sings, "You're only human, you're supposed to make mistakes", or some such sticky sweet nonsense. It pulls you back into the world. Back from the heartless, lonely, desolate brink and makes you a part of everything around you. I love that music has such power.
THIS MUST BE THE PLACE (Naive Melody)~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Home is where I want to be
Pick me up and turn me round
I feel numb- born with a weak heart
So I guess I must be having fun
The less we say about it the better
Make it up as we go alone
Feet on the ground
Head in the sky
It's OK I know nothing's wrong... nothing
Hi Yo I got plenty of time
Hi Yo you got light in your eyes
And you're standing here beside me
I love the passing of time
Never for money
Always for love
Cover up - say goodnight... say good night
Home- is where I want to be
But I guess I'm already there
I come home - she lifted up her wings
Guess that this must be the place
I can't tell one from another
Did I find you, or you find me?
There was a time
Before we were born
If someone asks, this is where I'll be... where I'll be
Hi Yo we drift in and out
Hi Yo sing into my mouth
out of all those kinds of people
you got a face with a view
I'm just an animal looking for a home
Share the same space for a minute or two
And you love me till my heart stops
Love me till I'm dead
Eyes that light up, eyes look through you
Cover up the blank spots
Hit me on the head Ah ooh...
It's really the music to this song that I wish you could hear, I'll have to figure out how to link it here. That really is my next step in growing as a blogger...creating hotlinks. Because the musci just swells aroung you from this song and makes you feel so happy, safe, and secrure. It's very optimistic music...of course a lot of David Byrne music feels that way to me. It makes my heart feel light. Billy Joel makes me feel that way too. I know people are giggling at me saying that, but it's very true. I used to put on "Second Wind" when I was crying or in a bad mood, because how could you possibley resist grinning when he sings, "You're only human, you're supposed to make mistakes", or some such sticky sweet nonsense. It pulls you back into the world. Back from the heartless, lonely, desolate brink and makes you a part of everything around you. I love that music has such power.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Remembering
Many times when I pray on my way in to work I think of the people who are no longer with me and whether they are looking are down on me from Heaven. A lot of this has to do with my belief that they are with G-d and that when speaking to G-d maybe they can hear me too.
There are particular moments in my life that are frozen in my memory and attached to the people that are no longer with me. Often one of my five senses will be activated and I will powerfully be transported to the time, place, and person that I am missing from the past. As I grow older this seems to occur more and more since I suppose the number of people who have died continues to expand. It is unexpectedly bittersweet to me when this happens and these invading thoughts more often then not are cause for wonder and happiness. They envelope in love from the past and although pain of death feels sharp and keen once again, so does the rememberance feel real and the person who I miss is tangible as if I could just pick up a phone and call them. To me it is the newly minted pain is worth the renewed spiritual comfort, if only for that brief interlude.
I have no living Grandparents, but was fortunate to know both my Father and Mother's parents fairly well prior to their deaths. They were complex people, each couple dissimilar and I had trouble when I was young seeing the similar moral backgrounds that my parents came from. My Nana and Papa were born in America and I remember thinking how beautiful my Nana was with her perfectly polished nails, tightly curled hair, and long flowing housedress. They both wore big jewelry that sparkled and made me think they were the richest people in the world. It was partly that and that they had a pool in their backyard. If that didn't signify wealth, I don't know what would have to a little kid.
At some point both my Nana and my Papa owned their own business. It is therefore very fitting that my Mother has her own business as well. That sort of indepence runs in her family. My Nana owned a dress shop, perhaps 2, althought that could certainly have become confused in my mind somehow. My Papa had a paper recycling business, the first one on the East Coast. He drove a Mack Truck with a bulldog on the hood. My Mom still has that bulldog and he's one of the icons of my childhood along with the owls my Nana collected. I like owls, just like she did, I'm not sure if it's because of their wisdom, their rarity, or just something I adopted subconsciously to be close to her.
It was a treat having Nana paint my nails, and I still like having people I know do it today. It makes me feel cherished in some intangible way, like someone cares about the details. The best compliment that I received growing up was hearing my Mom tell me that I had her "Mother's hands".
To be continued
There are particular moments in my life that are frozen in my memory and attached to the people that are no longer with me. Often one of my five senses will be activated and I will powerfully be transported to the time, place, and person that I am missing from the past. As I grow older this seems to occur more and more since I suppose the number of people who have died continues to expand. It is unexpectedly bittersweet to me when this happens and these invading thoughts more often then not are cause for wonder and happiness. They envelope in love from the past and although pain of death feels sharp and keen once again, so does the rememberance feel real and the person who I miss is tangible as if I could just pick up a phone and call them. To me it is the newly minted pain is worth the renewed spiritual comfort, if only for that brief interlude.
I have no living Grandparents, but was fortunate to know both my Father and Mother's parents fairly well prior to their deaths. They were complex people, each couple dissimilar and I had trouble when I was young seeing the similar moral backgrounds that my parents came from. My Nana and Papa were born in America and I remember thinking how beautiful my Nana was with her perfectly polished nails, tightly curled hair, and long flowing housedress. They both wore big jewelry that sparkled and made me think they were the richest people in the world. It was partly that and that they had a pool in their backyard. If that didn't signify wealth, I don't know what would have to a little kid.
At some point both my Nana and my Papa owned their own business. It is therefore very fitting that my Mother has her own business as well. That sort of indepence runs in her family. My Nana owned a dress shop, perhaps 2, althought that could certainly have become confused in my mind somehow. My Papa had a paper recycling business, the first one on the East Coast. He drove a Mack Truck with a bulldog on the hood. My Mom still has that bulldog and he's one of the icons of my childhood along with the owls my Nana collected. I like owls, just like she did, I'm not sure if it's because of their wisdom, their rarity, or just something I adopted subconsciously to be close to her.
It was a treat having Nana paint my nails, and I still like having people I know do it today. It makes me feel cherished in some intangible way, like someone cares about the details. The best compliment that I received growing up was hearing my Mom tell me that I had her "Mother's hands".
To be continued
Monday, June 13, 2005
In Between Times
I have no home, not in the true sense you see, but I seem to exist between houses, more often then not in my car or my head or someplace that I deem "in between". My apartment doesn't really feel like home since I am not really ever there other then to exchange clothes, feed my pets, watch a quick movie, or take a shower. The majority of my time is spent at other people's houses, in beds that aren't mine. It might be a hotel room, a friend's place, my boyfriend's, a couch, an air mattress, or even a floor. This has been fairly perpetual for almost a year. It's persisting in making me feel that I ought to be traveling on holiday or walkabout or something more exciting then my usual day-to-day existence.
Admittedly, depression descends when I enter what used to be my daily apartment since it has become such a shell of it's old self. My fault, as I have let it decay and turn into a neglected feline domecil cluttered with clothing and scraps of hastily eaten food, cans of diet pop and dying plants nestled on the surfaces of tables and bookshelves. My distanciation happened by degrees and I am resentful to begin the journey back, yet know that it must begin if I am ever to get over my anger at myself for how far removed I have become from myself. Because by and large the apartment is me in so many ways.
Living out of a car, an urban nomad who has created a trunk full of dispossessions that have never been mined for their worth. It is my mission this week to excavate their wealth from my car and see what memories they hold for me. If indeed, they have any value after their year of hiding in the trunk through cold and heat. Who knows what mysteries I might unveil. I feel like Geraldo at the vault of Al Capone.
The depression has been coming for several days and much as I try to minimize it, I realize the truth of it in my life and am grateful for the perspective that I have that give me the ability to say, "And this too shall pass". Don't get too anxious, don't feed into it, just roll with the punches and everything will be alright.
Admittedly, depression descends when I enter what used to be my daily apartment since it has become such a shell of it's old self. My fault, as I have let it decay and turn into a neglected feline domecil cluttered with clothing and scraps of hastily eaten food, cans of diet pop and dying plants nestled on the surfaces of tables and bookshelves. My distanciation happened by degrees and I am resentful to begin the journey back, yet know that it must begin if I am ever to get over my anger at myself for how far removed I have become from myself. Because by and large the apartment is me in so many ways.
Living out of a car, an urban nomad who has created a trunk full of dispossessions that have never been mined for their worth. It is my mission this week to excavate their wealth from my car and see what memories they hold for me. If indeed, they have any value after their year of hiding in the trunk through cold and heat. Who knows what mysteries I might unveil. I feel like Geraldo at the vault of Al Capone.
The depression has been coming for several days and much as I try to minimize it, I realize the truth of it in my life and am grateful for the perspective that I have that give me the ability to say, "And this too shall pass". Don't get too anxious, don't feed into it, just roll with the punches and everything will be alright.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Selfish Paranoia and Pork Products
Blogging is basically mental masturbation to an extreme level unless you are posting interesting information like some of the blogs I habitually read that are at turns educational, entertaining, frustrating, heartrendering, and unbelievably wild. The medical blogs are particularly exciting (read paramedic or emergency room nursing ones to get some great stories and insights into the troubles this country has with our healthcare system and socio-economics in both the urban and rural areas, enlightening and thought provoking).
However, the aloneness out there is disturbing and comforting to me on many blogs that are opened just to give the writer an outlet to pour their soul into. Their reaching out into the cybersphere that connects so many of use seemingly randomly and invisibly over nothing more then a ISDN, phone or cable line. If nothing else it proves that people are much more the same then different and far more compassionate, witty, bold, crazy, intelligent, and just plain available then I could have ever imagined. Not only that, but there is someone out there interested in just about anything awake at just about anytime somewhere. Including pretty wacky taxidermy that takes the cake for being creative. I imagine that must be a rather messy hobby.
Had some moist and tenderly scrumptious pork chops last night that I did not slave over, but were prepared with TLC by my boyfriend. I suggest to anyone out there who is listening that white meat be brined since that is the best way to preserve the juices of the meat and infuses it with heavenly flavors that will make you float away with each bite.
However, the aloneness out there is disturbing and comforting to me on many blogs that are opened just to give the writer an outlet to pour their soul into. Their reaching out into the cybersphere that connects so many of use seemingly randomly and invisibly over nothing more then a ISDN, phone or cable line. If nothing else it proves that people are much more the same then different and far more compassionate, witty, bold, crazy, intelligent, and just plain available then I could have ever imagined. Not only that, but there is someone out there interested in just about anything awake at just about anytime somewhere. Including pretty wacky taxidermy that takes the cake for being creative. I imagine that must be a rather messy hobby.
Had some moist and tenderly scrumptious pork chops last night that I did not slave over, but were prepared with TLC by my boyfriend. I suggest to anyone out there who is listening that white meat be brined since that is the best way to preserve the juices of the meat and infuses it with heavenly flavors that will make you float away with each bite.
Thursday, June 09, 2005
Seafood and Thoughts on Marriage
No writing for awhile, but I was away at the wedding that the below Bachelorette Party was thrown for. It was held in Syracuse, NY and was a lot of fun. We had an awesome rental car with satellite radio and even though it was a ginormous SUV (Dodge Durango), I really liked driving it and it handled just like a car. The gas mileage wasn’t great, but then again fuel is cheaper on the East Coast.
The food was terrific while we were there too. We had LOADS of SEAFOOD, which made me incredibley happy. There is just no comparison between the Dungeness crab here in California and the blue crab in Maryland. They seem to be two completely different creatures. Wild, I know, but trust me, after chowing down on these tasty little Maryland sea roaches, so sweet, moist and tender, I might have to visit every year to get my fill. My only wish is that there was unlimited time to spend at the table picking each little morsel of flesh from their shells. Oh, and I am now a major fan of Crab Chowder (which is sooo much better then it’s counterpart made from clams). It is a must that I learn to make this even if it is with the canned crab.
Fresh tilapia was delicious and could not be spoiled even prepared by a big chain restaurant that had previously disappointed me in the past. Tilapia is one of my favorite fish which I enjoyed B.L.P. (Before Lichen Planus-the rare skin disease that makes it impossible for me to enjoy spicy food, look it up on the internet if you have any questions) broiled with spicy Chile-Lime butter or sautéed in a pan with garlic, paprika, chili powder, and white wine reduction…oh how I miss the heat. The tilapia was so fresh I though it was going to jump off the plate, and there was enough to share if I were blessed with a clone.
There was so much love in the eyes of the bride and groom that it was beautiful and amazing to stand with them on the alter of the Church and hear them exchange vows. The dedication of their lives to a common goal of support, encouragement, and acceptance of one another in front of friends and family was very sweet and yet a bit surreal since the true marriage takes place over time, not over the course of one wedding day.
The bride comes from a family where her parents have divorced and sometimes I wonder if it is more difficult for children of divorce to believe in marriage as a concept. Or, if it is more difficult for people, like me, who have seen their parents struggle, in a marriage that has been both good and bad. My parents have been married for 37 years to each other and despite some passing threats of divorce during some rough times, they have remained together.
My belief in marriage has wavered and for years I never imagined that the idea would ever appeal to me. I had an easier time picturing myself as a mother then as someone’s wife. Partly I think that may have been because I always knew I could adopt or have a child on my own, but being married takes 2 adults and is something you cannot decide for yourself. Afterall, you cannot fall in love with yourself, have a wedding all alone, celebrate anniversaries with yourself (I think those are called birthdays), nope, marriage was something that I just did not really seriously consider in my teens and early 20s.
Somewhere my thinking all changed, maybe with my best friend from high school or college getting hitched. Maybe with that first trip three years ago to get my first bridesmaids dress. Or maybe I just got tired of being alone with my cats. Nah, that’s not it. I think I just got to a point where I realized that I like being a partner and sharing responsibilities, fun, dreams, and a bed too (and having someone who knows how I like my coffee doesn’t hurt).
The food was terrific while we were there too. We had LOADS of SEAFOOD, which made me incredibley happy. There is just no comparison between the Dungeness crab here in California and the blue crab in Maryland. They seem to be two completely different creatures. Wild, I know, but trust me, after chowing down on these tasty little Maryland sea roaches, so sweet, moist and tender, I might have to visit every year to get my fill. My only wish is that there was unlimited time to spend at the table picking each little morsel of flesh from their shells. Oh, and I am now a major fan of Crab Chowder (which is sooo much better then it’s counterpart made from clams). It is a must that I learn to make this even if it is with the canned crab.
Fresh tilapia was delicious and could not be spoiled even prepared by a big chain restaurant that had previously disappointed me in the past. Tilapia is one of my favorite fish which I enjoyed B.L.P. (Before Lichen Planus-the rare skin disease that makes it impossible for me to enjoy spicy food, look it up on the internet if you have any questions) broiled with spicy Chile-Lime butter or sautéed in a pan with garlic, paprika, chili powder, and white wine reduction…oh how I miss the heat. The tilapia was so fresh I though it was going to jump off the plate, and there was enough to share if I were blessed with a clone.
There was so much love in the eyes of the bride and groom that it was beautiful and amazing to stand with them on the alter of the Church and hear them exchange vows. The dedication of their lives to a common goal of support, encouragement, and acceptance of one another in front of friends and family was very sweet and yet a bit surreal since the true marriage takes place over time, not over the course of one wedding day.
The bride comes from a family where her parents have divorced and sometimes I wonder if it is more difficult for children of divorce to believe in marriage as a concept. Or, if it is more difficult for people, like me, who have seen their parents struggle, in a marriage that has been both good and bad. My parents have been married for 37 years to each other and despite some passing threats of divorce during some rough times, they have remained together.
My belief in marriage has wavered and for years I never imagined that the idea would ever appeal to me. I had an easier time picturing myself as a mother then as someone’s wife. Partly I think that may have been because I always knew I could adopt or have a child on my own, but being married takes 2 adults and is something you cannot decide for yourself. Afterall, you cannot fall in love with yourself, have a wedding all alone, celebrate anniversaries with yourself (I think those are called birthdays), nope, marriage was something that I just did not really seriously consider in my teens and early 20s.
Somewhere my thinking all changed, maybe with my best friend from high school or college getting hitched. Maybe with that first trip three years ago to get my first bridesmaids dress. Or maybe I just got tired of being alone with my cats. Nah, that’s not it. I think I just got to a point where I realized that I like being a partner and sharing responsibilities, fun, dreams, and a bed too (and having someone who knows how I like my coffee doesn’t hurt).
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Bachelorette Parties: Gen X?
Two weekends ago I threw a bachelorette party for my friend, we'll call her "the bride", since she will be getting married in June and I am her Maid of Honor (although, there is some evidence to the contrary). As usual, I digress. Another member of the wedding party helped me plan the celebration and "the bride" was absolutely delighted with the resulting festivities.
We started out having dinner, cooked by me, at "the brides" place with party favor bags that I had created being handed out. They included cute little gifts for people to wear to easily identify everyone throughout the night; fake tattoos, mardi gras beads, flashing LED lights, dolphin necklaces, and snap bracelets. Every atrocious nauseatingly cute little adornment people could possibley wear and still look "hot"...LOL, as if I care since I have a boyfriend. Oh, how I amuse myself at other people's expense.
Our second stop was at the Hollywood Men. For those of my sweet and innocent audience who does not know about these things, since there was a time that women did not participate in having their very own Bachelor Parties, this was the titillating part of the evening. Hollywood Men touts itself as the only Male Burlesque Revue (that strip show) for women. And I must say, it's pretty cheeky. I laughed so hard I think I peed my pants. I mean, the guys know that they are teasing and being objectified, it's hysterical to see some of the women actually acting like, well, for lack of a better word, they're acting like men. They're making catcalls and screaming for lap dances, throwing money at the guys. It was a MADHOUSE!!!!
It was the third venue that I had the best time at, Spundae, which is a club that takes over Circus on Santa Monica Blvd. DJ Hyper was spinning that night and he wasn't all that and a bag of chips at the beginning, sort of playing trancy stuff that was hard to dance to and boring with no beat or rhythm to it. He started to get better as it got a bit later. You cannot blame it on the alcohol for me since I just had 2 beers at Arena where Hollywood Men was around 8:30 since as a designated driver I didn't want any alcohol in my system by midnight since I was unsure of what time we would be leaving. We did end up staying until 2am, at least 5 of us survived until then. I think I could've hung out until 4 if I weren't wearing girly heels. Let any man try pulling an entire 3 hours of dancing off in skinny heels and a strapless bra, especially when you're a D-cup, I dare you! I mean, HELLO, that is definitly a womanly skill that no man in my circle of friend could accomplish without a double X chromosomes.
Let's give a shout out to those wonderful manufacturers of strapless bras, because mine was not only pretty comfortable all evening long, but I certainly was jumping quite a bit and it kept the girls in the proper places. Very nice engineering Maidenform!!!! While I am on this topic, can I just mention that those see-through straps women are wearing can be seen so you scandalous ladies wearing them with your strapless tops and tanks, PLEASE get a strapless and get some class!!!!
We started out having dinner, cooked by me, at "the brides" place with party favor bags that I had created being handed out. They included cute little gifts for people to wear to easily identify everyone throughout the night; fake tattoos, mardi gras beads, flashing LED lights, dolphin necklaces, and snap bracelets. Every atrocious nauseatingly cute little adornment people could possibley wear and still look "hot"...LOL, as if I care since I have a boyfriend. Oh, how I amuse myself at other people's expense.
Our second stop was at the Hollywood Men. For those of my sweet and innocent audience who does not know about these things, since there was a time that women did not participate in having their very own Bachelor Parties, this was the titillating part of the evening. Hollywood Men touts itself as the only Male Burlesque Revue (that strip show) for women. And I must say, it's pretty cheeky. I laughed so hard I think I peed my pants. I mean, the guys know that they are teasing and being objectified, it's hysterical to see some of the women actually acting like, well, for lack of a better word, they're acting like men. They're making catcalls and screaming for lap dances, throwing money at the guys. It was a MADHOUSE!!!!
It was the third venue that I had the best time at, Spundae, which is a club that takes over Circus on Santa Monica Blvd. DJ Hyper was spinning that night and he wasn't all that and a bag of chips at the beginning, sort of playing trancy stuff that was hard to dance to and boring with no beat or rhythm to it. He started to get better as it got a bit later. You cannot blame it on the alcohol for me since I just had 2 beers at Arena where Hollywood Men was around 8:30 since as a designated driver I didn't want any alcohol in my system by midnight since I was unsure of what time we would be leaving. We did end up staying until 2am, at least 5 of us survived until then. I think I could've hung out until 4 if I weren't wearing girly heels. Let any man try pulling an entire 3 hours of dancing off in skinny heels and a strapless bra, especially when you're a D-cup, I dare you! I mean, HELLO, that is definitly a womanly skill that no man in my circle of friend could accomplish without a double X chromosomes.
Let's give a shout out to those wonderful manufacturers of strapless bras, because mine was not only pretty comfortable all evening long, but I certainly was jumping quite a bit and it kept the girls in the proper places. Very nice engineering Maidenform!!!! While I am on this topic, can I just mention that those see-through straps women are wearing can be seen so you scandalous ladies wearing them with your strapless tops and tanks, PLEASE get a strapless and get some class!!!!
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Holocaust Rememberance 60 Years Later
A week ago was the dedication of the new Holocaust Memorial in Berlin, Germany. The memorial was created by U.S. Architect Peter Eisenman and is made of 2,711 grey slabs of varying height that are formed into a tight grid. Visitors are encouraged to move between the blocks. Different reports I have read talk about children playing hide and seek among them which makes me smile. They are often described as being like the headstones on grave sites, but after seeing pictures, I am loath to compare it to the beautiful cemeteries where my grandparents and loved ones bodies are laid.
I learn today that the term Shoah, is actually the Hebrew word meaning "desolation" and has come to be the preferred Jewish term for the Holocaust. Until seeing this on a website today I believed it only referred to Spielberg's Foundation that preserved the memories of those who were there be they persecutor or persecuted. For both sides have much to teach us as to why such atrocities not only happened, but continued to happen unabated by anyone for so long.
It has been 60 years since the end of WW II and although no media service has had the audacity to label anything else a “World” War since that most tragic time, I am unsure if mankind has learned as much from it as once was hoped. Perhaps we have not listened hard enough to our elders; perhaps we are doomed to continue repeating the same mistakes of the past for power, for money, for revenge. I think the most startling moment in my adult life recently was realizing how many deniers there are out there. On the internet there are websites dedicated to the “lie of the Holocaust”. That this could happen in the modern age and be substantiated and upheld on the technological medium of the internet is incredibly disturbing. Thankfully, there are equally outraged and determined people arguing with these boneheads (who are just plain useless to argue against for the most part) and proving through meticulous science and CSI-like evidence gathering that the deniers are WRONG HEADED and IGNORANT.
Admittedly, I am without that kind of patience and my anger would most definitely get the better of me. More then that I am ashamed to see that there is denial about genocide going on right now in our very midst and that our government is more worried about oil then about civil wars in developing countries. To think that people are still being murdered in this world for religious beliefs, race, gender, sexual preference, in most continents of the world. People are still being persecuted on a daily basis for all of those and more (age, looks, weight) in our very country.
Do I, like my grandparents who lost so many in the Shoah, still believe that people are essentially good? Yes, but it does not mean that I don’t expect more from them and from myself.
I learn today that the term Shoah, is actually the Hebrew word meaning "desolation" and has come to be the preferred Jewish term for the Holocaust. Until seeing this on a website today I believed it only referred to Spielberg's Foundation that preserved the memories of those who were there be they persecutor or persecuted. For both sides have much to teach us as to why such atrocities not only happened, but continued to happen unabated by anyone for so long.
It has been 60 years since the end of WW II and although no media service has had the audacity to label anything else a “World” War since that most tragic time, I am unsure if mankind has learned as much from it as once was hoped. Perhaps we have not listened hard enough to our elders; perhaps we are doomed to continue repeating the same mistakes of the past for power, for money, for revenge. I think the most startling moment in my adult life recently was realizing how many deniers there are out there. On the internet there are websites dedicated to the “lie of the Holocaust”. That this could happen in the modern age and be substantiated and upheld on the technological medium of the internet is incredibly disturbing. Thankfully, there are equally outraged and determined people arguing with these boneheads (who are just plain useless to argue against for the most part) and proving through meticulous science and CSI-like evidence gathering that the deniers are WRONG HEADED and IGNORANT.
Admittedly, I am without that kind of patience and my anger would most definitely get the better of me. More then that I am ashamed to see that there is denial about genocide going on right now in our very midst and that our government is more worried about oil then about civil wars in developing countries. To think that people are still being murdered in this world for religious beliefs, race, gender, sexual preference, in most continents of the world. People are still being persecuted on a daily basis for all of those and more (age, looks, weight) in our very country.
Do I, like my grandparents who lost so many in the Shoah, still believe that people are essentially good? Yes, but it does not mean that I don’t expect more from them and from myself.
Friday, May 13, 2005
Chicken soup for the weight watcher
In theory I have been back at my Weight Watchers meeting for over 10 weeks now and have not succeeded in losing any weight at all. In fact going to the meeting and the weight ins has proven to me one thing, that I am successful at maintaining my weight since my original weight loss of over a year ago. True, by no means am I overweight, in fact, my leader says I could just declare this my chosen goal weight and be a lifetime member and never pay for a meeting again. Let's be honest though, I am not "Hollywood" thin and am not at the goal weight that I decided I wanted to be.
So, why am I unsuccessful? Could it be that I just don't care since I am in a happy relationship for once in my life? That I have a job I am good at and am surrounded by people at work who actually semi-function as a team? Could it be that my family members have their own lives and are therfore not harping on me on a daily basis to do this, that, and the other thing for, with, or on behalf of them?
No, I think not. Let's get down to brass tacks people, I LOVE FOOD! Not just normal love, but I am a certifiable foodie. I enjoy reading about food (cookbooks, magazines, essays-I am currently reading the nonfiction book Salt: A World History, by Mark Kurlansky.), looking at food, talking about food, watching food shows, and sharing places that I like eating and recipes I enjoy making with friends and absolute strangers. In fact, if I had my druthers, I think I would just spend all my time in groceries stores, open air markets, the kitchen, or cafes, doing food related stuff.
I used to think this obvious affection for food meant that I missed my calling in life and that I was meant to be a chef. For several months I toyed with the idea of going to Culinary Academy and pursuing the dream of working with pastries or sauces exclusively. However, from educating myself on the harsh realities in industrial kitchens cooking for people en mass (which I had done on a smaller scale for several years for my best friend's father who was a caterer) I quickly realized that there was no joy cooking for nameless, faceless strangers. My love was for the bonds that food created for people.
The innate love and closeness that I feel when there is sharing of dishes and tastes. It creates and intimacy that is not acheived in many other ways, perhaps with music and dance, kissing between lovers. There is a certain deep, visceral sensuality in food. One that transcends the boundaries of my lifetime and connects me to my ancestors. The chicken soup that I prepare in my Grandmother's stock pot causes my heart to swell because I feel her guiding my hand when I add the kosher salt. She too made her matzo balls the same way I make mine, like my father, her son, taught me. It nourishes my soul.
So, why am I unsuccessful? Could it be that I just don't care since I am in a happy relationship for once in my life? That I have a job I am good at and am surrounded by people at work who actually semi-function as a team? Could it be that my family members have their own lives and are therfore not harping on me on a daily basis to do this, that, and the other thing for, with, or on behalf of them?
No, I think not. Let's get down to brass tacks people, I LOVE FOOD! Not just normal love, but I am a certifiable foodie. I enjoy reading about food (cookbooks, magazines, essays-I am currently reading the nonfiction book Salt: A World History, by Mark Kurlansky.), looking at food, talking about food, watching food shows, and sharing places that I like eating and recipes I enjoy making with friends and absolute strangers. In fact, if I had my druthers, I think I would just spend all my time in groceries stores, open air markets, the kitchen, or cafes, doing food related stuff.
I used to think this obvious affection for food meant that I missed my calling in life and that I was meant to be a chef. For several months I toyed with the idea of going to Culinary Academy and pursuing the dream of working with pastries or sauces exclusively. However, from educating myself on the harsh realities in industrial kitchens cooking for people en mass (which I had done on a smaller scale for several years for my best friend's father who was a caterer) I quickly realized that there was no joy cooking for nameless, faceless strangers. My love was for the bonds that food created for people.
The innate love and closeness that I feel when there is sharing of dishes and tastes. It creates and intimacy that is not acheived in many other ways, perhaps with music and dance, kissing between lovers. There is a certain deep, visceral sensuality in food. One that transcends the boundaries of my lifetime and connects me to my ancestors. The chicken soup that I prepare in my Grandmother's stock pot causes my heart to swell because I feel her guiding my hand when I add the kosher salt. She too made her matzo balls the same way I make mine, like my father, her son, taught me. It nourishes my soul.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
The wonder of hypnosis, or stop waving that damn crystal in my face hippy!
It has been over 6 years since my experience being professionally hypnotized in order to resolve my paralyzing fear of flying. Flying reached a phobic level for me, the attempts to avoid or delay it became mechanism that could consume whole months at a time. Airports were also sources of anxiety, angst, and overwhelming, shaking, cold sweats; complete with racing heart and hyperventilating to the point of almost passing out. Magically enough three short, hour-long visits to a wunderkind hypnotist and this all ceased.
No more white-knuckle, drug laden trips across the continental United States to see East Coast cousins. No more heart leaping take offs, where I mutter my secret mantra that will hold the plane, with me in it, aloft because I am one of the Lord’s Chosen People or some such reasoning in my fear addled brain. Hey, when you are that scared, you come up with all sorts of ritualistic behavior that gets you through and I was queen of the OCD when it came to airplanes, airports, takeoffs, landings, and the like. I had to have everything a certain way. My clothes, shoes, hair, jewelry, food, books I brought, music I played, how I sat, where I sat on the plane, in the row of the plane, and whether my eyes were open or closed. It was meticulous. Right down to examining the emergency card, that was uber important, A number one thing that had to happen when I sat down after buckling up, but it had to be done very calmly and almost as an after thought, lest I be thought of as strange.
Jerry, the hypnotist (not his real name), looked like a 60 year old cadaver freshly dug up from the graveyard and animated for my benefit. Basically, he was frightening. Wearing all black with gigantic luminous brown/black eyes and sweeping wings of black hair that resembled David Copperfield over blow dried with no hairspray. He spoke in a whisper that seemed alternately menacing and comforting depending on what he was saying.
My problem was this:
I desperately wanted to see my Grandmother in New Jersey, but had not been able to bring myself to board an airplane in 3 years. My phobia had completely taken over the rational parts of my brain and declared anarchy! There had been a horrendous trip with monstrous turbulence, rain, and lightening that landed the plane in Atlanta, Georgia 3 years previous. I called my parents from the airport and refused to board my connecting flight (never put an aviophobic into a situation where they must disembark one aircraft and then get on another, they just won’t do it). Told my father I would rent a car and drive home, but it would have me missing the first week of classes for college. I cried for 2 hours in the airport lobby and then by some miracle I managed to get on a new connecting flight. All in all, that is not a day of my life I would ever choose to repeat.
So that is how I found myself in Jerry’s converted garage telling him all about how I was certain to go down in a fiery plane crash and sink to the bottom of the ocean like the people on Airport ’77. Jerry looked at me quizzically, almost Mr. Spock-like, and asked, “How long have you been able to tell the future?” I thought, “What the hell is this guy talking about, I’m not precognitive, what a nut!” So Jerry says to me, because he can tell what I am thinking from the, you-crazy-ass look on my face, “You must be able to see into the future since you are so certain that you’re going to killed, injured, maimed, or otherwise hurt on an airplane.” Suddenly we both erupted into laughter at how ridiculous that sounded. How ironic that such simple logic could get to the heart of my out of control feelings. We continued to explore this avenue of discussion and talk about the safety ratings of various methods of travel in general which was both enlightening and frightening (particularly automobile and motorcycle accidents).
My hour-long session consisted of 50 minutes of talking and 10 minutes of hypnosis. The hypnosis was refreshing and I remember all of it. There was nothing corny about it like I had seen in a demonstration by a hypnotist at my High School years ago where they made people sing the national anthem and dance like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rodgers except the reverse genders. Plus I had to go back 2 more times to make sure that I felt solid about it and since then I haven't needed to "recharge" or anything. Hallelujah!
I am such an advocate of hypnotherapy that I suggested it to my boss last year and on 4/1/05 she celebrated her 1 year anniversary of quitting smoking. She didn’t go see Jerry, since he can be a bit abrasive, but she saw a nice lady who has helped other friends of mine deal with a variety of issues with varying degrees of success depending on their level of commitment. So, I am not advocating this for everyone or for every issue. Just know it worked for me.
No more white-knuckle, drug laden trips across the continental United States to see East Coast cousins. No more heart leaping take offs, where I mutter my secret mantra that will hold the plane, with me in it, aloft because I am one of the Lord’s Chosen People or some such reasoning in my fear addled brain. Hey, when you are that scared, you come up with all sorts of ritualistic behavior that gets you through and I was queen of the OCD when it came to airplanes, airports, takeoffs, landings, and the like. I had to have everything a certain way. My clothes, shoes, hair, jewelry, food, books I brought, music I played, how I sat, where I sat on the plane, in the row of the plane, and whether my eyes were open or closed. It was meticulous. Right down to examining the emergency card, that was uber important, A number one thing that had to happen when I sat down after buckling up, but it had to be done very calmly and almost as an after thought, lest I be thought of as strange.
Jerry, the hypnotist (not his real name), looked like a 60 year old cadaver freshly dug up from the graveyard and animated for my benefit. Basically, he was frightening. Wearing all black with gigantic luminous brown/black eyes and sweeping wings of black hair that resembled David Copperfield over blow dried with no hairspray. He spoke in a whisper that seemed alternately menacing and comforting depending on what he was saying.
My problem was this:
I desperately wanted to see my Grandmother in New Jersey, but had not been able to bring myself to board an airplane in 3 years. My phobia had completely taken over the rational parts of my brain and declared anarchy! There had been a horrendous trip with monstrous turbulence, rain, and lightening that landed the plane in Atlanta, Georgia 3 years previous. I called my parents from the airport and refused to board my connecting flight (never put an aviophobic into a situation where they must disembark one aircraft and then get on another, they just won’t do it). Told my father I would rent a car and drive home, but it would have me missing the first week of classes for college. I cried for 2 hours in the airport lobby and then by some miracle I managed to get on a new connecting flight. All in all, that is not a day of my life I would ever choose to repeat.
So that is how I found myself in Jerry’s converted garage telling him all about how I was certain to go down in a fiery plane crash and sink to the bottom of the ocean like the people on Airport ’77. Jerry looked at me quizzically, almost Mr. Spock-like, and asked, “How long have you been able to tell the future?” I thought, “What the hell is this guy talking about, I’m not precognitive, what a nut!” So Jerry says to me, because he can tell what I am thinking from the, you-crazy-ass look on my face, “You must be able to see into the future since you are so certain that you’re going to killed, injured, maimed, or otherwise hurt on an airplane.” Suddenly we both erupted into laughter at how ridiculous that sounded. How ironic that such simple logic could get to the heart of my out of control feelings. We continued to explore this avenue of discussion and talk about the safety ratings of various methods of travel in general which was both enlightening and frightening (particularly automobile and motorcycle accidents).
My hour-long session consisted of 50 minutes of talking and 10 minutes of hypnosis. The hypnosis was refreshing and I remember all of it. There was nothing corny about it like I had seen in a demonstration by a hypnotist at my High School years ago where they made people sing the national anthem and dance like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rodgers except the reverse genders. Plus I had to go back 2 more times to make sure that I felt solid about it and since then I haven't needed to "recharge" or anything. Hallelujah!
I am such an advocate of hypnotherapy that I suggested it to my boss last year and on 4/1/05 she celebrated her 1 year anniversary of quitting smoking. She didn’t go see Jerry, since he can be a bit abrasive, but she saw a nice lady who has helped other friends of mine deal with a variety of issues with varying degrees of success depending on their level of commitment. So, I am not advocating this for everyone or for every issue. Just know it worked for me.
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
Useless uses for techonology 1
So, my building has installed video screens in the elevators that give us seemingly interesting and pertinent information regarding our world recently. I ask you this, what moron is so bereft of social contact and starved of news that they need to be entertained on their 1 minute elevator ride? We are not stupid her people, this is nothing but another way for advertisers to reach us where we live and work. Frankly, I am alternately disgusted and amused.
Let's start with the disgusted part of me. We're a first world country who has over half of our elementary school aged children participating in a federally assisted program so that they are assured the proper nutritional foods on a daily basis(WIC, if any of my reading audience was unaware). Therefore, in my mind, we have better ways to spend our money then on video monitors in highrise office buildings. Alas, no one asks me, do they? Not to mention how underpaid teachers are...don't EVEN GET ME STARTED!!! I am, of course mindful, that this is not "OUR" money, whoever put in these monitors is in the business of making money. Do I look stupid to you, rhetorical question.
Now my amusement is due to the fact that talking in the elevators has absolutely ceased to exist since these silly screens were installed. People are mesmerized by them. They will read ANYTHING on them, anything at all. Even that Macaulay Culkin is testifying in Michael Jackson's trial, exciting AND newsworthy huh?
Just my .02 cents dear audience.
Let's start with the disgusted part of me. We're a first world country who has over half of our elementary school aged children participating in a federally assisted program so that they are assured the proper nutritional foods on a daily basis(WIC, if any of my reading audience was unaware). Therefore, in my mind, we have better ways to spend our money then on video monitors in highrise office buildings. Alas, no one asks me, do they? Not to mention how underpaid teachers are...don't EVEN GET ME STARTED!!! I am, of course mindful, that this is not "OUR" money, whoever put in these monitors is in the business of making money. Do I look stupid to you, rhetorical question.
Now my amusement is due to the fact that talking in the elevators has absolutely ceased to exist since these silly screens were installed. People are mesmerized by them. They will read ANYTHING on them, anything at all. Even that Macaulay Culkin is testifying in Michael Jackson's trial, exciting AND newsworthy huh?
Just my .02 cents dear audience.
Monday, May 09, 2005
Navajo and Jews
I was listening to a CD collection put out by KCRW this weekend lent to me by a friend called "Jewish Stories: From the Old World to the New" on my way to visit my Mother for Mother's Day this weekend. A specific story regarding Native American Navajo and Jews really caught my interest and imagination because it spoke about the inherent Christian-ish of America and that essentially like Navajo, Jews, although born here in America were also displaced. Having heard a story, strangely enough, also on KCRW early last week regarding the recent popular trend of Christian Law Schools being established in America, I was struck by the how much this jibbed with my overall sense of dispossession. It was an interesting piece to listen to since it put forth the tenet that America was founded on Christian ideals. That our forefather who created the Constitution were Christian men who believed in the ten commandments and were looking to instill those beliefs in people who were a part of this country.
Now it is true that we swear to G-d when we are in court and that Judaism is founded on the ten commandments (in fact, we had them before Christianity did, if you really want to get technical about it), but there seemed to be a bit of moral supremacy at play with many of commentary in the piece I was listening to. Perhaps I was reading into it, being that my brother is a lawyer and a Jew, who knows, maybe he can be superior too. I'm not certain, but I digress. The point I wanted to make before I got all tangential was that maybe my constant sense of not belonging and not fitting in (that is often over pronounced during especially "Christian" or what some would now call "American" holiday times of the year like Christmas) is due to this Country leaning more and more towards exclusionary ideals instead of inclusive ones.
On the other hand (because playing Devil's advocate runs high on my list of exciting pastimes), would I fit in if I really were to return to Israel and spend my next Hanukkah there? Would being granted the right of the "return" as all Jews are entitled give me a sense of belonging that I do not feel in the Country of my birth? This is a musing that I am unable to answer since I have not been there and it is doubtful that I will visit there anytime soon with all the violence. However, my brother visited a Kibbutz there when he was 13 and my Mother's roommate from college lives there with her husband and 4 children, who have all served in the military. Someday I would like to go and see Israel, to pray at the wailing wall and see where the great temple stood. To float in the Dead Sea and eat wonderful fresh food grown from in what used to be desert land, haggle at the bazaar with vendors and dance at the discos in Tel Aviv.
Now it is true that we swear to G-d when we are in court and that Judaism is founded on the ten commandments (in fact, we had them before Christianity did, if you really want to get technical about it), but there seemed to be a bit of moral supremacy at play with many of commentary in the piece I was listening to. Perhaps I was reading into it, being that my brother is a lawyer and a Jew, who knows, maybe he can be superior too. I'm not certain, but I digress. The point I wanted to make before I got all tangential was that maybe my constant sense of not belonging and not fitting in (that is often over pronounced during especially "Christian" or what some would now call "American" holiday times of the year like Christmas) is due to this Country leaning more and more towards exclusionary ideals instead of inclusive ones.
On the other hand (because playing Devil's advocate runs high on my list of exciting pastimes), would I fit in if I really were to return to Israel and spend my next Hanukkah there? Would being granted the right of the "return" as all Jews are entitled give me a sense of belonging that I do not feel in the Country of my birth? This is a musing that I am unable to answer since I have not been there and it is doubtful that I will visit there anytime soon with all the violence. However, my brother visited a Kibbutz there when he was 13 and my Mother's roommate from college lives there with her husband and 4 children, who have all served in the military. Someday I would like to go and see Israel, to pray at the wailing wall and see where the great temple stood. To float in the Dead Sea and eat wonderful fresh food grown from in what used to be desert land, haggle at the bazaar with vendors and dance at the discos in Tel Aviv.
Friday, May 06, 2005
Hanging By a Thread
Last night someone said these words to me, "Does anyone care that I'm sitting at home thinking about killing myself?" A highly charged sentence that can have many different meaning depending upon the person who is saying thems state of mind. They can be a plea for help to escape emotional pain and turmoil. A manipulation for attention and sympathy. A simple way to underline the seriousness of the situation in their mind. Or so many other different little dramas seen on TV, read in a book, lived by them or imagined by them that will express what is inside their mind, heart and soul to you so that you can see what the world is like from their point of view.
Having been in that situation myself, and actually considered taking my own life, I don't think I have asked that question to anyone before during the midst of a deep depression. I don't think I was able to care about what other's thought of because the depression was so incredibley overwhelming and selfish that it took over every facet of my life. Disabled and alone I would often find it ironic that even if I wanted to commit the act, I hadn't the energy so instead would cry or sleep myself through the particulary black times. Thankfully that was many years ago and medication has taken those thoughts from head. Not to say I don't have the occassional, "I want to die" moment, but those are blessedly short and VERY different from suicidal tendencies.
The irony about last nights situation was that after hearing her say that very scary thought to me, I felt so responsible for her. It clicked into an extremely maternal part of me that wanted to just wrap her in my arms and tell her that despite the pain she was feeling, which would be temporary. Everything was going to be alright and that they sun would still rise in the morning. Life, has been very good to me on so many levels and a blessing that I want to share this view with those still struggling. Often it strikes me, that my struggles are not over yet, and perhaps they never will be. However, the hard times have served to make me stronger and convinced me that whatever is thrown my way was meant to serve as a reminder of how precious every moment smelling the fresh air is or wiggling my toes is sand can be. Does this sound too frickin' Pollyanna-ish! I know, I'm making myself want to vomit too!
Having been in that situation myself, and actually considered taking my own life, I don't think I have asked that question to anyone before during the midst of a deep depression. I don't think I was able to care about what other's thought of because the depression was so incredibley overwhelming and selfish that it took over every facet of my life. Disabled and alone I would often find it ironic that even if I wanted to commit the act, I hadn't the energy so instead would cry or sleep myself through the particulary black times. Thankfully that was many years ago and medication has taken those thoughts from head. Not to say I don't have the occassional, "I want to die" moment, but those are blessedly short and VERY different from suicidal tendencies.
The irony about last nights situation was that after hearing her say that very scary thought to me, I felt so responsible for her. It clicked into an extremely maternal part of me that wanted to just wrap her in my arms and tell her that despite the pain she was feeling, which would be temporary. Everything was going to be alright and that they sun would still rise in the morning. Life, has been very good to me on so many levels and a blessing that I want to share this view with those still struggling. Often it strikes me, that my struggles are not over yet, and perhaps they never will be. However, the hard times have served to make me stronger and convinced me that whatever is thrown my way was meant to serve as a reminder of how precious every moment smelling the fresh air is or wiggling my toes is sand can be. Does this sound too frickin' Pollyanna-ish! I know, I'm making myself want to vomit too!
Thursday, May 05, 2005
Computers and Floppies, and Hard Drives, Oh my!
We've been told by our Operations Department at work that new computers will be forthcoming. In fact, I actually have a date and time when my new system is to arrive. May 11th at 9:30 AM my brand spanking new baby is being delivered along with a geeky MIS dude to set that bugger up for me. I've been warned that the entire installation will take approximately 2 hours and that my person will be required to stick around for the first half hour after setup to provide valuable data pertaining to my individual needs. Like what? Am I going to have them reinstall all of the free non-regulation freeware that am currently wiping off my old computer? I think not.
My floppies are already full of information that will need to be scrubbed from the old dead carcass of my Compaq and added to the shiny new hard-drive that will arrive on Wednesday of next week. Floppies, yes, because our thouroughly modern company does not have CD-ROM drive that works among us. Sad, I know.
My floppies are already full of information that will need to be scrubbed from the old dead carcass of my Compaq and added to the shiny new hard-drive that will arrive on Wednesday of next week. Floppies, yes, because our thouroughly modern company does not have CD-ROM drive that works among us. Sad, I know.
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