Is it strange that the concept -- or not really the concept, but the actual word -- "loyalty" almost has a negative connotation? I mean, obviously loyalty, in and of itself, is a completely positive thing. But to say, "she's so loyal" sounds almost... submissive? Or like one must've done something bad in order for people to decide to be loyal in spite of it?
I have the most loyal friends. (And I can promise you from plenty of firsthand cajoling, not a one of 'em is submissive.)
And that doesn't even mean "best" friends or "oldest" friends or "closest" friends. It's just this collection of people in my life who are loyal. Consistent. My best friends, my oldest friends, and my closest friends - a wide assortment, actually - are all a variety of wonderful characteristics combined to make them worth holding on to. Not the least of which is their ability and willingness to embrace my borderline idiocy; they stick to me like glue. But it's their loyalty that makes me love them the most -- their "faithfulness to a cause" -- because I know exactly what to expect from each of them, and that gives me such a sense of safeness, of complete cared-for-ness.
The funny thing is, this whole line of thinking stems from spending the weekend with a few friends that I haven't known my whole life, whom I don't live anywhere near, and yet - there's an easiness that comes when they're around, even if it's only once or twice every couple of years.
I'm appreciating that more and more as I get older. I cling to it. It makes me question the relationships in my life - some going on a decade, some more - that don't have that comfortable contentedness to them. Not everything has to be work. And the people you most want in your life, on any level, really, are the ones who make you feel safe, and cared for. It especially helps if they are hysterically fun and funny, which oddly enough all of my friends are, but that's really a bonus if you ask me. (Which no one ever does.)
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Life Isn't Like the Movies, Except When It Is
A humble attempt at describing a quietly grand feeling.
I’m home now, in the late afternoon half darkness, with a wine glass full of cheap Cava because it’s the only thing I have to drink except Diet Coke, and I only allow myself one Diet Coke a day and I’ve already had it. Luckily there's no limit on Cava in place yet. And there’s a Lean Cuisine pizza beeping that it’s heated in the microwave behind me. This sounds like product placement but it’s not, it’s just what is surrounding me now and I want you to have a picture.
I went to the movies this afternoon, with one of my dearest, most special girlfriends. A lovely, melancholy, pleasant one. The movie, not the girlfriend. Although… she is truly lovely, and understands my melancholy, and makes everything pleasant. But the movie is what I mean; the movie, one of those big studio indies, quite popular in the theaters right now.
Movies affect me. Largely because I get filled with a kind of envy for wanting to be part of the movie making process. Any movie, really, makes me feel like that. I sit and watch the previews -- I wouldn’t mind a whole movie of previews, honestly -- and I wish like a child wishes that I could’ve been there participating in its creation. I’ve had just enough taste of it to know what a delicious thing it is to be part of something purposeful and imaginative and artistic and I am always, always hungry for more, more, more.
I know I’m not unique in that; lots of people wish they made movies. Music, too, I think, has that affect on certain types of people. Fantasy type people. “Creatives,” as we’re coming to be known.
I know life isn’t like the movies. Except for some moments of some days, when it is. There’s a line in Sleepless in Seattle where Rosie O’Donnell tells an adorably pre-Restylane'ed Meg Ryan, “You don’t want to be in love. You want to be in love in the movies.” That, that is brilliance. I want to be in love in the movies. I want to be anything in the movies. I want my life to be a movie, with a soundtrack of haunting, touching powerful music.
When I left the movie theater, it was raining. It’s summer, so it wasn’t cold, and it wasn’t raining very hard, so I walked the three avenues back to the train. Not really because I’m trying to save every penny (if I was, as I should be, I don’t suppose I would’ve gone to the movie in the first place) but more because sometimes walking in the rain in New York can make you feel like you’re in a movie.
That might be true in other cities as well; I don’t know. In every other city I’ve been in while it’s raining, I’ve always just run to get out of it.
But in New York, you can stop in the middle of a Union Square intersection, with people hustling all around you with umbrellas and without, and you can put on your iPod, which is the closest thing to a life soundtrack most of us will get.
When I’m feeling movie-ish and want something movie-like to happen, I always say a little prayer before I put the first song on. The first song will either kill the moment or cement it.
Today, in the rain, in an intersection in Union Square, it was a live version of “Break Your Heart” by Barenaked Ladies. Cement.
I walked down 14th Street exactly the way I would’ve walked down it had a famous director just said to me, “Okay, for this shot, we need emotion. But under the surface. We need to feel what she’s feeling, more than we need to see it. She’s hurt, but not broken. She’s vulnerable, but our audience knows she’s very, very strong. Stronger perhaps than she realizes herself at this point in the script. Now… walk.” Obviously I would be a terrible, terrible director. But I’m a good actor, and I think every extra on that sidewalk with me, as they parted just in time to let me pass without breaking my stride, could feel what I was trying so hard, and yet not trying at all, to convey.
I pushed pause at the end of the song because I was getting close to the train and I didn’t want the kill to come, and because if it was another cement song I wanted to wait till I was back off the train and could walk some more in the rain.
Eight minute train ride and I never broke character.
Climb the stairs, still raining, push play.
“A Beautiful Mess” by Jason Mraz. Beautiful. Another walk.
The problem is, now I’m just in my dark apartment, wet, with a bottle of bad bubbly that I’ll have to finish myself because you can’t recork Cava, and a microwaved lunch, trying to figure out how to both make that “I’m in a movie” feeling last for myself and transfer some of its magic to you at the same time.
This is the part they never put in the movie. I wish I was indie and fear I’m mostly just… Midwestern. I wish I was deep and complex and worry I’m more or less neurotic. I wish I was content and know that whenever I actually am I ruin it quickly in the name of drama. I wish I couldn’t cry on demand and that I didn’t run to a mirror every time I cried, because I am anxious that it makes my tears less earnest.
But even movie tears come from someplace earnest. Even in the rain. Even in the fake movies.
I’m home now, in the late afternoon half darkness, with a wine glass full of cheap Cava because it’s the only thing I have to drink except Diet Coke, and I only allow myself one Diet Coke a day and I’ve already had it. Luckily there's no limit on Cava in place yet. And there’s a Lean Cuisine pizza beeping that it’s heated in the microwave behind me. This sounds like product placement but it’s not, it’s just what is surrounding me now and I want you to have a picture.
I went to the movies this afternoon, with one of my dearest, most special girlfriends. A lovely, melancholy, pleasant one. The movie, not the girlfriend. Although… she is truly lovely, and understands my melancholy, and makes everything pleasant. But the movie is what I mean; the movie, one of those big studio indies, quite popular in the theaters right now.
Movies affect me. Largely because I get filled with a kind of envy for wanting to be part of the movie making process. Any movie, really, makes me feel like that. I sit and watch the previews -- I wouldn’t mind a whole movie of previews, honestly -- and I wish like a child wishes that I could’ve been there participating in its creation. I’ve had just enough taste of it to know what a delicious thing it is to be part of something purposeful and imaginative and artistic and I am always, always hungry for more, more, more.
I know I’m not unique in that; lots of people wish they made movies. Music, too, I think, has that affect on certain types of people. Fantasy type people. “Creatives,” as we’re coming to be known.
I know life isn’t like the movies. Except for some moments of some days, when it is. There’s a line in Sleepless in Seattle where Rosie O’Donnell tells an adorably pre-Restylane'ed Meg Ryan, “You don’t want to be in love. You want to be in love in the movies.” That, that is brilliance. I want to be in love in the movies. I want to be anything in the movies. I want my life to be a movie, with a soundtrack of haunting, touching powerful music.
When I left the movie theater, it was raining. It’s summer, so it wasn’t cold, and it wasn’t raining very hard, so I walked the three avenues back to the train. Not really because I’m trying to save every penny (if I was, as I should be, I don’t suppose I would’ve gone to the movie in the first place) but more because sometimes walking in the rain in New York can make you feel like you’re in a movie.
That might be true in other cities as well; I don’t know. In every other city I’ve been in while it’s raining, I’ve always just run to get out of it.
But in New York, you can stop in the middle of a Union Square intersection, with people hustling all around you with umbrellas and without, and you can put on your iPod, which is the closest thing to a life soundtrack most of us will get.
When I’m feeling movie-ish and want something movie-like to happen, I always say a little prayer before I put the first song on. The first song will either kill the moment or cement it.
Today, in the rain, in an intersection in Union Square, it was a live version of “Break Your Heart” by Barenaked Ladies. Cement.
I walked down 14th Street exactly the way I would’ve walked down it had a famous director just said to me, “Okay, for this shot, we need emotion. But under the surface. We need to feel what she’s feeling, more than we need to see it. She’s hurt, but not broken. She’s vulnerable, but our audience knows she’s very, very strong. Stronger perhaps than she realizes herself at this point in the script. Now… walk.” Obviously I would be a terrible, terrible director. But I’m a good actor, and I think every extra on that sidewalk with me, as they parted just in time to let me pass without breaking my stride, could feel what I was trying so hard, and yet not trying at all, to convey.
I pushed pause at the end of the song because I was getting close to the train and I didn’t want the kill to come, and because if it was another cement song I wanted to wait till I was back off the train and could walk some more in the rain.
Eight minute train ride and I never broke character.
Climb the stairs, still raining, push play.
“A Beautiful Mess” by Jason Mraz. Beautiful. Another walk.
The problem is, now I’m just in my dark apartment, wet, with a bottle of bad bubbly that I’ll have to finish myself because you can’t recork Cava, and a microwaved lunch, trying to figure out how to both make that “I’m in a movie” feeling last for myself and transfer some of its magic to you at the same time.
This is the part they never put in the movie. I wish I was indie and fear I’m mostly just… Midwestern. I wish I was deep and complex and worry I’m more or less neurotic. I wish I was content and know that whenever I actually am I ruin it quickly in the name of drama. I wish I couldn’t cry on demand and that I didn’t run to a mirror every time I cried, because I am anxious that it makes my tears less earnest.
But even movie tears come from someplace earnest. Even in the rain. Even in the fake movies.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
One Girl's (somewhat im)Practical Guide to Surviving a Dry Spell*^
*I'm talking about work here. Not that I couldn't write an incredibly detailed blog by the same title on a slightly more... intimate topic, but I'll spare myself the humiliation.
It's been just about a month since The Furlough began, and I think I have learned quite a lot of important stuff, if I do say so myself. Being an eager contributor to the betterment of the community and a general sharer, I will now help any of you who may be experiencing a similar drought by ffering up some of my pearls of wisdom.
Honey Do
Make yourself a To-Do list for every day. I recommend writing it out (yes, write it out, with old fashioned pen and paper) the night before, so it's already there for you when you get up. Don't worry about making it a list of life-changing events. Mundane and survival-essential are just as important. Bottom line, it can be easy to feel a little useless when you're idle. And there's a psychological sense of accomplishment that comes from crossing something off a list as completed, even if it's just laundry.
Avoid the Siren Call
"Like sands through the hourglass... these are the days of our lives." It's like verbal crack. And if you're not careful, the days of your life will disappear in a haze of self-help and catty chat, if you don't step away from the TV. I have a horrible habit of trying to do something with the TV on (you know, just in the background) and then waking up from a trance half an hour later only to realize I'm naked, and wet, and haven't moved. And I don't even like TV that much. And I certainly don't need to hear a Today Show segment on Back-to-School or anything Martha Stewart has to say. But damned if it doesn't pull me in every time. But if this place was just silent and creepy I'd go crazy (or more likely I'd sleep) so I have found that the best thing for me is music. I prefer today's best country provided on my local cable company's digital music channel, but it's completely up to you. As long as it keeps you moving. And if the worst thing that happens is you stop every so often to shake your booty to a catchy tune, all the better - you'll burn calories. Which leads me to my next tip.
Work It Baby
Exercise. I know this is a novel concept, but it's my opposite-of-expert opinion that exercise is good for you. Plus, since you really shouldn't be spending any extra money on stuff like food, this is a prime opportunity to get some extra weight off. Just put those work out clothes on as soon as you get up, and hopefully you'll guilt yourself into getting them sweaty by the end of the day.
Is There a Bracelet on Your Ankle? No? Then You're Not on House Arrest.
Get outside, for the love of God. There's a whole big world out there, and it probably smells better than your apartment. Fresh air is good for you. Clear the cobwebs. Take a walk. Run some errands. Feel like you're still part of society.
Do What You Do
For me, it's writing. And if you want to be a writer, you have to write. Even if it's a ridiculous blog post. But it's my much-needed creative outlet, and it lets the six of you who read it know I'm still here. And it keeps me on track to pursuing a goal. So whatever you were doing before, or whatever you wanted to be doing then when you were doing something else before, do it. Paint. Act. Add numbers. (Not everyone who reads this can possibly be an artist, right? Surely there's an accountant out there somewhere who gets a kick out of me.)
Black and Blue are So Last Year
So don't beat yourself up. If you don't do any of these things on a given day, it's okay. If you sleep in, then watch movies for a whole afternoon and never shower because it's too hot outside to move, it's okay. It doesn't mean you're hopeless. Don't be too easy on yourself, of course, but don't make yourself feel worse about a shitty situation. Find some zen. For me, for example, it's yoga. It's worth spending precious, hard to come by money on a yoga class or two a week because it sets me up mentally for a good week. And it makes me feel stretchy, which I like.
^You are warned that doing as this particular girl says, rather than as she does, is probably the safest bet. I'm off now. Oprah's about to start.
It's been just about a month since The Furlough began, and I think I have learned quite a lot of important stuff, if I do say so myself. Being an eager contributor to the betterment of the community and a general sharer, I will now help any of you who may be experiencing a similar drought by ffering up some of my pearls of wisdom.
Honey Do
Make yourself a To-Do list for every day. I recommend writing it out (yes, write it out, with old fashioned pen and paper) the night before, so it's already there for you when you get up. Don't worry about making it a list of life-changing events. Mundane and survival-essential are just as important. Bottom line, it can be easy to feel a little useless when you're idle. And there's a psychological sense of accomplishment that comes from crossing something off a list as completed, even if it's just laundry.
Avoid the Siren Call
"Like sands through the hourglass... these are the days of our lives." It's like verbal crack. And if you're not careful, the days of your life will disappear in a haze of self-help and catty chat, if you don't step away from the TV. I have a horrible habit of trying to do something with the TV on (you know, just in the background) and then waking up from a trance half an hour later only to realize I'm naked, and wet, and haven't moved. And I don't even like TV that much. And I certainly don't need to hear a Today Show segment on Back-to-School or anything Martha Stewart has to say. But damned if it doesn't pull me in every time. But if this place was just silent and creepy I'd go crazy (or more likely I'd sleep) so I have found that the best thing for me is music. I prefer today's best country provided on my local cable company's digital music channel, but it's completely up to you. As long as it keeps you moving. And if the worst thing that happens is you stop every so often to shake your booty to a catchy tune, all the better - you'll burn calories. Which leads me to my next tip.
Work It Baby
Exercise. I know this is a novel concept, but it's my opposite-of-expert opinion that exercise is good for you. Plus, since you really shouldn't be spending any extra money on stuff like food, this is a prime opportunity to get some extra weight off. Just put those work out clothes on as soon as you get up, and hopefully you'll guilt yourself into getting them sweaty by the end of the day.
Is There a Bracelet on Your Ankle? No? Then You're Not on House Arrest.
Get outside, for the love of God. There's a whole big world out there, and it probably smells better than your apartment. Fresh air is good for you. Clear the cobwebs. Take a walk. Run some errands. Feel like you're still part of society.
Do What You Do
For me, it's writing. And if you want to be a writer, you have to write. Even if it's a ridiculous blog post. But it's my much-needed creative outlet, and it lets the six of you who read it know I'm still here. And it keeps me on track to pursuing a goal. So whatever you were doing before, or whatever you wanted to be doing then when you were doing something else before, do it. Paint. Act. Add numbers. (Not everyone who reads this can possibly be an artist, right? Surely there's an accountant out there somewhere who gets a kick out of me.)
Black and Blue are So Last Year
So don't beat yourself up. If you don't do any of these things on a given day, it's okay. If you sleep in, then watch movies for a whole afternoon and never shower because it's too hot outside to move, it's okay. It doesn't mean you're hopeless. Don't be too easy on yourself, of course, but don't make yourself feel worse about a shitty situation. Find some zen. For me, for example, it's yoga. It's worth spending precious, hard to come by money on a yoga class or two a week because it sets me up mentally for a good week. And it makes me feel stretchy, which I like.
^You are warned that doing as this particular girl says, rather than as she does, is probably the safest bet. I'm off now. Oprah's about to start.
Monday, August 10, 2009
If Home Is Where the Heart Is, Wouldn't We All Live in San Francisco?
I'm home.
From home.
Any of you like me -- stuck in this limbo of living someplace (home) that doesn't really feel like it?
Home, the very fundamental idea of it, is so important to me. I just have no idea what it means right now.
I just got to spend two glorious, interesting, busy, relaxing weeks in Ohio, with my family. I'd originally intended to go for a long weekend, celebrating the wedding of my step-sister. (I don't think I've added the "step" for the 25 or so years she's been in my life, but she was kind of a little shit last week and I'm still a little peeved at her, and am choosing not to claim her directly for the time being.) But given recent events, and with a little unforeseen extra time on my hands, I rented a car (I loooooove to drive and I never get to do it anymore, stupid New York City) and made a stay out of it.
It was wonderful. And I'm confused. It's always hard to readjust to being back in Jersey (shut it...) but this time it seems to be particularly unsettling. My main reason for being here is on furlough. So do I stay? Or do I go? And, should I choose the latter, where do I go?
I love home. I love that my entire immediate family is somewhere within 20 miles of each other at any given moment. (This will pop up later in the "con" list as well.) I love my friends that are still there, raising children that I don't know as well as I wish I did, and living lives I don't know enough about. But... it's Dayton. Ohio. Rough in the best of landlocked times, but things are palpably bleak around there these days. Add to that the fact that should I pursue this fledgling writer's life that I'm after, my biggest competition in town would be my dad. Awkward.
Next up would probably be Raleigh. I was there for several years before New York, and it still holds a place in my heart that New York hasn't quite been able to claim. Odd, because my time there was, overall, really painful. But it was a great little town and I feel like I grew up a lot there. To the detriment of both myself and a few key people around me, but hopefully no permanent damage done. But... can you ever really go back again? If I were to pack up and move down there, with no real support system in place there anymore, would it be tarnished? Would I spend the whole time thinking it wasn't quite the same as last time? Hmm.
Then there's the thought of packing up and moving my paltry remaining belongings to Annapolis. But that's just because I'm spitefully stubborn and willfully unwilling to let go. Probably better as a plot than it would actually be in execution.
Key West... Austin... San Diego... So many amazing places to go, to spend time, to grow into the next chapter of this little life story. So many great cities, so much appeal. So much potential.
But which one is mine?
From home.
Any of you like me -- stuck in this limbo of living someplace (home) that doesn't really feel like it?
Home, the very fundamental idea of it, is so important to me. I just have no idea what it means right now.
I just got to spend two glorious, interesting, busy, relaxing weeks in Ohio, with my family. I'd originally intended to go for a long weekend, celebrating the wedding of my step-sister. (I don't think I've added the "step" for the 25 or so years she's been in my life, but she was kind of a little shit last week and I'm still a little peeved at her, and am choosing not to claim her directly for the time being.) But given recent events, and with a little unforeseen extra time on my hands, I rented a car (I loooooove to drive and I never get to do it anymore, stupid New York City) and made a stay out of it.
It was wonderful. And I'm confused. It's always hard to readjust to being back in Jersey (shut it...) but this time it seems to be particularly unsettling. My main reason for being here is on furlough. So do I stay? Or do I go? And, should I choose the latter, where do I go?
I love home. I love that my entire immediate family is somewhere within 20 miles of each other at any given moment. (This will pop up later in the "con" list as well.) I love my friends that are still there, raising children that I don't know as well as I wish I did, and living lives I don't know enough about. But... it's Dayton. Ohio. Rough in the best of landlocked times, but things are palpably bleak around there these days. Add to that the fact that should I pursue this fledgling writer's life that I'm after, my biggest competition in town would be my dad. Awkward.
Next up would probably be Raleigh. I was there for several years before New York, and it still holds a place in my heart that New York hasn't quite been able to claim. Odd, because my time there was, overall, really painful. But it was a great little town and I feel like I grew up a lot there. To the detriment of both myself and a few key people around me, but hopefully no permanent damage done. But... can you ever really go back again? If I were to pack up and move down there, with no real support system in place there anymore, would it be tarnished? Would I spend the whole time thinking it wasn't quite the same as last time? Hmm.
Then there's the thought of packing up and moving my paltry remaining belongings to Annapolis. But that's just because I'm spitefully stubborn and willfully unwilling to let go. Probably better as a plot than it would actually be in execution.
Key West... Austin... San Diego... So many amazing places to go, to spend time, to grow into the next chapter of this little life story. So many great cities, so much appeal. So much potential.
But which one is mine?
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