last night I watched part of the eclipse, veiled at times by a thin curtain of clouds. at one point, two parallel, transparent shadows crossed over the moon, sweeping from right to left, like a analog glitch in a video. hmmm. I looked at my fellow moon gazer. that was weird. yeah, she agreed. oh good, you saw that too. we hypothesized what the strange trick of light could have been then settled on weird. it was weird. with little/any greater significance? not sure. tho the fact that it was a lunar eclipse on a full moon on the winter equinox while mercury is in retrograde makes me think that maybe, yes, there are some astrological shifts occurring that have perhaps more than subtle influences.
one of which is not being able to sleep. tho that could be blamed on my evening visitor. it's like the universe when all manic last night and decided to clean the whole house from top to bottom and get back to all those emails and letters that have been sitting around. like the one I sent that said something to the effect of 'I think I would like a cat, but I kinda want one to just show up on my doorstep.' a request that i figured would go by the wayside because my door is inside on the second floor. but, low and behold, ye olde universe is a clever monkey. on my way into the house from parking my bike, an apartment neighbor who had just pulled up in her car, stopped and asked if I had gotten a new cat. there was one in the hallway upstairs and she couldn't figure out who it belonged to. hmm. well, well, sure enough I went inside and there was a gentle feline tabby to greet me at the top of the stairs. fun! we hung out for most of the night, there was a bunch of hubbub with the other neighbors as we set out some food and a litter box in the hall. I left my door ajar and he had the run of the place. it was all mellow fun and board games until my later than usual bed time when I retired to my loft bed and mr feline eclipse decided to get really meowy. ilvs #1: poor cat! he must be freaked out and missing his home! ilvs #2: if one of my house mates doesn't kick him out in the next five minutes, I will! I ended up just closing my door and putting in earplugs. ilvs #1: dear universe, I feel kinda bad about it. ilvs #2: dear universe, I don't think I am quite ready for a cat.
and when I awoke, bleary eyed and kinda crabby from like 6 hours of sleep, little house guest was nowhere to be found. darn. I do kinda still want a cat. and he was pretty cute. did I just let this little furry gift from the universe just slip past? maybe he'll reappear and maybe, unlike the full moon solstice lunar eclipse, I won't have to wait another 1600 years or so for it to happen again.
(speaking of strange lights in the sky, google, if you will, 'norway blue light 2009.' i found the link to this while google perusing images of extreme bodybuilders – um, i have a fascination with them, their grotesque ridiculousness, the absurdity of the human body pushed to the unnecessary limit. but back to the blue lights, or 'misfired russian rocket' as it is purported to be, it is beautiful. and if rockets actually did that, i say 'fire away.')
i spend a significant amount of time (ok well, not compared to the time spent at my apartment, but compared to the time i spend not at my apartment but at places that would be considered business establishments of the light food service as in bakery/coffee/tea shop variety and require me to purchase things like snacks in order for me to not feel bad about using their wifi, this not being one of the small handful of locations being endangered of falling off my list due to my recent acquesision of internet at my homestead) at the flying apron. i might be considered a regular. i know the names of at least 2 staff persons. i would recognize most of the rest of them in a crowd in a different context (not an easy feat) save the person in the photo who i swear i've never seen before in my life. i'm finding that my degree of comfort with being here has a certain drawback. i'm having to curb the urge to rescue uneaten portions of baked goods from the top of the oh so easy to access bus tub that sits by the water pitcher counter. come on people, these items are baked with love! finish your plates! or at the very least, take it home to compost in your yard. worms and birds practically live off love.
that's all i got today. stay tuned for my massive widespread announcement of the holiday show i am working on.
Get this: 2 or 3 weeks ago, I run more than half a marathon cold wearing these well worn in (well, more like worn well often for short periods of time, no marathons, half or otherwise) sneaks and I come out the other end relatively unscathed.
Last week, I go for a 30 hour jo- - oops I meant 30 minute/half hour jog in nike sneaks I hardly wear cuz they are not as comfy (and not just because of their bright non reflective therefore wholly unnecessary pink accents) and it feels like I broke something in my right foot. I destinctly remember feeling something shift somewhat uncomfortably that last time out but passed it off as regular running kinks. Not so! I limped around for like a week, unable to wear my clogs, single footing a bunch of yoga poses until I got to the point where I'm like, this is getting old.
The last time I had ouchie foot bone probs was when I wore around for most of a day these cool looking old blue sneaks. Awesome in the aesthetic department, not so much in the support department. My feet ached like I pulled something/stoned them and the only thing I did that made them feel better was to stop wearing them and walk some in my regular shoes. The pain ceased over the course of a short few days. So then I thought, That's it! I'll just run in my good ole shoes and my feet will return to their normal state of awesomeness. Like resetting a bone that broke and healed improper. The only glazed over part of the equation is the part where you put a cast back on the broken bits and lay off it while the newly in place parts settle down ie heal.
The running on a bad foot after not for a week hurt, I won't lie. But not terribly. In a, this is better than it was, kinda way. And continues to do so, several days after aforementioned (8 minute) outing. But it hurts in a different way. More of a sore bruise than holy crap, the bones in my foot are separating like an unlucky astronaut floating away untethered from the mother ship circa 2001. I am confident my country/artsy doctor remedy did the trick . . . – I'm sorry I'm at work and got really distracted by 2 Jesus' dancing with 2 nuns to the live hip hop show I'm running sound for. I heart my job. Anyways, Happy Halloween.
while I hesitate to fall in step with the age old binary of good/bad right/wrong that we as humans in the north west hemisphere are so want to do, it does make for a strong title. that being said, a more appropriate one would be maybe not such a good idea idea. or, save it for your diary idea. regardless what hole I end up pigeoning these into, I bring them up here, a one sided discourse, for my own getting off my chest sake, and, hopefully, for your reading enjoyment.
so without further ado, here, using the aforementioned confining nomenclature, is number one: I ride my bike. in and of itself, not a bad idea, bear with me now. while riding my bike, I see in detail a lot of things that most motorist register as an off colored blur, if at all. garbage, dead animals (RIP, non human friends!), tossed aside articles of clothing, specifically gloves, tho more so in the winter time, and a veritable banquet of other random things I have not the time nor will to go into at this moment (does that just make you wanna get up and ride your bike or what). while I have thoughts/opinions on all of those things, the only one that I have carried thru in my brain that has ended up in the delete file is this: what if I started a website, no first, what if I collected all of the single gloves I see on the road, then started a website where I posted pictures of each of them and then people, when they find themselves in the situation of having lost just one glove, they can go to the website and see if it, or some unclaimed glove like it, is on there and a magical reunion would happen and the world would be that much more awesome. oh, and I would call the website this: ONE GLOVE. and when you were on the site, that's right, bob marley's one love would be playing on a loop, just the chorus part tho. genius! I gave this idea some serious thought for a while. this was back when the interbot was just tadpoling its way into our lives out of its little ether pond. I mean, it exists to connect people, right? (says the human with no facebook account). and what better manifestation than that of which we seek out so than the prodgical return of one 5 fingered bundle of warmth to its rightful owner? yeah? no? maybe? sigh. fine, I'll drop it. it would take too much upkeep, I suppose. and knowledge on how to make a website. things I'm not kicking down the door to do. but you gotta admit it was kinda clever.
I was gonna go on to bad idea (I'm putting air quotes around that, you just can't see it) numero dos, but dinner is calling my name and I must heed the sirens call leaving you all in. . . utter . . . . suspense. . . . !
my sister ran a marathon yesterday!!!!!! I am in chicago for a few days supporting her on the culmination of months of training, cheering her on across the finish line, nursing her sore bones back to some state of being able to function normally. something I have been planning on and excited for for months now. something I did not plan on: being almost too sore myself to be of any use whatsoever.
a marathon is not really, as previously thought, for crazy people. it is a milestone/annual event that sane people deliberately choose to engage in. they plan for it, train, raise money, sweat, cry/laugh and ultimately accomplish. it is a learning, growing experience, with positive effects that extend beyond it's legitimate participants, into the lives of those who love them, those who get overly involved as spectators. I, a novice to marathons, learned quite a few valuable lessons this weekend.
1-my sister is not crazy. nor impulsive. she is in fact quite strong and courageous (she signed up for the race as a 'non runner' person, trained for the End Aids team, raised them hella money). I am proud to have shared a womb/continue to share dna/rna with her.
2-marathons are well within the range of human capability. looking at the approximately 38,000+ different body types that spread over quite a bit of the spectrum of athletic ability, it becomes clear that running 26.2 miles is as much a mental challenge as a physical challenge. which lead me to my next point:
3-it helps if you train. I said something to the effect of 'I can see why people train for this!' to Ina and her team mates and one random lady who happened to be running with us at like mile 15 or so. She, random lady, Ina's teammates, and well, Ina too, all cast me incredulous looks of varying degrees. it's allowed in marathons for non-registered folks to jump in at certain points and run with the legits. it's called 'poaching.' and I thought, of all the ways to support my sister in this endevour, this is the one where I can really show how proud I am and that I am here for her for mental emotional support and sips of water of the camel bak I sported as to not deplete her own water source. that and it sounded like a lot of fun. so I jumped in at mile 6.5ish. Mile 15ish was just shy of 10 miles for me. right about the time when my body communicated to me via my feet, my knees, that maybe some semblence of a heads up would have been a really nice gesture. not *totally* necessary, but courteous.
4-yes and yes. a while back, I had a convo with Geode how I am so not running the chicago marathon with Ina, that had she asked me to run a half with her, I would have said yeah, no problem. I believe my exact words of the sentences that followed that thought were, 'I could probably run a half right now and be fine. it'd hurt, but I could do it.' well, number four lesson this weekend is that yes, I can just get up and run a half marathon and yes, as predicted, I am hurting.
the pace at which Ina and team ran was quite reasonable, running for 3 or 4 minutes, walking for 1, the weather was pleasant (what's up 87degrees!), and the company excellent. not to mention the thousands of random people feverishly cheering you on. it's like being in a parade. kinda. and so once in it, I got really into it. my original plan was to run like 10k of it (the most I've run ever before in one er, sitting, was like 6 miles. and that was mostly on accident), then passed that marker so decided to see if I could run a half marathon, then it was only 4ish more miles to where Jacob Ina's BF was gonna be so I figured I'd just get off there. (I'm glad I waited. After 17ish miles in the sun I was in no state to navigate my way back to the finish line by myself.) I graciously parted ways with my twin and her buddies, thanked them for the company, sent them off with well wishes and congratulations. then I sat on the ground, drank a bottle of water, and tried to figure out what the hell just happened.
that's a lot of learning for one day, I figured, so I saved some for today, the day after. this morning's lessons were in aftercare, both in giving and figuring out what's best for myself (eh, my everything hurts) and helping sis deal with the vacuous space left in the wake of any large character building event that consumes much of your energies for a given amount of time ie now what do I do?
dear ilvs, what was that all about? I mean, it was fun and all and I'd totally do it again, but maybe a little warning next time? and maybe not so much gatorade. we still love you. love, your extremely capable body.
dear mother earth, sorry for throwing the dozen or so paper cups on your sidewalks. usually I don't accept gatorade or water from strangers on the street and opt for filling up my water bottle from trusted sources - I even had a camel bak with me, but it ran out twice and was too tedious to fill while running. I hope the pitter patter of 45thousand x 2 feet felt good on your paved parts, a change from all those heavy cars and trucks. I promise to write a letter to the marathon organizers to take a look at their carbon footprint, see if they can get some recycling thing going. I love you very much. love, ilvs
I write (wrote) this from the comfort of my still standing home. safe, sitting in my underwear and sweater. contemplating children. not so much having them, but somehow figuring out where I fit in in the 'it takes a village' idiom, er, maxim sense.
exhibit a – on my walk to work, I glanced up once from my book to check that the kids' screaming and running was indeed fun based, my eyes taking note of random dude walking opposite direction on opposite side of the street who was also taking in the same scene. I looked back down to read a paragraph to glance up a second time as I passed the two kids to see exactly what could possibly be so fun and realized that had not their screams attracted my attention, the smell of burning would have for sure. the 2 kids (age 9?) were standing on the cement sidewalk in front of their front door around what looked to be a notebook (the paper loose leaf made of trees kind) all aflame. their gigantic smiles and laughter indicated to me that they A) were the ones to set it on fire, and B) probs no one was home. I took note of the 1/3 liquid remaining in the plastic soda bottle by the girl's feet and figured that would be enough to squelch any rouge flames and did not slow my pace down one bit. tho my brain got going. thought #1 was that I did not want to be the old fuddy duddy figure of authority ruining all the fun when things were obviously fine. thought #2: that other adult dude also walked by sans comment of concern, thereby making it permissible for me to do same. thought #3: their mom/parent/caretaker was probably inside and could see them (at least it wasn't in the house!). thought #4: what kind of community member/responsible adult walks past two kids playing with fire and says nothing? thought #5: where was I in my book?
hours have passed and I have heard no sirens. while this lays some concern to rest, I am left to contemplate what, exactly, is my role when it comes to accidental care taking. beyond the borderline negligent basics of sending out a passing hope that the neighbor kids don't burn the house down after school.
I share a bathroom. This is not news. I live in a large house turned many little (well, mine at least) apartments. on my floor, there are three units and 2 banos down the hall for sharing purposes. (background info: the way the banos are situated, 3 units use 1, the apartment on the south side of the building uses the other one almost exclusively). there are many benefits to this: not having to clean the bathroom. ok, so that is the only one i can think of right now. but that counts for like 3 benefits. the down side, is that I have to share it. that in and of it self is not an issue as two bathrooms means rarely, if ever, having to wait for a vacancy. but it does destroy my illusion of living alone. and by destroy i mean obliterate. but only on occasion, like a land mine or a natural disaster. like the time my green wash cloth went missing. MISSING! I would leave it hanging in the bathroom for my personal use and one day it was gone. there are no other towels in there save for the drab dark green washcloth that has been there since hand towels inception, looks like. i left a kind, non passive aggressive note – more difficult than it seems! - and my washcloth was returned within 24hours. but with no explanation. no, 'oops, sorry I thought it was communal' or 'i dropped it so thought i'd wash it before returning it.' (to which i would have replied, 'oops, i thought your stomach was a target for my pointy, fast moving fist, you boundary-less freeloading user of shared bathroom!' or 'thank you, that's very sweet. can you turn your music down?' respectively.) needless to say, I was shaken by the unauthorized abduction and the subsequent return of my little green hand towel; my trust, it has been tarnished.
But the experience did nothing to prepare me for the epic hair saga that was to follow. Allow me to explain. on occasion, I would enter the bathroom at some undisclosed time after a certain someone had cut their hair. I am not opposed to haircutting, unless you are slovenly about it: short, coarse hairs clung to the now greasy with finger prints mirror, the empty towel rack resembled some kind of cyborg caterpillar, and the floor, oh the floor! it's like I walked into the beauty parlor set of some community theater mounting of steel magnolias! hair everywhere! tho, for realism sake, due to the drab color of the rug and the hardwood floors, the left behind follicles were only really noticeable tho upon closer inspection, sad to say, which is partially why it went over looked in the first place. still, not good enough excuse for whichever of the two out of three neighbors I had it narrowed down to as being the culprit.
speaking of culprits, the suspects really confounded me. I couldn't figure out who it was. one minute I was convinced it was inherently messy due to dude gene man next door or squirrelly hard to pin down but real nice when you do woman in the other next door to me. both had the same color hair. both were equally unapproachable for differing reasons, both were not me who has always been diligent with post hair cut clean up. and who in their right mind cuts their hair so much? almost as disturbing as the evidence of a sheering, was noting the frequency of it. last I had seen, both possible offenders still had a head of hair. there were no severe hair cuts or bald spots to account for it. I was baffled. and then I put the ordeal behind me and ran for more sacred ground. ie I started using the other bathroom exclusively.
days passed.
possibly weeks.
the problem persisted, to a lesser degree (partially due to my posting of a non passive aggressive note about cleaning up after hair cuts. or shaving as it turned out to be – I ran into man neighbor at On the Boards and he fessed up, generously appreciative of my self appointed neighborhood grime watch duties) (yes, I said grime watch) (but the longer hairs on the floor continued), as I noticed on my occasional 'hard to break a habit' trip to the multi multi use bathroom. and it was on one of these occasions that I had a sudden realization. mystery neighbor wasn't cutting their hair on an almost daily basis, they were losing it. dude neighbor is in his early 30's by my rough estimate. he didn't turn our bathroom into barbershop. he was balding. suddenly, the world made a little more sense. and this dense weave of a bathroom drama suddenly fell away in the face of simple biology. still, thought the neat freak as she wiped her feet after visiting the restroom she had all but given hope on, he could at least age responsibly.
I've fallen into the habit of placing a little morsel of food, whatever it is I might be snacking on at home, into an upturned kombucha bottle cap placed outside, just so, on the window sill. I do it as an offering of thanks, acknowledgment of abundance, appeasement of the insect gods, because I think it's kinda fun.
This evening (ed. note: this was a few days ago), while I supped on my beans and rice, the fruit flies would not let me be. ah yes, I had forgotten to dish them out a serving. silly me! but then, even after mounding their bottle cap bowl with half a dozen grains of rice, a bean and an ear of corn, they still hovered. what gives? – oh, I see. perhaps there is something to serving them first. before the way liberal application of tabasco sauce. the flies, it would seem, have not the same tolerance for spice as I do. my apologies. next time, bugs first, human last.
at work the other day, wednesday the 14th of july to be exact, I was a little careless in wiping the dust off the sill and toppled over one of the 5 small Buddah figurines. it landed on the counter with little to do. well, almost, I realized as I picked up the now headless little Buddah body. I studied the clean break to figure out my next move and to contemplate how much, if any at all, negative karmic value this accident had versus what I wanted to do: place the Buddah and it's little severed head on the registration table with a post it note exclaiming 'Happy Bastille Day!' My boss humored me for a minute but her laughter ended with a decisive veto. sigh. I guess bloody French revolutions and pranayama are not the most compatible. somebody point me to the super glue.
I, ilvs strauss, went to church last sunday. the weather, I will have you note, is particularly absent of lightning thunder brimstone and locust plagues. perhaps I still have some credit on my tab from all those years at catholic school.
for the record, I am not opposed to church on a whole. in fact, I have been a recent, willing attendee at the center for spiritual living, st mary magdalene (er, sp? so much for my credit. . .), and 'word church' (2nd sunday's at hidmo. its like writing group meets meditation spirit group. with snacks.). but catholic mass, father it has been way way a long time. years+. so why go back? my gramma and great aunt were in town specifically to attend mass in support of some padres they know. it worked out that I had sunday morning free of obligations and the means with which to drive myself 35 minutes north of my cap hill bubble to BOTHELL. need I point out the coincidence that is the aitch ee double hockey stick that takes up slightly more than half the spelling of this picturesque suburb? didn't think so.
I got there early to try and catch my gramma coming in. suzy was running exactly just shy of late which left me time to pace the lobby and try my hand at inconspicuocity. not the easiest feat in stripped pants and a gray fedora. for a time I watched two alter boys adjusting their outfits. they wore short green ponchos (oh I'm sure there's a proper term for that. . . there's a few more points down the drain) over their white robes and one kid was having a particularly difficult time getting his to sit right. with his buddy offering help in the form of agitated directives, the kid gave up the struggle and took off the green poncho altogether to start fresh. this left him standing in his sneakers, shaking the poncho out like a bullfighting cape, all the while the pointy white hood of his robe was pulled up over his head. now, I have seen a few alter boy outfits in my day and never had I seen one with a hood. a tall pointy white one. it looked a little too grand wizardy to me. but little. so like, baby grand wizard. i directed the thought 'put your hood down' over and over for as long was my stare length did not dip into creepy.
my great aunt showed up eventually, joining me in the back row where I had parked myself, my raincoat, scribbling notes on scratch paper. maggie sat with me while suzy parked the car and in the few minutes before mass got going, busied herself with fixing my appearance as best she could. 'don't cross your legs we are not at a saloon!' (ok, saloon's a rough translation.) but it's comfortable! 'take your hat off!' it's keeping my hair in place! 'your hair! it's sticking up all over!' that's what the hat was for! I quietly, respectfully obliged. location and timing and more so the fact that the source of these jabs originated from a well intentioned 5 foot tall woman in her 70's who loves me to pieces kinda shelved my defensiveness and irritation. also, I think it was at that moment I looked up at the alter for the first time to see the crucifix, a sight that made me chuckle out loud. jesus was not affixed to the cross as is the norm. instead, the life sized wooden figurine was slightly to the left of middle of cross, his disproportionately small arms lifted skyward, a long ankle length cape flowing behind him in what looked like mid-soar. super. I spent much of mass trying to decide if he was in a big rush to get somewhere or just to get out of there.
basically, mass was boring. the fashion sported by the general populace was boring. the songs were droned in one part harmony. service was as sombre as ever, but with out any of the incense or stained glass that made the churches of my youth a little gothic, therefore cool.
post mass, both my aunt and my gramma in their own time, each with an iron grip on my wrist, had a priest give me a blessing. now, I have no objection to being prayed for. it feels nice, actually. but to try an save a kid from drowning when she is nowhere near a body of water feels a touch, oh I don't know, suffocating. and slightly annoying. my great aunt's greatest wish it seems is for me to to go church. catholic church. 'please mijita, go to church. jesus is waiting for you.' I straight up lie to her face and say, 'Yes, OK.' the priest is watching this exchange.
one of these days I will have to tell her, in the nicest way possible, that she might as well stop asking and realize that I'm not gonna walk thru those same doors she values so much. no matter what she says or does or how hard she prays. besides, I found a secret squirrel door round back that gets me in just the same. they let me dress how I want, there's healthy snacks, and it connects to a cool trail thru the woods to boot. so long liturgy, I got a sunrise to kiss.
last weekend, on my way out the door to work (folklife2010), I tried to lock my apartment with my festival key. ha! wait'll I tell my coworkers, i chuckle to myself. fast forward a few hours, we, me my coworker, are sitting around in our makeshift break room/hide out and I relay the morning's hilarity. he blurts out his reply, book-ended by laughter: 'I did the same thing! and then,' he adds, 'I tried to radio it in to tell everyone.' our shared laughter was cut short by a radio call of someone needing a key assist in the next room. ah, festivals. . .
for reals, the above incident is in fact ridiculously funny when you work 12+hour days back to back to back to back with a radio strapped to your shoulder, squawking in your ear like an orphaned parrot. trust me words on it.
thru the magic that was my 6 month enrollment at Bent Arts writing institute, I was exposed to many an unfamiliar author. one poet in particular who generally left me slightly slack jawed, the words 'what the f***' falling from my mouth like ripe fruit off a tree was Saphirre, of PUSH the book/Precious the movie fame.
I saw the ads for Precious in the paper when it came out but never heard anything about it. nor did I know anyone who had seen it. the book, I just got a 'yeah it's really intense' heads up. if it was anything like her poems, I was in for it. but not purely satisfied with knowing of its very existence, curiosity and the library colluded together and I found myself with a bright shiny paperback copy of it.
and it's been a while since a BOOK REPORT so here we go:
AHHHHHGGGGG DON'T READ THIS BOOK!!!!!!!!!!! and I'm not trying to reverse psychology you. ok, actually, do what you want, fellow americans. read it, dont read it. you want my opinion, keep reading: holy moses that book is, well, just as I was warned, so very much intense! yeah and I guess the back cover does a little heads up, but a banal promotional paragraph breezing over a plot about incest, abuse, poorest of poor education and some kind of unforgettable journey doesn't even begin to scratch the surface of the emotional raking over hot coals that is reading an entire book dedicated to the topic, the set up, the play by play, the consequences of it all. jesus. h. christ. granted/thank you universe, it is FICTION. but non writers, here's a little secret: all fiction is based on, ahem, TRUTH. uh, yikes.
brings up the little issue of what is the value of bringing into this already difficult at many times such an intense wrecking ball of a book. why bring the people down? what is the point? how does this further the people/world towards a better future?
answers I do not know. or rather, I have not the time left at work where I am writing this (dance belt teaches 20 people of the world to dance thriller) to delve into so deep a philosophical convo.
but I do know/have time to say that it did serve as a sort of existential point of reference. it had kinda a HOTZONE effect. in that, no matter how bad things are for me right now (I was feeling a little emotionally wrecked before i started it. maybs not the best time to read it. (kinda like the time I watched DANCER IN THE DARK whilst deep in the throws of depression. file under I've had better ideas.) I forced it finish in two days while at work. lucky for me, it was folk life and I had the healing powers of several hundred hurdy gurdies (sp?), fiddlers, scottish dancers, balkan singers and crusty jug bands at my disposal.), it's really not all THAT bad. in fact, in comparison, my life is a walk on a flat trail in a beautiful nature preserve. my feet are dry and cozy, my lighter than air backpack is full of nourishing snacks. i am a lucky son of a gun.
thanks saphirre, for the friendly, albeit slightly traumatic reminder.
(note the reference to lack of internet access at the time of writing this blog which was sometime last week)
a friend is out of town for 2 weeks and I find myself with access to wheels and internet if I could figure out how to make it work on this computer. along with this, I am at the mercy of one tiny, many clawed calico creature by the name of peaches. to peaches, I quadruple as a scratching post, snack machine, summoner of fun (in the form of a red invinsible dot and a bodyless plumey bird, also invinsible), and letter inner to the house. as I write, she is demanding of my attention. as I write, I must take breaks and -ow! claws to the thigh! - to point the laser.
ok I'm back. red laser dot ate peaches' food, drank her water, got high off her cat nip then disappeared with out so much as a goodbye. hmmm. I feel like, except for the getting high part, that describes me in certain situations with certain people. ah, relationships. . . my ankles are being devoured. her kitten status is simultaneously the source of the problem and her get out of jail free card. I have distracted her with a noisy orange birdmouse. my stocking feet are stinging.
this cat has more energy than all the other cats I've ever lived with. combined. specifically, she has moved more in the last half hour than I ever saw BABYSEAL move in, well, the entirety of me knowing her. oh, my sweet SEAL. ow peaches get off me! where was i? SEAL, BABY: I tried to get peaches to lay on my chest like you do when I lay on my back on the floor to meditate. to no avail. where are you when I need a warm feline body pillow? a giant ball of love that leaves more fur behind than seems physically possible? and biscuits? where are my biscuits? sigh.
my black pants are suspiciously free of dander. my eyes, when I rub them from time to time, do not puff up or itch or redden. to console me in your absence, I have only that one dude in my yoga class who hasnt quite gotten the hang of oo-jai (sp?) breathing so that it sounds less like karmic asthma and exactly like you snoring.
basically, in not so many words, and I know I only moved 8 blocks from you, I miss you.
in my defense, both my acupuncturist and my therapist are within 3 blocks of the joint, im fremont once a week or so anyways, the factory just happens to be on my route. sometimes i need a little pick-me-up/smile in velvety brown bar shaped form. and sometimes i dont feel like eating an entire bar. if i wanted an entire bar, i would buy one. the samples are plenty for me right now, thank you, lady for your keen observance. and for my continued peripheral patronage, you may thank me in broken pieces of candied cacao nibs. no rush, i will just stand here and wait while you restock, you are doing a tremendous job. thank you, now move aside.
(i wrote this a few days ago)
in the cool (as in awesome) wake of my 31st birthday, i seem to have undergone another one of life's rites of passage. a lesser known, not quite as esteemed milestone as others out there, but, uh, er, which puts it kinda on the uneasy edge between curious and ever so slightly troubling. with a tinge of 'oh, that's what they mean by that.'
the road of life mile marker of which i speak of is none other than this: sleeping wrong. apparently, there is a correct and incorrect way to participate in this activity. i had, in my earlier years, heard of such potential but dismissed it as something with which i needn't concern myself with. until now, apparently. this particular instance of non success evokes the distant but clear voice of my high school english teacher and her encouraging, catered to high school thespian words of wisdom life advice: 'if you're gonna fail, fail big.' somewhere in the suburbs of portland, a high school theater director (eh, let's assume for the sake of this blog that she is in fact still there) is beaming with pride.
well, i suppose that after getting it 'right' 11,023ish times (not counting naps), one off ain't all that bad. in fact, i will go out on a limb and proclaim that those are pretty effing good odds. nonetheless, my 0.00908% deviation was painful enough for me to chauffeur myself via metro transit to my massage therapist whose diagnosis was, indisputably, comically, 'yeah, you probably just slept wrong.' deepest of tissue manipulation ensued. the result of which shall enable me, as soon as the soreness subsides, to once again bend at the waist (aka deepest hip flextion(sp?)) beyond a 90 degree angle (aka sitting) without considerable wincing or calling down of the saints/jesus christ. to that i say amen.
(NOTE: my MT, jen rice (aka the muscle whisperer) is a friggin' genius).
well, i am happy to report, that after a shy handful of figure drawing sessions, replete with generous guidance from man at the helm, jed d, that i have graduated from level one of the sketchy school of Egon Scheile, where my stick figure blobs have crawled out of the Precambrian crayola muck to grow arms, legs and sometimes even muscle definition to march upon off grey sheets of pen and colored pencil pastures. which is not to say i have fully mastered this thing called PROPORTIONS. quite the contrary. looking at my drawings one would question whether or not the sitters actually had real biological limbs at all, much less proportionate ones. or if i had just returned from the scene of some misfortune involving an elvin dwarf, a 4 story building and free fall. but my improvement is steady nonetheless.
