short-circuit

"the search for.."

2011-01-26T08:18:00.000-08:00

It's the new year, and I have stuck to my guns in making some changes to my life. The rollercoaster of possibilities wanes down to a gentle river ride, and I'm paddling with the current (pun intended).

Currently, I am on a quest for..

Something within walking distance of my job.
Nothing over the top or expensive.
It'd be nice to include some utilities.
Oh, and also, structurally pleasing- with a decent amount of space for me to enjoy my leisure time.

Sure, the description above is mostly aimed at the apartment I'm searching for- but I also find myself laughing a bit since it reminds me how I also have an ajenda searching for a new guy..

-

A friend at work was successful with the online dating site.. mumble mumble mumble- she's been with her current boyfriend for over a year now. Since I'm ready to hop off the single/casual/scandalous bandwagon and get back into monogomy, she suggested I check it out.

I wasn't sure what to expect.. Online dating always seemed like it was for lonely divorcees, middle-aged men and woman who have gotten past the point of bar hopping and going to clubs, ect. Everyone sees the commercials for various sites- and it seems like they're either trying to scam you or marry you off...

Well, this site- I haddn't seen advertised anywhere. It was designed by Harvard Graduates, and I'll admit they did a pretty nice job. It's casual, has a sense of humor, and uses a math algorithm to match you on Match%, Friend%, and Enemy% based on user generated data. You answer questions, then check which answers you'd accept from others, and how important the question is to you. Presto.. not only does this help guide you toward people with similar lifestyles and interests, but it guides you away from the creeps that can take a decent photo. Every so often the staff will post up silly articles using data... like, apparently most people in Nebraska experience rape fantacies. And there was a gripping article comparing the desire for monogomy based on sexual orientation/gender. I like that they use the site to conduct research while assisting people in finding a partner. Good deal.

To no surprise, there has been a fair share fo good/bad interaction. I try to keep my expectations low. "There has to be a catch, why are they single? why are they dating online?" But, let me look in the mirror at those sentiments. I'm a busy woman. I don't get out much- as most of my friends are in Jersey. AND it's hard to find someone with similar interests as I miander the streets, on a whim, on a chance... on foot.

Recieving some compliments has been nice to reduce my stress levels also. Seriously, if I don't find an apartment soon- I will be homeless come March 1, 2011.

That said... enough typing, I'm back to the interwebs for my search.

Maximum Capacity?

2011-01-04T09:44:00.000-08:00

It was a touch over two years ago that I was in the shower (my meditative space), when my mind began reeling with thoughs, ideas, and devastation. The thoughts would not rest in the confines of my mind, so I attempted to explain them through writing- and it turned into a three+ page paper about the taboo overpopulation of the Earth. Some recent thoughts I want to write about urge me to reference this "essay", but it seems hardly fair to do so without posting the older verses first. The below passage has been edited slightly- and is definitally a little scatterbrained, but please follow along with patience.

__________________________________________________________________

Maximum Capacity

Part One: The Standpoint

The definition of vegetarianism seems to vary from person to person. Some will not eat meat, but consume eggs and dairy products since their production is not generally detrimental to the animals. Veganism is the more extreme of this dietary lifestyle, completely eliminating the consumption of animal products.

Keeping that comparison in mind, I have found myself questioning the guidelines of the Christian lifestyle. As far as I am aware, Christians believe that God created this Earth and everything on it, including all forms of life; God loves his creations just the way they are. I have heard the cliche, "It's how God intended," many times, aimed at many different scenarios, and it all seems appropriated following the Christian beliefs I just mentioned.

Now, take that thought and visualize a mother with tears streaming down her face, in a hospital. She kneels beside a bed screaming, "God, please God, save my son! He has a brain tumor! Please, Doctor, please save my son. God, please watch after him and make sure he makes it through this." While it is an emotional moment for this woman as she expresses her devotion to Christianity, she doesn't even seem to realize that she has invalidated the basic principles of such beliefs. As a non-religious person, I'm attempting to look at this objectively. The way it seems to me, this woman would be the "vegetarian" of Christianity. She believes in God's creation and gifts, but resists accepting the facets of life that interfere with her happiness. If her son were to die, the woman would surely accuse God, o at least beg of him, "Why did you take my baby away?!" But the way I see it, God would have also created that tumor in her son's brain.

Some would argue that God also gave man the ability to learn, grow, interact, form society, and accuire knowlege. So if he gave us the means to create modern medicine, it would couteract everything I just mentioned, making the tumor a mere obstical, rather than morbid fate.

In accordance to the idea that God created humans as a species that could grow and change over the years, I would naturally assume that he would give the same rights to all his creations. There is proof everywhere that everything changes. Catfish can breathe above water if they are washed ashore. Plantlife can give off chemicals to naturally ward off impending insects. Viruses can mutate to spread by air rather than touch. The Earth is a living, breathing ecosystem- no exceptions.

Our human bodies need certain balances of nutrients and stimulants to be sustainable. We are naturally equipped with antibodies, white blood cells, and the capability of antioxidant retention. Wether the problem of a broken leg or the comon cold arrises, we are chock-full-o-ways to fix ourselves and survive.

So why not the Earth? The Earth thrives when its elements are working in harmony, the same way our bodies thrive with health and happiness.

Part Two: The View

When people get onto an elevator there is a safe funtioning capacity. If too many people get on to the elevator, or something else is loaded on to add excessive pounds, it can cause the elevator to not funtion properly. In the worst case scenario, the elevator could break, and possibly trap or crush all of those inside it. The implied question at hand reaches far beyond any religious claim, but a phyisical matter. What exactly is the Earth's mamimum capacity?

In the early days, I can assume humans functioned on a similar playing field with all of the other animals in the circle of life. The circle of life encompasses the idea that all creatures have a function on Earth- the life and death cycles. Weather and natural disasters would impact the cycles, but always predictably with the Earth's governing biorhythms- which are determined buy gravitation forces and position in orbit.

In modern times, humans as a while have complicated the Earth's functioning terms. Advances in technology and society have left a thumbprint of more than just pollution. Not only are there more humans than ever- but we also live longer lives. So is the problem that there are too many of us, or that we live longer than intended? Feel free to put it in this perspective:

You have a printer. To print things it needs sheets of 8.5" x 11" paper loaded into it. The printer can hold fifty sheets of paper at any given time. The problem is, you need to print a FIVE BILLION page assignment. The most effective way would be to let the printer print the fifty sheets at a time, refilling regularly with more paper and ink until the task was complete. The least managable method would be to try and load all FIVE BILLION pages into the printer at once... or concoct a Rube Goldberg apparatice to allow for extreme invasions of paper into the printer while it is trying to function, leaving it to run out of ink and burn out of excessive use- possibly exploding.

The vast population is definitally an issue. The more people there are, the more physiolgical needs there are to be fullfilled at any given moment. While such an increase occurs amung the human poplis, food sources are expended among us and the surrounding wildlife. As though that isn't enough, the already extended population is living well beyond eighty years of life- sustainable life decreasing- forcing domains to suffer death of famine.

The Earth has even tried to control the human problem by mutating diseases, or seemingliy created new ones. We conquer allergies to pollon- BAM! allergies to fish. We conquer chlamydia, BAM! HIV and AIDS. We conquer something.. and a thousand variations of cancer sprout up like daisys.

Humans seem to have this idea that we have ascended from the generl circle of life. We want to be special. We want to survive on our own terms. We want control. From an objective, non-humanistic standpoint I can say that our modern society has been reckless and acted more like a paracite to the earth than a functioning creature "of God" (for all the Christians out there).

Part Three: The Vision

Amung all of the innovations science is makng, which I support and respect, I really think that the role we humans play as a part of the Earth should be evaluated and innovated as well. As sad as it is, the only positions left wafting in my mind are to exploit the positions of life and death. When is it acceptable? When is it intended? What effect does it have on the big and small picture? It is easy for small groups of people to covet those around them- but how many "exceptions" is acceptable.

A small start would be to allow safe abortions and discontinue the artificial insemination of women over thirty-five years of age (or in general, since artificial insemination has a high rate of resulting in multiple births *cough*Octo-mom*cough*). Unintended life could facilitate a small step in the direction of becoming a positive role in the ecosystem again. Maybe the next step would be to pull the plug sooner on vegetative life. The step after that could be an impliented maximum family size on a global level.

If the world is to get to the point where it becomes VITAL to basic human survival for there to be less of us, I'm hoping is could be satiated through means other than mindless slaughter, genocide, and war.

The Earth's atmosphere has already changed, It is obvious that it is trying to adapt to all of the damages we have caused. The Earth is trying to fix itself by fighting off its parasite.. Do we really need to fight each other too?

...toward something else

2010-12-28T08:32:00.000-08:00

The new year approaches.. and even though, technically, the only thing that changes is the calander date on January 1st.. it feels like a mental stamp. I always make a resolution.. one that's feasable. This year's is upgrading my life.

It's my mental note of accending beyond some of the immaturity I have allowed to linger in my youth... It's being more organized, budgeting better, and not looking back. I'm even upgrading my relationships. Friends are evaluated and appreciated- no more lying to myself that anyone is more significant than what they are... and any of my rondevoux, are no more. A little self control will go a long way. After a year and a half of being single now, I think I'm ready to get into a new relationship- with zero candidates as of right now. All the same.. no need to let my baggage drag into the new year..

I just want to run away from it, and toward something else.

Be happy :)

"..what do you believe?"

2010-12-20T21:51:00.000-08:00

We are in the thick of the holiday season here in the United States. It's supposed to be a time of joy, community love, sharing, sympathy, forgiveness, and fun.. But as with many traditions that start out as a good idea, they somehow get skewed over the years- like a global "telephone game". So Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentines Day, Mother's Day, Father's Day, Birthdays... are all now economically driven- over-capitalized affairs.

And we still love them.

While many cultures celebrate various events- genreally families even add their own variations in. Thanksgiving became my favorite holiday over the years. It wasn't just the food that made it enjoyable.. My blood relatives were always far away- we never really spent holidays together. So, it was in the community which I grew up in that I developed close ties- my extended family.. and for Thanksgiving, more so than the other holidays, it seemed more appropriate for friends and families alike to spend that time together. The entire Highschool football team, it seemed- would play the annual game against our rival team, then return to go house hopping all over town. Friends who didn't have particularly good relationships with their parents would find themselves at my table, and I was always welcome to drop by others. It wasn't the misprecieved celebration of an arrogant historical moment between the hospitality of the Native Americans and the origional Immigrants- no.. I enjoy the holiday spirit, and the idea that everyone can be thankful for what they have... instead of always being bombarded with advertiements and messages telling them to be otherwise dissatisfied with their lives.

Valentines Day.. it is oh so beautiful to celebrate love. Love has inspired poems, books, and babies.. and could probably solve the world's problems if people were so compassionate as to accept it as much as they strive to give it. But unfortunitally, the world is not such a place to foster the delicate emotion on such a scale.. and it is outragiously belittled to be sold as heart shaped everything, bad chocolate with cheap sparkling wine and marked up red roses. Yep, apparently it isn't enough to actually care about someone unconditionally.. sparkly things are required... every year. Or not.. I'd be happy with a smile, a kiss, and some sincerity.. or even romantic love letters like St.Valentine origionally wrote to his true love from the confinds of his jail cell. There's always something special about a handwritten letter- especially in today's digial world. (They don't even teach children to write in script anymore! It's going to be like a foreign language when our generation is elderly... but that viewpoint is a discussion for another day.)

Mother's and Father's Days........ appreciate them everyday, how bout?

and I can't even talk about Christmas.. we all know the mangled mess that tradition has become between the religious symbolism and St.Nicholas adaptation- to a glorious mess of foiled gift wrap, fake trees, and crowded shopping malls.

Actually, this year I even put a twist on my gift giving techniques. It's true- I don't affiliate myself with any religion. The holiday celebrations are more out of habbit than anything else. But I am adimant in my belief that giving gifts should not require an occasion.. and furthermore, should never feel like an obligation. This even includes birthdays in my mind. When I am out and about, if I see something that I know a person would enjoy.. I get it and give it to them. Not only does this give me more gratification.. but the person recieving it is usually that much more excited. ...how many gifts have you gotten over the years from people who don't know you very well, or you could tell just grabbed something last minute, just to get it... and it leaves you with a question mark hanging over your head- mind reeling, "OMG WHAT IS THAT? WHY WOULD ANYONE BUY THIS?" ...that scenario- totally avoidable in my book. Plus, as an added bonus- you don't feel financial stress. Do something nice for people you REALLY care about, when you can- and when your wallet can. *shrug*

Back to my twist- I created a puzzle- to make the process more fun, for me at least. I got a bunch of really awesome stuff over the course of the last few months, nothing I wouldn't gladly buy for myself- and gave the "gift sets" names like: "Be Asian." "Be his sunshine." ..and "Be knocked out." All the names related to the gifts... but don't give away the surprise. So as my puzzle recipiants solved the puzzle, they could get dibbs on whatever gift title appealed most to them... maybe I'm cheesy and lame.. but since it's the time of year people DO exchange gifts, I wanted to switch it up for my own mentallity's sake..

Going back to the comment I made about not affiliating myself with a religion- I feel like more and more people are in my boat. Politicians and religious advocates have hosted statements such as, "a Godless nation", "a land of loose morals and values", "...falling apart".

What's falling apart exaclty? Just becasue I don't believe that the writing in The Holy Bible, The Quaran, The Torrah, or any other manuscript are supreme and just- does not mean I philander the streets with vulgar behavior and dishonesty. I just like to found my personal beliefs on reason. Just as I've said over and over again... I like things to make sense. If any religion made sense to me (though, I am not affluent with the intricacies of all religions).. I'm sure I'd be open to giving it a go. Til then- I'm so neutral, beige looks bold... by affiliation anyway. I do have my own theories about creation and all that jazz.

Well, I guess to sum this up- I'll make mention of New Years. It is the global celebration that recognises the passage of time. Every year brings memories, progress, faiure.. and hope that the next year might be better. I ook forward to the new year. It's a hepful marker in the chroneology of making persona changes to better myself.

What's your resoution?

standing on solid ground?

2010-12-17T07:17:00.000-08:00

I remember breaking my arm in the fifth grade. I had been skiiing a Big Boulder with my sister and some family friends of ours when physics defeated me- resulting in a radial split. The doctor had to rebreak my arm to set the bone straight. The cast was applied, my wrist bent at a fourty-five degree angle.

After the bone had healed enough for the cast to be removed, I remember the the total conflict and weakness I experienced. My skin was thin, flaky, and yellowed from lack of sunlight. The muscles were weak and shrunken from inactivity. To top it off, no matter how much I willed my wrist and fingers to move within their flexibility, they simly would not respond accordingly- they couldn't beacuse the nerves needed to wake up.. a stuggle of a proccess.

Why am i mentioning this injury? It didn't kill or traumatize me- a fairly common occurance..

...because I wanted to talk about how the planet must feel like a handicapped veteran.

Think about this. We as a species alter the natural habbitat beyond what any other animal does to comfortably live. Sure everyone is becomming more concious about their carbon footprint, more sensitive to our skies, the ozone, and global warming alike. But with all this looking up, I feel everyone has forgotten to look down.

How much of the earths surface is covered in concrete at this point?

Abandoned parking lots, roadways, foundations of buildings, landing strips and so on... and it isn't like we ever retract the alterations we've made once we've decided something is going to exist on that particular patch of surface. And what does this do? It creates a "cast" on the surface of the earth. It blocks sunshine and keeps out the rain and snowmelt which it is so very thirsty for.

And people wonder why buildings and roadways have collapses here and there. Let me make mention of what is hapening beneath your feet. There are underground waterways along with dirt. It's part of the complex drainage system nature provides. When we stop the moisture from penetrating the surface, over a period of time the underground waterway will start to "dry up", leaving a larger pocket of air, rather than a comfortable measure of water ressure which helps maintain the surface. So the weight of the surface can sometimes collapse in on these various pockets of air, causing a slight shift to the ground on which we walk and build.

I live in a city, and frequent others (which seem to be getting larger). I am not saying that our systems of habbitating are completely wrong, but they are somewhat unreasonable as we try to micro-manage the ecosystem.. which I'm pretty sure worked perfectly fine until we decided to run amuck all over it. Even farmland is generally sprayed with pesticides- affecting the insect, animal, and plantlife- poisioning the ground that is beautifully exposed.

I can't even voice a possible solution to help our broken planet.. because like when I had my cast removed- it is easy to imagine that the thirsty ground beneath our abandoned shopping malls and highways is dry and weak. One of the reasons floods are commonplace after the dry season in Africa, is simply because it is difficult for the ground to absorb the water it is exposed to after so long a time without.

In the same way we are making advances in reducing pollution, conserving energy, and utilizing green roofs, and natural energy souces like wind and solar.. I hope we are also looking ro regulate the concrete armor we are bestowing upon the green and blue face of this world.

"Sorry.."

2010-12-06T21:26:00.000-08:00

I've been noticing it more and more over the last few days, not that it's by any means a new behavior.. I was opening the door to leave the locker room and head to work when another woman, whom was outside of the door on the other side, and about to open the very same door whose knob was grasped in my fingertips- she said, "Sorry," as we both continued on toward our respective destinations.

Sure, I know that in our western culture, it is considered courteous to acknoledge others as we interact. A hand-wave to the safe driver.. a head nod or smile upon eye contact with someone familiar.. a held door- and other pretty general non-verbal conoduct usually makes sense to me.

"Sorry." ...Sorry for what exactly?

I don't follow, and even I am guilty of this verbal tendency. It is inappropriated so often that the apologetic nature of the word is practically left invalidated.

examples:

"I'm sorry, but that bitch totally deserved to fail."
(maybe she did.. but you aren't sorry to admit that... no guilt or remorse)

Two people walking toward one another are faced with the studder step, not sure wether to shift right or left to avoid collision. "Sorry."
(OR.."excuse me".. "pardon" perhaps?.... Both people were equally enrought somewhere. unless shoving was involved of course, it hardly seems needed)

ect.

I guess I really honed in on this since I was sick this past week. I was bedridden for three straight days and without energy to exert, I wound up watching the Korean drama "Bad Boy". It carries the familiar themes of romance, confusion, pots of revenge, family, and monetary status. So seventeen hour-long episodes later, and my mind is reeling in subtitles and eastern culture- where it seems people have more pride and values than Americans do.

Some of their passing phrases were: "Work hard." "Thank you." "How fortunite for you." "This will come of use" "Take care."

It is true, being polite is one thing- but take a week and try to listen for all the misused "I'm sorry"s exchanged among your area. People acknowlege that "I love.." and "I hate" are strong terms, flung too loosely from the lips of many.. but I really think they do not stand as a pair in that category.

In any case.. if it's beyond your control- don't apologise.

If it's another instance.. try to use the correct terminology.

If everyone gets comfortable jsut putting their own meaning on words and phrases, we will lose the meaning of everything to chaotic babble.

Or maybe it's just me.. and I find your wasted time reading this unfortunate. (but I'm not sorry for writing it, lol)

life. unplugged. reconected.

2010-11-21T12:53:00.000-08:00

We'll start by stating the obvious: I have ben MIA from my blog for some time (over four months). Now lets get over it and reflect, yeah?

_____________________________________________________________________

Summer. It wasn't a girl, or 500 days of a non-love story. But it was eventful, and thinking back on it leaves questions lingering in the chroneology. There were lots of parties, some drugs, sex, and alchohol... and the inevitable drama which ensues with socialization. I can't count how many disagreements I got into over the summer... but the blood does boil, they say. Somehow I always managed to walk away from the flames with a smile scraped across my face like Heath Ledger in "The Dark Knihgt"- except I survived the Ambien.

Speaking of Ambien- I was proactive in releasing myself from dependency. Some days are better than others, and the same story goes for the nights. The first week was the easiest. My body was generous in keeping the pattern of a normal nights sleep. The third the worst. I was in withdrawl, the baggs under my eyes dragged across my sunkissed cheekbones. Since then, it varries- and I have occasionally given in to the small blue tablets. But compared to popping them every night, I'd consider that progress rather than relapse.

Up in through even the start of September, I was hardly at my Philadelphia abode. Always traveling. working hard. playing harder. Some of my friends forgot I didn't live in New Jersey.

But even with my self-centered perspective on time management- making memories and seducing adventure- on a very serious note, I also came to terms with the emptiness I had inside for the one part of my life which has never felt fully satisfied- the lonely feeling of disconnect from my family.

As with these entire last four months- my perspective has been "Don't just have an idea: DO an idea."

So what does a person who hasn't seen their father's side of the family in seven years do about this? She finds some of them on Facebook, talks a tad, buys a plane ticket and goes back to Ohio for the first time since her Grandmother died. I was able to visit back in October, and it was the happiest I've been in a long time. The plain ticket was by far a superior purchase than anything I have ever paid for in my life. Nothing trumps love. Nothing.

Autumn... blurred by.

Between the undestinct end to the summer, my trip to the buckeye state, my amazing twenty-first birthday, halloween, and two months of not having hot water in my appartment... I just wake up with a dry throat, bundled in my cacoon of blankets almost wondering how I got there. Wondering how Thanksgiving is this week, which means Christmas is like a month away, which means it's already almost a new year...

..which brings me back to the most prominant conumdrum I write about. Where did the time go?

(an idiotic question to ask.. since it IS the most consistant thing that exists)

So much more has gone on that I wont even type about now.. and I prefer it that way. It's been nice to step away from technology, the internet, and even my cell phone somewhat. Spending time doing things, and seeing people, and talking in person, sharing laughter, sharing the constantly fleeting time... That's love.

Let's see what happens this winter, yeah?

Bert

2010-07-07T11:19:00.000-07:00

I remember the television we had when I was growing up. It was a modest size and sat on a retro wooden stand. Most of the space underneath was taken up by the synthetic wood drawers, and the VHS player. The television itself had a power button, volume buttons, and (if I’m remembering correctly) number buttons on the console (or maybe the numbers were on the cable box). Of course there was a remote, but I know there were times when my sister and I would sit on the soft brown carpeting of the family room and push the buttons, searching for our “One Saturday Morning” cartoons.

At some point over the years, there was an upgrade to a more luxurious, big-screen television. This has some buttons on the console, but is mostly remote controlled. The screen is more squarish than rectangle- and if you look when the machine is off, you can see the curve of the glass obscuring your reflection.

Those were the family TVs. The ones which would host many movies and shows for ourselves and guests to see. For a long time, this was the only television I would watch. I didn’t have my own- until one day......

My dad is cheap and stubborn. Cheap to the point that he thinks $20 is far too much to pay for sneakers. Stubborn to the point that “No” didn’t always have a reason behind it. Now, this affected my upbringing in many ways, but when it came to the entertainment I had as a child, it was of great influence. Neither my sister or I ever had a game system. We had computers, but they were mostly homemade (my dad can build computers). Forget having a cell phone- I was lucky to have a walkman. So a personal television was never exactly expected in my room. Sure, I had friends with their own TVs- they would cycle through them, but I just never had one. I had to fight over the TV in the family room if I had a show I wanted to watch. Heaven forbid if it came on during my dad’s news! And, forget it, if my mom had on HGTV. It was a system to say the least.

So one day, it should be no surprise that I was shocked when my dad told me he had a TV for me. I was pumped. I was souped. I was... surprised- when I saw how small it was, about a 3" screen with a 7" body, and dials on the sides to adjust the channels and volume. I was even more surprised when I found out it wasn’t color- and the image would roll for five minutes before settling. ..Yay? But it was mine, and it was so pathetic I gave it a name- Bert. I figured it deserved a name since I could hardly call it a television. “I’m watching Bert,” seemed a little more appropriate.

My dad was feeling so generous, he even got me a cable box for Bert. If you’re doubting the sizes I mentioned, realize that Ernie (the cable box) was bigger than Bert. The poor TV had to sit on top of it, and it’s screen still rolled even if I could adjust the channels more easily. So For a ffew years I had Bert and Ernie in my room, and would sometimes use them- mostly to have sports games on while I did other things at my desk. But mostly, they were a novelty- and a conversation piece which could function.

My dad also got me a TV for when I was in my second term of college. I thought it was fine- until the picture went blank, and the sound kept working. That one didn’t stick around long- but it had at least been color, and maybe 10". It never even got a name before it went curbside.

And so.. time has gone on. If I watched TV shows, I found it convenient to go on Hulu. My ledgit laptop was a functioning entertainment system on the go which was perfect- until I moved to Philadelphia. You can’t be picky when you steal internet, so Hulu isn’t happening- and while for my own personal use, the laptop is fine for movies- it isn’t exactly adequate for guests. What a rouse.

So I did something the other day. I made a grown-up, independent, spontaneous decision and strode into the Best Buy. It hasn’t been mounted yet, but I am now the owner of a 32" flatscreen, plasma, high-definition television with a built in DVD player (let’s make this easy.. the last thing I need it separate machinery to figure out). I am pumped. I am souped. and I have a warrantee.

Now, all I need is a couch...

Po Qua?

2010-06-23T11:49:00.001-07:00

Widescreen 38972 Region 1 133 mins. US R Canada PG/DP “A Very Long Engagement” and supplementary material [copyright symbol] 2004 - 2003 Productions - Warner Bros. France - Tapioca Films - TFI Films - TFI Films Production [copyright symbol] 2005 Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. All rights reserved. No copying. Subject to applicable laws.

They say Paris, France is the city of love. French- a romance language, a romantic cuisine, a kiss that is deep and daring. I am not much for mushy love stories, or for war, or for tales that combine the two- but Jean-Pierre Jeunet definitely did it right.

For those of you who haven’t seen “A Very Long Engagement”- you should. It’s almost like “The Notebook”, but with subtitles, plenty of gore, and still a heart wrenching ending. With all the different perspectives, I have never before seen war portrayed so boldly. There were five men released into no-mans-land for self-mutilation, trying to get a free ticket home. They could not return to their own trenches, but the enemy looked to shoot them down at any opportunity. The fiancé of one of the five men dominates the movie- trying to figure out wether he was dead or alive- and finds out pieces of what happened in no-mans-land one bit at a time.

For me, one of the most intense scenes was when the fiancé hears a story about one of the five men who was gunned down by both lines. He was tired of hiding amidst the maggot-infested bodies, wading in blood-sodden earth, and seeing hope dissipate with the passing days. His last request was that the sides hold their fire.. to let him actually stand up and pee like a man.

As for the romantic parts... it just sort of makes me wonder where all the effort went. Not in the movie, I mean real life. When did men stop trying so hard? When did they lose the passion that leaves them babbling nonsense about feeling their woman’s heart beating in the palm of their hand, like morse code? And what of love letters? commitment? of gallantry and seduction?

Last night, I was walking down South Street, and had a guy call out to me, “Hey! You wanna suck my dick?” -that’s attractive... real classy too. I replied, “If only you had one!” flipped him off, and kept walking. Thing is, it wasn’t JUST last night that this sort of disrespect manifested- somehow it has become common over the years. I used to be startled by the sounds of car horns, wailing my direction unexpectedly- and now am not fazed- which is probably dangerous since there may be a day when the horn is not a cat call and I could walk head-on into an accident. I wouldn’t be surprised.

“A Very Long Engagement” is the third film of his that I have seen, and the most serious of them. “Amelie” and “Micmacs” were more comedic- with an unspelled humor. All three contain elements of revenge, ambitions, and mystery- add 525 g imagry, 1345 g color, 34 K carefully orchestrated dialogue, pour it over a grade A cast, stew it on a screen for over two hours- and you will get a taste of Jean-Pierre’s undeniable talent.

I wonder if the man, himself, is a romantic or a pervert? He portrays both on the screen- like old obese men drooling over the supple limbs of the European ladies. Then again.. Do men who shout obscenities from car windows realize their vulgarity.. or just chose not to acknowledge it? Or do women hold their expectations too high, exposed to such unreasonable love stories- delusional?

Po qua? For what? Does it matter.. or is it all a facade as people stroke their own egos and manipulate the heart strings of another?

"because life is everything but work..."

2010-06-19T16:18:00.000-07:00

“Hello?” I picked up the receiver, slightly confused. It was happenstance I was in New Jersey; I haven’t lived in that house for four months now. Who could be calling?

Turns out it was my boss. He needed me to come into work the next day- which I was supposed to have off. Then as an afterthought he added in that I’d been approved for full-time status, benefits, and I’d be getting a raise.

How are you supposed to react when everything you were hoping for falls into place with perfect timing? My heart didn’t pound. There were no butterflies in my stomach- just a grin stretching from ear to ear. Health insurance. Education compensation. 401K. Life insurance. Paid vacation. Sick days. Holiday pay. Overtime. One step closer to sanity. Stress level- zero. Euphoric shock.

So, that’s me- as of Monday, June 14, 2010. The best part of finding out, was seeing how excited and happy everyone else at work was for me. Everyone from my immediate co-workers up through the Big Boss Lady who’d left me her umbrella when it rained one day. Everyone was just happy to have me on board- more officially- more permanently.

Of course, this means I am now tied down to the city of brotherly love for another couple of years. But it feels right. My intuition is usually the best thing to go by when it comes to these types of decisions. After all, it was my gut that told me to turn down three other jobs before I even accepted “the job previously known as Job 1".

So now I don’t have to worry about..anything really. I will have days off to live life. I’ll be making more than enough to pay my bills, save, and splurge. I’ve been getting back into good habits. I’ve reunited with some friends that had gone long overdue for a visits... and I look forward to whatever adventures happen next.

On that note, I also had some time at work last night, and came up with an ACTUAL list of things to do before I die..in no discernable order:
-write a book
-go sailing
-snowboard
-compete in a race
-learn to read/write/speak Japanese
-learn to read/write/speak German
-walk down the red carpet with some gorgeous guy
-give $1000 to someone who needs it
-fall in love
-give someone else a tattoo
-go skinny-dipping
-get into a fight
-meet someone that genuinely makes me feel like a moronic idiot
-have a dress custom made
-learn to play the cello
-attend a professional football game
-sing kareoke
-teach a class
-tag some amazing art onto a building...

It’s a work in progress.. which probably is all the same to any of you, as if I didn’t have a list- but I figure I might as well have some lingering un-career-oriented goals. I think everyone should. Haha. Because, “life is everything but work,”...right?

"..you're never really awake and you're never really asleep.."

2010-06-09T11:39:00.000-07:00

The ceiling fan blades are hypnotic. Smoke detector lights turn into glowing fairies, dancing around in an unfocused blur. The pattern on the ceiling tiles move. The walls move. Textures are awesome and amazing.

Listen, I don’t try to trip out- that’s not my goal. But it happens. I have a sleeping disorder- and I have been medicated since November 2005, with the exception of a five month span.
There are three major sleeping disorders a person can have: Narcolepsy, Sleep Apnea, and Insomnia.

Essentially, those who are narcoleptic fall asleep at inappropriate times, and wake at inappropriate times. Such as with that one quirky character from “Rat Race” who fell asleep randomly in the casino lobby- that’s an extreme and humorous portrayal of Narcolepsy. One of the scary symptoms is the disassociation between reality and the dream world. Consciousness and unconsciousness blur together- so “dreams” can act as “hallucinations” at any point when the person is awake. They could “dream” that a car is about to hit them, that doesn’t exist for instance. Or, imagine how frustrating that could be in an office work environment, “dreaming” you already handed your boss some paperwork. Another symptom: just as much as the “dreams” can interfere with their awake time, their awake time can interfere with their sleep. For everyone, when you are truly asleep, you’re body is sort-of shut down and will not move... your brain has to turn on, like a computer before you can function again. Well, for narcoleptics, sometimes they get their consciousness back while their body is still “asleep”, stuck in a state of constrainment. That is my main impression of Narcolepsy, and do not know much more about it. But since it is such an impressionable disorder- those who have it generally need medication to regulate the symptoms.

Sleep Apnea is more of a physical disorder, associated with sleep. For all those extreme snorer’s out there- you might want to look into it. A weakened airway not only restricts airflow from the nose and mouth to the lungs, but it could potentially collapse entirely in the horizontal position of sleep and take your breath away. Talk about scary- having your body wake up its brain screaming, “EXCUSE ME! WE ARE NOT BREATHING!!!” the vessel of this brain/body disagreement usually wakes, startled- throughout the night, short of breath, still very tired and very unaware of what just happened.. and falls back to sleep. But in this vicious cycle, the brain and body are not receiving enough oxygen throughout the period of rest for the sleep to be very effective. Many people who suffer from sleep apnea will wake in the morning, fatigued- but can otherwise function. The disorder so heavily centers on the restricted airways, making surgery an option for correction.

Insomnia can be both developed in situations- like high stress- or inherited. For those who develop this disorder just from a situation, it is only a momentary thing- a discomfort on the calendar of long nights. Those who inherit it- there isn’t really much hope- you just kind of get to have it.. like me; the stress and situations just add to its effects.

“When you have insomnia, it’s like never being asleep and never being awake” -Fight Club

The average person takes seven minutes to “shut down” once they are tired, in bed, and ready to fall asleep. Then their brain goes through the sleep cycle until they wake, recharged and refreshed.

There are two major symptoms of insomnia: the difficulty of falling asleep, and the difficulty of staying asleep. Some insomniacs only experience one of the difficulties. For me- there were times it would take hours of frustrating exhaustion before my brain and body would submit to the needed rest... and then still wake up throughout the night. Waking up throughout the night is like pushing the re-do button on a game: any progress you made is lost- and you’re knocked back to square one. So I would, eventually, fall asleep, wake up, eventually fall back asleep, wake up, eventually fall back asleep, then wake up, then lay waiting to fall back asleep only to be greeted by my alarm clock’s buzzing. The sleep cycle struggles to make it to REM- the brain doesn’t get to recharge properly- and the struggling accumulates over the days and nights. There was one point when the stress that made my insomnia worse, was worrying that I wouldn’t get enough sleep. Talk about a perpetuating problem.

In November 2005, when my insomnia was at its worse, I had gone an entire seven day span with an accumulation of maybe two hours of sleep. Paying attention in class was like hearing the adults talk on “The Charlie Brown Show”. During basketball practice I would get dizzy and hallucinate. My brain just didn’t have the will to send the necessary signals to my body, making my reaction time slow. I was cranky. I had horrible bags under my eyes... I still wasn’t sleeping- and I still didn’t know that I had insomnia. I thought I was just a high-maintenance sleeper. I needed it to be DARK in the room. I couldn’t nap. No moving vehicles. I needed a certain amount of weight on me. I needed silence- even the ticking of a clock would keep me up. I just thought I was weird (and maybe I am).

24 hours under hospital supervision. A night study. A day study. A neurologist. Two weeks after my lowest point, and I had my answer- my diagnosis, confirmed. That wasn’t the moment I became an insomniac, it was just the moment I knew.

My neurologist taught me about sleep hygiene. One of the methods to help ANYONE sleep better, is to regulate it:
1.Go to bed at the same time every night (this will trigger your brain to shut down, by habit)
2. For about two hours before sleeping, just relax. Don’t do anything productive that might stimulate stress or relentless thinking. Just wind down.
3. While you’re winding down, avoid illuminated, optical stimulation like TV and Computer (the light sends signals to your brain that says, “it’s time to wake up” -a primitive eye to brain reaction from when humans knew they weren’t nocturnal)
4. Avoid auditory stimulation once you are finally about to sleep. (People who swear they can’t sleep without the TV or radio on- you’re only cheating yourselves. The brain can’t completely block out ambiguous, unrhythmic noises as another primitive recourse)
5. Avoid caffeine (which stays in your system longer than you probably realize)

So I tried just using good sleep hygiene practices for a little while... but was shortly after put on medication, fully aware and educated that the pills could cause dependency- and I slept- I slept through the whole night, for many many nights.

It was like clockwork. I’d have to have 8 hours to dedicate. I’d have 20 minutes after taking my medication before it was time to sleep. 20 minutes before I couldn’t focus on reading my book. 20 minutes before I couldn’t keep my eyes open. 20 minutes before my brain. shut. off...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

The one thing about the human body that is amazing: its capability to adapt. So after being on my medication for months- that’s when I started really feeling the side effects. It wasn’t just 20 minutes any more- it was maybe 30. The medication would kick in, but my brain wouldn’t shut off at the same time. That was a ten minute lapse of dizziness- of clinging to the walls in fear as I headed to the bathroom. The ten minute lapse of misconstrued sounds. 40 minutes... 20 of slurred speech, stuttering, and hallucinations before shut-off.

I would like to talk on the phone before bed because I could be in the dark. I wouldn’t have to strain my eyes to read a book, or cheat the sleep hygiene by watching TV or being on the computer. I could close my eyes, lay down, and wait for shut-off. During the lapse time it was never guaranteed I would remember what we talked about. Often, the next morning I would have missing puzzle pieces of conversations and have to re-ask what the blanks were... like a hangover- surprised to go through my phone and see that I talked to this person and that person throughout the night. With my brain all drugged-up before sleep, it was a different conception of everything... but without it- I already knew what my night would be like. I already knew what it was like to not sleep- I’d had sixteen years of that.

Wether I fell asleep right away or not, it would sometimes even be the opposite problem (especially in the beginning). I would sleep on schedule, but then the meds would still be kicked in when my alarm went off. I’d be “awake” and “functioning” but my brain was soooooo somewhere else, leaving my body on auto-drive. Same as with the “hangover”- there was a good chance I wouldn’t remember what I ate for breakfast, or learned in class that morning, so I HAD to have enough time between taking my meds and functioning if I was going to consider taking them.

Over the last few years of being on medication, I still have to follow the main rule of dedicating time to being drugged up- and if I don’t have the time, I don’t take the meds. When I don’t take the meds, I try to follow the sleep hygiene. I know my brain an body can be resistant to the proper function of the sleep medication, so I have to put a conceited effort into working with them. The hardest time to submit to this behavior is when I share my bed. Sure I deal with my own high-maintenance sleep in my own ways- but throw another person in the mix and I worry that my waking up throughout the night will wake them up- that they’ll get offended if I move away from mid-night cuddling because I don’t want to disturb their sleep. I feel most venerable when trying to sleep, so to share that with someone- to be comfortable enough to submit to sleep.. it’s infrequent, and a work in progress..

I was reading heath ad/article in the February 2010 issue of National Geographic the other day that states, “Sleep deprivation can lead to: greater risk of heart disease, increased risk of illness, thinking impairments (like slower reaction time, memory loss, and confusion), poor work performance, mood problems (like depression, anger, and irritability), risk of unhealthy weight gain and loss...”

...I wouldn’t blame ALL of those on lack of sleep. But it’s good to know I have a scapegoat.

the first day of the rest of my life...

2010-06-07T14:20:00.000-07:00

“You wake up at Seatac, SFO, LAX. You wake up at O’Hare, Dallas-Fort Worth, BWI, Pacific. Mountain. Central. Lose an hour. Gain an hour. This is your life, and it’s ending one minute at a time.”

The money was never really the issue. The money didn’t push me to bend over backwards and juggle the two jobs, relinquishing my soul to Philadelphia as I tossed aside the passing hours of my youth. It was easy though- making money. Not having much personal time sure made it easy to save- to spend- to disregard.

For over six months I worked easily over sixty hours a week. Which started within three weeks of graduating college- which I attended a week after leaving a job I had worked through the last year of highschool when my other job of two years could no longer employ me. That was about four years ago. It was probably 2 years before that when I was able to go on a real vacation and relax. Talk about time moving on...

Exactly two weeks ago, it happened. I found myself lost in between the pre-set microwave times of “Job 1" and the evolving menu that sets trends of “Job 2"... and I checked out. For the unnecessary stress, the underutilization, the mismanagement- for the crap compensation- I mentally checked out of “Job 1".

I didn’t have to worry about the loss in revenue. If you read my other entries, you’ll know I recently did my budgeting- and I know can afford all my bills even at part-time status with “Job 2". Maybe I’ll have to be a little more frugal with the luxuries- but really, what was my incentive to stay? What was my motivation to continue as a part of the cooperate shit-show? Exactly.

Time is the one thing we can’t control, right? Well fuck that. I’m controlling my time. I want to be able to do some things on “the list of things to do before I die”, and have time for it. I hadn’t even had time to go to the gym in the last.. Two weeks? Three weeks? Too long. I opted for sleep and sanity- and figured that was a good place to start.

As if the universe could hear my decision- the mental checkout- the Executive Pasty Chef: Big Boss Man of “Job 2" walks into the room where I am spinning ice cream for service. He pretty much tells me that they would want to take me on full-time. He’d have to have it approved by the other Big Boss people of the establishment, so nothing was definite- but he wanted to know if I’d be interested.

Interested? -More than interested! No need for question marks.

Regardless, I had already made my decision. I wasn’t happy anymore, and leaving “Job 1" made the most sense. I could already feel the weight lifting off of my shoulders... and the feel-good vibe continued as I indulged in some fun- like a dinner at a restaurant a bunch of people had told me I wouldn’t be able to get a reservation for. And a trip to see some familiar faces. And when I came down from my euphoria- I wrote my resignation letter. No need to leave things on a bad note- especially since the Kitchen Manager had been awesome enough to work with me, my commute, my move, and especially my second job.

I turned it in one week and one day ago, giving two weeks notice. The GM didn’t seem too upset, or too happy. But it was the perfect time to get out.. Like cashing in chips at a poker game. Apparently the menu was about to change. Apparently the cooperate money-men were coming to town soon (very unhappy about labor cost: food cost: sales).

The funniest part of the transition? I went to text my Kitchen Manager my availability for my last week of work, and she text me back, “LOL...my last day at “Job 1" was last Sat.”

Apparently I wasn’t the only one cashing in their chips.. And apparently the GM wanted to be a prick about it because he didn’t schedule me for any days this coming week, which made last night- my last day...and today- the first day of the rest of my life.

Within the next couple of weeks I should get a definite answer on the status of “Job 2"...which will now be pleasantly referred to as “work”. I will use the extra time to bring myself back to Earth and join society- maybe plan my next move- or maybe just live. In stead of saying all the things I want to do, how about I do them? Like get active again, work on my Japanese, and have some fun...

If I don’t get the full time, then maybe I’d look for something to generate more income- because I don’t want to have to worry about it. But that would open up entirely new avenues to explore.

How fake is it?

2010-06-04T21:02:00.000-07:00

People on the train uncomfortably shift in their seats, fingering cigarettes while their fingers tap. They crave their stop if only for the next nicotine hit. An old soul with a few missing teeth eyes my bag, assessing the Filipino pearl bracelet on my wrist, and the dangly ear-rings which hang from my lobes- all accessorising the simple white sundress I had worn in the heat of the day.

Why hadn’t I thought to change? Then again- I shouldn’t have had to.

The man with the missing teeth engaged in some small talk with me as I rode the RiverLine from Camden, NJ to Beverly the other night- ready to get into some spontaneous fun with a friend- and making the necessary relocation from my urban abode. Some lady with halitosis breath and sagging breasts exclaimed, “Well don’t you look purdy, you cumm’n from a weddin’ or sumthin’?” Some of the passangers who apparently know her scoff and shake their heads from embarrassment. “AND you can shut the fuck up Will! What I can’t be nice?! Mind yo fuckn’ busness and stay ova der. Stay ova der. Can’t give a fuckn’ compliment? I’m sorry MISS, I didn’t know it was rude to give a god damn compliment....” she ranted on and on, eventually veering her ranting towards something about that Will character and jail, and court, and getting three broken ribs, and paranoid schizophrenia- and it was hard to say who she was talking to any more.

In the meanwhile Will had exclaimed that she better not use his fuckn name. Who is she to tell people his business.. then turned to me later in the ride. “..heh heh, mannn, she said you look lik you commn’ from a weddin’. Don’t pay huh no mind, she just don know high class.”

PAUSE. This was the point when I actually had to stop and think out my scenario. I was on the last train out of Camden. This guy had assessed my appearance. I was alone. I had- in the bag of course- my phone, wallet, medication, and several articles of clothing. Never mind the clothing, just losing my wallet and phone would have sucked. And the thing that got me- was it wasn’t even that I’m the goody-goody these people were assuming I was. In a sense- I come from the gutter.

Let’s rewind time for a moment.

Any given person could cruise the streets of the New Jersey suburb that is Willingboro. Any person who is from Boro or winds up in its black hole knows that the town is separated into “parks”. The street names help distinguish what park a person is in. If you were from Buckingham, your street began with a B; if you were from Millbrook, an M; If you were from Garfield, a G; etc. I was from Twin Hills, sometimes referred to as “Killa Hills”, which can- to this day- be seen spray painted across the blacktop pavement of the Twin Hills Elementary Basketball court.

Why did the park you live in matter?.. Foolishness.

You see, while Willingboro looks halfway decent in some parts from the outside, the inner workings of the community were what gave it its ugliness. The property taxes used to be considered cheap and the town was in a build up. Carl Luis even grew up there, graduating from the same high school I attended; the stadium was named after him. The town took in families over the years from nearby cities- Philadelphia, Camden, Washington D.C., Newark, Patterson, New York, and who knows where else.. so many families with so many good intentions- trying to get their kids out of bad situations.. and then tossed them into one big shit show.

Kids don’t usually make much sense. Half the time they emulate what they grow up around- their older siblings- TV- media- all that stuff. So take all these kids, from all these places- not exactly rich, and not particularly smart- with big attitudes- and you have yourself a bunch of fake gangstas. I’m comfortable calling them fake because Willingboro is NOT the hood. It is not any of the places the people come from. But when all the idiots keep acting like it is, with just relocation as the change- all of them are nearly headed to jail, repping “their park”- repping the family set- repping their hometown- cussin and fighing all over the place.

Even though it was a bunch of fake people, the actions got very real as we got older. It wasn’t just name calling, or small tousles any more. By the time I got to highschool, it was rivalries that took the scrap-fights from the Shopright parking lot to the back corners. Bomb threats closed out classes, bullets found on grounds left everyone on lockdown- and you’d see nothing but dime bags and blades falling from the second story windows like confetti because noone wanted to get frisked with their shit on them.

All the fake became real when kids die from smoking cronic instead of mint, flip cars going down the drive, and stray bullets wind up in friends’ backs- literally. How fake is it when it seems like one student or more dies each year? When all the girls seem to either have kids or be pregnant? When about 70% of the school cannot pass remedial Math and English classes? When 50% didn’t actually attend enough class to pass..When more than half the school has an STD or AIDS.. when cops put people to the ground for no particular reason?..and it was hard to shake the ebonic vernacular I had picked up over the years when I finally got out.

Not everyone gets out of that town. That’s why I call it a black hole.

But all the same, growing up there- especially as the ONLY white girl in my graduating class, I left with a cultured view of the world. I was resilient against not only the generic foolishness, but dealing with black history month EVERY YEAR in a predominantly black neighborhood. A girl had once admitted to me that part of the reason I was ostracized most of the early years of my life, was because my peers had assumed my family was a part of the KKK- just because I was white. Instead of empowerment, every February was a hate-fest directed my way when my family had nothing to do with that part of history- because noone thought to disassociate me from the ordeal... maybe I’ll talk more about that topic another day... maybe.

I guess the point is- that I got a lot of bad decision making out early on.. rhythm in my dancing.. and a pretty decent jumper since I knew more about AND1 then Atreyu. Yes, I can corn-row hair. I can even fry chicken, make greens, and good mac n’ cheese. I remember when Usher was reminded of a girl that he once knew, and it was 7 o’clock on the dot in his drop top..

Fast-forward to the other day on the train.

I’m no fool. Since I left the neighborhood the biggest adjustment has been the fact that people do not know what I come from. All they see is the sweet smile, the porcelain skin, and a confident posture. It would have made so many more people on the Riverline comfortable if I would have doted my Nike Dunks, turned my th’s into d’s, and taken about twenty steps backward in my progress toward success. I know from experience what they were thinking- looking at me- so seemingly out of place. It’s a good thing I didn’t have the nervousness to go with it. I probably would have had my stuff stolen. No joke.

"..the dark hour of reason grows.."

2010-06-01T10:47:00.000-07:00

"Childhood is measured out by sounds and smells and sights, before the dark hour of reason grows" -John Betjeman.

This particular quote was at the opening of “The Boy in the Striped Pajamas”. It has stuck with me ever since I saw the movie in Vero Beach, Florida, where I lived for several months last year.

It is a heavy concept- growing up. Everyone has to do it because our bodies change and age everyday- living ultimately toward a degenerative death. I think as people get older, they try to gauge where in the spectrum of life they are- creating lists of things they want to do and complete before it’s all over, if only subconsciously.

My boss at “Job 2", who actually turned thirty-one recently, says that he’s pretty sure he’s reached the point in his life where he will never have any children. At thirty-one, he’s still pretty young and capable, but maybe it also has to do with the social aspects. My parents had my older sister at the age of thirty-one, and myself at thirty-three. They waited a bit; my dad was in the Airforce and would be traveling quite a deal. But whatever the reason, not that they were particularly bad parents, it just felt I couldn’t relate to them much as I grew up. I don’t have that close mother-daughter bond where I feel like I can open up to her about anything and everything. My dad- he’s another story. Let’s just say I respect him more now that I’m older and see the world through different eyes.

One thing in particular that my dad forced upon me, which I now appreciate, is money management. I was confused as a child when my dad called my sister and I down to the kitchen one day, and started babbling on about deposits, withdrawals, and cataloging everything. He handed each of us a book which had columns for the numbers and labels, and a clear blue file folder in the back- for receipts. Every. Single. Month. My dad would check the math we’d kept in the columns, try to see if we had receipts for everything, and most importantly- check to see that the balance in the book matched the balance of our piggy banks.

In recent days, I have been doing my budgeting. I spread out all of my receipts and sorted them into categories (grocery, hygiene, luxuries) classifying how much of my budget I was spending on variable expenses. Then I made a chart of my current fixed expenses (rent, phone bill, medication, ect)... added it all up and compared it to the average income I have been earning from either and both jobs combined. It felt sooo good getting organized with my finances, but it was really just the simple budgeting- I haven’t quite reached the point of investing..

I asked around at “Job 1" to some of the older guys (mid to late 30s and 40s)- what their budgets were like. I figured, especially since they had kids, they would be able to provide me with some insight on possible costs to cut.. leaving me somewhat disappointed when it seemed I knew more about the whole ordeal than they did.

“At what point do you think a person should write their will?” he asked. As we usually do, the Chef Supervisor at “Job 1" and I were engaged in some provoking conversation as the work night dragged along. It seemed a little strange that he would ask me the morbid question when he is sixteen years my senior. Adults always seemed to have everything figured out... you know, they were supposed to be responsible. But through my now adult eyes, it is apparent that I was wrong. People are still just as insecure and clueless as ever- each day passing with time relentlessly dragging on- leaving them to a spectrum of instability on their position in life..

Perhaps this is why older people seem to jump into marriage head on, while younger couples wait to see if it would work out. People even shorten their life’s goals down to a consolidated, limited list- in the event they should decide to create an offspring for themselves. The amount of attention and funding for a child’s life would be important and consuming, to take care of- until their own dark hour of reason were to grow.

People’s relationships and family plans seem to be a very prominent factor in the age schema. Personally, if I am fated to have an offspring, I would prefer it to be sooner rather than later- for social reasons. Yet, I am patient about the idea of finding a life partner- if I ever am to- perfectly comfortable about focusing on my own goals and career success. It’s like a huge tangled mess of hypothetical situations coupled with logic and emotions..and I AM only 20!

Why should I even concern myself with such big possible life decisions? I should be slapping people across the face with peanut butter and thinking it’s funny.. indulging in water fights.. going dancing.. tagging art onto buildings while I hang upside down from fire escapes.. I should run through every fountain in the city.. skinny dip in the dark of the night... and indulge in countless rendevous... since I’m 20.

But I don’t feel 20. Ugh.

I suppose society wouldn’t mind if I act as if I’m 20, no more than they have to mind the way I “act as if” I’m Wonder Woman- testing the limits of time itself to work, learn, and grow as a person... I stumble through my high-octane rush against it all just to be ahead of the game- and make it look like I’m strutting.

“So every time I start slippin- ego's start trippin'. I focus real hard and levitate just like I'm GOD. And I'm livin' lovely; I'm in the clouds no one above me, with the gift to differentiate snakes from those that love me. There's a thin line between happiness and hopeless.. an even thinner line between on point and out of focus.”

I feel like there should be a better way to end this entry.. but the clock is still ticking... and life goes on with it. We each only get one.

Exit Through the Gift Shop

2010-05-21T21:36:00.000-07:00

Last night my eyes feasted on a story I barely expected to know. For some time now, I have enjoyed art, I’ve attempted it, and I’ve studied it from a distance. In the art section of any given book store, I was not indulging in Picasso, Monet, or even Frida Carlo. No, I would delve in the mostly anonymous- the illegal- graffiti.

Compilations have immortalized the street art movement, the world over, through photography. But last night I got to see the story through moving footage. I was able to see the process of so many pieces which can be recognized from the pages of books- as they were being made. This was all unexpectedly portrayed in a small movie theater, The Ritz 5, which plays independent and international films. The documentary, “Exit Through the Gift Shop,” was selected nearly at random- and then enjoyed...for some of it’s elements.

You see, much of the footage was captured by the obsessive personality of a Frenchman, Terry. How Terry got tangled up in the world of street art was a happenstance. It seemed as he stumbled along, unemployed- free to travel the world- he was unknowingly collecting rare footage. He wound up meeting, mixing, and mingling with some of the most prominent street artists as his obsession grew (Banksy, Shepard Fairey, Space Invader, ect). It left a trail of footage in his wake- even though he never knew how to compose it. I guess you would think Thierry Guetta was an amazing guy, but I think he was just lucky. This is a true story- mind you, and at the end of it I don’t think much of Thierry- but I do enjoy what he did... behind the camera anyway.

Later in the film Thierry had his hand at doing street art himself, rather than just watching. By this time, the art movement had already moved from the streets into galleries. It kind of disgusted me that Thierry was able to make over a million dollars in sales on his completely under thought, over scaled debut showcase. All he did was emulate the process he’d been watching, then uninhibitedly pay a staff of artists to comprise the elements of mostly unoriginal images. Futhermore, the huge “success” was based mostly on hype, with well over 2,000 people suckered into attending the event.

Other than that, I left the small theater fairly inspired. It has been some time since I have done much art, and I think I might just pick up my blade again in these next few days, or at very least, a pencil. It has been even longer since I have used a can of spray paint- but I may just have to wander down to the store to pick a few up. I have never tagged- and am not saying that I will. I think I’m too chicken-shit about getting caught. But that doesn’t mean I can’t make my own creations- on my terms- with a fresh mind and a smile painted across my face, more real than the one I wear to work.

"..this stupid dot.."

2010-05-19T12:24:00.000-07:00

It has been about three months since I moved to the city of Philadelphia. Not having to commute in from Jersey everyday has been awesome. Not to mention, the independence from my parents’ home has signified the new chapter of change in my life. Along with all the feel-good change, it became more than apparent that it isn’t all fluffy bunnies and rainbows- as I balled my eyes out, sitting on the floor of my living room three nights ago.

Everything seemed to just crash down on me. It’s been six months of pulling around sixty hours a week between two jobs, and stress was finally building up. It wasn’t even just necessarily stress about work. Sure I have begun to hate “Job 1"- and am looking to replace it soon. Sure I could be making more money- you can always make more of that. What got to me was my relationships with people. It has been tougher than anything to keep in touch with friends when they go to school, or work, or sleep, or whatever during the day up until I’m actually at work.. and then they are either sleeping- or drunk- or otherwise unavailable at about one in the morning when I can finally relax. And yes, I still steal my non-existent internet.

The situation reduced to the horrible perpetuating mix of my unavailability- due to my own self-destructive work schedule, and the distance from a support system I so desperately needed. Only one person has actually been there for me EVERY time I called him. But one person can not soothe my every qualm, relate to all my personal turmoil, or share in all my smiles. One person cannot compensate for a lifetime of memories.

As I cried, I thought, “What’s even the point?!” I don’t really know what point I was referring to, but I felt so very alone. The only people I have in the city are those I met through work. Not that they aren’t good people, but I don’t spend much time with them outside of work. To me, socializing and getting too comfortable with coworkers opens doors to drama in the workplace, which creates unnecessary stress. Lets keep it professional, people.

I felt even more separated from those I cared about that night. I already knew the proximity thing. But feeling like they wouldn’t want me to call- that I couldn’t- that there was nothing to say if I did- that we were becoming familiar strangers. It pulled tightly on my heartstrings.

To make me feel even more like a fool, I have recently perused the pages of “The Brain Book” by Rita Carter, and was analyzing my own breakdown- as I was breaking down.

Emotions: Certain stimuli (including some thoughts and imaginings) cause changes in the body by activating areas in the limbic system, especially the amygdata. Conscious “feelings” occur when signals from the limbic system are sent on to “association areas” in the prefrontal cortex that support consciousness. During adolescence, the amygdala is relied heavily upon for processing emotional information, because the prefrontal cortex only matures when a person has reached their late twenties.

This was written along side a chart which showed the functions of the brain as a fantastic, color-coded map. What startled me, was that the region which emotions were linked to, by relation to all of the other functions, was such a teeny, tiny dot. The passage explained why young people are so dramatic- because the brain is compensating for developmental changes. But everyone else? Emotions are the catalyst for which people live, grow, and kill. How could it be so small?

“How can this stupid dot be doing this to me?” was another exclaiming thought as I tried to clam down. That’s the thing about emotions though- rationalization doesn’t do much to restrain them. They make as much sense as they want to...

(This image is not the one from "The Brain Book")

People, Popcorn, and Politicians

2010-05-13T15:55:00.000-07:00

I was working a double on Mother’s Day. It was pretty busy at both jobs. I opened at “Job 1", busted my ass to prep everything for the day, then headed to “Job 2,” where I had a small bit of time to grab lunch before working the rest of the day. So I dished up a salad, grabbed a bran muffin, and sat down at my usual seat in the small cafeteria. The TV is always on one of three programs: Who Want’s to be a Millionare, Sports Center, or CNN (which accounts for all of my news related comments). That day the news was on; it was a debate with all of the candidates for the upcoming election of PA Governor.

These sorts of debates are aired specifically to better inform the public about the views and prerogatives of the candidates. They are supposed to cover popular issues, and allow everyone to explain reasoning rather than just bash and campaign with media ads.

First thought that runs through my head: “What timing!” Lunch time on mother’s day, when people are supposed to be with their families, is perfect to air a debate for all the voters to watch, yeah? But it gets worse. I mean, I consider it to be worse- but it really is commonplace for politicians. They have this way of talking, so often, without saying anything.

I wish I could dictate the closing comments, verbatim, but pretty much half of what was said was, “There are policies that need to be addressed. There are issues that need to be dealt with. And I will do my best to get results for Pennsylvania to change.” What does that mean?!?! You can acknowledge issues and problems all you want, but without the correct reactions and legislation, it’s just bound to be another tangled mess of mismanagement. Politicians like to dance their words around saying what their actual intentions are because they don’t want to lose votes. I just wish people wouldn’t be so chicken-shit (pardon my language), because it’s a real turn-off to vote at all when a debate leaves you feeling clueless- as if you hadn’t watched it. That really grinds my gears...

Yesterday, the news was on again. This time a fifteen minute slot wasn’t dedicated to politicians, or the oil spill, or the war... no, the news was having a lengthy discussion about buttery, delicious popcorn.

Apparently there is a woman who is suing the popcorn industry for getting a rare condition called “popcorn lung.” The way they described it, it seemed as though popcorn lung is a type of lung cancer you can get. The news anchor described the sensation of opening up the bag of microwave popcorn and indulging in that buttery smell, and sounding appalled that those vapors could cause such damage that the people, such as the woman mentioned, could get a serious health issue from too much exposure to that.

Never-mind that the woman taking the company to court ate three bags of popcorn a day for sixteen years. I’d sure say that’s prolonged exposure- but three bags a day though? That’s some serious snacking with a completely different issue all together!

Upon further research I found an article that states:
“Popcorn worker’s lung is a rare affliction usually found only in people who are poisoned by chemical fires or chemical warfare or in lung transplant patients. The disease can render its victims unable to exert even a little energy without becoming winded or faint. Exposure to diacetyl can reduce lung capacity from its normal level of 80% to no more than 16% - 21%. Organized labor picked up the issue in 2003 as word began to spread about the hazard to popcorn workers, and more cases of the disease were exposed in California and other states.

Diacetyl is the component which gives the buttery flavor to the popcorn. It is also found in other products such as alcoholic beverages, to lend butterscotch flavors.
I was shaking my head to myself there in the cafeteria at “Job 2" as the anchors ranted on and on about the snack-food. It seems like you can get cancer or other serious medical problems from just about anything and everything these days.

3 bags everyday for sixteen years, apparently earns you a rare disease, and oxygen tank, and fifteen minutes of air-time on CNN. Now popcorn companies have to put warnings on their labels if they use Diacetyl, like the tobacco companies have to warn customers about increased risk for heart and lung cancer. Did the companies even know that the Diacetyl could affect customers- to warn them? Why does processed food contain so much shit anyway?

This is why I like to cook. I like knowing what’s going into my body. I like to know what the good and bad stuff is. I like knowing the process rather than just the product... which is the curiosity that ultimately put me through college and at “Job 1" and “Job 2" as a pastry chef- which left me sitting in my usual seat in the cafeteria- watching the news- loathing people, popcorn and politicians.

"...as someone once imagined it."

2010-04-29T16:48:00.000-07:00

I am still working on my dissection of the human brain. I want to properly articulate everything that has become apparent on that frontier, especially after looking at “The Brain Book” by Rita Carter. Yes, I was the dork who meandered into the reference section at Borders and loved every second of it as I sat cross-legged on the industrial carpeting. Those revelations will come soon enough.. but this is now.

***

So, the other night I got out of work at “Job 2.” It was a little chilly, but the winds had subsided and the city lights were burning brightly. It felt like a night to be out, even if doing nothing at all. Spontaneity kicked in, and I maneuvered the streets away from my normal wrought home. I followed the skyline in hopes of reaching one of the taller buildings. I really just wanted to be on top of the world, and look down at everything, breathing in that cool night air.

Unfortunately, I was unable to convince the security guards of any of the lofty buildings to let me up to the top floor, let alone the roof (partially because it was so late, partially because they probably thought I was suicidal), so I didn’t get to look down at my coruscating city. It did remind me of a book though. There is a scene in “Paper Towns,” by John Green where the main characters go up to the top of a corporate skyscraper and look down at the town, much in the way I had so wanted to do.

“It’s more impressive...from a distance I mean. You can’t see the rust or the weeds or the paint cracking. You see the place as someone once imagined it.”
“Everything’s uglier up close.” she said.

I hadn’t been able to remember the exact quote as I walked along toward my next destination of the night, but I embraced the mood of it. I looked around the city, and saw people who were still in the streets at that late hour. It was easy to see their trendy clothing, piercings, and their slightly liquor induced swaying steps. But I wondered hypothetically about their skeletons that I couldn’t see from the outside.. If there were emotional scars that sullied their minds.. if they actually had opinions on the many political and environmental complications that are occurring as of late.. if they were just more comfortable living in their name-brand oblivion.. had they imagined themselves being where they were that very night, looking the way they did, years before...or expect things to stay the same in the future- Does it even matter?

To everyone else in the world, my problems and experiences look like invisible dust... maybe they are. Maybe yours are. Maybe everyone needs to take a chill pill and step down from their pedestals for a day, and check their attitudes and artillery at the door as they continue to stumble along the sidewalks- the same sidewalks I’ve literally seen stained in homeless blood and littered with trash.

I don’t even know where this entry is going anymore. But in an case... have a wonderful day, night, and let me know if there is a precipice from which I can gaze.

"...lions, and tigers, and bears..."

2010-04-29T16:28:00.001-07:00

Ok, WOW. In the fiasco of getting free internet, I am sitting here in the Barns&Noble. Not that I make it a practice of listening to peoples’ conversations in public, but this guy has been ranting on and on about things. He mentioned how in New Jersey if a guy were to break into your house and hurt himself, he could legitimately walk off of your property, go to the hospital, then sue you for hurting themselves on your property. So, apparently as long as you drag the sorry soul back into your house and kill them, you wont loose your house to legal fees and can blame it all on self defense. Talk about politics.

Actually, yes, LETS talk about politics. So there are changes happening. It’s actually difficult for me to say exactly what those changes are, but I know that they involve money, healthcare, citizenship, money, education, taxes, money, war, money, money, money, and money.

I am pretty tired of money and politics.. And even more annoyed that they hold hands and run wildly into the sunset together. Yes, government is a system that is supposed to create order, and ultimately create a better life for us. But more often than not, I feels like a system of entrapment.

You are born, and cost thousands of dollars to raise. You are required to get immunized, be sent to school, be fed every day, be transported from here to there and places in between. You have to fill in countless circles on countless pieces of paper answering questions to tests that determine where you will pay more money to go to more school, where you will pay more to live and eat, where you will have to pay to fill in more circles and take more tests, to get a piece of paper that tells you are qualified to get a job.. Where you pay more money for attire that is appropriate, and then pay more money for money that you didn’t necessarily have to pay for the 4+ years of filling in circles, and then pay for water, rent, more food, TAXES, and maintenance on your degenerating body. Then you apparently need health insurance, life insurance, home owners insurance, car insurance, flood insurance, and death insurance. Even at the end of it all, it costs thousands of dollars for you to be buried six feet under.

Less personally, compliments of “The Visual Miscellaneum,” by David McCandless, the following is in billions to every $1:
$440 - US Defense Budget
$352 - Walmart Revenues
$11 - Walmart Profits
$300 - Yearly ammount given to charity by Americans
$41 - Bejing Olympics
$60 - Predicted Cost of Iraq War (2003)
$102 - Iraq War (2006)
$133 - Iraq War (2007)
$3000 - Iraq War (Estimated total)
$97 - Internet Porn
$18 - Yoga industry
$32 - Video Games Market
$27 - Gift Cards
$515 - per year to shift the entire world to renewable energies
$385 - Worldwide advertising spend
$320 - Global illegal drug market
$316 -Bribes received by Russian officials
$534 - Global Pharmaceutical Market
$175 - Google Value
$4 - Erectile dysfunction
$19 - Anti-depressants
$21 - Freebies for Doctors
$15 - Facebook
$46 - Bill Gates fortune
$68 - Nintendo market value
$230 - Manned Mission to Mars
$7800 - “Worst Case Scenario” cost of financial crisis to US Government
$2800 - Cost of Financial crisis to US Government (to date: Aug, 09)
$500 - The New Deal, the recovery package in the US after The Great Depression
$114 - The Marshall Plan to rebuild Europe after WWII
$238 - UK Government Bailouts
$823 - NASA’s total all time budget
$67 - German bailout (Jan 09)
$35 - French bailout (Dec 08)
$24 - Wall Street Bonuses (2006)
$36 - Wall Street Bonuses (2007)
$18 - Wall Street Bonuses (2008)
$200 - Africa’s entire debt to western nations

The list goes on. But really WHO DECIDES ALL OF THESE VALUES?!?!?! and for WHAT?! There is another chart later in the book that even shows the anticipatory cost for various things like the Y2K apocalypse, SARS Quarantine, Asteroid Collisions, Killer Wasps, and Mad Cow disease.. Showing how much people spent freaking out about them in comparison to how many people actually died. Generally, not nearly enough to justify the spending..

So getting back to that guy who babbled on:
“...The only law that needs to get passed, is one that prevents people from shooting predatory animals. You know, lions, tigers, bears, even dear. That way, all the stupid people would get killed off. Seriously, I heard a story about some guy who tried to hug a bear.”

That would be priceless to watch.

"..a dollar bill.."

2010-04-22T22:33:00.001-07:00

My dad forwards me e-mails. Most of the time forwards mean spam-worthy-send-this-to-50-people-or-have-seven-years-of-bad-luck type stuff; bleh. But not the one’s he forwards. When I do have the capability of logging into my e-mail and checking it, I try to see what some of them are. Yesterday one really brightened my mood. It was simple, without funny pictures or graphics, just plain text- a list of stuff someone had taken the time to write down. Such as: I think mapquest should start at #5 (I think I know how to get out of my own neighborhood); The freezer deserves a light too; I get nervous when exiting wordprocessor and it asks if I would like to save any changes (when I don’t recall having made any!); Have you ever looked at the dollar bills in your wallet and wondered if they had ever been in a stripper’s ass-crack? (well you will now!); etc.

I actually laughed out loud at some of them. With how serious life gets, it felt good.

In any case, I did start to think about that dollar bill concept. Not just the idea that it could have been in a strippers ass, but where else it could have been.. I mean, it could be any object really. Inanimate objects are made all of the time. They have no heartbeat, no brain, just the purpose for which they were created. So in the lifetime of an object- which potentially could outlast many generations of living people- where does it go? And to what demise?

A dollar could be printed, distributed and travel the world- passing the ravages of gang wars, corner stores, international exchange... it could be processed through thousands of vending machines, hundreds of toll booths, and travel more miles than any of the people who have ever carried it. It would likely be soaked through with chlorinated pool water at some point. Wrinkled, only to be flattened out again, and folded many different ways. Traded for various values-even though it is the same as the day it was printed. Until something happens to it. Until it is lost to the universe or destroyed- possibly burned. And in that destruction, all of that history is gone. Not that anyone would have really understood its journey at a glance anyway.

I guess what I’m getting at, is just that concept. Even when it comes to people, there are many times when you just can’t fathom what someone has been through. Experiences are all about perspective. Most of that is just an accumulation of mood, environment, stress levels, and social thresholds. People take their experiences and let them help shape who they become, for better or worse. I have read too many books about people who make bad decisions just because they have had bad things happen to them.

In raw generalization, what is the real difference between two people sitting on the same bus? In that moment, it is where they are going...not just where they had been. It is always a choice to react negatively. If you don’t die, everyone has the capacity to better themselves. Everyone. There is no sign on you that tells the entire world your story as you see it. There is no requirement for you to dwell on things that once were. You wake up, and open your eyes just the same as every other person you might envy. What’s stopping you from getting to a place you want to be? If a dollar can go through everything it does, why can’t you hoist yourself up from of the clutches of gravity, and bring yourself to take a couple steps closer, farther, faster? You actually get to choose where you go, unlike those inanimate objects.

People can be so pessimistic and unmotivated.

At the end of the day... just think of how you spend your money and how your own life should be spent- before it ultimately ceases to exist.

"Dude, it's mating season."

2010-04-21T11:22:00.000-07:00

I remember doing a research paper for my AP Psychology class a few years ago. We were able to choose our own topic, then explore it, study it, and analyze the factual data which was accumulated. Maybe it seems like a long, boring assignment to some of you, but I enjoyed it. I spent the four+ months which was dedicated to this project studying the differences between men and women. It was a broad topic, and had to be narrowed down for the paper. My main focus become the differences in thought processes of the two genders.

..On that raw level, looking at a person in such a primal light -removing social expectations -removing the experiences they may have had.. to see the motivations in their simplest form... was fascinating to learn.

Some of the findings I can recall include the occurrence of attraction. Apparently men with blue eyes are more likely to be attracted to a females with blue eyes. Why? Because blue eyes is a recessive gene. It’s not that the man would say, “Hey, l like this color eyes.” It’s more like his security deposit on his possible child. If the man mates with the blue eye’d female, their child would have blue eyes. Subconsciously, he would know that their relationship was secure, and that she was satisfied with him as her mate.

So on a primal level, the man would want a woman who could potentially care for his offspring, nurturing them both in and out of her womb. While primarily, women would want a man who would protect them and their offspring- warding off beasts and all that jazz.

The men had to worry that the women wouldn’t wander their eyes to the other men, insecure that another might be more suited for their protection. While women would worry the men would wander off, leaving them venerable with another mouth to feed and protect.

That is the raw slate of human mating. The beginnings of the conundrum.

In today’s society, relationships are still built on that platform. The innate need for security and trust. But the beasts are not bears- but the monetary system. And sex doesn’t always mean children, thanks to modern medicine. So everyone’s motives over those thousands of years of complicating the world have even complicated such a simple desire.

Now men try to flaunt their bank accounts in stead of (or in addition to) their muscles. Which still doesn’t even seem to cut it for the ever growing population of self-sufficient women. It’s all so cut-throat, and dog-eat-dog just looking at the money aspect.. Just look at lifestyle compatibility..intellectual compatibility..educational prospects.. at life goals and expectations... Just look at the growing population, which is more accessible than ever. Holy fuck, no wonder people get so exhausted trying to find a mate. (I use the term mate, in the long-term sense...)

We will leave the hormone level talk for another day. But just realize that a woman with higher testosterone levels is more likely to share personality traits of men... be more relatable to their way of thinking. And likewise for men with higher estrogen to women. I just wanted to add that snippet, to get you thinking about how personality plays in relationships (both conducive and unrelated to mating).

Think about all those conversations everyone has. “He’s not my type.” “She’s not my type.” “I don’t even know what my type is!” Who the fuck is in their heads saying anyone has a type?-instincts... garbled, confused instincts.

So with the sunshine so infectious- warm air breathes new life into the city- and petals fall from the trees, collecting like potpourri at the sides of the streets- it is spring.

Spring ultimately reduces to that instinct we have to procreate, wether we choose to look at it that way or not. Some try to be civilized about it as the hormones rage on, and let the butterflies flutter in their stomachs. We romanticize the days as they pass, seeking out mates more subtlety. Dates, affairs, and tirades through the magnificent sun, letting the breeze blow through our hair until we find fingers of another which might intertwine with our own.

The idea of love is so captivating to so many, that I hardly believe people really know what it is. But they want it. They desire the connection with another human being through this “love’s” interlude.

All of this babble really started because I have been receiving an odd number of compliments, and observed the unusual chivalry men have been bestowing upon their female counterparts. It all seemed out of character, as though rehearsed, just to be released in this lovely weather for all to enjoy. When I made mention of the odd behavior to a coworker at “Job 2", he said it so simply, I could not have said it better.

“Dude, it’s mating season.”

"...I wouldn't want to not show up, and disappoint you."

2010-04-13T02:39:00.000-07:00

Everyone knows at least one person where the space-time-continuum runs a bit differently from everyone else. These are the people whos “fifteen minutes” really means an hour and a half; somehow people still love them even if they sleep through the lunch you had planned with them a week in advance.

But why? Why is this shenanigans so acceptable for some people and not at all for others? At what point do people take responsibility, punctuality, and courtesy- to toss them aside, reduced to such a precedent?

Maybe it was the way I was raised. My dad was a military man.. but more importantly, a controlling one. Any time I would want to make plans I knew the hundred questions that would be cast in my direction. Whereareyougoing-Atwhattime-whosdriving-howareyougettingthere-whattimewillyoubedone-howmanyotherpeoplearegoing-howmuchdoesitcost-ect. They were questions that are engraved into my soul.

Of course, growing up, it could be very frustrating to answer all of them. The one issue I had with the interrogation before attempting to go out was that I often didn’t have all of the answers. It wasn’t even my fault most of the time. Some people are just really laid back about things. Another friend wants to join- the more the merrier. We’re having a great time and good conversation- so lets not end it. What is that place, over there, that I didn’t know existed- lets check it out. This way of thinking was unacceptable to my dad. Not enough pre-emptive details. Sometimes, I’d even consider it to be close-minded of him.

I think my mannerisms have morphed into a hybrid of these social attitudes. I love making plans with people who can follow through with them. Having a decent schedule, goal, or destination can guarantee a good time. Anything random that happens en liaison can either turn plans sour or make them the better. But you never know which it would be, or IF anything random would happen. Which is why sometimes I’m not in the mood to just wander aimlessly, hoping that my existence is enough to enjoy the time I share with someone. Though, there are occasions when I’d rather not know. I like surprises and adventure. Sometimes, I just want to get lost, escaping my reality, letting the stress of an agenda melt away- and feel like I discovered something. Sometimes, I just want to exist.

But at the end of the day, it reduces to the fact that in social situations, you CAN’T always be in control, because you cannot control the thoughts and actions of people around you. That’s what makes interaction such a bittersweet obsession for everyone.

So, yes- I counted how many electrical outlets were in every room when I first checked out the apartment in which I now reside. I have a calendar to mark down my hours of work. I know when I have appointments. When I’m free. How much time I can dedicate to others. I think about travel time- including traffic- how much gas is in a car if that is the mode of transportation. I’m mindful of how crowded a place will probably be, and how it will affect myself and whomever might be with me. I consider the lifestyle and monetary situation of those involved... and it goes on. When I’m the one making the plans, I like to think I’m considerate.

But I don’t want to be controlling like my dad.

I don’t want the questions which have helped shape me into an independent, successful young woman to consume me. So every once in a while, I try to let go. I try to let someone else make the plans, call the shots.

“...I wouldn’t want to not show up, and disappoint you.” was something a friend of mine recently admitted when I asked him if he wanted to catch up later in the week. I was satisfied that he at least admitted he was one of those guys. One of those people that will disappoint you with no notice if you make plans. One of those people that somehow gets away with it, but leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. At least he warned me. I have too often been disappointed by the lack of effort by others.

In fact, I can only think of one occasion when someone really succeeded on that notion. It was a trip to NY. Even though I had all of my travel information stowed in my bag, even though I had my own agenda lingering in the subconscious of my mind, I didn’t have to use it. I didn’t have to make a single “suggestion” to guide the day.

Of course it took some effort to relax- I felt venerable to the unknown and scarred by the unanswered questions (which seemed like a plague at the time). But I could get used to it. I could learn to let go if people were dependable like that more often..

..which brings us back to that bittersweet obsession everyone has. You just never know what will happen.

"...life is everything but work."

2010-04-08T10:13:00.000-07:00

I was messaging back and forth with a friend from Germany when he wrote this:“Em Concerning your job.. you should definitely get some time for yourself. Life is more then just work. Actually life is everything but work.”

You see, I practically work eight days a week at my two jobs and. never. ever. stop. period. Even when I do have days off, they are often occupied by things on my to-do list, be it errands, working out, or catching up with friends. Everything takes time. Time is everything. In my logical-reasoning(possibly-self-destructive)mind, I know that time is the one thing I can not control. I can control my actions, reactions, goals, nourishments, education, all that good stuff- but time is relentless, and waits for noone, so I’d better make the most of what I’ve got.

So I work hard, play hard, reasoning to myself that at least I’m making the effort to have fun rather than let my work consume me. I know it is wearing down my body, and short-circuiting my brain a bit because I have been making uncharacteristic mistakes that make me look like a ditz.

All of the brainless comments that slip out in conversation are usually a consequence to having too many thoughts lingering around- not leaving enough space for them to properly formulate sentences. Hell, my closest friends know exactly what I’m saying when my brows furrow slightly from strained thought, and then the words come out in a series of sound effects, silent gestures, and fragmented grammar. Otherwise, I like to feel that I can articulate my opinions effectively, and appreciate when others can do the same.

But between the lost hours of sleep and exhaustion as of late, the feebleminded comments are more frequent (and even less voluntary). I have lost things. I have found things. But mostly I have become frustrated internally because I know it isn’t like me... because I know the mistakes I have made don’t make sense.

For instance.. I had worked eleven days straight, one of which was a double. At the end of the eleventh day I went to a friend’s going away party. There was a fiasco that night involving the death of my cellular phone, a wrong address, pouring rain, and somehow still making it to the bar after I had arrived home, soaked through to my skivvies -unmotivated. The next morning I got up early to go to Hyde Park, NY on a very necessary trip. Not much sleep was acquired, but I still managed to get up early the day I was to return-stopped in Manhattan for lunch-transferred at the appropriate stations to make it back to Philadelphia just in time for work. I didn’t even get to go back to my apartment first. It continues- the next day was going to be April 1st. I wanted to pull a prank, so as I closed down the pastry station at “Job 1" I left empty pans on the line. The coworker who was going to open the next morning is on the shorter side of life, so I even went the next step and put some items up in high places.. like on top of the microwave which was on top of the shelf, which was already out of reach for her. I thought it was funny. The next morning she text me, and we shared a laugh. I went about my business and got ready for work at “Job 2". I was banging out the prep list, making progress, and setting up for service when I received another text from her inquiring when I was going to get there. Shortly thereafter, one of the managers at “Job 1" text me, asking if everything was alright- if I was en route. I laughed to myself, thinking they were trying to pull one over on me, and text him back to let him know that I was at my other job... I stopped laughing when I realized I had just worked five hours at the wrong establishment- and was then an hour late for “Job 1". I had to, more embarrassed than ever, admit my mistake and high-tail it out of there, and arrive in the wrong uniform, flustered, and foolish. I was truly the April fool. To capo off the night, it turned out I had forgotten my keys and wallet at home in my apartment..since I had hastily emptied my bag of things from my two day trip to NY...since I hadn’t had a moment to stop.

I hate not making sense.

Getting back to that quote.. So my friend got me thinking- dwelling particularly on that last line, “...life is everything but work.”

Practically all I do is work. Does that mean I practically do not live? Has my obsessive concept of time and productivity led me to a strange sort of suicide? How can I reason to myself that I need to slow down? Why should I slow down?-I need the money to pay bills, loans, and fund the anti-anorexia campaign for my stomach.

The uncertainty will hang in the air like the flower petals which waft about the city in the spring breeze, time forgeing forward.

Introduction

2010-04-08T10:08:00.000-07:00

For the last thirty-seven minutes I have started typing entries-then backspacing them entirely-then typed more. Reflectively, this is pretty much how my brain works, if anyone were to need a visualization. I’m constantly questioning things, changing them, contemplating, and trying to make sense.. Consequently, not making any sense at all half the time. A very seldom few get the babble as it rolls off the tip of my tongue, unfiltered, leaving questions about my competency.

Anyway, so that’s what I want this blog to be, in a sense. I want to let all of the ideas escape the confines of my mind. I want the atomic wall around my heart to break down, exposing the emotions it harbors. I want to paint a portrait upon this canvas of my life for others to see.

Hello, by the way- my name is Molly Waldeck. I am a walking conundrum, an indecisive artist, and I barely had time to write this.

As my words flow out-feel free to poor yourself a glass until it’s half-full.