Zoe's Little Nightmare
Ok, it's almost 2:30am and as usual the cats are asleep on the bed.
Fletcher is on her pillow, dead to the world on the edge of the bed.
Zoe is in her usual spot, which is on my pillows, where I sleep.
All of a sudden I hear this *thud* and then hear Zoe hissssss
really loudly....at nothing. She just sort of flipped over and went back to sleep.
I don't know why, but it's cracking me up.
It's like she had a nightmare or something.
At first I thought that one of the cats' grooming sessions had turned into
another bitch-fight, but no, Fletcher is still sound asleep across the bed.
Man, I am *scared* now to get in bed with this freaky cat.
Wait til she finds out she has to get off my pillows.
Friday, June 09, 2006
MadameBastet-firing-neurons
Yes, Thank God It's Friday
Well, "Water Day" went over with a splash
All the kids were so adorable in their little bathing suits.
Natalie, so cute...she asked if she could change in the storeroom
since someone was using the bathroom
and I took her in there but all she did was take off her little dress
and her bathing suit was already on.
I don't think she realized she didn't need privacy to do that.
There were Sponge Bob Square Pants towels all over the place
and Barbie and Hello Kitty towels
And I put sunblock on little faces even though...
The weather did NOT cooperate. It was grey and dull
and gloomy and cool - but the kids didn't care!
They ran through ice cold sprinklers and blew giant bubbles
and we had an awesome squirt bottle fight (no water guns or weapons of any kind allowed)
I got drenched! It was three against one!
They soaked Ms. D good
and I didn't have a towel!
Blake forgot his towel so I gave him mine
And my shorts were dripping.
So it was muggy and hot and cold and I was sweaty
and sticky and tired but happy in the end.
The played with wild abandon as their
kindergarten year comes to a close;
and mine as well. Oh what fun we've all had
together!
Just one week left...they 'graduate' on Wednesday
I've got to write out their cards this weekend
It's hard for me to think I'll probably never see these ducklings again
Yes, there will be many more,
but these were my first and you never forget your first class.
This was the best kindergarten I ever had!
We had Pajama Day
and Valentine's Day
and St. Patrick's/Leprechaun's Day
and Dress- Up Day
and Bubbles Day
and Water Day
and Birthdays
and Pizza Day
the Mother's Day Tea
the Father's Day Picnic
and dogs and cat and snakes and fish and even a chicken came to visit us
not to mention an entire mobile marine lab!
There was Ocean Day
and on Wednesday, the chicklets bought their first hot lunch
from the cafeteria.
It was soooooooooooooo cute.
They had milk, or chocolate milk, a peach, little chicken tenders, tator tots
and s'mores. 33 years later - the lunches are basically the same. They've thrown a piece of fruit in there for good health.
They ate with the 'big' kids - what a thrill!
I was helping them open their ketchup packets when I saw a little girl
eating alone and my heart skipped about 100 beats...
I was crushed immediately!
Funny, because luckily, I was never the kid who had to eat alone.
I always had friends to play and eat with.
Kathleen saw my face fall and assured me the little girl would be fine; she was social -
and sure enough she got up and just sat her little 6 year old self down at a table with other kids
That's confidence!
But I worry about the ones who don't have that confidence and to see a small
child eat alone in the middle of a huge playground with other kids eating together
is a heart-breaking scene indeed. There's just something so sad about it.
That same day I took the kids to Mrs. Johnson's 1st grade classroom
and Mrs. Johnson talked to them about first grade and what to expect
and told them not to be afraid.
They were going to have their own desks!
And a class pet! (A smelly gerbil or something)
I felt like saying, "And from here on out kids, it's pretty much work, work, work...."
But alas, they'll find out as they go along
and never even remember how good they had it at 5.
Well, "Water Day" went over with a splash
All the kids were so adorable in their little bathing suits.
Natalie, so cute...she asked if she could change in the storeroom
since someone was using the bathroom
and I took her in there but all she did was take off her little dress
and her bathing suit was already on.
I don't think she realized she didn't need privacy to do that.
There were Sponge Bob Square Pants towels all over the place
and Barbie and Hello Kitty towels
And I put sunblock on little faces even though...
The weather did NOT cooperate. It was grey and dull
and gloomy and cool - but the kids didn't care!
They ran through ice cold sprinklers and blew giant bubbles
and we had an awesome squirt bottle fight (no water guns or weapons of any kind allowed)
I got drenched! It was three against one!
They soaked Ms. D good
and I didn't have a towel!
Blake forgot his towel so I gave him mine
And my shorts were dripping.
So it was muggy and hot and cold and I was sweaty
and sticky and tired but happy in the end.
The played with wild abandon as their
kindergarten year comes to a close;
and mine as well. Oh what fun we've all had
together!
Just one week left...they 'graduate' on Wednesday
I've got to write out their cards this weekend
It's hard for me to think I'll probably never see these ducklings again
Yes, there will be many more,
but these were my first and you never forget your first class.
This was the best kindergarten I ever had!
We had Pajama Day
and Valentine's Day
and St. Patrick's/Leprechaun's Day
and Dress- Up Day
and Bubbles Day
and Water Day
and Birthdays
and Pizza Day
the Mother's Day Tea
the Father's Day Picnic
and dogs and cat and snakes and fish and even a chicken came to visit us
not to mention an entire mobile marine lab!
There was Ocean Day
and on Wednesday, the chicklets bought their first hot lunch
from the cafeteria.
It was soooooooooooooo cute.
They had milk, or chocolate milk, a peach, little chicken tenders, tator tots
and s'mores. 33 years later - the lunches are basically the same. They've thrown a piece of fruit in there for good health.
They ate with the 'big' kids - what a thrill!
I was helping them open their ketchup packets when I saw a little girl
eating alone and my heart skipped about 100 beats...
I was crushed immediately!
Funny, because luckily, I was never the kid who had to eat alone.
I always had friends to play and eat with.
Kathleen saw my face fall and assured me the little girl would be fine; she was social -
and sure enough she got up and just sat her little 6 year old self down at a table with other kids
That's confidence!
But I worry about the ones who don't have that confidence and to see a small
child eat alone in the middle of a huge playground with other kids eating together
is a heart-breaking scene indeed. There's just something so sad about it.
That same day I took the kids to Mrs. Johnson's 1st grade classroom
and Mrs. Johnson talked to them about first grade and what to expect
and told them not to be afraid.
They were going to have their own desks!
And a class pet! (A smelly gerbil or something)
I felt like saying, "And from here on out kids, it's pretty much work, work, work...."
But alas, they'll find out as they go along
and never even remember how good they had it at 5.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
MadameBastet-firing-neurons
War is Hell, But Governments Are Worse
In the news now, a little over three years after the invasion of Iraq, another possible My Lai massacre. Haditha, Iraq. Word that American soldiers went apeshit and killed 24 civilians – even babies, without provocation. Dear God, shooting a baby? How do you do it? What place do you have to get to inside yourself? What monsters have we created of our own soldiers? What part of your humanity has left you when you are able to pump a bullet into an infant? It’s unreal and so wrong and sad that mere words cannot do it justice. My heart breaks for every lost soldier, every lost innocent Iraqi life. Oh God, especially the children. The waste is so magnificent and mind numbing. It is surreal. The lost lives, the lost futures, the grief that cannot be properly articulated.
This was a long-planned, illegal, immoral, unjust invasion of a country that had nothing to do with toppling Saddam Hussein, or pre-emptively stopping his non-existent 'weapons of mass destruction' or the threat of terrorism, past or future. In fact, this corrupt, sick, corporate-whoring Fascist government was so hell bent on going to war with Iraq that now they've created a cruel, unending, hotbed of terrorism in a country that was essentially no real threat to us ever.
Democracy is a dream; civil war and relentless killing is the reality. The trial of Saddam Hussein proceeds like some kind of Dali-like circus. Who’s running the asylum? Dead children lying in bloody heaps. We've lost whatever credibility we had for whatever good we've done in the eyes of the world for invading a country without good reason (9/11 doesn't count - there's no proven connection between Iraq and 9/11) or U.N. support, we've killed well over 2,000 soldiers and tens of thousands of innocent Iraqis. Yeah, remember them? Men, women, children. Dead. Forever. Gone. A country destroyed at the cost of thousands of lives and billions of dollars. A country that has turned into Vietnam via attrition; yes, I'll make the comparison because I feel like it, and where's Walter Kronkite when you need him? The White House Press Corps are a bunch of pussies. They ought to just eat this administration alive. Oh but now we can rebuild the very country we destroyed by handing out nice fact contracts to companies like Halliburton and spend billions more, making the regime of men who caused this nightmare even richer. I doubt that'll ever happen with the way the killing is going. Whereas that money could've gone say, hmmm, to Africa, to helping to wipe out malaria, to Medicines San Frontiers, to the American Red Cross, to Oxfam, to Heifer International, to UNICEF, to the continued rebuilding of the tsunami-ravaged areas of East India, Sumatra, Thailand, or even to the victims of fucking hurricane Katrina - yes, people in OUR OWN COUNTRY.
Sure, it's nice to know a psychotic dictator like Saddam Hussein is currently wasting Iraqi time and money by not showing up to his own puppet court/trial and complaining that he's been wearing the same underwear for three days in a row. Pardon me while I simultaneously vomit and shed a few crocodile tears.If America was really serious about pre-emptively striking down leaders and countries we think are legitimate threats to our national well-being, why haven't we sent a few hundred thousand troops and SCUD missiles over to North Korea....or Iran….oh yeah, because they actually have nuclear weapons and might blow us to kingdom come. When push comes to shove, we don't actually fuck around with those who could truly fuck us over. Despite the massive lies of WMD, Iraq posed no threat whatsoever to the United States.
Retribution for 9/11? When you're sleeping with the enemy that's hard to come by. 19 out of 20 terrorists on those planes either came from or held Saudi Arabian passports. But who does Bush invite down to the OK Corral in Crawford for a little bar-b-que? The kings and princes from the family of Saud, who are as corrupt and evil as any single mad dictator. But they've got something we want: black gold. And then he has the gall, the fucking gall to tell us we’re addicted to oil and we have to change. Tell us something we don’t know. We’re addicted to oil? I’ll stop driving my car when you stop sleeping with the fucking enemy.
I'm old enough now not to see things in black and white. America has done great good for the world. We have also done great evil for our own interests and you don't even have to read Noam Chomsky or subscribe to Z-net or be a fan of Michael Moore to know that. Actually, perhaps a lot of people DON'T know that - or choose not to believe that America has tortured, killed, looted, pillaged, destroyed, controlled, and manipulated thousands of people and many countries for its own benefit. Isolationism is a moot point now; we're damned if we do and damned if we don't. Certainly we learned over 60 years ago that some madmen can't be ignored; Neville Chamberlain's attempt at appeasement basically allowed Hitler the power he sought and we know the price the world paid to destroy that monster and his killing machines. And yet still today, there are heinous dictators in charge of countries, destroying people's lives...and we do not get involved. We are not there to 'liberate' those people or give them a taste of 'democracy'. Probably because they don't have anything we want or need. If America truly cared about humanity, where were we - indeed - where was the WORLD 11 years ago as almost 1 million people were hacked to death in less than two months in Rwanda? We deliberately pulled our people out of that conflict, and played the isolationist card, because who cared if a bunch of Tutsi's and Hutu's hated each other and wanted to fight some tribal war? Something tells me though that if their blood ran black and could power a Hummer, you bet we would've been there with buckets in hand, draining those bloated corpses to the last bitter drop.
What can we do? What we can do is face the awful truth. Maybe this isn't like Vietnam at all. Because haven't you ever wondered why you rarely if EVER see the dead coming home? Where are the pictures of the flag-covered coffins lined up, one after one on aircraft carriers? Where is President Bush seen greeting those dead, saluting them and their families for sacrificing their lives for essentially a pack of lies and his own personal agenda? Oh that's right, he's back at the ranch, hiding out from Cindy Sheehan. And giving orders to absolutely, under no circumstances let the press photograph those flag-draped caskets being taken off those planes - because God forbid - Americans might actually start to realize people are DYING in this war.
Here is what I know for sure: The world is an infinitely complex, complicated place where even trying to live in the gray area is difficult at times. I believe most Americans, by and large and good and decent people. I believe too many however choose to plead ignorance and laziness and follow this government like lemmings, swallowing lie after lie while driving around in their fat SUV's. America has done tremendous good for many, and it has done some very, very bad things to many as well. Whatever our government has done over the years, there is no excusing or apologizing for 9/11. If our government supports Israel to the detriment of the Palestinians, that is wrong: but three thousand people did not deserve to die horrific deaths because of acts of governments they could not control. Apologetics for 9/11 are free to express their views but they live in a black and white world.
No matter the reason, or exit strategy, if there even is one, what I know for sure is that hundreds of thousands of people's lives have been destroyed by this senseless war. There are young men who will never, never get married, and never see their children grow up. There are young women who will never have children, never get married, and never have a career. There are children without parents and parents without children. There are mothers who have had to bear the absolute unbearable: the loss of a child, or God forbid, children. This is what I know for sure: President Bush's children, Dick Cheney's children, Donald Rumsfeld's children are all safe and sound. This is what I know for sure: War is hell, but what would any of them know about war?
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
MadameBastet-firing-neurons
And The Spaniards Dreamt of You Too, Califia
There will never be any real goodbye. I will leave you, but you will remain with me, always. There is no place far enough in this universe for me to escape you – to escape what you’ve done to me, to escape my feelings for you, however conflicted and mixed they have become.
I believed we would be together forever. I loved you once, with a madness, intensity, fierceness, a blindness, and an insane devotion that others laughed at. Who could love such a hollow land? Who could find truth in a city where truth is bought and sold to the highest bidder? Who could find beauty in this wax museum, this horror show of vanitas?
I loved you, even as you shook me to the very core of my being, the earth under my feet unstable, no promise of stability ever to come in this desert-cum-oasis of disingenuous promise. I let you corrupt me. I gave into your seduction. I fell for your empty promises. I believed in a tinsel-town world of glitterati and all your stinking, lousy lies.
MadameBastet-firing-neurons
MadameBastet-firing-neurons
It dawned on me that I never listed my 1o Favourite Things About Life, and I need to balance out the negativity with some positive vibes here. So here are....
10 Things I Love About Life (in no particular order really)
10) Animals. Especially, as everyone knows, cats, and little dogs. I must've been an Egyptian in a past life; my love of cats borders on wackiness. And yes, I'm coming out of the closet as a small dog lover. What I *really* adore are Jack Russell Terriers. I guess those would come under the heading of "Little Crazy-Ass Hyper Dogs." I know I probably could never handle one, but I see them, and I melt. I'm a pile of goo. I just adore wittle bitty dogs. I do like Labs too. I think animals are one of God's greatest gifts to us. It does bother me that I am not a vegetarian. I don't like to think of any animal suffering. But I can't seem to subsist on a purely vegetarian diet. Anyway, I think a lot of times I love animals more than people. Someday I hope to have a house with a big yard so I can get a dog. I won't trap a dog in my little apartment; plus Zoe and Fletcher would probably attack the poor thing. Especially Zoe. She knows she's momma's girl; she's sleeping on my spot in bed now. I gaze at animals the way other people gaze at babies. Screwy.
9) Music. Where would I be without music? Some of the great moments of my life have been listening to music at concerts. I'll never forget my first real rock concert. 1986 at the Hollywood Palladium. It was like a drug; I was hooked. Music has saved me, it has been with me as I've grown up from a really scary kid to an even scarier teenager to a fairly decent functioning adult. Music has given me, what I like to call, "Top of the Triangle" moments. In college, we learned over and over about Abraham Maslow's "hierarchy of needs." At the top of the triangle, was self-actualization. I feel like it is nirvana, bliss, almost leaving your body and going into another state of being. Some concerts have done that for me. And yeah, love 'em or hate 'em, The Church are always, always going to be The Band for me. Not The Band with Robbie Robertson, haha. But The Band apart from all other bands; the music apart from all other music. Stupid bastards. I've loved 'em, I've hated them. I've even pseudo-fought with Marty and turned my back on them. But if anything has been the soundtrack to my entire life for the last 22 years, it's the music of The Church. Their music has found a place in my soul where nothing else has ever been. There are holes in my soul, and that music filled one of them, and for that, I guess I should be grateful, no matter how irritated I get with them sometimes.
8) Men. Oh god, this is a complex one. Because ya know, naturally I love 'em and hate 'em sometimes. But biology will out I suppose. So many things to love about men. When you're in love, it's everything they do that you love. Of course there are the obvious things; the sex, the kissing, the intimacy, the meeting of minds. Sometimes I like to think of men as great works of art; if I find a man attractive, I just like to look him. It doesn't even have to be in a sexual way. I just like appreciating their beauty. But they still need to learn to ask directions, put the seat down, and why do I meet so many men allergic to cats? Damn. I can't be throwin' the furry babies out. I like the fact that I want a man, but I never feel I need to have a man validate me. Also, I need a MAN man. I'm not quite sure what that means. Not in a John Wayne sort of way - let's put it this way - my last serious relationship - this guy wanted to move in here, and get married. It wasn't going to work for various reasons, but the worst one was that I was more of man than he was about too many things. Is that sexist? Oh well. So be it.
7) Laughter. This may seem odd, coming from someone whose blogs often read like Sylvia Plath's diary. But I love to laugh. I have an entire collection of comedy DVD's I watch constantly because hey, Reader's Digest said it best, laughter IS the best medicine. Laughing with your friends over stupid stuff is great. Laughing so hard you can't breathe, your stomach hurts and you get that fabulous endorphin rush - beautiful. I don't think scientists know why we laugh. WHO CARES? It feels good.
6) Philanthropy of mind and body and spirit. Sure, I admire Bill and Melinda Gates for the money they give to make the world better. But it's people like Medecins san Frontiers - people who put their own lives and health at risk to help others I admire. They are my heroes. It's easy to give money away. It's harder to dedicate your life to people living in war, poverty, disease. I admire anyone who sincerely tries to make this crazy world a better place, no matter how small. Whether it's by helping sick people, writing a beautiful piece of music, holding a dying person's hand, taking in a stray animal, teaching a difficult child...sure, there's something in it for everyone, there always is...but as Martha Stewart says, it's a good thing.
5) Art - Naturally this would have to be here. Why would I bust my butt to get an M.A. in art history if I didn't adore art? Especially paintings. Especially the art of the Baroque period, the Renaissance and the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Caravaggio, Rembrandt, Caracci, Vermeer. I almost wept when I saw The Death of the Virgin by Caravaggio in the Louvre. Manet's Absinthe Drinker. Renoir's beautiful young girls. Raphael's sweet Madonnas. The Dadaists, the Surrealists, those crazy Futurists. Frida Kahlo. Ernst, Dali, Marc. David Hockney's swimming pools. Degas' dancers. And naturally, the greatest sculptor who ever lived...Michelangelo. The Pieta. To see that in St. Peter's is to see the face of God. Such brilliance is almost incomprehensible. My art. How I miss it sometimes.
4)Family and friends. Oh sure, half of them are nuts and those half you're usually related to. Half the time they drive you crazy, and you probably drive them crazy. But as independent and anti-social as I can be, where would I be without my family and friends? My parents, who sacrificed so much for me so I could have so much opportunity. My brother, who despite ignoring my emails for weeks on end, is the only other person in the world, who knows me so well, who remembers my dad like I do. My mom, who is my hero, despite some wretched fights we've had. And my friends, present, future and past. They put up with me. They love me. The infuriate me. I infuriate them. We laugh, we cry, we shop, we eat, we trade war stories and we help each other through life. I'm starting to sound like a fuckin' Hallmark card here.
3) Traveling. It's tough, traveling. Especially as you get older, you get more settled in your ways, you get extremely attached to your own, perfect bed. (That would be my perfect bed). If you hate to fly, like I do, it makes it even harder. Also, with the unpredictability of my fibro, traveling can be rough on me. But I wouldn't trade my travels for anything. Traveling is the best education a person can have. God, just open your eyes, your mind, take in other cultures, be open, talk to other people, see the great art of the world, the great buildings, the history, the magic, the wonder of it all. I've traveled extensively through America, which I think more Americans should do. Geographically, this is a magnificent country, with some fantastic people. I hope someday to return to Europe, and to go to South America, Africa and Australia. I don't care how tired I get, how badly I hurt, I'll never stop traveling as long as I'm able to.
2)Books. Well if you know me, you know I love reading. And books. And bookstores. I'm like a junkie with a book habit. I used to read mostly fiction. Then suddenly I became a non-fiction person. So now I mostly read true crime, history, biographies, current affairs, etc. I cannot imagine not reading. I love the look of books, the feel of books, the weight of books. I can't throw any book out. Moving is a total bitch because of my books. I've left most of them in the huge library wall in my mom's living room. And still I have a ton of books all over the apartment. I've been in loving with reading ever since I learned to read. Books ARE your friends. I actually KNOW people who don't like to read. They don't read. I don't know how they live. Are they aliens? Maybe I read too much. But it soothes my soul. It is travel by thought. By the way, I HATE that song. HATE. It is not only the Church's worst song, it is one of the worst songs of all time.
1) Life itself. Well, I guess it sounds stupid, but again, given the sorry nature of so many of my blogs, and my tendency towards low-grade depression, you'd think I'd be kinda down on life. Yeah, I find it hard sometimes. I don't like chronic pain. I've had a few seriously tragic moments in my life. But despite it all, the good, the bad, the ugly, I can still say, it's fucking worth it. It's a grab bag - we don't know the cards we're dealt and sometimes I want to pound the earth with frustration and sadness...but I wouldn't opt out for anything. What's the alternative? As much as I long to believe in an afterlife, and sometimes do...I can't imagine it at all. So I get scared. Because who knows? This life is all we do know, and all we have. And for better or worse, this may be it. I hope not. I do long for something after this; I've always felt this was just part of the deal; that this is leading up to something else. But even if it isn't, this is it. I'm glad I'm along for the ride.
It dawned on me that I never listed my 1o Favourite Things About Life, and I need to balance out the negativity with some positive vibes here. So here are....
10 Things I Love About Life (in no particular order really)
10) Animals. Especially, as everyone knows, cats, and little dogs. I must've been an Egyptian in a past life; my love of cats borders on wackiness. And yes, I'm coming out of the closet as a small dog lover. What I *really* adore are Jack Russell Terriers. I guess those would come under the heading of "Little Crazy-Ass Hyper Dogs." I know I probably could never handle one, but I see them, and I melt. I'm a pile of goo. I just adore wittle bitty dogs. I do like Labs too. I think animals are one of God's greatest gifts to us. It does bother me that I am not a vegetarian. I don't like to think of any animal suffering. But I can't seem to subsist on a purely vegetarian diet. Anyway, I think a lot of times I love animals more than people. Someday I hope to have a house with a big yard so I can get a dog. I won't trap a dog in my little apartment; plus Zoe and Fletcher would probably attack the poor thing. Especially Zoe. She knows she's momma's girl; she's sleeping on my spot in bed now. I gaze at animals the way other people gaze at babies. Screwy.
9) Music. Where would I be without music? Some of the great moments of my life have been listening to music at concerts. I'll never forget my first real rock concert. 1986 at the Hollywood Palladium. It was like a drug; I was hooked. Music has saved me, it has been with me as I've grown up from a really scary kid to an even scarier teenager to a fairly decent functioning adult. Music has given me, what I like to call, "Top of the Triangle" moments. In college, we learned over and over about Abraham Maslow's "hierarchy of needs." At the top of the triangle, was self-actualization. I feel like it is nirvana, bliss, almost leaving your body and going into another state of being. Some concerts have done that for me. And yeah, love 'em or hate 'em, The Church are always, always going to be The Band for me. Not The Band with Robbie Robertson, haha. But The Band apart from all other bands; the music apart from all other music. Stupid bastards. I've loved 'em, I've hated them. I've even pseudo-fought with Marty and turned my back on them. But if anything has been the soundtrack to my entire life for the last 22 years, it's the music of The Church. Their music has found a place in my soul where nothing else has ever been. There are holes in my soul, and that music filled one of them, and for that, I guess I should be grateful, no matter how irritated I get with them sometimes.
8) Men. Oh god, this is a complex one. Because ya know, naturally I love 'em and hate 'em sometimes. But biology will out I suppose. So many things to love about men. When you're in love, it's everything they do that you love. Of course there are the obvious things; the sex, the kissing, the intimacy, the meeting of minds. Sometimes I like to think of men as great works of art; if I find a man attractive, I just like to look him. It doesn't even have to be in a sexual way. I just like appreciating their beauty. But they still need to learn to ask directions, put the seat down, and why do I meet so many men allergic to cats? Damn. I can't be throwin' the furry babies out. I like the fact that I want a man, but I never feel I need to have a man validate me. Also, I need a MAN man. I'm not quite sure what that means. Not in a John Wayne sort of way - let's put it this way - my last serious relationship - this guy wanted to move in here, and get married. It wasn't going to work for various reasons, but the worst one was that I was more of man than he was about too many things. Is that sexist? Oh well. So be it.
7) Laughter. This may seem odd, coming from someone whose blogs often read like Sylvia Plath's diary. But I love to laugh. I have an entire collection of comedy DVD's I watch constantly because hey, Reader's Digest said it best, laughter IS the best medicine. Laughing with your friends over stupid stuff is great. Laughing so hard you can't breathe, your stomach hurts and you get that fabulous endorphin rush - beautiful. I don't think scientists know why we laugh. WHO CARES? It feels good.
6) Philanthropy of mind and body and spirit. Sure, I admire Bill and Melinda Gates for the money they give to make the world better. But it's people like Medecins san Frontiers - people who put their own lives and health at risk to help others I admire. They are my heroes. It's easy to give money away. It's harder to dedicate your life to people living in war, poverty, disease. I admire anyone who sincerely tries to make this crazy world a better place, no matter how small. Whether it's by helping sick people, writing a beautiful piece of music, holding a dying person's hand, taking in a stray animal, teaching a difficult child...sure, there's something in it for everyone, there always is...but as Martha Stewart says, it's a good thing.
5) Art - Naturally this would have to be here. Why would I bust my butt to get an M.A. in art history if I didn't adore art? Especially paintings. Especially the art of the Baroque period, the Renaissance and the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Caravaggio, Rembrandt, Caracci, Vermeer. I almost wept when I saw The Death of the Virgin by Caravaggio in the Louvre. Manet's Absinthe Drinker. Renoir's beautiful young girls. Raphael's sweet Madonnas. The Dadaists, the Surrealists, those crazy Futurists. Frida Kahlo. Ernst, Dali, Marc. David Hockney's swimming pools. Degas' dancers. And naturally, the greatest sculptor who ever lived...Michelangelo. The Pieta. To see that in St. Peter's is to see the face of God. Such brilliance is almost incomprehensible. My art. How I miss it sometimes.
4)Family and friends. Oh sure, half of them are nuts and those half you're usually related to. Half the time they drive you crazy, and you probably drive them crazy. But as independent and anti-social as I can be, where would I be without my family and friends? My parents, who sacrificed so much for me so I could have so much opportunity. My brother, who despite ignoring my emails for weeks on end, is the only other person in the world, who knows me so well, who remembers my dad like I do. My mom, who is my hero, despite some wretched fights we've had. And my friends, present, future and past. They put up with me. They love me. The infuriate me. I infuriate them. We laugh, we cry, we shop, we eat, we trade war stories and we help each other through life. I'm starting to sound like a fuckin' Hallmark card here.
3) Traveling. It's tough, traveling. Especially as you get older, you get more settled in your ways, you get extremely attached to your own, perfect bed. (That would be my perfect bed). If you hate to fly, like I do, it makes it even harder. Also, with the unpredictability of my fibro, traveling can be rough on me. But I wouldn't trade my travels for anything. Traveling is the best education a person can have. God, just open your eyes, your mind, take in other cultures, be open, talk to other people, see the great art of the world, the great buildings, the history, the magic, the wonder of it all. I've traveled extensively through America, which I think more Americans should do. Geographically, this is a magnificent country, with some fantastic people. I hope someday to return to Europe, and to go to South America, Africa and Australia. I don't care how tired I get, how badly I hurt, I'll never stop traveling as long as I'm able to.
2)Books. Well if you know me, you know I love reading. And books. And bookstores. I'm like a junkie with a book habit. I used to read mostly fiction. Then suddenly I became a non-fiction person. So now I mostly read true crime, history, biographies, current affairs, etc. I cannot imagine not reading. I love the look of books, the feel of books, the weight of books. I can't throw any book out. Moving is a total bitch because of my books. I've left most of them in the huge library wall in my mom's living room. And still I have a ton of books all over the apartment. I've been in loving with reading ever since I learned to read. Books ARE your friends. I actually KNOW people who don't like to read. They don't read. I don't know how they live. Are they aliens? Maybe I read too much. But it soothes my soul. It is travel by thought. By the way, I HATE that song. HATE. It is not only the Church's worst song, it is one of the worst songs of all time.
1) Life itself. Well, I guess it sounds stupid, but again, given the sorry nature of so many of my blogs, and my tendency towards low-grade depression, you'd think I'd be kinda down on life. Yeah, I find it hard sometimes. I don't like chronic pain. I've had a few seriously tragic moments in my life. But despite it all, the good, the bad, the ugly, I can still say, it's fucking worth it. It's a grab bag - we don't know the cards we're dealt and sometimes I want to pound the earth with frustration and sadness...but I wouldn't opt out for anything. What's the alternative? As much as I long to believe in an afterlife, and sometimes do...I can't imagine it at all. So I get scared. Because who knows? This life is all we do know, and all we have. And for better or worse, this may be it. I hope not. I do long for something after this; I've always felt this was just part of the deal; that this is leading up to something else. But even if it isn't, this is it. I'm glad I'm along for the ride.
Monday, June 05, 2006
MadameBastet-firing-neurons
MadameBastet-firing-neurons
Sweet Mary mother of Jesus! Ok, Steve Kilbey's not the only one having blogger problems today. Something's up with E-blogger. It's taking eternities to load. I've tried to load the page about 10 times. It's moving at a snail's pace. What, is everyone pissing and moaning on their blogs at once?
Monday. What a crap day. Woke up late, had an fight with a FAX machine and lost, gave and arm and leg for a tank of gas, was late to work/school and the kids were grating on my last nerve. Poor things. It wasn't their fault Ms. D was in a shitty mood. I had ZERO patience. My behaviour management techniques ranged from yelling "STOP IT!" to "SIT DOWN." I'm surprised I didn't tell them to grow up and shut up. LOL! I did say, "In 9 days you will be 1st graders. And 1st graders don't act like this." That excites them. The prospect of being in 1st grade is so thrilling! Ah, my little ducklings, how I hate to see you scatter and move on, but such is life, and we must. Sometimes I think, "I'll probably be teaching children that aren't even born yet." Maybe their parents haven't even met yet.
Maybe I'll go insane by then. I have The Offical Headache From Hell. I've taken some aspirin but so far, no luck.
I've decided I may have some extra testosterone in me. Not really actually, because I had my hormones tested and they're fine...but last night I was watching my new favourite show, "Entourage." God I love that show! It just struck me, is it a 'guy' show? Maybe. I seem to like a lot of 'guy' shows and movies. Take "Swingers." Brilliant. Genius. So money.
If you looked at my DVD collection, it's seriously testosterone-heavy. We've got:
The Deer Hunter
Serpico
Dog Day Afternoon
Taxi Driver
Mean Streets
Good Fellas
Full Metal Jacket
Apocalypse Now
Cool Hand Luke
Heat
Marathon Man
Dirty Harry (and the next two or three Dirty Harry installments)
Paths of Glory
The Warriors
The French Connection
Blazing Saddles
Dr. Strangelove...
The Taking of Pelham 123
Resevoir Dogs
Dogs of War
Pulp Fiction
Deliverance
Catch-22
Oh and a slew of horror movies. So I like war movies, horror movies and murder mystery movies. And everyone who knows me knows my love of all things mafia-related. Why? I am not a violent person. I don't advocate violence. I'm not for war. But I am fascinated with the concepts, perhaps. The cosa nostra has always fascinated me. It's dying out in many ways. It ain't like it used to be that's for sure. I am fascinated by the idea of these guys who live in a world with their own rules, their own morality, their own code of conduct.
Naturally I go see movies like this alone, unless I've met a guy who'll see them with me. My girlfriends think I'm nuts. It is strange, as I really, really am very 'female' - I enjoy being a woman ( that sounds so old!) and enjoy dressing up and being sexy and I thoroughly enjoy men - except when they're irritating the shit out of me, haha. These movies are like the opposite of the chick flicks. I'm into some of those too. But what *is* it with me and war? Of course, many of these movies are actually anti-war which is so great. Catch-22 shows the absurdity of it all, as does Dr. Strangelove, and of course Apocalypse Now and Full Metal Jacket show how war makes men into monsters. For some reason that reminds me of Francisco Goya's painting "The Third of May, 1808."
The painting shows a line of faceless Frenchmen cold-bloodly gunning down innocent Spaniards; Napoleon's brother was in charge of Spain then, and he feared an uprising by the Spaniards. These men were being shot and killed and they were falling in blood-soaked heaps on the ground. Goya, who despised war, said he painted it to show the true horrors of war, so that men would learn these horrors, and that there would never be another war again.
If only. Men do not learn. And I doubt they ever will. How cynical I am. I believe someday, thanks to the stupid fucks who created the A and H bombs, that we'll destroy ourselves, and the planet. If global warming doesn't do it first. It's a race to see which method works fastest. What a sorry lot we are.
Man have I just been all over the place with this blog today or what?
Sweet Mary mother of Jesus! Ok, Steve Kilbey's not the only one having blogger problems today. Something's up with E-blogger. It's taking eternities to load. I've tried to load the page about 10 times. It's moving at a snail's pace. What, is everyone pissing and moaning on their blogs at once?
Monday. What a crap day. Woke up late, had an fight with a FAX machine and lost, gave and arm and leg for a tank of gas, was late to work/school and the kids were grating on my last nerve. Poor things. It wasn't their fault Ms. D was in a shitty mood. I had ZERO patience. My behaviour management techniques ranged from yelling "STOP IT!" to "SIT DOWN." I'm surprised I didn't tell them to grow up and shut up. LOL! I did say, "In 9 days you will be 1st graders. And 1st graders don't act like this." That excites them. The prospect of being in 1st grade is so thrilling! Ah, my little ducklings, how I hate to see you scatter and move on, but such is life, and we must. Sometimes I think, "I'll probably be teaching children that aren't even born yet." Maybe their parents haven't even met yet.
Maybe I'll go insane by then. I have The Offical Headache From Hell. I've taken some aspirin but so far, no luck.
I've decided I may have some extra testosterone in me. Not really actually, because I had my hormones tested and they're fine...but last night I was watching my new favourite show, "Entourage." God I love that show! It just struck me, is it a 'guy' show? Maybe. I seem to like a lot of 'guy' shows and movies. Take "Swingers." Brilliant. Genius. So money.
If you looked at my DVD collection, it's seriously testosterone-heavy. We've got:
The Deer Hunter
Serpico
Dog Day Afternoon
Taxi Driver
Mean Streets
Good Fellas
Full Metal Jacket
Apocalypse Now
Cool Hand Luke
Heat
Marathon Man
Dirty Harry (and the next two or three Dirty Harry installments)
Paths of Glory
The Warriors
The French Connection
Blazing Saddles
Dr. Strangelove...
The Taking of Pelham 123
Resevoir Dogs
Dogs of War
Pulp Fiction
Deliverance
Catch-22
Oh and a slew of horror movies. So I like war movies, horror movies and murder mystery movies. And everyone who knows me knows my love of all things mafia-related. Why? I am not a violent person. I don't advocate violence. I'm not for war. But I am fascinated with the concepts, perhaps. The cosa nostra has always fascinated me. It's dying out in many ways. It ain't like it used to be that's for sure. I am fascinated by the idea of these guys who live in a world with their own rules, their own morality, their own code of conduct.
Naturally I go see movies like this alone, unless I've met a guy who'll see them with me. My girlfriends think I'm nuts. It is strange, as I really, really am very 'female' - I enjoy being a woman ( that sounds so old!) and enjoy dressing up and being sexy and I thoroughly enjoy men - except when they're irritating the shit out of me, haha. These movies are like the opposite of the chick flicks. I'm into some of those too. But what *is* it with me and war? Of course, many of these movies are actually anti-war which is so great. Catch-22 shows the absurdity of it all, as does Dr. Strangelove, and of course Apocalypse Now and Full Metal Jacket show how war makes men into monsters. For some reason that reminds me of Francisco Goya's painting "The Third of May, 1808."
The painting shows a line of faceless Frenchmen cold-bloodly gunning down innocent Spaniards; Napoleon's brother was in charge of Spain then, and he feared an uprising by the Spaniards. These men were being shot and killed and they were falling in blood-soaked heaps on the ground. Goya, who despised war, said he painted it to show the true horrors of war, so that men would learn these horrors, and that there would never be another war again.
If only. Men do not learn. And I doubt they ever will. How cynical I am. I believe someday, thanks to the stupid fucks who created the A and H bombs, that we'll destroy ourselves, and the planet. If global warming doesn't do it first. It's a race to see which method works fastest. What a sorry lot we are.
Man have I just been all over the place with this blog today or what?
MadameBastet-firing-neurons
MadameBastet-firing-neurons
In The Valley of The Kings
Venice coffee shops and used record stores
Greasy spoons and the blue man on the moon
down on Broadway by the glittering sea
it was all like pharaoh's gold
in the Valley of the Kings.
There were vinyl dreams so melodic and sweet
and we were never too young, never too naive
to become enslaved by the strange geography
of the streets.
Remember when! Remember when!
You could feel! Angry happy sad raging insane crazy mad
as fucking hell about life, death, taxes, injustice, parking tickets
health insurance, AIDS, Rwanda
stolen elections and immoral wars!
Remember when you could feel....and now....
In your bedroom, bare walls and all
is the death bed and there lies quietly, so still
the American Dream, the death rattle echoing off the walls
Yes, the American Dream
flatlining finally after years and years behind the brittle
cries, the unheard screams
a custom-made cliche
but dying, leaving, going, gone just the same.
Hell, it wasn't as if you didn't help it along
I mean come on - remember standing in smoky rooms
of carefully measured discontent?
Wondering how to fuck without dying;
wondering how to pay the rent.
There were songs you loved and words you knew;
once you sang along and now you don't even want the radio on
anymore.
You gave years and years away like worthless currency
not knowing that nostalgia is simply brain chemistry
and love just a strange attractor; and memory itself
some kind of sad self-pity.
Now all the record stores have closed up and have gone away
disappeared into the future tense of technology
and Broadway by the sea is just another street
It's a game you play and you're getting so good at it now
just think dear lady once upon a time you didn't even know how.
Yeah, rock and roll could've saved your soul
but that was yesterday
And rooms hold ghosts
but they will never haunt you
like the words you gave away.
Now the music's just too damn loud
though the words sound strangely familiar;
the meaning is unclear and the sad semiotics
of despair is the only melody you can hear.
You're a stranger in strange places now
You're a ghost, an apparition, a pathetic dream
Die die die you long to scream!
in cheap cerveza bars and cigarettes
fall limply from your lips and glow in the gleam
looking for a light is a bitch in these haunted spaces
there's no smoke no fire and you wonder
was it you that died first
or was it desire?
So you stalk the velvet crush, the glittering comedown,
remembering decaying downtown faces in crimson mirrors
and you fall like Alice but the story is much more grim
You tumble through time back to the event horizon.
And you still haven't figured out
how to black out
before the band leaves the stage;
and it's on someone's else face
that you watch yourself age.
Hollywood calls your name and laughs while you weep
Phantom fucks and full blood-burst harvest moons
universes that go bang! or collapse in the street
and you suck on nicotine for hours and dream of long-ago rooms
now long torn down and gone.
And nostalgia is just a dream, a memory
you once believed it was all real, it would last forever
the smell of cheap leather and sweat and smoke and tears
the spilled emotions on the table mixed with the leftover stale beers
It was beautiful here, once upon a time
We skipped down Broadway by the azure sea
We sang the songs and knew all the words
and we loved the pure and sweet sound of a 12 string
playing gently across the city at night
and it was like pharaoh's gold in the
Valley of the Kings.
In The Valley of The Kings
Venice coffee shops and used record stores
Greasy spoons and the blue man on the moon
down on Broadway by the glittering sea
it was all like pharaoh's gold
in the Valley of the Kings.
There were vinyl dreams so melodic and sweet
and we were never too young, never too naive
to become enslaved by the strange geography
of the streets.
Remember when! Remember when!
You could feel! Angry happy sad raging insane crazy mad
as fucking hell about life, death, taxes, injustice, parking tickets
health insurance, AIDS, Rwanda
stolen elections and immoral wars!
Remember when you could feel....and now....
In your bedroom, bare walls and all
is the death bed and there lies quietly, so still
the American Dream, the death rattle echoing off the walls
Yes, the American Dream
flatlining finally after years and years behind the brittle
cries, the unheard screams
a custom-made cliche
but dying, leaving, going, gone just the same.
Hell, it wasn't as if you didn't help it along
I mean come on - remember standing in smoky rooms
of carefully measured discontent?
Wondering how to fuck without dying;
wondering how to pay the rent.
There were songs you loved and words you knew;
once you sang along and now you don't even want the radio on
anymore.
You gave years and years away like worthless currency
not knowing that nostalgia is simply brain chemistry
and love just a strange attractor; and memory itself
some kind of sad self-pity.
Now all the record stores have closed up and have gone away
disappeared into the future tense of technology
and Broadway by the sea is just another street
It's a game you play and you're getting so good at it now
just think dear lady once upon a time you didn't even know how.
Yeah, rock and roll could've saved your soul
but that was yesterday
And rooms hold ghosts
but they will never haunt you
like the words you gave away.
Now the music's just too damn loud
though the words sound strangely familiar;
the meaning is unclear and the sad semiotics
of despair is the only melody you can hear.
You're a stranger in strange places now
You're a ghost, an apparition, a pathetic dream
Die die die you long to scream!
in cheap cerveza bars and cigarettes
fall limply from your lips and glow in the gleam
looking for a light is a bitch in these haunted spaces
there's no smoke no fire and you wonder
was it you that died first
or was it desire?
So you stalk the velvet crush, the glittering comedown,
remembering decaying downtown faces in crimson mirrors
and you fall like Alice but the story is much more grim
You tumble through time back to the event horizon.
And you still haven't figured out
how to black out
before the band leaves the stage;
and it's on someone's else face
that you watch yourself age.
Hollywood calls your name and laughs while you weep
Phantom fucks and full blood-burst harvest moons
universes that go bang! or collapse in the street
and you suck on nicotine for hours and dream of long-ago rooms
now long torn down and gone.
And nostalgia is just a dream, a memory
you once believed it was all real, it would last forever
the smell of cheap leather and sweat and smoke and tears
the spilled emotions on the table mixed with the leftover stale beers
It was beautiful here, once upon a time
We skipped down Broadway by the azure sea
We sang the songs and knew all the words
and we loved the pure and sweet sound of a 12 string
playing gently across the city at night
and it was like pharaoh's gold in the
Valley of the Kings.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
MadameBastet-firing-neurons
MadameBastet-firing-neurons
Disenchanted
Everyone knows
that Sunday kind of sadness;
the pale decline of universal despair
that hangs delicately around the edges
of the dinner table, the laundry basket, the empty chairs...
as the pink-orange crush of dusk
drops slowly down
the velvet blanket of jasmine and musk
far away voices and far away sounds
And you knew
this
was
the
end.
The promise
was forgotten.
And the small, sad, empty feeling
you felt
watching The Wonderful World of Disney
staring through the windows at the falling darkness
and Tinkerbell in stardust flying away
comes back to you now...
...in cars and bars and steel gray cubicles
at high noon and in the shrill tinny banter
of silver spoons and conversations in conference rooms.
Everyone knows
that Sunday kind of sadness
sitting alone on the front porch steps
the sky bleeding pink into gunmetal grey
and you
listening to the distant hum of the dishwasher
the faraway rushing of the bathwater upstairs
and the television in the den ticking away
"60 Minutes"
(sometimes, you watched The Hardy Boys or Nancy Drew)
while Mom ironed your little shirts
and you knew
that it was over
again...
....like you do now
and you think how
you would've made Nietzsche, Sartre and Camus
oh so proud.
Disenchanted
Everyone knows
that Sunday kind of sadness;
the pale decline of universal despair
that hangs delicately around the edges
of the dinner table, the laundry basket, the empty chairs...
as the pink-orange crush of dusk
drops slowly down
the velvet blanket of jasmine and musk
far away voices and far away sounds
And you knew
this
was
the
end.
The promise
was forgotten.
And the small, sad, empty feeling
you felt
watching The Wonderful World of Disney
staring through the windows at the falling darkness
and Tinkerbell in stardust flying away
comes back to you now...
...in cars and bars and steel gray cubicles
at high noon and in the shrill tinny banter
of silver spoons and conversations in conference rooms.
Everyone knows
that Sunday kind of sadness
sitting alone on the front porch steps
the sky bleeding pink into gunmetal grey
and you
listening to the distant hum of the dishwasher
the faraway rushing of the bathwater upstairs
and the television in the den ticking away
"60 Minutes"
(sometimes, you watched The Hardy Boys or Nancy Drew)
while Mom ironed your little shirts
and you knew
that it was over
again...
....like you do now
and you think how
you would've made Nietzsche, Sartre and Camus
oh so proud.
MadameBastet-firing-neurons
MadameBastet-firing-neurons
Earlier this evening, while ignoring the Evil Math Books
on the table, I was lying on the couch, channel-surfing.
I caught the last half-hour of the final Star Wars trilogy.
Which trilogy you ask? Oh hell, the most recent trilogy.
I purposely never saw any of those films; George Lucas
really frosted my cake with these 'prequels' and I had NO
interest in seeing what led up to one of the great films of
my youth, Star Wars. I preferred to pretend there were
no prequels, ha. But out of sheer boredom and a sudden need
to see how Darth Vader became Darth Vader - or shall I say,
how Anakin became Darth, I watched. I really only got to see him
have that neat CGI laser battle with Obi-Wan. Good casting there!
And then, and then...ewwwwwwwwww...so that's what happened to him!
He kind of caught on fire and was incinerated and his face kind of...
melted off.
However, I am now confused. Was he a machine? It looked like
his limbs, what was left of them, were robot-like or something.
Oh crap, that'll teach ME to come in on the last half hour of a movie
trilogy! Anyway, poor Padme, or whatever her name is. Pops out the twins,
Luke and Leia and then she's off, with funeral flowers in her hair.
And Luke goes to live with his aunt and uncle and
we end with those two glorious suns in the distance...
the same suns Luke looks at when he grows up and becomes
the hottie that all 10 year olds will swoon over.
Seriously. Someone answer my question. What was up
with Anakin? Did he have a metallic body? He was like this
pile o' goo, and then they gave him the DARTH VADER outfit
and voila!
I can't believe Jimmy Smits was in this movie. That was just wrong. In
so many ways.
Earlier this evening, while ignoring the Evil Math Books
on the table, I was lying on the couch, channel-surfing.
I caught the last half-hour of the final Star Wars trilogy.
Which trilogy you ask? Oh hell, the most recent trilogy.
I purposely never saw any of those films; George Lucas
really frosted my cake with these 'prequels' and I had NO
interest in seeing what led up to one of the great films of
my youth, Star Wars. I preferred to pretend there were
no prequels, ha. But out of sheer boredom and a sudden need
to see how Darth Vader became Darth Vader - or shall I say,
how Anakin became Darth, I watched. I really only got to see him
have that neat CGI laser battle with Obi-Wan. Good casting there!
And then, and then...ewwwwwwwwww...so that's what happened to him!
He kind of caught on fire and was incinerated and his face kind of...
melted off.
However, I am now confused. Was he a machine? It looked like
his limbs, what was left of them, were robot-like or something.
Oh crap, that'll teach ME to come in on the last half hour of a movie
trilogy! Anyway, poor Padme, or whatever her name is. Pops out the twins,
Luke and Leia and then she's off, with funeral flowers in her hair.
And Luke goes to live with his aunt and uncle and
we end with those two glorious suns in the distance...
the same suns Luke looks at when he grows up and becomes
the hottie that all 10 year olds will swoon over.
Seriously. Someone answer my question. What was up
with Anakin? Did he have a metallic body? He was like this
pile o' goo, and then they gave him the DARTH VADER outfit
and voila!
I can't believe Jimmy Smits was in this movie. That was just wrong. In
so many ways.
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