ciromazola
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| Thursday, May 31st, 2007 | | 11:35 am |
excuse me? failure?
k. this is an open letter to my friend who lives in spain (and who has just decided to come home in september, in case some other spanish friends get the wrong idea). see here, i haven’t written in a really long time. and i am motivated now to write by you, and by your last post (and marginally by the fact that i’ve wanted to comment so many times on your page and can’t get your freaking guestbook to work EVER), and most of all by the grave injustice you do yourself.
i read this book recently. it’s a self-helpy sort of book (truth be told, i think i’m off self-helpy sort of books, finding lately that literature helps my self quite enough and way more, thank you) called the four agreements. i might say that it had a profound effect on my thinking, but as i get older i’ve noticed this trend in my thinking that most things seem to have simultaneously a profound effect and no effect at all. something like, “wow, that’s completely revolutionary, and yet, the world is a bizarre, revolutionary, ever-changing place, so i guess it makes perfect sense. yes!” i guess what i mean is that i’m finding that when i remind myself that nothing is unbelievable it all becomes much more lovely to watch. yes, that’s a tangent unrelated to what i wanted to say to you.
this book is ostensibly a record of toltec wisdom, and one of the “agreements” it details is to always do your best. this agreement is accompanied by the comforting little caveat that your best may be very different on different days.
this, my friend, is where i take issue with you, and your assault on yourself.
your accomplishments are many and varied, i witness them almost daily. i’m not going to list them here in specificity because you are a private person and that would be embarrassing, but (for crying out loud) may i just allude to your unrelenting commitment to your morals in the face of great adversity? there are likely so many things you’ve accomplished in the past 2 years that won’t make themselves apparent to you for many years, if ever. you have a very different “best” available to you in spain and in your current circumstances than you would have in vicksburg, no? please, i implore you, adjust your expectations accordingly, for you are a source of inspiration to others, whether you’ve asked for it or not (ahem, online journal).
so yes, come home, if you like, it would be nice to just happen to run into you at water street. but kalamazoo already has heaps and mounds of unnecessary feelings of defeat and self-loathing, so kindly slough yours off before you get here. | | Wednesday, June 28th, 2006 | | 2:31 pm |
vitamin a
so what if? i mean, really, what if? what IF i stopped worrying about whether or not i’m enough? if i let that constant loop in my head shut off, retire, even, that loop that keeps telling me to strive, better better always, flogging myself wondering how to better manage time, money, emotions, food, exercise, sleep, conversations, likes, performances, writing. what if when i said, “yeah, i just hate beets,” i didn't then immediately think, “but i should try liking them, maybe preparing them a different way because they’re so nutritious and they’re gorgeous.” what if i just admired the shape and color of beets, and got my nutrients from kale and prunes and almonds, which i like quite a bit, thank you very much. i mean, that’s obviously a terrible example, but what if i wasn’t too self-conscious to bring up some REAL (or real-er) examples about me, myself and not just my root vegetable preferences? what if i open my mouth and i’m not anxious or concerned about how what i’m saying is received? how about if i stop thinking about whether i should? or whether i’m valid (or vapid) or worthy. what happens when i’m unguarded? what IF when i’m talking to someone and i feel a little liberated and i say what i really think and they look at me as if they’re perplexed (or bothered or frightened) what if i don’t worry about it and finally live with (by?) an understanding that they can just reconcile it however they want to, approving, disapproving, nonplussed disinterested disagreeing, and i’ll still be fine, and me, and that’s how it should be. there’s that pesky fucking should again. what if i just say out loud to anyone that i liked the movie version of “everything is illuminated” much better than the book, even tho’ everyone on earth seems to disagree and what if maybe i say it and it DOESN’T mean that i’m not as smart as everyone who thought the book was better. other people don’t seem to have any problem saying things like this, having these opinions that may not be popular, because, fuck!, they’re inconsequential aren’t they? and on my best days i can have these opinions and let the chips fall where they may. what if i step off for a while and i don’t do everything within my power to please? what if every moment is not micromanaged for highest productivity and worthiness? what if i agree to agree that i am just as i am as a person (and yes, that includes wife, mother, actor, friend, daughter) and that my instincts and feelings and truths are in the right place (mostly) and i can stop and rest all that chatter of disapproval in my brain. what if i decide, in the interest of serenity, to not be focused and present and driven every moment? what if nobody’s impressed by anything i do ever in my lifetime and i’m still happy? how would things go? how would my time my life feel if i stopped thinking i should control it, myself?
Current Music: HVAC, hammer, saw | | Tuesday, December 20th, 2005 | | 1:48 pm |
| | Tuesday, December 13th, 2005 | | 2:38 pm |
we have a christmas tree.
we have a christmas tree.
we have a christmas tree.
we have a christmas tree.
we have a christmas tree.
we have a christmas tree.
we have a christmas tree.
we have a christmas tree.
we have a christmas tree.
we have a christmas tree.
we have a christmas tree.
we have a christmas tree.
we have a christmas tree.
we have a christmas tree.
we have a christmas tree.
we have a christmas tree.
we have a christmas tree.
we have a christmas tree.
we have a christmas tree.
we have a christmas tree.
we have a christmas tree.
we have a christmas tree.
we have a christmas tree.
we have a christmas tree.
we have a christmas tree. | | Thursday, November 3rd, 2005 | | 11:55 am |
can we do that right now?
i guess by not writing here often i tend toward the safe side. i never intended for this journal to be a log of daily life. it’s really more of a place to keep things i need to keep that i have nowhere else to put. i’m not sure how much sense that makes to anyone living anywhere outside my head, but that's what it is. the monumental things, see, they’re kept in my brain. the truths, loves, losses, dirty secrets (dirty secrets of others, of course, seeing as i have none of my own), they occupy prime real estate in my brain and are in no threat of being forcibly relocated. the trivial (the fact that a kitchen fire made me miss the mountain goats show, my mild disappointment with d&w’s white tuna sushi) gets utilized and tossed out. this here page is where i determine which of those two categories a piece of information falls into. some seemingly trivial thing will stick with me long enough, whispering into my ear, pleading its case, until i have to throw it down on a table and flip it over and circle it a few times and at some point in that process it will show itself to be either WHITE TUNA SUSHI or UNFLAGGING TRUTH. if it does, in fact, reveal itself to be unflagging truth, i like to have a binding record of the proceedings, in case there's ever an appeal.
yes, my friends, once again we find ourselves trapped in that ol’ pit o’ tar i like to call my mind. cozy?
there are times, like recently, where none of these things present themselves to me. or, rather, i choose not to listen. i’m in a sort of hibernation. i’m so preoccupied by balance (laundry, flossing, baking) and i start to view those processes as opposition to balance. balance can be quite useful, i’ve learned, and has its place. it can also be a defensive construct employed to separate one from one’s essential self. a dyke, if you will.
hey, it’s my journal, i make the rules, and i never said it had to make sense.
apparently someone has pulled their finger out of the dyke. that someone might have been miranda july or it might have been jonathan caouette or it might have been me, i can’t be sure. in any case, within the last week i’ve become a bit unhinged. what is it they say? everything old is new again? and that’s a relief, because i was starting to find myself a bit too fixed and i needed to be broken. thankfully, i can officially say i’m broken again. in all the best ways. it began around the time i watched the movie me and you and everyone we know. or, more specifically, it began with miranda july’s performance in me and you and everyone we know, because there are things in that movie that i haven’t found a place for yet, which look suspiciously like white tuna sushi, and then there is the unflagging truth of her and what she does in that movie. it kind of split my head open a little bit.
and then there was tarnation, which was so difficult for me to watch, which ended up being a great and important thing. it quickly tore me from patterns of thinking in which i was engaging in the hopes of staying balanced, patterns which were so aimed at being comfortable as to throw me completely off balance.
somehow jonathan caouette and miranda july reminded me that broken is right. the ideal is not real, and real is ideal. tarnation had a couple of images of television static and it got me thinking, and not because it was at all implied, that i need to disregard the black and white thinking and even dispel the notion of grey areas, too, because it’s not really black or white or grey, but all colors changing places simultaneously.
whew. careful what you go askin’ for, i just might write another entry.
see those movies, i guess. maybe they won’t be earth shattering to anyone else, but see them, just in case. if nothing else, it’s just a goddamn breath of fresh air that people are using that medium in what seem to be new and meaningful ways. the ideas and lives and actions of these people somehow, electronically, conveyed to me that it was time to abandon the fears i have of doing the things i want to do. and that’s kind of a huge thing, don’t you think?
so now it’s just time to make plans.
Current Music: sufjan: illinoise | | Tuesday, September 6th, 2005 | | 7:30 am |
refugee assistance
a friend of mine works at fort custer and will be taking a truckload of provisions to the refugees there tomorrow. if you're interested in contributing let me know, and i can get your contributions to her. particular needs include: toiletries, towels, bedding and clothes of all sizes, phone cards. meijer has contributed many semis full of food, so that's covered for now. these other amenities are priority now, since many of these people have nothing. | | Friday, August 12th, 2005 | | 1:40 pm |
let's get this straight ...
i am unapologetic about my undying love for andre 3000.
um, and also my husband.
just thought you all should know. | | Wednesday, August 3rd, 2005 | | 1:23 pm |
g'dafternoon, blogosphere!
yeah, yeah. i know, i know. i'll write an actual entry soon. tomorrow? yeah, but googlism is a beautiful thing and i had to put this somewheres sos i wouldn't forget. it's kinda jacob's laddery, if you think about it (too hard). check it...
° anne is proud to serve.
° anne is not a medical professional and does not offer personal counseling or medical advice via email.
° anne is allowed to lower her skirt.
° anne is the third in a small, locally-owned group of properties.
° anne is gone.
° anne is one of the liveliest performers ever to grace the Bound for Glory stage.
° anne is taken to the scaffold and executed by a french swordsman.
° anne is an expert with all the information and tools you need.
° anne is next to a perfect heathen.
° anne is hugely comfort-aware.
° anne is a savior and a threat.
yessir! | | Thursday, June 23rd, 2005 | | 9:01 pm |
today
i don't know if you pray.
if you do, do it for my family.
if you don't, think good thoughts in our direction.
hospitals are places where time dissolves into ether.
it goes away, and yet it doesn't seem to pass.
the longest day of the year was definitely that.
sorry to be cryptic, but i'll form sentences better tomorrow.
i promise.
you'll think me terribly cheesy, but i don't care.
love is really the only thing.
tell the ones you love that you love them.
have compassion.
love.
connect.
forgive.
do it now. | | Thursday, June 9th, 2005 | | 10:35 am |
koo koo kachoo
does anyone happen to have the recipe for jamie blake’s multi-grain pancakes? anyone? man, i’m dyin’ over here. i miss that place somethin’ fierce.
if you don’t know who anne bancroft was, you ought to. and i don’t want to hear any, “i’m not so into actors, movies, celebrity worship, etc.” because this has nothing (ok, then, very little) to do with me being an actor-y person. it has everything to do with integrity.
so now i’m going to talk about art as if i know what i’m talking about, or what it means. and, for our purposes here, i’m going to include acting under that all too vague canopy of a word, even though acting’s generally considered to be a craft, since it’s really only interpretation, to which i might argue that ANY art is purely interpretation, as is any communication, and that’s all a tar-pit conversation for another time. ok, art. it’s unfortunate and somewhat uncomfortable to me that i have to state clearly that this is all simply my opinion, what with it being my journal and all, one might already assume that, but apparently that preface is a necessary preemptive strike in this forum. anyhow, art. in my opinion, and this is something i’ve considered long and hard, and is at the core of my beliefs about the world, and not at all flippant or off the cuff, in my OPINION, the purpose of art, for ME, in MY LIFE, is to connect people to one another, to help me understand people and help me help people understand one another. yeah, that’s distilled, but that’s it. it’s a tool and vehicle toward compassion.
i’m doing a show right now about WWII. we sing songs from the 40s and read actual letters to and from american soldiers engaged in combat. it’s been a tough haul. the andrews sisters’ musical arrangements are intense and i’ve had a ton of difficult music to learn in relatively no time. plus also dealing with the off-stage drama that sometimes accompanies working with theatre people. i’ve had a hard time keeping my moral up, so to speak. now we’ve opened, and an incredible thing has started to happen. that era’s so often romanticized, but this show balances the saccharin musical numbers of the time with real stories of despair and devotion and joy and death. so all these WWII vets and their wives are coming to the show and crying through it. WEEPING. glasses off, full-handed face wipe kind of weeping. and then they thank us. i now have such a different understanding of these men and of that time. and i think that’s art doing its job.
it’s interesting that anne bancroft would die this week (although i am no longer surprised by, nor do i believe in, coincidences -- in fact i’m often driven to distraction by their usefulness in navigating my life) we’ve been watching the third season of six feet under (newly released on dvd, woot woot!) and in one episode claire has a confrontation with her art professor in which she says something to the effect of, “i think artists have a responsibility to not give in to every emotional impulse, because some impulses are bad and wrong.” while i’ve admittedly slaughtered the gentle and silken brilliance of six feet under’s writing team, you get the idea. so i’ve been thinking a lot about that this week. the responsibility of art and artists. and, well, people, i guess.
anne bancroft, for my money, is one of the greatest actresses of all time. but more than that, she was an artist that made the good and honest choice, the true choice, even if it was unpopular or less (in some cases, much less) than glamorous. y’all go out and rent “home for the holidays” and you’ll see what i mean. i’m inclined to think the world is sorely lacking in people of her ilk. ok, now that i’ve said that i’m not sure i believe it really. maybe what i mean is that our world doesn’t place as high a premium as it should on these people. maybe they’re all over the place, doing the right thing, being thoughtful and responsible to humanity, but they don’t get the kind of attention that the folks who make self-interested, glamorous choices do.
yeah, so all i really wanted to say was rest in peace, mrs. robinson. and thank you.
Current Music: beastie boys | | Thursday, May 26th, 2005 | | 8:10 am |
because of all the sand which is there
i am an elderly woman in disguise. my favorite jokes are often puns and i'm always looking for interesting ways to incorporate kale into my diet, and not necessarily because i like it. i have crushes on james a. garfield, gregory peck and jimmy carter. i’m constantly telling people that most of their problems can be solved with a little fresh air, some exercise and a nutrient-rich diet. my money’s on paul newman and robert redford for the democratic ticket in 2008. or, make that aught 8. i take cod liver oil every day and make sure that my husband takes his vitamin B so he doesn’t get irritable. i almost wrote “cranky.” i eat prunes for dessert. i go to bed early because, well, might as well. i had to stop myself from putting wadded-up tissue in my sleeve last week, and then again last night in my pillowcase. i just wrote “tissue.” the tv is never loud enough for me. i’m growing increasingly concerned that those young pop stars are wearing outfits that are a bit too revealing. truly. i sometimes use the phrase “my lord” in astonishment. i’m usually cold.
plus also i think i may have had some sort of stroke. yesterday, as i was singing along to "tracks of my tears", i got to the bridge where smokey sings “outside... i’m masquerading,” except i said, “outside... i’m aspirating.” and it wasn’t too long ago that i was singing the jane & michael banks song from mary poppins with rube and i sang “we won’t hide your testicles so you can’t see.” no, not spectacles. testicles. see, i don’t forget the words to these songs, my brain just spontaneously replaces them with other, irrelevant and somewhat less convenient words.
so then i'm left to wonder, am i like picasso, who once said that he was born with the ability to draw like an old man and spent his life learning to draw like a child? or am i more of a jonathan winters as mearth in mork & mindy, born old and aging in reverse? either's fine by me i guess. they're both fine specimens of human capabilities, if you ask me.
last night at the ice-cream shop (the one we call whitey’s house), i overheard a seven-year old in our group saying, “let’s pretend there are no force fields.”
Current Mood: cat power
Current Music: cat power | | Thursday, May 19th, 2005 | | 11:03 am |
this is not the entry i intended to write
though today’s really trying, i’m doing a decent job of subverting its intentions of being crappy and bummerish. the ankle-length wool skirt i’m wearing is a great help, in that if i really put me mind to it, i can summon up the feeling of still being in bed. that was, of course, supposed to be “really put MY mind to it,” but i’m leavin’ it, because who couldn’t use a bit more pirate in their day?
another great assist in undermining the encroaching “bads” came from the sweet lil’ frog who lives in the plants at caffe casa. he goes by the name of howie. apparently, as john was bringing new plants inside one day, howie appeared on the staghorn. he’s since taken up residence in his own private utopia. john and kathy feed him roly-poly bugs. today he was sunning himself on an enormous succulent under a grow-lamp. his eyes were open. he did not move. i didn’t believe he was real at first. his look of contentment was awe-inspiring. go and visit him. he’s sure to make your day. even if you are afraid of john.
somehow, again, i’m at this impasse. this same one. i come to it occasionally, and then i’m able to circumnavigate it for a while, but it sneaks back in. and today it’s arrived. and it might just be today. or simply this morning, just until after i walk the dog at lunchtime. maybe it’s just a lack of blood to the brain that brings it on. i can’t really say. it’ll be gone soon, though. and then, without warning, it’ll be back. it’ll. it’ll. it’ll.
you see, MOSTLY, i’m one of those people who thinks, wherever i am, whatever i’m doing, that’s cool, that’s fine. because i’m not
1. dead.
2. hungry.
3. oppressed.
4. resigning the presidency on national television.
5. swimming through sewage to gather quarters flung by american tourists from the decks of opulent cruise ships.
6. watching adult men rape my virgin daughter because they’ve heard it’ll (it’ll it’ll) cure their hiv.
7. and then a lot of other awful scenarios.
so yeah. my point is that the frustrating thing about this impasse is that i know (and you know, and you know i know, i hope) that i HAVE NOTHING TO COMPLAIN ABOUT. EVER. and this inflated preface is really just, when you whittle it down to nothing, guilt. guilt about being so fortunate that i have the luxury, health, wealth, happiness, comfort, etc. to spend time thinking about things like
what the hell am i doing with my life? really? i mean when you put it on paper it all seems very full and real and you wouldn’t look at me and think, “man, hutchie’s really gotta get her shit together!” but what i keep coming to is that it feels so unfocused. and i don’t mean my family or my friends. i really mean my occupation(s). like what am i doing with my time? what SHOULD i be doing with my time. yeah, i know, should shmould, right? but SHOULD, as in i have skills, i can’t really identify them at the moment, but they’re there, damnit, and i could be utilizing them and focusing my energies and working toward something. and, well, i’m just not. and everytime i start to think this way it feels more urgent, more like OH MY GOD YOU’D BETTER FIGURE IT OUT AND GET STARTED BEFORE before what? don’t know.
MOSTLY, on most days, i see it like this: my life evolves, i evolve with it. everything i’m doing has value and is a part of everything that’s coming and is separate from it, too. because i tend to be a very much in the now kind of person. i’ve worked to cultivated that, it used to be that i was simply way too impatient for that kind of ideology, but i’m MOSTLY there.
so i really don’t know where this is going. only that i’ve had this feeling for about a week now, and it doesn’t seem to want to take flight, no matter how much i shoo it, no matter how many rolled up newspapers i swat it with.
i’m going to walk away now. go home and walk the dog. make the blood bring more oxygen to my brain. concentrate on noticing the garlic mustard overtaking long road or noting the last of the lillies-of-the-valley. focus on being grateful for not only what i have, but also what i don’t have (see 1-7 above). remember that it’s all enough. more than enough.
Current Mood: um, yeah.
Current Music: seven swans | | Tuesday, May 10th, 2005 | | 1:34 pm |
Interviewmania!
thea (who i would link for you if i had a clue how such things happen) sent me this. reply to this entry with a rousing "Interview Me!" and i will send you five questions of yer very own to answer and post on your page...
1. What things renew you?
Family. Time alone. Cooking. Nature. Psychological excavation. Like here’s the ideal renewal experience: Asylum lake with family and friends, everyone else is a bit ahead or lagging behind, within earshot. I’m internally working out some recent action or reaction I or someone had, deconstructing it, finding its source and generally evaluating its impact. Then I’m going home to cook a huge meal for a lot of lovely people.
2. At what point do you know you are doing the right thing -- doing well?
I forget about the random and inane record-keeping device we call time.
3. What nouns (people, places, objects, events) have influenced you, and in what ways?
Moms, being one and having the one I had. It's all about perspecitve.
Dads, mine and the one I married. Unparalleled commitment.
The writings of JD Salinger. I couldn’t care any less how cliche you find that to be.
The large, fatal tumor inside the head of my friend. No need to explain.
Kalamazoo. I was 21 before I found out where my home is.
Scotland. I was 23 before I found out where I belong.
4. A crisp fall day or a crisp spring day?
Fall, altho’ I find I have an almost unbearable case of nostalgia every autumn.
5. What is a friend?
I suppose the only unifying quality all of my long-term friendships have is that they’ve always been the kind of situation where we could talk for eight hours straight or not see one another for a year, and everything would still be the same. The respect and admiration are never contingent upon constant (or even regular) exposure. They are all people who challenge me (indirectly) to be a better person. Not by requiring that of me, but just by being uber-creative, rocking, hard-working, true-blue folks. They are all people who will readily laugh with me at things that are generally construed as inappropriate, but are innately heart-breakingly kind and loving people.
yeah, so there's a thing.
Current Mood: warmish
Current Music: HVAC | | Thursday, April 21st, 2005 | | 8:44 am |
bring it
and again i ask you, “why can’t i stop listening to iron & wine, even though i only have access to one song?” lordy. i can barely contain myself today, listening to this, what with the springish feeling outside, and the rain yesterday, and also the alternating between iron & wine and the simon & garfunkel song “the only living boy in new york.” really, it’s just that dang garden state soundtrack. get it. it’s (mostly) great.
spring is here. full on. so word on the street has it that it’s supposed to snow this weekend. this doesn’t bode well for my plan of spending the entire two days on the new (to me) blue schwinn i found yesterday in the back of my garage that actually (mostly, well, enough) works.
i have yet to figure out why, but springtime always brings me a renewed and intense appreciation for older music. like i’m remembering now why paul simon was a genius, even though we don’t really want to give him credit for it anymore. and i couldn’t possibly get enough of david bowie right now. and ruby had to tell me to turn down ‘back in black’ the other day. although she redeemed herself soon after by writing a hip-hop song in which she says “bring the chaos to your a-oss” and then pretending to vomit in the flower-box outside the christian science reading room.
god, i love my life.
Current Mood: great heights
Current Music: iron & wine, again | | Wednesday, April 6th, 2005 | | 2:17 pm |
polysorbate 2005
oh. my. the last three days were weird. really, really weird. i feel polluted, like i’ve been bingeing on hallucinagenics and the toxins are now finally starting to leave my system.
i’ve been in detroit for a few days. this is detroit, in case you’ve never spent any time there:
wake up.
watch cable.
eat preservative-loaded food.
drive twenty minutes.
buy coffee.
drink coffee in car.
drive twenty to forty minutes in search of either:
a) places to buy things
b) places to eat preservative-loaded food.
c) places to sit and watch something.
d) all of the above.
shop.
eat preservative-loaded food.
watch cable.
eat preservative-loaded food.
shop.
shop.
eat preservative-loaded food.
avoid walking.
eat preservative-loaded food.
avoid any physical exertion whatsoever.
watch cable.
watch cable.
eat.
watch cable.
the rainforest cafe. do you know about this place? animatronic monkeys, alligators, elephants. huge salt- water tanks of gorgeous fish. enormous glinty golden fountain of atlas carrying enormous glinty golden earth with neon banner urging you to SAVE THE RAINFOREST. they serve twenty dollar salads topped with black angus beef, which i found entertaining in that way that your dog eating his own vomit is entertaining, since most of the reason we need to SAVE THE RAINFOREST is that much of it is being decimated in order to make room for grazing beef cattle. the gift shop sells, among the varied safari hats and polished rocks, stuffed pink poodles and john deere t-shirts. and nowhere could i find information stating that proceeds from the aforementioned twenty dollar beef salad go toward any effort to SAVE THE RAINFOREST. hey man, SAVE THE RAINFOREST, but do it on your own dime, ‘cuz i’ve got a business to run.
we fall into these horrifically gluttonous habits while we’re in detroit. it’s so unlike us. we binge on chemicals and myriad stimuli. i think our logic is that it’s a vacation of sorts. a vacation from everything we know to be good and wise and true, apparently. it is a peek into the life of what is probably the average american. moreso than we’re usually exposed to, anyway. three days of that and i see how easy it is to be lured into typical consumerist culture. i understand a bit better why everybody’s fat, drugged, divorced and unhappy. yow.
the ubersurreal quality of the whole experience was heightened by the fact that we had to stay an extra day to help babysit my nieces and nephew while their mom had a breast augmentation. yeah, that’s what i said. read it again if you need to, i’ll wait.
not just a breast augmentation. lines in her face filled, too.
maybe it’s all the high fructose corn syrup i’ve ingested in the past couple of days, but i feel sort of polluted by the fact that my sister-in-law hated her body enough to cut it and sculpt it into submission. i mean, i’ve experienced some severe body hatred in my time, but, ick. i’ve just never known anyone personally who’s had it done before. so in the past, when i’ve heard about people having elective cosmetic surgery it was easier to just write them off as assholes or morons or both. or call them misguided or say, “it’s her body, who am i to judge?” but today i’m finding myself looking at pictures of my nieces, wondering how it was explained to them, “mommy wanted bigger tits so that other people will find her more sexually appealing and therefore she can finally feel ok about herself. but don't worry sweetie, you’re perfect just the way you are. i swear.” and i know there’s something to be learned in there for me, for rube, for me as her mom, but i keep coming back to, “uh, why? i don’t know. why? why.”
i feel the need to tell you she’s a thin woman, muscular, attractive and youthful. but why do i feel the need to describe her? would it be more acceptable if she were none of those things? no, certainly no, right? so why am i troubled by this? i take these things personally, i think. before i was someone’s mom, it was quite easy to say, “to each his own.” but everytime this mainstream lifestyle which i find to be so sickening gets an inch closer to my daughter it makes me want to move us all to a remote tibetan village.
hours on the freeway, swarmed by ford expeditions. huge platters of food. no sidewalks. bratz dolls. trix fruit chews. saline implants. i feel like the unabomber somedays. everything that i find to be good and honest and wise and true seems to have no place anymore. and i know you won’t believe me but i swear to you i wish i could be more moderate about this. i think my life would be so much easier if i could let go of it. and i do, most days. i think it’s just this mental and physical detox mode i’m in. oh, sweet kalamazoo, thanks for not being detroit.
Current Mood: squick
Current Music: the evens | | Thursday, March 31st, 2005 | | 2:41 pm |
apoplexy
we must mature out of our absolution in order to continue. period. heh.
terri? terri who?
yeah, i can’t believe i’m writing about her either, but there are some interesting issues surrounding the story that aren’t being addressed, i think. first, it almost never shows up in the myriad articles we read about terri schiavo how she ended up in a PVS to begin with. after many, many years of dealing with eating disorders, her heart stopped, then she was resuscitated minutes later, but was cut off from oxygen long enough to acquire severe brain damage.
so we keep seeing these photos of this woman when she was young, fresh, and all-american hott.
what if she was a crusty, puss-oozing meth-head? or worse, a minority? would all those folks cry outside her hospice window then? seriously.
i saw some pictures of some life-activists on yahoo a couple of minutes ago. there was some woman holding up a sign that said, “starve a dog, go to jail. please feed terri.” the cut-line said, “protester holds up signs in support of terri shiavo.” and that’s where i take issue. those signs are not in support of terri shiavo at all. those signs are in support of the person holding the sign up. seriously. that’s all.
so the thing that keeps freaking me out is this woman lived her entire cognizant adult life tortured by food. literally tortured. and now it comes down to feeding tube, control, others’ ideologies getting in the way of her life and/or death. and isn’t that what eating disorders are about? so she’s totally captive by the issue that’s been controlling her forever. and now she had to go out like that. as a tool for political gain.
jesse jackson, you should be ashamed of yourself for getting involved in this. leave those people alone, for crying out loud. we don’t know them. none of us. maybe the parents were monsters to her until this happened and now they feel remorseful and are trying to redeem themselves. who knows? it does seem odd that the husband would stay married to her and fight so long and hard for her right to die if it wasn’t what she truly wanted. like he turned his life into a stinky quagmire for 15 years just for shits n giggles.
whatever. she’s gone now. now we can all look forward to the next moral fight to take the media’s attention and distract us from iraq.
iraq? iraq who?
environmental destruction? environmental destruction who?
Current Mood: eh
Current Music: routineers | | 1:54 pm |
high comedy
"the frog has come to have his say. the pig will never get her way. bib and napkin, knife and fork is the only way that i'll touch pork."
Current Music: muppet calypso | | Friday, March 18th, 2005 | | 11:42 am |
more bounce
so, life just seems to be going exceptionally wonderfully. yeah, really. the show’s been held over til the 26th, which is so fine. i don’t look forward to putting this one to bed. it’s too good to give up. lisa and i got a big box in the mail from kathy najimy and mo gaffney (writers of the show) with a bunch of signed stuff (shirts, scripts, posters, etc.) and a note telling us to rock on. so basically they’re very cool to care about us wee things in kalamazoo. ok, but not so wee...
rube cut her own hair, so now has a doctored up (by moi) version of bangs which make her look exactly like scout. this pleases me greatly because i might have named her scout had demi moore not gotten to it first, thereby making it terribly gay to name your child after demi’s child. whereas it would just be sort of gay on its own, demi certainly ups the gay factor. because i am so in love with that movie that i might even consider naming a boy atticus, even though mary louise parker took that name (i think) but she’s worlds cooler than demi, so it’s ok.
i’ve apparently got to stop reading my mom’s old issues of people magazine.
there are beautiful paintings up in my office right now. they’ll be up until april 15th, so stop on by and see them. the opening was quite successful. all but two or three of them sold, out of 15, which is incredible for someone’s first show. we bought one even before the show opened.
in the hallowed wintry hensley tradition of watching way too many dvds, we’ve become addicted to arrested development (or, as ruby calls it, the rested development). and tony hale is my new favorite actor. no joke, this is some funny, funny shit. the writing and acting is so sharp, it’ll most likely be cancelled soon. it’s too smart and funny for television, even for fox. plus also my friend judy is on it, and it’s some of her very best work, if you ask me, which you probably, generally, don’t. but tony hale? buster bluth? PURE GOLD. seriously. he’s enough, and then some.
ok, here's a thing. "plus also" occurs frequently on this page. you just think it's grammatically incorrect, i know, but really it's a joke, except the person i shared the joke with is now dead, and therefore unable to truly appreciate it, so maybe it's just a tribute. an homage. yes, a grammatical homage. he would be so flattered.
hmm, what else? twice this week i’ve found white spots lurking on my tonsil, but have kicked their infected asses with emergen-c, raw garlic, tea and much, much sleep. i feel victoriously immune. oh, man, spring is coming, cantcha just feel it? springspringyspringyspring. it’s truly on its way. rachel saw flowers yesterday. motherfriggin FLOWERS. yeah, buddy. it's on.
a dictionary definition of the word spastic.
Current Mood: yes!
Current Music: beastie boys | | Friday, February 25th, 2005 | | 1:36 pm |
chilivore
on our walk home from the coffee shop this morning, rube and i were discussing what different animals eat. mostly because she's obsessed with sharks right now. more accurately, she's obsessed with the fact that they can eat her whole, if they so choose. i remember that discovery to be quite overwhelming for me, too. the following is Exhibit A in my case for why having children is awesome...
her: so what do we call meat eaters?
me: carnivores.
her: and what about vegetarians?
me: herbivores.
her: cool.
me: and we eat everything, so we're called omnivores.
her: except not me. because i don't eat chili.
have a supergreat weekend. i know i'm gonna.
Current Music: os mutantes | | Friday, February 18th, 2005 | | 8:39 am |
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