Binge-watching that Halston series on Netflix (soooo good!!!) Late 60s to Disco era. Sent me looking on YouTube for perfume reviews. When I get rich, I want to wear original Halston scent, which you can get at Marshall's and Gucci Premier which can be gotten at Sephora.
This put me in mind of my favorite perfume, Red Door. I once went into Niemann Marcus in the City (2024--what with all the businesses closing in San Francisco, I had to check, and yes, as of this posting, it's still there) with some of my church friends (we were having a girl's day out.)
I went straight to the perfume counter and and asked and asked if they carried Red Door. The lady said, in a perfect plummy Philipina accent, "That is Elizabeth Arden, you can find it at Macy's."
When I started getting interested in makeup and stuff, Macy's was the place to go--Clinique was the brand. It was also the place where you saw the very interesting Italian men at the fragrance counter.
All of a sudden, I had an attack of nostalgia for those times--why hadn't I tried to cultivate that side of myself when I was a teenager, like other girls? I should never have put so much energy into another person at the cost of developing my own personality.
A new dawn, a new day. He is risen, hallelujah. Easter afternoon. Many things to do.
Fog lifting from coming off pain meds. New agenda, get ready for life–the proverbial “new normal”, which is going to be what?
New job? New home? Will people get in my way again? What will the people on the outside be like?
What to do to get ready? Be ready for anything. Get writing again. Get working again. Get learning again.
This will be you when it is you. People have blown themselves to pieces (Goodbye, Hunter! Goodbye Kurt!)
I’m not going to pieces, I’m just just going up to Daly City. Or down to Burlingame. Depends on the weather. Go someplace nice and live some life, find a peaceful backdrop, and be, actually very un-gonzo.
This is what it is, and this is where it’s at. Downtown, me and Petula Clark. Pizza or Chinese food.
And whether it is, or it isn’t, I’ll be there. Doing all the things, whatever. Clean, pressed, my reading glasses, my notebook, my phone, bible, what else I need for a hunting trip?
No community. I’ll report in, when I can. A missive from an out of the way Chinese restaurant. Something bright and daylight in my heart.
I’m going on I think my 3rd re-watch of Girls and I’ve arrived at season 2, episode 1: It’s About Time. Wherein Sackler has gotten hit by the truck, because he was standing in the middle of the road, engrossed in telling Hannah off about everything he thinks is wrong with her. I really love Girls more than part of me thinks I should, and stuff like this is why. Because it puts me through stuff that’s good for me as a woman to think about. I normally wouldn’t even watch this kind of show, but of course I was drawn there, red-blooded American human that I am, by Adam Driver. Who I am pretty sure (if I’m right) and would like to believe (if I’m wrong) is NOTHING like Adam Sackler. I normally hate shows like this with a passion, actually, because all they represent to me is women of immense privilege, acting really really dumb, which is something that causes me to cringe a lot. Here in this episode, for instance, Hannah is hooking up with a token black Republican. I’m kind of politically conservative myself, but if I were a left-leaner, why on EARTH would I be fucking a Republican? It makes no sense. Republicans being usually more socially conservative, casual sex outside of marriage doesn’t make any sense either, so one of the things we are dealing with here is Hollywood’s campaign to program young adults into not caring enough about meaning and sense to stop rutting like animals. At the same time, even as a Christian, I wanna say I get the whole thing about the sex. Adam Sackler is hawt, even though he’s irritating, and no one should put up with a guy treating them like that. I’ve arrived at the place in the episode where Sackler is laid up, and Hannah is helping him to pee, bringing his pills and whatnot. He’s telling her, he’s ok with there being no labels, and still has the nerve to talk about LOVE. She’s coming here to her ex’s place even though she’s with someone else right now, and taking care of him out of guilt, even though he himself told her not to do anything from guilt, even though he wouldn’t let her in the ambulance and told the guy she was a monster… And I’m glad she told him, “Well, it’s not your choice, it’s MY choice!” Here’s some other stuff I wish she would have said: “So you go hard on commitment, and you TOLD me that? But yet you tell me you FINALLY LOVE ME, or whatever, but then decided to TAKE THAT AWAY because I’m DOING IT WRONG for some reason? On what planet is that love, Adam? Why can’t you think about everything I’VE done, and changed over in myself, and set aside my dreams and plans about who I am and what I wanna do, in order to be your slut? Is that not worth anything? And I’ve been happy to be the “woman without a label” in your life because it was what YOU wanted, even when I DIDN’T want it anymore.” Also, season 2, episode 3, Bad Friend: “When did you eat jerky?” Best fucking question ever. #AdamSackler #Girls
The gal in the other bed across from mine has been moaning in pain for at least 2 hours now. Always a moan, never quite a scream, sometimes a spontaneous cry, but never quite making it there.
This reminds me of a bizarre thought I have when I hear children crying– I always secretly wish for them to cry absolutely as hard as they can, maybe because I want to punish the parent of this squalling child. I also have a vague feeling that their cry is somehow my own.
I don’t feel this way about the woman across the hospital room though, so maybe it only applies to children. There is something more visceral about a child’s cry.
She is quieting down now, perhaps to finally get to sleep.
I have been here forever, it seems like. She is groaning again.
The Preparation The What: All kinds of pens, meticulously tested and reviewed (even watching YouTube videos –about a $2.00 pen, go figure!) Every paper binding device I could get my hands on (just saying “notebook” doesn’t convey it.) I’ve been piling up these supplies recently, even getting a job at a big box store to gain greater access to the stuff (The number of writing implements I have now is beyond insane.) Hanging out in the papercraft aisle at Michael’s, Dollar Tree, and other places, wandering around like a zombie, staring at colored paper and tape as if it were the Holy Grail. The Why: Some kind of idea about being organized! “I will be organized this year!” I vowed to the cashier at Staples as I purchased what amounted to a deluxe starter kit of Arc notebook system stuff, which is ironic, because that particular Arc notebook is sitting on a shelf, not being very organized at all. I have a hole in my heart and I must fill it with magic paper. Where the Two Come Together: I am a Bullet Journal-er, and because I am also interested in writing I have gone at this fad to an almost psychotic degree. When I first started learning about this, something in me balked at the idea of a hobby where you just put bits of colored paper onto other bits of colored paper. Now, after God knows how many YouTube videos, Facebook groups, and Instagram pictures, I am convinced I do have something in common with the people who want a way to track, decorate, and document their life journey in whatever paper binding device they find pleasing, whether it’s a glitzy Filofax or a Dollar Tree Moleskine dupe. And this satisfied feeling is what it all boils down to, as I finish this post, the rough draft of which was worked out on paper, and now chills out in the “Goals” section of my planner. I’m going to be blogging my way through Ryder Carroll’s book, and actually covering a lot of different task areas in doing so. Very satisfying.
The written word, whether reading or writing it myself, has been important to me since I first learned about it in grade school.
Teachers thankfully chose good material to read to us, Harriet the Spy, Charlotte’s Web, and Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH stand out as memorable. As soon as I learned to write I was keeping a journal. On a couple of occasions it was found and read by people who shouldn’t have read it, but such are the risks of early literary efforts.
Extracurricular books and notebooks during class time were later an unauthorized pleasure I engaged in, much to the chagrin of my teachers. Nothing they were teaching was half as important as what I was reading. I remember Stephen King’s original edition of The Stand being one of my constant companions during this time.
In my teen years, I branched further into writing my own stuff, mostly embarrassing poetry. I also remember a class where we were reading The Ox-Bow Incident, the semester ending with a showing of the movie, which was a disappointment even though it starred Harry Morgan and Henry Fonda.
During these years, my writing got fairly decent, and I gave myself enough practice to really enjoy it, even if I don’t always have time any more.
As soon as I get up (usually, let's be honest here):
Go to Bible Gateway and get the latest verse of the day. Write it down, add my prayerful response to this verse. (This takes roughly seven to ten minutes. If I'm pressed for time, have to hustle to work, I save the next steps for when I'm on the bus...)
Ask God for wisdom, and read the day 's section in whatever Bible reading plan I'm going through. As I read, the Holy Spirit will prompt me to pay special attention and linger over various passages. These I write down.
When I finish the day's section, I will sometimes get prompted to look up a specific topic in my Thompson Chain bible, and read the related verses.
I reread and pray back to God the verses He gave me that day, then I spend some time praying for the day, problems, needs of family and friends.
This process takes roughly 45 minutes to an hour. As I said, sometimes I'm doing the second part of this plan while on the bus, or I'm praying while walking to and from the bus.
This is one reason I like taking the bus, it's pretty much guaranteed alone time. If I'm praying under my breath, no one seems to take notice of another weirdo chattering to themselves on the bus, which there are usually one or two on every bus in my area anyway.
This was something I did with my big purple Adventure Kid's Bible, it seemed like the kind of thing that needed colorful tabs.
I think I was probably watching True Detective or something while I did this, I remember the TV being on. Just using regular graph paper I laid out a grid of colored squares with abbreviations of bible book titles on them. I had checked and knew they would be the right size to fit from the edge of the page to the edge of the cover. Some bibles give you a lot of cover, some don't.
I then cut these into strips, then snipped each tab off individually as I was ready to use it.
On the far left here you can see how these were attached, simply with transparent tape. I made these to be specifically the width of scotch tape, which is exactly three quarters of an inch. Basically you adhere your tape to the bottom side of the page first, then, with a flap of tape sticky side up sticking out, you lay your tab on top, butting it right up to the edge of the page. You then fold the tape flap over, adhering it to the top of the tab and the page, rubbing any air bubbles out carefully.
You start out with Revelation or the Concordance/Index, whichever's at the end of your bible. In this way, you will then be able to tell where to place your next tab for the book of Jude, directly to the left of the one before it. You then proceed in like fashion until your bible is finished.
Was deeply disappointed recently with comedian Laurie Kilmartin. It seems she thinks a great way to register disagreement with other women on the interwebs is to insist that they need to "stick a dick in their vagina".
I had such high hopes for you, funny lady! Not only a pretty good comic, but I felt solidarity with you over the recent loss of your dad and such. I don't know if you consider yourself a feminist, but I feel you have now disqualified yourself here.
First rule of Feminist Fight Club: No one needs to stick a dick in their vagina!
Second rule of Feminist Fight Club: No one needs to stick a dick in their vagina!
So, I'm not quite out of the woods yet, but I'm fighting my way out of a week long flu-like illness. I don't get sick like this often, but when I do it can be pretty intense.
When I get sick like this, I get as close to being suicidal as I can, because I have really weird scary dreams. There was one with monster blockhead alien beings (there is a video on YouTube somewhere of me in a chat room, talking about a monster alien dream, which is kinda hilarious, but I think it's the same guys.) And they were like, "THE DEATH TRUCKS ARE HERE." And I'm like, "Holy crap, DEATH!"
Thankfully, there was one dream that was funny enough to cancel that one out. Prince was in it, His Royal Purpleness Himself, standing behind a keyboard. And he was looking at me with that look he gave to Kanye that time, and telling me, "Don't look, seriously, you won't like it." And all of a sudden there was some kind of weird porn in my face (that I really didn't wanna look at.)
And I guess the meaning of that dream was Prince ain't gonna steer anybody wrong.
What if everything wrong with a person was holding back everything that was right with them?
I had an interesting thought: what if all the good stuff about that one person I couldn't bring myself to forgive was somehow free? It could come out and heal old hurts by causing them to say things I wish they would.
It would also be like they would be free too. They would have the power to see things in a different way.
The wallpaper was a fruit and vegetable motif, done in brilliant orange and green. This was the late sixties/early seventies, when really earthy earth tones were popular (avocado green refrigerators and ovens were born around this time.)
Spices we had then: petrified tumeric in a small can from 1937, oregano, and something called "Beau Monde" seasoning, which seemed to be an unholy concoction of garlic salt, cream of tartar, whatever they used to make that "Butter. Buds" product, and some black pepper thrown in to save it from looking like powdered puke.
With these and ketchup the house chef would serve whatever dead animal wound up on our plates.
So we've been talking about the book of James in Sunday school. The best I can describe it, James is mostly about discipleship, and not being a phony Christian.
Recently we've been going over the verses regarding the tongue: 3:1 - 12. Verse 6: "And the tongue is a fire, a world of iniquity. The tongue is so set among our members that it defiles the whole body, and sets on fire the course of nature; and is set on fire by hell."
That verse has really got to give one pause. It reminds me of Jesus' words in Matthew 15:18--"But those things which proceed out of the mouth come from the heart, and they defile a man."
This set me thinking after church, as I wandered around town, about what was inside me. Full disclosure: I've been fairly prayerless the past week or so. I'm newly returned to the Lord and still trying to get disciplined about my devotional time.
All of the negative stuff from James has sort of been coming into play (not in a big way, but bad enough) : faith w/o works, envy, pride, an untamable tongue, listening to too much secular music and feeling weird...all floating around in my head.
When I get this way, I start feeling like a walking example of the Parable of the Sower, how the cares of this world can choke out the Word.
I resolved this afternoon to perambulate in prayer as I was going around, which I did, and I have to say I'm glad. Sometimes having a think and a prayer and a wander can do you a world of good.
I like that this is turning the idea of of "resolutions" on its head. Because your New Year's stuff should be more about focus than about stuff you oughtta do,, which can ruin your focus.
That being said, I'd like to get this under way with my three words, which are:
Calibrate. I'm going to ask myself, "What's my level? How do I get there and how do I vibrate on that frequency?" This is also sort of a spiritual idea, the idea of, getting with one's Higher Power, whatever that may be, and finding out what you should be doing (yeah, I know, "should".)
Educate. Self-education is going to be very important this year, about a lot of different things.
Create. More blogging, hopefully more YouTube videos this year (maybe even getting started on a book, holy shnikeys!)
I feel like these are three words that go together, they flow into each other logically, and it's a good focus for my year.
The man driving a small car, with a huge dog in the passenger side, both of them looking as though this was the most normal thing in the world, a level of peaceful intimacy between them that was enviable.
A youngish man in an SUV, turning slightly to look incredulously, and say, "What?!" to some toddler, who had no doubt said/done something very funny.
Here we go, I'm about to commit an absolute blogging crime: writing a post about food.
You've heard what the experts have had to say--"No one is interested in what you had for lunch! Stop tweeting and Facebook-ing your food!" And I have disregarded that advice and tweeted about food before. It's fun to break the rules sometimes!
And I suppose that they're actually right, those experts, in a way. Taking a photo of your pan-seared ahi tuna or whatever, and saying, "Out with the gang at that great new restaurant!" may be a pretty good thing for your inner circle of internet pals, the folks you work with, your family, your down the street neighbor who's on your Facebook, and whatnot, but it's not something that will generally hold the interest of anyone outside that tight-knit inner circle.
I think that a posting of any kind having to do with food should be something that causes people to sit up and take notice--you've got to have something to say about food. You don't necessarily have to be Jacques Pepin, but you have to have a reason for writing what you do, an awareness of what you like and don't like and why. Some kind of an observation or perspective on a food matter. These are the kinds of things that will draw more people than your Aunt Gertrude (who reads all your stuff!) to be interested.
And now, I'm sure people are going to hate me or something, because I said all of that simply to set up a few words that were rattling through my brain about onions. Whoever has read this far can judge whether or not I adhered to my own self-imposed expert rules.
The Whole Thing About Liking/Not Liking Onions
Almost everyone starts out as a kid not liking onions. It's something about their texture, it can be kind of "papery" in a weird way. Certainly, if your mom or whoever was the cook when you were growing up can really ruin your experience of onions by not cooking them properly or throwing them on badly cooked meat, especially if you're the type of kid like I was who also had a hard time liking red meat. Fried onions can seem kind of slimy and weird. The whole thing leaves you feeling like you'd be fine if you never ate another onion again.
But then, at least in my case, things happen as you get a little older. You start noticing that nice, fresh, thinly sliced onion tastes pretty darn good on a cheeseburger. In fact, onions and cheese tend to go together really well, "cheese and onion" is sort of a food institution.
You realize that red onions are delicious in salads, pasta, and on pizza. In fact, if you're making roasted vegetables, they're really good by themselves.
And then, it happens: someone serves you Roasted Cipollini Onions, which are the kind of thing that absolutely melts in your mouth. The first time I had these, it was so good I nearly came unglued. The way this dish is made, the onions have a sweet/savory nut-like flavor that can send you over the moon. Not everyone crosses the bridge from hating onions to liking them, they can almost be classified in that snooty category of foods thought of as "an acquired taste." As a person who has made that jump, I can tell you that I feel a little more like a real adult, knowing that I have embraced onions as a culinary friend.
Interestingly, just last week I was in a video chatroom where they were debating on the value of online ed solutions like Coursera. I'm taking a writing class there, and I piped in with my opinion that it may be good for learning stuff on your own, such as punching up your writing skills, but that it wouldn't be sufficient to prepare you for a job in business. It seems that Laurie Pickard is gearing up to prove me wrong.
There are so many reasons today why traditional higher ed is not a good fit for many of us out there. One example would be the high cost to parents who send their kids out to college, pay a lot into it, and wind up having to pay even more $$ because instead of buckling down and studying, Jr. has been doing nothing but drinking, partying, and getting into trouble. Jr. then has to come back home, and, rather than gain an MBA type position, he has to work the fry station at McDonald's.
No disrespect to McDonalds, though, because as I recall when I worked there, they actually worked *with* me to work out a schedule where I could take some college classes. Not enough of the entry level workplaces out there are willing to do that these days.
As a person who's had to balance work and school, and now these days with an added load of having to take care of elderly parents, having an educational resource that I can slip into the narrow cracks of my free time is an immense blessing.
In this economy, people are less willing to shell out the bucks to an institution whose idea of improvement may be only beefing up the sports program, or a cosmetic overhaul of the cafeteria/food court. When you consider the ever growing unlikelihood that a brick and mortar degree will lead to a job, large colleges setting up free MOOCs may be their first effort at remaining relevant to the needs of the future workforce.
So I was succumbing to the "internet productivity" thing, forging ahead in the "quest for inbox zero", diligently cleaning out my Gmail account, when something weird happened.
I was searching and deleting, getting rid of whole swaths of email I would never read. Click, and gone were hundreds of crappy messages from the Democratic party, click, now giant blocks of pagan message board communiques erased.
After getting rid of a couple thousand emails, I thought I should surface in the front room, come up for air and get something to eat. A nice salad from the store, perhaps.
As I was eating, my brain started cycling over the task I had been doing. Emails began to scroll through my head. All of a sudden, I felt as though the part of my brain that was emotionally prepared to eat green onions was missing.
There was one in my mouth. "This is crunchy in a way I'm not in the mood to deal with!" I thought.
Clearly, I am not the type of person who needs Google Glass...
