I had heard the rumor that they were in the market for another child but bidding for the small Indian children of Slumdog Millionaire from the front row of the Academy Awards? It was not wonder with the length of the Oscars last Sunday, that Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt forgot where they were for a moment.
Apparently the pulchritudinous pair were quite besotted by the hobbit like Indian musician who won for best song. They thought that he might make a wonderful addition to their growing brood giving stretching the group’s possibility of pure future thespian domination to that of musical theater. Since Bollywood is larger than Hollywood they thought it would be the most direct route.
When producers kindly asked that Jolie not raise her bidding paddle on camera (she was #10) she was a bit perturbed but Pitt held her hand to sooth her temper, and with class and elegance through pillowy lips said she was “Sari”
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Friday, February 20, 2009
Whoa Now, Hands Off : A commentary on Chris Brown and Rihanna
You can’t troll the Internet without landing on some news or gossip item about the Chris Brown - Rihanna debacle. If you have been living under a rock (or simply have better thing s to do) after a Grammy party, R&B singer Chris Brown allegedly assaulted pop star Rihanna and then fled the scene. Needless to say the press, fans and fellow celebrities were up in arms, and talking heads went wild quilting facts and speculation, ambushing celebrities as they exited their favorite eateries asking their opinions on the matter.
After weeks of listening, reading and watching clip after clip, Miz. Ann Thrope can stand it no more, and though I may not be a celebrity I would like to fervently weigh in, not so much on the topic of what happened- that’s a no brainer, it was a travesty and there is no excuse – none for what happened. Not to sound like a PSA, but violence is never the answer. Allegedly there were bite marks on Rihanna’s arms- what the hell? Now I have to say I am curious as to what got Chris Brown so wound up that he went all Mike Tyson on the girl? Hitting never ok but cannibalism? What man tries to take chunks out of a woman? We are all familiar with the mantra of if he hits once, he’ll do it again, so does that mean if he bites once, you’re an appetizer, give him a second chance you’re an entrée?
I digress; my real issue is with the media and public reaction to the incident. My first peeve is the way that is has been classified as “Domestic Violence”. The legal definition of domestic violence is thus:
“Any abusive, violent, coercive, forceful, or threatening act or word inflicted by one member of a family or household on another can constitute domestic violence.”
To my knowledge the two are not married do not cohabitate and since they are dating and neither are from below the Mason Dixon Line, they are not family members. Based on the classification it was assault and battery not domestic violence. These are two kids 19 (Brown) 20 (Rihanna) they are dating, not engaged, not living together, how did this get labeled Domestic Violence? We all know that the media and those on the blogesphere like to upgrade - “Domestic Violence” it’s a “Sexy term” and before you get your panties in a knot I don’t mean sexy as in good, I mean it’s incendiary – gets people all riled up, it’s Pavlovian- we hear it as we are instantly enraged. Where as Assault- not so powerful; first because, let’s face it, it’s so prevalent, and second it does not imply gender- Sorry to my gays but we still think of domestic partners and Male and Female.
There is another aspect of the illegal upgrade of terms that troubles me, and that would be the inflation of the relationship from the beginning stages of courtship to the legal binding, interweaving of lives, homes, finances etc. when you upgrade in this situation you take two people who are so young, have been dating for a year or so, and are still figuring out whether they want to spend the next months together to the level of having chosen a life time commitment with legal binding- sharing a home, filing taxes, in-laws, children etc. Ok I hear you saying, “Well whose to say that couples dating don’t share those things?” Well they might however, there is a huge difference when you are sharing a domicile, when your finances are entangled, and perhaps you have children. One of the most insidious elements of true domestic violence is the idea that the battered party may have great difficulty in extricating themselves from the situation because of the aforementioned things. It’s one of the chief reasons battered women stay; they have no where to go, no money, and fear. When you are dating someone and still have your autonomy, your own home, independence, (though psychologically it may be just as hard) physically and legally it is easier to separate from the abuser. Speaking psychologically, there is also loyalty, a sense of being beholden to your mate as the totality of your lives are intertwined- the guilt or fear of leaving, might be overwhelming. It looks like apples and oranges to me.
The reason this gets me going is because so much of our society if build on the Appearance of things rather then the reality. If you are driving a luxury car it looks like you can afford it, the same with handbags, shoes, and homes- the reality as we are so painfully finding out is that the majority of folks are in debt for an image. We are all about boosting the upgrade, with relationships, we meet someone and there is no moment to get to know, make up your mind, it’s hyper drive from “Who are you?” to “That’s ma Boo”. The texting, the jumping into to bed, the possessiveness, the drama of the Baby’s Mama, and before you know it you’re all entangled and it’s been two weeks (Romantic Comedy Syndrome) the process of developing relationships is antiquated in our high tech world. The benefit of taking it slow was that is afforded you the time to spot the red flags that could save your life. Crazy doesn’t stay quiet for long! (You can’t tell me I’m wrong) Like a my Godfather once told me, “If a person wants to move forward that good foot can’t stay in front for long”.
Over the past decade the instances of violence in teens has risen and is all too common. We have high school couples who have increased the intensity and drama in there upgraded relationships calling each other “husbands” and “wives” which is all fine we did it back in the day but in light hearted jest, however now some this children are taking it to mean that a young girl belongs to him, and should Obey him, and that he has in some twisted sense of reasoning the right to lay hands on her like he was her father (Whoops now a days her daddy can barely tan a hide without being charged) something has gone awry. Teens are mimicking what they are seeing, we are giving them the information that this is what a relationship looks like. Adolescence is a training ground. We need to upgrade the training program by getting real as adults and creating some relationship models that don’t involve an emergency room visit
Let’s stop playing games, let’s get real, it’s abuse, yes, it’s assault, yes, it is not domestic violence, there is well enough drama in the situation without an accelerant. Chris Brown ASSAULTED his girlfriend. I’m not trying to belittle their relationship rather put it into perspective.
Now you know I love my gossip blogs solely for the fact that it keeps me current so that I relate to the youth (oh give my points for a plausible excuse) a number of these sites have referred to the incident as being a “Beat down” and THAT pissed me off, or so many reasons. Now I know we are talking about a gossip blog but to refer to this assault as a beat down? There is a flag on play- foul! It just sounds insensitive, I have always thought of a beat down a kind of ha ha, something you go “DAMN” with your hand over your mouth as giggle a little sort of tone to it. Shug Knight, gets beat down, or has some one beaten down, scantily clad club girls vying for the attention of some overly tatted up (more than likely short) rapper dole out beat downs, the chicks on the Bad Girls Club engage in beat downs, but a man putting his hand on a woman who he is in an intimate relationship with not so much. I know it’s a hip term but it lacks respect for the severity of what happened. I know there are those who won’t agree, those who will think that I’m over reacting, but words have power and when you use a relaxed fit colloquialism in reference such an offensive act downgrades it. Using the proper- legally harsh term Assault and Battery will remind those who might think of it as a “Beat down” that their asses can go to jail for laying their hands on someone- it’s no joke and it’s not casual. Let’s stop treating it that way by using casual language. Enough!
Which brings my to my final issue with this whole fiasco: When are we going to realize that the adage “You reap what you sow” is not just a catchy phrase from that perennial best seller. It’s true, when has anyone planted a tulip and gotten a cabbage? We pump violence, all sorts of violence into our society in every form and fashion, and then when we get desensitized to one level what do we do? That’s right we upgrade, look at slasher movies from the seventies and current films like the SAW series, gone is the insinuation, we need to see the gore. I recall in the 1995 when the Xena Princess Warrior series debuted I loved her; she was an Amazon, strong, fearless, and could kick ass. Where she could hold her own (and as the heroine most times she came out on top) it always disturbed me that the villains (often men) would come at her full force without compunction that she was a woman. It was almost never mentioned. We see more inter-gendered fights in movies and television, Buffy the Vampire Slayer comes to mind, and it’s somehow ok, it always gives me an uneasy feeling when I see it, that fight scene in Mr. & Mrs. Smith disturbing… Then there is the Hip-Hip culture long known for its misogyny and the glorification of the Pimp/Hoe culture. Even when these mediums seek to “educate” there is still this perverse underlying glamorization of the subject – the glamorization of the victim as they get revenge, seldom do we see the after math of them dealing with the process of healing after the event. Not quite the Romantic Comedy Syndrome, but something akin.
We have become a society that preaches violence, and greed with almost every breath. For us Shakespeare’s “To thine own self be true”, has come to mean, “I’m just doing me, screw everybody else - screw the outcome as long as I am fine it’s all good” No it is not! Let me let you in on a little secret, personally I fear outside, foreign terrorist less then some of the kids I take the subway with. We won’t have to be attacked, our enemies can just sit back and watch as we self destruct from moral decay and self-harming. It hurts my heart to see that lack of respect, regard and tolerance we as neighbors, countrymen, as human beings display. The fact that the greed is so great that media outlets, run by adults, the majority of whom have children, couldn’t see fit to take the high road in this situation- sure it’s “news” it’s salacious, yes but these are two individuals barely cutting their teeth on adulthood, and they just hit a huge, painful learning curve. There are times when less is more we really don’t need to see her battered police pictures, we know all too well what a beaten woman looks like, and if per chance you have forgotten, turn on any television station, go to a movie, hell walk down a street, it shouldn’t take long before your memory is jogged.
Leave it alone.
After weeks of listening, reading and watching clip after clip, Miz. Ann Thrope can stand it no more, and though I may not be a celebrity I would like to fervently weigh in, not so much on the topic of what happened- that’s a no brainer, it was a travesty and there is no excuse – none for what happened. Not to sound like a PSA, but violence is never the answer. Allegedly there were bite marks on Rihanna’s arms- what the hell? Now I have to say I am curious as to what got Chris Brown so wound up that he went all Mike Tyson on the girl? Hitting never ok but cannibalism? What man tries to take chunks out of a woman? We are all familiar with the mantra of if he hits once, he’ll do it again, so does that mean if he bites once, you’re an appetizer, give him a second chance you’re an entrée?
I digress; my real issue is with the media and public reaction to the incident. My first peeve is the way that is has been classified as “Domestic Violence”. The legal definition of domestic violence is thus:
“Any abusive, violent, coercive, forceful, or threatening act or word inflicted by one member of a family or household on another can constitute domestic violence.”
To my knowledge the two are not married do not cohabitate and since they are dating and neither are from below the Mason Dixon Line, they are not family members. Based on the classification it was assault and battery not domestic violence. These are two kids 19 (Brown) 20 (Rihanna) they are dating, not engaged, not living together, how did this get labeled Domestic Violence? We all know that the media and those on the blogesphere like to upgrade - “Domestic Violence” it’s a “Sexy term” and before you get your panties in a knot I don’t mean sexy as in good, I mean it’s incendiary – gets people all riled up, it’s Pavlovian- we hear it as we are instantly enraged. Where as Assault- not so powerful; first because, let’s face it, it’s so prevalent, and second it does not imply gender- Sorry to my gays but we still think of domestic partners and Male and Female.
There is another aspect of the illegal upgrade of terms that troubles me, and that would be the inflation of the relationship from the beginning stages of courtship to the legal binding, interweaving of lives, homes, finances etc. when you upgrade in this situation you take two people who are so young, have been dating for a year or so, and are still figuring out whether they want to spend the next months together to the level of having chosen a life time commitment with legal binding- sharing a home, filing taxes, in-laws, children etc. Ok I hear you saying, “Well whose to say that couples dating don’t share those things?” Well they might however, there is a huge difference when you are sharing a domicile, when your finances are entangled, and perhaps you have children. One of the most insidious elements of true domestic violence is the idea that the battered party may have great difficulty in extricating themselves from the situation because of the aforementioned things. It’s one of the chief reasons battered women stay; they have no where to go, no money, and fear. When you are dating someone and still have your autonomy, your own home, independence, (though psychologically it may be just as hard) physically and legally it is easier to separate from the abuser. Speaking psychologically, there is also loyalty, a sense of being beholden to your mate as the totality of your lives are intertwined- the guilt or fear of leaving, might be overwhelming. It looks like apples and oranges to me.
The reason this gets me going is because so much of our society if build on the Appearance of things rather then the reality. If you are driving a luxury car it looks like you can afford it, the same with handbags, shoes, and homes- the reality as we are so painfully finding out is that the majority of folks are in debt for an image. We are all about boosting the upgrade, with relationships, we meet someone and there is no moment to get to know, make up your mind, it’s hyper drive from “Who are you?” to “That’s ma Boo”. The texting, the jumping into to bed, the possessiveness, the drama of the Baby’s Mama, and before you know it you’re all entangled and it’s been two weeks (Romantic Comedy Syndrome) the process of developing relationships is antiquated in our high tech world. The benefit of taking it slow was that is afforded you the time to spot the red flags that could save your life. Crazy doesn’t stay quiet for long! (You can’t tell me I’m wrong) Like a my Godfather once told me, “If a person wants to move forward that good foot can’t stay in front for long”.
Over the past decade the instances of violence in teens has risen and is all too common. We have high school couples who have increased the intensity and drama in there upgraded relationships calling each other “husbands” and “wives” which is all fine we did it back in the day but in light hearted jest, however now some this children are taking it to mean that a young girl belongs to him, and should Obey him, and that he has in some twisted sense of reasoning the right to lay hands on her like he was her father (Whoops now a days her daddy can barely tan a hide without being charged) something has gone awry. Teens are mimicking what they are seeing, we are giving them the information that this is what a relationship looks like. Adolescence is a training ground. We need to upgrade the training program by getting real as adults and creating some relationship models that don’t involve an emergency room visit
Let’s stop playing games, let’s get real, it’s abuse, yes, it’s assault, yes, it is not domestic violence, there is well enough drama in the situation without an accelerant. Chris Brown ASSAULTED his girlfriend. I’m not trying to belittle their relationship rather put it into perspective.
Now you know I love my gossip blogs solely for the fact that it keeps me current so that I relate to the youth (oh give my points for a plausible excuse) a number of these sites have referred to the incident as being a “Beat down” and THAT pissed me off, or so many reasons. Now I know we are talking about a gossip blog but to refer to this assault as a beat down? There is a flag on play- foul! It just sounds insensitive, I have always thought of a beat down a kind of ha ha, something you go “DAMN” with your hand over your mouth as giggle a little sort of tone to it. Shug Knight, gets beat down, or has some one beaten down, scantily clad club girls vying for the attention of some overly tatted up (more than likely short) rapper dole out beat downs, the chicks on the Bad Girls Club engage in beat downs, but a man putting his hand on a woman who he is in an intimate relationship with not so much. I know it’s a hip term but it lacks respect for the severity of what happened. I know there are those who won’t agree, those who will think that I’m over reacting, but words have power and when you use a relaxed fit colloquialism in reference such an offensive act downgrades it. Using the proper- legally harsh term Assault and Battery will remind those who might think of it as a “Beat down” that their asses can go to jail for laying their hands on someone- it’s no joke and it’s not casual. Let’s stop treating it that way by using casual language. Enough!
Which brings my to my final issue with this whole fiasco: When are we going to realize that the adage “You reap what you sow” is not just a catchy phrase from that perennial best seller. It’s true, when has anyone planted a tulip and gotten a cabbage? We pump violence, all sorts of violence into our society in every form and fashion, and then when we get desensitized to one level what do we do? That’s right we upgrade, look at slasher movies from the seventies and current films like the SAW series, gone is the insinuation, we need to see the gore. I recall in the 1995 when the Xena Princess Warrior series debuted I loved her; she was an Amazon, strong, fearless, and could kick ass. Where she could hold her own (and as the heroine most times she came out on top) it always disturbed me that the villains (often men) would come at her full force without compunction that she was a woman. It was almost never mentioned. We see more inter-gendered fights in movies and television, Buffy the Vampire Slayer comes to mind, and it’s somehow ok, it always gives me an uneasy feeling when I see it, that fight scene in Mr. & Mrs. Smith disturbing… Then there is the Hip-Hip culture long known for its misogyny and the glorification of the Pimp/Hoe culture. Even when these mediums seek to “educate” there is still this perverse underlying glamorization of the subject – the glamorization of the victim as they get revenge, seldom do we see the after math of them dealing with the process of healing after the event. Not quite the Romantic Comedy Syndrome, but something akin.
We have become a society that preaches violence, and greed with almost every breath. For us Shakespeare’s “To thine own self be true”, has come to mean, “I’m just doing me, screw everybody else - screw the outcome as long as I am fine it’s all good” No it is not! Let me let you in on a little secret, personally I fear outside, foreign terrorist less then some of the kids I take the subway with. We won’t have to be attacked, our enemies can just sit back and watch as we self destruct from moral decay and self-harming. It hurts my heart to see that lack of respect, regard and tolerance we as neighbors, countrymen, as human beings display. The fact that the greed is so great that media outlets, run by adults, the majority of whom have children, couldn’t see fit to take the high road in this situation- sure it’s “news” it’s salacious, yes but these are two individuals barely cutting their teeth on adulthood, and they just hit a huge, painful learning curve. There are times when less is more we really don’t need to see her battered police pictures, we know all too well what a beaten woman looks like, and if per chance you have forgotten, turn on any television station, go to a movie, hell walk down a street, it shouldn’t take long before your memory is jogged.
Leave it alone.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Thought o'da Day
You have to think that this Re-Depression is the great equalizer.
Now rich and poor are all on government assistance, I mean what is a bailout but welfare? Where I don't think that those "Golden Parachute" boys of banking are putting their utility bills in their children's names, it might not be long before they come to acquire the very refined ghetto palate that will have them appreciating a good ol' fashioned government grill cheese sandwich. We might be seeing a few of them on the subway in their wear worn tailored suits and hand-made Italian shoes soliciting donations:
"Ladies and gentlemen, I am sorry to bother, you my name is Chadburn Montgomery Talbort III, you might not knowit by looking at me now but and I went to Yale, was a trader on Wall Street and then became the CFO of a fortune 500 company. I lived on York avenue, had a house in the Hamptons and vacationed in St. Barts, but now that's all gone. My wife and children are reduced to buying off the rack and I myself have lost my expense account. If you could spare anything 5, 10, 50 million dollars I would be so appreciative. As we speak my wife's lips are deflating and her forehead is starting to wrinkle. Since we could not afford our annual family trip to St. Barts and I cannot afford a spray tan, as you can see I am fading. Please, any thing at all, a car service, a coupon to the spa anything at all, God Bless..."
It is far harder to have had and have to break, then to have been broke all along!
Now rich and poor are all on government assistance, I mean what is a bailout but welfare? Where I don't think that those "Golden Parachute" boys of banking are putting their utility bills in their children's names, it might not be long before they come to acquire the very refined ghetto palate that will have them appreciating a good ol' fashioned government grill cheese sandwich. We might be seeing a few of them on the subway in their wear worn tailored suits and hand-made Italian shoes soliciting donations:
"Ladies and gentlemen, I am sorry to bother, you my name is Chadburn Montgomery Talbort III, you might not knowit by looking at me now but and I went to Yale, was a trader on Wall Street and then became the CFO of a fortune 500 company. I lived on York avenue, had a house in the Hamptons and vacationed in St. Barts, but now that's all gone. My wife and children are reduced to buying off the rack and I myself have lost my expense account. If you could spare anything 5, 10, 50 million dollars I would be so appreciative. As we speak my wife's lips are deflating and her forehead is starting to wrinkle. Since we could not afford our annual family trip to St. Barts and I cannot afford a spray tan, as you can see I am fading. Please, any thing at all, a car service, a coupon to the spa anything at all, God Bless..."
It is far harder to have had and have to break, then to have been broke all along!
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
De-Viced
I have finally figured it out what my problem that is. What I lack is a vice, some fated flaw that concomitantly brings out the best and worst of my personality and talents, something that would make me at once endearing and revolting. I feel oddly well adjusted in this maladjusted world. For as crazy and misplaced as I am on this orb statistically I am bizarrely stable. I have read countless self help books and have actually been able to help myself (not just project my new found knowledge on others like chunky vomit) I have learned how to self analyze and communicate my feelings, as well as take responsibility for my actions and non-actions. Most importantly I know EXACTLY where I’m fucked up! My propensity towards honesty has made me 1) let people know 2) ask myself if I am ok with that particular fucked-up-ness, and 3) if not, resolve to work on those places. . Though have never been to therapy, I have had a tarot card or rune read from time to time. I am not and have never been escape seeker, which is in most cases the root cause for take a Vice.
Let’s take a brief look at the history of the Vice:
Vice:
1. Immoral habit: an immoral or wicked habit or characteristic
Lying is the least of her vices.
2. Depravity: immoral conduct
3. Prostitution, gambling, and drugs: criminal activity connected with prostitution and other sexual offenses, gambling, and illegal drugs (often used before a noun)
The vice and stardom, celebrity or we can go as far to say genius, have been linked for as long as we can research (Billy Holiday, Elvis Presley, Marilyn Monroe, Keith Richards Karen Carpenter you get the idea). However, in the new Millennium the advent of the Internet has transformed the vice from a dirty little secret into a priceless career booster with its instantaneous full disclosure. Let’s call it the [Amy] Winehouse Effect. The Internet has also made it possible for the average Joe the Plumbers to become mini celebrities of online social networks where their vices can be documented and displayed in perpetuity.
The modern day vice looks quite different from her old school ancestors. Opium, peyote, marijuana, cocaine, heroine, tobacco, prescriptive pills, and alcohol were standards, but just before the change of the century the scope was broadened as the species found new ways of over indulging in average everyday activities thusly transforming them into a “taboos”. Shopping and sex topped the new list. Soon anything done in excess could be considered a vice of sorts. It must be clearly understood that all “vices” are not considered equal, not by a long shot, those that lead to physical and spiritual dissipation still top the list.
Let Me Get an Upgrade:
In the ‘70’s sex was harmless and love was free, get it where you can, and sometimes that meant in broad daylight with a person you just met but whose fringe vest you dug. Now a days with venereal diseases that laugh at antibiotics, stay with you for life, or could possibly end it, sex is more terrifying than titillating. Personally I have a six-page application form (available for download in PDF form at ifyoueverhopetohitit.com) and a bodily fluids collection testing kit that I require before going to second base. Have you ever seen the pamphlets for genital warts? Then you understand my prudence. I am clear that since sex has turned into an episode of CSI, I’m pretty sure that it will not be the official vice of Miz. Thrope. As an aside, in shopping for a vice I am leaning toward something that can be done alone. The sex thing requires meeting someone, creating a safe word, too complicated and though I have great affection for the male member, I have found that it is generally attached to something troglodyte in nature. If only, if only you could get one without that pesky attachment, now where oh where could a girl find something like that?
It’s About Hygiene:
I can not tell you the number of times that I found myself in a bathroom stall of a beat pulsing nightclub with a girlfriend who ask me to accompany her. I say “sure’ thinking she needed a wingman to wade through the sea of dancing bodies, as not to get lost. To my surprise I am pulled into the cubical with her where she whips a packet of coke from her décolletage. It never fails I always fall for it. It must be the same mental block that has women not realize that their foul mood is PMS until they literally see red. There were times when the potty summits were three deep in a stall, and once at the after-hours club Save the Robots I actually had to pee while four people took hits in the corner. No judging, no judging, when you gotta go, you gotta go. Luckily my bare black ass was no competition for the white pony in the room.
Strangely I was never drawn to drugs, I think that I was scared straight by that college student in the ‘80’s who did a Quaalude while drinking alcohol and slipped into a coma dying some decade or something later. I was not trying to play with fire. Cocaine never enticed me, the whole snorting thing freaks me out, I’d probably sneeze and waste my money and needles are out of the question. Mary Jane and I never hit it off. The common Gateway drug was always locked for me. Once on a trip to Jamaica I smoked, it only made me paranoid and sluggish and gave we a weird internal body tick. I couldn’t see how people could function in that state; I guess they kinda don’t huh?
Another stipulation in my adopting a vice would some basic hygiene. Using a public bathroom to pee is bad enough but to brave the germs to take a bump, um…no. I see that there is a sharing sort of communal, cum-ba-yah vibe with drug use. I’m not parsimonious by nature but passing off things used orally or intravenously by folks I don’t really know… um… No (see bodily fluids collection testing kit – Hep-A, B, C…)
See, I’m a control freak, I don’t like the concept of anything that might get a hold of me and not let go, be it man or medicine. I do however like the drink. Oh I revel in the sweet gentle spread of warmth that a full-bodied red gives you, or the clear headed buzz only Sake delivers, vodka creeps up, then bam! And tequila, well let’s just say that I know Jose Cuervo so well I call him Joe, he, unleashes the beast. Ah I know my friends well. However I found that as I grow older I do not like to be drunk, and I like less waking up hung over. In addition alcohol has a bloating effect, and let’s be clear, I what the RCS (Romantic Comedy Syndrome) version of debauchery, I want to indulge- but look flawless, like I just stepped out of the make up trailer. Honestly, I don’t look good puffy. Plus I am a stickler for the tell tale that if you drink alone you have a problem, as a child of an alcoholic… well I don’t like to play with fire.
A Debt-triment to Your Health:
Shopping seems like a new fangled vice that I could be quite good at, except for two things, first, I have an ethical tug of war with needless consumerism, I get physically angered with the idea that I need something else. Oh, it’s a whole mental dog and pony show that happens when I feel like I have to buy something, and not just another bag, or pair of boots – I’ll put off buying eggs on principle “Do I really need these eggs is the media just making me think I need eggs?” Mean while the next morning I’m screwed because I can’t make an omelet ‘cause I was bunking the system! The second issue is, I don’t support the accruing of debt. Given our current economic situation, the whole concept of having to show that you owe money before anyone will loan you money is asinine. No I prefer to work with the old Clinton, pay as you go methodology. The only zeros I like to see are on my bill balances! Oh there is a third thing, I live in New York City- closet and storage spaces are always limited.
So it’s not looking good for my finding a vice. I don’t like drugs, they will ruin what little looks I have (or have purchased) either making me too thin (although I am curious), or bloated. The harder set of drugs would definitely at a point jeopardize my credit rating and my dental work. Sex is out because I don’t want to have anything on my genitals that is usually on the terribilis family, and shopping while tempting, is wasteful and ethically against my personal philosophy.
Wait - there is one thing that I indulge in daily and am obsessed about, it’s free, and if I can convince a few million people that it’s cool enough to engage in, it might just catch on. I get high, on Honesty and Integrity. It’s a heady brew; a combination that is more powerful than absinthe and the contact high is wicked! It’s so rare, that when others sense that you’re doing H.I. they are oddly draw to you but at the same time scared shitless. I mean you have to be hard-core crazy to do that shit man. Yeah guess in a way I’m a totally stoner, a junkie, and to be honest (whoop see there, I’ve been using) I have O.D. several times. Since my vice is relatively new I don’t know the penalty for using or dealing, but the good news is that I’m not alone. I have a really strong feeling that our new president is hopped up in the same thing!
ROCK ON ROCKER!
Let’s take a brief look at the history of the Vice:
Vice:
1. Immoral habit: an immoral or wicked habit or characteristic
Lying is the least of her vices.
2. Depravity: immoral conduct
3. Prostitution, gambling, and drugs: criminal activity connected with prostitution and other sexual offenses, gambling, and illegal drugs (often used before a noun)
The vice and stardom, celebrity or we can go as far to say genius, have been linked for as long as we can research (Billy Holiday, Elvis Presley, Marilyn Monroe, Keith Richards Karen Carpenter you get the idea). However, in the new Millennium the advent of the Internet has transformed the vice from a dirty little secret into a priceless career booster with its instantaneous full disclosure. Let’s call it the [Amy] Winehouse Effect. The Internet has also made it possible for the average Joe the Plumbers to become mini celebrities of online social networks where their vices can be documented and displayed in perpetuity.
The modern day vice looks quite different from her old school ancestors. Opium, peyote, marijuana, cocaine, heroine, tobacco, prescriptive pills, and alcohol were standards, but just before the change of the century the scope was broadened as the species found new ways of over indulging in average everyday activities thusly transforming them into a “taboos”. Shopping and sex topped the new list. Soon anything done in excess could be considered a vice of sorts. It must be clearly understood that all “vices” are not considered equal, not by a long shot, those that lead to physical and spiritual dissipation still top the list.
Let Me Get an Upgrade:
In the ‘70’s sex was harmless and love was free, get it where you can, and sometimes that meant in broad daylight with a person you just met but whose fringe vest you dug. Now a days with venereal diseases that laugh at antibiotics, stay with you for life, or could possibly end it, sex is more terrifying than titillating. Personally I have a six-page application form (available for download in PDF form at ifyoueverhopetohitit.com) and a bodily fluids collection testing kit that I require before going to second base. Have you ever seen the pamphlets for genital warts? Then you understand my prudence. I am clear that since sex has turned into an episode of CSI, I’m pretty sure that it will not be the official vice of Miz. Thrope. As an aside, in shopping for a vice I am leaning toward something that can be done alone. The sex thing requires meeting someone, creating a safe word, too complicated and though I have great affection for the male member, I have found that it is generally attached to something troglodyte in nature. If only, if only you could get one without that pesky attachment, now where oh where could a girl find something like that?
It’s About Hygiene:
I can not tell you the number of times that I found myself in a bathroom stall of a beat pulsing nightclub with a girlfriend who ask me to accompany her. I say “sure’ thinking she needed a wingman to wade through the sea of dancing bodies, as not to get lost. To my surprise I am pulled into the cubical with her where she whips a packet of coke from her décolletage. It never fails I always fall for it. It must be the same mental block that has women not realize that their foul mood is PMS until they literally see red. There were times when the potty summits were three deep in a stall, and once at the after-hours club Save the Robots I actually had to pee while four people took hits in the corner. No judging, no judging, when you gotta go, you gotta go. Luckily my bare black ass was no competition for the white pony in the room.
Strangely I was never drawn to drugs, I think that I was scared straight by that college student in the ‘80’s who did a Quaalude while drinking alcohol and slipped into a coma dying some decade or something later. I was not trying to play with fire. Cocaine never enticed me, the whole snorting thing freaks me out, I’d probably sneeze and waste my money and needles are out of the question. Mary Jane and I never hit it off. The common Gateway drug was always locked for me. Once on a trip to Jamaica I smoked, it only made me paranoid and sluggish and gave we a weird internal body tick. I couldn’t see how people could function in that state; I guess they kinda don’t huh?
Another stipulation in my adopting a vice would some basic hygiene. Using a public bathroom to pee is bad enough but to brave the germs to take a bump, um…no. I see that there is a sharing sort of communal, cum-ba-yah vibe with drug use. I’m not parsimonious by nature but passing off things used orally or intravenously by folks I don’t really know… um… No (see bodily fluids collection testing kit – Hep-A, B, C…)
See, I’m a control freak, I don’t like the concept of anything that might get a hold of me and not let go, be it man or medicine. I do however like the drink. Oh I revel in the sweet gentle spread of warmth that a full-bodied red gives you, or the clear headed buzz only Sake delivers, vodka creeps up, then bam! And tequila, well let’s just say that I know Jose Cuervo so well I call him Joe, he, unleashes the beast. Ah I know my friends well. However I found that as I grow older I do not like to be drunk, and I like less waking up hung over. In addition alcohol has a bloating effect, and let’s be clear, I what the RCS (Romantic Comedy Syndrome) version of debauchery, I want to indulge- but look flawless, like I just stepped out of the make up trailer. Honestly, I don’t look good puffy. Plus I am a stickler for the tell tale that if you drink alone you have a problem, as a child of an alcoholic… well I don’t like to play with fire.
A Debt-triment to Your Health:
Shopping seems like a new fangled vice that I could be quite good at, except for two things, first, I have an ethical tug of war with needless consumerism, I get physically angered with the idea that I need something else. Oh, it’s a whole mental dog and pony show that happens when I feel like I have to buy something, and not just another bag, or pair of boots – I’ll put off buying eggs on principle “Do I really need these eggs is the media just making me think I need eggs?” Mean while the next morning I’m screwed because I can’t make an omelet ‘cause I was bunking the system! The second issue is, I don’t support the accruing of debt. Given our current economic situation, the whole concept of having to show that you owe money before anyone will loan you money is asinine. No I prefer to work with the old Clinton, pay as you go methodology. The only zeros I like to see are on my bill balances! Oh there is a third thing, I live in New York City- closet and storage spaces are always limited.
So it’s not looking good for my finding a vice. I don’t like drugs, they will ruin what little looks I have (or have purchased) either making me too thin (although I am curious), or bloated. The harder set of drugs would definitely at a point jeopardize my credit rating and my dental work. Sex is out because I don’t want to have anything on my genitals that is usually on the terribilis family, and shopping while tempting, is wasteful and ethically against my personal philosophy.
Wait - there is one thing that I indulge in daily and am obsessed about, it’s free, and if I can convince a few million people that it’s cool enough to engage in, it might just catch on. I get high, on Honesty and Integrity. It’s a heady brew; a combination that is more powerful than absinthe and the contact high is wicked! It’s so rare, that when others sense that you’re doing H.I. they are oddly draw to you but at the same time scared shitless. I mean you have to be hard-core crazy to do that shit man. Yeah guess in a way I’m a totally stoner, a junkie, and to be honest (whoop see there, I’ve been using) I have O.D. several times. Since my vice is relatively new I don’t know the penalty for using or dealing, but the good news is that I’m not alone. I have a really strong feeling that our new president is hopped up in the same thing!
ROCK ON ROCKER!
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Quote o'da Day
On Long Distance Relationships:
When one girlfriend asked the other how she could be in love with a man she never saw? The woman replied “I love the idea of him, because the idea never lets me down and it never disappoints!”
When one girlfriend asked the other how she could be in love with a man she never saw? The woman replied “I love the idea of him, because the idea never lets me down and it never disappoints!”
A Personal Parable of Sorts
There were three friends in deep contemplation, struggling to collectively complete a thought:
“So wait Jesus turned what into wine?” one man asked
“Water” said the woman.
“Then what did he turn into bread?” said the other man,
“A stone” she replied.
“No” the first man interjected, “He turned watering to wine, and made a loaf of bread feed the multitudes.”
“Ok, then what did he do with the fish?” The second man asked.
“The disciples were out in the boat and their nets were filled with fish,” said the first.
“No, no that was before they were disciples, that how he got them to follow him” The woman said.
They sat for a moment each sorting the frayed facts out for themselves.
They came to the conclusion that between the three of them they made one half decent Christian, individually they were going to Hell.
The moral of the story: Eat some fish or at least some bread before imbibing wine, and at some point in the evening what’s in your cup should become water.
“So wait Jesus turned what into wine?” one man asked
“Water” said the woman.
“Then what did he turn into bread?” said the other man,
“A stone” she replied.
“No” the first man interjected, “He turned watering to wine, and made a loaf of bread feed the multitudes.”
“Ok, then what did he do with the fish?” The second man asked.
“The disciples were out in the boat and their nets were filled with fish,” said the first.
“No, no that was before they were disciples, that how he got them to follow him” The woman said.
They sat for a moment each sorting the frayed facts out for themselves.
They came to the conclusion that between the three of them they made one half decent Christian, individually they were going to Hell.
The moral of the story: Eat some fish or at least some bread before imbibing wine, and at some point in the evening what’s in your cup should become water.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Associative Displacement
I know that I am not your average sort of gal. I never have been. Ever since I can remember I have had a very different perspective on this thing called life, and the dominant species on the planet has always perplexed me. For the most part what I see has the Scooby Doo effect on me haarrummmph? I just don’t get. The things that are of import to the masses just don’t interest me much- or shall we say not to the same degree. Perhaps my value system needs to be reset to the common calibration because I am way off the mark.
Take fashion, I’m into it, I like to look good, in fact at times the idea of a well crafted outfit is the only reason I can find to leave my house, (Last year I had an obsession with accessories it was all about pearls) however I refuse to go into debt to look hip, and I will certainly be damned to hell if I ever spent $3,000 dollars on a bag (if I ever did -know that it came with $2,950 cash sewn into the lining). That being said if I were guaranteed to carry that bag at least 1,500 times I could rationalize paying $2.00 for a purse (that is how I rationalize my Prada coat). So I am not immune to fashion per se. Albeit I can’t comprehend fad fashion, in one season out the next, you would think with all this, “Save the planet - go green” rhetoric we would start to see a shift – um, not so much. Well let’s just make vegan shoes, that are biodegradable you can bury them next season when you buy a new pair guilt free.
Conceptually I don’t fully get the Fad Fashion because I can’t see why would I want to look exactly like everyone else? I find it very depressing when you see a group of girls heading out for an evening and they all have on skinny jeans, satiny patterned umpire waist tops, foot wear ranging from the strappy pump, or booties and their hair is flat ironed within an inch of making them Asia. Somewhere in their minds they think they are going to stand out! Even the fashion deviants look alike, ride the L train across 14th street and you can always tell who’s going past 1st avenue into Williamsburg. No matter how you slice it, it’s all a uniform, I’ll pass. Once a scouting representative for the Rockettes asked me if I would be interested, my wry reply was” That, is my worst nightmare, standing in a line of 30, girls all wearing the same outfit, why would I want to do that?!”
I do not view what a person wears as a barometer of how “cool” they are. Trust, a well tailored jacket and a rocking pair of boots rarely escape my notice but I take it for what it is, a smart fashion sense and in some cases a willingness to live beyond one’s means. I am more impressed by what comes out of a person’s mouth, then their closet. I care about what you stand for, not what pumps you stand in. If you are a fashion do and an intellectual don’t you’re done for me. Looking good isn’t enough; it’s being or doing good, and having a point of view that matters. We don’t have share an opinion but at least take a moment develop one. As a society, beauty and hip-ness warrant exemptions. You can be stupid, untalented, mean, arrogant, rude, discourteous basically an *sshole but if you look good and are dressed well then it’s all good. It’s ridiculous, in my book if you can look good while holding a decent conversation I hear a choir of celestial angels sing. On the other hand if you’re a crappy dresser with bad skin and a glowing vocabulary you are welcome at my table anytime.
I am really outside of the norm when it comes to relationships. Ok, ok, I know what you’re thinking, relationships become hard when you don’t like people. True enough but even before I realized that I wasn’t a fan of the species, I never subscribed to the idea of Dating to Eat; going out with a guy just to have something to do, or have a great meal, even when you know good and well you have no real interest the person beyond having them pay the bill. Look, whether in feast or famine, recession or a booming economy it is my belief that people work too hard for their money to be toyed with. Personally there is no meal worth sitting across from a person I have little interest in for two hours, I’d rather go to the dentist, at least there’s would be a point.
Where Sex in the City was supposed to exalt the lives of single, independent women it actually ended up highlighting how desperate and pathological single women can be. I can’t get down with being with someone, anyone just so that I won’t be alone. What is so terrifying about being alone? Barring the fact that it might take a week or two (depending on the weather) for authorities to find your dead body in your apartment, being single isn’t so bad. It’s better than being in a bad relationship, but perhaps that’s just me. I like being alone, and some of the best conversations I have had have been with myself, I’m quite witty and insightful, sure I can be a ball buster but I’m rather entertaining if I don’t say so myself, and myself agrees.
There is also this general consensus that you can be a self absorbed, self involved, ego maniac, and inflict that sort of behavior on everyone in your life (parents siblings, friends, co-workers etc.) yet someone should want – should feel privileged to get to spend the rest of their life with you. Whenever I hear people talking relationships 95% of the time they’re talking about what the other person is doing for them. A guy’s great because he buys her x,y, and z, he pays for this or that, gets her hair and nails done, and takes her here or there. Seldom do I hear about what they can contribute to the life of the other person. It’s all about what you can get, not what you can give. It strikes me as odd.
What it boils down to is a sense of loathing for superficiality. I mean the majority of people flocking to yoga in the states are less concerned with the spirituality of the practice as they are about what it’s going to do for their guns and abs, yet they run around saying “Namaste” with that cylinder mat carrier on their backs clueless. I hate the idea that people think that having the hot new bag or phone or car makes them any more or less, I hate that it has trickled down to our children. I hate that even as much as it should be true when you tell an authentically odd looking child that it doesn’t matter because they are a beautiful person inside, that we know it’s not true in this world, and what’s worse is that they know too. I hate that people are more concerned with being ”hot” Then they are with being informed, and that instead aspiring with age to grow more comfortable in our own skins, we are compelled to pull it tight and cut it off. Haarrummmph- I just don’t get it, but now I’ve done worked myself into a tizzy I best be grabbing my yoga mat to in the hopes of finding some peace, or just the peace of mind that I’ll look hot in my bikini come Spring break! Namaste…
For the record:
Namaste- two Sanskrit words - namah + te - meaning " I bow to that (divinity) inherent in you."
Take fashion, I’m into it, I like to look good, in fact at times the idea of a well crafted outfit is the only reason I can find to leave my house, (Last year I had an obsession with accessories it was all about pearls) however I refuse to go into debt to look hip, and I will certainly be damned to hell if I ever spent $3,000 dollars on a bag (if I ever did -know that it came with $2,950 cash sewn into the lining). That being said if I were guaranteed to carry that bag at least 1,500 times I could rationalize paying $2.00 for a purse (that is how I rationalize my Prada coat). So I am not immune to fashion per se. Albeit I can’t comprehend fad fashion, in one season out the next, you would think with all this, “Save the planet - go green” rhetoric we would start to see a shift – um, not so much. Well let’s just make vegan shoes, that are biodegradable you can bury them next season when you buy a new pair guilt free.
Conceptually I don’t fully get the Fad Fashion because I can’t see why would I want to look exactly like everyone else? I find it very depressing when you see a group of girls heading out for an evening and they all have on skinny jeans, satiny patterned umpire waist tops, foot wear ranging from the strappy pump, or booties and their hair is flat ironed within an inch of making them Asia. Somewhere in their minds they think they are going to stand out! Even the fashion deviants look alike, ride the L train across 14th street and you can always tell who’s going past 1st avenue into Williamsburg. No matter how you slice it, it’s all a uniform, I’ll pass. Once a scouting representative for the Rockettes asked me if I would be interested, my wry reply was” That, is my worst nightmare, standing in a line of 30, girls all wearing the same outfit, why would I want to do that?!”
I do not view what a person wears as a barometer of how “cool” they are. Trust, a well tailored jacket and a rocking pair of boots rarely escape my notice but I take it for what it is, a smart fashion sense and in some cases a willingness to live beyond one’s means. I am more impressed by what comes out of a person’s mouth, then their closet. I care about what you stand for, not what pumps you stand in. If you are a fashion do and an intellectual don’t you’re done for me. Looking good isn’t enough; it’s being or doing good, and having a point of view that matters. We don’t have share an opinion but at least take a moment develop one. As a society, beauty and hip-ness warrant exemptions. You can be stupid, untalented, mean, arrogant, rude, discourteous basically an *sshole but if you look good and are dressed well then it’s all good. It’s ridiculous, in my book if you can look good while holding a decent conversation I hear a choir of celestial angels sing. On the other hand if you’re a crappy dresser with bad skin and a glowing vocabulary you are welcome at my table anytime.
I am really outside of the norm when it comes to relationships. Ok, ok, I know what you’re thinking, relationships become hard when you don’t like people. True enough but even before I realized that I wasn’t a fan of the species, I never subscribed to the idea of Dating to Eat; going out with a guy just to have something to do, or have a great meal, even when you know good and well you have no real interest the person beyond having them pay the bill. Look, whether in feast or famine, recession or a booming economy it is my belief that people work too hard for their money to be toyed with. Personally there is no meal worth sitting across from a person I have little interest in for two hours, I’d rather go to the dentist, at least there’s would be a point.
Where Sex in the City was supposed to exalt the lives of single, independent women it actually ended up highlighting how desperate and pathological single women can be. I can’t get down with being with someone, anyone just so that I won’t be alone. What is so terrifying about being alone? Barring the fact that it might take a week or two (depending on the weather) for authorities to find your dead body in your apartment, being single isn’t so bad. It’s better than being in a bad relationship, but perhaps that’s just me. I like being alone, and some of the best conversations I have had have been with myself, I’m quite witty and insightful, sure I can be a ball buster but I’m rather entertaining if I don’t say so myself, and myself agrees.
There is also this general consensus that you can be a self absorbed, self involved, ego maniac, and inflict that sort of behavior on everyone in your life (parents siblings, friends, co-workers etc.) yet someone should want – should feel privileged to get to spend the rest of their life with you. Whenever I hear people talking relationships 95% of the time they’re talking about what the other person is doing for them. A guy’s great because he buys her x,y, and z, he pays for this or that, gets her hair and nails done, and takes her here or there. Seldom do I hear about what they can contribute to the life of the other person. It’s all about what you can get, not what you can give. It strikes me as odd.
What it boils down to is a sense of loathing for superficiality. I mean the majority of people flocking to yoga in the states are less concerned with the spirituality of the practice as they are about what it’s going to do for their guns and abs, yet they run around saying “Namaste” with that cylinder mat carrier on their backs clueless. I hate the idea that people think that having the hot new bag or phone or car makes them any more or less, I hate that it has trickled down to our children. I hate that even as much as it should be true when you tell an authentically odd looking child that it doesn’t matter because they are a beautiful person inside, that we know it’s not true in this world, and what’s worse is that they know too. I hate that people are more concerned with being ”hot” Then they are with being informed, and that instead aspiring with age to grow more comfortable in our own skins, we are compelled to pull it tight and cut it off. Haarrummmph- I just don’t get it, but now I’ve done worked myself into a tizzy I best be grabbing my yoga mat to in the hopes of finding some peace, or just the peace of mind that I’ll look hot in my bikini come Spring break! Namaste…
For the record:
Namaste- two Sanskrit words - namah + te - meaning " I bow to that (divinity) inherent in you."
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
In An Instant: The Romantic Comedy Symdrome of Life
Although I am highly misanthropic, I have lived most of my adult life under the belief, the hope that in an instant your life can change – For the better. It is romantic comedy syndrome (RCS), where the down and out protagonist gets the unexpected chance of a lifetime and money and love arrives in a perfect package before the credits roll. It’s akin to the hope that people cleave to before New Year’s, the thing that makes them pay the exorbitant fees to be amongst drunk and irritating strangers in clubs, restaurants and anonymous parties, (I never quite got the whole Times Square thing- What the hell is that about? Squished into a contained area, braving sub-degree temperatures to see a ball lowered) As the seconds tick down and the clock strikes twelve they harbor the hope that something in the world, or in their lives will change. The truth of the matter is that when the clock strikes, it is the first of the month and your rent is due!
There is proof that the trajectory of a life can be changed in a matter of seconds. Think of the lottery winner as the last ball up signs their name to a multi- million dollar check, (though history has also shown that they end up miserable after the millions – Oprah did a whole show about it)- but I digress. Perhaps it is my nature but the life altering instances seem to lean towards the unpleasant, tragic sort, albeit there is something of beauty begotten out of it, even if it is just a movie of the week or a Lifetime Original Story it comes with a paycheck and a C-list cast. That’s more than the average Joe dreams of.
My mind goes to all the unexpected incidents of nature or man that drastically alter the course of the lives of many, either by cutting them short or by leaving them behind. The tsunami in Thailand instantly wiped out whole villages, and the people who inhabited them. In those devastatingly brief moments Mother Nature equalized those who had worked the land and served the privileged to feed their families living in the most modest of circumstances, and those who had garnered fortune and fame taking a break to enjoy fruits of their labor - even those who might have scrimped and saved in order to experience paradise on earth, just once. Without discretion it was all swept away, in an instant.
My thoughts carry me closer to home and the numbers that now signify something larger then a date on the calendar, or eerily the code for the emergency- 9/11. On that fateful day the 2,955 people set out about their day, boarding planes to go home to their loved ones or to a business meeting, they got up, showered, ate breakfast, fought with a spouse, got kids off to school, jockeyed for a space on the subway, or highway, worried about making a mortgage, car, or tuition payment and wondered how their lives (for better or worse) came to this. Then, at 8:46 am none of that mattered. Time stopped and the problems that at 8:45 seemed insurmountable dissipated. All that we are, all that we strove for was stripped bare in one instant.
In the aftermath, those of us who witnessed, and those who survived were forever changed, having to make sense of it, and our lives in its wake. In the days after, New Yorkers traversed the city in mourning; our pace tempered our moods reverent. People were quieter and more courteous on the subway. The smell of smoke in the air reminded us of the loss of life, and that sense of security. It was the scent of change, nothing was the same, or ever would be; yet things were oddly, peculiarly the same. As artist I questioned what I was doing, why and what did it matter? There was a loss of purpose, I had never quite gotten the point of my life on this planet, but when something as random and two planes hitting the tallest buildings in the city happens, I had serious doubts of ever figuring it out.
After the attacks in the months to come al-Qaeda, the name of the terrorist group responsible and Osama Bin Laden would become household names, there would be colored alerts levels announced on the news (Though civilians were never briefed on what we should do– we just knew if it was red we were screwed) and for a short while in the city there were rifle toting army soldiers deployed in the subways. Travelers countrywide would lose countless pairs of tweezers and scissors forgetting that they were now on the lethal weapon list, as would be perfume, shampoo and all other liquids in larger than a 3. Ounce container.
With time things (at least for the masses) went back to business as usual, there was the idiots standing in the subway doorway when you were trying to get out (or in) people blinding passing the mother with the 300 pound stroller struggling up the stairs alone, people stood closer to the crosswalk to hail a cab before you even when they clearly saw that you were there first, people went back to – well to being people. And I continued to be the same me.
As a couch potato I have watched endless hours of television programming depicting the stories of survivors of all sorts, disease, accidents, crimes, loss of loved one, loss of income and life. I watch as they somehow overcame, witnessing what I called the resilience of the human spirit. No matter how well produced and edited it was always inspiring. I would sit awed at the courage and perseverance of these folks, and wonder why I couldn’t seem to pull my ass of the couch and get my shit together.
I have waited for decades to be jarred into another way of being. Perhaps I thought that some great loss or tragedy would propel me into a more proactive state of consciousness- I mean how many New York Times bestsellers are about that sort of thing? Take A Million Little Pieces for instance (Whoops bad example , but you get my point) I have lost, those dear to me, great chunks of my soul have been amputated however the tragedy seems only to embed me deeper into the mire of despair, solitude and a craving for alternating salty and sweet high carb, high fructose foods, which is when the only thing that keeps me from Googling the fastest, least painful ways to off myself is the idea that in an instant your life can change. Even though the statistics are grossly in favor of it something horrible – that doesn’t mean that something incredibly phenomenal can’t happen. With hope springing eternal I check my email and phone compulsively with the baseless hope that some incredible news will be in my inbox or voicemail, and a new better life is just a click away. So far, no luck, at least none that sticks.
So I have come to this conclusion: if you wake up, then you have to do life, there is no choice, and if you have do it then you might as well to make the best of it that you can and take it day by day, moment by moment. As misanthropic as I might be, I have to say that I am not a pessimist- no a pessimist would never believe in the romantic comedy syndrome element of "in an instant" (with positive ramifications) no, I am what I like to refer to as a Realistic Optimist, A professional Lemonade maker if you will. I have found life to be a bit tart and at times bitter, but with the delicate sweetener of hope it can at the very least be salvaged. And where Lemonade not quite my drink of choice- if that’s all you have well then…Cheers.
There is proof that the trajectory of a life can be changed in a matter of seconds. Think of the lottery winner as the last ball up signs their name to a multi- million dollar check, (though history has also shown that they end up miserable after the millions – Oprah did a whole show about it)- but I digress. Perhaps it is my nature but the life altering instances seem to lean towards the unpleasant, tragic sort, albeit there is something of beauty begotten out of it, even if it is just a movie of the week or a Lifetime Original Story it comes with a paycheck and a C-list cast. That’s more than the average Joe dreams of.
My mind goes to all the unexpected incidents of nature or man that drastically alter the course of the lives of many, either by cutting them short or by leaving them behind. The tsunami in Thailand instantly wiped out whole villages, and the people who inhabited them. In those devastatingly brief moments Mother Nature equalized those who had worked the land and served the privileged to feed their families living in the most modest of circumstances, and those who had garnered fortune and fame taking a break to enjoy fruits of their labor - even those who might have scrimped and saved in order to experience paradise on earth, just once. Without discretion it was all swept away, in an instant.
My thoughts carry me closer to home and the numbers that now signify something larger then a date on the calendar, or eerily the code for the emergency- 9/11. On that fateful day the 2,955 people set out about their day, boarding planes to go home to their loved ones or to a business meeting, they got up, showered, ate breakfast, fought with a spouse, got kids off to school, jockeyed for a space on the subway, or highway, worried about making a mortgage, car, or tuition payment and wondered how their lives (for better or worse) came to this. Then, at 8:46 am none of that mattered. Time stopped and the problems that at 8:45 seemed insurmountable dissipated. All that we are, all that we strove for was stripped bare in one instant.
In the aftermath, those of us who witnessed, and those who survived were forever changed, having to make sense of it, and our lives in its wake. In the days after, New Yorkers traversed the city in mourning; our pace tempered our moods reverent. People were quieter and more courteous on the subway. The smell of smoke in the air reminded us of the loss of life, and that sense of security. It was the scent of change, nothing was the same, or ever would be; yet things were oddly, peculiarly the same. As artist I questioned what I was doing, why and what did it matter? There was a loss of purpose, I had never quite gotten the point of my life on this planet, but when something as random and two planes hitting the tallest buildings in the city happens, I had serious doubts of ever figuring it out.
After the attacks in the months to come al-Qaeda, the name of the terrorist group responsible and Osama Bin Laden would become household names, there would be colored alerts levels announced on the news (Though civilians were never briefed on what we should do– we just knew if it was red we were screwed) and for a short while in the city there were rifle toting army soldiers deployed in the subways. Travelers countrywide would lose countless pairs of tweezers and scissors forgetting that they were now on the lethal weapon list, as would be perfume, shampoo and all other liquids in larger than a 3. Ounce container.
With time things (at least for the masses) went back to business as usual, there was the idiots standing in the subway doorway when you were trying to get out (or in) people blinding passing the mother with the 300 pound stroller struggling up the stairs alone, people stood closer to the crosswalk to hail a cab before you even when they clearly saw that you were there first, people went back to – well to being people. And I continued to be the same me.
As a couch potato I have watched endless hours of television programming depicting the stories of survivors of all sorts, disease, accidents, crimes, loss of loved one, loss of income and life. I watch as they somehow overcame, witnessing what I called the resilience of the human spirit. No matter how well produced and edited it was always inspiring. I would sit awed at the courage and perseverance of these folks, and wonder why I couldn’t seem to pull my ass of the couch and get my shit together.
I have waited for decades to be jarred into another way of being. Perhaps I thought that some great loss or tragedy would propel me into a more proactive state of consciousness- I mean how many New York Times bestsellers are about that sort of thing? Take A Million Little Pieces for instance (Whoops bad example , but you get my point) I have lost, those dear to me, great chunks of my soul have been amputated however the tragedy seems only to embed me deeper into the mire of despair, solitude and a craving for alternating salty and sweet high carb, high fructose foods, which is when the only thing that keeps me from Googling the fastest, least painful ways to off myself is the idea that in an instant your life can change. Even though the statistics are grossly in favor of it something horrible – that doesn’t mean that something incredibly phenomenal can’t happen. With hope springing eternal I check my email and phone compulsively with the baseless hope that some incredible news will be in my inbox or voicemail, and a new better life is just a click away. So far, no luck, at least none that sticks.
So I have come to this conclusion: if you wake up, then you have to do life, there is no choice, and if you have do it then you might as well to make the best of it that you can and take it day by day, moment by moment. As misanthropic as I might be, I have to say that I am not a pessimist- no a pessimist would never believe in the romantic comedy syndrome element of "in an instant" (with positive ramifications) no, I am what I like to refer to as a Realistic Optimist, A professional Lemonade maker if you will. I have found life to be a bit tart and at times bitter, but with the delicate sweetener of hope it can at the very least be salvaged. And where Lemonade not quite my drink of choice- if that’s all you have well then…Cheers.
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