<3

...and then she clasped hands with her bruised sensuality and fled into the night

A quick post from work...I'm such a rebel, I know. BUT, I've realized that I function best while multi-multi-tasking and right now I am doing about 5 things work-related and felt that I needed one non-work-related "task" to balance out my multi-taskingness...makes sense to me!

First, the title of this post just flitted across my mind, out of nowhere. I wanted to write it down somewhere so that wouldn't forget. I think it's the start of something.

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I got a wonderful package in the mail this morning and am truly touched. Thank you, thank you. Very special and I am looking forward to digging into the delicious poetry tonight :)

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NC was great! My skin is officially 02384756 shades darker (from being in the sun for about 3 hours...it's a little ridiculous how responsive my skin is to that star) and perpetually HOT. It was nice to change up the environment for a few days, be with family, ride bikes, lie on the sand, play with a precious little pup who still has that unmistakable puppy smell, etc.

AND, it feels good to be back in this city I call home. Actually, other than VT, this is the first place that really feels like home to me...and that's a good feeling.

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This is pretty hilarious:


http://www.mcsweeneys.net/2009/4/20lanham.html


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Swine flu is frightening. The subway= a fricking swine flu incubator.

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Just miiiiight have to go to this:



http://www.bowerypoetry.com/#Event/67946

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Oh ya, tonight I am going to a Jhumpra Lahiri reading at Union Square, yay!

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Songs that have been stuck in my head during the past few days:

"Material Girl", Madonna
"La Bamba", I don't know and don't feel like googling it, but you know the one
"Secret Heart", Feist

And they just keep rotating, basically. Kind of annoying...I've been trying to toss some different ones in the mix, but they just won't stick...

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Ideas are like fish...

http://dlf.tv/2009/ideas-are-like-fish/

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Ok, back to work!

<3

'tis true that I love this place!

Vor allem eins, mein Kind, sei treu und wahr,

lass nie die Luge deinen Mund entweihen...

**************************

About to begin packing for a weekend trip to the Southern region of our delightful country.  It'll be nice to be around good people and have a little break.  I realized the other day that I haven't left the city since early January!  Eek!  As much as I love the city, a gal needs a break every so often... so good.

So, for my 5 (ish) dedicated readers, no blog posts 'til next week...

Oh, Saturday night is a new moon.  I shall be gazing at night from the sands of a balmy beach.

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Strange thing happened on the way back from work today.  I was walking toward the good ol' 6 train and right as I crossed the street and man ran up toward me and goes, "Miss!  Where do you get your haircut?"  and I, being in a very "no B.S." kind of mood, said, "Seriously?  I potentially have the world's most boring haircut."  

Anyway, ends up this guy just opened up a kickass salon on 5th avenue and wants "beautiful girls" (ha! He said I have a "very unique look that drew him right in"...this guy knows how to work an angle) to help promote and do a few Friday events.  I was not feeling it until he mentioned free hair/face/body services for 6 months and free booze at the events (w/ DJs, fashion designers, etc.).  So...yes, I'm doing it.  And the guy it totally legit, too.  I had him (and his two co-workers) show me their business cards, give me a salon brochure (which I later googled and found, to my delight, it's an actual place), etc.  So, yay!  Just to let a couple guys take a stab at my hair and go to a few events, I get free services for 6 months.  Massage?  Um, yes please!

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"Lullaby 101"-- Kris Delmhorst

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Exciting!  I've been meaning to read "Olive Kitteridge" for a while... I guess i'll have to stick it somewhere in between the 12 books I actually have to read

http://www.pulitzer.org/awards/2009

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I think I've decided where I'm moving in August.  Manhattan still...but a much more Julia-esque area.  And I've also decided that in 2-3 years I will probably transition over to Brooklyn.

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Everyday I look around and realize how lucky I (we) are.

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A couple friends and I are searching for a good [cheap] cooking class in the city...feel free to toss out any suggestions!  I must confess, I've done zero research thus far, but I think we'll find something great.  

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"Is there any particular reason you're returning these items?"

"Um, yes.  General awkwardness...upon wearing."

HAHA, oh man...

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So many things to write, but I still have so much to do tonight and want to actually sleep a little before the plane ride...promise to be more exciting next week.  Ok, maybe not exciting, but prolific.

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And I now present to you the world's most ineloquent, raw "poem" [caution: explicit words will pop up on your screen...if that offends you, kindly click the little red X on the upper corner of this window]

But I couldn’t

In the midst
Of my hurt,
Rage, heart,
Indifference,
Absence,Insistence,
Everything
You; I
Was going
To write
A poem
Called Fuck
You.
I was going
To say things


Like:
Fuck you for doing this to me.
Fuck you for this pain.
Fuck you for making me care.
Fuck you for letting me fall.
Fuck you for being such a good liar.

Fuck you for doing it so much.

Fuck you for denying me.
Fuck you for hiding me.
Fuck you for making me question myself.
Fuck you for not telling me.
Fuck you for never caring enough.
Fuck you for coming over uninvited and
Fuck you for not doing it sooner.
Fuck you for being so dense.
Fuck you for making me feel like I’m not good enough.
Fuck you for not knowing me.

Fuck you for not letting me know you.
Fuck you for shutting me out.
Fuck you for letting me peer in.
Fuck you for being everything and nothing.

Fuck you for making me walk the tightrope.
Fuck you for making me say “fuck you” so many times.
Fuck you for spewing out empty words.
Fuck you for making me feel bad about writing this.

Fuck you for not giving a fuck.

But I didn’t write that poem.
Because
I could never say those things
To you.
Because the last thing
I’d ever want to do
Is hurt you.

*****************************

[___________]

This can be our swing set

Let's Find A Swing Set in the Middle of a Vacant Beach and Call it Ours; We'll Swing Side by Side in the Middle of the Night, Tasting the Breeze As It Whispers by Our Faces and Through Our Fingers; We're Going Up, Down, Back, Forth, Together.

And we won't 

Say a word.

We'll just be

Together.

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"Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat,
Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not
even the best,
Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice."

-- From Whitman's Song of Myself

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Nicht wissen warum, aber wissen wozu

A sunny Sunday with my french-pressed coffee and 30 minutes until we go to the park.  Beautiful.  So, some things to share:

* Last week I was just walking along the sidewalk...walk, walk, walk....and a man in his 60's(ish) is walking toward me and right before we passed one another he starts whistling "Moonlight in Vermont"!  I kind of stopped for a second and looked back at him. It was so great.  Maybe I was giving off a Vermont vibe.  I can only hope.  And then, a few days later I was reading in a coffee shop and the same song came on the speaker system.  A sign?  I think so.  A little trip to VT is necessary...I haven't been back since January! ah!  The crickets must miss me, and I them!  [oh ya, and those other things.  The mountains.  Only the most glorious vision in American nature]

*You MUST MUST MUST go see two things at MOMA: [as I write this my pulse quickens...that's how much I loved these two exhibits.  Both on the 6th floor.]

1.  Kippenberger!  "The Problem Perspective".  Just go.

2.  "The Tangled Alphabet", by artists Ferrari and Schendel.  Letters, words, language, semiotics, post-structuralism...oh man, it was like Heaven for someone such as myself (blush).  But really...go.  It was pretty amazing and gets better the deeper you go.  My favorite pieces were The Tower of Babel and Planet.  These are pieces you can stare at and get lost in and every time your eye shifts you discover these incredible nuances and stories...bring your eyes back to where they've been before and it looks completely different.  Yes, I shall be returning to this exhibit...several more times. 

3.  Yesterday marked the first of countless days laying in the park doing "nothing" [in doing nothing, you realize it's everything]

4.  I love when awesome people come to visit...and when you meet more awesome people through them and are then frolicking in a matrix of general awesomeness

5.  I love

6.  You love

7.  We love

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The VT captain on the ship attacked by Somalian pirates was described on NPR as such: "He's a stellar man from Vermont.  Is that a good enough description?  I don't think it gets any better than that".  True!  Stellar [wo]men from Vermont are pretty wonderful

*****************************************

Looking for the perfect cookbook that has everything.  As in, the basics...but all of them.  When I cook (which is a lot, lately), I basically just use recipes to get ideas and then whip up my own original meal.  BUT, I do need to know things like how to make a basic white sauce, pie crust, etc.  "The Joy of Cooking"? Martha Stewart?  Hmmm......

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may I just say that...

I LOVE THE SUN!  I LOVE IT, LOVE IT, LOVE IT!  It feels so good

******************************************

Ok, time to go outside

******************************************

I know...

Sugar Rainbow

Mmm, Good Morning.  I'll have to describe last night's dream in a later post...very elaborate.

I woke up feeling peaceful, warm, relaxed, and grounded.

*****************************************************

On NPR today.  Interesting study re: our brain and compassion:

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=103043173

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Your thoughts are free, aren't they?  

"The rabbit of Easter. He bring of the chocolate."

In honor of Easter, I absolutely must share this hilarious David Sedaris essay about the students in his French class in Paris trying to describe Easter to a Moroccan student.  I tried to find a clip of him reading it, but to no avail.  So, I present to you the text:

"Jesus Shaves", by David Sedaris

http://scottduncan.free.fr/blog/jesus_shaves.pdf

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This was my music of choice while baking some Easter treats today.  Martin Sexton's "Happy" makes me feel...well...happy!  As usual, I recommend just listening, as the video, in this case: lyrics popping up on the screen, kind of takes away from it.  Here's a good ol' fashioned feel good tune, baby:

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I found this poem a couple days ago and I LOVE it.  I was initially drawn to it because of the title (of course), but the poem itself just...breathes.  It's perfect and I think that on one level or another, it's something we can all relate to.  

TIGERS, by Eliza Griswold

What are we now but voices

who promise each other a life

neither one can deliver

not for lack of wanting

but wanting won't make it so.

We cling to a vine

at the cliff's edge.

There are tigers above

and below.  Let us love

one another and let go.

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So simple.  So sweet.  

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So, I cannot believe I am about to admit this, but, at age 23 this was my 1st easter w/o an Easter basket.  A true sign that I have entered adulthood (although I confess, I checked my mailbox everyday last week hoping to see a little package slip...aka: a basket from my mom/mr. bunny).  Even in Paris I got a basket from across seas!  I remember it distinctly, in fact, as it arrived on the same day that a sizable pack of scrawny teenaged boys emerged from the metro stop and attempted to sexually harass cathy, katherine, and I.  A couple of the guys tried to pull Katherine's pants down, one dude licked my face (I scrubbed like it was my job when I got back to my apartment) and as for Cathy...I don't really remember?  I believe she swatted at them with her gigantic purse.  I tossed out every curse I knew in French and it was over as soon as it began.  Sadly, this wasn't even viewed as a completely bizarre event in the midst of our Parisian experience...that's just how Parisians roll.  At least the 17 yr old garcons.  

Anyway, that occurred en route to my apartment to pick up the basket that my mother had lovingly sent to my friends and I.  When we made it there in one piece, we opened a big box to find glorious heaps of Champlain chocolate bunnies, big jelly beans, glittery grass, gummy candies, and best of all, my mom's famous homemade sugar cookies with pastel-colored frosting.  Ah yes, what a night.

I was on the phone with my mom earlier today and gently slipped in a quiet, "so...this is my first Easter with no basket.  Weird, I feel so grown-up!  It only took 23 years!"

My poor little mama, she felt so bad!  And of course, I wasn't trying to make her feel bad...I mean, it is a little ridiculous that I was even getting baskets beyond the age of 12, but she said, "Oh, Julia!  I feel so bad!  I was thinking that people just didnt really care or appreciate them anymore.."

"Mom, don't feel bad, pleeeease.  'Twas but an observation."

"Well new rule:  you guys will be getting baskets until you have kids.  I think that's reasonable"

Haha, how adorable is she?!  So precious.  So I guess the baskets start again next year.  Nice.  About five more years of baskets ahead of me...(assuming I have a child at 29/30, which would be ideal)

Anyway, I'm embarrassed that I put that on the blog.  Don't judge.  I'm still a little girl at heart.  A little girl who does her own taxes on a Sunday afternoon (shabam!)

****************************************************

Honeybees in danger?!?!

http://www.truthout.org/041209F

*****************************************************

Whoever thinks that Miss Universe is just a pretty face, suck on this:

[oh wait...you're right]

This is unbelievable--

http://www.truthout.org/040409Z

******************************************************

Just when we thought that bad pick-up lines had left the scene, Mr. Slick strikes up a conversation with me in the bathroom line.  Around 4pm today, the conversation (if you can call it that) went like so (S= slick, J= Julia):

about 5 people waiting in line...silence for about 3 minutes.  Then, out of nowhere:

S: Are those Adidas?

[3 second awkward pause]

J: Excuse me?

S: Your sneakers, are they Adidas?

J:  Oh, no...they're Gola.  It's an English brand

[this guys had an English accent, I figured he'd know.  It's not a rare brand.]

S:  Oh, I saw the stripes and...uh...thought maybe Adidas

J:  Hm, nope.

[I offer a weird sort of polite smile...kind, yet indicating the conversation was over, I turn to find something on the wall to stare at]

45 seconds later (when any normal person would consider the conversation long gone)--

S:  Are they comfortable?

J:  Uh...ya.  You know...sneakers

S:  Yup, sneakers

[He takes an unnecessarily large breath and looks around]

S:  Man, this place is ancient!

J:  Yeah.  I love it.

S:  It's fantastic

--then a woman comes from behind him and says, "let's just go honey, this line is too long, we'll find somewhere else".  His girlfriend.  A classy guy all-around.  Good stuff.

*********************************************

Visitors next weekend!  Yaaaaaay!

*********************************************

Time is going by so quickly....it's weird.  Neither good nor bad.  Just fast.

*********************************************

Joy, my love, joy in all things,

in what falls and what flourishes.

Joy in today and yesterday,

the day before and tomorrow.

When words cannot step up to the plate...

There is music.  More specifically, Philip Glass.  I woke up and had a hunger for his "Metamorphosis" series.  #1 is below.  For some reason piano, more so than any other instrument, has a direct line to my heart.  I listen to this, eyes closed, and the tones, chords, notes, vibrations...they wash over me, enter me.  Musical osmosis.  It puddles up in my chest but never stops moving.

The apparent simplicity of the piano itself combined with Glass' minimalist composition is...astounding.  He is like the Hemingway of piano.

In this piece, for me, there is something so eery, but comforting.   The beginning of the piece almost forces me to delve into memory.  Nudges me...telling me to face pain from the past.  But then the lighter notes weave in and out, presenting the light truth, the present, the future, and even transforming the weight of the hard memories.  One may say it is a "metamorphosis" of memory...(I actually forgot that the name of this piece was metamorphosis for a second).

Anyway,  I know I may be an overly emotional woman, as per usual, but something about the thoughts I woke up with this morning, the gray drizzle outside, the people flowing in and out of my scope, i sat back with my eyes closed and listened to this and couldn't help but get a lump in my throat.  It's just so damn beautiful.  And sometimes things are so beautiful that they fucking hurt.  A lot.

***************************************************************************

Mmmmmm, although I somewhat disagree with her rankings, this is yummy:

http://nymag.com/daily/food/2009/04/cupcakes.html

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Ron Hogan explains the effect of the publishing industry's layoffs on poetry:

http://www.fsgpoetry.com/fsg/2009/04/interview-with-ron-hogan-of-beatricecom-.html

**************************************************************************

So it's April 11th.  Taxes are due in 4 days.  To be honest, I'm proud of myself for even remembering that, even though my friends gasped aloud last night when I mentioned that I haven't done anything with the forms yet.  "You didn't send them to your tax guy?!"

First, I don't have a 'tax guy', I'm going to be handling this crap on my own.  Secondly, I'm not even late (yet)!  I have no idea what to do, but I think that today will be my 'let's do taxes' afternoon...or tomorrow.

One minor issue though.  I remember getting some stuff in the mail late December...it hung out on my table for a while and then, if I recall correctly, I went on a cleaning spree one weekend and I am pretty sure I looked at those papers, let out a little "ehhh..." and tossed them into the trash.  AHH!  

It's ok, I'll figure it out.  I want my money back!

**************************************************

"My author is kind of Hunter S. Thompson-esque, do you ever publish works like that?  What kind of books do you publish?"

"Well, we have three imprints and we primarily do nonfiction and serious, or literary fiction...bla bla bla"

"Ok, I see...what about romance novels?"

"Eh..maybe if it was along a literary vein, but we don't really do commercial fiction"

"Ok, ok, so like, nothing you'd find in Duane Reade"

"Exactly."

"Do you publish Erotica?"

"No."

I was pranked at work!  I will get you back Mr. CS!  I am seriously still laughing about that...good stuff.  Once Ben revealed his true identity (literally about 10 min into the conversation) I think I yelled "YOU ASSHOLE!" loud enough for my entire building to hear me. Luckily it was 6pm on Good Friday and not too many people were in the office.  

I'll have to devise something grand.  Muwhahaaa

**********************************************

When I told my mom that I got hit by a car the other day, she goes, "JULIA, you always have to look both ways, even when the walking signal is on".  Sweet.  Thanks for a) making me feel 4 yrs old again  and  b) not giving me the compassion I was seeking.  Gee!  Can't a girl get a lil' comfort?!

So about this Taxi (an SUV, no less) smacking into the side of my body on the drizzly Tuesday evening.  I was waiting to cross Broadway, headed back to the 6 train...waiting for the walking signal to come on.  It came up and then I EVEN waited a few extra seconds because in Manhattan, some driver(s) will inevitably see the yellow light and take it as a sign to speed up, thus whizzing through the intersection right when the walk sign illuminates.  So, two cars speed through and the pedestrians begin walking.  Now, because I walk at a ridiculously fast pace, I was already about 4 feet ahead of the pack and SMACK!  Taxi comes out of nowhere and makes contact with my body.  It didn't hurt and I wasn't even angry...just a little shocked.  I think I just looked at the cab driver like, "are you serious?".  It was weird and of course, made me think about how lucky I was that he wasn't going faster.  I mean, what if he had really run into me...what if I broke bones?  Or worse?

Strange.

***************************************************

What ever happened to guys tossing stones at your window in the middle of the night?  My high school boyfriend may have been wrong on many levels, but now that I look back at it, he understood women.  Or, me.  We had a bit of a tumultuous relationship surrounded by drama...he was dating my best friend, but in the midst of it, we fell for one another, he 'dumped her' for me, she therefore hated me (understandably so...bad call on my part), then another guy who was gay claimed to be madly in love with my boyfriend, who was bisexual, and it turned into this ridiculously crazy love triangle.  Oh art school...

Anyway, my point is, aside from all of that weird stuff and the fact that he lied like it was his job, had an enormous ego, and was maybe a little bit gay, he got me when it came to matters of the heart.

We would fight all of the time.  I would storm away from him, "and if you even TRY to call me tonight, this shit is OVER!".  Which he knew, in Julia language, meant: "If you don't call me tonight, things are going to get bad."  So he'd call, I wouldn't pick up..and around 2am I would hear little taps on my window.  I was on the 3rd floor.  I'd get up, look outside, and there he was...standing below with his arms open.

Cheesy and lame, you may say.  This may be true.  But I loved it.  

He would write me poems from time to time, as well.  One day, in the midst of another fight, I took his poems and ripped them up in front of him, saying "and I don't want any more of your poems!!!!" [I don't even remember why I was so mad now...]

later that night, I returned to my dorm room only to find it full of little pieces of paper...poems he had written throughout the past few months about me.

Wow, I actually haven't thought about this in a while.  But I guess my point is, for all of his faults, at least he understood one sliver of who I am.  An important sliver, at that.

This entire entry is jumbled and messed up.  But...whatever.

*******************************************************

Tummy is grumbling.  Breakfast time.

*******************************************************

Lunch Time Musings...

A Poem Is A Spider Web

A poem is a spider web
Spun with words of wonder,
Woven lace held in place
By whispers made of thunder.


**********************************************************

Russell Crowe digs beer n' poetry. My kinda guy

http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/2009/mar/30/russell-crowe-poem-empire-film-awards

*********************************************************

Yeah Paul...

http://www.bookslut.com/features/2009_04_014311.php

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I bought a serving platter on my way to the sandwich shop. I've been eyeing it for a couple of weeks now and finally broke down (dished out all of $7.95) and got it. yay! It's the size of an 8 1/2 x 11" piece of paper, looks like a sheet of lined paper and is even 3-hole punched. Shall be serving cookies in the office on Monday. Oh ya, I also got some cookie cutters. I was hoping they'd have some to go along with the theme (I mean come on, paperclip, memo pad, pen, and stapler sugar cookies? Awesome.)...but no, I had to stick to "spring" cookie cutters. They're cute though. I have a tulip, a baby chick and a dragonfly.

**********************************************************

I'm fairly certain that my level of nerdy-ness has increased a few notches within the past couple of months. Why? I do not know. Huh.

**********************************************************

More to share on another day. But for now, back to work!

Look at the Moon Tonight

...oh wait, you are in here!

******************************************

Two days ago, walking home from work, a car literally ran into me.  "Bumped", more like.  Will describe further in a later post.  It was a little scary/shocking, but oddly exhilarating. Is that weird? 

******************************************

Care enough to go beyond

Be the Light

A flower doesn't turn toward the sun because it needs to, but because it wants to, and so the process is effortless and joyful.  All things considered, what do YOU want?

This is the message I woke up to this morning and wanted to share...

A lesson in storytelling

"Terry, I don't know if you've ever done crack, but..."

Oh man, you MUST section off 40 min to listen to this incredible interview with Terry Gross and Russell Brand.  SO GOOD.  Have an entirely new respect for this guy.

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=102777334

So many great comments throughout that literally made me laugh aloud

Take it Easy Baby, Take it as it Comes

I do not know which to prefer

This image is in honor of my conversation with Kate about traveling NYC via subway.  We quickly came to the conclusion that navigating Manhattan underground is basically a big game of old school Mario Brothers.  Enough said.

*******************************************

I have a new neighbor!  A young couple used to live right next to me and I kid you not, at least thrice a week (haha, "thrice"), there would be extreme yelling and throwing of things.  I'm pretty sure the girl was just high maintenance and her boyfriend wasn't all that bad.  For example, one of the fights was her accusing him of "destroying" her winter coat.  He was kind enough to bring it to the dry cleaners for her but upon taking it out of the plastic bag, she claimed it was "ruined forever" (you hear a lot through these walls).  She went on and on with outrageous comments like "you should have told them....bla bla bla...and why did you specify bla  bla bla?!?!?!"  Then the best part: "This was my favorite coat you a$$hole!  It was like...a hundred bucks!!!!".  Ok, not to say that $100 isn't a lot, but she was treating the whole scenario as if he had spilled a bucket of paint on her new mink coat.  Anyway, many fights like this one.  Annoyingly unnecessary. 

They are out and the new guy seems pretty cool.  He's living alone in the one bedroom, has an alluring accent and got all of his stuff up in 4 trips.  That's my kind of moving.  I'm looking fwd to August when I move...I shall be shedding a great load of my belongings.  

*********************************

Full day in the park on this beautiful Sunday!  First w/ a dear friend, then with my brother and my favorite little 'un.  Chloe, my niece, is just amazing.  I don't know how else to put it.  AND she's such a daredevil on the playground, it's awesome.  She totally shows up the 8 year old boys.  

We were blowing bubbles later on.  A conversation:

C: Julia, now you blow them!

[I take the bubble wand and blow a nice little bouquet of bubbles into the air]

C: [3 minutes later] where did the big one go?

J: It flew way up high and is traveling through the air now

C: Is it going to Florida?!!?!? [huge, excited smile]

J: Yes, yes it is

Another conversation at The Shake Shack:

Tanner: Alright Chloe, what are we going to get?

C: hmmm...

T: I think we should go with a hot dog and a strawberry milkshake

C: [zero hesitation] and diarrhea.  

HAHA, oh man.  It was incredible...where does the girl come up with this stuff? 

********************************

I'll be hitting the sandy beaches in 3 weeks.  Yesssssss...a little reprieve will be nice and my skin wants the ocean water

********************************

I have been ridiculously domestic this weekend.  It's wonderful.  On Friday I picked up some stemless wine glasses, a few vintage glass jars for flour/sugar/whatever, two new serrated knives, a vintage ceramic milk jug, and a butter dish (which is actually a European cheese dish w/ a top, but hey, it works). Anyway, these new goodies inspired me and I made ravioli and marinara sauce from scratch, then a risotto dish the next night and this morning, some scones from scratch to eat warm along with my french-pressed coffee.  Ah, delight!  

********************************

It's finally going away.  Finally.  Thank you.

********************************

Sooo, I guess I should be doing something w/ my taxes, eh?  Ugh, being an adult is hard.  Maybe "hard" isn't the right word.  I just don't want to deal with taxes.  I've also been holding off setting up my new 401K just because I know it's going to be an annoying process...I suppose I should get on that

********************************

How Doth the Little Busy Bee
by Isaac Watts

How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day
From every opening flower!

How skilfully she builds her cell!
How neat she spreads the wax!
And labors hard to store it well
With the sweet food she makes.

In works of labor or of skill,
I would be busy too;
For Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.

In books, or work, or healthful play,
Let my first years be passed,
That I may give for every day
Some good account at last.

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That poem reminds me of the first essay I ever wrote.  I was 6 years old (1st grade) and I wrote about worker bees.  One day I'll put the essay in a blog post (it's hardly a page long and would be easy to re-type...and so worth it).

Actually, right after I graduated from college in May, I participated in a 2-week writing workshop.  The 1st week focused on autobiography written in the 3rd person.  For the first three days we were instructed to write 60 pages  that were free-flowing, unedited, little blurbs/episodes of our lives.  One of my snippets was this 1st grade essay writing experience.  I still remember it perfectly.  Not so much for the essay itself but...well, here's the piece I wrote about it for the workshop (keep in mind, these were free-writes):

She’s in first grade sitting on a lime green plastic chair next to Mrs. Clark.  Staring into the tan box in front of her, Mrs. Clark was typing everything the little girl dictated.  Her first essay.  The topic: Worker Bees.  Julia was too old to be peeing in her pants, but she still did it at least three times a week.  She couldn’t help it.  This time it was because of her shyness.  Maybe she could just hold it until she was done reciting her bee essay.   Yes, that’s what she would do.  It would be uncomfortable, but better than having to ask Mrs. Clark if she could get up to go to the bathroom. Even if she let a couple drops out, it was better than looking your teacher in the eye and telling her you had to pee.  

“Julia, do you need to go to the bathroom?” Mrs. Clark interrupted the first grader’s thoughts, “If you do, it’s OK, I can wait for you.”

Julia refused. How did she know? All teachers are psychics, she thought.  Of course, Julia was oblivious to the fact that her face looked like she had just eaten an entire lemon and her "subtle"  rocking back and forth resembled a ship in the midst of a monsoon.

“No, I don’t have to. So when the worker bees are born they already know their job.”

No matter how much she fidgeted and attempted to deny the urge, the release came and a smooth warmth blanketed Julia’s pants down to her knees. Simultaneously, a grand feeling of relief and an even stronger sense of remorse hit. Past her knees, trickling down her calves and shins and finally, saturating her new socks. Urine was dripping off the chair, but she was convinced that she had pulled it off.  Mrs. Clark would never know.  Julia just had to keep her cool.

“And when the hive gets crowded, some of the bees have to go.”

She would just shimmy out backwards.  Yes, after her session with the teacher she would casually stand up and slowly walk backwards toward the door. When no one was looking she would dash into the hallway and slip into the bathroom.

“I wouldn’t want to leave my family,” Julia continued dictating, “but the bees do it because they know they have to.”

“Great, anything else you want to add Julia?”
“Ya, the stinger hurts.” A pause.  "Oh!  And I really like the honey."

The first-grader prepared for her grand exit. Nobody would have to know what had happened. Inhaling deeply, Julia cautiously stood up. Her denim overalls were heavy and the stiff fabric stuck to her thin legs. Glancing downward, there was a miniature sea of urine resting in the dip of her seat. There it was, the shameful evidence of a six year-old still not fully potty trained.  Julia’s heart was crushed, she wanted to slump down and cry.  That would cause a scene though.  And the last thing you want to be was a first grader who peed their pants and then cried about it.  So holding onto her last thread of dignity, Julia slowly walked backwards toward the classroom door. For the first time ever, she was utterly disgusted by her actions. “I’m such an idiot,” she recited in her head. It became a mantra: an idiot, an idiot, an idiot. She would spend the next hour in the bathroom waiting for her pants to dry, incessantly dabbing at them with wads of pristine white toilet paper.

Sad.  I can literally still feel that moment.  Such shame [sigh].  Just for the record, I did eventually reach a full level of potty trained-ness.  Thank you very much.

Mrs. Clark was great though.  I remember she had a glass jar on her desk and anytime a student cried she would undo the lid on the jar and catch the student's tears in it.  I don't remember her explanation, but she was pretty consistent with the whole 'tears in the jar' deal.  As alluded to in the little episode above, I was a painfully shy child and crying during class was just NOT EVER an option for me.  The last thing I wanted was to have the focus on me...ever.  I didn't want to be the kid who lost their tooth during school, I refused to see the nurse if I felt sick, I didn't want people to make a huge deal out of the birthday, etc.  I'd say I was probably this way until I was 14.  Finally "came out of my shell", as they say...but that's another topic for another day.

Anyway, one day in 1st grade I did cry.  Oh, I wish I could remember why.  It must have been something pretty big though.  Mrs. Clark took me into her arms brought me over to her desk and then it happened.  Slow-motion, her hand reached for the tear jar.  Oh man, I remember being so freaked out.  I wanted to let my tears roll down my cheeks, to feel their salty warmth, taste them when they trickled to the corners of my mouth.  Mrs. Clark took the lid off the jar and held it by my cheek. 

"I don't want that," I said, "I don't want the tear jar"

"But Julia, if your tears drop in here, then everybody's tears will be bottled up together and we can keep them safe on my desk," the teacher coaxed (again, why was this such a good idea eludes me)

"But...but," I tried to think of how to articulate what I was feeling.  I didn't want my tears joining the sea of others that had been imprisoned in that jar for months, "I like my tears.  They are the best thing about crying.  I don't want them to stay in a jar.  If I keep them on my cheeks, they'll evaporate and become air" (we had done a "water theme" earlier in the year and I was very excited to learn about evaporation).

Now that I look back on it, it was kind of a profound statement.  And I still think that tears are the best thing about crying.

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Here comes the sun, little darlin'

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What's going on with all of these green and powder blue puddles?

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On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare sieze the fire?

For the eyes to see through all that I do...

People Come and Go, and Walk Away...

Be careful with your words, darling, because words are made of syllables

...and syllables are made of air.  And air, my sweet, is the breath of the Universe

What is Left

Small, hard, silver gadget

wedged between The Agony and The Ecstasy 

and the black heels that landed me

my first job.  

The heels I wore all the way

from 55th to 96th and then some.

At 4AM I wake to see

moonlight bouncing off the orphaned steel.

Torn from dreams of Ferris Wheels, eyes

shut and what it feels like

to be stuck, paused, dangling

on top the one day 

your friend doesn't join, I

twist out of the sheets, a snake

shedding its worn identity,

and walk, barefoot, to the piece.

It's not beautiful, this metal tool.

It defies the general warmth

in the room and is severe,

industrial,

next to the round corners of wood

and the sweet stories whispering

between pages.

Picking it up, I cradle it in my hands

and realize it is far heavier

than anything that size should be.

Dense; I suppose that makes sense.

This is what is left.

That night, those mornings,

afternoons brimming with color,

light, and heart, boils down

to a single metal hunk

resting useless on my book case.

In a way I envy it-- its stoic,

expressionless and solid

existence.  Its careless

effortless cool

and nonchalance.

I place it back, release my grip

and notice the moon

has moved on, the room

is black and I cannot

see the path back 

to sleep.

Cool...ness...

http://www.moma.org/visit/calendar/exhibitions/299



Let's go.

Fireside Chai

Don't Stand So Close to Me

Hello, hello.  Oh MAN this has been a crazy week (thus far), but in very very good ways :)

Ah yes, the perfect spring image.  Yesterday I had lunch outside and it was warm(ish), sunny, and they were cutting grass.  That scent triggers such nostalgia and brings me to a million places at once.  I remember being eight years old, the summer nights felt like forever and i would just lie in the freshly cut grass (only to wake up w/ hives later that night...but that's another story and thank God I have outgrown that horrific allergy)...toying with individual blade, watching the bugs and thinking about how it would be to live such a tiny life.  A life where a lawn is like an immense forest.  Hm.

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I don't understand it, but I trust* it

*am learning* to trust it

*am trying to learn to trust it

*************************************

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Extremely excited:  www.wherethewildthingsare.com 

You know where I'll be on October 16th

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Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.

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There are so many thoughts in my head right now, I just don't have the umph to put them into words.  Yet.  When I have more time, I promise.

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I caught that scent on the subway the other day.  I don't know where it was coming from.  It made my heart heavy.

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Exactly 2 months until my birthday!  Start planning, people.  Haha, I kid, I kid (but if you really know me, you'll know I'm not kidding at all.  I like to make a big deal out of birthdays).  

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MOMA, MOMA, MOMA this weekend...finally!  It's been for-ev-er

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Thanks to Mr. Marques for this (you got your shout-out...watch out, the fan mail comes quickly):

http://proof.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/03/22/your-signature-cocktail/

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What do you do with tulips once they wilt?  Are they done, or do you snip off the ends and keep them around?

[not speaking metaphorically here.  Really, what do I do?  Makes for an interesting metaphor though.]

*****************************************

Coooooool:

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=102601823

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I see myself, but from the outside.
I keep trying to feel who I was,
and cannot. Hear clearly the sound
the bucket made hitting the sides
of the stone well going down,
but never the sound of me.