Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Luck of the Chirish

Honey, if you need to ask the Ouija board if you and Joe Varsity there should
go steady, you should maybe think about talking to a therapist, not a toy.
I come from a long line of diviners, which is to say, the Chinese. (My other half is a long line of drinkers, which may explain why I get blasted and whip out the Ouija board. Still trying to figure out what lknafffffffswmammseaaaekjj means).

The extent of most Americans' understanding of the Chinese is having seen The Joy Luck Club, and actually, for my purposes, that'll do.

(What I won't be doing right now is talking about Amy Chua and her stupid Tiger Mother book. That's a rant for another day.)

So, on with it. To overgeneralize, traditional (read: redneck) Chinese are obsessed with, among other things, luck -- which makes them a superstitious breed indeed. Whether they're hitting enemies with brooms or avoiding the number four because it's a homonym for "death" or eating long noodles to ward off death... sure, all cultures have their quirks, but white people shoot off fireworks cuz they're pretty, not because they're trying to scare away evil spirits. Aimirite? So I'd judge the the hole of Chinese superstition could be dug all the way to, well, China.

And at the risk of being disowned, I'm going to to throw a relative under the bus here. We shall call him/her "Pat."

Oh my god, it's full on double aces all the way...
oh my god, OH MY GODDDD... What does this MEAN?
Among other quirks, such as not speaking certain names (because it's bad luck) and basing entire personality assessments on birth signs, Pat employs what I can only assume is one of the most ancient and traditional Oriental practices of divination: solitaire.

Yes, solitaire, the card game.

I bet you didn't know that both the physical-playing-card AND the computer versions of solitaire can be used as oracles. It's true, Virginia! It really exists!

Pat has always been so pre-emptively defensive about the practice of it, I can only assume that Real Chinese Magick is being employed here and hope s/he has some written instructions on its methodology that I might inherit.

Or maybe it has nothing to do with superstition at all....
In the meantime, I'm left to guess the answers to so many questions. How does this work? Do you mentally ask questions before starting a game, interpreting a loss as "no" and a win as "yes?" Do you count how many cards are left in the pile when you run out of playing options and use them to determine how close you are to getting a raise or achieving immortality? Is the real answer to Life, The Universe, and Everything 52, and not 42? Why is divination so complicated? Can't I just buy Pat a Magic Eight Ball and be done with it?

There's not all that much point to this rambling little post except that I, too, would like to be able to tell the future, or at least tell you something about your sexual deviancies based on the month on which you were born. So I'll close with these amazing and totally true horoscope personality characteristics, for which I cannot take any writing credit.



Pick Your Poison
AriesTaurusGeminiCancerLeoVirgoLibra
ScorpioSagittariusCapricornAquariusPisces


Aries

Aries have ramlike eyebrows and smug expressions. They should not be quite so smug because they are constantly clunking themselves in the skull. Cat Stevens' "Hard Headed Woman" was probably an Aries. Aries rarely say one thing and do another. They usually do the wrong thing and don't discuss it. Never point this out to an Aries unless you want your kidneys pulled out through your sinuses. Aries folks love Pisceans because Pisces people make them feel well-grounded. Aries love to laugh at the funny moon-people who suck their thumbs at age 35. Aries use guns to describe philosophical concepts. Whether you live in a palatial estate or a cardboard tepee, you will insist until death that it is exactly what you always wanted. Most Aries were concrete parking bumpers in at least two of their past lives. Aries are never born. They skip gaily from their mothers' wombs. This may even involve rollerblades. The Aries makes life decisions as a toddler. Aries marry several times for funnies but never divorce. Their spouses have many freak accidents resulting in death or crippling injury. Being infallible, God is probably an Aries. This would make Satan an Aquarius. Aries always hold management positions. If one is assigned to clean toilets, he will form a one-man union. Then he will go and picket in the parking lot. All of you think you're Lech Walesa. People run away when an Aries comes around. They know that if they do not, the Aries will set them on fire. Aries hate listening to Scorpios talk because they take pride in being even more self-centered. In fact, much to the Scorpios' dismay, you are the biggest pricks in the zodiac. Your rams' horns are in everyone else's asses.
See another horoscope!

Taurus

You are brooding emotion incarnate. One minute you're up, the next you're down, the next you've shot your favorite newscaster in the kneecaps, "just 'cuz.". You're very earthy, which may mean that you don't shower as often as most people. Or it may just mean that you like to roll around with your nose in clover and sigh. Taureans love happy movies where everyone is jolly and having fun, but they fight with waiters and get upset with billboards. They like to psychoanalyze their friends but have no real experience with life in general. Taureans mumble while describing philosophical concepts. The Taurus is a strange bird because he or she holds grudges about things that never actually happened. This may stem from the feelings of inadequacy resulting from being beaten out for first in line in the zodiac by Aries. That is the Taurean self-image, always second best. However, they are undoubtedly the best at feeling like second best. All Taureans want to be God. Unfortunately, God is an Aries. You are generally tough to figure out because you answer every question with a question. Also, you won't come out from under the bed. Most Taureans love conflict. If nothing is wrong, then that in itself is something wrong. Some especially like bar fights. If they can't get into an actual bar fight, they will make up interesting stories about them which they can tell their friends right before they psychoanalyze them. If it weren't for Bazooka Joe and The Family Circus, Taureans wouldn't know what to do. You feel that you are going nowhere in life. You are probably right. Milwaukee is full of Taureans. Taureans are impatient and pushy. They are in a tremendous hurry to get to the nowhere that they intend to go to. They make little dioramas of their homes, complete with tiny effigies of the people they know, and act out scenarios of the way things would be if they were God.
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Gemini

Everyone loves a Gemini because everyone loves a schizophrenic. You like to think that you are a half-and half mixture of Socrates and Michelangelo, but in reality it's more like Prince and Bea Arthur. You are progressive, outgoing, and one of the most popular rides at Cedar Point. However, you can and will negate all of this by the time you're finished reading this sentence. Geminis drive funny cars. They often drive them into trees or buildings. Geminis are pushy and overbearing. They pick fights with small children and moon people at weddings. They like to use Libras as punching bags. A bisexual Gemini is a walking double date. The rest are hermaphrodites. Geminis vandalize their own houses. Geminis use far-fetched analogies to describe philosophical concepts. Geminis rarely compete in the Olympics. When they do, it is usually pool or air hockey. Frogger turns up as well. Geminis are always on some sort of medication. This medication is not always legal. Gemini is Latin for "I'm okay, I'm okay." Geminis speak very loudly in order to be heard. This is unfortunate as they are nearly always talking to themselves. In fact, they often pick animated arguments with themselves in the bathtub. The most famous Gemini in history is Orville and Wilbur Wright. Geminis are frequently abidextrous, which means that they can pick both sides of their noses at the same time. The Gemini is essentially nothing more than a paranoid Aquarius.
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Cancer

You like to know what's going on in the lives of everyone in the galaxy. However, you tend not know know what's going on in your own. If you are lucky, your friends will tell you. Cancerians only get dressed because they have to, and their fashion sense can only be described as "erratic." You are more likely than any other sign in the zodiac (except Pisces, who does not iron) to iron your clothes by sleeping with them sandwiched between the mattress and box-spring. Likewise, you can stretch one pair of underwear out for almost a month. Your home is like your very own Biodome, and you can remain indoors for months at a time. Despite your need to be everyone's savior, you need no social interaction. SWAT teams often show up, mistakenly thinking there's a hostage situation. A Cancer is like a walking Ladies' Home Journal, quick on the draw with shortcake recipes and helpful hints on how to talk to your teen. Whether they know it or not, they are all born with an exceptional talent for cross-stitch. So much for buying the world a Coke - they would breast-feed the world if they could. This trait is not gender-specific. You will never excel in sports because you have to rest for fifteen minutes every time you breathe. You do not mind, since you plan to conduct your career from the comfort of your own bed. You maintain your questionable health through a steady diet of Ho-Ho's and beer. You also imbibe a great deal of Pepto-Bismol in order to confuse your numerous ulcers. People walk on you often. Actually, not often - all the time. If you think someone is screwing you, you're probably right. The most entertaining thing about this is that you like it. You strive to be a doormat. Cancerians coin their own words to describe philosophical concepts. This is why it is no surprise that George W. Bush is a Cancer. Cancerians have minimal influence over their friends, even though they show up with homemade soup to remedy every minor or major tragedy. However, they wield their power through the fact that they know what everyone is thinking at any given time. This is why they are never invited to parties. Cancerians claim to be "tactful". The word for this is actually "shiftless". Cancerians are always appointed to take their drunken, drooling friends home. These friends are usually Pisceans.
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Leo

You will grab attention in any way you possibly can. Self-immolation is not out of the question. You like to kiss mirrors a lot. Genghis Khan was a Leo, and so is Barney the Dinosaur. People still love Lucy, but less because she was a Leo. Leos will interrupt conversation to talk, and they will place themselves bodily in the way of someone who is trying to leave before the Leo is finished saying what he or she needs to say. All Leos want parades on their birthdays. Leos never marry because no one is good enough for them. If they do marry, they keep their spouses locked under the bathroom sink. They need physical affection at all times; unfortunately, they can't find any because everyone thinks they are irritating punks. This is why so many of the people arrested for necrophilia are Leos. A Leo uses himself as an example of the Overman in order to describe philosophical concepts. Some Leos decide to be homosexual even if they aren't, because they think this gives them shock value. It actually means that neither gender will want to hook up with them. In actuality, anything besides a romantic evening with themselves is considered a step down for the Leo. Leos open doors by screaming at them. They expect their Clappers to applaud when they enter a room. Leos are said to resemble lions. This means that they are loud, have cleft upper lips and slimy noses, and s**t under trees as they walk. They snack on monkeys while watching "Entertainment Tonight". Humility frightens Leos. That is why Jesus was a Capricorn, Buddha was an Aries, and so forth. However, "radical cult leader" is not out of the question. Leos like to start fights with Aries. They will stomp and bloody each other regardless of whether or not they are in public. In fact, the Leos usually prefer it. You will see these fights taking place at bars, sporting events, fashion shows, or Taco Bell. If you are a clever Capricorn, you will sell tickets. Don't worry about hanging posters--Leo will take care of that in advance. Aquarians hang posters of rock stars on their walls. Scorpios hang posters of famous disasters on their walls. Capricorns hang posters of great mathematicians on their walls. Pisceans hang posters of unicorns on their walls. Leos hang posters of themselves on their walls.
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Virgo

You are a pain in the ass. You regulate your breathing and color-coordinate the clothes in your closet. No Virgo in history has ever belched. Virgos clean every square inch of everything they own twice daily with a toothbrush. Everything has its place, and yours is on the floor scrubbing with a magnifying glass, checking for germs. Obsessive-compulsive disorder? A nice euphemism for the word "Virgo". Virgos use pointers and elaborate charts to describe philosophical concepts. You commit a lot of drive-by shootings. When you are questioned, you tell the police that it was because "the bastard had a filthy car". The police usually let you go because they are Virgos too. It is easy to freak out a Virgo. Tell them they have something between their teeth. Then watch them scrub frantically at the imaginary thing. Virgos are a hell of a lot of fun for assholes like us. Hell for a Virgo is being locked up in an elevator for eternity with a naked Aquarius. That is because in hell, Aquarians are allowed to bring beer, which they leave all over the floor. Virgos, however, have to surrender their brooms and squeegees to God. Virgos also have a hard time coping when they find out there's something under the fridge. But it's usually just a depressed Taurus. Virgos have read enough Hints from Heloise to know that the depressed Taurus can be coaxed out from under the fridge with a banana wine cooler. Virgos don't see the world in shades of black and white. They see it in shades of clean and dirty. Cat hair makes Virgos foam at the mouth. Virgos are cool because they will do your laundry for you. They'll separate everything by color and fabric until it consists of fourteen loads of three things apiece. Then they will put them in the washer in alphabetical order by name of manufacturer. Virgos are often found opening and shutting the refrigerator door, attempting to trick the light inside. Don't put cheese where it doesn't belong in a Virgo's refrigerator. He or she will go Jack Torrence on your ass. You will be stabbed with a cuticle pusher. Jack Torrence was probably a Virgo in the first half of "The Shining". After that, he went all Leo.
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Libra

You are oh-so-elegant and tasteful to the point of incurring nausea from loved ones. You are also bipolar as hell and can't make a decision on your own. You usually consult your therapist or TV Guide. Libras are trendy and malleable folks. They are funny because they will glom onto something they hated before if it suddenly becomes fashionable. Velour is not entirely lost upon these people. Libras eat a lot of ethnic food from cultures they don't understand. They single-handedly started the cappucino movement. Ask them why, and they will claim something unintelligible about solidarity. You constantly worry about what other people think. If you really paid any attention, maybe people would like you more. Libras use quotes from David Mamet plays to describe philosophical concepts. Then they have those concepts engraved upon nice little wallet cards. The Libran interest in current events ends with the J. Crew catalog. They don't eat fast food or have any clue where their trash goes. They have other people tie their expensive shoes. Only two Libras have ever been found in thrift stores. All of their bell-bottoms were color-coordinated to match their lamé turtlenecks. Libras are always on the cutting edge of what the rest of us think is absolute pretentious bulls**t. They have huge collections of CDs they've never even listened to. Libras give to designer charities. Hollywood is full of Libras. You are the reason butterfly hairpins and parachute pants have made a comeback. Next on the list is those big jam shorts. You probably never threw out your old pair. Hang on to your Winger t-shirt too. Get a Libra as drunk as possible and he or she will still be able to explain the difference between café latté and café au lait. This is peculiar as the rest of us know that there is no difference at all.
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Scorpio

You got into computers early so you could use made-up, bulls**t terminology and get away with it. Most hackers are Scorpios, as are most people who think they're going to find fame on a chat board. You embarrass Libras because you like your coffee straight out of the bag, eaten with a spoon. You may have actually snorted Chock Full o' Nuts at one time in your life. You take your paranoid beatnik approach to life very seriously. Many Scorpios have found ways to successfully smoke in the shower. Your number-one grudge is about never having been abducted by aliens, or being the victim of a government conspiracy. Most of those fake virus warnings or cash offers from Bill Gates are your attempt to stir something up. Ironically, Bill Gates is a Scorpio. The fully-automated barracks he lives in should clear up any doubt. Your master plan for world domination will never work because it involves you at the helm. It is hard for you to accept that Star Trek is fiction, and you are not a Borg leader. Scorpios use expletives to describe philosophical concepts. It's no wonder that Halloween falls smack in the middle of the Scorpio range. This is the only time of year when fake hauntings, sugar-induced hysteria, and impersonating Dr. Who won't get you arrested. Scorpios have strong sex drives, because it gives them yet another opportunity to smoke. Scorpios have much advice to give on matters that are of no concern to them. If you want to find out if someone is a Scorpio, ask them a pertinent question. Five minutes of silence later, the answer will be "I'm sorry, what?" Scorpios are often hairy and feel that this makes them more virile. This is especially true of Scorpio women. Scorpios cheat at the lottery. If it's automated, they can hack it.
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Sagittarius

Sagittarians are born adventurers. They like smashing spiders with their bare hands and trying to walk to the bathroom in the middle of the night with the lights out. They would sooner sustain crippling injury than do anything the easy way. Sagittarians love to entertain their friends, family, and total strangers. This often includes transvesticism. Nearly every Sagittarian was born into the wrong gender. Sagittarians are loud and have no social graces. They seek to offend. Sagittarians usually have nicknames like Thunderpooper or Vomitus Maximus. Animals and small children love Sagittarians. This is unfortunate since adults usually hate them. However, Sagittarians make excellent circus freaks and vagrants. Sagittarians use interpretive dance to describe philosophical concepts. Buttons and bumper stickers with rude sayings on them are a trademark of the Sagittarian. They throw food at expensive restaurants and ask lots of questions in the middle of church. Don't ever bring a Sagittarius home to meet your parents. He or she will tie up your mother and pants your dad. Famous Sagittarians include the Geo Metro. The holiday during which the sun is in Sagittarius is Thanksgiving. This is highly appropriate since everyone eats until they're sick and passes out while a bunch of cross-dressers and huge inflatable things wander through the streets of New York, the most Sagittarian town in the universe. The Shriners driving around in the tiny little cars are a very Sagittarian image. Even more so if there's a ridiculously busty woman stuffed into the car as well. A Sagittarius is always a better Madonna than Madonna. Men can pull off sequins, and women can pull off construction helmets. The Sagittarius is incapable of being unhip.
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Capricorn

Capricorns are hardworking, reliable, and dull as hell. They are always on the move, headed to their next delusion of grandeur. They are often good at math which explains why they are such pains in the ass. René Descartes was a great mathematician and a crappy philosopher, so he must have been a Capricorn. Stephen Hawking is even more Capricorn because he's all of the above and a pompous S.O.B. to boot. Sure, he's overcome a lot of obstacles etc. etc., but even in perfect health you can't overcome being a Capricorn. Most politicians are Capricorns, which is why our country is always in the hole. It is not surprising that politicians need so much security around them all the time. Capricorns are like a strange cross between a Leo and a Virgo. They think that this makes them both charismatic and logical. In reality, it means that they are tight-assed and nitpicky, and have to keep their egos in the backyard. In the event of nuclear war, only cockroaches and Capricorns would find a way to survive. The rest of us just don't want to live in a world like that. The nation's cockeyed system of toll roads was probably designed by a freakin' Capricorn. They learn how to screw the public over at an early age. Their parents buy them books of law for Christmas so they can underline the loopholes. Capricorns cannot even fathom, much less describe, philosophical concepts because they don't involve equations. (See comments about Descartes and Hawking above) Capricorns own lots of Filofaxes and other tools to organize the lives they do not have. They love to be seen talking on their cell phones. These phones are not actually turned on because Capricorns don't have any friends to call. Capricorns went out of style in 1989. They still believe that Trump was a visionary. Most of the people arrested for counterfeiting are Capricorns.
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Aquarius

The Aquarius loves a party. Anytime, anywhere is their motto. It is not unlikely that an Aquarius will consider a wake a good place to meet chicks. Aquarians tend to be nostalgic about the 1960s because that was the last time they could be naked in public and get away with it. Aquarians love to be naked. It is even better if they are naked and crocked. 97.4% of the Night Train consumed in the past thirty years has been consumed by Aquarians. Almost every Aquarian will claim to have seen Jerry Garcia's image in their Froot Loops at least once. Froot Loops is a very Aquarian cereal. So is Rice Krispies, since it will engage in a friendly chat with the Aquarian as he or she is eating breakfast. Count Chocula is off-limits, however. It belongs to the Scorpios. Aquarians are the only people in the zodiac who can play volleyball with themselves. And they frequently do. Aquarians use the phrase "Dude, man..." frequently when describing philosophical concepts. Aquarians have out-of-body experiences on a daily basis. If you are talking to an Aquarian and he or she zones out, consider the conversation hopeless. He or she is talking to the guy three feet away from you. Aquarians are fun because they channel people. Plus, if you tell them to, they will run around naked. Aquarians like astronomy because they've been to all those places. If you want to know what the food is like on Saturn, ask an Aquarius. They can also walk on water if they try really really hard. This usually happens in the bathtub. Aquarians can allow themselves every possible vice on the planet, and don't think twice about it. That is why they piss everyone else off. They are cosmically entitled to do this. Most rock stars are Aquarians.
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Pisces
Everywhere you go, laughter and comedy ensue. This would be great if you were trying to be funny. You are deeply confused by the idea of sex. As far as you are concerned, if it didn't happen in "The Velveteen Rabbit", it doesn't exist. Piscean women wear long floaty dresses and enormous amounts of unusual silver jewelry. On hikes. Pisceans claim to love the stars, but the only constellation they can find is the Big Dipper. If they cannot find it, they cry. You remember what you were wearing on March 3rd, 1981 but forget your own address. You have no sense of direction. The people you find going in reverse at 70 m.p.h. on the expressway are usually Pisceans. Pisceans are most likely to die by falling out of a window or getting run over by a truck. That is, of course, unless they live with a Cancer. Pisceans are so zoned and perpetually endangered that they can bring out the maternal instincts of a Leo. Don't be fooled, however; many Pisceans can surprise you by kicking your ass and the asses of your four imaginary friends. While Leos tend to achieve the most fame in the field of entertainment, Pisceans strive to achieve historical greatness by sheer fluke. They are proud to tell you that Michelangelo, Galileo, George Washington, and Albert Einstein, none of whom had an agent, were all Pisceans. What they won't tell you is that so is Ted Kennedy. Pisceans claim to want "honest criticism" of their work. Then they commit hara-kiri on the floor when you say you don't like it. Never try to use logic with a Pisces; he or she is living about three feet off of the natural ground or in Narnia. Their tools of debate are non-sequiturs, quotes from Elizabeth Barrett Browning, and, of course, crying. It wouldn't matter what linguistic devices Pisceans use to describe philosophical concepts because they aren't positive they know what they're talking about anyway. You cry over dead animals in the road but feel no remorse about mowing down humans you don't like. Cancerians say one thing and do another. Scorpios say one thing and do it just for spite. Pisceans say far too much and do whatever the hell they want.
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Sunday, January 16, 2011

Questions

So I'm subscribed to a Google group that exists for the sole purpose of sending me (and, like, a thousand other people) a "thought-provoking" question every day.

I like having my thoughts provoked. They're so cute when they're angry.

Shockingly, this group is called "Question of the Day." It is actually counterintuitive, because they always send two questions. I question the question of sending two questions. Their group name is a misnomer, and I demand laser-like precision in the pluralitiousness of my google groups!

Or, I could just look at it as a bonus question. Calm down, thoughts, you're getting all exercised.

These questions, though -- I think they are trying to tell me something. Because, as I have said, I am susceptible to coincidence, to a small degree.

For two successive days, the questions have been:

What are you resisting?
What brings you joy?

What are you afraid of losing?
Who are you thankful for?

At first glance, I thought the pairings were odd. Contradictory. And yet... germane. Are they possibly designed to point to the same answer? Or is it merely an effect of the pairing?

Do we not sometimes resist joy and what brings us joy, for fear of pain? Are we not often afraid of losing that for which we are thankful?

Okay. Have to go take the thoughts for a walk now. They're getting provoked.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Relationships, Crowdsourced

The other night, I was feeding my addiction to a blog/twitter account called TinyBuddha. Now before you go think I'm all enlightened or whatever, be informed that I also gleefully follow the muscly green hilarity that is DrunkHulk.

TinyBuddha is a little gust of wind at my back on an endless journey toward being "fully present," since in most of my "presents" I often catch myself a) dwelling on the past, b) dwelling on the future, c) running late, d) frantically searching for my keys/wallet/phone, e) sucked into the internet news vortex. And on extra special days, f) all of the above at once.

Something about TinyBuddha speaks more clearly to me than other sites like it. The authors use great quotes (which I collect as obsessively as some people collect stamps) and I appreciate the accessibility of its casually Buddhist yoga-pop psychology.

From a female perspective, it's like a pseudo-spiritual Cosmo for a woman who doesn't care about fashion/sex tips/celebrities -- a one-woman, web-based Psychology Today (which at some point years ago decided to degrade itself with women's mag-style marketing), without the stretch of correlating fluffily-written articles to actual scientific studies.

(I've been given a heightened awareness of all things scientifically valid, I feel compelled to elaborately state the obvious here: TinyBuddha wisdom is experiential, not experimental. But it works for me. So yes, more placebo, please!)

So what was I saying? Oh, yes. A few days ago, this mundane gem was posted on TinyBuddha's Facebook: "Share your wisdom! What's the key to happy relationships?"

I apparently thought it would be fun to go through the 200ish comments, sloppily parse them out, and see which keywords came out on top. Enjoy, gentle reader(s?):


My favorite being compassion, and I was surprised to see it outrank patience, support, and forgiveness. Then again, this would be a heavily Buddhist-leaning sample of responses. Dudes are into hardcore compassion like whoa.

And again, nothing about this is scientific. I combined a few groups that seemed similar (support/encourage), but there's overlap in others that aren't grouped -- e.g., does appreciation belong with allowing? Trust with honesty? Should love even be included, since that's sort of a given? Doesn't happiness suffer from a conflict of interest, since it's included in the original question (and "be happy" isn't really great advice [or is it?]). And I was eluded by the ability to capture the nuances of simplistic-yet-solid advice like "focus on the good," "give and take," and "have the courage to be vulnerable."

These are the kinds of nuances that keep me up til 3am. Seriously. Damn you, detail orientation!




Sunday, January 9, 2011

silence is also a sound

the awkward silences between strangers have tiny little high-pitched blades, poking into ears, grating the nerves of the teeth, stuttering and shrill. 

the pregnant silence of expectation is a balloon filling with water, tensing to an ache before bursting forth with the relief of result. 

the comfortable silence of a lover or friend hums a low, warm questionless contentment.   scale and pitch may vary greatly, but it awaits only a touch to vibrate into melody.

the silence of exhaustion after a mighty effort has a satisfying, subsonic drumbeat, bearing with it a thrill of blood and life.  

and the ice-cave echoing silence of a longing absence howls relentlessly and invasively, rendering its helpless mark unable to plug her ears. 

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

RIGHTEOUS! RIGHTEOUS!

Seriously, is there no depth out of which Finding Nemo cannot lift a soul?


And while I'd never advise taking life lessons from a Disney *cringe* product (have you BEEN on "It's A Small World??????"), I gotta say....

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming...

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Wisdom from Forward Spam

Ever since email hit the tipping point of popular use, the "forward" button has been E=mc^2. Ease of use has imbued those tiny pixels with both the constructive power of valuable information-sharing and the destructive A-bombs of inbox clutter that are Forward Spam.

Forward Spam, n. : those emails forwarded from well-meaning (or just thoughtless) family, friends, and colleagues which have clearly gone around the block a couple dozen times. They are always unsolicited and apparently really piss some people off. Over the years, though, I'd say they've tapered off in quantity and are less outright stupidly false. Occasionally they're funny or interesting now, although still often wildly and willfully inaccurate, which is why I wish Snopes would invent an email filter that diverts all inaccurate Forward Spams to trash while emailing the sender a sternly-worded lecture on the value of old-fashioned internets research.

But I digress.

Guys, the rest of this may not apply to you. So skip to the bottom, then go have a beer and catch up on SportsCenter.

Love me, but apparently not my epilepsy.
Girls, we all have someone in our lives who sends us Chick Forward Spam.  You know what I'm talking about: those colorful, extra-large-fonted (for the grandmas), over-GIF'fed pieces of cheesy saccharine fluff that may tempt you to smile, right before you deactivate your email address forever.

Typical Chick Forward Spam topics include the value of family/friends/women, issue awareness (e.g., breast cancer), or "wise" or mildly amusing life advice such as "you cannot make someone love you, all you can do it stalk them and hope they panic and give in." And you get these emails over. And over. And over again.
Because I can.

Sample subject lines:
  • Fw: Women are angels
  • Fw: ALL OF US CAN GET A SMILE FROM THIS ONE
  • Fw: Circle of Sisters
  • Fw: Let's see if you reply...

The ones that turn me off the most usually ask you to make a wish, and then start or end with some variation of: "Send this to a thousand of you're [sic] closest wymyn friends, and you're [sic] deepest wish will come true in four days. I am not joking!!!!!!!!!!!"

Amusingly, these often feature "friend price points" with increasing rewards the more friends you annoy bless with your forward. To wit:

"Send this within one hour to
1-4 friends and you'll get a raise
5-10 friends and you'll be healthy for the next 10 years
11-20 friends and you'll win the lottery
21+ friends and you'll achieve immortality!!!!
If you delete this, you'll have 50 years of bad luck!!!!"

The Money Fairy will make you rich!!! But only if you forward this to everyone you've ever met in the next 10 seconds!!!!!
Do it do it do it!!!!!!
Or some such. Technically, I guess this part is about chain letters, but I've already christened it Forward Spam, and it's too late to turn the car around.

The point is, after 15 years of emailing, I basically ignore them.

And ladies, I'd bet dollars to doughnuts you still have a mom, or an aunt, or a grandma, or a cousin, whatever, who sends these, and you mostly ignore them too. Or maybe it's you sending them. And that's okay. They're harmless and well-intended and I really do appreciate being "considered one of the 10 prettiest ladies with a kind, warm and loving heart." (But I mean, prettiest of how many, 10? 10,000? What's the pool? Who's doing the judging? Is there a bathing suit competition, because I'm totally not bikini-ready!! Dammit, I need to know these things! Stop raising more questions than you answer! Do you see now why I don't read these?!?!)

All this said.... today I was pleasantly surprised to receive a Forward Spam that not only jives perfectly with the philosophy I strive to espouse, it's a wonderful and much needed reminder.

So if you've made it this far, here's your reward:

lMay today there be peace within.
May you trust that you are exactly where you are meant to be.
May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith in yourself and others.
May you use the gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you.
May you be content with yourself just the way you are.
Let this knowledge settle into your bones and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love.
It is there for each and every one of us.


That was nice. Thanks, Mom. I didn't forward it to six women, but I didn't make a wish, either. And girls, keep sending the Chick Forward Spam.

Monday, January 3, 2011

Preamble with Extra Sauce -- or, Justify Your Existence!

J'accuse, Wine Will Fix It!

This morning, gentle reader(s?), I open up5 Tips On How To Have A Sh*tty Year... which seemed apropos, because so far 2011 is kinda acting like I ran over its puppy. (It was an accident, 2011! I'm so sorry if I did! I'll buy you a new puppy. Let's just be friends, please?)

I sought the word from the wise on how to avoid further pissing off this year, but I got indirect inspiration instead. Because, you see, #4 grabbed me:

"I wrote voraciously for the first 20 years of my life and then I stopped for an entire decade."

Ouch. Sounds familiar.

So allow me to overexplain. Because what fun is mere explaining when you can do it with twice as many words?

This is a dragon. Made entirely of plastic spoons.
Not one of my hobbies. Yet.
Over the course of my nearly thirty years, I've grown into a Jill of many trades and master of none that come to mind. Over time, I've dabbled, and in some cases continue to dabble, in painting, drawing, piano, running, yoga, horseback riding, standup paddling, cooking, sewing, origami, shell collecting, book collecting, politics, environmentalism, astronomy... although not witchcraft. Not to say I'm good at any of this, I just like to try stuff. If I haven't tried it, it's probably simple lack of opportunity or exposure.

But if I'm actually good at anything, it's probably writing, and I may in fact be a writer deep down in my little heart. The "I have random, sometimes dumb, occasionally funny thoughts" type of writing (that, in other words, only since the advent of the blog could anyone else care about.) In middle and high school, I'd filled five or six hundred font-size-7, half-inch-margin pages. I rarely went more than a few days without firing up the Mac Performa and dutifully banging out witty reporting and analysis of the day's goings-on (this is obviously before Fox News sullied my name and reputation). Writing was always cathartic, if time-consuming, and my AP English teachers told me I had an amazing writer's voice for narratives.
Cheese it!

So why did I quit?

It wasn't conscious. Part of it is time. That thing called "spare time" slipped away after high school. And being both longwinded and an incorrigibly perfectionist editor, ya know, writing time adds up.

A lot of it is distraction. I sit down at a nice blank sheet of paper -- because there really is nothing as full of promising and lovely potential as a snowy, virgin slice of dead tree -- and I think, "I type like 3,000 words a minute. Typing would be SO much faster." So I turn on the computer, and fast forward three hours: I've read 40 news articles and been sort-of kind-of productive workwise, my eyeballs are screaming for Visine, and all the writing I've done is typing in "slate.com." It's a trap, I tells ya.

"Who? WHO could have written such a terrible script?
See my distress?"
Part of it is that having gone to a top-flight university and living near enough to the black heart of Hollywood, I know a few real, live and incredibly talented writers who've been struggling for years to get their amazing work sold. They toil in anonymity, churning out engrossing scripts and novels, and Hollywood responds to their genius by horking up BS -- I'm looking at you, "How Do You Know." So I've grown frustrated with the whole concept of writing on their behalf. There are Grand Canyons of difference between what I do and what they do, but my pathological empathy sometimes isn't that nuanced.


ANYWAY, back to Wine Will Fix It. I realized I was in the same quit-writing boat, and suddenly, all sorts of things popped into my head, begging to be written down. Or maybe aired out. And while I don't make new years' resolutions, I thought I might try this writing thing again. If nothing else, maybe it'll exorcise some demons.
Because those guys have been getting
super fat just lying around in my head
eating bonbons.