"And that," put in the Director sententiously, "that is the secret of happiness and virtue-liking what you've got to do. All conditioning aims at that: making people like their inescapable social destiny." --Aldous Huxley, Brave New World, Ch.1.
"You all remember, I suppose, that beautiful and inspired saying of Our Ford's: History is bunk."
- Aldous Huxley, Brave New World, Ch. 3
I've become aware that some people I know, some I'm close to, are taking the one cubic centimeter of happiness. Under doctors' supervision. And, I should report, are feeling much, much happier.
Ironically, they make me more miserable in their dogged pursuit--not that it's any of my business, except when they object to my--I think--reasonable arguments that their views are somewhat limited. (Not to mention, annoying). Traditional Religious Views are down in here somewhere, too...this is merely the scientist's, the determinist's, approach.
Well, I've spent a good part of my life arguing with the nattering nabobs of positive thinking--members of my own family, families I've married into, people I work with, friends, enemies...jeesh, why couldn't I have been around Kurt Cobain. ( I hear his best girl was named Tracy, too.) He'd get it. I'm sorry that my brain just registers multi-facets of life. If you already told me the sunny side, it is my impulse to show you the dark side of the moon. So here's my argument: since y'all are fixated on looking at good stuff--it's really that view that inspires me to bring up the necessary evils, because you already brought up the blue skies--why rehash them? It's that thing of repetition that I get bored with. I get it--it's one part of life--I do not refuse to acknowledge the blue and sunny sky--there it is^! But, how about this too \/.....
However, if you are only looking at the devil, I'm likely to point out the happier side. But I will not deny either.
So now the media is awash with this happiness idea...movies, documentaries, books, some of the self-help variety. This is not new. America seems particularly vulnerable to this chicanery. Here are the new ones:
- Shawn Achor
- Diane Rehm of Public Radio (had a show about it)
- Sonja Lyobomirsky (The How of Happiness??) She also has connections to an I-Phone App called Live Happy.
- Oliver Burkemann (whose book apparently is for people who hate positive thinking, maybe I should read that one!! Except I despise self-help of all sorts--read philosophy instead, daddy...)
- Norman Vincent Peale
- Robert Schuller
- Albert Ellis
- Tony Robbins
- Dale Carnegie (How to Win Friends and Influence People)!!
- The Beatles' Maharishi
- Ron Hubbard and Dianetics/Scientology
- Al Franken's old alter-ego, Stuart Smiley ( classic SNL parody, though) "Because I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and, doggonit, people like me!"
- And A Million Other Ministers and Religious/ New Age punk hacks
Then, in my teaching job, a new professional development workshop! Yay! T.E.T.! Teacher Effectiveness Training! The same exact "techniques" adapted for the classroom. The Fates never stop their hilarious attacks on me.
Here's the secret. I can see some serious dark shit sometimes. But do not judge me. Because my life's mission is to extol beauty. And I am quite good at finding it in very subtle places. Sometimes on Mars. Sometimes in George W. Bush. Sometimes in complete and utter laziness. Sometimes in Bm7b5.
So if you could, would you take the red pill or the blue pill? Reality or oblivion? That oblivion is so damnedably tempting..my dream world, forever. Mmmm. But I'm afraid I would be stupid enough to opt for reality, if for nothing else than fear of boredom with perfection. Not very noble or heroic, I admit.
I want to ask the Soma people, but am afraid I will be taken for a sniper: so, if you're always feeling so content, even when you're working, do you feel less good when you are playing? Isn't the contrast less, perhaps, or is everything just intensified toward the happiness side? I say this knowing full well I am a regular drinker and thoroughly enjoy my dark grape oblivion, but I'll have a hangover the next day if I get too happy-- to counterbalance the good times. Isn't that the way it should be? I don't want a retarded smile on my face 24 hours a day.
And the "History is bunk" thing...the more experience I have, the more I realize (opposed to what I thought when I was younger), that so many people really do want to forget history--the denial, the denial.
I was rather (coincidentally?) reminded of a movie I had seen a while ago that relates to this theme: The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind--a screwball rom-com disguised as science fiction. So modern! Not. Premise: a couple are so hurt by their inter-actions (and are so weak-minded ) that they decide to erase their memories of each other rather than bear the pain. Surprise?! Half-way through the procedure they realize their error, and fall in love again, but too late--the procedure has started to take effect. This could have been interesting if the writers hadn't taken Soma and opted for most- common- denominator-let-the-people-eat-the-cake-they-want-there's-a-sucker-born-every-minute-P.T. Barnum-la-la-la-la-I can't-hear-you-denial-of-truth-Safeway-OUT option. We're supposed to think it's extra-cool and gritty becuz Kate Winslet has ugly punk girl blue raspberry hair that is growing out and he still loves her. So real. This is the kind of movie I'm supposed to love, but don't. Here's someone who agrees with me...
http://www.filmthreat.com/reviews/5882/
--time warp -April 12, 2015--something about this movie gnawed away at my brain. So I watched it again. It's not quite as bad as I was remembering(if you're willing to give into the willing suspension of disbelief). It's funny that while I'm watching this movie, I enjoy it--it keeps my interest. It's only afterwards I start to pick it apart. It doesn't totally satisfy me--the erasing thing is both interesting and stupid at the same time.
First, if you start thinking about what that would really involve, especially in some tight, fairly long involved relationship you've had like in the movie, it would require taking out that many years of your life--plus, what about just daily fleeting thoughts--I mean, when you live with someone they come into your mind constantly, randomly, while you're working, mixing in with your daily routine--would you lose all that too? That would probably then involve you losing, say, your job skills or knowledge about other people you saw with your erased girl/boy.
For example, for me, learning either a song or maybe even languages--the knowledge that sinks deepest in my brain does so because it is tied to a memory involving people close to me. So I imagine I'd lose both the knowledge and memory, right?
But more importantly this time through I think I found a better understanding of what bugged me the first time--the characters. They are actually kind of one dimensional, based on a trope rather than realistic people you can sympathize with. Kate Winslet plays one of those weird but vacuous manic girls--a queen of ADHD--who is constantly on a mission to wreck her life out of boredom. When I watched it a second time I saw more self-destruction--more drinking, criminal behavior, selfishness, vomit-talk, promiscuity. Jim Carrey plays the polar opposite--an uptight, non-verbal, scared rule guy, who likes to stay home--looking for the crazy goth chick that brings out the feelings he's afraid to feel. No one seemed like a full person.All the other people in the movie are amazingly shallow and self centered. There were lots of interesting ideas here, but it needs to be redone, better, and deepening the characters to make them more sympathetic would be the first step. I really didn't feel any romantic feelings for any of the people in this movie--Carrey came closest, but still not. That's a must in this sort of movie. You gotta fall in love with the characters and feel--like Aristotle said, the sorrow, the pity--man , let Tarkovsky at this movie.
The one good thing that stays is how the plot highlights still the weakness in our "no pain, please--give me a drug to forget" culture.
*****************************************
To tell truth, I pretty much despise the concept of taking drugs. I think my reasons may be different than the usual. Yes, I do have a healthy fear of their power. Just read stories like Bulgakov's"Morphine" to feel the drain on one's soul when in the grips of addiction. I do also dislike the immoral company of drug-people. Weak. Lame. Not admirable people, as a general rule: I'm sure there are exceptions. Not exactly my favorite sought after companions. I have never been one to get caught up in the group think of--hell, yeah! Let's do it! Party! And I have a jaundiced eye firmly on what I have sensed/experienced in the drug culture.
The novel Infinite Jest reinforces my distaste--although I think he's trying to argue the opposite--people who die from their own twisted brains after quitting drugs. (But what if they never started??)
However, not to be a condescending prig--I know addiction because of my four year love affair with nicotine--I have read that nicotine addiction is 2nd only to heroin in difficulty to break. Well, I did it. I think I'm a pretty odd specimen in general, as I have gone through long periods of abstinence from any substances, including alcohol (years), for my own personal reasons, to times of mild to average indulgences, (I've always been a bit of a flyweight). I seem to be drinking more as I get older, though, like the Godfather. ("It's good for you, Pop," says Michael, before his father has a heart attack..)
Ok, I read a rather controversial article on smoking and the research behind it that made me think: damn, is there no information to be trusted these days? The article (based on a book) seems to make some good, logical points that I've never considered. One that really hung me up is the distinction between physical and psychological addiction. Ok, I was addicted to cigarettes in a heavy way, but it's sort of good to realize it was probably more of a psychological addiction rather than the physical, nicotine driven one I've always assumed. Fact: heroin's (and other heavy drugs') addiction is physical, with potentially damaging effects, even death. I've heard that claim about nicotine addiction also being difficult, but is it the same? A physical addiction? All I have is my own experience on the matter. I'm not sure how the medical industry--who has a financial stake in all this, of course, actually defines addiction. Or if they are to be trusted. And, in my continuing skeptical mode, do I trust even the writer of this new book who just may be a super smart thug for the tobacco industry.
I can't know the answer; I can only know myself. And I don't think this will change my behavior too much.
When I quit, I didn't shake, or get nauseous, or curl up in a fetal position for a week, look like death warmed over, as they say. I didn't have the DTs, as you supposedly get with heavy alcohol withdrawal. I just felt: irritable. deprived. angst-ridden. I doubt if I looked unhealthy--I probably stopped coughing after a week, which I was doing daily by then. I just had super-super-super strong cravings. I wanted to hold a cigarette. Light one, light a match, draw the smoke, do the routine. Hang out on the stoop with the other losers, rebels. Is that really the same as being addicted? It might explain why long term smokers are the ones who have such a hard time quitting--some have been doing it their entire lives--they know nothing else.
The internet: do I not feel somewhat the same, when I am deprived of checking e-mail, listening to music, giving my stupid opinion, tapping and clicking? Maybe a little--I seem to need a daily fix and feel weird , irritable, without it. Psychological addiction. Some totally strange kind of plug. I doubt I would ever steal or sell my baby for either a cigarette or a chance to log-in, however.
These behaviors of mine, plus my two experiences on painkillers (1)muscle relaxants, after a freak reaction to antibiotics that turned my entire dehydrated body into one big cramped muscle (2) hydrocodone, after abdominal surgery---the lovely haze taught me I should NEVER go near opiates. Not that I wasn't already very afraid of them.
Maybe I should stop saying this about myself, that I need to be careful due to my obsessive, addictive tendencies. Whether that's a fact or not--I shouldn't say it. I think I've proved my self, in several ways, over the years, to be quite able to control whatever odd impulses I tend to have, in any of the reckless behaviors of human beings. I think my difference may be my willingness to acknowledge the impulses in the first place, rather than playing Pollyanna.
I've had moments of admiring the straightedge punks--except when they got too militant--however, I seem to be an avid reader of junkie literature--Trainspotting, William Burroughs and Naked Lunch, Kerouac and his dexadrine-freak friends, Hunter S. Thompson's Adventures,Infinite Jest, the afore-mentioned Bulgakov, Anais Nin's opium orgies, Victorian Opium dens, movies like Drugstore Cowboy, the pathetic adventures of my favorite musicians, including Kurt Cobain, John Lennon, Jeffery Lee Pierce of The Gun Club, Sid Vicious, Hendrix, Amy Winehouse, Billie Holiday, John Coltrane, Jim Morrison's peyote-laced, blood-drinking, alcoholism, Keith Richards smoking his father's bones in a hash pipe. The majority of my drugs have been done vicariously.
I never fully distilled down to my real reasoning. Which includes Soma, et al.
I do not wish to relinquish that which is the very essence of myself,which is what I think happens with drug use. A person who lives for this kind of indulgence literally affects the framework and content of his/her mind. I think it is soul-killing. And I like my particular, peculiar soul, very much. I do not wish to give up the uniqueness, the delicate balance, that is me. I think nothing has more potential to destroy the person, the mind, the essence, the painstaking building of personality that I have spent a lifetime working on, than a night's thoughtless indulgence in hairy product of which I most likely would not know the origin or resulting damage.
I have seen great minds destroyed. People with so much life, so much vision to put into the world. It is so tragic. They seem to be the most vulnerable for some reason. The sacrificial lambs of our culture, and it is worse when they don't die, but hang on as a shell of their former selves. I do not trust the capitalists of the drug culture with my most precious asset. And I feel great animosity for those who have felt they somehow have the persuasive power, the right, somehow, to possess my body and future in this fashion. It makes me rather angry... we are stardust, yes, but we are also chemical beings of a delicate chemical balance. I do not pretend to understand the details, but it does work. And that includes all you goddamm doctors and your latest cures.
Hah. Maybe, like the director said, I like/ enjoy(?wc?) accept? what I gotta do. Just not with his conditioning. There is another way.
Shit. How does one escape one's own mind? That's really the issue. It can be for me , too. My head is so damned restless...never happy for more than an hour or two...well, sometimes the ecstatic state can run for a few days if the stimulus is strong enough and the denial.. I often think that thought, "There but for the grace of God, go I", especially about other members of my family--those especially close to me in age and experiences. I have a close blood relative who has been the subject of much pharmacological experimentation. I'm not entirely sure this has been for the best.
Yet, what is the alternative? How serious are these folks about the random firings in their brains--how in control, and where's the breaking point? And, can you really make a difference from the outside of these trapped minds? At some point I feel like it's just my place to listen and gently redirect. I think it sometimes works. Hah, I'm the Catcher In the Rye... but sometimes I'm the one that needs catching. People who seem different make the rest of the world wary, because they are unpredictable. One worries: what will they do? But should other people's fears create a need for outside control?
I just saw the movie Silver Linings Playbook. It is interesting to me because almost every character in the story seemed to have some degree of mental illness--(we can argue about where the line is defined?), which indicates why a person with mental problems gets a double whammy--not only trapped inside his/her own mucked up mind, but also surrounded with other people who are a bit off the bubble of normal, shall we say. Tells my family and acquaintances to a "T". I heard Bradley Cooper is up for awards in this movie, which makes me once again irritated with the Hollywood system.
Of the good performances in that movie, his was the least interesting--but, you can feel the Oscar shine coming off him--he's younger, got the classic good looks (but I'm not keen on them--I'm more for a Hoffman/Depp/Del Toro/ dark brooding, type--) has "made his bones" in the system with a couple of moneymakers. So it really, of course, is not actually at all about any individual performance--both DeNiro and Jennifer Lawrence were more original, I think, and I was happy to see DeNiro do something different with the cranky-older- man roles he's been playing. Me and my purist art values. Later: maybe I've been too critical--Hollywood agrees with me, after all. About Jennifer Lawrence. She was excellent in Winter's Bone, too. Less glamorous...didn't recognize her in SLP.
One of the messages in that movie is that the soma helped--it was one piece that got the Brad Cooper character out of his manic box and into a better place, where he can get a girl (also manic but adorably so), and therefore a happy ending. Does it really work that way in reality? Well, one obvious thing is real life doesn't end at the romantic, music swelling in the background, illuminated, big-kiss- love moment. It was a nice ending, but was it art? Was It true? I felt a bit manipulated at the end--like the movie company gave me soma. What ending would have seemed more real? Maybe he switches his mania to Jennifer? Learns from his first marriage? IDK. And yet, I do believe. Here's a more pertinent question for me right now...how to make the ending of an artful story ring true? Where has it been done well? Interesting thought. The writer in me knows it is the hardest part, and sometimes requires listening to the ether.
Mar 24: I now have an outstanding example: the ending of Andrei Tarkovsy's film, Stalker.
"It is such a secret place, the land of tears."
It's a good thing I have this blog to siphon off the extra ideas I have spilling out everywhere--gives me an outlet when all my "live" outlets get sick of me (people, I mean). That's the family gene playing in me!! Someone throws me a slender thread: I spin it into an entire spider web of analysis, including everything I know tangentally related to the subject. From my perspective it all seems to tie together, until some new piece of information breaks one of the threads, screws up the whole design , and leaves me with a mess. Maybe I need to leave the mess, not try to rebuild the web, which maybe wasn't mine to build anyway.
As Morrissey says-- "I've decided/ I'm throwing my arms around Paris, cos only stone and steel accept my love /" Story of life. It's quite true: nobody wants all I have to offer--my ideas, my music, my literature, theatre, art, my insights, darkness, lightness, poetry, my real voice. Moya lyobov. Very melancholy realization when you figure out someone doesn't understand your values.
The problem with having manic tendencies(self-diagnosed) is when you're feeling awesome and happy, some people tell you to Chill out and calm the fuck down. Bummeritis.
Funny, but in the book I am reading, the narrator, who is a fox/fake prostitute--never mind it is too hard to explain unless you read it...anyway, she gets overly excited with the wolf and to calm down must recite what she calls the"Heart Sutra" from Sanskrit---maybe I need to memorize:
Body is nothing more than emptiness,Which means...
emptiness is nothing more than body.
The body is exactly empty,
and emptiness is exactly body. The other four aspects of human existence --
feeling, thought, will, and consciousness --
are likewise nothing more than emptiness,
and emptiness nothing more than they.
All things are empty:
Nothing is born, nothing dies,
nothing is pure, nothing is stained,
nothing increases and nothing decreases.
So, in emptiness, there is no body,
no feeling, no thought,
no will, no consciousness.
There are no eyes, no ears,
no nose, no tongue,
no body, no mind.
There is no seeing, no hearing,
no smelling, no tasting,
no touching, no imagining.
There is nothing seen, nor heard,
nor smelled, nor tasted,
nor touched, nor imagined.
There is no ignorance,
and no end to ignorance.
There is no old age and death,
and no end to old age and death.
There is no suffering, no cause of suffering,
no end to suffering, no path to follow.
There is no attainment of wisdom,
and no wisdom to attain.
The Bodhisattvas rely on the Perfection of Wisdom,
and so with no delusions,
they feel no fear,
and have Nirvana here and now.
All the Buddhas,
past, present, and future,
rely on the Perfection of Wisdom,
and live in full enlightenment.
The Perfection of Wisdom is the greatest mantra.
It is the clearest mantra,
the highest mantra,
the mantra that removes all suffering.
This is truth that cannot be doubted.
Say it so:
Gaté,
gaté,
paragaté,
parasamgaté.
Bodhi!
Svaha!
Gone,
gone,
gone over,
gone fully over.
Awakened!
So be it!
One more thought on madness: I have the feeling that all the people I've truly loved and admired, want to be around, have a little manic streak in them as well.
July 7, 2013: Pills. Definitely no panacea. I spent the last two weeks with pill--Soma people of varying degrees. I swear those with the most pills were the least pleasant. Wonder, though, how it feels inside their heads. I have known these people "pre-pill" and think they were better then. Again that begs the question--what's it like inside? If they are simply feeling some kind of drug-induced euphoria, will they swear up'n'down they are better? Maybe it's just a legal way to get high---what a world, this 21st century America---most common reason for people to be in jail--drug use, possession, trafficking. How many people are allowed the legal route? Include Californians and Coloradans--not that I begrudge them their legal pot.
Once again, paper and bureaucracy wins the day. Y'all stay away from my only somewhat soiled liver and lungs....
Last night I stayed up until 3 a.m. reading a book called (po-Angleskiy) Moscow to the End of the Line. How does it relate to this topic? Self-medication. It's a rather beautifully written, mad story. A guy who is clearly an alcoholic, a dreamer who has a vivid imagination, gets on a train to see a girl (and his young son? If there is a relation of the boy to the girl, I missed it) who has become the Garden of Eden for him, on Fridays. I love his description of the girl as someone you must breathe in.
At first, his imagination, his intelligence and fine sensibilities and sensitivities are masked by his obsession with obtaining alcohol, enough to keep the dreams flowing in a positive direction in his head. I know what he means. He has it down to a science--has amounts calculated down to the grams of what he needs, and when, how much food to offset nausea, and his rather hilarious descriptives of his various cocktails of concoctions --again which he has down to a science. Some of the recipes are quite mad, involving things I would regard rather as poison or at the very least undrinkable, like shoe polish, bug killer, eau de cologne, athletic foot powder???---desperate items of desperate men in desperate times.
Of course it all ends tragically.
The tragedy evolves most poignantly when he becomes Scheherazade, the master story teller. It's there, when he has an opportunity to share his gifts of imagination, curiosity and intelligence on the train with his fellow travelers. You have to wonder, did he really see the foreign places, or is his imagination just that good, the gift of reading? His loss will be felt.
It again makes me feel sad for the burdens of creative and imaginative people.
Sept 16: Spent two hours on the phone Sunday with my poor burdened sister. The rest of the family looks down on her, but sometimes I think she has better sense (and insights) than the rest of the crew. For one thing, I think she actually listens to me, and is effected by what I say. When she starts complaining about how her husband is controlling her purse strings (he is, but she lets him) I made a pact with her that I am going to fly to St. Louis some weekend and help her put a down payment on the brand new car he's been denying her, with her pitifully limited credit card. ( She lives like I Love Lucy, with an allowance for crissakes, so why not take it to the next wacky, sit-com level?) HA! How ya like them apples, Dr. Hubby! And I mean it. Just gotta find the time. Her voice sounds terrible because of the drug-fog--too loud, etc. I just hold my ear away, but I still listen. She's moving. Hilarious thing she said to me: "Trace--have you been taking philosophy or something? " No, sis, I've always been this way.
Sept 23: Lately been Rewatching a TV show I loved about 10 years ago, with the late 90's, early 2000 vibe--pre-9/11. It still holds up: Six Feet Under. I initially started to watch it because I was looking for something on my Russian website --something I liked that had both Russian and English, so I could be entertained while I practiced a little. This show plays in English, but has Russian subtitles. I am falling in love with it again, because it is such an eccentric, darkly humorous show. It's about a family of L.A. undertakers--the most unlikely funeral directors: a Birkinstocky, nouveau-hippie , his uptight, gay brother, the Gen-Y gothish sister, their non-swearing prim mother still sporting her beautiful wannabe hippie flowing red hair.
The part of the story line, though, that always grabs my attention concerns the hippie brother's genius girlfriend and her quite, quite manic brother, Billy. He is the most realistically portrayed full-on manic I have ever seen in any film, series, anything--the actor is amazingly good at the part. He feels menacing, creative, burdened, sympathetic, dangerous, all at once. You want to both know him, and run away from him. He reminds me a lot of Hub #2. (Easier to watch him on the tube....)
Great, great writing, too, I think. One of the ongoing conflicts in the series is the rather uncomfortably too close relationship the brother and sister have. People imagine they are incestuous (they have matching tattoos of each other's childhood pet names for each other, for example). But I get it. I really do. People who live that close to the flame only have each other. The sister, Brenda, has her problems with just-under-the bar hypomania---she has her share of strange relationships, impulsive behavior---she just doesn't go full psycho. (It's obvious in the way she and Nate meet). But I know why she cannot ever reject her brother--they are really too much alike, and have no one else who really understands their minds---no one else sees the intense beauty and horror of life as they do. Oh, I understand it. The loneliness in that.
Dec 25, 2013: Who decides who is "crazy"? I worry so much about people I know, putting themselves in the vulnerable position of being labeled and packaged for their own easy dismissal--
At what point does another person interfere with the lives of others enough to be "put away"? Put on medication? Sublimated, submissified, told what to do? Its one of the ridiculous things about life that makes money important. Saw a so-so movie called Side Effects that plays with this idea.
How can I help…a hair's breathe from the edge.
Jan 12, 2014: Maybe some people do get a benefit from taking medication. I've been reading about a new writer I am interested in, David Foster Wallace, who seems to have had a great deal of trouble with his moods, in particular, Depression, in spite of, or in consequence of? Extremely High Intelligence. He committed suicide at age 46, after years of using a compendium of psycho-pharmaceuticals , (and self-medicating--he has the intellectual drug addict's obsession for the scientific compositions and varietal effects of the dope he's taking). The suicide possibly happened during a time when he was not taking them? He repeats the dire consequence of "cold turkey" throughout his works. Jesus, it never ceases to amaze me how much shit some people's bodies tolerate, when I freak that my fragile vessel will explode from one too many glasses of Sangiovese, or, not a good balance of water. I refrain from judgement, but continue to feel sadness at the difficulties mental pain can inflict. To all involved.
Feb 4: Christ, i haven't felt this lonely since…..the 80's. And what then? )))) How to keep on keepin' on……………………has nothing to do with how many people surround me…shoot, I'm gonna be on the TV.
Feb 24: Одинокая: yeah, it's still here. No cure, I imagine. I want too much. Moz 'n' me.
April 7: And others.
I've been working on this article, about a local, Victorian hotel, the Biltmore, that is on someone's eyeball for demolition--El Greedo strikes, because it's on a big, bountiful property---how many condos must a man build, before he calls himself a man? Well, I found an angle that interested me--got me excited to write about, because apparently Bob Dylan spent a good chunk of time at this quite beautiful place--my friend Mark had his wedding reception there...(I mighta been a little drunk cos I don't remember it all that well..that was quite an evening).
Not only that, but the stay here had a connection to my favorite period of Dylan's--his mid-70's recordings, particularly Desire and Blood on the Tracks. This was when he wrote them, and actually performed them in the same Starlight Ballroom where I sat at my friend's reception. But I wrote about all that in the article--don't want to rehash it here. BTW, although I published stuff in my college lit mag, I consider this my first, genuine PUBLIC piece of writing!! This dumbass blog don't count..
So why here , on the Soma page? I get the distinct impression that I love Bob because he's one of me and mine. Mystery man of layers and layers.
Love problems, connectivity problems, impulsivity problems, mental pain. A reluctance to give up a good thing, a soul connection, for mere convention. It's why he's a great and sensitive writer: why people love and hate him, even his friends. Polarity. I had already read his autobiography, which is beautifully written. But I borrowed it again, and laughed and fell in love with his words again. For some reason, maybe because I watched big chunks of his movie Renaldo and Clara, which has a lot to do with weird love triangles-- I was really paying attention to his relationship with the woman he never married, but obviously had an unbreakable bond with--Joan Baez. I never knew this--in my research for my article, I came across Dylan introducing the song, "Oh Sister"--which is on Desire. Never knew it was in response to a song she wrote (or vice-versa), called "Oh, Brother". I have to say, for all his verbal talents, hers is the better, more soul-baring song--in spite of her little sting to him : "my poetry was lousy, you said"--on "Diamonds and Rust", which was a song I'd always been attracted to, even when I was young and didn't know its history. I'll post all three:
Here's Joan's lyrics:
http://www.joanbaez.com/Lyrics/ohbrother.html
Last night I stayed up until 3 a.m. reading a book called (po-Angleskiy) Moscow to the End of the Line. How does it relate to this topic? Self-medication. It's a rather beautifully written, mad story. A guy who is clearly an alcoholic, a dreamer who has a vivid imagination, gets on a train to see a girl (and his young son? If there is a relation of the boy to the girl, I missed it) who has become the Garden of Eden for him, on Fridays. I love his description of the girl as someone you must breathe in.
At first, his imagination, his intelligence and fine sensibilities and sensitivities are masked by his obsession with obtaining alcohol, enough to keep the dreams flowing in a positive direction in his head. I know what he means. He has it down to a science--has amounts calculated down to the grams of what he needs, and when, how much food to offset nausea, and his rather hilarious descriptives of his various cocktails of concoctions --again which he has down to a science. Some of the recipes are quite mad, involving things I would regard rather as poison or at the very least undrinkable, like shoe polish, bug killer, eau de cologne, athletic foot powder???---desperate items of desperate men in desperate times.
Of course it all ends tragically.
The tragedy evolves most poignantly when he becomes Scheherazade, the master story teller. It's there, when he has an opportunity to share his gifts of imagination, curiosity and intelligence on the train with his fellow travelers. You have to wonder, did he really see the foreign places, or is his imagination just that good, the gift of reading? His loss will be felt.
It again makes me feel sad for the burdens of creative and imaginative people.
Sept 16: Spent two hours on the phone Sunday with my poor burdened sister. The rest of the family looks down on her, but sometimes I think she has better sense (and insights) than the rest of the crew. For one thing, I think she actually listens to me, and is effected by what I say. When she starts complaining about how her husband is controlling her purse strings (he is, but she lets him) I made a pact with her that I am going to fly to St. Louis some weekend and help her put a down payment on the brand new car he's been denying her, with her pitifully limited credit card. ( She lives like I Love Lucy, with an allowance for crissakes, so why not take it to the next wacky, sit-com level?) HA! How ya like them apples, Dr. Hubby! And I mean it. Just gotta find the time. Her voice sounds terrible because of the drug-fog--too loud, etc. I just hold my ear away, but I still listen. She's moving. Hilarious thing she said to me: "Trace--have you been taking philosophy or something? " No, sis, I've always been this way.
Sept 23: Lately been Rewatching a TV show I loved about 10 years ago, with the late 90's, early 2000 vibe--pre-9/11. It still holds up: Six Feet Under. I initially started to watch it because I was looking for something on my Russian website --something I liked that had both Russian and English, so I could be entertained while I practiced a little. This show plays in English, but has Russian subtitles. I am falling in love with it again, because it is such an eccentric, darkly humorous show. It's about a family of L.A. undertakers--the most unlikely funeral directors: a Birkinstocky, nouveau-hippie , his uptight, gay brother, the Gen-Y gothish sister, their non-swearing prim mother still sporting her beautiful wannabe hippie flowing red hair.
The part of the story line, though, that always grabs my attention concerns the hippie brother's genius girlfriend and her quite, quite manic brother, Billy. He is the most realistically portrayed full-on manic I have ever seen in any film, series, anything--the actor is amazingly good at the part. He feels menacing, creative, burdened, sympathetic, dangerous, all at once. You want to both know him, and run away from him. He reminds me a lot of Hub #2. (Easier to watch him on the tube....)
Great, great writing, too, I think. One of the ongoing conflicts in the series is the rather uncomfortably too close relationship the brother and sister have. People imagine they are incestuous (they have matching tattoos of each other's childhood pet names for each other, for example). But I get it. I really do. People who live that close to the flame only have each other. The sister, Brenda, has her problems with just-under-the bar hypomania---she has her share of strange relationships, impulsive behavior---she just doesn't go full psycho. (It's obvious in the way she and Nate meet). But I know why she cannot ever reject her brother--they are really too much alike, and have no one else who really understands their minds---no one else sees the intense beauty and horror of life as they do. Oh, I understand it. The loneliness in that.
Dec 25, 2013: Who decides who is "crazy"? I worry so much about people I know, putting themselves in the vulnerable position of being labeled and packaged for their own easy dismissal--
At what point does another person interfere with the lives of others enough to be "put away"? Put on medication? Sublimated, submissified, told what to do? Its one of the ridiculous things about life that makes money important. Saw a so-so movie called Side Effects that plays with this idea.
How can I help…a hair's breathe from the edge.
Jan 12, 2014: Maybe some people do get a benefit from taking medication. I've been reading about a new writer I am interested in, David Foster Wallace, who seems to have had a great deal of trouble with his moods, in particular, Depression, in spite of, or in consequence of? Extremely High Intelligence. He committed suicide at age 46, after years of using a compendium of psycho-pharmaceuticals , (and self-medicating--he has the intellectual drug addict's obsession for the scientific compositions and varietal effects of the dope he's taking). The suicide possibly happened during a time when he was not taking them? He repeats the dire consequence of "cold turkey" throughout his works. Jesus, it never ceases to amaze me how much shit some people's bodies tolerate, when I freak that my fragile vessel will explode from one too many glasses of Sangiovese, or, not a good balance of water. I refrain from judgement, but continue to feel sadness at the difficulties mental pain can inflict. To all involved.
Feb 4: Christ, i haven't felt this lonely since…..the 80's. And what then? )))) How to keep on keepin' on……………………has nothing to do with how many people surround me…shoot, I'm gonna be on the TV.
Feb 24: Одинокая: yeah, it's still here. No cure, I imagine. I want too much. Moz 'n' me.
April 7: And others.
I've been working on this article, about a local, Victorian hotel, the Biltmore, that is on someone's eyeball for demolition--El Greedo strikes, because it's on a big, bountiful property---how many condos must a man build, before he calls himself a man? Well, I found an angle that interested me--got me excited to write about, because apparently Bob Dylan spent a good chunk of time at this quite beautiful place--my friend Mark had his wedding reception there...(I mighta been a little drunk cos I don't remember it all that well..that was quite an evening).
Not only that, but the stay here had a connection to my favorite period of Dylan's--his mid-70's recordings, particularly Desire and Blood on the Tracks. This was when he wrote them, and actually performed them in the same Starlight Ballroom where I sat at my friend's reception. But I wrote about all that in the article--don't want to rehash it here. BTW, although I published stuff in my college lit mag, I consider this my first, genuine PUBLIC piece of writing!! This dumbass blog don't count..
So why here , on the Soma page? I get the distinct impression that I love Bob because he's one of me and mine. Mystery man of layers and layers.
Love problems, connectivity problems, impulsivity problems, mental pain. A reluctance to give up a good thing, a soul connection, for mere convention. It's why he's a great and sensitive writer: why people love and hate him, even his friends. Polarity. I had already read his autobiography, which is beautifully written. But I borrowed it again, and laughed and fell in love with his words again. For some reason, maybe because I watched big chunks of his movie Renaldo and Clara, which has a lot to do with weird love triangles-- I was really paying attention to his relationship with the woman he never married, but obviously had an unbreakable bond with--Joan Baez. I never knew this--in my research for my article, I came across Dylan introducing the song, "Oh Sister"--which is on Desire. Never knew it was in response to a song she wrote (or vice-versa), called "Oh, Brother". I have to say, for all his verbal talents, hers is the better, more soul-baring song--in spite of her little sting to him : "my poetry was lousy, you said"--on "Diamonds and Rust", which was a song I'd always been attracted to, even when I was young and didn't know its history. I'll post all three:
Here's Joan's lyrics:
http://www.joanbaez.com/Lyrics/ohbrother.html
Here's Bobby's:
Here's "Diamonds and Rust": so beautiful and so real-life--so cool they played it together, at least once. I like to see that there are people that get over the heartache they caused each other and stay friends (or whatever):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2MSwBM_CbyY
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2MSwBM_CbyY
"Well, I'll be damned--here comes your ghost again..."
Oh and sheesh--never knew this---youtube bloggers clued me in--Dylan's a heart-breaking Gemini like me. Yeah--I think I have (have had) relationships like this, and I don't want to give them up. It's good to see that someone else carried on. Us Monsters. Soldier through.
One in particular I am worried about. Again.
April 15: Can a person be a drug. Or soothing..make you feel calm, and yourself. Ironically, since neither alone is. Jesus. Life sure is incredible.
Without: Она оставляет дыру. Fill with???? Elmer's glue and horsehair.
Apr 17: Back on Bob, sorry. He freaks me out in this book (the way other of my fellow travelers do) by coming out and saying straight out exactly what I was already thinking. Example: in the mid 80's I saw Dylan for the first time, and was sorely disappointed. I was rather late coming to his music--I think I had access to Blood on the Tracks, Desire, and the greatest hits albums (I and II) somewhere near the end of my college days--but it was a few years later before I got Freewheelin' , Blonde on Blonde, the early Woody Guthrie-esqe folkie stuff, and electric Bob Another Side of Bob Dylan, and my favorite Highway 61 Revisited, and even later--like within the last four years? To break down and get even his supposedly critically acclaimed newer stuff. I mean, I have to be in the right mood for Bob, actually, and especially all that recent gravel he puts out. He's uneven, in my mind.
Ok...here's what freaked me out, in the book. He admits whole heartedly the unevenness of his output. And is very candid about the reasons. Here, the 20th Century's supposed greatest lyricist, sometimes writing great things, sometimes merely good, sometimes mediocre, sometimes drivel. He's honest about it all. He basks in the moments of greatness, no false modesty, but also points out his weaker moments. I like that adherence to truth, and it's amazing how rare that is in biography. So many people either brag, are ashamed, or are hiding and pointing fingers.
Here's, specifically, what he said about his performances during that time I saw him in the mid 80's, Lakeland, a less than earth-shaking show for me.....
(BTW, this was his bewildering "Gospel" period--the band was huge, backup singers---probably 15+ people on that stage. He would speed through his greatest hits' catalogue as if he was completely bored with the whole notion, and contemptuous of the audience's love of it-------"yougotalottanervetosayyouaremyfriend"..................in triple four time..then these were followed by long--10 minute elaborate gospel pieces to which the crowd did not respond. I thought, well, he's over. But that wasn't a correct thought about how art works. Which is comforting and scary simultaneously).
He said in his book: "The public had been fed a steady diet of my complete recordings on disc over the years, but my live performances never seemed to capture the inner spirit of the songs--had failed to put the spin on them. The intimacy, among a lot of other things, was gone. For the listeners, it must have been like going through deserted orchards and dead grass. My audience or future audience now would never be able to experience the newly plowed fields that I was about to enter. There were many reasons for this, reasons for the whiskey to have gone out of the bottle. Always prolific but never exact, too many distractions had turned my musical path into a jungle of vines. I'd been following established customs and they weren't working. The windows had been boarded up for years and covered with cobwebs, and it's not like I didn't know it."
It was like he put into words exactly what I was thinking..about him, about how hard it is to keep lightening hitting the same antenna. I feel that boredom with old material, with cobwebby traditions and fear it in my writing, my performance. I wait for the manic inspiration, but I can't will it--any more than he can. It's like Coleridge looking for that initial opium rush, but it rarely comes back the same way twice. Flashing eyes, floating hair. The best way I can manage is to try to spend the right amount of time--tricky in itself---with the right people, balanced with alone time to digest and incubate. Plus other sources of inspiration: books, films, music . People are better--the right, rare ones only, though. That's the only thing even remotely like a plan I can have---put all the maniacs in one room, let god sort it out.
April 20, 2014: Easter , Stella-Rondo's (moya koshka), and Hitler's birthday, all in one--
For one -- Maybe I'm crazy--probably...
Mad Girl's Love Song:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
One in particular I am worried about. Again.
April 15: Can a person be a drug. Or soothing..make you feel calm, and yourself. Ironically, since neither alone is. Jesus. Life sure is incredible.
Without: Она оставляет дыру. Fill with???? Elmer's glue and horsehair.
Apr 17: Back on Bob, sorry. He freaks me out in this book (the way other of my fellow travelers do) by coming out and saying straight out exactly what I was already thinking. Example: in the mid 80's I saw Dylan for the first time, and was sorely disappointed. I was rather late coming to his music--I think I had access to Blood on the Tracks, Desire, and the greatest hits albums (I and II) somewhere near the end of my college days--but it was a few years later before I got Freewheelin' , Blonde on Blonde, the early Woody Guthrie-esqe folkie stuff, and electric Bob Another Side of Bob Dylan, and my favorite Highway 61 Revisited, and even later--like within the last four years? To break down and get even his supposedly critically acclaimed newer stuff. I mean, I have to be in the right mood for Bob, actually, and especially all that recent gravel he puts out. He's uneven, in my mind.
Ok...here's what freaked me out, in the book. He admits whole heartedly the unevenness of his output. And is very candid about the reasons. Here, the 20th Century's supposed greatest lyricist, sometimes writing great things, sometimes merely good, sometimes mediocre, sometimes drivel. He's honest about it all. He basks in the moments of greatness, no false modesty, but also points out his weaker moments. I like that adherence to truth, and it's amazing how rare that is in biography. So many people either brag, are ashamed, or are hiding and pointing fingers.
Here's, specifically, what he said about his performances during that time I saw him in the mid 80's, Lakeland, a less than earth-shaking show for me.....
(BTW, this was his bewildering "Gospel" period--the band was huge, backup singers---probably 15+ people on that stage. He would speed through his greatest hits' catalogue as if he was completely bored with the whole notion, and contemptuous of the audience's love of it-------"yougotalottanervetosayyouaremyfriend"..................in triple four time..then these were followed by long--10 minute elaborate gospel pieces to which the crowd did not respond. I thought, well, he's over. But that wasn't a correct thought about how art works. Which is comforting and scary simultaneously).
He said in his book: "The public had been fed a steady diet of my complete recordings on disc over the years, but my live performances never seemed to capture the inner spirit of the songs--had failed to put the spin on them. The intimacy, among a lot of other things, was gone. For the listeners, it must have been like going through deserted orchards and dead grass. My audience or future audience now would never be able to experience the newly plowed fields that I was about to enter. There were many reasons for this, reasons for the whiskey to have gone out of the bottle. Always prolific but never exact, too many distractions had turned my musical path into a jungle of vines. I'd been following established customs and they weren't working. The windows had been boarded up for years and covered with cobwebs, and it's not like I didn't know it."
It was like he put into words exactly what I was thinking..about him, about how hard it is to keep lightening hitting the same antenna. I feel that boredom with old material, with cobwebby traditions and fear it in my writing, my performance. I wait for the manic inspiration, but I can't will it--any more than he can. It's like Coleridge looking for that initial opium rush, but it rarely comes back the same way twice. Flashing eyes, floating hair. The best way I can manage is to try to spend the right amount of time--tricky in itself---with the right people, balanced with alone time to digest and incubate. Plus other sources of inspiration: books, films, music . People are better--the right, rare ones only, though. That's the only thing even remotely like a plan I can have---put all the maniacs in one room, let god sort it out.
April 20, 2014: Easter , Stella-Rondo's (moya koshka), and Hitler's birthday, all in one--
For one -- Maybe I'm crazy--probably...
Mad Girl's Love Song:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up in my head.)
God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
“I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
April 23: /\ True that. It occurred to me this morning when I was searching for just the right music to listen to, that maybe I listen to so much music because I want to stop all the noise in my head as much as anything. At least sometimes that's why.
I just listened to this brilliant 15-year-old girl speak who made me think...I'm not crazy, just honest. And some others in the world are....uggh. Viva la difference.
April 24: We are the right one.
April 30:
Давайте все сойдем с ума
Сегодня - ты, а завтра - я.
Давайте все сойдем с ума,
Вот это будет ерунда!
Мы будем дико хохотать,
Мы будем крыльями махать,
И покорится вся земля
Таким как ты,
Таким как я.
Мы сядем в белый пароход
Сегодня - ты, а завтра - я.
Мы сядем в белый пароход
И поплывям наоборот.
И в неизведанной земле
Увидим Ницше на коне,
И он обнимет нас, любя,
Простой как ты,
Простой как я.
Сегодня - ты,
Сегодня - ты,
А завтра я.
May 8: For my mental health--this.
Иосиф Бродский
Ни тоски, ни любви, ни печали,
ни тревоги, ни боли в груди,
будто целая жизнь за плечами
и всего полчаса впереди.
Оглянись — и увидишь наверно:
в переулке такси тарахтят,
за церковной оградой деревья
над ребенком больным шелестят,
из какой-то неведомой дали
засвистит молодой постовой,
и бессмысленный грохот рояля
поплывет над твоей головой.
Не поймешь, но почувствуешь сразу:
хорошо бы пяти куполам
и пустому теперь диабазу
завещать свою жизнь пополам.
Quick and cheesy Google translation--sounds pretty good for once! My additions in ():
Joseph Brodsky
No longing, no love, no sorrow,
anxiety, or pain in the chest,
(as) if the whole (of) life (is) behind
and only half an hour ahead.
Look - and probably (you) will see:
taxi rumbles in the alley,
trees outside the church fence
rustle about the child patients,
from some unknown distance
whistles a young guard,
and senseless rumblings of a piano
float above your head.
Do not understand, but feel immediately:
well to five domes
and now let the diabase
bequeath half his life.
I don't know how to translate this word: диабазу. "Diabase"--doesn't cut it. Dictionary mentions some sort of technical rock layers?? From context I'm thinking, something to do with demons or gods or some source of Life??? It's too bad, because this poet is actually capable of some gut aimed endings--gifted that way. I interpret it this way: he's telling us to stop analyzing, and just live the moment. Boy, do I need that lesson. Very timely hit, for me.
May 20: Feel less conflicted and outside these days, but maybe I shouldn't.)
May 25: Shift-shift-shift. Life shifts. Stay constant. Planning a trip to Illinois this summer, then maybe California at Christmas time--depending. On Life's shifts. Maybe August or Thanksgiving for Cali??
May 28: Jim Morrison vs. Elliot Rodgers. Even in madness, there are degrees, and moral behavior.
Jun 15: Yup, Big Mouth strikes again-- Roman noses and walkmans are melting)). I don't think it's fatal, but it needs a fix. Plus, I think I misinterpreted P. Jesus' mission..which is what started this whole mess. First, I just made a joke. (Знаю--sometimes my jokes are so off the wall, no one could possibly understand them...let alone find them funny, but they make perfect sense to myself at the time. Strange logic in my brain.) First I thought, just another song, so countered with another. Then I thought, oh, no, I missed it, a message, an offer of friendship.!! Someone cares about my oppression. So I called out. Probably a bad move.
I guess I just wanted understanding so bad, I saw it where it wasn't. Make no mistake, I feel oppressed, and I've just recently started to admit the extent of it to myself. And, I have no one really, to confide in without things becoming very messy. I have been throwing hints all around, to many. I want to change my life somehow, some way, so my day to day is not like this. I can't stand it much longer --but ideally, I have to slog through at least 4 more years. Unless a miracle happens. Money obligations at the root.
I think I am getting no response because folks think I'm too old to want this. I'm not.
A Rush, and A Push.. why do I let myself get caught in these things that are so high-strung and open to misinterpretation?? Because I think too much, and I sometimes cannot sort it all out when it gets too messy in my head. Because it all looks so heavenly, so unharmful, when I only see it through my own eyes. I forget how few people really see the world my way. I make blurry messages that I think are clear.
Because it is pretty impossible to see into the complexities of someone else's life and motives (mine, I mean), yet so easy to make it into a cheap novel, a Hollywood B-movie. Ah--she has a lover!!
What I want is actually fairly simple. I want my house to be My House. A refuge, not jail. My House should be filled with music, art, and artists. Sometimes. )) Maybe once every week or two. It should be filled with mad, drunken conversations, wild and various music playing, and spontaneous dancing. Films and Books should be argued about. All this, sometimes, maybe once every week or two. Probably two. I should be allowed to converse freely with the people I like/love. I need time alone, too. I need passion of some kind in my life, before I die of boredom. I need a sensual life.
I want less humidity. I am willing, if the money problems can be solved, to move to make this go. I could stay, if...?? I am tired of being indirectly stared at, not talked to, frowned at, lectured to.
{Ok, so I do have live music, now, once every 2 weeks, being played, on a schedule, the same 25 songs, with no changes. For the last 3-4 years. It is not what I picture in my dreams.}
My House:
It should not be filled with meal schedules, overly-elaborate meal planning, anal-retentive rules, fussiness, snoring (day and night, approximately 8 or more hours in my bedroom, for which
I am present for only 5 or 6, 2 more hours in an armchair in the afternoon, where I cannot get away= total 10 hours, on the average), Dictums Against All Music Except Classical!!, Sexlessness, Soma, grocery-stores-as-church, Someone taking up my air-space (where my music is frowned upon..) every day and night, but most offensively at the 6 o'clock hour, with hysterical, internet laughters and microphoned " HAHAHAHAHHAA! Fuck!! I Can't Believe it, Dog!! " From Fail Blog pratfalls of idiots falling off car bumpers,scaffolding, skis, roofs, reindeers. It will, ironically, for all the anal retentiveness, be much cleaner, my house, less full of piles of shit I'm not allowed to touch or talk about , but feel like pushing down the stairs. Or burning. Rock- and -stare- for- half- an -hour -time. Repetition, repetition, repetition. I want to put a bullet in my head.
No wonder I prefer my boring classroom.
I say to myself "Darkness, Darkness.." please come, send everyone to bed--let me be alone with my own more complex thoughts, that cannot be drawn out and sustained in this atmosphere. Give me, at least, the sanctity of my childhood bedroom. Пожалуйста.
This week has been nice in its freedom from all this. This week, my skin doesn't itch with time regulations. Joseph is a good companion.
This is not the world I was meant to live in.
Jun 23: I think I'M oppressed: my poor sister. I've probably spent 8 hours with her on the phone this week, 2 1/2 just yesterday alone. The way her family treats her is disgusting, and downright evil. But, I feel that "stay over there in the corner and don't bother my life" treatment she gets.
The 21/2 hours essentially was what was needed to keep her on track to write five or six coherent lines to tell her doctor about something important she needs. See, this is why I think she's more sane than she appears, (than the rest of my family): she knows what she is, admits it, and fights against her own demons, but at the bottom has a sort of weird clarity about what to do. She keeps calling to get help with this letter. Keeping in mind she's doing this fight while having 23 pills shoved down her every day, while she weighs all of 90 pounds. And even though she can be paranoid, and irritable, and has 1000 big and small complaints about everything else in her life, she doesn't turn on me, because, I think, she senses I really do care, and I'm trying to help. Even when I have to resort to yelling at her to keep her on track.
At the end, she always says thank you, I love you, you're my favorite, you're the only one who..
It's nice to know someone loves me.
Jul 1: My sister weighs 80 lbs. Again. Otherwise, she seemed okay when I saw her.
July 10, 2014: Terrible Day.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vy0NySCmuFU&feature=kp
July 14: Klonopin. Don't let 'em talk you into it.
July 24, 2014:
I suppose I'm ready to spurt it all out.
The sister I've been talking about is dead. She was the one I could laugh with, loudest and craziest. I loved her laugh.
She shouldn't be dead: she was much too young--younger than me--eternally. She always seemed, perpetually, like a little girl. It wasn't only because she was 4'10.
And weighed 80 pounds. 35 kilos. In the form of my family, it was a rather spectacular death. She died, according to her husband, laughing, in the middle of Disney's fanciest restaurant. She just started falling over and never fully regained consciousness. They later had to pull the plug on her for all the tubes and what-not they stuck in her at the hospital to keep her body going. She quit breathing in the ambulance. It was a brain aneurysm. It was a seemingly painless, fitting death except for one thing: she kinda hated Disney.
Her husband made her go there, to please their spoiled daughter (and therefore himself) every year for two weeks. I will not say this publicly (that is, in famiglia) but I blame him for her death. Not just for dragging her through the heat of Disney in July when she didn't want to go, and was obviously ill (80 lbs!!) But, for the 23 pills she took daily to "normalize" the personality he was too cold to put up with. You see, she had a few extreme emotions. I can relate. But, even her doctor said, she was a mild case. So why in the hell did he put her on 23 pills daily? (I'm sure some of those are repeats--my 2nd sister is going to send me the full list). Many I'm sure were to counteract the others. Because this is how ----modern-- medicine works. I know the worst one: Klonopin, also known as Clonazepam. When I read descriptions of this drug and hear harrowing tales of those addicted to it, trying to get off it-- it has a heavy withdrawal penance--well, my blood begins to seethe to think that one human being would decide to do this to another, especially one with multiple degrees who should know better, and to one so sweet and helpless.
What a cold fish, her husband. It reminds me of that old Italian sing along song, "C'e la Luna". It's a joke song about the horrors of marriage, in the form of a dialogue between mother and daughter , with a little sexual innuendo thrown in.
You may have heard it in The Godfather, during the wedding scene--Mama Corleone starts it off:
"C'e la luna mezzo mare,----------------translation: There is a moon in the middle of the sea
Mama mia me maritari..." My mama I must marry.
Here's most of the whole thing--it can go on forever, because each verse changes the husband's occupation and what he does to the daughter---
Ah, why not, let's make the verse to complete the thought...Давай!
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up in my head.)
God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
Sylvia Plath (1932-1963)
April 22: More Mad Girl nonsense:“I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
April 23: /\ True that. It occurred to me this morning when I was searching for just the right music to listen to, that maybe I listen to so much music because I want to stop all the noise in my head as much as anything. At least sometimes that's why.
I just listened to this brilliant 15-year-old girl speak who made me think...I'm not crazy, just honest. And some others in the world are....uggh. Viva la difference.
April 24: We are the right one.
April 30:
Давайте все сойдем с ума
Сегодня - ты, а завтра - я.
Давайте все сойдем с ума,
Вот это будет ерунда!
Мы будем дико хохотать,
Мы будем крыльями махать,
И покорится вся земля
Таким как ты,
Таким как я.
Мы сядем в белый пароход
Сегодня - ты, а завтра - я.
Мы сядем в белый пароход
И поплывям наоборот.
И в неизведанной земле
Увидим Ницше на коне,
И он обнимет нас, любя,
Простой как ты,
Простой как я.
Сегодня - ты,
Сегодня - ты,
А завтра я.
May 8: For my mental health--this.
Иосиф Бродский
Ни тоски, ни любви, ни печали,
ни тревоги, ни боли в груди,
будто целая жизнь за плечами
и всего полчаса впереди.
Оглянись — и увидишь наверно:
в переулке такси тарахтят,
за церковной оградой деревья
над ребенком больным шелестят,
из какой-то неведомой дали
засвистит молодой постовой,
и бессмысленный грохот рояля
поплывет над твоей головой.
Не поймешь, но почувствуешь сразу:
хорошо бы пяти куполам
и пустому теперь диабазу
завещать свою жизнь пополам.
Quick and cheesy Google translation--sounds pretty good for once! My additions in ():
Joseph Brodsky
No longing, no love, no sorrow,
anxiety, or pain in the chest,
(as) if the whole (of) life (is) behind
and only half an hour ahead.
Look - and probably (you) will see:
taxi rumbles in the alley,
trees outside the church fence
rustle about the child patients,
from some unknown distance
whistles a young guard,
and senseless rumblings of a piano
float above your head.
Do not understand, but feel immediately:
well to five domes
and now let the diabase
bequeath half his life.
I don't know how to translate this word: диабазу. "Diabase"--doesn't cut it. Dictionary mentions some sort of technical rock layers?? From context I'm thinking, something to do with demons or gods or some source of Life??? It's too bad, because this poet is actually capable of some gut aimed endings--gifted that way. I interpret it this way: he's telling us to stop analyzing, and just live the moment. Boy, do I need that lesson. Very timely hit, for me.
May 20: Feel less conflicted and outside these days, but maybe I shouldn't.)
May 25: Shift-shift-shift. Life shifts. Stay constant. Planning a trip to Illinois this summer, then maybe California at Christmas time--depending. On Life's shifts. Maybe August or Thanksgiving for Cali??
May 28: Jim Morrison vs. Elliot Rodgers. Even in madness, there are degrees, and moral behavior.
Jun 15: Yup, Big Mouth strikes again-- Roman noses and walkmans are melting)). I don't think it's fatal, but it needs a fix. Plus, I think I misinterpreted P. Jesus' mission..which is what started this whole mess. First, I just made a joke. (Знаю--sometimes my jokes are so off the wall, no one could possibly understand them...let alone find them funny, but they make perfect sense to myself at the time. Strange logic in my brain.) First I thought, just another song, so countered with another. Then I thought, oh, no, I missed it, a message, an offer of friendship.!! Someone cares about my oppression. So I called out. Probably a bad move.
I guess I just wanted understanding so bad, I saw it where it wasn't. Make no mistake, I feel oppressed, and I've just recently started to admit the extent of it to myself. And, I have no one really, to confide in without things becoming very messy. I have been throwing hints all around, to many. I want to change my life somehow, some way, so my day to day is not like this. I can't stand it much longer --but ideally, I have to slog through at least 4 more years. Unless a miracle happens. Money obligations at the root.
I think I am getting no response because folks think I'm too old to want this. I'm not.
A Rush, and A Push.. why do I let myself get caught in these things that are so high-strung and open to misinterpretation?? Because I think too much, and I sometimes cannot sort it all out when it gets too messy in my head. Because it all looks so heavenly, so unharmful, when I only see it through my own eyes. I forget how few people really see the world my way. I make blurry messages that I think are clear.
Because it is pretty impossible to see into the complexities of someone else's life and motives (mine, I mean), yet so easy to make it into a cheap novel, a Hollywood B-movie. Ah--she has a lover!!
What I want is actually fairly simple. I want my house to be My House. A refuge, not jail. My House should be filled with music, art, and artists. Sometimes. )) Maybe once every week or two. It should be filled with mad, drunken conversations, wild and various music playing, and spontaneous dancing. Films and Books should be argued about. All this, sometimes, maybe once every week or two. Probably two. I should be allowed to converse freely with the people I like/love. I need time alone, too. I need passion of some kind in my life, before I die of boredom. I need a sensual life.
I want less humidity. I am willing, if the money problems can be solved, to move to make this go. I could stay, if...?? I am tired of being indirectly stared at, not talked to, frowned at, lectured to.
{Ok, so I do have live music, now, once every 2 weeks, being played, on a schedule, the same 25 songs, with no changes. For the last 3-4 years. It is not what I picture in my dreams.}
My House:
It should not be filled with meal schedules, overly-elaborate meal planning, anal-retentive rules, fussiness, snoring (day and night, approximately 8 or more hours in my bedroom, for which
I am present for only 5 or 6, 2 more hours in an armchair in the afternoon, where I cannot get away= total 10 hours, on the average), Dictums Against All Music Except Classical!!, Sexlessness, Soma, grocery-stores-as-church, Someone taking up my air-space (where my music is frowned upon..) every day and night, but most offensively at the 6 o'clock hour, with hysterical, internet laughters and microphoned " HAHAHAHAHHAA! Fuck!! I Can't Believe it, Dog!! " From Fail Blog pratfalls of idiots falling off car bumpers,scaffolding, skis, roofs, reindeers. It will, ironically, for all the anal retentiveness, be much cleaner, my house, less full of piles of shit I'm not allowed to touch or talk about , but feel like pushing down the stairs. Or burning. Rock- and -stare- for- half- an -hour -time. Repetition, repetition, repetition. I want to put a bullet in my head.
No wonder I prefer my boring classroom.
I say to myself "Darkness, Darkness.." please come, send everyone to bed--let me be alone with my own more complex thoughts, that cannot be drawn out and sustained in this atmosphere. Give me, at least, the sanctity of my childhood bedroom. Пожалуйста.
This week has been nice in its freedom from all this. This week, my skin doesn't itch with time regulations. Joseph is a good companion.
This is not the world I was meant to live in.
Jun 23: I think I'M oppressed: my poor sister. I've probably spent 8 hours with her on the phone this week, 2 1/2 just yesterday alone. The way her family treats her is disgusting, and downright evil. But, I feel that "stay over there in the corner and don't bother my life" treatment she gets.
The 21/2 hours essentially was what was needed to keep her on track to write five or six coherent lines to tell her doctor about something important she needs. See, this is why I think she's more sane than she appears, (than the rest of my family): she knows what she is, admits it, and fights against her own demons, but at the bottom has a sort of weird clarity about what to do. She keeps calling to get help with this letter. Keeping in mind she's doing this fight while having 23 pills shoved down her every day, while she weighs all of 90 pounds. And even though she can be paranoid, and irritable, and has 1000 big and small complaints about everything else in her life, she doesn't turn on me, because, I think, she senses I really do care, and I'm trying to help. Even when I have to resort to yelling at her to keep her on track.
At the end, she always says thank you, I love you, you're my favorite, you're the only one who..
It's nice to know someone loves me.
Jul 1: My sister weighs 80 lbs. Again. Otherwise, she seemed okay when I saw her.
July 10, 2014: Terrible Day.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vy0NySCmuFU&feature=kp
July 14: Klonopin. Don't let 'em talk you into it.
July 24, 2014:
I suppose I'm ready to spurt it all out.
The sister I've been talking about is dead. She was the one I could laugh with, loudest and craziest. I loved her laugh.
She shouldn't be dead: she was much too young--younger than me--eternally. She always seemed, perpetually, like a little girl. It wasn't only because she was 4'10.
And weighed 80 pounds. 35 kilos. In the form of my family, it was a rather spectacular death. She died, according to her husband, laughing, in the middle of Disney's fanciest restaurant. She just started falling over and never fully regained consciousness. They later had to pull the plug on her for all the tubes and what-not they stuck in her at the hospital to keep her body going. She quit breathing in the ambulance. It was a brain aneurysm. It was a seemingly painless, fitting death except for one thing: she kinda hated Disney.
Her husband made her go there, to please their spoiled daughter (and therefore himself) every year for two weeks. I will not say this publicly (that is, in famiglia) but I blame him for her death. Not just for dragging her through the heat of Disney in July when she didn't want to go, and was obviously ill (80 lbs!!) But, for the 23 pills she took daily to "normalize" the personality he was too cold to put up with. You see, she had a few extreme emotions. I can relate. But, even her doctor said, she was a mild case. So why in the hell did he put her on 23 pills daily? (I'm sure some of those are repeats--my 2nd sister is going to send me the full list). Many I'm sure were to counteract the others. Because this is how ----modern-- medicine works. I know the worst one: Klonopin, also known as Clonazepam. When I read descriptions of this drug and hear harrowing tales of those addicted to it, trying to get off it-- it has a heavy withdrawal penance--well, my blood begins to seethe to think that one human being would decide to do this to another, especially one with multiple degrees who should know better, and to one so sweet and helpless.
What a cold fish, her husband. It reminds me of that old Italian sing along song, "C'e la Luna". It's a joke song about the horrors of marriage, in the form of a dialogue between mother and daughter , with a little sexual innuendo thrown in.
You may have heard it in The Godfather, during the wedding scene--Mama Corleone starts it off:
"C'e la luna mezzo mare,----------------translation: There is a moon in the middle of the sea
Mama mia me maritari..." My mama I must marry.
Here's most of the whole thing--it can go on forever, because each verse changes the husband's occupation and what he does to the daughter---
C'e la luna mezz'o mare
Mamma mia me maritari,
Figghia mia, a cu te dari
Here, the mother asks who should she get for the daughter
Mamma mia pensaci tu. the daughter answers she relies on mama's wisdom
Mamma mia me maritari,
Figghia mia, a cu te dari
Here, the mother asks who should she get for the daughter
Mamma mia pensaci tu. the daughter answers she relies on mama's wisdom
Si ci dugnu lu babberi (barber)
Iddu va, Iddu veni
'u rasolu manu teni. the barber will go back and forthwith his razor, as he likes
Si ci pigghia la fantasia
Mi rasulia la figghia mia.
Iddu va, Iddu veni
'u rasolu manu teni. the barber will go back and forthwith his razor, as he likes
Si ci pigghia la fantasia
Mi rasulia la figghia mia.
O Mamma, piscia fritta baccala
O Mamma piscia fritta baccala.
O Mamma piscia fritta baccala.
Figghia mia, a cu te dari
Mamma mia pensaci tu.
Si ci dugnu falignami (carpenter)
Si ci dugnu falignami (carpenter)
Iddu va, iddu veni
'u chianuzzu manu teni. the carpenter will plane her
Si ci pigghia la fantasia
Mi chiannuzulia la figghia mia.
'u chianuzzu manu teni. the carpenter will plane her
Si ci pigghia la fantasia
Mi chiannuzulia la figghia mia.
O Mamma, piscia fritta baccala
O Mamma piscia fritta baccala.
O Mamma piscia fritta baccala.
Figghia mia a cu te ddari?
Mamma mia penzaci tu.
Si ci dugnu lu scapparu (shoemaker)
Iddu va, iddu veni
'u matteddu manu teni. the shoemaker will hammer her
Si ci pigghia la fantasia
Mi matteddia la figghia mia.
Mamma mia penzaci tu.
Si ci dugnu lu scapparu (shoemaker)
Iddu va, iddu veni
'u matteddu manu teni. the shoemaker will hammer her
Si ci pigghia la fantasia
Mi matteddia la figghia mia.
O Mamma, piscia fritta baccala
O Mamma piscia fritta baccala.
O Mamma piscia fritta baccala.
Figghia mia a cu te ddari?
Mamma mia penzaci tu.
Si ci dugnu zuppunaro (farmer) the farmer will plough her
Iddu va, iddu veni
'u zappuni manu teni.
Si ci pigghia la fantasia
Mi zappunia la figghia mia.
Mamma mia penzaci tu.
Si ci dugnu zuppunaro (farmer) the farmer will plough her
Iddu va, iddu veni
'u zappuni manu teni.
Si ci pigghia la fantasia
Mi zappunia la figghia mia.
O Mamma, piscia fritta baccala
O Mamma piscia fritta baccala.
Figghia mia a cu te ddari?
Each time, the daughter answers : "O, Mamma piscia fritta baccala"--which translates, oh, mama what a dried up piece of fish! Obviously rejecting her mother's suggestion. There is no resolution to the song, as the last line is usually," Figghia mia (my daughter) a cu (to whom) te ddari (I give you)? It's in dialect, but is fairly readable for modern Italian, and it means, essentially, there is no good choice, not even il medico (the doctor/ брач) Like the others, he will always hold his tools of the trade in his hands : this time "pills/ pillole" and he will pill her...O Mamma piscia fritta baccala.
Figghia mia a cu te ddari?
Ah, why not, let's make the verse to complete the thought...Давай!
Si ci dugnu lu medico
Iddu va, Iddu veni
'u pillole manu teni. the doctor will go back and forth with his pills,
Si ci pigghia la fantasia as he likes
Mi pillola la figghia mia.
Iddu va, Iddu veni
'u pillole manu teni. the doctor will go back and forth with his pills,
Si ci pigghia la fantasia as he likes
Mi pillola la figghia mia.
My sister wasn't perfect. But her imperfections were magnified by all this pill pushing..she never used to be this bad. Among other things she turned into a shopaholic because she was so lonely and needed an outlet for human contact that her cold fish was not providing. She turned an entire bedroom in her house into a closet--oh, my, it was a fantastic sight! Stacked with shelves, crammed closets, 70% of the items never worn, with the tags still on. The door to the room was locked, because she was embarrassed about it, her obsession.
Those big 20-gallon plastic tubs people use for storage (we have one for our Christmas decorations)--well she probably had over 100 of them, all neatly labeled--"Jeans". "80's Mom-jeans". "Dress jeans with sequins". "Jeggings"--a whole tub of little size 2 jeggings! "Swimsuits--#2". She had at least six (that's all I could find, there may have been more) dark blue, almost black, velour, almost identical, hoodies. That's not counting the 20 or so other black hoodies of various other materials, and even more in other colors. There were 5-6 expensive ski-jackets made of all that weather resistant material. She probably had at the very least, 20 "little black dresses"--very chic, worthy of Hollywood cocktail parties--she had good taste. But she never wore any of these, as they still had the tags, opting instead for baggy old " 101 FM-The River" t-shirts that she won for free from the radio station she listened to and called incessantly--she won them as prizes, you see. On the bottom she wore old shorts or yoga pants, her slippers. Every square inch of this room, and stacked to the ceiling, was filled with never or rarely worn size 0-3 clothing: if you took it all out of the bins (It would never fit on straight closet poles) it probably would have made a 6-7 foot mountain that kids could play in like those ball pits at McDonald's. It was fantastic.
Some of the stuff with tags were, obvious from the styles, big shoulders, prints, from other decades--the 90's, the 80's, maybe.
Besides the clothes, she had jewelry--all organized on several of those commercial plexiglass displays--you know, the kind you have seen on a counter in Target or Walmart.: They spin and have four sides. Except hers was overfilled, not really display worthy for sale. And several make-up tables (not just one) overflowing with every kind of expensive make-up you can think of, and tubs filled with unused perfume, lotion, eye cream , anti-aging stuff, whatever.
My brother-in-law and my niece begged my daughter and I to take some of this off their hands (to their credit). My daughter, who does wear size 2 or 3, was very reluctant, but was finally persuaded as she is in desperate need of new career clothes and has no money, and my sister had youthful taste still--sometimes too youthful. She filled an entire oversized suitcase, which they also provided from the 10 or so they had hanging around never used. I at first felt weird about "remembrances" to take, but then I thought my sister would feel quite rejected if I didn't leave with something. So, I took a few things--some earrings, necklaces, 2 big loose sweater jackets and a sorta punk looking over -dyed black long-sleeved T-shirt I was surprised to see (and even more surprised it fit). Two eye pencils and a lip balm. I took a lot more sweaters, jackets and dresses to bring to my nieces, some whose mothers have been in a feud with my Bro-in-law (Over a skull--another long story, but I think I told it elsewhere). What I took was probably .001 percent of what was there--all of it will now be going in the trash or to Goodwill. This is so sad to me--a person's lifework, simply dismissed. It probably could have outfitted at least 4 of those cute little chi-chi boutiques that WASPy women indulge in. Such a waste.
We are trying to convince my BIL to give it all to a charity. They'd do good things with all that.
My conclusion? If you're stuck with an obsessive personality, best to channel it into something with some depth, and many roads and trails: like music)). It needs less storage space.
August 3, 2014-- 10:27p.m.:
I am listening to an Agata Kristi marathon--matches my mood, and I have not listened to them, (been avoiding them?) for months--they just put my brain in a bizarre place I'm not sure it should be--yet I crave.
I have been searching for a place to post these ideas I've been having: no place is perfect, but I settled on here, for sanity's, (and insanity's) sake. Well, psychological examination is part of the subject here, even if mind alteration in pill form is not always the subject.
Death so close makes you examine your surroundings in detail.
What sort of scares me about myself is my decreasing concern with how people view me. Once, that was something I aspired to, but probably did not accomplish to the level I have now. Sure, I was punk before, but believe me, my punk self from the 80's might actually be shocked with how little I care about how I look on the outside now. That was all window-dressing, then, in comparison.
First, so many people whose opinion I cared about have left. Or are quite far away. And some? Who made me feel oppressed? Sometimes so willing to find negativity, it almost doesn't matter, the judgment. And, well, I have recently come to the conclusion that their love actually is unconditional, and they will make all my excuses for me. The rest? Who cares? (For real.) At home, I really have quit pretending. What is the point? I'm not going to fake anything anymore. It's time for other people to see who I am, and if they don't like it, it's time for them to make some attempt to look at my vision instead, because perhaps it does have something to it. You aren't interested? Well, guess what--neither am I--in yours. I could go into explicit, gory detail here, but I'm not that kind.
You want to be a mindless animal, sleeping, feeding, making bank, rubbing a big, inert belly, entertaining yourself with other's failures, feeling superior--doing what Ulysses talks about in Tennyson's poem--hey, go for it. This won't fill up my brainwaves too often. If something else is going on--time to let it out. Time is being marked.
Ok-- I need to stop being so judgmental...i just know how I need to live. This is not me.
So, Really, what I intended to write about here was this documentary I watched on classic movies--this professor, Slavoj Zizek--an eccentric, strange guy, with a somewhat communistic, Freudian perspective on movies--I'm not sure I agree with what he says, but he sure made me think.
He is a slovenly, grey-bearded, portly and unkempt Slovenian--ha--the classic left-wing, weirdo professor. He could be in that SNL skit about the professorial "lovahs". There are criticisms of him everywhere--claims he dissuades students from submitting their boring papers to him, yada,yada...
His basic premise is that there are a number of classic movies (good movies) that reveal ideological messages that are for all practical purposes, subliminal... Hitchcock, Kubrick, The Godfather, Tarkovski, various war movies (from around the world), Bergman, Classic Horror movies, ...well, he and I agree on what makes an influential movie.
So I want to discuss his ideas, and my responses. I wonder why his most famous documentaries are called "Pervert's Guide"--does it really fit, or is it hype to get people to watch?? I certainly don't always agree with his positions, but he gives something to argue about, as opposed to many modern lame intellectuals . He is interesting, especially, on the subject of sex and fantasy--it certainly makes one think. He uses famous films to illustrate his ideas. For example, Eyes Wide Shut, Kubrick's last, he says is used to show how a person's fantasies are formed, are artificial, made by, among other things: films and the media... There is some truth to that, and not in the most obvious way--oooh, in the 30's men liked a girl with curves, like Mae, now, you need a skinny thing with unrealistic breasts... no, that's too easy for Zizek. He's digging underneath at what you really want. which is--well, the possibilities are endless, but should we really entertain them all? Is it safe? See, this is how the prof operates--makes an interesting observation, but pulls back from any actual position other than to layer on the Freud and Marx.
So, should I be braver? What is my point of view on the role of fantasy in our lives? All work and no fantasies makes Jack a bore. Kubrick's answer seems to be safe regulation--let it out to a trusted partner--it will make you both stronger. That's easy enough to agree with..what if it doesn't work? What if your fantasies don't jive, it makes you think the other guy is weird, gross, disgusting?? Ruins your appetite so to speak. Or the other's. What if you are afraid of your own fantasies--can't even evoke them properly? I suppose one should try anyway. But, what if you just know? Maybe you should find another safe outlet. Rather than die inside.
One thing I WANT to object to, is his take on Hitchcock's Vertigo, that some men wish to take their fantasy so far, they are practically ready to make it from whole cloth--a dead fantasy girl who never existed in the first place, portrayed by a floozie willing to subjugate herself for the whole enterprise, for some fantasized, romanticized, ideal of "love". Wow. I never (consciously) looked at that movie that way, but now it is very hard to unring that bell. White Bears in my field of vision. Now I'm almost afraid to show it to kids: even with a PG rating, it seems awfully lurid. This is what the average healthy American man really wants?? He has a similar take on Tarkovski's Solaris--focusing mainly on the dead wife brought to life in his desires..for unseemly, dark reasons. If that is what those movies are saying, I disagree with their cynicism. I think this is a danger to be aware of--a path some may tread--, not a conclusive meaning to what is in the bottom of the well of "love".
I was pretty interested in his pointing out the origins of the ANDRE THE GIANT/ OBEY graffiti-cum-brand name as originating in a lesser known John Carpenter film called They Live--I agree it is a commentary and criticism of capitalism. He says Titanic has a similar economic message--subverting social order by romances between characters of differing social classes, like some Chaplin movies--but I don't know if I want to endorse his idea that in most seriously "romantic' films (like Titanic), true love is always set up for failure--short lived--marked by one lover's ultimate sacrifice-frozen on the ocean in a profoundly metaphorical message--as if love must be perennially frozen in this fashion to be "eternal". A sacrifice to the Big Other (explained below). I don't like Titanic enough to give it that level of profundity.
Yeah, Zizek introduced me to an idea I hadn't heard of: something known as "the big Other", which is not quite the same as Sartre's use of "the Other" . It is especially interesting in terms of Soviet thinking, and their war movies. The idea is that in a supposedly atheistic society, God, Бог, is replaced by some common -cause, big "Other', that drives society towards a greater good, which creates, among other things, a conformist idea of the ideal citizen-- таваришь!! A social order controlled by the people that speaks to their common endeavors of creating a great society---a competitor with the capitalist world, intellectually superior, disciplined, self-sacrificing, has an invisible "other' that is more or less worshipped in lieu of God. Zizek did not invent this idea, but points out how it is used, to great effect, in Soviet era war movies where the hero is reunited with his girl, once he's defeated the Russians' favorite enemy (and ours)--Hitler--, by smarts and native intelligence, only in the warm and sanctioning presence of Joseph Stalin.
Zizek has this rather ugly notion that most of us spend a lifetime avoiding our true sexual, romantic, and fantastical needs in favor of those manufactured for us from outside ourselves, by the state, our family history, the media. He seems to focus on our ability to be tricked, rather than celebrating the strength of individuals who ignore all this structure, and love anyway. He makes a really good point about pornography--how it really avoids our real desires in it's stupidity and crudeness. Pizza Boy...who the hell wants the pizza boy?
I doubt he thinks he is a victim of this thinking himself. But, I did have an opportunity to think about all this in a new way, thanks to him. Is it really perverted?
This is stupid, but I just tried to google "pervert" and it wouldn't let me...wha??
August 12: Where is my mind? Where is my mind? Where???
Just getting' through, putting my school stuff in order, keeping my mind off??? Not sure what...what I really want to think about.
August 15: I just remembered something ridiculous from this Slavoj Zizek documentary. There's this scene where he's working in his garden, watering plants and so forth, and he goes on this rant about how much he dislikes flowers (even though he has some in his garden) because they are so lurid, spraying their sexuality and spores all over the world. Poser.
August 17: I rarely fall in love with objects--they have to have some psychic/spiritual meaning for that to happen. But I have. It's a tiny pair of my deceased sister's earrings. I cannot bring myself to take them off. they are so small they look like what a girl child would wear, so of course they remind me of her for that reason. They are essentially tiny rhinestone (I think) studs, but in unusual colors. The small pale blue one goes directly in my pierced earhole, then there is this antiqued, half inch chain, like a medieval link, from which is hung four small amber-colored stones in a flower/cross formation. The whole thing has a sort of medieval appearance to me, somehow. Extremely subtle, however.
There is something intensely personal and comforting about sticking something through your skin--they are earrings for pierced ears--that your dead loved one also stuck through her skin. Like I can still feel her life. I plan to wear them for 40 days continually.
August 24: Now that my son's away, I have begun the process of slowly, by pains-taking increments, uncoupling myself for my own sanity. I'm pretty sure my actions have already been perceived as "mysterious "--que sera. Life is change or it dies.
September 29: You know, I thought I was handling my sister's death fairly well--often I speak of her in the present tense and must correct myself when I realize she is no longer here, available to us. Then this week, I got some weird personal problems...I keep imagining (I hope I'm imagining...) that I have serious health problems. It doesn't help that next week I'm overbooked with a ridiculous number of doctor's appointments--I am so sick of them.
She was younger than me. But then, I never have taken all those pills.
Ok, so, the first thing is, I go to get blood work done, for my appointment next week--usually, I'm behind or unconcerned--I'm invincible, right? Ageless!? hah. Well, the nice girl blew out my right arm vein, I should have known when I saw blood--most nurses tell me what easy, prominent veins I have--it looked horrible, like I was a 5 year junkie--all red and purple, then worse, that yellow-green gangrene color on the 2nd day--where you can sort of imagine your own skin? Dead. Uck. It was like a bad omen, and I was already nervous about messing up my "12-hour fast draw" by drinking a glass of wine at 9pm. (Later: BTW, this apparently had 0 effect on my blood work outcome--which came back all normal/healthy.)
Which reminds me of a second stupid idea I have about myself...
So, I think, if some Renaissance painter was to ever think any part of me was worthy of painting, of preserving for the ages, I don't think it would be obvious choices for a female subject--not my eyes or breasts or hair. It would have to be--the insides of my forearms--that delicate skin. It's kind of like porcelain, or veined marble--it fascinates me sometimes in my more dreamlike states. So stupid..
Somehow, they are more beautiful, all cream, peach and rose, even better as I age, my only flawless bare skin, with those lovely rivers of blue-green and purple veins---sure would be a shame to ever scar them.
ok, then Saturday--during band practice--but, this just sometimes happens. Reaching for an extreme note while I'm singing (not necessarily a high note, but one that pulls my guts out), I start to feel a little faint--like I might pass out. But the moment is fleeting, over by song's end. But, an hour later, Ken and I are grocery shopping at Publix, and I grab his arm---"I think I'm going to pass out", I say... and that crazy, fuzzy whirl-a-dervish feeling stays with me for like ten minutes--bad enough that I have to go out to the tables put out for people eating lunch and sit there until the shopping trip is over.
I feel, somehow, fragile. Later, I remember this dull pain in my chest, which I had thought was an unburped burp or indigestion or something. And a sharp pain in my temple. Is this all adding up to my stupid heart arrhythmia speeding up??
Sunday night, I was sitting on the floor, playing guitar for hours, but acutely aware of a sharp pain in my side--the broccoli, I thought. But, then the next day, I see masses of red in the toilet---what the HELL?? What is that?? That pain? It's never totally gone...So I start looking up all sorts of medical facts on the internet. Ulcer? Family history. Colon cancer?? Damn, I hate eating.
Luckily, I suddenly remembered I had eaten a lot of beets for lunch.
Paranoia will destroy ya.....
I suppose it means something that my arm vein already looks close to normal again, two days later. That means I'm healthy, right?
October 5: Okay, took sis's earrings off.
October 8: I have been spending an inordinate amount of time at the doctor's lately, inordinate for someone who is apparently perfectly healthy, except for a little mildly high blood pressure and a slight heart arrhythmia that occasionally makes me pass out. It brings me back to this smoking research topic. BTW, all my docs say I'm fine.
See, I got all this blood work done--a regular thing they do to you now: check cholesterol, electrolytes, red and white blood cells, CO2 and salt levels, yadda-di-da. All this detail, then they put in your BMI--but guess what? The way they calculate that is exactly like the dumb internet thingy-- ratio of height to weight--no more advanced. I was unhappy with mine, but the thing is, shouldn't they consider more factors than that? For example, (for women) how large your breasts are, how much muscle density you have, bone density, your waist size. Mine's still like somewhere around 30--which would have given me convulsions at age 30 (my waist was 23 and 24 then) but I'm pretty ok with it at my age--I'm still in the small end on men's pants--women's I'm not going to even discuss, ridiculous as the fashion industry has driven that these days. (When I was a teenager, there was no such thing as sizes 0, 1 and 2; 3-4 was the smallest, which I sometimes wore.) According to this chart, the low end of weight for my height should be--get this--101 lbs. What??!! Even when I was in high school, with hardly any body fat, and a multi-sport athlete I didn't weigh that. I was never considered by anyone overweight. (Then, that is!) The last time I weighed @ 100 was probably8th- 9th grade--of course I was pretty muscular.
Well, of course, the media wants us to believe that 8th-9th grade pre-pubescent body type (I was definitely pre-pubescent then--no breasts whatsoever, and all the other stuff) is some sort of ideal. Yuck. That Idea drives me nuts.
So my thinking is, just like the insurance charts--they want to be able to say as many people as possible are overweight, to drive their agenda for costs, who to blame for unhealthy lifestyle, to avoid some kinds of insurance payouts, to manipulate the outcomes they want for research.
So this fortifies my skepticism about the smoking research, which seems to be similarly undifferential in their labeling of subjects: distinguishing smokers, non-smokers, and ex-smokers, but not much else, like how many cigarettes or how often does the subject smoke? At least that's what the article I read said. I don't trust anyone on this subject, frankly.
October 15: Well, my worries were actually feeling real vibrations, unfortunately. Why can't it be easier to fix our friends' brains, help them out in a less agonizing way? I never know how far to go in--and my nature is to go in tooooo far. I feel like all I can do is listen, and that sometimes feels so useless. I've had too much experience with this to ever imagine it will all be perfect someday. Will a girl solve it?? No, but temporarily it will be nice. Until the first confrontation comes. Oi.
I am in such a bad place with this subject right now. The state of the health care industries in America-- ugh--how helpful are they, really, and how much of their pharmacological advice is cost driven? And for this particular topic...the worst, because it can be such a persistent, undefinable, unfixed problem. It is why--for myself and my minor problems, anyway, I wouldn't want to go the pharmaceutical route--I don't think I'm bad enough to make the hideous tradeoff. But, what do I really know about all this?
October 23: Shoot--turns out something is wrong with my heart. Bottom part isn't contracting right, or something--it's enlarged? What does that mean? I have to go to the cardiologist again((. It probably relates to my early high blood pressure (I was 36 when it started), and from what I'm reading on the Internet could be genetic, which seems highly likely considering Katie has the same arrhythmia. Could it possibly be from alcohol? I don't think I drink that much, but I have been drinking more this past year, especially this past six months.
What really worries me is I think maybe it was that New Years' Night, when I hit my head, passed out, that did some damage to my heart. It certainly felt like I died and came back--that scary and horrible.
October 28: D-day tomorrow. Guess I'll find out the worst. I keep feeling this pinch, left-center of my chest, right beneath the underwire of my bra. I wish I was imagining it, but I don't think I am.
Kinda weird, to have such an exact idea of how you'll most likely die. Maybe it will still take twenty years. Of course, it could be that a double-decker bus will crash into me tomorrow.
I watched this movie, about a depressed guy, played by Phillip Seymour Hoffman, (who himself recently died from an overdose of a mix of heroin and anti-depressants). It is called Synecdoche, New York, a play on words for the literature term and the setting, which is probably Schenectady, New York. He's an artist, who like most of us, is never really sure if the art he's doing has any real value. He also has a multi-layered and complicated, troubled love life, like most of us thinking, modern folks.
The guy in the movie, Caton, early in his life, thinks he's always dying, or has various chronic illnesses, is obsessed with death. His last name is taken from a mental disorder where one thinks he is already dead, cotard? Something like that. Later, when he really is closer to death, he seems less concerned about it. I think this movie is a lot like JPS's Nausea: I think it seems to have a very bleak message about the seeming emptiness of life, but there are small answers in the course of a life: Some days you're gonna miss me.... I hope someone's gonna miss me some days.
Well, about death, how to die, when to do it, what kind will you get? I've actually thought about --would it be better to die old or young, and a part of me says, the worst possible death might be being so old, so broken down that nothing works, you become the world's chore, and all the people who cared about you are gone or so busy they don't have time for a human buried in failing plumbing. So, dying before you get to that stage might not be the worst thing to happen, since we all gotta go, you know. Heart stuff may be an instant (or several instances) of intense agony, but that's gotta be better than the slow death of some cancers, where they keep killing your cells, ripping out your hair, stealing the protective fat off your body and cutting out your bad parts. While you lie in bed, bored to tears with your nauseous self.
I just want to have some more interesting things happen before I go, that's all. Maybe it won't mean anything to anyone but me, but maybe not? Who knows, can't live in someone else's head. I just don't want to have a dead life before I die--right? I might be overdramatizing this whole thing, anyway.
October 29: The Verdict: My heart is slightly damaged, the ventricular walls thickened-- something called Left Ventricular Hypertrophy. Probably due to my high blood pressure, which, apparently, has lately become unmanaged. Solvable by adjusting my BP meds, doing away with the diuretic which may be leading to my dizziness and episodes of unconsciousness. This all makes logical sense to me, so I'm probably not going to die tomorrow. Maybe next year.
But then, stupidly, when I get home, I see my morning blood pressure pill, sitting on the counter, biting its thumb at me, after I swore up and down to several people that I remembered to take it. Of all days to forget--it's like I have a subconscious death wish, and too much going on. And my Blood pressure was horrible in the dr's office--the worst was 170 over 90+. They took it FIVE!! times. Dropped twenty points when I stood up, which made my new cardiologist say--you're dehydrated--new meds. Ok--just hope you know what you're talking about.
She didn't bat an eye, my new (foreign) doc, when I told her how I'd been drinking more--just asked, "Red, or White?" I said, red of course, I'm Italian. I think she was fishing for a recommendation. Next time I'll tell her--anything with the Sangiovese grape. I go back in 3 weeks, anyway. Oh, yeah, my EKG of my heart was perfect, rhythmic, like a true musician.
November 22: Semi-good news. Cardiologist backed me off the heavier meds, cut my losartan from 50 mgs to 25. My blood pressure was 100/70..super low for me. Also my pulse rate is back to normal, 73 bpm as opposed to 107, which apparently it was two weeks ago, even though she didn't tell me this! Made me promise to slow up on the wine. Gave me the all-clear for a year. I feel better, but felt a little tense this morning before I started cooking for Thanksgiving.
Dec 4: Been kind of repeat listening to an old Russian song, title translates "Green-eyed Taxi". The lyrics ask the taxi to take the singer, slowly,slowly to the place where he will always be happy. Пожалуйста. That's what I want too, but is that even possible? Even a little?
Dec 9: Looking around, I'm realizing, it's not just me looking for things worthy of my attention, that will keep me sane. I see most of my friends doing the same--perhaps with slightly different targets.
Dec 10: Lost another troubled one at school. I wish she had brought herself to talk to me first like I had offered, before she did this off the chart thing. Hope she'll be ok.
128/66---purty good blood.
I want to talk about something real. The stereotype, or perhaps the standardized accepted image of "true love". First--I believe in the power of love--I believe it exists. I believe in a concept of pure love, perfect love--higher love, if you will. It is something I feel in my power to experience, and I fully contend I will, some day. I just don't think it looks anything like what the accepted image is. I correlate this to the way my idea of God (and the devil) doesn't quite match up with the more conventional images: the black/white morality, the benevolent old man in the sky thing. God is way more complicated than that, as is morality, and so is love. I don't think anyone wants to acknowledge how much the traditional concept of marriage--the perennial "soul match" --we should spend every moment in a psychic embrace--doesn't quite work: maybe for a rare few. OK, there's the folks who love and are satisfied with each other's comfort--lucky them--I bring back my old Kurt Cobain saw: "Wish I was like you: easily amused."That just makes me feel restless. And then there's those wildcat matches, like Burton/Taylor. And the people who you look in the eye and say--there is something there and always will be.
I think the "higher" concept of love has more to do with letting your idolatrized love actually express any and everything he/she may need to to become the best version of themselves--perhaps to your own personal detriment. And vice versa. I mean, maybe there is some crazy shit one really feels like they need to do before he/she dies--but you don't want to follow. Can you spare them the time, the danger ,the peril to your relationship, to do it? I mean, do you actually have to be holding someone's hand, every motherfucking second of the day, to consider yourself in love? Does there have to be nightly, sweaty spooning, a predetermined amount of sex, a height of orgasm that measures love? I picture it as something else.
Please don't ask me what it is. I don't know. I just have a feeling it is there. Somewhere, Небо небо небо. I can feel a contact that doesn't involve any of this.
It is bucking the conditioning, the liking of, my "inescapable social destiny" (see Huxley above/\).
Dec 25: I worried about this way too much, and woke up with my heart pounding over nothing. Shows how much the paranoia is all in your head.... everything's good at home, and I got to do, well, the majority of what I want to do, so I will continue to push for even more. This IS what life is for. I conquer another city...movies I can always see from home.
No one, no people, none of my good friends, were harmed, making this movie. I did get mistaken for a prostitute, but that just shows how fucked up the surface world is. I am so happy that I carried through. What did happen was wise, and will set a precedent for more.
Dec 26: Traveling alone sure is good for my soul. I had a great time--fixed a lot of my bad moods and restlessness for a bit. Need to write a song though, about my harrowing drive on L.A. streets. Not the freeway--that was a piece of cake, alone.
Dec 30: So, I've been trying to work on genealogy again, this time my dad's side, which is always a dead end officially ending in my hometown at the turn of the century, with my great-grandfather Frank Lavick. Family rumor says they trace back to Ohio, possibly Pittsburgh or Sharpsburg, Pennsylvania with butchering, then glass-blowing a family trade coming from an Alsatian heritage. Something about them acquiring land and stock in some Smelting works, then losing it all in Muncie, Indiana. All this Ohio/Penn/Indiana stuff, though comes from my delusional, alcoholic uncle who was always looking for lost fortunes in the family, possibly to equal his wife's family fortune, so I'm not sure. I'm finding much more evidence that the Lavick last name is of some sort of Eastern European origin: Czech or Ukrainian, possibly even Russian. I've only found one Lavick who doesn't seem related? Who claims German heritage. Czech (and something labeled Bohemia?) seems most likely.
I recently did a search to see if there are Lavicks (Лавик) on VK, and there are, 100s of them, ranging in locations from Bellarus to Moscow... I definitely found one Census record that is all the correct family members, misspelled as Lavich. And another as Lavicks. Also, there are a number of entries spelled Hlavick, Hlavach (and variations thereof) that makes me think, if we have Eastern European origins perhaps our name once began with an Х. Another thing to investigate: saw this name: Lvovich! I had a student whose last name was Lvov Лвов--never occurred to me to add -ich. (son of--patronymic) That would be unpronouncable for most Americans, and likely for change to remove the first V sound..
But this was the most shocking thing I found tonight when I googled my great-grandfather's name, this story from our hometown newspaper, from 1911:
QUINLAN, JOHN/Source: Alton Evening Telegraph, June 14, 1911
Fearing Surgery, Young Man Kills Self
Fearing to undergo a surgical operation, John Quinlan, a former bookkeeper, killed himself at the home of his brother-in-law, Frank Lavick, 916 east Fourth street, about 4:40 o'clock Tuesday afternoon. Quinlan shot himself in the right temple and died a few minutes later before a surgeon could reach him. He had used a 32-calibre revolver with a long barrell. He had been threatening for a week to kill himself, but no attention was paid to his threats. About a year ago he came to Alton to visit his sister and remained. He had been working at El Paso, Tex., as a clerk. He made his home with his sister all the time he was here. According to members of the family, he had planned to go to St. Louis in a few days to undergo an operation for some intestinal trouble, and he had brooded over the approaching operation so long he decided to kill himself. The deceased is a brother of Rev. Fr. Quinlan, who came here four years ago to attend the funeral of a child of Mr. and Mrs. Lavick and while here to took sick and died in the same house. The time of the funeral of the young man is not set. He leaves his parents in Ohio, and his mother is very ill. He has a brother in New Mexico. Arrangements for the funeral will be held up until the father arrives. Coroner Streeper held an inquest this afternoon.
My conclusion? If you're stuck with an obsessive personality, best to channel it into something with some depth, and many roads and trails: like music)). It needs less storage space.
August 3, 2014-- 10:27p.m.:
I am listening to an Agata Kristi marathon--matches my mood, and I have not listened to them, (been avoiding them?) for months--they just put my brain in a bizarre place I'm not sure it should be--yet I crave.
I have been searching for a place to post these ideas I've been having: no place is perfect, but I settled on here, for sanity's, (and insanity's) sake. Well, psychological examination is part of the subject here, even if mind alteration in pill form is not always the subject.
Death so close makes you examine your surroundings in detail.
What sort of scares me about myself is my decreasing concern with how people view me. Once, that was something I aspired to, but probably did not accomplish to the level I have now. Sure, I was punk before, but believe me, my punk self from the 80's might actually be shocked with how little I care about how I look on the outside now. That was all window-dressing, then, in comparison.
First, so many people whose opinion I cared about have left. Or are quite far away. And some? Who made me feel oppressed? Sometimes so willing to find negativity, it almost doesn't matter, the judgment. And, well, I have recently come to the conclusion that their love actually is unconditional, and they will make all my excuses for me. The rest? Who cares? (For real.) At home, I really have quit pretending. What is the point? I'm not going to fake anything anymore. It's time for other people to see who I am, and if they don't like it, it's time for them to make some attempt to look at my vision instead, because perhaps it does have something to it. You aren't interested? Well, guess what--neither am I--in yours. I could go into explicit, gory detail here, but I'm not that kind.
You want to be a mindless animal, sleeping, feeding, making bank, rubbing a big, inert belly, entertaining yourself with other's failures, feeling superior--doing what Ulysses talks about in Tennyson's poem--hey, go for it. This won't fill up my brainwaves too often. If something else is going on--time to let it out. Time is being marked.
Ok-- I need to stop being so judgmental...i just know how I need to live. This is not me.
So, Really, what I intended to write about here was this documentary I watched on classic movies--this professor, Slavoj Zizek--an eccentric, strange guy, with a somewhat communistic, Freudian perspective on movies--I'm not sure I agree with what he says, but he sure made me think.
He is a slovenly, grey-bearded, portly and unkempt Slovenian--ha--the classic left-wing, weirdo professor. He could be in that SNL skit about the professorial "lovahs". There are criticisms of him everywhere--claims he dissuades students from submitting their boring papers to him, yada,yada...
His basic premise is that there are a number of classic movies (good movies) that reveal ideological messages that are for all practical purposes, subliminal... Hitchcock, Kubrick, The Godfather, Tarkovski, various war movies (from around the world), Bergman, Classic Horror movies, ...well, he and I agree on what makes an influential movie.
So I want to discuss his ideas, and my responses. I wonder why his most famous documentaries are called "Pervert's Guide"--does it really fit, or is it hype to get people to watch?? I certainly don't always agree with his positions, but he gives something to argue about, as opposed to many modern lame intellectuals . He is interesting, especially, on the subject of sex and fantasy--it certainly makes one think. He uses famous films to illustrate his ideas. For example, Eyes Wide Shut, Kubrick's last, he says is used to show how a person's fantasies are formed, are artificial, made by, among other things: films and the media... There is some truth to that, and not in the most obvious way--oooh, in the 30's men liked a girl with curves, like Mae, now, you need a skinny thing with unrealistic breasts... no, that's too easy for Zizek. He's digging underneath at what you really want. which is--well, the possibilities are endless, but should we really entertain them all? Is it safe? See, this is how the prof operates--makes an interesting observation, but pulls back from any actual position other than to layer on the Freud and Marx.
So, should I be braver? What is my point of view on the role of fantasy in our lives? All work and no fantasies makes Jack a bore. Kubrick's answer seems to be safe regulation--let it out to a trusted partner--it will make you both stronger. That's easy enough to agree with..what if it doesn't work? What if your fantasies don't jive, it makes you think the other guy is weird, gross, disgusting?? Ruins your appetite so to speak. Or the other's. What if you are afraid of your own fantasies--can't even evoke them properly? I suppose one should try anyway. But, what if you just know? Maybe you should find another safe outlet. Rather than die inside.
One thing I WANT to object to, is his take on Hitchcock's Vertigo, that some men wish to take their fantasy so far, they are practically ready to make it from whole cloth--a dead fantasy girl who never existed in the first place, portrayed by a floozie willing to subjugate herself for the whole enterprise, for some fantasized, romanticized, ideal of "love". Wow. I never (consciously) looked at that movie that way, but now it is very hard to unring that bell. White Bears in my field of vision. Now I'm almost afraid to show it to kids: even with a PG rating, it seems awfully lurid. This is what the average healthy American man really wants?? He has a similar take on Tarkovski's Solaris--focusing mainly on the dead wife brought to life in his desires..for unseemly, dark reasons. If that is what those movies are saying, I disagree with their cynicism. I think this is a danger to be aware of--a path some may tread--, not a conclusive meaning to what is in the bottom of the well of "love".
I was pretty interested in his pointing out the origins of the ANDRE THE GIANT/ OBEY graffiti-cum-brand name as originating in a lesser known John Carpenter film called They Live--I agree it is a commentary and criticism of capitalism. He says Titanic has a similar economic message--subverting social order by romances between characters of differing social classes, like some Chaplin movies--but I don't know if I want to endorse his idea that in most seriously "romantic' films (like Titanic), true love is always set up for failure--short lived--marked by one lover's ultimate sacrifice-frozen on the ocean in a profoundly metaphorical message--as if love must be perennially frozen in this fashion to be "eternal". A sacrifice to the Big Other (explained below). I don't like Titanic enough to give it that level of profundity.
Yeah, Zizek introduced me to an idea I hadn't heard of: something known as "the big Other", which is not quite the same as Sartre's use of "the Other" . It is especially interesting in terms of Soviet thinking, and their war movies. The idea is that in a supposedly atheistic society, God, Бог, is replaced by some common -cause, big "Other', that drives society towards a greater good, which creates, among other things, a conformist idea of the ideal citizen-- таваришь!! A social order controlled by the people that speaks to their common endeavors of creating a great society---a competitor with the capitalist world, intellectually superior, disciplined, self-sacrificing, has an invisible "other' that is more or less worshipped in lieu of God. Zizek did not invent this idea, but points out how it is used, to great effect, in Soviet era war movies where the hero is reunited with his girl, once he's defeated the Russians' favorite enemy (and ours)--Hitler--, by smarts and native intelligence, only in the warm and sanctioning presence of Joseph Stalin.
Zizek has this rather ugly notion that most of us spend a lifetime avoiding our true sexual, romantic, and fantastical needs in favor of those manufactured for us from outside ourselves, by the state, our family history, the media. He seems to focus on our ability to be tricked, rather than celebrating the strength of individuals who ignore all this structure, and love anyway. He makes a really good point about pornography--how it really avoids our real desires in it's stupidity and crudeness. Pizza Boy...who the hell wants the pizza boy?
I doubt he thinks he is a victim of this thinking himself. But, I did have an opportunity to think about all this in a new way, thanks to him. Is it really perverted?
This is stupid, but I just tried to google "pervert" and it wouldn't let me...wha??
August 12: Where is my mind? Where is my mind? Where???
Just getting' through, putting my school stuff in order, keeping my mind off??? Not sure what...what I really want to think about.
August 15: I just remembered something ridiculous from this Slavoj Zizek documentary. There's this scene where he's working in his garden, watering plants and so forth, and he goes on this rant about how much he dislikes flowers (even though he has some in his garden) because they are so lurid, spraying their sexuality and spores all over the world. Poser.
August 17: I rarely fall in love with objects--they have to have some psychic/spiritual meaning for that to happen. But I have. It's a tiny pair of my deceased sister's earrings. I cannot bring myself to take them off. they are so small they look like what a girl child would wear, so of course they remind me of her for that reason. They are essentially tiny rhinestone (I think) studs, but in unusual colors. The small pale blue one goes directly in my pierced earhole, then there is this antiqued, half inch chain, like a medieval link, from which is hung four small amber-colored stones in a flower/cross formation. The whole thing has a sort of medieval appearance to me, somehow. Extremely subtle, however.
There is something intensely personal and comforting about sticking something through your skin--they are earrings for pierced ears--that your dead loved one also stuck through her skin. Like I can still feel her life. I plan to wear them for 40 days continually.
August 24: Now that my son's away, I have begun the process of slowly, by pains-taking increments, uncoupling myself for my own sanity. I'm pretty sure my actions have already been perceived as "mysterious "--que sera. Life is change or it dies.
September 29: You know, I thought I was handling my sister's death fairly well--often I speak of her in the present tense and must correct myself when I realize she is no longer here, available to us. Then this week, I got some weird personal problems...I keep imagining (I hope I'm imagining...) that I have serious health problems. It doesn't help that next week I'm overbooked with a ridiculous number of doctor's appointments--I am so sick of them.
She was younger than me. But then, I never have taken all those pills.
Ok, so, the first thing is, I go to get blood work done, for my appointment next week--usually, I'm behind or unconcerned--I'm invincible, right? Ageless!? hah. Well, the nice girl blew out my right arm vein, I should have known when I saw blood--most nurses tell me what easy, prominent veins I have--it looked horrible, like I was a 5 year junkie--all red and purple, then worse, that yellow-green gangrene color on the 2nd day--where you can sort of imagine your own skin? Dead. Uck. It was like a bad omen, and I was already nervous about messing up my "12-hour fast draw" by drinking a glass of wine at 9pm. (Later: BTW, this apparently had 0 effect on my blood work outcome--which came back all normal/healthy.)
Which reminds me of a second stupid idea I have about myself...
So, I think, if some Renaissance painter was to ever think any part of me was worthy of painting, of preserving for the ages, I don't think it would be obvious choices for a female subject--not my eyes or breasts or hair. It would have to be--the insides of my forearms--that delicate skin. It's kind of like porcelain, or veined marble--it fascinates me sometimes in my more dreamlike states. So stupid..
Somehow, they are more beautiful, all cream, peach and rose, even better as I age, my only flawless bare skin, with those lovely rivers of blue-green and purple veins---sure would be a shame to ever scar them.
ok, then Saturday--during band practice--but, this just sometimes happens. Reaching for an extreme note while I'm singing (not necessarily a high note, but one that pulls my guts out), I start to feel a little faint--like I might pass out. But the moment is fleeting, over by song's end. But, an hour later, Ken and I are grocery shopping at Publix, and I grab his arm---"I think I'm going to pass out", I say... and that crazy, fuzzy whirl-a-dervish feeling stays with me for like ten minutes--bad enough that I have to go out to the tables put out for people eating lunch and sit there until the shopping trip is over.
I feel, somehow, fragile. Later, I remember this dull pain in my chest, which I had thought was an unburped burp or indigestion or something. And a sharp pain in my temple. Is this all adding up to my stupid heart arrhythmia speeding up??
Sunday night, I was sitting on the floor, playing guitar for hours, but acutely aware of a sharp pain in my side--the broccoli, I thought. But, then the next day, I see masses of red in the toilet---what the HELL?? What is that?? That pain? It's never totally gone...So I start looking up all sorts of medical facts on the internet. Ulcer? Family history. Colon cancer?? Damn, I hate eating.
Luckily, I suddenly remembered I had eaten a lot of beets for lunch.
Paranoia will destroy ya.....
I suppose it means something that my arm vein already looks close to normal again, two days later. That means I'm healthy, right?
October 5: Okay, took sis's earrings off.
October 8: I have been spending an inordinate amount of time at the doctor's lately, inordinate for someone who is apparently perfectly healthy, except for a little mildly high blood pressure and a slight heart arrhythmia that occasionally makes me pass out. It brings me back to this smoking research topic. BTW, all my docs say I'm fine.
See, I got all this blood work done--a regular thing they do to you now: check cholesterol, electrolytes, red and white blood cells, CO2 and salt levels, yadda-di-da. All this detail, then they put in your BMI--but guess what? The way they calculate that is exactly like the dumb internet thingy-- ratio of height to weight--no more advanced. I was unhappy with mine, but the thing is, shouldn't they consider more factors than that? For example, (for women) how large your breasts are, how much muscle density you have, bone density, your waist size. Mine's still like somewhere around 30--which would have given me convulsions at age 30 (my waist was 23 and 24 then) but I'm pretty ok with it at my age--I'm still in the small end on men's pants--women's I'm not going to even discuss, ridiculous as the fashion industry has driven that these days. (When I was a teenager, there was no such thing as sizes 0, 1 and 2; 3-4 was the smallest, which I sometimes wore.) According to this chart, the low end of weight for my height should be--get this--101 lbs. What??!! Even when I was in high school, with hardly any body fat, and a multi-sport athlete I didn't weigh that. I was never considered by anyone overweight. (Then, that is!) The last time I weighed @ 100 was probably8th- 9th grade--of course I was pretty muscular.
Well, of course, the media wants us to believe that 8th-9th grade pre-pubescent body type (I was definitely pre-pubescent then--no breasts whatsoever, and all the other stuff) is some sort of ideal. Yuck. That Idea drives me nuts.
So my thinking is, just like the insurance charts--they want to be able to say as many people as possible are overweight, to drive their agenda for costs, who to blame for unhealthy lifestyle, to avoid some kinds of insurance payouts, to manipulate the outcomes they want for research.
So this fortifies my skepticism about the smoking research, which seems to be similarly undifferential in their labeling of subjects: distinguishing smokers, non-smokers, and ex-smokers, but not much else, like how many cigarettes or how often does the subject smoke? At least that's what the article I read said. I don't trust anyone on this subject, frankly.
October 15: Well, my worries were actually feeling real vibrations, unfortunately. Why can't it be easier to fix our friends' brains, help them out in a less agonizing way? I never know how far to go in--and my nature is to go in tooooo far. I feel like all I can do is listen, and that sometimes feels so useless. I've had too much experience with this to ever imagine it will all be perfect someday. Will a girl solve it?? No, but temporarily it will be nice. Until the first confrontation comes. Oi.
I am in such a bad place with this subject right now. The state of the health care industries in America-- ugh--how helpful are they, really, and how much of their pharmacological advice is cost driven? And for this particular topic...the worst, because it can be such a persistent, undefinable, unfixed problem. It is why--for myself and my minor problems, anyway, I wouldn't want to go the pharmaceutical route--I don't think I'm bad enough to make the hideous tradeoff. But, what do I really know about all this?
- various kids at school --some who didn't seem too great on meds in a lot of different ways--were there others I didn't know because it actually helped so much?
- Tina. Worse case scenario--too much, too unregulated, very frustrating. I don't ever want to feel that incapable of help again.
- Eric's suicide--was he on any medication? Dunno.
- Eric's dad's suicide--same question, same answer.
- Mary's brother? She says he probably was self medicating, and her personal experiences with anti-depressants were pretty bad.
- Situational Depression? Divorces, etc?
- DFWallace and his catalogue of psycho-pharmaceudicals and other fun drugs(( --ended in suicide, and he liked drugs!
- ADD and ADHD--we avoided using meds and everything worked out fine.
- Mice elf--nope to dope.
- Someone else in my family--claims anti-anxiety meds have been world-changing, positive experience. However, there are some pretty obvious side effects to me
- another more distant, non-blood relative who used meds both for mania and depression, temporarily, and got better--not sure if they are continuing to to take the medication for maintenance
I am actively looking for someone who actually had a positive outcome with antidepressants/anti-anxiety meds. I think talk therapy could possibly be good, but where to find a good one? I've only had terrible, negative and useless even.
October 23: Shoot--turns out something is wrong with my heart. Bottom part isn't contracting right, or something--it's enlarged? What does that mean? I have to go to the cardiologist again((. It probably relates to my early high blood pressure (I was 36 when it started), and from what I'm reading on the Internet could be genetic, which seems highly likely considering Katie has the same arrhythmia. Could it possibly be from alcohol? I don't think I drink that much, but I have been drinking more this past year, especially this past six months.
What really worries me is I think maybe it was that New Years' Night, when I hit my head, passed out, that did some damage to my heart. It certainly felt like I died and came back--that scary and horrible.
October 28: D-day tomorrow. Guess I'll find out the worst. I keep feeling this pinch, left-center of my chest, right beneath the underwire of my bra. I wish I was imagining it, but I don't think I am.
Kinda weird, to have such an exact idea of how you'll most likely die. Maybe it will still take twenty years. Of course, it could be that a double-decker bus will crash into me tomorrow.
I watched this movie, about a depressed guy, played by Phillip Seymour Hoffman, (who himself recently died from an overdose of a mix of heroin and anti-depressants). It is called Synecdoche, New York, a play on words for the literature term and the setting, which is probably Schenectady, New York. He's an artist, who like most of us, is never really sure if the art he's doing has any real value. He also has a multi-layered and complicated, troubled love life, like most of us thinking, modern folks.
The guy in the movie, Caton, early in his life, thinks he's always dying, or has various chronic illnesses, is obsessed with death. His last name is taken from a mental disorder where one thinks he is already dead, cotard? Something like that. Later, when he really is closer to death, he seems less concerned about it. I think this movie is a lot like JPS's Nausea: I think it seems to have a very bleak message about the seeming emptiness of life, but there are small answers in the course of a life: Some days you're gonna miss me.... I hope someone's gonna miss me some days.
Well, about death, how to die, when to do it, what kind will you get? I've actually thought about --would it be better to die old or young, and a part of me says, the worst possible death might be being so old, so broken down that nothing works, you become the world's chore, and all the people who cared about you are gone or so busy they don't have time for a human buried in failing plumbing. So, dying before you get to that stage might not be the worst thing to happen, since we all gotta go, you know. Heart stuff may be an instant (or several instances) of intense agony, but that's gotta be better than the slow death of some cancers, where they keep killing your cells, ripping out your hair, stealing the protective fat off your body and cutting out your bad parts. While you lie in bed, bored to tears with your nauseous self.
I just want to have some more interesting things happen before I go, that's all. Maybe it won't mean anything to anyone but me, but maybe not? Who knows, can't live in someone else's head. I just don't want to have a dead life before I die--right? I might be overdramatizing this whole thing, anyway.
October 29: The Verdict: My heart is slightly damaged, the ventricular walls thickened-- something called Left Ventricular Hypertrophy. Probably due to my high blood pressure, which, apparently, has lately become unmanaged. Solvable by adjusting my BP meds, doing away with the diuretic which may be leading to my dizziness and episodes of unconsciousness. This all makes logical sense to me, so I'm probably not going to die tomorrow. Maybe next year.
But then, stupidly, when I get home, I see my morning blood pressure pill, sitting on the counter, biting its thumb at me, after I swore up and down to several people that I remembered to take it. Of all days to forget--it's like I have a subconscious death wish, and too much going on. And my Blood pressure was horrible in the dr's office--the worst was 170 over 90+. They took it FIVE!! times. Dropped twenty points when I stood up, which made my new cardiologist say--you're dehydrated--new meds. Ok--just hope you know what you're talking about.
She didn't bat an eye, my new (foreign) doc, when I told her how I'd been drinking more--just asked, "Red, or White?" I said, red of course, I'm Italian. I think she was fishing for a recommendation. Next time I'll tell her--anything with the Sangiovese grape. I go back in 3 weeks, anyway. Oh, yeah, my EKG of my heart was perfect, rhythmic, like a true musician.
November 22: Semi-good news. Cardiologist backed me off the heavier meds, cut my losartan from 50 mgs to 25. My blood pressure was 100/70..super low for me. Also my pulse rate is back to normal, 73 bpm as opposed to 107, which apparently it was two weeks ago, even though she didn't tell me this! Made me promise to slow up on the wine. Gave me the all-clear for a year. I feel better, but felt a little tense this morning before I started cooking for Thanksgiving.
Dec 4: Been kind of repeat listening to an old Russian song, title translates "Green-eyed Taxi". The lyrics ask the taxi to take the singer, slowly,slowly to the place where he will always be happy. Пожалуйста. That's what I want too, but is that even possible? Even a little?
Dec 9: Looking around, I'm realizing, it's not just me looking for things worthy of my attention, that will keep me sane. I see most of my friends doing the same--perhaps with slightly different targets.
Dec 10: Lost another troubled one at school. I wish she had brought herself to talk to me first like I had offered, before she did this off the chart thing. Hope she'll be ok.
128/66---purty good blood.
I want to talk about something real. The stereotype, or perhaps the standardized accepted image of "true love". First--I believe in the power of love--I believe it exists. I believe in a concept of pure love, perfect love--higher love, if you will. It is something I feel in my power to experience, and I fully contend I will, some day. I just don't think it looks anything like what the accepted image is. I correlate this to the way my idea of God (and the devil) doesn't quite match up with the more conventional images: the black/white morality, the benevolent old man in the sky thing. God is way more complicated than that, as is morality, and so is love. I don't think anyone wants to acknowledge how much the traditional concept of marriage--the perennial "soul match" --we should spend every moment in a psychic embrace--doesn't quite work: maybe for a rare few. OK, there's the folks who love and are satisfied with each other's comfort--lucky them--I bring back my old Kurt Cobain saw: "Wish I was like you: easily amused."That just makes me feel restless. And then there's those wildcat matches, like Burton/Taylor. And the people who you look in the eye and say--there is something there and always will be.
I think the "higher" concept of love has more to do with letting your idolatrized love actually express any and everything he/she may need to to become the best version of themselves--perhaps to your own personal detriment. And vice versa. I mean, maybe there is some crazy shit one really feels like they need to do before he/she dies--but you don't want to follow. Can you spare them the time, the danger ,the peril to your relationship, to do it? I mean, do you actually have to be holding someone's hand, every motherfucking second of the day, to consider yourself in love? Does there have to be nightly, sweaty spooning, a predetermined amount of sex, a height of orgasm that measures love? I picture it as something else.
Please don't ask me what it is. I don't know. I just have a feeling it is there. Somewhere, Небо небо небо. I can feel a contact that doesn't involve any of this.
It is bucking the conditioning, the liking of, my "inescapable social destiny" (see Huxley above/\).
Dec 25: I worried about this way too much, and woke up with my heart pounding over nothing. Shows how much the paranoia is all in your head.... everything's good at home, and I got to do, well, the majority of what I want to do, so I will continue to push for even more. This IS what life is for. I conquer another city...movies I can always see from home.
No one, no people, none of my good friends, were harmed, making this movie. I did get mistaken for a prostitute, but that just shows how fucked up the surface world is. I am so happy that I carried through. What did happen was wise, and will set a precedent for more.
Dec 26: Traveling alone sure is good for my soul. I had a great time--fixed a lot of my bad moods and restlessness for a bit. Need to write a song though, about my harrowing drive on L.A. streets. Not the freeway--that was a piece of cake, alone.
Dec 30: So, I've been trying to work on genealogy again, this time my dad's side, which is always a dead end officially ending in my hometown at the turn of the century, with my great-grandfather Frank Lavick. Family rumor says they trace back to Ohio, possibly Pittsburgh or Sharpsburg, Pennsylvania with butchering, then glass-blowing a family trade coming from an Alsatian heritage. Something about them acquiring land and stock in some Smelting works, then losing it all in Muncie, Indiana. All this Ohio/Penn/Indiana stuff, though comes from my delusional, alcoholic uncle who was always looking for lost fortunes in the family, possibly to equal his wife's family fortune, so I'm not sure. I'm finding much more evidence that the Lavick last name is of some sort of Eastern European origin: Czech or Ukrainian, possibly even Russian. I've only found one Lavick who doesn't seem related? Who claims German heritage. Czech (and something labeled Bohemia?) seems most likely.
I recently did a search to see if there are Lavicks (Лавик) on VK, and there are, 100s of them, ranging in locations from Bellarus to Moscow... I definitely found one Census record that is all the correct family members, misspelled as Lavich. And another as Lavicks. Also, there are a number of entries spelled Hlavick, Hlavach (and variations thereof) that makes me think, if we have Eastern European origins perhaps our name once began with an Х. Another thing to investigate: saw this name: Lvovich! I had a student whose last name was Lvov Лвов--never occurred to me to add -ich. (son of--patronymic) That would be unpronouncable for most Americans, and likely for change to remove the first V sound..
But this was the most shocking thing I found tonight when I googled my great-grandfather's name, this story from our hometown newspaper, from 1911:
QUINLAN, JOHN/Source: Alton Evening Telegraph, June 14, 1911
Fearing Surgery, Young Man Kills Self
Fearing to undergo a surgical operation, John Quinlan, a former bookkeeper, killed himself at the home of his brother-in-law, Frank Lavick, 916 east Fourth street, about 4:40 o'clock Tuesday afternoon. Quinlan shot himself in the right temple and died a few minutes later before a surgeon could reach him. He had used a 32-calibre revolver with a long barrell. He had been threatening for a week to kill himself, but no attention was paid to his threats. About a year ago he came to Alton to visit his sister and remained. He had been working at El Paso, Tex., as a clerk. He made his home with his sister all the time he was here. According to members of the family, he had planned to go to St. Louis in a few days to undergo an operation for some intestinal trouble, and he had brooded over the approaching operation so long he decided to kill himself. The deceased is a brother of Rev. Fr. Quinlan, who came here four years ago to attend the funeral of a child of Mr. and Mrs. Lavick and while here to took sick and died in the same house. The time of the funeral of the young man is not set. He leaves his parents in Ohio, and his mother is very ill. He has a brother in New Mexico. Arrangements for the funeral will be held up until the father arrives. Coroner Streeper held an inquest this afternoon.
So I sent this article to my parents. They have the Rev's barber cup as a tchotchke in our downstairs bathroom--his name was Alexis. Turns out there were two priests in that branch of the family: Alexis nee-Jeremiah, who my father and his father was probably named for, and an older brother named William. My dad confirms not only was this his great-grandfather's address (but oddly one street off, but we think the names of the numbered streets were changed in our hometown at one point.) Not only is it the same house, but it was the one my dad grew up in, across from St. Joseph's hospital, where I was born, where my grandmother ran the pediatric unit, where I worked as a switchboard operator in high school. Now my mother tells me today, in addition, my Irish maternal great grandmother, that I called Manaw--also tried, (unsuccessfully) to kill herself with a gun when she found out she had heart disease--she divorced young, and worked for years at the Winchester factory in town, so much violence in my family!! Crazy... Mom said the house was quite large, and at different times many people lived there at once, several generations, it seems. so this gives much more to investigate. And think about.
Jan 30, 2015:
Sometimes I think I am making myself unhappy by thinking, like Alice, of six impossible things before breakfast. Always want what I don't have, want to be where I can't be, be with people I cannot be with, feel some sensation, have some experience I can't, shouldn't...but here's the conundrum--thinking about it makes me feel happy. High. Just a small example--if 3-4 years ago I could play guitar like I can now, or know the Russian I know, I'd be in ecstasy. But now it's just, meh. Need more. Stupid--durak. But imagining some new challenge--ok, baby, let's go.
The internet sux as a replacement.
Overall--a bad day. If you know Night Watch, you will understand. I'm Sveta, with that huge black vortex over my head, because my world has been shattered: by water. Some durak kid killed my computer by dumping water on it, accidentally. I should not be in the vicinity of this child with ....well. I told you before, the fates, the gods truly hate me, and I think I should tell them to go cut off one of their heads and stick it somewhere.
So now I can only play computers by the grace of others--which truly offends my sense of independence enough to make me aggressive. In think I'm gonna go commit crimes with 12 people of various sizes ages races to even the score.
Feb 4? Really? No, it's the 5th.. how stupid I am without a computer. But I got it back, and I'm still feeling badness, so maybe it's something else. The usual. The computer's okay, didn't lose anything, got a new logic board relatively cheap--so now after I had adjusted my mind for a week to life without my old stuff, and that I'd have to redo it with the challenge of improving it--and now here it all is back again in all its mediocre glory. Tempting me to be lazy. Well, I need a new challenge, obviously.
Feb 12: This morning as I was in bed alone, deciding whether or no to stay in my lovely dream state or get up, this story wormed its way into my ear--it was an NPR interview, bleeding in from my radio alarm that never really is guaranteed to wake me...luckily I have a fairly strong internal body alarm.
The interview was of an outsider writer I have been hearing about on my periphery--William T. Vollman. This interview, having submerged in my brain like frozen meat beginning to stew and boil--finally woke me up in two ways. I had to look him up because of these amazing ideas and connections. Turns out we are contemporaries--both children of the summer of 1959. (That makes us conceived in the witching time of the year: October.)
So, the interviewer was asking him about his methods for writing--it seems he's rather renowned for doing strange and dangerous things to fuel his writing: imbedded himself in the 80s with the mujahideen , smoked crack with call girls in California, stayed alone for two weeks at the North Pole, lived in radioactive places like Chernobyl and That city in Japan that go hit by a Tsunami? Fukushima. In fact, he has been EVERYWHERE! He cross-dresses to experience true femininity as a state of mind. He seems obsessed with trying to understand the female mind--a main drive, it seems, that fueled his "journalistic" studies of prostitutes, sex workers, call girls--he has written thousands of pages on this subject, and says he considers this a most saintly occupation--he is not an adherent of Judeo-Christian ethics, I think. Toulouse Lautrec?
He wrote something about Shostakovich. Other febrile connections--most through my daughter--he went to that weird hippie school that only takes 12 insanely bright people--Deep Springs--where Kate spent time because her boyfriend at the time went there. He has lived in Berkeley, LA, and Sacramento. He is a serious Luddite: doesn't drive, no internet, no cell phone--eschews modern life in a truly strange and inspiring way I don't think I could handle. The FBI has large files on him..once thought he might be the Unabomber.
Ok, so here's what got me out of bed. The interviewer asks him about his abnormal lifestyle, and he says this, (I'm paraphrasing):
He has been studying insects (his first book has insects as characters). He saw this pattern, that, older female ants, after they have gone through their lifecycle--have mated, reproduced, and raised their offspring, sometimes start to adopt a more risky lifestyle--he explains it like, well the hive no longer needs them to survive, they are extraneous to its success, so they go off to do other stuff. More interesting stuff then breeding, etc. He says now that he's in his 50s he feels as they do. (Ignore that he was with the Mujahideen fighting Soviets in 1980 if you want to accept the beauty of this imagery.)
But--that explains it. What I've been itching, straining, planning for. I'm a risk-seeking queen ant. Looking for...?
Feb 25: I know--I splinter attention into a million tiny shards of misdirection. It's part of the creative process for me. Sorry it distracts when one needs OCD focus and no distractions.
Mar 11: Oh, this is so messed up. When I was a kid, I had this Grimm's Fairy Tale that really fucked me up for a long time--made me afraid to sleep, made me look at the world differently--made me think no one was safe--not even my mother. In the story a mother cuts off her stepson's head in a drawer, then chops his body into pieces and serves him as soup to her family. Now I just found out--Bjork made this as a movie. Honestly, I could have only known this recently because that story freaked me out so bad, I began to think it rose out of my own bad imagination. But, it turns out it was real--I found it last year via the internet--no wonder I could never find it. It was called "The Juniper Tree." And that is the name of Bjork's movie. I just found it on VK.
Mar 18: I've been reading about a new book on the drug war by a guy named Johann Hari called Chasing the Scream.. It's one of those paradigm shifting ideas. Now, be aware I didn't read the book myself, just heard a friend describe it, looked at reviews, and watched the author interviewed for about an hour( by another author I like who has interesting ideas to say about our present culture--she's kinda, um, red). The title of the interview, on youtube, is "Does Capitalism Cause Drug Abuse?" It challenges just about every idea our culture believes about drugs and why people abuse them. I also hear this author has been accused of plagiarism on a book he won a prize--the Orwell Prize, and had to give it back. It's an odd case of plagiarism, where he used quotes attributed to his interviewee from other sources. So now..what to think?
Some of his ideas just make common sense, some are rather pat. The "capitalism" in part has to do with how drugs got criminalized in the first place: after Prohibition failed, apparently its architect shifted his focus to marijuana, which he had once declared harmless. Now it was the devil--reefer madness made you violent, over-sexed, etc. Then heroin and cocaine got thrown in, too. All were probably outsider problems then, small numbers. And in outlier communities--I'm thinking of the scene in The Godfather when one of the heads of the five families says, "Keep it in the colored neighborhoods--they're already animals," or some similar racist nonsense. There's the story of how Billy Holiday was treated in her last days (chained to her hospital bed, in the throes of heart disease), contrasted to Judy Garland, both with the same addiction.
The critique of early drug -behavioral experimentation/observation on rats is more compelling : Hari criticizes the scientific methodology of using bored, caged rats --implying that of course, with nothing else to do in their cages, they used till they died. He discusses a 2nd experiment, with rats who live in rat Paradise--full of beautiful rat environment, lots of food, other rats to socialize with and have sex with--these rats rarely touch the heroin laced water in their experiment. So Hari draws an interesting conclusion--it's the cage we're in that causes the addiction. But there had to be other experiments?? Human subjects?
Being bored, lonely, without anything to look forward to, in pain. This is what makes an addict. This is where the connection to capitalism comes in. Because a society that heavily emphasizes consumerism , to the point where we don't just possess, but identify ourselves by what we own, becomes our bad, ironically empty cage. We are caught in a web of overwork-driven, without good social connectors, the things we need for humane living. To relax and be ourselves--and I always have to throw in--sing!
Hah! Now Leo sends me some interesting news: apparently our writer dude is not as neutral as he claims, and according to some other information, had a bit of a drug history himself, and also a junkie boyfriend. Well that turns the page some.
But I still agree our cold culture fuels abuse.
We are starting a writing group: 4 of us.
Mar 20: I meant to add this idea earlier: it's one the interviewer, Naomi Klein, brought up in response to the capitalism/addiction connection. HER latest book is more about climate change, but she sees the similar illness in our culture of becoming "addicted" to non-drug things. Like climate control in our personal environment. Air-conditioning, and heating, and we are all so finicky to keep the dials on 70-71-72-73-74-75-76-77, depending on your personal preference which you can fight about with your fellow captives. Odd, I just remembered the used car I just acquired from my Father-in-law has a "climate control system" that works sorta differently than any of my old cars. On it, rather than putting the air conditioner or heater on high or low or medium you set a temperature you like, and the car automatically adjusts --depending on the outside air temp. That seems a little sick, somehow.
So, one of Naomi's repeating ideas is that we all need to return to the living standards of the 1970's--hey, not so caveman like, but apparently she gets destroyed regularly for submitting this idea. I think it's a great idea, and I'm trying to dredge up memories of the 70's to consider the difference. Definitely air-conditioning was not universal--the odd large store might have it, maybe one in five houses.
I remember a neighbor having A.C. , and not liking the sterile feeling. When my family moved into a bigger house with central A.C., and, I remember, in June, begging my mother to leave the windows open--just for a bit more! I distinctly remember lots of fans running in the summertime, and my favorite open windows. Kids played outside!! Most of the mothers in our neighborhood would actually lock the doors to keep us from running in and out---try doing that now you get arrested for child neglect.
Two cars per family was a luxury very few had, or the second one might be some old beater, super cheap, or something fun, but unreliable, like the white Dodge convertible with blue tuck 'n' roll, we had. One major TV in the house-everyone watched together and agreed on the shows. Of which there were only 3 at a time. Which means there were 3 channels , not 500. And much more regular showings, with regular times of year for re-runs, mostly two seasons of reruns per year, during the times the weather was nice. Which meant less people were David Foster Wallace's eyeball mutants, transformed by the TV, but were outside, socializing or something. Really there was only 2-3 hours of decent programming everyday, and nobody watched everything, everyday like people do now.
There was also this famous thing called "the test pattern". Because TV stations had ending hours, maybe 10-11pm during the week, possibly midnight on the weekend for the "late movie". Right before the test pattern, the station played the national anthem--it was a big deal to be a kid and stay up for the Nat'l Anthem. (In the mid eighties/nineties those hours started to be filled up with shopping shows--precursor to the HSN--wow, that's where it all started. Once we made fun of the insomniacs that stayed up to watch this crap.)
Man, I so think Naomi has the right idea. Xaxa--it also works with my LRC idea, maybe, sorta, kinda. in that direction. What with all this retro-nostalgia craze maybe the time has come.
March 25: Hoo-boy, another one of those reads that make you question the entire matrix of modern ideas of what's healthy. This time it's about weight and questions the common wisdom that Thinner is always better.
http://www.slate.com/articles/health_and_science/medical_examiner/2015/03/diets_do_not_work_the_thin_evidence_that_losing_weight_makes_you_healthier.2.html
April 5: Hah,hah..can you imagine waking up tomorrow and all the major news outlets are saying the same thing. "Welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, to 1971." And your computer suddenly doesn't work--nor your I-phone. Chaos ensues.
April 9: just getting by--somehow. Is this all there is?
April 18: No. Not another. I am so sorry Erich. I will watch something Lynch for you tonight.
April 28: I haven't written here in a long time. I should: I'm going through something. Instead I've been distracting myself with existential writing and waiting for some decent dreams so I can pretend my life still has things to look forward to. Art. I need to allow some art in to fill up my empty soul like ol' Roquentin.
May 30: Are my words and thoughts so inflammatory that I need censoring? Sure feels that way from several directions.
June 3: Ah, well easy to get over.
I'm feeling very...off. I have this odd feeling of both finally being what I want, and having a lack of means of expression. Or, maybe, audience--I do need an audience, whether it's just friends, family or the world. Ok--I have media--music, guitar, vocals, writing, painting, art, movie ideas... but who for?
Well.. maybe I actually learned this from the Night Watch--energy sources, energy transfers. My reaction to another literally has an effect--someone cannot influence my behavior if I do not transfer the energy to them. Every second, every contact, has this potential of effect, continuation. Or dissipation. Interesting. I do not need to be stuck.
I wish the sound on Skype was more accurate, less warped by time and space so you could actually play, sing, etc with someone. Technology--always one step off of reality.
June 24: Amazing how life is constant change--never letting me be comfortable and settle in one spot. I'm reeking havoc on parts of my life with emptiness stretching ahead of me..but still I feel more me. And me? I'm a piece of work, boy--not sure if it's a good piece. I seem to be increasingly less likable, and I also seem to be allowing myself to be bored more sincerely with the majority of humanity--mostly, I think, the people who pretend everything. Or hide behind what's easy. Or just plain stuck somewhere. And lacking passion.
July 3: I've been having this uncomfortable sensation of having too many want me for something, and of course I cannot deliver. I also think most of these wouldn't know what to do with me if they had me.
July 11: One who always makes me feel better. More myself. So odd. Grateful for the existence.
Свобода.
July 16: I'm not sure why, but FaceBook makes me sad. I hate being on there for any length of time. Even the name is so absurd. Too bad it's the only reliable, fast way for me to have contact with some people who are important to me. VK--I can be alone, watch movies, listen to music. But, FB makes me feel simultaneously full of despair, overstimulation, and uselessness. I feel like bugs are crawling all over me.
Aug 13: no. no -no,no, na -na no-no. Nope, I got nothin to look forward to. School-Puh. Music is dead inside my chest. Why? who knows--won't revive. Not soon. Don't care about hearing anything--so checking out other venues. No one gets me, or if they do--it's too scary to dig through. I just read that left-handed people have a higher percentage of crazy. Not surprised.
I actually just spent the last hour, at 10pm!! revising my Syllabi. 3 of them--two more to add dammit. Good god -well, I do, have to live through, the next few.
Aug 18: It has just come to my own attention that much of my problem of late--depression, boredom, ennui, has to do with my relationship with art and audience. I'm losing my passion because I don't feel an audience. Or, I am, in some cases, imagining audience reactions that are probably not true. Or perhaps I'm even dismissive of positive reactions because they make me feel less connected rather than more. Plus, afterwards, life just goes on--there was no seismic change, in my life, audience's life (thank god: that could be scary and intrusive).
I think I began sorting this out by seeing that David Foster Wallace movie done by Jason Segel and Jesse Eisenberg. DFW (his name--too long!) articulates much of the conflict and pressures I feel about anything creative; writing, making music, writing music, singing. It's weird but just about the only art outlet I have that rarely makes me feel conflict is visual arts: that is, painting, drawing. Maybe because I tend to go into those projects solely for my own enjoyment and don't expect much feedback. I know more when I love my finished project.
All the rest, the "audience" sits there, like those great big eyeballs in a chair in one of Infinite Jest's demented movies.
I really do have the spur to be like Percy Shelley's Skylark, the pure, unadulterated artist without conscious consideration for who is listening. Maybe that bottom line purity is my problem. It is also what Stanislavski is feeling around for, I think, for actors.
Maybe my fixation on other people's expectations is my problem. Who needs to know I can do this? It is painfully obvious to me that the people I live with are disinterested (unless I am portraying them, which, thank you very much, at this moment I choose not to do). Katie seems a more obvious collaborator for sharing, but I think we have some sort of unspoken agreement that this may not be the best idea. Maybe too icky, too incestuous--we are too traditional to break apart that set of nested boxes.
The small amount of attention I've got singing has left me fairly dismissive of praise. Someone would have to say just the right thing to make me feel I hit a vein and I would have instinctively felt it too, probably, and so far that hasn't happened. So, I really only have a handful of people whose thoughts and opinions I care about.
So, I stop before I even start.
When I do ever go--it's from a mad rush of inspiration that just excites me, compels me beyond those eyeballs. Lord --here I am, back at Coleridge and Kubla Khan again. But the question is, how to proceed?
In a lot of ways my art life has been a late bloomer, years in slow, sloppy, random development, particularly with music. I've done almost all the artsy things since I acquired consciousness, but hardly in any organized structures. So here's the odd thing--the structures are starting to form, almost like spontaneously, just because I continue to do what I do. So it's making me stop on the edge of a cliff. How big of a jump do I want to make?
So, here's part of the puzzle.
August 21: Wow, this article a friend sent is so interesting--meshes with some of my feelings:
https://lareviewofbooks.org/essay/good-old-wallace
August 24: There goes my retirement. If I panic.
September 7: Day of Birth for my Dochb!! Who I will see in a few months. I want to write and don't know where to put my feelings so this has become my catch-all "что я чуствую" post.....
I feel like everything I do is wrong somehow. I can pick two polarly opposite decisions, and both will be a bad choice, probably. Like, should I slow up being friends with someone, who I only mildly like, whose company I don't always enjoy, even find annoying, simply because I occasionally do enjoy it. Or, contrarywise, should I slow up being friends with someone, who I really like, whose company I enjoy, because it feels like the person is suffering. I don't know if they would suffer anyway: will fading out cause more or less of that? It really does need some delicacy. I think I'm not so very.
If someone is really a loner, and used to entertaining or surviving by themselves, and satisfied doing that, is it really just plain harmful to engage them? Is it selfish to do so? The world seems to judge that loners are losers who need friends, but I'm not at all sure that is true--are all loners full of bitter, resentful feelings? Where's all the books about happy loners? Oh, William Blake, in his backyard chatting away with God. I think they exist.
I'm really bad, sometimes, at judging my own motives when I get in such a snarl--I can see the future exploding a thousand different ways, and most of them bad. So, I think I'll just wait. And be still. See what comes.
September 12: Моя жизнь из ада--
All roads converge to make my stomach hurt, my nerves flayed, my nights restless, my days unending bullshit. Work is absolutely without joy, all eyes out watching, critiquing--difficult to keep my sense of dignity in that atmosphere, especially with rumors of the Inquisition coming to town, and people forcing me to react when I'd rather be still. I'm in a "trust no one"mood, and am particularly wary of a certain someone who has always been my friend who seems to be strategizing to steal my most precious gift, something I completely started and made up myself, the only thing that has given me almost nothing but pleasure for the past five-six years.
Home, band is endless tedium. I am trained to shut down rather than express my point of view. I may be too much for anyone to process.
Also, my 2nd sister seems to be losing it too--another one with no perspective.
From another road I am getting rather tired of being subtly accused of false feelings, sharing whorish, dark motives and exhibiting insensitivity. Because there is volatility I do try to walk more softly, as any harshness in the past has produced more of those stripped nerves for me, which I do not need. ( See, when I feel like this, I kinda imagine somehow something got into my nervous system, and treated my nerves like rubber coated wires, which then are stripped with wire cutters in one smooth motion, ripping off the rubber coating and exposing the raw metallic wire..)
Always with the mixed messages . Oversensitivity? This is why, I can with truth say--I don't know what to say. About, literally, anything. Feels like my allowed point of view is like the old fashioned camera aperture-- closing, like they used to do at the end of movies (and Loony Tunes) , where the picture starts out full screen, but slowly shuts down to one pinpoint in the center of the screen--please don't do this, say this, send this, listen to this, read this, suggest this or that, and I don't want to discuss that anymore --half the time when the other party brought it up? The topics narrow weekly. I guess I will say nothing. Lost, unwanted gifts. Are sad.
Sometimes I feel like I'm being intrusive just by listening to music. Well, fuck that sentiment. Shit, I'm hoping a wall post or two wasn't mistaken--it was not personal in the least--just an interesting cover. Christ, this modern world. Oh, yeah, and I fell and skinned my knee, like a five year old.
So that makes five places where I am being forced to hold in my thoughts. Like Radiohead said, these are all the chicken voices inside my head, and I wish they'd just hatch and sleep.
And then there's Dostoyevski and The Others to keep me company. Моя сома.
September 19: All my tiredness and stress has mellowed into my usual sadness. I suppose that's somewhat better. At least familiar.
September 20: So I decided to treat myself to some unadulterated, mindless fun,--no testing for new languages or reading in Russian! Simpleness--дурак---AKA This is Spinal Tap. Great line from the movie, quite the cutting insult: from an album critic. The cover features the band members in stained glass as saints in some old gothic church (Brilliant parody of rock ego, eh?). Critic says: "The album begs the question, on which day did the Lord make Spinal Tap, and couldn't he have rested on that day, too?" Yeah, that joke makes me feel better.
September 24: Am I feeling better? Well, calmer. More tolerant. Busier. Sleeping. Happier?? нет.
September 30: Was talking (online) to a friend two nights ago. Sometimes--we have these rare beautiful moments where I think we just sync up, with no miscommunication--I get this strange sense that I can say just about anything and it will be taken in just the way I mean it-- no tension, no offense, no judgement, no--we shouldn't be talking about that!! Wow, is that rare in this world. Of course it doesn't last, the mood drops--perhaps once we try to articulate what's inside. Hmmm. How to get around that without screwing up 7 or 8 lives? The soap bubble is fragile. One of the things we often talk about is how boring we find other people to be--that night's topic was "Books Are Better" (Bumper Stickers Should Be Issued). I get it--if you pick the right books, they were born of extremely interesting people--Dostoyevski , Pelevin, Pynchon, DFW, Poe, Shakespeare, Salinger and Bukowski, anyone? Of course, this is a topic that can quite easily degenerate into a boring one--I mean , one might be tempted to say nothing except--"Damn. I agree." What a boring answer.
This particular conversation actually didn't get very far into WHY other people are so fucking boring. The obvious thing is stupidity--but, stupidity? Actually, I don't think that's totally it. I know some pretty intelligent people who I find completely boring--not interested in the deep knowledge they have about, IDK, fractals.
So my friend actually specified--"emotionally boring". Right away this idea took me, but I couldn't digest it fast enough to bring enough to the conversation except to say--hmm, never thought of it exactly like that--this is why I love conversations with this particular friend. So now I'm thinking more about it.For example...see, those nerd brain guys can actually be emotionally boring even if they are smart. I understood that phrase, in the instant.
So who isn't emotionally boring? Well, those writers I mentioned. I think this book I'm about to dive into, by Angela Carter, is not emotionally boring. I like someone who makes me think, but not necessarily "in maths" as Radiohead says. You know, the guy who buzzes like a refrigerator and speaks in maths? ("Karma Police", if you're lost.) Well to be continued...
Oct 1: continued.
How to not be emotionally boring, without plunging into the category of "smearing one's sick ego" as an old friend of mine {who I wrote a song about, sorta--(well, maybe it eventually bled into something else), even though I haven't seen him in maybe 20 years}......aaaaanyway....
"Smearing one's sick ego on canvas" was my old friend's description of why he personally didn't like Vincent Van Gogh's art (he was an antiques/art dealer, so of course he had very refined taste--plus he liked punk! And Camping! Good combo, but he drank too much). I didn't agree with him because I like Van Gogh, but the phrase stayed with me forever, and I understood what he was saying. I'm sure VVG was hardly a jolly night at the pub to live with--imagine trying to deal with him after walking in on him cutting off his ear--I don't think he did it for a girl the way the gossip goes, but I forget why he did it--I read Lust For Life, which is excellent and heartbreaking.
I just read a new theory that says Van Gogh maybe didn't cut off his ear, but that he got a little aggressive with Gaugin, who he lived with, loved, and fought with: that Gaugin cut off his ear lobe with a sword in a fight--that Vincent then made up the whole thing, and about giving it to a prostitute, just to cover for Gaugin, who he didn't want to be prosecuted. Still not boring.
He was an intense dude, (at one point he was a minister in an extremely poor coal mining district in France, and he starved himself by giving his own living expenses to his poor parishioners--Quite Christlike and ridiculous). I know I couldn't handle a daily relationship with him--maybe I myself could only feel him through reading about his life, looking at his art. That one white iris hits me in a vulnerable spot.
So there is such a thing as too much emotion, mania--my sister. But I'm equally uncomfortable with the opposite--the super placid, sunny-ish people who have this tiny percolation of optimism always running in their blood, ignoring the big uglies. I've talked about this before here--it's even the inspiration of this thread's name: those who even resort to medicating themselves to this state. Some of these folks just naturally have duck feathers for nerves--it all just rolls off them into the same gentle and comforting response, "oh that's okay honey, I'll help you with that..." I have another friend like that--pretty intelligent with interesting taste, but no response to any of it except to smile and nod enthusiastically. I hardly think to do things with her because I know she'll go with me (so I won't be lonely), but will contribute little to the experience--like she's hardly there. Anyone who knew I felt this way would think my thoughts are mean, because she's considered such a lovely easy-going person. But I have darker needs, I suppose. This is why I just usually go to my latest passion alone--so I can immerse myself in my own dark or light response without dilution.
What's weird about this is I really don't consider myself a pessimist either--I find the constant gloom of negative thinking also boring. Yes, I am hard to please. And frequently alone.
Obsessives are boring because they rarely connect to you, unless you happen to have the same obsession--I rarely do. Lots of other people probably think this about me--obsessed with weird music, weird books, Russian, Philosophy, Italian, guitar..
There's a Depeche Mode song I think that sort of gets close to where I'm going with this. It's called "Stripped", and has the repeated line, "I wanna see you stripped down to the bone". Regardless of the obvious sexual connotation (on several levels) I think the deeper meaning has to do with someone being willing to strip to their soul. Reveal things that some might think they shouldn't--the scary, real stuff. The best lines in the song says, "Let me hear you make decisions/Without your television/Let me hear you speak/Just for me. " Yeah that's what I want.
October 7: Still continued. Ok. Here's me, willing to be stripped. I just got reminded of this,
watching a clip from Blue Velvet: The scene where it's late, they go to "Ben's"-- actor Dean Stockwell, at his creepiest, who is visited before maniacal Frank takes his "neighbor" Jeffrey for a Joyride (haha --shades of Government Issue punk!!) Ben whips out a garage torch, like the thing grease monkeys hook onto the hood of their car while they work on it at night,and uses it like one of those ancient 50's era metallic mikes, and starts lip syncing to Roy Orbison's "In Dreams". Here's the lyrics, which are also sort of creepy!
A candy-colored clown they call the sandman
Tiptoes to my room every night
Just to sprinkle star dust and to whisper
"Go to sleep, everything is alright"
I close my eyes then I drift away
Into the magic night, I softly say
A silent prayer like dreamers do
Then I fall asleep to dream my dreams of you
In dreams I walk with you
In dreams I talk to you
In dreams you're mine all the time
We're together in dreams, in dreams
But just before the dawn
I awake and find you gone
I can't help it, I can't help it if I cry
I remember that you said goodbye
Too bad it only seems
It only happens in my dreams
Only in dreams
In beautiful dreams.
Yeah, I'm not forgetting all the Sandman connections I've recently read about, connections to the Metallica song, to E.T.A. Hoffmann, the intuitive feeling that clowns are scary, and the dreams they will give you are closer to nightmares. I couldn't erase from my mind, for some reason, that Ben, lip-syncing, and closing his eyes as he did--with--passion? Melodrama? Revealed not only that he was wearing rather heavy eye make-up, but that it glittered. And, in spite of my Bowie-love, my glam rock stance on boys experimenting, I feel queasy. Something is off, like something you find way deep in your fridge. And. He, Ben, reminded me of someone--my buddy who disliked VVG and sick egos smeared. And whether this was logical or not, although I knew he wanted something deeper from me, I had to say, No.
The candy-colored clown told me so.
I really dig this song, though. It is creepy, however.
November 2: I've got some new stuff to write, soon. Stuff to sort out. Hmm. Will get back to you.
Later: It was said. Not by me. I feel chilled. I've thought the same, funny. I'm trying to feel my instincts--they do conflict. One thing is: I feel I should not have to pretend to like the behavior I dislike. The creepiness. I am really trying to not let on that I find it all so very creepy, just to be polite and sympathetic. Am I expected to pretend to like something I do not feel good about? My feelings do count, right???? Maybe it's not (fault is not the right word) in his control? River widens to flood season. So much distance.
What do y'all want? From me? What spooks me is I think he has good target instincts as well, better than I might expect. That just makes it more sad and hopeless. I can picture a better place. Maybe it will all be very clean.
We really don't live in the same world. 10 feet apart.
November 16: Stupid Rollar Coaster day, for no particular reason. Yesterday, I got really pissed off
(inside myself) by two people twice my size (gut--Twise) ganging up on me---taunting me that I would not know how to change my strings right without their worldly help. One literally said--"She's gonna do it all by herself." (Emphasis theirs). The 1st ass tried to imply I was winding on the wrong way, when, in fact, he did not know where I started which of course is the whole trick for which way to wind. (I mean, from my experience there's gotta be a dozen "right ways" to do it. ) Man #2 said : you know you shouldn't have taken all the strings off" to which I point out I have only one off, five on--but that's bullshit anyway, you can take it all off if you wanna do it that way....ANYWAY, I'm tired of the EXPERTS who decided they are more knowledgeable. Macho-macho men. should i feign stupidity?
BTW, I got the strings changed, Mice Elf, no help. No mistakes. Then I took my new stringed guitar--played the shit out of it, on fire, for two hours like I haven't in years-Russian Rock and Jimi Hendrix' " Red House" and Radiohead. Happiness is the best revenge--over the top of someone's all pervasive classical music that I was forced to listen to without being asked, from 8:30 am to 8pm non-stop, including that totally boring, DC based, NPR show about- kid- classical- musicians- who -are- all -gonna- go- to- Juilliard-and enunciate- like-little, perfect, priggish Oxford-scholars-even though-they-grew-up-in-Atlanta-listening to-Aaron-Copeland-in-their-cradle, ----That Show . Add in non-rhythmic foot-taps and chair-rocking that does not match the music on any level.
New Strings are nice to have. Fuck you all.
Then, I got irritable nonsense online, which later mellowed--someone else was also having a bad 24 hours. And, I heard the boss wants to talk to me.
But everything changed.
My package arrived--made someone happy. which made me extremely happy. Life is good. My happy-angry guitar playing is now gone, and I suck once again.
Nov 21-Dec 1?, 2015: Just want to remind myself that this was when I was in San Fran, in China Town with Joe, met Phillip, walked the Golden Gate, Stayed in Berkeley with Kate and Mark in the apt. behind the great bakery, saw the hip yupsters in the Mission District, went to some cool Asian restaurants and a pretty bad diner in SF, saw Hungergames Mockingjay?? Still hard to believe that this was what we saw...at Kate's request!!, watched Joe endlessly argue politics with Everyone! Got Mark's guitar fixed in Downtown Berkeley, went to Muir Woods with Joe. Great time, hope not too much hassle for Kate.
Nov 26: I just saw something on fb that scared me. Of course it's a joke. But it looked like a possibly scary future--didn't leave enough to the imagination. Please. No. Grande self parody, I hope.
Dec 3: Not sure where I am , mentally. Trying to maintain equilibrium , for the present, until other things become necessary.
December 23, 2015. Feeling the forced, end of the year introspection coming on. Holiday loneliness in the midst of family, invites to celebrations, music events. Did the minimum necessary decor, present buying, all seemed a bit perfunctory this year. In contrast it seems like I used to be love incarnate: the perfect presents-well thought out, for everyone. We are a sad group. All I can think about is the future, change.. big change. Get out of this stagnation. One side of me just wants to indulge in all things Russian-- for some reason that has now become my comfortable escape, the place where the others around me cannot follow. Just me. How weird is that, if I was half a planet away, that would not be the case.
Too bad, I'm feeling the escape mechanism in it too strongly tonight, like I know it's only escape, not real enough to do, so, no. Right when I'm maybe starting to improve my Russkiy skills . Sometime this vacation, I'm going to have to sit with myself (maybe Joe would like it, too) and watch all of Master and Margarita--I can't figure out why it has a Christmasy feel to me--maybe it played there at Xmas, maybe because I first saw it during the holidays? Maybe it's just as simple as it's the snow. It's been over a year.
I might stick in Stilyagi tonite, dunno if I really feel it, seen it too many times now, but a musical would be nice in my dreadful mood. I'm beginning to wonder if I haven't over-estimated my ability for optimism. Hope for my life. I used to be sooo optimistic.
Maybe I should just get really drunk. Alone. Hah! After spending two days this week on a heart monitor-- wouldn't that be fabulous. Who cares about my body--it's my mind, my spirit, that's at stake.
Ok. Walgreens is part of the friendly universe. It called me by accident from California, which made it possible for me to talk to my Doch for an hour--I bought her a book for Christmas, she bought me 3! The universe loves me, once again. I'm watching Стиляги , dancing, singing, and feeling fine..
December 28: still not getting in the mood for M&M .. even put it in last night, and...meh. Been binging Downton Abbey instead. And Akira Kurasawa's Dreams, which I thought would be more surreal. In fact, I will argue they didn't really seem to feel like real dreams, much too stylized and even political, which didn't always take away from the beauty of the imagery. The Van Gogh sequence, "Crows", was quite striking at first glance. I think I should watch it again (I found it on VK) to see if it holds up under a less surprised , or already initiated, viewing. I was expecting more of a Dali-esque thing with intuitive imagery--but even though it utilized ghosts and mythical traditions, strange and beautiful landscapes, somehow it never attained the state of, well, my concept of the illogical beauty of dreams. Too much Deux ex machina. My best dreams are more twisted, and somehow really get to the heart of my life's real unexplored (or maybe over-explored?) issues.
Dec 31: last day. So, yeah, that Kurasawa/Dali sequence does hold up with multiple viewings. And the images in that movie are sticking with me beyond the politics. So that's good. I started to watch Fanny and Alexander last night to stay in the season--the beginning of that movie is so lovely and cheerful--I just watched it through to the scene with the maid getting fed oysters by her lover/employer. I was watching it in dubbed Russian, so the words slipped in and out, but they are unnecessary. My favorite part last night is the babushka --a kind, intelligent woman,still beautiful--with her old lover, who brought her a beautiful pin, then fell asleep, and they kissed and talked, and she cried about the past, and they kissed again: lovely. The same maid also is romantic with the too young boy Alexander, but the movie somehow makes that all seem quite normal and not at all perverted. Everything is wrapped in the beautiful haze of the season's atmosphere.
I just left a message for someone else who is fond of this movie, to get a read on someone else's take on the love relationships in this movie--I could say sexual relations, but I think the movie shows them to be something above mere sex--to some form of romantic love and caring, at least friendship. See the scene with the grandma above: there are echoes.
So, the story is partly ensemble piece, following different branches of F&A 's large family tree. Alexander has a randy middle-aged uncle, Gustav, (wonder if the name is related to the Italian/Spanish words for liking, having a taste for, like the English gusto--all having more the concept of having something of a lust for life? Which Gustav certainly has..) Вкусть ??Anyway, rather than making fun of a poor old guy with too much life, as perhaps the classic pantaloon of Italian Commedia dell'arte, Gustav is rather celebrated and enjoyed--his behavior is just part of the savory life-blood of this big, raucous family, and there are others --this is how Bergman portrays him.
I can't help thinking it's a fair portrayal--why punish a man for his ability to stay young through his youthful appetites? Gustav's behavior is softened by his generosity: for example, after his encounter with the maid, he hand feeds her, telling her all the things he will do to make her life easier, and one does not get the feeling he is bullshitting her. There is a fair amount of openness about Gustav's doings--whispered with tolerant laughter among other family members, notably female and with no heavy judgment. Gustav turns right around and shows an equal amount of attention to his wife who displays ample cleavage at the Christmas festivities. She knows about his wanderings, and not only tolerates them, but perhaps welcomes the relief it gives her from his constant attention.
Then there's the maid Maj, the eater of oysters, who turns from Gustav to spend alone time with 10 year old Alexander himself. Maj , in spite of being rather developed and voluptuous, is probably a teenager --maybe 18-19? And in this closed society Alex is almost the only age suited match for her. Alex is resentful--not quite sure if it goes to the level of jealousy, maybe a more immediate reaction that he's not getting his usual alone time with Maj, mostly due to the other cousins invading his rather large bedroom. She smoothes his feelings over with a kiss, and later, when the aunts come by to tuck all the children in for Xmas night, one of them remarks that one now "kisses like a little man!" and giggles. We know the story ends with Maj and her daughter, presumably Gustav's child, being treated like family--in fact, we never see the servants bossed or humiliated in any way, just indulged like everyone else in spite of the amount of work they must have to do to supply this crazy family with its accustomed lifestyle.
What to think? Is it rose-colored? Bergman may be drawing on his real childhood nostalgia--and may have overlooked some real bits. Modern day news horror stories of incest and misbehavior keep creeping into the corner of this lovely vision for me. The truth is, those stories have their own unfair, immoral agenda as well, paper-pedalling ink. I hate them. I suppose it all boils down to the long term
effects of the participants. There seems no harmful repercussions, no manipulation or power games in Bergman's world for indulging one's pleasures. Everyone seems a willing participant. It makes one wonder if it is all the outside judgment that really causes the harm, but in today's atmosphere saying so out loud will turn you into a social pariah, and cause many to cry victimhood. But, there has to be some reality to the opposite--(Bill Cosby seems an extreme example)?
Everything in moderation, including moderation? Or, including excess--moderation in excess. Or should that be excess in moderation..
Jan 24: God's wife is at home alone, cleaning. The TV is on in the background, spewing the violence her husband has wrought. She dislikes the noise, so she turns it off. Sponge bathes the statue of her son, JC, on the mantle....
Jan 25: I've been feeling a bit depressed about my creative self lately, to tell the truth. But, tonight, I spent a long time looking at my dream records--damnation. Do I have some crazy ideas in there, somewhere. And I gotta write a song, poem or short story from this idea--Nocturnal Interruptus. Boiee.
Feb 7: My sister's birthday was two weeks ago, on Jan 27--she would have been 55. So, I decided to write a song for her, about an imaginary Road trip we might take together, Lucy and Ethel, after we bought her a car without her husband's permission:
Borrowing the chords Am-C-Dm F (maybe E?) from a certain KP song--
The Road to Crazy
I promised you-- I'd come do this
Here I am--let's go, hey?
Come on, you're not the only one
who's crazy
I say, let's get a big-ass
convertible
We can be Thelma and Louise:
no, Lucy and Ethel
Of course, you'll get one
a built in CD player--
Four speakers in the back
But you got to promise
only two Maroon 5s
or Katies per hour.
If you'll sing "Nickel, nickel" with me.
"Nickel, Nickel"....
Put Barbie in the backseat,
give'em the ride of their lives
Throw them out in the desert
if they whine or complain.
No talking about you-know-what
No, I'm not taking philosophy
The boys won't mind,
Do we care? No!
Now after Adele---here's
the important song that
we need to sing
"Gave 'Em Horsepills"--
you do the harmony
We should drive to LA
Get our stolen tape back where you sang
So Brilliantly
Chorus????
On the Road to Crazy
Of course you get to drive
Forget about the house now
I'm along for the ride
On the road we go
You drive, I ride
wait, did you ever learn
To drive a stick??
Watch out, haha!!
My in-laws are here again. At least 3 references to how brilliant K is!! Building a volcano in the back yard to fuel a hot air balloon in H.S.--actually that sounds pretty cool. That's the man I used to know.
Now he's like a super victim of his own agoraphobia. A clam. He was in his crazy place again this morning--being loud and talking in high falsetto ala Julia Childs, to his surrogate lover cat. So creepy. While I'm trying to sleep another hour. Who gets up at 7am on a Sunday? I sometimes think he's just trying to push me out of "his" house, which I have paid half for, TYVM. I feel like he thinks I see behind his Wizard of Oz curtain, and he resents me for being smart. I can't help it-- would like to quote Daisy Buchanan and wish myself "a beautiful little fool" -- best thing a girl can be--but I'm neither beautiful nor a fool.
So later, I'm talking to Pat about my friend Phillip the jazz musician, who has been experimenting with these pictographic charts that "draw" the music--Pat, my FIL, who I knew would be interested in this, makes a connection about Gregorian chant originally being charted that way, sort of. K chimes in that "Tracy won't let me listen to Gregorian Chant--" and I say what!! Our house is 24/7 filled ONLY with music you choose--Good god, on that depiction!!(And thank god for the invention of headphones/earbuds, which he also resents ME using and proves by never using them himself, to be thoughtful to others). You always do what you want, and I... (well this might have been a good time to mention that stiletto he plays with, but I don't...) This false depiction gets me upset, and everyone decides it's time for bed.
I really don't know what to think. I once admired k for his objectivity, his cool judgement. It was good recompense for his lack of passion, but, now, he has neither...how can he view me the way he does--he just seems like a defiant little child. Throwing bananas on the floor for someone else to pick up.
This is a toxic life. It must end. K is intent on spending all free time fulfilling his own needs, and doesn't want, really, to share a life with anyone. My opinions are not allowed. Давай.
Feb 14: the irony day. I had absolutely incredible things happen to me this weekend--so much thought put in my direction, it's a little overwhelming. So now why do I feel so sad? I know--it's the тоска -- the sad longing for more--too fleeting too quick and over much too soon. I feel like my outward reactions were somehow disappointing.
BTW, I have a new guitar. It is the one I like most, even better than the ones kids gave me for free( there are several), and my electric Telecaster. Это сладко.
Mar 9: I am not really being consulted about future plans--I'm taking this to mean I'm not included. That suits. Cause I I think I know which direction I would like to go, myself <<<<<<<<<<<<<
Mar 13: Had a conversation today, where I was talking to someone else, (tangentially, about making big life decisions) but I think I was also talking to myself. It's about love again, really. We were talking about how much one needs to sacrifice to keep other people in our lives, and the conclusion was drawn, that you can't sacrifice some core things about yourself, just to keep someone else around, and happy with you. Really, that's just about the hardest thing to deal with that life gives you. Especially if you have an artistic point of view that keeps requesting you dig up the truth about yourself, the world, the people around you.
For example:
How difficult is it really, to sort out the mix of negative and positive feelings you might have for one particular person? Sorry, but you'll feel pretty mixed about everyone for whatever reason. Particularly, someone you've made a huge investment in with your emotions. How much do they really like you (not love you--I mean a gentler feeling), the things you do daily, respect the decisions and choices you make, both big and small, even the minutiae. How much do they put subtle pressure on you to change yourself? Maybe you agreed to a certain plan, a way to come together, but slowly, it is eroding your sense of self, how you want to live...do you just suck up to keep them in your life? and why did you lie to yourself at the beginning that this was what you wanted?
I have, probably over the last 4-5 years, been increasingly keeping some things that have happened to me to myself, because I'm pretty sure a person in my life will not take them as positive or interesting things, even though said things are central to my self value: places I want to go, places I DO go, books I've read, movies I've seen, music I like, music I've written!, artistic endeavors I'm working on, people I know, conversations I've had, shoot, even details about languages I am learning. Quite frequently I feel a bit guilty that I know my silence is making someone feel bad, but on the other hand, I think much of this is due to some personal and communication problems this person has that are a lot for me to deal with. How much of my life should I sacrifice to make the other one comfortable and happy--will that make me happy too? I think not. It's too much to ask. I know how much I can take without getting any positive feedback. It can't be one way.
I think it is really important that if you are going to live with someone, or at least spend a significant amount of time with them, you have to really enjoy doing the daily stuff together, and not feel bad about the space you give yourself. I'm not really there right now--there are all sorts of people, of various levels of friendship and blood-relativity, that I'd rather spend time with. It makes me feel sad and lonely and fatalistic to admit all this, and if I look back, I can see the trajectory of what brought me here, and I feel stupid for not seeing what would come. Would I do it again? Well, would it be possible to know what was going to come? No? Well then... and goals change. Survival and support is less an issue.
There's that thing, that Coleridge and Wordsworth talked about, about seeing the tree in the seed, child the father of the man, the whole in the part, the organism in the cell...shouldn't I have known?
Seems strange, cos I coulda taken another relationship a different way, and I intentionally didn't, to my possible detriment. But, that one didn't feel right in a much, much clearer way. Did I dodge a bullet there?
So what to advise? The info I'm getting, limited as it is, doesn't sound too promising for the long term. Maybe some head-clearing, emotional cleansing, or something. A prop to occupy time? Well, there can be some value in that, that I can see. For experience. Or maybe it's more.
Mar 14--con't: Here's something that hit me this morning. It is very important to not get seduced by the abstract idea of love and romance. You can't rearrange your brain after the fact to frame a "moment" in your life as romantic or the essence of love (either because you or your partner saw it in a movie or read it in a book, or heard a song, or it just seemed like a romantic thing--the hedgehog in The Idiot? for example), if it actually didn't feel that way in the moment. AND, you can't say things you don't fully feel, just because it seems like you should, that it's the right time in the movie of your life. It's not. Feelings are awfully complicated: better to be honest and take the chance of losing the relationship.Yet another place in life to not compare yourself to others. No two snowflakes, and all that.
You shouldn't assume that someone "really" loves you because they agree on the short term to make a sacrifice --like moving to where you are, giving up a job, school, friends--because those sacrifices may one day grow into resentment. They don't mean what you think they mean, even if it does make the relationship possible. Women especially need to consider this, cos we all just automatically feel our disposition is made for sacrifice.
I've made some wopping mistakes in my life not listening to the nagging voice in my head: man, that voice KNOWS what it's talking about, and I should have acted on it
1) to recognize a person prone to lying (Whut? I look like your cousin with the same name? Which cousin?) 2) to recognize an ultimatum for what it is (I'm moving to FL: take it or leave it) If there is the phrase "I made him/her do it--I'm powerful! Watch out. You aren't as powerful as you think, if they walk away from your power someday. 3) to mistake one emotion for another. Jealousy is NOT love or commitment, it's just childish, and you can be jealous, of, say, a dog! : "You should stop being friends--he just wants.."Oh, dude, thanks for the protection... Pity, too, not to be confused...4) If they go nuclear with other people, they will with you.. 5) to recognize the smell of desperation and leave. 6) to recognize another person who has a tendency to be swayed by the abstract of love and its memes-- they may not think they are "lying" at the time, but their emotions may not be completely true. 7) Regret is not love. There's probably some underlying motive that is the source of the break, and that's what really needs to be understood. Forgiveness is not by itself love, although it's a piece of it. What's underneath? Wow, realizing there are so many things that are not love. 8) Comforting and tolerable can't replace it. If the feeling seems like it's missing a piece, it probably is.
I have spent my entire adult life grappling with this--the conflict of choosing passion over practical, friendlier love. The thing is, I need passion in my life, and I recognize that this can cause extreme weaknesses in me, and my choices of partners. My first serious relationship was intense, but maybe not passionate, particularly in a sexual way. 2nd? More passionate, very affectionate, but extremely inconsistant--then quickly dead. 3rd and 4th: Crazy Passionate, short-lived and dangerous to my life. #4, though, was missing a true element of reciprocal love, I think--he was too much in love with me for me to respond with any sort of true feeling, I was overwhelmed, and I broke it off with emotional ease when the time came. That was one--I knew from the beginning, the voice said, this one is not right, but it was like a freight train headed straight at me and I had to call in the cavalry to make it stop. And, as a result, I stopped trusting my instincts altogether, and went for more sensible choices next time: someone with stability, companionship, mutual ideas, mild affection, easy (hah?) living-- decided my own definition of love was flawed. The trouble is, it didn't actually turn out that way--we moved away from our together spot, and didn't have the other....so now I'm back to feeling the importance of passion.
So, I think, maybe what counts is maintaining: respect. You continue to think the other person lives well, does the best with what he/she has, is working on life. A point of view you admire and understand, that goes with yours. And, if you give lots of space, that still leaves room to keep things interesting and a little mysterious. I don't think I could handle that 24/7, glommed at the hip thing I looked for when I was young--sure it's comforting, but...deadly.
but, oooooh how I still, Still! want, want want love. Maybe now more than ever.
March 27: Changes are happening, both frightening and hopeful. I think. Rocks in the road ahead, but still all for the best, for everyone concerned. How in the hell is this all gonna sort out? I refuse to give up my ultimate future, whatever it is..can't totally see it, a blur in the corner of my eye. Only know what feels right, what feels good. And what does not. The present day to day does not. Intuition is the gift of my life--thank god I've had an ear for it, slow as my listening to it has been coming.
Q: Why is my soul so stingy about who and what it capital C Cares about? I mean, there are lots of small non-capital c"cares "....
I cannot believe how ridiculous I am being in my stubbornness.
April 6: whatwhatwhat--чточточточто--One good thing--getting some help from a past student--one I like!. to help with the art part of the play--sets, make-up, etc. Much needed energy/motivation infusion for me..I'm just not feeling this play at all.
Other than that, I'm coming up on yet another mental crossroad. Do I really care about doing all this music and art, and why? I don't want to get famous(In fact, I think that would be awful), I just want to make stuff, but it takes so much energy to make something that's probably mediocre. What's the point? And yeah, I like it when someone else likes what I do: that's exciting! big sigh malaise ennui angst---if I got nobody to have fun with this, do I wanna keep doing it by myself? so unmotivated. Spent weeks on one song, with no feedback--well my own fault, didn't send it out much. And would I really be willing to up end my whole life for nothing? I just need something to look forward to, a connection that matters.
I am reading this short story collection with a terrible, embarrassing name-glad I'm not riding a subway somewhere reading it--would get looks. But the stories aren't as bad as the title sounds. Although almost all of them have some relationship to sex, sexuality, gender, identity--all very interesting stuff. One story tells about the very strange way the narrator was conceived, and by a rather famous father. Another is about a country singer's one time experience in the 50s with a woman he never got over, and at the end he's afraid there will be no heaven where he will finally see her again--boy do I relate to that heaven scenario.
But here's one of the more thought provoking stories, called "You Don't See the Other Person Looking Back". I mean, imagine you could't, physically, do that most romantic of things, look into your partner's eyes. Because you are not equipped. Well, you won't believe what the story's about--a cruise specifically for gay and blind men. (They may bring their seeing partner with them.)
The narrator is apparently gay, or at least Bi and has experiences with men, because he's just broken up with one, but it just sets up a scenario for asking an awful lot of interesting questions about sexuality, and what makes people identify, however -it -is- they-identify, and why. For example: think about this--a person born blind has no idea, visually, what a man looks like compared to a woman. Yet, blind people will identify as gay or straight. Why? It sort of eliminates the notion of visual stimulation as the center point of sexuality, sexual identity. How much does our culture believe men are visually stimulated by certain types of women?? Or men??
One guy in the story was asked, so if you can't "see" a difference between men and women, how did you know you prefer men? He said, "when I was young, boys smelled better--like grass and dirt."
April 12-15: --my week --\___^\ /^------\
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Pandaemonium & Chaos
All because of the play. Which is done, thank god. And with sadness for what could have been if I had been asked to do it earlier. I'm thinking about next year's, to take some people's mind off. Maybe Sherlock--for the set. One kid wants to do American Idiot, jr. (Jr.?)
April 16: Now I can go back to being my old, internalized self.
April 18: Some of the stories in this short story collection, Do Me, are quite unexpected. One is about this 16-17 year old boy: he sounds fairly upscale prep and all, but more suburban than Holden Caulfield. Anyway, it's in that area, except he's not really a beautiful loser like Holden. So, he meets a new boy in his school, who secretly, slowly, has an agenda for him to help his mentally ill, or at least fragile, sister, who has become reclusive for a year. The brother is intelligent enough and sympatico enough to see his sister's value, even brilliance, at stepping outside the mainstream.
So, the narrator is sort of used to draw her out of her reclusiveness, slowly--a task which he seems to enjoy immensely, really becomes an obsession and focus of his life, even though he does seem to maintain all other "normal" aspects of his life: school, his friends, sports.
Here's the weird part. He was originally taken into her room, in the dark. Throughout the entire story, he spends hours with her, in the dark. Months of hours, actually. He goes through stages of fantasizing about what she looks like. There's loads of sensual, if not sexual, tension, if there's a difference: I guess I think so. he never does see her, and actually avoids it in the end when he has the opportunity. Seems he grew to enjoy the dark. A wonderful story: there's several people I'd like to send it to, but it is elusive online. Only have my hard copy.
April 19: I'm going to have to be honest--my nerves still seem to be pretty shot. I noticed this morning when my alarm went off, I jumped a foot. I can feel my blood in my veins--never a good sign--and my stomach's a mess. I'm always tired, not sleepy, like mentally exhausted. Can't get interested in too much--maybe on a surface level.. Just want to hide for awhile. I suck at guitar.
April 24: Got tickets to Spamalot: my son is coming home for summer. I'm going to complete the cycle, by going to see other family and friends, in Illinois, maybe further West. I'm still not satisfied at home, but I'm dealing with it, what it is. Trying to sort out the mess that is my father's German/Alsatian/Prussian/Eastern European genealogy. school is dullsville, so over it, but need to bear, at least two more years--no joy in it. Feeling---sated. Pacified. Dull. Uninspired. But, at least not stressed. To everything, turn--there is a season, turn, turn, turn...and a time to every purpose, under heaven.
Watched this movie, The Squid and the Whale, which really got me thinking about family life, my daughter, everyone, how we connect and disconnect. The good and bad. As I said to her--after I apologized--it all makes sense, somehow.
I need a new song.
April 26: After being way too busy, I suddenly feel like I have nothing to do. Feast and Famine.
I really don't feel that personally bad about the play, because I genuinely think I was given too much to do, with no support, and not enough time to get it done.
The past plays I've done that were successful were planned well in advance, with excellent help, beginning in summer, even. This got dumped on me right before the Thanksgiving and X-mas holidays, no warning, no class to help prep, without even an idea of what was wanted, and not even a single other adult to help. I had no co-director, or assistant director, (both possibilities have either moved on or had big family troubles this year, making them unavailable), no stage manager, no one to help with costumes (the one who used to do it is no longer at school), no one to organize the music, sound, and lights) except the usual great guy who runs the board, but he doesn't have time to put the creative part together --all this forced me to look outside of school for help.
Then it was force-exploded into a musical, which under the best of circumstances takes the better part of a year to plan. Really the whole thing was an impossibility. Add in some people with head issues--hoo-booy. I am just hoping this bad experience doesn't make me gun shy about doing something in the future. It was really one of the worst work experiences I've ever had. I never was feeling this one so much, anyway, and with little encouragement it became quite a chore. The only nice thing was I got a couple of great practices out of the kids who were committed--I think those were fun, and I hope they don't think it was too much a waste of their time. The accents were getting good, and the acting was great too--all of the regulars read really, really well.
I think what I need to take away from this, that next year--if someone wants me to do something like this, I gotta ask for the things I need--demand the right amount of time, resources, people to help. Say no if I don't get it. Already the kid who wanted American Idiot, has floated a new idea: West Side Story--I like the idea but think it's too big for us.. Maybe we can write an updated version?? Who would be the two sides? Reps and Dems, haha. Gun owners vs...?? who's gonna be the other violent side? Cops and?
We have a certain type of child who maybe thinks too easy about things, lots of magic thinking. I'm trying to be kind. Makes my life tough. I'm getting tired of it.
I seem to be on a real roll for making people dislike me.
Sidenote:
Ha! Kids just told me they didn't like a certain teacher (who has left) that I thought everyone loooooved--that she played favorites, flirted too much, was rude, commented on people's appearances...you never know.
April 27: Time to get my mind organized: what do I really want in the future? I can palpably feel it, but can I visualize the details? They are constantly in my dreams.. I think. School puts it in high relief, of what is NOT. I need to do something like what I am doing here, but with WAY MORE freedom. Not in an effort to motivate lazy, spoiled children. I need other creative people around me--these kids aren't good enough--sorry. Soon this could be possible.
I need more freedom of living space. And less to keep up.
So how do I attract the ones I need, even identify them? Well, I know a few great ones, so it's not like I'm just dismissing the entire human race. This is the key to the whole thing.
Some are even related to me...
Where? West? Another country? Dunno, but it doesn't have to be traditional like a family house. It needs to be a bit away, so music can be played--studio space. Drama space, writing space. Sleeping space. Internet connection--although it would be nice if I relied on that a little less than I do now, in my boring trails. But I like the instant access to music, writings. Pictures and movies.
April 28: What I'm really tired of, is organizing reluctant, or clueless people. I'm tired of being the one doing all the grunt work, all the motivating, being the one who's responsible for success or failure. I want people so motivated and into the project, that they consider it their responsibility, their failure if it fails.
April 29: Been revisiting the year, trying to put it in perspective--realized it's been among the worst of my teaching career. I still like the ESOL kids. It was Drama.
Now. At lunch, there was a major bitch session among my trusted friends. It appears I am not alone in my distaste for the way business is being handled at my place of employ. Lots of human disrespect happening, people not using their peripheral vision, not understanding the negative impact they are having on other's lives. Self-absorbed tunnel vision focused on some unworthy goal. The discussion/kvetching more or less continued with after work drinks. Catharsis much needed.
But this was nice. My son, surprisingly, agreed to go see an old musical, Singing In The Rain, playing on our waterfront last night. I really don't know what got into him, he's being very social with me lately--not so much with his dad. Maybe he's catching on. He even said he liked it, and made commentary on how good the visuals in the film looked. He's right. We've been doing a lot together- lately-binge watching, mostly, the best of which is Better Call Saul.
May 5: Well this is an interesting distraction. One of my writer buddies likes my idea to write a collective novel--something in internet form or something, with different threads from all of us. B seems like it's bad timing for her, and she seems overwhelmed by the idea. I worry I'll have my name on some weird stuff written by L. that would trouble other parts of my life? Well we'll see if anything comes of it. Summer I'll need something to do.
May 10: I am slowly, painfully, sadly coming to the realization that the Soma situation I am in is much more serious than I have considered. With the possibility of becoming worse. I think the person in question may have less control of himself than I've been expecting, and is in fact, ill. It's making me rethink how I am going to handle this--maybe first by lowering my expectations that this should be any sort of normal relationship. Under the circumstances, I suppose I should be grateful that there is some normal functioning happening, like being able to do a job to support the household, doing the things he does do to contribute. I just need to realize other "normal" things that go on between other people just aren't going to happen. I feel perhaps I need to think bout keeping things stable--esp. for J. Thanks for the perspective, Jose.
Which brings up myself in this--how am I gonna hang on to my own sanity in this situation? Well, maybe two ways: 1) Getting support for myself through other people--and not hiding what's going on. 2) Recognizing that I need to maintain a life for myself outside of this situation, and not feeling guilty, or awful for needing the things an ordinary adult person needs--a life!! It's not like he's dangerous to himself----just lacking the necessary emotional ties. It's quite sad, on so many levels. I finally feel like crying for myself. We'll just have to see what needs to happen with the living arrangements for all concerned.
May 18: Yeah, been pretty much avoiding myself--until I'm more sorted.
Jun 22: Sitting in the Orlando airport, waiting for my flight to Denver. Debating whether or no to get a bottle of water, still an hour before boarding. Going to Golden, and hoping not to repeat the altitude sickness I had on my trip to Breckinridge. Golden is much lower elevation, but since the altitude sickness sucked so bad--kinda felt like I was dying, and couldn't imagine a coal-miner job where the oxygen must be depleted--anyway, I've eschewed alcohol and caffeine for two days per internet recommendations to avoid the sickness. Water.
I spent last night in a high end (for me) Orlando airport hotel. Orlando is a freaky city--it's sort of fascinating how they've streamlined and make money off the whole tourist process to a grand degree--for example, you have to pay for parking at the hotel? Who ever heard of that? $12 a night, $14 for valet--we even had to pay two dollars just to stay long enough to register and take my luggage up. The parking ticket machine had a slot to drop your hotel key in. For $1 I got "free" breakfast--which was actually the best deal of the place. Good bed, good AC. And here I was trying to save money on this vacation, but this was K's idea so he could go to some school conference. It's so strange how all of Orlando, except for the very oldest part, feels Disneyfied--too clean, too cute, too happy., too accommodating, for your slippery, glad-handed money. It really really is not my vibe--creepy pedophilic vibe. I'd rather be in Russia.
Here at the airport I once again got the full body scan--then a pat-down even! Why-- do I seem suspicious? Security pervs? Dunno. Funny. Listening to some electronic music called Moderat trying to decide if I like it. Have a guitar pick in my pocket (just in case) but no guitar on this trip.
Lori tells me the B&B owners play music, so maybe we'll make some music?? Unlikely, but...
Jun 28: yup--the worst personal security breech yet. Not only did I get the full body scan, I got the police pat down, AND! The lady security tells me--"I'm going to have to run my hand around the inside band of your pants. I suppose it's a sad statement about my romantic life that I didn't half mind.
July 11: This summer's been interesting, because I've been keeping myself busy. Colorado was not an easy trip, what with all the mountain climbing and what-not, but very satisfying. Felt like I saw way more than on my other trip, to Breckinridge--didn't like that nearly as much. A;ll this thanks to Lori pushing me everyday--she went for great things, I must say! I probably wouldn't have done half on my own. she is a strange mix to travel with..
Ken went off to Maryland for two weeks so I have lots of free time!! With Joe. Last night we watched Straight Outta Compton which just happened to come up in my Netflix Disc Queue in a timely way, given the state of the nation with guns and the police. They are, (NWA, that is) in fact, the ones who wrote "Fuck the Police" which I watched about 1000 people chant on a youtube video in Baton Rouge two nights ago. It feels like a breaking point, and I think one blogger got it right: it's a war about race, but it's not really a White vs. Black Race War. It's more a people- who- think- violence- works vs. people - who -don't war. N.W.A. played a roll in this, back in the late 80s, early 90s. They always claimed they were just throwing up their South Central/Compton reality as art, and there is something to that, but they also glorified the thug lifestyle--the first to do that, not to mention their hand in Death Row Records (Snoop-Dog and Tupac) that codified it.
Now, I can see that some of the dope-slingin/gang violence/braggadocio (I especially hate the braggadocio) lingo in their songs maybe was just a borrowed first person narration, but that also released a Pandora's Box full of negative consequences. Before NWA, black kids didn't wear the scary outfits, but afterwards they did: for decades. The hats, the black, the chains, the black nylon doo-rags, the sag, the shoes,the anger. It was contagious, all the way down to my little Aryan boy Kurt. Who had no business pretending to be angry like the real guys did. I get angry, though, I admit, when I see all these kids treated like non-people. And my own experience lately is making me feel wary of cops.
Apparently, the thug posing worked. Except on cops: who just went harder and got more defensive. Thus where we are today. I don't want to lay this all at Dr. Dre and Ice-Cube's door--they had plenty of help from greedy bastards all over the US and probably to foreign places (why is the Russian Stereotype of a бандит involve him wearing a track suit, chains, tats, and gold teeth? Who were they emulating?) In spite of its sad roots in poverty and unfairness, I think in general America was in love with the Thug Life--wanted to believe in its scary power. It made life more interesting. Just like the Cold War did.
August 22: 1st day of school year 2016-17. My feel is, it's looking like a good one. !! And here I was smelling retirement.. My kids again seem nice, smart, polite and interesting, and Drama is looking pretty good and full of potential!! As I predicted, one class seems quieter, the backstage, hard-working types, the others more loud, opinionated and livelier (the actors, of course). I started off the class by doing the 4 Corners game: make a statement and kids pick a corner: I STRONGLY AGREE, I STRONGLY DISAGREE, I somewhat agree, I somewhat disagree--then they have to explain why they picked that corner. The first statement I gave them was "I'm the loudest kid in class"--so of course, no one was. I told them Drama was one class where this was not a liability. I have G. Hamilton in there, who has famous relatives, has been on reality TV , so there might be a bit of rivalry for big parts. I accidentally let them out during the wrong bell (our lunches have these confusing two bells, and I forgot about that).
Best news is, in spite of all signs pointing otherwise (Even the recruiter guy said the Russian/E. Europe market was drying up for us) , I got a great Russian kid from Moscow for ESOL--and, he plays guitar, AND he knows some of the old school Russian Rock. Yay! He's warmed up to me already, probably because I threw out some Russian when I was asking everyone what languages they know ( showed off by doing the room corners in Spanish and Russian ---but not Chinese, I gotta get someone to teach me 1234 in Chinese. I did learn "cheese" in Chinese today--easy because it's like "chi si"--pretty close to English).
Overall, I think I had a pretty successful day of making everyone comfortable and relaxed about whatever level they were at, and I have the sneaking suspicion they liked it enough they won't feel pressured to move up to the major leagues...
August 27: Good week overall: Moscow kid came to guitar club; we played Splean "Танцуй" and some American songs (the Splean is a pretty easy 4 chord thing). Since he already knew how to play it he solved a longtime mystery for me for Russian chord charts--H7. I see this all the time and never know what to do with it. But I guess H=B, so B7. But the kid was actually playing Bm7, so I'm still a little confused. He's not bad, decent rhythm, good ear, quick study, but a little sloppy, even more than me. We have a similarity in that we favor playing chords and rhythms, but he's probably where I was 2-3 years ago. (I'm kinda getting out of my chords only phase, just because it's getting a little too easy and boring.) He's no Yef. But he knows a lot of the old Russian Rock bands/songs: Как На Войне, ДДТ, Чиж и Ко, Nautilus, etc. Also, he recommended Victor Pelevin to me, haha! so he's a reader. I showed him my site for my Crime and Punishment side by side translation, and he said, oh! I should find that, but for the opposite reason to you! (And he wrote it down..) Also likes poetry--he even noticed my Mayakovsky poem on the wall! Nice kid.
Why didn't I post this stuff in the Music part?
Drama is also going very well, and giving me lots of hope. Great response to the BBC Sherlock series--laughing in all the right, dark places, etc. A far cry from my drama queen/mean girl group two years ago. The only troubled spot is my huge ESOL class full of ones who are rude and chat in their native language--the class is too crowded for my small room. And of course my other two periods are very small. Stupid: why does admin do this? Laziness and lack of balls. Greater good, people, come on...
September 12: Things are good. My ESOL classes got rearranged to a better mix, I got more kids?! Drama's still going well, but this week I'm starting the real work, so we'll see. I'm listening to "Еду Еду" and the Stalker Soundtrack clips right now--haven't had much opportunity to indulge in Russian music lately.
When it rains it pours, travel-wise. I've been helping P arrange his Model UN trip to NYC, which we're slated to go on in March. Then! The ski-trip boys for the first time asked me to go with them (!!) to Cali. But the trip's are in the same week, I think. I'd rather do the Cali, although I certainly like NYC! I think that trip just sounds more regulated--won't have time to wander so much. And there's still Augustine. Erika my Italian teacher is now pushing me to get to Italy to practice (and live). And Russia? Come on Russia!!
September 21: still liking my classes: my Drama has some serious kids that I think will work, they seem to understand the vision I have and add to it. ESOL's good, one crazy class that can be fairly easily tamed with a little pressure, but they are fun kids with active minds. I'm basically making ESOL resemble my old Senior classes more and more--increasing the challenge for them.
The trips: NY is postponed to next year probably. If more kids go skiing, I'm doing that trip: it's Utah, not Cali. We may go to DC, and definitely to Gainesville and the usual St. Aug trip.
Oct 6: What a weird, active day. It started with hurricanes. I was supposed to make my highly anticipated cast list, which I did, cringingly, knowing there was going to be some blow-back tomorrow when I published it. Then, respite. No school tomorrow, because Pinellas County closed, and we usually follow. Then Joe texted me to tell me he is interested in spending the summer in Maryland at some NSA internship, if he gets chosen. Cool. Then Kate texted right after, saying she wanted to call. It turned out to be big news, (that she wanted to minimalize) and I guess I need to start helping her shape this small event up, including keeping it small. And deciding where. Then I called Joe to tell him about it, and in the middle of that, Yef started mssging me on FB, followed by Adam. They are both sorely lacking musical collaborators, I know. Me too. Dammit, this all has to work out somehow, someday. I have two movies to watch, but I can't even get my head around them, with so much going on in my head.
Oct 10:
Лишь бы мы проснулись в одной постели
Выхода нет
Выхода нет
Выхода нет
Oct 13: Last night, I think I figured out something that someone has been trying to keep secret from me for awhile. I could be wrong, but I suspect not. It explains a lot of seeming randomness. Because I was letting my imagination go.
All I had to do was connect some relationship dots that had been there all along. The easy way is being had by many. Maybe me too. Who's happy? I'm trying.
At school, I've got some moons circling me: Owen, Bo, some guitar club kids, some drama kids both boys and girls--I feel like I'm trying to give them something of me, yet I'm pushing them away. It's nice to be appreciated, I suppose. But not too much. My heart is elsewhere, but honestly, I'm not exactly sure where. I only know what I want, and who doesn't have anything to give me.
ART. art. Who's got the art?? Who's got the music to my soul. ??
*************NEW WORLD ORDER**********************
NOV 10, 2016, the day after the US Presidential elections: (Trump, crazily, won.)
I have never felt so tired in my soul, I don't think. It can't be slept away, or analyzed away--I've tried. It's due one part to the bombardment of awful (on both sides) political solicitations and rhetoric--doesn't anyone remember how to think logically anymore? I'm seeing why the Founding Fathers found Rationalism so appealing. I have already begun changing my means of media consumption--I just can't look at all that any more. The 2nd part is the upside down crazy of watching the election returns ( I watched until about 10pm when Hillary was winning by a thread, but it had an ominous feel). Part III of my soul-weariness has to do with the public reaction.
Almost everyone, except maybe the most violent (as in passionate) Trump supporters seem unhappy. The liberals, and in particular, millennials/college students are the most obvious--they've taken to the streets, and although they did some controlled fires in LA and Oakland (trash on a highway, I'm guessing to stop traffic) they were mostly peaceful it seemed and no counter moves from police that I saw. (I did see a video of one smashed window in Oakland, but who knows how that happened.) People who are denouncing the protesters are unhappy in a reactionary way, calling the protesters childish--if I see one more person berate another to "Grow Up!" for stating their political feelings-- I can feel them itching to make racial comments, like they did with the BLM movement that looked similar, except the kids in the videos were predominantly white, and middle class, not ghetto children. Well, that's why I turned off social media today. I'm sorry, but what did you expect if you elected this controversial person? Everyone is offended by someone. He who throws stones...
I think we're the most upset to find out what the other side is feeling about us. I saw a friend post about how violent democracy can be as a system. We are finding that out in spades, and maybe it's enough to bring back a new Age of Reason. Maybe that's what Trump's good for. History works in strange circles.
For myself, I have a very odd feeling about this election. At first I was like, oh, fuck, but then I started feeling like that was just some sort of automatic reaction --what I should say. I voted the other side, but with no real conviction, and I see perfectly what the Trump supporters are going for. I hate the fatalistic liberal rhetoric about Trump. For about 33% of what he says I agree, about Trade agreements, the state of American manufacturing. The social stuff I've a feeling he was just bluffing for votes, especially since he's said the opposite in the past. He's most offensive with his rudeness, but let's hope there will be some sort of grand mainstream media conspiracy to keep that side under wraps like they did with LBJ, for the good of America's image--is it possible in this day? Except for his remarks about women, and as pissed as I was in the middle of the flame, I think a lot of this was blown up bigger than it was. Donald's all about business, right? Maybe he will have a chance to bust up the status quo bullshit.
On the down side, he is an ugly, ugly person. I can't stand to hear his voice, the way he presents his ideas. Just grating. I don't trust him. But I think we can survive 4 years; even Trump can't undo the labyrinthian, slow system we have to deal with for change. I don't think Congress will do his bidding much, suck ass as they can be. The good news is people got their message across about the status quo. I'm not totally upset that the Clinton machine got blown up--curious what the Dems will do next. Thank god I'm not one of them, either. I read that a DNC staffer, today, in a big town hall style meeting, called out chairman Donna Brazille (and ousted Debbie Wasserman Shultz) for causing this crash, for secretly doing things that favored Clinton over Sanders--you know, the status quo. He blamed her and this hypocritical behavior for this loss.
Hah! What timing! As I was typing this, I get an e-mail from Bernie Sanders, urging a replacement of the DNC chairman--presumably more amenable to B.S. I heard he's changed his mind about running in 2020...go Bernie. Shoulda written him in--if Id know Pinellas was gonna go red anyway-- (I did write in Panuthos for County Appraiser or some such thing--1st time I done that.)))
4 years from now more of these self-concerned baby boomers will be gone. Sad but true. Who knew they would be such a drain? The specter of communism fades with them and makes Bernie more palatable.
They shoulda left Bernie in--I would have much happier supporting him. Karma, Hillary. It's a bitch. Is she done? I sure hope so, screw all this first woman prez shit.
Can I take out my soul and send it on a vacation somewhere far away from all this craziness?
Now on top of all this my play just took a major hit again--our venue will be gone, unusable. More immediate problems for me to deal with, and I once again got into a little thing with my boss over it. Hey, I'll just let him deal with it if that's what he wants. In the meantime, I gotta figure out what to do with my two drama classes. And my bum left knee. Damn near killed me in St. Aug. And, speaking of vacation--- figuring out when I should next visit my daughter in Cali--we are working on it. Maybe Christmas is better than Thanksgiving? Leg+ hills = more rest.
November 17, 2016:
My dad just sent me this stupid tone deaf e-mail, like he frequently does. Happy Fun Facts about our new president, all very bland and ordinary--weight, height, hair color, the fact that he grew up in ordinary Queens. Shoesize, Emmys, ancestry, how much property he owns. all the books "he" wrote. His unapologetic "love" of women. Blatant self-aggrandizement. At the end was a comment that implied we now know so much, but know nothing about our current president. Damn this e-mail depressed me--just that feeling I'm getting in my spine, the recognition that this is going to be a mentally stressful four years because of the constant gas lighting we will be subject to. I responded to my dad with Barack's wiki page which is FULL of facts about the president. Which, of course my dad won't read because it's TMI for him.
It's giving me that tree in the forest feeling. If you show someone information that they refuse to read or says doesn't exist---DOES IT?? I'm tired of mindfuckery.
I am sort of obsessed about this idea of DT dissing the White House--that's just grand. Mrs. is staying in NY. Imagine the gold-plated White House remodel. The 12 karat Lincoln Bedroom--rent tripled. (yeah, you've heard the one that the Clintons auctioned it off to the high bidders.. not unbelievable.) What happens when you have no moral center.
Nov 30, 2016: I should probably talk about this strange, brilliant and thought-provoking series I've been watching, off and on, over a year. One of my Brit online friends told me about it last year, and I watched a few episodes. Loved it, but I didn't continue for some reason--thought I'd be back later. It really reminds me of Victor Pelevin--just cuts to the quick of our bundled neuroses --we modern люди--But now, it's on Netflix so I've gone back--it needs to be savored it is so good. Plus I listened to a Podcast about the writers.
(Oh, It's called Black Mirror--should win some sort of award). Thankfully I somehow saw the 2nd episode before the 1st--so much better. In this series some new almost dystopic bit of technology is featured--truly dystopic in the sense that you can feel the stupid human impulse to develop it, as if it is going to revolutionize existence! And in each case it does, with a massive backlash of downside. The first episode, that I didn't like, seemed to be pulling ideas from that old Dr. Who episode about the politicians being Pig Aliens in human disguise--there is a kidnapping, extortion, humiliating the PM plot device.
The 2nd Episode involved a future world where everyone got to exercise and watch TV all day and get paid! It has something to do with creating energy by riding a treadmill, but there's only like 4 channels to watch, parodying the most puerile bilge we really have on TV--people selling crap, macho humiliation videos of people doing gross things, the sex channel (most boring of all), and the talent show! most popular! Oh, and every wall of your cubicle-like home is a computer screen, waking you up, directing your day. Cyber roosters crow good morning in front of the Kellogg's sunbeams!...Our protagonists, one male, one female, are above all this, and think they might escape through the talent show. Wow. It makes you wanna say--how to escape This Modern World?
The last episode I watched was about a technological device that would seem to cure most the world's ills, make falsehood difficult. Everyone has a memory storing device implanted behind their ear, which records EVERYTHING the person experiences. And allows for playback on the ubiquitous screens that are now commonplace in this world. So, for example, your spouse questions where you disappeared for 3 hours? You are obliged to put on the playback and let them watch your every move. So there's a cheating spouse theme to this one. Except, what tends to happen is, stuff can disappear, and everyone obsesses over innocuous seeming videotaped captures that are analyzed and overanalyzed to death. Brilliant idea. "No, look, right there--you are definitely looking, I would say, warmly, at HER for 12 whole seconds--I come in you, barely glance at me--what does that mean?"" Damn, talk about Big Brother and Sister...
Jon Hamm's in a great episode called "White Christmas." And keeping with the White theme, there's another called "White Bear", which reminds me of that Russian antidote about not thinking about the White Bear..but I'm not sure there's a connection.
I'm in the middle of one now that looks like a similar sinister tech advance--a device that processes all of a person's online presence, and then makes a simulated version of them that stays in contact with you after you've lost them....oh, boy. Can you feel yourself falling under the spell of that? After a break-up, a death!? This episode is soo creepy, and soo good. The ginger ordinary bloke who was synthesized made it all the more realistic. Great episode.
So strange that I just listened to a similar idea on This American Life podcast about a real life, low tech version of this. A guy scammed a bunch of lonely men into thinking a sweet woman (named Pam) was writing them letters, soothing them about their loneliness, making them feel loved. They were sort of generic form letters of sympathy, with the guy's names plugged in. No sex. Pictures (of the scammer's female employee's) were provided, sometimes cheap gifts to offset the money getting hauled in. The men sent copious amounts of money, and presents. When the scam was uncovered, some of the men still went on believing the women were real, that they really cared, that the positive impact on their life was so great, they didn't want to see the perpetrators harmed or jailed...
So many ways for us to become obsessed, to pacify ourselves, to avoid reality.
DEc 1: on the other hand-- some people who I thought were destined for interesting lives. Fade.
dEC 3: So, some crazy stuff happening. Besides my daughter's welcome in Cali, I got offered another free place to stay in the Bay area for my vacation--a very nice music friend who wanted me to babysit his cat. But, when I thought about it, it wasn't working too well. Distances between houses and transportation--have to think about my stupid knee problem--this was just going to cause more chaos, so I declined, with very great regret. I still need to decide if I should get a car or not.
This morning, then, I woke up to the fact that there was some horrible fire that happened in Oakland, somewhere between my daughter's new place and the place I was offered. It was a warehouse party, full of artsy young people--could have been people like ones I know or at least sympathize with greatly--start up artists--the place had been cited for code violations. It could have been any of the old punk places back in the day. The LRC... Apparently, the group had made this rickety staircase out of discarded pallets to reach the 2nd floor, which is where the fire happened and people got trapped. The roof caved in. The latest explanation is an electric fire. I have a feeling the owner is gonna catch shit. They have now recovered over 20 bodies, and there are possibly another 15.
So here's the crazy ugly part. Feeling some empathy for the people dealing with this, one being my sensitive friend who offered me accommodations, I went on this FB page that was working to help family and friends find missing loved ones who may have been victims of this tragedy. Two days later, there are still a lot of missing. But on the FB page, some awful person, FB name Jon-athan Rich*s, was posting that missing people had been found and saying really off balance things. Posting music videos like "Disco Inferno"--really manic, insensitive things. Others on the site were identifying him as a troll, and finally someone posted a buzzfeed about his really horrible history--he'd gone to prison for phishing scams, was a troll for Trump, went on a crusade to ruin some young waitress's life just because she was protesting Trump, and just seems like an all around cruel, fucked up individual with mental problems. And he has connections to the alt-right.
I am not connecting to any links and went so far as to disguise his name even in my blog, cos I think this person has one of those obsessive personality problems, with no boundaries or sense of compassion. I want so badly to share this with my son who has some kind of admiration for these alt-right guys. He will dismiss the Buzzfeed source, but in my gut I think a good number of these alt folks have similar mental issues and sick needs for attention. They are getting their hooks into susceptible people who are confused and fed up. Black Mirror's world isn't too far off, guys. We are just seeing it more because a) we no longer use mental institutions to the extent we once did, and 2) social media gives us access to their thoughts.
Dec 4: Got into a somewhat goodnatured feud with a couple of old conservative students of mine over the "snowflake" phenom, which I think is largely misrepresented and used as a scapegoat for people who can't get over that others don't see the world like them. My analysis: the one who see "snowflakes" go through some mental gymnastics to make their opponents "others" in a straw man argument. So when Blacks protest, like in the vilified Black Lives Matter movement, well, that's an easy dismissal, with history, going all the way back to the 60's and the civil rights movement. White folks cluck their tongues and say--destroying their own neighborhoods, where's the sense in that? There is a (sometimes) unspoken criticism of incivility, lesser behavior. But when white kids do the same thing, protesting Trump's election? Wait a minute, this can't be a racial behavior!? Lessee, hmm, what's wrong with them? Why are they different from me? Oh, it's generational--they are the much maligned millennials! That's how they are "not me"!!
Thumb sucking, coddled children who are privileged, their rooms ringed with participation trophies, neurotic gender-bending social warriors--weirdos!!That's how they are different! And of course, there are those strange individuals sticking out, making a louder noise that makes them seem representative when they are not. More media inflation. They couldn't possibly have a real axe to grind!! (Like low wages, high rents, high insurance rates, burdensome student loans, less consumer power, the generation who will make less than their possibly overprivileged boomer parents). I wonder if the snowflake bashers are aware of how often kids today are living in crowded, group arrangements, out of necessity? My daughter only for maybe 3 years has lived alone with her boyfriend/now husband, and they are 30. Before that, sharing apartments with friends, and not because they wanted to. No cars, using bikes and public transportation. Sure they played it off like a cool hipster thing, but it was also necessity as the mother of hipster invention...
Hmm. Band name--Mother Necessity. Too Zappa?
Much is made about this trophy business, and since my kids were that age, I think I have a pretty good window. The trophy thing was probably a K-3rd grade phenomenon. And maybe not that awful at that age, although I'm not sure I entirely agree with the underlying philosophy. I'm more a free-ranger--let Joe walk to school by himself at age 6. At my school I know we had a built in system of rank and responsibility (although there were definitely those who skirted the edges of deserving). Not most, though. My kids' public school experience was pretty competitive, too, and sports teams were downright aggressively so! Most def an offset to this millennial myth. One thing that has changed since I was a kid that I think needs to be reinstated is grouping classes by skills--we had blue bird, red bird, and yellow bird reading groups, and don't you think for a minute kids were fooled by the seeming lack of judgement--we all knew the bluebirds were highest ranking. The trophy thing is the same--kids understand the intention and don't feel exactly special.
If there is any fault in this generation, it's the helicopter parent problem, the over-organizing of kids' lives without downtime. All that media hysteria about child-molesting and kidnapping keeping kids from free time.
Dec 9: finished Black Mirror. I cannot forget to talk about the last episode in Season 3: the Hate nation one, where some bots created a public killing machine for most hated person. Holy shite.
Dec 14: Exam week winding down. I have a lot of cute kids this year that I will miss when they move on--bunch of eccentric characters. True AFA group. Getting plans together for Cali. It seems like it will be colder there this time. But love sweater weather. Think we'll go to Mendocino, sounds cool, and not a bad drive. Yef said he might be around--not sure what to expect there. Don't even know what he's doing besides playing house. Music?? Job? Real Estate? The times I've heard from him he seems his same ol' skittish self. Seems to like Cali though--not sure what's the story against the Fatherland. That seems like remnants of the old crazy скрытного мальчика I've always known.
Ok, about that last Black Mirror. Called "Hated In the Nation". It parallels another episode where everyone goes around awarding popularity "likes" on a star system, which effects everything from your personal life to your credit rating to...everything. But this one takes it to a more fatal level. Someone has created some sort of crazy UNpoplarity system on a twitter like feed that unleashes an assassin to the least popular person in the world--I won't say how but it's insane. And it really makes your conflicts and opinions real, in black and white terms.
Dec 15: One of those bizarro days . Cryptic proposals from youngsters--amusing and disturbing, my life. Deflected gently)). Work winding down into vacation, nothing to take seriously. Salvaging things from the soon to be demolished chapel. I should go take a picture.
I am tonight listening to two major music moments: Lou Reed's Berlin (the live "opera" filmed by artist Julian Schnabel --had no idea how sad and soul-stirring that musical idea was--how many famous musicians were involved. It's an opera about a relationship that busted bad.
A second musical moment was finding a doc on the Manchester band, JoyDivision, how it started developing its hypnotic mojo. Not high quality filmwise, but it captured them better than the biopic Control. One of the narrators made a brilliant commentary about Joy Division's contribution to punk: Early punk screamed "Fuck YOU!"--but, Ian was saying, "I'm fucked."
More real. The Zen school of producing. "Make it more yellow"> sure--I wanna do that. The film said they created an interior landscape of a science fiction Manchester. ))))))))
Why didn't I put this on the music thread?/ Will copy there, for organization sake. Sometimes music and mental activity overlap.
Dec 16: Getting excited!! Real life in the City by the Bay coming!! Grab the cold..
Jan 10: Vacation over, the cold came here. I don't mind. The vacation was pleasant, with only maybe one minor, very short-lived blow-up--no biggie. Considering 3 sensitive people used to isolation plus wicked winter sicknesses knocking us out for several days, I think we did pretty good! Transportation in the Bay Area is challenging and annoying--I can see why Uber is so popular there. I resorted to it a lot, since I never ended up renting a car for several reasons, including the sickness/bedridden element.
I don't know if I could live there. Oakland is a lot more down to earth than SF--at least I don't feel as dowdy and poor there. I think, though, I would want to live further out, away from the city, for more than expense reasons.
Мой друг was another conundrum. I was hoping there was some happiness going on there--resignation to adulthood, some quid pro quo. But I think things are probably not too good--doesn't seem healthy. I could be wrong. Don't think so. Appearance.
Jan 12: An old student/friend of mine just posted on FB a simple and true thing for musicians: just play with people you love/respect/enjoy. As often,often as possible. It doesn't have to be perfect. ага...
Jan 27: Here's some weird side effects of being sick again! I had a high fever after our Gainesville trip, with an apparent relapse of the same thing I had in San Francisco/Oakland. One is having crazy vivid dreams, like they say you do with a fever--or was it the Nyquil? The second was feeling amazing with crazy energy after the fever passed. I am feeling a rebound of creativity, too. Maybe. If I can get time and an idea.
Feb 22: Trump for a month. I seem to be associating it with the sore throat and various other winter ailments I am uncharacteristically suffering since Xmas. A lot's going on, K visiting briefly in a whirl-wind of activity and driving, thinking about a future celebration of her marriage: she seems dissatisfied with the expense and trouble of life in the SF Bay area--contemplating moves to LA or back here (!) Course, that would take away my motives for frequent visits to Cali. She maybe wants us to play at her party? Weird but cool...have to solicit new songs for that.
Yef is doing some sort of reboot of my old badly recorded stuff--anxious to hear how that turns out. He may have a gig, but he's back to incommunicado, so hard to tell what's happening with him. I am speculating trouble in his paradise, but what do I know. His GF is an unknown quantity, not much online presence to get a read on, therefore I keeping imagining their relationship like Bluebeard in a tower. I think he needs an extroverted type that will push him into outside situations, one who loves music, especially. Hopefully, he's just making mental space to work, and avoiding the brain zap that is social media. The music stuff is better to think about! Anything could be better than the original production I made. I've been kinda slack on Russian reading lately--well still frequently listening to podcasts, doing easy lessons, but less Dostoyevski--just too busy.
Leo is supposed to interview me for his podcast--"Losing the Plot" . Man does he have crazy mental energy!! Don't know how he keeps it all going. I think he's already done 9 or so. I'm supposed to talk about my interest in Russian lit and language, or something, although it could go elsewhere?
My head keeps getting filled up by politics, Trump, and bracing myself for the next drop. I want to kind of stop the addictive nature of following all this. What will be will be, but I have this dread that letting go will let go of the Tiger. I know that's irrational--I'm not helping anything by obsessively reading. But there is the personal position of being the tug of war rope between Komrade Katie and USA Joe that keeps me on edge. Joe had ripped off my Obama stickers when he borrowed my car, and now Ken wants to replace them with a bunch of Liberal claptrap--I just don't want my bumper to be political right now. I guess he already ordered some. Sigh.
I suppose Trump makes me feel generally oppressed, but others, too. Lyn and Pat were here, unfortunately, and Lyn was asserting her god-given right to monopolize as much of Kate's (and my) time as possible. She wanted me to use my day off to take her to International Mall, but when k was coming I deflected this with an offer to have her go to the airport in Orlando to pick her up. Then that plan was foiled by Lyn getting sick, so now she was lobbying for taking up the 2nd of Kate's precious three days. This was when she was at the "other side's" wedding, so that was kinda a stressful mess for me, with Lyn making regular calls to find out when and how K was coming. with a lot of strategizing, I finally was able to make it so we could all go out to dinner together. Then of course she dominated the conversation for like half hour streams--talking about her favorite PBS movies and Cromwell, AGAIN! stuff we'd already heard . BASTA! Then she asked what were we planning tomorrow--I deflected, and we didn't answer the phone when she called the next morning at 9--twice. Gaa! If she was willing to share conversations it wouldn't be so awful. K and I had a errand to run, and we managed to avoid her with a well placed text--she doesn't fully know how to operate all her electronic devices.
Feb 24: Ok, I know I need to sort this out in my head, to get perspective. I am not the bad guy here. Just someone caught in the crosshairs of people who do not have perspective. My in-laws and my marriage. So, there are all sorts of aberrant mental strains running through my spouse's family..many of them clinically diagnosed. His mother's sister is been for decades diagnosed as schizophrenic, as is her son. His mother herself has been diagnosed recently as Manic-Depressive. The bad kind, enough that her husband of 60 some years was thinking of leaving her. She talks nonstop, often for a half an hour. I've timed her. She has that unfortunate Michigander accent that makes it harder to listen to.
She and her daughter are not speaking; the daughter has a son with well managed Autism, and is a carrier, confirmed by some sort of genetic test, of something called Fragile X, a mutation that causes behavior and mental limitations roughly akin to Down Syndrome. My husband's brother has this syndrome, full-blown--it made him appear what people might have called "retarded" years ago. He barely finished tech high school, got a government job from which he took long leaves of absence--has never had a relationship. Is obviously "odd" when you speak to him, but a generally sweet, innocuous person who often gets taken advantage of by his co-workers. He may also be on the autism spectrum.
I have long suspected this of my husband himself, having Asperger's or some other high functioning level of mathematician autism, ever since my nephew was diagnosed and I learned about the symptoms and behaviors: this of course, well after we had already tied the knot. But to tell the truth, my husband's behavior was much more normal and tolerable in those early days. Then, it was just his odd, non emotive and effete speech patterns, strange sense of humor. I thought he just had a dry wit. He could be affectionate. Now I think it's more. He's on medication, etc, and still not always keeping it together. Everyone in this mess seems to be cracking up with age. And rubbing everyone else the wrong way.
I was so busy balancing work, Katie and Joe in the old days, I hardly had time to notice where K was going. He seems fine at work, where his knowledge and sternness is appreciated. But at home, he's bad, now that I'm not running to Cub Scouts and Soccer/Track practice. To give Ken credit, he was a pretty good father in some ways, took some responsibility to contribute, even if I did the majority of the running around--some years he took Joe to school, for example, and he makes dinner (even though he doesn't pay attention to what anyone else wants). He occasionally helps clean. I sorta doubt he has the first clue of how to clean a toilet. He can vacuum! On band practice day!! But Emotion-wise, he's not much of a father figure or husband.
But he was overly gruff and judgmental. I have this image in my mind: Heidi's grandfather with the overhanging, Germanic eyebrows. This first came to a head while Katie was in high school, had a pretty rebellious boyfriend, and cut ties with her father. Ken was NOT a good replacement for what she needed--(granted she was kinda a mess, but certainly a workable mess, a good student, not a partier--just the BF..) For example, she got a full scholarship to a GOOD school, hardly cost us anything for college. I'm kind of surprised how sympathetic Kate is of Ken these days, given his former coldness to her. To me, it's not the strictness that was the problem--she needed that. It was the coldness. (And for me). Ha. I could not, for all his tolerance of high school student shenanigans, get him to a sympathetic view for Kate, who, let's face it, had had rough going being bounced around in a very acrimonious custody thing.
Once Katie was gone, then Joe, all this judgment that once fell on others fell on me. I was soooo negative. All I did was complain. When we both worked at F together, I felt like we had a common ground of understanding: who was cool, who was a jerk, who were the problem people. We talked a lot then. But ever since he left, that connection is broken--he doesn't want to hear about school crises. Nor the victories! If he just was non communicative listening to my work problems, that might be somewhat understandable, if unsympathetic. The Nagging wife..blah, blah. But he also doesn't want to hear about my good days, my good people. Wow this great thing happened today!! Radio silence. Everything is an affront to his ego, which is getting larger, BTW. Even stranger, the people he once was close to, even revered? He could care less about. He rarely tells me anything about his work life.
He's done this odd thing where he's trying to become a fashion icon--but a strange one. Sort of gay Truman Capote on the Tonight Show with matching bow ties and shirts. It's amusing, it's colorful, but it's also disconcerting. I think, maybe, he's trying to recreate the flutter he created in the 80's being punk--people talked TO HIM, took off the burden of his social anxiety. He used to always brag about DC people coming up to him in his thrift store, pre-Columbine overcoat--mistaking him for a homeless bum and giving him change. I think he thrives on that kind of attention. Once in a while, I find end-of the year Notes or valentines from his middle school girls who simultaneously say he's cool and "creepy" or "weird". Well. No comment.
Ok, this week. I had Katie here for 2 precious days, and my mother-in-law felt some sort of entitlement to spend every moment she was here with "us". Katie has perfected the art of interjecting nice comments into Lyn's monologues, "Oh, that's really interesting!" which give Lyn the impression someone is listening to what she says. I know, because I used to do this myself, but have since realized it is enabling behavior to her mania and self-absorbtion. So I don't. And--it has for years been apparent to me that Ken behaves this way with her also, in direct opposition to how he handles conversations with me. Can I say--I hate Fridays, when I should love them, due to these awful, non-conversations we have over going out dinner. Really, the last vestiges of any sort of courtship between us. I am constantly tempted to spend all the non-eating time checking my facebook feed--is this a good relationship? I have this notion that he wants me to stream monologue like his mother to put him in some sort of Freudian comfort zone. I hate it. He over eats, I try to avoid having two glasses of wine rather than one. He makes me feel lonely in this, because he doesn't drink, because--well, let's just say it's for the best. Fact of life: I am married, and lonely.
So, last week, Lyn, my mother in law, decided to get proactive about my son's alt-right political positions. I admit to my stupidity in venting to her, due to my frustration with him myself, because ultimately I think he will come to see what's reasonable. He's young, experimenting. I should never have told her who he voted for, his views. I gave her more credit for handling stuff, better:I think she did in the past. So, she wrote him this long letter, some of which was intended to make him feel guilty about her contributions to his college education, berating him on his political views.
If she had used moderate language I might have been more empathetic to her view, but she was extremely emotional. Joe was upset. He ironically thanked me for telling her his views, to which I responded--hey, you chose, now live with the repercussions. But. Sorry, old boy. Yet I made it clear I supported him, and didn't think he was a monster. I do think I probably made a mistake to "out' him to his grandmother--I think I really expected more from her. Like I said, in the past, everyone in this game was more normal, more reasonable, with better perspective. I'm beginning to think Joe, me and Kate are the last men standing.
So, Joe ripped off all my almost ten year old Obama stickers off my car--definitely a breech of personal space. Ken thought it was good revenge to plaster a bunch of new stickers that say "PROUD LIBERAL" and "IF LIBERALS REALLY HATED AMERICA, THEY WOULD VOTE REPUBLICAN" in their place. See, it's a joke on Joe--if he has to drive this car. But, I feel an equal violation of my personal space by someone deciding to put these on the car I have to drive around in redneck FL. But a good woman is seen, her opinion not heard. So now Ken hates me again because I said this wasn't something I favored. Never mind the repercussions I might have to face for a sentiment I don't really agree with. He's leaving my negative ass, again, when it's convenient. Whatever. So tired.
Feb 26: The bumper stickers are going. I took a picture for Joe. I think, judging by his softer behavior, Ken is sorry about his over-reaction. It's getting harder and harder for me to bounce back from these nuclear explosions, especially when I never get an apology. Just reversed, or somewhat tolerable, polite behavior.
Feb 28: No. Something is deeper, and wronger. And not to do with me. Someone is going to Career counseling. This is a pattern. Changing bunkbeds, every few years. AFA, SoftwareSolutions, The 'Wood, TMMS. Ponds, plants, orchids, wood working, leatherworking, sewing. Music? (I still think you have to be born with it, a four year old who can dance). At least I don't feel upset anymore--what will be will be. Que sera, sera. что будет-- будет ...
March 7: My happy dream (on the bicycle) is still filling me with happiness that doesn't make much sense otherwise--state of mind is so central. So does optimism fuel good dreams or do good dreams fuel..???
I heard this really fucked up statistic. Of all the generations, millennials have the least sex. What, they are young and the ones. ?? Apparently, the WWII gen had it most, then the boomers, and it descends , in order. Social media seems a big culprit, Joe's generation being the least likely to take the plunge. Well that explains some things, but--damn. Sad for them. Sounds like they don't trust each other, is the real problem. Plus distraction of an electronic nature. I think to me, the whole point of the electronic is the potential of reality... Am I old fashioned???
addendum: personally, I think they are all too skinny and will break if they have sex. They just want to LOOK like they want sex, but the real thing is too icky.
March 27: Saw the movie Paterson last night, and Gimme Danger the night before--both directed by Jim Jarmusch, whose odd little films I've always liked. These were particularly special. (BTW, Danger is on Amazon Prime right now to stream). I saw Paterson at the beautiful Tampa Theatre.
Both these films had a great, positive effect on me, particularly Paterson. The movie was filmed in this strangely immersive point of view: I don't know how to describe it--it's a very slow paced movie that picks up the vibes of a workaday life. But, somehow, you see the world through Paterson's (the main character) eyes. And his eye is quite thoughtful and quietly optimistic. You see, he's a bus driver in Paterson, NJ. But he's also secretly a poet, with a "Secret Notebook" that he doesn't share, but where he makes poems that reflect his interesting observations of the world.
Beyond that, you just start feeling him listening to the hum of the universe, listening to conversations on his bus, interacting with random people, and Paterson makes a great backdrop for turning a potentially ugly world into a beautiful one. Paterson is pretty renowned for being a beaten down city--urban and grungy: some of the brothers I taught with at Mary Help were from there, or did a year at their inner-city school. Adam Driver's character has an almost Ground-hog day existence of repetition, but somehow he finds a serene joy in his patterns that are quite inspiring. Like, he goes to this weird little spot, half industrial, half nature. It's a bench next to an ordinary chainlink fence, that overlooks some sort of concrete reservoir. But there's also this old, beautiful iron railroad bridge that arches above a ravine that spurts out what pretty much looks like a natural waterfall. It's quite striking. That scene, in particular reminded me of the feel of Tarkovsky's Stalker, and I'd love to know if Jarmusch is a fan of his. That, plus the slow pacing, the quiet, positive message about life's good purpose, remind me of Stalker. I'm sure he's a fan.
Anyway, the narrator's serene acceptance of his life really made me think about perspective--through different eyes this same story could have been like a condemnation of the blinding, boring grind of daily life. But it was, in fact, the opposite. I am so happy I saw it, and want it to stay with me. It's time for me to slow down and notice what is happening around me. Accept. Observe. Not judge.
Live.
April 4: Here's the thing: I don't feel very funny, or joyous, anymore. Mostly I just want stuff to be over.
April 6: great movie line: "Cigarettes don't cure the hiccups. Not in this country."
-Jim. Jarmusch, delivered by Tom Waits to Roberto Benigni in Down By Law
April 19: Just saw this strange observation about Trump, and it hit me in the gut. This is my life:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/donald-trump-melania-body-language_us_58f769bbe4b05b9d613edb9b
A friend of mine recently called my husband "a gentleman" which I replied was an overstatement. This /\ is among the reasons why I feel that way. It makes me feel alone on some very sub-atomic level. It is quite depressing. And I may understand possibly why. It's an autistic behavior, a "I live in my own little world behavior". It could explain why Barron is labeled autistic, one of those apple from the tree things.
It really comes home when I go out with friends and they treat me differently, with simple common courtesy. Waiting to walk, holding something when I'm having trouble doing some dumb girl thing. Allowing me to interrupt and laugh. Normal eye contact that is a response. Offering to buy me a drink--I feel like a real person again. Even drummers get it)).
A real irritation is this repeated behavior that is daily endured--we go somewhere, anywhere, the grocery store, and the car stops. He gets out immediately without a word or look, cos everything is under his conditions; it takes me maybe 5-6 seconds to respond and gather my things. He stands outside the car, impatiently, staring into middle space, expressionless and waiting for the few seconds that's needed before it's good to hit the key clicker to lock the door. I'm such an irritation that he must wait for.The clicker noise sounds, and he turns, without eye contact, and makes his way into the store entrance, 9 feet in front of me. Just like Trump. Gentlemanly, нет. His fault? Doesn't matter, it's depressing anyway. Did he always do this? It seems like we occasionally held hands long ago, but conversation was still the same. For a long period we were just busy with the kids and work, so we rarely had time to do things together. It does seem we've always had some version of this walking problem, on hikes, walking to McNally's. I remember a few years also of him complaining that I walked too fast. So maybe he thinks he's getting a head start on me.
This was sort of a truly the nadir, this past weekend. After having a nice time with real people, I went out for a spousal dinner--same parking behavior. And we went to a new restaurant, that was very busy, and full of youngish waitresses in black leggings.
I did my usual attempt to engage him in a topic he might like---politics, I've long given up. Movies, TV he doesn't watch, and what he has watched, he's not interested in discussing, analyzing or interpreting. Music is a poisoned subject for us because he often doesn't know the musicians I'm talking about, unless they're from the 70s, Jazz guitarists, or old punk. Books, occasionally we can talk books, but more the ones he's read than I've read. That really is our best connection. Work, never. I used to tell about my day, good or bad, but I've kind of stopped because I get no response, no counter story. no interest. Friends? Нет--he's not interested. He doesn't really have any. Family stuff, well a few practical things about Joe--about his exams, school payments, pick-up schedules, goes for about 5 minutes. About K and Mark, he listens, but doesn't contribute or seem interested, really. Food, cooking? I'll ask a question, and he'll go into a lengthy lecture of how-to, properly.
Lately, I asked if he would be interested in making K and M's wedding cake--that got him fired up, boy, a challenge. Long, monologues about the how-to. See, I understand him. Does he try to understand me?
I hate to be the only one talking. More often now, I just stop. And eat. Or drink. It's probably partly why I drink more now. But this time I was making a valiant effort to get something to go. He was more awake than usual--(did I say he sleeps something like 12 to 14 hours a day--not all at night..)
A connection? Every time I thought things were getting somewhat interesting, he's interrupting with a distraction, with something irrelevant. (At home he frequently interrupts conversations to abruptly go to the bathroom, mid-sentence). Here though, in the new busy restaurant? Mostly the interruption was just to turn his head. So he could look at this waitress. Or that new customer. His head was swerving around like a steering wheel. I was embarrassed for him. I felt disrespected, but I said nothing, because I know his temper. He's likely to just get up and storm off. Then the worst...
His mother has always says--"It always seems like Kenny is not listening, but he is.!!" I suppose. To her. That doesn't make him pleasant to be around, especially if he's listening in a way that makes it painfully obvious that he has no clue or concern, about what you are feeling. I think it's different with her. Well, they are both equally absorbed in their own inner worlds. I suppose theirs intertwine somehow.
It's very obvious he is more in tune with her feelings, is willing to go the extra yard to make her feel ok. (Case in point--the first moment I told him K was getting married, his first thought was, not for Kate, but, "Is my mother invited? My mother would want to be invited..can I tell her about it?" How freaky is that? To me that's a sorta unhealthy attachment. Not to mention, when he thinks he's alone (or with me, which is more or less the same) He talks to himself, and the kitchen pans, and the meat he is cooking, in this weird, high-pitched woman's voice, that is sort of a hybrid of Julia Childs' and his mother's nasally Northern-midwest twang. Fargo's not far off. (Ken himself has never lived in the midwest). He's--I hate to put it this way, and I'd say it differently if I could find another way to express it--he's a classic mama's boy. Boys and men of the world--listen--there is nothing less attractive, less sexy--than a mama's boy. He's never been with me to visit Kate and Mark in SF. He spends several weeks with his mother, every summer. Lately, he'd rather do it alone.
So, back to our "date" night.
He wanted to go check out the menu of another restaurant, to see if he'd like it-- this is how he is. Of the hundreds of amazing, good restaurants we have in our city, he only likes about 10% that meet his requirements for good food and huge servings, and so, there is always this vetting process. (He rejected this one too, in the end. It never matters how I feel about it). So we walk there, almost together, because I have to show him where this place is. ( I remember thinking this was nice, maybe he was changing, but just now as I'm writing, I realize that was the reason--he didn't know where it was). I suppose I should be happy he's usually ahead, considering what happened.
"Good God." he said, and practically points, interrupting as I was explaining where the restaurant was, and what kinds of things they had. There was a nice-looking couple about 15 feet in front of us, late 20s, early 30s, and the pretty girl was tall and modelesque, long legs in a short skirt, heels, and a big slit in her silk blouse at her breasts that revealed her cleavage. After this impulsive statement, and I stopped to say "What?" He said, "Did you see that? (Not her, that). He made some prudish remark about how she shouldn't go out on the street with those hanging out, and I said, something like, "Why, cause you can't handle it?" I thought he was going to do one of his usual ballistic reactions, but it was so bizarre, I just couldn't let it pass. Maybe he realized, because he didn't.
I mean what a rude, stupid, self absorbed thing to say--I wanted to add, "What if she heard you?" And she might have, he was so wrapped up in his singular vision. And what would she think of this middle aged guy with the gray scraggly beard and a missing front tooth,` replaced by a bald wire, and a dandy of a hat? The sad part is, I didn't feel even a twinge of jealousy, just sadness and isolation. How do you explain to the clueless that this is wrong? And weird. And Creepy. And would he have done that, if other people, his mother, even, were there? I'm beginning to feel like a non-person in his eyes, and when I look at Melania, I think she's feeling the same cold air.
It was kind of a page turner. I swear he didn't used to be like that. More and more, I'm just embarrassed to be in public with him. It feels like he thinks I deserve this treatment, but of course, I don't see that.
I'm starting to think his mind is breaking apart. I used to think he was silent because he was thinking great thoughts, being reserved and speculative, weighing things carefully. Now I realize, I don't think so. There's a lot of banality, a lot of insecurity, in all that eccentricity.
I just mostly feel terrible around him. Neutral, is about as good as it gets.
Tolstoy says in Anna Karenina, "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." Ain't it the truth.
May 7: School. Nightmare. Eng. Dept. v. Admin.
May 12: Wow, I really haven't updated in a while, probably because I'm sort of making an effort to sort stuff out before I commit it to writing. Sometimes when I do that it seems like I'm solidifying some notions I have. Well, I feel more equipped now that some of the end-of-the-year rollercoaster is settling in a bit--we got contracts extremely late this year for example. Our admin seems a bit out of sync, and we received lots of blow-back, especially concerning the English curriculum. In the final analysis, it seems like it's not on me so much, although one of the books I'm presently teaching, Divergent, is sort of unofficially banned.
I found a cache of Conservative websites that might be the source of all this, but haven't hit the right one just yet--want to know what the others are really thinking. Apparently, they are objecting less to the old deadly problem in teaching good lit in school: sex, substance abuse, violence, swear words. Apparently the most extreme (and everyone says, mentally ill, parent--I've had no contact, so I can't judge, but it sounds bad) parent gave the OK to Catcher in the Rye, apparently by virtue of the fact it is a "classic"--my choice of Night is also ok because it's violence that really happened. I think what their real concern is a paranoia about indoctrination of their children by us evil teachers. The objection to Divergent (which floored me, honestly), apparently has a political edge--they don't like any dystopic lit that suggests anarchy or government overthrow or things such as this. This is sort of fascinating to me--what a weird turn American culture has taken. Wow, fear of a young planet. Not that I like these critical people much, but this is definitely something feeding whatever divide we have going on in the US.
So, I'm guessing they'd have a similar recoil from Hunger Games, Handmaid's Tale, 1984, Brave New World, Fahrenheit 451, Lord of the Flies (I hate that book, anyway), etc. There's an especially strong outcry against a book called Speak, which is the darling of liberal middle school teachers everywhere--won all sorts of awards, yada--means nothing to me. I read it, it's not so hot, artwise. It's about a girl who spends most of the book silent about her "date"-rape by a boy she knows, at a party. See that's where I come from, I am also not keen on lit that has a political agenda over its literary value. First, they usually miss the mark of feeling truthful in someway. I prefer classics. Therefore, I'll probably not be in the spotlight this year.
Wonder what their view of Harry Potter is--that must have been the fuel for all this millennial protesting and fighting, right? Magic! Rebellion!! They were that age. But it has a happy ending, so. I plan on teaching All Quiet on the Western Front, Romeo and Juliet, Fault in Our Stars, maybe Night again. Not sure what to do about ESOL I--tired of Harry Potter, and probably wouldn't have picked Divergent again anyway, due to my "been there done that" moods. Maybe The Outsiders, since the 8th/9th grade teacher's doing it anyway.
I do take exception to the way my boss delivered a wild-card parental comment to one young male teacher in particular: telling him a parent heard he was "an idiot" or did he say "stupid"? don't remember exactly, but it was kind of a shocking, inflammatory, and unnecessary? detail to pass on to us at a meeting--which of course, in this context has nothing to do with said teacher's intellect, as he has excellent educational credentials and is quite bright--it's a euphemism (?? milder?) for "liberal". There sure is some sense of entitlement to speak one's mind out there, boy. It's too bad too many people confuse PC for politeness.
May 25: Rooms. They soak up your electrons, maybe even your protons and neutrons, if you stay in them long enough. I've been in a particular room for a very, very long time. Decades, even. It must reek of me. Its walls have reverberated with my favorite music. And I learned new music there, taught music there. I have projected my favorite movies and images there in the dark, thanks to the cheapo black-out curtains I found, on its walls. Violated school rules there, all for the sake of a higher education. Did art. Hung art. Wrote songs. Acted out scenes. Sympathized. Danced. Learned pieces of languages. Felt alive. Recited my favorite literature there. Waxed Shakespearian. Cajoled someone into doing a funny accent. To sing... Laughed, oh god.!! Dressed up weird. Praised my favorite people. Scolded a few. Heck, even scolded my favorites. Loved, was bored, was bored again (and again), was surprised, angry, felt loved, was pedantic! and appreciated. Was hate graffitied. Stared people down. Ignored mediocrity, recognized the few, and had my personal items stolen--more than once. Gave out ridiculous, valueless prizes. Felt betrayed.And threatened. Judged, was judged. Drew on the walls. Painted. Questioned the reason for existence--spun out ridiculous ideas of why?? Philosophized. Made my mark. Harmonized. Felt the rhythm. Learned something. Cried. Felt lonely. Felt loved. All in one little room.
May 28: It's assessment time. I'm staying home most of the summer, mostly to give some possibly last bonding time with my curmudgeony son, who is chained to the St. Pete/St. Leo area with 3 chains: two jobs and one trigonometry class at SPC. Next year will be his last in college, then he will be off to the cyber-security world, living who knows where. So this may possibly be the last time we live together, particularly in this house, but who knows? Future cannot be seen.
So, at school, I'm moving to a new, smaller room. In an odd way I am happy about this--forced downsizing. I have accumulated way too much stuff in twenty some odd years, and it feels like it weighs me down. I threw out three trash bags-plus two cardboard boxes of old stuff--mostly workbooks and old paper files I haven't used or even looked at in years. I gave away a bunch of costumes, swords, fabric to one of my creative students--that was a relief to have somethings at least have future potential! Weeding down a small amount to be stored, along with my extra guitars and amps, cords, etc. in the band room, temporarily. The drama stuff will go there too. Some of the better acoustics I'll take home for the summer.
Taking one bookshelf, lots of books, but not all, and ESOL/Drama files. My SF trolley car tin of guitar toys, tuners, capos, picks, slides, etc.
Next week I start working on the walls--all the paper stuff will probably go. Will keep: Guitar chord charts, Big Brother, "I Want Change", the Television heads, and the Love Hose poster--those are laminated and preserved. Jack Kerouac? Major Decision? English King chart? We'll see how much room there is..I'll take my personal photos down, not sure which will go back up--less.
Luke, by the way, never came for my old black Stratocaster--I have the feeling he liked the idea of owning it more than the reality. Anyway, I'll keep it around for him, just in case--again, would like to have it be of use to someone who appreciates it--I never really did--it's too hard to play. Actually, maybe I should try it again, just for fun. There was a time when I was really picky about which guitars I could play, my Telecaster being the easiest, but I think I have improved my skills enough that this is no longer a thing.
I really don't know how much to believe that I WILL be going in the new building when it's up--besides the theatre space there's a designated theatre class-room that is implied will be mine. I just don't want to get my hopes up, the way my experience with school has been, especially with this new guy who doesn't seem too keen on nostalgia for old AF or as any sense of loyalty to us vets--here's hoping the higher powers feel the nostalgia, guilt for past transgressions and usury , know our history and abilities!and feel for continuity--I was once overlooked for this job, and that didn't turn out...well. Mixed, at best. And! I do not have the formal degrees for either of my present positions, although ESOL certification wouldn't be that difficult. I would just have to take a test (I'm a good test-taker, always have been.) Just a matter of learning the jargon. Education-ese, Florida Dept . of Ed. Style. What a joke. Not something I want to waste my time on. A friend of a friend says she has the materials, if I need. I think I can stonewall through this re- accreditation year, by demonstrating I've looked into the way to do it, have potential access to the materials, yada,yada, until they forget about it after we get re-upped as an official school. Really, this May was the first time it was ever mentioned to me, and they implied they'd check it out for me...that will take a long time and give me breathing space! I honestly do not want to waste any unnecessary time on such nonsense at this stage of my life. It's all such BS anyway. If any education is a waste of time, classes for "education" are the biggest--worst classes I ever took in my life.
Now theatre classes, I wouldn't mind..if they push that! Just afraid they might hire someone over me--been done before. But half a theatre degree is all reading plays--I have those credits, esp. Shakespeare, in spades. Anyway, any decent theatre dept. needs more than one person to run it.
At home. My son is just as concerned as I am about the third denizen of our house. I told him, now that he's a full-fledged adult, some things he didn't know--we're trying to figure out what to do. In the meantime the 3rd seems to be attempting to shed some of his worst behavior--he volunteered to go out for a reunion this week, for example, and seemed to enjoy it. Less nasty, digging, and overbearing behavior at practice. He's still mostly isolated, stimming, rocking, using an unmodulated voice, slamming noisily and messily around the kitchen, breaking things and hiding it, talking in his Julia Childs' voice to food, and sleeping like a maniac. Talking a blue-streak to himself when he thinks no one's around, and seeming unconcerned when someone does hear, like it's normal.
One day I got home early, was sitting in my unseen chair doing stuff on my laptop, when he came in, having a full conversation with himself, which gave me the impression of some sort of monologue one would give to a psychiatrist. It was all about some decades ago embarrassments, like being a closet smoker and being almost caught (He ungallantly let me take the fall for that so that I had to listen to literally hours of lectures by his mother who always topped it off with, "Thank God none of my children ever smoked!!" K just sat there, not confessing, letting me be the most terrible person in the world--even though I'd already long quit by this time!!--that hasn't done much for our relationship, not to mention all the many times he chose mother over me). I froze, not sure what to do--finally decided, when he walked right past without seeing me, to another room, that when he came back, still talking, I'd put my earbuds up to my ears as if I'd just now taken them out--less embarrassing for him that way, I felt, or for me to not ask questions which would end in long-term conflict.
His eyes just look crazy. and sorta dead. I think that's partly the meds, partly his bad Aspie genes. The meds are what Joe and I are discussing. We don't like them. Chris Cornell's suicide sparked renewed concern for us, as they are similar meds. In the past, he wouldn't even discuss quitting them; I've tried. Now I've researched--you can't cold turkey them; it's dangerous. That's not a good sign.
Me.. what do I want? I will power through this year, and see what the future will bring. I will not be keeping the status quo after this. Joe needs to finish college cleanly.
Jun 19: Continuing in deep conversation with Joe--we are drafting a letter to other blood relatives up north about his father, to try to paint a picture of what we are dealing with. In the meantime, Joe and I are planning a much needed vacation West---to see National Parks, visit my family, his sister in California, celebrate her marriage, etc. K mercifully has declined to go, and is spending 2 weeks in DC with his family, which Joe and I think might be the perfect time to send our letter, thinking it might make them more observant about his behavior. We realize he acts better among family, and this might mask some of the problem. They're having some family celebrations, so we are trying to time this well enough to not ruin their days.
I worry about burdening Joe, although he has been very sensible. It's not like he can't see what's going on in front of his face, and I really only started to discuss this situation with him because I could see he was worried, and critical, and confused. He has troubles with his father as I do. Best to deal with it up front. I can just see he is already taking it on as a responsibility to bear, like talking about sticking closer to home when he graduates, etc. I'm not sure that is necessary, and I don't want this to ruin his future with guilt. I told him I do not plan on sacrificing myself on the altar of pure altruism and guilt. I'm not going to die before my time propping up a lost cause, if it is in fact lost. But, if I can help?
The thing is, so far K is at least maintaining the practical parts of his life: working, paying bills, doing the minimal maintenance of life, getting along, if eccentrically and unsociably . Can he do this if we are independent of him, or will he degenerate into a Miss Havisham craziness? He has started complaining about wanting to leave work "As Soon As Is Possible"--he's always had a short attention span with his interests. It does seem his mind is somehow deteriorating. One thing that troubles me--on more than an artistic level: in music. The old standards. These are songs he has been playing, working on, for years, close to a decade, I'd say. His father's music--what he grew up on. Yet--those are the very songs he's most likely to screw up, forget the lead. He plays some of them at times pretty spectacularly, but others: like lead. Ouch, painful to listen to. I don't get it: if I played those songs as often as he does, I'd never forget them. It's kinda sad. Not to mention, taking some hard-core lessons from a taskmaster guitar teacher. Something is wrong. Жаль.
I'm not sure he cares about a family future--I sometimes think he just wants to be alone, is more comfortable that way. He's pretty self-absorbed, oblivious, happy doing his own repetitive stuff. But like Joe says, if we just let him be, is he gonna just spend the rest of his life in THAT chair, rocking, gesturing, sleeping, talking to himself? And can we stop that? He's so stubborn and volatile, I'm afraid this confrontation we are planning may have repercussions we don't want. Him with his newfound interest in weapons. Can anyone, even his mother, reach him? Actually, I'm not entirely sure if she has the right mind frame to try, which is why Joe and I are approaching his lawyer sister, then maybe his father, first. Lots of layers of narcissism and denial to deal with. He's closest to his mom.
August 10, 2017:
Might I suggest a cross country train trip in lieu of the the golden Soma pills? I'm in the last hours of a 50+ hour train ride: that's not counting an overnight layover in Chicago, the BIG train city, due to a missed connection. I must be getting mellow in my age: even though this made me late for work ( I should be in a faculty workshop at this very minute), and there were a lot of hassles on the way, little of the problems really bothered me. I just went with it, figuring it would work out, and it did. I suspect hitting a mudslide in Denver is a pretty good natural disaster excuse.
Oh, so I took the California Zephyr from Emeryville (part of the SF/Berkeley/Oakland Bay area--it's the more suburban one full of the Targets, Home Depots, etc. that the rest of the Bay Area is too cool or ethnic for)...from Emeryville to Chicago, the full ride. This was unquestionably the best part of the trip. Then the Capital Unlimited from Chicago to D.C., only missing the part that goes to NYC. Then the Silver Star, down the East Coast, from D.C. to Tampa, missing the terminus of Miami. I love how the trains still have names, and even their corresponding numbers are low, unlike the airlines: our was 6, 30, and 91 respectively. Old fashioned and easy to remember. Probably the cheapest way to see the whole country there is, if you go Coach, like we did.
There was so much good on this trip to outweigh some of the minor bad. I'll get the bad out of the way first--in case anyone else is considering this romantic sounding (it is, though) journey. First, sleeping is probably the worst part. You have to sleep in your seats, like on a plane--but they are bigger, with better adjustments and footrests. The other passengers can be a pain during the sleep phase: we got two snorers, one worse than the other, some other various strange dudes. One train had this horrid squeak right above our heads. The first two trains had no WiFi, so I ate up my data plan on my cell phone taking pictures and movies, watching movies, texting and killing time. The last train, the Silver Star, claims to have WiFi, but it only kicked in halfway, and then my power source for charging went dead. The food situation is not great--sleepers get a package deal, but if you go coach like we did you have to pay for every meal, and they ain't cheap. The least expensive dinner was a very dry chicken breast succotash, and a starch--for 17.00. It went upward there to 26.00 for a steak dinner, 36.00 for steak and shrimp, the ultimate bougee meal. Joe and I only ate on the dinner car once--the rest of the time we made do with microwaved pizza, burgers and dogs from the cafe, which had a variety of convenience store stuff including booze. The bathrooms are very much like on a plane, some bigger, though, no showers, and some with additional human smells.
But, for someone like me, the crazy passengers, admittedly some who were trouble, are part of the charm of train-riding. First of all, you get to know them much better and for longer periods than on a plane--there's some sort of tradition of train friendliness that happens. I didn't get too involved since I had Joe with me and he doesn't go in for that sort of thing, but there was a lot to observe and pick up on in brief encounters. If you really want to see America, it's real citizens, get on a train.
For example, the train staff, conductors (my great-grandpa was one, I think for the B&O), are so much more human and humane than airline staff. They run around actively troubleshooting everyone's problems, although they don't "wait" on you, like in the sky. They definitely don't seem so corporate, holding down a bunch of stupid rules to maintain the bottom line. Sue (see, I know her name! was one of those great, gruff, jolly old gals with a smoker's laugh, and a no nonsense attitude like a good, benevolent schoolteacher). She was sick the whole trip, but still went out of her way for so many passengers, just one of those salt-o-the earth types. The airlines should take note. She just had a common sense approach to things, rather than corporate rule following. For example, in the Eastern parts of rural Cali and western Nevada, as night came on, Joe snuck across the aisle to an empty seat to sleep more comfortably. We thought Sue hadn't noticed, but she had, she was just being compassionate. As dawn came and we were approaching a bigger city, with new arriving passengers, she quietly informed Joe he'd have to go back to his seat to make room for the new people, after the stop. Lovely way to handle that, and the same thing happened on the Silver Star in Florida.
We had two different Cafe ladies--the first one was a bored chubby millennial who raced through her train announcements in an almost indecipherable monotone, like a disengaged kid trying to get through his turn reading aloud as quickly as possible. She perked for me when I gave her a 3 dollar tip for a drink. The second one was a real peach. She had this overweight middle aged drunk guy: two mornings in a row he was drinking beers and buying rounds for some black ladies, one who I think was a transvestite with the signature elaborate hairdo and scarf? They were treating the Cafe Car like it was their personal watering hole, and she cheerfully played bartender to them while simultaneously dealing with the long line of customers like me. Saw him this morning in the diner car at 9am with a full Corona in his hand surrounded by an entourage of new dark ladies yucking it up. To look at just a picture of him, you would have taken him for the most deeply red-necked, seed-cap wearing bigot, but here he was with his preferred company. The Cafe lady--this is on the Silver Star--was very nice and accommodating. She filled up Joe's big hiking water bottle to the brim with ice, and when I tried to buy a cup of two-dollar coffee, then told her sadly I had the option of my sad single dollar, a $20, or a credit card, she promptly transferred it to a slightly smaller complimentary cup, said, on the house, and I, in gratitude put my sad single in her tip box. She said, taken aback, "Oh, no, I didn't do it for that!" I said, "I know, that's why."
After the mudslide fiasco, the whole train was treated to a free dinner of beef stew, mashed potatoes, rolls, drinks, and the ubiquitous succotash. It was better than the paid for meal
Other characters: on the Cal Zephyr, we had a whole carful of Amish, of all ages. There was a whole family of blonde girls, plus their mother, dressed in identical eye-popping bright turquoise homemade dresses that made them stand out from the rest in dark and blue. They were the exception of travelers with no electronic devices at all--they all had worn books with them for entertainment--noticed one was the old-timey religious book Shepherd of the Hills. Some of the kids had coloring books, one lady was doing needlepoint. A big gang of them was playing cards, speaking some hybrid of German and English which I guess was Pennsylvania Dutch. They were laughing and having a fine old time, men and women together. Yet, when they talked to us "English", they easily slipped into almost unaccented American English. Some young Amish couple was sparking alone in the club car away from the others--his moustache-less beard less developed than the others'. I say one middle aged guy in the observation car deep in conversation with an Asian man--perhaps exchanging ideas about their thoughts on American culture.
In general, the train is where all sorts of ethnicities and races blend and go out out of their way to get along. I got nothing put politeness and sunny smiles from the African Americans on the Silver Star--the mix was about half, with some Hispanics thrown in. On the Capitol Ltd., Joe and I ate dinner with a man from Nigeria--we had a great conversation was we got passed the uncomfortable introductions. He told Joe he could see in his eyes how intelligent he was--how well he would do at Cyber Security. At another meal we sat with a Chicago suburban social worker and her deeply autistic son who "loved trains" and who was having some conversation with himself concerning mileage and other train minutiae.
There was one poor old black lady who spent the majority of the California Zephyr ride in the club Car with her head glued to the table, smothered in a colorful blanket. I thought she was sick: every time I went down there, even with hours passing, there she was in the same position. Finally, at one point she perked up, and started laughing uproariously at some thought she was having the time of her life alone. This went on for more than 15 minutes! Joe and I were surprised to see her on the next train too, even with the layover. It seemed like the train staff knew her, and I wondered if she just spent the remainder of her life just riding around on the train.
The other eccentrics: there's some young 20 something kid on here wearing charcoal colored touring shorts, an old fashioned long sleeved shirt with a string tie and a large scrimshaw etched bolo the size of a Victorian brooch, long soft chestnut hair and a Eastern European linen cap with a leather bill, like out of an old movie. Seemed like he was trying to look Dutch. Lots of weird and strange leathered boots on some men. A 40ish guy all in a black metal T who got on drunk at Reno, who called poor Sue a Cougar out of earshot when she was just trying to be friendly and helpful , then proceeded to describe his pot-smoking escapades to two underage girls across the aisle who were too naive I suppose to recognize he was trouble in a silver bottle. I anticipated some big mess happening from him, but thankfully he fell asleep after 30 minutes of non-stop braggadocio, and got off two stops later.
Contrasting black and white cowboys ( not by hats, but by skin color)--one looked pure African. The white cowboy looked like a magazine cover, and seemed to be a bit of a ladies man--quite flirtatious. A 250+ lb young girl with a baby who was an unfortunately very untalented mother. She seemed self-conscious about having a potentially squalling baby on such a long trip. The baby was pretty good really, sleeping most of the way, but every time she made the slightest whine this inexperienced mother just yelled at her to be quiet. Other passengers were giving her tips to keep the baby (under one--I never actually saw it, but it wasn't even babbling yet, let alone talking) happy, like taking her to the observation car to keep her from being bored, but the young mother was disinclined.
Then there was the guy in front of us all night on the Cap'l Ltd. First of all, he was a twitchy mess. The guy sitting with him would talk to him in English, which he seemed to understand, but then he answered in some strange language I could not discern--he looked European, dressed like a red neck American in a red t-shirt and Jorts. When he got on at 6:40 pm he immediately jammed (and I mean jammed!) his seat down into the sleeping position and left it that way the whole trip, bouncing my laptop, meals, etc. off my tray in a precarious way, talking to himself in this odd language every time he tossed and turned every ten minutes or so. Once it got dark, though, he did this really crazy thing--he whipped out one of those aluminum foil looking space blankets and covered himself in it.. this just upped his annoying factor by tenfold since this blanket made crinkly noises every time he turned or moved, which was a lot. I spent the night thinking I was hearing an open mike with wind blowing across it in a blustery place, say, SF or Chicago down by the lake. I thought he was snoring, too, but it turned out to be the weird pink haired girl on the other side, who later was yelling, "WHAT?!" into her phone every 2 minutes.
Aug 25 (back at school-end of first week): Dark mood. More of the same disrespect that seems to be fairly universal , particularly for the female teachers (this, oddly from both a male and female admin). Did a whole battery of tests this week that were essentially ignored or dismissed: I was pretty much told to deal with what I had. Why even do it? Stupid, non-student centered thinking. The outcome for me is, once again, to avoid communications with a particular admin. Trying to explain my frustrations to a male friend teacher who for some reason is in favor with said admin and is just making me feel worse. Been joking said admin is his "boyfriend". What's that thing about many a true word? Might just take lunch in my room today.
Should I mention that it seemed like admin just placed kids randomly in my various levels without regard to their English skills--whatever was convenient and easy for scheduling for the adult, not the kid. Watch me get blamed later for lack of success. Putting a quiet, studious girl who's shy but has advanced skills with a bunch of rowdy, unserious non-English speakers far below her doesn't seem to make much sense to me. Do they want these kids to get the best experience they can or what?
At home I am feeling a bit better, more in control of my life. The depression seems to be lifting, the pall is less dense, and we had a stroke of luck on the public school front that might make the next few years better. I have been grumpy and even digging without backlash--I think the guilty party is acknowledging past guilts and giving me the benefit. I feel I deserve that, a bit. We have our biggest show ever coming up,: I think we will be ready, although it would be nice to do more new material. I wanna do some Zeppelin, for example--don't think it would be that hard. Jimmy Page, I recognize, was something of the "work smart, not hard" brand of musicians, something like J. Marr--they both had a gift for hitting the pocket rhythmically to make something not so much difficult, but based on good ears and attention to fine details. I appreciate that so much and want to be that.
August 29: I want to read this tomorrow and think--wow, thank god that mood passed!
Work was once a refuge, and now it's hell. I feel like my sanctuary is being invaded. First, there was the moves, that seemed to be telling me-hey! don't get too comfortable, this is not really your space--we can gut you like a fish....never felt that before. Then all the petty messages about petty "mistakes" that actually didn't used to be rules we needed to follow. Forget any attaboys. Shame on myself for not knowing the new rules/visions, that I hadn't been informed about. New rules about fire drills, books that are/ are not banned (only one that I know for sure), visiting alumni, who's in charge of what..?? The FCIS evaluation is being treated with hysterical paranoia, rather than acknowledging how it's just the usual "Dog and Pony Show".. hate that cliche, but. There's no way we are going to lose our accreditation. Jeesus.
Shitty people skills all around.
Then, I get the sinister Big Brother phone in my room--what is it for, exactly? We all have cell phones for emergencies. There's a rumor going round that the offices can listen in to what's happening in your room. I'm beginning to feel as paranoid as X.. warnings that the board and the parents are getting "more conservative". Evidence to the contrary-the board hasn't really changed? The parents don't seem that different, although admin says so. Not sure admin knows what's what. Admin IS more conservative. They seem to be adept at misinformation. New pod people moving in, with nefarious credentials. There's a lot of hidden agenda. Didn't used to be that way.
I can't help but feel there is a resentment of the traditional, warm, nurturing magical culture we've created over several decades by some who feel outside it, only because they chose never to join it. They want to destroy it instead. I'm half-way convinced this is what the pattern is showing me. I don't want to overdo this comparison, but it has some small scale Trump-like similarities : elaborate promises to fix what's broken.. but instilling macho overkill. Forgetting we're dealing with kids! The thing is, there were only a few minor tweaks necessary--like tightening up attendance. Funny, that's the one thing the hard-asses really haven't fixed.
All sorts of wild accusations about why the int'l boarders are leaving the dorms in heaps and lumps. Let's blame visiting alum! Let's blame the math department! The old dorm supervisor who is in bad health? I'm afraid ESOL is next, and I am feeling the press. The real problem, of course, IMHO, is bad admin, the return to overly military style control, lack of empathy, perhaps some student on student bullying left unaddressed, and might I suggest a wee bit of old fashioned southern prejudice? One thing we really never had --thanks in some part to CB. Dorm culture sucks. Last year, res life discouraged teachers from doing "fun things" on weekend duty days. They either took over the teacher's ideas or it died some sort of strangulation before Saturday arrived.
Let me alone with my students, I'm fine. Shoot, I even feel uncomfortable playing guitar in my room these days on my downtime. After all, it's not sports, which is more in favor.
Aug 30: Thanks to my self for good wishes to mice-elf. Better mood, better day. First I powered through my ominous "surprise" evaluation, I think with great results--you can just feel when the room is with you...
I was sweating it, though, man. I had this horrible feeling admin was gonna show up for my worst class, and she did. One with two very apathetic and low-level kids. Two kids in a class is a death sentence--I've been begging for schedule changes to get more in. It is very hard to convince two kids that this is actually a class, thank you very much ,and you have to do the work. One is a Chinese repeater from last year--a dark personality who none of the others want to hang around. I actually had one of my good kids convinced to switch to this class due the low numbers--knowing he'd get more attention, but he flat out refused to be with this dark Chinese dude. The other is my first real example of a Russian native speaker who has pretty bad English. Well, he'a actually from Latvia. There was Dasha, but Dasha, for all her air-headedness and make-up skills had the ambition to be considered a good student. This guy, I can see, could easily be lost, although I like him.
I actually have 3 Russians to practice my skills with, this year. Somehow I feel more comfortable throwing off random Russian phrases--just familiarity increasing, I suppose. Still I get corrected for pronunciation--tried to tell Daniel today it's not raining--Нет Дождь.. He corrected my ending somehow---
One thing made me feel better today which was helping my friend Mary possibly find a buyer for her farm. I am very anxious about her situation, since her partner has only two weeks to live, and she can't afford to stay where she is. I thought one of our old students might be interested or know someone, and this might pan out. I hope. Also working on a get together for Kate here during wedding season with the Harte and Jack clans in the 2nd week of Nov.
Sept 10, 9:56pm : Supposedly in the eye of Hurricane Irma. I don't know, but so far, it just seems like a good, if intense, late summer Florida storm. For me kinda romantic, only without the romance (for me). Lots of Attention from the outside world however. Nice to know people are nice. Even K handled it better than I thought. My house did not break. The lights have flickered maybe 6 times. Dick's have been out since 2pm. (Later: it's been 5 days for them!! poor guys). At this point, it wouldn't be that bad overnight. Even if the air-conditioning goes out, it's in the high 70s outside. I was way more spooked last night, imagining the worst, me in my closet, under the stairs, like Harry Potter, crammed in with the good guitars, and emerging to find the surrounding stairs intact, but nothing else. That will not happen. The dream is over. The heat will come back.
Sept 13: So wrong, I was. midnight to noon the next day was downright scary. At 9: 56pm /\ I wasn't even in the eye yet--pity the innocent. I heard wind sounds I've never heard, and my house made noises it never did--wish I had the foresight to record the sound. But, it wouldn't have been very accurate--wind blowing over even the worst mikes sounds ridiculously amplified. I have a bit of survivor's remorse. Even in St. Pete, I'm among the luckiest--didn't evacuate, although all my family was pressuring me to do so, even Joseph! Didn't experience long, boring, crazy traffic jams, didn't lose power, no house damage, even minimal yard clean-up. Okay, I admit, I'm taking advantage of the situation to get my usually apathetic husband to help with yard work he usually avoids. He cut down a tree! and agreed to do even more with our messy alley passage, which admittedly was already a mess before the storm. Maybe he's copacetic with me, to get rid of some of our negligence while the county is doing free pick up.
Mentally, I feel a little worn out, but not quite to PTSD standards. Realizing both my daughter and sister have some real anxiety issues--Kate kept texting me to find out if I had filled up the bathtub, for toilet flushing water. We didn't board our windows, and frankly, it ended up being a nonissue--glad we don't have plywood to take down on top of all the other stress. If we had had a Cat 4 or 5?? We probably should, but will Ken be in denial? Seems like everyone around us is being more industrious, though. Not too excited to go back to work tomorrow, however, esp since I have to give up my classroom. Well, my kids will probably still be gone.
Saddest personal problem is missing the cancelled Depeche Mode concert which by all accounts sounded like it was gonna be major.
Sept 14: dick and I are trying to egg each other into the replacement Miami show on Friday. We didn't go. I understand why--no electricity burnout.
School turned out to be more stressful than I had imagined. First, everyone in the Russell Building got to play Odysseus--the lower school and (former middle school) Michel Buildings still have no electric, after a full work week! Electric trucks are all over the neighborhood, and apparently come from all over the country to help. I watched them cut up the tree this morning that had broken over the wall on the mansion across the street. I spent most of the day on the move--my breaks in the Aviation lab, Drama in Rm. 24, the rest in the small study room in the Library/Learning Center.
Everybody who was here was very cooperative, even though you could see the stress in some teachers' eyes, especially the ones with no electric or AC. MP looks especially drained from dealing with two places with no electric, and mandatory evacuation. Rob looks surprisingly stressed--he says he hasn't slept for days. He must be more anxious than I've ever assumed, giving kids flying lessons, I thought he had steel nerves. There were less kids here, but I had more than I thought.
And there are three more storms out in the Atlantic, two on the same possible trajectory as Irma.
On a different note:
But, why do some men talk themselves into believing that a woman mostly wants a over-fed, middle-aged bugati to take care of her? Maybe it's the influence of Narcos (like the themesong) making me focus on this, but I know some real life folks like this, too. Only very young, very immature women think like that. Start chasing money, and you lose your sensuality and romance like that(snap).
Sept 16-18: Well, they after the storm is the worst part, even days later. For me that was true. Our electric went out for two days, and it's not so much the heat without AC and not having lights and appliances, but the worry of how long will it last, will I be able to sleep? What should we do with the food in the refrigerator? Don't open it!
Ken was already asleep when the lights blew, so he got some decent rest. Joe and I decided, with debate, after several hours with out lights, with fires starting in our alley and sparks flying, and the rote response from the electric company that took about an hour on the phone, then communicating with neighbors, etc., feeling the house getting hotter and finding the outside temperature was still in the 80s at midnight--we should go to my classroom where there was AC and sleep on the bean bags.
For Joe, this turned out great. For me a mini disaster. I wanted to make sure I wouldn't get dehydrated in the night, but that turned into a raging need to pee about an hour or so later. I woke up feeling terrible on several levels, my bladder felt actual pain! it was so full, there was going to be no stopping it. The bathroom was one floor and three hallways away, a maybe 3 minute walk, plus dealing with locks. And I felt sick. Not nauseous, but that sick you feel, or I feel, anyway, when I wake up in a bad part of my sleep cycle, in the first 3-4 hours when I didn't get enough and I just want to die--it's like maximum jet lag. I had it worst on my 1st trip to London when I was awake for 36 hours in a row, since I couldn't sleep on the plane at all. Twice before this has happened to me when I felt this way--I had one of my vaso-vagal episodes, where my heart rate goes so high my heart stopped. It's related to arrhythmia, sorta but not the same. When I have it, I get this terrible, sickening spinning sensation that I imagine is something like what epileptic auras are, or maybe this is what it feels like when you die?--only in your heart, not your brain. There's a mild buzzing, like in florescent lights. Then I pass out.
This is the second time I've woken up from one of these with an injury. The first time I must have laid there a long time, maybe an hour or more, because I woke up to this large pool of blood coagulating around me. It was coming from a huge gash and swelling that had cut my left eyebrow in two.
This time, the pain was coming from both knees-I was very afraid I couldn't walk, plus I was having trouble putting weight on my left hand to push my self up. I had remembered feeling the faint coming on, and the briefly anticipating the impending head injury, so I think I had tried to get lower to the ground before losing consciousness. So I lay for a minute or two, assessing my situation, then slowly slowly tried to test my sea legs. That's when I realized I again was laying in something wet. But this time it wasn't blood, it was piss. Everything on my backside was wet. So, I knew I had to continue to the so- far -off- bathroom! And clean myself up--I was at work! Plus, I still had to pee.
I made it there, my jeans were a disaster: I just had to blast water over the entire things. I rinsed my underwear and put them back on, thinking the nylon would dry faster than cotton. Thank god my shirt was dry and kind of longish, and it was 3a.m. I hope my fainting act isn't on the video cameras.
I was hoping the knee pain was temporary, but after this I couldn't sleep so well, even though the bean bags made it pretty comfortable. I texted Ken about the electric, at about 8:45am--he said it was still down. Told him what happened to me. No response. Tried to sleep another hour but kept thinking of the tangle of broken vines and jungle flowers around the pole the electricians needed to get to--woke Joe, told him what happened, asked him to get up to go help his dad get rid of the brush.
He agreed but acted concerned for me!, but when I got home Ken still had no response to my injuries, said the chain saw was electric so would be useless. I said I had pulled some of it out by hand, and went stubbornly out to do more followed by Joe and Ken, but when he saw the mess Ken refused and went inside. Selfish, asympathetic jerk, don't care what kind of "differences" he has in his brain....
Joe and I worked alone and I was so mad I didn't much feel my leg pain, and maybe the constant movement did it good. We got the worst of it to the front curb. I hate this day, and don't want to go to school tomorrow. At least I can stay in my classroom. I feel like I live alone, Except for the extra mess, when Joe isn't there. Joe has been very sweet this week, texting me several times to ask how I'm feeling, how my knees are, etc.
Sept 24: Still made it to Arcade Fire in spite of Hurricanes, injuries, stress and tiredness. I need to keep doing things like that, not succumb to the malaise of house, couch and computer. It was a memorable show, worth the effort even under duress.
I'm hatching a plan for new music relations....(well, really old ones).
Because one of my good music friend's life has imploded. When it comes to romance, he has a gift for choosing the wrong thing for himself (don't many of us? Too bad we can't see ourselves from the outside...) I think he talks himself into romanticism that is really mere convenience. Bird in the hand.. I had always seemed like an awkward fit that had changed his personality for the worse--more bland, boring, without his previous curiosity, tending toward bourgeois, less music!
It's sort of interesting that this one gravitates toward the romanticism of Edgar Allan Poe (love of dead, impossible girls) without seeming to recognize the underbite of irony implied that the "love/obsession"-- is more a manufactured product of a strained mind than any sense of true love in its pure state. Pure state? Well at least built on admiration, compatibility, mutual empathy...besides mere chemistry, or imagined connection.
Wow, now thinking about this debate we had about The Idiot--who represents love best--the obsessive, willing-to-kill for love man, or the one who radiates sympathy. Hmm starting to see a difference in my thinking. What does one's love consist of? One's own perceptions, and the impact on one's feelings, or the love object's true nature? That gets me thinking of the Chekhov story I just read, about some joker who falls for a 19 year old, seemingly somewhat vapid girl who does not seem to reciprocate the level of feelings the narrator has, yet by the end, he finds some sort of bland satisfaction in his situation. Even though she cracks her nuts too loud and seems to think marriage is all about the trousseau.
Why do the initial feelings of love make you bathe your love interest in your own dreams and desires?
This of course , concerning my friend, is all only based on what I could see from my limited viewpoint with limited communication (however, I still I think I'm one of many with these thoughts about this relationship)...hope to pry him out of his fuzzy vision, and this also will give me something to keep my demons away. Because I'm hating my life on about 6 levels right now.
And I cannot stop being tired. Can't believe I have to work tomorrow.
Sept 25: Music friend's life is moving overseas--he says. He's finally (he says) cutting ties with his addictive source for spoils, which I've been advocating for years. We'll see if things carry through , but it really is what should be done. Lots of excessive equipment for sale, but doubt I can afford it or need it. Maybe a mixing board would be nice? Additional mikes? No more guitars...except the ones that probably won't be parted with. We have the same taste in guitars, I think. Not sure how serious this resolve is, to go the straight and narrow without a parental fix.
Plus, I'm not too keen on this relationship he just "lost", was obsessing over for years (or I think this was the one, not entirely sure)--probably the real reason for the move, rather than a musical career, as a mutual friend agrees. Other than the physical, I'm not sure what said person has to offer--he claims dream support. (For a dream he's not willing to mentally invest in.) She just seems, kinda nothing? flighty, impulsive, not a rock, not a help for a music career, for any career. For love? More like OCD love. Not even committed--they don't really hit me as one of those soul-searing heaven- made matches. I was wondering, when they got engaged, why they weren't making any plans for the big day. It just all seems so cutesy and bland, a little desperate. Puppy love. Just doesn't seem to justify the level of obsession. She is cute, and a little sad. I wonder if she is depressed. Never met her, been discouraged from any social media contact. But, she doesn't have much presence. If she really is so strong and supportive of a difficult life choice, why not stand up with him against the naysayers, instead of getting out of Dodge? Why not be proud? That's what I would do in the same situation. He needs someone who pushes on a more active level--making plans, etc.
I don't really get it, why the need to win over this seemingly unhelpful, useless person. Was told she comes from a bad childhood--that's difficult to overcome. Don't see a father in the picture. Wonder if she's the one, or possibly another family member, who is into self harm. Went to a good school, so probably smart or talented --did she finish, any school? It's implied she left due to criticism from the family--they blocked her first. Who does that? Not a show of strength, in my mind. IDK, but it's keeping my mind off my own problems temporarily. Not overwhelmed with any expression of creativity, though.
Whatever's going on it seems to be draining any creative musical impulses, rather than fueling them. If she's so supportive, why isn't there loads of material coming out? A Muse? Doesn't seem so. Shy muse..mm. Some hear what they want. Is it really the family stymying this? There's a little control freak there, to deflect strong feelings that some cannot handle--been there, to me it's a real turn-off. Guess the next step will prove what's what. How can someone have really good creative instincts and insights, but suck at recognizing the important things in life? smh
In addition, I'm not a fan of jealousy and possessiveness. To me it screams weakness in the relationship, in character. It is not proof of love, but insecurity. How do I know? Well, in spite of my track record, I feel like I've experienced the good, secure type of love, and it felt real, that knowledge of trust that is deserved and shared. Why doesn't it last? People change, time goes on, everyone evolves into their next stage, feels restricted. What you once wanted together might not live. But, the kind of person who locks "love" away in a safe, heart-shaped box is destined to lose it.
So many guitar guys joke around they get into it " for the girls." Not sure I know that many girls are into guitar players--seems to me it's guys that go for the guitarists, girls go for the lead singers. The guitar guys are usually the nerds of the band (Jimmy Page excepted, but he is a bit nerdy--or just other-worldly. ) But it makes a nice story for the wannabe guitarist to tell others--offsets any lack of athleticism, being a high school wimp or loser, for example. But, then, do you quit if you get the one girl you wanted? I don't think most great guitarists lose speed at that point. Something is not right.
Oct 8: New plan to fix my house.
Had a terrible Friday with K. We went out to hear a friend play: he was non-verbal all night so that I wasn't sure what his plans were, since they were out of his usual comfort zone. He had made a HUGE platter of nachos for himself, offered me none. Then power nap for like two hours. This put me in the position of being super hungry for several hours, which I knew would play havoc with my stupid digestive tract. I snagged a few chips out of the bag to hold me over-keep the acid back. I had e-mailed him earlier about eating somewhere else before the show, aka not greasy bar food. No response. I wasn't sure, until we got there, if the place even had dinners (they did.) So I said, if we're gonna be here awhile, we should take it slow, have appetizers before dinner--he said ok. This was my fatal mistake. But by then the band had started, I ordered the calamari for appetizers--little did I know Ken had ordered his dinner, too, at the same time. Without telling me or co-ordinating with me. I was a bit unhappy with this, but I figured I'd order later.
I think the waitress thought the calamari was my dinner, so she never came back, but Ken, after he gobbled down his dinner, then ate whatever calamari was left--I would have tried to munch on it slowly over the night to keep my stomach from getting to the empty equilibrium that often makes me sick. The band was hot, the room got super busy, the waitress seemed to be alone, and had taken our menus while I was in the bathroom. I caught K checking his watch several times during the night. I figured after the 1st set I'd order something, but they played really long, and I was pretty sure K wouldn't stand for my ordering food too late--so I sucked up.
Plus, I went light on drinking--my first was a sissy , sugary sangria full of fruit juice, little alcohol. Then I had a Guinness, thinking it wouldn't be acid inducing. Over the next two hours I ordered water, two glasses of ice, and two small red wines--they came in those super small glasses only filled about 1/3rd. I filled them with the ice, felt fine. No acid. K started talking to the guitar players, and I wasn't sure if he was going to stay for the 2nd set, but i doubted it--he was with them, so it wasn't the place to ask--how long you gonna stay? So I didn't order, plus i was feeling ok. The waitress was too busy anyway. When K came back, he said, one more song--I said, surprised you stayed this long...
We had about a 6-7 block walk to where we parked, and I still felt fine, and not even buzzed--all that water and ice. My stomach was ok. Until we got moving in the car. We were almost out of Gulfport when I said, "Pull over, I'm gonna be sick." And I was. This is what happens to me when I don't eat enough and the acid suddenly gets high--it can happen in like 30 seconds. So, I thought it had passed, shut the door. Ken says nothing, not --Are you alright? Or anything nice or of concern. As usual. For all I know he thought I was drunk, even though I was walking and talking perfectly normally on the way to the car. But he always calls me a fly weight, which is true to some extent, but not this extent.
I'm starting to feel mad that his sleep/eating obsessions are what put me in this situation--again. And it's embarrassing, to be puking at my age. Once the car started to go, I felt sick again--at times I'm not so hot with motion sickness either--ask my family growing up. i have a ridiculously weak stomach. So. this time I didn't get the door open quick enough, so I'd have a small mess to clean up, mostly on the windshield and passenger door.
That was bad enough, with no concern coming from driver-side. But the drive home isn't long. When we got there I went into get paper towels and cleaner to do what I could in the dark--some stuff was on my clothes, too. Just little splashes. I took my keys, because I was sure that K was just going to go straight to bed, and might even lock the doors, plus I needed to lock up the car when I was done. Thinking to myself, a nice, normal husband would stay up to make sure i was all right, might even help me clean up the mess. Or at least offer to--I would appreciate even an insincere offer. But I'm sure K was only thinking about his sleep, the fact that he'd been up 3-4 hours passed his usual bedtime--no thought for me at all except to maybe judge me for not handling this situation the way he thought it should have been--which was what? I was mad at myself for not ordering dinner--keeping him happy rather than pacifying him, his appetites.
So, this is when it all boiled over--I went to our back door--locked. But, I had my keys! They wouldn't work--we have this faulty catch that sometimes engages even when the door has been unlocked, and you have to mess with it forever to get it right. So I went to the front door, hoping he hadn't already put on the dead bolt. Turned the key--the dead bolt was in. Now, I was pissed, because I knew he was going to be all pissy to get up and unlock the door for me:all I could do was fight fire with fire--so I started banging on the glass french door--it's fragile, and broke--I was sorta glad--and I started ringing the big copper bell we have on the porch that serves for our doorbell--I was really hot now. He came down, and saw the broken glass, and before he could make something of it I said , "WHY THE HELL DID YOU LOCK ALL THE DOORS!!??" (I know there was a chance he hadn't done the back door, but he always denied it has a problem, and that I must just be stupid or something--like he says when things happen to my computer.)
He just ran up back to bed, cos he knew I was not going to be talked down--plus that's his usual cowardly way of avoiding confrontation. I am hoping he didn't sleep well. I cleaned a small cut on my hand, but not the glass on the floor. I made myself Ramen noodles, answered a text from Joe about hockey or something, and told him what happened. I watched a half-hour sitcom, and went to bed, pissed, but still able to sleep because i was feeling righteous anger. K seemed to know it too.
The next morning I just stayed away from K. I went downstairs before him , made a smoothie,, saw Joe had answered my text by saying--"That's pretty shitty.." I wasn't sure if my story made sense outside my head, but he knows his father. He asked if I cut my hand, I said nothing big--see the boy knows better than the father!! I felt better, and told him my plan. To break K of his sleep/food obsession, or at least not be a party to feeding it anymore. And to avoid feeling abused by someone who can't see past his own nose.
First, I wasn't gonna clean up that glass. I once had left on a trip, seeing the cat had thrown up rather spectacularly on an antique of his mother's, noted it, cos I had to leave, and said to myself--bet that's still there when I get back. Joe and I were gone for 3 weeks and when we got back. And it was. He waited for me to come clean it up. Well, now this is part of my plan--I'm not cleaning up the glass. I know he has a rational argument for it being my fault, but i'm not doing it, cos i think it is also HIS fault. Also, when he made dinner, I said "No thank you," and made my own. And didn't do his dishes--see early in our marriage I had said it would be fair to trade work, the dinner-maker doesn't have to clean up. Except now this has evolved into he's always the cook, and never washes a dish, and uses every pot in the house and flings stuff all over the walls and counter, never empties the dishwasher, nor washes anything used the entire day. Even if all he did was get take-out chicken from Publix (and never the kind I like--roasted rather than heart-burn fried).
Anyway, I'm opting out. This is the second night I'm saying "No thank you" to his dinner, which is too meat and potatoes/ breaded meats and bad spaghetti for me anyway. Not what I would choose if I were cooking. He's a good cook, especially meats, but everything he makes is from like a 1950's cookbook--all starch and gravy and meat with tons of fat. And I'm only doing my dishes. Joe is on board with this, by-the-way, and will join me when he's home. He's been upset about his dad's eating habits for years, like his cartoon level , 5- inch high servings of spaghetti. Joe regularly criticizes his portion sizes, plus the huge bowls of ice cream/chips/ double portion bowls of Ramen noodles he has 20 minutes later, before bed. This is his terrible habit I don't approve of. Plus, I'm not going to sit in the same room with him while he rocks or snores for two-hour power naps. It's totally obnoxious and self absorbed to do that in the middle of the living room where no one else can do anything unless using headphones. So I'm moving my operation to the porch upstairs. not so comfortable or convenient but it will do.
Oh, and I'm not gonna invite him anywhere either--to be humiliated and treated like a non-person. He does the Donald Trump walk, as I have mentioned. And the ridiculous middle school comments at band practice.
Ok, I'm done. Major vent.
K fixed the window himself--got the glass for free. )) He seems somewhat contrite about his behavior. I'm still eating alone, happier with my diet, and I think losing weight.
Nov 7: Feeling terribly numb on all stations. Sick of Trump, shootings, school politics and limitations, homecoming--BTW, not that anyone cares, but teachers hate homecoming and all the needy attention it brings. Again the Asians and Russians are more sensible and don't seem to understand the fuss. Was excited for a bit reading a long, daily diary piece of writing one of my formers who I've stayed in contact with for over 20 years (!!) He's 40 now, recovering from heroine addiction, but a writer, and in flashes brilliant when he's not venting his spleen over-actively about people who don't have the same views. Interesting life that boy, but he worries me. He always makes me feel wanted and special, however. He's kinda unstoppable anyway, so no point in preaching.
Y. Кто знает?? Claims he's still moving to Moscow to become an ESL teacher after some quick training. Don't know what to make of his AFA business proposal--not used to him following through. He's been practicing PF, however, and continues to sound wonderful--has a gig in SF this week with another of my FB buddies--some old hippie hound dog (with higher standards in women than music) who seems like an interesting character.
Kate and Mark are Florida bound, so I'll probably get 2-3 days with them. Harte Family wedding. That will be very nice!! Will probably get Joseph here too.
Another problem borne of K's over-need to sleep. Joe asked him for help before his latest Calculus test, and apparently didn't get a reply. It's not like he texted him in the middle of the night or anything--he knows his father. It was dinner time. I of course, am appalled at this lack of responsibility--and he avoided explaining what happened to me when I directly asked--thinks it went ok. Joe told me different--said he failed the test due to forgetting some old Algebra formula that messed up everything. So he signed up for the class again for next sem, just in case, cos he's sitting on a D+ now.
Numb. How to breech numb. If I read through some of these threads I'll be reminded that at times I felt much more alive, motivated to do stuff, participate and goad people than I do now. I think it's just all been too much . Maybe if Trump falls it will cause a chain reaction. right now I'm just fine with hiding out where I am, riding it out. Oh, but Joe and I are probably gonna go to St. Louis for Christmas! That will be a good interesting, change. SNOW! Pray for SNOW!
Nov 16: one day until Thanksgiving break, our gig at Most Holy Name --will probably be our biggest audience ever, in the 100s, even if it is somewhat involuntary)) Rides! There are gonna be rides!! The AF guys are gonna go out for lunch/drinks, but I lent my car to Joe for the weekend--he suckered me I think, since now it turns out he planned to work Saturday, and the excuse about the gig doesn't quite wash. If I'm gonna go out, I'll have to get a ride then ask Ken to pick me up.
We have another gig (a Xmas time birthday party) in December. They want us to do Dance music? Which we don't much do? We'll see what they consider dance music.
BTW, maybe Joe's Calculus class is maybe? saved because Ken's been furiously working with him, Two Days! this week. Probably trying to make up for his past (unmentioned) sin.
And here's the real subject that got me on here--the impending failure of our school and its dismal climate. This place was once a refuge for me: there were years when it hardly felt like work (except the getting up at the crack of dawn..) Now it is just depressing on so many levels, all coming from the top...they better get their act together or our good kids are gonna bolt. I was just talking to the Scuba teacher--besides me getting barred from showing the old 1968 Zefferelli Romeo and Juliet which Everyone has seen in school since forever! ---well she gave me a break down of what she's been barred from showing...a freakin' conservation documentary on sharks. Whut. And, she says books that are banned: Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are. Something called Brown Bear--which sounds innocent enough. It's by the very hungry caterpillar dude-Carle?
In English Dept. we were told a good choice was The Five People You'll Meet in Heaven. I pretty much hate working for these guys.
Dec 7, 2017: Always happy to have good news from a good connection. Y is going back to music school, for a degree this time, and I'm glad he's adding the focus on composition--I always thought he had the potential for that inner vision. Plus, he's just so restless and unsatisfied, always with his art: a good thing, to me, even if it does have the potential to go bad with paralysis. Baby steps, but all walking the right way. Time to go inward, and the really crazy thing is that I breathe in this air, too--makes me want to shake off the lethargy I've been feeling about art. Благодарная. Because sometimes the emptiness is just killing.
Dec 12: Instant Karma in the air. The non-foul Dem wins deep red Alabama, which may no longer be a redneck state. and this weird item:
The blaze that swept through the hills of Bel-Air last week, destroying six homes and damaging a dozen others, was sparked by a cooking fire at a homeless encampment in a nearby ravine, Los Angeles officials said Tuesday.
Dec 31/Jan 1: Being up North (Happy New Year! С Новым Годом!) for the coldest of cold snaps my home has known in awhile, tells me I'm still a Northern girl. I love this weather, although the teens and single digits should only be taken in short bursts. I'm all for inside coziness. Screw humidity. Think I'm destined to come back.
Jan 14: Been trying to thoughtfully observe, analyze, and condense for future consumption my recent holiday with my family. On the short side, I'm recognizing my elderly parents are slipping somewhat, but desperate to keep it together --I'm guessing together they'll make it close to their 90s and my dad another decade beyond that.. My mother, who used to be the sweet, open-minded one, is now much more grouchy and quarrelsome, and (fate don't return this to me) seems to be losing her hearing (I'd rather die). My dad is same as before--maybe more mellow , trying to be somewhat logical, embarrassed that some of us know more about life than him, and afraid to ask for help. But, physically ok, still chopping down trees and cutting the lawn. Mom not so much--she won't even shop, and an excursion to the movies wore her out. I spent some time with my sister, since she's my last one, and maybe we're trying to get along better over the bougie gulf between us. She still suggested I cut my hair--the nerve--but bless my niece's heart that she chimed in and said,"I love Aunt Tracy's hair! That's your real color right?" But we went shopping and were better than we usually are--I let her ramble about her kitchen design job..And, she took me to a great thrift store, where we both kept choosing the same items. She's thinner and slightly taller than me, but more out of shape. Don't want to trade. One of her acquaintances, who didn't strike me as the flattering type ( I went shooting with her, ok?) kept saying, are you sure you're V's older sister?
Back home though, things were very strange. Ken was hardly communicating, went two weeks without texting his son! Only answered my most elemental texts. He claimed to our several requests that he go with us, that he didn't want to go with us in order to "take care of the cats, and rest" in his stupid chair.
No response to me saying "We made it," when we got to my parents'. Then finally I get one a day later, asking if we ever got to Alton, and that his mother was at our house. How? She drove her 78 year old ass from DC alone. Just all of a sudden, it was made to seem. I asked: "Why?" There was no clear response, plus he made it seem I'd never contacted him about getting to Alton--well, my text didn't literally say Alton, but come on.. It was especially weird because my mother-in-law's sister had just died, and she needed to go to the funeral. This was Dec. 24. Her husband didn't come with her. A few days later I saw a holiday picture of him in Philly with Ken's sister. (Ken's sister and mother don't get along, and the sister has gone so far as to ban her mother from visiting when she was in one of her deeply manic (and mean-spirited, says Mo) phases. Lyn and her husband also don't get along--a few years back he was contemplating leaving her, even at their age...who does get along with her? Her son, my husband. She treats him differently than anyone.
I got no response to my text "Merry Christmas." in the morning. Then finally, around 2p.m. I asked if he opened the box I'd given him and he said no, but he would now--then he posted a picture of himself in the expensive lambswool cardigan he'd asked for--with a stupid face. I asked him to open the Amazon package I'd ordered myself: a suitcase, and he showed me a picture of that. I asked if he liked the sweater, he said he loved it. Then I didn't hear from him for another day, when he was getting yet another tooth pulled, and then not for 4 more days. in the meantime, Joe had tried to call his Grandmother to wish her Merry Christmas, and she didn't answer. What Gma does that? Finally she called a day or so later, from the road, saying she'd already left, which was too bad, because Joe was going to ask how K was acting: sleeping, eating too much? Depressed? But, she was already gone so... sort of weird--all that 15 hour drive and only staying 3/4 days...
Then I got a message on the 30th that the car "broke". No explanation, and several hours with no answer. He had abandoned it on a street near my son's school, which is also quite near our house. I was worried he wasn't going to do anything about it. I had 5 days go by before he gave me a response about whether or not he'd taken it to the mechanics in our neighborhood, which we have used for 25 years. (He claimed he didn't see my message until Jan 4--then finally said it was at the mechanics. Now, for some reason, now that his mom was gone, the car out of commission, he was suddenly worried where we were. Are we in Atlanta yet?
We got home well after 1a.m. , he was asleep, and we just took what we needed from the car and went straight to bed. In the morning he was gone for his music lesson, and I took my first daylight look at the house, where his mother had visited....it was a wreck. The bathrooms looked so bad, they looked like they hadn't been cleaned in a month, full of mold, something like an old gas station bathroom. There was this huge stain under the oven on the kitchen floor. There was cat puke in two places, obviously had been there for more than a week. Old, moldy food in the fridge.
So I called Lyn, My m-i-law, in a demanding mood: what the hell had happened while I was gone? Why didn't she tell me she was coming? I told her the house was a wreck...apparently she knew it.. she made excuses for everything to save her favorite son. She claimed Ken knew she was coming: didn't he tell me? I said, no, not till you were already there, apparently. Why would this be a secret, and her leaving, too? I described what the house, the bathrooms looked like, and she defended Ken saying he had picked up the room she was staying in (sorta, he uses this for a closet, nowadays, and it's usually overflowing with his clothes, not put away. But I noticed all his junk, undusted for over 6 months, was still all over the dresser. Lovely for a guest. She tried to give me some sort of expert bullshit about cats' hairball vomit, as if I myself haven't lived with cats for 20 years. And know what fresh stuff looks like versus the old. And she admitted the bathrooms were a little "unseemly" was her word choice. (I'm pretty sure me, my mother, my sister, anyone in my family would have cleaned it up themselves rather than wallow in weeks of someone else's filth, but the Reilly's are a bit too good for such manual labor). The stain on the kitchen floor was some sort of accident Ken had had, doing something for me...
So, I tried to change the subject when she tried to make me equally to blame for the state of our house and all Ken's junk lying about..later, when she kept harping on this and blaming her husband for not disciplining Ken when he was young, I just got mad. But, in the meantime, I tried to ask how Ken had acted--how much did he sleep? Did he act weird or "out of it"? Did he go out at all, eat excessively? No, she thought he was wonderful, tried to go to the movies, didn't like what was playing, maybe he was a little quiet, and seemed to attribute all this to her ability to handle him much better than I do. Made her wonderful dinners! Great... I should point out the two of them are obsessed with food, talk about it for hours, praise each others' cooking and denigrate everyone else's. They talk about it on the phone, for god's sake, and both of them overeat. Lyn is the kind of person who eats off other people's plates (like Helen Keller), makes gross noises to prove how much she's enjoying it, Ken imitates her in this, and eats all the leftovers from others' plates while the dishes are being done. Wow, do I find that uncivilized. Even Joe regularly asks his father to stop making noises when he eats.
I told her I continue to be very worried about his mental state, the pills he's been taking for much too long. She launched into some sort of lecture about how I should be sympathetic and read up about mental illness, and how much she'd had to deal with it all her life-her sister, her nephew, blah, blah, blah. Oh crap, I almost forgot, it was in this self-pitying mood that she decided to reveal to me she has felt suicidal over the last few years! I never had heard this from anyone before. However, the motive for this revelation seemed intensely manipulative and self absorbed at the moment.
I reminded her I had a sister with mental illness ( I wish I'd reminded her it was ME that suggested reading Kay Jamison to HER!) . By this point I was just over this useless, self-flattering conversation, and said she was not helping things, that this was not what I needed. I threatened to hang up. I just couldn't listen to any of her egotistical self-agrandizement any more. Then Ken was suddenly home, and she was telling me how glad she was I had told her all about this, and she wished she'd known sooner (Bullshit: I've told her my concerns, especially the medication, many times in the past.) Finally I did just hang up on the self absorbed woman==couldn't take any more.
Oh, here's an interesting thing: as I'm talking to Lyn, and I see Ken coming in, trying to figure out who I'm talking to, with such heat, I hear him mutter to himself, when I said something about an invite: " I never was invited to nothing..." I later realized this was probably a lie he told his mother about why he didn't go to St. Louis with us. Uhh. I will cop to not strongly pushing the issue, not being particularly excited to have him come; my invitation was said very neutrally, which he could have felt, but he was DEFINITELY invited several times, and in Joe's presence, who would back me up that this was done. This probable lie is at the heart of our problems, and why I can't fully trust his perspective.
So, the good that came out of this was that I repeated something to Ken I hadn't said for awhile: that there was something wrong, that I was worried about his behavior, I thought he needed professional help, that Joe was worried too, and I had researched a doctor I wanted him to call. I was concerned about his use of a very strong anti-depressant, with only a GP's recommendation. I gave him the doctor's name, made him look at her website. I plan to e-mail it to him again after things have settled to reinforce this. He's been on his best behavior since we've been back, which has been somewhat eased by all the practical things we've needed to do together: pay for Joe's tuition, buy a new car, deal with getting rid of the old one, taking Joe to school, dealing with his flu. Two long trips to St. Leo's.
I also had a long talk with Ken's sister Mo, who basically reinforced all my creepy feelings about this visit, and how these two, mother and son, are not exactly the best for each other, enabling both their worst behaviors. Ken was always the favored child. (I'm amazed that she doesn't resent him more! She's a good one. And she likes Ken--they had good years together, even lived together after college).
Mo told me some awful stories about her kids with Gma, and one in particular about her middle-school aged daughter calling her in tears the last time she was left in Gma's care: apparently she has transmitted her negative feelings for her daughter to her granddaughter as well. I guess K was the "lucky" one who got all mom's good graces--but that's unhealthy too, of course--he can do no wrong and expects me and everyone else to worship him uncritically as his mother does. He's still defending her even now which is a bad sign.
See, she left me an expensive Christmas present--unbelievable--and typical of her manic buying impulses. It was this very expensive piece of jewelry, but with very little thought to the sort of thing I might like--this huge necklace looked like six big pieces of jagged white ice, edged in gold. She did, thoughtfully, leave me the receipt to exchange it for something smaller, admitting she knew I don't like big gaudy jewelry. So strange. I felt weird about rejecting such an expensive thing from a family member....
But then I remembered this long lecture she gave me, after I had made her a necklace myself years ago--and as soon as she looked at it she told me what she didn't like about it--that it was not symmetrical or something, and if it twisted around it wouldn't hang right, even if she did like the colors I'd put together for her. I gotta say, I was very hurt, and in spite of that, I offered to fix it to what she would like, but secretly thinking she was a bitch for not appreciating the hours I'd taken to make it for her. The least she could do is just say thank you, and leave it at that. I also secretly vowed to myself never to make her anything else, and I haven't. I've never seen her wear it, BTW.
At the time, I consoled myself with the thought that all of my husband's family were more objective-minded than emotional. But now, I see that's just veneer hiding some screwed up self-absorbed personal preferences. For example, she attributes good things I've done to Ken, as if he's the creative, motivated one. Mo says she does the same to her. I think Maureen's right about her--she is quite the narcissist. I'm pretty sure she actually bought this ice necklace for herself on her birthday, when this chi-chi store has some sort of discount birthday policy (the store told me it had given the purchaser some sort of birthday discount?) and she regifted it, sort of, to me, after some buyer's remorse, and after her attack of mania passed. I questioned the birthday discount with Ken, said I wonder if she bought it for herself? but his excuse for his mother was he knew she bought Xmas stuff all year long (??) Honestly, I can't see Lyn on her birthday suddenly deciding to go to some high end jewelers and buy something for me--that just seem out of her range of behavior. If she thinks she's above helping me do dishes in some sort of myopic stance on Feminism, insists on accompanying people to movies she doesn't like, people who clearly want to be alone, then ruins them by complaining about them for hours, I doubt she shares her birthday by buying Xmas presents for other people. Especially since she seemed to realize it wasn't my style...
What next? I need a lot to change, hoo boy. Time for me to have some self love.
Jan 16: So with that in mind, I took my ice necklace back to the fancy store in Hyde Park to exchange it for something I might actually like and wear. It was so expensive I was able to get two nice pieces, both among the most expensive pieces of jewelry I own. I got some abalone earrings that might be something you could wear at some formal hippie California party--big, and a little heavy for everyday wear, unfortunately. And a smaller, but still striking gold necklace with little amber (I kinda like amber) arrows pointing outward to look a bit sun-like, slightly Egyptian god or buddhist looking. Fits my bohemian style more. It has a really unique and nice fastener: part finely braided leather, part gold, and instead of the usual hook fastener it has this nice metal bar that slides, so you can instantly adjust the length, from choker to mid-breast length. It also is so well finished that you can wear it with the all gold backside showing. This is it, except with silver instead of gold--they didn't have the silver one at the store:
I was kinda hoping they had something that was Alexandrite, or looked like it, anyway, because it's my birthstone, rarer than diamonds, and awfully expensive. I've seen prices of $15,ooo to $50,000 for larger ones, not that I want a large one, or even a real one! They are hard to come by. One website puts it in the top 10 rarest stones (#7, to be exact, another puts it at #2 rarest)--along with a bunch of others I never heard of--except black opals (which aren't black, and sorta ugly, like 80's colored confetti). But it's one of the gemstones I really like--most seem too gaudy and sparkly. They are often cut in very flat, barely 3 dimensional shapes, not with a jillion sparkly facets like diamonds--I half think that is done to diamonds to hide their ordinariness. Alexandrites have this quality of completely changing color with the light or angle--from dark green to purple, usually, although there are ones with other colors. I guess that makes them the perfect Gemini stone. Oh, wow, I just found out--they come from Russia--how can that be????
My other birthstone is moonstone, and that's cool too, and I don't have one of those either!
My wedding ring(s) are the only other piece of jewelry I have that are this expensive--well one is K's grandmother's from Poland, with small square flat diamonds, and I like it. My wedding band is heavy platinum or white gold (can't remember which), with leaves and berries etched into it--I've seen nothing like it-looks sorta antique, but it isn't--Ken's doesn't match.. I also have a pair of pretty expensive Russian earrings I indulged in in a weak moment--I bought them at a DC craft fair, and they have this very cool black, brown and green layered stone, kinda agat-y looking--with beautiful silver settings. They are my favorites even over these expensive ones. All my other jewelry is either cheap stuff, just above cheap stuff, or stuff I made or my sister made me.
Jan 26: I've been meaning to add this factoid to my worry about K's medication. Besides the fact that JR took the same thing for a few months to help him wean off heroin without getting depressed--they made him gradually stop using it because it's addictive. It was recently revealed that Tom Petty died from an accidental overdose of some opioid painkiller, oxycodone-like, and--you guessed it, K's anti-depression medication. He apparently was playing on stage with a broken hip, and overdid it on his last show. Wow, talk about going out with a bang.
So, there's supposed to be this thing called give and take--it's what relationships are built on. I feel like I've certainly done my share of giving. I had this ridiculous conversation tonight with my um, live-in. See I accompanied him to his obligation to see his students' god-awful performance full of public school, love-yourself-for yourself hippie artsy-fartsy bullshit. So, when I said, yeah, too bad you'd never bother to come to one of mine (and he hasn't, for ten years, even when Joe came, even when Joe liked it so much he wanted a T-shirt from the show...)
He says: I wasn't invited. Bull-f*cking-shit. I suppose I need to slobber on his ring to tell him how bad I want him to come. Asking once is not enough, I need to beg, make him feel special, wanted, 4-5 times, like his mama. And after umpteenth rejections, I'm just supposed to keep asking, like a little poppet. I can't fake emotions, particularly happiness. And I know I'd have a better time alone. Drive myself-listen to my music without thinking about it-(ooh, he did let me listen to my music too! Or let me pick). Like I said, he's trying.
However, from my point of view he seems to think he's an imperious, flawless god, he needs over- the- top laudation. Or at least that's what he expects from himself,flawlessness, which is ridiculous. Because, be honest, who is this about? Because it's all about his tender feelings, not mine: mine don't count.
Nope, sorry. Since I get no reciprocity from it, I don't think so--that is the point at which my own soul begins to be sucked from me. According to him, it's my job to deliver the emotional payload. But I can't, to an empty thing.
Jan 29: So, it seems K is trying to make an effort. He went to the movies with me, a so-called "girl movie"--Phantom Thread. Really, ever since I've come back from Christmas, I've seen a little bit of effort. He did have to have an hour nap to rest up for a "late" 6:50pm movie. He was decently lively, bought himself a burger and other snacks. Oddly, the movie had heavy parallels to our relationship. Daniel Day Lewis' character was a very control needing guy, probably more artistic than K, because he was supposed to be a famous (fictitious) fashion designer from the 50s. That was the girly part, plus that the movie was largely about relationships.
He initially seems to choose her for very mathematical reasons: her measurements that fit his design style. Part of the story is he forces her to more or less disappear--she's not allowed to express her own style of clothes, is reprimanded for buttering her toast too loudly..
He also had a rather obsessive sense of his mother, who was dead, and her invisible presence continued to interfere with his relationships with other women in the story. I think K suspected I knew more about the plot than I did--I had purposely avoided media spoilers, which has become my habit when I'm really interested in the movie. The fact is, I was as surprised as K that the movie spoke so much about our relationship. The lack of emotional connection on his part, her attempt to bring it out. There was a scene where she tries to make a romantic dinner for him, and he responds in a completely negative way, because it destroys all the routines and habits he likes--it's a heart breaking scene for me. She goes to a dance alone, because he refuses to go. So much like my life with K, and I bet he felt it too.
However, there's this weird fairy-tale element where the girlfriend/companion/wife (she's all these at some parts of the story) actually poisons him to make him sick so he needs her and becomes "tender" as she says--it's the catalyst for their marriage. That is not like us; because it is not what I want--I would not see that as victory. And I cannot curtail my own expressions of emotion and the lifestyle I want to live, and as i said, I cannot be a bottomless well of emotional support. I feel like my own emotions are constantly contained under glass, and I'm done keeping them in.
Ken actually asked me afterwards, trying to sound nonchalant, why did I want to see this movie? Again I think he was digging for me to supply the emotional context and cross the line to him. I told the truth--I didn't know about the relationship in the movie and was surprised. I suppose I should have added--remember, I was planning to go alone, as usual, not send you a lesson, but I guess he could figure that out. His takeaway--"I really like the guy's suits--I'm gonna get me some clothes like that." Later in the weekend, he went with me to International Mall where I had promised to meet Joe to bring him some things. He reiterated about the clothes, and asked me about my Vintage Clothes sources: La France, Art Pool. Of course he took advantage of being at the high end mall by purchasing yet another expensive kitchen gismo..that's about $400 he's spent this month on the kitchen.
He was sort of tone deaf about Joe's 'friend who is a girl" who is painfully shy and didn't want to go out to dinner with us...he kept demanding her phone number from Joe, and Joe stood up to him and didn't give it to him--the "need to know" message.
Feb 28 (not leap year):
It has entered my consciousness that someone I live with has not renewed his Soma prescription. Great! He already seems better, but still doing the high pitched annoying voice. I'm still not doing dinner on his schedule, which is some sort of miracle for me. He made some sort of weird proposal to me about this summer that involved actually acquiescing to my parents' plans for yet another celebration of their anniversary (what is with this? I barely acknowledge mine, let alone dragging countless others into the mix..) I think it's 60th now, but I sorta like their idea to go to the lovely and iconic Chase Park Plaza, with a beautiful movie theatre, in Downton St. Louis--separate! rooms for all...
The catch is he wants to go to Maryland after. By himself? But a problem! The crazy in-laws are going on a summer cruise! I wouldn't mind going to DC, if only to do my own thing and finally meet my online bud, Marc. See some cool free museums, etc. The real trouble is, how do I get to Cali after all that?
Feeling better today, more than yesterday--why? Yesterday I was jonesing for solace, entertainment, withdrawing from my long fantasy ride in Californication. I tried DD's new show, Aquarius, which is a fictionalized account of stuff about Charlie Manson..seems like I would like it but the vibe is too dark (in a bad way, like nonemotional? Good dark need some emotion). It seems to be trying to tap into that dark vein of the late 60's when hippiness became self-absorbed, a real thing, I admit, but this seems to take that too far. Predatory. But, what else do you do with a story about Manson? BTW, the guy playing him is too cute, too clean-cut, not sinister enough. And mostly, the eyes aren't right. I doubt I'll watch anymore--it's too clinical. What picked me up? Some stupid show abot making the perfect pizza. I am not really a pizza fan--the common kinds actually make me physically sick. But a well made pizza, done the traditional way, with thin crust, minimal homemade sauce, minimal good cheese!? Yes. Chicago can throw that deep-dish shit straight in the dumpster.
Really I'm lying, because I'm most happy that all my contacts are lining up: music teachers and musicians and music lovers. I think it shows a promising future. But my envy is what is really in overdrive, wishing I was in LA. watching a member of мой любымы группы --Агата Кристи. Goddamn it, I want.... but now that's a good awakening--to want.
Mar 27: I was wrong about the Soma pills--they're ba-aa-ck...
But, still positive--new doctor, new evaluations. Maybe she'll convince him. He's getting a whole panel of bloodwork--which I hope includes a blood sugar and cholesterol check--I can't imagine, with his diet--which has gotten worse--that those numbers will be good. And finally a colonoscopy he's put off for 4+ years. Still sleeps a lot, but making an effort to be more active. Cleaning up some. Gardening a bit. We went to Ybor to Vintage shop, and he took the light coat I suggested, his idea to shop, but at least it's something I like too. And to put a point on it, I bought two totally superfluous but cool pairs of cheap but sturdy sunglasses, even though I haven't lost or broken my main pair in several years--they're kinda too much tho, for some of my outfits. So I got some caramel colored, tigerstriped nice knockoff Ray-bans of my usual style, with super dark lenses. and a pair of pearl grey Kurt Cobain bug-eyed glasses that I've been wearing the most lately--never had that style before--very fun. Also bought a nice, lightweight odd=printed purple/blue, gold and white Florida sweater--looks a little Jewish princess/Versace, but still cool, to me. I am not about to be left behind anymore on the shopping sprees--wurd to yo mutha.
April 20: Hitler's birthday, my cat's birthday, more gun protests, Columbine, pot smoker's day--the good, bad and ugly. Totally reflective of my bipolar weeks of ups and downs--which all began on Friday the 13th, and went downhill from there. And then up a good bit today ! Yin-Yang.
First, last week 3 of my good Russian kids were unfairly kicked out of school--most A students, two doing AP classes in a non-native languages! (English, that is--their first being of course Russian). There were varying reasons, one very stupidly being an administrator seeing one of them, at least, smoking off campus out in the real world ( a local grocery store parking lot). Now the smart teachers/admins at our school know better than to catch kids outside of their jurisdiction, but not these new guys (who I don't really get on with much) are the type to go in for the kill. I should have known earlier in the year when they called them "The Russian Mafia" and told me if I was going to sponsor a Russian club I need to watch out. The point here may be that Russian kids seem to act quite a bit more mature (and unfortunately worldliwise) than Americans. Tossing them --paying customers, good students who don't cause any problem in class or the dorms, just seems like unnecessary intrusion to me.
Then I got my contract, with a return lecture about my classroom management--even though I took a phone away from a kid during class, I was dinged because the observer saw another kid's phone and some dorm kid who sleeps everywhere with his head down. Again, aggressively seeking the negative. Never mind that I myself was walking through the class trying to get everyone excited about Romeo and Juliet!! I have already written a letter to my evaluator disputing the harsh critique of things that happen everywhere on our campus and could possibly be handled with a universal policy, and better dorm supervision....
But then my friend Leo published his podcast interview with me, which I've been both anticipating and dreading...but he made it sound great. I was afraid I giggled too much, either he edited it well enough, or it wasn't as bad as my imagination envisioned. A weird thing--my laugh sounds quite similar to my dead sister Tina's! A laugh I truly miss--she was so infectious.
May 10: So, one of my Russian kids got "allowed" back... he told me, after spending a month in Miami in a hotel, (and his dad brought a lawyer from Latvia) when he talked to the Super Head, he said (strangely) "I have no record of you being expelled." So he came back. Commandant is now, surprisingly, his best friend. Another kid, who did exactly the same thing as him, never got asked to leave in the first place, and never missed a day of my class. That's Маленький..9th grade and baby-faced, although he's got more steel balls than a pinball machine. I took them all out to dinner last night for the 9th of May defeat of Hitler celebration--we can all celebrate that, Да? And found my little ironic smart-asses to be surprisingly traditional, holding hands for a blessing before eating, and doing a moment of silence for the sacrifice of the dead/veterans of the Great Patriotic War. If anyone ever wanted to question the allegiance of Latvians/Ukrainians, etc to Mother Russia, they needed to witness these thrice removed generationals doing this. It was very sweet.
I know they have special feelings for me, and it's all I can do to whip them back into shape during study hall and class to treat them like the rest. But I'm still pissed about how the stupid AFA new Brotherhood has treated them. What a bunch of cowardly, dickless autocrats. Stefaniya today showed me two e-mails. She's been lobbying to get out before exams because she hates the place, but is being stoic, in her way, after the decimation of her Товаришей...To her face the Bossman said, no way, you need to do what you're told. But when Mama called, he was more mellow, and said "We'll see what we can do." The difference was not lost on either mother or dochb. (Or me--Stef immediately showed me the text that was sent. She knows a good adult from a bad one.) I can't stomach kissing up to these idiots like I see Panuthos and Robelino doing...it's gross. Maybe I need my job less than them, but still. I really hate adults who have the condescending attitude with kids to treat them disrespectfully, as if they are not conscious human beings who can think and understand when something is not right. It's a symptom of their (the bureaucrats) own insecurities, that they need to control any given dynamic, at the expense of honesty.
Like I noticed, they've been padding the study hall list, to maintain superiority and an iron hand. Instead of saying--congrats, kids, more of you are in the black, not failing! Way to go, you deserve a break! It seems like they are unwilling to let go of the iron fist. I put up this notice on my door to give admin an image of super compliancy to the iron fist methodology. Mandated a seating chart, and an explicit "No Cell phones for the historically noncompliant." Well, it possibly had some effect cos I've had no Admin visitations during SH this week, which hasn't been the case in the past. Maybe they're busy and tired. Maybe they are finally accepting I'm in control, and they needed written reassurance. I doubt they are as worn out as me-they rarely put in my hours. (But are back for free dinner!!)
But, what I really need to think about, is how to redirect myself into more creative thinking again. Once all this is done.
June 8, 2018: It's an all- work summer, while you-know-who does what he likes, once again. We have to finish certain renovations on our house, per our insurance company. Finishing the ceiling in the pantry, covering up some electric work, re-landscaping, and, the biggest headache of all, exterior painting. We had vaguely planned to start working on all this after Joe graduated (he has) but K's been in such a funk for so many years, I didn't even want to bring it up, to put more pressure on him. He doesn't handle my requests to have work done very well--generally he just refuses on some sort of principle that I didn't ask him the right way. Why I have to be the one to ask to have our mutually-owned house up-kept in the first place is another can of worms.
To be fair, K at least got the ball rolling, even if he didn't tell me what was going on, until we had to have an inspection and he needed me to sign off on the line of credit we needed. That's not nothing, but then, when all the actual work needed to start happening, he very conveniently had already decided to go visit his mother for two weeks when all the worst part was happening. I was sort of deciding to let everything be done by people we hired, but this house really doesn't stand for that. I realized our yard was so far gone that we'd have to do some trimming just so our tree buddy John could get to the big stuff--everything had to go around the house so we could paint--no way I could do that alone.
So, Joe and I went out and got some new, good cutters that could handle decent sized branches, and we started wacking away at it. We had already done the street edge a few weeks back by ourselves because the city wanted the sidewalk more cleared. Even that bit we did made the place look so much better, I kinda got inspired some. One big job was cutting back a big hedge that was overgrowing our sidewalk to the front door we never used (which needs replacing). Once John cut down the big stuff, we decided instead of hauling the whole mess to the dump at a price, we'd just leave the piles in the alley and gradually fill up the dumpsters as we go--we've already got rid of two loads. But that's my biggest chore right now--been cutting it all small enough to dump
The best thing that happened for me was--he cut every, freakin' piece of the bamboo I hate. Now Joe and I are thinking of a plan to systematically pour hot water on the roots to hopefully kill them for good. We still have the nice, giant bamboo in the front. But this stuff never grew right and wasn't at all pretty--we even killed some of it at first, but the ugliest survived and then took over, even though it's not the runner type. Once we got rid of that and a lot of the trash trees that had grown against the house, everything looked a lot more sane, less Miss Havisham-y or Goth. Cos, believe me...
Some cool things came about from this--one, I could see the bones of the garden I had designed 10 years ago, which inspired me to keep cutting and pulling the horrible vines that had taken over (Goth, indeed). One thing I didn't pull which was the best of all--this viney, night blooming cereus cactus had climbed up to my second floor, and with all the Trash trees gone I could see, after all these years, it had like ten giant blossoms framing one of my bedroom windows--and, a minor miracle of timing--it looked like they were gonna bloom that night! And they did, and they were spectacular, especially climbing up to the 2nd floor and around the window, I couldn't have done it better intentionally. Other people were posting theirs blooming, on FB--even Dick! But the way most people grow them is on a trellis or chain link fence or up a tree, which looks kinda strange, even if they had tons more blossoms than me.
I've been working on this yard clearing project for something like 9 days in a row now. And things are starting to shape up; I even pulled out my tropical gardening book to get some inspiration from Bali or somewhere. Today I cleared out a big patch of the side yard that we have neglected ever since our old lemon tree fell over and died--BTW I found a shoot growing up where it once was, so that might be interesting --I've been wanting to get some sort of arched trellis for the muscadine grapes that have now really taken off --with no fuss from me, even thought the expensive ones I planted all died (I think). Location? These just came up from muscadine pits I threw in the yard 10 years ago.
There are tons of grapes right now, and all our mango trees are bearing rather heavily this year, after several so-so years. I busted up this Bamboo chair that has been slowly falling apart--it was never comfortable--too boxy--so I have all that super giant bamboo timber to do something with. I eyeballed the spot and picked out several ornamental volunteers that had sprung up but weren't in a good place--so hard for me to do, but I'm getting more ruthless. I kept picturing some sort of red cut-out brick wall in the corner, but settled in the meantime for this odd metal frame I've had rusting away under the side patio looking like junk. Looks better as a frame in the corner, and I repositioned this old makeshift bench we have had forever next to it to make a little shabby vignette. I might paint it red or plant some flowers there--god knows our soil must be quite improved from the sand we once had, what with all the organic matter we have all over the place. LATER-planted gaillardias (those big red and yellow striped "weeds" you used to see in vacant lots--rarely see those anymore except for sale?) and the best! Some purple coneflowers with nice raised orange centers that are doing really, really well next to my little frame. Been spreading the Gaillardia seeds as their flowers drop--hope they spread! Also repositioned some of the heliconias that were struggling or out of bounds from under the mango that once was small enough for them to get some sun. If they do well in the new spot I might transplant them all. Plumeria's been blooming in that area (one branch only, for 2-3 weeks--finally know its color: white with yellow center.
Looking for the right shade plant(s) to fill up the rest of that fence boarder--have a few walking Irises, but think they'd do better in more sun?
Now inside we have other problems--plumbing. An old pipe on the 2nd floor has been slowly leaking for years. That has kept us from finishing the pantry ceiling, and finishing the pantry, actually. A plan has been in place for years--we even have some of the major material in the garage, and Brian had already made the cuts for the antique door frame--that we bought years ago. There's a wall that's been dropping, and major problems with replacing old iron and lead pipes--the worry being we'd have to tear up the entire original bathroom upstairs to do this all right. But Brian is a construction genius-- he's worked it out so he can make a plumbing part that doesn't exist to do the job right, so that we don't have to lose the bathtub-- a 1920's old cast iron thing which would have been a nightmare to remove! And what to replace it with? We can't have a shower there because there's a window. It would be totally ugly unless we had some major cash. so, He has a workaround, but it took three grueling days of unknown stress about what would happen. I hope this works.
JUN 26: It did! Like I said, Brian is a building genius. I have a weird feeling that we have sorta bonded during this time of making decisions w/o K in our way, and, not an unusual feeling, it was a bit of a bummer when his depressed self returned. In the meantime, I had probably filled up and had removed, maybe 12 dumpsters of yard debris, plus, I kept cutting! I spread some of the bigger trunks around the yard for edging, just to get them out of the way and make them useful somewhere. Pulled up guitar neck width Virginia creeper roots--hate that stuff now, because it makes you itch temporarily, like Poison Ivy--it's not all gone, but I put a serious dent in it. Also found all the DIY concrete circles I'd made and brought them to the surface again. My garden has its bones back!
I have a new, retro, and inexpensive, tile floor in my 2nd floor bathroom, due to a little quick research and deciding, without looking back--years of gross, unwashable, rust crumbled, 1920's porcelain bathroom floor destroyed! And no regrets, coyote, for historic authenticity. Also, wall tiles that have been falling, miraculously restored and replaced, no cost, ('cept labor). So happy about this, I scrubbed and lime blasted that old 1920's sink until it looked *(sorta?) * good as new--or at least, pleasantly retro/authentic funky. Tub next. Brian needs to finish the corner behind the tub and trim for us to have perfection, and we need to replace the curtain support, too.
I'm almost finished with a little bamboo arbor I designed out of some of the cut bamboo, just to be rid of maybe 10 big stalks--I was gonna just buy a metal one, for the grape vines, but one day I though of the dual profit, less debris and free arbor, and just started digging out some of the straighter pieces John had cut. I cut all the surplus canes off the main trunk, and started thinking how I could make a decently stable design to make a simple arbor. I made two ladders, basically, with the bottoms more than 4 feet wide to distribute the weight and make it balanced--plus making sure the canes I used had big enough hollows to put some rebar in, to anchor to the ground. I measured two sets of pieces--6 eight footers for the sides of the ladder, and the "rungs " graduated from 52" to 30"--got Ken to cut them with the new sawz-all I insisted we needed, and Brian lent me his screw gun--voila! two bamboo ladders with a middle leg for added stability. So all I have to do, to finish them, is screw some cross pieces on the top to put the two ladders together, which will frame where the brick sidewalk starts, and which serendipitously happens to be where my muscadine wilding grapes are growing abundantly.
After I saw the potential of this new little alcove, before I started the trellis, Joe and I went out and bought something I've kinda wanted for years anyway, old girl scout camper that I am. A fire pit. We just bought one of those ready made metal things you can get at Home Depot, and started burning some of our driest excess plant debris--very satisfying to see it go up in 25 minutes' time, no waiting for the junk man, even if it's in our warm season. Only one night was a little bad, while Joe was gone, because I got a little ambitious and tried to burn a second pile, which meant I had to open the mesh cover. I ended up with as burnt forearm, and spent 25 minutes too long in unbearable heat, without recourse to using the nearby hose to douse it and go safely back inside--because the spigot was frozen from disuse.
Later in the week, Joe unfroze the hose spigot, and it works fine now--I have even used it to water a few flowering drought tolerant plants I couldn't resist buying to make that little corner prettier and more organized--The Gallardia (blanket flower, with its crazy combination of zig-zag red and yellow, and purple coneflower--the improved weed with the spectacular sunset orange, spiked quills to offset its purple petals--looks wonderful with backlighting and are thriving. Now I'm sorta psyched to have a more inspiring garden back there.
Next, I tackled Ken's patio container garden, so over-run with rubber tree roots, some of the pots couldn't stand upright for all the overgrowth. I started by cutting back the obnoxious stuff along the chain link fence--volunteer oaks and camphor saplings--you couldn't even get near the fence. but once I got it relatively tamed I realized a few things--first, all 3 of the expensive muscadine varieties I'd planted were alive and well, not dead like I assumed, just so thirsty for sun they were growing up in the canopy of my neighbor's volunteer trees, well out of the reach of harvesting. No wonder I see so many birds--blue jays and cardinals and doves--hanging out on the fence line--they are eating the grapes I planted!
I also realized the culinary ginger I'd planted on a whim (from a store-bought root) had also survived without any attention at all--there were maybe 3 shoots growing between the fence and patio--how will they do now that I discovered them and might actually water them occasionally! Ken had a pretty nice herb container garden (thyme, parsley, a big pot of rosemary, sage--haha--parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme!! Did he do that on purpose? Nah, he had basil too.) But it looked like chaos with all the leaf debris, trash, and rubber tree roots. So I asked him if it would bother him if I cut back the roots, maybe some of the stems, too, so we could clean up the patio some. He agreed, and even participated. So, I took all the overturned pots and ruthlessly cut off all the excess roots--they were coming out the bottom of pots, going over the sides a la Banyan trees--scary!! Even into other plants' pots! The plants that will take over the world!! I wanted one specimen (shhh, John got rid of the 3rd!!) on each side of the patio door, but tamed. I was ruthless with the roots, but more gingerly with the unwieldy, top-heavy branches, until K came out on the patio and just plain decapitated the biggest one, so that it had no leaves at all!
What? I was a little worried, until I read up, after the fact, that he didn't kill it (Honestly, I don't care--I'm not a fan of these monsters, but his mother "saved" them from cuttings she took off this landlubber, prehistoric monster we agreed with our neighbor to get rid of--why my M-I-L decided she needed to save it--she's obviously not a Floridian, not understanding the wiles of our jungle plants..K of course, can't say no to his mother and her whims. Don't get me started about how upset she is that we "let" this mangy old lemon tree in our side yard die, and how proud she is of keeping virtual weeds from our yard alive for a year...
Anyway, I am now rather proud of how sane, and pretty! 1/3rd of our patio now looks with the leaves swept up, the roots gone, the containers organized symmetrically, the volunteer trees now making merely pleasant overhang..The rest will be cleaned up once it stops being Brian's renovation killing field of power tools and rehab debris. Oh, I also decided the Hawaiian, red-flowering poinciana tree we got free, from a neighbor's seedling, shouldn't, after all, languish in the hell-strip like we originally planned, but should enhance our patio as a door yard specimen. I think I'm beginning to think more like an Italian.
The pantry ceiling is now done in tongue and groove wood, air-conditioning duct too, and all-broken- through- to the front bedroom still in minor chaos, even if it is now as cool as the rest of the house... The walls of the pantry are drywalled, so there is no longer the tyranny of spider webs, roach and rat detritus, and just plain dust! reigning over our lives--I can breathe. I feel less oppressed. I may not even hate this old house so much. The roof is likewise getting fixed--repairing the unseen damage most likely from Hurricane Irma.
Down the ominous road is prep and exterior painting--probably a earthen jug brownish clay with bright green trim to evoke my homeland that I long for, Toscana... with my grapevines preceding...
Still have a pile of bamboo out back. Ken said he'd tame it with the sawz all. Will be pushing that...
July 11: I feel on one hand like a horrible, elitist person...but my mood can be completely swayed by my environment. Beauty makes me happy. I always knew this about myself: it's why I couldn't stand a four-walled, concrete block apartment without paint. I need aesthetics or I feel I cannot breathe.
Presently, my environment is improving, after years of neglect, and I suppose it mitigates my sense of being a snob (for needing a edenic paradise) to recognize I've done a large block of the manual labor myself: cutting back the jungle, building structures with garden waste and power tools, (5 weeks worth of work--plus replanting!), making difficult decisions and praying about plumbing, cleaning up, donating, and throwing out, no longer stymied by my husband's rules; in fact, coercing and charming my reluctant and self-absorbed hub into cutting down trees I can't handle myself....(learning he is possible to charm...) Having a vision. Planting small patches of paradise. Getting a grip on the big picture I once lacked, or at least, filling out the bones of the skeleton I laid in the past. It's actually starting to look even better than I imagined then? And of course, not according to plan, as Mother Nature would have it.
I can't abide ugly, incongruous edges. Empty blank spaces, boring colors, lack of contrast. It broke me when the electricians told me they would have to put ugly, practical, clunky conduit on the outside of my 100 year old, supposed Italian Mediterranean walls if I was going to have electricity, air conditioning, ecc., ecc. Booooooo. You ruined my house. My romance. So, I'm hoping this new paint job will hide it some--which looks more and more, like I'm going to do a big amount by myself. So be it. I am strong and insane--good combination for this!
For inspiration , I have been watching architectural shows about crazy houses and gardens that are well beyond my abilities. People building houses in caves. Restoring 500 year old barns and cow sheds as houses. Building on eroding cliffs. On river flood plains. All seriously beautiful, bellissimo. But my house is going to try to look like Toscana. That's all. Not so ridiculous in comparison, considering what I have to start with.
I just want my stupid ruined fireplace to work when it's cold (the 3 weeks it's actually cold enough in FL). And, kill all mosquitoes in my garden!! GRrrr.
July 14, 2018: Ok, so my house is starting to feel in my control again. K's been working on cutting back the umbrella trees that have been causing roof damage. Most of the interior work has been done, with a few details to finish, and Brian's been working on the exterior stuff--I think he's finished with the roof damage--and repaired and repainted the decorative stucco parapets. Now he's working on the damaged soffits under the roofline, and that weird little porch that we now use for storage, that once was open--I would love to restore it to its original state, but Brian said that would be very costly. Fueling my desire for this, unfortunately, he uncovered some decorative, Japanese style rafters that had been hidden in some stupid rehab...any way to keep them even partially exposed???????
Anxious for the painting to commence--Brian's going to repair his pressure washer to get off the loose stuff.
Gonna use my new loppers to get rid of some of the cherry laurel suckers around the big dead trunk in the hellstrip. The hellstrip itself now is so chock full of no-care plants, I do not have to weed it as continually as I once did--yay. But the neighbors can't see in, as K likes:/ My campaign against the ugly backyard bamboo is in progress--6 mil black plastic to kill the shoots. I cheated and looked : there are shoots spouting up, but they don't look too healthy without sun. These Things Take Time...
Repositioned several trellises under my kitchen window to tame the bleeding heart I long ago took from my old garden from Crescent Lake. It looks pretty good, as long as I keep it trimmed, and is still flowering. I flanked it with some cramped Crinum lilies from the other side, which for some reason didn't bloom this year. I have some other sort of unknown lilies over there by the air conditioning unit that have never bloomed once--suspect they need tons of water. Also noticed I have quite a patch of rain lilies spreading there w/o care! If I was going to go full bougie, I guess I should make some sort of screens to hide the air-conditioning units, electric boxes, and conduit on those walls...
How am I feeling? In general, much better, since there has been movement all around me. I feel less stagnant. K's been working on his eating habits, even his behavior somewhat--I think he is finally admitting to himself, if not us, that he's been in a pretty unhealthy state for quite awhile. Joe's working on an adult job: had 3 + interviews with the same company and is waiting for the big news. He's been doing his favorite summer job at his college in the meantime, and we're waiting for that to get sorted before we get the final plans together to go to St. Louis for my parents' 60th anniversary thing--if Joe can go.. K's not. We'll (or I'll) probably drive and I'm looking forward to it.
Even school's looking up, since someone decided to treat me like a professional (not my immediate, grudge holding boss, but..) and has solicited my opinion and participation in professional development for the ESOL/International kids. Also, I have been in contact with a St. Pete arts group that will probably mean our participation in a city-wide Arts festival (Shakespeare-themed this year!) and in the works is a downtown venue in a museum if our building isn't ready by February, when the festival is happening. It should mean some good exposure for some of my kids to the professional performing and arts groups in our area!
Joined the gym, too--knees feeling stronger, dropped a few pounds--would like 5-10 more. Ken and I even went to a play at the really cool Palladium last night--the Musical version of School of Rock that old Jack Black thing, that is a secret silly pleasure of mine--it was well done with a lot of local kid talent, and the lead Dewey character was sufficiently demented and energetic like the original to carry the whole thing off decently. The only thing off was the sound mix: sometimes the good vocals and kids instruments couldn't be heard. Also, the constant set-changing was a bit annoying and added too much time to the play--almost 3 hours!! But, cute, overall--and dare I say, inspiring...
Aug 12, 2018: Mental health check, check, testing, one,two...
Going home is always a big, red flag marker. Good news: my parents seem to be holding onto doing pretty well. My mom's greatly slowing down physically, can't walk very far, but the important thing is she seems sharp mentally (Fingers crossed!!) Dad seems to be the same as always, one part ball of energy, one part obsessive pain in the ass. What showed me that my mom's hanging on mentally is the pretty long discussion we had about Sister Vic, who seems to be losing it, and not in the heartbreaking, sweet way of my dead sister Tina--who was super annoying but loveable. Vic is annoying and vindictive.
Vickster--one of her last comments on FB to me was to object to me calling her that because a male we had a dispute about--MY long-term friend and eventual sometime love interest Dan, who she had a brief two week thing with before he realized how insipid she is...(for the record, I knew this guy for 3 years before she ever even met him, which she did thru me!!) But somehow she carries this very long term, stupid grudge through two marriages (for both of us!) that I stole him...never mind the fact that I've pointed out that there was a large gap, My relationship with him was several years long vs . her two weeks, that I was alone without family during a divorce of insanely mean-spirited proportions. That he's a pretty messed up, faithless jerk that we were both lucky to lose--but she's still angry and suspicious at me about this. Anyway, Dan once called her Vickster, so my very unhumorous sister finds something awful and suspicious in me calling her this, too. (I swear remembering our brother Jay calling her this?) Who knows if he got it from me or vice-versa, but wholey-shit, how thin skinned can you get--this was 30 years ago.
She doesn't like variations on her name anyway, due to her lack of humour, even though most of the ones the family calls her are benign. I do have two meanies for her: Queen Victoria, and Dear Abby--but never called her Q to her face (just for my own pressure relief from her bossiness), and maybe called her Dear Abby or Ann Landers only once or twice, when she was getting in my face too much about something, as she does daily : "You should....1) do you hair differently 2) wear these kinds of clothes 3) cut this bush like that 4) use this product to improve your house 5) decorate with this color instead of that color 6) buy this furniture 7) eat like this 8) go to this restaurant. 9) apply for this job, use these networking options...and when you tell her no thanks, she just keeps going, as if she didn't hear what you said. Plus, sine she herself has been out of work for the last 20 years, her supposedly helpful advice usually isn't very helpful or correct.
When I told her I was almost done redoing my bathroom, she kept suggesting all these great tiles, flooring, etc., they have at Lowe's where she just got fired, and kept adding to the heap of ideas even when I said I already got some black and white Datiles for the great price of $42 total, AND they are already installed--then she was on about how I could replace my old 1920s bathtub with a shower, which one, blah, blah, after I just said it was the last thing I wanted to do, nearly impossible given the layout of the room, and because it would increase the budget of my project by 10X. Mostly she doesn't listen and just likes to hear herself talk.
BTW, this is the very big difference between my sisters--Tina laughed about everything, and I was very grateful to hear myself on the interview I did with my buddy Leo--my laugh sounds very much like hers. Vickster? I don't know what her laugh sounds like cos she never does that...
Anyway, I thought maybe the following was progress, because she confessed she was going to therapy, paid for by her employer Lowe's--and mom told me that would soon end because she was getting fired. She told me too. Both of them seem in some sort of denial about why this is happening, but her passive-aggressive self must be awful to work with. She's a typical La-vickster bundle of energy searching for outlets, so she does go above and beyond for other people sometimes, until they realize she NEEDS to do this to validate herself. She epically has no perspective on anything.
My mother advised her, with Tina as reference, to not go the Soma route.
This is the third job she's been fired from in about 4 years, which was the first time she tried to work since trying to get pregnant with her now teenage kids. Her new insight into herself is that she has ADHD, which may be true, but in some ways is off-target from what's really wrong. Basically, to me she ruined my parents 60th anniversary thing, for me and some of my kin, which was terribly ill-conceived in the first place.
I can't help thinking Vic had a hand in the Bridezilla edition of this celebration anyway, which my father, in all his narcissistic glory, is highly susceptible to being prodded to reinforce. On the other hand, my sister's issues makes my dad look mild in comparison.
Ok, so the original idea--10 years ago! (this after we all had to use up our vacation time to "celebrate" by renting a house together in Breckinridge, Colorado 10 years ago for their 50th--how many anniversaries are the poor relations supposed to blow on these self-absorbed people? It was the most expensive vacation I'd ever taken with my immediate family, and prompted my hub to vow to never get on a plane again...My family is not fun to share lodging with..., and....sister Tina didn't go, knowing it would be too much for her fragile mind, which sister Vic would not let die..my first retrospective proof of what a total unfeeling bitch Vic can be...all she did was complain, for hours! about what a horrible person Tina was for not coming to make a fuss over my spoiled, baby-boomer parents, even though she was practically Joey Ramone level sedated on 42 drugs. You cannot insist on compassion with this other one. Okay, cut her a break that her husband committed suicide, and that the downward spiral started there. The denial, she never dealt with this properly....she pretends always that everything is fine, her house is beautiful, but her kids, husband, yes, and sadly, her siblings pretty much can't stand to be a minute in her passive aggressive company. You think the Heathers were mean girls? You should check out my sorority sister, who always chose the most well appointed, back-biting and high ranking friends.
So Vic's new wrath, because it fuels her sense of self like rocket fuel, was (since Tina was safely dead and untouchable) , that it was brother Jay who was not going to come up to snuff family-wise for this celebration--he would drag his feet and "Disrespect" my parents by being late to every planned event (which, BTW, was so disorganized that it had no actual schedule anyway, regardless of Vic's insistence we stick to its nonexistence)--I got called on the carpet for this as well, plus all my bloods...
Ah, FU Vickster.
Ok, so the original idea....was that we were going to go to the Chase Park Plaza Hotel, next to the Arch, to spend a night where the 'rents spent their honeymoon, then go to a Cardinal game the next day. Dad would pay for the hotel, we would have a nice dinner together, which I was expecting to pay my share for, plus my travel and lodging to get there. In all this denying the Colorado disaster, which Vic and her husband organized to optimize activities he and his kids would like, never asking the rest of us for input or taking our taste into consideration...
BTW, I strongly dislike Bruno, my sis's Long Island raised, Italian husband. There, I said it in print. He's kinda an asshole. This is supported by many of my family members including K& Mark, my mom, and even Vic herself on a good day when she's being honest. I kinda think he's the source of a lot of her mental distress. She's largely parroting him about how they are the only ones who really show parental devotion to my mom and dad.
What really happened: my dad got 5 rooms in this cheesy, horribly run casino/hotel called the Lumiere--if you have even an ounce of taste, don't go there!! First it pretends to be a super high class, 4 or 5 star hotel, but it isn't. So, those places in Vegas or Reno that have really reasonably priced , fairly luxurious rooms because they assume you'll gamble, making all the bling profitable.. ( I stayed in one in Reno for about $88 for a double...), this does not follow the Reno/Vegas business model, but is even more predatory.
This place bypasses the reasonable cost factor--$200 a night. !! Bad value for dollar ratio! And this is what pissed me off--no free wifi, no decent coffee or continental breakfast in the lobby. The hotel "restaurants"--5 mentioned on the website-- with 5 star chefs--weren't. What I mean by that is they weren't even operating--only the hole in the wall snack bar and "buffet" for $13-22, depending on time of day, and that's only the "special" price for gamblers foolish enough to get sucked into a "Lumiere" credit card--gamble on credit! Great idea!! The price for non special- credit- card -people was impossible to find out. There was also some sort of Wok restaurant, which Joe checked out and said it reminded him of an airport version of an Asian restaurant.
This whole place screams exploitation. Basically it was a pit stop for people with a gambling Jones who would pay anything to be near the mainline of their addiction. Super-sux for us non-addicts. The website was full of misinformation, like the fact that the pool was shut down for maintenance all week. Oh, and between the 17, some- odd people we had staying, we had about 21 swipe cards that need to be replaced because they were faulty. I think my dad and I were the only ones who had the same card two days later. Jay had several of his replaced 3 times. You needed them to even go up in the elevator; it wasn't just for your room.
Ok, add to that the second problem--nothing to do in super depressed downtown St. Loo. The ballgame, dad decided to not do, because it was super-expensive Cubs vs. Cards weekend. (This all because Vickster and her poor mouth family went to Hawaii on the real week of the anniv.) But they're not the bad, selfish kids, oh no, that was Jay and I. (Jay's fam went to Ireland--Joe and I had no other vaca this summer).
So, when Joe and I (Joe accompanied me, thank god, to bring a level of sanity to this mess!!) arrived in Alton--and BTW, Joe, me, Kate, Mark, Jay, his wife Kelly, their kids, all said exactly the same thing--we'd rather just "celebrate" the 60th simply, at Mom and Dad's pretty well appointed house... but no, this needed to become a Bridezilla level party...we arrived to find out, the plan was to do 1) two nights in the casino hotel, w/o gambling privileges 2) no baseball game 3) five! restaurant meals to organize with 17 people--which had not been planned at all--no reservations set or anything--we were gonna wing it and come to a consensus when we all got together before (before?? we never got together before...). And some nebulous Saturday outing that we were to all agree upon (and it was mandatory we do together! that hadn't been planned by anyone--just some random concepts--well, no baseball, but there's the Arch, Forest Park, the museums....(and several people who had widely divergent tastes..) Holy clusterfuck, Batman. !!!
Add to the madness is the fact that my Mom and Dad have spent so little time in St. Louis in the last 20 years, they had no clue what was there, any good restaurants: Ditto Vic and Bruno, who never go out and always cook at home, cos Bruno's a home cooking snob like this, and cheap, to be honest. Jay, who actually knew St. Louis, plus his wife who grew up there! but they were awol at the discussions, due to personality conflicts with sister Vic, who never bothered to solicit their expertise. Me, by just using my googling skills which no body else in the fam seems to possess, had several options that were not taken seriously by the D'Osso oligarchy. It became rapidly apparent that we were gonna do whatever the D'Ossos (Vic & Bruno) said. On everything.
Dad had a meltdown, because his "only" request (besides dragging us to Bridezilla-land) was to have Eggplant Parmigiana like his mom made at a restaurant he'd been to on Laclede's Landing 20 years ago (within walking distance from the hotel), at a chain called The Spaghetti Factory. But, he refused to sit down and help make the plans when we were making the reservations, because secretly he was sneaking off upstairs to watch the Cards' game. Jesus. Turns out Spaghetti Factory didn't have Eggplant Parmigiana on the menu, but we made the reservation to placate him anyway. Anyway, we made two dinner reservations, which it turned out 1/3 of the party disagreed with and argued about for hours the next day, including making several counter-reservations. This is my family....
So, the next day, chastened by the aspect that my sister was in therapy and handling her 3rd firing, in a self-reflective mood about her possible ADHD, I accepted her invitation to come over with Joe to her house, only to find she wasn't there. Daughter Sammie (my god-daughter, btw) didn't come out of her room, Bruno appeared briefly for greetings and disappeared to god knows what importance (whew!), and gentleman Scottie was the only D'Osso to be friendly, playing video games and watching something with Joe. Their house is in weird disarray--a brand new shower pan wrapped in plastic on the dining room floor ready for a new bathroom renovation-- (they built this house only 15 years ago with the most obscenely lavish bathroom with rooms within rooms and TVs on the wall--a glass shower and jacuzzi tub --a bathroom bigger than my rather large bedroom.
There is new, very state- of- the -art tile (that running black, metallic grey and white thin pattern--maybe half an inch by 5-- that all the cool kids/home centers have!!) already replacing the very nice looking, still good-looking and not at all dated, natural moss green they installed 15 years ago, the one that actually blended with the nature themed brown and tan and green natural, tasteful colors of the wallpaper, curtains, upholstery, etc.. .the very New York City loft tile actually looks kind of jarring in their country setting.
My sister usually has better taste than this, to try to ram some metrosexual urban monochromatic super- post modern thing with her existing relaxed country color scheme--but there it is, plus a total strip down of her perfectly fine bathroom to make it conform to the mid-century modern grey Madmen palette that is being shown in all the latest home magazines. My sister is nothing if not a perpetual slave to home fashion:/ Apparently the motivation to redo the entire bathroom was some unsightly growth of some blackish mold or grease, which I couldn't understand why it might just be cleaned? The kids' rooms also had been repainted to fit in with this grey/silver palette, and it really didn't look all that cool like it was supposed to. Just sadly conformist.
Then Vic came home, and everything exploded. I was subject to a two hour rant-lecture, by both Vic and Bruno, who reappeared to relish the dishing of dirt on my poor brother, about how Brother Jay was going to ruin this whole festivity, by noncompliance, and showing up obstinately late, and arguing over restaurants, and most importantly, DISRESPECTING my parents, who were going to DIE soon, and this was our last chance to be together in a loving show of familial bonding, except that none of us had the decency to respect our parents wishes except the wonderfully congenial, sacrificing, and family- loving D'Ossos.
The truly obscene thing that had happened was my bro Jay (born 10-16-1963, with whom I once shared a room and a love of music) had managed to get Cardinal v. Cubs tickets for Sat., really (willfully) not understanding why we had pulled out of the original plans of seeing a game that day. Answer: my dad refused to go because he has some grande idea we should get one of those corporate boxes, but it cost $3000 dollars--too much! No, we could not just get ordinary bleacher or stadium seats (and pay for our own, if necessary!)--that was not Bridezilla enough!
Ralph. I needed to escape this bullshit.
How did it turn out? After hours of arguing on the hour, before every "get together" , we made it to 4 restaurants, and the Arch museum, but never in a way that satisfied the D'Osso oligarchs. Although there were never any meeting times agreed upon, Jay was designated 5-10 minutes late to the first restaurant meeting, after he had suggested an unsuitable bar/hole in the wall that really couldn't accommodate 17--his bad.. But afterwards, the on-time Reilly clan was in the doghouse for lagging around to indulge in a digestive walk for an hour in the beautiful Lafayette Square Park, which was quite intoxicating, and a part of St. Louis I'd never seen--screw my sister, I'm glad we took the momentary detour. What did we miss? Some rooftop fireworks that apparently never happened at the truly nice hotel next to ours--big whoop. Everyone made it to the 1st brunch "on-time" at Sq'wires back at Lafayette Square, where Katie and I were decadent enough to order morning Bloody Mary's, to the raised eyebrows of the Vic side. Although Vic tasted mine. Dad played with the Harry Connick, Jr. -like piano player , who was quite proficient at Scott Joplin rag and Gershwin...and was in indulgent heaven playing on his baby grande for the indifferent crowd.
So, next we were supposed to meet, for and at some unspecified time, because my mother needed time to recuperate in the hotel from the breakfast outing, at the Arch museum, although the Reilly faction had voted for the much cooler tour through the St. Louis Art Museum--fuck you, Reilly's, the D'Ossos, who actually live here and could go anytime since it's free, want to do the Arch museum. OK, the Arch it is, simmer down...The Reillys passive -aggressively--agree, but ultimately do their own thing time-wise, using the Gma's -in -the- hotel- resting- hour to spin their new-to-them Prius through nearby Forest Park where the museum is, and checking out the very hot hipster Delmar Loop ( including my old haunt Vintage Vinyl!!)before going to the Arch--which turned out to be a sort of exercise in futility to meet up with anyone, anyway, since there was a need to park (none of these things were researched or communicated) in our hotel parking lot, walk several miles to the entrance which wasn't well marked, full of tourists, most of whom also didn't know where to go ( I was asked several times by confused ones) . In spite of the museum being fairly small, and not all that interesting--oooh here's a replica of a Pioneer wagon!! It was impossible to find anyone--I immediately lost all 4 of the people I came with through the entrance, it was so crowded.
Still Vicky was pissed at our non-togetherness. Then came the pimple to a head. The Spaghetti Factory dinner, which we also had to walk to. Haha, my funny gang had a momentary distraction by a bar across the street that offered the opportunity to throw an axe (NO< REEALLY, a real axe!!) at a wall if you had purchased $XX of their crap in the bar. But of course, we didn't actually do it, because, time!
But, we were laughing about this as we sat down to table (on time!)at Spagh Fac..
Vic's first comment..."You all shouldn't sit together--you should give people who haven't had the chance to talk to you sit with you..." WTF? We'd had conversations of various types with everyone presently in the room... What sort of all-girls 'school, cotillion, coming- out party BS was this?? (BTW, Vickster did go to an all girls-sorority heavy, old school college called William Wood which has never served her well in any capacity in her life....)
We all ignored her directive. Then my brother Jay (who I actually hadn't talked to much) showed up, 5 minutes fashionably late, and took a chair from the opposite end of the table for his wife Kelly, who I hadn't seen in well over a year, to our end so we could all get cosy. Vic interrupted our conversation to pointedly interrogate Jay about the Cards game, which she had previously made clear to me that she was disgusted that he had gone to said game after the plans had been changed, rather than spend time with our disrespected parents who were on the verge of dying! (not) at her unscheduled, impromptu, disorganized and impossible meet-up at the Arch Museum. ( Jay shoulda just got my Dad an extra ticket, if that was possible, and been done with it.) I knew her questions were more about keeping score in the game "Who's the Best Sibling?" So after about 5 questions about a game I knew she wasn't interested in (she's not really a baseball fan, and knowing some of Jay's friends had season tickets,), she then had already ventured into, Who sat with you?, and When did they arrive?? This was beginning to be really uncomfortable and since she was on one side of me, and Jay the other, this conversation was taking place across my chest, with Mark and K, fully aware of what was going on, across the table--
Jay gives a final answer, to which Vickster wasn't really listening, because that wasn't why she was asking::
Jay: "The 5th or 6th..?"
Vickster: (distracted): "What did you say?" (Across my chest)..
Jay and me, in unison: "The 5th or 6th!!"--in a tone that showed we were both exasperated with the unending questions that had an obvious point...
Vickster: "Sorry?"
Me: Stop the interrogation!!
Jay: Yeah, can you stop with the interrogation?
Vickster: "Well pardon me for being interested in your day..Tracy, that was really rude, I was just asking Jay about the game.."
Me: No you weren't, you were interrogating Jay to make him feel bad. We all get it.."
Vickster: "You need to stop being rude, I was just being polite.
Me :"Um huh.."
Vickster: " You are just trying to embarrass me, trying to make me look bad in front of Katie and Mark. I don't know why you love to do that.."
Me: "Just stop."
Vickster: "You love to embarrass me.."
Me: "Just drop it ."
Vickster: "No, I'm not going to drop it. You always do this to me."
Me: "Stop."
Vickster:"Why should I, you always start these things with me.."
Me: "Please act like a grown-up." I look to Jay, Kate and Kelly...they show unspoken sympathy.
Vickster, thankfully, ends it by getting up and letting Lauren, who's just arrived with her father (ten minutes after the slacker Jay!! Scorecard:15 minutes after D'Ossos late!!), my sister Tina's widowed husband. This lets her "save face" by being noble and letting Lauren sit with the ones who we haven't "had a chance to talk to", which is apparently her husband Bruno..who they see fairly often?
So now it's time to discuss the lovely presence of my bro-in-law Bruno at these get-togethers. Because he is both socially awkward and super-judgemental, I notice a pattern. He tends to choose one of the meeker twenty and under nieces as a dinner companion, dominating the conversation loudly in a pseudo avuncular role --like his wife-- interrogating about future plans. Trouble is, he doesn't really care about said plans, but cares about conversational domination , as no one else can get a word in edgewise, including the poor interrogated niece who frequently gets cut off mid answer by the razor-sharp New York repartee of Bruno, who's not really interested in niece's answer but his own wit at making said niece look silly and inexperienced. He thinks this is friendly/funny. He did this to my brother's daughter Rachel to the point where she bowed out of the next get-together, claiming a work obligation. Jay told me the next day, when Joe and I went out for pizza with him later, how pissed he was at how Bruno upset Rachel with this pushy behavior. I mean, there's already bad blood between these family branches, anyway, so nerves were up. I had tried to intervene by asking Rachel genuine questions about her college interests and giving her some suggestions based on her responses--she wanted a big state school, but inexpensive, which was leading her South, but she didn't like the Southern Belle culture she was hearing about through the grapevine...( I said look into U of Ga in Athens (REM!) and UCF...
The next night Bruno repeated his loud, loutish and asinine performance with Lauren, who just graduated college and is now in grad school. I interrupted his interrogation where he was saying things like, "So are you ever going to stop going to college and work, not an internship?" to ask Lauren a follow up---did you say you were going to Italy? and asked where, etc... told her I could give her some useful generic Italian phrases like, where's the bathroom...well this caused Bruno, who's mother is pure Italian, to take over the conversation to tell Lauren all the limited Italian he knew-- I let him go...but, finally when he told her "Bella--that means good," I interjected-- sorry , he's wrong, (and made a dismissive, Italianesque wave in his direction like MY gma used to do!) that means "beautiful"---good is "bueno" or "buena" depending on the context--then I launched into this fake conversation she might have--"Beware these Italian boys and men that follow you down the street, saying, " Ah, Bella ragazza, bellisima ragazza! Andiamo! Vuoi un po 'di divertimento?" And Lauren looks at me, impressed and says--wow that sounded like the real thing! I wish you were going!"
Bruno has a cloud over his head, and later Katie gave me a high five in the ladies' room for putting him in his place.
Oh yeah feeling pretty clean about how minimal and feng shui my kitchen looks. House is in the process of being prepped and primed with exterior paint. Toscana will come to me.
August 19, 2018: Time to discuss the impending school year and Faculty Workshop Week:
A bit of a relief in many ways. After a bad start where we thought the entire English Dept was going to be upended due to a teacher quitting at the last minute for personal reasons, we luckily hired a replacement, and got down to a workshop friendly to teachers, pointedly critical of unnamed admin, who were frequently AWOL from group planning and socializing. I have to give it to my most highest rank boss: he planned this workshop to fix our very dire problems last year that demoralized most of the teaching staff. Especially the females. But this year, they are increasing the number of "Scholarship" kids to make their numbers look better, but didn't hire new faculty, just packed the rooms. Many of the teachers are teaching 6 periods, plus a study hall that might as well be another period, so 7. A big class at our school used to be in the 14-16 range, mainly because our rooms are so small and can't fit too many desks. But now I'm hearing teachers complaining that they have 21,22,23!! That's just too crowded for our small rooms--it's not a good thing when they're right on top of each other. I know that doesn't sound big by public school standards, but K's public school classroom is huge--probably triple mine. My biggest (ESOL) class this year has fluctuated between 14-17.
Anyway, some parts of this workshop were run by the very competent president of SPC, who seemed to be modeling the good leadership we were lacking. She gave us clickers in order to let us anonymously answer honestly how we felt about our communications and the policies of our fairly new admin. I think all the complaints last year spooked the top guy, who has probably been wanting to start planning his early retirement, but thankfully felt he didn't want to leave this mess behind. I am grateful. The targeted people weren't participating actively in the workshop, and several of us were sort of like--how come the people who need to hear this aren't here! But then it turned out they were--just not at the tables with us but on the other side of a partition--possibly it was better that way, and possibly planned. Also, many of the workshops, and especially those directed towards understanding international students were (unusual in the past) attended by dorm staff--well, once upon a time dorm staff and teachers were one and the same. Again this seemed like a very good use of time. I don't know how this will sort out, but I suspect it will go one of two ways: either the targeted people will get the message and stop being so grudge happy and authoritarian, or we'll have new bosses next year.
So, whereas I was anticipating having extra classes and several totally new preps, instead I have a lower than usual load.
Oh, and it turned out my Russian kids really were a "mafia"--two of them, anyway, were selling weed in the dorm. Not ones in my class but in RC. I still think a lot of that was caused by the stressful way dorm things were handled. So let's hope this year is better. They dumped the main dorm parents who weren't too hot.
Sept 14: And so it goes--the incompetence and nitpicking continues. I've got administrators pulling kids out of my classes, handling scheduling poorly, (I have the same number of ESOL kids, but jammed into only 2 classes, instead of making 3 small ESOL classes, which is the whole idea behind ESOL, right?). Admin only half-way took our English Department's suggestion to make a class of reg English for international students--instead they just packed one of my classes, called it both ESOL and regular for Seniors (I think, even I'm confused), and then were surprised when kids objected to paying additional fees for ESOL. Duh........so now a few kids want to move to a non-ESOL fee class, so I'm possibly losing some of my best students.
Possibly, because the counselor did this out of her jurisdiction and without informing the other admins. So it may be re-fixed, somehow. They made their own mess, and I got criticized about kids sneaking a nap in the last 5 minutes of study hall while I was trying to deal with all this rescheduling mess, trying to get work for the kids who might be changing, at my desk with the 3-4 involved students. This "critique" from yet another hypercritical admin who loves to surprise us with study hall visits for gotcha moments. I wrote him a critical e-mail back, about how his expectations are unrealistic, that the study hall visits are disruptive and negative, undermining teachers' authority, etc..The guy never bothers to ask the teacher what is happening, just makes snap judgments and blanket criticisms.
My new tactic is to just speak my mind and defend myself. No more shrinking into the wood work. What will be will be. Foley's with me on this--she told me to cc her my answer to Sir Critic. But --I might get fired. /\1/\ This is really just putting too much unnecessary stress on me, and forcing me to constantly debate decisions, like should I go over these people's heads to complain. I just want it all to settle so I don't have to be thinking about the worst parts of school 24/7. They also decided not to take part in the Arts Festival with the Gilberts, probably because they didn't want to make extra work. Well, I'm glad they decided fairly quickly (for them) so I will not have that to stress about.
Home is going better, other than the weird talking.
Nov 2, 2018:
Getting out of Dodge soon. The weather's cooled (late this year); season of big moons and painted skies. Maybe it's the time of year, but, I am revisiting the idea of how much I prefer the inside of my head to the outside world. I haven't been indulging in that so much lately. But I think I'm going to try to do another cave dive today, for awhile. To the Bottom.
Nov 8: Son tells me I'm getting too into politics. Maybe he's right, and I think it's my way of feeling some control over what's out of control. I was making assumptions about who he voted for for governor, when it turned out he wrote in his buddy Seb. Gotta fill up my mind with something, and there's not that much out there on my radar just now. I really should write a song instead. Bored. Per usual.
Nov 29:
Back from trip west. Maybe it was because it was so short, but I really feel like i didn't get to do much of what I wanted. I suppose I could have been more selfish--but I was also jet-lagged for longer time--like the second night I was there--but a lot of that was from driving and walking around Berkeley without getting any down time. Sorry Phillip, sorry Russian Solution. Also there was the smoke and rain gumming things up. But it was a good trip--painless flights.
I'm certainly feeling less creative these days, and want to remedy that. My drama classes are a drain, keeping them on task, etc. I feel little spark with them. Maybe next year. One of the Russian kids did come in today wanting to borrow some of my actors to make a video he wants to submit to college--he's writing it himself--something about bullying. That sounds interesting, I suppose. I gave him some names and promised to talk promote his project in my class. I had a weird feeling about this kid earlier--he's in Russian Club, which we haven't held in a while, the Prez being gone. But one day he broke away from a group of kids after school that gave me a bad vibe--I wondered if they were bothering him somehow. He started asking me questions he knew the answers to--about Russian Club, etc. I think I was his cover. Hope he writes a good script.
I've been reading Patti Smith's Just Kids, which I got at City Lights in SF. Funny how book stores, record stores, movie stores don't interest me like they once did. I feel like I have access to so much stuff--what I already own, and online, that it is no longer the process of discovery it once was. Nowadays I'm like looking up the current value of albums I already have and going into shock at the crazy values. I could be looking for some of the new musicians I've discovered in the last few years, but I know I probably won't buy the album or even CD.
But, Just Kids is sort of goading me to step up my creative game--Patti and Robert were constantly making stuff, living creatively. It feels a lot like how I lived in my earlier decades, only moreso. They just up and moved into the Chelsea Hotel, and hung out at Max's Kansas City and the Factory, even when they were nobody--just did it. One of Patti's wedges to get noticed by the scene-sters was cutting her long hair to loo like Keith Richards--the Factory folks went nuts for androgynous look. Not her art--which like me, was sort of multimedia--she's barely even considered at this point doing music, although she long wrote poetry.
I think my old habit of waiting for a spark is wearing thin. I even started playing guitar less because I was tired of what I knew and couldn't find a new song--then I noticed my callouses going away so I'm back on. Tried last night to work my way through Radiohead's "Paranoid Android"--man, is that a brilliant, and difficult song. My sources for learning are getting more advanced. But I'm having a hard time with the rhythm in that thing.
I think I need to push myself more, and I'm thinking about writing some music for the band, since Bruce is asking me to. Just--can't get started--even looked back through some of my old ideas--like them, but actually fleshing them out makes me think they aren't really going anywhere. I need a light. To light my fire.
I need to use Patti and Robert as inspiration--they saw art everywhere in every piece of detritus in their lives--I know that feeling. It's growing faint and nostalgic...it was nice for them to be a team to bounce ideas around. I'm at my best in that situation. My team has gone to bed.
Dec 3: Lousy, lousy week at school. Bratty 8th graders and red neck mothers. Just another jacked-up week for me. Still super-subbing for all. I feel a bit like a teacher prostitute, only the kind who doesn't get paid. I told K --so sick of the academy, I might retire early--he asked me to hang in for a few more years to get our financials on more solid ground, after the renovations, new car, etc. Yeah-sigh.
Dec 7: Yes, it's been a terrible 24 hours at the old job. Actually, a terrible 3 weeks. Make that a terrible 3 years, since a certain set of people arrived.
Ken sent me a lovely note, however, that I greatly appreciated:
"The rewards, there are few, and the indignities, there are many. My own epilogue will be the same as what Faulkner said of the servants in The Sound and the Fury: they endured."
Ain't it the truth. I'll know more next week. What a lousy occupation I'm in these days. We're to blame for everything. K said he would never advise a young person to get into teaching, with the state it's in now. I didn't used to agree, but if what we have is prevailing, then, yeah. Don't do it--it will kill your soul. Should I stay or should I go?
This is sending me into an existential crisis of sorts. If my free time is forced upon me, what do I do with it? Do I want to try something else for a bit? Tutoring online is the obvious e-z out, purely for money. But what about the rest of me? Art, Drama, Writing, Music--all loom large. I'm feeling very unexcited about drama these days, because it takes too much collaboration of the good kind that I don't have-- where are all the creative people? but mostly I think I'm feeling a general dampening of my creative spirit, pushed down by the pressure from my job that is so not on board with creative freedom. I mean, if I can't even teach certain books, can't preside over my own classes and study halls without being visited by the authorities, keep having my plans ruined by a big fat bureaucratic thumb--how do I feel free enough to create!? To me, that sense of freedom is the essential ingredient--lets you fly. Hard to do in a prison cell. That gets me thinking about this quote in my Patti Smith book--about her encounter with the great Jimi Hendrix. He said, about building the Electric Ladyland Studio (in a building with layers and decades of creative mojo---he had this fantasy of making a circle of many musicians, all playing their own thing--different Melodies, scales, chords, voicings, whatever. But eventually, I suppose, the listening kicks in and they all start to feed off of each other, so that the cacophony starts to blend and make music. Stone beautiful.
Dec. 9:
I'm moving from defense to offense. Even I am not saved, maybe something else will be saved for the big picture--like the Trump administration, this cannot endure.
Every weekday lately when I wake up, the music going through my head is "Pray for the Dead and the Dead will pray for you." Chopin's Funeral March. Dramatic, I admit, but it gets me up and out the door. I thought I was never going to feel like this again in my life, but I was wrong. Endure.
Dec. 10: Thinking seriously of very big changes. It might be exciting.
Dec. 11: Today was designed to give me good vibes about myself, in spite of my bad boss interactions. My classes were very mellow and good today--and liking our self produced nonsense; old students came to talk to me about their problems because they like me and feel I help them; a parent came to talk about her awkward son and we had a very nice time, and she liked me so much she insisted on hugging me at the end. So even if I get the axe, I'll feel my own worth and know people will feel my loss...can I prevail?
Dec 14: Queue Chopin- dum dum de dum DUM de dum de dum de dum. Possible last day. I slept halfway decently at the beginning of last night, but then woke in the wee hours unable to go back to sleep. Just want this day to speed by and be over, whatever the outcome.
My feelings are so mixed. My most selfish side wants to be done with this place because it constantly causes me stress and pain. It can't be good for my health. I got up this morning unsure if I'd taken my blood pressure pill last night, so I took one this morning, just in case--want my heart under control as much as possible today. I don't want to faint or do any other shocking thing to make things worse.
I am ripe for a change. How much of my fantasy can I get? Could I possibly get a decent paying, artsy job?
I can't get over how many terrible people there are in the world, people who just go around making others miserable whenever they can. Why. ?? Vindictive. People who can't see straight or make proper decisions. People who constantly take the easy way out. This is the source of my constant stress the last three years.
I'm happy to take a pay cut to have a more healthy environment for myself. K doesn't want me to do this--he's worried about our bills, which really are nothing compared to other people's--it's just that we recently increased our debt with house expenses and the new car. All which had to be done, regardless. He has a tendency towards exaggerated anxiety, and he wants me to just bear it out, if that's possible. I myself wouldn't object to finding a higher paying job, if that were possible, but I have to be realistic--my field isn't exactly a money maker. I could go up North for better pay, and make a short end of the debt. That is, if I'm not falling into the ageism spectrum.
Another positive considerations on the money side: our house is probably worth a bundle, and prices in our county are going up. It's a seller's market. Personally, I'm ready to downsize. But I don't think Ken is ready for that. There's the reality that all our parents are aging, and we both stand to get decent inheritances. I also want to move, out of this hideous, sticky weather that I've always hated, but there's K and J.
I like the idea of being more freelance, since K has insurance. I wonder if he'll start thinking I'm not pulling my weight. Ironically, I think I could live a vastly cheaper lifestyle without him and all his unnecessary expenses. We also have Joe these days to contribute to household expenses, and I think he would see contributing something would be fair and less expensive than going indie--I've already discussed this with him as a way to get our debt paid off sooner. So, all in all I don't think our money situation would be dire. I was planning on retiring in the near future anyway. I mean, I've been working solidly to support myself since I was 21. However, I think quitting work cold turkey may not be the best option for me right now-beyond the money issue.
If I had my way, I'd quit anyway, because of the bad environment here--something I've been thinking about the last two years. The house renovation stopped me. Also the promise of a room in the new building (which may not happen now). This place doesn't foster the arts anyway--they can't get it together enough to give us a date for music or theater performances, then blame us. So, it really puts a crimp in my freedom of creativity, what with them limiting book choices and films, etc.
I've been thinking of enlisting Foley to go with me to have a serious discussion with Bob--Foley there to reinforce the big picture of what's happening between admin and teachers, not so much to save myself but to stop the madness. She would mitigate the idea that I'm operating from sour grapes.
I hate most of all would be leaving under a cloud--even if I think I would have the sympathy of most faculty, students who know me. But, I was thinking to go out, maybe not a grandly as CMDR Nick, but somewhat more in that direction--with love and gratitude. But now this. It's a dent in my fender of very good years. The least likely scenario I could have imagined. But not really surprising, given our bosses. I thought maybe some book or movie or idea might take me down.
Maybe I'm being a wimp, nostalgic for the halcyon days where we had little parental involvement. That had its downside in some respects with unmotivated kids, but mostly gave us a lot more freedom in the curriculum. Parents these days are a plague. Our Admin rolls over for them; they have no boundaries.
I can probably get 4/5ths of my salary doing adjunct and tutoring online. Regardless of today's outcome. I'm considering doing that. Less pressure, commitment, more flexibility.
This weird thing happened the other day that I keep replaying, however briefly in my head. Bossman waltzed through the end of lunch (having not helped during the crunch time, per usual--what does he do all day? Plot? I think so). Anyway, this pitiful child Thomas, who is starting to become something of a school pet, was sitting with us at the teacher table at lunch--something he's done more often lately. He's an eighth grade ESOL kid, probably with some learning/organizing issues. He doesn't seem to get on with other kids, sort of a loner. But he likes school, reading, learning! I like the kid a lot--he's easy for an adult to like.
Well, Bossman breezes in with this big loud address to Thomas, "Hello,Thomas!" his "new study hall buddy", and he's making the obvious show of overboard friendliness to prove he's a stand-up guy who cares about and nurtures kids. (Of course, he ignores, per usual, every teacher at the table). This little phony scene really made me want to wretch. It belonged in Catcher In the Rye, along with Holden's other lists of phony acts in school. A better leader might have said something nice about how we had made Thomas welcome at our table, but Bozzman don't think that way.
And the weather is sympathizing--pouring rain, tornado warnings, red alerts. Might make the day more memorable along with Trump's woes. "Lamentings--heard i' the air...".
5p.m. It's done. I'm out. With a little leeway in pay to keep me quiet. At least they seemed sorta remorseful about it. Fine's a coward. I already have multiple options. And sympathy, and I'm not even the devil, really. I feel so glad to have a chance to make a new start at something way more cool.
Thomas's mom (((. I love people.
Dec 15, 2018: 5:21am. Trouble sleeping, mostly worried about this blog getting lost, so I got up to attempt some precautions. My old work e-mail will be going away, with all it's bloat. Took me about 40 minutes, but I think I figured out how to transfer to a new account so I can continue to write and edit here.
(It was blocking me from creating a new author when I was doing it all on my laptop, but adding my new g-mail to my i-Pad and using Chrome as a browser fixed the problem. Big stupid nightmare for a few minutes getting passwords synced up, etc.)
I told Joe more or less everything. He was very sweet and supportive--hugs and hand-holding and all that stuff. He is a wonderful son. Won't tell my parents as much--just that I've been really unhappy at AFA and I'm planning to change jobs-99% of the truth, keeping it all low key. It won't be a surprise, given my conversations about work the last few years. Not sure what to tell Dick and Bruce. Also wondering about unemployment compensation--I've never done that. And if I get work at the online gig I've been researching, or get some adjunct classes at SPC, which is my plan-does that void out unemployment? Need to research.
Turns out you get about $1100 a month on unemployment, max, for a maximum of 6mos., and you can't have gotten fired for malicious acts, whatever that means, and it can't be your fault that you lost your job. AFA said they'd play along with whatever story I want to tell, but this doesn't sound like a good option--I'd feel much better about myself getting new work and pushing through. Never been the lazy type--that's my gma in me.
Eaea has already been in contact about my situation--good people. Yef even called on a dime, remembering the day I told him I'd find out, and then even the hour. It made me feel better to listen to him cuss out my boss when I couldn't. Makes me feel loved, appreciated.
I think in the end, this will all be for the better. SPC is an easy slide--there are also some fairly lucrative copywriting jobs I've seen online, one even at the corporation Joe was excited about--odd. Part of me is really curious to make that kind of big change, although I'm sure I will have criticisms of corporate culture, etc. One thing about going to SPC and the online gig that is better than signing on to another school like Landon or Berkeley--I won't have to feel too terrible about only putting in a few more years. Plus, hopefully less driving. It might be kind of exciting, though, to get a job that puts me downtown regularly. Makes me think about what a rut I've made for myself at the old thing. No matter what, I think it will be a benefit to my mental state to know it's only going to be a few years, anyway, no matter what, unless I decide I really love something!
Jan 30, 2015:
Sometimes I think I am making myself unhappy by thinking, like Alice, of six impossible things before breakfast. Always want what I don't have, want to be where I can't be, be with people I cannot be with, feel some sensation, have some experience I can't, shouldn't...but here's the conundrum--thinking about it makes me feel happy. High. Just a small example--if 3-4 years ago I could play guitar like I can now, or know the Russian I know, I'd be in ecstasy. But now it's just, meh. Need more. Stupid--durak. But imagining some new challenge--ok, baby, let's go.
The internet sux as a replacement.
Overall--a bad day. If you know Night Watch, you will understand. I'm Sveta, with that huge black vortex over my head, because my world has been shattered: by water. Some durak kid killed my computer by dumping water on it, accidentally. I should not be in the vicinity of this child with ....well. I told you before, the fates, the gods truly hate me, and I think I should tell them to go cut off one of their heads and stick it somewhere.
So now I can only play computers by the grace of others--which truly offends my sense of independence enough to make me aggressive. In think I'm gonna go commit crimes with 12 people of various sizes ages races to even the score.
Feb 4? Really? No, it's the 5th.. how stupid I am without a computer. But I got it back, and I'm still feeling badness, so maybe it's something else. The usual. The computer's okay, didn't lose anything, got a new logic board relatively cheap--so now after I had adjusted my mind for a week to life without my old stuff, and that I'd have to redo it with the challenge of improving it--and now here it all is back again in all its mediocre glory. Tempting me to be lazy. Well, I need a new challenge, obviously.
Feb 12: This morning as I was in bed alone, deciding whether or no to stay in my lovely dream state or get up, this story wormed its way into my ear--it was an NPR interview, bleeding in from my radio alarm that never really is guaranteed to wake me...luckily I have a fairly strong internal body alarm.
The interview was of an outsider writer I have been hearing about on my periphery--William T. Vollman. This interview, having submerged in my brain like frozen meat beginning to stew and boil--finally woke me up in two ways. I had to look him up because of these amazing ideas and connections. Turns out we are contemporaries--both children of the summer of 1959. (That makes us conceived in the witching time of the year: October.)
So, the interviewer was asking him about his methods for writing--it seems he's rather renowned for doing strange and dangerous things to fuel his writing: imbedded himself in the 80s with the mujahideen , smoked crack with call girls in California, stayed alone for two weeks at the North Pole, lived in radioactive places like Chernobyl and That city in Japan that go hit by a Tsunami? Fukushima. In fact, he has been EVERYWHERE! He cross-dresses to experience true femininity as a state of mind. He seems obsessed with trying to understand the female mind--a main drive, it seems, that fueled his "journalistic" studies of prostitutes, sex workers, call girls--he has written thousands of pages on this subject, and says he considers this a most saintly occupation--he is not an adherent of Judeo-Christian ethics, I think. Toulouse Lautrec?
He wrote something about Shostakovich. Other febrile connections--most through my daughter--he went to that weird hippie school that only takes 12 insanely bright people--Deep Springs--where Kate spent time because her boyfriend at the time went there. He has lived in Berkeley, LA, and Sacramento. He is a serious Luddite: doesn't drive, no internet, no cell phone--eschews modern life in a truly strange and inspiring way I don't think I could handle. The FBI has large files on him..once thought he might be the Unabomber.
Ok, so here's what got me out of bed. The interviewer asks him about his abnormal lifestyle, and he says this, (I'm paraphrasing):
He has been studying insects (his first book has insects as characters). He saw this pattern, that, older female ants, after they have gone through their lifecycle--have mated, reproduced, and raised their offspring, sometimes start to adopt a more risky lifestyle--he explains it like, well the hive no longer needs them to survive, they are extraneous to its success, so they go off to do other stuff. More interesting stuff then breeding, etc. He says now that he's in his 50s he feels as they do. (Ignore that he was with the Mujahideen fighting Soviets in 1980 if you want to accept the beauty of this imagery.)
But--that explains it. What I've been itching, straining, planning for. I'm a risk-seeking queen ant. Looking for...?
Feb 25: I know--I splinter attention into a million tiny shards of misdirection. It's part of the creative process for me. Sorry it distracts when one needs OCD focus and no distractions.
Mar 11: Oh, this is so messed up. When I was a kid, I had this Grimm's Fairy Tale that really fucked me up for a long time--made me afraid to sleep, made me look at the world differently--made me think no one was safe--not even my mother. In the story a mother cuts off her stepson's head in a drawer, then chops his body into pieces and serves him as soup to her family. Now I just found out--Bjork made this as a movie. Honestly, I could have only known this recently because that story freaked me out so bad, I began to think it rose out of my own bad imagination. But, it turns out it was real--I found it last year via the internet--no wonder I could never find it. It was called "The Juniper Tree." And that is the name of Bjork's movie. I just found it on VK.
Mar 18: I've been reading about a new book on the drug war by a guy named Johann Hari called Chasing the Scream.. It's one of those paradigm shifting ideas. Now, be aware I didn't read the book myself, just heard a friend describe it, looked at reviews, and watched the author interviewed for about an hour( by another author I like who has interesting ideas to say about our present culture--she's kinda, um, red). The title of the interview, on youtube, is "Does Capitalism Cause Drug Abuse?" It challenges just about every idea our culture believes about drugs and why people abuse them. I also hear this author has been accused of plagiarism on a book he won a prize--the Orwell Prize, and had to give it back. It's an odd case of plagiarism, where he used quotes attributed to his interviewee from other sources. So now..what to think?
Some of his ideas just make common sense, some are rather pat. The "capitalism" in part has to do with how drugs got criminalized in the first place: after Prohibition failed, apparently its architect shifted his focus to marijuana, which he had once declared harmless. Now it was the devil--reefer madness made you violent, over-sexed, etc. Then heroin and cocaine got thrown in, too. All were probably outsider problems then, small numbers. And in outlier communities--I'm thinking of the scene in The Godfather when one of the heads of the five families says, "Keep it in the colored neighborhoods--they're already animals," or some similar racist nonsense. There's the story of how Billy Holiday was treated in her last days (chained to her hospital bed, in the throes of heart disease), contrasted to Judy Garland, both with the same addiction.
The critique of early drug -behavioral experimentation/observation on rats is more compelling : Hari criticizes the scientific methodology of using bored, caged rats --implying that of course, with nothing else to do in their cages, they used till they died. He discusses a 2nd experiment, with rats who live in rat Paradise--full of beautiful rat environment, lots of food, other rats to socialize with and have sex with--these rats rarely touch the heroin laced water in their experiment. So Hari draws an interesting conclusion--it's the cage we're in that causes the addiction. But there had to be other experiments?? Human subjects?
Being bored, lonely, without anything to look forward to, in pain. This is what makes an addict. This is where the connection to capitalism comes in. Because a society that heavily emphasizes consumerism , to the point where we don't just possess, but identify ourselves by what we own, becomes our bad, ironically empty cage. We are caught in a web of overwork-driven, without good social connectors, the things we need for humane living. To relax and be ourselves--and I always have to throw in--sing!
Hah! Now Leo sends me some interesting news: apparently our writer dude is not as neutral as he claims, and according to some other information, had a bit of a drug history himself, and also a junkie boyfriend. Well that turns the page some.
But I still agree our cold culture fuels abuse.
We are starting a writing group: 4 of us.
Mar 20: I meant to add this idea earlier: it's one the interviewer, Naomi Klein, brought up in response to the capitalism/addiction connection. HER latest book is more about climate change, but she sees the similar illness in our culture of becoming "addicted" to non-drug things. Like climate control in our personal environment. Air-conditioning, and heating, and we are all so finicky to keep the dials on 70-71-72-73-74-75-76-77, depending on your personal preference which you can fight about with your fellow captives. Odd, I just remembered the used car I just acquired from my Father-in-law has a "climate control system" that works sorta differently than any of my old cars. On it, rather than putting the air conditioner or heater on high or low or medium you set a temperature you like, and the car automatically adjusts --depending on the outside air temp. That seems a little sick, somehow.
So, one of Naomi's repeating ideas is that we all need to return to the living standards of the 1970's--hey, not so caveman like, but apparently she gets destroyed regularly for submitting this idea. I think it's a great idea, and I'm trying to dredge up memories of the 70's to consider the difference. Definitely air-conditioning was not universal--the odd large store might have it, maybe one in five houses.
I remember a neighbor having A.C. , and not liking the sterile feeling. When my family moved into a bigger house with central A.C., and, I remember, in June, begging my mother to leave the windows open--just for a bit more! I distinctly remember lots of fans running in the summertime, and my favorite open windows. Kids played outside!! Most of the mothers in our neighborhood would actually lock the doors to keep us from running in and out---try doing that now you get arrested for child neglect.
Two cars per family was a luxury very few had, or the second one might be some old beater, super cheap, or something fun, but unreliable, like the white Dodge convertible with blue tuck 'n' roll, we had. One major TV in the house-everyone watched together and agreed on the shows. Of which there were only 3 at a time. Which means there were 3 channels , not 500. And much more regular showings, with regular times of year for re-runs, mostly two seasons of reruns per year, during the times the weather was nice. Which meant less people were David Foster Wallace's eyeball mutants, transformed by the TV, but were outside, socializing or something. Really there was only 2-3 hours of decent programming everyday, and nobody watched everything, everyday like people do now.
There was also this famous thing called "the test pattern". Because TV stations had ending hours, maybe 10-11pm during the week, possibly midnight on the weekend for the "late movie". Right before the test pattern, the station played the national anthem--it was a big deal to be a kid and stay up for the Nat'l Anthem. (In the mid eighties/nineties those hours started to be filled up with shopping shows--precursor to the HSN--wow, that's where it all started. Once we made fun of the insomniacs that stayed up to watch this crap.)
Man, I so think Naomi has the right idea. Xaxa--it also works with my LRC idea, maybe, sorta, kinda. in that direction. What with all this retro-nostalgia craze maybe the time has come.
March 25: Hoo-boy, another one of those reads that make you question the entire matrix of modern ideas of what's healthy. This time it's about weight and questions the common wisdom that Thinner is always better.
http://www.slate.com/articles/health_and_science/medical_examiner/2015/03/diets_do_not_work_the_thin_evidence_that_losing_weight_makes_you_healthier.2.html
April 5: Hah,hah..can you imagine waking up tomorrow and all the major news outlets are saying the same thing. "Welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, to 1971." And your computer suddenly doesn't work--nor your I-phone. Chaos ensues.
April 9: just getting by--somehow. Is this all there is?
April 18: No. Not another. I am so sorry Erich. I will watch something Lynch for you tonight.
April 28: I haven't written here in a long time. I should: I'm going through something. Instead I've been distracting myself with existential writing and waiting for some decent dreams so I can pretend my life still has things to look forward to. Art. I need to allow some art in to fill up my empty soul like ol' Roquentin.
May 30: Are my words and thoughts so inflammatory that I need censoring? Sure feels that way from several directions.
June 3: Ah, well easy to get over.
I'm feeling very...off. I have this odd feeling of both finally being what I want, and having a lack of means of expression. Or, maybe, audience--I do need an audience, whether it's just friends, family or the world. Ok--I have media--music, guitar, vocals, writing, painting, art, movie ideas... but who for?
Well.. maybe I actually learned this from the Night Watch--energy sources, energy transfers. My reaction to another literally has an effect--someone cannot influence my behavior if I do not transfer the energy to them. Every second, every contact, has this potential of effect, continuation. Or dissipation. Interesting. I do not need to be stuck.
I wish the sound on Skype was more accurate, less warped by time and space so you could actually play, sing, etc with someone. Technology--always one step off of reality.
June 24: Amazing how life is constant change--never letting me be comfortable and settle in one spot. I'm reeking havoc on parts of my life with emptiness stretching ahead of me..but still I feel more me. And me? I'm a piece of work, boy--not sure if it's a good piece. I seem to be increasingly less likable, and I also seem to be allowing myself to be bored more sincerely with the majority of humanity--mostly, I think, the people who pretend everything. Or hide behind what's easy. Or just plain stuck somewhere. And lacking passion.
July 3: I've been having this uncomfortable sensation of having too many want me for something, and of course I cannot deliver. I also think most of these wouldn't know what to do with me if they had me.
July 11: One who always makes me feel better. More myself. So odd. Grateful for the existence.
Свобода.
July 16: I'm not sure why, but FaceBook makes me sad. I hate being on there for any length of time. Even the name is so absurd. Too bad it's the only reliable, fast way for me to have contact with some people who are important to me. VK--I can be alone, watch movies, listen to music. But, FB makes me feel simultaneously full of despair, overstimulation, and uselessness. I feel like bugs are crawling all over me.
Aug 13: no. no -no,no, na -na no-no. Nope, I got nothin to look forward to. School-Puh. Music is dead inside my chest. Why? who knows--won't revive. Not soon. Don't care about hearing anything--so checking out other venues. No one gets me, or if they do--it's too scary to dig through. I just read that left-handed people have a higher percentage of crazy. Not surprised.
I actually just spent the last hour, at 10pm!! revising my Syllabi. 3 of them--two more to add dammit. Good god -well, I do, have to live through, the next few.
Aug 18: It has just come to my own attention that much of my problem of late--depression, boredom, ennui, has to do with my relationship with art and audience. I'm losing my passion because I don't feel an audience. Or, I am, in some cases, imagining audience reactions that are probably not true. Or perhaps I'm even dismissive of positive reactions because they make me feel less connected rather than more. Plus, afterwards, life just goes on--there was no seismic change, in my life, audience's life (thank god: that could be scary and intrusive).
I think I began sorting this out by seeing that David Foster Wallace movie done by Jason Segel and Jesse Eisenberg. DFW (his name--too long!) articulates much of the conflict and pressures I feel about anything creative; writing, making music, writing music, singing. It's weird but just about the only art outlet I have that rarely makes me feel conflict is visual arts: that is, painting, drawing. Maybe because I tend to go into those projects solely for my own enjoyment and don't expect much feedback. I know more when I love my finished project.
All the rest, the "audience" sits there, like those great big eyeballs in a chair in one of Infinite Jest's demented movies.
I really do have the spur to be like Percy Shelley's Skylark, the pure, unadulterated artist without conscious consideration for who is listening. Maybe that bottom line purity is my problem. It is also what Stanislavski is feeling around for, I think, for actors.
Maybe my fixation on other people's expectations is my problem. Who needs to know I can do this? It is painfully obvious to me that the people I live with are disinterested (unless I am portraying them, which, thank you very much, at this moment I choose not to do). Katie seems a more obvious collaborator for sharing, but I think we have some sort of unspoken agreement that this may not be the best idea. Maybe too icky, too incestuous--we are too traditional to break apart that set of nested boxes.
The small amount of attention I've got singing has left me fairly dismissive of praise. Someone would have to say just the right thing to make me feel I hit a vein and I would have instinctively felt it too, probably, and so far that hasn't happened. So, I really only have a handful of people whose thoughts and opinions I care about.
So, I stop before I even start.
When I do ever go--it's from a mad rush of inspiration that just excites me, compels me beyond those eyeballs. Lord --here I am, back at Coleridge and Kubla Khan again. But the question is, how to proceed?
In a lot of ways my art life has been a late bloomer, years in slow, sloppy, random development, particularly with music. I've done almost all the artsy things since I acquired consciousness, but hardly in any organized structures. So here's the odd thing--the structures are starting to form, almost like spontaneously, just because I continue to do what I do. So it's making me stop on the edge of a cliff. How big of a jump do I want to make?
So, here's part of the puzzle.
- Money will soon not be much of a consideration--I will in a few years be able to stop doing my day job, the one that I surprisingly liked and found to be more creative than I expected. my brain seems fairly intact, and I could do what starving artists have always dreamed of doing with their time.
- My serious buddies in the lit world are really pulling together a mini empire, and they seem to have the drive, creativity, smarts, even following! to make it work. They are dragging me slowly behind them, and I've made my contributions, even got "inspired" on occasion, but I don't ever seeing myself being a driver in this wheelhouse. I'm of the..let the fates decide..variety. Que sera, sera. And I mean that--I wish them all success--but for me? Eh. I just wanna be around.
- They really have inspired me to write, and I kinda think, non-subjectively?, that what I wrote is pretty good. But now what? They liked it, it's almost like that's good enough for me. If they want to use it in some future publication--cool. But for me, the business end sort of mars the whole experience, and I don't want that. I don't care enough to work that part in a mad frenzy of ambition. I really am lazy.
- The laziness, and lack of ambition, I think has the strange result of rarely feeling jealous or bitter about other people's art and skills. I feel pretty much as excited when I hear or see someone else do something good as if I did it myself. I wonder if this is actually a bad thing, demotivating, somehow. The one exception to that lack of envy is with guitar playing--I do covet some other people's skills in that. Maybe piano, too.
- I'm just really in it for the little rush given to my heart when I feel something of beauty or a new truth; this is whether it does from outside or inside of myself. Same with my music creations.
- For all I avoid doing art, I can't believe how much of my waking life is devoted to thinking about it in the abstract or tangentially, like laying some gravel bed of preparation for things to come.
So, I float. In a messy, blown rose.
August 21: Wow, this article a friend sent is so interesting--meshes with some of my feelings:
https://lareviewofbooks.org/essay/good-old-wallace
August 24: There goes my retirement. If I panic.
September 7: Day of Birth for my Dochb!! Who I will see in a few months. I want to write and don't know where to put my feelings so this has become my catch-all "что я чуствую" post.....
I feel like everything I do is wrong somehow. I can pick two polarly opposite decisions, and both will be a bad choice, probably. Like, should I slow up being friends with someone, who I only mildly like, whose company I don't always enjoy, even find annoying, simply because I occasionally do enjoy it. Or, contrarywise, should I slow up being friends with someone, who I really like, whose company I enjoy, because it feels like the person is suffering. I don't know if they would suffer anyway: will fading out cause more or less of that? It really does need some delicacy. I think I'm not so very.
If someone is really a loner, and used to entertaining or surviving by themselves, and satisfied doing that, is it really just plain harmful to engage them? Is it selfish to do so? The world seems to judge that loners are losers who need friends, but I'm not at all sure that is true--are all loners full of bitter, resentful feelings? Where's all the books about happy loners? Oh, William Blake, in his backyard chatting away with God. I think they exist.
I'm really bad, sometimes, at judging my own motives when I get in such a snarl--I can see the future exploding a thousand different ways, and most of them bad. So, I think I'll just wait. And be still. See what comes.
September 12: Моя жизнь из ада--
All roads converge to make my stomach hurt, my nerves flayed, my nights restless, my days unending bullshit. Work is absolutely without joy, all eyes out watching, critiquing--difficult to keep my sense of dignity in that atmosphere, especially with rumors of the Inquisition coming to town, and people forcing me to react when I'd rather be still. I'm in a "trust no one"mood, and am particularly wary of a certain someone who has always been my friend who seems to be strategizing to steal my most precious gift, something I completely started and made up myself, the only thing that has given me almost nothing but pleasure for the past five-six years.
Home, band is endless tedium. I am trained to shut down rather than express my point of view. I may be too much for anyone to process.
Also, my 2nd sister seems to be losing it too--another one with no perspective.
From another road I am getting rather tired of being subtly accused of false feelings, sharing whorish, dark motives and exhibiting insensitivity. Because there is volatility I do try to walk more softly, as any harshness in the past has produced more of those stripped nerves for me, which I do not need. ( See, when I feel like this, I kinda imagine somehow something got into my nervous system, and treated my nerves like rubber coated wires, which then are stripped with wire cutters in one smooth motion, ripping off the rubber coating and exposing the raw metallic wire..)
Always with the mixed messages . Oversensitivity? This is why, I can with truth say--I don't know what to say. About, literally, anything. Feels like my allowed point of view is like the old fashioned camera aperture-- closing, like they used to do at the end of movies (and Loony Tunes) , where the picture starts out full screen, but slowly shuts down to one pinpoint in the center of the screen--please don't do this, say this, send this, listen to this, read this, suggest this or that, and I don't want to discuss that anymore --half the time when the other party brought it up? The topics narrow weekly. I guess I will say nothing. Lost, unwanted gifts. Are sad.
Sometimes I feel like I'm being intrusive just by listening to music. Well, fuck that sentiment. Shit, I'm hoping a wall post or two wasn't mistaken--it was not personal in the least--just an interesting cover. Christ, this modern world. Oh, yeah, and I fell and skinned my knee, like a five year old.
So that makes five places where I am being forced to hold in my thoughts. Like Radiohead said, these are all the chicken voices inside my head, and I wish they'd just hatch and sleep.
And then there's Dostoyevski and The Others to keep me company. Моя сома.
September 19: All my tiredness and stress has mellowed into my usual sadness. I suppose that's somewhat better. At least familiar.
September 20: So I decided to treat myself to some unadulterated, mindless fun,--no testing for new languages or reading in Russian! Simpleness--дурак---AKA This is Spinal Tap. Great line from the movie, quite the cutting insult: from an album critic. The cover features the band members in stained glass as saints in some old gothic church (Brilliant parody of rock ego, eh?). Critic says: "The album begs the question, on which day did the Lord make Spinal Tap, and couldn't he have rested on that day, too?" Yeah, that joke makes me feel better.
September 24: Am I feeling better? Well, calmer. More tolerant. Busier. Sleeping. Happier?? нет.
September 30: Was talking (online) to a friend two nights ago. Sometimes--we have these rare beautiful moments where I think we just sync up, with no miscommunication--I get this strange sense that I can say just about anything and it will be taken in just the way I mean it-- no tension, no offense, no judgement, no--we shouldn't be talking about that!! Wow, is that rare in this world. Of course it doesn't last, the mood drops--perhaps once we try to articulate what's inside. Hmmm. How to get around that without screwing up 7 or 8 lives? The soap bubble is fragile. One of the things we often talk about is how boring we find other people to be--that night's topic was "Books Are Better" (Bumper Stickers Should Be Issued). I get it--if you pick the right books, they were born of extremely interesting people--Dostoyevski , Pelevin, Pynchon, DFW, Poe, Shakespeare, Salinger and Bukowski, anyone? Of course, this is a topic that can quite easily degenerate into a boring one--I mean , one might be tempted to say nothing except--"Damn. I agree." What a boring answer.
This particular conversation actually didn't get very far into WHY other people are so fucking boring. The obvious thing is stupidity--but, stupidity? Actually, I don't think that's totally it. I know some pretty intelligent people who I find completely boring--not interested in the deep knowledge they have about, IDK, fractals.
So my friend actually specified--"emotionally boring". Right away this idea took me, but I couldn't digest it fast enough to bring enough to the conversation except to say--hmm, never thought of it exactly like that--this is why I love conversations with this particular friend. So now I'm thinking more about it.For example...see, those nerd brain guys can actually be emotionally boring even if they are smart. I understood that phrase, in the instant.
So who isn't emotionally boring? Well, those writers I mentioned. I think this book I'm about to dive into, by Angela Carter, is not emotionally boring. I like someone who makes me think, but not necessarily "in maths" as Radiohead says. You know, the guy who buzzes like a refrigerator and speaks in maths? ("Karma Police", if you're lost.) Well to be continued...
Oct 1: continued.
How to not be emotionally boring, without plunging into the category of "smearing one's sick ego" as an old friend of mine {who I wrote a song about, sorta--(well, maybe it eventually bled into something else), even though I haven't seen him in maybe 20 years}......aaaaanyway....
"Smearing one's sick ego on canvas" was my old friend's description of why he personally didn't like Vincent Van Gogh's art (he was an antiques/art dealer, so of course he had very refined taste--plus he liked punk! And Camping! Good combo, but he drank too much). I didn't agree with him because I like Van Gogh, but the phrase stayed with me forever, and I understood what he was saying. I'm sure VVG was hardly a jolly night at the pub to live with--imagine trying to deal with him after walking in on him cutting off his ear--I don't think he did it for a girl the way the gossip goes, but I forget why he did it--I read Lust For Life, which is excellent and heartbreaking.
I just read a new theory that says Van Gogh maybe didn't cut off his ear, but that he got a little aggressive with Gaugin, who he lived with, loved, and fought with: that Gaugin cut off his ear lobe with a sword in a fight--that Vincent then made up the whole thing, and about giving it to a prostitute, just to cover for Gaugin, who he didn't want to be prosecuted. Still not boring.
He was an intense dude, (at one point he was a minister in an extremely poor coal mining district in France, and he starved himself by giving his own living expenses to his poor parishioners--Quite Christlike and ridiculous). I know I couldn't handle a daily relationship with him--maybe I myself could only feel him through reading about his life, looking at his art. That one white iris hits me in a vulnerable spot.
So there is such a thing as too much emotion, mania--my sister. But I'm equally uncomfortable with the opposite--the super placid, sunny-ish people who have this tiny percolation of optimism always running in their blood, ignoring the big uglies. I've talked about this before here--it's even the inspiration of this thread's name: those who even resort to medicating themselves to this state. Some of these folks just naturally have duck feathers for nerves--it all just rolls off them into the same gentle and comforting response, "oh that's okay honey, I'll help you with that..." I have another friend like that--pretty intelligent with interesting taste, but no response to any of it except to smile and nod enthusiastically. I hardly think to do things with her because I know she'll go with me (so I won't be lonely), but will contribute little to the experience--like she's hardly there. Anyone who knew I felt this way would think my thoughts are mean, because she's considered such a lovely easy-going person. But I have darker needs, I suppose. This is why I just usually go to my latest passion alone--so I can immerse myself in my own dark or light response without dilution.
What's weird about this is I really don't consider myself a pessimist either--I find the constant gloom of negative thinking also boring. Yes, I am hard to please. And frequently alone.
Obsessives are boring because they rarely connect to you, unless you happen to have the same obsession--I rarely do. Lots of other people probably think this about me--obsessed with weird music, weird books, Russian, Philosophy, Italian, guitar..
There's a Depeche Mode song I think that sort of gets close to where I'm going with this. It's called "Stripped", and has the repeated line, "I wanna see you stripped down to the bone". Regardless of the obvious sexual connotation (on several levels) I think the deeper meaning has to do with someone being willing to strip to their soul. Reveal things that some might think they shouldn't--the scary, real stuff. The best lines in the song says, "Let me hear you make decisions/Without your television/Let me hear you speak/Just for me. " Yeah that's what I want.
October 7: Still continued. Ok. Here's me, willing to be stripped. I just got reminded of this,
watching a clip from Blue Velvet: The scene where it's late, they go to "Ben's"-- actor Dean Stockwell, at his creepiest, who is visited before maniacal Frank takes his "neighbor" Jeffrey for a Joyride (haha --shades of Government Issue punk!!) Ben whips out a garage torch, like the thing grease monkeys hook onto the hood of their car while they work on it at night,and uses it like one of those ancient 50's era metallic mikes, and starts lip syncing to Roy Orbison's "In Dreams". Here's the lyrics, which are also sort of creepy!
A candy-colored clown they call the sandman
Tiptoes to my room every night
Just to sprinkle star dust and to whisper
"Go to sleep, everything is alright"
I close my eyes then I drift away
Into the magic night, I softly say
A silent prayer like dreamers do
Then I fall asleep to dream my dreams of you
In dreams I walk with you
In dreams I talk to you
In dreams you're mine all the time
We're together in dreams, in dreams
But just before the dawn
I awake and find you gone
I can't help it, I can't help it if I cry
I remember that you said goodbye
Too bad it only seems
It only happens in my dreams
Only in dreams
In beautiful dreams.
Yeah, I'm not forgetting all the Sandman connections I've recently read about, connections to the Metallica song, to E.T.A. Hoffmann, the intuitive feeling that clowns are scary, and the dreams they will give you are closer to nightmares. I couldn't erase from my mind, for some reason, that Ben, lip-syncing, and closing his eyes as he did--with--passion? Melodrama? Revealed not only that he was wearing rather heavy eye make-up, but that it glittered. And, in spite of my Bowie-love, my glam rock stance on boys experimenting, I feel queasy. Something is off, like something you find way deep in your fridge. And. He, Ben, reminded me of someone--my buddy who disliked VVG and sick egos smeared. And whether this was logical or not, although I knew he wanted something deeper from me, I had to say, No.
The candy-colored clown told me so.
I really dig this song, though. It is creepy, however.
November 2: I've got some new stuff to write, soon. Stuff to sort out. Hmm. Will get back to you.
Later: It was said. Not by me. I feel chilled. I've thought the same, funny. I'm trying to feel my instincts--they do conflict. One thing is: I feel I should not have to pretend to like the behavior I dislike. The creepiness. I am really trying to not let on that I find it all so very creepy, just to be polite and sympathetic. Am I expected to pretend to like something I do not feel good about? My feelings do count, right???? Maybe it's not (fault is not the right word) in his control? River widens to flood season. So much distance.
What do y'all want? From me? What spooks me is I think he has good target instincts as well, better than I might expect. That just makes it more sad and hopeless. I can picture a better place. Maybe it will all be very clean.
We really don't live in the same world. 10 feet apart.
November 16: Stupid Rollar Coaster day, for no particular reason. Yesterday, I got really pissed off
(inside myself) by two people twice my size (gut--Twise) ganging up on me---taunting me that I would not know how to change my strings right without their worldly help. One literally said--"She's gonna do it all by herself." (Emphasis theirs). The 1st ass tried to imply I was winding on the wrong way, when, in fact, he did not know where I started which of course is the whole trick for which way to wind. (I mean, from my experience there's gotta be a dozen "right ways" to do it. ) Man #2 said : you know you shouldn't have taken all the strings off" to which I point out I have only one off, five on--but that's bullshit anyway, you can take it all off if you wanna do it that way....ANYWAY, I'm tired of the EXPERTS who decided they are more knowledgeable. Macho-macho men. should i feign stupidity?
BTW, I got the strings changed, Mice Elf, no help. No mistakes. Then I took my new stringed guitar--played the shit out of it, on fire, for two hours like I haven't in years-Russian Rock and Jimi Hendrix' " Red House" and Radiohead. Happiness is the best revenge--over the top of someone's all pervasive classical music that I was forced to listen to without being asked, from 8:30 am to 8pm non-stop, including that totally boring, DC based, NPR show about- kid- classical- musicians- who -are- all -gonna- go- to- Juilliard-and enunciate- like-little, perfect, priggish Oxford-scholars-even though-they-grew-up-in-Atlanta-listening to-Aaron-Copeland-in-their-cradle, ----That Show . Add in non-rhythmic foot-taps and chair-rocking that does not match the music on any level.
New Strings are nice to have. Fuck you all.
Then, I got irritable nonsense online, which later mellowed--someone else was also having a bad 24 hours. And, I heard the boss wants to talk to me.
But everything changed.
My package arrived--made someone happy. which made me extremely happy. Life is good. My happy-angry guitar playing is now gone, and I suck once again.
Nov 21-Dec 1?, 2015: Just want to remind myself that this was when I was in San Fran, in China Town with Joe, met Phillip, walked the Golden Gate, Stayed in Berkeley with Kate and Mark in the apt. behind the great bakery, saw the hip yupsters in the Mission District, went to some cool Asian restaurants and a pretty bad diner in SF, saw Hungergames Mockingjay?? Still hard to believe that this was what we saw...at Kate's request!!, watched Joe endlessly argue politics with Everyone! Got Mark's guitar fixed in Downtown Berkeley, went to Muir Woods with Joe. Great time, hope not too much hassle for Kate.
Nov 26: I just saw something on fb that scared me. Of course it's a joke. But it looked like a possibly scary future--didn't leave enough to the imagination. Please. No. Grande self parody, I hope.
Dec 3: Not sure where I am , mentally. Trying to maintain equilibrium , for the present, until other things become necessary.
December 23, 2015. Feeling the forced, end of the year introspection coming on. Holiday loneliness in the midst of family, invites to celebrations, music events. Did the minimum necessary decor, present buying, all seemed a bit perfunctory this year. In contrast it seems like I used to be love incarnate: the perfect presents-well thought out, for everyone. We are a sad group. All I can think about is the future, change.. big change. Get out of this stagnation. One side of me just wants to indulge in all things Russian-- for some reason that has now become my comfortable escape, the place where the others around me cannot follow. Just me. How weird is that, if I was half a planet away, that would not be the case.
Too bad, I'm feeling the escape mechanism in it too strongly tonight, like I know it's only escape, not real enough to do, so, no. Right when I'm maybe starting to improve my Russkiy skills . Sometime this vacation, I'm going to have to sit with myself (maybe Joe would like it, too) and watch all of Master and Margarita--I can't figure out why it has a Christmasy feel to me--maybe it played there at Xmas, maybe because I first saw it during the holidays? Maybe it's just as simple as it's the snow. It's been over a year.
I might stick in Stilyagi tonite, dunno if I really feel it, seen it too many times now, but a musical would be nice in my dreadful mood. I'm beginning to wonder if I haven't over-estimated my ability for optimism. Hope for my life. I used to be sooo optimistic.
Maybe I should just get really drunk. Alone. Hah! After spending two days this week on a heart monitor-- wouldn't that be fabulous. Who cares about my body--it's my mind, my spirit, that's at stake.
Ok. Walgreens is part of the friendly universe. It called me by accident from California, which made it possible for me to talk to my Doch for an hour--I bought her a book for Christmas, she bought me 3! The universe loves me, once again. I'm watching Стиляги , dancing, singing, and feeling fine..
December 28: still not getting in the mood for M&M .. even put it in last night, and...meh. Been binging Downton Abbey instead. And Akira Kurasawa's Dreams, which I thought would be more surreal. In fact, I will argue they didn't really seem to feel like real dreams, much too stylized and even political, which didn't always take away from the beauty of the imagery. The Van Gogh sequence, "Crows", was quite striking at first glance. I think I should watch it again (I found it on VK) to see if it holds up under a less surprised , or already initiated, viewing. I was expecting more of a Dali-esque thing with intuitive imagery--but even though it utilized ghosts and mythical traditions, strange and beautiful landscapes, somehow it never attained the state of, well, my concept of the illogical beauty of dreams. Too much Deux ex machina. My best dreams are more twisted, and somehow really get to the heart of my life's real unexplored (or maybe over-explored?) issues.
Dec 31: last day. So, yeah, that Kurasawa/Dali sequence does hold up with multiple viewings. And the images in that movie are sticking with me beyond the politics. So that's good. I started to watch Fanny and Alexander last night to stay in the season--the beginning of that movie is so lovely and cheerful--I just watched it through to the scene with the maid getting fed oysters by her lover/employer. I was watching it in dubbed Russian, so the words slipped in and out, but they are unnecessary. My favorite part last night is the babushka --a kind, intelligent woman,still beautiful--with her old lover, who brought her a beautiful pin, then fell asleep, and they kissed and talked, and she cried about the past, and they kissed again: lovely. The same maid also is romantic with the too young boy Alexander, but the movie somehow makes that all seem quite normal and not at all perverted. Everything is wrapped in the beautiful haze of the season's atmosphere.
I just left a message for someone else who is fond of this movie, to get a read on someone else's take on the love relationships in this movie--I could say sexual relations, but I think the movie shows them to be something above mere sex--to some form of romantic love and caring, at least friendship. See the scene with the grandma above: there are echoes.
So, the story is partly ensemble piece, following different branches of F&A 's large family tree. Alexander has a randy middle-aged uncle, Gustav, (wonder if the name is related to the Italian/Spanish words for liking, having a taste for, like the English gusto--all having more the concept of having something of a lust for life? Which Gustav certainly has..) Вкусть ??Anyway, rather than making fun of a poor old guy with too much life, as perhaps the classic pantaloon of Italian Commedia dell'arte, Gustav is rather celebrated and enjoyed--his behavior is just part of the savory life-blood of this big, raucous family, and there are others --this is how Bergman portrays him.
I can't help thinking it's a fair portrayal--why punish a man for his ability to stay young through his youthful appetites? Gustav's behavior is softened by his generosity: for example, after his encounter with the maid, he hand feeds her, telling her all the things he will do to make her life easier, and one does not get the feeling he is bullshitting her. There is a fair amount of openness about Gustav's doings--whispered with tolerant laughter among other family members, notably female and with no heavy judgment. Gustav turns right around and shows an equal amount of attention to his wife who displays ample cleavage at the Christmas festivities. She knows about his wanderings, and not only tolerates them, but perhaps welcomes the relief it gives her from his constant attention.
Then there's the maid Maj, the eater of oysters, who turns from Gustav to spend alone time with 10 year old Alexander himself. Maj , in spite of being rather developed and voluptuous, is probably a teenager --maybe 18-19? And in this closed society Alex is almost the only age suited match for her. Alex is resentful--not quite sure if it goes to the level of jealousy, maybe a more immediate reaction that he's not getting his usual alone time with Maj, mostly due to the other cousins invading his rather large bedroom. She smoothes his feelings over with a kiss, and later, when the aunts come by to tuck all the children in for Xmas night, one of them remarks that one now "kisses like a little man!" and giggles. We know the story ends with Maj and her daughter, presumably Gustav's child, being treated like family--in fact, we never see the servants bossed or humiliated in any way, just indulged like everyone else in spite of the amount of work they must have to do to supply this crazy family with its accustomed lifestyle.
What to think? Is it rose-colored? Bergman may be drawing on his real childhood nostalgia--and may have overlooked some real bits. Modern day news horror stories of incest and misbehavior keep creeping into the corner of this lovely vision for me. The truth is, those stories have their own unfair, immoral agenda as well, paper-pedalling ink. I hate them. I suppose it all boils down to the long term
effects of the participants. There seems no harmful repercussions, no manipulation or power games in Bergman's world for indulging one's pleasures. Everyone seems a willing participant. It makes one wonder if it is all the outside judgment that really causes the harm, but in today's atmosphere saying so out loud will turn you into a social pariah, and cause many to cry victimhood. But, there has to be some reality to the opposite--(Bill Cosby seems an extreme example)?
Everything in moderation, including moderation? Or, including excess--moderation in excess. Or should that be excess in moderation..
Jan 24: God's wife is at home alone, cleaning. The TV is on in the background, spewing the violence her husband has wrought. She dislikes the noise, so she turns it off. Sponge bathes the statue of her son, JC, on the mantle....
Jan 25: I've been feeling a bit depressed about my creative self lately, to tell the truth. But, tonight, I spent a long time looking at my dream records--damnation. Do I have some crazy ideas in there, somewhere. And I gotta write a song, poem or short story from this idea--Nocturnal Interruptus. Boiee.
Feb 7: My sister's birthday was two weeks ago, on Jan 27--she would have been 55. So, I decided to write a song for her, about an imaginary Road trip we might take together, Lucy and Ethel, after we bought her a car without her husband's permission:
Borrowing the chords Am-C-Dm F (maybe E?) from a certain KP song--
The Road to Crazy
I promised you-- I'd come do this
Here I am--let's go, hey?
Come on, you're not the only one
who's crazy
I say, let's get a big-ass
convertible
We can be Thelma and Louise:
no, Lucy and Ethel
Of course, you'll get one
a built in CD player--
Four speakers in the back
But you got to promise
only two Maroon 5s
or Katies per hour.
If you'll sing "Nickel, nickel" with me.
"Nickel, Nickel"....
Put Barbie in the backseat,
give'em the ride of their lives
Throw them out in the desert
if they whine or complain.
No talking about you-know-what
No, I'm not taking philosophy
The boys won't mind,
Do we care? No!
Now after Adele---here's
the important song that
we need to sing
"Gave 'Em Horsepills"--
you do the harmony
We should drive to LA
Get our stolen tape back where you sang
So Brilliantly
Chorus????
On the Road to Crazy
Of course you get to drive
Forget about the house now
I'm along for the ride
On the road we go
You drive, I ride
wait, did you ever learn
To drive a stick??
Watch out, haha!!
My in-laws are here again. At least 3 references to how brilliant K is!! Building a volcano in the back yard to fuel a hot air balloon in H.S.--actually that sounds pretty cool. That's the man I used to know.
Now he's like a super victim of his own agoraphobia. A clam. He was in his crazy place again this morning--being loud and talking in high falsetto ala Julia Childs, to his surrogate lover cat. So creepy. While I'm trying to sleep another hour. Who gets up at 7am on a Sunday? I sometimes think he's just trying to push me out of "his" house, which I have paid half for, TYVM. I feel like he thinks I see behind his Wizard of Oz curtain, and he resents me for being smart. I can't help it-- would like to quote Daisy Buchanan and wish myself "a beautiful little fool" -- best thing a girl can be--but I'm neither beautiful nor a fool.
So later, I'm talking to Pat about my friend Phillip the jazz musician, who has been experimenting with these pictographic charts that "draw" the music--Pat, my FIL, who I knew would be interested in this, makes a connection about Gregorian chant originally being charted that way, sort of. K chimes in that "Tracy won't let me listen to Gregorian Chant--" and I say what!! Our house is 24/7 filled ONLY with music you choose--Good god, on that depiction!!(And thank god for the invention of headphones/earbuds, which he also resents ME using and proves by never using them himself, to be thoughtful to others). You always do what you want, and I... (well this might have been a good time to mention that stiletto he plays with, but I don't...) This false depiction gets me upset, and everyone decides it's time for bed.
I really don't know what to think. I once admired k for his objectivity, his cool judgement. It was good recompense for his lack of passion, but, now, he has neither...how can he view me the way he does--he just seems like a defiant little child. Throwing bananas on the floor for someone else to pick up.
This is a toxic life. It must end. K is intent on spending all free time fulfilling his own needs, and doesn't want, really, to share a life with anyone. My opinions are not allowed. Давай.
Feb 14: the irony day. I had absolutely incredible things happen to me this weekend--so much thought put in my direction, it's a little overwhelming. So now why do I feel so sad? I know--it's the тоска -- the sad longing for more--too fleeting too quick and over much too soon. I feel like my outward reactions were somehow disappointing.
BTW, I have a new guitar. It is the one I like most, even better than the ones kids gave me for free( there are several), and my electric Telecaster. Это сладко.
Mar 9: I am not really being consulted about future plans--I'm taking this to mean I'm not included. That suits. Cause I I think I know which direction I would like to go, myself <<<<<<<<<<<<<
Mar 13: Had a conversation today, where I was talking to someone else, (tangentially, about making big life decisions) but I think I was also talking to myself. It's about love again, really. We were talking about how much one needs to sacrifice to keep other people in our lives, and the conclusion was drawn, that you can't sacrifice some core things about yourself, just to keep someone else around, and happy with you. Really, that's just about the hardest thing to deal with that life gives you. Especially if you have an artistic point of view that keeps requesting you dig up the truth about yourself, the world, the people around you.
For example:
How difficult is it really, to sort out the mix of negative and positive feelings you might have for one particular person? Sorry, but you'll feel pretty mixed about everyone for whatever reason. Particularly, someone you've made a huge investment in with your emotions. How much do they really like you (not love you--I mean a gentler feeling), the things you do daily, respect the decisions and choices you make, both big and small, even the minutiae. How much do they put subtle pressure on you to change yourself? Maybe you agreed to a certain plan, a way to come together, but slowly, it is eroding your sense of self, how you want to live...do you just suck up to keep them in your life? and why did you lie to yourself at the beginning that this was what you wanted?
I have, probably over the last 4-5 years, been increasingly keeping some things that have happened to me to myself, because I'm pretty sure a person in my life will not take them as positive or interesting things, even though said things are central to my self value: places I want to go, places I DO go, books I've read, movies I've seen, music I like, music I've written!, artistic endeavors I'm working on, people I know, conversations I've had, shoot, even details about languages I am learning. Quite frequently I feel a bit guilty that I know my silence is making someone feel bad, but on the other hand, I think much of this is due to some personal and communication problems this person has that are a lot for me to deal with. How much of my life should I sacrifice to make the other one comfortable and happy--will that make me happy too? I think not. It's too much to ask. I know how much I can take without getting any positive feedback. It can't be one way.
I think it is really important that if you are going to live with someone, or at least spend a significant amount of time with them, you have to really enjoy doing the daily stuff together, and not feel bad about the space you give yourself. I'm not really there right now--there are all sorts of people, of various levels of friendship and blood-relativity, that I'd rather spend time with. It makes me feel sad and lonely and fatalistic to admit all this, and if I look back, I can see the trajectory of what brought me here, and I feel stupid for not seeing what would come. Would I do it again? Well, would it be possible to know what was going to come? No? Well then... and goals change. Survival and support is less an issue.
There's that thing, that Coleridge and Wordsworth talked about, about seeing the tree in the seed, child the father of the man, the whole in the part, the organism in the cell...shouldn't I have known?
Seems strange, cos I coulda taken another relationship a different way, and I intentionally didn't, to my possible detriment. But, that one didn't feel right in a much, much clearer way. Did I dodge a bullet there?
So what to advise? The info I'm getting, limited as it is, doesn't sound too promising for the long term. Maybe some head-clearing, emotional cleansing, or something. A prop to occupy time? Well, there can be some value in that, that I can see. For experience. Or maybe it's more.
Mar 14--con't: Here's something that hit me this morning. It is very important to not get seduced by the abstract idea of love and romance. You can't rearrange your brain after the fact to frame a "moment" in your life as romantic or the essence of love (either because you or your partner saw it in a movie or read it in a book, or heard a song, or it just seemed like a romantic thing--the hedgehog in The Idiot? for example), if it actually didn't feel that way in the moment. AND, you can't say things you don't fully feel, just because it seems like you should, that it's the right time in the movie of your life. It's not. Feelings are awfully complicated: better to be honest and take the chance of losing the relationship.Yet another place in life to not compare yourself to others. No two snowflakes, and all that.
You shouldn't assume that someone "really" loves you because they agree on the short term to make a sacrifice --like moving to where you are, giving up a job, school, friends--because those sacrifices may one day grow into resentment. They don't mean what you think they mean, even if it does make the relationship possible. Women especially need to consider this, cos we all just automatically feel our disposition is made for sacrifice.
I've made some wopping mistakes in my life not listening to the nagging voice in my head: man, that voice KNOWS what it's talking about, and I should have acted on it
1) to recognize a person prone to lying (Whut? I look like your cousin with the same name? Which cousin?) 2) to recognize an ultimatum for what it is (I'm moving to FL: take it or leave it) If there is the phrase "I made him/her do it--I'm powerful! Watch out. You aren't as powerful as you think, if they walk away from your power someday. 3) to mistake one emotion for another. Jealousy is NOT love or commitment, it's just childish, and you can be jealous, of, say, a dog! : "You should stop being friends--he just wants.."Oh, dude, thanks for the protection... Pity, too, not to be confused...4) If they go nuclear with other people, they will with you.. 5) to recognize the smell of desperation and leave. 6) to recognize another person who has a tendency to be swayed by the abstract of love and its memes-- they may not think they are "lying" at the time, but their emotions may not be completely true. 7) Regret is not love. There's probably some underlying motive that is the source of the break, and that's what really needs to be understood. Forgiveness is not by itself love, although it's a piece of it. What's underneath? Wow, realizing there are so many things that are not love. 8) Comforting and tolerable can't replace it. If the feeling seems like it's missing a piece, it probably is.
I have spent my entire adult life grappling with this--the conflict of choosing passion over practical, friendlier love. The thing is, I need passion in my life, and I recognize that this can cause extreme weaknesses in me, and my choices of partners. My first serious relationship was intense, but maybe not passionate, particularly in a sexual way. 2nd? More passionate, very affectionate, but extremely inconsistant--then quickly dead. 3rd and 4th: Crazy Passionate, short-lived and dangerous to my life. #4, though, was missing a true element of reciprocal love, I think--he was too much in love with me for me to respond with any sort of true feeling, I was overwhelmed, and I broke it off with emotional ease when the time came. That was one--I knew from the beginning, the voice said, this one is not right, but it was like a freight train headed straight at me and I had to call in the cavalry to make it stop. And, as a result, I stopped trusting my instincts altogether, and went for more sensible choices next time: someone with stability, companionship, mutual ideas, mild affection, easy (hah?) living-- decided my own definition of love was flawed. The trouble is, it didn't actually turn out that way--we moved away from our together spot, and didn't have the other....so now I'm back to feeling the importance of passion.
So, I think, maybe what counts is maintaining: respect. You continue to think the other person lives well, does the best with what he/she has, is working on life. A point of view you admire and understand, that goes with yours. And, if you give lots of space, that still leaves room to keep things interesting and a little mysterious. I don't think I could handle that 24/7, glommed at the hip thing I looked for when I was young--sure it's comforting, but...deadly.
but, oooooh how I still, Still! want, want want love. Maybe now more than ever.
March 27: Changes are happening, both frightening and hopeful. I think. Rocks in the road ahead, but still all for the best, for everyone concerned. How in the hell is this all gonna sort out? I refuse to give up my ultimate future, whatever it is..can't totally see it, a blur in the corner of my eye. Only know what feels right, what feels good. And what does not. The present day to day does not. Intuition is the gift of my life--thank god I've had an ear for it, slow as my listening to it has been coming.
Q: Why is my soul so stingy about who and what it capital C Cares about? I mean, there are lots of small non-capital c"cares "....
I cannot believe how ridiculous I am being in my stubbornness.
April 6: whatwhatwhat--чточточточто--One good thing--getting some help from a past student--one I like!. to help with the art part of the play--sets, make-up, etc. Much needed energy/motivation infusion for me..I'm just not feeling this play at all.
Other than that, I'm coming up on yet another mental crossroad. Do I really care about doing all this music and art, and why? I don't want to get famous(In fact, I think that would be awful), I just want to make stuff, but it takes so much energy to make something that's probably mediocre. What's the point? And yeah, I like it when someone else likes what I do: that's exciting! big sigh malaise ennui angst---if I got nobody to have fun with this, do I wanna keep doing it by myself? so unmotivated. Spent weeks on one song, with no feedback--well my own fault, didn't send it out much. And would I really be willing to up end my whole life for nothing? I just need something to look forward to, a connection that matters.
I am reading this short story collection with a terrible, embarrassing name-glad I'm not riding a subway somewhere reading it--would get looks. But the stories aren't as bad as the title sounds. Although almost all of them have some relationship to sex, sexuality, gender, identity--all very interesting stuff. One story tells about the very strange way the narrator was conceived, and by a rather famous father. Another is about a country singer's one time experience in the 50s with a woman he never got over, and at the end he's afraid there will be no heaven where he will finally see her again--boy do I relate to that heaven scenario.
But here's one of the more thought provoking stories, called "You Don't See the Other Person Looking Back". I mean, imagine you could't, physically, do that most romantic of things, look into your partner's eyes. Because you are not equipped. Well, you won't believe what the story's about--a cruise specifically for gay and blind men. (They may bring their seeing partner with them.)
The narrator is apparently gay, or at least Bi and has experiences with men, because he's just broken up with one, but it just sets up a scenario for asking an awful lot of interesting questions about sexuality, and what makes people identify, however -it -is- they-identify, and why. For example: think about this--a person born blind has no idea, visually, what a man looks like compared to a woman. Yet, blind people will identify as gay or straight. Why? It sort of eliminates the notion of visual stimulation as the center point of sexuality, sexual identity. How much does our culture believe men are visually stimulated by certain types of women?? Or men??
One guy in the story was asked, so if you can't "see" a difference between men and women, how did you know you prefer men? He said, "when I was young, boys smelled better--like grass and dirt."
April 12-15: --my week --\___^\ /^------\
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Pandaemonium & Chaos
All because of the play. Which is done, thank god. And with sadness for what could have been if I had been asked to do it earlier. I'm thinking about next year's, to take some people's mind off. Maybe Sherlock--for the set. One kid wants to do American Idiot, jr. (Jr.?)
April 16: Now I can go back to being my old, internalized self.
April 18: Some of the stories in this short story collection, Do Me, are quite unexpected. One is about this 16-17 year old boy: he sounds fairly upscale prep and all, but more suburban than Holden Caulfield. Anyway, it's in that area, except he's not really a beautiful loser like Holden. So, he meets a new boy in his school, who secretly, slowly, has an agenda for him to help his mentally ill, or at least fragile, sister, who has become reclusive for a year. The brother is intelligent enough and sympatico enough to see his sister's value, even brilliance, at stepping outside the mainstream.
So, the narrator is sort of used to draw her out of her reclusiveness, slowly--a task which he seems to enjoy immensely, really becomes an obsession and focus of his life, even though he does seem to maintain all other "normal" aspects of his life: school, his friends, sports.
Here's the weird part. He was originally taken into her room, in the dark. Throughout the entire story, he spends hours with her, in the dark. Months of hours, actually. He goes through stages of fantasizing about what she looks like. There's loads of sensual, if not sexual, tension, if there's a difference: I guess I think so. he never does see her, and actually avoids it in the end when he has the opportunity. Seems he grew to enjoy the dark. A wonderful story: there's several people I'd like to send it to, but it is elusive online. Only have my hard copy.
April 19: I'm going to have to be honest--my nerves still seem to be pretty shot. I noticed this morning when my alarm went off, I jumped a foot. I can feel my blood in my veins--never a good sign--and my stomach's a mess. I'm always tired, not sleepy, like mentally exhausted. Can't get interested in too much--maybe on a surface level.. Just want to hide for awhile. I suck at guitar.
April 24: Got tickets to Spamalot: my son is coming home for summer. I'm going to complete the cycle, by going to see other family and friends, in Illinois, maybe further West. I'm still not satisfied at home, but I'm dealing with it, what it is. Trying to sort out the mess that is my father's German/Alsatian/Prussian/Eastern European genealogy. school is dullsville, so over it, but need to bear, at least two more years--no joy in it. Feeling---sated. Pacified. Dull. Uninspired. But, at least not stressed. To everything, turn--there is a season, turn, turn, turn...and a time to every purpose, under heaven.
Watched this movie, The Squid and the Whale, which really got me thinking about family life, my daughter, everyone, how we connect and disconnect. The good and bad. As I said to her--after I apologized--it all makes sense, somehow.
I need a new song.
April 26: After being way too busy, I suddenly feel like I have nothing to do. Feast and Famine.
I really don't feel that personally bad about the play, because I genuinely think I was given too much to do, with no support, and not enough time to get it done.
The past plays I've done that were successful were planned well in advance, with excellent help, beginning in summer, even. This got dumped on me right before the Thanksgiving and X-mas holidays, no warning, no class to help prep, without even an idea of what was wanted, and not even a single other adult to help. I had no co-director, or assistant director, (both possibilities have either moved on or had big family troubles this year, making them unavailable), no stage manager, no one to help with costumes (the one who used to do it is no longer at school), no one to organize the music, sound, and lights) except the usual great guy who runs the board, but he doesn't have time to put the creative part together --all this forced me to look outside of school for help.
Then it was force-exploded into a musical, which under the best of circumstances takes the better part of a year to plan. Really the whole thing was an impossibility. Add in some people with head issues--hoo-booy. I am just hoping this bad experience doesn't make me gun shy about doing something in the future. It was really one of the worst work experiences I've ever had. I never was feeling this one so much, anyway, and with little encouragement it became quite a chore. The only nice thing was I got a couple of great practices out of the kids who were committed--I think those were fun, and I hope they don't think it was too much a waste of their time. The accents were getting good, and the acting was great too--all of the regulars read really, really well.
I think what I need to take away from this, that next year--if someone wants me to do something like this, I gotta ask for the things I need--demand the right amount of time, resources, people to help. Say no if I don't get it. Already the kid who wanted American Idiot, has floated a new idea: West Side Story--I like the idea but think it's too big for us.. Maybe we can write an updated version?? Who would be the two sides? Reps and Dems, haha. Gun owners vs...?? who's gonna be the other violent side? Cops and?
We have a certain type of child who maybe thinks too easy about things, lots of magic thinking. I'm trying to be kind. Makes my life tough. I'm getting tired of it.
I seem to be on a real roll for making people dislike me.
Sidenote:
Ha! Kids just told me they didn't like a certain teacher (who has left) that I thought everyone loooooved--that she played favorites, flirted too much, was rude, commented on people's appearances...you never know.
April 27: Time to get my mind organized: what do I really want in the future? I can palpably feel it, but can I visualize the details? They are constantly in my dreams.. I think. School puts it in high relief, of what is NOT. I need to do something like what I am doing here, but with WAY MORE freedom. Not in an effort to motivate lazy, spoiled children. I need other creative people around me--these kids aren't good enough--sorry. Soon this could be possible.
I need more freedom of living space. And less to keep up.
So how do I attract the ones I need, even identify them? Well, I know a few great ones, so it's not like I'm just dismissing the entire human race. This is the key to the whole thing.
Some are even related to me...
Where? West? Another country? Dunno, but it doesn't have to be traditional like a family house. It needs to be a bit away, so music can be played--studio space. Drama space, writing space. Sleeping space. Internet connection--although it would be nice if I relied on that a little less than I do now, in my boring trails. But I like the instant access to music, writings. Pictures and movies.
April 28: What I'm really tired of, is organizing reluctant, or clueless people. I'm tired of being the one doing all the grunt work, all the motivating, being the one who's responsible for success or failure. I want people so motivated and into the project, that they consider it their responsibility, their failure if it fails.
April 29: Been revisiting the year, trying to put it in perspective--realized it's been among the worst of my teaching career. I still like the ESOL kids. It was Drama.
Now. At lunch, there was a major bitch session among my trusted friends. It appears I am not alone in my distaste for the way business is being handled at my place of employ. Lots of human disrespect happening, people not using their peripheral vision, not understanding the negative impact they are having on other's lives. Self-absorbed tunnel vision focused on some unworthy goal. The discussion/kvetching more or less continued with after work drinks. Catharsis much needed.
But this was nice. My son, surprisingly, agreed to go see an old musical, Singing In The Rain, playing on our waterfront last night. I really don't know what got into him, he's being very social with me lately--not so much with his dad. Maybe he's catching on. He even said he liked it, and made commentary on how good the visuals in the film looked. He's right. We've been doing a lot together- lately-binge watching, mostly, the best of which is Better Call Saul.
May 5: Well this is an interesting distraction. One of my writer buddies likes my idea to write a collective novel--something in internet form or something, with different threads from all of us. B seems like it's bad timing for her, and she seems overwhelmed by the idea. I worry I'll have my name on some weird stuff written by L. that would trouble other parts of my life? Well we'll see if anything comes of it. Summer I'll need something to do.
May 10: I am slowly, painfully, sadly coming to the realization that the Soma situation I am in is much more serious than I have considered. With the possibility of becoming worse. I think the person in question may have less control of himself than I've been expecting, and is in fact, ill. It's making me rethink how I am going to handle this--maybe first by lowering my expectations that this should be any sort of normal relationship. Under the circumstances, I suppose I should be grateful that there is some normal functioning happening, like being able to do a job to support the household, doing the things he does do to contribute. I just need to realize other "normal" things that go on between other people just aren't going to happen. I feel perhaps I need to think bout keeping things stable--esp. for J. Thanks for the perspective, Jose.
Which brings up myself in this--how am I gonna hang on to my own sanity in this situation? Well, maybe two ways: 1) Getting support for myself through other people--and not hiding what's going on. 2) Recognizing that I need to maintain a life for myself outside of this situation, and not feeling guilty, or awful for needing the things an ordinary adult person needs--a life!! It's not like he's dangerous to himself----just lacking the necessary emotional ties. It's quite sad, on so many levels. I finally feel like crying for myself. We'll just have to see what needs to happen with the living arrangements for all concerned.
May 18: Yeah, been pretty much avoiding myself--until I'm more sorted.
Jun 22: Sitting in the Orlando airport, waiting for my flight to Denver. Debating whether or no to get a bottle of water, still an hour before boarding. Going to Golden, and hoping not to repeat the altitude sickness I had on my trip to Breckinridge. Golden is much lower elevation, but since the altitude sickness sucked so bad--kinda felt like I was dying, and couldn't imagine a coal-miner job where the oxygen must be depleted--anyway, I've eschewed alcohol and caffeine for two days per internet recommendations to avoid the sickness. Water.
I spent last night in a high end (for me) Orlando airport hotel. Orlando is a freaky city--it's sort of fascinating how they've streamlined and make money off the whole tourist process to a grand degree--for example, you have to pay for parking at the hotel? Who ever heard of that? $12 a night, $14 for valet--we even had to pay two dollars just to stay long enough to register and take my luggage up. The parking ticket machine had a slot to drop your hotel key in. For $1 I got "free" breakfast--which was actually the best deal of the place. Good bed, good AC. And here I was trying to save money on this vacation, but this was K's idea so he could go to some school conference. It's so strange how all of Orlando, except for the very oldest part, feels Disneyfied--too clean, too cute, too happy., too accommodating, for your slippery, glad-handed money. It really really is not my vibe--creepy pedophilic vibe. I'd rather be in Russia.
Here at the airport I once again got the full body scan--then a pat-down even! Why-- do I seem suspicious? Security pervs? Dunno. Funny. Listening to some electronic music called Moderat trying to decide if I like it. Have a guitar pick in my pocket (just in case) but no guitar on this trip.
Lori tells me the B&B owners play music, so maybe we'll make some music?? Unlikely, but...
Jun 28: yup--the worst personal security breech yet. Not only did I get the full body scan, I got the police pat down, AND! The lady security tells me--"I'm going to have to run my hand around the inside band of your pants. I suppose it's a sad statement about my romantic life that I didn't half mind.
July 11: This summer's been interesting, because I've been keeping myself busy. Colorado was not an easy trip, what with all the mountain climbing and what-not, but very satisfying. Felt like I saw way more than on my other trip, to Breckinridge--didn't like that nearly as much. A;ll this thanks to Lori pushing me everyday--she went for great things, I must say! I probably wouldn't have done half on my own. she is a strange mix to travel with..
Ken went off to Maryland for two weeks so I have lots of free time!! With Joe. Last night we watched Straight Outta Compton which just happened to come up in my Netflix Disc Queue in a timely way, given the state of the nation with guns and the police. They are, (NWA, that is) in fact, the ones who wrote "Fuck the Police" which I watched about 1000 people chant on a youtube video in Baton Rouge two nights ago. It feels like a breaking point, and I think one blogger got it right: it's a war about race, but it's not really a White vs. Black Race War. It's more a people- who- think- violence- works vs. people - who -don't war. N.W.A. played a roll in this, back in the late 80s, early 90s. They always claimed they were just throwing up their South Central/Compton reality as art, and there is something to that, but they also glorified the thug lifestyle--the first to do that, not to mention their hand in Death Row Records (Snoop-Dog and Tupac) that codified it.
Now, I can see that some of the dope-slingin/gang violence/braggadocio (I especially hate the braggadocio) lingo in their songs maybe was just a borrowed first person narration, but that also released a Pandora's Box full of negative consequences. Before NWA, black kids didn't wear the scary outfits, but afterwards they did: for decades. The hats, the black, the chains, the black nylon doo-rags, the sag, the shoes,the anger. It was contagious, all the way down to my little Aryan boy Kurt. Who had no business pretending to be angry like the real guys did. I get angry, though, I admit, when I see all these kids treated like non-people. And my own experience lately is making me feel wary of cops.
Apparently, the thug posing worked. Except on cops: who just went harder and got more defensive. Thus where we are today. I don't want to lay this all at Dr. Dre and Ice-Cube's door--they had plenty of help from greedy bastards all over the US and probably to foreign places (why is the Russian Stereotype of a бандит involve him wearing a track suit, chains, tats, and gold teeth? Who were they emulating?) In spite of its sad roots in poverty and unfairness, I think in general America was in love with the Thug Life--wanted to believe in its scary power. It made life more interesting. Just like the Cold War did.
August 22: 1st day of school year 2016-17. My feel is, it's looking like a good one. !! And here I was smelling retirement.. My kids again seem nice, smart, polite and interesting, and Drama is looking pretty good and full of potential!! As I predicted, one class seems quieter, the backstage, hard-working types, the others more loud, opinionated and livelier (the actors, of course). I started off the class by doing the 4 Corners game: make a statement and kids pick a corner: I STRONGLY AGREE, I STRONGLY DISAGREE, I somewhat agree, I somewhat disagree--then they have to explain why they picked that corner. The first statement I gave them was "I'm the loudest kid in class"--so of course, no one was. I told them Drama was one class where this was not a liability. I have G. Hamilton in there, who has famous relatives, has been on reality TV , so there might be a bit of rivalry for big parts. I accidentally let them out during the wrong bell (our lunches have these confusing two bells, and I forgot about that).
Best news is, in spite of all signs pointing otherwise (Even the recruiter guy said the Russian/E. Europe market was drying up for us) , I got a great Russian kid from Moscow for ESOL--and, he plays guitar, AND he knows some of the old school Russian Rock. Yay! He's warmed up to me already, probably because I threw out some Russian when I was asking everyone what languages they know ( showed off by doing the room corners in Spanish and Russian ---but not Chinese, I gotta get someone to teach me 1234 in Chinese. I did learn "cheese" in Chinese today--easy because it's like "chi si"--pretty close to English).
Overall, I think I had a pretty successful day of making everyone comfortable and relaxed about whatever level they were at, and I have the sneaking suspicion they liked it enough they won't feel pressured to move up to the major leagues...
August 27: Good week overall: Moscow kid came to guitar club; we played Splean "Танцуй" and some American songs (the Splean is a pretty easy 4 chord thing). Since he already knew how to play it he solved a longtime mystery for me for Russian chord charts--H7. I see this all the time and never know what to do with it. But I guess H=B, so B7. But the kid was actually playing Bm7, so I'm still a little confused. He's not bad, decent rhythm, good ear, quick study, but a little sloppy, even more than me. We have a similarity in that we favor playing chords and rhythms, but he's probably where I was 2-3 years ago. (I'm kinda getting out of my chords only phase, just because it's getting a little too easy and boring.) He's no Yef. But he knows a lot of the old Russian Rock bands/songs: Как На Войне, ДДТ, Чиж и Ко, Nautilus, etc. Also, he recommended Victor Pelevin to me, haha! so he's a reader. I showed him my site for my Crime and Punishment side by side translation, and he said, oh! I should find that, but for the opposite reason to you! (And he wrote it down..) Also likes poetry--he even noticed my Mayakovsky poem on the wall! Nice kid.
Why didn't I post this stuff in the Music part?
Drama is also going very well, and giving me lots of hope. Great response to the BBC Sherlock series--laughing in all the right, dark places, etc. A far cry from my drama queen/mean girl group two years ago. The only troubled spot is my huge ESOL class full of ones who are rude and chat in their native language--the class is too crowded for my small room. And of course my other two periods are very small. Stupid: why does admin do this? Laziness and lack of balls. Greater good, people, come on...
September 12: Things are good. My ESOL classes got rearranged to a better mix, I got more kids?! Drama's still going well, but this week I'm starting the real work, so we'll see. I'm listening to "Еду Еду" and the Stalker Soundtrack clips right now--haven't had much opportunity to indulge in Russian music lately.
When it rains it pours, travel-wise. I've been helping P arrange his Model UN trip to NYC, which we're slated to go on in March. Then! The ski-trip boys for the first time asked me to go with them (!!) to Cali. But the trip's are in the same week, I think. I'd rather do the Cali, although I certainly like NYC! I think that trip just sounds more regulated--won't have time to wander so much. And there's still Augustine. Erika my Italian teacher is now pushing me to get to Italy to practice (and live). And Russia? Come on Russia!!
September 21: still liking my classes: my Drama has some serious kids that I think will work, they seem to understand the vision I have and add to it. ESOL's good, one crazy class that can be fairly easily tamed with a little pressure, but they are fun kids with active minds. I'm basically making ESOL resemble my old Senior classes more and more--increasing the challenge for them.
The trips: NY is postponed to next year probably. If more kids go skiing, I'm doing that trip: it's Utah, not Cali. We may go to DC, and definitely to Gainesville and the usual St. Aug trip.
Oct 6: What a weird, active day. It started with hurricanes. I was supposed to make my highly anticipated cast list, which I did, cringingly, knowing there was going to be some blow-back tomorrow when I published it. Then, respite. No school tomorrow, because Pinellas County closed, and we usually follow. Then Joe texted me to tell me he is interested in spending the summer in Maryland at some NSA internship, if he gets chosen. Cool. Then Kate texted right after, saying she wanted to call. It turned out to be big news, (that she wanted to minimalize) and I guess I need to start helping her shape this small event up, including keeping it small. And deciding where. Then I called Joe to tell him about it, and in the middle of that, Yef started mssging me on FB, followed by Adam. They are both sorely lacking musical collaborators, I know. Me too. Dammit, this all has to work out somehow, someday. I have two movies to watch, but I can't even get my head around them, with so much going on in my head.
Oct 10:
Лишь бы мы проснулись в одной постели
Выхода нет
Выхода нет
Выхода нет
Oct 13: Last night, I think I figured out something that someone has been trying to keep secret from me for awhile. I could be wrong, but I suspect not. It explains a lot of seeming randomness. Because I was letting my imagination go.
All I had to do was connect some relationship dots that had been there all along. The easy way is being had by many. Maybe me too. Who's happy? I'm trying.
At school, I've got some moons circling me: Owen, Bo, some guitar club kids, some drama kids both boys and girls--I feel like I'm trying to give them something of me, yet I'm pushing them away. It's nice to be appreciated, I suppose. But not too much. My heart is elsewhere, but honestly, I'm not exactly sure where. I only know what I want, and who doesn't have anything to give me.
ART. art. Who's got the art?? Who's got the music to my soul. ??
*************NEW WORLD ORDER**********************
NOV 10, 2016, the day after the US Presidential elections: (Trump, crazily, won.)
I have never felt so tired in my soul, I don't think. It can't be slept away, or analyzed away--I've tried. It's due one part to the bombardment of awful (on both sides) political solicitations and rhetoric--doesn't anyone remember how to think logically anymore? I'm seeing why the Founding Fathers found Rationalism so appealing. I have already begun changing my means of media consumption--I just can't look at all that any more. The 2nd part is the upside down crazy of watching the election returns ( I watched until about 10pm when Hillary was winning by a thread, but it had an ominous feel). Part III of my soul-weariness has to do with the public reaction.
Almost everyone, except maybe the most violent (as in passionate) Trump supporters seem unhappy. The liberals, and in particular, millennials/college students are the most obvious--they've taken to the streets, and although they did some controlled fires in LA and Oakland (trash on a highway, I'm guessing to stop traffic) they were mostly peaceful it seemed and no counter moves from police that I saw. (I did see a video of one smashed window in Oakland, but who knows how that happened.) People who are denouncing the protesters are unhappy in a reactionary way, calling the protesters childish--if I see one more person berate another to "Grow Up!" for stating their political feelings-- I can feel them itching to make racial comments, like they did with the BLM movement that looked similar, except the kids in the videos were predominantly white, and middle class, not ghetto children. Well, that's why I turned off social media today. I'm sorry, but what did you expect if you elected this controversial person? Everyone is offended by someone. He who throws stones...
I think we're the most upset to find out what the other side is feeling about us. I saw a friend post about how violent democracy can be as a system. We are finding that out in spades, and maybe it's enough to bring back a new Age of Reason. Maybe that's what Trump's good for. History works in strange circles.
For myself, I have a very odd feeling about this election. At first I was like, oh, fuck, but then I started feeling like that was just some sort of automatic reaction --what I should say. I voted the other side, but with no real conviction, and I see perfectly what the Trump supporters are going for. I hate the fatalistic liberal rhetoric about Trump. For about 33% of what he says I agree, about Trade agreements, the state of American manufacturing. The social stuff I've a feeling he was just bluffing for votes, especially since he's said the opposite in the past. He's most offensive with his rudeness, but let's hope there will be some sort of grand mainstream media conspiracy to keep that side under wraps like they did with LBJ, for the good of America's image--is it possible in this day? Except for his remarks about women, and as pissed as I was in the middle of the flame, I think a lot of this was blown up bigger than it was. Donald's all about business, right? Maybe he will have a chance to bust up the status quo bullshit.
On the down side, he is an ugly, ugly person. I can't stand to hear his voice, the way he presents his ideas. Just grating. I don't trust him. But I think we can survive 4 years; even Trump can't undo the labyrinthian, slow system we have to deal with for change. I don't think Congress will do his bidding much, suck ass as they can be. The good news is people got their message across about the status quo. I'm not totally upset that the Clinton machine got blown up--curious what the Dems will do next. Thank god I'm not one of them, either. I read that a DNC staffer, today, in a big town hall style meeting, called out chairman Donna Brazille (and ousted Debbie Wasserman Shultz) for causing this crash, for secretly doing things that favored Clinton over Sanders--you know, the status quo. He blamed her and this hypocritical behavior for this loss.
Hah! What timing! As I was typing this, I get an e-mail from Bernie Sanders, urging a replacement of the DNC chairman--presumably more amenable to B.S. I heard he's changed his mind about running in 2020...go Bernie. Shoulda written him in--if Id know Pinellas was gonna go red anyway-- (I did write in Panuthos for County Appraiser or some such thing--1st time I done that.)))
4 years from now more of these self-concerned baby boomers will be gone. Sad but true. Who knew they would be such a drain? The specter of communism fades with them and makes Bernie more palatable.
They shoulda left Bernie in--I would have much happier supporting him. Karma, Hillary. It's a bitch. Is she done? I sure hope so, screw all this first woman prez shit.
Can I take out my soul and send it on a vacation somewhere far away from all this craziness?
Now on top of all this my play just took a major hit again--our venue will be gone, unusable. More immediate problems for me to deal with, and I once again got into a little thing with my boss over it. Hey, I'll just let him deal with it if that's what he wants. In the meantime, I gotta figure out what to do with my two drama classes. And my bum left knee. Damn near killed me in St. Aug. And, speaking of vacation--- figuring out when I should next visit my daughter in Cali--we are working on it. Maybe Christmas is better than Thanksgiving? Leg+ hills = more rest.
November 17, 2016:
My dad just sent me this stupid tone deaf e-mail, like he frequently does. Happy Fun Facts about our new president, all very bland and ordinary--weight, height, hair color, the fact that he grew up in ordinary Queens. Shoesize, Emmys, ancestry, how much property he owns. all the books "he" wrote. His unapologetic "love" of women. Blatant self-aggrandizement. At the end was a comment that implied we now know so much, but know nothing about our current president. Damn this e-mail depressed me--just that feeling I'm getting in my spine, the recognition that this is going to be a mentally stressful four years because of the constant gas lighting we will be subject to. I responded to my dad with Barack's wiki page which is FULL of facts about the president. Which, of course my dad won't read because it's TMI for him.
It's giving me that tree in the forest feeling. If you show someone information that they refuse to read or says doesn't exist---DOES IT?? I'm tired of mindfuckery.
I am sort of obsessed about this idea of DT dissing the White House--that's just grand. Mrs. is staying in NY. Imagine the gold-plated White House remodel. The 12 karat Lincoln Bedroom--rent tripled. (yeah, you've heard the one that the Clintons auctioned it off to the high bidders.. not unbelievable.) What happens when you have no moral center.
Nov 30, 2016: I should probably talk about this strange, brilliant and thought-provoking series I've been watching, off and on, over a year. One of my Brit online friends told me about it last year, and I watched a few episodes. Loved it, but I didn't continue for some reason--thought I'd be back later. It really reminds me of Victor Pelevin--just cuts to the quick of our bundled neuroses --we modern люди--But now, it's on Netflix so I've gone back--it needs to be savored it is so good. Plus I listened to a Podcast about the writers.
(Oh, It's called Black Mirror--should win some sort of award). Thankfully I somehow saw the 2nd episode before the 1st--so much better. In this series some new almost dystopic bit of technology is featured--truly dystopic in the sense that you can feel the stupid human impulse to develop it, as if it is going to revolutionize existence! And in each case it does, with a massive backlash of downside. The first episode, that I didn't like, seemed to be pulling ideas from that old Dr. Who episode about the politicians being Pig Aliens in human disguise--there is a kidnapping, extortion, humiliating the PM plot device.
The 2nd Episode involved a future world where everyone got to exercise and watch TV all day and get paid! It has something to do with creating energy by riding a treadmill, but there's only like 4 channels to watch, parodying the most puerile bilge we really have on TV--people selling crap, macho humiliation videos of people doing gross things, the sex channel (most boring of all), and the talent show! most popular! Oh, and every wall of your cubicle-like home is a computer screen, waking you up, directing your day. Cyber roosters crow good morning in front of the Kellogg's sunbeams!...Our protagonists, one male, one female, are above all this, and think they might escape through the talent show. Wow. It makes you wanna say--how to escape This Modern World?
The last episode I watched was about a technological device that would seem to cure most the world's ills, make falsehood difficult. Everyone has a memory storing device implanted behind their ear, which records EVERYTHING the person experiences. And allows for playback on the ubiquitous screens that are now commonplace in this world. So, for example, your spouse questions where you disappeared for 3 hours? You are obliged to put on the playback and let them watch your every move. So there's a cheating spouse theme to this one. Except, what tends to happen is, stuff can disappear, and everyone obsesses over innocuous seeming videotaped captures that are analyzed and overanalyzed to death. Brilliant idea. "No, look, right there--you are definitely looking, I would say, warmly, at HER for 12 whole seconds--I come in you, barely glance at me--what does that mean?"" Damn, talk about Big Brother and Sister...
Jon Hamm's in a great episode called "White Christmas." And keeping with the White theme, there's another called "White Bear", which reminds me of that Russian antidote about not thinking about the White Bear..but I'm not sure there's a connection.
I'm in the middle of one now that looks like a similar sinister tech advance--a device that processes all of a person's online presence, and then makes a simulated version of them that stays in contact with you after you've lost them....oh, boy. Can you feel yourself falling under the spell of that? After a break-up, a death!? This episode is soo creepy, and soo good. The ginger ordinary bloke who was synthesized made it all the more realistic. Great episode.
So strange that I just listened to a similar idea on This American Life podcast about a real life, low tech version of this. A guy scammed a bunch of lonely men into thinking a sweet woman (named Pam) was writing them letters, soothing them about their loneliness, making them feel loved. They were sort of generic form letters of sympathy, with the guy's names plugged in. No sex. Pictures (of the scammer's female employee's) were provided, sometimes cheap gifts to offset the money getting hauled in. The men sent copious amounts of money, and presents. When the scam was uncovered, some of the men still went on believing the women were real, that they really cared, that the positive impact on their life was so great, they didn't want to see the perpetrators harmed or jailed...
So many ways for us to become obsessed, to pacify ourselves, to avoid reality.
DEc 1: on the other hand-- some people who I thought were destined for interesting lives. Fade.
dEC 3: So, some crazy stuff happening. Besides my daughter's welcome in Cali, I got offered another free place to stay in the Bay area for my vacation--a very nice music friend who wanted me to babysit his cat. But, when I thought about it, it wasn't working too well. Distances between houses and transportation--have to think about my stupid knee problem--this was just going to cause more chaos, so I declined, with very great regret. I still need to decide if I should get a car or not.
This morning, then, I woke up to the fact that there was some horrible fire that happened in Oakland, somewhere between my daughter's new place and the place I was offered. It was a warehouse party, full of artsy young people--could have been people like ones I know or at least sympathize with greatly--start up artists--the place had been cited for code violations. It could have been any of the old punk places back in the day. The LRC... Apparently, the group had made this rickety staircase out of discarded pallets to reach the 2nd floor, which is where the fire happened and people got trapped. The roof caved in. The latest explanation is an electric fire. I have a feeling the owner is gonna catch shit. They have now recovered over 20 bodies, and there are possibly another 15.
So here's the crazy ugly part. Feeling some empathy for the people dealing with this, one being my sensitive friend who offered me accommodations, I went on this FB page that was working to help family and friends find missing loved ones who may have been victims of this tragedy. Two days later, there are still a lot of missing. But on the FB page, some awful person, FB name Jon-athan Rich*s, was posting that missing people had been found and saying really off balance things. Posting music videos like "Disco Inferno"--really manic, insensitive things. Others on the site were identifying him as a troll, and finally someone posted a buzzfeed about his really horrible history--he'd gone to prison for phishing scams, was a troll for Trump, went on a crusade to ruin some young waitress's life just because she was protesting Trump, and just seems like an all around cruel, fucked up individual with mental problems. And he has connections to the alt-right.
I am not connecting to any links and went so far as to disguise his name even in my blog, cos I think this person has one of those obsessive personality problems, with no boundaries or sense of compassion. I want so badly to share this with my son who has some kind of admiration for these alt-right guys. He will dismiss the Buzzfeed source, but in my gut I think a good number of these alt folks have similar mental issues and sick needs for attention. They are getting their hooks into susceptible people who are confused and fed up. Black Mirror's world isn't too far off, guys. We are just seeing it more because a) we no longer use mental institutions to the extent we once did, and 2) social media gives us access to their thoughts.
Dec 4: Got into a somewhat goodnatured feud with a couple of old conservative students of mine over the "snowflake" phenom, which I think is largely misrepresented and used as a scapegoat for people who can't get over that others don't see the world like them. My analysis: the one who see "snowflakes" go through some mental gymnastics to make their opponents "others" in a straw man argument. So when Blacks protest, like in the vilified Black Lives Matter movement, well, that's an easy dismissal, with history, going all the way back to the 60's and the civil rights movement. White folks cluck their tongues and say--destroying their own neighborhoods, where's the sense in that? There is a (sometimes) unspoken criticism of incivility, lesser behavior. But when white kids do the same thing, protesting Trump's election? Wait a minute, this can't be a racial behavior!? Lessee, hmm, what's wrong with them? Why are they different from me? Oh, it's generational--they are the much maligned millennials! That's how they are "not me"!!
Thumb sucking, coddled children who are privileged, their rooms ringed with participation trophies, neurotic gender-bending social warriors--weirdos!!That's how they are different! And of course, there are those strange individuals sticking out, making a louder noise that makes them seem representative when they are not. More media inflation. They couldn't possibly have a real axe to grind!! (Like low wages, high rents, high insurance rates, burdensome student loans, less consumer power, the generation who will make less than their possibly overprivileged boomer parents). I wonder if the snowflake bashers are aware of how often kids today are living in crowded, group arrangements, out of necessity? My daughter only for maybe 3 years has lived alone with her boyfriend/now husband, and they are 30. Before that, sharing apartments with friends, and not because they wanted to. No cars, using bikes and public transportation. Sure they played it off like a cool hipster thing, but it was also necessity as the mother of hipster invention...
Hmm. Band name--Mother Necessity. Too Zappa?
Much is made about this trophy business, and since my kids were that age, I think I have a pretty good window. The trophy thing was probably a K-3rd grade phenomenon. And maybe not that awful at that age, although I'm not sure I entirely agree with the underlying philosophy. I'm more a free-ranger--let Joe walk to school by himself at age 6. At my school I know we had a built in system of rank and responsibility (although there were definitely those who skirted the edges of deserving). Not most, though. My kids' public school experience was pretty competitive, too, and sports teams were downright aggressively so! Most def an offset to this millennial myth. One thing that has changed since I was a kid that I think needs to be reinstated is grouping classes by skills--we had blue bird, red bird, and yellow bird reading groups, and don't you think for a minute kids were fooled by the seeming lack of judgement--we all knew the bluebirds were highest ranking. The trophy thing is the same--kids understand the intention and don't feel exactly special.
If there is any fault in this generation, it's the helicopter parent problem, the over-organizing of kids' lives without downtime. All that media hysteria about child-molesting and kidnapping keeping kids from free time.
Dec 9: finished Black Mirror. I cannot forget to talk about the last episode in Season 3: the Hate nation one, where some bots created a public killing machine for most hated person. Holy shite.
Dec 14: Exam week winding down. I have a lot of cute kids this year that I will miss when they move on--bunch of eccentric characters. True AFA group. Getting plans together for Cali. It seems like it will be colder there this time. But love sweater weather. Think we'll go to Mendocino, sounds cool, and not a bad drive. Yef said he might be around--not sure what to expect there. Don't even know what he's doing besides playing house. Music?? Job? Real Estate? The times I've heard from him he seems his same ol' skittish self. Seems to like Cali though--not sure what's the story against the Fatherland. That seems like remnants of the old crazy скрытного мальчика I've always known.
Ok, about that last Black Mirror. Called "Hated In the Nation". It parallels another episode where everyone goes around awarding popularity "likes" on a star system, which effects everything from your personal life to your credit rating to...everything. But this one takes it to a more fatal level. Someone has created some sort of crazy UNpoplarity system on a twitter like feed that unleashes an assassin to the least popular person in the world--I won't say how but it's insane. And it really makes your conflicts and opinions real, in black and white terms.
Dec 15: One of those bizarro days . Cryptic proposals from youngsters--amusing and disturbing, my life. Deflected gently)). Work winding down into vacation, nothing to take seriously. Salvaging things from the soon to be demolished chapel. I should go take a picture.
I am tonight listening to two major music moments: Lou Reed's Berlin (the live "opera" filmed by artist Julian Schnabel --had no idea how sad and soul-stirring that musical idea was--how many famous musicians were involved. It's an opera about a relationship that busted bad.
A second musical moment was finding a doc on the Manchester band, JoyDivision, how it started developing its hypnotic mojo. Not high quality filmwise, but it captured them better than the biopic Control. One of the narrators made a brilliant commentary about Joy Division's contribution to punk: Early punk screamed "Fuck YOU!"--but, Ian was saying, "I'm fucked."
More real. The Zen school of producing. "Make it more yellow"> sure--I wanna do that. The film said they created an interior landscape of a science fiction Manchester. ))))))))
Why didn't I put this on the music thread?/ Will copy there, for organization sake. Sometimes music and mental activity overlap.
Dec 16: Getting excited!! Real life in the City by the Bay coming!! Grab the cold..
Jan 10: Vacation over, the cold came here. I don't mind. The vacation was pleasant, with only maybe one minor, very short-lived blow-up--no biggie. Considering 3 sensitive people used to isolation plus wicked winter sicknesses knocking us out for several days, I think we did pretty good! Transportation in the Bay Area is challenging and annoying--I can see why Uber is so popular there. I resorted to it a lot, since I never ended up renting a car for several reasons, including the sickness/bedridden element.
I don't know if I could live there. Oakland is a lot more down to earth than SF--at least I don't feel as dowdy and poor there. I think, though, I would want to live further out, away from the city, for more than expense reasons.
Мой друг was another conundrum. I was hoping there was some happiness going on there--resignation to adulthood, some quid pro quo. But I think things are probably not too good--doesn't seem healthy. I could be wrong. Don't think so. Appearance.
Jan 12: An old student/friend of mine just posted on FB a simple and true thing for musicians: just play with people you love/respect/enjoy. As often,often as possible. It doesn't have to be perfect. ага...
Jan 27: Here's some weird side effects of being sick again! I had a high fever after our Gainesville trip, with an apparent relapse of the same thing I had in San Francisco/Oakland. One is having crazy vivid dreams, like they say you do with a fever--or was it the Nyquil? The second was feeling amazing with crazy energy after the fever passed. I am feeling a rebound of creativity, too. Maybe. If I can get time and an idea.
Feb 22: Trump for a month. I seem to be associating it with the sore throat and various other winter ailments I am uncharacteristically suffering since Xmas. A lot's going on, K visiting briefly in a whirl-wind of activity and driving, thinking about a future celebration of her marriage: she seems dissatisfied with the expense and trouble of life in the SF Bay area--contemplating moves to LA or back here (!) Course, that would take away my motives for frequent visits to Cali. She maybe wants us to play at her party? Weird but cool...have to solicit new songs for that.
Yef is doing some sort of reboot of my old badly recorded stuff--anxious to hear how that turns out. He may have a gig, but he's back to incommunicado, so hard to tell what's happening with him. I am speculating trouble in his paradise, but what do I know. His GF is an unknown quantity, not much online presence to get a read on, therefore I keeping imagining their relationship like Bluebeard in a tower. I think he needs an extroverted type that will push him into outside situations, one who loves music, especially. Hopefully, he's just making mental space to work, and avoiding the brain zap that is social media. The music stuff is better to think about! Anything could be better than the original production I made. I've been kinda slack on Russian reading lately--well still frequently listening to podcasts, doing easy lessons, but less Dostoyevski--just too busy.
Leo is supposed to interview me for his podcast--"Losing the Plot" . Man does he have crazy mental energy!! Don't know how he keeps it all going. I think he's already done 9 or so. I'm supposed to talk about my interest in Russian lit and language, or something, although it could go elsewhere?
My head keeps getting filled up by politics, Trump, and bracing myself for the next drop. I want to kind of stop the addictive nature of following all this. What will be will be, but I have this dread that letting go will let go of the Tiger. I know that's irrational--I'm not helping anything by obsessively reading. But there is the personal position of being the tug of war rope between Komrade Katie and USA Joe that keeps me on edge. Joe had ripped off my Obama stickers when he borrowed my car, and now Ken wants to replace them with a bunch of Liberal claptrap--I just don't want my bumper to be political right now. I guess he already ordered some. Sigh.
I suppose Trump makes me feel generally oppressed, but others, too. Lyn and Pat were here, unfortunately, and Lyn was asserting her god-given right to monopolize as much of Kate's (and my) time as possible. She wanted me to use my day off to take her to International Mall, but when k was coming I deflected this with an offer to have her go to the airport in Orlando to pick her up. Then that plan was foiled by Lyn getting sick, so now she was lobbying for taking up the 2nd of Kate's precious three days. This was when she was at the "other side's" wedding, so that was kinda a stressful mess for me, with Lyn making regular calls to find out when and how K was coming. with a lot of strategizing, I finally was able to make it so we could all go out to dinner together. Then of course she dominated the conversation for like half hour streams--talking about her favorite PBS movies and Cromwell, AGAIN! stuff we'd already heard . BASTA! Then she asked what were we planning tomorrow--I deflected, and we didn't answer the phone when she called the next morning at 9--twice. Gaa! If she was willing to share conversations it wouldn't be so awful. K and I had a errand to run, and we managed to avoid her with a well placed text--she doesn't fully know how to operate all her electronic devices.
Feb 24: Ok, I know I need to sort this out in my head, to get perspective. I am not the bad guy here. Just someone caught in the crosshairs of people who do not have perspective. My in-laws and my marriage. So, there are all sorts of aberrant mental strains running through my spouse's family..many of them clinically diagnosed. His mother's sister is been for decades diagnosed as schizophrenic, as is her son. His mother herself has been diagnosed recently as Manic-Depressive. The bad kind, enough that her husband of 60 some years was thinking of leaving her. She talks nonstop, often for a half an hour. I've timed her. She has that unfortunate Michigander accent that makes it harder to listen to.
She and her daughter are not speaking; the daughter has a son with well managed Autism, and is a carrier, confirmed by some sort of genetic test, of something called Fragile X, a mutation that causes behavior and mental limitations roughly akin to Down Syndrome. My husband's brother has this syndrome, full-blown--it made him appear what people might have called "retarded" years ago. He barely finished tech high school, got a government job from which he took long leaves of absence--has never had a relationship. Is obviously "odd" when you speak to him, but a generally sweet, innocuous person who often gets taken advantage of by his co-workers. He may also be on the autism spectrum.
I have long suspected this of my husband himself, having Asperger's or some other high functioning level of mathematician autism, ever since my nephew was diagnosed and I learned about the symptoms and behaviors: this of course, well after we had already tied the knot. But to tell the truth, my husband's behavior was much more normal and tolerable in those early days. Then, it was just his odd, non emotive and effete speech patterns, strange sense of humor. I thought he just had a dry wit. He could be affectionate. Now I think it's more. He's on medication, etc, and still not always keeping it together. Everyone in this mess seems to be cracking up with age. And rubbing everyone else the wrong way.
I was so busy balancing work, Katie and Joe in the old days, I hardly had time to notice where K was going. He seems fine at work, where his knowledge and sternness is appreciated. But at home, he's bad, now that I'm not running to Cub Scouts and Soccer/Track practice. To give Ken credit, he was a pretty good father in some ways, took some responsibility to contribute, even if I did the majority of the running around--some years he took Joe to school, for example, and he makes dinner (even though he doesn't pay attention to what anyone else wants). He occasionally helps clean. I sorta doubt he has the first clue of how to clean a toilet. He can vacuum! On band practice day!! But Emotion-wise, he's not much of a father figure or husband.
But he was overly gruff and judgmental. I have this image in my mind: Heidi's grandfather with the overhanging, Germanic eyebrows. This first came to a head while Katie was in high school, had a pretty rebellious boyfriend, and cut ties with her father. Ken was NOT a good replacement for what she needed--(granted she was kinda a mess, but certainly a workable mess, a good student, not a partier--just the BF..) For example, she got a full scholarship to a GOOD school, hardly cost us anything for college. I'm kind of surprised how sympathetic Kate is of Ken these days, given his former coldness to her. To me, it's not the strictness that was the problem--she needed that. It was the coldness. (And for me). Ha. I could not, for all his tolerance of high school student shenanigans, get him to a sympathetic view for Kate, who, let's face it, had had rough going being bounced around in a very acrimonious custody thing.
Once Katie was gone, then Joe, all this judgment that once fell on others fell on me. I was soooo negative. All I did was complain. When we both worked at F together, I felt like we had a common ground of understanding: who was cool, who was a jerk, who were the problem people. We talked a lot then. But ever since he left, that connection is broken--he doesn't want to hear about school crises. Nor the victories! If he just was non communicative listening to my work problems, that might be somewhat understandable, if unsympathetic. The Nagging wife..blah, blah. But he also doesn't want to hear about my good days, my good people. Wow this great thing happened today!! Radio silence. Everything is an affront to his ego, which is getting larger, BTW. Even stranger, the people he once was close to, even revered? He could care less about. He rarely tells me anything about his work life.
He's done this odd thing where he's trying to become a fashion icon--but a strange one. Sort of gay Truman Capote on the Tonight Show with matching bow ties and shirts. It's amusing, it's colorful, but it's also disconcerting. I think, maybe, he's trying to recreate the flutter he created in the 80's being punk--people talked TO HIM, took off the burden of his social anxiety. He used to always brag about DC people coming up to him in his thrift store, pre-Columbine overcoat--mistaking him for a homeless bum and giving him change. I think he thrives on that kind of attention. Once in a while, I find end-of the year Notes or valentines from his middle school girls who simultaneously say he's cool and "creepy" or "weird". Well. No comment.
Ok, this week. I had Katie here for 2 precious days, and my mother-in-law felt some sort of entitlement to spend every moment she was here with "us". Katie has perfected the art of interjecting nice comments into Lyn's monologues, "Oh, that's really interesting!" which give Lyn the impression someone is listening to what she says. I know, because I used to do this myself, but have since realized it is enabling behavior to her mania and self-absorbtion. So I don't. And--it has for years been apparent to me that Ken behaves this way with her also, in direct opposition to how he handles conversations with me. Can I say--I hate Fridays, when I should love them, due to these awful, non-conversations we have over going out dinner. Really, the last vestiges of any sort of courtship between us. I am constantly tempted to spend all the non-eating time checking my facebook feed--is this a good relationship? I have this notion that he wants me to stream monologue like his mother to put him in some sort of Freudian comfort zone. I hate it. He over eats, I try to avoid having two glasses of wine rather than one. He makes me feel lonely in this, because he doesn't drink, because--well, let's just say it's for the best. Fact of life: I am married, and lonely.
So, last week, Lyn, my mother in law, decided to get proactive about my son's alt-right political positions. I admit to my stupidity in venting to her, due to my frustration with him myself, because ultimately I think he will come to see what's reasonable. He's young, experimenting. I should never have told her who he voted for, his views. I gave her more credit for handling stuff, better:I think she did in the past. So, she wrote him this long letter, some of which was intended to make him feel guilty about her contributions to his college education, berating him on his political views.
If she had used moderate language I might have been more empathetic to her view, but she was extremely emotional. Joe was upset. He ironically thanked me for telling her his views, to which I responded--hey, you chose, now live with the repercussions. But. Sorry, old boy. Yet I made it clear I supported him, and didn't think he was a monster. I do think I probably made a mistake to "out' him to his grandmother--I think I really expected more from her. Like I said, in the past, everyone in this game was more normal, more reasonable, with better perspective. I'm beginning to think Joe, me and Kate are the last men standing.
So, Joe ripped off all my almost ten year old Obama stickers off my car--definitely a breech of personal space. Ken thought it was good revenge to plaster a bunch of new stickers that say "PROUD LIBERAL" and "IF LIBERALS REALLY HATED AMERICA, THEY WOULD VOTE REPUBLICAN" in their place. See, it's a joke on Joe--if he has to drive this car. But, I feel an equal violation of my personal space by someone deciding to put these on the car I have to drive around in redneck FL. But a good woman is seen, her opinion not heard. So now Ken hates me again because I said this wasn't something I favored. Never mind the repercussions I might have to face for a sentiment I don't really agree with. He's leaving my negative ass, again, when it's convenient. Whatever. So tired.
Feb 26: The bumper stickers are going. I took a picture for Joe. I think, judging by his softer behavior, Ken is sorry about his over-reaction. It's getting harder and harder for me to bounce back from these nuclear explosions, especially when I never get an apology. Just reversed, or somewhat tolerable, polite behavior.
Feb 28: No. Something is deeper, and wronger. And not to do with me. Someone is going to Career counseling. This is a pattern. Changing bunkbeds, every few years. AFA, SoftwareSolutions, The 'Wood, TMMS. Ponds, plants, orchids, wood working, leatherworking, sewing. Music? (I still think you have to be born with it, a four year old who can dance). At least I don't feel upset anymore--what will be will be. Que sera, sera. что будет-- будет ...
March 7: My happy dream (on the bicycle) is still filling me with happiness that doesn't make much sense otherwise--state of mind is so central. So does optimism fuel good dreams or do good dreams fuel..???
I heard this really fucked up statistic. Of all the generations, millennials have the least sex. What, they are young and the ones. ?? Apparently, the WWII gen had it most, then the boomers, and it descends , in order. Social media seems a big culprit, Joe's generation being the least likely to take the plunge. Well that explains some things, but--damn. Sad for them. Sounds like they don't trust each other, is the real problem. Plus distraction of an electronic nature. I think to me, the whole point of the electronic is the potential of reality... Am I old fashioned???
addendum: personally, I think they are all too skinny and will break if they have sex. They just want to LOOK like they want sex, but the real thing is too icky.
March 27: Saw the movie Paterson last night, and Gimme Danger the night before--both directed by Jim Jarmusch, whose odd little films I've always liked. These were particularly special. (BTW, Danger is on Amazon Prime right now to stream). I saw Paterson at the beautiful Tampa Theatre.
Both these films had a great, positive effect on me, particularly Paterson. The movie was filmed in this strangely immersive point of view: I don't know how to describe it--it's a very slow paced movie that picks up the vibes of a workaday life. But, somehow, you see the world through Paterson's (the main character) eyes. And his eye is quite thoughtful and quietly optimistic. You see, he's a bus driver in Paterson, NJ. But he's also secretly a poet, with a "Secret Notebook" that he doesn't share, but where he makes poems that reflect his interesting observations of the world.
Beyond that, you just start feeling him listening to the hum of the universe, listening to conversations on his bus, interacting with random people, and Paterson makes a great backdrop for turning a potentially ugly world into a beautiful one. Paterson is pretty renowned for being a beaten down city--urban and grungy: some of the brothers I taught with at Mary Help were from there, or did a year at their inner-city school. Adam Driver's character has an almost Ground-hog day existence of repetition, but somehow he finds a serene joy in his patterns that are quite inspiring. Like, he goes to this weird little spot, half industrial, half nature. It's a bench next to an ordinary chainlink fence, that overlooks some sort of concrete reservoir. But there's also this old, beautiful iron railroad bridge that arches above a ravine that spurts out what pretty much looks like a natural waterfall. It's quite striking. That scene, in particular reminded me of the feel of Tarkovsky's Stalker, and I'd love to know if Jarmusch is a fan of his. That, plus the slow pacing, the quiet, positive message about life's good purpose, remind me of Stalker. I'm sure he's a fan.
Anyway, the narrator's serene acceptance of his life really made me think about perspective--through different eyes this same story could have been like a condemnation of the blinding, boring grind of daily life. But it was, in fact, the opposite. I am so happy I saw it, and want it to stay with me. It's time for me to slow down and notice what is happening around me. Accept. Observe. Not judge.
Live.
April 4: Here's the thing: I don't feel very funny, or joyous, anymore. Mostly I just want stuff to be over.
April 6: great movie line: "Cigarettes don't cure the hiccups. Not in this country."
-Jim. Jarmusch, delivered by Tom Waits to Roberto Benigni in Down By Law
April 19: Just saw this strange observation about Trump, and it hit me in the gut. This is my life:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/donald-trump-melania-body-language_us_58f769bbe4b05b9d613edb9b
A friend of mine recently called my husband "a gentleman" which I replied was an overstatement. This /\ is among the reasons why I feel that way. It makes me feel alone on some very sub-atomic level. It is quite depressing. And I may understand possibly why. It's an autistic behavior, a "I live in my own little world behavior". It could explain why Barron is labeled autistic, one of those apple from the tree things.
It really comes home when I go out with friends and they treat me differently, with simple common courtesy. Waiting to walk, holding something when I'm having trouble doing some dumb girl thing. Allowing me to interrupt and laugh. Normal eye contact that is a response. Offering to buy me a drink--I feel like a real person again. Even drummers get it)).
A real irritation is this repeated behavior that is daily endured--we go somewhere, anywhere, the grocery store, and the car stops. He gets out immediately without a word or look, cos everything is under his conditions; it takes me maybe 5-6 seconds to respond and gather my things. He stands outside the car, impatiently, staring into middle space, expressionless and waiting for the few seconds that's needed before it's good to hit the key clicker to lock the door. I'm such an irritation that he must wait for.The clicker noise sounds, and he turns, without eye contact, and makes his way into the store entrance, 9 feet in front of me. Just like Trump. Gentlemanly, нет. His fault? Doesn't matter, it's depressing anyway. Did he always do this? It seems like we occasionally held hands long ago, but conversation was still the same. For a long period we were just busy with the kids and work, so we rarely had time to do things together. It does seem we've always had some version of this walking problem, on hikes, walking to McNally's. I remember a few years also of him complaining that I walked too fast. So maybe he thinks he's getting a head start on me.
This was sort of a truly the nadir, this past weekend. After having a nice time with real people, I went out for a spousal dinner--same parking behavior. And we went to a new restaurant, that was very busy, and full of youngish waitresses in black leggings.
I did my usual attempt to engage him in a topic he might like---politics, I've long given up. Movies, TV he doesn't watch, and what he has watched, he's not interested in discussing, analyzing or interpreting. Music is a poisoned subject for us because he often doesn't know the musicians I'm talking about, unless they're from the 70s, Jazz guitarists, or old punk. Books, occasionally we can talk books, but more the ones he's read than I've read. That really is our best connection. Work, never. I used to tell about my day, good or bad, but I've kind of stopped because I get no response, no counter story. no interest. Friends? Нет--he's not interested. He doesn't really have any. Family stuff, well a few practical things about Joe--about his exams, school payments, pick-up schedules, goes for about 5 minutes. About K and Mark, he listens, but doesn't contribute or seem interested, really. Food, cooking? I'll ask a question, and he'll go into a lengthy lecture of how-to, properly.
Lately, I asked if he would be interested in making K and M's wedding cake--that got him fired up, boy, a challenge. Long, monologues about the how-to. See, I understand him. Does he try to understand me?
I hate to be the only one talking. More often now, I just stop. And eat. Or drink. It's probably partly why I drink more now. But this time I was making a valiant effort to get something to go. He was more awake than usual--(did I say he sleeps something like 12 to 14 hours a day--not all at night..)
A connection? Every time I thought things were getting somewhat interesting, he's interrupting with a distraction, with something irrelevant. (At home he frequently interrupts conversations to abruptly go to the bathroom, mid-sentence). Here though, in the new busy restaurant? Mostly the interruption was just to turn his head. So he could look at this waitress. Or that new customer. His head was swerving around like a steering wheel. I was embarrassed for him. I felt disrespected, but I said nothing, because I know his temper. He's likely to just get up and storm off. Then the worst...
His mother has always says--"It always seems like Kenny is not listening, but he is.!!" I suppose. To her. That doesn't make him pleasant to be around, especially if he's listening in a way that makes it painfully obvious that he has no clue or concern, about what you are feeling. I think it's different with her. Well, they are both equally absorbed in their own inner worlds. I suppose theirs intertwine somehow.
It's very obvious he is more in tune with her feelings, is willing to go the extra yard to make her feel ok. (Case in point--the first moment I told him K was getting married, his first thought was, not for Kate, but, "Is my mother invited? My mother would want to be invited..can I tell her about it?" How freaky is that? To me that's a sorta unhealthy attachment. Not to mention, when he thinks he's alone (or with me, which is more or less the same) He talks to himself, and the kitchen pans, and the meat he is cooking, in this weird, high-pitched woman's voice, that is sort of a hybrid of Julia Childs' and his mother's nasally Northern-midwest twang. Fargo's not far off. (Ken himself has never lived in the midwest). He's--I hate to put it this way, and I'd say it differently if I could find another way to express it--he's a classic mama's boy. Boys and men of the world--listen--there is nothing less attractive, less sexy--than a mama's boy. He's never been with me to visit Kate and Mark in SF. He spends several weeks with his mother, every summer. Lately, he'd rather do it alone.
So, back to our "date" night.
He wanted to go check out the menu of another restaurant, to see if he'd like it-- this is how he is. Of the hundreds of amazing, good restaurants we have in our city, he only likes about 10% that meet his requirements for good food and huge servings, and so, there is always this vetting process. (He rejected this one too, in the end. It never matters how I feel about it). So we walk there, almost together, because I have to show him where this place is. ( I remember thinking this was nice, maybe he was changing, but just now as I'm writing, I realize that was the reason--he didn't know where it was). I suppose I should be happy he's usually ahead, considering what happened.
"Good God." he said, and practically points, interrupting as I was explaining where the restaurant was, and what kinds of things they had. There was a nice-looking couple about 15 feet in front of us, late 20s, early 30s, and the pretty girl was tall and modelesque, long legs in a short skirt, heels, and a big slit in her silk blouse at her breasts that revealed her cleavage. After this impulsive statement, and I stopped to say "What?" He said, "Did you see that? (Not her, that). He made some prudish remark about how she shouldn't go out on the street with those hanging out, and I said, something like, "Why, cause you can't handle it?" I thought he was going to do one of his usual ballistic reactions, but it was so bizarre, I just couldn't let it pass. Maybe he realized, because he didn't.
I mean what a rude, stupid, self absorbed thing to say--I wanted to add, "What if she heard you?" And she might have, he was so wrapped up in his singular vision. And what would she think of this middle aged guy with the gray scraggly beard and a missing front tooth,` replaced by a bald wire, and a dandy of a hat? The sad part is, I didn't feel even a twinge of jealousy, just sadness and isolation. How do you explain to the clueless that this is wrong? And weird. And Creepy. And would he have done that, if other people, his mother, even, were there? I'm beginning to feel like a non-person in his eyes, and when I look at Melania, I think she's feeling the same cold air.
It was kind of a page turner. I swear he didn't used to be like that. More and more, I'm just embarrassed to be in public with him. It feels like he thinks I deserve this treatment, but of course, I don't see that.
I'm starting to think his mind is breaking apart. I used to think he was silent because he was thinking great thoughts, being reserved and speculative, weighing things carefully. Now I realize, I don't think so. There's a lot of banality, a lot of insecurity, in all that eccentricity.
I just mostly feel terrible around him. Neutral, is about as good as it gets.
Tolstoy says in Anna Karenina, "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." Ain't it the truth.
May 7: School. Nightmare. Eng. Dept. v. Admin.
May 12: Wow, I really haven't updated in a while, probably because I'm sort of making an effort to sort stuff out before I commit it to writing. Sometimes when I do that it seems like I'm solidifying some notions I have. Well, I feel more equipped now that some of the end-of-the-year rollercoaster is settling in a bit--we got contracts extremely late this year for example. Our admin seems a bit out of sync, and we received lots of blow-back, especially concerning the English curriculum. In the final analysis, it seems like it's not on me so much, although one of the books I'm presently teaching, Divergent, is sort of unofficially banned.
I found a cache of Conservative websites that might be the source of all this, but haven't hit the right one just yet--want to know what the others are really thinking. Apparently, they are objecting less to the old deadly problem in teaching good lit in school: sex, substance abuse, violence, swear words. Apparently the most extreme (and everyone says, mentally ill, parent--I've had no contact, so I can't judge, but it sounds bad) parent gave the OK to Catcher in the Rye, apparently by virtue of the fact it is a "classic"--my choice of Night is also ok because it's violence that really happened. I think what their real concern is a paranoia about indoctrination of their children by us evil teachers. The objection to Divergent (which floored me, honestly), apparently has a political edge--they don't like any dystopic lit that suggests anarchy or government overthrow or things such as this. This is sort of fascinating to me--what a weird turn American culture has taken. Wow, fear of a young planet. Not that I like these critical people much, but this is definitely something feeding whatever divide we have going on in the US.
So, I'm guessing they'd have a similar recoil from Hunger Games, Handmaid's Tale, 1984, Brave New World, Fahrenheit 451, Lord of the Flies (I hate that book, anyway), etc. There's an especially strong outcry against a book called Speak, which is the darling of liberal middle school teachers everywhere--won all sorts of awards, yada--means nothing to me. I read it, it's not so hot, artwise. It's about a girl who spends most of the book silent about her "date"-rape by a boy she knows, at a party. See that's where I come from, I am also not keen on lit that has a political agenda over its literary value. First, they usually miss the mark of feeling truthful in someway. I prefer classics. Therefore, I'll probably not be in the spotlight this year.
Wonder what their view of Harry Potter is--that must have been the fuel for all this millennial protesting and fighting, right? Magic! Rebellion!! They were that age. But it has a happy ending, so. I plan on teaching All Quiet on the Western Front, Romeo and Juliet, Fault in Our Stars, maybe Night again. Not sure what to do about ESOL I--tired of Harry Potter, and probably wouldn't have picked Divergent again anyway, due to my "been there done that" moods. Maybe The Outsiders, since the 8th/9th grade teacher's doing it anyway.
I do take exception to the way my boss delivered a wild-card parental comment to one young male teacher in particular: telling him a parent heard he was "an idiot" or did he say "stupid"? don't remember exactly, but it was kind of a shocking, inflammatory, and unnecessary? detail to pass on to us at a meeting--which of course, in this context has nothing to do with said teacher's intellect, as he has excellent educational credentials and is quite bright--it's a euphemism (?? milder?) for "liberal". There sure is some sense of entitlement to speak one's mind out there, boy. It's too bad too many people confuse PC for politeness.
May 25: Rooms. They soak up your electrons, maybe even your protons and neutrons, if you stay in them long enough. I've been in a particular room for a very, very long time. Decades, even. It must reek of me. Its walls have reverberated with my favorite music. And I learned new music there, taught music there. I have projected my favorite movies and images there in the dark, thanks to the cheapo black-out curtains I found, on its walls. Violated school rules there, all for the sake of a higher education. Did art. Hung art. Wrote songs. Acted out scenes. Sympathized. Danced. Learned pieces of languages. Felt alive. Recited my favorite literature there. Waxed Shakespearian. Cajoled someone into doing a funny accent. To sing... Laughed, oh god.!! Dressed up weird. Praised my favorite people. Scolded a few. Heck, even scolded my favorites. Loved, was bored, was bored again (and again), was surprised, angry, felt loved, was pedantic! and appreciated. Was hate graffitied. Stared people down. Ignored mediocrity, recognized the few, and had my personal items stolen--more than once. Gave out ridiculous, valueless prizes. Felt betrayed.And threatened. Judged, was judged. Drew on the walls. Painted. Questioned the reason for existence--spun out ridiculous ideas of why?? Philosophized. Made my mark. Harmonized. Felt the rhythm. Learned something. Cried. Felt lonely. Felt loved. All in one little room.
May 28: It's assessment time. I'm staying home most of the summer, mostly to give some possibly last bonding time with my curmudgeony son, who is chained to the St. Pete/St. Leo area with 3 chains: two jobs and one trigonometry class at SPC. Next year will be his last in college, then he will be off to the cyber-security world, living who knows where. So this may possibly be the last time we live together, particularly in this house, but who knows? Future cannot be seen.
So, at school, I'm moving to a new, smaller room. In an odd way I am happy about this--forced downsizing. I have accumulated way too much stuff in twenty some odd years, and it feels like it weighs me down. I threw out three trash bags-plus two cardboard boxes of old stuff--mostly workbooks and old paper files I haven't used or even looked at in years. I gave away a bunch of costumes, swords, fabric to one of my creative students--that was a relief to have somethings at least have future potential! Weeding down a small amount to be stored, along with my extra guitars and amps, cords, etc. in the band room, temporarily. The drama stuff will go there too. Some of the better acoustics I'll take home for the summer.
Taking one bookshelf, lots of books, but not all, and ESOL/Drama files. My SF trolley car tin of guitar toys, tuners, capos, picks, slides, etc.
Next week I start working on the walls--all the paper stuff will probably go. Will keep: Guitar chord charts, Big Brother, "I Want Change", the Television heads, and the Love Hose poster--those are laminated and preserved. Jack Kerouac? Major Decision? English King chart? We'll see how much room there is..I'll take my personal photos down, not sure which will go back up--less.
Luke, by the way, never came for my old black Stratocaster--I have the feeling he liked the idea of owning it more than the reality. Anyway, I'll keep it around for him, just in case--again, would like to have it be of use to someone who appreciates it--I never really did--it's too hard to play. Actually, maybe I should try it again, just for fun. There was a time when I was really picky about which guitars I could play, my Telecaster being the easiest, but I think I have improved my skills enough that this is no longer a thing.
I really don't know how much to believe that I WILL be going in the new building when it's up--besides the theatre space there's a designated theatre class-room that is implied will be mine. I just don't want to get my hopes up, the way my experience with school has been, especially with this new guy who doesn't seem too keen on nostalgia for old AF or as any sense of loyalty to us vets--here's hoping the higher powers feel the nostalgia, guilt for past transgressions and usury , know our history and abilities!and feel for continuity--I was once overlooked for this job, and that didn't turn out...well. Mixed, at best. And! I do not have the formal degrees for either of my present positions, although ESOL certification wouldn't be that difficult. I would just have to take a test (I'm a good test-taker, always have been.) Just a matter of learning the jargon. Education-ese, Florida Dept . of Ed. Style. What a joke. Not something I want to waste my time on. A friend of a friend says she has the materials, if I need. I think I can stonewall through this re- accreditation year, by demonstrating I've looked into the way to do it, have potential access to the materials, yada,yada, until they forget about it after we get re-upped as an official school. Really, this May was the first time it was ever mentioned to me, and they implied they'd check it out for me...that will take a long time and give me breathing space! I honestly do not want to waste any unnecessary time on such nonsense at this stage of my life. It's all such BS anyway. If any education is a waste of time, classes for "education" are the biggest--worst classes I ever took in my life.
Now theatre classes, I wouldn't mind..if they push that! Just afraid they might hire someone over me--been done before. But half a theatre degree is all reading plays--I have those credits, esp. Shakespeare, in spades. Anyway, any decent theatre dept. needs more than one person to run it.
At home. My son is just as concerned as I am about the third denizen of our house. I told him, now that he's a full-fledged adult, some things he didn't know--we're trying to figure out what to do. In the meantime the 3rd seems to be attempting to shed some of his worst behavior--he volunteered to go out for a reunion this week, for example, and seemed to enjoy it. Less nasty, digging, and overbearing behavior at practice. He's still mostly isolated, stimming, rocking, using an unmodulated voice, slamming noisily and messily around the kitchen, breaking things and hiding it, talking in his Julia Childs' voice to food, and sleeping like a maniac. Talking a blue-streak to himself when he thinks no one's around, and seeming unconcerned when someone does hear, like it's normal.
One day I got home early, was sitting in my unseen chair doing stuff on my laptop, when he came in, having a full conversation with himself, which gave me the impression of some sort of monologue one would give to a psychiatrist. It was all about some decades ago embarrassments, like being a closet smoker and being almost caught (He ungallantly let me take the fall for that so that I had to listen to literally hours of lectures by his mother who always topped it off with, "Thank God none of my children ever smoked!!" K just sat there, not confessing, letting me be the most terrible person in the world--even though I'd already long quit by this time!!--that hasn't done much for our relationship, not to mention all the many times he chose mother over me). I froze, not sure what to do--finally decided, when he walked right past without seeing me, to another room, that when he came back, still talking, I'd put my earbuds up to my ears as if I'd just now taken them out--less embarrassing for him that way, I felt, or for me to not ask questions which would end in long-term conflict.
His eyes just look crazy. and sorta dead. I think that's partly the meds, partly his bad Aspie genes. The meds are what Joe and I are discussing. We don't like them. Chris Cornell's suicide sparked renewed concern for us, as they are similar meds. In the past, he wouldn't even discuss quitting them; I've tried. Now I've researched--you can't cold turkey them; it's dangerous. That's not a good sign.
Me.. what do I want? I will power through this year, and see what the future will bring. I will not be keeping the status quo after this. Joe needs to finish college cleanly.
Jun 19: Continuing in deep conversation with Joe--we are drafting a letter to other blood relatives up north about his father, to try to paint a picture of what we are dealing with. In the meantime, Joe and I are planning a much needed vacation West---to see National Parks, visit my family, his sister in California, celebrate her marriage, etc. K mercifully has declined to go, and is spending 2 weeks in DC with his family, which Joe and I think might be the perfect time to send our letter, thinking it might make them more observant about his behavior. We realize he acts better among family, and this might mask some of the problem. They're having some family celebrations, so we are trying to time this well enough to not ruin their days.
I worry about burdening Joe, although he has been very sensible. It's not like he can't see what's going on in front of his face, and I really only started to discuss this situation with him because I could see he was worried, and critical, and confused. He has troubles with his father as I do. Best to deal with it up front. I can just see he is already taking it on as a responsibility to bear, like talking about sticking closer to home when he graduates, etc. I'm not sure that is necessary, and I don't want this to ruin his future with guilt. I told him I do not plan on sacrificing myself on the altar of pure altruism and guilt. I'm not going to die before my time propping up a lost cause, if it is in fact lost. But, if I can help?
The thing is, so far K is at least maintaining the practical parts of his life: working, paying bills, doing the minimal maintenance of life, getting along, if eccentrically and unsociably . Can he do this if we are independent of him, or will he degenerate into a Miss Havisham craziness? He has started complaining about wanting to leave work "As Soon As Is Possible"--he's always had a short attention span with his interests. It does seem his mind is somehow deteriorating. One thing that troubles me--on more than an artistic level: in music. The old standards. These are songs he has been playing, working on, for years, close to a decade, I'd say. His father's music--what he grew up on. Yet--those are the very songs he's most likely to screw up, forget the lead. He plays some of them at times pretty spectacularly, but others: like lead. Ouch, painful to listen to. I don't get it: if I played those songs as often as he does, I'd never forget them. It's kinda sad. Not to mention, taking some hard-core lessons from a taskmaster guitar teacher. Something is wrong. Жаль.
I'm not sure he cares about a family future--I sometimes think he just wants to be alone, is more comfortable that way. He's pretty self-absorbed, oblivious, happy doing his own repetitive stuff. But like Joe says, if we just let him be, is he gonna just spend the rest of his life in THAT chair, rocking, gesturing, sleeping, talking to himself? And can we stop that? He's so stubborn and volatile, I'm afraid this confrontation we are planning may have repercussions we don't want. Him with his newfound interest in weapons. Can anyone, even his mother, reach him? Actually, I'm not entirely sure if she has the right mind frame to try, which is why Joe and I are approaching his lawyer sister, then maybe his father, first. Lots of layers of narcissism and denial to deal with. He's closest to his mom.
August 10, 2017:
Might I suggest a cross country train trip in lieu of the the golden Soma pills? I'm in the last hours of a 50+ hour train ride: that's not counting an overnight layover in Chicago, the BIG train city, due to a missed connection. I must be getting mellow in my age: even though this made me late for work ( I should be in a faculty workshop at this very minute), and there were a lot of hassles on the way, little of the problems really bothered me. I just went with it, figuring it would work out, and it did. I suspect hitting a mudslide in Denver is a pretty good natural disaster excuse.
Oh, so I took the California Zephyr from Emeryville (part of the SF/Berkeley/Oakland Bay area--it's the more suburban one full of the Targets, Home Depots, etc. that the rest of the Bay Area is too cool or ethnic for)...from Emeryville to Chicago, the full ride. This was unquestionably the best part of the trip. Then the Capital Unlimited from Chicago to D.C., only missing the part that goes to NYC. Then the Silver Star, down the East Coast, from D.C. to Tampa, missing the terminus of Miami. I love how the trains still have names, and even their corresponding numbers are low, unlike the airlines: our was 6, 30, and 91 respectively. Old fashioned and easy to remember. Probably the cheapest way to see the whole country there is, if you go Coach, like we did.
There was so much good on this trip to outweigh some of the minor bad. I'll get the bad out of the way first--in case anyone else is considering this romantic sounding (it is, though) journey. First, sleeping is probably the worst part. You have to sleep in your seats, like on a plane--but they are bigger, with better adjustments and footrests. The other passengers can be a pain during the sleep phase: we got two snorers, one worse than the other, some other various strange dudes. One train had this horrid squeak right above our heads. The first two trains had no WiFi, so I ate up my data plan on my cell phone taking pictures and movies, watching movies, texting and killing time. The last train, the Silver Star, claims to have WiFi, but it only kicked in halfway, and then my power source for charging went dead. The food situation is not great--sleepers get a package deal, but if you go coach like we did you have to pay for every meal, and they ain't cheap. The least expensive dinner was a very dry chicken breast succotash, and a starch--for 17.00. It went upward there to 26.00 for a steak dinner, 36.00 for steak and shrimp, the ultimate bougee meal. Joe and I only ate on the dinner car once--the rest of the time we made do with microwaved pizza, burgers and dogs from the cafe, which had a variety of convenience store stuff including booze. The bathrooms are very much like on a plane, some bigger, though, no showers, and some with additional human smells.
But, for someone like me, the crazy passengers, admittedly some who were trouble, are part of the charm of train-riding. First of all, you get to know them much better and for longer periods than on a plane--there's some sort of tradition of train friendliness that happens. I didn't get too involved since I had Joe with me and he doesn't go in for that sort of thing, but there was a lot to observe and pick up on in brief encounters. If you really want to see America, it's real citizens, get on a train.
For example, the train staff, conductors (my great-grandpa was one, I think for the B&O), are so much more human and humane than airline staff. They run around actively troubleshooting everyone's problems, although they don't "wait" on you, like in the sky. They definitely don't seem so corporate, holding down a bunch of stupid rules to maintain the bottom line. Sue (see, I know her name! was one of those great, gruff, jolly old gals with a smoker's laugh, and a no nonsense attitude like a good, benevolent schoolteacher). She was sick the whole trip, but still went out of her way for so many passengers, just one of those salt-o-the earth types. The airlines should take note. She just had a common sense approach to things, rather than corporate rule following. For example, in the Eastern parts of rural Cali and western Nevada, as night came on, Joe snuck across the aisle to an empty seat to sleep more comfortably. We thought Sue hadn't noticed, but she had, she was just being compassionate. As dawn came and we were approaching a bigger city, with new arriving passengers, she quietly informed Joe he'd have to go back to his seat to make room for the new people, after the stop. Lovely way to handle that, and the same thing happened on the Silver Star in Florida.
We had two different Cafe ladies--the first one was a bored chubby millennial who raced through her train announcements in an almost indecipherable monotone, like a disengaged kid trying to get through his turn reading aloud as quickly as possible. She perked for me when I gave her a 3 dollar tip for a drink. The second one was a real peach. She had this overweight middle aged drunk guy: two mornings in a row he was drinking beers and buying rounds for some black ladies, one who I think was a transvestite with the signature elaborate hairdo and scarf? They were treating the Cafe Car like it was their personal watering hole, and she cheerfully played bartender to them while simultaneously dealing with the long line of customers like me. Saw him this morning in the diner car at 9am with a full Corona in his hand surrounded by an entourage of new dark ladies yucking it up. To look at just a picture of him, you would have taken him for the most deeply red-necked, seed-cap wearing bigot, but here he was with his preferred company. The Cafe lady--this is on the Silver Star--was very nice and accommodating. She filled up Joe's big hiking water bottle to the brim with ice, and when I tried to buy a cup of two-dollar coffee, then told her sadly I had the option of my sad single dollar, a $20, or a credit card, she promptly transferred it to a slightly smaller complimentary cup, said, on the house, and I, in gratitude put my sad single in her tip box. She said, taken aback, "Oh, no, I didn't do it for that!" I said, "I know, that's why."
After the mudslide fiasco, the whole train was treated to a free dinner of beef stew, mashed potatoes, rolls, drinks, and the ubiquitous succotash. It was better than the paid for meal
Other characters: on the Cal Zephyr, we had a whole carful of Amish, of all ages. There was a whole family of blonde girls, plus their mother, dressed in identical eye-popping bright turquoise homemade dresses that made them stand out from the rest in dark and blue. They were the exception of travelers with no electronic devices at all--they all had worn books with them for entertainment--noticed one was the old-timey religious book Shepherd of the Hills. Some of the kids had coloring books, one lady was doing needlepoint. A big gang of them was playing cards, speaking some hybrid of German and English which I guess was Pennsylvania Dutch. They were laughing and having a fine old time, men and women together. Yet, when they talked to us "English", they easily slipped into almost unaccented American English. Some young Amish couple was sparking alone in the club car away from the others--his moustache-less beard less developed than the others'. I say one middle aged guy in the observation car deep in conversation with an Asian man--perhaps exchanging ideas about their thoughts on American culture.
In general, the train is where all sorts of ethnicities and races blend and go out out of their way to get along. I got nothing put politeness and sunny smiles from the African Americans on the Silver Star--the mix was about half, with some Hispanics thrown in. On the Capitol Ltd., Joe and I ate dinner with a man from Nigeria--we had a great conversation was we got passed the uncomfortable introductions. He told Joe he could see in his eyes how intelligent he was--how well he would do at Cyber Security. At another meal we sat with a Chicago suburban social worker and her deeply autistic son who "loved trains" and who was having some conversation with himself concerning mileage and other train minutiae.
There was one poor old black lady who spent the majority of the California Zephyr ride in the club Car with her head glued to the table, smothered in a colorful blanket. I thought she was sick: every time I went down there, even with hours passing, there she was in the same position. Finally, at one point she perked up, and started laughing uproariously at some thought she was having the time of her life alone. This went on for more than 15 minutes! Joe and I were surprised to see her on the next train too, even with the layover. It seemed like the train staff knew her, and I wondered if she just spent the remainder of her life just riding around on the train.
The other eccentrics: there's some young 20 something kid on here wearing charcoal colored touring shorts, an old fashioned long sleeved shirt with a string tie and a large scrimshaw etched bolo the size of a Victorian brooch, long soft chestnut hair and a Eastern European linen cap with a leather bill, like out of an old movie. Seemed like he was trying to look Dutch. Lots of weird and strange leathered boots on some men. A 40ish guy all in a black metal T who got on drunk at Reno, who called poor Sue a Cougar out of earshot when she was just trying to be friendly and helpful , then proceeded to describe his pot-smoking escapades to two underage girls across the aisle who were too naive I suppose to recognize he was trouble in a silver bottle. I anticipated some big mess happening from him, but thankfully he fell asleep after 30 minutes of non-stop braggadocio, and got off two stops later.
Contrasting black and white cowboys ( not by hats, but by skin color)--one looked pure African. The white cowboy looked like a magazine cover, and seemed to be a bit of a ladies man--quite flirtatious. A 250+ lb young girl with a baby who was an unfortunately very untalented mother. She seemed self-conscious about having a potentially squalling baby on such a long trip. The baby was pretty good really, sleeping most of the way, but every time she made the slightest whine this inexperienced mother just yelled at her to be quiet. Other passengers were giving her tips to keep the baby (under one--I never actually saw it, but it wasn't even babbling yet, let alone talking) happy, like taking her to the observation car to keep her from being bored, but the young mother was disinclined.
Then there was the guy in front of us all night on the Cap'l Ltd. First of all, he was a twitchy mess. The guy sitting with him would talk to him in English, which he seemed to understand, but then he answered in some strange language I could not discern--he looked European, dressed like a red neck American in a red t-shirt and Jorts. When he got on at 6:40 pm he immediately jammed (and I mean jammed!) his seat down into the sleeping position and left it that way the whole trip, bouncing my laptop, meals, etc. off my tray in a precarious way, talking to himself in this odd language every time he tossed and turned every ten minutes or so. Once it got dark, though, he did this really crazy thing--he whipped out one of those aluminum foil looking space blankets and covered himself in it.. this just upped his annoying factor by tenfold since this blanket made crinkly noises every time he turned or moved, which was a lot. I spent the night thinking I was hearing an open mike with wind blowing across it in a blustery place, say, SF or Chicago down by the lake. I thought he was snoring, too, but it turned out to be the weird pink haired girl on the other side, who later was yelling, "WHAT?!" into her phone every 2 minutes.
Aug 25 (back at school-end of first week): Dark mood. More of the same disrespect that seems to be fairly universal , particularly for the female teachers (this, oddly from both a male and female admin). Did a whole battery of tests this week that were essentially ignored or dismissed: I was pretty much told to deal with what I had. Why even do it? Stupid, non-student centered thinking. The outcome for me is, once again, to avoid communications with a particular admin. Trying to explain my frustrations to a male friend teacher who for some reason is in favor with said admin and is just making me feel worse. Been joking said admin is his "boyfriend". What's that thing about many a true word? Might just take lunch in my room today.
Should I mention that it seemed like admin just placed kids randomly in my various levels without regard to their English skills--whatever was convenient and easy for scheduling for the adult, not the kid. Watch me get blamed later for lack of success. Putting a quiet, studious girl who's shy but has advanced skills with a bunch of rowdy, unserious non-English speakers far below her doesn't seem to make much sense to me. Do they want these kids to get the best experience they can or what?
At home I am feeling a bit better, more in control of my life. The depression seems to be lifting, the pall is less dense, and we had a stroke of luck on the public school front that might make the next few years better. I have been grumpy and even digging without backlash--I think the guilty party is acknowledging past guilts and giving me the benefit. I feel I deserve that, a bit. We have our biggest show ever coming up,: I think we will be ready, although it would be nice to do more new material. I wanna do some Zeppelin, for example--don't think it would be that hard. Jimmy Page, I recognize, was something of the "work smart, not hard" brand of musicians, something like J. Marr--they both had a gift for hitting the pocket rhythmically to make something not so much difficult, but based on good ears and attention to fine details. I appreciate that so much and want to be that.
August 29: I want to read this tomorrow and think--wow, thank god that mood passed!
Work was once a refuge, and now it's hell. I feel like my sanctuary is being invaded. First, there was the moves, that seemed to be telling me-hey! don't get too comfortable, this is not really your space--we can gut you like a fish....never felt that before. Then all the petty messages about petty "mistakes" that actually didn't used to be rules we needed to follow. Forget any attaboys. Shame on myself for not knowing the new rules/visions, that I hadn't been informed about. New rules about fire drills, books that are/ are not banned (only one that I know for sure), visiting alumni, who's in charge of what..?? The FCIS evaluation is being treated with hysterical paranoia, rather than acknowledging how it's just the usual "Dog and Pony Show".. hate that cliche, but. There's no way we are going to lose our accreditation. Jeesus.
Shitty people skills all around.
Then, I get the sinister Big Brother phone in my room--what is it for, exactly? We all have cell phones for emergencies. There's a rumor going round that the offices can listen in to what's happening in your room. I'm beginning to feel as paranoid as X.. warnings that the board and the parents are getting "more conservative". Evidence to the contrary-the board hasn't really changed? The parents don't seem that different, although admin says so. Not sure admin knows what's what. Admin IS more conservative. They seem to be adept at misinformation. New pod people moving in, with nefarious credentials. There's a lot of hidden agenda. Didn't used to be that way.
I can't help but feel there is a resentment of the traditional, warm, nurturing magical culture we've created over several decades by some who feel outside it, only because they chose never to join it. They want to destroy it instead. I'm half-way convinced this is what the pattern is showing me. I don't want to overdo this comparison, but it has some small scale Trump-like similarities : elaborate promises to fix what's broken.. but instilling macho overkill. Forgetting we're dealing with kids! The thing is, there were only a few minor tweaks necessary--like tightening up attendance. Funny, that's the one thing the hard-asses really haven't fixed.
All sorts of wild accusations about why the int'l boarders are leaving the dorms in heaps and lumps. Let's blame visiting alum! Let's blame the math department! The old dorm supervisor who is in bad health? I'm afraid ESOL is next, and I am feeling the press. The real problem, of course, IMHO, is bad admin, the return to overly military style control, lack of empathy, perhaps some student on student bullying left unaddressed, and might I suggest a wee bit of old fashioned southern prejudice? One thing we really never had --thanks in some part to CB. Dorm culture sucks. Last year, res life discouraged teachers from doing "fun things" on weekend duty days. They either took over the teacher's ideas or it died some sort of strangulation before Saturday arrived.
Let me alone with my students, I'm fine. Shoot, I even feel uncomfortable playing guitar in my room these days on my downtime. After all, it's not sports, which is more in favor.
Aug 30: Thanks to my self for good wishes to mice-elf. Better mood, better day. First I powered through my ominous "surprise" evaluation, I think with great results--you can just feel when the room is with you...
I was sweating it, though, man. I had this horrible feeling admin was gonna show up for my worst class, and she did. One with two very apathetic and low-level kids. Two kids in a class is a death sentence--I've been begging for schedule changes to get more in. It is very hard to convince two kids that this is actually a class, thank you very much ,and you have to do the work. One is a Chinese repeater from last year--a dark personality who none of the others want to hang around. I actually had one of my good kids convinced to switch to this class due the low numbers--knowing he'd get more attention, but he flat out refused to be with this dark Chinese dude. The other is my first real example of a Russian native speaker who has pretty bad English. Well, he'a actually from Latvia. There was Dasha, but Dasha, for all her air-headedness and make-up skills had the ambition to be considered a good student. This guy, I can see, could easily be lost, although I like him.
I actually have 3 Russians to practice my skills with, this year. Somehow I feel more comfortable throwing off random Russian phrases--just familiarity increasing, I suppose. Still I get corrected for pronunciation--tried to tell Daniel today it's not raining--Нет Дождь.. He corrected my ending somehow---
One thing made me feel better today which was helping my friend Mary possibly find a buyer for her farm. I am very anxious about her situation, since her partner has only two weeks to live, and she can't afford to stay where she is. I thought one of our old students might be interested or know someone, and this might pan out. I hope. Also working on a get together for Kate here during wedding season with the Harte and Jack clans in the 2nd week of Nov.
Sept 10, 9:56pm : Supposedly in the eye of Hurricane Irma. I don't know, but so far, it just seems like a good, if intense, late summer Florida storm. For me kinda romantic, only without the romance (for me). Lots of Attention from the outside world however. Nice to know people are nice. Even K handled it better than I thought. My house did not break. The lights have flickered maybe 6 times. Dick's have been out since 2pm. (Later: it's been 5 days for them!! poor guys). At this point, it wouldn't be that bad overnight. Even if the air-conditioning goes out, it's in the high 70s outside. I was way more spooked last night, imagining the worst, me in my closet, under the stairs, like Harry Potter, crammed in with the good guitars, and emerging to find the surrounding stairs intact, but nothing else. That will not happen. The dream is over. The heat will come back.
Sept 13: So wrong, I was. midnight to noon the next day was downright scary. At 9: 56pm /\ I wasn't even in the eye yet--pity the innocent. I heard wind sounds I've never heard, and my house made noises it never did--wish I had the foresight to record the sound. But, it wouldn't have been very accurate--wind blowing over even the worst mikes sounds ridiculously amplified. I have a bit of survivor's remorse. Even in St. Pete, I'm among the luckiest--didn't evacuate, although all my family was pressuring me to do so, even Joseph! Didn't experience long, boring, crazy traffic jams, didn't lose power, no house damage, even minimal yard clean-up. Okay, I admit, I'm taking advantage of the situation to get my usually apathetic husband to help with yard work he usually avoids. He cut down a tree! and agreed to do even more with our messy alley passage, which admittedly was already a mess before the storm. Maybe he's copacetic with me, to get rid of some of our negligence while the county is doing free pick up.
Mentally, I feel a little worn out, but not quite to PTSD standards. Realizing both my daughter and sister have some real anxiety issues--Kate kept texting me to find out if I had filled up the bathtub, for toilet flushing water. We didn't board our windows, and frankly, it ended up being a nonissue--glad we don't have plywood to take down on top of all the other stress. If we had had a Cat 4 or 5?? We probably should, but will Ken be in denial? Seems like everyone around us is being more industrious, though. Not too excited to go back to work tomorrow, however, esp since I have to give up my classroom. Well, my kids will probably still be gone.
Saddest personal problem is missing the cancelled Depeche Mode concert which by all accounts sounded like it was gonna be major.
Sept 14: dick and I are trying to egg each other into the replacement Miami show on Friday. We didn't go. I understand why--no electricity burnout.
School turned out to be more stressful than I had imagined. First, everyone in the Russell Building got to play Odysseus--the lower school and (former middle school) Michel Buildings still have no electric, after a full work week! Electric trucks are all over the neighborhood, and apparently come from all over the country to help. I watched them cut up the tree this morning that had broken over the wall on the mansion across the street. I spent most of the day on the move--my breaks in the Aviation lab, Drama in Rm. 24, the rest in the small study room in the Library/Learning Center.
Everybody who was here was very cooperative, even though you could see the stress in some teachers' eyes, especially the ones with no electric or AC. MP looks especially drained from dealing with two places with no electric, and mandatory evacuation. Rob looks surprisingly stressed--he says he hasn't slept for days. He must be more anxious than I've ever assumed, giving kids flying lessons, I thought he had steel nerves. There were less kids here, but I had more than I thought.
And there are three more storms out in the Atlantic, two on the same possible trajectory as Irma.
On a different note:
But, why do some men talk themselves into believing that a woman mostly wants a over-fed, middle-aged bugati to take care of her? Maybe it's the influence of Narcos (like the themesong) making me focus on this, but I know some real life folks like this, too. Only very young, very immature women think like that. Start chasing money, and you lose your sensuality and romance like that(snap).
Sept 16-18: Well, they after the storm is the worst part, even days later. For me that was true. Our electric went out for two days, and it's not so much the heat without AC and not having lights and appliances, but the worry of how long will it last, will I be able to sleep? What should we do with the food in the refrigerator? Don't open it!
Ken was already asleep when the lights blew, so he got some decent rest. Joe and I decided, with debate, after several hours with out lights, with fires starting in our alley and sparks flying, and the rote response from the electric company that took about an hour on the phone, then communicating with neighbors, etc., feeling the house getting hotter and finding the outside temperature was still in the 80s at midnight--we should go to my classroom where there was AC and sleep on the bean bags.
For Joe, this turned out great. For me a mini disaster. I wanted to make sure I wouldn't get dehydrated in the night, but that turned into a raging need to pee about an hour or so later. I woke up feeling terrible on several levels, my bladder felt actual pain! it was so full, there was going to be no stopping it. The bathroom was one floor and three hallways away, a maybe 3 minute walk, plus dealing with locks. And I felt sick. Not nauseous, but that sick you feel, or I feel, anyway, when I wake up in a bad part of my sleep cycle, in the first 3-4 hours when I didn't get enough and I just want to die--it's like maximum jet lag. I had it worst on my 1st trip to London when I was awake for 36 hours in a row, since I couldn't sleep on the plane at all. Twice before this has happened to me when I felt this way--I had one of my vaso-vagal episodes, where my heart rate goes so high my heart stopped. It's related to arrhythmia, sorta but not the same. When I have it, I get this terrible, sickening spinning sensation that I imagine is something like what epileptic auras are, or maybe this is what it feels like when you die?--only in your heart, not your brain. There's a mild buzzing, like in florescent lights. Then I pass out.
This is the second time I've woken up from one of these with an injury. The first time I must have laid there a long time, maybe an hour or more, because I woke up to this large pool of blood coagulating around me. It was coming from a huge gash and swelling that had cut my left eyebrow in two.
This time, the pain was coming from both knees-I was very afraid I couldn't walk, plus I was having trouble putting weight on my left hand to push my self up. I had remembered feeling the faint coming on, and the briefly anticipating the impending head injury, so I think I had tried to get lower to the ground before losing consciousness. So I lay for a minute or two, assessing my situation, then slowly slowly tried to test my sea legs. That's when I realized I again was laying in something wet. But this time it wasn't blood, it was piss. Everything on my backside was wet. So, I knew I had to continue to the so- far -off- bathroom! And clean myself up--I was at work! Plus, I still had to pee.
I made it there, my jeans were a disaster: I just had to blast water over the entire things. I rinsed my underwear and put them back on, thinking the nylon would dry faster than cotton. Thank god my shirt was dry and kind of longish, and it was 3a.m. I hope my fainting act isn't on the video cameras.
I was hoping the knee pain was temporary, but after this I couldn't sleep so well, even though the bean bags made it pretty comfortable. I texted Ken about the electric, at about 8:45am--he said it was still down. Told him what happened to me. No response. Tried to sleep another hour but kept thinking of the tangle of broken vines and jungle flowers around the pole the electricians needed to get to--woke Joe, told him what happened, asked him to get up to go help his dad get rid of the brush.
He agreed but acted concerned for me!, but when I got home Ken still had no response to my injuries, said the chain saw was electric so would be useless. I said I had pulled some of it out by hand, and went stubbornly out to do more followed by Joe and Ken, but when he saw the mess Ken refused and went inside. Selfish, asympathetic jerk, don't care what kind of "differences" he has in his brain....
Joe and I worked alone and I was so mad I didn't much feel my leg pain, and maybe the constant movement did it good. We got the worst of it to the front curb. I hate this day, and don't want to go to school tomorrow. At least I can stay in my classroom. I feel like I live alone, Except for the extra mess, when Joe isn't there. Joe has been very sweet this week, texting me several times to ask how I'm feeling, how my knees are, etc.
Sept 24: Still made it to Arcade Fire in spite of Hurricanes, injuries, stress and tiredness. I need to keep doing things like that, not succumb to the malaise of house, couch and computer. It was a memorable show, worth the effort even under duress.
I'm hatching a plan for new music relations....(well, really old ones).
Because one of my good music friend's life has imploded. When it comes to romance, he has a gift for choosing the wrong thing for himself (don't many of us? Too bad we can't see ourselves from the outside...) I think he talks himself into romanticism that is really mere convenience. Bird in the hand.. I had always seemed like an awkward fit that had changed his personality for the worse--more bland, boring, without his previous curiosity, tending toward bourgeois, less music!
It's sort of interesting that this one gravitates toward the romanticism of Edgar Allan Poe (love of dead, impossible girls) without seeming to recognize the underbite of irony implied that the "love/obsession"-- is more a manufactured product of a strained mind than any sense of true love in its pure state. Pure state? Well at least built on admiration, compatibility, mutual empathy...besides mere chemistry, or imagined connection.
Wow, now thinking about this debate we had about The Idiot--who represents love best--the obsessive, willing-to-kill for love man, or the one who radiates sympathy. Hmm starting to see a difference in my thinking. What does one's love consist of? One's own perceptions, and the impact on one's feelings, or the love object's true nature? That gets me thinking of the Chekhov story I just read, about some joker who falls for a 19 year old, seemingly somewhat vapid girl who does not seem to reciprocate the level of feelings the narrator has, yet by the end, he finds some sort of bland satisfaction in his situation. Even though she cracks her nuts too loud and seems to think marriage is all about the trousseau.
Why do the initial feelings of love make you bathe your love interest in your own dreams and desires?
This of course , concerning my friend, is all only based on what I could see from my limited viewpoint with limited communication (however, I still I think I'm one of many with these thoughts about this relationship)...hope to pry him out of his fuzzy vision, and this also will give me something to keep my demons away. Because I'm hating my life on about 6 levels right now.
And I cannot stop being tired. Can't believe I have to work tomorrow.
Sept 25: Music friend's life is moving overseas--he says. He's finally (he says) cutting ties with his addictive source for spoils, which I've been advocating for years. We'll see if things carry through , but it really is what should be done. Lots of excessive equipment for sale, but doubt I can afford it or need it. Maybe a mixing board would be nice? Additional mikes? No more guitars...except the ones that probably won't be parted with. We have the same taste in guitars, I think. Not sure how serious this resolve is, to go the straight and narrow without a parental fix.
Plus, I'm not too keen on this relationship he just "lost", was obsessing over for years (or I think this was the one, not entirely sure)--probably the real reason for the move, rather than a musical career, as a mutual friend agrees. Other than the physical, I'm not sure what said person has to offer--he claims dream support. (For a dream he's not willing to mentally invest in.) She just seems, kinda nothing? flighty, impulsive, not a rock, not a help for a music career, for any career. For love? More like OCD love. Not even committed--they don't really hit me as one of those soul-searing heaven- made matches. I was wondering, when they got engaged, why they weren't making any plans for the big day. It just all seems so cutesy and bland, a little desperate. Puppy love. Just doesn't seem to justify the level of obsession. She is cute, and a little sad. I wonder if she is depressed. Never met her, been discouraged from any social media contact. But, she doesn't have much presence. If she really is so strong and supportive of a difficult life choice, why not stand up with him against the naysayers, instead of getting out of Dodge? Why not be proud? That's what I would do in the same situation. He needs someone who pushes on a more active level--making plans, etc.
I don't really get it, why the need to win over this seemingly unhelpful, useless person. Was told she comes from a bad childhood--that's difficult to overcome. Don't see a father in the picture. Wonder if she's the one, or possibly another family member, who is into self harm. Went to a good school, so probably smart or talented --did she finish, any school? It's implied she left due to criticism from the family--they blocked her first. Who does that? Not a show of strength, in my mind. IDK, but it's keeping my mind off my own problems temporarily. Not overwhelmed with any expression of creativity, though.
Whatever's going on it seems to be draining any creative musical impulses, rather than fueling them. If she's so supportive, why isn't there loads of material coming out? A Muse? Doesn't seem so. Shy muse..mm. Some hear what they want. Is it really the family stymying this? There's a little control freak there, to deflect strong feelings that some cannot handle--been there, to me it's a real turn-off. Guess the next step will prove what's what. How can someone have really good creative instincts and insights, but suck at recognizing the important things in life? smh
In addition, I'm not a fan of jealousy and possessiveness. To me it screams weakness in the relationship, in character. It is not proof of love, but insecurity. How do I know? Well, in spite of my track record, I feel like I've experienced the good, secure type of love, and it felt real, that knowledge of trust that is deserved and shared. Why doesn't it last? People change, time goes on, everyone evolves into their next stage, feels restricted. What you once wanted together might not live. But, the kind of person who locks "love" away in a safe, heart-shaped box is destined to lose it.
So many guitar guys joke around they get into it " for the girls." Not sure I know that many girls are into guitar players--seems to me it's guys that go for the guitarists, girls go for the lead singers. The guitar guys are usually the nerds of the band (Jimmy Page excepted, but he is a bit nerdy--or just other-worldly. ) But it makes a nice story for the wannabe guitarist to tell others--offsets any lack of athleticism, being a high school wimp or loser, for example. But, then, do you quit if you get the one girl you wanted? I don't think most great guitarists lose speed at that point. Something is not right.
Oct 8: New plan to fix my house.
Had a terrible Friday with K. We went out to hear a friend play: he was non-verbal all night so that I wasn't sure what his plans were, since they were out of his usual comfort zone. He had made a HUGE platter of nachos for himself, offered me none. Then power nap for like two hours. This put me in the position of being super hungry for several hours, which I knew would play havoc with my stupid digestive tract. I snagged a few chips out of the bag to hold me over-keep the acid back. I had e-mailed him earlier about eating somewhere else before the show, aka not greasy bar food. No response. I wasn't sure, until we got there, if the place even had dinners (they did.) So I said, if we're gonna be here awhile, we should take it slow, have appetizers before dinner--he said ok. This was my fatal mistake. But by then the band had started, I ordered the calamari for appetizers--little did I know Ken had ordered his dinner, too, at the same time. Without telling me or co-ordinating with me. I was a bit unhappy with this, but I figured I'd order later.
I think the waitress thought the calamari was my dinner, so she never came back, but Ken, after he gobbled down his dinner, then ate whatever calamari was left--I would have tried to munch on it slowly over the night to keep my stomach from getting to the empty equilibrium that often makes me sick. The band was hot, the room got super busy, the waitress seemed to be alone, and had taken our menus while I was in the bathroom. I caught K checking his watch several times during the night. I figured after the 1st set I'd order something, but they played really long, and I was pretty sure K wouldn't stand for my ordering food too late--so I sucked up.
Plus, I went light on drinking--my first was a sissy , sugary sangria full of fruit juice, little alcohol. Then I had a Guinness, thinking it wouldn't be acid inducing. Over the next two hours I ordered water, two glasses of ice, and two small red wines--they came in those super small glasses only filled about 1/3rd. I filled them with the ice, felt fine. No acid. K started talking to the guitar players, and I wasn't sure if he was going to stay for the 2nd set, but i doubted it--he was with them, so it wasn't the place to ask--how long you gonna stay? So I didn't order, plus i was feeling ok. The waitress was too busy anyway. When K came back, he said, one more song--I said, surprised you stayed this long...
We had about a 6-7 block walk to where we parked, and I still felt fine, and not even buzzed--all that water and ice. My stomach was ok. Until we got moving in the car. We were almost out of Gulfport when I said, "Pull over, I'm gonna be sick." And I was. This is what happens to me when I don't eat enough and the acid suddenly gets high--it can happen in like 30 seconds. So, I thought it had passed, shut the door. Ken says nothing, not --Are you alright? Or anything nice or of concern. As usual. For all I know he thought I was drunk, even though I was walking and talking perfectly normally on the way to the car. But he always calls me a fly weight, which is true to some extent, but not this extent.
I'm starting to feel mad that his sleep/eating obsessions are what put me in this situation--again. And it's embarrassing, to be puking at my age. Once the car started to go, I felt sick again--at times I'm not so hot with motion sickness either--ask my family growing up. i have a ridiculously weak stomach. So. this time I didn't get the door open quick enough, so I'd have a small mess to clean up, mostly on the windshield and passenger door.
That was bad enough, with no concern coming from driver-side. But the drive home isn't long. When we got there I went into get paper towels and cleaner to do what I could in the dark--some stuff was on my clothes, too. Just little splashes. I took my keys, because I was sure that K was just going to go straight to bed, and might even lock the doors, plus I needed to lock up the car when I was done. Thinking to myself, a nice, normal husband would stay up to make sure i was all right, might even help me clean up the mess. Or at least offer to--I would appreciate even an insincere offer. But I'm sure K was only thinking about his sleep, the fact that he'd been up 3-4 hours passed his usual bedtime--no thought for me at all except to maybe judge me for not handling this situation the way he thought it should have been--which was what? I was mad at myself for not ordering dinner--keeping him happy rather than pacifying him, his appetites.
So, this is when it all boiled over--I went to our back door--locked. But, I had my keys! They wouldn't work--we have this faulty catch that sometimes engages even when the door has been unlocked, and you have to mess with it forever to get it right. So I went to the front door, hoping he hadn't already put on the dead bolt. Turned the key--the dead bolt was in. Now, I was pissed, because I knew he was going to be all pissy to get up and unlock the door for me:all I could do was fight fire with fire--so I started banging on the glass french door--it's fragile, and broke--I was sorta glad--and I started ringing the big copper bell we have on the porch that serves for our doorbell--I was really hot now. He came down, and saw the broken glass, and before he could make something of it I said , "WHY THE HELL DID YOU LOCK ALL THE DOORS!!??" (I know there was a chance he hadn't done the back door, but he always denied it has a problem, and that I must just be stupid or something--like he says when things happen to my computer.)
He just ran up back to bed, cos he knew I was not going to be talked down--plus that's his usual cowardly way of avoiding confrontation. I am hoping he didn't sleep well. I cleaned a small cut on my hand, but not the glass on the floor. I made myself Ramen noodles, answered a text from Joe about hockey or something, and told him what happened. I watched a half-hour sitcom, and went to bed, pissed, but still able to sleep because i was feeling righteous anger. K seemed to know it too.
The next morning I just stayed away from K. I went downstairs before him , made a smoothie,, saw Joe had answered my text by saying--"That's pretty shitty.." I wasn't sure if my story made sense outside my head, but he knows his father. He asked if I cut my hand, I said nothing big--see the boy knows better than the father!! I felt better, and told him my plan. To break K of his sleep/food obsession, or at least not be a party to feeding it anymore. And to avoid feeling abused by someone who can't see past his own nose.
First, I wasn't gonna clean up that glass. I once had left on a trip, seeing the cat had thrown up rather spectacularly on an antique of his mother's, noted it, cos I had to leave, and said to myself--bet that's still there when I get back. Joe and I were gone for 3 weeks and when we got back. And it was. He waited for me to come clean it up. Well, now this is part of my plan--I'm not cleaning up the glass. I know he has a rational argument for it being my fault, but i'm not doing it, cos i think it is also HIS fault. Also, when he made dinner, I said "No thank you," and made my own. And didn't do his dishes--see early in our marriage I had said it would be fair to trade work, the dinner-maker doesn't have to clean up. Except now this has evolved into he's always the cook, and never washes a dish, and uses every pot in the house and flings stuff all over the walls and counter, never empties the dishwasher, nor washes anything used the entire day. Even if all he did was get take-out chicken from Publix (and never the kind I like--roasted rather than heart-burn fried).
Anyway, I'm opting out. This is the second night I'm saying "No thank you" to his dinner, which is too meat and potatoes/ breaded meats and bad spaghetti for me anyway. Not what I would choose if I were cooking. He's a good cook, especially meats, but everything he makes is from like a 1950's cookbook--all starch and gravy and meat with tons of fat. And I'm only doing my dishes. Joe is on board with this, by-the-way, and will join me when he's home. He's been upset about his dad's eating habits for years, like his cartoon level , 5- inch high servings of spaghetti. Joe regularly criticizes his portion sizes, plus the huge bowls of ice cream/chips/ double portion bowls of Ramen noodles he has 20 minutes later, before bed. This is his terrible habit I don't approve of. Plus, I'm not going to sit in the same room with him while he rocks or snores for two-hour power naps. It's totally obnoxious and self absorbed to do that in the middle of the living room where no one else can do anything unless using headphones. So I'm moving my operation to the porch upstairs. not so comfortable or convenient but it will do.
Oh, and I'm not gonna invite him anywhere either--to be humiliated and treated like a non-person. He does the Donald Trump walk, as I have mentioned. And the ridiculous middle school comments at band practice.
Ok, I'm done. Major vent.
K fixed the window himself--got the glass for free. )) He seems somewhat contrite about his behavior. I'm still eating alone, happier with my diet, and I think losing weight.
Nov 7: Feeling terribly numb on all stations. Sick of Trump, shootings, school politics and limitations, homecoming--BTW, not that anyone cares, but teachers hate homecoming and all the needy attention it brings. Again the Asians and Russians are more sensible and don't seem to understand the fuss. Was excited for a bit reading a long, daily diary piece of writing one of my formers who I've stayed in contact with for over 20 years (!!) He's 40 now, recovering from heroine addiction, but a writer, and in flashes brilliant when he's not venting his spleen over-actively about people who don't have the same views. Interesting life that boy, but he worries me. He always makes me feel wanted and special, however. He's kinda unstoppable anyway, so no point in preaching.
Y. Кто знает?? Claims he's still moving to Moscow to become an ESL teacher after some quick training. Don't know what to make of his AFA business proposal--not used to him following through. He's been practicing PF, however, and continues to sound wonderful--has a gig in SF this week with another of my FB buddies--some old hippie hound dog (with higher standards in women than music) who seems like an interesting character.
Kate and Mark are Florida bound, so I'll probably get 2-3 days with them. Harte Family wedding. That will be very nice!! Will probably get Joseph here too.
Another problem borne of K's over-need to sleep. Joe asked him for help before his latest Calculus test, and apparently didn't get a reply. It's not like he texted him in the middle of the night or anything--he knows his father. It was dinner time. I of course, am appalled at this lack of responsibility--and he avoided explaining what happened to me when I directly asked--thinks it went ok. Joe told me different--said he failed the test due to forgetting some old Algebra formula that messed up everything. So he signed up for the class again for next sem, just in case, cos he's sitting on a D+ now.
Numb. How to breech numb. If I read through some of these threads I'll be reminded that at times I felt much more alive, motivated to do stuff, participate and goad people than I do now. I think it's just all been too much . Maybe if Trump falls it will cause a chain reaction. right now I'm just fine with hiding out where I am, riding it out. Oh, but Joe and I are probably gonna go to St. Louis for Christmas! That will be a
Nov 16: one day until Thanksgiving break, our gig at Most Holy Name --will probably be our biggest audience ever, in the 100s, even if it is somewhat involuntary)) Rides! There are gonna be rides!! The AF guys are gonna go out for lunch/drinks, but I lent my car to Joe for the weekend--he suckered me I think, since now it turns out he planned to work Saturday, and the excuse about the gig doesn't quite wash. If I'm gonna go out, I'll have to get a ride then ask Ken to pick me up.
We have another gig (a Xmas time birthday party) in December. They want us to do Dance music? Which we don't much do? We'll see what they consider dance music.
BTW, maybe Joe's Calculus class is maybe? saved because Ken's been furiously working with him, Two Days! this week. Probably trying to make up for his past (unmentioned) sin.
And here's the real subject that got me on here--the impending failure of our school and its dismal climate. This place was once a refuge for me: there were years when it hardly felt like work (except the getting up at the crack of dawn..) Now it is just depressing on so many levels, all coming from the top...they better get their act together or our good kids are gonna bolt. I was just talking to the Scuba teacher--besides me getting barred from showing the old 1968 Zefferelli Romeo and Juliet which Everyone has seen in school since forever! ---well she gave me a break down of what she's been barred from showing...a freakin' conservation documentary on sharks. Whut. And, she says books that are banned: Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are. Something called Brown Bear--which sounds innocent enough. It's by the very hungry caterpillar dude-Carle?
In English Dept. we were told a good choice was The Five People You'll Meet in Heaven. I pretty much hate working for these guys.
Dec 7, 2017: Always happy to have good news from a good connection. Y is going back to music school, for a degree this time, and I'm glad he's adding the focus on composition--I always thought he had the potential for that inner vision. Plus, he's just so restless and unsatisfied, always with his art: a good thing, to me, even if it does have the potential to go bad with paralysis. Baby steps, but all walking the right way. Time to go inward, and the really crazy thing is that I breathe in this air, too--makes me want to shake off the lethargy I've been feeling about art. Благодарная. Because sometimes the emptiness is just killing.
Dec 12: Instant Karma in the air. The non-foul Dem wins deep red Alabama, which may no longer be a redneck state. and this weird item:
The blaze that swept through the hills of Bel-Air last week, destroying six homes and damaging a dozen others, was sparked by a cooking fire at a homeless encampment in a nearby ravine, Los Angeles officials said Tuesday.
Dec 31/Jan 1: Being up North (Happy New Year! С Новым Годом!) for the coldest of cold snaps my home has known in awhile, tells me I'm still a Northern girl. I love this weather, although the teens and single digits should only be taken in short bursts. I'm all for inside coziness. Screw humidity. Think I'm destined to come back.
Jan 14: Been trying to thoughtfully observe, analyze, and condense for future consumption my recent holiday with my family. On the short side, I'm recognizing my elderly parents are slipping somewhat, but desperate to keep it together --I'm guessing together they'll make it close to their 90s and my dad another decade beyond that.. My mother, who used to be the sweet, open-minded one, is now much more grouchy and quarrelsome, and (fate don't return this to me) seems to be losing her hearing (I'd rather die). My dad is same as before--maybe more mellow , trying to be somewhat logical, embarrassed that some of us know more about life than him, and afraid to ask for help. But, physically ok, still chopping down trees and cutting the lawn. Mom not so much--she won't even shop, and an excursion to the movies wore her out. I spent some time with my sister, since she's my last one, and maybe we're trying to get along better over the bougie gulf between us. She still suggested I cut my hair--the nerve--but bless my niece's heart that she chimed in and said,"I love Aunt Tracy's hair! That's your real color right?" But we went shopping and were better than we usually are--I let her ramble about her kitchen design job..And, she took me to a great thrift store, where we both kept choosing the same items. She's thinner and slightly taller than me, but more out of shape. Don't want to trade. One of her acquaintances, who didn't strike me as the flattering type ( I went shooting with her, ok?) kept saying, are you sure you're V's older sister?
Back home though, things were very strange. Ken was hardly communicating, went two weeks without texting his son! Only answered my most elemental texts. He claimed to our several requests that he go with us, that he didn't want to go with us in order to "take care of the cats, and rest" in his stupid chair.
No response to me saying "We made it," when we got to my parents'. Then finally I get one a day later, asking if we ever got to Alton, and that his mother was at our house. How? She drove her 78 year old ass from DC alone. Just all of a sudden, it was made to seem. I asked: "Why?" There was no clear response, plus he made it seem I'd never contacted him about getting to Alton--well, my text didn't literally say Alton, but come on.. It was especially weird because my mother-in-law's sister had just died, and she needed to go to the funeral. This was Dec. 24. Her husband didn't come with her. A few days later I saw a holiday picture of him in Philly with Ken's sister. (Ken's sister and mother don't get along, and the sister has gone so far as to ban her mother from visiting when she was in one of her deeply manic (and mean-spirited, says Mo) phases. Lyn and her husband also don't get along--a few years back he was contemplating leaving her, even at their age...who does get along with her? Her son, my husband. She treats him differently than anyone.
I got no response to my text "Merry Christmas." in the morning. Then finally, around 2p.m. I asked if he opened the box I'd given him and he said no, but he would now--then he posted a picture of himself in the expensive lambswool cardigan he'd asked for--with a stupid face. I asked him to open the Amazon package I'd ordered myself: a suitcase, and he showed me a picture of that. I asked if he liked the sweater, he said he loved it. Then I didn't hear from him for another day, when he was getting yet another tooth pulled, and then not for 4 more days. in the meantime, Joe had tried to call his Grandmother to wish her Merry Christmas, and she didn't answer. What Gma does that? Finally she called a day or so later, from the road, saying she'd already left, which was too bad, because Joe was going to ask how K was acting: sleeping, eating too much? Depressed? But, she was already gone so... sort of weird--all that 15 hour drive and only staying 3/4 days...
Then I got a message on the 30th that the car "broke". No explanation, and several hours with no answer. He had abandoned it on a street near my son's school, which is also quite near our house. I was worried he wasn't going to do anything about it. I had 5 days go by before he gave me a response about whether or not he'd taken it to the mechanics in our neighborhood, which we have used for 25 years. (He claimed he didn't see my message until Jan 4--then finally said it was at the mechanics. Now, for some reason, now that his mom was gone, the car out of commission, he was suddenly worried where we were. Are we in Atlanta yet?
We got home well after 1a.m. , he was asleep, and we just took what we needed from the car and went straight to bed. In the morning he was gone for his music lesson, and I took my first daylight look at the house, where his mother had visited....it was a wreck. The bathrooms looked so bad, they looked like they hadn't been cleaned in a month, full of mold, something like an old gas station bathroom. There was this huge stain under the oven on the kitchen floor. There was cat puke in two places, obviously had been there for more than a week. Old, moldy food in the fridge.
So I called Lyn, My m-i-law, in a demanding mood: what the hell had happened while I was gone? Why didn't she tell me she was coming? I told her the house was a wreck...apparently she knew it.. she made excuses for everything to save her favorite son. She claimed Ken knew she was coming: didn't he tell me? I said, no, not till you were already there, apparently. Why would this be a secret, and her leaving, too? I described what the house, the bathrooms looked like, and she defended Ken saying he had picked up the room she was staying in (sorta, he uses this for a closet, nowadays, and it's usually overflowing with his clothes, not put away. But I noticed all his junk, undusted for over 6 months, was still all over the dresser. Lovely for a guest. She tried to give me some sort of expert bullshit about cats' hairball vomit, as if I myself haven't lived with cats for 20 years. And know what fresh stuff looks like versus the old. And she admitted the bathrooms were a little "unseemly" was her word choice. (I'm pretty sure me, my mother, my sister, anyone in my family would have cleaned it up themselves rather than wallow in weeks of someone else's filth, but the Reilly's are a bit too good for such manual labor). The stain on the kitchen floor was some sort of accident Ken had had, doing something for me...
So, I tried to change the subject when she tried to make me equally to blame for the state of our house and all Ken's junk lying about..later, when she kept harping on this and blaming her husband for not disciplining Ken when he was young, I just got mad. But, in the meantime, I tried to ask how Ken had acted--how much did he sleep? Did he act weird or "out of it"? Did he go out at all, eat excessively? No, she thought he was wonderful, tried to go to the movies, didn't like what was playing, maybe he was a little quiet, and seemed to attribute all this to her ability to handle him much better than I do. Made her wonderful dinners! Great... I should point out the two of them are obsessed with food, talk about it for hours, praise each others' cooking and denigrate everyone else's. They talk about it on the phone, for god's sake, and both of them overeat. Lyn is the kind of person who eats off other people's plates (like Helen Keller), makes gross noises to prove how much she's enjoying it, Ken imitates her in this, and eats all the leftovers from others' plates while the dishes are being done. Wow, do I find that uncivilized. Even Joe regularly asks his father to stop making noises when he eats.
I told her I continue to be very worried about his mental state, the pills he's been taking for much too long. She launched into some sort of lecture about how I should be sympathetic and read up about mental illness, and how much she'd had to deal with it all her life-her sister, her nephew, blah, blah, blah. Oh crap, I almost forgot, it was in this self-pitying mood that she decided to reveal to me she has felt suicidal over the last few years! I never had heard this from anyone before. However, the motive for this revelation seemed intensely manipulative and self absorbed at the moment.
I reminded her I had a sister with mental illness ( I wish I'd reminded her it was ME that suggested reading Kay Jamison to HER!) . By this point I was just over this useless, self-flattering conversation, and said she was not helping things, that this was not what I needed. I threatened to hang up. I just couldn't listen to any of her egotistical self-agrandizement any more. Then Ken was suddenly home, and she was telling me how glad she was I had told her all about this, and she wished she'd known sooner (Bullshit: I've told her my concerns, especially the medication, many times in the past.) Finally I did just hang up on the self absorbed woman==couldn't take any more.
Oh, here's an interesting thing: as I'm talking to Lyn, and I see Ken coming in, trying to figure out who I'm talking to, with such heat, I hear him mutter to himself, when I said something about an invite: " I never was invited to nothing..." I later realized this was probably a lie he told his mother about why he didn't go to St. Louis with us. Uhh. I will cop to not strongly pushing the issue, not being particularly excited to have him come; my invitation was said very neutrally, which he could have felt, but he was DEFINITELY invited several times, and in Joe's presence, who would back me up that this was done. This probable lie is at the heart of our problems, and why I can't fully trust his perspective.
So, the good that came out of this was that I repeated something to Ken I hadn't said for awhile: that there was something wrong, that I was worried about his behavior, I thought he needed professional help, that Joe was worried too, and I had researched a doctor I wanted him to call. I was concerned about his use of a very strong anti-depressant, with only a GP's recommendation. I gave him the doctor's name, made him look at her website. I plan to e-mail it to him again after things have settled to reinforce this. He's been on his best behavior since we've been back, which has been somewhat eased by all the practical things we've needed to do together: pay for Joe's tuition, buy a new car, deal with getting rid of the old one, taking Joe to school, dealing with his flu. Two long trips to St. Leo's.
I also had a long talk with Ken's sister Mo, who basically reinforced all my creepy feelings about this visit, and how these two, mother and son, are not exactly the best for each other, enabling both their worst behaviors. Ken was always the favored child. (I'm amazed that she doesn't resent him more! She's a good one. And she likes Ken--they had good years together, even lived together after college).
Mo told me some awful stories about her kids with Gma, and one in particular about her middle-school aged daughter calling her in tears the last time she was left in Gma's care: apparently she has transmitted her negative feelings for her daughter to her granddaughter as well. I guess K was the "lucky" one who got all mom's good graces--but that's unhealthy too, of course--he can do no wrong and expects me and everyone else to worship him uncritically as his mother does. He's still defending her even now which is a bad sign.
See, she left me an expensive Christmas present--unbelievable--and typical of her manic buying impulses. It was this very expensive piece of jewelry, but with very little thought to the sort of thing I might like--this huge necklace looked like six big pieces of jagged white ice, edged in gold. She did, thoughtfully, leave me the receipt to exchange it for something smaller, admitting she knew I don't like big gaudy jewelry. So strange. I felt weird about rejecting such an expensive thing from a family member....
But then I remembered this long lecture she gave me, after I had made her a necklace myself years ago--and as soon as she looked at it she told me what she didn't like about it--that it was not symmetrical or something, and if it twisted around it wouldn't hang right, even if she did like the colors I'd put together for her. I gotta say, I was very hurt, and in spite of that, I offered to fix it to what she would like, but secretly thinking she was a bitch for not appreciating the hours I'd taken to make it for her. The least she could do is just say thank you, and leave it at that. I also secretly vowed to myself never to make her anything else, and I haven't. I've never seen her wear it, BTW.
At the time, I consoled myself with the thought that all of my husband's family were more objective-minded than emotional. But now, I see that's just veneer hiding some screwed up self-absorbed personal preferences. For example, she attributes good things I've done to Ken, as if he's the creative, motivated one. Mo says she does the same to her. I think Maureen's right about her--she is quite the narcissist. I'm pretty sure she actually bought this ice necklace for herself on her birthday, when this chi-chi store has some sort of discount birthday policy (the store told me it had given the purchaser some sort of birthday discount?) and she regifted it, sort of, to me, after some buyer's remorse, and after her attack of mania passed. I questioned the birthday discount with Ken, said I wonder if she bought it for herself? but his excuse for his mother was he knew she bought Xmas stuff all year long (??) Honestly, I can't see Lyn on her birthday suddenly deciding to go to some high end jewelers and buy something for me--that just seem out of her range of behavior. If she thinks she's above helping me do dishes in some sort of myopic stance on Feminism, insists on accompanying people to movies she doesn't like, people who clearly want to be alone, then ruins them by complaining about them for hours, I doubt she shares her birthday by buying Xmas presents for other people. Especially since she seemed to realize it wasn't my style...
What next? I need a lot to change, hoo boy. Time for me to have some self love.
Jan 16: So with that in mind, I took my ice necklace back to the fancy store in Hyde Park to exchange it for something I might actually like and wear. It was so expensive I was able to get two nice pieces, both among the most expensive pieces of jewelry I own. I got some abalone earrings that might be something you could wear at some formal hippie California party--big, and a little heavy for everyday wear, unfortunately. And a smaller, but still striking gold necklace with little amber (I kinda like amber) arrows pointing outward to look a bit sun-like, slightly Egyptian god or buddhist looking. Fits my bohemian style more. It has a really unique and nice fastener: part finely braided leather, part gold, and instead of the usual hook fastener it has this nice metal bar that slides, so you can instantly adjust the length, from choker to mid-breast length. It also is so well finished that you can wear it with the all gold backside showing. This is it, except with silver instead of gold--they didn't have the silver one at the store:
I was kinda hoping they had something that was Alexandrite, or looked like it, anyway, because it's my birthstone, rarer than diamonds, and awfully expensive. I've seen prices of $15,ooo to $50,000 for larger ones, not that I want a large one, or even a real one! They are hard to come by. One website puts it in the top 10 rarest stones (#7, to be exact, another puts it at #2 rarest)--along with a bunch of others I never heard of--except black opals (which aren't black, and sorta ugly, like 80's colored confetti). But it's one of the gemstones I really like--most seem too gaudy and sparkly. They are often cut in very flat, barely 3 dimensional shapes, not with a jillion sparkly facets like diamonds--I half think that is done to diamonds to hide their ordinariness. Alexandrites have this quality of completely changing color with the light or angle--from dark green to purple, usually, although there are ones with other colors. I guess that makes them the perfect Gemini stone. Oh, wow, I just found out--they come from Russia--how can that be????
My other birthstone is moonstone, and that's cool too, and I don't have one of those either!
My wedding ring(s) are the only other piece of jewelry I have that are this expensive--well one is K's grandmother's from Poland, with small square flat diamonds, and I like it. My wedding band is heavy platinum or white gold (can't remember which), with leaves and berries etched into it--I've seen nothing like it-looks sorta antique, but it isn't--Ken's doesn't match.. I also have a pair of pretty expensive Russian earrings I indulged in in a weak moment--I bought them at a DC craft fair, and they have this very cool black, brown and green layered stone, kinda agat-y looking--with beautiful silver settings. They are my favorites even over these expensive ones. All my other jewelry is either cheap stuff, just above cheap stuff, or stuff I made or my sister made me.
Jan 26: I've been meaning to add this factoid to my worry about K's medication. Besides the fact that JR took the same thing for a few months to help him wean off heroin without getting depressed--they made him gradually stop using it because it's addictive. It was recently revealed that Tom Petty died from an accidental overdose of some opioid painkiller, oxycodone-like, and--you guessed it, K's anti-depression medication. He apparently was playing on stage with a broken hip, and overdid it on his last show. Wow, talk about going out with a bang.
So, there's supposed to be this thing called give and take--it's what relationships are built on. I feel like I've certainly done my share of giving. I had this ridiculous conversation tonight with my um, live-in. See I accompanied him to his obligation to see his students' god-awful performance full of public school, love-yourself-for yourself hippie artsy-fartsy bullshit. So, when I said, yeah, too bad you'd never bother to come to one of mine (and he hasn't, for ten years, even when Joe came, even when Joe liked it so much he wanted a T-shirt from the show...)
He says: I wasn't invited. Bull-f*cking-shit. I suppose I need to slobber on his ring to tell him how bad I want him to come. Asking once is not enough, I need to beg, make him feel special, wanted, 4-5 times, like his mama. And after umpteenth rejections, I'm just supposed to keep asking, like a little poppet. I can't fake emotions, particularly happiness. And I know I'd have a better time alone. Drive myself-listen to my music without thinking about it-(ooh, he did let me listen to my music too! Or let me pick). Like I said, he's trying.
However, from my point of view he seems to think he's an imperious, flawless god, he needs over- the- top laudation. Or at least that's what he expects from himself,flawlessness, which is ridiculous. Because, be honest, who is this about? Because it's all about his tender feelings, not mine: mine don't count.
Nope, sorry. Since I get no reciprocity from it, I don't think so--that is the point at which my own soul begins to be sucked from me. According to him, it's my job to deliver the emotional payload. But I can't, to an empty thing.
Jan 29: So, it seems K is trying to make an effort. He went to the movies with me, a so-called "girl movie"--Phantom Thread. Really, ever since I've come back from Christmas, I've seen a little bit of effort. He did have to have an hour nap to rest up for a "late" 6:50pm movie. He was decently lively, bought himself a burger and other snacks. Oddly, the movie had heavy parallels to our relationship. Daniel Day Lewis' character was a very control needing guy, probably more artistic than K, because he was supposed to be a famous (fictitious) fashion designer from the 50s. That was the girly part, plus that the movie was largely about relationships.
He initially seems to choose her for very mathematical reasons: her measurements that fit his design style. Part of the story is he forces her to more or less disappear--she's not allowed to express her own style of clothes, is reprimanded for buttering her toast too loudly..
He also had a rather obsessive sense of his mother, who was dead, and her invisible presence continued to interfere with his relationships with other women in the story. I think K suspected I knew more about the plot than I did--I had purposely avoided media spoilers, which has become my habit when I'm really interested in the movie. The fact is, I was as surprised as K that the movie spoke so much about our relationship. The lack of emotional connection on his part, her attempt to bring it out. There was a scene where she tries to make a romantic dinner for him, and he responds in a completely negative way, because it destroys all the routines and habits he likes--it's a heart breaking scene for me. She goes to a dance alone, because he refuses to go. So much like my life with K, and I bet he felt it too.
However, there's this weird fairy-tale element where the girlfriend/companion/wife (she's all these at some parts of the story) actually poisons him to make him sick so he needs her and becomes "tender" as she says--it's the catalyst for their marriage. That is not like us; because it is not what I want--I would not see that as victory. And I cannot curtail my own expressions of emotion and the lifestyle I want to live, and as i said, I cannot be a bottomless well of emotional support. I feel like my own emotions are constantly contained under glass, and I'm done keeping them in.
Ken actually asked me afterwards, trying to sound nonchalant, why did I want to see this movie? Again I think he was digging for me to supply the emotional context and cross the line to him. I told the truth--I didn't know about the relationship in the movie and was surprised. I suppose I should have added--remember, I was planning to go alone, as usual, not send you a lesson, but I guess he could figure that out. His takeaway--"I really like the guy's suits--I'm gonna get me some clothes like that." Later in the weekend, he went with me to International Mall where I had promised to meet Joe to bring him some things. He reiterated about the clothes, and asked me about my Vintage Clothes sources: La France, Art Pool. Of course he took advantage of being at the high end mall by purchasing yet another expensive kitchen gismo..that's about $400 he's spent this month on the kitchen.
He was sort of tone deaf about Joe's 'friend who is a girl" who is painfully shy and didn't want to go out to dinner with us...he kept demanding her phone number from Joe, and Joe stood up to him and didn't give it to him--the "need to know" message.
Feb 28 (not leap year):
It has entered my consciousness that someone I live with has not renewed his Soma prescription. Great! He already seems better, but still doing the high pitched annoying voice. I'm still not doing dinner on his schedule, which is some sort of miracle for me. He made some sort of weird proposal to me about this summer that involved actually acquiescing to my parents' plans for yet another celebration of their anniversary (what is with this? I barely acknowledge mine, let alone dragging countless others into the mix..) I think it's 60th now, but I sorta like their idea to go to the lovely and iconic Chase Park Plaza, with a beautiful movie theatre, in Downton St. Louis--separate! rooms for all...
The catch is he wants to go to Maryland after. By himself? But a problem! The crazy in-laws are going on a summer cruise! I wouldn't mind going to DC, if only to do my own thing and finally meet my online bud, Marc. See some cool free museums, etc. The real trouble is, how do I get to Cali after all that?
Feeling better today, more than yesterday--why? Yesterday I was jonesing for solace, entertainment, withdrawing from my long fantasy ride in Californication. I tried DD's new show, Aquarius, which is a fictionalized account of stuff about Charlie Manson..seems like I would like it but the vibe is too dark (in a bad way, like nonemotional? Good dark need some emotion). It seems to be trying to tap into that dark vein of the late 60's when hippiness became self-absorbed, a real thing, I admit, but this seems to take that too far. Predatory. But, what else do you do with a story about Manson? BTW, the guy playing him is too cute, too clean-cut, not sinister enough. And mostly, the eyes aren't right. I doubt I'll watch anymore--it's too clinical. What picked me up? Some stupid show abot making the perfect pizza. I am not really a pizza fan--the common kinds actually make me physically sick. But a well made pizza, done the traditional way, with thin crust, minimal homemade sauce, minimal good cheese!? Yes. Chicago can throw that deep-dish shit straight in the dumpster.
Really I'm lying, because I'm most happy that all my contacts are lining up: music teachers and musicians and music lovers. I think it shows a promising future. But my envy is what is really in overdrive, wishing I was in LA. watching a member of мой любымы группы --Агата Кристи. Goddamn it, I want.... but now that's a good awakening--to want.
Mar 27: I was wrong about the Soma pills--they're ba-aa-ck...
But, still positive--new doctor, new evaluations. Maybe she'll convince him. He's getting a whole panel of bloodwork--which I hope includes a blood sugar and cholesterol check--I can't imagine, with his diet--which has gotten worse--that those numbers will be good. And finally a colonoscopy he's put off for 4+ years. Still sleeps a lot, but making an effort to be more active. Cleaning up some. Gardening a bit. We went to Ybor to Vintage shop, and he took the light coat I suggested, his idea to shop, but at least it's something I like too. And to put a point on it, I bought two totally superfluous but cool pairs of cheap but sturdy sunglasses, even though I haven't lost or broken my main pair in several years--they're kinda too much tho, for some of my outfits. So I got some caramel colored, tigerstriped nice knockoff Ray-bans of my usual style, with super dark lenses. and a pair of pearl grey Kurt Cobain bug-eyed glasses that I've been wearing the most lately--never had that style before--very fun. Also bought a nice, lightweight odd=printed purple/blue, gold and white Florida sweater--looks a little Jewish princess/Versace, but still cool, to me. I am not about to be left behind anymore on the shopping sprees--wurd to yo mutha.
April 20: Hitler's birthday, my cat's birthday, more gun protests, Columbine, pot smoker's day--the good, bad and ugly. Totally reflective of my bipolar weeks of ups and downs--which all began on Friday the 13th, and went downhill from there. And then up a good bit today ! Yin-Yang.
First, last week 3 of my good Russian kids were unfairly kicked out of school--most A students, two doing AP classes in a non-native languages! (English, that is--their first being of course Russian). There were varying reasons, one very stupidly being an administrator seeing one of them, at least, smoking off campus out in the real world ( a local grocery store parking lot). Now the smart teachers/admins at our school know better than to catch kids outside of their jurisdiction, but not these new guys (who I don't really get on with much) are the type to go in for the kill. I should have known earlier in the year when they called them "The Russian Mafia" and told me if I was going to sponsor a Russian club I need to watch out. The point here may be that Russian kids seem to act quite a bit more mature (and unfortunately worldliwise) than Americans. Tossing them --paying customers, good students who don't cause any problem in class or the dorms, just seems like unnecessary intrusion to me.
Then I got my contract, with a return lecture about my classroom management--even though I took a phone away from a kid during class, I was dinged because the observer saw another kid's phone and some dorm kid who sleeps everywhere with his head down. Again, aggressively seeking the negative. Never mind that I myself was walking through the class trying to get everyone excited about Romeo and Juliet!! I have already written a letter to my evaluator disputing the harsh critique of things that happen everywhere on our campus and could possibly be handled with a universal policy, and better dorm supervision....
But then my friend Leo published his podcast interview with me, which I've been both anticipating and dreading...but he made it sound great. I was afraid I giggled too much, either he edited it well enough, or it wasn't as bad as my imagination envisioned. A weird thing--my laugh sounds quite similar to my dead sister Tina's! A laugh I truly miss--she was so infectious.
May 10: So, one of my Russian kids got "allowed" back... he told me, after spending a month in Miami in a hotel, (and his dad brought a lawyer from Latvia) when he talked to the Super Head, he said (strangely) "I have no record of you being expelled." So he came back. Commandant is now, surprisingly, his best friend. Another kid, who did exactly the same thing as him, never got asked to leave in the first place, and never missed a day of my class. That's Маленький..9th grade and baby-faced, although he's got more steel balls than a pinball machine. I took them all out to dinner last night for the 9th of May defeat of Hitler celebration--we can all celebrate that, Да? And found my little ironic smart-asses to be surprisingly traditional, holding hands for a blessing before eating, and doing a moment of silence for the sacrifice of the dead/veterans of the Great Patriotic War. If anyone ever wanted to question the allegiance of Latvians/Ukrainians, etc to Mother Russia, they needed to witness these thrice removed generationals doing this. It was very sweet.
I know they have special feelings for me, and it's all I can do to whip them back into shape during study hall and class to treat them like the rest. But I'm still pissed about how the stupid AFA new Brotherhood has treated them. What a bunch of cowardly, dickless autocrats. Stefaniya today showed me two e-mails. She's been lobbying to get out before exams because she hates the place, but is being stoic, in her way, after the decimation of her Товаришей...To her face the Bossman said, no way, you need to do what you're told. But when Mama called, he was more mellow, and said "We'll see what we can do." The difference was not lost on either mother or dochb. (Or me--Stef immediately showed me the text that was sent. She knows a good adult from a bad one.) I can't stomach kissing up to these idiots like I see Panuthos and Robelino doing...it's gross. Maybe I need my job less than them, but still. I really hate adults who have the condescending attitude with kids to treat them disrespectfully, as if they are not conscious human beings who can think and understand when something is not right. It's a symptom of their (the bureaucrats) own insecurities, that they need to control any given dynamic, at the expense of honesty.
Like I noticed, they've been padding the study hall list, to maintain superiority and an iron hand. Instead of saying--congrats, kids, more of you are in the black, not failing! Way to go, you deserve a break! It seems like they are unwilling to let go of the iron fist. I put up this notice on my door to give admin an image of super compliancy to the iron fist methodology. Mandated a seating chart, and an explicit "No Cell phones for the historically noncompliant." Well, it possibly had some effect cos I've had no Admin visitations during SH this week, which hasn't been the case in the past. Maybe they're busy and tired. Maybe they are finally accepting I'm in control, and they needed written reassurance. I doubt they are as worn out as me-they rarely put in my hours. (But are back for free dinner!!)
But, what I really need to think about, is how to redirect myself into more creative thinking again. Once all this is done.
June 8, 2018: It's an all- work summer, while you-know-who does what he likes, once again. We have to finish certain renovations on our house, per our insurance company. Finishing the ceiling in the pantry, covering up some electric work, re-landscaping, and, the biggest headache of all, exterior painting. We had vaguely planned to start working on all this after Joe graduated (he has) but K's been in such a funk for so many years, I didn't even want to bring it up, to put more pressure on him. He doesn't handle my requests to have work done very well--generally he just refuses on some sort of principle that I didn't ask him the right way. Why I have to be the one to ask to have our mutually-owned house up-kept in the first place is another can of worms.
To be fair, K at least got the ball rolling, even if he didn't tell me what was going on, until we had to have an inspection and he needed me to sign off on the line of credit we needed. That's not nothing, but then, when all the actual work needed to start happening, he very conveniently had already decided to go visit his mother for two weeks when all the worst part was happening. I was sort of deciding to let everything be done by people we hired, but this house really doesn't stand for that. I realized our yard was so far gone that we'd have to do some trimming just so our tree buddy John could get to the big stuff--everything had to go around the house so we could paint--no way I could do that alone.
So, Joe and I went out and got some new, good cutters that could handle decent sized branches, and we started wacking away at it. We had already done the street edge a few weeks back by ourselves because the city wanted the sidewalk more cleared. Even that bit we did made the place look so much better, I kinda got inspired some. One big job was cutting back a big hedge that was overgrowing our sidewalk to the front door we never used (which needs replacing). Once John cut down the big stuff, we decided instead of hauling the whole mess to the dump at a price, we'd just leave the piles in the alley and gradually fill up the dumpsters as we go--we've already got rid of two loads. But that's my biggest chore right now--been cutting it all small enough to dump
The best thing that happened for me was--he cut every, freakin' piece of the bamboo I hate. Now Joe and I are thinking of a plan to systematically pour hot water on the roots to hopefully kill them for good. We still have the nice, giant bamboo in the front. But this stuff never grew right and wasn't at all pretty--we even killed some of it at first, but the ugliest survived and then took over, even though it's not the runner type. Once we got rid of that and a lot of the trash trees that had grown against the house, everything looked a lot more sane, less Miss Havisham-y or Goth. Cos, believe me...
Some cool things came about from this--one, I could see the bones of the garden I had designed 10 years ago, which inspired me to keep cutting and pulling the horrible vines that had taken over (Goth, indeed). One thing I didn't pull which was the best of all--this viney, night blooming cereus cactus had climbed up to my second floor, and with all the Trash trees gone I could see, after all these years, it had like ten giant blossoms framing one of my bedroom windows--and, a minor miracle of timing--it looked like they were gonna bloom that night! And they did, and they were spectacular, especially climbing up to the 2nd floor and around the window, I couldn't have done it better intentionally. Other people were posting theirs blooming, on FB--even Dick! But the way most people grow them is on a trellis or chain link fence or up a tree, which looks kinda strange, even if they had tons more blossoms than me.
I've been working on this yard clearing project for something like 9 days in a row now. And things are starting to shape up; I even pulled out my tropical gardening book to get some inspiration from Bali or somewhere. Today I cleared out a big patch of the side yard that we have neglected ever since our old lemon tree fell over and died--BTW I found a shoot growing up where it once was, so that might be interesting --I've been wanting to get some sort of arched trellis for the muscadine grapes that have now really taken off --with no fuss from me, even thought the expensive ones I planted all died (I think). Location? These just came up from muscadine pits I threw in the yard 10 years ago.
There are tons of grapes right now, and all our mango trees are bearing rather heavily this year, after several so-so years. I busted up this Bamboo chair that has been slowly falling apart--it was never comfortable--too boxy--so I have all that super giant bamboo timber to do something with. I eyeballed the spot and picked out several ornamental volunteers that had sprung up but weren't in a good place--so hard for me to do, but I'm getting more ruthless. I kept picturing some sort of red cut-out brick wall in the corner, but settled in the meantime for this odd metal frame I've had rusting away under the side patio looking like junk. Looks better as a frame in the corner, and I repositioned this old makeshift bench we have had forever next to it to make a little shabby vignette. I might paint it red or plant some flowers there--god knows our soil must be quite improved from the sand we once had, what with all the organic matter we have all over the place. LATER-planted gaillardias (those big red and yellow striped "weeds" you used to see in vacant lots--rarely see those anymore except for sale?) and the best! Some purple coneflowers with nice raised orange centers that are doing really, really well next to my little frame. Been spreading the Gaillardia seeds as their flowers drop--hope they spread! Also repositioned some of the heliconias that were struggling or out of bounds from under the mango that once was small enough for them to get some sun. If they do well in the new spot I might transplant them all. Plumeria's been blooming in that area (one branch only, for 2-3 weeks--finally know its color: white with yellow center.
Looking for the right shade plant(s) to fill up the rest of that fence boarder--have a few walking Irises, but think they'd do better in more sun?
Now inside we have other problems--plumbing. An old pipe on the 2nd floor has been slowly leaking for years. That has kept us from finishing the pantry ceiling, and finishing the pantry, actually. A plan has been in place for years--we even have some of the major material in the garage, and Brian had already made the cuts for the antique door frame--that we bought years ago. There's a wall that's been dropping, and major problems with replacing old iron and lead pipes--the worry being we'd have to tear up the entire original bathroom upstairs to do this all right. But Brian is a construction genius-- he's worked it out so he can make a plumbing part that doesn't exist to do the job right, so that we don't have to lose the bathtub-- a 1920's old cast iron thing which would have been a nightmare to remove! And what to replace it with? We can't have a shower there because there's a window. It would be totally ugly unless we had some major cash. so, He has a workaround, but it took three grueling days of unknown stress about what would happen. I hope this works.
JUN 26: It did! Like I said, Brian is a building genius. I have a weird feeling that we have sorta bonded during this time of making decisions w/o K in our way, and, not an unusual feeling, it was a bit of a bummer when his depressed self returned. In the meantime, I had probably filled up and had removed, maybe 12 dumpsters of yard debris, plus, I kept cutting! I spread some of the bigger trunks around the yard for edging, just to get them out of the way and make them useful somewhere. Pulled up guitar neck width Virginia creeper roots--hate that stuff now, because it makes you itch temporarily, like Poison Ivy--it's not all gone, but I put a serious dent in it. Also found all the DIY concrete circles I'd made and brought them to the surface again. My garden has its bones back!
I have a new, retro, and inexpensive, tile floor in my 2nd floor bathroom, due to a little quick research and deciding, without looking back--years of gross, unwashable, rust crumbled, 1920's porcelain bathroom floor destroyed! And no regrets, coyote, for historic authenticity. Also, wall tiles that have been falling, miraculously restored and replaced, no cost, ('cept labor). So happy about this, I scrubbed and lime blasted that old 1920's sink until it looked *(sorta?) * good as new--or at least, pleasantly retro/authentic funky. Tub next. Brian needs to finish the corner behind the tub and trim for us to have perfection, and we need to replace the curtain support, too.
I'm almost finished with a little bamboo arbor I designed out of some of the cut bamboo, just to be rid of maybe 10 big stalks--I was gonna just buy a metal one, for the grape vines, but one day I though of the dual profit, less debris and free arbor, and just started digging out some of the straighter pieces John had cut. I cut all the surplus canes off the main trunk, and started thinking how I could make a decently stable design to make a simple arbor. I made two ladders, basically, with the bottoms more than 4 feet wide to distribute the weight and make it balanced--plus making sure the canes I used had big enough hollows to put some rebar in, to anchor to the ground. I measured two sets of pieces--6 eight footers for the sides of the ladder, and the "rungs " graduated from 52" to 30"--got Ken to cut them with the new sawz-all I insisted we needed, and Brian lent me his screw gun--voila! two bamboo ladders with a middle leg for added stability. So all I have to do, to finish them, is screw some cross pieces on the top to put the two ladders together, which will frame where the brick sidewalk starts, and which serendipitously happens to be where my muscadine wilding grapes are growing abundantly.
After I saw the potential of this new little alcove, before I started the trellis, Joe and I went out and bought something I've kinda wanted for years anyway, old girl scout camper that I am. A fire pit. We just bought one of those ready made metal things you can get at Home Depot, and started burning some of our driest excess plant debris--very satisfying to see it go up in 25 minutes' time, no waiting for the junk man, even if it's in our warm season. Only one night was a little bad, while Joe was gone, because I got a little ambitious and tried to burn a second pile, which meant I had to open the mesh cover. I ended up with as burnt forearm, and spent 25 minutes too long in unbearable heat, without recourse to using the nearby hose to douse it and go safely back inside--because the spigot was frozen from disuse.
Later in the week, Joe unfroze the hose spigot, and it works fine now--I have even used it to water a few flowering drought tolerant plants I couldn't resist buying to make that little corner prettier and more organized--The Gallardia (blanket flower, with its crazy combination of zig-zag red and yellow, and purple coneflower--the improved weed with the spectacular sunset orange, spiked quills to offset its purple petals--looks wonderful with backlighting and are thriving. Now I'm sorta psyched to have a more inspiring garden back there.
Next, I tackled Ken's patio container garden, so over-run with rubber tree roots, some of the pots couldn't stand upright for all the overgrowth. I started by cutting back the obnoxious stuff along the chain link fence--volunteer oaks and camphor saplings--you couldn't even get near the fence. but once I got it relatively tamed I realized a few things--first, all 3 of the expensive muscadine varieties I'd planted were alive and well, not dead like I assumed, just so thirsty for sun they were growing up in the canopy of my neighbor's volunteer trees, well out of the reach of harvesting. No wonder I see so many birds--blue jays and cardinals and doves--hanging out on the fence line--they are eating the grapes I planted!
I also realized the culinary ginger I'd planted on a whim (from a store-bought root) had also survived without any attention at all--there were maybe 3 shoots growing between the fence and patio--how will they do now that I discovered them and might actually water them occasionally! Ken had a pretty nice herb container garden (thyme, parsley, a big pot of rosemary, sage--haha--parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme!! Did he do that on purpose? Nah, he had basil too.) But it looked like chaos with all the leaf debris, trash, and rubber tree roots. So I asked him if it would bother him if I cut back the roots, maybe some of the stems, too, so we could clean up the patio some. He agreed, and even participated. So, I took all the overturned pots and ruthlessly cut off all the excess roots--they were coming out the bottom of pots, going over the sides a la Banyan trees--scary!! Even into other plants' pots! The plants that will take over the world!! I wanted one specimen (shhh, John got rid of the 3rd!!) on each side of the patio door, but tamed. I was ruthless with the roots, but more gingerly with the unwieldy, top-heavy branches, until K came out on the patio and just plain decapitated the biggest one, so that it had no leaves at all!
What? I was a little worried, until I read up, after the fact, that he didn't kill it (Honestly, I don't care--I'm not a fan of these monsters, but his mother "saved" them from cuttings she took off this landlubber, prehistoric monster we agreed with our neighbor to get rid of--why my M-I-L decided she needed to save it--she's obviously not a Floridian, not understanding the wiles of our jungle plants..K of course, can't say no to his mother and her whims. Don't get me started about how upset she is that we "let" this mangy old lemon tree in our side yard die, and how proud she is of keeping virtual weeds from our yard alive for a year...
Anyway, I am now rather proud of how sane, and pretty! 1/3rd of our patio now looks with the leaves swept up, the roots gone, the containers organized symmetrically, the volunteer trees now making merely pleasant overhang..The rest will be cleaned up once it stops being Brian's renovation killing field of power tools and rehab debris. Oh, I also decided the Hawaiian, red-flowering poinciana tree we got free, from a neighbor's seedling, shouldn't, after all, languish in the hell-strip like we originally planned, but should enhance our patio as a door yard specimen. I think I'm beginning to think more like an Italian.
The pantry ceiling is now done in tongue and groove wood, air-conditioning duct too, and all-broken- through- to the front bedroom still in minor chaos, even if it is now as cool as the rest of the house... The walls of the pantry are drywalled, so there is no longer the tyranny of spider webs, roach and rat detritus, and just plain dust! reigning over our lives--I can breathe. I feel less oppressed. I may not even hate this old house so much. The roof is likewise getting fixed--repairing the unseen damage most likely from Hurricane Irma.
Down the ominous road is prep and exterior painting--probably a earthen jug brownish clay with bright green trim to evoke my homeland that I long for, Toscana... with my grapevines preceding...
Still have a pile of bamboo out back. Ken said he'd tame it with the sawz all. Will be pushing that...
July 11: I feel on one hand like a horrible, elitist person...but my mood can be completely swayed by my environment. Beauty makes me happy. I always knew this about myself: it's why I couldn't stand a four-walled, concrete block apartment without paint. I need aesthetics or I feel I cannot breathe.
Presently, my environment is improving, after years of neglect, and I suppose it mitigates my sense of being a snob (for needing a edenic paradise) to recognize I've done a large block of the manual labor myself: cutting back the jungle, building structures with garden waste and power tools, (5 weeks worth of work--plus replanting!), making difficult decisions and praying about plumbing, cleaning up, donating, and throwing out, no longer stymied by my husband's rules; in fact, coercing and charming my reluctant and self-absorbed hub into cutting down trees I can't handle myself....(learning he is possible to charm...) Having a vision. Planting small patches of paradise. Getting a grip on the big picture I once lacked, or at least, filling out the bones of the skeleton I laid in the past. It's actually starting to look even better than I imagined then? And of course, not according to plan, as Mother Nature would have it.
I can't abide ugly, incongruous edges. Empty blank spaces, boring colors, lack of contrast. It broke me when the electricians told me they would have to put ugly, practical, clunky conduit on the outside of my 100 year old, supposed Italian Mediterranean walls if I was going to have electricity, air conditioning, ecc., ecc. Booooooo. You ruined my house. My romance. So, I'm hoping this new paint job will hide it some--which looks more and more, like I'm going to do a big amount by myself. So be it. I am strong and insane--good combination for this!
For inspiration , I have been watching architectural shows about crazy houses and gardens that are well beyond my abilities. People building houses in caves. Restoring 500 year old barns and cow sheds as houses. Building on eroding cliffs. On river flood plains. All seriously beautiful, bellissimo. But my house is going to try to look like Toscana. That's all. Not so ridiculous in comparison, considering what I have to start with.
I just want my stupid ruined fireplace to work when it's cold (the 3 weeks it's actually cold enough in FL). And, kill all mosquitoes in my garden!! GRrrr.
July 14, 2018: Ok, so my house is starting to feel in my control again. K's been working on cutting back the umbrella trees that have been causing roof damage. Most of the interior work has been done, with a few details to finish, and Brian's been working on the exterior stuff--I think he's finished with the roof damage--and repaired and repainted the decorative stucco parapets. Now he's working on the damaged soffits under the roofline, and that weird little porch that we now use for storage, that once was open--I would love to restore it to its original state, but Brian said that would be very costly. Fueling my desire for this, unfortunately, he uncovered some decorative, Japanese style rafters that had been hidden in some stupid rehab...any way to keep them even partially exposed???????
Anxious for the painting to commence--Brian's going to repair his pressure washer to get off the loose stuff.
Gonna use my new loppers to get rid of some of the cherry laurel suckers around the big dead trunk in the hellstrip. The hellstrip itself now is so chock full of no-care plants, I do not have to weed it as continually as I once did--yay. But the neighbors can't see in, as K likes:/ My campaign against the ugly backyard bamboo is in progress--6 mil black plastic to kill the shoots. I cheated and looked : there are shoots spouting up, but they don't look too healthy without sun. These Things Take Time...
Repositioned several trellises under my kitchen window to tame the bleeding heart I long ago took from my old garden from Crescent Lake. It looks pretty good, as long as I keep it trimmed, and is still flowering. I flanked it with some cramped Crinum lilies from the other side, which for some reason didn't bloom this year. I have some other sort of unknown lilies over there by the air conditioning unit that have never bloomed once--suspect they need tons of water. Also noticed I have quite a patch of rain lilies spreading there w/o care! If I was going to go full bougie, I guess I should make some sort of screens to hide the air-conditioning units, electric boxes, and conduit on those walls...
How am I feeling? In general, much better, since there has been movement all around me. I feel less stagnant. K's been working on his eating habits, even his behavior somewhat--I think he is finally admitting to himself, if not us, that he's been in a pretty unhealthy state for quite awhile. Joe's working on an adult job: had 3 + interviews with the same company and is waiting for the big news. He's been doing his favorite summer job at his college in the meantime, and we're waiting for that to get sorted before we get the final plans together to go to St. Louis for my parents' 60th anniversary thing--if Joe can go.. K's not. We'll (or I'll) probably drive and I'm looking forward to it.
Even school's looking up, since someone decided to treat me like a professional (not my immediate, grudge holding boss, but..) and has solicited my opinion and participation in professional development for the ESOL/International kids. Also, I have been in contact with a St. Pete arts group that will probably mean our participation in a city-wide Arts festival (Shakespeare-themed this year!) and in the works is a downtown venue in a museum if our building isn't ready by February, when the festival is happening. It should mean some good exposure for some of my kids to the professional performing and arts groups in our area!
Joined the gym, too--knees feeling stronger, dropped a few pounds--would like 5-10 more. Ken and I even went to a play at the really cool Palladium last night--the Musical version of School of Rock that old Jack Black thing, that is a secret silly pleasure of mine--it was well done with a lot of local kid talent, and the lead Dewey character was sufficiently demented and energetic like the original to carry the whole thing off decently. The only thing off was the sound mix: sometimes the good vocals and kids instruments couldn't be heard. Also, the constant set-changing was a bit annoying and added too much time to the play--almost 3 hours!! But, cute, overall--and dare I say, inspiring...
Aug 12, 2018: Mental health check, check, testing, one,two...
Going home is always a big, red flag marker. Good news: my parents seem to be holding onto doing pretty well. My mom's greatly slowing down physically, can't walk very far, but the important thing is she seems sharp mentally (Fingers crossed!!) Dad seems to be the same as always, one part ball of energy, one part obsessive pain in the ass. What showed me that my mom's hanging on mentally is the pretty long discussion we had about Sister Vic, who seems to be losing it, and not in the heartbreaking, sweet way of my dead sister Tina--who was super annoying but loveable. Vic is annoying and vindictive.
Vickster--one of her last comments on FB to me was to object to me calling her that because a male we had a dispute about--MY long-term friend and eventual sometime love interest Dan, who she had a brief two week thing with before he realized how insipid she is...(for the record, I knew this guy for 3 years before she ever even met him, which she did thru me!!) But somehow she carries this very long term, stupid grudge through two marriages (for both of us!) that I stole him...never mind the fact that I've pointed out that there was a large gap, My relationship with him was several years long vs . her two weeks, that I was alone without family during a divorce of insanely mean-spirited proportions. That he's a pretty messed up, faithless jerk that we were both lucky to lose--but she's still angry and suspicious at me about this. Anyway, Dan once called her Vickster, so my very unhumorous sister finds something awful and suspicious in me calling her this, too. (I swear remembering our brother Jay calling her this?) Who knows if he got it from me or vice-versa, but wholey-shit, how thin skinned can you get--this was 30 years ago.
She doesn't like variations on her name anyway, due to her lack of humour, even though most of the ones the family calls her are benign. I do have two meanies for her: Queen Victoria, and Dear Abby--but never called her Q to her face (just for my own pressure relief from her bossiness), and maybe called her Dear Abby or Ann Landers only once or twice, when she was getting in my face too much about something, as she does daily : "You should....1) do you hair differently 2) wear these kinds of clothes 3) cut this bush like that 4) use this product to improve your house 5) decorate with this color instead of that color 6) buy this furniture 7) eat like this 8) go to this restaurant. 9) apply for this job, use these networking options...and when you tell her no thanks, she just keeps going, as if she didn't hear what you said. Plus, sine she herself has been out of work for the last 20 years, her supposedly helpful advice usually isn't very helpful or correct.
When I told her I was almost done redoing my bathroom, she kept suggesting all these great tiles, flooring, etc., they have at Lowe's where she just got fired, and kept adding to the heap of ideas even when I said I already got some black and white Datiles for the great price of $42 total, AND they are already installed--then she was on about how I could replace my old 1920s bathtub with a shower, which one, blah, blah, after I just said it was the last thing I wanted to do, nearly impossible given the layout of the room, and because it would increase the budget of my project by 10X. Mostly she doesn't listen and just likes to hear herself talk.
BTW, this is the very big difference between my sisters--Tina laughed about everything, and I was very grateful to hear myself on the interview I did with my buddy Leo--my laugh sounds very much like hers. Vickster? I don't know what her laugh sounds like cos she never does that...
Anyway, I thought maybe the following was progress, because she confessed she was going to therapy, paid for by her employer Lowe's--and mom told me that would soon end because she was getting fired. She told me too. Both of them seem in some sort of denial about why this is happening, but her passive-aggressive self must be awful to work with. She's a typical La-vickster bundle of energy searching for outlets, so she does go above and beyond for other people sometimes, until they realize she NEEDS to do this to validate herself. She epically has no perspective on anything.
My mother advised her, with Tina as reference, to not go the Soma route.
This is the third job she's been fired from in about 4 years, which was the first time she tried to work since trying to get pregnant with her now teenage kids. Her new insight into herself is that she has ADHD, which may be true, but in some ways is off-target from what's really wrong. Basically, to me she ruined my parents 60th anniversary thing, for me and some of my kin, which was terribly ill-conceived in the first place.
I can't help thinking Vic had a hand in the Bridezilla edition of this celebration anyway, which my father, in all his narcissistic glory, is highly susceptible to being prodded to reinforce. On the other hand, my sister's issues makes my dad look mild in comparison.
Ok, so the original idea--10 years ago! (this after we all had to use up our vacation time to "celebrate" by renting a house together in Breckinridge, Colorado 10 years ago for their 50th--how many anniversaries are the poor relations supposed to blow on these self-absorbed people? It was the most expensive vacation I'd ever taken with my immediate family, and prompted my hub to vow to never get on a plane again...My family is not fun to share lodging with..., and....sister Tina didn't go, knowing it would be too much for her fragile mind, which sister Vic would not let die..my first retrospective proof of what a total unfeeling bitch Vic can be...all she did was complain, for hours! about what a horrible person Tina was for not coming to make a fuss over my spoiled, baby-boomer parents, even though she was practically Joey Ramone level sedated on 42 drugs. You cannot insist on compassion with this other one. Okay, cut her a break that her husband committed suicide, and that the downward spiral started there. The denial, she never dealt with this properly....she pretends always that everything is fine, her house is beautiful, but her kids, husband, yes, and sadly, her siblings pretty much can't stand to be a minute in her passive aggressive company. You think the Heathers were mean girls? You should check out my sorority sister, who always chose the most well appointed, back-biting and high ranking friends.
So Vic's new wrath, because it fuels her sense of self like rocket fuel, was (since Tina was safely dead and untouchable) , that it was brother Jay who was not going to come up to snuff family-wise for this celebration--he would drag his feet and "Disrespect" my parents by being late to every planned event (which, BTW, was so disorganized that it had no actual schedule anyway, regardless of Vic's insistence we stick to its nonexistence)--I got called on the carpet for this as well, plus all my bloods...
Ah, FU Vickster.
Ok, so the original idea....was that we were going to go to the Chase Park Plaza Hotel, next to the Arch, to spend a night where the 'rents spent their honeymoon, then go to a Cardinal game the next day. Dad would pay for the hotel, we would have a nice dinner together, which I was expecting to pay my share for, plus my travel and lodging to get there. In all this denying the Colorado disaster, which Vic and her husband organized to optimize activities he and his kids would like, never asking the rest of us for input or taking our taste into consideration...
BTW, I strongly dislike Bruno, my sis's Long Island raised, Italian husband. There, I said it in print. He's kinda an asshole. This is supported by many of my family members including K& Mark, my mom, and even Vic herself on a good day when she's being honest. I kinda think he's the source of a lot of her mental distress. She's largely parroting him about how they are the only ones who really show parental devotion to my mom and dad.
What really happened: my dad got 5 rooms in this cheesy, horribly run casino/hotel called the Lumiere--if you have even an ounce of taste, don't go there!! First it pretends to be a super high class, 4 or 5 star hotel, but it isn't. So, those places in Vegas or Reno that have really reasonably priced , fairly luxurious rooms because they assume you'll gamble, making all the bling profitable.. ( I stayed in one in Reno for about $88 for a double...), this does not follow the Reno/Vegas business model, but is even more predatory.
This place bypasses the reasonable cost factor--$200 a night. !! Bad value for dollar ratio! And this is what pissed me off--no free wifi, no decent coffee or continental breakfast in the lobby. The hotel "restaurants"--5 mentioned on the website-- with 5 star chefs--weren't. What I mean by that is they weren't even operating--only the hole in the wall snack bar and "buffet" for $13-22, depending on time of day, and that's only the "special" price for gamblers foolish enough to get sucked into a "Lumiere" credit card--gamble on credit! Great idea!! The price for non special- credit- card -people was impossible to find out. There was also some sort of Wok restaurant, which Joe checked out and said it reminded him of an airport version of an Asian restaurant.
This whole place screams exploitation. Basically it was a pit stop for people with a gambling Jones who would pay anything to be near the mainline of their addiction. Super-sux for us non-addicts. The website was full of misinformation, like the fact that the pool was shut down for maintenance all week. Oh, and between the 17, some- odd people we had staying, we had about 21 swipe cards that need to be replaced because they were faulty. I think my dad and I were the only ones who had the same card two days later. Jay had several of his replaced 3 times. You needed them to even go up in the elevator; it wasn't just for your room.
Ok, add to that the second problem--nothing to do in super depressed downtown St. Loo. The ballgame, dad decided to not do, because it was super-expensive Cubs vs. Cards weekend. (This all because Vickster and her poor mouth family went to Hawaii on the real week of the anniv.) But they're not the bad, selfish kids, oh no, that was Jay and I. (Jay's fam went to Ireland--Joe and I had no other vaca this summer).
So, when Joe and I (Joe accompanied me, thank god, to bring a level of sanity to this mess!!) arrived in Alton--and BTW, Joe, me, Kate, Mark, Jay, his wife Kelly, their kids, all said exactly the same thing--we'd rather just "celebrate" the 60th simply, at Mom and Dad's pretty well appointed house... but no, this needed to become a Bridezilla level party...we arrived to find out, the plan was to do 1) two nights in the casino hotel, w/o gambling privileges 2) no baseball game 3) five! restaurant meals to organize with 17 people--which had not been planned at all--no reservations set or anything--we were gonna wing it and come to a consensus when we all got together before (before?? we never got together before...). And some nebulous Saturday outing that we were to all agree upon (and it was mandatory we do together! that hadn't been planned by anyone--just some random concepts--well, no baseball, but there's the Arch, Forest Park, the museums....(and several people who had widely divergent tastes..) Holy clusterfuck, Batman. !!!
Add to the madness is the fact that my Mom and Dad have spent so little time in St. Louis in the last 20 years, they had no clue what was there, any good restaurants: Ditto Vic and Bruno, who never go out and always cook at home, cos Bruno's a home cooking snob like this, and cheap, to be honest. Jay, who actually knew St. Louis, plus his wife who grew up there! but they were awol at the discussions, due to personality conflicts with sister Vic, who never bothered to solicit their expertise. Me, by just using my googling skills which no body else in the fam seems to possess, had several options that were not taken seriously by the D'Osso oligarchy. It became rapidly apparent that we were gonna do whatever the D'Ossos (Vic & Bruno) said. On everything.
Dad had a meltdown, because his "only" request (besides dragging us to Bridezilla-land) was to have Eggplant Parmigiana like his mom made at a restaurant he'd been to on Laclede's Landing 20 years ago (within walking distance from the hotel), at a chain called The Spaghetti Factory. But, he refused to sit down and help make the plans when we were making the reservations, because secretly he was sneaking off upstairs to watch the Cards' game. Jesus. Turns out Spaghetti Factory didn't have Eggplant Parmigiana on the menu, but we made the reservation to placate him anyway. Anyway, we made two dinner reservations, which it turned out 1/3 of the party disagreed with and argued about for hours the next day, including making several counter-reservations. This is my family....
So, the next day, chastened by the aspect that my sister was in therapy and handling her 3rd firing, in a self-reflective mood about her possible ADHD, I accepted her invitation to come over with Joe to her house, only to find she wasn't there. Daughter Sammie (my god-daughter, btw) didn't come out of her room, Bruno appeared briefly for greetings and disappeared to god knows what importance (whew!), and gentleman Scottie was the only D'Osso to be friendly, playing video games and watching something with Joe. Their house is in weird disarray--a brand new shower pan wrapped in plastic on the dining room floor ready for a new bathroom renovation-- (they built this house only 15 years ago with the most obscenely lavish bathroom with rooms within rooms and TVs on the wall--a glass shower and jacuzzi tub --a bathroom bigger than my rather large bedroom.
There is new, very state- of- the -art tile (that running black, metallic grey and white thin pattern--maybe half an inch by 5-- that all the cool kids/home centers have!!) already replacing the very nice looking, still good-looking and not at all dated, natural moss green they installed 15 years ago, the one that actually blended with the nature themed brown and tan and green natural, tasteful colors of the wallpaper, curtains, upholstery, etc.. .the very New York City loft tile actually looks kind of jarring in their country setting.
My sister usually has better taste than this, to try to ram some metrosexual urban monochromatic super- post modern thing with her existing relaxed country color scheme--but there it is, plus a total strip down of her perfectly fine bathroom to make it conform to the mid-century modern grey Madmen palette that is being shown in all the latest home magazines. My sister is nothing if not a perpetual slave to home fashion:/ Apparently the motivation to redo the entire bathroom was some unsightly growth of some blackish mold or grease, which I couldn't understand why it might just be cleaned? The kids' rooms also had been repainted to fit in with this grey/silver palette, and it really didn't look all that cool like it was supposed to. Just sadly conformist.
Then Vic came home, and everything exploded. I was subject to a two hour rant-lecture, by both Vic and Bruno, who reappeared to relish the dishing of dirt on my poor brother, about how Brother Jay was going to ruin this whole festivity, by noncompliance, and showing up obstinately late, and arguing over restaurants, and most importantly, DISRESPECTING my parents, who were going to DIE soon, and this was our last chance to be together in a loving show of familial bonding, except that none of us had the decency to respect our parents wishes except the wonderfully congenial, sacrificing, and family- loving D'Ossos.
The truly obscene thing that had happened was my bro Jay (born 10-16-1963, with whom I once shared a room and a love of music) had managed to get Cardinal v. Cubs tickets for Sat., really (willfully) not understanding why we had pulled out of the original plans of seeing a game that day. Answer: my dad refused to go because he has some grande idea we should get one of those corporate boxes, but it cost $3000 dollars--too much! No, we could not just get ordinary bleacher or stadium seats (and pay for our own, if necessary!)--that was not Bridezilla enough!
Ralph. I needed to escape this bullshit.
How did it turn out? After hours of arguing on the hour, before every "get together" , we made it to 4 restaurants, and the Arch museum, but never in a way that satisfied the D'Osso oligarchs. Although there were never any meeting times agreed upon, Jay was designated 5-10 minutes late to the first restaurant meeting, after he had suggested an unsuitable bar/hole in the wall that really couldn't accommodate 17--his bad.. But afterwards, the on-time Reilly clan was in the doghouse for lagging around to indulge in a digestive walk for an hour in the beautiful Lafayette Square Park, which was quite intoxicating, and a part of St. Louis I'd never seen--screw my sister, I'm glad we took the momentary detour. What did we miss? Some rooftop fireworks that apparently never happened at the truly nice hotel next to ours--big whoop. Everyone made it to the 1st brunch "on-time" at Sq'wires back at Lafayette Square, where Katie and I were decadent enough to order morning Bloody Mary's, to the raised eyebrows of the Vic side. Although Vic tasted mine. Dad played with the Harry Connick, Jr. -like piano player , who was quite proficient at Scott Joplin rag and Gershwin...and was in indulgent heaven playing on his baby grande for the indifferent crowd.
So, next we were supposed to meet, for and at some unspecified time, because my mother needed time to recuperate in the hotel from the breakfast outing, at the Arch museum, although the Reilly faction had voted for the much cooler tour through the St. Louis Art Museum--fuck you, Reilly's, the D'Ossos, who actually live here and could go anytime since it's free, want to do the Arch museum. OK, the Arch it is, simmer down...The Reillys passive -aggressively--agree, but ultimately do their own thing time-wise, using the Gma's -in -the- hotel- resting- hour to spin their new-to-them Prius through nearby Forest Park where the museum is, and checking out the very hot hipster Delmar Loop ( including my old haunt Vintage Vinyl!!)before going to the Arch--which turned out to be a sort of exercise in futility to meet up with anyone, anyway, since there was a need to park (none of these things were researched or communicated) in our hotel parking lot, walk several miles to the entrance which wasn't well marked, full of tourists, most of whom also didn't know where to go ( I was asked several times by confused ones) . In spite of the museum being fairly small, and not all that interesting--oooh here's a replica of a Pioneer wagon!! It was impossible to find anyone--I immediately lost all 4 of the people I came with through the entrance, it was so crowded.
Still Vicky was pissed at our non-togetherness. Then came the pimple to a head. The Spaghetti Factory dinner, which we also had to walk to. Haha, my funny gang had a momentary distraction by a bar across the street that offered the opportunity to throw an axe (NO< REEALLY, a real axe!!) at a wall if you had purchased $XX of their crap in the bar. But of course, we didn't actually do it, because, time!
But, we were laughing about this as we sat down to table (on time!)at Spagh Fac..
Vic's first comment..."You all shouldn't sit together--you should give people who haven't had the chance to talk to you sit with you..." WTF? We'd had conversations of various types with everyone presently in the room... What sort of all-girls 'school, cotillion, coming- out party BS was this?? (BTW, Vickster did go to an all girls-sorority heavy, old school college called William Wood which has never served her well in any capacity in her life....)
We all ignored her directive. Then my brother Jay (who I actually hadn't talked to much) showed up, 5 minutes fashionably late, and took a chair from the opposite end of the table for his wife Kelly, who I hadn't seen in well over a year, to our end so we could all get cosy. Vic interrupted our conversation to pointedly interrogate Jay about the Cards game, which she had previously made clear to me that she was disgusted that he had gone to said game after the plans had been changed, rather than spend time with our disrespected parents who were on the verge of dying! (not) at her unscheduled, impromptu, disorganized and impossible meet-up at the Arch Museum. ( Jay shoulda just got my Dad an extra ticket, if that was possible, and been done with it.) I knew her questions were more about keeping score in the game "Who's the Best Sibling?" So after about 5 questions about a game I knew she wasn't interested in (she's not really a baseball fan, and knowing some of Jay's friends had season tickets,), she then had already ventured into, Who sat with you?, and When did they arrive?? This was beginning to be really uncomfortable and since she was on one side of me, and Jay the other, this conversation was taking place across my chest, with Mark and K, fully aware of what was going on, across the table--
Jay gives a final answer, to which Vickster wasn't really listening, because that wasn't why she was asking::
Jay: "The 5th or 6th..?"
Vickster: (distracted): "What did you say?" (Across my chest)..
Jay and me, in unison: "The 5th or 6th!!"--in a tone that showed we were both exasperated with the unending questions that had an obvious point...
Vickster: "Sorry?"
Me: Stop the interrogation!!
Jay: Yeah, can you stop with the interrogation?
Vickster: "Well pardon me for being interested in your day..Tracy, that was really rude, I was just asking Jay about the game.."
Me: No you weren't, you were interrogating Jay to make him feel bad. We all get it.."
Vickster: "You need to stop being rude, I was just being polite.
Me :"Um huh.."
Vickster: " You are just trying to embarrass me, trying to make me look bad in front of Katie and Mark. I don't know why you love to do that.."
Me: "Just stop."
Vickster: "You love to embarrass me.."
Me: "Just drop it ."
Vickster: "No, I'm not going to drop it. You always do this to me."
Me: "Stop."
Vickster:"Why should I, you always start these things with me.."
Me: "Please act like a grown-up." I look to Jay, Kate and Kelly...they show unspoken sympathy.
Vickster, thankfully, ends it by getting up and letting Lauren, who's just arrived with her father (ten minutes after the slacker Jay!! Scorecard:15 minutes after D'Ossos late!!), my sister Tina's widowed husband. This lets her "save face" by being noble and letting Lauren sit with the ones who we haven't "had a chance to talk to", which is apparently her husband Bruno..who they see fairly often?
So now it's time to discuss the lovely presence of my bro-in-law Bruno at these get-togethers. Because he is both socially awkward and super-judgemental, I notice a pattern. He tends to choose one of the meeker twenty and under nieces as a dinner companion, dominating the conversation loudly in a pseudo avuncular role --like his wife-- interrogating about future plans. Trouble is, he doesn't really care about said plans, but cares about conversational domination , as no one else can get a word in edgewise, including the poor interrogated niece who frequently gets cut off mid answer by the razor-sharp New York repartee of Bruno, who's not really interested in niece's answer but his own wit at making said niece look silly and inexperienced. He thinks this is friendly/funny. He did this to my brother's daughter Rachel to the point where she bowed out of the next get-together, claiming a work obligation. Jay told me the next day, when Joe and I went out for pizza with him later, how pissed he was at how Bruno upset Rachel with this pushy behavior. I mean, there's already bad blood between these family branches, anyway, so nerves were up. I had tried to intervene by asking Rachel genuine questions about her college interests and giving her some suggestions based on her responses--she wanted a big state school, but inexpensive, which was leading her South, but she didn't like the Southern Belle culture she was hearing about through the grapevine...( I said look into U of Ga in Athens (REM!) and UCF...
The next night Bruno repeated his loud, loutish and asinine performance with Lauren, who just graduated college and is now in grad school. I interrupted his interrogation where he was saying things like, "So are you ever going to stop going to college and work, not an internship?" to ask Lauren a follow up---did you say you were going to Italy? and asked where, etc... told her I could give her some useful generic Italian phrases like, where's the bathroom...well this caused Bruno, who's mother is pure Italian, to take over the conversation to tell Lauren all the limited Italian he knew-- I let him go...but, finally when he told her "Bella--that means good," I interjected-- sorry , he's wrong, (and made a dismissive, Italianesque wave in his direction like MY gma used to do!) that means "beautiful"---good is "bueno" or "buena" depending on the context--then I launched into this fake conversation she might have--"Beware these Italian boys and men that follow you down the street, saying, " Ah, Bella ragazza, bellisima ragazza! Andiamo! Vuoi un po 'di divertimento?" And Lauren looks at me, impressed and says--wow that sounded like the real thing! I wish you were going!"
Bruno has a cloud over his head, and later Katie gave me a high five in the ladies' room for putting him in his place.
Oh yeah feeling pretty clean about how minimal and feng shui my kitchen looks. House is in the process of being prepped and primed with exterior paint. Toscana will come to me.
August 19, 2018: Time to discuss the impending school year and Faculty Workshop Week:
A bit of a relief in many ways. After a bad start where we thought the entire English Dept was going to be upended due to a teacher quitting at the last minute for personal reasons, we luckily hired a replacement, and got down to a workshop friendly to teachers, pointedly critical of unnamed admin, who were frequently AWOL from group planning and socializing. I have to give it to my most highest rank boss: he planned this workshop to fix our very dire problems last year that demoralized most of the teaching staff. Especially the females. But this year, they are increasing the number of "Scholarship" kids to make their numbers look better, but didn't hire new faculty, just packed the rooms. Many of the teachers are teaching 6 periods, plus a study hall that might as well be another period, so 7. A big class at our school used to be in the 14-16 range, mainly because our rooms are so small and can't fit too many desks. But now I'm hearing teachers complaining that they have 21,22,23!! That's just too crowded for our small rooms--it's not a good thing when they're right on top of each other. I know that doesn't sound big by public school standards, but K's public school classroom is huge--probably triple mine. My biggest (ESOL) class this year has fluctuated between 14-17.
Anyway, some parts of this workshop were run by the very competent president of SPC, who seemed to be modeling the good leadership we were lacking. She gave us clickers in order to let us anonymously answer honestly how we felt about our communications and the policies of our fairly new admin. I think all the complaints last year spooked the top guy, who has probably been wanting to start planning his early retirement, but thankfully felt he didn't want to leave this mess behind. I am grateful. The targeted people weren't participating actively in the workshop, and several of us were sort of like--how come the people who need to hear this aren't here! But then it turned out they were--just not at the tables with us but on the other side of a partition--possibly it was better that way, and possibly planned. Also, many of the workshops, and especially those directed towards understanding international students were (unusual in the past) attended by dorm staff--well, once upon a time dorm staff and teachers were one and the same. Again this seemed like a very good use of time. I don't know how this will sort out, but I suspect it will go one of two ways: either the targeted people will get the message and stop being so grudge happy and authoritarian, or we'll have new bosses next year.
So, whereas I was anticipating having extra classes and several totally new preps, instead I have a lower than usual load.
Oh, and it turned out my Russian kids really were a "mafia"--two of them, anyway, were selling weed in the dorm. Not ones in my class but in RC. I still think a lot of that was caused by the stressful way dorm things were handled. So let's hope this year is better. They dumped the main dorm parents who weren't too hot.
Sept 14: And so it goes--the incompetence and nitpicking continues. I've got administrators pulling kids out of my classes, handling scheduling poorly, (I have the same number of ESOL kids, but jammed into only 2 classes, instead of making 3 small ESOL classes, which is the whole idea behind ESOL, right?). Admin only half-way took our English Department's suggestion to make a class of reg English for international students--instead they just packed one of my classes, called it both ESOL and regular for Seniors (I think, even I'm confused), and then were surprised when kids objected to paying additional fees for ESOL. Duh........so now a few kids want to move to a non-ESOL fee class, so I'm possibly losing some of my best students.
Possibly, because the counselor did this out of her jurisdiction and without informing the other admins. So it may be re-fixed, somehow. They made their own mess, and I got criticized about kids sneaking a nap in the last 5 minutes of study hall while I was trying to deal with all this rescheduling mess, trying to get work for the kids who might be changing, at my desk with the 3-4 involved students. This "critique" from yet another hypercritical admin who loves to surprise us with study hall visits for gotcha moments. I wrote him a critical e-mail back, about how his expectations are unrealistic, that the study hall visits are disruptive and negative, undermining teachers' authority, etc..The guy never bothers to ask the teacher what is happening, just makes snap judgments and blanket criticisms.
My new tactic is to just speak my mind and defend myself. No more shrinking into the wood work. What will be will be. Foley's with me on this--she told me to cc her my answer to Sir Critic. But --I might get fired. /\1/\ This is really just putting too much unnecessary stress on me, and forcing me to constantly debate decisions, like should I go over these people's heads to complain. I just want it all to settle so I don't have to be thinking about the worst parts of school 24/7. They also decided not to take part in the Arts Festival with the Gilberts, probably because they didn't want to make extra work. Well, I'm glad they decided fairly quickly (for them) so I will not have that to stress about.
Home is going better, other than the weird talking.
Nov 2, 2018:
Getting out of Dodge soon. The weather's cooled (late this year); season of big moons and painted skies. Maybe it's the time of year, but, I am revisiting the idea of how much I prefer the inside of my head to the outside world. I haven't been indulging in that so much lately. But I think I'm going to try to do another cave dive today, for awhile. To the Bottom.
Nov 8: Son tells me I'm getting too into politics. Maybe he's right, and I think it's my way of feeling some control over what's out of control. I was making assumptions about who he voted for for governor, when it turned out he wrote in his buddy Seb. Gotta fill up my mind with something, and there's not that much out there on my radar just now. I really should write a song instead. Bored. Per usual.
Nov 29:
Back from trip west. Maybe it was because it was so short, but I really feel like i didn't get to do much of what I wanted. I suppose I could have been more selfish--but I was also jet-lagged for longer time--like the second night I was there--but a lot of that was from driving and walking around Berkeley without getting any down time. Sorry Phillip, sorry Russian Solution. Also there was the smoke and rain gumming things up. But it was a good trip--painless flights.
I'm certainly feeling less creative these days, and want to remedy that. My drama classes are a drain, keeping them on task, etc. I feel little spark with them. Maybe next year. One of the Russian kids did come in today wanting to borrow some of my actors to make a video he wants to submit to college--he's writing it himself--something about bullying. That sounds interesting, I suppose. I gave him some names and promised to talk promote his project in my class. I had a weird feeling about this kid earlier--he's in Russian Club, which we haven't held in a while, the Prez being gone. But one day he broke away from a group of kids after school that gave me a bad vibe--I wondered if they were bothering him somehow. He started asking me questions he knew the answers to--about Russian Club, etc. I think I was his cover. Hope he writes a good script.
I've been reading Patti Smith's Just Kids, which I got at City Lights in SF. Funny how book stores, record stores, movie stores don't interest me like they once did. I feel like I have access to so much stuff--what I already own, and online, that it is no longer the process of discovery it once was. Nowadays I'm like looking up the current value of albums I already have and going into shock at the crazy values. I could be looking for some of the new musicians I've discovered in the last few years, but I know I probably won't buy the album or even CD.
But, Just Kids is sort of goading me to step up my creative game--Patti and Robert were constantly making stuff, living creatively. It feels a lot like how I lived in my earlier decades, only moreso. They just up and moved into the Chelsea Hotel, and hung out at Max's Kansas City and the Factory, even when they were nobody--just did it. One of Patti's wedges to get noticed by the scene-sters was cutting her long hair to loo like Keith Richards--the Factory folks went nuts for androgynous look. Not her art--which like me, was sort of multimedia--she's barely even considered at this point doing music, although she long wrote poetry.
I think my old habit of waiting for a spark is wearing thin. I even started playing guitar less because I was tired of what I knew and couldn't find a new song--then I noticed my callouses going away so I'm back on. Tried last night to work my way through Radiohead's "Paranoid Android"--man, is that a brilliant, and difficult song. My sources for learning are getting more advanced. But I'm having a hard time with the rhythm in that thing.
I think I need to push myself more, and I'm thinking about writing some music for the band, since Bruce is asking me to. Just--can't get started--even looked back through some of my old ideas--like them, but actually fleshing them out makes me think they aren't really going anywhere. I need a light. To light my fire.
I need to use Patti and Robert as inspiration--they saw art everywhere in every piece of detritus in their lives--I know that feeling. It's growing faint and nostalgic...it was nice for them to be a team to bounce ideas around. I'm at my best in that situation. My team has gone to bed.
Dec 3: Lousy, lousy week at school. Bratty 8th graders and red neck mothers. Just another jacked-up week for me. Still super-subbing for all. I feel a bit like a teacher prostitute, only the kind who doesn't get paid. I told K --so sick of the academy, I might retire early--he asked me to hang in for a few more years to get our financials on more solid ground, after the renovations, new car, etc. Yeah-sigh.
Dec 7: Yes, it's been a terrible 24 hours at the old job. Actually, a terrible 3 weeks. Make that a terrible 3 years, since a certain set of people arrived.
Ken sent me a lovely note, however, that I greatly appreciated:
"The rewards, there are few, and the indignities, there are many. My own epilogue will be the same as what Faulkner said of the servants in The Sound and the Fury: they endured."
Ain't it the truth. I'll know more next week. What a lousy occupation I'm in these days. We're to blame for everything. K said he would never advise a young person to get into teaching, with the state it's in now. I didn't used to agree, but if what we have is prevailing, then, yeah. Don't do it--it will kill your soul. Should I stay or should I go?
This is sending me into an existential crisis of sorts. If my free time is forced upon me, what do I do with it? Do I want to try something else for a bit? Tutoring online is the obvious e-z out, purely for money. But what about the rest of me? Art, Drama, Writing, Music--all loom large. I'm feeling very unexcited about drama these days, because it takes too much collaboration of the good kind that I don't have-- where are all the creative people? but mostly I think I'm feeling a general dampening of my creative spirit, pushed down by the pressure from my job that is so not on board with creative freedom. I mean, if I can't even teach certain books, can't preside over my own classes and study halls without being visited by the authorities, keep having my plans ruined by a big fat bureaucratic thumb--how do I feel free enough to create!? To me, that sense of freedom is the essential ingredient--lets you fly. Hard to do in a prison cell. That gets me thinking about this quote in my Patti Smith book--about her encounter with the great Jimi Hendrix. He said, about building the Electric Ladyland Studio (in a building with layers and decades of creative mojo---he had this fantasy of making a circle of many musicians, all playing their own thing--different Melodies, scales, chords, voicings, whatever. But eventually, I suppose, the listening kicks in and they all start to feed off of each other, so that the cacophony starts to blend and make music. Stone beautiful.
Dec. 9:
I'm moving from defense to offense. Even I am not saved, maybe something else will be saved for the big picture--like the Trump administration, this cannot endure.
Every weekday lately when I wake up, the music going through my head is "Pray for the Dead and the Dead will pray for you." Chopin's Funeral March. Dramatic, I admit, but it gets me up and out the door. I thought I was never going to feel like this again in my life, but I was wrong. Endure.
Dec. 10: Thinking seriously of very big changes. It might be exciting.
Dec. 11: Today was designed to give me good vibes about myself, in spite of my bad boss interactions. My classes were very mellow and good today--and liking our self produced nonsense; old students came to talk to me about their problems because they like me and feel I help them; a parent came to talk about her awkward son and we had a very nice time, and she liked me so much she insisted on hugging me at the end. So even if I get the axe, I'll feel my own worth and know people will feel my loss...can I prevail?
Dec 14: Queue Chopin- dum dum de dum DUM de dum de dum de dum. Possible last day. I slept halfway decently at the beginning of last night, but then woke in the wee hours unable to go back to sleep. Just want this day to speed by and be over, whatever the outcome.
My feelings are so mixed. My most selfish side wants to be done with this place because it constantly causes me stress and pain. It can't be good for my health. I got up this morning unsure if I'd taken my blood pressure pill last night, so I took one this morning, just in case--want my heart under control as much as possible today. I don't want to faint or do any other shocking thing to make things worse.
I am ripe for a change. How much of my fantasy can I get? Could I possibly get a decent paying, artsy job?
I can't get over how many terrible people there are in the world, people who just go around making others miserable whenever they can. Why. ?? Vindictive. People who can't see straight or make proper decisions. People who constantly take the easy way out. This is the source of my constant stress the last three years.
I'm happy to take a pay cut to have a more healthy environment for myself. K doesn't want me to do this--he's worried about our bills, which really are nothing compared to other people's--it's just that we recently increased our debt with house expenses and the new car. All which had to be done, regardless. He has a tendency towards exaggerated anxiety, and he wants me to just bear it out, if that's possible. I myself wouldn't object to finding a higher paying job, if that were possible, but I have to be realistic--my field isn't exactly a money maker. I could go up North for better pay, and make a short end of the debt. That is, if I'm not falling into the ageism spectrum.
Another positive considerations on the money side: our house is probably worth a bundle, and prices in our county are going up. It's a seller's market. Personally, I'm ready to downsize. But I don't think Ken is ready for that. There's the reality that all our parents are aging, and we both stand to get decent inheritances. I also want to move, out of this hideous, sticky weather that I've always hated, but there's K and J.
I like the idea of being more freelance, since K has insurance. I wonder if he'll start thinking I'm not pulling my weight. Ironically, I think I could live a vastly cheaper lifestyle without him and all his unnecessary expenses. We also have Joe these days to contribute to household expenses, and I think he would see contributing something would be fair and less expensive than going indie--I've already discussed this with him as a way to get our debt paid off sooner. So, all in all I don't think our money situation would be dire. I was planning on retiring in the near future anyway. I mean, I've been working solidly to support myself since I was 21. However, I think quitting work cold turkey may not be the best option for me right now-beyond the money issue.
If I had my way, I'd quit anyway, because of the bad environment here--something I've been thinking about the last two years. The house renovation stopped me. Also the promise of a room in the new building (which may not happen now). This place doesn't foster the arts anyway--they can't get it together enough to give us a date for music or theater performances, then blame us. So, it really puts a crimp in my freedom of creativity, what with them limiting book choices and films, etc.
I've been thinking of enlisting Foley to go with me to have a serious discussion with Bob--Foley there to reinforce the big picture of what's happening between admin and teachers, not so much to save myself but to stop the madness. She would mitigate the idea that I'm operating from sour grapes.
I hate most of all would be leaving under a cloud--even if I think I would have the sympathy of most faculty, students who know me. But, I was thinking to go out, maybe not a grandly as CMDR Nick, but somewhat more in that direction--with love and gratitude. But now this. It's a dent in my fender of very good years. The least likely scenario I could have imagined. But not really surprising, given our bosses. I thought maybe some book or movie or idea might take me down.
Maybe I'm being a wimp, nostalgic for the halcyon days where we had little parental involvement. That had its downside in some respects with unmotivated kids, but mostly gave us a lot more freedom in the curriculum. Parents these days are a plague. Our Admin rolls over for them; they have no boundaries.
I can probably get 4/5ths of my salary doing adjunct and tutoring online. Regardless of today's outcome. I'm considering doing that. Less pressure, commitment, more flexibility.
This weird thing happened the other day that I keep replaying, however briefly in my head. Bossman waltzed through the end of lunch (having not helped during the crunch time, per usual--what does he do all day? Plot? I think so). Anyway, this pitiful child Thomas, who is starting to become something of a school pet, was sitting with us at the teacher table at lunch--something he's done more often lately. He's an eighth grade ESOL kid, probably with some learning/organizing issues. He doesn't seem to get on with other kids, sort of a loner. But he likes school, reading, learning! I like the kid a lot--he's easy for an adult to like.
Well, Bossman breezes in with this big loud address to Thomas, "Hello,Thomas!" his "new study hall buddy", and he's making the obvious show of overboard friendliness to prove he's a stand-up guy who cares about and nurtures kids. (Of course, he ignores, per usual, every teacher at the table). This little phony scene really made me want to wretch. It belonged in Catcher In the Rye, along with Holden's other lists of phony acts in school. A better leader might have said something nice about how we had made Thomas welcome at our table, but Bozzman don't think that way.
And the weather is sympathizing--pouring rain, tornado warnings, red alerts. Might make the day more memorable along with Trump's woes. "Lamentings--heard i' the air...".
5p.m. It's done. I'm out. With a little leeway in pay to keep me quiet. At least they seemed sorta remorseful about it. Fine's a coward. I already have multiple options. And sympathy, and I'm not even the devil, really. I feel so glad to have a chance to make a new start at something way more cool.
Thomas's mom (((. I love people.
Dec 15, 2018: 5:21am. Trouble sleeping, mostly worried about this blog getting lost, so I got up to attempt some precautions. My old work e-mail will be going away, with all it's bloat. Took me about 40 minutes, but I think I figured out how to transfer to a new account so I can continue to write and edit here.
(It was blocking me from creating a new author when I was doing it all on my laptop, but adding my new g-mail to my i-Pad and using Chrome as a browser fixed the problem. Big stupid nightmare for a few minutes getting passwords synced up, etc.)
I told Joe more or less everything. He was very sweet and supportive--hugs and hand-holding and all that stuff. He is a wonderful son. Won't tell my parents as much--just that I've been really unhappy at AFA and I'm planning to change jobs-99% of the truth, keeping it all low key. It won't be a surprise, given my conversations about work the last few years. Not sure what to tell Dick and Bruce. Also wondering about unemployment compensation--I've never done that. And if I get work at the online gig I've been researching, or get some adjunct classes at SPC, which is my plan-does that void out unemployment? Need to research.
Turns out you get about $1100 a month on unemployment, max, for a maximum of 6mos., and you can't have gotten fired for malicious acts, whatever that means, and it can't be your fault that you lost your job. AFA said they'd play along with whatever story I want to tell, but this doesn't sound like a good option--I'd feel much better about myself getting new work and pushing through. Never been the lazy type--that's my gma in me.
Eaea has already been in contact about my situation--good people. Yef even called on a dime, remembering the day I told him I'd find out, and then even the hour. It made me feel better to listen to him cuss out my boss when I couldn't. Makes me feel loved, appreciated.
I think in the end, this will all be for the better. SPC is an easy slide--there are also some fairly lucrative copywriting jobs I've seen online, one even at the corporation Joe was excited about--odd. Part of me is really curious to make that kind of big change, although I'm sure I will have criticisms of corporate culture, etc. One thing about going to SPC and the online gig that is better than signing on to another school like Landon or Berkeley--I won't have to feel too terrible about only putting in a few more years. Plus, hopefully less driving. It might be kind of exciting, though, to get a job that puts me downtown regularly. Makes me think about what a rut I've made for myself at the old thing. No matter what, I think it will be a benefit to my mental state to know it's only going to be a few years, anyway, no matter what, unless I decide I really love something!
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