The Surtsey Islander

Life Out of Balance

2010-07-17T11:51:00.002-04:00

Last night, I watched Koyaanisqatsi for the second time since college. I had forgotten that it had been finally released on DVD sometime in the 2000's (or I would have gotten a copy for myself then. Instead, I checked out a copy from the finest library system in the nation, Columbus Metropolitan Library). Two things enhanced the experience: the first was alcohol (Maker's Mark over ice if you care), the second was my remembrance of the first experience.

I was in college in the late '80's and early '90's, and sometime immediately before the first Gulf War, some left-wing organization there (rarer than in other schools; I cherish the experience of going to school where I did, but I do often refer to it fondly as "Republican State University") had a showing of the film in some large lecture hall in one of the liberal arts buildings, which has probably been torn down by now to make room for yet another building to house the business or teaching colleges. Anyway, I was looking forward to the movie, if for no other reason than I knew who Philip Glass was, via Errol Morris' The Thin Blue Line, seen on PBS when I was a teenager (another story for another time).

I don't think I was expecting to have the experience that I did. I thought I would be seeing a ninety-minute music video with some vague ecological message; what I got was a metaphorical trepanning. It's difficult to say exactly why it struck me so hard; I think that it was the fact that the music and visuals had been matched with such care and attention. Not in a gimmicky way, in the sense that every two-bit Fourth of July fireworks display is carefully timed so that it will climax when Lee Greenwood sings the last bit of "God Bless the U.S.A.", but in the sense that it's hard to tell whether Philip Glass was composing to the visuals, or Godfrey Reggio and Ron Fricke (the director and director of photography, respectively) were filming to the music. At least that's what I remember, that and so much of the evening visuals (the famous shot of the moon rising behind the skyscraper, the people walking the streets at night and staring out the camera, etc.)

Twenty years later, and under the influence of one of the Commonwealth of Kentucky's finer exports, I saw things completely differently. I now think that Reggio and Glass are often working at cross purposes in Koyaanisqatsi. For one thing, I've seen the "sequel," Powaqqatsi (which I remember as a depressing ode to how much happier the rich first world would be if we could just be more like the happy poor brown people, which is, honestly, a bull's byproduct). I have, so far, avoided the third film in the trilogy, Naqoyqatsi, and don't plan to view it until I retire to Appalachia to live in a small cabin and, possibly, smoke crazy amounts of pot. Anyway, it is apparent that Reggio definitely has an agenda with Koyaanisqatsi, and Glass doesn't. When Reggio shows buildings being blown up, and piles of rubble, and mushroom clouds, and casino waitresses in uniform being forced to stand still and smile like professionals for what seems like ten minutes (a bit that reminded me of Andy Warhol's films), just to make the point that "our" life "calls for another way of living," Glass' music is just as majestic, otherworldly and detached as when Reggio is showing clouds billowing at high speed and shadows flowing across desert canyons in the first "nature is great" part of the movie.

I suppose one could argue that this is because Glass' music is gimmicky and all sounds the same anyway, but I disagree with you on principle there, since I have enjoyed his music for twenty years and have no trouble telling one piece, or opus, apart from another. (Case in point: I've rewatched The Illusionist recently, and the music is so different from this that it's as if there's two different guys named Philip Glass out there composing soundtracks.) It's pretty clear to me that Glass, regardless of his personal feelings in the matter, was seeing images to compose to, and Reggio was seeing symbols of his, Reggio's, point of view.

So, you could, conceivably, see this movie as an ode to technology, rather than a warning against it. You might or might not make Godfrey Reggio grind his teeth (he actually seemed like a nice enough guy in the interview portion of the DVD), but I think it's one way to view this movie. It seems to me that this is because Glass' music doesn't care one way or the other, and this is what gives the movie its tension and its ambiguity and what makes it a memorable viewing experience. Well, that and the moon rising behind the skyscraper, which is still the most fantastic thing I've seen in a movie ever. (I remember some "oohs" from the audience the first time I saw it. Maybe you can do that with a computer program now, and it's not quite as impressive. It was to me.)

But is it a "great" film? A masterpiece? Don't ask me. I can't judge a masterpiece for crap, since I'll always prefer watching Blazing Saddles to whatever won the Oscar last year. (Although I will say that Ron Fricke had the Oscar stolen from him the year Koyaanisqatsi was released. I don't care what movie won best photography that year, it wasn't as good.) I do know that I'm going to check Amazon to see if Koyaanisqatsi is still available for less that one million dollars. You know, maybe I'll even see if Powaqqatsi is available from the library too. I've changed as well over twenty years, so you never know.

So, she got a job and then the problems started.

2010-06-16T12:26:00.003-04:00

So, good news and bad news.

The good news: I am no longer an unemployed layabout! Good for me, I guess.

The bad news: My new job has no benefits (it is a long-term temp position). Today, I got my first billing statement for COBRA and nearly choked on my own tongue. I foresee a second job in my future, which is fine really since I'm not dating anyone (see: previous) and could stand to eat less and move around more anyway. I imagine that job won't have any benefits either, but at least I will be able to pay for COBRA that way.

I haven't had anything thrilling happen to me the last few weeks otherwise. I don't really foresee anything thrilling happening to me ever again at this point, but that may be mild depression due to previous events (see: previous). Or this is where I was before, and after the mild euphoria of two weeks or so, it feels like depression.

Not terribly exciting, but I did promise to keep this blog updated, excitement or not. So there you have it.

Well, so much for that.

2010-06-08T17:36:00.003-04:00

Yeah, the dating thing didn't really end that well. At least I didn't cry when he told me he wasn't really interested. And I didn't get mean either! So, I guess I win the moral victory. Or something.

Right now, I'm concentrating on reading biographies of women who could have any man in the world that they wanted but were still miserable (right now, Ava Gardner). I think that's the way for me to go right now; it'll stop the self-pity fest that I've been on the verge of for the last week or so. It's funny, though, I still rerun everything I did with him -- the emails and the dates themselves -- in my head, as if I could have done something differently. It doesn't matter, and it's ultimately not doing me any good to do it, because if someone isn't interested in you romantically, they're not interested and there's pretty much nothing you can do, short of changing your pheromones, that's going to make a difference. Or that's what I tell myself. It has the added advantage of possibly being true.

I did get a visit from the William James in my head in a dream last week, who offered me a hankie and patted me on the shoulder as I cried. It was nice of him to take the time to try to make me feel better, and I'm always surprised when one of America's great geniuses pays me a visit in my dream world. (Better him right now than the Graham Greene in my mind!)

Love stinks, yeah yeah, etc.

So, the last time I went on a date was two days ago.

2010-05-24T15:06:00.006-04:00

But before that, the last time I went on a date, the year began with a 1. So I'm not overly familiar with this weird combination of happy, sad, nauseous and slightly angry. Is this just being happy and sad and angry and possibly eating too many French fries at one sitting, or does it mean something else?

And what does it mean when you take out a business card and moon over it several times a day? (Sunday night, I was literally taking it everywhere, so I've gotten better.) Actually, I'm going to answer that: getting all googly eyed over someone's business card makes me an idiot. Which would be par for the course with me and romance.

And, no, I don't know how the other party feels. He stayed for three hours, paid for lunch, laughed at my jokes, went "awwww" when I showed him a picture of the cat, and complimented my backside. I think this is good, but since the last time I went out to a restaurant with a date, the dude stiffed the waitress and I had to pretend I had to pee in order to go back in and leave her a tip, maybe I don't know what a good date is. Even if all of the above means nothing to this other party, and it all goes nowhere fast, I have to say it was nice to feel beautiful for three hours.

Hey! I'm back! Consider yourselves warned.

2010-05-20T19:06:00.003-04:00

I wish I could post that Cthulhu picture again since I don't have much more to say, although it is still my belief that the Great Old Ones still have a, er, tentacle or two in the running of this state, and I don't understand why I kept mentioning Orlando Bloom so much four years ago. Man, I wish I knew where my mind was at then... I do have some theories though. I will test them and let you know.
I just watched the movie Peeping Tom and episodes of The Muppet Show before and after. That made the movie even more disturbing and is actually something I would recommend doing if you, my one faithful reader, watch Peeping Tom yourself. Man, I don't know who had a weirder childhood, Columba Powell or me, since he spent part of his playing the younger version of a serial killer at his father's request and I spent my childhood occasionally being accused of being the childhood version of a serial killer by my classmates. At least my dad didn't ask me to do it, so maybe Mr. Powell wins that one.
What is this tag "monetize"? You mean someone would actually pay real money to read this? If so, I think it's safe to say that that person is a fool of the first order, especially since a great writer like Roger Ebert only charges $5.00 a year. What would I do, charge batteries? Wocka wocka! That Muppet Show, it rubs off on a person.
More later... again, you have been warned.

2006-11-18T13:17:00.000-05:00

This post is inspired by living in Columbus, Ohio, as I do, and not being a follower of collegiate sports. Those of you who are both, read at your own risk, although if you do both in moderation, the following is not directed at you.

For the last fifteen years, on the day of the "big game," I wonder what life in Columbus would be like without that game. I wonder what it would be like to walk into a store and not have at least one salesperson refuse to help you because you picked the wrong day to pull a random navy blue shirt out of the closet. I wonder what it would be like to not have to take the day off of work and stay home to ensure that one's home wouldn't be vandalized. I wonder what it would be like to take the bus on a Saturday afternoon and not be surrounded by people who wouldn't normally be caught dead taking the bus and who spend the entire time either talking about how hammered they will be in eight hours, or complaining about how icky the bus seats are. (I also wonder what it would be like to live in a city where people would actually vote for a levy to support a decent bus system... I guess I'll have to move to Dayton or Toledo to find out.) I wonder what it would be like not to have to warn people who happened to be visiting from a certain location out of state against wearing certain clothes, driving their own vehicles, telling anyone their place of origin or carrying any valuables, lest they run the risk of having their persons and property assaulted. I wonder what it would be like not to be surrounded by people who, for at least this one day, make scarlet and gray not the color of hometown pride, but of something very close to the uniform of mob mentality.

Prior to a few years ago, I admit I never had any patience with all the people who live here but constantly talk about how they're going to move to Chicago, or Seattle, or New York. Maybe, however, they talk about leaving (and some actually leave, and some of those people actually leave for good) for this reason: because even though those cities (and all cities everywhere, I'm pretty sure) have crime and pollution and corruption and assorted scary crap that is unique to their situation, none of those cities have giant masses of people who take a fricking college football game so damned seriously. Now, I'm going home to Surtsey Island, Ohio, to watch The Apartment and They Might Be Giants, and not a single character in those movies is suddenly going to break out in a chorus of "OH! IO!" or mention a single thing about illicit sexual contact with a wolverine or with the state of Michigan. Who's with me?

2006-07-18T16:10:00.000-04:00

I love me a survey! And I've been inspired by Jacklyn, so... here's more information about your little Islander.

A. 4 jobs I have had in my life
1 – Kroger – Bakery/deli. Not a thrill, but I did work there six months without slicing my thumb in the meat slicer, which I gather is an accomplishment.
2 – Borders – Five plus years of more workplace politics than I thought I could stand. I didn’t have any weird stalkers, but I did at one point shelve the business and science section and constantly had men asking me, “Who really shelves this section?” Why, the little lady right here, dipstick.
3 – WorldCom – Yes, Bernie Ebbers laid me off and all I got was a lousy... actually several items of clothing. They never wanted us to go naked. Other than the clothes and the excellent friends I made there, the best part of having worked there is when MCI calls me now and I say, “You all laid me off, do you really think I’m going to switch to your phone service?” Beats “I’m not interested, thanks.”
4 – The place I work now, which I will not dignify with putting its name in my blog. Ever. Even after I’ve quit and have gone on to a far better, cooler job.

B. 4 movies I would watch over and over
1 – They Might Be Giants
2 – North by Northwest
3 – Blazing Saddles (I have been known to hum “I’m So Tired” at work)
4 – I guess I don’t really watch that many movies! I used to say Breakfast at Tiffany’s but now Mickey Rooney’s character makes me want to punch the television screen and break my fist, so guess not. Now there’s a movie that *should* be remade if only to take his character completely out. I don’t know how you could replace Patricia Neal, though, since she’s perfect in her part.

C. 4 places I have lived
1 – My hometown which shall remain nameless, for pretty much the same reasons I won’t name where I work
2 – Bowling Green, OH
3 – Columbus, OH
4 – hmm, maybe I need to expand my horizons a little

D. 4 TV shows I love to watch
1 – Numbers
2 – Whose Line is It Anyway? (English and American versions)
3 – Antiques Roadshow
4 – perhaps I also need to watch more television!

E. 4 places I have been on vacation (as an adult)
1 – Athens, OH (due to having lots of friends there)
2 – Montreal (my favorite)
3 – Washington, DC (not my favorite, especially in August)
4 – Frankenmuth, MI (going back again in a few weeks)

F. Websites I visit daily (a few times a week)
1 – cinematical.com
2 – guardian.co.uk
3 – mojo4music.com
4 – defamer.com (my guiltiest pleasure, especially the parts where they’re trying to guess the subject of Ted Casablanca’s blind items, and naming all the idiot celebrities that have been spotted in LA. I love that crap, as Lynx will tell you)

G. 4 of my favorite foods
1 – India Relish from Trader Joe’s (with naan bread)
2 - Thin Mints, with a glass of milk, at 2 AM
3 – homemade vanilla ice cream
4 – sesame chicken

H. 4 places I would rather be right now
1 – anywhere that’s not work
2 – hiking through Scotland (not that I’ve actually been to Scotland, but it’s always sounded cool)
3 – hanging out with my friends in Dayton or Athens
4 – in Montreal, looking out over the St. Lawrence

And hopefully I won't blow my blog up by updating it two days in a row...

2006-07-17T17:54:00.000-04:00

After watching Pirates of the Caribbean II yesterday, I have a little prayer: God, can you please make me Keira Knightley in my next life? Thank you. (Although I just looked over the top of the computer monitor here at the Whetstone library and saw Orlando Bloom on one of those "Read" posters* and it freaked me out a little. So I don't know how well I'd do being Ms. Knightley if seeing Orlando Bloom unexpectedly tends to freak me out. I think if I were getting paid enough I could cope though.)

Oh, and yeah, I've actually bothered to go to the library and blog, so I suppose I should, er, blog. According to the library's timer, I have 55 minutes to do it so I guess I need to hustle.

First of all, congratulations to Jacklyn on her marriage and to Lynx on her return to grad school. Both are very cool, unlike the weather here just now. I swear I got sunburned inside Easton AMC yesterday and now getting actual sun just compounds the problem.

I do have a confession to make, however. I sort of like Easton. Yeah, I know that Satan and his minions live below it and all that. I know that the architecture makes Walt Disney World look like the Parthenon. I know that it's basically sucked all of the business off of Morse, making it an even nastier road to drive down than it already is (unless you like parking lots and Taco Bell). But I like the stores. I like Anthropologie and Bigelow and White Barn and L'Occitane and Francesca's and Barnes & Noble and Smith & Hawken and even, God help me, Hot Topic (because it's hilarious to walk in and have everyone turn to look at the obese normal-looking middle-aged woman who just walked in). And I don't even fit any of the clothes they sell in those stores (those stores that sell clothes... no, Barnes & Noble does not have a clothing line, at least not one they're showing me).

It's all wish-fulfillment, I guess. It's pretty much the deeply American part of myself that wants to be able to walk around Easton and watch fun movies and wander into a store and buy some happiness. In fact, I want everyone to be able to do it. I think that everyone, the richest of the rich and the poorest of the poor, deserve to have a big bucket of popcorn, a huge diet pop and two and a half hours of Johnny Depp acting like a drunken English aristocrat. And then they deserve to go shopping and buy soap and nice clothes (even the ones I'll never be able to wear).

Of course, the most American part of this little scenario is that it's not like it would solve anything, certainly not the question of why some people get to do these things so much they take them for granted, some get to do these things but not often enough to take them for granted, some will never get to do them, and some (including dear friends of mine) wouldn't do them for any reason. But maybe honesty counts for something. Maybe just praying to be Keira Knightley would be a better choice.

*Excuse my rant, but I know those are a nice sentiment and everything, but who believes that any of these celebrities read? OK, maybe Ani DiFranco, but seriously, Britney Spears? I see these posters with glamorous, or someone's idea of glamorous, celebrities on them and think that none of them, no matter who is on them, is going to convince anyone to read. Because none of those people got to be famous by reading! They got famous by being artistically creative, by being athletically talented, or by being sluts, but none of them got famous by being hyperliterate. I think it would be more honest to say to kids, "Look, your chances of ending up on the butt end of society increase exponentially if you can't bring yourself to crack open a book every once in a while because *you* might want to know what's inside, not because someone is making you do it." But that would make a crap poster.

2006-04-19T17:54:00.000-04:00

Well, I've finally sat my butt down at the library. It's been a long time.

Those of you who read this blog regularly (all three of you; give yourselves a hand) have probably gotten the idea that I don't care much for my job. In fact, that I pretty much hate it. That would be the truth; I hate almost everything about it. In fact, to get this out of the way, let me tell you the two things I like about it: unlimited overtime -- which means that I make some sweet money, especially considering what I actually do for a living -- and convenience to a major bus line. Yep, that's it. Weighing that against my co-workers whose behavior mostly resembles seventh-graders in study hall when the teacher leaves the room, the weird and disturbing racial tension, the lack of ethics on a corporate level, the mind-numbing repetitiveness of the work... it just about equals out. :^) However, as I approach my forties, it's begun to tilt decisively in the direction of hate.

So here's a question for you three who are going to read this at some point. Do you have a job you love? And if so, how did you go about getting it? (Especially if it's a job you love that has unlimited overtime opportunities and is on a major bus line... not that I'm obsessed with that.) Do you have support at home? Tons of ready cash? Or would you put it down to things that I may not be particularly blessed with, such as discipline or desire? Or all of the above?

Any and all answers are welcome, but I would prefer to know what you do, rather than what I don't do, 'cause, see, I'm pretty sure I know that stuff already. Thanks in advance.

2006-03-24T17:37:00.000-05:00

Happy birthday to me... I turned 36 years old yesterday. Just to disillusion any of you who thought I might be Lindsay Lohan, blogging in secret (and lying about where I live... hey, man, maybe Lindsay LIKES Columbus. Shut up!

Anyway, here's hoping that cool shit happens in 2006 to everyone on their birthday, not just me. And may all of you get to celebrate your birthday with a hot bath and a brand new Blazing Saddles DVD, or, er, whatever else turns you on. And hey, Colin Mochrie, if you happen to be looking for a woman and would like to get with one who thinks you're the coolest and funniest guy ever, I'm in the greater Columbus phone book. Under "Islander, S."

That's all, folks. The balcony, er, the Whetstone library, is closed.

2006-01-01T12:29:00.000-05:00

OK, so, in case you were wondering, some good crap did happen to me in 2005. Here's a random, in-no-particular order list, some of which is probably pretty trivial, but we take what we can get.

1) Rob Morrow, my television boyfriend, reappeared in a half decent show! If you're ever stuck at home on Friday night at 10 (heaven forfend), then Numbers is a show you should catch. Best ensemble cast since Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. And unlike Lost, the only show I was watching on a regular basis at this time last year, it has not taken a headlong plunge into the crapper after being on the air for a mere year. And that leads me to...

2) The best online forum on the internet, for those of you who have an interest: the Lost Bitterness Fiesta over at Television Without Pity. Those who are bitter about Lost and who post on this thread, have reasoning ability to make the average internet poster's head explode. And the few deluded souls who post there who don't seem to understand that the Bitterness Fiesta is for those who are, well, bitter about the direction Lost has taken and not for those who still think that Damon Lindelof isn't in way, way over his head, in a Chris-Carter-in-1997 fashion... you folks are pretty smart too. Deluded, but smart. (A special shout-out to Tubalcaine, who shares my exact frustration about the character of Charlie. The show jumped into the toilet bowl at the exact moment when it could have killed off his character and did not. And right now Dominic Monaghan could be doing some acting that would actually stretch his considerable chops instead of still playing the fake American TV version of Noel Gallagher. But I digress, as I often do. And speaking of people who have had some weird relationship with Noel...)

3) The Gorillaz song "Feelgood Inc." for actually getting played on the radio in Columbus, Ohio, and for rhyming "hazmat" and "asscrack." Just when I had despaired for pop music. Eat it, Gwen & Kelly! (Honorable mention to Madonna for "Hang Up." Finally I can groove to an ABBA song without being embarrassed by the words. Now all someone needs to do is write different lyrics to "Indian Reservation" by Paul Revere & The Raiders and my life will be complete, after a fashion.)

4) My mother, for weathering a severe stroke with sweet good humor, and for not despairing that her life still means something even when she can't talk your ear off (a former character trait). All you whiners who complain about your hangnails and your boyfriend not getting you the gift you wanted for Christmas (yes, co-workers in my evil office job, I mean you) bow your heads in shame, because you suck. And "down yours" will be on my lips until the day I die. Thanks for not being afraid to laugh & make others laugh. I love you, Mom.

5) I finally read the comic book series "Alias" (no relation to the series) this year. A kick ass premise, kick-assly executed. Thanks for introducing me, Lynx! And thanks to another, non-blogging friend who introduced me to Susan Cooper's The Dark is Rising novels. Young adult fiction and graphic novels, that's about all I've read this year. That, and back issues of MOJO. I would say "must do better," except that those things were pretty fricken great.

6) Jake Gyllenhaal, for having ridiculously long eyelashes and still looking completely masculine, and for not letting his face carry his acting career (see also: Paul Walker, Orlando Bloom, 5,026 other young actors).

7) Vern started to post again on his website on a semi-regular basis. Hooray for Vern, still telling it like it is (and being the only reason I read AICN that isn't named Moriarty).

8) My sister finally, finally graduated from nursing school, cum laude to boot. She is leaving a cushy job, doing something that comes easily to her that she's been doing for years, to strike off into the unknown. Dominic Monaghan and I could both take a lesson from that.

9) My body for taking so much abuse (sprained ankles, sprained knees, hitting sidewalks downtown with my face) and springing back so quickly. I feel pretty blessed to still have some semblance of physical health after this year of freak accidents, lingering illnesses and general depression.

10) Having a blog to rant on. A-OK!

I hope that all who stumble on this blog have a happy and blessed 2006. And remember, as the ancient Egyptians used to say: Sakhmet yesterday, Bastet tomorrow.

2005-10-13T21:17:00.000-04:00

(You know, it's really terrible when you can get in a game of Tetris on the cell phone while you're waiting for a page to come up on your computer. And it's not like I suck at Tetris, so it's usually a long game. Oh, well.)

Anyway, I promised Miss Lynx that I would write something about my animus, and rather than being a tease like I am so much on this site, I thought I would actually do it.

Lynx's animus (as you will find if you peruse Dandelion Files) has been haunting her lately. Mine's guidance is more, shall we say, sporadic. I find that sometimes I wish he'd show up and tell me how it is, and I end up having to work stuff out all by myself. Other times, he butts in when things are apparently OK; in fact, when I think I'm pretty satisfied with my life, I will have at least one dream where he shows up, at a crowded party or on a street, solely to look at me like, Why are you screwing up your life?

But I get ahead of myself.

My animus is everything that I am not in a lot of ways. He's the guy that isn't afraid to make a scene or be the scene, who's quick-witted, athletic, confident and could give a lesser what anyone who hasn't earned his respect thinks of him. He bears a large physical resemblance to a minor celebrity who I don't find particularly attractive in waking/conscious life (and who I hope I never meet -- it would be icky), and a small resemblance to me (around the eyes). He's pretty average looking really, but he just doesn't give a fuck, because he knows he has other qualities that people love him for.

He first started showing up in my dreams about ten years ago, about the time I broke up with my last (OK, only) serious boyfriend. (Full disclosure: He also bears no resemblance whatsoever to said boyfriend, other than race and gender, and -- probably -- intellectual capacity.) He likes to go barefoot. He's maybe on the short side for a man, maybe three or four inches taller than I am (I'm five six). He has lovely, elegant hands.

And, really, that's all I know about him, other than that he will show up unannounced, sometimes to frown at me sternly, sometimes to grab my hand and help me negotiate a room (or field) full of people, waving and shouting at all the people he knows that love him and who he loves back, sometimes just to sit with me at a table and laugh and eat with lots of people from all walks of life. I often wish I were him, and then I realize that something inside me is him, and it comforts me.

2005-09-07T16:02:00.000-04:00

OK, I'm trying to be better about this whole blogging thing. That means, more than 1 post every 2 weeks.

I would have scanned in more Cthulhu pics, but that involved cropping a Vera Bradley purse out of the shot (two phrases you will never hear again in the same sentence: "Cthulhu" and "Vera Bradley purse"). I had so much fun in Dayton this past weekend with Lynx... we browsed Books & Co. (for five minutes because they went and closed, damn them), went to Yellow Springs where I bumped into other friends and shopped for bumper stickers in Dark Star, saw the Egypt exhibit at the Art Institute... I've been all over southern Ohio the past month or so (and eaten a lot of nasty carrots because I keep storing my lunches for over a week in the fridge -- eww). The next few weeks are going to see me update my resume and begin shopping it out, and go to the grocery store to try and find some carrots that don't go bad in two days. Oh, and read more Colin Wilson (today's thoroughly bizarre reading: Alien Dawn). Maybe he's the Wilson brother I would go for (see: Lynx's quiz), not that he's related to Luke or Owen, or under the age of 70 if he's still living.

Anyway, time to play solitaire on the work computer before someone in IT realizes they forgot to take it off when they installed Windows XP on our computers... hee hee...

2005-09-03T10:38:00.001-04:00

Finally the promised picture. This was taken in Cincinnati at the Union Terminal Museum Complex. In the back was a Lego scale model of the Terminal complex itself (in front of the IMAX theater and the Amtrak office for those of you who are familiar with the place). This was in the front left corner of the model, in the "underground" portion (perhaps near the bat cave? That might explain the children who periodically go missing).
Either someone has a sick sense of humor or they've finally caught on to who actually runs this state. Bob Taft.. we're on to you.

2005-08-29T20:45:00.000-04:00

First of all, I'm so happy! The pictures of Cthulhu came out so hopefully before I die or go insane I will have evidence that will shock the known world. Or perhaps not if you keep up with Ohio politics.

However, even though I last "went back to school" in 1991, I still have that weird little ball of apprehension in the pit of my stomach, as I do every August. I hated school. Me and formal education have had a very uneasy relationship. (And even though I got a BA in English, I still write things like "me and formal education" instead of "formal education and I." Screw it, this is my blog, not Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Anyway.) The educational part actually wasn't that big a deal. I've always been one of those people who does well on tests, or at least I did back in 1992 when I last took one, so teachers etc. assumed I was book-smart and, oddly enough, that meant they expected less from me, not more. I've yet to figure that one out. But the problem came when I had to be surrounded by members of my peer group for eight plus hours a day.

Now, looking back as a middle-aged adult, I don't hate children. But I remember being a child, and how miserable an experience it could be. Summers, at least between the time alcohol abuse in my immediate family stopped and the time when I left my parents' home for good, meant long days outside swimming with my cousins at Brookside Pool in Ashland, or under a tree in a field somewhere reading a stack of books, and no one making any assumptions about what I was like based on the fact that I liked to read or did well on those stupid standardized tests they made you take. (On the off chance there are any young whippersnappers reading this: they didn't make you take them all year long and you weren't relegated in life to checkout clerk at Wal-Mart if you failed one, so I guess we had it good in a sense. But they were still stupid.) Yeah, I had to do things like Girl Scouts (fun once I got into it) and vacation Bible school (worse than actual school, since there wasn't even any academic value to it. In fact, the dumber you are, the better you do in vacation Bible school generally. And it only had one textbook), but mostly my summers were my own, free of academic pressure and, I'm sure, of intellectual achievement. But they were mine.

School was something else. School was all about the reputation you had from the moment you walked in the door, and seeing as I went to the same small, rural school district for all 13 years of pre-college education, my reputation was pretty well targeted by the time I got to high school. I'm proud to say that I added some new facets to it, like "scary" and "not very concerned with hygiene" by the time I made it to senior year. (In the time and place I grew up, being voted "most likely to become a serial killer," as I was, was considered a somewhat crude and hurtful joke, not a signal that I should be expelled from school. That's another explanation of a slightly kinder, gentler age for you young whippersnappers who are reading random blogs. I'm glad I'm not you, although I'm sure you do OK.) And school was about being reminded that lots of people in a small space made me want to run away as far and as fast as I could. Unfortunately for me, I had a hard time fighting this panic response, which resulted in some really wiggy and completely antisocial behavior. Looking at it from my peers' perspective, no child really wants to feel that a peer, especially a peer who authority is constantly pointing to and saying, You should be as smart, is rejecting them. So, most of my peers made a sport of shoving me away from them. Which would have been fine if we had been able to follow our instincts, me to leave and them to get me to leave, but since we were required by law to be cooped up in a school together... the consequences were pretty dire. So, I always have anxiety dreams and trouble eating this time of year.

On the other hand, the sales kick ass.

2005-08-16T06:45:00.000-04:00

A quick post before work...

For those of you who were worried that I might be suicidal, I wanted to let you know that I actually went somewhere this weekend and had a good time. Cincinnati, to be exact... the Union Terminal and all the museums there, and the Taft Museum of Art (and Jeffersonville to get in the cheesy shopping factor, although I got some useful stuff and a Hello Kitty lunchbox for friends). If any of the photos come out, I will also have conclusive evidence that at least one of the Dark Ones lives underneath Union Terminal... more on that later (hee hee)... and apparently eats the road signs since all the signs in Cincinnati proper are about six inches high.
More on the trip to Cinci (or Cinti? Which is it?) later.

2005-08-06T21:38:00.000-04:00

Well, I just spent all day today and all day yesterday out being sociable, so instead of blogging I should be doing laundry or dishes, or cleaning the catbox. But I wanted to get this down before I forgot it.

The past six months have not been particularly happy for me. My parents have been very ill and two friends of mine have died (one within a few days of my mom's massive stroke in March, and another very suddenly about a month ago). Periods of crisis aren't so unusual when you're in your mid-thirties and beyond, I suppose, since you know many people by that age who mean a lot to you, and they differ in age and level of health. But I was waiting for the bus at the corner of 17th Avenue and 4th Street tonight, watching the shadows swallow up campus and watching OSU students (and the ghosts of students I once knew, from OSU and from elsewhere, since OSU isn't my alma mater) cross the streets (most of them against the light -- some things never change). I thought about what I was like when I lived about four blocks away from that spot for a few months. That was back in 1992, when I first moved to Columbus. If 1992 had been like 2005, I don't know what I would have done really. I imagine that I would have lost my little mind. But here, in 2005, when I've developed (with the support of friends and some family members) the psychological tools to cope with crisis... it's not easy but I can roll with the punches.

It's funny how adulthood happens so gradually to some of us, and so suddenly to others. I think of one of my friends, who spent her teenage years constantly thinking up and carrying out (with some audacity) strategies to escape the abuse of the complete and utter tool that her mother was married to at that time. I also think of another friend whose father died of a heart attack before she was out of high school, leaving her with a mom who made (and makes) a better child than a parent. I don't have anyone as a close friend who I don't admire on some level, but both of those women are (given that we all have our neuroses) fine people who I admire very much for many reasons. I can tell you that if I had had their childhoods, I would be a far bigger mess than I am now. But I was allowed by fate or by design to grow up gradually, and for the most part, from cumulative (and relatively gentle) experience and not from any one massive crisis. If it was by fate, anything that I would have to say about it would be irrelevant, but if it was by design, I would have to ask if given the opportunity: so why is that, anyway?

I promise not to bitch and moan any more about how hard life has been for the last six months. (Although I reserve the right to complain about things like my dad not saying anything to me or my sister about being admitted to the hospital for pneumonia, or my mom refusing to take all of her meds.) I would like to add though that Sissy and Pilar were great women who I and lots of other people will miss very, very much. I don't believe in the kind of afterlife where you get a halo and a set of wings (although wings would kick ass, and although both of those women were Christians. Maybe they did get wings, and maybe they are kick ass. But I have my doubts). I also suspect that very little if anything survives of our personalities in any universal, cosmic sense. However, there is more than one form of immortality, and to be loved by many people who will tell others about how cool and smart and brave (and adult) you were when faced with life's crap is a good immortality. A pretty famous atheist once said that we are all made of starstuff. I would only add that there is mental starstuff as well as physical starstuff. That atheist (who died, oh, a good ten years ago now) lives on in a few of the books on my bookshelf. But he also lives on in my thoughts ten years after his death, as do my departed friends, as do all the people who were once in our physical spaces but who only live now in our heads, as tonight the ghosts of students I once knew did, as the ghost of the person I once was does.

2005-07-28T22:30:00.000-04:00

I love my art class.

I'm in the process of taking a yearlong series of introductory drawing and painting classes through the Cultural Arts Center here in Columbus. The place is really one of this city's treasures. It's located in an old armory at the edge of Bicentennial Park, pretty close to I-70. There's all sorts of classes in anything you might want to explore, from painting to textiles to beading to pottery (they're pretty reasonably priced too -- I've found them very affordable and I would characterize my income as lower middle class). There are rotating art exhibits throughout the building (including a recent huge exhibit of John Cavanaugh's sculptures), and a pretty nifty gift shop which (I knew this blogging thing would get me in trouble, I just burnt the spaghetti! Crap! Anyway, as you were) has faculty and student works for sale. Columbus Alive agrees with me, CAC made the Best of Columbus issue this week. And the place smells like paint when you walk in. You can't beat that with a stick, folks. Actually, you could but eventually you'd get arrested, especially if you did it for hours on end.

I'm a pretty mediocre art student. I'm better at painting than drawing, because painting is easier to fudge unless you're a photorealist and I'm, well, yeah. But after the six months from hades (parent seriously ill, friends dying, car being broken into, job continuing its descent into the depths of suckitude, etc.) it's great to just go somewhere, pick up my pencil or my brush, and focus my attention on something other than myself and my woes for two and a half hours. The physical end result is, in a very real sense, irrelevant. When I have the technology I'll post on this blog some of what I've done, mostly to make up for the fact that you will probably never see a picture of me on here. I get a bit squicked out by the thought of people stumbling on this blog, seeing a picture of me, a total stranger and not a great beauty either, and going, Nope, ain't having that. I'd rather be judged on my words, and if you judge me on my art too, I can live with that.

Anyway, especially if you live in our fair city but even if you're just passing through, CAC is worth a stop. And now I need to scrub out my pan...

2005-07-27T23:19:00.000-04:00

I suppose it'd be great if I could come up with something profound to say for my very first blog post. But it's about 11 PM on a Wednesday so I think I'll let it go. One thing I do have to say, though, is that when you've been reading as far back as you can remember, it's fricken hard to pick out three or four books as your favorites. I think my choices are OK, although in light of what I've talked about with Miss Lynx, perhaps I should have chosen The Valley of Fear over The Hound of the Baskervilles?... oh, well, I can always go back and change it later.

Oh, and the company that had the nice minty envelopes ended up laying me off. I did wonder at first if it was because they'd spent too much money on envelopes, only to realize later after several indictments were handed out that envelopes were probably irrelevant to the company's survival. I did spend many an excellent afternoon with my friend Em at the coffee station discussing The Matrix and The Lord of the Rings though. No experience is ever wasted. I was raised in a rural Midwestern household by the descendents of German and Scottish immigrants, so you'd better believe that I learned not to waste anything. Not even minty envelopes. I (with my then-manager's permission, thief takers!) ended up taking a box home. It makes paying the rent slightly more enjoyable than it otherwise would be.