...might be the most melancholy song in the history of my playlists.
Popped up in the supermarket on a rainy Monday morning. I almost passed out in the peas from grief.
Damn George. Don't sneak up on me like that in the produce section.
I hope people offline get to know you as well as we do.
NYCinephile said these words here.
I went to answer it in a comment, then realized I had more content than what might be appropriate in comment space.
I'm often told that in person I can come off as distant or unapproachable until you actually speak to me. I come from a long line of general scowlers...so I hear people say they thought I was going to be really something different then what I actually was. People expect me to be mean. Gruff. Snappy. And...I can be if I'm having a bad day or don't want to be bothered, but that's not my usual disposition.
I move through the outside world with purpose. There's always some place I'm trying to get to. Until I get there, I'm rarely comfortable. I'm always in a rush to get to the next safety point...and I'm not sure people are aware that that's what I'm doing. Milling about in free space is sometimes terrifying. People look at you, you imagine what they might be thinking...and it's never good. I assume people are going to be appalled by the things I secretly twist over. I assume they're going to be thinking about the blemish on my cheek...or how boyish I look in my jeans and sneakers...perhaps they will review my random crazed curls and think I should do something with my hair. Perhaps they will think I need to lose weight. They will think I'm too tall, too broad, too light, maybe too brown, too thick, too sturdy, too durable, not feminine or soft enough. These are the things that run fervently through my mind. Or at least did with urgency that slowly fades over my lifetime. I always assumed everyone I saw was finding ways to pick me apart, piece by rejectable piece. And then...they would smile. Or they would ask a question, or they simply say hello. And that icy exterior of protection, would melt...to our mutual relief. It's better now...but I won't sit here and say it's entirely diminished.
I guess that's my own defense mechanism. I would say it's easier for me to be "naked" in this space because of the anonymity. I have discussed the struggles with self-perception when you are an overweight child. I know much of my distance with people offline is the old habit of warding off a pending hurtful approach. I almost SEEK being avoided, because it's generally a relief as opposed to the challenge of actually having to be seen.
When I'm forced to be seen, i.e. business trips, tradeshows, first encounters with people I've not met before...I give them the RPM I deliver best. The suit and tie, as my sister calls it. I'm friendly, but distant. Chatty, but impersonal. I'll rattle on about my industry or my interests as if I'm being interviewed. It's automatic and requires no effort on my part. It's the element of me that is terrified walking into a bar, but completely comfortable walking into a boardroom of twenty perfect strangers and conducting a presentation. If I become a suit and tie, it's not really about me...it's about what I'm promoting. And that's not personal. That's easy. Because it's not truly what rests within my heart. If people don't like it, I am generally unfazed. Just because you tell me I'm not intelligent or I don't have good ideas - doesn't make it so. But tell me I have a waterjug head and a jiggle near my midsection that makes me look dumpy...now that's a damned fact I'm gonna carry with me for the next three hours. Tell me I'm a soppy, sensitive, weirdo...and that's gonna sting for a bit. Bottom line is...we all choose to accept some things as truth, others as fallacies. Rarely do we get it completely right. All that really matters...all that is really true...is what we believe to be true about ourselves.
I have a professional, impersonal arrogance that reminds me that I'm not beautiful in an aesthetic sense. I don't have to be sensual, sexy, or "attractive." Those things will eternally be up for debate depending on who you speak to. I am however, intelligent and capable. Even as a child those were things you could NEVER take away from me. You could never wound my mind...still can't. If I don't know something, I assume I can learn it. But there are somethings...you can't learn. Be. Have. At least, that's what I told myself. So I learned to project the parts of me that were good, in hopes of overlooking the parts that might not be so hot. It was a habit that's been very hard to break.
It was only when I reached my thirties that I began to slowly accept the notion that people might find my heart marginally as interesting as my brain. I still struggle tremendously with the notion they might find anything else interesting or attractive. But even that is shifting too.
Here, in this space...many of the faces seeing me, I never see. By it's nature, you are forced to know me by my words. Not my big head, or my broad frame or my size ten feet. You are forced to see the true me, the inside of me. The me I keep safe my locking it away behind a scowl or a tense expression in the outside world. I don't have to get tied up in body image, or feel anxiety because I'm not physically perfect in every way. Isn't that funny? I've never been insecure about who I am as a person. My quirks, my mind, my heart or what I feel or think. My problem offline is that struggle with seperating the fears and pains of childhood from my reality. I expect people to be preoccupied with the surface of me, it's almost as if I still expect to be attacked in the 'adult schoolyard.' I live each day offline prepared to defend my right to be here. And rarely is that fight required.
I wonder if that's not exacerbated by the fact that I am cancer the crab. Hard shell to protect a very soft heart. Do offline people get to know me this way? Over time, yes. But when I think about it...anyone who's become a dear person to me, has almost always gotten to that point by reading me first. Either long, wandering emails or instant messages or even random 'twits.' I'm brave by pen, wary by person. Maybe that will change over time too. But if it doesn't...
Is that the plight of any writer?
1. I am not mean, I'm direct. And contrary to what you think or how you were raised - there is a difference. If you don't want to know what I think, you shouldn't ask. Golden rule of being friends with me.
2. I save my lengthy, creative expression for my writing, not for everyday conversation. I'm sorry you confuse my desire to speak without fluff as a lack of gentility or charm. I'd rather be sincerely concise rather than artificially jocund. I like getting to the point. See point 1.
3. If I want you to teach me something, give me an opportunity to ask you for your guidance. I loathe a lesson unrequested. It's part of my general arrogance (fiery independence)...something also on the list to work on.
4. I am not patient. While I work on it, don't expect impatience to disappear overnight. Expect flares every now and again. Like when you ask me to explain something to you, then interrupt me at every third word.
5. I am relatively inflexible on things I believe. Knowing this of me as you do...I struggle to understand why you would expect me to change my opinion any more readily than you do. You think I'm exhausting? Try being on the receiving end of one of your spin-outs. And for the record, "Euw!" As a response to something I am currently reading, eating, listening to or enjoying is rude. Especially if I didn't ask you for an assessment.
6. You should learn to entertain yourself. Don't be wounded if I opt to do something without your company; I tend to do that. I don't regard that as rejection and I value my time and space to be alone. PS...this does not mean I am depressed. This means I am wholly comfortable in my own company. You should try sitting down and getting to know yourself sometime. It can be quite an adventure.
7. The more you pry, the less I offer. Friendship does not mean you are made privy to all my whereabouts, my thoughts or my plans. Even if you tell me all of yours. Sometimes I don't want to review the minutia of my day. Sometimes a "something" just needs to be a 'something" without an explanation. Which reminds me...
8. Don't tell me you don't keep score on your every good deed. If you didn't, you wouldn't be able to tick them off so readily when you do your regular review of why you are so wonderful. I find wanton self promotion especially repugnant.
9. With regard to communication practice with me...sometimes less is more. If I am quiet, it means I'm all talked out. Don't just keep going. Please. And for the love of God, don't pout about it.
10. I can be an arrogant, opinionated, argumentative asshole at times. But so can you. Perhaps we bring it out in each other? Let's either declare a truce, or agree to break camp. Wow...there goes that impatience again, huh?
If you would like more information on how to coexist with me in a more peaceful manner, you should consult my sister. You do have access to her, and she can assist you with the random mood swings, the veiled secrecy, my aversion to the questions, "who are you talking to" and "where were you," as well as when to generally fuck off without taking it personally. I may be blissfully naked, but I do have a limit, damn you.
I've been inspired by NYCinephile. We've taken to discussing movies as of late, and following his suggestion, I'm going to do something a little different. RPM: Random Perspectives on Movies. A play on my blog name, I'm going to occasionally share with you the twisted meanderings of my movie watching mind. I look forward to boring engaging you with my perspectives on some of the movies I love, and why. Be warned...sometimes, I can like some really awful flicks. Don't say I didn't warn ya.
Memoirs of a Geisha.
There's nothing more uncomfortable then trying to avoid an evolution. Sometimes you have to just let it happen even if you're not sure you know where you are gonna wind up. Better yet, you're sure you know where you're going to wind up, but you have no clue how that's going to happen.
I was watching Memoirs of a Geisha for the billionth time last night. I can watch any movie I really liked many more times then I will ever admit. While the movie deviated quite a bit from the amazing book by Arthur Golden, once I got over my disappointment in that, I found the movie to be quite rewarding. (A crush on Ken Watanabe helped that along). I've always been fascinated by Asian culture. It's history, the mystical traditions, the stoic surface of some of the mannerisms and the overwhelming emotions and passions that lie silent beneath them. Some of my favorite authors and books have explored varying elements of the culture and its evolution over the passage of time.
Memoirs follows the story of Sayuri, a girl from modest and heartbreaking beginnings who becomes the most famous and celebrated Geisha of the World War II era.
Her eyes are deep water. It is not for Geisha to want. It is not for geisha to feel. Geisha is an artist of the floating world. She dances, she sings. She entertains you, whatever you want. The rest is shadows, the rest is secret.
I loved that line. Early on in the film (explained a bit further in the novel), Chiyo (Sayuri's pre-Geisha name) was told by her mother that she was "water." She took that at first (in my opinion) to be a bit of an insult, assuming the element of water to be something erratic, constantly changing. You love her character as a child because she is passionate, tender and intelligent. She sees, she feels but she hesitates. Early and often. She simply doesn't know her own strength or endurance. In some instances she rails against tradition with her expression and fierce adherance to what she wants...in other respects she silently follows the rules. At varying times, you see her character draw so deeply within herself that you would expect to see her vanish right before your eyes. You see more of that in the book, naturally.
As water, she begins her life rushing haphazardly. Flailing, wild and almost uncontrolled in her emotion, her expression and her wants. Over time you see her evolve in the most melancholy sort of way. She learns the cruel art of detachment. Accepting some hardships, learning from all of them, never losing her determination or her will, but harnessing it to create the circumstances she needs to acquire what she wants. Of course, she has help along the way...but the notion of the strength of water, its ability to wear away the pains of an existence to create a polished exterior is very eloquently woven through both the book and the movie. We watch her slip inside herself, keeping what is most dear to her away from the world as if to protect a fragile dream she suspects is too unreal to embrace. She will embrace it anyway. Finally, she resigns herself to take no action, detaching in a way most of us can relate to (admittedly or not):
The heart dies a slow death, shedding each hope like leaves. Until one day there are none.
Kills me. Everytime. Although Sayuri gets a version of a happy ending, it comes only after she's released her grip on it. And she gets a modest version, which demonstrates to the audience her willingness to acknowledge to embrace the mixed blessing. You get the sense that she is strong enough to bear the weight of what she's asked for though it may not seem like much of a gift from a western perspective.
There is nothing more worthwhile, foolish, rewarding and sometimes punishing then following your heart. It's the most courageous thing you can ever do...because most times, you will follow it unbeknownst to the world around you. In secret, because I think for most of us...me especially...we're terrified to show people our most true desires.
- What color(s) are your favorite?
- What color are your eyes?
- Which color(s) describe your mood at this moment?
- What color do you wear the most?
- Show us something colorful.
My favorite color is brown. I always hated to say that out loud because folks look at me like I'm insane. But hey...I love brown. Espresso, Mocha, Walnut, Oak, you name it. Brown is an extremely soothing color to me. Earthy, muted and grounded. I'd like to think I'm that way when I'm at my best.
My eyes are brown. I used to think that was dull until I saw that there are many shades and elements that make eye color unique from person to person. My brother, sister and I all have brown eyes...but each set varies just a bit in color.
My mood at this moment, and its corresponding color...I suppose we're speaking aurically which is right on up my alley. My aura this morning is indigo blue, which...if you follow translation would mean I am feeling intuitive, sensitive and emotional. No kidding, eh?
The color I wear the most is probably brown. Although right now I'm wearing rose.
And finally...something colorful...
err...the land.
In my room sipping on some gumbo *hides from Barry as she types*
So...interesting notables thus far?
1. Met a man on the flight from Dallas to Nola. A very bizarre, but kind man. The kind of man you can tell at a glance is going to try and find clever ways to hit on you and get your number during the flight. Sure enough he wound up in the row in front of me, and spent the entire flight: 1) ignoring my ear buds in my ears, 2) virtually speaking in a whisper, 3) finding ways to increase my comfort on the flight including draping me with a blanket because I looked like I was..."shivering" while I slept. Yes. That would be a direct quote, and finally 4) crafting a note to hand to me as we de-planed. I will not embarass him by posting the note on vox (that's just cruel)...but he uses circles instead of dots for i's...and he began his note "somewhere above the clouds."
*sigh*
2. The men of New Orleans make me feel beautiful. Thank you fellas. I needed that.
3. If someone books me on another flight sitting next to the engine...I'm gonna take that shit personally.
4. It was eerie how everyone fell silent on the airport shuttle as we passed the Dome. Eerie.
5. I am really sad I never got a chance to visit prior to Katrina.
6. I'm trying not to kick Ray Nagin in the teeth over this crap he said about my hometown.
Addendum before sleep...4/23/07 - 11:23pm
7. NYCinephile, I meant to take a picture of the tiny hot sauce bottle that came with my room service. I ate it. (kidding). Nothing spicy enough to impress you yet, but give me time. I still have a day and a half to go!
8. Don't know if it's the humidity, or the 5000 pounds I've gained since this afternoon...but I was sweatin' like a natural piglet in that exhibition hall today. JAYsus. I mean, I'm a fairly unattractive sweat-a-saurus as it is (think Moses Malone circa 1980's)...but mix that with a hot hotel, throngs of people and my typical "pre-show" high strung antics, and I practically needed a hand towel as an escort. Think perhaps I was able to sweat off that weight I might have gained from the ridiculous food offerings? Not a chance. I quote my Dad, "to hell with regimen, you're in N'Awlins baby!!"
9. Dear Lady That Let That Glass Door Slam On Me: I saw you look back at me and snicker, and I need you to know I'm gonna whup up on your ass if I ever see you again. Something fierce. (at the very least trip you...a special skill)
10. I wish my sister was here to see some of the stuff I'm seeing. She makes every new experience THAT much more fun for me.
11. I should have had more to drink this evening.
That is all.
I'm headed to New Orleans this morning.
Not really in the mood to travel, but alas I should hardly complain about having to dodge the pajama pants once or twice a month to work in the precense of others.
Bah.
Might be able to update, but these events are typically jam-packed. Be back on Wednesday unless something really juicy happens that I need to share with you.
“You are a rude, thoughtless little pig.”
from the Times Herald Record Online.
Why is this news? And why am I hearing it over and over and over on CNN? And why do we feel we have the right to take a ringside seat to something as gut wrenching, dysfunctional and nasty as a brutal custody battle between two parents? I am really, really sick of the news.
I won't share any more quotes. I'm sure you've already heard it anyway.
There's nothing more heartbreaking to me then the erosion of a family, because the splintering shows its damage for years and years to come. Having been the adult child of divorce, I recall watching my parents over the course of their 25 year union slowly breakdown into shadows of their former selves. My father had always been a rager, but during it's worst moments, he could turn it on all of us, with disastrous results. My mother had always been a quiet manipulator, so her shifting was a lot less clear to see until I was able to look back with a clearer lens. The only audience exposed to all the gross nastiness of it all were the kids. Us. We got to have the ring side seats watching the battle and occasionally getting nabbed in some really unfriendly, friendly fire. We got to see our parents at their very best, and their very, very worst.
I was on the phone with my sister this morning as she was on her way to work, when I watched (and she overheard) the story on CNN. I hate to tell you this, but we both...laughed. I guess we're both hardened to things like that. Not because we don't believe his daughter was likely horrified, frightened and deeply hurt by this raging tirade from her father...but because we could not believe such ugly, nasty, dirty, family business was put over the airwaves. As if dealing with it privately is easy to begin with.
We laughed, because we'd been there. On the receiving end of messages and rants from our father that would have had some ladies with an uneasy constitution swooning and sliding out of their chairs. It felt familiar. Kind of like when you remember the most painful klutz moment you ever had...but chuckle because elements of it were too insane not to be funny once you were healed. Note, I said kinda. Because truly, getting reamed by a raging parent...is scary, it hurts and it can feel absolutely dehumanizing. But the wounds can be healed.
Like every other "news" event we get, we don't know the story we just get the "juicy" parts. We don't know what provoked that tirade. We don't know the context. The point of this post is...
It ain't our business.
That's family business. And the saddest thing about that whole "airing" of the American family...is that tirades like that happen all over the place in the throes of bitter, nasty custody fights and divorces. And yet...throngs of people will gasp in horror publicly, point and frown and tsk tsk tsk and speculate about all the damage he's done, label him whatever they need to and become a superior subject matter expert on all the things a good parent never does (while their own family dysfunctions fester in indiscriminate silence). We won't acknowledge that sometimes we do things we wish we could take back (big or small). We won't acknowledge that sometimes we create regrettable moments. Nah...we'll sweep those under the carpet. And if pushed we'll snap and say...'it's none of your business what goes on in my life!"
We all should have the right to endure those moments without public shame and review. We're not their therapists. And this...this is not news.
