100 years

Or rather, half of 100 years. Tonight we are going out to a fancy restaurant to celebrate my grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary. I think that's pretty amazing. Being married so long I mean.

To be true to my inner romantic, I must admit that my heart clings to the idea of everlasting love. I want to marry and have kids and be happy with the same person for a lifetime. Unfortunately, I've been growing up in a world where that's not really the norm anymore.

I have no problem with divorce. My parents divorced, and they are much happier for it. But that's not something I want. I'm not trying to say that anyone wants divorce, but that scares me. The idea of giving away my heart and then taking it back or, worse, getting it handed back to me broken, is a scary idea. So in this cynical bubble I create for myself, it's quite lovely to celebrate 50 years of love and life together.

My grandparents drive each other crazy sometimes, but they do love each other, and they match each other quite well.

Now I must go get cleaned up for dinner. I have to grab a shower before it's stolen by someone else. 10 people going out to dinner = lots of showers necessary.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

Sleepin' is all I wanna do

Wow. I saw the clock and freaked out because I thought I had missed my deadline, forgetting about the time difference. Yay, I'm still posting on time.

Anyway. Don't have much to say today. I'm hoping I'll have time to write a proper post tomorrow, but honestly I've been very busy on my vacation, which seems like an oxymoron and I'm not sure how I feel about it, but whatever.

I suppose I should report that Thomas' plan actually worked. "Nick" is a nice guy and I think he'll make a good internet/long distance friend. Either way, we're getting ice cream together tomorrow. My family is annoying and nosy though; I got home from the Magic tournament (and from talking to Nick) and was bombarded with questions. Some relatives said that ice cream was definitely a date, others didn't say, and (my favorite) my cousin (I'm too tired to come up with a fake name, too tired to even think of the WORD for a fake name. pseudonym? Ah, finally, spell check has confirmed) so I'll just say she's Patrick's sister) said "Well, that was my mom and dad's first date, and look how that turned out." She was referring to the fact that they are now happily married with six children.

Family overload has commenced. Shut down cycle has been initiated to preserve what is left of my sanity. Admittedly, that's not much.

Sleep well, or if you're reading this at a different time, then "______" well to whatever you're planning on doing next.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da

Due to the thunderstorm that we had earlier today, the internet connection has been terribly slow. This is the first time I've even been able to access my blog, so I don't know how long the connection will stay good. Therefore, I'm keeping today's post nice and short.

Which is helpful since I don't have much to say today. I've been enjoying vacation, and we went to see Toy Story 3, which was amazing. I found myself feeling much like Andy throughout the film: a teenager on the cusp of a new stage in life, unsure of what to hold on to and what to let go of.

It isn't just about toys, it's about relationships and habits and people. I'm taking a year off before I go to college, and I'm grateful for that; it's giving me more time to think about who I want to be in college. It will be such a different and crazy world. I've lived in a bit of a box for the past several years. Going to an all-girls' Catholic school for high school, especially as someone involved in the theatre department, has meant that I haven't had much time for life outside of drama and school. Before that I was both young and awkward, and I went to one school for ten years.

I must admit, it's rather scary thinking about the things and the people that I might have to let go of, and it's scary worrying about being alone in a new place.

Augh all this talk of growing up is making me nervous. So that's enough for now. I'll be back tomorrow, hopefully with faster internet.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

Material world

So much focus in this culture is placed on what you own. Products and advertisements for products are everywhere. Commercials tell us what products are best; which products make us look sexier, feel healthier, get girls/guys easier, the list goes on. As a culture, Americans are obsessed with the material. I cannot say that I am blameless in this aspect, because yes, I buy into the whole birthday/Christmas product explosion too.

What really stinks about this whole culture mindset is that I am a part of it as well. I wish that I could say I wasn't, but I am. As I've mentioned previously, I'm an avid packrat with a bad habit of hoarding my stuff. But I do think that I have acquired at least a certain amount of skepticism towards commercials. My grandfather used to sit down with his kids, my mom among them, and say "Do you know what commercials are? LIES."

And it's true. Commercials tell us that buying this car will make us more successful. Using this shampoo will make us sexier/healthier. Using this acne product will turn us from spotted teens to super attractive supermodels. Buying this lingerie will make us a beast of sexiness. The truth is, what you own doesn't matter half as much as the people you have around you. What you own doesn't matter as much as your religious or spiritual beliefs. What you own doesn't matter as much as what you make of yourself and what you own.

We need to stop thinking that buying this product or that object will make us more successful in life, and focus instead on being all we can be as ourselves. We define ourselves by the things we own when we should be defining ourselves by who we are as a person/sister/daughter/friend/brother/son/father/mother.

I say all this and then go back to living a material life in the hopes that I can change my own habits and persuade others around me to change their habits as well. Getting the newest iPhone doesn't make us cool. Maybe it's a useful piece of technology, but owning it doesn't change who we are. But so much emphasis of the media is used to tell us that what we own is who we are, and so we fall for the same tricks over and over again.

Have a wonderful Wednesday, I know I will. Please take a moment to appreciate the time stamp on this particular posting and wonder to yourself, "WHAT? T.A.D. is posting at 6:37 in the morning???? WHAT HAS THE WORLD COME TO???"

Actually, if I have that much emphasis on how you think, you should probably take a step away from the computer screen and go enjoy the summer.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

Make 'em laugh

I love comedians.

Here are YouTube links to some of my favorite comedy bits from some of my favorite comedians.

Elvira Kurt

(4:00 onward starts a hilarious clip about airport travel)

Patton Oswalt

(Talking about the atrocities known as Star Wars Episodes 1-3)

Robin Williams

(on golf)

Eddie Izzard

(on computers and technology)

Pablo Francisco

(bad quality, but funny as hell)

I could go on. Dane Cook, Suzanne Westenhoefer, Ellen (of course), Demetri Martin, Bill Cosby, Pablo Francisco, Jeff Dunham, Stephen Lynch. The list goes on. These comedians bring joy and happiness to my life. I now share them with you in the hopes that they may bring you the same laughter that they have brought me.

Enjoy, and, as always, cheers,

-T.A.D.

P.S. Tomorrow, I am going up to NYC with my grandmother and mom and we are going to see Billy Elliott on Broadway. SO EXCITED.

Simple

Ah, if only life were as simple as it seems to be to an eleven year old.

As I mentioned yesterday, my cousin Thomas has a plan to get me a boyfriend, because, according to him, I need one. When I was here in New Jersey earlier this summer, I accompanied Thomas to his weekly Magic tournament at the Jersey Shore Hobby Store. It is with one of the nice young men that I am supposed to fall madly in love with. Over dinner yesterday night, Thomas shared his plan with me. I am going to recount the conversation for you.

Thomas: Nick (let's call him) is really nice and smart and handsome to girls I think, I don't know for sure because I'm not a girl. Do you remember him? He's the tall one with reddish hair, he has a little beard. He has a crush on you.

Me: Yes, I remember him. Wait, he has a crush on me? How would you know?

Thomas: Well his eyes practically popped out of his head when he saw you. And he asked about you the next time I showed up and you weren't there.

(Obviously this means that Nick is madly in love with me...)

Me: Well, isn't he way older than me anyway?

Thomas: He's in college, so maybe he's two years older than you. But that doesn't matter, he's not super old or I wouldn't be getting you together. So here's what you're gonna do. When you come with me to Magic, you'll ask him to play and say loser buys ice cream for me and my cousin. Then, when we all go out to ice cream, I'll sneak away. And that's that. Then you'll fall madly in love.

Me: Oh, because it's just that simple, right? What if he doesn't accept the bet?

Thomas: Then you ask him out to ice cream. I mean, how complicated could it be?

Oh Thomas, I hope you treasure these years and the simplicity that comes with them. I wish I lived in a world where getting ice cream with someone equals making a relationship work. If I did, my problems would be much more limited.

I think I'm going to do it just to humor him. No harm no foul, right? And it is just ice cream. I honestly don't have a huge recollection of Nick (it was six weeks ago that I met him). I think the best that could come out of all this is that I make a long-distance friend, which might be nice, seeing as I don't have a long list of friends that are guys (four years in an all-girls Catholic school). And the worst that could come of it would be for him to reject my offer for a frozen delicious treat. I think that would be his loss anyway. So I'm going to try the simple way. Who knows, maybe I'll look back on this post in ten years married to Nick. Weirder things have happened in the universe.

Not that I'm looking for a relationship right now, let alone marriage. Ack. Off to bed I go.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

Eyes of a child

When I arrived at the beach house today, my uncle was there with his 13 month old son, who we will call William. There is something about babies, other than their obvious cute-factor, that fascinates me.

I love seeing babies interact with the world around them. Their innocence and their ability to be inspired (more like entertained) by almost everything and everyone around them is so amazing. I love seeing the wonder in their eyes. And it makes me jealous a little bit. Babies are experiencing everything so freshly and newly, so everything is unexpected and beautiful and wonderful. However, you get to your teenage years and, instead of watching the world through a lens of innocence, you see it through a web of pessimism.

The joy of an infant's laugh is so pure. The humor that amuses them is pure. We hide behind sarcasm and dark wordplay. I guess my main point is that I think we as adults (or teenagers close to adulthood) should take our cues from the infants every once in a while. Try genuinely being interested in everything around you for a whole day. No wonder babies need naps!

For tomorrow, I'm going to write about how my cousin Thomas is convinced that he needs to get me a boyfriend. He has a master plan and everything.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

Relax

I am leaving for my family's beach house in New Jersey today. Well, tonight. We have a red-eye flight. And it's a transfer. Which is great...

Ah, no complaints meant. I'm really looking forward for my vacation. While I love working and I loved the workshop that just ended, I am happy about the time at the beach. The beach is one of my favorite places. I love it. We stay up late playing games together. However, the fact that I'm on vacation will probably mean that my posts for the next week or so will be shorter. Starting with today.

Not much new news. The show went amazingly well, despite my fears. I think this show and this genre has so much to offer America.

Well, have a wonderful Sunday. I'll be back with you tomorrow with a more substantial post.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

I was meant for the stage

God. I love theatre. I believe it has the power to inspire change, provoke thought, and present ideas. I believe that the relationship between the audience and the performance that you find in theatre is unique and beautiful and wonderful. There is a give and take in theatre between the performers and the audience; a connection, that I have not found in any other art forms.

Perhaps this is my ignorance. Either way, theatre has spoiled me. I've found my home in theatre. I've found a place where I can love and be loved. It is my passion; my dream. I aspire to inspire. The workshop that I've been taking for the past two weeks is culminating tomorrow in our one and only performance. It's rather astounding: the production periods for shows go on for weeks and then what? I've never been in a show that's had a run longer than a single weekend. But it's worth it. What we're doing tomorrow is different and wonderful and I love it. I am inspired by it and working in this genre has been truly a gift to me.

Slow tempo. Imagine that your everyday pace is a five on a one to ten scale. Now imagine that your five is equivalent to 100%. We work at 5% for most of the show. Approximately 35 minutes. There is no speaking, at least none audible to the audience. Everything is portrayed on a physical level. The fact that we can do this, that theatre has a place for this, makes me stand back, speechless, in awe.

Some of the best memories of my life involve theatre. It was something that I always loved doing. As a young child in my school's productions, I would stand backstage, mouthing along with the lines of the actors. When Rent went on one of its closing tours, with Anthony Rapp and Adam Pascal, I went with my aunt and my sister to see it. It was amazing. I have never heard so much applause and cheering.

I believe that theatre has so much potential as an art, but where it fails is in bringing in a wide enough audience. Approximately 8% of the US population goes to see a play in a year. 8%. That saddens me. Meanwhile, movie theaters and television capture more and more viewers. It is time for theatre to make a comeback.

People say that acting is merely lying. In a sense, that's true. But in another way, I have found that the moments when I have been most vulnerable and true and exposed are onstage. Acting requires you to give a certain amount of yourself to your character and to the storytelling. Yes, we put on the mask of a different person, but acting requires us to find the lines between us and them and blur those lines.

Ah hell. This post is really a disjointed series of some words that barely portray some of my thoughts about theatre. But, seeing as I have a show tomorrow, I really should stop fussing about it and go to bed.

See you tomorrow.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

We are family

The following is a poem (another that I wrote several years ago) written about me and my sister. I quite like it, but I think that now, almost four years later, I might rewrite it.

But, here is the first version. Enjoy.

Sisters

Two peas in a pod.
that’s what they call us.
they couldn’t be farther
from the truth.

your motivation, my lack thereof
my instant opinions, your hesitant ones
your optimism, my pessimism
my extrovert, your introvert
your cat, my dog

my long grudges, your quick forgiveness
your patience, my impatience
my energy, your weariness
your carefulness, my recklessness
my locked doors, your openness.

Two peas in a pod?
hardly…
though…

our reading and writing
our intelligence
our procrastination and perfectionism
our hobbies, our school, our singing, our drama
our protectiveness
our harmonies
our similarities
and our differences.

Two peas in a pod?
maybe.
But I prefer to simply say,
sisters.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

Time is a healer

Or is it?

Sometimes pains and aches, both emotional and physical, can be healed with just time. Cuts scab over; bruises fade. But what about the wounds that are infected? You can't leave those to scab.

If you do, the next time you look at them, your wound has spread, pus is oozing from your skin, and it hurts a hell of a lot more. Those are the wounds that require help to heal.

I find it hard to ask for help sometimes, but I've also found that my injuries tend to get gross the longer I go without help. I guess the moral of the story is that the tale about how all you need to heal is time, that's bullshit. Sometimes it works like that, but other times, no matter how hard it is, you need to ask for help. Help heals.

Ask for a band-aid. You'll be surprised on how much it'll make you feel better.

Cheers,

T.A.D.

We know that we will always be around

Friends are pretty damn wonderful, aren't they?

In my experience, I've found that friends are the people that have the most potential to either make you feel wonderful or make you feel terrible. Getting cheered on and encouraged by friends is so much better than getting encouraged by strangers. In fact, that can be a little creepy if you have no idea where they came from or how they learned your name. And while it's easy to walk away from an insult or some other shit that a stranger throws at you, I've found that it's really not nearly as easy to take that from a friend.

It makes sense when you think about it. You let friends in, close to your heart, so they have a greater chance of healing or harming your heart. We trust our friends, so when they say something that chances are they don't even mean, it's really hard to just let it go. Those comments stick with you like bristles in your socks.

But when you're in a bad patch, it's your friends that you count on to stick with you, just like those bristles. I have a handful of friends who have stuck with me through rain and shine, and who I know (or hope) always will. Perhaps it's just my own experience, since I know that Patrick, my cousin and one of my best friends ever, has a different opinion about family, but I've found that friends are the family you choose. You don't have to love them, you choose to love them. Isn't that so much more powerful?

Here's an example: As the child of four parents, I know that all of them (in a sense) chose me. My biological mom and dad wanted another kid after my sister was born, and so here I am. I don't mean to imply anything by my next comment, since I love all my parents equally, but I get so blown away by the fact that my NON-biological mom and dad walked into my life and chose to make me their daughter. My step-mom came into my life when I was eleven months old, and my step-dad came when I was around 7. I love the fact that they had the chance to choose; to reject; and they chose me.

So when I get close to a friend, or even a member of my family, I love hitting that point in our relationship where the friendship becomes a choice. You have to love your family, but you don't necessarily have to like them. My cousin Patrick is one of my best friends, and that isn't because of convenience or because he's my cousin. It's because we both chose one another. Sometimes you get to that point, I know I have, and you or the other person is disappointed by the choice that is made. Because you don't get chosen every time. And that's what makes it so much more powerful when you do get chosen. You can look back to the times when you weren't chosen and prove that maybe the person who didn't choose you made a mistake.

This whole concept of choosing is so powerful. It applies to almost every relationship. My dog chose me, and I chose her. My step-brother chose me. Half of my parents chose me. Patrick chose me even though his religion says that I'm going to hell. Isn't that incredible? We have to be careful about the choices we make though, because, as I said at the beginning of the post, the people we choose and who choose us are then given so much potential, both for harm or for good.

So make your friends happy you chose them. And make sure they know you're happy they chose you back.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

Ring around the rosie

So many children's tales, nursery rhymes, and the like, are so disturbing.

I played Ring Around the Rosie a lot when I was a kid. But let's deconstruct it for an example.

You see, it's theorized to be about the black plague.

Ring around a rosie (this refers to the round red rash, one of the first symptoms of the disease)

Pocketful of posies (flowers were believed to ward off disease)

Ashes, ashes (victims of the plague were cremated to prevent the spread)

We all fall down (dead)

Even though there are some people who say that this is merely myth and that this rhyme was not meant to refer to the plague, I think it makes sense. Even if it wasn't originally, this version seems quite clear, doesn't it?

Grimm's fairy tales are another place where you can see the disturbing nature of stories and fables meant for children.

I don't think we as a society have grown out of this tendency either. We let kids see the most violent, disturbing, and all around creepy TV and movies ever.

Just some thoughts.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

I'm a loser baby

Or not, apparently. According to a friend of mine, "drama-nerds" and "music geeks" are now "in."

Vomit. Firstly, who decides these things? I get it. TV shows like Glee have made the idea of being a drama or music nerd "cool."

I don't like the idea of cool though. On the very first day of my very first "official" acting class, our teacher shared an excerpt from a book on the topic of "coolness." I agree with most of what it says. The idea is to stop being "cool." Cool implies cold, collected, distance. Cool implies a lack of interest. Cool implies little effort. Instead of being cool, be hot. And not hot as in "OMG he's so HAWT." Hot like fire. Controlled fire, but fire all the same. Leave a mark. Try, fail, succeed. Don't stand there leaning mysteriously against a brick wall; it's frankly annoying and does not make you look mysterious, except in the sense of "why is s/he leaning against a brick wall and how can I make them stop." Don't be distanced. Be who you are, passionately and freely.

Perhaps my disdain of "cool" comes from the fact that I've never been one of the cool kids. At the Montessori school which I attended for ten years (preschool through eighth grade), I was a tomboy. Before 4th or 5th grade, there isn't even a really defined sense of coolness, so I suppose that doesn't count. I wasn't an outcast. There were kids less "cool" than me, so it's not like I was the loner of the group. I was the misfit though. By the end of 6th grade (I know, it took me this long, what?) I had finally realized (and more importantly accepted) the fact that if I looked at the girls around me as if they were pieces from a jigsaw puzzle, all fitted together and nice, I was definitely the one piece from a different puzzle that somehow got thrown in.

They made an effort, but the distancing feeling was enhanced when, at the start of 7th grade, two things happened. One, a new girl came to the school. She was definitely "cool." And she was, more importantly, not like me at all. She fit into the place that, for a while, I had thought was being saved for me. I realize now that I didn't miss anything by not fitting in. As expressed here and here, I was not your average cookie cutter pre-teen girl. Secondly, the new girl, me, and another boy in our grade, were moved up to take classes with the 8th graders.

Eighth grade came and my drama teacher introduced us with the year's show that would become a symbol of my Montessori (but mostly 4th-8th grade) years. We were to be performing "Honk!" the musical story of the ugly duckling. I'm not trying to toot my own horn here, but I'm pretty sure she kind of picked the show for me. She did the same thing for my sister two years previously. Needless to say, I was Ugly, the confused and ugly duckling.

I didn't really feel like a swan though, even after the transformation into high school.

I don't know what bird I most am, but I don't think it's a swan. I'm not trying to bash myself, I've just never felt graceful enough. I mean, I'm the girl that walks into doors and apologizes.

I guess the point of this post is pretty well summed up in the title. "I'm a loser baby." And proud as hell of it.

Cheers, and happy Sunday.

-T.A.D.

Nothing ever dies

In my workshop today, we did free writes. One of which I'd like to share. I think I'm going to give it to you context free, because I feel as though it's open to interpretation. The one thing I will say is that this is from the perspective of a disaster survivor. This is not the final form, and so I would appreciate any constructive criticism. As I said, this was a free write, as in write whatever comes into your head. I hope you enjoy.

If I were a boy. If I were a boy I would be gone. Stolen away, never to be seen again. But I’m not a boy. I wasn’t taken myself, but part of me was. Part of me is gone. I am left behind to disappear and be forgotten.

Stillness. So much chaos, now stillness. I lie here. Slowly. How odd it is. This hollow feeling that started there, down low. It radiates up. Hollowing my chest. Hollowing me, from the inside out. It tingles; you wouldn’t think it would tingle. You wouldn’t think it would feel smell taste sound see. Hand tingling. I watch. Unmoving. Hand rests on the floor; I feel the dirt, I see the dirt. Take a handful. Dry. Unfeeling. Hold up my hand. I can see the dirt through my closed fist. Tingling for a few more moments. The sensation moves up from my hand. My wrist. Can barely see the skin. Just the earth now. Peripherally, I notice. My elbow. My shoulder. Spreads to the left side now. I hold up my invisible hands.

Tingling, tingling, tingling. Then nothing. A ghost? A shadow of who I was? I cannot be me any longer. A shadow. Invisible. I must be. I disappear. I cannotwillnotshall not m u s t n o t b e.

The alien part of me; the me part of me; all of me. I disappear. It’s better this way. I cannot see me. I see.
Ground.

I see.
A faint silhouette. All that remains of what was once a person sister daughter protector provider.

Fading. I smile. A Cheshire Cat, a sardonic smile, the last thing to leave. The last thing to be visible.

I stand.

Feel the ground beneath my feet. Taste the wind. but I am not “I” any longer. Hollow. Nothingness.

Because you can’t hate nothing.
You can’t blame nothing.
Nothing can’t feel shame, sorrow, guilt, grief, pain, failure.
Nothing can’t think feel touch want wish cry shout yell scream hate love die live remember forget.
You can’t hurt nothing.
Nothing can.

- July 17, 2010

So that's it right now. This is the third draft with the prompt I was given, but I haven't really edited edited, more like cut certain parts to make it more general. I need to shorten it.

I think we've all felt like disappearing at one time or another though. It's an interesting thought. The idea of escaping into nothingness because nothing can hurt nothing. I think stuff like this needs to be expressed, and I'm so glad that I have a form in which I can do that. Sorry again about yesterday's post fail. At least today's (actual today today's) is my own thoughts and words rather than someone else's.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

America's on sale

Today I don't have much to say that can't be captured by the lyrics to this song. I can't say that this is an upper, nor can I take credit for it, but unfortunately I have very little time this lovely friday afternoon. One of my best friends is over and I can't be too anti-social.

Enjoy, and I hope this gives you something to think about.

This is a song/poem by Alix Olson, a very outspoken lesbian feminist. Her lyrics always make me think.

[america's on sale]

ATTENTION SHOPPERS!!!
attention 9 to 5 folk, cell-phone masses,
the up and coming classes.
attention sports-utility,
plastic-surgery suburbanites,
viagra-popping, gucci-shopping urbanites.
attention george-clooney loonies,
promise-keeper sheep,
stockbroker sleep-walkers,
big investment talkers,
ricki lake-watchers.
attention walmart congregation,
shop til you drop generation,
ATTENTION NATION!
AMERICA’S ON SALE!

We’ve unstocked the welfare pantry
to restock the wall street gentry
it’s economically elementary
because values don’t pay,
yes, american dreams are on permanent layaway!
(there was limited availability anyway)
the statue of liberty is being dismantled,
ten dollars a piece to sit on your mantle
or hang on your wall
by the small somalian child
you bought from sally struthers
sisters and brothers, it’s now or never,
these deals won’t last forever-
AMERICA’S ON SALE!
(restrictions may apply if you’re black, gay or female)

And shoppers!
global perspective is ninety-ninety percent off
cause most of the world don’t count to us.
our ethic inventory is low
because moral business has been slow,
the values-company is moving to mexico--
and ALL ETHICS MUST GO!

It’s a remote control America that’s on sale
because standing up for justice can’t compare
to clicking through it from a lazy chair--
Answer: jerry, montel, oprah
Question: folks who really care!
for a million dollars!
in this new mcveggie burger world order
where the mainstream scene has an alternative theme.
where national health care is one hundred percent off!
and medicare is in the fifty percent bin,
so you can buy--half an operation
when AMERICA’S ON SALE!
There’s a close-out bid to determine
which religion will win
all the neon flashing signs of sin.
the Christian Coalition is bidding high
shoppers, you ask WHY?!
who needs a higher power when you’ve got
the purchasing power
to corner and market
one human mold.
That’s right - Real family values
are being UNDERSOLD!!

And it’s open hunting season for the NRA!
there’s a special oozie discount-- only today!
Gun control?! We say--
F--- it! Blow it all away!

Because inflation is up on the CEO ego
and power is deflated as far as we go:
Nike bought the revolution,
and law schools bought the constitution!
Tommy Hilfiger bought the red, white, and blue,
(a flag shirt for fifty dollars,
the one being burned is you!)
Marlboro bought what it means to be a man,
Lexus equals power- so get it while you can.
Maybelline bought beauty,
New York bought Rudy Guiliani,
Mastercard Gold bought the national soul
Broadway bought talent and called it CATS!
the Republicans bought out the Democrats-
they liquidated all asses in a fat white donkey sale-
now it’s buy one shmuck, get one shmuck free
in the capitalist party!
And there’s nothing left to get in the way
of a full blue-light blow-out
of the U.S. of A!
there’s a no-nothing back guarantee,
a zero-year warranty,
when you buy this land of the fritos, ruffles, lays..
this home of the braves, the chiefs, the reds, the slaves!
so call 1-800- i don’t care about shit
or www.F--- ALL OF IT!
to receive your credit for the fate of our nation-
(call now! Interest is at an all-time low)

But hurry shoppers!
because america’s being downsized, citizens,
and you’re all fired.

©2001 Alix Olson.

Chipper, no?

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

PS, I'm not sure why, maybe just because I was in a hurry, but this didn't publish yesterday. So today you get yesterdays and todays posts.

"C" is for cookie...

...and that's good enough for me.

Today's topic is very light and fluffy and delicious. Cookies are wonderful. Baked goods of all kinds are, actually. But there's something about a nicely made cookie that seems to be filled with magic. You know you have a good job when you're allowed to stand in the back licking cookie dough off a spatula and out of the mixing bowl. And when I say mixing bowl, I mean an industrial sized monster of a mixing bowl.

To me, baking, and cooking in general, is always therapeutic. I wouldn't say that I'm a food snob of any kind, but I was raised right, on home-cooked meals (mostly), fruits and veggies included. I like kitchens. I like how tangible the act of cooking is. You throw a bunch of ingredients into a bowl, mix it up, cook it (or cool it, depending on what you're making) and voila, you have the product. An edible, yummy, delicious product.

11:11! Make a wish.

Anyway, that's going to be about it for today. I've had a long day. Now one last midnight snack and I'll be sleeping away.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

Somewhere in time

Timing is everything.

Whether you're catching a bus or picking a time to have an important conversation with a friend, the timing has to be right. I'm sitting on a sidewalk, hacking onto the WiFi of some hair salon that is (thankfully) nearby, due to my bad timing. After an appointment, I needed to get online to plan my bus route back home. I went to an espresso shop where they had internet, but foolishly decided that I needed coffee first. Had I merely gone online and entered my information, I would be on my first bus home right now. Instead, I'm sipping on my iced shot-in-the-dark (two sugars and cream) and sitting on a curb by a bus stop, waiting for the 66 express to come, seeing as I missed the first one.

Huh. A man with a braid in his beard just walked by me and said "you'd make a good advertisement for Mac." Um, thank you?

Anyway, back to my topic. While I would be on a bus right now if my timing had been right, I wouldn't have gotten my caffeine fix. I also wouldn't be enjoying a lovely warm breeze and writing about timing. Life is funny like that sometimes.

Time is a fickle thing. It flies when we want it to crawl, it crawls when we want it to fly. Time escapes us, time costs us, time hurts us, time heals us. Time does a variety of things to and around us. And knowing the right way to use your time and timing can be very important. In the workshop I'm doing right now, we're getting ready this week to start rehearsing a show next week. It's a slow tempo show, which means no dialogue. More importantly, it means that if your average tempo (as far as moving goes) is 100%, we're moving at 5%. That is some pretty important timing. We have done a few exercises and spent a little time in slow tempo to prepare ourselves, and while it's hard for the first while, it's really amazing. That's timing too.

Timing means knowing when to say something and when to keep quiet about it. Timing is all about the when. Other aspects of life are about the who and the where and the what, but time is the when. Timing and art, at least performing art, are inseparable in my opinion. Music, dancing, acting, all of these things rely heavily on timing. Relationships are all about timing. I'm not talking romantic, since I don't know much about those, I'm talking about familial, business, friend, whatever. You have to know when to say something, when to listen, when to ask, when to answer. You can't move too quickly or too slowly. Right now, I'm having trouble adjusting to the timing of one of my friendships. We had a tiff recently, and my friend is the type of person who, when you have a fight with her, you just need to give her time to come back to you. So I've been trying to respect that and not annoy her, but in all honesty, it's really hard to have a gap where she usually is. I hope she will fill that gap again, and I will do everything in my power to make sure she does, but most of it is on timing's shoulders.

Time is something we never seem to have enough of either, so today I challenge you to try and make time for yourself every day for a week. Even if it's five minutes or half an hour as you wait for the second bus to come while sipping a coffee.

Cheers,

T.A.D.

Sorrow

Sometimes, the world makes me sad. Maybe not the world so much as the people living in it. The things we as humans do, to each other and the world we live in, are disheartening and disturbing. We (the ensemble that makes up my theatre workshop) have been assigned to research a disaster/catastrophe and present it to the group. (More about why and what we're doing later; it's gonna be awesome) And if I believed in a god, I would be praying like crazy now. I look at our history, our present, and our future, and I see bloodshed, violence, pollution, war, genocide, terror. I cannot comprehend these things. I know they happen, and while my cynical self says "of course we go around killing each other," my hopeful side wants to cry.

Even as a country, our nation has been involved in and/or the cause of so many wars. I know that some of these wars have been deemed "necessary," and without them we would likely be a British colony. If we weren't, we would probably be two separate nations. But war makes me question, do the ends really justify the means? While I understand that Hitler needed to be stopped, and WWII needed to take place for that to happen, I also look a little farther back and think about how maybe it all would have been avoided if, in the aftermath of WWI, we as the winning nations had stopped to consider the consequences of blaming everything on Germany.

Do the ends justify the means when it means the death of millions? Do the ends justify the means when ending the war with Japan meant dropping two atomic bombs on cities? Not military bases, and yes I understand there were military there, but the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki are two events in history that I will never agree with. Yes, we "gave them a warning." We told them that ultimate destruction would await them if they did not surrender. But, must I say it, duh? In war, isn't that kind of the point? Destroying someone until they give up? "Ultimate destruction." Those two words were not fair warning.

The "war on terror" is another issue, one that I won't go any further into than saying this: war is terror.

We destroy each other, cruelly. Guns and bombs and gas. Torture. I can't help but grieve for the human race. We are doing this to each other. All the time. What's more, we're doing it to the environment we live in. I don't care if you believe in global warming or not. I really don't. What I do care about are the animals dying because of our actions, whether they be overhunting, polluting their homes, whatever. No other species produces garbage, waste, like we do. People say that it's our prerogative as the most intelligent species, but I say bullshit. You cannot justify the pollution that we produce. The homes we destroy.

On the cynical side of things, if we as the collective human race continue acting in the patterns defined in our past, there will be no us, no earth, no anything, in the future.

But with darkness, there is light, and so there is hope. We have to stop doing this to each other. It's hard when we think about how we are "just one person" but we can make a difference. It starts with us and spreads from there. We have to change and evolve and start being more balanced. Wage peace, not war. Revolt with love. Retaliate with forgiveness. I know from experience, it's easier to fight fire with fire; it's easier to take revenge than put something at ease. But we have to try.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

Love is...

I started my two week theatre intensive today AND started a massive purge in my room at my dads' house. I actually got done with my workshop at 4 and thought, wow, what a great post I'll have today, but then I got home and got sucked into cleaning.

So, many apologies, but seeing as I already took my sleeping pills and I'm falling asleep as I type, I don't think I can manage a real post for today.

I found a poem that I could post tonight, but I'd rather save it for another time.

Instead, I am going to share with you one of my favorite chain email things of all time.

What does Love mean?

A group of professionals posed this question to a group of 4 to 8
year-olds.

The answers they got were broader and deeper than anyone could have imagined.

"When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint her toenails anymore. So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even after his hands got arthritis too. That's love.” Rebecca- age 8





"When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.” Billy - age 4





"Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other.” Karl - age 5





"Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs.” Chrissy - age 6





"Love is what makes you smile when you're tired.” Terri - age 4





"Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK." Danny - age 7





"Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of kissing, you still want to be together and you talk more. My Mommy and Daddy are like that. They look gross when they kiss” Emily - age 8





"Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen." 

Bobby - age 7

"Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it every day.” Noelle- 7





"Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well.” Tommy - age 6





"During my piano recital, I was on a stage and I was scared. I looked at all the people watching me and I saw my daddy waving and smiling. He was the only one doing that. I wasn't scared anymore.” Cindy - age 8





"My mommy loves me more than anybody. You don’t see anyone else kissing me to sleep at night.” Clare - age 6





"Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken.” Elaine-age 5





"Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day." Mary Ann - age 4





"I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones." 

Lauren - age 4





"When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you." Karen - age 7





"You really shouldn't say 'I love you' unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget." Jessica - age 8




“If you want to learn to love better, you should start with someone who you hate.” Nikka- age 6

And the final one -- Author and lecturer Leo Passacaglia once talked about a contest he was asked to judge. The purpose of the contest was to find the most caring child. The winner was a four-year-old child whose next-door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife. Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman’s yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there. When his Mother asked what he had said to the neighbor, the little boy said, “Nothing, I just helped him cry."

(This is T.A.D. again)

I think the innocence and purity of children is amazing when held in contrast with the wisdom and kindness that young ones can show. This is my favorite example of that, and these are some of my favorite definitions of love.

I'll make a real post tomorrow. Now I must go to bed before my dog gets too comfortable and makes me sleep on the floor. (She'll try too)

Cheers,

T.A.D.

Portrait of a girl

This is the long awaited (hahahahaha) part two of my endeavor to explain feminine standards and how I fail to meet them. While last time I talked about beauty and hair care products and makeup and clothing, today I'm going to talk about the more internal aspects of being a so-called girl.

(On a random tangent, I would like to add my complaint to the complaint of Trope Girl's: why is there no word that has really stuck as the guy equivalent of dude? I don't like using the word chick, and dudette seems a little surfer, so there's no real word between "girl" and "woman," which always seems weird to say. I guess it seems too stuffy or something to me, so I don't like saying "as a woman" etc)

Maybe this is a human thing or maybe this is just a girl thing, but I had a conversation with a friend a while back. We were having a little bit of an argument and trying to figure out our friendship, and she was saying that I basically feel too much. Or too openly I guess. She said that I needed to be more passive agressive; that girls are passive agressive by nature. I don't agree. I think that society makes us passive agressive. Boys are given the okay to beat the crap out of each other, but girls have to hurt each other backhandedly, through gossip and third parties. We see it on TV, in movies, passive agression is everywhere in the media.

I hate being passive agressive. I refuse to play that game anymore. I would much rather have a fight with someone, whether physical or yelling, than be silently steaming at them. I hate the way people treat you when they are passively angry at you. I think that being honest with someone and saying "you know what, I'm kind of mad at you right now" is better than sitting on it for months while everything gets worse.

I'm blunt and out there rather than subtle and introspective, which is another tally mark on how I'm not feminine. I'm still, in a lot of ways, the rough and tumble tomboy I was when I was in middle school. It's not like I can't be subtle. I can, and I am, but not in the same ways.

Other than the stereotypical female fear of spiders, I really can't think of any ways that I do fit the feminine stereotype. I'm not giggly and silly. I'm not obsessed with my appearance. I'm not boy crazy. Please, I'm not trying to say that all girls fit the stereotype, but obviously enough do that it exists.

Ah well. I hope at least some of this was coherent.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

It's so hard

I don't know why, but I seem to be finding myself in the middle a lot lately. It's a sucky place to be, in all honesty. You wind up getting hurt no matter who wins or loses. And it's always hard to see two people you care about having problems with each other. I guess I involve myself too much. I'm a good listener, I know that, but when you're a good listener, you always seem to end up hearing just enough to make you uncomfortable.

Sometimes it's great to be there for a friend and listen and give advice or whatever they need. I love being there for my friends. But being there for a friend when their problem is another friend? That's something I've never quite gotten the hang of. I always seem to end up upsetting the person who I'm supposed to be listening to by defending the person they are talking about. But at the same time, they just put me in an awkward position. Is it my fault for being there to listen and not telling them "look, this makes me uncomfortable" or is it their fault for not realizing that maybe I don't want to hear about how horrible another friend of mine is acting?

The blame game. Ugh, it's messy, it's hurtful, it's all-around awful. I hate playing it. And no matter what, the answer always seems to be both/all of you. I mean, everyone who is part of a conflict played their part, and therefore has their share of the blame.

Back to my original topic. I guess I just really hate it when people put you in the middle, or I put myself there, or whatever, because I always end up being the person holding all the blame. Suddenly it doesn't matter that Person A said this mean thing about Person C, it just matters that I am Person B and I won't pick a side. See, this is part of why I have such a strong feeling about maturity. I think it's bull. I think we learn to censure ourselves and we learn to be polite and respectful, but maturity the way most people define it is something that we say we have achieved, but actually haven't. Because here we are, still acting like five-year-olds. "Pick a side."

So I guess my message for the day is "no." Don't pick a side. Don't let them get mad at you for saying that something made you uncomfortable. You have the right to feel uncomfortable. You have the right to say, "no, I'm not going to be this middle person in this conflict because it's too much and I don't want to deal with this right now."

Funny though, because whenever we have rights, it always comes with a catch.

You always have to have the courage to use that right.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

Footprints on my heart

Today, too much time and mental prowess has passed by for me to write something between now and midnight that would resemble a coherent blog post.

Plus I've been meaning to put some more poetry on here for a while. Once again, I would like to make a disclaimer stating the fact that I wrote this poem in freshman year, though I do quite like the concept. So, if you like, constructive criticism away! No further comment.

footprints

a man crosses the street

leaving behind dark footprints,

a contrast to the white snow.

soon he has vanished from sight, but his footprints remain.

i think of the footprints i leave behind,

by simply existing.

eventually i know i will be gone,

but will my footprints remain?

breathing in the crisp air i watch.

before my very eyes the man’s footprints disappear.

the only trace of his journey down the street,

gone.

i look behind me at the snow and once more

think of the footprints i have left, not only here, but throughout my life.

i wonder:

when i am gone will my footprints also be concealed?

snow covers things.

it buries the world under a clean white blanket,

leaving no trace of what was once there.

i gaze down from my rooftop, my forbidden perch.

suddenly i realize:

snow covers houses,

roads, and yes,

even footprints. but...

not love.

not laughter.

not memories.

these are the footprints i want to leave behind.

though snow and time

will cover me when i am gone

i finally understand:

i will live on in my footprints.

in the footprints i make when i laugh with my friends

or when i cook for my family.

when i reach out a helping hand,

or when i allow someone else to reach out to me.

the wind sends shivers up my spine

as the snow dances around me.

wonder fills my soul, and i notice tears slipping down my cheeks,

freezing in the bitter cold.

i will live on in smiles

in tears

in laughter

in love.

my footprints will not be hidden or forgotten,

they will be heard of,

and felt.

and remembered...

i will live on in my footprints.

for these footprints are too powerful to be

covered by snow-

or even time.

Okay, so I lied when I said no further comments.

One of the things I love about this poem is the fact that this series of thoughts really came to me just like I wrote it. I was sitting on my roof on a snowy night, which is something I don't get to see very often in my part of the world, and this is where my mind went when I saw a man walk by and then, looking back a few minutes later, I noticed his footprints were covered. We had a snow day the next day and this whole epiphany thing was wonderfully timed because I was supposed to write a poem for my English/Literature class.

Another thing I'll comment on, while I'm at it, is how much I like the shapes of some of the stanzas in this piece. Not all of them, but some of them, namely the seventh and eleventh, just look very appealing to me. I'm not trying to toot my own vuvuzela, but I think it's pretty, for lack of a better term.

Before you comment on it, I know this poem is way too long. Sorry. One other fun fact about this poem was how I wrote it, and we were supposed to (in class) go through our poems and find what kinds of literary devices we used. I mentioned that I didn't find many (we were writing this on a typed copy of our poem). My teacher wrote me back (on the poem) a note saying that I used synecdoche, which, as a 14 year old, was something that flew right over my head. I put away the commented on poem with the rest of my papers. Then in junior year, I had an amazing British Lit teacher, and in preparation for the AP English Language exam, we went over literary devices, and one of the ones she really harped on was, no surprise, synecdoche. Summer came and I was looking through my old papers for some particular one, it might have even been this poem. I read my teacher's note and was like "OH MY GOSH. I WAS A PSYCHIC IN FRESHMAN YEAR."

Wow this has been a disgustingly long post. Thanks for sticking with me, hope it wasn't too painful.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

(I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing that I'm getting so comfortable blogging that this is probably the fifth post in a row that I've almost signed my real name on)

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

A person's capacity to show their respect for others tells you a lot about the person.

My wonderings of respect today were brought on by a few conversations I had about my workplace. I love my work because I work in a fun place, where I am respected. And in all honesty, if I, as a seventeen year old girl, can be respected by my co-workers, two guys in their mid-thirties/early forties, then I think I have it pretty good. (I'm talking just about the guys I work with in the kitchen because they are most relevant to this post, not because I feel disrespected by my bosses)

I'm respected because I know when to haul ass and speed up and when I'm not doing something, I ask what I can be doing to be most helpful. My co-workers know this about me and so they respect me for my work ethic. But I like to think that working in a sometimes hectic kitchen is better than normal office relationships. We interact with each other a LOT and it really is a team sport, so respecting each other is important, and knowing each others likes and dislikes when it comes to jobs is important.

What I pride myself on a bit more, however, is that I've seen these guys trash-talk other employees at other time, (not that said employees didn't deserve it) and the fact that they feel comfortable enough with me that they can give me their honest opinions on someone's work habits. I don't feel like I'm ever being talked down to, which is something I really appreciate. We're told as kids to respect our elders, and I like the fact that with most elders, you can easily work out a mutually respectful relationship. I think it's easier to respect someone older than you because, chances are, they are smarter, stronger, and more educated than you are. When you can show respect to someone younger than you, it's the mark of something even greater and more important.

That's one of the reasons I think I'm popular among children in the 10-14 range. I don't treat kids like silly little kids, I treat them like my peers (for the most part). I play with them and respect them. You can't expect others to take you seriously or respect you if you don't show them the same kindess and consideration. Especially when you want to have a serious relationship or conversation with them. If you want to have a meaningful conversation with someone about religion or philosophy, you have to respect each other.

Wow. I have said the word or variations of the word "respect" now so many times that I don't think I can continue this post, even though I could talk about said word and the meanings of it for hours.

Sorry for my semi-depressing post yesterday, it wasn't a great day for me. (I know, surprising)

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

There's no one else to blame

The deepest scars are the ones we make in ourselves.

The times we hate ourselves, blame ourselves, yell at ourselves, hurt ourselves, lose ourselves.

I think the worst part of the scars we make ourselves is how we feel obligated to fix those wounds by ourselves. We feel like because we were able to break something or hurt something in us, we shouldn't ask for help about fixing it.

But we can't do that by ourselves. Hating yourself is the worst kind of hatred you can experience. How do you make yourself open to the love of others if you don't love yourself?

There's a lot of questions about self-love that I don't have the answers to. I wish I did; they would make things so much easier.

Sometimes all we can do is just get by. Somehow, we have to do it. Even if that means sitting in front of a TV all day watching sad movies and eating ice cream.

All we can do is try and remember that there's a light at the end of every tunnel, even if we think we've blown it out ourselves.

Because we really are all loved by someone. So when you're feeling down, remember that person or those people who love you.

If no one else, remember me.

I love you all, despite the fact that I don't know who some of you are and I may never meet you or see you or touch you or laugh with you.

Love.

-T.A.D.

Secret candy

The title of today's blog is also the title of a song/poem by an artist I really enjoy. Her poetry always makes me think, and I've thought out several topics that I could talk about based on lines from her songs. Today's lyric is as follows:

"I ain't got no 'tience this time of year/for all you frat boys dissin' on the queers"

July has begun and June is over, and so another year of pride parades have happened all over the country. My sister and I used to go with our dads to pride every year, but I haven't been in several years. We have relatives that live across the country and so our summers get packed full of trips and visits. I love visiting with my relatives, but I do regret not being able to show my support at Pride. I am passionate about equality, and I find it to be a great injustice that my parents aren't allowed to be married.

I feel extremely lucky to have been raised in the environment that is my family. I have learned that families come in all shapes, colors, sizes, and many different mixes of parents. I've lived in Seattle for the entirety of my remembered life (other than flashes), so I have been fortunate in that regard as well. As a whole, the greater Seattle area is very progressive and open to homosexuality.

I don't want today's post to be about my family situation though. I want to talk about the issues in a broader sense. Shortly after pride, I was on Facebook. A friend of mine had her status as a link to this article. I read it and was amazingly moved by the content. In case you don't want to read it, here's a quick overview: this year there was a different kind of Christian demonstration at some pride parades across the country; namely Chicago. Groups of Christians went wearing black t-shirts that read "I'm sorry" on the front of them, and carrying signs that said things like "I'm sorry for how the church has treated you."

I know that Catholicism and many of the other major religions say that homosexuality is wrong, and I've listened to many arguments about how God created man and woman to be together. But I know from my own experience that love is not meant to be curbed or stopped. I look around at all the "wrong" in the world, and I cannot bring myself to believe that any two people loving each other is anything less than beautiful.

I only wish the rest of the world could see that sometimes.

I think it's easy to stand back, not knowing anyone personally who is gay or lesbian or bi, and say that it's wrong. I think it gets much harder to say that something is wrong when someone you love or at least know is doing it.

Anyway, amidst all the stories that come out after pride about demonstrations where people carried signs that said "God hates the fags," this story really touched me.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

Listen to your heart

Today I'm going to talk about thinking with your head and with your heart.

There is a wide spectrum between head thinking and heart thinking, and I would say that most people find a place in a median section. I like to think that I'm someone who is pretty balanced between thinking with my head and thinking with my heart. I'm probably slightly more towards the heart side of the spectrum, but I'm definitely in the middle 1/4 of the spectrum. It's something we learn as kids I think. At first, everyone thinks with feelings, and so we get hurt and learn from those hurtful experiences. Sometimes people decide that listening to their heart more is more helpful and sometimes people decide that listening to their head is more helpful. I've finally found the right balance (for me) of head and heart, but it was a long time of trial by error. Everyone comes to a place on the spectrum.

The real trouble, in my opinion, is when the place people find is at the very ends of either side of this spectrum. Let's make up an example.

[DISCLAIMER: while these examples are based on people I know, I am drawing the extreme examples from a variety of people I know, so neither "Friend 1" nor "Friend 2" actually exists. I don't personally know anyone at the very very tips of the spectrums, so this example is exaggerated]

Friend 1, let's call her Jill, is a head thinker. She prefers science and logic. Emotions don't make much sense to her, and she puts them aside because they cloud her judgement. There's nothing wrong with this way of thinking, but what I see as the problem is that her inability to understand her own emotions translates and spreads into an inability to understand many people's emotions, including but not limited to Friend 2. Jill has problems communicating her own feelings with herself, let alone the people she is close to, and this can be frustrating to the people in her life. Jill also finds herself very distant from situations, and she almost observes herself as merely a bystander, watching from the sidelines.

Jill has one friend in particular who she has a very hard time relating to.

Friend 2, let's call him Joe, is a heart thinker. He prefers to make judgements based on his feelings and what he feels is right rather than what people are "supposed" to do. He relies on his emotions for most decisions he makes. Again, there's nothing really wrong with this way of thinking, but Joe has some problems of his own. He finds himself very vulnerable since his emotions are so "out there." He is easily hurt because of his tendency to take most things personally. Joe has great difficulty distancing himself from situations. He puts himself in the middle of conflicts and so gets hurt. He, like all people, makes mistakes sometimes, and when he does, or when people around him do, he finds it hard to let go of the emotions surrounding past mistakes.

Jill and Joe have a hard time getting along. Joe feels hurt, as though Jill is distancing herself from him on purpose, and so he is constantly wondering what he's done wrong. Meanwhile, Jill is pretty much oblivious to the difficulties Joe is having, so when he mentions them, she claims that his feelings are absurd and inaccurate, which, while they are, is something that hurts Joe's feelings even more. He feels like she doesn't make an effort to understand him and thinks that Jill would be better off if she listened to her feelings more. Jill thinks that Joe can be silly about some things and she thinks that he would be better off if he used logic more.

Which one is right? Well, I think they both are. Jill needs to make more of an effort to understand her own feelings so that she can relate more to her friends. And Joe needs to think things through more and distance himself.

I have been Jill-like and Joe-like in different times in my life, and I'm much happier in my Joel state: a mixture.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

P.S. I feel pretty accomplished now. Today is officially my blog's one month birthday. To my readers: even though you are small in number, I love you so much and thank you for your support. This is so much fun to do, and I love knowing that there are some people out there who read my blog daily.

The bombs bursting in air

Phew!

Just got home from a spectacular fireworks show. Fireworks have some sort of magical property about them that turns even the oldest and most jaded adults into infants again. Everything is "oohs" and "aahs" and pretty colors and lights.

I mean no ill by this, merely an observation. And I fit into the stereotype. We had new shapes and colors and effects this year that I've never seen in firework form before. One particularly awesome rocket exploded into a cube shape. How crazy is that?!?

About seven years ago my moms discovered a mini-park that is so close to the show that we could see, and probably swim right up to and touch, the barge from which they were firing the rockets. We did the whole shebang today, including getting there insanely early (we stocked up on games and food) to bag nice seats. I have never felt quite as patriotic as I did watching those fireworks and thinking about this country two and a half centuries ago. There is something insanely wonderful about being so close to fireworks that with the almost but not quite ear-splitting explosion, you feel a vibration, a pretty sizable one, in your chest. I could go on about how amazing fireworks are for a while.

My dog does not agree. At all. This is the first 4th that I've had her. Last summer I was traveling and she was at home with my dads. My step-dad told me that she wasn't a fan. Ha. Ha. I'm sure if I had asked he would have told me that this translated into the fact that fireworks seem to be hell on earth for my poor pup. Knowing that she didn't like them, my step-mom, who's last dog was also "not a fan" advised that we give her half of a chewable (citrus flavor, yum) Dramamine. Knowing my dog as well as I do, I knew she would have been more than happy to eat it by itself, but to be nice, since I thought it was going to knock her unconscious (don't worry, it's safe) I coated it in peanut butter.

On the off-chance that she would be up (I thought to myself) I put her food dish in her crate with her, since we left before her dinner time. Still, seven and a half hours later, it remains untouched. Stacy is physically vibrating with anxiety and cannot stop panting. I tried to take her on her normal nighttime walk around the block, but one rocket blew and she took off like a bullet back to the door. Poor girl.

Damn. Fireworks pack a punch when you have canine hearing, especially when you aren't the calmest dog on the planet to start.

Her negative reaction, however, hasn't wiped the glorious memories of those awesome (using the original meaning of the word awesome) rockets.

Happy 4th of July! I feel pretty confident in my Google Analytics report that tells me that I haven't had a single reader from out of the country yet, so to my fellow Americans, may I say happy Independence Day.

Just remember: alcohol + fire + explosions = disaster.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

Hard day's night

Or rather, a hard day's day.

I've had a long day and it isn't even over yet. I only have sixteen minutes to write a decent blog post. At six, a close and wonderful family friend is coming over and we are celebrating his birthday by eating a delicious chicken pie outside in the sunshine.

I worked today, from 9-4:30, and now, sitting down after a shower and a change of clothes, I feel human again. I also feel refreshed, happily sleepy, and excited for the rest of my evening. I work for a small bakery/cafe'/catering company called Two Tartes, run by two family friends. This summer we are debuting at our local farmer's market, which is Saturday.

I worked at Two Tartes last summer as well. I work the counter and the register sometimes, but more often I am sloring. Slore is my unofficial title at Two Tartes. To slore (or slut/whore) is to work the dishwashing station. The wonderful thing about sloring (I say wonderful with sarcasm) is how delightfully hot it gets. The sinks are situated right behind the counter where our crockpots sit, happily holding their delicious and hot soupy contents. The kitchen space in general is pretty tight, so I'm incredibly close to the oven and stove as well. Last summer we were reaching record highs in my area (luckily I was off that week). Add the location to the hot water you use to wash dishes and the hot pots and pans you get handed every three seconds, and you're practically baking. Then add the sanitation machine, which goes up to ridiculously high temperatures, and you become a human crockpot yourself.

If you can't stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen. Working gets pretty crazy sometimes, because in addition to our weekday hours from 7-3, we cater, so we have a lot of food going in and out of the cafe'. Despite the heat and chaos, I actually love working at Two Tartes. We have delicious food, which, despite my protestations, my bosses refuse to take out of my paycheck, even when I treat friends, I get paid well, I love the people I work with and serve, and when I leave at the end of a seven hour shift with my pay clamped in my sweaty fist, I feel like I've really earned it. As Patrick can attest to over at Stand Back, working with ones' hands and really laboring is something we all should do at some point.

I think hard earned money is something that we can appreciate more. I, for one, treasure the money I really earn much more than money given to me as a gift. NOT THAT I REJECT MONEY. But there's something different about money that you put your back and sweat and sometimes blood into (mostly when people decide to be really stupid/mean and dump sharp knives into your EMPTY basin of hot soapy water). I keep my work money separate, and I either put it in the bank or buy something special with it. I'll be working more this coming week, so I might have some fun stories to share about the joy of sloring.

Sweet! I have a minute to spare. Sorry about the kind of chaos in this post. Facebook, here I come.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

You can't always get what you want

Have truer words ever been spoken? If you try, as the Rolling Stones were clever enough to add, chances go up exponentially. Oh wait, that doesn't sound right.

No matter. My point remains the same. You can't walk around expecting the world to give you what you want. In life, you have to try to get things, and to get places too. You don't just stand outside your house expecting to get to the movies, unless of course you are obscenely rich and have a limo driver named Bob with a suit. If you are obscenely rich, go ahead and ignore this blog post. If not, and you are like normal people who have to make an effort, please, keep reading.

If we don't expect to get places without effort, it seems common sense to expect that effort would also be needed to get things. Whether it's something you can buy, like a book, or something someone gives you, like help, if you don't at least ask, there's as likely a chance of a snowball surviving in hell as you actually getting it. I've learned that this rule applies to both the material and the intangible. Today I'd like to talk about the intangible more.

If you're like me, but I hope for your own sake that you aren't, asking can be the hardest part sometimes. I have far too much pride for my own good, and far too much of the family stubbornness. Often asking for help repulses me to the point that it's easier to do whatever it is I need help with on my own. I've learned, however, that asking for help usually makes more sense, and I've been making an effort to do it more often. Sometimes, I've had to concede, there are things you can't do by yourself. It's not just asking for help that's tough though. Sometimes I find that I get so worried about being rejected that I merely won't ask. This seems like a good idea, right? If you don't ask you don't have a chance of being rejected. However, the never-ending questioning that comes after that, and the glimpse of a future full of "what if"s and "if only"s is even worse.

The point is though, that you have to ask. Even if you think it'll hurt. Because of my family situation, my grandfather never came out to visit us. He would even make sure that he and my grandmother were away whenever my step-mom would come with us to the beach house where we vacation. However, last summer I worked up the courage to ask him something. I asked him to come out for my graduation. He agreed. It was all heightened by the fact that he was undergoing surgery for stomach cancer soon, so I basically made him promise on what could have been his death bed. Luckily it wasn't, and this year when I graduated, he was there to capture every minute of it on film.

If I hadn't asked him to come, he wouldn't have. He didn't come for my sister's graduation, and I truly believe he regrets that now.

I've had a few opportunities in the recent past that have taught me that maybe it's okay to ask more often. I guess that while I've had the whole "you have to sing for your supper" thing down for the tangible things, it's been a little harder for me with the immaterial things. Those are the more important ones. And they often require the most effort. But they also offer the most reward.

When I started this post I actually had a good idea of where it was going, but I ended up here. As I warned in my first post ever on this site, I'm kind of a verbal thinker, so I think as I write.

I think I said what I wanted to say though. For the most part.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

Always love

Today I'd like to talk about a bit of a heavy subject, and a very controversial one: religion. I label myself as an atheist, more out of need for a name than anything. I don't believe that there is a higher power. However, while I am not a religious person at all, I am a spiritual person, and so I pride myself on being, out of most of the atheists I know, one of the most respectful ones when it comes to beliefs. My cousin Patrick and I have very different views on spirituality, but we still manage to have meaningful conversations about it without offending one another. So first off, I want to give you a disclaimer that my musings are not meant to offend, but to provoke thought.

The reasons that I don't believe in a higher power are many, but I'll try to name a few. I have studied religion, mostly christianity, due to my high school years in a Catholic school, and so I like to think that I'm not pulling opinions out of the air and that I have a fairly good grasp on the beliefs of those who I disagree with. During my childhood, I was raised in two openly gay households, so my first sort of beef with religion comes from the fact that I have encountered many kinds of religion used as excuses for homophobia. I don't believe that's a proper use of ones' beliefs.

Probably the most significant reason that I don't believe in a god comes from the fact that I don't view this world of ours, wondrous and beautiful as it is, as a fair one. I have witnessed, first hand and from a bystander's perspective, the great evils that we as humans reign down on one another. I study history and see centuries, millennia even, of genocide, war, plague, greed, hatred, the list goes on and on. Simply put, I can't believe in a god that stands by and lets us do what we do to one another.

I find it odd that I identify myself as an atheist when I know full well that I am a very spiritual person. While I don't believe in a higher power, I do believe that there is more to us and our world than the physical and mental. I believe in souls, spirits, auras, whatever you want to call them. I am going to write about my spiritual beliefs another day though, so on to my point (I do have one).

I feel as though religion and spirituality are things that should pull us together rather than force us against one another. Centuries of hatred have built up between specific religions and sects. But the message that I see over and over again in every religion is about loving each other. It's called "The Golden Rule" in Christianity, but it has many names and forms. Click here to see the many versions of the same rule in almost every major religion.

If all these deities and religions and spiritualists agree that above all, we should treat others as we would like to be treated, then why do we fail to do so? As individuals, as countries, as religions, as cliques, as families, I look at humanity and see a failure; a lack of compliance to this rule. I believe the world would be a better place if we all tried harder to follow this rule. I mean, everyone learned it. In kindergarten we were taught to share and treat others with respect, kindness, and love. It doesn't have to be something that we only think about when thinking religiously. I believe in the integrity of this rule as much as any Christian does.

I'm going to stop now before I get preachy, but before I do, I'll say one more thing.

Let's start a revolution.

Peace and love,

-T.A.D.