The first was when I snuck off after school via bike to the theater down the street. It was about 3pm, and I was able to catch a showing of Bolt. I knew very little about it, other than it was Disney and it was about a dog. I had the entire theater to myself, and a small coke and popcorn put me a better mood than I have seen in a while. I was quite enjoying myself until the theme turned being abandoned and the only song in the movie sings of having lost the only home you have ever known. All of a sudden, the little animated dog world and the real world of therapy smash together and I am bawling in a dark movie theater. I came away thinking that the movie was great, and that my wounds are still so fresh that cartoons can make themes bubble to the surface.
I rode home and had waiting for me, this movie. "Wendy and Lucy" was going to be a tough one for me. About a young girl, who might as well have been several people I have known and loved in my life, was on her way to Alaska to get a summertime job, along with her dog Lucy. The entire film essentially is about this young woman getting one streak of bad luck after another, and if Bolt had made me weepy, Wendy and Lucy crushed me. I knew it would, and therefore I just let it. This is the first time that I have seen art imitate life that speaks to the life experiences of, if not me, than through me via the collective consciousness of so many people I have known.
For much of my life, these are the people I have known, and I wonder now is this film trying to capture that by looking at it from the outside? Certainly the film-makers must be near my age, and have lived this experience as well. Are these kinds of people going to survive in the new age of text abbreviations and rock band? Sure, the quirky, arty girl who wears boys clothes is a cliche, but it's also where some people go when they have nowhere else to go, and I can definetely identify with that.
You through a dog in the mix, and themes of loss and sacrifice, and I'm pretty much going to cry my eyes out. Sure, I may be touchy right now, but I don't think that takes away from how much this movie has meant to me.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Sunday, January 11, 2009
The last day of winter break
I spent the majority of my winter break from school being miserably sick with a head/chest cold. I did not get to execute the slurry of bad decisions that I had anticipated, yet somehow being forced to sleep as much as humanly possible for three weeks probably did me some good that I cannot even begin to imagine.
Last night came to a close this afternoon with a marathon 14 hour sleeping session that began at 10 pm on a Saturday night. Yeehaw. No time to mourn that now, as this is my last full day of freedom, so I set about to do the one thing I had been promising myself I would do all break; go for a bike ride.
I set out at about 4 pm, as the sun was beginning to pack it in for the day. My bike is in every way an example of function. It's a road bike, and it's a single speed (NOT a fixed gear), as I fancy things that have as few moving parts as possible. I had the traditional sloped down handlebars replaced with a shaved down straight bar, mostly because it is much more comfortable to ride, but also because the bike gets stored alongside my truck in a ridiculously small garage. The two inches that I gain from having these handlebars actually makes the situation much more manageable. So setting out down the street, I am instantly transported back to 12 years old where every waking moment was spent on a bike, the wind caressing every part of your exposed skin. It's a fantastic feeling, and this is the first bike that I have owned as an adult that I feel belongs to me for the sheer enjoyment of riding it (as opposed to the mountain bike, and the bmx bike that were admittedly for show).
Before I know it I am at the harbor. The sun is 20 minutes from setting, and I notice a ship with several tall masted sails directly to my right. As I look, I first see a young woman, a hippy, hanging from the bow of the ship in some sort of harness, and she appears to be banging on an iron chain with a small pick-like hammer. I am completely intrigued. I sat down and as I watched her my eyes soon wandered up and down the breadth of the ship. Everywhere I looked I found some young, hippy looking kid working on the ship. They were high up in the sails, sanding down the deck railings, working on the ropes, countless small jobs that were interlaced with rotating smoke breaks down on the docks. Who were these people? Did this happen every Sunday at the harbor?
I stood back and noticed a sandwich board sign that stated that this was the Hawaiian Chieftan, a replica of a 18th century ship that was built in the 1980's. Then I saw that the ship had just come into port from Aberdeen Washington, which explained why everyone was a hippy. I sat back down and tried to imagine my life were I to undergo such an adventure. Alan Sparhawk sings into my ear "Well I could'a been a sailor, but I lost my brother to the sea". I smile and try to think of all the fucking that must go on with this mixed crew late at sea.
I begin to head back, eager to come back the following day with my Holga and take some pictures. The ship sets sail again the day after tomorrow. I wonder, can I engage the crew and go out for drinks with them in such a short amount of time?
There were several reasons that I spent so much in my apartment over the break, and I have let go of feeling guilty about any of them. What I do know is that things like this, being involved in things outside of my own experience, like volunteering on a sailing ship is what has been missing from my life since the move to the new place, and it's time that I got back on track with expanding myself beyond myself.
Last night came to a close this afternoon with a marathon 14 hour sleeping session that began at 10 pm on a Saturday night. Yeehaw. No time to mourn that now, as this is my last full day of freedom, so I set about to do the one thing I had been promising myself I would do all break; go for a bike ride.
I set out at about 4 pm, as the sun was beginning to pack it in for the day. My bike is in every way an example of function. It's a road bike, and it's a single speed (NOT a fixed gear), as I fancy things that have as few moving parts as possible. I had the traditional sloped down handlebars replaced with a shaved down straight bar, mostly because it is much more comfortable to ride, but also because the bike gets stored alongside my truck in a ridiculously small garage. The two inches that I gain from having these handlebars actually makes the situation much more manageable. So setting out down the street, I am instantly transported back to 12 years old where every waking moment was spent on a bike, the wind caressing every part of your exposed skin. It's a fantastic feeling, and this is the first bike that I have owned as an adult that I feel belongs to me for the sheer enjoyment of riding it (as opposed to the mountain bike, and the bmx bike that were admittedly for show).
Before I know it I am at the harbor. The sun is 20 minutes from setting, and I notice a ship with several tall masted sails directly to my right. As I look, I first see a young woman, a hippy, hanging from the bow of the ship in some sort of harness, and she appears to be banging on an iron chain with a small pick-like hammer. I am completely intrigued. I sat down and as I watched her my eyes soon wandered up and down the breadth of the ship. Everywhere I looked I found some young, hippy looking kid working on the ship. They were high up in the sails, sanding down the deck railings, working on the ropes, countless small jobs that were interlaced with rotating smoke breaks down on the docks. Who were these people? Did this happen every Sunday at the harbor?
I stood back and noticed a sandwich board sign that stated that this was the Hawaiian Chieftan, a replica of a 18th century ship that was built in the 1980's. Then I saw that the ship had just come into port from Aberdeen Washington, which explained why everyone was a hippy. I sat back down and tried to imagine my life were I to undergo such an adventure. Alan Sparhawk sings into my ear "Well I could'a been a sailor, but I lost my brother to the sea". I smile and try to think of all the fucking that must go on with this mixed crew late at sea.
I begin to head back, eager to come back the following day with my Holga and take some pictures. The ship sets sail again the day after tomorrow. I wonder, can I engage the crew and go out for drinks with them in such a short amount of time?
There were several reasons that I spent so much in my apartment over the break, and I have let go of feeling guilty about any of them. What I do know is that things like this, being involved in things outside of my own experience, like volunteering on a sailing ship is what has been missing from my life since the move to the new place, and it's time that I got back on track with expanding myself beyond myself.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
It's been almost a year
Since Dan Fogelberg died. Today at work, while the sky gets blotted out by the ashes of wildfires, I stumble upon web pages about Dan Fogelberg. I am reading posts from his website, announcing that he has cancer, thanking fans for their support, up to the posting from his wife that he has died. In February of 2008, Jean Fogelberg arranged to have the last song that he recorded, a love song from him to her as a Valentine's Day gift that arrived at her door via FedEx while Dan was out of state, to be available via itunes. I don't necessarily enjoy anything after the very early 80's that he recorded, but I certainly enjoyed the story behind this one. The transparency that existed in his life toward the end, and after his death, is a stark contrast to what a private person he had been. I can only assume that when dealing with an imminent death, having a large outpouring of support from fans must be a wonderful thing. Unfortunately most of us will never know, as the majority of people slip into death without so much as a murmur. Don't know what I'm going for here exactly, other than it's still hard for me to hear his music without getting teary, which is very odd because I have never thought that celebrity was worth anything, and it's not like I especially idolize Dan Fogelberg. I guess his music was just really important to me growing up, and that includes going through my 20's, and well it makes me sad. To see that the words spoken in his songs, at least as far as an outsider could tell, appear to reflect the man that he was. For whatever reason, this stands out as being very special to me.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Since we made History on Tuesday
I suppose I should talk about it.
Having had little or no opinion of Barrack Obama until very late in his campaign, I cannot be accused of one of his "supporters", but I quickly came to appreciate his public person. He appears witty, warm, and gracious. This is a huge step up from the Bush Presidency, and is even miles away from the McCain campaign. During debates, Obama and Biden would look their competitors in the eyes, while in return they were largely ignored.
Policy issues aside, (for I cannot imagine being represented by a US President that was in line with policy I would like to see), this man who was elected on Tuesday, appears to be a man of character. Not the bulllshit kind of bought and paid for by daddy character, humility and politeness are vanishing values, that were once considered to be fundamental to America, but have been lost along the way.
In short, I neglected my homework Tuesday night as I compulsively hit the refresh button on my internet browser to see the latest updates. A day that began with me feeling small hope for change in our country, ended with me at the Mexican Restaurant across the street, drinking a beer and watching the first black President of the United States give an acceptance speech. I don't claim that Obama will fix everything, in fact the country has been so effectively run into the ground over the past few administrations that most likely no one could fix things, but at least we have something different.
And after eight years of constant anger, frustration, sadness and disappointment, I will gladly take something different.
Having had little or no opinion of Barrack Obama until very late in his campaign, I cannot be accused of one of his "supporters", but I quickly came to appreciate his public person. He appears witty, warm, and gracious. This is a huge step up from the Bush Presidency, and is even miles away from the McCain campaign. During debates, Obama and Biden would look their competitors in the eyes, while in return they were largely ignored.
Policy issues aside, (for I cannot imagine being represented by a US President that was in line with policy I would like to see), this man who was elected on Tuesday, appears to be a man of character. Not the bulllshit kind of bought and paid for by daddy character, humility and politeness are vanishing values, that were once considered to be fundamental to America, but have been lost along the way.
In short, I neglected my homework Tuesday night as I compulsively hit the refresh button on my internet browser to see the latest updates. A day that began with me feeling small hope for change in our country, ended with me at the Mexican Restaurant across the street, drinking a beer and watching the first black President of the United States give an acceptance speech. I don't claim that Obama will fix everything, in fact the country has been so effectively run into the ground over the past few administrations that most likely no one could fix things, but at least we have something different.
And after eight years of constant anger, frustration, sadness and disappointment, I will gladly take something different.
Friday, October 24, 2008
It doesn't take much these days
to bring me to tears. I'm not talking about the sad, "woe is me" kind of tears, but rather the sort that burst forth from an appreciation for life and the human experience. Be it watching Joe Cocker videos from Woodstock, or walking away from a conversation with the nerdiest kid in school who simultaneously has a wonderful grasp on the world he lives in, but still the naivete to think he's got it more figured out than he really does.
I know I have written this sort of thing before. But lately I have felt compelled to reiterate things like this, which has led me to wondering who exactly I believe my audience is. Frankly, I think I write to a few specific people, whom I know will never read this. But it's not the being heard that drives the writing, it's just the speaking. So if I have anything to speak about lately, it's that life is absolutely beautiful, even when it appears to be absolutely ugly.
I know I have written this sort of thing before. But lately I have felt compelled to reiterate things like this, which has led me to wondering who exactly I believe my audience is. Frankly, I think I write to a few specific people, whom I know will never read this. But it's not the being heard that drives the writing, it's just the speaking. So if I have anything to speak about lately, it's that life is absolutely beautiful, even when it appears to be absolutely ugly.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
My kitchen is calling to me
After three weeks of living in my new apartment, I finally bought a refrigerator. No more eating out for me for a while. This morning I felt inside the fridge which I plugged in last night. Cool. Cold. Inside the kitchen the brand new gas stove is against the entryway wall, and then next to this is where I put the fridge. As I walked by I noticed that the heat created by the pilot light of the stove gets trapped between the wall and the fridge and hovers over the stove. It was as though the stove was telling me "I'm ready. Are you ready? I think you are. Let's make hamburgers"
My reaction was almost one of fear, as I have felt with each new thing that I have done in this apartment. "No, no, I don't take showers in you, I take showers in my OLD shower". "Not anymore you don't, get the fuck in here and wash yourself off". So it is with the idea of cooking in this new space. Even though this was one thing I was excited about when moving in, I am weary of it. However, my need to eat will over-ride this.
So what am I going to make first? Bake a chicken? Grill some pork chops? Cheeseburgers? Mom's Tacos? I'll let you know.
My reaction was almost one of fear, as I have felt with each new thing that I have done in this apartment. "No, no, I don't take showers in you, I take showers in my OLD shower". "Not anymore you don't, get the fuck in here and wash yourself off". So it is with the idea of cooking in this new space. Even though this was one thing I was excited about when moving in, I am weary of it. However, my need to eat will over-ride this.
So what am I going to make first? Bake a chicken? Grill some pork chops? Cheeseburgers? Mom's Tacos? I'll let you know.
Finding the beauty in the small moments
My life has been considerably hectic over the last two or three months. A lot of portions of my life have seen an end, opening up a whole new world of experience. The task of moving out of one apartment and into another was overwhelmingly exhausting. I have had to reflect on its affect on me at several points, because, it's just moving. Everyone has to do it. I can't explain exactly why but for some reason, for me, this one was tough. But it's done. I live in a small room, with hardwood floors, and a loft bed that the kitten bounds up the ladder and into at least 6 times each night. Sometimes she comes up to say hello, sometimes she stays and awkwardly sleeps on some portion of my body. The kitten, and her emotional state have become an outlet for my emotional state. If she cries, I get to comfort her, instead of listening to myself cry with no one around to comfort me. It's a fair trade off.
Even in this transitionary time, there have been moments of absolute, pure joy in my life. If I can say something positive about myself and who I am, it is that I can recognize and appreciate these moments no matter what else might be going on in my life. This was not always the case with me. There are moments where I witness some small part of human experience that seems so real, so honest, that I instantly grasp that moment and savor it. It can be something as simple as a witty political quip from "Wait Wait, Don't Tell Me" to a touchy and heartfelt story from "This American Life" that makes me tear up as I drive down the freeway.
Last night I had one of these moments, and it lasted for ninety minutes. My old instructor from Fullerton College, Charles Leavell, was giving a presentation to the Sea and Sage Audobon Society in Irvine about his trips to Australia. Sitting in the auditorium I am faced with fellow students from that class, and other instructors from the Life Sciences Department with whom I shared many weekends out in the Southern California Deserts. As the director opened the meeting with a joke about birding field guides, a smile so wide forced itself onto my face and I distinctly felt a sensation of place and purpose that has been missing from my life. Hearing Leavell tell of his adventures, often utilizing jokes and puns for the next hour or so left me feeling better than I have in months, since being in Italy really. The ease and grace with which this man educates people, with no front or pretense, is absolutely inspiring to me, and it has been since I first took his classes, and followed him around the desert and the mountains.
I remember the first day of our first field session inside Joshua Tree National Park. We stodd on a hill overlooking a small gully as he told us of plants, birds, reptiles. It was all so serious, and so exciting. The next thing that came out of his mouth endeared me to him instantly. It was about kit foxes, who, as he said "are threatened with extinction. Which is a good thing, (several students look puzzled at each other) because their face is so cute, that if you saw one your brain would melt and run out of your head." I am sold on this over 6 foot Scandanavian man with a paunch.
Last night I revisited this moment over and over as he describes the mating habits of Australian birds, and always ends with "and the ladies really love this dance he does" or "he collects blue things to put around the nest cause he knows that is her favorite color". Always anthropomorphizing, frowned upon by much of the scientific community, but also a clear and beautiful reflection of this man. And you can find these things in almost anyone if you take the time to look. Even the people who annoy you. Even people who are into Rockabilly. Maybe.
The point is that I left last night invigorated on my studies. Still unsure of what it is I want to do, other than knowing that I want to teach history, and I want to teach Natural History, and I want to do it in the field. I have spent so much time being concerned with trying to get out of Southern California, but there are parts of this place that resonate with me so strongly I don't know that I ever want to leave. Maybe I just need to get to where I can be surrounded by those parts more often. I digress. Last night was one of those moments, and it stretched out over time. It was beautiful, and it was yet just another reminder that life is beautiful, and the end of it is always around the corner. So instead of sitting inside the office today, I am going to go sit outside and listen to the birds sing, and see if I can sing back.
Even in this transitionary time, there have been moments of absolute, pure joy in my life. If I can say something positive about myself and who I am, it is that I can recognize and appreciate these moments no matter what else might be going on in my life. This was not always the case with me. There are moments where I witness some small part of human experience that seems so real, so honest, that I instantly grasp that moment and savor it. It can be something as simple as a witty political quip from "Wait Wait, Don't Tell Me" to a touchy and heartfelt story from "This American Life" that makes me tear up as I drive down the freeway.
Last night I had one of these moments, and it lasted for ninety minutes. My old instructor from Fullerton College, Charles Leavell, was giving a presentation to the Sea and Sage Audobon Society in Irvine about his trips to Australia. Sitting in the auditorium I am faced with fellow students from that class, and other instructors from the Life Sciences Department with whom I shared many weekends out in the Southern California Deserts. As the director opened the meeting with a joke about birding field guides, a smile so wide forced itself onto my face and I distinctly felt a sensation of place and purpose that has been missing from my life. Hearing Leavell tell of his adventures, often utilizing jokes and puns for the next hour or so left me feeling better than I have in months, since being in Italy really. The ease and grace with which this man educates people, with no front or pretense, is absolutely inspiring to me, and it has been since I first took his classes, and followed him around the desert and the mountains.
I remember the first day of our first field session inside Joshua Tree National Park. We stodd on a hill overlooking a small gully as he told us of plants, birds, reptiles. It was all so serious, and so exciting. The next thing that came out of his mouth endeared me to him instantly. It was about kit foxes, who, as he said "are threatened with extinction. Which is a good thing, (several students look puzzled at each other) because their face is so cute, that if you saw one your brain would melt and run out of your head." I am sold on this over 6 foot Scandanavian man with a paunch.
Last night I revisited this moment over and over as he describes the mating habits of Australian birds, and always ends with "and the ladies really love this dance he does" or "he collects blue things to put around the nest cause he knows that is her favorite color". Always anthropomorphizing, frowned upon by much of the scientific community, but also a clear and beautiful reflection of this man. And you can find these things in almost anyone if you take the time to look. Even the people who annoy you. Even people who are into Rockabilly. Maybe.
The point is that I left last night invigorated on my studies. Still unsure of what it is I want to do, other than knowing that I want to teach history, and I want to teach Natural History, and I want to do it in the field. I have spent so much time being concerned with trying to get out of Southern California, but there are parts of this place that resonate with me so strongly I don't know that I ever want to leave. Maybe I just need to get to where I can be surrounded by those parts more often. I digress. Last night was one of those moments, and it stretched out over time. It was beautiful, and it was yet just another reminder that life is beautiful, and the end of it is always around the corner. So instead of sitting inside the office today, I am going to go sit outside and listen to the birds sing, and see if I can sing back.
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