Hey, it's true! I'm a married lady! People keep asking me how married life is. I often don't know how to respond to this question. It rules! It's totally scary too! I'm sorry, what did you want to hear? Life sucks. Can you believe how awful it is to realize you have to be with the same person you've been with for X amount of years? OH JESUS SAVE ME!!!!
If you choose to be with someone you don't love, I hope Urkel comes back from his syndicated grave and punches you in the head you archaic bastard. If you choose to be with the person who makes you want to be, makes you be and lets you be a better person, hey, ya did the right thing by gettin married!
On another note. I see so many souls bob and weave and ebb and flow out there right now. What's the deal? Why are there so many people that are so unhappy? So you don't have as much money as you did before? Rice is still cheap, vote better. So you can't buy a McMansion, well, peanut butter is still affordable and somewhere somebody still loves you, get over it. America, let's get our heads put on all right and stuff. Or give the land back the the freaking Injins, or whatever you call who we killed to be here. Work harder...File more lawsuits against the awful rich bleep bleepity bleep bleeps or just give up and concede. It is with the heaviest heart that I say, we killed off an entire population, we committed genocide to be here. How easily are you going to give this country up off of those facts. You can trace your ancestry and hope those countries will let you back in, or you can stop being such a jackass and start recognizing what this country needs to heal. Will you?
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Older, Younger.
My husband loves Wes Anderson. No, it's okay, I'm cool with it. In fact, I kind of love him for it. Tonight we got Indian takeout and watched Darjeeling Limited and Rushmore. The food wasn't spicy enough, but fortunately, the movies were more poignant than I had remembered. The first time I watched Rushmore, I kinda walked out of the living room and into my bedroom and cried. This is for a very humorous reason. My first boyfriend gave me a mixed tape and I thought it was the greatest coupling of songs in the entire world. I thought him a genius. It took me a really long time to get over him, simply based on that mixed tape, which was actually a CD.
So all the years later I sat down with my roommates to watch Rushmore. Excuse the improper punctuation, I just don't give a damn when I'm telling a story. Distracted, so, I watched Rushmore and sat there in a living room full of people I lived with in rooms, and realized, I realized. This asshole just burnt the soundtrack from Rushmore and gave it to me like he actually spent some time on it!!!!
What kind of person are you who does that? Seriously? How can you pass off you're own emotions as the producing ability of one MARK MOTHERSBAUGH. I didn't date Devo, I dated a dude, yo! Why didn't he even bother to change the arrangements? I mean, Jesus God! This is the twenty first century. It's not like we just discovered how to arrange playlists on recordable cd's! Geeze!!!!
I'm mostly over it. I mean, I do have the greatest man in the world as my husband, it just still upsets me that some people can be so stupid! We are human beings, which in my opinion means we are all crazy. Cause, come on, just like denying the fact a mixed tape or CD or whatever it was was not of your own creation is pretty much the same as denying that every human being is insane.
I love Wes Anderson and I love his movies. They may not be perfect, but they sure remind us of what kind of people we can be and what kind of people we don't ever want to be. And how even if we turn into the kind of people we don't ever want to be, we still have the chance of making it back. I get why my husband loves it, I get why it makes me uncomfortable sometimes. Can we truly be these fictional characters our hearts so want to become, invest in, cry for and archive? Detest, reject, atone for and live for?
All I got from these movies (which I ended crying during I must confess) is that we hope to create characters, always, breath through them, live through them, have a part of them with us everyday. Despite the hypocrisy I see in movies, politics and news....at least there's Chris Mahoney. Oh, and Wes Anderson.
So all the years later I sat down with my roommates to watch Rushmore. Excuse the improper punctuation, I just don't give a damn when I'm telling a story. Distracted, so, I watched Rushmore and sat there in a living room full of people I lived with in rooms, and realized, I realized. This asshole just burnt the soundtrack from Rushmore and gave it to me like he actually spent some time on it!!!!
What kind of person are you who does that? Seriously? How can you pass off you're own emotions as the producing ability of one MARK MOTHERSBAUGH. I didn't date Devo, I dated a dude, yo! Why didn't he even bother to change the arrangements? I mean, Jesus God! This is the twenty first century. It's not like we just discovered how to arrange playlists on recordable cd's! Geeze!!!!
I'm mostly over it. I mean, I do have the greatest man in the world as my husband, it just still upsets me that some people can be so stupid! We are human beings, which in my opinion means we are all crazy. Cause, come on, just like denying the fact a mixed tape or CD or whatever it was was not of your own creation is pretty much the same as denying that every human being is insane.
I love Wes Anderson and I love his movies. They may not be perfect, but they sure remind us of what kind of people we can be and what kind of people we don't ever want to be. And how even if we turn into the kind of people we don't ever want to be, we still have the chance of making it back. I get why my husband loves it, I get why it makes me uncomfortable sometimes. Can we truly be these fictional characters our hearts so want to become, invest in, cry for and archive? Detest, reject, atone for and live for?
All I got from these movies (which I ended crying during I must confess) is that we hope to create characters, always, breath through them, live through them, have a part of them with us everyday. Despite the hypocrisy I see in movies, politics and news....at least there's Chris Mahoney. Oh, and Wes Anderson.
Friday, September 2, 2011
The rider on the mountain
The east coast doesn't shine the way the west can. Our mountains are older, sunk into the ground from ice ages and further erosion. The peaks of the Rockies and Sierra Nevadas stretch their backbones against thin atmosphere in a way that only those who have seen them can truly understand. Quartz shimmer, limestone sheds and red rock stains. They all come together to the geologist's delight.
I was very young when I first saw them. In a way, that memory keeps me young forever. The buffalo, the elk, the mountain goats, all of them finding a way to survive in a land that seemed like Mars to me. The severity of the slopes seemed inhabitable, yet these great creatures found a way to survive. They found a way to thrive, despite the predators and precarious conditions, they thrived. Shouldn't that be a lesson?
When I was young I was a fearless little thing. One day we climbed the craggy ledges of these same slopes. I got my fingertips dirty while digging into the dirt after seeing some shiny thing. It was only quartz, pretty worthless by economic standards. To me, it was like finding gold. Beauty, like time, is relative. The jutting sharp edges of this rock, that I had discovered, gleamed in the unburdened sunlight. In my hands, it seemed like I had found the greatest gem ever uncovered. It was only that way to me.
The sunlight hit its jagged, haggard edges while it nestled in my palms. The wind whipped and turned my cheeks bright red. The sight from the edge seemed impossibly grand. From way up there, things looked much smaller. Houses looked like specks of dirt. Trees looked like blades of grass. Next to me, the grown-ups spoke of things that couldn't seem to matter to me for at least a decade or so more. So I sat in solemn silence and solace.
It's been over a decade and I would still rather think of those mountains than think of what the grown-ups speak of. How do we keep the words inside our mind which trigger the youthful and supposedly infinite feelings of hope and brotherhood that we knew....that we knew before we really knew. Before we really knew, just how much it takes to forsake all the pain and anger that come at sea level, when you're most likely to get flooded by the rest of them, of us, of them. Of it. Of it all.
Like sitting on a teeter totter, we bellow and inhale the seriousness and ridiculousness of existence. It's not important, it's important, it's stupid...it's smart. If this journey was preemptively smooth and beautiful, who would take it? What would be the point? We follow the precarious path despite the danger and find out whether we are quartz or diamond.
I hope we are all quartz, something someone else left behind not noticing the beauty of it, only hoping to sell. But one day some hands will pick you up and know how beautiful and important you are. Not to the rest of the world, no, but to the hands who hold you, to the sun the sun that hits your jagged, haggard edges, to the slopes that you have been formed upon, to the ages who knows how long it took you to form, and to all the eyes who spy you knowing, that is something beautiful.
I was very young when I first saw them. In a way, that memory keeps me young forever. The buffalo, the elk, the mountain goats, all of them finding a way to survive in a land that seemed like Mars to me. The severity of the slopes seemed inhabitable, yet these great creatures found a way to survive. They found a way to thrive, despite the predators and precarious conditions, they thrived. Shouldn't that be a lesson?
When I was young I was a fearless little thing. One day we climbed the craggy ledges of these same slopes. I got my fingertips dirty while digging into the dirt after seeing some shiny thing. It was only quartz, pretty worthless by economic standards. To me, it was like finding gold. Beauty, like time, is relative. The jutting sharp edges of this rock, that I had discovered, gleamed in the unburdened sunlight. In my hands, it seemed like I had found the greatest gem ever uncovered. It was only that way to me.
The sunlight hit its jagged, haggard edges while it nestled in my palms. The wind whipped and turned my cheeks bright red. The sight from the edge seemed impossibly grand. From way up there, things looked much smaller. Houses looked like specks of dirt. Trees looked like blades of grass. Next to me, the grown-ups spoke of things that couldn't seem to matter to me for at least a decade or so more. So I sat in solemn silence and solace.
It's been over a decade and I would still rather think of those mountains than think of what the grown-ups speak of. How do we keep the words inside our mind which trigger the youthful and supposedly infinite feelings of hope and brotherhood that we knew....that we knew before we really knew. Before we really knew, just how much it takes to forsake all the pain and anger that come at sea level, when you're most likely to get flooded by the rest of them, of us, of them. Of it. Of it all.
Like sitting on a teeter totter, we bellow and inhale the seriousness and ridiculousness of existence. It's not important, it's important, it's stupid...it's smart. If this journey was preemptively smooth and beautiful, who would take it? What would be the point? We follow the precarious path despite the danger and find out whether we are quartz or diamond.
I hope we are all quartz, something someone else left behind not noticing the beauty of it, only hoping to sell. But one day some hands will pick you up and know how beautiful and important you are. Not to the rest of the world, no, but to the hands who hold you, to the sun the sun that hits your jagged, haggard edges, to the slopes that you have been formed upon, to the ages who knows how long it took you to form, and to all the eyes who spy you knowing, that is something beautiful.
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