A Powerful Mantra and Prayer

I have dedication and devotion to my dreams and goals. I pray for the courage and strength to go for what I really want out of life and the confidence to realize my potential in this world. I will dare to complete the process of transformation in my life. Amen. Ho.

I planted this to honor my father this Memorial Day Weekend.

Day in the Life

Emily* was trapped in an emotional tar pit. She'd thrashed about in it all day, her anger a seething glop, bubbles of self-pity welling, then popping in gaseous sighs. She'd spent the stop-and-go drive across the bridge in agony, praying her back flat would hold the 50 cents aired into it that morning. Her arrival into the Land of Lexus made her nauseous. Once again, her pathological need to please had betrayed her. She'd agreed to sub at the new food coop in the suburbs. When that gesture was not enough to appease the greedy ingratiating monster dwelling within, she'd offered to work an extra hour early. Offered! This placed her commute in sync with the enemy, the droids who toiled for the software masters of the universe, the very empire she'd narrowly escaped a few years ago. She wasn't afraid to be a rebel among them, rather defiant and proud, but she hadn't been prepared for the bile of bitter memories that welled up while traveling through the domain of her former captivity.

Emily's pity party was spoiled by crashers, strange unfortunates among the entitled: the boy with the melted face, the man with one arm, the rotten teeth dwellers in the trailer park across the street from the coop, caddy corner to the arbitrarily fenced wetland. From one of these mobile dwellings, a man with an impossibly wrinkled face crept up behind her as she shoved the last bag of wilted beet greens into the Cram-A-Lot industrial garbage compactor.

"Got Kraft?" he asked.

She extrapolated quickly. "You mean, like, macaroni and cheese?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Gotta feed the grandkids."

"No," she tried to explain. "This is a health food store, mostly organic. We do have similar brands I can show you." She lead him through the isles of gleaming boxes, cans, and jars. "We have bunny pasta, which is the organic equivalent." Organic equivalent? "It's on sale, too, for only 89 cents a box." She wrongly assumed price was the most important factor. He reached for the box that looked closest to what he recognized, although double the price of peace pasta.

"Makes the same way?" he asked.

"Yup, same way."

"I'll try it." He looked dubious. "You know," he said, "You oughta carry both. It'd be a lot better if I didn't have to fight traffic to the store. Everybody thinks them software people is good for us, but I say they're nothing but misery. I lived her since I could shoot sparrows from my front porch, now it's nothing but fancy people's cars. Can't shoot them."

The richness of what the old man had said carried her through the rest of the work day. As she played her own version of Tetris with each bag of groceries, she daydreamed of picking off software barons in an arcade game, filling their heads with water until they burst.

At the end of her shift, Emily's pain was salved with a complimentary bouquet of flowers and free brie. A camphor and eucalyptus bath washed away the evening's even worse traffic. As the day gratefully faded from her short-term memory banks, she made a promise to herself. Next time, she'll give it an extra second's thought before saying yes.

*Name has been changed to protect the author.

Validation through Currency

When the universe at large rewards us for doing something we love and excel at, it's a special moment indeeed. Congratulations go out to my friend Janeen, getting paid to blog at Club Mom. HOORAY JANEEN!

I refuse to give up the fight, so I take out the refuse. I am trying to make a legitimate living as an artist and as a storyteller, with the freedom to tell my own stories and be my own boss. Instead of tucking my tail between my legs and crawling back to a high-paying B2B, high-tech marketing copywriting gig (where I would be forced to write things like "The synergy of our newly updated interface combined with our industry exclusive relational-database driven backend, allows your business to e-tize its customer relations, therefore being more productive and earning more money for your bottom line."), I took a part-time job at the lowest level of employment at a grocery store. I bag groceries, sweep isles, and take out the fucking garbage. I have to keep reminding myself that I recently and actively chose to do this, especially when it feels so damn menial. My resolve has already been tested, when asked if I was interested in becoming a Senior Editor at a Seattle Met. I said, "No, thank you," knowing that the job meant working 50-60 hours for someone else, even though it would be doing something I enjoy and believe in. Everyday, I want. I have the wants bad. A new sofa, a new bed. A house. An electric bicycle. A new computer. Travel to tropical isles, not paid for by someone else, where I can be on my own schedule, and snorkel everyday. Extravagant gifts to family and friends. Diamond earrings. I want diamond earrings. I've either got to get rid of the wants or get the means to fulfill them, or some combintation of both. Right now, I want hundreds of dollars of colorful flowers to landscape a yard that isn't mine.

Dad

Today is the first anniversary of my father's death. He was born in Long Island, NY on December 22, 1930. He graduated from Brooklyn Technical High School, got a Bachelors in Electrical Engineering from Union College, Schenectady, NY. He immediately became a Union College professor. Later, at the University of Michigan, he earned dual Masters Degrees in Aeronautical and Astronautical Engineering and Instrumentation Engineering. He served as an instructor at the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs for two 4-year terms. As an Air Force Command Pilot, he flew tours in Viet Nam and China, and out of Mildenhall, England. He was awarded three air medals and two commendation medals. He was an instructor of the academy ski club and scuba diving club. He flew in the Civil Air Patrol, was a soccer referee and instructor for our childhood games. He taught me how to ski, sail a boat, change a tire, and so much more. The quote he asked for at his service: "Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away."

Been Remiss

Pics from L.A.

Impale Bush

This is the bumper sticker I'd put on my car. But I saw one today that read: George W. Bush has more of us praying than ever before. It's the best I've seen. It's true and it can be interpreted many ways. There are people praying because they believe he is religious and that's what god wants of them. Then there's a whole 'nother set of people, like myself, praying that he'll get booted the fuck out of office and praying that he doesn't destroy the world before he does. Amen to that.

K Syrah

Where I slept last night. My head is swimming with wine and information, more information than anything else. Wine of the day: any syrah by K Vintners, but you probably can't get your hands on anything until Spring 2007. The winemaker is a fantastic character...he's as much fun as the wine. He's got two beautiful prints of Betty Page from original negatives hanging in the bathroom. I loved him, actors should study him.