A couple of months ago my husband and I went to Egypt. As we walked around and went to the bazaars, many of the vendors told my husband that he was a lucky man to be married to me. I kept laughing at this because these people didn’t really know me so how could they possibly say that. It was all a ploy to get me to buy a bunch of stuff and well, it didn’t work too well. I didn’t buy that much in the grand scheme of vacation buying.
As the weeks have progressed, I’ve been thinking really hard about this fact that my husband is a lucky man. Because darn it, I think he is really, really lucky to be married to me. Everybody has been telling me this but how come I don’t think my husband knows this. Let me tell you why.
Now I know that men and romance are oxymorons. These terms are mutually exclusive! It never really occurs to men to be romantic. And if it does, what they think is romantic isn’t necessarily seen that way by the female sort. I’m pretty dang sure that when my husband cooks for me, he sees that as the most romantic gesture known to man. But I can’t really see how taking everything that hasn’t been eaten or hasn’t turned rotten in the fridge and putting it in a pot is a romantic meal. Call me picky but I’m pretty sure Mario Batali didn’t make his fortune on stuff like this, despite what some people say. When I cook, I really think about what I want to make. Granted I incorporate those good for nothing greens in wherever I can. But I really do make an effort to think about what he would like to eat.
When I am sitting at my desk toiling away on school work, and he comes up to me and pulls down the back of my shirt, I certainly don’t think the mere utterance of “Oh my god you have a lot of pimples on your neck and upper back!” is romantic? I’m waiting, hoping, dying for him to kiss my neck and make me feel sexy and beautiful. Nope, not with my husband. Instead I get cootie talk! So when I tell him
“Why don’t you pick them if they are grossing you out so much?,” I’m the bad one. I’m gross. Hello!!! Some romance please!!!
Some women would cut him off completely, throw him out the door. Nope, not me. I just let him continue to be a big kid -playing practical jokes on the dogs and me. He is very darn lucky. But I guess I am too since I can write these things about him. And he better not complain!
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
The Sins of the Mother
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/24/books/24plath.html?hp
As if Mondays weren’t bad to begin with, the other day I saw this little number on the NYTimes website. It basically tells how Sylvia Plath’s son committed suicide recently. Oh man, this totally bums me out – I mean, really how can you not be with such a topic?
But what really upsets me about this article is how much people don’t understand about depression. This poor man had it in his genes and the genetic setback of his mom affected him too. I’m sure this poor guy saw a counselor and tried to get help but ultimately, there was no way around it. And this makes me sad because with some things, it seems as though you can’t beat genetics.
This whole topic is one very dear to my heart because so many people, including myself, have gone through periods of depression. It’s the most debilitating thing that can happen to you without physical manifestations. If someone breaks their leg, you see the cast. However, with depression, it’s all internal. The struggles with the thoughts and emotions are so tiring. It’s like going to the gym for hours at a time, picking up weights that are 4 times your size…you become that fatigued and sore. Life has no meaning and you never want to see the light of day or the darkness of night.
So many people go through this and yes, perhaps we are the prozac nation but I don’t think this is an exclusively American phenomenon. I say this because it runs in my family and I’m a first generation American. It existed in the motherlands of many people.
I’m one of the lucky few. With the help of my sister, who battles with this every day, I went to see a therapist – to talk. I’m much better today. Even though it’s embarrassing for some and it has a horrible connotation, I know it doesn’t mean a single thing if a person goes to therapy. I know they aren’t cuckoo or insane. They are trying to manage their feelings, emotions, thoughts and make sense of the absolute chaos surrounding them.
I’m sure other people who saw this article thought nothing of it. They probably even dismissed it jokingly. But it’s not a joke. Anyone who has ever experienced the utter helplessness of depression can certainly tell you otherwise.
As if Mondays weren’t bad to begin with, the other day I saw this little number on the NYTimes website. It basically tells how Sylvia Plath’s son committed suicide recently. Oh man, this totally bums me out – I mean, really how can you not be with such a topic?
But what really upsets me about this article is how much people don’t understand about depression. This poor man had it in his genes and the genetic setback of his mom affected him too. I’m sure this poor guy saw a counselor and tried to get help but ultimately, there was no way around it. And this makes me sad because with some things, it seems as though you can’t beat genetics.
This whole topic is one very dear to my heart because so many people, including myself, have gone through periods of depression. It’s the most debilitating thing that can happen to you without physical manifestations. If someone breaks their leg, you see the cast. However, with depression, it’s all internal. The struggles with the thoughts and emotions are so tiring. It’s like going to the gym for hours at a time, picking up weights that are 4 times your size…you become that fatigued and sore. Life has no meaning and you never want to see the light of day or the darkness of night.
So many people go through this and yes, perhaps we are the prozac nation but I don’t think this is an exclusively American phenomenon. I say this because it runs in my family and I’m a first generation American. It existed in the motherlands of many people.
I’m one of the lucky few. With the help of my sister, who battles with this every day, I went to see a therapist – to talk. I’m much better today. Even though it’s embarrassing for some and it has a horrible connotation, I know it doesn’t mean a single thing if a person goes to therapy. I know they aren’t cuckoo or insane. They are trying to manage their feelings, emotions, thoughts and make sense of the absolute chaos surrounding them.
I’m sure other people who saw this article thought nothing of it. They probably even dismissed it jokingly. But it’s not a joke. Anyone who has ever experienced the utter helplessness of depression can certainly tell you otherwise.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
The Banished
In honor of the new year and a list that appears yearly on Michigan’s Lake Superior State University’s website, I’ll be writing a bit about words, phrases and expressions that should be banished from usage because they are either misused, useless or overused. Feel free to send me your word grievances and I’ll be happy to take a stab at explaining why they are dumb, repetitive and just plain annoying!!
To inaugurate this column, let’s talk about the expression ‘to get/have one’s ducks in a row’. I hear this lovely phrase on a pretty frequent basis at work. That alone makes it annoying. But it’s isn’t just the repetitive use of this phrase that annoys me, it’s just the whole idea behind it.
The meaning of this idiom (or idiot if you want to encourage my typographical errors) is to complete one’s preparation with regard to some action. You would become organized or ‘get your ducks in a row’ before writing a paper or going on vacation. Basically, you would plan and not do things willy-nilly. The idea of the idiom itself is lovely but the imagery behind it is a bit disturbing. I’m guessing that this expression came from shooting practice and lining up targets but I’m not entirely sure of the origin. I imagine a cute teenage boy at a fair trying to get a big stuffed animal for his girlfriend by shooting at a line of metallic ducks on a conveyor belt. He has to shoot the line of ducks one after the other without missing any to get the teddy bear. He has to take small steps to get to a goal, whether it’s a stuffed teddy bear or weight loss, etc.
The silly part of this expression is that if I had a bunch of ducks, I wouldn’t line them up in a row to shoot at them. I would probably pet them (not sure if ducks will comply with getting petted) or give them some feed or have my dogs chase them. But I surely wouldn’t line them up to shoot them. Unless, of course, the ducks one imagines is supervisors or bosses that use inane expressions that could easily be substituted by something like ‘get one’s act together’ or ‘take small measurable steps to obtain your goal’. Then I could line them up on a conveyor belt and really have some fun.
To inaugurate this column, let’s talk about the expression ‘to get/have one’s ducks in a row’. I hear this lovely phrase on a pretty frequent basis at work. That alone makes it annoying. But it’s isn’t just the repetitive use of this phrase that annoys me, it’s just the whole idea behind it.
The meaning of this idiom (or idiot if you want to encourage my typographical errors) is to complete one’s preparation with regard to some action. You would become organized or ‘get your ducks in a row’ before writing a paper or going on vacation. Basically, you would plan and not do things willy-nilly. The idea of the idiom itself is lovely but the imagery behind it is a bit disturbing. I’m guessing that this expression came from shooting practice and lining up targets but I’m not entirely sure of the origin. I imagine a cute teenage boy at a fair trying to get a big stuffed animal for his girlfriend by shooting at a line of metallic ducks on a conveyor belt. He has to shoot the line of ducks one after the other without missing any to get the teddy bear. He has to take small steps to get to a goal, whether it’s a stuffed teddy bear or weight loss, etc.
The silly part of this expression is that if I had a bunch of ducks, I wouldn’t line them up in a row to shoot at them. I would probably pet them (not sure if ducks will comply with getting petted) or give them some feed or have my dogs chase them. But I surely wouldn’t line them up to shoot them. Unless, of course, the ducks one imagines is supervisors or bosses that use inane expressions that could easily be substituted by something like ‘get one’s act together’ or ‘take small measurable steps to obtain your goal’. Then I could line them up on a conveyor belt and really have some fun.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Book Clubbed
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/12/07/fashion/07clubs.html?_r=1&emc=eta1
I read this article a long time ago in the NYTimes and it made me laugh because it talks about how to politely get out of a book club. Having been in a couple myself, I understand the dislike of reading books you’d rather not read. I mean, you are going to be spending a considerable amount of time reading a book. You might as well enjoy or want to read it.
But it’s tricky, as with most things involving other people, you always end up managing some political intrigue. You’ll find there is the one person who wants to sway the vote for the upcoming book by talking to others and getting them to vote differently. In one of the clubs I’m in, this recently happened and I found it incredibly annoying because #1) the books that month were my choice #2) because I think this kind of pandering is immature. If you don’t want to read the book, don’t vote for it. But do not try to influence other people’s votes. What the heck? #3) In the end, everyone really enjoyed the book so there!
Regardless, it seems like with some people, you will never find a book you will agree on. Even if there are 7 completely different people in a specific group, it’s difficult to find 2 people who will enjoy any given book. And there’s always some darn book that I really have no desire to read, but I read it any way if I have the time. Because sometimes books are like that – there’s a reason why the proverb “You can’t judge a book by its cover” exists. They end up surprising you. Not that I can think of a specific example at the moment but you know what I mean.
And on the other end, you’ll have some people who just want to read a book so badly that no matter how many times everyone else rejects it as a choice, they still keep presenting it. Persistence works sometimes. And sometimes you just wonder why they don’t read the book on their own instead of putting a whole group of people through the torture of reading a book they’ve already decided they never want to read.
Ahhh who would have thought reading a book would be such a problem?
I read this article a long time ago in the NYTimes and it made me laugh because it talks about how to politely get out of a book club. Having been in a couple myself, I understand the dislike of reading books you’d rather not read. I mean, you are going to be spending a considerable amount of time reading a book. You might as well enjoy or want to read it.
But it’s tricky, as with most things involving other people, you always end up managing some political intrigue. You’ll find there is the one person who wants to sway the vote for the upcoming book by talking to others and getting them to vote differently. In one of the clubs I’m in, this recently happened and I found it incredibly annoying because #1) the books that month were my choice #2) because I think this kind of pandering is immature. If you don’t want to read the book, don’t vote for it. But do not try to influence other people’s votes. What the heck? #3) In the end, everyone really enjoyed the book so there!
Regardless, it seems like with some people, you will never find a book you will agree on. Even if there are 7 completely different people in a specific group, it’s difficult to find 2 people who will enjoy any given book. And there’s always some darn book that I really have no desire to read, but I read it any way if I have the time. Because sometimes books are like that – there’s a reason why the proverb “You can’t judge a book by its cover” exists. They end up surprising you. Not that I can think of a specific example at the moment but you know what I mean.
And on the other end, you’ll have some people who just want to read a book so badly that no matter how many times everyone else rejects it as a choice, they still keep presenting it. Persistence works sometimes. And sometimes you just wonder why they don’t read the book on their own instead of putting a whole group of people through the torture of reading a book they’ve already decided they never want to read.
Ahhh who would have thought reading a book would be such a problem?
Monday, March 16, 2009
Way to Go, O!
As the economy gets worse and worse, we hear news that AIG is still paying their executives 165 million in bonuses. When I read this in the newspaper, I couldn’t believe it. I even said “You’ve gotta be kidding me!” out loud. The gall of this company! The government bailed them out and what did they do the first time around? They had a party to celebrate the bailout! Now they are going to give their executives bonuses. Excuse me but I think it’s time to just let this company fall.
I’m happy at least that President Obama is looking for a way to block these bonuses. I don’t care if AIG is contractually obligated to pay out these bonuses. These are not normal times! Contracts can be re-written in these kinds of situations! This kind of crap (and that is exactly what it is – crap) is exactly what got us into this mess in the first place. These executives who think that what they do is the most important thing in the whole world. And we can’t just let them keep doing this! There are millions of people who are going to go through such trouble because of the shenanigans of these executives and these executives are continuing to be selfish. Their sense of entitlement is as big as the darn bailout amount! Give us all a break.
This is absolutely ridiculous! When the bailout was suggested, I kept praying that the government would find a way to take a lien on all those past bonuses that these executives have gotten. But that didn’t happen. And the monetary sum required for this bailout has grown and grown and I keep wondering where in heck this money is going to come from. These numbers aren’t even imaginable to me!
I’m am hoping in the deepest part of my heart that karma will come back to get these guys. And I’m also hoping that President Obama finds a way to make these people pay for the leisurely way they’ve been messing up the rest of the world’s lives.
I’m happy at least that President Obama is looking for a way to block these bonuses. I don’t care if AIG is contractually obligated to pay out these bonuses. These are not normal times! Contracts can be re-written in these kinds of situations! This kind of crap (and that is exactly what it is – crap) is exactly what got us into this mess in the first place. These executives who think that what they do is the most important thing in the whole world. And we can’t just let them keep doing this! There are millions of people who are going to go through such trouble because of the shenanigans of these executives and these executives are continuing to be selfish. Their sense of entitlement is as big as the darn bailout amount! Give us all a break.
This is absolutely ridiculous! When the bailout was suggested, I kept praying that the government would find a way to take a lien on all those past bonuses that these executives have gotten. But that didn’t happen. And the monetary sum required for this bailout has grown and grown and I keep wondering where in heck this money is going to come from. These numbers aren’t even imaginable to me!
I’m am hoping in the deepest part of my heart that karma will come back to get these guys. And I’m also hoping that President Obama finds a way to make these people pay for the leisurely way they’ve been messing up the rest of the world’s lives.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Lack of Concentration
Lack of Concentration
I know what I have to do
It’s been a burden for so long
Need to wrap up the past
In order to proceed into my future
But it’s so hard to think
And focus
When I keep thinking
You are somewhere
Drinking in order to forget
Your problems
To send reality into oblivion.
To drown your emotions.
Emotions that maybe I’ve created.
I am not sure since you
Won’t communicate.
I’m trying to be selfish
Like you
To think of only myself
And get this albatross off my back.
Sadly, I’m not made that way.
I give my all to everyone
Who means something to me,
Whom I love.
Why do I bother?
You don’t care
So I can’t care about you
I have to keep working
Writing about how I feel
About the thoughts spinning
Uncontrollably
Off the hamster wheel of my brain.
I know what I have to do
It’s been a burden for so long
Need to wrap up the past
In order to proceed into my future
But it’s so hard to think
And focus
When I keep thinking
You are somewhere
Drinking in order to forget
Your problems
To send reality into oblivion.
To drown your emotions.
Emotions that maybe I’ve created.
I am not sure since you
Won’t communicate.
I’m trying to be selfish
Like you
To think of only myself
And get this albatross off my back.
Sadly, I’m not made that way.
I give my all to everyone
Who means something to me,
Whom I love.
Why do I bother?
You don’t care
So I can’t care about you
I have to keep working
Writing about how I feel
About the thoughts spinning
Uncontrollably
Off the hamster wheel of my brain.
Another Night on the Town
Last night I had a wonderful dinner with my husband and good friend. Absolutely delectable dishes and silly conversation. It was nice to have spent that time with them and to talk about importand and also ridiculously unimportant conversations.
Towards the end of our delightful dinner, my friend got up to go to the bathroom and my husband got up to let her pass by. As they both stood and made space, I noticed the couple at the table next to us (behind my husband's back). The man was checking his palm pilot device,writing on it with the stylus and the woman was just sitting there looking blankly out into space.
As my husband decided to wait for my friend to come back to the table before re-sitting, I got the chance to watch this little movie happening between this couple. The man continued to check/write into him palm and the woman took a sip of wine, put it down, fixed her hair, looked around, etc.
I began to wonder if this couple was on a date. And I kept thinking that if I were on a date, I'd smack that damn pilot right out of his hand. But she didn't say anything to him so I figured they were married, which doesn't condone his behavior. But it made it seem more logical since married couples rarely listen to each other( right, honey?).
I looked over at the Mexican and made a face and pointed my head in the direction of the couple at the next table. But he looked at some other table. So, I did it again with the express glance of the table closer to us. He saw them but the reason I was doing all this wasn't clear to him.
Finally, my friend came back from the bathroom, and I told her to look at the next table. I explained in Italian that the guy had been working on his palm for quite some time and had been completely neglecting the woman.
So I asked her if she could see if the couple had wedding rings. She looked at the woman and I looked at the man. But it wasn't obvious at all. She said she saw what appeared to be an engagement ring on the woman's right ring finger. She thought this was weird, since we both thought engagement rings should be on the left ring finger.
As we were arguing about which finger an engagement ring should be on, the man was still working on this palm pilot. 10 minutes since I noticed had to have elapsed and yet, this dude kept teching away. That woman must obviously be on a list for the next people to canonize for sainthood. I seriously wouldn't have had the patience to deal with that. Most certainly, that darn device would have found itself kicked out into the street or to pieces under my foot.
Technology definitely lets people know who is important.
Towards the end of our delightful dinner, my friend got up to go to the bathroom and my husband got up to let her pass by. As they both stood and made space, I noticed the couple at the table next to us (behind my husband's back). The man was checking his palm pilot device,writing on it with the stylus and the woman was just sitting there looking blankly out into space.
As my husband decided to wait for my friend to come back to the table before re-sitting, I got the chance to watch this little movie happening between this couple. The man continued to check/write into him palm and the woman took a sip of wine, put it down, fixed her hair, looked around, etc.
I began to wonder if this couple was on a date. And I kept thinking that if I were on a date, I'd smack that damn pilot right out of his hand. But she didn't say anything to him so I figured they were married, which doesn't condone his behavior. But it made it seem more logical since married couples rarely listen to each other( right, honey?).
I looked over at the Mexican and made a face and pointed my head in the direction of the couple at the next table. But he looked at some other table. So, I did it again with the express glance of the table closer to us. He saw them but the reason I was doing all this wasn't clear to him.
Finally, my friend came back from the bathroom, and I told her to look at the next table. I explained in Italian that the guy had been working on his palm for quite some time and had been completely neglecting the woman.
So I asked her if she could see if the couple had wedding rings. She looked at the woman and I looked at the man. But it wasn't obvious at all. She said she saw what appeared to be an engagement ring on the woman's right ring finger. She thought this was weird, since we both thought engagement rings should be on the left ring finger.
As we were arguing about which finger an engagement ring should be on, the man was still working on this palm pilot. 10 minutes since I noticed had to have elapsed and yet, this dude kept teching away. That woman must obviously be on a list for the next people to canonize for sainthood. I seriously wouldn't have had the patience to deal with that. Most certainly, that darn device would have found itself kicked out into the street or to pieces under my foot.
Technology definitely lets people know who is important.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
To Be Or Not To Be - Shakespeare?
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/10/world/europe/10shakespeare.html?_r=1&ref=design
Maybe some of you have heard the news of the recently refound portrait of Billy Shakes that was taken during his lifetime. Apparently, an Irish family, the Cobbes had had this portrait in their arsenal for quite some time. Now there is a lot of discussion of whether this is the true Shakespeare or not. But regardless of all of this, I'm psyched. I know "How boring?!"
It's ironic that they should find this picture just around the time when I'm finishing my thesis about none other than Shakespeare!
In a number of articles that I've read about this portrait in the last few days (yes, I have work to do but this is fascinating to me!), one of them said something to the effect that Shakespeare's portrait shows him as pretty good-looking. And they said it matches our conception of Shakespeare looking more like Joseph Fiennes (meow) than someone like Ricky Gervais. This line made me laugh out loud for quite some time. I don't think it would matter to me what Shakespeare really looked like. I'm just excited that this could mean another Bard revival. YAY!!
Maybe some of you have heard the news of the recently refound portrait of Billy Shakes that was taken during his lifetime. Apparently, an Irish family, the Cobbes had had this portrait in their arsenal for quite some time. Now there is a lot of discussion of whether this is the true Shakespeare or not. But regardless of all of this, I'm psyched. I know "How boring?!"
It's ironic that they should find this picture just around the time when I'm finishing my thesis about none other than Shakespeare!
In a number of articles that I've read about this portrait in the last few days (yes, I have work to do but this is fascinating to me!), one of them said something to the effect that Shakespeare's portrait shows him as pretty good-looking. And they said it matches our conception of Shakespeare looking more like Joseph Fiennes (meow) than someone like Ricky Gervais. This line made me laugh out loud for quite some time. I don't think it would matter to me what Shakespeare really looked like. I'm just excited that this could mean another Bard revival. YAY!!
Friday, March 13, 2009
The Things We Left Behind
in our computer....
I was looking through some old files and found this little number I wrote a while ago...It was meant to be posted to another blog/creative zine that I worked on for a while. But now, here's everybody's chance (all 3 or four of you that read this blog) to see it hit the light of day.
Cold Turkey
On Your Mark
Ready
The horn sounded and people at the front of the line began to run. I placed my earphones into my ears and scanned through my artists on my ipod to select the artist appropriate for this endeavor. I scanned to ‘The Prodigy’ with it’s electronic beats but after realizing that I always feel compelled to do things faster when I listened to them, I selected my default, U2. I stretch a bit while I waited for my section to move up and took a cursory look around at the people in my area.
Families were standing next to each other giving each other pep talks. Couples were giving each other back and neck massages, friends were gossiping and I was waiting and wondering where my husband was standing. Probably somewhere at the 6 minute mile. I stood at the 11 minute mile mark only because that was the last mark available. But honestly, I should have been somewhere around the 20 minute mile mark, if only they had a marker like that.
I signed up for a 4 mile run. I intended to walk the whole way. I was supporting my husband and doing some exercise of my own. Walking 4 miles was not going to be a problem for me since I often walked that much on any given day. My husband has been trying to get a number of races under his belt so he can run the NYC Marathon next year. So to do it together, I would walk and he would run.
Why didn’t I plan to run? Well, many years ago I tore the meniscus and a ligament in my knee. Since that time, running was not a form of exercise but of torture. Running after my dogs was not something I saw as a healthy thing, but a sign of insanity. Whenever I did run (not very far, mind you), the next day, I would have stiffness in my knee and walking would produce popping feelings as if I had bubble wrap in my knees. There was no doubt in my mind that I would be walking this race unless I wanted to be in traction.
As I my group started to move closer to the start line, people began to walk faster. When the start was approaching their feet, people began to run and I got sucked into moment and the movement and began to run.
Bono was singing and my brain was wondering ‘why the hell are you running?’
Not too bad, I thought to myself. I’m not feeling any pain. I’m not breathing very hard, nothing is jiggling too unbearably.
So I was on cruise control while Bono was talking about his ‘Vertigo.’ People of all proportions weaved in front of and around me. The sun was shining above me and the trees were swaying in the wind. I scanned peripherally to see doggies playing in the dog runs and thought about what my dogs were doing at that very same moment. Probably sleeping or waiting for my return at the door. Doggies! So cute! Love them!
Ow! Ow! Ow! Pain! Pain in the my side….a stitch in my side. Breathe into the pain I remembered instructors telling me from my bicycle days. Inhaling deeply and concentrating fully into the pain, the stitch subsided after a bit…somehow assisted by a ‘Miracle Drug’. Time to just walk this puppy, I considered. Swinging my arms at heart level to add to the intensity of the walking and to assist in the cardiovascularness of this activity, I felt good. This was nice….
Hey, that guy was way behind me on the starters line….how did he get here? I picked up the pace to a light jog. As he move progressively further ahead, I progressively proceeded to run again. There was no way this older man – older than my dad – was going to beat me across the finish line. The pavement was getting harder on my knees. I could feel my muscle crunching on top of one another. Could feel my body begin to pile up on itself like the metal at a wrecking yard. Ok, this wasn’t going to happen. This running thing was not going to work. Not even in a ‘City of Blinding Lights’. No chance, no way. But I was still running and not stopping. Maybe I could do this after all. Maybe the jiggling wouldn’t bother me so much if I lost more of it by running.
By the time Bono was discussing ‘The Origin of the Species’, I had committed to staying in the race and finishing it whether running or walking. My husband cheered me on from the sidelines after he had already finished and it pushed me further as I pushed my ipod onto Coldplay.
The next day I was incredibly sore but nothing unbearable. I was going to be ok. A day after that, I wanted to run somewhere, anywhere for no reason. A few weeks later, I signed up for another race. And after completing that one, I signed up for two more races. Is this what it’s like to get hooked onto something?
(Dedicated to my husband, who wrote his own version of “Cold Turkey” for a Spanish running magazine. His article is entitled “Frio Guajolote”.)
I was looking through some old files and found this little number I wrote a while ago...It was meant to be posted to another blog/creative zine that I worked on for a while. But now, here's everybody's chance (all 3 or four of you that read this blog) to see it hit the light of day.
Cold Turkey
On Your Mark
Ready
The horn sounded and people at the front of the line began to run. I placed my earphones into my ears and scanned through my artists on my ipod to select the artist appropriate for this endeavor. I scanned to ‘The Prodigy’ with it’s electronic beats but after realizing that I always feel compelled to do things faster when I listened to them, I selected my default, U2. I stretch a bit while I waited for my section to move up and took a cursory look around at the people in my area.
Families were standing next to each other giving each other pep talks. Couples were giving each other back and neck massages, friends were gossiping and I was waiting and wondering where my husband was standing. Probably somewhere at the 6 minute mile. I stood at the 11 minute mile mark only because that was the last mark available. But honestly, I should have been somewhere around the 20 minute mile mark, if only they had a marker like that.
I signed up for a 4 mile run. I intended to walk the whole way. I was supporting my husband and doing some exercise of my own. Walking 4 miles was not going to be a problem for me since I often walked that much on any given day. My husband has been trying to get a number of races under his belt so he can run the NYC Marathon next year. So to do it together, I would walk and he would run.
Why didn’t I plan to run? Well, many years ago I tore the meniscus and a ligament in my knee. Since that time, running was not a form of exercise but of torture. Running after my dogs was not something I saw as a healthy thing, but a sign of insanity. Whenever I did run (not very far, mind you), the next day, I would have stiffness in my knee and walking would produce popping feelings as if I had bubble wrap in my knees. There was no doubt in my mind that I would be walking this race unless I wanted to be in traction.
As I my group started to move closer to the start line, people began to walk faster. When the start was approaching their feet, people began to run and I got sucked into moment and the movement and began to run.
Bono was singing and my brain was wondering ‘why the hell are you running?’
Not too bad, I thought to myself. I’m not feeling any pain. I’m not breathing very hard, nothing is jiggling too unbearably.
So I was on cruise control while Bono was talking about his ‘Vertigo.’ People of all proportions weaved in front of and around me. The sun was shining above me and the trees were swaying in the wind. I scanned peripherally to see doggies playing in the dog runs and thought about what my dogs were doing at that very same moment. Probably sleeping or waiting for my return at the door. Doggies! So cute! Love them!
Ow! Ow! Ow! Pain! Pain in the my side….a stitch in my side. Breathe into the pain I remembered instructors telling me from my bicycle days. Inhaling deeply and concentrating fully into the pain, the stitch subsided after a bit…somehow assisted by a ‘Miracle Drug’. Time to just walk this puppy, I considered. Swinging my arms at heart level to add to the intensity of the walking and to assist in the cardiovascularness of this activity, I felt good. This was nice….
Hey, that guy was way behind me on the starters line….how did he get here? I picked up the pace to a light jog. As he move progressively further ahead, I progressively proceeded to run again. There was no way this older man – older than my dad – was going to beat me across the finish line. The pavement was getting harder on my knees. I could feel my muscle crunching on top of one another. Could feel my body begin to pile up on itself like the metal at a wrecking yard. Ok, this wasn’t going to happen. This running thing was not going to work. Not even in a ‘City of Blinding Lights’. No chance, no way. But I was still running and not stopping. Maybe I could do this after all. Maybe the jiggling wouldn’t bother me so much if I lost more of it by running.
By the time Bono was discussing ‘The Origin of the Species’, I had committed to staying in the race and finishing it whether running or walking. My husband cheered me on from the sidelines after he had already finished and it pushed me further as I pushed my ipod onto Coldplay.
The next day I was incredibly sore but nothing unbearable. I was going to be ok. A day after that, I wanted to run somewhere, anywhere for no reason. A few weeks later, I signed up for another race. And after completing that one, I signed up for two more races. Is this what it’s like to get hooked onto something?
(Dedicated to my husband, who wrote his own version of “Cold Turkey” for a Spanish running magazine. His article is entitled “Frio Guajolote”.)
Thursday, March 12, 2009
To Thine Own Self Be True
As you can tell from the name of my blog, I’m quite the fan of the Bard. I’ve loved and been fascinated by his works since my first year of high school. When we had to memorize soliloquys, I would take such great pains to learn the meanings of every word, to understand the motivations of the character and why they would say these words. I grasped at the intonation, the pauses, the sweet rhythm of the words working together to convey an idea or an emotion. Ahhh I let them touch my soul. It hasn’t really stopped. It’s only gotten worse.
Lately I’ve been reminded of one of my favorite lines from the play Hamlet. It’s spoken by Polonius, Ophelia’s father. He’s a very interesting character because he goes about the play spouting off random philosophical quotes without completely understanding them. He is a generic fortune teller in a way – a horoscope that could work for anyone. But this particular quote has always resonated with me because there’s immense depth in those six words.
The full quote is: “This above all: to thine own self be true”.
Let me tell you my interpretation of this quote. I’ve always seen it as a reminder that in this world you can only make yourself happy. You can only be responsible for your own actions and at least make those actions worthy of you. In other words, let you actions and words be the testament of who you are. Don’t be nice to people you don’t like because that’s a lie. Don’t tell someone to not do something that you then go and do. Why wouldn’t those rules apply to you? Speak correctly and act in the same manner that you speak, conscientiously. Be considerate to other as you would like them to be to you. Basically, when you get to the end of your life, can you say you’ve lived the life you’ve wanted?
But my interpretation goes even further than that. It’s also meant to be comfortable with yourself. Learn to like yourself because you are going to be spending a lot of time with yourself. And once you are at ease with yourself, everything else falls into place. Things don’t seem as awful, people don’t get to you as much etc.
Now here comes the reason why this quote has been echoing to me a lot recently. A lot of my friends are single and a lot of my friends are getting married this year. And I want them and all women to know, you don’t need a man to define who you are. If anything, they subtract from you. Always, always do what you want to with your life. Make a name for yourself by pursuing things that give you pleasure. Live your life for no one else for a long time because when someone else comes along, it’ll make you a better person. You will know that you don’t need that guy there to give you meaning. What I’ve noticed is that when you are doing what makes you happy, you shine. The brilliance that comes from that shine is what attracts people to you. In that way, some person will take notice of you if you are single. And your significant other will respect you for the person you are.
So, my dear Polonius, regardless of your intentions in saying those words to Hamlet, you struck gold with me.
Lately I’ve been reminded of one of my favorite lines from the play Hamlet. It’s spoken by Polonius, Ophelia’s father. He’s a very interesting character because he goes about the play spouting off random philosophical quotes without completely understanding them. He is a generic fortune teller in a way – a horoscope that could work for anyone. But this particular quote has always resonated with me because there’s immense depth in those six words.
The full quote is: “This above all: to thine own self be true”.
Let me tell you my interpretation of this quote. I’ve always seen it as a reminder that in this world you can only make yourself happy. You can only be responsible for your own actions and at least make those actions worthy of you. In other words, let you actions and words be the testament of who you are. Don’t be nice to people you don’t like because that’s a lie. Don’t tell someone to not do something that you then go and do. Why wouldn’t those rules apply to you? Speak correctly and act in the same manner that you speak, conscientiously. Be considerate to other as you would like them to be to you. Basically, when you get to the end of your life, can you say you’ve lived the life you’ve wanted?
But my interpretation goes even further than that. It’s also meant to be comfortable with yourself. Learn to like yourself because you are going to be spending a lot of time with yourself. And once you are at ease with yourself, everything else falls into place. Things don’t seem as awful, people don’t get to you as much etc.
Now here comes the reason why this quote has been echoing to me a lot recently. A lot of my friends are single and a lot of my friends are getting married this year. And I want them and all women to know, you don’t need a man to define who you are. If anything, they subtract from you. Always, always do what you want to with your life. Make a name for yourself by pursuing things that give you pleasure. Live your life for no one else for a long time because when someone else comes along, it’ll make you a better person. You will know that you don’t need that guy there to give you meaning. What I’ve noticed is that when you are doing what makes you happy, you shine. The brilliance that comes from that shine is what attracts people to you. In that way, some person will take notice of you if you are single. And your significant other will respect you for the person you are.
So, my dear Polonius, regardless of your intentions in saying those words to Hamlet, you struck gold with me.
The Scent of an Older Woman
Riding New York City Transit is something I do at least 5 days a week. It has it has its blessings. It’s fast and spans an enormous distance. Of course, it also has its curses. Sadly those are numerous and I’m not even going to develop all of them for lack of time and space. I’m going to turn to one aspect that drives me a little bonkers. It’s the smell of people on the train that bothers me.
It’s not like other places in the world where perfume can be used to mask horrendous hygiene. For the most part, people use colognes and aromas to enhance their natural cleanliness. And that’s great.
However, today when I got off the train, there was a strange smell passing from one nostril to the other. I was taken aback immediately but not to the point where I was having a visceral response to the smell. No, it was that vague moment where you know you’ve smelled these fragrances before but you can’t quite remember where or when. I instantly tried to ascertain where the smell was coming from – from whence was this whiff wafting?
I made my way through the horde of commuters until I was right behind the smell. It was emanating from an older woman who was decked out in lace stockings, a long fur coat, and lovely black patent leather pumps. She also was sparkling from the jewelry on her hands.
Why was this smell so familiar to me? Was it the perfume my mother-in-law wore? Did my mom used to own this scent?
As we continued up the stairs, she stopped at the very top to gain her bearings. I moved past her to see if perhaps she was someone I recognized and this was their signature scent. But no. I only noticed that this woman’s face didn’t quite match her clothing. She was much, much older – leathered skin from too much sun bathing. That’s when it hit me, this woman smelled of moth balls over Channel #5 just like my grandma in her coffin at her wake ceremony.
UGH!!!! That’s when I began to hold back my gag reflex. I really wish I hadn’t been able to place this scent after all.
It’s not like other places in the world where perfume can be used to mask horrendous hygiene. For the most part, people use colognes and aromas to enhance their natural cleanliness. And that’s great.
However, today when I got off the train, there was a strange smell passing from one nostril to the other. I was taken aback immediately but not to the point where I was having a visceral response to the smell. No, it was that vague moment where you know you’ve smelled these fragrances before but you can’t quite remember where or when. I instantly tried to ascertain where the smell was coming from – from whence was this whiff wafting?
I made my way through the horde of commuters until I was right behind the smell. It was emanating from an older woman who was decked out in lace stockings, a long fur coat, and lovely black patent leather pumps. She also was sparkling from the jewelry on her hands.
Why was this smell so familiar to me? Was it the perfume my mother-in-law wore? Did my mom used to own this scent?
As we continued up the stairs, she stopped at the very top to gain her bearings. I moved past her to see if perhaps she was someone I recognized and this was their signature scent. But no. I only noticed that this woman’s face didn’t quite match her clothing. She was much, much older – leathered skin from too much sun bathing. That’s when it hit me, this woman smelled of moth balls over Channel #5 just like my grandma in her coffin at her wake ceremony.
UGH!!!! That’s when I began to hold back my gag reflex. I really wish I hadn’t been able to place this scent after all.
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