[We] Need a Hero June 28, 2008

The boy introduced me to the band Dispatch when we first started dating. The music is something else, you should give it a listen. The song “Out Loud” sends chills up my spine and quickly became one of my favorites, but that’s for another post.

Last night, after driving home from dinner, their song “The General” came on, and the its lyrics affected me in a much different way that they had ever before. No surprise, but I got a lump in my throat listening to it. It is my understanding that the song was written before the war in Iraq, and by some accounts on the internet was actually written about child warfare, which makes it even more poignant and chilling.

But last night, singing along, I was struck with the thought that the figure in this song might be what we need in this moment in time. A leader who will step up, take responsibility, and send our boys and girls home, without shame.

I’ve posted a live clip of Dispatch singing this song, but because these boys’ frenetic tongues can be hard to decipher on first listening, I’ve also copied the lyrics below.

“General”

there was a decorated general with
a heart of gold, that likened him to
all the stories he told
of past battles, won and lost, and
legends of old a seasoned veteran in
his own time

on the battlefield, he gained
respectful fame with many medals
of bravery and stripes to his name
he grew a beard as soon as he could
to cover the scars on his face
and always urged his men on

but on the eve of a great battle
with the infantry in dream
the old general tossed in his sleep
and wrestled with its meaning
he awoke from the night
just to tell what he had seen
and walked slowly out of his tent

all the men held tall with their
chests in the air, with courage in
their blood and a fire in their stare
it was a grey morning and they all
wondered how they would fare
till the old general told them to go home

I have seen the others
and I have discovered
that this fight is not worth fighting
I have seen their mothers
and I will no other
to follow me where I’m going

Take a shower, shine your shoes
you got no time to lose
you are young men you must be living
go now you are forgiven

but the men stood fast with their
guns on their shoulders not knowing
what to do with the contradicting orders
the general said he would do his own
duty bout would not extend it not further
the men could go as they pleased

but not a man moved, their eyes gazed straight ahead
till one by one
they stepped back and not a word was said
and the old general was left with his
own words echoing in his head
he then prepared to fight

go now you are forgiven

Who will be our general?

A Sun-Drenched Life June 17, 2008

My tiny house - everyone says that, but I seriously mean itty bitty - has an even more tiny kitchen, which judging by the exposed pipes, tubes, and wires upon moving in, once also housed a washer and dryer.

From what I could tell, there was a spot for a washer ONLY, and for months I tried to solve the mystery of how it all once fit. Was it a stackable unit, which someone later prohibited by building the shelves that are there now? (If so, thanks a lot.) Was the dryer installed IN FRONT of the kitchen doorway (where the hookup seems to be) causing prior inhabitants to leap over it upon entering? Honestly, I can only think that someone once kept a dryer on the back stoop.

Up to this point, we had been surviving on a combination of laundromats, friends’ washers and dryers, and hand washing our clothes - none of these the most accessible options, especially for those few months we were car-less. When you think of the slightly lazy taurean mindset the boy and I were born with, you could see how the mounds of laundry were about to overtake the house.

So, after nearly an entire year without a laundry room, I broke down and posted a cry for help under the “wanted” section of Craigslist.org.

—–

In my humble abode, I have room for a washer but no dryer, and am having a hell of a time finding someone willing to split up a pair. I’m on a budget, and do not need anything new - I just need something that works. This is your perfect chance to get rid of that old eye sore - I can even pick up! Help!

—-

Within an hour or so, I had 10 responses in my email box of people dying to practically give away their old washers so they could get new ones. Gotta love Craigslist.

I also had a response from someone looking for a dryer and asking if I found one if I didn’t mind delivering it to their house when I picked up my washer.

Yeah, um, no. But thanks.

So after a trek to procure our new appliance - including two flights of stairs and a borrowed hand truck - we got the brand new (old) washer hooked up snugly between my stove and refrigerator. I’m happy to say it works great and even created a little counter space, which was until now, non-existent.

There’s just one issue with my new set-up. I’m now line-dry girl.

I’ve got a good sized back yard with a privacy fence, so I’m not self conscious of the clothesline way of life. And honestly, with as hot as it’s been here lately, clothes dry in about 10 minutes. Plus, line drying saves more energy than using an electric dryer - not to mention running a dryer in my itsy bitsy house would make it so hot it’s unbearable.

I’m not complaining. There are perks. But I have to say, I went home on my lunch break today and felt as if I’d stepped into a different century. And I had a hell of a time finding the simple supplies one needs to dry their clothes outdoors. Clothespins for example. I had to visit three stores before I found them.

Another century, indeed.

I’m kind of liking it so far, though. I like how my clothes smell after being dried in the sun, and I feel like I’m channeling a prior life when I’m out there barefoot in the grass, drinking up the sunshine. I have to say it’s not bad. Not bad at all.

Then again, ask me after it rains.

The Pleasure of Talking About the Weather May 20, 2008

I read an article today (is it just me, or do a lot of my posts begin with that statement?) that truly sickened me. The article itself was written beautifully, and it was enlightening to say the least, but the topic was not one I love to dwell on. Titled “The Most Curious Thing,” It was written by a filmmaker named Errol Morris who has completed a documentary on torture at Abu Ghraib.

(The article can be found at nytimes.com. It’s worth the read if you have time, but squeamish be forewarned. Lots of photos.)

Upon finishing the article I was a bit fired up, to say the least. It was in the middle of a rant to my (more conservative) sister about how much money is spent in Iraq every week - the lyrics of War Pigs furiously swimming in my brain - that I realized I’m on the road to becoming that girl. The girl whose blood starts boiling when discussing politics, particularly with those who do not share her point of view.

“This is what I hate about politics,” she responded. “People spend their time defending their political positions when they should be talking about the weather.”

The simplicity of the statement made me giggle. Very “stop and smell the roses.” But it drove home a point.

I’ve often drawn the connection between political sparring and playground antics. In our progressive (right?) society, every form of discrimination is discouraged, save one. Politics. In political arenas it is completely acceptable to act as childish as one pleases when another is speaking. There is no compromise, no gentility, no going out of one’s way to make another feel comfortable or accepted. One only goes out of one’s way to ridicule all those opposed.

It’s immature and offensive, but it’s easy to get emotionally involved in political talk, and I do it myself. I’ve discovered I need to check my soapbox at the door in certain arenas.

I find myself in the position of having differing values than most I grew up with. My ten-year high school reunion is in a few weeks, and I’m struck with the thought that I might not have much in common anymore with some of my former classmates. Then I tell myself to let go. Take everything less seriously for a bit. There is more to life than talking about the negativity of current events.

I came from a world of black and white politically, and I’ve grown into someone who sees more nuances of color every day. I’m miles from where I began, and I’m happy about this, but I know that sometimes you need to let go of your politics and just be for a while. Sometimes you need to just sit and talk about the weather.

This one’s for Mandy May 15, 2008

I’ve heard they can be ferocious, but this is striking fear into the heart of absolutely no one.

Stir Crazy May 15, 2008

I’ve been thinking a lot about travel lately. With two friends vacationing in Budapest, and another two beginning their indefinite global trek in Indonesia, the view from my office on this rainy Thursday is looking a little bleak.

Sure, I can brew my coffee at my desk, clutch my mug between my cold hands and close my eyes, imagining I’m really sipping cafe au lait at a sidewalk cafe in Amsterdam. But soon the dull whir of the overzealous air conditioner and the incessant tapping of my coworkers fingers against their keyboards snap me back into reality.

At lunch, I’ll make a trip to the Farmer’s Market, with it’s strong smells of spices, coffee, and fresh herbs and produce, and its cafe that serves up everything from Asian vegetables to curried lentils to goat stew (no, I haven’t sampled that yet, though I’ve heard rave reviews). And while the diverse clientèle and flags from every possible country decorating the vast building may let me escape for a while, soon it will be back out to the sterile, concrete parking lot - back to the congestion that is DeKalb Industrial Boulevard. Back to the real world.

Later, when the business day is over, maybe I’ll put on my iPod, turn up some Brit Pop, and stare our through the rain. Maybe then I’ll be able to pretend I’m visiting London.

But for now I’m here, and I’m having an anywhere but here moment. Like I’m homesick for a place I’ve never visited. I want to see something new, and right now I’m feeling so dull, so monotonous, that I can’t even daydream of anything exciting.

I believe this is called ennui, no?

Righteous Babe May 2, 2008

There are certain conclusions that can be made about a girl living in Decatur who freely admits she is an Ani Difranco fan. Suffice to say I have never been, and never will be, happier than I am in my relationship with the boy.

That said, I’m freely admitting it. I love Ani.

I love her ability to make a single guitar sound like three or four. I love how gutsy she is in her presence and in her art; she’s a soul completely exposed for all to see - no pretenses, no walls. I love how strong and passionate her voice is - possibly the strongest I’ve heard from a female vocalist. I love that you can hear the joy in her voice during a live performance, like she was born to be on stage.

And I love the way her lyrics - GOD, those lyrics - can make my heart drop to my toes and plant a lump in my throat the size of a grapefruit. One of the best examples of this is in “Both Hands,” a song I have yet to listen to without tears stinging the back of my eyes.

and both hands
now use both hands
oh, no don’t close your eyes
I am writing
graffiti on your body
I am drawing the story of
how hard we tried

[tear ...]

I am watching your chest rise and fall
like the tides of my life,
and the rest of it all
and your bones have been my bed frame
and your flesh has been my pillow
I am waiting for sleep
to offer up the deep
with both hands

[sniff ...]

in each other’s shadows we grew less and less tall
and eventually our theories couldn’t explain it all
and I’m recording our history now on the bedroom wall
and eventually the landlord will come
and paint over it all

[sob ...]

Makes me hug the boy just a little tighter, just thinking of the pain that inspired such words. Though her music is hardly always melancholic. Much of it is political; most is irreverent. I have yet to catch the live show, and that sucks because every time she comes through I say I’m going to go. I just want to be in the crowd when she sings this:

I broke down in Louisiana
and I had to thumb a ride
got in the first car that pulled over
you can’t be picky in the middle of the night
he said
baby, do you like to fool around
baby, do you like to be touched
I said
maybe some other time
fuck you very much

I wanna be brave. GOD, I envy that.

Strictly for Daydreaming. April 22, 2008

I want to be at home.
I want to be with my boy.
I want to talk with my friends.
I want to host a party.
I want to write a blog.
I want to write a column.
I want to write a book.
I want to work from home.
I want to travel.
I want to see Morocco.
I want to see the Eiffel Tower.
I want to see the Seven Wonders of the World.
I want to live on the Square.
I want to live in Canada.
I want to live in Paris.
I want to be a wife and mother.
I want to raise my family in Decatur.
I want to open a brewery.
I want to take improv classes.
I want to be in a production.
I want to sing.
I want to sing on stage.
I want to sing in a band.
I want to sing on Broadway.
I want Fantine’s death scene.
I want to be Tina Fey.
I want to be Hollis Gillespie.
I want to be recognized.
I want to make an impression.
I want to make a difference.
I want to retire to a chateau on a vineyard.
I want a glass of wine.
I want to be at home.

Wanderlust. April 11, 2008

I lost a trip to Paris.

Ok, so it wasn’t a trip to Paris. THAT I would have cried over. But I let an absolutely amazing door prize - a vacation package with lodging and airfare included - slip through my fingers at a recent benefit dinner for a client.

I bought a raffle ticket. I actually bought one. I never buy those things. I don’t like them. I can’t really explain why. Some sort of sense of dread - maybe of getting my hopes up and then having my dreams dashed to pieces before my eyes all because of chance. Because of a number.

I’ve never been good with numbers.

Still, I bought the thing. Only ten bucks! It’s for a good cause! What’s there to lose?

Honestly, I’d had a few drinks and had completely forgotten about the ticket when a coworker rushed out of the auditorium - to where I was situated next to the doors - yelling, “The winning number ended in 47!”

That’s me!

“They called it out five times and then drew the next number!”

WHAT?!?!

And there you go. Hopes built. Dreams dashed. And numbers? Evil.

“You have to be in the room when they call it to claim the prize … blah, blah, blah”

I never win these things. This is how I rationalize. I don’t win stuff like this. If I had been in the room, they would have called another number.

Truth be told, it all just seemed too nice anyway. A little above our heads, the boy’s and mine (though he was just as upset when he heard of my simultaneous win and loss later that night). Who knows? It may have been a lovely trip. But it also may have been a little stiff, a little forced. When the two of us talk of traveling together, I generally have a different image in mind.

I’m fairly certain, in my own experience at least, that these sorts of all-inclusive, “we’ll take care of all the details” sort of vacations actually hinder the experience of traveling to a new place. Not that comfort isn’t a welcome part of any trip. But when the travel, lodging, entertainment, dining, and every other detail has been decided for you, how can you really feel anything other than being shuttled around like cattle?

When I think of travel, I think of writing my own itinerary. Deciding to go see something at a moment’s notice with nothing holding me back. Packing belongings in a car and taking off in whatever direction sounds good at the time. Making a scrapbook along the way of photos and postcards and words describing who and what we saw. Planning a soundtrack that later will transport us back to that time and place instantly. Wandering aimlessly between the historic and the odd; between the Grand Canyon and the largest ball of yarn west of the Mississippi.

Or maybe Mt. Rushmore. That seems it would be a perfect combination of the revered and the weird.

Yep. Paris would have been completely sterile compared to the trip I’m planning in my own head.

Right?

My Cup Runneth Over. Sort of. March 19, 2008

I’m back at work after a very LOOOONG two-week, um, vacation.

Yeah.

Anyway, I’m finding it difficult to get back into the swing of things, and have been relying more than a little on my soy lattes to get me through the day. I found this the other day and had to repost it. Just call it my serenity prayer.

Coffee is my shepherd; I shall not doze.
It maketh me to wake in green pastures, It leadeth me beyond the sleeping masses.
It restoreth my brain, It leadeth me in the paths of consciousness for it’s name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of sleep,
I will fear no artificial sweetener for thou art with me; Thy cream and thy sugar they comfort me.
Thou preparest a carafe before me in the presence of my zzz’s, Thou anointest my day with sunlight;
My cup runneth over.
Surely richness and flavor shall follow me all the days of my life:
and I will dwell in the house of Cappuccino forever…

Let us sip… or whatever…

I feel boring. And horribly predictable. February 29, 2008

I did laugh my ass off, though. One of my new favorite blogs.

http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.wordpress.com/

Some favorites:

#99 - I’ve found myself unable to turn off my editor brain after I get back from work, lately. It’s an impulse and a guilty pleasure.

#78 - I too am guilty of daydreaming of little French speaking children bustling about the kitchen and helping me cook while we read the New York Times and listen to Jazz.

#75 - I too have made this threat in the past few months.

#69 - I can’t help it. He’s just … cool.

#44 - The intro music for All Things Considered gives me the warm fuzzies.

#38 - I shouldn’t even have to comment on this one.

#10 - I have the Rushmore soundtrack.

#5 - Probably bring it up twice a day or so.

#1 AND 2 - Need I say more?