11.28.2004

Your Daily Dose of Surrealism


I was checking the weather today on Weather.com and this map came up, as you see it. Anybody notice anything a bit...funny about it?



Like how I now apparently live in Salt Lake City, San Francisco is now in New Mexico, Albuquerque has migrated to Mississippi and poor Rapid City is now in the middle of Lake Michigan?

This made my day. Thank you, Surrealism Fairy and Weather.com!!

(and by the way...I am still working on my new journal...just haven't been posting here for awhile.)




11.19.2004

A Brief Pause

I've been experimenting with another journal form, so this now makes three online journals. Wow. I'm just full of journalness.

My birthday was pretty nice. We went to the KU Natural History Museum, a longtime favorite for both of us, and went out to dinner at a Chinese buffet that was sufficiently yummy. All in all, pretty good.

Longer post forthcoming when there's more to say.



11.12.2004

Love, And What We Did Next

It is such a tenuous thing, paradoxically constant and perpetually kinetic. We see patterns in day-to-day mundanities, the way one settles into a chair, the precise curl of fingers around a coffee mug, the involuntary squint against the acrid smoke of the just-lit cigarette, and the heart swells with recognition: These are the patterns that connect us, the small, the trivial, the immense. Nobody else would know the angle of a leg sprawled over covers at seven in the morning; the arc of shadows from closed eyelashes across a cheekbone; the whisper the hand makes while writing. You see their handwriting and your heart jumps into your throat: the pen created this through their fingers, warm and living and real. The precise smell of giddy breath after two and a half glasses of wine, the exact looseness of their lips then brushed over your cheekbone. The smoky, midnight rumble of the voice in your ear. Nobody else understands the subtlest differences between this mood and that, this minute and the next. You can graph it, as mathematically and exactly and spontaneously as you can with your own self. You fall in wonder and amazement and the silliest things: the tuneless humming as they brush their teeth, the arching of the back to loosen tense muscles. It is real and animal and primal, the heartswell and fierce pride and protectiveness you feel. It is amazing. You savor the warmth of a live naked body curled up skin to skin with your own, and savor it all the more because you know every bump, every mole, every line and contour and scar and rise and fall. This is mine, you think with that same fierce pride, and then, No, this is yours, and you feel staggeringly blessed and breathless and amazed that what is theirs, you are here sharing. And this is the miracle, the prayer, the All. This is the Divine manifest. This is love.



11.10.2004

The Last Good Year

One week from today, I will turn 29.

To me, this is kind of a sad and existential-crisis-type occurence. I've become rather attached to my twenties. Being "thirty" and what it implies kind of freaks me out. By thirty, you're supposed to have accomplished something. I can't really see anything to point to with pride and say, "This is mine; I did this. Am I special or what??!" Thirty is a "real age", somehow tied in my mind to the loss of youth, the inextricable entrance to the Real World. You can't pretend to be young anymore when you're thirty. I know that's sad and that you're only as old as you think/feel/act/whatever, but I'm having a major kind of drama about it. You can get away with a lot in your twenties, and people expect that decade to be all about self-discovery, exploration, coming into yourself. By thirty all that is supposed to be ironed out and on your way you go...whole, serious, cashed-in, complete, adult, actualised.

I have one more year, one last measly year to figure this out before I hit the "thirty" wall in my mind. When I was a kid, I thought thirty was so old. Thirty was all-grown-up. It seemed so far away and so solidly adult.

In my heart I'm still that quirky, nerdy eight-year-old, just hoping the big kids will like me enough to let me play with them for a bit. I don't feel almost thirty. I just feel kind of little and scared.

Things have been kind of tense around here lately. Vaughn's looking for work again after leaving the poker business, and there doesn't appear to be much of anything, which has left him incredibly stressed out and grouchier than usual. The job market here just sucks. We're waiting for any bit of good news. Send us happy thoughts, good get-work vibes, and 29-isn't-dead affirmations.



11.07.2004

How Should I Know Hominy? Count 'Em Yourself

I've been thinking about having Thanksgiving or some kind of harvesty holiday celebration thing at home this year for some of my orphaned friends who don't have anyplace to go, or don't want to do family things with their families of origin. Now I'm not a very talented cook, though I can follow recipes just fine and do have a few dishes that I know how to make from memory. I am wondering if anyone has any suggestions for a meal that I could whip up with fairly little effort and on the cheap...unconventional is fine, and vegetarian is preferable. Here are some ideas I have so far:

--Cheddar-Tabasco Hominy Polenta Stuff
--Sour Cream Cucumber Salad with Dill and Balsamic Vinegar
--Roasted Pears with Figs, Walnuts and Gorgonzola
--French Onion Soup Gratinee
--Maple Bread Pudding with Dates

Anything else you all have run across that would fit the criteria above (relatively easy, vegetarian-friendly, moderately festive, and inexpensive)?



11.06.2004

No Peep from the Gallery

Where are all of you people that keep reading this website? I haven't had more than one comment in weeks, and yet some thousand-plus hits have registered. I'm baffled. Hmmmm.

Where is George? I miss my Sultry Dork. Ever since he moved to Michigan and got married, I have not heard anything from him, it seems. We kept up a bit of an email correspondence when I was living in Detroit, but nothing in the past several years. I miss you, George. I am sending you Sultry Dork mental waves.

E-Rock in California: You too, buddy. Whatever happened to you? Still playing guitar and rocking out with your badass engineer self? Remember the Triangle party with the missing coats and walking home nearly a mile in frigid January cold in just our shirts and jeans? And writing the Sunflower theme song? I love you, Wee Eric.

Of course, my dear lost lamented Jonney Angel from Wichita. My original gay boyfriend. I was in such denial and so in love with you. All those movie dates and mall excursions. Trying on prom dresses with Mickey. What other eighteen-year-old boy knew that this dress was "mauve" and that one was "hunter green"? I miss your Polo cloud. Poor Jonney Angel!

I wasn't good friends with Nick, but we were pretty close our freshman year in the dorms. We used to go cruising around with my mix tapes and the sunroof open, cool rain coming in at night. Meeting at Java Break for checkers and the kind of conversations college students have at two a.m. Nick. I'm sorry I left that drunken speakerphone message when all my friends were razzing me for my crush on you and you heard it all. Where are you now?

Cynthia and Lyra. I miss your strength and your company when I was freaking out and you beautiful wise women took me in so many times and let me be in a safe space in your apartment. That was the coolest apartment ever. And your collections of books, herbs, teas, incenses, oh you lovely goddesses. I owe you so much and miss you so much.

I always wondered what happened to my first boyfriend, Jeff. It ended so badly but was such a consummate first love. Apparently he's still in Wichita. Hm. Curious sometimes, but I don't know what I'd say to him if we ever had the opportunity to speak again.

Big Purple Paul. Bear Boy! Paully. Where are you these days? I've been sending you "contact me" vibes and it's worked before, but I see no results now. Sad sad.

If you are any of these people, please contact me. In fact, hell, any of you reading this contact me. There's a comment link down there for a reason. I've invested a lot of time and words here. I like to hear from people who read my site. It makes me feel a bit less lonely. Thanks.

Oh! and on a literary side note: It was the old blind guy! Whoa! He was one that I didn't really suspect. I really didn't expect him to kill the abbot, too... now, twenty pages more to go and it'll all be wrapped up. OK, you all out there in Missingland. Bye again.



11.05.2004

Relief, Sweet

That does it. I'm getting my happy ass back on the pill NOW. No more three-and-a-half days of anxious, sleepless waiting. Thank you, uterus. Whew.

And in an almost, but not entirely, unrelated note: Happy Guy Fawkes Day. Go build a bonfire somewhere and celebrate rebellion.