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 |  Nothing like a fortune cookie to make a year intriguing. |
  Many thanks to kiyasama for the lovely image gracing this blog! A huge thank you to GabriellaR45  for the shiny yellow awardicon to bring the new year!It was a simple crack of an ancient fortune cookie that sparked the courage to keep writing on the eve of the new year. This is a test to see what a tiny slip of white paper can do for someone who was ready to hand in the towel, allowing every self-doubt and negative thought to take control. May this mark a beginning; a fresh start for the potential of something messy, dented around the edges, and absolutely all mine. Here's to blogging in 2011 (and 2012).   |
"30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS"  by: Bonnie14222 The Prompt: We have seen significant technological advancements in our time. Sites like TED and Big Think offer amazing ideas. What do you think will be the next big thing? The Music: "Funky Good Time" - James Brown Intriguing prompt! I dig it.  First -- TED is a geek's paradise. If you've never been to the website, you should really check it out. One of my favorite discussions is by enthnobotanist Wade Davis. His story is a graduate student's dream/nightmare - being told by your professor to go check something out (how to make zombies) in a foreign country you have no idea of about (Haiti). Can you really say no to that? He wrote "The Serpent and the Rainbow"; not the crappy horror movie from the 1980s, but the book about his experiences in becoming a part of the Vodun culture while finding out how to make zombies. Second -- I have no idea what the next big thing is, but can tele-portation is high on my list. "You have the deck, Number One." This would definitely make my life easier. I can go bug my little brother after class in California, scare my guy in Michigan, hop over to Paris for dinner, and be back before the midnight hour. My only reservations on this is how particle displacement will probably hurt like a mother. I'm not sure I get behind being shred to bits over and over again. Third -- my family has been secretly working on project for the disposable medic bubble. When my grandfather was in the hospital, my Uncle P-- commented on how the hospital was built inefficiently. There were several people in a narrow hallway, terribly sick, while the entrance lobby was wide enough to play a pick-up basketball game with full bleachers. My father began talking about triage and the spread of germs and how there need to be a way for doctors to be able to treat patients in clean, sterile environment that could easily contain different illness and not spread anything to other sick patients. Easy to build, easy to clean up. Disposable Medic Bubble. Give it ten-years; we might be on to something.  We're gonna have a funky good time! |
| "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" by: Outasync The Prompt: Time. We all have it, but nobody completely understands it. What are your thoughts on time? The Music: "Bohemian Rhapsody" - Queen Time. A funny, fickle -- I've got nothing, really. Time sucks. Any sort of timing is not on my side. I have yet to learn how to really utilize, so in several ways it is my enemy. There are many moments, especially in the past few days, that I have thought about setting time on fire. But that's another nightmare for another day. The first thing that popped into my mind was "Doctor Who". Who doesn't think of Tardis and The Doctor when anything about time is mention? Queen also came to mind. Well, "Wayne's World" comes to mind, which then leads to Queen. My eldest brother was a "Wayne's World" dude. Since we only had one television, all of us have were dudes whether we wanted to be or not. I could sing "Bohemian Rhapsody" all the way through by the time I was four. Grey Poupon, anyone? So, quick recap. I hate time. Yet it reminds me of things I truly love. Like I said, time is a funny, fickle thing. May your head banging rock! |
| "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" by: Julie D - PUBLISHED! The Prompt: What is your greatest strength? What is your biggest weakness? Write about each and why you think it’s a strength or weakness. How would you change either of these things, if you could? The Music: "Weighty Ghost" - Wintersleep The Strength.  Multitasking. There is a great possibility that if you decide to stalk me that I will be doing about three things at once. Maybe four. I've managed six before but almost lost a toe, so that is an experiment I probably will not repeating. The multitasking aspect of my nature gives me a bit of a split brain, but I feel that is part of my charm. Consequently, because of this penchant to multitask, I will most likely be wearing my shirt backwards or my sweat pants inside out. Some things have to fall to the wayside if you're doing several things all at the same. It seems only fair the great law of numbers. Sometimes I forget to put on one of my socks. It's a cute look, I swear. The Weakness.  Underestimation. I have no sense of time, really. My estimates of time are usually off by at least fifteen minutes. Sometimes it is longer than that. I've been days off at times. That was an awesome experience. Luckily, I was early instead of late. Sure I looked like a fool, but if I had missed the appointment it would have been worse. Still, whether it is cooking or meeting someone for coffee or finishing project, any type of pre-planning usually ends badly for me. My underestimation also includes any type of pain I'm in, any mistake I've made, or how much a situation has gone pear-shaped. This has only really screwed me over. There are other people in my family who suffer from this condition much more than I do. This makes me look good, so thanks family! My boyfriend has been an excellent sport about this over the years. A typical conversation will go something like "Sweetie, I have to go put the clothes in the dryer, be back in ten." A soft sigh follows. "Okay then." Twenty-five minutes later. You get the picture. The very mangled picture. How to fix this? Never allow me to plan any type of vacation for you. You need a details (except time estimation) kind of girl, give me a ring. You need oddball humor, look no further. You need someone to give you a minute-to-minute breakdown of how the day is going to go, call someone else. Mr. Rogers is a good candidate. Or someone with a working watch. The Side-Note.  I had one of those nights last night. And kind of today as well. Forgive any mistakes. I'm not really here.  |
| "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" The Prompt: Here’s a mistake I would love to have a do-over for. The Music: "Don't Let No One Get You Down" - War The Mistake.  I'm having difficultly narrowing down a mistake. There are dozens that come to mind; all of which are as painful as the first. The very first mistake my tattered grey matter can think of. Yet that mistake is untouchable as it was the mistake of a small child. It would be like picking on a kindergartener because they're just so small and are less likely to hit you. Give them a year or so, then their sadistic need to bring down others will kick in. Kidding. That doesn't really kick in until junior high. Here's an incident that was somewhat foolish: For a while I was a house-cleaner for my godsister as her house keeper. Jay is an jolly and boisterous and has no sense of clean whatsoever. She would like to leave little piles of weird things for me to clean up while she was at work. My favorite was four-day old soup that had developed a nice layer of mold on time. Yummy. Jay has been with the same man for almost fifteen years, A--. He is a nice guy on the wrong side of the law. His boss, who I met once by accident, turned out to be a high-ranking member in the Salvadoran cartel. Anywho, A-- was an extremely clean person but refused to pick up after Jay on principle. More work for me, but that was what I was getting paid for. One day, doing their laundry, I came across a semi-automatic at the bottom of the laundry hamper. Being all of twelve, it was a pretty shocking moment. Scared, I put it in the corner and started on their bedroom where I found a 9mm between the night table and the bed. The trend continued throughout the house, ending with a wad of hundreds next to a container of expired milk in the refrigerator. Somehow, I had become an extra in a remake of "Good Fellas". The mistake was dealing with it myself and not freaking out. I got lucky that none of shit blew up in my face. Jay and A-- are good people, don't get me wrong, but they are also some the stupidest criminals in the world. My godsister came home while I was cleaning. I still remember the expression on her face while holding the 9mm by my pinkie, asking her what I should with it since I had already made the bed. Emotion clouded judgment. I think we can all agree on this. I don't know what happened to the hardware after that. Stupidly Amazingly, I went back two weeks later to clean. Except for the usual science experiments on the stove, the apartment was clean of anything that could possibly send me to prison to do a dime. I was lucky enough that Jay and A-- cared enough not to get me in trouble. Or they that I would tell on accident. I like to think the former as it has more of a Hallmark feel to it. The Do-Over.  Easy. My prints were all over the place. The moment I saw the first gun, I should have grabbed my crap and headed out the door. CSI 101. End story. The Reality.  The do-over, unfortunately, is not a plausible possibility. I do not have the power to go back in time. I do not have the ability to erase that part of my history. Here's the rub: I wouldn't if I could. Sure, I play back that scene with relative frequency in my head much like a movie of past transgressions and movie clips, "Godfather" soundtrack and all. But if I went back and did everything over, I would never learn not to do that stupid thing in the future. You live. You learn. You have a shot of whiskey. You mock terribly horrible movies much I like I did last night. You move on. A little bit of wisdom - fortune cookie style. This is summer, in California, during the late afternoon played in winter, in Washington, during the dead of night. Enjoy. |
| "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" The Prompt: Anything Goes! The Music: Motown Classics Stevie Wonder - "As" A new semester of school is in session. Attending two different schools is definitely a new experience. Going to class takes much more energy than I remember. It really hasn't been that long since I've actually had to go, sit and listen. But I feel like it has been years, and I am truly out of shape. My schedule kind of went pear-shaped over the last couple of days. Instead of attending school four days a week, I'll be going every day. Not that much of change. Except I notice that I'm one of the eldest students in my classes. Makes me feel old, which is absolutely ridiculous, right? Right. Can I borrow someone's cane? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5NDholT0NdU&feature=fvst Edwin Starr - "25 Miles" Maybe because of the holidays, or the added workload, or something in the water, but I've kind of lost my appetite. I was reprimanded the other night by my loved ones because I hadn't eaten dinner. Or lunch. Half of a tuna fish sandwich was forced down my throat. Ah, love. Today was the same deal. Made so watery mac and cheese from the box. Couldn't really taste it, but it got the job done. This would be worrisome if I cared. Honestly, I really don't. And I have enough padding on zee bod to not have to worry about starving. Apathy = Problem Solved. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XE2fnYpwrng Martha & the Vandellas - "Heatwave"Found a hole in my Led Zeppelin t-shirt the other day. That was kind of depressing seeing as it is not even close to being authentic. It was one of those whim buys at the store where you know you need a new shirt, but really don't have the heart to cut through a pack of raving hyenas (Southern California Discount Moms) to pick out a shirt. I went to the dude clothes section, saw the Led Zeppelin logo, "Kashmir" immediately popped into my head, and I bought the damn thing. I'll patch it. It almost has sentimental value. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8nA18g_PwG0 Otis Redding - "Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay" I've been thinking about my short time in the Bay Area lately. B'ham is close the same experience with less crazy people, less pollution, and less pot. Except there is no shiny Golden Gate Bridge here. There was something about driving across the bridge (Bay, no Golden Gate) with the windows rolled down so your car doesn't drift over the side that I miss. Usually Santana was involved. The Munchkin (my mother) and older brothers would trot out the old stories that wasn't even born for. Yet I know everyone of the people they're talking about. Maybe no in person, but the stories have been recycled so many times it's hard not feel a part of it. Everything happened in San Francisco. My brothers were born there. My parents met there. My grandparents died there. So much attachment to a city barely had a chance to get to know. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hdpe7TRGt74&feature=related Diana Ross & the Supremes - "Someday We'll Be Together" A large box of boxes arrived today. Mostly late birthday and Christmas presents I have to ship out to California some time next week. I've stressed over what to get Z-- for quite some time. He's the baby of the family, and possibly a genius. This puts some pressure on the situation. He does math homework for fun. Taught himself how to play chess in two hours. He was six. One has to step up the gift giving or you fail as an older sibling. My first thought was to ply him with candy, however, besides the amusing factor for me since I don't have to be there when he warp-speeds off the wall, it wasn't memorable. I finally choose brain block puzzles and books. Feed the machine. Not the most exciting thing for an eight-year old, but I'm hoping the benefits outweigh the wow! factor. This could be a massive pipe dream but I've got nothing else. He'll grow from this. Without hating me. Hopefully. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1tOpwgrqshU Marvin Gaye - "Inner City Blues" Last year I did nothing really productive on WDC. Some new campfires. A few reviews here and there. I don't think I wrote one freakin' poem or short story. This is sad. I'm going to try and fix this. 2012 - the year of writing. Don't get me wrong. I wasn't a complete failure. There is research up the galore on my hard drive. Post-its, hand-written notes, pin boards, pictures. I just haven't done anything with it yet. Yet is the operative word. There will be blood. There will be headaches. There will be my head hitting the wall. But, by God, there will be writing! Smokey Robinson - "Cruisin'" |
| "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" The Prompt: We’re all afraid of something. Write a formal complaint to whatever scares you the most. The Music: "I'm On Fire" - Bruce Springsteen Hey, Locked-in Syndrome. Yeah, you, in the corner over there. No, not the "being flayed alive" nightmare. You're fine. Have some chips and dip or something. I'll talk with you sometime next week. Yes, Cerebromedullospinal Disconnection. Just because you like going by other names doesn't mean we don't have beef. Let's lay everything out on the table here. You freak me out. You're the thing I fear most. I can picture in my head when hopping into a car with a person who probably wouldn't have a driver's license if her driving instructor hadn't had an ample view of her chestage. You're the thought that pops into my brain when I have to sign consent forms promising not to sue the hospital if they have to put under anesthesia. Hard to sue when you can't say a word, isn't it? Asshole... You're probably thinking that things are okay because I don't end up dead. Theoretically, if you should have me in your clutches (not likely, friend!) I'm still awake and aware, able to move my eyeballs and such. I'm just unable to move anything else in my body. Can't speak. Can't move. Can't defend myself. Can't tell my brother that he's a doofus for wearing that shirt out in public. You take the control and leave me a prisoner in my own body. My own personal hell. Forever. Thanks for that. The biggest problem you and I face is the fact that you like to hog all the controls. Who does that? Last time I checked this isn't a "Friends" episode and you are not Monica. At least she makes jam. You do nothing but cause infinite loops of fright within my psyche until I feel that incurable itch under my skin (Don't think I've forgotten about you flesh-burrowing scarabs You're next.) Why? Why are you even around? Piss off. I've got so many other things to stress about. You, you're nothing but a douche canoe. Thanks for this chat. It let off a little bit of the pressure. I still despise you.. Cheers. A tribute to "The Boss". Got love them tributes. |
| "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" The Prompt: In 200 words or more, write a post about a world-wide issue that you feel needs support. The Music: "Leave My Body" - Florence & the Machine Just one? Decision, decisions... This caught my attention a couple of days ago. Here's a link that started this all. I read "The Bloggess" for the laughs. She has the type of witty humor that boggles the mind while making you laugh the type of laugh that puts you out of commission for a while. You know, the laugh where the only sound that comes out of your mouth is a wheezing sound, and you double over at the waist because oxygen isn't reaching your lungs. She is hilarious, smart, and brutally honest. The other day I was reading her blog, and she was discussing something quite serious - her history of depression and self-harming. She states it was the hardest blog she has ever had to write. With announcing her battle with mental health issues, she puts a great deal at risk. Work, home, family. There are tags, labels that can follow you around for the rest of your days. It makes seeking help that much harder. Her blog hit the net, Twitter. I have an account on the network that I never really used. However, I checked her feed and watched as the comments blew up. So many people commented on their battle with depression, self-harming, and mental illness. Each told their story and offered courage to others. The raining sentiment - her willingness and courage to open up about her struggle allowed them to open up too, to keep going, to seek help. A small movement has started - #silverribbons - to spread awareness. This is my plug to help that cause. Depression and self-harming are large issues that carry even bigger stigmas. So many people suffer this debilitating illness, yet they are afraid to ask for help because of the implications. I've battled with depression for years. At times it seems like climbing a mountain where the peak keeps growing taller the higher you climb. The idea of continuing to move on is ever more the daunting. But it is like the Bloggess says, you hang on for the day when it isn't quite so difficult. It comes, although the day is never a predictable one. It helps all the more when you can ask for help. I was able to be open with some of my family, my guy, and most importantly, my doctor. There is hope even when it feels impossible. Everyone, world-wide, should be able to do the same without fear of recrimination. NAMI - National Alliance on Mental Illness. http://www.nami.org/Template.cfm?Section=depression End plug. For the delight of your ears. |
| "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" The Prompt: When you are writing, do you prefer to use a pen or a computer? The Music: "Province" - TV on the Radio The Convenient.  The pen or the computer -- such a hard choice. For the sake of pure convenience, I'm on the computer for a good part of my day. If I'm not studying until gray matter is flowing out of my ears, then I'm on here writing little nothings, or exchanging words with a sibling to not be hasty about something. Or reading an article from my father about something strange and obscure. Or emailing my mother about a link to the thing she caught a glimpse of over my shoulder. Or poking my guy when I should be doing something productive. Or reading about my friend's favorite new mistake. Or... Okay, most of my life is spent on the computer. This is a sad but unavoidable truth. I am attached to this technical machine more than I would like to be. And somehow my addicted brain has worked it out a way for me to be attached to this damn thing to make a livelihood. Communication to most of my professors requires an email. Talking to family and friends requires some form of Facebook or instant messaging. Going through the tidbits of many numerous novels in the making requires a keyboard, hard drive, and computer screen. Convenience is a lovely, safe word for dependence. That's depressing. Moving on... The Inspired.  When I have a chance I pick up a freakin' pen and write. It is a throwback to when I was a wee child and there was no such thing as a computer at home. The pen was a mighty thing in school. There was a sense of permanence when writing with that black felted tip. It was the only material students were allowed to use to turn in essays. One can't erase pen (so they thought, ha!). There was a distinct sense of being closer to an adult when painstakingly writing in cursive. The burden of being well-written and perfect. Those first steps into obtaining ulcers. Ah yes, the good old days. Now I am an adult, at least that is what it says on my passport, so I try to act like one. I keep a pad of paper for notes in my bag and force myself to take hand-written notes during lectures. Most of the ink ends up on my hand (osmosis) because that pad of paper will end up drowning under a paperback book, medicine bag, a half eaten sandwich, and iPod when I truly need it. Still, there is something to be said for penning a poem or story with a pen. It ignites the fluidity of the moment. I have dozens of standard issue notebooks full of notes for stories or quotes I heard will walking through town. It's not the simple with a laptop (the web, anyone?). In the end, I would definitely would choose a pen.  If someone knows where I can get a computer patch, please send me word...over the computer. That seems counter-productive, doesn't it, lol? For your listening serenity. |
| "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" The Prompt: 2012 to others is a tragic year since it is associated with end of days. Express your sentiments on this. The Music: "Let It All Hang Out" - The Hombres The Serious. Come December 20, 2012, I'll be sitting in a funky diner just outside of Sacramento with my niece, sipping on a vanilla malt. Should the world end when the clock strikes midnight, the shakes will be free. Score. Should the cosmos keep spinning and the planet not implode on itself, I owe my niece a cheeseburger and fries. I better get working on those coupons now. Wouldn't it be a bit anti-climatic if the world ends on that particular day? I mean, we're all writers here. Doesn't that smack of the formulaic ending? I want the unexpected. I want the world to come to the brink of ending, everyone holding their breath, then an awkward 1970s disco tune fills the air as someone's phone rings. Lonewolf  knows what I mean, lol. The recipient will be the same guy in the movie theater, sitting somewhere in the fourth row, who refuses to listen the adverts on the screen asking moviegoers to politely turn off the phone. He'll be standing in the middle of the street somewhere, expecting the worst, when his phone goes off. He couldn't turn it off for the end of the world, because, you know, he has a life. The apocalypse soundtrack by KC and the Sunshine Band. The Not-So Serious. Confession time. I'm going to admit something I haven't said aloud to anyone who isn't required to love me. When I have free moments in an otherwise hectic life, I dabble in Eschatology (the study of the end). It started when I was a small child, watching one of those throw away documentaries on A&E after Sunday school. "Mysteries of the Bible" would show the audience odd paintings of demons eating babies while a strange, disembodied voice narrated biblical scripture in a voice that Charlton Heston would be envious of. It made me feel frightened and excited all at the same time. Any way you sliced it, we we're all going to die in a fiery pit for not brushing our teeth on a regular basis. Fascinating stuff. I've been hooked ever since. If I weren't surrounded by practical people, I probably would be at an obscure college somewhere on the east coast, earning my PhD in a cold, dark room surrounded by the scent of cheese puffs. My secret dream is to be on one of those documentaries the History Channel shows, giving a guest lecture next the man who hasn't shown his face in fifteen years because the government is watching his every more. Basically, I want to be the invisible fourth member of "The Lone Gunmen" because the truth really is out there. (Thanks, Mulder.) It wasn't that long ago that I faced that scary point in my relationship where I had to share those embarrassing parts of myself with my significant other. I nervously showed him the stacks and stacks of books I had on unheard of cultures and their views on when we're all going to die as well as my complete collection on the works of Nostradamus. There was an expression of his face of horror and uncontrollable laughter. To his credit, he kissed me on the the forehead, muttered something like "that's nice, sweetie" and walked off to make some tea. We're soulmates, what can I say? The Absurd. My father sent this to me in the mail. No letter asking me how I was doing. No note to justify the picture. Just cutout of this picture pasted on some sturdy cardboard. Somehow I was not disturbed by what he was implying without saying a word. Then again, his favorite movie is "Buckaroo Banzai". Enough said. For the enjoyment of your ear holes. |
| "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" The Prompt: What makes you happy? The Music: "Sunny" ~ Bobby Hebb Happiness. There are several things that make me happy, but the list below are the things that first pop into my mind. Much of this is strange. I would be lying if it wasn't. The truth is rarely normal. (I convince myself of this every morning.) If any of this should be delusional, feel free to keep the delusion going for my sake. (Or burst my bubble if that makes you happy.)  The Obvious.  My family. The members of my family are as crazy as they are numerous. Among all of my five brothers and three brothers, I have never known a true moment of peace. They are rowdy, impatient, demanding, and loud. They are the best people to go to the movies with as well as a night of hockey to yell at refs. We can argue over a bowl of popcorn and blatantly cheat at board games, yet still end the night on a good note. Add in parents, nieces, cousins, family friends, and grandparents, and you've got yourself one of the weirdest bunch of people to come together. They are the ones that know you the best, especially at your worst. It is why I love them - every complex, loving, vexing one of them. My friends. The few that I have been able to hold onto over years of moving are the true salt of the earth. They are the random acts that fill my life. I can depend on them for drunken texts, a good laugh walking the streets at three o'clock at night, essentialist conversations about Harry Porter over pizzas, and making fun of book titles in the middle of a bookstore right before closing. My guy. What can I say? He is one of the truest men I've been encountered in my life. He is my best friend. He is my partner-in-crime. He is the person who laughs with me the most, and listens when I don't make a lick of sense. When the nights of insomnia hit the hardest, I can call him and bother him to not end. I cannot imagine my life to the end of its days without him. Words. Both written and read. Give me a book, a blog, a movie, a television show, a song. Give me a play, a conversation, a quote, a poem, a speech, a declaration, a campfire. Give me any one of these, and I'll be a happy girl. A piece of dark chocolate. I would give over state secrets for chocolate. True story. (No, not really. At least, not yet.) The Not-So Obvious. A walk in the rain. Nothing clears the mind faster than taking a walk in the rain. Now that I live in the Pacific Northwest, this happens more often. In fact, I did this the other day. Cleared my head right up. Gave me a cold, too, but the trade off isn't so bad. A good mystery. This cuts down on how much I yell at the television screen. A hockey game in my hometown. This increases how much I yell in the stands. Usually at the ref. Occasionally, at the drunk woman behind me, who feels the need to kick the back of my seat because I remind her of the girl who pestered her throughout junior high. True story. An unexpected laugh. Both joyful, and if I should accidentally snort, embarrassing. A piece of music that moves me to weeping. I blame Yo-Yo Ma for this. My mother blames our Irish-ness. Go figure. A night game of baseball. There is a moment when you stand in the outfield, between the smell of freshly cut grass and the sun slowing fades in the horizon, that I could take on the world. It ended up that my team would usually lose the game, but for that moment, I would collectively join the delusion of my fellow players that maybe, just maybe we could beat the inevitable loss. Crossing something off a list.I feel like Monica from "Friends" with the checks on a list. There is something immensely satisfying about drawing a large line through something I've completed. The Completely Oblivious to Anyone but Me. I'm kind of a twisted person. I hate being underestimated because of my age/sex/race/stature/etc... However, I am filled with a perverse sense of joy when I can prove a person who feels I will never amount to anything wrong. Apologies are can come in a pack a dozen, and have lost great deal of value over the years. It is the expression their face and the tone in their voice when they realize I've shattered whatever concept they have of me in their minds. It thrills me to no end. For your viewing and listening pleasure. |
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