19 days late - hip-hip-hooray and Happy New Year! The holidays were super relaxing, and I spent a lot of time enjoying the new 40 inch Sony Bravia (TV) and my new Roku player. Have I mentioned how rock n’roll that player is yet? Seriously, it is. Streaming content (Netflix) straight to my TV is genius. My current marathon involves watching every episode of Kate and Alley. That show is seriously cool. Jane Curtin makes me feel better about my own neuroses and datelessness.
2009 marks my final year in my 20s, and I refuse to head into my 30s overweight. So, it’s officially been 8 weeks since I decided to live a healthier, cleaner lifestyle, and I am proud to say that it is so working. I’ve lost 8 pounds and feel fantastic. I’m eating clean and exercising 30 minutes a day. Some days I am tired or want to eat a cake, but I power through. Dropping a pants size is much more rewarding than a cookie. Part of what has helped me is Write Yourself Right Sized by Julia Cameron. It makes me want to jump back on for another round of The Artist’s Way.
Other than this, life is tame right. I’m trying to get back into the routine of non-Holiday life. In just a few weeks, we’ll be heading into perfect weather season down here, and I’ll be living spring break for a few months: sunshine, blue skies, the beach, and my lunch hours in the sun at Starbucks.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Mexican Border Rocks
While digging through the volumes of binders in my closet this morning, I came across an old writing assignment from college. I was supposed to listen to a random conversation and then add a story to it. I picked a conversation with a friend and wrote something that has stuck with me all these years.
I've always felt like it had the best story potential, but I could never get it right on paper. Seeing it made me happy, so I decided to share it. It has a beauty to it that I find difficult to explain. The truth isn't camouflaged very well, so I hope that if he ever sees this, he isn't too mad.
We’re at Denny's. Michael stares into his cup of coffee and strands of his curly hair fall into his eyes. He pushes it back in a slow, non-thinking gesture. He left five months before, in January, on a cross-country trip to Oregon. He packed a small U-Haul with his few possessions and started a new life.
He shows me postcards and pictures from the road. He has a jar with the melted water of the first snow he ever touched and pictures of the view out of the window of his new apartment. With a red-faced grin, he pushes a picture toward me. It is a photo of him leaning against a wall at the Alamo in a cowboy hat.
"Where did you get the hat?" I ask.
"I bought it at a rest stop in Texas."
We laugh. He looks back down at his coffee and stirs it with his spoon.
"Do anything else in Texas?"
"I threw a rock into Mexico."
I can imagine him in the sweaty Texas air. It is not quite dark and the sunset shades the desert in purple and dark blue. He pulls his truck with the U-Haul off the side of the desert highway. He picks up the cowboy hat off of the seat beside him and gets out of the truck. The ground is littered with rocks, so he kicks around some of the dirt, searching for the perfect rock, the rock that has his name interwoven into its deep grooves. Cars rush by on the highway with their lights on. The sons and daughters of the drivers press their faces to the glass. They watch the city boy in the ripped jeans and faded music school tee shirt. He crouches down and the cowboy hate sits awkwardly on his head. When he finds a rock, he holds it in his hand, studying it in case he ever decides he wants it back, and then chucks it as far over the border as he can. He watches it land, and when he decides that it is safely on the other side, he returns to his car, puts the hat back beside him on the seat and drives on.
I've always felt like it had the best story potential, but I could never get it right on paper. Seeing it made me happy, so I decided to share it. It has a beauty to it that I find difficult to explain. The truth isn't camouflaged very well, so I hope that if he ever sees this, he isn't too mad.
We’re at Denny's. Michael stares into his cup of coffee and strands of his curly hair fall into his eyes. He pushes it back in a slow, non-thinking gesture. He left five months before, in January, on a cross-country trip to Oregon. He packed a small U-Haul with his few possessions and started a new life.
He shows me postcards and pictures from the road. He has a jar with the melted water of the first snow he ever touched and pictures of the view out of the window of his new apartment. With a red-faced grin, he pushes a picture toward me. It is a photo of him leaning against a wall at the Alamo in a cowboy hat.
"Where did you get the hat?" I ask.
"I bought it at a rest stop in Texas."
We laugh. He looks back down at his coffee and stirs it with his spoon.
"Do anything else in Texas?"
"I threw a rock into Mexico."
I can imagine him in the sweaty Texas air. It is not quite dark and the sunset shades the desert in purple and dark blue. He pulls his truck with the U-Haul off the side of the desert highway. He picks up the cowboy hat off of the seat beside him and gets out of the truck. The ground is littered with rocks, so he kicks around some of the dirt, searching for the perfect rock, the rock that has his name interwoven into its deep grooves. Cars rush by on the highway with their lights on. The sons and daughters of the drivers press their faces to the glass. They watch the city boy in the ripped jeans and faded music school tee shirt. He crouches down and the cowboy hate sits awkwardly on his head. When he finds a rock, he holds it in his hand, studying it in case he ever decides he wants it back, and then chucks it as far over the border as he can. He watches it land, and when he decides that it is safely on the other side, he returns to his car, puts the hat back beside him on the seat and drives on.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
"May you always walk in sunshine..."
One of the best things about my job is that I get to work with the other literary nerds. I use the term nerds with complete, loving affection. Just the other day we were discussing our favorite Yeats poems. They slowed down my day in a happy way.
And now for the one that I love. It is courtesy of that "commie beatnik Michael Fitzsimmons."
He Wishes for the Clothes of Heaven
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
- W.B. Yeats
And now for the one that I love. It is courtesy of that "commie beatnik Michael Fitzsimmons."
When You Are Old
When you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face among a crowd of stars.
- W.B. Yeats
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Sometimes I get nervous when I see an open door...
As if you needed another reason to love The Killers (ahem, especially Brandon Flowers), I thought I would just randomly post these lyrics in hopes that I can finally get them out of my head.
It's not going to work. Those lyrics are never going to leave my brain until I go back and listen to Don't Dance Rattlesnake by the Films. Sadly all that will do will make me sing Beltloops ("She's like a devil in a dark shade of lipstick, an unassuming sort of x-rated misfit..."). Aie. I blame the Killers for writing beautiful lyrics and great music that feels like home in my brain.
And you're very welcome for the weirdo post on this fine Wednesday evening. And in case anyone was wondering, I was just watching Bones and there's no way that guy from Roswell would ever pass as any sort of genetic equivalent to David Boreanaz. Just saying.
pay my respects to grace and virtue
send my condolences to good
give my regards to soul and romance
they always did the best they could
and so long to devotion,
you taught me everything I know
wave good bye, wish me well
It's not going to work. Those lyrics are never going to leave my brain until I go back and listen to Don't Dance Rattlesnake by the Films. Sadly all that will do will make me sing Beltloops ("She's like a devil in a dark shade of lipstick, an unassuming sort of x-rated misfit..."). Aie. I blame the Killers for writing beautiful lyrics and great music that feels like home in my brain.
And you're very welcome for the weirdo post on this fine Wednesday evening. And in case anyone was wondering, I was just watching Bones and there's no way that guy from Roswell would ever pass as any sort of genetic equivalent to David Boreanaz. Just saying.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Life, Writing, HS Flashbacks, Vampy Fun, and more Writing
It's been awhile since I've written. I get that, but such is life.
The Artist' Way has really changed me. I didn't believe it could make a different, but it is true. It's ironic that the way for me to find some peace was to just listen to myself and write. Morning journaling, morning pages in the book, are the best way to start the day. It's a healthy dose of honesty. It grounds me and allows me to get all of my gripes with the world out before I ever lay eyes on anyone else.
When I need to gripe publicly, I turn to Twitter. I am such a Twitteraholic these days. It's like things don't happen until I make a statement about it to my followers. I love getting glimpses into people's lives. Limiting to 120 characters seems to drop inhibitions and allow people to really put themselves out there.
I’ve been stuck in a flashback to my high school days. It could be the just passed high school reunion, the fact that we dressed as high school stereotypes for Halloween at work (goth for me), or the rumination of this quarter life existential crisis that I've been going through for the past few years. I've gotten back in touch with some friends and reminded myself that I know and have known some pretty awesome people in my days. It's also kicked up a lot of memories of good books, movies, and music. I've picked my top 3 movies from my high school years: Dazed and Confused (Slaterson!), Empire Records (always such a Corey and not in the drugged out, reality show on A&E way), and Mallrats (Jason Lee, hot as ever).
I've been working on a new story. It's the first one that I've been this dedicated to in quite some time. Writing makes me feel powerful and happy. I'm not sure how I forgot that, but it's really nice to have it back.
The Artist' Way has really changed me. I didn't believe it could make a different, but it is true. It's ironic that the way for me to find some peace was to just listen to myself and write. Morning journaling, morning pages in the book, are the best way to start the day. It's a healthy dose of honesty. It grounds me and allows me to get all of my gripes with the world out before I ever lay eyes on anyone else.
When I need to gripe publicly, I turn to Twitter. I am such a Twitteraholic these days. It's like things don't happen until I make a statement about it to my followers. I love getting glimpses into people's lives. Limiting to 120 characters seems to drop inhibitions and allow people to really put themselves out there.
I’ve been stuck in a flashback to my high school days. It could be the just passed high school reunion, the fact that we dressed as high school stereotypes for Halloween at work (goth for me), or the rumination of this quarter life existential crisis that I've been going through for the past few years. I've gotten back in touch with some friends and reminded myself that I know and have known some pretty awesome people in my days. It's also kicked up a lot of memories of good books, movies, and music. I've picked my top 3 movies from my high school years: Dazed and Confused (Slaterson!), Empire Records (always such a Corey and not in the drugged out, reality show on A&E way), and Mallrats (Jason Lee, hot as ever).
I've been working on a new story. It's the first one that I've been this dedicated to in quite some time. Writing makes me feel powerful and happy. I'm not sure how I forgot that, but it's really nice to have it back.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Monday, September 8, 2008
Hillary Clinton, Rock On!
I had the fantastic opportunity to listen to Hillary Clinton speak at the Rally for Change in Tampa tonight. I’ve never understood the impact a speech can make until I was in that room tonight, hearing someone address the problems that are at the forefront of my mind. I felt so patriotic saying the Pledge of Allegiance in harmony with a gymnasium full of people.
I also learned a couple of things:
- When I'm excited, I take shaky, crappy photos. In the future, avoid trying to take too many photos when excited.
- When taking videos, never yell in agreement at statements. I keep telling myself that the microphone was super close to my mouth, but damn, I am loud! I thought that I was only that loud when drinking and rock stars came on stage.
- Arriving early means more than 10 minutes before the doors open. My crappy crowd placement is largely due to the fact that I was one of the last people there.
http://picasaweb.google.com/aw.dylanis/RallyForChangeHillaryClintonInTampa#
“It is from numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped. Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope.” - Robert Kennedy
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