squeaking weeds

It's been a long time.

Spring is ever-so-slightly in the air. There's a suggestion of warmer days to come, of longer and sunnier afternoons. Little seedlings are starting to poke their heads out of the soil, and flocks of geese are flying overhead. Life feels hopeful, happy, optimistic.

The trees are still stripped of their leaves; however, their bare branches don't seem so skeletal anymore. They have somehow filled out, plumper and stouter than usual. Flowers are beginning to warm up to the idea of budding. Squirrels are running around like mad, making chattering noises and crunching twigs under their tiny feet. Kids are back outside, yelling and screaming in the delight of playing tag. Trees may still be leafless, but there is no doubt a new season is about to enter in from the wings.

The coming spring has prompted me to get back outdoors and begin playing in the sun again. I'm in the early stages of clearing land for a soon-to-be organic vegetable garden. My earlier efforts at fire escape gardening have evolved into something a lot larger and dirtier. (Literally: soil gets on everything.)

I was outside earlier today, raking out debris and turning over soil to scoop up weeds and grass. There was a layer of frost still, just under the soil, a sort of cobwebby-but-crunchy white crust enshrouding the underskin of the earth. Little budlets were precariously stretching out their roots, despite the frost. It was very sweet and sad at the same time, seeing how fragile life really is.

Because it was cold out (and also because having dirt under your nails sucks), I had on a pair of latex gloves. I felt a little stupid, out there in the dirt with a pair of doctor's gloves on, but I couldn't find any other pair. My mom supposedly has a pair around somewhere, but I still haven't found them. Anyway, the latex gloves were better than nothing. They kept the dirt off my fingers, but didn't block out the freezing cold air.

The significance of the gloves is that they kept squeaking. At first, I thought the weeds that were being pulled up were making noises. I'd never heard of plants squeaking when you lifted them out of the ground by their roots, but then again, I'd never heard that plants didn't make sound, either.I shrugged off the noises and figured it had to be due to the cold. Perhaps they were still frozen, and this made them sound like a rusty hinge for some reason. Every time a plant seemed to squeak, however, it felt like a protest. I began to feel terribly guilty pulling up all those weeds. They were squeaking at me like a band of angry squirrels, and I couldn't help but feel a little berated.

Eventually I realized it was my gloves that were squeaking, and not, in fact, talkative rooted lifeforms.

Needless to say, this made me very relieved.

i like ...

Every now and then some sweeping fad hits the internet. I, ever quick to jump on the Useless-Crap-That's-Fun-Anyway bandwagon, have become rather fond the latest, most ridiculous cyber novelty.

It's called 'Cornify' and all it does is add sparkly unicorns, rainbows and glitter to otherwise boring and plain websites. Basically, it's the fantasy of an eight year and a queeny gay man all mixed up into one little internet package.


Try it out by clicking on the cornify button below:






Remember, the more times you click, the cornier this webspace will get.

a new york pictorial

Two days ago, on the New York Times website, an interesting piece ran that truly summarized life in the Big Apple. With a series of poignant images, Christoph Niemann boiled down the essence of what it means to be a New Yorker.

I was completely charmed, and I think you might be too if you take a look.

Here is a link to the article: http://niemann.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/02/02/i-lego-ny/

appendix in revolt

I do not recommend having a medical emergency.

At all.

It should be pretty obvious why I feel this way. There's the whole pain factor. The expense. The stress, time and worry. The fear. And, of course, the not-so-minor issue of spending time in the hospital.

Not good things.

The reason I bring this topic up is because I had a medical malady of my own last week. And yes, it involved great expense, time, pain and, of course, worry.

It all began last Tuesday evening. I had been fine all day, but shortly after dinner, I found myself with a belly full of fire. Literally. A raging and internal fire. The area around my belly button was burning so badly that I eventually had to curl up in a fetal position. It was the absolute worst pain I've ever experienced, and very similar to the torturous feeling I had felt previously before heading over to the Emergency Room. (I've had two previous visits with the same symptoms.)

Then I started throwing up.

And I didn't stop.

And then there started to be a little blood in the vomit, and I couldn't take the pain anymore ...

anyway, enough of the gory details. Let's just say I wound up in the hospital, and the doctors there decided to keep me overnight. The very next morning, at 6am, a surgeon strolled in to my semi-private hospital room to politely inform me I was lined up for surgery ASAP. In fact, would I be willing to go under the knife that very morning?

To make a long story short, my appendix was removed. (Thanks a lot, appendix, for malfunctioning and causing me a lot of grief. I'm glad we got a divorce.)

Three ugly incisions later, some more time spent in the hospital, and after enough morphine to knock out a horse, I was discharged and shipped home.

Which is where I have been ever since, recovering from the very uncomfortable feeling of having had my belly region sliced up three times and pumped full of air.

Not good things.

I've finally started feeling well enough to start complaining and getting irritable, which means I must be on the mend. While lounging all day in bed does have its benefits, they are largely outweighed by the pain factor and the fact that I don't have a choice in the matter -- I have to be doing this.

So, anyway. That's the latest news in my life. I do have a big piece of info about my academic career, but I'll save that for another post. It's worthy of its own blog entry.

Be well, and don't explode your appendix if you can at all avoid it.

a minor complaint

I guess that

this

is what it means to be 'grown up',

to

always feel a little alone,

that

no one else can save you or clean up your messes.

To be an adult

is

to shoulder the burden of a thousand responsibilities

and to

feel guilty when you're having too much fun.

***

Question: Is this how it's always going to be?

Answer: I want my childhood back.

matrix kitten

Few things in life are better than:

A kitten & puppies play fighting to the sounds of 'The Matrix' soundtrack:




or

baby meerkats coming out of their burrows for the first time:

go here to see!

dead bird

What a sad little thing you are, your wings clipped with ice and your legs sticking straight up and towards the sky. Your unmoving eyes are frozen shut, cold and unseeing in the swirl of the snowy winter air.

What a pathetic, hopeless sight you make. A tiny little creature, plump bellied and stiff legged, exposed and prone. You rest there on your final perch, flipped over on your back, mute and deaf.

It is a sad thing to see how dejected a creature looks when it has frozen to death.

Looking at you, I can see first hand how cruel winter really is, how difficult it is to manage the long and merciless nights. How hard it is to make ends meet, to find a warm place to nest for the coldest hours. And God knows, that in this weather, these past few evenings of temperatures in the range of ten below zero, staying alive is not an adequate word. 'Survival' is.

Survival. What a wretched word, but a glorious one, too. The difficulties, the pain and the suffering, the amazing highs and the bitter lows; this is to survive and be an adult.

It's a human problem, shrunk down and molded to the animal condition. Encapsulated in the form of a tiny finch, a sad, pathetic, and very dead little bird.

You, little creature, are my frozen metaphor for the harsh realities of winter.

arovane vs sufjan stevens

The Aussie blog has been updated. Go take a lookey if you're interested.

It's funny how the New Year has been stirring up travel lust in me. The urge to get up and just go somewhere has been overwhelming lately. I find myself watching the travel channel and reading travel memoirs in large quantities lately. (I normally never watch television.) I keep checking travel websites obsessively, looking for an affordable vacation to go on. I don't know what it is, but ever since Australia, traveling has gotten under my skin. When can I get up and go again?!

Speaking of travel, I watched a comedy the other night (thank you, Netflix) that was a very accurate take on culture shock in India. The film is called 'Outsourced' and had some very realistic depictions of everyday urban life in India. I loved it. It reminded me of my travels in that beautiful country, and all the funny mishaps I had as an American. Everything from going to the toilet (oh my god, it's just a hole in the ground!) to being followed by curious Indians was covered. I chuckled and even laughed at parts, because it reminded me so much of my own travels.

Which, by the way, is wonderful. Culture shock is invigorating. I mean, after you get over the 'dear mother of God, what is going ON?!' aspect of it. I don't think I've actually had true chill-me-to-my-bones culture shock, but the first time you squat over a dirty and dismal hole in the ground to go to the bathroom with no toilet paper, you start to respect the term 'cultural values.'

In other news, I've been listening to a lot of music lately ... of course. I guess it's part of my job description as a musician. I've been re-discovering old Cd's of mine. 'Atol Scrap' by Arovane has been dusted off and put on constant repeat. You need a good sound system for it, but what a sophisticated, genuine example of electronic music. I also listened to that oldie by Sufjan Stevens, 'Enjoy Your Rabbit'. That recording is a prime example of folksy electronic. I'm not sure there's any other way to describe it. It's vintage Sufjan, before he ever became the Mr. Stevens. It's not sophisticated the way 'Atol Scrap' is, but for an old recording (2001) it's surprisingly well done.

On the same topic ... would anyone else agree that Michael Jackson started going downhill during the 'Bad' years? 'Thriller' and 'Off the Wall' are such classic gold standards of Quincy Jones production, but then 'Bad', another Jones produced album, sort of slacks off. I was disappointed while re-listening to that record.

So, I think that's all there is to report for now. I mean, obviously there's more going on in my life than Michael Jackson and 'Outsourced', but I never feel comfortable posting about overly personal things online. So, I feed you the scraps of my life instead. :)

Have a safe and happy weekend.

new years eve messsage

Hey.

It's almost the New Year. The New Year and the new year. (One is the holiday, the other is a new chapter in time.) It's the end of some things and the beginning of others; a time of change and flux.

I feel like some good things will be coming my way in '09. I'm not sure what, and I can't predict where I'll end up or what will change (or stay the same), but I can feel it in my bones. '09 is going to bring something very positive and big in my life.

Stay tuned, I guess.

I truly hope that everyone who reads this has a happy, healthy and peaceful '09.

Lots of love.

winter wind

Do you ever feel as if cold is alive?

I mean a literal, creeping, breathing life force. One that has free will and can choose to nibble off your fingers in a fit of frost bite, or decide to simply pass you by, unscathed and unharmed.

I ask this question because, lately, I've been feeling as if the winter chill has some kind of intelligence. Some kind of internal brain with firing neurons and intelligent capabilities.

I know it seems silly, but if you've spent enough time in cold places, you might understand. The bitter wind is smart. It can find every crevice, every nook of your body that thermal fleece and jackets don't cover up. It can claw its way in to your clothing, curling icy fingers around your throat and limbs with uncanny ease. It can decide to blow at the most inopportune times, like when you're unloading groceries or trying to start a malfunctioning car.

I swear I've seen the winter air decide to bother someone. Knock someone over. Pull off a person's hat. Make them yelp in sheer frozen agony. Mischevious, often unkind things, just because it can.

Then again, the winter cold has some lovely aspects, as well. Those crystal clear nights, for example, when you can see all around you for miles. Or how pure and clear sound is, when carried on icy, still air. Even the way one's breath curls out like tendrils of smoke when words are spoken in the freezing daytime ether -- I love all of these things.

But yes, I still believe the winter wind is alive. It has a mind of its own.

It wants to eat you alive, but desires to play with you a little first.

Merry Christmas & Happy Hanukah!

(It is a lucky person who can celebrate both!)

Enjoy the Jewish Festival of Lights and Christmas Cheer with these crazy youtube videos I found.

Enjoy.

updates and wanderlust

The Australian blog has been updated. Please go check it out. I'm about to do an entry on a remote alpine lake I found, but I won't reveal anything further until the blog post is actually up. Until then, go read about Toowomba and Spring Bluff, two very different but equally lovely spots in Queensland.

In the meantime, here I am at home, on my one day off this week. It's not even really a good day off, since I have a lot of work I need to do. What good is a vacation day if all you have to get done are chores? Despite this rather nasty fact, I am determined to make the most of my time away from working by lounging in bed as long as possible, updating my blog, and enjoying the fact I can stay inside, where it's warm.

Part of the appeal of staying in bed is the fact I have a fun book to read. 'The Sex Life of Cannibals' (which isn't nearly as erotic as it sounds) is about a young couple who move to a remote South Pacific island located on the equator. I'm having a blast reading about their misadventures dealing with the natives, and just how difficult life on a atoll can be. It is also making me desperate to travel again. I'm now having visions of being lulled to sleep in a hammock strung up between two palm trees, the sounds of the Pacific Ocean singing me to sleep.

When I think about travel, I inevitably make lists. I love lists anyway, but something about traveling makes me want to create long, elaborate catalogues of where I want to go and why. The South Pacific has now been added to that list -- and the more remote, the better.

Top contenders on my travel list include Mongolia, Spain, Russia, Japan, Solomon Islands (or some place similar), Cuba, Argentina or Chile, South Africa, Morocco, Bhutan and New Zealand. I'm pretty sure I'll manage to reach most of those places, given enough time and funds.

And let me say this, because people inevitably react strangely when I say I want to visit Mongolia: I almost went there last summer. I have plans on going as soon as I can. Just go rent 'Mongol' and you'll understand my fascination.

Anyway. I'm going to rest on my laurels a bit longer and then dive in to some much needed work.

i love ... my nintendo 64

i love this machine.

Dear Nintendo 64,

I love you. Yes, I really do. I love you despite all your flaws. The blocky, awkward animation you so commonly feature in your games, the laughable early 90's soundtracks that you so commonly utilize, even the completely unrealistic and often unreliable game play -- I embrace everything about you.

True, you're out of date. You're what one might refer to as 'horribly antiquated'. They don't even make your system anymore. You're like some kind of technological dinosaur. A buggy, funny, yet impossible to hate dinosaur.

Why am I so fond of you? That's easy. It's because you provide me with hours of entertainment. Well, and there's other reasons too. For one, there's nothing like plopping down in a chair after a long day and starting in to a death match round of 'Killer Instinct Gold'. Because chasing a yellow ball around on 'Mario Tennis' is oddly soothing. Because the scantily clad male characters in 'WCW vs. NWO World Tour' are cause for a good laugh or two. Because it's fun to race cars around in 'Wipeout' and then pretend to cry when you lose a race.

battling it out, Killer Instinct style

You're a very unassuming piece of equipment. I mean, you don't have any fancy bells or whistles; you don't require much in terms of tender loving care. You can't go online, you can't play DVDs or CDs, and you only support N64 games. You aren't exactly the pinnacle of game play achievement.

Despite this (or perhaps because of it), you're simple to use. Your only requirements are that games aren't jammed in to your console, and that the dust gets blown out of the cartridges every once in awhile. Sure, you can be fritzy and not work, but then again, none of us work correctly after a certain age. And you, ... well. You're a senior citizen in computer years. If you were a human, you'd qualify for the Denny's Senior Discount. It's great you can even function at all.

unintentional humor

But no matter your age or the ridiculous nature of your games, I will always love you. You are the one game system I have remained loyal to, and the one that I will probably always have ... until you break, anyway.

Lots of love,

Me

i like ... the fall

Over the span of the past 24 hours, I've slowly been absorbing the beautiful film 'The Fall', directed by Tarsem Singh. This movie is an absolute gem, with stunning visuals, a fantastical plotline, and a wonderful lead actress. Heavily stylized, and portrayed from a child's point of view, the film is, in my opinion, quite exceptional.

There are faults with the movie, of course. The acting comes across as stilted at times, there are long sequences where nothing makes sense, and sometimes it is hard to understand the accents of some of the actors in the film. However, these flaws are minor in comparison with the absolute visual feast that this movie provides.

Take this sequence for example, of a bandit riding a swimming elephant:

It's completely surreal, beautiful, and, dare I say it (?!), magical. Moments like these fill up the movie, and that's why I love it so much. Tarsem has managed to portray on celluloid what I always dreamed of as a young girl.

Here's the officail film trailer, which does not really do the movie justice, in my opinion. However, it does hint at some of the epic scenes to be found in 'The Fall'. The director of photography in this movie deserves some sort of medal, in my opinion. Every shot could stand alone as a photograph.

And, lastly, here's a clip from the start of the movie, when the adventure begins. It's not a spoiler, so you can watch this without getting any vital information revealed about the plotline. I'm really just posting it so you can see how starkly gorgeous the visuals are in this film -- and this isn't even the half of it! Wait until the film takes place in India ... oh, gorgeous! The best part is, I've been to some of the locations that are in the movie, including the Taj Mahal, Agra Fort, Paris, and Prague. It's like a visual guide to some of the world's most beautiful sights.

black friday makes my soul poop brown

Happy Post-Thanksgiving, ya'll! Hope your big day of eating was a cheery one. Turkey day is really kind of a bird holocaust sanctioned by American tradition, but I love the holiday anyway. I guess there's just something about having an excuse to stuff face with food that I really appreciate.

My Thanksgiving was a quiet one. This was mainly due to the fact I had to be at work at 5:30am this morning for the horror that is known as Black Friday. Waking up at 4:45am is not exactly my thing, and I had to be sure to go to bed extra early last night in order to wake up in time.

Of course, I wasn't able to get a good evening's rest at all. I'm allergic to a bed time. As soon as I tell my body that it must be asleep by a certain time, it goes and does the opposite. My mind goes in to Super Mega Thinking Concentration Mode. It's really not as productive as it sounds, either.

Seriously, my body and brain hold a conversation that goes something like this:

2 HOURS BEFORE BEDTIME
Body: I need you fast asleep by 10:30pm AT THE LATEST. Okay?
Brain: Sure, sure. 10:30pm. Gotcha.

BEDTIME
Body: Okay. Sleepy time. Ya ready?
Brain: *suddenly clicks on after being shut down all day* No. Actually, I just came up with 50 new things to stress and worry about.
Body: But ... I need to sleep.
Brain: Well, too bad.

2 HOURS AFTER BEDTIME
Body: Why am I still awake?
Brain: Because I hate you.

And that, folks, sums up my life.

In other news, I'm working a new part time retail position. I can't say I love it, especially during weekends like this. The store is always crowded, it's stifling hot, I stand on my feet all day, and I have to be nice to everyone no matter what. The latter is what especially drives me crazy -- I won't even type some of the things I've silently said in my head to a few choice jerks who've stepped foot in to my store. I smile and perkily tell everyone to have a great day, but in my brain I might be thinking something quite the opposite.

Then there are days like this one, where I have to haul around a giant bag on the sales floor and pitch it to people. Mind you, these are busy, harassed shoppers who don't want to hear about a bunch of expensive goodies. They'd rather me just shut up and tell them how to get to the exit without getting trampled to death. But nope, I have to sell away, lugging around a heavy bag, showing off its contents like its Blackbeard's pirate booty itself.

(Is this going to get me fired? Oh well.)

Then, of course, there are my co-workers. Some of them are genuinely nice people, but some of them are almost young enough to be my children. (Weird feeling.) I have nothing in common with these people. They worry about boys and freshmen-year-in-college types of things. I worry about graduate school applications and making beautiful music. We speak foreign languages, me and them. But we stand united, under the common goal of earning a shitty paycheck.

Such is life.

Hopefully tonight I will get a good night's rest. I have a long day ahead of me Saturday: a day of work and then several hours of practice/rehearsal afterwards. Here's hoping my brain will actually cut me a break tonight, and let me sleep for once!

vonnegut lends a literary helping hand

I've been reading Kurt Vonnegut's 'Mother Night' and, of course, loving it. Vonnegut has ranked as among my favorite writers for many years. The way he plays with words is so entertaining yet, at times, profound. His biting wit is mixed with a sort of jovial irony, which makes for a very interesting take on the world. Naturally, I can't help but admire the man's writing.

It's a well known fact to my friends and family that Vonnegut stands as a member of my Holy Trinity of Authors, the other two being Flannery O'Connor and Henry Miller. But where O'Connor has a morbid, almost claustrophobic tendency in her work, Vonnegut is the opposite -- free, open, expansive. Henry Miller may be a genius, (and make no mistake, he most certainly is), but he is so caustic at times that it makes one flinch when reading his material. Vonnegut never hurts me to read. He only makes me laugh and self reflect.

That said, I loved a few of the following passages from the novel 'Mother Night' and wanted to share them. They're classic Vonnegut: philosophical, but deceptively simple.

The first is a description of New York City, which I absolutely adore:

" ... And I left the seashell roar and the aurora borealis of the city's heart farther and farther behind me" (Vonnegut, 176)

Oh, how lovely! How true, even. The seashell roar -- the distant muffled sounds of the oceanic movement of honking cars and swerving delivery trucks -- mingled with the bright lights and pulsing neon signs that cast an aurora borealis over Times Square.

Love it.

Vonnegut, who was himself a World War II veteran, often deals with war and inhumanity in his writing as well. This next passage I selected because it sums up a personal philosophy of my own, and I was glad to see it echoed in the writing of a man who's reputation far exceeds my own:

" 'There are plenty of reasons for fighting,' I said, 'but no good reason ever to hate without reservation, to imagine that God Almighty Himself hates with you, too. Where's evil? It's that large part of every man that wants to hate without limit, that wants to hate with God on its side. It's that part of every man that finds all kinds of ugliness so attractive.'
'It's that part of an imbecile,' I said, 'that punishes and villifies and makes war gladly.' " (Vonnegut, 190)

This, to me, applies to world events right now. Taliban fighters, are you listening? Zealous evangelists, are you listening? Read some Vonnegut.

Lastly, this little truth from Vonnegut, which comes from the mouth of his narrator, Howard W. Campbell, Jr:

"This is the only story of mine whose moral I know. I don't think it's a marvelous moral; I simply happen to know what it is: We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be." (Vonnegut, v)

Seems straight forward, right? But oh, how it applies to so many people I've known in my life. Myself, even.

I'll end the post on that final literary note.

Happy Pre-Thanksgiving, and may you find a good Vonnegut book to read during your holiday.

meow

This short video completely made my otherwise lame and freezing cold day:

letting go

Rainy days always bring out the melancholy in me. It's not a bad thing, it just is what it is. To me, rain signifies contemplation and reflection. Well, that and snuggling up in bed with a good book.

Lately I've been learning the lesson of Letting Go. It's not something I'm good at, or have been very prone to do in my life. I'll stay friends with people I don't even like that much, simply because it's too difficult to kick them to the curb. I've certainly let guys overstay their welcome in relationships, simply because I hate being the one to do the dumping. I've even clung to half baked plans and dreams for too long, and why? Because letting go is hard to do.

There are people and things in life worth holding on to. I believe this with a passion. I've fought a few hard and long battles in my life over certain people and things that I have truly belived in.

However, there are many other people and things that aren't worth the fight. Sometimes it's better just to let them go, as nicely as possible, and wish them well in life. It completely sucks, and it inevitably ends up hurting someone in the equation, but well ... I think that holding on to something old and broken is probably worse in the long run.

I've been learning a lot about letting go lately. It's a hard thing to accept. But it's time, and I'm absorbing the lesson as gracefully and maturely as possible.

a friday night drag show

Well, in anti-celebration of the idiots in California who decided that sexuality should determine one's ability to marry, I decided to attend a drag show.

I've been to a few in New York City, but this was my first small town experience with one. Let's just say it was a low rent version of what a drag show should be. However, for all the camp and silliness (and lack of stilettos), there was something completely charming about the overweight, pink bewigged mommas flashing their gams on stage.

First of all, it was a Patsy Cline tribute night. I had no idea the famed country singer was a gay icon, but apparently she is. (News to me!) I was thrilled about this fact, until two songs in to the show, the Patsy Cline lip synching came to an abrupt end and was replaced by decidedly non-country tunes such as 'Everybody Dance Now' and 'Sweet Dreams Are Made of This.'

I was none too impressed with the actual drag queens themselves (more like draggled queens), but I had a blast dancing along to the music, cheering the ladies on in their moment of glory, and admiring the sheer amount of glitter that coated the hair, face and body of one particular high heeled man-lady.

The best part of the evening, however, had nothing to do with the ladies themselves. It was the fact that were straight women, gay women, straight men and gay men all mingling together in support of a decidedly alternative cause. Also, the appletini shots and $4 cranberry and vodkas weren't a bad deal either. (Perhaps a little more off putting was the young fellow walking around in tight black underwear who was serving the above mentioned appletini shots.)

I'm not planning on going back anytime soon, but I certainly had a blast on the dance floor after the drag show. I was also very glad to see that the passing of Proposition 8 hadn't dapened anyone's spirits too much. Perhaps no one cared, but more likely, everyone just decided to say screw it, we're still going to live our lives!

I'm including some pictures of the evening, although they're low quality, very blurry cell phone shots. They gave the general impression of the evening, however. Enjoy, and yes, I promise to stop politicizing after this post!

congratulations

Congratulations to Barack Obama for his historic victory as PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA!!!

(I finally voted for someone who won an election!)

For the first time in years, I felt proud to be an American last night. The young adults of my generation came together and united under one cause: to make a change in America. We voted, and we did it!

However, I am super bummed to learn that Proposition 8 in California (which is against gay marriage and a strikedown of gay rights) is looking like it will pass. I am not one to politicize; however, since when is equality a privilege, not a right?

Love is love, people, no matter the genitals attached to it.