In "Setting the Table," restaurateur Danny Meyer unravels the ethics of his business model which, simplified, focus on treating your employees as wonderfully as possible. Whereas most business-minded individuals are focused on results, customer services, price or something on that end of the spectrum, Meyer keyed in on one very important psychological facet of human nature: projection (or transference).
Let's say you wake up in a pleasant enough mood, head to Starbucks for your usually morning brew & they mess up your order. With your patience still in check & time to spare before work you ask the barista to re-make your order. She gives you attitude. Patience dwindling you decide to ignore her & wait for you drink as planned. Five minutes later you are still waiting. With no patience left you ask where your drink is but snotty barista says "you'll have to wait for me to re-make it. I'm a little backed up..." as if your desire for a correctly made drink when you had one a minutes ago that was close enough to what you ordered is selfish, indulgent or wasteful.
Finally you have your drink. You vow never to go to Starbucks again. Bitch.
Ah, but now... now you are in a bad mood. This bad mood could be fatal or magically disappear if someone, friend or stranger, cheers you up. As it more frequently plays out my guess is you will proceed to silently curse the oversized-bag-man who is squishing you up against the subways doors, will the woman who cut you off while walking into work to trip, bashing something against the pavement & hope against hope that the taxi driver who took you through Times Square rather than using the West Side Highway will be deported back to where ever he is from. Maybe you even lose your temper with your co-worker, get jumpy with your significant other or ignore your Mom's phone call just because you're positive she will annoy you even though she only called to ask about your Christmas Wish List.
Transference. Projection. These are the predictable train-wrecks caused by human emotions & this is what makes Danny Meyer, in my opinion, a genius.
If you focus on how you treat your employees as he proscribes and, in fact, do treat them very, very well - their good mood will bounce around amongst themselves, transfer to your customers, boost morale & production which leaves your business running smoothly as well as profitably. Genius, no?
Anyone who doubts this method need only look at how many successful, popular & money-making restaurants Meyer has opened under the umbrella group Union Square Hospitality. Thanks, Danny for putting the hospitality back in the Food and Beverage business!
Now, to get increasingly personal. (As a side note, I worked for two of the Meyer/USHG restaurants and loved it.) Two incidents, one last night & one this morning, happened which call to mind the very "projection" topic I'm currently exploring.
Walking home last night I finished crossing 3rd Avenue as the blinking orange "Do Not Walk" sign stopped blinking. Anyone anticipating their next pedestrian move knowwwwsss the cross-walk sign perpendicular to 3rd Avenue is about to turn white. Meaning "Walk." Well, there was a bit of a crowd on 88th (the street in question) who were concentrated on the taxi cab coming up the street rather than focused on the now yellow traffic light. Without touching ANYONE (seriously, I didn't barrel through the crowd) I walked in between two strangers standing on the corner then proceeded to cross the street.
The gentleman, if I can seriously call him that, yells "Hit her!" to the cab.
Now listen here, asshole... First off, you're a moron. The light, now red, means the taxi is obviously stopping. If you would like to wait in order to witness the complete end to his inertia before you cross the street be my f-ing Beauty and Best guest. However, I'm confident enough this guys is coming to a halt & not trying to race against the yellow light to cross 3rd Ave. So I'm gonna walk. Is that OK with you? Oh! Also, I wouldn't wish death on people. Life has this ironic way of shedding light on mean & angry people with something we like to call KARMA! Safe travels, buddy. Watch out for falling A/C units or whatever.
Mind you, I said NONE of this to him & laughed a "F-You" as I rounded the corner because I really thought it was funny he was obliged at that moment to use me as his "tackle all would be J-walkers" muse.
For a more lovely story let me relay to you what happened on my subways ride this morning.
Being that the 4/5 is the only transportation on the East Side its an understatement to say it's crowded in the early mornings.
As I finagled myself into the last spot available on a car, I was pressed nearly face to face with a woman somewhere between 30 &40. I noticed she was staring at my face and my overly self-conscious guess was "Do I have a booger? Is she looked at my upper lip because I need to bleach or something?" But to my relief she broke my feverish concern saying "This is a very weird question but do you use Latisse?" I laughed. No, I do not use Latisse my eyelashes are real and they come from my Dad but funny you should ask me that because my best-friend says I should be the spokes person.
This could have played out very differently if I wasn't such a nice person. If, for instance, I had the Starbucks morning I ran down a few paragraphs above, maybe her comment would have offended me. If I did use Latisse but secretly prayed it would look so natural no one would ask me about eyelash enhancements this question might have caused me sadness or even depression if I was prone to over-reacting.
Instead, I laughed and found both humor and compliment in what she was wondering. We continued talking for awhile before she got off at 14th Street. Our conversation put me in a good mood AND gave me something to blog about. All and all, I would say that I'm primed to transfer happiness and project pleasantries this morning : )
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Adrift but Unbroken
The thing that frustrates me the most about my day is the lack of certainty & reliability which surrounds my only form of transportation in NYC: the subway. It can start my day off on a depressingly bad note or it can end my day by bringing me near tears when I "just want to get home" but can't because the MTA is financial helpless, understaffed & often just having an exceptionally fucked up day.
And then I read a story like the one below & feel a sense of shame lined with guilt for ever allowing my troubles to trouble me so troublesomely. It happens all the time. You're feeling bad about your looks then you see an infomercial for a child in a 3rd world country with a cleft palate & suddenly, all does not seem lost. Your friend is complaining about the lack of variety in the grocery store chip aisle. After paying you walk past 2 homeless people outside the grocery store who likely wouldn't give a shit what flavor of chips they were eating. It's a lesson in not only humility but memory. We consistently have to remind ourselves or be reminded that we have it pretty frickin awesome.
Reading through the December issue of Vanity Fair I came across a story that gently reminded me of that tendency towards forgetfulness. A story that made me wonder what true character is & if every individual will have theirs tested at some point or another.
While technically the US is currently at war, Iraq/Afghanistan is a different beast than the war our grandparents dealt with in WWI and WWII in some ways. Mainly, I don't think we feel the daily impact of today's military expeditions the same way families or the US did during the late 30's and early 40's. This does not mean I'm unaware or worse, unwilling, to acknowledge similar, extraordinary tales of survival & rescue that are happening as I type. It only means that part of who we are as a military agency now is based on the history of then.
When I started perusing this article I wasn't sure what to expect really. The story was upfront and well written so it wasn't hard for me to continue reading ... but then it became hard for me to put down! The fact that three men both willingly and out of necessity worked together to protect each other, encourage each other & fight for each other is a beautiful. They survived more than insurmountable odds & experienced something that certainly changed them forever.
Of course I don't know this but my guess would be that in the same predicament, I would have flung myself overboard after day 2. I like to think of myself has brave, optimistic & resourceful; but, I feel like if I was clinging to maintain life in my undernourished body while clinging to the sides of a small, slowly sinking raft with sharks circling & praying that I would, indeed, give up... I might give up. I don't know how these men did what they did. This isn't a movie. This isn't a novel. It really truly happened.
If by reading their story a sliver of tenacity or courage rubbed off on me then I would re-read it every day of my life.
http://www.vanityfair.com/politics/features/2010/12/unbroken-excerpt-201012
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Beautiful Just As God Made You
One of my favorite college English classes was titled "Literature of the Black Arts Movement and Harlem Renaissance." It was focused, interesting, culturally awakening and run by one of the more funny, down to earth and naturally talented teachers my college had in stock.
We read works by Langston Hughes, Malcom X, Amiri Baraka, Nicki Giovanni, Zora Neale Hurston... then we tapped into the unknown writers of the time. There was one novel we started about half-way into the class that I remember having vivid words and such rich in imagery I would dream about it when I'd sleep at night. I regrettably can't remember the name or the author but the story remains fresh in my mind. We watched The Color Purple, re-read excerpts from the high-school favorite There Eyes Were Watching God. Toni Morrison's poetry would pop up now and again as well.
I saved all the notes, the handouts and many of the novels themselves. This isn't that surprising because I also saved the majority of paraphernalia from all my other English and Religion classes. But in cleaning the other day I was relieved to see the orange spiral bound that designated English 352. In my own handwriting, "BAM & HRen" was scrawled across the top.
What occurred to me the morning after I made this discovery & unearthed my latent fondness for the era's aesthetic and artistic jewels was an untouched theme that appears over and over again in literature. African American literature, especially.
You are beautiful just the way God made you.
I look at this from two very different standpoints. A literary one(including the cultural, political and ethnic ramifications it has). Then the religious one (including the cultural, political and ethnic ramifications it has). For the sake of brevity in this entry I will only talk about the literary. Even though I would love to invite HIM to the party, I'm going to leave God out of this particular dance....
Let's look at the ladies I think comprise the triumvirate of women from the HR and BAM movements: Zora Neale Hurston, Toni Morrison and Alice Walker. Combined, they have not just produced successful, beautiful poems, novels and autobiographies but also incredible lives and careers that have stood the test of time. Morrison never let her role as mother distract her from her role as author and vice versa. Likewise, Hurston was one of the most beloved "grandmothers" of her era to the community whole. As for Walker, well, Walker not only married a white Jewish activist, bore his child, divorced him and became a lesbian who at one point was involved with Tracey Chapman - she also was and remains an activist for many causes dear to her heart.
So besides artistic genius, cultural weight, family values and gender what do these women have in common? A message to black people and little girls especially that they're beautiful just the way God made them.
Apologies, God decided to drop by unannounced.
The thing of it is, this message presupposed that the listener is spiritual in a way that is rooted in family and ethnicity more so than society or conscience. What I mean is that the religion of African American culture is so often taken for granted within its own resting place. It's an assumed action. Going to church is tradition and acceptance of God is not challenged the way it is in most other cultures. (This is an overly modified statement but will suffice for the course of this post). The discovery of Jesus comes just as simply and wonderfully as a baby's discovery that he has feet which will walk him anywhere he likes. It's natural and dare I say, unavoidable in the African American community by and large.
What is magnificent about this message of inner beauty which is based on the notion we are all "God's children" is that it never begs for explanation. Everything you need to know is right in the statement. God made you, therefore you are perfect.
But what about the atheist....
In The Color Purple, Walker's character Celie demands one day "You telling me God love you and you ain’t never done nothing for him?" She has never been introduced to Him. The social net - better yet - safety net of Sunday (or sometimes Saturday and Wednesday) church going peoples was not afforded to Celie. She is a missing link in her black culture. Although Celie is not atheist she is still an outcast and that diagnosis would have a similar affect on a black child in this scenario.
So what happened her? Was it her unfortunate circumstances leading to the unavailability of religion that resulted in her lack of faith which makes it difficult for her see herself clearly in the mirror? Or, was it disbelief in her abilities that makes it harder for her to understand how a God could love her aside from the question of His potential non-existence or existence? Both?
It is an interesting question. How does the atheist remedy the inner voice that calls forth the ego, superego and id all too often? Who is to thank or to blame for the confidence one has in their own beauty or importance? What would the staunch atheist say to these questions? Would they ask them at all? Ultimately what you're trying to determine is the origin of the intangible - the soul, conscience, the will to do good...
Anyways, I haven't gotten much further with this idea than to realize how spirituality plays a silent yet anything but trivial role on the success of someone's security. The lack of which could shake a community like that of Walker's The Color Purple.
We read works by Langston Hughes, Malcom X, Amiri Baraka, Nicki Giovanni, Zora Neale Hurston... then we tapped into the unknown writers of the time. There was one novel we started about half-way into the class that I remember having vivid words and such rich in imagery I would dream about it when I'd sleep at night. I regrettably can't remember the name or the author but the story remains fresh in my mind. We watched The Color Purple, re-read excerpts from the high-school favorite There Eyes Were Watching God. Toni Morrison's poetry would pop up now and again as well.
I saved all the notes, the handouts and many of the novels themselves. This isn't that surprising because I also saved the majority of paraphernalia from all my other English and Religion classes. But in cleaning the other day I was relieved to see the orange spiral bound that designated English 352. In my own handwriting, "BAM & HRen" was scrawled across the top.
What occurred to me the morning after I made this discovery & unearthed my latent fondness for the era's aesthetic and artistic jewels was an untouched theme that appears over and over again in literature. African American literature, especially.
You are beautiful just the way God made you.
I look at this from two very different standpoints. A literary one(including the cultural, political and ethnic ramifications it has). Then the religious one (including the cultural, political and ethnic ramifications it has). For the sake of brevity in this entry I will only talk about the literary. Even though I would love to invite HIM to the party, I'm going to leave God out of this particular dance....
Let's look at the ladies I think comprise the triumvirate of women from the HR and BAM movements: Zora Neale Hurston, Toni Morrison and Alice Walker. Combined, they have not just produced successful, beautiful poems, novels and autobiographies but also incredible lives and careers that have stood the test of time. Morrison never let her role as mother distract her from her role as author and vice versa. Likewise, Hurston was one of the most beloved "grandmothers" of her era to the community whole. As for Walker, well, Walker not only married a white Jewish activist, bore his child, divorced him and became a lesbian who at one point was involved with Tracey Chapman - she also was and remains an activist for many causes dear to her heart.
So besides artistic genius, cultural weight, family values and gender what do these women have in common? A message to black people and little girls especially that they're beautiful just the way God made them.
Apologies, God decided to drop by unannounced.
The thing of it is, this message presupposed that the listener is spiritual in a way that is rooted in family and ethnicity more so than society or conscience. What I mean is that the religion of African American culture is so often taken for granted within its own resting place. It's an assumed action. Going to church is tradition and acceptance of God is not challenged the way it is in most other cultures. (This is an overly modified statement but will suffice for the course of this post). The discovery of Jesus comes just as simply and wonderfully as a baby's discovery that he has feet which will walk him anywhere he likes. It's natural and dare I say, unavoidable in the African American community by and large.
What is magnificent about this message of inner beauty which is based on the notion we are all "God's children" is that it never begs for explanation. Everything you need to know is right in the statement. God made you, therefore you are perfect.
But what about the atheist....
In The Color Purple, Walker's character Celie demands one day "You telling me God love you and you ain’t never done nothing for him?" She has never been introduced to Him. The social net - better yet - safety net of Sunday (or sometimes Saturday and Wednesday) church going peoples was not afforded to Celie. She is a missing link in her black culture. Although Celie is not atheist she is still an outcast and that diagnosis would have a similar affect on a black child in this scenario.
So what happened her? Was it her unfortunate circumstances leading to the unavailability of religion that resulted in her lack of faith which makes it difficult for her see herself clearly in the mirror? Or, was it disbelief in her abilities that makes it harder for her to understand how a God could love her aside from the question of His potential non-existence or existence? Both?
It is an interesting question. How does the atheist remedy the inner voice that calls forth the ego, superego and id all too often? Who is to thank or to blame for the confidence one has in their own beauty or importance? What would the staunch atheist say to these questions? Would they ask them at all? Ultimately what you're trying to determine is the origin of the intangible - the soul, conscience, the will to do good...
Anyways, I haven't gotten much further with this idea than to realize how spirituality plays a silent yet anything but trivial role on the success of someone's security. The lack of which could shake a community like that of Walker's The Color Purple.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Good For You
Dig In, Enjoy, Bon Appetit, Buon Appetito....
I love the pre-meal ritual. Every culture has their own meaningful yet unique rendition. Sometimes its a prayer, sometimes its a toast, sometimes it's merely a string of words that bequeaths a type of blessing over the food on the table & the people on it's outskirts. The Sicilian woman in me loves them all.
How interesting that across all races & religions there is a respect for nourishment, the body & the convergence of the two so much so that a ceremonial routine of sorts was created to introduce the two together. "Food, meet body. Body, this is food. Nice to meet you both..."
Gross overstatement; but, there is a beauty in the protocol no matter the motivation (your body is a temple, you are what you eat, etc).
Another layer of this reverence that went unnoticed to me until recently is a universal "blessing" people display everyday without realizing. Picture this: you're at work & it is lunchtime. You have brought yours for today (insert typical lunch imagery) and place it nicely on your desk, ready to devour at your leisure. Right then, your best co-worker friend passes your desk, sees your arrangement of food on display and says....
What will they say? Well, depends on what you have in front of you but familiar does this sound familiar:
Food: Apples, nuts, cheese wedges & a smart water
Response: "Oh wow, you're so healthy. Ugh, that looks so good - I should eat more healthy."
Food: Microwaved mac and cheese cup & a coke with a crumbs cupcake for dessert
Response: "Look at you, I wish I could eat that way now but with my metabolism, sheesh..."
Or even...
Food:
There is this insatiable need to validate not only what we intake on our own accord but what we see other people eating. It's like you do something (run a 10K) and reward yourself with a beer and cheeseburger. All your friends say you deserve it and then comments ensue for no less than 2 minutes about the caloric intake versus the calories burned at the recent race.... you dieted for weeks, you deserve a splurge, blah blah blah. Meanwhile, at the same table, someone is eating a salad for the exact OPPOSITE reason. "I haven't worked out in weeks, I feel so lethargic. I just need to watch what I eat more."
It's like a never-ending soap opera saga. We must talk about and analyze what we eat every single day. Oh, and what others eat too.... AND what we are not eating.... or want to eat but can't...or use to eat...
Please understand, I'm not criticizing especially because I'm probably the one most guilty of commenting on anything that enters my mouth before it even gets there. This makes me an expert in pointing out though how mundane it is to think that over 30% of conversations revolve around FOOD? Not even the interesting parts like the rituals surrounding meals or new baking secrets or fads like cancer causing sugars (those only make up like 5% of the 30, wouldn't you say?). I'm smacking myself over the head in an effort to learn how to enjoy food more and talk less about what my next meal will or won't consist of ....
I fully embrace the fact that we are only given one body in this life and therefore must cherish it, nurture it and be patient with it in regards to food. That same body, however, must also be cherished in mind, nurtured in soul and receive patience in overall health because I believe it only feels like our stomachs act independently from our minds. They are more intertwined than we know. This is the true meaning behind dinner time practices to me, like why we crave family style sit-down dinners or leisurely meals rather than rushed lunch hours that are only 30 mins anyways. We want to respect what we eat by enjoying the content of the meal as well as its preparation, reception and even clean up.
My point, eating is a process that should be revered rather than rushed or over-calculated.
My wish for us as Americans living in a fast paced corporate world is to have more time to eat what we want, when we want and enjoy it. Everyone relishes these few and far between moments and for this, I challenge you to aspire for more. Don't succumb to fast food because it's convenient, find more time to charm yourself with cuisine, pay homage to the fare in front of you. Your body and your soul will thank you.
And by all means, pig out from time to time and mean it! For example, I ate an entire box of Crunch and Munch solo during a movie last night.... no shame - it was delicious. In fact, more delicious than normal because I replaced my usual mindless shoveling with an offering. Before each bite I said a silent but oh so significant thank you to those caramel kernels & I cherished my peanut breath all the way home.
I love the pre-meal ritual. Every culture has their own meaningful yet unique rendition. Sometimes its a prayer, sometimes its a toast, sometimes it's merely a string of words that bequeaths a type of blessing over the food on the table & the people on it's outskirts. The Sicilian woman in me loves them all.
How interesting that across all races & religions there is a respect for nourishment, the body & the convergence of the two so much so that a ceremonial routine of sorts was created to introduce the two together. "Food, meet body. Body, this is food. Nice to meet you both..."
Gross overstatement; but, there is a beauty in the protocol no matter the motivation (your body is a temple, you are what you eat, etc).
Another layer of this reverence that went unnoticed to me until recently is a universal "blessing" people display everyday without realizing. Picture this: you're at work & it is lunchtime. You have brought yours for today (insert typical lunch imagery) and place it nicely on your desk, ready to devour at your leisure. Right then, your best co-worker friend passes your desk, sees your arrangement of food on display and says....
What will they say? Well, depends on what you have in front of you but familiar does this sound familiar:
Food: Apples, nuts, cheese wedges & a smart water
Response: "Oh wow, you're so healthy. Ugh, that looks so good - I should eat more healthy."
Food: Microwaved mac and cheese cup & a coke with a crumbs cupcake for dessert
Response: "Look at you, I wish I could eat that way now but with my metabolism, sheesh..."
Or even...
Food:
There is this insatiable need to validate not only what we intake on our own accord but what we see other people eating. It's like you do something (run a 10K) and reward yourself with a beer and cheeseburger. All your friends say you deserve it and then comments ensue for no less than 2 minutes about the caloric intake versus the calories burned at the recent race.... you dieted for weeks, you deserve a splurge, blah blah blah. Meanwhile, at the same table, someone is eating a salad for the exact OPPOSITE reason. "I haven't worked out in weeks, I feel so lethargic. I just need to watch what I eat more."
It's like a never-ending soap opera saga. We must talk about and analyze what we eat every single day. Oh, and what others eat too.... AND what we are not eating.... or want to eat but can't...or use to eat...
Please understand, I'm not criticizing especially because I'm probably the one most guilty of commenting on anything that enters my mouth before it even gets there. This makes me an expert in pointing out though how mundane it is to think that over 30% of conversations revolve around FOOD? Not even the interesting parts like the rituals surrounding meals or new baking secrets or fads like cancer causing sugars (those only make up like 5% of the 30, wouldn't you say?). I'm smacking myself over the head in an effort to learn how to enjoy food more and talk less about what my next meal will or won't consist of ....
I fully embrace the fact that we are only given one body in this life and therefore must cherish it, nurture it and be patient with it in regards to food. That same body, however, must also be cherished in mind, nurtured in soul and receive patience in overall health because I believe it only feels like our stomachs act independently from our minds. They are more intertwined than we know. This is the true meaning behind dinner time practices to me, like why we crave family style sit-down dinners or leisurely meals rather than rushed lunch hours that are only 30 mins anyways. We want to respect what we eat by enjoying the content of the meal as well as its preparation, reception and even clean up.
My point, eating is a process that should be revered rather than rushed or over-calculated.
My wish for us as Americans living in a fast paced corporate world is to have more time to eat what we want, when we want and enjoy it. Everyone relishes these few and far between moments and for this, I challenge you to aspire for more. Don't succumb to fast food because it's convenient, find more time to charm yourself with cuisine, pay homage to the fare in front of you. Your body and your soul will thank you.
And by all means, pig out from time to time and mean it! For example, I ate an entire box of Crunch and Munch solo during a movie last night.... no shame - it was delicious. In fact, more delicious than normal because I replaced my usual mindless shoveling with an offering. Before each bite I said a silent but oh so significant thank you to those caramel kernels & I cherished my peanut breath all the way home.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Mangez Prie L'amour
I have to do it. I have to jump on the bandwagon and admit that yes, not only have I read the book Eat Pray Love once but I am in the midst of re-reading it each morning during my subway ride to work. What's worse, I am now going to use my blog as a means to ride that bandwagon a little further & actually talk about Elizabeth Gilbert's newest literary treasure. Why? Because I liked it.... and I admittedly didn't think I would. Why not? Well, I guess due to the fact that I don't consider myself a trendsetter or even a trend-follower in so far as I've noticed what entertains or seduces the vast majority does not usually amuse me. I'm also a bit rebellious. Certainly a voice inside of me recognized the amount of people caravanning to the movies or nearest bookstore on account of E.P.L. as "great for Gilbert but bad for Micky's determination to keep her individuality in check."
So how did I get here? Suffice it say my roommate had a copy laying around, I adore Julia Roberts & after reading Outliers & two David Sedaris books in a row - I needed a book "just like this." So there it was....
But something like 20 pages in, quelle surprise! I'm hooked - but maybe not for the same reason the mass population of women, all ages, were. Gilbert's story is secondary to me. It is the content of her religious discussion with the reader & more importantly the way she writes that got my attention. I'm in love with it. I quickly realize I have a literary crush on Elizabeth Gilbert. In fact, it may be more accurate to call it a lustful literary infatuation. 20 more pages. Yes, it's infatuation.
My roommate, who's book at this point I am using, gave me the heads up that you "fly through Italy" because of all the food and beautiful imagery but that "India moves a little slower" because it's more introspective, more dedicated to itself. Not to worry, things "pick up again in Bali because she is interacting with Felipe" and more of less closing out this chapter of her life which was spent abroad.
My experience: I flew through every chapter.
I flew so fast that before I finished the last page I was at Border's buying a copy for myself which would allow me to not only re-read this marvelous piece of work but to highlight and post-it note my very own edition. Why was I so hooked?!?
The answer was pretty obvious. If you know my two college majors it would be obvious to you as well (English and Religious Studies, by the way). Here, in one tiny book, was the evidence that something beautiful and so very personal could be written in such a way so that the English language & religions of the world would meet, play with each other & remain unscathed by the human propensity to damage or defame. And while this has been done before in memoirs, biographies or diaries published posthumously - Gilbert did it best, in my opinion.
She is witty, clever, fast-paced, honest, stimulating and (enter envy) non-judgmental. How she managed to write about her heavy experiences with her personal spirituality, the divine, life, friends and that inner-self everyone struggles against WITHOUT passing any judgment or carrying an apologetic tone through each chapter is beyond me. I was more than impressed - I was enthralled.
My one distinct and repetitive wish that follows me through day to day life is to "find the right words." I consistently feel like the passion I have for life paired with my fervor to love everything in site often leave me speechless... in a not good way. I have to search for vocabulary or even sentence structure to endow my message with intellect and poignancy. On rare occasions do I succeed and this makes me sad. I love to speak but I also love to listen & reflect upon what has taken place only then to have a resulting array of magnificent thoughts, provocative emotions & endearing words in my head. The minute I open my mouth however, I feel those thoughts turn spacey or overly logically. My emotions sound jaded and the words become disenchanted. Now, maybe I shouldn't be so judgmental and cautious about my ability to articulate, (or inarticulate) my speech (or lack their of). But it is indescribably frustrating to feel you have something worthy to say and can neither quiet your mind down enough nor vocalize these thoughts with a measure of success that does justice.
In Eat Pray Love, Gilbert did. And I think one reason I am re-reading her novel is to potentially double my chances at this technique rubbing off on me.
I have so many questions for her. I would guess that my questions are different than what most readers would ask her given the chance. The usual array include: "How do you answer to accusations of being selfish?" "Why did you want children with Felipe but not with your ex?" Or other follow up questions to the many intimate details she shares in this new-age style autobiography. My questions are more geared towards Elizabeth Gilbert, the writer. "Did you work on this book all along or only after the year was over?" "Was there any point at which you started to resent this manuscript or the book because of the toll it took on your creativity?" Etc.
This book answered a silent prayer I have offered up for a long time now. Please, let my voice, spoken and written, become a vehicle for the divine - the effortless fountain of love that exists across all religions, all cultures - so that I can find the proper words, the telling words, the encouraging words when I need them, recognizing it takes equal parts patience, eloquence and listening to do so.
There you have it. This is why I enjoyed the book so much & will do so for years as I continue to write and search for my own voice. I highly recommend this book to everyone, regardless of the reason. Wisdom can be found in many layers on each page of this paperback. You will, no doubt, see yourself in Liz more than once & challenge the way she thinks simultaneously challenging yourself. She is really on to something....
So how did I get here? Suffice it say my roommate had a copy laying around, I adore Julia Roberts & after reading Outliers & two David Sedaris books in a row - I needed a book "just like this." So there it was....
But something like 20 pages in, quelle surprise! I'm hooked - but maybe not for the same reason the mass population of women, all ages, were. Gilbert's story is secondary to me. It is the content of her religious discussion with the reader & more importantly the way she writes that got my attention. I'm in love with it. I quickly realize I have a literary crush on Elizabeth Gilbert. In fact, it may be more accurate to call it a lustful literary infatuation. 20 more pages. Yes, it's infatuation.
My roommate, who's book at this point I am using, gave me the heads up that you "fly through Italy" because of all the food and beautiful imagery but that "India moves a little slower" because it's more introspective, more dedicated to itself. Not to worry, things "pick up again in Bali because she is interacting with Felipe" and more of less closing out this chapter of her life which was spent abroad.
My experience: I flew through every chapter.
I flew so fast that before I finished the last page I was at Border's buying a copy for myself which would allow me to not only re-read this marvelous piece of work but to highlight and post-it note my very own edition. Why was I so hooked?!?
The answer was pretty obvious. If you know my two college majors it would be obvious to you as well (English and Religious Studies, by the way). Here, in one tiny book, was the evidence that something beautiful and so very personal could be written in such a way so that the English language & religions of the world would meet, play with each other & remain unscathed by the human propensity to damage or defame. And while this has been done before in memoirs, biographies or diaries published posthumously - Gilbert did it best, in my opinion.
She is witty, clever, fast-paced, honest, stimulating and (enter envy) non-judgmental. How she managed to write about her heavy experiences with her personal spirituality, the divine, life, friends and that inner-self everyone struggles against WITHOUT passing any judgment or carrying an apologetic tone through each chapter is beyond me. I was more than impressed - I was enthralled.
My one distinct and repetitive wish that follows me through day to day life is to "find the right words." I consistently feel like the passion I have for life paired with my fervor to love everything in site often leave me speechless... in a not good way. I have to search for vocabulary or even sentence structure to endow my message with intellect and poignancy. On rare occasions do I succeed and this makes me sad. I love to speak but I also love to listen & reflect upon what has taken place only then to have a resulting array of magnificent thoughts, provocative emotions & endearing words in my head. The minute I open my mouth however, I feel those thoughts turn spacey or overly logically. My emotions sound jaded and the words become disenchanted. Now, maybe I shouldn't be so judgmental and cautious about my ability to articulate, (or inarticulate) my speech (or lack their of). But it is indescribably frustrating to feel you have something worthy to say and can neither quiet your mind down enough nor vocalize these thoughts with a measure of success that does justice.
In Eat Pray Love, Gilbert did. And I think one reason I am re-reading her novel is to potentially double my chances at this technique rubbing off on me.
I have so many questions for her. I would guess that my questions are different than what most readers would ask her given the chance. The usual array include: "How do you answer to accusations of being selfish?" "Why did you want children with Felipe but not with your ex?" Or other follow up questions to the many intimate details she shares in this new-age style autobiography. My questions are more geared towards Elizabeth Gilbert, the writer. "Did you work on this book all along or only after the year was over?" "Was there any point at which you started to resent this manuscript or the book because of the toll it took on your creativity?" Etc.
This book answered a silent prayer I have offered up for a long time now. Please, let my voice, spoken and written, become a vehicle for the divine - the effortless fountain of love that exists across all religions, all cultures - so that I can find the proper words, the telling words, the encouraging words when I need them, recognizing it takes equal parts patience, eloquence and listening to do so.
There you have it. This is why I enjoyed the book so much & will do so for years as I continue to write and search for my own voice. I highly recommend this book to everyone, regardless of the reason. Wisdom can be found in many layers on each page of this paperback. You will, no doubt, see yourself in Liz more than once & challenge the way she thinks simultaneously challenging yourself. She is really on to something....
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Been a long time, been a long time, been a long lonely, lonely, lonely....
It's come to my attention - and with great fervor I might add - the type of woman/housewife/mother I am to be.
On a recent trip to Duane Reade, I had the pleasure of witnessing the first box of Halloween candy make its way to the shelf. In this moment of excitement prefaced by the all too common "Really? It isn't even October yet..." I had a day dream. Suddenly, I was 35 years old living in a generic suburban neighborhood. My house was custom built but not loud or austere. The perfect sized, all around brick two story. There were two cars in the driveway but only one of which was luxury, and from the feel of it, I could sense that I had two children - a boy and a girl - somewhere between the ages of 8 and 11.
In my daydream, it was fall. Spookily close to October, in fact. (Ironic given what was taking place in the real world outside this imaginary vision.) I was at a nearby drug store purchasing candy for the upcoming holiday (another irony.) But out of nowhere, panic! I could feel it - both in my dream and out of it. A light turning of the stomach, "I can't just get any normal candy" I thought to myself, "I have to get sometime that kids will remember. I don't want them walking away from my front door with anything other than a 'Yes, I LOVE this candy!'" Or better yet "Mrs. Micky is the COOLEST!"
Now. I realized what you're thinking. First, kids are fickle. By the end of a trick-or-treating marathon and average kid will have declared something along these lines no less than 5 times each. I don't weigh this factor in to my wishful praises. To hear it said is all that I ask. What happens prior to said statement or afterward is of no consequence to me. And second, yes "Mrs. Micky" - I am presumably married in my delusional stupor.
So why the need to be nominated by children under the age of 10 as "Best Candy-Giver on the Block?" Say what you will about a lack of love in my childhood or an insatiable need to please. The root of this is much more simple. I want to be thought of as "cool." This does not mean that I'm the pushover mom or the overly obedient housewife. It only suggests that staying on the vast majority of the neighborhood children's "awesome list" is important and maybe borderline necessary to me. I want them to feel I still have some sense of what they like, what they look forward to and what is important to them (however trivial is seems to the overly-grown grown-ups). A mutual respect, of sorts. You do your job as a child, I'll do mine as an adult and on occasions like Halloween, we will meet halfway.
Of course this entire realization took place in a matter of seconds as most dreams do. Quickly, I was back to grabbing the work necessities I originally came for: notebooks, milk for coffee, etc. But I also grabbed a a few varieties of candy. Once I was back to my desk, I took out a bowl and filled it with a nice even mixture of the picks I made. One by one, my fellow employee's would walk by and let out whispered but important "oohs" and "aahs" followed by the under-appreciated "Thank you." I'd smile unassumingly and revel in what now becomes my secret satisfaction, especially when I hear "Oh man! I love these things, haven't had one in forever..."
I've cheered up their day and they've cheered up mine in that "I still got it" kind of way.
On a recent trip to Duane Reade, I had the pleasure of witnessing the first box of Halloween candy make its way to the shelf. In this moment of excitement prefaced by the all too common "Really? It isn't even October yet..." I had a day dream. Suddenly, I was 35 years old living in a generic suburban neighborhood. My house was custom built but not loud or austere. The perfect sized, all around brick two story. There were two cars in the driveway but only one of which was luxury, and from the feel of it, I could sense that I had two children - a boy and a girl - somewhere between the ages of 8 and 11.
In my daydream, it was fall. Spookily close to October, in fact. (Ironic given what was taking place in the real world outside this imaginary vision.) I was at a nearby drug store purchasing candy for the upcoming holiday (another irony.) But out of nowhere, panic! I could feel it - both in my dream and out of it. A light turning of the stomach, "I can't just get any normal candy" I thought to myself, "I have to get sometime that kids will remember. I don't want them walking away from my front door with anything other than a 'Yes, I LOVE this candy!'" Or better yet "Mrs. Micky is the COOLEST!"
Now. I realized what you're thinking. First, kids are fickle. By the end of a trick-or-treating marathon and average kid will have declared something along these lines no less than 5 times each. I don't weigh this factor in to my wishful praises. To hear it said is all that I ask. What happens prior to said statement or afterward is of no consequence to me. And second, yes "Mrs. Micky" - I am presumably married in my delusional stupor.
So why the need to be nominated by children under the age of 10 as "Best Candy-Giver on the Block?" Say what you will about a lack of love in my childhood or an insatiable need to please. The root of this is much more simple. I want to be thought of as "cool." This does not mean that I'm the pushover mom or the overly obedient housewife. It only suggests that staying on the vast majority of the neighborhood children's "awesome list" is important and maybe borderline necessary to me. I want them to feel I still have some sense of what they like, what they look forward to and what is important to them (however trivial is seems to the overly-grown grown-ups). A mutual respect, of sorts. You do your job as a child, I'll do mine as an adult and on occasions like Halloween, we will meet halfway.
Of course this entire realization took place in a matter of seconds as most dreams do. Quickly, I was back to grabbing the work necessities I originally came for: notebooks, milk for coffee, etc. But I also grabbed a a few varieties of candy. Once I was back to my desk, I took out a bowl and filled it with a nice even mixture of the picks I made. One by one, my fellow employee's would walk by and let out whispered but important "oohs" and "aahs" followed by the under-appreciated "Thank you." I'd smile unassumingly and revel in what now becomes my secret satisfaction, especially when I hear "Oh man! I love these things, haven't had one in forever..."
I've cheered up their day and they've cheered up mine in that "I still got it" kind of way.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
The Little Engine That Felt Like It Couldn't
"The most important relationship you will ever have is the one you have with yourself."
And I have to add - this may very well prove to be the most difficult relationship as well.
I'm slightly rosy-cheeked to admit that I heard this quote delivered by Diane Von Furstenberg on The City. Not that she isn't an altogether intelligent woman but I would have rather been quoting someone of a more prestigious nature. Prestigious, in the scholarly sense....
Never the less, there is an insurmountable degree of truth in DVF's wise words. The relationship you have with yourself is the one relationship that you should never ever let go by the wayside. Yet, people often do. Striving to always keep yourself balanced, in check, self-aware comes with great rewards. You're other relationships, your demeanor & your health will only benefit from you continually bettering your understanding of yourself.
But it truly isn't easy. Besides being you're own hardest critic, you are also dangerously close to the "situation." There is no escaping you. As such, you are often the most beneficial & yet harmful person to your own life. Within hours you can go from loving yourself to loathing the very skin you embody, an example of the extreme bipolar emotions that rarely happen outwardly towards other people (unless you are vehemently unsocial).
To be a bit more personal, I'm currently at the loathing end of the spectrum. It's entirely my fault; although, I would gladly put the blame on someone else. I've lost touch with who I am, not to the core but definitely on the surface. I have less zeal for life than I use to. Less certainty about what I'm capable of as well as what I want out of life, long-term. It's annoying really because there was no onset to this (what the hell is this) emotional quandary & loss of self. Sometimes I seem to be at a loss for what's going on in my own head. At other times, I can't get out of my own head...
The circular reasoning & cycle of improvement<>worsening that come with this is the worst. You pump yourself up, do something to improve your mood or circumstance....and then one little, inconsequential thing sets you off, putting your right back to where you were. Or sometimes farther. Then get even MORE down about the whole thing & that's when you're really in over your head.
Nothing specific got me to this point. It's rarely ever just one thing, I've noticed. A series of uncomfortable scenarios, dwindling dreams, sad realizations... being honest with myself... it all amounted in a general malaise towards who I am for the moment. And trust me, it's painful mainly because I hate HATE hate self-pitying. Hate it. I don't mind talking about my feelings, hashing something out. I enjoy that, actually. But I hate when you're just whining because you can't think of or find any motivation to DO something about anything. Horrible. Goes against my whole essence.
It makes you understand how powerful your mind can be - both for you & against you. One can convince themselves of nearly anything. It just takes time, a little determination & a pinch of avoidance. Consequently, I've convinced myself of something so outrageous that it has driven me into a nervousness I've never known. A paranoia basically. Despite reassurance that my "fear" is not true & more importantly, not worth me reacting or dealing with it the way I am - I have a hard time snapping out of it. My mind tells me otherwise. My mind is convinced of something so defiantly that my eyes & senses have even joined forces with it to help reinforce the picture I painted in my head.
It's horribly confusing. I know in my heart that if any one person I knew was struggling with this same issue - I would be telling them exactly what I'm hearing from my friends. But I can't swallow it for myself right now - it does nothing for me. It's worse than "in one ear, out the other" - it goes right over my head.... Sometimes, I think they're just saying it because they're "required to" as people who love me. False logic, I know. Well, I guess I don't REALLY know. I just can't internalize the idea that what everyone is saying could be true because it means that what I'm convinced of, is not true.
Throughout all of this, I've grow more & more aware of the fact that I am my best & worst friend. No one can hurt me the way I can hurt myself. No one can help me, though, the way I can help myself. Inspiration often comes from others. But true change, true action yielding results, only comes from yourself.
So whatever it is you may be struggling with, fighting internally, I hope it subsides sooner than later. It's hard to see a problem so vividly that doing anything but attacking dead on seems like a weakness of character. It's not a weakness of character. We are only human & though I hate to admit it, many of life's problems just take time. That's all. But Hallmark once put it very succinctly: "Everything will be OK in the end. And if it's not OK, it's not yet the end."
And I have to add - this may very well prove to be the most difficult relationship as well.
I'm slightly rosy-cheeked to admit that I heard this quote delivered by Diane Von Furstenberg on The City. Not that she isn't an altogether intelligent woman but I would have rather been quoting someone of a more prestigious nature. Prestigious, in the scholarly sense....
Never the less, there is an insurmountable degree of truth in DVF's wise words. The relationship you have with yourself is the one relationship that you should never ever let go by the wayside. Yet, people often do. Striving to always keep yourself balanced, in check, self-aware comes with great rewards. You're other relationships, your demeanor & your health will only benefit from you continually bettering your understanding of yourself.
But it truly isn't easy. Besides being you're own hardest critic, you are also dangerously close to the "situation." There is no escaping you. As such, you are often the most beneficial & yet harmful person to your own life. Within hours you can go from loving yourself to loathing the very skin you embody, an example of the extreme bipolar emotions that rarely happen outwardly towards other people (unless you are vehemently unsocial).
To be a bit more personal, I'm currently at the loathing end of the spectrum. It's entirely my fault; although, I would gladly put the blame on someone else. I've lost touch with who I am, not to the core but definitely on the surface. I have less zeal for life than I use to. Less certainty about what I'm capable of as well as what I want out of life, long-term. It's annoying really because there was no onset to this (what the hell is this) emotional quandary & loss of self. Sometimes I seem to be at a loss for what's going on in my own head. At other times, I can't get out of my own head...
The circular reasoning & cycle of improvement<>worsening that come with this is the worst. You pump yourself up, do something to improve your mood or circumstance....and then one little, inconsequential thing sets you off, putting your right back to where you were. Or sometimes farther. Then get even MORE down about the whole thing & that's when you're really in over your head.
Nothing specific got me to this point. It's rarely ever just one thing, I've noticed. A series of uncomfortable scenarios, dwindling dreams, sad realizations... being honest with myself... it all amounted in a general malaise towards who I am for the moment. And trust me, it's painful mainly because I hate HATE hate self-pitying. Hate it. I don't mind talking about my feelings, hashing something out. I enjoy that, actually. But I hate when you're just whining because you can't think of or find any motivation to DO something about anything. Horrible. Goes against my whole essence.
It makes you understand how powerful your mind can be - both for you & against you. One can convince themselves of nearly anything. It just takes time, a little determination & a pinch of avoidance. Consequently, I've convinced myself of something so outrageous that it has driven me into a nervousness I've never known. A paranoia basically. Despite reassurance that my "fear" is not true & more importantly, not worth me reacting or dealing with it the way I am - I have a hard time snapping out of it. My mind tells me otherwise. My mind is convinced of something so defiantly that my eyes & senses have even joined forces with it to help reinforce the picture I painted in my head.
It's horribly confusing. I know in my heart that if any one person I knew was struggling with this same issue - I would be telling them exactly what I'm hearing from my friends. But I can't swallow it for myself right now - it does nothing for me. It's worse than "in one ear, out the other" - it goes right over my head.... Sometimes, I think they're just saying it because they're "required to" as people who love me. False logic, I know. Well, I guess I don't REALLY know. I just can't internalize the idea that what everyone is saying could be true because it means that what I'm convinced of, is not true.
Throughout all of this, I've grow more & more aware of the fact that I am my best & worst friend. No one can hurt me the way I can hurt myself. No one can help me, though, the way I can help myself. Inspiration often comes from others. But true change, true action yielding results, only comes from yourself.
So whatever it is you may be struggling with, fighting internally, I hope it subsides sooner than later. It's hard to see a problem so vividly that doing anything but attacking dead on seems like a weakness of character. It's not a weakness of character. We are only human & though I hate to admit it, many of life's problems just take time. That's all. But Hallmark once put it very succinctly: "Everything will be OK in the end. And if it's not OK, it's not yet the end."
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Laughter is the best medicine
Those of you who know me are aware that I laugh at anything & everything. Especially things that aren't funny. Case & point: Little girl, age 2, clad in a blue dress giggles while running away from her mother in local Barnes & Noble. Little girl trips on untied sandal strap then falls, face first, next to the table I occupy while studying. I nearly spit recently sipped coffee out of mouth due to hysterical laughing. Mother of little girl scowls .... I continue to stifle uncontrollable laughs.
Timing is key in all things comedic. The avid movie goer & anyone in theatre understands that. So yes, this is an attempt to justify my laughing to tears as a little girl almost broker her head. (Disclaimer: I was, underneath everything, extremely concerned for her well-being.) It was funny because you don't see it coming & it is innocently unplanned that you can't help but marvel at it's humor.
Interestingly enough, not everyone has the same sense of humor or susceptibility to it, as I prefer to say. Many, many people wouldn't have so much as broken a smile as that little girl face-planted. It isn't a conscious thought for them NOT to laugh just like it's not a conscious thought for me TO laugh.
Likewise, Will Farrel is the epitome of funny for many people (mostly guys, I've noticed) but for me - he's predictable & unoriginal. He relies on stupidity for every joke he makes. And once you've seen him once you, you've seen all the characters he's every played. I laugh at him, yes. But, it's not my favorite shtick.
Vince Vaughn is more entertaining to me. Even though he is also guilty of blending from character to character - his sarcasm & the tone of his voice as well as his line delivery comes together to create something hilarious! Farrel doesn't have that for me.
Which show how interesting evaluating or categorizing humor can be. Its a ironically personal emotion. Yet, a universally shared one as well. Well, I guess that describes all emotions but let me explain myself better.
Unlike sadness or sympathy, you don't necessarily need to have experienced something to find it funny. For instance, humor is more easily recognizable & appreciated than jealousy or even fear. Jealousy or fear stem from something else. They are secondary emotions arrived at only AFTER something has initiated a chain of events to bring a person to the ultimate emotive decision:scared or envious. Humor, on the other hand, is pure. You hear or perhaps see stimulation & you laugh. One step process. No loop-holes, no combating it. You just accept whatever it is that has made you laugh has worthy of exciting such a positive & enjoyable emotional response. There is no other solution than to giggle, smirk, chuckle or even cackle.
I also think humor is the hardest emotional response to stifle. You can usually keep anger in check. Jealousy gets tiring after long. Sadness eventually gives way.... but humor... humor happily ekes its way into everyday life time & time again. The re-telling of stories often excites the same humor, re-lived. That's the best. But exploring what once made you sad, angry -even happy- starts to fad with time. You start to feel the original emotion less & less. Often this is not the case with humor. I cherish that... and nothing disappoints me more than the familiar "if you had only been there! it won't be as funny now that I'm retelling it..."
Much like my past blogs, I'm really going no where with this. I contemplated making up a Bud Light "Real Men of Genius" for laughing but I'm truly not that creative. Or patient. The farthest I got was an imaginary list that included public farting, wedgies, people tripping & epic flirting fails. Any poets out there?
So, I guess I'll end with a quote from one of the greatest & most original comedians of all time, Charlie Chaplin. "A day without laughter is a day wasted." I encourage you to take this to heart.
Timing is key in all things comedic. The avid movie goer & anyone in theatre understands that. So yes, this is an attempt to justify my laughing to tears as a little girl almost broker her head. (Disclaimer: I was, underneath everything, extremely concerned for her well-being.) It was funny because you don't see it coming & it is innocently unplanned that you can't help but marvel at it's humor.
Interestingly enough, not everyone has the same sense of humor or susceptibility to it, as I prefer to say. Many, many people wouldn't have so much as broken a smile as that little girl face-planted. It isn't a conscious thought for them NOT to laugh just like it's not a conscious thought for me TO laugh.
Likewise, Will Farrel is the epitome of funny for many people (mostly guys, I've noticed) but for me - he's predictable & unoriginal. He relies on stupidity for every joke he makes. And once you've seen him once you, you've seen all the characters he's every played. I laugh at him, yes. But, it's not my favorite shtick.
Vince Vaughn is more entertaining to me. Even though he is also guilty of blending from character to character - his sarcasm & the tone of his voice as well as his line delivery comes together to create something hilarious! Farrel doesn't have that for me.
Which show how interesting evaluating or categorizing humor can be. Its a ironically personal emotion. Yet, a universally shared one as well. Well, I guess that describes all emotions but let me explain myself better.
Unlike sadness or sympathy, you don't necessarily need to have experienced something to find it funny. For instance, humor is more easily recognizable & appreciated than jealousy or even fear. Jealousy or fear stem from something else. They are secondary emotions arrived at only AFTER something has initiated a chain of events to bring a person to the ultimate emotive decision:scared or envious. Humor, on the other hand, is pure. You hear or perhaps see stimulation & you laugh. One step process. No loop-holes, no combating it. You just accept whatever it is that has made you laugh has worthy of exciting such a positive & enjoyable emotional response. There is no other solution than to giggle, smirk, chuckle or even cackle.
I also think humor is the hardest emotional response to stifle. You can usually keep anger in check. Jealousy gets tiring after long. Sadness eventually gives way.... but humor... humor happily ekes its way into everyday life time & time again. The re-telling of stories often excites the same humor, re-lived. That's the best. But exploring what once made you sad, angry -even happy- starts to fad with time. You start to feel the original emotion less & less. Often this is not the case with humor. I cherish that... and nothing disappoints me more than the familiar "if you had only been there! it won't be as funny now that I'm retelling it..."
Much like my past blogs, I'm really going no where with this. I contemplated making up a Bud Light "Real Men of Genius" for laughing but I'm truly not that creative. Or patient. The farthest I got was an imaginary list that included public farting, wedgies, people tripping & epic flirting fails. Any poets out there?
So, I guess I'll end with a quote from one of the greatest & most original comedians of all time, Charlie Chaplin. "A day without laughter is a day wasted." I encourage you to take this to heart.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Sex & the City Deux
After not writing for such a long period, I admit that the topic of my over-due entry is a little weak (i.e overly trendy & not a good "welcome back to the land of blogging" piece). Alas, it is on my mind & will serve as rever-upper for entries to come.In a moment of girlishness, my friend & I decided to see the midnight showing of Sex & the City. A not altogether bad decision as we both needed a night out, some distraction, & mindless but stimulating entertainment. However, I, more so than her, underestimated the exhaustion I would face the next morning (today) after sitting through a 2.5 hour long movie which left me only 4.5 hours to sleep. This was not as much of an issue for her as she can go to work pretty much whenever she pleases, including never.
I think today it was never.
Somewhat indifferent but mostly settled in the opinion "we pretty much have to see this movie," she & I got to the theatre 20 mins early & were able to find well positioned seats. Roll film......
Before the credits ceased scrolling, she and I began announcing our likes, dislikes, met & unmet expectations. Actually, we had started commenting before we even reached our seats because we, dressed in near sleep-wear, began worrying that people would take this "event" a little too seriously & dress up at 12am on a Wednesday night to pay homage to the fashionistas in the film. Luckily, this was not the case & of the people filling the crowded theatre, we were definitely not the ones who looked out a place (ex. picture woman with harem style jumper, oddly patterned to resemble safari wear, with a turban-like-scarf wrapped around her head of a clashing but equally loud pattern. Her accessory: a gentleman at least a foot & a half shorter than her clad in a button down and jeans).
The consensus. The first was better. Why? Well, the first movie was much more natural. The TV series, which I actually quite enjoy, had built such a rapport that it only made sense to make a movie expanding on the stories of four friends that almost every woman has likened themselves to at one point. It was successful. Fashion forward. Witty. Believable & even a somewhat accurate representative of the major categories of women found in NYC.
However, unlike the first film, this one left something to be desired in the way of sincerity. The first 10 minutes of the movie felt more like forced one-liner after one-liner in failed attempt to give equal dialogue to all actors on screen. It was weird, off-putting, and seemed staged. While things improved from there on, the much anticipated fashion-forward message of Carrie Bradshaw was laughable. Literally. We laughed. Some of the outfits were 3 steps beyond statement making. They made no sense. As least in S&TC1 I was awed by the wardrobe and secretly wished I not only posed the body but also the ability to pull-off some of those looks. In #2, I was thankful I didn't see anything worth translating on to the real streets of NYC or my person.
And what was with the Susan Summers' plug? So odd. Incidentally, I did find Liza Minnelli's appearance & dance to All the Single Ladies humorous. Perhaps more so than intended. I have to wonder when that scene was filmed because I feel like after the time it took to film, edit & release the movie - that cameo wasn't as impacting as it could have been. It all seemed a bit late in the "what's hot, what's not" category.
Did I mention there was the overly over-whelming presence of SJP's clothing-line....
Which brings me to my last negative note - but I can't take credit for it. My partner in this movie going experience mentioned that she left feeling as if the movie was trying to appeal to an overwhelming audience. By over-doing the gay presence, touching on the over-tired, under appreciated "mother" syndrome, the menopausal woman, the "past-honey-moon stage" married couple....the list goes on. Not that any movie can exist without cliches or predictable character development/flaws but why is S&TC2 rampant with them?
Other than that, there were laugh out loud moments (Samantha referring to her new sexual conquest as Lawrence of Labia / the idea that deep down, Charlotte was more concerned about losing her Nanny than being cheated on). And I did enjoy the entourage of butlers waiting for the fab-4 in the Middle East. To put it frankly, I'm not mad about the $13 I spent or the lack of sleep.... it was worth following up based on my love for all things S&TC pre-existing the sequel.
But, even the best of stories know that a well-timed ending does more justice than belaboring the point. Leave them laughing, leave them crying, make a quick exit - that's how you make a lasting POSITIVE impression. A unfortunate mistake S&TC2 seems to have made...
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Art for Arts Sake
I blog for a variety of reasons.
First & foremost: it gives me purpose. That purpose if often changing, evolving & rotating depending on my mood or my needs. Sometimes I think I have something really important or enlightening to share (this is actually rarely seen thru because as I start typing the "profound" characteristic of such thoughts slowly dissipate). Other times I want to make people laugh (people meaning the 3 person maximum I actually know check this thing). Most frequently, I need to get something off my chest. By typing it, I make it feel real - I engrave it somewhere. I've tried & failed to keep a diary so in a way, this operates as that without feeling forced.
When I scan the blogger world for other readable rants, I see similar (although more static) goals driving my fellow writers. Mommy Blogs - providing humor & community in the microcosm of motherhood. Working Girl Blogs - sarcastic wit to help alleviate the daily hardships of 9-5 grinds. Free Flow Blogs - most similar to my camp these writers just try to create culture awareness or stimulate thought. Then there are the less obvious & slightly more irritating brand of "blogs." I call them the blogarazzi. They act just like the paparazzi without the cameras, car-chases or ACTUAL celebrity sightings. They use the internet to toss around ideas, angry vents or offer praises based on E! News, OK magazine, US Weekly, Page 6 or whatever other means I'm not privy to regarding Hollywood & its offspring.
Why do they irritate me? Well, mostly because there are enough mediums to gab, comment, rape & pillage celebrities or their lives without adding the blogging world. I mean, a blog here or there on the Oscars or cheating as inspired by Sandra Bullock/Jesse James's newest mishap is one thing. But were talking about people who thrive on this shit. Honestly, don't you have anything better to talk about? Think about? WORRY about?
...... don't you WANT anything better to do?
First & foremost: it gives me purpose. That purpose if often changing, evolving & rotating depending on my mood or my needs. Sometimes I think I have something really important or enlightening to share (this is actually rarely seen thru because as I start typing the "profound" characteristic of such thoughts slowly dissipate). Other times I want to make people laugh (people meaning the 3 person maximum I actually know check this thing). Most frequently, I need to get something off my chest. By typing it, I make it feel real - I engrave it somewhere. I've tried & failed to keep a diary so in a way, this operates as that without feeling forced.
When I scan the blogger world for other readable rants, I see similar (although more static) goals driving my fellow writers. Mommy Blogs - providing humor & community in the microcosm of motherhood. Working Girl Blogs - sarcastic wit to help alleviate the daily hardships of 9-5 grinds. Free Flow Blogs - most similar to my camp these writers just try to create culture awareness or stimulate thought. Then there are the less obvious & slightly more irritating brand of "blogs." I call them the blogarazzi. They act just like the paparazzi without the cameras, car-chases or ACTUAL celebrity sightings. They use the internet to toss around ideas, angry vents or offer praises based on E! News, OK magazine, US Weekly, Page 6 or whatever other means I'm not privy to regarding Hollywood & its offspring.
Why do they irritate me? Well, mostly because there are enough mediums to gab, comment, rape & pillage celebrities or their lives without adding the blogging world. I mean, a blog here or there on the Oscars or cheating as inspired by Sandra Bullock/Jesse James's newest mishap is one thing. But were talking about people who thrive on this shit. Honestly, don't you have anything better to talk about? Think about? WORRY about?
...... don't you WANT anything better to do?
I know, I know, I know. Blogger world is large & it's easy to avoid any type of blog you may not be in favor of. I not trying to vi for blog sanctity in some holy crusade against the trash that is Perez Hilton or what-not. But I'd just like to remind the general public that there are much MUCH much more interesting things going on in the world that have nothing to do with politics or war (because on the other end of the spectrum these topics are equally exhausting). Movies, music, new video games, etc ....
At the very least, combine talk of cheating, drug abuse or celebrity gab into larger scale conversations. Take it out of Hollywood & globalize it so you at least sound intelligent.
Sorry, "culturally aware" was probably a better choice of words. But I digress....
Sorry, "culturally aware" was probably a better choice of words. But I digress....
I blog because it matters. It matters that people communicate & talk, even if they make enemies from it or piss people off. It matters. It's a forum for thought & even when those thoughts are considered dumb, extreme & otherwise (yes, this includes blogs' entitled "Why Heidi Montage/Pratt should be president" - which wasn't being sarcastic). Everyone is entitled to their opinion.
There is nothing I hate more than "art for art's sake." So speak & write with purpose. Not only for shear enjoyment. Not for shock factor (although sometimes this pays off). Don't just play up culture for your own benefit. Do what YOU do best ... as long as it doesn't purely involve following celebrity gossip. Push yourself a bit more than that. Please.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
All The Small Things
It was my dream for a few years to move to NYC. Even before I visited, I knew I would fall in love with this city. Sure enough, summer of 2008, I did. I didn't have big plans to "make it." I didn't really have any plans at all. I can't really explain why but I knew this was just where I needed to be.
Everyone always said I was a city girl but I think it has to do with my need to be surrounded & yet entirely alone at the same time. I'm a people person but I'm also unabashedly deep & reflective. I have a need to make statements & have opinions without judging or living in fear of being mis-perceived. I love living life at a fast pace while still taking everything in. I found those qualities here. People who know me know I'm hard to characterize. I have values, for sure. Those are quite clear. But my personality is quite the melting pot of qualities. I rarely exhibit any sort of pattern of predictability in my day to day interactions. Honestly, I'm the personification of the NYC in a sense. I have a little bit of everything to offer & I like to think I do it quite well.
However, I'm well aware for many people, they don't share any of my warm sentiments for this over-populated city. Quite the opposite they think NYC is too much, too little, too fast, too over the top or what not. I find it to be exactly the perfect balance of, well, everything. I'm partial because I was not happy where I was. I wasn't myself but I couldn't exactly figure out why. Sometimes I still have a hard time pin-pointing but I do know that I found myself here. There's not much you CAN'T find here. So, for the New Yorker who may have fallen out of love with the NYC vibe or the visitor who left in a bit of hurry because this city just didn't "do it" for them - I'd like to show you what it is that makes me fall in love with this place over & over again.
For one, I know flowers exist everywhere. And some people are fortunate enough to have FIELDS of flowers to smell. But I, for one, look forward to warming weather which means I can smell the flowers are the corner stores from a block away. And guess what, ours don't die in the winter like yours do : )
I also love the subway. Yes, it gets crowded. Yes, trains run late. But traffic happens when you're a car-driving commuter too. What you won't see in your car (unless you're being hijacked which actually is not a pleasant surprise) are the singing, dancing, preaching random artists of the city. Mariachi bands, gospel singers, old ladies with accordions.... No I don't make eye-contact with most of them and sometimes, I do wish they would shut up (especially the mariachi band because I swear they're everywhere) but 9 times out of 10 - they put a smile on my face.
Free exercise. It's almost impossible to fat in this city. It happens but that fact that you can & usually have to walk everywhere was a welcomed change in my life.
I'm also pretty sure you would have to eat out every meal -breakfast, lunch, dinner- for the rest of your life to even have a chance at trying every restaurant in the city. And many of the best restaurants in the world are HERE!! Where I live!!
There's also the fact that you are close to everything. Brooklyn. Boston. New Jersey. A plethora of sports teams & venues, theatres, museums .... more food... a beach. If I want to "get out of town for awhile," I barely have to travel an hour to escape. And I definitely don't have to pack the car, board the dog, turn of the electricity for a week or find a sitter for the kids. Granted, I don't have kids but you get my point.
One word: subcultures. Whatever your hobby, interest, or passion - you can find it here. And no matter how weird it is, you will not be judged because there are at least 3 other people in your borough with the same idea of fun.
I have not exhausted all the reasons why I choose to live here. I don't want to because some of them are precious to me & sometimes, once you've shared something, it looses its dearness. But I ask, no implore you to give this city a chance. It's beautiful. It will always have something to offer you & it will always challenge.
Who doesn't like a good challenge?
Everyone always said I was a city girl but I think it has to do with my need to be surrounded & yet entirely alone at the same time. I'm a people person but I'm also unabashedly deep & reflective. I have a need to make statements & have opinions without judging or living in fear of being mis-perceived. I love living life at a fast pace while still taking everything in. I found those qualities here. People who know me know I'm hard to characterize. I have values, for sure. Those are quite clear. But my personality is quite the melting pot of qualities. I rarely exhibit any sort of pattern of predictability in my day to day interactions. Honestly, I'm the personification of the NYC in a sense. I have a little bit of everything to offer & I like to think I do it quite well.
However, I'm well aware for many people, they don't share any of my warm sentiments for this over-populated city. Quite the opposite they think NYC is too much, too little, too fast, too over the top or what not. I find it to be exactly the perfect balance of, well, everything. I'm partial because I was not happy where I was. I wasn't myself but I couldn't exactly figure out why. Sometimes I still have a hard time pin-pointing but I do know that I found myself here. There's not much you CAN'T find here. So, for the New Yorker who may have fallen out of love with the NYC vibe or the visitor who left in a bit of hurry because this city just didn't "do it" for them - I'd like to show you what it is that makes me fall in love with this place over & over again.
For one, I know flowers exist everywhere. And some people are fortunate enough to have FIELDS of flowers to smell. But I, for one, look forward to warming weather which means I can smell the flowers are the corner stores from a block away. And guess what, ours don't die in the winter like yours do : )
I also love the subway. Yes, it gets crowded. Yes, trains run late. But traffic happens when you're a car-driving commuter too. What you won't see in your car (unless you're being hijacked which actually is not a pleasant surprise) are the singing, dancing, preaching random artists of the city. Mariachi bands, gospel singers, old ladies with accordions.... No I don't make eye-contact with most of them and sometimes, I do wish they would shut up (especially the mariachi band because I swear they're everywhere) but 9 times out of 10 - they put a smile on my face.
Free exercise. It's almost impossible to fat in this city. It happens but that fact that you can & usually have to walk everywhere was a welcomed change in my life.
I'm also pretty sure you would have to eat out every meal -breakfast, lunch, dinner- for the rest of your life to even have a chance at trying every restaurant in the city. And many of the best restaurants in the world are HERE!! Where I live!!
There's also the fact that you are close to everything. Brooklyn. Boston. New Jersey. A plethora of sports teams & venues, theatres, museums .... more food... a beach. If I want to "get out of town for awhile," I barely have to travel an hour to escape. And I definitely don't have to pack the car, board the dog, turn of the electricity for a week or find a sitter for the kids. Granted, I don't have kids but you get my point.
One word: subcultures. Whatever your hobby, interest, or passion - you can find it here. And no matter how weird it is, you will not be judged because there are at least 3 other people in your borough with the same idea of fun.
I have not exhausted all the reasons why I choose to live here. I don't want to because some of them are precious to me & sometimes, once you've shared something, it looses its dearness. But I ask, no implore you to give this city a chance. It's beautiful. It will always have something to offer you & it will always challenge.
Who doesn't like a good challenge?
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Oh Leo...
I have a pretty standard rotation of magazines I read monthly. Vanity Fair & Rolling Stone are always first. In Style is quick to follow. Sometimes I’ll grab a copy of Lucky or Nylon if I’m feeling especially girly or Men’s Health & Vogue if the cover intrigues me. However, Esquire has yet to make it in the repertoire of my glossy-page turning past time… until my last visit to Barnes & Noble.
Walking to a table in the café, magazines in hand, I saw a rather loud & eye-catching magazine cover consisting of a cardigan-clad, cigar-bearing Leonardo DiCaprio splashing his Bourbon (Whiskey?) towards the supposed reader. All this on a white background with busy tag lines layered between Leo & the white sheet. At first, I kind of half smiled at the effort & artistic talent filling said cover-art. But then, I realized the “effort” was more than just filling the cover, it was kind of spilling on to the floor in an obvious, cliché mess.
My first problem results from what Leo holds in his right & left hand. A cigar & a glass of Bourbon (or really, was it Whiskey?). Now, I don’t know much about Esquire. Like I said, I had never read it so I have no way of knowing the magazine’s style or feel - their perspective & drive is foreign to me. But I do know one thing. Most of the time, their covers are sexy in a often raunchy way that makes you look two & three times because it’s not in the same plastic wrap playboy is.
If they aren’t making you blush, they are making you wonder what’s inside based on their political stance (i.e the Kennedy tri-fecta that was captioned with “The Meaning of Life” as if the Kennedy’s held the key to how to live a fulfilled life). I actually like all of these qualities in Esquire & I am surprised it has never made it into my hands before now. However, this month’s cigar & hard liquor paraphernalia have me uncomfortably bemused. It’s so predictable. But worse, it’s so NOT avant-garde or raunchy or politically moving or socially enthralling. It didn’t make me look twice for the right reason.
The two male social symbols Leo holds in his hands are boring. He isn’t about to entertain guests. He doesn’t look suave, he looks cheesy. And actually for some reason I imagine him either banging his secretary prior to this picture or just delivering the OK to wack some insignificant. (I mean neither of these in gangster, bad-ass way. I mean them in a “little man syndrome way”). He isn’t a heart throb anymore with Titanic over a decade behind him. He IS an accredited actor following Blood Diamond & The Departed not to mention his new Scorsese film, Shutter Island (hence the Esquire spotlight).
But what this cover makes him look like is a hoity, cigar smoking, cashmere-wearing, liquor-tossing socialite. In my opinion, if Leo is wearing a cardigan, he is probably in character. If he's going to be smoking a cigar then its probably celebrating with the boys & if he is drinking, he isn’t wearing that frickin cardigan – he is out at a club or party in a white undershirt & jeans! So what the hell is this cover selling - the American socialite man or Leo’s alter-ego? I mean, his
I’m sure I’m not doing a great job at explaining why this cover left such a bad taste in my mouth. Hell, maybe I’m just not a Leo-fan. Bu the bottom line for me is disappointment in Esquire for not making me blush or at least ALMOST pick up their magazine to see what interesting snarky article or intriguing political mess waited inside.
Better luck next month.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
We are born. We live. We die.
Of the above three, which two are counterparts?
There exist a plethora of phrases that put life and death in opposition to each other. I.e : "Life or death situation."I find these to be falsely misleading. I believe the opposite of death is birth. The act of dying is inversely related to the act of being born. Life has no opposite.
Where am I going with this.....
Well, those who know me understand my insatiable desire to make the most of everything. To live my life eternally optimistic & in love with all that life as well as the people & situations in it have to offer. I'm a romantic. I am a hopeless romantic. I am a thinker & feeler. I am rich emotionally & varied intellectually. In short, I truly love life.
In the past 6 years I have lost a girl I went to high-school with, my grandmother, 2 dogs, a best friend & now, most recently, a boy I was classmates with from 2nd - 12th grade. I've also lost (literally) money, a scarf, a few CD's, a box of to-go food & a pair of earrings. (That list is by no means exhaustive.) These are all parts of life. We all lose things. But it doesn't mean life stops. Sure, I understand the argument "death is the end to life." Right. But that doesn't mean that life & death are mutually exclusive. In fact, depending of what you believe - life goes on even after death.
My point in this argument is merely to say that in our human minds that are so ingrained in science, fact, biology & the proven - the act of being born is only matched by the moment of death. More so, life "exists" before the accepted birthing process even takes place. So death has no hold on life, in a way, it's merely a changing in form. A removal of the physical person but no necessarily the spirit. For you science lovers, matter can not be created or destroyed - only recycled. And that has been proven. Yes, yes, yes. I know that the spirit isn't tangible the way the body is. But something, life mainly, has to inhabit that body & I have a hard time believing it doesn't go somewhere even after a person's body has failed them. In fact, I would be inclined to say that life itself has no start or end. It's a continuum based merely on time & the way we perceive it. The way we understand our world - or are capable of understanding it.
All I know is, life is beautiful & carries with something special that only birth can attempt to capture and death can not take away. A few paragraphs above when I listed all the things I lost, those things are might be gone but the life that they carried is not. I still remember my friends, I still remember my animals. I still dream about them. In fact, I still think about my earrings (because they were literally, my favorite pair.) Life carries life. I am alive & I carry in me the life of those things that are lost to this tangible world.
Just had to get this off my chest : )
Of the above three, which two are counterparts?
There exist a plethora of phrases that put life and death in opposition to each other. I.e : "Life or death situation."I find these to be falsely misleading. I believe the opposite of death is birth. The act of dying is inversely related to the act of being born. Life has no opposite.
Where am I going with this.....
Well, those who know me understand my insatiable desire to make the most of everything. To live my life eternally optimistic & in love with all that life as well as the people & situations in it have to offer. I'm a romantic. I am a hopeless romantic. I am a thinker & feeler. I am rich emotionally & varied intellectually. In short, I truly love life.
In the past 6 years I have lost a girl I went to high-school with, my grandmother, 2 dogs, a best friend & now, most recently, a boy I was classmates with from 2nd - 12th grade. I've also lost (literally) money, a scarf, a few CD's, a box of to-go food & a pair of earrings. (That list is by no means exhaustive.) These are all parts of life. We all lose things. But it doesn't mean life stops. Sure, I understand the argument "death is the end to life." Right. But that doesn't mean that life & death are mutually exclusive. In fact, depending of what you believe - life goes on even after death.
My point in this argument is merely to say that in our human minds that are so ingrained in science, fact, biology & the proven - the act of being born is only matched by the moment of death. More so, life "exists" before the accepted birthing process even takes place. So death has no hold on life, in a way, it's merely a changing in form. A removal of the physical person but no necessarily the spirit. For you science lovers, matter can not be created or destroyed - only recycled. And that has been proven. Yes, yes, yes. I know that the spirit isn't tangible the way the body is. But something, life mainly, has to inhabit that body & I have a hard time believing it doesn't go somewhere even after a person's body has failed them. In fact, I would be inclined to say that life itself has no start or end. It's a continuum based merely on time & the way we perceive it. The way we understand our world - or are capable of understanding it.
All I know is, life is beautiful & carries with something special that only birth can attempt to capture and death can not take away. A few paragraphs above when I listed all the things I lost, those things are might be gone but the life that they carried is not. I still remember my friends, I still remember my animals. I still dream about them. In fact, I still think about my earrings (because they were literally, my favorite pair.) Life carries life. I am alive & I carry in me the life of those things that are lost to this tangible world.
Just had to get this off my chest : )
Friday, January 15, 2010
Food for Thought. Literally.
If you know ahead of time you are likely (maybe even certain) to eat the entire batch of cookies should you limit the number of cookies you bake? Because in all honesty, cookie dough doesn't keep that well if we're talking about more than a day. And attempting to keep it opens up the possibility of eating refrigerated raw cookie-dough. An almost unconscionable alternative. I mean, you're a stronger person than I if you can open your fridge for a measly glass of water & NOT stare at a bowl of yummy doughy-goodness without justifying a spoonful..... & a glass of water every 15-20 mins. Oops.
Quite the dilemma. It's sad really. The reality of this qualm exists with home-made dough, Toll-house pre-cut cookies & pre-made dough of any variety. I've been guilty of devouring each & still have yet to find a suitable solution. I've tried not keeping baking products in my house. I've tried not baking unless I know other people will be over to help me eat the products so I don't gorge myself with a weekly allotment of calories in one sitting. Maybe I'm not a strong enough person.
And then I got to thinking. I'm that person who goes out to dinner & ALWAYS wants dessert. I'm the person who takes my left-overs home only to eat them hours later instead of for lunch the next day. It's as if I think the food will disappear over night or worse, something will come between me & the food that will keep me from enjoying it. In which case, I justify in my head, I should just eat it now. Yes, now. That's a better alternative. Even though I'm not hungry. Even though I know it is highly unlikely anything will come between me & said "cherished meal" in the next 24 hours. Honestly, if something did it would probably be vastly more important than food. Ridiculous.
Now, I hear stories from when I was a child about my father taking food from plate when I was a baby & toddler. I would react slightly violently & was likely disturbed that my own Daddy would take the food designated for his growing child out of her own hands. But I seriously doubt this has scarred me in any way that would link my new found obsession with eating EVERYTHING I'm given rather than stopping when I'm full. It's strange, really, to think that children hardly even want to sit still & finish their food. Granted they almost always want dessert but for all intents & purposes children need food for fuel to get on with other more important things. Building forts. Coloring. Terrorizing the dog. What have you. Why aren't adults more like this? New Yorkers are in some sense. I am like this with coffee...but not will sweets.
I need to re-prioritize my life. America's a little too centered around food. Not in the healthy way Italians are. Food is a staple for Americans. Food is a means of family & heritage for Italians. Aw, who am I kidding. Italians gorge themselves too. Maybe I can look to the Chinese for a more balanced example.... and eat everything with chopsticks. At least that will slow me down ; )
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
