loose string

"One-way streets and square one, The answers don't come from any one direction"

 

If you see me at your door, don't answer

As I have mentioned, I am taking a couple of classes this semester.  Both of them are taught by very talented, very nice teachers.  I had my first ever photography class with one of the men and I enjoyed that class thoroughly.  He is the kind of teacher who is encouraging and one who also manages to make learning fun.  This semester I am taking a photographic composition class with him.  One of the things that I particularly respect about his teaching method is that he approaches the subject from different angles.  He brings in seemingly unrelated subject matter and allows you to discover how it relates to the class discussion.  He encourages curiosity and taking chances and making mistakes.  In my opinion, this is what art grows from and certainly the type of atmosphere that encourages learning. 

Last week we had a guest lecturer.  He has been teaching art for the last thirty years at a local junior high school.  He is the most truly happy person I have seen in some time.  There is such joy in him that it just sucks you in and you cannot help but catch his enthusiasm. I can only imagine what a great time his have. He did a presentation that was about looking for the magic/beauty/art in what is around you.  Then we worked on a project making pop-up cards.  I am usually up for learning something new so I was really enjoying the opportunity.  Later he took us out and taught us to juggle.  It was fun and lively and interesting. 

Just as I am thinking, “Boy, this was a great class.”, I hear the woman behind me start bitching to her friend about having a class in juggling.  Apparently we were in different classrooms that night.  Since the beginning of the semester she has done nothing but complain about the unusual teaching methods.  She makes comments like, “When are we going to learn something?”  This from the same woman who cannot be bothered to read the syllabus so she would know what the assignments are, but would rather ask everybody else. I don’t know if she realized that the pop-up cards were meant as an exercise in working in a confined space (like the viewfinder of a camera) and translating a 3-D image (like taking a picture).  I suspect the subtlety was lost on her.

There are some basic rules of composition and, certainly, if that is all she wanted to know she could have saved the tuition and bought a book.  Photography is not paint-by-numbers. So much of composition is about perspective and experimentation.  There are many great pictures that break all the rules.  We are being encouraged to look at things from different perspectives and experiment with composition.  In class we get feedback on our efforts and we look at the work of other students and other photographers. 

I guess I should not be so put off by this woman. I thought I was over my irritation until she started complaining again tonight.  I tried to tune it out but I still had to hear it.   I suppose I am just surprised to find someone so narrow-minded in the arts program.  I suppose I should not be.

I have an imaginary form of revenge that I like to wreak on people who behave like assholes.  I picture sneaking up on their doorstep,  placing a bag  of dog poo outside the door, lighting it , ringing the doorbell and then running to watch from a nearby bush.  (I have superhuman ninja disappearing skills in this fantasy)  The asshole comes out onto the porch and stomps on the fire thereby splashing flaming hot dog doo on themselves.  Then I laugh and laugh.  It is childish but it gives me a harmless outlet for the anger.

posted by: loosestring at 07:30 | link | comments |

Son, always be a good boy,don't ever play with guns

This evening I came face to face with the sad truth that my puppies are turning into juvenile delinquents.  I blame the dog walker.  I know it sounds very yuppified to have a dog walker but we both work all day and they are little dogs that need to get out so they don't make a mess.  Rest assured, the dog walker constitutes the entire staff here at Casa de Loose String.  Anyway, this evening T was outside with the pups and our very nice neighbour motioned him over.  He pointed to two sets of small dog tracks running through his freshly-poured cement sidewalk.  Undeniably, the tracks were a fair match for the pups and, upon further inspection of their paws, we noted a faint powdery-grey cast to the pads of said paws.  T quickly assured the kind neighbour that we would take care of any expense related to the repair of the walk and came inside to tell me what had happened.  We ended up calling the dog walker to make sure Maggie and Ernie were not being falsely accused.  She admitted that she had let them stray onto the sidewalk because she thought it was dry.  I must make clear that the sidewalk was clearly blocked off by a number of those flashing-light-blocker-offer-thingies.  I am now concerned about leaving the pups in the care of someone who so clearly lacks basic common sense.  I have used it to further my argument that the pups would benefit from a full-time, stay-at-home puppy mom.  This is the job title to which I aspire.

I ask you, do these look like the faces of criminals?

posted by: loosestring at 06:42 | link | comments |

Seen and Not Seen

Today my brain feels pointy.  I have seen pictures of the human brain so I know that it is mostly a soft, rounded mass of cells but mine has corners and sharp edges today.  There is nothing particular that I could pinpoint as the cause of this discomfort, just a mildly dissatisfied feeling that has dropped by unannounced.  There are words in my head that need to come out and if I could just figure out which words those are I am sure I would find immediate relief. 

I picture my head as one of those grocery store plastic bags that some inept bag boy packed very poorly.  The milk is squashing the loaf of bread and there is a pineapple that I picked up thinking that fresh fruit seemed like a good idea but it is threatening to tear through the side of the bag.   I am trying to transport this overstuffed bag without damage and without losing any of my items.  Time to stop and redistribute the contents.

I get more than a little frustrated with myself when I am in this whiny, ungrateful mood.  I have a pretty good life.  I have people I love and they love me.  I have a more than adequate home and food on my table every day.  I could use a little more money but I think that is a relative thing.  My bills are paid and there is a bit left over for the little luxuries.  I have no immediate threat of illness or death.  I have made peace with my past and I am currently living my future.  Why must there always be something more that I think I want? 

When I was in my twenties, and for the early part of my thirties, I was a very confused person.  I was supposed to be a grown up and somehow that meant that I had to be something other than myself.  I did not have any idea what constituted "grown uppedness" but I suspected that it had to do with wearing the right clothes or having the right job.  I managed to convince myself that I should have a "serious" job.  Something in the business world.  I had to be successful and have lots of money and everything would make sense when I had achieved this goal.  I thought that I had to have interests in the things that other people were interested in.  I had to try to be as homogeneous as possible and hide the things that made me "different".  As you might expect, this was a difficult front to maintain and eventually it fell apart quite spectacularly.

I think that children are sometimes discouraged from being different.  I know there is definite peer pressure to conform.  There are media images and all sorts of daily subliminal reminders that "otherness" is not okay.  Sometimes parents or teachers can discourage individuality in very well-meaning attempts to shield children from the ridicule of other children. 

If you are a sort of nerdy/brainy type girl that likes to read and has no control over the crazy things that come out of your mouth.  If you embrace punk and new wave and cut your hair crazy and dress from the thrift shop in 1980.  If you have liberal opinions about politics and express them openly in the free exchange of ideas that is supposed to be created in a Civics class.  If you do not want to giggle with the girls and listen to Journey but would rather hang out with the guys and listen to Black Sabbath at the high school parties you attend.  If you live in Buttfuck, New Hampshire in 1981 during the height of the Reagan years and do not wear Lacrosse shirts and Dock Siders.  If no one else in your entire school has even heard Elvis Costello or The Sex Pistols or The Talking Heads and the only way you have is by driving far away to buy the albums.  If you find yourself engaging in a discussion with your teacher about the poem the class is reading and realize that you are the only one who ever discusses the poem the class is reading.  If you begin to drink, smoke or swallow any substance that might put some of this at a distance.

If these things happen, you might begin to feel like an alien.  You might get worn down over time and actually begin to believe that you are wrong and "they" are right.  When this happens might lose sight of yourself.  You might lose who you are and you might lose (for lack of a better term) your bliss.  You might suffer or at least experience a sense of discomfort for a period of time.

Until you wake up and realize that you have been navigating your life with the road map to someone else's life.   If you are very lucky you will make this discovery in time to get off at the next rest stop and look for the right map amongst the candy wrappers and empty soda cans that are rolling around on the floor of your car.   Once it is located, the rest of the trip should be much more interesting.



Okay, this is filled with really bad metaphors.  I think I could use some of this when I write my schlocky self-help book but I am leaving it.  I have adopted one thing from the fabulous Mimi Smartypants : I do not edit what I write here.

posted by: loosestring at 06:51 | link | comments |

This is all a dream we dreamed one afternoon, long ago

 My, my I do seem to be a bit maudlin lately.  I do not actually sit around and dwell on the past quite so much as it would seem.  I think I have stories that rattle around in my head.  They are stories that have been there for a long time.  Usually events or situations that I have processed and edited and come to some "closure" on (for lack of a better word).  Sometimes they are events or stories that are somewhere in the middle of this processing or editing.
 They are not usually events that I should forget but they are things that I have learned from or at least gained some perspective on.  The time comes inevitably that I am done polishing and worrying over them and I must spit them out.  So, I have this blog as a safe place that I can put some of these ideas for storage.

I think it would be easy to judge my mother or a lot of other people in my life based on my version of what has happened in my life.  I think the biggest thing that  I have worked out from my revisiting of this stuff is that I can often see my role in things or I can see the other person's situation.  I walked around for many years feeling as though I was a person who was acted upon;  that my life happened to me and mostly my role was victim.  That perspective allowed me to feel justifiable anger, resentment and self-pity.  It was a very easy way to relieve myself of the responsibility for anything that went wrong in my life.  Everything was always someone else's fault.  This was all good and fine,  but I seemed to be trapped in a cycle of failure and repetition of past mistakes.  Eventually I realized that I could make choices and I could have some say in the way my life worked or did not work.  I could also make a choice to be happy or to be miserable.

This is a very basic concept.  I consider myself to be fairly bright but it took me many years to grasp this simple idea.  This is not to say that every day is sunshine, puppy dogs and bliss but the days that are not so fabulous do not knock me to the floor the way they used to.

In my life there were some bad choices that were made by good people that had affected me deeply.  There were choices that were made because the other person had to practice a little self-preservation or because they were too young or inexperienced to realize the consequences of those choices.  There were also times that I could be the "black hole of human need".  I was so focused on what I needed that I could not see that other people had needs that might take precedence.  I had to begin to make choices about what was important to me.  I had to make allowances for other people's failings (my perception) and decide if the role that the person played in my life was important enough to give them the benefit of the doubt.

This said, my conclusion about my mother was an easy one. 

My mother had a very difficult life around the time I was born.  The Reader's Digest version is: She had been married (prior to my father) at the tender age of nineteen.  Her uber-religious Baptist family did not approve of her husband.  She came to learn that the man she married was an abusive man.  Very abusive.  And, he was a police officer in the tiny midwestern town in which they lived and, therefore, above the law.  When she made the very brave decision that she could not stay with this awful man (this was 1960) her family's response was, "You made your bed, now you sleep in it. "  Despite the fact that she was a young, uneducated woman with a one-year-old child, she left and tried to make a go of it on her own.  She worked as a waitress and had another job as well but she was struggling.  This was in the days before child support enforcement.  Her in-laws watched her daughter (sister #1) but they charged her for doing so.  They did not need the money, it was the principle.  They ended up taking advantage of her desperation and her exhaustion by talking her into "temporarily" signing over custody of my sister #1.  They fought her for four years in her efforts to regain custody.

She met my father during this time and he seemed to be just the man to rescue her.  (this is the generation she is from)  So, she married him and went off to become a military wife.  This meant that she had some financial security but she was alone for much of the time while my father was at sea and she was taking care of everything by herself.  She never complained about that.  I can not help but feel for her situation though. My father was not a prize to live with even when he was home.   She made the best decisions she was capable of making.

I have explained previously that my mother decided to focus her love on my sister #2.  This is not to say that I did not receive love and affection from my mother.  She is a kind, warm, affectionate and loving person.  It is not in her nature to be unkind. 

The problem  was that I was supposed to be receiving the majority of my love from my father and he is not capable of the same type of unconditional love that my mother is.  This is a hard thing to understand when you are a young person.  It took me many years to accept and understand my father.  And, before we get too much farther down that road, please let me say that I do accept my father with all of his short-comings.  I can actually understand the way his mind works.  I know why he loves the way he does;  I know how vulnerable he feels expressing his emotions.  I know that is not something he is able to do.  I also know that he loves me in the only way he is capable of doing.  It is not the version of paternal love that I would have chosen but it is the one that I have.

posted by: loosestring at 06:10 | link | comments (1) |

Make mine a double

 My family, my nuclear family (and isn't that an apt descriptor for my immediate family) had an odd relationship dynamic.  The accepted understanding of how things worked is that I had my father's love and, therefore, my sister had my mother's love.  As if these things needed to be divided so definitely.  I had a conversation with my mother when I was a teenager in which she explained the reasoning behind this order. 

When I was born my father was over the moon.  He loved everything about me and proclaimed that I was the most perfect child ever conceived and, for this reason, any further conception was not only unneccessary but also undesirable.  He would be perfectly happy with a single flawless child.  This was not the case for my mother.  She had hoped that she would give birth to many babies and raise a large family.  After my birth she agreed that no more children were necessary but she stopped taking birth control and was actually trying to conceive again.  You would think that my father would get wise to this plan especially after she suffered a number of miscarriages.  But he did not and so she managed to become pregnant again and also to carry the baby to term.  Thus was my sister #2 introduced to the family.  My mother apparently never felt wholly convinced of my father's love for my sister, and so she decided that she would compensate for the unequal share of parental love by giving my sister more love than she gave to me.  She actually made this concious decision to give more love to my sister.  It seems a bit strange when you consider that for most of our young childhood (under age 6) my father was at sea for long periods of time.  I am sure that there was some logic in her decision and I am also sure that it made sense to her at the time.  The logic is, however, lost on me.

The conversation in which this whole crazy thing was laid out for me was framed in the context of an apology.  My mother and I had a very volatile relationship during my teen years.  I was clinically depressed in addition to being just normal-teenage-crazy.  I hated everyone, I loved everyone, I could not decide how I felt about anyone.  The emotional whirlwind that accompanies puberty.  Coupled with the divorce of my parents when I was twelve (couldn't see that one coming, huh?) it was really no wonder that I was as confused as I was. So, during one of our many dramatic and overwrought arguments, my mother made this confession/apology to me by way of explanation for the distance I felt in our relationship.  At the time I could really not get my mind around the idea.  I'll admit it is still a bit confusing but I made my peace with my mother a long time ago.

I asked my mother to give me some example of my father's preferential treatment of me.  She proceeded to tell me about when I was a newborn baby and how my father would come home from the base and bundle me into my buggy to take me out for a walk.  He would inevitably end up taking me along to the Officer's Club (my father was in the Navy) where he would park my buggy alongside his table and show me off to anyone who came into the club.  This story brings such a wholesome picture to mind, no?  A child in a bar filled with cigarette smoke and a bunch of drunken sailors.  These were different times I suppose.  This was forty years ago. 

I have a twisted sense of humor.  The perverse ability to find humor in dark situations.  Therefore, I find myself chuckling when I consider that I can trace the origin of my many stories that begin, "I was in this bar.....", back to my first year of life.

posted by: loosestring at 07:11 | link | comments (4) |

You don't have to put on the red light

 This weekend may be shaping up to be the most relaxing I have had in some time.  I have spent the greater part of this evening semi-comatose in front of the tv.  I have school tomorrow but, other than that, I have no definite plans.  Yeah!  No plans!  I need calm, boring and unstressful right now.  Okay, I need it always but I have actually acomplished my goal of not over-complicating my weekends.

I am considering taking up yoga.  I am pretty flexible and I do not like to do the sort of exercise that involves running, jumping or sweating excessively.  So yoga would seem to be the best choice.  I am not really familiar with the different types of yoga or even if this pilates thing is something I might find unobjectionable.  I am researching.  I guess unobjectionable would be the highest expectation I could have of exercise.  That's the go-get-'em spirit that has made me the success I am today.  I think I may have hit upon my new marketing scheme for my own line of self-improvement tapes.  Watch for my infomercials coming soon to your late night television.

I have recently compiled the following incongruous song triple plays on the weird radio station that keeps me so entertained:



Prince - "Dirty Mind"  (you don't hear this song often enough for my taste)
Eddie Money - "Shakin'" (I don't really need to hear this song ever again)

The Romantics - "What I Like About You"
MC Hammer - "Can't Touch This"
Velvet Revolver - some crappy song that I do not know the title to nor do I want to because these guys should just go away now

and

The Police - "Roxanne"
Earth, Wind & Fire - "Boogie Wonderland"
Franz Ferdinand - "Take Me Out"

Please bear with my obsession with this as it should play itself out eventually.

*** Grrrrr this damned thing does this font change that makes me crazy and I have not been able to figure out how to make it go back to the right font. 

posted by: loosestring at 07:24 | link | comments |

The Year of Living Dangerously

 Whenever I become nostalgic for the "good old single and carefree" days, my friend J. asks me to tell her the story of the year of bad dates:

I had been newly-single for a short time when I started dating a younger guy.  I mean ten years younger.  I thought it was really fun being worshipped as the goddess that I am but the lack of intelligent conversation began to wear thin.  The proverbial last straw was the morning I woke up to find that my bed was rather damp.  I was not fully conscious so it took me several moments to realize that my young man had wet the bed during the night.  I decided, as I lay shivering in my cold, wet bed, that I had potty trained all the boys I wanted to for this lifetime.  I never told him the real reason.  I just said that I was moving on.

Later that year I met a friend of a friend in a bar that I frequented.  I was definitely not interested in this guy but he seemed quite taken with me.  He was about my age but he was just sort of nerdy and dumpy and not in a good way.  (I tend to like my men a little on the nerdy side). Plus, he had the worst mullet of all time.  The hair was normal in the front and almost down to his ass in the back.  What the hell is that?  The friend who introduced us was a juggler/performer at parties. The nerd was a  CLOWN.   By profession.  So, he was trying to chat me up during a game of pool and I was trying to be polite but distant.  Eventually he asked me for my phone number.  I attempted to do the "write down your number but change a digit or two" thing  but I suck at this and ended up writing down my real number.  I figured that this was the type of situation for which caller id was invented.  So, I monitored my caller id and did not answer when he began to call the next day and every day thereafter.

Through a series of problems involving the Commonwealth Edison disaster of the Summer of 1999 (the electricity went out every other day that year) I ended up having an old-fashioned phone with no caller id plugged in while I was waiting for an important phone call.  The phone rang and as soon as I heard the voice my stomach fell.  I was trying to sound normal and scrambling to come up with excuses for why I was busy every day for the next ten years or so.  (Okay, I am a lousy liar and I was trying to be polite to this guy because of the mutual friend)  I ended up getting talked into lunch.  I figured lunch was a harmless proposition and hardly even constituted a date.

I showed up for lunch (I drove myself to give an even less date-like atmosphere) and he was all primped up in what appeared to be sansabelt slacks like your grandpa would wear.  Yikes!  Okay, grit your teeth, order a margarita and let's get this over with.  We sat down and started to have a relatively normal conversation until he ran out to his car to get something to show to me.  It turned out to be his "clown book".  He had an album about six inches thick filled with pictures of  him in all of his different clown incarnations.  I tried to keep a polite smile on my face as I paged through.  Finally (4 margaritas later) lunch was over and I made my escape vowing to never answer my phone unless I knew who was calling.  And he continued to call.  Several times a day for the next several weeks and to show up outside my work or at the bar or anywhere he knew I might be.  I was being stalked by a clown.  My sick ass friends took to referring to him as "Shakes" and inquiring as to his well-being. Finally, I had enough and I told him that I wanted him to leave me alone.

The saddest part of this is that I ran into the friend who we had in common and when I told him this story he said, "I couldn't believe you gave that loser your phone number in the first place."  So much for trying to be polite to the guy.

I instituted the policy that I would never give out my phone number again unless I was really interested.

So, a month later, I was in a bar with some friends and this guy comes up and starts talking to me.  He seems nice enough but there is no chemistry for me.  He keeps trying to buy me drinks (which I politely refuse) and asking me for my phone number (which I also politely refuse).  I explain that I do not give out my number but I come to the bar frequently so he can try to meet up with me and maybe if I get to know him I might think about it.  I run into him again a couple of times and the scenario is much the same.  Eventually, he gets me to agree to go out on a date with him.

So, we go out for a nice meal but I can tell that he has gotten a head start on the drinking.  He is not sloppy drunk but he is definitely on his way.  We have an okay conversation during dinner.  I realize that there is nothing happening but everything seems to be pleasant enough.  He decides that after dinner we have to go play pool.  I like a game of pool and this seems like a safe activity so I am in.  We go to the bar to play pool and about halfway through the game he decides he is too hot to keep his shirt on so he takes it off.  Exposing his love handles to all and sundry. (I have nothing against the love handles but I do not want to see anyone with their shirt off in public) I am not too happy about it but I decide to try nicely to persuade him to put it back on and I vow to end this evening soon.

As soon as we walk outside, I realize that he is too drunk to drive and especially too drunk to drive to the very distant suburb in which he lives.  My conscience gets the better of me and I explain that I am going to take him to my place and he can sleep on my couch.  I am very careful to explain that I do mean sleep and I am not going to be sharing a couch with him nor will there be any sex involved in his visit.  I am fairly sure we have an understanding so I drive to my apartment, negotiate his drunk ass up the stairs and begin to make up the couch as he heads off to my bathroom.  I get the couch made up and he is still not back from the bathroom so I go to locate him.  He is not in the bathroom.  Next door down is my bedroom and this is where I find Prince Charming.  Naked as a baby and sprawled across my comfy bed.  The horrified look on my cat's face was priceless.

I spent the night on my own couch and pretended to sleep through his departure the next morning.

I did not date again for two years.

posted by: loosestring at 07:31 | link | comments (2) |

Hush, Hush

 Since I can remember, words have always been my comfort.  During times of stress I play weird word games in my head.  The rules can vary in complexity depending upon the level of stress.  I can't explain why this is soothing or distracting but I can remember pulling words apart in my head as far back as my memory goes.  I learned to read by four years of age and I have continued to read for pleasure since that time.  Many times I have several books going at the same  time.  I enjoy the sound of certain words and strongly dislike the sound of others.

That said, there are some days when I wake up and words are too cumbersome and require too much effort.  They seem to have weight and density and I am driven to frustration at the thought of speaking or hearing words.  Even reading can seem like a chore rather than the pleasure it usually seems.  It's kind of hard to explain but it is almost a physical aversion to speech.  Like choking or gagging.  If I had to give an explanation, the closest I could get would be that it is sort of like going to dig into a big bowl of ice cream and finding out that it has gone all gritty and the flavor is off.

Sometimes it is as simple as a reaction to having to tell a story over and over again.  Especially if the story is one that I am not happy to dwell on or that I find  irritatingly stupid.  I start to feel as though my mouth requires too much energy to move and my jaw feels cramped.  I want to go somewhere quiet and dark where there are no people or noises and lay down.  I want a time out and I need complete silence. 

On these days, the best I can hope for is to get through without screaming at someone or banging my head against the wall.

Today was one of those days.

posted by: loosestring at 06:11 | link | comments (5) |

There's gonna be no dancing

My son and I went out on Sunday to a cool architectural salvage yard to shoot some pictures.  It was not exactly what I had been anticipating but I got some interesting shots. There was an outdoor area with statuary and there were all these huge letters that had been removed from somewhere.  They looked kind of interesting and surreal.  I am going to print today so we shall see.

I headed off to do some more photography at the Arboretum after I dropped off my son.  (His attention span only being so long).  The magnolias and daffodils were out in great abundance:

I got a little caught up in the whole fresh-air-and-green-growing-things experience and lost track of time.  I got back to the car and realized that I had about an hour to get home, clean up and head out to see Elvis Costello.  So, I went flying home and when I got there I found T with his hand wrapped up and dripping blood.  It turns out that he had spent the day working on some built-in shelves for the spare bedroom and cut himself on the table saw.  I am not particularly good in the type of emergency that involves blood.  He was extremely calm about the whole thing which was good since one of us needed to be.  He would not let me drive him to the emergency room because he did not want to waste the tickets, so I called ex #2 and he drove him.  We have one of those strange, "blended" families that makes situations like this seem perfectly normal.

I ended up taking my son to Elvis Costello.  He had been wanting to go so it was good for him if a bit painful for T.  I was teasing him that T had sacrificed his hand to make it possible.  We debated the benefits of hook versus claw for hand replacement.  We decided a compromise of a claw made out of hooks was the best of both worlds. 

Anyway,  the show was fantastic.  I had never seen E. Costello before even though he is one of my favorites.  I grew up in Buttfuck, New Hampshire and the closest he ever got was Boston.  Then I moved to Chicago and we just never ended up with tickets until last year when he rescheduled the show because he was on the Grammy show and the rescheduled date was one I could not take off from work.  (God,that was a painfully constructed sentence but I am going to leave it as is)  So, this was my first time and I was thrilled and giddy.  Not as giddy as the woman behind me who karate chopped me in the head three times during her spastic dance routine.  But even blows to the head could not detract from the experience.  There was just the right balance of older stuff, middle stuff and new stuff.   My son's review was "Elvis kicks ass!"  I would tend to agree.

When I got home, T was bandaged and stitched (six stiches, ouch!) and waiting for me.  The doctor said he was lucky that it was not very serious.  I am looking into a tool safety course.

posted by: loosestring at 19:05 | link | comments |

Filing Cabinet or Trash Can?

 I have noticed an amazing result of this little blog.  Most of the irritants and discomforts that I record tend to stay here.  That is, I seem to be able to vent those petty things that I would normally eat up a lot of mental energy obsessing about and then leave the irritation and discomfort behind me when I leave.  This is not to say that I will not repeat some of my gripes or even just repeat myself but I am ridding myself of some little bit of the anger and rage.  Thus making the world a little safer for everone. I had the idea that I could leave some of the stories and memories here and free up some brain cells for other activities. Maybe centralize the collection of notes and memorandum that litter my thoughts.   This other is just an unexpected benefit.

I have some really good prints that came out of the last batch of film that I shot.   I am unable to load it here because I do not have it in digital format but I have scheduled some time to learn how.  There will soon be new art.  I also managed to figure out at least one of my photo projects from this newest work.  I am going to do lines and shapes represented in common objects.  I am still working out the details and I will probably continue to do so as I go but I am decided.

Yesterday I had a scare.  I was hanging out after work and thinking about napping when my cell phone rang.  I tried to get to it before it went to voice mail but no luck.  The phone always seems to be hiding in the darkest corner of my bag.  Anyway, when I looked at the incoming number I noticed it was a New Mexico phone number although it was not one that I recognized.  I tried calling back but there was no answer.  I started to have some anxiety that it was "the phone call" from my stepmother that I know I will be receiving someday soon.  I called my dad's house and he answered.  I was surprised, pleasantly surprised, but I decided to just play along as though I was only calling to check in and see how things were going.  It just seemed wrong to tell him that I was worried he was gone.  So, we had a chat about chemotherapy and his decision not to have chemotherapy, the weather here and in Albuquerque, and the blooming flowers, etc.  After we hung up, I realized my phone had registered a message so I checked it.  It was obvious that it was accidentally dialled and the phone was just picking up whatever sound was around.  I was trying to figure out who it was when I heard very clearly a phone ring and my father's voice saying hello.  Apparently the cell phone in my stepmother's purse dialled me just to let me know it was time to check in.  The amusing part was that my dad had mentioned during our conversation that her purse had been ringing earlier but they had not figured out who was calling.  Ah, this modern technology is so confusing.

posted by: loosestring at 06:58 | link | comments |

Screwed Up Eyes and Screwed Down Hairdo

 I came across this quote today: "Of all bad men, religious bad men are the worst."  - C.S. Lewis

Just thought I would share.

I am pissy and discontented lately.  Yesterday I went into school and printed some photographs from what I shot this weekend.  The negatives were really rich and there were a lot of good images.  But, I started out in this really crappy mindset and I think it colored everything I did.  I am looking at these photos that I think look good but I am doubting my own judgement.   Part of it is that the printing went pretty smoothly.  There was no huge struggle to produce a good print.  I think this lack of struggle makes me doubt that the photos are really as good as I think they are.  Good Lord, sometimes it is difficult to even put these thoughts down because they are so asinine and convoluted.  If I am actually having success at something, I begin to question whether my ability is legitimate or just a stroke of luck.  The fact that I was able to turn out five good prints is not enough proof for me, I need validation and praise to confirm it for me.  I want to not need this so much.  In most things, I am fairly confident but when I try something new I am a trembling mass of insecurity.

Oh yes, those years of therapy were worth it.

So, I was considering the concept of accepted beliefs and moral absolutes.  Mostly because I have a lot of time for pondering such things between hands of Free Cell.  But also because I think sometimes about the beliefs that have changed for me and I start to wonder if the idealistic 18 year old me would even recognize the slightly jaded 40 year old me.  It's really not as introspective and navel gazing as it sounds.  Mostly I think I have softened my views and there is a lot more room for gray in my world these days compared to the very black and white world of my youth.  I have more room for understanding that people have viewpoints and they often differ from mine and it is not my purpose in life to convert the disbelievers.  I can even have friends that have some very different ideas about music and sometimes even politics.   I even have some people that I call friends who are Republicans. (gasp!  and my 18 year old self looks very disapproving about this revelation)  Not close friends, but certainly people whose company I can and do tolerate.

Then again, some things never change and I do not think I would like them to.  I believe that Bob Dylan is a great songwriter.  I believe that using songs that I consider the anthems of my youth as advertising gimmicks is sacrilege. (Pontiac is going to hell and somewhere Joe Strummer spins in his grave)   I believe that what happens between two consenting adults in the privacy of the bedroom is nobody's business.  I feel better about my world when there is a Democrat in the office of President.  I feel that a woman is the only person who should  make decisions regarding her reproductive rights.  I love football, like baseball and could care less about hockey.  I believe that "The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars" by David Bowie is a truly great album.  I believe that intelligence is the sexiest attribute a person can have.  I can not watch a movie in which Tom Cruise is the central character. 

There are a lot of these things and I could go on here forever but I am not sure I am staying on topic.  Not that I am usually successful at starting out with a given topic and sticking to it completely.  In fact, this disjointed and often random screed is reflective of the scattered and meandering processes of my mind.  This is something of a family affliction.   No one in my immediate family can tell a story from point A beginning to point B ending without many detours into the insignificant details along the way.  Hold on, it's going to be a bumpy ride.

posted by: loosestring at 07:52 | link | comments |

In Which I Run For "Dick-Tator"

 Today we hit the radio incongruous song trifecta:

Tears for Fears - "Shout"
Johnny Cash - "I've Been Everywhere"
Led Zeppelin -  "What Is and What Should Never Be"

Now that I have realized the perfection of three completely unrelated songs in a row I can never settle for just a pair.

This was one of those dreary days and especially so in relation to the several sunny and warm summer-like days that preceded it.  It was cold and rainy and my mood was just as crappy.  I am going to turn into one of those people who blog incessantly about the weather.  I feel the danger of it fast approaching.  I am only reporting the weather here because it so vividly depicted my internal climate.  Oooh sexy weather reference/metaphor.  Anyway, as I was saying, we are experiencing a high pressure front that is sure to bring more dreary mental weather in the days ahead.  Tomorrow, partly mopey with a 97% chance of weepy and/or bitchy outbursts.  We will be back with the five day outlook after this word from our sponsor, Zoloft - So You Won't Go Postal.

Okay, enough of that.  But, as long as we are speaking of pharmaceutical advertising slogans, several months ago T came up with slogans for Levitra and Cialis as follows:

"Levitra - It's Boneriffic"
"Cialis - It's Dicktastic"

We have submitted these for approval and now we sit back and wait for the cash to start rolling in.

And, speaking of penises,  this article was disturbing to me.  I understand that .....okay, I don't understand, I will never understand, I don't want to understand.

I am currently lobbying for a mini-vacation.  There is some festival called "Wakarusa" that takes place in June in scenic Lawrence, Kansas.  I have never thought of "Kansas" and "vacation" in the same context before but I am nothing if not open to new adventures.  It advertises as a "music and camping" festival.  This is not an appealing description because there are about 7,642 adventures I would rather have than camping, but there is the newly re-united/formed Son Volt.  I am a big fan of all things Jay Farrar but especially the Son Volt as I see no possibility of an Uncle Tupelo reunion.  As I was saying, Son Volt is playing this festival and the tickets are pretty reasonable, as is airfare, so I am trying to exercise undue influence to make this  our summer mini-getaway.  We shall see.  The lineup on this is a little strange but I think it could be fun.  There is one almost-Uncle-Tupelo moment in that Jay Farrar will be playing as a solo act on the night that Wilco headlines.  Hmmmm......maybe we need to go that night also.

posted by: loosestring at 06:09 | link | comments |

Damn Me With Faint Praise

 Somedays I feel so understimulated mentally that I fear my brain will begin to ooze out of my ears as it turns to a gooey mush not unlike oatmeal.

I have concluded that I am what would be termed "highly suggestible".  I watch a lot of tv these days (an absolute must for my brain softening exercises) but I do try to watch shows that are somewhat educational or at least informative.  Not in the "Access Hollywood"-informative way but shows about artists or places I think I would like to visit or interesting historical programs.  Lately, whenever I am watching one of these types of programs, I get all fired up and start thinking that I am going to chuck it all in and become a wildlife photographer in the Amazon or start painting fantastically misunderstood paintings that will only be appreciated upon my death.  I think it is a form of empathetic identification.  The type of thing that makes characters in books seem so real to me or makes me cry at the least suggestion of sadness in movies.  Oh gosh, if someone dies or a heart is broken, I am a  teary mess.

This weekend was sunny and warm and all the things I like.  I had class on Saturday.  I am enjoying that.  There is a guy in that class who was in my last class.  He is an ass and stupid to boot and this Saturday he was outright rude to me.  I did not react or kick him.  Instead I thought mean thoughts and held my tongue until the urge to eviscerate had passed.  This is what they call growth, right?  But the class is good.  My pictures are already better and we have barely begun to print. 

On Sunday I went with my son to scenic Union, Illinois.  I have been looking for interesting places to shoot pictures and decided that the Illinois Railway Museum would be worth a shot.  My son is 17 and, although he has his moments of teenage ennui, he is one of my favorite people to spend time with.  He seemed a little less than enthusiastic when I suggested the trip but he knows I can be relentless in these matters and has learned to give in to save time.  The Museum is full of old trains (hence the name) but it also has piles of rusty  old parts with which to fix these trains.  This made for some interesting shapes and settings.  I am developing tomorrow and I am kind of excited to see what I got.  The biggest reward of the day though came when  my son said, "You know, I really thought this was gonna suck but I like it a lot."  

posted by: loosestring at 06:07 | link | comments |

In Which I Amaze You With My Attention To The Trivial

 Tonight we begin with flowers:


Yes, we have flowers here in Chicago now.  As a matter of fact, the last week has been so warm that things seem to be bursting into bloom.  None of the usual preliminaries.  I leave for work and there is nothing and when I get home everything is all over flowers.  It means the nasty, cold weather is going away for a while and we begin my favorite part of the year.

I am exploring the possibility of spending December 15th  - March 15th of every year henceforth in some sort of suspended animation or hibernation.  I have not worked out the logistics of the whole thing but be sure to check back here for progress reports.

I have spotted my first "ironic" ugly Hawaiian shirt of the season.  Although, I sometimes think that these guys are not really being "ironic" in their choice of clothing but rather seeking to cover up.  It is the muumuu of the men's fashion world.  Okay, the real muumuu was the hideous stretchy animal-print pants that some men wore in  the early nineties*, but this is close.  I am writing my senator (and I urge you to contact yours).  We must stamp out this blight.  I really have no objection to most men's clothing.  It is usually fairly utilitarian and I am a bit envious of the ease of choice.  Of course, I have narrowed my everyday options to a uniform of jeans and a selection of vintage cowboy shirts.  Come to think of it, I dress like a guy.  Mostly it is just about the comfort and the washability.  Oh well.  I have always been the little boy my father never had.
 
* I looked for a picture of these because I know I am not describing them very well.  They were really popular in Bears colors or other sports team"s colors.   They were mostly worn by guys who had mullets.  Sometimes they were favored by the steroid-enhanced muscle crowd but often they were worn by overweight guys as an option for sweatpants.  They did not go away fast enough.   Oh, I remember,  think Joey Buttafuoco(can't find a good pic).  Those pants.

Today I realized that I am the more "lowbrow" member of my current relationship.  It seems kind of funny because I have usually dated (or married) people that had to be convinced to go to my "arty" movies that contained no car chases or to read a book that was not science fiction.  I will admit that I have developed a high tolerance for action movies.  I once attended a professional wrestling match in an effort to bond with an ex.  I am obsessed with forensics and any show about how crimes are solved.  My guiltiest pleasure these days though is a show called "Dog: The Bounty Hunter".  For the uninitiated: it is a show about a real bounty hunter and his family capturing criminals in Hawaii.  It very much violates my "no reality tv" rule but I am hooked.  I have won my boyfriend (who will be referred to as T from this point forward because I am tired of typing out  two words everytime I make reference to him) over to the show and he is as into it as I am.  We actually had one of those crazy-people conversations wherein we discussed the show and referred to the people by their first names.  We also discussed what the heck was going on with a person who did not return with the new season and speculated as to his whereabouts.  It is a sickness and most assuredly contagious.

posted by: loosestring at 06:43 | link | comments |

Today's Program Sponsored by Dr. Scholl's Corn Pads

 I have major issues with feet.  Pretty much anyone's feet except my own.  They are, in my opinion, the least attractive of all the body parts.  I don't like the look of them, the feel of them or the (real or imagined) smell of them.  The greatest fashion offense a person can commit is to wear sandals that show off dirty or ragged toenails.  I realize that I have extreme views on this issue but I am pretty tolerant of all other body parts. Feet, bare and inappropriately displayed, have been a recurring theme for me the last couple of days.

I look forward to my classes.  They are one of the highlights of my week.  I have one small complaint.  I am being tortured by two of the young guys in the class that insist on flashing their nasty feet at me.  They wear sandals (okay, I understand it has been summer-y) and they take the sandals off and rub the nasty feet all over the chair rails and they even put them on the floor.  (Huge, quivery shudder)  Tonight was the very worst yet.  One of the guys was behind me sitting crossed legged and sprawled in such a way that his scaly big toe was almost touching my elbow.  (excuse me, I think I vomited a little in my mouth).  I can almost understand Young Dumb Guy #1, he has that whole hippie thing going so the sandals are required by law.  However, YDG #2 is a little goth guy.  He is actually almost a caricature of a goth kid.  (I can't remember the name of the Chris Kattan character from Saturday Night Live where he plays the goth teen who does a cable access show with his pals but that is who YDG #2 reminds me of.)  He has the black spiky-ish hair, black clothing and the whole undead vibe working hard until you get to his feet and notice the Birkenstocks.   WHAT?  I think his goth fashion statement got lost around his ankles.

When you add all this to the man I saw on the train who had taken off his shoes and placed his bare feet on the (very dirty) public train floor, I am almost ready for the quiet room.

All I'm saying is: people keep your feet where they belong and clip your toenails once in a while!

And now for something completely unrelated to appendages:


This is a color study I did for a black and white series I am working on.  I am going to learn how to scan the black and white in and I will post some soon.

posted by: loosestring at 06:58 | link | comments |

In Which I Blather About Things Televisional

 I am almost fully recovered from my sleep-deprived evening of excruciating (and unexplainable) back pain.  Occasionally I have had a sharp pain in the lower left side of my back (about kidney level) that has been significant enough to wake me.  I usually find that the pain is most significant when I am prone so I take a couple of aspirin and sit up until the pain subsides and I am able to return to bed.  Last night, however, there was no relief to be had by mere aspirin and there was only one very specific upright position that kept the pain at bay.  The hours of sleep lost due to this, coupled with the generally disrupted sleep pattern I have been living through (thank you again Daylight Savings Time), teamed up to make me incoherent and non-functional at the time I would normally depart for work.  Praise be to Saint  Whoever that my boss would accept this as a reason to be late and not give me any shit about showing up 2-1/2 hours late.

I am recovered now.  I was able to take a fully-prone and much-needed nap this afternoon. 

While I lay upon the couch waiting for blessed sleep, I was amusing myself by flipping through the TiVo suggestions.

• I think that the Las Vegas tourism bureau has taken note of my never having visited said city because suddenly I am getting a lot of suggestions for programming regarding the various casinos and tips for "winning big" in those casinos.  Alas, I say, "Eh, not so much."
• There have been a number of suggestions involving cheerleading, various "beauty pageants" and various other "womanly pursuits" including: "Fly With Me: The History of the Flight Attendant".  The description is: "Since the early days of commercial air travel, the flight steward or stewardess is a bellwether of the times"  Ah yes, it has always been upon those flight attendants that I look for leadership and trendsetting.
• There have been suggestions that I might enjoy "Driven:Flavor Flav", "Biggie & Tupac" or something called"Breakin' In: The Making of a Hip Hop Dancer".  Apparently my TiVo has never seen me dance or maybe it has and is trying to prop up my ego and/or make a career guidance suggestion.
• I have noticed a disturbing trend with regard to the following:
• "Idi Amin" - Uganda's Idi Amin secretly orders the murder of thousands of his people.
• "Caligula - Reign of Madness" - The Roman emperor's reign is a legendary frenzy of lunacy, murder and perverse sexuality
• "Pol Pot: Secret Killer" - Interviews and clips profile the infamous leader of the Khmer Rouge
• "Nazi's - The Occult Conspiracy" - The Third Reich investigates the supernatural as a force to win World War II
• "Shirley Mania" - Shirley Temple's career, interviews with costars and collectors.
• I don't have a specific category for the following (except maybe, "Huh?")
• "The Making Of:" Down With Love, Scooby Doo II, Big Fish, Master & Commander, etc.  (Always on the Spanish HBO)
• "Middle School Confessions" - Young people face the issues of sexual activity, sexual orientation, violence, alcohol abuse and depression (Sounds kind of like managing a restaurant)
• And, my favorite by far,  "Love Object" a movie described thusly  "A life size sex doll seems to become jealous of its owner's blossoming relationship with his pretty co-worker."  (Where was the Oscar buzz on this one?)

•   I saw a "Law & Order" rerun that had Briscoe referring to the sex-act as "horizontal hula lessons".  This is the official term here at Casa de Loose String from this day forward.

posted by: loosestring at 07:33 | link | comments |

Another little something I found stuck to the bottom of my shoe

I am currently experiencing the sleep pattern skew that occurs when the Daylight Savings Time change takes effect.  I get all antsy and jumpy at bedtime and find myself reading long after I should already be asleep.  I get up and go to work just like any normal day except that I come home and have the overwhelming urge to NAP! NOW!   This just perpetuates the cycle of sleeping and waking at less than ideal times and eventually I experience a crash that requires 24 hours of continuous sleep.   Then I am right as rain (at least for the next six months).

I went and bought pansies today.  It is officially Spring now.  Let the festivities begin.

I am working on a little song that I sing to my puppy (Maggie).  It is called "Frito Pie" and is sung to the tune of "Cherry Pie" by Warrant.
I decided that it would help the creative process along if I looked up the actual lyrics.  Imagine my surprise upon discovering  how truly inane they are.  I remember the video for this song mostly because it was in high rotation on MTV and because it was particularly offensive and overly simplistic (okay that describes 98% of videos but this one sticks out )  I was not really a hair metal girl.  I loved metal but when the hairspray and makeup the guys were wearing got thicker than mine, I was onto other things.  Really just back to Punk but definitely not part of the whole Warrant/Ratt/BonJovi/Cinderella/they-all-kind-of-run-together thing that was the musical miasma of the mid to late 80's.  It seems we experience this crap in the "music industry" every couple of years.  There are so many groupings of wannabe bands that run together for me.  The last great offense was the Creed/Puddle of Mudd/Linkin' Park/Hoobastank mess that was everywhere you went a couple of years ago.  We(okay, mainly me) had formulated a theory that you would never see these bands perform in one location because they were actually just one band with many names.

posted by: loosestring at 06:10 | link | comments |

Little Susie Mood Swing

 The past couple of days I have been in one of my mental downturns.  I am doing happy-making, fun things but I am struggling to be "in the moment" and just enjoy them.  This is not unusual but I am frustrated at times by my seeming inability to accept the good things.  I have spent the last several years trying to get some insight into my moods and motivations.  Part of that came out of the decision to stop drinking and try to put my very chaotic and out of control life back into some semblance of working order.  I have made progress to that end.  I can be very hard on myself when I fall short of my expectations.  Sometimes, right in the middle of a peaceful, happy moment, I start to question whether or not I deserve to have happiness.  That sounds melodramatic and simplistic but it is the most concise explanation I can give.

I have done some bad, thoughtless and even hurtful things in my life.  I understand that this is a part of being human and fallible.  I don't expect to be Mother Theresa.   But I can flash back so vividly on these moments, so suddenly be right back in the bad place, that I can feel exactly the same set of emotions I experienced at those times.  For instance, I am at the Bob Dylan show (more on that later) and I flash back to the time I got fired for drinking at work.  This happened more than 10 years ago but I am right back to the shame and the embarassment.  The person who did those things seems like someone I once knew; the memories don't seem like mine but rather a story I would relate about this crazy girl I used to know.  That is, most of the time they seem separate from me and who I am, but sometimes they come back with such vivid force that it stuns me.  Why the hell can't I just enjoy the damned show?

Okay.  The Dylan show.   Very good overall.  Merle Haggard opened up and that is always a treat.  I urge you to see Merle Haggard if you ever have the opportunity.  Even my friends who do not generally like Country Music like Merle Haggard.  The man is just so happy to perform and the band is so talented that you can't help but get caught up in it.  Dylan was Dylan.  The band was fabulous. 

I have decided that I have seen enough Bob Dylan for now.  I am so irked by the typical Dylan fans (read dirty hippies) that I just don't enjoy the show as much as I should.  This time the venue was the Auditorium Theater.  It is this lovely, ornate concert hall with nice seats and good acoustics.  Unfortunately, the overly-enthusiastic screaming guy right next to us was a bit distracting.  He keep doing the ear-drum-splitting "Whoooooooooooo!!!!" every couple of songs or so and then he began to dance so wildly that we thought perhaps a mosh pit had begun in our row.  (I have never seen a mosh pit at a Dylan concert but you never know).  Then there was just the idiots that had to stand through the whole thing.  I can see getting up to dance or get a little crazy when you hear the song you love, but there were two guys about fifteen rows from the stage that were just standing up in the middle of a seated audience.  Annoyance aside, their silhouette looked like "Jay and Silent Bob".  This was at least good for a laugh.  Finally, the usher (whom we nicknamed Godzilla because she was so crabby and reminded me of this little wind-up Godzilla toy that I used to have that shot sparks out of it's mouth and had light-up laser beam eyes)came and told them to be seated.  I think "Jay's" head must have been helium-filled though, because he just kept drifting into a standing position and bobbing around.

And there is the matter of that distinctive odor that I can only classify as "dirty hippie ass".

Today was a beautiful, bright, sunshine-y day.  I was chained to my desk,  toiling humbly  for a good part of the day but I managed to get outside with the puppies and do a little yard work after work.  The yard is going to be beautiful.  A lot of things are beginning to come up and the bushes are starting to bud.  The patio furniture is out and it will not be long before we are able to have dinner outside every evening.   I made fresh pesto tonight with ravioli and marinated shrimp.  It was quite tasty.  Better when I can use my own homegrown basil, but it will do for now.

Ex-husband #2 (we are still friends) called to tell me that he had been up to northern Michigan (where he is from) to visit his father (87 and in a nursing home) and he had brought me home a photographic enlarger.  I have to set up an area as a dark room but I have the big and very expensive piece of the puzzle now.  This is exciting because I am taking the Summer off from school but I will still be able to do some work when I feel like it.  I am hoping that I can do some jewelry work as well.  I think I may be a bit more excited about the prospect when I am not on a deadline to complete a specific project for a class assignment.

That is probably more than enough for today.

posted by: loosestring at 06:21 | link | comments |

 My favorite moment this week came during a phone conversation at work  when I found my self saying, "I believe you might be torquing your nuts too tight.".  It made the whole week worth it somehow.

I have been busy and busier.  I started classes again this week.  I am taking two Photography classes and they both seem like they will be challenging but fun.  One class is with an instructor I have had before who actually managed to make an 8:30am Saturday morning class something I looked forward to all week.  He is funny and goofy and I learned a lot from him.  The other class is with an intsructor I have spoken to before in the photo lab.  His teaching style is a bit drier but he seems to know his stuff.  He did, however, get off on this long explanation of some mathematical formulas used in Photography that made my brain curl up into a fetal position.  I understand math but I am not a big fan of it and when someone starts talking about numbers on a Saturday morning I just cannot get enthused.  I did manage to follow his logic but enough with the scary numbers already!

Last night we went to see Jon Stewart.  We managed to get to the venue with only minor detours(yay illogical Chicago cross streets).  I tend to get very unwilling to go out early on a Friday night when I have not had the appropriate amount of quiet time to decompress from the week but I sucked it up and made my self presentable and we were off.  The navigation was complicated by the fact that it was raining and Chicagoans do not drive well in the rain.  We braved the cold, rainy, dark night and were well rewarded for our fortitude.  The show was really funny and a little bit gross.  It seems like he really enjoyed doing the stand up and maybe not having to edit even the little bit he does for "The Daily Show".  I am not as big a fan as my boyfriend is, but I would highly recommend seeing him if you get the chance. 

I have decided that I am going to post some pictures here so:


and my first crocus:





So that is all for now.  We are going to see Bob Dylan tonight.  I am caught up in this whirlwind of social activity.

posted by: loosestring at 00:41 | link | comments |