After two posts of breaking the ice, so to speak, I'm going to try and tone it down - one subject per post, under 300 words. Hope it helps in keeping up. I guess I just have so much to say cause I'm quiet and processing most of the time.
This week, I purchased my first toy with my discount. I actually got a few things. Then I got some free things!!! (my favorite kind of things.)
I suppose by now I'm fairly comfortable with my body and (the ideas of) my desires. (Sometimes my actual desires make me nervous.) But that's after years of not knowing shit. Or...not knowing the things I wanted to know. It's always a struggle to understand this mystery called "Reed" better.
There are things I expected to come up against with a job at an adult boutique. Being regularly surrounded by 3.5 walls of plastic body parts and and other toys inspired by them can't leave you unchanged. That was my starting hypothesis, so to speak.
I must say, just being around sex objects has become much more normal. Dildos and other toys are now parts of my visual repertoire. They come up in my thoughts frequently, and without the same kind of ignorant nervousness as before.
Talking to strangers about their needs in sex toys has become relatively more comfortable than it was a month ago. I've always been prudish in talking about sexual subjects. At best, I revert to a very scientific and detached language. I suppose being direct and effective with customers requires that I drop that for more common language. I have to pretend (for now) to be comfortable with talking about sex - who'd have thought??? I guess all kinds of people can get into working at adult stores...and some of them may be a bit nervous.
In the interest of space, I'll talk more about (my) toys later. But, the last applicable thought I had to this stream was: how does one get comfortable with sexuality? Do you, readers, have any ideas? I'd definitely love to hear them.
I thought that working at a place serving sexual appetites would help me to understand my own better, simply through osmosis, I suppose. But I suppose that's like expecting that working at a grocery store would help one understand their body's need for food, and what kinds of food they like. That is a logic I would like to see widespread. It certainly exists in food co-op spaces. And I think certain adult stores encourage their employees to explore their desires, needs, pleasure centers, bodies, fantasies, etc.
I don't work in one of those. Corporate shit is cock-blocking me from understanding myself.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Saturday, October 8, 2011
On families, pt. 1
Alright! It's been almost a week since my last post, and I've worked one more shift. It was only Wednesday, but seems ages ago after two full days of barista-ing (switching my mind between different jobs adds hours to the day). I've also been trying to process enough to get another solid post. (Look at me, trying so hard to post regularly! we'll see how long it lasts...)
So, I have two things to add today! One is about sweet men...one in particular. The other is about family - my family - and their reactions to learning of my latest line of work.
I had another good shift Wednesday. It didn't start so great, though. I drove my mom and her boo to the airport early in the morning, then agreed to come in to work early, turning my 5 hour shift into 8 hours. I definitely could have practiced some self-care and rested during those three hours, or maybe prepared food so I didn't have to order delivery during my shift. But instead I agreed...(there's something about this abstract fear of not having enough money that I need to kick. seriously...three jobs and I'm taking more hours because I have such an ingrained sense of worry. It needs to stop).
So I went in to cover a few hours so my manager could finish paperwork and get on her way to the headquarters in Chicago (she gets to take back things we never sold and get new merch! I'm so excited to see what we get!). It was a pretty good shift, business-wise, with just enough of a slow spell near dinner time that I had ample nomming opportunities. Also of note, it was my second shift and I sold $200 more in merch than the first! I've never worked for commission, so this is a little exciting (for now).
Easily the most touching and memorable interaction I had that day was with an older man. I'd barely noticed him until he came to the counter with his arms full (he was one of the quiet shoppers who research their purchases, then come in and simply choose the best/most applicable version of their target toys). I looked down and I saw: cock rings (x2), a medium sized (that's roughly...7-8 in./2 in. in our stock) dildo based off a casting of a real porn star's erection and sack, and a penis pump. :) The guy was set - he didn't need anything else. I could tell he was well-versed in what he was getting, so I got to the point and rung him up.
During out transaction however, he started up conversation. I've found in the service industry that, sometimes, people just want to talk. This was one of those times. He was a white man that looked to be in his 50's. He had a large frame, glasses, a receding hairline with a thinning top, a mustache. I imagined if I were his wife I would look at all of those things, lovingly, in the way they reflected a very caring person, but not necessarily defined him or set him apart. He looked like many late-middle-aged white men who work jobs that probably aren't very satisfying, and perhaps he didn't have many people to talk to other than his wife. (He actually kind of reminded me of that "Jump to Conclusions Mat" guy from Office Space.) But he said things that I wish I heard more often in this store.
He told me he was trying to keep his wife happy, after 25 years of marriage. He said it'd been going well so far, and he was just trying to keep things that way. He said he'd been researching on the internet and found out so many possible solutions for his pursuit.
It wasn't a long conversation, but a few things struck me about it:
1. This guy is sweet, dedicated, and honest with his wife and himself. He was trying to improve his own performance and compensate for natural aging processes, but he was also willing to use dildo to get his wife (and, potentially, himself - directly or indirectly) off, in the event that his erection couldn't be kept or wasn't enough. (At least that's how I read this.) What honesty! I want to be as loving and dedicated to myself and the people I'm intimate with as my body continues to show signs of aging.
2. He was proactive about his sex life (and in the process of pursuing sexual fulfillment for him and his wife, may have broken down personal barriers like going to sex-shops and admitting personal shortcomings...damnit work-related puns - there's at least one in every post). I do see a lot of older guys in the shop on any given day, but I'd say about 99% of them, thus far, have purchased tokens to the arcade, dvd's, or magazines. An older guy buying a toy is something of a rarity (in my very limited experience).
3. I guess it might be expected by now...but I sometimes am surprised to find that adults are using the internet (I'm ridiculous, right?). Really, though, I've had to teach my mom so many things about computers and other technologies that my first reaction is surprise. It's pretty stupid of me, but I don't know...finding out that an older guy was using the internet to research sexual queries and problems just like I do - that's pretty amazing. lol.
What a guy.
And, to bring the family conversation home, to my families...I have reactions to report. Interesting ones, actually. I never expected my parents (bio and step) to respond with laughs and curiosity when I told them I worked at an adult store. Resigned acceptance I expected (and I did get some of it).
The truth came out with my mom first. It was actually over the phone, if I recall. We hadn't talked in a few days, and when one of our attempts to reach each other finally succeeded, she, understandably, asked why I'd been so busy. I don't know if I just can't lie, or if I didn't care enough to try and lie (that's probably closer to the truth), but I came out with it. I didn't say: "I work at an adult store," I said something like..."well, I've been working a lot between my jobs." I laid a little hint for her to pursue, should she choose (I knew she would...who am I kidding?).
So I told her, and what did she do? She laughed. The surprised kind. The kind that's really just an ascending "ha HAH," with the glottal stop at the end - a quick, surprised exclamation. I may be wrong, but I believe it may be a bit of a nervous habit, too.
Once that was out of the way, she asked me about it. I don't know what it is...I guess we all do this to a degree: describe our work differently to different people. There are different reasons for it. In this case, I felt the need to assure my mother that I wasn't doing it because I really enjoyed it, but more because I wanted to bring something (sex-positivity, community education and presence) to the place. Maybe I said it to remind myself of those things, too.
When I get overwhelmed with pressures to the point of paralysis, sometimes all it takes is the concern of a parent to snap out it. Their faith that I can find happiness - and worry when it eludes me - sometimes feels like pestering, but really, it's a gift that I can't give myself nearly as often as I wish. So, while my mom is cool with it and accepts that she can't control what I do, I will try to read her reaction as a hope that I don't give up on jobs like the Planned Parenthood one I almost had (or volunteering for similar places/initiatives).
Then, I saw my dad and step-mom last night, and it kind of came out then, too. I took a trip to their used record, book, and general-awesome-stuff shop, BackBeats, for some quality time and record shopping. :) It was a good time, as always, and during our catching up, I came out with it much in the way I had to my mom. Unlike my mom, who I believe needed explanation of which kind of arcade I was talking about, my dad was familiar. lol. He chuckled a bit, then called my step-mom over, saying: "hey, you'll never guess where Reed works now!" It was pretty great, actually. They seemed genuinely interested that I worked there, and took it all light-heartedly. I appreciated that.
My dad and I haven't had much in the way of conversations about sexuality. I know he's always been accepting of whatever me and my bro do, and perhaps this can be a way to open up that kind of conversation. I hope so.... I don't want to have the same kinds of convos with my parents about sex(uality) that I have with my friends, but I would like to at least have that area of life not be closed off for conversation for lack of trying or language.
And again, this comes up: how much is too much to push? If this doesn't come naturally, is it something that should be pursued? I don't even know what I'd want to talk about...but it's something I've always wondered about, simply because it was absent in conversation. Part of me thinks it's just because my parents' parents never talked to them about sexuality. Pretty conservative upbringings. But they rebelled against that. I just took for granted that they're still struggling with things, as I am. As with all of us, they have blind spots, they struggle with expression, they are working for growth.
If anything, this experience (the moving home, the jobs I got, the thought-processing and blogging about it all) is bringing me closer to them. Maybe some of the distance is imagined. The deeper I go, I realize the lines I think lie between me and others are more fuzzy and flexible than they look from afar.
A few notes, in closing:
I don't know how many people caught the reference from last post, but Wizard People, Dear Reader, is an actual thing. It's a bit brilliant, really. A guy took the first Harry Potter film and dubbed it as a book on tape. He didn't know the entire story (only what he gathered from the first film, itself - he'd never read the books), which makes it all the more interesting. People are assigned new names (Ronnie the Bear, HP, Harmony, Nearly Dead Dumbledore), which I find hilarious. AND he has the most horribly ridiculous narration voice. I believe most, if not all, of the film is available via youtube. The linked title a few lines up takes you to the first part in youtube. Highly recommended.
Hopefully word is getting out about my endeavor here (tell your friends, if you like what I have so far - or even if you don't). I had a little romanticized day dream the other day of having a following and being a blogger. (though, clearly I am a blogger, as this is a blog...but in my head it equates more to having a personality and presence, like my buddies at recon(figure)asian). I guess we'll see what comes of this.
Also, I don't know if I made it clear, but everything posted prior to the last post was unrelated, other than being a part of my life. I don't want to delete those posts because they may help others or myself. But, what do you think, should I make a new blog and repost this and the last posts and start fresh? I guess it probably depends on where my sights are set.
So, I have two things to add today! One is about sweet men...one in particular. The other is about family - my family - and their reactions to learning of my latest line of work.
I had another good shift Wednesday. It didn't start so great, though. I drove my mom and her boo to the airport early in the morning, then agreed to come in to work early, turning my 5 hour shift into 8 hours. I definitely could have practiced some self-care and rested during those three hours, or maybe prepared food so I didn't have to order delivery during my shift. But instead I agreed...(there's something about this abstract fear of not having enough money that I need to kick. seriously...three jobs and I'm taking more hours because I have such an ingrained sense of worry. It needs to stop).
So I went in to cover a few hours so my manager could finish paperwork and get on her way to the headquarters in Chicago (she gets to take back things we never sold and get new merch! I'm so excited to see what we get!). It was a pretty good shift, business-wise, with just enough of a slow spell near dinner time that I had ample nomming opportunities. Also of note, it was my second shift and I sold $200 more in merch than the first! I've never worked for commission, so this is a little exciting (for now).
Easily the most touching and memorable interaction I had that day was with an older man. I'd barely noticed him until he came to the counter with his arms full (he was one of the quiet shoppers who research their purchases, then come in and simply choose the best/most applicable version of their target toys). I looked down and I saw: cock rings (x2), a medium sized (that's roughly...7-8 in./2 in. in our stock) dildo based off a casting of a real porn star's erection and sack, and a penis pump. :) The guy was set - he didn't need anything else. I could tell he was well-versed in what he was getting, so I got to the point and rung him up.
During out transaction however, he started up conversation. I've found in the service industry that, sometimes, people just want to talk. This was one of those times. He was a white man that looked to be in his 50's. He had a large frame, glasses, a receding hairline with a thinning top, a mustache. I imagined if I were his wife I would look at all of those things, lovingly, in the way they reflected a very caring person, but not necessarily defined him or set him apart. He looked like many late-middle-aged white men who work jobs that probably aren't very satisfying, and perhaps he didn't have many people to talk to other than his wife. (He actually kind of reminded me of that "Jump to Conclusions Mat" guy from Office Space.) But he said things that I wish I heard more often in this store.
He told me he was trying to keep his wife happy, after 25 years of marriage. He said it'd been going well so far, and he was just trying to keep things that way. He said he'd been researching on the internet and found out so many possible solutions for his pursuit.
It wasn't a long conversation, but a few things struck me about it:
1. This guy is sweet, dedicated, and honest with his wife and himself. He was trying to improve his own performance and compensate for natural aging processes, but he was also willing to use dildo to get his wife (and, potentially, himself - directly or indirectly) off, in the event that his erection couldn't be kept or wasn't enough. (At least that's how I read this.) What honesty! I want to be as loving and dedicated to myself and the people I'm intimate with as my body continues to show signs of aging.
2. He was proactive about his sex life (and in the process of pursuing sexual fulfillment for him and his wife, may have broken down personal barriers like going to sex-shops and admitting personal shortcomings...damnit work-related puns - there's at least one in every post). I do see a lot of older guys in the shop on any given day, but I'd say about 99% of them, thus far, have purchased tokens to the arcade, dvd's, or magazines. An older guy buying a toy is something of a rarity (in my very limited experience).
3. I guess it might be expected by now...but I sometimes am surprised to find that adults are using the internet (I'm ridiculous, right?). Really, though, I've had to teach my mom so many things about computers and other technologies that my first reaction is surprise. It's pretty stupid of me, but I don't know...finding out that an older guy was using the internet to research sexual queries and problems just like I do - that's pretty amazing. lol.
What a guy.
And, to bring the family conversation home, to my families...I have reactions to report. Interesting ones, actually. I never expected my parents (bio and step) to respond with laughs and curiosity when I told them I worked at an adult store. Resigned acceptance I expected (and I did get some of it).
The truth came out with my mom first. It was actually over the phone, if I recall. We hadn't talked in a few days, and when one of our attempts to reach each other finally succeeded, she, understandably, asked why I'd been so busy. I don't know if I just can't lie, or if I didn't care enough to try and lie (that's probably closer to the truth), but I came out with it. I didn't say: "I work at an adult store," I said something like..."well, I've been working a lot between my jobs." I laid a little hint for her to pursue, should she choose (I knew she would...who am I kidding?).
So I told her, and what did she do? She laughed. The surprised kind. The kind that's really just an ascending "ha HAH," with the glottal stop at the end - a quick, surprised exclamation. I may be wrong, but I believe it may be a bit of a nervous habit, too.
Once that was out of the way, she asked me about it. I don't know what it is...I guess we all do this to a degree: describe our work differently to different people. There are different reasons for it. In this case, I felt the need to assure my mother that I wasn't doing it because I really enjoyed it, but more because I wanted to bring something (sex-positivity, community education and presence) to the place. Maybe I said it to remind myself of those things, too.
When I get overwhelmed with pressures to the point of paralysis, sometimes all it takes is the concern of a parent to snap out it. Their faith that I can find happiness - and worry when it eludes me - sometimes feels like pestering, but really, it's a gift that I can't give myself nearly as often as I wish. So, while my mom is cool with it and accepts that she can't control what I do, I will try to read her reaction as a hope that I don't give up on jobs like the Planned Parenthood one I almost had (or volunteering for similar places/initiatives).
Then, I saw my dad and step-mom last night, and it kind of came out then, too. I took a trip to their used record, book, and general-awesome-stuff shop, BackBeats, for some quality time and record shopping. :) It was a good time, as always, and during our catching up, I came out with it much in the way I had to my mom. Unlike my mom, who I believe needed explanation of which kind of arcade I was talking about, my dad was familiar. lol. He chuckled a bit, then called my step-mom over, saying: "hey, you'll never guess where Reed works now!" It was pretty great, actually. They seemed genuinely interested that I worked there, and took it all light-heartedly. I appreciated that.
My dad and I haven't had much in the way of conversations about sexuality. I know he's always been accepting of whatever me and my bro do, and perhaps this can be a way to open up that kind of conversation. I hope so.... I don't want to have the same kinds of convos with my parents about sex(uality) that I have with my friends, but I would like to at least have that area of life not be closed off for conversation for lack of trying or language.
And again, this comes up: how much is too much to push? If this doesn't come naturally, is it something that should be pursued? I don't even know what I'd want to talk about...but it's something I've always wondered about, simply because it was absent in conversation. Part of me thinks it's just because my parents' parents never talked to them about sexuality. Pretty conservative upbringings. But they rebelled against that. I just took for granted that they're still struggling with things, as I am. As with all of us, they have blind spots, they struggle with expression, they are working for growth.
If anything, this experience (the moving home, the jobs I got, the thought-processing and blogging about it all) is bringing me closer to them. Maybe some of the distance is imagined. The deeper I go, I realize the lines I think lie between me and others are more fuzzy and flexible than they look from afar.
A few notes, in closing:
I don't know how many people caught the reference from last post, but Wizard People, Dear Reader, is an actual thing. It's a bit brilliant, really. A guy took the first Harry Potter film and dubbed it as a book on tape. He didn't know the entire story (only what he gathered from the first film, itself - he'd never read the books), which makes it all the more interesting. People are assigned new names (Ronnie the Bear, HP, Harmony, Nearly Dead Dumbledore), which I find hilarious. AND he has the most horribly ridiculous narration voice. I believe most, if not all, of the film is available via youtube. The linked title a few lines up takes you to the first part in youtube. Highly recommended.
Hopefully word is getting out about my endeavor here (tell your friends, if you like what I have so far - or even if you don't). I had a little romanticized day dream the other day of having a following and being a blogger. (though, clearly I am a blogger, as this is a blog...but in my head it equates more to having a personality and presence, like my buddies at recon(figure)asian). I guess we'll see what comes of this.
Also, I don't know if I made it clear, but everything posted prior to the last post was unrelated, other than being a part of my life. I don't want to delete those posts because they may help others or myself. But, what do you think, should I make a new blog and repost this and the last posts and start fresh? I guess it probably depends on where my sights are set.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
New direction....and
(Wizard people,) Dear Reader,
It's been a long time, and things have changed. But they haven't changed that much. I may have a good use for the blog url now.... I was trying to anticipate that when I chose it.
It is October, 2011. I'm living in Urbana, Illinois, and I've found two jobs. It seems a bit of a feat, given the times, and I'm thankful that I don't have to stress about money. But, as is the trend with me, it came after applying and failing to get more specialized and challenging work. Mega sad.
In any case, one of my jo(r)bs now is at an adult store, boutique, porn shop, or whatever name you'd like to call it.
I keep finding that I want to talk about it with people. There are so many stories, questions, and images this brings up. So, I'm going to do my best to share...but keep things anonymous and respectful.
***However... if anything seems too direct, descriptive, or if you read anything that seems to give away someone's identity, perhaps you, dear reader, would comment about it, or message me.
In any case, I begin.
Last night, I worked my first solo shift. It was 8pm to midnight, and it was Sunday.
First, I should explain a bit about where I work. It's a shop, but it also has viewing booths (solo only, plz) in the back. It has lots of DVDs and mags, compared to other shops I've been to before, but it also has a decent amount of toys (more than the other sections combined, in terms of space). It is under the management of a larger group, based in Chicago, that owns stores all over the midwest. It has no expressed political, educational, or sex positive motives. It is about meeting sales goals, set by "corporate."
So, that all means a lot of stuff for how the store is run - mostly that decisions that affect our day-to-day operations are made by people who have very little to do with our day-to-day. Frustrating. And also, I feel it carries the effect of stifling any creativity our manager may have. So, I don't know how she'd feel if I had any creative ideas, too.
But on to last night...
I got there, and it had been slow up to that point. I wasn't expecting much business. The guy working the shift before mine said "good luck, I wouldn't be surprised if you did better than me on sales...it was DEAD tonight." Perhaps I should have read that differently, but I thought he was saying it would be slow...oh, was I wrong...
Not like anything super nutso happened...but it was my first shift there alone, and it was Sunday night...anything coulda happened.
Notes I took:
TREND: Guys keep keys out, in hand jangling
A lot of couples came in, and I noticed the guys looking pretty uncomfortable. The reason I say this is: they had their keys in their hands. It wasn't just once, it was multiple people! I've never noticed this phenomenon before. Maybe it's something people do when they go somewhere they're uncomfortable (or uncomfortable with that part of themselves). The way I see it, you hold on to your keys to remind yourself that you will be leaving. But maybe it also keeps you from looking as long, as deep, or as hard, as you might, if left to your own devices. (lol...that just came out, whoops!)
Seriously...I'm trying my darndest to provide service in an unintimidating way. I want to be knowledgeable, be able to provide knowledgeable answers, or point people to answers if I don't have them. I want people to feel comfortable, but even getting through the doors is such a hurdle for some, it's a lot for me to be asking. I can tell, already, that some customers appreciated my approach to service in that store, and that makes me feel nice. I want to take those experiences away. But it's also interesting to experience just how people's discomforts manifest in such an environment. Wow.
THE Mannequin Display
Oh, speaking of quirky things, we have a new display up for the holidays (the Hallow's Eve, that is)! Of course, it wouldn't be complete without the standard movie porn parodies, of which we have...Halloween (the first one), Scream, Alice in Wonderland (titled "Malice in LalaLand, if I'm not mistaken), as well as a compilation of porn versions of older monster movies (Frankenstein, the Creature from the Black Lagoon, Dracula - that's gotta be fun, if you're into that). We also have little themed "scene" displays, like nurse/patient/medical stuff on one shelf, sexy maid stuff one another, hentai on another, and so on.
But the best one, or the one I think is most fun (and maybe also the least intimidating, because it doesn't involve porn...and also just seems so distant from the reality of its use) is our spider web bed frame bondage set, hung on the wall, binding a Britney Spears blowup doll ("It's Britney, bitch!"), sporting a blindfold and a see-through lingerie g-string and drapey-top-thing set....
Just imagine it for a second.
But to do that, first you'll have to imagine this blow-up doll actually looks nothing like Britney Spears. This is not a nice, realistic one. It looks like plastic. Its curves reflect the limitations of its material. The limbs aren't very round - more tear-drop-shaped, because the seam doesn't inflate as smoothly as the rest. There are no 3-dimensional facial features - but that doesn't matter, they're covered by the blindfold (except, of course, the "mouth").
All in all, one of the most ridiculous things I've ever seen. And I get to work under, next to, in front of it all the time. At least it's Britney. lol
$20 Man
The final thing that I have to add to this post is the story of a man. Here, I will write, verbatim, the quote as it came to my mind, and out of my mouth, while I jotted it down right before I passed out that night.
"No lie, a man who straight-up looked like a wizard came into the porno shop tonight. Complete with Nikes & a beanie from some light beer company"
And that is what happened.
If he hadn't been wearing the Nikes and some headband (it wasn't actually a beanie cap, it was an upside down headband) with something like..."Mountain Light" or "Midwest Light" or one of those water-beer names on it, I'd have thought to myself "now, here, is an urban wizard!"
I didn't know they existed.
But I guess that's the thing...if they exist, they might just show up in the porno shop someday.
To finish out the story, I owe you a description of his presence and what transpired.
When he walked in, my first reactions were "he looks really cool" and "he looks out of place." He was wearing a black hooded cloak that went to his calves or ankles. It was kind of tight (dimensionally, but it was also really cool). He had a leather belt. On it was a knife. A small one. Switchblade. Nothing special. And I never, at any point, had the impression he was thinking of weilding it. (Thank goodness! - I have yet to have a violent outbreak from a customer, but I'm told it'll happen sooner or later. *Gulp*)
Looking up from the belt, you'll see many a necklace, with amulets and pouches that adorn his chest. The most prominent was the skull of something kind of large - perhaps a deer. It had been cut, so it was only the top layer of the bones, the plane of the face you would see if you looked head-on. It was attached to a leather pouch, and then grey stones with fake rubies for pupils had been affixed in the eye sockets. (Please stop yourselves, dear readers, if you imagine this looking intimidating. It was clearly home-made. perhaps the pouch was not, as it looked very cool. If the eye sockets were empty, it would have been mighty cool. But it looked a bit silly (almost in the way a pug's eyeballs go in different directions.) Another amulet was a green stone background with a metal scarab beetle on it. This looked pretty cool, thought slightly out of place in the 21st century.
As you follow this hand-full of chains up his chest to his shoulders, you will find a very attractive collar. It, too, seems to be taking a note from ancient Egyptian aesthetics. It is a fan-like collar made of wire, threaded with miniature multicolored beads. Impressive. This was my favorite part of his outfit, and with the cloak, it was actually pretty neat.
Again, you can't fixate on this detail without being led upward by another feature - a bush of tangled grey hairs hanging from his chin. This man has not shaved in years. The beard only adds to the allure he exudes. measuring in at what must be 4 inches, or so, in length, it is quite a force. parts had a bit of a yellowish tint to them - I imagine from tobacco. And framed by this bush was his mouth...
I don't need to relay it, but suffice it to say, I saw no pearly-whites in his mouth. I don't believe anything in there was white anymore.
When he approached me, I didn't know what to expect. But it became apparent, after a few moments, that he was not looking for anything. Not a thing, so much as a conversation. He wanted to talk, and so I listened. I listened, dear readers, because I knew not what else to do. The man had a knife, but he also had been drinking. He'd probably been drinking for years, come to think of it. It was a Sunday night, my first night alone, and I didn't want any trouble.
So I listened.
He told me about the bar he'd been at (one of the two gay bars in town), and how the bartender had mixed him a drink called a Klingon. He said it made people fight. He told me about fighting...breaking up fights, ending fights (with big knives). He told me he was still feeling it, and he needed to get off the street for a while so he could sober up and get on his way. He also told me many things I can't remember, to be honest. Our brains were working with two different notions of what made 'sense.'
A few people came in and left the store during this conversation. It must have lasted 20 minutes or so. I left our conversation for the fourth time, or so, to help another customer, and when I returned I asked, for the second time, "can I get you anything, buddy?" After fiddling with his wallet (another one of the pouches hanging from his neck), he pulled out a 20 and asked for (not $3 or $5, as most customers do, but) $20 in tokens for the arcade. If you figure that each token gets about 1.5 minutes, and there are 4 tokens to a dollar, just like quarters, then you're looking at almost 2 hours of arcade time. I don't think he left before I did.... Maybe he just wanted a nap. My boss told me people do that, especially when it's colder.
(why do people think they can take advantage of us just because we're the porno shop? Is that a rhetorical question? It wasn't intended to be.)
I thought the magician was going to be on his way after a brief respite, but he actually wanted some of our services. It was quite the surprise. Maybe I just thought he would be different...
In any case, I'll have plenty more to talk about. This was the beginning of a journey. I have a long way to go before I feel remotely comfortable in this position. (Man...once you work in an adult store, everything seems to have a sexual pun - if it didn't already, which may be why one works at an adult store to begin with...). Does the person choose the profession, or the profession the person?
Two Final Things:
1. When I say porno shop, that's done tongue-in-cheek (if I'm using that phrase correctly). It's a joke. Nearly every time I've mentioned my job to someone, they've referred to it as the "porn store," "porno shop," or something of the sort. They've been aghast, amused, confounded, surprised to learn that a "guy-like-me" works at a "place-like-that." I've told my mom, her boyfriend, my brother, many friends, and coworkers at my other jobs. My father doesn't know...I'll write an article about telling the parents, someday. That should be a blast.
Anyway, my point is: around here, "adult boutique" means almost nothing to people. It may say those words on the building, but in people's minds, it's the porno shop - the place where people go to jack off, "and lord-av-mercy if you have to clean up after them!" (I don't.) I don't know what else to do but what feels right, but, for now, that has little to do with what people call it. It's more about how they feel about it. And that, I hope to change.
2. To sign off, dear readers, I will leave you with a quote. It's hand-picked from some recent reading (Whip Smart, by Melissa Febos). This is one of the first times that I've read a book and the opening quote meant something to me. It was visceral. I knew the book would be good from that moment. I hadn't even started the story (though I had an inkling it would be interesting, being based on exploits as a forme professional dominatrix and all). The words were not even this author's. And here are those words:
"I am human, let nothing human be foreign to me." - Montaigne
I don't know who this Montaigne is. I have to look that up - something I'll admit to being terrible about. And perhaps this is a common quote, one you are surprised I hadn't heard or read before. But honestly, I don't care. When something hits you, it's the right moment. I've found that from my life, over and over. It happens a lot with music. I think: "Oh, man! I wish I'd found this sooner," when I find an album months or years after the hype has passed. But, perhaps I wouldn't have been ready if I did. Perhaps it wouldn't hit as hard, or leave the same mark. Being wrapped up in the buzz keeps me from enjoying things on my own terms, and there's a lot to be lost from missing that.
If I think back on my life (I hope you'll allow me this indulgence), this quote sums up much of my pursuits to this day. I try to keep things like "do one thing each day that scares you" in my mind frequently, so that I may experience more out of life. So that I may keep my brain active, always taking on new challenges, and rewiring for new information.
This quote, like no other, suggests the life track that I'm after. I'm not saying I want to live fast and die young, but I want to live a life that pushes my boundaries. Because it is in those moments that I realize I am strong, adaptable, lovable.
The question is, how hard do I push?
It's been a long time, and things have changed. But they haven't changed that much. I may have a good use for the blog url now.... I was trying to anticipate that when I chose it.
It is October, 2011. I'm living in Urbana, Illinois, and I've found two jobs. It seems a bit of a feat, given the times, and I'm thankful that I don't have to stress about money. But, as is the trend with me, it came after applying and failing to get more specialized and challenging work. Mega sad.
In any case, one of my jo(r)bs now is at an adult store, boutique, porn shop, or whatever name you'd like to call it.
I keep finding that I want to talk about it with people. There are so many stories, questions, and images this brings up. So, I'm going to do my best to share...but keep things anonymous and respectful.
***However... if anything seems too direct, descriptive, or if you read anything that seems to give away someone's identity, perhaps you, dear reader, would comment about it, or message me.
In any case, I begin.
Last night, I worked my first solo shift. It was 8pm to midnight, and it was Sunday.
First, I should explain a bit about where I work. It's a shop, but it also has viewing booths (solo only, plz) in the back. It has lots of DVDs and mags, compared to other shops I've been to before, but it also has a decent amount of toys (more than the other sections combined, in terms of space). It is under the management of a larger group, based in Chicago, that owns stores all over the midwest. It has no expressed political, educational, or sex positive motives. It is about meeting sales goals, set by "corporate."
So, that all means a lot of stuff for how the store is run - mostly that decisions that affect our day-to-day operations are made by people who have very little to do with our day-to-day. Frustrating. And also, I feel it carries the effect of stifling any creativity our manager may have. So, I don't know how she'd feel if I had any creative ideas, too.
But on to last night...
I got there, and it had been slow up to that point. I wasn't expecting much business. The guy working the shift before mine said "good luck, I wouldn't be surprised if you did better than me on sales...it was DEAD tonight." Perhaps I should have read that differently, but I thought he was saying it would be slow...oh, was I wrong...
Not like anything super nutso happened...but it was my first shift there alone, and it was Sunday night...anything coulda happened.
Notes I took:
TREND: Guys keep keys out, in hand jangling
A lot of couples came in, and I noticed the guys looking pretty uncomfortable. The reason I say this is: they had their keys in their hands. It wasn't just once, it was multiple people! I've never noticed this phenomenon before. Maybe it's something people do when they go somewhere they're uncomfortable (or uncomfortable with that part of themselves). The way I see it, you hold on to your keys to remind yourself that you will be leaving. But maybe it also keeps you from looking as long, as deep, or as hard, as you might, if left to your own devices. (lol...that just came out, whoops!)
Seriously...I'm trying my darndest to provide service in an unintimidating way. I want to be knowledgeable, be able to provide knowledgeable answers, or point people to answers if I don't have them. I want people to feel comfortable, but even getting through the doors is such a hurdle for some, it's a lot for me to be asking. I can tell, already, that some customers appreciated my approach to service in that store, and that makes me feel nice. I want to take those experiences away. But it's also interesting to experience just how people's discomforts manifest in such an environment. Wow.
THE Mannequin Display
Oh, speaking of quirky things, we have a new display up for the holidays (the Hallow's Eve, that is)! Of course, it wouldn't be complete without the standard movie porn parodies, of which we have...Halloween (the first one), Scream, Alice in Wonderland (titled "Malice in LalaLand, if I'm not mistaken), as well as a compilation of porn versions of older monster movies (Frankenstein, the Creature from the Black Lagoon, Dracula - that's gotta be fun, if you're into that). We also have little themed "scene" displays, like nurse/patient/medical stuff on one shelf, sexy maid stuff one another, hentai on another, and so on.
But the best one, or the one I think is most fun (and maybe also the least intimidating, because it doesn't involve porn...and also just seems so distant from the reality of its use) is our spider web bed frame bondage set, hung on the wall, binding a Britney Spears blowup doll ("It's Britney, bitch!"), sporting a blindfold and a see-through lingerie g-string and drapey-top-thing set....
Just imagine it for a second.
But to do that, first you'll have to imagine this blow-up doll actually looks nothing like Britney Spears. This is not a nice, realistic one. It looks like plastic. Its curves reflect the limitations of its material. The limbs aren't very round - more tear-drop-shaped, because the seam doesn't inflate as smoothly as the rest. There are no 3-dimensional facial features - but that doesn't matter, they're covered by the blindfold (except, of course, the "mouth").
All in all, one of the most ridiculous things I've ever seen. And I get to work under, next to, in front of it all the time. At least it's Britney. lol
$20 Man
The final thing that I have to add to this post is the story of a man. Here, I will write, verbatim, the quote as it came to my mind, and out of my mouth, while I jotted it down right before I passed out that night.
"No lie, a man who straight-up looked like a wizard came into the porno shop tonight. Complete with Nikes & a beanie from some light beer company"
And that is what happened.
If he hadn't been wearing the Nikes and some headband (it wasn't actually a beanie cap, it was an upside down headband) with something like..."Mountain Light" or "Midwest Light" or one of those water-beer names on it, I'd have thought to myself "now, here, is an urban wizard!"
I didn't know they existed.
But I guess that's the thing...if they exist, they might just show up in the porno shop someday.
To finish out the story, I owe you a description of his presence and what transpired.
When he walked in, my first reactions were "he looks really cool" and "he looks out of place." He was wearing a black hooded cloak that went to his calves or ankles. It was kind of tight (dimensionally, but it was also really cool). He had a leather belt. On it was a knife. A small one. Switchblade. Nothing special. And I never, at any point, had the impression he was thinking of weilding it. (Thank goodness! - I have yet to have a violent outbreak from a customer, but I'm told it'll happen sooner or later. *Gulp*)
Looking up from the belt, you'll see many a necklace, with amulets and pouches that adorn his chest. The most prominent was the skull of something kind of large - perhaps a deer. It had been cut, so it was only the top layer of the bones, the plane of the face you would see if you looked head-on. It was attached to a leather pouch, and then grey stones with fake rubies for pupils had been affixed in the eye sockets. (Please stop yourselves, dear readers, if you imagine this looking intimidating. It was clearly home-made. perhaps the pouch was not, as it looked very cool. If the eye sockets were empty, it would have been mighty cool. But it looked a bit silly (almost in the way a pug's eyeballs go in different directions.) Another amulet was a green stone background with a metal scarab beetle on it. This looked pretty cool, thought slightly out of place in the 21st century.
As you follow this hand-full of chains up his chest to his shoulders, you will find a very attractive collar. It, too, seems to be taking a note from ancient Egyptian aesthetics. It is a fan-like collar made of wire, threaded with miniature multicolored beads. Impressive. This was my favorite part of his outfit, and with the cloak, it was actually pretty neat.
Again, you can't fixate on this detail without being led upward by another feature - a bush of tangled grey hairs hanging from his chin. This man has not shaved in years. The beard only adds to the allure he exudes. measuring in at what must be 4 inches, or so, in length, it is quite a force. parts had a bit of a yellowish tint to them - I imagine from tobacco. And framed by this bush was his mouth...
I don't need to relay it, but suffice it to say, I saw no pearly-whites in his mouth. I don't believe anything in there was white anymore.
When he approached me, I didn't know what to expect. But it became apparent, after a few moments, that he was not looking for anything. Not a thing, so much as a conversation. He wanted to talk, and so I listened. I listened, dear readers, because I knew not what else to do. The man had a knife, but he also had been drinking. He'd probably been drinking for years, come to think of it. It was a Sunday night, my first night alone, and I didn't want any trouble.
So I listened.
He told me about the bar he'd been at (one of the two gay bars in town), and how the bartender had mixed him a drink called a Klingon. He said it made people fight. He told me about fighting...breaking up fights, ending fights (with big knives). He told me he was still feeling it, and he needed to get off the street for a while so he could sober up and get on his way. He also told me many things I can't remember, to be honest. Our brains were working with two different notions of what made 'sense.'
A few people came in and left the store during this conversation. It must have lasted 20 minutes or so. I left our conversation for the fourth time, or so, to help another customer, and when I returned I asked, for the second time, "can I get you anything, buddy?" After fiddling with his wallet (another one of the pouches hanging from his neck), he pulled out a 20 and asked for (not $3 or $5, as most customers do, but) $20 in tokens for the arcade. If you figure that each token gets about 1.5 minutes, and there are 4 tokens to a dollar, just like quarters, then you're looking at almost 2 hours of arcade time. I don't think he left before I did.... Maybe he just wanted a nap. My boss told me people do that, especially when it's colder.
(why do people think they can take advantage of us just because we're the porno shop? Is that a rhetorical question? It wasn't intended to be.)
I thought the magician was going to be on his way after a brief respite, but he actually wanted some of our services. It was quite the surprise. Maybe I just thought he would be different...
In any case, I'll have plenty more to talk about. This was the beginning of a journey. I have a long way to go before I feel remotely comfortable in this position. (Man...once you work in an adult store, everything seems to have a sexual pun - if it didn't already, which may be why one works at an adult store to begin with...). Does the person choose the profession, or the profession the person?
Two Final Things:
1. When I say porno shop, that's done tongue-in-cheek (if I'm using that phrase correctly). It's a joke. Nearly every time I've mentioned my job to someone, they've referred to it as the "porn store," "porno shop," or something of the sort. They've been aghast, amused, confounded, surprised to learn that a "guy-like-me" works at a "place-like-that." I've told my mom, her boyfriend, my brother, many friends, and coworkers at my other jobs. My father doesn't know...I'll write an article about telling the parents, someday. That should be a blast.
Anyway, my point is: around here, "adult boutique" means almost nothing to people. It may say those words on the building, but in people's minds, it's the porno shop - the place where people go to jack off, "and lord-av-mercy if you have to clean up after them!" (I don't.) I don't know what else to do but what feels right, but, for now, that has little to do with what people call it. It's more about how they feel about it. And that, I hope to change.
2. To sign off, dear readers, I will leave you with a quote. It's hand-picked from some recent reading (Whip Smart, by Melissa Febos). This is one of the first times that I've read a book and the opening quote meant something to me. It was visceral. I knew the book would be good from that moment. I hadn't even started the story (though I had an inkling it would be interesting, being based on exploits as a forme professional dominatrix and all). The words were not even this author's. And here are those words:
"I am human, let nothing human be foreign to me." - Montaigne
I don't know who this Montaigne is. I have to look that up - something I'll admit to being terrible about. And perhaps this is a common quote, one you are surprised I hadn't heard or read before. But honestly, I don't care. When something hits you, it's the right moment. I've found that from my life, over and over. It happens a lot with music. I think: "Oh, man! I wish I'd found this sooner," when I find an album months or years after the hype has passed. But, perhaps I wouldn't have been ready if I did. Perhaps it wouldn't hit as hard, or leave the same mark. Being wrapped up in the buzz keeps me from enjoying things on my own terms, and there's a lot to be lost from missing that.
If I think back on my life (I hope you'll allow me this indulgence), this quote sums up much of my pursuits to this day. I try to keep things like "do one thing each day that scares you" in my mind frequently, so that I may experience more out of life. So that I may keep my brain active, always taking on new challenges, and rewiring for new information.
This quote, like no other, suggests the life track that I'm after. I'm not saying I want to live fast and die young, but I want to live a life that pushes my boundaries. Because it is in those moments that I realize I am strong, adaptable, lovable.
The question is, how hard do I push?
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Been awhile
Seeing as the name of this url is "consentissexy," and I WILL (it has to happen sooner or later!) be starting to volunteer at Family Tree Clinic in the near future, my thought is to redirect my format to a blog about my experiences and sexuality in general.
I need to write sooner or later, and get some of this pent-up stuff out. We'll see... It's been more than a half-year since I posted last, and things have changed quite a bit since then....
Perhaps this is more for myself than any reader(s), but I feel if I post a promise of sorts, I'll feel obliged to write more. Only time will tell.
I need to write sooner or later, and get some of this pent-up stuff out. We'll see... It's been more than a half-year since I posted last, and things have changed quite a bit since then....
Perhaps this is more for myself than any reader(s), but I feel if I post a promise of sorts, I'll feel obliged to write more. Only time will tell.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
post-grad update 2
goal for the summer: become a master guitarist.
one who interpolates slow jamz, pop music, and random goodness to guitar.
Stop.....
now think about it.
First goal, play this song like the guy on the right:
...though I don't like some of the lyrics...
a recurring problem with song choice, whether learning to play, or putting on a mix.
one who interpolates slow jamz, pop music, and random goodness to guitar.
Stop.....
now think about it.
First goal, play this song like the guy on the right:
...though I don't like some of the lyrics...
a recurring problem with song choice, whether learning to play, or putting on a mix.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Post-grad update 1
Interesting how every summer I seem to go through the same thing.
-Perhaps it's weather related (these stupid Minnesota summers are always so hot and cold, literally)
-Perhaps it's having a self-created schedule, meaning I'm as busy or free, as organized or disorganized as I want (or don't want, but have a habit of) to be
-And my personal favorite: what happens when I'm free to do whatever I want and I'm faced with myself? Can I handle what is there? What about what isn't there? Things I never saw much of in myself - laziness, apathy, no direction - are all coming up, like monsters hiding under my bed.
Where to even begin?
How about getting a job?
That may take time, but in the meantime I donated to the Ashley Ames fund. That's doing something. It's not getting organized. It's not giving me direction. But it is helping someone who has clear direction and needs - healing.
-Perhaps it's weather related (these stupid Minnesota summers are always so hot and cold, literally)
-Perhaps it's having a self-created schedule, meaning I'm as busy or free, as organized or disorganized as I want (or don't want, but have a habit of) to be
-And my personal favorite: what happens when I'm free to do whatever I want and I'm faced with myself? Can I handle what is there? What about what isn't there? Things I never saw much of in myself - laziness, apathy, no direction - are all coming up, like monsters hiding under my bed.
Where to even begin?
How about getting a job?
That may take time, but in the meantime I donated to the Ashley Ames fund. That's doing something. It's not getting organized. It's not giving me direction. But it is helping someone who has clear direction and needs - healing.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Loss...
How to deal. Is it to start over, or to push through (or can it be both?)?
Is this a loss? For me?
I don't have answers to so many questions these days.
It is true, though, that for the last four days of my trip back home (from which I returned on Tuesday) I was traveling in and out of emotions like I was a bird flying through the clouds.
Contrary to what some may think (or perhaps nobody but myself does...or did, rather,) I am not an emotionally present person. I am emotional, yes. But when I take a second and I think: How am I feeling right now? I can't really tell. Can I ever? Should I be worried about this?
I was home in Champaign, IL for the past two weeks, returning Monday and Tuesday so I could work Macalester's reunion. This story comes from the last week of my trip:
I was visiting the mall in town, for what I thought would be a successful purchase of some beautiful purple Adidas that were on sale. When I learned they were sold out of my size, I thought I had reached bummer city, but it turned out I had only reached a rest stop on the way. I decided to check Plato's Closet (a resale shop that sometimes has good, and lightly used shoes) on my way home to see if I could turn my frown upside down. I ran into a friend, 'H.', there. I thought she was just on the clock...but she wasn't at all. And here is where things get really hard for me to type, spending minutes sometimes thinking of how to phrase a single sentence or thought.
How can I explain the thoughts that popped up when she said their house, the Bunny Ranch, had burned down that morning? The shame at my lighthearted tone before she told me she wasn't there for work, but for clothes, because she now had nothing but the pajamas she'd been wearing when she ran out of the house? The shock and horror when she said her housemate, 'A.', had been asleep and hadn't made it out of the house, and was in the burn unit in Springfield, 3rd degree burns covering 80% of her body...? (do people survive that? I asked myself).
No, there is no intelligible way to describe everything that came over me, other than my outward appearance, which was a withdrawn, awkward, wall of shock, more or less. In too much shock to even think to give her a hug...have I become that distant?
She said I should call Ian and tell him. I did it immediately. I can't handle this alone...help me Ian! He picked up, slightly beyond his standard consciousness ("Cookies"), at a weekend music festival. He said he already knew...whew! I don't have to break the news to him!.. but thought it wasn't as serious...minor burns was all he heard...and of course, that they lost all their possessions. No, I said, I heard it just a minute ago from 'H.' I feel like any of the girls in the house would be kept up to date, if anyone were. To this, Ian agreed. I know this is shallow, he said, but...I don't know how she's gonna handle that...I mean, she's so pretty, and her looks mean a lot to her. I know that's important, and it will be something she'll have to face, but not if she doesn't make it through recovery first, I said (though not in these words exactly...this is all paraphrased, more or less, unless otherwise noted)...we need to do something.
When we got off the phone, a night alone ensued. Adam was in Chicago, taking the night off from his scheduled gig, and having a personal sized gluten-free pizza from Lou Malnati's, where, rather than using a mix of gluten-free flours for a dough, they press ground sausage into the pan to form the canvas on which all other sauce and ingredients bake (I wonder: what does a vegetarian person with celiac do?). Ian was at the festival. Mom was out. I thought, but more than thinking, I tried not to let it get to me. Nothing can be done. I don't even know her that well. But this still affects me. I laid down and I watched RuPaul's Drag Race until it was too late to do anything else but go to sleep.
_______________
The next day, nothing.
It was on my mind, in my gut, as I went to my dad's shop, as I went to Board Boutique and played S.K.A.T.E. (which is to skateboarding, what H.O.R.S.E. is to basketball) with Dustin, as I had dinner with my dad and stepmom, as I hung out with Devin. On my mind, in my gut, and never out my mouth. keep it inside.
At Devin's, Ian calls. I leave Devin and her friends in the living room for a more respectful and quiet place on the balcony. Once I'm settled, Ian tells me of his trip to Springfield and the group visit to 'A.'s' bedside. How much it meant to her parents that her friends drove to see her. How her mom was smiling, lighthearted, and so welcoming, and at the same time able to say: that girl in there is not 'A.' She's a different person. What it must be like to go through this....What it must be like to go through this! ? ! ? ... ?
He told me of his repulsion at realizing her septum ring had turned red hot and burned her nose above and beyond the severity of the rest of her face.
Doctors opened her chest and pulled out her organs to clean them, one by one, of their smoke damage (what they could, at least). She's on a respirator. Her survival so far has been a miracle...she'll make it through the night. This is a day by day, hour by hour kind of situation? yes.
Throughout the whole conversation, he couldn't get over the fact that it was a fire. "Fires don't happen anymore! When was the last time you heard of a fire like this?" Over and over...but he does kind of have a point, I can't think of anything.
Devin came outside to check on me after what must have been 35-40 minutes. DEVIN, I'm Sorry! I hope you understand..but I need to be here for Ian right now (and for myself). But when I come in...please can I cry on your shoulder? Can you be the sister I never had, this one time? We always joked about it...
I told her everything was O.K. (Everything is not O.K!) and that I'd be in soon. I say that, Devin, but I don't know how much time this will take, and I'll be here as long as necessary.
We continue. I know this is horrible, Ian says, but maybe it'd be better if she didn't make it. I don't want to say it, but I think it too. I can't say it, yet, but I'm thinking of the medical bills and lack of health insurance, the use of resources for one girl who may not make it (or who may make it and wish she hadn't) that could be allocated to others. I'm wishing that I knew her better...but maybe it's better that I don't... it would only be harder.
It goes on, it goes on. There is really no point at which the doubt, questions, concerns, scenarios stop playing out in our heads. I have been in and out of tears this whole time. There is no point at which to say "O.K. I feel better. I'll talk to you later." But, we run out of things to say and start repeating, and he is almost in town anyway, so we make the motions to hang up. He asks if he can come by and see Devin, and suggests we go to the diner after. Plans set, we hang up.
Back inside, things have wound down. Devin and her apt.mate remain, the show we were watching is over, their friends have left. She asks if everything is OK. I answer with the standard, "not really," then break into everything we talked about.
No tears. Why am I not crying? Is it because of her reaction? Why does she sound so callous to me? Someone almost died, and may still...and whatever the circumstances, I feel like at least before she's healed she doesn't deserve this kind of talk about her. She can't even engage these kinds of thoughts in conversation - she's in a drug-induced coma...FUCK! But I don't want this to drive me away from people...this should be a time of coming together.
We talk and things get better, they always have, even if not immediately. I push...I don't know if she'll be accommodating, but I push in the only way I know how (which is probably not pushing at all) for her to see my point of view, and her tone starts to change. Maybe she can tell I'm bothered and does it to make me feel better. I don't know. Before long, Ian comes and we all talk a bit - more of his stories from the festival than the Bunny Ranch fire. But Devin is getting tired, and we are as well.
Unsure of what lies ahead, I depart with Ian from Devin's. I am exhausted - at this point, I'm well aware that worrying can achieve that like no other - and going to Merry-Ann's (the standard 24-hr diner in town) would only exacerbate things. I'm thinking of the long couple of days ahead of me, and part of me wants to curl up and disappear from the world between this evening and my travels back to MN. But we are here, we are now, if Ian needs my help, I will stay.
We reach our cars. We've decided to go by the Ranch and see what it looks like now.
When we get there, it looks the same as when I drove by the day before:
When 'H.' had said "burned down," I envisioned a pile of ashes.
When Ian had said "I don't think it's that serious," I didn't know what to think.
When I turned onto their corner, I wasn't sure if it would have been better if it'd just burned down completely (except that 'A.' was inside). The front porch, completely charred. The evergreen tree in front of the house will for as long as it stays alive (if it actually survived this) bear the mark on its northern side, which is now needle-less and covered in soot. All the windows and doors are boarded up. The couches and chairs on the porch are no more than the metal frames that once held their stuffing in its contours. The kiddie pool they had bought earlier that week and setup in the front lawn was almost completely deflated, and all I could help but think was...that damn plastic penguin standing in front of the pool with the upside down cross on its belly must have had something to do with it. I am not one to believe in Christianity, but I couldn't help but think of this omen.
When Ian and I arrived that night at around 1am, it was the same as before. But this time, I got out of my car. Beyond the caution tape was another world. The only thing that permeated this invisible wall between the two was the almost mesquite smell lingering in the air. Why does this smell like a sweet bar-b-que? That's not right.... Perhaps if the smell had been as repulsive as the sights and where my mind took them, we wouldn't have noticed the pile of clothes that lay on the grass, roughly below 'A.'s' bedroom window. They had been on fire...or, at least, parts of them had. Bra still inside shirt, underwear still in pants. They looked as though they had been ripped or cut off...but from who? Please say it wasn't her! Please say the heat and fire that done this wasn't on her body as well! We both shiver with repulsion at the thought.
When a guy skated up and asked us about the house, it almost reminded me of the last scene in Donnie Darko: "so this is the house with the fire?" Ian said yeah, that it was friends, and that one was really hurt. That these clothes we were standing in front of may have been on her. Before rolling away, the guy, half-turned, said his goodbye, that he hoped she was OK, and that we have a good night. Yes, I hope so too.
____________
The topic did not disappear the next day, when Hani, Ian, and I got lunch at Zorba's Gyros. It had been almost two years since Hani and I had seen each other, and we could talk about nothing but the Ranch for the first while. It still never got better. Talking, in this case, brought no sense of relief other than the escape from a strictly internal dialogue. But it offered a rare chance to see the humanity of my friends, for which I feel a profound sense of gratitude.
And though I tried to avoid it, the topic came up before dinner that night with my bro, my mom, and Stephen. It didn't feel much better to get their consolations, but at least it wasn't worsened...that's all I could ask for. And it was in this conversation we realized: the dresser my mum had given 'S.', the one that Adam had drawn a hidden eye inside of, the one which had been in our house from my birth until three years ago, was now gone. Good bye, dresser. You were something to hold on to, but now you are a reason to move on.
____________
The trip back to Minnesota was long, as usual, but marked by an even longer layover than usual - 9 hours. I had so much time to think - not something I was prepared to do - I had to find a way to escape. I was so tired, in as many senses of the word as I've ever known, and some I hadn't. It's strange how much something can affect me, when I wasn't very close with the most-affected person. But it's not just about her. It's about what I saw in my last few days back home, and what I didn't. It's about the people she loved, and who loved her. It's about the house as a place, as a home for many, being gone. It's about a summer's, and next year's, and many years to come's visions and dreams that burned up with the fire and now must be redreamed.
And it is about what I tell myself as a result of all this: we are not invincible.
____________
To the four of you, my friends, I think of you often, and I wish for your safety, for shelter, for family; that support, love, and generosity meet you as you move through this and through life. I know there may be a benefit concert, and I will come back for that, but if there is any way I can help you or give you support from my current location, do not hesitate to ask. You mean more to me than I know, and I regret that it took this for me to realize that. You are amazing people, and the world needs you.
To you and to myself, I love you.
Reed
Is this a loss? For me?
I don't have answers to so many questions these days.
It is true, though, that for the last four days of my trip back home (from which I returned on Tuesday) I was traveling in and out of emotions like I was a bird flying through the clouds.
Contrary to what some may think (or perhaps nobody but myself does...or did, rather,) I am not an emotionally present person. I am emotional, yes. But when I take a second and I think: How am I feeling right now? I can't really tell. Can I ever? Should I be worried about this?
I was home in Champaign, IL for the past two weeks, returning Monday and Tuesday so I could work Macalester's reunion. This story comes from the last week of my trip:
I was visiting the mall in town, for what I thought would be a successful purchase of some beautiful purple Adidas that were on sale. When I learned they were sold out of my size, I thought I had reached bummer city, but it turned out I had only reached a rest stop on the way. I decided to check Plato's Closet (a resale shop that sometimes has good, and lightly used shoes) on my way home to see if I could turn my frown upside down. I ran into a friend, 'H.', there. I thought she was just on the clock...but she wasn't at all. And here is where things get really hard for me to type, spending minutes sometimes thinking of how to phrase a single sentence or thought.
How can I explain the thoughts that popped up when she said their house, the Bunny Ranch, had burned down that morning? The shame at my lighthearted tone before she told me she wasn't there for work, but for clothes, because she now had nothing but the pajamas she'd been wearing when she ran out of the house? The shock and horror when she said her housemate, 'A.', had been asleep and hadn't made it out of the house, and was in the burn unit in Springfield, 3rd degree burns covering 80% of her body...? (do people survive that? I asked myself).
No, there is no intelligible way to describe everything that came over me, other than my outward appearance, which was a withdrawn, awkward, wall of shock, more or less. In too much shock to even think to give her a hug...have I become that distant?
She said I should call Ian and tell him. I did it immediately. I can't handle this alone...help me Ian! He picked up, slightly beyond his standard consciousness ("Cookies"), at a weekend music festival. He said he already knew...whew! I don't have to break the news to him!.. but thought it wasn't as serious...minor burns was all he heard...and of course, that they lost all their possessions. No, I said, I heard it just a minute ago from 'H.' I feel like any of the girls in the house would be kept up to date, if anyone were. To this, Ian agreed. I know this is shallow, he said, but...I don't know how she's gonna handle that...I mean, she's so pretty, and her looks mean a lot to her. I know that's important, and it will be something she'll have to face, but not if she doesn't make it through recovery first, I said (though not in these words exactly...this is all paraphrased, more or less, unless otherwise noted)...we need to do something.
When we got off the phone, a night alone ensued. Adam was in Chicago, taking the night off from his scheduled gig, and having a personal sized gluten-free pizza from Lou Malnati's, where, rather than using a mix of gluten-free flours for a dough, they press ground sausage into the pan to form the canvas on which all other sauce and ingredients bake (I wonder: what does a vegetarian person with celiac do?). Ian was at the festival. Mom was out. I thought, but more than thinking, I tried not to let it get to me. Nothing can be done. I don't even know her that well. But this still affects me. I laid down and I watched RuPaul's Drag Race until it was too late to do anything else but go to sleep.
_______________
The next day, nothing.
It was on my mind, in my gut, as I went to my dad's shop, as I went to Board Boutique and played S.K.A.T.E. (which is to skateboarding, what H.O.R.S.E. is to basketball) with Dustin, as I had dinner with my dad and stepmom, as I hung out with Devin. On my mind, in my gut, and never out my mouth. keep it inside.
At Devin's, Ian calls. I leave Devin and her friends in the living room for a more respectful and quiet place on the balcony. Once I'm settled, Ian tells me of his trip to Springfield and the group visit to 'A.'s' bedside. How much it meant to her parents that her friends drove to see her. How her mom was smiling, lighthearted, and so welcoming, and at the same time able to say: that girl in there is not 'A.' She's a different person. What it must be like to go through this....What it must be like to go through this! ? ! ? ... ?
He told me of his repulsion at realizing her septum ring had turned red hot and burned her nose above and beyond the severity of the rest of her face.
Doctors opened her chest and pulled out her organs to clean them, one by one, of their smoke damage (what they could, at least). She's on a respirator. Her survival so far has been a miracle...she'll make it through the night. This is a day by day, hour by hour kind of situation? yes.
Throughout the whole conversation, he couldn't get over the fact that it was a fire. "Fires don't happen anymore! When was the last time you heard of a fire like this?" Over and over...but he does kind of have a point, I can't think of anything.
Devin came outside to check on me after what must have been 35-40 minutes. DEVIN, I'm Sorry! I hope you understand..but I need to be here for Ian right now (and for myself). But when I come in...please can I cry on your shoulder? Can you be the sister I never had, this one time? We always joked about it...
I told her everything was O.K. (Everything is not O.K!) and that I'd be in soon. I say that, Devin, but I don't know how much time this will take, and I'll be here as long as necessary.
We continue. I know this is horrible, Ian says, but maybe it'd be better if she didn't make it. I don't want to say it, but I think it too. I can't say it, yet, but I'm thinking of the medical bills and lack of health insurance, the use of resources for one girl who may not make it (or who may make it and wish she hadn't) that could be allocated to others. I'm wishing that I knew her better...but maybe it's better that I don't... it would only be harder.
It goes on, it goes on. There is really no point at which the doubt, questions, concerns, scenarios stop playing out in our heads. I have been in and out of tears this whole time. There is no point at which to say "O.K. I feel better. I'll talk to you later." But, we run out of things to say and start repeating, and he is almost in town anyway, so we make the motions to hang up. He asks if he can come by and see Devin, and suggests we go to the diner after. Plans set, we hang up.
Back inside, things have wound down. Devin and her apt.mate remain, the show we were watching is over, their friends have left. She asks if everything is OK. I answer with the standard, "not really," then break into everything we talked about.
No tears. Why am I not crying? Is it because of her reaction? Why does she sound so callous to me? Someone almost died, and may still...and whatever the circumstances, I feel like at least before she's healed she doesn't deserve this kind of talk about her. She can't even engage these kinds of thoughts in conversation - she's in a drug-induced coma...FUCK! But I don't want this to drive me away from people...this should be a time of coming together.
We talk and things get better, they always have, even if not immediately. I push...I don't know if she'll be accommodating, but I push in the only way I know how (which is probably not pushing at all) for her to see my point of view, and her tone starts to change. Maybe she can tell I'm bothered and does it to make me feel better. I don't know. Before long, Ian comes and we all talk a bit - more of his stories from the festival than the Bunny Ranch fire. But Devin is getting tired, and we are as well.
Unsure of what lies ahead, I depart with Ian from Devin's. I am exhausted - at this point, I'm well aware that worrying can achieve that like no other - and going to Merry-Ann's (the standard 24-hr diner in town) would only exacerbate things. I'm thinking of the long couple of days ahead of me, and part of me wants to curl up and disappear from the world between this evening and my travels back to MN. But we are here, we are now, if Ian needs my help, I will stay.
We reach our cars. We've decided to go by the Ranch and see what it looks like now.
When we get there, it looks the same as when I drove by the day before:
When 'H.' had said "burned down," I envisioned a pile of ashes.
When Ian had said "I don't think it's that serious," I didn't know what to think.
When I turned onto their corner, I wasn't sure if it would have been better if it'd just burned down completely (except that 'A.' was inside). The front porch, completely charred. The evergreen tree in front of the house will for as long as it stays alive (if it actually survived this) bear the mark on its northern side, which is now needle-less and covered in soot. All the windows and doors are boarded up. The couches and chairs on the porch are no more than the metal frames that once held their stuffing in its contours. The kiddie pool they had bought earlier that week and setup in the front lawn was almost completely deflated, and all I could help but think was...that damn plastic penguin standing in front of the pool with the upside down cross on its belly must have had something to do with it. I am not one to believe in Christianity, but I couldn't help but think of this omen.
When Ian and I arrived that night at around 1am, it was the same as before. But this time, I got out of my car. Beyond the caution tape was another world. The only thing that permeated this invisible wall between the two was the almost mesquite smell lingering in the air. Why does this smell like a sweet bar-b-que? That's not right.... Perhaps if the smell had been as repulsive as the sights and where my mind took them, we wouldn't have noticed the pile of clothes that lay on the grass, roughly below 'A.'s' bedroom window. They had been on fire...or, at least, parts of them had. Bra still inside shirt, underwear still in pants. They looked as though they had been ripped or cut off...but from who? Please say it wasn't her! Please say the heat and fire that done this wasn't on her body as well! We both shiver with repulsion at the thought.
When a guy skated up and asked us about the house, it almost reminded me of the last scene in Donnie Darko: "so this is the house with the fire?" Ian said yeah, that it was friends, and that one was really hurt. That these clothes we were standing in front of may have been on her. Before rolling away, the guy, half-turned, said his goodbye, that he hoped she was OK, and that we have a good night. Yes, I hope so too.
____________
The topic did not disappear the next day, when Hani, Ian, and I got lunch at Zorba's Gyros. It had been almost two years since Hani and I had seen each other, and we could talk about nothing but the Ranch for the first while. It still never got better. Talking, in this case, brought no sense of relief other than the escape from a strictly internal dialogue. But it offered a rare chance to see the humanity of my friends, for which I feel a profound sense of gratitude.
And though I tried to avoid it, the topic came up before dinner that night with my bro, my mom, and Stephen. It didn't feel much better to get their consolations, but at least it wasn't worsened...that's all I could ask for. And it was in this conversation we realized: the dresser my mum had given 'S.', the one that Adam had drawn a hidden eye inside of, the one which had been in our house from my birth until three years ago, was now gone. Good bye, dresser. You were something to hold on to, but now you are a reason to move on.
____________
The trip back to Minnesota was long, as usual, but marked by an even longer layover than usual - 9 hours. I had so much time to think - not something I was prepared to do - I had to find a way to escape. I was so tired, in as many senses of the word as I've ever known, and some I hadn't. It's strange how much something can affect me, when I wasn't very close with the most-affected person. But it's not just about her. It's about what I saw in my last few days back home, and what I didn't. It's about the people she loved, and who loved her. It's about the house as a place, as a home for many, being gone. It's about a summer's, and next year's, and many years to come's visions and dreams that burned up with the fire and now must be redreamed.
And it is about what I tell myself as a result of all this: we are not invincible.
____________
To the four of you, my friends, I think of you often, and I wish for your safety, for shelter, for family; that support, love, and generosity meet you as you move through this and through life. I know there may be a benefit concert, and I will come back for that, but if there is any way I can help you or give you support from my current location, do not hesitate to ask. You mean more to me than I know, and I regret that it took this for me to realize that. You are amazing people, and the world needs you.
To you and to myself, I love you.
Reed
Friday, May 28, 2010
and another thing...
(this accompanies the post directly below, probably best to read after) The story line of the game is set, you can't choose your character, change your name, or make any decisions as to the course of the game. Which means I'm at the mercy of the developers in who I play as...I guess he does look a little like me, but what if I don't want to be him? What if he didn't look like me? Why are my assistants always beautiful women? Why is the only other woman in the game other than my assistants/nurses an anesthesiologist? All the heads of the hospitals and surgical units, and other surgeons, are men. Hmmmm.
This game never made any claims to be realistic though...aside from the part where they try to make a facsimile of a real surgical experience. But hey, who really cares about particulars?
I'd want to say some shit about the global economy...but my brain is in some weird state between graduation and "real world"...struggling to find meaning through what all I learned, and re-membering it all again in a new context of my post-grad existence. These are the most salient...and I feel there's more I could say, I just can't find it.
Oh...to be a graduate.
This game never made any claims to be realistic though...aside from the part where they try to make a facsimile of a real surgical experience. But hey, who really cares about particulars?
I'd want to say some shit about the global economy...but my brain is in some weird state between graduation and "real world"...struggling to find meaning through what all I learned, and re-membering it all again in a new context of my post-grad existence. These are the most salient...and I feel there's more I could say, I just can't find it.
Oh...to be a graduate.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Videogame post #2: Trauma CTR, Under the Knife!
No...this time I did not finish a game. This super sweet image, though, is me getting ready for surgery! I just wanted to write a review of sorts, and use that as a chance to expound upon my love for science.
So, first: TRAUMA CENTER!
It all started this weekend. My bro was DJing at Exile on Main St., a local music, movie, and videogame sale/resale shop. I was hangin out and I spotted:
-a used Nintendo DS.
-Trauma Center (a game I'd been wanting to buy a DS just to play when it came out)
So, when I got home later that day, I started going through my videogames. There's so many I don't even play anymore...it's not worth keeping them at this point. I just graduated - I'm not trying to hoard anything. So, I got together what I thought would be my least-used/missed stuff and took it in Monday. I traded for
this thing.
And...drumroll....
Screenshot:
This was one I just did (not my screenshot, of course, but it looked just like this), a girl's lungs were all tore up, so I had to cut her chest open with the scalpel (tools are along the right and left edges, and you have to make the motions with the little pointer thing on the bottom touch-screen part! So advanced this thing is!), drain blood with some tube thingy, pull the wounds tight with forceps, suture with needle, disinfect w/ some gel shit (all without letting the heart rate in the top left corner reach zero), and I thought I was set. But NO!
Apparently, she had some kind of fish, insects, sharks, or some other parasitic, pointy things that were causing all this damage. Right when I was about to stitch her up, they tore through again, and I had to use ultrasound to find them...then I cut them out, shot them with the laser, fixed up the wounds, and BAM, she's healed. Time to call mom and dad, she'll be ok! The Bio-terrorists won't win today (not happy about this game exploiting the "terrorism" narrative going around these days...).
One of the things I love most about this game is, it makes me feel almost like a real doctor...except for that one question that always pops up when the inevitable (for me, with my video game skills...or lack thereof) failure comes up: "Retry?" If only it were so in real life. "Why yes...I would like to do Tina's surgery one more time...I think I could have done a better job suturing up that wound, if you know what I mean...?" or...you know...maybe it's not Tina's time to die yet...and my rookie doctor skills shouldn't determine that.
I wonder what kind of hospital has only white staff and treats only white patients...perhaps this is set in an alternate universe. The "Angeles Bay" where the game is set could be anywhere...could be nowhere...but it doesn't seem so far away from reality (a certain California bay I'm familiar with seems like a pretty close match)....eeeexceeeeeeeppt the lack of any yellow, black, red, brown people that may (have) inhabit(ed) the land (since before Cortez/Columbus arrived, before the U.S. Mexico war, or since the transatlantic slave trade, the gold rush and transcontinental railroad, and so many other things I haven't learned about yet or am not thinking of now). It's always an intentional choice when it comes to games...everything has to be programmed. A point to consider is: the game was developed in Japan, and then translated and adapted for the U.S. market. And I don't know too much about Japan's racial makeup, but I've heard it's a fairly homogeneous country (aside from the indigenous Ainu people, the people living on U.S. Military bases, and of course...all those lovely people in teach English abroad programs, who may be there for whatever reason...won't go into that).
So, I can see perhaps some reason(s) why most people in the game look the same - also, I'll add that it's in the anime/manga aesthetic, so people have sharp jaw lines, round, large eyes, long and thin noses...the women all have large breasts...and one of my favorites (because of my hair when it's blow-dried), there is the occasional "Dragon Ball Z hair." This isn't exactly DBZ, but...
Hey, he looks a little like me...just gotta get those plastic frames, and curl the hair a bit. I have to admit...I love how every time an operation is about to begin he does this - LET'S BEGIN THE OPERATION!!!!
Anyway, another question is, how do the programmers responsible for creating a product appropriate for U.S. markets make their decisions to leave this (and many other games) so whitewashed? Is it a decision they make? If they had the ability to change the words in the game to English, did they have the ability to reprogram any other aspects? Was the Japanese version of the game set in the U.S. also? Or was it a made up (or existing) part of Japan? Something else? Even if the game is being sold in markets other than the U.S...perhaps Canada, England, and maybe even other countries where English is not the primary language, there are communities of color in all those countries, and there is no excuse for this.... And, people all over the world know that the U.S. is not just white...think of all the music videos that get exported that hold mostly, if not exclusively, black bodies within their frames. But to what degree, I don't know. I've heard some disturbing shit about what people outside the U.S. think of black people in the U.S. before coming here...or without coming here at all, and it's all based on media (mis)representations. hmmm.
****Correction: I started this post when I was only in the 2nd chapter of the game. I'm now in the third, and I've since joined an international disease eradication organization/hospital group called Caduceus. I traveled to southern Africa (to no specific country, of course, just the region), where a village was wiped out because a bioterrorist group decided to perfect their weapons (a strain of viruses, the likes of which doctors have never seen, called G.U.I.L.T.) through trial and error on the townspeople. Of course, there's one boy who survived:
"The boy responds to Reuben" <-direct quote Not sure if his name is really Reuben, but he responds to it. Shit...if everyone in my community died, I'd probably respond to anything if someone came up to me. But anyway, I successfully operated on "Reuben" and he is now free of G.U.I.L.T. and healthy. Alright! But yeah...that was pretty weird. Of course the only brown body in the game is in the country of Africa, not the U.S., where the rest of the game takes place (cuz immediately after taking care of "Reuben" the protagonist flies back to the U.S. to help his old boss). It's just a quick plot device to further the story about the G.U.I.L.T. bioterrorism.**** OK, yeah, so that was point 1...and 1.1, 1.2, 1.3, etc. Second: my love of science! This game makes me feel like being a doctor is fun! Well...a surgeon I guess. I mean...there are chapters that are just the plot "thickening," which pretty much means a lot of reading, and no cutting. But most of the time, it's a pretty good balance of that and performing surgery. My average rating, btw, is a C. It goes S, A, B, C, D(?...haven't got that low). So, I could improve. But yeah, all the time I'm playing, I'm thinking "damn...I could do this! Maybe I'll go to med school..." haha. I kid. That would be if there were, like a said, a "Retry" function in real life, if I had the "healing touch" (an innate ability that lets me slow down time to do amazingly fast procedures - in the game, people! I wish I really had it tho), if there were no mundane procedures or paperwork or pharmaceutical companies, if capitalism wasn't part of the picture, if all I did as a doctor was talk a little bit and do surgery, if there were no recovery time after procedures and you didn't have to check back up on people (though I think I would actually enjoy that a lot, it's just not part of the game), if I already knew how to do everything and didn't have to go to school.... So, not really plausible. But at least I lived out that fantasy through this videogame, I guess. It all just reminds me a little bit too much of the Macalester Step Forward campaign video tho...
^For those who haven't seen or need a refresher...
But I want to get past that. It just did remind me a little bit of that recurring theme I've noticed.
Oh...science without capitalism...
I have to say, ever since taking Origins, a class on evolutionary biology, with one of the best prof.'s I had in my college career, Kristi Curry Rogers, I am giving science more thought. There was a time during high school where I was actually learning legit stuff about science. But it was required, and most of it was boring, not made relevant. During my time at Macalester, though, I noticed that I'd have conversations about scientific events, advances, phenomena - the kind that come up in everyday life, like "I wonder how yeast works..." or "why is there a dark side of the moon?" - as if I knew anything about the actual science they were grounded in. Having a critical and analytical mind does not mean science!
It was, more than anything, like making conjectures about what could possibly be going on, without actually knowing anything. The thing is, I can't really think of a specific case, but they usually come up around food and cooking, or nature things.
I feel it's one of my favorite things to do...especially with other people. That's when it gets really fun. And if you have a group of people who are all not-scientists, then it's the best. American Studies majors have said some of the most compelling science I've ever heard. Not sure if it's accurate. I know Suma and I have frequently had non-scientific scientific conversations, and I feel like we've made some good progress.
Taking Origins, though, showed me it could be all those fun things, and also be accurate at the same time. My life is complete, for the moment - and I can do imaginary surgery where no one actually dies.
Also, I defused a time-bomb with my surgery kit. It was raw. I saved a conference full of medical specialists. Boo-yah!
Fin.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
aghast
I was dragging the garbage and recycling out the back of TG this evening, backing out of the door, when I felt something soft under my foot.
Many thoughts entered my mind:
It was soft, but didn't completely give
It was too large to be a pearl
I didn't feel any crunches
It might be a living thing!
The moment I felt it I hopped and shifted weight to my other foot. Slowly moving the recycling can I looked at a small greyish-brown mass. I thought I had killed a baby bird. "How many times have I seen dead baby birds! And this time I was the cause?!" were my approximate thoughts.
But no, it had no feathers, beak, neck...It was a toad! Poor toad!!! It was on its back, mouth agape, tongue hanging out!!!
I can't quite describe the rush of emotions this whole experience gave me up until that point, but that was it, it was too much. I freaked and ran inside, screaming (thankfully only my co-workers were inside at this point!). It must have been quite a sight. I felt like I was hyperventilating! I had no idea what to do, as is always the case with these kinds of encounters with "nature."
It's these kinds of moments that remind me that all this "civilization," and our "advances" have really taken a toll on not only native peoples, but also the vast number of animal species initially inhabiting this land. Encountering "wildlife" where it "shouldn't be" is always a bit startling, especially, for me, if it seems to be dying as a result.
The same thing happened last summer, back home, when Sidney brought a baby opossum out from the bushes in our back yard. The way she dropped it, I was certain it was dead. But, after chasing Sidney inside, I went back to look and it had turned over - just playing dead (as I later found opossums are known to do)!
That was an experience! We took that baby opossum to the animal ER at the U of I, hoping they could do something for it, but it turned out Sidney had punctured its stomach and there was no way to guarantee it would mend. They put the opossum down. It was a sad day. As was this evening.
I went back outside, prepared with a cup, to scoop up toady and bury it. But sure enough, just like the opossum, it was only playing dead. It had rolled over and was sitting on the doormat now. Thankfully, Patricia came to check it out and offered to pick it up and put it somewhere.
Diana, the owner of TG, apparently puts bleach in the fountain in the back of the Grand Ave. store, for all of you who were planning to drink from it/let your animals and/or children drink from or play in it. Though it may have liked the humid environment, we had to take it away, so we put it by the trees in the alley between TG and Neha's old apt. I hope it lives. Chances are, it has already drank from the fountain, which would explain its chillin by the door and sluggishness, and will pass shortly. If I were a praying man, I would do that right now. But I hope that whatever happens, that toad either survives this to tell its family/relatives about TG, or passes without pain or suffering.
________
I've always reacted like this to animal deaths, or ostensibly dead animals. That's one reason why I felt vegetarianism was a good choice.
And afterwards, I kept thinking: "Why don't I have this kind of care or reaction to insects? Why are they so dispensable? They also are living just as much as anything else is."
I wonder how much our living here has affected ecosystems...I suppose things have been adapting for years. I know some bugs sure seem to like it in our buildings, on our lights, in the corners, basements, bathrooms. I always try to spread positive vibes to the insects I encounter, in my home and on the ground. Unfortunately, I don't have the will power to do the whole sweeping-before-I-walk thing to make sure I don't step on anything. I really respect people with that much devotion to peace and non-violence.
Also, before I went to work and all this mess happened, I made a really great dinner!
From this site Monna sent me a recipe for scallion pancakes I found a recipe for Szechuan spicy cucumber salad that I really wanted to make! Suma and I got that at Little Szechuan once and it was so good! So, I decided to make that, and do something with the tofu I had. I made a sweet chili fried tofu dish, also on that site...I think it's called Appetite for China, or something like that.
A) Surprisingly successful.
B) Delicious!
C) Few ingredients, which also meant that the flavors could really stand out.
I guess I just got intimidated by cooking in a style I'm not that familiar with...making a sauce - something I've never done, until today. And with something I've never used - Szechuan peppercorns (which are amazing, btw).
Just like when I was trying to make daal the first time, there's different techniques one has to gain, but it's great to do things I'm "scared of trying." I find that usually when I just take the time to figure things out and then take the chance, it always turns out ok, even if I fail. At least I've learned early that I like to cook with all my ingredients prepared beforehand. It means washing more dishes sometimes...but it really reduces stress. I just don't have the ability to cut and add as I go, as I see my mums doing.
Anyway, what a day! And tomorrow should be cool - hanging out with Stu all day. It's been awhile. It's nice to have at least one DJ friend in the area. Every time I get the chance to talk about music or DJing on this level it really gets me going.
Unfortunately, I also have thoughts that I may have to give up music someday in the near future. I will leave with this thought:
While reading Malcolm X's autobiography, I had a constant swarm of emotions and thoughts rushing through or sitting in my head. One thing I realized in the process of reading the book was that I LOVE reading, especially of the kind that I can use as "ammunition" for my points during any kind of dispute. I really regret not taking more time to read as I have been this past few weeks. I thought, "what if I did take that time? Where would it come from? My first thought: music. Malcolm, once he entered prison, never took spare time, and it sounds as though he didn't really have "hobbies." I am not Malcolm X, and I will not live the same life...but I understand how he was able to become so strong in his arguments and speak such truth because he had the opportunity to become so read and learned while in prison, in addition to following completely the teachings and word of Elijah Muhammad. I suppose it was the combination of that - having the knowledge, and already having the argument, the truth, but needing to support it. I don't have that much, and it's hard to tell where I'm going with my reading and research, when I don't have a platform or faith to support it with, other than humanity...faith in humanity. To some degree, that is what's driving me, at the core.
In any case, if I dropped music and started reading instead of looking for records, playing records, or downloading/searching for music on my computer, I would have a great deal of time. That would be just about all of my time not spent doing school work, sleeping, eating, or taking care of myself. I don't know if I could do it, because I don't have one specific cause, one focus, to...focus on, making it hard to have so much faith in the work I do, making it less satisfying, which is a huge bump up for music - instant gratification of playing/listening to music I greatly enjoy. There's always the issues though..."what does this mean?" "what message does this send/story does this tell?" "if I don't like the lyrics of a song, should I play it or not? should I just go with mostly instrumental stuff because it doesn't have words to possibly send the wrong message? and so on, and so on...
That reminds me, I need to work on my application to the Red Bull Music Academy!
Goodnight!
Many thoughts entered my mind:
It was soft, but didn't completely give
It was too large to be a pearl
I didn't feel any crunches
It might be a living thing!
The moment I felt it I hopped and shifted weight to my other foot. Slowly moving the recycling can I looked at a small greyish-brown mass. I thought I had killed a baby bird. "How many times have I seen dead baby birds! And this time I was the cause?!" were my approximate thoughts.
But no, it had no feathers, beak, neck...It was a toad! Poor toad!!! It was on its back, mouth agape, tongue hanging out!!!
I can't quite describe the rush of emotions this whole experience gave me up until that point, but that was it, it was too much. I freaked and ran inside, screaming (thankfully only my co-workers were inside at this point!). It must have been quite a sight. I felt like I was hyperventilating! I had no idea what to do, as is always the case with these kinds of encounters with "nature."
It's these kinds of moments that remind me that all this "civilization," and our "advances" have really taken a toll on not only native peoples, but also the vast number of animal species initially inhabiting this land. Encountering "wildlife" where it "shouldn't be" is always a bit startling, especially, for me, if it seems to be dying as a result.
The same thing happened last summer, back home, when Sidney brought a baby opossum out from the bushes in our back yard. The way she dropped it, I was certain it was dead. But, after chasing Sidney inside, I went back to look and it had turned over - just playing dead (as I later found opossums are known to do)!
That was an experience! We took that baby opossum to the animal ER at the U of I, hoping they could do something for it, but it turned out Sidney had punctured its stomach and there was no way to guarantee it would mend. They put the opossum down. It was a sad day. As was this evening.
I went back outside, prepared with a cup, to scoop up toady and bury it. But sure enough, just like the opossum, it was only playing dead. It had rolled over and was sitting on the doormat now. Thankfully, Patricia came to check it out and offered to pick it up and put it somewhere.
Diana, the owner of TG, apparently puts bleach in the fountain in the back of the Grand Ave. store, for all of you who were planning to drink from it/let your animals and/or children drink from or play in it. Though it may have liked the humid environment, we had to take it away, so we put it by the trees in the alley between TG and Neha's old apt. I hope it lives. Chances are, it has already drank from the fountain, which would explain its chillin by the door and sluggishness, and will pass shortly. If I were a praying man, I would do that right now. But I hope that whatever happens, that toad either survives this to tell its family/relatives about TG, or passes without pain or suffering.
________
I've always reacted like this to animal deaths, or ostensibly dead animals. That's one reason why I felt vegetarianism was a good choice.
And afterwards, I kept thinking: "Why don't I have this kind of care or reaction to insects? Why are they so dispensable? They also are living just as much as anything else is."
I wonder how much our living here has affected ecosystems...I suppose things have been adapting for years. I know some bugs sure seem to like it in our buildings, on our lights, in the corners, basements, bathrooms. I always try to spread positive vibes to the insects I encounter, in my home and on the ground. Unfortunately, I don't have the will power to do the whole sweeping-before-I-walk thing to make sure I don't step on anything. I really respect people with that much devotion to peace and non-violence.
Also, before I went to work and all this mess happened, I made a really great dinner!
From this site Monna sent me a recipe for scallion pancakes I found a recipe for Szechuan spicy cucumber salad that I really wanted to make! Suma and I got that at Little Szechuan once and it was so good! So, I decided to make that, and do something with the tofu I had. I made a sweet chili fried tofu dish, also on that site...I think it's called Appetite for China, or something like that.
A) Surprisingly successful.
B) Delicious!
C) Few ingredients, which also meant that the flavors could really stand out.
I guess I just got intimidated by cooking in a style I'm not that familiar with...making a sauce - something I've never done, until today. And with something I've never used - Szechuan peppercorns (which are amazing, btw).
Just like when I was trying to make daal the first time, there's different techniques one has to gain, but it's great to do things I'm "scared of trying." I find that usually when I just take the time to figure things out and then take the chance, it always turns out ok, even if I fail. At least I've learned early that I like to cook with all my ingredients prepared beforehand. It means washing more dishes sometimes...but it really reduces stress. I just don't have the ability to cut and add as I go, as I see my mums doing.
Anyway, what a day! And tomorrow should be cool - hanging out with Stu all day. It's been awhile. It's nice to have at least one DJ friend in the area. Every time I get the chance to talk about music or DJing on this level it really gets me going.
Unfortunately, I also have thoughts that I may have to give up music someday in the near future. I will leave with this thought:
While reading Malcolm X's autobiography, I had a constant swarm of emotions and thoughts rushing through or sitting in my head. One thing I realized in the process of reading the book was that I LOVE reading, especially of the kind that I can use as "ammunition" for my points during any kind of dispute. I really regret not taking more time to read as I have been this past few weeks. I thought, "what if I did take that time? Where would it come from? My first thought: music. Malcolm, once he entered prison, never took spare time, and it sounds as though he didn't really have "hobbies." I am not Malcolm X, and I will not live the same life...but I understand how he was able to become so strong in his arguments and speak such truth because he had the opportunity to become so read and learned while in prison, in addition to following completely the teachings and word of Elijah Muhammad. I suppose it was the combination of that - having the knowledge, and already having the argument, the truth, but needing to support it. I don't have that much, and it's hard to tell where I'm going with my reading and research, when I don't have a platform or faith to support it with, other than humanity...faith in humanity. To some degree, that is what's driving me, at the core.
In any case, if I dropped music and started reading instead of looking for records, playing records, or downloading/searching for music on my computer, I would have a great deal of time. That would be just about all of my time not spent doing school work, sleeping, eating, or taking care of myself. I don't know if I could do it, because I don't have one specific cause, one focus, to...focus on, making it hard to have so much faith in the work I do, making it less satisfying, which is a huge bump up for music - instant gratification of playing/listening to music I greatly enjoy. There's always the issues though..."what does this mean?" "what message does this send/story does this tell?" "if I don't like the lyrics of a song, should I play it or not? should I just go with mostly instrumental stuff because it doesn't have words to possibly send the wrong message? and so on, and so on...
That reminds me, I need to work on my application to the Red Bull Music Academy!
Goodnight!
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
a case of the nail biting
I had a striking realization at the end of this past semester, during what I thought was one of my worst periods of nail-biting: the control I have over my nail-biting and the length of my finger nails generally reflects my self-esteem at any given time.
In high school, during my last two years, I "cleaned up" - stopped partying, quit my job at Sonic Drive-in, and focused on my academics. I started doing better, understanding my work and classes, and feeling really proud. I stopped biting my nails immediately...it was like one day I stopped biting my nails and I never looked back. Then...after I began my first year at Mac, things went downhill.
Now it's summer and I'm at the lowest length I've been at in a while. Something's not right. I can feel it in more than just my sore fingertips.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
This day in history
Just so that I don't forget, I have to say that:
On this day, December 23rd, in an effort set in motion three days prior, on December the 20th, I, Reed Charles Boskey, have completed one life-long goal of beating Rockman (also known under the guise of Megaman) X2 for the Super Famicom/Super Nintendo Gaming system.
YAAAAAAYYYY!!!
It was not what I expected at all - the post-boss battles were actually quite easy, and in multiple stages, allowing me to replenish my health in between. It was kind of a joke...I was thinking all the way through the final fight: "there has to be another form of Sigma...this is too easy." And sure enough, going against everything I've learned from the Megaman series thus far, it was the final fight. Interesting. Or...maybe I just got really good at Mega/Rockman games over the years. Either way, that's 3 of the X series that I've beaten... I'm such a nerd. It was so worth it, though. Another personal accomplishment this break, to add to the paper, learning a lot of recipes from mi madre, and doing some personal reading...it's beginning to look pretty good.
On this day, December 23rd, in an effort set in motion three days prior, on December the 20th, I, Reed Charles Boskey, have completed one life-long goal of beating Rockman (also known under the guise of Megaman) X2 for the Super Famicom/Super Nintendo Gaming system.
YAAAAAAYYYY!!!
It was not what I expected at all - the post-boss battles were actually quite easy, and in multiple stages, allowing me to replenish my health in between. It was kind of a joke...I was thinking all the way through the final fight: "there has to be another form of Sigma...this is too easy." And sure enough, going against everything I've learned from the Megaman series thus far, it was the final fight. Interesting. Or...maybe I just got really good at Mega/Rockman games over the years. Either way, that's 3 of the X series that I've beaten... I'm such a nerd. It was so worth it, though. Another personal accomplishment this break, to add to the paper, learning a lot of recipes from mi madre, and doing some personal reading...it's beginning to look pretty good.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Reed Richards Radio
Just so I don't lose them...though I guess they may timeout after a while, since it looks like that happened to my older posts. :(
Here's the 9th issue of Reed Richards Radio, from Fall 2008:
http://www.zshare.net/audio/526081968bd2d604/
And the 10th issue:
http://www.zshare.net/audio/526052854da5f485/
for some of that real Detroit shit...well, kinda. I did my best. I can definitely see the progress in my mixing since the semester started, which is pretty dope
Here's the 9th issue of Reed Richards Radio, from Fall 2008:
http://www.zshare.net/audio/526081968bd2d604/
And the 10th issue:
http://www.zshare.net/audio/526052854da5f485/
for some of that real Detroit shit...well, kinda. I did my best. I can definitely see the progress in my mixing since the semester started, which is pretty dope
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
mmmm, consuming culture through consuming food.
It's pretty interesting that I've grown into this belief that food is so closely tied to culture... I think I need to explore:
What do I mean by food?
What do I mean by culture?
Well...when I think of food, my favorite foods, I think of my mother's (and to a lesser degree, my father's) cooking and how it makes me feel. It's a way of affirming who I am, sustenance for the body and the soul. But this is so subjective - to ask what someone else thinks of in the context of favorite foods would certainly get a different response. But, there has to be some greater aspect of it. An objective aspect as well that links all food together.
And culture...that's so loaded. What are my assumptions about culture? hmmm... I feel like, especially in the context of food, there are "connections" I draw that are not real and not necessarily there (and also, are very...one-sided, for lack of a better term). Perhaps to ask someone what a dish's significance (if any) is to them is a more effective and less alienating way to start a conversation than presupposing it has some:
http://stuffwhitepeopledo.blogspot.com/2008/11/associate-asian-people-with-food.html?showComment=1227024300000
I can't demonize that guy, cuz I've been there too...and I know where I got it - from my momma. But, regardless, seeing that conversation makes me realize the ways in which my views have changed over the last few years.
This isn't even about the dish the guys in that post cooked. It's about what those dishes signify - an exotic alternative culture (clearly not something that is part of this culture/society) - and how that acts to establish people as permanently foreign (though these students were, presumably, studying in the US, and held citizenship in other countries, that is irrelevant). I'm losing track, as I started this post almost a month ago and just came back to this point now.... Just a bit of a check in on my progress and an attempt to work out some thoughts.
I guess what I really wanted to investigate was what makes certain things unique and special to me, and what gives me a right to that. I am constantly conflicted about what I could/should enjoy, claim ownership of, etc. For example...one of my favorite dishes that my mom makes is chiles rellenos. It is so rare that someone actually develops their own recipe, and, also, what makes food so great is the sense of tradition that comes along with it. But my mom just got that recipe, as with many others, from books. She does not have a good hold of it, she has to read it off the recipe sheet when she makes it. But she has that relationship to other dishes as well, and ones that are from our own family, like my great aunt's Swedish rye bread recipe. This also brings in discussion of authenticity...like, what source does she have for her chiles rellenos recipe? What if it's some coopted, butchered version? By a white United Statesean? Or what if it's a "butchered" version by a Mexican American? I'm so confused by this, and I know there have been so many things written about it. I don't have time right now to get into that though.
Kitchens hold a special place in my heart - especially the two that I currently inhabit (during different times of the year). I have grown up in the same house my whole life, this house in Champaign, on Hill Street. And in this kitchen are so many memories. Not only dishes made, but lessons learned, stories told, family made. It's amazing. And that has started at our house on Ashland, as well. I get great satisfaction from cooking with my mother and my housemates, and I feel like it's a great way for us to communicate and build community. What better way to look at praxis in my own life - here are way's I've been engaging in it, and also in this sort of community building that I aspire to so much. Here are dishes I make, or of my family, what are yours? We communicate through food, through stories, and that is our coalition forming action. I feel so much closer to both my mother and my housemates through our kitchen experiences. And it doesn't have to be this sharing method, either, there is potential to take risks together and learn things as a team, which also build stronger bonds. Like experimenting with Monna and making some delicious ass corn. That was wonderful.
I suppose at issue here, for me, is that I am worried of the politics of ownership and authenticity ruining the wonderful relationship I have with kitchens, food, cooking, and all that plays out therein when working with other people. Maybe this is a sense of entitlement I have...which is something I always wonder, or maybe it's just the case that my self-decpreciating mentality sometimes spills into every aspect of my life. :(
Anyay, I'm done for now. The verdict: further reflection necessary.
What do I mean by food?
What do I mean by culture?
Well...when I think of food, my favorite foods, I think of my mother's (and to a lesser degree, my father's) cooking and how it makes me feel. It's a way of affirming who I am, sustenance for the body and the soul. But this is so subjective - to ask what someone else thinks of in the context of favorite foods would certainly get a different response. But, there has to be some greater aspect of it. An objective aspect as well that links all food together.
And culture...that's so loaded. What are my assumptions about culture? hmmm... I feel like, especially in the context of food, there are "connections" I draw that are not real and not necessarily there (and also, are very...one-sided, for lack of a better term). Perhaps to ask someone what a dish's significance (if any) is to them is a more effective and less alienating way to start a conversation than presupposing it has some:
http://stuffwhitepeopledo.blogspot.com/2008/11/associate-asian-people-with-food.html?showComment=1227024300000
I can't demonize that guy, cuz I've been there too...and I know where I got it - from my momma. But, regardless, seeing that conversation makes me realize the ways in which my views have changed over the last few years.
This isn't even about the dish the guys in that post cooked. It's about what those dishes signify - an exotic alternative culture (clearly not something that is part of this culture/society) - and how that acts to establish people as permanently foreign (though these students were, presumably, studying in the US, and held citizenship in other countries, that is irrelevant). I'm losing track, as I started this post almost a month ago and just came back to this point now.... Just a bit of a check in on my progress and an attempt to work out some thoughts.
I guess what I really wanted to investigate was what makes certain things unique and special to me, and what gives me a right to that. I am constantly conflicted about what I could/should enjoy, claim ownership of, etc. For example...one of my favorite dishes that my mom makes is chiles rellenos. It is so rare that someone actually develops their own recipe, and, also, what makes food so great is the sense of tradition that comes along with it. But my mom just got that recipe, as with many others, from books. She does not have a good hold of it, she has to read it off the recipe sheet when she makes it. But she has that relationship to other dishes as well, and ones that are from our own family, like my great aunt's Swedish rye bread recipe. This also brings in discussion of authenticity...like, what source does she have for her chiles rellenos recipe? What if it's some coopted, butchered version? By a white United Statesean? Or what if it's a "butchered" version by a Mexican American? I'm so confused by this, and I know there have been so many things written about it. I don't have time right now to get into that though.
Kitchens hold a special place in my heart - especially the two that I currently inhabit (during different times of the year). I have grown up in the same house my whole life, this house in Champaign, on Hill Street. And in this kitchen are so many memories. Not only dishes made, but lessons learned, stories told, family made. It's amazing. And that has started at our house on Ashland, as well. I get great satisfaction from cooking with my mother and my housemates, and I feel like it's a great way for us to communicate and build community. What better way to look at praxis in my own life - here are way's I've been engaging in it, and also in this sort of community building that I aspire to so much. Here are dishes I make, or of my family, what are yours? We communicate through food, through stories, and that is our coalition forming action. I feel so much closer to both my mother and my housemates through our kitchen experiences. And it doesn't have to be this sharing method, either, there is potential to take risks together and learn things as a team, which also build stronger bonds. Like experimenting with Monna and making some delicious ass corn. That was wonderful.
I suppose at issue here, for me, is that I am worried of the politics of ownership and authenticity ruining the wonderful relationship I have with kitchens, food, cooking, and all that plays out therein when working with other people. Maybe this is a sense of entitlement I have...which is something I always wonder, or maybe it's just the case that my self-decpreciating mentality sometimes spills into every aspect of my life. :(
Anyay, I'm done for now. The verdict: further reflection necessary.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Friday, October 3, 2008
A place to go to
After DC (which was amazing), I don't know how to have a weekend anymore. Life has been pretty disjointed since returning, and I realize once again, that I am not happy here. I make the best of my circumstances, but there's only so much I can do. I can't fool myself much longer - this place makes me miserable. And maybe graduating won't really be a liberating experience - I'll have many more things to worry about, especially financially (which deeply frightens me), and it may be only worse. But, maybe not, if I can do something like AmeriCorps. or Teach for America. The problem is...if things go anything like they have been for the last few years, I won't make the deadline for those program applications. Last year it was MITY (which I'm glad I didn't end up working for, I wouldn't have had that amazing summer, and that would be tragic), and now it's Chuck Green - and it looks like I won't finish by Monday. FUCK! If there's one thing I don't learn from my mistakes, it's how to keep on schedule with deadlines, and I'm sure it will cost me many more opportunities in my coming years.
So, that's that. The work I struggle to do, and most of the spaces in which I do most of my learning, I feel, are not recognized by this school, nor my transcript. I'm pretty unimpressive in that sense. But, once I join a community, I realize, I tend to completely invest myself in it. Thus, I'm extremely invested in improving this campus for all students, even though I am not getting what I need, nor finding happiness. What a situation to be in! I should probably have transferred when I started feeling this stuff my first year. This is like...revelations to me. I'm still not speaking up for my needs, and changing schools is definitely one of those needs. But, it's so late now, and I feel like it wouldn't be worth it.
I'm swamped with work, my mom and Stephen are coming today, and I'm not up to any of it. And on top of all of that, our house is fucking freezing!
my mood:
So, that's that. The work I struggle to do, and most of the spaces in which I do most of my learning, I feel, are not recognized by this school, nor my transcript. I'm pretty unimpressive in that sense. But, once I join a community, I realize, I tend to completely invest myself in it. Thus, I'm extremely invested in improving this campus for all students, even though I am not getting what I need, nor finding happiness. What a situation to be in! I should probably have transferred when I started feeling this stuff my first year. This is like...revelations to me. I'm still not speaking up for my needs, and changing schools is definitely one of those needs. But, it's so late now, and I feel like it wouldn't be worth it.
I'm swamped with work, my mom and Stephen are coming today, and I'm not up to any of it. And on top of all of that, our house is fucking freezing!
my mood:
Friday, September 26, 2008
...delay
I realized I'm so thankful that people made templates already...otherwise my blog would look just like my never-used myspace: bare and uninspired. Though, that's not far from the case with Myspace. I never caught on. Maybe someday I'll use it, make friends with my favorite musicians...or something. Facebook was always easier since most people at school already used that, but whatever. I'm trapped in the bubble mindset - it's infiltrated my being. At least I'm working on making change within that bubble.
My flight was canceled...furthering my distaste with traveling. Megabus is at least more reliable than that. Now I get to leave at 7 in the morning! I'm looking forward to staying up all night.
I can't even enjoy the night...well, that's figurative. I can't get messed up in any way, I might miss the flight. Why is traveling always such an ordeal?
My flight was canceled...furthering my distaste with traveling. Megabus is at least more reliable than that. Now I get to leave at 7 in the morning! I'm looking forward to staying up all night.
I can't even enjoy the night...well, that's figurative. I can't get messed up in any way, I might miss the flight. Why is traveling always such an ordeal?
post numero uno
It's thoroughly nerve-wracking to a)travel, b)choose a blog title/name/url, etc. Everything was taken - by blogs that hadn't been updated for a minimum of three years. So...they seriously archive these forever..?
DC tomorrow.
I need to see this movie - don't forget!
Frog River, it's called. Those tracks...if people appreciated that shit more. It seems to be huge in Japan, and certain small areas around the rest of the world, but I frequently hear reference to deep/acid/soulful house being huge in Japan. Damn. It would be so great to be in a space where a bunch of people were feeling that shit. wow. And to play for people who would...that would also be nuts. I often wonder, what if...?
tracks of the moment include:
(the A side of that second record he plays in that frog river clip).
That's enough for now...there's so many more. This will also be a music journal. I remember moments in my life by the songs I listened to/played.
Kerri Chandler's Atmosphere EP
Johnny Hammond - Fantasy
Loose Joints - All Over My Face (Love Dancing)
Charles Earland - Leaving This Planet (the namesake of the heading)
N.E.R.D - Love Bomb
Incognito's Tales from the Beach album
Unlimited Touch - I Hear Music in the Streets
Kuniyuki Takahashi - All These Things (album)
All These Things (Theo Parrish remix)
Sheila E - Glamorous Life
Jamiroquai - Little L
That's a bit lengthy, but there are some great songs I don't want to forget I have (it happens a lot). Oooo, Hold Tight just gives me chills, in a romantic...nightly, kind of summery-carefree kind of way. Kind of like last summer....
That's a whole other topic though, and I've talked about it far too much to go into it again. Not now.
I do love the WGRC. I went, though, and it was a hot mess. Dirty cups all over, the coffee-maker had a used filter left in it??? It was nice spending time there - it's really calming. I feel good having office hours - even if Becca is the only person to regularly frequent them. Rachel came last week, and Richie, surprisingly, hung out for a while tonight. It is my hope that people use that space more and more as time goes on, and we have a more coherent organization system.
I find that I'm really starting to politicize myself on campus...or at least, own my experience here and work toward the changes I want to see on campus. I'm living that damn Ghandi quote...I mean, it's great. I love it. It's just funny to me. I was all "how do you be the change you want to see in the world?" and now I am...it's just where my life is moving. I am feeling slightly more confident, and like I'm "filling my" shoes more every day. It's kind of good, kind of frightening - but I'm so swept up in it, I couldn't bother to think twice about what I'm doing. I am too intentional about everything, and live out my beliefs, naturally. At least, I feel that way - maybe it's not the case. I haven't figured my life out or anything...just a hypothesis.
btw, I love garlic.
Thanks for a good first post.
DC tomorrow.
I need to see this movie - don't forget!
Frog River, it's called. Those tracks...if people appreciated that shit more. It seems to be huge in Japan, and certain small areas around the rest of the world, but I frequently hear reference to deep/acid/soulful house being huge in Japan. Damn. It would be so great to be in a space where a bunch of people were feeling that shit. wow. And to play for people who would...that would also be nuts. I often wonder, what if...?
tracks of the moment include:
(the A side of that second record he plays in that frog river clip).
That's enough for now...there's so many more. This will also be a music journal. I remember moments in my life by the songs I listened to/played.
Kerri Chandler's Atmosphere EP
Johnny Hammond - Fantasy
Loose Joints - All Over My Face (Love Dancing)
Charles Earland - Leaving This Planet (the namesake of the heading)
N.E.R.D - Love Bomb
Incognito's Tales from the Beach album
Unlimited Touch - I Hear Music in the Streets
Kuniyuki Takahashi - All These Things (album)
All These Things (Theo Parrish remix)
Sheila E - Glamorous Life
Jamiroquai - Little L
That's a bit lengthy, but there are some great songs I don't want to forget I have (it happens a lot). Oooo, Hold Tight just gives me chills, in a romantic...nightly, kind of summery-carefree kind of way. Kind of like last summer....
That's a whole other topic though, and I've talked about it far too much to go into it again. Not now.
I do love the WGRC. I went, though, and it was a hot mess. Dirty cups all over, the coffee-maker had a used filter left in it??? It was nice spending time there - it's really calming. I feel good having office hours - even if Becca is the only person to regularly frequent them. Rachel came last week, and Richie, surprisingly, hung out for a while tonight. It is my hope that people use that space more and more as time goes on, and we have a more coherent organization system.
I find that I'm really starting to politicize myself on campus...or at least, own my experience here and work toward the changes I want to see on campus. I'm living that damn Ghandi quote...I mean, it's great. I love it. It's just funny to me. I was all "how do you be the change you want to see in the world?" and now I am...it's just where my life is moving. I am feeling slightly more confident, and like I'm "filling my" shoes more every day. It's kind of good, kind of frightening - but I'm so swept up in it, I couldn't bother to think twice about what I'm doing. I am too intentional about everything, and live out my beliefs, naturally. At least, I feel that way - maybe it's not the case. I haven't figured my life out or anything...just a hypothesis.
btw, I love garlic.
Thanks for a good first post.
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