depressive powers—activate!

Happy Birthday, Antoinette Rudolph!!!

I just read an interesting article: Limewire Hits Back Hard: Sues RIAA For Antitrust And Consumer Fraud

I’m pleased that Limewire is standing tall. Yes, I do use iTunes these days, but my problem with iTunes is that their selection is so limited. Limewire’s isn’t. If you’re looking for anything even remotely obscure, iTunes probably won’t have it. That’s not to say that Limewire is perfect—there are plenty of tracks unavailable there—but their offerings are far meatier than those provided by iTunes. I think there are probably quite a few folks out there who would pay for their music—rather than swiping it for free from a file-sharing program—if they could actually find their chosen music on a pay site. Often it’s not so much that people aren’t willing to drop 99¢ on a song, but that they can’t find the song(s) they want at iTunes, nu-Napster, etc.

Meanwhile, Seabsy and I have been talking about how excellent it would be if we could assemble a Justice League comprised exclusively of our mentally ill friends. Everyone’s superpower would simply be his/her individual case of mental illness. If I were a cartoonist, I would draw that puppy now!



song heard most recently before posting: Today—Joshua Radin

tornadoes and everything after

Happy Birthday, Melissa Leeper!!!

Today marks five years since a tornado slammed into my apartment. What was particularly upsetting about this was the fact that it happened one day shy of the two-week anniversary of 9/11. I was already feeling jittery and vulnerable from the terrorist attacks, and then I got a double-whack from nature.

Ordinarily I would’ve been sitting in gridlock on the Beltway when it struck, perhaps even unaware of what was happening (since it cut a very narrow, picky swath through the region). But I’d unexpectedly gotten to work early that morning, so I left the office a bit earlier than usual. Because of that little fluke, I was at home when it hit. I thought it was just an ordinary storm, but then I looked outside and saw leaves swirling in a circle and thought Oh shit—! I frantically tried to shove the cats into their carriers and haul them in the laundry room—the only room without any windows—but they freaked out and squirmed from my grasp every time I grabbed them.

And then it was all over. (I never did get them into their carriers.) I never felt the house shake, never heard freight train noises. I did hear a loud crash (one of the trees falling outside), but nothing else. It was a small tornado, all things considered, but it did kill a pair of sisters on the University of Maryland campus.

I immediately went outside with my camera; the rain hadn’t even stopped falling yet. The yard was full of shrapnel and trees were down everywhere, including in my driveway (narrowly missing my then-brand-new car). The top half of my landlord’s shed was in a neighbor’s tree; the bottom half was draped over the backyard fence. Our fences were either gone or crushed. Only one of the three pillars on the front of the house remained—the other two sailed over the house, over the backyard, and landed in our rear neighbor’s yard. Siding was ripped loose and smacking against the side of the house and part of the roof was gone.

Things were eerie and nightmarish after that. Nighttime in my neighborhood was pitch-black for days, chainsaws were constantly buzzing, repair trucks sealed off my road, industrial-sized fans screamed outside my windows as they sucked the moisture out of the house, fallen trees were piled everywhere, and the whole landscape of the neighborhood changed. After a few days power was restored to the rest of the neighborhood, but the water damage to our house prevented us from reclaiming electricity, so we stayed without power after everyone else’s lights were back on. Moneygrubbing slugs came crawling out of the woodwork, too. Every day our mailbox was stuffed with inserts from dodgy-looking insurance agents and contractors begging us to become their clients. Lawyers stuffed things in our mailbox, too. (But who were we going to sue? Mother Nature?) Our phones rang off the hook with calls from those same insurance agents, contractors, and lawyers. I was petsitting my sister’s dog in the middle of this, and a few days after the tornado I took her to a local elementary school so we could play fetch with a tennis ball in their field. Some little kid walked up to us and handed me a flyer advertising some contractor, then gave me a sales pitch. There was just no escape from it! They harrassed us constantly.

Then I learned that the damage to the house was so severe, my landlord and I would have to move out for three months while the walls and roof were completely rebuilt. Fortunately, I had picked up renters’ insurance three months earlier. Thus began my frustrating whirlwind of dealing with State Farm and a temporary housing agency contracted by them. I was homeless for a week (so I crashed on Angela’s sofa in Arlington), and then I was put in a temporary furnished apartment in a Silver Spring ghetto, where I lived until mid-January.

Anyway.

Lately I’ve gone bananas with my current post-apocalyptic literature-reading spree. Somebody needs to stop me before I yank yet another mushroom cloud-bedecked book off the shelves!! The book I finished last night, Into the Forest, had me gnashing my teeth over how ill-prepared I would be if I were forced to survive after the collapse of civilization. I do have a disaster/evacuation kit that I put together a few years ago (hey, when you live only 10 miles from the White House, and when you’ve been hit by a tornado in a state that almost never gets tornadoes, you’ve gotta be prepared, right?), and I’m quite proud of it, but it’s far from perfect. Likewise, I have a few gallons of water and a decent stash of canned food set aside, but my stores are paltry compared to what I’d need to survive for a prolonged period of time. I need to work on intensifying the kit. However, not much will happen until I’m able to finally buy a house, because my apartment is so tiny, it just won’t hold a boatload of supplies.

Adding fuel to the flames, I decided to torment myself—days before leaving for London—by watching the film Dirty War (about terrorists setting off a dirty bomb in London)—last night, after proofreading a load of manuscripts. After finishing more manuscripts today, I broached an equally-unsettling topic and watched the beautiful and sobering documentary Into the Arms of Strangers: Stories of the Kindertransport.

Hot weekend, ain’t!


song heard most recently before posting: Sister Named Desire—Tori Amos

Happy Fall, y'all!

It’s the Autumn Equinox today! The start of my favorite season!

After a few days of wonderfully fall-like weather, autumn officially kicked off with weather that is better suited for summer: warm, clammy, and hazy. Blech.

My Celtic Devotional offers this greeting to the Autumn Equinox:

Hail! Journeyer of the Heavens,
Queen of Brightness, King of Beauty!
Gifts of gladness richly bringing
Autumn sheaves and red leaves’ fall.
Generous be the heart within us,
Open be our hands to all,
Justice to be in equal measure,
Harvest thankfulness our call.

It also provides a list of activities for the autumn months (including, among others, “Walk and meditate outdoors for at least fifteen minutes daily,” “Identify plants and trees by their autumn color and find out about their habitats and qualities,” and “Be active with like-minded others, in bringing healing or relief to living things in distress, whether human, animal, plant, etc.”)

Other bits and bobbles include:

I brighten my soul with the colors of Autumn:
hue of light,
hue of life,
hue of love,
color my mind, my body, my heart.
May my soul be preserved
from chill of dawn
till call of dark.

******

I veil my soul with the hues of Autumn:
veil of light upon my mind,
veil of life upon my body,
veil of love upon my heart.
The blessing veil of Autumn’s dusk
be upon all beings,
both now and then,
both now and when.

I just hope that our dry summer doesn’t translate into lackluster foliage this fall. The colors were rather washed out last year, and I’d like to erase that memory with an autumn full of blazing delight.

Meanwhile, I hopped on board the Heart Attack Express this morning when, as I dropped an empty milk jug into the recycling bin outside my house, a stray cat leapt out from beneath my neighbors’ back stairs, which are right next to the recycling bin. My stunned heart wriggled free from its moorings, shot from my mouth, and landed on the ground with a twitchy splat.

Also? There were two mornings last week when I was awoken at exactly 4:30am by the sound of my upstairs neighbor praying. His loud praying and his dirge-like hymns (along with other noise issues, such as his son’s periodic bouts of screamed prayers and hallelujahs; the family’s
stomping around on hardwood floors; the fact that I can hear every word they say; their penchant for dropping heavy objects on the floor for no discernable reason, causing the cats and me to jump several feet in the air several times a day; the loud bass of their TV; and the weekly visits from their toddler grandchild, who apparently only has two skills: screeching, and noisily racing around [which translates into thumpthumpthumpthump on the wooden floors, for those of you who are keeping score at home]) has been a point of contention for well over a year, but never has the praying woken me up at the dastardly hour of 4:30am—a full two hours before my alarm was set to go off. I was not impressed.

song heard most recently before posting: Merman—Tori Amos

Kidnapped Jericho DNA

I swore I wouldn’t get involved with any new TV shows this season, because my show load last season was ridiculous, especially in combination with my Netflixing and heavy freelancing schedule. But already I’ve broken my vow on three occasions. I confess to checking out the premiere of that new CBS sitcom The Class, simply because the premise seemed kinda interesting), and last night I watched the premieres of Jericho (whoah! CBS twice in one week! Unthinkable!) and Kidnapped. I watched the latter because I heart Billy Chenowith (er…Jeremy Sisto); I swooned with delight over the latter because I love me some nuclear war drama, y’all!! It was billed as “Everwood meets The Day After,” to which I cheered, “Rock on!” Sounds like my dream show! The only thing that could’ve topped it would’ve been if the show had been billed as “90210 meets The Day After.” Beautiful, disaffected Southern California teens facing a nuclear holocaust? SIGN ME UP!

I enjoyed both Kidnapped and Jericho, and I’ll be tuning into both again next week. Damn me.

Last night I also received a DNA collection kit from Johns Hopkins. A while back I enrolled in a genetic epidemiology of craniosynostosis study; now I need to furnish them with medical records, signed consent forms, photographs, and a sample of my DNA. My parents and sister will provide DNA as well. I’m excited about the whole thing and hope they share their findings with me, whether they figure out what caused my craniosynostosis or not. Also, it would be hot if, after I return all this stuff to Johns Hopkins, the study leader phones me and said, “Um, Ms. Boyer? According to the DNA sample you provided, YOU’RE NOT HUMAN.”



song heard most recently before posting: Ordinary World—Duran Duran

V-Day

A few years ago I read a wonderful piece in Marie Claire about V-Day (the global movement founded by Eve Ensler to stop violence against women and girls). I don’t know who wrote it. After stumbling across a copy of it in my desk drawer today, I thought I’d share it:

I live in the land of violence.

I have lived here all my life. I cannot even determine all the ways I have been shaped by this country and the ways of this country, as it is the only country or place I have ever known.

Trying to imagine another place, another way of being, another culture, becomes impossible, because the culture of violence is now rooted in my cells, in my DNA. It has actually impacted my ability to imagine, because violence has a deadly and distorting effect on the imagination. It creates hard, impenetrable walls where there should be doorways; it creates despair where there could be great possibility.

I say this, of course, as a person who has never lived in another country, a person who has never actually seen another country anywhere in the world that is not a land of violence. I say this as a person—as a woman—who was shaped by violence from the moment of consciousness. As a daughter whose father was an emotional terrorist, who threatened my existence through his fist or hand or whip or voice or money for most of the developing years of my life.

I say this as a woman who did not stop tiptoeing around my own apartment until late in my 30s for fear of waking the sleeping monster, who might then beat me arbitrarily or lock me up.

I say this as a woman who lost the ability to say no, and so for the first half of my life was a witness as my own body was taken many times against my deepest wishes. I say this as a woman who has struggled for most of my life not to lose my mind, not to self-destruct, as the violence has now become part of my own interior mental and spiritual landscape, working overtime against my own being.

I say this as a woman who’s witnessed the consequences of violence in every part of the world—in small villages and massive cities. I see how women, like poisoned trees, have grown with crooked trunks and missing limbs.

So what can allow for the possibility of imagining a world without violence, of conjuring V-world, of being so grandiose, so naïve, so ridiculous, to think such a world could come to me?

Maybe it is the extremity, the terrain of extremity that violence creates, that would allow, or even demand, such a leap. Maybe it is the sense of urgency and madness that pulses through everything, every muscle each time the veil of denial I lifted and one is confronted again with the possibility of mass rape, domestic battery, honor killings, sexual slavery, or genital mutilation.

Maybe it is the ravings of a mind permanently shattered by too much violence, so much so that now it simply clings like a mute child to a blind, idealistic place in order to survive. Maybe it is the desire to break out of the familiar prison that violence has created, to actually confront my own fear of intimacy, goodness, love.

Whatever it is, I believe that a world without violence is possible. I am not talking about a world where there is no anger, or passion, or intensity, or conflict, or pain. I am talking about a world where there is no murder, no rape, no brutality. I am talking about being willing to enter V-world, where we separate from the known and comfortable and trust we will survive the vastness and mystery of the new. I am talking about putting down the guns, knives, loud voices, threats, and weapons of mass destruction, and living, all of us in the wild vulnerability.

I believe V-world is possible because I see signs of it again and again in what has leaked through the violence, in what has miraculously, outrageously, survived. I have seen how, in spite of the poisoning of women’s bodies, they manage to keep producing edible fruit and holding up their branches.

V-world is in the center of us. It is longing, and it is remembering. V-world is what it smells like when they let you go, when you’re not waiting to be hit, when you perspire from the sun instead of from worry.

V-world is the 20-year-old female suicide bomber who turns back. It is the video camera the Afghan woman in the stadium hides under her burqa to document the execution of a woman accused of flirting.

V-world is the utter gentleness I see on the aged faces of those who had been “comfort women” during World War II, when they were forced into sexual slavery and raped repeatedly by Japanese soldiers. It’s the one egg the starving Bosnian woman gives me as a present as I am leaving.

It’s the lives our mothers never got to live.

V-world is unfolding between your legs. It is urgent and slow. It’s the joke the woman tells the soldier that makes him laugh and lower the gun he was pointing at her face. It’s the dresses the young girls from Srebrenica wear, and the way they fix their hair to go to hear about their men, even though they know they have all been murdered.

V-world is the lipstick a woman wears during the shelling of Sarajevo, the high heels she refuses to take off even though the snipers are firing on her city from above. V-world is the empty breasts she keeps offering the baby who sucks and sucks, knee-deep in mud in the Afghan refugee camp.

V-world is a state of mind. It is the place you could never touch in me, no matter how many times you banged my head or whipped my legs. V-world is the garden where the missing girls appear, their mothers and fathers waiting for them. V-world is the clitoral cut that doesn’t happen.

V-world is what lives after the pain has left, and we sit in the utter emptiness, and we stop creeping around the hole but fall into it—and it is not what we thought. It is the opposite.

V-world is borderless and groundless. It is the armor we finally take off. There is nothing to defend.

song heard most recently before posting: The Village Awaits the New Moon—Varttina

silent, obedient consent

Yesterday, after finishing my weekend editing load, taking the cats outside for a bit of sunshine, and updating my website, and before I hunkered down for the season premiere of The Amazing Race (awww, how good it was to see my TV boyfriend Phil again! Such lust in my heart!), I watched V for Vendetta.

Being a dystopian literature buff (Handmaid’s Tale and 1984 remain two of my favorite books—my desert island picks, if you will), I ended up really enjoying this flick. I thought it would be corny but it turned out to be very sleek, with the storyline being quite probable. What made me grin (besides seeing Stephen Fry again [I didn’t realize he’d be in the movie] and seeing John Hurt cast as the Big Brotherian chancellor Sutler [oddly appropriate since he starred as Winston Smith in the screen adaptation of 1984]) were the pointed jabs the movie threw in the US government’s general direction. Hmm. People so immobilized by terror that they allow themselves to become mute, complacent putty in the government’s hands, while civil liberties-crushing laws are spun around them? Sounds vaguely familiar.

Two quotes, both said by Hugo Weaving’s character V, promptly made it into my quotes collection:

“People should not be afraid of their governments; governments should be afraid of their people.”

“...while the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power. Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who will listen, the annunciation of truth. And the truth is, there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn’t there? Cruelty and injustice, intolerance, and depression. And where once you had the freedom to object, think, and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and systems of surveillance coercing your conformity and soliciting your submission. How did this happen? Who’s to blame? Well, certainly there are those more responsible than others, and they will be held accountable, but again truth be told, if you’re looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror. I know why you did it. I know you were afraid. Who wouldn’t be? War, terror, disease. There were a myriad of problems which conspired to corrupt your reason and rob you of your common sense. Fear got the best of you, and in your panic you turned to the now high chancellor, Adam Sutler. He promised you order, he promised you peace, and all he demanded in return was your silent, obedient consent.”

That’s good eats!

In other news, I was dropping off some items in the lobby’s mail basket this morning and saw a woman standing at the front door, peering in. She was a new employee who didn’t yet have a keycard, so I let her in. But she vaguely looked like a zombie or vampire, and since they say that vampires need to be invited into a building before they can strike, I thought it’d be funny if that turned out to be the case. Like the only thing standing between protective peace and gore raining down upon us was me and my power to open the door, and there I was, all, “Lalala, sure, I’ll open the door for you!” I’m sure I’d be singing a different tune when the bodies started piling up in the lunchroom, though.



song heard most recently before posting: Walk Away—Franz Ferdinand

...clap your hands

Recently on the Today Show they were talking about happiness. I was only half-listening because I was getting ready for work, but what I gleaned from it was that people (What people? Scientists? Think tank gurus?) are trying to figure out how happiness can be calculated and explained through scientific methods. As much as I tend to take the scientific high road in this world (what with believing in that wacky theory of evolution and all), I confess that I have qualms with this idea because it smacks of a one-size-fits-all mentality. It’s like it’s saying that A + B = happiness, when in reality, the definition of happiness is too fluid, too ephemeral, to be easily dissected and…well, defined.

I do think science (ie, brain chemistry) plays a large hand in it. If the chemicals in your brain are making you depressed, no amount of positive circumstances are going to make you happy, just like having vast wealth and a healthy brain won’t make your pancreas voluntarily produce more insulin if you’re diabetic. The same thing goes for brain damage. If the emotion-generating sections of your brain are damaged, it’s going to affect your relationship with happiness.

But when it comes to experiencing happiness, science isn’t the only factor. I really don’t think there is an easy formula for calculating this particular emotion. I do, however, think there is a certain degree of choice in the matter; if your brain chemistry isn’t plunging you into despair or sparking false manic happiness, and if your brain hasn’t been damaged, the choice to be happy on any particular day, with any particular set of circumstances, can be up to you. You see it in the people who lost everything from Katrina or the Pakistani earthquake or the war in Iraq and yet still manage to find joy in their lives.

More often than that, as common sense seems to dictate, happiness is influenced by a constellation of factors which differ from person to person. There’s no set formula. Some people need to be alone to be happy; others need to be with others. Some people need autonomy and independence; others need constant guidance. Some people need a lot of money and possessions; others need very little money and lots of simplicity; others need a mix of both (enough money to pay the bills, but minimalism otherwise). Some people are only happy when they travel the world; others are only happy in their own backyard. Some people are happy when playing instruments, others when creating art, others when kicking around a soccer ball. Some are happy figuring out mathematical equations; others are happy avoiding numbers like the plague (that’d be me!).

I’ve got my own criteria for happiness, but sometimes my moods, even when medicated, have a mind of their own. Amazing, really, how slivers of bliss can erupt from the most unseemly circumstances.



song heard most recently before posting: Don’t Fear the Reaper—Gus Gus

looking back

Well, we all know what today is. And most of us know exactly where we were and/or what we were doing when we first heard the news. I still remember how pristine the weather was on that day: sunny, clear, temperatures in the 70s. It’s such a cliché, but it really was a perfect day. I was 27 and working in Bethesda, 10 miles from the Pentagon. I had only been at work for a few minutes when the news broke.

My journal entry from that day:

11 September 2001, Tuesday

Christ, it is a waking nightmare. I don’t even know where to begin. That’s why I am following up this entry with scores of printed-out pages from CNN, MSNBC, and BBC News. Plus, it is sad to say, but I have to keep in mind the historical implications of this day, and how important it is for me to capture this story in my journal for posterity.

Today has been completely dominated by what the news sources are calling “America Under Attack.” I have scarcely done any work all day long. This day—which is being ranked as containing the worst terrorist activity on US soil since Pearl Harbor—will be the kind of day about which people ask, “Where were you when terrorists attacked America?,” just like they ask, “Where were you when the Challenger exploded? Where were you when the Oklahoma City Bombing took place?”

I hadn’t been at work very long this morning when I heard Barbara talking on the phone and saying something like, “Oh a second plane hit the World Trade Center?” I went over to her office and asked what was going on. She told me that news reports were saying that a plane crashed into one of the World Trade Center towers, but a friend of hers had just informed her that, in reality, two planes hit the towers. I told Janet the news (she had been half-listening to our conversation) and I was going to tell Carolinda the news as well when Marsha got on the loudspeaker. I’m not sure, I think she told us flat-out that two planes (believed to be hijacked; later this was confirmed) struck the World Trade Center (one crashing into each tower). She definitely invited us to go to the conference room and watch the unfolding news story on TV.

A good chunk of the staff gathered around the TV, watching live CNN coverage. The second plane had already struck the second tower by that point, but the towers were still standing. In slo-mo they repeatedly showed video footage of the plane crashing into the tower. There were gasps all around. People came and went; I stayed for maybe a half hour, awestruck. Actually, I ended up spending most of the morning in the conference room, minus a break to grimly celebrate Dawn’s birthday in Pubs, and to periodically check my voice mail and email messages. I sent a group email to everyone initially, too, because I wasn’t sure who had yet heard the news. Both Gates and Angela left voice mail messages for me, and Missy emailed me to say that she had been trying to get through to me but all the circuits were busy. I phoned Mom at work, because I wasn’t sure if she knew what was going on, since they are so absorbed in transcribing medical reports. I was so worried about Dave—it was announced that the Sears Tower had been evacuated as a precautionary measure, and I was convinced that it was going to be bombed before he could get out. Fortunately he emailed Angela and me later and told us he was fine.

Oh yes, and not long after a bunch of us returned to Pubs from the conference room for the first time, Lynda emerged from her office, looking stunned, and announced that a third hijacked plane crashed into the Pentagon. We stood around her office, listening to the news reports on the radio. Rumors began flying that there was a fire on the Mall, too, and we returned to the conference room.

As the news unfolded throughout the morning, things got worse and worse. Namely, the second WTC tower to be hit collapsed in a massive implosion. This was several minutes after the plane struck it. Maybe a half hour after the tower collapsed, the first WTC tower to be hit by a plane also collapsed. We were watching the news as it fell, and there were universal gasps of horror. Carolinda and Dawn were blowing their noses and dabbing their eyes. News reports were saying that people had been spotted jumping from the towers prior to their collapse, because they were so desperate to escape. There were actually a lot of false news reports in the beginning—a car bomb exploded outside of the State Department; the FBI was keeping their eye on a supposedly hijacked plane that was circling Dulles and heading for the Pentagon, even though the Pentagon had already been struck; there had been an explosion at the Capitol; various planes were unaccounted for. In the end, the terrorist attacks were limited to the two WTC towers, the Pentagon, and another American passenger flight that crashed near Pittsburgh. Rumors are now flying that someone on that flight called 911 on his cell phone and reported that they were being hijacked, and the US subsequently shot down the plane. I’m not sure if that’s true or not.

At 1pm [the office] ordered pizzas for the staff and many of us gathered in the conference room to eat and watch continuing footage. By then things had calmed down a bit…the news wasn’t filled with the initial chaotic frenzy of the morning, when rumors were flying (even CNN was reporting some of the false rumors as fact) and when the tragedy kept compounding. I haven’t watched the news since our pizza lunch, although you can be damn sure I’ll be watching it tonight.

What a horrible, devastating—and horribly memorable—day…

---

This morning, on the news, Hilary Clinton said that in this post-9/11 world, we are safer but not safe enough. I couldn’t agree more. And this creates such a paradox, because although I want to be safer, I also don’t want my civil liberties to be peeled away. The Patriot Act makes me flinch. The wiretapping legislation that Bush was trying to push through makes me queasy. I hate the idea of the government monitoring my library records and my phone calls. I hate the idea of being considered suspicious because I work for an animal protection organization and because I’ve done three staunchly liberal marches on Washington. I have nothing to hide, but that doesn’t mean I want Big Brother peeping into my life. I worry about the slippery path between plucking away one or two civil liberties and stripping them all away. Because, you know, terrorism can come just as easily from your government as it can from suicidal fundamentalists.

Backtracking a bit, it is both interesting and disheartening to think about how things have changed since 9/11. The US really can divide life into the categories of Before 9/11 and After 9/11. I mean, things are fundamentally the same—it’s not like we’re all walking around in biohazard suits and using retina scanners to enter buildings. We don’t have barcodes tattooed on our foreheads just yet. But 9/11 opened up a whole new landscape and language, and I marvel at the fact that my 2-year-old niece will never know a world without those changes.

Five years ago, there was no Department of Homeland Security. There were no color-coded threat alerts. People didn’t take off their shoes when going through airport security. If air marshals existed at all, they were few and far between. Guantánamo Bay was just a nondescript US Naval Station. Terrorism fears among the general American public, if they existed at all, sure didn’t include the outrageous scenario of using a passenger aircraft as a missile. Not even Hollywood thought of that one. Hate crimes against Muslims were low. Abu Ghraib? Hmmm? What’s that?

Back then I worked across the street from the National Institutes of Health and the National Naval Medical Center, both of which were essentially wide open to the public. I would stroll over to the National Library of Medicine whenever I needed to look up an article for work. It was a lovely stroll through a wide grassy lawn speckled with weeping willow trees. Donating blood meant simply driving up to the Clinical Center, parking my car, giving blood, and leaving. Coworkers and I would sometimes casually grab a bite to eat at the McDonald’s on the grounds of the Medical Center. After 9/11—no more. Giant fences now encircle both properties. Checkpoints must be passed through. You must have an ID and a reason for being there. It’s understandable, but still sad, because whenever I start to trick myself into thinking that things are back to normal, there it is: proof to the contrary. Proof that five years ago there was a shift in our culture, our government, our fears. Things became darker and stayed darker.

About three weeks after the attacks, I finally made it to the Pentagon. A tornado had struck my apartment and I was crashing with Angela in Arlington as I waited for my insurance company to find me a temporary apartment. We had errands to run and decided to drive by the Pentagon, which was still black and crushed, still wielding an enormous American flag over the damaged wall like a Band-Aid on a necrotic leg. Sobering, to say the least. As was Ground Zero when I visited there in February 2004 and April 2006.

Today all victims of terrorism—those in Iraq, Israel, Palestine, Belfast, London, Bali, America, India, Madrid, Afghanistan, on and on—remain in my thoughts.



song heard most recently before posting: Caoineadh Cu Chulainn—Davy Spillane

12 years

Today marks 12 years (!) since I departed—with frosty terror arcing through my veins—for my year abroad. Ach! Such a speedy passage of time! Although my year in London wasn’t perfect, it was still, hands down, the most superb of my four college years.

I’m grateful for the chance to go back later this month, but I have to say, finding a decent hotel was an ordeal and a half. London hotels are too expensive! That’s assuming you want a hotel that isn’t caked in filth and run by assholes. I hunted and hunted until I finally found a small and economical family-run hotel in King’s Cross which got rave reviews on TripAdvisor.com. Hopefully I’ll get a confirmation receipt soon.

My workload this weekend was minimal, so I’ve had a lot of time to just relax, read, update my website, and cruise through some DVDs. I think I’ll take the cats into the yard for a bit this afternoon, too, because the weather is stellar!



song heard most recently before posting: Don Giovanni A Cenar Teco—WA Mozart

more questions, more answers

If you were a particular style or genre of music, what would you be and why?
Holocaust music—dark, sorrowful, slightly tinged with glinting light.

When I first saw _______, I felt _________.
clouds beneath me while riding for the first time an airplane… confused (I thought the clouds were the ocean, and that it had somehow stopped moving.)

My friends consider me an expert in __________.
Ummm...probably self-injury issues and anosmia issues.

If you were a retail store, which would you be? In other words, which retail store’s atmosphere and stock best describes your personality?
Zap’s in Lancaster, PA. Dark, cluttered with both cool and ugly things, unique, always full of surprises.

What is one wild, spontaneous thing that you would like to do to your appearance, if you were brave enough to do it?
Get my hair cropped. Maybe get another nose ring (it’s wilder this time around because I’m an adult professional, not a college student, like I was before).

Do you remember your first celebrity crush and your first “ordinary” crush? If so, who were they and roughly how old were you?
Celebrity crush: Shaun Cassidy, when I was 4. Ordinary crush: I think Mark Daigle, in first grade. I wrote him a love letter that his parents treasured like it was the Dead Sea Scrolls. I fell for him after he came to our class’s Halloween party dressed as a vampire. (Sexy!)

Any normal celebrity crushes?
John Krasinski, Jake Epstein, Jake Webber, Hal Sparks, Michael Ian Black, Mo Rocca, Hugh Laurie, Colin Firth, Paul Rudd, Phil Keoghan, Julian McMahon, Tori Amos.

Any embarrassing celebrity crushes?
Piers Morgan, Billy Bush, John Simm.

“I may seem ______ but I’m really ______.”
snobby … shy and introverted

Quick! List the first memory that pops into your head!
Almost passing out in the Hermitage. I knew to avoid the tap water in Russia, and I really made an effort to do so. Yet somehow it didn’t occur to me that my morning coffee would be made with tap water, and before I knew it, I had the raging shits. So the raging shits, when coupled with how hot and crowded the museum was, led to me almost passing out. I had to sit down on one of the grand staircases and put my head between my knees for a while.

If you could stick an old enemy in the ass with something sharp, what would the sharp object be?
A filthy, rusty, feces-encrusted scythe.

What do you take for granted?
My health, and my friends’ and family’s health. I also take for granted how lucky I’ve been with averting tragedy and loss. And I take for granted my safety—the fact that, on any given day, I most likely won’t get killed in a terrorist’s suicide bomb, or have to spend my time cowering in an air-raid shelter, or worry that maniacs with axes bent on ethnic cleansing will kick down my door.

What have you squandered the most in your life?
Time. I’ve wasted so much time, always thinking that things can wait until later, and one day I’m going to stop and realize that I’m old and it’s too late.

Which of your skills needs to be worked on the most at this time?
My meeting-new-people skills.

What joy do you miss most?
The joy of summer when school was out and three months of doing nothing but having fun, being lazy, and exploring stretched in front of me.

What do you never leave home without?
My keys. And since leaving home generally entails going somewhere in my car, I also never leave home without either an iPod or a CD in my hand, so I’ll have music during my drive.

Which ideas and structures have you outgrown in the past few years?
The idea that the world is safe and can be trusted. The idea that I need a romantic relationship in order to be validated.

What music would you like to have played at your funeral?
Listen up, people: I already have a funeral folder on my iPod! So you’re set! Well, okay, it’s really a mix that I made for my cat when he died, with a few additions thrown in over the years, but it will carry over to my death as well.

Which month best describes your temperament/personality?
Once upon a time I was February—cold, dark, miserable, and I exhausted people’s patience. But now I’m March/April. Sometimes sunny and warm, sometimes dark and bitterly cold. Ascending towards spring, but still rooted in winter.

What would be in your fantasy house?
A big screened-in porch that is semi-circular, lots of large windows, an outside hot tub (sorry, I can’t help it—I love my sister’s hot tub), window seats, some built-in bookcases, a few fireplaces, hardwood floors, French doors, window boxes full of flowers. Maybe a glassed-in sunroom. I want an old house with character—wainscoting and elegant woodwork, nooks and crannies, a secret passage, maybe an old set of servants’ stairs. A garden full of wildflowers with stone paths and benches. A big attic. A sauna. A tire swing in the yard. A playroom for the cats.

What do you wish someone had told you before you found out for yourself?
That even though you want something and/or someone desperately for years, and you can’t see yourself in any other setting but the setting of that dream, it still ain’t necessarily going to happen.

Have you ever gone skinny-dipping? If not, would you ever go skinny-dipping?
I’ve gone skinny-dipping 2-3 times. I loved it and would definitely do it again. The first time was the most magical. It was the night before I returned to college to start my sophomore year.

Favorite subject in high school and/or college.
Honors English and French in high school; On the Road and Gothic Literature in college.

Least favorite subject in high school and/or college.
Math!!! I hate math with a passion, and I’m not nuts about science, either. So in high school I loathed algebra, geometry, biology, and chemistry. In college I didn’t have to take math, so I’d have to say that religious classes were my least favorite. Oh, and Public Speaking. I didn’t like Mass Communication Law or Logical and Rhetorical Analysis, either.

What do you think is the most pointless holiday?
Columbus Day. We don’t even get the day off work! And the guy wasn’t even the first person to “discover” America! And he kinda-sorta kick-started the Indian genocide!

What is your favorite piece of furniture that you own?
My wrought iron headboard. I had it custom-made by a blacksmith in Mahopac, New York.

“I really should stop ____.”
Eating unhealthy food, worrying so much about things I can’t control, working myself into an early grave.

“Life would be meaningless without _____.”
Music, books, friendship, pets, art, introspection, nature, darkness.

“I wish I would have never ____.”
Taken the sticky-fingered route, gotten thrown out of England, spent years pining for unattainable boys, stopped studying French.

Do you have any rituals/routines that you perform during the course of the day?
My whole morning is a ritual. That’s the only way I can get my lazy, unmotivated ass functioning in the morning and out the door so I’m not late to work. I’m like a pre-programmed robot in the morning.

If you could become a superstar in any realm, which would you prefer?
I’d want to be a literary superstar! I’d want to write a stack of metaphorical, richly symbolic, enigmatic, dark novels and poetry compilations that people adore! I’d have fans stalk me and people stampede at my book-signings! And I’d want to create modern sculptures that would incite fierce bidding frenzies at art galleries!

Favorite hot drink.
Hot chocolate with whipped cream.

What do you love most about your job? What do you hate the most?
I love my coworkers and hate hearing about acts of barbarism against animals on a daily basis.

Do you believe in love at first sight?
My romantic side wants to say yes, but really, I don’t think it’s possible. Lust at first sight, yes. Like at first sight, yes. A spark of chemistry, the feeling of a strong connection at first sight, yes. But love takes work, and to say that two people can fall in love immediately undermines the special work other people have put into their relationships.

Favorite restaurant(s):
All-time favorite: the Dixie, in Lebanon, PA (which has sadly closed). I still have dreams about it sometimes! Pier Restaurant (a chippie in Greenwich, England). Silver Diner. Jaleo. Olde Hansa in Tallinn.

“In the year 2001 I _____.”
Lost my beloved cat Shoah, adopted my cat Freyja, got a brand new car, watched in horror as the events of 9/11 unfolded, took a business trip to San Antonio, got displaced after a tornado slammed into my apartment.

“In the year 2002 I _____.”
Stopped wearing underwear, moved to a new apartment, got a new job, swam in the ocean for the first time in years.

“In the year 2003 I _____.”
Went to Scotland, attended three concerts (Peter Gabriel, American Idol, Simon & Garfunkel), attended two friends’ weddings (and was a bridesmaid in one of them).

“In the year 2004 I _____.”
Turned 30, became an aunt for the first and only time, saw Morrissey in concert, went to my first strip club.

“In the year 2005 I _____.”
Went to Finland, Estonia, Russia, and Iceland; started freelancing up a storm.

I like to sleep _______.
As long as physically possible. In my own bed.

I wish I had _______.
Enough money to buy a house!!! Plane tickets to various destinations around the world. And an adorably geeky boyfriend.

One thing I have that I wish I didn’t have is _____.
Anosmia. Oh, and ridiculously noisy neighbors. And debt. Okay, so much for naming only one thing…

I live for _______.
Vegging, sleeping, reading, hanging out with my cats, being silly with my friends.

Is revenge always a good thing?
Everybody’s going to expect me to say yes! But really, I don’t think revenge is always the best answer. It does help you feel better most of the time, but it can also make you look like a small, pathetic fool, which leaves you feeling worse than you did before you sought revenge. I try to follow the old adage “The best revenge is living well.” I don’t always succeed, but I try.

I can’t believe I _____.
Haven’t been felled by some kind of brain or skull injury/ailment yet. I guess because of all the problems I’ve had with my head, I’ve got this notion that I’m destined to experience some kind of trauma in that arena (cerebral hemorrhage, stroke, brain tumor, brain injury, etc). It doesn’t help that brain tumors run rampant in my dad’s maternal line.



song heard most recently before posting: Lonelily—Damien Rice

questions and answers

Aaackkkk!!! Since 2001 I’ve been thinking that my car would be paid off in August or September 2006. So this morning I called the bank to verify when my last payment should be, and they told me that my loan is a six year loan—not a five year loan—and therefore I have another year of payments!!! I need to go home and double-check my car contract, just to make sure the bank didn’t screw up, but I’m sure they didn’t. Shit.

Well, in much brighter news, I finally booked my ticket to London! I found a deal I couldn’t resist (it’s way more than I ever spent on a London ticket before, but still much cheaper than anything I’ve seen since I first started looking at flights this summer). I’ll fly out of National on Thursday, Sept. 28th, transferring at JFK, and then arriving in London early on Friday the 29th. I’ll fly home, via JFK, on Tuesday, October 3. Next up: booking a hotel room. I’ve been looking but haven’t made up my mind yet!

One would think that my flight would be a prime terrorist target because I’ll be flying American Airlines between New York and London. Still, nothing can be done about it. My will is in order, I’ve got life insurance, custody of my cats is in order. So if I do get blown up, at least my affairs are in order. I don’t want to be paralyzed by what could happen.

I had a great time with my friends in Lancaster County this past weekend, and I also managed to squeeze in a much-needed hair trim with my stylist. Because I didn’t have to do any freelancing (aside from one manuscript), I had plenty of time to update my website, do the Netflix thang, read, and relax. Mmm-mm!

Because I’m on my lunch break and I’m bored, here are some questions culled from the first two volumes of my Questionnaire Book series:

_____ is/are a part of your daily diet.
Reading, sleeping, cereal.

You can live anywhere in the world. Where is it?
London (preferably Greenwich, Primrose Hill, Camden, or Richmond); Pacific Northwest; Scandinavia; Nova Scotia; a remote Scottish island; Alaska

Favorite TV shows
Lost, Six Feet Under, Degrassi, House, The Office, The Amazing Race, Footballers’ Wives, EastEnders, Project Runway, Medium, 24, Grey’s Anatomy, Nip/Tuck, Little House on the Prairie, Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, American Idol, Twilight Zone, Days of Our Lives, The Young Ones

The best place on earth is...
My sofa, with a warm blanket, a remote control in one hand, a book or magazine in the other hand, and my cats curled around my legs.

If you were an animal, what would you be and why?
A panda. Slow-moving, big eater, on the road to extinction.

If you became President and could enact two realistic laws and one totally outlandish law, what would they be?
Realistic: 1) I would make medical care accessible to everybody, regardless of their ability to pay; 2) I’d do the same for higher education. Outlandish: 1) I’d put all bigots, misogynists, homophobes, anti-Semites, religious zealots, human and civil rights violators, child abusers, animal abusers, and other close-minded asses on a remote, deserted island.

You would describe yourself as a __________ dancer.
spastic

Biggest abstract fear
Losing friends, family, and pets. Being apart from my pets when the DC area is ravaged by a massive terrorist attack, so they are alone and scared and trapped in my apartment. The threat of nuclear war. Being in a plane crash. Suffering from permanent writer’s block. Having to work 300 jobs for the rest of my life. Never being able to afford a house. Ending up with multiple sclerosis or brain cancer. The rise of the ultra-conservative and religious right in America (I worry that a Handmaid’s Tale-esque scenario will unfold at some point.)

If you had only one year to live, what would you do?
Travel to all the places I’ve ever dreamed of visiting. Write. Bungee jump. Go parasailing. Go skydiving again. Reveal true feelings to people. Meet Tori Amos. Visit Sylvia Plath’s and Marc Chagall’s graves. Make sure the executrix of my estate (my mom) understands my will.

Biggest waste of your time
Being social. Cleaning. Sitting in gridlock. Slow drivers. Worrying. Obsessing. Freelancing (I only do it for the money!)

Favorite clothing style
Eclectic. One day I’ll be preppy, the next day I’ll be in a vintage 1940s dress, the day after that I’ll be in sweats and a t-shirt from high school. Sometimes I’m in a monochrome state of mind. Comfort is of the essence—I’d live in my pajamas if I could! And I love me some chunky platform shoes, flared jeans, and ’50s-style A-line dresses and skirts. I like mixing and matching things, too: a vintage dress with very modern shoes and a funky purse, for instance. I love secondhand clothes, whether they look new or not.

What’s the best thing about summer?
How the sky looks before a thunderstorm. Gardens. Going swimming in the ocean. Going to the Jigger Shoppe with friends when I’m home in Lebanon. Walking into an air-conditioned building on a hot day. Having a few hours of daylight left after I leave work. Those glorious days where—after a long stretch of clammy, humid, hazy, disgustingly hot days—I wake up and the sky is bright blue and there is a perfect breeze and the sun is warm but not blazing, and I just want to roll around in the grass, barefoot.

About winter?
Snow (and the expectation of work being cancelled). The beautiful, barren, melancholy gloominess of the landscape. Seasonal food (my mom’s whoopie pies and my grandfather’s PA Dutch potato filling). December holidays. Long, cozy nights spent snuggling under blankets with my cats curled beside me. Warm, heavy clothes hiding imperfections and unshaved legs. The delicate bones of trees. Frost. Icicles.

About autumn?
The buttery light. Cool weather. Growing darkness. Halloween and Thanksgiving. Glorious leaves. A feeling of renewal (harkening back to the days when autumn meant the start of a new school year, when anything was possible).

About spring?
Growing light. Flowers. Schizophrenic weather.

What living person do you most admire?
This might sound corny, but I admire all the soldiers who are abroad right now, cleaning up our government’s messes. I also admire people who survive trauma, catastrophe, and/or abuse without letting it destroy them, and people who go out of their way to help humans or animals in need.

What is the trait you most deplore in others?
Closed-mindedness. Also, willful ignorance.

In yourself?
I am so lazy, it’s ridiculous. I have thoughts that can be quite mean. I’m shy. And lord knows my self-esteem ain’t the best in town, although it has improved in recent years.

What do you consider the most overrated virtue(s)?
Ambition, being in a relationship, having kids, being social.

What is your favorite journey?
Going home, wherever home may be. Driving around the back country roads of Lebanon and Lancaster Counties. Going on vacation. Returning to London. Heading to the ATM to deposit a big, fat freelancing check.

What is your greatest extravagance?
Letting myself believe that things will be okay in the end, even though there’s no overwhelming evidence to support this theory. Procrastinating. Wasting hours on the internet each week. Eating breakfast cereal for dinner. Reading trashy American and British magazines.

What object (not person or pet) is the greatest love of your life?
I guess right now it’s my website, because I’ve put so much time and energy into it, and I’m proud of it. Plus I’m really hungry for creative outlets, and right now this is the only thing I’m doing which fits the bill!

What talent/ability would you most like to have?
Natural: 1) Play an instrument. 2) Be a fantastic sculptor, photographer, and writer. 3) Be fabulous in the kitchen. 4) Know how to operate every single graphic design program in existence. 5) Be capable of doing math and my own taxes. Supernatural: 1) Become invisible at will. 2) Fly. 3) Time travel.

If you could change one thing about yourself, it would be...
My laziness.

What is your most treasured possession?
My Rowlf puppet. I received him for Christmas 1981 and he has been on my bed since then. Also, my journals, photos, custom-made iron headboard, camera, books, and travel scrapbooks. And the boxes of letters, cards, and mementos I have collected over the years.

What do you consider your greatest achievement?
Studying abroad, graduating cum laude from college, moving to the DC area and not having it be a disaster, skydiving, working for my current job. Making it this far without having a nervous breakdown.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
Mental illness. Standing by helplessly as your relationship with your significant other unravels and breaks your heart. Losing someone you love. Homelessness. Suffering from a terminal or catastrophic illness. Dealing with the emotional aftereffects of a trauma or catastrophe.

State five words that describe you.
Homebody, introverted, solitary, lazy, intuitive.

State five words that don’t describe you.
Perky, shallow, energetic, extroverted, conformist.

State five words that described you when you were a teen.
Depressed, moody, melodramatic, self-absorbed, creative.

What do you think is the most intriguing period in history?
World War II, especially the London Blitz and the Holocaust. The medieval era.

If you could invent anything, what would it be?
A personal robot who would take care of the mundane aspects of my life that I hate: cleaning, preparing meals, taking out the garbage, scooping the litterbox, running errands, freelancing, etc.

My biggest fashion mistake ever was _____.
Using a home stripping kit to get the black dye out of my hair when I was 17—I spent the next year with sick, crunchy, tri-colored hair

I always need a little help from _____.
Effexor, my journal, my friends.

What are people always surprised to learn about you?
I was born without a sense of smell and I got chucked out of England when I was 22.

Who or what did you worship when you were 15?
The idea of non-conformity, The Cure, Puccini, Gabrielle Wells (a gothy girl from my school), Neil Patrick Harris (I had a raging crush on him, go figure), England, the Young Ones, the Monty Python boys.

If you were a kitchen utensil, what would you be and why?
A can opener—eager to pry the surfaces off people, to see what exists within.

Can you imitate any celebrities or do any stupid human tricks?
I can kinda imitate Joey Lawrence’s “whoa” thing and Missy’s grandmother. The only trick I can do is bend my thumbs back, because I’m double-jointed.

What is your favorite music video?
Do they even make music videos anymore?? And if so, why do they bother? It’s not like MTV and VH1 ever play music! My favorites from the days when music videos did air: Never Tear Us Apart (INXS), Come to my Window (Melissa Etheridge), Right Now (Van Halen), Spark (Tori Amos), 1000 Oceans (Tori Amos), Perfect Drug (NIN), Frozen (Madonna), High Hopes (Pink Floyd), Everybody Hurts (REM).

What is the perfect first date for you?
A surprise picnic in a cemetery or barren field, at night, with candles and classical music. We would talk and laugh and dance. Or a nice meal at a tasty ethnic or vegetarian restaurant, followed by a great foreign film and maybe strolling around Georgetown or Old Town.

If your house was on fire and you only had enough time to save three objects (your family and pets are already safe), what would they be?
My journals, Rowlf, my photo collection.

You end up in Hell. Describe it.
I’m forced to sit on a torn leather seat and listen to repetitive music, hip hop, rap, and Aaron Neville while worms crawl on me. I’m forced to eat meat and my body is wracked with acid reflux, gas pains, and tingling. The walls are covered in disturbing patterns, blinking internet banner ads, and internet pop-up ads. I’m not allowed to sleep. Wailing ambulance, fire truck, and police sirens blare. I’m forced to exercise, play sports, do math equations, and do freelance manuscripts constantly. I am separated from the people and pets who I love. There is no internet, email, music, books, nature, art, or vegging.

What is your favorite time occupation?
Vegging, reading, emailing friends, surfing the net, watching TV, sleeping, watching movies, checking out art exhibits that interest me, relaxing in nature, working on my website.

Favorite city you’ve ever been to.
All-time favorite: London. Next up: Tallinn; Edinburgh; St. Petersburg; San Francisco; Chicago; various little towns in Scotland (especially Pittenweem); various towns and cities in England (esp. Dover, Oxford, and York); Lancaster, PA; Bethesda, MD; Old Town Alexandria, VA; the Georgetown section of DC; Takoma Park, MD; Northampton, MA; Helsinki; Glasgow; Ottawa; Florence; Paris; Lucerne; Berne; Rome; Rothenburg.

What is it that you most dislike?
Intolerance, ignorance, prejudice, waking up, religious fundamentalists, right-wing conservatives, animal abusers, child abusers, misogynists, math, meat, being broke, inappropriate apostrophes and quote marks, repetitive noises, people whose postings on internet message boards are practically incoherent because their spelling and punctuation are so sloppy, smoking, eczema flare-ups, tingling, insomnia, vomiting, iced tea and lemonade, telemarketers, spam, pop-up ads, flashing banner ads, gridlock, humidity, getting my neck touched, people who loudly blab on cell phones in public, crappy drivers, exercise, super-bright headlights, SUVs, my noisy neighbors.

What can’t you live without?
My loved ones, my cats, books, my camera, the internet, TV, nature, sleep, breakfast cereal.

Favorite food(s)
Pretty much any vegetarian dish from anywhere in the world (Indian, Thai, Mediterranean, American, you name it), breakfast cereal, Subway’s Veggie Delite subs, VegeBest vegetarian ham, grilled cheese with tomatoes, Cedar Lane brand vegetarian ham and cheese pockets, Amy’s brand soy cheese pizza pockets, baked brie, English muffin pizzas, my mom’s whoopie pies, my grandfather’s PA Dutch potato filling, veggie dogs wrapped in crescent rolls with cheese, Papa John’s pizza, BLTs (w/ vegetarian bacon), mint chocolate chip ice cream, caramel ice cream, chocolate and peanut butter ice cream, hot fudge sundaes (with no nuts), old-school McDonald’s apple pies (which are still sold throughout Europe!).

If you could design your own college courses, they would study...
Self-injury and its satellite issues (sexual abuse, ritual abuse, psychiatric abuse, MPD); urban legends and the symbolism behind them; literature written by the mentally ill; self-injury literature; nuclear holocaust literature; nuclear war in pop culture; dystopian literature; young adult literature; a course that compares the writing and lives of Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton.

What was your best-ever Valentine’s Day?
It was 1998, when Missy, Gates, and I took a road trip to Nashville during the three-day Valentine’s Day/President’s Day weekend. Since we’re all freak- and misfit-magnets, we encountered lots of…er… interesting folks in Nashville. Even the long 13-hour drive was peppered with hysterical, memorable moments. We took a bus tour of Nashville landmarks and country music stars’ homes (our driver was a lunatic) and we also ate dinner at a posh revolving restaurant on top of a skyscraper. It was truly a fabulous Valentine’s Day I’ll never forget.

What was your first job?
I worked at Hardees fast food restaurant throughout 10th grade, when I was 15 years old. I earned minimum wage, which was something like $3.70 at the time. Hot damn, I thought I was rich! And considering the fact that my weekly allowance was only $5, I was kind of rich.

What is the strongest opinion you hold, which other people may not agree with?
I am vehemently pro-choice and vehemently pro-animal protection. And I am very pro-psychotropic drugs. Okay, they are overprescribed and can be abused, but I just think that too many people (I’m looking at you, Tom Cruise) are quick to dismiss their benefits, and too many people are quick to say, “Well, they’re fine for short-term treatment, but you should get off them ASAP.” For situational depression, that’s fine, but what if you’ve got chronic depression? Telling someone with chronic depression to get off drugs after, say, a year is like telling a diabetic to get off insulin after a year.

What is the strongest craving you get?
These days I am craving a house—buying it and decorating it.

What have you lost that you would most like to retrieve?
A feeling of unadulterated optimism about my future. When I was a teenager, I honestly believed that I could move to England, become a famous writer, buy a big house, and marry a fantastic man. I had faith in my ability to accomplish those things. I miss having that much optimism for ridiculously out-of-bounds dreams. Like I said earlier, I do allow myself the luxury of believing that things will be okay in the end, but not that okay!

_____ is/are sexy but ______ is/are sexier!
glasses … loving animals

To grow a _____ you have to plant a ______.
spine … betrayal

What’s the most expensive item of clothing you own?
I do have a Juicy Couture shirt, but I bought it off eBay, so it was cheaper than its normal designer price. In lieu of that, I suppose the most expensive item is the floor-length black velvet hooded cape I bought in London during my senior year of college. It cost £90. And really, I have no clue why I bought it. I think it was the most expensive impulse purchase I’ve ever made.

Three ways in which you are stereotypically a boy.
1) I barely care about makeup or jewelry. 2) I don’t even brush my hair, much less style it. 3) The idea of getting spa treatments doesn’t appeal to me at all (except for a heated mud bath!), and neither do girly toiletries (scented lotions and creams and whatnot).

Three ways in which you are stereotypically a girl.
1) I know nothing about cars. 2) I really like wearing skirts/dresses and carrying funky purses. 3) I hate sports.


song heard most recently before posting: C’est Lui Que Mon Coeur a Choisi—Edith Piaf

Ernesto and horse poop

Happy Birthday, Shawn Seabold!!!!

back in ’93, misery
loved a good party hat

This weekend we will get thwacked by the remnants of Hurricane Ernesto, with up to six inches of rain possible. We badly need the rain, but I live in a basement apartment which has flooded in the past, so forecasts of torrential rain always make me squirm a bit.

I’ll be in Pennsylvania for the first half of the weekend, meeting up with my old friend Laura for dinner in Lancaster tonight, and meeting up with David and Angela in Lancaster County tomorrow afternoon. We’re supposed to bop around Intercourse, since poor David has never been there; however, with the heavy rain, who knows what will happen. Not that I’m completely adverse to spending the day weaving my way around rain puddles and piles of horse shit, but I don’t know how the others will feel about it. I’m also going to squeeze in a much-needed hair trim with my hometown stylist (my hair hasn’t been touched since she cut off 11 inches of it last December) and I’m going to pop into my favorite architectural antiques store in Manheim. On Saturday evening I’ll head home so I can spend Sunday working (if any freelance manuscripts arrive today, that is) and Monday vegging.

Side note: this morning on the Beltway I was driving beside a truck belonging to a recreational amusements company (billiards tables and the like), and on the side of the truck, where it should’ve said “pool tables,” it instead said “poo tables.” Because I’m a 12-year-old boy, I laughed raucously. It reminded me of a sign I stole from my London dorm’s dining hall. On the wall there had been a sign saying “Please do not sit on the tables,” but some snarky soul inserted a proofreading caret between the “s” and the “i” in “sit,” then put an “h” above it, so the sign became “Please do not shit on the tables.” It made me snicker so much, I stole the sign and kept it hanging on my dorm room wall for the rest of the year.



song heard most recently before posting: Mr. Roboto—Styx

A Rainbow of Personality

A coworker sent this to me a few months ago, and although I filled it out at that time, I’m going to fill it out again here:

RED

Closest red thing to you?
A British telephone box sticker on my monitor.

Last thing to make you angry?
Undoubtedly something computer-related!

Do you have a temper?
Not really, except when it comes to my neighbors. But I never show my fury to them—I just let it simmer; I seethe inwardly or vent in my journal or to my friends (you’ll never see me strike out).

Are you a fan of romance?
Yeah.

ORANGE

Closest orange thing to you?
There are some orange polka dots on my dress.

Do you like to burn things?
I sometimes did as a teen—not really anymore. However, I am gearing up to burn a gigantic bag full of mementos and I have something creative planned for the ashes. I just have to figure out where I’m going to do it.

Dress up for Halloween?
I love to do it, but it doesn’t always get done. However, last year’s Soviet slut costume really kicked some ass.

Are you usually a warm-hearted person?
I am when it comes to animals. When it comes to people…not always.

Do you have anything against ginger hair?
I love red hair.

Are you full of energy?
Never.

YELLOW

Closest yellow thing to you?
A job folder.

The happiest time[s] of your life?
In the past, it was the summers of 1993 and 1994 and my year abroad. These days it’s whenever I’m vegging at home and have no work to do, and also when I’m hanging out with friends.

Favorite holiday?
Christmas. How clichéd!

What makes you smile?
Olivia. My friends. Seeing my cats cuddle. Reading my friends’ quotes on my quotes page. Being near a crush.

Are you a coward?
In some situations, definitely.

Do you burn or tan?
Why is this located in the yellow section? I burn pretty easily, and usually it turns into a light tan. When I avoid the sun I remain rather pale.

GREEN

Closest green thing to you?
There are some green polka dots on my dress.

Do you care about the environment?
Yeah! But, admittedly, I don’t do much to help protect it, other than recycling and feeding the birds and squirrels in my yard.

Are you jealous of anyone right now?
Hmm…I don’t think so, surprisingly. Well, except for people who can afford houses in the DC area’s ridiculously overinflated housing market.

Are you a lucky person?
I’m not lucky when it comes to winning contents and having awesome things happen to me out of the blue. But I’m lucky in other ways. I’ve had very little death in my life, I’ve never been homeless, I love my job, and I’ve got good people in my life.

Do you always want what you can’t have?
Eh, I do an average amount of coveting.

Do you like being outdoors?
Absolutely. But not when it’s hot and/or humid!

BLUE

Closest blue thing to you?
The apple icon in the corner of my Mac screen.

Are you good at calming people down?
Sometimes. And it surprises me!

Do you like the sea?
I’d live right next to it if I could.

Last thing to make you cry?
Panicking about my grandfather’s spate of ill health a few days ago.

Are you a logical thinker?
Usually not, but I am capable of it when it’s necessary.

Can you sleep easily?
No, I have trouble falling asleep nearly every night. But once I’m asleep, I generally sleep pretty soundly.

PURPLE

Closest purple thing to you?
A quotable card hanging on my cube wall.

Like being treated to expensive things?
Yeah, although it rarely happens!

Do you like mysterious things?
Mystery can be a tantalizing spice, but I’m not crazy about it when it comes in the form of, say, mysterious sounds outside my window at night.

Favorite type of chocolate?
Andes mints. Opera fudge. Yorkie bars and Cadbury Dairy Milk from England. Hershey Kisses with peanut butter inside.

Ever met anyone in royalty?
I once stood a few feet away from a Norwegian princess at Union Station.

Are you creative?
Yes, but not when under pressure.

PINK

Closest pink thing to you?
A lobbying time tracking form.

Do you like sweet foods?
Yes, although not super-sweet. And I crave salt more often than sugar.

Like play-fighting?
Have I even done that since I’ve been an adult?

Are you sensitive?
Too much for my own good.

Do you like punk music?
Not really, other than 2-3 Sex Pistols songs, and a song from the Clash.

WHITE

Closest white thing to you?
My keyboard.

Would you say you’re innocent?
In some areas, yes. In others…eh, not really.

Always try to keep the peace?
Yes. Conflict makes me cringe.

How do you imagine your wedding?
Smallish; very, very personalized.

Do you like to play in the snow?
Aw, sure, although I haven’t done it in yonks!

Are you afraid of going to the doctors or dentists?
Nope.

BLACK

Closest black thing to you?
Besides my heart? My glasses (the frames).

Ever enjoy hurting people?
In my head, but not in reality.

Are you sophisticated or silly?
Both.

Afraid of death?
No. I’m afraid of all my loved ones dying, though.

Would you like to go to space?
Hell to the yeah!

Do you have a lot of secrets?
No. Almost everything is known by at least one person.

What is your favorite color?
Plum. Follow-ups: garnet, charcoal gray, silver, black.

Does the color you wear affect your mood?
No.

What color would you think best symbolizes your personality?
Errr...charcoal, maybe? Or dark purple?


song heard most recently before posting: Nashville—Indigo Girls

butterflies

Happy Birthday, David and Mark Byrne!!!!

The bad: This morning I had to spend four hours in the Firestone waiting room, getting my car fixed, to the tune of $500+.

The good: Yesterday, at a cookout at my mom’s house, my grandfather began experiencing some baffling and severe health problems, but as of now, it looks like he is recovering nicely. To say that my relief is palpable would be an understatement. Mom’s going to check on him tonight after work, just to be sure, and if need be, she’s going to drag him to the ER.

My heart can start beating again now, right?

Bone-rattling terror aside, I actually had a good weekend. It was one of those ultra-rare weekends when I didn’t have to work, so I sucked as much leisure out of it as possible.

On Saturday I checked out the butterfly exhibit at Brookside Gardens in Wheaton (you can see my pictures here, including a shot of two butterflies having sex), and then I swung by Kenilworth Aquatic Gardens in DC to see what flowers had bloomed since I was last there in the spring (photos here). The butterfly exhibit was excellent, but hot. It was at least 90 degrees in the conservatory, with tropical humidity. I haven’t sweated that much since I spent a half-hour in a Finnish sauna last year.

Every adult was snapping photos like a madman, with the cameras ranging from cheap throwaways to cameras so advanced, they looked like they harkened from the future. Everyone was after the golden ticket: a photo of the sky-blue butterflies who refused to sit still. I tried to photograph as many different butterfly patterns as possible, which meant staying there until I was literally dripping sweat on the floor.

And yeah, I’m trying not to think about the fact that those poor butterflies will only live for two weeks.





song heard most recently before posting: Cymbeline—Loreena McKennitt

watch lists

Years after graduating from high school, Shawn told me that he and I—along with god knows how many other kids—had been wedged onto our high school’s pre-Columbine, pre-9/11 “terrorist” watch list. I never even knew this list existed. Whether its intention was to keep an eye on potential mass murderers or to flag us as students who needed to be “saved” (ie, squeezed into the common mold, helped to conform, etc.) remains a mystery.

If the former is true, I can roll my eyes and laugh at the whole thing. Me, potentially dangerous? I’m a vegetarian who wouldn’t hurt a fly. Literally! When I get a fly in my apartment, I open up all the windows and doors and try to shoo him out. I’ve got a humane bug vacuum at work and whenever I encounter wasps or ants in my department, I suck them up and release them outside. Even after one of the wasps stung me, I still released him. And I’m constantly badgering my friends and family to avoid killing household mice with barbaric snap/glue traps and instead use a humane trap to capture them and release them outside. How could they think that someone like me was possibly going to, like, kick in the front door of my high school and let loose with a machine gun? I may not have liked 90% of the student body, and I may have smiled at the thought of horrific things happening to some of them, but I’m no killer. So putting me on that list was a bit misguided, to say the least.

If the latter is true, then I’m offended! I mean, okay, I’ve been out of high school for 14 years, so it’s not like I’m sitting here with my veins still pulsating in rage over the fact that my high school thought I needed to be Stepfordized. That was a long time ago, after all. But it’s still offensive, because despite my clinical depression and all my teen angst (and there was a lot of it, y’all!), I was a good kid. With the exception of math and science (my weakest subjects), my grades were excellent. I participated in school clubs and was involved in the school musical every year. I was on the yearbook staff. I wrote for the school newspaper and literary magazine. I entered a Voice of Democracy essay contest, for chrissake. I was quiet, docile, obedient. I never skipped class. I always did my homework. I didn’t drink, smoke, do drugs, or have sex. I didn’t throw wild parties or date-rape my peers. There was one incident involving a German workbook that landed two friends and me in in-school suspension for a day, but…ahem…we won’t get into that here. With the exception of that unfortunate incident, I think the worst thing I did within the confines of the school was get into trouble with my 9th grade Honors English teacher for reading an issue of Royalty Monthly during a screening of Romeo and Juliet. Ooooh…wicked!

My crime was being too quiet, too sad-looking, and having dyed-black hair and a penchant for wearing black clothes. (I didn’t wear them all the time, mind you, because my access to an extensive black wardrobe was limited in my hometown.) My friends and I were sweetly dorky and smart, and we had dark, inappropriate senses of humor and creative flair, and that’s what made us suspicious. Not to mention the fact that we didn’t go out of our way to fit in. We were all such good kids, and we didn’t overtly try to be rebellious nonconformists or anything, but we also made little-to-no effort to fit in. We just kind of did our own thing, pigeon-holing be damned.

There’s a quote I love: “The opposite of conformity isn’t nonconformity—it’s indifference to the fact.” That’s how we operated, I guess—by simply not caring about how the game was played and how we could try harder at playing it. We weren’t easily categorized and labeled. We slid through the cracks of the social strata. This vexed and downright infuriated some of the teachers and students, I’m sure, but we didn’t care. We’d found our own magic. And that, apparently, is the biggest crime you can commit in the high school universe: thumbing your nose at the status quo. Not trying to break it down, but simply not caring.

And so it bugs me that the authorities could look at someone like me and deign me as being in need of social salvation. I was a well-behaved, academically-inclined student who had well-behaved, academically-inclined friends. I didn’t need social salvation.

Some authorities undoubtedly think these watch lists are beneficial, especially in this post-Columbine world of ours. And yeah, it’s true that a kid could go apeshit at any moment and wage a killing spree in the halls. And it’s true that perhaps this kid could’ve been stopped if people had been paying more attention to his state of crisis. But is dabbing a scarlet letter on loners and miserable-looking kids really a reasonable response? Will it actually change anything? I was on my school’s watch list, but no one ever said anything to me about it. No one ever recommended me for counseling or asked me how I was feeling. No one ever asked if they could do anything to make me feel better. No one ever applauded me for being unafraid to do my own thing, to not kow-tow to the pressures of conformity. They just watched me with distain from afar. If I had been planning mass murder, simply being on a watch list wouldn’t have stopped me!

What we need is a better climate of tolerance in schools. Kids will be kids—there will always be a shitload of barbarians and bullies in each school, and an overwhelming culture of conformity. But perhaps there wouldn’t be as many if schools taught children, from the very beginning, not to spurn uniqueness. And teachers should know better than to target kids for being different. Unfortunately, some of the teachers in my school didn’t. They worshipped the jocks and preps and ignored the rest of us. They didn’t try to encourage uniqueness or creativity. They didn’t compliment us on our individualism. They either ignored us or tsk-tsk-tsked at us. Or they automatically thought of us as being a threat. And that’s the kind of abhorrent behavior that merits a watch list!

Cultivating acceptance and tolerance wouldn’t completely eradicate the problem of kids shooting up their schools, but I really do believe—and not in an unrealistic Pollyanna way—that it could greatly minimize this threat. No matter what you do, you can’t weed out every psychopath, can’t stave off every homicidal nervous breakdown. But wouldn’t students be less likely to mow down their peers in a hail of bullets if those peers had always treated them with respect? If they didn’t torment them, try to minimize them, or cast them in the role of outcast freak just because they didn’t fit into a standardized mold? If students were just as supportive of their classmates’ artistic and academic abilities as they were of their other classmates’ athletic and social abilities? It just seems like fostering an atmosphere of tolerance would be more effective than sticking kids on a pseudo-terrorist watch list.

Or maybe I’m simply grasping at straws here.




song heard most recently before posting: Black—Pearl Jam

"Most Hated" questionnaire

A day later, I’m still reeling from that goddamn Six Feet Under finale. I cried off and on throughout the evening, including during my shower, and this morning when I was driving to work, I decided to be a masochist and blast Sia’s song “Breathe Me,” which is what played during the wrenching final scene of SFU. I’ve liked this song ever since I first heard it on a mix made for me by my friend David, but it now has a new, and somewhat devastating, meaning. A meaning that made me bawl during the first half of my commute. (I finally forced myself to focus on other things and listen to different music so my eyes would have a chance to dry out before I lurched into my office.)

It got under my skin so badly. It’s a suit of barbed fishhooks lodged into every pore. I still have knots clenching and unclenching in my stomach. In the past, whenever I thought about my loved ones dying, I thought of it in terms of isolated incidents. One person dying in a few years’ time, another person following suit a few years after that, and so on. I never thought of the whole cohesive picture: the fact that someday, everyone I love will be dead, and I could very well be the last person standing. I just can’t imagine outliving everyone. And my family is tiny to begin with. What if, god/dess forbid, I outlive them and have no family left whom I’m close to? (That’s assuming I never marry someone with a big family and/or have kids of my own.) Who will be with me when I finally die? I’m not a person who hates and/or fears aloneness—I absolutely relish it—but I want it to be my choice. I don’t want to be abandoned by everybody through death. What if I outlive all my friends like my grandfather has done? How would I survive going through loss after loss after loss? The mere thought of it horrifies me. I don’t want to live to be 102 and have no one left when I’m at my most helpless and vulnerable point. I don’t want to be the last person left to keep everyone’s memories alive.

I know that, barring any major terrorist attacks or bird flu outbreaks, all of this is so far away, but life speeds by so quickly—we all know that.

I suspect that all of this would be easier to digest if I were religious and had some clear idea of what exists after death. My rational mind says that nothing exists, and you just enter nothingness. But part of me wants to cling to the idea of reincarnation or a heaven like that seen in The Lovely Bones. If I had absolute faith that this is what I’d find, maybe I’d be better equipped to handle the thought of losing everyone bit by bit.

Anyway.

To distract myself, I filled out one of those questionnaire thingies circulating across the net. Here goes:


MOST HATED...

FRUIT: coconut (yeah, it’s considered a fruit)

CANDY: dark chocolate

BEVERAGE: A tie between iced tea and lemonade.

COLOR: teal

TOWN/CITY: Probably Newark and Elizabeth, and that whole bleak industrial area in New Jersey that’s just over the river from Manhattan.

TV SHOW: Nothing in particular...I guess any one of the sleazier-than-thou reality shows currently populating the airwaves.

MOVIE: There are some movies I didn’t like that everyone else seems to think are da bomb: Slingblade, Moulin Rouge, American Beauty...and probably more that I’m just not thinking of right now.

ASPECT OF MYSPACE: I don’t use MySpace.

ASPECT OF INSTANT MESSENGER: I never IM anymore. I used AIM on occasion in the past, to chat with friends, but I haven’t done that in at least a year, if not longer.

ANIMAL: I don’t hate any animals!

INSECT: The mosquitoes in St. Petersburg. The mosquitoes around here are bad enough, but I’ve built up a resistance to them, so I recover from their bites within, like, a half hour. But the mosquitoes in St. Petersburg left welts that took weeks to fade.

BIRD: I don’t hate any birds, but I do hate their shit that is splattered all over my birdfeeder.

SEASON: Summer. Well, the extreme heat and humidity. The other aspects of it are fine.

AGE OF KIDS: I don’t have any kids, so I’m not sure which age is my least favorite. The teen years, maybe?

...WHAT ANNOYS YOU MORE THAN ANYTHING WHEN...

DRIVING?: Tailgaters, people who don’t use their turn signals, rubberneckers, people who leave their blinkers on even when they don’t plan to turn/switch lanes, people who drive too fast, people who drive too slow, people who drive in two lanes.

TALKING ON THE PHONE: In general, I’m not a big fan of talking on the phone. I try to avoid it as much as I can. Worst part? When people call during one of my can’t-miss TV shows. I don’t answer!

WATCHING TV OR MOVIES: Watching TV: too many commercials, and those semi-transparent logos that now stay on the screen all the time (and sometimes even make sounds, too!). Watching movies: at the cinema, I hate noisy people—especially teenagers! Also, chair-kickers and people who noisily chew their popcorn and candy and noisily slurp their sodas.

EATING IN RESTAURANTS: Kids running wild, and a lack of vegetarian dishes. Also, now that all the restaurants in my county are smoke-free, I can no longer stand dining in restaurants where people smoke.

GOING THROUGH DRIVE-THRUS: Intercoms that are crackly and make the employee’s voice difficult to hear. Also, there seems to be an increased risk that they will screw up your order.

YOU’RE AT THE MALL: Loud teenagers (I know; I sound like I’m 80 years old), people who leave no room for me to walk around them, people who stand two astride on the escalator, rather than keeping open a passing lane. That said, I rarely go to malls anymore.

SLEEPING (OR TRYING TO SLEEP): On weekend mornings, when my upstairs neighbors wake me up with their screamed prayers, hymn dirges, and clomping footfalls. And, as much as I love my cats, I hate when Plath screams and screams on weekend mornings (he wants breakfast), and when both cats paw at my pillow for some reason which remains unknown to me.

SHOWERING: The size of my shower. It’s so damn small.

YOU’RE AT THE BEACH: Kids running pell-mell across the beach, kicking sand onto my blanket and disrupting the tranquility of the setting.

YOU’RE AT THE GROCERY STORE: People who leave their carts blocking an aisle, people who pay with checks (it’s so sloooow!)

WHAT HOUSEHOLD CHORE DO YOU HATE THE MOST?: God, all of it. I hate cleaning, hate taking out the garbage, hate paying bills.

WHAT DO YOU THINK WOULD BE THE ABSOLUTE WORST WAY TO DIE?: In pain and/or in terror, like in a plane crash, or being burned alive. Where you know it’s happening and know you can’t do anything but suffer and wallow in terror and let it happen. Dying alone and having nobody discover the body for yonks.

WHAT’S THE MOST ANNOYING HABIT IN OTHERS?: Too many to choose! Excessive talking, invading my personal space, cell phone dependency...

WHAT IS YOUR WORST HABIT?: procrastination and laziness

WHAT FASHION TREND (PAST OR PRESENT) HAVE YOU HATED THE MOST?: I really don’t like trends in general. Just because some nameless, faceless person in NYC or Milan says that flares are out and gauchos are in, you have to obey them? Bollocks! I say: wear what you like, when you like. Don’t feel obliged to change your whole damn wardrobe every season just to be trendy! But, that said, I think that most—if not all—of the fashion trends of the early ’90s were particularly disastrous. And I’m ashamed to say that I used to peg my jeans all the time back then.

WHAT POPULAR SONG (PAST OR PRESENT) HAVE YOU HATED THE MOST?: Oh god, there are so many songs that fill me with rage. Two Dave Matthews songs in particular fill me with rage (“Ants Marching” and that “What Would You Say” song), “Lovesexy” from The Cardigans, that “every time I look at you I go blind” song from Hootie and the Blowfish, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy,” Fatboy Slim’s “Praise You,” super-repetitive dance/techno songs, most country songs, most rap and hip hop songs.

WORST OR MOST HATED PICKUP LINE: Nobody ever uses pickup lines on me! *sniffs*

TO BE COMPLETELY STEREOTYPICAL, WHAT DO YOU THINK IS THE MOST ANNOYING THING ABOUT GIRLS/WOMEN?: Too much of that “Oh, I’m nothing without a man!” nonsense.

TO BE COMPLETELY STEREOTYPICAL, WHAT DO YOU THINK IS THE MOST ANNOYING THING ABOUT GUYS?: Not enough sensitivity.


song heard most recently before posting: Szombateste Búcsúztató—Muzsikás