Another bad sign...

...that I am overtired. While working, just had cause to cut and paste the phrase, "everything is becoming a video camera", and it struck me as quite poetic. Am I become a video camera, making observation of the world without quite interacting? Are we all? How seldom we are required to engage with the world in a meaningful way, really. Crazy that the song that just came into my earphones (which I wear to block out the world) is the Regina Spektor song that begins 'I never love nobody fully - always one foot on the ground - and by protecting my heart truly - I get lost in the sounds - I hear in my mind". Coincidence, but the sort of musical soundtrack that follows me around. It certainly doesn't help negate the delusion that you are an observer and a recorder when you have a soundtrack. In any event, the phrase struck a chord, reminding me again that it is easy to protect ourselves from the world, but that we deny ourselves the pleasure and pain of the world (equally valuable) by closing ourselves off. We are not meant to be video cameras - we are meant to be experiencing and creating the world anew.

Close Your Eyes and Think of England

With a one hour break, I have been working for 8 hours tonight (after my regular 8 hour job), and my only tenuous link to sanity at this point is knowing I'm getting some money for my trip to England. To that end, I've been working while listening to BBC Radio, and trying to stay focused on the reason I'm doing this. So tired, so filled with caffeine. Darn you, Diet Dr. Pepper, why you gotta be so tasty and so very caffeinated! I am a little punchy and high on goofballs at this point, to be honest.

Must try to sleep - but I know that my sleep will be choppy and interrupted with thoughts of work. I wish my brain would shut up sometimes. I guess I will read my book about Indian religious history for a while. If my brain can't sit quietly and behave for a few hours while I rest, I can at least have cool dreams about the avatars of Vishnu.

A Lily By Any Other Name

Lilies are probably my least favorite flower, and it's not really their fault. They are very beautiful, and have lots of marvelous poetry references about them. However, as with most things, the associations we have with things largely govern our responses to them, and right at this very moment, I can smell lilies in my hair and on my skin and it's making me feel heavy headed and ill.

The sickly sweet scent is too closely aligned with hot funeral parlors, where the room is stuffy and close with too many people, too little ventilation, and the oppressive air of grief that clings to any place where too many tears have been shed. The psychic energy of certain places (like hospitals and funeral homes) is interesting to me. I don't think it's so unlikely that buildings have memories of their own and that they carry the freight of what has transpired within their walls. It's a difficult question, though, because how do we separate out our own preconceptions and memories? Does my heart ache when I step into a funeral home and the scent of those flowers envelops me because of my own experiences with death and grieving, or is it related to the place itself? I'm not conscious of thinking about the people I've lost at those times, but scent is such a powerful trigger for memory that I'm certain it plays a part, particularly with those things we choose not to think about anymore. As our old friend Pablo Neruda says, "Love is brief: forgetting lasts so long".

Apart from our memories, even those hidden away in the locked rooms in our hearts, there is another force at work. Even places that we haven't been before, that we have no reason to fear or dislike, can cause a reaction. A sense of sadness upon entering a room, or a warning flash from deep within the most primitive parts of our brains, warning us that danger is nearby - all speak to the idea that a place can be alive. I know there are people who object strongly to this idea, and devote themselves to debunking it, but I continue to be open to the unexplained for two reasons. For one, I find it incredibly arrogant to presume that we currently have all the answers and that everything can be explained away. The history of human exploration and discovery reveals that breakthroughs can come only by questioning received wisdom and forging your own path. From this perspective, it's impossible to know which of our beliefs about the operation of the universe will seem quaint in a hundred years.

The second reason is admittedly less rational. A world in which there is nothing new to learn and no possibility of magic seems like a dry and lifeless place, not one I am excited to be part of. This doesn't mean rejecting science - if anything, current research in physics implies that all dimensions exist simultaneously, and particles may travel between them, even as they are being observed. If that isn't magic, nothing is.

Silly rambling girl - hoping that in an alternate dimension a version of herself with a more orderly mind is doing her work rather than talking nonsense.

Squire Darlin'

I watched The Quiet Man for the 1,687th time the other day, and was just as crazy in love with it as ever. It is one of those movies that, even though I have it on DVD, I will stop and watch until the end every time it's on tv. It's eminently quotable, charming, hilarious, beautiful and romantic. I give it a 15 out of 10. Delicious movie.

My new movie is very different, but equal in quality. It's called "On Her Majesty's Secret Sharkness" and it stars Admiral Sharkleton as a dashing member of the Royal Shark Force, battling bad guys. Lots of special effects and things that blow up real good.

Maybe the sequel can be "The Quiet Shark", and he can retire to the bucolic coral reef where he grew up, and try to live a simple life. Guess what? There are bad guys messing up all the bucole. Can Adm. Sharkleton save his village and work with his nutty new partner, a wisecracking lamprey (Chris Tucker)?

Edited to add: I really want Sharkie to be like the Terminator and quip bad guys to death. Like he could say, "So long, chum!" before he eats somebody. This franchise is a frakkin' goldmine. I'm going to be a millionaire.

Chin up, young person

I found out today that I am a Tiger in the Chinese zodiac, which beats the hell out of being a Goat in the lunar astrology system. Tigers are independent magnetic leaders, with great courage. Good for me, yeah? With the disclaimer that I do not believe that the year of your birth tells you anything about your personality, the little profile did make me think. Courage is a rare quality, and one I greatly value. The only things I deeply regret in my past were things I failed to do because I was afraid. I have become less afraid the older I've gotten, but those missed opportunities trouble me. I was more frightened of not knowing what would happen than knowing for sure that the status quo was not what I wanted.

On that note, there are two things I have come to believe in my life, and (even though they are probably cliches). The first is that you cannot be angry about not getting what you don't ask for, and the second is that the failure to make a choice is a choice. They are related, obviously, and both speak to taking ownership of your life and your choices. I have made some terrible mistakes, and I have done some things I am incredibly proud of, and those choices are all mine. Too often I waited for my life to happen, and took shelter in the idea that I didn't have any control over it. It is right and healthy to let the uncontrollable go, but the list of things entirely outside of our control is quite limited, really.

I'm not at all sure what lies ahead for me, or what I want my future to look like, and that's fine for now. I just hope that when the time for changes does come (sooner rather than later?), I will be strong enough to choose my life rather than falling into it.

I Subscribe to Behind the Times

You guys, I'm so excited! Probably the last person in America to find this out, but there is going to be a new Indiana Jones movie! Please let it be awesome...I have my fingers crossed that it won't turn into Indiana Jones and the Treasure of the Geritol Kingdom, with the audience holding its collective breath that Mr. Ford doesn't fall and break a hip. No no, no need for these unpleasant thoughts. After all, it's not like George Lucas has a track record with ruining beloved childhood icons. Oh. Wait. And more bad signs - Natalie Portman is rumored to be involved according to imdb. I love her so bad - why is she letting Lucas destroy her career? I have a terrible feeling the more I think about this that she is going to be playing the Princess of Foreignia, with a mystery accent and terrible dialogue, and she will be forced to have grandpa sex with Harrison Ford.

(Excuses self to vomit.)

Okay, sorry about that. Everything's going to be fine. Let's talk about something else. No work today, so I got to see part of Dawson's Creek. That was great.

Yeah.

So.

I'm sorry - I can't stop worrying about the grandpa sex. I never thought I would see anything grosser than Catherine Zeta-Jones and Sean Connery paired up on screen (or her and the desiccated corpse of Michael Douglas in real life), but at least she looks like a grown woman. The beautiful Natalie looks like a child. I am horrified, and it hasn't happened yet.

Must focus on the Creek. Justin's musical genius - take it on home!
She's a Creek freak
she loves the Beek
what's gonna happen
this week?

Oh, that's better.

Happy Valentimez!

Aw, good ol' love. I read today that being in love, even just seeing a photo of your sweetie, triggers a chemical reaction in your brain similar to the effects of cocaine. Which is sort of amazing, in part because to measure and quantify the release of dopamine, the subjects being studied must have been wired up to a remarkable degree. I suspect I would find the metal helmet and leads distracting from my more amorous thoughts. I certainly have in the past...

My point is, however, that drugs would go a long way towards explaining some of the behaviors this holiday causes. I'm a big fan of affection and romance, but it would never in a million squillion years occur to me to make a public display of my personal life. Nor do I respond well to emotion being artificially imposed on me. This is not to say that I have any sympathy towards the "it's too commercial" crowd. (Sac up, Linus - this is capitalism - wear a helmet.) It's more that I am highly susceptible to marketing, but I am also fully aware that I am falling for it. Then I resent the advertising that I am powerless to resist, and it leads to shame and anger. Hmmm....substitute the word "man" for "advertising" in the last sentence, and the Valentine's circle is complete.

As cynical a person as I can be, I love love, and hope that everyone finds real true love, because it changes your whole life. Evidently it changes you into a crackhead, according to some smarty-pants scientists, but let's leave them out of this. Except! I just had a great image of two scientists working together on this project and sublimating their love into the research. Or! A couple in love coming in to be attached to the helmets, and the girl not responding to her man's picture with a dopamine release and the boyfriend being furious because she's not really in love with him, and then she sees the scientist guy, and it's love at first sight and her dopamine is off the charts and the girl scientist freaks out because she has pined for science guy for the past five years, researching the love she dare not express. Uh, what was I talking about?

Oh yeah - Happy Valentine's Day.

Grammy 1907

I watched part of the Grammy awards last night and was reminded of exactly how relevant and au courant they are. For one thing, the categories seem designed to award each competitor a little trophy, as if the entire ceremony were the last day of summer camp. Record of the Year, Album of the Year, Song of the Year, Performance of the Year, Recording of the Year, CD of the Year, MP3 of the Year, Digital Sound of the Year - nobody goes home empty handed. I went to bed before Most Improved Musician and Lanyard of the Year, so I cannot specifically comment on those categories, but I watched for approximately 18 hours, and I therefore have only a few summaries:

1. Dixie Chicks. Put a sock in it.
2. Chris Brown. Don't make me have to defend you when you act a fool in front of Smokey Robinson and Lionel Richie.
3. Smokey. Enough with the plastic surgery. If I slapped the back of your head, you would turn into Deputy Dawg.
4. Dixie Chicks. I told you once to put a sock in it.
5. Beyonce. We know you are beautiful. The invisible dress is not required.
6. I love eliminating the Dead Guy awards, but it did lead to some awkward transitions, like when Terrence Howard (call me!) was forced to segue from a Maria Callas tribute to a Mary J. Blige performance.
7. Dixie Chicks. If you think I am playing with you, you have another think coming.
8. India Arie, nominated for "I Am Not My Hair"? Thinking of starting rap war, with response song, "I Am My Hair, Bitch".
9. Luke Wilson. This is how we whore ourselves, now? I guess "Bottlerocket" meant more to me than it did to you.
And finally:
10. Dixie Chicks. If it weren't for the JT girls pawing one another like Miss America hopefuls all night, I would be on my way over. But first things first.

No touching!

I was at the bank yesterday depositing a check, on my way to meeting up with some friends. I had just done my morning routine, and therefore apparently still smelled like my moisturizer and perfume. The bank teller took my papers, then stopped and regarded me with a quizzical look. I have an extraordinarily guilty conscience at all times and so began to glance nervously at the cameras as if I were an actual bank robber. Eyes darting from side to side, I tried to remember whether I had handed her a robbery note or a deposit slip. I hadn't had any coffee yet, so this was a more legitimate concern than it might otherwise appear.

"I give up," she said, which lent some credence to the robbery-in-progress theory. "What is that perfume? I know I know it." With a happy sigh of relief, I told her, and hoped that we could conclude our business. Instead, she reached under the counter and pulled out her purse, explaining that she knew another great scent for me. "Hold out your hands." I did, and she proceeded to rub perfumed lotion into my hands. This strikes me as rather an intimate gesture for a person I have never seen before. She then listed all the other perfumes she loved, Forrest Gump style, while I made little noises of affirmation and hoped she would someday release my hands. I pictured them on the news, holding up little newspapers and explaining that they were being well cared for. What I in fact did was obligingly sniff my own hands and ask follow-up questions about the name of the scent and where I might obtain some.

While all this was going on, the Saturday morning queue continued to form behind me, and the other customers were alternately glaring at me and staring open-mouthed at the proceedings. Mortified. Why does this sort of thing only happen to me?

Current obsessions

In just 8 weeks and two days, I will be in England, gearing up for the Chelsea-Tottenham match and trying to figure out how nervous I am about having my head kicked in by a hooligan. I am super crazy excited to see an EPL match in person, but I don't think that young ladies typically attend these events, and I don't at all know what to expect. I'm thinking of rubbing dirt into my Chelsea scarf (so it looks like it's been through many seasons at the Bridge) and putting on a British accent for the occasion, but I don't think that's going to go over.

I've been doing some immersion training for the accent in case I need to resort to it, though. Specifically, I have added to my Gervais-Merchant podcast obsession a serious Russell Brand problem. He is an insanely vulgar and erudite former drug addict with a show on BBC2 and a wardrobe lifted from The Nightmare Before Christmas. If my sister hadn't called dibs already, we would be very much in love. (Probably better in theory than in person, though. My other bf, SMerch, was on Russell's 1 Leicester Square program and called him "preposterous looking" based on the crazy over-produced hair and wardrobe.)

I can't wait to be in London, seeing my Chelsea boys in person, reading Heat and trying to stalk celebs at the pubs near the BBC offices. Presumably Russ and Steve will take pity on me after I've been beaten up for not knowing the words to the Chelsea songs and everything will work itself out.

Absolutely inexcusable

There is no reason I can think of why I haven't posted in 8 million years. The only meager defense I can offer is that I only did this to try to make my family laugh, and since I moved back to Boston, I can do that in person. Yay! How did I live so far away for so long?

This morning I can admit that I have fallen crazy in love, though I am torn between two lovers (and feeling like a fool). Kerry's bed, Kerry's shower, will you both marry me? I feel so well rested and clean!

Things I do not love - Entemann's Little Bites brownies 100 calorie packs. I took one from the Mountain of Entemann's in the office kitchen this morning because it seemed the best of the many many bad choices on offer. So gross. If I am going to eat crap food, I should just have the real thing and make it count, because this stuff is nasty.

I've been at work for an hour and a half and haven't done anything work related yet. I suppose I should remedy that, but I swear I will return to regular posting...