In Egyptian mythology, Osiris married his sister, Isis, was killed by his brother Seth, and his body was burned in several parts of Egypt . After his resurrection, Osiris was no longer able to dwell on earth, and fled to the underworld where he became judge of souls. He was resurrected by his other sister, Anubis, goddess of embalming.
Run Away, Anubis
Where have you gone and where have you been?
He waits and weeps in the nightmare sand,
Rotting in the roasting sun.
His flesh little more than the pulp
Of a crushed tomato,
Baking in an oven valley for its third day.
Why have you waited so long?
The meat of his five fingers
Winds like Grettle’s trail,
Leaving only bloodless bones
To search from the Nile to Stygian Shore,
Hunting for the other five.
Cavern for a cranium, two-thirds consumed
By a lone, circling vulture.
His languishing raw-hide thighs,
Once powerful vehicles of might and speed,
Twitch and disintegrate to grit among sand.
Have you enough fluid left
To parch the one deflated, juiceless eye?
Defunct, vapid staring orb
That sees none but Elysian Fields
And freshly turned soil.
Have you the strength to squeeze
That perished muscle trying to remember
To pulse, floundering mass that aches,
Desperately drawing in and out for blood
Long since drained, wizened, and thirsty?
The scorched casualty of heat and wind.
Have you stomach enough
To find his carious corse
Beneath the teeming maggots?
Even now he wails and counts the hours.
His nether realm stagnant, waiting for creation…
His flesh longing for your resurrection.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Run Away, Anubis
Saturday, February 12, 2011
My Mother's Paint
As a child I used to sit for hours at my mother easel, watching in awe as she transformed a blank, white canvas into a work of art far beyond any I hoped to create myself. I longed for that visual medium that came like magic to my mother’s brush or pen or chalk. I cursed my clumsy fingers that lacked the ability to draw a straight line, much less anything more complicated than a stick figure in a field of thumb-print flowers. My admiration for my mother’s talent was boundless, and I still look on her work with the awe of a four year old on Christmas morning.
My mother always included me in “art time.” When we could afford to, we’d go to those ready-to-paint ceramics studios, and we’d paint plaques, or figurines together. And when Mom gave art lessons on barter or to friends, she would encourage me to join in. I would sometimes be able to draw with decent approximation whatever the day’s object might be...a flower on a window sill, or a table with different-shaped vases. I wasn’t half-bad at still-life once I really put my mind to it.
But I felt that I always went too far with my project, or not far enough. When we chose identical ceramic pigs to paint, Mom’s turned out lovely and delicate and life-like, with soft brown hair and sweet expressive eyes, and mine turned out…well…a bit more like a cartoon pig with far-too-vibrant peach hair and big never-found-in-nature-blue eyes. That pencil sketch of a flower that would really have looked quite lovely left as a sketch? I’d ruin it when I tried to color it in, smearing the pencil outline and muddying the reds and greens I tried to add. The drawing I made of children walking hand-in-hand on the beach remained forever half drawn, their incomplete faces never gazing into the soft waves I left out all together…
My mother would probably tell you a different story about my own abilities as an artist. She’d remind me that Wilbur, my favorite pig as a child, WAS a cartoon, so of course the ceramic pig I painted would emulate him. She’d say that the flower I ruined wasn’t ruined at all, that I was merely illustrating what I saw the way I saw it. Mom would point out that the children I began to draw, but didn’t finish, were in fact quite an accomplishment.
“It’s very interesting what you’re doing there,” Mom would say as I bent my head over the sketch pad she loaned me.
“How so?”
“Well,” said Mom, “you started with the feet first.”
“Is that wrong?” I asked, anxious now that I thought I had, once again, ruined what might have been my masterpiece.
“No, it’s not wrong, it’s just different. Hands and feet are the hardest to get right.”
It took me twenty years to really understand the things my mother tried to teach me through art. In my young mind, if I wasn’t getting the same outcome at the easel that my mother did, I was a failure. If the colors in my flower weren’t as crisp as Mom’s, then they were awful. If I couldn’t draw faces the way she did, or even finish a drawing, I had no talent. I never thought about the fact that my mother had been drawing and painting and honing her craft her entire life, or that I’d always chosen choir and drama over art class. It never entered my mind that perhaps one of the reasons I couldn’t create what my mother could wasn’t because I had no ability, but rather because I had not 1/100th of the passion my mother did for drawing and painting.
I didn’t grasp then that the reason my mother was so amazing with visual mediums, and so very gifted at crafting people, was because she loved it, and she nearly always drew what she loved. She wasn’t just being nice when she commented on how remarkable it was that I drew the feet and hands of those children first, she meant it. For her, feet and hands were truly exasperating because they weren’t what she was interested in. Feet and hands weren’t what she saw. Character was my mothers delight as an artist. The sadness in the eyes of a neglected wife, the beaming smile of a little girl with her favorite toy, the sagging jowls of an elderly man, the weathered creases in a farmer’s brow…if my mother was extraordinary at capturing someone on canvas, it’s because she painted what fascinated her, and she captured what she saw, the way she saw it.
I still wonder at my mother’s gift, and her ability to see through a blank white square to the portrait that’s waiting inside. And I hope that I can create characters on stage half as true to life as those my mother creates on canvas.
My mother always included me in “art time.” When we could afford to, we’d go to those ready-to-paint ceramics studios, and we’d paint plaques, or figurines together. And when Mom gave art lessons on barter or to friends, she would encourage me to join in. I would sometimes be able to draw with decent approximation whatever the day’s object might be...a flower on a window sill, or a table with different-shaped vases. I wasn’t half-bad at still-life once I really put my mind to it.
But I felt that I always went too far with my project, or not far enough. When we chose identical ceramic pigs to paint, Mom’s turned out lovely and delicate and life-like, with soft brown hair and sweet expressive eyes, and mine turned out…well…a bit more like a cartoon pig with far-too-vibrant peach hair and big never-found-in-nature-blue eyes. That pencil sketch of a flower that would really have looked quite lovely left as a sketch? I’d ruin it when I tried to color it in, smearing the pencil outline and muddying the reds and greens I tried to add. The drawing I made of children walking hand-in-hand on the beach remained forever half drawn, their incomplete faces never gazing into the soft waves I left out all together…
My mother would probably tell you a different story about my own abilities as an artist. She’d remind me that Wilbur, my favorite pig as a child, WAS a cartoon, so of course the ceramic pig I painted would emulate him. She’d say that the flower I ruined wasn’t ruined at all, that I was merely illustrating what I saw the way I saw it. Mom would point out that the children I began to draw, but didn’t finish, were in fact quite an accomplishment.
“It’s very interesting what you’re doing there,” Mom would say as I bent my head over the sketch pad she loaned me.
“How so?”
“Well,” said Mom, “you started with the feet first.”
“Is that wrong?” I asked, anxious now that I thought I had, once again, ruined what might have been my masterpiece.
“No, it’s not wrong, it’s just different. Hands and feet are the hardest to get right.”
It took me twenty years to really understand the things my mother tried to teach me through art. In my young mind, if I wasn’t getting the same outcome at the easel that my mother did, I was a failure. If the colors in my flower weren’t as crisp as Mom’s, then they were awful. If I couldn’t draw faces the way she did, or even finish a drawing, I had no talent. I never thought about the fact that my mother had been drawing and painting and honing her craft her entire life, or that I’d always chosen choir and drama over art class. It never entered my mind that perhaps one of the reasons I couldn’t create what my mother could wasn’t because I had no ability, but rather because I had not 1/100th of the passion my mother did for drawing and painting.
I didn’t grasp then that the reason my mother was so amazing with visual mediums, and so very gifted at crafting people, was because she loved it, and she nearly always drew what she loved. She wasn’t just being nice when she commented on how remarkable it was that I drew the feet and hands of those children first, she meant it. For her, feet and hands were truly exasperating because they weren’t what she was interested in. Feet and hands weren’t what she saw. Character was my mothers delight as an artist. The sadness in the eyes of a neglected wife, the beaming smile of a little girl with her favorite toy, the sagging jowls of an elderly man, the weathered creases in a farmer’s brow…if my mother was extraordinary at capturing someone on canvas, it’s because she painted what fascinated her, and she captured what she saw, the way she saw it.
I still wonder at my mother’s gift, and her ability to see through a blank white square to the portrait that’s waiting inside. And I hope that I can create characters on stage half as true to life as those my mother creates on canvas.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
As I was saying...
Commandment #2: Listen More, Talk Less
I’m a loquacious gal. If you haven’t figured out by reading my previous posts let me clue you in - I talk. A lot. I’m also an actor, so naturally I can (and often times do) talk, ad nauseam, about my feelings, and my art, and my current project, and my past projects, and my other feelings and my, and my, and my… I have a tendency, as much as I hate to admit it, to be quite a selfish conversationalist. I recognize this in myself – I recognize this as a weakness – a big one. And I want to change it.
I want to think less of myself and more of others, and I think that starts with listening. When someone speaks to me, I want to be engaged. Within the breaths between words, I want the possibility of learning from others to open up - not my mouth. And when my mouth does open, I want the words I speak to be informed by the information just provided, and not by thoughts waiting impatiently to burst from between my lips the minute the other person stops talking. Listen and react is the cornerstone of acting, and I want to do it better. Really listening to a friend when they need you is the heart of friendship, and I want to be a better friend. Listening, not just to the voice or the words but to every thing not being said in the between, is absolutely essential to being a good partner, and wife and mother … and oh how I want to be a good partner, and wife, and (someday) mother.
So in the next few weeks and months, when you hear less of my voice, understand it’s because I’m making the effort to hear more in yours.
I’m a loquacious gal. If you haven’t figured out by reading my previous posts let me clue you in - I talk. A lot. I’m also an actor, so naturally I can (and often times do) talk, ad nauseam, about my feelings, and my art, and my current project, and my past projects, and my other feelings and my, and my, and my… I have a tendency, as much as I hate to admit it, to be quite a selfish conversationalist. I recognize this in myself – I recognize this as a weakness – a big one. And I want to change it.
I want to think less of myself and more of others, and I think that starts with listening. When someone speaks to me, I want to be engaged. Within the breaths between words, I want the possibility of learning from others to open up - not my mouth. And when my mouth does open, I want the words I speak to be informed by the information just provided, and not by thoughts waiting impatiently to burst from between my lips the minute the other person stops talking. Listen and react is the cornerstone of acting, and I want to do it better. Really listening to a friend when they need you is the heart of friendship, and I want to be a better friend. Listening, not just to the voice or the words but to every thing not being said in the between, is absolutely essential to being a good partner, and wife and mother … and oh how I want to be a good partner, and wife, and (someday) mother.
So in the next few weeks and months, when you hear less of my voice, understand it’s because I’m making the effort to hear more in yours.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Commandment #1 – Be Cali
I’ll admit I lifted this one directly from The Happiness Project. The Authors simple “Be Gretchen” really spoke to me – her need for it even more so.
Why do we find it so hard to simply be ourselves? What does that even mean – who else could we be? When I really look at that deceptively simple commandment “Be Cali” I start to realize why it may very well be the most effective commandment I choose (and why I choose to list it as number one). Because it’s not simple to be yourself, be happy with yourself, be fully in the moment as yourself, to wish nothing more for yourself than to simply be the best YOU that you can be...
I have a girlfriend I admire greatly for many reasons. She’s celebrated my triumphs with me, played nurse maid when I was too injured to properly care for myself, and taken care of my heart when it most desperately needed a gentle friend. She’s brave in ways I’m not, fiercely loyal, the kind of talented that makes performance seem easy, and on top of it all she just happens to be smokin’ hot. Seriously, the girl is Susan-Sarandon-cum-Bull-Durham-but-prettier-and-with-eyes-so-blue-they-could-cut-glass-with-a-glance hot. It would be very easy for me to wish I had her effortless grace and sex appeal, her ease on stage, or her ability to tell anyone exactly what she thinks about anything regardless…it would be very easy to cross that fine line between admiration and jealousy.
Now, I’m not saying I don’t possess some nice qualities myself. I have a few tricks up my performer’s sleeve, I’m maybe even a little more comfortable on stage as myself than she is, and my fiancé would tell anyone willing to listen (and some who aren’t) that I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. Unfortunately these aren’t the thoughts that pop into my mind 50,000 times a day. We can’t possibly consider what we have when we’re concentrating so hard on our have-nots. Sometimes it’s easy to see wonderful qualities in others and wish they were your own. Sometimes it’s far too easy to see a leggy blonde walk by and wish you had her body, or to visit a home someone else has and wish you had one that nice, or to see someone else perform on stage and wish you were THAT good, or that you could play the ingénue for once, or that it was your multi-million dollar selling album or…the list could go on and on, and sometimes it does. It’s just so very easy to look outward and yearn, pine for, covet all that belongs to others, because their grass is just so much damned greener than ours. And the inevitable flip side of that coin is always devaluing what we do have. It’s a destructive, ugly cycle that only serves to beget more negativity. And it’s pointless because you never can be someone else, you never can have what others have, and you never can live anyone else’s life but your own.
Frankly, I don’t want to waste my time anymore. I’m all for self-improvement. I just want whatever improvements I put into action to stem from me, and not what I perceive as someone else’s “better-than”. I want to be myself without comparing my looks, my body, my talents, my career, or my pocket book with those of other people. It’s not as easy to be happy being yourself. It’s constantly reminding yourself until it’s second nature to believe that who you are is great, it’s replacing the “have-not” thoughts with the knowledge that what you do have is plenty, it’s comparing who you are today only with who you were yesterday, and who you want to be tomorrow. It won’t be easy to just “Be Cali” but it’s far more beneficial than the alternative. And really shouldn’t I be most proud of the one thing in the world that only I can do?
Why do we find it so hard to simply be ourselves? What does that even mean – who else could we be? When I really look at that deceptively simple commandment “Be Cali” I start to realize why it may very well be the most effective commandment I choose (and why I choose to list it as number one). Because it’s not simple to be yourself, be happy with yourself, be fully in the moment as yourself, to wish nothing more for yourself than to simply be the best YOU that you can be...
I have a girlfriend I admire greatly for many reasons. She’s celebrated my triumphs with me, played nurse maid when I was too injured to properly care for myself, and taken care of my heart when it most desperately needed a gentle friend. She’s brave in ways I’m not, fiercely loyal, the kind of talented that makes performance seem easy, and on top of it all she just happens to be smokin’ hot. Seriously, the girl is Susan-Sarandon-cum-Bull-Durham-but-prettier-and-with-eyes-so-blue-they-could-cut-glass-with-a-glance hot. It would be very easy for me to wish I had her effortless grace and sex appeal, her ease on stage, or her ability to tell anyone exactly what she thinks about anything regardless…it would be very easy to cross that fine line between admiration and jealousy.
Now, I’m not saying I don’t possess some nice qualities myself. I have a few tricks up my performer’s sleeve, I’m maybe even a little more comfortable on stage as myself than she is, and my fiancé would tell anyone willing to listen (and some who aren’t) that I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. Unfortunately these aren’t the thoughts that pop into my mind 50,000 times a day. We can’t possibly consider what we have when we’re concentrating so hard on our have-nots. Sometimes it’s easy to see wonderful qualities in others and wish they were your own. Sometimes it’s far too easy to see a leggy blonde walk by and wish you had her body, or to visit a home someone else has and wish you had one that nice, or to see someone else perform on stage and wish you were THAT good, or that you could play the ingénue for once, or that it was your multi-million dollar selling album or…the list could go on and on, and sometimes it does. It’s just so very easy to look outward and yearn, pine for, covet all that belongs to others, because their grass is just so much damned greener than ours. And the inevitable flip side of that coin is always devaluing what we do have. It’s a destructive, ugly cycle that only serves to beget more negativity. And it’s pointless because you never can be someone else, you never can have what others have, and you never can live anyone else’s life but your own.
Frankly, I don’t want to waste my time anymore. I’m all for self-improvement. I just want whatever improvements I put into action to stem from me, and not what I perceive as someone else’s “better-than”. I want to be myself without comparing my looks, my body, my talents, my career, or my pocket book with those of other people. It’s not as easy to be happy being yourself. It’s constantly reminding yourself until it’s second nature to believe that who you are is great, it’s replacing the “have-not” thoughts with the knowledge that what you do have is plenty, it’s comparing who you are today only with who you were yesterday, and who you want to be tomorrow. It won’t be easy to just “Be Cali” but it’s far more beneficial than the alternative. And really shouldn’t I be most proud of the one thing in the world that only I can do?
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Happiness is...
It’s been a long time since I’ve written in this blog. Not that I’ve not written anything -bits and pieces per my usual, and I’ve been working on a musical parody as my first official assignment as (ehem) a new Artistic Associate with Hubris Productions (more on that later). And my absence certainly hasn’t been lack of inspiration – in fact I’ve had a wealth of inspirational articles and topics and readings come my way since last I blogged. A friend of mine passed along a fantastic videoed speech on the nature of creativity given by Elizabeth Gillbert. I read Eat, Pray, Love , a memoire authored by that very same Elizabeth Gilbert (if you haven’t read it, you should). I read a quite disturbing article about luxury and relative personal economics. And I’ve been meaning to have a long-overdue discussion with Feminism…but oi, I’ve been busy.
I stumbled upon this blog yesterday* 13 Tips for Actually Getting Some Writing Done , which prompted me to go here today*. I realized, if I go back to the very first post I made here, this blog has always been about the pursuit of happiness. A creative happiness, but happiness none the less – and it’s high time I picked up my blogging-stick.
I’m going to start by working on my own set of happiness commandments. I’ve been compiling a list of quotes and potential commandments and would like to share a few (ha!) that may or may not make the official list. Perhaps over time I can suss out the ones that seem repetitive, the ones that bear repeating, and the ones I can’t (or at least shouldn’t) live without. And the ultimate goal would be to have a succinct (good luck Cali – perhaps my 1st commandment should be “be brief”) list that applies to both my life and my creative productivity (perhaps there’s another commandment “creativity is life and life is creative – stop trying to put them in separate boxes”). I can see already that “be brief” one would be really tough…
The list so far:
Be brief
Creativity is life and life is creative – stop trying to put them in separate boxes.
Philosophy is best expressed in the choices we make. – modified quote, Elenore Roosevelt
Being happy is a choice and a duty. –modified quote Robert Louis Stevenson
St. Therese wrote: "When one loves, one does not calculate."
Act as I want to feel / fake it till you make it (thank you Candice Koern)
Quit bitching and do something.
We don’t sing because we are happy. We are happy because we sing. – Dr. Claire Buie Chaney
Be Kind and Patient
So you say I gotta be me – Revenge of the nerds
When asked, “Master, which is the great commandment in the law?” Jesus answered, “Thou shalt love the Lord they God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.” Matthew 22:36-40.
Say Yes, and… - Second City
Ralph Waldo Emerson :
“To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden, or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you lived. This is to have succeeded."
Progress, not perfection, is what we should be asking of ourselves. – The Artist’s Way
On that same topic: Practice does not make perfect – but it does make progress.
Love is action
If you can't show compassion for yourself, how will you ever be able to show compassion to others
I will sell this house today. – American Beauty
Let go
Persistence, Permanence, Perception – Dr. Claire Buie Chaney
(I would add Patience)
Happiness is a choice
Words have power. Speak into existence only that which is positive.
You must do the thing you think you cannot do
Seek God and give thanks.
Breathe
Pray
Give for the sake of giving
Read
You can’t get what you don’t ask for
Give more than I take
Finish what you start
Quality time with loved ones does not include TV
Be Cali
Until I get these distilled down to 10 I’ll be spending some time with them here discussing what they mean to me, how they can and should apply to my pursuit of happiness, etc.
*The yesterday referenced was actually Wednesday 5/27 – perhaps I should add “Stop procrastinating!”
I stumbled upon this blog yesterday* 13 Tips for Actually Getting Some Writing Done , which prompted me to go here today*. I realized, if I go back to the very first post I made here, this blog has always been about the pursuit of happiness. A creative happiness, but happiness none the less – and it’s high time I picked up my blogging-stick.
I’m going to start by working on my own set of happiness commandments. I’ve been compiling a list of quotes and potential commandments and would like to share a few (ha!) that may or may not make the official list. Perhaps over time I can suss out the ones that seem repetitive, the ones that bear repeating, and the ones I can’t (or at least shouldn’t) live without. And the ultimate goal would be to have a succinct (good luck Cali – perhaps my 1st commandment should be “be brief”) list that applies to both my life and my creative productivity (perhaps there’s another commandment “creativity is life and life is creative – stop trying to put them in separate boxes”). I can see already that “be brief” one would be really tough…
The list so far:
Be brief
Creativity is life and life is creative – stop trying to put them in separate boxes.
Philosophy is best expressed in the choices we make. – modified quote, Elenore Roosevelt
Being happy is a choice and a duty. –modified quote Robert Louis Stevenson
St. Therese wrote: "When one loves, one does not calculate."
Act as I want to feel / fake it till you make it (thank you Candice Koern)
Quit bitching and do something.
We don’t sing because we are happy. We are happy because we sing. – Dr. Claire Buie Chaney
Be Kind and Patient
So you say I gotta be me – Revenge of the nerds
When asked, “Master, which is the great commandment in the law?” Jesus answered, “Thou shalt love the Lord they God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.” Matthew 22:36-40.
Say Yes, and… - Second City
Ralph Waldo Emerson :
“To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden, or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you lived. This is to have succeeded."
Progress, not perfection, is what we should be asking of ourselves. – The Artist’s Way
On that same topic: Practice does not make perfect – but it does make progress.
Love is action
If you can't show compassion for yourself, how will you ever be able to show compassion to others
I will sell this house today. – American Beauty
Let go
Persistence, Permanence, Perception – Dr. Claire Buie Chaney
(I would add Patience)
Happiness is a choice
Words have power. Speak into existence only that which is positive.
You must do the thing you think you cannot do
Seek God and give thanks.
Breathe
Pray
Give for the sake of giving
Read
You can’t get what you don’t ask for
Give more than I take
Finish what you start
Quality time with loved ones does not include TV
Be Cali
Until I get these distilled down to 10 I’ll be spending some time with them here discussing what they mean to me, how they can and should apply to my pursuit of happiness, etc.
*The yesterday referenced was actually Wednesday 5/27 – perhaps I should add “Stop procrastinating!”
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Another reason to be jolly at Christmas Time...
Thank you National Lampoon
Ooooh, midnight in the ghetto street
A desperate boy, he wants somethin' t' eat
('Cause he's dead on his feet)
To "The Man" in the squad car, it's just his "beat"
(He don't care, he don't live there...)
He lives in Queens
(Not Manhattan or The Bronx, or, Brooklyn --Ahhhh, oooooh!)
A thief on the roof, a mugger in the hall
(Stick 'em up, stick 'em up!)
A baby on the floor, eatin' paint off the wall
(How's he gonna grow tall?)
But, there's one time of year that brings joy to one and all
(When ev'ry race has a smile on it's face...)
Ooooh...
Junkie on the corner, the Pusher uptown
Diggin' the Yuletide, Santa's gettin' down
Holiday colors of red and green
Turkey's big and fat and The Gangsta Lean
Numbers runner stops for a chat
The Apollo doorman tips his hat
And he says:
"Have a Kung-Fu Christmas!"
Livin' in The Ghetto, you always lose
They'll shoot ya' for your socks
And, they'll stick ya' for your shoes
When you're a Super Bad dude,
You pay Super Bad dues
(Where fear and strife is a way of life...)
But, there's a man comin' today
With lots of loot
He's got a Pimp-mo-sleigh,
A red and white fur suit
He's a SuperFly guy;
And, he's awful cu-u-ute
(He's about to arrive, bringing Jingle Bell Jive!)
Santa Claus is makin' the Soul Train scene
Slickin' down his beard with Afro Sheen®
Eeny meeny and miney mo
Frost in your hair, and snow up your nose
Diamond in the back, trimmed with holly
My girls are on the street, an' I'm feelin' jolly
Christmas Eve's comin' with the last-minute bustle
Santa tells the elves "You'd better do The Hustle"
Music by Paul Shaffer and Christopher Guest
Lyrics by Brian Doyle-Murray, Bill Murray, and Gilda Radner
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
I couldn't say it any better than this...
Please read my friend Josh's post about teen bullying in Cy-Fair ISD (where we both went to school).
http://makingcopy.com/
Thank you Josh for your words and your brave heart.
http://makingcopy.com/
Thank you Josh for your words and your brave heart.
Friday, September 10, 2010
11 things that make me terribly happy (in no particular order)
As I've been re-entering the blogosphere I've been catching up with some of my favorite blog reading as well. I stumbled onto The Rockstar Diaries one day last year when a regular read led to another site which led to another which led to a site discussing the author's fantastic sense of fashion and wonderful photos. I kept reading RD because the story these two are creating with the life they are building together is so uplifting and hopeful and sweet...and not the cloying kind of high-fructose sweet that makes your teeth ache, but the honest, pure sweetness of romance and art and love (le sigh).
Anywho - there have been a series of posts on Mrs. Davis' blog regarding happiness and I thought it only fitting that I jump on her list-making band-wagon. But I'm making mine 11:
Anywho - there have been a series of posts on Mrs. Davis' blog regarding happiness and I thought it only fitting that I jump on her list-making band-wagon. But I'm making mine 11:
11 things that make me terribly happy
1. When Kevin tells me “seriously that’s the best thing you’ve ever cooked” no matter what I feed him
2. Music that squeezes my heart
3. Ben & Jerry’s Oatmeal Cookie Chunk Ice Cream
4. The sound of trains
5. Wonderful foreign films filled with beautiful color
6. When Hiro decides to nap IN my lap, and not just next to it
7. A good play
8. Accordions – to see and to hear
9. Singing at the top of my lungs while cruising down Lake Shore Drive
10. Putting two dryer sheets in the laundry just for that extra bit of smell-good
11. Reading about others' happiness and letting it inform my own
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Oh lists how you bother me so...
I ran across this "Best of" list on Entertainment Weekly's website today. Of course, no one will agree with any of these kinds of lists...it's easy to see the list is more heavily influenced by characters from the most recent years in the 20-year span, and many characters have yet to prove they will stand the test of pop-culture time. But I will concentrate on what were, for me, the two most glaring errors.
6. Rachel Green from Friends
I want to be clear here - I am a huge fan of Friends and always have been. My husband is a near addict, and I must confess to being his enabler. We talk about episodes and characters as if they were our actual Friends. Hell, there were times in college when the Friends WERE my actual friends. I love all my Friends equally...ok mostly equally. And by mostly I mean depending on which season we're discussing. Let's just say were I to hand out cookies to my Friends, I'd make sure Chandler and Joey got the biggest ones, and I'd sneak Phoebe a second cookie when the others weren't looking. This is no slight to Ross, Monica, and Rachel mind you - they would still get cookies. But back to the glaring error...
While I love the character Rachel (almost) as much as I love all the other Friends, I would not have singled her out as one of the top 100 characters of the past 20 years. Yes I know, Rachel abandoning her fiancé at the alter was the inciting incident for the series. Yeah, I know she did the whole spoiled-girl-strikes-out-on-her-own-and-gets-a-job thing. Believe me, I KNOW the Ross + Rachel will-they-won't-they-on-off romance will live on in TV infamy.
But what was so special about the character Rachel? What made her so iconic? Was it that her stylists gave her a haircut millions would emulate? Perhaps it was because Rachel was played by a beautiful actor? Maybe it’s because said actor would marry the most coveted man in Hollywood during her 10-year run as Rachel? None of these things make Rachel viable in the "best in 20 year" list. Let’s not confuse huge star with huge character. If we're talking greatest characters of the past 20 years EVER? No way. I wouldn’t say Rachel was the best character on the show, let alone in the past 20 years.
Not only are there regular characters on Friends that are greater (see who got the best/most cookies above), but there were some phenomenal guest characters as well. How about Eddie, Chandler’s short-lived crazy roommate? Who else could emote such feeling for a gold fish cracker, or delight so heartily in food dehydration? And – Oh…my…gosh, who could forget Janice? She could quite possibly be one of the most memorable girlfriends-you-just-can’t-stay-away-from-no-matter-how-much-you-want-to-kill-her of all time!
But the true beauty of Friends, the real magic, was never about one particular character in the show. Think about your favorite episodes…How would “The One Where No One Is Ready” “The One With The Embryos” “The One Where Everyone Finds Out” “The One with All The Football” “The One Where Ross Got High” or “The One With Chandler In The Box” rank on your list of favorites? There’s a reason why these episodes (and others like them) are listed over and over as favorites. In each of these episodes, all or most of the 6 Friends spend all or most of their time in the same location. These Friends were greater than the sum of thier parts, and they were always at their best when they were together.
Friends was about ensemble work, period. Hell, it’s all right there in the name. If this EW list pairs others as a whole due to the iconic tethering of their characters (see Thelma + Louise and Lorallie + Rory Gilmore) then so should they list the characters of Friends as a whole.
I posit spot #6 should be "Monica, Rachel, Phoeby, Ross, Chandler and Joey from Friends."
to be continued for the second glaring error...
6. Rachel Green from Friends
I want to be clear here - I am a huge fan of Friends and always have been. My husband is a near addict, and I must confess to being his enabler. We talk about episodes and characters as if they were our actual Friends. Hell, there were times in college when the Friends WERE my actual friends. I love all my Friends equally...ok mostly equally. And by mostly I mean depending on which season we're discussing. Let's just say were I to hand out cookies to my Friends, I'd make sure Chandler and Joey got the biggest ones, and I'd sneak Phoebe a second cookie when the others weren't looking. This is no slight to Ross, Monica, and Rachel mind you - they would still get cookies. But back to the glaring error...
While I love the character Rachel (almost) as much as I love all the other Friends, I would not have singled her out as one of the top 100 characters of the past 20 years. Yes I know, Rachel abandoning her fiancé at the alter was the inciting incident for the series. Yeah, I know she did the whole spoiled-girl-strikes-out-on-her-own-and-gets-a-job thing. Believe me, I KNOW the Ross + Rachel will-they-won't-they-on-off romance will live on in TV infamy.
But what was so special about the character Rachel? What made her so iconic? Was it that her stylists gave her a haircut millions would emulate? Perhaps it was because Rachel was played by a beautiful actor? Maybe it’s because said actor would marry the most coveted man in Hollywood during her 10-year run as Rachel? None of these things make Rachel viable in the "best in 20 year" list. Let’s not confuse huge star with huge character. If we're talking greatest characters of the past 20 years EVER? No way. I wouldn’t say Rachel was the best character on the show, let alone in the past 20 years.
Not only are there regular characters on Friends that are greater (see who got the best/most cookies above), but there were some phenomenal guest characters as well. How about Eddie, Chandler’s short-lived crazy roommate? Who else could emote such feeling for a gold fish cracker, or delight so heartily in food dehydration? And – Oh…my…gosh, who could forget Janice? She could quite possibly be one of the most memorable girlfriends-you-just-can’t-stay-away-from-no-matter-how-much-you-want-to-kill-her of all time!
But the true beauty of Friends, the real magic, was never about one particular character in the show. Think about your favorite episodes…How would “The One Where No One Is Ready” “The One With The Embryos” “The One Where Everyone Finds Out” “The One with All The Football” “The One Where Ross Got High” or “The One With Chandler In The Box” rank on your list of favorites? There’s a reason why these episodes (and others like them) are listed over and over as favorites. In each of these episodes, all or most of the 6 Friends spend all or most of their time in the same location. These Friends were greater than the sum of thier parts, and they were always at their best when they were together.
Friends was about ensemble work, period. Hell, it’s all right there in the name. If this EW list pairs others as a whole due to the iconic tethering of their characters (see Thelma + Louise and Lorallie + Rory Gilmore) then so should they list the characters of Friends as a whole.
I posit spot #6 should be "Monica, Rachel, Phoeby, Ross, Chandler and Joey from Friends."
to be continued for the second glaring error...
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
So we're gonna watch movies like it's 1999
I was browsing a list on yahoo (100 Movies to See Before You Die: Modern Classics Edition) and noticed that 1999 was a banner year for modern film. Of the 19 years included (1990 - 2009) the year 1999 had more inclusions than any other - 10% of the 100 listed to be precise. According to Yahoo (who chose movies based on their artistry, originality, and pure cinematic entertainment) 1999's 10 prized films are:
All About My Mother (Todo sobre mi madre)
American Beauty
Being John Malkovich
Election
Fight Club
The Matrix
Princess Mononoke (Mononoke-hime) R
un Lola Run (Lola rennt)
The Sixth Sense
Three Kings
There are a couple on that list that I might not list as my all-time favorites, but they would qualify as runners-up (Election, Run Lola Run) and a few I thought were very good upon initial viewing, and still get sucked into when they're on the tele (The Sixth Sense, The Matrix). But if I were stranded on an island and could only bring 10 films with me, well, I'd have a very hard time narrowing the list to only 10...But 3 top contenders are on the 1999 list - American Beauty, Being John Malkovich, and Fight Club.
After seeing these movies, I remember thinking that the art of filmmaking was experiencing a renaissance. I thought, FINALLY Big Hollywood (BH) was opening up to story telling that didn't follow the same beaten path. After all, these weren't small indie films; they were big studio, big budget, big star movies. I thought the financial success of these fantastic films meant that American audiences were FINALLY relinquishing their hold on standard realism and opening themselves up to the possibility that great stories with incredible intelligence and heart could be told in non-traditional ways, and without the cookie-cutter BH happy ending. These films took so much "American Dream," cracked it wide open, and exposed its corrupt and deadening underbelly for all to see. And we, the audiences, looked at these film-as-mirror reflections and sighed with relief - "It's not just you" these films said "it's everyone. The insurance guy with the sterile IKEA apartment? The seemingly-perfect family? John Malkovich? Every single one of them is fucked up."
I wonder now, looking at this list, if 1999 was a special year in film because it was 1999. Was there some great underlying fear of Y2K pushing us (and BH) out of our comfort zones a la Lester Burnham? Was it turn-of-the-century collective conscience opening us all to a twisted search for self on the 7th-and-a-half floor of an office building in the middle of the night? Perhaps we were finally giving in to our own Tyler Durdens, and giving a big fat blow-up-the-credit-card-industry finger to our self-help loving, furniture-assembling, status obsessed culture.
I can’t say for certain that timing had any quantitative effect at all on the makings of these films – they were likely in some stage of concept or production well before the last year of the last century of the last millennium any of us will know to begin with the number 1. I do know these films were brave, they were letting it all out, partying like it was the year of their release, and if they taught us nothing else we should all remember this: if we are not our fucking khakis, then neither should be our art.
All About My Mother (Todo sobre mi madre)
American Beauty
Being John Malkovich
Election
Fight Club
The Matrix
Princess Mononoke (Mononoke-hime) R
un Lola Run (Lola rennt)
The Sixth Sense
Three Kings
There are a couple on that list that I might not list as my all-time favorites, but they would qualify as runners-up (Election, Run Lola Run) and a few I thought were very good upon initial viewing, and still get sucked into when they're on the tele (The Sixth Sense, The Matrix). But if I were stranded on an island and could only bring 10 films with me, well, I'd have a very hard time narrowing the list to only 10...But 3 top contenders are on the 1999 list - American Beauty, Being John Malkovich, and Fight Club.
After seeing these movies, I remember thinking that the art of filmmaking was experiencing a renaissance. I thought, FINALLY Big Hollywood (BH) was opening up to story telling that didn't follow the same beaten path. After all, these weren't small indie films; they were big studio, big budget, big star movies. I thought the financial success of these fantastic films meant that American audiences were FINALLY relinquishing their hold on standard realism and opening themselves up to the possibility that great stories with incredible intelligence and heart could be told in non-traditional ways, and without the cookie-cutter BH happy ending. These films took so much "American Dream," cracked it wide open, and exposed its corrupt and deadening underbelly for all to see. And we, the audiences, looked at these film-as-mirror reflections and sighed with relief - "It's not just you" these films said "it's everyone. The insurance guy with the sterile IKEA apartment? The seemingly-perfect family? John Malkovich? Every single one of them is fucked up."
I wonder now, looking at this list, if 1999 was a special year in film because it was 1999. Was there some great underlying fear of Y2K pushing us (and BH) out of our comfort zones a la Lester Burnham? Was it turn-of-the-century collective conscience opening us all to a twisted search for self on the 7th-and-a-half floor of an office building in the middle of the night? Perhaps we were finally giving in to our own Tyler Durdens, and giving a big fat blow-up-the-credit-card-industry finger to our self-help loving, furniture-assembling, status obsessed culture.
I can’t say for certain that timing had any quantitative effect at all on the makings of these films – they were likely in some stage of concept or production well before the last year of the last century of the last millennium any of us will know to begin with the number 1. I do know these films were brave, they were letting it all out, partying like it was the year of their release, and if they taught us nothing else we should all remember this: if we are not our fucking khakis, then neither should be our art.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Conversation During the Grammys
Most people know what THE LIST is, but for those who don't (or who never saw that episode of "Friends") THE LIST is a record of 5 celebrities one is allowed to bed without retribution by one's significant other. It's pure fantasy, but apparently even my fantasy life needs rules. So, Kevin and I have a deal where by some list-nominees are sanctioned (Kate Bekinsale) and some are not (Jessica Simpson). And by deal I mean that after I rejected enough list nominees and even offered up a few suggestions of my own (Zooey Deschanel) Kevin finally gave in.
Kevin: I'm gonna have to add Fergie to my list.
Me: Fergie is not sanctioned.
Kevin: Why not?
Me: Well, she's drag-queenish and kind of slutty. Same reason Pam Anderson is not sanctioned.
Kevin: But she’s hot, and maybe the list needs some slutty.
Me: Your list is getting really long you know...
Kevin: So she’ll be second-string.
Me: You’re grasping.
Kevin: Besides I should have an older woman on my list...
Me: And Fergie's OLDER?
Kevin: Yeah she's like in her mid-30's.
Me: I want you to think about how old your WIFE is, and then think about what you just said.
Kevin: I love you…
That cute boyish grin gets him out of more trouble...
Stacy Ann Ferguson was born on March 27, 1975, a mere 3 months before said wife.
Kevin: I'm gonna have to add Fergie to my list.
Me: Fergie is not sanctioned.
Kevin: Why not?
Me: Well, she's drag-queenish and kind of slutty. Same reason Pam Anderson is not sanctioned.
Kevin: But she’s hot, and maybe the list needs some slutty.
Me: Your list is getting really long you know...
Kevin: So she’ll be second-string.
Me: You’re grasping.
Kevin: Besides I should have an older woman on my list...
Me: And Fergie's OLDER?
Kevin: Yeah she's like in her mid-30's.
Me: I want you to think about how old your WIFE is, and then think about what you just said.
Kevin: I love you…
That cute boyish grin gets him out of more trouble...
Stacy Ann Ferguson was born on March 27, 1975, a mere 3 months before said wife.
Monday, August 31, 2009
I just couldn't wait until Friday...
Back when I had grand visions of posting daily, I dubbed Friday my day to share interweb happenings that tickled me. But I saw this today and I just couldn't wait. Enjoy.
Monday, June 22, 2009
So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, good year...
In a few days I will mark the end of my 33rd year. I’ve long believed my thirties would be a time of tremendous progress for me - perhaps because I was once told by an acting coach that I’d really start to get work in my thirties, or maybe because I’m a perpetual late-bloomer. For reasons I can’t name precisely, I felt the year numbered 33 would be an especially auspicious age. 33 promised to be a year that would see previously illusive happinesses unfold themselves like long awaited late-blooming flowers, finally offering their full beauty. 33 would be the age at which I could finally release the breath I’d been holding all my life, sigh in great relief, and cross that line between the woman I longed to be and the woman I am.
I haven’t accomplished all I’d hoped to at this age, and often wonder if I’m too old for (fill in the various goal/activity/hairstyle/skirt length). New-to-me art forms call to me on a fairly consistent basis – a banjo or ukulele will say “play me” or a camera beckons me to view the world through its lens. Shouldn’t I, at my age, be content with performance and writing and sewing? I wonder if I’ve passed the stage in life when it’s acceptable/appropriate/possible to continue pursuit of my current chosen field(s) of art, let alone pick up new ones. What if I never star as lead in a comedy that’s both critically acclaimed and financially successful, become America's next some-where-near-the-top-of-the-middle singer/songwriter, and/or write the great American post-feminist novel all while winning a Tony® for best new play, mastering the fine art of baking French macarons and rearing the worlds most precious and well behaved children? Oh motherhood, who’s knock on the door of my belly is growing increasingly insistent - I swear I hear you! And yet...I can’t think of the past year without thinking all these potential ambitions and more (that's right I, said more) are in fact possible.
In many ways I was right about 33 being a water-shed year. I’ve been consistently active both behind and on stage, and became an artistic associate of a young theater company. I began plans to start a business with a fellow artist involving handmade crafts (on hold for the time being, but still a very new venture for me). I started this blog, a small step in becoming a more active writer. I’m taking care of my body in a much more healthy way than I ever have before, and I’ve started to realize I’ve finally reached that place of confidence in myself that prevents the opinions of others from inflecting any real impression upon my self-worth. I’m actively choosing happiness on a consistent basis. And the most wonderful of my year-33 happenings – I accepted a marriage proposal from the most wonderful man I’ve ever known. Not a day in this year has been spent without the sound of our laughter, and I eagerly anticipate the thousands of laughs we’ll share as we build a life together. Thank you year 33 for being so amazingly gracious and giving.
Bring what ya got year 34 – I’m ready.
I haven’t accomplished all I’d hoped to at this age, and often wonder if I’m too old for (fill in the various goal/activity/hairstyle/skirt length). New-to-me art forms call to me on a fairly consistent basis – a banjo or ukulele will say “play me” or a camera beckons me to view the world through its lens. Shouldn’t I, at my age, be content with performance and writing and sewing? I wonder if I’ve passed the stage in life when it’s acceptable/appropriate/possible to continue pursuit of my current chosen field(s) of art, let alone pick up new ones. What if I never star as lead in a comedy that’s both critically acclaimed and financially successful, become America's next some-where-near-the-top-of-the-middle singer/songwriter, and/or write the great American post-feminist novel all while winning a Tony® for best new play, mastering the fine art of baking French macarons and rearing the worlds most precious and well behaved children? Oh motherhood, who’s knock on the door of my belly is growing increasingly insistent - I swear I hear you! And yet...I can’t think of the past year without thinking all these potential ambitions and more (that's right I, said more) are in fact possible.
In many ways I was right about 33 being a water-shed year. I’ve been consistently active both behind and on stage, and became an artistic associate of a young theater company. I began plans to start a business with a fellow artist involving handmade crafts (on hold for the time being, but still a very new venture for me). I started this blog, a small step in becoming a more active writer. I’m taking care of my body in a much more healthy way than I ever have before, and I’ve started to realize I’ve finally reached that place of confidence in myself that prevents the opinions of others from inflecting any real impression upon my self-worth. I’m actively choosing happiness on a consistent basis. And the most wonderful of my year-33 happenings – I accepted a marriage proposal from the most wonderful man I’ve ever known. Not a day in this year has been spent without the sound of our laughter, and I eagerly anticipate the thousands of laughs we’ll share as we build a life together. Thank you year 33 for being so amazingly gracious and giving.
Bring what ya got year 34 – I’m ready.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Belated Valentine Contrition
did I ever tell you
that story?
seems I never
got around to it…
..............how the way you
..............looked at me was like
..............being home?
always seemed better
left for another time.
but the time I’d planned,
the minutes I’d store
in a jar --
..............how eclipsed the light of fire flies,
..............the first time
..............I saw you smile?
I never saw
how they’d escape,
and slip between the grooves.
funny, how the lid never fit.
but you fit me fine.
..............how I found in your arms
..............warm rare moments
..............of utter safety?
and were I to find
you were mine
(again)
even for a moment,
I’d store in you
the story
I never got around
to telling.
that story?
seems I never
got around to it…
..............how the way you
..............looked at me was like
..............being home?
always seemed better
left for another time.
but the time I’d planned,
the minutes I’d store
in a jar --
..............how eclipsed the light of fire flies,
..............the first time
..............I saw you smile?
I never saw
how they’d escape,
and slip between the grooves.
funny, how the lid never fit.
but you fit me fine.
..............how I found in your arms
..............warm rare moments
..............of utter safety?
and were I to find
you were mine
(again)
even for a moment,
I’d store in you
the story
I never got around
to telling.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Merry Christmas
To cap off this holiday season I'd like to present you with one of my favorite Christmas songs, sung by one of my new favorite bands.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Even Ringo knows what Christmas is about...
I currently have a play list on my computer with 70 Christmas songs (well 67 – one is Auld Lang Syne which, truly, is a New Year’s song and 2 are Hanukkah songs). There are more actually (84) but the rest are repeats by different artists. How can one chose between Marvin Gay or Dean Martin or Nat King Cole singing The Christmas Song? And should I need more variety for my Christmas listening pleasure, I have my choice of Pandora holiday stations featuring Christmas music in the style of swing, rock, folk, classical, and more. I must have them all, because unlike 99% of the radio-listening population, I can never get enough of Christmas music.
This year’s listening, however, has been tinged with disquiet. I don’t know why this year is different, but for some reason I’m suddenly quite aware of Jesus in Christmas music – or the lack there of. Frankie sings about falling in love, Sting sings about his beloved being all four seasons, The Waitresses wax poetic about crappy presents and Christmas-time discord, Nancy White grouse about being be pregnant at Christmas (though she does point out that it is “Biblical”)…out of 67 songs on my playlist, only 22* mention Jesus. Huh. A measly 33%. Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised at all. Year after year, Christmas has been made increasingly secular; it’s sacred reverence buried beneath consumerism. Why should the music of the holiday reflect a different picture?
Maybe this year is distinctive for me because more so than any other year I’ve heard this (or a similar) phrase: “I’m not Christian, but I celebrate Christmas anyway.” I have several friends and acquaintances who are atheist or agnostic, or otherwise spiritual but vehemently NOT Christian, and they celebrate Christmas regardless. I’m having a hard time understanding it. What if I were to tell these same friends “I’m not Muslim, but I’m fasting for Ramadan” “I’m not Jewish, but I’m cleaning and removing Chametz for Passover” or “I’m not Wiccan but I’m burning oak for the Summer Solstice”? They’d think I was off my rocker. At the very least, they would question my desire to celebrate a holiday that is sacred in a religion to which I don’t belong, and who’s tenets I don’t believe. If I don’t believe what Islam preaches, why would I celebrate Ramadan? If I do believe Jesus to be the Messiah, why would I celebrate the holiday of a religion that deems him a wise teacher, perhaps a prophet, but not my savior? Many of them would be offended at my lack of sensitivity and reverence for the beliefs of others. I wouldn’t blame them in the least – but I do question the contempt for mine.
I once read an interview with Chrissie Hynde in which she discussed a Christmas party she’d attended. While there, she asked others at the party when they thought Jesus would come back. Most of the people she asked were appalled, and she found it odd that they found discussing Jesus odd. They were, after all, at a Christmas party. Why were they there if they didn’t want to think about or talk about Jesus? I’ll go a step further than Chrissie and ask why those who don’t believe in God, Jesus, CHRIST…why do they celebrate Christmas? And why are they offended when Christians remind that Christmas about the birth of Jesus, whom we believe to be our Lord and savior?
Is it our fault, us Christians? Did we allow the secular to increasingly creep in year after year by focusing on all the things that have very little to do with Jesus? Without a doubt we share the blame in the steady degradation of what SHOULD be the holiest day in our Christian calendar. To a Christian, a follower of Christ and a believer in the saving grace of Jesus, the Messiah - Christmas is about the birth of the savior of the world. That’s pretty heady stuff. Yet we deride presents we deem beneath us, keep mental tabs on who gave what to whom and what’s appropriate in turn, bicker with our families and loved ones, get angry with our pets for messing up our perfect (pagan) Christmas tree, trample clerks at Wal-Mart! I can’t confirm that any in that mob were Christian, but I’m willing to guess at least 33% were.
Perhaps it’s the very inclusive nature of Christ Himself that beckons the non-Christian to join in the festivities and traditions of the holiday. If Jesus were here, having a birthday party, would he only allow believers to come? Absolutely not. He’d let anyone who wanted come to his celebration. Those beggars we pass in the street, convinced in our modern cynicism they make more money pan-handling than we do hard at work every day? They’d feast at the table with Jesus, and they wouldn’t have to beg for the food they got either. The black sheep of the family? Jesus would give him or her a giant hug and let them know exactly how much He loves them. Jesus would accept every gift, great and small, with the same appreciation, so long as they were given in the spirit of love. And those crazed parents who mangled a poor, minimum-wage big-box clerk? He’d forgive them before their shame kept them from asking. Perhaps I shouldn’t be offended or taken aback by those who celebrate but don't believe, and instead take the opportunity to include them, love them, and share my beliefs.
And what of music? I wonder what kind of music would we find at a birthday party thrown by the Lord himself. Would Jesus love “The Christmas Song”? Few can argue the velvety warm merits of Nat King Cole’s voice after all. Surely Handel’s “The Messiah” would be in His rotation. Who knows? Maybe He’d smile at all the seasonal songs. Perhaps he’d make a distinction between those praising Him, and those that should simply be labeled “winter songs.” Maybe He’d lump them all together and figure anyone using God’s gifts to make beautiful music IS praising Him, weather they know it or not. Whatever the case, everyone in the room would know exactly what occasion the music would commemorate. And they’d all sing along knowing, as Ringo Star did, that they were doing it for Jesus – Jesus loves you.
*I included Stevie Wonder’s “Someday at Christmas” in this number. Though the song doesn’t mention Jesus by name, everything the song hopes for is only possible “when we have learned what Christmas is for” and I happen to agree with Stevie most heartily.
This year’s listening, however, has been tinged with disquiet. I don’t know why this year is different, but for some reason I’m suddenly quite aware of Jesus in Christmas music – or the lack there of. Frankie sings about falling in love, Sting sings about his beloved being all four seasons, The Waitresses wax poetic about crappy presents and Christmas-time discord, Nancy White grouse about being be pregnant at Christmas (though she does point out that it is “Biblical”)…out of 67 songs on my playlist, only 22* mention Jesus. Huh. A measly 33%. Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised at all. Year after year, Christmas has been made increasingly secular; it’s sacred reverence buried beneath consumerism. Why should the music of the holiday reflect a different picture?
Maybe this year is distinctive for me because more so than any other year I’ve heard this (or a similar) phrase: “I’m not Christian, but I celebrate Christmas anyway.” I have several friends and acquaintances who are atheist or agnostic, or otherwise spiritual but vehemently NOT Christian, and they celebrate Christmas regardless. I’m having a hard time understanding it. What if I were to tell these same friends “I’m not Muslim, but I’m fasting for Ramadan” “I’m not Jewish, but I’m cleaning and removing Chametz for Passover” or “I’m not Wiccan but I’m burning oak for the Summer Solstice”? They’d think I was off my rocker. At the very least, they would question my desire to celebrate a holiday that is sacred in a religion to which I don’t belong, and who’s tenets I don’t believe. If I don’t believe what Islam preaches, why would I celebrate Ramadan? If I do believe Jesus to be the Messiah, why would I celebrate the holiday of a religion that deems him a wise teacher, perhaps a prophet, but not my savior? Many of them would be offended at my lack of sensitivity and reverence for the beliefs of others. I wouldn’t blame them in the least – but I do question the contempt for mine.
I once read an interview with Chrissie Hynde in which she discussed a Christmas party she’d attended. While there, she asked others at the party when they thought Jesus would come back. Most of the people she asked were appalled, and she found it odd that they found discussing Jesus odd. They were, after all, at a Christmas party. Why were they there if they didn’t want to think about or talk about Jesus? I’ll go a step further than Chrissie and ask why those who don’t believe in God, Jesus, CHRIST…why do they celebrate Christmas? And why are they offended when Christians remind that Christmas about the birth of Jesus, whom we believe to be our Lord and savior?
Is it our fault, us Christians? Did we allow the secular to increasingly creep in year after year by focusing on all the things that have very little to do with Jesus? Without a doubt we share the blame in the steady degradation of what SHOULD be the holiest day in our Christian calendar. To a Christian, a follower of Christ and a believer in the saving grace of Jesus, the Messiah - Christmas is about the birth of the savior of the world. That’s pretty heady stuff. Yet we deride presents we deem beneath us, keep mental tabs on who gave what to whom and what’s appropriate in turn, bicker with our families and loved ones, get angry with our pets for messing up our perfect (pagan) Christmas tree, trample clerks at Wal-Mart! I can’t confirm that any in that mob were Christian, but I’m willing to guess at least 33% were.
Perhaps it’s the very inclusive nature of Christ Himself that beckons the non-Christian to join in the festivities and traditions of the holiday. If Jesus were here, having a birthday party, would he only allow believers to come? Absolutely not. He’d let anyone who wanted come to his celebration. Those beggars we pass in the street, convinced in our modern cynicism they make more money pan-handling than we do hard at work every day? They’d feast at the table with Jesus, and they wouldn’t have to beg for the food they got either. The black sheep of the family? Jesus would give him or her a giant hug and let them know exactly how much He loves them. Jesus would accept every gift, great and small, with the same appreciation, so long as they were given in the spirit of love. And those crazed parents who mangled a poor, minimum-wage big-box clerk? He’d forgive them before their shame kept them from asking. Perhaps I shouldn’t be offended or taken aback by those who celebrate but don't believe, and instead take the opportunity to include them, love them, and share my beliefs.
And what of music? I wonder what kind of music would we find at a birthday party thrown by the Lord himself. Would Jesus love “The Christmas Song”? Few can argue the velvety warm merits of Nat King Cole’s voice after all. Surely Handel’s “The Messiah” would be in His rotation. Who knows? Maybe He’d smile at all the seasonal songs. Perhaps he’d make a distinction between those praising Him, and those that should simply be labeled “winter songs.” Maybe He’d lump them all together and figure anyone using God’s gifts to make beautiful music IS praising Him, weather they know it or not. Whatever the case, everyone in the room would know exactly what occasion the music would commemorate. And they’d all sing along knowing, as Ringo Star did, that they were doing it for Jesus – Jesus loves you.
*I included Stevie Wonder’s “Someday at Christmas” in this number. Though the song doesn’t mention Jesus by name, everything the song hopes for is only possible “when we have learned what Christmas is for” and I happen to agree with Stevie most heartily.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Losing Bett
He saw her standing
Radiant in her shining twilight glory
Her coat gleaming, her mane rivaling the splendor
Of smooth, cultured onyx
Head held high, fit for a crown
“Nine” he thought, then said aloud
Even the sound of her, Number Nine,
Made him sure; and glad in his sureness
He fumbled like a school boy to find her name
And again, the sound of her washed over him
Like midnight rain.
“Bett” he thought, then laid down
Before the visored man behind the glass
“All on Bett, all on Number Nine.”
The anticipation, thick on his tongue,
Whistled through the air between them.
His guardian in a sinewy muscled hind
His savior, this beastly angel
Never dared dreamt of, a gift like none before.
He longed to touch that raven mane
And sparkling, glistening, silken midnight coat
But longed, even more, to see her run…and win,
To show the strength he saw
In her might, in her commanding stance,
In the passion buried deep in her shadow-night eyes.
The gambler never would have guessed,
But when she lost he understood,
And realized why she always would.
She’d lose, not because she lacked
In talent, or skill, or heart, or passion, or grace
But simply because
She gave up.
Radiant in her shining twilight glory
Her coat gleaming, her mane rivaling the splendor
Of smooth, cultured onyx
Head held high, fit for a crown
“Nine” he thought, then said aloud
Even the sound of her, Number Nine,
Made him sure; and glad in his sureness
He fumbled like a school boy to find her name
And again, the sound of her washed over him
Like midnight rain.
“Bett” he thought, then laid down
Before the visored man behind the glass
“All on Bett, all on Number Nine.”
The anticipation, thick on his tongue,
Whistled through the air between them.
His guardian in a sinewy muscled hind
His savior, this beastly angel
Never dared dreamt of, a gift like none before.
He longed to touch that raven mane
And sparkling, glistening, silken midnight coat
But longed, even more, to see her run…and win,
To show the strength he saw
In her might, in her commanding stance,
In the passion buried deep in her shadow-night eyes.
The gambler never would have guessed,
But when she lost he understood,
And realized why she always would.
She’d lose, not because she lacked
In talent, or skill, or heart, or passion, or grace
But simply because
She gave up.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Future Label: Poison
Bitter bile this dawn --
realize, and remember again
what you already knew,
ever the fool.
the scar never thick enough --
the acid has, is, will
burned, burning, burn always --
such is the fate of a fool.
I refuse
not one word will I recant
..............do not ingest
I refuse
not one swallowed word will I regret
..............do not ingest
I refuse
not one word, I say, I yell, I scream
I refuse!
no mater how fleeting
flames, fires always die --
no matter how draped in pretense
(bile sometimes beguiles the fool)
no matter his words
funny how acid appears as water
as loveless as mine are true --
such is the devotion of a fool.
Yet I refuse
not one syllable will I be repent
..............harmful or fatal if swallowed
I refuse
not one syllable will I renounce
..............harmful or fatal if swallowed
I refuse
not one syllable, I say, I yell, I scream
I refuse!
Bitter ache this dusk --
realize, and memorize again
what you always knew,
ever the fool.
the wounds never diminish enough --
the lesson has, is, will
burned, burning, burn always --
such is the sorrow of a fool.
realize, and remember again
what you already knew,
ever the fool.
the scar never thick enough --
the acid has, is, will
burned, burning, burn always --
such is the fate of a fool.
I refuse
not one word will I recant
..............do not ingest
I refuse
not one swallowed word will I regret
..............do not ingest
I refuse
not one word, I say, I yell, I scream
I refuse!
no mater how fleeting
flames, fires always die --
no matter how draped in pretense
(bile sometimes beguiles the fool)
no matter his words
funny how acid appears as water
as loveless as mine are true --
such is the devotion of a fool.
Yet I refuse
not one syllable will I be repent
..............harmful or fatal if swallowed
I refuse
not one syllable will I renounce
..............harmful or fatal if swallowed
I refuse
not one syllable, I say, I yell, I scream
I refuse!
Bitter ache this dusk --
realize, and memorize again
what you always knew,
ever the fool.
the wounds never diminish enough --
the lesson has, is, will
burned, burning, burn always --
such is the sorrow of a fool.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Daddy’s Little Hothead
Dark, corkscrew pigtails swing free and freeze.
She turns a pointed gaze to the sticky red smile
And fingers of a thief. The last,
Hers by right of passage, carelessly wasted
When her gaze, unaware, landed elsewhere.
She will crush the big girl.
The passionate pride of a people deceived;
Their own tide relentlessly pounding, mocking,
Biting at their heals like a hound at hunt.
Temper’s fueled steady pulse, and throbbing heat
Of their ever-summer isle,
Fuse and Burn from within, rise and redden
The cheeks of her sun-gold olive face.
The smiling desperado they saw, she sees…
But she will not believe.
She will conquer the big lie.
Capricious green eyes, fierce as the Caribbean in storm,
Locked in furious glare beneath furrowed little brows.
Her hands, defiant on overalled hips,
Ready for the fight that never comes.
Enraged with the impotence that forced
An entire generation to flee by way of the bay.
She will face the big waves.
Dark, pouting lips force taut and freeze.
She’s turned a pointed gaze to the
Sticky red lie of the big thief.
High on her father’s shoulders, the waves seem placid.
She swam once…unafraid.
She turns a pointed gaze to the sticky red smile
And fingers of a thief. The last,
Hers by right of passage, carelessly wasted
When her gaze, unaware, landed elsewhere.
She will crush the big girl.
The passionate pride of a people deceived;
Their own tide relentlessly pounding, mocking,
Biting at their heals like a hound at hunt.
Temper’s fueled steady pulse, and throbbing heat
Of their ever-summer isle,
Fuse and Burn from within, rise and redden
The cheeks of her sun-gold olive face.
The smiling desperado they saw, she sees…
But she will not believe.
She will conquer the big lie.
Capricious green eyes, fierce as the Caribbean in storm,
Locked in furious glare beneath furrowed little brows.
Her hands, defiant on overalled hips,
Ready for the fight that never comes.
Enraged with the impotence that forced
An entire generation to flee by way of the bay.
She will face the big waves.
Dark, pouting lips force taut and freeze.
She’s turned a pointed gaze to the
Sticky red lie of the big thief.
High on her father’s shoulders, the waves seem placid.
She swam once…unafraid.
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