Prada is Sexy.

so I did miss my connection on my flight. but luckily the airline put me up in a hotel for free. !! right? So, I ended up leaving on Wednesday afternoon and getting to my destination Thursday night. Fantastic. But since then the Midwest has welcomed me back with open arms. I promptly jumped in the car early Friday morning to drive 5.5 hours to Osh Kosh Wisconsin for the NCAA Division III Track Championships where my loveliest high school teammate was participating in my beloved steeplechase. She got fourth, booyah. Then, back in the car on Saturday for 5.5 hours before jumping in my brother's car and driving my tired caffeinated self 3.5 hours to my father's little lakeside trailer to spend Memorial Day weekend with the family. Welp, on Sunday evening an F5 Tornado hit a mile or two away from our trailer, with the cell all around us and pretty much scaring the bejeezes out of me. I've been in the state for less than 72 hours and it's already trying to kill me: the feeling's mutual. But I did not die. I lived. And here I am. Today, I woke up late, ate cake for breakfast, played Guitar Hero and got depressed and angry about my job search. I was going to rant about that here, but I accidentally let it spill on some friends and my younger brother, so it's kind of been cleared. But who knows, I'm certainly not emotionally settled about it, so we may see another outburst on here at a latter date.


But to be fair, I went for a short run today. I'm fat and out of shape. well not so fat, but feel fat when I run. and I was huffing and puffing. The lungs were not pleased. What the hell. But its ok. I still haven't hit one year yet for my year "off" so, who knows, perhaps by mid-June i"ll have somewhere to live and a schedule with a job etc. By golly, why I might even join a gym like the rest of the soul-less country. My B.


I made some summer drinks out of suggestions from a magazine. God, that sounds horrible. but let's be honest. i did. and they are delicious. My new favorite summer drink. Improvised of course, tailor made for Shan. Perhaps we'll call it the Shan, or to throw props to the original, the Shan Americano. Its two shots sweet vermouth one shot Campari. And, if you're looking for a less bitter drink, splash some Sprite or soda in there. So good. I like Campari, and not just because of Steve Zissou...



but other than that. The midwest is quiet...a little too quiet. But i did mention that I dug through my old library? Yes. Fantastic. I put up the new reading list with all the stuff I want to read/reread so yippee. That is if I can tear myself away from Guitar Hero (wtf?)



For Old Times' Sake:






Dearest Matchmaker.

How grateful I am for your comment! I received your comment around the same time i was doing some digging through my library in the basement and I had come upon two books that I thought I had lent to a friend and never got back. But what now, I find them amongst my boxes and physically jumped, sharp intake of air and clutched the books to my chest. And then, your comment sent me to cloud nine and right then and there it became quite clear to me that grad school here I come. It only makes sense.

SO YES. Many many good things.

First (not that this should belie any sort of structure to my response):

Dualities, hierarchies and other naughty folk. I felt that toward the end of my four years of education (which you are QUITE right, was aimed at moving beyond dualities) that I came more and more into my own as opposed to defaulting to professor opinion. I had the beginnings of discussion about these nasty beasts with Zayn, perhaps the most explicit advocate of plurality and moving beyond dualism in the department. However, we never got too far. Matchmaker, I'm just not convinced by the move. In fact, I think either a) it's impossible or b) impractical. I know whence this opinion stems. It would be the work of Catherine Bell specifically in her book Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice. In summary, she describes the phenomenon/social practice of ritualization as a universal practice at least to some extent. Yes yes, anthropologists and sociologists watch thy tongues, but she does a damn good job of it. And really, the way she presents it the ritualization orders, structures, reinforces and embodies those dualities, hierarchies and other nasty bits that we have create, discover (pick one, haha ( or two or all). So yes. that's the first bit. (i would like to explore what a ritual would look like, or ritualization, or our structure system of "pluralities" if they are to come replace our dualities). So the first bit, I'll concede there may be room for Catherine Bell's work with stickier situations like pluralities. She acknowledges that things are dynamic, fluid, structured and structuring (one of Zayn's favorite isms). Which. I think, the fluidity of hierarchies, power dynamics, and "the rules of the game" i.e. phenomena such as ritualization being essentially open to all parties is enough to safeguard having those nasty bits around. Now, I realize that's a big hope. We'd have to take on the whole concept of the ritual expert Bell speaks about, which is like the scholar, the priest, the brahmin, etc etc etc.

However, the second bit with which I take issue is the plurality concept itself. Yes, its amorphous and sticky messy ewwww where are my categories?! But still, I'd like to believe I dislike the concept for more than the reactionary squirmishness. First of all, we should perhaps get our ideas of plurality straight. How I see the plurality is the attempt to take the fluidity of duality and categorize it into a unified one, or single graspable concept. Similar to what you were discussing with two becoming the new one. this is how i've reacted to plurality. Especially with the stereotypical slippery slope of some of the post-modern or post-post modern thinking. I ran into this problem senior year when I read the article "On the Very Idea of a Conceptual Scheme" by Dave Davidson. And while I like Darryl's explanation (and visual representations) of conceptual schemes in motion, I think you can't escape the totalization, or systematization of any sort of plurality. because any way we try to discuss the practicality of it, aspects of a plurality interact in certain ways etc etc. I agree with the danger of the popular but incorrect "scientific" perspective. We should always keep in mind that our "truths" "axioms" et al. are observationally and empirically based. (or so would be my theoretical framework). So, while we may agree that the way particular aspects within a plurality interact in certain ways by no means does this provide us with any sort of statistical information on how any other aspect could relate (as if it could be so quantified). So right, we're either stuck with the plurality that's a case by case deal (from which we then approximate i.e. categorize in order to DO something with it, i.e. exert power, i.e. influence, i.e. our existence) I know this is a tricky train and could be subverted, but, not without great effort i think. because if you take on board the plurality idea, it's not alone. It comes with the foundational shift that one implicitly makes with it. So yes, we can agree that much ickiness has resulted from categorization, polarization, and duality enforcement, but an infinite amount seems right out.

Uprooting the duality structure uproots along with it our notions of power and in my opinion empirical or existential or what have you, on how we find ourselves to be "here" exactly, wherever that may be. Do you think it trickles this far? Or am I bonkers?

The binary nature of nature. Hmm yeah. I guess I wouldn't want to jump in that camp either too eagerly, but it's where Bell digs at my scientific heart. The basis for much of theory of ritualization requires the ritualization of the body. And since the dynamic/phenomenon is structured and structuring, we find that our bodies are not only structured to a certain extent WITHOUT our abstract ideas thoughts systems, person-person interactions etc, but then also in turn STRUCTURES all those ideas, thoughts, concepts, social systems, etc. So yeah, its a rough argument to break with the commonsensical notion of right hand left hand. and basic orientation opposites in how we seem to "naturally" orient ourselves within our environment. We find numerous subversive natural inclinations as well though. So it would seem to me that it's the fluidity not the structure that's important. but perhaps we're saying the same thing.

yes, interesting about the androgyny. I haven't been privy to much scholarship on alternative identities and theory etc. which, too bad. I did want to try to minor in something like that stuff. but from a "lay" persons perspective, i would say that androgyny (despite the etymology) comes off (in the observed phenomenon, not the concept) as being much more obviously C as opposed to hermaphroditism which seems to me plainly mix equal parts A and B to get AB. Androgyny I think displays more of the signification that Darryl speaks about, the repetition with a difference that is a new thought in dialogue. Whereas hermaphroditism seems more like summary. Perhaps that's so off base.

Anyway, to wrap this up. I looked a while for a good photo but alas, I'll post yet another video. Which I know I've posted David Bowie before, so it's a bit out of control now and it'll have to be the last time. But, its a bit fuller than a photo in that respect because Bowie moves, and sings and etc and it ALL feeds into this androgynous image or C. Something new is being created, not blended. Interesting.

Fly Over Country.

Wednesday May 21, 2008

So I’m an airplane. Flying, like, I do, inevitably to the Midwest. This is the longest time I’ve been away from the Midwest since my family first moved there in 1993. This is also, the longest time I’ve gone without seeing my father. It’s been almost a year. And while I’m excited to see my family and my father. I am in no way excited to be returning to the Midwest. It starts off with having to book a plane ticket there. Nobody lives in the Midwest. So, the bankrupt airlines that originally had their hub and spoke infrastructure set up to serve the whole country over, now charge an arm and leg to fly anywhere in their old network that isn’t on major thoroughfares. In addition, since they are probably continuing to lose money off these flights they are offering fewer than ever. That leaves the consumer/customer/citizen paying upwards of $500 dollars for a rountrip ticket with itineraries that include overnight layover in Chicago or Denver, or schedules that leave early in the morning and arrive late in the evening with minimal time in the air. This disgusts me. And so, there is an intensely bitter taste in my mouth before I’ve even made the first step toward visiting.

I know everyone bitches about airlines. But, I’m stuck on an airplane. So I’m going to bitch about it again. There is a good chance because of (I swear to God it’s not weather related) delays in Seattle, that I will miss my connection in Denver and of course, not be compensated for the fact that the airline (slash business I contracted with) didn’t deliver on its service. There is something fundamentally non-business like about this and why do we let them get away with it when it comes to air travel? Where else in the business world do we allow such leniency? I’m sorry, I’m a burgeoning broke corporation that can’t actually serve what we say we can. I mean. I realize I’m stuck, they are the only ones that fly where I need to go.

It just sometimes is too much. For example, I recall the time I flew United Airlines attempting to get from Seattle to Los Angeles on a budget. Surprisingly United had the cheapest flight. However, this flight flew me to Los Angeles from Seattle via Chicago. Now, I’m not sure if you all are that familiar with US geography, but Chicago is in Illinois, in the middle of the country, if anything, on the Eastern half of the country. Los Angeles is directly south of Seattle by some 1200 miles. They are both on the Western Seaboard. Out of control. Ridiculous.

I haven’t written in a while. I’m not sure why. Sometimes I feel like writing and other times I don’t. I didn’t really feel like writing now, but I’m bored and on the airplane. My iPod doesn’t have much battery and the book I brought (Aldous Huxley’s Perennial Philosophy) is aggravating. I’ve never reacted well to much Eastern Philosophy. I read Siddhartha (by Herman Hesse a German, writing on Indian religion) and enjoyed it thoroughly but as I’ve grown older the less and less I’ve been able to tolerate religious language. It’s a scary thing, witnessing yourself become less tolerant. I’m not sure what to think about it. Because certainly, I’ve bcome more tolerant in many other areas of my life. I think, perhaps, there’s too much of a fundamental difference between Eastern thought and my Western entrenchedness. There is a plethora of Western yuppies picking up Eastern philosophy as a smorgasboard of liberating ideas. But I reject that. I don’t like it. I know it’s not the original meaning intent or context of the ideas. Not that you could say our original Christian ideas are still in the same context, but there’s a continuity of cultural expression and thought throughout the West as Christian. So, since I haven’t spent any time in the East, I don’t know Pali, Sanskirt, Mandarin, Cantonese or even Arabic I am pretty much completely ill-disposed to tackle any of the Eastern ideas with any sincerity. And so, I don’t enjoy reading them. I can’t shake the language/cultural barrier. It’s ever present and I never feel like I’m accessing the ideas. It just all sounds silly to me. I think those that genuinely attempt to cross over, those who live in one and become fluent in the other still fail to successfully bridge the East with the West. It brings a new depth to foreign.

So I couldn’t read the book. It’s driving me nuts. So here I am, writing and complaining about Eastern Philosophy and airlines.

But, I’m trying to make an effort to sound positive. The thing is I simply don’t know how to discuss things I like or feel good about. I know I’ve written this before, this sort of enjoyment of the good stuff and a writing of the bad stuff. It is one-sided. I do love to fly though. I do. I secretly love all the crap that goes alone with it but I also love being in the air. I love touring a world made of a cloud floor and endless domes of blue. The clouds forming such a flat even floor as if I really could walk along them admiring the sunset like on the edge of land and ocean. Yeah. I like being in places like that. In the shadow tradition I believe one of my professors spoke about in his class Art of Living these places would be called crossroads. A twilight. And I do enjoy dwelling there. On the end of land and sea, on the edge of earth and sky, up here with the clouds. To drive the point home, dawn and dusk are the best times to be at those places. A favorite Pomona-ism that normally deals with racial identity applies here to and because I’m a fan of buzzwords, I’ll use it. Betwixt and between. One is betwixt and between at the crossroads. But the other aspect of crossroads that I enjoy is that they are often extremely dangerous places. They are the seat of the unknown. Highway robbers used to hide at crossroads, the edge of land and sea can be dangerous, certainly flying in this tin can so many thousands of feet above anything remotely solid is dangerous. One never knows what one might encounter at a crossroads. It as at the crossroads where we encounter new different and foreign things, none of them promising safety. It’s where trading is down, the intermingling of cultures, at the edge of one thing and the precipice of another. Betwist and between in a crossroads of twilight between day and night. In fact, Huxley was talking about this in a way. A crossroads naturally involves at least two paths, two roads, that cross. Huxley was pointing out the linguistic origins of the word two. Two has a negative connotation. It’s something dangerous and distracting and undesirable. No wonder this concept of the crossroads etc etc could be classified as a shadow tradition (I love it when these large motifs that I learn about separately turn out to be interrelated.) Two is subversive.

I like this. I like subversion. One, universal, united are these all the words that describe the Perennial Philosophy? What Huxley is tracing, through all the religious traditions. The Godhead, the Tao, the Buddha-womb. Unity, universality, a singlurality essence. Two, two, is negative, two is daemon, two is the devil, two is subversion. And there, lo and behold, you have a shadow tradition of the crossroads, but there you also have the basis of ethics for some of the Continental Philosophers. TWO. The basic structure of Otherness for Levinas. If I’m off on that stuff, I expect to be corrected by my knowledgable readers. But what subversion then! What devil worshippers, to give value and prominence to the two, the multiple. I like it. I think it grooves. It what I thought was so mindblowing about Catherine Keller’s work in Face of the Deep her incessant push toward reasserting a dualistic nature to the Christian Godhead, relentlessly reworking the texts and images and motifs of Christianity to remind, reveal, reinvent the duality of God, Elohim and Tehom. The two aspects of God. I can’t say I’m knowledge enough about the Eastern Philosophies, but I suppose I should look more into how the concepts of yin and yang work into the greater metaphysical worlds. Certainly yin is characteristically male and yang characteristically female. But its those two motifs, of the different genders that fundamentally reflect OUR duality. Why would our gods be One? But, if two is bad, and we have both male and female, well then one must be bad? Right? Women? Right? They are devilish right? In fact, let’s get rid of them completely from our Godhead, godhead is One and is Male.

This clashes with my post earlier about androgyny and fashion. That would be more the unification, the indffirence of gender. But perhaps its in the appeal. Because hermaphroditity doesn’t appeal to me either. But perhaps because I feel like it is self defeating to me as an intellectual concept. Because the whole point is that it’s a duality. But the hermaphrodite seems to even subvert the duality in a way that it combines the duality into one. The hermaphrodite is also something found at a crossroads. I think the yin and yang probably is a better model. Like I said, I’ll have to look into that further.

Well so there you go. That was a vomit.

Gosh, my brain is so out of shape. I would like to go back to school. Soon preferably. Thankfully, I’m flying to Iowa and will have nothing to do and half or is it all, of my library is in storage there. So I’ll have plenty of good reading. Gosh, it’s been so depressing being separated from my library. It’s just sometimes, moving a ton of books all around can be a headache. I can’t wait to get an apartment of my own. To move in. To get bookshelves galore. And, I’ve tried to lay claim to an old carpet rug rolled up in our basement that was my great-grandmother’s. I detest this modern furniture style etc. Gimme Victorian/Edwardian etc. There were these two old antique chairs in the house of one of my good friends. Her mother loved the chairs but rarely sat in them. The rest of the family was either indifferent or disapproved of the chairs present in the living room. Nobody ever sat in them and they all swore they were the most uncomfortable chairs in the world. I loved the chairs and every time I went over I would try to advocate on their behalf for their status as prominent living room pieces. I ALWAYS sat in them. Because, contrary to the popular opinion they were sooo comfortable. Perfect with the wide welcoming bowing arms and cushion slanted forward with a corona around the head rest that radiated with importance the one who could delicately seat themselves there. It was a chair with dignity. Not these abused, neglected, tortured and stripped refugees of furniture that you see standing on hardwood floors on dainty spindling legs and broad sweeping lines that are reminiscent of a distended belly or scoliosis. These malformations of modern furniture.

Ah! And it’ll be summery in Iowa now. Yes, I see this turning around. In the house of my father I can live well. I can splurges on wines and cheese, artisanal bread and all sorts of decadence. The sun room with some olive oil and my books. Perhaps it won’t be so bad after all…

Wow, sorry. That was ridiculous. P.S. I still love Yelle. Hasn’t gotten old yet. Maybe I’ll post a picture of those chairs, seeing as I’m going back to Iowa. Where they are. I also can’t wait to scope out my old coffeehouse haunt. I’m not sure I’ve spoken about it on here before. But it’s fantastic. Deep dark walls, deep dark furniture (at least it used to be) and often sweet classical music. Large ceramic bowls. Lawyer desk/library lamps. I like it. Hmm. Perhaps I could get excited about going back to the Midwest. If only for 10 days.

Well, we’re beginning our descent. Descent into the Mile High city. Descending indeed.

Happy Schmappy

It has come to my attention that I'm utterly depressing. (but certainly its refreshing in this time of spring time giddyness?)

ah well. I'll try to cheer it up for once.

Today it rained. (hahaha).

But Sunday. I did something peculiar. Why yes, I was invited by a friend to join him in watching a Monks' Choir perform at one of (the?) Seattle's Cathedrals (I'm thinking only one right?) Anyway. large grandiose catholic architecture (i do like the vanity of the Catholic Church). I chose the first pew in the front (just like all through childhood). I noticed, I was the only one in the young crowd in the cathedral to genuflect before entering the pew. My friend laughed self-consciously. waiting for the monks to start I explored the cathedral with my eyes, but only that which was in my field of vision. Not wanting to cast unintended glances at those behind me or to the side of me or anywhere else that would be deemed improper I faced the empty altar. with two unlit candles (one of the few select items allowed on sacred altar). a large floor to ceiling (like 40 ft ceiling or higher?) series of windows reached up into the rafters and began to circle around a large central 'eye' in the middle of the window cross. No traditional crucifix. Just a gigantic cross of small windows with a giant Eye in the center. Thank you Peter Jackson for creating visual imagery to easily accessible religious-eye motifs.

(it has just occurred to me that some readers may find the phrase 'visual imagery' redundant. But it's not. Imagery arguably could be traced through image and then back out to imagination. So imagery, one could argue, in it's default sense could refer to mental imagery, imagination, the process of creating in our minds. So visual imagery specifies not the mind's creation but the eye's perception.)

It was weird looking at that eye. And it was weird being in a cathedral again. with solemn purpose. I knew I liked religion. The paganism really. the connection to magic. I find that technology has become for me simply a mysterious black box that holds no magic over me. Technology is a mental mind-job not a world of magic. (no wonder so many are captivated by ms. rowling). MAGIC. Where do we find it anymore? well. I like to look to the catholic church and specifically it's more esoteric rituals. I know I've posted before on Eucharistic Adoration. which I think would've been perfect to complement the Monks' Choir. Regardless, I've been sidetracked.

I sat in the front pew. Watching, as people came into my field of vision and to my silent, vague, childhood horror, lay themselves sprawling along the steps and plateaus leading up to the altar. There were ripped jeans, bare feet, tevas, american apparel pants, UW sweatshirts, glasses, black, olive and maroon rainjackets, there were headbands, head scarves, piercings and tattoos, there were denim jackets, why there was even one "Jedi Academy" tshirt. There were books and jars of water, there were couples and friends, there were the inescapable, undefinable and horribly mainstream androgynous young Seattlites. Not so many, in a nice dress shirt and slacks and so with my vestment and genuflection I was the minority here in God's house. With heads staring at the ceiling, fingers turning pages, lips sipping water and legs crossing and uncrossing, fondling bare feet, the monks processed in.

It was late on Sunday. And it seemed rather like a college coffee shop or student center than the dwelling place of the Almighty. Come as thou art, I thought. and gently reminded myself that i was an "ex-Catholic" and no longer could lay claim to that soft indignity that was currently forcing me to shift my weight from left to right and back again.

And the monks began to sing. And i stared straight ahead. And back near the doors of the Cathedral the monks began singing. My eyes on the altar. Filling the voluminous arches and grand foyer the mens' voices rang softly. The monks sang. I sat perfectly still. My crisscrossed hands fallen numb but not asleep. As ghosts they only sat in my lap if I looked at them. but I didn't. I looked at the lonely forlorn altar, with its silly humanity spilled at its feet. The dramatic interior lighting lit up the tall columns on either side of the glass cross. You could see the 2X4 frame marks on the cement pours. Foolishly I mumbled out loud, "that must have taken forever". thinking in terms of my irish adventure. the thought of taking one board and pouring and drying and setting and pouring and drying and setting, innumerable rows of cement and boards just seemed gargantuan. my friend kindly pointed out, that they didn't do it one at a time. Quite right. I thought, quite right.

Then the whole building stood. The jeans stood, the skin tight pants stood, the bracelets jangled to attention. the books were thumbed. The glasses repositioned and the "Jedi Academy" turned its back on me. Everyone in the building stood and faced the glass cross. "how did everybody know?" i thought as I shuffled to a stand. After looking around (a few degrees to the left, a few to the right) I began to catch the echoing words of the monks song. It was the profession of faith, the Nicene Creed. I enjoyed listening to it and noticing that not a single person was reciting it with the monks. i felt so....secular.

...sorry. I had to put the pretzel sticks away. They were clashing awfully with this glass of Pinot Grigio.

speaking of food. i cooked dinner tonight. So the world can know. I cooked baked acorn squash filled with diced onion/apple/jicama/celery and served with lemon spinach couscous and salad. This was followed up by a wonderful dessert recipe I learned from a friend: poached pear slices with a reduced white wine syrup poured over lemon sorbet. it was. well it was just like it sounded.

After speaking with a good friend this evening, I've come to the conclusion that it's very difficult to remain intelligent in the 'real world'. Whilst in academia you feel as though you are oriented toward the greater wider world, but you still simply interact with a set of people that are in your same position. Now perhaps this is how the 'real world' operates as well (I can't say I have extensive or any experience) but it would appear to me that it's very difficult to remain intelligent out here. but I know of people who have. We all know one at least, who you think of as really intelligent. And its like, they aren't that intelligent, they've just figured out how to somehow remain competent in the real world and so they stick out like a sore thumb, something with pizzazz. (pizzazz is not a word apparently)

Anyway, that's going nowhere. but i've been sidetracked again and can't remember what else I was going to write about. All I can remember is that I made a promise to be upbeat.

I finally made arrangements to go *home* (LA is the only place that ever really feels like home). I hate flying into the Midwest because nobody lives there and it costs a lot of money. Whether I'm footing the bill or not, it irks me to no end that it costs that much to fly to the midwest. And in addition, they have shitty schedules like, 12 hour layovers in Chicago or whatnot. Uh, excuse me, I'm not going to pay $500 to then shell out more cash for somewhere to crash in Chicago during a LAYOVER. I must say though, its more convenient than renting a car and driving there myself, because lo and behold, nobody wants to one-way rent to the midwest because, ah thats right, NO ONE lives there. Thats not true. 3 VERY important people to me live there and that justifies it all. But otherwise. WTF. Should non-cities ever exist? EVERYONE MUST LIVE IN A CITY. by imperial declaration. obv. i'm excited. also obv.

Well, ok, I was going to mention a ridiculous trend I came across but after searching for my trail I can't find it anywhere, so you're all out of luck. Apparently it's not that big of a fashion if I can't find it anywhere. But anyway, the trend of long long shirts for men that are worn almost like the current dress over jeans look for women. Often worn under a blazer and with the almost now ubiquitous (at least in the NW) fashion of skinny jeans. it raises a greater look at the cycle of androgyny in fashion, which i think is fascinating. (can we all see the link with david bowie?)

it makes sense that some fashion would tend toward androgyny because if done well, it would attract the maximum of consumers. If you can attract both men and women regardless of a sexual orientation to a particular style, all the better, no? not so sure about the shirt-dress as it's becoming popular for men. anyway, we need a little frivolity in the blog yeah?

Lilly asked me an interesting question the other day. The only reason I found it particularly interesting is because it was one of the basic human questions that I suppose we all come upon by our own reasoning? and eventually ask. We were discussing at dinner a particular activity of my mother's (i don't recall it now) in high school. Lilly was astute enough to point out that it was before she was born. Then she looked at me and said it was before YOU were born. And feeling on a roll she continued with, before either of us were EVEN in her tummy! Then, the next logical step presented itself before her fledgling mind: Where were we before Mom's tummy?

Had she been a bit older I may have responded with, "I know, right?!" But seeing that this was a sincere question (potentially the first time asked) I figured she deserved the best answer I could summon. So I thought to myself. Where were we before our mother's tummy? I immediately discounted any type of religious narrative of being in communion with God. Well the best thing I could come up with "We didn't exist."

Clear!

the trees began misting. and i rolled my eyes at them. and gave them a brooding skeptical look. seriously? For some reason they seemed to be at fault. responsible for this rainy mist that just picked up. Unnecessary I thought. I was driving. Here, alone, again. In the dark, but this time home.

My heart on a downbeat. That awkward, subtle sort of off feeling. A downbeat. Nothing's really wrong but nothing's really right either. And so, I was driving home before 11 in the mist. I was a prolific dreamer last night. But of course, in the way that dreams are they looked back at me this morning, with that face, that "what the hell are you talking about?" face. But I can at least tell you, there were some big ticket players present. Some major leitmotifs making themselves known, iterating themselves in yet another set of indefinite patterns and manifestations. What was to come next. prescient dreaming.

I arose this morning and decided to invest the energy to make this morning special for my sister. She was awakening to a parent-less house. A house ruled by her older brother and I decided as a lazy Saturday morning sometimes requires. that we make pancakes. I asked her, would you like me to make pancakes for you for breakfast Lil?

The only response I received was a curt, "A Waffle."

Gone was the motivation for making pancakes in order to make the day special for HER. I was now going to make pancakes simply for my own feeling of duty fulfillment. (I AM a good brother and I DO do fun things for her). Besides, we don't even own a waffle iron. So I simply told her that I was making pancakes for her. She watched the television and I made pancakes. Huge ones. And she seemed totally unmoved by the whole prospect. I even let her pour in the ingredients and crack the eggs. This was all to be expected I suppose. And, after fulfilling my duty I turned to tackle the drip coffee machine. I must confess, I haven't a clue as how to work one. I only know how to make coffee with a French Press, which arguably doesn't even require a brain. My Stepfather had told me that the machine was simple. Put in the filter. Pour the ground coffee in, pour the water in, flip the switch or push the button or whatever (i don't exactly recall the last bit). Well, the machine wouldn't do anything until I had placed the pot under the spout and when I did that. The damn thing just let the water run out (not drip) into the pot having only gathered a slight brown tinge from having run through the grounds for a partial second.

WhereTF is the french press I thought? And so I drank a cup of extremely weak and extremely watery coffee and I STILL do not know how to work a coffee machine. bugger it all.

I have firmly resolved to go for a run tomorrow. I have become oh so talented at skirting my own goals, finding some more convenient AND entertaining way to spend my time. Or to accomplish whatever Task I invariably try to intertwine with going for a run. Something I have to do by going for run, like say, for instance, the logistics of returning my aunt's car to her and then getting myself back home. Why, Sean, you sly old dog. Planning to drive it over to her house and run back is brilliant! But not wittier than you ARE! For, inviting your aunt out for coffee and then having her drop you off back home was SO SO clever ever rever. And so, another day passed sans exercise. I don't think I've ever moaned about something so incessantly and continued to do nothing about it. Especially when there is no WAY on earth anyone else could possibly do this for me.

Cmon, Life. I need those two cold silvery goo covered paddles to sock it to me in the chest. Let's go. Where is my job, my apt, my fitness and my unbelievably enviable social life? I'm waiting....(rather comatose).

Faces on the Highway

I was driving south. on 99. it's one of my least favorite roads. uncooperative stop lights every other block, ugly strip mall, giant corporate stores set a half mile from the road with a large sea of parking lot concrete between us. Utter hell.

it was way too early. i wasn't meeting my friend for over an hour. but i had left so as to have the nicer car. If my mom got home before I left, I'd be stuck with the kid ruined camry.

I had been driving hurriedly earlier today, driving late to pick up my sister, driving urgently to get home to do nothing important: check my email for the millionth time. Waiting, waiting, waiting. I've been waiting so hard. But for nothing. Hurrying to wait.

But now. Now. I had time to kill. Now. I had time to think, besides worrying and fretting and asking out loud where that email could be? Now. Damn it, now I needed to stop grinding my teeth. An old habit back for a visit. I put my whole row of teeth on my tongue. Which, makes me nervous, I just know I'll hit a bump and bite it. But it's the only way to stop them from grinding.

Luckily, there isn't much traffic at 9pm on a Wednesday. So i coast. Aggravated by the insidious drivers earlier on (once you've driven in Europe or LA everywhere else becomes torture) I know languished and joined their ranks. Plodding along at 5 under, dazed outta my mind. The reddish orange dash lights on the Mazda lulling me into some sort of non-computer screen reverie. My thoughts, returned to me. My mind returned to me. My left wrist draped over the leather wheel. The radio, turned down low (normally I'm a full throttle loud music here we go-er) but Now. Now, the radio is barely audible over the engine and the incessant mindless chatter filling the airwaves in between "low rider" and "winding road" floats in and out of the front of my vision. Is that? nevermind. The silhouetted drivers beside me have ghoulish faces partially lit by reds, whites, greens and blues of dashboard fairies. Excited they're not. Sullen, drone faces gloomily staring off into the darkness ahead of them. With their northwestern mustaches and dangling earrings reflecting the treasure in front of their wrists.

9:15. Long ways to go. thank god I'm not in front of that damn computer. Thank god I don't feel like I have to check my empty, perpetually empty inbox. God I'm going mad. Driving aimlessly has given me more inspiration than I've had in days. i don't mind the Yellow light. Stop.

What was I saying? Wasteland, just look at this stuff, auto shops, erotica stores, a Sam's Club. I drive past a drive thru Krispy Kreme. Nah, you've eaten enough today without working out. Damn. I wish I had been working out. in the bowels south of the city, by the water, by the docks, by the industrial vomit that a metro area is required to have, I pull a U-ey on an empty highway. There in the beam of my headlights illuminated out from a block of corrugated iron by shitty florescent lights. An adult indoor soccer match. I wonder, how large of a circle it draws. Here, this group of men, in the colon of Seattle, getting together late, on a Wednesday evening to kick a small ball around an oval patch of Astroturf. i'd like to do that I thought. God, I'm old came next.

dont stand so close to me. as if I could feel crowded here. but the radio wasn't loud enough to protest. feebly telling me to give it space. it'd be nice to have someone I thought, and the rest of the evening just sort of floated away...

Addicting Moods

so today was a bit of an intense day. I finished Lolita and watched both There Will Be Blood and Atonement.

I hated Lolita until the final third of the book. And then it got brilliant. Perhaps, dragging the reader through the first two thirds set the final third up to be fantastic. I have a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with it. There will be blood was lifeless for me. An uninteresting story, with a lukewarm ending about a topic with infinitely more powerful stories (based on as much truth) at least I would think so. I was unmoved. And Atonement did move me. It moved me the whole way through. While stylistically I disagreed with the ending, the statements made by the elderly Briony are so controversial, I liked it simply for the fact that not only was I moved all the way to the end, it finished up in a way that pushed it further along as well. Which, I suppose with a topic like Atonement it'd be pretty damn hard to mess up.

The soundtrack however, reinforced my all too aware lack of knowledge in classical music. I loved the music, I love forlorn piano, I love whining violin and yet, I'm utterly blind stumbling through the literally massive tradition of classical music. A stumbling fool. My things-to-know list grows so damn quickly that I don't know how I'll ever make a dent.

I'll have to do a more settled in response to both Nabokov and McEwan when I have thought about it more, have more energy and aren't snagged in melancholy.

I'm sitting here on the sofa, in a silent house, with the soundtrack playing softly from my very dimly lit computer screen. Two things, would complete this scene, in completely different ways. I need either a sleeping lover/companion next to me on the sofa or, a cup of tea gone cold, a cup mind you, with the tea bag sitting soggy at the bottom, without enough tea left to immerse it and the dregs strong. Cold tea and classical piano.

i haven't heard any more news regarding jobs and I haven't seen my father for 9 months. I have commitments I'm only halfheartedly committed to. and I can't stop thinking about the smell of eucalyptus.

A Regular Day in May

I'm really tired, so everyone shut up.

It finally decided to be May here in Seattle and was almost to the point where you could say it's "warm" and the sun was out consistently. Not constantly attempting to evade Satan's minions (aka clouds). And what did I do today? Pretty much stayed inside all day. WTF?

My two twin Italian cousins who are ... 4? Came over today to play with my sister. Wasn't this a double-edged sword. Little kid mayhem, but, distracted little kid mayhem. So it was a sado-masochist bliss. Pleasure and pain all wrapped up into a whirlwind of princess dresses, bathing suits, buckets of worms (these girls ain't shy) and general other goings-on in the 4-6 year old realm. It was delightful to see...from afar.

Two of my aunts came over as well. How nice it is to be surrounded by people! And specifically people you like! Amazing what can cure an unemployed boredom. Anyway, it was a pleasant day. I also did a bit of active job searching work as opposed to passive internet research which is always uplifting because it keeps that dream alive that one day, some day, I may gain employment.

Otherwise, I pissed away some time on the couch dragging myself through Nabokov's Lolita. I borrowed the volume from a friend, and so, feel the pressure to return it in a timely manner. While, I enjoyed Laughter in the Dark the first novel I read by Nabokov, this second and arguably more famous work is much tougher for me to get through. Apparently, it was written in English (not Nabokov's mother tongue) and thus explains away the somewhat awkward tone and rhythm of the book, but in addition, it's topically about a pedophile. Which, I can't figure out worth a darn, why this is tripping me up. What do I care? I don't think of myself as a indignant moralist who can't at least read a book about something I don't particularly understand or care for. Perhaps, it isn't the pedophilia that is off putting about the book. Perhaps, the odd cadence and strange diction is enough. Who knows, I just can't wait to be done.

Plus, it's getting to be the time where I start actually dedicating active energy to sorting out what I might want to study in graduate school and piecing together a program of study. Which means, reading the work of people in the area. So much in the world, to learn and do. My my my.

My aunt asked me today (because Lo! and behold! I have a degree in Religious Studies!) a question concerning religion. Her children (the twin Italians) had begun asking her about who the first man (I hope they had said person) was and who built the world and who poured the first cement. (I like how that last one was added in there on the same level as the world, sigh. and they don't even live in LA).

So, my aunt was asking me to somewhat clarify the creation myths of the Christian religion and at the same time ask me why the particularity on Jesus in Christianity (are you less religious if you pray to God instead of Jesus? When did God become not enough?) Which are two ENTIRELY separate questions (not unrelated, but separate). And while answering her, I was thinking about how exciting that would be! How exciting to be at the stage where your children are asking YOU to tell them a Creation Myth. Here you go, here, you get to tell them, you get to create a Creation Myth (one of the biggest ?trope?s of them all) Creation Creation Creation. Think of the myriad possibilities that one could have with an innocent child asking you how it all came about. I would have a heyday.

That's about it on that thought because like I said I'm tired. I'm sitting here at the dining room table, the wall clock, clicking languidly stretching the seconds out as long as it can and the dim overhead light probing cautiously into the darkness of the living room. The busiest sound coming from the muted clicking and clacking of my keyboard. I can feel the distant rumbling of a fatigue headache rallying the troops for the onslaught against my forehead and temples. The freshly picked flowers on the center of the table aren't aggressively aromatic and I wish they were. Impotent, in their monosense appeal. I never feel like brushing my teeth.