Confession

I joined Rhapsody a few weeks ago. $14.95 a month for all the tunes you care to gorge on. It's the musical equivalent of brunch at the Rio.

All that music...every genre you can think of. A music guide to help you discover new music. 'Similar Artists' choices to connect you with additional choices you might like. All that, and the last song I downloaded was Fool for the City by Foghat.

Uh huh.

In my defense, is it possible to not be happy while listening to Fool for the City?

Of course it's not. The song demands a response of drooly, inane, imbicilic happiness.

Ok, don't look. I'm going to download Slow Ride.

If I mention The Bay City Rollers, you're welcomed to become concerned.

Going Places

I'm going to go to Portland and the Oregon coast sometime this summer.

Sometime in late July or early August I'm going to Denver for a memorial service for Adam. It's turning out to also be a reunion of the Jewish singles crowd Adam and I were part of in the early to mid 90s. I think it's good that the memorial service will be combined with a happy event. Why not?

By September (in a perfect world July) I'm going to be in another job. It's time for me to move on from my current position. Actually, it's been time for a long time. If you have any ideas for me, and / or know anyone who might want to be dazzled by me, please let me know.

I Love Coming Home to a Pink Mountain

It was a cotton candy pink; a very becoming shade for a 14,000 foot stratovolcano.

Was it Voters in Florida...?

I'm not a Kris Allen fan. Who is Kris Allen? He barely made it onto my radar screen. Talented, sure, but in a way that many thousands of other singers are talented. He didn't particularly impress me as a musician, but I have to say he was likeable when he won. I loved that he admitted Adam Lambert deserved the win.

I know most people put a premium on technical perfection. I tend to gravitate more toward originality. Adam Lambert is one of those rare performers who has both. He's the only American Idol contestant it would even occur to me to see in concert. The guy is an incredibly exciting performer. I love people who do what others can't or won't.

I'm not going to cry into my chocolate milk over the results (And no, I don't drink chocolate milk. If I did it would be soy). It was an interesting season. I'm looking forward to seeing more of Adam Lambert, and Allison Iraheta too.

Abstract Thinking

Grammar Martyr

I was not in a good mood as I walked to work today. I passed a young pregnant woman who was smoking a cigarette and ranting on her cell phone. "I don't got it!" I heard her wail as she spewed out a fresh cloud of poison. I furiously batted away the smoke, walked a few steps, then turned in her direction.

"I don't HAVE it." I barked at her. Not "I don't GOT it."

I quickened my pace, then threw it over my shoulder one more time: "I don't HAVE it"

This took place in downtown Tacoma. I'm lucky I didn't get shot.

Seven Seconds of Saturday

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H7j8iCAIOqA&feature=channel_page

Dumbcation All I Ever Wanted

Life been demanding too much of you lately? Tired of all those original thoughts? Saddled with a high IQ?

You need a dumbcation. Dumb + vacation = dumbca...wait that involves thinking. Don't do it!

Do some of these instead:

1. Watch American Idol

2. Care about American Idol

3. Go to the OPI website and try on virtual nail polish: http://www.opi.com/ Don't stop until you've sampled at least 20.

4. Take as many Facebook quizzes as you can in 15 minutes.
Love the results from the 'What is your Princess Name' quiz ('Wendy the Merry, Princess of Mondeburgh!').Consider the 'What Color Crayon are You' quiz result to be cause for introspection ("Am I really burnt orange...?")

5. Vow to ask other people how they choose to spend their dumbcations.

Yep, It's the American Idol Post

Why do we have to suffer through countless warbly and mediocre renditions of You are the Sunshine of My LIfe when the show should be comprised entirely of high-octane, consistenly exciting talent like Adam Lambert?

Where I Live

I want to go back to Las Vegas sometime soon. I'm seriously in need of thrill rides and mind-altering visual stimuli.

First 30 seconds or so of this Fremont Street Experience video are boring; you might want to forward a little bit.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WItitCzX-B4&feature=related

I know, when you see these next two clips you're going to think 'It's just a ride; get over it'. I can't. The first few seconds was one of the most interesting experiences of my life. The physical experience was so jarring my mind couldn't catch up to it. Where was I during that time?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6g0K5Gq1eFg&NR=1

Next time I want to go at night:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r5iy1KuCKNQ

This is an insane roller coaster. I'm dying to ride it again.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lxHHPPjmg5k&feature=related

And while I'm providing links, here's another. It's Bollywood, not Las Vegas but whatever. It's great in so many ways.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZA1NoOOoaNw

Who is this man?

Sometimes its the little things that drive home how much I miss Adam.

Whenever I was interested in a new guy from an online dating site, I'd copy over his picture to Adam and title the e-mail "Who is this man?"

Adam loved playing Who is this man? He was often amazingly accurate on the basic parameters of age, profession, and hobbies. Of course from there we'd often get quite silly, speculating on all matters of the individual's private life and desires.

There is a new guy I'm interested in.

I really need to send Adam a "Who is this man?" e-mail.

Damn.

I miss him.

I like this

"You have to take yourself seriously. So what I did was concentrate on the song."

- Susan Boyle

We all know her story by now. Unforgivably old Scottish woman comes out onto the stage, looks and sounds like Shrek when she talks, and then launches into the most angelic vocal performance of all time. When asked in a talk show interview later how she felt when people initially laughted at her, her answer was the quote above.

We are but conduits for what we can deliver.

Oy. That sounded cheesy.

Let me try again: She focused on the song, not herself.

When you start getting close to 50 -if you've made any kind of spiritual progress at all- you start to realize the song matters more than you do.

There's talk on the internet of Susan Boyle needing a makeover. Yes, her eyebrows could use a little work (perhaps with the help of a lawnmower), but other than that I really hope she continues to be herself. She's a great reminder that the plain people can be more beautiful than the beautiful people. And it's just kind of cool knowing she could kick Paris Hilton's ass.

Savon

I crave color so I make soap.

I have no idea why I'm posting this

As mentioned in my last post, when I lived in Denver I often used to take Pearl for long walks. Washington Park was one of our favorite places. One day we ran into my friend's 12 year old son. He asked what the dog's name was and I told him Pearl. He looked at me and said "Are you serious??!"

An hour later my friend called me, laughing. "Louie told me you have a dog named HURL!"

A Happy Memory

A strong bond in my friendship with Adam was our love of dogs. Around 1994 I briefly dated a massage therapist named Andrew. Andrew had a black lab named Pearl. Snicker if you must, but Pearl was a spiritually evolved dog. She was intuitive and emotionally expressive to a level I'd never seen in a canine. Andrew and I only lasted a few months; no big whoop. But my bond with Pearl was so strong I continued to see her. I lived close by, so I took her for long walks several times a week. Sometimes Adam and I would walk her in a park halfway between where we both lived.

Adam loved Pearl and Pearl loved Adam. Pearl was a friendly dog, but the way she responded to Adam was amazing. Her face would light up when she saw him. She would radiate pure joy. I could practically hear her say "ADAM!!!!!"

One time Adam and I agreed to meet in the park. Pearl and I got there a few minutes before him. Pearl hadn't seen Adam for a few months, so when he pulled into the parking lot she went beserk. I let her run to the car. Adam had rolled the passenger window down to say hello. I thought Pearl was going to put her paws up on the ledge to better see him. Her love for him was too strong to settle for that. In a bizarre, miracle-of-science manner she manuvered her fat body up the side of the car and through the window until she next to the object of her adoration. I'll never forget what she looked like when she was halfway up. I thought she'd never make it, but she did. We're talking some serious love here.

Dogs know who the nice people are.

A Culture of Two

Do you know what it means for a person to be "too hey mommy"? Do you ever look at your called ID and then answer your phone "Whyeeee?" If you hear the word round do you immediately feel compelled to say "rounded and sexy"?

No, of course you don't. Those things were shared by Adam and me alone. I could explain each one, and the many more we had in our lexicon but they still wouldn't make sense to you. They made sense to us. Adam and I had a culture of two.

In Phoenix, an email circulated around to the women in my office. It asked all kinds of questions designed to give coworkers new insights into each other. One of the questions was "Are you strong?" My answer was "Is there a choice?"

It seemed like a dumb question. Of course we're strong. Life is tough, and we're getting through it aren't we?

It's possible that Adam was able to make the decision he did because he was strong. It's more likely that he made the decision because he wasn't. Regardless, he was a beautiful soul. He was warm, generous, sensitive, brilliant, creative, funny,and very unique.

It's entirely too trite to say he was one of the best friends I've ever had. He and I could have written each other's biography. For the majority of our 18 year friendship we inhabited a mental space together that was separate from the rest of the world. For a long period of time it was like an addicition. When we both lived in Denver, we saw each other maybe once a month. But for many years, in Denver and then all the other places our lives took us, we'd talk on the phone every day. Often for hours.

We had always shared the goings on in our lives. I was the first person he called when his daughter was born. We vented our frustrations and often confided in each other. But the singular defining feature of our friendship was this strange, playful mind space we shared. When we were there we were where we really lived -in a land of almost frenetic imagination, inspiration and joy. It was a place where we routinely laughed so hard we gasped to get out our next thoughts. The fact that it sheltered us from the harsher realities of life, which neither of us could tolerate well, was an added benefit.

Looking back on it now, I realize Adam was even more sensitive than me. Loud noises distressed him. Urban energy with its chaos and crime was like being in a jungle for him. He always sensed the predators might get too close and pounce. Mean people were incomprehensible to him. He breathed oxygen and they breathed poison. When they got too close and exhaled their fumes, they made him sick. I've learned that there were some very mean people at the end of his life.

In the past seven or eight years, Adam and I both had increased responsibilites and pressures in our lives. We didn't have as much time to be in our space together. We got there at times, which made me believe we'd always have it when we wanted it. That space is still there. It was there for so long, and had so much energy in it I plan to keep it alive. Everytime I think of or see or hear something interesting, absurd, or hilarious I'll tell him about it. In January I left a message for Adam "Todd and I were coming up with titles for Goth songs like 'Shattered Roses' and 'Withered Sunset'. Call me! Let's make some up!"

Every once in a while, in our space, I'd pitch an idea and he'd say "Nah. It's not grabbing me. Let's do this instead." and we'd go on a roll with that. Maybe the goth songs thing didn't grab him. But his not responding to it at all was a red flag I didn't want to see. Nor did I want to put it together that I hadn't heard any joy in his voice for six months. Our final conversations were about how depressed we both were, and how alone and unstable we felt in the world. The vicissitudes in our lives tended to align. I thought we were commiserating together and would soon both be in a happier time.

At the time I thought I was listening. I begged Adam to get away from his narcissitic, selfish wife. When he kept saying he's always catered to other people's needs (like his wife's need to do fairy paintings instead of earn money to support their high expenses) I told him it was because he had a good heart. But I practically yelled at him that he had to start standing up for himself and getting what he needed. It was my fear talking. It was born of compassion, but I was talking when I should have been listening. I wanted solutions. I wanted him to wake up and realize he needed to make big changes in his life; even if the process would be challenging. I should have just shut up and listened more.

Yep, I'm dealing with a lot of stuff. The worst part is that life got to be too much for a kind, sensitive man and he chose a permanent solution to a temporary problem. I'm in shock that he had to go that far. I'm in mourning over losing someone so central to my life; one of the few people I thought would always be there. I love him (as in always will) and miss him.

I'm all over the map emotionally. I have fits of sobbing, followed by strange, detached periods of calm. Sometimes I go through rounds of the two within minutes. I went into work on Thursday about two hours after finding out Adam had died. Staying at home wasn't going to accomplish anything. I had an appointment with a new student and put my full attention into it. I spent a lot of the rest of that day away from my desk, taking phone calls from his friends and / or crying. Robert, another kind sensitive soul (he and Adam would have liked each other) offered to walk me home. He asked me how I would get through the evening. Did I want to go to Doyle's? I thought about it for a minute and shook my head no. Doyle's has a corned beef sandwich on their menu. That's one of the foods that most reminds me of Adam. I used to tease him that he wasn't a real Jew because he ate his corned beef sandwiches with mayonniase, lettuce and tomato.

Robert and I went to The Hub instead. It's a popular new restaurant I hadn't been to yet. We ordered a pizza. Shortly after it arrived, another wave of grief hit me and I told him I might need to go home. He said whatever I needed to do was fine. I decided to stay. When the waitress asked if we wanted to see the dessert menu I said no. I looked at Robert and said "With my luck there's probably a dessert on there called Chocolate Suicide."

Adam would have loved that joke. It's exactly the kind of reality-deflecting joke we would have made together. We didn't make jokes like that because we didn't care. We made them to cope- and because our space beckoned. A space where we could be happy and free and on the joyous, not insuffurably harsh, side of life.

Please tell the people in your life that you love them. They may need to hear it more often than you think.

New Vistas

The sun came out today. If you are not local, I should clarify that that's kind of a big deal here. Last night we had yet another freakish snow shower. Today it's something like 70 degrees.

As griped about when I lived there, the sun in Phoenix is obnoxious. It's like wanting to take a nice warm shower and having boiling water come out of the tap. People there are like "Yeah, it's great! I love boiling water!" and that's all very nice, but I prefer the more gentle experience of a spring day in the Northwest.

No, I have not been abducted by aliens. I really am extolling the virtues of sunny spring days.

I'm tired of my usual walks, especially the uphill one I sometimes do on my lunch hour. The slope is obnoxiously steep which of course makes it a good workout, but it's not a pretty walk and I sometimes end up near Crazy Angry Man. Crazy Angry Man spends his days roaming Tacoma's streets, shouting obscenities. He has the loudest voice I've ever heard. When you're on the same street as him it's like there's a concert-sized speaker transmitting a broadcast from hell.

On the other side of the spectrum, University Place is one of the nicest areas in Tacoma. Nice as in beautiful views, happy suburban children and no Crazy Angry Man. It was a great place for a long walk today.

I wouldn't mind living in this neighborhood:

2.8

I went back. I knew if I didn't go back exactly one week later I'd never go again. I lost 2.8 pounds. Whee, I'm an Olsen twin!

The lecturer asked how Weight Watchers helped me last week. I told her I wasn't going to lie- I didn't write a thing down. What helped was just developing more awareness. Not calculating every point and recording it (which I don't have the patience for), but keeping a running tab in my head and making decisions: I can have either this or that but not both. The night before I'd been at Bahama Breeze, the type of cheezy theme restaurant I'll admit to loving. My coworker and I ordered two appetizers: hot spinach & artichoke dip with tortilla chips and a chicken quesadilla. I decided that since I was having that- in moderation of course- I couldn't also have the sugary ice-creamy pina colada I usually order there. So I'm not only tiny, I'm a paragon of virtue.

I'm trying to learn how 'normal' people eat. A thin former coworker and I often went to lunch at the nearby Thai or Mexican restaurants. I, and any other diet-attempting types at the table would carefully eat only half of the large portion and get a box for the rest. The 120 pounder would routinely demolish her entire platter of food. One day I asked her, as we were heading back from lunch at 2:00 pm, what she would eat that evening. She shrugged and said "Nothing. I'm done for the day."

Here's what that sounded like to me: "I can stay underwater for seven minutes." or "I jumped over the Grand Canyon on my motorcycle." or "I learned Portugese in three days."

To just stop eating for the day at 2 pm seems like a super-human feat to me. I can't do it. I don't want to do it Please may I never have to do it.

My mother lost about 30 pounds in her early 40s and has kept it off ever since. Her afternoon snack is ten almonds. Not nine, not twelve, but ten. Always ten. Once a week she has a cinnamon raisin bagel for breakfast. Just once a week. Never twice.

I don't think I'm ever going to be her either.

What I think is going to work for me on a long-term basis is not having the mentality of "I'm going to have this fattening thing today, because tomorrow I'm starting a diet and will never be able to have it again...". 'Fattening' things are no longer forbidden fruit and are somewhat less seductive as a result.

In other news, I'm going to a career counselor on Tuesday. Figuring out what I'm going to do next is both daunting and exciting. Mostly daunting. And pleeeeeeze don't give me the "No one is hiring in this economy" spiel. The unemployment rate is significantly lower for college graduates. My having a masters may improve my odds a little more. And the attitude I'm taking is that if I can't get through a door I'll break a window.

Now I just need to find a rock.

WW and Q

I went to my first Weight Watchers meeting when I was ten. Here's what I remember: "Good evening Weight Watchers! Today we're going to learn to make chocolate cake!" There was cautious excitment on the women's faces. The big 'treat' back then was the Weight Watchers milkshake: one cup of milk, three ice cubes and the extract of your choice. Blend until frothy. So yeah, you can understand why these women were nervous.

What the lecturer had to say next was cruel: "To make chocolate cake start with one pound of crookneck squash..."

Appropriately enough, the response was "Ugh!!!" and / or a chagrined "Oh...."

Zucchini in chocolate cake can be delicious when shrouded with butter and sugar, but crookneck squash with chocolate extract? Not so much. Weight Watchers was pretty rigid back then. Your sweet tooth was allowed only sacchrine and extract. Foods were grouped into 'legal' and 'illegal'. To make matters worse, the only diet soft drink back then was Tab which tasted like rat poison.

Over the years as I've struggled with my weight, people have suggested Weight Watchers. I tried to be receptive, but my subconscious mind could not let go visions of foamy milk with that stupid, **cking extract. Instead I tried Jenny Craig where, as previously shared, I ate my week's supply of miniature candy bars in ten minutes. I also tried Atkins, which I lost a lot of weight on when I was 15. But then you eat a piece of toast and gain back 30 pounds.

At times I've managed to keep my weight down. I really liked how I looked three years ago. Now? Well, you don't see many pictures of me here do you? I don't have X's in my clothing size (although I was perilously close a year ago). I'm not morbidly obese. But our society is disdainful of anything other than thin. Thinner than nature intended. Thinner, for many of us, than our genetics dictate. When men have told me "I love your body. You look great just the way you are" I beleive them (well, I try to beleive them), but the last time I heard that was 15 - 20 pounds ago. Ok, once since then but I'm writing it off as a fluke. Fluke being, appropriately enough, a whale-related word.

I went to a Weight Watchers meeting yesterday morning. The format is better now. Less rigid, no extract, yay. I liked the meeting's topic: Feeding your Soul. Each person was given an index card with a letter on it. The objective was to think of something beginning with that letter (other than food) that 'feeds your soul'.

The letter I got was Q. My response of "Go on a Quest for things that excite you." was well received.

Not so well received: Another activity consisted of listing reasons why we eat. After the lecturer wrote all the yesh, duh, haven't we been through this before? responses (boredom, stress, etc)on the board she started to put the cap back on her dry erase marker. I raised my hand: "I think all of those things can be secondary to the fear of being thin."

Silence. Crickets. The bubbly lecturer composed herself, wrote it down, and informed me that actually that wasn't anything new. I shrugged to myself. I wasn't trying to be creative; I was being honest. In her levity! We're all about levity! manner she asked if anyone else could relate to 'fear of being thin'. Nothing. Finally one woman raised her hand, but she didn't speak. "I can relate!" said the lecturer. "Most of us have lost weight before and when we're thin we're scared we're going to gain it back."

Wrong, but thanks for playing. I nodded politely.

The new system involves points. It kind of amounts to "Don't spend it all in one place." Fattening foods are no longer illegal, but you have to budget for them. The system emulates reality pretty well. I like that its a permanent reconditioning approach.

I'll go again next Saturday. We'll see what happens.

Backtracking

A few posts back I mentioned hot chocolate, the Sorrento Hotel, Tromso, and one other thing I can't remember at the moment, and one I can but don't want to follow up on.

Let's start with the easy: Hot chocolate.




Last Saturday was not a good diet day. The too-rich-and-sugary-even-for-me peppermint hot chocolate was preceded by lunch at a Mexican restaurant in Pacific Place. Said lunch included a pomegranate margarita. Some people do the red meat disclaimer when ordering: "I never eat red meat..." Yep, we care. I choose to bore you with a different disclaimer: "I never drink, especially during the day..."

I accept your apathy.

Non-caloric activities in my Seattle day with Dee included Nordstroms, little funky stores in Pike Place market, and lots of walking.

After that I met with a wonderful new friend, who gave me a tour of Seattle nightspots. My favorite was the Sorrento Hotel, which is 100 years old. I normally dislike old buildings. I know this is freakish and wrong and you're going 'I looooooove old buildings...", but I tend to gravitate to modern, contemporary, futuristic, zen, whatever. In fact, my aversion to the opposite is typically so strong that if you want to see me shudder mention some combination of 'quaint', 'old' and 'bed-and-breakfast' in a sentence. Ugh! . This hotel though is gorgeous. It was weird, as we walked up to it I fell in love with it. It was almost a feeling of Deja Vu. Here's a link if you want to see what I'm talking about http://www.hotelsorrento.com/.

Ok, Tromso, Norway. The last letter of Tromso is supposed to have a strike through it...ok, yes, I can Google that, hold on: Tromsø. A 'Random Article' Wikipedia search had dictated I set my next story in Sweden. Been there and done that, so I migrated it to Norway. Tromso. Whoops, Tromsø. Tromsø is the northern-most college town in the world. It's well within the Arctic Circle. Factor in that it's one of the best places to see the northern lights, and it makes perfect sense that I want to write about it. While I'm generously providing links, here's one to Tromsø: http://www2.uit.no/www/inenglish. My story's setting is mainly at the university, so that's why that particular link.

The story I'm writing is a happy one. Yes, happy. In graphology (handwriting analysis) there is a practice called Graphotherapeutics. If you lack self esteem and / or ambition it's likely that when you cross the letter t, the bar is low across the stem. If you want to increase your self esteem and / or ambition, according to graphotherapeutics, cross your t's higher. I'm writing a happy story in order to similarly reprogram my subconscious. I'm also writing it simply because it came to me and I'm having fun with it. I'm not quitting my day job, so fun is what it's all about, right?