I was considering starting one of these tonight. So, like any other scientist (of which I am not) I decide to check out my closest friend's blogs...see what other people write about, see what other people read. As luck may have it, one of these said friends (Julia) called in the middle of my research, and thus we got on the topic of blogs right away. At which point it was revealed that Julia had read my one, and only, blog post. Using the term 'post' loosely, of course, because, IT WAS NEVER MEANT TO BE POSTED!! Seriously, it was just an experiment. Apparently, my fear that my random, pointless, self-serving thoughts would be published, in real time, as they were being written, was well founded. But, upon further scrutiny, I found that my one accidental post was not too terrible, not to self-centered, even mildly entertaining. And thus, sets the bar for any future communication...My mission statement, if you will. Let the "not too terrible, not too self-centered, even mildly entertaining" games begin!
Our conversation further evolved into what kinds of things I would one day like to discuss on said unintentional blog, and it seems, I may have many stories that might fit in the average person's attention span. So, I expect to be checking in a little more regularly, and I fully intend to one day limit my reliance on the following words: and but for yet so. But for now, I'll work with what I've got.
I feel I must explain the title of my previous post, 'Glas'. 'Glas' is the Slovenian word for 'Voice'. I know this because I once had the unique opportunity to travel to Yugoslavia (back when it was 'Yugoslavia', in 1991) to attend the Pen International Writer's Conference in Lake Bled. (Which is effing beautiful....go there, now.) We also went to Budapest, Hungary; Lucerne, Switzerland; and Venice and Verona, Italy. This is neither relevant nor important, but requires words to explain, thus making this post seem more substantial. In Budapest, we were supposed to read a poem, which our good friend Boris Novak, a Slovenian who spent a semester as a visiting professor at the University of Tennessee, Chattanooga (go Mocs!) translated for us. As you may have gathered, the particular poem that I chose to share was called 'Voice', and started like this:
Here is my coat, my voice like bravery, my head
is safe and warm. And these are my worn shoes, they too
trust my feet, who have promised me all they can carry.
I can't remember the rest.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Friday, April 18, 2008
Here goes something....
Howdy. Welcome to my blog. Thanks for coming. I can't say I am exactly psyched about this 'automatic saving of drafts'. Does this mean people can read this blog as it is happening, in real time, before I edit it? I must admit that makes me really nervous. There is very little that escapes from me out into the world sans editting. Which is a good thing. Minus the editting I can be particularly awful...just ask Kate.
So, what are you doing? I am at home, after a long week, on the computer obviously, but not watching TV. Because 1. Friday night TV sucks and is clearly programmed with single, middle-aged women in mind (the Ghost Whisperer and Law and Order, tempered with Bridgette Jones re-runs and E True Hollywood Stories about the cast of Family Ties...and so on) and 2. because Forrest is playing Halo III on XBox live on the television set in this room.
Forrest and his friends say things like 'suck it' and 'I raped you' as they kill eachother on the television. I can honestly say that when I gave birth to this perfect being, at home, which was in a barn, 15 ish years ago, I had largely blocked out that fact that one day the baby that I worshipped, that I refused to put down, that I thought I could raise in a bubble of love and free-will would ever grow up at all, much less grow up to be yelling 'I raped you in the cooter' at a large flat screen TV.
Forrest is wearing 'my' pajama pants while he plays. I say 'my' because I am certain I never bought them, but acquired them at a clothing swap when I was still in Chattanooga. (Physically that is, because mentally I have a second home there, within which I spend quite a bit of time.) Clothing swaps are a brilliant way to revitalize your wardrobe while not spending your money on clothes. Regardless of my financial situation, I will never relinquish this concept of using something to its full potential, rather than chucking it and starting over. A value system such as this lends itself beautifully to feeling no shame or guilt at eating a dozen eggs that you find in your trunk after driving them around for an unknown period of time no less but probably not more than 2 weeks. I like to think that Forrest is equally as economical with his use of ammunition in all of his many first person tactical assassination games.
I sorta left out why I am not out partying like others my age (ish). Others my *actual* age are actually tucking in their second of three children, in their quiet but content, messy but comfortable, under-stimulating but familiar suburban family dwellings...So, when I say others my age, I mean, others 5 to 7 years younger than me, with whom I can relate, despite the fact that most do not come equipped with their own personal teenager. (Though a particulary skilled teenager at the fine art of plasma grenade hurling, and the 'beating down of dudes with swords'). I can relate to this age group because though the very weighty responsibility of keeping another human being alive through the strength of my good choices may have aged my mind and my body, my spirit and my heart have barely aged at all since that day 15 years ago when it seemed like a kinda cool idea to have a kid. In the woods. In a bus.
So, anyway, those folks that I consider my same emotional age are out there looking for mates, though they may not know it. They look awesome, they feel great, they are powered by youth, optimism and alcohol. They are strengthened by their numbers and their invulnerability. They enjoy anything, are inspired by everything. The only thing they lack is someone to share it with, to really connect with, to build a future with, to settle down. To have a dream, to build a family, to share their unique perspective on life with...to raise a family, nurture it, watch it grow, and to one day marvel at their only son's ability to stealthily creep through an underground canyon and not get pwned.
If you haven't figured it out yet, there is no point to this post. Just a practice, to get the feel for it. It's been fun, thanks for coming. And in your travels this weekend, or while enjoying a lovely weekend with your family, please try your best not to get raped in the cooter. Or anywhere else for that matter.
So, what are you doing? I am at home, after a long week, on the computer obviously, but not watching TV. Because 1. Friday night TV sucks and is clearly programmed with single, middle-aged women in mind (the Ghost Whisperer and Law and Order, tempered with Bridgette Jones re-runs and E True Hollywood Stories about the cast of Family Ties...and so on) and 2. because Forrest is playing Halo III on XBox live on the television set in this room.
Forrest and his friends say things like 'suck it' and 'I raped you' as they kill eachother on the television. I can honestly say that when I gave birth to this perfect being, at home, which was in a barn, 15 ish years ago, I had largely blocked out that fact that one day the baby that I worshipped, that I refused to put down, that I thought I could raise in a bubble of love and free-will would ever grow up at all, much less grow up to be yelling 'I raped you in the cooter' at a large flat screen TV.
Forrest is wearing 'my' pajama pants while he plays. I say 'my' because I am certain I never bought them, but acquired them at a clothing swap when I was still in Chattanooga. (Physically that is, because mentally I have a second home there, within which I spend quite a bit of time.) Clothing swaps are a brilliant way to revitalize your wardrobe while not spending your money on clothes. Regardless of my financial situation, I will never relinquish this concept of using something to its full potential, rather than chucking it and starting over. A value system such as this lends itself beautifully to feeling no shame or guilt at eating a dozen eggs that you find in your trunk after driving them around for an unknown period of time no less but probably not more than 2 weeks. I like to think that Forrest is equally as economical with his use of ammunition in all of his many first person tactical assassination games.
I sorta left out why I am not out partying like others my age (ish). Others my *actual* age are actually tucking in their second of three children, in their quiet but content, messy but comfortable, under-stimulating but familiar suburban family dwellings...So, when I say others my age, I mean, others 5 to 7 years younger than me, with whom I can relate, despite the fact that most do not come equipped with their own personal teenager. (Though a particulary skilled teenager at the fine art of plasma grenade hurling, and the 'beating down of dudes with swords'). I can relate to this age group because though the very weighty responsibility of keeping another human being alive through the strength of my good choices may have aged my mind and my body, my spirit and my heart have barely aged at all since that day 15 years ago when it seemed like a kinda cool idea to have a kid. In the woods. In a bus.
So, anyway, those folks that I consider my same emotional age are out there looking for mates, though they may not know it. They look awesome, they feel great, they are powered by youth, optimism and alcohol. They are strengthened by their numbers and their invulnerability. They enjoy anything, are inspired by everything. The only thing they lack is someone to share it with, to really connect with, to build a future with, to settle down. To have a dream, to build a family, to share their unique perspective on life with...to raise a family, nurture it, watch it grow, and to one day marvel at their only son's ability to stealthily creep through an underground canyon and not get pwned.
If you haven't figured it out yet, there is no point to this post. Just a practice, to get the feel for it. It's been fun, thanks for coming. And in your travels this weekend, or while enjoying a lovely weekend with your family, please try your best not to get raped in the cooter. Or anywhere else for that matter.
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