-Went to church in a nightclub. Interesting.
-Got two calls about potential jobs. We'll see if any of them lead anywhere. I really want the one.
-Got a parking ticket. $50.00. Again, I hope the jobs lead somewhere.
-Became totally creeped out by someone I thought might be a friend.
-Have spent about 15 hours in class. Not sure how I feel about it.
-Filled up my gas tank.
-Saw the ocean. Or a gaping black hole that was going to kill me. Or both. Not sure.
None of this is in order.
I'm going to write a species-ist story about humans and squirrels because I've nothing better to do.
One day, a squirrel went to his neighbor's house. He climbed the siding to ring the doorbell. His neighbor, a middle-aged woman named Pam, answered. Pam, as it turns out, was deathly afraid of rodents, so she screamed and slammed the door. The squirrel's little paw got caught in the door and one of his little digits was cut off. The woman screamed and called for her oldest son, who picked it up and threw it away. Indignant at this blatant species-ism, the squirrel went to an attorney.
"Listen, I have lived in this neighborhood for years, and this woman just cut off my finger. What are my rights?"
The lawyer just stared at him.
Again, the squirrel became indignant. He went to PETA.
"Listen, I have been mistreated and then denied proper help in court."
PETA representatives told him that unless his species was farmed for food or used in coats, not to bother them. They had baby seals and mink to save.
After being rejected by PETA, the little squirrel gathered other little squirrels. Together, they decided they would exact revenge upon the woman and her inconsiderate, digit-snatching ways. So together, they tipped over the squirrel's tree onto her house. The roof caved, and the woman came running and screaming from her house as the little squirrels all dispersed.
It was only then that the squirrel realized he no longer had a home. Once again indignant, he asked his fellow squirrels why they didn't stop him. One squirrel dared answer the little fella in his rage.
"Dude, we just got you a new house. Move in."
So the little squirrel moved into the caved-in house. He became a Gatsby of sorts, parleying his indignation into the appearance of money. After all, what other squirrel lives in a house?
He almost lived happily ever after.
Eventually, the other squirrels, in their own indignation, realized that they had created this monster and he had never properly repaid them. So they staged a mutiny. They took over his home, kicked him out, and then cut off all of his digits and his head. The house, once a nice place, became a squirrel slum of sorts, after first becoming gang headquarters.
This all took place in the course of a week, and by that time, the family had hired someone to renovate their home and exterminate the little squirrels inside. No one was left to be indignant, and, once again, humans prevailed.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
And for what? More of the same?
So I started classes.
I thought it'd help me establish a routine. I thought it'd help me meet people.
And it's just like January in Chicago, except I can go into the park and hike. While that makes a huge difference, I feel a little... what's the word... ah, yes, screwed.
I had a great life established in Chicago, and, while I acknowledged that I was happy, I did not fully appreciate what having present, wonderful friends, a job, classes, and a decent and established reputation could do for a person. I was, in short, a big fish in a small-ish pond. And instead of moving to a lake, I went straight for the Pacific Ocean.
And, to quote Coldplay, I got lost. Only, thank goodness... maybe... I don't have a gun.
Classes, as it turns out, are short, sweet, and next to useless. The people I've met are all alright, but no one knows the area, so we're all at a loss as to what to do. Many seem either timid or bitchy--daunted by the competition and compelled to shut down and show off rather than open up and build camaraderie. It's like being on the Titanic. We all are going down, but some of us will get a lifeboat. And some will kill to get the lifeboat. If we'd all cooperate, I'd say one lifeboat could probably hold all of us.
Point is, I left Chicago because I was bored and because I felt out of place--the poor kid at a private college. Now I'm still poor and still bored, and, even worse I'm lonely.
To make matters worse, I honestly believed all this faith people seem to have in me. Now it feels like a lot of smoke up my ass, and I'm questioning myself constantly. I can't even open my mouth all the way, my jaw is so tense. Maybe I could cheer myself up by standing in front of the mirror and trying to yawn.
And maybe I could try and see what they said they saw. Maybe there's a revolutionary in there somewhere. And maybe not.
But damn it, the sun still shines. And thank God for that.
I thought it'd help me establish a routine. I thought it'd help me meet people.
And it's just like January in Chicago, except I can go into the park and hike. While that makes a huge difference, I feel a little... what's the word... ah, yes, screwed.
I had a great life established in Chicago, and, while I acknowledged that I was happy, I did not fully appreciate what having present, wonderful friends, a job, classes, and a decent and established reputation could do for a person. I was, in short, a big fish in a small-ish pond. And instead of moving to a lake, I went straight for the Pacific Ocean.
And, to quote Coldplay, I got lost. Only, thank goodness... maybe... I don't have a gun.
Classes, as it turns out, are short, sweet, and next to useless. The people I've met are all alright, but no one knows the area, so we're all at a loss as to what to do. Many seem either timid or bitchy--daunted by the competition and compelled to shut down and show off rather than open up and build camaraderie. It's like being on the Titanic. We all are going down, but some of us will get a lifeboat. And some will kill to get the lifeboat. If we'd all cooperate, I'd say one lifeboat could probably hold all of us.
Point is, I left Chicago because I was bored and because I felt out of place--the poor kid at a private college. Now I'm still poor and still bored, and, even worse I'm lonely.
To make matters worse, I honestly believed all this faith people seem to have in me. Now it feels like a lot of smoke up my ass, and I'm questioning myself constantly. I can't even open my mouth all the way, my jaw is so tense. Maybe I could cheer myself up by standing in front of the mirror and trying to yawn.
And maybe I could try and see what they said they saw. Maybe there's a revolutionary in there somewhere. And maybe not.
But damn it, the sun still shines. And thank God for that.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
I've Got 5 Minutes
About to head to church in a nightclub.
Found my purse and found some people to help carry this ugly desk into my house. But now I have a desk.
Bought a chair at IKEA. Bought a useless extension cord. Seriously--why would you make an extension cord that only supports the 2-pronged plugs. I will never understand.
Last night, I finally realized just how far 2000 miles is. It's funny how when you lose identity, your access to cash, and your transportation how good even Chicago in January can look. Especially when you've got your giant, your old woman, your musician, and your secretary all contacting you letting you know "they'd help if they could."
It's like I told Jordan today: they have it so lucky; I get out here first, knowing no one so that when they get out here, they have it easy. They'll have the friendly face with the car that can haul anything and park anywhere. They'll have the guide and the contacts. They'll have me. But I guess that's all I have, too, and everything did work out. What it comes down to is the fact that I am pretty neat and regardless of one bad day and one 24-hour period when I would have rather been in Chicago, I am doing just fine.
The sun came out today for the first time in two days. I swear that makes all the difference.
Now, to tackle that dead mouse in my kitchen...
Found my purse and found some people to help carry this ugly desk into my house. But now I have a desk.
Bought a chair at IKEA. Bought a useless extension cord. Seriously--why would you make an extension cord that only supports the 2-pronged plugs. I will never understand.
Last night, I finally realized just how far 2000 miles is. It's funny how when you lose identity, your access to cash, and your transportation how good even Chicago in January can look. Especially when you've got your giant, your old woman, your musician, and your secretary all contacting you letting you know "they'd help if they could."
It's like I told Jordan today: they have it so lucky; I get out here first, knowing no one so that when they get out here, they have it easy. They'll have the friendly face with the car that can haul anything and park anywhere. They'll have the guide and the contacts. They'll have me. But I guess that's all I have, too, and everything did work out. What it comes down to is the fact that I am pretty neat and regardless of one bad day and one 24-hour period when I would have rather been in Chicago, I am doing just fine.
The sun came out today for the first time in two days. I swear that makes all the difference.
Now, to tackle that dead mouse in my kitchen...
Friday, January 23, 2009
Getting the Koala Out
When I was small, my dad put a koala in my head. His name was Gary. He's small an gray, like all koalas. He can talk, and he can sing and dance. He's rather partial to the Blues Brothers theme song, and I'm finally sharing him with the world.
Dad's bedtime story is becoming a screen play. He's stuck with me for so long, and he has taught me to be myself, to love myself, and to pursue my dreams on my terms. I just wanna get Gary on paper so maybe other people can benefit as well. So today, I did just that. I started my outline and I wrote.
Now I want to write here.
Today, it has rained most the day. It's nice, though, that it's not ice pellets stinging my face. But that's just the weather. Nothing gets this place down. It's amazing. Yesterday, I hiked to the Hollywood sign and met a WWII veteran and former Olympian, a lovely man named Lou. He talked to us for nearly three hours and welcomed three strangers into his home. The strange thing is, everyone on the street or on the trails smiled and said hello. I just cannot get over how kind everyone is so far. Even the dogs are friendlier. In Chicago, if anyone was walking their dog, they would give you a dirty look for staring at it. Here, no one cares if you bend over and pet the dog. Actually, yesterday on the foothills, one dog actually followed us for a long while. As much as I'm alone here and know so few people, I don't feel it. In Chicago, unless I was surrounded by my friends, I felt lonely all the time. It was cold, even in the summer, and you'd be hard pressed to find a smile. Here, I feel a part of humanity and I feel human. I feel closer to my friends despite the 2000 miles distance, and I love it. To think a week ago I was scared to death and crying in my car makes me laugh.
Last night, I got connected with a few people--Columbia graduates. They were great fun, and it was awesome to have conversation and to meet new people. It makes me excited to start classes and meet even more people.
In terms of my faith, I feel like I've grown leaps and bounds even in just five days. God has truly shown his presence in my life. What's really awesome is I feel like I can say that here and face less judgment than I would back home or in Chicago. I feel my prayers again, and I can feel God's presence. Everything is working out so well, and it is clearly not my doing. He has had my back all this time, and now, in the valley, I see it. And there's no shadow of death here--it's all sunshine.
Dad's bedtime story is becoming a screen play. He's stuck with me for so long, and he has taught me to be myself, to love myself, and to pursue my dreams on my terms. I just wanna get Gary on paper so maybe other people can benefit as well. So today, I did just that. I started my outline and I wrote.
Now I want to write here.
Today, it has rained most the day. It's nice, though, that it's not ice pellets stinging my face. But that's just the weather. Nothing gets this place down. It's amazing. Yesterday, I hiked to the Hollywood sign and met a WWII veteran and former Olympian, a lovely man named Lou. He talked to us for nearly three hours and welcomed three strangers into his home. The strange thing is, everyone on the street or on the trails smiled and said hello. I just cannot get over how kind everyone is so far. Even the dogs are friendlier. In Chicago, if anyone was walking their dog, they would give you a dirty look for staring at it. Here, no one cares if you bend over and pet the dog. Actually, yesterday on the foothills, one dog actually followed us for a long while. As much as I'm alone here and know so few people, I don't feel it. In Chicago, unless I was surrounded by my friends, I felt lonely all the time. It was cold, even in the summer, and you'd be hard pressed to find a smile. Here, I feel a part of humanity and I feel human. I feel closer to my friends despite the 2000 miles distance, and I love it. To think a week ago I was scared to death and crying in my car makes me laugh.
Last night, I got connected with a few people--Columbia graduates. They were great fun, and it was awesome to have conversation and to meet new people. It makes me excited to start classes and meet even more people.
In terms of my faith, I feel like I've grown leaps and bounds even in just five days. God has truly shown his presence in my life. What's really awesome is I feel like I can say that here and face less judgment than I would back home or in Chicago. I feel my prayers again, and I can feel God's presence. Everything is working out so well, and it is clearly not my doing. He has had my back all this time, and now, in the valley, I see it. And there's no shadow of death here--it's all sunshine.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Los Angeles Update
I'm in LA County now--Glendale. The place I found via craigslist is quite impressive--it's cute, my roommates are incredibly kind, and the neighborhood is beautiful. I've nearly unpacked, and I'm trying to get in touch with people out here. It's tough, though. You can't just red line it to where ever or meet people on campus. Here, it's driving and gas money and traffic. But it's also only been three days. I have to remember that.
My cell phone charger port came detached from the phone, so I'm waiting on a new one as the batter power dwindles.
Honestly, though, I love it here. Granted, I'm in the "burbs", but it's great. People are pretty friendly, too. Even the traffic, which I thought would be angry, is actually pretty laid back. As much as people go too fast, and as much as it's crowded, everyone seems to respect the fact that we're all in the same boat. Rarely have I heard anyone honk their horns.
Right now, I'm watching 30 Rock on DVR because my roommates and I love good TV, apparently. Haha. More later...
My cell phone charger port came detached from the phone, so I'm waiting on a new one as the batter power dwindles.
Honestly, though, I love it here. Granted, I'm in the "burbs", but it's great. People are pretty friendly, too. Even the traffic, which I thought would be angry, is actually pretty laid back. As much as people go too fast, and as much as it's crowded, everyone seems to respect the fact that we're all in the same boat. Rarely have I heard anyone honk their horns.
Right now, I'm watching 30 Rock on DVR because my roommates and I love good TV, apparently. Haha. More later...
Friday, January 9, 2009
Good-Bye Chicago
Today I left Chicago for a long time. There will be no going back for at least 12 weeks, and in the mean time, I will move to a new state, meet with "industry people", and, hopefully, come closer to achieving my dream of becoming a film maker. The ride back on the train was a strange one. I left at three on the California Zephyr--a train whose last stop will be my new home in just 9 days. The superliner trains like that, they travel quietly. It was like watching the Midwest and its Mecca pass by me through a veil. The windows were a little dirty, and that sound, or that absence of sound made me feel invisible. I fell asleep for a bit and woke to the sun setting red over the cornfields and wind farms and a text message from my mother. The one time my train is on time, she's running late. But it's for the sake of change. She's applying for a full-time job and a chance to break away from the smallness of Rock Island. I love her.
I am experience so much right now, sitting on my bed writing this. A little loss, a little sadness, but also overwhelming excitement and happiness--I will finally get sunshine and a chance to be who I want to be--a mover and shaker of my culture. And I feel so much love. These past four days I've spent with friends have been amazing. In the three semesters I've spent at Columbia, I have met some of the most wonderful people. People who liked me as I was where I was, and people whom I could love for their creativity and kindness. Today and yesterday, especially, I understood that devout thanksgiving of which Emerson spoke. I will miss these people every day, but with the wonderful knowledge that they will not cease to be a part of my life. They will continue to make me laugh and smile. They will continue to amaze me with their creativity and wit. And, hopefully, I will remain with them as well.
So perhaps it is not loss that I feel. Perhaps I'm a little sore from expanding my horizons and my heart.
My friends, if you read this, I love you. I love each and every one of you, and I will try my hardest to remain with you, even from "my cottage in the Western night."
Wow, this is exhilerating. I'm writing again, I have a voice again, and it's all because I've stopped being afraid for just a moment and counted my blessings.
I'm attaching Part 3 of Ginsberg's Howl. I think it's appropriate in its sentiment, and, partially, in location. I am in Rock(Is)land and soon I will be west. Love it. Chicago, like Rock(Is)land, is an asylum. Get out and join me, Comrades.
I am experience so much right now, sitting on my bed writing this. A little loss, a little sadness, but also overwhelming excitement and happiness--I will finally get sunshine and a chance to be who I want to be--a mover and shaker of my culture. And I feel so much love. These past four days I've spent with friends have been amazing. In the three semesters I've spent at Columbia, I have met some of the most wonderful people. People who liked me as I was where I was, and people whom I could love for their creativity and kindness. Today and yesterday, especially, I understood that devout thanksgiving of which Emerson spoke. I will miss these people every day, but with the wonderful knowledge that they will not cease to be a part of my life. They will continue to make me laugh and smile. They will continue to amaze me with their creativity and wit. And, hopefully, I will remain with them as well.
So perhaps it is not loss that I feel. Perhaps I'm a little sore from expanding my horizons and my heart.
My friends, if you read this, I love you. I love each and every one of you, and I will try my hardest to remain with you, even from "my cottage in the Western night."
Wow, this is exhilerating. I'm writing again, I have a voice again, and it's all because I've stopped being afraid for just a moment and counted my blessings.
I'm attaching Part 3 of Ginsberg's Howl. I think it's appropriate in its sentiment, and, partially, in location. I am in Rock(Is)land and soon I will be west. Love it. Chicago, like Rock(Is)land, is an asylum. Get out and join me, Comrades.
III
Carl Solomon! I'm with you in Rockland
where you're madder than I am
I'm with you in Rockland
where you must feel very strange
I'm with you in Rockland
where you imitate the shade of my mother
I'm with you in Rockland
where you've murdered your twelve secretaries
I'm with you in Rockland
where you laugh at this invisible humor
I'm with you in Rockland
where we are great writers on the same dreadful
typewriter
I'm with you in Rockland
where your condition has become serious and
is reported on the radio
I'm with you in Rockland
where the faculties of the skull no longer admit
the worms of the senses
I'm with you in Rockland
where you drink the tea of the breasts of the
spinsters of Utica
I'm with you in Rockland
where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the
harpies of the Bronx
I'm with you in Rockland
where you scream in a straightjacket that you're
losing the game of the actual pingpong of the
abyss
I'm with you in Rockland
where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul
is innocent and immortal it should never die
ungodly in an armed madhouse
I'm with you in Rockland
where fifty more shocks will never return your
soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a
cross in the void
I'm with you in Rockland
where you accuse your doctors of insanity and
plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against the
fascist national Golgotha
I'm with you in Rockland
where you will split the heavens of Long Island
and resurrect your living human Jesus from the
superhuman tomb
I'm with you in Rockland
where there are twenty-five-thousand mad com-
rades all together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale
I'm with you in Rockland
where we hug and kiss the United States under
our bedsheets the United States that coughs all
night and won't let us sleep
I'm with you in Rockland
where we wake up electrified out of the coma
by our own souls' airplanes roaring over the
roof they've come to drop angelic bombs the
hospital illuminates itself imaginary walls col-
lapse O skinny legions run outside O starry
spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is
here O victory forget your underwear we're
free
I'm with you in Rockland
in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-
journey on the highway across America in tears
to the door of my cottage in the Western night
Saturday, January 3, 2009
The Waiting Place, The Waiting Place
It's funny how whenever my life is most confusing, I turn to children's books. Yesterday, I reread both Oh the Places You'll Go and The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane and I felt at peace. I still haven't found a car, and the search is becoming more and more stressful. Plus it is a constant reminder of the imminent and drastic journey that is waiting for me on January 17th.
But isn't it exciting?
Actually, yesterday, I finally left my house and ventured into the little hell that is Rock Island. My friend Joe and I went to the budding hookah bar in The District and smoked for awhile. We discussed our future plans. He has been reading about chakras and about the hero's journey, which I just finished studying in my mystical consciousness class. I think I've slain the ogre, and the forest is waiting. The point is, we discussed this for a long while. A (former?) friend came in with another acquaintance (my accquaintance, his hook up?) and completely ignored me. For the first time in my life in Rock Island, I realized that I just didn't care and kept talking. Joe and I went along The River after we had finished with our hookah and it has never looked more beautiful. I could see so many stars, and the water was clear and cold. Snow and ice created a shimmer and I felt at home. I wasn't transient. My boxes didn't matter. My worries floated away on the ice and shimmered and became beautiful. And I remembered "He makes everything beautiful in its time." And I thanked God.
Then we heard the train whistle, so Joe and I scrambled up the bank and ran (after an hour and a half of hookah) and ran to beat it. When we reached the street, there was no train. So we laughed (after an hour and a half of hookah and running through the cold and on ice) until we could barely breathe. It felt so good. Rock Island redeemed itself for a little bit, and I remembered that no matter what, I come from The River. Nothing can stop me just like The River never stops. I'm awesome. The world is nothing but promise. And Dr. Seuss and Kate DiCamillo confirmed this for me. Love and conquer. That is all I can hope to do.
I have no idea if this made any sense, but damn it felt good.
But isn't it exciting?
Actually, yesterday, I finally left my house and ventured into the little hell that is Rock Island. My friend Joe and I went to the budding hookah bar in The District and smoked for awhile. We discussed our future plans. He has been reading about chakras and about the hero's journey, which I just finished studying in my mystical consciousness class. I think I've slain the ogre, and the forest is waiting. The point is, we discussed this for a long while. A (former?) friend came in with another acquaintance (my accquaintance, his hook up?) and completely ignored me. For the first time in my life in Rock Island, I realized that I just didn't care and kept talking. Joe and I went along The River after we had finished with our hookah and it has never looked more beautiful. I could see so many stars, and the water was clear and cold. Snow and ice created a shimmer and I felt at home. I wasn't transient. My boxes didn't matter. My worries floated away on the ice and shimmered and became beautiful. And I remembered "He makes everything beautiful in its time." And I thanked God.
Then we heard the train whistle, so Joe and I scrambled up the bank and ran (after an hour and a half of hookah) and ran to beat it. When we reached the street, there was no train. So we laughed (after an hour and a half of hookah and running through the cold and on ice) until we could barely breathe. It felt so good. Rock Island redeemed itself for a little bit, and I remembered that no matter what, I come from The River. Nothing can stop me just like The River never stops. I'm awesome. The world is nothing but promise. And Dr. Seuss and Kate DiCamillo confirmed this for me. Love and conquer. That is all I can hope to do.
I have no idea if this made any sense, but damn it felt good.
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