When we started this blog for the documentary, I promised myself I would never go more than two weeks without posting. I also promised myself that I would never start a blog post with something lame and apologetic like, “Hey, sorry I haven’t posted in like, forever…” But if I look back on my history of broken promises I’ll see many a sincere coulda-shoulda-woulda littering my life’s highway like so many pop cans and Coolio CD’s. Truth be told, it’s not that I haven’t wanted to write, I just couldn’t. My normally low blood pressure has nose-dived in the last few weeks which means that in addition to chronic pain, I’m practically comatose, wandering through my days in a dizzy, headachey fog of fatigue and dimness. I’m just not very bright right now, literally and figuratively. There’s also another reason… Read more
I don’t flirt. Ever. Not because I don’t know how, but because I just don’t like to. Read more
I am selfish and lazy.
While I have been working since I was 14 years old and like to think I have spent a fair portion of my life if not in the pursuit of bettering humanity then at least thinking about bettering humanity (especially while high, on my couch in the 90’s), I’ve never had real cause to be selfless or industrious. I know that I am selfish and lazy, and not only am I okay with that, I’m thankful that I’m honest enough to admit this about myself. I think if more people did so there might be fewer twelve year olds hanging out in front of the Zesty Mart at 2am on a school night. But what do I know, other than the fact that the universe should be grateful that I don’t have kids. Read more
It’s 2012. I hope I don’t need to remind anyone (other than Conservatives and misogynists, if you’ll pardon the redundancy) that women are so much more than their looks. We are capable of anything we set our minds to even if our minds sometimes seem to work at cross purposes. Of course we want to be noticed, but we’d prefer it to be for things that matter, like how well we parallel park, or explain the plot of Memento, or do the NYT crossword in pen. Sure we want to be thought attractive but only in certain circumstances so varied and specific to each woman that it’s likely easier trying to find her G-spot through jeans and Spanx on a drunken third date. Here’s just one typical, convoluted example; if a woman thinks the man hitting on her is attractive, it’s on, if she finds him unattractive, it’s harassment. We understand this can be confusing, but we like to think that’s what makes us so irresistible. Or maybe just irritating. But there’s one place where it’s prevailingly acceptable to notice a woman – hell, it’s almost required – and that’s at a bar. Trust me, I spent most of my life in bars where being noticed is a blessing and a curse. Read more
A couple of weeks ago, my brother Dan came up for Mum’s 75th birthday celebration with his five kids (Paul, 18, Em, 15, Lauren 14, Jon, 12 and Briana, 6), all of whom reminded me of what is was like growing up in a house full of like-minded, clumsy individuals. Our free-flowing sarcasm and penchant for showing each other affection with insults seems harsh, but between the barbs you’d hear us sharing kindnesses like, please and thank you and excuse me and let me get you a bandaid. Dan always wanted a home like the one we had grown up in – loud, lots of laughing, pets, stereo cranked, TV blaring sports, plenty of food, and half the neighborhood just hanging out under one roof – and that’s exactly what he got. Amid the piles of wet towels, bags spilling over with books and clothes, shouts of HEED! PANTS! NOW! and multiple floors of general mayhem, for four days I reveled in the nostalgia of my childhood chaos. I was back home. Read more
I stand before you, a sinner. I have broken my word. I have not practiced what I preached. I have failed! Read more
Most days I wake up and my first instinct is to hop right out of bed. Then life slow motion bitch-slaps me onto my right side and I take a deep breath, prop myself up on my elbow then grimace my way to a sitting position. I’d walk you through the next fifteen minutes of my day but A) I don’t want to lose you in the first paragraph, and B) I can’t walk upright until I’ve been awake at least a half an hour. Living with chronic pain literally sucks – energy, patience and confidence – and I didn’t ask for this but it’s my reality so I deal with it. It’s not exactly something I like to advertise so I relegate it to the bottom of the barrel of my attributes where it belongs, beside such predictably annoying classics like ‘always cold’ and ‘compulsively tries to finish people’s sentences’. I work very hard to make sure that most people wouldn’t even realize there’s anything wrong with me, because that’s not how I wish to be seen. I’ve tried to construct a version of myself that I can share with the outside world, but the truth is, the outside world doesn’t care. I don’t mean that to sound maudlin or pathetic but the fact is I’m just one of many billions of people and the world is largely indifferent towards me. I’ve spent a good portion of my adult existence trying to act like that isn’t the case, and I’ve only recently decided for myself that if how I look is an accurate representation of how I feel it doesn’t mean I’m weak, it merely means I’m human. Read more
Sometimes I think too much. That is not to say they’re coherent or even interesting thoughts but they do run round and round in the spacious corridors of my post-concussive interior world. Incessantly.
Some people spend an enormous amount of energy, in a variety of ways, trying to silence these internal debates: Yoga, television, meditation, OCD apartment cleanliness, drugs, sex, drugs with sex, food and the ageless standby– drunken sottery. With the exception of Yoga I have indulged in all of these, to some degree. My current crutch is too many hours spent in front of fiendishly clever games. And it’s interesting how often people will cite these activities as an escape from their external existence when usually all they are is another set of activities to negotiate. Read more
At long last, dear readers, here is the second part of The Big Dance. If you haven’t yet read The Big Dance Part One I urge you to do so. Unless you want to read 2 first then ‘Tarantino’ back to part 1, it would certainly be in keeping with the post’s 90’s vibe. Don’t be confused when I switch back and forth between the word ‘stripper’ and ‘dancer’, they both mean the same thing. I didn’t all of a sudden join the Joffrey. Again, this one is a long read so bring water and a sweater. Maybe a flashlight just in case. Read more
If you have been paying attention to this project for the last year or so you probably have a pretty good idea of who I am and the kind of person I am striving to be. This particular post is one that I knew I would have to write at some point and I have been looking forward to doing so if only to make some things clear before the doc comes out. Hopefully getting it out into the ether to subject it to commentary, respectful discourse and maybe even some thoughtful debate, might make it possible to get it into the larger conversation about women, a conversation that I believe is vital. This post may be the first in a few parts as it is a story that doesn’t lend itself particularly well to brevity. I apologize in advance if it’s too long to read during your smoke break. Read more