Seeing Beirut in just a coupla' hours!

These two lovebirds are going to see Beirut live at the Greek Theatre in Los Angeles tonight.  Our first concert together--and our favorite band, to boot?  WONDERFUL!  Thank you D, for the tickets (and for being the love of my life).

Storytelling.

Telling a story--orally recounting events which have a beginning, middle, and end--often proves difficult to me.  I tend to digress, to veer, to start to make other connections.  What once was a straight line from point A to point B becomes as elaborate a mental topography as those Family Circus panels, where we'd follow the weaving, zigzagged dashed lines of Billy's journey to the store.  I begin at point A and wander away, crossing back only to find I'm spinning the opposite way before finally regaining the initial trajectory and finding myself at point B.

Sometimes, I never do get back on track to point B.  And so it remains out there in the ether of lost thoughts.  Waiting.

Process over product.  This is something I keep finding myself aiming at in the past two assignments written for my "History and Research Methods in Rhetoric and Composition" course.  The notion of process--HOW we write, how we compose text (whether it is written or spoken text)--versus the notion of product--the text itself, the work of literature or the speech.  I find process to be infinitely more intriguing that product.  This is true for me in virtually all fields, not just rhet/comp. 

I think this preference given to process is what gets me lost on my way to point B so often. 

Ancient History.

If, for any reason, you want a glimpse into the inner-workings of my public psyche pre-2007, feel free to check out THIS OLD BLOG RIGHT HERE.  I think I'll occasionally revisit it myself and post some "on this day in 200X" posts.  Just for funsies.

I agree, Mr. X.

This is a small fraction of the reason of why I don't read newspapers.  I so often distrust them, regardless of the particular newspaper, or author's political situation.  THEY'RE ALL TRYING TO MAKE US FIGHT ONE ANOTHER SO WE WILL BUY THEIR STUFF INSTEAD OF SOMEONE ELSE'S.

EVERYONE.

ALL OF THEM.

.....even you...

Happy Anniversary to these two.

Happy 19th Anniversary to the President and the First Lady, Barack and Michelle Obama.  You guys do this whole "being in love" thing right.

Air Conditioning.

For no real reason, I get a little grossed out by how often my neighbor uses his air conditioning.  There is the nicest breeze right now and it's only 73° out.  Open your windows, man!  Let the outside in!

New smile for Tae Hoon!

A new smile for Tae Hoon!  The old one had an invalid link :(

Morning, 9.21.11

I'll tell you the story of this morning now, while it is still fairly fresh:

This morning I was walking to the busstop and I passed a crazy person.  He was a man in his mid-to-late 50's, wearing denim overalls.  As I got closer to him, I realized he was talking to himself. Passing him, I heard him say "God bless America.  God bless Donald Trump.  God bless Tiger Woods.  They know how to get their shit." At this point, I said quietly, "God bless crazy people."  I am not sure if he heard this, or was responding to it, but as the distance between us slowly widened, he raised his voice to make sure I heard all he said--and it began to seem directed at me, instead of just into the space.  "God bless 'em.  God bless the lesbians, they like to lay down with 14 year old girls.  God bless the Bay Area, they let the perverts walk the streets.  God bless the Bay Area, full of queers..."  On and on, relentlessly, as the distance increased.  At one point, I thought I'd lost him.  I wanted to cry.  I was exhausted physically/mentally, and this barrage of text was exhausting me emotionally/spiritually.  I breathed.  I focused on the blue of the sky.  I did not cry.  

At the crosswalk just before the transit center, waiting for the light to change, I felt a person inches from my left shoulder, and heard a woman's voice say, "It's your hair."  I turned and saw a vagrant woman, shorter than me by a few inches, eyes aligned with mine.  She said "I thought you had bruises on your neck, but it was just your curls."  I put my hand on her shoulder and said "I won't let anyone bruise me."  We smiled at each other.  The light changed, the group of us waiting crossed.  Peripherally, I noticed the overalls man.  He was momentarily silent, it seemed, but as the group crossed, he started in on his litany again.  

But this time, I couldn't really hear it, and it wasn't touching me.  That woman's concern -- thinking that I may have been bruised, and seemingly grateful that I was unharmed -- it protected me and helped me let go of his anger.  It was never mine to take on in the first place.  I got on the bus, knowing instinctively that he was going to get on as well, and so I sat next to a young female student, so that he could not sit next to me.  Sure enough, overalls man got on the bus, still muttering his mixed blessings.  I got my headphones in just before he sat in the seat behind me, and Beirut filled my ears, rather than his voice.  When I got to my office, I discovered that beautiful "My Favorite Memory" video and this time I did cry -- but they were tears of gratitude and joy, not the tears of frustration and exhaustion I nearly cried earlier.  I was at peace.  Peace.  It's a gift we get to give ourselves.

"Blogging."

I used to blog a lot more.

I used to write down a lot more of my thoughts and feelings, turning the words over in my head like one turns a cherry stone over on one's tongue: finding the hard ridge in a moment of clarity, then returning to the smooth, round seed of it all.

I am going to take the step to delete my MySpace (long defunct) soon, but there is a blog up there that dates back . . . oh, to about 2004.  Three jobs, four serious boyfriends, five apartments and hundreds of lifetimes ago.  There was a lot of angst and questioning and probing and searching and luminous realization in those words, those words from 2004 until the last entry, which was made at the beginning of my relationship with Jack.

Now it's two years since that entry, and I am in yet another brave new world, in what is literally the best relationship of my life.  I am stupefied at my constant state of happiness with Dave.  And there's this constant gratefulness, which is truly grateful for the path that brought Dave and I together.  Because if I had not met Jack when I did, at that intersection of our lives, when both he and I needed to have the comfort and security of one another -- if I had not met him then, then I would not have moved back to California.  If I had not moved back to California, I would not have gone to Summer Arts.  If I had not gone to Summer Arts, I wouldn't have learned that one can live every day in a state of emotional openness and self-awareness.  And I wouldn't have met Dave.

Although

I think

We still would have met.

Somehow.

The synergy is just that strong.

The universe has been working towards our favor for so long that I cannot believe it was a random occurrence which brought our existences together.

And I think it was no coincidence that before leaving for Summer Arts, my relationship with Jack had found itself in a place of transition -- where drastic change would have had to have been made for that romantic relationship to begin to thrive again and once more be beneficial to both people.  It hadn't been in that place, and we weren't actively working towards that place.  We weren't being emotionally open or self-aware, we weren't really sharing life the way partners should.  We were just sort of ambling along in the vicinity of one another.  It was still comforting, but it had ceased to be nourishing.  And each of us deserve more than that.  He'll find that, I am sure, should he choose to remain open to that possibility -- that there is happiness and wholeness out there, just waiting for him to say yes to it.

So here it is, this place of "where are my words?"  My words in the past, however eloquent, however inspiring/inspired - they have so often focused on or sprung from mine own seeds of distrust, discomfort, dis-ease, and doubt.  My questioning one thing, defending another.  Suddenly, I have less urge to find conflict.  I love bliss so much that I find no need to give it up, even if it would mean a couple deeply articulated thoughts.

Thanksgiving, For Dave.

Waking up every morning.
Being excited to hear your voice.
Looking forward to seeing your face.

The food I eat is more enjoyable.
Working out is more fun, more productive.

I dance spontaneously more often.
I smile all the time, bigger than ever before.

Even missing you is enjoyable.  It makes the time so deliciously precious.
Then, when I see you, it's a brand new experience.  Your face newly captivates me each time.
Your warmth and presence ever-enticing.
Your wonderful physicality, the skin on your neck, the curve of your arm, the way our limbs fit so nicely together.
All of this gets to be brand-new for the wanting of it.
And the having of it.

My world, already amazing and full of wonderment, expanded tenfold when you and I intersected.

I am ever grateful for this love.