in honor of earth day & national poetry month...

Knowledge is a wonderful thing. It's fascinating to learn how something works, to see the driving force of science in nature, broken down into little pieces that fit perfectly together in the solid, irrefutable truth of an equation or formula. And it is important, too, to gain knowledge of ourselves and our world; how it works and how we can work together.

But sometimes... sometimes I think we can become too wrapped up in the dry facts and mechanics of things to see the beauty of them, plain and simple, letting textbooks and manuals rule our world. Or always needing answers, preoccupying ourselves with definitions and explanations, trying to make everything in our lives fit into perfectly ordered boxes and categories.

I think that sometimes in our lives we need the divine mystery, the childlike sense of wonder. Sometimes we need to forget about the how and the why and the where, and merely celebrate the is. To throw away the map and revel in being lost, knowing that eventually we'll reach the destination, in our own way, with only our heart and the stars to guide.

I think Whitman understood this.

When I Heard The Learn'd Astronomer

-Walt Whitman (1819-1892)-

When I heard the learn'd astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much
applause in the lecture-room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wander'd off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,

Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars.

when more is not enough...

For years I've heard the complaints about Starbucks and their confusingly pretentious, culturally ambiguous drink sizes. Venti, Grande... Tall? Well what the hell is this, Englitalian? Are these cups Spanish? Italian? Second-generation Mexican-American growing up in Little Italy? Just who the fuck do they think they are, anyway??

But never fear, my darlings! Now to continue on in the fine tradition of caffeinated conundrum emerges the "Trenta", a 31-ounce iced drink size currently being offered at Starbucks locations in Phoenix and Tampa. The very thought makes my bladder cower in fear. And yet I have this unshakable feeling that the monstrous beverage option will be embraced by a disturbingly large section of the American public.

I would like to think, as a fairly reasonable person generally believing in moderation, that 31 ounces of coffee or tea (or 30 if you count out the ice, I guess), would be an appallingly ridiculous excess; the size an epic failure. But then again, this is America, the Land of More, where Bigger is always Better. After all, according to reports, Starbucks came up with the mammoth Trenta in an attempt to compete with the popular demand for much larger (also usually much cheaper!) drink sizes provided by places such as McDonald's and 7-Eleven.

The really unsettling thing as far as I'm concerned is this: even discounting the disturbing levels of caffeine unleashed into the consumer's bloodstream, just imagine the massive amount of sugar that must go into a sweetened version! I would think that would be a job for about half a bottle of classic syrup each.

But even worse--and come on, you know it's only a matter of time--just think of when 31 ounces becomes so popular that the next logical step is to offer Trenta mochas, Trenta hazelnut-vanilla-extra-vanilla lattes, Trenta java-choco-loco frappuccinos. In fact, I'd be willing to bet they've fielded customer requests already. Try as I might I cannot shake the ominous image of hordes of mall-rat tweengirls, tourists and middle-aged businessmen alike shuffling out of Starbucks stores nation-wide, holding an entire week's worth of empty, whipped cream-topped calories in their hot little hands. And we wonder why obesity is such a rapidly growing health crisis in our country.

It's times like this that make me want to grab the entire United States of America by the shoulders, give 'er a good shake, and say "What are you doing to yourself, dude? Have you no shame?" Seriously, put down the giant cup of slow liquid death, and back away slowly . Your nerves and cholesterol levels with thank you. As will your bladder.

And hey, whaddaya know... it looks like Ellen agrees with me! You tell 'em, sister.

it's all in your mind

Last evening the sky was like an impressionist painting. A painting in motion, turquoise swatches peeking out from between big jaunty puffs of cloud, slowly turning color as I walked from Market Street to Divisadero; darkening cumulonimbus encroaching upon the last strains of sunset and reminding me somehow of early summer nights and gently tumultuous seas... and something else, a persistent feeling I could not pin down, floating just out of reach on the late evening breeze and lingering on my mind.

I have these moments when I encounter an inexplicable sense of abstract nostalgia, triggered by something so subtle, so obscure that I can't quite seem to put my finger on it. It may be the color or cloud pattern of the sky, the route taken home, a faint whiff of incense or wood smoke, even just a certain intangible energy in the air. I don't know what it was the other night that evoked in me this feeling, just as I can't account for why a year ago, wandering alone down strange streets on my first trip to Chicago, I found myself overcome with an odd sense of familiarity almost akin to deja vu. And it wasn't the first time it had happened.

I can't explain how a place I've never been before can awaken nostalgia in me, or how I can suddenly be transported to a completely different time and place while walking down the same streets I see every day. And I'm not sure whether this is a common phenomenon or not. It's a very curious and slightly spooky sensation, this feeling somewhere between nostalgia and deja vu and yet not quite either. But it's also actually quite pleasant, if at times in a bittersweet way. I can only describe it as feeling very alive, very aware and present, and yet at the same time with a slight shift in consciousness, caught up in a vague ephemeral ghost of memory or mood.

It's the kind of experience that makes me believe that there could be such a thing as reincarnation, and leaves me marveling at the complexity and mystery of the human brain, that tiny subtle cues of sight or smell or sound can somehow trigger connections that we didn't even know were there, or that seem impossible, that we can't even explain in words.

Perhaps serendipitously, this morning on NPR I happened to hear a story about a recent study published in the scientific journal PNAS. The research in this particular study found that "the emotion tied to a memory lingers in the mind even after the memory is gone." So maybe this is what I've been experiencing all along. Perhaps even after long forgotten events and days have faded into the distant depths of mind and heart, their ghosts linger on to haunt us at an unexpected time or place, leaving us slightly shaken or strangely comforted. I wonder if some of us are more prone to this than others, and if so why. Either way, I find it fascinating to ponder the possibilities.

big fucking deal

About a year ago I wrote about the now all-but-forgotten Michael Phelps bong scandal, and how ridiculous I find it that the nation was so shocked and ready to condemn this young man, when everyone and their mother (well ok, maybe not my mother, but probably everyone else's) has smoked a little weed at a party or two (or three or four or...). And now once again, with the media abuzz and the country up in arms over Joe Biden's potty mouth, I find myself amazed (and yet somehow not really surprised) at what a goddamned puritanical society we seem to be. Whoopise, did I let let a curse word slip there?? My bad.

America likes its athletes squeaky=clean and wholesome, and its leaders dignified, god-fearing and infallible (AHEM, explain George Bush Jr. to me then please. Seriously, please, someone try, because I still don't get it...), so inevitably people freak out when those they put on a pedestal are involved with drugs or sex or *gasp* ...swearing? (Of course W's druggie/alcoholic past doesn't count, that was before he was important, and so can apparently be forgiven and overlooked). Well, perhaps I should clarify: people freak out when there is visual and/or auditory proof of such behavior. Because come on, who of us really thinks that a 20-something athlete high on fame and success isn't going to do a little partying and a little getting high on something else, or that Barack Obama isn't letting a few cuss words fly when off air in the Oval Office? Those in serious denial, or suffering from extreme naivete, that's who.

But this is the message the media constantly sends in our society: that no matter how common place certain actions and behaviors may be, and no matter how ultimately benign, they are not to be publicly shown. That we, the masses, are free to do what we will, but those the nation holds in esteem--celebrities, politicians--are to be held to a higher standard. This is the price to pay for fame and power: you must be perfect. Or, at least, project the appearance of perfection. It's a ridiculous standard to live up to, and one doomed to failure. And it's this hypocritical brand of censorship that perpetuates the ridiculous taboos our country stubbornly clings to. It's why the US is widely seen as the Prude of the Western World. And I have to think that it shows a serious misplacement of priorities.

Case in point: the editorial staff at the Hartford Courant called the incident "a blunder that sullied a historic moment." This is, in a word, ridiculous. If anything, the ones sullying this historic legislative victory are those who are placing greater importance on a curse word than on the health care bill itself and what it will mean to the lives of millions of Americans. But seriously. In a few years, ask a 12-year-old girl who was able to receive the health care she needed in order to fight her cancer and survive how she feels about Joe Biden "sullying" the passing of health care reform with a naughty word. I would love to hear the response.

As a good friend of mine astutely pointed out (and she would know), those who work in politics are only a close second to sailors in their use of profanity (also in use of alcohol, but that is another story). Having worked amongst political folk for a good year and a half now, I can personally attest to this (thank the lord, I fit in just fine from the get-go). So I don't know, am I just desensitized to profane language? Am I wrong in thinking one little swear word should not have caused such a shit storm when there are bigger fish to fry? Is it just me, or the word "fuck" far less offensive than one of George W's fabricated linguistic atrocities or mispronunciations? And what, I have to ask, ever happened to Freedom of Speech? You know, that oft-quoted part of the First Amendment of the Constitution that we Americans hold so dear?

Granted, this is certainly not Biden's first gaffe, not his first verbal faux pas. He has a storied reputation for putting his foot in his mouth over some issue or another, and has often been criticized making himself, Obama and even the Democratic Party as a whole look a fool. But I have to point out: at least you know he's real. And personally, I'd rather have a VP who swears and sometimes speaks without thinking but says what he means than a slick, smooth-talking politician who merely pays lip service.

Sure, Mr. Biden could have saved a lot of brouhaha by merely watching his language, or considering that the microphones just miiight be sensitive enough to pick up on something that was really meant for the President's ears only. But I for one actually find it endearing and heartening to think that the Vice President was maybe just too genuinely excited and happy about the passing of the health care bill to really think about censoring himself. After all, there are enough politicians who seem to care more about their public appearance, their own selfish ambitions and approval ratings, than about actually doing good things for those they represent. Priorities, people.

So thank you, Mr. Biden, for keepin' it real, for bringing a little HBO to CNN & MSNBC. To quote a tweet from Press Secretary Robert Gibbs: "yes Mr. Vice President, you're right..." The new health care bill is a big fucking deal. One little swear word, however, is not.

mama said there'd be days like this

You know that moment... where some seemingly inconsequential little problem grabs a hold of you... and then the stresses just seem to compound head-over-tail and before you know it every little thing that's been bothering you for the past few months has suddenly gathered and is holding a virtual Caucus of Crap in your overwrought mind... and all of a sudden all the mature calmness you present to the world 98% of the time, all of your in-control, adult composure has melted away to expose a weepy little child ready to break down... and everyone around you seems to be too absorbed in their own lives to care or perhaps to even notice, so you decide to deal with it on your own, as usual, and this seems to be the moment that every creep out on the street decides to start hollering at you and you just want to scream, "I'm on the verge of tears, motherfucker, really, you find that sexy?! ...and then on the way home you see a guy in a wheelchair and three homeless people just trying to get somewhere for the night or get a few dollars for something to eat, just trying to survive, and suddenly you feel utterly ashamed for ever thinking your life sucked, even just a little bit... and yet that thought still can't quite quell the stubborn renegade tears...?

And so you curl up in bed, and take a deep breath, and you think: my life does not suck, and tomorrow is another day, and I will face it, whatever it brings, and it will be good.

and then fly away...

When I was much younger, I think maybe the thing I feared most (besides caves and mosquito lions) was rejection. It was sometimes paralyzing. I lived for a while largely in a lonely limbo of denial, unable to understand or fully admit that wherever I seemed to turn and no matter how hard I tried, I just did not belong. Stubbornly unwilling to accept that people could very simply just not like me. Because for some reason I can't fully explain, it was just so important for everyone to like me.

I had to grow up a little (and find a more diverse pool of peers) to recognize the importance of real friends . The ones who want to be around you because they see you, not because you're invisible; who want to be your friend because they value the person you are, not because of what they think they can get out of you and how they can take advantage of you; those who make the effort to know you because they see that there might just be more to you than what's apparent on the surface.

But I did learn this. I learned how to recognize a true friend and how to say "fuck it" to the opinions of those who are not. I learned to not care about what people think, except for the opinions of those few who really matter, and realized that the most important person to make happy is myself.

And yet, even though I know so much better now, I will admit that there is still the occasional situation, the moment of doubt or rejection that takes me by surprise and finds me reverting back to my 12-year-old mindset of "What? Why would anyone not like me? Why would someone not want to be my friend? Surely this must be a mistake, how do I fix this?"

And this is when the "adult" me has to take over and remember the reality: that for whatever reason, there are going to be people you meet along the way who are not going to like you, may even hate you. There are people who may think you're A-Ok but are unable or unwilling to see any deeper. There will be people who think they know you but have no idea, and there will be people who get to know you but decide they don't need you in their life.

And as hard as it can be to accept, those individuals--the ones who misjudge you, who don't want to make the effort to really know you, who don't think it's worth their while to spend time with you or sometimes even to properly acknowledge you...they simply don't belong in your life. Not when you have friends and family who sincerely care, and so many amazing people in the world yet to meet.

Part of me really wishes I could travel back in time and tell this to my younger self. Because the realization is so liberating, the moment so profoundly freeing and empowering when you accept that it's not worth caring about, and just let go. But I guess some things you just have to learn the hard way for them to really stick.

happy birthday blog

Last Saturday marked not only my own birthday, but also the anniversary of starting this crazy blog experiment. So here I find myself one year and 40-something posts later, and I have to say that I'm a bit impressed at how well I've kept at it, considering the myriad of half-completed projects that often trail behind me like the proverbial breadcrumbs on the path of life (or the proverbial good intentions paving the way to hell??). Considering that I have a shameful tendency to start things and never finish them.

But somehow over these months I've managed to fill the pages, or rather the computer screen. Maybe I've matured, maybe I've gained some discipline. Perhaps I just find it entertaining, or cathartic, or satisfyingly narcissistic to put my thoughts out into the world. Whatever the reason, I'm still here. There's this quote from Vita Sackville-West that I really love, because it reminds me why I wanted to start this blog, and why I write at all:

"It is necessary to write, if the days are not to slip emptily by. How else, indeed, to clap the net over the butterfly of the moment? For the moment passes, it is forgotten; the mood is gone; life itself is gone. That is where the writer scores over his fellows: he catches the changes of his mind on the hop. Growth is exciting; growth is dynamic and alarming. Growth of the soul, growth of the mind."

So I will continue to write, in order to capture the skittish thoughts bouncing around in my brain, to grasp onto the fleeting moments, foibles and fancies of my life and preserve them in a digital eternity. And hopefully in some way expand my mind and soul by pouring just a little of them out onto the computer screen.

When I started this blog I honestly had no idea if anyone would ever read it, and although I told myself it didn't matter because that's not what this was about, I admit that it is gratifying to know that my words are being seen, perhaps pondered, agreed or disagreed with. And so I want to say that, friend or stranger, I am glad you have found your way here, and maybe found something of value in my ramblings. Thank you for your comments and encouragement, whether voiced or silent. And if you, dear real or imaginary reader, are continuing to follow, I re-extend my welcome and thank you for again stopping by.

*photo borrowed from wordlicious.com, though I do not know who to originally credit it to*