I saw in preview ACT's new play, Blithe Spirit by Noel Coward. It's a good play, some fun special effects but not their best. One of the main characters had a nightgown on with a beautiful silver and lavender floor length robe, which I totall loved. The english accents were okay, although the main male character spoke in some odd accent that definitely wasn't Britt. He was in Athol Fugard's Master Harold and the Boys at ACT last year, and his accent then and the one in this play sounded identical. Guess my friend is right. Some people can do accents and some just can't.
I read an article in the program about the Spiritualist church. Is this a coincidence or what? I watched the movie "The Verdict" with someone from my screenwriting class today, so we could do our homework together. We started talking and then she started talking about the spiritualist church that she attends in SF. What a trip! She said the service is just like John Edward's Crossing Over.
Crossing Over was Amy's favorite show. I wonder if my friend Amy who died in October is trying to contact me. God! Amy used to watch that show every day while she was at home recovering from chemo therapy. She made me watch it with ther one night, since she knew I'd never seen it. She became obsessed with John Edwards and wanted to go see him. He was supposed to be in the Bay Area last year and she asked me if I wanted to go. I said sure. Butwhen she called, the event was sold out.
I miss Amy. She was the only friend I had outside of my writing group, who supported me in my writing. With Amy, I could talk freely about my writing goals and dreams and she would always listen and be so encouraging. I could tell her about my story ideas and she would listen and she even agreed to comment on one of my stories. She was so loving in her critiques and her comments. I couldn't have asked for a better supporter for my writing life. Amy even understood my hopelesly romantic love for Brian and Ellis and my subsequent struggles with them afterwards. The loss of her friendship has left me feeling so alone.
I feel like one of the desperate people you read about who use mediums to contact their loved ones. But it's just too coincidental that I find the spiritualist church connection now and it's similarity to Crossing Over, Amy's favorite show. I feel like I need to go to one of their Sunday services to see if Amy will try to contact me. I never got a chance to properly say goodbye to her. By the time I was able to see her, the brain tumor had turned her brain to mush and she was in an Alzheimer's dementia haze. Amy, my work friend who usd to earn six figures from doing IT consulting work, couldn't even remember what she'd said from one minute to the next. I tried to say goodbye, but how much can you really say goodbye to someone, if you're not even sure they remember who the hell you really are?
And what could I say? I'm sorry I wasn't there for you that last time she you called in August, when I told you 'chin up, everything will work out." I'm sorry that I didn't heed my intuition and call you because I was selfish and didn't want hear about your depression because of your health and work one more time. I didn't know you were breaking down. I didn't know you were fighting for you life. I didn't know that your inoperable brain tumor had start to grow rapidly again and was turning your brain into spoiled swiss cheese. I didn't know that you had stopped eating because you were so depressed. I didn't know and yet somehow I did know, but I just couldn't, just plainly and honestly didn't want to deal with any of it.
That maybe a part of me knew that one of these days you'd give up, because that was your modus operandi, you give up, you walk out, every time, out of every job, out of friendships, out of everything and even your own life. I wanted you to fight, to live longer, but I knew you were tired. Tired of fighting, tired of stressing over your health and your finances. And I'm sorry but I just can't see how anyone can give up. But you did and it freaks me out, because I wonder that there will ever come a time when I'll want to give up again. My attempts at giving up my own life have never worked out and I've just let learnt to let it go because it's never worked out, but the urge never ever goes away.
Is it different on the other side? Are you happy? Are you free? Do you miss life? Do you miss me? Is this you're way of trying to contact me? To tell me you're okay. To tell me that you're happy. To tell me that it's all going to be okay and everything is going to work out. To tell me that forgive me not wanting to call you in August. To tell me that you forgive me. To tell me that I'm going to find another really close friend who totally supports in my writing life the way you did. To not worry because I'll find that wonderful man who's a cross between Brian and Ellis and that I'll have that bouncing baby boy you saw in my future when you read my tarot cards.
I still don't know if I'll go to the spiritualist church. What if nothing happens? What if something does? I've never liked the idea of people channeling spirits, how do they know they're not channeling evil spirits? I know I'll have to resolve my own feelings about this issue for me to attend a spiritualist service. But if it gives me the chance to hear from Amy again, then it will be worth it. I miss her, her friendship and her support for my writing life.
Sunday, February 24, 2002
Friday, February 22, 2002
I've been feeling bad for the last two hours that I've had such evil thoughts about a guy I don't even know. He read a few poems and I have such judgments about him based on his poetry, his voice and the way he looked and dressed. I'm doing the thing that I hate so much, judging people on first impression. I hate when people do it to me so I try not to do to other people. It's such bad karma. And what a waste of my precious energy to talk about some guy that barely registered in my mind.
I guess it's only because it's issue of the day because two members of my writing group find him attractive and I just don't get why. My intution, which is usually right, tells me he's a bitter person, full of ego and full of himself. He also strikes me as the kind of guy who has issues with women, lots of them. But I guess because he wrote a poem about his relationship, which he prefaced by saying it was a relationship poem, not a good relationship, not a happy relationship, not a relationship that I fondly look back at with love, but just a "relationship poem". Everyone in the room laughed knowingly, because what was unsaid was this relationship was a bad one and everyone knows about those kinds of "relationships". I think what impressed most of the women there, everyone except me that is, was the poem was about his girlfriend. You could practically here the silent "ooohhhh's and aaahhhs" in the room thought of by all the women in the room. Poetry boy is writing about his girlfirend, how sensitive, and how sweet, how anti frat boy. Never mind that the poem is a sarcastic tome to how many women he though his girlfriend had slept with before him and how this fact was slowly eating away at his heart and soul.
But then again, I don't know. I think I was the only woman in the room who felt how insincere and bitter the poem was and what do I know about poetry anyway? I can just read people's vibes pretty darn well since I'm supposed to be clairsentient, able to feel things in my body, and claircognizant, what most people call gut instinct. And my gut instinct is screaming 'freak, freak, danger, danger' in a screechingly loud voice. I think poetry boy writes poems like that to get laid. But give the guy credit right? It snared two of my friends into his tired act. God, one of them seems a little miffed because he acted like he didn't want to have sex with her. I love my friends, but are they that blind and dumb?
Whatever. But then on the way home from grocery shopping tonight, I got so depressed. I hate being different from other women. But it's always been this way for me and I don't know why. My spiritual healer says it has something to do with the fact that I'm this elf-human thing and that I will never feel like ever fit it anywhere. And she's right. I just don't fit ib, especially in an artsy fartsy crowd. But damn! I took that crazy enneagram test and I tested at 4, I'm an artist. Of all people, I'm supposed to be artsy farsty as hell. In fact, I'm supposed to be able to out artsy fartsy anybody. What gives? Maybe it's that damned 5 wing, which is the intellectual. My stupid damn intellectual side won't let me fool myself that way and put on airs and that too cool for TV and too trendy for the average person attitude.
It's an elf girl's life to always feel left out of any crowd. But like any good elf girl, I know the best thing to do to get me out of my depression. Shopping. I stopped by a mall on the way hom. I went to the GNC first, and bought this new mineral which is supposed to help me not feel cold. I freeze at temperatures less than 80 degrees, which is not a good thing is you live in a city where the average year round temperature is 60 degrees. I didn't even blink an eye at paying $22 for a bottle of 30 pills. Hey, if helps me to stop from being cold all the time, it's worth it.
Then I went Macy's to look for my favorite pair of jeans. I found the pair I usually buy and there was another pair in a lighter colour for $13, my lucky number, so of course, I had to buy them. When do you ever see jeans for $13. It had to be a good sign. Then I went to Borders and bought a book by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a german christian philosopher whom I really like. Bonhoeffer was one of the few christians who fought against the Nazis and was later imprisoned and killed by them for his beliefs. He's an interesting philosopher to me because of his willingness to speak up against what was so obviously wrong.
But I was happy for only a little while before the depression came rolling in like the fog. I wonder if I just need to start writing my stories again. I've been too busy, too tired and too lazy this month to write and not writing seems to have put me off kilter, made me feel out of balance, moody and unable to sleep. I hate this feeling. And I feel crabby as hell too, so crabby that I'm having evil, nasty and bitter thoughts about a poetry man that I don't even know.
It's late now but I'm going to stay up and crank 1,000 words out. I know once I get back into my creative space, I'll feel happier and not think such bad thoughts. Or at least if I do, the bad thoughts won't linger like a bad hangover but flit across my mind gently and quickly like a young doe in flight.
I guess it's only because it's issue of the day because two members of my writing group find him attractive and I just don't get why. My intution, which is usually right, tells me he's a bitter person, full of ego and full of himself. He also strikes me as the kind of guy who has issues with women, lots of them. But I guess because he wrote a poem about his relationship, which he prefaced by saying it was a relationship poem, not a good relationship, not a happy relationship, not a relationship that I fondly look back at with love, but just a "relationship poem". Everyone in the room laughed knowingly, because what was unsaid was this relationship was a bad one and everyone knows about those kinds of "relationships". I think what impressed most of the women there, everyone except me that is, was the poem was about his girlfriend. You could practically here the silent "ooohhhh's and aaahhhs" in the room thought of by all the women in the room. Poetry boy is writing about his girlfirend, how sensitive, and how sweet, how anti frat boy. Never mind that the poem is a sarcastic tome to how many women he though his girlfriend had slept with before him and how this fact was slowly eating away at his heart and soul.
But then again, I don't know. I think I was the only woman in the room who felt how insincere and bitter the poem was and what do I know about poetry anyway? I can just read people's vibes pretty darn well since I'm supposed to be clairsentient, able to feel things in my body, and claircognizant, what most people call gut instinct. And my gut instinct is screaming 'freak, freak, danger, danger' in a screechingly loud voice. I think poetry boy writes poems like that to get laid. But give the guy credit right? It snared two of my friends into his tired act. God, one of them seems a little miffed because he acted like he didn't want to have sex with her. I love my friends, but are they that blind and dumb?
Whatever. But then on the way home from grocery shopping tonight, I got so depressed. I hate being different from other women. But it's always been this way for me and I don't know why. My spiritual healer says it has something to do with the fact that I'm this elf-human thing and that I will never feel like ever fit it anywhere. And she's right. I just don't fit ib, especially in an artsy fartsy crowd. But damn! I took that crazy enneagram test and I tested at 4, I'm an artist. Of all people, I'm supposed to be artsy farsty as hell. In fact, I'm supposed to be able to out artsy fartsy anybody. What gives? Maybe it's that damned 5 wing, which is the intellectual. My stupid damn intellectual side won't let me fool myself that way and put on airs and that too cool for TV and too trendy for the average person attitude.
It's an elf girl's life to always feel left out of any crowd. But like any good elf girl, I know the best thing to do to get me out of my depression. Shopping. I stopped by a mall on the way hom. I went to the GNC first, and bought this new mineral which is supposed to help me not feel cold. I freeze at temperatures less than 80 degrees, which is not a good thing is you live in a city where the average year round temperature is 60 degrees. I didn't even blink an eye at paying $22 for a bottle of 30 pills. Hey, if helps me to stop from being cold all the time, it's worth it.
Then I went Macy's to look for my favorite pair of jeans. I found the pair I usually buy and there was another pair in a lighter colour for $13, my lucky number, so of course, I had to buy them. When do you ever see jeans for $13. It had to be a good sign. Then I went to Borders and bought a book by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a german christian philosopher whom I really like. Bonhoeffer was one of the few christians who fought against the Nazis and was later imprisoned and killed by them for his beliefs. He's an interesting philosopher to me because of his willingness to speak up against what was so obviously wrong.
But I was happy for only a little while before the depression came rolling in like the fog. I wonder if I just need to start writing my stories again. I've been too busy, too tired and too lazy this month to write and not writing seems to have put me off kilter, made me feel out of balance, moody and unable to sleep. I hate this feeling. And I feel crabby as hell too, so crabby that I'm having evil, nasty and bitter thoughts about a poetry man that I don't even know.
It's late now but I'm going to stay up and crank 1,000 words out. I know once I get back into my creative space, I'll feel happier and not think such bad thoughts. Or at least if I do, the bad thoughts won't linger like a bad hangover but flit across my mind gently and quickly like a young doe in flight.
I wonder if listening to Jim Rome's sports talk radio show, The Jungle, has changed my taste in men.
I went to a poetry reading yesterday to hear this woman from my writing group read her poems. The room was full of stereotypical artsy looking SF types with women in trendy dark skirts, velvet burnt out scarves and boots, men with leather jackets and beards or politically correct rumpled hair. Everyone had that affected and bored, I'm a struggling artist attitude, with pinched faces like they needed to go to the bathroom but weren't going because it was politically incorrect or something. The smell of patchouli was killing the scent of the giant cala lillies that seemed as out of place as I was, in this dark, "trendy and cool" scene.
And there I was, still wearing work khaki pants, white tshirt, black cardigan and red antique bead japanese necklace, an outfit I put some conscious thought into on a pit stop home. I was trying to look casual, relaxed and somewhat artsy, but when I surveyed the party, my outfit looked positively conservative and almost virginal.
It's not like I hadn't been to events like this before, but this was the first time I felt like such a fish out of water. And the men. They all looked so pasty like they were molding right there in their leather jackets and black jeans.
I think I really am different from most women when it comes to what is an attractive man. I can’t believe a friend thought that one thin, older, white haired and bearded poet was attractive. But he’s that stereotypical poet/artist type and I've never found that look was particularly attractive. First of all, I really don’t like very thin men. It's so annoying! My crazy mother instincts come blazing out and I just want to stuff food down their pie-hole till they gain some weight.
Secondly his poetry about that woman in the shower was just bad. How neurotic and such a show of low self-steam. Here’s a guy who’s paranoid about how many men his woman has slept with. Like who the hell really cares. And why would a guy even be concerned about stuff like that. It's none of his business how many men his chick has slept with and the fact that's he's written a poem about it, makes me think he has a problem with women with a past. Does thing guy want a virgin? Is he so lacking in self-esteem that he would prefer a woman with no sexual experience so he wouldn't feel so inadequate. His kind of poetry is not a good sign.
A friend thought Jim Rome sounded like a frat boy and I didn’t even know she really hates that type. But I know this friend would probably find skinny white haired poet guy attractive, because he’s so anti-frat boy. Maybe that’s his attraction for women. He’s the total opposite of the typical dumb male. Because he's not a frat type, as a woman you start to think that he's like this better kind of guy. But I don’t know. I think artsy type guys are wolves in sheeps' clothing. White haired bearded poetry guy was so sexist in his poetry, so selfish, so self absorbed. He seemed like the kind of guy who would write you a beautiful poem then break up with you in the next breath. This guy would probably never be caught dead at a football or baseball game.
A few years ago, I wouldn't have cared if a guy was into sports, but now I care. A few years ago, I might have been just little bit interested in white haired beared poetry guy, but not now. A caller on Rome's show called guys from SF, "those sissy wine sippers from the West Bay" and I think he made a good point.
But then I've never had a problem with frat boys. First of all, my college was so small, we didn't have frats and sororites so I never associated with them on a regular basis enought to have bad opinions. Secondly, I've always been athletic and worked out at a gym, so I'm used to guys who are healthy looking and who work out. Third, my few experiences with frat boys have all been good ones, so good in fact, that I've only ever dated frat boy types and even married one once.
Okay, I take that back. I've dated a few non frat boy types, but my experiences with these guys were horrible. I couldn' t watch football on Sunday. They weren't into March Madness. And we never went to baseball games to sit in the sun to drink beer. And I'm really not that that into sports.
So is Jim Rome changing my taste in men or did he just reinforce it? I don't know. All I know is poetry writing pasty thin artsy boys are just so not attractive to me right now, where before they at least showed up on my hottie radar screen if only for just a little while.
I went to a poetry reading yesterday to hear this woman from my writing group read her poems. The room was full of stereotypical artsy looking SF types with women in trendy dark skirts, velvet burnt out scarves and boots, men with leather jackets and beards or politically correct rumpled hair. Everyone had that affected and bored, I'm a struggling artist attitude, with pinched faces like they needed to go to the bathroom but weren't going because it was politically incorrect or something. The smell of patchouli was killing the scent of the giant cala lillies that seemed as out of place as I was, in this dark, "trendy and cool" scene.
And there I was, still wearing work khaki pants, white tshirt, black cardigan and red antique bead japanese necklace, an outfit I put some conscious thought into on a pit stop home. I was trying to look casual, relaxed and somewhat artsy, but when I surveyed the party, my outfit looked positively conservative and almost virginal.
It's not like I hadn't been to events like this before, but this was the first time I felt like such a fish out of water. And the men. They all looked so pasty like they were molding right there in their leather jackets and black jeans.
I think I really am different from most women when it comes to what is an attractive man. I can’t believe a friend thought that one thin, older, white haired and bearded poet was attractive. But he’s that stereotypical poet/artist type and I've never found that look was particularly attractive. First of all, I really don’t like very thin men. It's so annoying! My crazy mother instincts come blazing out and I just want to stuff food down their pie-hole till they gain some weight.
Secondly his poetry about that woman in the shower was just bad. How neurotic and such a show of low self-steam. Here’s a guy who’s paranoid about how many men his woman has slept with. Like who the hell really cares. And why would a guy even be concerned about stuff like that. It's none of his business how many men his chick has slept with and the fact that's he's written a poem about it, makes me think he has a problem with women with a past. Does thing guy want a virgin? Is he so lacking in self-esteem that he would prefer a woman with no sexual experience so he wouldn't feel so inadequate. His kind of poetry is not a good sign.
A friend thought Jim Rome sounded like a frat boy and I didn’t even know she really hates that type. But I know this friend would probably find skinny white haired poet guy attractive, because he’s so anti-frat boy. Maybe that’s his attraction for women. He’s the total opposite of the typical dumb male. Because he's not a frat type, as a woman you start to think that he's like this better kind of guy. But I don’t know. I think artsy type guys are wolves in sheeps' clothing. White haired bearded poetry guy was so sexist in his poetry, so selfish, so self absorbed. He seemed like the kind of guy who would write you a beautiful poem then break up with you in the next breath. This guy would probably never be caught dead at a football or baseball game.
A few years ago, I wouldn't have cared if a guy was into sports, but now I care. A few years ago, I might have been just little bit interested in white haired beared poetry guy, but not now. A caller on Rome's show called guys from SF, "those sissy wine sippers from the West Bay" and I think he made a good point.
But then I've never had a problem with frat boys. First of all, my college was so small, we didn't have frats and sororites so I never associated with them on a regular basis enought to have bad opinions. Secondly, I've always been athletic and worked out at a gym, so I'm used to guys who are healthy looking and who work out. Third, my few experiences with frat boys have all been good ones, so good in fact, that I've only ever dated frat boy types and even married one once.
Okay, I take that back. I've dated a few non frat boy types, but my experiences with these guys were horrible. I couldn' t watch football on Sunday. They weren't into March Madness. And we never went to baseball games to sit in the sun to drink beer. And I'm really not that that into sports.
So is Jim Rome changing my taste in men or did he just reinforce it? I don't know. All I know is poetry writing pasty thin artsy boys are just so not attractive to me right now, where before they at least showed up on my hottie radar screen if only for just a little while.
Thursday, February 21, 2002
I just made my third sale at Half.com. Somebody is buying this CD that I bought and then found out I hated. I also sold a couple of books that I bought but never read. I'm so excited. Usually I just dump all my CDs and books at the Goodwill truck, so it's nice to get paid for this stuff. My stuff is listed for prices lower than anyone else and I'm sure this helps my sales.
I just listed my Velvet Underground box set Peel Slowly and See minus disk 4 on Half.com. Disk 4 is the only one I listened to. I left it on the floor accidentally one day, and then stepped on it. I didn't know CDs could crack, but then I never stepped on one before either. I saw the boxset listed in this CD club I belong last month, and broke down and bought it.
Disk 4 is my favorite Velvet Underground album. It's the self titled Velvet Underground album. The cd included in this boxset is the original version that Lou Reed and company submitted to the record company. The record company hated it and brought a producer in to remix the album and then subsequently released it.
I was so tempted to not even buy another boxset since I only liked that one disk. I found the two versions of the CD on the Net and was going to just buy those, but I didn't like having an incomplete box set.
Someone else on Half.com was selling just disk 1, so I decided to list my incomplete set. Maybe there are other people like me who have lost a disk. There was a guy selling disk 4 on Half.com and I tried to buy it, but then the seller pulled out of the deal. I was so bummed. I was going to list each disk desperately but if someone just wants to buy that one of the disks, I'll sell it to them.
I love this selling thing. I bought a pair of red cowboy boots from someone who was selling them outside her apartment building and that was years ago. I loved those boots and wore them to death. I still have them but the soles have cracked and I'm can't decide whether to get them repaired or just buy another pair of red cowboy boots but in suede instead of leather. I don't even know where I would be able to find red cowboy boots in the SF Bay Area. The best selection of boots are in Texas or in Dener, at least from what I've seen from the trips I've taken there. Maybe a place like Fresno would have a good selection of boots. The best country music stations in California are in Fresno area. You can find stations that even play old country music, with songs like "Whiskey I love you". But when would I ever need to go to Fresno?
I just listed my Velvet Underground box set Peel Slowly and See minus disk 4 on Half.com. Disk 4 is the only one I listened to. I left it on the floor accidentally one day, and then stepped on it. I didn't know CDs could crack, but then I never stepped on one before either. I saw the boxset listed in this CD club I belong last month, and broke down and bought it.
Disk 4 is my favorite Velvet Underground album. It's the self titled Velvet Underground album. The cd included in this boxset is the original version that Lou Reed and company submitted to the record company. The record company hated it and brought a producer in to remix the album and then subsequently released it.
I was so tempted to not even buy another boxset since I only liked that one disk. I found the two versions of the CD on the Net and was going to just buy those, but I didn't like having an incomplete box set.
Someone else on Half.com was selling just disk 1, so I decided to list my incomplete set. Maybe there are other people like me who have lost a disk. There was a guy selling disk 4 on Half.com and I tried to buy it, but then the seller pulled out of the deal. I was so bummed. I was going to list each disk desperately but if someone just wants to buy that one of the disks, I'll sell it to them.
I love this selling thing. I bought a pair of red cowboy boots from someone who was selling them outside her apartment building and that was years ago. I loved those boots and wore them to death. I still have them but the soles have cracked and I'm can't decide whether to get them repaired or just buy another pair of red cowboy boots but in suede instead of leather. I don't even know where I would be able to find red cowboy boots in the SF Bay Area. The best selection of boots are in Texas or in Dener, at least from what I've seen from the trips I've taken there. Maybe a place like Fresno would have a good selection of boots. The best country music stations in California are in Fresno area. You can find stations that even play old country music, with songs like "Whiskey I love you". But when would I ever need to go to Fresno?
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