Self Indulgent Reminiscing

Man, I've had some good times in my life. I was thinking about some of them tonight, and it made me smile. I thought about back in my younger years when I drove this old 1975 Toyota Corona. It had a CB Radio and a loud speaker attached to the front center beneath the bumper. Then my friend Billy made me this mixed tape and one of the musical interludes was this random crazy circus-sounding music. So I'd load up my car with people and we'd drive around at 5 - 10 mph waving at people with the circus music broadcasting - like we were in a parade. We'd make frequent stops and yell out the windows at the make believe shriners to keep it moving. And sometimes, we'd even toss candy at the parade-goers on the sidewalks. Ahhh, good times.

We used to go camping a lot. John's Mountain was 30 minutes up the way. One summer night, a group of us went up in the middle of the week for a quick one-nighter. Later in the evening we did our camping ritual of relaxing around the fire, taking tokes and drinking liquor. Chelle drank half a bottle of Blue Raspberry Mad Dog (hey man, we were in college) and had to spend some time slumped over in the woods. When she came back, she was feeling the need to put something in her belly, and the chick sitting next to her was munching on Teddy Grahams, so she asked if she could have some. She put a couple in her mouth, started chewing, and a strange look came over her face right before she confusedly said, "These taste like sand." I still laugh at that today.

The next morning, all the girls were quite hungover and feeling queazy, and I was driving them back in my old car. Apparently, I used to drive like a bat out of hell (not anymore), but I knew the roads well - all the curves and hills, etc. - and drove them like I knew them well while the girls moaned in the back seat as they swayed back and forth in tandem with the car's motion.

I realized later just exactly how frightening my fast driving on those back roads was when my blind friend Tony and I made an afternoon trip up to John's Mountain to play in the water. On the way back, with his seeing-eye dog Quint sitting between his legs on the floorboard in the front seat, Tony kept jumping and flinching as we took those curves on two wheels. I think I slowed down after that. Nothing like a blind man to show you the error in your ways. Raymond Carver's Cathedral, anyone?

There was that time at midnight in the park in downtown Rome where the three rivers meet. We got busted for - gasp! - drugs. Chelle, Amy, Rebecca, and I had decided to walk to the top of 100-year old cemetary next to the park (it was one of the seven hills in the town that gave it its name), and when we arrived back at the park and chilled in the gazebo for a minute, Amy decided she wanted a cigarette, so she walked back to Chelle's car where she'd left them. At the same time, Chelle walked out of sight down to the edge of the river. Halfway to the car, Amy spotted three cop cars around Chelle's car, so she turned back to grab me and Rebecca. The three of us approached the car when the cops asked us where we'd been. "We took a walk to the top of Myrtle Hill," we told them. "At midnight?" they asked. "Don't you know how dangerous it is down here? There are all sorts of homos down here at night." Yeah, they actually said that.

Then they set up the scene for us. One of the cops was patrolling the park when he spotted Chelle's car. He looked around the park but saw no one. He peered into the car and saw girls' bags sitting on the seats, so out of concern and thinking some girl had gotten snatched up, they entered the unlocked car to look for identification. "Miss James, would you like to tell your friends what we found in your bag?" In a meek and tentative voice, Amy said, "Marijuana." (Ironically, it was the first bag Amy had ever purchased).

They asked us where "Miss Parks" was - the owner of the car. "We don't know," we told them, "She walked down by the river a few minutes ago." What kind of friends are you, they asked, to let your friend walk off by herself like that? Then they accused us of hiding her, but we told them we weren't. So they kept me and Rebecca and took Amy with them to look for her. As they started to walk off, Chelle comes walking up the hill and in a cheerful voice says, "Hey guys! What's going on?" The cops recap the situation to her, and they tell her in her bag they found a hookah, surgical clips to hold roaches, a vile of roaches, a bag of pot, a pipe, and rolling papers. Then they asked Chelle what all the empty cigarette boxes were in her car for. "Are they to hold your marijuana cigarettes," they asked? Confusedly, she told them no, that she just hadn't cleaned out her car. Next, one of the cops picked up one random box, opened it up, turned it over in his hand, and half a joint fell out. I shit you not.

Coincidentally, I used to nag Chelle for always carrying that stuff around with her. "It's going to get you in trouble," I would say to her, always being the voice of reason.

They took my backpack off my shoulder and searched it, but of course, found nothing in it. "Told you so," I told them. So then they lectured us, took all our illegal stuff, and sent us on our way. That was a close call.

One month later, it was Chelle's birthday, so another group of seven of us drove over to Alabama to Little River Canyon for some fun in the sun. We hiked down a rocky, steep path with a cooler of beer to a spot that had an impressive cliff and waterfall. There was a rope swing rigged up that you could use to jump off the cliff and into the water.

After nearly two hours, out of nowhere appears a park ranger. He tells us that he's been up on the mountain watching us for 45 minutes through binoculars (yeah, I bet he was). Then he tells us that we're in a dry county, and we've got a cooler of beer. That's illegal.

"You girls don't have anything else illegal do you, like drugs or firearms?" We didn't, but he searched all our stuff anyway. Then he arrested us. We went to the station and sat around a table as they filed police reports on everyone except me and Karah because we weren't drinking. Hey, look, I'm a good girl, what can I say? Then one of the girls started crying, and a couple more followed suit, begging them not to do anything to them.

The cops told us they'd make a deal with us. If the two girls who weren't drinking (me and Karah) agree to do a weekend of community service in the national park with the five other girls, they wouldn't file reports against them. Karah was headed back to Maryland for the summer, so that left me to step up for my girls. So I did.

A couple weeks later, we headed back up to the National Park on Memorial Day weekend to carry out our community service. First assignment from Ranger Rick: set up our camp and walk the grounds and pick up litter. Two hours later, he came and picked us up and took us to the lodge. Chelle and Amy got kitchen duty while the rest of us had to clean rooms at the lodge. That's where we met Phyllis, the lead maid who supervised us. She had an Native American lover named White Cloud, and we took smoke breaks with her after every two rooms we cleaned.

After a couple hours, Chelle and Amy finished up kitchen duty and joined us. Still today they talk about walking up to the lodge and seeing the hilarious sight of me with a doo-rag on my head, a towel tucked in the band of my shorts, and a cigarette hanging out of my mouth as I pushed a cart of cleaning supplies. Funny thing about the lodge, too - they had matches with the slogan "Alabama - state of surprises!" so our motto for the trip became, "Surprise, girls! Dry county!"

After a couple more hours, we finished cleaning the lodge. It was only 4:00, but Ranger Rick told us we were done for the day, so go enjoy ourselves. So we did. We went back to the scene of the original crime and swam and sunbathed. In the evening, we headed back to our camp and cooked dinner over the fire. As the hour grew nigh, we thought how we sure would like to have some cocktails, but hey, we were in a dry county. That didn't stop us. We decided to make a 30-minute drive back to Georgia to the liquor store. On the way back, we realized that it may not be the wisest thing to get busted drinking in a dry county at our camp when that's exactly why we there doing community service in the first place, so we decided to get shitfaced in the car on the way back (except for the driver, of course) and dispose of the evidence before we got back. So that's what we did.

And it was fun.

~ the lady love

Horny Midgets Everywhere Grab Your Keys and Head to the Nearest Playground

A five-foot tall Nebraska man convicted on two counts of sexual assault against a child is too short for prison according to a Nebraska judge. The judge said that prison would not be a safe place for the tiny perv, so instead he got 10 years probation. WTF?

Yep. I saw it just moments ago on a news report to which my roommate, Jonathan, exclaims, "You know all the little midget perps are like 'SWEEEEET!' as he threw an Aresenio-style arm pump in the air.

Is anyone else as confused as I am?

~ ll

I'm Sorry I'm Not Available To Take Your Love Right Now

yesterday i saw
the iron curtain
around your heart

making me cry
making me wonder
bringing me down
but making me love you

making me sad
making me sorry and
a little afraid
but making me love you

yeah

(Over the Rhine)


Spurred by a couple out-of-the-blue phone calls from former flames and the dusting of silt leftover from a faded broken heart, I had a thought. Not a new one for me but one that I finally have the right words for, or one word rather. Availability.

When I was in my early twenties, I had a 5 year relationship that, while certainly had its imperfections, was also sort of... perfect. And when I say perfect, I don't mean formulaic (read: storybook), but rather, unfettered. The three middle years we spent long distance, but it didn't matter. We saw each other when we could. Sometimes it was weekly; sometimes it was three months, but it never changed our love, devotion or loyalty to each other. Sure, the longer spans were harder because we missed each other, but having someone's love like that, I felt contented. I never even had the urge to stray, nor did she.

But that's not what even made it so... ideal. What made it ideal was how available we were to one another. We occasionally talked about the what-ifs of forever, but we both knew forever is a really long time, so how could we even begin to know the people we would become in the next 5, 10 or 20 years? Even still, while we were in it together - in love, that is - we were available to each other. Unfettered from the emotional baggage, bitterness, broken hearts, skepticism and insecurities that come from years of - and I use this word tentatively - relationships with unavailable people.

One thing I've never been able to understand is that if most people want love, then why is it so hard to have it with someone? But then I realized that it really comes down to one thing: availability. Of course, that is if the other basic ingredients are there - things like attraction and compatability.

So many people are not available. Their trust has been broken by someone in the past: a friend, a lover, or a parent, or they've never truly experienced love: from a friend, a lover, or a parent. And as much as they want love, they can't shed their self protective barriers that would allow them to experience real love. Out of fear. Out of hurt. Out of ignorance.

But to actually have love, you have to be available to give and receive it. I've experienced some really great people in my life. Tender ones. Compassionate ones. Even loving ones. But when it comes to being accessible on a level that makes them vulnerable to me, they're unavailable. Their emotional baggage, bitterness, broken hearts, skepticism and insecurities are too present in their hearts and minds to let their past fall away.

And that's why Jenny was so lovely. We weren't scared of loving each other. We were available - emotionally, mentally, and physically - to share ourselves with each other. We didn't promise each other forever; we didn't have to. The only thing we promised was to never betray each other's trust. Sure, when we broke up, it wasn't all puppies, rainbows, and flowers, but among the tears and sadness and loss, we knew that our lives were leading us in different directions. Breaking up was the right thing to do.

Since then, I've experienced some really great people. Tender ones. Compassionate ones. Even loving ones. But also unavailable ones. You often hear people say you can't help who you fall in love with. The heart wants what it wants. I don't believe that. See, I think that we make a choice as to whether or not we make ourselves available to give and receive love. And if you aren't open to it, chances are it's not going to happen, and if you are too open to it, you could fall for somebody who never really wanted your love in the first place.

I started this post with the song Iron Curtain because of something I've learned from the unavailable people in my life after Jenny. When I see the iron curtain around someone's heart, it may make me cry, make me wonder, bring me down, make me sad, make me sorry, and a little afraid, but it doesn't make me love them, not anymore, at least. Yeah. Because that's when you hurt yourself - when you try to love someone who is not available to receive it - someone with an iron curtain around their heart.

So the next time I make myself available to give and receive love, it's going to be to someone who is available to give and receive it back. Isn't that what being "in love" is about - being "in" something with somebody who is in it with you?

I was in love once, and I may never be in it again. And to anyone whose outgoing message says, "I'm sorry I'm not available to take your love right now," I'll leave this message: what I really want is someone who's available to pick up the phone. My love won't be waiting on the line for long.

~ the lady love

Precious Thing

If you love me, sing with me.

~ ll

My Mess of Thoughts Bundled On Your Screen

What is up with the miracle water they sell on late-night tv? I mean, dude. Seriously. But it got me to thinking - scratching time around my chin - about people and how we are. Theoretically, I could sit here the rest of my life and spout off about this topic, but for the sake of actually be able to make this post, I'm gonna attempt an abridged stream-of-consiousness.

So here's the thing that got me going: the testimonials. I mean, here are these people who are feverishly proclaiming how this stuff changed their lives: gave them fortune/got them out of debt, healed uncurable diseases, whatever. Is it bullshit? Sure, they could be actors, but something about them speaks to a genuineness that you just can't fake. And if that's the case, they're real people who actually believe that this miracle water changed their lives.

So did it? Did it really changes their lives and fix their problems? If it weren't true (at least temporarily), it sure doesn't seem like they'd so passionately and so readily talk about all the great fortune that has happened to them since they got their mail-order miracle water.

It made me laugh at first in disbelief, then I had to remind myself that I am an educated and logical person, so the way I think is different than the way a lot of people think. So does that really make my way of thinking right or better? Why is logic or a more developed ability to reason superior to being emotional or reactionary?

The thing that got me at first about the miracle water pitch is how much it reminded me of tele-evangelists. I saw an America Undercover documentary once that suggested that, quite simply, the success of tele-evangelism is a result of mass hypnosis much in the same vein as Hitler used. Now before anyone gets their panties in a bunch, all I'm comparing here is application of mass hypnosis.

There are supposedly three types of people. Those who are highly susceptible to the power of suggestion, those moderate folks who are doubtful but can be swayed once they have enough evidence to convince them, and finally, those who are least resistant to suggestibility. I tend to think that you could even say these three categories are akin to progressive levels of the emotional and logical.

So in the case of tele-evangalists or the miracle water pitch, they capture the first group easily and then gain the confidence of the second group by using the first group to make their case. So when you've got someone testifying to the effects of the miracle water or you see a group of a hundred people falling over when Benny Hinn waves his hands, it allays the doubt in the moderate minds of the second group and converts them to believers.

But here's the thing: what happens when things really do change for people? Is that bullshit? How else could you explain healing or good fortune? Well, for starters, the human mind is powerful, so it actually is possible for someone who hasn't walked in years to get up and take steps when their mind convinces them that they are cured. It's a strange phenomenon indeed and usually short-lived, however. Check in on them a week later and they're back confined to the wheelchair. But, for a moment, they actually did walk across the stage, or at least made those three steps.

I've often thought about religion much in the same way. That an inclination to believe in something that can't be grasped or measured comes from a place of emotional need. People have so much faith and believe so adamanantly that there is a higher power taking care of them. And often they actually do reap positive results. They see their lives change for the better, and they're motivated to modify their own behavior to live a more godly life. And when they don't have positive experiences, they keep on having faith, because well, the lord works in mysterious ways. And for the times when something good does happen, it's the power of the lord providing for them.

I've even thought before that projecting hope and faith outward and towards something greater than one's self - simply directing it away from yourself - alleviates a certain pressure that it's up to you and only you, thereby making people happier and more fulfilled. In a cosmic sense of feeling taken care of, you actually are taken care of, even if you're still doing the work to sustain yourself. But the lord gets the credit, and maybe that's okay. If confidence and faith in a higher power provide people the wherewithal, optimism, and motivation to not give up in life, then what's wrong with that?

I've seen it a lot, actually. It makes me wish sometimes that I could have faith. I don't disrespect it, either. My parents attribute their survival to the power and mercy of Christ.

Holy tangent, batman. I was intending to talk about logic vs. emotion. My point is, is it logical for a bottle of holy water, the touch of a self-proclaimed prophet, or even the grace of a mythical or otherworldly entity to be the answer to our problems? Of course not, because it doesn't make sense. I mean, isn't faith believing in something when there is no proof? But sometimes it does work, even if only in our own minds.

It seems to be a commonly held belief that logic is superior to emotion. But why is that really? Logic is nothing more than a science - a system of knowledge to explain the world and the phenoma of our existance. My main problem with science is that it is only a creation of the human mind. It's how we attempt to explain and comprehend. But, to me, the precision of science is confined to the ability of the human mind to identify patterns based on how the human mind processes information, but does that make it absolute? Sure it does, at least in our own minds. Or in the mind of an atheist. I guess that explains why I'm agnostic.

Of course, our reactions are shaped by our environment: what we think we're supposed to have, what is right or wrong, etc., so it follows that our emotions are a mere product of environment as well, dictating our reactions. However, the root of emotion is not, is it? The fact that we even have the ability to respond emotionally to the world around us is a natural part of us, just as the ability to develop systems of thought about the world is. So why is it that being logical is so much better than being emotional?

I often find myself trying to suppress my emotional self. I mean, who wants to be accused of being emotional? Being emotional has a negative connotation, doesn't it? Being emotional equates to being irrational. But how often do you associate a negative connotion with logic? You don't. And being a woman, I'm much easier to dismiss if I am emotional, because good god damn, I'm certainly not rational if I react from a place of feeling.

The trick is trying to find the balance. I don't want to stifle a natural part of who I am: the emotional part. I want to feel. So how is it that I can honor my emotional self yet still embrace the logic of logic? Well, I'm still not there yet - you know, figuring out the balance. But, dammit, as long as I don't cry over spilt emotion. I mean, if I got kicked in the balls, that'd be okay, because those would be logical tears: a mere manifestion and reaction to the physical pain of it all.

~ the lady love

Driven

My memory will not fail me now
And the rest is history

(Bergquist/Detweiler)

---

I know I've said it before: my memory is pretty remarkable. I used to think it was cool or that I was gifted or some shit like that, but in my old age I think it might just be my undoing. Inconsistency is one of the most aggravating (and most shared) qualities I find among other people. But if my memory weren't so good, I'd never even know it. And though you'd think it'd be better, what's worse is having irrefutable evidence right in front of me to remind me that, indeed, I remembered it correctly. Yet somehow it makes me feel even crazier.

I swear, people, I think it will eventually drive me over the edge. ~tll

Gone Too Long

Finally, my computer has been resurrected thanks to my friend Mike. Sure, it's been longer than your standard three days in the biblical sense (Wait, how long was Lazarus down for?), but Mike is his own sort of miracle worker. Man, I don't know what I'd do without him. He's my techie saviour, besides just being an all-around good guy and friend. Fortunately, his wife Heather is just as cool, loaning her husband out to me all the time.

Last night, during our third attempt to get this machine up and running again, Heather said, "Oh good. I was afraid it wasn't going to work." I looked at Heather and playfully said, "Come on. What you really mean is 'Is this chick ever going to leave so I can have my husband back?'"

You'd think after my virtual sabbatical I'd have a lot to say. Nope. I guess I've lost my voice, or perhaps just my opinions.

Oooh, saying that reminded me of a line from a poem that my extended college crush wrote (not about me). An excerpt:

...

the more you come around
the more I seem to wait
to try on thoughts
and lend out shirts
and watch you listen
while I lose opinions

...

I cannot believe I remembered that. That had to be 10 years ago. But re-reading those lines just now reminds me why I carried such a torch for him back then. I mean, that's just altogether hot. Even still to me now. The thing is, now I wouldn't be so patient or absurd to find his brooding, i.e. his inner conflict - sexy or compelling, no matter how sexy and compelling he was just for being him.

~ the lady love