Snapshots I had a problem last week, where I lost my talent. I have been in the tall grass, my friends. I have been in the weeds.
But I figured out what was happening on Friday, and will be making strides to head this problem off at the pass. There is now a Post-it stuck to the side of my monitor, a helpful reminder: maybe you need COFFEE. Oh, the joys of addiction.
Easy enough to jot down such a thing, but, of course, I didn't have any coffee today. And -- surprise, surprise -- very little has gotten done. Like everything else in life: easier to say something than to do it.Signed onto Adium this afternoon, because I was reading the archives of Belle de Jour and wanted to share some of the naughtier bits with someone. But as I scanned down my buddy list, I couldn't figure out who to ping. After all, who else shares my passion for discussing the intersection of sex and money? Not many of my friends, I feel. Most of those people are focused on actually attaining one or the other, as opposed to discussing them. So I can understand their lack of interest.
I've become very appreciative of silence recently. It's not good for when I'm supposed to be focusing on some task, but if I'm just reading or web-surfing, with the fan in my room blowing and the afternoon sun drifting through the window... The quiet can be extremely serene. There's something about silence that gives solitude some dignity.
It's for the advanced hermit, though -- Emily Dickinson and crazy old men who live on mountains. Beginners should feel free to leave VH1 playing in the background.I just realized that this goes both ways -- I can't relax and listen to music, because music always accompanies some activity, some goal or action: running, writing, working. This is a good thing to understand about my brain.
I've started a new yoga workshop, after about a year of no yoga whatsoever, so it's good that it's for beginners. I dedicated my first practice towards reconnecting with Old Liz. Old Liz had her problems, but she knew what she wanted out of life. She has been missed.
Today, my shoulders have been tense with ache, but it's a feeling I associate with days past. And I am breathing in and out, just slightly better than before. If you think that sounds dumb, then you have never sat for ten minutes at a time, doing nothing but focusing on even, regular breaths -- and then screwed up.Earlier this evening, as I cleaned the kitchen in a fit of "oh, my God, cannot really fathom the concept of doing anything creative right now," I heard that voice in the back of my head -- the mutter from the cheap seats, the gentle prod of my once loud and boisterous ambitions (my ambitions can only afford to spring for the cheap seats, which I suppose is part of the problem). "What are you doing?" the crowd murmured. "What are you doing, really?"
"Scraping cheap candle wax off wood," I replied. Which was the truth. I wish there was something more clever to say, but, well. I steal all my good lines from the cheap seats.I've been so disconnected from the act of writing, lost touch with that part of my brain. And that is dumb. I used to burn for words. I used to stay up all night in high school, working on awful fiction with my headphones on. I used to fill journals with self-important nonsense. So, yes, this entry isn't exactly thrilling, but writing it has been helpful. Writing -- the simple blissful action of it -- has been helpful.
Too easily, I forget.Labels: in which our heroine
posted by Liz # 12:18 AM 0 Comments
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{ Thursday, October 18, 2007 }Step aside, Gillian Anderson New girl crush: Benazir Bhutto. posted by Liz # 11:24 AM 0 Comments
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VIVA LAUGHLIN VIVA LAUGHLIN!!! Oh, friends. Soon, I will catch up with you about other things, such as my emotional ruin and my stolen (but returned!) car. But in the meantime, let us focus on what matters: The NY Times tears Viva Laughlin a new one. Viva Laughlin on CBS may well be the worst new show of the season, but is it the worst show in the history of television? It certainly comes close...
I've been eagerly, EAGERLY awaiting this disaster. See, the British series upon which it is based already teeters dangerously on the verge of being awful -- it's a fascinating tightrope they walk. And everything that I've heard about the American show's development has made it clear that the tightrope broke ages ago, and body parts litter the pavement below.
Melanie Griffith plays Bunny, a former flame of Ripley's who is married to one of his investors but still has a thing for him, which she expresses by wearing a pink and black lace lingerie while singing the Blondie song "One Way or Another." ("One way or another, I'm gonna find ya/I'm gonna get ya, get ya, get ya, get ya.")
Thank you, NYT, for confirming that all my most mean dreams are about to come true. It will be the most glorious of car wrecks. Oh, I shall watch with GLEE.Labels: teacher mother secret lover
posted by Liz # 10:25 AM 0 Comments
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{ Thursday, October 4, 2007 }Dear Internet, Thank you for making it possible for me to spend the day in Laguna Beach, eating for free, listening to smart and important people talk about web video, and update my blog poolside.
Love you. Seriously. Love you.
Hugs,
Liz posted by Liz # 5:08 PM 0 Comments
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{ Monday, October 1, 2007 }Poetry time! Sure, whatever, I'm posting poetry to my blog. It's totally different from posting the lyrics to Evanescence songs, for the record. It's POETRY! It's classy! It's also, specifically, Dorothy Parker. I had printed it out ages ago, taped it to some wall of my bedroom, and just now rediscovered it. And it's great. So shut your freakin' trap and read it.
Symptom Recital
I do not like my state of mind;
I'm bitter, querulous, unkind.
I hate my legs, I hate my hands,
I do not yearn for lovelier lands.
I dread the dawn's recurrent light;
I hate to go to bed at night.
I snoot at simple, earnest folk.
I cannot take the simplest joke.
I find no peace in paint or type.
My world is but a lot of tripe.
I'm disillusioned, empty-breasted.
For what I think, I'd be arrested.
I am not sick. I am not well.
My quondam dreams are shot to hell.
My soul is crushed, my spirit sore:
I do not like me any more.
I cavil, quarrel, grumble, grouse.
I ponder on the narrow house.
I shudder at the thought of men.
I'm due to fall in love again.Labels: in which our heroine, poetry time
posted by Liz # 5:30 PM 1 Comments
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Exit Music I've been stuck in a slightly morbid brain loop lately -- just the usual periodic cycle of "oh, shit, I guess I really am going to die someday." Which might be why Joseph Zitt's Exit Music (For a Customer) affected me so profoundly; but I feel confident in saying that it's a beautiful piece of writing and a beautiful little human moment. With some interesting food for thought, as well. Specifically -- if you were on your way out the door, what would you want to be listening to?
I want to say that for me, it'd be something classy, like Chopin or Philip Glass. This all depends, though, on what Madonna is up to at that point. She'll probably still be recording. She'll outlive us all. posted by Liz # 11:22 AM 0 Comments
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