home
When I moved my old stuff over to this blog, I did so because I needed a clean sheet of paper to get me in the mood to write every day. It worked out fine - for about a week or so. Everywhere I looked a story was hatching and all I wanted to do was get home from work and type, type, type. Exactly 2 weeks ago today I sliced my hand open and it didn't stop me from typing with the other one. Exactly 1 week ago, I started my second semester of grad school - that mystical and amazing almost untouchable and unbelieveable thing called school that I have been waiting four years to do and what happened to my writing? You know that answer. The soda shop girl making banana splits in my head turned back into the frigid old day biddy. (I know at least one of you will catch that reference!) All of the creative juices stopped flowing. And for a couple of days, I was cool with that. Truly, I have a lot of reading to do. And let me just add that last semester, I had the highest grade in the class - thats right, the woman with 2 jobs, 2 kids, no kitchen and no money managed it. And why? Because I did all of my readings, so even when I didn't commandeer the conversation in class, I still knew what was what. So thats why when a few days went by with no blog, I didn't get too cross with myself.
Today was the first day that a potential blog popped into my head this past week. And I can tell you, for a start, its got a big fat nothing to do with creativity or my education. Somebody tried to poison my dogs today. You heard me. Someone wants my dogs dead. And the reason? Because somebody wants my stuff and it is that much easier if my dogs aren't trying to kill whoever it is on the way in or way out.
Look, I don't have that much stuff. I barely have a kitchen - and that is no joke. For anyone interested, here is a list of items that could potentially fetch a price: 1-TV, 1-VCR, 1-DVD player, 2-TV speakers, 1-desktop computer, monitor & printer, 1-cheap guitar, 1-old Nikon (not digital), and a whole host of old CDs, DVDs & old videos, most of which are so scratched that they no longer can be played and certainly no 2nd hand store is going to buy a recorded from TV copy of "The Christmas Story". My iPod is visibly missing from this list. Why? Because I've even taken to wearing it in a hidden travel belt made for passports & stuff (because I am paranoid). But back to the list; I have no diamonds or jewlery of any value, I don't have any cash foreign or local, none of the items are the newest, latest and highly sought after products (except maybe the roomba which I forgot to add, but needs a converter/adapter to work anyhow since it has an American plug). Basically, nobody I know would buy the crap that we own.
Except, when you live in my suburb of Johannesburg, behind great big giant walls, an electric fence and 2 guard dogs - which by the way, everyone in my suburb has - nobody knows what you have and the level of protection suggests a lot more than what we really have. In reality, the protection is because I want to live, I want my kids to live and I want us all to do this with as little therepy and as few medical bills as possible. I know that I come from a different place, a place where safety is pretty generally an accepted fact. Look things happen in Cleveland, even in freaking Mentor, but its not like everytime you pull out of your drive way, you expect, anticipate and plan for someone to stick a gun to your head, demand entrance to your property, relieve you of your valuables, and tie you to your remaining furniture while your kids are screaming their heads off so the holders of the guns can get safely away. Okay, this didn't happen to me today, but it happens all the time here. And today, someone tried to poison my dogs, which can only mean that someone intends to relieve me of my valuables while threatening my life and potentially the lives of my kids.
My dogs are fine, we found them eating something they shouldn't have been. Within half an hour, I was at the vet who soon after induced vomiting, and advised me to try and keep them inside tonight (which, by the way, means our cats are probably going to run away). My dogs are fine and because I can act rationally when I need to, my kids are completely unaware, but me, I am not so fine. I am constantly paranoid, exhausted from waking at every noise, tired of being strong and brave, resentful because I have this stress and above all angry because I am stuck in this evil, depraved and frightening place. Seriously, I'd trade rural West Virginia for this crap. I have got to get out of here. I hate the South African me. And every day, I begin to hate this place a little more. For those among you who are reading this within a 20 mile radius of my house, I'm really sorry to bash this place that you love so much, but I have no love for it and give you full permission to bash the place I love so much. Which, I might add, none of you have been to and probably verbally destroy on a regular basis without my permission anyhow.
I don't need life to be easy, in fact when I've got nothing to do, I make up "challenges" for myself, but really, this is too much. Wars are fought because people have a love of or devotion to whatever they are defending. In this case, my children; but this soldier is really fecking tired and needs replacement troops. Or better yet, get me the hell out of here; you can have the soil and even the 10 year old TV if you really want it. Take my car, take away the long awaited opportunity to get my masters, and even my blessed iPod. You can have it all in exchange for 4 one-way tickets to the States. I need to go home.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Friday, July 14, 2006
untitled due to lack of imaginationWith my recent discovery of photoshop, I'm really into pictures. Having a whole bunch of photographers around me everyday helps too. My job basically consists of understanding the artists and their work and promoting them to the advertising/magazine/fashion industries this means taking their portfolios out and showing them around to the various people responsible for booking them - which means they make money and therefore that I have a job. Right now I am about to start a major campaign on our makeup & hair art
ists. And if you've ever had a picture taken of yourself, you pretty much understand that it looks a helluva lot different than what you may find in a magazine - partly because of the makeup artist and partly because of the photographers lights. But what I am getting at is that this month, I have to put the photographers books down for a little bit and take out the makeup, hair & sfx books. The thing about that is that I have become kind of attached to our photographers books. Not that I have ever attempted to take any credit for their work, but I've begun to develop a relationship with it after looking at each picture like 5 times a day and knowing the guy behind eash lense, well, as you might be able to tell, I'm a little emotional about this. Believe me, I'll probably be the same way after some instensive months with the makeup,hair & sfx books...
In any case, I've never believed myself to have any skill with a camera. I mean I've taken the odd great picture and there are even a few that I am very proud of, but I've never taken the time to really learn the basic tricks nor have I ever had a nice camera - always just a point & shoot. But thats okay. And in high school, for some reason - during the worst period of my life I always had a camera with me. So now that I have kids (and the fact that Holly takes pics of her little baby like every other day) I wonder why I am not overstuffed with pictures of every single one of their developmental accomplishments. I think the main reason here is that I don't have my own personal digital camera. I don't even have my own film
camera anymore. Steve does - he has the brilliant Nikon which has nice big lenses to make you feel important when you are taking a picture. And he is entrusted with the 2 digital video cameras his office down here owns. And I know that in a marriage, things get shared, but for example, it would be wierd if Steve picked up my guitar, so for me its wierd to ask to use the cameras, cause I don't know how to work them.So the other day at the mall, while I was buying pyjamas that cover my kids' wrists, I had a look around for the cheapest digital camera I can find. The cheapest camera is R800 - I really was thinking about looking at half that price, but no deal. So I decided to settle for having a go at the Nikon, as I was sure Steve had taken the vid cams to Cape Town with him for this story he is working on. So I bou
ght some film and I went home and took some pictures with that. I finished off the roll quickly so that I could hand in the film and have a look at my pictures. I asked for a CD as well so that I could play around in photoshop. Needless to say, my pictures are crap. And after looking at pictures for so long that are professionally styled, with makeup and hair styles perfect, with lights that can make anyone look beautiful - I was devastated. Nonethe less, I intend to work on this until I can get it to a point where I can bring my pictures into work without shame.However, last night I discovered that the video cameras (both of which do take stills) are both still here. So I think I'm gonna have to switch over to that because while the film is nice, its expensive, not to mention the fact that the CD they gave me has the pics at a resolution of 26 dpi - and I could literally feel photoshop laughing at me as I tried to open them...
Thursday, July 13, 2006
crippled rage
My friend Mitra tells me road rage is a way of life in LA. I don't do road rage - mainly because I am terrified someone is going to run me off the road and stick a gun to my head. The older I get (and yeah, I know I'm not that old) and the more mommy-ish I get (no one can doubt it really) the more scared I get. Look, I'm not discounting location as a factor, but I am an anti-road-rage individual worldwide. Usually, I just don't let it bother me when people cut me off, pull in front of me, take my parking, whatever. Its just not such a big deal in my life. In general I hold off on emotions until they go away or blow up in my face, so truthfully, the finger, the horn and the nasty looks are just not my first reaction. In the past couple of days I've actually been more upset about missing interesting parts of songs that I am trying to work through.
And I like to think that I'm a pretty good person. The other day I gave my gloves to a car guard cause it was unbelieveably cold and I'd just had a good hot meal (of which I gave him the take-aways) and I was feeling generous. And when I spotted a beggar who does backflips next to the traffic, I found him a performance job opportunity (which to my knowledge, he still has not followed up on). These are not things I need to do, and even though I'm not a strict karma believer, I still like to think that when I am down on my luck, my little guardian angels after stuffing their face with delicious chicken curry are going to swoop down and give me a few little lifts in life.
That is why I expect the Johannesburg defensive driving ritual to be a little less challenging for me right now - because driving is actually painful. Everytime I shift gears or have to make a hard right, I am physically in pain. But rather than cheat codes, I have been given the ultimate challenging course and failure is expected it seems. With my energy bar on the red, I've had 3 near accidents today. Nothing major by any means, but people cutting me off and forcing me to swerve, which just hurts. So I started thinking about revamping my road rage strategy - just until I can drive without pain. But of course then I either need to make inappropiate gestures with my left hand, which just can't move that way right now - or I need to make inappropriate gestures with my right hand, leaving my left hand to control the car. Either way, I am just as likely to get into an accident as I was prior to whatever defensive manoeuvre I just had to make.
In addition, most of the worst driving comes from taxis - who are known for their road rage and gun incidents. Now taxis in South Africa aren't like your standard NY yellow checkered or even the slightly more posh looking London cabs - they are vans. Big vans with like 15 seats that pull over across 3 lanes at the drop of a hat. And since half the vehicle needs to get out to let one person off, they spend a few minutes at the side of the road. Then they floor it across traffic back to the inside lane. And the passengers, after disembarking these death vans, usually try and cross the road through the same traffic the taxi has just pissed off. It is more hazardous than driving in snow and needless to say, the rate of pedestrians getting hit by cars in South Africa is scary.
But, on my way up to Wits to pick up my readings for the dreaded upcoming classes, I was thinking about how to safely participate in the act of road rage. And thats when I saw my absolute worst nightmare: one taxi cut another taxi off just before the Wits traffic light. Fortunately, I was stopped at the cross street, cause I probably would have been cut off and then attempted some form of my new-found rage. As it was, the offended taxi driver, honked and started shouting at the offending taxi driver. And thats when the offending taxi driving produced a cricket bat, held it outside the window of his van and then smashed the side mirror of the offended taxi driver's vehicle.
So I realised, as I drove past this scene when the light turned green for me a second later, that my fears are pretty well founded and that road rage is really not a good idea. I drove into campus, walked up to my building and got myself plenty of sympathy for my poor, buggered hand...
My friend Mitra tells me road rage is a way of life in LA. I don't do road rage - mainly because I am terrified someone is going to run me off the road and stick a gun to my head. The older I get (and yeah, I know I'm not that old) and the more mommy-ish I get (no one can doubt it really) the more scared I get. Look, I'm not discounting location as a factor, but I am an anti-road-rage individual worldwide. Usually, I just don't let it bother me when people cut me off, pull in front of me, take my parking, whatever. Its just not such a big deal in my life. In general I hold off on emotions until they go away or blow up in my face, so truthfully, the finger, the horn and the nasty looks are just not my first reaction. In the past couple of days I've actually been more upset about missing interesting parts of songs that I am trying to work through.
And I like to think that I'm a pretty good person. The other day I gave my gloves to a car guard cause it was unbelieveably cold and I'd just had a good hot meal (of which I gave him the take-aways) and I was feeling generous. And when I spotted a beggar who does backflips next to the traffic, I found him a performance job opportunity (which to my knowledge, he still has not followed up on). These are not things I need to do, and even though I'm not a strict karma believer, I still like to think that when I am down on my luck, my little guardian angels after stuffing their face with delicious chicken curry are going to swoop down and give me a few little lifts in life.
That is why I expect the Johannesburg defensive driving ritual to be a little less challenging for me right now - because driving is actually painful. Everytime I shift gears or have to make a hard right, I am physically in pain. But rather than cheat codes, I have been given the ultimate challenging course and failure is expected it seems. With my energy bar on the red, I've had 3 near accidents today. Nothing major by any means, but people cutting me off and forcing me to swerve, which just hurts. So I started thinking about revamping my road rage strategy - just until I can drive without pain. But of course then I either need to make inappropiate gestures with my left hand, which just can't move that way right now - or I need to make inappropriate gestures with my right hand, leaving my left hand to control the car. Either way, I am just as likely to get into an accident as I was prior to whatever defensive manoeuvre I just had to make.
In addition, most of the worst driving comes from taxis - who are known for their road rage and gun incidents. Now taxis in South Africa aren't like your standard NY yellow checkered or even the slightly more posh looking London cabs - they are vans. Big vans with like 15 seats that pull over across 3 lanes at the drop of a hat. And since half the vehicle needs to get out to let one person off, they spend a few minutes at the side of the road. Then they floor it across traffic back to the inside lane. And the passengers, after disembarking these death vans, usually try and cross the road through the same traffic the taxi has just pissed off. It is more hazardous than driving in snow and needless to say, the rate of pedestrians getting hit by cars in South Africa is scary.
But, on my way up to Wits to pick up my readings for the dreaded upcoming classes, I was thinking about how to safely participate in the act of road rage. And thats when I saw my absolute worst nightmare: one taxi cut another taxi off just before the Wits traffic light. Fortunately, I was stopped at the cross street, cause I probably would have been cut off and then attempted some form of my new-found rage. As it was, the offended taxi driver, honked and started shouting at the offending taxi driver. And thats when the offending taxi driving produced a cricket bat, held it outside the window of his van and then smashed the side mirror of the offended taxi driver's vehicle.
So I realised, as I drove past this scene when the light turned green for me a second later, that my fears are pretty well founded and that road rage is really not a good idea. I drove into campus, walked up to my building and got myself plenty of sympathy for my poor, buggered hand...
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
jinxed
This morning was another one of those drive around the northern suburbs going to ad agencies kind of mornings. As I was getting on the N1 north from William Nicol, I couldn't get over into the right lane to make the turn quick enough. Mainly because the snobby people in their Audis and BMWs and SUVs that cost as much as my house would not let me over. So I had to head towards Monte Casino for one more block and make a u-turn and make a left on to the freeway. The traffic was moving so slowly that I thought I could get a quick call to Monica in, but she didn't answer. And good thing too because as I made the left onto the freeway, I noticed what was making traffic move so slow - a team of like 30 police officers were randomly pulling people over to check license, registration, warrant type things. Its called a roadblock and I don't appreciate them at all. I rather prefer to see a cop every ten feet (like in the States) that pull you over if you deserve it, rather than go through the customs and immigration type sensations that come with road blocks.
Having said which, I have never been pulled over at a road block. I don't know if I have the look perfected or if it has been shear luck. Either way, I am terrified of getting pulled over because I'm sure I'll have a hell of a time seeing as how my license was issued in Ohio and I have less than none in the intentions of getting it swapped over department. Needless to say, today's blog was fully formed at that moment - about all of the road blocks that were potential problems in the past and those that have been problems for people I know - that sort of thing. I spent the next couple of hours wondering if I was jinxing myself by blogging about roadblocks that I haven't been stopped at.
In any case, I made it back to the office, with plans to resume my half day twice a week schedule, which will of course be neccesary from next week on as I have classes starting. The plan was to have coffee with my friend and former colleague, Hector, head up to campus to organise stuff for this semester and then have Monica and her kids over for a playdate. I started off on my plan okay and then it happened. (Think chilling piano music from very old and usually very bad old horror movies.) A roadblock you think to yourself? Ahh no - an afternoon block in the form of my shoe slipping on something on the way down the stairs, me grabbing the railing to stop the tumbling movement my body was doing and barely escaping a fully fledged comedy movie style tumble to the bottom of the stairs and knocking a couple of waiters into their serving station at the bottom. If I had been concerned with dignity, I would be in the hospital right now - cause what happened was terribly and horrifyingly the opposite of dignified. As it was, I gathered myself up and walked back up the couple of stairs I had fallen down and tried to regain my footing. Thats when a waiter looked at me from across the room and asked if I was okay. Note that no one came running to my assistance and Hector had gone downstairs a minute or so before me and had missed the whole charade. Basically, I ignored the waiter.
As sort of a natural instinct, I checked my limbs for bruises. Now for those of you who have never been to South Africa, here is an important thing to note. Everywhere, seriously, has got funny carved metal adornments - like staircase bannisters. A hazard in my opinion, which was confirmed in the act of checking out potential bruising points, meaning, I shouldn't have been surprised to see a serious gash in the index finger of my left hand, through which I swore I could see my bones and which was beginning to fill up with blood. Shouldn't have been, but was because that it what shock is. So I carefully made my way down the stairs and to where I found Hector who immeadiately noticed my condition and got off his cell phone. I'm not completely sure if I grunted like a cave man or actually used English words, but he seemed to understand what I was trying to say, which was along the lines of - doctor block over been to before fucking sore fell please take me. Which of course he did.
And while I was waiting for the doctor to attend to me, Hector pretended to be interested in an obscure reference to Stephen King's Firestarter I was trying to make all in the name of keeping me lucid. Doctor cleaned me up, gave me some stitches, got concerned about possible bone fractures, gave me a script, wrote out a note to the radiologist and made a joke about how the first time I went to see her it was because I managed to stab myself nice and good on another funny metal adornment called a security spike. This by the way, I had managed to drive through my wrist as I pulled my hand away to avoid getting shocked by the electric fence we have above the spikes on our driveway gate. Just great. Hector followed me home - which was a huge mission as - thats right you remembered - I have to shift with my left hand and as I have no power steering, sharp turns require two hands. As I got out of the car and said thank you to Hector, I remembered the time that he was sposed to take me to the dentist and as I tried to leave my house to get in his car, the electric gate died and I couldn't get out. Rather than lending me the money to go to the dentist he had to loan me the money to get someone to come over and let me out of my house.
At the end of it all, I have serious bruises on both legs, some minor sctratches on my right hand and one helluva big pain from my left hand, which is stitched, bandaged, in a sling and hurts like I am being tortured when I move it. Which is why this entire blog has been typed, at a snails pace, with one hand. I wish the doctor had been more imaginative when she gave me my prescription and I can definetely say that I am jinxed.
This morning was another one of those drive around the northern suburbs going to ad agencies kind of mornings. As I was getting on the N1 north from William Nicol, I couldn't get over into the right lane to make the turn quick enough. Mainly because the snobby people in their Audis and BMWs and SUVs that cost as much as my house would not let me over. So I had to head towards Monte Casino for one more block and make a u-turn and make a left on to the freeway. The traffic was moving so slowly that I thought I could get a quick call to Monica in, but she didn't answer. And good thing too because as I made the left onto the freeway, I noticed what was making traffic move so slow - a team of like 30 police officers were randomly pulling people over to check license, registration, warrant type things. Its called a roadblock and I don't appreciate them at all. I rather prefer to see a cop every ten feet (like in the States) that pull you over if you deserve it, rather than go through the customs and immigration type sensations that come with road blocks.
Having said which, I have never been pulled over at a road block. I don't know if I have the look perfected or if it has been shear luck. Either way, I am terrified of getting pulled over because I'm sure I'll have a hell of a time seeing as how my license was issued in Ohio and I have less than none in the intentions of getting it swapped over department. Needless to say, today's blog was fully formed at that moment - about all of the road blocks that were potential problems in the past and those that have been problems for people I know - that sort of thing. I spent the next couple of hours wondering if I was jinxing myself by blogging about roadblocks that I haven't been stopped at.
In any case, I made it back to the office, with plans to resume my half day twice a week schedule, which will of course be neccesary from next week on as I have classes starting. The plan was to have coffee with my friend and former colleague, Hector, head up to campus to organise stuff for this semester and then have Monica and her kids over for a playdate. I started off on my plan okay and then it happened. (Think chilling piano music from very old and usually very bad old horror movies.) A roadblock you think to yourself? Ahh no - an afternoon block in the form of my shoe slipping on something on the way down the stairs, me grabbing the railing to stop the tumbling movement my body was doing and barely escaping a fully fledged comedy movie style tumble to the bottom of the stairs and knocking a couple of waiters into their serving station at the bottom. If I had been concerned with dignity, I would be in the hospital right now - cause what happened was terribly and horrifyingly the opposite of dignified. As it was, I gathered myself up and walked back up the couple of stairs I had fallen down and tried to regain my footing. Thats when a waiter looked at me from across the room and asked if I was okay. Note that no one came running to my assistance and Hector had gone downstairs a minute or so before me and had missed the whole charade. Basically, I ignored the waiter.
As sort of a natural instinct, I checked my limbs for bruises. Now for those of you who have never been to South Africa, here is an important thing to note. Everywhere, seriously, has got funny carved metal adornments - like staircase bannisters. A hazard in my opinion, which was confirmed in the act of checking out potential bruising points, meaning, I shouldn't have been surprised to see a serious gash in the index finger of my left hand, through which I swore I could see my bones and which was beginning to fill up with blood. Shouldn't have been, but was because that it what shock is. So I carefully made my way down the stairs and to where I found Hector who immeadiately noticed my condition and got off his cell phone. I'm not completely sure if I grunted like a cave man or actually used English words, but he seemed to understand what I was trying to say, which was along the lines of - doctor block over been to before fucking sore fell please take me. Which of course he did.
And while I was waiting for the doctor to attend to me, Hector pretended to be interested in an obscure reference to Stephen King's Firestarter I was trying to make all in the name of keeping me lucid. Doctor cleaned me up, gave me some stitches, got concerned about possible bone fractures, gave me a script, wrote out a note to the radiologist and made a joke about how the first time I went to see her it was because I managed to stab myself nice and good on another funny metal adornment called a security spike. This by the way, I had managed to drive through my wrist as I pulled my hand away to avoid getting shocked by the electric fence we have above the spikes on our driveway gate. Just great. Hector followed me home - which was a huge mission as - thats right you remembered - I have to shift with my left hand and as I have no power steering, sharp turns require two hands. As I got out of the car and said thank you to Hector, I remembered the time that he was sposed to take me to the dentist and as I tried to leave my house to get in his car, the electric gate died and I couldn't get out. Rather than lending me the money to go to the dentist he had to loan me the money to get someone to come over and let me out of my house.
At the end of it all, I have serious bruises on both legs, some minor sctratches on my right hand and one helluva big pain from my left hand, which is stitched, bandaged, in a sling and hurts like I am being tortured when I move it. Which is why this entire blog has been typed, at a snails pace, with one hand. I wish the doctor had been more imaginative when she gave me my prescription and I can definetely say that I am jinxed.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
its a walk off
Yesterday I did nothing - well okay - not nothing. But it was pretty much a kid free day. I woke up, I tidied the house, I made the kids breakfast. I got them dressed. I put them in the car, we went and got a present for Jemma, whose house I took them to. Her parents offered me a cup of coffee. I said "no thank you, you offered to watch the kids for 2 hours, are you mad, I'm outta here!" They laughed, even though my kids were the first to arrive at their daughter's birthday party. I drove outta there like the house was on fire (and my kids weren't in it) and picked Mitra up. We went to my house and made breakfast. Steve, Mitra and myself ate breakfast - at home without having to say - sit down, stop that, eat your food, put that back, knock it off, you kids are driving me insane!!!
I thought thats where it would end, but no. Steve decided to take the kids to his dad's for the day, so when the 12 o'clock party end time came around, he grabbed a change of clothes and left. So Mitra and I decided to go browse around at Rosebank, maybe go bowling or see the Da Vinci Code if it was playing. When we finally found parking at Rosebank, we went straight to the big theatre on the other side of the mall - past Benetton (which has a 40% off sale on and was VERY hard to pass up) and discovered the movie wasn't on. So we walked all the way back - past Benetton to the smaller theatre, where it wasn't playing either. We browsed magazines and ended up at the Mugg & Bean for a cup of coffee. We spent a long time observing that we were doing nothing. We thought about maybe checking out other theatres. I said, isn't there like a phone number you can call? She says, do you mean "MovieFone"? Man, how can I get confused about services in the States that I have never used before? So I phoned Steve and asked if he could check the paper at his dad's place. He phoned back to say - no sign of movie listings. We walked past Benetton again to get to the Vodashop so Mitra could buy more airtime and past Benetton again to head back towards the car.
We went back to my house and ended up watching Zoolander and the boys came home shortly after - but all asleep. Mitra went home and I decided to blog a little. But, I had nothing to say really, so when Arrested Development came on tv, I was there like a shot. Then Steve turned on the soccer. And I'm not really so sure what happened, because at 11 o'clock I sat up on the couch and realised I'd slept through the whole thing. Bummer.
Its a bummer because usually, by 5 o'clock I have a fully formed blog in my head. Seriously, I have a whole story just trying so hard to push me towards the computer, forcing me to write. Okay, usually I do a little more during the day than count the number of times I walk past Benetton, but its not like I write about social issues, politics, human rights abuses, etc. I think about half my blogs are about me getting lost, which kinda ties with 4 trips past Benetton. So when the 5 o'clock hour came and went and I had nothing, I was kinda thinking the soccer might hold some inspiration, but no such luck. So I went to bed - and I still have nothing to report, except for maybe the fact that the day before my nothing day, I spent a few hours learning photoshop and
here is my first attempt.
Yesterday I did nothing - well okay - not nothing. But it was pretty much a kid free day. I woke up, I tidied the house, I made the kids breakfast. I got them dressed. I put them in the car, we went and got a present for Jemma, whose house I took them to. Her parents offered me a cup of coffee. I said "no thank you, you offered to watch the kids for 2 hours, are you mad, I'm outta here!" They laughed, even though my kids were the first to arrive at their daughter's birthday party. I drove outta there like the house was on fire (and my kids weren't in it) and picked Mitra up. We went to my house and made breakfast. Steve, Mitra and myself ate breakfast - at home without having to say - sit down, stop that, eat your food, put that back, knock it off, you kids are driving me insane!!!
I thought thats where it would end, but no. Steve decided to take the kids to his dad's for the day, so when the 12 o'clock party end time came around, he grabbed a change of clothes and left. So Mitra and I decided to go browse around at Rosebank, maybe go bowling or see the Da Vinci Code if it was playing. When we finally found parking at Rosebank, we went straight to the big theatre on the other side of the mall - past Benetton (which has a 40% off sale on and was VERY hard to pass up) and discovered the movie wasn't on. So we walked all the way back - past Benetton to the smaller theatre, where it wasn't playing either. We browsed magazines and ended up at the Mugg & Bean for a cup of coffee. We spent a long time observing that we were doing nothing. We thought about maybe checking out other theatres. I said, isn't there like a phone number you can call? She says, do you mean "MovieFone"? Man, how can I get confused about services in the States that I have never used before? So I phoned Steve and asked if he could check the paper at his dad's place. He phoned back to say - no sign of movie listings. We walked past Benetton again to get to the Vodashop so Mitra could buy more airtime and past Benetton again to head back towards the car.
We went back to my house and ended up watching Zoolander and the boys came home shortly after - but all asleep. Mitra went home and I decided to blog a little. But, I had nothing to say really, so when Arrested Development came on tv, I was there like a shot. Then Steve turned on the soccer. And I'm not really so sure what happened, because at 11 o'clock I sat up on the couch and realised I'd slept through the whole thing. Bummer.
Its a bummer because usually, by 5 o'clock I have a fully formed blog in my head. Seriously, I have a whole story just trying so hard to push me towards the computer, forcing me to write. Okay, usually I do a little more during the day than count the number of times I walk past Benetton, but its not like I write about social issues, politics, human rights abuses, etc. I think about half my blogs are about me getting lost, which kinda ties with 4 trips past Benetton. So when the 5 o'clock hour came and went and I had nothing, I was kinda thinking the soccer might hold some inspiration, but no such luck. So I went to bed - and I still have nothing to report, except for maybe the fact that the day before my nothing day, I spent a few hours learning photoshop and
here is my first attempt.
Friday, July 07, 2006
i got my way thank you Lexi!!! Okay - they are still raw - I am going to try my hand at photoshop tonight after the kids are in bed. (The secret plan is to send these pics of to one of our photographers - who can make a hand appear where there was none - and try and pass it off as my own work... ha)
yearbooks and mix tapes
I didn't save anything from high school. I mean nothing. In fact the year before I came here I had big plans to burn my high school yearbooks. Well, that didn't work out, mainly because I really didn't have anywhere to burn them and I'm pretty respectful of things that are stronger than me - like the ocean and, in this case, fire. But I did make good use of the dumpster in my apartment's parking lot. So if anybody wrote anything cryptic that I was supposed to figure out a decade later - well its too bad. High school was painful and when it was over, well I wanted it OVER! The only real exception to the rule were the two mixed tapes my friend Mike made for me senior year. One was even in the tape player of my car on the night I left for South Africa. If I had known I was staying here, it would have been on the plane with me.
For anyone who doesn't have the slightest idea who Mike is, here are the important facts:
1. He has had a patch of silver hair near his forehead since birth,
2. He is deaf in one ear, and
3. Mike knows music. Seriously - he knows what is good months before anyone else has ever heard of them. He's never held on to one genre or another, but rather spreads himself across the wonderful.
I remember when I saw Mike in Illinois. It was late 1997. He played me the Verve's Bittersweet Symphony. Ok, I'd heard OF the Verve, but never listened to them. He made me listen to the song like 8 times. It was okay. I didn't hear it again for about another 6 or 7 months, when everyone else discovered the song. And only then did I listen to it properly. What an amazing song. I still love it, but really the point is - okay you got it already.
Thing is that, while I like my music - and now that I have an iPod, I treat it better than I treat my kids - and I like to think I've got pretty good taste in music, I'm with the masses. And Mike's one ear is way better than both of mine plus the ears of most of the people I know all wrapped together. Which is why I still had both of Mike's mix tapes long after high school, cause it took me damn near that long to realise how genius they really were.
So last night, I get an email from Mike that directs me to his summer 2006 mix that I can download. Despite the unbelievable internet restriction we have here in South Africa (see previous posts), I knew I had to get it. So I sent Mike an email that said "its winter here" - he replied, "haha, well, perhaps it will be a nice reminder of home. Let me know what you think..." Here's the problem, I won't be able to appreciate it for at least 6 months. I knew it when I downloaded it, I confirmed it when I listened to it for the first time today. Here's what I can say: I know I will love it forever when I understand it from beginning to end, which will take months of solid listening. This will make it summertime here - making the mix so much more appropriate and I'll still be about 3 decades ahead of the music listeners in South Africa. As for a nice reminder of home... do I ever think about anything else?
I didn't save anything from high school. I mean nothing. In fact the year before I came here I had big plans to burn my high school yearbooks. Well, that didn't work out, mainly because I really didn't have anywhere to burn them and I'm pretty respectful of things that are stronger than me - like the ocean and, in this case, fire. But I did make good use of the dumpster in my apartment's parking lot. So if anybody wrote anything cryptic that I was supposed to figure out a decade later - well its too bad. High school was painful and when it was over, well I wanted it OVER! The only real exception to the rule were the two mixed tapes my friend Mike made for me senior year. One was even in the tape player of my car on the night I left for South Africa. If I had known I was staying here, it would have been on the plane with me.
For anyone who doesn't have the slightest idea who Mike is, here are the important facts:
1. He has had a patch of silver hair near his forehead since birth,
2. He is deaf in one ear, and
3. Mike knows music. Seriously - he knows what is good months before anyone else has ever heard of them. He's never held on to one genre or another, but rather spreads himself across the wonderful.
I remember when I saw Mike in Illinois. It was late 1997. He played me the Verve's Bittersweet Symphony. Ok, I'd heard OF the Verve, but never listened to them. He made me listen to the song like 8 times. It was okay. I didn't hear it again for about another 6 or 7 months, when everyone else discovered the song. And only then did I listen to it properly. What an amazing song. I still love it, but really the point is - okay you got it already.
Thing is that, while I like my music - and now that I have an iPod, I treat it better than I treat my kids - and I like to think I've got pretty good taste in music, I'm with the masses. And Mike's one ear is way better than both of mine plus the ears of most of the people I know all wrapped together. Which is why I still had both of Mike's mix tapes long after high school, cause it took me damn near that long to realise how genius they really were.
So last night, I get an email from Mike that directs me to his summer 2006 mix that I can download. Despite the unbelievable internet restriction we have here in South Africa (see previous posts), I knew I had to get it. So I sent Mike an email that said "its winter here" - he replied, "haha, well, perhaps it will be a nice reminder of home. Let me know what you think..." Here's the problem, I won't be able to appreciate it for at least 6 months. I knew it when I downloaded it, I confirmed it when I listened to it for the first time today. Here's what I can say: I know I will love it forever when I understand it from beginning to end, which will take months of solid listening. This will make it summertime here - making the mix so much more appropriate and I'll still be about 3 decades ahead of the music listeners in South Africa. As for a nice reminder of home... do I ever think about anything else?
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
spiros
Last night I found myself on the computer for a few hours, more because I really did not feel like working teddy bears, than because I was doing anything useful. And with Steve going to be working (meaning he'll be in Cape Town, DRC, Sudan, etc) for the next several weeks, I more or less excused myself from kid duties. We've got plenty of bonding time coming up and I've got plenty of wanting to pull my hair out because two small boys can drive you insane even when they are being good.
And in any case, even with me avoiding them, I was looking out for their best interests. I called Monica to try and set up a playdate for the boys and took a call inviting them to a 3rd birthday party this Sunday. It was then that I remembered that we had completely forgotten a party Felix was supposed to go to that afternoon. Oops. I felt really bad and tried not to mention it - which means I resorted to the parental trick of spelling which only lasts for a few years anyhow. Steve tried to call the parents, but their phone was on voicemail. And Felix, for no reason I can fathom, unless he can spell already, pushed a chair to the fridge, got up on it and pulled down the invitation and said, "I want to go to Ben's party." Wow, we are bad parents. Sure, I was at work and Steve was in Pretoria paying a holy fortune to get visas for work, but how on earth did we forget?
But then I thought back to this weekend when I took them to Sandton City to meet Winnie the Pooh. The mall is chaos as it is, but on a Saturday, with Winnie the Pooh - complete maddness. But I took them and I got them Happy Meals from McDonalds and when I discovered that you need a ticket to meet Winnie the Pooh and that they were gone already, I improvised. First, I grabbed a kid under each arm and pushed my way through the crowd until we were positioned right where Winnie walks by on his way off the stage. Then as he walked by, I thrust my children at him, forcing them to hug the giant walking bear that wears a shirt but no pants, and on the retreat, I stole some Winnie the Pooh buttons that you were only supposed to get if you met the bear and then I spent ALOT of money buying them Winnie the Pooh balloons. Lets just say, I'm awful proud of my put the kids first skills even in the face of adversity, which by the way a room filled with other people's kids definitely is.
So I wasn't feeling too bad anymore, but still a little battered. T
hen I found this picture on Steve's side of the computer. It had the file name "we had breakfast at Spiros". What? When did Steve take the boys to Spiros - the single greatest breakfast spot on earth? And more importantly, why wasn't I there? Well parental guilt in every form flew out the window. I mean if they get to go to Spiros and I don't, thats not guilt, that is shear, undeniable jealousy. Immeadiately I planned on taking them this first Sunday Steve is gone. But then I realised, Felix has a birthday party on Sunday and thats how we forgot the one today, by being completely wrapped up in the adult world of our lives. Damnit. But at least I've got about 5 Sundays after that. I'll play it by ear and perhaps try looking at my diary at least once every morning.
Last night I found myself on the computer for a few hours, more because I really did not feel like working teddy bears, than because I was doing anything useful. And with Steve going to be working (meaning he'll be in Cape Town, DRC, Sudan, etc) for the next several weeks, I more or less excused myself from kid duties. We've got plenty of bonding time coming up and I've got plenty of wanting to pull my hair out because two small boys can drive you insane even when they are being good.
And in any case, even with me avoiding them, I was looking out for their best interests. I called Monica to try and set up a playdate for the boys and took a call inviting them to a 3rd birthday party this Sunday. It was then that I remembered that we had completely forgotten a party Felix was supposed to go to that afternoon. Oops. I felt really bad and tried not to mention it - which means I resorted to the parental trick of spelling which only lasts for a few years anyhow. Steve tried to call the parents, but their phone was on voicemail. And Felix, for no reason I can fathom, unless he can spell already, pushed a chair to the fridge, got up on it and pulled down the invitation and said, "I want to go to Ben's party." Wow, we are bad parents. Sure, I was at work and Steve was in Pretoria paying a holy fortune to get visas for work, but how on earth did we forget?
But then I thought back to this weekend when I took them to Sandton City to meet Winnie the Pooh. The mall is chaos as it is, but on a Saturday, with Winnie the Pooh - complete maddness. But I took them and I got them Happy Meals from McDonalds and when I discovered that you need a ticket to meet Winnie the Pooh and that they were gone already, I improvised. First, I grabbed a kid under each arm and pushed my way through the crowd until we were positioned right where Winnie walks by on his way off the stage. Then as he walked by, I thrust my children at him, forcing them to hug the giant walking bear that wears a shirt but no pants, and on the retreat, I stole some Winnie the Pooh buttons that you were only supposed to get if you met the bear and then I spent ALOT of money buying them Winnie the Pooh balloons. Lets just say, I'm awful proud of my put the kids first skills even in the face of adversity, which by the way a room filled with other people's kids definitely is.
So I wasn't feeling too bad anymore, but still a little battered. T
hen I found this picture on Steve's side of the computer. It had the file name "we had breakfast at Spiros". What? When did Steve take the boys to Spiros - the single greatest breakfast spot on earth? And more importantly, why wasn't I there? Well parental guilt in every form flew out the window. I mean if they get to go to Spiros and I don't, thats not guilt, that is shear, undeniable jealousy. Immeadiately I planned on taking them this first Sunday Steve is gone. But then I realised, Felix has a birthday party on Sunday and thats how we forgot the one today, by being completely wrapped up in the adult world of our lives. Damnit. But at least I've got about 5 Sundays after that. I'll play it by ear and perhaps try looking at my diary at least once every morning.
confidently the wrong way
The other day I re-watched "Never Been Kissed". I like Drew Barrymore to some extent, but you have to admit that the movie falls flat of even the teen-movie standard. I was re-watching the movie because I wanted to make sure I didn't like it before I put it in the VCR to record baseball games on. I didn't like it - despite my high school past - which some of you are aware of. (The rest of you get no answers at this late date.) However an interesting quote popped into my head this morning. I was driving to an ad agency to show off some of our photographers' portfolios and I was thinking about how great my job is and I am really loving even the networking part because if I'm not gonna be working in the field of migration, well hanging around a whole bunch of creative people is a really wonderful second best. It was then that I remembered the line from the bad movie. Something about how there is always the one kid who just exudes so much confidence, that he is always going to be successful. I'd quote it directly, but there is a baseball game where the movie used to be.
I got so into thinking about when and how I developed confidence. I'd say it was 1998. When I really was in high school - I didn't have confidence, but I did have a lot of guts. So anything that looked like confidence in myself, was really just juvenile stupidity. Not that I don't still have some of that in the mix. But I am straying, which is exactly what I did this morning. I went the wrong way. In Johannesburg, going the wrong way can get you killed. This morning though, I was in the northern suburbs - where hijackings don't normally entail a loss of life - just a lengthy insurance process. But it was okay see, I was busy sporting my confidence and I am pretty sure that I would have driven over anyone who dared come close to my car.
So while I was busy trying to find my way I thought about the last time I made a wrong turn, or rather, forgot to turn which landed me straight down into Hillbrow. For those unfamiliar with Johannesburg, Hillbrow is not somewhere you want to find yourself lost. If you want to find drugs, prostitutes and violent death you go to Hillbrow; other than that, you go around Hillbrow even if it is the most direct route. So when I was supposed to take a left from Louis Botha onto a road that doesn't come of Louis Botha and I couldn't find it, I ended up taking Louis Botha into Hillbrow and I didn't want to be there. But I didn't panic - I figured, rather blindly that Joburg central was ahead of me and if I could just get there, then I could make a right towards Parktown and try to get to Troyeville from a diferent angle. I managed that - all by myself. I didn't take out my phone, because I really did not want to call attention to the fact that I had possessions in my car. So I kept going into town and turned right into Parktown, just as expected and I thought I was going to make it because I have been to Troyeville before coming from Parktown. So I made all the turns I thought I needed to but at one point the road kind of forks and I faltered, so I took the right, which - you guessed it - took me straight back to Louis Botha and into Hillbrow.
At some point on Louis Botha in Hillbrow there is a BP garage. I've heard stories about this BP, but it was daylight, there were cars filling up and I was pretty confident that if I pulled next to it, I could identify a street name so I could figure out what I was doing wrong. Well, it was a mistake, 3 men came rushing towards my car. They promised they had what I was looking for. I was looking for directions to Troyeville and I probably wouldn't have even taken it from them, supposing they were on the a la carte menu of things you can buy in Hillbrow. At some point, before I could get my window rolled up, a guy threw a cardboard scrap into my car, at which point, I floored it out of there, drove into town, made a right into Parktown, made the appropriate turns and veered left at the fork in the road. From there I knew exactly what I was doing. Now Troyeville has its fair share of the crime pie in Joburg, but after Hillbrow, driving next to Ponte was a walk in the park. When I finally made it to Johannes' house, I got out of my car (sweating so bad I felt dehydrated) and Johannes said, "Well, you've got perserverence". I reached back into the car and pulled out my cardboard scrap and said, "Well, Kevin has everything else you need." After a glass of water, I was fine.
Now look, nothing like that happened in Sunninghill this morning, I backtracked, made a left into Witkoppen and arrived at the reception of Herdbouys McCann-Erikson without even breaking a sweat. I walked in, cool and confident - however, very much aware that confident decisions after a wrong turn are really silly indeed. And I was grateful that I only developed my self confidence after high school, because if you think my driving is bad now, you can only imagine...
The other day I re-watched "Never Been Kissed". I like Drew Barrymore to some extent, but you have to admit that the movie falls flat of even the teen-movie standard. I was re-watching the movie because I wanted to make sure I didn't like it before I put it in the VCR to record baseball games on. I didn't like it - despite my high school past - which some of you are aware of. (The rest of you get no answers at this late date.) However an interesting quote popped into my head this morning. I was driving to an ad agency to show off some of our photographers' portfolios and I was thinking about how great my job is and I am really loving even the networking part because if I'm not gonna be working in the field of migration, well hanging around a whole bunch of creative people is a really wonderful second best. It was then that I remembered the line from the bad movie. Something about how there is always the one kid who just exudes so much confidence, that he is always going to be successful. I'd quote it directly, but there is a baseball game where the movie used to be.
I got so into thinking about when and how I developed confidence. I'd say it was 1998. When I really was in high school - I didn't have confidence, but I did have a lot of guts. So anything that looked like confidence in myself, was really just juvenile stupidity. Not that I don't still have some of that in the mix. But I am straying, which is exactly what I did this morning. I went the wrong way. In Johannesburg, going the wrong way can get you killed. This morning though, I was in the northern suburbs - where hijackings don't normally entail a loss of life - just a lengthy insurance process. But it was okay see, I was busy sporting my confidence and I am pretty sure that I would have driven over anyone who dared come close to my car.
So while I was busy trying to find my way I thought about the last time I made a wrong turn, or rather, forgot to turn which landed me straight down into Hillbrow. For those unfamiliar with Johannesburg, Hillbrow is not somewhere you want to find yourself lost. If you want to find drugs, prostitutes and violent death you go to Hillbrow; other than that, you go around Hillbrow even if it is the most direct route. So when I was supposed to take a left from Louis Botha onto a road that doesn't come of Louis Botha and I couldn't find it, I ended up taking Louis Botha into Hillbrow and I didn't want to be there. But I didn't panic - I figured, rather blindly that Joburg central was ahead of me and if I could just get there, then I could make a right towards Parktown and try to get to Troyeville from a diferent angle. I managed that - all by myself. I didn't take out my phone, because I really did not want to call attention to the fact that I had possessions in my car. So I kept going into town and turned right into Parktown, just as expected and I thought I was going to make it because I have been to Troyeville before coming from Parktown. So I made all the turns I thought I needed to but at one point the road kind of forks and I faltered, so I took the right, which - you guessed it - took me straight back to Louis Botha and into Hillbrow.
At some point on Louis Botha in Hillbrow there is a BP garage. I've heard stories about this BP, but it was daylight, there were cars filling up and I was pretty confident that if I pulled next to it, I could identify a street name so I could figure out what I was doing wrong. Well, it was a mistake, 3 men came rushing towards my car. They promised they had what I was looking for. I was looking for directions to Troyeville and I probably wouldn't have even taken it from them, supposing they were on the a la carte menu of things you can buy in Hillbrow. At some point, before I could get my window rolled up, a guy threw a cardboard scrap into my car, at which point, I floored it out of there, drove into town, made a right into Parktown, made the appropriate turns and veered left at the fork in the road. From there I knew exactly what I was doing. Now Troyeville has its fair share of the crime pie in Joburg, but after Hillbrow, driving next to Ponte was a walk in the park. When I finally made it to Johannes' house, I got out of my car (sweating so bad I felt dehydrated) and Johannes said, "Well, you've got perserverence". I reached back into the car and pulled out my cardboard scrap and said, "Well, Kevin has everything else you need." After a glass of water, I was fine.
Now look, nothing like that happened in Sunninghill this morning, I backtracked, made a left into Witkoppen and arrived at the reception of Herdbouys McCann-Erikson without even breaking a sweat. I walked in, cool and confident - however, very much aware that confident decisions after a wrong turn are really silly indeed. And I was grateful that I only developed my self confidence after high school, because if you think my driving is bad now, you can only imagine...
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
kent and cedar lee
Well, no one has really asked, but since this is a blog for posterity, I thought I had better make a note of it. The teddy that went last night and the one due to go this morning are pictured here. Kent is grey & Cedar Lee is the brown one and yes, I name all my teddies after Ohio places. Originally they were all going to be Cleveland places that meant something to me, but no one wants to buy a bear named Library Steps, so I had to expand. As it is, the demand is big enough for them that I fear I am going to have to do series with the same name...
la la la
So today is the 4th of July. I thought about that on my way to work this morning. I thought about parades and fireworks and things like that and how I would not be wearing a jersey (meaning sweater) if I was at home. But even if you are listening to NE Ohio news via the WKSU daily podcast, it is kind of hard to forget that you are in Johannesburg when you casually roll up your windows before certain intersections to avoid the onslaught of guilt because you refuse to give money to blind beggars every 500 metres.
So by the time I arrived at work and was confronted by a crisis as soon as I walked in the door, I had forgotten that it was the 4th of July. I remembered again slightly later in the day as I was adding a booking to one of our artists' diaries that, oh yes, it is the 4th of July, which I had been threatening to take off work on principle, and of course hadn't done because I completely forgot about it. However, I decided to drag up the sympathy vote and pointed it out to my collagues, who promptly said, "ah yes, independence day..." by then the phones were ringing again and there was plenty of work to be done. So once again the date was set aside.
On my drive home, I remembered yet again that it is the 4th of July. And then I remembered, actually heard in my head, "ah yes, independence day" and I realised that my history was a little rusty. What happened on the 4th? Was it before or after the war? And then I thought about trying to explain independence day to my housekeeper. I mean, across Africa, independence days are less than a handful of decades old and I struggle trying to explain to her that yes, there is unemployment in the US and yes it does get hot there. Its not that she can't understand, its just that it violates her frame of reference. Then I thought to myself, does South Africa have an independence day? There are a heck of a lot of holidays here, which one is the national holiday? I went through the possibilities - 27 April - Freedom Day (good possibility) , 24 September - Heritage Day (good possibility) and 16 December - Reconciliation Day (good possibility). There seem to be an abundance of others, but they are all pretty easily ruled out, like women's day & worker's day. So which one is the national holiday?
But, again, as I got home, I had forgotten all about the date and the rest of my questions and announced that I would be going to sell a teddy bear as soon as I got the phone call, whenever that was... The evening progressed and of course the 4th of July was sort of transparently present in the back of my head. And after I went and sold the teddy bear, I ended up playing with Felix for a little bit (Oscar was promptly put to bed - it was late for him). He's beginning to get the hang of singing, he can do a little Death Cab and Postal Service, but tonight the only song in my head was an old 311 tune that starts like this:
The fish who keeps on swimming is the first to chill upstream
I want your fish right by me, thats just how it has to be...
The songs I sing, they don't mean a thing if you're not there to hear them...
Well the idea of singing about fish was just wonderful to Felix, who really only understands songs about stars and birthdays, only his version of the fish song goes like this:
I want your fish and I want your song
I want your swimming fishy
La la la...
I was crumpled up with laughter and he was very proud of himself. And after I put him into bed, I remembered again. Its the 4th of July. For as American as I am these days, I feel that it should really mean something, but it doesn't. At home I think it would mean a day off work and having a couple of beers, which I can do on any one of the numerous SA holidays - but generally choose not to, as parenting really kinda gets in the way of drinking. So it was the 4th of July and there is little more to say, except the official national holiday in South Africa is... La la la... Freedom Day - which was the date of the first democratic election in post-apartheid South Africa. Who knew?
breaking the feng shui rules
Last night I sat down and read my blogs. The first thing that struck me was how long it has been since I had written, the lasting impression I had though was that if nothing else, I do make myself laugh. I even remembered a couple of emotions I thought I had lost forever... So I decided to write a few sentences, which I promptly sat down to do and came up with nothing. I felt a little disappointment and then realised I had spent the entire day doing a full clean on the kitchen and not having any inspiration after that would of course be perfectly normal. Plus there is no mirror in the study.
A mirror you ask? Yeah, a mirror. Last November when we went off to
About a week or so ago, Steve for absolutely no reason that I can fathom finally hung the mirror up. I didn't realise it. That night I finished watching Ghost World. Yeah, finished watching. You see, my neighbours who were feeding my cats while I came down to
After that I took a bath and didn't feel frozen when I got out. Then I sat in bed and actually wrote a few pages in my everything book about the last comment that I had heard about myself, which was that I am very pedantic. I turned off the lights and had the best night's sleep that I have had in what feels like a decade. I didn't feel nervous (about sleeping in
But maybe, I need a mirror across from my bed so that I can travel into the abyss every night so that the next day I have something to write about. My guess is that writing is the only aspect of my life that I am completely un-rewarded for, everything else is either paid for or in the case of school, I pay for it, so I challenge myself to do well or like cleaning the kitchen, something I know is generally good for family health. So until Lexi is finished and published, writing remains completely and utterly selfish. Like the fact that I am going to go out and buy a whole bunch of mirrors for every room of the house. Except the kids room, I want them to sleep well and they dont know how to write anyhow.
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