When Friends Let Friends Listen to Joni

My best friend in the world is going through a tough time right now. She hasn’t really discussed it with me, which I know from years of experience means one thing: she’s ready to crack.

This girl is the savior who turned me on to Joni Mitchell 12 years ago, after we debated which was a better lay for James Taylor–Carly Simon or Joni Mitchell. At the time I vehemently argued that Carly was, until L. made me a Joni mix tape. A few rounds of Blue, Court and Spark, and For The Roses convinced me that not only was Joni likely a better lay, but also a better musician and songwriter. From that point on I was indebted to L.

Unfortunately, we still live miles and miles away from each other, so offering company, a bottle of Cabernet and/or excessive amounts of Belgian beer and cranking Joni (which usually turns into a classic rock trivia game involving Joni, Zeppelin, The Who, The Beatles, etc.) is a little out of the question. Normally I would have picked up the phone, but this time I opted for the most reliable source known: Joni. I emailed an mp3 of Lesson in Survival, a song that I always think of when things overall suck:

Lesson in Survival
Spinning out on turns
That gets you tough

There are times when I really feel like my friends are far better to me than I am to them; that I don’t do enough to show gratitude for their ears and hearts. I forget birthdays and anniversaries. I usually never have enough money to buy their kids the gifts I’d like to. Anything involving a greeting card takes me two weeks to send, by which time, the life event has passed. My internal debate/excuse is, “Well, I BOUGHT the card a month before the event. I just didn’t know what to write without sounding saccharine or fake for four weeks.” This excuse flies in my own brain, but doesn’t go over so well with friends who know that I have a degree in English and write for a hobby. My rebuttal is usually pretty simple: it’s HARD writing for or to people you care about!

And then there are other times and other friends who get it; who know how much I do care. This one got it and sent me the best email I’ve received in ages, “…how do you always know what’s going on in my head?”

Politics: Obama, Lieberman, Cindy McCain, American Pie, and Joni Mitchell

Hmmph. It seems that it’s been a while since I directly wrote about politics.

Obama
I bought Obama’s The Audacity of Hope a few weeks back. While I will admit Barack is a decent writer, I found it, overall, pretty boring. If you’re into policy, congressional history, mixed in with a little autobiography, you’ll like it. Otherwise, skip it or read the excerpts on the net.

I left the book thinking, despite his grandiose ideals (that I just happen to share), he’s not such a great husband or father. He’s got that only child, my-job-is-so-important-that-it-compromises-my-family-life vibe going. Then again, these are likely GOOD qualities for a leader of the “most powerful” country in the free world. Like any great writer, artist, or leader, I guess something has to give. In this case, we get an inspiring leader, while his kids and wife get a part-time father and husband.

I’m not buying 100% into his rhetoric, yet can’t help but appreciate the words and ways of thinking. Sadly, I kind of feel like he already sold out. The title of this book was inspired by a 1990 sermon from Jermiah Wright (a piece written in reflection of George Frederic Watts painting, “Hope”), the man he dropped like a hot potato following the now infamous Wright sermons on AIDS, 9/11, and White America.

The audacity of hope.

That was the best of the American Spirit, I thought–having the audacity to believe despite all the evidence to the contrary that we could restore a sense of community to a nation torn by conflict; the gall to believe that despite personal setbacks, the loss of a job or an illness in the family or a childhood mired in poverty, we had some control—and therefore responsibility–over our own fate.

It was this audacity, I thought, that joined us as one people. It was that pervasive spirit of hope that tied my own family’s story to the larger American story.

Lieberman
What’s the deal with his choice to speak at the Republican National Convention? Is he really this desperate for attention or is he merely “socking it to” the Dems for screwing his previous election? Either way, I tend to believe that his presence doesn’t make him look like some rebel, but more like an A-hole.

Cindy McCain
I never liked this woman. There. I said it. After this was covered on NPR the other day, I found yet another reason to strongly dislike her. Now, I know First Ladies aren’t exactly running for president, but the person you chose as your running mate in life certainly has a reflection on YOU. I never inherently hated McCain, but his wife, on the other hand, is quite a piece of work.

Just Me
I really hope the next 4 years will bring better times than the last 8. Not that I blame GW or 9/11 for all of my life’s tribulations, but this certainly hasn’t been a great time to come into adulthood.

I randomly heard “American Pie” on the radio the other night. The last time I heard that tune was the night GW was elected for the second time. I remember being on the 290 in my beat up mercury tracer station wagon and gulping back tears at the irony of the timing. I know I’ll never again be that wide-eyed 23 year old, coming to a new town with high hopes and aspirations. It’d be nice to come in from the cold.

We really thought we had a purpose
We were so anxious to achieve
We had hope
The world held promise
For a slave to liberty
Freely I slaved away for something better
And I was bought and sold
And all I ever wanted
Was to come in from the cold

Umami

Through this whole change-of-lifestyle thing, I’ve determined that…I like food. I really like food. I really, really, really like food. Not junk food. Not processed food. Not fast food (though I’d really like to sink my teeth into a bacon double cheeseburger today for some odd reason). Not frozen food. But parmigiana pesto, roasted red peppers, Lebanese whipped garlic spread, Hummus, roasted acorn squash with brown sugar? THAT kind of food.

Food may even top music or literature on my list of life altering agents. Sometimes I don’t remember a damn thing about the location I visited, but can’t get the FOOD out of my head: Steamed mussels in garlic butter sauce from Monk’s in Philly, the fresh, but untoasted bagel from a deli in Queens, the texas hots from a fishfry stand in my hometown…

I think I need to add a few more requirement for potential boyfriend candidates:

1. Must be or appreciate Foodies.
2. Must not kick me out of bed for smelling like a chunk of garlic.

old artifacts

On my quest to purge my apartment of crap I no longer need, I keep  wasting lots of time inspecting old artifacts:

1.  Very important letters from friends written during 11th grade Course III Math.

2.  My dad’s very suave butter fly collared polyester plaid long sleeved shirt, that I wore out until junior year in college when my suite mate asked, “Are you really wearing THAT?  Again?”

3.  Sting’s Ten Summoner’s Tales CD from 1994.  Okay, so <i>If I ever Lose My Faith in You</i> and “Fields of Gold” were overplayed back then.  But I’d just like to say, I effin’ loved <i>Love is Stronger Than Justice</i>, <i>Heavy Clouds(No Rain)</i>, <i>She’s Too Good For Me</i>, <i>Seven Days</i>, and even <i>Saint Augustine in Hell</i>.

Are some Teachers This Dumb or Do Teachers’ Unions Need to Speak Up?

I’ll be honest, I’ve had a Myspace account since it first came on the scene. In fact, I distinctly remember my friend getting me to sign up for Friendster in 2002, a year BEFORE Myspace launched. Thing is, back then I wasn’t willing to paste my REAL name on a website.

However, at the urging of another friend, I recently joined Facebook, which I’ve been told is the “old people version of Myspace.” I like the concepts and love that I have access to my real life friends (their photos, their applications, etc) across the country 24/7. I have thoroughly enjoyed battling out several rounds of Word Twist on a daily basis with a friend who lives two hours away. And I LOVE that no one I know can view any damn thing about me, unless they’re part of my friends list.

With all of that being said, what’s the deal with really dumb teachers posting really unsavory topics on their profiles? I fell upon this blog today, which lead me to a fairly recent Washington Post article on the topic. Check it out,

Click “View Photos of Erin,” and you can see her lying on her back, eyes closed, with a bottle of Jose Cuervo tequila between her head and shoulder. Or click on her “summertime” photo album and see a close-up of two young men flashing serious-looking middle fingers.

“I know that employers will look at that page, and I need to be more careful,” said Webster, adding that other Prince William teachers have warned her about her page. “At the same time, my work and social lives are completely separate. I just feel they shouldn’t take it seriously. I am young. I just turned 22.”

My first thought was, well DUH, get out of your local network so people living in your area don’t have access to anything and everything you post! On further inspection, I started thinking; is it really fair for teachers to be considered the moral compass for the rest of the country? And aren’t these sites supposed to have age restrictions?

Cycles

Maybe it’s just my life, but it sure seems like shittiness/goodness comes in cycles.

#1 I emailed my boss, begging to come in and volunteer my filing abilities; anything to get me back into a routine. The reply was a hook-up; a paid gig. Dummy me emailed back saying that I’d do it for free if all else fails, but it’s the truth.

I don’t know how people stay unemployed and happy for long periods of time. I was itchy two weeks into it. And I’m totally NOT an ambitious overachiever.

#2 Not to jinx anything, but I’m applying for a very cool job OUT of this armpit of Hell. IF I get it, I would be using some very, very cool expeditionary and experiential teaching methods. I’d also get to leave this pit of hell.

A Love Letter To Bread: I Bought a Scale Today..

…and started a friggin’ food diary. This is my penance for last week’s gluttonous pity party filled with onion dip, cannolis, bruschetta, and bacon double cheeseburgers. Today I ate 2000 calories, drank 8 glasses of water, pushed the dog walk to 2 miles instead of 1, and smoked about a pack of cigarettes.

The saddest moment was when I threw away the last half of the beautiful loaf of Italian bread from this weekend’s bruschetta frenzy. I loved that loaf. We really had something special.  I mean, I have deep feelings for the 100% wheat, but we just don’t have the same spark that the crusty Italian and I had. I’ll miss you, Italian Bread. And every time I walk past you in the Bakery section, I’ll have to start singing that Dionne Warwick tune under my breath, “Make believe that you don’t see the tears, just let me grieve in private…”

I know we’ll be together again someday, but I just need some time to purge myself of your carbohydrate high. Maybe someday I’ll be able to have just one slice of you, but until that day comes, I have to cut you out of my life. I’m sorry it had to end this way. I had the best of intentions.