my mom: "The Truth Hurts"

The backseat of my mom's old car smelled like sour milk and soccer cleats for the better part of a decade. Ah, the mighty Ox. That's what we called her giant black suburban. The license plate was OX-48800. It's not like we had to reach very far for what became a classic nickname. That's the car my siblings and I all learned how to drive with — from learning to parallel park or how to get out of a fish tail situation on an icy morning, to getting in our first fender benders or breaking both the front and back windshields.

I'm thinking of her car now because I'm thinking about her. I'm thinking about her whole life, her life before me, before Larry, before Colleen, before Sean, before Timmy and before Kevin. I'm thinking of her before my dad, before she was a wife and a mother, before she was a nurse, when she was just a young woman, lost, like I am now. I wrote my first solo show, "Heart/s," last week and performed it Sunday night, and honestly, I could not have done it without her; she is such an integral part of me. And for those who saw the show, and for those that will come August 29th in Chicago, you can and will see how much so.

We talked on the phone the other week. It was during my lunch break from a gig I had at a production company in Santa Monica. I was driving to find a Mexican restaurant nearby the office. I'm shocked by the lack of solid burrito spots in Los Angeles. In Chicago there's a burrito restaurant on every damn corner, and they are all the best. Taco Burrito on Lincoln and Diversey, aka Los Tres Ponchos, is really the best, but they are all very good. Garcia's in Lincoln Square? Yeah, also the best. I mean, I could go on, but I have to stop. El Burrito, under the Addison redline? So good. Ok. I'm stopping. Not El Jardin. I'm not a fan of that spot (also in Wrigley — though I will say they do have a pretty stellar margarita).

Anyway, I called my little momsicle to talk because I miss her. I miss her all the time because I love her. Sometimes I feel like I don't know her though. I think a lot of people feel this about their parents. Last night in my Groundlings class one of my classmates did a character based on his father, and when asked what his father's point of view on life was, the student was in some ways at a loss. And when I reflected on how I might do Mary Sheila Marshall as a character (and she is a total character), I don't quite know what her point of view on life is either. If I had to say anything it would be, "Life is hard, things are hard, get over it because complaining doesn't make things better." A painful aphorism of hers is, "The truth hurts," which is a hard thing to hear when you just want an empathetic ear and someone to stroke your hair while not saying anything at all.

Whenever I ask her about her life she is vague, focuses on whatever she is doing at that moment and gives me a little rundown of what her plans are for that day. It's frustrating. It's frustrating to try and get to know someone I've known for almost three decades. She's shocked whenever I tell her I feel like I don't know her very well. I know her, her inclinations, the inflection of her voice, her catch phrases. I know her face, the roughness of her incredibly strong hands, the smoothness of her cheeks. I know what she looks like when she's just woken up, what she looks like when she's already sleeping, and when she's going from being happy to being sad. I know her — but so much of her is her history, so much of her is the past that makes up her present.

Can we ever know other people, truly? It's a widely believed notion that we can only be close to six people at a time. That makes sense. I only have six people in my car speed dial. Most family phone plans are limited to six. The big table at restaurants typically maxes at six, and then you have to add additional tables. As Marshall children, we know what it is to wait for the big table at any given restaurant, read: The Silo in Lake Bluff, Illinois, a Marshall family hot spot from 1990-2000.

There's something about that not being able to be close to many people — it's hard to spread the love to more than a select few. And I suppose, with six kids, a husband, parents, nine siblings of her own, and a slew of friends and acquaintances, Sheila Marshall has become an expert in loving others. She might be all over the place, but it's only because she wants to be everywhere at once, sharing in the lives of the people around her, and letting them know she does care deeply. She really does.

I hope to be more like her...minus her adages and the reality check no one asked for. (But, I suppose I've already inherited those things about her too.)

And I love that.

There's a cat in the alley.
And I hate it.
But she belongs to someone.
Some little girl.
A neighbor perhaps.
And that's nice.
I can recognize how very nice that is.
And I love that.

There's a smile on the face of the man.
The old man in the stairwell.
I see his crooked teeth.
And his inviting face.
He is one of those people.
Those people who smile just because.
Because they can't not.
And I love that.

There's a girl on top of her roof.
She's alone there.
Taking it all in.
And there is so much.
She can't possibly soak it up.
But she's there.
She's not going anywhere.
And I love that.

dads. my dad. dads.

Sheila & LarBear. 2012.

This is, I guess, more pertinent, or timely, than most of my posts. Mostly, because it's non-fiction, and it's about my dad. Oh, Larry Marshall, a man that in every moment is a dedicated daddy-o, entrepreneur, non-shirt-wearer when in the yard, self-described short-ditty-songwriter, avid gardener and amateur real-estate aficionado. My dad has always been a driver in my life. It took a long time to realize that he drove so hard because he hoped that the six of his kids would drive ourselves in the same way. He did good.

I will always prefer striving to stagnant, type A to slacker.  In short, I'm an Annie Edison, as opposed to a Jeff Winger. I don't know how to be content, so to this, I say thank you. There's always more out there.

The pair of us would make lists as I grew up. I don't know if he did this with my siblings; I have an inkling this particular habit sank into my sister Colleen's life though. We are so similar when it comes to how we go about dreaming and working to achieve. Perhaps it was a "Father of Girls" move. How lucky were we to have such a caring, thought provoking man as a dad? And remains so.

Me & Dad. 2013.

These lists, ah, these lists, they'd be the lists comprised of all sorts of things: what I was interested in, books I wanted to read, books I'd read, places I'd like to visit, places I'd visited, my favorite facts, things I loved, goals I set, goals I accomplished, people I admired, and so on into all spheres of life. I have kept many of these lists throughout the years: a hoarder of the relics in my own life. And for my unsurprising love of memoirs, I've kept track of myself for years in hopes that eventually I'll be able to piece together where I've been, where I'm going and where I want to be by the time I'm old. To this my dad laughs, then reflects on how he has grown and changed over the years. He'd think about if it were his little life lists. "I look pretty good, right?" A common catchphrase, more than a question. Then, he'd twirl the hairs on the back of his head, smile a side smile, and continue, "...feel like I'm 17, but then I remember I'm not. Doesn't matter. I feel it. Ya know, Bridge, you're as old as you feel." When he said this to me for the first time, he was in the midst of growing his hair a little longer in the back — he called it his stylish baby curls, while everyone else called it a mullet.

 

Birthday. 2010.

He discovers things and shares them with me, and luckily for me, he has promised to keep doing so. The other day he texted (by the way, it was a very exciting day when he learned to text) me about wanting to go to the Elbo Room or the Hideout to check out "Who's who in music land." Someone had recommended he'd like Robbie Fulks. Always an adventure seeker, despite living in the suburbs.

There was a time I remember so clearly: I was a teenager, Armageddon had just come out, and the film's album couldn't get enough airplay. When Chantal  Kreviazuk covered John Denver's "Jet Plane," my dad was so in awe of the song that when he came home one evening, and I greeted him in the driveway, as I was prone to do, he told me to get in his parked car, so we could listen and then re-listen to it over and over again. My favorite moments are when he turns to me and says, "I'm a pretty cool guy, right?" And, he genuinely wants to know my opinion, all the while genuinely believing himself to be a "pretty cool guy." He genuinely is.

I forget how lucky I am to have the kind of parents Steve Martin tends to play in movies. See Father of the Bride or Cheaper by the Dozen, if you're not sure what I'm talking about. Few people know what I have, and I am so thankful.

Colleen. Brigid. Dad. Christmas. 2012.

Indian giving.

I take it back.

There are a lot of things that have worth and are rated appropriately. College parties have their place. I love dogs, but I do stand by my disgust in cats, hamsters, and fish. I love people in a way that definitely is unique to me and, goodness, sleep can be a beautifully quiet relief from a rough day.

So, in short:
I fly by the seat of my pants, and what's true today might not necessarily be true tomorrow.

Five Things I Love Today:
1. Wearing scarves and boots again.
2. Spending time with my dad.
3. Reading Atlas Shrugged in Sunset Woods
4. Sitting in a hot tub when it's 61 degrees.
5. Waking up without an alarm.

happy september

this is my very favorite of months. throughout the year i am always looking forward to september. it's the perfect month. there's this thing that happens in september, and it can only be classified under unbelievable contentment.

so. in keeping with things i love, i give you this. matt wertz's "lonely tonight." it goes hand in hand with my last post regarding loneliness. i think september is perhaps the only month where the idea of walking around solo in the perfection of a crisp, smooth, lovely night thrills me.



"Lonely Tonight," Matt Wertz

6th and green is a warm place in November
When the air is cold and the leaves blow on the ground
And I don't think that I can even remember
Why it was that i came to this town

Because I just want to be lonely tonight
Just me and my maker in this cold moonlight

This is me on the eve of an ending
To what I've known's been constant for a year
And I'm so scared of this pain that I'll be sending
Sometimes I just want to run away in fear

Because I just want to be lonely tonight
Just me and my maker in this cold moonlight

No, I haven't heard your voice in two weeks now
And anticipation's been wearing me thin
And I just can't help but wonderin' baby if somehow
We could tear these pages out and begin again

Because I just want to be lonely tonight
Just me and my maker in this cold moonlight
I just want to be lonely tonight
With no one around to see the sight
Of me lying here

'Cause this is the hardest thing I've ever done before
I said this is the hardest thing I've ever done before
And I don't want to be lonely
But I won't be lonely tonight
Because my maker's holding me

5 Things I love

A few months ago I started writing down a few times a week five things that I love. It really helped me see things in perspective, and I'd encourage you to do the same. For a while I was pretty distraught at feeling like (slash being) a know-nothing, unemployed sucker who went to college only to get diddley. So, it really was necessary for me to write down all the good things that were going on — because there actually were and are a lot of good things going on. So, here's a taste of what I'm talking about. Here are some of the things I collected from different lists I wrote this week in no particular order:

1. 5 minutes after my alarm goes off, all snug in my warm sheets.
2. When things work themselves out.
3. Rebecca, sad she's leaving for Spain, but so happy for her.
4. Sending postcards and cards.
5. Reading on the train.
6. My walk to work, it smells like chocolate and brownies.
7. Catching up on shows with Brian.
8. Talking about the book I'm reading.
9. Seasonal drinks at coffee shops.
10. Larry, Colleen, Sean, Timmy, and Kevin.
11. Options.


What's funny is when I was working in the cubicle I actually wrote Things I Do Not Love lists, which isn't good, but can be funny to go back and read. Here's one of those:
1. Losing jewelry and knowing it's around here somewhere, but still no luck.
2. Cision, my job at Cision.
3. When Corner Bakery runs out of chocolate chip cookies.
4. Not having a pen and paper when I need one.
5. Kankersores.

We Should All Be Jacks

Periodically I am vain and re-read my past posts. I think I like to check in with myself to make sure I'm not just the sounding board. However, I feel like I have been. In reading the post "Compiling the List of Yesteryear" I left the list with the possibility of gaining a position with Teach For America (TFA) and/or going to Graduate or Law School, slash getting a job.

In another previous post I mentioned that I had gotten my heart broken by various jobs and interviewees at not being selected to work at their organization, company or publication. Unfortunately for both me and TFA (yeah, I said it), I did not get the position to be the Public Affairs Coordinator. Though I would have killed at it, apparently I wasn't a "right fit." Upon asking how I could have strengthened my position or what I was missing or what they wanted and I somehow didn't deliver, they said, "No comment." This, I fear, has become a regular response from the dumper in these short-lived relationships. I've never really been privy to being in little week to month-long relationships, so I a. didn't realize I had been dumped and b. definitely didn't know how to react. My natural response was to ask why, and I guess it makes sense why they don't want to relive their thought-process. I'm convinced that for every job I didn't get over the last year, I am, indeed, the one that got away.

But, alas, I digress — going back to past posts.

I would like to say that in everything I have ever written on this blog I am and will continue to be 100 percent candid. This has, I think, gotten me in trouble, hence making the blog private. For your eyes only. The trouble with being so truthful though, is you see my direct stream of conscience. In re-reading posts I am afraid that I sound like a flake. Bouncing from idea to idea, grad to law to advertising to PR and public service to this, that and the other thing, somehow landing in a cubicle amidst the mayhem — I'm sorry.

It should also be noted that I view myself as a Jack of All Trades, as narcissistic as that may sound, which is why I jump around. I think it's an exceedingly good thing to jump around though. At this time in most of our young lives, we don't have real obligation, we don't have real needs, we just need a roof, a blanket, some food and livelihood, when it comes down to it. So, I suppose, I encourage you to re-read who you thought you were going to be last year, re-think who you are now, and make a list of all the things you want to do. (Maybe even make an outline with roman numerals, and the works.)

What's scared me most in the last few months was the fact that I thought in order to live, to do what I wanted to do, I had to compromise somewhere along the way. Eventually that may be the case, but right now, no way. It may seem like we don't have the luxury of choice, but friends, that's all we have here, and it's awesome. The thought I had constantly rotating in my mind if I didn't quit my job was, if I die tomorrow it will say somewhere in my obit that I worked in a cubicle (maybe not verbatim, I hope), but it definitely wouldn't say I was pursuing my passion — and I couldn't, then and can't now, live with that.

So, I close now by saying I still have real goals and real hopes and real things I'm pursuing, but they will change, and I will too. Graduate school or law school, living abroad, traveling often, making and donating money, giving my time, owning my life, and walking with my friends and God, learning from experience, and watching in excited anticipation for the world to throw unexpected things my way, but might be just the ticket at that very moment. I can't wait for the next exciting thing to happen, and right now I am hopeful that I'm walking more in its direct path, rather than darting left and right.

cartoon voices

Sometimes I get on a "voice" roll. What this means is basically I develop the voice of what I think someone should or would sound like. I think I could make a killing working for Pixar, Dreamworks or Disney — if only I knew how to become friends with Robin Williams and somehow implement my voices into Aladdin Return of the King and the Genie and Raja (the tiger), coming to theaters never. I should have knocked on Sir Williams' door when we both were living in San Francisco. A shot at fame missed.

Periodically I burst out into comedic voices. I have a couple of characters: one named Bernice, the other her best friend Hermione. Then I've got my umpire voice "You're Outta here!" and a few other ditties, most recently a home gnome who sounds more akin to a baby as all talking is really just goos with intonation. It's gotten some praise from Brian's roommate Danny. Almost all friends in college have experienced my gremlin voice, and one friend, Elizabeth Steele, actually made it her ringtone. I'm 99 percent positive that any time someone heard it they attempted to download a version of it from Ring Tone Nation.

I typically start throwing out my old British lady voice when inebriated. Friends in France can attest to this. Others can also attest to my creepy child laugh, which has somehow morphed into an animé character giggling.

Anyway, most of you have heard these various characters at one point or another. So, this is all to say that I've been told by a few people so far that I should become a voice actress. Every time I hear this I just want to scream, "YES!" and periodically, I do actually scream "YES!" So, consider this my notification Cartoon Movie/Television: I'm coming. One way or another.

So, does anyone know how to break into the industry? I've got a few Hollywood connections, but nothing in the animation world.

Oh, and I should also mention I do a bad ass impersonation of Macy Gray, yeah, the one hit wonder. "Games, changes and fears/ When will they go from here?/ When will they stop?/ I believe that fate has brought us here...I try to say goodbye and I choke/ I try to walk away and I stumble." She may not rock so much, but I do.

smiley face cookies

Today I was busy. Busyness is key when you have nothing to do. Errands remain one of the great time eaters, and that's what I did. I ran errands all day. Then, when the time arrived to fill my gut with cookies, a traditionally wonderful thing to do when mildly depressed, I looked no further than Highwood's Il Mulino Bakery. As my mother would say, "It's a touch of Europe right in our backyard." I told her she should be a copy editor or at least in advertising/marketing, but I'm pretty sure she'll stick with nursing.

The Smiley Face Cookie has been a staple in my life since I was six. On Saturday mornings my dad would generally pick one out of the six of us kids to take to the bakery, and pick out cookies for everyone. Whenever he would take me I would ask for the Smiley Face. It is a day-brightener to the highest degree.

You know the worst thing that could ever happen when dealing with Smiley Face Cookies? I'll tell you. The worst thing is going into the cookie box and realizing that your choice is not there. The worst thing is seeing the crumbs leading toward the stuffed face of your younger brother. He literally turned my smile upside down and ate it.

This, this was the last straw.

The one thing truly good about my day today was eaten. $2.50 down the belly. And, let me tell you, when it comes to eating someone else's Smiley Face Cookie, all I can say is, "Good Luck," because that pathetic "Sorry" doesn't cut it.

How to Not Be Depressed During a Depression

1. Remember at least once daily, at least you’re not dead or dying. Don’t say things like, “But then I wouldn’t have to deal with this sh*t” right after. People will become worried about you, no matter how true the statement.

2. Write down five things you love each day, even if they’re seemingly dumb. Example: reading, capitalism, road trips, earrings, & lists

3. Blink a lot when you feel like you might start crying. Whatever you do, don’t let the tears well up, they will fall, and you will look and or be pathetic. You know what, carry tissues with you at all times.

4. Read a lot of books, and tell yourself things like: You’ll look back on this period as a great time in your life. At least you still have eyes. At least you can still process this novel intelligently. Look, you read a crap ton of Ayn Rand. You’ve always wanted to do that.

5. Listen to your iPod extraordinarily loudly whenever parents, siblings or friends attempt advice, which will not only be the opposite of helping, but will annoy you to no end.

6. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket. Meaning, if someone says they might be able to help you, don’t believe them until you’ve got your first paycheck in tow and you’re walking into a bank.

7. Substitute teach. Seriously, it’s a great way to make a few, and you get to feel intellectually superior to at least someone.

8. Continue donating money to good causes. You will feel better and you will have helped out someone else.

9. Volunteer. Even though it’s not a real job and you don’t get paid, it’s still a solid thing to jot down in your schedule. Filling up time slots is important.

10. Catch up on all that sleep you missed out on during those all night study sessions that really helped you get to this great place you are in now.

11. Take a deep breath. The water’s not warm. They lied.

Addendum: Don't think about what you don't have.

Rilo Kiley's "Silver Lininig"

And I'm not going back into rags or in the hole
And our bruises are coming
But we will never fold

And I was your silver lining
As the story goes
I was your silver lining but now I'm gold
Hooray hooray I'm your silver lining
Hooray hooray but now I'm gold.

And I was your silver lining
High up on my toes
Well you were running through fields of hitchhikers
As the story goes

Hooray hooray I'm your silver lining
Hooray hooray but now I'm gold
Hooray hooray I'm your silver lining
Hooray hooray but now I'm gold

And the grass it was a ticking
And the sun was on the rise
I never felt so wicked
As when I willed our love to die

And I was your silver lining as the story goes
I was your silver lining but now I'm gold
Hooray hooray I'm your silver lining
Hooray hooray but now I'm gold
Hooray hooray I'm your silver lining
Hooray hooray but now I'm gold
But now I'm gold
But now I'm gold
But now I'm gold

Hopefully, eventually, one day, maybe I will feel like I'm gold. Right now I'm just walking around feeling like a blank slate, but in a bad way. It's like I have nothing there. Sort of depressing, right? Yeah. I'm sorry. I wish it wasn't this way, but it is. One of these days.

Banjo Pickin' Time

So, the latest tune I'm learning on the banjo is hence forth named, Banjo Pickin' Time. Recently I've picked up this instrument namely because I've always wanted to learn a string instrument, and the banjo in particular because everyone plays the guitar. I've had three lessons and really, things are going well with it. Up next is She'll Be Coming Around the Mountain and the Banjo Boogie.

I started seriously wanting to play in the fall last year while in San Francisco. My housemate had a banjo and taught me a few chords. Nothing too serious, and definitely informal as far as actual lessons. It's been great having my own instrument and having lessons. Though, I should add, lesson are not cheap. It's sort of a bummer, but I figure knowing an instrument is always worth it. Growing up I took piano for years and have sung since basically day one. I had some formal voice training, so music's no biggie, but string instruments are so different. I know the piano is string, but hand-held string instruments are so unique. For a while in junior high I played the trumpet, well, it was the cornet, but that's about the same thing, just a wee bit smaller. There were only three buttons on the trumpet, but a ton of chords could be made. I guess I just like the challenge of learning something knew while having that familiarity of a classroom environment to go with it.

If I can figure it out, I think I'll throw up some of these little diddies I've learned — if you're interested?

Ode to Paul.

People think that at the top there isn't much room. They tend to think
of it as an Everest. My message is that there is tons of room at the
top.
Margaret Thatcher

A good friend of mine always emails me helpful quotes when I need them. I'm thankful for that. Otherwise, I'm sure I'd find myself alone, eating cookies and watching Gilmore Girls. Hooray for that sort of quality friend. I hope everyone has one.

Why Tina Fey is my Favorite:

First. Read this: HERE

Second: Here's my list.

1. She started from the bottom and worked her way up. She didn't have famous parents or siblings. She just is awesome.

2. She's unconventionally beautiful. See cover of Entertainment Weekly circa around April, if you doubt me.

3. Before Sarah Palin was invented slash conjured out of thin air, she was already cool.

4. She reads the paper. See Liz Lemon when naming five reasons she's better than Josh, her actor pet.

5. Her daughter's name is Alice named after her grandmother. That's lovely.

6. Actually humorous, yet smart, females are rare. That breed, or "type" (per se), should be coveted by all of us.

7. Everything she says is quotable. Seriously. Wikiquote-30 Rock is probably the best thing ever.

8. Even her movies that were supposedly a flop are still funny. See Baby Mama.

9. Combine her with anyone and they're instantaneously hilarious. See Sarah Palin. Only people don't laugh with her. See SNL when she came on for a bit raising the roof with Amy Poehler.

10. Amy Poehler loves her. Therefore, I do too.

Leaving Las Vegas Among Other Places

The beautiful Red Rock Canyon

Sheryl Crow's Leaving Las Vegas makes me happy. I recently traveled to Vegas to visit some friends and see Brian, who flew in from Chicago, as well. It was a spectacular weekend full of adventures—but it seemed slow at the same time. Between losing a twenty at one of the local casinos, seeing the Beatles Love show, free climbing at Red Rock Canyon, visiting with everyone, and skydiving, I'd say the weekend was a success. It's been nice to be part of what happens around this side of the country—deserts, gambling, and mountains.



Downtown Vegas' city lights

I like it, but I can't imagine looking out my window each day and not seeing a flat, beautiful patch of grass, or just being able to look out and look at forever. There's something so glorious about looking at the sun setting over fields of beautiful corn. And the mountains here are glorious, too. Yes, I like looking out and feeling as if I'm tucked into a bed of high hills overlooking me as I go about my life here—but it's definitely not that feeling of infinity that prairie grass delivers.

I have just under three more weeks on the Ode job, and then it's off to other things with other people in other places. I'm due for an adventure. It's funny, I love the experience of deciding to go somewhere and making it happen, feeling comfortable, and then almost a moment later tossing my cares to the wind again—I go and do something different. What do you call that? It's more than antsy-ness. I was once referred to as a free bird, or perhaps that was just me thinking to myself, but regardless, I am. Well, I'm no more unique than the rest of you, really. It seems I've done a good job of encircling myself with people with that exact mindset—one of here today, gone tomorrow. It's nice because while we're all scattered about the globe, we're also free to visit one another and thereby expand our worldliness. Anyway, it's a double-edge sword because the relationships we have with one another end up becoming strained, and people get hurt and time passes, but there's never the right time to make mention. Until one day, somehow thoughts are expressed and life moves on. I suppose that's the one down turn. You find all these great people, but it's impossible to get them under one roof—especially since they may not know one another because you've been continent hopping alone.

Sunday afternoons are pleasant.

I forgot how much I like to write fiction. This afternoon I just started writing a bit of a story. I used to have a whole file of my fiction on my last computer. It's gone and so are all my stories. Makes me sad. That was always something I enjoyed. Writing for the sake of it. Some people flip on the television, which I do too on occasion, but writing to pass the time is fun. Singing along to Ryan Adams songs is also fun. I've been doing that all day. "Pearls On a String" is my favorite for the day.

"Blue eyes for miles. Pretty as a peach."

I just like that. I always wondered who the people who get songs written about them are. There's a part in the movie "The Holiday" where one character writes the "song" of another character, and I've always wanted to know what I would sound like, what a song of me would be. Musician couples intrigue me. Like Sheryl Crow and Eric Clapton in the 90s. She wrote "My Favorite Mistake" and performed songs like White Room together. Anyway,another song for another day.

Growing Pains. Life Goes On Whether or Not Anyone Notices

I was thinking about this great scene in Growing Pains yesterday afternoon. I don't quite know how it ended up swirling about in my head, but it was there. Read below if you're curious, then I'll continue.

Mike: Hey dad!
Jason: What is it Mike?
Mike: Gilligan's Island is on every day at three thirty.
Jason: Mike I’m very busy, I’m trying to make a chart.
Mike: Dad, Dad, it's on whether I watch it or not. Gilligan the skipper too, the millionaire, his wife, the professor, and...
Jason: Marianne?
Mike: Exactly.
Jason: Mike, what's the point?
Mike: It's not on for me, it's just...on.
Jason: Mike, are you starting to realize that the world doesn't revolve around you?
Mike: Well, yeah, I guess I am.
Jason: Well, congratulations, you know you've hit upon one of the basic ideas in the philosophies of Camu.
Mike: Don't you see. If Gilligan goes on without me, so does my school. You know all day today life went on, even though I wasn't there.
Jason: Mike this is your first philosophical realization. I’m proud of you. See, you can learn from T.V.
Mike: Dad, all day today life went on without me, and you too...don't you realize, the world doesn't need us any more; it does just fine without us.
-Growing Pains, Season 1, Episode 21- "Career Decisions"

I haven't been diligently keeping up on my reruns of Growing Pains, the hit television show that captured the hearts of youngsters every time Jason and Maggie macked in the kitchen, every time Carol whined about being uncool, every time little Ben impersonated someone famous, and oh, indeed, every time Mike Seaver himself walked on camera. Anyway, the point is that this scene just sort of sprang to mind, specifically the line where Jason says, "This is your first philosophical realization." I was thinking about it because lately I've been applying to a whirlwind of jobs, as I'm now just over half-way finished with my internship with Ode, and I have to start thinking about my life some more. Since I've been in California I've been doing some cool things, meeting new people, catching up with old ones located here in the west, and learning about the magazine business—and that's been great. But, I'm just starting to think more about all the things I'm not doing, too. There isn't enough time in the day, and that is frustrating. If I had all the time in the world I'm sure my list of things I want to do would be similar to many: In no particular order:

1. Be an executive editor at a top-tier magazine
2. Work for a nonprofit
3. Step foot in every country, ie travel all the time
4. Raise a family
5. Be an actress
6. Own a vineyard and a farm
7. Hibernate in a cabin in Michigan all winter long
8. Be really good at skiing, snowboarding, fishing, kayaking, snowshoeing
9. Manage to get killer six-pack abs. (I know vain, but come on, who doesn't get jealous looking at Janet Jackson?)
10. Donate tons of time and money to international aid organizations
11. Live in Washington, D.C., Paris, London, New York, Chicago, Cork (Ireland)
12. Scuba dive and not be scared of sharks
13. Work at an NGO and do things to save humanity
14. I don't know, a handful of other things that I'll think up later.

I have a lot of ideas.

indian summer

san francisco may not do summer very well. and fall doesnt happen either. or so i feel. 80 degrees and rising in the bay area today. lovely city scapes are everywhere right now.

things that make me love people

1. good examples

2. when i catch people smiling to themselves

3. interviewing or just chatting with really interesting people

4. notes

5. god's love

6. music, art, books, creation

7. time spent with others

8. forgiving

9. realizing we're human

10. the way people dance

11. humor

12. hugs between friends

13. saying "peace be with you" at church

14. knowing there are good people doing good things for the greater good

15. birthdays

16. treating others as you want to be treated

17. realizing that's not the end. you need to even when they don't love you

18. just because

Living well is what is right.

Real Life Version

Voxtrot

Love, spread out like seeds
Somebody walked away from landscape poverty
I came to find you
I came to see the beauty underway
That bloomed love, energy
And it turns around like you
And it turns around like me
Into something new
But the only thing I see

I see you, I see you
I see you, always struggling
To find some gentle song
Some mode of simple trust
and ways to understand
These reaching orchards
Of broken fame
Grown deep inside of us
By forced and troubled hands

I see you, I see you
I see you, always struggling
I see you, I see you
I see you, always struggling

To find the sun
Reaching down through shadowed brush
Breaking off the bitter branch
Twisted roots like tans
Dreams of all these spotlit kings
Drinking up the light
Like California redwoods
Splitting up the night

And it turns around like you
And it turns around like me
All the talking we could do
Oh if only we could be
A real life version of you
A real life version of you
And a real life version of me
A real life version of me

I see you, I see you
I see you, always struggling
I see you, I see you
I see you, always struggling