creepy caroling

Christmas music blared overhead and lulled into a false sense of security and joy, I began to sing along with the song, "We wish you a Merry Christmas..."

In the Spring the city introduced me to the joys of public singing. This was different. As I passed a woman she was also singing along.

I passed a couple who was singing the lyrics together.

And then I got a little nauseous.

Not that I don't love my fellow man, but weird. I mean it would have been cooler if it was a Bright Eyes song like "Something Vague" and I just happened to hear it on the radio and started singing along and knowing all the lyrics and then someone at the cafe would also hear it and sing along... the likelihood of that happening is nil.

I started thinking about how we all have this collective consciousness and Christmas songs, regardless of how you feel about the celebration of Christmas, these songs are all etched into our memories, which is weirder still because they only become increasingly played for a six week period once a year.

Then I started thinking about Christmas.

One of my favorite jokes about Christmas was on Futurama when Fry finds out that Christmas has been boiled down to Xmas. Of course, even though it's supposed to take place in the future, it's clever satire for the way America has consumerized and secularized a religious holiday.

As I get older, the thrill of presents has faded. I still receive some, and in only recent years has it seriously dwindled; this year I have asked for no gifts and I was last in the line of the four siblings to say so. My mother has shifted all of her focus from us kids to her grandkids, which I suppose is far better than trying to please and excite a bunch of twenty-somethings and a thirty year-old with gifts they will probably sneer at as they open them.

My most successful gifting moment was the birthday books and even that got screwed up a bit; someone gave me a book that simply looked good and was not their favorite and I ended up reading a lot of quirky fiction that I would never read willingly. I am not a fan of gift cards and find that no one really knows what else to give me. So I tell them not to get me anything.

If I had a choice in the matter, I would not really participate in Christmas or Xmas at all. My favorite thing about it is that people act nicer to each other. I wish they could be that way all year. I hate the pressure to buy and give gifts, I hate feeling like my mom has a big credit card bill to pay off for the next couple months and I also hate how ubiquitous it is, how absolutely dominating it is as a cultural phenomenon. I can't imagine what it is like to be any other religion celebrating a holiday and having it shoved aside for some fat guy in a red suit with a shitload of presents.

What usually happens every year is that I complain about it until the week before and then I start to get excited. I start to participate a little. Last year I bought everyone thrift store presents. I figure I will contribute my consumerism in a little different way. For some reason, kids books or toys at thrift stores are always either broken or look like seething germ factories, so I buy their stuff new. I never buy them the thing they most want (I leave that up to the parents) but I hear that the things I get them are cherished more than the video games or mp3 players.

And even though the things that others give me are never quite what I need or what, I try to incorporate them into my life or pass them on to someone that can.

Anyway, bah humbugging over.

when the past finds you on facebook...

Well I suppose it's my fault. No one twisted my arm or anything. No one said, hey, by the way, you have to get a facebook account or you might as well jump off the lame cliff with all the other technophobes out there. The truth is, being on facebook doesn't make you skinnier, prettier, or even, younger!

So why did I join facebook?

Simply because I like to consider myself on the cutting edge of all that is the internet. Simply because I can't admit that somewhere along the way I lost that edge while being consumed with school and it's dealings. Simply put, facebook has been my downfall.

As soon as I joined and realized that it is pretty unpalatable, my first bump in the facebook road arrived fresh on the heels of my distress over not being able to alter my profile to my liking, having to decipher all these weird applications, and more importantly, being overwhelmed by just how much I'd been missing on facebook while being a myspace addict. That bump was a supposed high school chum of mine who found me in the relatively easy manner of a few clicks because facebook tries to organize people into groups and then they give you the opportunity to search those groups. So someone in a matter of clicks went to the high school portion of their search page and clicked on my graduation year and bam! he wants to be my friend.

Problem is, I don't know him. Don't recognize his name, his face, or his attempts at jive talking. It's been FIFTEEN years since I started high school! Of course, there are some people I will, sadly, never forget. But this poor guy, I DO NOT KNOW. So do I ignore him? What do I do? I feel bad and made him a "friend." He has since gone on to actively doing things via facebook that I can hardly understand (some of those applications are WEIRD, it's not just because I am old...) and every time I log on there's a message or something from him. So now I just ignore him. Far be it from me to tell people how to go about using their time (unless it is the burnham, of course!). It is so easy to be "friends" with anyone on these sites.

This innocuous relationship somehow managed not to be the harbinger for the the even worse fate that was to come.

On other "socializing" sites, you are not always your given name. This manages to seclude you somehow from persons who want to look you up and find out how your life has been in the decade passed. Or, maybe their search engines are not as fucking good as facebook's. Whatever the case, I have been contacted by some guy I knew via the internet (turned out he wasn't a serial killer!) over a decade ago when the internet was still in it's embroynic state or what I call the Era of AOL and Compuserve. This guy I actually remembered even though we've never met in person. But more horrifyingly, he wants to catch up on lost time and I have no idea where we left off.

And even if in the murky depths of my brain I could sort out where we left off, WHO CARES? A DECADE has gone by and we never even met and until a couple days ago I did not even remember that name. It was put away. And now, I'm not sure what he wants. He seems to be saying that emailing back and forth for a while is just okay. I don't know what the something else is (maybe he is a serial killer in the making) but he is unable to ask outright and I am not interested in calling someone on the phone--I barely call my present tense friends on the phone!--or going to visit them or having them visit me--I barely...well you know!--so what else is there?

I have my own versions of this game and it never feels right: hello, do you remember me? You were my first love. I loved you more than life itself. I was fourteen, you were a couple months older than me, hee hee, at the time it seemed so much older...

hello, do you remember me? You were my best friend. I thought you were so great. We listened to oldies and made dance interpretations. It's been a decade, but how the heck are ya?

hello, do you remember me? You were my first boyfriend. I broke your heart and lost touch with you. I always think about you when I pass the house where you used to live. Will you be my friend?

Though it would be nice to find out if these people are still alive and well in the world, it would be nicer to remember them just the way I do, in a hazy blur of nostalgia.

small town, big city

As I was looking for the bus a familiar face entered my view. She has known me for years, but not really known me, we have hung out here and there, and she is someone I would like to get to know better. She was my coffee girl, from the bux on roscoe and paulina.

In the years that have passed, all of her major qualms have been appropriately dealt with and are no longer problems. The job she hated has been replaced by something new and different. She decided to go to cooking school and is working in a restaurant for a very difficult chef, who, she says with some cheerfulness, is supposed to teach her something about the business and is supposed to be very good.

She says all this with a five day old burn on her hand covered in bandages.

A long time ago, she ached for love. She wanted it more than she could ever admit to, and each time I saw her I could see the pain of loneliness in her eyes. She has recently found someone to be with, someone who lives with her, someone who is right for now...

When she first told me about her, the glee in her face was a glow and she had to write it down on a piece of paper for me so that no one else would know.

In just this year, that age when people start getting themselves together, stop working the shitty jobs they hate, start doing the things they've always wanted to do, she is doing it all. And yet, there is a sadness in her eyes. There is a pain there that I will not know for sure. She and I have always shared a certain winking kindredness, a kind of knowing glance in which words weren't needed.

I hope as I begin to clear out the messes in my life I will have room for the intriguing people I've always wanted to know.

the signs were all there...

I suspected that behind his sharp hawk-like stare there was nothing more than scrutiny. I wondered if it was just a matter that each time I arrived at the bar I said hello to all but him and her. Also, was it that I knew so many people, his people, at his bar?

Last night I heard him ask, "Why is Walter a chick magnet?"

It's true, Walter was surrounded by four beautiful girls, each one different in their beauty, but all hanging on his every word. The bar was full and it was late and Walter was in his prime. His friendship with each of us is more than an assumption, it has to be asserted constantly, but it will always be just a friendship. Walter is one of those sad unfortunate men to know how to charm women, but he finds they only want to be his friend in the end.

And how does he do it, this man, who at a glance seems boring and lame, the kind of guy who isn't even vanilla ice cream, he looks more like a vanilla flavored frozen yogurt. Does he have magic? Does he hypnotize? Does he really have a magnetic field around him that attracts chicks?

To him I would say that Walter is non-threatening. For myself I would say that Walter is an excellent conversationalist, and he gets better when he is drunk and loses a little of the politeness that makes him seem fro-yo.

All this time I thought that he was such a cool dude, such a wild beast, sulking about the bar, protecting his territory and friends, eyes constantly scanning the room for trouble, but it turns out that he is nothing more than a lame-o. For him to be jealous of a guy like Walter and to ask why when it is plain as day what he does, well, that is pretty sad. And like a deflating balloon, his power faded, and I was left to wonder what it was about him that interested me in the first place.

hear this:

It is one thing to say what I say here. It is another to have it facing me. I can't say that I hate them. They didn't know that they were so important to me, that I spent so much time wailing about their weirdness, wondering what their problem was, deciding that I just simply couldn't deal with them. I also can't say that I like them. For the most part, there is nothing wrong with them. The only thing I could say was that they just were not my kind of people.

At my birthday, my glorious friend Annie had the exact phrase for her, the precise term to describe her nature, the thing that I couldn't find to explain her.

She took three years of my grappling and came up with it in less than ten minutes. I had not told her one bad thing about them, about her, I left that in the past. I did nothing to preface my introduction, I simply let them exist and gave them a chance to be themselves. And that was my friend's assessment and she could not have gotten it any more clear.

The problem is, the problem was, they are his best friends, his kind of people, and I know that they come with him, they are part of his list of people to give xmas presents to, they are part of his life. If I want him, I get them. If I want to spend the rest of my life with him, I will have this relationship to contend with.

Ten minutes in her presence and I get gripped by irrational anger. How this dowdy, unpleasant, unattractive woman manages it is through her flaunting of her intimacy with him. She has always done it, perhaps to reassure herself that he cares for her, to publicly mark her territory, or maybe, just to get on my nerves.

I smile secretly with the knowledge that my friend has pegged her just with one penetrating glance.

Her meddling, her siding with him constantly, her absolute doggedness to be with him is odd, but it is a fleeting thing. He is mine and I am his and there is nothing she can do, no bragging she can claim, and his smile is just for me and she sees that.

She is my nemesis, my enemy, she is someone that I will never trust. She is a fun sponge.

five years ago

Looking back;

It was nearly perfect and yet, I found the imperfections. Under the glare of my gaze he cowered. We spent three months in total bliss, then it took only three months to erode the love we made until it was nothing more than a routine we could barely justify continuing.

And yet, we are still here, standing together. We are more casual about it now, to save face, to keep rejection at bay, to avoid feelings getting hurt. In recent weeks, it is almost like none of the bad stuff ever happened: his sour roommates are married and in their own place, his lines more pronounced in the sand, his annoying habits tailored and tended to. In short, he is the man I should have had, the man I wanted all along, he is becoming a grown-up finally, but there was no end to the suffering he caused me until I left.

For my part: I am out of school which was an exhausting, all-consuming breach of our time, I am working stress free stable jobs, I have eaten a lot of crow and apologized for taking it all so personally, being unforgiving, being unaccepting of so much. Leaving gave me what I needed. Finishing school gave me a newfound sense of confidence. Finding him again was more than I could ask for. Every man that has loved me has become a sacrifice for the better person I could be and he was willing to meet that better me despite how I ravaged his heart. That he could still love me is how I finally realized after being incapable of accepting it for so long; his heart had always been for me. I simply could not receive his love.

I wish that it could have been better, different, but that is the way it went. I am totally complete with this and have been able to put it all behind me. Perhaps because I can look back at the many entries I wrote, I can consider it behind me. One of the things that I realize is that I needed to learn how to love and be loved and I am glad that we were able to do that for each other. He is still angry about how things went, how unfair I was, how bitter I was. I wish I could make him understand that everything I did I was certain I was right about it, and even when I knew I was wrong, I found it very difficult to stop.

We are sharing a television series together, we are cooking and baking together, we are working things out together. I love his ways, but I also have a creative energy that I lose in my contented bliss because I know there is no room for my passion between us, because I know it makes him feel bad about his lack of creating, but I cannot hold myself back for him, and I will not.

For me, even though there is a sourness, a tinge of sadness to our time together, what I see most are those shiny moments that the love between us was evident and genuine and enough.

thirty days

Yesterday marked one month to the day that my application for the writer's workshop is due.

Given that all they care about is the writing I have to show them, then yeah, I'm doing okay. I've been working on some new stuff and I have some old work I can send them.

Otherwise, I am very behind. I haven't looked at the application for the school, taken the GRE, or looked at any other schools.

Considering that I do my best work when I"m pressed for time and in the throes of procrastination, I am hoping for the best.

I can't imagine not going there, to Iowa. It just feels like it will be the starting point of my career. I consider other schools as a back up plan but nothing has the same allure, the same compulsion. I want to go to Iowa and I will be working on all the things I must do.

I just can't believe that this year has passed by so quickly. I guess it is a good thing I was having so much fun...

disposable disappointments

the breath of (once fresh) stale air came to the cafe today. his beady eyes found me instantly and he pretended not to see me at first. then I had to say hello and he complimented me in that weird weighty way he does, and instead of saying thanks, which I was never good at doing, I deflected and said something about having a shower. the rest of the time he was there I busied myself with the newspaper and basically ignored him, though not to be rude, I just had nothing to say and no longer felt the need to be pretend to be interested in what he had to say.

betsy's owner is either really very insecure and unable to gather my interest like a bouquet of flowers or he is simply not interested. sound familiar? He is my new man of the year, I suppose, but I had such hopes for him. I thought he was different somehow, and yet, he has not done anything with my efforts and my interest has withered over this expanse of time.

to realize that the trader joe's guy did not even recognize me, that my face and smile had been erased from his beaches by time, well, it seemed alright, and yet, not right. His eyes still caught mine, he still had that wonder for me, that curiousity, that glimmer. Over a year ago now, he made my visits to the store a welcome treat and we even managed to have our paths cross outside that store once. that night I learned that no matter how much he stoked a giddiness in me, a sheer delight in being next to his body, his thoughts were just not...right. and now, being here, I see the error of my one sided affections with such embarassment that I am glad nothing happened.

those that I do share delightful conversations with are closed to me. they love my ways but have no room for my love. they evoke such a passion in me and I leave them wondering why the ones who love me leave me wanting and the ones I love leave me wanting and why am I always in such a state of wanting and so rarely fulfilled? I suffer from an unending loop of disappointment that leaves me numb to being happy.

I wonder if I can stop exerting myself up and down this avenue of one sided and half felt affections and truly enjoy the meal I chose instead of languishing over the menu I could have had?

for it is with the burnham that my heart lives. I am happier after he calls, gladder after his company, settled and content after his love reaches me. I just feel like it is so hard to struggle for what should come naturally, what did come naturally. It is like loving something you have to wrestle into submission and then wonder if you did the right thing in trying to contain such a beast. And I also know that there are appreciations of me that he cannot provide, a vast array of areas unknown to him that he will never be able to reach, a chasm of my Self that he cannot traverse. I love him and he loves me. He is mine and I am his. his love will always leave me wanting.

the most ironic place to see a famous person is at the zoo.

he wore a jacket that screamed for attention. and he was tall. and striking. and strangely familiar. and we were just talking about him...

his jacket was a turquoise and black plaid with a hood. I have never seen another like it and it caught my eye. I'd spent all afternoon watching Project Runway, so fabrics and fashion felt like a visual assualt.

he was tall, but also taller thanks to these clunky boots which were exotic because they must be expensive and therefore not seen often round these parts.

his hair was mostly white. Not gray, white. And yet, he had a moustache that was peppered, almost like he'd gotten it dirty while drinking a hot chocolate to stay warm.

a third look still could not solve the mystery of who he was. I just know so many people in so many different contexts. damn people.

I caught his eye several times until I realized I was looking at Bill Murray. Less than ten feet away from me, he was nonchalantly milling around the entrance of a gift shop at the Lincoln Park Zoo in the Lion House.

I didn't know what to do. I'd just declared not one hour before that he was one of my favorite comedians to give credibility to funny guys doing serious roles in movies. We decided that comedians make the best actors because they have more of a range, and he is the king of that ability. And there he was. Should I talk to him? Tell him that I love his work? Tell him that he has provided me with endless hours of entertainment?

I let him be. He has family here; the two women he was with looked like they might be family. I noticed someone taking his picture in a very sly way, as if they were just pointing their digital camera in his general direction. His eyes scanned the room constantly, he saw the camera, he looked at me, and there was a panic there that made me sad.

Why do we take the things and people we love most and destroy them with our need to preserve everything?