The day got off to a rotten start. No details; just trust me. It was a bad morning. After spending my lunch break ranting and in tears about it, I went on to have my next appointment blow me off. On the way to the appointment after that, my sunglasses broke. Just... broke. Fell right off my face in pieces with no jarring or anything. It was just their time.
After that appointment, I looked at the address for the next one and realized there was a Sunglass Hut in the same little shopping district and figured I could stop there and get a decent pair, which I'd been meaning to do anyway. I walked in and was greeted by the nicest sales clerk I've ever encountered. Actually, it turned out he was the store manager. He found me what I wanted and kept a friendly stream of conversation going while I checked out. In talking to him, I learned that his aunt very recently died of breast cancer, and that he and his mother had just been talking about trying to find some way they could get involved with raising funds and awareness for research and patient services. Guess what I do for a living. I hooked him up with everything he needs to get a team going for Making Strides Against Breast Cancer - paperwork, t-shirt, all that good stuff. By the time I left, we were both in tears and he was squeezing the life out of me with a big hug. He didn't even laugh at me when I walked right into the storefront window, thinking it was the open door.
Now, I'm not only the proud owner of a pair of decent glasses with polarized lenses, but I made a friend and feel like I'm doing a good job, even if the hard numbers don't always agree. Hooray for broken sunglasses.
Busy, busy, busy.
07 August, 2009
04 August, 2009
From Here On It Got Rough
A friend recently admonished me that "Einstein said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting to get a different result." She said this in response to my telling her I'm serious about wanting to move to California. Why would she say that, you ask? From here on, it gets rough.
A few years ago, my life sort of fell apart, or I let it fall apart. Either way, I found myself profoundly unhappy with my state of being - head, heart, and spirit - and was pretty miserable for a while until I decided that I needed to make some pretty big changes. Things happened that turned my attention to North Carolina. I had friends there, people who made me feel welcome and accepted for who I was. That warmed my spirit. The job market seemed better there, and after months of searching in my current community with very little success, my head was going to explode if I didn't expand my search to find something soon. Also, my heart was being tugged in the direction of a guy who I'd started feeling things for. So, what did I do? I moved to North Carolina. I found a job. Hooray for the head. I grew closer to the friends. Hooray for the spirit. At one point, it seemed like I'd even get the guy. Hooray for the heart.
How did it turn out? From there on, it got rough. I lost the job. I started having problems with some of the friends, though many friendships did remain intact and flourishing. I didn't get the guy after all. Head, heart, and spirit were all once again waning. So, what did I do? I recognized the signs and decided that once again, a change was due.
I went to California on a trip that was a long time in the works and finally became possible. I have friends in the LA area and in the northern part of the state whom I'd been promising to visit as soon as I could afford it, and at last, I could. One friend had been telling me for 2 or 3 years that if I came to California, I'd never want to leave it, and oh, he was right. In California, my spirit was lifted. I got to see some friends I hadn't laughed with or shared stories with in far too long. I met new friends who seemed glad to have me among them. I got to see the sun set over the ocean and see places where the mountains run right into the surf. I'm sure I disturbed the woman who sat next to me on the flight back to the east coast; I tried my best to hide it or stop it, but I cried most of the way, feeling not like I was going home, but like I was leaving it and with no clue as to when or if I'd ever be able to return.
Back in North Carolina, I resumed my search for a new job, but started wondering what the prospects were like in California, so I started looking and liked the look of things, seeing quadruple (or more) the results found for my searches on the career search engines. Moreover, I was seeing jobs that I could foresee being happy in, rather than just putting up with because they paid the bills. So?
So, I've landed in Virginia for now. It happened that I found a temporary job right in the heart of my old stomping grounds, accepted the position, and here I am - in my old room, in my old town, but determined not to fall back into my old life. Here's where Einstein comes in.
In order for this to be a step forward and not a regression, I've promised myself that this temporary job and living situation is just that - temporary. It's a stop on the way to California. Why? Because once again, head, heart, and spirit are pulling in unison in one direction. As before, there are no guarantees for any of the three to be satisfied, but in all three areas, I sense possibility, and I suppose I could decide that the risk was too great, that there's a big difference between moving 200 miles and 2,000 miles, and no one would fault me for playing it safe and giving up... except for myself.
If I give up, play it safe, listen to Einstein, then one day, I'll be at work, at some job, staring at the clock, waiting for the day to end, and my head will ask what if? And then another day, or perhaps the same day, the local news will be on, and I'll be disgusted with the members of my community, and my spirit will ask what if? And then, if I'm having a really rough day, or two, or three, and I'm by myself, or I'm with someone who doesn't truly make me happy, that's when my heart will chime in, what if?
For me, that outcome is the risk that's too great. To those who still don't understand, I'm sorry. From here it's rough on you.
A few years ago, my life sort of fell apart, or I let it fall apart. Either way, I found myself profoundly unhappy with my state of being - head, heart, and spirit - and was pretty miserable for a while until I decided that I needed to make some pretty big changes. Things happened that turned my attention to North Carolina. I had friends there, people who made me feel welcome and accepted for who I was. That warmed my spirit. The job market seemed better there, and after months of searching in my current community with very little success, my head was going to explode if I didn't expand my search to find something soon. Also, my heart was being tugged in the direction of a guy who I'd started feeling things for. So, what did I do? I moved to North Carolina. I found a job. Hooray for the head. I grew closer to the friends. Hooray for the spirit. At one point, it seemed like I'd even get the guy. Hooray for the heart.
How did it turn out? From there on, it got rough. I lost the job. I started having problems with some of the friends, though many friendships did remain intact and flourishing. I didn't get the guy after all. Head, heart, and spirit were all once again waning. So, what did I do? I recognized the signs and decided that once again, a change was due.
I went to California on a trip that was a long time in the works and finally became possible. I have friends in the LA area and in the northern part of the state whom I'd been promising to visit as soon as I could afford it, and at last, I could. One friend had been telling me for 2 or 3 years that if I came to California, I'd never want to leave it, and oh, he was right. In California, my spirit was lifted. I got to see some friends I hadn't laughed with or shared stories with in far too long. I met new friends who seemed glad to have me among them. I got to see the sun set over the ocean and see places where the mountains run right into the surf. I'm sure I disturbed the woman who sat next to me on the flight back to the east coast; I tried my best to hide it or stop it, but I cried most of the way, feeling not like I was going home, but like I was leaving it and with no clue as to when or if I'd ever be able to return.
Back in North Carolina, I resumed my search for a new job, but started wondering what the prospects were like in California, so I started looking and liked the look of things, seeing quadruple (or more) the results found for my searches on the career search engines. Moreover, I was seeing jobs that I could foresee being happy in, rather than just putting up with because they paid the bills. So?
So, I've landed in Virginia for now. It happened that I found a temporary job right in the heart of my old stomping grounds, accepted the position, and here I am - in my old room, in my old town, but determined not to fall back into my old life. Here's where Einstein comes in.
In order for this to be a step forward and not a regression, I've promised myself that this temporary job and living situation is just that - temporary. It's a stop on the way to California. Why? Because once again, head, heart, and spirit are pulling in unison in one direction. As before, there are no guarantees for any of the three to be satisfied, but in all three areas, I sense possibility, and I suppose I could decide that the risk was too great, that there's a big difference between moving 200 miles and 2,000 miles, and no one would fault me for playing it safe and giving up... except for myself.
If I give up, play it safe, listen to Einstein, then one day, I'll be at work, at some job, staring at the clock, waiting for the day to end, and my head will ask what if? And then another day, or perhaps the same day, the local news will be on, and I'll be disgusted with the members of my community, and my spirit will ask what if? And then, if I'm having a really rough day, or two, or three, and I'm by myself, or I'm with someone who doesn't truly make me happy, that's when my heart will chime in, what if?
For me, that outcome is the risk that's too great. To those who still don't understand, I'm sorry. From here it's rough on you.
21 July, 2009
I Love Surprises
...the good kind, anyway. Not like when someone slams on the brakes in front of you in traffic or a bill auto-withdraws early. I mean the kind where you check the mail and find
from Michael on Monday, when you know he only put it in the mail on Saturday, and especially when you're not 100% sure what it was going to be.
This seems an ideal time to plug the show to which the pictured little red book is referring. Go and bookmark http://www.fz6d.com, especially if you'll be in the LA area next May, so you can be sure to catch his adaptation of Richard Elfman's Forbidden Zone at the Sacred Fools theatre.
Incidentally, the CD, which is unrelated to the play, is pretty bitchin if you like a little Elvis in your indie rock (and I do).
Mil gracias, Mikeycito.
12 July, 2009
The Story Behind The Story
My friend Drew used to own a bookstore, and since I was between jobs during that period of time, and I'd met Drew in the first place because I worked for him at a different bookstore, it was only natural that I went to work for him again. Except... "work" isn't quite the word for it. Unfortunately, business wasn't great, so there was a lot of sitting around and shooting the breeze. On one such occasion, we somehow got onto a discussion about Stephen Hawking and colonizing the moon and comets and... all kinds of things. I don't remember exactly the point in the conversation where the words "eat the comet" were uttered, but they were, and the phrase stuck in my mind.
It just happened that I left the bookstore that evening and decided on a whim to stop by the pub, knowing that big-brother Josh would be there and a cold beer sounded good. As it happened (was meant to happen?) Josh was indeed there, but so was his friend Chip, with whom I'd only been vaguely acquainted up until that point. To make a long story short, I made not only a new friend that night, but a new writing buddy. My work had been stagnant at that point as I was driving myself nuts editing and re-editing a story until I'd gotten sick of it. It had been months since I'd really produced anything new, but when Chip started sending me stories and new chapters, I felt the muse stirring.
Not long after that, I'd picked up a job at a tiny diner in the industrial part of Norfolk. It was just the owner and me all day, and we had very little in common, so during the slow parts of the day, instead of trying to force conversation, I started jotting down story ideas in the margins of the day's newspaper, which always got piled next to the cash register after the breakfast rush. At some point, I remembered "eat the comet," and came up with a character, a scene, another character, a head in a jar...
I sent the beginning to Chip, and he informed me that finishing the story was not optional. Turned out it wasn't easy, either. I've often referred to it as my red-headed step-brainchild because of all the fits it gave me. If you count all the times I had to walk away from it for weeks or months at a time, all the while enduring well-deserved guilt-tripping and needling from Chip, who had taken a personal interest in the story after I threw in a Star Wars reference, it took about a year just to crank out those 1500 or so words. I wrote other things in the meantime, but for Chip and Drew, I had to finish it eventually.
I'd never been that impressed with the result, but they loved it. I eventually revised it some more and sent it to other friends, who shocked the hell out of me by reporting that it had made them laugh. I sent it out to a few magazines & ezines, but no one was interested. Oh well, I thought, feeling like it wasn't my best work anyway, and that it had made my friends smile, so that was really all the paycheck or validation I needed for it.
Cut to a few years later. I hadn't even read Eat the Comet in months, possibly a year, when I got a message from Corbin Silverthorn about a new page launching at Silverthorn Press, asking if I'd support the endeavor by contributing some writing. It was with mixed feelings that I sent him EtC. I knew that this story was not my best work, but is the most apropos for that particular site, so off it went, my problem-child, back into the world.
It turns out, Corbin liked the story too, and it wasn't long before I received another message from him saying he'd like to use it and feature me as the first writer showcased on the new page.
You can find it here.
Once it was up, I went ahead and read the story again. I still have mixed feelings about it. I still feel like it isn't my best work. At the same time, it is my work, and I finished it, and it doesn't completely suck. Every time someone new tells me they enjoyed it, I remember that that's what this story was all about. It wasn't about dazzling the world with my talent and manipulation of the English language into something that'd win prizes. It's about a certain kind of people - my people, and how sometimes, it's okay to be flawed and dorky.
I hope you like my little story, but if you don't, that's okay. It's not for everybody. It's not even for me (I personally think I should have left in more of the head in the jar), but maybe it's for you, and if it is, I couldn't be happier.
It just happened that I left the bookstore that evening and decided on a whim to stop by the pub, knowing that big-brother Josh would be there and a cold beer sounded good. As it happened (was meant to happen?) Josh was indeed there, but so was his friend Chip, with whom I'd only been vaguely acquainted up until that point. To make a long story short, I made not only a new friend that night, but a new writing buddy. My work had been stagnant at that point as I was driving myself nuts editing and re-editing a story until I'd gotten sick of it. It had been months since I'd really produced anything new, but when Chip started sending me stories and new chapters, I felt the muse stirring.
Not long after that, I'd picked up a job at a tiny diner in the industrial part of Norfolk. It was just the owner and me all day, and we had very little in common, so during the slow parts of the day, instead of trying to force conversation, I started jotting down story ideas in the margins of the day's newspaper, which always got piled next to the cash register after the breakfast rush. At some point, I remembered "eat the comet," and came up with a character, a scene, another character, a head in a jar...
I sent the beginning to Chip, and he informed me that finishing the story was not optional. Turned out it wasn't easy, either. I've often referred to it as my red-headed step-brainchild because of all the fits it gave me. If you count all the times I had to walk away from it for weeks or months at a time, all the while enduring well-deserved guilt-tripping and needling from Chip, who had taken a personal interest in the story after I threw in a Star Wars reference, it took about a year just to crank out those 1500 or so words. I wrote other things in the meantime, but for Chip and Drew, I had to finish it eventually.
I'd never been that impressed with the result, but they loved it. I eventually revised it some more and sent it to other friends, who shocked the hell out of me by reporting that it had made them laugh. I sent it out to a few magazines & ezines, but no one was interested. Oh well, I thought, feeling like it wasn't my best work anyway, and that it had made my friends smile, so that was really all the paycheck or validation I needed for it.
Cut to a few years later. I hadn't even read Eat the Comet in months, possibly a year, when I got a message from Corbin Silverthorn about a new page launching at Silverthorn Press, asking if I'd support the endeavor by contributing some writing. It was with mixed feelings that I sent him EtC. I knew that this story was not my best work, but is the most apropos for that particular site, so off it went, my problem-child, back into the world.
It turns out, Corbin liked the story too, and it wasn't long before I received another message from him saying he'd like to use it and feature me as the first writer showcased on the new page.
You can find it here.
Once it was up, I went ahead and read the story again. I still have mixed feelings about it. I still feel like it isn't my best work. At the same time, it is my work, and I finished it, and it doesn't completely suck. Every time someone new tells me they enjoyed it, I remember that that's what this story was all about. It wasn't about dazzling the world with my talent and manipulation of the English language into something that'd win prizes. It's about a certain kind of people - my people, and how sometimes, it's okay to be flawed and dorky.
I hope you like my little story, but if you don't, that's okay. It's not for everybody. It's not even for me (I personally think I should have left in more of the head in the jar), but maybe it's for you, and if it is, I couldn't be happier.
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