How Do YOU Know What MY Best Interest Is?

I may write two entries today, because I haven't talked about dancing in about three weeks and I have so much to say (if I don't get around to it, I have totally hitched my car to the Chehon train and if he and Eliana don't take it all, I might cry), but in the forefront in my mind it's all RAGE. Rather, yesterday's rage. I'm back to my calm old self now so I can write about the overwhelming feeling of rage-- like with any extreme emotional state it's much easier when I'm removed from it. And I was thinking maybe I didn't need write about it at all once it passed, but I think it's important, since this is my space here and I'm responsible for how I present myself, that you know I am not the protagonist of Happy-Go-Lucky in real life. Yes, sometimes I kind of am, and I'm in no way apologizing for my default temperament. But even Mary Sunshines are not immune to fits of beastly scarlet-behind-the-eyes anger. It doesn't happen often with me, but it does happen, and channeling it is a challenge.

The latest incident came about last evening, in my final hour of work, and was incited and then stoked by the one-two punch of being treated poorly by a work associate (not a co-worker, just someone I deal with who has zero respect for my authority) and then reading a response to a friend's facebook post that dropped my jaw with righteous indignation. I still haven't figured out which thing bothered me more, or if taken separately I would have had to listen to "Bangarang" ten times in a row to get under control (oh, shush, it really helps me), but if someone had been peeking into my office it would have been a sight to behold.

The first bit with the professional debacle still sticks in my craw - not that anyone should ever be spoken to with the condescension and impatience that I received from the caller, but as someone who has been doing what I do for a solid 15 years, who has risen up to second-in-command and first-line-of-defense in the bosses' absence, I can't tolerate when it's assumed I'm an ineffectual peon. I paid my dues,  earned this, and to insinuate otherwise makes me Hulk-y (apparently). Three things in my favor: 1) I was able to keep cool while talking to this person, 2) my superiors totally have my back and 3) the woman to whom I'm referring is a known bully and has subjected everyone on staff (except, notably and not surprisingly my male boss) to her singular brand of entitled jerkery. It just happened to be my turn. And this happens to people all the time, everywhere. It's happened to me before, and it'll happen again. I should have let it roll off my back, keeping these things in mind, but I couldn't. The important thing now is to just not hang onto it. And I think I'm doing OK there. If nothing else it reminds me always to try and treat people with respect and kindness.

The second part, wherein I admit to the dumbassery of bothering to read people's comments when I know they will get a rise out of me, was a case of someone passing off fake science as fact in order to further a religious agenda. I will never stop being outraged when people spread misinformation that could seriously harm people or even contribute to hatefulness borne of lack of understanding. And I was this close to jumping in and putting in my two cents for posterity, but I remembered that, for my sanity, I imposed a strict rule on myself to never get involved in facebook arguments because they go nowhere. If it were on my own wall, my own post, that's one thing. But knowing I can just unsee the things that enrage me--when they don't directly involve me--is freeing, and better for me. Of course this kind of thing is everywhere, and I do have a moral obligation to stand up for things I believe in, but in the scheme of things, I like to keep facebook as a fluffy little cloud on which to keep track of birthdays and post Oran Juice Jones videos and exchange pictures. It helps as a tool to make stands, but personally, I'd rather use other tools for that. Like m'blog here. 

I heard a cover of this by Amanda Palmer this morning, and it was aight, but nothing compares to the original. And it just applies to everything going on right now in so many ways.

Mmm, Cake

Ah, it's that time of year when I know damn well it won't be fall for a long time, but I so hunger for it that I feel a bit of outrage every day that I leave my house and the outside isn't behaving with any eye toward the autumnal. I can't help it, it's my favorite season, and so fleeting. And like spring, it's shorter each year to the point of near extinction (thanks again, global warming!). It's futile to rail against the weather. But it is... what it is.

That said, there's so much to look forward to in the period between now and the onset of winter that I'm both downright giddy when I look at the calendar, and in no rush for it all to pass. In addition to the chilly air and turning leaves and wealth of pumpkin beers, I've got tickets to see my reunited favorite band, and there's a small jaunt to the state of Kentucky (a first for me!) to celebrate a dear friend's nuptials, then Mike's delayed 40th birthday trip to Mexico, then my birthday and Thanksgiving, which is my fave of most things in life. Also on the near-immediate horizon, with a bit of apprehension on my part: serious potty training, navigating preschool registration, and HR's first haircut. It's funny about that last one, I have no attachment to my own hair, I get it hacked off on the regular, but something about the idea of my boy without his wild curls breaks my heart a little. I know it'll be good for him in that we won't have to comb through snarls and it won't be getting in his eyes, but his hair taps into my parental sentimentality the way that things like giving away his infant clothes didn't. I guess we'll get some professional portraits taken (about time, we did the last ones at six months), then off to the chop-chop shop. After the first one's out of the way, the rest should be a piece of cake.

Fiction Friction

Back-to-school time always turns my thoughts to writing. This is a good thing, believe me, but I wonder, how many times can I get my engine revved up and not follow through til the end? I know that this is absolutely a ME problem - I'm the only one who can finish what I start, and I don't know why I repeatedly self-sabotage. It's within me to push through, but for some reason, call it laziness, call it actually-not-that-great-of-a-writer-but-I don't-want-people-to-find-out-ness, whatever, I'm the only one to blame and I make no excuses.

But I can't help believing that maybe this year, THIS fall will be the one. I've got a new idea for a book I'm chewing on, it's really just taking the book I've been working on intermittently for the past six years and setting it in the 1990s. I'm pretty pumped about it, I think this change will breathe some new life into it, and I think it's about time for that nostalgia wave to circle back around - if I so happen to catch that wave at the right time, why not? The trouble--which is always my trouble--is that I am in love with my characters and I love writing them. But then there's the problem of plot. Plot is always my problem. And it's a pretty significant one, considering you can't write a novel without one. I'm thinking I really should join a writing group, if for no other reason than to keep me accountable.

So, back into the fray. As always I'll keep you posted. And if I'm not writing about my writing at least once a week, you know that I backslid again. So that's a sign to ask me how it's going. I'll get pissed off, but really only at me. Rachel, I will wear your lovely necklace as a totem, maybe that'll just do the trick. 

Viva!

This is already a heck of a good day (take note, last Monday). Not only did I get to pick up the new family truckster first thing, but it's my niece's 2nd birthday and we just found out my cousin's wife gave birth to their second beautiful boy in the wee hours of the morning. So good on you, August 27th. The extended long weekend leading up to it was not too shabby either.

It started with some of this,

and a little of this

and just a bit of this

and wrapped up with this (actual level of photographer's blurriness at the time)...

Followed by a bit of a hangover. Oh, but it was worth it. The couple of days on the beach with Mike's family was extremely laid back and restorative. We lounged on the across-the-street beach and caught up with everyone and ate cupcakes and massive lobster rolls and enjoyed outdoor shower beers and HR had a blast playing with his aunts and uncles and grandmother, but especially his big and little cousins (and cousins of cousins). The rides up and back were blessedly non-traumatic, and my parents popped into town to watch the boy so we could go to a proper rave-up in honor of some friends' 40th birthdays (even if one of them was the third time around) on Saturday night. There were wonderfully loud sloppy bands, free-flowing drinks, and chats with people I haven't seen in ages. I'm still paying for my night of acting like I was me ten years ago, but I had so much fun I'm reminded that I do have to get out more often.

I also realized as I watched the first band's set--it was a bunch of joyfully free-form garage-punkers--that 1) that's the kind of music I'm almost always in the mood to hear, and 2) if I had to do it over again, I'd have picked up a guitar as soon as possible and formed all the garage bands of life. I was sorry to hear the performance was the last for that band (when I had only just discovered them), but luckily Joan Jett lives on. They ended with this one.

School's In

Last night we bought a safe, fuel-efficient, unglamorous car, and even though the process ate up over three hours, the deed is done. Now we must take off for the Cape to recuperate from the ordeal, oh lawdy day. Since our new chariot won't be ready to be picked up for a couple of days, my cousin offered to loan us her car to make the trip. We will do our best not to make her regret her generous sharingfulness.

Work work work all day long, then we pack it up and head down to the beach for a few days of living the good life with my other-side family. I maintain I was the luckiest human when I got born into to role of me.

Your homework assignment while I'm gone: try to think of someone as cool or cooler than Rakim. I know, no fair, it's like solving Fermat's theorem. But try anyway. There will be a quiz.

Vroom Vroom

Tonight will mark the second impromptu date night in a week - but instead of Mike and me slipping away for a fun grown-up dinner, we've got some hot action lined up at the car dealership. We agreed a new car was the right decision (the alternative being keeping our old ride on life support), and we might as well just do it. Luckily we're in an OK place, resource-wise, for a major purchase, and my cousin was available to swoop in at the last minute to take care of the boy, so the time to strike is now. I guess this still counts as a white whine (oh, you poor thing, having to go and spend your precious time buying a new car!), but I think most people (Jerry Seinfeld notwithstanding) find the automobile acquiring process tedious and somewhat intimidating, same with buying a house. And I think most people keep the kind of stress these things induce in perspective. Obviously I'd rather be dedicating my evening and monies to something else, like my couch and a beautiful IPA, but I'm almost 80% sure I'll survive the experience. After everything we may not even end up buying tonight, but we will sooner than later.

And that's the big happenings with me. It's a wonder I don't get paid for this.



Oh just admit the dearly departed Eddie Rabbitt was awesome, already. 

Always With the Upside, This One

Oof, this Monday was not the droid I was looking for. Finding out there's a problem with the brake lines in our car--an 11-year-old beauty that's already had a couple of grand in repairs pumped in this year--was not the best start to the week. However, on the extreme upside, we did not come by the information the hard way, i.e., smashing into another car. So other than the expense and the inconvenience, I can't really complain. And it's not like the possibility of a new, bigger car isn't intriguing (I don't care about cars on the whole, but a little more room would be welcome) but damn it was nice to go half a decade without making a car payment. In sum: easy come, easy go, nobody got hurt, we can get by car-free for most things if we need to, and pass the coffee.

The weekend itself was low-key and lovely. We ate some foods, saw some peoples, celebrated a three-year-old's birthday, enjoyed our little corner of the world. It was unremarkable in the best way. And thus begins a three-day week that will be capped off at the beach with Mike's family. Time to make some hay.

Good music for being industrious:



I think so, anyway.

Do You Like TV Too?

I cannot possibly write a long post two days in a row, so here's a classic JBP listerino.

A list of things that are the level best in my world right now (and I feel no shame that they are mostly TV shows):

-Winter's Bone by Daniel Woodrell. I super loved the movie, but as is often the case, the book blew it out of the water. You wouldn't think it would make such a great beach read, but it was somehow a perfect fit. Now I'm sort of obsessed with modern day Appalachia. And if I may cycle back around to the movie version, how great and under-appreciated is Dale Dickey? She's currently killing it as the werewolf grandma on True Blood. Which leads me to...

-True Blood this season: awesome, or extra awesome? Since Meloni got turned to goo, I don't have much use for the "Authority" storyline (although the Lilith blood freakout was great fun), but there's this really playful horror style to it this year, and Lafayette is getting the best writing (which he so deserves) and the werewolf stuff is kinda compelling. I would like werewolf sexy times much better than the vampire version, I think. Not sure what that says about me.

-Like everyone else I'm also totally into Breaking Bad, (in which Dale Dickey also once appeared) and it makes no sense because I have nightmares from it and experience no fewer than ten cardiac episodes per show. But I'm hooked, hopelessly hooked, like those grubby little meth heads that make up Walt and Jesse's clientele. (Lazy, obvious simile alert!)

-Ok guys, Bunheads. Just Bunheads. It is a fantasy. It's corny and implausible. And the combo of the amazing cast and the quirkiness to it all and set-dressing eye candy and ballet (including a non-sequitur routine set to "Istanbul" by TMBG tacked onto the end of an episode), well I just love it so. It's perfect and I'm going to really miss it when the season's over next week. At least I've still got my beloved SYTYCD, which returned last night after an Olympics hiatus. Don't tell me who got cut though, please, since I didn't watch the episodes yet due to...

-Impromptu date night! Mike's brother and his family gifted us with an evening out, and we got to go out and have a nice relaxed meal and conversation while HR went nuts playing with his big cousins, and despite all my adoring viewership, I guess that trumps any TV show any day of the week.

Ok then, to close, I got this number from Breaking Bad. Which I think is one of the coolest and bad-ass crime scene montage songs of all time. That scene in which it appeared, which was creepy and unexpected, is an example of just how excellent everything about this show can be. And aw, poor Gale.

Heart of Hearts

You know by now that, essentially, I take the same vacation every summer. Same location, same time, same people give or take a few. And every year we do the same things. Go to the same beach, uphold the same traditions (foods, activities, birthday parties and the all-ages talent show), camp on the same sites (if we're lucky). But every year also has its unique elements, and there were quite a few this year that really hit the mark and made it my favorite year ever on the island.

One not-insignificant one was the weather. This was by far the most ludicrously beautiful stretch of hot, sunny days and clear nights that I can remember. Aside from a rainy set-up (which we missed by delaying our arrival by a day, oh shucks) and a downpouring final evening (fitting, somehow), one gorgeous beach day morphed into the next, only one campfire was cut short by a nighttime rain that was already dried up by the next morning. It was a treat. Now our crew is made up of veteran campers, and we make the best of it no matter what. Some of my most memorable times on the island come from the solidarity and creative solutions necessary to amuse oneself in the rain when shelter consists of a plastic sheet over one's head, if that. We've had weeks with days and days of unending rain and we still had fun, because we're fun, and we're together. Also: alcohol, for those who can drink it, helps. But it's certainly easier and more comfortable when the weather is dry, and it's nice to have the option to go anywhere without getting wet. So hooray for our lucky streak in 2012. May we see another in my lifetime. Wow, I just talked about the weather for a whole paragraph - clearly the post was totally worth the wait.

Another big happy factor was the company assembled. When I say this, I don't mean that the quality of the company was any better or worse than previous years - I love my family always, forever and unequivocally and I also like them. Maybe I've mentioned this before? It's just that every year brings something incredible, there are new ways to know people you've always known, and a chance to know literally brand new people like my cousin's infant (who was there the entire two weeks, bless them). The trio of kids we used to call the "tweeners"--who Mike has known their entire lives--are off to college (or to another continent) in the next couple of weeks. That was most striking to me, I think - that I was an adult for all intents and purposes when these guys came along and now they're adults. Life, holy cats. I feel like I hardly saw my grandmother this year, who is 90. 90! and camping! (in a cabin, but still). And that makes me a bit sad and lends to thoughts I don't want to have, like, I hope she will be there next year. But again, life. You just never know.

Hanging out so closely with a huge extended family, for any amount of time, presents its challenges. For those not born to it, we can be terrifying in our very numbers, let alone our tribal nature. And though as a crew we tend to embrace and collect people, whoever is pulled into our orbit, we can also be a tough crowd. I openly acknowledge it. I'm not trying to paint the picture of total constant sunshine happyface fiction family. We're real dudes, and sometimes real dudes get heavy. But even with the rough parts, it's never not been worth it to me, or as far as I know, anyone else, to go back again and again. We're not so much bound by our blood but by our hearts, the way we've taken to each other's hearts. Family is everything to us of course, but family--who is family and how you get to be family--means a lot of different things. I could go into that, but I won't.

What I do want to talk about in particular is what it's like to grow up as one of us, and this is only from my perspective, but I think my siblings and cousins wouldn't tell you much different. I'll start by giving an example: HR is the only kid of his age right now. There are two babies younger than him, but the closest older kid is 9 now, so he certainly gets the lion's share of attention. One day (ok fine, most days) on the beach, he was able to convince every adult in our crew to sing "Old MacDonald" while he sang along and clapped and basked in the glow of being the kid in the spotlight. He just drank it up, and I was thinking, "I probably should do something to make sure he doesn't get used to this." But then I thought about it more, and I realized that even when there were age-group-mates (we tend to reproduce in clusters, a la the aforementioned tweeners), every kid in our ranks has been afforded the same unhesitating indulgence. It's not spoiling, it's different. Just focused, loving care. Effortless and second nature. So far I think the lot of us managed to avoid growing up into self-centered assholes, I feel like we could intuit somehow that the love was just love, that it was our birthright in the best way possible, but it wasn't to be taken as unconditional permission or entitlement to do act whatever way we wanted. It's contagious maybe, or inherited, the distinction. I credit the ones who raised us for pulling it off, and if I can even halfway emulate them in my parenting, I feel like I have nothing to worry about.

To know this is to know why I even wanted to have kids at all in this messed up world: every one in my generation and the ones below me grew up sure with every beat that we were loved, that we'd always be cherished and taken care of. It's the only way we've ever known, and I take it for granted the way I take my breath. As long as I'm alive, it's there. And I know it's a rare and priceless gift.  And in a way, our destination summer after summer is a metaphor, a manifestation of this. Seeing the rabid passion we all have for this place, it's telling about who we are. When we're together in such a pointed way, it reinforces itself. And yeah it's about the most naturally beautiful place I can imagine, but beyond that, it represents safety and love and peace of mind. Or maybe that's what makes it so beautiful? I'm getting way beyond myself here. All happy families are alike. Boring. I'll take it and I wouldn't trade it for the island itself.

Anyway, all that sort of feeds into the biggest and best part of the vacation for me, and that is one Mr. HR. I'm going to come right out and say it, the past two years he was kind of a drag. The first year he was so new and I was so shell-shocked we could have been anywhere and I wouldn't have even registered what was going on (again, kudos to M and J and their little one for being super troopers). Last year was fun, but he was extremely clingy and high maintenance and it didn't feel like much of a vacation for me. This year, it all came together. Kids are always work, it's part of the deal. I happily accept it. But this year the boy started doing his share in being so much fun. He adapted jaw-droppingly well from the first, sleeping beautifully, playing happily, going crazy for the beach. I could tell he was having the best time, and it just filled up my soul, knowing this is where the memories start accumulating for him. We've been home for days and he still talks about the frog pond and the "ridiculous hill" and all his little girlfriends. He bonded with his aunts and uncles and my aunts and uncles and cousins, and it means so much to me that he has the chance to know them this way. He reveled in getting dirty and looking for snails and spotting wild turkeys and deer. And Mike and I got to have some truly good times hanging out with everyone and playing games - I even read a whole book! It was as close to perfect as it gets, taking into account the skunks that terrorized us every night and the utter lack of privacy.

We're all home and re-settled. Again the boy's adapted with relative ease (even sleep-wise-- knock wood). Must be that growing up thing I've heard about. I'm in a better mental place, work-wise, which I credit to the long break. And though I miss my people and our rituals and the beauty of the ocean, two weeks is enough. But damn weren't they wonderful weeks.

I don't know how to end this messy love letter to the HI Crew, so I just will. And here's a song, for good measure. 

Not Yet

It's become increasingly apparent that I won't be doing my post vacation recap today. But that's OK, that means I get to draw it out and chew on the memories a little longer. Maybe I'll even find it in me to make some sort of coherent statement about it all instead of a rote rehashing of events. A little time and distance might just work in my favor to punch up the appeal-factor of my recollections so I'm not just sputtering with the inability to convey meaning when perhaps you really just had to be there and... criminy, why am I doing this at all? Why do I ever do it? For me, of course. That's the bottom line. I like to tie up my events in a writerly bow, always have. Any readers I have might care what I'm talking about, and might not, and sometimes it touches or interests or provokes a response in someone, but even when I don't have any validation I keep on because there's a need in me to keep on. And I want to make what I put in here the best I can, just for me, especially regarding what I hold most sacred. So that's why I wait. And dither. And think about it as I go to sleep. And start and stop and scrap it all and start from scratch. It's not important in the world, but it's important to me, to my inner life.

And so this turned into an unintended treatise on why I keep a soon-to-be-obsolete-if-it-isn't-already blog. Sometimes you just never know where you're gonna end up when you start. And really, isn't it for the best?

Tomorrow: Tales from the Coast and Toddlers in the Wilderness, pretty much for sure.

Today: here's some Television. Maaaaan, that Tom Verlaine's voice is something else.

Like It Does

I'm back from my everlong vacation! It was awesome and wondrous and possibly the fastest two weeks on record! There's so much I want to say about it, but it's unlikely there will be space in my day today (especially if I don't quit lallygagging on everyone's facebook photo albums). So here's a little pip to serve as a placeholder, which very nearly says it all.

Thanks to my bang-up co-workers, my work is all laid out nice and pretty for me, organized and just beckoning for me to dive in. You know I'd rather be diving into an ocean, but as it goes, this is not so bad at all.

And to my brilliant, beautiful family - you make it happen. I'm so lucky to have this time spent, these memories made, and that goes double for my boy and what it will mean to him as he grows. LOVE.