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What's your favorite time of day and why?
I love the night. Firstly, I love the peace and quiet of night. I get things done without the interruptions of phones and doorbells and the neediness of others. I'm at my most creative, and it's when I get most of my writing done. The nighttime solitude is refreshing and energizing.
I need the coolness the nighttime brings especially at summertime. My window is open to let in the the cooled air and the fragrance of the jasmine climbing up the lattice. Even in the winter months I open my window to feel the breeze and rain. I can't handle the beating glare of the hot sun. I sometimes end up in the hospital during the height of summer. The hot days are just too much for me; it just might kill some day!
Candlelight is best at night, and at times I would light upwards of a dozen in my room. I can read and write just fine in candlelight. I love the ambiance; my room looks luxuriant and cozy.
I had worked nights for twenty-five years, as my choice and for what's best for our kids. I was here for them after school, all through dinner, homework, and bedtime. I slept while they were at school. Now that I'm retired, my schedule still include much of my waking time at night.
I actually do my gardening at late sunset.
You Are Midnight
You are more than a little eccentric, and you're apt to keep very unusual habits.
Whether you're a nightowl, living in a commune, or taking a vow of silence - you like to experiment with your lifestyle.
Expressing your individuality is important to you, and you often lie awake in bed thinking about the world and your place in it.
You enjoy staying home, but that doesn't mean you're a hermit. You also appreciate quality time with family and close friends.
(Editor's Note: Where I come from in Texas, everything is Coke. What kind of Coke do I drink? Dr. Pepper. Now, stay with me, because that's about to become important for your east coast folk who call it soda or pop or whatever.)
I just made my usual late night Dr. Pepper "Coke" run to the Cashion's on the corner here in the big Cornelius, NC. (I think my arrival here pushed the town over the 12,000 mark. Hoorah.)
The cashier lady took an uncomfortable, unnecessary amount of time matching my debit card to my ID. Now, I'm glad that she actually checked, but seriously...how sure do you need to be about the 99-cent, 44-ounce Dr. Pepper "Coke" fountain drink and the $1.25 slice of banana bread?
If I'm posing as someone else, don't you think I'm going to aim a little higher than a $2.50 purchase at a Cashion's in a small town?
At least she checked.
All the snow from the winter of my soul has almost melted so I thought it would be a good time to get my feet wet in the dating pool. I have spent over a year depressed, angry, and even in fits of rage followed by a torrential downpour of tears. Something had to give. I stopped crying and I started running, doing yoga and eating better. Then I started seeing a therapist, and I began feeling better letting out all the emotional pain. Suddenly I had energy and focus and tenacity again! The choice was clear - time to get back out there and start dating again.
I have learned alot about myself, my dating preferences and who I feel would be the best match for me to date. One of the things I became aware of is that I am not good at meeting people. I knew this and somehow "magically" forgot, but sitting at home with free time and nothing to do I realized that the phone wasn't ringing and my email was empty so I needed to start somewhere.
First I tried the bars - what a waste of my time. I am introverted so I rarely go up to people and start conversations. With music blaring, shirtless men capturing all attention and flowing beer as my competition - I was truly at a loss. I went home and went to bed.
Next - I got a few books on *gay dating* which I find funny since the process is the same as *straight dating* and even harder. In the past - at least from what I remember, gay men that find a mutual attraction quickly sleep together and call it a relationship. Well I realized that shy people need an avenue to meet quality people so I naturally turned to the internet.
My first stop in cyberspace was the gay.com website - which yielded childish responses from "men" who instant messaged me with head games, promises of hookup (so not my style), and a real lack of substance. I was disenfranchised so I quickly cancelled my profile and posted my profile on yahoo.com, date.com, match.com, chemistry.com and even okcupid.com.
Ultimately match.com is the only site so far to prosper any dates for me. I met Robert (49) and a retired fireman. Then I met Bryan (33) who is a high school counselor and works at Banana Republic. I met Amit (28) who lives in Virginia. Sergio (37) is still married and seperated from his wife and has a 3 yr. old son. Craig (46) lives in Tucson. Jesus (42) is a designer and owns his own business.
So far Bryan bailed out after the first date in high hopes of dating someone else he is connecting with. Robert and I cannot seem to connect and I am frankly not that interested. Amit is in the US for a year before he goes home, but he has been interesting to talk with. Sergio and I had one date and while we are complimentary it seems like we both would need time apart before we could pursue serious dating. Jesus and I started talking and have yet to go on our first date. Craig and I have talked a few times each week, and have gone on two dates, but there are some red flags going up - finally.
I have learned not to sleep with my dates for at least 6 weeks to 3 months. I know it is a long time, but I am clear that compatibility reveals itself before sexual feelings get in the way. I have also learned that I need someone as emotional as I am when it comes to making decisions. I want someone more structured and practical than I am either introverted or extaverted. I have other "must haves" but I will reserve them for another post.
Overall, the hardest part about dating is that I have to let go of the anger over my ex - and move forward with an open conversation, honest heart and ruthless personal integrity. I won't give up so easily as I have a long journey ahead of me.
Sorry for the lack of updates recently. I've had the first hard drive crash of my life, and it's been nothing short of devastating. Most of it was backed up, however. What's more, the hard drive is currently in the hands of a very good data recovery company, which should be getting back to me shortly.
It's mostly radio stuff that was lost in the crash. All my music and personal production is kept on another drive.
If you're religious, pray for PROD-4-500!
For the curious, it was a Seagate 500 GB drive. The first (and last) Seagate I've ever owned. I only owned it 4 weeks before its power supply developed a hard short across the 12 volt circuit. Bah!
Update 6/15/07: It's dead as a doornail. Restoration of the backups will now commence. I'd use SpinRite to fix it, but it won't even power on. :(
What are some charitable causes that you support or would like to support?
I sponsor a kid through Plan USA, I've cut and donated my hair to Locks of Love before (totally regretted cutting my hair - not the donation - so I don't think I'll do that again...), I used to donate blood but haven't done that since the fainting incident (I think I'm ready to do it again though), I have a JustGive wish list that I like to "receive" stuff from on my birthdays, and I keep a site/blog at cybette.org more as a reminder to myself of what I can be doing more of (and also mentions a few of the many many things that NOKIA does for the communities and charities).
Did you know that Nokia matches 100% of employee contributions to many charities and relief efforts? Great company to work for, don't you think? ;)
Did you order Girl Scout cookies this year? What kind?
Never a big fan of Girl Scount cookies... don't even know what kinds there are. However I did order 10 boxes of them last month from a co-worker('s kid) and selected the "send to U.S. troops" option. Hope whoever received them got the kind they like!
The OLPC live-CD boots (as a VMware Server guest VM)
BUT how do I login ?
I've tried [TAB] & [ENTER] and DoubleClicking on all the icons !
Note: This is a combination book review and journal entry, tweaked a bit from something I'd originally written for a private online diary over the summer. Nacwolin (http://nacwolin.vox.com) had mentioned that I should submit it a review of this book to Associated Content, and that got me digging through my archives and thinking about this piece.
_____
My friend Mike and I had off one Friday last summer, so we decided to meet Lee, a man I’d recently begun dating, downtown for happy hour. This was something Mike and I used to do often, take days off together and haunt Fell’s Point. Or maybe we were ghost-hunting rather than actually doing the haunting ourselves, since we were seeking out glimpses of our early 20’s in the taverns and waterfront walkways.
It was too hot for the yard work I’d planned, so I got downtown before either of them and treated myself to some me time in the bookstore. I wasn’t there ten minutes before I saw it sitting on the shelf.
The Language of Goodbye.
I didn’t buy it because of the title, or the synopsis on the jacket, or because someone had recommended it to me. I don’t usually buy books in hardback these days – I wait for paperback or borrow them from someone else. But I had to have this one, because the author had been one of my favorite college writing instructors.
Maribeth Fischer taught an essay writing class I took in my senior year. I was 22. There was a 30-something guy in the class, a writer with hair that looked like a pompadour and who was just getting started with a band. Back then, smoking wasn’t as taboo as it is now, and after class we could often be found puffing on Marlboro Lights and trying to look thoughtful and literary.
Maribeth often caught up with us after class. She didn’t smoke, but she’d stand there and talk to us while we did. She was young for a professor, much younger than I am now. We’d talk about writing and creativity in general, and I was young enough that I believed my whole life would be made up of words woven together to build stories and dreams.
Ten years had passed since that class. Shortly before browsing through the bookstore and coming across Maribeth’s book, I’d happened to be having a few beers with a friend one evening in a Fell’s Point Irish pub when a band had taken the stage. Even as I’d lost myself in the music, I’d been struck by the fact that the tall, lanky singer seemed somehow familiar to me. It took another show or two for me to figure out that he was the guy from that creative writing class, with a cowboy hat resting where the Elvis do had once been.
And now, sitting with Maribeth’s book in my hand at a time when my whole world was changing, it seemed like forces were somehow realigning to kick me in the ass for being the only one NOT to do something with my dreams.
My marriage of ten years had ended. I was dissatisfied with the daily drudge that was my day job, learning to live alone, and questioning just about every assumption I’d made about myself so far in my thirtysomething years. There could have been no book more telling for me then than “Language.”
The book is amazing, and I know this is partly because it speaks so eloquently and truthfully to what I am and how I feel and the way I approach life now. There is something both gripping and haunting about it, a beautiful kick in the gut that leaves me almost sick to my stomach.
I’m not sure I would have fully appreciated this book a year ago. I would have enjoyed it for the story and for the fact that it was written by someone who had influenced my own writing, but the reality within the pages would have escaped me. I would have been more caught up in the fact that the main characters, while real and raw, make mistakes and skate moral edges that chafe when your experiences with love have been more selfish and lasting.
It talks about how once you have felt loss – real loss - you approach every new relationship in your life with one part of you already out the door; already mourning the loss of that new relationship even if there is no reason to suspect it will ever end. You question not just the feelings and intentions of others, but also yourself. It is as if your heart thinks that if it bleeds a little at a time, it will somehow hurt less than the crushing final blow you’ve already been through. Instead, you just end up stretching out the pain, and perhaps for something that won’t even happen. But we humans are too guarded once our walls have been cracked to listen to that rationality.
I had approached my evolving relationship with Lee that way. We had grown, in spite of ourselves, into something more than two people who liked spending time together. We had admitted that we were “together” in that way that excludes seeing others. We had comforted each other and laughed at each other’s childhood stories long into the night. We had hit that stage where we talked during the day and realized that we didn’t want to hang up because we missed each other, living on opposite work schedules as we did.
I had recently gone to a family cookout with him. We ate steamed crabs at his cousin’s little waterfront house and his aunt and four cousins, all women my age, chattered at me as my own family would, and we cursed and laughed and told stories and talked about hillbillies and rednecks and there were moments I felt like I was on my own mother’s porch. I met his daughter, who was shy with me at first, but when all the other kids were clamoring over me and giving me hugs and insisting that I watch them mess up their faces with a birthday cake, she said “I want to hug her too, Daddy,” and he got the biggest grin on his face and said “Well go ahead then, sweetheart.”
And when I watched him with her, I wanted to run away as fast as I could and be alone by the water and weep. The tenderness in his blue eyes was so amazing, the invisible thread between him and this tiny mirror image of him breathtaking. I had glimpsed fleeting, timid moments of that tenderness in our interactions, and seeing it soar unrestrained in a more guaranteed and interwoven relationship, one where the ties that bind are made of love and family and blood and history, made me both marvel at its beauty and tremble at the tenuousness of all that is new and growing.
I knew then that it would hurt to lose him. He had become precious to me, and for some reason just sitting with his family and having all of them make me feel so at home and watching him with his little girl had made that fact clearer than a punch in the gut. We were letting each other into the most precious parts of our worlds, the family, friends and daydreams we guarded carefully from passing acquaintances and casual dates.
When you start to let someone in, and to get let in yourself, you are standing on a threshold. What if you like it there, and you get shoved away? What if your own space becomes harder to breathe in when you let someone curl up beside you? What if, like closing time in a bar, you’re heading towards “you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here?” What if you are doing nothing more than guaranteeing that you’ll have to learn to live without again?
I had no reason to think of this. I never would have tried to breathe in potential endings when everything seemed like the perfect beginning in a new relationship before.
Like the characters in the book, I have learned to speak the Language of Good-Bye. It is a language that permeates everything you do and say once you have learned to speak it. It is a phantom that lives in your soul and haunts each and every one of your actions, sabotaging all your attempts to avoid having to confront it again. It goads to you prepare for it, to accept it, and maybe even to force it to appear. And while it taunts and tears as the fabric that guards your heart, it also opens your eyes to the shimmering beauty of each and every thread woven into that fabric. You appreciate each soft brush against your skin and your soul in a way you could never have done before.
I had read almost half the book before Lee and Mike arrived that night, and was already lost in its beauty. I held it at my side like a talisman as I enjoyed a wonderful evening of drink, conversation and music with one of my closest friends and a man with whom I was even then falling in love.
Our evening stretched into the night. We ended up back at my father’s bar, and I was still clutching that book as if it were a lifeline.
Once we’d settled in at the bar, a few of my beloved drunken regulars grabbed the book and were flipping through it. The philosopher among them summed up their thoughts on it by shaking his head at me and saying “Language of Good-Bye? What the hell, girl? You need a whole book for that? The Language of Good-Bye goes like this – Screw You. Get Out.The End."
I knew right then and there why I always run back to dad’s bar, the safe place where I take refuge from the world and my normal place in it. I wish some days that life was a simple as the world views held therein. But it isn’t, and it never will be, and since that’s the case I’m glad there are others who speak the Language of Good-Bye, and who write about it as eloquently as Maribeth Fischer.
If you're using Windows Live Messenger, check this out. You can help your favorite charity just by chatting with your friends online!
"i'm is a new initiative from Windows Live Messenger. Every time you start a conversation using i'm, Microsoft shares a portion of the program's advertising revenue with some of the world's most effective organizations dedicated to social causes. We've set no cap on the amount we'll donate to each organization. The sky's the limit."
"There's no charge, so join now and put our money where your mouth is." :-$
How do you participate? Well, first you need to have Windows Live Messenger 8.1. If you don't, you can download it here.
Once you have that, just modify your Display Name to include one of the following codes (in red) at the end:
*red+u American Red Cross
*bgca Boys & Girls Clubs of America
*naf National AIDS Fund
*mssoc National MS Society
*9mil ninemillion.org
*sierra Sierra Club
*help StopGlobalWarming.org
*komen Susan G. Komen for the Cure
*unicef U.S. Fund for UNICEF
e.g. Carol Chen *help
That's it! Start chatting and start making a difference! It's that easy.
Book: Show us one of your favorite works of fiction.
It seems that I've been reminiscing a lot lately... food I ate growing up, coffee I drank growing up, songs I heard growing up...
And now books I read growing up. I loved loved loved Enid Blyton books. I don't know how many of her books I've read, but I exhausted all the available ones in school and local libraries. My favorite ones were the Wishing Chair collection and this Faraway Tree Collection. Followed closely by the boarding school ones like Malory Towers and St. Clare.
I fantasized a lot when I was a child, and I think her works have something to do with that. Also, in my fantasies, there's always a big room in my house where I have bookshelves filled with Enid Blyton books that I can read over and over again (instead of, you know, having to return them to the libraries in real life.)
It's hard to find her books in the libraries here (she's a British author), but I managed to borrow the Wishing Chair one recently and revisit my childhood. Actually, I think it's a good read even for adults. I guess the equivalent here in America will be Dr. Seuss, but I've not read any of his stuff to make a comparison.
Read comments that some of her stuff have been modified in recent years (reprints) to be more "politically correct". That's kinda sad. The little black doll who wants to be pink is sending a racist message? C'mon... when I was reading it, I probably thought to myself that I wanted to be blue, because that was my favorite colour. Adults think "skin colour", but kids most likely think about the one matching their favorite crayon.
Anyway, I'm thinking of going to the library again, to see if I can find any more of her books!
