nice people

Last Friday i was going to lunch with some friends. Just close by. Driving down a main road and talking on the phone and going through my bag to find lip balm, i did the obvious. I didn't brake in time and i hit the car in front of me, causing it to hit the car in front of it. My inexcusable failure at multitasking caused three cars to be hit. That's not the worst part. The worst part is when i opened my door to assess the damage, my car was completely okay. It had the tiniest scratch. The next two cars were not so, with the one in front being the worst with a big dent in the trunk and all.
I did the right thing to do. I looked at the two other drivers and broke out in apologies taking full responsibility for what just went down. They did the unexpected. They did a combination of subtle head nods and shakes and muttered that it was okay and got back in their cars and drove away. I was stunned. I don't know whether it was my genuine apology or if they were both running late to somewhere, these people were nice. They could've given me hell about it, but they didn't. They let me off the hook when they didn't have to and that is just nice.

pan roasted spinach

My dream, one of them anyway, at least the one that right here and now i think is my dream, is to open small, tiny restaurant where i am the chef. There is different daily menu made up from food items i feel like cooking everyday. It will have only five or six tables. Staff will only be myself, one helper and one waiter. It will be indoors but with floor to ceiling removable windows. The chairs will all be different but the tables all the same. I don't like restaurants with tables that are different heights. All my tables will be the same. They'll probably be a dark cream with purple tablecloths. Heavy velvet deep purple tablecloths. I know dry cleaning will be a hassle, but they are the kind of tablecloths i want for my restaurant where I'm going to cook. It will be very bright in the morning and very cozy at night, probably played with some clever lighting trick. Most of the chairs will have arms, but not all of them. One wall will be covered, and the rest bare. It'll probably be covered with personal family and friends' pictures and places. I will give the place the feel that it's mine, in every sense. The floors will not be carpeted, of course, it's a restaurant. They'll be a sort of ceramic or porcelain that makes loud sound with clicks of women's heels. There will be many chandeliers. One made exactly like the big one we have at home now with the swinging angel girls. I do not know if they're angel girls but that's what i consider them to be. I'll make natural scents everyday. Probably in mason jars with lots of lemon and basil. It'll have a stone fireplace that is concealed in the summertime. The waiter, or waitress, will not have a uniform. They can wear whatever they want with a large deep purple apron with my restaurant's name on it. Each day's menu will have a little story attached, similar to the posts on this blog but maybe more cheerful than most.
My kitchen will be as big as the seating area. It will be immaculate. All white. Its layout will be similar to the kitchen in the Ratatouille cartoon; an island center with the stove and counters all around and a huge sink in the corner. All the serving plates will be flat. Unless it's a soup or curry of something of that sort, then it will be a bowl. I don't know why i like flat dishes. but i want the food to be almost like a centerpiece of every diner's experience.
I want to cook. to really cook. breakfast items will include everything from a simple omelette wrap to my own inventions of, say, cream cheese with truffles and capers served with thin thyme bread crisps. Lunch will be lots of seafood. Soft sea bass with rosemary roasted potato slices; prawns dipped in lemon mint cream sauce; sea-salted calimari grilled with pan roasted spinach. Even a tuna salad in a bed of lettuce. Dinner will be all the meats, chicken, vegetables, and curries that i can throw together. But then some days all i will make are grilled cheese sandwiches with a choice of salad. Then other days all i will have are chocolate-based foods. Most days a movie will be playing out, projected on one of the bare walls. mostly silent, but maybe not. some days i will go all out and play some silent Ingmar Bergman stuff. These will probably be the vegetarian nights.
My restaurant will be full of light and cheer and appreciation for all things good. And i will name it after my mother.

Tarzan left Africa for Jane

Tarzan left Africa for Jane. He left Africa for her. He left his home for her.
I find myself repeating that in my head over and over as i watch the Disney version.
He hardly knew her. Sure, they'd spent what seemed like a couple of weeks or even months together, but he barely spoke her language. And she didn't speak his at all. And she is not even that beautiful or interesting. Well, maybe to him.
We all know what happens though, he doesn't leave he gets betrayed and pretty much screwed over by Jane's party. Not the point.
Point is, he gave up his home for her. Home in every sense of the word. Not moving houses, neighborhoods, or even countries. But moving a whole habitat. Who does that kind of thing? I really am wondering who would do something like that. I'm not sure if I would. I might, but I am not sure. Do real people even do that? Just give up a whole way of life in order to be with someone? He was used to living with apes, he was ready to make the shift to humans. He was used to walking around half naked, till he put a shirt on. Most striking, he was doing it to be with her. It is understandable that she was the only one of his species he saw, but still. That is a major sacrifice.
I can't help but wonder, is that the kind of transition people who move countries go through? Those who convert religions? It has got to be. Tarzan wouldn't be shifting homes physically, but homes associated with a whole way of life and beliefs and convictions.
In the end, Jane's father makes her turn back to stay with Tarzan with one sentence: "But you love him." Is that all it takes?
In the end, it was Jane who didn't go back to London and stayed in Africa. She gave up her own habitat for Tarzan. Whaddya know.

Nail polish

I've always had a thing with my nails. I'm a biter. When i was very young, toddler-ish, my mother noticed that she had stopped cutting my nails. Apparently my teeth had found their way and baby clippers were no longer needed. I never really grew out of this disgusting but soothing habit. I stop for days and maybe weeks at a time. And during these breaks, nail polish comes in.
I am the best at spending half an hour working on my nails, then as soon as they're wet and shiny, i decide to do something stupid like put a sweatshirt on or search for my keys in the very bottom of my bag. Then i start all over again. There is something greatly soothing about picking a color, removing the color before, washing hands, filing, moisturizing, applying base, applying a coat or two of color. and watching all that dry. It really is very soothing. I think it is the combination of the hand movement and level of concentration. Everything else fades into the background.
The strokes of color and the difference in shades as it dries, it gives the mind something simple to do. The idea of caring of your own hands is in itself soothing. I do not know how men survive without this ritual. I especially love nail polish under water. In a pool during summer. I never get tired of changing colors or worry about messing up and starting over. In fact, the most fun i have is starting over. But then i lose track, forget to change it for even one day or get preoccupied. Then i start biting again. 

"Get found, kid!"

I've just started reading Robert Fulghum's All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten. Thoroughly enjoying its quirky wisdom.
I came across a passage that made me stop, look up, and thing, "Oh my God Robert Fulghum is in my head!" Seriously. It scared me. But it also reassured me to realize that, if Fulghum wrote it, then I'm definitely not the only one feeling this way. That what is very frightening, is very normal.
On kids who hide really well in the game of Hide and Seek so are rarely found, Fulghum writes:
     
     "Getting found would have kept him in the game, Hide-and-Seek, grown up style. Wanting to hide. Needing to be sought. Confused about being found. 'I don't want anyone to know.' 'What will people thing?' 'I don't want to bother anyone.'"

Maybe not so much the what will people think part. They can think, not think, scratch their heads or ass for all i care. But confused about being found; wanting to hide; and most of all, needing to be sought.

Catch a Falling Star

Close your eyes and really listen. Do it.


Perry Cuomo- Catch a Falling Star

Curiosity gave the cat insomnia

Thought i was about ready to shut down for the day. But no. Just got an interesting call from my aunt. I didn't actually get the call. I called my cousin this late at night to ask her what went down at her very important doctor's appointment. On television a woman says she's crying but doesn't sound like it. Anyway, i chatted with my cousin for a few minutes and found out that her appointment was postponed so there really wasn't much news.
But then my aunt took the phone. And after the hellos and how are your and the very subtle tone of pity that i've become exceptionally talented at picking up, she hits me with what will keep my up all night. She asked me for an hour to an hour and a half of my time this weekend because she wants to take me somewhere. And she wouldn't say where and wouldn't budge. And she said that everyone whom she tells she will take always keep asking where. But she never gives in and they never guess right.
My brain is turning like the steam engine on a clock, if a clock had a steam engine.
On the one hand, i'm slightly excited. on the other, I'm furious. why would you go telling me something that you don't want me to know three days before you want me to know it? Even in high school this attitude pissed me off, this, "i am going to tell you something later today." If you're going to tell me something, tell me something. Don't tell me you're going to tell me something.
And now my news talk show is ending. And i don't think i will stay up later enough to begin a movie now. And i have no idea where my aunt is taking me this weekend.
And i miss you.
Goodnight

Take me somewhere

Take me away from here. Take me somewhere where love is like breathing
--John Legend

Lyrics used to have such an overwhelming effect on me. They still move me, but just a bit. But John hit a nerve. It sounds beautiful, "take me away from here." Wouldn't that be a wonderful thing? It's not that here is bad, it's not. It's home and it's beautiful. But even home should be escaped every once in a while. I'm talking about a permanent escape this time, to somewhere where love is like breathing. Where everything isn't so damn difficult. Where you don't think twice about the accuracy of a simple answer to an even simpler question. Where crossing the street isn't physically strenuous. Where it's okay to wear running pants down the street without layering to conceal their tightness. Where you can open a window and not hear the sounds of cars honking an out-of-tune disaster. Where you don't wait to watch the news every night just to listen to what different issue is up the country's ass tonight. Where most people, most, don't fall under one of the categories of fake, dull, ignorant, or fed up. Where everyone and everything is not drained.
Drained. I think this is the word I've been searching for here. It's not a about a country or a place being drained, but about a whole lifestyle and phase.
So take me somewhere where love is like breathing. Where i can trust. Where i can ask a question three times and get one answer. That'd be wonderful. Where i can cross the street without remembering dodgeball. Where the air is clearer. Where a fifteen minute drive really takes fifteen minutes, imagine that. Where shoes aren't worn out after a few wears. Where hands stay clean outdoors. Where the beach is simple. Where work is not an infinite loop, and has a start time and an end time. Where everything is simple. Where I have the energy to do something nice for someone. Where people show appreciation. Where I am not expected to answer fifty phone calls a day that really don't say much. Where I am not judged for all that I am and all that I am not. Where everything is simple. Not necessarily easy, but simple. Where there is more love, and where love is not draining.
Take me somewhere where love is like breathing.

Anti-disfeminism

"A woman's loyalty is tested when she has nothing; a man's loyalty is tested when he has everything."
--Some idiot

I disagree. A woman's loyalty is also tested when she has everything. Enough with the cheap prostitution assumptions. Just because a woman has nothing does not mean she will give submit her body to any and everyone. But then as long as that option is there, a woman never really has nothing, doesn't she now? Ha!
But seriously, all respect to feminists, for I am not one of them, it's cheap to think that way. Plain cheap. Yes I'm not feminist. I may believe in equal rights but I do not believe men and women were made equally. Rights, yet. Think about it this way: just because i am short and my sister is tall doesn't mean we cannot go to the same school. It's like that joke, you know the one with women chanting, "Equality, equality!" then "you can't punch me in the face I'm a girl!" That, I agree with. I will ask for a man's help every time i need it. When i need to reach that high shelf, when i don't want to walk to my car alone, when there's a phone number harassing me and i need a stern voice to answer it, and so on and so forth. It's not that we live in the jungle and need some Tarzan firugre for every task that takes a tiny bicep, but admit it, men are useful. They can do things that women can't, they can definitely do things that I can't. And I hate that instead of giving them credit for it, we as a gender, sometimes go off and complain that we are just as strong. We're not. It's not even about strength. It's just a difference in capabilities. And I said difference. they're not more capable, and we aren't less capable. It's just different. Let's see a man get what he wants every single time without raising his voice once. See? We're not so weak.
That quote gets to me though because it portrays women as helpless, and men as gluttonous. And neither are like that. Okay at least not all of them.

Resurrection-ish (and also clean slates)

Resurrection-ish. ish. Because i do not know if this is really resurrection. If i've learned anything in the two years and two months since i've posted on here, it is that nothing can be resurrected. This is by no means hopelessness, but plain and simple growing up and snapping out of whatever one was previously snapped in.
The truth is, I am scared to start writing again. More specifically, I am scared to start posting here. But here goes it.
I am going to have my moment and be wise and all-knowing. Let's talk about clean slates and rebirth and new beginnings and all that.
Clean slates are quite expensive. And rare. But also very high in demand. We've all traveled the road less traveled, only to figure out why it was less traveled. But seriously, who wouldn't want a shot at a clean slate? A chance to do everything over; with the option of knowing what needs to be done and a shot at doing it the right way. An option of knowing yourself, your life with all its surroundings and shaping it the way you think is best. An opportunity, regardless of its cost, to stop, realize everything you've ever wanted, and start over with new, better thought out, goals, means, and ambitions. As you read this, if you read this, you start applying my silly sentences to your life I hope. I've applied them to mine. And i am ready to sell back my very expensive clean slate at a loss. Fuck it, I'm ready to pay someone to buy my clean slate.
I do not want it. Not because I want what i had before the slate was clean, i know i can't have that. But i have no idea what i want. So the clean slate is meaningless to me, it is a burden. It is an impossibility of choices i thought i wanted but now, within reach, i despise. Okay, not despise. But choices i do not want. It is like opening your full fridge and not wanting anything out of it. Even though you might love the leftovers, had been craving the toast and cheese, never say no to cake, or staring at a fun batch of strawberry jello, you close that fridge back up and go back to your unlit room.
This isn't a brat syndrome. Definitely not. It is closer to chit-chat. Closer to talking to the mirror hoping it will give you a different reply than the one coming out of the mouth of your own reflection. It is a realization that you have the option of having the leftovers, the jello, or traveling to Bali for all that matters. But it doesn't matter. None of it does. So take back my clean slate. I do not want it. At least not right now. Okay keep it here. But i do not promise to use it, at least not right now.