Sunny

In the past couple days, I've made it a point to feel bright and sunshiney despite the depressing New England grey that's engulfed Boston. In combating the oppressive rain and cold, I've:

• painted my nails a ridiculous shade of bright pink. Think Rollerblading Barbie circa 1995.
• wore limey-green tights
• bought a bouquet of daisies for David, who needed a little something to cheer up his window sill
• purchased rain shoes

The last initiative was completely spontaneous and was actually done out of necessity. For as I walked out of my apartment yesterday afternoon, I quickly realized that wearing my suede boots had been a horrendous decision and after a few short blocks, my feet were soggy and cold. With the promise of an afternoon at work still ahead, I made a quick decision to duck into Lord and Taylor (a store I very rarely visit and whose font I find incredibly distressing) and went right up to the shoe department where a profoundly awkward salesman watched as I picked a pair of rain shoes off the display, slipped them on and said that I'd like to buy them and wear them out of the store.

I'd actually been meaning to buy these shoes for a long time but had been putting it off, hoping the weather wouldn't necessitate that I actually go out of my way to get them. But the rain stops for no one, and now that I have my new shoes I am very happy (that's not to say I wasn't happy before).

I once told a professor that a new pair of shoes can drastically alter the way in which one thinks about life- for when one has something attractive and solid on which to stand, one is more apt to feel and behave like a more confident, alluring and secure individual. In my rainshoes I feel adorable. And now I don't care if it rains for the rest of spring, so long as I have them on my feet.

Parched

For a hot sec. yesterday, I went to Rockport, MA for a healthy dose of ocean air. It's a picturesque town, to be sure, and like most tourist towns it has an array of candy/fudge/cupcake shops, sweatshirt stores, and art galleries that are situated on seagull-infested stoney bluffs that overlook the sea, which is all very good. But nice as it is, there is no way I'd be able to stay in Rockport for any space of time longer than 48 hours, or want to stay there for any more than five. Why? Because it's a dry town.

If ever there was a setting for a sticky, cozy bar with an ocean view and good beer, it would be Rockport. The fact that it's lacking in such amenities seems like an incredible tragedy.

Brent told me that Rockport is dry because, once upon a time the fishermens' wives got upset with their husbands always being drunk, so they took blunt objects and broke every bottle, cask and barrel of alcohol in the town. As we all know, women can be very scary when they want to be (though usually they are soft and kind and smell exclusively of roses). In this particular instance, the men of the town were too afraid to reintroduce alcohol to the locale and now it's banned by law (though I'm sure you can bring it in from, uh, wet towns and enjoy libations inside one's own dwelling). I don't know how true this story is- but it sounds about right.

Until this law changes, I will not go back to Rockport. Unless, of course, I really want some fudge and shellfish jewelry.

Hitched

Last night, I went to a debate between Christopher ("Not Chris") Hitchens and Rabbi David Wolpe. It was put on by the New Center for Arts & Culture and was mediated by On Point's Tom Ashbrook who is taller and more attractive than I thought he'd be (it's always so fun to see radio personalities in person. And the picture doesn't do him justice...) The topic, of course, was religion.

Being neither an atheist nor a Jew, but rather one who subscribs to the Christian faith, it was hugely interesting to hear the arguments (granted desciphering Hitchens' mumbling at times was difficult) of the two men and then think how their ideas interact with my own life philosophy, religion, and beliefs.

Here are some notes from the evening:

• The audience for this event was the strangest I've ever encountered. Weirder than an amusement park line, stranger than a comic book convention, more bizarre than an Emerson College orientation weekend. There were a lot of old Jewish people, a lot of old Jewish atheists, a lot of young angry atheists, and a lot of Christopher Hitchens infatuates- including one woman who brought a bottle of Jonny Walker Black Label to give to Hitchens as a token of goodwill and affection, or something. Also, there was a staggering number of severely unattractive people (not that it matters).
• There was an awful lot of disapproving tutting/head shaking/inappropriate clapping going on. If you show up to an event hosted by a Jewish organization that is about open ideas and acceptence, please try to be accepting. You came to hear ideas, philosophy and, essentially, two men disagreeing. I don't need to know every time you disagree, as well.
• What many people struggle with when accepting a religion is the antiquity of the teaching. It's easy to think that religious texts lack a forward progression, rendering them obsolete on certain issues that our society has since moved past (such as putting homosexuals to death- Leviticus 20:13). From what I gathered from Rabbi Wolpe, Judaism is more of a community than religion in many ways- as one Jewish audience member said, "I love my religion but I do not accept the idea of a God"- and it is in community with one another that the religion takes on modern day challenges and becomes currently viable. This is true of many religions. They need to be applicable to today, not just to the past. I'm not saying that, like the audience member in question, modernity necessitates the loss of faith in God, just that such ideas need to be discussed while the religious community stays intact. It's also important to contextualize what is written, and to understand it from different angles, including a modern one, so as to sustain the cultivation of new ideas.
• Before the event started, my roommate and I stood in line near the front doors and tried to bundle up our dripping umbrellas and get warm. Lo and behold, standing just outside in the shelter of the marquee stood Christopher Hitchens, smoking a cigarette and drinking what appeared to be water from a wine glass. Brent thought this behavior was pompous, and while it was perhaps a little ass-like, it also seemed quintessentially Hitchens- frumpy suit and all!
• The only moment of agreement came in the form of the golden rule, which is commanded by God but is also widely endorsed by [rational] mankind: love your neighbor. If everyone really does this- regardless of ideaology- I think we'll have a pretty level middle ground.

Won't you be my neighbor?

Found this over at The Daily Dish and thought it was really cool. My younger brother (the future Governor of Minnesota) once made an argument like this which I found compelling. The American population could sustainably live in a space-efficient, small area. We do not have a population problem in this country. That's not to say we couldn't manage our land, resources, and waste-disposal more wisely, just that we're not yet in crisis.

But let's be honest, who really wants to live in such close quarters with all our American brothers and sisters...

One Day

I've never been a horse person, yet for some reason I have a major desire to one day witness wild horses galloping across an expanse of depressed land. I want to see their matted hair struggle in the wind and their muscles ripple in wild animal ecstasy.

And perhaps it is for this reason that I love this:

Listen to: Ray Lamontagne's All The Wild Horses

Image/Sculpture by Sayaka Kajita Ganz

The boy was placed on suicide watch after an afternoon visit to the counseling center where, with glassy eyes, he told a woman in a cardigan that he was thinking that he just didn't want to live anymore.

"What is prompting you to think this way," she asked as she played with a pen cap in her left hand.

"I just don't want to be here anymore. It's always the same. I have the same conversations with the same people every day. Sometimes I don't think it would be so bad if I got hit by a bus while jaywalking."

She listened as he continued to talk. She asked about his plans, his goals. His sentences were disconnected and his eyebrows were bunched together. He had an inflamed pimple on his left temple and his cuticles were ragged and scabbed. After twenty minutes, she led him to the door and told him to come back if he wanted to talk later.

The RD called T that evening, told her there was a resident on the ninth floor who needed to be checked on periodically. Suicide prevention was above her pay-grade (not that she got paid to RA), but she went to the ninth floor anyway, knocked on the door to 9-13 and asked to see him. Like any other boy, he was on his computer when she came in . She introduced herself, gave him a limp handshake. "I just came to check-in, to see how you're doing," she said, unsure and hoping not to offend him. He nodded and looked at the floor. "There are a lot of people who are worried about you," she offered.

This prompted a response. He looked up quickly, scared, "Have you told my parents?"

"No, should we?" He shook his head. "You sure?"

"Yeah. Don't. My mom, she'd freak out. She'd start crying and wouldn't leave me alone. And my dad, he's a good man. He's busy. He'd get worried and distracted. I won't bother them. Don't bother them."

"But do you think they should know?"

"They'll know if I do it. But I probably won't. Not now, anyway. So what's the point?"

"Is there anyone you think we should tell? A sibling, a friend? Is there someone you know who could help you deal with your, uh, your emotions right now?"

"Oh, there are people I could call. But it's a Friday night. I don't want to bother them."

T stood next to his unmade bed, looked at his dirty clothes piled in the corner, his muddy shoes, the curling edges of his Weezer poster. If she were to kill herself, she wouldn't leave a mess.

"Do you have any plans for the evening?" she asked, remembering back to her training. Always ask a suicidal person if they have plans. If they don't, get them help (but wasn't that what she was doing- helping?).

"I'll probably do some laundry," he said, "Maybe get some pizza." He didn't look up again for almost an entire minute. "You can go. You don't have to just sit and watch me."

"I'll be back in an hour," she said on her way out.

"Don't worry if I'm gone." He turned back to his computer and she closed the door.

She was afraid he actually would be gone when she knocked on the door an hour later. What would she do if a boy she'd hardly just met killed himself on her watch?

He opened the door after the third knock, his laundry was still on the floor. "Surprise," he said, "I'm alive." But with no one for him to reach out to, she hardly believed it.

Tax Season

It's strange to think of life in terms of being taxed, but living is fundamentally a taxing process. It's a matter of finding a balance between what we give and what we take, what we're emotionally, physically and monetarily able to afford, and how we choose to spend our excess. We are given a lump sum of happiness and distribute it in ways that bring some people pain and others joy. We are a burdened species.

As the struggles of our political system suggest, this world is not black and white. There are marshes of grey matter that we must wade through continuously as we navigate through our personal challenges and ultimately find a way to a place we call Contentment, Happiness, Peace. For me, I can't imagine going to sleep at night without knowing there is a God in heaven who loves me enough to give me free will. A God who controls the will of his people-whether it be for good or bad- is a dictator. Time and again I am thankful for the pain, creativity, love and joy around me because God is not a dictator. He can advise and impact my decisions, but he has no more control over them than anyone else. In everything, I must take full responsibility.

I've always been taken by stories of struggle and redemption, of temptation and acceptance- of ultimate love. In East of Eden, John Steinbeck has a beautiful passage on free will and the word Timshel, which is Hebrew for though mayest, which God used to give man full autonomy over his actions. It's important we live informed lives, make informed decisions, understand the complications of our actions. Sometimes, those decisions go against our better judgment, will be seen as compromises of various ideals, but sometimes those same decisions will work to inform the way we live later in our lives. A wonderful friend recently emailed me some information on human brain development that explores the way in which the adult mind is constantly developing. We never stop learning (unless, I suppose, we want to), and each day, each struggle, is another detail in our individual human case study.

"There's more beauty in the truth even if it is dreadful beauty." - East of Eden

Like with all things that operate on a polarized scale, often the hardest place to be is in the middle. I asked a friend via text, "Over-thinking: Detrimental or imperative to living a fulfilled life?" I firmly believe it's imperative, but wouldn't it be great sometimes if it weren't?

"Only Boring Games are Bored" -Betty Draper, I think

I went out to Petit Robert Bistro with some creative professionals last night- the kind of people who get to swear a lot with their clients and show up to the office in stretch pants and mismatches accessories. One woman in our company mentioned that she and her husband had been thinking about buying a board game to keep them from spending every night out at a bar, and went on to say that they'd read interesting things about Settlers of Catan. At the sound of that name I light up like a dried out Christmas tree doused in gasoline as I sang its praises.

My friends and I started playing Settlers of Catan our sophomore year of college, and while it won't completely abate your drinking, it will move it to a more cost effective venue (namely your living room) where your bed is jut down the hall.

My charmed life is about to get charmier

I cannot even begin to tell you how happy I am that my roommate has finally learned to consistently refill the ice trays! There is nothing more disappointing than pouring a drink only to find that the only thing frozen in the freezer is the edamame I bought last July.

I'm also incredibly happy because the rest of this week is going to be beautiful. Here are the things I'm most looking forward to as the weather warms and the days get longer:

• Long walks with my pipe through Boston's various green spaces
• Lying on the grass and looking up at the sky through chlorophyll enriched leaves- the contrast between green and blue is so absolutely heavenly!
• Sidewalk cafes
• Drinking minty mojitos at sidewalk cafes and getting a suntan while I'm doing it
• Dresses, light jackets, and summer footwear
• Sunday mornings at the SoWa market
• Sleeping with all the windows open
• Grilling/grilled foods (chicken, burgers, peaches, zucchini, pizza, tomatoes, etc.)
• That pleasant evening air that isn't quite hot but isn't cold either... it's just perfect
• Driving with the windows down
• Reading in the sunshine

The list could go on and on and on, but I'll stop before I get too caught up in daydreaming about the next couple months. But it's quite nice, daydreaming- especially when the weather is crap and you've been sitting in wet boots all day...

Fantastically Lazy

I haven't done anything even remotely interesting today besides watch the second episode of Jazz: A Film by Ken Burns.

It was wonderful, having nothing to do, but only until about 3:00, and then I started to get restless. If it weren't so miserable outside I'd go for a walk, but seeing as that is really not an option, I'm going to pour myself a glass of whiskey, crawl into bed and employ my mind in something worthwhile.

Before I loll off to bed, I'd like to share with you another one of my very talented friends: a Minnesotan displaced in New York who's making charming knitwear just for you- Black Capped Crafts.

Who wouldn't want a giant tundra cowl to help one get through this gusting spring? She makes customized pieces as well, so check out the etsy shop and get some comfy, chunky wool!

Listen to this:

Probably because I'm tragically materialistic and possessive about my things, I still buy CDs. I like the tangibility and being able to put all my music on display as if to say, Look, here is my music collection! Also, I'm terrified of my computer dying (in which case my life would very quickly fall to pieces) and losing everything in iTunes (though I'm not a complete idiot and of course back everything up). In an effort to deter that from ever happening, I live like it's 1990 and trek out to Best Buy whenever I want a new album. Earlier this week I did just that and finally bought The Persuit, Jamie Cullum's newest record. Now, I adore Jamie Cullum- always have- and I've listened to the new album a couple times straight through and, as per usual, I'm thoroughly impressed with his arrangements and the way in which he makes jazz truly modern. As it stands, my favorite song is If I Ruled The World, which is quintessentially romantic but still maintains an air of lightheartedness.

Anyway, get the album. It's good. I promise.

Perfect Days

At some point in the past two days whilst walking through Boston in the beautiful spring sunshine (am I jumping the gun by calling it spring? Probably), my freckles came out. It's weird, I know, but growing up I always aspired to be one of those magnificently freckled people who get cute sunburned cheeks and a full face of tiny brown spots. Those same people are prone to ultimately ending up with skin cancer, but as a filthy child I didn't care about such things and gazed longingly at pictures of Pippi Longstocking and Huck Finn who ran through the sunshine with reckless abandon, their faces sprinkled with a smattering of sweet freckles.

I like to think that like the budding trees and growing grass, my freckles are some indication that winter is definitively behind us, however I know I'll probably get impaled by a rogue icicle for saying so.

Ho hum.

Be there

If you have nothing to do this Thursday evening, come to this:



See you there!

"We Need an Intellectual Challenge"

The human body is amazing. I went to bed last night and decided I wanted to sleep undisturbed until 9:00. This is my new tactic in dealing with my insomnia- making an absolute decision about the state of my sleep and willing myself to adhere to it. Lo and behold, I awoke exactly at 9:00, completely refreshed, totally content, and very very cozy. By 9:03, I was already thinking, okay, what next? So after some morning wandering and a cup of Peet's Coffee, here I am.

So, what is next? I found this video over at Kitsune Noir this morning. Stephen Hawking is always interesting, and, according to him, the key to our past and future lies in the cosmos. Old news, I know. The man's been saying that for years, but what struck me this morning was how the cosmos exists as the alpha and omega of scientific understanding and can simultaneously shed light on the beginning and the end of our world as we know it. Again, this is not a particularly unique thought, but when it comes down to our human wandering and desire for understanding, it's funny that we look to the one place (the infinite places?) we know essentially nothing about and rake through atomic matter with the hope that something will click and BAM, we will have everything understood. And even if that does happen- then what? If we knew the secrets of the Universe, would our quest for knowledge and our desire to live be stunted? Would a scientist who knew the key to the Universe sit back in his armchair and say, "Job well done!" and never again feel the desire to rise? Or would he move on to cure Cancer or build enzymes that protect bananas from contracting Panama Disease or... or what?

I don't know.

Pink Terror Hawking from mike barzman on Vimeo.

"All we need to do, is make sure we keep talking."
-Stephen Hawking

I went for a walk because I wanted to feel my feet move over pavement, wanted to traverse something solid and unmovable, wanted to find comfort in knowing there is something my weight cannot influence. Strong winds had come with the rain from last week and branches lay tangled in the shrubbery along the sidewalk- the closer we move to heaven, the further we have to fall before we hit the ground.

In the yard of a big home, painted red with white trim and looking slightly like a barn (why was this ever an attractive building style?) lay a crumpled tulip, its lavender petals covered in mud, its stem twisted like a broken limb. It looked so pathetic in the marred grass, still brown and soggy from the winter thaw, and it took me a moment to realize the tulip was not real at all, but rather a silk flower that must have fallen from the fist of a small child or blown from a dumpster where it had been discarded in favor of a more seasonal arrangement on someone's end table. I looked closer and saw the wire coming from the bottom of the stem, the frayed ends of the silk petals, the water stains on the fabric.

The pavement on which I stood was cracked and uneven, warped from months of ice, snow, heat. In the summer it'll need to be repaired. I knelt beside the flower and brushed the dirt away, leaving streaks of mud on the fabric as well as on my fingerprints and chipped nail polish. I picked it up and carried it with me for awhile, twisting it between my cold fingers, until I came to a bridge that passes over a small stream. I cast the tulip- if you can call such thing a tulip- into the water and watched it float away. How futile are our attempts to amend this world when everything is just temporary.

RIP

My most beloved [and very first] pair of heels broke just moments after stepping out my front door this afternoon. We had a good run (almost 6 years) and I'm glad I had a backup- or, more accurately, many backups.

So long, dear heels. The ground we traversed will never be forgotten.

It's been on repeat

I go through stages with music and will listen to a single album continuously for days, weeks, months. Since December, I've been time and again coming back to Bob Dylan's Infidels. Perhaps I don't tire of it because I've yet to actually memorize all the lyrics- not in terms of their actual words, for that's easy, but rather the sentiment behind them.

The album offers many interesting cultural criticisms, such as the raping of third world countries, the limits of free will and that fantastic murky area between good and bad (whatever those words connote to various people) that we as human beings must continuously grapple with as we find meaning in our every day lives.

A grungy peer of mine once called Infidels Dylan's worst album. I disagree, I think it's his best, and I think my grungy peer best start showering if he wants people to take his opinions seriously.

"Steal a little and they throw you in jail

Steal a lot and they make you king."

-Sweetheart Like You

Also noteworthy is Mark Knopfler's lyrical guitar throughout the album. It's actually beautiful.