Now I wish I could write you a melody so plain
That could hold you dear lady from going insane
That could ease you and cool you and cease the pain
Of your useless and pointless knowledge
...I've got the Tombstone Blues.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Sunday, July 27, 2008
It's been a rough summer
What can we take on trust
in this uncertain life? Happiness, greatness,
pride - nothing is secure, nothing keeps.
~Euripides, Hecuba
The answer to this conundrum must unfortunately be ourselves and only ourselves.
There is nothing more frightening than looking into the eyes of someone whom you've trusted with your whole heart for many years and realizing that you do not know that person at all; the foundation upon which you've built your relationship and thus a large portion of your life crumbles and in one fragile moment your life is unalterably changed.
The light at the end of the tunnel is that life will go on- you will meet others who can fill the void- but you will never again meet that person or find that relationship and it's not that easy to say "good riddance," unless you are a sociopath. If you are not, it hurts like hell and life just sucks for a while.
in this uncertain life? Happiness, greatness,
pride - nothing is secure, nothing keeps.
~Euripides, Hecuba
The answer to this conundrum must unfortunately be ourselves and only ourselves.
There is nothing more frightening than looking into the eyes of someone whom you've trusted with your whole heart for many years and realizing that you do not know that person at all; the foundation upon which you've built your relationship and thus a large portion of your life crumbles and in one fragile moment your life is unalterably changed.
The light at the end of the tunnel is that life will go on- you will meet others who can fill the void- but you will never again meet that person or find that relationship and it's not that easy to say "good riddance," unless you are a sociopath. If you are not, it hurts like hell and life just sucks for a while.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Old people are fun too!
Last night I finally went to one of the most talked about restaurants in Door County- The Gordon Lodge's "Top Deck."
It was my uncle's 65th birthday, and thus the occasion for a night out. Jana Nyberg (a friend of the family) and her band (The Jana Nyberg Trio) were the musical entertainment at the Top Deck for the evening. I've known Jana for a while but I've never heard her sing; I was in for a treat. I often think I should have been born in the 20s because there is nothing that I love more than sitting in a dark, enchanting bar and listening to live jazz music, cocktail in hand. Top Deck overlooks the lake, and the bar is encased in glass windows which enhanced the fantastic quality of the scene. My company included my aunt and uncle and four of their friends, all of whom kept repeating "poor Julia, stuck with all these old people!"
The truth is, maybe I should have been born in the 50s, because I didn't mind at all. Once you get past the obnoxious "what do you study?" and "what are you plans for after college?" questions, "old people" are really quite a blast to hang out with. They don't give a damn about appearances of any sort; they simply want to have a good time and enjoy their lives, and at the end of the night the men fight over who gets to pay the bill.
The women I was with, my aunt and two friends were playing "scare the young waiter boy," who left us sitting for too long without taking drink orders. No one actually cared- the earlier cocktails took any sort of edge off of the company- but the women still pretended to be upset with the delay and played with poor Kyle, "a college student, just up here for the summer."
My aunt said to Kyle, after he forgot to bring her garnish- three cherries and an orange slice- for her whiskey sour, "You know, my niece writes for the Peninsula Pulse Newspaper. She's going to write a review about Top Deck for the next issue, right Julia?"
Swallowing a huge gulp of martini I said "Oh yes, definitely."
"Well," Judy interjected, "she was going to, but not anymore."
Kyle scampered away all red and befuddled.
Old people also drive drunk! My uncle, who's large, cherubic face was grinning ear to ear was obviously entertaining the notion of "its my party, I'll have the steak and an entire bottle of red wine...and three old fashioneds..." took the reigns upon our exit (after we were the only people left in the restaurant for at least an hour, chatting it up with the chef), and much to my aunt's dismay proclaimed "Honey, I'm a better drunk driver than you are sober!" My aunt was obviously way too drunk to drive herself because she just laughed at this comment, and said "It's true!!"
The whole ride home the car erupted with laughter every time Jim opened the birthday card he gave my uncle. It was one of those music playing cars, and it was very large, about 12 x 12 in, and on the cover it simply read "A long, long time ago..." When it opened, the star-wars theme song began to play and all it said inside was "...you were born." We listened to the song about eight times through on the ride home.
It was my uncle's 65th birthday, and thus the occasion for a night out. Jana Nyberg (a friend of the family) and her band (The Jana Nyberg Trio) were the musical entertainment at the Top Deck for the evening. I've known Jana for a while but I've never heard her sing; I was in for a treat. I often think I should have been born in the 20s because there is nothing that I love more than sitting in a dark, enchanting bar and listening to live jazz music, cocktail in hand. Top Deck overlooks the lake, and the bar is encased in glass windows which enhanced the fantastic quality of the scene. My company included my aunt and uncle and four of their friends, all of whom kept repeating "poor Julia, stuck with all these old people!"
The truth is, maybe I should have been born in the 50s, because I didn't mind at all. Once you get past the obnoxious "what do you study?" and "what are you plans for after college?" questions, "old people" are really quite a blast to hang out with. They don't give a damn about appearances of any sort; they simply want to have a good time and enjoy their lives, and at the end of the night the men fight over who gets to pay the bill.
The women I was with, my aunt and two friends were playing "scare the young waiter boy," who left us sitting for too long without taking drink orders. No one actually cared- the earlier cocktails took any sort of edge off of the company- but the women still pretended to be upset with the delay and played with poor Kyle, "a college student, just up here for the summer."
My aunt said to Kyle, after he forgot to bring her garnish- three cherries and an orange slice- for her whiskey sour, "You know, my niece writes for the Peninsula Pulse Newspaper. She's going to write a review about Top Deck for the next issue, right Julia?"
Swallowing a huge gulp of martini I said "Oh yes, definitely."
"Well," Judy interjected, "she was going to, but not anymore."
Kyle scampered away all red and befuddled.
Old people also drive drunk! My uncle, who's large, cherubic face was grinning ear to ear was obviously entertaining the notion of "its my party, I'll have the steak and an entire bottle of red wine...and three old fashioneds..." took the reigns upon our exit (after we were the only people left in the restaurant for at least an hour, chatting it up with the chef), and much to my aunt's dismay proclaimed "Honey, I'm a better drunk driver than you are sober!" My aunt was obviously way too drunk to drive herself because she just laughed at this comment, and said "It's true!!"
The whole ride home the car erupted with laughter every time Jim opened the birthday card he gave my uncle. It was one of those music playing cars, and it was very large, about 12 x 12 in, and on the cover it simply read "A long, long time ago..." When it opened, the star-wars theme song began to play and all it said inside was "...you were born." We listened to the song about eight times through on the ride home.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
All grown up now
When does one reach the age where the phrase "very mature for his/her age" no longer applies?
Also, it seems to me that "being an adult" usually goes hand in hand with drinking on a nightly- and sometimes daily- basis. Bring it on.
Also, it seems to me that "being an adult" usually goes hand in hand with drinking on a nightly- and sometimes daily- basis. Bring it on.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
the worst 10 miles of my life
Hell is "running" (doing?) ten miles on an elliptical machine because Dr. says "best not run."
Recent reads: The Runners Repair Manual and Runners World Guide to Cross Training
When O.C.D combines with an addictive personality and the two manifest themselves within a runner, the result is catastrophic, at least for my hips apparently (hence the aforementioned literature).
Recent reads: The Runners Repair Manual and Runners World Guide to Cross Training
When O.C.D combines with an addictive personality and the two manifest themselves within a runner, the result is catastrophic, at least for my hips apparently (hence the aforementioned literature).
Friday, July 11, 2008
one more thing, on loneliness:
Loneliness is a tricky thing. It can send you barreling back into the arms of a former boyfriend or girlfriend, whom maybe you loved, or maybe you didn't. Maybe you don't even remember why you were attracted to them in the first place, but it doesn't really matter because sometimes any company is better than feeling alone.
Notice I did not say "being alone," because being alone and feeling alone are two very different things. Feeling so is much more dangerous. It's much more likely to cause you to wake up in the morning next to someone you'd rather not see, usually with a splitting headache, and however lonely you felt last night, you can multiply that by about a thousand, punch yourself in the stomach, and that's how you feel in the morning. So much more alone even though you are waking up with company.
It's hard not to envy the blissfully unaware at times. Those people who tell themselves "I love blank and he loves me too!" and they actually believe it. I guess its not always false, but can two people really feel exactly the same way at the same time? I just don't think so.
Notice I did not say "being alone," because being alone and feeling alone are two very different things. Feeling so is much more dangerous. It's much more likely to cause you to wake up in the morning next to someone you'd rather not see, usually with a splitting headache, and however lonely you felt last night, you can multiply that by about a thousand, punch yourself in the stomach, and that's how you feel in the morning. So much more alone even though you are waking up with company.
It's hard not to envy the blissfully unaware at times. Those people who tell themselves "I love blank and he loves me too!" and they actually believe it. I guess its not always false, but can two people really feel exactly the same way at the same time? I just don't think so.
lemme tell you a little something about Door County, WI
1.) The mail comes (if it comes) anytime between 3 and 6 pm.
2.) Wanna take an enlightening class- any class- in the woods? You can!
A. Example: My Yoga class. Taught at a little cabin in the woods by a stoic,65 yr old woman named Marcia, who, as of yesterday, hugs me goodbye.
3.) A lot of people don't have a cell phone, and on more than one occasion, one of these people will refer to themselves as "the last of the Mohicans."
2.) Wanna take an enlightening class- any class- in the woods? You can!
A. Example: My Yoga class. Taught at a little cabin in the woods by a stoic,65 yr old woman named Marcia, who, as of yesterday, hugs me goodbye.
3.) A lot of people don't have a cell phone, and on more than one occasion, one of these people will refer to themselves as "the last of the Mohicans."
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Why I dislike most members of my sex:
As my days begin to pile up working at the Sovereign Collection, my resentment for womankind continues to increase. Let me just throw this out there without sounding like a raging feminist: the fact that you married a rich man and have a gardener does not mean you “made it” in life. Before you talk down to me, please consider the fact that although I have not finished college yet, the fact that I started it and am almost finished makes me a lot more educated than you will ever be.
Today a lady entered my shop wearing giant sunglasses (which she left on the entire time) atop a nose that was too small to be her own, and sporting spikey black hair. Her huge, synthetically perky bosom threatened to pour out of the skimpy tank top she was wearing. As if her obvious cosmetic surgeries were not enough to let the whole world know she was wealthy, she felt the need to pull out several of our most expensive dresses and emphatically proclaim to other customers “this would make the most ado-orable nightgown!”
She walked all over the store, picking up folded shirts, only to crumple them up and leave them in a ball somewhere other then where she found them. Some she tried on over her tank top in the middle of the store and would leave them wherever she was standing, inside out. Thankfully, she went into the dressing room to try on a pair of shorts. Moments later, her hand emerged holding the shorts, which she shook in my direction and yelled out “get me these in a size bigger!”
I obliged, without a thanks. All too often there is no “thanks.” There’s no “please,” or “excuse me” either, just pointing and demanding.
I love the women who glance around and make snide comments to their friends like, “Oh God, who can wear this stuff? Not me!” or “I think we’re a little to old for this kind of shop,” said with more than a hint of disdain in my general direction. Most of the time I ignore women like this, but when I’m feeling especially perky I might chirp back “Actually this is a women’s shop. We have customers of all ages.” To this they usually respond with a condescending tone, something like “Well,” glaring me up and down, “I bet it’s real easy to think that way when you’re tall and skinny and young, but I have to think a little bit harder about what I can wear.”
You're right; It's my fault that you have become old and fat and miserable, and in fact, while my boss (who is 42, by the way) was picking out merchandise to sell in her store, I, somehow, secretly manipulated all of her purchase decisions in order to spite you and all women like you. Furthermore, it is actually the prime objective of this store to make women feel bad about themselves. And we ONLY target the young, tall and skinny female population. In fact we really don't intend to sell much clothing- thus the basis of our decision to only cater to such a demographic- we just want to exist here in this storefront, seething spite and pretension.
Apparently, I am a vessel through which women feel they can channel their disgruntled qualms about their lives. It’s days like these that make certain my evening descent into our wine cellar and, consequently, my impending alcoholism.
Today a lady entered my shop wearing giant sunglasses (which she left on the entire time) atop a nose that was too small to be her own, and sporting spikey black hair. Her huge, synthetically perky bosom threatened to pour out of the skimpy tank top she was wearing. As if her obvious cosmetic surgeries were not enough to let the whole world know she was wealthy, she felt the need to pull out several of our most expensive dresses and emphatically proclaim to other customers “this would make the most ado-orable nightgown!”
She walked all over the store, picking up folded shirts, only to crumple them up and leave them in a ball somewhere other then where she found them. Some she tried on over her tank top in the middle of the store and would leave them wherever she was standing, inside out. Thankfully, she went into the dressing room to try on a pair of shorts. Moments later, her hand emerged holding the shorts, which she shook in my direction and yelled out “get me these in a size bigger!”
I obliged, without a thanks. All too often there is no “thanks.” There’s no “please,” or “excuse me” either, just pointing and demanding.
I love the women who glance around and make snide comments to their friends like, “Oh God, who can wear this stuff? Not me!” or “I think we’re a little to old for this kind of shop,” said with more than a hint of disdain in my general direction. Most of the time I ignore women like this, but when I’m feeling especially perky I might chirp back “Actually this is a women’s shop. We have customers of all ages.” To this they usually respond with a condescending tone, something like “Well,” glaring me up and down, “I bet it’s real easy to think that way when you’re tall and skinny and young, but I have to think a little bit harder about what I can wear.”
You're right; It's my fault that you have become old and fat and miserable, and in fact, while my boss (who is 42, by the way) was picking out merchandise to sell in her store, I, somehow, secretly manipulated all of her purchase decisions in order to spite you and all women like you. Furthermore, it is actually the prime objective of this store to make women feel bad about themselves. And we ONLY target the young, tall and skinny female population. In fact we really don't intend to sell much clothing- thus the basis of our decision to only cater to such a demographic- we just want to exist here in this storefront, seething spite and pretension.
Apparently, I am a vessel through which women feel they can channel their disgruntled qualms about their lives. It’s days like these that make certain my evening descent into our wine cellar and, consequently, my impending alcoholism.
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