http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DmLE2bliXCI
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OonDPGwAyfQ
Friday, June 11, 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
Conquer Stage Fright
You’re standing at the podium, facing an agitated crowd. Do you even remember what you were going to say? Your palms sweat and your knees feel like they are about to buckle. Your heart pounds and you breathe shallow breaths. Your throat feels constricted.
Your body is shaking with stage fright, and it is too late to turn back. You don’t have time to calm yourself down, and the clock is ticking. What can you do?
“Use your mind to trick your body,” says international mentalist, Nick Compise. Take a moment to convince yourself that you are not nervous, but excited. Because nervousness and excitement cause the same reactions in your body (increased heart rate, sweating, weakness in the knees, lightheadedness, etc.), changing your state of mind can turn crippling stage fright into charisma.
In order for this to work, you must take a leap of faith and allow yourself to truly believe you are excited, not afraid. Then you can use the physical symptoms of stage fright to your advantage.
If you’re terrified to face a crowd, challenge yourself to try using this mind trick in the next couple of days. Speak at Toastmasters, sing karaoke, or make a simple presentation at work. If you are successful, you will have the confidence to take on a greater challenge the next time you try.
If you can beat your stage fright, you will have the power to reach out to people on a larger scale than ever before. What do you want to share? A song? A lesson? Improv Comedy? The world is waiting to hear from you!
*Mentalism is the art of appearing to have supernatural powers. This is done through observation, the power of suggestion, and showmanship. Mentalists must rigorously study psychology and the mind in order to succeed as performers. Expert Nick Compise is from New York, and has performed in the United States and abroad.
Your body is shaking with stage fright, and it is too late to turn back. You don’t have time to calm yourself down, and the clock is ticking. What can you do?
“Use your mind to trick your body,” says international mentalist, Nick Compise. Take a moment to convince yourself that you are not nervous, but excited. Because nervousness and excitement cause the same reactions in your body (increased heart rate, sweating, weakness in the knees, lightheadedness, etc.), changing your state of mind can turn crippling stage fright into charisma.
In order for this to work, you must take a leap of faith and allow yourself to truly believe you are excited, not afraid. Then you can use the physical symptoms of stage fright to your advantage.
If you’re terrified to face a crowd, challenge yourself to try using this mind trick in the next couple of days. Speak at Toastmasters, sing karaoke, or make a simple presentation at work. If you are successful, you will have the confidence to take on a greater challenge the next time you try.
If you can beat your stage fright, you will have the power to reach out to people on a larger scale than ever before. What do you want to share? A song? A lesson? Improv Comedy? The world is waiting to hear from you!
*Mentalism is the art of appearing to have supernatural powers. This is done through observation, the power of suggestion, and showmanship. Mentalists must rigorously study psychology and the mind in order to succeed as performers. Expert Nick Compise is from New York, and has performed in the United States and abroad.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
When Fate Steps In
Discovering photography was Daguerre's primary goal in life. He pursued it relentlessly for years, but to no avail. He knew he was right on the edge of inventing photography, but he couldn't figure out the last step: how to develop an exposed plate to reveal the picture.
A thermometer that burst in his cupboard showed him the answer. The spilled mercury developed the plate, turning a blank piece of metal into a photograph. That fateful accident provided Daguerre with the missing ingredient he needed to become the world's first photographer.
If it wasn't for fate, Daguerre may never have found what he was looking for, and the history of photography would be forever changed.
I felt guided by the hands of fate today when I got lost and discovered an abandoned apartment complex. It was an urban explorer's paradise. There were at least twenty buildings on site, and almost all of them were accessible. There were no "no trespassing" signs, and it was possible to enter without breaking in. The legal risk was low, and the place was completely deserted.
I can always tell when there are people inside of a building. It is as though I can sense their hearts beating in the collapsing rooms or feel their thoughts reaching out into the space around them.
I got out of the car in my little green sundress and went through the first open door I came to. People had left furniture behind along with many of their personal things. The complex had been deserted in a hurry. It looked like it had been that way for a long time, but few (if any) looters had come through to ravage it.
I was treated to an hour of learning about the lives of the people who had been there, and contemplating who they were and why they left. Those thoughts spun into stories which I will now write and share with mankind.
Like Daguerre's mercury spill helped him contribute photography to society, my wrong turn helped me contribute to the next generation of American literature.
Accidentally finding that exploration site made me think about what fate really is. I realized that when we're fixated on something, we are more likely to see opportunities related to that subject. Our passions become the lens through which we see the world.
Opportunities relating to math or the stock market probably spring up around me all the time, but I'm blind to them because I'm not equipped to recognize their value. In a similar vein, a person who is not a born storyteller may see abandoned buildings as useless places filled with junk rather than anthropological relics filled with clues about the people who once lived there.
You know you and fate are working hand in hand when you see something that makes your heart pound, and instead of continuing on your way, you change course and accept your next challenge.
A thermometer that burst in his cupboard showed him the answer. The spilled mercury developed the plate, turning a blank piece of metal into a photograph. That fateful accident provided Daguerre with the missing ingredient he needed to become the world's first photographer.
If it wasn't for fate, Daguerre may never have found what he was looking for, and the history of photography would be forever changed.
I felt guided by the hands of fate today when I got lost and discovered an abandoned apartment complex. It was an urban explorer's paradise. There were at least twenty buildings on site, and almost all of them were accessible. There were no "no trespassing" signs, and it was possible to enter without breaking in. The legal risk was low, and the place was completely deserted.
I can always tell when there are people inside of a building. It is as though I can sense their hearts beating in the collapsing rooms or feel their thoughts reaching out into the space around them.
I got out of the car in my little green sundress and went through the first open door I came to. People had left furniture behind along with many of their personal things. The complex had been deserted in a hurry. It looked like it had been that way for a long time, but few (if any) looters had come through to ravage it.
I was treated to an hour of learning about the lives of the people who had been there, and contemplating who they were and why they left. Those thoughts spun into stories which I will now write and share with mankind.
Like Daguerre's mercury spill helped him contribute photography to society, my wrong turn helped me contribute to the next generation of American literature.
Accidentally finding that exploration site made me think about what fate really is. I realized that when we're fixated on something, we are more likely to see opportunities related to that subject. Our passions become the lens through which we see the world.
Opportunities relating to math or the stock market probably spring up around me all the time, but I'm blind to them because I'm not equipped to recognize their value. In a similar vein, a person who is not a born storyteller may see abandoned buildings as useless places filled with junk rather than anthropological relics filled with clues about the people who once lived there.
You know you and fate are working hand in hand when you see something that makes your heart pound, and instead of continuing on your way, you change course and accept your next challenge.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
To Beard or Not To Beard? My Facial Hair Theory Goes Public At Last!
A dear friend of mine, Jack, has inspired me to go public with my theory about beards. Jack is about 6 feet 4 inches tall. He is muscular and has a face like a romance novel studmuffin. His cheekbones are chiseled, he has a nice, full mouth, and there is a delicious spark of mischief in his eyes. However, from cheek to collar, Jack’s handsome-beyond-belief face is covered in hair.
All the women I know are at war with his beard. It’s a massive, face-erasing hive of black scruff that women want to torch while Jack is asleep. They all secretly want to kiss him, but they don’t actually do it for two reasons: no one likes chafing, and no one wants to introduce a cave-dwelling bear to their mom. (What if he were to bellow at dinner?)
One day not so long ago, after hours of listening to him go on about how no one would date him, I got up the nerve to ask Jack if he would ever consider shaving his face. He said, “Hell, no, I wouldn’t! Don’t even ask!” When I asked him why he grew the beard in the first place, he said the thing that hundreds upon hundreds of handsome guys have said to me: “I look like a little kid under there, and I don’t like my chin. No one would take me seriously if I shaved my face. No one would respect me.”
That, my friends, is the WRONG ANSWER.
Guys, growing a beard to hide your face is equal to a woman wearing a huge, scary man-sweater to hide her body. Do you want hot girls to do that? I didn’t think so. If you think you have a baby-face and hate it, consider Zac Efron, Taylor Lautner, and Leonardo DiCaprio.
Before you think that they look like sissies or douches, remember that every woman on earth wants to get with them. These men know how to capitalize on their “boyish” faces. They bare their youthful-looking features with confidence. They don’t care what other guys think because they’re famous and they get laid. All the time.
Before you think that I’m just a hater and want all beards to go up in flames, I’m going to tell you how to do facial hair the right way, complete with examples.
Facial hair, like your haircut and clothing, should be a style choice. It shouldn’t be a big, gnarly curtain you use to cover up your face. Think about it… when I say “hillbilly”, you get a picture in your mind of what he grows on his face. When I say “rock singer”, you get a different picture. Get my drift? Any facial hair that you grow projects an image to the public. What image do think the following men project through their style choices? Do you think that how they look is in line with how they want to be viewed and treated? Consider:
-Chewbacca (Wookie.)
-Barack Obama (the president is beard-free. Worth noting.)
-Aragorn, King of Gondor (Has a big sword. Lives in the woods.)
-Osama Bin Laden (Famous hairy terrorist. Osama and Obama are super-hard to confuse, even with similar names, because they have made radically different facial hair choices.)
-Salvador Dali (Crazy artist dude.)
-Frida Kahlo (?)
If your facial hair projects the image that you strive for, congratulations! You’ve done it right! You are a man of style who sets the bar for your scruffier counterparts. If you’re not sure how you are seen by others and you would like to know, be brave and submit a picture of your face to aerieavery@gmail.com. I’ll ask people what their first impressions of you are and get back to you. Then you’ll really know.
In the mean time, get shaving! Or growing. Whatever. Just make sure you do it with purpose and flair! And guys with gorgeous faces, for heaven’s sake, quit covering them up with chubes! If I see much more of that, I’ll have all the sexy women I know wear muumuus every day until you stop.
All the women I know are at war with his beard. It’s a massive, face-erasing hive of black scruff that women want to torch while Jack is asleep. They all secretly want to kiss him, but they don’t actually do it for two reasons: no one likes chafing, and no one wants to introduce a cave-dwelling bear to their mom. (What if he were to bellow at dinner?)
One day not so long ago, after hours of listening to him go on about how no one would date him, I got up the nerve to ask Jack if he would ever consider shaving his face. He said, “Hell, no, I wouldn’t! Don’t even ask!” When I asked him why he grew the beard in the first place, he said the thing that hundreds upon hundreds of handsome guys have said to me: “I look like a little kid under there, and I don’t like my chin. No one would take me seriously if I shaved my face. No one would respect me.”
That, my friends, is the WRONG ANSWER.
Guys, growing a beard to hide your face is equal to a woman wearing a huge, scary man-sweater to hide her body. Do you want hot girls to do that? I didn’t think so. If you think you have a baby-face and hate it, consider Zac Efron, Taylor Lautner, and Leonardo DiCaprio.
Before you think that they look like sissies or douches, remember that every woman on earth wants to get with them. These men know how to capitalize on their “boyish” faces. They bare their youthful-looking features with confidence. They don’t care what other guys think because they’re famous and they get laid. All the time.
Before you think that I’m just a hater and want all beards to go up in flames, I’m going to tell you how to do facial hair the right way, complete with examples.
Facial hair, like your haircut and clothing, should be a style choice. It shouldn’t be a big, gnarly curtain you use to cover up your face. Think about it… when I say “hillbilly”, you get a picture in your mind of what he grows on his face. When I say “rock singer”, you get a different picture. Get my drift? Any facial hair that you grow projects an image to the public. What image do think the following men project through their style choices? Do you think that how they look is in line with how they want to be viewed and treated? Consider:
-Chewbacca (Wookie.)
-Barack Obama (the president is beard-free. Worth noting.)
-Aragorn, King of Gondor (Has a big sword. Lives in the woods.)
-Osama Bin Laden (Famous hairy terrorist. Osama and Obama are super-hard to confuse, even with similar names, because they have made radically different facial hair choices.)
-Salvador Dali (Crazy artist dude.)
-Frida Kahlo (?)
If your facial hair projects the image that you strive for, congratulations! You’ve done it right! You are a man of style who sets the bar for your scruffier counterparts. If you’re not sure how you are seen by others and you would like to know, be brave and submit a picture of your face to aerieavery@gmail.com. I’ll ask people what their first impressions of you are and get back to you. Then you’ll really know.
In the mean time, get shaving! Or growing. Whatever. Just make sure you do it with purpose and flair! And guys with gorgeous faces, for heaven’s sake, quit covering them up with chubes! If I see much more of that, I’ll have all the sexy women I know wear muumuus every day until you stop.
Does This Make Me a Nerd?
I am NOT a nerd. At least that's what I firmly believed until recently.
I don't play video games, I don't watch sci-fi on television, I don't read books with bad purple fantasy art on the cover, and I don't go to ANYTHING-con. I don't have a nervous laugh. I have friends. I wear makeup. My clothes are decisively non-frumpy.
Then I got an OK Cupid profile for a few days so that I could write a sample ad for the site. Even though there's already a guy I like in Real Life, I wanted to see what it was all about before putting pen to paper. I clicked around, answered a few questions, and found out that anyone who scored over 80 percent compatibility with me was a SELF-DESCRIBED NERD. The first thing they wrote on their pages was, "I'm kind of nerdy..." or "I'm a nerd, but..." or "I guess I'm a nerd". Their nerdiness, believe it or not, was their HEADLINE.
Are these nerds the people who I should actually be dating? Have I been dating the wrong people all this time? Am I really more compatible with nerds? If so, does that make me a nerd, too?
There are only two other explanations for this, and God help me, I hope one of these is right:
1. The guys are playing the nerdy beta male card because everyone thinks the guys from Juno and Zombieland are kind of hot... or maybe because they saw that IMAX movie about cuttlefish, and learned that the beta cuttlefish are actually more likely to reproduce because they don't waste time fighting with the other males like the alpha ones do.
2. EVERY guy on OK Cupid is a nerd.
Have you ever been on a dating site? Tell me what your experience was like. If something similar happened to you, I won't worry so much about this nerd phenomenon. I'll be able to sleep at night.
I don't play video games, I don't watch sci-fi on television, I don't read books with bad purple fantasy art on the cover, and I don't go to ANYTHING-con. I don't have a nervous laugh. I have friends. I wear makeup. My clothes are decisively non-frumpy.
Then I got an OK Cupid profile for a few days so that I could write a sample ad for the site. Even though there's already a guy I like in Real Life, I wanted to see what it was all about before putting pen to paper. I clicked around, answered a few questions, and found out that anyone who scored over 80 percent compatibility with me was a SELF-DESCRIBED NERD. The first thing they wrote on their pages was, "I'm kind of nerdy..." or "I'm a nerd, but..." or "I guess I'm a nerd". Their nerdiness, believe it or not, was their HEADLINE.
Are these nerds the people who I should actually be dating? Have I been dating the wrong people all this time? Am I really more compatible with nerds? If so, does that make me a nerd, too?
There are only two other explanations for this, and God help me, I hope one of these is right:
1. The guys are playing the nerdy beta male card because everyone thinks the guys from Juno and Zombieland are kind of hot... or maybe because they saw that IMAX movie about cuttlefish, and learned that the beta cuttlefish are actually more likely to reproduce because they don't waste time fighting with the other males like the alpha ones do.
2. EVERY guy on OK Cupid is a nerd.
Have you ever been on a dating site? Tell me what your experience was like. If something similar happened to you, I won't worry so much about this nerd phenomenon. I'll be able to sleep at night.
Monday, May 24, 2010
He Has a Point
Do you get e-mails like this? If not, you should seriously consider meeting my friends.
Angel Olivera May 23 at 9:58am
It would be a shame to lose you from the gene pool. :P
Aerie Avery May 23 at 12:22pm
What?! Why would that happen? I'm far from being suicidal... or a lesbian.
Angel Olivera May 24 at 12:32am
You did mention being afraid of hospitals when we had dinner at Spoon.
Angel Olivera May 24 at 12:43am
... And while I don't know the magnitude of your Suicidal tendancies, you do tend to enjoy crossdressing. :P
Thursday, May 20, 2010
No, It's Really True.
My life is unfathomably complicated. I've lived everywhere, met thousands of people, and explored the world. Many strange things have happened to me, and my life has taken many unrelated courses.
Read my claims below. These are some stories I tell a lot. They sound like lies, don't they? They're about as easy to believe as the claims of a homeless man who says he's the son of Marilyn Monroe. At best, my stories sound like the exaggerated musings of a pipe dreamer.
Read them, and see what you think:
-I knew when a white truck was about to lose control as my mom drove me to school. I told her to get away from it. Immediately afterwards, it spun off the road and smashed into the embankment.
-I've moved more than twenty times.
-I lived in a bank for awhile.
-There is a video of me viciously biting a mall Santa while wearing a prim, blue, velvet dress and pearls. My mom plans to show it to any man crazy enough to ask me to marry him.
- I have worked as a makeup artist, an assistant dog groomer, a caretaker for the elderly, an oil painter, an interpreter, a legal secretary, and an account exec. I can play the piano, paint, dance, read tarot cards and palms, restore houses, and learn languages almost instantly.
- I once walked into an abandoned house at night that had hundreds of ravens living in the rafters. They spooked when I came in and swarmed me.
- The show South Park was based on my hometown, and I know Mr. Garrison personally. In fact, I bought him a cactus for Christmas.
-My best friend is figuring out how to clone himself so that he can save his brain and put it into a younger body.
- I lived with a Spanish woman who saved money by turning off the hot water just before I got into the shower every day and refusing me access to food.
- I invented a religion when I was eight. It had songs, meetings, a language, a code of ethics, and sixty or so members. When I wanted people to listen to me, I would say that I was simply telling them what the invented God had told me to say. The success of my religion got me thrown out of class the next year.
- I faint when I breathe too much second hand smoke or have to deal with blood.
The list goes on. And on.
By now you think I'm testing you or that I'm lying, but I'm not. Everything on the list you just read is absolutlely true. Every time I go somewhere, something unbelievable happens. My head is always overflowing with stories that I just don't want to tell people because they will inevitably think that I'm off my rocker. That may be true, but so are the stories.
I have lived out of a suitcase by the skin of my teeth, without commitments of any kind for most of my life. Some people see glamour in that, but I see glamour in the white picket fence of stability.
I envy the girl who marries the boy next door and buys a house right down the street. I envy her because she knows who she is and where she is going. It's simple for her. She has a perspective because she has always looked at things from the same point of view.
I don't have a perspective anymore because I have had too many incongruous experiences that I have chosen to learn from. Now I see situations one hundred ways at once. I just can't help it.
When I was a child, I was like the picket-fence girl I described. I saw everything from the same point of view. I still remember it vividly. My stubborn soul was a thick window that I looked at everything in life through, like the lady of Shalott looked through her mirror.
Here in Atlanta, I have begun to develop a cohesive life for myself again. It's not there, but it's coming together. I'm focusing on permanent friendships, lifelong mentors, and attending to my life's only real work, which is writing. I'm cutting out anything that stops me from getting where I need to go. I'm doing away with distractions. Instead of dreaming, I have committed to winning through consistent actions that propel me forward, one small thing at a time.
My whole life has been a Devil's Playground, but I'm building something to come home to after all the adventures. Wish me luck.
Read my claims below. These are some stories I tell a lot. They sound like lies, don't they? They're about as easy to believe as the claims of a homeless man who says he's the son of Marilyn Monroe. At best, my stories sound like the exaggerated musings of a pipe dreamer.
Read them, and see what you think:
-I knew when a white truck was about to lose control as my mom drove me to school. I told her to get away from it. Immediately afterwards, it spun off the road and smashed into the embankment.
-I've moved more than twenty times.
-I lived in a bank for awhile.
-There is a video of me viciously biting a mall Santa while wearing a prim, blue, velvet dress and pearls. My mom plans to show it to any man crazy enough to ask me to marry him.
- I have worked as a makeup artist, an assistant dog groomer, a caretaker for the elderly, an oil painter, an interpreter, a legal secretary, and an account exec. I can play the piano, paint, dance, read tarot cards and palms, restore houses, and learn languages almost instantly.
- I once walked into an abandoned house at night that had hundreds of ravens living in the rafters. They spooked when I came in and swarmed me.
- The show South Park was based on my hometown, and I know Mr. Garrison personally. In fact, I bought him a cactus for Christmas.
-My best friend is figuring out how to clone himself so that he can save his brain and put it into a younger body.
- I lived with a Spanish woman who saved money by turning off the hot water just before I got into the shower every day and refusing me access to food.
- I invented a religion when I was eight. It had songs, meetings, a language, a code of ethics, and sixty or so members. When I wanted people to listen to me, I would say that I was simply telling them what the invented God had told me to say. The success of my religion got me thrown out of class the next year.
- I faint when I breathe too much second hand smoke or have to deal with blood.
The list goes on. And on.
By now you think I'm testing you or that I'm lying, but I'm not. Everything on the list you just read is absolutlely true. Every time I go somewhere, something unbelievable happens. My head is always overflowing with stories that I just don't want to tell people because they will inevitably think that I'm off my rocker. That may be true, but so are the stories.
I have lived out of a suitcase by the skin of my teeth, without commitments of any kind for most of my life. Some people see glamour in that, but I see glamour in the white picket fence of stability.
I envy the girl who marries the boy next door and buys a house right down the street. I envy her because she knows who she is and where she is going. It's simple for her. She has a perspective because she has always looked at things from the same point of view.
I don't have a perspective anymore because I have had too many incongruous experiences that I have chosen to learn from. Now I see situations one hundred ways at once. I just can't help it.
When I was a child, I was like the picket-fence girl I described. I saw everything from the same point of view. I still remember it vividly. My stubborn soul was a thick window that I looked at everything in life through, like the lady of Shalott looked through her mirror.
Here in Atlanta, I have begun to develop a cohesive life for myself again. It's not there, but it's coming together. I'm focusing on permanent friendships, lifelong mentors, and attending to my life's only real work, which is writing. I'm cutting out anything that stops me from getting where I need to go. I'm doing away with distractions. Instead of dreaming, I have committed to winning through consistent actions that propel me forward, one small thing at a time.
My whole life has been a Devil's Playground, but I'm building something to come home to after all the adventures. Wish me luck.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Stupid, Happy Messages
I got a delightful voicemail message today from my dear friend of a gazillion years, North. All it said was, "Hey, Butthead, it's me. Call me back, dude, I've got stuff to tell you!" Then a whole bunch of people in the background started laughing.
When I called North back, he said he was in Aspen filming a movie. It made me remember Colorado intensely. There, I spent all my free time in the mountains with North and my best friend in the known universe, Alistair. We would ride jeep trails, swim, shoot targets with a 22, explore, and camp out. Sometimes we would play poker or even chess in the middle of nowhere.
Those times are the reason I want to live. I remember that sense of freedom, and remember that it's possible for me to find it again. I remember how it felt to be able to sleep anywhere, say anything, wear anything, and make any sound on earth and not be heard.
I will carry my friendships from that time all the way through this life. Not many friendships last from childhood into the end, but these will. They have lasted through grade school, college, thousands of miles, loves, fights, marriages, family struggles, and changing careers. They will last through everything else, too. No matter what, we all still talk every week. Sometimes we talk every day.
Since Alistair and I can't play chess in person now, we're playing long-distance. We call each other up and say, "white pawn A-2 to A-4, jackass. Take that!" We like to play chess, of course, but it's really just an excuse for companionship. It's a way for us to stay best friends, even though we can't have beer and ice cream for dinner on his bedroom floor anymore.
We're ridiculous when Alistair, North and I get together with all our old friends. We laugh so hard, and we say things we could never say to people we met as adults. We keep our arms around each other and walk through the woods and the fields with swagger and ease. Our legs are used to the terrain, and we don't look down, even as we walk over rock formations and scale the timberline. Conversations float through topics without a thought. Like a school of fish, we all somehow know where the others are going and follow, but no one in particular leads.
Lately, I've been feeling like a kid in grade school does when all the other kids are in a group, doing something fun with their backs turned. All of my friends here are older than me and finished school before the recession. They have jobs and I don't have one. It has been so, so hard to find a job even though I've done everything I can think of to get one. My older friends try to understand, but they can't.
I speak fluent Spanish and I'm as organized as an ant colony. I know everyone, apply everywhere, and volunteer where I'm needed. It just doesn't seem to matter. Sometimes I feel like I'm drifting away from the earth, just falling off the face of it. To have so much purpose and noplace to go hurts.
Then I get a phone call from North saying, "Hey, Butthead, it's me," and a note from Alistair saying, "My queen to your bishop, ha ha" and I know that no matter what, I'll never really be left behind.
When I called North back, he said he was in Aspen filming a movie. It made me remember Colorado intensely. There, I spent all my free time in the mountains with North and my best friend in the known universe, Alistair. We would ride jeep trails, swim, shoot targets with a 22, explore, and camp out. Sometimes we would play poker or even chess in the middle of nowhere.
Those times are the reason I want to live. I remember that sense of freedom, and remember that it's possible for me to find it again. I remember how it felt to be able to sleep anywhere, say anything, wear anything, and make any sound on earth and not be heard.
I will carry my friendships from that time all the way through this life. Not many friendships last from childhood into the end, but these will. They have lasted through grade school, college, thousands of miles, loves, fights, marriages, family struggles, and changing careers. They will last through everything else, too. No matter what, we all still talk every week. Sometimes we talk every day.
Since Alistair and I can't play chess in person now, we're playing long-distance. We call each other up and say, "white pawn A-2 to A-4, jackass. Take that!" We like to play chess, of course, but it's really just an excuse for companionship. It's a way for us to stay best friends, even though we can't have beer and ice cream for dinner on his bedroom floor anymore.
We're ridiculous when Alistair, North and I get together with all our old friends. We laugh so hard, and we say things we could never say to people we met as adults. We keep our arms around each other and walk through the woods and the fields with swagger and ease. Our legs are used to the terrain, and we don't look down, even as we walk over rock formations and scale the timberline. Conversations float through topics without a thought. Like a school of fish, we all somehow know where the others are going and follow, but no one in particular leads.
Lately, I've been feeling like a kid in grade school does when all the other kids are in a group, doing something fun with their backs turned. All of my friends here are older than me and finished school before the recession. They have jobs and I don't have one. It has been so, so hard to find a job even though I've done everything I can think of to get one. My older friends try to understand, but they can't.
I speak fluent Spanish and I'm as organized as an ant colony. I know everyone, apply everywhere, and volunteer where I'm needed. It just doesn't seem to matter. Sometimes I feel like I'm drifting away from the earth, just falling off the face of it. To have so much purpose and noplace to go hurts.
Then I get a phone call from North saying, "Hey, Butthead, it's me," and a note from Alistair saying, "My queen to your bishop, ha ha" and I know that no matter what, I'll never really be left behind.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
The Summer
Don't you ever just long for summer?
I do. I always do. I imagine the sounds of people outside, gardening, playing games, and mowing the lawn. I imagine the nights full of the songs of insects and the woman next door who sings out through the kitchen window as she washes the dishes.
Think of the freedom of stepping outside without shoes, a hat, a coat, or gloves and standing under the sun. Don't you miss it?
I do. I always do. I imagine the sounds of people outside, gardening, playing games, and mowing the lawn. I imagine the nights full of the songs of insects and the woman next door who sings out through the kitchen window as she washes the dishes.
Think of the freedom of stepping outside without shoes, a hat, a coat, or gloves and standing under the sun. Don't you miss it?
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Thank You, Augusten
Augusten Burroughs may have just saved my life. I always got him, and have read all of his books. I didn't realize that he understood me, too, until I read his short story, "Why Do You Reward Me Thus?"
If you are reading this and carry any doubts in your heart about your worth and talents, please find and read his story as soon as you can. Read it before you pick up the bottle and drink, abuse a substance, or just resort to apathy like me. Read it before you do the thing that keeps you from greatness. You know what it is.
In the story, Augusten tells about a Christmas when he becomes so drunk that he joins a group of bums near his apartment building for several days. One of the women, Shirley, is an alcoholic like him.
She is also a classically trained opera singer with the most remarkable voice he has ever heard. When describing Shirley to his friend, Augusten says, "It's like, she could have been huge - Beverly Sills or... I don't know their names - but she was The Met, she was Carnegie Hall; she made the windows shake in their frames."
"I know this sounds weird, but here's my point - all of it was wasted. She had - has - this epic talent, and she's a homeless alcoholic. She's not some big opera singer at the Met. She's a bum lady. With this secret voice. Almost like a prisoner with a ten-carat diamond who can only wear it inside her cell and prance around alone."
"And you know the first thing that came into my mind when she was singing for me? I thought, if I had been born with a talent that large I never would have started drinking. Almost like having such a huge talent would insulate you or protect you. Because it would feel like you had this destiny. So you didn't have to worry. I wouldn't drink because I had too much talent to drink. And then I kind of looked at Shirley sitting there on that bench and I knew, Oh yes I would. And something in me just fucking clicked."
"I've never been so fucking scared in my life. I always thought I could quit drinking whenever I wanted. Or that I was somehow too smart. Or too something. Whatever, alcohol wouldn't ruin me. It couldn't. But man, if you had only heard that voice and seen the size of her. You know? She was big. Shirley was huge. And still, she got taken down."
Reading this, all I could think was, "Augusten, you have an 'epic talent'! How can you live with that greatness inside of you and not even know it?" Then I said out loud, right into the pages, "Please don't give up. I wish you could hear me - you're going to be a celebrity writer someday. Everyone in America is going to know your name."
At that moment, something in me 'just clicked', too. As I begged Augusten not to give up on himself, I realized that in my heart, I had given up on myself, too.
Our lives converged then. His past became my present. It was like we had a flux capacitator. The lesson Augusten learned on the streets with Shirley many years ago reached out across time and country to me.
His story changed my life for good. It will change the lives of everyone out there who chooses to take it to heart. His words have the power to do so much good, and they do. THAT POWER IS THE REASON I WRITE. That drive to reach out to people through stories is my epic talent. Just like his.
Let us unite in our resolutions. Let us unite in our belief in ourselves and those we care about. Let us refuse to give up, no matter what.
http://www.augusten.com/
If you are reading this and carry any doubts in your heart about your worth and talents, please find and read his story as soon as you can. Read it before you pick up the bottle and drink, abuse a substance, or just resort to apathy like me. Read it before you do the thing that keeps you from greatness. You know what it is.
*****
In the story, Augusten tells about a Christmas when he becomes so drunk that he joins a group of bums near his apartment building for several days. One of the women, Shirley, is an alcoholic like him.
She is also a classically trained opera singer with the most remarkable voice he has ever heard. When describing Shirley to his friend, Augusten says, "It's like, she could have been huge - Beverly Sills or... I don't know their names - but she was The Met, she was Carnegie Hall; she made the windows shake in their frames."
"I know this sounds weird, but here's my point - all of it was wasted. She had - has - this epic talent, and she's a homeless alcoholic. She's not some big opera singer at the Met. She's a bum lady. With this secret voice. Almost like a prisoner with a ten-carat diamond who can only wear it inside her cell and prance around alone."
"And you know the first thing that came into my mind when she was singing for me? I thought, if I had been born with a talent that large I never would have started drinking. Almost like having such a huge talent would insulate you or protect you. Because it would feel like you had this destiny. So you didn't have to worry. I wouldn't drink because I had too much talent to drink. And then I kind of looked at Shirley sitting there on that bench and I knew, Oh yes I would. And something in me just fucking clicked."
"I've never been so fucking scared in my life. I always thought I could quit drinking whenever I wanted. Or that I was somehow too smart. Or too something. Whatever, alcohol wouldn't ruin me. It couldn't. But man, if you had only heard that voice and seen the size of her. You know? She was big. Shirley was huge. And still, she got taken down."
Reading this, all I could think was, "Augusten, you have an 'epic talent'! How can you live with that greatness inside of you and not even know it?" Then I said out loud, right into the pages, "Please don't give up. I wish you could hear me - you're going to be a celebrity writer someday. Everyone in America is going to know your name."
At that moment, something in me 'just clicked', too. As I begged Augusten not to give up on himself, I realized that in my heart, I had given up on myself, too.
Our lives converged then. His past became my present. It was like we had a flux capacitator. The lesson Augusten learned on the streets with Shirley many years ago reached out across time and country to me.
His story changed my life for good. It will change the lives of everyone out there who chooses to take it to heart. His words have the power to do so much good, and they do. THAT POWER IS THE REASON I WRITE. That drive to reach out to people through stories is my epic talent. Just like his.
Let us unite in our resolutions. Let us unite in our belief in ourselves and those we care about. Let us refuse to give up, no matter what.
http://www.augusten.com/
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