2.9.02 – what’s right in front of me

i have the following talismans on my desk:

-the wind-up nun who spits blue-green sparks as she glides across the table, ruler and bible in hand.

-the pipe-cleaner gnome thingy that my dad brought me from sweden. apparently it’s good luck to clip them on your desk lamp, or something like that.

-dedo the benevolent gargoyle figurine that valerie gave me. dedo is my favorite gargoyle.

-yoda figure from the original star wars collection. my brothers and i once had the millennium falcon and all the major characters, but eventually everything except yoda disappeared into the depths of the sandbox.

-a buttercup (the dark-haired powerpuff girl) key chain. when you push the button on her head, she says, “i think they’re asking for a heiny whoopin’!” and then makes some karate chop sounds. she used to live on my key chain but the loop on her head broke off. it’s a memento of lauren, since since she’s buttercup and i’m blossom, the red-haired one (see 3.29.01).

-my golden plastic tiara, because there are days when you just need to feel like the Princess of Everything.

-my deeleeboppers (headband with pipe-cleaner antennae with gold sparkly balls on the ends). they’re actually my coding antennae, so these days i don’t have to don them too often. which is probably a good thing, because they’re so comfortable that i often forget i’m wearing them until i leave the house and wonder why everyone is looking at me funny.

2.8.02 – hollywood sex and emetophobia

our kitchen smells like pumpkin barf. turns out that the funny smell in the fridge was coming from the thai coconut pumpkin soup from a few weeks back. i was all in favor of throwing it away, tupperware and all, but hannah didn’t want to let the container go. once we opened it and the barf smell emanated throughout the apartment, i knew that throwing away the container would have been a better idea. given that i have a significant fear of barf (emetophobia, if you want to get technical about it), even when it’s actually just soup that smells like barf, hannah was kind enough to clean it out. we burned candles and watched sex & the city until the smell went away. hannah and i don’t have a tv, but we can watch dvds on my computer, so we rented the first season of sex & the city to watch at night when we get home from tech. the show is silly but it has a fabulous costume designer. and besides, brainless tv is kind of what we need to chill out after tech, altho this show is proving to be much less stressful than the last one. sex & the city always makes me feel like i ought to be having more sex than i am, however…which isn’t difficult really, given how utterly single i am at the moment. anyway, to watch dvds we just drag chairs up to my desk. i always feel sort of like the real-life version of joey and chandler on friends when they jump into their side-by-side ottomans and synchronize their reclining.

2.7.02 – what about bob, part II

remember what i said about the dead guy in the props closet, back on 1.4.02? well, there’s more to that story. see, tradition dictates that the ashtray containing the remains of bob get to go onstage for the final performance of every show. last sunday was the closing performance of Flyin’ West, and so mike found a nice out-of-the-way spot for bob to sit upstage during the show.

at intermission, one the actors came off stage and said that she’d had trouble opening the front door (the set is part of an 1890’s farmhouse). when i went onstage to look at the door, i discovered that the deadbolt was sticking out. i tried to poke it back into the lock, but it was stuck fast. stephanie had only been able to open the door because she forced it, breaking off the piece of wood on the door jam that the deadbolt was resting against. the doorknob and lock were the old-fashioned kind; the only way to turn the deadbolt would have been to insert a skeleton key into the keyhole. but here’s the thing: there are no keys for this door. there never were any keys purchased or fitted into the lock, because we had no reason to lock any of the doors onstage. since we had no keys, mike had to take the whole lock mechanism apart during intermission and rebuild the door without the deadbolt. now, we know that the door was working normally at the top of the show, because it’s one of the last things that the stage manager checks before the show starts. the door operated normally through most of the first act, because lots of characters go in and out of the door. then, sometime before the last entrance, the deadbolt was turned out. (terrible use of the passive voice, i know.) without a key, there’s no way it could have been turned accidentally. so my theory is it was bob’s doing. after all, isn’t that what mischievous spirits do? they lock and unlock doors. how many unsolved mysteries specials have you seen in which some old house is plagued by a ghost who loves to play with the door locks? everyone swears that in ten years, bob has never made any sort of mischief, but on the other hand, this winter was the first time that bob didn’t get to go on for his final performance. the last six performances of Lake Effect (the show before Flyin’ West) were canceled because of the blizzard. since no one anticipated that the storm would cancel the show, bob didn’t get a chance to go on for Lake Effect. ever since then, we’ve been joking about how bob’s spirit must be restless, but now i’m convinced that there’s something there to it. maybe bob was just trying to let us know that he’s still hanging around the theatre.

2.6.02 – cornbread, anyone?

i made cornbread tonight. the box of cornmeal said “enriched and degerminated.” i like the fact that my cornmeal has been de-germinated. after all, who would want germs in their cornmeal?

2.5.02 – the vision statement that wasn’t

and so slithy tove returns.

what i found during this week of silence is that i am filled with a narrative that has to get out. i’m not claiming that what i have to say has value for anyone else; nor am i claiming that it doesn’t have value. all i know is that some part of me is so full of things to say. when i was a kid, i used to imagine myself as the heroine of a book and i would spend hours lost in daydream, narrating the story of me. there were times in which i embellished, added elements of the fantastic or at least gave myself better hair, but for the most part i just narrated my life as it was, as if i were trying to draw a picture of my life as i see it, almost so that i could be viewed from the outside as i see myself on the inside. it was probably good defense mechanism for the brainiac kid who always felt misunderstood and left out in school. i stopped doing this when i got older, mainly because getting caught talking to yourself in junior high school is instant social death. and then last year i was suddenly inspired to start slithy tove. i’d been reading metameat, and other blogs, and i found that reading other people’s daily journals was causing me to slip back into my habit of narrating the events of my life in my head (i tried not to be the crazy lady on the MUNI mumbling aloud to herself). and so slithy tove was born.

last week i kind of burned myself out with those last two big posts. the ferocity, variety, and sheer volume of responses that i received kind of overwhelmed me, and it was sort of like getting caught talking to myself again, only this time everyone had strong feelings about what i had to say. ironically, it was only two weeks ago that an english prof emailed me and asked me to talk about what my vision for slithy tove is for an article he was writing. i told him i had no vision statement because the vision for slithy tove changes daily. slithy tove was my creative space to say whatever was on my mind, to be funny, or self-absorbed or whiny, to contradict myself if i felt contradictory, to wax poetic or share a vision of whatever weird thing i’ve encountered that day. above all else, it was a space that was mine.

i used to think it’d want to be a writer when i grow up, but i steered away from it eventually because i have this intense fear of The Blank Page. i suffer intense performance anxieties when it comes to being creative. never mind inventing stories on demand, i used to hide during mic check in the theatre for fear that someone would put the mic in my hand and ask me just to talk while they fiddled with sound levels. my voice would stick in my throat and my mind would become this panicked blank white wall. with artistic endeavors there was always this pressure: what if i can’t create? what if i have nothing to say? it terrorized me. in college i studied directing, and the same fear plagued me. i loved directing, i loved the collaborative nature of the work, loved the discovery and learning process, but i was terrified that i had no artistic inspiration. i still feel that looming fear, and it’s probably why i’m pursuing a career as a stage manager right now rather than as a director. but for some reason, slithy tove was different. i felt responsible to no one but myself. i knew i had readers, but i didn’t feel responsible to give them anything in particular. in that the internet is a pull- rather than a push-model of information dissemination, my thoughts were out there for anyone to read, but i wasn’t forcing them on anyone. i didn’t feel pressured to write things to please anyone, so that i could finally start to write things that pleased me. there was no fear of The Blank Page because i didn’t feel i was being judged for the quality of my creative inspiration. i was writing slithy tove for me. i have often used slithy tove as a sort of personal therapy session, for talking out things about my life that don’t really make sense until i take the time to write them out. and sure, it was fun to get email from people, particularly since it was usually flattering or funny.

i realize now that i’ve been laboring under the misapprehension that i don’t have to be responsible for what i say here. slithy tove is mine to use however i please, but that doesn’t mean that i can say things w/out regard for who might be reading it any more than i could walk into a room and start spewing opinions without regard for who might be around to hear them.

in writing slithy tove, i’m learning how to be true to myself, to examine my nature and my actions with ruthless scrutiny. i’m not advocating the sort of pathological honesty in which people’s feelings are disregarded for the sake of Truth, but i have been using my blog as a tool for being honest with myself. one of the things that constantly amazes me about the friends in my life is how wonderfully different all of them are from one another and from me. and in that none of us are the same, i am realizing that i will never be able to please everyone, no matter how far i stretch myself. i don’t like hurting people and i don’t do it intentionally, but i will never be a good friend to anyone if i don’t understand myself. getting to know me isn’t an easy process, but i think it’s a significant journey. the other day i wrote “i’m in my twenties. figuring out what constitutes The Good Life is supposed to be a hobby.” i came out sounding glib, but i actually mean that. i think i somehow expected that after i finished college, my fairy godmother would wave her wand and poof! i’d turn into a Grownup. it turns out that it’s much harder than i thought. so to those of you who still read slithy tove, you are welcome to come along on the ride. besides, who else will i tell about the bizarre bowling injury i sustained in canada last week, or how i nearly lost my eyelashes in a cornbread-baking incident at work?

incidentally, slithy tove will be a year old on saturday. i went back and looked at the first entry. it said, “the impetus: the human need to express, connect, explain.”

1.26.02 – will be taking a break from posting for a few days

that is all.

1.24.02 – the seekers of truth

wow. everyone feels compelled to response to my last post. it was self help day, guys. the question of “what is independence” was a rhetorical one, not an essay question assigned to the whole class. okay, so i realize that working out my own neuroses in a public forum is weird and exhibitionist, but hey, its my blog. i’m in my twenties. figuring out what constitutes The Good Life is supposed to be a hobby. didn’t you see reality bites? oh god, i’ve referenced that movie twice in the past week. i’m so lame. i do, however, appreciate the concern, and i love getting fan mail provided that it’s not too psycho (comments about my physical appearance not necessary). I wonder if everyone responded to yesterday’s post because i struck a common chord of some sort. nick writes, “…I think the pursuit of happiness as a life goal is a trap of disappointment.” i might just be toying with semantics here, but he has a point – if you spend your whole life pursuing happiness, it means that you never found it. i just finished reading The Tao of Pooh, which was a very cute introduction to the basics of Taoist philosophy based on the Winnie-the-Pooh books. one of the lessons the book offered was that there’s a difference between pursuing happiness and learning to find it in the life you already lead.

there was nothing in the book on taoism to tell me how to be happy about the fact that i have the flu, however. i hurt all over and last night i kept waking up in fever sweats, so i didn’t really get up until i had to leave for work at 3. unfortunately, in my industry, that cheesy cliche about “the show must go on” isn’t just a cliche. there are no sick days, only Dayquil. i feel particularly cheated because i even got a flu shot this fall and it evidently didn’t work. i want my 10 dollars back.

ps – weird, MS Word’s spellchecker has the word Dayquil in it. what sort of crazy cross-marketing deal is that?

1.22.02 – it’s Self Help Day at the slithy tove

yesterday when i went to blockbuster to rent a movie i knew that they were going to slap me with a big old late charge for when i returned It’s A Wonderful Life about five days late because of the blizzard. the girl told me i owed an extra 8 dollars and i made a pretty good case for not having to pay it since the snow was deeper than the clearance on my car, but she said she couldn’t let me out of it because blockbuster had stayed open during the blizzard and gee, i could have walked here. usually when this sort of thing happens i cave and pay the late fee just to avoid conflict but i’m very proud of myself of holding my ground and getting her to bring the manager into the debate. he gave me half off the late fee which was enough to make me feel like i’d won. go me.

have been thinking a lot lately about geography, and myself, and my career. i’m longing to be back in the west again, whether it be in california with my friends or idaho with my family. i’ve always been a really independent person, and in the world i grew up in, independence is valued above all else. only recently have i realized that i’ve confused independence with geographical and emotional isolation. being independent translated to being far away from my friends and family, and somehow that’s how i ended up working way out here in new york, far away from everything i love. it’d be one thing if it were a really exciting and fulfilling job, but gee, i can be exploited like this anywhere. and it occurred to me that i am blessed to have a family that i not only am on good terms with, but whom i actually really enjoy spending time with, and friends who are wonderfully special people. so why am i so far away? out of some sort of weird sense of duty that tells me i’m not grown up unless i stretch my wings and go far away from everything that is familiar. something’s not right here.

for most of my life, i resented the fact that it seemed like i had to do everything important on my own. from grade school on, it always seemed like i was the one joining sports teams, clubs, classes, jobs, etc, on my own, when everyone else seemed to have a friend with the same interests and goals. then, a couple of years ago, i was in kyoto, contemplating the zen rock garden at Ryoanji temple and i had this epiphany: my path is alone. it’s not that i’m doing something wrong that leaves me on my own, it’s that my path through life is meant to be a solitary one. this also made sense at the time because i was in a long term relationship that was drifting apart, so that the more time he & i spent together, the more isolated i felt from him. so i accepted (reluctantly) that i was meant to go through life on my own. i didn’t think it would keep me from ever having meaningful relationships or friendships, but i felt convinced that there was no soul-mate, no The One waiting out there for me – i had to go it alone. the realization was mind-blowing, frightening but ultimately was a relief to finally understand something in my nature that i’d always been chaffing against.

these days, as i’ve been thinking about issues of independence and isolation, i wonder if i was correct in thinking that my path was predestined to be a solitary one, or if maybe i only got halfway through the epiphany that day: my path is a solitary one, but it’s solitary because i make it that way. maybe this isolation is something that i’ve always created, like an energy field i set up around myself so that co-dependence is impossible and the goal of independence is guaranteed.

when i was at stanford, i used to refer to a social phenomenon i called the cult of success – nearly everyone i knew felt compelled to prostrate themselves to ambition, relentless self-improvement, and success (whether that be financial success, research results, books published, discoveries discovered, etc). paul once told me that i’m the most proactive person he’s ever met. he’s probably right about that. i have always let the cult of success guide me through decisions about my life, relationships and career. it’s a way of covering up for a lack of self-worth. i’ve written about this before, so i won’t go all over it again – somehow accomplishments translate to a feeling of self-worth, and so it becomes a drug. type-A’s like me think they can’t be happy unless they are constantly stretching toward some new goal.

so maybe the idea is that i need to learn how to generate a feeling of self-worth on my own, instead of depending on accomplishments and new goals to make me feel like a good person, and maybe then i move to a place where i don’t unconsciously isolate myself from the important people in my life.

the question is: if independence isn’t geographical and emotional isolation, what is it?

i’ll have to ruminate on all of this some more before it really makes any sense, but hannah needs the phone line now, and i need to sleep.

1.22.02 – california dreaming

the good: jackie from the costume shop gave us her old papisan chairs. they are huge and squishy and it means that we finally have living room furniture, even tho the living room is also my bedroom. we made her brownies.

the bad: my car needs new brakes that will cost me like $200 that i don’t have.

the ugly: i opened a container of chevre that had were new life forms growing inside it. i had to walk up to The Slowest Grocery Store In The World to get goat cheese before i could finish making my stuffed zucchini, which was interesting, but ultimately not very satisfying. i’m still perfecting the recipe.

on our newfound Quest To Make Buffalo Fun, hannah and i went window shopping at all the trendy little boutiques in Elmwood street, cooked a yummy dinner, ate by candlelight and then watched a movie on my computer (still no tv). while i was making the brownies for jackie, something happened and the mixing bowl and pan suddenly flew out of my hands and splattered brownie goo all down the cupboards and onto the floor, and hannah heard my shrieks and came out and said that it looked like our silverware drawer was pooing all over the floor, and that us laugh until i fell over and was ultimately more Fun than the rest of the Quest was today. it’s good to have a roommate who makes me laugh at myself. i think we’re both still longing to be elsewhere, but we’re making an effort to like it here. next week on our day off we’re going to toronto (assuming i can get my brakes fixed), which should be an adventure.

i had lots more pithy things to say today, but the stupid spellcheck cut and replace macro just ate half my post and it’s after 2am and it was just this morning that i was resolving (again) to go to bed earlier. plus, seal is on the radio and i hate him so much i must go turn it off now.

1.19.02 – vodka and bacon, anyone?

met the guy that sarah wants to set me up with this evening. there will definitely NOT be any setting up happening with this guy because 1) he may be 22, but he looks 16, 2) he turned to his friend and initiated a conversation with “remember that time that i barfed that cappuccino?” and 3) over french toast at the towne (greek version of denny’s), he told us a story about feeding weird things to his roommate’s cat to see if they could make it vomit. two barf conversations in less than 10 minutes? ‘nuf said.

hannah talked me into doing shots at this bar called The Pink tonight. hannah and sarah were shooting stuff like “sicilian nipples” and “cowboy cock-suckers.” i stuck to vodka, myself. had enough to drink that it made sense to go across the street and eat french toast and bacon at like 3 in the morning. i know i’ll feel guilty about the bacon for like three days when i wake up tomorrow, seeing as how i don’t eat pig. the trouble is, hannah & i share the same vegetarian weakness (bacon), so once one of us caves on the issue, there’s no going back.