for me, /because of/ you

Happy New Year, everyone. Maybe I'll see you around.

I'm going to see a man about a bridge.

A while back I posted an anonymous ad on Craigslist. I've got this funny idea (I've had since I was little) that you shouldn't let arbitrary standards block your impulses. I always felt that the stuffy prep-school grid I was thrust into was breeding out of me any of the interesting, creative things I might have accomplished if I'd grown up in the fluid, Bohemian environment I'd always envisioned. I think I overcompensated.

It ocurred to me recently that, if I couldn't talk myself out of potentially self-destructive impulses (because I can't manage to talk myself out of this line of thinking), I could at least stop bothering other people. If I was unwilling to not do something because clearly "it won't accomplish anything, and you'll just end up hurt", I could stop myself by saying, "he doesn't want to hear that".

It doesn't stop the instinct, though. So I started trying to find ways to satisfy the impulse without bothering other people. I tried an anonymous Craigslist ad. (I've tried saying things directly, but prefaced with a 'You really don't have to respond' kind of comment, but that doesn't go over.) I've dreamed up huge projects involving anonymous letters and post office boxes. Most recently, I've thought about making annotations to old hate mail and using them as matts for framing love-themed black and white photographs (I may still do this one, actually, as soon as I'm convinced it doesn't violate any kind of confidence).

I had another discussion the other night about one-sided communication. As frequently happens, the Craigslist ad came up, as did the fact that the person it was written to answered it. The response to this anecdote was also the same one I always get: "Well, clearly you meant for him to read it".

For one thing: Why does the outcome retroactively affect the intention? Also: Is there any way to satisfy your need to say something to someone in particular, but still give them the choice as to whether or not they want to hear it?

I realize this second question is a little silly, especially given how frequently I encounter my own miraculous (though, I think, perfectly human) ability to completely forget (or, just, fail to hear) things that are said to me, especially if they don't fit into a pattern I like.

This story has gotten too long already, and I would stop, go back, and rewrite it later if I weren't late already and under some strange delusion that this really ought to be posted today.

The real problem is: I also act under the (possibly mistaken) belief that deciding what other people do and do not want to hear is arrogant, and that, if you care about them, you should give everything that could affect the relationship over into some kind of neutral zone. This doesn't mean that I want other people to take it, or that I'm placing blame or trying to evoke guilt. It means, contrary to the way it looks, that I care very deeply, and hold whoever it is in the highest respect. It also means that, if I suspect that a burgeoning relationship (which term I use in the broadest possible sense) has the potential to be meaningful (which I decide very infrequently, as it turns out) I shove way too much way too fast onto whoever it is, to avoid any possibility of unintentionally misleading them about /anything/.

I did one interesting thing in the middle of all this teenage muddle about stuffing a creative mind into a math body: One day, after an unusually lively, but me-centered debate in 1st Period English, I wondered what effect I'd had on the whole thing. I knew the same teacher taught the same curriculum (and was planning the same debate) 8th period, so I decided to go, and to keep my mouth shut, to see if I couldn't get a better handle on what people were thinking by disengaging.

So my plan is this: Instead of whining, I'm going to take the good advice from the—I don't even know what to call him: lost friend? intimate stranger? conversant acquaintance?—who doesn't seem to understand and plan to spend all available funds on fancy dinners for other people. I'm also going to do my damndest to avoid whatever it is that overwhelms certain interactions and let my dinner partner determine the mood. (I'll even promise to keep my mouth shut for up to, say, three hours, if asked.) So, there you have it—If I have wronged you, now's your chance to cash in. You determine the level of the offense (anything from Baguette Box to Elemental) and, unless it seems totally unreasonable, I'll take you out. You set the mood, and decide how much (if anything) I get to contribute to conversation. At the end, if you're still convinced I have wronged you, I'll pick up the tab (whatever it is); if hatchets have all been buried (or misunderstandings allayed), maybe we'll split the check (your call).

In the meantime, I will also be accepting anonymous e-mail for exactly one month. Leave your address here, or, if there's interest, I'll set up a temporary gmail account.

---

p.s. This show will come to L.A., San Francisco, and New York soon, schedule dependent on available funds.

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p.p.s. In anticipation of the question, "Was this post written to anyone in particular?" I'll repeat something I've said quite a few times, though mostly in private: While things I write may frequently be inspired by or, in some way, /for/ one person in particular, I never put them on the internet until they're relevant to a number of different situations, either because I've abstracted far enough away, or because the same situation has cropped up a number of different times. Partly this is for privacy, partly it is because I intend this to be about me and not about anyone else, and partly it is to relieve the burden of recieving information (which, I guess, is exactly what I'm trying to get at in this long-winded invitation). Which is to say, if the sentiment resonates, I suppose, yes, it is in some way for you, but the answer to "was that me you were talking about?" or "was that written to so-and-so?" is always 'no'.

the other Olympics

Once, in high school, they decided to do a production of Brigadoon. We went through weeks of auditions, and right before they made the announcements, they brought me into the director's office for a chat. Apparently, auditions had dragged on much longer than normal because they were considering double-casting the lead role—me and another girl—but after careful consideration (based mostly on the fact that she was a senior and I was a junior) they decided to give her the part. Trouble was, the only thing left for me was the role of her sister.

I was one of three girls with an actual name (as opposed to "red skirt number 6") and they wrote a counter-melody just for me into one of my fiancee's songs (since, as it turned out, Jean McLaren wasn't a singing role), but I still had less stage- and singing-time than any of the chorus girls. (Since a good chunk of the play centers around Jean's wedding to Charlie Dalrymple, I wasn't allowed to be on stage any time when it might be likely for one of the boys to catch a glimpse of the bride-to-be.)

I think the point is, sometimes, people making you out to be special actually makes you less so, regardless of anyone's intentions, or even, really, feelings.

channel placement

I've spent all this time trying to get my words to line up with my thoughts (and I'll continue to apologize for the fact that they never seem to), but why does it feel, suddenly, like it doesn't matter where your heart is, or even where your mouth is, but just where other people's ears are?

also,

this

uh, oh

I just found this one

It's called "Christmas Drunk".

we're homicide detectives—we don't assume anything, and neither should you

yes, please!

(click here)

boy did I completely fail

to take, really, any pictures last night.

Still,



and all in all, I'd say I had the best possible time I could at such an event, though, in the way that actually means something good. thanks for coming out and supporting, folks.

I had a whole speech prepared

but, how can the holidays be depressing if they produce things like this:


?

(plus, he's coming to stay with me!)

a worthy link

(click here)

honestly

I can't tell any more whether we're all actually getting at the same thing from different angles, or whether, just, if you step back far enough, everything looks the same.

I should have mentioned...

Wed, Dec. 20
a Jewish Christmas with
HOLIDAY BIZARRE
HAMMOND
THE WHISKY SWILLERS
THE TALLBOYS
8pm ~ $8
www.myspace.com/hammondb4
www.myspace.com/thewhiskyswillers
www.thetallboys.com

(with any luck, photos will replace this announcement later tonight...)

the party to end all social lives

My mom's having a holiday party. We made invitations the other day, and sent them out maybe a week before the party's supposed to happen. So this weekend she says to me, "I'm a little bit worried about this party. I said 'regrets only'. But no one's regretted yet."

"Are you afraid the invitations didn't make it and no one's going to come?" I asked.

"No, I'm afraid they're all going to come. And I invited about fifty people. What's wrong with our friends that they don't have anything to do two days before Christmas? They must all be as dorky as we are."

I should note, first, that I frequently have parties where no one knows anyone else. And I frequently get phone calls the next morning from friends saying, "I don't know how, but you did it again—I walked in not knowing anyone, and now I have at least five new friends."

That said, my mom has invited (in addition to all the obvious candidates):

Her crazy friends from work.
The parents of the boy she always wanted me to marry.
My little sister's friend's parents.
My other sister's high school softball coach.
Two high school sweethearts and their new significant-
     others (and /all/ of their parents).
and At least five of our nutsy neighbors (two of which are
     reportedly postponing their holiday travel plans so they
     can come).

So I am now inviting:

The whole band.
Anyone from the office who's still here on the 23rd.
All readers of this blog, assuming you know where I live...

I figure we'll play with the grown-ups for a while, and then secede to the basement to play video games, or just move the after-party to my place...

Happy Birthday, Kerri (and Mom, and Garth, and ... )

how close

I wonder if people ever confuse friends and enemies, and if enemies ever misunderstand why they're so close ... or, forget.

a compliment

"You know what I love about you?—a lesser person would have just ripped out the heart of a dog and put it in a box."

a couple of years, a few pounds of perspective

I got a phone call this morning from an old guy I made out with a while back. Ever notice how, given the space to think, some of the things you've done seem like shockingly bad ideas? He didn't leave a message.

I also sang "Blue Bayou" at The Rickshaw last night. It is /still/ stuck in my head.

just too good

the most pressing concern

I tried convincing someone to like my dog more the other day. I mean, he likes him fine, but he doesn't seem to share the same excessive, magnetic draw towards him that I have. "Isn't he beautiful?", I said. "Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say 'beautiful'. He's definitely a fine looking dog..."

I told my dad about this little exchange. He paused for a breath, and then said, "Well, think about what he's built for—for rescuing fisherman and the like from the icy waters of Novascotia. He's perfectly suited to it. And in so far as perfect adaptation—the ideal melding of form and function—is really what beauty is, yeah—he's quite beautiful."

I was listening to a book-on-iPod this morning. It's good. A little stuffed with uncomfortable cliches. (Reminds me of my ex-boyfriend, but not the way that sounds.) Anyway, at one point this mistress says to the married man she's just slept with, "Talent is more erotic when it's wasted." It sounds good, doesn't it? (And then she goes on about how he's drawn towards Mark Rothko because of the inherent intensity of the intangible.)

But where does this leave us in terms of the relationship between beauty and eroticism?

arena rock

There's this level of familiarity I keep trying to reach with people. (Only the special ones, obviously, but) You might say it's my only real goal in life. And that's the level at which, given a strange or even mostly incomprehensible statement, the other person will start thinking not "Is that true?" but more "How could that be true?" or "Is there any way that could be true?". And I don't mean that the relationship is lacking judgement—the most important part of this, probably, is that if the answer to the last one came back "no", the retort would, well, be a real retort. Or at least a question.

The problem I'm running into now is, I feel like every relationship I've ever stumbled into that has this quality is one of awe. (I might add that all my relationships start out this way, at least on my end. I think it's a result of my professed ignorance of almost everything, that starts out with this kind of "Wow, that really doesn't make sense to me; I must be on the verge of learning something." and only eventually (if I'm lucky) settles on the "Yeah, actually, that just doesn't make sense.")

So the problem I'm running into is, I don't trust anyone who is in awe of me, and I'm slowly coming to the conclusion that my awe (except in very rare cases) is just initial, unresolved shock. Which means, essentially, that this quality I've always abstractly associated with the highest level of familiarity, is maybe only possible in relationships of extreme disparity, misunderstanding, and huge gaping distances.

ha HA!

For some reason, every comeback from the last few days has occurred to me repeatedly in faux-comic book/supervillian form.

"... much like our hero [large, rotating hand gesture] ..."

"Yeeeesss... you are useless to me, now that I have the A minor!"

I think it started the other day when someone used the word 'intrepid'. That or the cordless phone whining in the other room that really sounds like a squeaky bomb waiting to explode has seeped into my subconscious. Sadly, this has not affected my dreams.

doesn't it just feel good?

but, seriously.

"I give myself very, very good advice"

I was watching The West Wing the other day, and at some point the President is on stage at some college town hall-type meeting, and he says (TV viewers at home have been privy to the backstory here), "We had a meeting earlier that ended in a debate over whether or not I should remove my jacket this evening. Some thought it befitting the casual nature of this conversation; others argued that it was unpresidential. If I take my jacket off right now, can I trust you all to read nothing into it other than that I've been talking for several hours now and it's a little hot under these lights?"

"Thank you." I thought. And then, "Wow, I need that more than anyone."

Oh, those Silver Bells

(try this)

"because clearly what you need is a vacation that's like a Chevy Chase movie"

(and since A. A. Milne analogies have been everywhere this week...)

My sister's kind of like Tigger. But also Eeyore. And she's unbearable at either end. She's got a run-at-the-mouth, makes-very-little-sense, is-never-funny, and mostly reminds-you-of-all-the-reasonsyou'renotfriendswiththirteen-year-olds-anymore mode. And she's got the sullen, sulky "yeah, whatever" mode that all those refrigerator magnets (and coffee mugs and key chains and useless comic strips) make fun of, but that's a little more sad and subdued than it was when she was really thirteen.

Occasionally, though, she gets it together in a way that (I hope signals the blossoming of her adult personality, and also) retains all that teenage I Could Give a Fuck with just enough angst, but now coupled with this (mostly founded) sense of mastery over all things reasonable, which confers a load of condescension she still seems too small to wield. Especially when it comes to me, I think.

(I'm not in the mood for self-analysis, or an explanation of family dynamics, or, least of all, an apology for my behavior as proven to be a by-product of familial personality negotiation. The most emblematic example was probably this: I took her to the opera. She kinda seemed like she wanted to go, but she's very good at making you feel like you dragged her out. (I'm convinced if she were five and you took her to Disneyland she'd ho-hum and lift her eyelids so she looked both grateful and exasperated and just sigh deeply about two cars past the top of every rollercoaster.) I dragged her to the opera. In a dress, no less. They were speaking Italian. At intermission, in an effort to make this pretentious, esoteric experience I was idiotic enough to foist on her a little more accessible, I said something like, "Oh my god, this is exactly like my life." and proceeded to explain. She stared at me blankly. And when I finally shut up, and expected her to utter that teenage "huh?", she said "Katie, if this is your life, you need to change things /now/. Because this is an /opera/. And that is /tragic/.")

We're planning a family vacation for winter break.

This started a month or so ago when my mom went to visit my other sister and they got to scheming. My sister was suggesting some place warm (and I think she even referred to it as a "family vaca'", just like Reese Witherspoon's friend in Legally Blonde). Mostly, she's in New York this winter, and would rather have Mom and Dad send her to Hawaii for Christmas than come home to rainy old Seattle, but to be nice she's invited us along.

Dad likes nothing more than making everyone happy (especially if that means spending time with us all) so he dutifully called the travel agent and started looking around for warm weather options. I'm not sure how the "Mexico, Hawaii or Vancouver [sic]" phase turned to cruise ships, but next I heard we were planning to leave the day after Christmas, fly to Santa Cruz, get on an enormous boat with a fuckload of frat boys, and spend the next four or five days drinking on the open seas outside of Baja. I realize I can't say anything about this without sounding like a spoiled brat (which is part of why I haven't, up to this point) but, are you kidding me? At least in Hawaii Mom and the girls can sit by the pool with their mai tais while Dad and I go snorkeling or something. I'm picturing myself, mostly drunk, playing shuffleboard on the deck with my dad, or a couple of old dudes in polyester with hip flasks, wide-eyed from exasperated boredom while the other three puke their pina coladas into small champagne buckets that are periodically collected by guys in thin white shirts and silly hats.

Well, after several days I protested. And since we have a rule that's basically, "If you shoot an idea down, you have to offer another one in its place", I suggested renting an RV and driving to the Grand Canyon or something. Seems like a lot less hassle, more fun for me, significantly less expensive and just generally a better idea. Plus, even if it did go sour (which it probably would) at least the stories would be better than "And then the girls went down to the lower deck with some hunky twenty-year-olds, leaving me at the Death by Chocolate Bazaar".

Boo's assessment just came in (all of this over the internet, by the way):

I'm sorry to rain on this parade, but I kind of feel like the trip would end with someone jumping out of the RV and hitch-hicking their way home while the other three try and dodge flying pieces of board games and someone trys to make sure we don't drive off the road.

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epilogue:
5 December 18:54 | ###### ####### said…

Does this little colloquy mean that you would all behave yourselves if we were flying to Mexico or Hawaii?

Just to remind everyone, it's getting time to get serious and make some decisions if we're gonna go anywhere at all.

5 December 19:01 | ##### ####### said…

I think this means we are getting close to having to bag the plan and we are far past the point at which we should have bagged the RV plan.

I also love my /other/ job...

I love name checking

"But like another devotee of the Spector sound—Brian Wilson— ..."

thanks for reminding me

(click here)