'Cause We're Living In A World Of Fools, Breaking Us Down When They All Should Let Us Be, We Belong To You and Me

Leave it to the brothers Gibb to sum up perfectly the thoughts I have been having all day on this day before 2005.

If you do not know this is the first year I'm celebrating New Year's without having a someone special in my life. True, this is not my first year spent without a girlfriend or some other significant (or insignificant) other in my life, but it is the first that I haven't had at least had a young woman in my life who I used to date or who I used to be good friends with. I don't think it's hit me perfectly square in the jaw yet, but I expect the realization to wash over me like one of those tsunamis that have been making the news these days. I don't think I was meant to not have someone in my life of the opposing persuasion. I don't think I was built for it. My specifications for survival are not up to code for such a situation.

I think the trouble with me is I'm looking for one of those indie, quirky young women you see in arthouse films. For instance, I'm totally in love with Sam from Garden State. She'd be the perfect woman for me. She's this flawed, but still decent and intelligent creature that holds so much affection in her heart it's simply stunning. Yet she doesn't come across as this saccharine or mushy emotional con artist that they could have made her character into. She comes across as instantly personable, which I ascribe to both the actress breathing life into her and the writer who gave her birth.

why indie films should be banned

This leads me to the problem with films like Garden State or Before Sunrise, which are otherwise some of my most cherished films. They always have these insanely humastic and lovable women being found in these "meet cute" situations. Andrew finds Sam in a waiting room and Jessie finds Celine on a train. Those two places are just too commonplace and too accessible to not build up the hopes of commonplace and accessible guys like me. I keep expecting to walk into the DMV or the shoe store and meeting the woman of my dreams. I would almost rather see movies where the characters meet along the French Riveria or on some private jet than see them meet in such suburban settings. My poor heart can't take being invisibly rejected by the dream girl that never shows up at my local McDonald's or Border's.

Nor do the women I do find act like the women in these indie films. The women I've always dated have never argued against the world to keep the relationship going. Nope, they pretty much just argue with me. I don't have the great star-struck quality romances like Sam and Large where circumstances threaten to keep them apart. I don't have the emotional infancy of my own foibles to outgrow like Rob Gordon in High Fidelity . Nope, my problems with the girlfriends I've gone out with have always been the mundane indecencies like sex and bathroom quirks. In fact, most of the great conflicts that would be filmworthy have resulted from the struggles with girls I've wanted to date but couldn't. Damn it all, I want a girlfriend who wants to be with me so bad that heated turmoil arises of it. I want to feel like it's us against the world, the feeling that we belong to each other and nothing else matters.

Like I said, indie films have had a bad effect on my perception of dating reality.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

And We'd Still Be Ruled By Our Dueling Perspectives, And I'm Not My Perspective, Or The Lies I'll Tell You Every Time

The Name Unknown - Breanne Holins

He lives in a world apart from me
On the verge of reality and fiction
Upon the pedestal I place him
And in the city I share with him
Flaws? He has none... that I can think of
I wish to know him, to understand him
But as often the case with wishing
It does not come true
And he does not come to me
Had I but words to say to him
A knowledge of how he feels about me
Or even if he knows about me
How he feels about my oceanic eyes
My chestnut tresses that I always
Always seem to twirl upon seeing him
But the pedestal he stands upon
Always keeps him above my sight
Like a greek god he stands
And I, with my dozen or so years,
Am forced to reconcile myself with
The fact he has lived longer than I have
Making it impossible for him to love me
But a girl can always wish can't she?

Above is the first poem ever published by Miss Breannie. I should know. I published it in my little college lit journal. Even that young she was a wunderkind. That particular piece came to mind because it's what I've been going through today in the aftermath of my Jina breakdown.

I called Breanne today because I felt like talking to the only girl I've ever known who wasn't related to me, who wasn't dead, and who hadn't stopped talking to me. For most people those three criteria wouldn't be much of a challenge, but for me I always seem to lose people to one of those pesky three. The latter benchmark especially tends to be a particularly nasty biatch.

I was interested in how she was doing and how life had been treating her in the last few months since I last talked to her. Besides that, I had a particular hankering for the wonderful Southern drawl that seems unique to Georgia. We reminesced about the last time I was there--almost ten years ago--and joked about when I might be coming back. I may be many things, but a glutton for punishment is not one of them. Seeing her in the arms of another man, noble as he may be according to her, would be possibly too much for my fragile heart to take. We talked about the trip we were going to make to the Hooters on Riverside the next time I came back. We talked about "More Than A Woman," her favorite song. But mostly we talked about Jina and how much I was heartsick over her and how saddened it made me to know that it was all my fault. After all, who else would I turn to but the only other woman I've seriously liked who seriously liked me back?

Miss Georgia, circa 1997

The extent of the conversation turned out to be centered on the idea that people's lives change for a reason. Something I have never particularly ascribed to, but something, apparently, she believes in wholeheartedly. She seems to think that I made my move and subsequently lost my kindred spirit because that's the way it had to be. Otherwise, she says, who knows if I would have ever met my two exes or who knows if that particular decision did not in fact set into a motion a whole chain of events that will eventually lead me to the woman I'm supposed to be with for the rest of my life.

"But, Breannie, that doesn't even make sense because I don't have anyone right now so how could something that happened nine years ago lead to this pile of crap called my life?"

"Silly, ______. Life's going to do that to you. It's going to push and pull you like some seamstress. You may not understand the particulars if you only look at the corner of the tapestry, but once you stand back, you can see the art."

"The art. I hardly call anything that resembles this art."

"It's like us. If I'd been older or you younger. Do you think that we'd only have that one hiking trip to look back on? Or do you think we could have been more... anything more?"

"Hard to say."

"I posed that question to _______ the other day. He knows all about you. He definitely agrees that if we had been more compatible chronology-wise we would've been a great pair."

"I guess so. Next to her, you were the closest thing to perfect I've ever found."

"I do declare, _____. This is why it's so hard to talk to you sometimes. You think every fine young thing you talk to is absolutely perfect."

"But you are. Don't you know, you're more than a woman to me, Breannie."

"More than a woman... more than a woman to me. I'm just saying maybe the reason I was too young and the reason Jina didn't return your feelings is that's how it was intended to be. You weren't supposed to end up with us. It was never supposed to work out."

"No matter how much I wanted it to?"

"No matter, darling."

I tried to argue with her a little further, but it simply wasn't a fair fight. I mean--here I'm trying to have a perfectly emotional rant and she has to go and cloud the issue with logic and everything. I understand her point of view, but sometimes the heart wants what the heart wants. I want Jina. I wanted Breanne for a time. And woe betide any fate that thinks it can get between me and what I want.

That's my perspective and I'm sticking to it.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

And I Remembered Why I Loved Her, And I Asked Her Why I Drove Her Off

OF JINA
by mojo shivers

Of all spirits, none is charming as she
Whose words seem to flow like a running stream;
Sound the sound of the grandest symphony;
Or inspire this poet's most inspired dream.
Of all spirits, none is unique as she
Whose laugh makes the Heavenly angels smile;
Whose energy soars, overpowering me;
Whose life does from mine such clear joy beguile.
Of all spirits, none is kindred as she
Whose total charm makes my dim spirit bright;
Whose uniqueness marks her as lovely;
Whose very being takes souls to such heights.

And were I one to be one to compare
She would ever remain fairest of fair.

Much has been written in this site of people I have loved and lost in my life. There was Jennifer, a friend who died before her time, and there was both of my exes, both of whom I miss very deeply. And then there was Jina, the girl who I still to this day call my kindred spirit. Her loss and the loss of her company shall ever be my largest regret.

I had a thought today about what my life would be like if she and I were still friends, if things hadn't turned out the way they turned out. Chalk it up to my "what if?" premise of my novel, but thoughts like this always surround me when I'm feeling especially melancholy. And attribute it to the gloomy weather or post-holiday depression, but today I was thinking about how different my life could have been had I just stuck around instead of reacting the way I did. I'm not saying I was wrong to try to push things between us to the next level, but when she said that that was not what she had in mind for us I should have not acted like a spoiled brat and thrown a hissy fit. How idiotic am I? Here's this person that understands me and has taken the time to know me and I throw it all away because she does not share my ideas for the future. I handled things badly and I deserve to be punished, but I never thought the punishment for being proud and arrogant would ever hurt this badly. I'm like one of those criminals who think that rewards far outweigh the risks, except in my case it's taken about ten years to fully realize just how awful this feeling of regret can really be. Not a day goes by that I don't ask myself how I could have done things differently or how I could fix things now. The only disappointing aspect of asking myself those questions is that I have no easy answers. The only thing I have left are the letters and pictures of a friendship long since laid to rest.

I only have myself to blame.

I imagine if we were friends today we'd be having some fine adventures today. I always could talk to her about the finer things in life. Here was a girl that was reading The Diary of Anne Frank in first grade, played five instruments, and couldn't find the major she wanted at her university so she designed a brand new one that is still being offered as a major to this day. She was a girl I could play Big Two fourteen hours straight with. She was a girl I could go miniature golfing with and hiking with. She was a girl who I exchanged 70-page letters with. She was pretty much the definition of culture and grace. I've always said that if one person was ever to be my "Amy" she'd be it. She'd be the girl that everyone else has to measure up to. She'd be the girl that everyone has to be compared to. She was the one that got away.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

And You'll Be Awake And You'll Be Alert, You'll Be Positive Though It Hurts

I had the greatest dream about Jenny today. It was one of those dreams that felt so real that when you wake up you're disappointed and a little bit sad. I was at a Christmas party where she was invited. She was wearing a simple blouse and a skirt over some leggings. First off, she started coming on to me innocently where she was just talking to me and then leaving to go talk to someone else. The weird thing is she kept coming back later on in the party to "come get me." Then we would talk some more and then she would leave again.

Finally, after this happens for about five or six times she comes back to the den. She stands behind me as I'm looking up her on the internet. She asks me who I'm looking up. I say, "Don't be silly, that's Jenny Lewis." She laughs and goes to lay on the couch near the computer to watch me looking her up on the internet. We talk some more until she asks for a pillow. I spend the next ten minutes looking for a pillow for her in my house, with her in tow behind me, until I find one. Eventually, I bring the pillow back to where the computer is. She watches me play on the computer for another good five minutes, her beautiful head resting on the pillow, until she asks if we can talk in private. I say, sure, let's go talk in my van.

We go into the van and really start opening up with each other. I tell her how great it's been getting to know her and how pretty she looks today. She laughs and says that she's glad she finally got a chance to spend some "real" time with me. I recline my seat all the way and let her know how long I've been waiting for the opportunity to be with her. That's when I realize there's a 70" screen and DVD player in the van and the Laker/Heat game is playing overhead. We watch the game in silence. But eventually she extends her hand and I end up holding it. That's when I ask her if I can ask her a serious question. She says sure. And I tell her this has been great and all, but I want to know if someone put her up to spending all this time with me. She remains in silence for a beat or two, until she says, yeah that one of my friends told her to talk to me because he knew it would make my day, but then she found herself coming back to me again and again, and is really happy that she was there, in the van, holding hands with me.

That's when my friend busts into the van, just as I'm about to tell her how much I feel the same. My friend convinces us to come back to the party. We're about to go in when I pull Jenny aside, her wonderful freckles glistening in the sunlight, and I pull in close to her. Then I whisper into her ear...

"No one would have to convince me to get to know you."
"Why's that?" she asks.
"Because you're absolutely perfect and I am just dying inside at how happy I am just to know you feel something for me."
"Awww. That's so sweet."
That's when I kiss her, but somehow I miss her lips and kiss the corner of her mouth. I don't care because the instant my lips touch her skin I feel whole.
She laughs and tells me, "That's not how you do it, silly." And then she shows me a proper twenty second kiss with tongue.

Then we go into the party and the dream ends.

I woke up very pissed that that dream ended. LOL

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

I Won't Be Misunderstood, It Won't Do You Any Good, Think I'm Not The One You Could, When I Know That You Would

I had the strangest encounter at Best Buy today. I was walking back to the car after buying the last of my Christmas gifts. I was about to reach my car when the white Explorer who had just passed my parking spot, pulls into reverse, and goes to wait for my spot. This isn't out of the ordinary, especially since it's the holidays and spaces are hard to come by. But the next part threw my whole night for a loop. The women in the passenger seat rolls down her window, sticks her head out, and said the most shocking thing I've heard all week.

"We love you."

I know she said in obvious gratitude for the space, but it still was like the first time I've heard that from another human being that wasn't a member of my family in almost eight months. I think it shocked and appalled me because it was so easy for the nice couple to say that to me yet for people who have known me months or years have such a difficult time saying it to me. In fact, I think it's a strange quirk of fate that the less you know someone the easier it is to make these big proclamations to them. And the more you know someone the harder it gets to let them know how you feel. I was persuing the idea that maybe the more you get to know someone the more you feel obligated to make sure you mean what you say because you know you're going to be seeing them again. And, knowing that you're going to see them, you feel pressured to make sure you parcel out your bold and lasting statements. And the less you know someone the easier it is to make generalized outcries of emotion because you know that it's not going to be taken seriously. I wonder why the same can't be true of someone you know. Why can't we be bold and assertive when it comes to the people in our lives?

I've always prided myself on the fact that I always let the women who matter to me know that they matter to me. And I have a proven track record in ramping up the level of affection shown as soon as there is any change. I think I wear my heart on my sleeve when it comes to women I'm interested in.

With my family it's always been a different story. I've always had the notion that because I didn't choose my family they don't matter as much. I've always thought that just as I was stuck with them, they are stuck with me. I don't think I've ever trusted their love for me is real. I've always had the notion that they are like the couple in the Explorer. They just say things because they don't know me too well and don't really mean anything they say. And, myself, I feel like how I felt tonight. I feel like it's nice to hear, but it ultimately isn't a sustaining kind of feeling and definitely it doesn't have any real depth to it. Perhaps that is just my perception the way things are.

But it really feels like the truth to me.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Fairest of Them All

EXTREMELY LONG POST WARNING!!!! DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T HAVE THE NEXT FIFTEEN MINUTES TO READ A MILDLY INTERESTING STORY!!!!

A blast from the past. Here's a story I wrote for one of my first creative writing classes at USC. This particular story was written April 7th, 1996. I was reminded of this story today because of the references to Christmas mentioned at the beginning and end of the story. Enjoy.

Fairest of Them All
by mojo shivers

Sitting down, Sarah decided that if Brooke thought herself pretty she sure didn’t show it. Her features didn’t exactly flatter her. Looking at her now Sarah couldn’t help but see the undeniable something that Brooke had—even now her sleeveless black sheath worn over a lavender turtleneck looked straight out of a woman’s magazine. Yes, Brooke had style—exactly what style Sarah wasn’t sure. Steven had once said to Sarah that Brooke was believably beautiful, meaning that with her auburn tresses and hazel green eyes she could have any man she wanted, but with her somewhat overly freckled skin and definitely plump figure she wasn’t destined to keep them for very long. It was cruel of Steven, Sarah knew, but he more than anyone else had the right to say it. In stark contrast was Sarah, who, brushing off some imaginary lint from her suit pants, was more at home in her striped cotton shirt and silk cardigan, her straw-colored hair draped lightly over her shoulders. She thought herself stylish as well, but she could never give up being comfortable. Not that Sarah really cared for such things as fashion—she didn’t need to care for such material things anymore—but it was nice to know she hadn’t lost touch with this side of hers.

So no, Brooke was not as attractive as Sarah, but she still was her closest girlfriend and that made her more beautiful than almost anyone Sarah had ever known.

“I guess the difference is between getting something and finding something. It’s like during Easter you have to find the stuff while at Christmas they’re given to you,” she heard Brooke resume the argument quickly.

“Sure, if you want to look at it that way. But that’s also the beauty of Easter; that you do have to get out and find the eggs. Isn’t it that much more satisfying to find the egg after you’ve searched for it?”

She didn’t know why they were arguing over this; it really wasn’t that important to either of them. Somehow their conversations always fell to these rants on the most mundane of topics. Today it was Easter vs. Christmas; tomorrow it would be what their favorite Pez dispenser design was. It was stupid, Sarah knew, but she had sorely missed a good argument while she was away and to be involved in one now with Brooke always made her feel invigorated, as if she had no purpose but to be difficult. And the fact that these nonsensical debates with her friend always seemed to tap every bit of her persuasive reasoning made it more of an adventure rather than small talk.

“Satisfying, yes, Sarah. But it’s just that much more difficult. And the way folks are now it doesn’t seem fair to place those two holidays in the same contest. Christmas is always going to appeal to more people than Easter ever will. Not that I agree with it, but even if Easter is more important, Christmas is more fun. That’s why people like it more.”

Sarah smiled almost contemptuously. She was amazed at her friend’s remarkable clarity; she saw things more simply than Sarah ever could. Not that Brooke was stupid; it was just that Sarah’s knowledge extended into realms Brooke couldn’t even conceive of conceiving.

“It just bothers me, you know? That so many people place so much emphasis on the wrong holiday. If I were a different woman, I’d consider doing something about it.”

“A holiday’s a holiday. All people know is which one you get the longer vacation for. That’s all they care about. Functionally, it’s the better of the two.”

She saw Brooke scratch her head slowly and then lick her lips. She got the feeling her friend was enjoying this tête-à-tête as much as she was. They were two of a kind really. They both like to question things that people normally didn’t question, that people didn’t think needed questioning. It was one of two things they shared.

“Like I said, I was the same way; in our house, Christmases were always great, lavish affairs, while Easter was practically another Sunday with a few negligible bonuses… but somehow now it bothers me even more.”

“Yeah.” She saw Brooke stretch herself out on the couch, on the brand-new eight-hundred dollar rose-patterned couch, but she didn’t ever blink an eye at this; it was just her friend’s way. “So Steven and you got anything planned?” Sarah heard Brooke continue, “I’d love for you to stop by my place if you can. My parents are going back east to visit their folks so I’d really love the company.”

“Sure. I’ll have to ask Steven first, of course, but I’m sure it’ll be fine to do that. Truth be told, I don’t think he was all doing anything special on that day anyway. Besides, the holidays are no time for one to be alone.”

Cool, Sarah though, my first Christmas back.

“This from the girl who stole Steven away from me,” she heard Brooke joke, followed by a healthy chuckle.

“What, steal?” she laughed back. “If I remember correctly he wasn’t actually yours to be stolen from. As I recall you were begging me to haul him away.”

“And, boy, was I glad you did. Miss Sarah, words can never express my gratitude for your kindness.”

Gratitude. She had heard that word a lot from her friend. She hadn’t done all that much. In fact, she didn’t think she had done anything at all, especially what she came here to do. Sure, technically, it had all worked out in the end, but Sarah believed in doing things as close to perfection as possible. She had a certain reputation to live up to now and a certain standard she had set for herself. Sure, she still had a lot of the quirks to work out of the manner in which things were done—she had been selfish on occasion and that had led to several moments of self-doubt concerning if she was truly cut out for what she was doing. At those times she wished things could be how they used to be, before she had met Steven, before she had met Brooke, before she had even known who those two were. But those times were getting rarer and rarer. Somehow she had always managed to get done what needed doing and she saw that her life wasn’t so bad after all. Individuals like Brooke thanking her all time for doing what it was in her nature to do anyway would take some getting used to, but she more than up to the challenge.

It had been a period of adjustment coming back, but she was glad she did.

She heard Brooke continue.

“So you think he’s one hundred percent okay with all of this? I mean, I see he decided not to join us after all.”

“Oh, Stevie’s doing just fine. Yes, it still is uncomfortable for him, but what can you expect, Brooke? His current and ex spend all their time together and he’s supposed to just handle it? I don’t think so. What about you? How are you doing?”

Her violent blue eyes pushed their way into Brooke’s face, attempting to see the truth to what was a still touchy subject, a subject that her friend still refused to discuss.

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

She heard a slight sigh and saw Brooke brush the deep red bangs out of her face. Sarah copied her action, partly out of instinct and partly out of the fact she was becoming well aware of the sudden shift in conversation.

“I still hate you, but I mean that in the nicest sense of the word.”

“Oh, really?”

She heard Brooke quickly attempt to qualify her remark.

“But that’s still not enough for me to stop liking you or anything. I still want to get to know you better; I think you’re good people, Sarah. Basically, as a person I think you’re the coolest…. but as Stevie’s current it’s my duty to wish you dead… so to speak.” A tilt of the head towards her, and then the stare—Sarah knew Brooke’s look well. Her friend was baiting her and they both knew it. Sarah obliged.

“Can’t help you in that department.”

“I know, I know, but a girl can dream, can’t she?”

As her friend she knew that Brooke had the utmost respect for her, but Sarah could not help but hear something else in the voice, something that did not speak well of the friendship that was forming between them. It was a strange enough situation, what being the before and after picture of the shmoe named Steven, but to complicate things even further she could begin to see the signs in Brooke that the others had warned Sarah would start to develop once she came back here. It was nothing now and Sarah knew it would probably take a while for it to actually come to a head. Yet she heard it more and more the longer she was with Brooke.

Brooke was frightened of her. Actually, she didn’t want to go too far in thinking that. It was more like Brooke was in awe of her. It was more than a respect for Sarah, she knew Brooke had an uncharacteristically intense attraction to her. Now if there was one thing that she had never had it would have to be charisma. Sure, she was attractive enough, intelligent enough, and ambitious enough to attract attention wherever she went, but Sarah had never been a leader. She never attempted to get people to listen to her. She was more than content to be led by those she trusted. Yet the way Brooke seemed to hang onto her, Sarah began to think that her friend saw her as the next messiah. Well, she was far from being that, she was far from being anything more than just plain, old Sarah. Try as she might to deny it, Sarah was not used to the attention and quite frankly she was trying to keep as much of it away from herself as possible. She wanted Brooke’s friendship not out of some mentor-student dynamic but out of a mutual understanding of one another. She knew they were different in many respects. Brooke’s family was working class; Sarah’s, while far from being rich, had been supported solely by Sarah’s father’s small architect firm. Brooke’s roots were in the community; Sarah’s had always been in her extended family, only every so often letting children from the block into her life. Brooke was a ten-minute shower; Sarah had been a two-hour bubble bath. Despite all this, however, she could speak to Brooke at the same level. It was almost ad if they were the melody and harmony of the same tune. And Sarah was loath to let anything change this dynamic so dramatically. Despite what the others tried to instill in her, Sarah didn’t feel herself any more special than had been before.

“I’m just so glad I had a chance to help you like this, Brooke, that we had a chance to become friends. I was so worried you’d harbor a grudge against me forever.”

“Harbor? Is that another fat joke? That I’m big enough that a ship could fit inside of me?” She heard Brooke laugh once again. “Yeah, I thought about it. I thought about how easy it would be to play the same role I’ve always played, that of the helpless victim. But, you know what? After awhile I saw that the two of you deserve each other.”

“Oh, thanks. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That? Just an observation, Sarah. Think about it. Who but someone like you could be that understanding and forgiving of Steven’s behavior? I mean, the whole reason you came here in the first place was because I couldn’t stand him anymore.”

“And him you.”

“Well, yeah, but there’s no need to bring up something like that now.”

“You have to admit that you weren’t exactly fully behind the relationship towards the end. In fact, he was the one trying to hold it together the best he could while you were the one backing away, right?”

She saw Brooke swivel back into sitting position, her eyes squinting in disbelief. Sarah readjusted her own posture, her legs folded, to receive what she knew was to come next.

“Holding it together? If you can call seeing Penelope Krauss from down the hall holding our relationship together, if you can call palling around with LeAnn—otherwise known as “the woman before me”—holding it together, then, yeah, he was doing one hell of a job of keeping me.”

“Oh, don’t get upset, Brooke. I was just kidding.”

“I know, but it irritates me to think that I found him so perfect once. And how, in one day of revelation, he could destroy the trust I had built up in him.”

“You know you still like him, though.”

She saw Brooke mull it over, the corners of her mouth pulled in as she pulled in her lips. She knew it was a difficult question to ask, but Sarah’s basic premise coming into any relationship was to constantly reassess the situation as different events arose to bring about change in it. Sarah knew this evaluation of exactly who and what you were dealing with was the only way to find happiness, was the only way you could find happiness that lasted forever, the kind of happiness that Sarah was fortunate to be experiencing at that moment with Steven in her life.

“Yeah, I guess I do. But I think I find him a much better friend than whatever it was we were before. A lot less stressful for me, if you know what I mean.”

“Then what was it?”

“What was what?”

“When did it for you the first time?”

“I don’t know what you’re asking…”

“Why’d you do it? Why’d you stay with him as long as you did?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. You know the first time your parents brought you to Mass and you realized that what all those guys up there were saying wasn’t half bad?”

Sure, Sarah did. October tenth, 1975, when she had only been a year old. That was the first day her parents said she had settled down in one place for any serious amount of time. That was when, she guessed, she know who she wanted to follow for the rest of her life, who was to be her mentor.

She heard Brooke continue.

“After Corey was killed, Steven was the only one I could turn to. He was the only one who knew how special Corey was. He was the only one, besides our parents, who had known Corey for as long and as deeply as I did. And, despite how much I rag on him for being a real prick sometimes, he does care about people… sometimes a little too much.”

“I know. His compassion is quite a turn-on, isn’t it? I could just eat it up like it was Pez….”

Wow, Pez. She had forgotten how much she liked eating the stuff—whenever she could find it, that is.

“Pez? Whatever you say, Sarah. You’re silly.”

“That’s me, Silly Sarah.” She guessed she was reveling again. The notion that she was back flooded her entire body. How she had missed being as carefree and silly as Brooke. “Well, don’t stop there, go on. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you tell me how he was before I came and intervened.”

“What is there to tell, really?” After my initial grief was over I began to see again what repulsed me about him in the first place. His infidelity, for one, is amazing. The way he hits on women as if relying totally on instinct and not because he actually is attracted to them. He just never seemed to get that I had a problem with that. Me and my bizarre standards, huh? And when he moved way beyond hitting on them he didn’t even have the decency to hide it well. I don’t know, I guess the moment of his perfection wore off. Yeah, it took me all this time to actually do anything about it, but it’s just not my style to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“And, according to you, this is why you started pulling away from him?”

“Mostly.”

“And the other reason or reasons would be?”

“Oh…. You’re not going to like it.”

“And why’s that?”

What was that? Was that Brooke asking her permission to tell the reason? It was almost as if Brooke was terrified of her reaction, which was ridiculous since Sarah could never think of anything that Brooke could say to upset her that much. Sarah was pretty fair-minded when it came to these things. She just didn’t arbitrarily decide things on the spot and expect her friends to just accept her decision as law; it was not the way she worked. Even when she first came back, Sarah didn’t understand that what she was doing was more important that what she had done before. Sure, she knew it had a higher purpose, but to actually consider herself as a key player in some great scheme was more than beyond her thoughts, it was beyond the scope of her imagination. She refused to believe she special.

She wanted Steven here to hear what Brooke was saying. That was what this situation called for and it really was the way she should be running things—less concerned about being overly familiar with the principals involved and more forceful in her instructions. But this was her friend and she would never do anything to hurt her nor force her to do something to hurt herself. Besides, this was an intimate secret shared between friends. It wasn’t something that really needed to spread beyond her own two ears. This was one friend explaining to the other a failed former relationship. Who cares that it involved Sarah’s own Steven? That was outside of the situation. This was Brooke’s one great love who had disappointed her; that was the vital information to be remembered about what came next and that this also was the one great love that Sarah had recently found was of no consequence now.

“Because I started getting sick and tired about his bullshit pleas for forgiveness, the way he would with a straight face say that God forgives all and that it didn’t matter anyway because ‘she’d be the last one.’ I just lost all faith in him.” Sarah felt the moment of silence more than she heard it. “I asked for the hurt to go away—that all the tears go away.

“And that’s where you stepped in to once and for all sever the romantic ties between us.”

“I guess I was too good at my job. Sure, I got you off worrying about him, about hurting him, but I let him take advantage of me. He’s awfully clingy, isn’t he?”

“Just about to everyone.”

“I guessed I missed that human interaction, that feeling of someone wanting you that badly. And so instead of letting him down gently as I should’ve done, I let him continue and got myself involved. It was a mistake and I’m sure against the rules, but—“

“But it was the best mistake you’d ever made, right? I knew it. How can you stand being around someone like that for so long? Doesn’t it bother you that he can be so freewheeling with his heart… among other things?”

“Sure, it bothers me. But individuals in my line of work can’t exactly afford to be judgmental—that’s left to somebody else. It isn’t exactly a desirable trait.”

“No, I wouldn’t think so. But that doesn’t mean you had to fall for him either.”

“Hey, you fell for him, Brooke.”

Here she saw her friend turn away, trying to come up with some classy retort. And while Brooke wracked her brain for an answer, Sarah began to realize that no one is supposed to be judgmental or even allowed to be critical except the one whose fairness is beyond reproach, the one whose beliefs Sarah had grown up with the greater part of her life and in whom Sarah believed to be nothing but goodness. To even consider that she had the authority to pass judgment on someone or someone’s actions would not only be wrong, it would be highly presumptuous. It was one thing to question silly, little things. Pragmatically speaking, whether or not Easter is more popular than Christmas wasn’t of real concern to anyone. Everyone knew the answer and because of that it was safe. However, to discuss matters of morality, of what’s right and wrong, would be improper. Sarah scoffed at the idea creeping into her head to make sure that everything she did was in the most beneficial of spirits. Of course, it was. Besides, now was not the time to question her beliefs.

“Yeah, but I’m far from perfect.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Oh… I couldn’t resist. I thought you had a better chance at resisting him. You know, original sin and all?”

Sarah pursed her lips into a quizzical smile.

“Yeah, I see what you’re trying to say. You thought individuals like us are free from all the clutter and mess of emotions. That, Brooke, is an example of propaganda.”

“Which means?”

“Which means I’m far from being without feelings. I mean, compassion is a feeling as well as caring and sympathy. How good would I be without those? So, yes, there are some things that are more developed in me than in you, but when it comes to emotions… you’re about as skilled in obeying and disobeying them as I am.”

“I guess I just assumed that his charms wouldn’t work on you.”

“Guess again.”

“I mean, I know why he fell for you, you’re perfect and all.”

“There’s that word again. I am not perfect.”

“Sure you are, that’s why I never stood a chance.”

“A chance at what?”

“A chance of getting Steven back from you, Sarah.”

Sarah couldn’t believe her eyes; Brooke was actually quivering. And for that instance Sarah wished she could go back to show Brooke had nothing to fear from her and to show that perfection really only existed in one being.

“I thought you didn’t want him back.”

“Oh, I don’t, not really. But the decision is kind of made up for me now isn’t it? How can I possibly compete against someone like you? You’re so beautiful.”

“Yes, I am that, but—“

“And you are the kindest and most forgiving woman I’ve ever known.”

“But so are—“

“And, more to the point, you really do love him. See, you’re perfect and there’s no fighting back when you’re up against perfection.”

Sarah remembered an old fairy tale that her grandfather had told her as a child. It was the tale of Briar Rose, otherwise known as Sleeping Beauty. It was a lot like the modern retelling of it. Same old guy, same sweet girl, the same chain of events linked together in somewhat like fashion. However, as Brooke spoke, Sarah remembered a minor difference, a difference that had never really bothered her as it bothered her now. In the original telling of the tale Briar Rose didn’t start out as some great beauty and, were it not for the curse placed upon her as a child which compelled her into a deep sleep, she might have never found her prince. In some modernist retellings of the tale Sarah had delved into Briar had, in fact, missed her one great calling and was doomed to be normal for the rest of her life—coincidentally bumping into the prince and he finding her utterly plain and common. That was how Sarah felt at times, that if things in her life hadn’t turned out as they had been destined to she might have never found the beauty within her or her prince. She felt at times that this “perfection” that Brooke wished to convey on her was the same “beauty” that the prince instilled on Briar Rose only after an unfortunate tragedy. It was at those times that she began to wonder if Briar would have missed anything had she not know the happiness that was to be hers, if the plain life that she had experienced was more suited to her temperament and personality. After all, she was born common so maybe being common was already perfect enough for her. Especially in times like this Sarah had these thoughts, when people like Brooke wished her to be something she just was never prepared to be.

“Is that what you honestly think? That I’m perfect?”

“Of course, you are. You kind of have to be, don’t you?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Sure.”

She didn’t want to believe her friend. She never wanted that responsibility—not because she couldn’t handle it but just because she never wanted it, not for any concrete reason except that it wasn’t her style.

“Sounds like there’s something you’re not telling me, Brooke. What is it?”

“Did Steven ever tell you how Corey died?”

“Not in so many words, but a little bit.”

“Do you want to hear it?”

“Do you want to tell it?”

“I never want to tell it, but I think you’ll understand it, and I think it’s time you knew… a lot of things.” She saw Brooke’s face lose all tension or emotion; in a split-second it became a blank canvas revealing nothing other than the fact of itself. And she heard the words begin to flow. “He was ten at the time and I was eleven. It was October 10th, I remember because Steven had just celebrated his tenth birthday the day before and we were all walking into town to go see Top Gun, a present from Steven’s parents. Oh, how we had begged and pleaded to them to let us go by ourselves. It was only six blocks from our house to the movie theater, but for them it was a vast desert, where every step could be our last. It took awhile, but we convinced them. So there we were, just walking along—I was in front since with my whole year of seniority, as well as my three-quarters of an inch height advantage, I always made sure they knew who was in charge, who was the followed and who were the followers. That’s how I missed the van. That’s how I missed the sound of it coming right behind the three of us. And that’s how I ultimately missed the sound of Corey being thrown in through the sliding door, while poor Steven was shoved to the ground and forced to watch his best friend being taken from him. By the time it was over, I only had time to notice the van speed by me. And for the first couple of seconds I didn’t understand what had just happened. I still don’t think I do, not really.

“They found the body almost a month later, abused and tossed into the river as if Corey were nothing more than trash.”

For a couple of minutes Sarah sat in silence, watching and waiting for Brooke to start bawling, but for some reason or another she didn’t. She just watched as Brooke’s face continued staring into her own, devoid of any real discernible feelings. She hadn’t known. She hadn’t known such horrors could occur so close to home. She hadn’t known such horrors could occur. She hadn’t known horror, not the way Brooke knew it. It was all beyond her experience.

“I didn’t know it had been so horrific.”

“Well, now you do.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I got upset with everyone and everything, especially God. Yeah, for the longest time I was very upset with Him. I started to scream at Him daily that it wasn’t fair, that he was too young, that he was my brother and someone on television or in some movie. I kept screaming and hollering, but all I ever got back was the silence of someone who wasn’t listening because He didn’t have to. After awhile I realized that there really wasn’t anything I could do about it. It wasn’t as if anything I could say or do would change the matter. He’d still allow stuff like that to go on. I guessed I wasn’t going to make a difference. So I guess I gave up.”

And suddenly she saw Brooke was back, an almost forced grin on her face again.

“So when I got shoved into your face and you saw that I was falling for Steven you thought it was happening to you again.”

“No, not really. I just decided it was easier to lose him and keep you as a friend then try and keep him, and risk losing both of you.”

“So you really did want him back?”

“No. I mean, yeah, a little part of me. But, mostly, it was just being angry at losing something that was mine than actually losing Steven.”

“Didn’t you know, Brooke, you were going to lose him anyway?”

“Yeah, I did. That’s why you came; you told us that.”

“So why then? If you knew you were going to lose him and you didn’t want him, then why care if I took him from you?”

“I don’t know.”

“You must have some idea.”

“I guess it’s because this time I wasn’t turned around. This time I knew what was going on, what was happening, and still had no way to change things….”

Sometimes it’s not good to change things. Sometimes it’s not good to want things any different than they already are. That was what Sarah thought. Her parents had taught her early on that lesson, the way authority works, except they had called it faith. She remembered asking for money for the latest Pez dispenser design, even though she had amassed quite a collection of them in her bedroom already. That must have been when she was twelve or thirteen, around the time Brooke’s brother had been killed. She knew perfectly that her father could indulge her obsession, but for some reason he never did. He would tell her that she had to have faith that it was for the best and never explained his decision on it any further. So, yes, Sarah knew where Brooke’s line of reasoning led. On her own Sarah earned the money to buy the latest dispenser without her father’s help. She didn’t know why she had to have them all, she just did. Later on, as she progressed through school, and as she began to learn what the word faith actually meant, she came to understand that God works in mysterious ways and that we aren’t supposed to question His motives. But she could never figure out why He wanted her to get obsessed with the cheap, plastic novelty items. And, eventually, she stopped questioning why altogether.

“Whatever you may think, Brooke, I was never after Steven. It kind of happened. If things had happened differently and you weren’t seeing him, if he was alone and in misery, I still think he and I would have gotten together.”

“Oh, I’m sure you two would have.”

“But you still can’t fight the feeling that you should have done more, put up more of an effort.”

“A little. As well as why I got a solution to Steven… but not Corey…”

She remembered how much like Brooke she had been. The way all these doubts and insecurities had kept her on her toes throughout her life. As a child she had been popular, on a quickly rising trajectory. Yet inside she was struggling with life around her. Her schools taught her to obey her parents. Her parents taught her to obey the Church. The Church taught her to obey God. And yet God never revealed anything to her. How scared of Him she had been in those days in much the same way Brooke was scared of her now, not scared that He was vindictive and would punish her for every little indiscretion. That she could accept for if the act she had done was bad enough to deserve punishment then she’d rather it come from God because his penchant for forgiveness was legendary. No, she was more scared of the fact that He really did expect her to live her own life and yet she had no choice in the matter. That apparent conflict between free will or predestination. That, even if she had wanted to, there was no possible way to make her own decisions without having them been arranged for her beforehand. It was only when she left and saw that her fate was far greater than most others’ that she was assured there was a purpose in her life.

But now something was completely different. Now she saw Brooke exactly as she herself had been, wanting something that she thought she couldn’t have and too afraid to do something about it.

“You know what? I think you’re right; people will always like Christmas better than Easter. But not because of your reason, not because it’s easier to receive than to find something, but because people inherently cherish things more that are given to them than things they get for themselves. No matter how inappropriate the gift may be for the person receiving it, they keep it. Not because they especially like it or anything, but because it came as a surprise to be given it. It’s as if a person can’t have faith in another person’s love until they’ve received a gift from that person. Easter eggs basically are all the same, but Christmas presents are always unexpected.

“Exactly—the present could totally suck—broken in a dozen different places, too juvenile to be of any real worth, but because it was a gift there is almost an obligation to hang on to it as long as possible.”

She stared at Brooke. They really were on the same wavelength.

“Brooke, you can always question Him if you do not feel He is right. You know that, right? You don’t have to accept things just because they are. You can change things if you wanted to.”

Sarah didn’t know if she believed that, but the idea began to look less evil a prospect than it had been beforehand.

“It takes more effort than I can really give and…”

“And?”

“How do you tell a parent that the gift they gave you was all wrong? How do you tell Him that even though you thought His taking away of something you thought was all wrong for you was the best present He could give you, that the present you wanted was the one you had all along?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You can’t because the minute you tell someone what you want, knowing that they’ll get it for you, it loses the magic of being a gift.”

“And you never know when the most precious gift you have can be taken from you in the blink of an eye…”

“Or the turning of a head—“

And suddenly Sarah knew exactly what gift she wanted back.

“Or the changing of one light to the next…”

“So I just think it’s better not to even argue about it since it doesn’t do one bit of good…”

“Maybe…”

And with that the conversation ended for there was nothing more left to say.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

What We're Doing Doesn't Have A Sequel, Don't Wanna Lose Your Balance, Oh You Know You've Gotta Keep Your Equilibrium

"Beyond all the complex and esoteric theories and such, the point is that your life is now, it is very real. Rather than wondering what the meaning of life is we should aim to lead a "meaning-full" life. In other words, think about your actions, about their consequences, and strive to act thoughtfully, for good. First we must be aware of our motivations, and not let anger (or negative emotions) be our guide, and thus have a positive effect in our own life. Our calm spirit and our positive actions have an effect on our immediate family, on the people around us, on our community. All these small actions ultimately help to create a better world for all."

--Dalai Lama, on being asked what the meaning of life is
(thanks to muse for the quote)

Wouldn't it be great if our lives had a sequel, if the actions we take and the mistakes we make weren't permanent and all-encompassing? I had the strangest idea today that if my life had a sequel what kind of things I'd like to "fix" in the sequel. In most sequels the aim is to improve upon the original and to make it more of the same, but better. I want the writing to be tighter, the conflicts to be more dramatic, but ultimately I want the endings to be happier. I want the girls to be beautiful, but intelligent. I want the men to be strapping and good friends, but never more handsome or debonair than myself. I want big musical numbers and many, many sex scenes. I want road trips and spectacle. I want lots of chocolate cake. I want so much cake that at every shot of every meal there's somebody eating cake. And I want lots of Rilo Kiley songs in every scene.

Oh, and I want Sara Stanley as my leading lady.

Sometimes I feel like I'm not the architect of my own happy ending that maybe I'm just the guy who wrote the story, but not the screenplay. That upon hearing my great ideas for my own life, some of the Powers That Be took it upon themselves to lock themselves away and conduct some massive rewrites. They took the purity and sanctity of my lovely story, the story I had all planned out for myself, and diluted it, watered it down until it no longer resembled my humble plotline. I always thought that outside forces were compelling me to lead a life I did not want to lead. There has always been a reason why I hated adaptations. But I realized we don't get a sequel, that our life shouldn't be about how much money we can make and planning to correct the mistakes in the next picture. We need our lives to resemble an indie piece, an artistic expression of everything that is us. It shouldn't be about how many people you can sucker into taking an interest, how much money you can make from it, or how "cool" it is. It should be about informing as well as entertaining, how profound it is, and how true to yourself it is.

Life doesn't have a sequel. And you pretty much only get one take.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

They're Trying Their Best To Define You, They're Trying Their Best To Keep You Down, But We Won't Ever Let Them Win

I recently had the opportunity to try to hawk my wares to a new acquaintance. And, instead of letting the product speak for itself, I tried to parlay my accomplishments into some real cool points with her. What is it about meeting new people that makes you into self-promoting fool? It's not enough that they're getting to know you, you have to make yourself into this grandiose and melodramatic version of yourself.

Frankly, I'm tired of the whole first impression mindset. If you know me in real life I very rarely make a good first impression, except on here. I think I'm better at presenting a better image of myself on-line and on the phone than in person. It's one thing to string together words and ideas when you're not staring directly at the person you're speaking to. For me to get that comfortable around people in "real" life takes at one or two meetings with me. I used to say I was a funnel conversationalist--I get more comfortable speaking to people the less people there are. In big crowds I tend to get lost in the ebb and flow of people coming in and out of the conversation. I always feel intrusive whenever I try to add my two cents in.

However, in the last couple of years I've noticed a remarkable makeover. If I'm the center of attention I get really comfortable talking to groups of people. For instance, when I'm leading groups or meetings I can just start bullshitting with the best of them. I start feeling on a roll and I start stringing together insanely cogent thoughts and phrases. But, for some reason, I always fall between those two extremes. I'm either the belle of the ball or the wallflower. It's just yet another example of how I go to extremes.

I wonder why people get concerned with trying to impress people when most of the time when I meet new people I've already decided whether or not I like them. It's very hard to make a bad impression on me because most of the time I tend not to associate with people who I think are going to make a bad impression on me. For example, if just overhearing someone, they say something I blatantly disagree with or mildly offends me they often don't get the opportunity to make a first impression on me. One might argue this is their first impression on me, but I think first impressions have more to do with the active pursuit of interest in a person. If you're trying to get someone to notice you then I think you're trying to make a first impression. I am a lot more impressed with people who don't go for the gusto when it comes to earning my respect or admiration. I think people who don't try so hard are the people that I usually tend to get along with the best. I hate the whole "cool" mystique. What I think is cool are the tiny treasures I find myself. I think it's cool to discover a person who isn't making a first impression, someone who is genuinely being themselves and having me still enjoying their company.

It's been said that "women fake orgasms, but men fake entire relationships," and that speaks a lot to our culture of phoniness and appearance. We're all concerned about leaving people with a positive idea of us that we'll sacrifice our dignity and pride to leave them with that positive connotation in their head. Myself, I ascribe to the theory of letting people have their own ideas and doing my best to stay out of the way of their ideas. If someone doesn't like me it doesn't bother that much, it just means I won't be associating with that person very often. Conversely, if someone likes me I'm not going to go out of my way to do things so that they continue to like me. I'm not about impressing people. I'm about people coming to me on my own terms and me accepting them on their terms.

I recently wrote a piece on what I would look for in an ideal girl. And somebody recently wrote back that he would no longer go actively looking for then ideal girl, how he did that for the longest time already, and now his life was all about letting that ideal girl find him. That's the kind of life I want to lead right now; I want to lead a life where the right kind of people find me, and when they do find me, they find me likable despite my flaws.

That's the only impression I want to leave people with--likable despite his flaws.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

You Fill My Head All Full of Rainbows, And All The Rainbows End With Every Step You Take, Just to Be with You Forever

Abby Miller: 13. Abby dresses like a typical girl her age, but she doesn't act like one. She's confident and street-smart, and clearly has done a lot of her own parenting. Probing and a bit over-aggressive, she's the daughter of Mark Miller; her mother is dead. She forces her way into Elektra 's life, and introduces Elektra to her father, a piece of matchmaking that works out well. Not very feminine at all, but with athletic grace and a well-hidden beauty, Abby goes on the run with her father when Elektra balks at killing them both, and becomes their protector instead. In fact, Abby (like her father) is concealing a big secret...

I've got to go see Elektra now. I just saw the trailer for this movie tonight and I had no idea she had a sidekick--played by an SG-1 veteran no less! The action sequences I saw tonight looked amazing and very intriguing. I was no big fan of Daredevil, but what can I say? I'm a Marvel zombie through and through. There is something about the way Marvel designed their young adult super heroines that has always resonated with me. One heroine in particular has always had a piece of my comic-loving heart.



Man oh man, did Miss Kitty Pryde rock my world. She was my favorite character ever, ever, ever, written for a comic book. The secret to her success with me (and others) was that she was specifically written as someone the same age as the audience. There we were, a bunch of geeks and nerds in high school, reading the coolest comic on the planet, X-Men, and here was a girl our age who didn't look half-bad, had some pretty cool powers, and was pretty intelligent to boot. But I think what she had that sold me on being absolutely adoring of her was the fact that she was the voice of her audience as well. She was going through the same turmoil and angst I think I was going through at the same time. She was saying things I would say if I were in her situation. She was scared, she was shy, she was nervous, but somehow she always got past her hang-ups to assist in saving the day. Not only that, but she always managed to keep her sense of morality intact. I wouldn't be too off in saying that of all the drawn characters I've ever wished was real, hers was the wish that hurt the most when I realized it would never come true. The betrayal I felt was akin the betrayal I felt when I realized at the end of The Golden Roadthat, indeed, all children go up and move on to more mature things. I only wish my Shadowcat, like my Story Girl, could just stay the way that I remembered them.

Here's hoping that Abby Miller proves to be half as compelling a personality as Katherine Pryde.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

When You're Dead

Pictures of Success - Rilo Kiley

Build your own television receiver
Staying home can't be that bad for me
'Cause I'm not scared
But I'd like some extra spare time
Easily earn me big money

I'm a modern girl but I fold in half so easily
When I put myself in the picture of success
I could learn world trade
or try to map the ocean

When you're dead
In hospitals and freeways
When you're dead
In resting homes and clinics
When you're dead
It must be nice to finish
When you're dead

I've had it with you
And mexico can fucking wait
And all of those french films about trains
'Cause I'm not scared
But i'd like some extra spare time
I'm not scared
But the bills keep changing colors

When you're dead
In hospitals and freeways
When you're dead
In dress shirts and neckties
When you're dead
In apartments and on beaches
When you're dead

They say california is a recipe for a black hole
And I say I've got my best shoes on
I'm ready to go (ready to go)
Ready to go
Ready to go
I'm ready to go
Ready to go
Ready to go
ready to go
I'm ready to go
Ready to go
Ready to go
Ready to go
I'm ready to go
Ready to go
Ready to go
Ready to go
I'm ready to go

These are times that can't be weathered and
We have never been back there since then

These are times that can't be weathered and
We have never been back there since then

These are times that can't be weathered and
We have never been back there since then

These are times that can't be weathered and
We have never been back there since then

There are just some songs that speak volumes of encyclopedias of libraries' worth of information. Some songs that convince you that the artists are writing specifically about you and your life. Some songs that leave such a huge impression upon you that irrevocably and undeniably your life has been altered somehow, in some huge facet that other people cannot help but to notice when they look at you.

Then there are some songs that REALLY make a difference.

For me, that song is "Pictures of Success" by a little 'ole band called Rilo Kiley. It is more than my favorite song by them. It is more than my favorite song by anybody. It is the song that, irrevocably and undeniably, speaks to my entire life. It paints a picture of the life that I lead and the manner in which I ruminate about things. I don't think there is another song out there that has made me think about how I lead my life and want me to change how I do things more than this song.

A couple months ago I posted the question in the DAIForum which song sums you up the most. This is what I wrote about this song:

For me it would "Pictures of Success" by Rilo Kiley because it talks about wanting all these things to change, to become a better person, but wanting everything else to change and not yourself. The narrator of the song wants to leave her guy, become successful, move, and do more adventurous things overall but she'd rather wait for the guy she's with to die rather than leave him and get started on the rest of her life. I think that's how a lot of us are. Wanting things to be better but never getting off our asses to start changing things. I know that's how I am.

When she sings "I'm ready to go" repeatedly it's both a declaration and a question, like she is psyching herself to move on, trying to convince herself she's making the right decision. I think that's how people look at any real changes in their life--difficult but necessary.

Plus, any song that compares California to "a recipe for a black hole" is cool in my book.

I'm just like that. A great portion of my life is dedicated to the pursuit of something I may never find. I don't know what exactly will make me happy. I don't know what exactly will leave me with a sense of fulfillment or accomplishment. Hell, I don't know exactly what kind of woman I'm looking to make my lover or wife for right now. But I do know that there is something amiss in my life, in how I lead my days, and just like the narrator in the song I have this sinking feeling that I may never get around to actually doing something about it. That I may let my situation change me before I ever get around to actually changing my situation. And that just isn't kosher with me. I don't want to be the type of person who lets the melodramatic fortune of a life I may not have chosen for myself dictate how happy (or unhappy) I'm going to be. I can't wait for someone to die before I make my big move. I need to strike out for what I want and get what I want before it's too late to get anything. I don't think any one single line has ever affected me so much as when Miss Jenny sings, "when you're dead." It literally slices through me like same unerringly intrusive saber. She brandishes that line like a weapon. She both uses it to indict herself for having the beliefs and hating herself for having those beliefs, and she uses it to indict herself for being so weak-willed and unmotivated to let those beliefs be her status quo.

I think too many of us let our lives become the status quo instead of never settling for a status quo. I mean--why should we ever have a status quo? Why should there ever be a time in our lives where we know what's coming next? Why can't we be content making every day of our lives better than the last? I wonder why people let complacency and apathy become acceptable. We're all guilty of it. We find something that makes us happy for the moment. Then we keep coming back to the well. We keep doing the same thing that made us happy once and keep expecting it to make us as happy as it once did. Except that's not the way the world works, that's not the way that life works. You can literally have too much of a good thing. Whether it's a girl (or guy), whether it's a hobby, or even if it's a city--we all need some kind of change in our lives to make us realize what exactly makes us happy. Think about it. If something makes you really happy then it's still going to make you happy even when you come back to it weeks, months, even years later. But how will you ever know what a great thing you have if you're never apart from it? If you only eat at the same restaurant every day of your life because you believe it to be the best thing out there for you, how will you ever know if it really is? I think there has to be some occasional breaks in the process. I think there has to be some respite from the delirium. You can crush the thing you love if you hold on too tightly.

That's what this song says to me--that anything that was once good can turn bad if you try to keep it the same. It also says that you can't let life leave you behind. Leading a good life, leading the life you want to lead, and having the people you want to have in your life should be a breakneck race not a leisurely jog. You shouldn't want to have what you always had. You should want more, expect more, be more because you deserve a life that is everything you hoped it would be. You deserve a person who is not going to make you feel so-so. You deserve a person who is going to make you feel great every moment of every day. You deserve a job that is not going to just pay the bills. You deserve a job that you can't wait to get to in the morning and you hate to leave in the evening. You deserve a life that you don't just get by in.

You deserve a life that fucking rocks.

Go ahead, you've got your best shoes on, and you're ready to go...

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

All In All I've No Regrets, The Sun Still Shines The Sun Still Sets, The Heart Forgives The Heart Forgets, But What Will I Do Now With All This Time

I am angling to get into a different department at work that would afford me the opportunity to get back home in time to catch my favorite primetime shows. How stupid a reason is that to put in for a transfer? Does it pay more money? No. Does it have other perks? No. But is the scheduling better so that I can see such masterpieces as Everwood, CSI, and Lost? Hell, yeah. Honestly, there are other reasons why I want the transfer to go through such as easier time at work. I believe that I'll be a lot less stressed out at work because of the move. However, the main reason I want to move is just so I never miss another chance to catch Amy in all her glory. Hell hath no fury than a man coming home to find that his VCR failed to tape an episode of his favorite show.

a reason to rearrange one's work schedule? I think so...

This isn't the first time I've put thoughts of my future aside for the love of a show. Back when I was applying to colleges I had my choices narrowed down to NYU and USC. I really wanted to go to NYU to study Film Critique, but I had the horrified thought that I might not be able to get cable in my dorm room and I would be damned if I was going to miss any episode of Avonlea. The thought of not being able to Sara Stanley every Monday scared the shit out of me. I used to watch two hours of that show every night... for three years! I don't even know how many hours of the same seven seasons worth of episodes I watched. I think I would have gone through withdrawal if I didn't get my Avonlea fix every night back then. Not that there weren't other concerns about college. I would have paid 3 times as much to go to New York since it was out of state and they were only paying like $3000 in scholarships. USC, in comparison, was willing to pay half of my tuition and the tuition was only a fraction of NYU's. So, no, I don't have any doubts that I went to USC for purely academic reasons. But do not think I was not completely ecstatic to be able to see the King family every week. Besides, I met some of the most lovely people in the world through Avonlea.

I think the only show that I've ever loved that I never gave up any precious time or energy for was Buffy. I mean--I had my schedule worked around so that I always had Tuesdays off to watch the show. But I never made attempts to watch it religiously. I bought the DVDs, but it isn't like I watch them every night. I think I've watched episodes of Everwood more often than the Buffmeister. It's a different beast, I think, that show. That show had a certain mythos that was kind of fun to watch from week to week. But once that mythos was exposed it was kind of anti-climatic to visit them night after night. But with shows like Avonlea and Everwood there's something to be said about visiting these idyllic communities with their idyllic people time and time again. I think I have this fetish for small towns and small town girls. That's honestly what I think it is. I want to live in one of those places where the women aren't "phoney" (sorry, reading Catcher in the Rye again) and are just plain nice. Pondering it now, I think that's the common thread. Rachel, Sara, Amy--all small-town girls, girl-next-door girls, who just seem to embody all that's best of the human race.

Hmmm. That's certainly a good reason to want to move my schedule around in order to get closer to them. And it is certainly just as good an activity to spend all this time I have on Earth doing.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Put All The Things He Loves On Display So Everyone Can See Them

I wonder when actors or actresses who get their start at a really young age ever revisit their work when they were children and consciously compare it to the work they are doing now. I wonder if Sarah or Jenny ever takes a look at a movie they did at 8 or 9 and just starts criticizing when measure against something they've done in their twenties? I mean--I just discovered my long lost tape of all the episodes Sara did as a kid on Ramona and I wonder if she honestly compares it to Dawn of the Dead. Or does Jenny look back on Trading Hearts or Convicted and scream in abject horror? Not that they are bad work--they are some of my most cherished positions--but they are the work of their youth, of someone completely different than they are in the current positions. How does one reconcile the fact that you will never quite have the same naivete or innoncence of that time gone by? And do you really want such moments of instability on display for everyone to see? I honestly do not know if I could stand the eye of my own scrutiny trained upon something I wrote or did or said in my childhood days. I regret a lot of things I did as a youth, I'm scared to see if I would regret ever writing something 15 or even 20 years ago.

Youth?


Or Maturity?

Something tells me I wouldn't be the type to just be cavalier about prominently displaying my unfinished and green productions. Nope, I'll just have to content myself with the crap that issues forth from a guy in his 20s and hide away all the stuff I may have thought was quality in elementary school. After all, I once thought Weird Al was cool growing up, but I no longer hold the same fondness for "Lasagna" that I once did. I suppose that I still hold a candle for childhood things, but I think it's about time that I follow the maxim of the old adage, "when I was child I played with childhood things, but when I grew up I put childish things away."

I'll never have Avonlea back. "Oh, you were just a beach, Arcady..."

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

I Have No Idea What's Been Going On Lately, And I Just Wish You'd Come Over And Explain Things

I'm falling into that rut again. I basically feel like all I do is go to sleep, wake up, go to work, come home, hang out on the computer, and then go back to sleep again. Somewhere in there I find the time to eat, go to the bathroom, and shower, but mostly I have this unending sense of doing nothing but work and computer. Without an impending show to look forward to, without an impending visit from friends, or without an impending trip to somwhere, I'm stuck in a very thick mire of boredom and complacency. I don't know why I'm actually here for. It can't be just to work the rest of my days at a job I'm only so-so about. And it can't be just to waste my time on-line writing inane posts and blogs about things that only fairly matter to me.

I miss the old days when I had stuff to do. I miss having travel buddies. Sure, it may have wrecked my finances and ruined any chance I had at being content with settling into a "normal" life. But, gracious providence, I miss being out on the road and traveling to other cities. I used to do it every year. I used to go back east every 18 months and just explore to my heart's content. I used to visit friends or, better yet, they used to visit me. But now I just live alone and work alone and play alone. All the friends I used to go visit are no longer my friends. And all the times I used to have are far behind me. I honestly am beginning to think the best years of my life are behind me and, seriously, they weren't all that great. I never even left my country. I definitely did not have any wild sexcapades. And I certainly did not sample any exotic or wild dishes. I honestly thought I'd be able to do at least one of things. For chrissakes, I never even made it to Prince Edward Island! And that's less than 4000 miles from me. God, that's sad, when the most exotic place I really want to go to is in Canada. I'm laughing so hard right now.

I think it's endemic of the disease I suffer from now. I have this mixture of sorrow tinged with just enough hope to make it seem fruitful. And I'm starting to believe what they say, that a little bit of hope when it isn't followed by actual treasures is a very dangerous thing.

Jenny, come on over and explain things please. I'm so lost right now.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

You Led Me On 'Cause All Your Songs Were Really Dear To Me, I Wish Your Words Were Still Clear To Me

My ideal girl would be someone who could write this:

Most of us consider ourselves to be "honest" people. We never "steal" or "lie." We do what is right. We are "truthful" to our loved ones. No one wants to be called a liar, but what makes a liar? We all lie, therefore, we are all liars. Some would disagree with that and say that there are exceptions. I have not found one. If we don't lie, we "improve the truth." For example, if your loved one came up to you with mismatched clothes or messy hair, or a bad make up job, and asked you how they looked, you wouldn't tell them, "Uhh... I'm not going out with you looking like that!" No, some would say, "You look nice, dear." Others would say that they were not going to lie, but say something like, "Well, you do, but what would be even better is if you did this." Some would not call that a lie, but sensitivity. But wouldn't the brutal truth be, "You look like crap." Some would say that's just being mean. But what if the truth is mean? What if it's not a pretty picture? Do you give it in all its harshness, or do you change it, even a little? People tend to "change," or "disguise," or "decorate" the truth, if not lie about it. We would all rather hear the phrases "Sunset" and "Sunrise." But the sun neither rises nor sets. The TRUTH is that the world circles the sun. But how beautiful or romantic is that? You never hear songs or lyrics on how the earth circles the sun. It's not pretty. So we change the truth and say the sun rises and sets. Some say there is nothing wrong with that. And there isn't. But that still doesn't make it the truth. It is still being decorated. It is still a lie. Anything but the harsh and brutal truth is a lie, an illusion. A picture you visualize in your mind, with a touch of beauty, instead of what's in front of your eyes. We would all prefer a beautiful lie over the cold truth. When a friend gets something you wanted, something small, something they didn't know that you wanted, you lie and pretend you are happy for them. Sometimes, we even convince ourselves that we are happy for them, only lying to ourselves. Deep inside of us (for some not too deep) we feel that we deserved the insignificant thing no matter what it is. We should have gotten it. We are more worthy or qualified for it. This is our truthful thinking, but we never say it. And even if we do bring ourselves to tell the truth, usually, time has passed and it becomes resentment. In some cases, it can only be truthful, if it is known the moment it is thought. Sometimes, the truth needs to be known instantly, instead of being hidden behind a "nice" lie. Otherwise, the truth is not in its wholeness and it is tainted with anger.

And, hopefully, that girl's ideal guy would write something like this:

YOUR BIRTHDAY

Freckles in your eyes sailed, like ships,
Your smile the Sunday you were born
And your parents and all they'd met
Saw a grace they'd not soon forget
In your cheeks and upon your lips,
In tiny feet and baby hands,
In the heart that hope understands--
But for this day I always mourn.

Between love and pure vanity
I am here, now, helplessly torn--
Why should your fated creation
Cause me sorrow and frustration?
For all others it's plain to see
The joy inherent in your face
That no other's birth could replace--
But for this day I always mourn.

You were born and of that I'm glad;
You gave me life I never knew
By simple fact of your first grin
And by the gladness held within.
No, the reason why this day is sad,
Why tears it always seems to call,
Is because this blessed day should fall
Many months before I met you.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Sara, Sara, Storms Are Brewing In Your Eyes

I finally found the picture that I think epitomizes the kind of sadness I always feel. I get this strong sense of sadness just by the mood of the shot, but there is this undeniable sense of hope there too. I've always pictured this in my head when I imagine where most of my characters are coming from. And I cannot believe I actually found "the" shot on-line. It's always stuck in my head whenever I picture someone trying to overcome a dark period in their life. It's probably my favorite still or picture ever in the world.

I almost forgot what great cinematography the show had. It makes me only want to visit Prince Edward Island more. I swear, it's all I could talk about when I was in high school. I wanted to go visit that island so badly and I made so many plans to go on a trip there with my friend. Then all these floods hit and all my dreams about visiting the birthplace of Anne and Sara were dashed.

It's my forlorn and wistful shot. I love the clouds, the lighting, and the way the ocean all looks. It seems gloomy at first glance, but I can sort of see she has this gaze out onto the horizon that holds a promise of things to come. I love how her back is to you so you have to imagine what kind of countenance she is portraying. Yes, I think it is definitely my favorite shot in the whole world.

---

And on a corresponding note, I am now officially depressed that I cannot afford to buy the first three seasons to my favorite show ever, Avonlea. I just found out it's going to cost me $150 to procure this rare Canadian treasure. Somebody please buy this for me. LOL


Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers