Right now my life just is in the present. and I'm not scared. For some reason sitting here on this Saturday morning where my life could be a complete trainwreck because of me playing tug-of-war with God over control and plans and worries just isn't. there's no tug-of-war, no competition for control. just me standing in an open field just ready and moving forward. and there's this anxiety deep down that pulses inside me, but it's also an unknowingness, a sort of tingling suspense that just breathes life into me. but i have peace. I'm not scared for some reason. and i don't know why. I'm auditioning for Atlantic theatre school on July 11 and i have no idea what the hell i'm doing either if i do or don't get in. and for some reason that excites me but it doesn't scare me. i don't know why. for some reason in this city, i just feel extracted from everything i know and that i am just being, just alive in the present which is such a rushing sense of light and joy and aliveness that i am a human being but so much more than merely human. i met up with my cousin jason on thursday and he's 36, writing, acting and co-directing a pilot for FX and if the network picks it up it could be really great for him--really really great for him. and it's so cool just to sit down with someone who's almost double your age and ask them if they've got it all figured out yet and to hear them say no--but just enjoy it. i don't want to live my life trying to figure everything out--i need to learn how to bask in the mystery-how to experience it instead of figure it out or intellectualize it, you know? for some reason i have peace right now because for once in my life and hopefully for years to come i feel deep down in my heart and in my sinews and bones and everything that's inside me that i'm doiong something right--and it's not because of me or anything that i decided to do, it's just letting go. just letting go and not worrying and taking action and not giving into fear. because that's one of the hardest things to do is not give into fear. i swear that people blame all their worries and complaints on external things when it all comes down to the stripped away bare fear that stops us all in our tracks and leaves us pillaged and living merely human, settled, merely satisfying lives. i'm 20 years old and i'm not going to live that way for the rest of my life--be it 5 more years or 70 more years. i just refuse.
on a side note-1. i saw spring awakening 2. ashley has a stalker/lover 3. i have decided that i don't hate WALL.E 4. i am now a regular at starbucks and need to work at one but i don't have a freaking hat 5. i love watching babies on subways 6. i have survived 2 weeks without grocery shopping 7. when i am awkward i revert to playing with animals and will go looking for them even at a party
also, people should check out my friend Will's writing. it's fabulous.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Saturday, June 21, 2008
i think i just love the word abide. i don't know why. it just kind of has this ring, this comfort to it. this wasn't the point of my post anyways.
So i had a long talk with mom last night and it was one of those that I probably should've journaled about because i know it's one of those conversatins that i'll be having with my children somedaya nd i think it's also one of those conversations tha informs the rest of your life. epic would be the word here. i think. no it is.
i always have these talks or moments where i just break down. it happened at college. it began happening senior year of highschool and it's happening now. i feel like when it happens i get so embarassed and so freed all at the same time. it comes down to the fact that i hate growing up. it's one thing that i can't do anything about, and i feel safe having control--and in my life right now, I need to just do. just be. and give up control to God. I need to stop living in this little world that I've created where I feel like I have to please everybody or that I'll never be good enough. that fear haunts me daily and it can't be remedied by someone telling me that I'm good enough or anything. I have to believe it for myself.
but then mom just said. it's not all about you. it's not. it really isn't. so who cares if i make a fool out of myself or if i live so that i'm drenched in joy and everyone thinks i'm crazy or if i put my all into pursuing him and have faith that he has something brilliant and joyful planned for me if i am faithful to give, to be open, to serve and move forwards. i was talking to my mom about being obedient--which is what i want to be because then it results in this beautiful strong connection, this heartstring between you and God and others. and it has this insumountable joy attached and i want that with every cell that's inside of me. thing is i don't know what to be obedient to. it's not like God sent me this checklist or whispered in my ear "hey jessika, i want you to do this and this and this--get to marking off the list" it's not like that. it's being open and available for every opportunity. it's being open for God to use you and flow through you and for you to just be an instrument, a bondservant to christ--which is inevitably delightful. so it's not about me thinking "what am i supposed to be obedient to. crap i don't know. i guess i'll just wait around" it's about taking steps and having faith that God will use you. Because it's not like you have to wait for God to do something or that anything you do will screw up his plans. please. wake up. he made the sun, i mean, really? you can't screw up his plans--you can just ignore them or choose not to be open. and then it's a missed opportunity to be used, to really FEEL joy and know God.
so. now, i need to be held accountable. i have to move forward and not just saying that i will. i have to not be concerned with how i look or talk, but just be a mirror and have peace. the ways of man guides his steps, but the lord directs his path. God, i hope in everything that i am that this is true.
So i had a long talk with mom last night and it was one of those that I probably should've journaled about because i know it's one of those conversatins that i'll be having with my children somedaya nd i think it's also one of those conversations tha informs the rest of your life. epic would be the word here. i think. no it is.
i always have these talks or moments where i just break down. it happened at college. it began happening senior year of highschool and it's happening now. i feel like when it happens i get so embarassed and so freed all at the same time. it comes down to the fact that i hate growing up. it's one thing that i can't do anything about, and i feel safe having control--and in my life right now, I need to just do. just be. and give up control to God. I need to stop living in this little world that I've created where I feel like I have to please everybody or that I'll never be good enough. that fear haunts me daily and it can't be remedied by someone telling me that I'm good enough or anything. I have to believe it for myself.
but then mom just said. it's not all about you. it's not. it really isn't. so who cares if i make a fool out of myself or if i live so that i'm drenched in joy and everyone thinks i'm crazy or if i put my all into pursuing him and have faith that he has something brilliant and joyful planned for me if i am faithful to give, to be open, to serve and move forwards. i was talking to my mom about being obedient--which is what i want to be because then it results in this beautiful strong connection, this heartstring between you and God and others. and it has this insumountable joy attached and i want that with every cell that's inside of me. thing is i don't know what to be obedient to. it's not like God sent me this checklist or whispered in my ear "hey jessika, i want you to do this and this and this--get to marking off the list" it's not like that. it's being open and available for every opportunity. it's being open for God to use you and flow through you and for you to just be an instrument, a bondservant to christ--which is inevitably delightful. so it's not about me thinking "what am i supposed to be obedient to. crap i don't know. i guess i'll just wait around" it's about taking steps and having faith that God will use you. Because it's not like you have to wait for God to do something or that anything you do will screw up his plans. please. wake up. he made the sun, i mean, really? you can't screw up his plans--you can just ignore them or choose not to be open. and then it's a missed opportunity to be used, to really FEEL joy and know God.
so. now, i need to be held accountable. i have to move forward and not just saying that i will. i have to not be concerned with how i look or talk, but just be a mirror and have peace. the ways of man guides his steps, but the lord directs his path. God, i hope in everything that i am that this is true.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Petahh Pan
Oh by the way, i will marry a guy that is a cross between peter pan and paul bunyan. yeah, i know. good luck finding him, right?
this is my essay that i have FINALIZED for my application into atlantic acting school. the prompt was to write about a character in fiction who has had influence on you and what that influence is. so here goes:
I FINISHED SOMETHING!
Once when I was young, I dreamt I could fly. In my dream I scrambled to the top of our saggy, worn-out den couch, spread out my scrawny arms, uncurled my clenched fists, closed my eyes to wish upon happy thoughts, and jumped. But instead of flopping onto a pile of pillows as I had done in countless games of make believe, in my dream I actually flew. With my scratchy pink nightgown, and arms spread out like a bird, I was Wendy Darling.
Having been raised on a steady diet of dusty, yellowed books and 2-D Disney animation, I was thoroughly acquainted with the enchanted characters that lived in fairy tales. Yet there was one story that continued to draw me back even after I had let go of nightlights and good-night kisses. In it lived a girl I believed to be real as a child and whose image I vividly remember even now. Her name was Wendy Darling and I flew with her once in a dream. Through the years she has had the ability to not only reflect parts of my own personality, but also impact many of my views, attitudes, and experiences in life.
Wendy Darling taught me how to grow up without becoming a grown-up. In J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan, and in practically all fairy tales, grown-ups are those who have lost the enchantment. They have forgotten the sparkle of possibility and the longing to dream. Now they are held in a concrete world of obligations, societal rules and stoic masks. Grown-ups don’t embark on quests of adventure, where danger is welcomed and fear is brushed aside. Instead they dream up worlds of security and comfort. They try to please those around them by putting on corporate costumes and wearing alternating masks at home, at work, and at “play”. I will never be a grown-up, but I will always be growing up.
The day I turned eighteen, my father said it was time to start acting like a grown-up. He said if I wanted to be taken seriously and treated as an adult, I damn sure had to act like one. There I was, about to be pushed into the adult world where creased pants, button-down blouses and patent pumps threatened to take the place of my ruffled tutu, knee-high socks and scuffed-up shoes. With my feet slipping and my knees buckling, I was straddling the chasm between childhood innocence and the reality of adulthood. Life had given me an ultimatum: either enter the swift, practical and independent world of adulthood, or cling to childhood and long for a past which time only sustains in a memory.
But, I realized I will never have to choose—Wendy Darling didn’t. In Peter Pan, Wendy is pulled in one direction by the desire to remain in Neverland with its endless realm of imagination and childhood creativity. Forcing her in the opposite direction are Wendy’s parents and the unspoken laws of society which command her to grow up, move out of the nursery, stop her silly nonsensical dreams and become a lady. However, Wendy refuses to be torn between these two worlds. Unlike most children who relinquish their dreams as a right of passage into adulthood, Wendy ages but never lets go of her Neverland. She continues to believe in a world of radiating beauty, in a world of buoyant hope, and in a world of boundless imagination—in a world so many have lost and forgotten.
Because of Wendy Darling, I will never be one of those who have lost their hopes and forgotten their dreams. Inevitably, I will grow old; my skin will loosely sag from my brittle bones, my hair will glisten with emerging strands of grey and white, and my body will declare mutiny as it aches and wilts. But I will never allow my imagination, and the radiating life that dwells there, to die. Wendy Darling taught me growing up is inevitable, but glowing embers of unencumbered dreams, hopes and imaginings must be plucked from childhood and clasped tightly in adulthood to breathe fervent life into mere existence.
ps. dad your dialogue was changed to protect you for artistic purposes. HA. well "damn well" sounded more dramatic didn't it? it's what you meant anyways :)
this is my essay that i have FINALIZED for my application into atlantic acting school. the prompt was to write about a character in fiction who has had influence on you and what that influence is. so here goes:
I FINISHED SOMETHING!
Once when I was young, I dreamt I could fly. In my dream I scrambled to the top of our saggy, worn-out den couch, spread out my scrawny arms, uncurled my clenched fists, closed my eyes to wish upon happy thoughts, and jumped. But instead of flopping onto a pile of pillows as I had done in countless games of make believe, in my dream I actually flew. With my scratchy pink nightgown, and arms spread out like a bird, I was Wendy Darling.
Having been raised on a steady diet of dusty, yellowed books and 2-D Disney animation, I was thoroughly acquainted with the enchanted characters that lived in fairy tales. Yet there was one story that continued to draw me back even after I had let go of nightlights and good-night kisses. In it lived a girl I believed to be real as a child and whose image I vividly remember even now. Her name was Wendy Darling and I flew with her once in a dream. Through the years she has had the ability to not only reflect parts of my own personality, but also impact many of my views, attitudes, and experiences in life.
Wendy Darling taught me how to grow up without becoming a grown-up. In J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan, and in practically all fairy tales, grown-ups are those who have lost the enchantment. They have forgotten the sparkle of possibility and the longing to dream. Now they are held in a concrete world of obligations, societal rules and stoic masks. Grown-ups don’t embark on quests of adventure, where danger is welcomed and fear is brushed aside. Instead they dream up worlds of security and comfort. They try to please those around them by putting on corporate costumes and wearing alternating masks at home, at work, and at “play”. I will never be a grown-up, but I will always be growing up.
The day I turned eighteen, my father said it was time to start acting like a grown-up. He said if I wanted to be taken seriously and treated as an adult, I damn sure had to act like one. There I was, about to be pushed into the adult world where creased pants, button-down blouses and patent pumps threatened to take the place of my ruffled tutu, knee-high socks and scuffed-up shoes. With my feet slipping and my knees buckling, I was straddling the chasm between childhood innocence and the reality of adulthood. Life had given me an ultimatum: either enter the swift, practical and independent world of adulthood, or cling to childhood and long for a past which time only sustains in a memory.
But, I realized I will never have to choose—Wendy Darling didn’t. In Peter Pan, Wendy is pulled in one direction by the desire to remain in Neverland with its endless realm of imagination and childhood creativity. Forcing her in the opposite direction are Wendy’s parents and the unspoken laws of society which command her to grow up, move out of the nursery, stop her silly nonsensical dreams and become a lady. However, Wendy refuses to be torn between these two worlds. Unlike most children who relinquish their dreams as a right of passage into adulthood, Wendy ages but never lets go of her Neverland. She continues to believe in a world of radiating beauty, in a world of buoyant hope, and in a world of boundless imagination—in a world so many have lost and forgotten.
Because of Wendy Darling, I will never be one of those who have lost their hopes and forgotten their dreams. Inevitably, I will grow old; my skin will loosely sag from my brittle bones, my hair will glisten with emerging strands of grey and white, and my body will declare mutiny as it aches and wilts. But I will never allow my imagination, and the radiating life that dwells there, to die. Wendy Darling taught me growing up is inevitable, but glowing embers of unencumbered dreams, hopes and imaginings must be plucked from childhood and clasped tightly in adulthood to breathe fervent life into mere existence.
ps. dad your dialogue was changed to protect you for artistic purposes. HA. well "damn well" sounded more dramatic didn't it? it's what you meant anyways :)
Sunday, June 15, 2008
uagh! i haven't written in such a long time, i wan to say that so much has happened--and it probably has, but in my mind i just forget a whole whole lot. i am really bad at deadlines. really i think i've found out i am. and it's not that i can meet them or don't wnat to meet them--i just have no consequence for meeting them. jeepers. this hurts writing this. like that sinking feeling deep down in your chest where your heart is, or where your parents tell you your heart is when you're a little kid and you're playing doctor and trying to find the heartbeat with that little plastic yellow and blue stethoscope. i can't even place it. but i missed another deadline. it was a personal deadline. and i had all intentions of meeting it and doing it, but i just...didn't. WHY. why why why why why? i have no idea. and then i beat myself up about it (haven't got fully to that point yet) and then i have to move forward. I HAVE TO move forward i have to keep telling myself this. i have to stop talking to myself and just let my body do it. because there's no reason not to. today ashley and i went down to the radio city music hall to see the red carpet for the tony's. ash loves it--it's like how the academy awards are to me. but the whole time we were down there i couldn't stop thinking how weird our culture is. we line p to see people get out of cars with black windows to walk on some red carpet. everyone that isn't nominated for an award folows this unspoken rule of wearing black and i actually heard people on the streets say "wouldn't that be nice. people screaming your name" maybe i think too much about this stuff. i mean yeah it's glamourous and all, but it really amounts to what? people feeling obligated to get dressed up to walk around with this mask of celebrity on. we stood next to a little girl who was about 8 and she was telling a little boy a story, then a limo pulls up and she just starts screaming. she yells and shouts and yells to her dad " i don't know who it is but it's a celebrity!!! you're a celebrity! you're famous!!" it was just kind of sad to me to see this little kid have so much feeling towards someone just because they were a celebrity. i don't know. it was weird. i was just watching the man who was telling the limos to pull up and where to park. it was such a big to do. this guy was a heavy-set guy in a tan suit and dress shoes wearing sunglasses at 7pm who thought way too much about his job and thought he was in the parking car mafia. the funniest thing was how super pissed off he got when this tour bus somehow managed to get through and was just trying to go down the street. he started yelling at the bus and no one knew what to do--it was what they would call a "situation". dude, just let the bus through, no big deal right? wrong. i swear after the bus finally went through this man was standing there with clenched fists dangling off of his arms; he was trying to disguise the fact that he felt threatened at his job and wanted to maintain this weird facade of intimidation in his tan suit and camel shoes and sunglasses. it's just funny.
funny funny people
oh ps. i think im starting a book about seconds in people's lives. it's like looking through a photo album of strangers and in the few ticks of a second it takes to actually take in a photograph--it tells a story of a life. i'm thinking of calling it Momentics. that sounds weird but i don't care
funny funny people
oh ps. i think im starting a book about seconds in people's lives. it's like looking through a photo album of strangers and in the few ticks of a second it takes to actually take in a photograph--it tells a story of a life. i'm thinking of calling it Momentics. that sounds weird but i don't care
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Today was a hard day
Yeah, today was hard, to say the leaset. I get frustrated when I'm writing this right now because so much of me just doesn't feel good enough. I know I deserve, deserve is the wrong word, I don't know what word is right so I'll take it. I deserve to be here just as much as anybody, but some part of me is just, so afraid. I was washing my face tonight and thinking about the drive to murfreesboro and how don't ever want to make that drive again, ever. But I HAVE to move forward. I HAVE to stop telling myself that I'm not good enough. I HAVE to stop being afraid. It's that simple. Moving forward takes actiona nd initiative. It just does and I have to DO.
ehch. today I presented something from the book the prophet by kahlil gibran in adler class. the book is all about the ideas, the BIG ideas that affect humanity and we had to choose one to present (get the book, read it, understand it by the way). so i went up there and i tried to give away the big idea. patrick my teacher stopped me and told me that i needed to use basically what i had, my experiences, my personal life. and i swear it was one of the most vulnerable but freeing experiences ive ever had. there was nothing but the present. and i said somethings that i couldn't believe that i opened my mouth and let people in to. i don't know--like the fact that i sleep next to the wall with a pillow beside me and a small corner of my old blanket draped across my side and lower back because i imagine that instead of a blanket there will someday be my husbands arm around me and i will feel beautiful. the fact that when i'm walking down the street i look in every shop window and mirror to make sure i look okay. to fix my hair. to keep up this illusion of trying to be "beautiful". the fact taht i have arm fat and i get disgusted by my stomach still and compare myself to girls who are half my size hoping that if i could only be like them then i would be beautiful. the truth that i am mortified when i wear a leotard leggings and a skirt to movement class and the teacher tells me to take off my skirt and then everyone can seel the places where my body curves or sticks out or my panty lines and my roll indentions. things like that. but the fact that i have to understand that beauty isn't about any of those things. the fact that beauty isn't something to be obtained--it is freely given and should be received. it is forever in action like "a garden always growing or a flock of angels always in flight". gibran says that beauty is life when life unveils her holy face. but we are life and we are the veil. we don't look each other in the eyes and exchange beauty. we hoarde it and de-sanctify it. we plasticize it. we turn beauty from something unique and ethereal into something whorish and simply tactile.
i'm going to stop because im just rambling. but i am so passionate about beauty. so very passionate. mm it radiates, it pulses, it just is so warm and i want to bask in it.
just think about beauty.
and look people in the eyes when you talk to them because you'll see something.
ehch. today I presented something from the book the prophet by kahlil gibran in adler class. the book is all about the ideas, the BIG ideas that affect humanity and we had to choose one to present (get the book, read it, understand it by the way). so i went up there and i tried to give away the big idea. patrick my teacher stopped me and told me that i needed to use basically what i had, my experiences, my personal life. and i swear it was one of the most vulnerable but freeing experiences ive ever had. there was nothing but the present. and i said somethings that i couldn't believe that i opened my mouth and let people in to. i don't know--like the fact that i sleep next to the wall with a pillow beside me and a small corner of my old blanket draped across my side and lower back because i imagine that instead of a blanket there will someday be my husbands arm around me and i will feel beautiful. the fact that when i'm walking down the street i look in every shop window and mirror to make sure i look okay. to fix my hair. to keep up this illusion of trying to be "beautiful". the fact taht i have arm fat and i get disgusted by my stomach still and compare myself to girls who are half my size hoping that if i could only be like them then i would be beautiful. the truth that i am mortified when i wear a leotard leggings and a skirt to movement class and the teacher tells me to take off my skirt and then everyone can seel the places where my body curves or sticks out or my panty lines and my roll indentions. things like that. but the fact that i have to understand that beauty isn't about any of those things. the fact that beauty isn't something to be obtained--it is freely given and should be received. it is forever in action like "a garden always growing or a flock of angels always in flight". gibran says that beauty is life when life unveils her holy face. but we are life and we are the veil. we don't look each other in the eyes and exchange beauty. we hoarde it and de-sanctify it. we plasticize it. we turn beauty from something unique and ethereal into something whorish and simply tactile.
i'm going to stop because im just rambling. but i am so passionate about beauty. so very passionate. mm it radiates, it pulses, it just is so warm and i want to bask in it.
just think about beauty.
and look people in the eyes when you talk to them because you'll see something.
Monday, June 9, 2008
So Today
I got to see Phylicia Rashad talk. In other words--Clair Huxtable--Mrs. Cosby anyone? yeah that's the one. It was so cool- like inside the actor's studio but for my school and no stuffy james lipton who asks "what turns you on" and "how did you feel about your mother's rocky relationship with you step-father". james lipton is mr. potatohead. anyways--i swear this woman is one of those women who are just beautiful and at peace with themselves. there are types of people who glow and are beautiful because they know who they are, they speak and are mindful of their words, they are centered and just basically radiate. i hope that when i'm old i'll be able to be like that; it's just inspiring.
I'm memorizing Shakespeare right now and have a scene to present tomorrow from Twelfth Night. I'm stressed out because I have a scene partner who is nice and sweet but just doesn't have the drive to work and it's awkward. I swear I'm having to learn patience and self-control. I'm so glad I have Ashley here because I've discovered that when I get stressed, I get nervous and antsy and negative and then I beat myself up. She just sat me down and was like "ok, listen what's the worst that could happen? it'll be fine" and it will be.
i had to be a meerkat today. I don't think i did enough work or observation. you look at people around you and we're learning that so much in acting can be derived from nature. you can use mannerisms, idiosyncrasies, habits from nature to inform the creation of your character---instead of trying to conjure up feelings that will end up being fake and forced and playing a type or imitating and not being free to just do. it's fascinating-i'm learning a lot.
sorry this post was kind of generic. i'm tired and tomorrow i have to say this:
"Look, sir! Such a one I was this present! Is 't not well done? 'Tis engraved, sir; 'Twill endure wind and weather...Your lord does know my mind. I cannot love him. Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth, in voices well-divulged, free, learn'ed and valiant, and in dimension and shape of nature a gracious person. but yet i cannot love him. he might have took his answer long ago."
geez louise, my tongue and mind are having seizures.
I'm memorizing Shakespeare right now and have a scene to present tomorrow from Twelfth Night. I'm stressed out because I have a scene partner who is nice and sweet but just doesn't have the drive to work and it's awkward. I swear I'm having to learn patience and self-control. I'm so glad I have Ashley here because I've discovered that when I get stressed, I get nervous and antsy and negative and then I beat myself up. She just sat me down and was like "ok, listen what's the worst that could happen? it'll be fine" and it will be.
i had to be a meerkat today. I don't think i did enough work or observation. you look at people around you and we're learning that so much in acting can be derived from nature. you can use mannerisms, idiosyncrasies, habits from nature to inform the creation of your character---instead of trying to conjure up feelings that will end up being fake and forced and playing a type or imitating and not being free to just do. it's fascinating-i'm learning a lot.
sorry this post was kind of generic. i'm tired and tomorrow i have to say this:
"Look, sir! Such a one I was this present! Is 't not well done? 'Tis engraved, sir; 'Twill endure wind and weather...Your lord does know my mind. I cannot love him. Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth, in voices well-divulged, free, learn'ed and valiant, and in dimension and shape of nature a gracious person. but yet i cannot love him. he might have took his answer long ago."
geez louise, my tongue and mind are having seizures.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Can you see him? I hope so.
A little something I wrote tonight about a man I saw on the subway; I hope you like it, but more importantly, I hope you can see him:
"Bigsby Rysdale frequented the subway stop at chambers street every morning at approximately 6:03am. He preferred caked not glazed donuts and enjoyed the occasional game of Parcheesi with Madge, his next door neighbor.
Every morning at 5:11 Bigsby hit the snooze button on his alarm clock. He counted 58 seconds I his head before rolling out of his tangled sheets and slipping his stiff small feet into cotton slippers. Even though Bigsby was 57 years old, he still laid his clothes out nightly for the next day as his mother had taught him to do more than 50 years before.
Of course, bigsby’s mother was now dead. He stole a box of recipes from her house before the lawyer came to appraise everything as Bigsby’s sister, Laine, had arranged. Every now and again, when he was feeling quite saggy and bland in his heart, Bigsby would take the box of recipes down from the top shelf in his closet and make his mother’s famous potatoes au gratin. They were still his childhood comfort—cheesy soft potatoes, sliced into thin starchy saucers, warm and slippery in his mouth, salty and chewy and somehow extraordinarily comforting…"
"Bigsby Rysdale frequented the subway stop at chambers street every morning at approximately 6:03am. He preferred caked not glazed donuts and enjoyed the occasional game of Parcheesi with Madge, his next door neighbor.
Every morning at 5:11 Bigsby hit the snooze button on his alarm clock. He counted 58 seconds I his head before rolling out of his tangled sheets and slipping his stiff small feet into cotton slippers. Even though Bigsby was 57 years old, he still laid his clothes out nightly for the next day as his mother had taught him to do more than 50 years before.
Of course, bigsby’s mother was now dead. He stole a box of recipes from her house before the lawyer came to appraise everything as Bigsby’s sister, Laine, had arranged. Every now and again, when he was feeling quite saggy and bland in his heart, Bigsby would take the box of recipes down from the top shelf in his closet and make his mother’s famous potatoes au gratin. They were still his childhood comfort—cheesy soft potatoes, sliced into thin starchy saucers, warm and slippery in his mouth, salty and chewy and somehow extraordinarily comforting…"
Friday, June 6, 2008
Holey Moley
I can't believe I haven't written since this past Monday--I just guess a lot has been going on. Sorry Mom for not updating :)
This week has flown by way too fast and yet at the same time, I am so exhausted--my ribs ache, my butt muscles hurt from moving like a giraffe and then like a hippo, I've read at least 2 books this week and have to read 3 or 4 more by the end of the next. A teacher almost made me cry; I've been pissed, I've been embarrassed, I've been growing--and it hurts, I've been restless (but not in a bad way), and I'm learning what beauty is.
So that's why I haven't had time to write. Plus I need to get at least 4 hours of sleep a night.
There's so much going through my mind right now that I have no idea of what to write about, so maybe I'll just tell you what I've seen this week. On Tuesday I went up to Spanish Harlem with Ashley to the museum mile where all the museums were free entry that day. Unfortunately, the museum "mile" is more like 10 so we only got to go to the city of New York Museum which was okay, I guess. We went up to the top floor where it was sweltering and everyone was fanning themselves with maps of the museum. The air was thick and because it was a museum it was musty and yellowed-smelling (do you know what I mean?). We saw some old dollhouses and then decided to leave. But the best thing about that trip wasn't the museum at all.
Outside on the pavement there were chalk drawings. Sidewalk chalk was given out freely and everyone was putting down what they had to say to the world. Kids were drawing stick figure portraits of their family, young and in love teenagers were etching their chalky names inside hearts on the street like someone might carve names into a tree. Older people were writing quotes, life lessons that they deemed worthy enough to pass on to the rest of the world. And I just looked. And walked. I should've written something, but I guess I didn't know what to say and didn't want to fill the pavement with some jumbled up quote that I just happened to have floating around in my mind. I should've though.
On the way back home I saw a man in the subway station that was doubled-over on the floor. I wanted to stop. I wanted to jump out of the spawning stream of people that was overflowing into the downtown platform. I wanted to put my hand on his back and ask him if he needed help. But I didn't. I guess the whole--you're in spanish harlem; you're 20 and female--he's a middle-aged man--fear stepped in the way. I don't ever have a lot of regrets in life. But that's something I do regret. I went down to the platform and these two kids my age were flinging their backpacks about with their caps tilted just slightly to the side--one was trying to explain to the other that up at the platform he had knocked down a man with his backpack; he was trying to justify it by the fact that the man should've gotten out of the way, it was an accident--no big deal.
but I knew that man was still up there doubled over on the floor and I did nothing.
In life you can't just stand by HOPING that someone will get up okay or that someone older, someone more inclined to help will stop by and help. You have to be that which someone is hoping for. Hope is a powerful thing--but if nothing is in action, hopes will just end up being thoughts selfishly stuck in independent minds and never taking on fruition.
it's weird, huh?
yep. but so beautiful.
This week has flown by way too fast and yet at the same time, I am so exhausted--my ribs ache, my butt muscles hurt from moving like a giraffe and then like a hippo, I've read at least 2 books this week and have to read 3 or 4 more by the end of the next. A teacher almost made me cry; I've been pissed, I've been embarrassed, I've been growing--and it hurts, I've been restless (but not in a bad way), and I'm learning what beauty is.
So that's why I haven't had time to write. Plus I need to get at least 4 hours of sleep a night.
There's so much going through my mind right now that I have no idea of what to write about, so maybe I'll just tell you what I've seen this week. On Tuesday I went up to Spanish Harlem with Ashley to the museum mile where all the museums were free entry that day. Unfortunately, the museum "mile" is more like 10 so we only got to go to the city of New York Museum which was okay, I guess. We went up to the top floor where it was sweltering and everyone was fanning themselves with maps of the museum. The air was thick and because it was a museum it was musty and yellowed-smelling (do you know what I mean?). We saw some old dollhouses and then decided to leave. But the best thing about that trip wasn't the museum at all.
Outside on the pavement there were chalk drawings. Sidewalk chalk was given out freely and everyone was putting down what they had to say to the world. Kids were drawing stick figure portraits of their family, young and in love teenagers were etching their chalky names inside hearts on the street like someone might carve names into a tree. Older people were writing quotes, life lessons that they deemed worthy enough to pass on to the rest of the world. And I just looked. And walked. I should've written something, but I guess I didn't know what to say and didn't want to fill the pavement with some jumbled up quote that I just happened to have floating around in my mind. I should've though.
On the way back home I saw a man in the subway station that was doubled-over on the floor. I wanted to stop. I wanted to jump out of the spawning stream of people that was overflowing into the downtown platform. I wanted to put my hand on his back and ask him if he needed help. But I didn't. I guess the whole--you're in spanish harlem; you're 20 and female--he's a middle-aged man--fear stepped in the way. I don't ever have a lot of regrets in life. But that's something I do regret. I went down to the platform and these two kids my age were flinging their backpacks about with their caps tilted just slightly to the side--one was trying to explain to the other that up at the platform he had knocked down a man with his backpack; he was trying to justify it by the fact that the man should've gotten out of the way, it was an accident--no big deal.
but I knew that man was still up there doubled over on the floor and I did nothing.
In life you can't just stand by HOPING that someone will get up okay or that someone older, someone more inclined to help will stop by and help. You have to be that which someone is hoping for. Hope is a powerful thing--but if nothing is in action, hopes will just end up being thoughts selfishly stuck in independent minds and never taking on fruition.
it's weird, huh?
yep. but so beautiful.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Today, you need to laugh
I don't have a whole lot to say today. Class was good--the one class that I had. Ashley and I spent the last two hours tonight doing 3 point entrance scenes--basically knowing how to enter a room and have purpose. I have to read twelfth night and perform a scene next tuesday-wahookaboodle. jeez ive never done shakespeare before and so it will be quite interesting. my character teacher is AMAZING. she's this old little woman in her 70s with thick glasses and a certain life about her that says "I don't give a crap what you think about me. i know who i am and baby, i'm glowing. i know im old but thats not stopping me from doing what i want to do. you better live life on the edge of your seats" i had to act like a giraffe today. it was fun. i felt like i could get away with it like those kids who go around pretending they're dogs when they're 5--woofing and slobbering and climbing and only communicating in dog-language. it's pretty hilarious when you see a kid do that.
speaking of. here are some pictures of what nyc has done to me as a person.
personally, i feel that once in everyones life they need to pee their pants laughing. i hope it happens when you look at these.
this is how i looked when i came to this city. normal? by most standards.
slowly the city began to morph and shape me as i took on new personas.
new identities began to surface within me. i felt like i was turning into what would be the incredible hulk version of jessika erin doyel.
my appetite began to swell and i had an intense craving for lemonade and my double, triple and quadruple chins, my sidekicks began to emerge from my own flesh!
soon, i recruited a friend to my cause and she began to see my ways, to see the hulk in her and morph into her true being.
with the powers of earth, wind, fire and heart our bodies were molded and contorted to show the true beauty of earth and GAEA GODDESS OF EARTH!
soon, we became a force to be reckoned with. our largess spilled from our bellies on to the subways of new york city. our heroism rivaled that of skinny jean wearing peter parker and our appetite that of godzilla. we were goddesses among wom men? anyways we drank a lot of lemonade elixer and made youtube videos even better than BLUHD baby and screaming britney spears boy.
speaking of. here are some pictures of what nyc has done to me as a person.
personally, i feel that once in everyones life they need to pee their pants laughing. i hope it happens when you look at these.
this is how i looked when i came to this city. normal? by most standards.
slowly the city began to morph and shape me as i took on new personas.
new identities began to surface within me. i felt like i was turning into what would be the incredible hulk version of jessika erin doyel.
my appetite began to swell and i had an intense craving for lemonade and my double, triple and quadruple chins, my sidekicks began to emerge from my own flesh!
soon, i recruited a friend to my cause and she began to see my ways, to see the hulk in her and morph into her true being.
with the powers of earth, wind, fire and heart our bodies were molded and contorted to show the true beauty of earth and GAEA GODDESS OF EARTH!
soon, we became a force to be reckoned with. our largess spilled from our bellies on to the subways of new york city. our heroism rivaled that of skinny jean wearing peter parker and our appetite that of godzilla. we were goddesses among wom men? anyways we drank a lot of lemonade elixer and made youtube videos even better than BLUHD baby and screaming britney spears boy.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
I forgot...
I forgot to write last night. Well, not really. I didn't forget--I think I chose not to because I couldn't think of anything interesting to say. That happens a lot with me.
It's sunday morning and a part of me wishes I was back home going to the church that I love with my family and then going to fido with my sister and rachael afterwards, sitting in an over-air-conditioned booth or next to the place by the window where my name is carved to people-watch and dub over people's conversations across the street. but im here. and it's an uncomfortable feeling to be here. i realize that im not bold enough, not yet sure, strong enough in so many ways. I'm scared to say what i believe anywhere because i'm afraid to offend then then not make friends. but this truth is at the core of me. its like this suppression that im doing for no reason besides the fact that im afraid of what people think of me.
so that's whats in my heart.
today i woke up and i could hear singing across the street from a church choir--it was one of the most beautiful things i've heard. the voices were all one together, rising and falling sort of like a tide and everyone sang so loudly and fully. funny. there's a lot that i want to write, but at the same time i have a habit of opening my mouth about anything and not mulling it over inside first to make sure i say what i think in the right words
blah. there are no right words.
i have to read a whole lotta today. but today will be good. im convinced. ill write more tonight
It's sunday morning and a part of me wishes I was back home going to the church that I love with my family and then going to fido with my sister and rachael afterwards, sitting in an over-air-conditioned booth or next to the place by the window where my name is carved to people-watch and dub over people's conversations across the street. but im here. and it's an uncomfortable feeling to be here. i realize that im not bold enough, not yet sure, strong enough in so many ways. I'm scared to say what i believe anywhere because i'm afraid to offend then then not make friends. but this truth is at the core of me. its like this suppression that im doing for no reason besides the fact that im afraid of what people think of me.
so that's whats in my heart.
today i woke up and i could hear singing across the street from a church choir--it was one of the most beautiful things i've heard. the voices were all one together, rising and falling sort of like a tide and everyone sang so loudly and fully. funny. there's a lot that i want to write, but at the same time i have a habit of opening my mouth about anything and not mulling it over inside first to make sure i say what i think in the right words
blah. there are no right words.
i have to read a whole lotta today. but today will be good. im convinced. ill write more tonight
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