i don't often pick up new music because i don't hear too darn well. in fact i ought to be that old lady in the chair, with the giant cone held up to her ear. i'm partially deaf, and if you know me well enough, you stay on my right hand side.
if you don't know me that well, you'll probably stumble at some point when i dash around to your left, to make sure i can hear what you're saying. i do read lips, but not well enough to get by entirely on that alone. it's all about positioning myself; in the good times when i'm not unhappy to be deaf, i think of it as a sunflower just getting in the way of the rays, turning and twisting.
at other times, when i'm laughing at a joke i can't hear, or sitting at the wrong end of a table confounded by the conversation, it's a burden, one that i don't want to carry.
in the scheme of things, it's a pretty small burden--all my limbs work, my eyesight is fine, etc. it's just this bum ear.
anyway, at work, the gal to might right (the good side) turns on her radio every day. i can hear the words if the singer is the right pitch; most of the time i just tune it out, because i'm on the phone or concentrating on something else entirely. lately there's a song that's played over and over and all i can hear is the chorus: just breathe.
who is the singer? what does the rest of the song sound like? the deaf girl knoweth naught.
last saturday i met my sister downtown for a concert. she's pressing me to get a myspace account, because she has one and is addicted to them. while waiting between bands i glance at the up and coming posters--who's travelling through. one name sounds interesting.
so a few days later when i finally give in and set up my my space account, i look up the name. the song playing on the account is not familiar; i click on the next one available.
and there it is--just breathe.
so yesterday the deaf girl bought a cd. listened to it for a good three hours last night. and i really, really like it. the words are well wrought, and anna nalick's voice is a little smoky, a little husky, a little young. there's something warm about it that appeals to me in the same way that norah jones did, years ago.
strange turns take you to where you need to be. this isn't my normal listening music--generally i like heavier rock, and recently i just keep listening to the same Disturbed cd over and over. so it was time for something new, i suppose. it's just strange the path that you can see, once you have arrived at some stopping point on the journey.
***
Breathe (2 am) -- Anna Nalick, off "Wreck of the Day"
2 AM and she calls me 'cause I'm still awake,
"Can you help me unravel my latest mistake?,
I don't love him. Winter just wasn't my season"
Yeah we walk through the doors, so accusing their eyes
Like they have any right at all to criticize,
Hypocrites. You're all here for the very same reason
'Cause you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button, girl.
So cradle your head in your hands
And breathe... just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe
May he turn 21 on the base at Fort Bliss
"Just a day" he said down to the flask in his fist,
"Ain't been sober, since maybe October of last year."
Here in town you can tell he's been down for a while,
But, my God, it's so beautiful when the boy smiles,
Wanna hold him. Maybe I'll just sing about it.
Cause you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable,
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table.
No one can find the rewind button, boys,
So cradle your head in your hands,
And breathe... just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe
There's a light at each end of this tunnel,
You shout 'cause you're just as far in as you'll ever be out
And these mistakes you've made, you'll just make them again
If you only try turning around.
2 AM and I'm still awake, writing a song
If I get it all down on paper, it's no longer inside of me,
Threatening the life it belongs to
And I feel like I'm naked in front of the crowd
Cause these words are my diary, screaming out loud
And I know that you'll use them, however you want to
But you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable,
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button now
Sing it if you understand.
and breathe, just breathe
woah breathe, just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
running in place
so tuesday was my last appointment with my psychologist, helene. i'm terribly bummed that she's moving. at the same time, i feel like i'm entering some kind of graduate area in which i may be able to not see a therapist all the time.
that being said, i already have another one lined up. just need to find time to call my insurance provider and make sure that she's covered, even tho it says she is on the site. oh well.
there's this ongoing list of shit that i have to get done--around the house, with bills, you name it. living just as an adult is a freaking full time job--without the regular nine to five cubeland drudge. it's invoices for your heat, credits and debits, paperwork and filing and stamps and envelope licking.
i need an assistant.
course the job description would suck, and i doubt that i'd want it, myself.
"amateur thirty-year-old looking for professional assistant to organize, de-clutterize, and manage her life. must be willing to do dishes, vacuum the stairs, pay bills online, clip coupons, and clean out the litterbox as needed. other duties may apply, including pedicures, facials, general primping in the morning prior to work, and ironing. this is a volunteer position. if you are interested, please call...blah blah blah..."
yeah, sign me up for that one.
when i was a kid my sisters and i all shared a room--the three of us, pretending we were in college and in a dorm room all at the same time. you grow up and find out that you actually can't live with your sisters anymore, not because of the miles between you but because of the time between you--the time spent with other friends, growing up in your own ways.
my sisters and i are like three shrubs at the nursery. we're all marked with the same tag. but we're all different shapes, too. i'm short and round, my sister is tall and lovely, and another is slender and svelte. we all belong in different places--perhaps i'm for under a window, beth is for near the stairs, and sara's for sitting by a doorway, framing the height.
or something like that. it's been a long week, cut me some slack.
anyway, i think back on those days and i wish that it could be as easy as we dreamed--living together, going out dancing, sharing all our secrets between us. the bond is still strong--apparently mitochondrial dna is a much more solid glue than anything else. i don't usually see men figuring these things out on their own, let alone being able to voice them.
last night we went out to dinner for craig's birthday, at ichiban's, a japanese steakhouse downtown minneapolis. dan and i took the train; it was cheaper and easier--no battling traffic or finding a parking space. the dinner was a great deal of fun, although a bit pricier than i'd normally imagine spending. afterwards we walked back to the train, as the rain pattered down, and then got on the train and meandered home.
sitting here making a mental list of the stuff to be done around the house, i think of how i would like to be able to curl up with a cup of cocoa with my sisters, and share the story of such a lovely night--holding hands in the rain, laughing at the teppanyaki chef, drinking ice cold chilled sake. it's something that i will always remember.
nowdays it's harder to share things with my sisters. i think it's that pool of unknown time between us, the fact that we are shaped so differently after all these years. sometimes i feel as though i have run in place--that i am still running in place--being the oldest, wanting to help them, protect them, pick them up.
at night, sleeping in the same room as children, we shared the same air. we woke up talking to each other in our sleep. when i got to college and slept alone in the room for the first time, i slept poorly, waking often without the reassuring hum of siblings. i suppose that is where i would find that same childhood solace again, sleeping dark and formless.
it makes me wonder if they also feel that same marathon, neverending adulthood, the scales balanced?
that being said, i already have another one lined up. just need to find time to call my insurance provider and make sure that she's covered, even tho it says she is on the site. oh well.
there's this ongoing list of shit that i have to get done--around the house, with bills, you name it. living just as an adult is a freaking full time job--without the regular nine to five cubeland drudge. it's invoices for your heat, credits and debits, paperwork and filing and stamps and envelope licking.
i need an assistant.
course the job description would suck, and i doubt that i'd want it, myself.
"amateur thirty-year-old looking for professional assistant to organize, de-clutterize, and manage her life. must be willing to do dishes, vacuum the stairs, pay bills online, clip coupons, and clean out the litterbox as needed. other duties may apply, including pedicures, facials, general primping in the morning prior to work, and ironing. this is a volunteer position. if you are interested, please call...blah blah blah..."
yeah, sign me up for that one.
when i was a kid my sisters and i all shared a room--the three of us, pretending we were in college and in a dorm room all at the same time. you grow up and find out that you actually can't live with your sisters anymore, not because of the miles between you but because of the time between you--the time spent with other friends, growing up in your own ways.
my sisters and i are like three shrubs at the nursery. we're all marked with the same tag. but we're all different shapes, too. i'm short and round, my sister is tall and lovely, and another is slender and svelte. we all belong in different places--perhaps i'm for under a window, beth is for near the stairs, and sara's for sitting by a doorway, framing the height.
or something like that. it's been a long week, cut me some slack.
anyway, i think back on those days and i wish that it could be as easy as we dreamed--living together, going out dancing, sharing all our secrets between us. the bond is still strong--apparently mitochondrial dna is a much more solid glue than anything else. i don't usually see men figuring these things out on their own, let alone being able to voice them.
last night we went out to dinner for craig's birthday, at ichiban's, a japanese steakhouse downtown minneapolis. dan and i took the train; it was cheaper and easier--no battling traffic or finding a parking space. the dinner was a great deal of fun, although a bit pricier than i'd normally imagine spending. afterwards we walked back to the train, as the rain pattered down, and then got on the train and meandered home.
sitting here making a mental list of the stuff to be done around the house, i think of how i would like to be able to curl up with a cup of cocoa with my sisters, and share the story of such a lovely night--holding hands in the rain, laughing at the teppanyaki chef, drinking ice cold chilled sake. it's something that i will always remember.
nowdays it's harder to share things with my sisters. i think it's that pool of unknown time between us, the fact that we are shaped so differently after all these years. sometimes i feel as though i have run in place--that i am still running in place--being the oldest, wanting to help them, protect them, pick them up.
at night, sleeping in the same room as children, we shared the same air. we woke up talking to each other in our sleep. when i got to college and slept alone in the room for the first time, i slept poorly, waking often without the reassuring hum of siblings. i suppose that is where i would find that same childhood solace again, sleeping dark and formless.
it makes me wonder if they also feel that same marathon, neverending adulthood, the scales balanced?
Saturday, July 22, 2006
i feel like karma tonight.
today has been a mishmash of memory and future.
i had to stop at work this morning and actually work for a few hours--which wasn't bad, and will get me ahead and reduce stress next week. both of which i can appreciate. on the way home, i hit some garage sales for my dear friend cathy, who's expecting right around my mom's birthday in november. i got a lot of great baby stuff, including toys and a few clothes and books. and my fave buy: a graco pack and play crib, used very little, for only $20! to give you an idea of my elation: usually those sell for about 70-90 clamshells.
being the bargain hunter that i am, it was a warm fuzzy. thinking of the future of this little one, whose nose looks just like its mommy's, even in utero.
at the same time, this morning was a meditation on the past. my youngest sister and i were talking about friends whose relationships were taking unexpected dips and sways--spouses unsure of their feelings, or feeling things for someone other than their intended.
i never thought that i would be entirely glad about discovering what i did last summer. at the same time, if i had not explored this territory, the dark parts of my soul and the forgotten, dusty arena of my relationship withdan, i would not be where i am: learning.
i'd be stuck with one foot in the mud and the other in a solidifying vat of cement.
i admit, i have a long way to go. i'm still re-imagining my self, and my role in kim and dan, inc. but my eyes are more open now; i'm not deluding myself, and when and if i drift into excuses, i can discuss it openly.
when i was a kid, about 5 or 6, my sister and i had a little table. it was from the seventies, so the legs were metal and the top was metal. the legs had little white rubber feet on them, but this was no lightweight plastic thing that kids have nowadays. we decided to move the table; halfway across the room, my sister dropped her side, and it fell on my right foot, second toe in from my big toe.
when i look at that toe now, if the nail is unpainted, i can see the fissure from back then. whatever i spliced apart healed up, but it grows with a line down the middle of my nail, something you can see and feel, if you run your finger over it.
the toe works just dandy--it's not like i lost feeling in it or anything like that. it just looks strange, unpolished. it doesn't look like all the other toenails.
whenever i remember that toe it brings back a twenty-five year old memory of pain--so dim that i can barely remember it. but i've stubbed toes since then, accidentally dropped other things on them, etc. i know how much it smarted then, and i know how much it would hurt now.
i don't think i learned the same things from the table that i obviously am learning from the unveiling of my mental state; toes cannot compare to feelings. but the idea is the same, if on smaller scale: i was careful after that to watch where my feet were, and learned to keep them out of the way whenever i could. i could warn others if i noticed that they were in danger, too.
i have that feeling now, looking back at last year. i think of what avenues have been torn up and are still under construction, the bridges that i am rebuilding. it takes time and patience, which is something i need to remember more often when i am cursing orange construction signs and the smell of hot tar. (;
anyway, i have all this information about living my own life. i thought it was something unique to me, something that someone could interpret and apply to their own life. but it also is something i can share, a lesson that is generally applicable. it's different--but everyone IS different.
the thing i guess i have learned is that while everyone has that toe that's a bit different, they still have the foot--they still understand the cause and the pain, the growth and the joy. those are things that are universal.
in a few months there'll be a new little body and mind in the world, a combination of darin and cathy, small and precious. that child has so far to go--i'm only part of the way through my journey, and i have come a long ways. i don't envy the pain of that still-sheltered life, but i envy the cocoon of safety that child enjoys now, and the joy that child will know in life, too.
my dad always says, "what goes around, comes around." i suppose it always will.
i had to stop at work this morning and actually work for a few hours--which wasn't bad, and will get me ahead and reduce stress next week. both of which i can appreciate. on the way home, i hit some garage sales for my dear friend cathy, who's expecting right around my mom's birthday in november. i got a lot of great baby stuff, including toys and a few clothes and books. and my fave buy: a graco pack and play crib, used very little, for only $20! to give you an idea of my elation: usually those sell for about 70-90 clamshells.
being the bargain hunter that i am, it was a warm fuzzy. thinking of the future of this little one, whose nose looks just like its mommy's, even in utero.
at the same time, this morning was a meditation on the past. my youngest sister and i were talking about friends whose relationships were taking unexpected dips and sways--spouses unsure of their feelings, or feeling things for someone other than their intended.
i never thought that i would be entirely glad about discovering what i did last summer. at the same time, if i had not explored this territory, the dark parts of my soul and the forgotten, dusty arena of my relationship withdan, i would not be where i am: learning.
i'd be stuck with one foot in the mud and the other in a solidifying vat of cement.
i admit, i have a long way to go. i'm still re-imagining my self, and my role in kim and dan, inc. but my eyes are more open now; i'm not deluding myself, and when and if i drift into excuses, i can discuss it openly.
when i was a kid, about 5 or 6, my sister and i had a little table. it was from the seventies, so the legs were metal and the top was metal. the legs had little white rubber feet on them, but this was no lightweight plastic thing that kids have nowadays. we decided to move the table; halfway across the room, my sister dropped her side, and it fell on my right foot, second toe in from my big toe.
when i look at that toe now, if the nail is unpainted, i can see the fissure from back then. whatever i spliced apart healed up, but it grows with a line down the middle of my nail, something you can see and feel, if you run your finger over it.
the toe works just dandy--it's not like i lost feeling in it or anything like that. it just looks strange, unpolished. it doesn't look like all the other toenails.
whenever i remember that toe it brings back a twenty-five year old memory of pain--so dim that i can barely remember it. but i've stubbed toes since then, accidentally dropped other things on them, etc. i know how much it smarted then, and i know how much it would hurt now.
i don't think i learned the same things from the table that i obviously am learning from the unveiling of my mental state; toes cannot compare to feelings. but the idea is the same, if on smaller scale: i was careful after that to watch where my feet were, and learned to keep them out of the way whenever i could. i could warn others if i noticed that they were in danger, too.
i have that feeling now, looking back at last year. i think of what avenues have been torn up and are still under construction, the bridges that i am rebuilding. it takes time and patience, which is something i need to remember more often when i am cursing orange construction signs and the smell of hot tar. (;
anyway, i have all this information about living my own life. i thought it was something unique to me, something that someone could interpret and apply to their own life. but it also is something i can share, a lesson that is generally applicable. it's different--but everyone IS different.
the thing i guess i have learned is that while everyone has that toe that's a bit different, they still have the foot--they still understand the cause and the pain, the growth and the joy. those are things that are universal.
in a few months there'll be a new little body and mind in the world, a combination of darin and cathy, small and precious. that child has so far to go--i'm only part of the way through my journey, and i have come a long ways. i don't envy the pain of that still-sheltered life, but i envy the cocoon of safety that child enjoys now, and the joy that child will know in life, too.
my dad always says, "what goes around, comes around." i suppose it always will.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
girlfriends and the space-time continuum
so a week ago we went out and watched the latest installment of plunder and dirty boys, pirates of the caribbean: dead man's chest. i loved the movie--it was a frolic, something fun and light and beautifully filmed. that and the boys are pretty easy on the eyes, if i do say so myself. YUM.
this weekend i got to see it again, and loved it just as much, and want next summer to be here NOW instead of...well, days away.
i keep thinking what a very long time that seems, one year. a turn around the sun, the earth has danced this dance for eons. to the rest of the universe it's probably a drop in the bucket, and moves by faster than i can blink in rain.
this weekend i got to see my girlfriends from the north, all former co-workers at the grocery store. all of us have since moved on into new positions, new places. time seems to stop when the four of us get together, and coalesce into a moment that stops and fudges on the record, just a blip.
it's not just distance that separates and joins people--i can drive anywhere and map out the mileage, and that does not change. it's still the same number of miles, if the crow flies or if i put tire to pavement, as it always has been. i feel blessed that i live in an age where it doesn't take more than a few hours to arrive up north and be welcomed into that group again, and make a new memory to sustain us on the miles between.
it's been two whole years since the summer of amanda's wedding--all the chaos and laughter on the canadian border, and the tears, too. impossible that time has moved so swiftly. stephen hawking postulates about black holes--the folding of time in on itself, to close the distance. sometimes i don't think that applies to space, insofar as space is usually considered as the conglomeration of stars and moons and galactic rickrack. i think that the black holes are more likely to occur between people--the closure of memory, sewn tight and broken and resewn.
when i get together with my friends, time no longer exists. the fact that we have been apart in distance that can be mapped and days that can be counted no longer matters--the distance is closed, the time removed, and we are all the same bodies that gathered once before, long ago.
how did it become us four people, a solid front, a net between? then again, how does the universe decide to create a star?
i can't remember when things gelled into place and simple became this way. i have other friends as dear, and other friends closer, siblings of blood and of heart, but these three are like their own small pocket of sanity for me.
one of my friends is in crisis now, has been for some time. the pocket that gathered around me in my time of need has gathered around her, in hers. i thought that perhaps it was something that could only contain one person at one time, that we were only strong enough to hold up one at a time as she stumbled. this weekend my reminder became that together we are far stronger, even with our own individual weaknesses, even if our weaknesses are all at the same time, than we are apart.
it is not only with this handful of women that i feel this net, reaching out in all directions. it is with everyone who has reached out a hand in my time of need, or to me in theirs. a great web extending over time and space. when i reach out my hand i write that theory of mr. hawkings', i prove that it is real.
there's no equation, nothing that is tangible, nothing that you can touch or see. can you prove love? is it just some chemicals, tossed together, or something more, something that can only be mapped by hands not yet born?
this weekend i got to see it again, and loved it just as much, and want next summer to be here NOW instead of...well, days away.
i keep thinking what a very long time that seems, one year. a turn around the sun, the earth has danced this dance for eons. to the rest of the universe it's probably a drop in the bucket, and moves by faster than i can blink in rain.
this weekend i got to see my girlfriends from the north, all former co-workers at the grocery store. all of us have since moved on into new positions, new places. time seems to stop when the four of us get together, and coalesce into a moment that stops and fudges on the record, just a blip.
it's not just distance that separates and joins people--i can drive anywhere and map out the mileage, and that does not change. it's still the same number of miles, if the crow flies or if i put tire to pavement, as it always has been. i feel blessed that i live in an age where it doesn't take more than a few hours to arrive up north and be welcomed into that group again, and make a new memory to sustain us on the miles between.
it's been two whole years since the summer of amanda's wedding--all the chaos and laughter on the canadian border, and the tears, too. impossible that time has moved so swiftly. stephen hawking postulates about black holes--the folding of time in on itself, to close the distance. sometimes i don't think that applies to space, insofar as space is usually considered as the conglomeration of stars and moons and galactic rickrack. i think that the black holes are more likely to occur between people--the closure of memory, sewn tight and broken and resewn.
when i get together with my friends, time no longer exists. the fact that we have been apart in distance that can be mapped and days that can be counted no longer matters--the distance is closed, the time removed, and we are all the same bodies that gathered once before, long ago.
how did it become us four people, a solid front, a net between? then again, how does the universe decide to create a star?
i can't remember when things gelled into place and simple became this way. i have other friends as dear, and other friends closer, siblings of blood and of heart, but these three are like their own small pocket of sanity for me.
one of my friends is in crisis now, has been for some time. the pocket that gathered around me in my time of need has gathered around her, in hers. i thought that perhaps it was something that could only contain one person at one time, that we were only strong enough to hold up one at a time as she stumbled. this weekend my reminder became that together we are far stronger, even with our own individual weaknesses, even if our weaknesses are all at the same time, than we are apart.
it is not only with this handful of women that i feel this net, reaching out in all directions. it is with everyone who has reached out a hand in my time of need, or to me in theirs. a great web extending over time and space. when i reach out my hand i write that theory of mr. hawkings', i prove that it is real.
there's no equation, nothing that is tangible, nothing that you can touch or see. can you prove love? is it just some chemicals, tossed together, or something more, something that can only be mapped by hands not yet born?
Thursday, July 13, 2006
land of a thousand geeks...
...give or take a thousand.
i think there were actually about 2600 geeks all at a lovely and very patiently staffed Sheraton hotel last weekend in minneapolis. on the 2nd floor in a very serene room, were my fellow girly geeks, the Galactic Geishas House of Tea...and A.
yes, tongue in cheek. we all wore kimonos of various origin (mine was acquired hastily at Ragstock in the mall of america on thursday evening, and embellished with beads on thursday night...) my dear friend tish made her own and a few more for others attending(she's quite the seamstress, and does her own renaissance festival outfits too!) she also cooked fried rice and egg rolls, and asian cucumber salad, which was all just yummy.
for a few moments on friday and even saturday morning, before heading over, i was nervous--just a vague, persistent uneasiness. probably all the people--i'm a hermit a lot of the time, at heart. anyway dan asked me at some point if i was nervous and all of a sudden i realized that i wasn't nervous, not one drop.
why, you may ask, this sudden lack of nerves? perhaps it was the dawning of comprehension: i would be a girl, dressed up pretty and with tits and a brain to boot, in the land of a thousand male geeks.
i would be a goddess, for one shining brace of hours.
i'm not being egotistical here--i know what i look like, and for the most part, am terribly self-concious about my looks. but the hotel would be full of people who thought the same way i do: geeky. nerdy. and in the strangest of ways, i think that makes them more accepting than a church group.
anyone can hide in a crowd at the mall, or downtown. anyone can pull up their hood or shove their cap low to disguise features.
but at con, everyone is on display, or in various stages of presentation. it's like a living museum, an exhibit in which all bodies partake.
it didn't matter that i was not as kitted out as the man dressed as Willy Wonka, or did not have a wild, gravity-defying foot-high blue and green mohawk. the whole day was a blur of sights and sounds, tastes--bright and shiny, a kaleidescope of humanity.
for a while i tagged along with a few friends and checked out the dealer's room. we ended up in a panel discussion as it ended: asians and minorities in science fiction. we were only there for the last twenty minutes of the panel; but it was interesting to consider.
i enjoy science ficton because it bends the mind, and allows for imagination to bridge off on different pathways that perhaps alone you'd not consider. it's a springboard. science fiction blends things--it's the combination of human and robot, the fact that superman can fly, the faery folk with gossamer wings. all these things make science fiction a universal and yet so very individual clique.
in the panel, the discussion dissected and branched from asians as the minority to encompass the gay community, and then hearing impaired people. the discussion posited that every community shares culture in a way that another community can never comprehend--ie, only another half-deaf person could completely understand my corner of the world.
for the most part, my friends all belong to this universe of geeks--they all know what i'm talking about when i say "World of Warcraft," and the importance of dice and clipboards and sunday afternoons.
mainstream media struggles with topics that i think many sci-fi geeks have an innate and intimate knowledge--the feeling of being the minority. if you were a geek in grade school, you were the minority. even now, at work, when i explained what i was doing last weekend, people got a little smirk on their face: "oh, a science fiction convention. nice."
no one would have blinked twice if i said i was going to the Home and Garden Show.
anyway, the point that i'm coming to is this: last weekend was fun. and it was an eye opener for me--to understand more fully and appreciate more fully the friends that i do have, for their geeky world.
being a geek is wonderful. it allows you to revel in your knowledge, to flaunt your Klingon makeup and toast Wonder Woman as she skips down the hall. there was no one who was not accepted--for race, for creed, for thoughts, for costumes...or lack thereof. (;
perhaps that is the best of show--not the art pieces or the weaponry on display, not the party rooms in all their creative genius. it was the fact that no matter what form you were as you shuffled through a hotel, you were accepted just as you were.
in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king, they say. in the land of a thousand geeks...well, cripes, anyone can be king, even if your name is Eleanor, you're 4'10" and you're wearing a t-shirt that says: "if you don't talk to your cat about catnip, who will?"
i think there were actually about 2600 geeks all at a lovely and very patiently staffed Sheraton hotel last weekend in minneapolis. on the 2nd floor in a very serene room, were my fellow girly geeks, the Galactic Geishas House of Tea...and A.
yes, tongue in cheek. we all wore kimonos of various origin (mine was acquired hastily at Ragstock in the mall of america on thursday evening, and embellished with beads on thursday night...) my dear friend tish made her own and a few more for others attending(she's quite the seamstress, and does her own renaissance festival outfits too!) she also cooked fried rice and egg rolls, and asian cucumber salad, which was all just yummy.
for a few moments on friday and even saturday morning, before heading over, i was nervous--just a vague, persistent uneasiness. probably all the people--i'm a hermit a lot of the time, at heart. anyway dan asked me at some point if i was nervous and all of a sudden i realized that i wasn't nervous, not one drop.
why, you may ask, this sudden lack of nerves? perhaps it was the dawning of comprehension: i would be a girl, dressed up pretty and with tits and a brain to boot, in the land of a thousand male geeks.
i would be a goddess, for one shining brace of hours.
i'm not being egotistical here--i know what i look like, and for the most part, am terribly self-concious about my looks. but the hotel would be full of people who thought the same way i do: geeky. nerdy. and in the strangest of ways, i think that makes them more accepting than a church group.
anyone can hide in a crowd at the mall, or downtown. anyone can pull up their hood or shove their cap low to disguise features.
but at con, everyone is on display, or in various stages of presentation. it's like a living museum, an exhibit in which all bodies partake.
it didn't matter that i was not as kitted out as the man dressed as Willy Wonka, or did not have a wild, gravity-defying foot-high blue and green mohawk. the whole day was a blur of sights and sounds, tastes--bright and shiny, a kaleidescope of humanity.
for a while i tagged along with a few friends and checked out the dealer's room. we ended up in a panel discussion as it ended: asians and minorities in science fiction. we were only there for the last twenty minutes of the panel; but it was interesting to consider.
i enjoy science ficton because it bends the mind, and allows for imagination to bridge off on different pathways that perhaps alone you'd not consider. it's a springboard. science fiction blends things--it's the combination of human and robot, the fact that superman can fly, the faery folk with gossamer wings. all these things make science fiction a universal and yet so very individual clique.
in the panel, the discussion dissected and branched from asians as the minority to encompass the gay community, and then hearing impaired people. the discussion posited that every community shares culture in a way that another community can never comprehend--ie, only another half-deaf person could completely understand my corner of the world.
for the most part, my friends all belong to this universe of geeks--they all know what i'm talking about when i say "World of Warcraft," and the importance of dice and clipboards and sunday afternoons.
mainstream media struggles with topics that i think many sci-fi geeks have an innate and intimate knowledge--the feeling of being the minority. if you were a geek in grade school, you were the minority. even now, at work, when i explained what i was doing last weekend, people got a little smirk on their face: "oh, a science fiction convention. nice."
no one would have blinked twice if i said i was going to the Home and Garden Show.
anyway, the point that i'm coming to is this: last weekend was fun. and it was an eye opener for me--to understand more fully and appreciate more fully the friends that i do have, for their geeky world.
being a geek is wonderful. it allows you to revel in your knowledge, to flaunt your Klingon makeup and toast Wonder Woman as she skips down the hall. there was no one who was not accepted--for race, for creed, for thoughts, for costumes...or lack thereof. (;
perhaps that is the best of show--not the art pieces or the weaponry on display, not the party rooms in all their creative genius. it was the fact that no matter what form you were as you shuffled through a hotel, you were accepted just as you were.
in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king, they say. in the land of a thousand geeks...well, cripes, anyone can be king, even if your name is Eleanor, you're 4'10" and you're wearing a t-shirt that says: "if you don't talk to your cat about catnip, who will?"
Saturday, July 01, 2006
the few, the proud...the bra-less.
i've got a big chest. i'll be the first to admit it. it's not always one of my features of which i'm that terribly proud--without good support, they're just the same boobs with which every other female on the planet is blessed.
i'm glad they're a nice size, don't get me wrong, but i think at a certain level, it doesn't matter so much about size any longer, and more about...apparatus.
by that i mean exactly that: structure, form, something to keep the girls at bay.
last year in a fit of fashion pique i purchased a halter top. it's white with little red cherries and green stems all over it. it covers my middle and all that jazz, but it's something i'd have to wear with a strapless bra, which, in my size, is the equivalent of the Brooklyn Bridge, condensed and made of latex and snaps.
needless to say, it's somewhat uncomfortable.
my youngest sister said, well, just wear it without a bra. i rolled my eyes. riiiiiiiiight.
i can pinpoint the exact last time i went into public without a bra on--last year at about 6 am, wearing a t-shirt and a very, very baggy gray sweatshirt. i felt covered and i was so ill at that point that i just didn't give a shit.
today, however, i'm lucid. i'm awake. and about fifteen minutes ago, i decided that it was much, much to warm out today to strap myself into another contraption that keeps both flesh and heat carefully in line.
so i put on the halter top.
i'm still in the house. i'm not sure i can leave, like this, everything contained only by the ties behind my neck and the grace of god. gravity's not going to work with me.
so say some web-related prayers for me, i'm going to home depot. and i'm not going to add more padding.
living on the edge--just another day in the life of kim. (;
i'm glad they're a nice size, don't get me wrong, but i think at a certain level, it doesn't matter so much about size any longer, and more about...apparatus.
by that i mean exactly that: structure, form, something to keep the girls at bay.
last year in a fit of fashion pique i purchased a halter top. it's white with little red cherries and green stems all over it. it covers my middle and all that jazz, but it's something i'd have to wear with a strapless bra, which, in my size, is the equivalent of the Brooklyn Bridge, condensed and made of latex and snaps.
needless to say, it's somewhat uncomfortable.
my youngest sister said, well, just wear it without a bra. i rolled my eyes. riiiiiiiiight.
i can pinpoint the exact last time i went into public without a bra on--last year at about 6 am, wearing a t-shirt and a very, very baggy gray sweatshirt. i felt covered and i was so ill at that point that i just didn't give a shit.
today, however, i'm lucid. i'm awake. and about fifteen minutes ago, i decided that it was much, much to warm out today to strap myself into another contraption that keeps both flesh and heat carefully in line.
so i put on the halter top.
i'm still in the house. i'm not sure i can leave, like this, everything contained only by the ties behind my neck and the grace of god. gravity's not going to work with me.
so say some web-related prayers for me, i'm going to home depot. and i'm not going to add more padding.
living on the edge--just another day in the life of kim. (;
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