Difficult Decisions

One week later. And what's new in my life? Not a whole helluva lot.

The rogue cow in my neighborhood has finally been captured, and the city can again go back to Mt. Storm Park. Granted, the majority of Cincinnati had no idea where the park was previous to all of this silliness, and the only reason why most folks know now is because they went looking for the escaped bovine. I was kind of hoping that they would never catch her, and she would become an urban legend.

Chuck Jones died. I am currently in my own private form of mourning, re-reading my copy of Chuck Reducks and watching the PBS special that aired last year.

Still no job yet. I'm beginning to think that the words "Would you like to super-size that?" are in my future.

My former employer's benefits department will not return my phone calls. At this point, I want to get all of my stocks and retirement packages as far away from their clutches as possible, and they won't even return my phone calls so I can set the ball in motion. Mind you, when I worked there it was ingrained into our heads that voice mail messages should be returned within a 24 hour period, and the "send all" function was to be used only if you were in a meeting or in cases of utmost emergency. I think the longest I went on returning a call was three hours. Granted, I didn't have 8 billion messages a day, but in the three attempts to contact them, the calls have gone directly to voice mail. Hate them, hate their voice mail.

Roger Mexico is not going to be able to visit over Easter as planned, which really sucks since I was looking forward to seeing him again. Turns out he has a tech rehearsal that weekend that he was unaware of. Which means I will be all grumbly that weekend as I stuff my face with jelly beans and Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs, and he'll be stuck watching unending rehearsals of Macbeth. And our phone bills will be horrendous.

And now to the post I never wanted to (or thought I'd have to) write... I apologize in advance for airing my dirty laundry, but I need to put it somewhere. My mental laundry hamper is overflowing.

I have come to the realization that I need to call it quits on a relationship with someone that I thought was a close friend. The more I think about the way we have interacted in the past, the more I realize that I have been the one doing the majority of the emotional giving, and the other person has for the most part used me, at times ranging through to abuse. I'm not the only person having a problem with this person, and he has been called on the carpet about his interactions with others,as well as the way he lives his life and how it affects those around him. At first it seemed as if the confrontation had done some good, and he appeared to be making amends for his wrongdoings, but now it looks like he was just doing enough to make those around him think he was sincere while returning to his old ways. and personally, I've had enough and just need to make him disappear from my life right now.

This has been emotionally trying for me, because given all of the personal shit that I've been through in the last year or so, the last thing I needed was to realize that complete strangers care more about me and treat me with more compassion than this person that I considered to be one of my best friends. Upon re-examining my life through working on my novel (I've reached the point in the plot where my narrator has hit absolute rock bottom in her life), I've been able to look at interactions and situations from a new perspective, and some of the things I've learned have been downright frightening. This person has shown himself to be interested only in himself, with very little regard for others' feelings. He doesn't seem to want to move forward at all in his life, and has becoming involved in unsavory situations, mainly ones that feed his ego. People that he previously had close relationships with are being ignored and passed over for a new set of friends. When he does find time to spend time with his old friends, his motives are questionable, and if things don't go exactly the way he wants, he makes excuses to cancel plans or leave early.

Now I can understand that people don't all follow the same path throughout their lives, and that the allure of new friends can cut into time spent with older acquainatances. Everyone likes having their ego stroked on occasion. But I always thought that friendship was a two way street. At times, compromise is a very important thing. If one person is continually the one who sets the rules and reaps the benefits, while the other person is the one who makes all of the efforts to be who that other person wants them to be, then there is a serious problem. And for the past several years, that's what I've been doing to maintain a friendship with this person. I went to see the movies he wanted to see, I ate at restaurants he wanted to eat, I listened to the music he wanted to listen to, I participated in whatever activity he selected. He often joked that I never made a decision on things, but it was mostly because any suggestions I added were met with much rolling of the eyes or flat-out replies of "I don't think so." Topics of conversation that I brought up were repeatedly ignored, and at times if he didn't feel like listening to what I had to say (because it didn't mesh completely with his beliefs) I was told point blank to shut up. He continually told me that I talked too much, and insinuated that what I said didn't really matter. As a result, I held my tongue and believed that I had nothing important to add to conversations.

I gave him a book of my poetry two years ago, and he has yet to crack the cover. (The same can be said for another friend's book of short stories that he received in 1997. He hasn't found the time in the last four years to read it.) He has my website bookmarked, but has (to my knowledge) never visited. (So there's no danger of him reading this!) However, he expects me to remember every last detail of every artistic venture he has undertaken in the last four years, most of which have not gone past the planning stages.

His excuse for not reading my poetry or website is that a lot of what I write about is of a disturbing nature, and it emotionally upsets him too much to read it. Well, yes, I do write from a personal perspective quite a bit, and much of it isn't very pretty. But unfortunately, it's a part of my life, and those disturbing things that I've examined in my poetry or prose have contained lessons to be learned and have shaped me into the person I am today, for better or worse. I know that last year, when I was at one of the lowest points of my life, I attempted to reach out to him for help and he ignored it. Well, he called another friend to see if I was alright, but he didn't bother to ask me. When I finally confronted him about this (and several other things), he said that he had tried to be there for me for a while, but I didn't seem to want to discuss what was going wrong in my life, so he gave up. I tried to explain to him that it's not so easy to talk about problems of an emotional/mental manner at the drop of a hat, that sometimes your mouth just can't say those words until you reach a certain point. (There are still some things I'm having problems saying.) I doubt that he understood what I meant. I just crossed him off the list of people I could talk to about serious matters.

There are other matters of too personal a nature to go into here that have just completely crushed me and made me feel completely unimportant in his life (or anyone else's), or have made me outright scared to be around him.

But despite all this, knowing that he's bad for me at this point in my life, I still am having a hard time following through on my plans to cut off communication. It's really hard to just close the door on all those years of good times. Because yes, there were good times. There were also a lot of bad times that I forced myself to forget, and a lot of emotionally damaging times that I tricked myself into remembering as good times. I can't count how many times that I've sworn I wasn't going to call him or email him, but found myself two hours later leaving a message on his machine. (And mentally berating myself for doing so.)

This time I mean it. I tried to return a call Tuesday night, when he said he would be home all night, and I've yet to hear from him. We had planned to go to a show at the Aronoff this past Sunday, and his level of excitement went from "Let's invite everyone we know!" to "Well, we can still go..." to "I might be out of town; I'll call and let you know." (And as I said, I've yet to hear from him.) I've spent most of the past week thinking this over, trying to decide what I could do, what I could change to salvage our relationship. And then I realized that I was the only one trying to salvage anything, and had been for quite some time. I'm tired of sitting around fretting and crying and writing letters to him that I'll never send. I have other things to do with my life, and I'm tired of waiting for him to decide if he wants to be a part of my future life.

I don't want to do this, but I can't think of any other way to handle the situation. Best to just close the door, and pretend that he's moved away somewhere with no phone or computer access.

At this point his side of town seems a world away.

To Coin a Phrase...

"O brave new world,
That has such people in't!"

- Miranda, The Tempest, Act V, Scene I (William Shakespeare)

First off, a few editorial notes....

Roger Mexico's band site (Monologue) is currently in limbo due to monetary weirdness going on at Garageband. Hopefully things will work out there, because I believe it was a wonderful venue to hear bands that otherwise might not get a chance because they don't fit into the BoyBand/Nü Metal/Scantily Clad Teen Girl genres perpetuated by Big Label Music Companies.

Much love to Musashi and all the folks who followed his link to my page. It was so wonderful to hear from new readers that popped in to say hi. Welcome, all. Help yourselves to the bottomless cups of coffee! (Not to ignore my "old skool" readers. I didn't start writing this page as an easy scheme to gain popularity; whether I have two readers or two million, it's mostly a place for me to express myself. But hearing from people who have stumbled upon my writing is a definite ego boost, and motivates me to continue to try a bit harder. I love you all, whether you've been here since day one or just found me yesterday. The more the merrier, right?)

OK. Onward to the subject at hand.

After the loss of my job in December, I went through a phase where I felt that I was a failure because of my unemployment. It didn't matter that I believed myself to be a good person at heart. The fact that I was not depositing a paycheck into my bank account on a regular basis made me a loser, unsuccessful. Or at least that was what I saw when I looked in the mirror.

I brought this up to Rosencrantz one night after dinner, and she violently disagreed. Yes, she pointed out, it was a bit of a challenge that I was in between paychecks, but sitting around condemning myself for not being gainfully employed wasn't going to solve anything. She remarked that while I was conducting my job search, I should take advantage of my new found freedom and live Life the way I wanted.

"But I don't have a job," I protested. "I'm not a contributing member of society. I'm a slacker."

"You're not a slacker," she replied. "You're a lifestyle pioneer."

The term has stuck in our circle of friends. Lately I've been thinking what our newly created terminology really means. I'm not big on labels, but to my way of thinking there should be a definition of what a lifestyle pioneer is and is not. So after a bit of thought, here's what I was able to come up with....

Being a lifestyle pioneer has nothing to do with the way you dress, what your spiritual beliefs are, or what you do to earn a paycheck. Being a lifestyle pioneer is an interior status, and cannot be bought at the mall.

There is no "right" way to become a lifestyle pioneer. There are no classes to attend, no clubs to join, no membership dues to pay. It is up to the individual to find the correct path for himself or herself.

A lifestyle pioneer is not afraid to try new things, whether it be a new food or a new philosophy. Living one's life without a willingness to experiment limits one's vision of The Big Picture.

A lifestyle pioneer welcomes the unconventional. If Life was predictable, it would be pretty boring. Life should not be a static existance; it should be ever changing, the Ultimate Adventure. Sometimes the changes are positive, sometimes the changes are negative. The key is to learn, adapt, and incorporate your experiences into what defines you.

A lifestyle pioneer realizes that education exists outside of the formal classroom, and is an ongoing experience. Sometimes the University of Life has more to offer than the teaching facilities accredited by the state, and the classes tend to last longer than a semester. Grades will not be posted.

A lifestyle pioneer never stops asking why. Oftentimes society or government or the evening news tries to placate us with an answer that they have decided is true. It is up to the individual to decide if that is the correct and complete response that fits in his or her own life. If not, ask questions, do your own research, and figure out what works for you.

A lifestyle pioneer has carefully examined his or her own beliefs, and feels strongly about them. Beliefs can change over time due to situations and experiences, so evaluation of one's own ethics is a constant thing. Expressing doubt or questioning the reality that surrounds you is not a weakness, but a gauge to measure who you are and who you are becoming.

A lifestyle pioneer is not easily pigeonholed or labelled.

A lifestyle pioneer is not afraid to dance to the beat of a different drummer. Sometimes he or she may not be able to locate the proper percussive accompaniment, and might have to look for or create his or her own unique rhythms.

A lifestyle pioneer often will seek out his or her own creative outlets, be it writing or painting or music or knitting or whatever makes you the individual that you are. Often what society calls your career is merely a means to do what you truly love.

A lifestyle pioneer is most likely not completely satisfied with Life as it is. He or she is consistently looking for a way to contribute, to improve things, to change things for the better.

Being a lifestyle pioneer is at times not an easy role, but often the most important lessons are the hardest to learn, and the most rewarding ones as well.

I can't say I live up to these guidelines all of the time, but it certainly gives me something to strive for in my day-to-day existance. I'm proud to include myself within a growing number of folks who find meaning and inspiration within these principles. And maybe if enough of us examine our lives and try to live by these standards, we can change the world.

The revolution starts today.

Pain and Agony

I mentioned last week that I thought I had broken my toe. I can now pretty much confirm that I definitely broke it. (Or so says Rosencrantz. She took one look at the nasty bruising and swollen toe, and - after saying "EWWWWW!!!" - agreed that her foot looked much the same when she broke a toe.) I'm relying on my thimbleful of medical knowledge rather than going to the doctor at the moment, because a) I'm broke, and b) it's just a toe. I know there isn't a whole heck of a lot that doctors can do about a broken toe except suggest ice packs, over-the-counter pain remedies, and splinting the toe against its neighboring tootsie. I learned that much from WebMD, and I didn't receive a hefty bill for an intermediate length office visit.

All because I wasn't really paying attention and stubbed my toe on the vacuum cleaner on my way to take a bath. Oh well. It doesn't really hurt all that much, and much of the bruising has already started to fade. It's still a little swollen around the base of the toe, though.

The remarkable thing about all of this is that this is the first bone I have ever broken. In the almost 34 years (21 shopping days til my birthday!) that I have been on the face of the earth, I have spent much of it being a professional-quality klutz. I'm the type of person that really does walk into doors. If I bang my knee on something (and I do... quite often), there will be a nasty bruise there turning a multitude of colors for at least a week. I may be able to walk and chew gum at the same time, but there's always a good chance that my ankle may decide to go a different way than the rest of my body and I'll end up pitching forward on my face, twisting my ankle and swallowing my gum.

I mean, do you know how humiliating it is to be taken to the emergency room on your birthday with lumbar strain because your back decided to go kaput while you were bent over tying your shoes? This actually happened to me. I was sitting on the edge of my bed, lacing up my boots so I could go to my birthday lunch with my family, and suddenly I couldn't sit up straight. So rather than going to the Blue Gibbon, my family took me to the urgent care facility, where I was given 600 mg ibuprofen and a bill for my copay. If I had known that would be the diagnosis, I would have just popped 3 Advils and gone on to get my sweet and sour chicken.

Not that my klutziness deterred me from at least trying to be active. I enjoyed riding my bike when I was a kid, but I certainly didn't enjoy careening into that telephone pole at the end of my block. (I still have a scar on my knee from this.) Nor did I enjoy surpassing my personal best in a bikeathon (60 miles) by hitting some loose gravel and skidding to the final checkpoint on my hip. I really enjoyed swimming, but didn't enjoy my arms giving out while I was trying to hoist myself out of the pool and smacking into the pool side face first. Once I landed on my chin (small scar still there as well), and once I implanted my teeth into the concrete and chipped my front tooth. Ow, ow, ow.

Of course, my "favorite" swimming accident is still the one that occurred when I had gone on vacation with my parents and several other families to Florida. We were all staying in the same condominium, and the whole group (about 20 of us) were hanging out around the pool. It was after the posted time, and the lights in the pool had been turned off, but management didn't really care if we were still there eating pizza and drinking beer. The younger kids were playing Marco Polo in the deep end, and I (being much too cool for Marco Polo since I was on my junior high school swim team) decided to swim laps width-wise in the shallow end. Which went fine until I misjudged the distance between me and the side of the pool while doing my butterfly laps.

WHAM!!!

I stood up, my hands immediately flying to my face. I was sure I'd broken my nose. My hands were covered in blood when I pulled them away. I needed help, big time.

Only problem was I was in mild shock and was too freaked out to actually call anyone's attention to my plight, and no one had noticed that I was standing in the 4 foot area with blood trickling down my face. I don't know how long I stood there before one of my parents' friends turned around, beer in hand, and yelled for my mom. I remember being helped out of the pool, throwing on some dry clothes, and being rushed to Sarasota Memorial Hospital. I remember sitting in the waiting room watching Solid Gold with a towel pressed to my nose.

As it turned out, I hadn't broken my nose, but I had a large nasty cut on the upper left bridge which required stitches. My mother, who doesn't do well with blood, was shooed out of the room when she nearly passed out watching the doctor stitch up the cut. (I wasn't exactly enjoying it, either. Try watching a needle headed directly for your eye, then feel the doctor pulling the stitch tight. Repeat a few times. Not my idea of a good time.)

Of course, the funniest part of this whole situation was paying the bill. It was in the infancy days of HMOs, and it turned out that the hospital didn't accept our insurance, which meant we would have to pay out of pocket. (Our HMO would reimburse us when we got home to file, but that was still a week away.) My parents hadn't budgeted for an emergency room visit on this vacation, so my dad turned to me and informed me that since he was paying for this, I had used up my portion of the food fund and would therefore not get to eat for the rest of the the trip. Knowing my family's sense of humor, I shrugged and answered with an understanding OK.

The nurse processing my discharge didn't get the joke. She thought my father was really going to starve me for the rest of the week. So she's looking at my father, trying to decide whether she should call Child Services on him, and my mother is desparately trying to reassure her that he was kidding and I would still be fed.

The bad part of the entire injury was that I was not able to get the stitches wet, which meant I didn't get to swim for the rest of the vacation. I spent the week pacing in the shallow end, wishing it was Friday so I could get the stitches removed.

Maybe in retrospect it was a good thing that my school cut the swim team. I shudder to think of what kind of freak injuries I would have suffered if I had ever made the diving team.

More stupid injuries to come. This is just the tip of the iceberg....

The Envelope, Please

Before I start my highly opinionated post on the recent announcement of the Academy Award nominations, I must must share a bit of off-topic current events.

My neighborhood is currently being terrorized by an escaped cow. Yes, that's right. I said cow. It seems there's a slaughterhouse in an adjacent neighborhood (which was news to me), and one of the cattle in the death march escaped and headed off towards Central Parkway. It disappeared into the wooded area behind the White Castle, and has been the subject of numerous 911 calls from confused Clifton residents. The last sighting was in Mt. Storm Park, but the only thing that police and the SPCA and whoever else is involved in this man... I mean, cowhunt have managed to find is a lot of cowpies.

Sometimes Cincinnati is just a weird place to live.

OK, onto the nominations. Now I haven't seen a lot of movies over the past year, so my opinions may be a bit shortsighted. But I still consider my thimbleful of film history and knowledge to be somewhat valid, and feel like I have a few things to say.

(I'm not going to reprint the full list of nominees. If you want to see it and judge for yourself, check out the list at the official Oscars site.

First off, yay for the 13 nominations for The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. Damn, did this movie rock. After rereading (OK, reading for the first time since I gave up halfway through the book when I was 11 or 12) the book, I'm impressed that they managed to pull off such an exciting film adaptation. Tolkien was a good writer, but he had a tendency to get bogged down in wordy descriptions of every last blade of grass in Middle Earth and four page poems and songs that didn't exactly move the plot along at a blinding pace. It did, however, make it incredibly easy to recreate settings and characters for the big screen. There was an incredible feeling of familiarity for fans that saw the movie; it was exactly the way I had visualized it in my head. It was a beautiful, beautiful movie.

And Orlando Bloom was awful purty too. (Sorry, got a bit distracted there.)

In the Best Picture category, I am completely at a loss as to which movie I should root for. LOTR got nominated, but so did Moulin Rouge. Moulin Rouge was one of those love it or hate it movies, and I fell into the former category. It was weird and wild, the mixture of well-known music and original compositions was fun, and I was profoundly shocked the first time Ewan McGregor sang. Where has that voice been hiding all these years? (Yes, he sang in Velvet Goldmine, but he was channeling Iggy Pop.) The whole movie was a crackpipe-induced revival of the Hollywood musical, and the Academy isn't known for embracing weirdness. I have yet to see the other nominees, but I can't get on the Gosford Park bandwagon simply because there is no way that it could have been as good as The Player, Robert Altman's masterpiece. If The Player wasn't good enough to take home the little gold guy, how could this one be? And where the hell is Memento?

As for Best Actor, I'm wondering how the recent murmurs that the Academy is racist affected the results. Look! Two African-American actors got nominations! (And one woman, and this year's host as well!) Now, I'm not gonna knock Denzel Washington. He's a fine actor, and I heard his turn in Training Day was an amazing piece of work. Will Smith, despite his status of being a popcorn actor, has proved he can handle drama (in Six Degrees of Separation) and almost had me convinced of the fact that I wanted to see Ali. I just don't see the Fresh Prince taking home the award. And while Russell Crowe is a good actor, I have issues with him as a person.

What puzzles me the most are the names that I expected to see on the list, but got left behind in the dust. Where's Gene Hackman's nomination for The Royal Tenenbaums? Guy Pearce in Memento? Billy Bob Thornton in The Man Who Wasn't There? (What an unfortunate and ironic title.) Steve Buscemi in Ghost World?

Best Actress... Renée Zellweger? Yes, Bridget Jones's Diary was a charming little movie, but not Oscar-worthy. Judi Dench got her annual nomination for being alive and making a movie (one that I've never even heard of). I'm pulling for Halle Berry, if only for redeeming herself for making Swordfish by appearing in Monster's Ball. But if she makes another Pepsi Twist commercial, I'm backing Nicole Kidman (she gets bonus points for not being married to Tiny Tom anymore).

If the Best Supporting Actor award doesn't go to Ian McKellan, I am going to be hopping mad. He didn't just play Gandalf, he was Gandalf. (Which was more than I could say for poor Hugo Weaving in the same film. While he was wonderful as Elrond, I kept expecting him to launch into his Agent Smith role from The Matrix. Must be the accent he used for both of them.) And who nominated Ethan Hawke?

I had to check the date on the list when I saw Marisa Tomei listed as a nominee for Best Supporting Actress. I'm still sore about the whole My Cousin Vinnie debacle. Maggie Smith and Helen Mirren will probably split the Gosford Park vote, so let's just give it to Jennifer Connelly and call it a day, shall we?

Best Animated Feature makes its debut appearance as a category this year, and I'm really torn. (Oh, and bad news for JohnnyB... Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within didn't make the cut.) Monsters, Inc. was yet another home run from Disney/Pixar, but I loved Shrek with an obsessive passion. Give the award to the cranky green Scottish ogre, please.

Costume design... let's see, two costume dramas, two fantasy movies, and a flashy musical. I'll take John Leguizamo dressed as a sitar over a movie that puts Hilary Swank in a dress with lots of décolletage. (Call it The Crying Game prejudice. It's hard to get out of that niche when you're that convincing in drag.)

Part of me really wants to see David Lynch win for Best Director, because I would love to hear his acceptance speech. But it just ain't gonna happen. Go Peter Jackson!

The Editing award should be renamed "The Pity Award for Memento." But then again, Moulin Rouge proved that editing and acid apparently do mix. Who knew?

Foreign Language film is going to go to Amélie, this year's "subtitled movie that people actually saw." Happened to Life is Beautiful, happened to Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.

Makeup... let's see. LOTR had dwarves and orcs and hairy footed hobbits. Moulin Rouge had French courtesans. A Beautiful Mind had mathematical geniuses. Where is Rick Baker's nomination for Planet of the Apes? The makeup was the only reason why I even considered seeing this movie. Advantage: Middle Earth.

John Williams needs a vacation. The score for A.I. was not memorable, and the music for Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone was good, but a bit derivative. Howard Shore got it right with LOTR; exciting in all the right places, and unobtrusive when it needed to be.

This must be the worst year ever for song nominations ever. I've not heard a single one of them. It's sad that "Come What May" from Moulin Rouge was ineligible (it was a leftover from William Shakespeare's Romeo + Juliet and not written specifically for Moulin Rouge), because I would have loved to see Ewan and Nicole sing together. Oh well.

Pixar has a nominee for animated short, so the other nominees might as well save themselves the tux rental fee.

Sound and sound editing... oh crap. Pearl Harbor got nominated for both. It frightens me that after the awards, Buena Vista will try to market this damn movie again, this time focusing on the "Award Winning Movie" angle. Call it what you want guys, it's still a bloated love story with Ben Affleck with an action scene thrown in to keep the guys from nodding off.

Visual effects will probably (and deservedly) go to LOTR. I know how tall Elijah Wood is, but it never once caused me to doubt the effects that made the hobbits so much shorter than the other characters. Go away, Pearl Harbor. And take Michael Bay and Jerry Bruckheimer with you. Please.

And I'm none too happy with the selection of Whoopi Goldberg as the host of the awards ceremony, either. Steve Martin made me laugh last year more than I had in years. If it ain't broke, don't fix it.

Part of me really wants to have a good old-fashioned Oscar party and invite folks over for cheap champagne and hors d'oeuvres. Part of me wants to just tape the whole fiasco and make other plans. I'll give it a little thought before I start sending invitations. At the moment I’m just happy that I didn’t manage to suffer through a single movie nominated for a Razzie.

Soundtrack for a Glamorous Life

So tonight I sat down and tried to decide what to write about in my post. The Olympics, and the fact that the Canadians were blatantly robbed in the pairs free skate competition? The nominations for the 22nd annual Golden Raspberry Awards, and how happy I am that I didn't see a single nominated movie? The upcoming nominations for the Academy Awards? The fact that I am now pretty sure of the fact that I have broken my little toe as the result of yet another not-so-graceful move on my part?

Decisions, decisions.

While contemplating this momentous decision, I turned on my CD player for some thinking music. I had thought that I'd left Underworld's Beaucoup Fish in the player, but was surprised to instead find a mix CD that Zappagirl had burned in my honor. After controlling my wild giggling fit, I decided to go throught the tracks and explain the reasoning behind each track.

(Beware. Extreme silliness follows.)

"Baby, You're a Rich Man," the Beatles Back in June of last year, Zappagirl and I discovered we were apparently living the glamorous life and were, much to our surprise, the beautiful people. So where else would we start on this musical journey (™ Larry Mullen, Rattle and Hum) than with a song that asks "How does it feel to be one of the beautiful people?" And it's the Beatles circa Magical Mystery Tour, so it makes me happy.

"The Poodle Lecture," Frank Zappa In which Frank tells us about the three big mistakes that God made: the creation of Man, the creation of Woo-man, and the invention of the poodle. Crass and funny as hell. Bring your own pair of zircon encrusted tweezers.

"Talkin' Seattle Grunge Blues," Todd Snider Possibly the funniest song written about jumping on the flannel shirt bandwagon. Pokes fun at the whole grunge scene, MTV Unplugged, and th idiocy of the music business. I feel stupid! And contagious!

"Smells Like Nirvana," Weird Al Yankovic The perfect followup to the previous track would obviously have been "Smells Like Teen Spirit," but Zappagirl doesn't own Nevermind. This parody, one of Weird Al's best, did quite nicely though. Legend has it that Kurt Cobain OKed the parody when Nirvana appeared on Saturday Night Live as long as it wouldn't be about food (like "Eat It" and "Fat").

Yikes. Guess who's seen the Weird Al episode of Behind the Music a few too many times?

"Interjections!," Schoolhouse Rock The CD collections for Schoolhouse Rock were released back when I was working with Zappagirl, and we drove everyone insane in the store by playing Grammar Rock non-stop before the store opened. And singing along at top volume. (Except for "Busy Prepositions," since that was written as an afterthought and I didn't know the words.)

"Rebirth of the Cool," Afghan Whigs Local boys do good. We met Greg Dulli (the lead singer)during after hours at the Warehouse one night, shortly before the band broke up. But that's another story....

"It's Raining Men," The Weather Girls This song still cracks me up. How we got away with performing this song in my high school show choir amazes me.

"Don't Leave Me This Way," Thelma Houston And while we're on the subject of disco music that will probably appear on Music From and Inspired By Queer as Folk... I really liked the Communards cover of this song, and used to request it at Backbeat nights, but the original is equally fun. My hands are immediately in the air as soon as she hits the "Ahhhhhhhhhhh baby!" bridge.

I have just realized that I am as cheesy as a wheel of provolone. And it only gets worse.

"Suburbia," Pet Shop Boys Zappagirl burned this mix while the riots were still fresh in everyone's minds, and we used to refer to my visits to her house as escapes to suburbia. And this is one of my favorite Pet Shop Boys songs.

"Downtown," Petula Clark See what she just did there? Suburbia? Downtown? Oh, she's so clever.

"Ft. Washington Way," WEBN Dawn Patrol I think this is a Dawn Patrol creation, but I'm not sure and it's too late to call Zappagirl for confirmation. It's a parody song to the tune of Joe Walsh's "Rocky Mountain Way" about construction traffic in downtown Cincinnati. Thankfully I didn't have to drive on Ft. Washington Way to get to my corporate hell job. It wasn't pretty.

"Nookie/Break Stuff," Richard Cheese Because you haven't lived until you've heard a lounge version of Limp Bizkit. (And he's coming to Indianapolis in May! Road trip, anyone?)

"Take a Look Around," Limp Bizkit I hate Fred Durst. But if I had a nickel for every time I caught myself singing along to a Limp Bizkit song, I wouldn't be so concerned about being unemployed. And this song's even from a movie I refused to see (Mission Impossible 2) because I despise Tom Cruise so much. But still I'm finding myself replaying this track again, and bobbing my head to the beat. Crap.

"Science Fiction Double Feature," Richard O'Brien Ok, we've talked about this. I grew up on midnight showings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I know the filthiest callback lines ever thought up, and still find myself yelling them back at the television whenever VH1 shows the damn movie. I'm a big huge geek. Let's move on. And stop laughing!

"Love Rollercoaster," Red Hot Chili Peppers A cover of the Ohio Players classic, from Beavis and Butthead Do America. We had the video for this song at the Warehouse and played it so many times that the owner took the tape away from us. Hearing Anthony Kiedis say "You give me that funny feeling in my tummy..." during the intro never fails to bring a smile to my face.

"Americano," The Brian Setzer Orchestra Zappagirl and I played this song nonstop one night on the way to the Anchor Grill. It's the song that Matt Damon and Jude Law sang in The Talented Mr. Crapley...I mean, Ripley. Trust me. Skip the rental and pick up BSO's Vavoom! instead.

"Copacabana," Barry Manilow There has been many a night that we've been cruising around in Zappagirl's car with the windows rolled down and the extended mix of this song blaring from the speakers. We dance in our seats at stop lights too. Some nights we sing the real lyrics, some nights we sing the lyrics that Zappagirl wrote for the night we went to the Pope Room at Buca di Beppo.

"She Don't Use Jelly," Ben Folds Five Yes, the original version of this song was godawful. I never did get the Flaming Lips, though. This version, which appears on the Lounge-A-Palooza album, is a kicky little bossa nova tune. Much easier listening.

"Java Jive," Manhattan Transfer I love coffee, I love tea... I spent way too much time singing Manhattan Transfer songs in high school show choir. 'Nuff said.

"The Beautiful People," Marilyn Manson Because, if you haven't figured it out by now, we are the beautiful people, and Marilyn will just keep screaming it so you don't forget.


And after all this, I bet you're just wishing I'd talked about my broken toe.

How Myo Got Her Groove Back

Yeah, it's really me. Believe it or not.

I see you there, tapping your foot, telling me I got some 'splaining to do. So here goes:

I originally stopped posting in December because I had become too busy with another project - knitting. I had been stumped for a Christmas present for Roger Mexico, and had emailed him for a list of suggestions. After I weeded through the things out of my price range (a submarine) and items that weren't sold on Amazon.com (world peace), I was left with the assertion that "dude likes socks."

Socks? SOCKS? Socks are the Christmas present that you get from your aunt Martha, the "useful" present that you try really hard to fake a smile when you open it and mumble something like, "Oh, how thoughtful," while secretly you're thinking, "I asked for a Playstation 2." There was no way in hell I was going to give him something as impersonal as socks.

And then Zappagirl pointed out that if the socks were handknit, they were a thoughtful and personal gift.


Myopic: Well, that's all fine and good except that it's December 5th and I don't know how to knit socks.

Zappagirl: I could teach you. We could start right now.

Myopic: It's 9:30 at night.

Zappagirl: I have the keys to the yarn shop.

Myopic: And that's a scary scary thing. It's like giving a crystal meth addict the keys to the lab.

Zappagirl: Ha. So, are we doing this or what?

Myopic: You're just recruiting for your cult, aren't you? Two more inductees and you get special needles or something, right?

Zappagirl: Nah, I get a toaster. Get in the car, would you?

So off to the yarn shop we went, where we selected yarn of the proper weight and color (a neutral beige with flecks of blue and olive drab). She knit the first cuff and set me loose. And for the next month, I spent every spare moment of my time knitting socks. I didn't manage to get them done in time for Christmas, but did get them in the mail in early January. For a first effort, I was rather proud of them. And Roger Mexico liked them, which was the most important thing.

In the midst of this knitting fest, I had an unfortunate mental setback that was amplified greatly by copious amounts of red wine. In the process of all this, I lost my job. Now the last thing that a person who is already feeling like she's the biggest loser on the planet needs is to suddenly be unemployed. Right before Christmas. During a recession.

Much crying ensued. I spent a lot of time speculating about spending the winter living in a cardboard box. Thankfully I have the best friends and family ever, and they have made sure that I am properly fed and still have a place to live, and have tried to keep me from getting too depressed about things. Bless you guys. You all rock so much.

I've been looking into jobs, but haven't found anything yet. I'm in the process of trying to get a temp job at the IRS, but it's slow going. After following all of the proper procedures to get hired, tax season will be over. It's frustrating, but I really am trying to keep my chin up.

And with all of this newfound freetime, I've been doing things I've been meaning to do for a while. I'm actually using other kitchen utensils besides the microwave oven and the coffee maker. I made a pan of brownies the other day. In an attempt to eat healthier, I've been making smoothies for breakfast. I've cut back considerably on my caffeine consumption. I've been catching up on my sleep. I've been inviting friends over to watch movies. I've spent lots of quality time with my kittie. I helped my mom paint stencils in my nieces' playcorner. And I've been writing.

After only getting just over 28,000 words completed for the NaNoWriMo thing back in November, I had decided to step away from the novel for a little while. I knew that the next few scenes that I had to write were going to be traumatic ones, and given that my mood was already circling the drain, I decided it best to not work on the story for a while. After a while, though, I wandered back and reopened the file. For a week or so, I just looked at the file and didn't add anything. I was trying to ease myself back into it.

However, after hanging out with Rosencrantz the night before the first meeting of our writers' group, any thoughts of "easing myself back into it" promptly disappeared. My brain exploded and escaped through my fingers, and I wrote 5100 incredibly traumatic and disturbing words. She also managed to get an amazing amount of work done, and we have made Wednesday night our official writing night. We listen to lots of Miles Davis and Balinese music, drink iced tea from liquor bottles (it makes you feel artistic and bohemian, but you don't end up passed out on the keyboard), smoke entirely too much, discuss what we're writing and how it relates to our lives, and still manage to get an incredible amount written before Guildenstern comes home from his bartending gig. At this point, I'm at just over 45,000 words, and have just realized how much further I still have to go 'til I reach the end. At least I'm almost through the disturbing part.

So that's the condensed version of what's been going on for the last two months. I'm sure I'll think of some more to tell you later.