Blog Angels Write Among Us

As I stared at this blog, wondering what in Sam Hill I'd write about next, I decided to click on "comments". Lo, and yes Behold, I'd been tagged. Blog Angels are among us, folks.

I SAID: It would happen and it did. Makes me believe in voodoo.

I WANT: My husband to be with me for a long, long time.

I WISH: My parents had given me the gift of confidence.

I HATE: Seeing a man kicked when he's down. My heart's with the underdog. Always.

I MISS: Opportunites for everyday happiness.

I HEAR: You, Dad. "Eleven", you said.

I WONDER: What my children would have looked like.

I REGRET: Not learning how to lose.

I AM NOT: Going to give up.

I DANCE: With abandon.

I SING: Only in my car.

I CRY: Streaks of black mascara.

I AM NOT ALWAYS: An attentive lover.

I MAKE WITH MY HANDS: Dough. Love.

I WRITE: To purge and to understand. Sometimes just to record.

I CONFUSE: Myself and therefore those around me.

I NEED: To believe in our future.

I SHOULD: Give more hugs. Birthday cards. Thank you's.

I START: Hard and fast, then fade out.

I FINISH: Things that hurt.

I TAG: I suddenly feel too new to tag. You do it. I saw you reading.

Da Vinci, Round 3

I've read The DaVinci Code years ago and did so because I'd already read most of the "research" it's based on. Specifically, I've read nearly every book written by the authors of Holy Blood, Holy Grail. There are quite a few books.

So when "The Code" came along, I knew exactly when Dan Brown's idea had come from and thought that he'd pretty much ripped everything from HBHG and spun it into something the mainstream will swallow. Good for him. Holy Blood, Holy Grail is some fascinating stuff. Theoretical, but with just enough "evidence" to give pause. It had been a controversial and popular book in its own right when published in the 1980's.

We're up on Round 3 of the mainstream wave, and the release of the DVD will probably become the last and final Round. Anyone who's averse to reading will flock to the movie over the coming weeks and "discover" that there's an alternate version of Jesus' life that is titillating and for some, scandalous. I initially expected to see more protests from Christians as the movie's premier approaches, but in considering the notion of Jesus having a bloodline and lineage, I've realized that it probably gives a lot of folks more hope than insult.

How many people, after reading the books HBHG or DVC, wondered if Jesus blood runs through their own veins?

Palm Beach

The funny thing about living with coconut palms and turquoise oceans is that you feel a lot of pressure to be happy. I mean, if you can't find happiness here, then I'm guessing that you're pretty much screwed.

People pay plenty of money to sit by this ocean and under these palms, so who am I to complain about the heat, or even the trying events of plain daily living. Other people have to put up with the same drudgery I do, except they've got bad weather to contend with.

Beach for lunch?

The fact is that no matter where you live, everything becomes part of the routine. Eventually you have to remind yourself to Be Happy, to take a good look at the scenery, or the cultural richness, or whatever it is that's drawn you to a place. When things start to look good on the other side of the fence, it's just boredom settling in. Boredom lives everywhere and isn't partial. Its what robs most people of a good time, and if you give it some leeway, it'll eventually steal happiness from your whole life, one minute at a time.

Bye and Bye

It's Wednesday and Friday is my last day here at work. On Monday I start a new and similar gig, and hope it's got a better work atmosphere. We'll see.

I've got people coming over to pout at me and cry "noooooo." I had no idea, and it makes me feel good, but also a little bad at the same time. Wish I'd known.

Big Bro's Deaf, Apparently

No. No. No, Silly. The NSA is not listening to our calls. And I guess that's (technically) the truth.

Floored

I hit the dancefloor hard Friday night, and as Sean Paul would say, "it was wid me baeksaeed".

Horrors. I wasn't even drunk enough not to remember it. Now, from what I hear falling while dancing is not an uncommon occurrence. I've seen it at least once in my clubbing career, and have heard tell, but seriously, how many people have actually lived that humbling experience for themselves?

::cricket chirp::

I thought not.

The Moon, It Hit My Eye

Dear God,

No disrespect, and I admit that you and I haven't been close lately, so yesterday evening while shopping in our busy little downtown area, I became concerned when I saw groups of people on the street staring up into the sky and pointing. I saw those servers and hostesses at sidewalk cafes stop work to gaze up, then calling other workers over to do the same. I'll bet you noticed that patrons began doing it too. Did you see me obediently looking up to stare? Then, like the Chicken Little that I am, begin calling everyone I know to see if they could confirm what I saw?

Yup. They saw it too. Seems what we saw was one of your sure signs of the Apocalypse.

The moon was turning to blood. And it was daytime. And it was on the wrong side of the sky. You scared the crap out of me.

Of course, some people offered an explanation for all of this... about how the Florida brushfires sent a cloud of smoke and haze high into the atmosphere and it moved between us and the New Moon, refracting light or some such drivel. blah, blah... I know better. I think you're pretty ticked about how we messed up the last two elections. It's a warning, isn't it? You can tell me. Are you mad about George endorsing Jeb? C'mon. I'm getting a little nervous.

Looking for another sign that doesn't say "Exit",

Indiana Jonesing

American Idol-ized

I've never watched a single episode of American Idol, and it's mostly because the show is so popular that it's the subject of morning radio shows. Once you make it to the morning drive, you've become about as mainstream and whitebread as you can get. That status puts you right about at the tipping point, when most freethinking people lose interest.

It's true that the morning drive shows do a lot of catering to those desiring "shock value", but most of the time it's just drivel with topics including one of three things: Sex, Farts, and American Idol's latest vote. Morning radio's been reduced to discussing suburban America's unoriginal pasttimes, and "reality television" has taken the forefront in filling those times. Truthfully, there's nothing more false than the reality portrayed in the shows. It's just the reality we'd rather see.

Am I the only one who leaves the radio on Scan during the entire morning commute?

Why I Loves Me Some Starbucks

I know, I KNOW! I have a problem. But yo, how can I not love my latest daytime haunt when I get to witness latte-making for actors like this!

Sheep Herding

I've never had my land scaped or my hair dressed, but that doesn't stop me from repeated use of the terms. That's because I play follow my leaders like a good Sheep.Sheep.Sheep.

I don't want to celebrate birth days every year because they happen only once in a lifetime.

I've seen a lot of moons since my wedding but not a single one made of honey.

Words paint the promise of a completely different world than the one I've seen and I ought to, but almost never, cry Wolf.

Tinkle Tinkle Little Worry

In the times and spaces I have to remind myself to breathe, my life speeds up. For those minutes or seconds of worry or fear, little chunks in the only lifespan I know fall to the ground and crash with a pretty tinkling sound. There's no glue and no way to repair what's lost.

Anxious minutes waste good time, but I don't stop.

No Deus, No Ex, No Machina

Starbucked is how I've found myself these past afternoons, needlessly sunning myself under the green umbrellas made too high to create any real shade. It's all part of the mise-en-scene.

I choose too-big sunglasses that bury my nose and leave the frame-propping to full cheeks spread into a wide and bland smile. I make it to punctuate uneven lunch chatter, but also to push the lenses back up when they slide down my face. Why am I listening to the balding 30-something middle manager phone in the golf date he needs to stay "connected"? What I want to do is watch his gorgeous sidekick's thick waves of dark hair and lean thighs licked brown by this particular angle of South Florida's sun.

1 SUV, 2 SUV's 3 SUV's 4. The caravan of overpriced shields hump the speedbumps and cocoon their cubiclers. No one, including me, is without a cellphone. Ever connected to what's not going to call.

Playing With Shroedinger's Cat

Living between worlds is titillatingly exhausting. A steady foot on one side of this fissure and the second one, trembling on the other, leaves a possibility for the ground to split wide open between my unsteady legs. I imagine that would be quite a pain in my ass. It's good that I'm not of the male persuasion, precious cargo left dangling too loose and flying free.

My current state of Half is rendering me frigid. I'm immobilized, waiting for the invitation to either cross over the crack, or bring my foot back to the side I started on before easing into that step. It's all about Decisions and they're not entirely mine.

A confession would include the fact that I really did notice the jagged edge of the crack just before stepping right over, and pushed away thoughts as to how I might make my way back if it began to yawn. It seems that from the time I placed that foot out there and let the breeze of the other side stroke its dirty fingers over my calf, I wanted to feel more. The grainy roughness in the tease of that touch is too heady to feel just once. Pulsing, it rasped across what's been lightly sleeping and awakened the black chasm of Want that always, always sits right below the thin film of my Contentment.

If I hold out my hand, will Joy reach out to lick my fingertips or will it grab me by the wrist and push hard into me before swallowing me whole.

I want to be fucking consumed.

Write. Writer. Writes

As I've mentioned, my purpose in creating this space is to write, though I'm not certain what my ultimate plan is. Get published? I've no idea how or where to begin.

Since 4th grade I've been told that I should write. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Write what? Where? Do what with the result?

In college, a professor disgusted with the fact that I'd turned a paper in for his class that I'd turned in for another in a previous semester, lectured me quite thoroughly. He went on for a good half hour about my "talent" and how he could see me as a published writer someday. Write what? Published where? I was too embarassed to ask.

My problem is that I'm too lazy to study structure. Rules. Grammar. I feel as if it would get in the way of writing from the heart if I have to concentrate on constructing proper sentences. On the other hand, I see the benefit. If you can't get out of what I've strung together, the meaning or timbre I've tried to inject into it, well what's the point?

This entire topic is not one I'd file under "Interesting Blog Posts", that's for sure.

What's it take to be a published writer? Fiction or Non? Short story or Novel? Magazine article?

I should consider using spellcheck.

I use too many commas.

Feck it. I'll just continue down this blog road. See where it takes me.