Can I find a candle of thought....

Heard this in a bar in Cusco the other afternoon. It was then I realized this is one of my all-time favorite songs. It is a song one might desperately wish could be a track in the soundtrack of one's life...

We. Are. Golden.

I'm pretty sure everyone wishes that they had a soundtrack to their lives. I do. I really, really do. That would be so cool. It would also completely validate the already melodramatic thoughts I have in my brain everyday.

Along that same vein, I've always dreamed of making a hilarious, but heart-felt music video with friends. I mean, who hasn't? Sooo, as my departure approached last spring, I decided that I had to do a music video with my two best guys/gays, Nate and Dustin. What better time than just before I dramatically depart for the wilds of Latin America (or something like that)?

So, we got together on an unseasonably cold (you can't tell from my outfit but I was FREEZING) spring afternoon and made a video to Mika's "Happy Ending". Nate learned how to edit and put it all together in ONE day. He and Dustin Skyped me for the premier two nights ago...I've been gone for almost two months now and I think this is the part where I start feeling a little home-sick from time to time and reflecting on the things and people I miss. I am so happy to be here, but sometimes, when a Friday night (or a Tuesday or a Wednesday...) rolls around, I'd like nothing more than to be giggling between my two favorite boys. Needless to say, this brought tears to my eyes.

The following video was improv'd on the spot, is completely cheesy, over-the-top, and in my opinion, a dorktastic masterpiece. Enjoy! (Oh, and there's 9 minutes of this cheese, so don't stop watching after the first song!)

PS- My friends don't do coke...those double image shots are from a photo project that Nate did.

Happy (almost) Friday!

Here's some Friday feel-good for y'all...

This just makes me smile.

Forever Young

Last night, I attended a wake for my Great Aunt Helen, who passed away at the ripe age of ninety-five. She was one of my grandfather's SEVEN sisters. (That's right...I said SEVEN. One boy, seven girls. The man had the patience of a saint.) Aunt Helen was a sharp little firecracker right up til the end and she was a wonderful, hilarious, strong and incredibly loving woman. In the 1990's, My aunt lost two of her four children within a few years of each other- one in a tragic car accident and the other to cancer. Not long after, her husband, my Uncle Jerry, suffered a stroke. She became his nurse and cared for him 'til he passed away. The amazing thing about my Aunt Helen was that despite the amount of loss she endured in such a short period of time, she was still one of the funniest and most positive people I knew. She made everyone feel special and loved, she stayed "with it" and kept up with the times, even mastering Wii Bowling recently. She often greeted us with, "Come give your beautiful aunt a kiss!" Her laughter was contagious and her heart stayed young. She was someone soooo worth knowing and completely unforgettable. I, along with our whole family and her many, many friends, will miss her very much.

Following the wake, as I channel-surfed in my parents' basement, I happened upon a documentary on PBS called Young@Heart, about a chorus of senior citizens in Massachusetts singing modern rock and R & B songs- like "Schizophrenia" by Sonic Youth and "I Feel Good" by James Brown. It was quite moving and incredibly endearing. I was moved most by their performance at a prison of Bob Dylan's "Forever Young". I sat there with tears streaming down my face and couldn't help but think of my Aunt Helen. Isn't it strange how things line up like that? She was a perfect embodiment of someone staying "forever young" right up until the end.

Check it out for yourself- "Forever Young" performed by Young@Heart

Oh, and if you have heart, I encourage you to watch this film.

40 Years of Sunny Days

Happy 40th birthday, Sesame Street!

This morning, as I got ready for work, I listened to a segment on the radio all about the history of Sesame Street and they, of course, played the theme song. I hadn't realized that it's been ages since I heard that song and when I did, a wave of happy nostalgic feelings hit me.

Most of the very familiar things I grew up with (Disney, Coca-Cola, McDonald's, Oprah, etc.) have soured over the years; the reality of their big, corporate, hypocritical actions have tainted my pre-conceived notions of what I thought I knew so well...but not Sesame Street. Sesame Street is still its quirky, lovable self in my mind.

I'm sure my mother was unendingly thankful for the PBS line-up back in the late 80's; I remember her ironing in the basement before she had to leave for work, while I played and was happily entertained by my favorite monsters and their human friends. What I didn't know then is that I was learning- not just about numbers, letters, colors and grouchy creatures living in garbage cans, but about diversity and acceptance. (Yes, I realize that sounds cheesy, but it's true.) I was a little white girl in the Northwest suburbs of Chicago, so seeing a variety of different looking people from different backgrounds everyday on TV was a good thing.

I was talking about this with a friend of mine this morning, and we both noted what a unique show it was- the almost gritty, urban set seemed real (it has since cleaned up a bit, apparently to coincide with the "clean up" of New York) and the monsters were unlike anything else we'd seen before. It was innovative and it was ours. They spoke to kids in a language we understood, never condescending, but almost with respect; they knew how smart and capable we really were.

While searching for Sesame Street related articles, I came across How Sesame Street Changed The World, a Newsweek article from earlier this year, about (obviously) the show's influence, where it's been, where it is and its future. Here's a blurb:

It is, arguably, the most important children's program in the history of television. No show has affected the way we think about education, parenting, childhood development and cultural diversity, both in the United States and abroad, more than Big Bird and friends. You might even say that Sesame Street changed the world, one letter at a time.

When I was four, I could have cared less about the show's cultural influence (I didn't even know the what the words cultural and influence meant) and I certainly was unaware about how much I was actually learning. I just knew I loved it and that it was a very special show about a bunch of silly monsters and their friendly neighbors, inviting us to "come and play where everything's A-okay..."

I was more than happy to oblige...and chances are, you were too ;)

Here's one of my all-time favorite clips of Smokey Robinson and the letter U, putting a new spin on "You've Really Got a Hold On Me":

This is the kind of weather that makes me want to put on my brown puffy vest, a cozy sweater, and head off into the foliage filled wilderness in a Wagoneer.

Is wood paneling going to make a comeback anytime soon? How about an electric powered reissued Wagoneer? Sounds good to me :)

((Shannon and I happened across one in Manhattan back in August. Only one of my very best friends would be a nostalgic DORK about wood paneling like me.))

Mary, The Magic Alto

Mary Travers of the folk trio, Peter, Paul & Mary passed away this week. I have very fond memories of watching the Peter, Paul & Mary specials on PBS with my mom when I was little. Mom would always, without fail, get choked up at some point while watching AND the waterworks would always, without fail, cause my eyes to roll.

Today, while perusing youtube, I found a video of "500 Miles" and whaddya know?! I found myself feeling...emotional and maybe even a little...choked up.

Mary's voice creates a beautifully wistful song that has the power to evoke all kinds of emotion.

Enjoy :)

Wasn't Me

Today two police detectives came to my office inquiring about individuals who have been up to no good. They showed me pictures. I didn’t know who the people were. This actually happens pretty regularly; my office/apartment building was once the dwelling place of many low-down, shady, no good characters…this was before my company took it over. Believe it or not, low-down, shady, no good characters oftentimes fail to fill out “Change of Address” forms when they move, so the coppers come a knockin’ every so often.

When these cops walked in, I was in the middle of something and the maintenance guy goes, “Kate, these men would like to speak to you about someone” and immediately I’m startled and then, for some odd reason, forgetting that this happens all the time, I think this must have something to do with ME and someone I know. So, they’re showing me pictures and no, I don’t know them and no, I have never seen them. But I’m still feeling nervous- like afraid that despite that fact that I have absolutely no idea who this man (often referred to as “Goldy Teeth”) is, these cops will think I am lying.

Does this ever happen to you?

Like, I’ll be at work and we’ll be in a meeting and someone will say, “So ‘n so moved in at 3am last night- did anyone know about that?” And I mean, no- why the HELL would anyone authorize that? (This question in itself should indicate the great minds at work in my office…) But there I sit, worried and anxious that somehow they’re going to think it was ME…and then I get even more nervous, because I’m worried that it’s visible that I’m anxious and that my visible discomfort will give me away. Give me away for what?! I DIDN’T DO IT!

This strange behavior (like many unexplained adult behaviors) can be traced directly back to my childhood- usually when things turned up broken or missing it WAS my fault and I WOULD lie…all-the-time!

One time I broke the fancy cup in the bathroom during a family party and acted like I had no idea who did it and when my mom was trying to figure it out, she ended blaming it on my grandpa simply because he was old and feeble- “Ohhh, it must have been grandpa.”, She said, “He probably didn’t even realize it. Oh, jeez…he’s really slowing down.” I felt terrible. Here’s my kind, old, endearing grandfather getting blamed for my clumsiness and general disrespect for other people’s things. But even then, consumed with guilt…I could-not-reveal-the-truth!

I cut my own hair when I was four and when my mom asked me about, I flat out told her I had no idea who did it. I had no idea who took my Crayola scissors and left a pile of blond hair on the carpet, leaving me with a huge chunk of my bangs missing…“So, you’re telling me, someone must have just SNUCK in here and chopped your hair off?! I don’t THINK so, missy!”

One time, while practicing my golf swing, I accidentally caused our chandelier to crash down on our dining room table full of Waterford crystal. That one was in front of the family, though…couldn’t lie about that one.

Anyway, I’ve cleaned up my act. I’ve matured, become more intelligent, and y’know, I’ve generally started taking responsibility for most of my actions. I say “most” because every so often, taking responsibility gets a little…annoying. Don’t judge. I know you feel me on this.

So, I carry on and bear the weight of my past sins and maybe, in time, the farther away I get from the days of Crayola scissors and cruelty to senior citizens, I will be able to stand proud and unflinchingly proclaim, “I didn’t do it!” without the constant worry of unmerited suspicion, brought upon by myself.

R.I.P. K.O.P.

"Michael Jackson was so gifted, so lonely, so confused, so sad. He lost happiness somewhere in his childhood, and spent his life trying to go back there and find it. When he played the Scarecrow in The Wiz (1978), I think that is how he felt, and Oz was where he wanted to live..."
-Roger Ebert

The first CD I ever purchased was Dangerous by Michael Jackson. I still have it. It's safe to say that Michael was undoubtedly the best performer of our generation. He was also, unfortunately, a very troubled soul.

When I was little I used to dream about casually telling my bratty neighbors that my friend "Mike" was coming over only to have a large helicopter land in my backyard from which the King of Pop emerged. (I also used to dream that Aerosmith would accidentally knock on my next door neighbors' door looking for me, but that's a different story.) Anyway, I loved him and like many children, I related to him. Pirates of the Caribbean in your backyard?! Sign me up!

But as time went on, he got too weird to love anymore and his story got too sad and too strange to justify.

A few years back, during his most recent child molestation trial, I watched a very interesting documentary on VH1 about Michael. The focus was on just how a person could end up in his state. They had experts and psychologists commenting on his life and the conclusion was that it was clear that this person was very sick and detached from reality and it was very clear that this kind of behavior was indicative of a history of some very serious child abuse and growing up in the spotlight.

Roger Ebert's quote was the most spot-on thing I've read amidst all the media fodder in the last day. The saddest thing about our once beloved Michael is not his recent death, but his tragic demise into adult life.

When thinking of him, it is very difficult to separate the strange from the extraordinary, but when watching or hearing him perform, it is all too easy.

Spring For You

My two favorite seasons are spring and fall. They are in between, oftentimes unsure and unpredictable, fleeting and always beautiful. When spring rolls around, I am sure that I love it more than fall...and then fall rolls around...

Today spring is my favorite season. I am sure of this today.

Spring and fall are both very nostalgic seasons for me. Events that occurred during these times seem to stick more than other times. My springs have often been times of beginnings, new people and new possibilities. There is a freeing feeling in spring and there is an itch of excitement to get out and explore after being in hibernation for months.

Some of my most memorable springs were in grade school- grades 6th-8th. My memories of this time are filled with long bike rides after school, trips to the creek down the street, inseparable friends, my first real kiss, and the first feelings of really, really, really liking a boy.

More recently, my first year at Columbia, sophomore year of college, was another memorable and exciting spring- lunches in grant park, parties, more inseparable friends and more serious feelings of really, really liking a boy.

I'm such a dork for nostalgia that even when I was 13 years old, I remember thinking, "Don't forget this; this is important"...and it was. This spring is an adult spring, but I am fortunate that I still find comfort in the memories it stirs up.

This nostalgic rant was actually brought about by a song I just heard and something about it just reminded me of older, sweeter springs- Sing For You by Tracy Chapman. Click on the link and enjoy. It's beautiful...just like spring :)

GreEtings

Today, upon hearing about my friend Ann making great strides in the workplace, I decided it was the perfect opportunity to send her a well-meaning, outrageously cheesy e-card.

Remember the old days of American Greetings and Blue Mountain e-cards? We had mounds upon mounds of cyber greetings to choose from!

I regret to inform all of you that the times have changed.

Apparently there are “memberships” now and if you’re not a “member” you really only have about one to two cards to choose from. Thankfully for me (and Ann!) I was able to snag a little bear triumphantly riding down a rainbow. I'm assuming he was a little gay bear. Anyway, I got to thinking about what kinds of people are actually members...I have a vision of a middle-aged woman named Bev in a homemade sweatshirt made from a kit you’d buy at Michael’s craft store in 1994, consistently reminding her friends and family that the sun shines a little brighter because of them. (I imagine that the sun is wearing sunglasses and smiling.)

But what about the rest of us? Why should we be forced into a commitment with American Greetings just because we want to send some gay bears to our loved ones once ever six to eight months?!

It’s just not fair.

I miss the glory days of the internet when we were free to click throughout the internet with the greatest of ease...the days of AOL profiles, buddy lists, passive aggressive and/or uncomfortable away messages and of course, a bevy of meaningless e-cards.

I will most likely recount these days to my children with a wistful, far-off glance.

It Was Five Years Ago Today...

Approximately five years ago, while donning my bright tie-dyed hoodie that SCREAMS “idealistic liberal”, I, along with some of my high school teachers and peers walked out of school and stood alongside Kensington Road with signs protesting the war that President Bush had just proclaimed.

The whole thing felt so cool and retro to me at the time. After years of being inundated with stories, movies, songs and trends related to the sixties, I’d fallen in love with the decade (thanks much in part to being raised by Baby Boomers). I had a romantic idea about protesting. I imagined myself in a long, flowing (yet ill-fitting) sarong, swaying to the music, and flippantly proclaiming, “Give peace a chance…dude!”

Well, if you’ve met me, you know that I usually don’t proclaim things in opposition flippantly while swaying. It just doesn’t look all that great on me (kind of like that sarong). Plus, it’s not so effective.

When I was eighteen, I knew I was opposed to war and I knew that it didn’t make sense. I conscientiously object to violence, and as cliché as it may sound; I learned at an early age that it never is the answer.

Nowadays, I try as best I can to inundate myself with information about current events and the role I play in them. The more information I learn, the more I find that it would be much more painless to just turn away and not know…because it sucks. Sometimes the weight of the problems we humans have caused in the world is a big, disgusting pill to swallow.

Five years later and I still wear that hoodie sometimes (usually in the comfort of my own home), and I’m still an idealistic liberal, just a whole lot more informed- not only in terms of current events, but of myself as well. (Aww, shucks.)

It isn’t fun to protest a war. It has nothing to do with flippant proclamations and looking cool. It has everything to do with being disgusted and heartbroken at what one’s country has embarked on for reasons that are still unclear, and utilizing our rights to stand up and say “No!” and to vote accordingly.

For your reading displeasure, here are some stats:

- 3,989 US Soldiers Killed, 29,395 Seriously Wounded

- About $600 billion of US taxpayers' funds.

o President Bush has requested another $200 billion for 2008, which would bring the cumulative total to close to $800 billion.

o U.S. Monthly Spending in Iraq - $12 billion in 2008

- Journalists killed - 127, 84 by murder and 43 by acts of war

- Journalists killed by US Forces - 14

- Iraqi Police and Soldiers Killed - 8,009

- Iraqi Civilians Killed, Estimated - A UN issued report dated Sept 20, 2006 stating that Iraqi civilian casualities have been significantly under-reported. Casualties are reported at 50,000 to over 100,000, but may be much higher. Some informed estimates place Iraqi civilian casualities at over 600,000.

- Iraqi Insurgents Killed, Roughly Estimated - 55,000

- Non-Iraqi Contractors and Civilian Workers Killed - 548

- Non-Iraqi Kidnapped - 305, including 54 killed, 147 released, 4 escaped, 6 rescued and 94 status unknown.

Also- check out Gary Kamiya’s article, “Of War and Cancer”.

Never think that war, no
matter how necessary, nor how
justified, is not a crime.

Ernest Hemingway

Peace out. Literally.

1429

Classier times

I spent some time on the street I grew up on today. The fam gathered with a few of our close friends/former neighbors. The people I grew up around and with are like family now and it's great to all get together again. I think if you're lucky enough to be close with neighbors at some point in your life, you're bound to experience a different kind of closeness because...well, they are the people that were always around. Needless to say, it was great to see my peeps and reconnect.

However, it was not so great to see my old house. It looks hideous. I'm not kidding. I'm not exaggerating. I'm not doing that bitter "Well, it looked better because of us" thing. I'm being honest here, people. What once was a lovely, all-American bungalow is now starting to resemble a house from the set of a Nick Jr. show, complete with bright and mis-matched colors with a lop-sided bench on the [small] front lawn.

Every time I see it I start writing an anonymous letter to the new owner in my head. Sometimes it's short and sweet- "Common sense: the green roof doesn't match the bright blue and yellow house". Sometimes I go on and on about how I am a long time resident of this neighborhood and am appalled at how this once charming home has be come so tacky. I want this fool to know that the mental picture I have of my home-sweet-childhood-home in my head will NOT be tainted!

But...

It's not my say.

It's not my house.

It's not even my neighborhood anymore.

So, I opt out of the useless, spiteful, mean (and true) letter.


I blog instead.


There is an obvious moral here. I can hear the narrative of the HBO series of my life that plays in my head as I stand in the middle of the street I used to pedal down as a child:

"...And then she realized- she had moved away...and on. The obnoxious colors of her once safe haven were an unapologetic reminder of the constant and inevitable change in her life..."

(The camera pulls away as I endearingly shrug and walk to my car)

Honest Abe and the Funky Bunch

When I was about six years old, my grandparents bought me a set of paperback books about our presidents. I enjoyed them. I even read some of them multiple times...all thirty six pages!

My favorite was the Abraham Lincoln one. (I know, how original.) Anyway, sometimes I'd just open up to the back page and read about how he was killed and then I'd force some tears because it was so sad. That's right- I used to spend my first grade time forcing myself to weep about dead presidents.

Anyway, here's to Abe (and all other notable and inspiring presidents). Let's take this day and reflect on times when the Leader of our Nation/The Commander in Chief/The Big Kahuna was actually intelligent and worthy of the Kahuna throne.

Deju Vu

The saying, “People don’t change, situations do” is one that’s been rolling around my head for years now. I used to diligently collect quotations, starting some time around freshman year of high school, and I presume this was one I picked up from one of the lame, “inspirational” quotations pages I used to frequent.

For whatever reason that quote stuck in my brain…I think it may have had to do with the matter-of-factness of it. “This-is-a-fact-!”…and it was short. I remember identifying with it during my first year of high school, while I longed to be back in the eighth grade with familiar surroundings and the friends I loved best. I remember that quote scaring me. It is an “as opposed to…” kind of statement. Like, “as opposed to people just suddenly changing, they change as a RESULT of...” (Duh, I know)

I guess the part that bugged me most was just the change in general…whether I liked it or not, SOMETHING was going to change. I was to expect that if the people in my life didn’t immediately change; the situations would, thus ultimately changing all of us. (For an over-emotional, over-nostalgic 15 year old, this made me very, very sad.)

It is now eight years later and I find that this little saying still gnaws at me from time to time. I am post-college now and it’s a scary thing. I don’t know what I expected to be feeling right now, but it certainly wasn’t this. I don’t think I expected to feel so conflicted about what I’m exactly supposed to do with my life. Suddenly I find that I am identifying with my 15 year old self in an all too familiar way. No, I don’t want to be back at school and no, I no longer frequent lame, “inspirational” quotations pages (nor do I sport blue eye shadow) and in fact, I don’t want to be back anywhere, but the growing pains feel oh so familiar.

My situation is changing…has changed, and not since 1999 has a progression been so bittersweet. I am losing certainty, losing touch with people I don’t want to lose touch with, and watching once solid relationships get tested by, well, the change in situations.

Ouch.

Where to, buckaroo?

The friends I’d loved best when I was 15 are now people I have “remember when” conversations with when I run into them at north side bars every two years…and what’s familiar to me now bears little resemblance to the cozy halls of St. Raymond School…and hello! That’s definitely a normal/good thing!

I should probably surrender to this time in my life as one of self-insight and growth (albeit painful). This is just about the most normal kind of transitional thing young adults go through, right? I mean, have you SEEN The Graduate?! Anyway, I like to think that if I play my cards right, I may just end up a wiser 31 year old, looking back on my uncertain 23^rd year, thinking “at least I’m not posting lame, ‘inspirational’ blogs anymore…”

;)