Finding Zen

The Time Traveler's Wife

This post is long overdue.  Friends & Family - please just pass on through.  I'm about to beat a horse with a dead stick.  :-)

I'm not much of a reader.  I'm spastic - something has to read like a John Hughes movie or I will have rejected it before it's even had a chance to gain momentum.  Perfect example:  Kite Runner.  Another I am sludging through at the moment - is Animals in Translation.  I mean, when Vern just swears up and down that I HAVE TO READ something, that there is no way in hell I WONT LIKE something, there's only the slightest bit of pressure that perhaps I'm just completely missing something.  Or, that I need to put down the crack-pipe.

I get all weird when intelligent, smart, witty people I admire recommend books that I don't get.  It makes me feel like running out and buying a Sweet Valley Twins book.  (See, even at 12, Judy Bloom was like WAY over my head).

I'm still scratching my head over how No Country for Old Men won all the Oscars, when I thought it SUCKED?  It was dry.  It was boring.  It was slow.  None of the characters felt very developed to me.  I didn't feel ANYTHING for ANYONE.  It was lame.

Now.  Juno?  Brilliant.  That Jesse James movie?  Awesome.  3:10 to Yuma?  A friggin' MASTERPIECE!

But this post isn't about movies, its about books that don't suck.  Here are my personal kudos for one of the best books I have ever read.  And why.

The Time Traveler's Wife:  Audrey Neffenegger

I'm not much one for Fiction.  If I am going to go out of my way to actually purchase a book (when I'd rather be purchasing YARN to KNIT), I usually gravitate towards Non-Fiction.  I figure, why not actually learn something - because reading takes me so long,  I feel like I need a little return on my investment.  The Time Traveler's Wife, however, literally fell into my lap.  My friend Travis left it on my desk one day at work - and I figured, what the hell.  I was skeptical however, because he had just been talking about how it was 'sorta okay, but dragging towards the end'.   If a book 'drags' for the professional reader - it will drown and then toss my limp body to the Childrens Corner of Barnes & Nobles - where I will be forced to play with Thomas The Train.  Not a good sign.  But whatever - the cover art was pretty.  I'd give it the ol' college effort.

And it rocked my socks.  While I struggled with the whole space-time relationships, the writing had completely won me over.  It was like finding someone really attractive and making the first move while hoping that 'hotty' doesn't turn into a conceited asshole.  I felt in-tuned to Audrey's writing in a way that I desperately wanted to 'get it'.  I think much of a writer's obligation to his/her readers is in keeping them engaged.  Content can be challenging,  and I am willing to hold out for something great, but you have to give the reader something of a teaser.  A bone.  In this case, that was her writing style.  The back and forth narratives between characters.  The wonderfully blatant and colorful language.  Her directness, and candor - read like a blog post to me.  So as much as I knew this story was 'not real' - I believed in these characters because I had an immediate sense of them and how I could relate to their story.

Minus the time travel.  But oddly, that never derailed me.  I am that guy that points out inconsistencies in movies like 'Well, that can't happen'...or "The dress is blue and it was red two seconds ago - what the fuck?" or..."I thought this was supposed to be 1912, how can there be a Taco Bell Drive thru in this scene?".  Its' the 'Debbie Downer' in me.  I was on board.  I thought, okay...I'll buy it for the sake of the story.  And I did.  And I also discovered quickly that if I could let go of trying to reconcile the whole grand time-line - I could embrace the bigger picture - which was magnificent.  I have heard that for some people, the times when the older Henry visits the younger Clare, was awkward for them - which is something I never felt.  And yet, the concept was so completely foreign - it maybe should have been a bit odd, but wasn't.  It was beautiful.  Romantic.  Passionate.  Exciting!

But maybe thats just because I turned over my cynicism from the get-go on a chance that this writer had something truly beautiful to reveal.  And it worked.  The book was everything you want in a good book.  The only disappointment was, that when it was all over - I was devastated, yet exuberant.  Wanting desperately to meet and discuss and express the myriad of feelings I felt.  But - I missed the bandwagon.  Everyone had read this thing years ago with Oprah when it first came out.  So while I was crying and spewing about my friends were all:

"ummm, yeeeeeah.  it was a good'er, sorry i don't remember much though.  glad ya liked it!". 

And then I bought a copy for everyone else for Christmas and demanded they enjoy it as much as I had.  Vern included.  Who probably was being nice when she said it was GRITE.  Perhaps a generational thing - I think there is no telling what triggers inside people that makes them gravitate towards certain stories. 

So the book - movie thing is going to happen.  This year, I think.  And I will be first in line.  Although I was slightly bummed to read Eric Bana is playing the role of Henry.  I hadn't ever thought about what actor resembled the character I had in my mind while reading it - but Eric Bana is not it.  Nonetheless, I sincerely hope they do this book justice and I'm looking forward to the directors interpretation.

A++!

 

   

Bloggy Encounters of The Tird Kind

The Irish don't do the whole T+H thing so well.  So THIRD, is actually...TIRD.  Just so you know.  I'm Irish.  Actually Danish, but whatever.  This part is not important.

So tomorrow is a big day.  And I'm nervous as hell.  Can you believe it? Me?  The Queen of Open-Mouth-Insert-Foot-Syndrome?  It's true.  I spend most days walking around with a mic bestowing my unsolicited wisdom and wit unto the world - as if my very purpose in life were to be my own freakin' riot.  But I find myself, right now, nervous.  Nervous like barfy nervous.  Think about how you might feel if DOOCE herself (the ever famous Heather Armstrong) were to call you up and be all like "Yo man, I'm going to be in town, and I need a place to crash - would it be cool if I shacked up at your pad...and then maybe we could give ourselves pedicures and catch an IFC movie marathon?".  Only, DOOCE isn't coming to see me - because I am just a blogging peon. 

But this is just as important to me - because it is the very culmination of every single post I have poured myself into over the last 3 years.  Because, I will be meeting for the first time ever - one of Finding Zen's oldest and dearest blog readers - Ted.  I have also enjoyed reading his blog and have always felt as though he would be someone I'd really get along with - like my good buddy Brian.  Ultimately the post that charmed him into becoming a regular reader, was the one titled Work Poop Etiquette - which might as well have been co-authored by Brian.  It was this brilliant editorial debut that set the tone for our friendship - a self-depricating often leading back to the 'bathroom' sort of seriousness. 

He was one of the first 'outsiders' to validate my very bloggy existence.  I mean, it's one thing to have your mom tell you you're a "winner".  Entirely another, when Ed McMann shows up at your door with a Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes check and a camera crew. 

Am I rambling? 

Yes.  So this reader, Ted - is in Atlanta often on business and we have decided we need to get together.  Well, tomorrow Zack and I will be meeting him and some of his co-workers out for drinks!  And I'm nervous.  Like a schoolgirl.  Like if Dooce came to see me.  Or BOSSY (she says shes going to crash my pad during her US domination tour...and while I play all cool like 'of course man'...inside I'm all freaking out like oh my god - how will I ever impress BOSSY?).  Or Jess (how could I possibly keep up with her incredible EMO (Emo Screamo - as Zack likes to call it) knowledge?).  Or Tammie, Jen, NIN, and now Amy. 

Because while I think I do a fairly good job of fronting my authentic self at this here (the Southern Ghetto opposite of THAT-THERE) web address, the bottom line is - I talk a lot of jibberjabber.

And there is something about the connection I feel to some of you who have reached out to me personally (or vice versa), over the years...that makes me feel as if we are all really neighbors.  But YET - and here is the nervous geeky, think I'm going to barf part of it - we are strangers in the flesh.  So if the actual face to face meeting part ever comes up...it's like whiggety whack, and just so you know now, well in advance, I'm not responsible if I'm a total crackhead in person.  I just can't be this cool all the time.  OKAY?

Can you imagine me going to BLOGHER?  You'd have to tranquilize me.

Wish me luck.   

***Update.  Thank god for alcohol.  A generous glass of wine at home - and I was suddenly cool as a cucumber before our little soiree.  Ted and his friend Kate were awesome, and I am so glad we met up.  I am hoping that with this meeting, this will only add a dimension to our posts, that had always been missing.   Also, it was no surprise to me that both, were exactly how I imagined them to be in person.  Which is a direct nod to - as I stated earlier, honest and authentic writing.  It was a pleasure, and I thank you guys so much for a great night!

Old Egg Sucking Dog

For years I have been plagued with a very acute sense of smell and hearing.  Both of which I am sure are in some book somewhere mentioned under a header called Symptoms and a chapter containing the letters O-C-D.  Many of my 'issues' revolve around matters of smell and sound.  For example...your dog may drop-ass in the kitchen while you're in the bathroom and he totally gets away with it.  My dog, on the other hand, could drop ass in the middle of Manhattan while I'm at the top of Macchu Picchu, and I'll turn to Zack and say "Did you do that?" to which he will inevitably deny but will be left with my stink-eye for the rest of the day.  Meanwhile, Marley has just cropdusted an entire city block - killing hundreds.

The same goes for licking, sucking, smacking, swallowing, clacking, snorting, snorting-while-licking, and generally anything a dog does with any regularity involving its mouth.  Fortunately for me and them, breathing is acceptable - so long as they're not breathing directly into their empty ballsack while trying to gnaw on a tiny piece of skin with their front teeth, for like 5 whole minutes.  In that case you might as well put me in a straightjacket.  And the worse thing you can do is act like you don't hear that shit while we're all sitting around making idle chit chat.  To me, thats like, being so stoned you need a bib to collect the drool running off your chin while all your friends who took as many hits from the bong decide it would be fun to play Charades!  Are you kidding me?

There have been many nights I have thrown the dogs out if they seem to be having a particularly difficult time getting settled, or god forbid have an itch somewhere they can't quite get to.  You ever notice how a dog will just swallow over and over and over again, for like EVER?  They do this.  And its LOUD.  It's not like when people swallow either.  It's like every little wet membrane smacks around those little doggie mouths like firecrackers.  And why do dogs lick and chew their friggin BUNGHOLES all the time?  Is a dogs ass more itchy?  They go for the bunghole and I'm out.  I can't stand it. 

I did some research once - don't act like you don't self-diagnose too.  I may be a part of some little special group of folks with a condition called HYPERACUSIS.  Good times.  I haven't found a 'condition' for the smell part of this equation.  So maybe just good old-fashioned OCD?  Perhaps.

The smell thing is similar.  I smell things people don't smell, all the time.  And things that smell bad, smell infinitely worse to me than they do everyone else.  Like, crawling out of my skin make it go away, dry-heaving gaggy mc.gaggerson kind of bad.  I can be in a crowded elevator and know that someone is wearing any given perfume or cologne.  I have a pretty decent 'scent memory'.

Hell, my sense of taste is pretty damn sensitive as well.  A fleck of cracked pepper might as well be a jalapeno to me.  AND, my friend Anne gave me an eye test once when I participated in a study for her lab and she told me I had like fighter pilot vision.  Maybe all this just means I'm a genius?  Now thats what I'm talking about!

On to my story.  So last night I'm laying in peaceful slumber.  Good slumber.  The kind I don't get often.  The kind that my husband gets every night - allowing him to get up at friggin 6am singing 'It's a Beautiful Morning!' while he dances out to the kitchen, prepares a 3 course breakfast, listens to NPR and jaunts off to 8 hours of MANUAL LABOR with a smile.  What the fuck?  Anyway.  So at somepoint in the middle of the night I begin to dream someone is holding a plate of steaming dogshit under my nose.  Only it isn't a dream.  My dog is just farting.  Farting the kind of gas that an Egg-Sucking dog might pass.  The kind that leaves behind fog.  The kind that forces you to actually GET OUT OF BED and look for actual shit, because there is no way that is just gas.  But it is.

And he's dropping it over and over and over again.  Wave after wave of shit in my face, all night long.  And I am beside myself.  Because guess who isn't suffering along with me?  Guess who is snoring all night, who when I elbow him to inform him of the horrible smell he HAS to be smelling too (because its only fair), he goes right back to sleep.  Who will be waking up at 7am ON A SUNDAY to go kayaking and be all cheery and shit.  And while I'm at it, seriously, what is up with you people who wake up INTENTIONALLY before 8am on a weekend?  I don't understand you. 

I on the other hand, spent the night on the itchy couch.  You see, problem is, all the interior doors in our house are in the garage getting repaired and painted.  So since I couldn't throw the dog out, I had to throw myself out.  Of my own room.  And he wonders why I'm not so perky in the morning...

All this to say - maybe I should have been a cat person?  Nahh.  A cat just cleans itself all  day - and that could actually be just enough to send me hurling one out the window.

*A special note to Vern of Blog Fame.  I watched VOBF's dog Barty for a week while she was in Haiti with her church on a mission.  Barty runs her very own, and mighty efficient Crotchless Panty Factory.  You think you've gotten all panties off the floor, but ohhhhhh no.  She will seek and destroy.  Vern.  It's time to go to Marshalls - I'm on my 3rd day of commando.  And not by choice.   

 

Inspiration Doesn't Come on a Friday Morning

I sit here with 12 minutes to say something - anything - before I have to leave for work.  And my mind is stalled.  My life is pretty boring right now.  Finally got some steady work, albeit 'temp' its providing some sense of security for a few months and I haven't felt so depressed that I'm not doing anything.  Well shit.  That there (southern ghetto anyone?), took 8 of my 12 minutes to say.  4 minutes to go, and now I feel like Johnny Cash.

Hey, look at it this way - at least I bumped the last post and you don't have to look at it anymore.  Right?

2 minutes.  And coffee is calling.  Sorry dudes.  Maybe someone will run out naked in front of my car on the way to work and I'll have something to report.  Otherwise - I am just lame, and thats the best I can do these days.

stella.

Period Angst

This is, to date, the BEST email forward I have EVER received.  Enjoy.

This is an actual letter (supposedly) from an Austin woman sent to the American company Proctor and Gamble regarding their feminine products.  She really gets rolling after the first paragraph...PC Magazine's 2007 editors' choice for best webmail-award-winning letter.

Dear Mr. Thatcher,

I have been a loyal user of your 'Always' maxi pads for over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features.  Why, without the Leak Guard Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach  in tight, white shorts.

But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flex-Wings.  Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic.  I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my pants.

Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher?  Ever suffered from 'the curse'?  I'm guessing you haven't.  Well, my time of the month is starting right now.  As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body.  Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call 'an inbred hillbilly with knife skills.'  Isn't the human body amazing?

As Brand Manager in the Feminine-Hygiene Division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers monthly visits from 'Aunt Flo'.  Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about your intense mood swings, crying, jags, and out-of-control behavior.  You surely realize it's tough time for most women.  In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend's testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey's Anatomy was written by drunken chimps.  Crazy!

The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants...which brings me to the reason for my letter.

Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were the words; 'Have a Happy Period.'

Are you fucking kidding me?  What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing happiness is possible during a menstrual period?  Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasureable?  Well, did it James?

FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never be anything 'happy' about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Walgreen's armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory.

For the love of God, pull your head out, man!  If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like 'Put down the Hammer' or 'Vehicular Manslaughter is Wrong'.  Or are you just picking on us?

Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere.  And though I will certainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bull shit.  And that's a promise I will keep.  Always.

Best,

Wendi ******

Austin, TX