Glass Houses.

In this chaotic mess of people, places, things, events and attitudes known as life, it's easy to get bogged down by the litany of craziness, confusion and negativity that is constantly being spewed our way. But sometimes, perfect moments of clarity emerge from the sludge, helping us to understand things about life that are hard to pin down on our own. I had one such moment today.

Today's story actually begins yesterday. Yesterday, I made an attempt to leave my snow-covered driveway. Long story short: I shoveled a great deal and made a lot of headway before finally getting stuck in a snowdrift at an odd angle and giving up. Later, when I asked my brother to come help me get out, he asked me how in the world I ended up getting the car stuck at such a strange angle, and then laughing at me as if I were a little kid trying to bake a cake using whole eggs, shells included. I didn't complain; I was glad to have help getting out. But still, it got on my nerves.

Even at dinner with my family, the topic of Mabel (my Sable) getting stuck in the driveway came up. They wanted to know how on earth I ended up getting stuck that way. Again with this? Using the rectangular container that holds the Splenda and the Sweet-N-Low, I demonstrated how on earth I ended up getting stuck that way. This time, my brother PLUS both parents got to laugh at my earlier misfortune and apparent inability to handle a car in winter in Missouri.

And then the tables turned a bit. My brother left to go back to college today. Mom, Dad and I followed him out of our neighborhood, as we were headed to an extended family gathering. We rounded the last curve before getting to the main road, and lo and behold, Jake's car was stuck in a snowdrift. In fact, the scenario was practically the same as mine. This time, the parents wanted to know how on earth HE had gotten stuck in the manner he did. So now, I was a part of the group who finagled and pushed HIS car out of the snow. I somehow managed to be the nice brother and keep my "who's laughing now?"s to myself, and I'm very glad I did.

Anyway, this experience taught me that you get what you give. I think that'll be one of my resolutions for 2010. When faced with the choice of ridiculing someone or keeping my yap shut, I will make a conscious effort to keep my yap shut. No one likes to be made fun of, so why not be supportive and encouraging when other people blunder? I'm hardly a spiritual person, but I do believe things that go around have a way of coming around. I've seen it happen.

Don’t throw stones if you live in a glass house. And I’ve got news for you: You live in a glass house. Everyone does. You might think you don't, but you do. Stop throwing stuff.

The Most Horrible Time of the Year

Winter used to be my favorite season. I loved playing in the snow, kicking icicles off of cars, obsessing over Christmas, seeing my favorite relatives, and going to bed anticipating the possibility of a snow day, among other things. I'm not sure when this change happened, but winter means something altogether different to me now. Now I stress about the condition of the roads, complain about the coldness of my house, dread prolonged family visits, miss my friends terribly and dwell on my fears and insecurities. Now winter means being isolated from most sources of happiness. Not even Christmas is the same, now that I've realized I don't really believe in the significance of its origins. Don't get me wrong, I still happily participate in the holiday festivities, but my heart just isn't in it like it used to be.

I remember a time when it was enough to be at home with my family during these winter holidays. That was when I belonged in this house and my biggest problems were deciding how to spend my birthday money and making sure I didn't poke Q-tips too far into my ear. But as I've grown, my problems have multiplied and mutated. I'm 21, a college graduate, virtually jobless, living in my parents' basement. Now I feel like I've become a burden, the guest that won't leave. The Ouija board that will keep coming back, no matter how many times you try to throw it out. I do love my family a great deal, but the time of blissfully ignorant childhood has passed. I constantly crave company that I'm not related to. That's just another confusing, bittersweet part of growing up, I guess.

And I'm just so lonely. I have many friends who are very dear to me, and I know I would die without them, but they can't be with me at all times. I've been doing my best to not bother them. I understand that I am not at the top of very many people's priority list, and that's fine. I just want to be able to hibernate during those gaps between hanging out with people. No matter how nice my visit is, I'll still be going home alone with no one to interact with other than the monsters in my mind.

I know I'm really whining here, but I feel like I need need to explore this melancholy a bit before I try to dissolve it. I'm in the Wallowing Stage. I'm not sure what stage comes next, but hopefully it comes soon. My good buddy iTunes is acting as my nurse at this time. Sooner or later, I'll be back in the mood for upbeat jigs and percussive jams. Until then, my life is tortured strings and dreary pianos. Until I've found new things to love about winter, I need a new favorite season. Spring's on the distant horizon, so why not that?

The Leaky Glass

I think I must have jinxed myself last night. My glass is half-empty again... maybe more than half. The coaster is wet. A leak, perhaps?

Don't misunderstand; my weekend was truly refreshing. But like a good song, the Roman empire and Arrested Development, all good things must come to an end.

I had numerous wonderful conversations, several of them with my friend Henley (formerly known as Steven). It was good to talk about this and that and realize that there are other people who share some of the same feelings and experiences as me. But then on the drive home this afternoon, I had two and a half hours to reflect on a lot of things. In a lot of ways, I feel much more content than I have in a long time. And yet, reflecting on these discussions, I have come to realize that there is a lot about myself and my life that I am not content with.

I am a strong believer in the concept that we are all ultimately in control of our situation. Of course, there are elements we cannot predict or control, but how we cope with these is up to us. If you're not happy, do something about it. If you want a change, make one occur. Everyone has the right to feel unhappy or upset, but that can only last before so long before it becomes one's life. I don't want perpetual unhappiness to become my life.

As much as I would love to deny it, I am not very self-motivated at all. I seem to be waiting on some kind of external boost or something... but that's not going to happen. I need to follow my own advice. I have to initiate the boost. Bizarre though he may be, I think Patrick Wolf said it well: "Let no foot mark your ground / Let no hand hold you down." My own feet are marking my ground, and my own hands are holding me down. I can't let that happen! I hear you, Patrick! I was paying attention!

Looks like I need to find a new glass. I wonder where to look for one? I could also stand to find a new analogy.

RAAH RAAAH RAA-AA-AAHH

Blog. Blog. Bloggity blog, DUMBLEDORE!

I am currently sitting in my dear friend Steven's dorm room, apparently attending an unannounced two-person blogging party. I know as I type this that Steven's post will most likely be substantially more thoughtful and insightful than mine. I don't really have anything specific to say, but I do feel like this is an interesting moment that I would like to record while the opportunity is presenting itself.

As this day draws to a close, I would like to say that this weekend has been quite satisfying. I began some new friendships and strengthened some old ones. I learned the difference between "who" and "whom." I was exposed to some crazy music. I attended a musical. I learned the correct nonsensical syllables in that Lady GaGa song. I tried bruschetta for the first time, and loved it. I witnessed the first snow of the year. I reminisced. I was mesmerized by something called a Panic Mouse. I got yelled at for saying "that" instead of "who." I had meaningful discussions about hopes, dreams, life, lifestyles, tears and fears. And television. Questions have been answered and feelings affirmed. I am, for the most part, content. I know that these things often have a nasty way of falling apart, but for now I'm just enjoying the general wellness of this moment.

As usual, my brain is all over the place and this entry is wrought with frivolity and blather. Sound and fury, signifying nothing. Well, something perhaps, but nothing that is easy for me to define in my current state of mind.

Well, shoot. I thought that Steven might be done composing his entry by the time I finished typing these thoughts. He's concentrating very hard, so I'll be patient and wait for him to finish before starting any conversation. Goodnight folks, and may your glass be half-full.

I Saw The Sign

Hello, blog! It's been much too long.

I don't have anything groundbreakingly interesting to say today, but I did come to a realization that has been on my mind for a couple of hours now. I have to get it out of me or I might go insane.

As I was driving home from watching "Dexter" at my friend's house this evening, I saw one of those yellow "animal crossing" signs. This particular sign featured a horse with a supposedly human rider on its back (shown above).

Now why is it that the silhouette of the horse appears to be quite realistic, while the rider looks like a bathroom sign man? And not even a normal bathroom sign man... This dude is slouching and his arm is crazy-long. I mean here you've got this guy who we're used to seeing on school crossing signs, pedestrian crossing signs and bathroom signs, and it doesn't bother us at all that his head just mysteriously floats over his neckless upper body. When he's on his own or surrounded by other pedestrian lookalikes, nothing seems amiss. But suddenly he's riding Black Beauty, whose head is seemingly very much attached to his/her body, and something just feels wrong. If you looked at the shadow of this horse in real life, it would look like a legit horse, but if you were to look at the humanoid's shadow, you might freak out and call the Ghostbusters or something.

Now that I think about it, all animal crossing signs depict their animals' forms quite accurately. So why is it that we can get away with having freaky decapitated humans on signs, but sign animals have to look like they were traced straight out of Ranger Rick?

I'm going to try my hardest not to dwell on this.

Remember The Time

This entry has been a couple of weeks in the making... I've just needed some time to let my thoughts gather and settle. Yep... It's about Michael Jackson.

Let me go ahead and get this out of the way... It's sad about Billy Mays and Ms. Fawcett as well, but I just wasn't as familiar with them. I'm sure they were great. I would also like to throw in a little side note here before I get rolling. I know this will seem morbid, but I would also like to state here, for anyone who may read this if I should die for any reason, that I would like for Diana Ross' "If We Hold On Together" to be played at my funeral. All right, here we go.

Now, I believe it is very sad when anyone dies. Michael Jackson was a human like all of us, after all. But there's just something so devastating when someone beloved by millions passes away. Yes, he was a strange man with a strange appearance. Yes, he was an entertainer of dynamic proportions. But he was also a sibling, a son, a parent, and a friend. We should respect that about all people, famous and otherwise.

I was somewhat numb to everything people were saying during the days following his death, but I was troubled by the jokes and vulturous discussion of how much money his estate would make, how much of him was made of plastic, etc. And about that plastic thing-- does it really matter what he looked like? Was his odd appearance doing damage to you? Do you need others' approval to have the face you have? I didn't think so.

At first I didn't believe that he was even dead; rumors like that go around all the time and only about an eighth of them turn out to be true. It finally hit me several days later that this was the real deal.Suddenly something dumped a huge mixed bag of all kinds of unexpected emotions on me. I was shocked. I was in denial. I was sad. I was infuriated. I was irritated that so many people acted like they were Jackson's best friend and knew everything about him, and even more irritated by the plastic surgery and pedophilia jokes. I was a little disenchanted by the announcement of the upcoming televised memorial service.

The more I thought about it, the more I made peace with at least the part about the public memorial service. The majority of fans didn't know him in person, but I think we all felt like we did, so public was his private life. And he always talked about how important his fans were to him, and it is clear that he meant a lot to many and made a huge difference in countless people's lives and broke all kinds of barriers, so I don't feel like he would have minded his public getting some kind of closure to his grand career. And I suppose it only seems appropriate, in a way, that a life spent onstage should end onstage. I do still feel, however, that those close to him should be able to mourn him privately if they so choose, without newsfolk pestering them for statements and such. I also think it's a bit of a shame that his children are being thrust into the media so drastically after he spent the last however many years of his life trying to shield them from becoming news stories.

I didn't know the man personally or anything, but I know I have countless treasured memories that came to pass because of Jackson's work. My younger brother idolized him as a performer. I can see little 8-year-old Jake teaching himself to moonwalk with the sequined glove Mom made him. I remember watching Jackson's 2001 televised concert on tape with Jake over and over and over, making fun of the ridiculous "Heal The World" tribute and laughing at the woman in the front row who was so excited when Jackson appeared onstage that she looked like she was going to toss her dinner. I remember watching that concert and seeing Liza Minnelli for the first time, hearing Billy Gilman sing "Ben" and listening to my parents talk about how much they loved "Ben" as a song but not as a movie. I remember the four of us sitting around and trying to figure out what Michael Jackson video was the one where he smashes a car to pieces and then turns into a panther (we had this discussion again last week). "Thriller" was the only record album both of my parents already independently owned when they got married. We didn't really keep up with his tabloid life, but we were certainly fans of his work. To us, he was first and foremost an entertainer. And boy, were we entertained. I resisted for a while, but I have finally caved and joined the billions listening to their favorite MJ tracks as they go about their daily tasks. I can't help it... As much as I could try to deny it, his music has kind of been a big deal to me.

I am not a religious person by any means, but I have to say that I have experienced something almost spiritual through all of this hubbub. When I got home from class today I watched some of the memorial service, and felt very moved by what many had to say. And when Jennifer Hudson sang "Will You Be There," my personal favorite Michael Jackson song, I couldn't help but get a little choked up. When the recording of Michael speaking at the end of the song finally came, my room resembled the Hoover Dam breaking. I hadn't really thought of the song in such a serious context before. I was also very moved by Maya Angelou's poem "We Had Him."

There are people who claim to be glad he's dead, and they have the right to that opinion, but I think that it is most important for us to realize that we are all human, we are all flawed, we will all die, and our lives are all worth something. We don't have to like everyone around us, but everyone deserves respect. It is up to us to make the most of what we have, as we can never know how much time we have left here. We can all start with the man (or woman or whatever) in the mirror.

The Sprout and the Bra

All right, if it wasn't official before, it's official now.

I am sick of commercials.

I'm sure no one really looks forward to commercial breaks on TV (unless the Super Bowl's on), but I've never really consciously thought about it until today.

Well okay, so I guess there are some commercials that I enjoy, like the McDonald's one with the singing fish and that one a few years back with the car falling to the center of the earth. Oh, and Nanerpus. I guess what I'm actually sick of is the fact that commercials like to ruin songs for me.

Several years back, I remember really enjoying the Jewel song "Intuition" (don't judge). I liked it for a solid year or so, and then it popped up in a female razor commercial. Now I have nothing against shaving or hygiene, but I don't need to picture women shaving their legs in a bathtub whenever I hear a song I like. I guess some people might feel the same way about those "Venus" commercials, but I never really cared for that song in the first place. Anyway, that was years ago, before I really had very many opinions.

All right, now flash forward to 2009. I've got opinions out the wazoo, so every little thing bothers me. Back in '08, I fell in love with a song by Joanna Newsom called "The Sprout and the Bean." If I was the type of person who makes annual top 10 lists of favorite songs, this one would definitely have been on mine for 2008. So one day while watching a recorded episode of "The Office," a commercial break occurred. I lifted the remote to fast-forward through it, but I heard "Sprout" playing and was momentarily mystified. Then I realized I was watching a bra commercial. Again, bras are a very important part of our culture, but they are one of the last things I want to think about while I'm listening to this soothing masterpiece.

So I guess I just wish commercials would just start composing their own original music, or at least choose songs I don't love. Or find a song that matches the commercial and doesn't make you feel weird about liking the song. Like that one car commercial from a few years ago with the rose petals and the Dirty Vegas song. I might not think "rose petals and cars" when I hear "Without You," but at least i'm not bombarded with images of female undergarments or leg-shaving.

UPDATE: Let's just go ahead and add Santogold's "Lights Out" to the list. Freaking Budweiser.