ordinary extraordinary

Hiatus

It's hard to believe that I've been blogging for five years, and keeping a personal website for more than twelve. I am a true geek and in internet years, I am Older Than Dirt.

This has been an interesting spring for me. A season that is usually the restful and restorative calm following winter's madness has instead been charged with vigorous (and invigorating) change. I've moved. I've had an epiphany. I've started dating a great guy. I've stepped up my training. I've been doing a lot of thinking about where I've been, and where I want to go and today, my brain feels as though it's bursting with realizations, inspirations, and untapped ideas.

There are those who would argue that blogging is an exercise in discipline and dedication, and most of the time I would agree with them, but right now it just feels like a creative siphon. All of my spare time and energy is devoted to turning the ideas crashing around my head into legitimate project outlines and I just don't have an ounce left over for ordinary extraordinary.

So, rather than feeling guilty about neglecting my blog or posting endless memes and tidbits, I'm taking the month of May off.

I'm attempting to make some extraordinary changes in my life and it's time to narrow my focus for a little while. I owe myself my undivided attention.

Never fear my darlings, I will be back, but in the meantime there are plenty of gems in the archives to keep you entertained. Take a spin through them, won't you?

See you in June!

Preventing Assault

Kevin Apgar has launched his second Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign for Carly Milne's Sexography, and this time there's a twist:

April is National Sexual Assault Awareness and Prevention Month, and it’s a big month for the Rape and Incest National Network (RAINN). The organization’s goal is to raise enough money to be able to offer victims of sexual abuse, sexual assault and rape an online hotline offering counseling and assistance 24 hours a day, seven days a week. RAINN’s Chelsea Bowers, Kevin Apgar and Sexography author Carly Milne have banded together to launch a one-of-a-kind online fundraising event to help RAINN reach that goal.

So for the month of April, the blogosphere is going to talk about sex to raise money for RAINN. That's win-win, right?

All things considered, my sexual history is largely unremarkable. Certainly there were a few awkward experiences (Um, I don't think it's supposed to do that...) and a few things I wish I'd known earlier (You're married? Really? And when exactly were you planning on mentioning that?), but overall I've been lucky. I've never been raped, molested, abused, or attacked.

My friends have, though.

When I turned 14 or 15 and started to express an interest in boys and dating, my father taught me two things: How to break a man's arm with my shoulder, and how not to fight like a girl - to hit soft, vulnerable tissue as hard as I could with my elbows, knees, and heels. My father is not a violent man, but he is a realist. He was very clear that pleading words or logic would be wasted on an attacker and that the only appropriate response was to fight like a caged wolverine.

Unfortunately, he is absolutely right.

In the fall of my sophomore year of college, my friend S and I went to a party at the TKE house with a bunch of other friends. Being savvy young women, we had a pre-arranged system for staying safe at huge parties; we stuck together. Arrive together, leave together. No exceptions.

This particular party was completely insane; people were packed into the house like sardines and spilling out all over the front and back lawns. S had quickly met up with the guy she'd come to flirt with (a cute second string linebacker from her Calculus class) and dragged him to the middle of the madness to dance, so I stuck to the periphery of the party with a few other friends and kept an eye on S as much as I could.

About an hour later I looked up from a conversation with the guy on whom I had a crush and noticed that S and the linebacker were gone. After scanning the room and finding them absent, I excused myself from Cute Guy and set off to look for them. Since I went to college in the Dark Ages, before everyone had a cell phone, there was no choice but to work my way through the crowd and see if I could find them. I was none too pleased that I had to stop my flirting to go hunting, but it a deal's a deal: we stick together at parties, period.   

I did a lap through the house and started to get concerned when I couldn't find either of them - the party was big, but not THAT big. Thinking that S and the linebacker may have taken off to go get some food or perhaps more beer, I recruited a couple of other friends to keep searching the party while I went to see if her car was still parked on the street.

It was, and they were in it. The linebacker had S pinned to the front seat and she was pleading with him to let her go.

S, the tough-talking Brooklyn girl who used to joke that she kept her acrylic nails long so they'd be more effective weapons, was absolutely frozen in terror and very close to being in a lot of trouble.

I don't know what I yelled when I saw what was happening, but it was enough to startle the linebacker. Though truly, I think he was more startled when I yanked the passenger side door open and hauled him out of the car. We ended up in a scuffle on the ground and I was doing my level best to hit him anywhere that would really hurt. S finally found her voice and screamed for help, which brought Cute Guy and a few other friends running. I'd managed to get a few good shots in, but Cute Guy was nice enough to finish the job: he picked the linebacker up by the collar, punched him square in the jaw, and sent him sprawling on the sidewalk.

I don't know what happened after that, S and I collected ourselves and left quickly, but I do know that the linebacker gave me a WIDE berth every time he saw me on campus for the next 3 years.

Later, when I asked S why she hadn't gouged his eyes out with her nails, she said that she didn't want to hurt him, that he was just drunk - as if that were some kind of excuse for his behavior.

When my father stood in the kitchen and taught me how to fight, he taught me so much more than the physical skills. He taught me that an assault is a breech of civilized behavior and that it nullifies all rules of ladylike comportment, and most importantly he taught me that it was RIGHT and GOOD to defend myself, and that I had the strength and power to do so.

Authenticity

Go read this.

No, right now, because John Mayer just shot an arrow straight to the heart of modern society:

I haven't spoken very much out loud these days, but I've been thinking to myself in what feels like surround sound. I can see so many things clearly, and feel so connected to myself and the world around me that I need to share the perspective with you.

. . .

What I'm about to write isn't about fame or success or celebrity or the media. That's my business.

This is about us all.

This is about a level of self consciousness so high in my generation, that it's actually toxic.

. . .

This is about us all. Every one of us. Who all seem to know deep down that it's incredibly hard to be alive and interact with the world around us but will try and cover it up at any cost. For as badass and unaffected as we try to come off, we're all just one sentence away from being brought to the edge of tears, if only it was worded right.

Dear Andrew

The Mighty Jimbo is the passerby mentioned in this article and he has written that young man a beautiful letter.

I don't know if you saw the sunrise that morning. I really hope you did. Maybe it would have given you hope. Or maybe it let your last sight be one of beauty. But if I had to find you, I only wish I could have found you a few hours earlier. Maybe we could have talked of dolphins. Maybe you would have let Josh lick your face. Maybe we could have seen the sunrise.

At twenty years old, there are just so many sunrises left to see.

The Last Word

As with many bloggers, I have a disgustingly large ego, and so I just couldn't bear the thought of not being able to have the last word if the need arose. Perhaps I take that further than most, I don't know. I hope so. It's frightening to think there are many people as neurotic as I am in the world. In any case, since I won't get another chance to say what I think, I wanted to take advantage of this opportunity. Such as it is.
-Major Andrew Olmsted

On Thursday Major Andrew Olmsted was killed in action in, making him one of the first three casualties of 2008.

Olmsted, who so eloquently explained why he went willingly to Iraq, was an avid blogger whose posts from the front lines gave personal insight into what has become an increasingly abstract and impersonal war. It was no surprise to any who had been following his blog that wrote a final post for hilzoy to publish in the event of his death.

I'm glad Andy -- generous as always -- wrote something for me to publish now, since I have no words at all.
-hilzoy

Though the post popped up in my feed reader on Friday morning and various people sent me links over the weekend, I couldn't read it until this evening. Every time I tried, the faces of my friends who are deployed in Iraq floated in front of me and my mind played tricks that these were their final words and not Andy's. But tonight I steeled myself and read his final post all the way through.

I'm glad I did. It's charming and heartfelt and funny and poignant and utterly devastating - an absolutely necessary read. Would that we could all have the opportunity to make so eloquent a final statement.

. . . while you're free to think whatever you like about my life and death, if you think I wasted my life, I'll tell you you're wrong. We're all going to die of something. I died doing a job I loved. When your time comes, I hope you are as fortunate as I was.
-Major Andrew Olmsted

May we all be so lucky. Rest in peace, Andy.

Butterfly Fray

I have done it! I've finally gotten off my (very-sore-from-all-those-lunges) butt and created a separate Muay Thai blog.

Please join me over at Butterfly Fray for more kickboxing goodness!

Crushing

Neil is trying to kill me.

On Saturday he got me all aflutter by remembering something that I'd written, and today I'm the blog crush of the day.

Guess I'm going to have to lay off the week long pauses in blogging, huh?

Catching Up

It's Tuesday afternoon so I'm just about on time for my DaveL.A recap!

Oh c'mon, cut a girl some slack. Not only did I work 148.5 hours in ten days (and then 15 more yesterday), somewhere in there my dining room ceiling started leaking pouring water, my car battery died, and The Fireman and I called it quits. Oh, and I came home Friday night to find my landlord up on my roof trying to find the cause of the dining room waterfall; when I asked him how bad the problem was he just shook his head and said "Bad, very bad. Very not good at all." Awesome! (Dear Universe, WTF? No love, Me)

Given all that, I think it's safe to say that by the time Saturday afternoon rolled around I was NOT feeling terribly social. In fact, I was feeling like crawling into bed with a bottle of bourbon was the best idea I'd ever had. However, I'd RSVP'd for DaveL.A. weeks earlier and didn't want to be that blogger - the one who tries to attend but mysteriously never makes it (*coughPaulycough*) - so I dutifully threw on some clothes, brushed my hair, and headed over the hill to Lucky Strike.

Boy am I ever glad that I left the house; Dave throws a hell of a gathering, let me tell you. (And he looks awfully dapper while doing it, all dressed up in a zombie t-shirt and snappy blazer)

I'm always a little trepidatious about blogger meet-ups. Though I've had very good luck with the ones I've attended so far, there's something slightly nerve-wracking about meeting people you know (and who know you) only via blog.  A blog is not a person, it is a creative medium that reveals a small, edited fraction of a person. Consequently, gathering a bunch of bloggers together without the safety of an edit feature, or our thin veils of anonymity, can either go fantastically well or horribly awry.

Fortunately DaveL.A. fell into the former category and we all had a smashing time! Smashed being the operative word here as everyone had two or three (or ten) drinks while we ate dinner and bowled threw brightly colored balls in the general direction of some pin-shaped things.

Since the guest list was super-duper top secret, I was curious to see who would attend. I was pretty sure that Hilly would be there (And she was! And we got hit on! And now we're lovahs!), but I was pleasantly surprised by everyone else: the Atomic Bombshell and her Ninja, Neil and his lovely wife Sophia, Liz, SJ and her pro-bowler Bret, Catherine, Foo, Peggy, and of course our Master of Ceremonies - Dave!

(Why do I suddenly feel like Dorothy? And you were there, and you were there, and Toto - you were there too!)

Being in such exalted company, I was surprised and flattered that anyone at the table had ever read my blog; I very nearly blushed myself to death when Neil told me that he'd been reading for a couple of years. Citizen of the Month is one of my very favorite blogs so I was touched to hear that something I'd written so long ago stood out in his memory. Thanks, Neil :-)

We had PLENTY of time to chat both before we ordered our food and while we were waiting for our lanes (Lucky Strike is not known for its prompt service), which worked out well because there wasn't ever a pause in conversation longer than the span of time necessary to take a sip of beer or lemon drop. Since I was sitting in the middle of the table, I actually had the problem of being between conversations and wanting to take part in both! I should have followed Catherine's lead and hopped from one end of the table to the other.

When we finally got down to the lanes we split up into two teams and promptly laughed, danced, and high-fived our way through two games. I did my part to make sure the gutters were working properly and was very proud when I broke 70 on our second game. (Seriously, I cannot bowl. SJ has proof.) It all ended much too soon, but this is what happens when a bunch of old folks like us start drinking at 6pm. We're trashed and ready to call it quits by 11! OK I wasn't trashed, I was driving, but Dave & Hilly were fulfilling that role for all of us. Off we stumbled to our various cars and away into the night we went.

I came away from the evening with an official DaveL.A. lanyard, a handful of fabulous Artificial Duck pins, a gift certificate for an Artificial Duck t-shirt, a nifty Everyday Goddess sticker, some truly fantastic new friends, and a lesbian lovah. It was hands down the best Saturday night that I've had in quite some time.

Thanks, Dave, for giving such good party!

v 2.0

Phew, more than two weeks without a post! Need I explain that my life has been a bit of a whirlwind lately?

I took some time off last week, though, and have returned from Santa Barbara both refreshed and resolved to approach a few areas of my life differently.

I also returned with a trail version of Photoshop CS3, which explains the brand spanking new look of the site. I'm still fiddling around with the details; this masthead was my first attempt at using custom brushes and advanced layering so I'm not completely happy with it yet, but it's a start.

What do you guys think?

Could Have

This week was simply chock full of blog fodder!

• I could have written about the bomb scare that shut down four blocks of the street on which I work Monday afternoon. Every single building in the area was evacuated - except mine.


• I could have written about my Catalan lessons and my tutor's continued refusal to speak to me in English. Not only are we great at charades, we're getting pretty good at Pictionary, too! I also could have blogged about how written Catalan barely resembles spoken Catalan and how much fun it is to try to figure out how to pronounce a new word when they're not spelled phonetically at all.


• I could have written about children, and the magnetism I seem to have for them lately. No matter where I am - at my Catalan lesson, at the laundromat, at the grocery store - they're following me around as though I am the Pied Piper. (Though I haven't lured any of them into a cave. Yet.)


• I could have written about the tropical wedding I didn't attend, the birthday invitations I had to decline, the drinks I completely forgot about, and the Curry Night I had to miss because of (you guessed it!) work. Also? I could have written about my frustrations over working this f*@%$*g much and still being this f*@%$*g broke.


• I could have written about the car accident I got into on Wednesday night and how awesome THAT was at the end of a 12 hour day.


• I could have written about Mongo, and how much he rocks for forcing me to go out and have food and beer, on him.


• I could have written about my friend Tom, who died early in the week - nearly a year to the day after Curtis (a mutual friend of ours) died under extremely similar circumstances. My friends & family could stop being plagued with cancer ANY day now, thanks.
  


• I could have written about working 6 days in a week and how, because Murphy is a bastard, the 6th day was the biggest nightmare goat rodeo of them all.


• I could have written about the new flowers & herbs I planted today, and how happy they make me.


• I could have written a long and eloquent post in honor of my Dad on Father's Day.


• I could have written about my tomato-stealing neighbor and how she is proof that if you give people an inch they will take a mile every tomato off your (6' tall!) vines.


• And of course, I could have written about The Fireman and how he continues to amaze and delight me every day. Even in the face of some serious things with which he's currently dealing, he never fails to make feel loved and cherished. I only hope that he can say the same of me.

Yep, it sure could have been a great week of blogging here at amandarin.net...