The last two nights, I've found myself driving in the snow. It's a beautiful experience when three things go right:
1) Windshield wipers are working
2) There aren't that many cars on the road
3) You're not trying to read street signs that are, of course, covered by newly sticking snow.
(Yeah; I had to deal with items '1' and '3' on separate occasions, but it was uneventful, in spite of said obstacles.)
There's something infinitely beautiful about going into a snow storm. When you're in a car, driving at 20-30 miles an hour, the snow comes at you, coming closer -- no matter which way the snow actually is falling -- but never actually touching you, thanks to the whole windshield thing. It's like being surrounded by one of the old After Dark screen savers. (Not Flying Toasters, y'know, the stars one...)
It's incredibly peaceful, too. Each flake lit by the headlights, causing a small reflection around it and a small bubble of pure white.
I love driving, and I love being out in a snow storm. For once, logic is right: I love driving in a snow storm.
As long as I've got no deadline and no cars around me who are being crazy. After all, I hate not being in control...
Friday, February 20, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
So...why, exactly?
Today marks the 2 year anniversary of this blog. It is also, by no small coincidence, the 200th post.
Which brings up an interesting question that I have certainly been asked:
Why?
Honestly? I'm not sure any more. (Which, in a weird way, is the perfect answer.)
It started as a place to write my thoughts -- and to impress a girl (whom I dated shortly thereafter). She was a writer (I mean, I suspect she still is, but even when I dated her, she didn't do that much writing, so even if she calls herself a writer...well...I'll stop here before I say something mean) and I wanted to come across as literate.
Then, the depression I was trying to avoid admitting that I was already months into came to a point where I could not avoid it any longer. The blog was a way for me to work out my problems -- more for me than anyone else. I never really cared if people read it, but I liked the whole honesty thing and thought that maybe someone out there could relate.
It then became a tool for me to document my random thoughts and things that I've come across that caught my fancy.
Now? Well, it's me searching for the perfect use for it.
I've always gone through life knowing what I want, just not quite sure how to get it. While in some ways, I'm getting closer to figuring out how to fully achieve my dreams and goals, on the other, the more I learn the means, the less I'm sure of the ends.
I guess the only thing I am sure of is that I write in this thing. I guess it reminds the internet that I'm still alive.
Which brings up an interesting question that I have certainly been asked:
Why?
Honestly? I'm not sure any more. (Which, in a weird way, is the perfect answer.)
It started as a place to write my thoughts -- and to impress a girl (whom I dated shortly thereafter). She was a writer (I mean, I suspect she still is, but even when I dated her, she didn't do that much writing, so even if she calls herself a writer...well...I'll stop here before I say something mean) and I wanted to come across as literate.
Then, the depression I was trying to avoid admitting that I was already months into came to a point where I could not avoid it any longer. The blog was a way for me to work out my problems -- more for me than anyone else. I never really cared if people read it, but I liked the whole honesty thing and thought that maybe someone out there could relate.
It then became a tool for me to document my random thoughts and things that I've come across that caught my fancy.
Now? Well, it's me searching for the perfect use for it.
I've always gone through life knowing what I want, just not quite sure how to get it. While in some ways, I'm getting closer to figuring out how to fully achieve my dreams and goals, on the other, the more I learn the means, the less I'm sure of the ends.
I guess the only thing I am sure of is that I write in this thing. I guess it reminds the internet that I'm still alive.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Wise Words from an Eccentric Jew
Nope, not me. Woody Allen. More from Without Feathers, for no other reason than it amused me.
--
Of all the wonders of nature, a tree in summer is perhaps the most remarkable, with the possible exception of a moose singing "Embraceable You" in spats.
--
Once a lumberjack was about to chop down a tree, when he noticed a heart carved on it, with two names inside. Putting away his axe, he sawed down the tree instead. The point of that story escapes me, although six months later the lumberjack was fined for teaching a dwarf Roman numerals.
--
The true test of maturity is not how old a person is but how he reacts to awakening in the midtown area in his shorts.
--
It's not that I'm afraid to die, I just don't want to be there for it.
--
Money is better than poverty, if only for financial reasons.
--
Of all the wonders of nature, a tree in summer is perhaps the most remarkable, with the possible exception of a moose singing "Embraceable You" in spats.
--
Once a lumberjack was about to chop down a tree, when he noticed a heart carved on it, with two names inside. Putting away his axe, he sawed down the tree instead. The point of that story escapes me, although six months later the lumberjack was fined for teaching a dwarf Roman numerals.
--
The true test of maturity is not how old a person is but how he reacts to awakening in the midtown area in his shorts.
--
It's not that I'm afraid to die, I just don't want to be there for it.
--
Money is better than poverty, if only for financial reasons.
Security Blankets
We all have something that we use as our security blanket -- that actual physical thing that we turn to when times get a little tougher than we'd hoped. (And if you say you don't, you're either lying, heartless, or you die a little inside when a moment comes that would merit said object.)
Mine is a 2-inch stuffed dog that used to live in my pocket.
I'm not ashamed to admit this -- though I may be ashamed to admit when he's with me. But I'm not ashamed to admit the need of something so, well, juvenile. Whether or not a therapist would agree with me, I think that the ends justify the means.
I can only speak for my own situation, but I know that this dog comforts me because he grounds me through his innocence. (It certainly isn't a memory of a better time linked to this dog; I bought him at the darkest time of my depression in hopes to have such a security blanket object small enough to conceal on my person so others would not know.) The mere existence of something so juvenile reminds me that, sooner or later, I'll be able to just enjoy things for what they are -- as I did when I was 6.
And to have that desire to return to such a time of innocence is nothing I could ever be ashamed of.
And after all -- he's cute.
Mine is a 2-inch stuffed dog that used to live in my pocket.
I'm not ashamed to admit this -- though I may be ashamed to admit when he's with me. But I'm not ashamed to admit the need of something so, well, juvenile. Whether or not a therapist would agree with me, I think that the ends justify the means.
I can only speak for my own situation, but I know that this dog comforts me because he grounds me through his innocence. (It certainly isn't a memory of a better time linked to this dog; I bought him at the darkest time of my depression in hopes to have such a security blanket object small enough to conceal on my person so others would not know.) The mere existence of something so juvenile reminds me that, sooner or later, I'll be able to just enjoy things for what they are -- as I did when I was 6.
And to have that desire to return to such a time of innocence is nothing I could ever be ashamed of.
And after all -- he's cute.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Unexpected change
Sometimes, we're the last ones to see our own destiny.
And by sometimes, I mean usually.
The last week has brought along a lot of small changes in my cognitive understanding of my own self. Incidentally, these are changes that my mother has seen since I was six years old.
Without going into details on the professional and personals aspects of it, I tell a story of a a meal this weekend that scared me.
I went into a diner and ordered food. No change. It was midnight, I wanted breakfast food. Again, nothing unusual. I open the menu and decide on one of my three usuals: French Toast and a glass of orange juice. The waiter comes up, asks what I want, and out of nowhere, I hear my mouth speak the words, "I'll have a waffle and some orange tea."
WHAT?! Tea? Waffle? Since when I do eat non-eggos? Or drink any kind of tea?
I know it isn't like a complete opposite type of thing and merely a small step to the side -- which is actually dead-on with the rest of the small changes of the past week or so -- but it surprised me to say it.
It surprised me even more to have the desire to order it again...
I can't help but wonder what's next.
And by sometimes, I mean usually.
The last week has brought along a lot of small changes in my cognitive understanding of my own self. Incidentally, these are changes that my mother has seen since I was six years old.
Without going into details on the professional and personals aspects of it, I tell a story of a a meal this weekend that scared me.
I went into a diner and ordered food. No change. It was midnight, I wanted breakfast food. Again, nothing unusual. I open the menu and decide on one of my three usuals: French Toast and a glass of orange juice. The waiter comes up, asks what I want, and out of nowhere, I hear my mouth speak the words, "I'll have a waffle and some orange tea."
WHAT?! Tea? Waffle? Since when I do eat non-eggos? Or drink any kind of tea?
I know it isn't like a complete opposite type of thing and merely a small step to the side -- which is actually dead-on with the rest of the small changes of the past week or so -- but it surprised me to say it.
It surprised me even more to have the desire to order it again...
I can't help but wonder what's next.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Mentors
I'm not quite sure what's brought this up in my mind lately, but I have been thinking about the important people in my life. Friends, family, and the all-important third category: mentors.
I've been lucky enough to have a few people in my life take me under their wing and help me spread my own wings. These are people I've been able to turn to for advice professional, personal, and otherwise. People whose wisdom carries more weight than a forklift in Costco. People whose compliments are more meaningful than a positive review in the New York Times and whose disapproval -- however rare -- is enough to outweigh even the most any Jewish Mother can dish out.
I really don't have any more to say on this subject other than the fact that I know how lucky I've been -- and continue to be -- and that I hope to one day provide this service to others. I hope there is someone I have touched in a way that scratches the surface to these people around me, but I know that I cannot have nearly the same weight until I've been through another 20-or-so years of, well, life.
Certainly gives me something to look forward to!
I've been lucky enough to have a few people in my life take me under their wing and help me spread my own wings. These are people I've been able to turn to for advice professional, personal, and otherwise. People whose wisdom carries more weight than a forklift in Costco. People whose compliments are more meaningful than a positive review in the New York Times and whose disapproval -- however rare -- is enough to outweigh even the most any Jewish Mother can dish out.
I really don't have any more to say on this subject other than the fact that I know how lucky I've been -- and continue to be -- and that I hope to one day provide this service to others. I hope there is someone I have touched in a way that scratches the surface to these people around me, but I know that I cannot have nearly the same weight until I've been through another 20-or-so years of, well, life.
Certainly gives me something to look forward to!
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Lesser Known Ballets
I recently rediscovered the joy of reading for no other reason than the desire to have some intimate time with a book.
Of course, that's a blog entry for another time. Right now, I want to share some writings from Woody Allen's Without Feathers.
From his section on lesser known ballets, these are my two favorites thus far. (I have not finished the section yet, but these were too good not to share.)
--
Dmitri
The ballet opens at a carnival. There are refreshments and rides. Many people in gaily colored costumes dance and laugh, to the accompaniment of flutes and woodwinds, while the trombones play in a minor key to suggest that soon the refreshments will run out and everybody will be dead.
Wandering around the fairgrounds is a beautiful girl named Natasha, who is sad because her father has been sent to fight in Khartoum, and there is no war there. Following her is Leonid, a young student, who is too shy to speak to Natasha but places a mixed-green salad on her doorstep every night. Natasha is moved by the gift and wishes she could meet the man who is sending it, particularly since she hates the house dressing and would prefer Roquefort.
The two strangers accidentally meet when Leonid, trying to compose a love note to Natasha, falls out of the Ferris wheel. She helps him up, and the two dance a pas de deux, after which Leonid tries to impress her by rolling his eyes until he has to be carried to the comfort station. Leonid offers profuse apologies and suggests that the two of them stroll to Tent No. 5 and watch a puppet show -- and invitation that confirms to Natasha's mind the idea that she is dealing with an idiot.
The puppet show, however, is enchanting, and a large, amusing puppet named Dmitri falls in love with Natasha. She realizes that although he is only sawdust, he has a soul, and when he suggests checking into a hotel as Mr. and Mrs. John Doe, she is excited. The two dance a pas de deux, despite the fact that she just danced a pas de deux and is perspiring like an ox. Natasha confesses her love for Dmitri and swears that the two of them will always be together, even though the man who works his strings will have to sleep on a cot in the parlor.
Leonid, outraged at being thrown over for a puppet, shoots Dmitri, who doesn't die but appears on the roof of the Merchants Bank, drinking haughtily from a bottle of Air Wick. The action becomes confused, and there is much rejoicing when Natasha fractures her skull.
--
A Day in the Life of a Doe
Unbearably lovely music is heard as the curtain rises, and we see the woods on a summer afternoon. A fawn dances on and nibbles slowly at some leaves. he drifts lazily through the soft foliage. Soon he starts coughing and drops dead.
Of course, that's a blog entry for another time. Right now, I want to share some writings from Woody Allen's Without Feathers.
From his section on lesser known ballets, these are my two favorites thus far. (I have not finished the section yet, but these were too good not to share.)
--
Dmitri
The ballet opens at a carnival. There are refreshments and rides. Many people in gaily colored costumes dance and laugh, to the accompaniment of flutes and woodwinds, while the trombones play in a minor key to suggest that soon the refreshments will run out and everybody will be dead.
Wandering around the fairgrounds is a beautiful girl named Natasha, who is sad because her father has been sent to fight in Khartoum, and there is no war there. Following her is Leonid, a young student, who is too shy to speak to Natasha but places a mixed-green salad on her doorstep every night. Natasha is moved by the gift and wishes she could meet the man who is sending it, particularly since she hates the house dressing and would prefer Roquefort.
The two strangers accidentally meet when Leonid, trying to compose a love note to Natasha, falls out of the Ferris wheel. She helps him up, and the two dance a pas de deux, after which Leonid tries to impress her by rolling his eyes until he has to be carried to the comfort station. Leonid offers profuse apologies and suggests that the two of them stroll to Tent No. 5 and watch a puppet show -- and invitation that confirms to Natasha's mind the idea that she is dealing with an idiot.
The puppet show, however, is enchanting, and a large, amusing puppet named Dmitri falls in love with Natasha. She realizes that although he is only sawdust, he has a soul, and when he suggests checking into a hotel as Mr. and Mrs. John Doe, she is excited. The two dance a pas de deux, despite the fact that she just danced a pas de deux and is perspiring like an ox. Natasha confesses her love for Dmitri and swears that the two of them will always be together, even though the man who works his strings will have to sleep on a cot in the parlor.
Leonid, outraged at being thrown over for a puppet, shoots Dmitri, who doesn't die but appears on the roof of the Merchants Bank, drinking haughtily from a bottle of Air Wick. The action becomes confused, and there is much rejoicing when Natasha fractures her skull.
--
A Day in the Life of a Doe
Unbearably lovely music is heard as the curtain rises, and we see the woods on a summer afternoon. A fawn dances on and nibbles slowly at some leaves. he drifts lazily through the soft foliage. Soon he starts coughing and drops dead.
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