Have you ever been so… in love with life that you lose track of small things along the way?

I have been more attentive to noticing things more abstractly than I have with things technically in some ways.  Little things like the scratches from wear and tear at a coffeeshop table… where the light forms perfectly to make Mr Shrader’s eyes pop the most…

Perhaps I am a bit twitterpated.  Perhaps it’s something deeper.

I feel at a heightened level of artistry.  My eyes are wide open but the shutters in my brain keep taking photographs…

These are days… nights… treasured and cherished memories of a life fully lived.

Friday night, though memorable, was not a good one however.

You see, all this time that I feel I’d been searching for my identity…

When I finally was confident in saying “I’ve found it!”

That’s when it happened.

I lost my purse on Friday.  In it: my drivers liscense, my social security card… my camcorder for which I’m filming my documentary Muse for Hire.

My life.

Gone in a moment.

Now everything that was in my purse is fully replaceable.  I care naught about matierial things.  As I’ve grown older, I have become more and more numb to this sort of phenomenon bothering me.  In fact, you might dare to say that I am so used to life screwing up like this on me that I’ve learned to more or less just laugh about it.

For example for those of you that missed previous episodes of my car troubles of the past year, here’s a look at the last one which happened about a month ago.

If anything, getting “my life back” was, for the most part more of a series of errands and annoyances than anything else.  I went to the police station and filed a report about it, cancelled my bank card, headed to the dmv…

I missed roller derby for the weekend but ended up at 6 flags with Mr Shrader anyway.  I made the best of the weekend and wasn’t even late to work this morning.

The thing that bothers me most about the whole thing: that camcorder.

And not for what it was, but for what it stood for.  Those moments of film… my life… my story… my…

I believe that everything happens for a reason.

This weekend was yet another blur with Mr Shrader.  Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be on film.  Maybe those events were meant to be our secrets.  

A fantastical blur that I am not sure will happen again (I hope it does, as this was something I wondered the weekend prior) but one that is marked with…

He is enigmatic and magical in ways that he doesn’t even realize.  Oh Cancerous man… indeed you are inspirational.

Which brings me back to the project.

I have hit a snag due to this incident this weekend.  If anyone would like to help me continue you it, I would love any and all support that you would give me.  Even if it’s just kind words.

I’ve learned a lot through the making of this documentary.  Life, like this project is a process and a labor of love.  The things in life that are the most worthwhile are not achieved instantly… they evolves and grow.  Inspiration, patience, keeping your head up in the face of…it’s not easy.

And then I heard a song playing…

I once was lost, but now am found.

To that, I reply:

A few sentences on a page cannot possibly be enough justification to fully chronicle me. I am who I am. I don’t chase magic because I am magic… and only the stars can come close to defining me.
 

I once was lost, but now am found…

Mia: Don’t you hate that?
Vincent: What?
Mia: Uncomfortable silences. Why do we feel it’s necessary to yak about bullshit in order to be comfortable?
Vincent: I don’t know. That’s a good question.
Mia: That’s when you know you’ve found somebody special. When you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably enjoy the silence.

That, my dears, was my weekend.  But you’re going to have to wait to hear that tale.

With that, the sound begins again.

I know that it has been awhile since I’ve done this.  So much has been going on.  But don’t fret.

I have not stopped writing- I just changed mediums for awhile.

I have not stopped dating.

I have not stopped smiling.

(Non sequitor.)

I have not died.

(Well, that part is only partially true.)

I still exist.

I guess part of what happened is, as generic as it may sound…

life.

I was walking through the art supply store yesterday waiting for my friend to be free to cut me some canvas.  I can’t remember the last time I painted.  I was inspired and felt it was time.

My weekend had been a blur.  A punch drunk fury of hours come and gone like a gust of wind.  Perhaps the rain this week washed away more than just a few dirty streets.

I think I know what I’m going to paint.

My best had to help a customer.  I found myself lost in shelves lined with magic.  I called the one person who I knew was a combination of both worlds.

“Grandma what are you doing home?  You’re supposed to be in Dwight enjoying your childhood memories.”

“Next weekend.”

“I want to have sand in my paint but I forgot what I need for that…”

“To thicken it up you need a medium.  Or you can just use oils because its thicker.”

You see, and this should not come as much of a surprise, but my grandmother… is an artist.

“Grandma I had… All I want to do right now is paint.  I want to hike and paint and watch sunrises and sunsets over the city and paint for awhile.  It’s been too long.  I have a lot on my mind.”

“I think thats wonderful.  Do you still have those brushes your aunt and I bought you years ago?”

“I do.  I’m going to have to dig them out.  I’m buying a couple of artist pallates.  I want to go to the beach and paint so I want something that if I lose I won’t be super upset about losing.”

“Buy a plastic one or get paper ones for that.  Best bet would be plastic. It’d be easy to clean.”

“Grandma, tell me about how it was to date in your time  What was that like for you.”

“I don’t talk about that.  I did date before your grandpa but I’m a very private person.”

Oh what she doesn’t know…

We walked around and talked about life.

“Why as a society are we brought up and told “Be honest. Be yourself.  Be open.” but then when you actually are, people crucify you for it… because there’s something about them that they can’t fully express and they’re envious… because you are the colorful painting and they are stuck in black and white.”

“Because people are hypocrites!” She said with a laugh.

I guess that’s part of why I took a pause.  My scrawlings, despite being vague and relatively ananomous nature have been both uplifting and the knife of the final move of my demise.  Despite my openness about this blog before I ever even enter into anything, men seem to become entransed by the words and then… when the plot really thickens and the soufle is in the oven… well, they fall short.

“Choose your words wisely.  They make or break you.”

I am not broken anymore.

I may not be that black and white picture all of the time but…

Life has been busy.  I have eased into a semi normal lifestyle believe it or not.  I have slept some wonderful nights and I have also tossed and turned with dreams of a ghost.

But those tales shall come later.

Know that I have been to hell and beyond and… it’s good to be back.  We have a lot of catching up to do my friends.  And thank you for the messages telling  me to get back to this.

More later.  But for now?  I have to get dressed.  Someone got a normal 9-5 office job downtown.  Mind boggling huh?

Cheers,

j.

Once a decade it seems that I meet someone who is sublimely worthwhile.  Once a decade I have a brief moment of levity with this amazing connection of friendship, heart, and passion that, years later I still look back and dream about.

There is something to be said about an unforced, unguided, natural affair.  So rarely we find those that connect with us on such a level.  It is as disheartening as it is uplifting when it happens.

We saw “Beginning of the End” together.  How ironic that it seems that may have just been what it was.

How I wish it wasn’t.

But who knows?

Who am I kidding?

I have come to realize that as I grow older, my expectations disicipate and at the same time, rise only to become more and more untouchable.  I wonder if the next version will be the right one.  If it will be the right time.  If only…

I am seeking answers.  Answers that can only be found in the resounding silence that is upon us.  It’s the roar of the streets.  It’s the sound of the ocean.  It is the crickets chirping away at night.  It is…

Blurs of color on the canvas of our lives.  Of that hundred year old ferris wheel.  Of fireworks painting flowers on a night sky over a graveyard.  Of kisses not yet had in front of a photobooth when time seemed to stop and the camera panned away.

Once a decade I experience moments like these.  Of what they are beyond just that-moments- I… honestly do not know anymore.

I know that deep down the worthwhile people are out there.  That I’m one of them.  That the years will fall like petals.  That it is the season to shed your leaves.  That…

I have come to realize that as I grow older, my expectations disicipate and at the same time, rise only to become more and more untouchable.  I wonder if the next version will be the right one.  If it will be the right time.

I am seeking answers.  Answers that can only be found in the resounding silence that is upon us.  It’s the roar of the streets.  It’s the sound of the ocean.  It is the crickets chirping away at night.

Once a decade I experience moments like these.  Of what they are beyond just that-moments- I… honestly do not know anymore.

I went to a business meeting at last night in Pasadena. While the restaurant itself was beautiful, I had to chuckle upon entering the bathroom. It was quite a choose your own adventure sort of moment.

Excerpt from my yelp review of the place:
There was one odd thing about this place- the bathrooms. They are single occupancies. The women’s bathroom when you walk in has what I would assume would be a changing table, but it felt like an afterthought. It was more like a table that someone just put a white linen tablecloth over and said oh I’m sure this be smiled upon.

The toilet itself though is where it reminded me of a Halloween episode of the Simpsons. You know, that one where theres a lever that says to go down the crypt or the super fun happy slide.

It was a very deep toilet that atop had 2 buttons- push this for a small flush, push this for a large flush. Suddenly I am a toddler again. I did my business and pressed the small button. As I was about to leave I looked back and was compelled to push the large button. I noticed no difference in the flushes. But who knows… maybe there is something going on in there that I don’t know about. All I know was there were no secret doors to bring me to merriment visa vi of a super fun happy slide nor were there mercenaries to take me to my untimely grave nor did I melt away from picking the wrong grail.

Dear Cafe Bizou, I realize that you are trying hard to impress me, but that last move was just cheap.

The cold.

The comfort of an old building.

Deja vu.

Thoughts of…

Love is both a science and an artform.

A calculated measure of timing, space, intuition, execution…

of science and romance

Of things and notions that we only have encountered in movies.

But then there was…

The cold.

The comfort of the familiar.

Deja vu.

Thoughts of….

Serendipity.

Fate.

What once was

may not ultimately be

“To be.”

Time

will

tell.

Please let it be

when and if it is

we?

he

I am ready.

A friend of mine called me this evening pondering about life and death.  He was seeking answers.

The who.

The what.

The why.

The etectera.

We talked about this and oh so much more.  We have been friends for years.  Throughout our adolescent years.. past the blur of a not quite romance, we still are two kindred spirits.  It was good to talk to him.  I just wished he was feeling better.

As I was talking to him I thought about a note I saw on my friend Violet’s facebook.  I read it aloud for him over the phone last night.  We both enjoyed it.

Here is a copy of that note for you to consume and perhaps enjoy for yourself:

It was once said that this speech was delivered by Kurt Vonnegut to MIT’s graduating class of 97. That proved to be false but I like this and think it’s pretty good anyway. Bon Appetit.
——————

Ladies and gentlemen of the class of ‘97:

Wear sunscreen.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they’ve faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you’ll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don’t worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 pm on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing.

Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts. Don’t put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don’t waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind. The race is long and, in the end, it’s only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don’t.

Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You’ll miss them when they’re gone.

Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll have children, maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don’t congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else’s.

Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don’t be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own.

Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.

Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them.

Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents. You never know when they’ll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings. They’re your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft. Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you’ll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble, and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don’t expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you’ll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.

Don’t mess too much with your hair or by the time you’re 40 it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen.

Smile.  Your life is your own and meant to be lived to its fullest. Savor every moment.  Carpe Diem.  Seize the day.

I received a postcard from my friend who is overseas in the military today.

I have batches of cards I intended to send him.  Damn him for beating me to the first one.

I haven’t talked to her in a few months.  We’d said that we were going to talk more.  We used to be best friends.  You know, back before he happened.

I introduced her to her boyfriend- a guy I knew from a website around the same I started to date Big.  While we all know what happened with him, her relationship, though cross country not only lasted but she arrived in New York this week to take up residence to be near him.

Her sheer amount of patience through the struggle of being away from the person she loved for so long is admirable.  I envy her in a way.  It is not something that I think I could have done.

Her cross country love story- from Alaska all the way out East, gives me a bit of hope.

Everything is possible if you add heart and push yourself.

So while I push harder than ever to get through some of the things going on here, my bag is a carry on tote.   These cranes will continue to be folded.  And perhaps wishes and dreams really can come true… but only if you give yourself entirely to the goal.

Here’s to fighting to making that move… everyday closer to that one bit of manifest destiny that resides within each and every one of us.

And with that, I have to go back to work.

Gold stars to you my former best friend.  I miss you.  Congrats on making it home.