Mary and Bob’s Journal

Mom sent me a link the other day from Oprah.com.  It’s about writing memoir.  At the end, there are 10 writing prompts.

1. Write two pages of something you can’t deny.
2. Write two pages of what got left behind.
3. Write two pages of something you wrote or did that you no longer understand.
4. Write two pages of apologizing for something you didn’t do.
5. Write two pages about a physical characteristic you are proud to have inherited or passed on.
6. Write two pages of what you had to have.
7. Write two pages of humiliating exposure.
8. Write two pages about a time when you felt compassion unexpectedly.
9. Write two pages of what you have too much of.
10. Write two pages of when you knew you were in trouble.

Just reading the prompts brings up all sorts of images and feelings of wanting to cling to privacy. I guess that’s fine; I mean, no one is suggesting that the two pages automatically end up on-line. They’re building blocks, puzzle pieces, tools, ingredients. 

I guess I better get busy.

Oh, and yeah, my mom’s pretty awesome for encouraging to write.

Dear Michael, 

I can’t remember a time before you.  Your voice has always been in my head.

Back when it was a hit (was it really a hit?), I learned the words to “Ben” from hearing my big brother sing it over & over. The whole time I knew Ben was a rat and that just made the song seem all the more special.  I wanted you to be the star in the movie, not that bad-acting little white boy. And of course the Jackson 5ive cartoon show was my choice, unless Scooby was on.

The year Thriller came out, I had a sweet baby sitting gig with an adorable 5 year old.  He LOVED you. And even though I thought I was too cool for pop, I couldn’t deny the way you moved was magic.  

I’m sorry for all of your suffering. You didn’t deserve it. Maybe we should have done more, sooner, to help you. I’d like to think people tried. I’d like to think you had friends. I hope you did.

I agree with the critics who say that Westerners have the attention span of gnats, that the death of 3 entertainers in one week is enough to push the Iranian protests out of our consciousness. How long have the people of Darfur been in peril, anyway? We Americans can’t even pay attention to our own two wars. 

But this is exactly why your work was important, Michael. Great art like yours–expressions of our biggest joys and love–give voice to what is best about living, to why the struggles matter.

Last night, hearing your music again, with all of its uniquely Michaelness about it, I couldn’t help but smile and dance and celebrate. I’m not even a fan. Your sound is just in my life, and it’s such a very good sound. A real gift. Thank you.

Everlasting peace to you, Mr. Jackson.

Respectfully and fondly,

Ruth  

You want to fall in love with your favorite actor, writer, singer? You want to fall hard?

Go to iTunes>Music>Celebrity playlist.  Do it. 

You’ll see that Jason Segel goes on record calling Leonard Cohen the greatest songwriter alive (me too!), that he fell in love with Pink Floyd in high school (me too!) and that he likes to watch Bruce do Thunder Road on Youtube (me too!).  You know what’s better than the music we have in common? The music he’s got on his list that’s new to me.

What’s better than a new favorite song? . . . . Nothing!

Uh, yeah, it’s a gorgeous Southern Californian day. The only reason I know this is because FB neighbors are reporting something about tan getting and beach sitting. Do I feel pathetic sitting in my pajamas in the dark checking out celebrity playlists? Not really.  

My rule for the day is not to do anything productive. Any sentence that starts with “I should-” is cut off there and the sentiment is shelved until tomorrow. Chores are forbidden. Educational reading off limits. I bathed, but only because running the hot shower with nowhere to go is both decadent and fun. 

Read Joss Whedon’s playlist . . . The Replacements’ “Unsatisfied”, Pixies’ “Wave of Mutilation”. . . I feel so known.

The best thing about (why am I plugging Apple again?) iTunes Celebrity playlists is that the songs aren’t merely listed, there are little snippets from the compiler. Joss gives great snippets. No big surprise there.

What a great way to do nothing. Spending 99 cents here & there aside, I’m very happily not lifting my fingers higher than a quarter inch off the keyboard.

I’m not going to beat myself up about taking a day off from the entire world.

You know what else I’m not going to do?  I’m not going to give this post a proper ending. Nor will it get a rewrite. It will simply end, and I’ll go back to not doing.

“They can kill us with their bare hands.”

It’s a sound bite from college that has stayed with me. The conversation was with a dear friend about feminism. She’s truly much smarter than I am. I don’t remember the steps of logic that brought us there. But I remember it being a big Ah-Ha moment for me.

I guess the point was that men and women are not created equal. And that human beings cannot escape the fact that we are animals by nature. That one being’s ability to kill another being will always play a role in how we relate, no matter how civilized we think we are.

And perhaps that was when I stopped putting on make up each day. Maybe I didn’t ever consciously link the two ideas – murder and cosmetics – but on some level I must have thought, “Men will always have more power. They will always subjugate us according to how they value us, so why should I spend precious moments of my life doing things I hate, like blow drying my hair and dieting, just to conform to their idea of a thing that is fuckable.”

Yeah, I was an angry Post Teen. This is how I’ve started referring to the 20-something Ruth – as a “Post Teen”.  See, if 40 is the new 30, that makes 20 the new 10.  Think about it.  Think about a bad choice you made in your 20’s.  It works, doesn’t it?

Okay, where was I?  An angry Post Teen. Right. Picture a pale faced young woman 20 pounds overweight dressed in a black sack dress, a too big flannel shirt, thick socks and Doc Martins. Her mantras were “I am not my body, ” and “Men are just desserts”. Of course, with that attitude, the only dessert she got for a while came in Sarah Lee boxes.

Somewhere between 19 and 39, I gradually got in tune with the fact that taking care of my body and nurturing my own appearance didn’t have to symbolize surrender in the battle over gender power. I’m still a jeans and t’shirt gal to a fault, very much in need of a wardrobe stylist, but I’ve made some strides in the right direction.

I’m learning to value men in spite of our vast inequalities. I guess the circles I run in don’t involve random displays of brute force. Thank God. Dwelling in environments where creativity, ingenuity, sensitivity, flexibility, responsibility, humor and exploration are values has shown me how brilliant the male animal can be.  

I’m still bitter about the fact that having a shaved head is an acceptable hair style for a man; and that such a ‘do reduces his primp time to less than 12 minutes – including flossing and moisturizing. I know men are held to standards of attractiveness as well, and that “survival of the fittest” includes cultural standards for What Is Handsome vs. People Who Just Aren’t Fun To Look At. I’m aware that appearing and feeling attractive can be a challenge for both genders, but when push comes to shove, a guy really can just shave his head and get away with it. And I’m way bitter about that.

But I am no longer a Post Teen. Acceptance is becoming as natural and soothing to me as strong black coffee.

This is the world we live in. Men can kill women with their bare hands, but they rarely do. And as much as I hate it to admit it — for whatever-god-awful-unfair-biological-reason-I’m not even interested in researching — I like feeling pretty.

Consistent with our quest for (and love of) transcendent shows to watch, Andy brought an A.V. Club article to my attention yesterday. I’m a lazy reader, but what Wire fan could turn away from that picture of Omar’s brilliant face?

The A.V. Club poses this question for discussion among its readers and staff, “What movie/TV show/album/whatever would you like to be able to see/hear again for the first time?”  (By “whatever” – I assume they mean other form of art.)  

Now, I get the question. It’s that feeling that comes when you’re close to the end of a book and you just don’t want it to end. You wish you could start over, and have the whole thing to look forward to. Fresh. And new. 

But if you ponder the question for a while, it’s easy to see there are really two different ideas at work here. One is dependent on the piece of art itself, the other is who we were at the time of the encounter.  

I’m one of those people who has spent the last 20 years giddily hollering, “I want my two dollars” at any opportunity. Do I want to erase all my memories of “Better off Dead” so that I – now a 39 year old woman – can literally see it for the first time? Read the rest of this entry »

Earlier today Andy and I were watching The Wire.  I made an observation (which, at this moment, I cannot remember) and then I pointed at the TV screen and said confidently, “There’s an essay in that.”

And now, my mind is blank.  

Let’s see if I can force the memory.  The Wire. The Wire. We keep our fingers on the pause button and spend 3 hours getting through a 47 minute episode. Every other sentence, one of us will freeze frame to interpret the plot points, to savor a nuance, to guess what the next line or action will be, to translate the poetic dialogue.  

What inspired me into thinking I had an essay queued & ready today? Darn, I should really keep a note pad out when I’m watching brilliant TV.

I’ve tried & tried, but find I really can’t blog about how the economy is affecting me in these pre-dawn hours. Suffice it to say I’m awake. 

I have the luxury of working right in the heart of a vacation destination (albeit a questionable one).  Middle Americans love to come within two blocks of the Pacific Ocean and go shopping at all the same chain stores they have in their home malls. Thus, the Santa Monica Third Street Promenade. 

Lately, when I take time to leave  the office for lunch, I’ve started collecting photos.  

Man with knitted cap: National Treasure 2 …. ohh, cool.
Woman with stroller: What’s 80% off of $23.99?
Man with knitted cap: Uh, uh, round up to 24, ten percent is …wait wait . . . 
Woman with stroller: Five, six dollas right?
Man with knitted cap: Wait, two forty, four eighty . . . subtract . . . ummm . . 
Woman with stroller: Five dollas?

Did donating these carts to a library occur to anyone at Borders management? For all I know, that’s what they did, but not for lack of trying to make a last buck.

I could tell myself that maybe our days of being a consumer culture are over, that maybe this time marks a big shift towards other – more fulfilling pursuits. But I’m sure I would be wrong.

Faithful readers of this blog already know that the economic times have brought me to dying my own hair. Today was my 2nd go at it. At first I was really scared of the whole process but now I know that slapping on those Clairol gloves beats making my own martinis.  When I take up bar tending at home, you’ll know the cash crunch has really hit.  

Guess what else I’m doing today?  Sewing. Get out! Me? With a needle AND a thread? Yep. Lily’s got the duvet cover ripped in a few places and I decided that rather than using my measly 20% off coupon at BB&B, I’d go for a full 100% savings and salvage the darn thing.

What other of my girl scout merit badge skills am I going to have to whip out before the cash starts flowing again? Oh god, please don’t let it be cooking over an open fire.

It has happened.  I’ve temporarily become one of those people who puts snaps from their game life into their blog.  As you can see, I have the game life of a four year old.  The mayor of Pet Society encouraged all of us to buy Valentine decorations.  My imaginary cat didn’t have too large of a budget to work with but she made sure to have enough left over for the little black dress.  Isn’t she cute?  

Yes, I’m that pathetic.

The New Lily

WordPress, I’m going out on you. I’ve got another  flame. You know him: Facebook.

FB has been dominating my life these days.  Ultimately, I think it will benefit my blogging because I can leave the random short observations to FB, and attempt actual writing here. Is that like saying I’ll only use “the other man” for quickies, and promise to save the real love making for my spouse? If so, WordPress, you are my spouse. Okay, I agree: BAD METAPHOR. Don’t blame me, I can barely keep my head above water . . . this post was nearly “Ruth is enjoying cleaning the bathtub with her new battery powered sonic scrubber.” Period. End of post. ‘Cause that’s all FB wants of me.

Oh, except there’s the cat. The animated FB cat. Andy’s bothered because I’ve named her Lily. Confession: I spend more time grooming my animated cat than I do my real Lily. But before you point the finger at me, think of all the neglected human kids out there. Momma’s gonna need an intervention.

Mary, Bob, the world sure is different these days.

Where’s Ruth? Why isn’t she blogging?  It’s my new addiction . . . yeah, I know, I already mentioned it before . . . FACEBOOK!  

Tonight I reconnected with an old friend who’s out east now. She’s opened a really wonderful pet clinic.  If you’re in Georgia, and your kitties need care, take them here: the Cat Clinic of North Georgia. 

She gave me permission to post this awesome photo. . . Thanks, L!

Oh Hai! If you’re so inclined, go here to stop Petland!

The “crack” in my comment box says it’s time for an update. How many miles have I walked since January 5th? How many pounds have I lost? I great do I feel? After all, I only have until February 28th to lose 7 pounds. But it’s about more than a date and a measurement. It’s about rekindling habits that will save my life & make that life more enjoyable.   

I’m sooo grateful to Kitty for checking in on me. Have you read Kitty’s fabulous blog?  We became linked when we noticed that we both “dress alike” — that is to say, we both have the same “wallpaper”.  So when you visit her, don’t think you’re stuck on my page.  Anyway – Kitty’s got a ton of readers. A ton. And she’s offered to “crack the whip” on anyone willing to join her fitness band wagon. So generous of her. (I’m not being sarcastic. People often think I’m being dry when I’m actually making a sincere observation.) 

So Kitty checked in on me today. And that means it’s update time.  The truth is, I’ve been running hurdles. The problem is that that only involves my index finger and my thumb. What am I talking about? My new addiction:

Here’s the upside, I’m more motivated than ever to shift my focus to health and stock up on nutritious foods. See, I’ve been thinking a lot about my fitness goal.  I agree, that’s pretty lame. But I’m sure there’s something to it — something to mental focus. Stay tuned. I’m not giving up.

Postscript: In fairness to the “devil” in my cartoon – while it’s true, her post on the joys of mousehunt was the final straw that led me to FB, she is a Registered and Licensed Dietitian who has actually been an angel in my on-line quest for better health. And her blog is fabulous, too.

P.S.2: I’ve used these Gravatars without permission.  Gals – say the word & I’ll revise this post, no questions asked.  Thanks.