"Sensationalism," he said, as his mustache stroked his bottom lip. "Sensationalism, is what we strive for. It's how we sell ideas, it's how we make money." The twinkle in his eye was not sarcasm as I had hoped, but a reflection of what he saw every day: Dollar signs.
Unimpressed, I looked at him drolly. "Sensationalism," I began. "Is poor man's bread. Easy to make, easy to give, easy to take, easy to digest. Creating sensationalism isn't art, it isn't even a trade. There's no real talent or technique needed. There's something to be said for someone who can capture even the most mundane moment in words. How we interact with each other, the little nuances we notice but can't properly articulate. Henry James was the master of this. I think real talent lies, not in piquing people's interest, giving them fast food, but in piquing their intellect, giving them something to chew on, think about."
My words hit his dazzled dollar sign wall. I could tell he was listening, but not really. His eye was on the prize, and to him, the dollar was almighty. As to where our paths would lead, I would hope to very different destinations. I would never want to recognize myself in that place.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
bookend
it turned out to be a bookend. not the flaming burnout I expected, no explosion leading to death. just a faint whimper. of relief. that i finally know how it turns out. i can finally move on, without wondering. did i miss 'it'? am i suffering alone like he is, wondering how it would be if we could be together?
he smells the same. when he speaks to me and he's alone, it's the same. same as it's always been. witty banter, comfortable silences. we're familiar with each other. but there's something missing. something distinct. the sense that alone, we're floundering without each other. i still beleive we understand each other like no other. but i know now, I can make it alone. i don't need him. i'm not dying without being able to bask in his glow.
in hindsight, it was a half glow. we both wanted to be fully immersed, but sensed in each other, the vortex. and fear. we'd get lost in each other, and lose ourselves.
but now, the intensity seems to have dissapated. and i realize. that's all we had. we only had the vortex. and like any tornado, at the core, it was empty. the feelings swirled and we were surrounded. i basked in the feeling i got from it. i mistook intensity for love. and we did love, but not the kind of love that sacrifices for each other. because if that was the case, seven years later, we would have done everything to make it work. but we didn't. we gave up when the tornado became too much to bear. it was agonizing. i felt lost without him. and now......
i don't. i've found my place. and being with him again. made me see. i can do this without you. it makes me sad, but it's painted right in front of me. and it's beautiful freedom. i will always love him, but now i have a bookend to our story. a place where my fifteen year old self can find peace. i don't wonder why we didn't do this or that, because everything we did lead us to this place. hopefully the place we're meant to be.
he smells the same. when he speaks to me and he's alone, it's the same. same as it's always been. witty banter, comfortable silences. we're familiar with each other. but there's something missing. something distinct. the sense that alone, we're floundering without each other. i still beleive we understand each other like no other. but i know now, I can make it alone. i don't need him. i'm not dying without being able to bask in his glow.
in hindsight, it was a half glow. we both wanted to be fully immersed, but sensed in each other, the vortex. and fear. we'd get lost in each other, and lose ourselves.
but now, the intensity seems to have dissapated. and i realize. that's all we had. we only had the vortex. and like any tornado, at the core, it was empty. the feelings swirled and we were surrounded. i basked in the feeling i got from it. i mistook intensity for love. and we did love, but not the kind of love that sacrifices for each other. because if that was the case, seven years later, we would have done everything to make it work. but we didn't. we gave up when the tornado became too much to bear. it was agonizing. i felt lost without him. and now......
i don't. i've found my place. and being with him again. made me see. i can do this without you. it makes me sad, but it's painted right in front of me. and it's beautiful freedom. i will always love him, but now i have a bookend to our story. a place where my fifteen year old self can find peace. i don't wonder why we didn't do this or that, because everything we did lead us to this place. hopefully the place we're meant to be.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
dear aly
it's been two days since my last confession. since then, I have tried to be good, but failed miserably. time warp two years and I'm back to square one. minus the intense emotion. it was weird. quite unemotional and all functional. perhaps i've been burned so much i'm numb? not sure what will happen next. guaranteed surprise.
check please?
Tuesday night, we went to my favorite neighbourhood pizza place for my aunt's birthday. Pulchinella's makes what I consider to be the best pizza in town, with a real wood pizza oven. It's casual but elegant; nice bottles of wine accompany a variety of gourmet pizzas. I arrived to join my mom, who already had a glass of prosecco in hand and greeted by a very cute waiter who offered to bring me one of the same. He was very friendly and charismatic, making fun of the fact that I was filling out my aunt's birthday card moments before she arrived. There was an instant rapport, but as someone who used to be a waitress, I know you try to develop that with most customers you serve, it makes the experience more pleasant for both, and you might get a good tip out of it.
As the identified wine chooser most nights, I was torn between two varieties of Pinot Grigio. I explained it to our waiter and he offered to bring me a taster of both. When he asked me how I was enjoying the eventual choice (one that I did not prefer), he could tell I wasn't enamoured and asked me what kind of wine I liked. Then brought be a mini glass of gertzweimmer as I had told him I like sweet wines. The flirting was so overt, that he came over to ask my dad if he wanted another beer, the indicator being an empty glass, began talking to me, and promptly forgot.
Further on in the night, he was joking about something I didn't clue in to, and was appalled I had never seen Monty Python. He told me to watch it and "come back, we can talk about it for 20 minutes, or the whole night depending on how it goes." Right in front of my whole family.
Now, I ask. Was that asking me out? Is my mother right to wonder why I didn't 'seal the deal' at the end of the night? I thought it was awkward to put my number on the bill, or even, my email. Maybe I screwed it up, but I intend on going back. Not in a stalkerish way, but when it's slower, and maybe he's not my waiter and I can make sure the interest is real and not just an overdrive on customer/waiter rapport.
I can say, however, that I was six shades of red by time I left.
As the identified wine chooser most nights, I was torn between two varieties of Pinot Grigio. I explained it to our waiter and he offered to bring me a taster of both. When he asked me how I was enjoying the eventual choice (one that I did not prefer), he could tell I wasn't enamoured and asked me what kind of wine I liked. Then brought be a mini glass of gertzweimmer as I had told him I like sweet wines. The flirting was so overt, that he came over to ask my dad if he wanted another beer, the indicator being an empty glass, began talking to me, and promptly forgot.
Further on in the night, he was joking about something I didn't clue in to, and was appalled I had never seen Monty Python. He told me to watch it and "come back, we can talk about it for 20 minutes, or the whole night depending on how it goes." Right in front of my whole family.
Now, I ask. Was that asking me out? Is my mother right to wonder why I didn't 'seal the deal' at the end of the night? I thought it was awkward to put my number on the bill, or even, my email. Maybe I screwed it up, but I intend on going back. Not in a stalkerish way, but when it's slower, and maybe he's not my waiter and I can make sure the interest is real and not just an overdrive on customer/waiter rapport.
I can say, however, that I was six shades of red by time I left.
Monday, September 21, 2009
the bet
As I indicated in my last post, I have become a shoe-rich pauper. In order to alleviate this issue, I have gone to extreme measures. Sitting in a bar over a ceasar with my sister as we waited for her flight to depart, discussing our mutual money woes, we made a bet. No shopping for two months. First one to cave buys the other one a pair of Nudies. This is a big bet. The only things allowed are tights, bras and birthday presents and necessities (ie. food, face cream, tp).
At first I was really anxious that my shopaholic monster might not be able to adhere to these guidelines. But quite quickly, after my mother took me on a torturous trip to a new big awesome mall in town (like immediatley after we made the bet), did I realize that I can survive this form of self-flagellation. I do, however, have some strategies:
1. Go shopping with others who are allowed to buy stuff and encourage their outrageous purchases. (Any takers?)
2. Post my services as a FREE personal shopper. You have $$? I have the interest and the time.
3. Copious amounts of online shopping with the concluding click closing the browser window instead of purchasing the cart.
4. Shop my own closet. This will definitley force my creativity, but with the seasons changing, I think it'll be fun to find gems I haven't worn since last fall.
I know I can win this, and a new pair of Nudies would be nice, but I hope both of us win, cause really we can't live in a house made of shoes (contrary to the thought espoused in popular nursery rhymes).
At first I was really anxious that my shopaholic monster might not be able to adhere to these guidelines. But quite quickly, after my mother took me on a torturous trip to a new big awesome mall in town (like immediatley after we made the bet), did I realize that I can survive this form of self-flagellation. I do, however, have some strategies:
1. Go shopping with others who are allowed to buy stuff and encourage their outrageous purchases. (Any takers?)
2. Post my services as a FREE personal shopper. You have $$? I have the interest and the time.
3. Copious amounts of online shopping with the concluding click closing the browser window instead of purchasing the cart.
4. Shop my own closet. This will definitley force my creativity, but with the seasons changing, I think it'll be fun to find gems I haven't worn since last fall.
I know I can win this, and a new pair of Nudies would be nice, but I hope both of us win, cause really we can't live in a house made of shoes (contrary to the thought espoused in popular nursery rhymes).
Friday, September 18, 2009
one of those girls
I always knew I was a shoe whore. I mean nothing makes me giddier than a brand spanking new pair of ass kicking shoes. The kind of shoes where you can pretty much wear all black, or jeans and a t shirt and they take centre stage. I mean sure, i have the basics, white leather keds, black flats (with stylized cutouts), black pumps (very expensive italian patent ones), etc.. But I also regularily covet the ones that give other people reverse whiplash. Their head whips down super fast, and around as you strut away... where would my swagger be without these babies?
Shoes definitley aren't the key to my self esteem, but they definitley boost my confidence. i can't even imagine having that feeling in a pair of flip flops!
Today I have realized that I am one of those girls. You know the episode of Sex and the City where Carrie has no money for a down payment, but a closet full of shoes. I am now one of those girls. I haven't bought groceries in a week. I am seriously considering a cereal diet in order to facilitate future shoe buying (and crawling out of the shoe debt I am currently in). I have to say, my daddy raised me to be more financially responsible than this, and now look- i'm one of those girls. I may be bummed, but I'm not ashamed- I still have my swagger. Complete with a fierce pair of studded strappy heels.
N.B. I always find money for drinking. Food is really third on the list.
Shoes definitley aren't the key to my self esteem, but they definitley boost my confidence. i can't even imagine having that feeling in a pair of flip flops!
Today I have realized that I am one of those girls. You know the episode of Sex and the City where Carrie has no money for a down payment, but a closet full of shoes. I am now one of those girls. I haven't bought groceries in a week. I am seriously considering a cereal diet in order to facilitate future shoe buying (and crawling out of the shoe debt I am currently in). I have to say, my daddy raised me to be more financially responsible than this, and now look- i'm one of those girls. I may be bummed, but I'm not ashamed- I still have my swagger. Complete with a fierce pair of studded strappy heels.
N.B. I always find money for drinking. Food is really third on the list.
Friday, September 11, 2009
binge state
typically reluctant to live in reality, I've discovered a way to create a film between myself and what may or may not be real (enough there for another post) in order to keep myself coasting in my non-real fantasy realm. drugs and alcohol. i know, i know it seems so obvious. but really, you have to go on a pretty intense binge in order to get yourself to the point where, while still functioning in the world, you don't give two flying fucks about what is supposed to be happening. cause it's all one long dream, waking or asleep, the film creates a distortion that is perfectly suited to enough unreality to satiate me.
it just so happens that when you're fucked up 80% of the time, the 20% of the time, when you're not, you can be unbalanced enough to wonder what the hell people are doing, but write it off as if you're at a party where everyone is blasted and their odd behavior can be attributed to drugs or alcohol. basically, it means that when people act like complete idiots sober, you laugh in your head like that 'ha ha look everyone is drunk' moment at a party or a club, when you realize you're just off enough to think it's funny, and really, why take it seriously.
so this binge state has lead to a 'i don't give a fuck mode'. and because we only live once, why have a mini anxiety attack every day because people act like idiots.
when this wears off, it might be a real bitch. but if Hunter S. maintained it for years, why not? (other than the inevitable psycosis).
it just so happens that when you're fucked up 80% of the time, the 20% of the time, when you're not, you can be unbalanced enough to wonder what the hell people are doing, but write it off as if you're at a party where everyone is blasted and their odd behavior can be attributed to drugs or alcohol. basically, it means that when people act like complete idiots sober, you laugh in your head like that 'ha ha look everyone is drunk' moment at a party or a club, when you realize you're just off enough to think it's funny, and really, why take it seriously.
so this binge state has lead to a 'i don't give a fuck mode'. and because we only live once, why have a mini anxiety attack every day because people act like idiots.
when this wears off, it might be a real bitch. but if Hunter S. maintained it for years, why not? (other than the inevitable psycosis).
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
faded ochre
the dust settles, leaving it in the middle of the road. the once rich velvet holds a dusty glamour; still elegant, the worn spots on the arms and seat indicate something well loved, or well used. the rich ochre has faded but still holds a jewel tone bringing out the rich mahogany of the arm insets, scratched but still shining from varnish, applied lovingly, long, long ago.
such a beautiful piece of work, it's apparent it was crafted back when crafts were valued and treasured. now it's disposable. left here, in this dirt road, in the middle of nowhere. waiting for the next person to see the elegance under the dust, see how loved the seats were, how valued the aesthetic was. something not to be missed. but here it is, lying in wait, covered in grime, waiting. because someone who appreciates the work, the understated elegance, the love put into it, will see, and belong.
such a beautiful piece of work, it's apparent it was crafted back when crafts were valued and treasured. now it's disposable. left here, in this dirt road, in the middle of nowhere. waiting for the next person to see the elegance under the dust, see how loved the seats were, how valued the aesthetic was. something not to be missed. but here it is, lying in wait, covered in grime, waiting. because someone who appreciates the work, the understated elegance, the love put into it, will see, and belong.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)