screw the angels.. everybody wants to wear my red shoes

What? I don't know. I have been kind of crazy lately, and I may still seem a little crazy externally, but I really am totally in the zone (obligatory Sports Night reference). Seriously, I am so on top of things right now (except car insurance, gas & cell phone bills- I have the money, I just haven't paid them yet). I feel invincible. I know I'm not, logically, but red boots make you want to dance like no one's looking and make sure everyone is.

I have been very conscious of myself lately. I don't think self-conscious is the right term though, because I don't feel shy or reserved or unconfident. I do feel a little false, but I'm working on that. If YOU build yourself a persona, it's still you, right? So I've been persona building. I've been going through old journals, throwing our clothes I'll never wear, buying red boots and corsets, and wearing makeup. That's right- makeup. Unilateral rejection'll do that to a girl. So will February. I've been kicking ass and taking names at work. I am organized, efficient, productive, in charge, and making it look good. Jekyll and Hyde've got nothing on me. Seriously, I can't say I don't recognize the crazy girl that's been writing in my journal for the last two weeks, but I sure don't feel like her right now. I've worked her in- I think there's some value to spontaneity and impulsiveness. And it feels damn good being me right now. I feel really lucky to say that. Now I just have to clean my room. Not just... there's a pretty long to do list, but I'm on top of it. I am in the zone.

kind of sort of maybe almost sex

My first time almost wasn't
kind of didn't happen actually...
or... I don't remember how it ended.

I remember how it began-
'80s cartoon movie, vegan chili, video games
and a futon

Friends passing in and out of the room
with an increasing frequency
that coincided with our decreasing modesty
so that eventually
those friends were passing
video game controllers over our
entangled bodies.

and then there were three

his best friend asking him
"is this weird?" and after the
"kind of"
they silently agreed to avoid
each other's mouths and
focus on the girl...
pressing lips to my neck, my tongue
my... nevermind
the point is:

I've had sex.

But boy, we were never about that
Ok, we were kind of about that
but it wasn't the same thing.
You were never supposed to be
one of them.

I never felt more sexy than
in bed next to you fully clothed
cradled the moments like
nursing a baby-
slow and gentle
fingers on spine, inside of arm
back of neck
toes up and down legs
wedged into the socks
you forgot to take off
and pressed our feet together
like palms
traced the inside of your hand
with my fingers
as patient as I had to be for you
to work up the confidence
to close your fingers over them
stole kisses like I couldn't afford them

surprised when you tried to match funds
happily

rode that train like I didn't have to go
to work the next day.
And no, that's not a metaphor for sex

we were only kind of about that.

she's a jar...

I'm listening to that song right now, but it seemed appropriate. I don't know when I'm going to stop. Anyone who's talked to me in the last 2 weeks probably has some idea that I'm kind of in a very self-involved disassociated rambling phase right now. I've been writing like crazy, living out of my purse, my car, and vending machines. I have slept in five different cities in the last 2 weeks, and am quite frankly channeling me at 21 a lot more than I'd like to admit. I don't know when I'm going to slow down, or stop living this day to day messy, messy me. I've been feeling a little restless and temporary lately. It happens every so often where part of me thinks its a good idea to wander city streets, stay up too late smoking, drinking, and waxing philosophical. Then you wake up in a 9 by 6 whitewashed room in brooklyn on Sunday morning, realize you haven't slept in your apartment two days in a row in like 3 weeks, and that you're kind of scared to. I don't know, I think I'm afraid that I'll become complacent if I stop moving.

Anyway... blah, blah, blah. Angsty twenty something quarter life crisis. I'm sorry for every mean thing I've said about Zach Braff. I had a good night. Had dinner with Rob, who keeps me honest. He makes me admit when I'm bullshitting myself. Plus I can be totally weird with him, and he likes to plan, so I don't have to. Seriously, like a walking Zagat guide. Then I went to Out of the Blue for Jme's feature, and read a couple of new pieces, then bought this gorgeous journal that was $40, cuz, did I mention I've been a little impulsive lately? Jme was great. I literally cried. Then we got some drinks, so again, I got home at 1am, because I am becoming irresponsible instead of complacent. Maybe I don't have to pick. Anyway, I have to wear a suit tomorrow, which means I should sleep

embarrassing

so I was reading my old livejournal today. WOW, is that embarrassing. Perhaps what's most embarrassing is how little my tone and modesty has changed in 3 years. Anyway, here's what I learned about 20-21 year old Cara.
*She listens to DMX, NERD, Madonna, Matthew Sweet, and Jay-Z... only some things have changed.
*She knows how to CHANGE A TIRE? I don't ever remember having done that.
*She apparently was not very bashful about talking about things of a sexual nature in a completely public place. Also, not very shy about talking about the guy that she liked, even though he clearly was a frequent reader. I think I've lost some of my boldness.
*She was exactly the same amount busy as I am now. We never learn.
*She was a pretty good rapper (or at least better than i gave her credit for)
*She took a lot of online quizzes
*She had some WEIRD dreams. Like super detailed weird dreams about cars with alaskan huskies painted on them and car accidents and
*She meets a LOT of random guys and never does anything about it but write about them (which I guess works for me because I have all kinds of great dialogue moments)
*She was very self-conscious about feeling very self-important
*She had a very sex and the city like mentality
*Her porn name (and I guess also mine then) is Lisa Highland
*She made a lot of lists (um... yeah)

and then there are some great things that I just can't break down into summary:

"grace: (intertwining her fingers to mimick handholding) "it's like practically sex""

"[coffee shop conversation]From which, I might add, Melissa's genius theory on men (or men in my situation in particular) originated. That is, to not take no for an answer. Apparently, if you just decide that you're in a relationship, you are. It sounds nice and all, but I'm not sure how successful this hypothesis will prove to be."

And lastly... my genius summary of the perfect man (February 4th, 2004):

"boredom leads to livejournal entries... because sleep, who needs it? so i've decided to outline the qualities attributed to my ideal man. if i could build a man from scratch, this would be him... let's call him... jonah.
ok, so jonah basically is as follows:
-sarcastic, dry sense of humor, can make me laugh
-a taste for the bizarre and obscure
-not afraid to call me on my bullshit or tell me to shut up if it's warranted
-willing to watch (and enjoy) foreign and arthouse films, but appreciates the necessity of the occasional stupid funny movies
-on a similar note, enjoys going out for sushi, mediterranean food, etc., but also doesn't have a problem just ordering a pizza and vegging out with pizza, beer, and a movie.
-is interested in what i'm working on, but has his own thing going on.
-doesn't mind sleeping over sometimes, but gives me my space when we need it.
-tells me what he REALLY thinks about things im working on, constructively.
-tells me to go away if he needs space.
-enjoys music, movies, and reading, and understands how important these things are to determining compatability.
-doesn't mind spending an hour wandering around the used book store. or at least doesn't mind leaving me there.
-wants to learn new things and wants to teach me new things. (he he... fortune cookie game)
-on that note, has no problem laughing during sex. sex should be fun. shit, my mom reads this...
-physical appearance: ideally is about 5'9, has dark hair and REALLY blue eyes or DARK brown eyes. Is broad shouldered but not too muscley, but not too pudgy, and not too skinny. i don't do well with extremes. I should be able to kiss him standing on my tippy toes.
and likes to cuddle, but doesn't take it personally if i dont ALWAYS want to. if anyone can think of anything im missing, clearly its important so let me know."

Yeah. Special, Special stuff.

hmmm...

I just realized that I have done no laundry or grocery shopping since the beginning of the year. Nor have I cleaned my room. I have only used my stove about twice, and I don't think I've used the oven at all, or watched TV. Reason being? This is the first day I have actually been in my house for more than just sleeping or showering since new years day. I have had every weekend this year booked straight through, and have been working on my days off. I had to force myself back to sleep about 4 times this morning because I was so anxious about filling the day. Not that I don't have things to do, mind you- laundry, groceries (because i have been spending way too much money on food), schoolwork. I was planning on going to the BU or Emerson bookstore to see if they have this book I need for my first essay. Also, yoga, the gym, the library. I have lots of options. But I don't want to leave my bed at all. And I'm trying really hard to allow myself to not feel guilty for taking ONE day off from running around like a crazy person. But I haven't even gotten all the books I need out of my car yet from last weekend, and my room has not been cleaned since right after Christmas.

However, I have kind of been taking comfort in my life as a vagabond. Had a great time in NY this weekend. I'm really glad I saw Jon's play (well the second one). It was the first play Aaron Sorkin ever had produced, and it was kind of cool to see his early work. And if there's anyone more obsessed with Sorkin than me, it's Jon. Also, the house music was Jay-Z and Ashlee Simpson. All in all, good stuff. Sleeping in unfamilar places, i.e.- bus, Jon's room, make for interesting dreams. I mean, I don't know that I ever got to REM this weekend, and I was having these weird alternate universe dreams. I don't remember any of them, but I know that I was just kind of hanging out in between. It was kind of cool. Sometimes I don't understand why people bother with drugs. Your brain has so much potential to mess with you before substances even enter the picture. Also, I bought a really cute corset top and a really cute vintage t that says "i left my heart in ny." thought it might be a cute V-day top. AND I went to my favorite Chinatown bakery (to which Jon replied "you have a favorite Chinatown bakery? YES) and had TWO yes TWO coconut rolls for breakfast yesterday. Hmmm... food, right. Jury is still out on whether I will actually leave the house before the afternoon, but I do only have peanut butter, and if I go to the BU bookstore, I could stop at TJ's in Copley to do shopping on the way back... and the Library I suppose. However if I had in that green line direction, I'll be tempted to call someone that I'd like to talk to and it's probably best that I don't. Maybe I'll just go back to sleep.

thinking out loud

I don't know why I have been writing here so much lately. I've been so busy that I have had a lot of source material and not a lot of time to talk to people and share things that have been going on, so I guess I'm kind of saving it for myself for when I get to slow down for a minute and process everything. Because I am super anal-retentive about not losing things, so I save scraps of paper, fortune cookies fortunes, business cards I will never use, almost gone tubes of lip balm, emails i will NEVER need, IM conversations that I think will be good for play dialogue sometimes. That's probably pretty messed up. But I think that people should know that when they talk to me, they are being memorexed for future use. I learned from a playwriting professor in college that writers are always taking notes. Maybe that means we don't feel as much because we're always observing, even when we're living. Maybe that's why it never works when I try to be with other artists.

Anyway, this has been an absolutely insane week. I have seriously reconsidered everything about my life. I'm always talking about how I hate that young people are expected to be building toward some sort of someday conclusion, so I always try to live even when I'm building, but that's not REALLY true. I never live in the moment. I'm always building foundations, and I never see it through to a full house. One thing that I have not written at all this week is an annotation or essay for school. Exhibit A. Work has been crazy, and I don't feel like I will ever be able to establish a routine. I haven't been able to drag myself to the gym ONCE this week (probably because of the nyquil), and it seems like everytime I get used to something it changes. I wish I could be the Cara I felt like when I got back last week, that could leave anything in her wake and cut strings like scissors. I got an email today that the Omega retreat center is hiring for seasonal staff, which essentially means that there are people that go and live at this amazing holistic retreat center for 6 months, get paid, get fed, make beds or do laundry, organize workshops, or run desks, and then get to spend the rest of their time taking movement classes, yoga, tai-chi, dancing at drum circles and writing poetry- ok, that's what I would spend the rest of my time doing. But I can't just stop. I can't cut strings, put my stuff in storage and go find myself. Where the hell do I think myself is hiding? In Rhinebeck NY?

What has been most stressful this week is that I had to write a 200,000 dollar grant in like a day and a half while the staff was dismantling itself and I was quickly coming to the realization that I could very well be the last one standing, which means doing like 3 jobs on top of the 2 I already feel like I have. Which really mirrors my last job. I've invested so much here in building the Youth Media Institute, that I really don't want to leave it behind. And I don't want to leave my teens behind. They are AMAZING, and I think that we have a lot of great work to do this year. So it's interesting that crisis has kind of made me more committed to buckling down and reassessing priorities. Dropping all the balls I've been juggling and picking up what I can. For which purpose, I've created a blocked schedule for myself, so that I can make sure nothing slips. So I realized that I only have weekend nights unscheduled. To be fair, the R&S stuff is not always all of those nights, just things I try to keep blocked off for Our Sisters, group, Street Theatre, the new planning committee for Trans stuff. So, ok, yes, potentially all of those nights- but not always.



And that's before even scheduling in What's Up and ACME meetings, and me and Lexi are talking about starting up a women's writing group through R and S... So between work, and school, and the gym, and I swear I have friends that I like to see sometimes, I don't really feel like I even have time to worry about relationships and crap. But then I think of how I hate when people say that. Because yes, relationships are work, but they shouldn't be a burden. They should ease the rest of the burden. And I do feel like I always go for men who are at least close to as busy as me so that I don't feel like I'm neglecting them, because I hate feeling guilty about all of my other commitments. But I really feel like if both people understand that there's a lot of other stuff in life and enjoy the time that they can have together, that it shouldn't be a huge stress to be with someone. But I've always viewed the men I've been with as like a teammate, so if someone doesn't see a relationship as a partnership, like an opportunity to take on life together, then I guess I can see how they will always get frustrated with yet another thing they have to juggle. The whole mars and venus thing I suppose. Dating scares me. I really don't understand how it's done in real life. Stupid ALL school. But I do know that I'm done being the other woman, done kissing frogs that I don't even want to turn into princes just because a warm body seems better than an empty bed, and I'm done investing time in men that I'm really just trying to fix. Men are not houses, and fixer uppers are not worth the investment.

new poems (because i've turned into a graphomaniac)

detour home

Boston roads go everywhere
behind your back
they are like secret passageways
in castles that little kids are afraid
to talk about in the dark.

I've learned my way around
a little bit better
each time I've found a different
accidental way home
and there are always new ways
to get lost here.
Black holes running from
Dorchester to Mission Hill
and into the Fenway
and I never understand how I end
up under the damn Citgo sign
every time...

like it has a magnetic forcefield
around it
or you under it.
another place I lose myself...
your back is the backroads of Milton
in the dark and snow
10 minutes and an hour away from
my bed.
your hair those tree lined streets
on the Jamaicaway that I had no idea
would throw me into Brookline
cost me a dollar to get on the Pike
to find my way home again.
your scars are landmarks...
the Citgo sign, the Zakim bridge, the
gold dome over the State House
that let me know I'm on the right track
that I'll be home soon
or at least know where I'm going.

The road home is always closed after
midnight
after I leave you and that stupid sign
in my wake
follow orange signs all over Downtown
Boston
tracing arteries through one way streets
and almost the right way
and I've wasted so much time getting lost
in those city streets
late at night
your cheekbone, the top of your spine,
the back of your hand...
sometimes I kick myself for
not keeping better notes for next time
but in the end I always find a new way
back to myself.



poetic license

don't worry about me.
i know that it may seem like
i'm falling apart
that you broke me in half
or more pieces than you think
i can repair
but that just sounds better
than "you were a fly in my pudding
and it take two minutes of whisking
to make a new batch."

i know you think you saw
my heart through the cleavage
resting above my low cut dress
but that's not where I keep it.
and I only wear it on my sleeve
because it can take New England winters.
baby, i saw that you were a bull
in a china shop the moment we met.
do you really think i would
leave the breakables out on the shelf?
those mason jars labeled
pride, dignity, future
aren't made of glass--
they're titanium alloy
the stuff they make spaceships
out of
you need some serious fire
to cut through that shit
and I just don't think you've got it in you

and you could be anyone
the boy I had a crush on in
the third grade
a passing stranger on the T
a weekend of memories
because truth and beauty
are two different things
and hyperbole reads better
than reality
and I can't say I know much
but I've kissed enough frogs to
know that lips don't make princes
but my pen always can.

Aqua Teen is da Bomb

I'm so sad that I was in VT when all this stuff went down. But I am immensely amused by the aftershocks (pun fully intended). Mallory came to group wearing a shirt similar to this one the other night, which made my night:



She's so stylish :)

Colleen's friend Juan just sent this video, which absolutely made my day after going through 1,170 email messages that accumulated while I was on break. Yes, about half of them were SPAM, but that still leaves a lot of apology emails and meetings next week. I'm totally staying in tonight and sleeping.

The dangerous lives of celebrities

When Princess Diana died in a car accident almost ten years ago, newsmen hung their heads low and lamented how fame had killed the young princess. Anna Nicole Smith will get no such eulogy. Even in death, the bombshell is still famous only for scandal, her life story immortalized in Playboy and tabloids. I can't say that I have ever been a fan, but when I read that she'd died at 39, just months after burying her son and while embroiled in a custody battle over her newborn daughter, it hit me strangely. Obviously, the autopsy results are still being gathered, the five bags of evidence from her hotel room are still being rifled through in some CSI lab, but to say that the woman was not killed by fame would be ludicrous. I read this morning that she was "famous for being famous," and I can't think of any way to better put it. So, just because she wasn't run off the road by rabid paparazzi doesn't mean that our voyeuristic thirst didn't push her into an early grave. Despite that early departure, it would be difficult to make the argument that Anna Nicole Smith was not resilient. Comebacks, fad diets, lawsuits, dead husbands, dead sons, she's like a one woman Kennedy family reunion. Say what you will, the woman was a fighter.

"the inevitable death of privacy"

That's the cover story of this week's New York Magazine. Kind of got me to thinking... Ok, I will say this- I have not read the article yet. So, I am not going to comment or critique on how I feel about adults trying to define a generation that they don't really understand, or about old technology doing the job of the new blah blah blah McLuhan blah blah blah Locke blah blah digital age. I'm focusing on my writing this semester, not media theory, so I digress. Plus, I can't stand when people use rumor and conjecture to refute hearsay, so I'm just going to go with some of the ideas it sparked.

Why do I have a blog? I don't know. Because passive aggression lives on the internet. Because I hope that I'm cool enough that a couple of people who don't get to see me all the time like to keep up with what's going on in my life, or at least what I'm writing right now. Because as much as it makes me cringe, there's something cool about going back and looking at what I was thinking 6 months to 8 years ago and quite frankly, I'm running out of space in my bookshelves for notebooks. I am pretty proud of myself for not deleting my old livejournal and still having that as evidence of how insane I was when I was 20. Hopefully, this will serve some similar purpose when the punchline hits.

How have blogs affected the way we communicate? ALOT. I remember this one time that a friend in college was having a fight with a girl he was seeing, and she asked if they could move the conversation to AIM because she'd feel more comfortable... WTF. Also, that Freshman era story has recently been featured on Jon's blog as well. I think we may both give too much consideration to modes of communication. But no, I think that communication is important. And not just in that cliche, trust, communication, and respect do a healthy relationship make part (though I think that's probably only a cliche because it's true)... but I'm really fascinated with how emerging technology changes interpersonal relationships. I know that I'm much more passive. I know that I don't seize the moment as much because I half assume I can kind anyone I need to on myspace. I study up on people before I ask them out. I am an internet stalker.

Lastly, I think that its interesting that communicating through mediums like text messaging, emails, facebook and myspace comments, and instant messaging has kind of eliminated the need for beginnings, middles, and ends. I mean, maybe I have studied creative and dramatic writing too much, but people, this is basic. There are three parts- beginning, middle, and end- it's very simple. A beginning is usually something like a greeting- hello, how are you, hey, whats up, yo... any of these will do. Then the middle can be any array of things that both parties want to engage in conversation about. Could be making plans to hang out later, maybe catching up on something you missed, just bullshitting because you don't actually have the time to see each other in person. Here's the important part: when the conversation ends, there should be a conclusion. Something like: alright, well I gotta go, or i'm on my way out the door, i'll talk to you later, i'm out, see ya... or something to that effect. Similarly, if you happen to accidentally implied your availability, but cannot actually engage in conversation, one of these farewells works as well. Like, hey sorry I can't talk right now, or something like that.

I think it is very strange that with our dependence on media for communication, it is a lot easier to seek out physical human companionship. You have people on call via your keyboard, why make plans to see them in the flesh? (maybe because its much more entertaining and engaging). Also, I don't think I talk to PEOPLE as much anymore. So some of you will have to suffice with this. I'm going to go have dinner with a real person.

ADDENDUM: I have been waking up each morning this week to email updates from the hospital about my Uncle's recovery from his heart transplant. That has to make it much more easy for my Uncle who's keeping post at the hospital, and much less tedious than a phone treem, but we're all still in the loop. So, there's a check in the plus column.

little boy blue

I remembered that last night in New York City
the little Italian bistro in the lower east side
wedged between the coffeehouse
and the lesbian sex toy shop
where you talked me into ordering a goat cheese panini
(the bistro, not the sex shop)
even though I was a strict vegan at the time

i was never a strict anything around you
...you always crushed my resolutions with vices
like jack daniels, camel lights,
hot chocolate, mango smoothies
your hands

... and all that before I even realized
I was hiding behind fake hotel
lobby shrubbery... poorly
caught easily
and i pretended I was looking
for my supposedly ringing cell phone
damned the supposedly missed call
awkwardly stumbled into your
waiting arms
pulled away before your hand
could settle into the familiar
groove
in my back
before you could pull away first.

And a year and a half of almost
hanging up first floods back to me
with the almost regrets of hanging on
for just five minutes more than I know
I should
just to file away five minutes more
of your voice in my ear
and the kicking myself
for letting you win again
and what was your prize?

i imagine my dignity in a box
with a bow

but it's been a long time
since those late night/early morning drives
listening to the morning traffic report
as I shut off my car and climbed
three flights to an empty 5am
bed
it's been a long time since we ate
lychees and peaches
and our mouths and fingers
shared the juice
over black and white films
and strawberry sweet hookah smoke
it's been a long time since you
called me when you didn't need anything
except me

I've got a strong heart
but I been thinking about that
box of dignity
resolved to keep it safe
I told you to mark it fragile
and send it back to me
and decided to be strict
with myself for once.

but I have never been strict
anything around you.
I think I could give up those
camel lights, maybe even chocolate
you like it more than me anyway
I may even be able to do away
with my morning coffee
but baby you're like
nicotine, caffeine, alcohol, serotonin
and crack
all rolled into one beautiful
mirage
and all i see is those blue
pools
and your nose that always
gets in the way
when I want to press my mouth
against yours

and I have a feeling I'm going
to be smoking a lot
this weekend.

nyquil

is awesome. but it does not taste good. why am i regressing to high school? ok, to be fair, i am not medicating depression this time, but a chest cold. still, i am concerned that given another week of this i may not be able to sleep without it. and nyquil is expensive stuff, man. so it's starting to kick in, but a couple of random thoughts (in bullet point form, because i've been told that THAT is all i need to do in order for things to be more clear WTF)

*i just spent an INCREDIBLY long T commute home mostly with a very interesting man named rudy who (a)asked me if i understood after every drunken obviousness he uttered (b) told me i was obviously a smart girl, or i think thats what he meant by 'i can tell you're not a dumb dumb just by looking at you" (c) however, also by looking at me thought i was 29 and 5'4, so perhaps he was wrong about the other thing as well (c) asked me if i wanted children, then answered no for me, saying i was probably the career type (a phrase he choked on like whiskey down the wrong pipe) (d) and told me that there were a lot of vietnamese people in my neighborhood, but that the hispanics were everywhere and that he thinks there should be laws about how many children people can have. delightful travel companion.

*i will never EVER have a dinner that prevents me from retrieving my car on a Wednesday again, no matter how delightful the companionship. i really did not remember the commute by T being so horrible at 1am.

*i realized something about myself. i am a shittaker... no, not a shittalker, well maybe that too, but i digress. i do what i think is necessary to make other people happy in the blind hope that it will be returned. this applies to essentially every avenue of my life. i acquire abusive relationships like stamps in a backpacker's passport. some people think you need to get hit to be in an abusive relationship. those people have probably never quit the same job three times.

that's all. ok, i think the taste is worth it.

grrr...

I am freakin out today. There is just TOO much to fit. The only reason I am even typing this right now is that (1) I need to vent and (2) the stupid frickin fax machine is SLOW. It is not humanly possible to accomplish all of the aspects of my job in the time allotted. I cannot handle not having a Program Manager anymore. I know this is just a reactionary today has been really stressful vent, but I'm hitting the wall. I have a bazillion phone calls to make, site visits to set up, tax paperwork to finish up, accounting software conversion, and like 3 grants due by next Friday, two of them this week. Plus I have to hire two new kids, and I feel like I don't even know what my job is anymore. I felt SOOO good when I left Vermont on Friday and i feel like that has been completely beaten out of me. It sucks, because I liked that Cara a lot better.

For Jess

Today's Craigslist "missed connections" highlights

1- You were leaving the station and I was entering. We locked eyes a few times while we were passing each other on the escalator. You were a brunette, and I was wearing a black hooded jacket. I wanted to get back on the escalator and follow you up. I truly regret not trying to talk to you. I don't imagine you'll find this, but if you do, I would love to know who you are.

Good luck everyone.

(you were a brunette and i was wearing a black jacket? thats half the frickin city)

2- I was carrying two dumbbells; you offered to let me cut you in line. I should have offered to buy you lunch. You were very sweet, I'd love the chance to see you again.

(ok, this one is a little more specific... It is titled, by the way "Cute Girl at Wal-Mart. good to know where i go next time i have a late night craving for dumbbells)

3- Hey buddy. You really should call Jen today to see how she is feeling. Wondering if you took the right advice and ended it with her. Just curious. Get back to me since I am unable to email you at this time. I left Mariah a message to.
Any good concerts this week?????? I don't think Jen will be going to hers this week.....poor little angel.

(wow, way to hang out the laundry to dry)

4- Everything you do and say are done with a methodical intentions to hurt me or play me like a fool. You said yourself you say things just to hurt me and leaving things openly for me to see. You never wanted this to work. If so you wouldn't be fucking another or others as I have known since the beginning. Have them, Have her...hope she can give you what I can't. Remember as well you only get respect when you give respect.
I'll take of myself (go get tested) and the family (court.custody and child support). Your not all that buddy, I'll know I can find a nicer man and surely a more well endowed one as well with a real job and real ambition.
Good luck.

(because passive aggression lives on the internet)

ah, other people's misfortune amuses me so much more than it should. i need to start scouring this thing for dialogue ideas.

think about that, would you?

Jme just posted a couple of great vents about the outdatedness of the Bible, and it reminded me of this clip from the West Wing. I heart Aaron Sorkin.

new draft- manic depressives make good lovers... half of the time

beautiful, silly, and enigmatic

that was how he described me
but damn the boy was always
in front of a mirror

his reflection was all over the place
and his image captured
everywhere we went
by friends and acquaintances
with devices meant for proving
real life was real

he was the "it kid"

she thinks about the day they met
with every detail she can
hold in her tiny hands.

the radiohead drifting in from
open bedroom door
the clouds of hookah smoke
the hot chocolate laced with
liquid courage
the hour it took her to
say hello
the five seconds it took
her to scald his leg with
her clumsy hands and cheap liqour

we met in cafeterias
and i loved him
but
everyone wanted to be near him
and i never got
why i was the one
that got to sleep
skin to skin

the weeks after are more
fuzzy
the late nights blurring into
early mornings
never sure which was which
until the sun interrupted

she never understood how they
made the night go away
so quickly

never got comfortable
every night of sleep
there was this constant
self-awareness
even in dreams
each shudder of his leg
each arm adjustment

i was so sure he
was going to leave me
i didn't sleep for that entire
winter
despite how warm his body
was then

he was always on dub speed
the words faster
than chipmunks
but she always remembered
them
the next day
would write him into plays

he was bob dylan
in that city
rambling like he was
born that way
and i never fancied
myself joan baez
i wanted to so bad
but couldn't see the
beauty he claimed
illuminated even against snow

i steered us clear
of washington square
and when he tried to offer me
diamonds
i just saw rust
in the icy snow
splattered like
blood

spattered like blood

maybe my memories
are getting mixed up

like the time i got a concussion when
i was a baby and got a Happy Meal
in the emergency room

and that's how she
remembers him
now
she forgets all of
the things that hid
behind the haze
of first love

the days without a call
the nights she couldn't
recognize him
because the bottle was too empty again
the apologies left with kisses
on discolored arm skin
the dna left on the
note she could never
bear
to open
the semester it took to
recover
from having nothing else
left of him

there was no snow there
just linoleum
both times

they asked me
if it was him
to take my time
to be sure

but his reflection was
everywhere
in the metal walls, the tables
colder than his body
had become

and he wasn't beautiful anymore
wasn't silly
like in all of the pictures

five years
and those pictures
stay in the box
with the letter
and even though the
glue has come undone
on its own, she still
won't open it
won't read his words.

she's already written him
into history
and he's got no say
it's probably better that way
legends
are never self-made
and they always love you more
when you're gone.

fading with grace

opposites attract

negatives repel

a spark some fuel will inevitably create a flame

but no one ever tells you what happens
when mediocre
gets together with mediocre

when two stars dance
ferociously
trying to burn themselves out
into blue and red magnificence

they'll manage

the burning out part
but who knows how many will
get to witness the
magnificence?

kid
we were both trying so hard
to be great
for the world we forgot
to be good
for each other

thinking that could never be enough
because we both wanted to be
up on that silver screen
both wanted to command the crowd
to point out our names
in history books
to our grandkids

"see... I used to BE somebody"

but we never mapped that
shit into the plan for real
too busy chasing our tails
to think that you gotta have
a kid to have grandkids
you have to make a baby
and in an ideal world that means
you gotta make love
you have to have a lover

kid we were never lovers
you
were one hell of a sparring partner
and the swords we used
sometimes disguised themselves in
pressed mouths
hands in hair
salt to salt to salt to
morning
eyes closed like shades and if the

oh yes oh yes oh yes

was loud enough we could
ignore the rooster too
snuff out its caw
with claws in hip flesh

but we were both somewhere else
mapping those interlocked appendeges
into how to make it big

we shoulda made films because
we're both projectionists
only lasted so long because we
decided
we could be whatever we wanted
if we pretended long enough

i never saw myself in those women
you scripted on to stages
but you saw them in me
and damn if i didn't think
you were my very own
James Dean

but the only time you ever
drove fast was when you were
trying to get that scary bug off
the windshield
your scream like a five year old-
vulnerable, human

extraordinary is like a balance sheet
with no checkmarks on the side
that's titled
boring, annoying, normal, mundane

so i just ripped the page in half
let you be extraordinary
tried to keep up
put on my red dress

and tried to be a star.

good night

Leaving the Lizard Lounge last night, Christopher Johnson repeated the last line of the last piece I had read (Legends are never self made/ and they always love you more when you're gone) back to me and said "I'm going to sleep with that tonight." It was such an awesome compliment, totally made my night.

In other news, I'm still sleeping in Worcester. I've been in Boston Saturday and Sunday, but haven't stayed. I can't figure out why, but I'll be back tonight.

epistemology

how do we know what we know?

that's apparently a central question to answer in order to get a little piece of paper that says you deserve to put a comma M.A. after your name on business cards. so how do i know what i know?

i don't think i know anything more than I did at the beginning of this week, but I feel a real sense of clarity. i feel like last semester was just practice. now, i'm actually in grad school. i feel really excited about my advising group, my advisor is this amazingly phenomenal playwright and performer, and i am so excited to get to really get some good critical feedback on ALL of my writing, and really build my skills as an essayist and storyteller.

it's incredible and incredibly sad to be with all of these amazing people who you bond with SOOO intensely and then know that you only get to see them twice a year. I mean, yes, you can visit and stuff, but its just such a different collective experience than a traditional program. i have not slept more than 3 hours in the last 3 nights, because i just wanted to suck in every moment i could with these incredible people. there isn't a single person here that hasn't changed my mind about something. it's like putting human experience on dub speed for a week. and then after today these people are in LA, and Portland, and Baja and New York, and I am in Boston. and part of what makes these people so amazing that they are where they are doing what they're doing, so its like this catch 22.

anyway, i'm glad that i am kind of easing back into reality for the weekend. I mean, I work tomorrow, but with my teens, and then on finishing up some paperwork, so it's a nice little easing time. then i'll have a nice sunday/monday weekend to just kind of be on my own back in my own bed. i so need that decompress time. i'm not really looking forward to going back to reality, i mean, people, yes, but the bills and the logistics and the to do lists, not at all. but i feel pretty confident about really taking stuff head on right now.

me and marissa and minna did a piece i wrote last night and people were actually asking me where they could look it up, like they thought we got it out of a book. it made my night. and i just feel like we channeled this real raw feminine power, and i really do feel ready for anything. i'm exhausted, sore, and maybe a little catatonic, but that really sounds a lot worse than it is. i'm letting myself really feel for the first time in a long time. and it feels pretty good.

leg cramp

i kind of woke up with one, but was able to catch it before it got really painful. i was hyper aware of my own sleep last night, like i talked myself through it. it kind of made me think of embodiment studies. i made my body take over in a very focused, almost meditative way. it's one of the first times i've ever been able to meditate without being guided. it was kind of cool, actually.

in other news, i almost went to bed very upset. luckily, my friend al doesn't really sleep and leaves his door open. cigarettes also help. i'd had such a good night too, it was really kind of... well, upsetting is an uncreative way to put it. without getting into specifics, because, well, no one really needs them, but i need to get the feeling part down to come back to, i feel really tired of starting new things. it's very daunting, and putting a month into learning someone new just to find out you didn't learn anything is really hard. i'm tired of writing prophetic poems. it's like i'm just fucking with myself.

tired, just tired. and a little mournful. but, tonight is the cabaret, so that's kind of perfect. always a good time.

beautiful, silly, and enigmatic

beautiful, silly, and enigmatic

that was how he described me
but damn the boy was always
in front of a mirror

his reflection was all over the place
and his image captured
everywhere we went
by friends and acquaintances
with devices meant for proving
real life was real
he was the "it kid"

we met in cafeterias
and i loved him
but
everyone wanted to be near him
and i never got
why i was the one
that got to sleep
skin to skin

never got comfortable
every night of sleep
there was this constant
self-awareness
even in dreams
each shudder of his leg
each arm adjustment

i was so sure he
was going to leave me
i didn't sleep for that entire
winter
despite how warm his body
was then

he was bob dylan
in that city
rambling like he was
born that way
and i never fancied
myself joan baez
wanted to so bad
but couldn't see the
beauty he claimed

i steered us clear
of washington square
and when he tried to offer me
diamonds
i just saw rust
in the icy snow
splattered like
blood

spattered like blood

maybe my memories
are getting mixed up

like the time i got a concussion when
i was a baby and got a Happy Meal
in the emergency room

there was no snow there
just linoleum
both times

they asked me
if it was him
to take my time
to be sure

but his reflection was
everywhere

and he wasn't beautiful anymore
wasn't silly
like in all of the pictures

then he was just cold

and now still
enigmatic.

following

following
one another
is a strange act
because the leading
always switches
or never is

catching eyes
across a crowded room
with the quick
look down
as if to say
"come get me."

she doesn't know
how to play coy
has never been
so shy
and so naked
at the same time

he has never
been in the presence
of anyone so alive
never had someone
so openly request
his presence
without words

but her eyes plead
and he thinks
he can believe
that she wants him
as much as he
wants her

not just press
against walls
want
but forget others
in conversation
want
eyes smiling
with even lips
want
hands in hair
without thinking
want

the kind of want that
feels like need
the kind of want that
feels like it needs
naming

but cannot be.

a reflection

In one of my workshops today, we talked about eliminating the reactionary in workshop facilitation and stuff. So, one example that Caryn, the head of the Transformative Language Arts program here came up with was online communication... Hmm... reactionary? me? Possibly. Also, she pointed out the lack of context available in emails. Tone, body language, etc. All things I'm aware of, sure, but it was kind of like she said it just to me.

There were way more important parts of that conversation... you know, cultural appropriation, ethical considerations of beginning our practicum, etcetera. Sometimes it's easier to think about the unimportant stuff. I'm trying to decompress a little. It's cold up here, and I ran out of wine.

creation myth

flowers are feminine
but the earth is
hard
cold
like men are told to be

Eve laid down with the
earth
and Adam learned
jealousy
created competition
resolved to destroy
the earth
to have Eve for himself

Eve understood the
grooves
of the ground
walked with the rythm
of the earth's heartbeat

tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump

and Adam
even asleep next to her
felt his own pulse drowned
out by the sighs of
wind through trees

watched as her chest rose
and fell
with the subtle draw
of the moon lapping on the shore

He didn't understand
how Eve could
nourish the earth
worried
that she couldn't love him
and
the cool sand beneath her feet
didn't understand
that she and the earth
worked together to feed him
to make a bed for their love.

but Adam couldn't sleep
kept watching Eve's
collarbone
rise and fall
watching the shoreline
rise and fall
in sync
in tune
without him

so he built a wall
built a house
built Eve a bed
of wood and down

tried to woo her from the earth

but she tended the garden still

he hunted for her dinner
made stews of boar and beef
told her they wouldn't
need
the fruit anymore

but she tended the garden still

so he built her a greenhouse
tried to separate
earth from earth
told her the rain would
take care of the rest

but she tended the garden still

so he built a tower
locked her in it
as high into the sky
as far from the earth
as he could manage with
his two hands

he left no stairs for her escape
locked the tower
satisfied that he'd
separated his wife
from her lover

looked around and found
himself
alone
with a world he could not understand.

maybe some other time

he tells her that he's
glad she's here,
no one else
calms him
the way she does.

it's a strange thing
to say to someone
he's only known
for 12 hours

she doesn't think so

or at least doesn't
think much of it.

she laughs
fills the room
without moving

they don't need to
move
here
there's enough to
do without it.

still laughing
she talks about
the last winter this cold
about the phone calls
almost unending
from the emergency room
the almost lost
loved ones

her tone is
surprising
and even she,
as the words
tumble from her lips
is wondering why she's
saying these things
to a stranger

through laughter no less.

he doesn't think much about it.

"teenage suicide... don't do it."

they conjure the scene from
Heathers
talk about cinematography
and how the snow
sparkles
in the moon

how they wish they could
capture it on
film
but know it wouldn't be the same

how they wish moments
like these could
last
but know it wouldn't be the same

she would not have sat
with him
in a crowded restaurant
in Boston
because he lives in LA

so sure is she
of this
and of the sanctity
of time and place
that goodbye kisses
hang in the air
like uncashed checks

because checks are promises

and she's already overdrawn.

da-mn

So I have been in a mode the last couple of days where I have been very much wanting to write, and it's not that I have writer's block, per se, but just have been getting so much intense emotion, information, and self-awareness that it's like I need to digest a bit or it's just going to come out as projectile vomit... lovely, I know.

One thing that's awesome, is that apparently, Goddard College has deemed me unfit to live with a roommate. This works really well for me, because there's such a social climate here, and its VERY intense, so it's nice to be able to retreat. I know, I know... you don't believe that. It's true, I sometimes become overwhelmed by other people. I have definitely found a couple of people that I have felt incredibly easy with... and I don't mean sexually, though admittedly, I have been like a 12 year old boy the last couple of days, and don't get me started on this new faculty member... da-mn.

I mean everyone here is INCREDIBLE. There isn't a person here you could spend a half hour with and not feel transformed in walking away. There is a handful of people, though, that I have felt immediately able to be myself with. I was having dinner with this one guy the other day, and I found myself talking very lightly about really intense personal experiences, and telling him things that I just don't talk about anymore. It was weird, and kind of intense, but didn't feel uncomfortable.

I have also been thinking a lot about pushing my comfort zone. I have a kick ass work group, and a great advisor, and I think I'm going to be spending a lot of time this semester working on my writing voice. I'm really trying to push those walls out, and find out why I choose the safe spaces that I do. On that note, I think I'm going to apply to the Youth Media Council job, just to see. They are taking applications until February 6th, and I'm not going to lie- I don't think I'm ready to push 3,000 miles out of my comfort zone- but I do think that if I don't at least apply, I will wonder. So I might as well at least take that step.

I'm really starting to be present with my own system of decision making and judgement. Why do I make the important life choices that I do? How have I gotten to where I am? How do I think about other people? How do I choose companions? Do I want to cuddle just because its cold?

but i digress

my 5 month ago self was thoughtful

and new exactly what i was going to need to read today. at the beginning of this session of R&S, we all wrote ourselves letters to open at the end of the session. we got them back yesterday. i just finished unpacking into my dorm, and wrapped up catch up work to take the week off, and then i opened the letter.

the first page is kind of depressing, because it basically was just me knowing myself too well... like "I know you haven't actually started taking Italian lessons" and "manage your time better" blah blah blah. but the second page made my day. it is a list of things i "should do if i haven't already." i think its good advice for everyone (feel free to play with pronouns)

1. invite your sister to spend the night
2. take a nap
3. call your grandparents just to tell them you love them
4. ask out a boy you're afraid to talk to
5. buy an outfit that feels dangerous
6. give your all on stage
7. write a MYview column for the metro
8. go visit friends in NY
9. do something nice for your parents
10. look great for yourself

if seatbelts were enough

this is a messy, messy first draft. yesterday was my baby sister's 17th birthday, and for some reason I could not get this conversation we had a long time ago out of my head. but there's a lot of things that i want this piece to convey that it just doesn't, so it needs a lot of tweaking. i'm trying to capture the idea that i don't know if i'm more unprepared for being a mother or being an aunt whose niece's mother is 16, and how unprepared i am to deal with the changing dynamic of that relationship as she grows into adulthood and 7 years becomes less of a distance all the time. especially since at one point, i seriously considered how it would affect my life for her to come live with me... so i guess that's a lot. but i'm pretty crafty. i can even sew.


i'm driving down park ave
and i notice she's not wearing her seatbelt

again

i gently pull the car to the side of the road
directional and all
because i have to set a good example

she knows this drill
but we repeat it anyway
and as i pull back into
traffic
we still haven't exchanged
words
just my silence
her pout

"em"
i say
mustering my best
older sister, wiser adult
voice
"there are just some things
you do to protect yourself."

"like not having sex without a condom"

my foot hits the brake
no- gas
so fast
we almost crash

thank g-d i made her put her seatbelt on

"exactly"

is all i can say
because that's
exactly
what i meant
and I don't know how she knows

and it scares the hell out of me
that the baby i practiced on
held like she was my own
isn't a baby anymore

and i cling to that role model
self in the rear-view
try to make sure my eyes
don't show her the
ept tests under the sink
the cross hatch marks
on the calendar

because i am the good example
i am the big sister

and i'm not supposed to do the things
i said i'd never do

not supposed to do the things i tell
her not to

i am the good example

and i always thought i'd be the aunt first

manic depressives make good lovers. half of the time

she thinks about the day they met
with every detail she can
hold in her tiny hands.

the radiohead drifting in from
open bedroom door
the clouds of hookah smoke
the hot chocolate laced with
liquid courage
the hour it took her to
say hello
the five seconds it took
her to scald his leg with
"i've clearly already had enough to drink"

the weeks after are more
fuzzy
the late nights blurring into
early mornings
never sure which was which
until the sun interrupted
she never understood how they
made the night go away
so quickly

like he was on dub speed
the words faster
than chipmunks
but she always remembered
them
the next day
would write him into plays

and that's how she
remembers him
now
she forgets all of
the things that hid
behind the haze
of first love

the days without a call
the nights she couldn't
recognize him
because the bottle was too empty again
the apologies left with kisses
on discolored arm skin
the dna left on the
note she could never
bear
to open
the semester it took to
recover
from having nothing else
left of him

five years
and even though the
glue has come undone
on its own, she still
will not open it

if she did
she might have to
remember him
for who he really was
and what good are first loves
that way?

hmmm...

I've been thinking about being a grown up a lot lately. Mostly about how I don't think I'll ever really feel like one. What's the most weird about that is that I cannot ever remember feeling like I wasn't a completely capable autonomous being. Like, how we coddle three year olds and try to do things for them. When I was three, I remember feeling like I was totally capable of doing anything and of taking care of myself. Twenty years later, I feel like I stumble more than I ever have in terms of capability. I depend more on my relationship with my parents than I have in recent memory, even when just for little bits of advice or highway directions.

Anyway, what I really meant by thinking about being a grown up, is that I've been thinking a lot about the fact that 25 is not very far away, and I'm almost half done with grad school and I'm going to be in a place to make big career moves when I have my MA. I'm also beginning to look at doctorate programs. Specifically EdD programs. Because, you may or may not have heard that I want to start my own school. Right now, not so qualified to do that.

Further than that, I've been thinking about why I want to start my own school. One, because I really like teaching, and I think our public schools have it pretty messed up. I'm pretty fascinated by educational theory, and ways to work cultural diversity training, media literacy education, and social justice work into primary and secondary education. Small class size, technology training, multi-aged grouping, and project-based learning are some other stuff I'm looking into.. but that's beside the point. I've realized, and I mean I guess I knew this, because it was a conscious decision I made, but it just kind of hit me that a big part of why I want to start my own school is so that I can educate my children, but also be working and be teaching other children. I don't want to put my kids in daycare or get a nanny, but I want my career too.

I've been pretty vocal about this, but I think it's bizarre in our culture that we separate adults and children so much. I feel so privileged to work in environments where children are a welcome addition to the dynamic. I have had 3 baby-filled meetings this week, which is probably the catalyst for this rant, and I love having them around. I mean, really, how weird is it that women are asked to CHOOSE between career and children. Screw that, I can create life in my body, I can do both. It's just been kind of weird to be thinking about these things in a life planning sort of way lately. Like, this is not far away big dreams stuff. This is in the next five years blah blah blah. And it doesn't freak me out that I'm thinking about it. Which kind of freaks me out.

and now's the time of year I get restless...

I would like to throw out there that I am NOT unhappy with my job or apartment or anything, but... I did get this in my mailbox this morning and man is it cold outside. I don't think I'm a California girl, but...

JOB ANNOUNCEMENT


Media Justice Organizer

The YOUTH MEDIA COUNCIL (YMC) seeks a Media Justice Organizer to lead our Grassroots Media Activism Program, including membership coordination, regional strategy and mobilization, public education, and national field building. The position is full-time. Salary $34-38K DOE. Full medical, dental and vision benefits, substantial vacation package, optional HSA, and quarterly personal growth stipend provided. Position is in Oakland, CA. Applications due before February 6th, 2007 for a position beginning March 2007.

To Apply: Please send a resume, cover letter, and writing sample to MJ Organizer Search, c/o Youth Media Council, 1611 Telegraph Ste. 510, Oakland, CA 94612 or Email to taishi@youthmediacouncil.org. For more information, please contact Taishi at 510-444-0640, x381.

Who We Are
As a leader in the movement for media justice and communication rights, the Youth Media Council believes that media and culture are critical tools for creating real justice. That’s why the Youth Media Council builds communications power and defends the communication rights of youth, communities of color, and organizing groups working for racial and economic justice.

Launched in 2001 to counter racial stereotypes and anti-youth bias in the news, YMC is a media strategy and action center dedicated to building a strategic and collaborative movement for justice by strengthening media strategy, capacity and action in California and beyond. The Youth Media Council works with youth organizing and racial justice groups in the Bay Area and other key U.S. regions to take action against media criminalization of youth and people of color, reframe racial justice in public debate, and transform the current media system into an inclusive public resource.

Principle Responsibilities
The Youth Media Council is looking for a skilled organizer, activist, or policy advocate who is passionately concerned about the impact of media bias on the lives and conditions of historically disenfranchised communities. Experience with strategy development, base building, and action planning, as well as past work with communities of color and/or youth is required. Primary areas of responsibility include:

Membership Recruitment and Leadership Development
∑ Develop and distribute recruitment materials
∑ Plan and conduct membership recruitment activities
∑ Develop and implement leadership development process, tools, and activities

Membership Coordination and Tracking
∑ Develop and implement annual membership plans, including events
∑ Develop and maintain tracking tools
∑ Maintain and track members in our database and online Action Network (ACT-Net)
∑ Write membership updates in bi-monthly e-bulletin
∑ Maintain regular and ongoing communication with members, both online and off

Implementation of Local MJ Initiatives and Related Materials
∑ Research and develop annual action plan
∑ Identify and build relationships with key allies in the region
∑ Identify strategic opportunities and carry out strategic action locally
∑ Maintain content for http://action.youthmediacouncil.org
∑ Engage ACT-Net members in local action
∑ Partner with the YMC Training Director to plan, develop materials, and conduct public education for local initiatives
∑ Document local initiatives through development and publishing
∑ Partner with the YMC Media Strategist to plan and conduct communications for local initiatives

Media Justice Field Building
∑ Work with local allies to develop concrete project plans for our national Media Action Grassroots Network (MAG-Net)
∑ Recruit and coordinate the membership of MAG-Net
∑ Represent the YMC in national and statewide media policy coalitions and networks including the Media and Democracy Coalition
∑ Represent the YMC at related conferences and strategy sessions
∑ Participate in related funder briefings and other fundraising efforts

The Ideal Candidate
Qualified applicants should have: at least 1-2 years experience with leading campaign or strategy development, base building and/or leadership development, and alliance building or network development, as well as a documented interest in media activism, media policy, and/or cultural organizing. Ideally, the successful candidate will have led or participated in planning and implementing at least one organizing or political campaign, have demonstrated success in making some concrete change, have a knowledge of media conditions in communities of color, and a willingness to learn. At least 3 years experience working with non-profit organizations is required. Other important qualifications include excellent written and oral communications skills, ability to plan and manage multiple projects, solve problems, work well in a diverse team, set priorities, and the ability to work occasional nights and weekends.

People of color, members of the queer/transgender community, and women are strongly encouraged to apply.

Guiding Questions for Cover Letter:
• What do you see as the role of media and culture in shaping conditions for youth/communities of color?
• What role would you like to play in engaging youth, communities of color, and other groups disenfranchised by media bias in the process of transforming our media system?

Position begins March 2007.
APPLICATIONS ACCEPTED BEFORE February 6, 2007. POSITION OPEN UNTIL FILLED.

Please visit www.youthmediacouncil.org to learn more about our programs and work.
The Youth Media Council is fiscally sponsored by the Movement Strategy Center (www.movementstrategy.org).

Oakland is a lot warmer than Boston.

if there is a him

i want to paint him a world
where words don't hurt
where pores in fingertips
open to let the human experience
hiding behind art
into veins
pumping hard to his heart
red even without oxygen

because love feels
more important

i want to tell him that music
is everywhere
and everywhere is where i
want to be
because even though sometimes
new york
feels like the middle of the universe
there are so many other
unreachables
and the subway song
can take you lower
than delancey
and further than jamaica, queens
if you listen with something
bigger than your ears

the melody is a dance
like sex
but i like to sing along
so i need to know
the words first

and i want to read him
my favorite bedtime
stories
and show him that the oldest
art i know is
how to fold yeast
into dough
and stack the layers
like i'm building the
colosseum

i can't paint him into
a masterpiece
but there are no watercolors
like his eyes
so it doesn't matter
that my unskilled hands
would stumble over the
contours of his face

because he's already been
captured that way
and in song
and poetry
and on strips of celluloid
click click clicking away
through skilled projectionist
fingers

everytime someone tried
to project this
elevator starts too quick feeling
on to film or canvas or page or stage
it comes out in the same code
and the decoder ring doesn't come
in a box of cracker jacks

its in the corner of a smile
or the giggle between kisses
the foot resting on knee
for some reassurance
the half asleep arm
underneath lover's pillow

i don't have to write it down
for it to be art
i don't have to paint it
or make a mix tape
of people that have said it better
than me
but i want to try

because if woody allen
could make manhattan
and louis armstrong and ella fitzgerald
could dance cheek to cheek
if gustav klimt could immortalize
a kiss in layers of oil
than the least i can do is
write one little poem

What my friends think of me...

Last week, Kelli had a VERY belated birthday party, and had a great idea for a party game. She put everyone's name on the wall, and people wrote down the top jeopardy categories for them... here's my list. I'm glad I know what people think of me

CARA

1. BOOZE
2. HIP HOP
3. GHANA
4. Poetry
5. getting hot tattoos
6. being a cat detective
7. cutting hair
8. craigslist
9. “I have a crush on every boy!”
10. South beach

Abject Reality- First Two Chapter edits

XI

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Just what I had been afraid of. Two days before the New Year: 1997 and my best friend said I needed a new outlook, a new lease on life. So she dressed me up like a doll and dragged me off to the sketchy bar on the corner that we usually reserved for late night amusement from the comfort of our own third floor porch. Now she’d abandoned me to a club full of rabies-ridden college boys for the one halfway decent catch in the whole place. So much for fake Ids. On top of that, now I had to fend off the advances of one of these frothing-mouth assholes.

“Why? So I can feel obligated to let you walk me home? No thanks.” Before I could stop the words from slipping past my lips, Adam met my eye. He was supposed to be in London for the semester. He was supposed to be out of my life. I was supposed to be over him.

“How have you been Janie?”

“Sorry. I’m fine. How are you?”

“Well I’m a bit taken aback by your allegation, but other than that not bad.”

“I thought you were going to London.”

“I’m leaving in a couple of weeks. You know, I wouldn’t expect you to be here.”

“It was Carrie’s idea.” I tried not to inhale too audibly, but deeply enough to restore my shaken confidence. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re doing well. I should be getting home.”

“Let me walk you.” He grinned mischievously.

“I think I can manage the one block. Besides, you didn’t buy me that drink.”

“Well then why don’t you let me?”

I winced, knowing that I would let him. His bright blue eyes pierced right through me still, and there was always something about the way his glasses sat on his Woody Allen like nose that pulled me into unorthodox fantasies. A friend of mine once told me that there is a fine line between endearing and repulsive. I don’t know what it is about Adam that kept him on the endearing side, but a mere half an hour later we were back in our familiar routine: laughing, talking, flirting, touching. I pleaded internally with myself to stop, but the message was intercepted somewhere in between my mind and my fingertips, which were inching their way toward Adam’s carefully worn in jeans. I used his knee to steady myself as I leaned closer to him.

“I’d like you to walk me home now,” I whispered, slightly slurred, and regretted it before I’d even finished.

I woke up the next afternoon with a massive headache and an empty bed. When I went into the kitchen to scrounge up some nourishment, Carrie was sitting at the table with a mug of hot chocolate and a disapproving look on her face. I grimaced back, wincing through the pain.

“Oh, don’t give me that.”

“What? I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. It’s all over your face.”

“Hey, if you want to fuck yourself over again, that’s fine. Just don’t come crying to me next time he sneaks out in the middle of the night, non-committal bastard.”

“Hey, I’m the one that broke up with him.”

“Rightfully so. He wanted the best of both worlds. You to cuddle up with, and any other girl he could get-- and he’s a charmer-- to fuck on the side.”

I sighed. She was right, and I was in no mood to argue a losing point.

“Do we have any ibuprofen?”

“Top shelf.”

“Thanks.”

I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I knew he was leaving in two weeks, and he’d made it very clear that nothing I had was enough to make him a one-woman man. I wanted to think that maybe he’d changed, but that was impossible, we’d only broken up a month and a half ago, and his psychosis was too far embedded to solve in six weeks. Mine as well is apparently going to take years of therapy. I still can’t even look at another guy without instantly comparing him to Adam.

So I let my charade go on for two weeks, each night hoping that he’d stay until the morning. Maybe we could go for a jog or I could make pancakes. Read the paper together over breakfast and coffee, and go back to bed just to hold each other a little bit longer... But every morning I’d wake up to find that he’d carefully untangled himself from my sleeping death grip and made a safe and speedy escape. Three days before he left for London, I caught him in the act.

“Where are you going?”

“Babe, I have to finish packing. I’ve got tons left to do before Sunday.”

“You’re going to pack at…” I glanced at the clock. “Four thirty in the morning?”

“I have to get some sleep.”

“Why can’t you get some sleep here?”

“Because it’s not familiar. It’s not my bed, okay?”

“You’ve spent nine out of the last twelve nights here.”

“But not to sleep.”

“Yeah…”

“Oh come on, Janie, don’t pull this.”

“Don’t pull what?”

“You knew what this was, you knew I was leaving.”

“Yeah, but…” He was right, but there had to be something. Didn’t he feel anything at all? “Don’t you
feel anything at all?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“For me.”

“Janie, you know I care about you.”

“But not enough.”

“What’s enough?”

“Enough to spend the night. Enough to stop sleeping with other girls. Enough to miss me when you’re gone for a whole semester in fucking London.”

“Do you think I won’t miss you? Do you think I haven’t missed you? The month that we spent apart was hell, but now I remember why I didn’t stop you the last time you told me to fuck off. Why I didn’t come after you when you got on that train.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I care about you, but we fall back into this too easily. This co-dependent shit isn't good for either of us.”

“Co-de-fucking-pendent? You think I’m co-dependent? Fuck you Adam. Get out of my house.”

“I was on my way, if you’ll recall.”

“Good. Have fun in London.”

“I will…” He turned on his heel, then paused a moment. “You know, I haven’t slept with anyone else
since that night in the bar.”

“Wow, congratulations. You kept your dick in your pants while all the little freshman girls were home for break.”

“God, Janie... I just... wanted you to know that. Goodbye.” And he left, without ever turning around or meeting my eye.


I

I remembered the first time I met him. It was easier than sleeping then, to just reminisce. Sometimes thoughts are all you can get. Sometimes it’s easier to deal with the idea then the person… sometimes it’s better, no fuss no muss, and there are nights that I look forward to those quiet moments between awake and asleep. Sometimes… sometimes I worry that I could be content with that. I wondered if maybe I was sub-human. Co-dependent??? Was I really co-dependent? Well he’d been gone three days now and I was still sleeping with his shadow, careful not to roll onto his side of the bed, where he couldn’t be bothered to sleep. Nine days of not sleeping there, and his imprint still remained. I was tempted to stack pillows there to sleep a little better.

The first time I saw Adam he was in the cafeteria, talking with a group of sorority girls. He was always surrounded by girls. It never seemed threatening somehow, though, as if I were being silly to even imagine that he would think of trying to nail any of them. Of course that’s how he nailed me… he snuck right into my comfort zone, and he didn’t even want in. He didn’t want me so bad that I couldn’t sleep at night without clawing my pillows and wishing they were him.

We met our second semester at school, at a party at a mutual friend’s house. “Mutual friend” is a rather vague detail. It was one of those girls that we both would say “oh yeah, I remember her,” but would never really be bothered to call up and see how they were doing. Even now, I can remember distinctly the vibrant colors of the apartment, the Pulp Fiction and Trainspotting posters adorning the narrow hallway between the bathroom and the living room, the prayer flags in the kitchen, Radiohead's “Fake Plastic Trees” pouring out from an open bedroom door. I cannot, however, remember her name. She invited Adam to the party because she wanted to nail him. That was not to be. In fact, I’m almost positive she never slept with him. That night, specifically, I know she did not, because I did. Not screwed, not shagged, not fucked… but for the one of the few times ever, slept with him—next to him at least, on the lounge sofa in our freshman dorm after staying up all night talking.

Despite having spilled most of my tequila laced orange juice on him (and the vague-nameless friend’s sofa), I was feeling a pretty heavy buzz. Enough of a buzz to want to take him back up to my double single and have my way with him. I held myself back then, somehow, between spilling my dinner and my thoughts and dreams, and after about a pack and a half of Parliament Lights we knew more about each other than anyone else at that party.

I knew that he was a chain smoker for one, but rarely when not in my company. I had the same affliction with him, and as such, much of our early relationship revolved around wildly flailing cigarette-laden hands in the middle of the night on one empty quad or another. We found a common ground in entertaining each other, and told rich stories of former “loves,” (neither of us really had any idea what that word meant), miserable classes, and unbearable roommates. We shared books, movies, music, and food. Soon, our middle of the night deviations led into daylight excursions to share in each other’s many passions. I introduced him to the wonders of tofu, and together we dipped into the many neighborhoods of Boston and Cambridge, seeking out the hole in the wall places that everyone talked about but no one seemed to know how to get to.

We toured the world in one week. Monday we went to India for Samosas, Tuesday we had Pad Thai in Thailand, Wednesday to Greece for goat cheese and spinach quiche, Thursday to Italy for wine and dessert, and Friday night we had sushi in bed with Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca. That night we made love for the first time while I introduced him to Sarah Vaughan. We had Summertime in the dead of New England winter and never fell asleep that night, just sat on the steps of our dorm, smoking our Parliament’s and staring silently at the full moon. We’d never run out of things to say to each other, but somehow none of them fit into that moment. It was big enough with just the two of us, inches apart, feet grazing each other lightly, as though making sure of each other’s presence.

When the sun came up he went back to his room and napped for the day. I went back to my room too, and stared at the ceiling for many hours. I made a list of all of the books, and movies, and albums he had recommended to me, and made him a list from me. I read Sexual Perversity in Chicago, watched Fellini’s 8½, and went to Newbury Street to rifle through crates looking for an old Nirvana bootleg. When it started getting dark out, I took a pill that the girl across the hall had given me to help with studying and a shower, and figured he’d be calling soon. He was sitting on my bed when I got out of the shower, and we spent the next twelve hours locked in my bedroom.

Two weeks earlier, however, on our first official date, both of us had acquired a nervousness that prevented us from even reaching for the other’s hand in the theatre. We had dinner at a hip café just across the river in Cambridge. It had recently been revamped, painted bright shades of cantaloupe and honeydew, as the formerly dark green cave-like walls were no longer “in,” the mourning period for grunge had officially been ended. We ate and drank quietly, as though we’d run out of things to say after sharing so much the night before. He was the perfect gentleman, holding the subway door so that it didn’t close on me, and then offering an old woman that got on with us a seat that could have easily housed both of us.

We decided to see what was playing at the Brattle Street Theatre, and caught this French film all the kids in my film class had been talking about. I was glad that he didn’t try to kiss me, I was so wrapped up in the movie, which turned out to be every bit as good as the too hip kids in my classes were saying. Two hours and three Kleenex later, we were on an empty late night train back toward campus. He finally got up the nerve to lace his fingers in between mine, somewhat unsure of himself, but I was sure enough for both of us. I rested my head on his shoulder, and could have fallen asleep right there. My mother always told me that was when I would know it was right. I was sure that Adam was “the one.”
We stepped off of the train into the deserted station next to our school, and in my three quarter length skirt and vintage shoes, I felt like Vivien Leigh under the skilled guidance of an older man. I was so lost in my own dream world, that when my heel caught in a subway grate and I lost my balance I almost missed him sweeping me safely into his just strong enough arms. In that perfect moment we shared our first kiss and I surrendered any chance I had of ever getting out unscathed.

We were much too much for each other right from the beginning. It was foolish to think that either of us would be bound to the other anymore than we could be anyone else. Looking back on journals I’d written at the time, I know that I was just that foolish. I believed in love for a brief moment, and that it really could conquer all, even two neurotic minds, manic depression and a fledgling speed habit. Then again, at 19 we all think we can have the world. It truly is that year, that odd year where nothing seems to change, that it all really does, right behind your back while your waiting with bated breath to be a grown up. It’s like when you’re 13 and all of a sudden you have hair where you don’t seem to remember it being. It had to have grown at some point, but it seems to have just sprouted up out of nowhere. My infatuation for Adam seemed to grow overnight and after I, foolishly, tried to trim the unfamiliar growth away, it quickly returned, more feverishly than before.

The first month that we were together was, I assume, much like anyone’s first month together. All we wanted to do was have sex and gaze longingly into each other’s eyes. Despite neither of us being virgins, we seemed to be under the unflappable impression that sex had never existed outside the context of “us.” It was our very own special discovery, our dirty little secret, and for a month I didn’t even tell Carrie that I was seeing anyone.

Our freshman year was my first time away from home, but like every other 19 year old in the world, I was sure that I was more grown up then the rest of them. I had my own dorm room (my roommate had left just late enough to secure me a single for at least one semester), a clear cut path to my dream career, and the perfect boyfriend. All of my pillars were in place, and I felt like a strong, solid structure. This was also around the time that I had started getting into pills. Some people call it crank, speed, meth, which I guess makes me a speed freak, but to me, it was Desoxyn, and to my naïve 19 year old mind, it was just something to help me stay up and study from time to time. Soon time-to-time became a daily ritual, and that’s where it got messy, and the girl across the hall with ADHD was no longer able to satisfy my need with a fraction of her weekly meds.

Two weeks after our first kiss and our first night together, Adam surprised me by taking me to see my favorite band, which I’d tried to get tickets for months earlier, at no avail. I remember, It had been a particularly neurotic, first month kind of week where I questioned everything about us and whether or not we would make it because he had three solid days of exams, so I didn’t see him and barely heard from him for that time. On the afternoon of the third day, at which point I was religiously checking my voicemail every hour on the hour in case I’d somehow not heard the phone ring in my nine by twelve high rise cubicle, he knocked on my door.

When I answered the door, he was wearing the same thing he had been three days earlier, and despite the fact that it was rumpled, messy, didn’t match, and smelled of three-day-old dorm room, it is still my favorite memory of him. That night answered any questions I had about us. As was customary of crowded club shows, we held hands to weave our way through the crowd without losing each other. Once we’d found a place, he rested one hand in the small of my back (it fit just right, like the two pieces were molded to fit together), and the other on my left hip, leaning a bit so that his chin rested just on the top of my head. He said I smelled like candy. He made me feel sexy and interesting and wanted and loved, and that was what my fragile writer ego needed. Similarly, his stage-hesitance (he wouldn’t call it fright, he wasn’t afraid), was eased a bit by a few encouraging words before and after a play reading or a stand up routine. I even set up all of my stuffed animals one night so that he could practice with a real audience. That night, at the club with it’s purple swirling smoky lights and clove cigarette air, we were the only one’s there. Crammed in to regulation like sardines, we felt like we were at our own private show. Speaking strictly for me, it was the most perfect night of our young lives.

In reality it was one of the many stages we shared. We were both performers, both artists, and both required too much attention to pay enough to a lover and ourselves. We liked the attention we were able to give each other for a short period of time. An affair of such intensity cannot last for long, however, and soon we were plagued with more troubles than our lack of experience had equipped us to handle.

time travel

so i was looking through some old notebooks tonight, reminiscing. mostly laughing at myself for being so whiny and thinking that stupid boys were really amazing (and I'm pretty sure most of the high school notebooks and chapbooks are in boxes in the study, so we haven't even REALLY delved in yet). nonetheless i did find this gem of a poem in my notebook for my junior year of high school english. it has a lot of notes from my teacher about not handing things in on time and not actually doing the assignments and maybe being better organized between plays, stories, and poems, but my grades are pretty good. anyway, so I wrote this April 14, 2000, when I was just shy of 17. i'd like to stress that i barely kissed boys at this age, but from reading this, if I was my daughter, i'd be concerned.


untitled (i never titled things back then)

I'm not the girl you want me
to be
the type to walk down the aisle.
I don't enjoy afternoon tea.
A midnight snack I can handle
as long as its quick and sweet.
Daylight bothers me
I hide in the shade.
The dark is comforting, like a
childhood blankie.
I sleep alone
unintentionally deliberately-
a product of my subconscious.
I climb in and out of windows
with ease.
I wear skirts like jeans
with t-shirts and sneakers.
I don't spend more than 5 minutes
on hair and makeup
and I never have time
for breakfast.

juggling sucks

I failed at my new years resolutions. That is, I didn't make a very important one. I realized yesterday that the most important resolution I should have made goes a little something like this: "slow the F down and stop trying to be everything to everyone." I have come to the conclusion that I have a really annoying personality trait that makes me try to do way more than humanly possible and not ask people for help until its too late. So I (a) look like a flake to everyone because nothing gets done as well as it could if I applied a normal amount of time/commitment/energy (b) get migraines (c) justify destructive behavior as a way to de-stress from over-commitment and (d) am kind of a scatterbrained mess and live in a sea of to-do lists. Needless to say I had a long day yesterday.

So I'm starting over. January does not exist. I leave for Vermont on Thursday, and when I come back it will be February already. So I have a list of things to do in the next week so that I won't be playing catch up when I get back from a week of work vacation. In fact, I made a list for each of my identified stress areas (work, home, financial, "extracurriculars," and relationships) so this will be an interesting week. But February 3rd, I will wake up ready to go back to work, in a clean room, with a balanced checkbook, a reasonable to do list at work, resolve to stop acting like I'm still in college, and on track to pull off V-Day.

I need Kelli's book of affirmations.

silent saying

My body language
is a dead giveaway

you just need to learn the words.

I can be a little confusing
if you're not fluent.
The words for
"I could love you if I let my guard down"
and
"You repulse me"
are only syllables apart.
Click your tongue the wrong way
and you'd get it wrong...
like how Cinderella might have worn
squirrel fur slippers
I get lost in translation.

There is no Cara to English dictionary
though I've been told that
"Cara time" is 45 minutes behind
eastern standard
despite a shared geographic location.
"Cara logic" defies any law you can think of

even gravity
because I fly in my dreams.

and sometimes my stomach gets that
elevator starts too quick feeling
around you too.
I walk in my sleep and my
leg wakes me with a start
confused at why it doesn't
go anywhere.

But it's just you
holding me in the dark
and you might think that
my back to you is cold.
But it's just that my shoulders
are thicker than my ribs
and I want to put some
distance between

you

and my heart.

Same reason I hug you quick and
run away
Same reason I would rather write
you a poem than call
won't make eye contact in a crowded room...
I'm still working on that dictionary
so for now, let me translate-

If I didn't care what you thought
I'd bat my eyes without a blink.
I'd let my hips brush against you
as I pass.
I'd yawn just to see if I could catch you
looking my way.

Trust me baby, if I didn't want your
arms at my waist
I could put them there.
If I didn't want to kiss you
I could throw you against a wall.
If I didn't care, I could wrap
myself around you like a blanket.

But like I said, my ribs are thin
and my breastbone ain't much
thicker.
So I don't think it would take that
long for your heart to coax mine
out of hiding
and get them all tangled up like
the cat's cradles I could never figure out

And baby
you could do a whole lot
more than break it
if you pulled away first.

I am an evil genius...

I always knew, but now quiz farm confirms it...

You scored as Evil Genius. Your an evil genius! People better stay out of your way or its straight to the gas chambers when you take over! Evil Genius 72% Hero 57% Alien 55% Ninja 43% Psycho Killer 43% Normal Average Guy/girl 33% Demon 26% What are you?(evil genius, ninja, etc.) created with QuizFarm.com

life on marinate

I really like using the word marinate as a verb outside the venue of food preparation. So I've been letting somethings marinate lately, and trying to kind of slow myself down a little (not working so well, but I'm using time more efficiently). So last night I decided to not do anything with my evening that I could not do from the comfort of my own bed... hey, eyes up here. So I can't do one thing at a time. I have to be using at least 2 senses at once or I get kind of antsy... unless I'm asleep. Anyway, I decided to take a look at this novel I wrote the summer I turned 20 and see if it was even worth editing, which is a project I've been meaning to take on since... well, the summer I turned 20.

I don't know if its because it's semi-autobiographical and I can recognize some of the moments in it, but I got really into it. I think I'm actually going to suck it up and pull out the red pen. The weirdest thing is that I haven't looked at the thing in almost a year, and I used a lot of similar imagery and phrases in recent poems that I used in the book. Specifically things about stoplights, and spaces between shoulders and collarbones... like literally exact quotations. I have some weird wiring in my brain.

My favorite line though is this: "What's your real life plan?" A real life plan is like your back up, for if you don't get to be a rock star or a novelist or in the wnba (what can I say, I was an ambitious 13-year-old.). It's funny to me now, because the main character's real-life plan is being a novelist... if making movies doesn't work out. I still have to wonder how much I've really grown up since I wrote the piece, though. I love what I do, but I'm not going to lie, I love meeting people I think are really cool and finding out that they already know my name ALMOST (ok, not quite almost) as much as I love talking to 16-year-olds about hegemony. So I don't know if I have a real-life plan. But I am pretty impressed with the storytelling skills that I had at 20, and seriously feel like I need to get back to honing them.