meet: eternity

I will never die.

You see, I know this because yesterday JG, E1, and I were discussing denim pursuits so I, of course, put on James Brown's "Hot Pants" and then I, of course, stood up on my chair and started dancing. Because that is a natural reaction to hearing James Brown.
"Gee, it's great to be 22 and dancing on chairs to James Brown," I thought. But then I realized I would do this at any age. Someday I will be old, frail, and wheelchaired and someone will put on JB's "Make it funky" and I will naturally stand up in my wheelchair and dance. But wheelchairs and my legs will be unsteady therefore leading to death. HOWEVER, by the time I'm 133 (which is the age I figure people will be dying at in those days) we should have gyroscopic wheelchairs. And hip implants. Ergo: my gyroscopic geriatric hips will really be even better at gyrating to James Brown.
Ergo: no dying.

speaking of gyroscopes...

I have a segue resolution to lead between 2009 and 2010. I've done very well with 2009 and it's led to this and we'll see where 2010 takes us, but the point of this paragraph is my INTERIM RESOLUTION. Il s'appelle*: SAY IT.
Tis an attempt to reduce the lag time between what I'm thinking and what you hear. Tis an attempt to reduce my seeming to lack emotion. Tis an attempt to make sure I never leave you thinking that you have lost my interest because I've remained quiet. Tis an attempt to reduce the distance between us. Tis the season to SAY IT.

*It's called

quince

I have an Abuela who doesn't speak any English. Yet every Sunday dinner she spills out her compliments and questions and I look around for a relative to translate as I say, "Que ? Que ? ¡Si !"

Today we had an extra long time to sit across the table and chat with each other as the rest of the family worried about the cooking time, consistency, and location of brown saffron rice compared to white (final and only consensus was that brown rice takes a lot of planning ahead). She showed me how her wrists hurt and and how it's hard because you use your wrists as you eat, but what are you going to do? You eat anyway. And today, as she has every Sunday for the last two months, she asked about my novio (boyfriend). My Tia (aunt) explained that we had broken up. But I liked him, Abuela said. I couldn't remember how to say, "Yo tambien," quickly enough so I made Tia teach me how to say "I'm good, he's bad." And also, "Voya querer atantos muchachos commo pueda." Which may not be remembered exactly, but at the time I did tell my Grandma correctly in Español, "I'm going to love as many boys as I can."
She then explained how when she was young she always had boyfriends, if she didn't have real ones, she'd make them up.

Yes, Grandma and I had some great bonding today.

being short shrifted

Voila le printemps !

Congratulations monde [world] for making it to the Spring Equinox! It's in the air and tagging along behind is amour for you and you and you-oo. That's my mandate, comrades, we're all going to sing along with that Beatles song "All you need is love!--all together now--ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE!--hearty, boisterous chorus now-- ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE, LOVE--now Nicole Kidman don't interupt with your pessimism*"

Did you celebrate spring, Dears? Did you revel in its embrace, its porch-ness, its light and fluffy taste? I did. I sat on my porch, I've been eating grapefruit, I walked about and took a polaroid of a neighborhood tree that's had "LOVE ME" spray painted on it, I fixed my bike, aaaaaannnnddd IIIIIIIIIIIII {drum roll} CHOPPED!


Take a good look Ladies and Gents! Stare as the pithy (wait, was that a joke?) Marge Bjork does and dance and shakes her bobbed head around! There go your gorgeous locks! HA! HO!**

And I had a spotting of a 1970's muscle car with my ex-marine inside.
And I have mono.

The end.



*That admonition for Nicole Kidman is not actually in the original version of the song, believe it or not, but I added it in case Kidman was around ready to chime in with her line from the Moulin Rouge version, "Love is just a game."

**Those last few exclamations are something I might say if I were to see my real ex-novio (but in a charming I'm-celebrating-life kind of way)

he would make me drink juice. but this isn't about that. hope it makes sense

Well.
I was going to tell you how I’m starting things out on the right foot (look closely at the picture above and then reread that last sentence). But, hmm, I heard about a friend who was struck by a certain malaise.

The French Revolution marked the fall of everything (but the food) that had controlled France: monarchy and church. No one was sure where to turn. Another king? More Christianity? A parliament? A constitution? Alfred Musset (now garbled by my horrible translation) described the generation of the time as living in between two worlds ni l’un ni l’autre (neither part of one nor the other). “When one spoke of a throne or an alter, they responded: they’re only four pieces of wood; we have nailed them and ripped the nails out again... A feeling of unspeakable sickness (malaise) has begun to ferment in the hearts of the young people” ( La confession d’un enfant du siècle p. 13-14(1836)).

I’ve been working on my New Year’s Resolution (I resolve simply. Last year it was to floss). This year I resolve to kiss more. I mean in general. Friends, families, cheeks, lips, foreheads, dreams.
And I've been straitening up the world, fortifying against the oncoming onslaught of the winter semester. Running, exfoliating while listening to Led Zeppelin, stocking up on paper towel and drain cleaners (don't you wish you had me for a roommate).
Then my BFF (I want to use that word more than ever now) stopped by for a welcome home chat and shared a story of a dear someone's malaise. Very few times in our lives are we faced with news that leaves our brain doubting our ears.

When I was organizing my cardboard box "dresser" and my half o’ the closet, I sat in awe. Do I really own millions of thrift store finds? Do I ever match? Is it possible to get a headache just from looking at the constrastuous array in my closet-o?
This morning when I got dressed I faced myself in the mirror and thought, I didn't mean to dress like this. But it just so happens that this is what I liked and then I bought it and so I owned it and this is how I taught myself to piece it all together. Yes, a western print bandanna tucked in as an ascot peaking about my button up shirt (and acid wash jeans).

When I was younger (ages three to eighteen) I waged a personal revolution against matching. Then I got to universito and found other people had waged that war as well. Apparently we had won (at least in our eyes). But seeing so many other fellow revolutionaries, and finding overpriced "vintage" stores, made me start wondering if I had merely been waging a mutiny against Captain Queeg (the Caine Mutiny).
My heart clammed up. Where to turn?
But this year I decided to de-clam a bit and kiss. Hands, feet, noses, ears and you.

I sat thinking about this malaise for awhile this evening. President Henry B. Eyring (First Counselor of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints) said, “[God] cannot grant [that joy which we once had with Him in the life before this one] to us as individuals...We must seek to qualify for it with others” (“Our Hearts Knit as One.” November 2008 Ensign).

For the last year I’ve been floating in and out of disillusionment. You know, stereotypes, mantras, and all that jazz. I ate sushi with kids who would fill your brain with saddest sort of mud. And it was “rad.”
Where to turn when I liked my corduroy on corduroy separated by soft old plaid flannel? When my spirit soared as I danced in matte black rooms and was fed by words of the Smiths?
Well, on the old comfortable Rock that I’d been toting around in a bag. I laid it down on the ground and I’ve been trying to stand on it. It works well. Because when I stand on it I’m tall enough to kiss you.