The More Things Change...

The more they stay the same. I don't know whether reading back over years'-past blog entries is inspiring or depressing. Of course, life changes and, hopefully, we move onward and forward. At the same time, it seems very little changes, particularly with regard(s)* to one's hopes and aspirations.

***

Somewhere the other day, Maya and I read that some writers' most creative hours are early in the morning, when it's quiet and no one else is up. Or maybe it was an article about people who get three or four hours of solid sleep and are then wide awake in the wee hours and who use that time to be productive. Or maybe it was an article about both. I can't remember. It doesn't matter. The point is, I'm up. I'm a writer. I used to use these up hours to write, but I'd stopped doing that because of my iPod Touch and an addictive, time-wasting, soul-sucking app called Facebook.

After reading that article -- whatever it was about -- Maya said, "Maybe you should use those hours when you're up and can't sleep to write." So, that's what I'm doing. Writing. She also suggested that, in order to accomplish this, I would have to leave the iPod Touch in the other room. It's currently sitting on the coffee table in the living room. I am in our office/studio.

Now, if I could just figure out how to block access to Facebook from my computer. Perhaps it's time to look into parental controls...

***

Night Photography : Bike Path : Ferney-Voltaire, FR / Janet M. Kincaid 2012

***

Maya's friend, Irene, sends her a subscription to The Sun magazine every year for Christmas. It's a scrappy little periodical with no advertising and an unvarnished view of the world. It's sort of like The New Yorker -- provocative, thoughtful, well-written, but less verbose.** The magazine's editor, a guy called Sy Safransky, has a section near the end of the magazine titled "Sy's Notebook" or something like that.

It's where he rambles on in seemingly random, but often interconnected thoughts. Back when I was a more prolific blogger, I used to do this a lot. I don't know what the official term for it is, but I called it free form writing. A friend called it stream of consciousness.

I wonder if Sy does his best stream of conscious writing in the wee hours?

***

I live in an apartment in France. It's on the fourth floor. In the States, that would be the fifth floor. Anyway -- it's got a view of Mont Blanc, western Europe's highest mountain. As it's the middle of the night, though, the view is currently darkness and three really annoying streetlights. Why haven't we figured out better ways to manage light pollution? Why aren't the streetlights hooded, so the light shines only on the street below it and not glaringly into my eyes when I look out on the darkness.

***

Off in the distance, I can see traffic lights in Switzerland. It's a quirky thing to live in a border area. It's neither really France nor really Switzerland. It's sort of Franzerland. It's an in-between-ish place where you can be saved from doing math when counting in French, because the Swiss don't tolerate that "quatre-vingt-dix-neuf"*** business and have invented a shortened version that is easy to remember. It's called "nonante-neuf". On the other hand, the French know there is more to cuisine than variations on melted cheese. It's a great place to live, this in-between-ish place.

***

I'm not always sure where any of this is going. I'm just meandering right now. It's an hour later than it was when I started. I've only looked at Facebook three times while I've been sitting here contemplating the lint in my brain. And why? Who knows. It is as much a mystery to me today as it was when I signed on three or four years ago.

***

Here's a random thought: I wonder if my brother and sister went to see Skyfall? I wonder if they liked it? I miss them.

Here's another random thought: Right now, my feet are too warm in socks, but too cold without. Is there an in-between solution or should I just shut up and suck it up?

***

If you've stuck with me this long, thank you. It won't always be like this. But it's good to write again in the wee small hours of the morning. I leave you with this: An interview with Parker J. Palmer in The Sun -- If Only We Would Listen.



* In the U.S., we write/say, "with regards to". In most on the non-U.S.-English speaking world, the phrase is "with regard to". As I have readers in both Englishs, I'm try to cater to all. Use or omit the "s" as necessary. 
** Seriously, I love The New Yorker, but some of its articles are a bit too long.
*** "Four-twenties + ten + nine" is seriously how you say 99 in French. The Swiss-French, on the other hand, simply say "Ninety-nine." Brilliant!

Praise the Beatles and Other Thoughts at 4:35 In the Morning

Did you see yesterday that the Vatican says music by the Beatles is far better than today's music? I'm so glad they clarified that, because I was staying awake nights worrying about that and what role listening to Beatles music would play in my overall salvation and such. (I'm happy to report that I'm okay. Thanks, Pope B!)

Seems the late John Lennon once made a comment comparing his boy band to the big J.C. and the papal throne didn't like that too well. Interestingly, as I read Lennon's past observations, I have to say, I think the guy was sort of prophetic and accurate about the thickness and lack of extraordinary quality possessed by many supposed Jesus groupies. You decide.

In 1966 the Church was incensed when John Lennon called his band "more popular than Jesus". "Christianity will go," Lennon told London's Evening Standard. "It will vanish and shrink ... Jesus was all right but his disciples were thick and ordinary. It's them twisting it that ruins it for me."

What I wonder is, does this mean that in another 20 years, the Vatican will say Madonna's music is better than whatever it is we'll be aurally assaulted by in 2030? Hm. Probably not, huh?

*****

Yesterday, I spent part of the evening cleaning up my playlists in iTunes. Seems I have enough Christmas music--in English and German--to listen to holiday comfort and joy for three days straight. I don't know if that's a good thing. I suppose it just is what it is. This year's newest album acquisitions: Mary Chapin Carpenter's Come Darkness, Come Light and Sheryl Crow's Home for Christmas from Hallmark. Of the two, MCC's is the better album.

Haul out the holly, folks!

*****

My list of want-to-see movies is quite long. But it doesn't include the long-anticipated Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Damn Warner Brothers! Seems they made too much on Batman: Dark Knight (a horrible movie, by the way, and only a blockbuster because poor Heath Ledger [God rest his soul] died right before its release) and decided they didn't need to make any more money this year.

Who the hell ever heard of that? I mean, maybe I'm a little loopy here, but this is America, for Pete's sake! The country where the express purpose for the existence of corporations and their products is to bleed us of every penny of disposable income we attempt to save. Not releasing Harry Potter is just un-American, I tell you!

I suppose I should be comforted by the fact that there's Bolt, Star Trek, Revolutionary Road, Quantum of Solace, The World Unseen, The Reader, Milk, and Transporter 3 to fill the void. Hey, wait a minute! That's... 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8... EIGHT! Eight movies I want/have to see to assuage my dissatification at not being able to see Harry Potter. That's eighty smackers! Geez, that's a lot of dough compared to ten bucks for a dose of the wizard from Little Whinging. It's a conspiracy.

Damn Warner Brothers.

*****

Please note that Twilight is not on my must-see list. That's $10 staying in my pocket, thank you very much!

'Nuff said.

*****

Speaking of movies, why can I never keep Kate Winslet and Cate Blanchett straight in my head. I'm continually getting the two of them mixed up. What's up with that?!

See what I mean?! They're practically twins, damn it!
The one on the left is Cate and on the right, Kate.
Or is it the other way around? Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
Photo courtesy of Just Jared.com.

Ralph Fiennes, on the other hand, is now permanently embedded in my head as that evilest of evil evilness, He Who Shall Not Be Named, Voldemort. I watched him in In Bruges--an excellent, excellent film, by the way--the other night and all I kept seeing was Voldemort. And yet, in truth, Voldemort is small beans compared to the incomparably cold and evil Nazi he played so well year's ago in Schindler's List. But, it's Voldemort I see, not Amon Goeth.

*****

What else? What else?

Oh, yeah. Thursday is that most American of American holidays--Dallas Cowboys football. Oh sorry. I meant Thanksgiving. (And isn't it frightening that I even know the Cowboys are the perennial players every year on Thanksgiving?!)

I'm headed to the sibs for the event. Thank goodness they only live out in the Commonwealth. By the end of the evening, we're all stuffed, but we still like each other because we can all excuse ourselves from the table and go back to our respective homes without the need of a long over-the-river-and-through-the-woods or transcontinental flight kind of travel. Just rip, zip out I-66, then up Rock Creek Parkway, and I'm home.

And all of that is significant, why? I don't know. I'm just lookin' for stuff to write here, boys and girls.

*****

Here's some food for thought, so to speak.

Thursday also commences that great American pasttime: festive weight gain.

In truth, it started back at Halloween with all the snack-sized candies and confections. Basically, as a country, we're constantly stuffing our faces with food. It sort of starts in October and escalates through November with Thanksgiving, December with Christmas, and January with New Years. Then it sort of starts to taper off with Valentines and St. Patrick's, but ticks up again with Easter in April. There's a little upswing in May with Memorial Day, but nothing in June unless you're invited to a wedding or you celebrate Flag Day. July is a take or leave it possibility for continued consumption, while August is nil and September's Labor Day is a last hoorah to summer.

Good Lord, but we're a food obsessed country. I'm going on a diet. Right after... Hm. Well, I don't know. Any suggestions on which month would be a good one to exercise culinary willpower?

*****

Perhaps that's the sign I need to just go back to bed. That, and the fact that I'm freezing!

Okay.

Bye.

Things That Go Bump...

...in the night and leave me W I D E awake.

Yeah, it's 3:00 a.m. Again. And I'm up.

I find myself up on many a sleepless night contemplating the air in my head and the lint in my belly button, but I rarely pose really pressing questions. In truth, and if I did, you would really learn what keeps me up at night.

For example, why do teachers always seem to have bad breath?

The other day, I left a comment at Quiet in the Stacks where I said, "I now it's not nice to laugh at pregnant women..." and then I thought, are there any other kind?

Whose idea was it to invent front loading washing machines? Worst and most ineffective invention ever.

Why has Dick Cheney not been hauled off to the War Crimes Tribunal in the Hague? Is there no justice in the world?

Why do sleep aids sometimes make you restless and wide awake? Isn't that counter to what they're suppose to do?

In Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Ron breaks his wand, rendering it largely useless. For Christmas, Hermione gives Ron a new wand. So, why, a few chapters later, is he still using the old, busted wand?

See what I mean? The questions of deep and lasting import that could just very possibly change what I eat for breakfast. It's more than I can bear. More beer? (And if you can name the movie that line came from, I'll be really, really impressed.)

*****

Gilahi was observing on his blog the other day that people seem to be running out of things to write about, his present company included. To fill the white space, he wrote about his colonoscopy. That was a fun read.

Thinking I might feel inspired, I thought about telling everyone how well being on birth control is working for me (HELLO! Why the hell didn't I get on this stuff YEARS ago?!), but then I decided no one needs all that detail and information.

Then I thought I'd rant about the pet crematorium where we took Bee's recently deceased cat, Frieda, but I'm saving that up for later. (And believe me, there will be a rant.)

I could write about how I'm editing a collection of personal histories, written by my cousins and aunts for a book my mother and her sisters are putting together for next year's family reunion, but no thanks.

See what I mean? I got nada.

*****

Which might not be such a bad thing, come to think of it.

Normally, I'd be working in an office setting, which would provide me with infinite possibilities of things to write. Now all I have is me, my Darth Vader bobblehead doll, and the Dirty Bastard Cat. He doesn't say much. Darth Vader, that is. The DBC, on the other hand, has an opinion about everything. When he really wants to make his point, he hurls.

The other day, we had guests over for dinner. When we do, the DBC goes to the basement. Otherwise, he's weaving in and out of people's legs, begging for food (he's worse than a dog that way), and generally being a nuisance. All of that, coupled with the fact that we also have friends who are allergic to cats, results in him going downstairs for the evening.

Needless to say, this makes him very, very angry.

Along the wall going down to the basement is a neat little DVD rack I bought at the loathsome IKEA. The Swedish furniture wonder recommends you hang the rack, made up of wooden boxes attached to a stick, vertically. Ha. What a joke! I installed them horizontally on a ledge going down the stairs. Perfect.

Or it was until the DBC discovered that he could express his opinion about being confined to the basement during all the fun and festivities by pulling DVDs out of the rack. Nothing like opening the door to the basement at the end of an evening of friends and frivolity to discover Breakfast at Tiffany's, Prime Suspect, Harry Potter 1-5, To Be or Not to Be, Peter Pan, The Mission, The Italian Job, Remembering 9/11, and Pirates of the Caribbean scattered down the stairs.

Hm. I wonder if I could trade the DBC to Barbossa for his monkey?

See? This, and many questions like it, keep me awake at night.

Selling Myself Short?

So, I've been noodling some more this weekend and last night, just before I drifted off to sleep, I had an epiphany.

Here's the thing: Until I'm in a position to open my own flower shop, I want to get back into publishing. I'm willing to start again as a managing editor and work my way up. I'm even willing to take a $10K pay cut to get back into a line of work I really enjoyed, was successful in, and performed well in.

The part about taking a step down in title doesn't bother me as much as the step down in salary, which is what led me to noodle. I've worked really hard to get where I am in terms of responsibility and pay, so why should I take a step down?

That's when I had the epiphany: I'm selling myself short.

At least, I think I am.

The fact is, I've had very positive experiences as a manager and supervisor, as well as positive feedback on my leadership and mentoring abilities. That, in itself, ought to be worth something. Yes, I still want to be part of the creative process, but I'd also like to be part of positive leadership. Is it possible to do both in a non-floral setting?

I don't want to sell myself short. At the same time, I'm not interested in a repeat of the last three jobs I've had.

The pros of working as managing editor again are:

• I'd get to be part of a creative process.
• I'd get to produce something that has a tangible quality.
• I'm part of a process that has a clear beginning and an absolute end.

The cons are:

• I'd have to answer to someone who could end up being a psycho, a prick, a control freak, or all of the above.
• Any leadership skills I might exhibit could be misconstrued as me either not doing my job or attempting to take over the bosses job. Neither scenario is desirable.

I could make similar lists for management type positions, but the important point here is, while I'm willing to take a step down, it doesn't mean that I should simply do so for the sake of getting back into the thing I enjoy doing professionally. Surely I can do both--be a part of the creative/publishing process again and use and build on my leadership and mentoring skills.

Or am I wrong?

Reason #367

As if I need one more reason why living in the D.C. area is largely unappealing, but here's reason number three hundred and sixty-seven:

The sound of planes at odd hours--including jumbo jets and military hardware.

It's 12:05 a.m.

National Airport should be long closed for the night. And yet, I just heard a big plane. Most peculiar. The other day, I watched a big plane fly across the Mall headed east toward the Capitol and I knew this was a wrong picture. In fact, out loud to myself in the car I said, "That can't be right...."

****

A couple of weeks ago, NORAD announced it was conducting drills over Washington. These aren't rinky little drills done in simulators. These are the real deal with fighter jets. You know, the type you only see up close at air shows. The scary part is, in these drills, you hear the fighters long before you see them--if you see them, that is. They're so far up and moving so quickly, you're lucky if you can get a line of sight on them. All you know is, you can hear them bearing down on you and you have no clue where they are. You just know they're there.

Just a week's worth of these exercises is enough to leave you with some semblance of empathy for the citizens of Iraq (or anyone who lives in a war zone) who hear that sound every.single.day. It must be totally unnerving to hear the scream of a fighter jet and know that it may be followed by the delivery of munitions meant to kill. Frankly, I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of an F-16 or any other high velocity fighting machine in the American arsenal.

****

Supposedly, after September 11, aerial surveillance was a daily occurrence in the skies over Washington. I moved back here six months after that fateful day. I remember the first time I drove along the perimeter of the Pentagon. Bearing down on the roadway was an armored personnel carrier with a gun-mounted turret manned by a soldier who had the aforementioned gun trained on the road to fire on any vehicle that chose to deviate from its course or that might present an immediate threat to the perimeter. It was the most unnerving feeling to see that and know that the soldier with his finger near the trigger was trained and willing to engage any one of us if we so much as flinched wrong.

****

I can't help but think sometimes how crazy it was to move back to a city where terrorists flew a plane into the side of a building and to know that, in the event of a nuclear attack, this city is a prime target and therefore it's toast. It's equally unsettling to think that it's only a matter of when, not if, before this city experiences what other metropolitan cities have dealt with for decades: car bombs, bus bombs, suicide bombers.

****

For a long time after September 11th, when I'd watch a plane bank on approach, I would gasp in horror. All I could see in that instance was the image of that second plane banking and flying into the north tower of the World Trade Center. Eventually, I mostly got over it, but occasionally I still gasp in horror.

And this is why, at 12:05 a.m. on an otherwise peaceful night, I sit up in bed at the sound of a jetliner because somehow it just doesn't seem right.