Consumer Christmas, or Pretty (Useless)

Nothing screams capitalism like the American Christmas. I find myself constantly arguing with people offended by presumably Christian Santas or carols that Santas and most carols are not, in fact, Christian, but Capitalism-ian. Speaking of carols, I had my first-ever holiday meltdown in the car driving home from work yesterday. As Johnny Mathis asserted in a perky croon that It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year, I realized that my holiday season resembled little of the parties for hosting, marshmallows for roasting, and carolling out in the snow, and much more the office so busy, I leave my work dizzy, oh Lord, it's a three-ee day week, please help me get it done, I have no time for fun, and school starts again in two weeeeeeeeeeeeeeks. I prefer June.

But oh, the flourishing of useless, pretty crap we give each other this time of year. It's the fragrance ads that get me. Ever have the feeling that they were designed entirely by and for the gay male population? The Dior commercial looks like gay porn: all wet male abs and closeups of a pretty boy face. Even more ridiculous is the Poison ad. An undernourished, over-eye-make-up-ed woman and an animated black panther slink toward a pedestal crowned with a bottle of the purfume. They're about tied in their race, until the woman swipes the great cat with her nails, emerging victorious as the animal-winner of the fragrance-prize. Then they get to the price for these dinky bottles of stink: a $75 value for only $57.95. The most I spent on a gift this year was $40. And that was the sole gift for that person.

Makes me want to convert to Judaism and Socialism. Where's the recruiting center? Do I get a cash bonus for joining?...No? That's not how other traditions work, you say? Well. In the meantime I'll have to cheer myself up with this early Christmas present from Greg. It's wonderful and you should treat yourself to a copy, especially if you found yourself nodding at this rant. What? You say it's just more holiday crap to buy? Well, if you can't beat 'em, laugh at 'em.

Happy Solstice

I always want to celebrate the solstices and equinoxes, but I haven't come up with a good tradition yet. Nothing seems quite grand enough to honor the movement of the universe, you know? And Wicca, which I'm sure has solstice rituals, just doesn't do it for me. So: I welcome your suggestions, and in the meantime, I'm going to try to do 108* sun salutations today. I've done 3 so far.

*important yoga number

The Joy of ANTM

It's not just the pretty girls, the catfights, or even my old excuse of Armchair Anthropology that makes America's Next Top Model the most addictive show on television. Add those elements up, throw in the Cinderella story and a good dollop of glamour, and still the explanation falls short of the appeal. What is it?

It's that we, too, want to be the best on some level. We want the top cats in our fields, our heroes and mentors, to recognize our spectacular achievements, to single us out, and to give us the prize in a stunningly public, universally admired way. I want to be America's Next Top Shiatsu Practitioner. Of course I want my classmates to succeed, to become great shiatsu practitioners, but I want to succeed just a little more than they succeed. You, perhaps, want to be America's Next Top Teacher, America's Next Top Novelist, America's Next Top Poet, or America's Next Top Dessert Chef/Handball Player.

See?

Things I'm Not Getting Done

-reading The Known World (by Edward P. Jones), which I borrowed from a friend
-balancing my checkbook
-avoiding sugar
-decorating the Christmas tree
-cardio workout
-painting the rest of the bedroom and that one little wall in the living room
-getting to the pharmacy to pick up a new pill pack (I'll do it tomorrow, okay?)
-renewing my AAA membership

Things I Am Getting Done
-biting my nails
-watching America's Next Top Model (Eva won--woo-hoo!)
-tai ch'i
-yoga
-fretting over the Christmas tree already going bald
-eating lots of sugar
-working late
-Christmas shopping
-playing fetch with Luna
-making appointments (oil change Monday, hair Tuesday)

Conclusion
It seems pretty well balanced. I'm doing OK.

Cats and Puke

I was half-awake; having gotten up to feed the cats and then, because it was cold, and I am sometimes lazy, I went back to bed "for just a minute".... Soon Luna pranced up, wanting attention, and she was lying on top of me purring and licking my forehead and being a good cat. Then she sat up, backed up from my face (thankfully), and started heaving. Oh damn, I knew what was coming, but I thought that perhaps pushing her off the bed would make things worse, that we'd get an arc of cat puke or something, and I held hope that it was only a hairball. The world became slow motion. The contents of Luna's stomach spewed over the blanket, barely chewed cat food on top of tuna and mac'n'cheese. (She must have snuck into the pan last night.) A pause. She ate most of it back up. Disgusting, but I let her because it saved me some cleaning.

A Process

I'm playing with the colors on float tonight. I'm approching it much the same way I approach picking colors for the house: splash something up there, see how it looks, decide it's hideous, repeat. Thankfully, this is a less expensive process. I think I've come up with some pretty nice colors here, and now I've painted part of the room--er, blog--and left the rest to rot. Speaking of which, is it too late now to paint the other half of the bedroom, which remains a naked neutral despite the other walls modelling a gorgeous lavendar for weeks now?...Yawn...I think it is.

Cats and Trees

The Christmas tree came home with us yesterday. Luna took a shine to its red netting. She pawed at it until I cut it off to free the tree. Then she hid behind it (though, clearly, we could see her through it) and stalked Noah. Like last year, Noah was grumpy about the tree. He sulked about, giving it dirty looks, and then ignored it cat-style: turned his back squarely on the tree, sat down like a big cat-rock, and pointed a lone ear in its direction. Luna, meanwhile, began shrieking, a shrieking blur of black-and-white, speeding from one end of the condo to the other, possessed. Like an unfortunate seal, she was tangled in the net, her former source of stealth and power turned into a terrifying enemy. I caught her, mindful of the claws, and freed her hind legs. She calmed right down. I disposed of the netting.

With no netting to distract her, Luna could explore the bounty of the largest houseplant in the world. Oh, the chewability of its low branches. Oh, the fun of jumping higher and higher and higher next to it! Oh, the joy of lapping up tree water!!

I give the tree a week until it topples.

Wednesday Writing Assignment: Hell, Let's Do It on Tuesday Edition

What are your dreams like? Black and white? Color? Indoors? Outdoors? Swimming cats? Is Donald Trump--dressed like David Bowie circa Ziggy Stardust--orchestrating elaborate schemes to destroy you...Or is that just me?

The One Who Got Away

If you can believe the songs, everyone has a one who got away. I didn't think I had one, content in my relationship and unattached to any past lovers.

But now I'm finding that I miss the way we danced together; the way he always told me I was gorgeous without prompting, even when I felt my worst; the way we would laugh together at chick flicks and wonder what the magical future held. We moved in together for a while--it was my idea. We were living miles and miles apart and he did all the apartment hunting, made the arrangements, and found us the perfect place.

The weekend I moved in, we spent Friday night choreographing 80s songs together. The one who got away from me was not a lover, but my gay best friend.

Things fell apart about a month later. I couldn't find a job and my money was running out. Down to my last $200, I charged a plane ride back East and broke the news to my friend. Things got tense. He thought I was being flaky, or wasn't trying enough. I felt incredibly guilty about leaving him to hazard an unknown roommate, but I saw no other choice, and I felt that he wasn't being very understanding.

We talked it over the night before I left, cleared the air, but we never really kept in touch after that point. Something broke. I miss him. He's a true light, funny and smart and caring and even a little wise, and one of the few men who could really take me dancing.

Stress

no time for blogging--I miss you all...it will probably be bad until March-ish.