Landlocked

Address Is Approximate from The Theory on Vimeo.


Sometimes I feel like the little figure in the video: landlocked with an itch to see the world. I could leave but it would be at a high price; I might also not come back for reasons I can't help.

Maybe one day I'll be able to roam the globe. When it comes, I'll send you a postcard.

Nothing Said "I Love You" Like a Mixed CD

Michael shared a post with me from Thought Catalog. Unbeknownst to him, something similar happened my sophomore year of college. I lost a gray 48-CD case during a basketball trip. It was a 14-hour roundtrip, so we would pack up as soon as possible and start the drive home. My CD case was probably left in the stands.

After reading the article, I wondered what became of my fledgling collection. Mom used to refer to it as "la caja del diablo," translated to "the devil's box." I'm trying to remember what was inside but years of repressing my musical tragedy blurred my memory. All I can think of is U2's Achtung Baby, which was just re-released for its 20th anniversary. Thought about getting it but it won't be the same: my copy came from the $1 clearance at Half-Price Books; mom was with me and I thought she might disapprove my secular music purchase. Oh! Fumbling Towards Ecstasy and Surfacing both by Sarah McLachlan were in there too. Damn it, those were good ones. The only other CD identifiers I remember weren't titles at all. Instead, I recall some of the colours, as most of my collection consisted of mixes. Bright yellow, a red, some blue, I think even a bright pink, but all of them gifts from Todd, a former close friend of mine.

Our musical relationship began in high school. Secular music was a no-no in my then conservative household, so when he gave me my first mix my junior year, it was equivalent to contraband... much-welcomed contraband. It included Everclear's "Wonderful", acoustic versions of Bush's "Glycerine" and Fuel's "Shimmer" (love the lyrics to the latter), and the clean version of Radiohead's "Creep" (back then I felt more uncomfortable with the the f-word). Bet you that CD was also in that case.

Music taste may be a personal preference but Todd had a knack for constructing an interesting if not wonderful mix or playlist. I was excited whenever he gave me a CD, as I never knew what was on it. He had one rule: I would have to listen to the whole thing before giving me the playlist. The anticipation of finding out who and what was on it was always frustrating, specially if I was far from a CD player.

Throughout the years the discs piled up and resulted in my now unfortunately lost collection. There was no playlist paper trail so reconstructing my collection was impossible. It wouldn't be the same anyways, as those mixes were creatively crafted for me. I want to know what became of it. Did it become orphaned in lost and found, only to be tossed when its parent didn't claim it? I really hope someone — student, janitor, somebody — picked it up and gave it a home. I wonder what they thought of it as they browsed through the pages and if, like the article author, decided to put on one of those mixes. Maybe they played the yellow CD; must've been a surprise to have Perry Como's "Papa Loves Mambo" and, I believe, Bruce Springsteen's "I'm on Fire" on the same disc.

Todd and I had a fallout our senior year in college. Later we managed to be civil but now we don't keep in touch. It's not until now that I wonder if that was his way of showing affection. I miss those mixed CDs, and maybe that's why.

Peace Has Got to Be in One of These Boxes...

I moved into a new apartment on the 30th of December. Somehow I made it through packing, cleaning and several round-trips up and down stairs thanks to a three-week break and friends and family. 'Twas worth fulfilling my poetic idea of having a new place for the new year.

Now I've hit that tiring stage of unpacking where I realize one very important thing: I have too much stuff. I haven't tallied up the rat-packing damage but confessing I have 52 pairs of shoes alarms me. Something seems so wrong about having so much. I feel like a hoarder and restless. While this realization may put a slight damper on my shiny new ideal from the first paragraph, it also means it's a perfect time to de-clutter. The year still has that brand-new smell, no? 

The more I process, the more a nagging feeling tells me this also applies to people. (Oh, over-thinking mind of mine, when will you rest?) Not in an angry "GO TO HELL, I DON'T NEED YOU!" way, but in a bittersweet awareness that we've simply fulfilled our roles for each other and it's time to move on. Maybe I'm the one in someone's storage or "Give Away" box.

I'll keep rummaging through and purging boxes to try to settle my place and soul. I create attachments easily so this will be challenging. Knowing myself some things will be stored for a possible second chance, others released into the wide world of donations. Perhaps that'll happen with some people too. Whichever I'm letting go of, or if I'm the one being let go, I will remind myself that it will all be OK.

Blogger, We Need to Talk

I miss blogging.

During the past few months I've had a few topics in mind but they never even made it onto a text box. They ranged from the whimsical to the serious to the crazy. Sounds as bipolar as I'm feeling.

Blogging is partially an exercise in confidence. Being vulnerable was once easier for me and this was a good way to practice. Coming back and typing whatever has been a bit difficult. It's getting cold and I don't feel like doing a proverbial thought strip.

Thing is, it would be freeing, even if no one is looking.

Why (I) Write

Writer's block hits and you think, "Oh, I'll write later." Later, later, always later. But later never comes before you realize a million thoughts have passed you by the same way fireflies come and fade into the night.

We write because it's good for our souls. Because, even if you don't like it at first the same way you disliked your mother's vegetable soup, it turned to something you craved in the coldest days. Because sometimes the pen is mightier than the sword and the only thing that will keep thoughts from escaping or devouring you is to take aim and a good swing. Because there are a little million word combinations to unlock our minds so others can take a glimpse at the mysteries we are.

Whatever, wherever, whyever, write. Simply because you are.

I Bumped Into Death at the Farmers Market

While at Farmers Market I walked past a baklava stand on my left and a cluster of people to my right: a man, a woman and a college-age girl. Precisely at that moment the girl, phone pressed to her ear, head slightly down to try to hear better, gasped, "Oh my gosh! My mom just died."

That is one overheard conversation that definitely stands out. I kept walking but turned and watched the next few frames: the girl covering her mouth in shock, her rapid walk/exit from the market and across the creek, the man and woman's concerned expressions, the baklava vendor calling after her (she probably knew them). All this in just slightly surreal seconds.

I reached a different stand near the market exit, bought tomatoes and crossed the creek back to my car. The girl sat on the opposite bank, sobbing, phone still pressed to her ear. The man and woman were there, holding and trying to comfort her.

I tried to not stare as I got closer. I wanted to say something even though I was a stranger with no obligations. But something about being human connects you even when you are not involved or lack the same experience. I also felt a bit like George, the main reaper in "Dead Like Me." I didn't bring death with a touch and Post-It Note but did indirectly "witness" a stranger's death. It's a little disconcerting to casually see death's ripple effect.

What feels even weirder is the privacy of the actual event. It's not like it was an accident at a public place, complete with some chaos, screams and headlines. No. This was a "where" and "what" no one but people directly affected knew about, hinted at only by a brisk walk, a gasp and quiet sobs. I simply was a bystander who randomly peeked into someone's world at an odd place and time.

Yellow Pill vs. Green Pill

So. I've got choices regarding jobs. Quite the turnaround from my last blog. It feels good to have choices but I dislike having to choose in situations like this. Happiness vs. money/benefits is no joke.

Here are my choices. Both of them are, at this time, almost a guarantee.

Job 1: Baker's assistant at UNL. The company caters to frats and sororities and works during the school year. Training starts August 8.

PROS

1) Holidays AND summer vacation

2) It's not minimum wage: $9/hr

3) Enough people interaction to keep me happy but not overwhelmed (hopefully)

4) It deals with food, something near and dear to me

5) Gain/perfect interesting and practical skills

6) It's in town

7) Schedule allows me to continue freelance design

CONS

1) No benefits

2) Not sure how much growing I can do within this job

3) Close but not quite full time

NOTE: I'll have what I need money-wise, despite little wiggle-room. I like taking care of people and this would allow me to do so indirectly. I'm already pretty excited about this; oh, I get three chef coats. :-P

Job 2: Not sure on title but it's for a nutritional supply store. I would take inventory, place and help ship orders, label things.

PROS

1) Definitely not minimum wage: $15/hr

2) Benefits after a few months

3) Full time

4) Easy, as it is a routine

CONS

1) Four employees total

2) I'm in a small warehouse most of the time

3) It's in Syracuse, so one hour roundtrip

4) Sounds monotone, despite having to multitask

5) No growing opportunity

NOTE: I'm not money-driven, but a nice cash flow might allow me to do things that make me happy, such as traveling and going out, maybe even supporting a good cause. But is daily monotony worth it?

This might be a no-brainer. So, why is it so hard?