On Tuesday, Sigur Ros's crew sent out an email to those of us with tickets to attend the show at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery on Sunday. They asked for volunteers who would be willing to share a short recorded vocal piece about a loved one that had passed away, to be played right before the show began. Naturally, I jumped at this. Well, I was selected, and, after a huge bout of writer's block (lol story of my life, amirite?) I came home and vomited this little bit out in about ten minutes. Then I recorded it (which was awful and awkward). But I thought that since I'm sharing it with a billion other people, why not share it with y'all.
However.
Some disclosures.
This is my perspective.
You may think I'm romanticizing.
Fine.
My family may think it's all bullshit.
Okay.
But I wrote it out of love, respect, truth, and honor.
Because sometimes I feel tremendously guilty for never having visited her when she was in the hospital. Because I was so selfish that I didn't want to ruin my last memory of my grandmother.
So here it is.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Monday, May 14, 2012
Beaches
I'm cynical - almost to the point of being a dirty dipshit hipster - and one of the subjects of my criticism is the beach. I feel like it's one of the most cliché locales/ideas/things in general.
Most people seem to idealize and to idolize the coast - or maybe I just notice it a lot since I'm from Southern California.
But I feel like every other person in my little universe has some lofty opinion about the beach. It's relaxing, it's sexy, it's fun. My HeArT iS aT tHe BeAcH~
I have such a different opinion about the beach.
Or opinionS.
You see, my perspective of the beach varies wildly depending on - get this - what book I'm reading.
Hear me out.
My favorite book in the universe is probably The Awakening by Kate Chopin. For those unaware, the book is essentially about a Victorian woman's journey of self-awareness during an era of change in the woman's role in society. It's so much more than that, but the best way to sum it up is this quote: "I would give up the unessential; I would give my money, I would give my life for my children; but I wouldn't give myself. I can't make it more clear; it's only something which I am beginning to comprehend, which is revealing itself to me." Many events unfold, which are not as relevant to this AMAZING BLOG POST, but in the end, the main character, Edna ends up walking into the sea.
But we don't know what happens to her.
Trips to the beach that follow a reread of this book often feature me gazing into the Pacific and wondering what happened to Edna (lol, as if she were real). Suddenly my own trifling ups and downs seem tantamount to those of Edna, and I contemplate, if just for a moment, deliberately wading into the ocean. Wading until only swimming would save me. But no. My troubles are so great, that I would simply walk off the continental shelf - despite the surmounting salt water - and away from it all.
But then I realize that's melodramatic and start poking at crabs in tide pools.
Sometimes I read embarrassing chick lit. Not often, I promise. But I do!
With Emily Giffin and E. L. James on my mind, the beach becomes, in my mind's eye, quite the sexy and steamy location for a summer romance. Granted, I'm a married hag now (at only 25!), but I find myself revisiting those feelings of blossoming romance that I had in June and July of 2004 and planting those emotions on Crystal Cove. How fun it would be to sneak down the hillside (past my midnight curfew!!!) and roll around in the sand and skip flat rocks on the still parts of the sea. To kiss under only moonlight and to count stars above Catalina Island. To be young and unattached, yet so, so devoted.
I feel silly.
This weekend we went to the beach for Mother's Day. I got lucky - I got a crunchy mother-in-law who prefers nature over the traditional crowded upscale brunch and constant doting. Naturally, as we poured over those tide pools and gazed into the shimmering sea waiting for dolphins to swim by, my current literary companion kept reaching my thoughts.
Right now, I'm reading DNA USA by Bryan Sykes. I just finished The Seven Daughters of Eve, by the same author.
Pause for a sidenote: I'm a genetics nerd. Majored in it for a year at UCLA before I realized that the accompanying sciences, immunology and biochemistry, were extremely difficult. The prerequisite courses for the major effectively weeded me out and now studying DNA, mitochondrial DNA, y-chromosome DNA, population genetics, as well as anthropology and genealogy have been reduced to common hobbies of mine. If I could do it all over again, I'd enroll in an "easier" college, complete the major, and spend the rest of my time working on DNA analysis for Family Tree DNA or one of those companies. I know more about this stuff than the average bear, for damn sure.
So yeah, these books, in part, describe the life of early man. Each person on this planet belongs to one of several "haplogroups" - that is, they share a common ancestor with one of just a few women whose lineages have survived the test of time and natural selection. I belong to haplogroup T (I had my DNA tested - NERDNERDNERDOMG). In The Seven Daughters of Eve, Sykes describes the woman who "founded" the subgroup T as a woman who likely lived on the coast in the Mediterranean.
As we walked along the beach, I imagined myself as this ancient woman. What tools did her man make from the flaky sandstone that surrounds the coast? What was the best way to prepare a crab for dinner 10,000 years ago? Did she enjoy spending her time gazing at the stars, or even just looking at the sea, like we do today? Or was this just part of life?
I wondered if she worshiped at the beach. I wondered if she even regarded the beach. Did she give a shit?
What impact did the coast have on humanity? What impact did humanity have on the coast?
These were the things I wondered as my feet were stabbed by hollow barnacles and while my husband inched away from the rising tide, afraid that his Adidas would become wet.
So silly.
Most people seem to idealize and to idolize the coast - or maybe I just notice it a lot since I'm from Southern California.
But I feel like every other person in my little universe has some lofty opinion about the beach. It's relaxing, it's sexy, it's fun. My HeArT iS aT tHe BeAcH~
I have such a different opinion about the beach.
Or opinionS.
You see, my perspective of the beach varies wildly depending on - get this - what book I'm reading.
Hear me out.
My favorite book in the universe is probably The Awakening by Kate Chopin. For those unaware, the book is essentially about a Victorian woman's journey of self-awareness during an era of change in the woman's role in society. It's so much more than that, but the best way to sum it up is this quote: "I would give up the unessential; I would give my money, I would give my life for my children; but I wouldn't give myself. I can't make it more clear; it's only something which I am beginning to comprehend, which is revealing itself to me." Many events unfold, which are not as relevant to this AMAZING BLOG POST, but in the end, the main character, Edna ends up walking into the sea.
But we don't know what happens to her.
Trips to the beach that follow a reread of this book often feature me gazing into the Pacific and wondering what happened to Edna (lol, as if she were real). Suddenly my own trifling ups and downs seem tantamount to those of Edna, and I contemplate, if just for a moment, deliberately wading into the ocean. Wading until only swimming would save me. But no. My troubles are so great, that I would simply walk off the continental shelf - despite the surmounting salt water - and away from it all.
But then I realize that's melodramatic and start poking at crabs in tide pools.
Sometimes I read embarrassing chick lit. Not often, I promise. But I do!
With Emily Giffin and E. L. James on my mind, the beach becomes, in my mind's eye, quite the sexy and steamy location for a summer romance. Granted, I'm a married hag now (at only 25!), but I find myself revisiting those feelings of blossoming romance that I had in June and July of 2004 and planting those emotions on Crystal Cove. How fun it would be to sneak down the hillside (past my midnight curfew!!!) and roll around in the sand and skip flat rocks on the still parts of the sea. To kiss under only moonlight and to count stars above Catalina Island. To be young and unattached, yet so, so devoted.
I feel silly.
This weekend we went to the beach for Mother's Day. I got lucky - I got a crunchy mother-in-law who prefers nature over the traditional crowded upscale brunch and constant doting. Naturally, as we poured over those tide pools and gazed into the shimmering sea waiting for dolphins to swim by, my current literary companion kept reaching my thoughts.
Right now, I'm reading DNA USA by Bryan Sykes. I just finished The Seven Daughters of Eve, by the same author.
Pause for a sidenote: I'm a genetics nerd. Majored in it for a year at UCLA before I realized that the accompanying sciences, immunology and biochemistry, were extremely difficult. The prerequisite courses for the major effectively weeded me out and now studying DNA, mitochondrial DNA, y-chromosome DNA, population genetics, as well as anthropology and genealogy have been reduced to common hobbies of mine. If I could do it all over again, I'd enroll in an "easier" college, complete the major, and spend the rest of my time working on DNA analysis for Family Tree DNA or one of those companies. I know more about this stuff than the average bear, for damn sure.
So yeah, these books, in part, describe the life of early man. Each person on this planet belongs to one of several "haplogroups" - that is, they share a common ancestor with one of just a few women whose lineages have survived the test of time and natural selection. I belong to haplogroup T (I had my DNA tested - NERDNERDNERDOMG). In The Seven Daughters of Eve, Sykes describes the woman who "founded" the subgroup T as a woman who likely lived on the coast in the Mediterranean.
As we walked along the beach, I imagined myself as this ancient woman. What tools did her man make from the flaky sandstone that surrounds the coast? What was the best way to prepare a crab for dinner 10,000 years ago? Did she enjoy spending her time gazing at the stars, or even just looking at the sea, like we do today? Or was this just part of life?
I wondered if she worshiped at the beach. I wondered if she even regarded the beach. Did she give a shit?
What impact did the coast have on humanity? What impact did humanity have on the coast?
These were the things I wondered as my feet were stabbed by hollow barnacles and while my husband inched away from the rising tide, afraid that his Adidas would become wet.
So silly.
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Cat
I can admit with a high degree of confidence (and, admittedly, a low degree of self-esteem,) that I idolize my cats. They live the good life.
I find myself so enthralled by their world, that I tend to emulate them on Saturdays. Whether by accident or in a creepy attempt to morph into a cat, I notice the pattern of my day can sometimes seem to resemble the daily life of a feline.
Take this afternoon for example.
Sean - that's my husband - left the house to go to basketball practice. Usually, I get a little jealous and a little sad when he leaves. I want to be in a team sport! But I remember that I am surely unsociable and fairly unathletic. Today, however, I was content with his leaving. A migraine was encroaching on my day and I wanted nothing more than to try to sleep it off.
The silence was welcome. Sunbeams cascaded onto the carpet and the coffee table. I nestled into a crevice in the couch and simply lie there.
At the sound of a group of birds making their way through the parking lot outside the living room window, I peaked outside in interest. About five of them perched in a tree tweeting. What were these birds discussing that was so intriguing? I watched from the windowsill until my interest had faded.
Back to the couch. It smelled like fresh laundry. That's what sleep smells like. Clean bedding and warmth. The headache still loomed.
Just then a careless, godless, brainless beast pounded through the parking lot with a basketball in tow. No. To say it was in tow does not imply the reality - the beast was aggressively dribbling the ball on the ground for minutes. The noise emitted directly into my window. It felt like it was in the house. I was quite disturbed. I lunged at the window and watched with an evil eye as this individual just stood there. And dribbled. As noisily as he could. Noticing me, he ceased. I had won.
The couch again. This time, the noises would die down. Just the occasional airplane or rogue crow passing by would pass by.
I passed in and out of sleep. Stirred only by the strangest of dreams, I lie peacefully in my perfectly arranged sleeping spot. I longed for someone to pet me, but was truly content to pass the day this way
Eventually the migraine had been defeated. I woke up and recalled several batshit crazy dreams. I glanced up at Mao - one of my two dictator cats - and felt a strange comradery and a genuine understanding for this black and white beauty.
I find myself so enthralled by their world, that I tend to emulate them on Saturdays. Whether by accident or in a creepy attempt to morph into a cat, I notice the pattern of my day can sometimes seem to resemble the daily life of a feline.
Take this afternoon for example.
Sean - that's my husband - left the house to go to basketball practice. Usually, I get a little jealous and a little sad when he leaves. I want to be in a team sport! But I remember that I am surely unsociable and fairly unathletic. Today, however, I was content with his leaving. A migraine was encroaching on my day and I wanted nothing more than to try to sleep it off.
The silence was welcome. Sunbeams cascaded onto the carpet and the coffee table. I nestled into a crevice in the couch and simply lie there.
At the sound of a group of birds making their way through the parking lot outside the living room window, I peaked outside in interest. About five of them perched in a tree tweeting. What were these birds discussing that was so intriguing? I watched from the windowsill until my interest had faded.
Back to the couch. It smelled like fresh laundry. That's what sleep smells like. Clean bedding and warmth. The headache still loomed.
Just then a careless, godless, brainless beast pounded through the parking lot with a basketball in tow. No. To say it was in tow does not imply the reality - the beast was aggressively dribbling the ball on the ground for minutes. The noise emitted directly into my window. It felt like it was in the house. I was quite disturbed. I lunged at the window and watched with an evil eye as this individual just stood there. And dribbled. As noisily as he could. Noticing me, he ceased. I had won.
The couch again. This time, the noises would die down. Just the occasional airplane or rogue crow passing by would pass by.
I passed in and out of sleep. Stirred only by the strangest of dreams, I lie peacefully in my perfectly arranged sleeping spot. I longed for someone to pet me, but was truly content to pass the day this way
Eventually the migraine had been defeated. I woke up and recalled several batshit crazy dreams. I glanced up at Mao - one of my two dictator cats - and felt a strange comradery and a genuine understanding for this black and white beauty.
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