All in all, I had a wonderful weekend. Were it not for one particular incident {which didn't even happen to me}, however, my weekend could've been SPECTACULAR! But, NO. There was an asshole who felt a need to be his entire supremely assholey self toward a good friend of mine, and thus became a festering asshole to my friend's boyfriend as well. I was looking forward to spending time with these friends, and my friends were looking forward to getting to see us and some of the rest of their friends, have some fun, and hang out. That my friends were denied this was more than enough to piss me off; that I was denied the chance to see them as planned, pissed me off even more.
On Friday evening, I went to the airport to pick up my friend's Scott & Lauri, who were returning from a very much needed, last-minute surprise vacation. I gave them a ride to our friend Tony's condo, where they are currently living, and I spent a bit of time hanging out with the three of them, catching up, talking, and playing games. The plan for the rest of the weekend {as Saturday night was Bear Night @ CC's} was that they would stop in for a bit to see us and some other friends, and just, in general, hang out for a bit while we all celebrated Bear Night in our usual revelry.
We arrived at the bar somewhere between 7 and 7:30, and began our general hanging out. This included a drink or two, natch. An hour or so-ish later, as we stood out on the patio, I'm informed by Anthony that Lauri had been told he couldn't enter the bar because of his Estonian ID. I'd not yet checked my own mobile to see the message that Scott had left me, telling me what he'd told Anthony. I replied something about that being some bullshit, and, in that particular moment, didn't think anything else about it. UNTIL, the next message from Scott saying that they were leaving because the doorman was being a dick about Lauri's ID. I was caught up in the mystery of the Malibu&Cranberry concoctions on which I'd been sippin', and even mo' caught up with the freshness of the fine, furry fellas all up 'n thru the bar, so I wasn't in the proper frame of mind to think the situation out. Therefore, I stayed where I was, assuming that the doorman could clearly see that Lauri was over the age of 21 and therefore his entering the bar shouldn't have been an issue; by the time I realized that Scott & Lauri had already, in fact, turned away, righteously pissed off, and headed home, it was a bit late to even consider intervening. So, I admit, I continued on with what (and whom) I'd been carrying on...
Here's what transpired:
Scott & Lauri walked thru the door and were asked for ID from the doorman; I'm assuming that CC's, for the most part, was doing its part in making sure that patrons of the bar had proper ID on them while in the bar, as CLEARLY 98% of the clientele looked obviously over the age of 21, w/ more than half of those being well above the age of 33. [For the record, I commend CC's for making sure folks had ID on them, regardless of being 'obviously' old enough to drink.] BUT, this particular doorman apparently had some issues with the world outside of North America, and took it upon himself to allow his personal ignorance control a situation that should've been handled with training, no-how, and tact, all of which he seems to lack. When Lauri presented his ID to him he said {according to Scott} "You're lucky I'm going to let you in here with that." -- as if Lauri's official, Estonia-issued ID was some kind of attempt at fraud. Lauri, quite rightly, was offended by this, and asked ""I can go?" to which the doorman replied "Yeah, you can." as he handed Lauri back his license and pointed to the door, effectively telling him to leave. Well, Scott certainly wasn't going to remain inside while his boyfriend was just told to leave and made to feel like shit; he left as well, and as they walked back to their car, Scott tried to pump up his now-deflated BF, telling him "That guy is an ignorant dickhead," but it did absolutely nothing to lift Lauri's spirits ~ he became more and more pissed as they walked away. As well he should have been...
Once I found this out, I wish that I had had the presence of mind to step up when the chance was there, not necessarily to cause a scene, or to pull any strings {'cause I've no strings to pull}, but to at least vouch for them. But it would have been futile, I'm sure, because a moron in 'power' is hard to sway...
See, I've worked in retail and/or grocery customer service for most of my life: over 22 of my 38 years have been spent working and dealing with the public. And even in my bitchiest, ballsiest, most "back tha fuck up off me!" moments, I always knew how to effectively do my job and give people a good experience that would make them want to return. Having spent a majority of those years as a cashier, I've had extensive training on how to handle a person's ID; growing up in the South, there wasn't a lot of need for training on handling International IDs, but I got that training when I moved to Seattle 3 years ago. It's really not that hard, regardless where the ID is from, as all you need to do is verify that the photo 'looks like' the person who handed you the ID, and check the date-of-birth to make sure they're of age to do/purchase what it is they wish to do/purchase. Plain and freakin' simple, right? A few places I've worked even recommend making small talk with the patron while you're perusing their ID card, which is good when faced with an ID from a state or country you've never seen before, as you try to locate the DOB which is often not in the same spot on cards from state to state/country to country. Hell, if need be, you can even ask them to point it out! That's all it takes: make sure the person IS who their card says s/he is, and that they're old enough to do what they're tryin' to do.
Clearly, Saturday evening's CC's doorman wasn't too keen on his International Studies and hasn't heard of the country of Estonia. [No fault there, as I'd heard very little, if anything, about it until I met Lauri, who hails from there.] But, instead of making Lauri feel welcome and doing his job {greeting him properly}, he felt a need to cover his ignorance and say something insulting and demeaning when it was totally uncalled for.
With the number of Canadians that were in the bar that night, it was obvious that you don't have to have a US-issued ID, so that couldn't have been the problem...
Lauri is a grown-ass man and would most likely not be mistaken by anyone for being a minor, so THAT couldn't have been the problem.
But, even aside from all that, during the moments when I was back by the entrance, SEVERAL people slid right in without being asked for ID: sure they stopped and got ready to present theirs, but as the doorman was looking at the ID of the guy at the front of the line, some would either go ahead and walk on into the bar proper, where they had friends waiting for embraces, or they simply walk on in to the damn bar and do what they came to do as they slid their unchecked IDs back into their wallets/pockets.
And that's not even mentioning the fact that before 7 or whatever time the doorman starts working, all you gotta do is walk in ~ BECAUSE THERE AIN'T NOBODY CHECKING JACK SHIT AT THE DOOR UNTIL HE GETS THERE!!! So, truly it's not that deep...
So, as it's looking to ME, door-dude is a dumb-assed, dick-headed douche-bag who felt a need to be rude to a customer, impugn his veracity and personage, and make him never want to even think about going into that particular bar again.
I don't know if Lauri will ever go back to CC's. I think he should and that, at the very least, CC's owes him a drink AND an apology. But as it stands right now, he's not feeling any good things toward making those steps to come in. He's pissed and very rightly so.
May seem a small thing to some, but it's about as real as it gets; he's not new to the country, as he comes and lives with Scott for 6 months at a time. If we homosexuals could get married, he'd be able to stay here and be with the man he loves and who loves him. But, no, 'we' don't wanna allow that. He's reduced to being made to feel like a third rate 2nd class citizen.
Then, on top of all that, he's told he can't even step into a bar for a drink and to hang with friends? THAT is some serious bullshittery.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Spectacular, Beautiful, Bizarre, & Frightening: The Dream That Shook Me Outta Bed
This morning I was jolted awake from a dream. It was quite surreal: spectacular, beautiful, and bizarre ~ and by the time I woke myself up to get out of it, it had become quite frightening.
It began as a random little festival-type affair in the backyard of the house I grew up in, back in Tennessee. There were small African artifacts, knick-knacks, and tchotchkes on display everywhere and little coin-operated rides shaped like lions, giraffes, tigers, and antelopes, with kids I'd never seen before riding on them. As strange as all of that was, considering the house I grew up in had no indoor plumbing and no bathroom, it got even more strange when I turned from watching a kid riding on a mechanical elephant to watching another kid playing with an actual koala ~ which suddenly made me realize that I was not in my old backyard at a Africanesque mini-festival, but somewhere in/near Australia.
As I turned back around to re-survey the scene, I saw that it had changed, and that I was now at a full-out carnival: there were Ferris Wheels, Tilt-A-Whirls and other similar carnival-type rides strewn all across the vast expanses of land that had grown from nowhere and where there were woods and forests before. I started walking and taking in all the sites, still trying to figure out exactly where I was, and wondering if by chance I needed to figure out WHO I was: none of this was making any sense, but now and then, something familiar would catch my eye. I just didn't know exactly 'why' they seemed familiar.
There were authentic-looking structures everywhere, and things began taking on a decidedly more African look again; I went strolling thru fields and scenes of African-style buildings and crafts where the rides and concession stands were mere seconds prior to my last blink. I walked and walked thru these scenes, surrounded by people in what would be considered traditional African garb, doing traditional-looking African dances and chanting African hymns and songs. I felt a strange comfort as I walked thru these scenes, oddly knowing and feeling that that was all that they really were: scenes, and not reality. I felt, as I wandered in and out of fields filled with people and animals, that "the bright sun was shining down on me, baking me, darkening my already chocolate skin to an even more African hue, centering me and making me more whole, leading me closer to be one with the Motherland." As I walked and thought these thoughts, I suddenly began to feel less calm, and I realized that I has stumbled into what could only be considered a cemetery. It was remarkably elabourate and detailed; words I somehow understood but had never seen were etched and printed into and on stone, shadows began shifting into something seemingly other than shadows, as the sun was quickly settling beyond its halfway post in the sky. Figures began to rise from behind what I finally realized were tombstones, and I began to feel a strong sense of unease and to fear for my safety if I remained there much longer ~ but the only way to get out of there was to jump off/over/down a wall that had to be at least 50 feet high, with water flowing down it from the cracks and crevasses that lined it. As the animal howls and shouts began to sound more sinister than sweet, I decided to jump for it...
Once I fell from the graveyard to the much lower level, it took me a minute to assess where I was at this point: I was simply back at the beginning of when I thought I was at a carnival, only the carnival had left and all that remained were the people who'd been there celebrating before. Plus a couple thousand of their deranged and psychotic friends and acquaintances.
I walked around for a bit and eventually came across what appeared to be my childhood home. I knew that it couldn't be, seeing as though nothing else seemed to fit that scope, and I hoped that it wasn't because I had to use the bathroom! I opened the door, peered in, and finally went inside and found the bathroom. After I'd flushed and washed my hand, I looked in the mirror and saw that my dreads (!) needed some tending to, or at least to be tied back and/or covered. So, I walked back out to the front room -- and HERE is where it really got bizarre!
In the front room, on the telephone, was my friend Kim Fields, and along the far wall were most of the wigs she'd worn when she was on "Living Single", along with several scarves and hats. After getting her attention and asking if I could borrow some scarves, I grabbed a few, tied up my locs, and went back outside. Where it would seem a war had just been fought. And lost. It was essentially an African wilderness in the parking lots of several abandoned warehouses, and it had been ravaged, severely...
People were running around looking at the damage that had been caused, while other people were standing over bodies that had been ripped and torn asunder, and as I stood seemingly still, taking it all in, it seemed that it was all getting closer and closer to where I stood. So, I took off walking, not having any idea where I was or where I was going. The unfamiliar-yet-familiar house that I'd just left was gone, and there was no trace of anything that seemed even the remotest bit like "I know what that is". I sped up my pace, reaching for my phone to text or call somebody to help me figure out what the fuck was going on and tell whoever to come and fucking get me -- I was beginning to be more than a bit scared. As I was texting someone {I don't have a clue who!}, a small, bloody hand reached out to grab my phone, and I spun around to see who it was. There were several young African boys standing there looking at me, looking at my phone, and the looks in their eyes told me to BE UP & OUT, so I started walking backward as they began speaking, yelling at me in their native language, causing my slight fear to turn into pure terror. I turned and took off running, trying to finish and send my text all the while; for whatever reason, I looked back over my shoulder to see how far back the boys were, but oddly they'd not even begun to chase me. So, of course, I fell, and THAT'S when they gave chase! So, I'm up again, running for my life, screaming, text be damned, just running and running, I dropped my phone but kept on running...
...and that's when I woke up: standing just in front of our bedroom door, my mobile phone laying on the floor where it had fallen when it disconnected from its charger, both of which had been on my nightstand, both of which were now on the floor. I felt scared (though the fear was fading), tired, relieved, and quite damn silly, as it was becoming more and more clear that I'd ran myself outta the bed from a damn dream. But I was still a bit shook up. AND, I had to pee!
I went back to bed afterward, but I turned on the TV. It was about 8:30am, and I wanted to go back to sleep, but since I was now wide awake I figured I'd watch some telly. Besides, I wanted to allow that dream to move the hell on before I attempted to sleep again! ~LMQAO~
It began as a random little festival-type affair in the backyard of the house I grew up in, back in Tennessee. There were small African artifacts, knick-knacks, and tchotchkes on display everywhere and little coin-operated rides shaped like lions, giraffes, tigers, and antelopes, with kids I'd never seen before riding on them. As strange as all of that was, considering the house I grew up in had no indoor plumbing and no bathroom, it got even more strange when I turned from watching a kid riding on a mechanical elephant to watching another kid playing with an actual koala ~ which suddenly made me realize that I was not in my old backyard at a Africanesque mini-festival, but somewhere in/near Australia.
As I turned back around to re-survey the scene, I saw that it had changed, and that I was now at a full-out carnival: there were Ferris Wheels, Tilt-A-Whirls and other similar carnival-type rides strewn all across the vast expanses of land that had grown from nowhere and where there were woods and forests before. I started walking and taking in all the sites, still trying to figure out exactly where I was, and wondering if by chance I needed to figure out WHO I was: none of this was making any sense, but now and then, something familiar would catch my eye. I just didn't know exactly 'why' they seemed familiar.
There were authentic-looking structures everywhere, and things began taking on a decidedly more African look again; I went strolling thru fields and scenes of African-style buildings and crafts where the rides and concession stands were mere seconds prior to my last blink. I walked and walked thru these scenes, surrounded by people in what would be considered traditional African garb, doing traditional-looking African dances and chanting African hymns and songs. I felt a strange comfort as I walked thru these scenes, oddly knowing and feeling that that was all that they really were: scenes, and not reality. I felt, as I wandered in and out of fields filled with people and animals, that "the bright sun was shining down on me, baking me, darkening my already chocolate skin to an even more African hue, centering me and making me more whole, leading me closer to be one with the Motherland." As I walked and thought these thoughts, I suddenly began to feel less calm, and I realized that I has stumbled into what could only be considered a cemetery. It was remarkably elabourate and detailed; words I somehow understood but had never seen were etched and printed into and on stone, shadows began shifting into something seemingly other than shadows, as the sun was quickly settling beyond its halfway post in the sky. Figures began to rise from behind what I finally realized were tombstones, and I began to feel a strong sense of unease and to fear for my safety if I remained there much longer ~ but the only way to get out of there was to jump off/over/down a wall that had to be at least 50 feet high, with water flowing down it from the cracks and crevasses that lined it. As the animal howls and shouts began to sound more sinister than sweet, I decided to jump for it...
Once I fell from the graveyard to the much lower level, it took me a minute to assess where I was at this point: I was simply back at the beginning of when I thought I was at a carnival, only the carnival had left and all that remained were the people who'd been there celebrating before. Plus a couple thousand of their deranged and psychotic friends and acquaintances.
I walked around for a bit and eventually came across what appeared to be my childhood home. I knew that it couldn't be, seeing as though nothing else seemed to fit that scope, and I hoped that it wasn't because I had to use the bathroom! I opened the door, peered in, and finally went inside and found the bathroom. After I'd flushed and washed my hand, I looked in the mirror and saw that my dreads (!) needed some tending to, or at least to be tied back and/or covered. So, I walked back out to the front room -- and HERE is where it really got bizarre!
In the front room, on the telephone, was my friend Kim Fields, and along the far wall were most of the wigs she'd worn when she was on "Living Single", along with several scarves and hats. After getting her attention and asking if I could borrow some scarves, I grabbed a few, tied up my locs, and went back outside. Where it would seem a war had just been fought. And lost. It was essentially an African wilderness in the parking lots of several abandoned warehouses, and it had been ravaged, severely...
People were running around looking at the damage that had been caused, while other people were standing over bodies that had been ripped and torn asunder, and as I stood seemingly still, taking it all in, it seemed that it was all getting closer and closer to where I stood. So, I took off walking, not having any idea where I was or where I was going. The unfamiliar-yet-familiar house that I'd just left was gone, and there was no trace of anything that seemed even the remotest bit like "I know what that is". I sped up my pace, reaching for my phone to text or call somebody to help me figure out what the fuck was going on and tell whoever to come and fucking get me -- I was beginning to be more than a bit scared. As I was texting someone {I don't have a clue who!}, a small, bloody hand reached out to grab my phone, and I spun around to see who it was. There were several young African boys standing there looking at me, looking at my phone, and the looks in their eyes told me to BE UP & OUT, so I started walking backward as they began speaking, yelling at me in their native language, causing my slight fear to turn into pure terror. I turned and took off running, trying to finish and send my text all the while; for whatever reason, I looked back over my shoulder to see how far back the boys were, but oddly they'd not even begun to chase me. So, of course, I fell, and THAT'S when they gave chase! So, I'm up again, running for my life, screaming, text be damned, just running and running, I dropped my phone but kept on running...
...and that's when I woke up: standing just in front of our bedroom door, my mobile phone laying on the floor where it had fallen when it disconnected from its charger, both of which had been on my nightstand, both of which were now on the floor. I felt scared (though the fear was fading), tired, relieved, and quite damn silly, as it was becoming more and more clear that I'd ran myself outta the bed from a damn dream. But I was still a bit shook up. AND, I had to pee!
I went back to bed afterward, but I turned on the TV. It was about 8:30am, and I wanted to go back to sleep, but since I was now wide awake I figured I'd watch some telly. Besides, I wanted to allow that dream to move the hell on before I attempted to sleep again! ~LMQAO~
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
I'm tired.
I'm tired of 2009.
I'm so not a huge fan of this year. Far too damn many people have passed away, and lately it's getting closer and closer to home. Ironically, I'm tired of life. My life. I totally want to continue living, and, don't get me wrong: I love ME. I love who I am, I love where I am, and, on the most basic, human level, I love what I am.
I'm just ass-out tired of my day-to-day routine; I'm so unenamoured of sitting in a familiar chair in a rented space in a different city, mentally reliving all the times I've taken a step forward and the inevitable 2 steps back that follow, thinking about all the times I've found myself doing the same thing and feeling the same sense of "well, what do I do now?"
What's the definition of 'insanity'?
I'm so fucking tired of standing in my own way, of being so equally damn afraid of failure and success that I sit purposelessly by as my talents fight over which one of them I'm most allowing to wither on a no fruit-producing vine...
So many people have gone this year, some of them even from my life; I found out this year that a long-lost friend had passed away a couple years ago -- that I never got to say goodbye ripped a chunk from my soul that will never grow back. And an acquaintance whom I hadn't yet even really begun to get to know just passed within the past few days -- and with his passing my soul continues to bleed into, onto, and all over the decaying concepts of talent that I'm unwillingly, inactively allowing to fester and die while I sit perplexed and bewildered by my own inability to get over my own bullshit and just go out and make shit happen.
I keep looking for that proverbial corner that 2010 is supposed to be around; next year has to be a better one than this one.
The only way to make sure of this, ironically, is for me to make it happen. Fuck all my imaginary, internal inadequacies, fuck my insecurities, fuck my illogically ill-fated instincts, fuck "I don't think I wanna..." and "I don't think I can..."
Fuck 'em.
It can be done. It will be done. I need to live my life, not just sit idly by as it passes me by.
And, dammit, I'm gonna do it.
2010 is going to be so much more than I'd normally simply allow it to be. 2010 is going to be all the things that I want/need it be, and dammit: it's gonna be sweet.
Fuckin' A, it's gonna be sweet.
I'm tired of 2009.
I'm so not a huge fan of this year. Far too damn many people have passed away, and lately it's getting closer and closer to home. Ironically, I'm tired of life. My life. I totally want to continue living, and, don't get me wrong: I love ME. I love who I am, I love where I am, and, on the most basic, human level, I love what I am.
I'm just ass-out tired of my day-to-day routine; I'm so unenamoured of sitting in a familiar chair in a rented space in a different city, mentally reliving all the times I've taken a step forward and the inevitable 2 steps back that follow, thinking about all the times I've found myself doing the same thing and feeling the same sense of "well, what do I do now?"
What's the definition of 'insanity'?
I'm so fucking tired of standing in my own way, of being so equally damn afraid of failure and success that I sit purposelessly by as my talents fight over which one of them I'm most allowing to wither on a no fruit-producing vine...
So many people have gone this year, some of them even from my life; I found out this year that a long-lost friend had passed away a couple years ago -- that I never got to say goodbye ripped a chunk from my soul that will never grow back. And an acquaintance whom I hadn't yet even really begun to get to know just passed within the past few days -- and with his passing my soul continues to bleed into, onto, and all over the decaying concepts of talent that I'm unwillingly, inactively allowing to fester and die while I sit perplexed and bewildered by my own inability to get over my own bullshit and just go out and make shit happen.
I keep looking for that proverbial corner that 2010 is supposed to be around; next year has to be a better one than this one.
The only way to make sure of this, ironically, is for me to make it happen. Fuck all my imaginary, internal inadequacies, fuck my insecurities, fuck my illogically ill-fated instincts, fuck "I don't think I wanna..." and "I don't think I can..."
Fuck 'em.
It can be done. It will be done. I need to live my life, not just sit idly by as it passes me by.
And, dammit, I'm gonna do it.
2010 is going to be so much more than I'd normally simply allow it to be. 2010 is going to be all the things that I want/need it be, and dammit: it's gonna be sweet.
Fuckin' A, it's gonna be sweet.
Monday, November 9, 2009
I. Want. This. Boot. {And, of course, its mate as well...}
From the company which manufactures them, Vegetarian Shoes, comes the following: In our quest to make the ultimate cruelty-free shoes we have produced this range which incorporates our own brand of Airseal cushioned soles.
These extra thick, deep tread, translucent soles provide excellent shock absorption and insulation. They are stitched and heat welded onto a Goodyear welt for strength and durability and take little 'breaking in'. As well as breathable and water resistant uppers the very finest non-leather components have been selected to construct this footwear.
Made in England.
...FUCK!, that's hot! I want 'em!
From the company which manufactures them, Vegetarian Shoes, comes the following: In our quest to make the ultimate cruelty-free shoes we have produced this range which incorporates our own brand of Airseal cushioned soles.
These extra thick, deep tread, translucent soles provide excellent shock absorption and insulation. They are stitched and heat welded onto a Goodyear welt for strength and durability and take little 'breaking in'. As well as breathable and water resistant uppers the very finest non-leather components have been selected to construct this footwear.
Made in England.
...FUCK!, that's hot! I want 'em!
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Moodswung Manic Mania
Seems like the past few weeks have been more than a bit of Moodswung Manic Mania for me. I've been all over the place with the emotions, and not wanting to do anything to straighten 'em out. Actually, I silently admitted to no one other than myself that I'd been using the unpredictable emotions as a reason to not make any entries here, where I'd intended to post something each day; I'm damn good at a pep talk for any friend who might need one, but seems I can always find a way to talk myself into not doing something, even if it's something that I want to to do, something that will, in one way or another, help put me on the track to getting the things I want/need/crave from my existence and the world...
But, thanks to the success of a friend, coupled with the past successes of yet another friend, I'm now inspired to get some of my own. Success: look out dammit, 'cause I'm comin' for yo' ass. I'ma get mine, store it up, and go back for seconds, maybe even thirds.
I write. I sing. I act. I'm an artist. Why am I not getting something from at least one of these talents, other than the enjoyment of being able to do them? So many other people are walking around aimlessly, living mundane lives, but "getting theirs" because they found ways to slip through certain doors that didn't require any real, discernible talents whatsoever; why is it that I'm keeping myself from getting up on it when I've four arenas in which I could and should be playing? It's insane, and I'm the keeper of my own insanity. People often say that Insanity is "doing the exact same thing(s) over and over and expecting different results", and while that is certainly true, there's another entry in that definition: doing absolutely nothing, aside from talking about doing it, yet expecting something to happen. THAT'S a more apropos insanity for my situation.
So, I need to, figuratively, get up of my ass and, literally, sit it down and get to cranking out the "what I can do" of what I can do. And what I can do is PLENTY.
But, thanks to the success of a friend, coupled with the past successes of yet another friend, I'm now inspired to get some of my own. Success: look out dammit, 'cause I'm comin' for yo' ass. I'ma get mine, store it up, and go back for seconds, maybe even thirds.
I write. I sing. I act. I'm an artist. Why am I not getting something from at least one of these talents, other than the enjoyment of being able to do them? So many other people are walking around aimlessly, living mundane lives, but "getting theirs" because they found ways to slip through certain doors that didn't require any real, discernible talents whatsoever; why is it that I'm keeping myself from getting up on it when I've four arenas in which I could and should be playing? It's insane, and I'm the keeper of my own insanity. People often say that Insanity is "doing the exact same thing(s) over and over and expecting different results", and while that is certainly true, there's another entry in that definition: doing absolutely nothing, aside from talking about doing it, yet expecting something to happen. THAT'S a more apropos insanity for my situation.
So, I need to, figuratively, get up of my ass and, literally, sit it down and get to cranking out the "what I can do" of what I can do. And what I can do is PLENTY.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
I've finally come to the conclusion that I am my own biggest obstacle. In fact, I came to this conclusion a long, long time ago ~ yet I've yet to do anything about it. BUT... I'd told myself a few months ago that come November, I'm going to move myself aside and get things rolling as far as getting something to happen w/ my writing; there's no point in continuing to sit on talent when there are people running around acting like damn fools with hardly any talent or skills showing, but they're being paid to do the silly shit that they do. So, since I've clearly got the time, and since I know I've got the talent, I intend to use it, figure out ways to get paid for what I can create and do.
This blog is the first step in what I intend to be many "steps forward", and I plan to take at least one of those steps each day - hence the name I've given it: 9teen7t1 = 1971, the year I was born, and, 1step4ward is what I intend to do with this blog - make at least one entry each day, each entry being 'one step forward'. Hence: 9teen7t-1-step4ward {|1971-one step forward|}..
Nothing shall be off limits: my life is an open book, and therefore, an open blog. If I know you and/or you know me, you might even find yourself here; if I'm just writing from within, and I'm really on my game, you still might find yourself here, even if you're only mixed into the metaphors.
I look forward to the challenge that this will present me, the challenge rising mostly from the fact that even when I have things I know I should get written and chronicled, I don't always feel like expending the effort to get it done. Committing to this blog on the daily is my way of breaking my own bitter candy coating and exposing the not-always-good goodness that is heaped within.
I can't promise that all of it will be worth reading, or even that all of it will be easy to process once its been read. I only promise to produce, present, and put out.
In the end it's really not at all about where we are, where we're headed, and where we've been as much as it is about how and why we went and are headed there. And I fully intend to begin enjoying this journey more.
Hugs, Namaste, & Bless'd Be. | R.
This blog is the first step in what I intend to be many "steps forward", and I plan to take at least one of those steps each day - hence the name I've given it: 9teen7t1 = 1971, the year I was born, and, 1step4ward is what I intend to do with this blog - make at least one entry each day, each entry being 'one step forward'. Hence: 9teen7t-1-step4ward {|1971-one step forward|}..
Nothing shall be off limits: my life is an open book, and therefore, an open blog. If I know you and/or you know me, you might even find yourself here; if I'm just writing from within, and I'm really on my game, you still might find yourself here, even if you're only mixed into the metaphors.
I look forward to the challenge that this will present me, the challenge rising mostly from the fact that even when I have things I know I should get written and chronicled, I don't always feel like expending the effort to get it done. Committing to this blog on the daily is my way of breaking my own bitter candy coating and exposing the not-always-good goodness that is heaped within.
I can't promise that all of it will be worth reading, or even that all of it will be easy to process once its been read. I only promise to produce, present, and put out.
In the end it's really not at all about where we are, where we're headed, and where we've been as much as it is about how and why we went and are headed there. And I fully intend to begin enjoying this journey more.
Hugs, Namaste, & Bless'd Be. | R.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
