Internetty Fun

While I do concur that there is some wild and wacky porn out there, there are other genres of entertainment available in cyberspace (shocking, I know). While it may be an ethical gray area, the fact is that there are certain sites that make slacking off at work a delight.

Confessions of a College Call Girl

Many heartfelt thanks to the dear one who sent this link to me! This is the only blog I read religiously. As in, I actually come to work early so that I can check my email and read her blog (and not always in that order). CCG accomplishes that most noble Shakespearean goal: She makes the reader love her, and the characters in her life, regardless of contradictory personal biases. Her writing is poignant, laugh-out-loud funny, and unapologetic (you go, girl!). In short, she's a hoot and hats off to her.

PostSecret

I had heard about this well-known community art project for several years, but never checked it out until friends raved about the book tour. Basically, your average shmoe creates a postcard, writes a secret on it, and mails it off. Anonymously. Some of the secrets just stop me in my tracks. Its as though I know these people, as though in reading their admissions, I am a little more connected to my fellow humans. I guess we all get a little dirt under our nails every now and then.

Will it Blend?

What can I say? Will it Blend? has all the characteristics of an effective time-waster: It scores high on the Cheese-o-meter, Tom has a comb-over, and they have been known to blow stuff up. And glowsticks, I tell you! Glowsticks!!! How could anyone ask for more?!?! Tom Dickson is definitely my homeboy, and please oh please, Santa, bring me a Blendtec blender for Hanukkah!!!

WTF Part I: Passive Aggressive Behavior

I often remark that my normal state of mind is one of supreme confusion. This is usually met with mild disbelief. After all, it is generally accepted that I'm not just a fat chick, I'm also a smart chick; the misguided assumption being that smart doesn't accommodate perplexed.

But the truth is that at any given moment, I am usually tossing around some sort of stumper in the ole noggin. Life - and all the stuff in it - is just way beyond my grasp. Its like I'm building a giant tyranno-jetfighting-frapelatte from a bag of blue Legos without a sense of what the hell it is, does, or looks like.

Take passive aggressive behavior, for example. I once worked with a woman who didn't like me. I knew she didn't like me because she was desperate to make me bow down to her as my Supreme Lord Assistant Associate Team Leader. She frequently asked if my duties bothered me, seeing as how they were the most monotonous tasks that could be doled out to us Service Droids. I told her the truth: I liked what I did. That was the wrong answer, and day after day she would ask the same question.

Recognizing the truth was getting me nowhere, I decided on the dishonest approach: I lied. I told her, "Well, sometimes it’s dull." I did this to please Her Lordship; I'd thought that was what she wanted to hear. She went straight to the Assistant Associate Manager and together they wrote me up for having a negative attitude.

WTF?!?!

I've read the Wikipedia definition, I know lots of people who exhibit PA behavior (and revel in it), and I've read the back covers of countless psycho-babble books on the subject (too disgusted to buy one, though). I even know people who encourage passive aggressiveness. I just don't get it. Not even a little bit.

In my world-view, directness is key. If you want to ask me a question, ask me the bleepin' question. If you want to confront me over some overly assertive thing I did (I get the overly assertive characterization a lot), then bring it on! I can take it, because, you see, I am an adult. Yes, that's right: I am a real grown-up who appreciates a frank discussion and the opportunity to either say, "Ahh, who cares? X is nuts anyway," or "What can I do to make this better?" I will never cry, I will never say the sentence, "You hurt my feelings," and I will never, ever, say to someone else what should only be said to you directly.

PA-dom is a concept in a land far, far away from me, and its not for lack of consideration. I have mulled this one over dozens of times, and can come to no discernable solution. How does one confront someone for being passive aggressive? I tried once, and not surprisingly, they denied it. (Had I considered all possibilities more thoroughly, I would have recognized that passive aggressive is to confrontation what anti-matter is to matter, and that I was not only wasting my energy, but quite possibly endangering existence as we know it in the process.)

I have resigned PA-ness to the "Questions without Answers" file.

Because, as my grandfather often said: One cannot always be guaranteed fairness, just desserts, or closure. And with that, WTF Part I: Passive Aggressive Behavior ends with no conclusion. Rather, I close this entry with the infernal, old-as-time-itself, question-without-answer so often asked of the passive aggressive:

"What the F%#^ did s/he do that for?!"

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Since my blog is all me, all the time (or, put another way, its me glorifying my own narcissism), I have decided to share with my august audience (i.e., all three people in my immediate family) that which confounds me. It will take several installments. While it is a bit of a challenge to articulate that which one does not comprehend, I'll give it the college try (not that I tried very hard in college, just hard enough to graduate).

Stay tuned kids!

Giving Thanks

And here we are again, another Friday after Thanksgiving. A turn of the globe, seemingly in the blink of an eye... another year of glorious life has been waltzed, muddled, and raced through. How time does, indeed, fly.

It really is wonderful, this thing called life.

"Jaded" just isn't in my working lexicon; I don't understand the concept, and I am baffled by those who wear it like a cement cast that shields them from fully experiencing the oceans of possibility in every moment.

Yet, there was a time, many Thanksgivings ago, when I wasn't happy. When I had Emily Dickenson's "Formal feeling," and walked around as if frozen, zombified. I was a stranger in my own skin, detesting myself for it. At that time, I started listing 5 things for which I was grateful. I completed this little exercise every night before I went to sleep.

Things got better (as they always do), and today I often look at my surroundings and think, "Wow, things are good!"

And so, in the spirit of the day, I give you 5 of my gratefulnesses of 2007. There are many, many more, but these top the list:

1. I am grateful for Chicago. I've traveled around the world and have never found a city that can quite compare to Chicago. It is a privilege to live in a city that gives ownership of its most prized amenity - the lakefront - to its citizens, regardless of socio-economic status. I am tickled pink that I can dance under the Millenium Park stars for free, and that I can choose between the opera, live music and good martinis, the best latte in America, hundreds of park district programs, or antique-hunting on any given day. And I am most grateful that I am Home, that this wonderful city is exactly where I belong.

2. I am thankful for the diverse group of people that enrich my life. I can go out with friends and know that we can just be, that we'll have a good time because we all just sort of fit together into one big sloppy, giggly, mish-mosh. Conversation may be intense, it may be hysterically funny, or it may be topic-oriented, but it will never be dull... or (heaven forbid) pleasant. My friends and family get me and challenge me to be a better person, and for that, even I lack the words to describe how fortunate I am.

3. I am grateful for my younger sister, Natasha. Yes, she is also included in #2, above, but I'm so lucky to have her that an additional narrative is required. Always the cool kid, I have been honored to watch her grow into a phenomenal woman, a woman that I deeply admire and wish I could emulate. Natasha is kind, thoughtful, compassionate, honest, brilliant, gentle, funny, ambitious, and, more than anything else, the most beautiful woman I know. Thank you, my little bird, for being you. I love you with my soul.

4. I am thankful for the opportunity to learn. The amount of energy and resources it takes to provide a learning opportunity addles the mind. People, for the sheer passion of their subject, spend years researching and writing a single volume, and all I have to do is pick it up and read it. Someone mapped out the stars, which enabled me - with just a few false starts - to find the Southern Cross. And its not just people. Thousands of disparate forces are involved in the formation of a mountain, and then it is somehow there and this flatlander can climb it, marveling at high-elevation flora and fauna. A creole wrasse goes about its usual business, and I get a new understanding of territorialism. I really am thankful that this crazy planet and its inhabitants do what they do to make boredom a rare occurrance.

5. I am grateful for the occasions in which "different" has shaken my world, humbled and horrified me. I have stood at the entrance of the Taj Mahal and have admired the grave of Sir Isaac Newton. Most recently, I have stared, dumbfounded and overwhelmed, at the unimaginable beauty of Machu Picchu. I have spent a painful, guilty afternoon listening to the stories of the bombing of Hiroshima, told by bakudansha who lost everything and everyone. I have sat in the Plaza de Armas and struggled to communicate in gestures and single words, aided only by a dictionary and a desire to know. And I have been rewarded for these efforts with hugs and besos from elderly women, with tears from a mother who needed the Tourist to understand that the word "politics" can mean "final." I am grateful for plane rides to destinations beyond American borders. These little jaunts define, for me, humanity.

Its been a good year, 2007. I've traveled to a few countries, dived more than I have in years past, had a great birthday party, and, through it all, have loved and been loved. Yes, there has been the occasional catastrophe, but, at the end of the day, I am grateful for so much marvelous.

Floaty Fun

Sensory deprivation floating is one of my bestest favorite things to do in this urban wonderland. Every Sunday morning, I grab my toiletries case and Floaty Fun Fred (my pink rubber ducky), and head over to SpaceTime Tanks on Lincoln.

I try to encourage friends and acquaintances to try floating. I explain to them that its a great way to relax, to sort out problems, to get away from the hustle and bustle and get to know what's really going on in there. Some have tried it and loved it. Some have tried it and freaked out. And others have told me they'd rather not be left alone with their thoughts for too long.

So, I'm writing this blog for those who are still considering floating as a "You know, I've always wanted to try that" option. Sensory deprivation floating works like this:

Once SpaceTime Tanks has been successfully located (its a little hidden), you'll be asked to hang your coat and remove your shoes at the door. You'll be asked this by an uber-laid-back attendant, and, if you are like me, you will silently seethe with envy at the calmness emanating from said attendant. I always wonder how many floating hours are required for that level of coolness. Apparently way more than I've done.

After a short while of reading coffee table books (think Buddhist theology and practice), you'll be directed to your private floaty fun room. Its a smallish room, with just enough space for a tank, a shower, and a chair. SpaceTime Tanks thoughtfully provides you with everything you'll need: Soap, shampoo, conditioner, a towel, and an idol or two (usually the Buddha or a Hindu deity). The room is clean, warm, and sufficient for the task. Its safe and secure, even though the door doesn't lock. Come to think of it, none of the doors at SpaceTime lock. Hmmmm......

The tank itself is surprisingly compact. Its about 8 feet by 4 feet, and has been filled with 10 inches of water and 800 pounds of Epsom salt. The door can be propped open if one prefers a little light and noise. I always keep mine shut.

What goes on inside the tank is unique to each person. I've had various experiences (all good) while floating, experiences that range from the superficial to the intensely private and soul-revealing.

On one level, I hear new (new to me, at least) sounds when I float: My body's own music. I listen to the sound of my heart and breath, and count how many beats per breath. Sometimes I also like to listen to the gurgly noises my body makes (who knew I was so noisy?!), and I've recently discovered that my left elbow makes a delightful creaking noise when I lift my arm above my head.

And on another level, I've heard others speak about progress in their floating, about how successive trips to the tanks have resulted in reaching much deeper meditative states. I can attest to this:

The first time I floated, I didn't know if my eyes were open or shut. I saw the same thing either way, and happily opened and shut my eyes to take note of the sameness.

The second time I floated, I stared into the inky blackness for an entire hour, with hardly a thought flitting through my mind.

The third time I floated, I closed my eyes and played word association with the names of specific people in my life. I let the answers come from seemingly nowhere, and didn't filter any response. Later, I followed the actions suggested by my subconscious, and have been much happier as of late. (And might I add that I have one smart cookie of a subconscious?!)

The last time I floated, I lost the feeling of being within my own body. I couldn't see myself, so I had no reference for where I ended and where the space around me began. I pondered that conundrum for a while, without coming to an agreeable resolution. Any conclusion, I decided, would have to account for a belief or disbelief in the interconnectedness of all beings, and I'm just not ready to take that theosophical leap at this time in my life. So, I left it for next time.

And the best thought that has come to me while floating: A poem. You see, I've been one stressed out girly-girl lately. Life has, to put it bluntly, sucked. When stress builds to unacceptable levels, I break. No, I don't lose my marbles in the traditional sense (there will be no McDonalds rampages in my future). Rather, I get writer's block. For me, that is torture. Writer's block makes me squirrelly; I don't want to be around people and my head feels like its going to explode.

Its cathartic to be able to write again. It may be less "deep" than an internal debate on maya, but, well, writing poetry again means my brain no longer threatens to burst forth from its casing, grow bodily appendages, and run screaming from the room. And, as is the usual after floating, my body is still completely relaxed, like I'm the contented recipient of a full-body massage, while my mind is clear and alert. This wellness I feel will last several days.

So, there you have it: Floaty fun in a blogosphere nutshell. Still considering it? Drop me a line... Or better yet, call SpaceTime Tanks and make an appointment for yourself.