Hey Pop.

How you doing?

Today is a day dedicated to men like you. Today is the day that we remember men who have children. For some, today sucks because they're reminded of how shoddy their father is. For others, today is lovely because it's a time to celebrate a great man. And for some it sucks because the great man they want to celebrate doesn't exactly exist in the conventional sense any more.

I wish our family was getting together today. It would be great for all of us to sit around a table, with you at its head. We would begin with a prayer that lingers halfway between poetry and blue-collared frankness, led by you, of course. The prayer would be capped with an amen that would ripple around the table like soft, surprised applause. Unbowing our heads, we would look around, grinning, probably in response to the babbling of nieces and nephews that struggled for attention against your supplication for good conversation and thanks for each person around the table.

Words would flit across steaming dishes. Commentary on the food, queries about recent life events, jokes, stories, expositions...

It would be natural. It would be normal. It would be full of life. It would be what we used to be before you were gone. We've changed since then. Not severely, by any means, but we're different. We seem a little quieter, maybe.

Your absence is like a scar. It's becoming less and less obvious that we're missing something, because we've grown used to it, but you're still gone and when we take the time to look for you it's hard to remember what you're supposed to be like. All that is clear is that there's a slight discoloration where you used to be, hinting at what once was.

I miss you. A lot. And at the same time not at all. You seem so far away. Two years is a long time. I remember stories and sometimes I can feel what your hug felt like, hear how your laugh sounded. More than anything I miss what could have been.

If only I could have known you as an adult. What would our relationship have been like if you were around now? What would you think of the ways in which I've changed? What would you let slide and what would gain me lectures, either stern or soft? What new kinds of conversations would we have had? You always respected my opinions and made me feel like I presented my ideas well, even when I didn't. What could I have learned when I finally realized that conversations are not competitions?

How would you have changed? What would be sparking your interest, taking up your time now?

I don't think about you enough. I realize that we're not supposed to live in the past, but we are supposed to acknowledge it. It's just getting harder to do as it gets further away. I don't even know if I remember any of it properly anymore. What if my memories are fabrications? Pathetic attempts at re-weaving a history that didn't exist the way I see it? Why can't you still be here so I could be making new memories with you at their center instead of grasping at the ones that continue to dim? Like a sunset, they're still colorful, but they keep getting darker and there's no telling how much longer the sun will stay above the horizon and keep them lit.

Here's hoping Heaven is bliss.

Your daughter,

Holly

David, the Dancing Ghetto Suburbanite

I am watching Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog as I write this, so please forgive any lack of coherency along with any random and slightly familiar lyrical additions to my story.

On Friday night my friend Anna and I were going to go to a concert in Minneapolis. We have kind of gotten stuck in an activity rut lately wherein pretty much every single Friday night we go to this club in St. Paul called Valentinos. We were planning on mixing it up a little by going to a place called Honey for some live-music dance partying. Unfortunately, we parked in the wrong place when we got to Minneapolis and, after asking a couple police officers if they knew about the place we were looking for, we found out that we'd have to walk 7 blocks (in our super cute, super painful heels) to the venue. And then, of course, we would have to walk those 7 blocks in reverse after dancing blisters into our feet. Anna decided (wisely) that that would be a bad idea and instead we tried to be spontaneous and looked for something to do nearby. We were, after all, in downtown Minneapolis, and although it is no NYC or Chi-town, we definitely have a good selection of places to do things.

We couldn't find anything. We felt overdressed for most of the venues, and the one that we did try out was dead and not playing any music that we liked or knew. We each took a shot and then left, which was kind of lame because we had just stood in line for a solid half hour. (Also at the end of that half hour about six people cut in front of us, which was extra-lame. The guy at the end of the budging group started drunkenly small talking with us and evidently I responded kind of coolly, because he commented on my nonchalance by slurring"Don't worry...I don't have a gun or drugs on me or anything. I'm not into that stuff," clearly implying that because he was black I assumed that he was a gangster or morally corrupt individual of some kind.

I got my snarky on and said, "No...you just cut in line, right...that's your thing?" at which point his companions turned around to give me angry death-glares. I added a "I'm just playing, I'm just playing," to soften what was evidently an earth-shattering blow to the group's collective ego, and then we were friends. Or something. I also obtained a new ghetto clubbing name. 'Tis G.G. Or JiJi. Or GeeGee. I don't know. JeeJee? You get the point.)

Anywho, after that clubbing failure Anna and I decided to default back to our regular Friday night excursion of Valentinos dancing, which wound up being the best choice we could have made. I danced with a few people, most notably a blond-haired blue eyed (not my usual, but nice) fellow who went by the name of David. Hands down the best dancer I've danced with (recently?) and fricking wicked attractive. He also tried to convince me that Apple Valley (a suburb of the Twin Cities) is ghetto. Something about the inherently ghetto qualities of apples? Also a former swimmer, with the remnants of a six pack he showed me as testament to that claim. And you know the best part of the story? I didn't get his phone number or give him mine because (CAN I GET A DRUMROLL PLEASE)...he told me he's studying to be an accountant.

The instant he said that he became at least 40x less attractive to my drunken self who was, at that particular moment, lusting after adventure and could not possibly abide to associate herself with anything so conventional. Sober me says who really cares if there is one not so savory piece to him (and accountants make bank, so the gold-digger that lurks deep within all women should have perked up at such a revelation, yes?) Everything else he said or did (except for his intial attempts at complimenting me) made him seem pretty stellar. I mean, we're talking sex-god level of attractiveness here...There are definitely worse unsavory characteristics than accountantism, but...

Things like that are what make me Holly.

As a sidenote, I have a new favorite song. I would like for it to be my life theme-song because it is that good and it sums up my life-philosophy pretty well. Please allow me to introduce you to Frank Turner's The Road. Love, love, love.

Taste Testing, Taste Taste Testing

It's tough to find work these days. I scour craigslist, newspaper listings and websites that offer work. I peek in windows, looking for needy employers who could use a cute, talented, charismatic girl like myself. Application after redundant application is filled out with all the boring details of my work history, oftentimes followed by what I was once told are illegal personality questionnaires. (Seriously...employers aren't allowed to insist that you must fill them out. It's an invasion of our oh so private privacy.) Rejection after rejection rings lovely in my inbox and voicemail, which, still, are better than those who never get back to me on top of giving me no way to contact them, either. And then there are those who seem to want to hire me, but never give me quite enough information for me to drop everything and move to where they are. *cotridentugh*

Suffice it to say, I am taking whatever I can get it this point. Two jobs is not quite doing it for me right now. Part time work makes for a rough schedule...full of emptiness and not enough money. Today, in desperation, I did a taste test to supplement my income. It took about an hour total and I was paid $35 at the end of it. Being sworn to sacred secrecy, I can't tell you what I tasted, but the process was interesting, and there's nothing either sacred or secret about that, so I am going to write about it.

The taste testing was held in a church. We checked in by showing a photo id and redoing all the paperwork they had already had us do over the phone. Everyone sat by themselves, some with magazines or books to occupy them and others simply staring blankly into space and trying not to make eye contact with anyone else. After (almost) everyone arrived (there were at least eight people who didn't show up) they escorted us into the next room and assigned us to sit at chairs designated with our personalized numbers. We were immediately instructed not to talk to our neighbors, which had already been made clear by the fact that each paper and plastic place setting was divided from its neighbor by an upended white piece of cardboard.

Overall the job felt like a standardized test. An awkwardly shaped, but friendly and surprisingly energetic woman read instructions to all of us from her packet, instructing us to open ours and informing us of the strict process of look at cereal, answer question, pour milk, taste cereal, answer questions, taste cereal, answer questions, taste cereal again to see if it got soggy. Three samples and a printed stop sign mid-test later, we were well on our way to passing. A few more questions and instructions later and we were all handed a check and fairly pushed out of the door. Easiest $35 I ever made in my life. Granted, once upon a time I made $100 for helping someone buy a plane ticket on the interwebs, but that was in Alaska, and there are different rules in Alaska than there are in the lower 48.

There is more I would kind of sort of like to say about the taste testing, but I think that would actually get into the product and I would rather not get an email or phone call one day telling me I can't get any more free money/food because I divulged too much information on the interwebs.

Also I think I hurt my wrist pretending to be a boxer the other day. Owie.

...this is my life...

what is wrong with the world, the current is playing the black eyed peas' i've got a feeling...

Just Call Me Midas

Today I was thinking about the story of King Midas. For those who are not aware:

Once upon a time there was a king named Midas who entertained a magical creature of some kind for a few weeks. This mythical creature appreciated the favor and, before he left, told Midas that he would give him anything he wanted. Unlike King Solomon, Midas did not think to ask for something that would make him a better person or ruler. Instead, he went for riches and asked that everything he touched would turn to gold. His wish was granted. He touched a rock: gold. He touched a chair: gold. Good King Midas was ecstatic and ordered his chefs to put together a huge banquet to celebrate. (This is where too many people let the story drop off. Lookitt Mr. Midas and his magic fingers! He's gonna be the richest dude EVER.) Midas goes to his banquet and picks up a turkey leg. It turns to gold. He laughs at his stupidity and uses a fork to scoop up some mashed potatoes. As soon as they touch his lips they turn to gold. He suddenly realizes what he's asked for. He cannot touch anything without it turning to gold. Surprise... He cannot eat, he cannot drink, he cannot hug his daughter (in the Nathaniel Hawthorne version he does and he's left with a statue instead of a child). Of course he tries to revoke his wish, but that's not important to my blog entry. Brush up on your Greek mythology or read some Hawthorne if you're curious.

Anywho, I've been feeling a bit like Midas because it seems I ruin everything I touch. I've heard people change "gold" to "shit" when they are trying to express what I am, but gold is just as bad. It is just as useless and heavier. (Although it would be less smelly...pros and cons, my loves, pros and cons.) I suppose I could sell everything I turn to gold, but what am I going to buy? More things to turn into gold? That's a terrible idea. It would be impossible to enjoy anything. The point of the story (aside from the "don't be greedy" moral) is that things are perfect as they are. Trying to change one thing to another because the latter is more "valuable" is ludicrous, because things are as they are. Let it be.

Urgh, getting sidetracked.

I ruin people by not expressing myself properly. When I was at J2M2 there were some communication issues (which I had nothing to do with, for the record), so one night we all sat in the front room and were reminded about how to have a fruitful conversation. In an ideal conversation one person should express himself and his friend should repeat what she heard. If it matches what he thought he said, they are supposedly golden. If not, they should continue until they understand each other. The problem is that people are too ready to assume that they understand each other when they really don't.

If you've ever had a conversation of moderate depth with me, you've probably noticed that I'm constantly asking questions. Occasionally I'll catch myself stupidly nodding in agreement with a statement I don't understand, or flippantly believing that I understand something that I do not. However, for the most part, I will ask questions constantly in an effort to wholly understand the person to whom I am speaking. We're not as identical as we think we are. What I mean when I say "he was a jerk" is probably different than what you mean.

So my problem is that I say things and then assume that people know what I meant when I said them. For instance. I was having a conversation with a good friend of mine and he was telling me about how he's a selfish person. He said it with a tinge of shame, as well he should. I told him that I admired him for at least knowing that selfishness was one of his flaws. He heard the admiration, but did not get the implications underneath it. I had a similar conversation with him later, this time with a larger group of people, and this time he spoke with outright, brash pride of his selfishness. The vice was not and is not admirable (and he really hasn't ever struck me as a selfish person...he's a generous dude), it was the self-awareness that is admirable. But, because I am evidently incapable of expressing myself, he got the wrong impression and I may very well have messed him up.

It is so easy to forget how influential small words and conversations can be. There are so many tiny words and phrases that have stuck with me for years and years because they hit my ears at the right time and were delivered by the right person in the right way. Whether they are actually any more legitimate than the scores of actual advice I've also received is up for debate, but...

Knowing that we are all constantly altering people's life paths, how are we supposed to ever say anything of depth? What if I'm exploring my own beliefs when I tell someone something? At least 50% of what I say and imply about myself is completely untrue. Not because I want to deceive anyone, but because I don't know what is true and a generic, grayscale image is easy to project and informative. When I find that I'm projecting something that I don't like based on the way it makes people treat me, I know to alter x, y, or z. ...This is way off topic.

There have been other instances where something will happen in my life and I watch my actions play out in front of my and turn people or events of my life into stone (metal, the point is they're frozen and useless) temporarily.

I think I want to be done with writing this entry now. I have no idea what I'm trying to say anymore.

Fin.

National Day of Prayer

Yesterday, as I was walking to my chemistry class, I saw a student uncomfortably kneeling in a corner, face toward the wall, performing his daily prayers. It was obvious that he was trying his best to be as unobtrusive as possible, while still doing what his religion mandates. It made me smile, despite my neither being Muslim or a person who prays very often. There's something beautiful about a person praying, even if those prayers are ritualized and even if they are praying to Something I don't believe in.

That little story brings me to today. President Obama declared today the National Day of Prayer, despite Barbara Crabb's recent ruling that the day is unconstitutional. Both sides seem upset about the day. Some people are upset because Obama doesn't do the prayer service Bush did, and others are upset because the day "infringes on their constitutional rights."

I think everyone should just calm down. First, I don't think it's a bad idea to cancel the prayer service. Although it would be cool to have an official gathering of different religious groups praying together, it is not necessary. Our religious leaders can organize smaller get-togethers on their own AND, especially when everyone is so worried about money, it does not make much sense to throw it away on a prayer service. Prayer can be effectively done alone and in a closet. We don't need microphones or over-paid religious officials to do it for us. Prayer is a community activity, so it would be better to find people you care about and pray with them instead of watching someone else do it on television.

Now, for the left. Since we are making the National Day of Prayer into a constitutional issue, let's take a look at what the first amendment actually says: "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof." The first half, regarding establishment of religion, is obviously inapplicable to the National Day of Prayer. The second half is a bit of a gray area, but because it regards the prohibition of religious practices, I would argue that it has no authority over encouraging citizens to "pray, or otherwise give thanks, in accordance with their own faiths and consciences." Were Obama telling everyone to pray to a certain God, then we would have a problem. However, simply recognizing that people have "cherished beliefs" and giving them a day to "publicly recognize the importance of prayer" is. not. wrong.

Discounting the National Day of Prayer because one does not pray or believe in a god to whom one could pray, seems similar to discounting Black history month on the grounds that one is not black. Just because one person is different than another, it does not mean that they can not appreciate each other. If the National Day of Prayer became a day of religious reconciliation (not conversion), I think it would be doing its job. It is possible for people who do not believe in God to be involved in the day, or to turn a blind eye to it if it bothers them that much. There is no reason to complain about the existence of something that IS NOT HARMFUL.

I don't know why, in a country that prides itself on the acceptance of people of all kinds, we have so much trouble actually accepting people who do not agree with us. We don't need to require superficial assimilation. Let's appreciate each other's differences. Let's learn about and experience the things that other people love and might make us uncomfortable and then offer to teach those who are different the things we love and might make them a little uncomfortable.

...yes I'm probably a bit of a hippie.

no breathing

Okay: necessary preface:

The following is a very bitter song that I started writing in March as a quasi-love song. Today I found the paragraph or so of rhymes I had and I rolled with it, updating the story to its current state. It was initially going to be a rap, because as a very white girl I've always kinda sorta wondered what I would be able to do with rap. It turned into more of a song and what you are going to listen to is a free beat that I downloaded off the internet (http://beatstorm.com/) that perfectly fit my song and five different takes that I think sounded kind of cool played on top of each other. I might work on it some more and clean it up a little, but...I don't know...there's something about this version that I liked. If you don't like it, cool. If you do, cooler.

Take it with a grain of salt, though...I guess that's what my preface was trying to say. And there's only a video because blogger won't let me upload mp3s on their own. The video is just a picture of me the whole way through. Do something else while you listen. :)



yo yo yo

you wanna be my beau?

you've gotta say no

or else you should just go.

'cause i just like to kiss you

an' sure i'll prolly miss you

but when you get down to it

we couldn't ever do it

you ain't got the brains

no you ain't got the smarts

i'm just bein' vain

but i'm better than you are.

see it's funny though

'cause it ain't true

you're prolly on my level

i'm just gonna revel
in my self-centered groove.
oh no. too slow? let's go.

now you're gone
it's a relief
because now i know what you think of me
you stay in touch with her and him
but somehow i fell off the rim

we stared at the stars
always hitting par
on a blanket in the grass
you pretended what i asked
was silly and distrustful
and you whispered little lies
i guess...nice try.

you're a liar and cheat
and a bit of a whore
i'm so glad i didn't trust you
'cause i don't need more
proof that the pretty ones
always let you down
this time around
i wasn't ground into the ground

so take your baby blondie
and your motherfucking friends
and show them the poetry they'll never comprehend
sail on the ocean, play in the sea
and never ever try to get back with me.