I've been avoiding this blog. Avoiding reading. Avoiding being alone with my thoughts. Someone I hung out with in college died two weeks ago. Scratch that, he was a friend in college. We weren't best pals, but had plenty of conversations and fun together. I don't know why I feel the need to make that disclaimer. There's no denying he touched my life, but it's as if calling him a friend trivializes the suffering of his family and close friends. I'm in such utter disbelief, I can't imagine their pain.
You only had to meet Craig once to understand the impact of his loss. Craig was one of the good guys, pure and simple. I don't mean that in a nice boyfriend sort of way. I mean if there really was a Heaven and Hell, we'd all be rolling around in hot embers while Craig was sitting pretty on a fluffy cloud. He had a heart of gold and would have done anything for a friend. And he wanted to save the world. Many people have their causes, but Craig truly believed in making a difference. It seemed like the motivation for everything he did - make someone's life a little brighter.
Not only was he full of love, but he had a killer sense of humor and a million dollar smile. The boy was hilarious and kids genuinely welcomed his company. Most friends will brush you off at one point or another, but Craig always had time for a conversation. I have nothing but positive memories of him, whether it was chilling in the campus center or geeking out over our research grants. I don't pretend to know Craig well. We almost completely lost touch after college, but that doesn't change the fact that through the flow of friends in my life, he left a heavy footprint.
I used to get so angry with people who, when mourning over a young soul, would simply say he was too good for this world. But I finally understand. Rest in peace, Craig.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
marriage
The question everyone keeps asking me: "How's married life?"
Answer: "Better! I don't have to plan that stupid wedding anymore."
I'm not kidding. Wedding planning sucks the romance out of marriage. It's easy to become so adamant on planning the perfect day, you forget why you're getting married. The wedding becomes a series of menu choices and invitation colors, check boxes to be filled. Our wedding planning was low-key compared to most couples, but I couldn't believe the endless details. At the one month mark, I was delirious. I didn't care about anything except beautiful weather and paying the vendors on time. At a certain point, you leave your wedding in the hands of the gods. Otherwise you will go insane.
During that last month, my now husband and I spent more of our time completing the complicated spreadsheet I created, the nightmare to-do list. We treated ourselves to a weekend in Maine and an expensive date night, but for the most part, our coversation was limited to the status of our checking account and chairs for the ceremony. This is not fun. We switched to counting down the days to the honeymoon - marital bliss would have to wait.
As expected, the wedding flew by, from waking up to passing out. I spent the entire day laughing, and only a few moments stood out, special bubbles in time that brought me down to reality. When the ceremony started, I was nervous with stage fright. Then I looked at Andy and he winked at me. I giggled of course. The boy can still melt my heart. After the ceremony, we drove in our own car, our silly little Yaris, down the street to the reception venue. Andy even popped into the apartment to grab a snack while I sat in the car and took MySpace pictures. We woke up the next day to a chaos of clothes and beer cans, as if we threw the house party of a century. Such ridiculousness. Jesus we're kids and here we are using all our money to throw a party for our closest friends and family in honor of our love. With bowling and pizza and dancing.
But that's us. We have random dance parties at home all the time. In the living room, while sober, sometimes even before dinner! Marriage isn't about settling down or any sort of settling for that matter. I married Andy because he's my soulmate, my best friend and my partner in crime. When I picture our future, I see us running around the world, holding hands as we go on endless adventures. Just like our first date, when Andy asked me in the dead of winter, to leave that very moment for sunrise in a park across town. What could I do but say, "Let me grab my coat."
I haven't let go since.
Answer: "Better! I don't have to plan that stupid wedding anymore."
I'm not kidding. Wedding planning sucks the romance out of marriage. It's easy to become so adamant on planning the perfect day, you forget why you're getting married. The wedding becomes a series of menu choices and invitation colors, check boxes to be filled. Our wedding planning was low-key compared to most couples, but I couldn't believe the endless details. At the one month mark, I was delirious. I didn't care about anything except beautiful weather and paying the vendors on time. At a certain point, you leave your wedding in the hands of the gods. Otherwise you will go insane.
During that last month, my now husband and I spent more of our time completing the complicated spreadsheet I created, the nightmare to-do list. We treated ourselves to a weekend in Maine and an expensive date night, but for the most part, our coversation was limited to the status of our checking account and chairs for the ceremony. This is not fun. We switched to counting down the days to the honeymoon - marital bliss would have to wait.
As expected, the wedding flew by, from waking up to passing out. I spent the entire day laughing, and only a few moments stood out, special bubbles in time that brought me down to reality. When the ceremony started, I was nervous with stage fright. Then I looked at Andy and he winked at me. I giggled of course. The boy can still melt my heart. After the ceremony, we drove in our own car, our silly little Yaris, down the street to the reception venue. Andy even popped into the apartment to grab a snack while I sat in the car and took MySpace pictures. We woke up the next day to a chaos of clothes and beer cans, as if we threw the house party of a century. Such ridiculousness. Jesus we're kids and here we are using all our money to throw a party for our closest friends and family in honor of our love. With bowling and pizza and dancing.
But that's us. We have random dance parties at home all the time. In the living room, while sober, sometimes even before dinner! Marriage isn't about settling down or any sort of settling for that matter. I married Andy because he's my soulmate, my best friend and my partner in crime. When I picture our future, I see us running around the world, holding hands as we go on endless adventures. Just like our first date, when Andy asked me in the dead of winter, to leave that very moment for sunrise in a park across town. What could I do but say, "Let me grab my coat."
I haven't let go since.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
music is love
How I feel right here, right now.
I remember when MTV first played the video for Daft Punk's "Around the World." I thought Europeans were a bunch of hedonists and wouldn't know good music if it punched them in the brain. I didn't understand those beats, I couldn't fathom how someone could like music without real instruments. Then a special someone introduced me to beautiful sounds like house and techno. If it doesn't at least make you twitch, you best check that pulse. Or lack of.
(Interestingly, those genres turned me onto legends like Chuck Berry and Ray Charles, men who defined rock and roll with their instruments.)
My point? I'm drinking a beer and listening to French house. I can barely type over the dancing here.
I remember when MTV first played the video for Daft Punk's "Around the World." I thought Europeans were a bunch of hedonists and wouldn't know good music if it punched them in the brain. I didn't understand those beats, I couldn't fathom how someone could like music without real instruments. Then a special someone introduced me to beautiful sounds like house and techno. If it doesn't at least make you twitch, you best check that pulse. Or lack of.
(Interestingly, those genres turned me onto legends like Chuck Berry and Ray Charles, men who defined rock and roll with their instruments.)
My point? I'm drinking a beer and listening to French house. I can barely type over the dancing here.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
no such thing as a long weekend
How to party home alone on Sunday:
1. Stay in bed as long as possible. Or until the cats leave.
2. Do not shower or change into real clothes unless absolutely necessary.
3. Do not eat any meals. Make a stiff drink and munch on snacks.
4. Promptly pump the jams.
5. Play on the internet and connect to civilization.
6. Dance around the apartment like no one's watching. I recommend this ass shaking groove.
7. Read in the sunlight.
8. Pour another drink and repeat.
1. Stay in bed as long as possible. Or until the cats leave.
2. Do not shower or change into real clothes unless absolutely necessary.
3. Do not eat any meals. Make a stiff drink and munch on snacks.
4. Promptly pump the jams.
5. Play on the internet and connect to civilization.
6. Dance around the apartment like no one's watching. I recommend this ass shaking groove.
7. Read in the sunlight.
8. Pour another drink and repeat.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
sliding doors
There's nostalgia, then there's a longing for what never happened. You know what I'm talking about - that clever one liner in Empire Records. "I do not regret the things I've done, but those I did not do." Deep, cynical Lucas with his black turtleneck.
High school was sex, drugs and rock n roll, right? None of the above for me. At the time, I didn't feel like I was missing out. I loved my friends. After the trauma of middle school (the only years I considered suicide), their unconditional love was the best gift an awkward girl could ask for. We had our own house parties, sexual innuendos, and music debates. I believed those were the golden years. Of course, I never cried so much in my life, but teenagers are either on top of the world or rolling around in Hell. Everything is so serious.
My time in high school was innocence - pure, ignorant bliss. So why, when I arrived at college, did I find myself utterly depressed and full of regret? My peers were years ahead of me in life experience. I was the annoying younger sister trying to tag along on trips to the mall. But I was also a smart girl, desperate for coversation and laughter and acceptance. By the end of my freshman year, I was running around like a reckless teenager trying to get into Harvard, working as hard as I was partying.
College flew by and I found myself relating to Sylvia Plath. I moved to the city expecting to immediately land my dream job, but instead observed this life lesson: work experience is a better resume builder than honors thesis. More regrets, more inner anger. It seemed my entire life was a series of events geared to support eveyone else but me. I let friends walk all over me because I didn't want to be alone. I went to a state college because I was terrified of debt. I stayed with boyfriends past their expiration date because I was scared of hurting someone. Why the hell was I so scared of the uknown?
It's only today - after realizing I'm human, that I live and learn like the rest of the idiots wandering aimlesly - that I understand I wasn't ready for what everyone else was doing. I was a fucked up kid, spending middle school in depression and high school with an eating disorder. And college was enough learning to last a lifetime. When I was balanced and ready for whatever fruit the gods threw at me, I grabbed life by the horns and promised to never let go.
So fuck Lucas and his pretentious black turtleneck. You either did or didn't do something. Build a bridge and get over it.
High school was sex, drugs and rock n roll, right? None of the above for me. At the time, I didn't feel like I was missing out. I loved my friends. After the trauma of middle school (the only years I considered suicide), their unconditional love was the best gift an awkward girl could ask for. We had our own house parties, sexual innuendos, and music debates. I believed those were the golden years. Of course, I never cried so much in my life, but teenagers are either on top of the world or rolling around in Hell. Everything is so serious.
My time in high school was innocence - pure, ignorant bliss. So why, when I arrived at college, did I find myself utterly depressed and full of regret? My peers were years ahead of me in life experience. I was the annoying younger sister trying to tag along on trips to the mall. But I was also a smart girl, desperate for coversation and laughter and acceptance. By the end of my freshman year, I was running around like a reckless teenager trying to get into Harvard, working as hard as I was partying.
College flew by and I found myself relating to Sylvia Plath. I moved to the city expecting to immediately land my dream job, but instead observed this life lesson: work experience is a better resume builder than honors thesis. More regrets, more inner anger. It seemed my entire life was a series of events geared to support eveyone else but me. I let friends walk all over me because I didn't want to be alone. I went to a state college because I was terrified of debt. I stayed with boyfriends past their expiration date because I was scared of hurting someone. Why the hell was I so scared of the uknown?
It's only today - after realizing I'm human, that I live and learn like the rest of the idiots wandering aimlesly - that I understand I wasn't ready for what everyone else was doing. I was a fucked up kid, spending middle school in depression and high school with an eating disorder. And college was enough learning to last a lifetime. When I was balanced and ready for whatever fruit the gods threw at me, I grabbed life by the horns and promised to never let go.
So fuck Lucas and his pretentious black turtleneck. You either did or didn't do something. Build a bridge and get over it.
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