do you want to make me cry?

Then show me the last ten minutes of Six Feet Under. I will sob. Usually it happens when Nate appears in the hospital to his mother as she is dying. But really, the entire ten minutes send me off into weepy land.

I have been in love with Six Feet Under since the show was first created. It was good television. Good writing. Phenomenal acting. Amazing storytelling. Creatively told and shown.

But it was more than that. What made this show matter so damn much to me was the relationship between Claire and her brothers. Each one resembled various aspects of the relationships between my brothers and me. Perhaps that one that was most strongly resonant is the one between Nate and Claire. Like my oldest brother, Nate was not with the family at the beginning of the series. He moves back upon the death of his father. He has been away. Living his own life. And being apart from the whole family.

My oldest brother moved away when he was 18. He went to college. He went to grad school. He found a job in California. He struggled with what to do when my mother became ill. But stayed in California. Eventually getting married and having a family. He found his way back here a few years back and I am incredibly thrilled to have him local. And to have my sister in law nearby and get to know my nieces.

But I think what happens when you have a sibling move away when you're only 8 is that person becomes incredibly mysterious. He had this whole life that none of us were a part of. He was exotic. He became almost mythic. He was the prodigal son. I remember when he was in grad school and he disappeared for a week. My mother went crazy looking for him. It turns out he ran off to Venezuela for a vacation and didn't tell anyone. When he came back, my mom was furious but my dad just laughed. He wanted to know what his old stomping grounds were like.

That's what people do around my brother. They just love him. And as the little sister, whenever he came back from college or on any visit - I could not wait to see him. It continued even through my adult years. If he was here for New Year's Eve, I didn't make plans because I wanted to hang out with him. If he was here in the summer and wanted to rent a house in Cape Cod I was totally going even if it meant I was going to be with my parents, brothers, sisters in law and babies all week.

And I always wanted his approval, acceptance, inclusion. When he started sending me mix tapes I felt hip. When I got a care package from this mythical place called Trader Joe's in college, I knew I would be awesome.

Nate and Claire have a very similar relationship. Or at least that's the part of their relationship I always identified with. In the series finale when she sees Nate's ghost cheering her on, I imagined my brother saying similar things. There was this very natural relationship there and it just rang so strongly. Like in this scene:



Of course, this is all the more creepy when I take into account the fact there is an undeniable similarity between Peter Krause and my brother. I've been struggling to find pictures that prove this, but alas every picture of my brother involves him making a face of sorts. It's not an exact match. There's more of a general quality. And the facial expression - holy bejesus, it's ridiculous.

So, yeah. Want me to cry? Show me this:






[This is not to say that my other brother and I are not close. The relationship Claire has with David is very similar. We've always been around each other. We sort of know how the other thinks. Also, he looks way more like Ben Affleck.]

saturdays

are meant to be lazy.

especially when you don't get to sleep until well past 4 in the morning and the sun decides to shine on your face three hours later.

especially when you are suddenly faced with a new career turn that you didn't expect four days ago.

especially when you really just want to bake cupcakes, come up with place mat designs, and take a nap in the afternoon.

especially when you would like to plan a vacation. somewhere. preferably with salt air and cliffs.

especially when you're just really, really sleepy.

Words

I sometimes make reference to things when tweeting/texting/blogging that may not make sense to a person not living in my head. I don't recommend you live in my head. It's not a healthy place. But, here is a quick rundown of what words mean.

PTB - I ripped this off from Angel. It literally stands for Powers That Be. I use it to refer to any of the higher ups at work.

Brooks Brothers - this is simply the artist formerly known as Team Paul. See also PTB

Awesomesauce - I want to make this word happen. Let's do it.

Boh - This is one of my favorite Italian phrases/expressions. I don't think it's an actual word. It's more an expression or a sound. It's best expressed with a shoulder shrug. What does it mean, you ask? "I don't know" or "Whatever" or "I don't care." And the exact meaning is best expressed by intonation. We say it a lot in my family. One of my favorite examples of how the word is used is this story.

A few years back I was in Rome with a good friend of mine.
Our first night there we tried to go to the Coloseum or the Forum and failed at both.
We were also followed by the gay pickpocketers of Rome who tried to break into our suitcases while we tried to find out hotel.
We were not loving the Rome.
So, walking we passed by an Irish pub. We decided beer would make everything better. (this was before the gluten free days.)
We walked in. Ordered pints. Drank. Ordered french fries. They were amazing and cooked in olive oil. They were amazing. I still remember how wonderful those fries were. And I'm not a big french fries person. But those fries - holy shit.
But I digress.
While we sat at the bar loving those fries and drinking beer, we were amused by the bartender.
He was confused by us because he knew everyone else in the bar but not us.
He bought us shots. Of what I'm not sure.
I finally started talking to him in Italian and he eventually loosened up.
Then I noticed there was Brazil flag on the ceiling. So I asked -
Why do you have a flag of Brazil on your ceiling?
He looked at it. Looked at me.
Shrugged his shoulders and said "Boh." And then turned towards his other friends.
From that moment on, my friend has had no problem understanding what I mean when I say "Boh."

GF or GFree - This is pretty simple - gluten free. It's sometimes to long to type out. So in answer to the questions - no I am not referring to "girlfriend" or "girl free" things. And my next comment is think about that a bit before you ask. Girlfriend cupcakes? Girlfriend bread? Girl free beer? Think a bit.

I thought I had more expressions. But I realized I just wanted to write this post and share my story about wierd Roman bartender and olive oil french fries.

Spring

Today is a decidedly dreary day. It's rainy but not really raining. It's grey. It's chilly on my bare legs. The sky is white.

Yet, all I can see in my office is sunshine. And flowers. In particular, pink and yellow gerber daisies. I am thinking of swirling skirts. And ruffley t-shirts. And sandals. And barefeet on grass.

I'm not on my way to a vacation. I'm not planning a pretty getaway. No mini-breaks on the horizon. Hell, my moving date isn't even finalized.

But I am listening to She & Him. Hot damn, if this music doesn't scream springtime awesome to me everytime I put it on. I remember when I first heard Volume One. It was around Easter. My mom heard it in the car with me one day and was tapping her toes to the music. My nieces liked singing along to it. When I listened, I wanted to dress a certain way. It just made me smile.

Volume Two was released today and it causes the same reaction. I'm fairly certain if my mom was here she would be humming along with the chorus of "Gonna Get Along Without You." It's that catchy.

The whole album is like discovering a secret stash of the world's greatest gluten free cupcakes. It's sweet. It's happy. And it reminds you of innocent days. When I'm listening to Zooey sing I feel like nothing can really go bad. There is such promise in the sound.

It's only fitting that this album comes out at a time when so much change is happening in my life. If all the final steps go according to my hopes and plans, I will own my beloved flat in the center of town within a month and be hopefully all moved in within the next two. It looks like job opportunities are more available then previously imagined. And I've decided that I like the changes I'm making to my personality. I'm slowly becoming that person I know I want to be.

Apparently, sometimes, you just need to tell yourself to be happy. And while it doesn't create the happy immediately it does create a mindset that allows the happy to enter. I used to want to settle for content. Being content with how things are. Lately that hasn't been enough. Maybe when I accepted my role as caretaker for my mom, content was enough. Now I just want to be happy.

I want to feel the way She & Him makes me feel when I listen. I feel happy. I smile. I feel energy.

Enjoy:

while the boss is away ...

I avoid doing real work. Also, it's so so so so nice outside. I need to be back in the sunshine. When I went out earlier I was instantly in an excellent mood. Not that I'm necessarily in a bad mood now, but outside playing in the sun listening to She & Him and Shout Out Louds I was in a much better mood.

It's hard to motivate for work when there are so many other things I could be doing on a day like today. I could be taking apart this skirt I'm wearing for instance and preparing to make another in a different color. I could just take my camera for a walk through my city. (I do want a springtime picture of the carousel.) I could go stand outside the bank and beg for them to make a decision. I could practice drawing elephants.

Instead I'm stuck at work.

And for some reason I'm nostalgic right now. And it makes me a little sad. It's the sort of nostalgia that makes you wonder why you are the way you are. It just pops up out of no where. Or maybe a certain song pops in your head and said song makes you remember a certain time in your life. I blame today's nostalgia on the cooped up nature of my work. I also blame the beauty that is today and the teenage boy riding his skateboard in the parking lot of the coffee shop I go. And while we are blaming, let's blame the onerous file to the left of me that I don't want to address but I have to address.

Instead of addressing it, I look for YouTube videos. YouTube is absolutely amazing. You can find anything. Like the video posted below.

This one reminds me of college. I was forced to watch it a lot. At around the 4:10 mark, Jason Lee sings the cutest song ever. That would be the song that just popped in my head while I rifled through some file cabinets today looking for the onerous file. Or part of the file that has no disappeared. [Don't worry, Team P--- I found it.]

However, when I say I was forced to watch the video let me be honest. Let me describe the conversation.
boy: Hey wanna watch that Jason Lee video? (insert title of random video)
me: Is that the one where he sings that cute little song?
boy: Nope it's a different one, but just as awesome.
me: Okay. Does he sing a cute little song?
boy: No. He skates. He's Jason Lee. Before he was Brodie, he was a skater.
me: Oh, so no new cute little song then?
boy: No.
me: Oh.
[pause ... followed by silence ...]

boy: Wanna watch the Jason Lee video where he sings that song that's pretty funny?
me: If you want.

[Yes, I am a brat.]



I love it. In defense of my brattiness (also, this was during a very bizarre klepto phase. Buy me a drink and I'll tell you the tale) I did have to endure a whole heckuva lot of "hey watch me skate" and "hey, sure I'll walk you home, but only if I can climb every single tree on the way there" and "look at the giant cut on my knee. Soooo much blood."

[please refrain from commenting on the boys of my past]

Searching for that video, led to me looking for my favorite Jason Lee scene from Mallrats. (How much do I love Kevin Smith for this Whalers reference?)



Yes. You're welcome.

Rainy weekend musings

It's rained pretty much non-stop this weekend. I sort of like it. It fits my mood.

I spend last night with my oldest niece. She is now 13 and is a total grown up. She likes shopping. And to attempt philosophical conversations. And quotes Aristotle on her blackboard. When she caught me smiling at the blackboard she seriously informed me that there is nothing funny about Aristotle.

We spent the night in the mall and I managed to channel my own teenager years as a mallrat (Oh How I love the smell of commerce in the morning!) and do some of my own shopping I had put off for a good long while. We eventually got hungry and had to find a place to eat that did not have a three hour wait and provided reasonable gluten free options for me.

We settled on a restaurant and halfway through our meal I remembered that my last time there was with my mom. One of her favorite past times was to go to the mall and shop. She also loved to devour a hamburger with french fries. It was something I tried to consistently make time for with her. I loved it. I didn't get sad about eating there. I had fun. My niece cracks me up.

I was in a bothered mood most of the weekend however. And it's times like this I begin to feel so much resentment towards the hand I was dealt in life and the choices I made. I have been making a very concerted effort for over a year now to "forget regret" and not look back in anger towards the things that happened in life. My mom got sick. I chose to stay at home and decided against various life experiences. I shut myself down in a lot of circumstances because it was just easier. And now - I'm trying to move beyond that. It takes a lot of effort to break down walls once they're built. It's a little bit like scar tissue. The walls start to layer over each other at some point.

Usually when I've let people in it's after months (and in some cases years). Months before I ever allowed any sort of vulnerability in front of them. Before I ever said what I've been feeling. Or call to vent about a crappy day. I don't do it. Or didn't do it. I'm trying to do more of it now. But I am always so wary. I don't want to be burdensome. I've had the friends who called me every single time something went wrong. Every bad date. Every bad work day. Every bad argument. I used to get the call. I've had to cut them out. (that is also an ever evolving process) I don't ever want to be "that person." It takes me a long, long, long time to trust people. And when I have that trust I expect it to be respected and valued. And when people trust me, I value that trust.

When that trust is broken it hurts. It hurts a lot. When something I don't give out easily is devalued I get angry. I don't like to feel betrayed. Or to be allowed in a situation where I'm left feeling the fool.

Needless to say something happened with a friend. Or someone considered a friend. I'll survive. And maybe remain friends with this person in the future. Stuff happens. The particulars don't matter. I'm not angry so much as upset that I wasn't respected.

The best cure for this was definitely a night with a 13 year old. The world through her eyes is one of such promise. At one point during our long chats she mentioned that maybe she should be a reporter because newspapers could use her help. A few minutes later she confessed to loving space too much to want to be a reporter. And then she asked me why I was a lawyer because in her words "you are sooooooooooooo not a suit person. You bought a pair of red converse because a character in a tv show wore them for pete's sake!" (true words - mouths of babe - you know the saying)

I hope we can have more of these nights. I told her last night my mission was to be the cool aunt. Her response was "done, now what will you do for me?" That's my girl.

[I'll admit that the title of the "cool aunt" was easy to achieve. I was only a teenager when she was born and we've always had a sister bond. Her brother raids my comic book collection. Her sisters are routinely raiding my accessories drawer.]

I get nervous of watching these kids grow up. I want to always remain close to them. I want them to always feel free to come to me when they need help. It's something I never really had. They have better relationships with their parents than I did, but it would have been nice to have someone I felt safe to talk to outside of my parents when I was a kid. Someone who wouldn't judge. Someone who would maybe encourage me to be more open with my feelings. So that when I hit my thirties I wasn't still learning that it's okay to be a little vulnerable every so often. I hope I can do that for them.

i don't wear nearly enough flannel

Or wool. Or leather. Or motorcycle boots. I'm also not a middle aged Woo Girl. Or a middle aged man with curly white hair or a beard. And I also don't smell like patchouli. I can not stand Widespread Panic. And I listen to no country music aside from the classics of Johnny, Willie, and Patsy. (Unless you consider Wilco, Whiskeytown, and the like country. Which my Toby Keith Nascar loving co-worker told me is most decidedly not country.)

Music I do like - I have an appreciation for the classic rock. I like good songwriters. I listen to a fair amount of punk. Indie rock is probably wear I lurk most often. And I went through a definite phase in life where lo-fi was the "most awesome fucking sound ever."

I also love hoodies and cardigans. I wear batman t-shirts and jeans. And pretty much live in one of the five pair of chucks I own. (work is clearly a different story - there it's skirts and heels and frill - out of work it's the same outfit I've been wearing the past 15 years.)

And this all brings me to seeing Todd Snider tonight. First, the show was in Northampton. And that sets a tone for everything. It makes me nostalgic for the days I lived there.

I lived on the second floor of this building. There was a dog called Artemis usually tied up outside the building. He ran away often and while he belonged to my neighbor, I often got called about the missing dog.

So once the wave of nostalgia passes, I head down to the Iron Horse - which is still my favorite place to see a show. I remember my first show there was Mary Lou Lord. She sang Indie Rock Boy. It made me smile. Back then I wore my blue Chucks or silver Docs and wore my hair red and lived in jeans and a hoodie. At that time those were socially acceptable for my organizing job.

Tonight we walked and scoped out a decent place to stand in the back. I have no idea who opened. I have no idea what she sang aside from the time she said the name Gram Parsons and I perked up hoping for Las Vegas or Streets of Baltimore. But, then Todd walked up the stairs and started his set.


There was lots of hootin and hollerin. And woos. My good the woos. I clapped and cheered and sang along with my favorites. But the woos and the hoots and the hollers were insane. And at that point I took stop of my surroundings and I realized how much I did not really fit in with this crowd. Sure, there were a handful of folks who were similar to me, but the majority were... well. They were the guy in front of me. He wore jeans and a denim shirt and a leather cap. Yes, cap. He also randomly started tried to beat out a rhythm on the table or the wall post next to him. But poorly. So, picture that guy times a couple 100 and then me.

But no matter, I laughed. I had a great time. I have said it before and I will say it forever I could listen to Todd Snider tell me stories everyday. He weaves a tale like few I know and I love it. He managed to make me laugh out loud with a story I've heard repeatedly on his live album, get a little sad remembering someone during "Lonely Girl," give out my own woot of enjoyment during "Conservative Christian" and then get the audience to laugh during a song about attempted suicide with "Sunshine."


It was a good way to end a day that had me angry about work, my lack of money, stupid drama and my own overreactions to things. I don't quite remember what I was angry about.


And in case you forgot yesterday was Dr. Seuss's birthday.




And

I see Firefly Salon and I immediately think of Captain Malcolm Reynolds. Some people think insects.

And lastly,

They were just sitting there. Waiting.

So what did I learn tonight - Todd Snider appeals to one of the most random demographics ever. I prefer driving down route 10 on my way home from Northampton (unless it's behind the dude going 25 mph...) And I miss my camera. Must use the baby more. And I am so totally chickenshit.

I