Wicked and Heart-Pounding

So what's the soundtrack to your life? 

Most of the time, I hear the world, birds chattering, the bus grinding, people talking to me, the dog groaning.  It's usually a pretty quiet life but I don't get to tune out. 

Today, I've got Pandora blasting in my ear.  I want to tune out to loud and fast.  I know it won't help my deafness, but I'm already half deaf.  What's a little more?  You know those kind of days.  It feels as though my life is a movie and I'm just a character in it.  I know that's twisted, but bear with me.  I'm wading through the past few days on three or four hours of sleep and by now, I'm kind of punchy.  So, I'm playing my role according to my personal soundtrack as refereed by Pandora. 

The problem I'm having is that the music it's selecting for me keeps getting slower and slower.  I've picked Jason Mraz to start.  That shouldn't be a butt dragger, but each successive song just drags slower and slower.  I wish I could go back and see a list of what I liked.  Pandora, did you hear that?  I want to be able to buy stuff that I liked.  Are you seeing dollar signs yet?  You should be.  And pick up the pace while you're at it.

Hey cool, I just saw the history part of my Pandora.  At least I can see what I liked the best.  At least I'm not a total moron.  I didn't see a way to pay for a download, though.  Hey, Pandora, I'm standing down here at the end of the bar with a twenty dollar bill flying in the air.  You want to sell me a beer, or what?

Hell, I just started a new track with Pearl Jam as the starting point.  Better.

Can't I send a code word to them? 

Faster
Louder
Head-banging
Heart-pounding

Okay, now I've graduated to two word descriptions.

Slower.  And.  Slower.  And grinding to a halt.  What do you think I should start with to get the pace moving?

After a while Pandora doesn't let you skip tracks.  Why the hell not?  You know, don't you Pandora, that I'm just going to turn the damn thing off after a while if you're trying to make me listen to stuff I don't like?

They've taken all the old fogey songs from Pearl Jam and Nirvana and are throwing them at me like a bone.  Red Hot Chili Peppers is stepping it up, but I liked the vocalist for Pearl Jam better. 

Oh, so now I'm suddenly a music critic?  Lame.

All right, I'm off to my next thing like I'm ticking of items on a list.  We've moved onto Audioslave's 'Show Me How to Live.'  Cool.  I like the bass line.  It's still not heart-pounding, but I'll live up to their geriatric view of the world if I need to.  I have to go make pie. 

It's going to twist my mind around, making pie to 'Metallica.'  No, I should not be listening to nice music for making pie.  I'm not making ordinary pie.  I'm going to make wicked good pie. 

Adios amigos!

Thank you for listening, jules 

 

Insomniac Starring Paul Giamatti

I hate when I'm tired and I wake up early, after only four hours of sleep.  Then, sometimes I sit in bed with my book, my eyes unable to focus and yet, I am not able to fall back asleep.

This morning, the whole family was up an hour earlier that we needed to be.  What is the deal?  We're all standing there wondering what we do now.  We don't need to get ready yet.  Nobody feels like getting anything accomplished. 

Those are the moments when television is the only answer.  What the hell did people do in their teepees when they couldn't sleep?  Did they get up and wander around camp in the dark hoping not to get turned into meat by a roving cougar?  Did they build a fire and poke sticks at it while listening to people snore?  I hate listening to people snore when I can't sleep.  Did they yearn for the comfort of their animal furs and cosy communal sleeping or did they lie there in the dark listening to everyone breathe? 

Heaven and hell can tip so easily between being rested and being exhausted.  Even a challenge feels great to meet when you're rested and attempting the ordinary can seem like torture when you're sleep deprived. 

I keep imagining a movie called 'Insomniac' that stars Paul Giamatti in which his whole life unravels because he can't sleep.  He can't remember to get milk or do basic things to help.  His wife nags him.  He can't relate to his teenaged daughter because he's just too damn tired and her music drives him insane.  He isn't performing well at work.  He isn't going to be fired either, but that doesn't help him all that much. Okay, this movie doesn't exist, but can't you see him nailing that part?

Sometimes I live that part.  It sucks to be a girl Paul Giamatti.  It's really not pretty.

Thank you for listening, jules

'One Bullet Away' by Nathaniel Fick

I'm reading 'One Bullet Away' by Nathaniel Fick. It was recommended by Nancy Pearl so I had it put on hold for me at the library. It's a good book, an adrenaline pumping book. I keep wanting to read sections of it to my son, Jack, who loves anything military, anything historical. Isn't it funny how history for a boy begins just a few years ago? 'One Bullet Away' is a book for an adult, but I think he would like it anyway.

Here's what is driving me nuts about this book - somebody edited the pages. I'm not kidding. I just want to ask this person, "Who are you that you have the right to edit a library book, a book that someone else wrote?" I guess that begs the question as to whether Nathaniel Fick has the right to mark up a book of his that is owned by the library. I seriously doubt it was him, so it just pisses me off to no end.

There are lines through words and other words inserted. I want to say, "Fine, buy a copy and write all you want in it. Just don't muck up a copy from the library that a bunch of other people will be reading. I have no interest your opinion of the words Nathaniel Fick used. You are not a better writer or more knowledgable than he is. You have a lot of gall. If it's so important to you, then write your own damn book."

Okay, I feel better now. I'm going to go back to reading. I'm up to the part where Fick's platoon is headed to Kandahar in a helicopter. Even that ride is not ordinary. Fick describes the sights, sounds, even smells so that I can have an experience I never had and never will. I wonder if i would have been at risk of not being alert and walking into the tail rotor blades as i exited the bird. Fick writes about real military people in comparison to great leaders in history. His commanders are not what I expected.

He's so deft with his characterization that I've populated his book as if it's a movie. I think I would have him played by Bill Pullman, an actor who can carry off leadership and humor but show a bit of vulnerability as well. I guess my choices show my age, don't they?

So if you have the slightest inclination to read about what it's like to lead a platoon into war in Afghanistan, possibly to their deaths, then maybe you should check Fick's book out from the library too. Just watch out for kamikaze editors.

Thank you for listening, jules

Wanting the Good Toys

Did you ever notice that when toddlers play, the only thing they want is the toy they cant have?

I really want my computer. I haven't been able to use it since 2:30 this afternoon when the Dell guy came and changed out my hard drive under a warranty repair. Right now, Mike is reinstalling the programs on it. It's taking too long.

I'm spoiled, right? That's what you're thinking, isn't it? I guess, but without my computer, I don't quite know what's going on. Oh, I can look at Facebook on my iPhone, but its simpler on my laptop. I can basically see YouTube on my phone too. The blogs I read are impossible unless I have the bigger screen.

Oh, I could have used Jack's laptop, but it isn't set up for me the way my own is, or was.

No matter how careful Mike is, stuff is going to change. Will I lose any files? Will icons be moved around?

Yup, a spoiled brat.

Thank you for listening, jules

Giving an Extra $16,000 to Chase

Today, my Dove chocolate horoscope told me to 'love every moment.'  I love my Dove chocolates, but I do not 'love every moment.'

I do not love when I have to make ultimatums to my son Jack to do what he's done every night by himself when he was four, brush his teeth.

I do not love the time I spent on the phone with a surly employee at Chase who didn't want to bother getting my name right on the documents for our refinance.  We were supposed to go through the entire document crossing out the incorrect name and putting in the correct one. 

I do not love finding out that we would actually be paying off $16,000 more than we currently owe if we refinance our loan.  Tell me, just how did that work out that way?  We're not getting a check for $16,000 in the deal.  We're not raising our interest rate.  Somebody please explain just what happened with that one.

Oh right.  Is that why they were in such a hurry to get us to sign?

I did not love that every time I tried to look at my dog Teddy's foot he yelped as though I was the one hurting him.  I didn't see anything.  I really didn't, but who could see when the dog kept yanking his foot out of my field of vision.  I do not love that I'm going to have to take him to the vet just to find out what's wrong with his foot.  Maybe Mike can hold him while I look.  Either way, it'll involve a lot of yelping. 

Speaking of 'field of vision,' I did not love having to get down on my hands and knees at the grocery store so that I could actually see the writing on the empty slot for the type of vitamins I wanted.  You'd be thinking I need vitamin A for my eyes.  You'd be wrong.  I needed chewable sunshine, vitamin D. 

So, I'm going to leave you with your happy moments, chewable sunshine blowing up your skirt as you kneel in the grocery store in the form of a hidden $16,000 bill and someone yelping in your one good ear.  I'm not claiming these moments for my happy-time scrapbook.  You can have them.

Thank you for listening, jules

Working Through the Pain

I turned my ankle today.  It isn't a really bad, but it was tough walking back along the lake to get to the car.  Ice and Advil will do the trick and it's a pretty purple right now.  Mike and Jack walked ahead to bring the car as close as they could to the trailhead.

Along the way, some exercise junkies stopped me to chat.  I was obviously limping and leaning heavily on a stick that Mike had given me.

"Had a great workout today on the trail," he said.

"Ah, that's great.  I'm not going to be so lucky," I said.  I didn't really want to talk details about my medical issues with these people.

"Oh, did you make it to the top?" she said.

"No.  I was walking around the lake,"  I said. 

Awkward silence. 

"Not up to going up the hill today," I rambled. "My dog usually needs about two miles a day, but ..." I trailed off, knowing that no excuse would be good enough.  It was embarrassing.  I turned to limp away. 

"Well, I know what you're talking about.  My mom had her knee replaced," he said.  At least he was trying, but do I look that old?

"You should just burn through it," she said.  She was wearing yoga pants.  I have to say that no one really looks good in yoga pants.  Her butt was way too flat for them. 

"You know, just keep going and work through the pain.  That's what you should do," she said.

"Thanks," I said and hobbled away as fast as I could.  I would keep going as far as the waiting car.

Thank you for listening, jules

 

An Argument Against Outlines

So, a friend asked me to help her son with his writing.  He's eleven years old and he already has writer's block.  No surprise.  The school method is to teach the kids to write outlines at the start, before they even get a good flow of words going.  Then, they're checking their spelling and grammar. When are they supposed to get creative in all that? 

The easiest way to break writer's block isn't to ask a kid to look at what's wrong with his writing.  It isn't to spend half of his writing time looking in a dictionary for the right spelling or a bigger word.  It isn't to drag the whole process out into a queasy sphincter-tightening process that seems interminable and produces four mind-numbingly boring sentences.

I just asked my husband, Mike, if he ever used an outline. 

"I don't write stories," he said. 

"Yeah, I know.  You're a manager.  You write memos and procedures.  Do you start with an outline?"

"No.  I just start writing and then try to organize it when I've said everything I want to say."

There you have it. 

Sometimes priming the well can get the writing loosened up.  Start with a good subject.  So I looked up writing prompts to see if there were any good ideas on some of the educational websites.  Oh my God!  Most of these were the kind of thing that makes a boy tune out entirely.  Hell, they made my eyes roll into the back of my head.  You could kill me with the boredom and correctness of it all.

Here's one:  Good habits improve our physical, psychological and financial health.  Select one of your good habits and persuade others to make that habit a part of their lives. 

I think you'd get more of a response if you tried this instead.  You want to go to the Zombie Thriller Night.  You want as many friends to meet you there as you can.  Write about why your friends should come with you and what will happen there.

Another of the correct prompts says this:  What kind of job do you want to do and why?

And another: Tell about a time when your parents were right. 

No wonder these kids don't want to write.  The subject is just so .... bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv ggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg mmmmmmmmmm                                     cccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccc




I just fell asleep with my head on the keyboard, sorry.

Instead, they need to ask kids questions like: You're hanging from a cliff by the middle finger on your left hand.  Your shirt is caught on a root and has begun to tear.  It's all because of your arch nemesis, Phantom.  How did you get into this predicament and how will you get yourself out?

There's a venomous spider slowly dropping down over your best friends head, but he's fallen twenty-five feet down onto a narrow ledge of a cliff. You only have a pocket knife, a match, eighteen feet of rope, a roll of duct tape, and a single carabiner.  How will you rescue him? 

Describe a day in your life if you had a billion dollars.

Write out an argument for why your parents should let you take sky diving lessons, go dirt bike racing, or go white water rafting.  You name the activity.

Why are all of these prompts about lecturing a kid to do the right thing, become responsible, get a job?  Are you worried that you'll raise a bunch of adrenaline-junkie anarchists? Can't they just be kids for a while?  Can't you let their imaginations float up instead of weighing them down with all this ballast?

It just seems to me there's a better way.  I hate outlines. 

Thank you for listening, jules