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We finally took our Christmas tree down. It really wasn’t something we wanted to do but since we are fast approaching February it was necessary. To be truthful, we were worried our necks might change color if we left it up much longer.
The tree wasn’t the object we were loath to part with. It was just a vehicle for the lights. The lights plugged into a timer which lighted the wake up walk in the morning and the click of glow at 5:00PM to ward off the winter’s early end of daylight. Yes, that is what we were reluctant to pack up for the year.
Our discussions of a suitable replacement were comical but unfruitful. We really aren’t the highway cross kind of people and neon is so done that in the 80’s. Now we are walking in the dark to the light switch waiting for summer’s natural light and of course the unpacking of the Christmas tree.
-------------------------------------------
Due to my Oscar obsession, I convinced Roger to order Force Majeure (A Swedish film snubbed for the foreign film award.) on Demand. We took the dogs out early, showered, and then snuggled under the covers to watch it on the good TV. My usually open minded worldly co-pilot flipped over and snored lightly through the second hour of viewing. To his credit, he watch the missed part the next morning.
He hated it for all the reasons I loved it. The deplorable people – even or maybe especially the children, the injection of the incessant man-made noise in such a serene setting, the drawn out uncomfortable man-made drama was refreshingly honest in a world that has gone mad with instant gratification and over-the-topness. This may just be the perfect movie.
The premise of this movie is an upper middle class Swedish couple go to a Ski resort in France to heal a weary marriage. During a too close for comfort controlled avalanche the husband runs away leaving his wife with their children in an instinct protective huddle. He continues to deny it happened this way. She can’t confront him unless she is drinking and has an audience of two other hapless couples. The second couple she snares into her distress also start spiraling down the “What would I do” rabbit hole. There were times I wanted her to slip him a poisoned drink or near the end will the bus over the edge of the mountain so a fiery explosion could cleanse the air.
Yet the creative team behind this film chose the right arc. Such is life. Most of us don’t ever get the opportunity to be heroes. I wouldn’t even want to ask how many of us have acted out (in our heads) how to kill someone we can hardly stand to look at. As for a tidy ending to put us out of our misery – no the punishment four our squandering the gift of life is just that – a life sentence.
Tedious, petty, and satirical in real life we end up pulling others in to hold up a social mirror to convince ourselves we are right. This might be the reason for all life’s fairytales, fables, and religions – just so in our last breath – we know we were the one who did the right thing. No matter that casualties along the way. In my warped opinion the movie was a refreshing view.
---------------------------------
Contrary to popular belief – I communicate. In fact, I can’t even shut up in my sleep. Of course according to my partner that too is pretty unintelligible.
The accusation I am faced with is because I don’t translate what’s inside my head to a verbal language. This could be why I write so I can wrap what I’m trying to say in a pretty bow instead of a stammering line of bullshit.
Of course I have to let my words cook for a couple of days and I’m only going to disclose what I absolutely have to. My communication skills are akin to walking without a destination.
I like the journey and I hate to get bogged down with the details. Yet I have made the choice to travel with a companion and as swell as he is, a mind reader he is not. So the words have to be formed on my tongue and not just hide behind my fiction and pen.
We finally took our Christmas tree down. It really wasn’t something we wanted to do but since we are fast approaching February it was necessary. To be truthful, we were worried our necks might change color if we left it up much longer.
The tree wasn’t the object we were loath to part with. It was just a vehicle for the lights. The lights plugged into a timer which lighted the wake up walk in the morning and the click of glow at 5:00PM to ward off the winter’s early end of daylight. Yes, that is what we were reluctant to pack up for the year.
Our discussions of a suitable replacement were comical but unfruitful. We really aren’t the highway cross kind of people and neon is so done that in the 80’s. Now we are walking in the dark to the light switch waiting for summer’s natural light and of course the unpacking of the Christmas tree.
-------------------------------------------
Due to my Oscar obsession, I convinced Roger to order Force Majeure (A Swedish film snubbed for the foreign film award.) on Demand. We took the dogs out early, showered, and then snuggled under the covers to watch it on the good TV. My usually open minded worldly co-pilot flipped over and snored lightly through the second hour of viewing. To his credit, he watch the missed part the next morning.
He hated it for all the reasons I loved it. The deplorable people – even or maybe especially the children, the injection of the incessant man-made noise in such a serene setting, the drawn out uncomfortable man-made drama was refreshingly honest in a world that has gone mad with instant gratification and over-the-topness. This may just be the perfect movie.
The premise of this movie is an upper middle class Swedish couple go to a Ski resort in France to heal a weary marriage. During a too close for comfort controlled avalanche the husband runs away leaving his wife with their children in an instinct protective huddle. He continues to deny it happened this way. She can’t confront him unless she is drinking and has an audience of two other hapless couples. The second couple she snares into her distress also start spiraling down the “What would I do” rabbit hole. There were times I wanted her to slip him a poisoned drink or near the end will the bus over the edge of the mountain so a fiery explosion could cleanse the air.
Yet the creative team behind this film chose the right arc. Such is life. Most of us don’t ever get the opportunity to be heroes. I wouldn’t even want to ask how many of us have acted out (in our heads) how to kill someone we can hardly stand to look at. As for a tidy ending to put us out of our misery – no the punishment four our squandering the gift of life is just that – a life sentence.
Tedious, petty, and satirical in real life we end up pulling others in to hold up a social mirror to convince ourselves we are right. This might be the reason for all life’s fairytales, fables, and religions – just so in our last breath – we know we were the one who did the right thing. No matter that casualties along the way. In my warped opinion the movie was a refreshing view.
---------------------------------
Contrary to popular belief – I communicate. In fact, I can’t even shut up in my sleep. Of course according to my partner that too is pretty unintelligible.
The accusation I am faced with is because I don’t translate what’s inside my head to a verbal language. This could be why I write so I can wrap what I’m trying to say in a pretty bow instead of a stammering line of bullshit.
Of course I have to let my words cook for a couple of days and I’m only going to disclose what I absolutely have to. My communication skills are akin to walking without a destination.
I like the journey and I hate to get bogged down with the details. Yet I have made the choice to travel with a companion and as swell as he is, a mind reader he is not. So the words have to be formed on my tongue and not just hide behind my fiction and pen.
Winter, what a lousy season. It's cold and miserable and cold and messy and cold. I think the only saving grace is wearing cute boots to keep your feet warm and dry. These Metis Mukluks are almost worth roughing the bad weather. I found these at Manitobah. So let's put on our pretty boots, brew some tea, and watch some movies. The Oscar's are coming on February 22nd. We are trying to catch all the nominated ones before then. We started our list by the one I was devastated didn't get the Oscar nod, Force Majeure.
A Christmas Tree, Avalanche, and Communication
I have had a really hard time not only writing this blog today but actually posting it. I am embarrassed, struggling with my pride, and just horrified this is where I am. A month ago or so, I posted on my Facebook page on not being able to write because it was hard to tell the truth. This blog is hopefully taking a first step towards that truth.
I want to live in a world of pretty shoes; like these that are being offered by a great new site I Love Cute Shoes. I want everything in life to be fair and people to do the right thing. Is this unrealistic? Yes.
Sometimes life is too real. I respond in more normal self defense mode; silence. Today I am going to fight against old habits and tell you the truth.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
I’m stuck. This isn't writer’s block - as people are hesitantly asking me why I am not writing; posting my cutesy blogs of life fluff and the cool people I encounter along the way. No this is serious - my life has come to a full stop and I don’t see any signs of movement ahead. I can’t sugar coat this shit anymore; not even to myself.
What is there to say? I have been unemployed for almost a year now. Even my small time gigs, that have challenged me to live under a strict hundred dollars a month budget, have dried up.
This is the situation at hand. Like Mother Hubbard; my cupboards are bare. My tags are expired and I have no car insurance, but it is okay because I have no gas to drive anywhere. (Tell me, I can't find the bright side.) My rent is way past due, as are all the bills. “Get a job stupid?!” runs through my head daily. If it were that easy.
Job seeking is hilarious. First it takes about forty five minutes to apply for each barely minimum wage job, after you search the five thousand job sights. Once you weed through the crap and decide then you have to wait. If you do get a response you have to figure out what the odds of the hire is; in other words is the interview worth my gas money. Dressing (Conservative Lisa! Don’t scare them off from the get go.), finding the place, and waiting nervously usually gets you a maybe offer of fourteen to twenty hours a week stretched over several days a week. To keep adding to the shit pile; it may take up to three weeks to get paid. How is it possible - I can’t afford to get a job?! Also just a fact about our great government safety net programs - I have left several messages and emails with the employment centers. I am not seeking a check just an appointment to get some resume assistance and maybe more job opportunities. There has been no response and once again there is the hesitancy of a possible wasted trip.
These are the facts. I am forty six years old with dated skills and only a high school degree. I am being punished for the decision to take care of other people all my life instead of me. Is there a be “Be Selfish” lesson to be learned here? Trust me, if I were raising children today I think I would pass this lesson on along with a bit of bitterness.
I once read a very informative book on the dust bowl. These survivors were canning tumbleweeds to eat. Anyone familiar with this tenacious weed will join me as I tries to imagine how desperate you have to be. Yet I understand because it is not a joke when you have no food in the cupboards. Some days I resent the cat eating better than me; other days I think how fat he is. Just joking! Kind of.
I made my first visit to a food pantry yesterday. Besides the humiliation; the lady scolded me “This is for emergencies only. You can only utilize this two times in six months.” Yes ma’am, do you realize how long it took me to even darken your door. Then I returned home with my two bags of "food" to find four Ziploc bags of I suppose donated restaurant condiments, six packages of Kool-aid, one pack of ramen noodles, two cans of soup, two cans of vegetables, and a couple snack bags of breakfast mix. I was very appreciative of the Pam and almost cried when I saw the green tea. No caffeine in the morning has been worse than quitting smoking. Not to be too ungrateful; I sent a quick promise to the universe I would donate food as soon as I get back on my feet. I am actually going to post the pictures of my loot at the end, to be a bit of a smart ass, and to let people know there is a serious need at food pantries.
There you caught me, I am still trying to be an optimist. Even as I laugh at myself, I will admit I have come to the conclusion I have to continue on; god knows I can’t afford to end it. I don’t have a garage or enough gas to take that exit, my gas stove doesn’t work, and I think I am down to my last three generic Tylenol. Poor people hang around because they don’t have enough resources to do anything else.
Now friends, don’t panic as you read this. I am just letting my mind touch those obscene places with my brand of dark demented humor, because what else do I have to do these days. The worst part in this ordeal is the loss of self worth. If you can’t even take care of yourself, you really aren't viable. If you aren’t viable, why are you doing taking up space?
This has become highly personal. I should not have allowed myself to get here. No, all my choices have not been stellar but I do not have a drug habit, criminal record, and I am a damn good employee. I still deserve a chance to be a productive member of society.
I know I am an annoying in my determination to put a positive spin on life. I can laugh or shake things off, most of the time. These days though I will admit I am kind of shaky. I ran into an old friend the other night and when she asked me why I am not writing I actually had to fight not to have a break down in public. Hell I am having a hard time having Facebook conversations without crying; even if the topic is innocuous as my supposed bad taste in music. I am keeping people at arm’s length because let us be honest here; what is there to say? The great pretender is silent, I can no longer lie.
Even my relationship which has been the only beacon, is starting to suffer. My withdrawal is not voluntary anymore. As I struggle just to self-sustain I am angry. All I wanted was an equal partnership and now it is me who cannot uphold my end. To be fair, he has been a trooper about this, I am appalled at my situation, and am not fit for company most days.
For the first time in my life, I was comfortable just being me and have met these wonderful people around me who had accepted me as such. Now the foundation of me is being eroded. It’s not just poverty and the constant worry about food, gas, or even the dwindling litter in the litter box (You think I can Google alternatives for litter, like torn newspapers? Reduce, Recycle Reuse peeps!) The fact is, I know longer have a purpose - a place to go - to reinforce my membership in society. I am writing this in hopes it kick starts the blood flow back into my anemic life. You know the hope of if I get one rusted gear to turn the rest will fall in place?
I do know I am not alone out there and there are people that have it worse off than me. I am not unaware of the simmering of the discontent in our society where people are struggling just to survive. In fact I believe survival is becoming the new American Dream. Thank god I do not have small children I can’t feed; just an unemployed twenty year old son. (That’s a whole other topic there.) I do worry about feeding my cat though and of course even my son, hell I figure I have about fifty more pounds I could lose so it's not all bad. (Dark humor again, folks. Let it roll.) As I keep filling out applications and searching for jobs, I worry if I can afford getting there long enough to collect a paycheck. I realize IF I do get hired soon, it will take at least a year before I begin to catch up. It’s that IF that is really making me quiet these days.
I want to live in a world of pretty shoes; like these that are being offered by a great new site I Love Cute Shoes. I want everything in life to be fair and people to do the right thing. Is this unrealistic? Yes.
Sometimes life is too real. I respond in more normal self defense mode; silence. Today I am going to fight against old habits and tell you the truth.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
I’m stuck. This isn't writer’s block - as people are hesitantly asking me why I am not writing; posting my cutesy blogs of life fluff and the cool people I encounter along the way. No this is serious - my life has come to a full stop and I don’t see any signs of movement ahead. I can’t sugar coat this shit anymore; not even to myself.
What is there to say? I have been unemployed for almost a year now. Even my small time gigs, that have challenged me to live under a strict hundred dollars a month budget, have dried up.
This is the situation at hand. Like Mother Hubbard; my cupboards are bare. My tags are expired and I have no car insurance, but it is okay because I have no gas to drive anywhere. (Tell me, I can't find the bright side.) My rent is way past due, as are all the bills. “Get a job stupid?!” runs through my head daily. If it were that easy.
Job seeking is hilarious. First it takes about forty five minutes to apply for each barely minimum wage job, after you search the five thousand job sights. Once you weed through the crap and decide then you have to wait. If you do get a response you have to figure out what the odds of the hire is; in other words is the interview worth my gas money. Dressing (Conservative Lisa! Don’t scare them off from the get go.), finding the place, and waiting nervously usually gets you a maybe offer of fourteen to twenty hours a week stretched over several days a week. To keep adding to the shit pile; it may take up to three weeks to get paid. How is it possible - I can’t afford to get a job?! Also just a fact about our great government safety net programs - I have left several messages and emails with the employment centers. I am not seeking a check just an appointment to get some resume assistance and maybe more job opportunities. There has been no response and once again there is the hesitancy of a possible wasted trip.
These are the facts. I am forty six years old with dated skills and only a high school degree. I am being punished for the decision to take care of other people all my life instead of me. Is there a be “Be Selfish” lesson to be learned here? Trust me, if I were raising children today I think I would pass this lesson on along with a bit of bitterness.
I once read a very informative book on the dust bowl. These survivors were canning tumbleweeds to eat. Anyone familiar with this tenacious weed will join me as I tries to imagine how desperate you have to be. Yet I understand because it is not a joke when you have no food in the cupboards. Some days I resent the cat eating better than me; other days I think how fat he is. Just joking! Kind of.
I made my first visit to a food pantry yesterday. Besides the humiliation; the lady scolded me “This is for emergencies only. You can only utilize this two times in six months.” Yes ma’am, do you realize how long it took me to even darken your door. Then I returned home with my two bags of "food" to find four Ziploc bags of I suppose donated restaurant condiments, six packages of Kool-aid, one pack of ramen noodles, two cans of soup, two cans of vegetables, and a couple snack bags of breakfast mix. I was very appreciative of the Pam and almost cried when I saw the green tea. No caffeine in the morning has been worse than quitting smoking. Not to be too ungrateful; I sent a quick promise to the universe I would donate food as soon as I get back on my feet. I am actually going to post the pictures of my loot at the end, to be a bit of a smart ass, and to let people know there is a serious need at food pantries.
There you caught me, I am still trying to be an optimist. Even as I laugh at myself, I will admit I have come to the conclusion I have to continue on; god knows I can’t afford to end it. I don’t have a garage or enough gas to take that exit, my gas stove doesn’t work, and I think I am down to my last three generic Tylenol. Poor people hang around because they don’t have enough resources to do anything else.
Now friends, don’t panic as you read this. I am just letting my mind touch those obscene places with my brand of dark demented humor, because what else do I have to do these days. The worst part in this ordeal is the loss of self worth. If you can’t even take care of yourself, you really aren't viable. If you aren’t viable, why are you doing taking up space?
This has become highly personal. I should not have allowed myself to get here. No, all my choices have not been stellar but I do not have a drug habit, criminal record, and I am a damn good employee. I still deserve a chance to be a productive member of society.
I know I am an annoying in my determination to put a positive spin on life. I can laugh or shake things off, most of the time. These days though I will admit I am kind of shaky. I ran into an old friend the other night and when she asked me why I am not writing I actually had to fight not to have a break down in public. Hell I am having a hard time having Facebook conversations without crying; even if the topic is innocuous as my supposed bad taste in music. I am keeping people at arm’s length because let us be honest here; what is there to say? The great pretender is silent, I can no longer lie.
Even my relationship which has been the only beacon, is starting to suffer. My withdrawal is not voluntary anymore. As I struggle just to self-sustain I am angry. All I wanted was an equal partnership and now it is me who cannot uphold my end. To be fair, he has been a trooper about this, I am appalled at my situation, and am not fit for company most days.
For the first time in my life, I was comfortable just being me and have met these wonderful people around me who had accepted me as such. Now the foundation of me is being eroded. It’s not just poverty and the constant worry about food, gas, or even the dwindling litter in the litter box (You think I can Google alternatives for litter, like torn newspapers? Reduce, Recycle Reuse peeps!) The fact is, I know longer have a purpose - a place to go - to reinforce my membership in society. I am writing this in hopes it kick starts the blood flow back into my anemic life. You know the hope of if I get one rusted gear to turn the rest will fall in place?
I do know I am not alone out there and there are people that have it worse off than me. I am not unaware of the simmering of the discontent in our society where people are struggling just to survive. In fact I believe survival is becoming the new American Dream. Thank god I do not have small children I can’t feed; just an unemployed twenty year old son. (That’s a whole other topic there.) I do worry about feeding my cat though and of course even my son, hell I figure I have about fifty more pounds I could lose so it's not all bad. (Dark humor again, folks. Let it roll.) As I keep filling out applications and searching for jobs, I worry if I can afford getting there long enough to collect a paycheck. I realize IF I do get hired soon, it will take at least a year before I begin to catch up. It’s that IF that is really making me quiet these days.
A Dog, a Bone, and a Relfection
am drawn to metallic shoes; they are shiny (which always works for me), have a modern twist and of course are reflective. These classic shoes are by Alexander McQueen who never fails to deliver a wow factor. What couldn't you conquer wearing such a shoe?
As much as I am attracted to reflective items, I am well aware of the dangers of getting lost in reflecting. It is easy to pick yourself apart until there is nothing left to hang on to. I have succumbed to this self analyzing and have run an emotional gamut of discouragement, hopelessness, and finally a glimmer of optimism. I think it is human nature to want to shine; just existing is never enough. So I am going to attempt slipping on this shiny bit of armor and not get lost in dismal past performance. Today is an opportunity, as is every day and in my world slipping on an irresistible shoe is always a good start.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
I remember the Aesop’s Fable of the dog with the bone. He ends up tricked by the image of the bigger bone in the water. Jumping in of course, he does not get the fictitious bone and loses the one he had in his mouth in the process.
Fables, myths, parables, and fairy tales are cautionary lore to warn us of the dangers of human nature. This particular one is warning us of the perils of wanting too much and never being happy with what we have. We have judged the dog for being selfish and getting what he deserved…nothing.
I acknowledged the lesson long ago in the forming years of my youth. For the past two months though my own reflection of the bigger prize has memorized me. I have wavered between coveting and mocking the image for a long time. Yet in my reflection, there has been more than material gain to capture my attention.
The vapors of past dreams and desires have haunted me until I am convinced there is a direct correlation between my preoccupation of wanting more and my current situation. I have had a lifetime of half steps toward my gut instincts but have always rerouted as I focused on other’s destinations. If I had mapped out my own journey would I had been so entranced by this reflecting pool of doubt?
The knowledge I am fortunate enough to live in a world where on any given day I can start anew should be of an encouragement to me. Confronted by the consequences of being bewitched by reflecting and a self-induced silence, I know the facts. To make a change, I must embrace the two things I profess to endear but have become quite adept at manipulating: commitment and honesty.
Commitment. A Camelot ideology, which I simultaneously ridicule and yearn for. If such a state is entered into without guise or the expectation of profiteering, if it is tended to and allowed the space to grow and breath, the final product is invincible. To achieve this takes a compromise and a willingness to be selfless by all parties, which to its very core is against human nature.
In a commitment, is there really an equality or is there one party who is willing to be subservient? Is this choice made with trust that the dominate one will not abuse their power? In my world, I always find myself committing to a concept, which never addresses my needs. Only when I am suffocating do I relinquish the “prize” I so wanted to believe in. This leaves me not only envious at the success of others but also self-examining of my faulty selection process.
Honesty. This is one trait I insist and expect from anyone in my life - except myself. Oh, I try very hard never to lie; I know the benefits of keeping it real. My specialized deceit is never offering the truth in the first place. I have spent so many years perfecting the surface of my truth; I even believe it most the time. My expertise of the universal persona that everyone loves has come from the lessons of the fables, myths, parables, and fairy tales of my youth. In my defense, I have stripped off layers of my veneer as I have aged. Yet when caught off guard or vulnerable I resort to my old habits.
The siren calls of past accusations and reassurances then should have no relevant decision making skills because there is no truth for their judgments. The only knowledge was based on a mirage I created. Any information I receive from this source will only be a worn map to a location I never wanted to be at in the first place.
The downside of filtering out the misinformation is it reduces the options. More than any other reason, this is why I have been paralyzed in my decision-making skills. I am back at the water’s edge staring at the possibilities of a “bigger” life. I have realized I need to discard the past and commit to be honest with myself. The possibility for failure is as big as the bone in the reflection. So is the knowledge, this one’s on me.
A new theory is beginning to surface in my mind. All those childhood warnings, they were other people’s fears projected on me. I acknowledge the dangers of being so caught up in ones self you become a real life villain. I will offer up the argument though it takes a certain measure of selfishness to take care of you. This is my version of what really happened with the dog and the bone:
The dog was keeping his head down, resigned to his sub par life. He knew this path. Then he happened to catch his reflection of himself with a bigger bone. He became envious and obsessed with his past life and mistakes until he felt he had nothing left to lose. He dropped his bone, not to grab for the fiction of the past but to swim to the other side to uncharted territories. Sure, there may not be a bigger bone there and he could end up settling for a meager milk bone trail. The moral of the story is the dog embraced his own honesty and committed to himself and not someone else’s fairy tale.
I know I am no Aesop and if I am honest there is a need in a growing child’s mind for these tales. I have been drowning in the pond of adulthood though so maybe childhood lore is not going to see me through anymore. If I am ever going to leave the side of this reflecting pond I guess I better learn to swim …
As much as I am attracted to reflective items, I am well aware of the dangers of getting lost in reflecting. It is easy to pick yourself apart until there is nothing left to hang on to. I have succumbed to this self analyzing and have run an emotional gamut of discouragement, hopelessness, and finally a glimmer of optimism. I think it is human nature to want to shine; just existing is never enough. So I am going to attempt slipping on this shiny bit of armor and not get lost in dismal past performance. Today is an opportunity, as is every day and in my world slipping on an irresistible shoe is always a good start.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
I remember the Aesop’s Fable of the dog with the bone. He ends up tricked by the image of the bigger bone in the water. Jumping in of course, he does not get the fictitious bone and loses the one he had in his mouth in the process.
Fables, myths, parables, and fairy tales are cautionary lore to warn us of the dangers of human nature. This particular one is warning us of the perils of wanting too much and never being happy with what we have. We have judged the dog for being selfish and getting what he deserved…nothing.
I acknowledged the lesson long ago in the forming years of my youth. For the past two months though my own reflection of the bigger prize has memorized me. I have wavered between coveting and mocking the image for a long time. Yet in my reflection, there has been more than material gain to capture my attention.
The vapors of past dreams and desires have haunted me until I am convinced there is a direct correlation between my preoccupation of wanting more and my current situation. I have had a lifetime of half steps toward my gut instincts but have always rerouted as I focused on other’s destinations. If I had mapped out my own journey would I had been so entranced by this reflecting pool of doubt?
The knowledge I am fortunate enough to live in a world where on any given day I can start anew should be of an encouragement to me. Confronted by the consequences of being bewitched by reflecting and a self-induced silence, I know the facts. To make a change, I must embrace the two things I profess to endear but have become quite adept at manipulating: commitment and honesty.
Commitment. A Camelot ideology, which I simultaneously ridicule and yearn for. If such a state is entered into without guise or the expectation of profiteering, if it is tended to and allowed the space to grow and breath, the final product is invincible. To achieve this takes a compromise and a willingness to be selfless by all parties, which to its very core is against human nature.
In a commitment, is there really an equality or is there one party who is willing to be subservient? Is this choice made with trust that the dominate one will not abuse their power? In my world, I always find myself committing to a concept, which never addresses my needs. Only when I am suffocating do I relinquish the “prize” I so wanted to believe in. This leaves me not only envious at the success of others but also self-examining of my faulty selection process.
Honesty. This is one trait I insist and expect from anyone in my life - except myself. Oh, I try very hard never to lie; I know the benefits of keeping it real. My specialized deceit is never offering the truth in the first place. I have spent so many years perfecting the surface of my truth; I even believe it most the time. My expertise of the universal persona that everyone loves has come from the lessons of the fables, myths, parables, and fairy tales of my youth. In my defense, I have stripped off layers of my veneer as I have aged. Yet when caught off guard or vulnerable I resort to my old habits.
The siren calls of past accusations and reassurances then should have no relevant decision making skills because there is no truth for their judgments. The only knowledge was based on a mirage I created. Any information I receive from this source will only be a worn map to a location I never wanted to be at in the first place.
The downside of filtering out the misinformation is it reduces the options. More than any other reason, this is why I have been paralyzed in my decision-making skills. I am back at the water’s edge staring at the possibilities of a “bigger” life. I have realized I need to discard the past and commit to be honest with myself. The possibility for failure is as big as the bone in the reflection. So is the knowledge, this one’s on me.
A new theory is beginning to surface in my mind. All those childhood warnings, they were other people’s fears projected on me. I acknowledge the dangers of being so caught up in ones self you become a real life villain. I will offer up the argument though it takes a certain measure of selfishness to take care of you. This is my version of what really happened with the dog and the bone:
The dog was keeping his head down, resigned to his sub par life. He knew this path. Then he happened to catch his reflection of himself with a bigger bone. He became envious and obsessed with his past life and mistakes until he felt he had nothing left to lose. He dropped his bone, not to grab for the fiction of the past but to swim to the other side to uncharted territories. Sure, there may not be a bigger bone there and he could end up settling for a meager milk bone trail. The moral of the story is the dog embraced his own honesty and committed to himself and not someone else’s fairy tale.
I know I am no Aesop and if I am honest there is a need in a growing child’s mind for these tales. I have been drowning in the pond of adulthood though so maybe childhood lore is not going to see me through anymore. If I am ever going to leave the side of this reflecting pond I guess I better learn to swim …
Ashes to Ashes
These Calleen Cordero boots are not for those wishing to blend in. Of course it can be said the more you immerse yourself in a distinctive style, music, way of life the more you are just blending in. What first started as an effort to break free and become true to ourselves sometimes ends in a dedication to duplicity and we become followers anyway. Watching Amy Pettinella's play Ashes to Ashes, it was reinforced that individuality is a slippery slope, it isn't the choices you make in life which mold you into a better person it is the reasons why you made these decisions. If you are choosing a lifestyle just to hide you will never be free to be the real you regardless how bold you seem on the outside.
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It was a no get dressed Sunday and besides baking some banana bread and starting the chicken stock for supper’s chicken and noodle; I didn't have any concrete plans on purpose. Then I checked Facebook and saw I had an invite to see Amy’s play Ashes to Ashes which was part of the Spirit & Place Festival happening downtown. A rapid condensed version of what to wear and finding something to tame the bedhead and then we were sitting downtown thoroughly entertained.
Amy Pettinella is the author and director of the play. With her diminutive stature topped by a cascade of curls, quick smile, and a boundless inner source of energy, she reminds me of an ageless sprite. Beyond just being passionate about the humanity side of the arts, she never passes a chance up to create, encourage, or share her love with others.
I met her for the first time at the Irving Theater attending a Segment of Society presentation of Rachael Sage. Rachael had promised freebies to any audience member who showed up in glitter attire. Amy and I were the only ones willing to play along. That chance meeting garnered me an invite to her house concerts in The Beat Lounge and then meeting some amazing talented musicians and artists.
First let’s do the facts straight from the playbill: The talented cast is listed below.
Doug Powers: Asher Doug is an accomplished actor and director. His recent include Rebecca, Rabbit Hole, Apartment 3A, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and Quills. He dedicates his portrayal of Asher to the memory of his own father and to his daughter.
Duke Thomas Low: Cade A veteran of nearly 100 stage productions, commercials, and the television miniseries Bluegrass with Cheryl Ladd, (Amy made him include that) Duke comes to this show with a solid base experience and a true love of the art. He is also a published poet and a singer/songwriter. Before taking on this role he thought the Grateful Dead was a heavy metal band. He thanks his wife, Kinga, for her steadfast love and support.
Irene Bublik: A linguist by trade and U.S. citizen by choice, Irene welcomes this opportunity to play Dixie along with the exceptional actors of this cast. Favorite roles include a tortured political prisoner, a Holocaust survivor and a fortune teller. She would like to thank Amy for her patience and creativity because only a creative and fearless director would make actors rehearse speaking two different languages at the same time.
Amanda Grube: Patient Amanda is a director and actress and has most recently appeared in From Dark Pages and Troubleshoot. She holds a degree in Theatre from the University of Southern Indiana and currently works for Goodwill Industries. She is excited to work with this talented cast and appreciates Amy letting her take part in the production.
Amy Pettinella: \Writer/Director Amy’s original plays have been produced in Indy, Cincinnati, Atlanta, and Chicago. She thanks Pauline Moffat and IndyFringe for their support as well as the talented cast for their hard work.
Twilight Productions Presents Ashes to Ashes
“A man returns to his childhood lake house a year after his mother’s death to help his estranged Deadhead father spread her ashes but is distressed to find him with another woman. When a secret is revealed about the mother’s death, both men must face the truth–and lies-of their colorful yet troubled past. “Ashes to Ashes” premiered at IndyFringe 2010 and was an official selection of Chicago Fringe 2012.”
Amy tightly wound a yarn of laughter, pop culture reference points, and the different layers one builds to self-protect and then lets her stellar cast pull the strands out one by one until the stage darkens for the last time. Opening the play is a perspective plastic surgery patient who is trying to fix her broken heart by becoming a perfect specimen and a doctor who is pleading sanity maybe more to himself than her. Flash forward to the father and son, at opposite ends of the life choices spectrum, which were actually much more similar than they knew. Throw in Dixie, a silent spectator of a family struggle to offer her bits of wisdom and this was entertaining albeit emotional slice of life.
I personally laughed and shed some tears, as the characters struggled with age old human condition issues. I became invested and of course as I always do, silently cheered for a happy ending. It had me spending the rest of my afternoon thinking most people would benefit greatly from the simple act of closure. To do that though you have to strip away protective layers which would leave vulnerability most of us just won’t risk.
On a side note, I would like to implore my tiny little audience to get out there and see some of this amazing indie talent out there. While walking out, Roger and I both commented we need to get out and see more of these plays. I can make several arguments, some of them even reasonable. The tickets to this play were $10 which one could say is very cheap entertainment in today’s economy of the five dollar latte. Of course what happens in this and most of the shows I attend is a soul enriching experience. We live in a society where we are constantly being asked to dumb down to pass our idle time. Yet under all this drivel is a thriving artist community who write, paint, creates, sing, play instruments and dream the big dreams. Be brave and come out to dream with them once in a while.
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It was a no get dressed Sunday and besides baking some banana bread and starting the chicken stock for supper’s chicken and noodle; I didn't have any concrete plans on purpose. Then I checked Facebook and saw I had an invite to see Amy’s play Ashes to Ashes which was part of the Spirit & Place Festival happening downtown. A rapid condensed version of what to wear and finding something to tame the bedhead and then we were sitting downtown thoroughly entertained.
Amy Pettinella is the author and director of the play. With her diminutive stature topped by a cascade of curls, quick smile, and a boundless inner source of energy, she reminds me of an ageless sprite. Beyond just being passionate about the humanity side of the arts, she never passes a chance up to create, encourage, or share her love with others.
I met her for the first time at the Irving Theater attending a Segment of Society presentation of Rachael Sage. Rachael had promised freebies to any audience member who showed up in glitter attire. Amy and I were the only ones willing to play along. That chance meeting garnered me an invite to her house concerts in The Beat Lounge and then meeting some amazing talented musicians and artists.
First let’s do the facts straight from the playbill: The talented cast is listed below.
Doug Powers: Asher Doug is an accomplished actor and director. His recent include Rebecca, Rabbit Hole, Apartment 3A, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and Quills. He dedicates his portrayal of Asher to the memory of his own father and to his daughter.
Duke Thomas Low: Cade A veteran of nearly 100 stage productions, commercials, and the television miniseries Bluegrass with Cheryl Ladd, (Amy made him include that) Duke comes to this show with a solid base experience and a true love of the art. He is also a published poet and a singer/songwriter. Before taking on this role he thought the Grateful Dead was a heavy metal band. He thanks his wife, Kinga, for her steadfast love and support.
Irene Bublik: A linguist by trade and U.S. citizen by choice, Irene welcomes this opportunity to play Dixie along with the exceptional actors of this cast. Favorite roles include a tortured political prisoner, a Holocaust survivor and a fortune teller. She would like to thank Amy for her patience and creativity because only a creative and fearless director would make actors rehearse speaking two different languages at the same time.
Amanda Grube: Patient Amanda is a director and actress and has most recently appeared in From Dark Pages and Troubleshoot. She holds a degree in Theatre from the University of Southern Indiana and currently works for Goodwill Industries. She is excited to work with this talented cast and appreciates Amy letting her take part in the production.
Amy Pettinella: \Writer/Director Amy’s original plays have been produced in Indy, Cincinnati, Atlanta, and Chicago. She thanks Pauline Moffat and IndyFringe for their support as well as the talented cast for their hard work.
Twilight Productions Presents Ashes to Ashes
“A man returns to his childhood lake house a year after his mother’s death to help his estranged Deadhead father spread her ashes but is distressed to find him with another woman. When a secret is revealed about the mother’s death, both men must face the truth–and lies-of their colorful yet troubled past. “Ashes to Ashes” premiered at IndyFringe 2010 and was an official selection of Chicago Fringe 2012.”
Amy tightly wound a yarn of laughter, pop culture reference points, and the different layers one builds to self-protect and then lets her stellar cast pull the strands out one by one until the stage darkens for the last time. Opening the play is a perspective plastic surgery patient who is trying to fix her broken heart by becoming a perfect specimen and a doctor who is pleading sanity maybe more to himself than her. Flash forward to the father and son, at opposite ends of the life choices spectrum, which were actually much more similar than they knew. Throw in Dixie, a silent spectator of a family struggle to offer her bits of wisdom and this was entertaining albeit emotional slice of life.
I personally laughed and shed some tears, as the characters struggled with age old human condition issues. I became invested and of course as I always do, silently cheered for a happy ending. It had me spending the rest of my afternoon thinking most people would benefit greatly from the simple act of closure. To do that though you have to strip away protective layers which would leave vulnerability most of us just won’t risk.
On a side note, I would like to implore my tiny little audience to get out there and see some of this amazing indie talent out there. While walking out, Roger and I both commented we need to get out and see more of these plays. I can make several arguments, some of them even reasonable. The tickets to this play were $10 which one could say is very cheap entertainment in today’s economy of the five dollar latte. Of course what happens in this and most of the shows I attend is a soul enriching experience. We live in a society where we are constantly being asked to dumb down to pass our idle time. Yet under all this drivel is a thriving artist community who write, paint, creates, sing, play instruments and dream the big dreams. Be brave and come out to dream with them once in a while.
Roses, Moonbows, and a Bread Tie
The shoes are by Charlotte Olympia and are titled how appropriately "Love Me". Like a romantic comedy or for me today, a ballad by Carly Simon, it just seems all so easy doesn't it. Just slip love on like a beautiful fun pair of shoes and hi-step into the sunset. Be you woman, man, or beast don't we want the same thing. Warm hugs, secret smiles, a safe harbor when the world just sucks? So it should be easy right? I always wondered if personal agendas took precedent over love these days. Now I am considering maybe it like a perfect shoe, regardless how pretty it looks it is advisable if this is intended for the long haul, there needs to be a correct fit.
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The gamble of falling in love; once a lifetime ago I was fearless and more than eager to jump in with both feet because come on guys!! It’s LOVE we are talking about. Look to the right and tell me it's not pretty! Now I am wise, cautious, and maybe a touch jaded. So many scenarios need to be played out into my head as I contemplate such a leap of faith. I am a hard evidence kind of girl … I want to see proof that real love is even obtainable these days because there is a lot at stake; mainly my heart and let’s not bullshit here. Stake and heart never turn out well in any circumstances when combined. So I use my strength as a serial observer; okay a stalker and eavesdropper if you prefer to give myself the background to make an everlasting decision. Because let’s face it, who wants to half ass something that could be so life enriching if it’s true?
The closest indication may just be what kind of a gift giver you are considering? Okay, did your mind just capture one of those sickening diamond ads that we will soon become inundated with because holiday season is fast approaching? You know which ones I am talking about … where you can totally disrespect the woman you love or guarantee her forever devotion if the rock you buy is sparkly enough. If these ads are true is it any wonder the majority of our politicians think we are whores who need their bodies regulated by government? Sorry, I digress, back on topic.
A gift should not be about the amount of money you need to spend, the show off value, or even the day of a year. It should be about knowing what puts the same smile on ones face as when they think of you. This is of course takes more work than being a consumer, which is why we always have things for our local goodwill and a staggering divorce rate.
I know I drag my feet and try to be fearlessly protective of my heart but I still am a true believer. I have had boyfriends since I was twelve and could tell you a short positive blurb on each of them which would make their mamma’s smile. In my jewelry stash I even have some mementoes from some of those relationships. But the one that makes me smile the most? The summer before my freshman year, I taught a bible school class to the preschoolers. For a week, we did simple crafts, sang songs, and learned simple verses. One day as we fixed sandwiches for lunch, Jeremy, one of the preschoolers made a ring out of the bread tie and gave it to me and said he was going to marry me. I, of course, still have the bread tie.
I revert back to my favorite happily-ever-after couple; my grandparents. Did Grandpa ever promise her a rose garden? I don’t know really, they were an old and established married couple with an archaic set of values by the time I was born. What I do know is my Grandma loved roses and he grew a garden of them instead of delivering her an expensive dozen every holiday. I like to imagine her standing at the picture window and seeing that silent gruff man of hers stooped over those flowers as he coaxed them into splendor just for her. Not because they looked good to the people who drove by but because they were her favorites and made her smile.
Last weekend I was at Steve and Cindy’s house for a supper and campfire. These two are a rare find who enrich the lives of anyone they come into contact with. Cindy was telling us they were getting ready to go to Cumberland Falls, Kentucky to see the Moonbow. Steve did the usual guy thing of rolling his eyes and poking fun but Cindy excited the majority of us with the magic bucket list wish of hers. Talking to her earlier this week, I found out there was not a moonbow because of the clouds; but she is already working on Steve for another trip. There is the sappy romantic in me almost melting imagining these two people who are great grandparents and still chasing rainbows, err moonbows together.
I guess what I am trying to point out is sometimes we get lost in our gift giving and it becomes about the giver not the recipient. We tend to want to give the gift that is talked about the most, not the one which brings a quiet acknowledgment; this is the one who knows me the most and STILL loves me. The fact is the underlying result of gift giving should be the love for the recipient.
I know there are another set of facts under the fearful statistics and bitterness of failed love. Probably because this is what I look for; I see couples of all ages holding hands in public, dining couples with their heads almost touching as they converse instead of checking their phones, and overhear conversations of people talking in feigned sarcastic tones on what they are doing to make their partner happy. These aren’t the things that are broadcasted to friends and co-workers but these are the gifts that stay with us long after diamonds lose their shine and gold tarnishes.
A gift to one should be as random and heartfelt as the emotion of love. It should not be demeaned by its price tag or bragging value. So how can the bread tie be one of those perfect gifts? It was the exchange of a pure emotion to a fellow believer. I am sure this kid does not even remember my name but I think of him always with a smile. I hope young Jeremy is a happy man somewhere out there with a beautiful woman who also smiles whenever she thinks of him. This is much more important than what he will buy her this holiday season.
And for me? Is there another bread tie man out there for me? I have never preferred roses, diamonds, or rainbow chasing and to be honest I make a lousy wife. I have spent half my life fighting, kicking, and screaming for just my share. These days I am into laughter and the calm respect if not agreement. I want the things you can't find in a store; I don't want items as much as experiences, the ones that you never forget. To be perfectly honest, I am doing a lot of smiling these days and I don’t think I need much more.
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The gamble of falling in love; once a lifetime ago I was fearless and more than eager to jump in with both feet because come on guys!! It’s LOVE we are talking about. Look to the right and tell me it's not pretty! Now I am wise, cautious, and maybe a touch jaded. So many scenarios need to be played out into my head as I contemplate such a leap of faith. I am a hard evidence kind of girl … I want to see proof that real love is even obtainable these days because there is a lot at stake; mainly my heart and let’s not bullshit here. Stake and heart never turn out well in any circumstances when combined. So I use my strength as a serial observer; okay a stalker and eavesdropper if you prefer to give myself the background to make an everlasting decision. Because let’s face it, who wants to half ass something that could be so life enriching if it’s true?
The closest indication may just be what kind of a gift giver you are considering? Okay, did your mind just capture one of those sickening diamond ads that we will soon become inundated with because holiday season is fast approaching? You know which ones I am talking about … where you can totally disrespect the woman you love or guarantee her forever devotion if the rock you buy is sparkly enough. If these ads are true is it any wonder the majority of our politicians think we are whores who need their bodies regulated by government? Sorry, I digress, back on topic.
A gift should not be about the amount of money you need to spend, the show off value, or even the day of a year. It should be about knowing what puts the same smile on ones face as when they think of you. This is of course takes more work than being a consumer, which is why we always have things for our local goodwill and a staggering divorce rate.
I know I drag my feet and try to be fearlessly protective of my heart but I still am a true believer. I have had boyfriends since I was twelve and could tell you a short positive blurb on each of them which would make their mamma’s smile. In my jewelry stash I even have some mementoes from some of those relationships. But the one that makes me smile the most? The summer before my freshman year, I taught a bible school class to the preschoolers. For a week, we did simple crafts, sang songs, and learned simple verses. One day as we fixed sandwiches for lunch, Jeremy, one of the preschoolers made a ring out of the bread tie and gave it to me and said he was going to marry me. I, of course, still have the bread tie.
I revert back to my favorite happily-ever-after couple; my grandparents. Did Grandpa ever promise her a rose garden? I don’t know really, they were an old and established married couple with an archaic set of values by the time I was born. What I do know is my Grandma loved roses and he grew a garden of them instead of delivering her an expensive dozen every holiday. I like to imagine her standing at the picture window and seeing that silent gruff man of hers stooped over those flowers as he coaxed them into splendor just for her. Not because they looked good to the people who drove by but because they were her favorites and made her smile.
Last weekend I was at Steve and Cindy’s house for a supper and campfire. These two are a rare find who enrich the lives of anyone they come into contact with. Cindy was telling us they were getting ready to go to Cumberland Falls, Kentucky to see the Moonbow. Steve did the usual guy thing of rolling his eyes and poking fun but Cindy excited the majority of us with the magic bucket list wish of hers. Talking to her earlier this week, I found out there was not a moonbow because of the clouds; but she is already working on Steve for another trip. There is the sappy romantic in me almost melting imagining these two people who are great grandparents and still chasing rainbows, err moonbows together.
I guess what I am trying to point out is sometimes we get lost in our gift giving and it becomes about the giver not the recipient. We tend to want to give the gift that is talked about the most, not the one which brings a quiet acknowledgment; this is the one who knows me the most and STILL loves me. The fact is the underlying result of gift giving should be the love for the recipient.
I know there are another set of facts under the fearful statistics and bitterness of failed love. Probably because this is what I look for; I see couples of all ages holding hands in public, dining couples with their heads almost touching as they converse instead of checking their phones, and overhear conversations of people talking in feigned sarcastic tones on what they are doing to make their partner happy. These aren’t the things that are broadcasted to friends and co-workers but these are the gifts that stay with us long after diamonds lose their shine and gold tarnishes.
A gift to one should be as random and heartfelt as the emotion of love. It should not be demeaned by its price tag or bragging value. So how can the bread tie be one of those perfect gifts? It was the exchange of a pure emotion to a fellow believer. I am sure this kid does not even remember my name but I think of him always with a smile. I hope young Jeremy is a happy man somewhere out there with a beautiful woman who also smiles whenever she thinks of him. This is much more important than what he will buy her this holiday season.
And for me? Is there another bread tie man out there for me? I have never preferred roses, diamonds, or rainbow chasing and to be honest I make a lousy wife. I have spent half my life fighting, kicking, and screaming for just my share. These days I am into laughter and the calm respect if not agreement. I want the things you can't find in a store; I don't want items as much as experiences, the ones that you never forget. To be perfectly honest, I am doing a lot of smiling these days and I don’t think I need much more.
The Hangdog Hearts and the Magic of Invention
These steam punk inspired Hades' "Steam Machine" ankle strap metal screw heel platform pumps $138 are a perfect match for "The Hangdog Hearts". There is something romantic but progressive about an age of exploration when people flocked to world fairs to see the marvels dreamers built in their garage workshops. "The Hangdog Hearts" has Austin Stirling at the helm tinkering with his craft to produce music which has a life of its own. At first glance it is antiquated feel but as he delves into your subconsciousness your respect for his music grows. Incredible in its paltry form as a song; its powers are magnified upon seeing the show live. Open your minds and hearts, slip on your fearless inventiveness and come meet this band.
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The best part of being a fan of the local music scene is the surprises. There are sentimental favorites of mine which I try to go see on a semi-regular basis. Because most venues book four to five bands a night; they are usually book ended by bands I have not heard of. There are times when an unknown sits me back in my seat and all I can say is “wow”! The Hangdog Hearts is the most recent band to steal my admiration.
We were two bands into the night at "Locals Only" and I will admit I was routing for the band to be good when I saw them set up the stage with a banjo, trumpet and standup bass. What I couldn’t see or be prepared for was Austin Stirling’s passionate voice. I have tried to describe it to my friends as “The God Voice”, meaning he could narrate the omniscient. Confused? Think Morgan Freeman, now you get the reference point, right?
After the small dose of seeing them, we were very anxious to attend their CD release party, even though it was in Plainfield and outside on a chilly evening. I can tell you I was probably more nervous than the band. Were they as good as I originally thought? I had been listening to them beforehand on YouTube but local talent can be irregular. One night they are spot on and other nights you wonder if you were intoxicated when you thought they were awesome. I was rooting for this band to be what I remembered because I had really fallen for their music.
Early on in the show I leaned over to Roger, the only one else I know who will sit through shows and be open to the good, bad, or ugly without complaints, and said this is “Gospel” music. Not as in contemporary worship music - but a tent revival of the “Religion of Music”. The base is primitive, building with a fever, and every member of the band is not above testifying. Almost overloading the senses, you can feel the music vibrate through your body, Austin’s voice is sharp as his words, and Adam Reiss the trumpet and cello player can barely keep himself on stage. With the combination stellar abilities of the upright bass, trumpet, cello, mean tambourine, driving beat of drums, and the sometimes guttural sounds from Austin, I felt as if I were in an old time minstrel show and there would be commercial breaks complete with cure-all-elixir sales.
When I contacted Austin to set up an interview; I was greatly disappointed when he told me “The Hangdog Hearts” would be continuing on as a solo act. I wanted to protest and even was reconsidering the interview but I am always an optimist when it comes to music and the people who create. I am just a lowly fan; I wanted to hear the whys and hows of him continuing as a solo act and still be someone I wanted to stalk.
The band has had revolving members since its inception, which by the way has only been a year. The CD release party of the four consisted of Austin Stirling, vocals, banjo and guitar; Greg Manfredi on upright bass; Adam Reiss on trumpet, cello and tambourine; and Cristian Riquelme on drums.
The reason for Austin’s venture out as a soloist basically comes down to commitment. One of the first things I noticed about Austin is he doesn’t half ass anything; if he takes on a project he gives the proverbial one hundred and ten percent. His “band” consisted of serious artists who were already committed to their own projects. Greg Manfredi plays upright in Harley Poe and Cristian Riquelme plays drums in Harley Poe and is the lead singer in The Innocent Boys.
Austin is far from discouraged or even hesitant; he is embracing his upcoming solo act as “the natural next stage” in his pursuit of this musical journey. The word ‘natural’ is important to him. This is not a childhood dream he is following but more of a deep seated need, I personally do not think he could ever stop writing and playing at this point. Still at the experimental stage, he is testing his abilities and pushing this raw talent of his to see what the final product will be.
Austin didn’t grow up in a musical family or background. Athletics were the focus; he was a boxer and a kick boxer continuing to compete into college. Even though his dad bought him a guitar when he was thirteen, he didn’t pick it up until well into his college years. Music wasn’t even an influence in his childhood, just a background noise he really didn’t pay attention to.
It wasn’t until college, when Austin ended up calling upon a creative muse to feed a hunger inside of him. Not sure how to quell this unrelenting demand, he learned the guitar and started writing prolifically in journals. Experimenting with various friends, he didn’t consider himself a musician or couldn’t imagine where this would lead him.
Then the opportunity came to lead a worship band. For three years he was in the Christian heavy metal genre with revolving members and he honed his lead singer skills. This is the first time his family saw him perform and realized he had musical abilities. Once he thought he took it as far as it could go, he walked away. "The Hangdog Hearts" was formed on the insistence of Stevie, his girlfriend, because she recognized he needed something to fill the void of not honoring or singing to God. Could he take this new found expression out of it's regimented structure and still be true?
A year of performing with various members evolved into a CD release party at Three Pints Brewpub with around three hundred people in attendance. While there, I noticed the tight family unit he had around him. From his parents to his five year old son to many what seemed to me as longtime friends of his; I asked him how many people were like me and just fans he picked up on the way. He admitted he is fortunate in the fact he does have a great following that discover him and then are loyal listeners who eagerly show up to support him.
So the next inevitable question is ‘what’s next’? He calls his upcoming solo act as Plan C. He never intended to be doing this. He has a real job as a contracting supervisor, which is a high pressure job he enjoys and isn't shy to acknowledge he is good at. Yet he is planning a four to five week tour in April where he will travel down south and then go up the east coast. He receives a number of emails requesting him to play and even an offer from Nashville to record. In his zealousness to protect his passion, he is very selective and not afraid to decline offers which might compromise his vision of what he is trying to do. It isn’t stardom he is searching for; the truth in musical form is what I think is his quest.
Austin is carefully planning his solo act around his banjo which is strung like a guitar, and percussion kit, his aggressive voice and those words which he hones to a razor’s edge at times. There is an almost careless nature in his ability to play with this abundance of talent he possesses. He isn’t scared of taking chances and doesn’t try to mimic anything else out there. Over the past year he has wrote over sixty songs and has only played about twenty with a band. As a solo act he will have the freedom to stretch into his own. He knows he plays a roots vein of music but tell him he sounds like Mumford and Sons and you can sense his irritation. There is no “just” in being himself; he has no intentions on joining the mainstream.
I had to question him about a particular song, so I asked him what was up with “Terra Haute”. Then I explained to him, I sensed a caustic judgment in this song which wasn’t a mainstay in his other songs. He explained he went to school in Indiana State University and has worked there on sites on a couple of occasions. It got to the point as the upcoming exit approached he would be filled with a soul-darkening dread. The song is not so much as a tongue lashing for the city but broad strokes of societal deficiencies. Unlike his other songs, it is unbridled anger and we touched on the fact what other people have to say about his music. He said his mother asks occasionally why his lyrics have to be so angry. He has had former church members accuse him of no longer honoring God with his talent.
This brought up the subject of his noticeable faith. On the night of the release party he had a pitcher of water brought out to him. I asked him if this was because he was performing. He doesn’t drink, never has. It’s a personal choice he made long ago as an admission to himself this could be a possible self-destructive device he would rather not partake in. Now don't get the wrong impression here. Austin's faith is important to him; but it is more focused on his personal journey to being the man he should be rather than the judging of others. He doesn’t buy into the organized religion and feels he is not turning his back on God with his interpretation of the world through his music.
In a blunt unpretentious statement, he told me he wasn’t entirely happy with the self-titled CD he just released. I can honestly say I was a bit taken back by the statement. He explained it was mixed too flawlessly; it wasn’t as “dirty” as he wanted it. After the interview I took the CD home and listened to it. From beginning to end, this is not-a-bad-song and addicting release. It’s only fault is as Austin indicated; it’s not as good as the live version. I wouldn’t default any of the people who helped make this gem, I would blame it on the human inability to bottle passion. For this is what makes “The Hangdog Hearts” a band you want to see again and again. Austin takes the concrete truth of his performance to sing songs of visionary quests. Every song with the exception of the above mentioned “Terre Haute” leaves an ache as you are pulled into the search with him. This being said, I always have a sense of hopefulness undercurrent in his songs. Purchasing the CD from CD Baby might be the smartest thing you have done with your money in a while. Then when you think you can’t love this sound anymore, hunt him down and see him live.
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The best part of being a fan of the local music scene is the surprises. There are sentimental favorites of mine which I try to go see on a semi-regular basis. Because most venues book four to five bands a night; they are usually book ended by bands I have not heard of. There are times when an unknown sits me back in my seat and all I can say is “wow”! The Hangdog Hearts is the most recent band to steal my admiration.
We were two bands into the night at "Locals Only" and I will admit I was routing for the band to be good when I saw them set up the stage with a banjo, trumpet and standup bass. What I couldn’t see or be prepared for was Austin Stirling’s passionate voice. I have tried to describe it to my friends as “The God Voice”, meaning he could narrate the omniscient. Confused? Think Morgan Freeman, now you get the reference point, right?
After the small dose of seeing them, we were very anxious to attend their CD release party, even though it was in Plainfield and outside on a chilly evening. I can tell you I was probably more nervous than the band. Were they as good as I originally thought? I had been listening to them beforehand on YouTube but local talent can be irregular. One night they are spot on and other nights you wonder if you were intoxicated when you thought they were awesome. I was rooting for this band to be what I remembered because I had really fallen for their music.
Early on in the show I leaned over to Roger, the only one else I know who will sit through shows and be open to the good, bad, or ugly without complaints, and said this is “Gospel” music. Not as in contemporary worship music - but a tent revival of the “Religion of Music”. The base is primitive, building with a fever, and every member of the band is not above testifying. Almost overloading the senses, you can feel the music vibrate through your body, Austin’s voice is sharp as his words, and Adam Reiss the trumpet and cello player can barely keep himself on stage. With the combination stellar abilities of the upright bass, trumpet, cello, mean tambourine, driving beat of drums, and the sometimes guttural sounds from Austin, I felt as if I were in an old time minstrel show and there would be commercial breaks complete with cure-all-elixir sales.
When I contacted Austin to set up an interview; I was greatly disappointed when he told me “The Hangdog Hearts” would be continuing on as a solo act. I wanted to protest and even was reconsidering the interview but I am always an optimist when it comes to music and the people who create. I am just a lowly fan; I wanted to hear the whys and hows of him continuing as a solo act and still be someone I wanted to stalk.
The band has had revolving members since its inception, which by the way has only been a year. The CD release party of the four consisted of Austin Stirling, vocals, banjo and guitar; Greg Manfredi on upright bass; Adam Reiss on trumpet, cello and tambourine; and Cristian Riquelme on drums.
The reason for Austin’s venture out as a soloist basically comes down to commitment. One of the first things I noticed about Austin is he doesn’t half ass anything; if he takes on a project he gives the proverbial one hundred and ten percent. His “band” consisted of serious artists who were already committed to their own projects. Greg Manfredi plays upright in Harley Poe and Cristian Riquelme plays drums in Harley Poe and is the lead singer in The Innocent Boys.
Austin is far from discouraged or even hesitant; he is embracing his upcoming solo act as “the natural next stage” in his pursuit of this musical journey. The word ‘natural’ is important to him. This is not a childhood dream he is following but more of a deep seated need, I personally do not think he could ever stop writing and playing at this point. Still at the experimental stage, he is testing his abilities and pushing this raw talent of his to see what the final product will be.
Austin didn’t grow up in a musical family or background. Athletics were the focus; he was a boxer and a kick boxer continuing to compete into college. Even though his dad bought him a guitar when he was thirteen, he didn’t pick it up until well into his college years. Music wasn’t even an influence in his childhood, just a background noise he really didn’t pay attention to.
It wasn’t until college, when Austin ended up calling upon a creative muse to feed a hunger inside of him. Not sure how to quell this unrelenting demand, he learned the guitar and started writing prolifically in journals. Experimenting with various friends, he didn’t consider himself a musician or couldn’t imagine where this would lead him.
Then the opportunity came to lead a worship band. For three years he was in the Christian heavy metal genre with revolving members and he honed his lead singer skills. This is the first time his family saw him perform and realized he had musical abilities. Once he thought he took it as far as it could go, he walked away. "The Hangdog Hearts" was formed on the insistence of Stevie, his girlfriend, because she recognized he needed something to fill the void of not honoring or singing to God. Could he take this new found expression out of it's regimented structure and still be true?
A year of performing with various members evolved into a CD release party at Three Pints Brewpub with around three hundred people in attendance. While there, I noticed the tight family unit he had around him. From his parents to his five year old son to many what seemed to me as longtime friends of his; I asked him how many people were like me and just fans he picked up on the way. He admitted he is fortunate in the fact he does have a great following that discover him and then are loyal listeners who eagerly show up to support him.
So the next inevitable question is ‘what’s next’? He calls his upcoming solo act as Plan C. He never intended to be doing this. He has a real job as a contracting supervisor, which is a high pressure job he enjoys and isn't shy to acknowledge he is good at. Yet he is planning a four to five week tour in April where he will travel down south and then go up the east coast. He receives a number of emails requesting him to play and even an offer from Nashville to record. In his zealousness to protect his passion, he is very selective and not afraid to decline offers which might compromise his vision of what he is trying to do. It isn’t stardom he is searching for; the truth in musical form is what I think is his quest.
Austin is carefully planning his solo act around his banjo which is strung like a guitar, and percussion kit, his aggressive voice and those words which he hones to a razor’s edge at times. There is an almost careless nature in his ability to play with this abundance of talent he possesses. He isn’t scared of taking chances and doesn’t try to mimic anything else out there. Over the past year he has wrote over sixty songs and has only played about twenty with a band. As a solo act he will have the freedom to stretch into his own. He knows he plays a roots vein of music but tell him he sounds like Mumford and Sons and you can sense his irritation. There is no “just” in being himself; he has no intentions on joining the mainstream.
I had to question him about a particular song, so I asked him what was up with “Terra Haute”. Then I explained to him, I sensed a caustic judgment in this song which wasn’t a mainstay in his other songs. He explained he went to school in Indiana State University and has worked there on sites on a couple of occasions. It got to the point as the upcoming exit approached he would be filled with a soul-darkening dread. The song is not so much as a tongue lashing for the city but broad strokes of societal deficiencies. Unlike his other songs, it is unbridled anger and we touched on the fact what other people have to say about his music. He said his mother asks occasionally why his lyrics have to be so angry. He has had former church members accuse him of no longer honoring God with his talent.
This brought up the subject of his noticeable faith. On the night of the release party he had a pitcher of water brought out to him. I asked him if this was because he was performing. He doesn’t drink, never has. It’s a personal choice he made long ago as an admission to himself this could be a possible self-destructive device he would rather not partake in. Now don't get the wrong impression here. Austin's faith is important to him; but it is more focused on his personal journey to being the man he should be rather than the judging of others. He doesn’t buy into the organized religion and feels he is not turning his back on God with his interpretation of the world through his music.
In a blunt unpretentious statement, he told me he wasn’t entirely happy with the self-titled CD he just released. I can honestly say I was a bit taken back by the statement. He explained it was mixed too flawlessly; it wasn’t as “dirty” as he wanted it. After the interview I took the CD home and listened to it. From beginning to end, this is not-a-bad-song and addicting release. It’s only fault is as Austin indicated; it’s not as good as the live version. I wouldn’t default any of the people who helped make this gem, I would blame it on the human inability to bottle passion. For this is what makes “The Hangdog Hearts” a band you want to see again and again. Austin takes the concrete truth of his performance to sing songs of visionary quests. Every song with the exception of the above mentioned “Terre Haute” leaves an ache as you are pulled into the search with him. This being said, I always have a sense of hopefulness undercurrent in his songs. Purchasing the CD from CD Baby might be the smartest thing you have done with your money in a while. Then when you think you can’t love this sound anymore, hunt him down and see him live.
Sparkles and an Autumn Wish
These sparkling beauties are New York Charm by Kate Spade. Starting off as a fashion writer inspired this Kansas City native to put her mark on the fashion world. First it was her handbags which women coveted but she has since branched into other fashion must haves. As the picture depicts, Kate Spade has a way with building from clean simple lines and layers until boom! Another shoe that I can dream about. This has it all for me; peeps, bows, and sparkles with a tiny hint of pink accent. If I had the chance to interview Kate Spade, I think I would wait until my legs stopped shaking and I could breathe normally and then ask what she makes her wishes on.
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Sparkles. Pink. Cotton Candy. Anything fuzzy and soft to touch. These are things that make me embrace the little girl inside who likes to play. And wish with an abandonment of a true believer. For if I were to be hooked to a lie detector, I would confess even when backhanded by life repeatedly, I do believe wishes come true.
Yet I know wishing is not only dangerous because it encourages a risk to yourself to believe but also because nonbelievers are quick to discourage. You don’t believe me? Pick a dandelion fluff in front of a over-achieving lawns man with his perfect manicured yard. Then blow. Your dreams and wishes could spawn hundreds of obnoxious sunny yellow weeds in his yard. No, not everyone is a fan of wishes. Thankfully, I have always embraced the rebellious nature of my dreams.
There is nothing like my compulsive need to make wishes to take me back to the ideological dreams of youth. Be it a fluffed dandelion waiting my breath to float its dozen of wishes on the wind, an eyelash on my finger, the clasp of a necklace needing rotated, or a shooting star - all are good reasons to whisper dreams to the universe. My wishes today aren’t as fervent as in the past. In fact recently I have caught myself hesitating before I blew my desires across the landscape.
What do I wish for? Why do I put such stock in a frivolous action? It is not as if there aren’t many opportunities to make wishes. Nor do I have a fairy godmother on standby waiting to bean me over the head with her magical wand to make all my fantasies come true. Still I catch myself using discretion with all the possibilities.
Why? Have I lost my bravado? Or is the selfishness of youth thankfully slipping away? I don’t give myself that much credit. I honestly think I will always be grasping greedily at obtaining my own personal happiness.
So now we are back to the fall approaching like death riding the apocalyptical horse. Standing in defiance is a lone dandelion clutching its seeds against a grabbing wind, waiting for me to dream. I appreciate this whimsical gift to my soul even as I hesitate.
I think my self imposed pause is just to clarify my greedy wish. I am requesting nothing but forever these days. Is there even a remote possibility of the granting of this wish? No. I just figure since I am wishing and not ordering a happy meal at a drive thru - I should go big.
What is my pining for eternity about? I’m not really requesting the gods’ immortality in human form. I am asking the universe for much more. I am asking for the promise of spring even as winter prepares to kill yard wishes for a season.
It is not spring as in the season; I want the fountain of youth spring to continue in my soul. I never want to lose my human awe of a walk with the elements buffeting me. Be it wind, sun, rain, or the scent of a new day, I want to always be strong enough to lift my face in reception of such gifts.
I want my children to always be young, fearless, and crazy enough to dream - forever. I know these beautiful people who started in my womb will age and be burdened by the grime of life. I acknowledge their hearts will be broken and they will accumulate battle scars as they are life’s journeymen. My wish for them is for the willingness to wake up everyday with the optimism of youth. To grasp the reality of knowing every injustice is reversible if they can cry for someone else’s pain. I do not just want them to live; I want them to absorb and replenish this earth as they continue to grow.
I wish for all the beautiful people in my life to revel in the unique quirks which make them irreplaceable in my life. This will guarantee their eyes will always snap and their smiles will be quick on the draw. As our social circles expand and shrink due to our life travels, I hope we can embrace the goodbyes with the realization no one ever really leaves without a lasting imprint.
Maybe I am not requesting forever. It could be I am cajoling that life shines for me. Not in the form of success, wealth, or diamonds in the sky. I am demanding quality to be offered with the my assurance I will reciprocate with all my senses to enjoy the everlasting gift. I will see the field of dandelion fluff, touch the wet of diamonds in the dew of the grass, and follow the path of a shooting star which leads to my front door of this heaven on earth. My body, thoughts, dreams, and desires, are the fruition of all the wishes I have asked for. Until my last breath, I want to grasp the magic in my world. Forever. Yup, I think that is the perfect wish to put out there.
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Sparkles. Pink. Cotton Candy. Anything fuzzy and soft to touch. These are things that make me embrace the little girl inside who likes to play. And wish with an abandonment of a true believer. For if I were to be hooked to a lie detector, I would confess even when backhanded by life repeatedly, I do believe wishes come true.
Yet I know wishing is not only dangerous because it encourages a risk to yourself to believe but also because nonbelievers are quick to discourage. You don’t believe me? Pick a dandelion fluff in front of a over-achieving lawns man with his perfect manicured yard. Then blow. Your dreams and wishes could spawn hundreds of obnoxious sunny yellow weeds in his yard. No, not everyone is a fan of wishes. Thankfully, I have always embraced the rebellious nature of my dreams.
There is nothing like my compulsive need to make wishes to take me back to the ideological dreams of youth. Be it a fluffed dandelion waiting my breath to float its dozen of wishes on the wind, an eyelash on my finger, the clasp of a necklace needing rotated, or a shooting star - all are good reasons to whisper dreams to the universe. My wishes today aren’t as fervent as in the past. In fact recently I have caught myself hesitating before I blew my desires across the landscape.
What do I wish for? Why do I put such stock in a frivolous action? It is not as if there aren’t many opportunities to make wishes. Nor do I have a fairy godmother on standby waiting to bean me over the head with her magical wand to make all my fantasies come true. Still I catch myself using discretion with all the possibilities.
Why? Have I lost my bravado? Or is the selfishness of youth thankfully slipping away? I don’t give myself that much credit. I honestly think I will always be grasping greedily at obtaining my own personal happiness.
So now we are back to the fall approaching like death riding the apocalyptical horse. Standing in defiance is a lone dandelion clutching its seeds against a grabbing wind, waiting for me to dream. I appreciate this whimsical gift to my soul even as I hesitate.
I think my self imposed pause is just to clarify my greedy wish. I am requesting nothing but forever these days. Is there even a remote possibility of the granting of this wish? No. I just figure since I am wishing and not ordering a happy meal at a drive thru - I should go big.
What is my pining for eternity about? I’m not really requesting the gods’ immortality in human form. I am asking the universe for much more. I am asking for the promise of spring even as winter prepares to kill yard wishes for a season.
It is not spring as in the season; I want the fountain of youth spring to continue in my soul. I never want to lose my human awe of a walk with the elements buffeting me. Be it wind, sun, rain, or the scent of a new day, I want to always be strong enough to lift my face in reception of such gifts.
I want my children to always be young, fearless, and crazy enough to dream - forever. I know these beautiful people who started in my womb will age and be burdened by the grime of life. I acknowledge their hearts will be broken and they will accumulate battle scars as they are life’s journeymen. My wish for them is for the willingness to wake up everyday with the optimism of youth. To grasp the reality of knowing every injustice is reversible if they can cry for someone else’s pain. I do not just want them to live; I want them to absorb and replenish this earth as they continue to grow.
I wish for all the beautiful people in my life to revel in the unique quirks which make them irreplaceable in my life. This will guarantee their eyes will always snap and their smiles will be quick on the draw. As our social circles expand and shrink due to our life travels, I hope we can embrace the goodbyes with the realization no one ever really leaves without a lasting imprint.
Maybe I am not requesting forever. It could be I am cajoling that life shines for me. Not in the form of success, wealth, or diamonds in the sky. I am demanding quality to be offered with the my assurance I will reciprocate with all my senses to enjoy the everlasting gift. I will see the field of dandelion fluff, touch the wet of diamonds in the dew of the grass, and follow the path of a shooting star which leads to my front door of this heaven on earth. My body, thoughts, dreams, and desires, are the fruition of all the wishes I have asked for. Until my last breath, I want to grasp the magic in my world. Forever. Yup, I think that is the perfect wish to put out there.
YES (but)
I am impulsive. It is a trait I have grown to accept and have even fine-tuned over time. The end results are mixed – sometimes I look back and think what the hell. Other times I give myself a smile and say “Yup, I knew I was right about this.”
My shoe passion operated the same way. There are shoes that make me stop; color, sparkles, bows, heel size … oh the list is endless. There is always just the right combination which makes me obsess over the latest shoe. There are times I am not even sure why.
However there is no doubt why I would forgo nourishment for a couple of months to own the “Snow Moth Valkyrie” pumps by Joco Comendador. These fierce beauties have taken my imagination on a journey the first moment I saw them.
At first glance, it is the size that startles you. Not your normal skinny spiky towering heel – this heel is as substantial as it’s platform. Of course we ladies know size is not always a deciding factor. The white color and simplistic black design acts as a delicate counter balance. Bold and empowering it still has feminine wiles.
The designer is a young college student in the Philippines. A shoe designer from the Philippines?!! Not from the standard European old school fashion lineage? A young upstart, who does not just have a unique play on fashion but the passion to follow through, this adds to the beauty of his shoes. His vision is defined by primitive, fearless, and almost unisex designs. Joco Company operates two Facebook pages; usually once a day I have a photo shoot in my news feed that fires the need to own a pair of these shoes. This need has urgency because I see this young man as a star waiting to explode on the fashion world in the near future. Meaning his shoe prices will only escalate to keep up with the designer’s prominence.
Having just explained my YES; I will acknowledge your (buts) … The number one question I hear naysayers ask? Can you even walk in these? Life is all about planning. You don’t wear a pair of these shoes to the running of the bulls or even an on your feet all day event.
These are special occasion shoes where you can walk on a level surface in strategically planned steps and hopefully sit where you can display your treasures in a seemingly discreet fashion. If the night runs long what is the worst that can happen? I know when I am kicked by a pair of shoes – I have never landed on my ass in public – yet. I am not above slipping shoes off and ending my evening ala barefoot. In my hands or on my feet these shoes are still works of art and would only enhance my shoe collection.
Yes I am Brave and belligerent in my footwear – I am not as bold in my life choices though. The fact is a bad shoe choice can be put on a shelf and be brought out for special short occasions. In the worst case scenario, I have Epsom salt, Neosporin, and plaid bandages to nurse bleeding, blistering feet back to health. (but) A broken heart takes longer than a week to heal when you tip toe into the next relationship.
Are there times when I should outgrow my impulses and error on the side of safety? I do try to ingest the motivational sound bites that are floating out there when there is a brief five seconds of silence in my head. Yet deep down in those parts I like to keep hidden from the world – I do know my truths are more realistic than the seemingly harmless outside forces.
I can be harsh in my trying to be realistic. I think the first step to victimization is lying to yourself to put a pleasant spin on bad behavior. Not that anyone deserves to be taken advantage of but Really? If you are not smart enough to protect yourself; who will? Yet we all need a safe place to rest once in a while.
I’m not sure when I started making the conscious choice of being selective in the people I allow access to my life. More than likely, there was a safety device built into my brain to handle such decisions. I just had to keep the hell away from the override switch. I grew weary of the walls I had built; it blocked out the sunlight and everyone knows I am solar powered. The only fail proof way to live without barriers is to move out of dangerous territories.
These days I am more comfortable with who I am in my life. I laugh and am more at ease than I have ever been. There is safety in my impulses; the things I say a, the ideology I live, even the things that frustrate me because I won’t be judged to harshly. Or worse be deemed weak for my feelings. I enjoy my life being a big YES these days.
(but) To live like this leaves me open to disappointment and potential pain. The kind of hurt which does more than cause you to stumble, the kind which drops you where you stand – makes you question your life choices, philosophy, religion, and relationship with vodka. No one – least of all chicken-shit-me, wants to leave that option open. It is true life does not give you a rider clause to protect you from heartbreak.
At times my moments of pure joy in life are so pungent it stings the inside of my nose. Passion has a smell, taste, and texture that never become old hat as long as you are willing to breathe in. This is what I choose to focus on; it is a better choice than being wistful about what-might-have-beens. If I play it out, at least I tried to tower in beauty before I fell on my face.
My shoe passion operated the same way. There are shoes that make me stop; color, sparkles, bows, heel size … oh the list is endless. There is always just the right combination which makes me obsess over the latest shoe. There are times I am not even sure why.
However there is no doubt why I would forgo nourishment for a couple of months to own the “Snow Moth Valkyrie” pumps by Joco Comendador. These fierce beauties have taken my imagination on a journey the first moment I saw them.
At first glance, it is the size that startles you. Not your normal skinny spiky towering heel – this heel is as substantial as it’s platform. Of course we ladies know size is not always a deciding factor. The white color and simplistic black design acts as a delicate counter balance. Bold and empowering it still has feminine wiles.
The designer is a young college student in the Philippines. A shoe designer from the Philippines?!! Not from the standard European old school fashion lineage? A young upstart, who does not just have a unique play on fashion but the passion to follow through, this adds to the beauty of his shoes. His vision is defined by primitive, fearless, and almost unisex designs. Joco Company operates two Facebook pages; usually once a day I have a photo shoot in my news feed that fires the need to own a pair of these shoes. This need has urgency because I see this young man as a star waiting to explode on the fashion world in the near future. Meaning his shoe prices will only escalate to keep up with the designer’s prominence.
Having just explained my YES; I will acknowledge your (buts) … The number one question I hear naysayers ask? Can you even walk in these? Life is all about planning. You don’t wear a pair of these shoes to the running of the bulls or even an on your feet all day event.
These are special occasion shoes where you can walk on a level surface in strategically planned steps and hopefully sit where you can display your treasures in a seemingly discreet fashion. If the night runs long what is the worst that can happen? I know when I am kicked by a pair of shoes – I have never landed on my ass in public – yet. I am not above slipping shoes off and ending my evening ala barefoot. In my hands or on my feet these shoes are still works of art and would only enhance my shoe collection.
Yes I am Brave and belligerent in my footwear – I am not as bold in my life choices though. The fact is a bad shoe choice can be put on a shelf and be brought out for special short occasions. In the worst case scenario, I have Epsom salt, Neosporin, and plaid bandages to nurse bleeding, blistering feet back to health. (but) A broken heart takes longer than a week to heal when you tip toe into the next relationship.
Are there times when I should outgrow my impulses and error on the side of safety? I do try to ingest the motivational sound bites that are floating out there when there is a brief five seconds of silence in my head. Yet deep down in those parts I like to keep hidden from the world – I do know my truths are more realistic than the seemingly harmless outside forces.
I can be harsh in my trying to be realistic. I think the first step to victimization is lying to yourself to put a pleasant spin on bad behavior. Not that anyone deserves to be taken advantage of but Really? If you are not smart enough to protect yourself; who will? Yet we all need a safe place to rest once in a while.
I’m not sure when I started making the conscious choice of being selective in the people I allow access to my life. More than likely, there was a safety device built into my brain to handle such decisions. I just had to keep the hell away from the override switch. I grew weary of the walls I had built; it blocked out the sunlight and everyone knows I am solar powered. The only fail proof way to live without barriers is to move out of dangerous territories.
These days I am more comfortable with who I am in my life. I laugh and am more at ease than I have ever been. There is safety in my impulses; the things I say a, the ideology I live, even the things that frustrate me because I won’t be judged to harshly. Or worse be deemed weak for my feelings. I enjoy my life being a big YES these days.
(but) To live like this leaves me open to disappointment and potential pain. The kind of hurt which does more than cause you to stumble, the kind which drops you where you stand – makes you question your life choices, philosophy, religion, and relationship with vodka. No one – least of all chicken-shit-me, wants to leave that option open. It is true life does not give you a rider clause to protect you from heartbreak.
At times my moments of pure joy in life are so pungent it stings the inside of my nose. Passion has a smell, taste, and texture that never become old hat as long as you are willing to breathe in. This is what I choose to focus on; it is a better choice than being wistful about what-might-have-beens. If I play it out, at least I tried to tower in beauty before I fell on my face.
The Shake Ups and Irregular Choice - Natural Sweeteners
Sometimes you just need to smile. No other shoe brand promotes involuntary grinning more than Irregular Choice. “May Contain Nuts” retails for about $150 and isn’t even their most outlandish. Irregular Choice allows you to find a shoe to match any whimsical urge you can dream of. These would be the perfect pair of shoes to go see The Shake Ups.
The Shake Ups are not unlike my fun-loving shoes above. They are sweet, easily digestible, and I’m sure, high in calories. Led by Patrick O’Connor (vocals, guitar) and accompanied by Bitsy Matatall (vocals, keyboards), the band is rounded out by Gabe Mass on bass (the front man for Salvador Dalai Llama Farm) and Steve Hinckley on drums. The listener is time-warped back to the late 50’s and early 60’s, when songs were bits of brightly colored nonsense. The true feat of this band is the way they feed you what you think is pure sugar, but trust me, there are leafy green vegetables in them there lyrics.
The Shake Ups released their newest CD “Extra Pulp” this summer, with a release show at the Melody Inn in August. It should be noted that Patrick contacted me to ask if I would like to review it prior, and sent me his normal well put together promotional package. If he wasn’t so damn good with his bands; The Shake Ups, Five Year Mission, a Star Trek tribute band,or The Madeira, a surf rock instrumental group, I would love to have him in my corner as a life coach for his organizational skills alone.
“Extra Pulp” is a twelve-song ride where harmonies and hooks act as shock absorbers for bumpy lyrical trips through heartbreak. Patrick is the band’s main songwriter, and he knows how to balance his heavy pen with happy beats and positive energy. Only the closing song, “Getting Out,” which was written by Bitsy, has words that actually get the last laugh, or rather, tear. There is not a bad song on this CD, below are just some of my favorites. 'Extra Pulp' is available through iTunes, Amazon, and CD Baby.
Music is a fluid art to me. What individuals in a band cook up together to present in a public forum is only theirs until the first note is played... Then it becomes the property of each and every listener to decipher and cherish as their own personal memories, pain, or happiness. Their music never fails to make me smile even when I relate to a verse or two.
The CD opens with a song called “The Shake Ups,” which works as a perfect show opener with their trademark energy and a humor that doesn’t bite, only because you can feel their smiles and can’t help but enjoy it. I listen to enough local music to appreciate the backstory of every band before they walk on stage. Everybody wants to be in a band, but only the crazy ones want it bad enough to work at it. This song does a great job of summing it up, with just the right touch of self-depreciation.
The next song to grab me is “Hollowed Out”. This is where the band really flexes their muscles. The words howl with the painful emptiness of a failed relationship. The music will make you forget sorrow, though, and I promise you will be singing the "Oh"s with Patrick and Bitsy.
“Stupified” is a sweet swipe at falling in love. The lyrics are as gleeful as the music. A dubious name for a love song? Perhaps, but after a certain point in life, I think we can all relate to becoming a bit stupid over love, even if just for believing this time it will work.
“Falling (On My Own Sword)” has to be the happiest-sounding breakup song out there. It reminds me of when you take a nasty tumble, and because it was witnessed, you act like it didn’t hurt. Only in private is the pain allowed to take center stage.
The group slides in a great funky sound on “Phone It In,” which doesn’t attempt to hide its sharp sarcasm, but rather, celebrates it. There is an unasked question of who benefits from brutal honesty, the teller or the listener... In this case, I guarantee it’s not the listener.
“Getting Out” may reflect the lamentations of anyone who ever wanted to escape a place they have outgrown; yet there is real pain, in not just the song but in the live performance as well. I wonder how much of my listening is tempered by my knowledge that Bitsy has moved to Pennsylvania with new dreams on her horizon.
Patrick assured me the band would survive the geographical differences and the other projects of the individual members of the band. There will be more shows scheduled and new recording plans in the future. This is great news which doesn’t need to be sugar coated, but I'm sure they will keep handing out the candy just the same! Make sure to ‘like’ them on Facebook The Shake Ups and check out the website at The Shake Ups.
***Fun side note: When I showed up to the release party and saw Patrick and Bitsy, it dawned on me that they are both redheads. (Yes, a "duh! moment," since I have met them before.) The significance of this is that I have a ginger grandbaby; Miss Leila... It was only appropriate to buy her first CD from the band and get it autographed. Solidarity is always a good lesson to learn when your brain is still forming.
The Shake Ups are not unlike my fun-loving shoes above. They are sweet, easily digestible, and I’m sure, high in calories. Led by Patrick O’Connor (vocals, guitar) and accompanied by Bitsy Matatall (vocals, keyboards), the band is rounded out by Gabe Mass on bass (the front man for Salvador Dalai Llama Farm) and Steve Hinckley on drums. The listener is time-warped back to the late 50’s and early 60’s, when songs were bits of brightly colored nonsense. The true feat of this band is the way they feed you what you think is pure sugar, but trust me, there are leafy green vegetables in them there lyrics.
The Shake Ups released their newest CD “Extra Pulp” this summer, with a release show at the Melody Inn in August. It should be noted that Patrick contacted me to ask if I would like to review it prior, and sent me his normal well put together promotional package. If he wasn’t so damn good with his bands; The Shake Ups, Five Year Mission, a Star Trek tribute band,or The Madeira, a surf rock instrumental group, I would love to have him in my corner as a life coach for his organizational skills alone.
“Extra Pulp” is a twelve-song ride where harmonies and hooks act as shock absorbers for bumpy lyrical trips through heartbreak. Patrick is the band’s main songwriter, and he knows how to balance his heavy pen with happy beats and positive energy. Only the closing song, “Getting Out,” which was written by Bitsy, has words that actually get the last laugh, or rather, tear. There is not a bad song on this CD, below are just some of my favorites. 'Extra Pulp' is available through iTunes, Amazon, and CD Baby.
Music is a fluid art to me. What individuals in a band cook up together to present in a public forum is only theirs until the first note is played... Then it becomes the property of each and every listener to decipher and cherish as their own personal memories, pain, or happiness. Their music never fails to make me smile even when I relate to a verse or two.
The CD opens with a song called “The Shake Ups,” which works as a perfect show opener with their trademark energy and a humor that doesn’t bite, only because you can feel their smiles and can’t help but enjoy it. I listen to enough local music to appreciate the backstory of every band before they walk on stage. Everybody wants to be in a band, but only the crazy ones want it bad enough to work at it. This song does a great job of summing it up, with just the right touch of self-depreciation.
The next song to grab me is “Hollowed Out”. This is where the band really flexes their muscles. The words howl with the painful emptiness of a failed relationship. The music will make you forget sorrow, though, and I promise you will be singing the "Oh"s with Patrick and Bitsy.
“Stupified” is a sweet swipe at falling in love. The lyrics are as gleeful as the music. A dubious name for a love song? Perhaps, but after a certain point in life, I think we can all relate to becoming a bit stupid over love, even if just for believing this time it will work.
“Falling (On My Own Sword)” has to be the happiest-sounding breakup song out there. It reminds me of when you take a nasty tumble, and because it was witnessed, you act like it didn’t hurt. Only in private is the pain allowed to take center stage.
The group slides in a great funky sound on “Phone It In,” which doesn’t attempt to hide its sharp sarcasm, but rather, celebrates it. There is an unasked question of who benefits from brutal honesty, the teller or the listener... In this case, I guarantee it’s not the listener.
“Getting Out” may reflect the lamentations of anyone who ever wanted to escape a place they have outgrown; yet there is real pain, in not just the song but in the live performance as well. I wonder how much of my listening is tempered by my knowledge that Bitsy has moved to Pennsylvania with new dreams on her horizon.
Patrick assured me the band would survive the geographical differences and the other projects of the individual members of the band. There will be more shows scheduled and new recording plans in the future. This is great news which doesn’t need to be sugar coated, but I'm sure they will keep handing out the candy just the same! Make sure to ‘like’ them on Facebook The Shake Ups and check out the website at The Shake Ups.
***Fun side note: When I showed up to the release party and saw Patrick and Bitsy, it dawned on me that they are both redheads. (Yes, a "duh! moment," since I have met them before.) The significance of this is that I have a ginger grandbaby; Miss Leila... It was only appropriate to buy her first CD from the band and get it autographed. Solidarity is always a good lesson to learn when your brain is still forming.
Shoes, Christian Louboutin, and Cinderella
It is only fitting to start this off with Shoes, Christian Louboutin and Cinderella. These subjects could keep me writing until they haul my stiff body off. This trinity is the emotional touchstones of my life.
Shoes. I wear, decorate with, and lust after them daily. A pair can accent my mood or let me bullshit my way through a day when I would rather be in a fetal position buried under blankets. Anyone who has been shopping with me knows I stop to pet them, admire, or dream of owning a pair in every color. I often stop women, even men to compliment their footwear. I must confess an addiction.
The appeal? It is the seeming frivolousness of it all, but as in life, picking the correct shoes for the moment can be as important as choosing the right road. Yes, in a simplified world all our feet needs is protection from the elements. A boring pair of drab loafers can meet those demands. A coveted pair can spice up that conservative work outfit as if to say, “I work for you to survive but you don’t own me”. Stilettos are walking sex as I take ownership of my needs and desires because it is my right. A whimsical pair can beg to find a playground with swings or a massive overdose of sticky sweet cotton candy.
Each pair I own lets me touch the layers I have built upon to be the person I am. The one who laughs and cries unapologetically because it is the only defense I have. More importantly, they give me permission to like the perfect person who looks me in the eye every day in the mirror in spite of her flaws. This is a truth I have stumbled upon, if I do not accept the beauty in me I can not accept other's beauty.
Now to the man who stokes my shoe dreams. To be even a semi shoe fanatic you have to be intimate with Christain Louboutin (http://christianlouboutin.com/). Just going to the website makes me smile, dream, and try to figure out which pair would needs me most. This man, who as a child, ditched school to watch the dancing girls and feel in love with passion and sensuality. An artist, for each shoe is a work of art. He brought height and sex back to women of all walks of life. The red bottoms bring a maybe not so symbolic naughtiness to us ladies. As we try not to lose our femininity to a world who demands our full strength, accountability, and unrealistic expectations; just slipping on a pair of his shoes we can embrace the siren inside.
I have a pair that I obtained under dubious circumstances. Never is there a time when I slip them on do I marvel at the choices life throws at us. I catch their image in the mirror and instantly I know two things. First, as long as I wake up each day I get to decide how my story ends. Secondly, if God did not bless me with legs up to there, Mr. Louboutin is always ready to assist.
Yes, my feet hurt for three days after wearing them; but let us be honest. Being a woman is painful. Our hearts, bodies, and minds ache; at times it hurts to breathe. Yet we continue to love, give birth, and worry about our world. A coordinating shoe can present a tough exterior until my internal world can regain a solid foothold.
How does a grown woman and borderline Femi-Nazi love Cinderella? It is only because under this hard crust of life I hide underneath; I still believe in fairytales. Without the beauty of magic what is the point of living?
Cinderella was not any different from any of us. She was surrounded by life sucking evilness and still chose to sing. Fairy Godmothers? We all have them in our lives; loved ones who give us the gift of listening and laughter. The friends we are not afraid to tell our dreams to because they know we are capable of making them come true. And the ball? Who doesn't want to dance the night away with a handsome prince? Now to the part that needs tweaked a bit to modernize the happy-ever-after part.
I do not need or want a man to kneel and put an awesome shoe on my foot and whisk me off to his castle. Let us face reality ladies; a castle has too many bathrooms to clean especially if Mr. Charming has been a bachelor for too long. This is where I like to write my own ending.
I dream of a true friend not that traditional man/woman role we all need to unlearn before we go prince hunting. Someone to laugh and share the absurdities of human nature with; a secret club of solidarity instead of the binding contract of expected role-playing. A level of trust and faith where silences are not loaded, instead just needed down time before the next adventure begins. I can buy my own damn shoes. I just need someone to slow his gait to walk with me if I am wearing over four inch heels
It is only fitting to start this off with Shoes, Christian Louboutin and Cinderella. These subjects could keep me writing until they haul my stiff body off. This trinity is the emotional touchstones of my life.
Shoes. I wear, decorate with, and lust after them daily. A pair can accent my mood or let me bullshit my way through a day when I would rather be in a fetal position buried under blankets. Anyone who has been shopping with me knows I stop to pet them, admire, or dream of owning a pair in every color. I often stop women, even men to compliment their footwear. I must confess an addiction.
The appeal? It is the seeming frivolousness of it all, but as in life, picking the correct shoes for the moment can be as important as choosing the right road. Yes, in a simplified world all our feet needs is protection from the elements. A boring pair of drab loafers can meet those demands. A coveted pair can spice up that conservative work outfit as if to say, “I work for you to survive but you don’t own me”. Stilettos are walking sex as I take ownership of my needs and desires because it is my right. A whimsical pair can beg to find a playground with swings or a massive overdose of sticky sweet cotton candy.
Each pair I own lets me touch the layers I have built upon to be the person I am. The one who laughs and cries unapologetically because it is the only defense I have. More importantly, they give me permission to like the perfect person who looks me in the eye every day in the mirror in spite of her flaws. This is a truth I have stumbled upon, if I do not accept the beauty in me I can not accept other's beauty.
Now to the man who stokes my shoe dreams. To be even a semi shoe fanatic you have to be intimate with Christain Louboutin (http://christianlouboutin.com/). Just going to the website makes me smile, dream, and try to figure out which pair would needs me most. This man, who as a child, ditched school to watch the dancing girls and feel in love with passion and sensuality. An artist, for each shoe is a work of art. He brought height and sex back to women of all walks of life. The red bottoms bring a maybe not so symbolic naughtiness to us ladies. As we try not to lose our femininity to a world who demands our full strength, accountability, and unrealistic expectations; just slipping on a pair of his shoes we can embrace the siren inside.
I have a pair that I obtained under dubious circumstances. Never is there a time when I slip them on do I marvel at the choices life throws at us. I catch their image in the mirror and instantly I know two things. First, as long as I wake up each day I get to decide how my story ends. Secondly, if God did not bless me with legs up to there, Mr. Louboutin is always ready to assist.
Yes, my feet hurt for three days after wearing them; but let us be honest. Being a woman is painful. Our hearts, bodies, and minds ache; at times it hurts to breathe. Yet we continue to love, give birth, and worry about our world. A coordinating shoe can present a tough exterior until my internal world can regain a solid foothold.
How does a grown woman and borderline Femi-Nazi love Cinderella? It is only because under this hard crust of life I hide underneath; I still believe in fairytales. Without the beauty of magic what is the point of living?
Cinderella was not any different from any of us. She was surrounded by life sucking evilness and still chose to sing. Fairy Godmothers? We all have them in our lives; loved ones who give us the gift of listening and laughter. The friends we are not afraid to tell our dreams to because they know we are capable of making them come true. And the ball? Who doesn't want to dance the night away with a handsome prince? Now to the part that needs tweaked a bit to modernize the happy-ever-after part.
I do not need or want a man to kneel and put an awesome shoe on my foot and whisk me off to his castle. Let us face reality ladies; a castle has too many bathrooms to clean especially if Mr. Charming has been a bachelor for too long. This is where I like to write my own ending.
I dream of a true friend not that traditional man/woman role we all need to unlearn before we go prince hunting. Someone to laugh and share the absurdities of human nature with; a secret club of solidarity instead of the binding contract of expected role-playing. A level of trust and faith where silences are not loaded, instead just needed down time before the next adventure begins. I can buy my own damn shoes. I just need someone to slow his gait to walk with me if I am wearing over four inch heels