Today I had a knock on the door from some Jesus people with Jesus pamphelets. One woman in a big hat was talking to me while some other women in big hats milled around behind her, knocking on my neighbors' doors. At the time, I said very little, because I didn't want to get stuck in conversation, but it really did piss me off.
The neighborhood I live in is Jewish. A lot of the people who live here have lived here for many years and a lot of the people that live here are Hasidic. My apartment has kosher labels over the sink and Mezuzahs at the doorways. My neighbors are all Jewish women aged 80 and up. My upstairs neighbor was in a concentration camp during the Holocaust. Women on the sidewalk speak in Yiddish to their kids and men on the sidewalk wear giant round fur hats and long black coats in the middle of summer and prayer shawls on holy days. Do you think they want to come to your meeting about Christ? I think it's pretty clear they've made up their minds on the religion question.
Man, why is Christianity the only religion that has consistantly hit me up, via strangers, for conversion? It's super-obnoxious.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Rudyard Kipling and Maggots
So I've been thinking a lot about maggots lately. Mostly because I've been encountering them a lot (kitchen garbage, inside the compartment in the trunk of my car) and they are food for thought, pardon the expression. I heard that the medical community is bringing maggots back into medicine, because the magic of maggots is that they will only eat the dead flesh, making them excellent friends in the fight against gangrene and other similar infections.
I've also been thinking about Getting Older recently, or more accurately, Growing Up. I turned 29 this week and had a great party and was at my friend Andy's 29th last night at which someone asked me what words of advice on being 29 I had to dole out to Andy, having a three-day jump on the experience. Is 29 one of the big ones? I know 30 is a big one, but knowing me, I'll spend so much time thinking about turning 30 that when it actually happens it won't feel like a big deal. The best description I have for 29 so far is that you have an ongoing T-minus 365 days countdown going to finish up all your 20s bullshit. Because there are a number of things that you can't do in your 30s. Pigtails. Throwing up from drinking. Accidentally making out with people. And then there's a whole litany of things that you can't do north of 30 that I never have done nor do I plan to regret not doing. Cocaine. Sex with unnamed strangers. Tube tops.
But I've also found myself thinking about things along pretty different lines these days and by these days I mean the past few weeks. It's a combination of being finally done with school (in the sense that for the first time this summer I'm not spending five days a week on campus) and having had a series of unfortunate events occur in a short period of time. In fact, so many shitty things have been happening, that it has brought me into this strange zone where I feel really zen about it and at the same time am totally ready for whatever is coming down the pipe. Like I'm doing my best karate beckon to the fates. Like when Paul Simon sings about the Boxer leaving, but the Fighter still remains? I'm the Fighter.
I've also internalized some Kipling and build my days around filling each unforgiving minute with sixty seconds' worth of distance run.
Pile all this on a birthday and 29 is a windsprint. It's eating the dead flesh. It helps me meet with Triumph and Disaster and treat those two imposters just the same.
I've also been thinking about Getting Older recently, or more accurately, Growing Up. I turned 29 this week and had a great party and was at my friend Andy's 29th last night at which someone asked me what words of advice on being 29 I had to dole out to Andy, having a three-day jump on the experience. Is 29 one of the big ones? I know 30 is a big one, but knowing me, I'll spend so much time thinking about turning 30 that when it actually happens it won't feel like a big deal. The best description I have for 29 so far is that you have an ongoing T-minus 365 days countdown going to finish up all your 20s bullshit. Because there are a number of things that you can't do in your 30s. Pigtails. Throwing up from drinking. Accidentally making out with people. And then there's a whole litany of things that you can't do north of 30 that I never have done nor do I plan to regret not doing. Cocaine. Sex with unnamed strangers. Tube tops.
But I've also found myself thinking about things along pretty different lines these days and by these days I mean the past few weeks. It's a combination of being finally done with school (in the sense that for the first time this summer I'm not spending five days a week on campus) and having had a series of unfortunate events occur in a short period of time. In fact, so many shitty things have been happening, that it has brought me into this strange zone where I feel really zen about it and at the same time am totally ready for whatever is coming down the pipe. Like I'm doing my best karate beckon to the fates. Like when Paul Simon sings about the Boxer leaving, but the Fighter still remains? I'm the Fighter.
I've also internalized some Kipling and build my days around filling each unforgiving minute with sixty seconds' worth of distance run.
Pile all this on a birthday and 29 is a windsprint. It's eating the dead flesh. It helps me meet with Triumph and Disaster and treat those two imposters just the same.
Friday, August 10, 2007
The Lights Are On
Dear Reading Public, I think I may be back. Hard to say. Currently there is something unhappy between my computer and my ISP that makes it not want to load any Blogger pages. Or any Goggle pages. It's not a happy situation. Anyway, addiction to Facebook has somewhat supplanted addiction to blogging. Anyone else find that? Internet narcissism: what will fill the caverous hole in my soul next?
What shall I tell you about? The mystery of the totaled car smack in the middle of a park with no roadways? My summer of strange sunburns? The many weddings I have attended? That I'm a foley genuis but a mixing failure? That I've been going to screenings of kid's movies from the eighties a lot lately? That I finished school?
Okay, so I finished school. Not even part-way finished: I took my last class, TAed my last epic screening, worked my last shift at SPO. I still have keys to the doors of Lucas on my keyring (that is kind of magical, metaphorically speaking) but I'm done. It's scary and liberating at the same time, to be in LA without the safety net of school attendence as an excuse. The best and scariest thing about starting school was the feeling of a new environment with new rules and structures to understand and learn to navigate (and eventually master-- hence the name of the degree?). The best and scariest thing about leaving school is the same thing. Looks like I'm still good at up-talking myself.
What shall I tell you about? The mystery of the totaled car smack in the middle of a park with no roadways? My summer of strange sunburns? The many weddings I have attended? That I'm a foley genuis but a mixing failure? That I've been going to screenings of kid's movies from the eighties a lot lately? That I finished school?
Okay, so I finished school. Not even part-way finished: I took my last class, TAed my last epic screening, worked my last shift at SPO. I still have keys to the doors of Lucas on my keyring (that is kind of magical, metaphorically speaking) but I'm done. It's scary and liberating at the same time, to be in LA without the safety net of school attendence as an excuse. The best and scariest thing about starting school was the feeling of a new environment with new rules and structures to understand and learn to navigate (and eventually master-- hence the name of the degree?). The best and scariest thing about leaving school is the same thing. Looks like I'm still good at up-talking myself.
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