Have you been half asleep? And have you heard voices?
I've heard them calling my name.
Is this the sweet sound that calls the young sailors?
The voice might be one and the same.
I've heard it too many times to ignore it
It's something that I'm s'posed to be...
Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection,
The lovers, the dreamers, and me.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Sunday, November 20, 2011
the color of nostalgia
Over the summer, I attended my 10-year high school reunion. And yes, I've just aged myself. Anyway, I did not attend a typical high school in many respects. For one, despite being a public school, my graduating class had just a little over 30 people in it. Our high school has been described as "nerdy" more than enough times. Case in point: we decided it might be fun to read some creative writing pieces at our reunion. No joke. The idea came from an activity we used to do in our Humanities class called RFTS (reading from the silence.) The idea is that each person brings a piece that they've written. It could be anything. Then we sit in a circle and whenever someone has the impulse to read their piece, they begin. When the person finishes, there is no verbal response. We simply remain silent until the next person begins to read. Here is the RFTS I wrote for my reunion on the plane ride to Seattle:
When I was seventeen, my mom got a new car and I was handed down her dark blue/green 1997 Honda Accord. Over ten years later, I'm still driving the same car. It's pretty incredible when you think about it. In this day and age, there aren't many material goods that one would use for over ten years. Maybe furniture or a pair of senior class Titan sweatpants. A few days ago, as I drove along a congested, soul-sucking Los Angeles freeway, I found myself thinking about the history of my car and everything we had been through. I'm sure my pending high school reunion had something to do with my nostalgia. I glanced around that box of metal, rubber and plastic I've grown so accustomed to and felt like I had lived several lifetimes in that car. If you look closely at the ceiling above the passenger seat, you can see brown syrupy specks from the time Andrea Carter's strawberry Jones soda exploded and pink, fizzy liquid dripped from her hair, face and ceiling of the car. In the ashtray, you'll find remnants of Marlboro Lights from the year I decided to break up with my college boyfriend and replace him with cigarettes and reckless behavior. In the glove compartment are my wisdom teeth. Every other year or so, I'll find them and laugh hysterically, then put them back to find again later. I've used that car as a refuge when I couldn't face the school day, work day, whatever day. I've read in that car, slept in that car. Almost daily, I eat and do my makeup in that car. I change clothes between auditions in that car. It has survived my senior year of high school, college, five years in LA, several road trip to Seattle and back, countless flat tires, a couple break-ins, heartfelt talks, torturous fights, and the beginnings, ends, and beginnings of relationships.
So much has happened and changed since I started driving this car. And so much has not changed. Recently my brother spent the weekend with me, after a year long deployment in Afghanistan. While I was at work, he took my car to get washed. He cleaned off the latte that had spilled on the drivers side door when I hurriedly tried to set it on the roof while digging in my purse. He cleaned the inside of the car and even got all the candle wax that had melted in the cup holder. (Don't as me how that got there.) It reminded me of the fact that even though he's my little brother, he's always taken care of me, even when we were kids. These days, I don't spend as much time alone in my car since my lovely boyfriend and I tend to carpool everywhere. However, I still do many of the same things I did at seventeen: I still have a habit of reading every billboard out loud, I still try to harmonize with all of Motown's greatest hits, I still practice my lines for rehearsal or auditions, and I still stare out the window and daydream.
When I was seventeen, my mom got a new car and I was handed down her dark blue/green 1997 Honda Accord. Over ten years later, I'm still driving the same car. It's pretty incredible when you think about it. In this day and age, there aren't many material goods that one would use for over ten years. Maybe furniture or a pair of senior class Titan sweatpants. A few days ago, as I drove along a congested, soul-sucking Los Angeles freeway, I found myself thinking about the history of my car and everything we had been through. I'm sure my pending high school reunion had something to do with my nostalgia. I glanced around that box of metal, rubber and plastic I've grown so accustomed to and felt like I had lived several lifetimes in that car. If you look closely at the ceiling above the passenger seat, you can see brown syrupy specks from the time Andrea Carter's strawberry Jones soda exploded and pink, fizzy liquid dripped from her hair, face and ceiling of the car. In the ashtray, you'll find remnants of Marlboro Lights from the year I decided to break up with my college boyfriend and replace him with cigarettes and reckless behavior. In the glove compartment are my wisdom teeth. Every other year or so, I'll find them and laugh hysterically, then put them back to find again later. I've used that car as a refuge when I couldn't face the school day, work day, whatever day. I've read in that car, slept in that car. Almost daily, I eat and do my makeup in that car. I change clothes between auditions in that car. It has survived my senior year of high school, college, five years in LA, several road trip to Seattle and back, countless flat tires, a couple break-ins, heartfelt talks, torturous fights, and the beginnings, ends, and beginnings of relationships.
So much has happened and changed since I started driving this car. And so much has not changed. Recently my brother spent the weekend with me, after a year long deployment in Afghanistan. While I was at work, he took my car to get washed. He cleaned off the latte that had spilled on the drivers side door when I hurriedly tried to set it on the roof while digging in my purse. He cleaned the inside of the car and even got all the candle wax that had melted in the cup holder. (Don't as me how that got there.) It reminded me of the fact that even though he's my little brother, he's always taken care of me, even when we were kids. These days, I don't spend as much time alone in my car since my lovely boyfriend and I tend to carpool everywhere. However, I still do many of the same things I did at seventeen: I still have a habit of reading every billboard out loud, I still try to harmonize with all of Motown's greatest hits, I still practice my lines for rehearsal or auditions, and I still stare out the window and daydream.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Blue.
"Let's have a round for these freaks and these soldiers
A round for these friends of mine
Let's have another round for the bright red devil
Who keeps me in this tourist town..."
www.jonimitchell.com
A round for these friends of mine
Let's have another round for the bright red devil
Who keeps me in this tourist town..."
www.jonimitchell.com
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