Have you ever wondered why Tori Spelling played such a pure and celibate girl on Beverly Hills 90210, but in every Lifetime movie was like a complete slut? Naturally my thought is that it had to do with the fact her dad created 90210 and I'm sure the idea of his daughter looking all hoed out just didn't work for him. Then I'm led to wonder what was the reason behind Tiffani Amber Theissen's split-show personality? Her daddy isn't a show creator. Kelly Kapowski always annoyed me- the whole typical high school stereotype that the cheerleader is the most desired and the most popular girl in school. I do, however, have to applaud them for trying to humanize her by making her poor, working at The Max and a brunette instead of a blond. At any case she was always little miss goody two shoes on the show, but once again in every Lifetime movie she was skanked out. Am I to be led to believe Lifetime was a kind of early Playboy for TV... in a sense the person knows what they're getting into but once they actually sign on for the project, the freak comes out. In the end Lifetime has to take the credit for breaking Tiffani out of that Saved By The Bell image, because every since then she's played nothing but skanks, even being brought onto shows just for that purpose- hence 90210 (Tori/Donna connection). Perhaps that's the way it's supposed to work out in the cycle of television shows. Another example with an opposing parallel is the transformation of Kelly Bundy on Married with Children. Christina Applegate played an utter moronic slut with absolutely no misconceptions on that to now the witty, fashionable, amnesia woman Samantha on Samantha Who. It's an intriguing thought isn't it? If you start out as a slut on TV then you end up a well rounded person later and vise versa...ummm, interesting. Although with that said I have to at least appreciate the moderate progression into hootchiehood by Kelly and Donna as opposed to the jump off the cliff action made by Elizabeth Berkley (Jessie Spano). All and all I think I just had a strong love/hate relationship with Saved By The Bell. It was so entertaining in its time that I couldn't not watch it, but it just had those flaws that bothered me. I didn't understand why Lisa only had a boyfriend for one episode and had to settle with the fact that her only real relationship was with a dork that no one would date until Violet came along- another Tori/Tiffani connection. And I'm going to completely dismiss the episode when she and Zack kissed just as the show did when it aired. Again, however, I had to appreciate the fact that the creator at least made the one black girl on the show the fashion forward, rich girl of the group- nods to Sam Bobrick for that one. She honestly was the first not poor black girl I had seen on television outside of the beloved Cosby kids.
Ahhhh, the Cosby Show. I remember watching the Cosby Show and thinking five kids was too many kids, but I also dismissed that thought since Claire was a lawyer and Cliff was a doctor, so clearly they had enough money for a house in Brooklyn and five kids. But with that said, how the hell did Al Bundy support his family in a two story house in presumably a nice area in Chicago on a shoe salesman's salary? Granted I have heard of their commissions being pretty good, but I don't know about it being that good. At least with the Simpsons, they lived in Springfield, not as expensive as Chicago, and he worked for a chemical plan, which I would imagine doesn't pay too shabby. Not to mention they never had to pay for clothes either, a paradox that was occasionally pointed out. I can't recall Kelly, Bud or Peg not having money to buy something and Kelly didn't wear nice clothes or hardly any clothes by choice. Since really for the majority of the show, Al was the only one with a job they had to get the money from him. I suppose I wouldn't have thought this to be a stretch if Al worked at a better shoe store instead of a store small enough that it only employed him and Griff. No one can tell me they were raking in the dough in that spot. I do, of course, appreciate the Bundy's for being the first (if not only) show to have their characters go to the bathroom on a regular basis. In a way I almost believe Rosanne might have been the most realistic show on television in that era. I mean her and Dan went through jobs like Kelly Bundy went through guys and it wasn't at all unusual for the electricity to be turned off in their house. Frankly if you had to use a television show to formulate an image for your future, Rosanne had to be the best because if it didn't teach you about getting a good job and budgeting your money nothing else was going to. Not to add if you ever found yourself in that sticky position of mismanaged money, she gave some pretty good tips on how to prolong a payment- like not signing the check or sending the cable company the check for the water bill and the check for the water bill to the cable company. Throughout the duration of the show under no form or fashion were you put in the position to ask yourself how are they paying bills because sometimes they weren't. In a way Rosanne was in the 90s what Good Times was in the 70s, only with a change of venue and some ethnic matters.
I do realize television is purely for entertainment; therefore there's no reason why I should have questioned any of this in the first place, but isn't TV supposed to represent us, its viewers. I believe this to be true, which concerns me because that means our life now is to have LOTS of babies, get a reality show in which you either dance or extreme diet the baby fat away before divorcing your mate (if you have one) then becoming the center point of a mass dating game where you end up married or at least engaged again just to wrap it all up in a book including your battles with some sort of addiction or disorder that finds its way on the New York Times bestsellers list. Oh well now that I've gotten that all straightened out I guess I should get to work on finding that fertility doctor.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Titanic
While I was working for my marketing company, I met this guy. Although to say this guy is just an understatement...this guy was like a Greek God- tall, beautifully unflawed caramel skin, immaculate pearled white smile with a running back’s body and a cloak of tattoos. He was the description and embodiment of Adonis. Ironically I only remember him just appearing out of nowhere when we met. I would have never imagined a guy like him would be interested in a girl like me- not to down play myself, but he could've easily gotten any female he wanted. So when he approached me, I was a little surprised, but intrigued all the same.
About month after I had given him my number, he called and wanted to know what I was up to. I had gotten tickets to the WuTang concert but I didn't have anyone to go with...look how things work out. I invited him to go and we made plans to meet up at his house then drive to the venue together that night. The night was interesting. I learned some small facts about him, including that he had a daughter but never made any mention of her mom and ignorantly I never thought to ask. Once Protect Ya Neck was over we left to return to his house. We stood in the kitchen for a while talking about Super Head, who was a feature article in the magazine I was flipping through while leaning on against the center island. He fixed us two Cape Cods right before we walked up to the third floor of his townhouse to the media room. We watched a few minutes of television and partially finished our drinks then went to his room. Obviously I stayed the night and I would stay the night three more times within that following week.
About two weeks in and on my drive to work, I received a phone call. I didn't know the number so I didn't answer it. I didn't answer it until about the 15th time it rang. It was a female asking to speak to me. I didn't know how nor did I at least recognize the voice. She introduced herself as Philly's wife...I didn't know what to think, utter than complete disbelief. I sat on the phone listening to her talk about their relationship and how she came to find out about me and "others" before me. She sounded so timid like I imagined her in a house dress, bare foot with a rag over her hair. I felt bad for her, but at the same time I felt insulted that she was calling me when I had no idea about any of this being possible. When we hung up, I called Philly but he didn't answer, which slightly made me feel like it was confirming everything she said.
I got to work, only to look overcome with stress. I've never been involved in a situation like this. I've never even attempted to talk to someone's boyfriend let alone their husband. Coincidentally Philly was my owner's best friend, I have to tell my boss/friend what was going on. I was relied the information that Philly is not married and in fact just had a very young and very crazy baby mama that he didn't even want to know where he lived. As she mentioned that I was reminded how the girl on the phone kept pressing me about where he lived. Philly called the next day to apologize. He reconfirmed everything my friend told me and I felt relieved like my soul had been restored after haven been a vampire for two days. It was awhile before we hung out again, but when we did it was us all over again. Granted every now and then I got these random phone calls and it annoyed the hell out of me, but I liked him and I liked being around him.
About three months later he went out of town and although I texted him more frequently than I should have, we spoke to each other less and less. I finally realized he may not be the one for me and stopped contacting him at all. The following months I moved on, but occasionally thought about him just never contacted him...I needed to get away from him. He had been my bad habit and I needed to break it.
It was seven months until I saw Philly again. He had walked into our club in the same story book fashion I remembered the first time I met him. This time the feeling wasn’t quite there, I didn’t want to just eat him up that very moment, which was definitely different from the first time. As he passed by an old friend came up to talk to me for a while. We stood there talking, laughing and completely oblivious to the fact that Philly was standing at the patio double doors smearing his face in the glass at me like the lady from the Mervyn’s commercials. Fifteen minutes after my friend made his exit, Philly came in telling me how he was trying to get my attention and thinking I had replaced him with a new guy. I laughed because honestly it was funny but because I couldn’t picture him being truly all that concerned with my being entertained by someone else. He stood there wooing me for a moment, but I just wasn’t where I was with him anymore. I had passed through to the thought that a relationship just wouldn’t exist with us anymore and was strongly battling with the idea if I could just have sex with him with no strings attached. Could I go from trying to make a relationship to just sex? That night I went home- alone.
Another week passed before he came back into the club. I had already made a pact to myself that I would not and could not fall into him again. He came in with his beautiful white smile and gorgeous face and I smiled. Somewhere in there I started to feel the idea of my pact being pushed to the side and damn I think I wanted him. As usual he came talking to me about randomness. Doug E. Fresh was our performing artist that night and we had all talked about actually watching the show. When Kim came up to tell me he was just about to get on stage, Philly was behind me with his arms around my waist telling me about how he had thought about making me cum and how hot it would be to screw me in the back of his Cadillac Escalade parked in the side back lot. I laughed and told him no. As we separated, he walked toward the club entrance and I started my way out the patio door, my pact became nonexistent and I whipped around to hear the words, “come on,” as I grabbed his arm. His face was in a state of shock just as my mind was as I realized I was actually walking out the front door and toward his car. Leading him, I had no idea where I was going but I knew I couldn’t turn around or I would come back to that voice in my head that kept asking me what the hell I was doing. Eventually I slowed down enough for him to get ahead of me and lead me to his car. Once we got in he pulled around to the very back edge of the lot and parked. I crawled in the back, pulling off my Gap jeans and Victoria’s Secret underwear while he exited the car before getting back in through the driver’s side back door already bared down to his boxer shorts. He began kissing me over the back seat as he climbed over. I laid with my head nearing the top of the flattened third row and I’m legs stretched out toward the rear door. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to only be 5”1 as in this moment. He told me how he missed this (not me) and how good I was. In that moment I truly understood the mentality of the Samantha Jones character in Sex in the City. I’ve always kind of wished I could be like her- uninhibited, unattainable, sexual and unapologetic for it. Although on occasion I think I thought I got it but this time I knew I had it. I didn’t feel dirty, I didn’t feel like something was going to come of this, honestly I didn’t even really care if I ever slept with him again or not. I had accomplished what I thought I couldn’t- to be with him again without thinking about being with him again. With my legs draped over his forearms and the strands of my hair dangling toward the floorboard, I felt satisfied hearing him tell me these things and frankly just not giving a shit either way. We drove back to the front lot when we were done and he told me to call him, I kissed him and responded with a “yeah…right”. I scooted out of the car and briskly walked back into the building eluting to nothing more than the idea that I had been outside on the patio lost in the crowd of people watching the concert on stage. I kept a mysterious smirk on my face the rest of the night like some unspoken badge of empowerment. I didn’t call him and I didn’t feel the least bit compelled to do so.
It was three months later when Philly walked in around 12:45, one o'clock. He had frequented a couple times the weeks prior and of course in regular Philly form, hinted to me coming over and staying the night with him, but I didn't have any reason to, more so no real desire to do so. That night was different and I wanted to stay with him. I wish I could pinpoint what made me want to stay with him that particular night, but I don't know I just wanted to. We had laughed and giggled about it for periods of time on end. He left telling me to call him, but I just kept shaking my head no with a flirty cheerleader smile on my face. I got to my house around 2:20, took a shower and called him to see if he needed some company. Within thirty minutes I was headed to his townhouse. We walked up the flight of wooden floor stairs and into his lowly lit bedroom. Being it that I technically got dress with the notion that I would be taking my clothes off pretty soon, I had little to take off. I pulled off my jeans, men's button down shirt, bra and underwear and laid them in in the oversize armchair sitting in the right corner. As I crawled onto the bed, he was busy synchronizing his iTunes on his new Mac computer on the side table next to the bed. He gently slid in between my thighs, kissing my stomach and moving upward to my chest and my lips. When he stared at me it was almost like the way we were. It was sweet and in a way it made me nervous. I couldn't get sucked in him again. I felt like I had accomplished something and knew I could have sex with him without needing to be with him. Being in his bed, in his house with him inside me was like reliving a moment I had failed the first time. For the first while being in this position I analyzed every word he said to me and over thought about every word I said in response. I caught my breath and I remembered this wasn't real. He meant every word he said and none of those words included wanting to be with me, missing me or liking me. I knew this was what it was and what it always would be- a relationship of convenience. I stopped thinking so much and began to enjoy it for what it was. I had an incredible orgasm before falling asleep curled up next to him. That was the last time I was with him.
I think about him occasionally and wondered why I never thought to take a picture with or of him. In that thought, I’ve suddenly become the old lady on Titanic that tells the director Jake only exist in her mind. When I heard that in the movie it seemed so sweet but now that it’s me it just seems stupid. Why didn’t I ever think to take a picture, I take pictures of everything else. I truly have to admit, that last night we were together I woke up in the middle of the night and looked over at him. He looked so cute- laying on his back with his right arm fallen over his stomach and the sheet grasp in his left hand. I wanted to take my phone off the bed side table and quickly snap a shot, but I had two thoughts 1) the utter embarrassment I would suffer if he woke up with me hovering over him with my camera phone like I was setting up his audition picture for Janis Dickerson’s modeling agency and 2) I didn’t want to take his picture like that. It wasn’t real- like our relationship wasn’t real. Looking at it wouldn’t have sparked that warm, happy feeling you get in your stomach right before cracking a happy memory smile on your face. It would have just reminded me of what I wanted us to be, this unobvious cute couple. It would have reminded me that we weren’t real, we were in the moment, we were Tonya and Philly separately and every now and then we were us, but only in that moment. In that moment gazing at him sleeping beside me, I just wanted to enjoy us for that night that it lasted and us wasn’t pictures. In a way I do wish I had a picture to look back at him, but now I suppose he does only exist in my memory.
About month after I had given him my number, he called and wanted to know what I was up to. I had gotten tickets to the WuTang concert but I didn't have anyone to go with...look how things work out. I invited him to go and we made plans to meet up at his house then drive to the venue together that night. The night was interesting. I learned some small facts about him, including that he had a daughter but never made any mention of her mom and ignorantly I never thought to ask. Once Protect Ya Neck was over we left to return to his house. We stood in the kitchen for a while talking about Super Head, who was a feature article in the magazine I was flipping through while leaning on against the center island. He fixed us two Cape Cods right before we walked up to the third floor of his townhouse to the media room. We watched a few minutes of television and partially finished our drinks then went to his room. Obviously I stayed the night and I would stay the night three more times within that following week.
About two weeks in and on my drive to work, I received a phone call. I didn't know the number so I didn't answer it. I didn't answer it until about the 15th time it rang. It was a female asking to speak to me. I didn't know how nor did I at least recognize the voice. She introduced herself as Philly's wife...I didn't know what to think, utter than complete disbelief. I sat on the phone listening to her talk about their relationship and how she came to find out about me and "others" before me. She sounded so timid like I imagined her in a house dress, bare foot with a rag over her hair. I felt bad for her, but at the same time I felt insulted that she was calling me when I had no idea about any of this being possible. When we hung up, I called Philly but he didn't answer, which slightly made me feel like it was confirming everything she said.
I got to work, only to look overcome with stress. I've never been involved in a situation like this. I've never even attempted to talk to someone's boyfriend let alone their husband. Coincidentally Philly was my owner's best friend, I have to tell my boss/friend what was going on. I was relied the information that Philly is not married and in fact just had a very young and very crazy baby mama that he didn't even want to know where he lived. As she mentioned that I was reminded how the girl on the phone kept pressing me about where he lived. Philly called the next day to apologize. He reconfirmed everything my friend told me and I felt relieved like my soul had been restored after haven been a vampire for two days. It was awhile before we hung out again, but when we did it was us all over again. Granted every now and then I got these random phone calls and it annoyed the hell out of me, but I liked him and I liked being around him.
About three months later he went out of town and although I texted him more frequently than I should have, we spoke to each other less and less. I finally realized he may not be the one for me and stopped contacting him at all. The following months I moved on, but occasionally thought about him just never contacted him...I needed to get away from him. He had been my bad habit and I needed to break it.
It was seven months until I saw Philly again. He had walked into our club in the same story book fashion I remembered the first time I met him. This time the feeling wasn’t quite there, I didn’t want to just eat him up that very moment, which was definitely different from the first time. As he passed by an old friend came up to talk to me for a while. We stood there talking, laughing and completely oblivious to the fact that Philly was standing at the patio double doors smearing his face in the glass at me like the lady from the Mervyn’s commercials. Fifteen minutes after my friend made his exit, Philly came in telling me how he was trying to get my attention and thinking I had replaced him with a new guy. I laughed because honestly it was funny but because I couldn’t picture him being truly all that concerned with my being entertained by someone else. He stood there wooing me for a moment, but I just wasn’t where I was with him anymore. I had passed through to the thought that a relationship just wouldn’t exist with us anymore and was strongly battling with the idea if I could just have sex with him with no strings attached. Could I go from trying to make a relationship to just sex? That night I went home- alone.
Another week passed before he came back into the club. I had already made a pact to myself that I would not and could not fall into him again. He came in with his beautiful white smile and gorgeous face and I smiled. Somewhere in there I started to feel the idea of my pact being pushed to the side and damn I think I wanted him. As usual he came talking to me about randomness. Doug E. Fresh was our performing artist that night and we had all talked about actually watching the show. When Kim came up to tell me he was just about to get on stage, Philly was behind me with his arms around my waist telling me about how he had thought about making me cum and how hot it would be to screw me in the back of his Cadillac Escalade parked in the side back lot. I laughed and told him no. As we separated, he walked toward the club entrance and I started my way out the patio door, my pact became nonexistent and I whipped around to hear the words, “come on,” as I grabbed his arm. His face was in a state of shock just as my mind was as I realized I was actually walking out the front door and toward his car. Leading him, I had no idea where I was going but I knew I couldn’t turn around or I would come back to that voice in my head that kept asking me what the hell I was doing. Eventually I slowed down enough for him to get ahead of me and lead me to his car. Once we got in he pulled around to the very back edge of the lot and parked. I crawled in the back, pulling off my Gap jeans and Victoria’s Secret underwear while he exited the car before getting back in through the driver’s side back door already bared down to his boxer shorts. He began kissing me over the back seat as he climbed over. I laid with my head nearing the top of the flattened third row and I’m legs stretched out toward the rear door. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to only be 5”1 as in this moment. He told me how he missed this (not me) and how good I was. In that moment I truly understood the mentality of the Samantha Jones character in Sex in the City. I’ve always kind of wished I could be like her- uninhibited, unattainable, sexual and unapologetic for it. Although on occasion I think I thought I got it but this time I knew I had it. I didn’t feel dirty, I didn’t feel like something was going to come of this, honestly I didn’t even really care if I ever slept with him again or not. I had accomplished what I thought I couldn’t- to be with him again without thinking about being with him again. With my legs draped over his forearms and the strands of my hair dangling toward the floorboard, I felt satisfied hearing him tell me these things and frankly just not giving a shit either way. We drove back to the front lot when we were done and he told me to call him, I kissed him and responded with a “yeah…right”. I scooted out of the car and briskly walked back into the building eluting to nothing more than the idea that I had been outside on the patio lost in the crowd of people watching the concert on stage. I kept a mysterious smirk on my face the rest of the night like some unspoken badge of empowerment. I didn’t call him and I didn’t feel the least bit compelled to do so.
It was three months later when Philly walked in around 12:45, one o'clock. He had frequented a couple times the weeks prior and of course in regular Philly form, hinted to me coming over and staying the night with him, but I didn't have any reason to, more so no real desire to do so. That night was different and I wanted to stay with him. I wish I could pinpoint what made me want to stay with him that particular night, but I don't know I just wanted to. We had laughed and giggled about it for periods of time on end. He left telling me to call him, but I just kept shaking my head no with a flirty cheerleader smile on my face. I got to my house around 2:20, took a shower and called him to see if he needed some company. Within thirty minutes I was headed to his townhouse. We walked up the flight of wooden floor stairs and into his lowly lit bedroom. Being it that I technically got dress with the notion that I would be taking my clothes off pretty soon, I had little to take off. I pulled off my jeans, men's button down shirt, bra and underwear and laid them in in the oversize armchair sitting in the right corner. As I crawled onto the bed, he was busy synchronizing his iTunes on his new Mac computer on the side table next to the bed. He gently slid in between my thighs, kissing my stomach and moving upward to my chest and my lips. When he stared at me it was almost like the way we were. It was sweet and in a way it made me nervous. I couldn't get sucked in him again. I felt like I had accomplished something and knew I could have sex with him without needing to be with him. Being in his bed, in his house with him inside me was like reliving a moment I had failed the first time. For the first while being in this position I analyzed every word he said to me and over thought about every word I said in response. I caught my breath and I remembered this wasn't real. He meant every word he said and none of those words included wanting to be with me, missing me or liking me. I knew this was what it was and what it always would be- a relationship of convenience. I stopped thinking so much and began to enjoy it for what it was. I had an incredible orgasm before falling asleep curled up next to him. That was the last time I was with him.
I think about him occasionally and wondered why I never thought to take a picture with or of him. In that thought, I’ve suddenly become the old lady on Titanic that tells the director Jake only exist in her mind. When I heard that in the movie it seemed so sweet but now that it’s me it just seems stupid. Why didn’t I ever think to take a picture, I take pictures of everything else. I truly have to admit, that last night we were together I woke up in the middle of the night and looked over at him. He looked so cute- laying on his back with his right arm fallen over his stomach and the sheet grasp in his left hand. I wanted to take my phone off the bed side table and quickly snap a shot, but I had two thoughts 1) the utter embarrassment I would suffer if he woke up with me hovering over him with my camera phone like I was setting up his audition picture for Janis Dickerson’s modeling agency and 2) I didn’t want to take his picture like that. It wasn’t real- like our relationship wasn’t real. Looking at it wouldn’t have sparked that warm, happy feeling you get in your stomach right before cracking a happy memory smile on your face. It would have just reminded me of what I wanted us to be, this unobvious cute couple. It would have reminded me that we weren’t real, we were in the moment, we were Tonya and Philly separately and every now and then we were us, but only in that moment. In that moment gazing at him sleeping beside me, I just wanted to enjoy us for that night that it lasted and us wasn’t pictures. In a way I do wish I had a picture to look back at him, but now I suppose he does only exist in my memory.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Runner in Crisis
So perhaps I cursed myself by taking such pride in my achievement of running my 4 miles the week before last. After taking a three day hiatus (Friday- I had prior plans and was dead tired, Saturday- I drove to mom & daddy's house, Sunday- drove from mom & daddy's house, watched the Oscars & the lights go off at 1045P which equals no running for me ). The following Monday I stumped on my track like a faith soldier ready to run. I started out with "My President Is Black" by Jay Z pumping on my iPod only to be achingly halted by the excruciating pain of my shin bones feeling like they were going to jump right out of the front of my legs. I had to stop to walk after only a mile and a half. My face was utterly distraught and you know for about a minute I think I caught myself looking around at the surrounding lofts and houses to make sure no one was looking and pointing at me in my defeat. I don't understand what happened, I mean I was kicking some ass prior to this little set back. I wrapped that night with only running about two miles, which true still good but a complete disappoint to the previous record. Tuesday I thought I would get on that horse and try again. I love the feel of the run and under no circumstance was I going to let this bone problem stop me. Ironically I ended up working handling a client late & by the time I arrived at the track the light were off....I went home & worked out on the balance ball, which fabulous in it's own right, but damnit it's not a run!!! Wednesday was the night to regain my confidence, which was sharply sinking and making me want to rejoin my one run a week slacker group (no there's no such group, but had I stopped running I would've created one out of shire irony). This time I started slow, walking the first half mile. My face gleamed as the dead air hit it when I broke into a run only right before my shins caught on FIRE with pain once again. WTF?!?! I stopped after seeing the two and three quarter mile mark...what is wrong with me, or better yet what is wrong with my legs??? Is it a big conspiracy to keep me from running? Thursday became a make or break moment. Despite the 40 something degree weather, I piled on my running pants, thermal, long sleeve shirt, mock fleece sweater, Ranger baseball cap and Nike's to meet the me friend come foe. I was once again triumphant!! I started with a brisk eighth mile walk then began my run. The cold wind chilled my face and froze my hands, but I was in it...I was in the zone. I thought about all the things I normally focus on during a run but couldn't the last few days ago. It was beautiful!!! Friday bought the same glorious resolute. Despite the lights turning off on me midway, it only made me run faster. Saturday naturally bought a longing sense of tiredness and my publicist hat, so I had to attend a show for my friend and PR clients. Sunday involved sleeping, community service (not mandated by the court), cleaning, transporting of the TiVo and working on a project for a client. Tonight may very well be another triumphant moment only if I can make it before the lights begin turning off... I just don't understand what the hell happened those days?? Why were my legs so against me? Please if have any suggestions, please, please, please, please feel free to express them. I realize this is the first time I've actually ran 4 miles in one shot (well actually knowing it anyway), but I've grown to love running. Do you understand the countless number of people I get to make fun of in my head without feeling guilty or how my receipts I'm created for dinners, how many outfits I'm designed, guys I've proclaimed scrubs and my recently how many times I've avoided the temptation of calling one guy? Running has become very serious in my life- it's like having a free therapist!!! I was so bewildered by my situation I had to ask for some advice...so here's my request for help if anyone has any. I will keep you posted on my progress from tonight....thanks for listening friends!!!
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
First Timer
Okay so I think I'm just starting to get the idea of this blogging thing...so really it's not supposed to be something thoroughly thought out but just random thoughts in your mind...right? At any account, I figured I'd write something. Just about everyone has notes on their pages and yet I'm supposed to be the writer in my little group..hmmm?!?! You know this is the first time I've had just about a week to hang out and first let me say I have enjoyed each and every moment. Second I have not spent this much time online since the internet was first discovered. I'm learning there is so much stuff on the internet. I almost feel like I just found Narnia. Today I realized I officially broke in mom & daddy's new couch because I think I've only moved from this one spot to eat, use the bathroom and occasionally walk through the house talking. I've developed the habit of waking up, grabbing my laptop and immediately searching the web for anything and everything for HOURS. I will no longer laugh at the crack heads on Intervention because I'm beginning to understand how it sucks you in and you can't stop. What am I going to do when I have to go back to work on Monday? Perhaps I should start slowly winging myself off now so I won't be going through massive withdraw when I realize I can no longer sit on the couch with my eyes overwhelmingly glued to my laptop screen all day...Ohmigosh, I need an intervention don't I? Damn Facebook and Vimeo! Who are these pushers that just sit around thinking of clever things to put online and suck poor, unsuspecting working people like me in? This is their way of converting people from corporate America isn't it? I get it- I go to work on Monday and realize I can't search the web anymore then I start to feel like I'm behind because I don't know what's going on online then I start to break out in sweats and panic attacks before leaving my office to seek out a WiFi spot to rejoin the online community. Who are these people? They should be watched...I need to get the Blackberry Storm immediately just so I can keep my eye on them throughout the day and while I sit at my desk and underneath the table at meetings...I mean you never know when they're going to strike! The way I see it, I'd just be doing the world a favor. You never know how many other poor smucks they're pulling into their web with their technology. I know one day I'll be thanked for my big brothering!
What's Our Blog About Again
Will, this is for you!
So last night while we were on the phone discussing my 4 hour marathon phone call with HP, which basically ended with me realizing I should be a MAC and not a PC, you mentioned me writing a blog for you. Of course I agreed as I do with most things you suggest me to do, but sadly I completely forgot the actual point behind the blog. I realize and understand for the most part blogs don't have points, but for some reason I feel like this one did and I feel like in the heat of the moment it was good one. Throughout the day I've sat at my desk staring at people, as I most often do, reviewing our conversation in my head, but for some reason I am only able to remember the conversation being had at the time the words, "you need to write a blog about that," were being uttered and nothing leading up to it. For a brief moment I even thought maybe that was the point of the blog, nothing- but then I only thought that about a minute ago when I finally gave in to the fact that I can't remember what we talked about. Perhaps one of those aforementioned statements came while we were talking about March Madness. Considering I was slightly engulfed in ESPN at the time of that conversation and rudely, partially listening (sorry), I have the idea you might have said it at that time. I also think it was brought up while you talked about the new logos now appearing on the NBA jerseys and when I first learned you know Spanish (slightly impressive). -For everyone else- Apparently the NBA has started putting the name of the team in Spanish on the jerseys. Well, the problem with this is it's not really in Spanish, it just has the word El before the team name...ie..El Bulls...hmmm?!?! Granted please keep in mind, I haven't seen this new diversification but I highly trust Will so I've taken his word for it. I noticed in the conversation and because we were actually having this conversation in the first place that this is a bothersome issue for Will. Basically his reason was the fact that putting El in front of an English word does not make it a Spanish word...totally understandable! He felt as though children will start running around saying El in front of words as if they were speaking Spanish. Naturally we had to remark the fact that just about every comedian in the world and many everyday people have made the passing joke of doing just this when pretending to speak Spanish- perhaps politically incorrect, but admittedly sometimes funny. I've come to the conclusion that frequently our conversations involve New York (imagine that), Memphis being Memphis...oh and which I've recently learned is also very country-ghetto; therefore has it's own vocabulary- ie..safetivity...yeah go look that one up. However an alarming fact came up during our conversation and that was that Will has NEVER seen the Godfather! Okay maybe it is just me that has seen that movie about 4.8 million times and will continue to watch each and every time it comes on AMC, but I have never met anyone who has never seen that movie. For about 2-3 minutes I was speechless and unable to formulate a complete sentence. I hate that I've forgotten our blog topic, but now in hindsight I'm wondering if this might have been a test to see if I would remember today or just so I could forget and Will can have bragging rights for the moment. At the same time, I also wonder if our blog topic was personal and in that being the case something I wouldn't write about out of shire respect considering aside from me all the people Will and I normally talk about are the psycho females he finds himself occasionally intertwined with. Granted they are respectfully nicknamed after their residing state, as we discussed I am still fearful of one of them hunting us down one day and shanking me out of a jealous rage. At any account, I am sorry I've forgotten our topic, but I hope this one will at least make you laugh for the time being!!!
So last night while we were on the phone discussing my 4 hour marathon phone call with HP, which basically ended with me realizing I should be a MAC and not a PC, you mentioned me writing a blog for you. Of course I agreed as I do with most things you suggest me to do, but sadly I completely forgot the actual point behind the blog. I realize and understand for the most part blogs don't have points, but for some reason I feel like this one did and I feel like in the heat of the moment it was good one. Throughout the day I've sat at my desk staring at people, as I most often do, reviewing our conversation in my head, but for some reason I am only able to remember the conversation being had at the time the words, "you need to write a blog about that," were being uttered and nothing leading up to it. For a brief moment I even thought maybe that was the point of the blog, nothing- but then I only thought that about a minute ago when I finally gave in to the fact that I can't remember what we talked about. Perhaps one of those aforementioned statements came while we were talking about March Madness. Considering I was slightly engulfed in ESPN at the time of that conversation and rudely, partially listening (sorry), I have the idea you might have said it at that time. I also think it was brought up while you talked about the new logos now appearing on the NBA jerseys and when I first learned you know Spanish (slightly impressive). -For everyone else- Apparently the NBA has started putting the name of the team in Spanish on the jerseys. Well, the problem with this is it's not really in Spanish, it just has the word El before the team name...ie..El Bulls...hmmm?!?! Granted please keep in mind, I haven't seen this new diversification but I highly trust Will so I've taken his word for it. I noticed in the conversation and because we were actually having this conversation in the first place that this is a bothersome issue for Will. Basically his reason was the fact that putting El in front of an English word does not make it a Spanish word...totally understandable! He felt as though children will start running around saying El in front of words as if they were speaking Spanish. Naturally we had to remark the fact that just about every comedian in the world and many everyday people have made the passing joke of doing just this when pretending to speak Spanish- perhaps politically incorrect, but admittedly sometimes funny. I've come to the conclusion that frequently our conversations involve New York (imagine that), Memphis being Memphis...oh and which I've recently learned is also very country-ghetto; therefore has it's own vocabulary- ie..safetivity...yeah go look that one up. However an alarming fact came up during our conversation and that was that Will has NEVER seen the Godfather! Okay maybe it is just me that has seen that movie about 4.8 million times and will continue to watch each and every time it comes on AMC, but I have never met anyone who has never seen that movie. For about 2-3 minutes I was speechless and unable to formulate a complete sentence. I hate that I've forgotten our blog topic, but now in hindsight I'm wondering if this might have been a test to see if I would remember today or just so I could forget and Will can have bragging rights for the moment. At the same time, I also wonder if our blog topic was personal and in that being the case something I wouldn't write about out of shire respect considering aside from me all the people Will and I normally talk about are the psycho females he finds himself occasionally intertwined with. Granted they are respectfully nicknamed after their residing state, as we discussed I am still fearful of one of them hunting us down one day and shanking me out of a jealous rage. At any account, I am sorry I've forgotten our topic, but I hope this one will at least make you laugh for the time being!!!
The Day The Music REALLY Died
The morning of July 25th started with utter happiness. The phone rang with my brother on the line relying the news that his wife had just given birth to their six pound son, Miles Robinson. It was an end to a long awaited anticipation. I was overjoyed to be an aunt again!
The last week I had spent relentlessly studying for my insurance license so sleep had unconcernedly taken a back seat. It was four minutes after 4:00 in the morning before I stepped onto the treadmill for what I had dubbed in my head as a thirty minute jog. When I got on, I was possessed by this urge to continue. I watched the clock clear 4:15 then 4:30 before deciding I wasn't going by the time anymore and instead demanded a certain amount of miles out of myself. At five miles, I convinced myself I would jog another half mile then stop. After 46 minutes and 5.59 miles I was done. I stood in the middle of the living room for a moment, my body was still surging with energy so I figured I would continue my mini work out with some short leg and ab exercises. I jumped in the shower around 5:15.
Angel was on TNT and I had grown a slight addiction to watching it in the mornings. Perhaps it was the fact that nothing else seemed to be on at five o'clock in the morning while I was still up painstakingly studying my notes. I fell asleep midway through Good Morning America, but woke up long enough to catch a glance of the paparazzi shoving cameras into the face of Alana Stewart as she drove from the hospital after Farah Fawcett's passing. At the time I wasn't conscious enough for it to soak in and just buried my head back into the pillow, going back to sleep.
It was nearly one in the afternoon as I sat in front of my laptop that I realized Farah had succumb to her three year illness. Even after having tearfully watched her special on ABC weeks ago, I was still a little surprised. She had fought so hard and the doctor's had long proclaimed her illness incurable, I thought she would be able to hang in a few more months. As portions from the special aired on television, my tiny surprise quickly dissolved after seeing her wilting body in each piece. Her death was inevitable and I felt nothing but remorse for the people around her unwilling to accept her fate. My heart was saddened by their current position, but encouraged by their strength and support of her.
I was watching Oprah when the phone rang again- it was my sister. She had been receiving text messages that Michael was dead. I chuckled thinking it was another fake death trilogy because nothing had scrolled across the scene. As Oprah's show ended and the five o'clock news began to preview, they announced Michael had been rushed to the hospital in Los Angeles. My smirk had immediately turned to a bewildered state. I hung up the phone after telling her what I had just seen and that I would call her back. I turned to my election faithful, MSNBC, which was already in full swing and on location at UCLA Medical Center. When they went to commercial I switched to CNN and within 15 minutes they announced the LA Times had declared Michael Jackson dead, but they wouldn't confirm. I sat shaking my head and turned to MSNBC, thinking CNN had been unreliable in the past. It was true MSNBC, Fox News and Channel 8 all confirmed the death of Michael Jackson. I sat there staring at the scene before suddenly feeling like the wind had been knocked out of me. I rolled over onto my hands and knees, heaving in disbelief. What was going on??
I unconsciously moved from my laptop to the television, still trying to grasp what was happening. Was this real? Was I really watching the death of an Icon? I was paralyzed in what seemed like an alternate universe. Memorials and sympathies were being tattered everywhere- online, television, newspapers, but it wasn't real yet. I listened as Keith Obberman noted the next footage they would be showing could be graphic. The cameras continued to an arial shot of the aid atop UCLA Medical Center transporting Michael's body into a windowless white van bearing the label Coroner and it finally hit. This was all real. Michael Jackson, the King of Pop, the music Icon and the cultural inventor was dead. This was more than a moment in history, this was a devastation to millions of people around the globe.
I couldn't stop watching and couldn't help feeling guilty for letting this tragedy overshadow the miracle my family had shared this morning. This was unbelievable- the day of my nephew's birth would now be tainted by the death of music's greatest.
In the hours passing and the 25th becoming the 26th, many words have been said. Many from the unfenced community of entertainment and others from the people that have watched over the years. For the first time a genius has eclipsed a sex symbol and people would wake up Friday morning to see Michael's death front page while Farah's became swallowed within the pages of their newspapers. As expected his death recanted his successes just as much as his scandal and eccentricities. But in his death, his huge influence became noticeably apparent by the resonating news throughout the world. Newscasters reported from the Apollo theatre in shock of the faces and ages in the crowd people. Unforgettably Michael's career spanned for 40 years, touching people in their 80's just as much as teenagers. People, myself included, posted their favorite videos on their websites and Thriller is once again the number one best selling album.
In the end what is there to be said about Michael Jackson? I suppose everyone has their own opinion- whether to recognize his indisputable talent or his uncomfortable mystery of the later years is upon each individual. I've learned over time, in death people usually choose to see the greater good in people. This is a moment in history that will never be replicated. It can be comparable to the death of President Kennedy, which is obvious by the coverage it has received through every media outline. It's news is top story, ahead of the revolution in Iran or the bombs in Korea, something which has never been said for any other entertainer.
I have also posted videos, sayings on Twitter and Facebook. I don't believe my words to be the thoughts of everyone, but I took comfort in how I've chosen to see the life of Michael Jackson. I posted this on Activist Don Ramon's Facebook page:
Este es un día triste no sólo en el African American historia, pero la historia de la música y la historia del mundo. Michael ha cambiado la imagen de los vídeos con Policial, la imagen de la filantropía con We Are The World. Su corazón era enorme y su inmensa compasión, pero su talento ha sido y siempre será insuperable. Durante los últimos 40 años, ha sido una inspiración y una influencia para tantas personas. En mis oraciones que, el corazón y el amor salir a su familia, sus amigos y sus fans. Michael mayo encontrar la paz en la muerte no se le permitió en la vida. Se puede perder ahora, pero recordar para siempre!
It says:
This is a sad day not only in African American history but the history of music and the history of the world. Michael has changed the image of videos with Thriller, the image of philanthropy with We Are The World. His heart was huge and immensely compassionate, but his talent has been and always will be insurmountable. Over the past 40 years, he has been an inspiration and influence to so many people. In that my prayers, heart and love go out to his family, his friends and his fans. May Michael find the peace in death he was not allowed in life. He will be missed now, but remembered forever!
Friday, July 3, 2009
Love?
I've been curiously wondering lately, when do you know you're in love? When does having a crush become being in love? I've been talking to someone for over a year and I can't think of anyone else other than him. He's on my mind when I wake up, throughout the day I smile when I think of him and when I go to sleep I look at his picture before settling comfortably into my bed. He's that guy that I compare all other guys to at random during the day. I imagine events with him, days with him and handling stupid intense situations with him. I keep thinking there should be some ten step program or guideline to knowing when you're in love, I mean there's a guideline for everything else.
I have compared my other "relationships" to this one to identify any significant differences and crazily I do. I read on WikiAnswers the responses to the question, "How do you know when you're in love"...okay I realize how corny it is to even key in a question like that, but the Magic 8 Ball comes with a limited amount of answers. Anyway, one of the answers said something about that person making you want to be a better person; they inspire you. This is the first time in my life a person, especially a guy not of celebrity status, has ever done either, let alone both of those things. I knew that I really liked him and that I thought about him a lot but I could never bring myself to use the phrase in love or falling in love. Recently friends, neither of them having met him but listen to my voice and words as I speak of him, have expressed that they think I am in love. And for the first time I heard myself say I wasn't out of shire fear. I thought, can fear make us miss out on love or are we just being caution with our hearts?
I think back to school when just holding hands and being seen in the halls was a big deal and a sure sign that it was love. I hate that it isn't that easy anymore, but then again the majority of people that marry their high school sweetheart end up in divorce so clearly that wasn't love either. Is there really a true answer to the question, how do you know when you're in love or is it just one of those things you just know like knowing the way crayons taste because of how they smell. I use that comparison because I use to compare this particular restaurant's dinner roll butter to tasting like crayons although I have never even so much as licked a crayon, I just knew that would be the way they would taste. I suppose love is the same way, you just know. In that I guess it's just a feeling- perhaps of being happy or a feeling of completion. Maybe it's the thought- the idea that you think of that person more than any thing else. Or it's the belief- the thought of believing the two you can do or survive anything. The belief there is a future for the two of you. Then again maybe it's all those things compiled into one thing ultimately signifying you are in love...
I have compared my other "relationships" to this one to identify any significant differences and crazily I do. I read on WikiAnswers the responses to the question, "How do you know when you're in love"...okay I realize how corny it is to even key in a question like that, but the Magic 8 Ball comes with a limited amount of answers. Anyway, one of the answers said something about that person making you want to be a better person; they inspire you. This is the first time in my life a person, especially a guy not of celebrity status, has ever done either, let alone both of those things. I knew that I really liked him and that I thought about him a lot but I could never bring myself to use the phrase in love or falling in love. Recently friends, neither of them having met him but listen to my voice and words as I speak of him, have expressed that they think I am in love. And for the first time I heard myself say I wasn't out of shire fear. I thought, can fear make us miss out on love or are we just being caution with our hearts?
I think back to school when just holding hands and being seen in the halls was a big deal and a sure sign that it was love. I hate that it isn't that easy anymore, but then again the majority of people that marry their high school sweetheart end up in divorce so clearly that wasn't love either. Is there really a true answer to the question, how do you know when you're in love or is it just one of those things you just know like knowing the way crayons taste because of how they smell. I use that comparison because I use to compare this particular restaurant's dinner roll butter to tasting like crayons although I have never even so much as licked a crayon, I just knew that would be the way they would taste. I suppose love is the same way, you just know. In that I guess it's just a feeling- perhaps of being happy or a feeling of completion. Maybe it's the thought- the idea that you think of that person more than any thing else. Or it's the belief- the thought of believing the two you can do or survive anything. The belief there is a future for the two of you. Then again maybe it's all those things compiled into one thing ultimately signifying you are in love...
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