Beachtree 

Haven't a clue why I'm like this today.

Sometimes a girl's feeling a little bummed and she needs some sixities style super pop music to make her feel better. I was a little with the melancholy a couple of days ago so I put in the Autumn Defenses "Circles" while I was driving around. It made me so happy! It's so floaty and light and the lyrics are so personal that I get this feeling that John Stiratt and Pat Sansone are playing just for me. But then all Wilco side projects have that vibe for me. It's why I love Tweedy and the boys. It may sound silly but I have this feeling like they know everywhere I've been and everywhere I'm going... and it makes things a lot less frightening.

Beat the Heat.

So David and I are driving down Blossom St. a couple of days ago with the music blasting (per usual) and the dog in the back of the truck. There's a pick up truck in front of us with a 21-22 year old guy sitting in the back. David and I are making jokes, saying we should pull up next to him and let the dog say hi. It was hot, damn hot which is good if you're with a lady but not when you're in the concrete jungle. So as we're sitting behind this truck at a red light we see some sort of milky liquid squirt out the back of the truck. Both of us are like, "What's that?" At which point the dude sitting in the back immediatly begins vomiting, again.

David: "Well he must be drunk. His friends probably made him sit back there."
Me: "Yeah, it's easier to hose out the back than the cab. But you know, sitting back there in the sun and bouncing up and down probably didn't help a lot."
David: "Yeah. I wish we had the camera. We'll never see that again."

Here's my question: Are we horrible people for laughing at this? And who gets drunk at 1:00 in the afternoon when it's like 80 bijillion degrees outside? And why was that guy puking white? I mean what, was he drinking white russians or something? And who would drink a milk based drink on a day that hot?

Just another of life's inane and yet insanely funny moments.

Please Tell My Mother...

My mother and I are so different that it sometimes astonished me that we're related. My mother is more of a girl, into fashion, appearances. popularity and reality shows whereas as I rate somewhere around 47 on the Ripley's Believe it or Not weirdness scale. My mom likes to shop and find fashionable clothes, I like to shop... for books and cds. My mom likes sappy romantic comedies, I like Akira Kurosawa and Stanley Kubrick. For a long time I resented my mother. I felt that she was overbearing and was trying to hard to make me a younger version of her... and then I realized something.

My mother is a cleaning woman. She goes into people's homes and cleans up. There were times as a kid that I was a little ashamed of her job. I felt it was somehow degrading or unworthy of her. She's had some of her customers for decades, especially the elderly folks. I've grown up knowing them, playing in their houses, vacumming or reading their books. There are two in particular who stand out in my mind. Mr. Smith, who's at least 80 and Joan who was in her seventies. I always loved going to Mr. Smithl's because he had a whole wall of books and National Geographics. When I was a kid he would send boxes of books home with my mother for me. Joan's house was my favorite. It was an old house, with a big front porch and squishy old furniture. The best part was that Joan collected turtle figurines. When I was 6 I got a pet turtle, George, (he's still living). When I saw Joan's collection, I started my own.

Joan died a short while ago. She'd been sick for a long time. My mother had taken her to doctor's appointments, checked her medications and all the other little things. She asked for nothing in return. My mother called me to tell me she had died. I could hear in my mom's voice how sad she was and how angry. Joan's daughter in law had come in and thrown out all of the journals Joan had kept. And my mother thought this horrible and cruel. My mother spoke about what a good lady Joan had been and how much she had always liked me. And then she told me how old Mr. Smith had gotten and how sick he was. And I had an epiphany. My mother didn't clean houses because there was nothing else she could do or because the hours let her be home with my brother and I when we were kids. She did it because she loved people. Because she liked taking care of them, loving them and protecting them. She did it because she was one of those people with a heart so big that she had to find more people to bring into it. And I knew, that as long as I lived I could never be that kind and giving. All I could do was try to give even a little back.

Maybe that's part of growing up. Being able to see your parents as people. To step back and see them for what they truly are... not the person who made you do your homework or wear a dress. Maybe adulthood is being able to put aside prejudice and the memories of old hurt and just see the beauty and the goodness that's inside everyone.

I've finally seen my mother. Defender of the weak, protector of the elderly and the best mopper on the planet. There is no way to say thank you for these things. How do you say to someone, "Thank you for showing me what it takes to be a great person?" or "Not all heros get medals, some just are and don't expect anyone to notice."? Is there any way to tell someone how happy you are that they shaped you? That you are an okay person because of them? If there's a way voice these feelings I haven't figured it out yet. So, all I can say is this, I am proud to be my mother's daughter.

Maggie Dog 

Time is on my side.

'"Equality," I spoke the word
As if a wedding vow
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I'm younger than that now.'

- Bob Dylan
"My Back Pages"

Well, the observant among you may have noticed that the title of this blog is "Quarter of a Century". Perhaps two of the five people who've read this have even wondered what was meant by it. Here's your answer, in the form of another song quote:

"And now, a quarter of my life is almost past,
I think I've come to see myself at last..."

-Joe Cocker
"Darling Be Home Soon"

The basic question I'm trying to find an answer to is this: When do you become an adult? At what point do things fall into place? Is this it? I'm almost twenty-five, I have a college degree, I'm considered reasonably intelligent - and yet, I spend half my time looking around and mumbling, "What the hell...?".
So. When does it kick in? At what point will I understand credit, consolidating loans, 401k's, insurance, savings, purchasing a home and the point of all these things? Call me an underachievers but all I really want is a job I like, a place to keep my movies/computer/books/cds/boyfriend/puppy and lots of free time to play with said movies/computer/books/cds/boyfriend/puppy. Is that so much to ask? I'd like to have more money, but I'm not willing to work 70 hours a week to get it. Time is far more valuable than money, because we have such a limited amount of it... I mean, in the greater scheme of things our lives are not even cosmic blinks. Maybe that's why so many songwriters use time as a topic...

"Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today
And then one day you find that ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun."

- Pink Floyd
"Time"

Well, I can sympathize with that ditty. It's how I feel now. I have this feeling like everyone was trying to hurry me so much that I missed some cue. I have this feeling like time is bearing down on me, that there is something else I should be doing, some goal I should be roaring towards, but I can't figure out what it is... What's the point of life if you waste all your time making connections, working, paying bills and being a productive member of society? Isn't it important to waste a few hours or days lying on an isolated beach and thinking about what your alien counterparts are doing? Isn't it important to blow off work so you can go drive go-carts with your friends sometimes? I mean otherwise, what the hell is the point? The time I spend doing nothing with my friends is more valuable to me than any time I ever spent in a classroom or an office (and I enjoyed school and still enjoy my job). Everyone is constantly careening around at this frenetic pace trying to "make" something of their life, but wait, isn't it enough to be alive? To enjoy those moments?

"Do I dare Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions
which a minute will reverse."

Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock
T.S. Elliott

See, now this one makes a lot of sense to me. I cannot disturb the universe. My minute is eons for the big black vastness we call the universe. I don't control or influence it in any way. I can make all the money I want, have all kinds of power, cram every minute full of social climbing and "networking" and it doesn't mean a damn thing. People rush around because they're terrified to confront how incredibly small and insignificant they are... They regret past actions because they know they'll never have that time again. I say, what's to regret? The fact that I spent 3 years smoking pot and watching movies isn't going to destroy the world or even my life. And hey, it was a really fun time.

Our time is not unlimited. But our decisions about how to use that time are... What's the point of a life without joy? A life without wasted time? Wasting time is my favorite pastime.