Inspired Story Contest:

Oh, I may have missed Jamelah’s deadline to enter her interesting and inspiring story contest which involved some key elements to be woven into an original story.  Of course, I missed the contest completely, but I still think that her experiments are an important exercise for aspiring and established writers.  One must always try to challenge oneself.

So here are the key elements:

1. The title must be, “Baby’s In Reno”.

2. The story must include: bacon, a snow globe, a fake beard, 9 ladies dancing, a photograph that’s been ripped in half

3. Extra points for not setting your story in Reno.

Anyway…here it is…

Baby’s In Reno      By MeMa 

“Miss Candi Cane was just a warm-up fellas,” the skeevy-looking announcer proclaimed, his dated Hawaiian shirt waving with every movement of his belly.  “In celebration of the season, how’d you like to see…nine ladies dancing?!”   The cat calls and hoots rose and bounced off of the walls of the small strip-club in Vegas.  For added emphasis, The Announcer stroked the whiskers of his fake beard that he wore to draw attention away from his balding head, which didn’t fool anyone in the least.  In truth, everything about him was false as he laughed haughtily, making a bee-line for the backstage door behind dark, crimson curtains trimmed with silver tinsel.    As the dancing ladies poured onto the stage, Miss Candi Cane contemplated the performance she had just made, scrutinizing every step she’d missed, even though she was sure that she’d rehearsed her routine enough: bump, grind, circle the pole, straddle the oversized candy-cane prop, wiggle, wiggle, circle the pole again…  

The Announcer stepped into the dressing room, a narrow space where the girls could “powder up” and dress in various skimpy costumes (some as scant as wearing strips of bacon a la Cher in the “Turn Back Time” video).           

“You were really good tonight, Miss Candi.”           

“Thanks, hon.”           

“I mean it.  You were alright out there.”  

“Nah, I missed a few key moves—“   

Practically salivating, The Announcer edged closer to Candi, who’d turned her attention to digging into her purse for some more perfume.            “Can I do something for you?”  the pervert asked, wringing his hands.

“No,” Candi said, locating the spray and spritzing a healthy amount all over, “Thanks.”

The Announcer skulked away reluctantly when Candi’s cell phone rang.  The phone number belonged to her mother.

“Hi, ma.”

“Hello, sweetie.  How’re you doing?”

“Okay.  A little tired, but okay.”

“I hope those people aren’t working you too hard…”

“No, no of course they’re not.”

“…’cause I want you back in time to celebrate New Year’s.”

“Sure, ma.  I mean, you know,” Candi picked up a pack of cigarettes, “I’m gonna be there.  I just need to work a few more shifts.  My boss knows I can’t work New Year’s Eve.”

There was a pause as Candi tapped the pack against the top of the dresser in front of her. 

“That’s great that your boss is so understanding…so…how’s my baby granddaughter?”

Candi’s eyes glanced over to the family photo that had been torn in half when Scotty left her.  All that was left hung on the dressing room mirror: Candi and her daughter, Jessie posed smiling broad smiles that hinted at success, at a future…minus Scotty. 

“The baby’s in Reno, ma.  Don’t worry…I’ll be bringing her too.  Scotty said he’ll drop her off at my place on the 30^th.”

“Oh, so she’s at her father’s?”

“…Just for the week.  You know how he is.”  Candi removed a cigarette from the pack and spoke; the cig dangling precariously on her bottom lip.

“Okay, then you just bring that pretty little thing here to grandma’s and I’ll give her those Christmas gifts and kisses I’ve been holding for her.”

Candi lit the cigarette and took a drag, “What you get her again?”

“That Leap Frog thing and a great, big teddy bear.”

“Oh yeah.  She’ll love that,”  she exhaled.

“You still smoking?  I thought you quit—“

“I know.  I know.”

“They allow you to smoke while working?”

“I’m on break.”

“I hope you don’t smoke near, Jessie,” mom reprimanded.

“Of course not, ma!  Come on…”

“Okay, okay.  Well, I know how short your breaks are, so…”

“Yeah, I’ll call you before we head out.”

“Sounds good.  Love you.”

“Me, too.”

Candi didn’t like fooling her mother, but there was something perfect about a phone call that offered an opportunity to lie.  There was no face staring back at her lovingly or accusingly.  No one could read Candi’s body language, or see the tassels, the glitter, the painted face.

Miss December, Miss Snow Globe, Miss Cocoa, Chesty Nuts, Goldie Locks, Jenny Jingle, Sandy Claus, Miss Ginger, and Miss Sugar Cubes all clamored into the dressing room, ringing like bells.  They giggled and chatted boisterously, ruining Candi’s train-of-thought.

“You’re on next, honey,” Chesty ordered, throwing a jealous glare at Candi.

Candi didn’t answer, but instead quickly ran through her routine.  Suddenly, instinct took over and she calculated how many dollar bills she would need in this set to finally put a down-payment on her own house.  Then, she could get Jessie her own room.  She could finally sue for custody.  She could leave these glossy, gossipy bitches behind.  Maybe she could get a better job at one of the more glamorous joints on The Strip.  Maybe in a few months she could earn enough to go back to school, or better yet, she could work to pay her way through school.  Most of all, she could stop lying to her mother and do what she should’ve done long ago to make her momma proud.  She may even make her daughter, Jessie proud of her.  Candi blew a quick kiss at the photo just like she were blowing out a birthday candle and making a secret wish.

I’ll show them all, she thought, Here’s to you: Candi Cane.  Have a very Happy New Year.

Happy New Year, everybody!

The Great Television Cop Out:

There are some channels who have opted out of airing any influential or shows depicting the season on this lovely Christmas day.  Similar to ploys like “sweeps week” where shows air to essentially ‘hook’ viewers into watching in order for high ratings, the wonders never cease in the ways that television can screw with people.  I was looking forward to the parade of Christmas films they air every year.  I mentally prepared for the exhausting airing of “It’s A Wonderful Life”, “How The Grinch Stole Christmas”, “A Christmas Carol”.  But this year, at least two channels have decided to forgo the traditional and lamely air 24-hour marathons of…you got it…THE EXACT SAME MOVIE over and over and over again.  Now, I don’t mind watching and re-watching a film that happens to air on one channel, then re-airs on another ad nauseum, but this decision takes the cake.  I mean, it’s the SAME CHANNEL!  not an affiliate, not an oversight, not coincidence. 

What is it about televisions that make them so engaging, so necessary?  Besides the notion that we are missing out on some valuable information (that we somehow cannot get from newspapers and the internet), televisions have become an essential piece of furniture.  In the 50’s, no one cared about pixels or clarity of the boob-tube.  If you were lucky to own one of those expensive standup units (in black and white no less), it was somewhat a novelty.  No one can deny its entertainment value…I mean, do I really need to watch every episode of “Top Chef” or “Law & Order : SVU”?  The news isn’t all that newsworthy anymore, especially since the introduction of Fox 5 that loves to preempt their news with commercials marketing programming like, “The Simpsons”.   One can even dare to say that marketing ploys are now as prevalent thanks to the introduction of streaming text, logos that are placed on the bottom of your screen, and parental-control ratings on the upper left hand side of the screen.  Basically, it is getting more and more difficult to even see what’s playing.  I believe that this new trend has become the hilarious subject of several comedic skits on Comedy Central, although at the moment I can’t locate them on You Tube.  But whatever.

Let’s observe for a moment, the characteristics of the machine we call a television…

1.  Its That Eerie Glow - Like a phantasmagorical ghost, one of its main identifiers is a creepy glow that sometimes lingers long  after the unit has been turned off. 

2.  Static…It’s Electric! Boogy Oogy Oogy!- Films have often used television static as a pre-cursor setting the tone for horror flicks: remember, Carol Ann in “Potergeist”?  The static can even foreshadow a murder scene, giving the viewer a sense of  uneasiness.  Some films insinuate that there are hidden messages in the static.  Remember that Michael Keane movie, “White Noise”?  Even if you don’t, just pretend you do.

3.  It’s Pixelated! - Nothing shocks and awes more than the wonder that is pixelation.  The tighter the pixel, the better the visual quality of your boob-tube experience.  Or, something like that.  Don’t ask me those techie questions, alright?!  LCD or Plasma?  Puh-lease!  Not with my wallet.

4. You Snooze, You Win - Aside from thinking, televisions have more features these days.  I mean, they’re working harder than you…  Have a tendency to fall asleep when the boob tube’s on?  No problem.  Now, televisions can be set to ’snooze’ just like the affectionate bump-on-a-log you’re sleeping next to.  Only it doesn’t snore.  Halleluyah!

5.  Look!  It’s Got Picture In Picture! - Does anyone ever use this feature?  No.  Does everyone want this feature?  Yup.  The concept of being able to watch a football game and the latest episode of Dancing With The Stars AT THE SAME TIME was thought up by a multi-tasking bastard.  First of all, it is impossible to see both at once and it is often a futile exercise to attempt to see both simulataneously.  Kind of like an 80s video cliche where the lead singer stands in front of a wall of tv’s displaying various random images.  It’s visually interesting, but distracting. 

6.  What?!  I can’t hear you… - Amp up the pixels is overrated.  You know what the people really want?  They want to annoy their neighbors by raising the decibel levels.  They want to feel the noise…girls rock your boys and get wild, wild, WILD!!! (OK, I promise I’ll stop with the 80s references) So now they can get televisions that can connect to surround sound, with THX technology and make tv so loud the other side of the world can hear.  Why not?  We’re Americans.  Americans like everything BIG, just like Texans.

7. I’m Not Fat, I’m FLAT - Forget those gargantuan wall-unit televisions that doubled as weight-bearing columns for your home.  No more.  They’re not only phatter, but they’re flatter.  And they flatter any flat. (I couldn’t resist)  Flat screens are everywhere and they shame any older models that lumbered, rolled, and scraped their way through houses of the past.  Now, if you want to watch tv on the ceiling–in theory–you can.  Not that you would of course because that would be gauche.  Gauche, I say!

State-of-the-art televisions are indeed a wonderful thing to own.  They’ve managed to entertain us and could always offer some temporary escape.  In family gatherings which can become awkward, it offers programs like football that serve as the common ground by which males can gather and bond.  For women, there’s always the We channel and Lifetime movies to bond to.  With bratty children, a quick flick on the remote can keep them occupied for hours instead of playing in Mommy’s underwear drawer.  But, televisions in no way can replace human contact or community.  Nor can it be a permanent babysitter or a vital part of your life.  If it is, then perhaps you should tune out and tune into life.  No one should have to stop their enjoyment because they can’t miss “People’s Court”.  That only worked for Rain Man. 

My New Theme:

Since the new year is approaching, I thought that it would be interesting to go with the mood that I’ve been in lately: Dark and haunting.  It must be in the stars.  For example, my mother mentioned on a recent phone call that she was feeling introverted lately and I guess I have been more introspective as well.  This has been an on-going theme for me, though.  I guess the Sagittarius in me is in full swing and my moon must be in Saturn or Jupiter must be changing its orbit or whatever astrologists like to say to convince people that their guesses are an actual science.  Anyway, I’m back.  That horrible Christmas theme jingle-belling and chestnuts roasting is finally over.  Not that it ever arrived.  So, while reading about the exciting announcement of the new Harry Potter book entitled: “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows” I was inspired once again to try my hand at illustrating who I am through my writing.  I was even consumed for the past two days in writing an autobiography, capturing the aspects of who I am and where I come from.  This is the first time that I’ve attempted doing this because most of the time, I feel that most people cannot be impartial in the writing of their own bios.  Also because I generally find these really, really, really boring. 

A Literally Literary Identity (the Road to Self-Discovery):

Oh sure, I’ve done my fair share of writing in the past going pretty far in the literary world–but I haven’t satisfied all my goals and wish to delve into it further.  I have already taken a few pretty interesting steps and re-defined my goals.  There was a time that I would have said that I wanted to be known around the world in very elite circles, but I know now that I don’t want that anymore.  I want to plan a course of action that involves me being known within certain literary circles and leave it at that.  In other words, I think it best not to be a household name and create what others expect me to create.  I actually want to just try my hand at expansion, definition, and fine-tuning a craft that I’ve been working steadily at for years.  Not everybody should be known because it doesn’t always guarantee that your work will be judged properly.  It also doesn’t guarantee that your work is really any good.  I just want to take hold of it once again without selling out my work or blowing up my accomplishments.  Besides, I think I’m too old to do that anyway, since youth is often what is embraced rather than talent.  And even if only a handful of people actually read this blog, I still enjoy the forum and find it a promising form of expression.  Only a handful know about it: kind of like a secret.  I think it’s best to keep it that way.  If you get some form of entertainment from the read, then it has accomplished something in its own little way.

Many Thanks:

In keeping with this profound sense of responsibility and a newfound in my own personal pursuits, I have also decided to work on thanking those people who keep on bringing a healthy dose of inspiration to me.  This list keeps on changing as my mood changes, of course.  But bear with me for the moment…

1. Bruce Springsteen - I don’t think any citizen of New Jersey cannot cite The Boss as an endless ocean of inspiration as he keeps getting insanely better creatively with age. 

2. Sylvia Plath - Any woman who has read her haunting poetry and The Bell Jar knows that this poetess was leagues ahead of her time.  Confessional poetry like her poem, “Daddy” and “Fever 103 Degrees” are.  I have a sincere love of her language and admired her doomsday writings.  Even though she ultimately did succumb to her deathwish, her writing is a remarkable collection of anger, worry, disappointment and confusion all from a woman’s point-of-view.

3. Old Friends -  Those who I’ve managed to come in contact with from my past keep impressing on me what I once thought was a temporary allegiance that couldn’t be cultivated.  They continue to prove me wrong by remaining loyal despite long-distances and personal obligations.  I love them all and in some ways they re-surface over and over in my work.  I feel indebted to them always for giving me their continued support and confidence as the years roll by.

4. Sting - The album, “Dream of the Blue Turtles” and “Nothing Like The Sun” were the first albums that actually inspired imagery from his beautiful lyrical ballads.  I admire his interest in moving forward from his Police days and always looking for new sounds to add to his repertoire.

5. Shakespeare - Hamlet is, was, and always will be my favorite Shakespeare play of ever.  No one could write like he did…that is, if you believe that Shakespeare did write all of his plays.

6. Bjork - I don’t know what it is about this pixie-like musician, but her vocals make me want to live in Iceland.

7. Quentin Tarantino - He’s the only director, besides Drew Barrymore that seems entirely approachable while being sort of a smart-ass.  I like that for some reason.  That, and he is a pop culture god.

8. Robert Duvall - He’s acted with the best: De Niro, Brando, Nicholson.  He’s an insanely interesting interview and appears to be very frank and open when discussing the nature of the acting business.  I am continuously inspired by those who tell it like it is.

9. Kanye West - The lord has to bless this guy for coming out and saying on national television that GW Bush, “hates black people” after the Hurricane Katrina incident.  You can’t buy that kind of candor.

10. Courtney Love - She’s a nut.  She’s a recovering addict.  Blunt, raw, and un-apologetic, and I just can’t seem to keep my eyes off the screen when she’s on.  She recently did a documentary here that I saw in its entirety which was engaging because she is disarming and comes across as someone you know. 

This is just a list of some Muses of mine which will probably change by, like tomorrow.  But you can sort of sense my new mission.  Join me on this crazy ride called, Life.  I promise that you’ll learn something.  Ok, you might not–but at least you’ll kill a few hours, hm?

A Good Time Was Had By All!

My birthday came and went last week and unfortunately, it was spent feeling horribly sick.  Yup, I was stuck in bed ALL DAY thanks to the unusally warm-weather / cold-weather roulette we’ve been playing this winter.  To boot, we’re so not getting a white Christmas at all and it kinda sucks because I couldn’t get into the holiday season to begin with and now it’s gonna be even harder. 

I did have surprisingly awful and wonderful experiences so far which proved to be eye-opening and, dare I say, enlightening.   I’ve already been surprised a few times.  For example, my first birthday phone call was my ex-Boss, Eric who’s been more of a father to me than my own Dad who chose not to call me this year.  When I call him I’m sure the excuse will be either a) I was working b) Oh yeah, I forgot.  You’re how old, baby girl? c) I lost your phone number (nevermind that I’ve given to him a hundred times and he always manages to lose it until I call him first.  Second, was a Christmas card from some unexpected people including my other ex-Chicago Boss, Mike S.  It was a cute card, too with a very lovely little secret “just-between-us” message inside which totally shocked the crap out of me.  I loved it.  Seems like I didn’t get into the Christmas card giving this year, either.  Read my previous bah-humbug article noting my disenchantment with the whole season to know what the hell I’m talking about.  But…I did manage to scrounge a little fun out of it (again from an unexpected place: my job).  Here’s the result:

I think if it weren’t for this PhotoBooth, I wouldn’t have ended up having as much fun as I eventually ended up having.  Somehow, it was a crazy icebreaker and set the stage for my moment of madness.  The funny part is that everybody always assumes that I’m some insane extrovert.  Although I would admit to being outgoing most of the time, I do have my shy side and I’m not always as eager to make a fool of myself as I seem to let on.  I’m actually, very much a wallflower especially in overly festive settings because I like to play ’safe’.  The steady way may not be the way to play all the time, but it works for me.  If you notice (in the pic), I have a way of obscuring myself quite cleverly.  But nevermind that.  I ended up putting on my dancing shoes and doing my best impersonation of a Dancing Queen later on in the evening all while sneaking away to blow myself up to two Russian co-workers and scarfing down a decent dinner.  By the way, the cheesecake was divine…

Don’t you wish you were me…The Mighty Flea?

The Dying Art of Speech:

Quote from the movie: Fight Club

Narrator: When people think you’re dying, they really, really listen to you, instead of just…        

Marla Singer: …instead of just waiting for their turn to speak?

Yes, it’s true.  The artistry of the spoken word is starting to be lost amidst other more convenient forms of communication like email.  But since I am a traditionalist, I believe that it is important to hone this skill and put it into practice everyday in order to avoid the possibility of extinction. 

I’ve always loved words ever since my mom read and passed on stories to me and my sister.  Fairy tales, tall tales, bedtime stories…you name it.  The importance behind reading was a hard sell back then, because I didn’t really enjoy reading until I was well into high-school.  It was there that I discovered the Beat Poets and Shakespeare, which spoke to me in ways I couldn’t have anticipated.  It was love, love, love at first paragraph. 

Words Could Tame The Savage Beast:

In grammar school I had learned a valuable lesson on the power of words from an unexpected experience I had with a school bully.  Her name was Darlene and she scared the hell out of me.  It wasn’t her stature, she was about my size at the time.  It wasn’t her demeanor, either.  Nope.  It was her way of speaking to me.  Authoritative, demanding, loud.  She called me out in the hallways always criticizing something about me.  My face, my hair, my walk…anything.  It didn’t help that classes had been divided between those who tested well and those who needed more attention.  Guess which class she was in?  Well, this served to infuriate her and the verbal attacks came every day, without fail.  One day, she must have been particularly incensed when she decided to pick on me for some minor infraction that I no longer remember.  Darlene said that she would, “meet me afterschool at 3pm”, and my fear was exacerbated by the sideward glances, snickering and gossip that ensued from other students.  She had called me out and in the unwritten rules of the schoolyard, that was enough to warrant a feeling of impending doom the entire day.  My mind raced; I thought of ways that I could escape.  Of course, my reasoning was that this would only prove my cowardice and make for a pained school year.  It also would offer no guarantees that the conflict would stop.  I knew what I had to do: I would show up for the meeting and try my best to resolve the problem as best as I could.  When school let out, I waited and waited.  Nervously, I watched as every class let out– schoolchildren running to their parents, their friends, their classmates.  It seemed as though the flood of children would never end, but I didn’t see Darlene. I walked around the school, half hoping that she had gone home early, hoping that there was some family emergency that she had to attend to, some obligation that made her forget all about me.  I looked into every face–probably contorting my own, thanks to my racing heart and rising fear.  Still, nothing.  I had walked the complete circumference of the school, checking once again the courtyard, the frequent hang-outs of bullies.  I stood there so long that soon it seemed that I was the only one left.  The emptiness weighed on me, it seemed like a ghost-town, and I felt a miniature sigh of relief escape my lips before worrying myself into a corner again thinking about what was going to happen the next day.    Morning came.  I got dressed like a gunslinger headed for the last roundup.  The school bell rang and I thankfully missed Darlene throughout most of the day.  As with most things, the talk had waned overnight.  My classmates seemed consumed with the new pressing matter of the day: a pop-quiz perhaps, a new topic for gossip.  Soon came lunch period and I saw Darlene out of the corner of my eye while taking out a sandwich my mom had packed with care.  She called out, “Where were you yesterday?”  Her eyes were searing, as I looked up from my sandwich saying, “Uh, where were you?!”  The rise of my voice gave way to an expression I’d never noticed on Darlene’s face before.  Judging from it, she had no intentions of waiting for me afterschool.  It was a world-class bluff and I, having called her bluff, had surprised her.  I talked and talked, prodding her again and again on her own whereabouts.  ‘I had waited for you. I went all around the school,’ I said.  With each word, I dissipated her hatred towards me.  She became my best friend after that. 

Developing A Voice:

I think that what I love most about the art is the ability to try on different voices, sounds, points-of-view.  There is a wonderful thing that happens when telling a story or carrying on a simple conversation that doesn’t happen anywhere else.  It is a connection between teller and audience.  Just as in writing, there is a style that can be practiced.  Sometimes I amaze myself when I find a new topic of conversation among people with whom I wouldn’t normally have anything in common.  Oh sure, there are common themes: the weather, family, special upcoming events, talking shop (aka workspeak).  Either way, it is great to see where the direction of a conversation leads.  It is also helpful to know what to avoid.  Striking a negative chord in a conversation can make for awkward silences and argument.  Therefore, I think it’s best not to talk about politics, religion or hot-button topics of the day (say, gay marriage or abortion rights issues).  So what is there to talk about?  Plenty. 

Getting To Know You, Getting To Know All About You:

The initial reason people talk is for basic informational purposes.  It passes the time and simple exchanges can help a person ‘feel out’ another person in a non-competitive way.  Normally, I feel that women are often better conversationalists because they often can get more information from a 5-minute conversation than men.  Consider this example:

A man has been on leave from work due to a broken leg.

Woman - How are you feeling?

Male Co-worker - Hey, welcome back!

Woman - How’d you break your leg?

Male Co-worker  - You look better.

Woman - Really?  That’s awful.  Are you back full time? 

Male Co-worker - You didn’t miss anything. 

Woman - Great!  It’s good to see you.

Note that the woman has asked pertinent questions relating to the specifics of the broken leg as well as whether the man is working a full day.  When you ask the male co-worker, his response will most likely be: I dunno or What do I look like, his keeper?  This is why men aren’t always the best people to ask about specific details.  

The important thing is putting your verbal verbosity into practice.  It makes perfect.  Honest!

Holiday Blues

If fame is a hideous bitch-goddess, then Christmas is the goddess of guilt.  Oh yes, another holiday season is upon us.  Rather than mistletoe and rubbed noses, there’s just a mountain of guilt and a valley of frustration.  The mountain (in theory) is a snow-capped one and the valley plays host to a river of tears that I like to dip a toe into, if not for any other reason that my own self-destructive nature.  I’m well aware that sometimes I am a masochist, indulging the depressive side of me during the season that boasts such mirth and good-spirit.  Nevermind the stress.  Stress I can deal with.  It’s the added stuff: the doubt, the emptiness, the worry, the lonesomeness.  Those are a little harder to shake. 

 Drive, Oxen, Drive!

One of my favorite headaches involves the humanitarian concept behind drives.  Blood drives, food drives, toy drives.  I understand the meaning behind giving.  I do.  I just wish that the nagging would stop.  Oh, I’m not a fuddy-duddy or anything, but it’s just that marketing overkill to induce people to give.  I mean if giving’s your thing then I’m cool.  You should have an option (it being American and all) and you shouldn’t have to be forced to crack open your wallet and spring forth the mighty green fount because someone else said so.  You should be able to pick and to choose.  I’m just saying…

Joey’s Back From…Iraq!

 Yippee!  At least there is one thing I can celebrate!!!

 

So “Hurt” That The Song Doesn’t Matter

Family has a way of messing with your mind in ways that aren’t endearing.  There are times when you know that no apology can rectify a rift.  When the guilt-trip keeps giving like a terrible gift.  You feel that you’ve blamed yourself a million times for choices that others made for you.  Dark places that you’d like to leave behind.  I think that it’s time.  No one should have to be made to feel like they are the ones that are broken.

Family is the worst.

So this one goes out to those who didn’t call on Thanksgiving…who didn’t send a Christmas greeting…who didn’t say I’m sorry themselves and let a song say it for them.  Life goes on changing and sometimes it’s better to leave those foul pieces behind.  Who needs to continue suffering and feeling angry and bitter and bad?  Why couldn’t it all just be milk and cookies?  Why couldn’t every passing year mean that everyone was invited to the feast?

Like the words to the song say, “I’m sorry for blaming you / For everything I just couldn’t do / And I’ve hurt myself by hurting you.”  So congrats.  You’ve done your job hurting me over and over and over again.  Now it’s your turn to see what it feels like.

HOW DO YOU LIKE IT?!

I Stand Corrected…

Retraction:  Madonna’s not about 40 yrs old.  She’s almost about 50.  That proves my point about her being a potential vamp even more.  Thanks, GK4 for keeping my blog honest.  (Sorry ’bout the pic, dude.  Had to do it.  Besides, you’re an awesome dancer!  You ROCK!!!)

From Virgin to Vamp:

Anyone who has not visited the following website or heard about it has apparently been living under a rock.  The project began as a little nothing blog and experiment in correspondence and has grown into this oddly surreal phenomenon of epic proportions.

 What makes telling secrets so compelling?  Perhaps the magic is in the sharing of some idea that you thought was so singular, so unique and realizing that you are not alone.  Perhaps it is the fact that coming to terms with a past infraction, sin or transgression is cathartic and shines a bright light into one’s consciousness.  Maybe it’s just cool. Whatever the deal, it is interesting and completely addictive.  The website has proven conducive to revealing some of the darker subconscious human thoughts without the sharp, overwhelming devastation that could come from finally revealing such private, personal feelings.  And hey, the guy’s respectful.  He’s not going on national junkets to claim credit for the secrets themselves.  He even downplays his idea to provide a public mechanism to display these personal thoughts from around the world. 

Fascinating as it may be, could there be another reason why this ingenious blog has been noticed in such a wide scale?

I admit that when it comes to reading those secrets, man, I am voyeuristic.  The concept that I am reading something personal makes me feel as though I am now privy to privileged information so in some small way, I am special.  Some of the secrets are mundane: like the Anonymous submitter who admitted to wanting to eat an M&M that lay on the bathroom floor at work.  Others, are more sordid or embarrassing.  What began as an innocent concept art / correspondence piece has now become a wordwide obsession.  Part of its allure rests on the image chosen to accompany the secret.  It can be creative or colorful,  insightful or puzzling.  Sometimes the visual is blatant and other times it has a dark, beneath-the-surface feel that makes  the viewer fall down the rabbit hole along with the submitter.  You are in Wonderland, baby.  Sometimes, that can be creepy, disarming, and overwhelming.  You see, the project works on the viewer so the experience is reciprocal.  The viewer participates in the exchange.  By being let in on the secret, they have the option to share their own similar secrets with others or,  recognize their own experiences and respond accordingly.  The benefit works on a 360 degree scale.  

The Beauty Is In The Anonymity:

My belief is that no one wants to be hindered by a secret.  The problem is knowing when and how to reveal something that seems natural to hide.  No one wants to be called out as a freak or picked on for having compunctions for behaviors that could be considered outside the boundaries of what is deemed ‘normal’.  Most of life is lived blindly following this unwritten script on what life should entail.  Anyone who feels that they fall outside of those aspects can feel inhibited or just downright ashamed.  No one should have to live a life filled with secrets that hold them back from progressing.  So share, people.  Go ahead.  Live a little.  I promise that no one will be able to tell the difference between yours and others.  All secrets no matter how shameful lose their power when revealed…

Trust me.