Don't Make Me Over

I had a pretty good day yesterday for my birthday. I got some free stuff (carwash, gift at Sephora, drink at Starbucks) and my lovely family were generous as always. Dad took us to dinner at a nice place, and earlier, I got to hang out with my brother George at his place. He gave me the DVD of Glee and we watched a couple of episodes. Then after dinner, me, Mom and Dad watched some. The whole family is into it and that doesn't happen very often. It made me happy.

Anyway, as this year ends, my 38th, it's hard not to examine your life and see if there is anything you might work on for the next year. This blog has been my project this year, and I can't say it's been a resounding success. I haven't kept up adding entries as much as I wanted to. I feel like my writing is still not back to where it once was. But I'll try to carry on. And not write so much about handbags. I'm way too obsessed with them.

As for changes, I can't keep making the same resolutions year after year without learning that they most likely aren't acheiveable. I am at the point in my life where, this is who I am, and that's probably not going to change much. The year started at the Bunin's New Year's party. I was hoping it might be the beginning of a greater effort and success in my social life. Not so much. I haven't made much headway with Janice and the gang at Paddy's. I've not seen Keir since the beginning of the year, and it still makes me sad, but actually I'd hoped that his absence would help. And those guys would see that my hanging around, it's not all about him. I've wanted to hang out with Janice one on one, but there just hasn't been a good time to ask her. And a year on from losing Barb, she's still got bigger things to be thinking about than befriending a shy quiet girl who used to work with her ex-boyfriend. Cool shoes notwithstanding.

Should I go to the Bunin's party tomorrow night? Technically I wasn't invited, but they are pretty open with their invitation to friends of friends. And Ralph and Kate should be there. I'm thinking of wearing my new dress, and cool shoes, and bringing along my iPod with photos of my trip to New York to share. Will it matter? Will I blend in or stick out? I don't know. But I do know I'm better off not trying to be someone I'm not.

Shopping Girl Maniac

So Christmas has come and gone. And I mostly stuck to my resolution not to buy myself a new bag until next year. After Christmas sales are very nearly next year anyway, right? And the new Cole Haan I ordered from Neiman Marcus on Christmas Eve won't arrive until January. I had to use my gift card before it expired.

That's no rationalization though. I mean, if I had found something I wanted at the right time and the right price I would have bought it, resolution or no. I nearly bought two bags from Luna Boston on Black Friday, if not for a website malfunction. I ended up buying a couple of small accessories, which is how I've got by during this embargo. A Treesje cosmetics bag here, a Rebecca Minkoff pouch there, a Marc by Marc Jacobs cosmetics case. And that tiny crossbody Cole Haan I purchased that day wouldn't have counted...plus I ended up returning it. I don't count the little Kipling crossbody either. I needed something waterproof to take to the Muse concert. Yeah, there's no sense denying it. I've not been very good at holding out.

At least I am employed, actually have a decent income, and few expenses. (The MINI is paid off!) I'm not getting into debt. If I do use a card I pay it in full the next month. I'm not paying interest. It's just convenience, and the racking up points with the store cards. Last year, somehow I managed to spend $500 on a Mulberry Bayswater the day after Christmas. I felt a bit of remorse considering my state of unemployment. How could I justify such a splurge when I was receiving barely $300 a week in UI? And then I didn't use that bag for nearly a year. It's strange how that happened. Considering I'd purchased a bunch of bags during that time. I was saving the Mulberry I guess. But I finally got it into the mix.

So today I headed to Burberry for the after Christmas sale. I'd missed out on the Ashmore Glossy Grain tote I'd been considering online. And the larger Glossy Grain tote I was eyeing at Bloomingdales still hadn't gone on sale. So I opted for the Pilgrim satchel from the same family. Same lovely detailing and textured leather. A smaller bag than I would normally go for. But the good thing about that is that it will be easier to work into my rotation. It won't stand out as much as a new bag Mom hasn't seen. I was even thinking it might do for the New Year's party. I need a little black bag to go with my new Anna Scholz dress. Pros and cons being weighed: It's not quite a clutch; it might seem odd if I'm holding onto it all night. And yet, I won't really want to put it down somewhere where it can get sat on or spilled on. I've still got that adorable Coach Parker clutch in mind. But it won't arrive from Nordstrom.com in time for the party. And the little Hayden-Harnett Bleeker clutch doesn't quite hold the stuff I want to bring. Blackberry, camera and iPod. That's a definite argument for an all-in-one like the iPhone. But I'll probably go with that one. My other option is the little Treesje pouch I just got. No wrist strap, but small enough to keep with me all night. I have to see if my gadgets will fit in it. Clutches are problematic, because I hardly ever have need of them, but I'm still tempted to buy them.

Anyway, it's the big bags I tend to go overboard on. I buy one after another. I've got my eye on a few more right now, if I can catch them on sale. And I haven't spent the money on other stuff. I very nearly bought a hat as well at Burberry today. I do need a wintery warm hat for my bus commute. But I certainly don't need to spend almost $200 on one. And I wanted to buy two! Fortunately, I resisted.

It's a slightly slippery slope. When I tell myself I shouldn't buy so many bags, I feel okay about buying other stuff like shoes, wallets, clothes. The Anna Scholz dresses, and that coat; that very expensive coat which I just had to have. I love it, I do, but how much am I really going to wear it? And then scarves and other goodies will come along with it. All money I'm spending even if it's not on bags. I'm treating myself well. And why not? I don't have kids. I'm pretty generous with my family for birthdays and Christmas, I think. I got Mom some Chanel No. 5. George got that nice Sony iPod dock clock/radio he wanted for his birthday. And for Dad, the first season of the original Star Trek on Blu-Ray. I think they all liked their gifts. And I asked for so little from them. Just the Mets snuggie which I love. The expensive stuff, I'd never ask them to buy for me. I'd rather spend my own money instead of theirs. They have so many other things to take care of financially around here.

We were talking the other day about the new City Center and how the expensive shops in there don't necessarily make it a haven for the rich. It's too commercial, Dad said. The very wealthy don't want to be shopping alongside the tourist looky-loos who can't afford the goods. Mom agreed, yeah they don't want to shop with the riff raff. But I said, who do you think you're talking about? We are the riff raff! But no, we're middle class, Mom argued. Well, not really, Dad said. Not anymore. Maybe we were back in the 70's and 80's. I guess strictly speaking we are still middle class. I mean we do have a nice house, and the big screen TVs and each of us has our own car. But standards of living dictate that most people have those things. Certainly a canvass of the lower income folks living in dilapidated apartment complexes will find that some of them have that stuff too. It always amazes me when I pass by the older parts of Vegas on the bus and see those small run-down houses with bars on the windows and fairly new cars parked outside.

Priorities definitely seem skewed.

I'm certainly not the only one guilty of it. I like the fact that I can walk into a nice store and can chat knowledgeably with the staff and buy a designer item more often than not. Usually on sale, but still. I know I could easily be outed as the cheap shoes/expensive watch type. My clothes are rarely expensive. It's in vogue to mix high and low end these days, but I'm still very aware of the contrast between my expensive designer bags and inexpensive clothes. I suppose there's a whole other world of "by appointment only" boutiques which even I don't have the guts to step in.

As much as I think about it, and indulge myself, perhaps unwisely, deep down I know what's really important. The other day I cut my finger while shaving in the shower. I went down to the kitchen and pulled the band-aids out of the drawer to bandage it up. Mom was there and immediately tended to me. Then Dad came over and cleaned my finger with a disinfectant wipe and put the band-aid on. I'm 38 years old in a few days, and my parents are still always there for me. Just like when I was a little girl. And that is priceless.

Too Much Information

Thursday nights as I go to sleep my mind is usually spinning with all the things I need and want to get done on the weekend. I'm also trying to process the information I need to accomplish these things. I know I have to go through my mail, and check all the usual sources for coupons and other discounts which are time sensitive. I feel like if I do anything, I have to do it in the most cost and time-efficient way possible.

Then Friday morning comes, and I haven't got as much sleep as I had hoped, and it's a bit hard to drag myself out of bed. Time flies and I've done nothing. The pressure I've already put on myself is weighing on me. So I try. I start to sift through all the information. And there is too much. It's overload.

Part of it is because I have so little time during the week. I have to put off thinking about things that I should be taking care of little by little. And then three days doesn't seem like enough to catch up. Especially when a whole day will go by when I get nothing done. Not because I didn't try, but because things just weren't going my way.

And then I get that lethargic feeling. I don't feel like scouring catalogs and websites. I don't feel like getting caught up on blogs or facebook. And I feel guilty for not wanting to. I know it all will go on without me. If I miss a sale, the world won't end. But I'm plied by the advertisers who are screaming at me daily. Last chance! Final hours! Get your discounts now! And the updates come in, they follow me. On my blackberry and iPod, on computers and in the mail. I know there will be more. There always are. Specials on free shipping? They have that every week. It would be silly to pay for shipping ever if you're smart. You can always get it free if you pay attention. Pay attention to all the information coming at you or you might miss something.

And is it all information I want? No, I'm subjected to stuff I don't want to know, no matter what I do. The gossip shows, the conversation of strangers. Even the news sometimes. And I can't turn it all off. I might miss something important.

But what is important. My family is important. I try to take care of things important to them. They don't ask much of me. Still I struggle. I can barely keep up on my own stuff. I can barely see though the fog of all the data coming at me. Then there's keeping up with friends, which I've been lousy at too. And then how can I rest, knowing of all that had to be left undone. So I do two, sometimes three things at once. Catch up on TV, surf the web, check the mail, play Farmville...yes, the distractions get in there too. And then none of it gets done well. Focus is what you have to give up. I do it at work too. But at home it seems especially fruitless. I feel like I can't write anymore. My mind just won't process everything the way it once did. So all I can do is hammer out a complaint here and a half finished thought there. And for now, that's going to have to be enough.

Neighborhood

This week another LV Metro officer was laid to rest. Officer Trevor Nettleton was killed in an attempted robbery at his home. His wife, two children and mother were all in the house when an assailant entered his garage where he was working. Officer Nettleton was able to wound one of the gunmen and the perpetrators were captured soon after. This death hit us all particularly hard as Trevor was a member of my brother George's squad. George rode with Trevor on patrol many times and learned a lot from him.

Officer Nettleton lived in North Las Vegas, just a few blocks away from my friend Chuck. Chuck was not surprised by the incident. He had witnessed the S.W.A.T. team conduct a raid on his next door neighbor's house last year. They were apparently conducting weapons sales from the home. One of these weapons could have been sold to one of the street gang members involved in Officer Nettleton's murder. You just never know what's going on in your neighborhood. I've been to Chuck's house a few times and his seemed like your average suburban street.

As we just had Thanksgiving, I know that I'm thankful that all my family members are safe. And I'm thankful for the men and women of the police department who are looking out for us everyday. I pray for their safety also. Especially my brother, but also those he works with, and those he doesn't. And even that Henderson PD officer that gave me a speeding ticket on Tuesday. It's such a hard job they do. And they all deserve our respect.

Alma Matters

Warning: Cliches to come, fast and in great numbers...

So the High School Reunion has come and gone. We made it through, Hina, Melissa, Andra, Sue and I. We're not so sure about Gerry. We worry about Gerry.

But overall it was good; it was okay. To see people you knew when you were in 1st or 2nd grade. To see how they have changed and that they haven't changed. And to see if they think you've changed and if so for better or worse? Yeah, all that stuff.

Who was too good (read too busy and successful) to come back to old BHS? Who did we hope to see? Who did we not want to see? In the end it was the core, those close friends you had, the ones you were delighted to be back in touch with via Facebook, that you stayed with most of the time anyway. And the rest, were a curiosity. Life did go on for them after you knew them, and it turned out pretty decent. Not great, not fantastic, but good, just like with you. The Ups and Downs. Check. Weight gain, check. Ill health, check. Those who still irritatingly look fantastic, check again. And there I was not sure where I fell. Somewhere in between I suspect.

It took a lot of energy. There were some awkward moments: one person's response to the fact that I have no family of my own: "Oh, that's okay." Yeah. So, in another 20 years, where will we all be? Who knows? But it'll go by just like *that*.

This is Halloween

Jack Skellington is in town. The king of Halloween has come to visit for his holiday. Today he went for a ride on Miracle. I guess Zero wasn't available. I enjoy Halloween, not for the spooky stuff, Jack would be disappointed, but just for the dressing up. I always go for something cute rather than scary. Although me dressed as Ugly Betty last year was probably scary for some people. But I went to vote in early voting that day and no one seemed to notice. I usually end up picking things that are too subtle. I also visited Ralph at his store, and he had no clue either.

I have no dress up plans this year. Things are too hectic with work and my upcoming trip for the reunion. So I'll be handing out candy at the house. Jack will join me, so that will help.

Also I'm carrying my most appropriate bag this weekend, my Treesje Mortale Tote with the skulls all over it. But in my characteristic cheery halloween fashion, they are happy skulls. And why wouldn't they be, they are embossed on a very awesome gunmetal coloured b.a.t.? That stands for big ass tote, not the flying nocturnal mammals.

So tomorrow my day will consist of getting the treat bags ready, and watching "The Nightmare Before Christmas." A great holiday tradition. :)

Connection

Today I learned that there is a chat application on MySpace! Perhaps I never noticed it because I don't visit MySpace that often anymore. But today I logged on to leave a birthday message to Skip and lo and behold there he was! And Jazzie was online too! It was the first time in ages we'd all three been online together. A lovely surprise. And being able to re-connect with them made my whole day. It would've been nicer if MySpace had the capability to let us all connect in a single chat window. It doesn't seem like that's an option right now, so it was back and forth to Jazzie's and then Skip's window.

Yesterday, I went to the wedding of my friends Jeff and Annette. I know them from the MINI club, but what I didn't know is that they actually met through the MINI club. They had each recently divorced and they met at a party at the Moss' house. And the rest is history. It's nice to know that connections like that can still form. Unexpectedly, and yet perfectly.

All the MINI club people sat together at tables and it was natural that we gravitated towards people we knew. It was only when the crowd had thinned somewhat that I felt a tad more comfortable allowing myself to be pulled onto the dance floor by Annette. Still, Chris, who was dancing next to me said, "You look really uncomfortable." And I said, "Yeah, so uncomfortable." I'm not a dancer. But even if I was, it'd be a bit difficult for me to loosen up. I tend to be pretty stiff in public, specifically in large crowds. Like with Keir's friends. Sometimes though it's enough just to be around everybody and watch them having a good time. I'm always with them in spirit at least. And that's a connection I can be comfortable with any time.

Now I'm thinking again about the reunion. Should I go? It's less than two weeks away now and I have to decide pretty quickly here. There are arrangements that need to be made, for travel, and for my finances. But that isn't the biggest obstacle. I had such a great time when I went to visit Hina last month, but I'm not sure I'm ready to re-connect with all those other friends and classmates I once knew. I still hesitate to let them see me. I anticipate some awkwardness. At the wedding, as I hung out in the back of the hall, I could imagine how it would be. People dancing, paryting, re-connecting. And I'd just be there. With Hin, sure. I wouldn't be alone. I'd see Michelle and Melissa and a few others. But I can't say that I will be able to loosen up any more than I did yesterday at the wedding. But then maybe it's not supposed to be all about letting loose and having fun. Maybe partially it's a chance to revisit some of those old connections we made, and to see if there is much left of them. Or just to see how your old self connects to the current one. This is where I've been and these are those who I've known and it's all led up to who I am now. Times have seemed so disparate and unnconnected. But maybe completing a cirlce like this will bring it all together. And in the end, the person I most need to connect with is myself.

Hold On to Your Friends

My friend Jasmine was in town visiting last weekend. I hadn't seen her in two years since we met in London. Of course we go back much further than that. About 8 years via online chats and emails. I've known her longer than anyone here in Vegas, or in Utah where I was before this. Or even in California before that. But I've spent less than 24 hours physically in her company. This time was the longest. A whole day zipping around Vegas in MINIfir with her and her mum. It was a good time, but I was exhausted afterwards. I think it was because it's been a long time since I'd done so much talking! And we did take a very long walk in search of some frozen custard. Totally worth it by the way.

And she is just adorable and so sweet. And to think she's stuck with me all these years instead of slinking away when she got bored like so many others. It's pretty easy to disappear. Especially when you have a head start of about 5000 miles.

We talked about Skip of course. The third member of our little club. The one who never wants to see us at all. A fact Jazzie and I have learned to accept. Sort of.

Still I hold dear our times together. The three of us. And just Jazz and I. Skip made his comment about our visit on my MySpace. He said: Jen and Jazz out on the razz in Vegaz... clever Skip.

Sometimes I forget it was music that brought us all together. Semisonic to be specific. Now we all swoon over Muse. I guess similar taste in music can mean similar sensibilities in other areas. Sort of like the MINI club folks. How can having the same kind of car be enough to bond people together? I fail to understand. I just have to be glad.

A few weeks ago I wrote about visiting Hina, and some of the same mysteries that revealed themselves then. It's not something I envision solving any time soon. But I continue to ponder.

Don't Make Me Come to Vegas/ I Can't See New York

Alas, I had to come back sometime. But visiting New York after so long (it'd been 8 years), made me more homesick for it than ever. Especially after spending all weekend with Hina, and it being just like we'd never been apart, much less for 19 years.

The comparisons would be patently unfair. There's no city like New York. But we also visited some places on Long Island, our old stomping grounds, as well as Hina's current home in Westchester and her brother's home in Rockland County. Places I'd never been, people I'd never met, but all as familiar and comfortable as can be. Especially our visit to Citi Field, the new home of the Mets. In Vegas, everything is new. They tear down old buildings and put up new ones all the time. In New York, this is not so common. Of course the skyline has changed, due to circumstances beyond the control of the City and its residents. Two buildings missing. A glaring void.

Perhaps two new baseball stadiums mean next to nothing in that context. But to me, they show the resilience of the city and its inhabitants. There is still much to celebrate. And Citi Field is a celebratory place. A rotunda is named for the great Jackie Robinson, who was the first black player in the major leagues. He played for the Brooklyn Dodgers, one of the Mets' two precursors. But his legacy is carried through, new teams, new eras, and new buildings. His words, "A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives," are emblazoned around the rotunda's half circumference.



And it's true of course. We all measure our lives by the relationships we have with others. Some of those relationships being so formative to our identity, despite the short time they may have lasted. I was glad when Hina found me. I was glad to know how she was doing, that she was having a good life. But I didn't realize that the bond between us could still be as strong. I had thought there was no getting that back. And I was gladly wrong about that. Hina, and her family too, are just as lovely and funny and generous and all around fantastic as I remembered. And remembering is tricky. The memories we have kept with us all this time are vastly different in some places. Why she would remember about some things and I about others is hard to say. But the essence is the same. She is a dear dear friend of mine, and I hope not to lose her again. I'll do all I can. And perhaps the time that has gone by doesn't matter, and perhaps it means everything. Can we ever really appreciate our friends and loved ones enough?

Though I live in Vegas now (and it's where I should be, with my family), it doesn't make me any less a New Yorker. Seeing the greenery and the bridges across the waters and the traffic and the bustling of Times Square and the quaintness of Long Island with its tiny houses and large yards, and the signs calling out the familiar streets and towns, it made me feel place can be funny, how it just triggers the feelings that come rushing back to you. When at once, you can feel that your foot has touched the earth in this same spot before, but your footprint is a bit larger now, and your imprint a bit fainter because it can't stay as long.

How come it's so hard for some people to even think of leaving home, and so easy for others. A life of moving from place to place has its charms, but its disadvantages too. There's always something to leave behind. Even here in Vegas, a place that is always changing and never stays still. When I leave here one day, a bit of me will remain. All I can do is hold on to those people and places and experiences and memories as tightly as I can. And if I do let some of them slip, because all of us do without realizing, I can consider myself lucky if I get them back again. Like I do now.

Postcard of a Painting

I spent this past Labor Day weekend, stripping wallpaper and painting in my bedroom. Just one wall. But it's funny how a little paint can make all the difference. I moved the furniture around too and it seems like a completely different space now. The warm caramel colour on the wall and the new cozy configuration with the bed facing the TV, and the desk with the computers by the window, mean I'm really enjoying spending time in here now. But they mean something else too. For one thing, I probably wouldn't have gone to all the trouble if I thought I'd be moving out into my own place anytime soon. I'd lived with that odd tropical wallpaper all this time, knowing this wasn't really my room. I was still just a guest in my parents' house. A tenant perhaps. But now this is no longer the case. I'm here for the foreseeable future. So I may as well get comfortable. Yesterday I started putting the shelves back up (and watched some re-runs of Sex and the City). Today I finished the shelves and did some more adjustment with the furniture. All my stuff is back in here now so I've officially finished the project. There are a few odds and ends I need to do. Touch up the ceiling where I had a bit of a slip with the paint roller, etc. But by and large, it's done.I'm going to look for a new bedside table since I moved the dresser I used to use across the room to hold the TV. I've got a few ideas in mind and went to West Elm yesterday to check them out. I'd like to have more of a proper bedside table with a drawer or two that I can stash things in. For now, I've put my old TV stand there, just to hold my clock and radio and small lamp within reach. It's too short to serve that purpose permanently though since the bed is so high.
Now that I've moved everything and it's not against that wall, my lovely painting handiwork really stands out. Originally I had put my comfy Todd Oldham La-z-boy chair next to the bed. That way I could watch TV from my bed or the chair. But I moved it back towards the dresser. It's just a smidge too big to leave it in the aisle. My poor chair seems always to be the odd man out. Just because the room could stand to be a bit bigger.

I still love the chair though, and I figure I can always move it around to face the TV later on if I feel like it. We work with what we have.

Like the Weather

Last weekend the MINI Club drove up Mt. Charleston for our annual picnic with the British Auto Club. When we left the parking lot at Sante Fe station, it was muggy from the rain the previous day. I was actually happy about the rain. We went to Aliante Station that day, then to our local dealer, Desert MINI, for a 50th birthday celebration. Minis are 50! Anyway, it rained on the way to the dealer and then when I made the dash from my car to the showroom, I pulled out my Harry Potter umbrella which I love but hardly ever get to use. I was delighted to finally have some different weather. The downside though was the mugginess on Sunday. So we all headed up to Mt. Charleston where the weather was decidedly more pleasant. It was 68F with a welcome breeze.

We had a nice picnic but it seemed a bit awkward. I think it always is with the British Auto Club. They seem like nice people. But there is a perception, maybe just paranoia on our part, of a touch of snobbery. The guy with the Rolls Royce wasn't there this year. But in general the cars they have are more high end than our minis. Minis are more like the cars of the everyman. One reason why we love them. But the BACLV were gracious hosts, and cooked up loads of burgers and hot dogs for us. And we brought along many side dishes and desserts. Tons of food left over as usual.

There were a few cute dogs to play with, including Pedro's dog Yuna, a sweet little pug. I drove down the mountain afterwards thinking of seeing a movie. I still haven't seen that latest Harry Potter. Shame on me. At least I got to use the umbrella. I stopped instead at the mall in the Palazzo which is a nice place to browse. I stopped in Bottega Veneta for the first time. Quite an intimidating experience. The gorgeous leather items, bags, wallets, etc. were way out of my price range. Pretty much ridiculously so. The leather is soft and buttery. Yes. But in the end my assessment was that a Bottega would be much too precious. I'd never be able to take it anywhere without worrying about it. I visited my perennial favourite Cole Haan and bought a pair of shoes. The sales associates at Cole Haan are very attentive. The girl wouldn't let me take the shoes out of the box myself. She unwrapped them and presented them to me to try on. That kind of thing is nice. But it makes me feel a little odd. I'm a simple girl really. Used to doing things for myself. But it's a nice treat to be pampered a bit.

This week, I planned to do some more shopping. Yesterday I managed to browse around without doing any damage at all to my bank account. I didn't want to be impulsive. But I did find a few things I would like to have. Bags of course, and a few other bits and bobs. I stopped by the other Cole Haan store, the one in Fashion Show mall, and the associate there told me about a special event the next day. He gave me his card and an invitation which included 20% off any purchase. Even the new season's collection. I asked about the Maria Sharapova black hobo bag I'd been eyeing in the catalog. And he said he'd have to order it. I decided to stop back in for the event, and maybe order that bag, and maybe pick up something else while I had use of a discount. So I did go back today, and bought a beautiful dark grey soft woven leather tote (who needs Bottega after all!) and ordered the black hobo. Two bags in one go. Naughty. But I was happy with my purchases and continued shopping knowing that overall I was still good budget wise. If a bit poorer for this weekend. A girl could use a little splurge every now and then. Especially when she's trying to avoid the awful summer heat and look forward to the cooler autumn. It won't be that much cooler right away. But I still found a couple of cozy sweaters and a decadently beautiful sort of trench coat. Didn't buy that. It would have been impulsive. And it would've maxed out my NM card. I told the saleswoman I'd think it over. Still haven't decided. Might be worth it for my trip to New York next month. Then again, I'd like to have some money to spend while I'm there.

It's a dilemma.

In any case, it's nice to know that the weather will be changing soon. I've always been more of a winter girl.

Still Can't Find the Phone

My brother lost his phone a few nights ago while he was at work. He was pretty frustrated, because he uses his phone a great deal at work and losing it made it harder for him to do his job. Then there were all the other considerations. The phone had his contacts and pictures and whatever else he needs to have with him everyday. Plus, it was a pretty nice phone. It got me thinking, as technology continues to give us conveniences and capabilities that weren't dreamt of even 50 years ago, it can also be a bit of a burden.

We don't think about all that we carry in our pockets and purses until it's suddenly gone. And then, PANIC! Guys used to have to worry about only two things. Wallet and keys. Now it's wallet and keys at a minimum, but most likely also a mobile phone. Depending on the features of the phone, they may or not want to also carry an mp3 player, a camera, a GPS device...or any number of other gadgets.

For women it's always been more complicated. We may carry a couple of necessities in our pockets if we have any, but for the most part, we have a constant companion known as a purse, or a handbag. Much the same as for men, women generally carry a wallet and keys. Losing that stuff is bad enough, because these days we carry all manner of information in our wallets like a driver's license, credit and debit cards, work ID, library cards, membership and loyalty cards (including ones that can be used as cash like a Starbucks Card). And of course there may actually be a bit of cash in there too. Keys can include house keys, car keys, keys to any storage units, mailboxes or other secured facilities. Those are all an enormous headache to lose and have to replace. But in these days of identity theft, the worries are compounded. Plus if they get your wallet and keys, they know where you live and can get into your house! Quick, it's time to change the locks as well.

We've all been living with these potential hassles and even dangers for years now. Cell phones have been around more than a decade. But it seems like in the last few years alone the "must have" technologies have become "never leave the house without them" daily essentials. After my brother's experience, I decided to have a look in my handbag to see what I carry with me everywhere I go, and consider the catastrophe of losing any of it.



Let's see: I've got my wallet and keys of course. Hairbrush, cosmetics pouch, a couple of pens, some mints, coupons and bus tickets for work. Then the mobile phone, in this case a Blackberry with access to all my email accounts, etc. My iPod Touch, both for the music capabilities and the applications that I depend on, and the little pouch with my earphones. Pack of tissues, planner/datebook (slightly redundant since my iPod and my Blackberry both have calendar functions) and my Kindle. I mentioned this item to my brother and he said, "Geez, you carry your Kindle with you Everyday!" I don't, but every workday, yes, because I read on the bus. Also usually carried but not pictured are my work ID and car keys. And to be honest, concealed inside the cosmetics pouch are a few pricey personal care goodies including several jars/tubes of lipbalm that may or may not cost up to $20 a piece. (No, I'm not proud). And oh yeah, occasionally my wallet actually has a bit of cash in it. (Not much).

Put that all together with the value of the handbag itself (in this case a reasonably-priced DKNY hobo but often a pricier bag), and a purse snatcher must beware. He's not getting this stash without a fight. I mean, obviously if it's life and limb, I'm letting it go, but you get the idea.

I have a good female friend who travels sans handbag all the time. I don't know how she does it, but sometimes I envy her. She must be free of the constant burden of worry that I share with so many women. What if something happens and I don't have my __________ (hand sanitizer gel, band-aids, tampons, cutlery, handcuffs, change of clothes, etc.)?! I'm one of those be-prepared-for-every-situation-type girls. And I love my handbag. It's my life I'm carrying in there. That makes it a companion to me as much as an inanimate sack full of stuff can be. And full of stuff it is. Much more than in the past. Which is why I believe losing your handbag, or even just your phone, like my brother did his, is a nightmare waiting to happen. I just hope it never happens to me.

Queen of the World

Ida Maria is my new hero. I saw her last Friday at House of Blues opening for Glasvegas and she was pretty wow. I've been listening to her music since I heard her on BBC 6 last year and when I saw she was coming with Glasvegas, I was excited to see her. She's such a lively great performer. Yes, that's part of it. But there was something else. She just had this attitude. Like my arms aren't totally toned, and I have bruises on my legs from falling down, but I still rock. Well, I doubt those are her actual feelings, but she does rock. That part is right. And she just radiated this inner confidence and the willingness to totally make fun of herself. She just had a great energy. I've never been great at reviewing music. As much as I love and get so caught up in a great live show, I find verbal description difficult. So I don't do reviews. Just impressions. I went to the show with my friend Kristie who hadn't heard either band before. I was anxious to know what she thought. I think she thought they were both cool which I was glad about. I just wish the H.O.B. folks hadn't cut her off before she did her last song, which I'm guessing would've been "Oh My God." They were closing those big quilted curtains they have there. And Ida gasped, "Thank you. I hope you liked that." I did.

Which brings me to Glasvegas. They were pretty great too. But my overwhelming feeling after the show was that it was so wonderful to see a young band from the U.K. on their first big tour of the States. Not yet jaded, just taking in the fact that it is all happening. James Allan, the band's singer, didn't let a moment go by without showing his love for the crowd. He seemed amazed that he was here on stage in this strange town (which partially gave the band their name) and people were singing his words back to him. I imagine this is a heady feeling for any performer. But never before have I seen the guy on stage taking in the love and returning it so immediately and earnestly. At least not that I can remember; I've been to so many shows. But it made the show fresher, more of an event. And I can't neglect to mention the awesomeness of Caroline McKay's stand up drumming. Another gal who totally rocks.

And I'm still singing...

"I'm Queen of the World, I bump into things....I spin around in circles...and I'm singing"

Weekend Without Makeup

This weekend I had a planned trip to Zion National Park in Utah. It was with my STC chapter colleagues. We've been planning it for a couple of months or so. And as the time approached I was excited for the chance to get out of town, and see our St. George friends and to experience something new. Even though I'd lived in Utah for five years (in Provo), I'd never been to Zion. I'm not a big fan of the outdoors much of the time. Especially when it's so hot, but I do appreciate amazing scenery and natural history.

The day before the trip I had to take care of my car registration. I expected to spend the day at the DMV. First though, I took MINIfir to my regular garage to see if she was ready to pass the smog test. A week earlier, she failed due to the thermostat keeping her a little too cool. I didn't realize that would affect emissions, but it did. I had to buy the OEM thermostat and my dad was kind enough to install it for me. My mechanic cleared the engine code, but he advised not to have her retested until I'd driven a good 100 miles with the new thermostat. The computer had to cycle through some checks before she'd pass smog. So no trip for the DMV for me that day. I was out so early in the day, I wondered if there were any other errands I should run before my trip the next day, or if I could just pass some time before going home to watch the Mets game. Being on that side of town, I figured I'd stop into the mall to see if there was anything good at the Nordstrom Anniversary sale. I knew it was dangerous to go there, but I had a plan to avoid overspending. I had been good about it lately. Browsing and seeing things I liked, but ultimately deciding I didn't need them. I could stay out of trouble. Exceptions only for things that were a good deal AND absolutely wanted (as in not just purchased for the sake of it being on sale) AND that I could afford. I had some money in the bank now, and had paid off my credit cards and it seemed doable to drop $600 on a new handbag. But I realized that I would feel bad about it later, and that I shouldn't do it. And that any new bag would eventually be on sale if I waited long enough, and if I still wanted it when it was on sale, I could buy it. Rules. I had to stick to them. Especially if I wanted to make some extra car payments as I'd planned before all the repair bills set me back. Anyway, I went to Nordstrom and looked at all the new bag styles that were on sale. Lots of nice stuff, there was a big crowd sifting through the items. But I easily settled on the bag I'd been thinking of, a hobo by Treesje that even came in a blue color that I hadn't known of before. It fit my criteria. Half price. Even when it's out of season, it's unlikely to be sold for less than that. And I really wanted it. Now that I saw it in person, and not just the catalog, I realized it was exactly what I was looking for. And at half price, affordable. And buying it wouldn't derail my plan to make extra car payments. I was within my means. Okay. Good.

So then with my new purchase in hand, I stopped into Macy's. The bag department there is a nice place to browse, but I rarely find anything I really want to buy, so it's pretty safe. As I made my way past the Origins counter, the makeup artist made her pitch. "Want a free makeover?" I politely declined. I admitted that I could probably use a makeover, considering my less than polished appearance, but it was rather pointless as no matter how great a job she did, I'd never use any of the products that I might end up buying. She said that she didn't mean to imply that I needed a makeover. And that I didn't have to buy anything. She was just bored and would be grateful for an opportunity to work on someone instead of just standing around. For some reason I was moved. I agreed with the condition that she kept it light. No reason for me to be walking around fully made up. But a cleansing would be nice.

Her name was Jessica and she had on a sleeveless top showing off her full sleeve of tattoos. She asked me about myself, what I did for a living, what I'd been shopping for. I told her I bought a bag. And she said, "Oh, you're a bag girl. I'm defintely not a bag girl. I won't pay more than $20 for a bag usually." I shared the deal I got on my new Treesje. Fifty percent off. She said, "Yeah, 50% off $600 dollars right." She had guessed correctly. She said she'd never even consider spending that much on a bag. But she had her own thing, Tattoos, $1000 worth at least. That's cool, I responded. Everyone has their own thing. While we chatted she cleansed and exfoliated and then began asking if I felt comfortable with some loose powder, blush, mascara, etc. I asked her to be minimal. No mascara as I'm allergic. But I guessed evening out my skin with powder was okay. She set to work. And we continued chatting. She was true to her word. She didn't try to sell me anything. And she was grateful to be kept busy. I thanked her and she thanked me too. I went about my way in the store. Bought a pair of shoes on sale. And then I ran into Jessica in the restroom. She was on break I guess. She told me to enjoy the rest of my day and I wished her the same. I didn't feel weird. She had done a nice understated job. Of course I knew that by the time I got home, most of it would have melted away, after I had something to eat, and then ventured out into the hot sun. After a trip to CVS on my way home. It was barely noticable. I cleansed the rest off with a moist towelette and then got ready to watch the ballgame. It wasn't pretty. An 11-0 route by the Braves.

Oh well. I had the Zion trip to look forward to the next day. And of course it wouldn't much matter how I looked then. After a couple of tough hikes (for me, my companions considered them easy), the sunscreen and sweat had blended and dripped into my eyes. It was messy, but fun. I rewarded myself with an ice cream. In the late afternoon, we made our way back to our hosts' house for a bar-b-que. And then we got to go visit their horses. They were sweet, friendly animals. A joy to be around. We fed them carrots and then went back to the house for some pie. I was sweaty and dirty all day. But I didn't care. Everyone else was too. Even Jessica would admit there was no point worrying about appearances. The real star of the day was the natural beauty. The massive rock formations, the wild animals we saw, and of course the horses.

Andy, You're a Star

I don't follow professional tennis that closely. Baseball is my main sports devotion. But I try to always catch at least part of Wimbledon, especially the men's final. The time difference makes this a bit tricky, as it's 6a.m. here in Las Vegas when the Championship Match begins in London. Las Vegas has it's own claim to tennis fame. Andre Agassi is a Vegas native and still lives here with his wife and fellow champion Steffi Graf. The Agassis do loads of work for the community. Still, Vegas is a long way from London.

Last year's Wimbledon final, won by Rafael Nadal in the dusk of early evening after several rain delays and an epic 5 set match against Roger Federer, is well documented. I'm reading the book on the match by L. Jon Wertheim right now on my Kindle (It's called "Strokes of Genius: Federer, Nadal, and the Greatest Match Ever Played.") I remember watching the match, on and off between rain delays, sleepy in my bed, and then with the Mets game on the computer on the other side of the room. The Mets actually started and finished their game that day before the Wimbledon final was completed. A marathon day for all involved. I don't remember what the Mets did that day. But I certainly remember the tension and the greatness of that tennis match. Sometimes that happens.

And today was another day like that. This time the amazing match ended just as the Mets were beginning their lackluster day against the Phillies. So there wasn't the division of attention that was necessary last year. I again woke late, tuning in sleepily after being up half the night with our dog Miracle and her fireworks anxiety. It was already in the fourth set. But I'm glad I got there when I did. Andy Roddick was our guy this time against Federer.

Tennis being an idividual sport makes it different from baseball in that there is no team as such. Yes, there are doubles teams, and Davis Cup teams. But in the Grand Slam tournaments, the singles players are on their own. You have your favorites. I remember when Agassi made his amazing final run in the U.S. Open. in 2006. He was injured but he battled and the crowd was definitely behind him. This year's Wimbledon Semi-final saw Britain's star Andy Murray with great home country support from the crowd, as he lost a tough match to Roddick.

Now in the final it was Roddick vs. Federer, the 5 time champion. Roddick had met Federer in the Wimbledon final before, back in 2004 and 2005 and came up short each time. Their last match up in 2005 was an easy 3 set win for Federer. So of course you have to root for Andy this time. At least to make the match more competitive, if not to have a real chance to win it. Yes, the American player got my support, but not just because I'm American (and I did talk about the national pride in watching sports in yesterday's entry). But in tennis you really think of the player as an individual, and here I rooted for Andy because he had worked so hard to get back to the final. He did everything he could to give himself a chance to win it. I'm a big fan of Federer also. I mean, he's got to be the greatest player of all time, considering what he's done. So he's not the enemy. He never has been. I cheered for him in the final against Nadal last year, and felt bad for him when he lost it. This year Federer was just coming off his first French Open win, and was going for his 15th Grand Slam title, to surpass Pete Sampras. He was making history and you can't help but want to see that too. I just didn't want it to be too easy for him. And fortunately for me, and for tennis as a whole, it was a great competitive match. It went 5 sets. And the fifth set took 30 games for Federer to finally come out on top. Roddick held his serve in every game until the very last.

The sports media is on top of reporting this story, despite the fact that it's not front page news in the U.S. (I had to make a concerted effort to check the results and find out the match-ups on line, it was strange.). So I don't feel compelled here to give a detailed account of the match. Suffice it to say that I was glad to have seen it. Andy and Roger both played their hearts out. And Roger came out on top today. The history and the glory are his. But to Andy I say, Well done! You did us all proud :)

America

It's funny this feeling we call patriotism. I mean, the country we're from is mostly an accident of birth isn't it? I know I've always been conflicted about what it means that I was born American. And then of course Americans are all sub-categorized, like Latin Americans, African Americans, Asian Americans. Because this is a country of people who come from somewhere else. Except for Native Americans, though we didn't know about them until after the explorers from Europe came to claim these lands as their own. Oops.

But I digress. When I was growing up I was always fascinated by what was going on over on the other side of the pond. The culture of the U.K., England, Great Britain all of it. Literature, music, the accents, the fashion and the cool cars. Whatever we had here seemed just a poor imitation. It began with the images I got from reading Thomas Hardy and all that other great English lit I was assigned as I went through school. That stuff which I committed myself to study through two university degrees. (And the music too. British rock or Brit pop, in all its variations.) Maybe I didn't become an expert, but I've always loved the language, and done what I could to keep it close to me. Perhaps so much so that I blocked out the language of my forefathers. I took Spanish in high school of course, and forgot it all. And really feel hardly any connection to it at all as part of my culture. Being Puerto Rican Amerian. A latina. That is mostly a fact of biology. But it takes just the tiniest thing to make one claim one's roots. And in the same breath, to distance oneself from others. Being from a minority ethnicity didn't stop me from being exposed to biggotry, prejudice and the ignorance to leads to them.

The Puerto Ricans and the African Americans and the Mexicans all have problems with each other as well as the whites who have persecuted them so publically. They persecute each other. Or we do. I forget that I'm included in there somewhere. But then I've never felt such "latina pride" as I did that day Judge Sonia Sotomayor was nominated by President Obama to join the Supreme Court. Maybe because she's a Puerto Rican woman from New York like I am. And she got where she is not because of what she looks like (even despite her appearance, accent etc.,) but because of her brain. And I felt New York pride, the city, the state I grew up in, which I do feel connected to very much, even now that I've lived elsewhere for at least half my life. I still love my Mets.

Speaking of baseball, sports are a big thing giving people a feeling of belonging, common will. People support their team whether it's a school team, or a city team, or a national team. I know my Team U.S.A. spirit comes out every two years during the Olympics. People die over it though. Riots in football stadiums around the world are not uncommon. Just a game. But all those emotions attached to these games...can move entire populations. And the littlest thing can breed ill will between spectators. Just like the littlest thing can lead and has led millions to war over the centuries.

I was in the Army. I wore the uniform of my country. I took an oath and trained to participate in war if I was called upon to do so. I did not do it lightly. But I also did not do it because I just love my country so much or because I love being American. Sometimes it's just the lesser of two evils. Things may suck here too, but at least I can speak freely and vote, and go to school, and drive and make a living as a single woman, just a few things which women in many places around the world are denied. I value the many freedoms I have and would of course defend them to the best of my ability. That ability, unsurprisingly, did not turn out to involve soldiering. But we each do what we can.

When we assign blame or give praise, it's often connected to some characteristic that's either different or the same as us. We condemn Islam because some Islamic extremists did some horrible things. But there are many many more peaceful followers of Islam than extremists. It's just the first thing the media could think of that made them different from us. We would never do such a thing. What made them do it? Well, it must be their religion. Or, when someone succeeds, it's not long before people want to claim likeness, either they come from the same town or went to the same school, or have the same last name. Or even if they just like the same music or TV shows. It doesn't take much. He's one of us. She's one of us.


So while I often look admiringly across the pond, I'll never be British. I'm still driving my cute little British car around the U.S. of A. I'm an American. A New Yorker. A Puerto Rican Woman. A Mets fan. A MINI driver. A transplanted Las Vegan. A neighbour. A co-worker. A citizen of the world. A daughter. A sister. A friend. And more. And I have to feel pretty good about all that.

Get Back!

I know I mentioned this a while back, but it is now 20 years since I graduated from high school. Probably exactly. I mean, graduation was usually around the 20th of June right? As far as I know there is someone planning a Reunion for Brentwood High. Maybe separate ones for Ross and Sonderling? But I don't know of any firm details. In any case, it's going to be tricky for me to get back to Brentwood.

To be honest, I'm not exactly dying to go to the reunion itself. I could certainly pass on that experience. But there are a few friends I'd be glad to see again, and when you are pressed for time, the more of them you can get together at once, the better. So we'll see. Otherwise, I'll miss it all just like I did the Prom. And no one will probably notice this time either. Hah.

I don't have much else to say about this subject. Just the usual. Comparing yourself to your friends in terms of how more or less successful they are...and all that. Check. Not wanting everyone to see how fat you've gotten. Check. Or that you aren't married and don't have any kids. Check on that too. We all have these rulers that we measure ourselves with. And I just don't fit on any of them. It's awkward. Well, by the awkwardness measurement, I come out on top every time. That's what's going on.

I kinda want to get back to New York just to see the Mets play in their new park, Citi Field. But I doubt very much I could get away with just sneaking into town without anyone knowing. These days we can't help ourselves when it comes to updating everyone on our latest doings. I post updates to a Twitter feed no one even knows I have so there must be some instrinsic thing, human beings want to be heard, etc. They want to shout out that they exist. I don't shout. That's just not the way I am, but I do tweet. Tiny typed updates. And if I went to see the Mets I'd have to let someone know wouldn't I? Quietly.

In any case, I'd love to get back. Just because...

Look at the Moon

This is not a new blog post, it's from my Benrik blog last year, but a re-airing around now seemed appropriate.
*********************************************************************

The Friday before last I was downtown with some friends, including K. my sleepover partner of a couple of months ago. We were checking out the monthly art open houses. And we ran into B. who was showing at one of the galleries. B., I soon learned, is the younger sister of J. who is K.'s ex-girlfriend.

K. and J. were together for 9 years. She broke up with him because after all that time he still wasn't ready to move in together or talk about marriage/family etc. That was 6 years ago. I've known K. now for just under 2 years. And he's always been vehement about the fact that he was not ready to be in a relationship with anyone. (At first I thought his break-up with his ex was only about a year or two before I met him because he still talked about her a lot, but no it's been over 6 years.)

So anyway, K. and I became good friends. We unexpectedly veered towards more than that about a year ago, for like a minute (basically we held hands in the cinema and then snogged) and then he thought better of it and ran away. Then 8 months later, again. This time, we had a couple of sleepovers, and it seemed like he might honestly want to attempt being with me. But no, three weeks later he ran again. And I sat him down and said, "Look, if you don't want this, then just tell me. Don't act like you're all into it, and then disappear. I'm still your friend, just tell me what's going on." So basically he was off the hook. And he said, "Yeah, I just can't."

So we went back to being just friends. Everything was fine. I'm still hurt, because obviously he mislead me and I don't take a sleepover lightly, and I was so cautious as it was happening, looking for signals that he really wanted to go there, and he gave them to me, I am pretty sure I didn't imagine that, but see since I was so worried about being careful I never really got the chance to enjoy it. And then it was over. So yeah, I still feel hurt over it. But I don't talk to him about that. We're back to discussing Doctor Who and Spider-man, etc.

And then, that Friday night, there we were, at B.'s art show, and suddenly I'm face to face with J. How could I not be intimidated? And seeing K. and the way he acted around her...I felt so...small. And she was like...oh it's good to see you, come hang out with us at the pub.

And so we did, and all of K.s other friends that he's known for 15-20 years, but hadn't seen in at least a year, were there, like 20 of them, along with B. and J. and there I was, not knowing any of them...

And at 5:00am, after I had listened to them reminiscing all night and telling stories that they've told hundreds of times, and sitting there dumbly as they all started singing when a familiar song came on the jukebox, and feeling angry at myself for being so affected by seeing K. and J. talking to each other, even just across the bar, and staying as one by one everyone said goodnight and left, until it was basically just him and me. And we went out to our cars, and he said, "Did you have a good time tonight?" And I tried not to betray my feelings, as I admitted, "It was just a lot, all at once, a bit overwhelming..." and he hugged me tightly as if he knew how awful it must have been for me, but maybe he was a little grateful that I'd stuck it out.

And then back at work, where we sit together at lunch most days, it was back to normal again, except now he felt like when he told me stories about all these folks that I actually knew who he was talking about, and that made him feel relaxed, which was good. But inside, I was still, and am still freaking out. Especially when he tells a story about J. because he knows that I know exactly who she is and surely since I'd met her, I must have noticed how the sun surely shines out of her behind. Because back then, he was young and stupid and it took him 3 years after the break-up for him to realize, yes she was the love of his life. And it was too late.

And 3 more years after that, there was me. But it wasn't anything big, just a misstep, something you can just change your mind about with no harm and no foul.

And he doesn't realize...

that it's not the moon that's making me act this way.

But let's just say it is.

********************************************

Things have changed so much since then.

You Don't Know Me

Now that I've been in my new job for a month, I've had a bit of time to get to know my new co-workers. We spend 10 hours a day in the same office. You'd think that would allow us all to be fast friends in no time. But really I'm still a bit isolated. Partially because of where my desk is, down the hall from the room where most of my fellow writers sit. And also because it's one of those open receptionist-type desks, so people are walking by me all day, and to avoid being constantly distracted I sit with my earphones in for hours at a time.

Proximity aside, do we ever really know our co-workers? Or anyone for that matter. Or even ourselves? These are not new questions of course. But aside from starting a new job, I'm reminded often of how little I do know the people around me. Even ones I've felt so close to at times. My friend Keir, who I met at one of my previous jobs and saw almost every day for about 2 years, was the closest I had to a best friend since I moved here to Vegas. We did a lot of stuff outside work, spend many hours, even whole nights, talking after a night out. He told me stuff, I told him stuff. I heard his favourite stories so many times that when he'd be telling one to someone else, at lunch for instance, I could've picked it up and finished it for him word for word. I practically knew all his old friends who I'd never met because he'd told me so much about them.

Then that one night, he was lying next to me here, the one time he was here, and he said, "So, what do you really know about me?" I stammered ..."Well, I know that you're a good person, that you're just very frustrated with your situation right now, and you feel some anger about things, but ..."
He stopped me there. We were both silent. What did I really know about him? And what did he know about me other than that we'd just been out for my birthday and now we were in my bed. And in the morning he would be gone.

Then a few months later, I did meet those old friends of his and there was that light of recognition, "Oh, you're the one who..." and "He's the one who..." and I was just there, "the one he's been hanging out with all this time," since they'd last seen him.

And I still see them, his friends that is (I haven't seen him in a while, and I suppose neither have they). And I'm just sort of floating awkwardly, isolated. Do I belong now? Can I belong? Will they ever know me? Do they care to? I mean, he had the chance, and he didn't stick around. So why would they?

Then there is Skip. My dear lovely delightful Skip, who I've never met, but I thought I knew so well. As well as possible, when he keeps one at arms length, I suppose. Yes, he's never really let any of us in. All those details that anyone who lives on his street might know, like his name, what he looks like; those aren't the really important things anyway. It's what's inside. His good heart. His funny, clever, and frustratingly mysterious Maskipper-ness. He was as much of a best friend to me as I had for many years. He was the one I wanted to tell everything to. And did. And still do, though I don't hear back from him nearly as often. Hmm. Maybe no one ever really wants to know anyone too well. Maybe the bits we hold back are what keep us close.

It can be an advantage to be the new guy or gal. The one from whom no one quite knows what to expect. And then there's the truth, which usually isn't amazing or mysterious. So we hold on to it, keep it even from those closest to us, our family. Because once someone knows all, there's no going back is there? That's why we each need to have our own space. For me, it's so I can just be, without having someone looking at me trying to see what they know or think they know.

And yet, it's still there, that need to know and be known. The comfort of not having to explain yourself all the time remains appealing. Instead, in nearly any situation, you can just shrug your shoulders as if to say, "well, you know me ..."

Fix You

This weekend I took my car in to the shop to have some work done on her suspension. She's been needing her front control arm bushings replaced for about a year, and it's just now that I've had the money to get it done. Turned out other bits of her suspension had been wearing out too, the right side motor mount and torque mounts had to be replaced. I also needed new rear brake pads since my sensor light had been on for about 6 weeks. I still have a few minor things to take care of, like the automatic lock in the driver's side door, and strangely, the third brake light mounted on the back hatch has actually disappeared! No one can figure it out yet. It was just suddenly not there when I got home from work Thursday night.

As much as I love my car, it's always a cringe-worthy moment when you learn how much these repairs will cost. Fortunately I have a reputable shop with great mechanics who specialize in British cars. They take good care of MINIfir and are up front about which repairs are essential and which things can wait until I have some more money coming in. Unlike the dealership, they don't act like if I wait to get something done, my wheels will fly off or something.

Now that I've taken care of the big stuff, I feel much better, and I'm sure MINIfir does too. I've got a plan, once I've taken care of the other minor issues, to accelerate my payments and get my loan payed off as quickly as possible. Then MINIfir will be mine free and clear. True, she'll be 6 years old by then, and she'll still be needing regular repairs and maintenance as she ages, but I will feel so proud that I bought her, ordered from the dealer, and have cared for and fed her, and paid her off little by little, and finally will really be her owner.

I can't explain what it means. But she is the best and biggest, most expensive and most important thing I own. And I love her. So when she's broken I fix her. And she fixes me in return.

Mr. (Tech) Writer

I've been asked more than once: How did you get into tech writing? And the answer is always "by accident." And it's true, I remembering hearing about such a thing as technical writing classes at BYU where I was completing my Master's in Creative Writing. The two could not be more different. What could one possibly have to do with the other? Why would I ever need or want to know about tech writing?

As it turns out, that's how I make my living. It has been for the better part of 5 years now. Well, in between layoffs and whatnot. But basically I fell into it when I first moved to Vegas, and my mom suggested I visit the local JobConnect office, and the nice lady there called me and said, "Well with your writing skills you might be interested in this job with Red, inc." It was for tech editing, and an easy editing test later, I had a job that paid way more than I ever thought I'd make. Teaching pays a pittance in comparison. Teaching was what I'd been doing since grad school, and I enjoyed it, but without a PhD. it'd pretty much never be a steady gig. I got one night class assignment at Nevada State College, but most of my employment was to be found in the tech writing sector. My first job, as an editor on the Yucca Mountain Project was pretty easy. I didn't do any writing there though. Just proofing, and checking references and style guide compliance. After a few months, I was shuffled off to other projects which could only be referred to as busy work. Sorting old emails, things like that. I was still getting paid the same though, so I didn't mind it. And then the first layoff came. I found that the life of a tech writer is not so much easier than the life of a novelist or essayist or journalist. Moving from gig to gig. Working as a contractor or a subcontractor, with no benefits and no security.

After a few more short term assignments, and a brief job in journalism (which I loved and was devastated to get layed off from), I landed at Upper Deck as a technical writer. To be honest, I had never really done any technical writing until I got there. I had to start from scratch with most of the documentation. And I had to do it all by myself. It was a challenge, but I found I could shape the job to suit me. I liked the company and my co-workers, and settled into my role. I created a bunch of different types of documents, policy and procedures, work instructions, etc. I joined STC, and tried to learn more about my accidental profession. And though the work was hardly the most interesting, it was diverse, and I had room to work on other things. I founded a company newsletter. I was enlisted for the communications committee, and I did my best to talk to folks who worked in all the different departments. I was in a unique position of being able to bridge the two sides (office and warehouse). I took internal communications really seriously and tried to help everyone have a voice.

And then suddenly, after two years, I didn't have one. My position was eliminated. It seemed what I was doing wasn't so important to the bottom line, so all the other value it had was secondary. I never saw it coming. And it knocked me for a loop.

I landed on my feet pretty quickly, finding a job writing business plans. It didn't end up being a good fit, and business slowed enough that I could anticipate it coming to an end quickly. The economy was collapsing in all sectors. Layoffs were rampant, but I felt that my options were open. I was versatile, I could go back into teaching, or try journalism, perhaps in the online environment which is where it's at these days. But since I'd only dipped my toe in the various areas, I didn't have the depth required to compete against all the other out of work professionals in those fields.

I searched for six months, had a few interviews and then finally landed back in technical writing. This job, with another government contractor, may be temporary too. I'm in a 6 month casual appointment. But there's a chance it could become a permanent hire situation. And it's really technical. More so than what I was doing at Upper Deck. So now I must really become what I've been flirting with all this time. Not to mention the fact that somehow I've been elected president of my STC chapter.

Obviously I'm really grateful to have this job. The people all seem really nice, and I'm glad to be on a team again. I just hope that after all the bits and pieces of jobs that I've done, I've at least accumulated "enough education to perform." And that one day I'll feel like a like an actual professional tech writer. And then whatever other writing I can do on the side will be a bonus. I want to stay versatile, because you never know about work these days. No one is secure. And I'm finally getting used to that.

Finest Worksong

Tomorrow I start a new job, so my latest stint on unemployment has finally come to an end. And I'm nervous and excited and relieved. The strange thing is I also feel a bit guilty. That sort of makes sense in these economic times. There are so many people out there still looking for work, and those many who are just now losing their jobs. And as long as it took to get to this point (I actually had to go into my extended unemployment benefits) I suffered relatively little. I had my family to fall back on. There wasn't much I had to give up. I was careful enough with money, but I could've been more careful. The biggest thing was having no place to go. Being stuck in the house, with no job to go to, while it gave me lots of time to do little projects I'd been putting off, it also allowed plenty of time for me feel depressed, unproductive, unsuccessful.

Then there was the fact that to most people not having a paying job meant I wasn't doing any work whatsoever. I made a great effort to keep structure in my days by doing job searches, applications and letters in the mornings before noon. Sometimes I was done quickly. I did have a lot of time, but I had no intention of shuttling my grandmother around or doing stuff no one else wanted to do just because I didn't have formal employment obligations. I allowed myself "work time" when I was unavailable to anyone else for the periods when I was doing my searches or another project, reading or writing. It didn't always work, but I kept to it as much as possible.

For all those months I tried to keep good humor while the people around me shared their sympathies and wished me better luck soon. And people were great. I mean, it's hardly unusual to be out of work in this recession. It isn't the mark of shame it used to be. But in the back of my mind, and those of my family members too I'm sure, there was this nagging feeling that it shouldn't be me in this situation. I'm highly educated, so I should have the accomplishments to go along with my promised potential. It was hard not to compare myself to people I grew up with, and went to school with, and see how far behind them I am in so many ways. Even my little brother, who had long had difficulty living up to expectations, went out and got a career for himself as a police officer. We're so proud of him, but for me, it's always been expected. So anything less is a disappointment.

And now it's time to hit the ground running again. I have a great opportunity, and a chance to make up for lost earnings and contribute more to the family and just get out of the house and feel better about myself. There's a part of me though that's afraid. I've been worried that my skills may have atrophied. What if I'm not as sharp and capable as I once was? Will I even be able to hack it? Getting up early, a long commute, a long and stressful work day. Am I still fit?

And now I won't have time to do anything else. All that time I had over the last 6 months, why didn't I do more? It was always difficult to plan when I never knew what the next week would bring. My resources were limited, and the time I had, it wasn't always my own. But it still seems like I did nothing! I know that's not the case, but the feeling is there. Where did all that time go?

So back to work tomorrow, hopefully for a longer and more stable period than before. But I can never let my guard down again. I can't be blindsided like I was when I lost my job at Upper Deck nearly a year ago. I can't let my life be defined by what I do either. I have to be more adaptable. And I have to make time for myself, no matter what I am doing for a living, so that I can live and not just survive.

Precious Things

I’ve been thinking about this issue for a while. But I didn’t quite know how to file it. Is it about art or commerce? Is it about relationships or lack thereof? Is it about money, health, or self-esteem? Is it trivial or fanciful?

I’m not sure. But I’ll start from where I left off. It was Barbara who made me consider it most recently. Whether it meant I was shallow. That first night I met her, she was saying something down at Paddy’s about how women who walk around with designer handbags are the worst kind of people because they care about status, or showing off wealth, or pretending to be something they are not, or whichever of the usual stereotypes people like to assign to people according to this one random criteria. I tucked my Marc by Marc Jacobs messenger bag under my hoodie on a chair. It was already nerve wracking enough being there with them all. Much less inadvertently getting in the way of a drunken tirade. And besides, she didn’t know me. The fact that I carried a particular accessory didn’t make me despicable any more than it made me superior. I resolved not to make mention of my most self-indulgent of hobbies, in Barbara’s or any one else’s presence.

It never came up again, though not for a good reason. By the end of that year, Barbara was gone. And I knew so little about her, just as she did about me. In March I attended a show and performance of some of her work, paintings and plays mostly, hosted in the place where Barbara had lived. When I stepped into the place, I couldn’t help but notice its condition. Was it even fit for habitation? It was definitely not a place you lived if you were worried about security. It was definitely not a place to keep family heirlooms or anything of value. Or perhaps I should say any “thing.” This was not a place of things, it was a place of ideas and expression and love and spirit and feeling and all those things that really weren’t things at all. And suddenly I felt a twinge of envy. If only I could live like that, free from attachment to things, fulfilled entirely from the inside.

It was sort of a communal place, but I don’t think it was devoid of personal spaces or places to keep personal things. I’m sure there were many things of sentimental value tucked away in corners or on tables next to the bed. But it definitely wasn’t like my house. I share a house with 4 other members of my family now, but for many years, I lived alone. And either way, I had the same arrangement. A highly organized collection of things, my things in my space, in fact it was my things that defined my space.

I can see them now from where I sit writing this. Neat shelves of books, and action figures, and toy cars; Tidy closet full of clothes and accessories, a desk full of assorted useful, or potentially useful items. Things I needed, need now, or might need in the future. Things and Needs. The two go together. It’s basic really. All people need things like food, shelter and clothes. After that, need is relative. That’s why it’s tricky to even use the word need for some things.

One might say that many of the economic troubles in the world today have been caused by the fact that most people believed they needed things they didn’t.

I don’t pretend to be any different. I would feel lost without the computer that I’m typing this on right now. Years ago it was unheard of to have a computer in a private home. And in this house we have several, including three in this room alone.

When you can’t afford to buy the things you need, there are hopefully social services willing and able to help you. There are food pantries and soup kitchens and goodwill collections and shelters for those most basic of needs. But beyond that, you have to earn the things you feel you need, or those you want.

I worked until I saved up enough money to buy this computer. I was happy when I got it because I paid for it in cash. I wasn’t overextending myself. I made due with my old computer until I could afford this one. But I haven’t always operated that way. I am no stranger to the world of poorly managed credit. I’ve made mistakes and purchased things I couldn’t afford. I worked to make it right as much as I could. I’ve resolved to be smarter about it in the future. Sure.

The book series and the film “Confessions of a Shopaholic” tell the story of Rebecca Bloomwood, a woman with these common and relatable problems. She shopped herself underwater. She bought so many things she couldn’t afford and barely had room for, and it ruined her relationships as well as her credit rating. Sophie Kinsella, the author of the books and Isla Fisher, the actress who played Rebecca, played it for laughs. It is funny watching someone go so out of control. But at the same time, there were serious issues in the background. Her parents scrimped and saved their every penny. Coming from a background like that can teach you to be frugal, or how to practice moderation, but in Rebecca’s case it made her feel like she was trapped. She felt she needed to spend, needed to acquire things to make herself feel self-sufficient or whatever it was she needed to feel. And it was a humorous romp seeing all the trouble she got into, and there was a heartwarming ending as she learned her lesson, and found a guy who loved her for herself despite her flaws. Harmless, chick flick fun. Except, I cried. I identified with Rebecca in so many ways. I also felt relief in areas where I didn’t relate to her. I am not an impulse shopper. I don’t see things and have to buy them immediately. I’m more of a planner. I research, I calculate, I evaluate risk. I go back and look several times before buying. Just to make sure it’s really what I want. These days I rarely buy things on credit, making sure I have the money and that I can still pay my bills and live up to my responsibilities. But yes, I have spent a lot of money. Money perhaps I could have used to buy a house, or save for a rainy day, of which there have been quite a few in recent years. Do I need everything I’ve bought? No, of course not.

I bought a car I loved that cost more than basic transportation. But it was in no way impulsive. I’m still driving it and still paying for it and I’ve never lost an ounce of sleep over my choice. The intangibles, experiences I’ve had, people I’ve met through owning the car, have no quantifiable value, but are priceless to me.

And that’s how I look at most things. Things serve a purpose. Things have intrinsic value. They have assigned value. I tried explaining this to Ralph one night when we were down at First Friday. He was telling me how he and Kate were not picky about having real jewelry aside from wedding rings, which have their sentimental value, etc. And I said, sure, I’m not a big jewelry person either. But there are people who get great pleasure from a nicely crafted piece of jewelry. It’s art and to them is worth the price they may pay. The higher quality, more expensive the materials, the longer the piece will last and hold its value. That’s the theory.

It works with pretty much everything. Ralph collects original comic art. It’s intrinsic value, the cost of paper and ink, are just a fraction of the assigned value. Ralph, and Kate too, have built their lives around comic art. It is their great passion in life. The pieces that line the walls of their home and of Ralph’s store are not just things. They are relative needs. They are nourishment for the soul. They bring real happiness.

This was actually what I tried to explain to him, planning to work up to my own examples. Handbags are art too, you know. They are designed and crafted of fine materials and they serve a purpose. They bring real happiness to the collector and the aficionado. They often cost much more than basic transportation for your wallet and keys. In a way they are a microcosm of personal space.

Feeling the need to justify my collection is not new. And if I believed my theory so thoroughly, then why must I continually convince myself and others? It’s because in the back of my mind, I know my relative needs have expanded perhaps more than they should have. As much as I love handbags, a few nice bags would probably be enough. I could sell the rest and maybe feed a few African villages for a time.

But so can lots of other people. How much are we to reasonably allow ourselves? What is the acceptable level of self-indulgence? When I was a member of the LDS church there were many families of great wealth. They and their kids had nice clothes and cars and lived in big houses. They paid their tithing, 10% of their earnings, so they fulfilled the literal counsel of the church. But does that let them off the hook to do what they like with the rest? What of the rest of us, who can’t seem to afford such a regular tithe, but will still treat ourselves every now and then? We all deserve a little bit of extra comfort when we can afford it don't we?

But are those relative needs and the sense of entitlement we have towards them making us richer or poorer? In the current economic climate, I think we’re all feeling a bit guilty. No one is immune. And our capitalistic system is based on the fact that businesses create goods and services that people want. If that weren’t the case, there would just be farmers producing food, some basic textile mills for basic clothing production, and basic home building for shelters.

But hang on; we also need education. So there have to be educated people, and materials used to educate. Part of education is knowledge of art. If education is a necessity, and art is worthy of being a topic of education, then we must need art. We need art because it makes life better. And if art can make life better, so can other forms of nourishment. Ideas, expression, spirituality, love and other feelings, all can be needs. The needs Barbara and her friends had in their house and fulfilled with a lot fewer things than I have. Things can also supplement the same kinds of needs that are separate from “things”. A washing machine is a thing that aids in the care of a basic need, clothing. So is a washing machine a necessity? Well, it makes washing clothes easier, leaving more time available to attend to other needs, like family relationships, adding to quality of life. Because time is one of those things that we can never create more of. But we can get the most out of time by using some things. And making the most of our time is what life is. Life is taking the time we have and doing the best we can with it according to our capabilities and our best judgment.

And round and round we go, because everyone has his or her own best judgment. So all these things I buy, because I want them/or need them, I’m not sure which, because they serve a purpose, make my life better, keep me happy, or make me feel whatever I need to feel, will be there in greater or lesser numbers than some other people have, life is not fair, nor are all things equal. And is that okay? I think it has to be. Asceticism is right for some, and charity is a good thing, and obviously some needs are more pressing than others.

So I have an ever-expanding collection of nice handbags. I collect action figures, and books and many other sorts of things. I love my car and I attach great sentimentality to certain pieces of clothing or shoes. Things can hold memories. They are vessels really, places to keep your stuff, whether it be physical objects or bits of psyche. And we all have a little bit of each.

There is more to be said, an ongoing argument in the culture, economy, arts, morality or religion and I have no neat tidy ending. The dark side was portrayed artfully by Tolkien, in how the ring took over Gollum, it became his "precious", his reason for being; how easily it was for anyone to fall under its spell if they weren't careful. The ring itself was a thing, it represented power, and indeed had power itself. Fortunately there aren't objects like that around in our everyday lives. I think the point is that power should not come through things. Things should not give power. People with things should not consider themselves more powerful than those without. Your things are not who you are, but they may just remind people of you.