#nycc2015 was shiny, overwhelming, and defied expectations... Stick a fork in us, we're done #survivor #backtoreality #isthistheendoftheline (at Port Authority Bus Terminal)

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#nycc2015 was shiny, overwhelming, and defied expectations... Stick a fork in us, we're done #survivor #backtoreality #isthistheendoftheline (at Port Authority Bus Terminal)
There are some that question the brilliance of my touchdown dance... #flyeaglesfly #catlife #sundayfunday
I recently went on a missions trip and after I gave testimony (which I thought was pretty good) my pastor said that I needed to be more open and personal around others. But I'm not sure how to do that.
Openness is shorthand for vulnerability, and vulnerability is terrifying.
Your pastor could just mean that they want you to be friendlier with others. But let’s assume they do indeed mean they want you to be vulnerable and go form there.
Many of us struggle with vulnerability because it is too often perceived as weakness; “a vulnerability” can be a deficiency or a failing to lament. When we’re at war with ourselves or others, a vulnerability is a target. It’s the thing that makes you capable of being crippled or destroyed.
Of course it’s terrifying.
But think: a vulnerability is only a weakness if we fear speaking our truth. If my truth is that I have recently become too attached to an imperfect modification of a small dinosaur, and I intend to keep him as a pet despite the fact that he is neither efficient, vicious, or strong enough for my purposes, someone may exploit that I care about him and kill him. If my truth is that I am afraid every time I gear up and expose myself to a world that would kill me if they could, then that is reason enough for some to ridicule me.
If your truth is that you’re scared, or you don’t know what to do next, or your God’s light and truth isn’t as clear to you as it once was, why do you fear it? If in giving testimony you don’t know why you became a Christian, or there are aspects of your journey that you’re ashamed of admitting to, why not share them?
Vulnerability, I would argue, can be strength over weakness. Choosing to accept the parts of yourself, your feelings, and your story that make you scared or sad or ashamed is a courageous thing to do, particularly if you choose to share them. Vulnerability is a way to connect with another human as a human yourself; it is a bridge between humanity. You are never alone in what you feel. You are not the only person who feels lost, or doesn’t quite understand the decisions they’ve made, or has doubts. In admitting these things, we can grow closer together.
That is what your pastor wants from you, I think. They often do. Evangelizers of all kinds (as in those that bring others to a cause, not just Evangelical Christians) advocate openness as a way to connect people. As with many tools, in evil hands it is an evil practice. I know this firsthand, if I’m being honest, having used the art of emotional manipulation and exploitation of vulnerabilities fairly often myself. Exploiting vulnerabilities is as old as mankind. Cults are formed this way. It’s sort of how Fascism came to be. Exploiting vulnerability is how evil people prey on others.
So I would ask, in this case as in all cases: Is the person asking you to open up doing it because it’s best for you? Is it something you’re comfortable with doing? Does this person have your best interests at heart?
Choosing to be open and vulnerable with yourself (essentially, honest) is a vital step in embodying your own power. Choosing to be open and vulnerable with someone else is a gift. Make sure you’re giving it to someone who understands that.
Yours,A Supervillain
1 Comment Insight Editions Releasing Crimson Peak: The Art of Darkness in October Posted on August 25, 2015 by Debi Moore
Source: http://www.dreadcentral.com/news/120441/insight-editions-releasing-crimson-peak-the-art-of-darkness-in-october/
Jeremy and I have decided this will be the first coffee table book at our (!!!) apartment.
Oh, hello, pretty... couldn’t I just spend hours pouring over you...
Watching #thenationalparks at #Musikfest ... Even with sound issues, they're lovely!
This is my abbreviated way of saying the Grange Fair was amazing :)
I met a real, live Muppet tonight! Her name is Black Pearl and she’s a lion head rabbit. She will now also be my spirit animal on bad hair days...
(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mRzxqBH6o0c)
This is totally making my Thursday night right now. I’m super late to this bandwagon, but HitRecord is an amazing 22 min show, and the first season is now on Netflix...
So, I’m not a Jedi...
I’m looking for a new job right now. Everyone does this, right? I’ve done it about 20 times in 10 years, which may sound like a lot, but I started my career as an actor, so I was always job hunting. Talker, Tailor, Banker, Sigh would be the title of the movie of my resume right now (the jobs have been eclectic to say the least), the Sigh relating to the job I’ve had for the last 3 years as a toucan handler.
Let’s say this: I have a great job. I get paid well. My boss adores me. My coworkers respect me. I have history with this company, having worked part time for them for almost 7 years previously, and someone always brings in treats for the break room. I should be dancing on the ceiling. But I don’t like it. And I don’t like not liking it. I want something more.
I want a job where I have to problem solve. Where I get to think every day. A job where people need me and look to me for direction. A job where I can talk about the things I love, like golden ratios and trig functions and Shakespeare and linen trades and what it means when you smash them all together... Is that the plot to Two Gentlemen of Verona? You tell me! I want to debate and discuss and FARM. I want to farm. Which is why I went back to school to do just that, five years ago.
My farming work study started just 3 weeks after my fiancee left me for another woman. I was not in the best place. I was crying all the time (never cried ONCE in the fields. Stupidly proud of that ) and when all was said and done, my old boss asked if I would work for him? Just until I found a farming gig. It was perfect. A job where I could be numb and start to rebuild seemed too good to be true. So I went back to the routine of toucan maintenance.
Here’s the thing about being a toucan handler... you don’t have an original thought in your head. You spend your whole life logistically filing other people’s thoughts. Which was what I needed at that point. But as time has passed, I feel more and more like the computer on the Starship Enterprise. I repeat what is said, but I say nothing. I realized this year, I needed to leave. I needed to get back to who I was.
So with all of this, I jumped into the void. I sent resumes far and wide, and heard back from no one. It’s hardly surprising. I’ve been working with birds, what company would want me as a farmer? Disappointment in the eternal silence that comes after an application is sent is something I had grown accustomed to. What I had not anticipated came last week...
A call. A real, live human being at a farm left me a voicemail asking me for a phone interview. I was beyond excited. I called my parents. No joke. That’s how unabashedly excited I was. I CALLED MY PARENTS. I called the man back, got the voicemail and left a message. It was then that the silence descended.
One day passed, two days. A weekend. That Monday I called and left another message... upbeat, curious... “I’d love the opportunity to speak with you about this position!” Nothing. Four more days have passed and I’m stuck, staring at my silent phone, realizing that, not only am I never getting an interview for this job, but I will never be a Jedi. Jedis can make phones ring. SUPER Double disappointment.
Needless to day, I woke up this morning ready to pronounce the day dead before it even began. I thought about calling out. Taking the day off to wallow. But, like so many mornings before it, I dragged myself into real clothing and got myself to work.
I was swimming in disappointment when a coworker sat down in front of my desk and said, “I think I am two seconds away from a nervous breakdown.”
I looked at her, thinking, “That’s my line! I’m the one struggling today! MY life is awful, not yours!”
But I just nodded my head and asked, “What’s going on?”
Before I knew it, I was talking her off a ledge. At lunch, I sat down with her laptop, being choked by the new Windows 10 update, and helped her get in touch with a tech gal who could fix it. She came up to see me before she left for the day. “I can’t thank you enough. Have a good night.”
And now I think I need to thank her. Because I do wallow in disappointment. I let it suck me down into a spiral of doubt and self loathing, and strangely enough, one of the few things that pulls me out, is someone else saying, “I’m stuck down here too, how do we get out?”
So job interview be damned. Expectations be damned. Yes, I need to find something that challenges me to help others, but maybe that’s not a job. Maybe that’s volunteer work for me during the weekends. I’ll figure it out, but until then, I just need to remember I’m not the only one living with disappointment. On that road, I travel with great company.
My hero.
How I Summer Marathon
These are the months of sun and sweat that most find motivational. They rise in the cool (er) morning air and meet the fields and pavement with their momentum, making events like summer marathons a festive activity, with their hundreds of participants giddy with endorphins...
I think they’re all insane.
I am NOT a summer person. Humidity makes me want to cry. Heat makes me want to hibernate. My only salvation through these months that make me understand the madness of Tennessee Williams are thunder storms, where polarized light makes all the green things glow with a furious thirst. They want the water. They want it bad.
I wonder if I glow the same way when I sink into my sofa after I’ve turned on my air conditioning. That is what I want. To forget about the summer outside and bury myself until the leaves start to change color. There is no better way to do this than participating in a marathon. Oh, no, not the running kind. The Netflix kind.
Television marathons are an amazing way to avoid the world. Whether you’re trying to forget about the weather or trying to forget about something your idiot coworker said, you can lose yourself in the problems and adventures of others. But like all marathons, you can’t blindly just DO IT. You have to train. You have to practice. You have to prepare.
Here is my HOW TO guide to summer marathoning:
1) Start small. If your first marathon is Dr. Who, it’s gonna be a tough journey, unless you’re willing to start and stop a LOT. My suggestion would be a 30 min comedy that only ran 1 season. Or a show designed specifically for Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime, etc that only has 8 to 10 episodes available. This will give you a sense of accomplishment early on and allow you find your own personal groove (ass print allusion intended).
2) Make sure provisions are on hand. Food. Drink. Internet. The holy trifecta of marathoning. For beginners, this means stocking your fridge with snackables and a beverage of choice. The internet is there for quick references (what show do I know that actress from? When did this show originally air? Can I find that awesome t-shirt on TeeFury?). As you advance to longer and longer shows, the internet becomes more important (haven’t checked email in five hours? Do it during the opening titles.). It may also be your access point to a food/beverage delivery system.
3) You NEED a good delivery guy if you get into a serious marathon. Someone who knows where you live (no 20 min calls explaining how lost he is or which door was yours again?) and understands that the speed of the hand-off is everything. There is an element of a relay here, you have to make sure the baton gets handed off without dropping it. Speed, accuracy and minimal communication is key. A good delivery guy will get this. He will take pride in it. So tip him well. That’s what winners do.
4) Companionship. Runners sometimes need other runners to get them going. Having someone to marathon with is helpful, for shared joy and mourning with plot turns, for character analysis, for harmony while singing the opening credits (some opt to skip over them with longer shows, but I like to turn them into spontaneous performance pieces. The more episodes, the more interesting of a performance. Bonus points if you play a musical instrument and get it involved), but please keep in mind, it need not be human. In fact, cats turn out to be the ideal marathoning partner (a good cat, not a destructive cat, there are exceptions to every rule). They won’t talk through important parts, they won’t hog the Cheetos, and most importantly, they don’t care what you’re watching. A truer companion than that can rarely be found.
5) FOR ADVANCED MARATHONERS ONLY. The live tweeting of a marathon. This requires a few things. Skilled navigation of previous marathons. Excellent internet access. A devoted following on some social media platform. Abandon all hope ye who try this without it. It’s like screaming into a desert. It’s demoralizing. However, if you do have a following, then reporting on your progress can be very rewarding. All of the bonuses of companionship, but without having to share the couch blanket. Just make sure your followers aren’t douche canoes who will send you spoilers. Super bad form, there.
There you have it! Avoidance of life in it’s most entertaining form! I wish you the best of luck surviving the worst month of summer and if you chose to do the advanced marathoner maneuver of tweeting your marathon, let me know... I’m a sucker for secondary voyeuristic adventures...
“She didn’t even think to ask me.” said Damian, later, a puzzled look of hurt on his face. “I mean, I was sitting right there. Staring at her. Deciding how attractive she looked. She could have just asked. Why didn’t she? I was right there.”
“It’s a shame.” he added, staring at someone across the room who had a bit of mascara on. “Such a shame.”
“Local Man Saddened that No One Gives a Shit about Conforming to His Personal Beauty Standards”
Laughing forever at the commentary.
We joke about these walk-and-talks, but you don’t know how crazy they are until you really look at what’s going on. This is CJ going from her office to the Press Briefing Room, joined by various other staff members.
This just tickled me... and it kinda makes me want to work out...
How people keep correcting us when we are young! There is always some bad habit or other they tell us we ought to get over. Yet most bad habits are tools to help us through life."
Jack Nicklaus? Goethe? Nietzsche? Everyone has an opinion...
I got lost in biting my nails last night. A lifelong habit that I thought I had kicked about a year ago. Today they are sore and I am full of regret. What caused my relapse? A marathon of The Newsroom on Amazon Prime? Some Sunday night beers with friends? Anxiety over the feeling that life is slipping through these fingers, and nails or no, there was nothing I could do but watch it fall while trying to sooth my inner Kilgore Trout? Probably that first one. The Newsroom was a little disappointing (not so much that I didn’t shotgun two seasons in two days... my hopes were pretty high), but it was nice to see that falling back into bad habits isn’t something only I ever do...
Today We Build
I had a plan to get lost in sewing today. I own two sewing machines, one my grandmother gave me (Singer 404) and one my mother gave me (Brother XL-3750) and they haven’t seen much use since I moved last year. Most of my fabric and supplies were in storage, but I dragged them out Friday night in preparation for my Sewing Saturday.
I was pretty giddy when I started to put things into place. I love fixing. I love building. I’ve been sewing since I was six? Eight? I was young. And I was asking myself how I had let so much time pass since my last project. I was trying to remember exactly what my last project was while I was hunting through the sewing machine case that holds the Brother when I found a thick packet of papers shoved in a lining pocket. I pulled them out, trying to remember why I would have printed out a Google Chat for a sewing project, when my stomach went cold.
This wasn’t my Google Chat. This was a nightmare from almost 3 years ago that I had forgotten was kept in hard copy. This was how I found out why five years of my life and every plan I had ever made for the rest of it, were fairytales, and not my actual life. This was the chat between my ex-fiancee and the woman he had left me for.
Just like any horror story, I had to read through it again. See where things really went wrong while reexamining syntax, context, subtext and pretext, but the bizarre part was something I had added... I had highlighted certain passages. The night I first found the chat is a blur in my memory, but apparently, heartbroken me sat down at some point and highlighted sections of their conversations. As if, eons later, some archeologist might come across this print out and wonder, “What is the point of these letters? Oh, wait! They’re highlighted! Now I can find the pertinent information without having to speculate!”
I thought about throwing it away. I had kept them to prove to myself it was all really happening, but it happened. He stayed with her, married her last year, for all I know they could have kids by now, but it’s done. So what do you do with a painful memory? Do you keep it on a shelf? Do you lock it away? Do you set fire to it (hopefully in a sink or bathtub or somewhere non-woodsy... Remember, only YOU and your flammable memories can start forest fires)?
It’s an unfair comparison, but I suddenly was stuck wondering whether countries keep the letters of murderous dictators. And if they did, how did they justify it? Are the documents there as warnings to future generations or are they celebrations of a tyrannical past? And what were these conversations to me now? Were they warnings for me to never trust another human being again, or were they a reminder that I’ve now experienced a pain that thousands of other people has also experienced? A medal of honor for survival, so to speak?
I’m still not sure why, but I kept the papers. They’re filed away with countless others in a box of have of, literally, memories I’ve chosen to forget. I honestly have a box for things like that. Someday I’ll comb through them and maybe make sense of them all. Not today. Gracious, not today.
Because today is Sewing Saturday. Today I plan, and sketch, and pin, and cut. Today I fix. Today I build.
Tonight I got lost in lasagne with my Dad. He’s living the bachelor life, because my mother is in Florida trying to finish the bathroom renovation from hell (different story), so I went to his house to cook for him. What was supposed to be a simple 8 servings somehow morphed into 18... I’m not sure how. It came out great though, and let’s just say, if you need dinner anytime in the next week, stop by and see my Dad or I... we’ve got some to spare...
... side note: While burrowing around in the basement I came across a locked box that looked to hold 33′s. Upon inquiry, my Dad told me they were his records from his childhood. “Is it locked?” he asked.
“Yup.”
“Well, it’s been about 50 years. I think it’s time we broke that lock.”
*Mutual Eyebrow Raise*
I now know what we’re doing next weekend...
Your life in fractions - An interactive explanation why time moves faster as you get older
“Time isn’t holding up, time isn’t after us”... what David Byrne meant to say was, “Time isn’t linear, time is a logarithm”...