Gone Travelin'

Off on vacation until the 28th. I may try to post, but who am I kidding, I probably won't. Be well and check out the links here if you really need something to look at.

Be Well,

Jen

God, Me, Same Diff

On the way home on the train yesterday afternoon I saw a little girl get the absolute crap slapped out of her by her mother. I went to tell a cop and the train pulled away. I found myself praying to the universe, actually, to God-- stop being so stupid, get off your ass, God, and help that little girl.

God, me, same difference.

When I get back from vacation, I'm going to start here and find out how I can best volunteer. Nothing upsets me more than children being harmed by the people who are supposed to be taking care of them. Freud and tribal myths agree -- 0-5 is what forms the self, and 0-5 is where so much damage is done.

The URL for God

Apparently quite a few people stumble across this site by typing "God, please help me" into a search engine. I work in the tech industry, so I can't help but wonder if this is one area where vertical search of domain names owned and operated by actual gods might be helpful. Google just sends these poor people to a snarky woman from Brooklyn, that being me.

I tried it last night myself to see what other snarky people came up, and lo and behold, God has a website. And one of the many faces of God, as I've suspected ALL ALONG, is former Smiths frontman and the godfather of shoegazing pop, if not the patent holder of teenage angst, Morrissey. You can also pray to Oprah, as most of America already does.

http://www.deargodpleasehelpme.com/

You can click on a web interface button to pray for these people. God has disabled comments. That's SO like him.

Be That Kid

I saw my twenty year old cousin at a family party this weekend. The Kid is one of the few people in my life who I would step in front of a bus for without hesitation. I know this because he is the only person I ever rode the Cyclone with at Coney Island, when he was twelve and I was alot older than twelve and I saw how disappointed he would be if he didn't get to ride in what is basically a cigar box on rails that holds you in with a piece of baker's twine. This is what passed for a roller coaster when it was first built in 1927. Six Flags be damned, there is nothing so scary as a ride that is showing every possible sign of crumbling to bits underneath you while you are in it. I'm calling him the Kid here to protect his privacy but also because he is my kid, and in my heart he will always be my kid. In reality he is a wonderful young man.

So I see the Kid at this party and he comes over to me and the first thing out of his mouth is "Jennifer, I want to be a computer animator." I nearly sing I'm so happy -- he says it with total conviction and he is studying graphic arts. After really searching searching searching for what it is he wants to do he seems to have found it. We talk for a few minutes about it and I say, "You know I don't have any friends who work in animation but I do have some friends who draw comics. In fact, my friend Jamal Igle, who draws Green Lantern or something--" and at this point the Kid's eyes have shot out of his head and are rolling around in the lawn. I forget how cool this is because I've known Jamal forever and six days. But I've just been reminded of how cool that is.

He asks how Jamal worked his way to being Green Lantern or something man (what a bad friend am I that I don't know what the man is drawing right now), and I say "You know, when he was ten years old--" and the rest of the story is Jamal wanted to draw Superman and set out to do it. He had good jobs and crappy jobs and no jobs, he spent some time drawing storyboards for the movies, he kept working and working and now here he is.

But before I could say any of this, the Kid said "That was me! I was that kid! I was that kid."

So today's request is for our childhood dreams to come rolling back into our lives and propel us into the sky, down rickety wooden rails or into zero gravity. For a wonderful lecture on how to achieve your childhood dreams (and go into zero gravity), go here (with thanks, as so often my thanks are, to R). The lecturer is Carnegie Mellon professor Randy Pauch giving his last lecture, on this topic. It is quite literally his last lecture, as he is dying from pancreatic cancer. It is rather phenomenal. Take a look if you have the time.

Until later.

Hey Universe

So I'm all set. I want to sing, make jewelry and write for a living. I will do marvelous things, and help people and I'm open to whatever path this takes me on. I want to be wildly successful, and for that success to ultimately make the world a little better.

Let's make it happen. You and me, universe. We're the same thing anyway.

Happy Friday everybody.

Yay, Or Who Am I To Know What I Need

I got back in touch with an old friend from college yesterday and we've been pelting eachother with emails like it's a snowball fight. Now that the flurry is dying down, I wondered rather stupidly -- did I ask for this? Did I need this? I know I never sat in meditation and said "Hey, universe, can you make sure so-and-so gets my email address?" But another little window of joy in my heart just creakily slid open, so I'm just going to say yay.

Another thing. I was writing my friend about recent travels and I found myself saying "You know, we go to San Francisco every year to visit family and friends and after that it's hard to travel anywhere. Well, we do visit family at the Jersey Shore every year. And in Vermont. And last year we stayed on a houseboat in Paris for two weeks, but that was just an opportunity that came up to celebrate my friend's birthday."

Here I am, judging my own fantastic experiences, because they just sort of happened to me as opposed to me getting to plan them. I'm complaining about my own serendipity; I'm complaining about my good fortune; I'm complaining about, perhaps, the gifts I'm being given by the universe.

I'm like this with everything. It is very stupid. I shall stop now.

And should you ever get to stay in a houseboat on the Seine, pack sweaters and cough syrup, it gets bone crushingly cold at night. Sometimes the heat won't work and then the most gorgeous strapping blond electrician in the known universe will show up on his moped and fix it for you, which ain't so bad. Oh, and also, enjoy every damn minute of it.

I petitioned the universe the other day (for more on this, go read Eat, Pray, Love , in fact, go get it right now and read it ten times. I've almost finished it and when I'm done I'm just going to read it again).

There's an old emotional injury of mine that's sort of like a psychotic teacup poodle -- it gnashes it teeth and snarls at me and I still carry it everywhere and clean up its poop. Rather than work through the issue or pray to have it removed from me, I just stated my case. I asked to be free of the problem so that I could be happier and have a more fulfilled life, and be a better contributor to the planet.

And regarding the other person involved, the one who poisoned my poodle and made it nuts in the first place, I asked that s/he be free of this pain as well, that s/he is a marvelous person who can do great things with his/her life, but they need this cloud removed from their sky as well.

And don't you know, I didn't get some miraculous phone call the next day with tearful apologies, but that's good because that would just be continuing the drama for all involved, which isn't what I want.

However, the weird thing I did get is that my posture visibly improved. It's like I got new shoulders. Which I needed, because the old ones were carrying around this old wound like it was this season's oversized "it" bag.

Oh, so that's how it works

Over the weekend, I saw my dear friend R, she of the divine serendipity and the hatred of John Donne. We were walking across Houston Street at a busy and bright 6:15 on Saturday to catch a cab to a restaurant and meet some friends for dinner. We'd just spent an hour and a half getting makeovers, and hadn't really spoken much beyond rhapsodies over eachother's sparkling eyelids.

She asked how I was doing, and I blurted out:

"I'm okay, I just wish all these little physical problems I'm having would clear up."

"Like what? What's wrong?"

"Oh, stupid little things. My hand was hurting for awhile but then it stopped but now the pinkie on that hand is hurting again. My knees ache. I have headaches, but just once in a great while. Doesn't seem worth going to doctor, but I do need to get all these things cleared up."

The next day I got this message on my voicemail that said I'd won a prize in a raffle that benefits children's programming at our local playground. I won a free hour of acupuncture.

At first I was disappointed, despite the faint shimmer of the thrill of winning something, anything, by chance. But acupuncture didn't seem too glamourous, not like dinner at a restaurant or a manicure at the local day spa.

But acupuncture might help fix my pinkie, my knees and my headaches. Duh.

I slapped my achey head with my gimpy little hand.

Me and The Husband

"So what should I ask for on my blog?"

"What should you what on your blog?"

"What should I ask for? I haven't written in a couple of weeks since I was sick and then had to catch up on all my work and I kind of want to get back to the pure format of asking for things."

"Have you asked for anything for yourself lately?"

"Not really."

"Well, you could ask for the fortitude to accomplish something?"

"Fortitude?"

"Fortitude."

"I don't really need the fortitude for anything right now."

"Then ask for a donut."

"Do you have a donut?"

"No. But wishing for one could score you one."

"The only way I'm going to get a donut is if you get up and go get me a donut."

"Wish granted. I am part of the universe too, after all."

"I'm writing this whole thing down."