Old Blog: All That A Person Can Remember

Note:  This is from my old blog.  I published it on 16 March 2006.  I thought I posted up here for you guys to enjoy but can't find it anywhere.  Here's the original post, unaltered.

******

My opinion has always been that memories make us who we are. Without them, we are no one.

(i am on my first plane ride. i am looking out the window and staring in amazement at the scene below: manhattan. the sun is blazing and bright and i am wearing my purple dress, little white socks and my black patent leather mary janes. i am something on the order of 2.5 - 3 years old.  other than the dinosaurs at the natural history museum, i don't remember much else about NYC, not the subway, not the statue of liberty.)

In the movie Blade Runner, Deckart makes the discovery that replicants have a four year life span because of the accumulation of memories. With that accumulation, replicants tend to develop minds of their own, specifically the desire to control their own destinies and to think for themselves.

(i am sitting on a cold linoleum floor in a bedroom. my brother is on his bed. the light on his nightstand is the only light in the room. it seems unnaturally dark, probably because I am around 3 years old and sitting on the floor. against the wall, there is a cardboard box. my dad is there and he and my brother are laughing. inside the box is a duckling whom we christened "goose goose." she is small, yellow and fuzzy. she is peeping. there are some old rags in the box with her so she stays comfortable. i am fascinated by her.)

What happened next, I don't remember, but my Dad tells me I reached out and grabbed the little duckling by the neck. She passed out because she couldn't breathe. My Dad thought for sure I'd broken her neck. She regained consciousness and was fine. I do not remember almost killing her.

When I was four years old, we moved into the house where my parents live now in San Jose. I remember Goose Goose was full grown. All perfect, white with orange feet and bill. She lived a good long time. I never tried to grab her neck again.

I read somewhere that if you can go back to the house you grew up and you crawl around on your hands and knees all these memories you forgot about will come flooding back to you.

(i'm wearing a white dress with red checkerboard trim and leggings. i seem to be trying to stand up and feel very unsteady on my feet. my brother's dog, who is a year older than me, is standing next to me. i reach out my hands and grab his fur to steady myself. i stand up, tottering against him. he is huge with his comforting white fur and trademark brown spot on his backside.)

As I finish writing this last paragraph, I realize with a small shock that this is probably my earliest memory. I've gone through my life thinking that looking down on Manhattan from the plane window and going into the Dinosaur Halls at the Natural History museum while being carried by my Dad are my earliest memories. This one, however, takes the cake for it is here that I am learning to stand up and walk.

My brother's dog, Tinkerbell, was part cocker spaniel, part poodle. He looked more cocker spaniel than anything. He always seemed so big to me until I got older and I realized he isn't much bigger than my current dog is now: medium size. He died when he was 18 and I was 17. Although he was my brother's dog, we had a special bond since he was there when I was born and during all my growing up years.

(the door to the garage in my parents' house had this curious spring loaded feature which caused it to slam shut. we haven't been living in the house for very long when i get my finger caught in the door. the pain was so bad that i don't remember the rest.)

My mother tells me that my finger broke and they took me to emergency room. She tells me that I had stopped crying and had actually watched in fascination as the doctor put a couple of stitches in my finger. My mother got sick and dizzy and had to leave the exam room. I still have the scar from that incident. I do remember being at home later with a splint on my finger and watching my Dad angrily remove the spring from the door.

During our first phone conversation, a friend of mine asked me what my happiest memories were. I couldn't tell him because they involve two people I haven't seen in over two years who were very dear to me. I can't pinpoint one memory. There are several and they all run together as my favorites. They involve watching three movies in one day, the Tactile Dome, A Midsummer Night's Dream, watching The Ring and reenacting the Fish Slapping Dance. Sometimes when I look at my friend he reminds me of them. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's the hair color or his eyes that bring them to mind.

Last night I dreamed of these two people. I was so happy I was finally seeing them. I recall hugging one of them and I could smell her skin for a moment. When I woke up, I was heartbroken that it was only a dream.

The human search for immortality or at least the desire to make an impact and/or leave a legacy in the world is immensely strong. For some people, leaving behind a family who will continue on is enough. For others, making an impact is the only way to go. For me, all I want is that the people I love and the people who move and shake me to my core remember that I feel that way about them. This is all I have ever wanted.

Old Blog - Dating Life: Strange Comments From Guys I've Dated

(First posted 12/14/05)  A friend of mine asked me to put this post up along with its counterpart (see post below)

"I always sleep with the same hand towel on my head every night.  I've been doing that since I was three years old." (First Date)

"You really should check out the Power Exchange sometime but it's only interesting if you're really drunk or really stoned." (Second Date - The Power Exchange is a famous sex/fetish club here in SF.  I have not been there.)

"Don't you want to be loved, adored, and worshiped?  Don't you?" (Second Date)

"I guess you're kinda cute." (First Date)

"Since we have time before the movie starts, why don't we go to my car and stretch out in the back seat?  I have some CDs we can listen to." (First Date - the guy was particularly proud that he had an SUV and really wanted to get me in there)

"So what are your feelings about the toilet seat?  Should it be up or down?" (First Date)

"So when do we get to have sex?" (Fourth Date - This guy was not making any moves in that direction at all.  He wasn't trying to hold my hand nor did he try to kiss me.  Nothing.)

"Yes, I have a real Warhol.  I used to have a Chagall but I gave it to my lawyers to pay for attorney's fees." (Second Date)

"I can't watch movies with subtitles and eat at the same time." (Second Date)

Old Blog - Dating Life: Strange Comments I've Made To Guys I've Dated

(First posted on 12/22/05)  In all fairness, I've decided to include the list below.  I can be quirky and stupid, and I'm known for sticking my foot in my mouth.  At least I'm honest about it.

"So what is the point of being enlightened anyway?" (First Date - I said this after a guy was explaining with much enthusiasm how he had achieved a high level of spiritual awareness.  I also quoted Captain Kirk during this conversation.)

"It's time for you to shut the fuck up now."  (Third Date - The guy was going on and on about how hemp was going to save the world.)

"I can't spend the night with you.  My dog has serious separation anxiety and she will freak out if I don't come home." (Fourth Date - It has been suggested that I've used this as an excuse, maybe it's along the same lines as "You can't come up to my apartment, my dog hates men," but it's true; my dog can't handle being by herself all night long.)

"Wait, isn't your email handle the same name as the husband who killed his wife in 'Vertigo?'" (First Phone Call - It turned out of the true, believe it or not.  He never thought in a million years that anyone would figure that out.  This is why Google is so great.)

"This is just a one night stand.  I can't be your girlfriend." (The Day After - apparently it wasn't clear to the guy that this was the situation because he kept insisting that I really did want to be his girlfriend.)

"You've been evaluating and testing me all evening, trying to see if I fit into some preconceived notions of what a mate should be.  Knock it off." (First Date - this guy was clearly looking for a wife and I passed all his tests with flying colors.  Unfortunately I couldn't stand him.)

"What kind of person doesn't watch DVD commentaries?" (Third Date - Sometimes the movie snob in me comes out in full force.  The guy liked movies; I was floored when he told me he'd never watched a DVD commentary.  He said it was too much of a time commitment.)

"I'm sick of people making fun of me because I love Harry Potter.  You need to get out of my face with that shit." (First Date - I've made this comment, or a similar one, a couple of times now.)

"Are you going to talk to me or are you just going to stand there talking to your friend?" (First Meeting - I was sitting at a restaurant bar eating dinner and reading a book.  This older gentleman was standing nearby talking to his friend about the book I was reading but looking at me.  He did talk to me but was so thrown by what I said that it didn't last long.)

"Was that a joke?  Are you being funny?" (Fourth Date - This was a difficult one for me.  I really liked the guy but was self-conscious around him.  I couldn't tell if he liked me, I couldn't tell if he was joking most of the time, and he was very impatient about it.  He concluded that I had no sense of humor and we were not compatible.)

"Why did you bring that leather whip?" (First Time Sleeping Together - I think it's rude to bring your BDSM toys to bed the first time you're going to sleep with someone without checking to see if the other person is into it too.)

"What is up with the stem on this rose?" (First Date - This guy bought me a rose while we were having dinner in North Beach.  The stem was really thick.  I proceeded to suggest that the stem had been genetically engineered to be thick and went on about the possible reasons why.  He didn't know how to respond to my comments.  Poor guy.)

"Don't make me figure out the tip." (Nearly Every Date - said in the same tone of voice as "Don't make me hurt you.")

Jittered, Capped, and Dead Weight

Below are three separate posts from my old blog.  When I first posted it, people told me Jittered was a strong piece of writing, the first compliment of its kind for me.  Fortunately, it wasn't the last one.  The other two posts, Capped and Dead Weight, are meant to follow Jittered.  I love all three.  Jittered accurately describes a stressful day at work where all the men found me insanely attractive for some reason.  Maybe it was because I was wearing a skirted suit.  I love Capped because it's an odd description of complete exhaustion vs. sexual longing.  Jittered might be the best written of the three but Dead Weight is my favorite, especially the end.

****

Jittered (First Posted Feb. 9, 2006)

At 7:20 am I stood outside City Hall looking for the way in. I ignored that replica Italian dome vying for my attention. The sun was warm, the sky beautiful and it was already a bad start to the day.

I walked briskly, trying to disguise the fact that I had the shakes. I was pulling a hand truck with important documents. Documents that could make or break things, but I didn't care. I still had to get into the building. Something popped in my head. Grove. Street. I walked passed a couple of guys who both said good morning. I've been looking good lately. I feel like hell, but I smile and flirt anyway. Part of the job.

I'm holding the one thing in my hand that I should not be carrying. The one thing that will make and break me: a cup of strong coffee with a little sugar. I haven't drank it yet. When I do, everything will go jittered. My thoughts will scattershot all over the place. Must wait for the right moment.

7:42 am and I'm arguing with security who keeps telling me to go to the door at the end. I try to stay calm, but that shaky inside feeling is getting worse. I finally find the right door. The sun blazes outside. The angry employees are leaving all that warm sunshine for the big dome.

I manage to make it through the metal detector without falling to pieces. The security guard chats away. I thank him and move on. Basement. Okay. Up the elevator now. The men are tripping over themselves to help me find my room. They try to talk to me as we ride up four floors. I long to ask someone what kind of wood is on the paneling, but I keep forgetting. The brain is jumping here and there. To and fro. When I get off on my floor, the men realize they forgot to press their floor number.

I make it to my room and the door is locked. I wait outside with the documents. The hallway is long and wide with gleaming white marble floors. More men in suits show up and they all smile, say good morning. One guy really likes me. He's a hyperactive little shit or maybe I'm just projecting.

I drink my coffee now. I breathe. It's the last breath of the day that will have any effect except to move the oxygen around. In about ten minutes, I can barely keep it together. The morning flies by, a blur of papers and people. I'm sitting for hours on a red velvet chair that's too small. I get cranky. I want to punch the only other chick here in the face. Bitch.

Later I'm wandering through the Controller's Office. Everyone ignores me. I smile and look around waiting for someone to ask me what the hell I'm doing there. No one does. I could steal anything from that place right now because all the employees are sitting around talking about what they watched on TV last night. There are too many exits here, too many side stairs.

Back to my velvet seat. I drank that cup of coffee as quickly as possible. I'm so wired, I can't feel sorry for myself anymore. I try to calm down, but it's not working. I'm still cranky, but I'm kicking ass. I don't know how I do it. The suit next to me keeps flirting. Giving me sideways glances. He smells good.

I wander into the hallway to make a phone call. I stare down to the main part of the building. I look up at the huge dome and then down four floors of white marble and concrete. Alarms are going off in my body, something about not falling and going splat. I'm having a perfectly ordinary conversation and then another one. Each lasts ten minutes. My voice has not started shaking, but I notice it's pitched to a slightly higher octave. Inside my head pounds and my eyeballs start to burn. Tears run down my left cheek. I manage to stop the tears and get off the phone. Now my eyes are burning so bad it feels like I've been blasted with tear gas. I stop and "drop" into the moment. It works, but now I'm in the "moment" eyeballs burning and inside shaking.

Back to my red velvet seat. I kick some more ass. I got everything. You want it now? I got it. I'm ready for ya, baby. Bring it on. I know what you want before you do.

I'm finally out of there. I have to go find a man about some equipment. I spend the next 30 minutes wandering around City Hall while he tells me I can have anything, I just have to ask him. He gives me his cell phone number. I thank him and leave. The security guard insists upon carrying my boxes for me down the front stairs.

Day is beautiful. So am I. Jittered.

Capped (First Posted Feb. 9, 2006)

Safe in my stripped down apartment, the shakes start to subside a little. I'm pushing the envelope with all the wrong combinations. The only thing that would make things more interesting is if I added some recreational drugs. No dice tonight.

I watch a very bad movie. The same message keeps showing up: "The disk is dirty." That's accurate. I have to turn it off after a few clicks of the remote. Brain overload. I need water.

I shake out my thick hair and smooth cream on my soft skin. Floss. Brush. Stretch. I have good, sensitive hands.

Almost time for bed. I'll curl up in my silky cool sheets and dream about all the things I need so badly. I want to whisper softly. I want to tumble and flourish. I couldn't even if I wanted to. The body wants much, but must drop into dreamland now.

Dead Weight (First Posted Feb. 10, 2006)

The trembly overlay stayed with me all day. At least I didn't feel like punching that bitch out. In fact, I didn't feel like punching anybody out. Progress. I had a glimpse, a murmur of what it must feel like when the gangster raps that it was a good day because no one died.

I keep drawing shivery breaths. I managed to stay off the caffeine. I went to my own funeral just now, but left because they were getting ready to put me in the ground. The box is not a good place for me; cremation is the only way to go. Heaven and Hell are two sides of the same coin, two turns in the wheel. My worst nightmare is about to come true: I'm going to be reincarnated as a creature at the bottom of the food chain. A krill, anchovy or zooplankton.

I keep telling myself I should be coming down now, but it's not happening. That's not unusual. I tell myself things all the time and the outside just ignores all my yapping. The brain bounces but then goes back to center and stays for a second. I can't hear anything anymore. A promising sign.

I sat in my car when I got home and closed my eyes. I'd found center again and wanted to stay there. So I stayed for a while. The world went dark and quiet. No dreams. No nothing.

A friend looked me over today and said I looked like I should be reporting the news. "I like it," he said. My arms are trembling a little and I don't want to think about my hands anymore. I am chagrined and sheepish. Nothing new there.

The usual confusion blasts through my head. I'm full of mysteries and cocksure of them all. Everything is complicated because I make it so. Deadweight it all. Need to channel all those stories out of my really really world and onto the page where they belong.

Then I stand up straight. I look around. The stories are overflowing. It's like the water pouring out of the dark apartment, taps turned up full. I'm so shrink wrapped that I can't even see them. I've been slogging through the water and not noticing them at all. Everything is right in front of me.

Old Blog - Posted on June 16, 2006: Fainting in Coils

This is the first post featuring Mr. Gryphon. At the time, he was only "Gryphon." I added the Mr. shortly after. As I've said before, I created him when I was breaking up with my ex as a way to keep him around a little while longer.

In this post you can clearly see his trademark qualities: seriousness, unsmiling, and slight crankiness. Plus, he never hesitates to call me on my shit.

****

Gryphon and I spent the evening together last week. It was a beautiful San Francisco night. The Universe was playing up its parallel nature to the hilt. I was running late as usual. Gryphon was annoyed.

"Can't you tell those work people to shove it?"

"I try to but I don't get anywhere with that and if I continue they won't ask me back. Who would pay for dinner then?" I say.

"Hmm. Good point."

We make our way into the MUNI underground. Since this is San Francisco, California, United States of America, no one seems to notice the Gryphon and his wings. As long as he's wearing his chaps, no one casts a second look.

I'm feeling stiff from residual work week stress but then again that could just be my turtle shell. We somehow manage to fit on the MUNI train. The Gryphon folds his wings away.

"What about what's-his-name?" he asks. There a crunching sound as Gryphon crushes the bar he's holding on to.

"What about him?" I ask.

"Thought so," says the Gryphon. He gazes up and down the train, apparently satisfied that the topic of conversation has been exhausted. I'm relieved myself. I'm happy to be alone with what's-his-name and my thoughts for a change.

We're only going two stops to Powell Station. The doors open and we disembark. We make our way up to Union Square. Gryphon insists upon taking a Cable Car two stops to our destination. After some pushing and shoving, I manage to hang off the side of the Car, Rice-a-Roni style, and he's content to perch on top. Tourists gape and take pictures.

We reach our dinner destination, The Cheesecake Factory. There's only an hour wait. We put our names in and wait in the bar. Gryphon watches the basketball game on TV, he's quite fond of games. I sip my alcohol laced milk shake.

"I'm having lobster," he announces, shaking his great head.

"They don't have lobster, you'll have to settle for shrimp," I'd been reading the menu.

He gives a little growl but says nothing. The first time I'd met Gryphon was during a dance at the beach. He'd been pretty much keeping to himself on the shingle, kicking a stone here and there. Most people think he's too taciturn and solemn but we managed to become friends somehow. Since he's going to keep watching the game, I give up on talking to him until we sit down for dinner.

A server named Mandy, all bright and fetching, bounds towards us.

"Drinks? Alcohol? Appetizers?"

"Now and Laters?" The Gryphon holds up a package of "classic" Now and Laters for her to see.

"Oooh, yes! Have any grape ones?" He tears open the package and gives her all the grape flavored ones. She is excited. He watches her but does not smile. He never smiles. She leaves us with more time to decide what we're eating.

"That's the kind of girl you need," I say, "Someone to offset your seriousness."

"Miss Turtle," he says leaning in, "it's better to be a little serious than to cause yourself all kinds of unnecessary sorrow."

"Are we getting on that subject again?"

"Of course, that's why I'm here. Why else would I be sitting here in chaps on a Thursday night at the damn Cheesecake Factory?"

"At least you got to ride on top of the Cable Car again," I say, glaring at the menu.

"Stop pouting and no crying this time," he says.

"I'm NOT pouting and crying," I snap.

"No raising your voice at me either."

I seethe and consider leaving the restaurant but some men at the next table start singing the Barry Manilow song "Mandy" to our server. I look down at the menu and smile a little.

"I used to love Barry Manilow," I say wistfully. The Gryphon just looks at me, that look of disdain on his brow.

"We need to get on with this dinner, Miss Turtle," he says briskly, "Now, you need to relax and stop worrying so much and be thankful for what you have. All this fancy about the end of the world and how bad things are getting just won't do. YOUR wasting a lot of time."

"You spelled YOU'RE wrong," I say stiffly.

"What of it? That adverb there is silly, by the way. You're always stiff on account of your shell. Stephen King would not approve of all these adverbs."

"What about what's-his-name?" I ask.

"YOU'RE pouting again. What about him? Why are you even asking that? Is he here right now at this moment? Then don't worry about him. He's fine where he's at, wherever he is."

"Is? At? Same thing?"

"Yes, sometimes." Gryphon picks up his Ultimate Margarita in his claws, thinks better of it and puts his glass down.

We order, the food comes and we eat in silence. The night is turning a little cool. I start to think the last dialog exchange was the whole point of the dinner but then Gryphon looks at me again.

"Just remember, you are fine where you are. Am I right?"

"Suppose so. What's going to happen next? How will this all turn out? Will anything happen?" I'm getting my trademark tears in my eyes.

"Don't know what's going to happen next. Don't know how it's all going to turn out and something will definitely happen," Gryphon says, "No crying, you heard what I said before about that."

"Piss off, "I say wiping my eyes.

He sighs and holds up a dinner menu. "Dessert?"

"No thank you. I'm going to throw up if I eat very much more. Why is everything so painful sometimes?"

"I've answered that already. You know how it goes. The answer is in front of you at all times. All the things you need to know now. Stuff like that.

"This has turned out to be a tiresome dialog, Mr. Gryphon. I think we need to end it now."

He agrees and we make our way out of the restaurant. I wipe my eyes. "No sorrow?" I ask.

"Not a one," he says, "you know it's true. You keep asking the same questions over and over. It's time to drop them. No answer is forthcoming, at least not in the form YOU'RE hoping for."

A Cable Car stops on our corner. He smiles a little, then I laugh as we run to the Car before it pulls away from the stop.

The Old Blog: Alligator Munches Digital Camera

First Posted 11/30/05

Note: This incident took place at the old aquarium before the place was closed for renovations.

I volunteer at an aquarium. Been doing that for a long time. One Saturday, a panicked security guard comes running into the library where we were eating lunch.

Security Guard: "A visitor's lost his digital camera! He dropped it into the Alligator Pit while he was taking a picture!"

We all look at each other. Then one of my friends, let's call him Biologist 1, specialty: temperate salt water, says he'll go check it out. We resume our lunch. A few minutes later, he walks back into the library.

Biologist 1: "Uh, so the guy was taking a picture of the alligators while he was holding his kid at the same time and I guess the kid started squirming and he dropped the camera."

Biologist 2 (specialty: tropical salt water, in particular coral reefs): "So did you fish it out with the net?"

Biologist 1: "Uh, no. The alligator swam over as soon as he saw it and ate it."

He looks around uncomfortably. It is worth mentioning at this point that the Herpetologist on staff (specialty reptiles/amphibians) wasn't working on Saturdays. All of the other biologists working that day specialize in fish. No one in their right mind wants to have to get into the alligator pit with two alligators that are bigger than them just to retrieve a stupid camera.

Biologist 1: "I'll go talk to the guy again." He leaves.

We start talking about what an idiot that guy was to have dropped the camera. Isn't that why cameras have straps? Biologist 1 returns after a few more minutes. We wait.

Biologist 1: "So the guy's wife is insisting we go in there and pry the camera out of the gator's mouth. I explain there's no way we can do that and if she wants we'll send it to her when it comes out the other end. Then she starts screaming about how her brother's wedding pictures are on the camera and we HAVE to pry the gator's mouth open."

Biologist 2: "Did you tell her she's shit out of luck?"

Biologist 1: "I didn't have to. While we were having this conversation, the alligator decided he was tired of the camera and spat it out. I retrieved it with the net."

Biologist 2: "So are they happy now?"

Biologist 1: "No, the woman was so upset that the camera was ruined that she grabbed her kid and left the aquarium." He pulls a digital camera wrapped in plastic out of his pocket. One end is completely crushed and there are four perfect alligator tooth marks that go all the way through the camera.

Me: "Wait, isn't there a way to retrieve the chip and memory or something and get the pictures that way?"

Biologist 1: "I doubt it. The whole thing is soaking wet and has alligator slime and spit all over it."

Biologist 2: "They should have kept the camera as a special souvenir. Would have made a great story for their families and friends."

In the end, I think Biologist 1 kept the camera, but I'll have to ask him about that.

***

Note: This is the reason I always use the camera strap when taking pictures. Always, always, always, no matter how fast I'm trying to shoot I make sure to loop that little strap around my wrist. Also, years later I asked Biologist 1 if he still had the camera. He told me he ended up giving it to the Herpetologist.

The Old blog

When I first started blogging in 2005 I posted regularly for about eight months then shut the blog down for a few weeks. After flailing around, I started back up again. Don't ask me why. Let's just say it had something to do with one of my exs.

It took me several days to review the old blog and cut and paste almost all the posts for safe-keeping. I have everything in a Word document that's almost 100 pages long. I thought I'd put up a few of my old posts here on occasion. I really like some of the writing and very long time readers like my friend Anne will recognize many of them.

I hope you like these posts as much as I enjoyed writing them.