Residue of Pleasure

She lovingly tugs on the tab that peels the soft plastic strip away from the carton. The rest of the wrapper comes away easily. She crumples it up and sets it aside for disposal. She pops the white box top backwards and excitedly rips the silver foil-like paper to reveal 20 glistening, white, cylindrical cigarette tips. The first selection means everything—front and center and she may make too obvious of a choice while front and far left could mean good luck will come her way today.

Now for the moment to which all this has lead. She fingers the perfect white cigarette and places its tip tenderly between her lips. Its paper clings to the delicate, barely moistened skin like an autumn leaf about to descend from its limb. She flicks the lighter, once then twice until it ignites and brings the perfect flame towards the end of the cigarette. It’s an intricate process as she allows only the outer wall of the flame to make contact with the protrusion. It turns from organic brown to orange ember and black as she makes her first drag. The embers travel toward her slowly and she inhales the smoke and releases her hold on the lighter. Eyes close and a moment passes before she opens her eyes again to exhale a used light gray cloud.

This is it. This is why people smoke. Have you ever wanted to know? I am an ex-smoker and this moment is right up there with cracking open a can of Coke or popping bubble wrap—it’s a simple pleasure that cannot be overly examined. To do so would cheapen the experience.

I realize that smoking is a very political subject these days and a loving description of my first drag isn’t exactly tolerable, but a tribute must be made to an ancient and pleasurable practice. I won’t be launching into an essay about subliminal messages in cigarette ads or its presence in film and culture because it’s already been done everywhere else on the web (try finding the web address for Camel cigarettes from Google for example). This is a trip down memory lane, a way to curb my own craving today, or dare I say, just a celebration of the ritual and practice of smoking.

This morning, I watched several cigarette commercials from the 1950s and 1960s, available here http://www.roadode.com/smoke_2.shtml. Watch them. You will soon realize that smoking is not only a simple way to make any moment more peaceful, it is also truly nostalgic. Perhaps, more than the nicotine and tar, that is what makes smoking so addictive—the pureness of it. I never struggled with a real physical addiction, so I am able to see the lighter side of smoking. I miss it and still partake about four times and year. Smoking is a culture. Smokers know when to take breaks, they have no problem witnessing an entire sunset without getting up and they also know when to get back to real life—the cigarette is a kind of living alarm because when it’s finished, so is your moment of peace.

I will probably smoke one cigarette today before marginalizing the other twenty cigarettes to a back drawer and throwing them away next year when they’ve dried up and begun to smell like raisins. I will enjoy my one or two smokes and I won’t feel the least bit bad about it either.

Big Fat Isnob

T.V. sucks

I’m a little behind the times. I don’t watch T.V., mainly movies. About a year ago I discovered television shows on DVD. This is, in my humble opinion, one of mankind’s greater achievements. It’s TV for the movie lover! I’m sure you may be wondering, why I don’t watch regular TV.
There are, in fact, three reasons:
1. I don’t make appointments with my blender, why would I with my television?
2. I dislike waiting 6 months for some lame conclusion to a lame cliffhanger. Waiting for the following DVD to arrive in the mail is suspense enough for me.
3. I tend to rent things I wouldn’t normally think to watch on TV or am normally unable to watch because they are on a premium cable channel I don’t have.
As much as I try, I just can’t seem to make it on time to watch a show I would ordinarily love. I blame the networks and their time slots. You’ll notice that they never give a fresh, innovative show a premium time slot, like Monday or Thursday nights. Those times are reserved for tired sitcoms, more God forsaken CSI spin offs or pathetic remakes of British comedic brilliance. They set some of the best new shows up in times that set those shows up for failure. Arrested Development airs on Sunday evenings and I’ve never caught an entire show, yet I am currently drooling for the second season to be released on DVD—I love it. Freaks and Geeks, one of the best shows I’ve ever seen was cancelled after one season and when was it on? Oh, could it have been on Saturday evenings when most people were at the movies or at a friend’s house? That show as well as its casting was fresh, funny, poignant, intriguing and uniquely American, but alas, it got the bleeding axe.
Then there are the inspired programs on cable channels that somehow endure. A little advice to all you atypical television show creators… get your show on cable, so it has a snow cone’s chance of lasting more than one season. Plus, you have more creative license with the FCC focusing its fiery eye on the major networks.
So I’ve decided that all good TV shows get cancelled early on. It’s always the so-so ones or ones that milk only one story line that live on forever and go out in a blaze of well-advertised glory. We are all so dumb that we don’t even notice that these networks are making a major fuss over the end of a lame show. Take Everybody Loves Raymond, Friends, or Frasier for example. All had their glory days, but all went on far too long, and stopped being interesting about four seasons before the end. This is what a handy little website called Jumptheshark.com calls, “jumping the shark.” It means a show can end at different time for different people, but in the case of most NBC shows (for example), they end in our minds long before they even consider wrapping things up.
I know I know there are exceptions to the rule. Lost is a brilliant show that seems to be sticking around (note it’s time slot on Wednesdays), but just because twists and intrigue are so en vogue right now with every “Britney” declaring a Forensic Science major doesn’t mean that should dictate what creative work has a medium and what doesn’t.
Thank God for public television.

I hate my job

I hate my job. I always hate my job. I just can't figure out if I hate my job(s) because I don't like working, or because I never have a job I like.
When I worked for a law firm, my days were bearable. I had lots of friends to work or take a break with. The best part was the fact that almost all my time was organized and overseen by me. I could just stop and think if I needed to.
Currently, I have what could be the worst possible job in the universe for me. It is saved from that title for the feeble reason that my job doesn't involve working with a lot of numbers. If it did, it would be curtains for me. My boss is technologically inoperable, yet he insists on using this technology all the time. I should say, he insists on me using the technology and printing him 14 copies before he gives it his stamp of approval, but oh wait... he still wants to make corrections regardless of the fact that a job now has to be redone 300 times, by someone who isn't him. That could easily lead me to my well-practiced (and, I'm told, insensitive) rant about older workers who are total unwilling to adapt to change/new fangled computers, but I'll save that for another post.
About a year ago, I took a really detailed aptitude test at this research based institution in Dallas. I spent a day and a half taking skills tests and having a discussion session with one of the proctors. After testing for everything from hand dexterity to memory for rhythm, I was given my results in another session. They had asked me to describe my current job. It was with a local hospital system and the only job I could get as a member of the first wave of post-9/11 college graduates. It involved numbers and a gossipy, passive-aggresive boss, so it was pure evil. The first thing the consultant told me was that I was not only in the wrong job, I was in the entirely wrong profession and I needed to get out ASAP. Duh. Like I chose clerical work as a profession anyway. That was reason enough to "get out ASAP."
In short, I was told that I was a part of a grouping called objective/musical personalities. My highest scoring apptituides were, Tonal Memory (the ability to quickly memorize tunes), Ideaphoria (the ability to "brainstorm" and write very quickly), Memory for Design (just like it sounds). They suggested careers in editing, writing, teaching and even sales. What I realize now is that my new job was tantamount to a major regression in my career satisfaction. I suppose I need to do something about then, huh?

A long time gone

So it’s been a really long time since I last posted. I haven’t been that busy or anything, I just forgot my EBlogger password. You thought there would be an interesting story upon my return didn’t you? Sorry to disappoint.
Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m kind of a pessimist. I hate that about myself. :insert irony here: Anyway, lately I’ve become kind of a hypochondriac with fun panic attacks. It’s not as fun as it sounds, trust me. Actually, I saw the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy last week and every time I read something I write I can hear Alan Rickman’s voice reading it in a very Marvin the Paranoid Android kind of tone. God help me.
To sum up, the past two years of my life have been the most difficult years I’ve ever known. Up until then, I thought of myself as a kind of lucky freak who, with the exception of one nasty breakup, never lost anyone close to me. During these past two years, fate has had it’s ironic payback—I lost my uncle and mentor in 2003, my grandmother in 2004, my sister in 2004 (in a different sort of way) and a twin pregnancy at 11 weeks. Something about loss and sadness permanently changes you. I’ve started becoming very aware of the effects of desire or dreams and how they are dangerous as they can lead directly to almost all negative emotions—forcing you to just live in them day after day. Does anyone else hear the theme to Star Wars?
Why am I telling you all this? If I’m going to host a blog and talk about anything in my life, it is utterly pointless if I don’t paint the background first. I’m a funny person who loves to wear wigs to the doughnut shop at 3 a.m., but that part of me is involved in a daily battle to win my sanity from the sadness that threatens to overtake me. Okay, well that’s a lot of information you probably didn’t need.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that, I change. More importantly, I’m counting on changing again, back into the person I enjoy being—the one who doesn’t take life too seriously. Don’t be surprised if suddenly you can’t hear Marvin the Android’s voice anymore when you read my posts. I’m anticipating hearing my own again soon.

I am a kept woman, and I'm diggin' it!

I am unemployed… and I’m thrilled about it. No, it wasn’t voluntary, and no, I wasn’t fired. I was the product, nay… the victim of corporate downsizing; of first quarter budget cuts; of litigation lock; of a post-9/11 America. I feel so American right now—like maybe I should go down to the local pub… I mean bar and have a few pints… I mean beers to drown out the reality of my lost dignity. Nah. Instead I’ll just …WOOHOO, I got laid off! I finally get some time off! What shall I do with my stolen time? The possibilities are endless and so is my bank balance! Okay, I’m just wishing with that last comment. Either way, I’m a free woman to do as I please; go where I want to go for as long as I want to be there! Granted, I share living expenses with this guy in exchange for being a devoted, adoring wife… blahbity bloo, so I’m not overly concerned with my new status.
Of course, in my two days of unemployment, I have slept-in a grand total of one hour, worn my pajamas for an extra 4 hours, cleaned my house compulsively, produced one print ad and attended one job interview. I’m thinking I should take my unemployment a little more seriously. I’m not going to get any relaxed lazing about in while I’m rushing to job interviews and tidying the house! My word, the total lack of lethargy is shocking! I think… ahhhhh… I think I’m actually doing more work that I was before the big lay off!

Resolution: Will sleep until at least 9:00am everyday until returning to working life; will decrease overall amount of scrubbing and/or organizing in house by 50%; lastly, will say “no” to job offers that do not meet my need for satisfaction and purpose.

The Laugh

Shifty thoughts from a shifty person

I received an email from my Godmother today. Yes, I have a Godmother! Anyway, it was one of those encouraging, slide show emails. All the pictures were scenes from Pixar movies or short films and next to each one was a "thoughtful phrase." Insert rolled eyes here. Well, one phrase kind of stuck with me—partly because I wrote it down on a post-it and stuck it to my monitor in front of me.
Dream what you want to dream;
Go where you want to go;
Be what you want to be;
Because you have only one life
And one chance to do all the things
You want to do.
Besides the pseudo-stanza format and simple idea, I quickly realized that this "thoughtful phrase" kind of summed up what I'd been trying to explain to my friends and family about how I feel right now. It has recently occurred to me that dreams can be very silly things on which to spend your energy, due to the fact that they can be so easily crushed. Maybe I'm immature. Maybe I've suffered one too many losses in the past two years. Either way, I suddenly feel the intense need to live in the Now. I don't mean this in a "life is short, stop and smell the roses kind of way," but in more of a defeatist, give up and just get drunk sort of way. Hey, I don't want to be anyone's role model. If you're looking for wisdom in the face of painful circumstances, you've come to the wrong place.


* I hereby reserve the right to edit or disown any of my statements about life, as I find I have almost no knowledge on the subject and plan on simply wading through the process until I eventually kick it.

Things confused people say a.k.a. I am a pedantic ass

Hi to all. I can't understand why anyone would read these, but thanks anyway Mom.
Well, I'm a very uninteresting person with a prolific flow of tired thoughts, many of which have already been addressed more articulately by better writers throughout the ages. As a preface, allow me to state for the record, that I don't claim (nor would I want) to be a writing or grammar expert. I find people who flaunt their mountainous knowledge of grammar were really ugly in High School, and have no other way to assert themselves in this miserable world. So, keep on studying those grammar guides guys--they'll get you far in life.
While I'm setting the tone here, let me say that I don't intend to be entertaining or necessarily thought provoking. If I am, it is merely by coincidence and don't assume too much about me. I'm actually a very shallow person and most of my deeper thoughts are brought on by an especially effecting piece of music or some type of hallucinogenic. Okay, I'm lying--I'm overly contemplative and it makes me sick. Damn.
Enough self deprecation let the frivolous ramblings begin!