So I am what I believe to be OLD now.
Congrats to me. High fives and ass slaps to everyone.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
About Bad Poetry
Why if I think its so bad, am I posting my old poetry? Because its FUNNY. Seriously. Its amazing how dramatic one can be over something and then years later find it hilarious.
I always hated the phrase "everything happens for a reason." I think that's bullshit. There are a lot of things that happen without some happy ending attached.
BUT I tend to believe that "everything happens for a story." Good or bad, there's eventually something to tell. And the story itself is usually interesting.
There's a lot that I have learned about myself by reading these old bits of writing. Take the last poem I put up for example, "Her." I wrote it right around my 20th birthday. Peter and I had broken up about 8 months earlier but that winter began to rekindle things a little. Or so I thought. Next thing I know I get an instant message from him reading "Things are cool between us now, we know we're friends and nothing more, right?" I asked if he was wondering because he was suddenly in some relationship or something. "Yeah, kinda," was his reply. I immediately signed offline.
When I read the poem I think it's interesting that its almost entirely focused on me not looking right. I was too tall, too fat, too pale; my hair too curly. I recalled over the summer when he referred to Britney Spears as "too beefy" while admiring Christina's "heroin chic look." Its not until the end that I even think that there might be other reasons he would choose someone else over me, that they had similar interests, got along differently. It hardly occurred to me that anything other than my physical self was at play.
Of course, I was just an insecure child. Later, Peter told me I was by far the most attractive girl with whom he had ever been involved (which is true, I've met most of his exes over the years). It was mostly about timing that things didn't work out. But looking at that poem, there's a story much deeper than just what happened between he and I. Those are the things I'm fascinated in now finding out.
Plus, looking back, it seems so silly.
I always hated the phrase "everything happens for a reason." I think that's bullshit. There are a lot of things that happen without some happy ending attached.
BUT I tend to believe that "everything happens for a story." Good or bad, there's eventually something to tell. And the story itself is usually interesting.
There's a lot that I have learned about myself by reading these old bits of writing. Take the last poem I put up for example, "Her." I wrote it right around my 20th birthday. Peter and I had broken up about 8 months earlier but that winter began to rekindle things a little. Or so I thought. Next thing I know I get an instant message from him reading "Things are cool between us now, we know we're friends and nothing more, right?" I asked if he was wondering because he was suddenly in some relationship or something. "Yeah, kinda," was his reply. I immediately signed offline.
When I read the poem I think it's interesting that its almost entirely focused on me not looking right. I was too tall, too fat, too pale; my hair too curly. I recalled over the summer when he referred to Britney Spears as "too beefy" while admiring Christina's "heroin chic look." Its not until the end that I even think that there might be other reasons he would choose someone else over me, that they had similar interests, got along differently. It hardly occurred to me that anything other than my physical self was at play.
Of course, I was just an insecure child. Later, Peter told me I was by far the most attractive girl with whom he had ever been involved (which is true, I've met most of his exes over the years). It was mostly about timing that things didn't work out. But looking at that poem, there's a story much deeper than just what happened between he and I. Those are the things I'm fascinated in now finding out.
Plus, looking back, it seems so silly.
Her
(circa Jan 2002)
So what's she like?
Is she small?
That was always my problem
Too tall
for you
You didn't like that
Is she thin?
Could you hold her up
in the palm of your hand?
You couldn't even
hold my heart anymore
That alone is too heavy
with grief
Is she dark?
Perfect sun-kissed skin
The only son to kiss
my complexion
was you
That's why
I'm so pale in her shadow
I bet her hair is straight
Sleek and smooth
Simple
Mine is curly
A mess of corkscrews
and complications
I bet she listens to your music
Appreciates your stories
Laughs when she's supposed to
at all the right times
all the right places
I'm so random
Rarely right
An embarrassment
Does she look good in your arms?
Better than I did?
Of course
She's the perfect person
you're wandering eye
was searching for
While you were merely screwing
a mediocre me
So what's she like?
Is she small?
That was always my problem
Too tall
for you
You didn't like that
Is she thin?
Could you hold her up
in the palm of your hand?
You couldn't even
hold my heart anymore
That alone is too heavy
with grief
Is she dark?
Perfect sun-kissed skin
The only son to kiss
my complexion
was you
That's why
I'm so pale in her shadow
I bet her hair is straight
Sleek and smooth
Simple
Mine is curly
A mess of corkscrews
and complications
I bet she listens to your music
Appreciates your stories
Laughs when she's supposed to
at all the right times
all the right places
I'm so random
Rarely right
An embarrassment
Does she look good in your arms?
Better than I did?
Of course
She's the perfect person
you're wandering eye
was searching for
While you were merely screwing
a mediocre me
Name change
So I've been encouraged to change the name of my site by many at this point. Just 5 minutes ago Caitlin called out from her room, her voice echoing through the wall, "But you don't write about sex, there's nothing tawdry on your site at all, it gives the wrong impression."
"It's a lot about relationships though. That was the point of the word sex." Even as the words left my mouth, I knew she was right. It just didn't translate and it never had.
Over breakfast one morning with a boy (see there's implied sex sometimes), I whipped out some random cards from the game Loaded Questions that I like to carry around as occasional conversation fodder. His turn to read: "What would be the name of your autobiography were you to write one?"
"That's easy, its the name of my blog, All Sex and Philosophy." I was left totally confused when he started laughing.
"I totally forgot that one of the first things I ever learned about you was that you wrote a sex blog!" My cheeks reddened as I tried to defend myself. Its not a sex blog. Its about life in general. Its just a quote I took from my friend because I liked how it sounded.
Its the same story every single time.
I guess its time to change the name. Suggestions anyone?
"It's a lot about relationships though. That was the point of the word sex." Even as the words left my mouth, I knew she was right. It just didn't translate and it never had.
Over breakfast one morning with a boy (see there's implied sex sometimes), I whipped out some random cards from the game Loaded Questions that I like to carry around as occasional conversation fodder. His turn to read: "What would be the name of your autobiography were you to write one?"
"That's easy, its the name of my blog, All Sex and Philosophy." I was left totally confused when he started laughing.
"I totally forgot that one of the first things I ever learned about you was that you wrote a sex blog!" My cheeks reddened as I tried to defend myself. Its not a sex blog. Its about life in general. Its just a quote I took from my friend because I liked how it sounded.
Its the same story every single time.
I guess its time to change the name. Suggestions anyone?
Secret Currency of Love
A couple months ago my former boss at HarperCollins contacted me to help out with makeup on a video shoot. The book was called The Secret Currency of Love: The Unabashed Truth about Women, Money, and Relationships and its a collection of essays from various women, speaking openly about how money has played a role in their relationships.
Since the shoot I've thought a lot about my own relationship to money. For one thing, it is still taboo talking about the topic, there's no doubt about that. People judge you on money and maybe that's why the topic has always made me completely uncomfortable.
I've claimed for years that I have no interest in money whatsoever, which is only partially true. Mostly I just don't have money and can't really see myself ever having much of it so I tend to go on the defensive. "What is money anyway," I'll chime, "Other than bits of paper that float in and mostly out of my life?"
And I've certainly never considered money much of a selling point when it comes to dating. "I hate men with money," I've been quoted saying on many occasions. Really I just hate men who flaunt their money, the bankers with their extravagant nights on the town, who talk of nothing but their posh vacations and fancy gadgets. I once faked a migraine on a dinner date with a banker from Merrill Lynch (wonder how much gloating he's doing these days). I was just never impressed. What I was far more interested in were the men who were doing something they love despite the poverty it brought. Of course, I quickly learned that often "Brooklyn artist" is synonymous with having "lazy Peter Pan syndrome."
"You'll see things different when you're a little older," I was told again and again but I didn't agree. I would never see money as a turn on. I would continue to date bartenders, starving artists, struggling musicians forever. Or until I turned 26 and realized I was kind of over it.
Being 22 and struggling is sexy. Its dangerous. It makes a bad boy. But I'm starting to come to terms with the fact that after 25 you have to start getting your shit together. Including me. I recently compromised and dated a banker by day and a struggling musician by night. It was to me the perfect combination. He was realistic and had drive but didn't give up on his dreams in the process. To be honest, I think I was the one who came off as the child. I'm 26 and I do the same job I had at 15. I went to a top University and for some reason work 20 hours a week at a bar. I can no longer actually pay my bills. My lack of interest in money is finally catching up with me it seems. And I don't think its impressing anyone.
Since the shoot I've thought a lot about my own relationship to money. For one thing, it is still taboo talking about the topic, there's no doubt about that. People judge you on money and maybe that's why the topic has always made me completely uncomfortable.
I've claimed for years that I have no interest in money whatsoever, which is only partially true. Mostly I just don't have money and can't really see myself ever having much of it so I tend to go on the defensive. "What is money anyway," I'll chime, "Other than bits of paper that float in and mostly out of my life?"
And I've certainly never considered money much of a selling point when it comes to dating. "I hate men with money," I've been quoted saying on many occasions. Really I just hate men who flaunt their money, the bankers with their extravagant nights on the town, who talk of nothing but their posh vacations and fancy gadgets. I once faked a migraine on a dinner date with a banker from Merrill Lynch (wonder how much gloating he's doing these days). I was just never impressed. What I was far more interested in were the men who were doing something they love despite the poverty it brought. Of course, I quickly learned that often "Brooklyn artist" is synonymous with having "lazy Peter Pan syndrome."
"You'll see things different when you're a little older," I was told again and again but I didn't agree. I would never see money as a turn on. I would continue to date bartenders, starving artists, struggling musicians forever. Or until I turned 26 and realized I was kind of over it.
Being 22 and struggling is sexy. Its dangerous. It makes a bad boy. But I'm starting to come to terms with the fact that after 25 you have to start getting your shit together. Including me. I recently compromised and dated a banker by day and a struggling musician by night. It was to me the perfect combination. He was realistic and had drive but didn't give up on his dreams in the process. To be honest, I think I was the one who came off as the child. I'm 26 and I do the same job I had at 15. I went to a top University and for some reason work 20 hours a week at a bar. I can no longer actually pay my bills. My lack of interest in money is finally catching up with me it seems. And I don't think its impressing anyone.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
with my depression
(circa fall 2001)
in an empty room
surrounded only by isolation
the beating of a heart
keeps time for desolation
pretending to be strong
but drowning in emotion
a desire to be held
and a need to feel devotion
obsession feeds the soil
for a garden of confusion
the idea that you would save me from me
was clearly an illusion
in an effort to escape
from hopeless desperation
I let myself believe your feelings
were more than my creation
I was wrong and now alone
held captive by an overhealthy imagination
in an empty room
surrounded only by isolation
the beating of a heart
keeps time for desolation
pretending to be strong
but drowning in emotion
a desire to be held
and a need to feel devotion
obsession feeds the soil
for a garden of confusion
the idea that you would save me from me
was clearly an illusion
in an effort to escape
from hopeless desperation
I let myself believe your feelings
were more than my creation
I was wrong and now alone
held captive by an overhealthy imagination
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