Quote Dumps and Philosophies

A while back, I read Travels With Charley, by John Steinbeck.  I really, truly loved that book.  You know the feeling when you read a book, and you can tell that it's changing you?  Where you read it, and every page tingles because you're connecting with the text in a lasting, meaningful way?  That's what happened.  Reading it was an experience in personal philosophy making.  A tangible, recognizable extension of personal canon.  Within the first ten pages, I knew that I had found a favorite book, one that immediately joined such elite tomes as Dracula, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, and Fugitive Pieces in my All Time Favorite Books Ever List.

When I read it, I was borrowing a friend's copy, and it drove me crazy that I couldn't underline my favorite passages.  Yes, I am one of those people who "desecrates" their books.  Here's how I see it: in Judaism, the Rabbinical studies of the Torah are considered so sacred and beautiful that they take on new life as part of the Talmud, a book that is studied and revered on the same level of scripture by certain sects.  Now, I'm not saying that my comments and interactions with the written word are that enlightened.  But I like the idea that books take on new layers and dimensions as they accumulate discussion.*  Reading a used copy of a book, one that has previous markings, always makes me pay attention to lines I might have skimmed over.  Even if the only interaction is a long-forgotten inscription in the front cover, the fact that this was an ancient gift colors my reading, makes me look at it in a way where I try to see the value that made that book so important to someone that they would share it with another.  So yes, I write in my books.  It helps me remember why they are important to me, and lets me make similar connections with others.

Sorry.  Tangent over.  Anyway, I couldn't mark up that copy, so I was left to frantically type the quotes I loved in my phone (naturally, it was the only thing I could count to always have on hand, as I sometimes didn't have a notebook near me when I was reading).  I didn't want to lose those quotes when I finally bought the book, so I'm putting them here as a method of safe-keeping.  And so that perhaps someone else will read this under-rated treasure, and it will spread to the masses!  Revolution!  Or, at least, I'll have someone else to geek out with me.

So, without further ado, some of my favorite Steinbeck moments:

"I was born lost and take no pleasure in being found."

"How myth wipes out fact. ... I am happy to report that in the war between reality and romance, reality is not the stronger."

"A man with nothing to say has no words.  Can it's reverse be true-- a man who has no one to say anything to has no words as he has no need for words?"

"The American tendency in travel.  One goes, not so much to see but to tell afterward."

"What I found was closely intermeshed with how I felt at the moment."

"But to get to be people they must fight those who aren't satisfied to be people."

"This used to be a nation of giants.  Where have they gone?  You can't defend a nation with a board of directors.  That takes men."

"In those days there was no world beyond the mountains."

"A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike."

*If you want to learn more about these theories, I highly recommend The Talmud and the Internet by Jonathan Rosen.  It completely changed my relationship with text, and strengthened my respect for Judaism.

Near, Faaaaar

So, as I bet 98% of you could tell from the title, I saw Titanic for the first time last night.


And while I hate James Cameron, and wish he would burn a fiery death in flames of fire, it was actually very enjoyable. Emotional moments, the 3D was an excellent touch (what? WHAT? Did I just say that?), and the nostalgia factor alone was nearly overwhelming. I came out of that movie with a lot of feelings. An uncomfortable amount of feelings. My husband already wrote a beautiful post about his experience, so I won't even pretend to go there. Instead, I present:

Things that I wanted to do after seeing Titanic :

• Constantly sing "My Heart Will Go On." Either on a big grassy hill, or into my hairbrush while staring emotionally into a mirror. And most definitely with wild, gesticulating arm motions. Note: both are actual things I did repeatedly when the movie first came out.
• Post pictures of Leo DiCaprio (circa 1998) around my room and incessantly talk about how dreamy he is. Maybe even giggle a few times.
  
• Watch What's Eating Gilbert Grape and moan about how talented Leo DiCaprio and Johnny Depp were before they sold out. This desire was compounded by trailer for Dark Shadows they showed before the movie. Oh jeez. That movie looks ALL KINDS of terrible.
  
• Read Ghost's I Have Been, my favorite YA book about the Titanic. My old copy is worn old and thin with multiple readings.
• Find a boat and scream 'I'm king of the world!' Duh.
• Have one of my male friends ask me for romantic advice, because the girl he likes is unattainable/stupid/withholding/a fetus/a crone/blonde/threatens his masculinity/ won't stop talking about this other guy she's dating. Whatever it is, I'll just pat his shoulder and wisely say 'there, there. A woman's heart is like the ocean.'
• Buy new eyeliner. Thanks for the inspiration Billy Zane. ZING!
• Go swimming.
• Ask Bill Paxton how to recite lines like a block of wood. Really, his talent for it... it's uncanny.
  
• Spit in someone's face. And learn to spit actually.
• Go Irish dancing. Be far too full of bravado.
• Speak only in over-the-top cliches for three days.
• Talk about the quest for unobtainium. Wait, wrong movie.
• Find someone I love and spend the rest of forever together. Hold on, too real! Also been there, done that. Um..... have a torrid affair whilst on a cruise?

Bird Songs, pt. 2

It had been three years. Three years since I'd seen him live. But last night, all that was remedied. Last night, I sat in the presence of Andrew Bird again.

I have to admit, I was a little nervous. Last time was so incredible, but I'd changed. The music had changed. What if it wasn't as good? What if the larger venue and the passage of years made me lose some of that connection and glory from the last concert?

Well, good news. As soon as he started playing, I was transported to that same ethereal plain. I was lost. I was ridiculously giddy and yet superbly at peace. I was the music's, and it could do whatever it wanted with me.

Honestly, I loved every moment of it. It's the strangest thing--hearing Andrew Bird live completely transports me. Every time, there's these moments where I feel completely transcendent. The combination of the layers of sound he creates, his incredible voice, the beautifully designed set and lights--it's heavenly. Listening to him, I have these strange moments where I feel like I'm one with the world and nature and that everything falls into place and moves to the rhythm of the earth. It's profoundly peaceful. Odd? Maybe. I'll give you that one. Inspiring? Incredibly so.

Here's some favorites parts of the concert, with videos stolen from other performances.

-I melted into a puddle when he announced "Why?" as the second song of the night. So early? What? YES.



When he does that live, I..... I don't know. My brain short circuits. It races around the theater ceiling a few times and then explodes. It's awesome.

-This was the first song with the live band (go Dosh!), and it was unexpectedly delightful. One of those cases where something I didn't love on the album becomes a new favorite. It felt like a party onstage.



-But my personal highlight came the first time he pulled out his guitar. That lovely, golden glowing guitar that I covet in my dreams. That might have been good enough, but then he stepped forward and said "Here's a little song called 'Measuring Cups.'"



It's my favorite Andrew Bird song. He never plays it live anymore. And at that moment, that ridiculously perfect moment when he did, I almost wept.

It's The Livin' and Learnin'

Sometimes, I am deeply unsatisfied.

Not with the essentials in life--those are quite nice--but with certain particulars. Namely, my job.

Now, don't fret. All is not lost. My tutoring gig is not the exquisite torture it once was. In fact, it's quite survivable now, thanks to some endearing kids that somehow manage to make me chuckle. But reason number one? Listening to this song every day on my trek to work:



That always boosts my spirits. And not just because DBT's singer slightly reminds me of my dear friend Al, but because it reminds me that "nobody told me that it'd be easy/ or, for that matter, it'd be so hard/ but it's the livin' and learnin'/ it makes all the difference/ it makes it all worthwhile." Sometimes I need to hear that, set to upbeat guitar chords. Sometimes I just need to know life sucks, but you deal with it.

Especially when I've been plagued with the yearning that's been haunting me lately. You see I want something.




That. That's all I want. I want my own space, a space I can fill with book posters and writing tips and rules on the wall. A space with my handwriting on the board. A space where I can put my bookshelf filled with books for my kids to borrow. I'll even put my John Green novels on there, despite the fact that the students will trash them, because I love the stories so much that I know it's more important to share them than it is to keep them pristine. That is, as long as they come back to me in the end.

Speaking of which, that's what I want more than anything. My own students. My own minds to fill with my own lessons. My own teachings echoing around a classroom that I design and I control. My own classes with students that are my responsibility--report cards, conferences, keeping after class, encouraging comments in red ink. Keeping them after class to say I know they can do better. Watching their knowledge grow from day to day. Watching student interest and behavior morph. Observing the frantic stretchings of adolescents as they struggle into adulthood, as they take on their own ideas and beliefs.

I miss that. So much that it's a constant gnawing in my stomach, that proverbial ache that won't go away. I'm a teacher. And I want my classroom.

Non-related side note for all those who made it to the end: Yes, I got married recently. My friend Luke took my bridals, and posted some on his blog. You should go there and check it out. A) I look awesome, B) Luke is a freaking wizard, and C) He referenced the White Stripes. Could it get any better? All right. Requisite marriage talk over.

Sentimental Reasons

I'm about to do one of those things I swore I'd never do.

Talk about my relationship. Intentionally. As in, that's my sole purpose for writing today.

And I think that's appropriate. After all, I am getting married in 20 days. (!!!). (!!!). I signed a lease yesterday for our future home. This thing is happening. So it's OK to let on that I am quite fond of the fellow I'm committing to. Right? Right.

It has been insane up here in Seattle. One might even say insane in the membrane. Yep, I'm owning that one (after all, don't you know I'm loco?). Anyway, what with Taylor's school and my quite-terrible-to-me work schedule, it's felt like we have been running around all the time. Constantly working to make time and finish everything on our to-do list. Working to get the next month all planned and settled. And it's been productive, and exciting, but it's suuuuuucked.

That's why this last Friday was the most beautiful day. Since it was my day off, and Taylor doesn't have school that day, and we had no appointments or errands, we spent all day with no stress. No hurrying. Nothing. Glorious.

My favorite moment came later that night, after the movies and dinner and walks, when we got to experience (for the first time in a long time) the beauty of being separate, but together. That wonderful moment where we didn't have to entertain each other. We just wanted to be in the other's company, but not worry about "doing" something.

So we read. Curled up on the couch, legs folded into each other, lost in our own worlds. He read Gadamer, I read Fugitive Pieces. Both of us were caught up in the study of language and how it defines reality. He looked at it through a lens of theory and philosophy, while I relished poetical narrative. We swapped snippets of text like forkfuls of food, chewed and digested bits of books that enhanced the flavor of our own meals, returning to individual reading with new perspective.

That, over anything I've experienced in the impossible beauty of our relationship, made me relish the thought of marrying Taylor. It sums us up perfectly. We are not alike. Taylor and I are more dissimilar than anyone I thought I'd end up with. We don't listen to all the same music, we don't relish all the same foods, we don't enjoy all the same activities. And yet we complement each other perfectly. Our likes are close enough that we can fully appreciate the differences. We both like music. We both like food. We're both intelligent (in my most humble and correct opinion). He helped me appreciate Dave Grohl, I helped him embrace Indian and Greek food. Our approach to intellectual situations is not the same, and yet we respect and enhance the other's opinion.

We're like two parallel lines running close beside each other and sometimes crossing as we influence outlooks, creating this looping track of infinities.

And that's how it's going to be. Forever growing, forever progressing. Forever challenging each other to see the world in a slightly different view. It has been difficult, and frustrating, and everything in between, but trust me when I say IT'S WORTH IT. It's nothing I imagined, but it's better than I thought I could hope for.

In short, I'm looking forward to the many weekends to come.

Ink and Paper

I visited you this weekend. While I was home--home for two whirlwind days full of wedding planning and first visits to a beautiful, sacred place--I couldn't resist spending some time with you. I saw you every night, packed up demurely in the corner of my room, or stacked haphazardly in bags on the floor, and I had to let you know how loved you were.

So I unpacked those boxes, removed tape and peeled up labeled tabs, surrounding myself with stacks of wisdom and truth. Gently, I freed you from the precarious Jenga confinements of your cardboard prisons. I ruffled your pages and caressed highlighted words. Fanned out covers and re-read earmarked corners. Built walls around myself, walls of myth and lecture, poetry and essay. Basked in the constant waves of language as they swirled around me, feeding through eyes and ears and lips, filling my mind and spirit.

And then I packed you up again. I liberated a few sad souls, souls whose words I could not live without any longer, stuffing Billy Collins and The English Patient in my backpack. But as for the rest, you were delegated back into the shadowy corners. Left to dream of that glorious day, not too far off, when you will breathe on shelves doused in sunlight, the delicate touch of fingers on your spine and exhalations of wonder on your open pages.

Take Time

I have to brag for a second. I made some incredible foods last night. Taylor and Alex (the woman I live with) get home late from class on Tuesdays, so I've been practicing being domestic and making them dinner.

Last night I made salmon and asparagus. And it was delicious. And looked even BETTER than this picture, stolen from Red Lobster:


Yep. Mine was waaaay better.

One of the refreshing things about the latest move to Seattle has been having time. I feel like the past few months (or years) I haven't had time to stop, breathe, and relax. Life was full of papers and readings and lesson plans. Now I have far too much time on my hands, and I'm rediscovering some things. A love for cooking. A desire to start making music again. This insane, driving need to create.

But it's a weird conundrum. I like wanting to be creative, since I haven't really felt the pull to make something for myself in a very long time. I'd have small flashes during school, but so many other things took precedence. How can I work on something for myself when there are other people's opinions that I must read and regurgitate? How could I explore my own abilities and ideas when I needed to fit into the syllabi of so many professors?

That sounds more bitter than it should. I LOVED school, and I LOVE learning--it's my very favorite thing to do. It's just odd to have all this freedom and not really know where to begin. So I guess cooking dinners is a good start. Naturally, since food is among my very favorite of favorite things.

Being around the house, cooking for Taylor and sometimes watching Alex's kids (she has two) has also made me so insanely grateful for the women who stay home to raise kids or be housewives. It is not an easy road at all, and I have so much respect for the women who dedicate themselves to making home a sacred and beautiful environment. They are doing a truly important work, and it's difficult to juggle all the different aspects that go into creating a happy home.

That being said, I am glad I'm not at that stage yet. I've been looking for work, and today I interviewed to help tutor at a nearby school. And it was amazing how great it felt to be back in the classroom. For the first time in a while, I felt like a completely whole person--more real, more functioning. Discussing lesson plans and writing strategies with another educator brought peace to my soul. It's reassuring to think, 'oh yeah. That whole life goal you worked at for the past few years? Totally paying off. Good call, you. Teaching is the bomb dot com.'