Desiderata

Running is a desideratum in my life.

And I have to take a break because of my knee. Apparently according to my coach (MJ) and Bryant, the personal trainer at Track and Field, something is rotten in the state of my IT band*. This was confirmed in what was SUPPOSED to be sexy leg massage from MJ that turned into, "Oh my god, what the hell it this." ("This" being the giant knot in my IT band). Mood killer. Total mood killer.

See the gray part? The Iliotibial Band is a muscle that lacks the same blood flow as other muscles, therefore has a tendency to get less oxygen, hence tightening. Tightening would eventually lead to tearing so- RICE: Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation. Awesome motto for the next couple of weeks. Expect a lot of blog posts.

Such is my life that whenever bad news hits, happy mood-lifters make there way into my life:

First came the greatest nature video I have ever seen. The fact that this movie has not had commercial success in the United States speaks to our lack of empathy and integrity in this heartless society. I blame capitalism. Just try not to cry at the end of this clip:



The cougar represents the voracious nature of time, coming to devour us all. The bear represents myself, especially what I will look like after this running break.

**************

Then came the word of the day (I have a mild obsession with both Merriam-Webster and Anu Garg (wordsmith.org)). The latter has weekly postings where people contribute their personal relationship with words. Lexicographic therapy. Desideratum was one of the words that I used above to describe my relationship to running. It is a noun: something desired or needed. A word etched into perpetual memory by the Max Erhmann poem of the same name:

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

OK YES. This poem is cheesy. The subsequent greeting cards, T-shirts, billboards, day calendars, chain letters sent from my mom, etc. that this poem has engendered encourages the cheesiness. But during this running sabbatical I am going to take a few lines a day to focus on as my mantra. If I write about it, the 'Blues will be featured on Oprah in no time and I'll be sharing couch space with good ole Elizabeth Gilbert.

Tomorrow is:
Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.





* Hamlet reference. We all make them at some point. Here is a video rendition of Act I, iv, when H confronts his father's ghost. Low budget but NOT Kenneth Branagh.

The Chatroulette Soundtrack

Every 1.5 years I go through a phase where I listen to nothing but Ben Folds for about a week. It reminds me of driving around in Doug's minivan in high school in the snow listening to the most appropriate song for a snowing evening in Queens (Selfless, Cold and Composed). Doug always drove the minivan with the brights on; I think he was trying to emulate Eurolights (those bluish lights that blind you in the rear-view mirror). He had that Kaufmanesque humor. I never knew if it was serious admiration of a new cultural phenomenon or a satire of it.

• Selfless, Cold, and Composed by Ben Folds Five

More Ben Folds Five music on iLike

I am one of those rare people that actually has a favorite song. In 2003 I committed to Emaline. I wrote it down somewhere. From this day forward, I, Elizabeth Jane Fielder, hereby commit to answering "Emaline" when asked what my favorite song is. I've got the notarized version somewhere.



I took my middle name from (Jane) from a Ben Folds song (Jane).

• Jane by Ben Folds

More Ben Folds music on iLike

I want "Fair" to be my wedding song because I believe it is an accurate representation of relationships. Especially one that includes smashed dishes.

• Fair by Ben Folds Five

More Ben Folds Five music on iLike

I have dedicated "Protection" to an ex-boyfriend I ever went through a break-up with. Even if I dumped them.

• Protection by Ben Folds

More Ben Folds music on iLike

I like Ben Folds. So what.

It resurrected recently when I found out about Chatroulette a week ago. Yeah I know I'm late and everyone's already over it and had their fill of voyeurism. Let me at least explain it to my Mom (avid reader of the 'Blues). It is a website where you are randomly paired with strangers anywhere in the world on their webcams. About 80% of the strangers are penises. What are we doing wrong in our society that makes us hold our reproductive organs to cameras for millions of strangers to see? Should we be killing gazelles? WWFD? What Would Freud Do? There is a chance that some member of Freud's family tree is wiggling his willy in front of the little green light at the top of his Macbook screen. Wild.

So I tried it and I got some college kid who looked surprisingly innocuous. He said I was the first human face after 3 dicks. He was probably chatting from the dorm across the street from me. It was really awkward. I feel uncomfortable enough making small talk with friends, this was a new crevice of social anxiety I could barely withstand. I asked him if he liked roller coasters or ice cream better. He said ice cream. I signed off before he told me his favorite flavor. I thought the word flavor sounded dirty and I got scared.

I will never do that again. BUT back to Ben Folds. Garrett and MJ described this to me:



Which Mr. Folds stole from a much funnier version from Mr. Merton, a mysterious pianist:



There is one point in the video where a girl requests that song "Fireflies" and he plays the best version of that song that could exist. This guy somehow applied his prodigy to the latest asinine internet fad.

The brilliant talent of our generation shares performance space with the common dick. Are we heading toward mindless ignorance or true democracy?

Define explicit...

Working backwards morally:

Actual job posting Lauren found on Craig's List:

Clean apartments in your bikini make $100+/hr (Downtown)

Looking for atractive females with beautiful figures to entertain wealthy clients by cleaning there apartments in sexy outfits. All of our clients are screened and have background checks. No explicit activity involved.

Yeah. OK. The author of this also works part time as a Princeton grammarian. But we have all been there. Desperate. I confess that I considered being a product representative, passing out shots of some new alcohol mixed with caffeine and pomegranate to guys whose 'game' includes questions about your 'other life' when your wearing a mid-rift tank top, wearing enough makeup to protect your face from a nuclear explosion and hope the disguise would work if a business suit from college walks into the bar saying, "Oh I was just taking those Creative Writing courses for fun." "Oh you majored in English?" "How did that working out? Still writing?"


I never did it. But MJ did. He was Captain Morgan. In an alternate universe, I actually met him while being a Captain Girl. A Bucaneerette, if you will.. And he courted me with his pirate accent and his mysterious fake beard. We stole a bottle, got drunk, and ended up married the next day, which was annulled because of false identities. He is not actually, "The Captain," as was written on the marraige certificate, and my name is not "Tennille." But love kept us together, and we created some prevarication for the kids.



Better than meeting outside Randall Balmer's Religious History class at Barnard? I don't know. But the latter brings us once step closer to Stephen Colbert:

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
Holy Water Under the Bridge - Randall Balmer
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor Health Care Reform

Earlier that Easter Sunday...

The 15th Street Religious Society of Friends

My first meeting. I overdressed, even though Michael said simplicity was paramount to these people. I thought my stilettos and red lipstick would somehow be apropos. Maybe it's all that Roman Catholic/High Anglican pomp I grew up with.

Basically you sit on these wooden pews (I can't believe they make pews more uncomfortable than the Grace Church pews I grew up with. What factory in Dante's Inferno makes those bloody things) and everyone faces each other and you sit for an hour in silence. Some people were meditating with their eyes closed, others were turning at every noise and checking out other congregants. Others were ostensibly sleeping. Occasionally someone would stand up and say something, which would invariably cause someone to jump in shock of the broken silence. I find this occurrence extremely funny, so that part was hard for me. People talked about non-violence A LOT. I give the coffee hour a 7. Not as good as the Pure Land temple on 105th and Riverside, but there was some amazing cranberry walnut bread. The people were interesting, but they always are when you drop into a religious environment like that. Besides there is a certain type of person who always volunteers him or herself for the welcoming committee, and they usually have colorful personalities. Despite that, I think I may have stood out. Thanks to my Latino heritage, it is hard to separate the religious experience from tambourines, the apogee of modern religion.

But the Quakers accept everyone, even JEWS and AGNOSTICS! And they don't hate homosexuals. So that makes them the best sect of Christianity in the world.



MJ and I talked about religion for hours afterward. We brainstormed on our "most religious experiences." We agreed on running. There is a euphoric point during an unexpected run where the body disappears and so does our boundary with our surroundings. Sometimes I feel myself running into the molecules in the air in front of me. But I do not brandish them, rather, I meld into them. It usually tingles in the scalp at this point. I also get a similar feeling in dance, but there is also a connection to the people around me, which can be insanely powerful. I think number one however is hiking. Hiking in the Hudson Valley region. With Daphne. And that deserves its own post.

An Undefinable Woman

I am currently breaking a rule MJ and I set for this week. No computer after 11pm. In addition to our "walk Daphne first thing in the morning" rule- which I have adhered to diligently, but I second guess whether or not he has. But it's rapidly becoming 2AM and I am writing in my blog. Maybe it is revenge on MJ for trimming his facial hair to best make himself look like a molester/Civil War hero/Guy who can't get into Studio 54. Mustachioed. He is mustachioed. Maybe I am tried of this "break."

I blame this country's health care system for why I don't have time to write because I am constantly on the phone/internet with the insurance companies. It has become as essential to my daily routine as my post-breakfast cookie. It has less to do with my full-time job/ major project/ teaching dance/ running constantly/ planning a wedding/ having a boyfriend (who thank Jay-sus is just as busy as I am and doesn't mind when I stumble in sweaty and tired at 10pm eat a carrot, give a quick kiss while I park myself behind the computer to do more work) and more to do with health care. You see, figuring out how I simultaneously have three insurance options while having none at the same time swallows up most of my creativity leaving me too dessicated to wring out even the simplest of catchy social commentary.

I couldn't figure out what to write about. Then, Lakshmi (who watches over me) heard my prayers and sent a sign at 9:45AM at the store where I work on Madison Ave. The store does not open until 10, but the cleaning guy left the door unlocked and before I could stop her, Yoko Ono walked into my store. At first I thought the little septuagenarian Japanese woman with the hat and sunglasses just merely looked like Yoko. Three hoodie sweatshirts, a tank top, and an AMEX card (all items black) later, I realized BY GOD it is her. Her card said Yoko Ono Lennon. I got the shakes, and thanked her for... I thanked her and said it was amazing to meet her. She was adorable. She laughed a lot. She has a generation under her belt, and I could see it in her face.

And what has Yoko done? A gallimaufry of extraneous things the average person would not consider necessary for life. She is a simple artistic statement imbued with color and controversy. She lived the life of an Andy Warhol painting. She has at the same time done nothing. As ethereal as my insurance plan.

The lesson: Being a human is a career. Yoko is the hyberbolic character that moralizes this, a Chanticleer* of sorts. Her personality is enough, no excuses, no subtitles, no 5 year plan. If someone asked her what her job was, she could say, "Everything" or stare blankly in silence. Either way, she is right. When the pressure of coming up with something interesting hinders me from posting, I'm going to just "Dear Diary" a posting and hope that my daily trials, tribulations, and small-yet-amazing incidents do justice to Yoko's eclectic life. This is either inspiration from above, or delusions of grandeur.

The lesson is void if you are boring.

"Nobody told me there'd be days like these. Strange days indeed."




*If you forgot your high school English Canterbury Tales, this obnoxious allusion is to the Nun's Priest's Tale- read it and then you to can make these kinds of literary references.