The Beholder

I'm sitting in a stall in the bathroom at work. I'm a little sleepy and this is the only place I can hide. Between the seat and my rear, I've got the tissue paper thing that always rips when you try to peel the center out. I've got my arms folded across my legs, eyes closed. I hear a few women come and go in the stalls around me. I wonder what they think, then decide I don't care. I've seen women change clothes, cry, bring their laptops in here. It is probably the only hiding place in the building. I open my eyes and look down at the button on my jeans.

"House Doll"

I think it's a clever brand. It conjures all kinds of images. Would that be a job? A person? A toy? Family member? A wine?

Then I realize...I'm reading my pants up-side-down.

When I first moved here, I had a brief crush on an artist that lived in my building in D.U.M.B.O. He was disfigured from a fire and named after a color. He also had a thrift store inside his home. Dream man. I fantasized about being his hippie girlfriend...sewing new eye-patches for him...riding piggy-back on his bicycle...matching tattoos... I spoke to him once and he grunted at me...never returned a hello when we passed in the hall...then I overheard him talking about a rave at a gallery or something and realized I was no where near his league...nor he mine. Kelly Ripa & Keith Richards. Sounds interesting in theory. But the yin might actually swallow the yang.

I truly believe opera is the last of a dying art where music meets performance. Skill, talent, hard, sacrificial, life-style changing work. It is very serious. As it should be. Like church. Recently, Greg and I went to see a good friend perform opera IN a church. Prior to the overture, the conductor came out, bowed and stepped down to the orchestra pit. As is custom. There was the typical spotlight over him and from our view we saw his glowing arms, his stick pierce the air and we heard incredible music spill out from below the stage. As is custom. Then I had to bite my bottom lip to keep from busting out laughing. As is custom. What if there were NO musicians down there? What if there were speakers hooked up to a little tape recorder? What if that man wasn't even a conductor?!

Sometimes. In order to survive this nutty world. I think we need to think about and look at everything upside down and opposite...especially until we laugh.

When I Grow Up

Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep. -Scott Adams

What if we stimulated the economy by taxing religious institutions?

Only ones that make major bucks of course. Let's discuss...

"I laid my bed, I'm gonna have to sit on it."

If I were in my very early twenties and deemed THE BEST by my family, friends, colleagues, enemies, doctors, lawyers, management, accountants, audiences, the world-wide-web, MLB, ESPN, USA, stalkers and fans...I would probably do just about anything I could to make sure I maintained that status.

Especially if I was contractually obliged to do so.

If English were not my family's first language and money was not my family's first accomplishment, I think once I had discovered I could do something no one else could do in a country that would make me a hero for doing so...I would PROBABLY PUT A NEEDLE IN MY ARM EVERY FEW MONTHS IF EVERYONE ELSE WAS DOING IT.

The sanctity of baseball statistics aren't that precious people. They aren't even scientific. We've excluded 60 years of negro players. We pay huge salaries to young players who come from poor backgrounds and expect they do what they do just for the love of the game. And let's not forget each ball park is different from the next. A home run is technically over the fence...what if the fence is 10 feet away? Baseball is a very human sport. That IS the beauty of it.

Let's just say from here on out, NO DRUGS ALLOWED and get over it. We - the 'we' that makes up the rest of the world - have NO idea what it is like to be famous...to make a living having your life on display and for the most part, belonging to everyone BUT yourself. Yes it is a job. Yes, they signed up for it. But even if you worked in a laundry-mat you'd probably do what you had to in order to keep food on the table if your position were threatened. This is America. We are founded on competition. Sure we have rules but even our President...especially our President...'interprets' those rules on a daily basis.

Morality is an opinion. We made it up folks. One man's trash is another's treasure.

Of course I don't think drugs should be a part of sports. But it is. We ramp up the competition with higher payrolls, more accountability and more responsibility than one person could possibly handle. Thing is...they don't. We forget that. Mr. Rod ain't out there on his own. He hired Madonna's publicist just before she started coming to his games. The higher the stakes, the harder the crash from the pedestal. Dave Chappelle turned down all that cash remember? We roll out of bed and pour a cup of caffeine to face our day. If we could pour something a little "better" maybe we would.

Even Iago feels righteous about tripping up Othello's Achilles' heel. Secretly we all love Iago, don't we? He doesn't even die in the end.

It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye. I've recently switched to tea. Clearly the pressure is off.