Some Time Soon for Sanity's Sake

"Solitude vivifies; isolation kills.”~ Joseph Roux, French Artist

Pictured above are the waters and sand of Luquillo Beach in Puerto Rico. I was there once. Years ago- on what I guess I could call my first honeymoon. Only because on my first anniversary, I can remember lugging very heavy bags, walking uphill in frigid temperatures and saying (more to myself than to my then husband) "This same time next year I will be somewhere warm, Dammit." I made good on that promise and planned the trip. We went. It was a fantastic time. Oddly enough, I don't attach any romantic emotions to the memory of my time there. I always said I would go back alone if the means and time permitted. I engulfed my time there that much.

These days are harder to bear than usual. The transgressions are beginning to outweigh the triumphs. As I stand watching the last of my marbles roll away into darkened corners, I know where I need to be; in blue crystalline waters under a forgiving sun. I need to rent a convertible and feel the wind whip through my hair. I need to drink in the horizon from the backdrop of El Yunque rain forest as I drive the winding road to Luquillo. I need solitude to replace the self-imposed isolation I feel closing in on me each day. I need a few days without Blogger, Google, Youtube, Gmail and Facebook. As cliché as it sounds, I need to feel the sand between my weary toes.

I can remember my co-workers at the time joking about planning my baby shower that would no doubt be needed after my vacation. Funny. Once I was on that beach- I can remember swigging my drink and thinking, "If I get knocked up on this trip- I won't be able to do this again this same time next year..." Needless to say, that didn't happen. And the next year found me on a beach in Negril. But I always felt a connection, a magnetic draw back to that vast beach just outside of San Juan. It felt like home- or the closest thing to it this side of Chaguaramas in my native land. Soft sand. Privacy. Welcoming water. Peace. That's all I'm in search of. That, and..me I suppose. So before I unplug, I'll swing by Expedia to see what deals await me this same time next month. Damn the time or the means..for sanity's sake.

This looks like a job for...

I can never get enough of documentaries. All sorts. The human condition fascinates me. I stumbled upon Confessions of a Superhero via hulu.com and was riveted. The film surrounds four struggling actors who make their living by donning costumes and taking photos with tourists on Hollywood Boulevard. It's not an easy job. Not by a long shot. They work strictly off of tips and a good day falls squarely on the appeal of superheroes to the general public. That, and their charisma. Confessions focuses on the lives of the men and one woman behind the exteriors of Superman, Batman, The Hulk and Wonder Woman. Their stories are all different but equally melancholy.


Christopher Dennis is Superman. He bears a strange, malnourished resemblance to Christopher Reeves who even in death, is the most famous Superman to date. He takes his craft very seriously. In one scene, as quite the father figure, we watch him admonish Ghost Rider that image is so important- that he shouldn't smoke while in costume. It sounds a little priggish, until a later scene at Superman's apartment reveals an ashtray filled to the brim with cigarette butts. It's only then that you realize he is never seen smoking on the street while at work. He believes acting is in his blood; so much so that he claims to be the son of a famous actress. His delusions are equal parts sad and disturbing.

Max is Batman. He looks a little too much like George Clooney for the tastes of most casting directors and has a bit of a temper. An imposing presence. Perhaps we can attribute that to his previous line of work, which he alludes to as 'security' for a well known wiseguy- but I got the feeling it's just his frustration with not yet being successful in acting. News footage of his arrest for bullying a tourist really drives that assumption home.


Joe McQueen a.k.a. The Hulk moved to LA the day of the riots. He spent four years sleeping on the streets. Oddly enough, of his peers he was the closest to success in Hollywood having landed a bit part in a comedy about Bruce Lee's last film, Game of Death. My heart broke for him the most. He admits he's no looker and that his teeth probably hold him back from many roles. It's part of the reason he chose the Hulk as a profession- since it includes a massive head instead of a mask. Imagine wearing that all day in the hot California sun for hours on end. He actually blacked out one day when the temperature hit 106 degrees.



Wonder Woman grew up in a small town. Glee Club. Cheerleader. Homecoming Queen. The works. She had to escape. Made her way to LA. She got married on a whim in Vegas and visits an acting coach to fine tune her craft. Granted, she's not the preferred Size 2 that's the standard in Hollywood but she has faith. Drive. That counts for something on the Boulevard of Broken Dreams.


This movie stayed on my mind well after it was over. At times, it was uncomfortable to watch. Cringeworthy even. But always real. Aside from the straightforward style of each person telling their story- there is some amazing still photography in this film. Simply beautiful shots. They capture a vulnerability that is in stark contrast to what we commonly know of powerful superheroes. The real heroes of Confessions are not superhuman at all. They are in fact just like us; mere mortals with an irrepressible need to find their place in the universe.

A Reader's Confessional

"A good book on your shelf is a friend that turns its back on you and remains a friend." ~Author Unknown

Sometimes I buy the books because the titles sound interesting. The Call of the Weird.  A Thirst for Rain. Death Be Not Proud. 100 Things You're Not Supposed Know.  Or because the covers are eye-catching. Open to a random page.  Skim a few lines.  If they can write, I buy it.  Discarded library books for 50 cents.  Books from thrift shops.  The occasional designer bookstore purchase when I get a coupon via email.  Novels.  Cookbooks.  Poetry.  Once in a while- a self-help book disguised as an instructional manual or revelatory instant classic.  I buy them all.  Because as long as I have them, there's an  unspoken confirmation that my wheels are still turning.  The books help oil the machine.  As long as I can read- I can make sense of my reality while escaping it.  Books by the plentiful pound.  Stories about foreign, faraway places and close-up tragedies not unlike my own.  The missed train.  The tyrant of a mentor. The forced hand. The skinned knee.  The inexclusive love.  The flood of afterthought that drowns every living and already decayed thing in 20/20 hindsight. The rebirth of spirit.  Quiet chaos and triumphs holding hands; riding off into the sunset.  Books, quite simply...are my truth when the rest of the world is lying straight to my face. 

All Souled Out: Erykah Evolving

"They play it safe..." -E. Badu

Listen. The only one who can ever outdo Erykah Badu is Erykah Badu. She has done it again. I recently posted her latest video on my Facebook page with a preceding note that implored the masses "not to miss the jewel" in this one. I needed a window seat myself, not too long ago. Upon my return from the solo excursion, the song seemed so fitting I decided to add it to the entry before I ever saw the official video. Just as I thought, some people are up in arms over the content of the video, enough to make the news. But you know what? If you listen to her monologue at the end, this is precisely what she was speaking of. The scrutiny. This widespread need to place something in a nice, neat box. Because as long as it's categorized properly- the assumption is that they are safe from it. And if it looks too strange, somewhat foreign, or worse yet- makes sense enough to leave their comfort zone, then do away with it at once! But that's no way to grow. I love how X marks the spot, too. (As a youth, This Bug was virtually obsessed with the JFK assassination. Real talk.) I have no doubt this video will get tongues wagging (and possibly hanging out of some mouths) but once the shock factor subsides, Ms. Badu gives us plenty to think about. Her message is more visceral than visual. By the way, it has vanished from Youtube. Watch it here. Weigh in. Sound off. Why not? You owe it to no one but yourself.

Back for the first time

“To awaken quite alone in a strange town is one of the pleasantest sensations in the world.” – Freya Stark


Routines are made to deviate from. It's been a while since I did that. It doesn't happen often but when spontaneity gets the better of This Bug, I must comply. Bottom line: I had to break out, yo. Sometimes you just need a moment to keep it to self. Last time it was Miami. This time it was Chi-town. There's plenty about my excursion that I'd like to hold close, just for selfish purposes. But I'll divulge a few quick hits simply for the sake of sharing.



For the first time in a long time- I slept. I mean really slept. Sound. I needed it. Weird dreams, too. Stay tuned.




I did my best not to fall into the run-of-the-mill practice of tourism but alas- it's not a trip to Chicago if you leave without consuming their famous Deep Dish. My take: NY Pizza wins hands down. But that might just be me.



No matter where I go, I'm always struck by how trusting people are in other parts. At the car rental, the attendant innocently suggested I leave my luggage there to go outside and peruse their fleet of cars to choose from. I promptly put her on. "I'm from New York, Sweetie. I'm not leaving anything anywhere." Homie don't play dat.




A gajillion tiny bubbles have the most exhilarating and calming effect all at once. Until you have to get out and reset the timer. It's still kinda fly, though.



As it turns out- I drove smack dab into the middle of the annual St. Patrick's Day parade out there. Wild! Those people know how to get it crunk. I actually watched a guy repeatedly kick a huge, inverted umbrella down the street in hopes of hitting his girlfriend who was walking up ahead, arms folded- utterly pissed at him. Yeah. I guess green beer can do that. He almost caught her a couple of times too- just in case you were wondering. *shaking my head*



Before I forget, allow me to impart some wisdom on not packing any compromising or embarrassing objects for your trip. Airport security employees live for this. I was stopped for having a bottle of juice I had forgotten about in my carry-on. This guy made it a point to specify that it was a Snapple. Then he looked me squarely in the eye and said, "Ask me how I knew it was a Snapple bottle." Panic. I instantly picture the tell-tale shape of errr...um... a grown up toy and say, "I don't want to know." He smirks. I wipe the proverbial brow and keep it moving through the metal detectors. Now mind ya biz. This Bug is a grown ass woman.



Wine tastes different at hotel bars. Perhaps it's the anonymity of traveling strangers. We're all just passing through. But savoring.




I made myself a promise that I would stare at this painting the same way Cameron did in Ferris Bueller's Day Off to get some semblance of what he was feeling. It's a lot bigger than I ever imagined it. As a matter of fact, I felt very small standing before it. In short: I get it. John Hughes was a genius. R.I.P.



So... all up in his hometown and I ain't run into Common not once. But that's not why I went. Contrary to what some may believe. (Next time, Gadget. Ha.) I just wanted to Be. I'm happy to say I didn't have to ask anyone Can I Borrow A Dollar in order to steal away. This was a Resurrection of sorts. My writing. My mind. My spirit. It was almost Like Water for Chocolate in a way. I wouldn't have made this trip and have it be so meaningful without everything single thing that lead up to it days before. Deep down, I felt like I was on my way to Finding Forever but I can't say for sure. I do know however... that One Day It'll All Make Sense.


Peace.

Just keep swimming

I can't say that I understand it fully. In fact, I'm not sure I'm supposed to. All I know is that my mother was one. My brother-from-another is one. And my could-never-love-another is one too, along with countless close friends. We tend to find each other it seems; in deep waters that meet the ocean floor. Dwelling in my crustacean shell and walking waywardly- they swim around me for a spell. We share a love of water and are completely in our element down here. There is a compassion and intuitiveness that is unmatched by others. We see one another. Truly see one another. While I'm content in the comfort of my abode, they are most alive when exploring the vastness of the deep blue. The beauty in that- is they always return with a piece of what they have found in their travels. Smiles, wisdom, jewels or a closely held credo. My most natural Cancerian instinct is to clutch them in my claws. Hold them for all time. But that is not the way to love them.


There is such a dazzling rhythm to their fluid movement- that to even think of capturing it would be an injustice. That type of greatness is as boundless as the dark. With them, life is lush- and the only predictable thing about them is their unpredictability. Natural born dreamers who wade skillfully in and out of any perplexity...I've witnessed it so many times and each time I am awestruck. They are more enamored with the mind and spirit than matters of this physical world. This I love. Because there is so much more to this hermit crab than the earthly shell I possess. I can count on being taken to new places with them while not moving a stitch. I willfully lose myself in undulating pools of soulful eyes, because I cannot drown there. I can only thrive. So this is my thank you to each of them. The fish who so enrich my world simply by being in it. Oh, my Mermaids and Neptunes...I love you all from gills to tail. Swim on.

"Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air."

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Let me get back to you...

I try my best to be a woman of my word. At the end of the day, it's all I have. Whenever I have agreed to do some sort of favor (no matter how inconvenient it may later reveal itself to be) I follow through because I gave my word that it would be done. For some reason though, when engaged in one of my guilty pleasures I find this difficult to execute once I utter the words, "Let me call you right back." I've been saying that a lot lately. For those who have been on the receiving end of this half-truth, let me apologize now. Suffice to say that when these ill-timed calls come in, more than likely I am indulging in one of the following guilty pleasures. Or maybe I'm just genuinely busy. It's not like I'm gonna actually admit when it's one or the other.


A Good Book


I can't help it. I get lost. There is something to be said about traveling without moving to distant places. I seldom admit that I'm reading and wish to be left alone because I always feel that most folks won't understand. A real page turner gets me going. It can easily be hours before I return to the real world.



Cooking
Although I may sound exasperated when I get calls in my kitchen, the truth is that one of my favorite pastimes is being intruded upon. It is my way of relaxing. Pots and pans bring me joy. Except for when it's time to wash them. In that case, I will be happy to lounge around on the phone. Anything to stave off the dreaded clean-up. I should hope that no one gets too upset about this one, mainly because they are more than welcome to stop by and get a plate once I'm finished.


The Office

Okay, let me be clear. If it's 9 p.m. on Thursday, don't even bother calling. I am too busy getting my Dunder Mifflin fix. Here's the thing: As much as I hate(ed) everything about Corporate America, there's something I relate to enormously. At some point or another, I have worked with virtually every character on this show. I just never had Michael Scott as a boss and that sucks. He's the coolest boss ever... In TV land, anyway. Maybe if you're lucky, I've missed the original showtime and will catch it on hulu.com later that week. As a matter of fact, scratch that. I won't answer phone if I'm playing catch up online, either.


Shoe Shopping

This task requires my undivided attention. Be it online or in the actual store, I have tunnel vision when this is taking place. Also, I'm usually so giddy after the footwear purchase that I've forgotten who called me and it will take a few hours before I return that call. Unless I want to gush about the hot new pair. In which case, I'll probably be yanking you from whatever your guilty pleasure is. Sidebar: True story. I once called an amiga of mine at 1 a.m. to lament ruining a pair of boots that were not even 24 hours old with some friggin' Papa John's garlic grease. You see? The pendulum swings both ways.


Writing

It pretty much goes without saying that while I am new to this; I'm true to this. If I'm in a creative zone, everyone benefits if I'm left alone until I'm done. The perfectionist in me goes back to edit so often that I really do need the solitude to get it right. What can I say? My public needs me. I shall not be disturbed. I kid, I kid...


Chocolate

I can't be alone here, People. Too much of anything can cause sensory overload, but this is a wonderful way to indulge. Whether it comes in the form of a 3 x 5 Ghirardelli bar or 5 ft, 11 inches of milk chocolately smoothness, I refuse to be interrupted. The promise of call back weighs heavily on how soon I recover from my cocoa induced coma.


Movies

Yes, all DVD remotes are equipped with a pause button. But I would rather not have to use mine. Anyone who knows me knows that This Bug is a bona fide movie buff. Everything from foreign films to documentaries keeps me riveted. It's been said that no two people ever watch the same movie. I take it all in. The storyline, the cinematography, the subtle details of a performance. Everything about it is an experience that one should be able to enjoy without obstruction. It is your birthright. I even try not to eat while watching a film because in the split second it may take to look down at my food, I may have missed something. Sidebar: It annoys me when I ask others to watch a movie I really want them to see and they look away from the screen. I know that sounds über neurotic but it's true.

So there you have it, Folks. Yet another peek into the inner workings of This Bug. The next time one of you hear me say that I'll call you right back, just know that I am simply cashing in on some serious 'Bug Time' and it's nothing personal. Of course, I could just be vacuuming. In which case I'll be more than happy to shoot the shit. Ummmkay?

Memorandum: Halloween is Cancelled

There once was a time when I loved Halloween. Loved It. Something about the crispness in the air and the bubbly anxiety that came with dressing up and going house to house for sweets. It thrilled me to no end. Then I grew up. Which really sucks because of part of me still really wants to celebrate this peculiar holiday. It's the one time you can step out of your 'all grown up' shell and really let your fun-loving side show. I can't say exactly when it happened, but somewhere along the way- everyone became too cool to wear a costume...and This Bug was forced to assimilate.

Take 4th grade for instance. Only two other kids in my class dressed up the year I came as a fortune teller. It was really cool, too.
I wore one of my mother's decorative scarves around my head and my arms jingled with a bevy of gold bangles. I was the most spell-bounding gypsy that elementary school ever did see. I also had a clear water balloon for a crystal ball but that didn't work out so well. I can still see the look on the custodian's face as he dragged his mop around my desk. That was last time I wore a costume for the rest of my school career.

Fast-forward to my 19th year. I was Tina Turner for Halloween. I know, I know. It was a cheap shot, but I got rave reviews for my red shimmy dress and black eye. Incidentally, my date stole the show as Ike Turner. He carried a single Stacy Adams alligator shoe (size 13) and repeatedly threatened me throughout the night. "Sing the GOTDAMN song, Anna Mae- before I go upside your head!" I know what you're thinking- but we can all celebrate her freedom from that abusive relationship now, so it's all in good fun, right? Right?! What's Halloween got to do with it? Let's just move on...

The last time I dabbled in the spooky revelries was during my illustrious stint as a bartender. I was some variation of Spider Girl. Yes, the outfit was a tad on the racy side À la Frederick's of Hollywood, but it spoke to the superhero in me. I had fun with it, complete with a spider in my luxurious wig (which was mistaken for a crab by one inebriated patron) and creepy-crawly accessories. FYI: For looking equal parts 'trick' and 'treat' I made record breaking tips that night- and it was unanimously decided that I would have won best costume, but as an employee was ineligible to enter the contest. Who cares? I could have bottle of Perrier Jouët any time I wanted, anyhow. Sidebar: I recently found that webbed leotard get-up while cleaning out my closet the other day and simply could not bring myself to throw it out.


So now I'm all grown up and it's all about the kids now. I really need to make my way to Walmart and stock up before my doorbell starts ringing. But dammit, I still want in on some of the fun. Just once, I'd like to be Holly Golightly from Breakfast at Tiffany's. I've got the black sheath dress and the fake baubles covered. All I need is the cigarette holder. Or maybe even a Geisha Girl. There's a ton of fun to be had with the Kabuki make-up alone. Oh well, I guess it's time to pass the torch. But I still love Halloween and I still love candy...And they can't take that away from me.

Try It Sometime

Okay. It's been a month since I returned from Miami. It was nothing major. I just really needed to get away. Away from manning front desks, shuttling nieces and nephews and mandatory grocery missions. I needed to unplug. It's funny how almost a month later people are still asking why I went on vacation by myself.

Is it so wildly outrageous for a grown woman to pick up and whisk herself away instead of waiting for the perfect moment to happen to her? No man or monetary windfall needed? There are two types of people in this world. People who things happen to- and people who make things happen. So if I fall into the latter category, you can understand why this inquiry is starting to annoy me.

My first instinct is to ask them why they feel that one should always be accompanied on a trip. Are you not comfortable enough with yourself to simply just...be?

But that reply is snide and snobbish so I smile and simply say, "You should try it sometime."

Ladybug Musings

It's not that I don't believe in fairy tales anymore. I do. They carry with them their own validity. But we reside in an imperfect world. The fragility of this sometimes brittle life breaks against itself. What are we left with after that? What can we say once the truth snatches the warm blanket off our comfortable, if not contrived existences?

It's not that I haven't been there. I have. I see her now like it was yesterday. That girl in the mirror. She ties the ribbon in a silly way, lovingly. At the time, it was the most instinctive of movements. Nothing to fear. Bold in her declarations of love. But who can be held accountable for words spoken while the stars are in their eyes?

Nowadays, stoic meetings and to-do lists have replaced tempestuous exchanges. On mornings, I rake a comb through my hair and bristle at the necessity of it all. Schedules and deadlines and grown-up business leave me unobservant of all those pretty things that came before.

But every now and then, with the frequency of a comet, I pick up a pen and gather it all. And revisit a place where I still laugh and wish.