"I used to wonder what friendship could be..."

((This became much longer than anticipated, so bear with me. But pictures!))

Every once in a while I encounter a movie or television show I wouldn’t normally be interested in, but for some reason decide to watch it and in it find unexpected love. Remember "The A-Team?" And I don’t like horror films or zombie movies, but I really liked “Cabin in the Woods,” which is a horror film with zombies.

So having never really been interested in the girly girl world I associated with “My Little Pony,” I never thought I would end up watching the show and falling in love with it. I knew a couple of “bronies” (adult fans, usually heterosexual men) but had no idea what they were so involved in. My sister Liz posted on Facebook that the documentary “Bronies” was available on Netflix and that everyone should watch it. I added it to my queue and promptly forgot about it.

A few days later, I was looking for something to watch and decided to watch the documentary. Suddenly I had a glimpse into this very unusual and very wonderful fandom: people who are not small girls who love “My Little Pony.” The love, friendship, and enthusiasm they shared for Twilight Sparkle and her friends in Ponyville was contagious, and my heart was warmed.

More importantly, I was very interested in what creator Lauren Faust was saying as she talked to the fans about the show. She wanted to create a show that reflected young girls and their interests, which is evident in the show’s production design and writing. But she was also gratified there were all of these people showing support for her creation, proving “that girls and what they are interested in is worthwhile.”

Curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to know what this was all about. I wanted to know what kind of show would create as passionate and large a following as the most recent interpretation of “My Little Pony.” The first episode was enjoyable and entertaining. I liked the bright colors, the interesting characters, and the clever writing. I kept watching. And then this happened.

There is an early episode where the “principal” pony (I say principal, although there is just as much screen time/emphasis on the other ponies in her group of friends), Twilight Sparkle, is practicing magic with her assistant and friend Spike. Later they are walking through Ponyville, and Spike comments on Twilight’s incredible abilities with magic. He says, “I thought unicorns were only supposed to have a little magic that matches their special talents.” And Twilight replies, “True, for ponies whose talents are for things like cooking or singing or math.”

I almost paused the show right then and there. I think I did. Wait a minute. A show for young girls, filled with pink and sparkles and cupcakes, that offers alternatives to domestic pursuits? A show for girls that promotes learning and self-exploration not limited to “traditional gender roles?” I had to keep watching.

And what I saw was incredible. A cast of complex characters living in an elaborate, complicated world. Equestria is a matriarchal society, led by the beautiful and wise Princess Celestia, in which each episode focuses on the adventures of the female ponies of Ponyville. There are stallions around, and although (as one commenter pointed out) they do share important roles in Equestria society, it is not their status that dictates that of the female ponies. Rather, it is the mares who are in positions of authority, and around whom each episode focuses. And each episode delves deeper into the complexities of the diverse group of ponies Twilight befriends.

One could generalize their characters, of course. Twilight is the smart one, Applejack the rustic hard worker, Rainbow Dash is the reckless athlete, Pinkie Pie is the comic relief, Fluttershy is timid, Rarity is snobby. But I could do the same with all my friends and family, and I wouldn’t be doing their profound and intricate personalities justice. The ponies learn and grow in a way that reflects the real world to a startling degree.

In every episode one of the ponies learns a lesson about friendship, but each lesson is both complex and meaningful. In one episode, athlete Rainbow Dash is laid up in the hospital with a hurt wing. Scoffing that “reading is for eggheads,” she refuses to read the books available at the hospital until she is so bored she picks up a recommendation from her more “egghead” friend Twilight. And once she begins, she can’t stop. She comes up with excuses to keep her friends from visiting so she has more time to read. When her wing is healed and she has to leave the book unfinished, she tries sneaking back into the hospital to steal the book so she can find out what happens next. When she finally admits to liking the book and asks to borrow it from Twilight, she says, “I thought reading was only for smart people.” And Twilight replies, “Just because you’re an athlete doesn’t mean you’re not smart.” And just because you like reading doesn’t mean you can’t also be good at sports.

In another episode, cheerful Pinkie Pie, friend to everypony in Ponyville, tries to befriend newcomer Cranky Doodle Donkey. He will have none of it. She persists to an obnoxious degree, desperate to make him smile. In the process she learns he lost his one true love and, after a lifetime of searching for her, has finally given up and is settling down to live alone. She discovers this lost true love is one of her friends living in Ponyville, and succeeds in bringing them together again. She is rewarded with Cranky’s friendship and the smile she was so desperate for. And the lesson she learned is there are different kinds of friends, and that some of them would just like to be left alone, and that’s just fine.


And in one of my favorite episodes, Rarity gets kidnapped by the rough and cruel Diamond Dogs while she’s out searching for gems for the gowns she creates. One of her magic talents is the ability to find jewels, and so she is taken against her will to find gems for the Diamond Dogs. The other ponies (and especially Spike, who has a crush on Rarity) rush off to her rescue, sure that she is helpless against the dirty and disgusting conditions of her capture. When they arrive, however, they find that she has used her wits to outsmart the Diamond Dogs, and they end up leaving with all the jewels she was forced to find for them. The lesson? “Just because a pony is lady-like doesn’t mean she’s weak.”

Each episode follows the same pattern, where a pony learns a lesson in friendship and self-discovery. And each lesson is similarly far from simple, from Fluttershy becoming a bully when she tries to learn to assert herself, to Spike having to decide between his friendship with the ponies and the dragons he wants to impress. And in the finale of Season 3, I can't help but tear up when Celestia sings to Twilight Sparkle about her very real, very great potential. Twilight's journey is far from complete, and Celestia shows her that she has the strength and courage to "go where she will go, and see what she will see." Her potential is unaffected by cultural or personal limitations. It's beautiful and inspiring. “Avatar: The Last Airbender” and “The Legend of Korra” are the only other children’s shows I know that offer comparable lessons in life and friendship.

I have a theory, that we all harbor a human need for imaginative play, a need that extends into adulthood. As children we have free reign to explore this need, but as adults I believe that although the need is still present, we have less “acceptable” avenues to pursue it. That’s why we love films and television. That’s why we cosplay, and why we write stories and songs and plays (and why actors are like children). And that’s why a ridiculous number of adults are fans of “My Little Pony.” We recognize in it the quality of imaginative play we crave as grown-ups, and appreciate the importance the show gives to young girls and their need for positive growth in a sometimes very disheartening world.

And very simply, “My Little Pony” makes me happy. I love the lovely animation and the clever writing. I love that they use colloquialisms like “everypony” and “somepony.” I love that they stamp their hooves to applaud. I love that Equestria is filled with cities like “Cloudsdale,” “Manehatten,” “Trottingham,” and of course the capital is “Canterlot.” I love that I can never tell whether they are calling the head of Ponyville the “mayor” or  the “mare.” And I love that the show is filled with great puns, like my favorite ponies Lickety Split, whose cutie mark is an ice cream sundae, and Minuette, whose cutie mark is an hourglass.

I can be having a terrible day, and I just need to watch an episode of “My Little Pony” to brighten my perspective. I can be reminded of life lessons I have forgotten. I can laugh at Pinkie Pie’s strange antics, and feel connected in Fluttershy’s love of animals. And I can know that there is a television show that celebrates little girls and all that they love, whether it’s pink ruffles or sports or books or nature. So yeah, I guess I am a Brony. And I love every minute of it.

Twelve

If I looked up
would I see you
descending
an angel with wings of dust
and a halo of morning sunlight
your brown curls fluttering in the wind
beckoning with your long finger
smiling gently
quietly
as you floated to the ground
softly as a cherry blossom

Or would you be
ascending
long hair streaming behind you
as you rushed heavenward
arms flung back
toes curled
glancing back only once
to wink
and grin
as you flew up
swiftly as a sparrow

Or are you simply
missing
a hole in the sky
swallowed by the dust and debris
by the thousands of other souls
merely lost
as the world collapsed around you
hair tangled
eyes wide with terror
as you disappeared
as completely as the end

When I look up
I see you
lingering
in the light
in the twin beams
that rise above the rubble
that illuminate the water
spilling from your name
into the hole in the ground
as dark as your hair
that fills
as you filled me
as richly as forever

In Memory

I am a part of a writing group called "The Writing Circle" here in Ashland, and we've been involved in a continuing project in which one member of the group chooses a word for the week (some past examples are "heart," "loss," and "speak") and to which we all respond. Our responses may be non-fiction, where we simply discuss the word and what it means to us at the time, or fictional. The stories we write don't have to include the word at all, and we've had some interesting and vivid writings spring up from the strangest inspiration. I've been trying to write more fiction, and sometimes the word inspires me in a completely unexpected way.

This week, for instance, the word was "sweat." The other members of the group wrote some very interesting and thoughtful responses, while the only thing I could think of was an attic, stuffy and warm. This story emerged from that image. It does not have a title, but it is a tribute to the stories my mom used to tell my sister and I growing up, a tradition I hope somehow continues. I can only hope that my memory serves, and does my mom's incredible imagination and storytelling justice.

"She pulled on the thin rope carefully, afraid the attic staircase would come toppling down onto her head. But with an even movement, and one momentary tug, the rectangle of ceiling opened, and with her free hand, Annie reached up and pulled the staircase down. Dust peppered her face and she squinted, shook her head, sneezed. Then, looking up, she climbed the staircase slowly and cautiously, periodically changing her footing to adjust to the shifting wood.

A billow of hot air ballooned around her head as she peeped into the attic, and, panting, she pushed herself up the final few steps and stood, dusting off her jeans and sighing. With hands on hips, Annie glanced around the attic. It was less cluttered than she expected, and in fact there was simply less there than she remembered. The wooden floorboards stretched across the large space, leading her to the circular window that faced the street. She followed their direct path and peered out of the window, greasy with grime and age. Annie sighed again, and turned back to survey the room.

It would not be difficult to clear out the space and turn it into a nursery. There wasn’t much to go through and move, and they could probably sell what they or her sisters didn’t want. It was a surprise to no one she inherited the house, along with all her grandmother’s possessions, to divide as she chose. They had all spent many a summer in the big Victorian house, tromping through the gardens and running up the stairs, but it was Annie who spent the most time with their grandmother, sharing stories and reading aloud when her mother’s mother’s eyes grew weak. And it was Annie who spent the most time in the attic, imagining strange and fantastic adventures among the forgotten detritus of normal life.

Though now she wasn’t really sure why. It was stiflingly hot up there. Annie lifted her hair and let the stuffy air cool the back of her sweating neck. She absently rubbed the inside of her elbows, wiping the sweat onto her jeans. They would definitely have to get some sort of air conditioning up there. She glanced at the ceiling and wondered vaguely if they should install a fan.

She sighed. Nothing had to be decided right away. She was on a reconnaissance mission, and they would figure out the details later. All she needed to know now was that the project was feasible. Later on they could decide if it was practical. Coughing lightly in the hot air, Annie moved back toward the stairs and the fresh, cool air that flowed through the lower part of the house.

As she turned, she saw out of the corner of her eye a trunk. She paused mid-step, then rotated so she was facing the trunk head-on. As the shape became familiar, she rushed forward and knelt in front of it, gently moving aside a large cardboard box that rested on top. Annie’s breath caught as she lifted the lid, thrilled to find it unlocked, and rather uncertain of what she would find inside. As she recognized what she instinctively sought, her eyes lit up with childlike delight, and she reached into the trunk with reverent hands.

A top hat. Resting simply on a pile of loose papers, worn with time and affection, the hat seemed to remember her hands as Annie carefully lifted it from its place. Though it had been years, her body remembered more than her mind, and she automatically flipped the hat so she was gazing down into its cylindrical bowl. Unconsciously wiping away the sweat that brushed her brow, Annie lifted the hat to her face and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. Fresh air, sunshine, earth, flowers, water, joy. All these scents and a thousand others Annie felt rather than smelled in the lining of the top hat. She bowed her head and moved to place the hat on her head…

And paused. Perhaps it would no longer work. Perhaps the magic faded with time. Or perhaps she was too old. Like Wendy she had grown up and could no longer travel to the strange and distant lands she had visited as a child. Moving with a decision she had not entirely made herself, she completed the action and gingerly put on the hat, now barely fitting on her grown-up head. She closed her eyes, and for a moment she imagined she was growing smaller, shrinking until she was enveloped by the velvet of the hat and sent spinning into another land. Images, fuzzy with memory, passed before her darkened eyes. In one, giant stalks of grass and insects larger than she. In another, a talking dog. And once, darkness and momentary fear. But as she opened her eyes again, Annie saw she was still in the attic, kneeling painfully on the wooden floor, the only smell the twinge of mothballs.

Disappointed, far more than her rational adult mind would allow, she reached up and took off the hat, feeling pain as it clung to a few errant strands of hair. She sighed, and placed the hat back in its former resting place, trying unsuccessfully to keep it aright on top of the papers. It leaned casually, and for a moment Annie imagined she saw a glimmer of gold shining on the black velvet.

She moved to close the lid, and again paused. Looking down at her belly, still flat, she nonetheless placed a hand there, feeling the life that would soon grow and kick and bother. A smile inched its way across her face, and Annie glanced once more at the top hat, resting, waiting. She slowly closed the lid and allowed the smile to linger. She rested a hand tenderly on the trunk, then with both hands pushed herself up. She straightened, once more brushing the sweat from her temples. She smiled again, then turned, and softly, mindfully, walked to the attic staircase. She descended into the cool air, and with a final, sentimental glance at the trunk, she left the airless room for tomorrow."

A Melody of the Blue Mountains

I wrote my first fan fiction. Ever. I'm actually surprised I haven't written anything before, because there are many television shows and books that affect me deeply, and I grow to love and admire the characters within them. I guess it never occurred to me to actually explore those characters more deeply, and allow my imagination to take them to new adventures. Fan fiction is a good exercise, because you have characters and a world already in place, and you just have to work within those parameters as you make up new stories. However, it can also be difficult, because of those parameters. I had to do quite a bit of research before I was satisfied my story would make sense, but it is more rewarding because I didn't take liberties with character and information.

If you've talked with me at all recently, or seen any recent posts on Facebook, you'll know that I have dwarf fever. I've seen "The Hobbit" twice, and I'm seeing it again tomorrow, and while it's not a perfect movie and there are many things I don't like about it, dwarves. Dwarves are the best. My friend Julia and I have been obsessing over dwarves, sharing behind the scenes videos and interviews, and getting ridiculously excited about any dwarf-related material. I was heavily inspired by two pieces of fan fiction Julia wrote (which can be read here: http://jgaskisanerd.tumblr.com/post/39581351186/title-no-good-news-in-the-dead-of-night-author and here: http://jgaskisanerd.tumblr.com/post/38670904589/title-the-darkest-hour-author, the second being my particular favourite), and she has encouraged my own exploration in this world. I'm not sure I can explain it, but I've caught dwarf fever and the only prescription is more dwarves. 

My favourite dwarf is Nori:

                   

I can't get over his amazing hair (and eyebrow braids!) and his sense of adventure and mischief. He doesn't have a large role in the films yet, but we'll see how it pans out in the next two.  The second time I watched the film I paid close attention and came away with the following information:

-The number of lines Nori has: 1

-The number of times others call Nori by name: 4, quite possibly 5, but with a Dori and an Ori in the mix sometimes it's hard to distinguish. One of those times is to make Nori pay up because he bet against Bilbo coming on the quest. I shake my head at you, Nori.

-The number of times Nori and Bofur are seen together: 3. This lead me to the conclusion that they are best friends, and because this picture exists: 

my conclusion must be correct. So that is what my story is about. It's quite short, but I have more ideas in the works and because there isn't much about the dwarves outside of "The Hobbit" chronicle, there are all sorts of crazy adventures you can get them into. In the least I'm excited to be writing again.

 So I hope you enjoy my little tale, entitled "A Melody of the Blue Mountains."

    The crisp morning air swept lightly through the streets of the small mountain village, making smells sharper and colours brighter. The sun had barely risen over the towering mountainside, but the streets were already busy, buzzing with the hum of banter and chatter, and the murmur of dwarfish industry.

    Suddenly a shout pierced through the everyday clamour, the cool air buoying it up and sending it racing down to follow its target.
    “Nori! Confound you, you thievin’ little scrap!”
    The young dwarf chuckled lightly to himself as he ran down the path, newly braided beard bouncing on his chest, a mischievous glint permanently housed in the corner of his eyes. He tucked his spoils more deeply into his shirt and picked up speed, dodging through crowds and nipping around houses as he made his way toward the edge of the settlement. He slipped into an alley and settled himself behind a barrel, ear cocked, his light ginger hair sticking stubbornly where the wind whisked it up. Even at normal times his hair stood up at odd angles, despite any attempts at his own dressing. It gave him a distinctive and rather comical appearance, a fact that made keeping from notice difficult, and hiding from local authorities nearly impossible. No matter where he went, he always managed to get into trouble, and it was no different here at one of the dwarfish settlements in the heights of the Blue Mountains.
    He was a young dwarf, his beard hardly long enough to braid, but he was an experienced one. Like the dwarves of Kazad-Dhum and the rest of Durin’s Folk he left Erebor with the coming of Smaug, but unlike the others he did not miss it so sorely. More out of mischievousness than adventure, Nori sought new places eagerly, and quickly became known as a local nuisance.
    When he was sure he wasn’t followed, Nori grinned and leaned against the wall, pulling his prize from near his chest. He admired it in the filtered morning sunlight, eyes crinkling in merry amusement. Then a voice sounded in the shadows, and Nori leapt up, tucking his spoils into his shirt and peering down the alley.
    “I saw you.”
    A moment later, a dwarf stepped out from between two houses, a dwarf around his own age. Nori narrowed his eyes. It was a dwarf he did not know, and clearly not of Durin’s Folk. But Nori was not particular of clan loyalty, and he recognized the faint haunting of the Dread Dragon that he saw only too often in the eyes of the dwarf refugees. It had been a few years since the Desolation, but living in exile did not suit dwarfish temperament. And Nori realized, as he peered at the dwarf, he liked the hint of roguishness in his bearing, so he said nothing, but eyed him warily.
    The dwarf studied him curiously, head cocked to one side, giving his already goofy appearance a decided nod. His brown hair was braided and with the flaps on his hat curved joyfully up toward the sky. His beard, like Nori’s, was not full grown. He spoke again and nodded towards Nori’s chest.
    “What have you got there?”
    Nori hesitated as the tramp of dwarfish boots sounded behind him in the street. The other dwarf looked past his shoulder, but nothing came into the alley after them and the sound faded away. Nori paused again, then pulled forth a wooden flute, beautifully carved and inlaid with patterns of silver. It was a fine instrument, made with a labour of love and care, and sorely missed by its maker. The dwarf stared for a moment, then burst into delighted laughter.
    “What a thing to steal! Have you played it yet?”
    Nori shook his head, then slowly smiled. His smile grew as another dwarf, slightly younger than the two, ambled out into the alley, hugging his considerable girth.
    “You’re too fast,” this new dwarf complained, resting a hand on the wall to catch his breath. “It’s not like we stole anything.”
    The brown bearded dwarf winked at Nori.
    “I’m Bofur,” he said. “And that,” he continued, inclining his head, “is my brother Bombur.”
    Bombur did not reply, but raised a hand in greeting. Nori replied with a slight bow, not bothering to hide his amused smile.
    “Nori,” he replied, and added quietly, “at your service.” Bofur inclined his head in response, then gestured with a large hand.
    “Come on,” he said cheerily. “Let’s go and try out that loot of yours.”
    He turned and lead the way out of the houses, towards the west and the neighboring forest. Nori hesitated for a moment, then followed Bofur along the edge of the village and into the lines of trees, Bombur waddling behind. Nori thought of his own brothers as he walked, to whom he was fervently loyal but most often avoided. Dori, the eldest, was generally cross, cross with the loss of their home and kindred, but he kept an almost motherly watch over their youngest brother Ori, a watch that was too close for Nori's liking. Ori was young, too young to grow a beard even, and was quiet and bookish, but Nori had a soft spot in his heart for the young dwarf. The business of Erebor had been troubling and Dori often reminisced and brooded over the return of their homelands, while Ori looked on thoughtfully. As the middle brother, Nori grew to become fiercely independent and rather reticent, to the annoyance of his brothers. But they could not keep him from his own deeds, which generally involved no small amount of thievery, to Dori’s particular exasperation. Nori smiled as his remembered his latest scrape, where he had stolen a fine pair of knives, but had been unable to produce them at the maker’s request. Despite his searching, Dori could not find them either, and hadn’t spoken to Nori for a week. But far away from their dwarfish mines, good weaponry was hard to come by, and Nori kept the blades, just in case.
    Bofur lead them through the trees to a clearing, gently lit by the rising autumn sun and bordered by a sparkling spring. Nori gazed in appreciation at the spot, quiet and almost warm, but not far enough into the forest to fear the shadows. Bofur seated himself underneath a large tree and took off his hat, leaning back and closing his eyes. A small smile played around his lips. Bombur stumbled into the clearing after them and looked around sadly.
    “Why couldn’t you have stolen something more useful?,” Bombur inquired, gazing forlornly at the flute. “It’s nearly lunch, and I haven’t had a bite to eat since breakfast!”
    Nori’s grinned, and with a free hand reached back into his shirt and pulled out a large and still steaming loaf of bread, smelling sweetly of seeds and honey. He tore it in two, leaving a considerable portion for himself, and tossed half to the younger dwarf, whose eyes lit up as he caught it. He tore into it with small bright teeth, and half the loaf was gone before Nori could blink. Bofur laughed as Bombur divided what was left of the loaf and shared it with his brother.
    “Now all we need is a bit of ale, and we would have a regular feast!” Bofur said.
    Nori’s grin deepened, and an impish glint sparkled in his eyes. He reached into his coat and produced, impossibly, a large tankard, sloshing with fresh and foamy ale. Bofur blinked, then burst out laughing as Nori took a deep swallow then passed the mug along. Bofur swung the tankard up and gulped, then tossed the rest to Bombur, who caught it deftly and drank quickly and noisily. Bofur cheered him on as he swallowed the rest of the ale, burping loudly and long, sending crowds of birds shrieking into the sky.
    Nori sat quietly, watching the two brothers joke and laugh. Though private, Nori was glad to enjoy the company of cheerful dwarves, and to enjoy the calm of the forest so near the mountains of old. At times he missed the great halls of Erebor, grand and fearsome to a young dwarf, but love of the mountains was in his blood, and even here he felt the kinship of the earth and his fellow dwarves. He looked up and watched as leaves fell and birds hopped on springy branches, and did not notice Bofur studying him curiously. He did not see what the other dwarf saw, a lingering sadness beneath his quiet contemplation of the wood. After a bit, Bofur nodded towards the flute, still held lovingly in Nori’s hands.
    “Now why don’t you try it out? You couldn’t have stolen it just to look at it.”
    Nori gazed down at the instrument for a moment, running his fingers along the smooth wood. Then he raised the flute to his lips, and the brisk air filled with a sorrowful tune, played sweetly and carefully. Bofur closed his eyes, and Bombur sat in awe, watching and listening as the young dwarf played songs of home, of mines and mountains, gold and jewels, weapons and tools. The melody drifted in between the trees, and stilled the coming of the day. They sat there for many minutes, passing the flute between the three, and after the last song was played and the final notes hung in the air, the dwarves sighed and the flute was returned to Nori’s eager hands. Then Bofur stood and stretched, planting his hat firmly on his head, and reaching down to lift Bombur, which took a considerable amount of effort. Nori smiled and got to his own feet, and for a moment they stood, remembering and longing. They were young, but history was in their blood, and they felt the years of glory and sorrow twist through their veins. Nori raised his eyes and met Bofur’s, and they smiled at one another, sharing in the comfort of kinship. They knew that though they lived in a world of men and elves, orcs and dragons, the race of dwarves would live on, carved into the mountainside and written in songs played in the forest by young dwarves, eager for adventure.

So take me back

Istanbul. My favourite stop of the trip. The following are excerpts from my journal.

December 17, 2012

“We reached the city at about noon, and as we were coming into port I stood out on the starboard side of the promenade and watched as we approached the city. Mist enshrouded the buildings, and I heard adhan (the Muslim call to prayer) float eerily across the dark water to meet me. It was an incredible sound, one I have never heard before in life but felt like I had known from forever.

We went to a palace, the Topkapı Palace, built by Medmed II. It was full of interesting things and detailed history, and was very beautiful, but it was the Roman Cistern and the Blue Mosque that so affected me. The Cistern is a couple of stories underground, and it is rows and rows of columns standing in a few feet of water. The ceiling drips, and the columns are lit by a strange red-orange light, and from the steps you can see something moving in the water, which reveals itself to be huge grey fish with silver backs. Indistinct ethereal music floats between the pillars and the whole thing feels quiet eerie and strange. I kept imagining ghosts lurking in the shadows, watching, or taking the form of those big slow fish. It was wonderful and strange.

But it was the Blue Mosque that I will not forget. I came prepared with my head covered, so I just had to slip out of my shoes and step onto the soft red carpet, and I was transfixed and transformed. I raised my eyes and looked and looked, looked at the exquisite painting and architecture, looked at the detail of craftsmanship, looked at every colour in every corner. I looked so hard and it was so beautiful I began to cry. Such beauty and devotion. I did not want to leave, and had to brush tears away as I crossed the threshold. It was a deeply personal and spiritual experience to be there inside the Mosque. As we drove to port, I could faintly hear adhan echoing through the streets, and I closed my eyes and never felt happier.”

December 18, 2012, Deck 13

“The wind is coming from the North, and pushing the clouds ahead of it. The ship’s flags are snapping and the ribbon of my journal fluttering, straining to follow the breeze. I am waiting for adhan, to have those glorious sounds find me on my little perch atop the ship. This ship that’s a small floating city. The sun is trying to break through the clouds, in vain, while seagulls swoop and dip between the boats braving the tumultuous bay, in water that’s so dark the blue is an afterthought. I love the Turkish flag, the bright stamp of red against the brown of winter trees and brick buildings. I love Istanbul. Nothing will compare to the welcoming I received from the city yesterday, but the skyline pricks at my heart with its tall minarets and will leave a treasured scar.

Like the Ottoman kings, I am waxing poetical. I will leave you to your thoughts, and just watch.

My waiting has paid off. Such a wondrous cacophony. I follow the sound as a sunflower follows the sun.”

The rest of the day I wrote about later, and it was wonderful, though in a different way than our first day in Istanbul. Liz, Jacob, Annalicia and I went to the Grand Bazaar by Tram, where I bought two glass tea cups and some apple tea. We just wandered around looking, and though the vendors tried to get our attention no one was ever pushy. In the Bazaar you can get wonderfully lost, and we walked around for a couple of hours, just looking and exploring. At one point adhan echoed through the tunnels with crackling normality, and I was haunted by the sound. Then we got some snacks and returned to the ship.

A grand and glorious adventure I will never forget.  

Voyager (Part II)

(And yes, that's a Star Trek reference.)

Since Liz already linked my blog in her own account of our adventures, I suppose I ought to finish up here myself. Pictures to come soon; there have been some problems in the sharing of all our photos, so as soon as I figure it out I will share them here.

In the last post I left you at Ephesus, with the great ruins and many cats. Today we sail for Istanbul, my favourite stop on our trip. And as a matter of fact, I will leave that for another post. It is too large to place here with the rest. I will merely say it was one of the most memorable and deeply touching experiences I've ever had, and I will not soon forget it.

After Istanbul we spent two days at sea, as we rounded the boot of Italy toward Naples. The first day in the afternoon we sailed into a storm, and Dad and I were swimming in the rain, but when thunder and lightening appeared we decided to go inside. Isha and I turned off all the lights in our stateroom and sat in our window, and watched the lightening strike the ocean, and then we went up to Deck 13 and watched it from there, talking and dancing to the pop music playing on the lower deck. The lightening over the water was spectacular.

The ship started rocking pretty heavily that evening, though that night I felt fine. Melissa and I went dancing, and it was pretty weird to be dancing and then suddenly the floor would disappear, or it would be too close. And you could see everyone on the dance floor shifting with the ship in one wriggling mass. The next day, however, I did not feel so well, and almost threw up at breakfast (though for some unfathomable reason I did not). I felt pretty blah so I lounged in Liz and Jacob's bed, ordered room service, and then felt better in the afternoon after taking a walk on the promenade. I just took it easy, playing Guitar Hero and singing karaoke. It was fun.

Napoli was fun and interesting. We didn't have a guide, but we paid for a taxi to take us to Pompeii, where we wandered in awe among the great city, erased of life by the wrath of Mount Vesuvius. It was wonderful and unearthly, especially seeing the casts of the molds of people found buried in the ash and lava. It was hauntingly beautiful and one of the creepiest things I've ever seen. Then we went downtown to a place called "il pizzioglio de presidente," where Bill Clinton ate once, and where I had the best margherita pizza I've ever had.  Then we just wandered around, looking at the impressive architecture and admiring the life of the city. We also saw a flash mob in a big covered piazza, where students from a local ballet school did a hip-hop performance. It was pretty awesome, and relaxing. It was nice to just walk around and get a feel for the city. It's a lovely place, and makes me want to live by the sea.

That night was the last on the ship before we returned to Civitavecchia and Rome, so I dressed up and we had dinner and went to the ship's finale show "Elements," which was incredible. So much so that I went twice. The dances were interesting and enjoyable to watch, and Dorota got to dance a short ballet, which was nice to see her in her dance background. But it's nothing compared to her aerial artistry, and you can just see how much more she loves flying. She and Roberto did a couple of pieces, and were a big part of the finale, which was grand and sweeping and gorgeous. It was incredible to watch, especially the individual presences and talents.

The next day we landed in Civitavecchia, waited a bit for a taxi, then arrived in Rome around noon. We got into our suite, a little place called mok house, then at the owner's recommendation had lunch at a tiny place just two doors down. We wanted to have pizza but they only served it for dinner, so we ended up going back there later. It was extremely delicious, and the hostess incredibly kind and welcoming.

That afternoon Liz, Jacob, Isha and I walked down to the Coliseum to look around and then take a bus tour so I could get a quick overview of the city before I had to leave. We explored the Coliseum, imagining it filled with thousand of people watching horrible and grisly things (and imitating those people). Then we got on the bus and sat on top, listening to the commentary and the strange midi-files of Italian music. It was very quick, and the only stop we got off at was the Vatican City, where the light of day was just fading over the piazza. We went into the Basilica, which was beautiful and humbling in a very different way than the Blue Mosque. Inside the Mosque I felt peaceful and awed by the beauty of life and creation, while in the Basilica I felt tiny and insignificant amidst the towering statues and high ceilings. I suppose both feelings have a place in life to some degree. We didn't see the Sistine Chapel because it was closed for the day, but we did see Michelangelo's "Pieta," which was stunning. Such beauty and detail, tension and rest, movement and grace. It was amazing.

By then it was dark, and we got on what appeared to be the Knight Bus from Harry Potter to finish the tour. Seriously, from the top and very front of the bus, any corner we took seemed to narrowly miss parked cars, lamp posts, and pedestrians, and we seemed to slip through the narrowest cracks in traffic. The rest of the tour was a bit of a blur, but I learned that Caesar was not killed in the Forum but at the site of some ancient churches, and I know I loved the feel of Rome at night: the Christmas lights, the bustle of people, the old and grand monuments appearing suddenly around a corner, warmly lit with a yellow glow. The bus dropped us off sooner than expected, so we had to walk to our landmark of the Basilica Santa Maria Maggiore and to home. And later after dinner Jacob, Dad, Melissa and I wandered in our neighborhood and found gelato (kaffe gelato! What bliss!) and explored the then-quiet streets. Then I stayed up all night (which turned out to be a terrible idea, those of you who know how sick I got coming back), reading and watching videos online, and listening to the chatter of the Italians at the bar across the street. It was a quick view of the city, only a snapshot, but I loved it and I will return to delve deeper.

It is difficult to describe how I felt overall, but I will try. It is amazing how similar people are, no matter where you go. They may look a little different, speak differently, have different customs, but essentially human beings are all the same. We laugh, we cry, we smile, we get angry, we are curious and stupid, wise and courageous. I wish we could all just see and understand that we all have the same needs and wants, and not fight each other for our inconsequential differences. This trip has filled me with new insight and hope, and a vast and sweeping love of the world. If we only had a taste of another's world, why would we ever want to destroy it? I learned to look inside and listen quietly to myself and the world humming around me. I learned that the ancient world is full of watchful ghosts, that wish us no harm if we tread lightly and respectfully. At times the ancientness of the ground I stood on was so overwhelming I was numb to the wonder of it. I could not grasp in my mind the thousands of years that crossed the spot, or the lives of the thousands of people who lived there, who laughed and worked, had families and friends, were happy or not. They are like stories one can fold up and tuck away. It was baffling and wonderful.

And so it was. Shalom.

Traveler

It has been a long while, and I apologize. I would say my New Year's Resolution would be to write more often, but then I probably wouldn't and be disappointed in myself and eat way to much chocolate in self-pity. So I'll just say I will try to be more present, and share more about the thoughts and experiences I've had in my few days.

I went on a cruise! And it was incredible and life-changing. I won't give a day-by-day account, but rather compose a couple of posts about the highlights of the trip, and my overall thoughts and feelings. I didn't take any pictures, but Liz and Dad did, so hopefully when they share what they took I will add some to these posts.

There was some strange family tension throughout, but we managed to survive, and it was a small piece in the larger puzzle that was our adventure. And we're all so delightfully quirky. We checked into the ship at about noon on 12/12/12, so at 12:12pm and 12 seconds, we did a 12 second dance to celebrate our forthcoming vacation. It was delightful.

It was also nice to be on vacation, to not have to worry about work or any sort of responsibility, but to take time to go exploring or just read. Ah, the time to read! We had several days at sea, and I would find a quiet place on the ship to read or write, and stare out over the rolling waters. The ship itself was wonderful. There were so many fun things to do: arcade games (mainly air hockey and Guitar Hero), karaoke, dancing, shows in the theatre, swimming. It was also fun to just wander around the ship, and see the land and sea sliding by from different vantage points. I loved it, and though one day the rocking of the ship nearly made me sick, I managed to not become fully sick (that came later).

Our first two stops were Olympia and Athens, where we had an amazing tour guide named Niki, who was fun and interesting and funny, and who treated us like friends and not tourists. She took us to out of the way places to sample fresh olive oil and gyros, and was a wealth of information about the sites we visited, like the home of the Olympic Games and the Acropolis. It was wonderful to be in places where there is so much history, and from which so much modern culture comes from. In Olympia I imagined the ghosts that were unearthed with the excavation of the site, and that they were watching us from beneath the shadows of the olive trees. We had fun and it was incredibly interesting, and it was hard to believe it was real and not a reconstruction. It was all so strange and beautiful.

It is hard to say how I felt in many of these places, because I'm not sure I felt much but a numb kind of awe. I have no sense of the kind of history that those people do. It was very strange to walk on the very marble the ancient Greeks walked upon. It's also interesting to see how patriotic each nation is, having hundreds of years of occupancy and liberation, and the fierce feelings it brings up. Going from Greece to Turkey, where the Turks occupied Greece for so long, we didn't even mention it. We were almost afraid to bring it up. The United States is such a young nation, and although we have had our own passionate liberation, our situation is much different. Though of course there are many Americans today who are aggressively patriotic. I've just never felt so young and out of place.

Our first stop in Turkey was Ephesus, which was extraordinary. You enter the site, and there isn't much to see, but you walk a few minutes and all of a sudden the city spreads out in front of you, falling with the hills down into the valley. There is so much history and it's so strange and familiar, I honestly didn't know what to think. There is also a very strange phenomenon at the site of Ephesus, which is the presence of hundreds of cats. There are cats all over the ruins. Everywhere. Some are skinny and sickly but most look clean and well-fed, and some of them have part of their fur shaved, and they have small wounds and stitches, almost all on the left hip. It was inexplicable. Where they there before, or did they come when the site was excavated? It was very strange. Almost as if they were ghosts or gods come to protect the exposed city.

You will see, I believe strongly in ghosts and spirits inhabiting animal forms, and this is a theme that recurs again and again for me on this trip.

One more tidbit, then I'll save the rest (and the best) for the next chapter. After our day in Ephesus, Melissa and I and the parents went to the show on board, which was called "Roberto and Dorota." I had no idea what it was about really, but it had something to do with acrobatics and aerial artistry, and I cannot resist that. It turned out to be incredible, and one of the most amazing parts of the trip. Roberto and Dorota were a married couple from Poland, whose background was in ballet from the Warsaw School of Ballet, and then they lived and studied aerial artistry in France. They began the show with a balancing act (that woman was so strong and graceful), then she did the hoop, he did straps, he did the Spanish web and she joined him, then they closed with an aerial silks routine. They were fun and funny, and they always looked like they were having so much fun, especially together. Dorota always had this little smile on her face, like she knew something about gravity we didn't, a look of pure joy and serenity. I want to see her as Peter Pan. The show was well-produced and designed, particularly the lighting. The show started more simply with the balancing act, then became more dramatic and intense, then ended on a fun and whimsical note. We were so astounded we convinced Liz and Jacob to go to the second show, and I liked it so much I went too. I think I liked it even more after seeing it again. A fantastic show, beautiful and powerful. Here is a link to a trailer of some of their work to get a taste of what I'm talking about: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7pvk3C8Y_Hk But seeing it in person was simply breathtaking.

I will leave that for now. I hope you enjoy reading about my adventures, and more will come soon! Shalom, dear friends.

Out of Context

Liz did this recently, and I thought there were enough strange text messages in my cell phone to follow suit. These are some of the random text messages I have sent and received that make absolutely no sense if you weren't a part of the conversation. Which is sometimes more fun.

"I just rode a horse bareback on a high school auditorium stage."

"Karma, bitch."

"Chocolate shelf is very important."

"I wouldn't touch you with a plastic one. Why're you on the floor?"

"We are doing good. Still electricity. The squirrel that bit you is under water."

"Here, there, and everywhere. Hip, hip, so hip to be square."

"I just saw your drag queen doppelganger. I think her name is Glitter Diamond and she's amazing."

"Gpwajtdm."

Have a great night, lovelies! Shalom

One Final Note

Here it is. The final installment of the chronicle of the New York trip. I hope you've enjoyed reading so far, and I promise to get the pictures up soon.

Day Five: Monday.
Monday morning it was raining, but I didn't realize how much it was raining until I started leaving the apartment. I went down the stairs but when I got to the landing I saw rain pouring down outside the building, and so I went back into the apartment to grab the umbrella that luckily Blaine pointed out to me a few days before (only because it has this cool telescopic plastic cover that you can unfold when you go inside so it doesn't drip everywhere). It was really raining. Like, torrentially. (Broadstairs, anyone?) I shared the umbrella with a woman and her small daughter walking across the street to the train station where I took the train to Chelsea to get onto the High Line.

This is the High Line: http://www.thehighline.org/. It's absolutely beautiful, and because it was still raining when I got there there was nobody around. I got a couple of really good pictures in before others started showing up. It stopped raining about ten minutes after I got there, and it warmed up pretty quickly, but I still didn't see a huge number of people (probably because it was Monday). I walked the whole thing, and I just thought about how beautiful it was and how much Mom would like it. I stopped for a while to read and then continued on to the end of the Line, which ends up in the Village.

I wandered around the Village for a while, looking for a present for my roommate Lorayne. I was unsuccessful, but I did stop in a pet shop to get something for Stanley. I chatted with the owner, and he thought I was a local, which was extremely satisfactory, but he also wanted me to come back and tell him how Stanley liked the food I bought him. I felt bad not telling him I was from out of town, but I enjoy the feeling of belonging, so I didn't mention it. I then walked around until I found Stonewall Inn, the site of the beginning of the gay and lesbian rights. There had been police raids at gay bars all around New York in the past, but one night the people fought back and made history with the Stonewall Riots. Now gay and lesbian history is really divided between Before and After Stonewall. It was really quiet because it was about 2pm on a Monday afternoon, but I ordered myself a cranberry juice and just sat within the bar for a while, thinking, writing, and feeling the rich history of the place. It was smaller than I imagined, and I could just picture it full of people. For some reason the bartender reminded me of someone (she was very nice and she looked familiar), and we were watching music videos on TV (and after a while I thought "can't we get some sports on in here?"). There were a few older men there, and I wondered how long they had been coming. How many years had they been going to the bar? Before the riots? After? Were they involved? It was just a really cool experience to be there.

That evening Blaine and I met up and went to the 9/11 memorial, which was absolutely lovely. It was a beautiful time of day (around 6pm) and the fountains and gardens they built in the place of the two towers is a lovely tribute to the people who lost their lives. The fountains are set in the footprints of the fallen Towers and have all the names of those on the planes, in the emergency service crews, and working in the Towers. The water flowing down into the lower square has an amazing pleated effect, and it's a very appropriate and touching memorial.

That night we did not go out, but spent the night at home, eating leftovers and playing Whirly Word on my iPad. It was another enjoyable, relaxing day, though a bit sad because I knew I had only one day left. But what a day that last day was.

Day Six: Tuesday.
Early in the morning I couldn't sleep, so I composed a poem then fell back asleep until late morning. It was my last day, and I had a few places I wanted to go, but it was all pretty low key. I made my way to the New York Public Library (the Schwarzman building), which is an amazingly beautiful building. I was getting pretty tired of all the noise and smoke and people, so it was nice to be somewhere cool and quiet. They had a really interesting exhibit downstairs about the history of hot lunches, from the first restaurants to automats to fast food. Then I went upstairs to the reading room where I just sat and read "War and Peace" in the beautiful, book-filled, dark wood room. It was incredible.

Then I walked to Grand Central Station where there is absolutely nowhere to sit in the main concourse, so I went down to the dining concourse and got myself a wildberry rhubarb sorbet (which was ridiculously delicious) and thought back on the week: how people have been really nice, no one has been rude or crabby to me. How my attitude has been that people are just people, and that no one is out there trying to deliberately hurt me so I've never felt unsafe. I had a wonderful time and talked with some really interesting people, saw some lovely and fascinating things, and had my fill of adventures.

After going to the Station I finally, finally found a post office to buy some postcard stamps, then walked around Midtown up Lexington and Madison to the edge of Central Park South. There I sat and read for a while and met another squirrel. It jumped onto the bench I was sitting on, but I was all "uh uh, no way, not again" and it jumped off and ran away.

I then made my way down to Times Square and the Brooks Atkinson Theatre to enter the lottery to try and get a ticket to see "Peter and the Starcatcher." There were quite a few people there to try and get tickets, but I found a nice older woman named Ruth who I convinced to put in her name for two tickets instead of just one, and I did the same. It turned out to be a really good idea, because her name was called, and not mine, so we both got a ticket, and good tickets at that. They were several rows back on the house right section and we had a great view. Before the show and during intermission we talked, and she teaches a Tai Chi class down in Florida where she lives, so we talked about that for a while, and my interest and plans in theatre. It was nice. The lottery was a couple hours before the show, so I called Blaine and we met up to have dinner before the show. He had a meeting that night so he couldn't join me for the play, but we shared a delicious felafel sandwich thing and talked about our days. While I was waiting for him I was sitting outside the Marriot lobby and saw two couples walking by: the women were wearing dress suits and hats, and the men were in full dress kilt. I approved.

"Peter and the Starcatcher" was incredible. I've never read the book the play is based on, being a bit of a Peter Pan purist, but I loved the play. It was a fun, creative prequel to the Peter Pan story without taking away from the original. It does not match up with J.M. Barrie's prequel stories, but it didn't need to. It didn't try to be the definitive story but just one story, and it was very imaginative script. It was a little predictable toward the end, but it was a wonderful show with a great cast. The guy who played the Black Stache was hilarious, and the girl who played Molly was incredible. The guy who played the Boy (Peter) was good, but there wasn't a lot of opportunity for him to really shine. The character is written as a pretty sullen, isolated boy for much of the play, so it wasn't until the end you really got to see his talent. But the ensemble was amazing (especially Ted) and the whole show was beautiful. One of my favourite lines from the play was, "He may have wished to be alone, but he didn't really mean it." It was a wonderful experience, and I am so glad I was able to see it.

After the show I was so happy and full of life I wanted to do something fun and, probably because of the whole Peter Pan flying thing, I wanted to be up high. So Blaine came and met me and we wandered around for a while, talking about what we should do. We didn't have a clue, but we did find a restaurant that served cheesecake, and since I hadn't had any cheesecake in New York, we stopped and got some. It was not very good at all, and the waiters kept ignoring us so it took us forever to get out of there. I was seriously considering leaving without paying, but we waited and found someone and paid our check. We then walked into a Sheraton Inn and went right into the elevator and rode it to the top, but the hotel wasn't very tall and it didn't have a very good view, so we just went back to Blaine's apartment. We went up onto the roof of his building, where it was warm and bright, and just talked for a long time about secrets and dreams. It was a wonderful last night of an unforgettable trip, and it was marvelous to see Blaine and spend time with him.

Overall it was a fabulous vacation, taking time away from work and spending time with a good friend. I don't know if I could ever live in the city; it's a little too noisy and crowded, though there are plenty of parks. Blaine thinks I could live in Brooklyn, and maybe I will someday, but right now it's just not for me. I did have a wonderful time visiting, and I would love to go again in the future, but for now I'm glad to be home. Thanks for taking time to read about my New York adventures! Shalom!

Take II

I'm back! Sorry it took so long. I had a ridiculously busy weekend and then I've been gone camping with Mom and Ray, so I haven't had a chance to write. But now I'm finally continuing the chronicle of my New York trip.

Day Three: Saturday.
This turned out to be the most interesting day of the trip, though that wasn't my intention. After walking everywhere Thursday and Friday my hip was giving me pain, so I decided to take it easy for the morning (aka afternoon, since I don't think I left the house till noon). I took the train all the way down to South Ferry, where the ferry leaves to go to Ellis and Liberty Island. I wanted to get some cash, finally find some postcard stamps, and then just sit in Battery Park and read for a while.

Unfortunately, nothing happened the way I planned. I went to a Duane Reade (which is the pharmacy in New York; it's like Starbucks in San Francisco. There's one on every corner.), where it turns out I couldn't get cash back. I did get a compliment on my haircut, but no money. So then as I continued up the street, I finally found a post office. But because it was Saturday, there was no counter open, nor was there a stamp vending machine. So now stamps and no cash. I did get some money at a bank (because USAA is awesome and pays ATM fees back) and so I walked to Battery Park to relax and read. However, this plan was also soon foiled.

I sat down on a bench and starting watching tourists getting on the ferry, snacking on some almonds. I was there barely five minutes when a squirrel approached me. I shook my head and told it politely that I was not planning on feeding it, but this did not satisfy. The squirrel promptly jumped onto the bench, into my lap, and proceeded to try and enter the bag of almonds my hand was in. Not wanting to let the squirrel eat my almonds, I attempted to shoo it away. It would not be shooed. It persisted in trying to get into the bag, or at least chew holes into it, which I would not allow. People were walking by, and then were stopping and taking pictures of my struggle with the squirrel. One man asked me for an almond so he could feed it, and I refused. I did not want to perpetuate the trend of aggressive animals. One girl asked me if she could take a video. She said, "You're so calm. I would be freaking out." And while I agree that I maintained a level of composure, after about five minutes during which the squirrel actually did chew a hole in the bag of almonds, I was ready to be squirrel-free. So I picked up the squirrel by its middle and moved it off my lap, during which it nibbled on my finger. I stuffed the almonds in my bag and the squirrel, finally thwarted, ran away.

While I was attempting to regain a more solid sense of reality, I realized the finger the squirrel bit was actually bleeding. I rinsed it off with water from my bottle, but the bleeding would not stop. So I started walking around the park trying to find a way to clean my wound (which wasn't that big; I have no idea how it bled so much). The bathroom at the ferry had, of course, a long line, so I went into the bookstore and asked if they had a first aid kit, which oddly enough, they did not. There was a police car idling, but all of the windows were blacked out and I couldn't even tell if there was anyone inside, and since I didn't want to knock on the window because that seemed sketchy, so I went across the street to the Museum of the American Indian. I went inside and asked the guard if they had a first aid kit I could use, as I had been bitten by a squirrel. He gave me a funny look, but called downstairs and told me they had one I could use, and that someone would bring me something shortly. It took me a ridiculous amount of time to find downstairs, because I kept going down the wrong corridor. Once I did, however, there was a guard who, after I told him what I was needing, told me I could sit and wait while the sergeant brought me some alcohol swabs and antibacterial hand wipes.  So then of course he asked what happened, and when I told him, he was very surprised. I told him the story and he thought it was hilarious and strange, because apparently no one had ever heard of anyone being bitten by a squirrel before. He started telling the other guards about what happened, and soon I was recounting the story to them all, making clear I was not feeding the squirrel, but rather it aggressively approached me while I was just trying to relax and eat my almonds. I found I adopted a tiny bit of an accent while I was speaking with the guards; it gave me a certain amount of pleasure they didn't take for granted I was a tourist. Then the sergeant came and we joked about turning into a were-squirrel while I cleaned and bandaged my wound. They said several times I should get a rabies shot, and while I was reluctant (I really didn't think it was that big of a deal), they finally convinced me it would be better to be safe than sorry. Blaine texted me about this time to let me know he was done with work and on his way, so I waited for him to arrive, and when he did I told the whole story all over again.

Agreeing that it would be better to get a rabies shot than take the chance of my dying from a squirrel bite, we decided to try a Duane Reade and see if they offered rabies shots. We went to the same one I had no luck getting cash back at, where we were informed by the pharmacy that they did not give rabies shots, nor was it likely a doctor's office would carry them. We then decided to find a hospital, which for some reason proved more difficult than it ought to have been. We asked a female police officer, and she pointed us in the right direction, though she couldn't remember the name of the street. We did find it, by randomly taking the street we thought looked promising, and talked about 9/11, since the site was very close to where we were. We realized the hospital I went to was probably very busy on that day, and it was interesting to reflect on what it must have been like.

At the hospital we went to the emergency room, which was not nearly as busy as I thought it would be. We were there for about an hour and a half, and the woman who took down my insurance information was very, very nice. (I had brought my insurance card along with me that day, for no particular reason. Thank you foresight. And probably God.) The man who cleaned me up and re-bandaged my finger was also very nice, although he accidentally stabbed my hand while he was trying to cut off the fabric bandage from the museum. The hospital did not give me a rabies shot, having never heard of a case of rabies in a squirrel, but sent me off with a prescription for antibiotics, which I filled at good old Rite Aid (since I had filled there before, but let me tell you, it was difficult to find one in the sea of Duane Reades).

We took it easy that evening, after a crazy afternoon, and ate burgers at some place near Times Square, because we had tickets to see "Clybourne Park." If you know nothing about the play (as I did not), here is a link to a New York Times article about the production: http://theater.nytimes.com/2012/04/20/theater/reviews/clybourne-park-by-bruce-norris-at-walter-kerr-theater.html?_r=0. Although I would disagree with some of the article's main points. I liked the script for the most part, but I did not care for the majority of the actors. I did like Sarah Goldberg and Jeremy Shamos, but none of the other actors seemed particularly realistic. In some cases I don't think the part was written very well, but sometimes the actor would affect a certain physical characteristic that was completely distracting. I did like the parallels between the first and second act, when one character in the second half would repeat a line another character said in the first. However, with some plays it's difficult to ascertain a playwright's choices and purpose. In some cases an author has a specific agenda, and in others she just wants to bring attention to an issue. Gentrification and racism are still huge issues, particularly in the United States, but I wasn't sure what the playwright's final motivation for writing the play was. It was an interesting show, and it sparked lively conversation between Blaine and I and I'm sure other patrons, but it was not the best show I've seen.

This has become a much longer entry than I imagined (that darn squirrel), but Sunday was pretty mellow, so I'll wrap it up with a quick summary of that day's adventures.

Day Four: Sunday. 
Blaine had Sunday off from work, so we did the two things I asked him specifically to join me in: go to the Natural History Museum, and walk across the Brooklyn Bridge (and we have good pictures, I promise. I'll get them up soon). On our way to the museum, we walked across Amsterdam Street, and discovered there was a street fair going on, so we walked up and down the fairly uncrowded street. That was one of those things tourists wouldn't necessarily know about, so it was mostly locals, and not that many people at that. I found my gift for Cat (some fresh passion fruit tea that she says was amazing) and looked at all the other interesting wares. There was a cotton candy truck (hallelujah) but we waited till after the museum to come back so I could get some.


The museum was wonderful, of course: lots of dead animals and weird historical recreations, and of course DINOSAURS. I had a blast and we spent a good chunk of the afternoon there. I did not go to the spiders exhibit because it cost extra, which is a shame because I just read an article on CNN about it. Oh well. But then we decided to go into Brooklyn and walk around before we went on the bridge. We went to Prospect Park (potato salad!) where I tried to find a bridge like the one they dumped Buzzy Bellew's body off of, but did not find one. We walked a long ways and saw a lot of people out playing and having picnics. It's always nice to see people out having fun and laughing in the sunshine when we're so technologically-centered these days. But the park is beautiful because it's huge (almost 600 acres!) and when you're in the middle of it you can't even tell you're in the city anymore. You can't see any buildings, just grass and trees and blue skies.

Then we took the train back into Manhattan so we could walk across the bridge back into Brooklyn (I'm not sure why, but it was a really good idea) and it was gorgeous. We crossed it at the perfect time of day (about 6:30pm) and although parts are under construction and the view is obstructed, there are still plenty of places to look out at the city and Liberty island. It was lovely. We then had dinner at a delicious pizza place called Ignazio's, wandered around by the river, then took the train into the Village where we walked around for a bit before heading home to eat Ben and Jerry's. It was a fun, interesting, and fairly peaceful day, which was just what we both needed. It was great to spend time together and catch up, which is really why I went in the first place. So mission accomplished.

Only two more days to write about, but they're full ones, so I'll try to get them up soon! Ciao till then!

On Manhattan

I was in Manhattan! And I'm going to write about it! Yaaaay! (Kermit arms.)

I'm going to document this trip in three posts, because that way you and I won't get overwhelmed with all the adventures. Unfortunately I have not been able to get any of my pictures from my trip onto my computer yet, so you'll just have to check back and see what I add later.

Day One: a tiny bit of Wednesday and all of Thursday. 
There was only a tiny bit of Wednesday because I arrived at the JFK airport at about 11:45pm EST. Taking the subway from JFK in Brooklyn to the upper West Side on a Wednesday around midnight when the trains don't run as often meant we arrived at Blaine's apartment at around 2:30am. He lives on one of the only hills on the island and he lives on the fourth floor of his apartment building, which doesn't have an elevator. He was kind enough to carry my suitcase, or I would have collapsed and slept on the stoop outside all night.

While we were waiting for the trains, Blaine was telling me about his roommates. He said I might know them, since they went to BYU, but I reminded him I went to the school in Idaho and probably wouldn't know them. Their names didn't ring a bell either. However, after introducing myself to Rachel (who I thought looked uncannily familiar) and starting to chat with his other roommate Dalton, I realized that I did know them. Or, at least, I knew Rachel, and they both know Liz. Rachel went to Playmill with Liz, and Dalton was at BYU-I before I got there. Small world, people. What are the odds?

Before I go on, let me tell you, humidity. I'm telling people the two things I did most in Manhattan is walk and sweat, and I swear no one else looked at sweaty as I felt every day. Thank goodness for parks and shade and cool buildings. Not thank goodness for subway platforms, which feel like hell. 

Blaine was at work during the day so he left me his keys and went off to try and sell expensive apartments while I didn't drag myself out of bed until 11am (this, by the way, was a common occurrence. I don't think I ever fully adjusted to the time difference). But once I finally emerged, I had an interesting and pleasant day. I spent the morning exploring Blaine's neighborhood, which actually became one of my favourite parts of Manhattan. I cut across to Riverside Park, walked down and then hooked up with Broadway, which I walked down until I found a place called the Cathedral School. Within this campus was a small isolated park that was home to a beautiful pure-white peacock. There I stopped for a short rest and did Tai Chi, which refreshed and rejuvenated me. I felt incredibly clean and chipper as I continued my walk, which took me through the Columbia campus, through Morningside Park, and into Central Park.

I spent a few hours in the park, watching people and calling Liz and Mom. And there are so many dog walkers! People walking four, five, six dogs at a time, big and small, fuzzy and short-haired. It was so much fun. After the park I wandered around to find something to eat and stopped at a vegan cafe called Blossom, where I had split pea soup and sauteed Brussels sprouts (which was delicious, but the sprouts needed to be done just a little more lightly). Then I asked my waitress where I could go to get a cheap manicure, and she recommended a place called Polish. I went there and just got a cut and polish, so afterwards my nails were very very shiny. I got a hand massage and they were playing "Pillow Talk" on their TV. It was very nice.

I walked back toward the park and found a chocolate shop called Suger and Plumm, where I bought a little bag of assorted chocolates, and soon after Blaine called me to tell me he was on his way home from work, and since I had his keys I needed to meet him back there. So I went home, and we made ourselves a delicious dinner (of what, I can't remember. Blaine is really good at throwing a random selection of food into a pan and cooking it into something tasty).

Later that night Blaine's friend Michael Keeny came over and took us out to this club that was like a really, really fancy karaoke bar. They had paid singers and then you could sing for $30 a song. Keeny knew the singers, and the bartender (who was awesome and reminded me of Rosie Perez), who made us all free drinks. She made me some juice concoction, and I don't know what was in it, but it was magical. So we hung out there for a while until I got tired and we went home, and went to bed around 3am or so.

Day Two: Friday.
The next day I got up around 10:30am, after Mom texted me to see if I was okay after the unfortunate shooting at the Empire State Building (which I was; I was still in bed). This day I took a roundabout route through Central Park to get to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where I spent several hours wandering and taking a lot of pictures.  I saw a lot of the Greek sculptures, the interesting modern art section, the fantastic Egyptian art, and the whopping four El Greco's they have. Then I just wandered around Midtown, which, for the record, has NO food. They have a few fancy restaurants (and street vendors, of course), but it's all designer shops, rich people, and tourists. Not my favourite place in the city.

I ended up meeting with Blaine and we went home and had Mexican takeout. Amazing vegetable fajitas, and really, really spicy guacamole. That night we went and hung out with a couple of Blaine's friends; his old high school boyfriend and a girl who lives in the city. He was visiting from LA and thinking about moving to New York and it was his last night, so we went to their hotel and hung out with them for a while, talking about shows and fashion. It was nice and they were great people. Then we went home and crashed for the night. We did walk through Times Square to get to their hotel and back, and I decided I really don't like Times Square. There are too many people and it's too bright and loud and crazy, even at 1am.

During the first couple of days in the city I had a few different impressions. I love all the different people in the city. You hear English being spoken only about 50% of the time, and I love all the colours and shapes and sizes. In general everyone was nice to me, I never felt unsafe, and quite often people assumed I was a local. I got several compliments on my haircut, and people always answered my questions with sincerity and kindness. I went with the attitude that no one wanted to specifically do me harm, and while I was always aware of where I was and where my money was, I never felt unsafe. I walked around with no specific destination in mind, so I didn't look like a tourist, and I found a lot of cool little places I never would have found if I was trying to get somewhere. It was a great couple of days, and I had a wonderful time.

To be continued, so stay tuned! (Saturday includes the squirrel bite story...)

Letter

To those who say that homo
sexuality and gay love is
an imitation
is
untrue
did not sit beside as I sat across
from you
when you
gazing out the window at the sky whose edges were leaking light
said quietly
I do love him
the words walking out from between your lips
Not proudly Not shamefully
but
Matter-of-Fact as the fingerprints on the glass
I do love him you said
and I believed you

Thoughts on "The Dark Knight Rises"

Note: This post contains spoilers. Please do not read until you've seen the film, which you should do anyway.

Also note: I wrote this blog about two weeks ago when I saw the film for the first time, but decided to wait to post it until I saw it again with some friends last night. I think I liked it better the second time, but the issues I had with it, that I discuss here, were solidified for me and I've just expanded what I wrote before. 
 
I recently watched "The Dark Knight Rises" and had an enjoyable time doing so. I had postponed going to see it for two reasons: one, although I knew I was going to see it and that I couldn't do anything about it, the tragic events in Colorado made me feel strange about going to see it. I felt weird about enjoying it when others who went to do the same thing lost their lives, or have to continue living with the memory of that horrific night. I found that, while the victims of the Colorado shooting were on my mind, I still enjoyed the film. The second reason I waited was because it had been a while since I had seen the first two "Batman" films, and I wanted to catch up. However, DJ's only had them in Standard (and come on, no movie should ever been seen in anything except Widescreen) and the Red Box near my house didn't even have them. So I decided that although it had been a while, I still had seen them several times and remembered the basic events in each. Though I do owe a big thank you to Jesse Thorson (I got to see the movie first with Jesse and Kathleen) for reminding me of major plot points.

Before I go any further, I want to say that I liked the film. I might even go so far as to say I really liked it, especially after the second time. I found it interesting, touching, and I certainly didn't see any plot points coming, which is always fun. I would recommend fans to go see it, and I enjoyed it more the second time. The violence was at times a bit much for me (it felt like an auditory and visual assault, but I may be more sensitive than others) though it wasn't overtly graphic. However, I discovered several unexpected problems I had with the structure of the film, which I will discuss here. Some of the issues are well-founded in what I believe are basic elements of story-telling, and some of them are just personal opinions. But I wanted to share them nonetheless. 

Plot Structure: I'm just going to come right out and say it. It felt too long and convoluted. There are some long movies that don't feel long, because they are interesting or beautiful. And there are some short movies that feel like they last forever. This is a long movie that felt long to me. There were moments in the middle of the film where I was, quite frankly, bored. Maybe it was the knowledge at the back of my mind that whatever the fate of Batman, the bomb could not go off, the city would not be destroyed, they couldn't all die. But the tension just wasn't there for me. It was a little too predictable. This may contradict my next point, which is that I felt the story was too complicated. I generally don't have a problem with a lot of information presented to me that I have to remember (I love psychological thrillers and mysteries), but I had a hard time remembering what I was apparently supposed to remember. I think part of the problem was focus. There was a LOT going on, with a lot of different people, and I had a hard time knowing whose story it was and even what the story was. If it was about Batman, a lot of the movie was not about Batman. My friend said she found there were too many people to pay attention to, and consequently, did not feel anything for anyone. I wouldn't go that far, because I think the best parts of the film were the moments of human connection: Bruce and Alfred, Blake and Bruce, Gordon and Blake. But there were so many people and so many little stories, it was very unfocused. Compared with "The Dark Knight" (which I think I liked better, and seemed to me a really interesting, albeit horrifying, study of human nature; it also was more unpredictable), this story was confusing, and I don't know what I was supposed to come away with. It was definitely more hopeful, which I liked, but again, too convoluted. I also felt they made a mistake in the timing of the revelation of Miranda, and not Bane, as Ra's al Ghul's child. I felt it came too soon after the telling of the whole Bane backstory. If the backstory had come sooner, we would have had time to forget about it, and then the revelation would have been more of a surprise. Instead, as soon as the whole wrong truck thing came up, it was pretty obvious. So I would have liked a better "reveal" structure.

Anne Hathaway as Catwoman: I am biased on this one, because I've never really been a fan of Anne Hathaway, and I honestly couldn't tell you why. Perhaps she seems too self-assured on camera, or I always see her in whatever role she's playing (as opposed to being completely one's character, like, in my opinion, Ewan McGregor). Whatever it is, I could not take her seriously as Catwoman. Part of it is I just don't find her sexy enough (I'm a Michelle Pfeiffer fan myself, but I just like that movie), and maybe part of it was that it felt too cliche: the sexy, catty, outside-of-the-law, witty comeback girl who then becomes vulnerable and wastes precious bomb-about-to-go-off seconds kissing. A huge part of it was the role didn't at all feel important. I understand her role in the plot and what purpose she served, but I didn't think it was necessary. Next to Marion Cotillard (who, let's face it, is way sexier), I would have been fine without her there at all.

Everyone in Gotham City is an Idiot: How can no-one know that Bruce Wayne is Batman? Batman and Bruce Wayne haven't been seen in Gotham for eight years, and the very night after Bruce Wayne comes out of hermitude (I made that word up, but it seemed appropriate), Batman returns. And no one makes the connection? I kind of get it, but Catwoman? Really? You didn't get it until Bane said it? You crazy, girl.

"Strong" Female Characters/The Guy Always Gets the Girl: This was actually the strongest issue I had with the movie, and it comes entirely from my feminist perspective. Just once I would like to see a "strong" female character whose strength is not judged by her ability to beat up men. I think strength comes from mercy, from compassion, and from true courage, not from a lack of emotion or from insensitivity to death. Too often a "strong" woman is characterized by "masculine" definitions (which I also think are pretty messed up; I mean, did you see the trailer for "The Expendables 2?"), and it's getting on my nerves. Also, the idea that the hero is always rewarded with a sexy girl (two, in this case) makes me uncomfortable. It is the norm for the comic book and action hero to "win" love from the "strong" woman at the end, and it's even more normal for Batman and Catwoman to hook up, but it's a norm I reject. One of the reasons I like the movie "Hidalgo" is that it's simply a movie about a man and his horse. Yes, he meets a woman, but he doesn't "get" her in the end. Too often a male character goes through some emotional change and at the end gets the girl who didn't have any sort of emotional say in the matter, or whose emotional shift made no sense whatsoever (like in this film). It's a pattern that needs examining. We have few enough mainstream female role models in the real world, so it would be nice to have some fictional ones worthy of emulation.

Movie Actors Have Got to Stop Mumbling: Enough said. (Ok, Bane, I get it, there's a big thing on your face, but it's not just you, mister.)

Editing: I've been told one of my strengths as a director is my attention to detail. Since I had seen this film before and was at times bored, I noticed a lot of little editing mistakes that bugged me. Right hand switching to left hand, visor up versus down, etc. The biggest editing flub that confused me was this: after Batman re-emerges and gets the wireless device thing from the robbery at the stock exchange, he escapes by flying away in "The Bat." He stops by to pick up Catwoman (speaking of which, how did he know where she was? Was he just flying by and happen to notice her? Wouldn't they have heard him?) and then lands on the roof of a random building. Catwoman leaves, and Batman flies home where he talks to Alfred about getting the device thing to Fox so he can decode it, blah, blah, blah. But then, halfway through the film, Fox says Batman needs to get "The Bat," and asks if he remembered where he parked it. Home, right? No, somehow the flier magically reappears on the roof where he "left" it. Anyone? Anyone? Please tell me someone else noticed this. But even the little things got to me after a while. How could no one pay attention to those things?

With all that said, I did like the movie. I've always like Joseph Gordon-Levitt (that is a man I would go straight for) and the story did go through some interesting variations. I loved the Cillian Murphey cameo, with the Scarecrow references, and Gary Oldman is always a pleasure to watch. The problems that arose for me didn't go away the second time (and were, in fact, solidified) but I urge everyone to see it and make their own judgement. You don't have to take my word for it. *wink*

An Anomalous Affinity

I have recently developed a strange and unexpected love for something I never imagined I would be interested in: The A-Team. What started as harmless curiosity suddenly turned into intrepid enthusiasm for a group of fugitive war veterans living as well-meaning mercenaries. Despite its apparent flaws, and my usual indifference to the action genre, the television series has established in me a level of fandom I usually reserve for science fiction.

It's rather difficult to explain. I started watching the show because, after watching the original series "Battlestar Galactica," I developed a man crush on Dirk Benedict. By which I mean I don't want to have his babies, but I think he's really cool and I want to be his friend. (Did you know he survived prostrate cancer in his twenties by isolating himself in a remote cottage and living on a macrobiotic diet he picked up in Sweden? Yeah. Seriously.) He wasn't even in the pilot. He replaced Tim Dunigan, who apparently was "too tall and too young." But by then I was hooked.

The show is by no means perfect, believability being the main issue. With all the explosions, gunfire, and excessive (albeit impressive) car crashes, not a single person has died. Although in my mind I prefer to put this down not to the miraculous constitutions of friend and foe alike, but rather the A-Team's dislike of killing since coming back from the war. They just rough people up a bit to fulfill their contracts. And they always seem to be one step ahead of Lynch or Decker or whichever MP happens to be on their tail. No one seems to think B.A.'s interest in children is creepy (even me, Mr. T being one of the most magnificent men on the planet), or questions the motives of the ordinary men who burn and beat up and break for the bad guy. And no one at the VA psychiatric hospital seems to remember Face whenever he comes to spring Murdock.



But there is something about it that I have hooked onto, something I have fallen a little bit in love with. Maybe it's the delightful dynamic of the group, the way they joke with each other in a spirit of lightheartedness contrary to the nature of their position. Maybe it's the way they don't always get along and are sometimes tested to their limits, yet never leave a man behind. Or the way they can always be trusted. Maybe it's even the cheesy MacGyver-like sequences where they build tanks and armored cars and bomb shelters out of whatever is lying around to the theme song that then always gets stuck in my head. It could be the reassurance of a group of people who have stayed together through years of hardship, and are always there for each other. Or maybe there's just something awesome about driving a car off the road in a helicopter. Whatever it is, I have developed a fondness for the A-Team I would never have expected from myself.

And now I spend my days in anxious anticipation of when I can watch the next episode. I merrily await to discover what disguise we'll next find Hannibal in, what con Face will pull and what girl he'll get doing it, what crazy antics Murdock has in store (oh, wonderful, ridiculous, lovable Murdock), and how angry it will all make B.A. Even Amy doesn't get on my nerves as much as I thought she would (though I have yet to meet her replacement in later episodes).


All in all, somehow and for some reason, a connection to this world has helped me through my final term. I have stayed optimistic. I have remembered how important friends are. And I have stuck to my guns and worked hard to get to where I am now.

I love it when a plan comes together.

Update: Ok, so I have met Amy's replacement, Tawnia. And I gotta say, she is really annoying, mostly because I don't think she's a very good actress. My consolation comes from the fact it appears the A-Team feels the same way about her as I do. I never thought I'd say this, but I miss Amy.