This be Thisbe

As she sits here right in front of me staring at the cursor on the monitor, I still can't believe that I actually have a kitten in my life. The thought of one day owning a cat was like owning a gerbil, I had no interest or knowledge of such little creatures and had proudly always considered myself a "dog person". I got my dog for Christmas when I was in the second grade and he stayed with us until I was well into my sophomore year of college- then my mom called me and said he had to be put to sleep. That was a depressing day. Years later I got another dog, but my point is that I've always believed that a dog- not a cat, would be forever in my life. I thought dogs were cooler and way more "real" than cats. Cats were boring, no fun, too finicky, un-trainable, aloof, and just plain useless. I used to believe people that owned cats fit into one of three categories: dog haters, old people or single folks that need company- and cats would be easy companions. I couldn't ever fathom the use of a litter box or itsy- bitsy food bowls; I used to believe, cats won't greet me at the door, or play ball or listen when I speak to them. They sleep all day, under a bed or in a closet and only come out to eat. Cats were pointless. Wow, was I ever wrong and sheepishly take back every word.

My cat Thisbe is so beautiful and intriguing she blows my mind. With her little ear tufts sticking out, her long whiskers, her perfect little features, soft sweet purrs, "new snow" white paws and long fluffy tail - she's perfect. She's a foot and a half long and foot high... she has a head that fits in the palm of my hand so perfectly and a belly so clean,white and pure it's like ivory soap. Thisbe is actually and thankfully, the coolest cat I have ever met or ever imagined a cat to be. When she wants to play there's no denying her and she relentless in her pursuit. And most of he time I'm loving every minute of that. She fills our home and fills up my heart...and time.The decision to bring a little kitty into our home was a very challenging one and a decision I was not ready to make. But as time passed and there became a void in my life - no animals, I started to open my mind and without warning, my heart followed. When our dog Blitzen passed about 4 years ago, we found ourselves in a position where due to location and time constraint, a puppy would not be an option; but the desire of owning a pet was overwhelming and all consuming. I became desperate to have a dog in my life again but the pain became so torturous it felt almost strangely wrong. When I finally came to the conclusion, with much convincing that maybe it wasn't just a dog I was so desperate for, but more simply a pet I could take care of and love, within that grew my openness to bring a kitty into my life.

The day we visited her in her foster home she wanted nothing to do with us. She had three little brothers and two sisters- none of which looked like her at all. They were only seven weeks old, and the tiniest, cutest little critters I had ever seen that close up. We had looked at potential other kittens as well before this but none of the experiences felt anywhere near as meaningful as this one. The kittens were so full of energy it was difficult to corral any of them, especially the one I wanted to grab the most. But we managed to scoop them up one by one as they playfully scurried by. All but Thisbe, who was at the time being called "Marble" because of her coloring. There was also a dog in this foster home and Thisbe seemed to be more interested in him instead of any human strangers that were in her house. I kept my eye on her because she was just so cute but for some unexplained reason I was definitely drawn to her energy more so than the others. When we had made the decision to adopt a kitty, I was very concerned that we wouldn't get "a good one", or that it would grow up and not be cute any more-just cat like. I was worried because with a cat you just never know- again, they're not dogs. Everyone told us not to worry because the kitty will choose you. So we waited and played and laughed.... and eventually cried. When I couldn't accept Thisbe's avoidance any longer I decided to get up and search for her; I found her obsessed with the door of the room where the dog had been put and she virtually ignored my presence. As I grabbed her, she let out the sweetest softest meow I had ever heard, so I reluctantly put her down. I continued to play with and tried to imagine owning any one of the other kitties, but I was still stuck on the one that was being called Marble, so I attempted to grab her again- this time she was eating. I scoped her up and brought her over to the couch and showed her little sweet face to my partner. I remember saying, "I like this one". My partner kind of had her mind set on Thisbe's little sister, who was a jet black, domicile little fuzz ball. She was sweet, but Thisbe was cuter and seemed a little tougher, which is exactly what I was after.

When we went out to the car to discuss first and foremost if we really wanted to do this and then which one we wanted, our emotions came streaming out. We were crying like little six year olds. In the house were five little, furry balls of life and one of them was going to be ours; the actual thought of it was overwhelming. They were so little and new to the world and their mom had abandoned them- physically and emotionally. I knew as difficult as it was to accept the fact that I was adopting a cat instead of a dog, there was no doubt in my mind that we were doing the right thing. We decided it was going to be Thisbe that would make the trip home with us because we trusted that she was the "right" one for us. So we went back in the house armed with our kitty carrier and inner strengths to whisk her away from all that chaos. Within seconds of entering, Thisbe was in her carrier and out the door- no belongings and no looking back. When we told the foster mom which one we had chosen she said "oh, she's a lover!" Unfortunately we had a forty-five minute drive home and Thisbe cried the entire way. She was killing us. All we could think about was the fact that we just snatched her away from all that she knew and from all the family she had. It felt like she was miserable and scared; we were the scared ones who didn't know what the hell to do. Eventually after we got her home and situated in her new surroundings she bonded with us in such a strong way our hesitation around taking her was quickly suppressed.

Two years later, she's still the cutest, coolest, toughest, most playful "dog like" cat I had imagined and hoped she would be. Having a cat in the house has totally taken away my desperate need to have a dog, and has only enhanced my admiration for them. I've actually always thought it was so cool to have both. Thisbe plays hard and often, understands the word "no", listens to me when I talk to her, misses us when we're gone, greets us when we come home, knows the sound of our cars and runs to the window to take a look; she has broken all the stereotypes of cats, dissolved all of my beliefs, plays fetch and hide and seek, she knows her name and answers to a whistle...just like a dog. Thankfully because of Thisbe I now have an appreciation for cats that I never knew existed. They are the best little animals and so misunderstood it's ridiculous. As much as we still want a dog in our lives, we now have someone else to consider when that situation arises and I have a feeling she's not going to like it so much. Oh well, like always, we'll discus it and deal. That's going to be a fantastic week.

Boston Blues

Today I went running and ended up at the beach- this is nothing unusual but it didn't feel like the warm, inviting beach that's been alive for the last five months. Today it was just plain depressing: cold, windy, grey and deserted. As I walked back away from the water, the scene was a photo op for about 100 different captions. I probably looked a bit forlorn and I was wearing my Boston Red Sox knit hat- I was alone, in Chicago the day after the White Sox knocked them out of the play offs. That should say it all.The Red Sox loss hurt pretty bad. I know, I know, we won it all last year so why can't we willingly give someone else a chance, right? well because that's silly. The World Series win in 2004 was unbelievable and probably made this years loss a little easier to deal with, but now that the series is actually over it completely sucks and I wish we could go back and try again. Every year it's difficult to let the Red Sox go, finish their season and not have them in my life for six months. I love baseball season- It signifies spring, summer, little league, big dreams, lazy days, three hour time spans, popcorn, hot July nights and cool October playoff games. When a Red Sox game is televised it's an excuse to skip out of work early or stay in for the evening. During the baseball season the boys from Beantown have a tendency to rule my world and I love it. People around here don't care about the Red Sox, just as I don't care about the Cubs or White Sox, but this year was different. The Red Sox became the team to beat, White Sox were the team to win and the Cubs... well who cares about the Cubs. I was at a luncheon with Mia Hamm a couple of weeks ago and she brought up Nomar's name quite a bit. She said they'd love to stay in Chicago, but they also used to talk about how they'd love to stay in Boston- with those two you never know what to believe. Unfortunately, the post season didn't turn out for either Nomar or mysef had hoped but it was still wonderful to be able to see the Bo Sox on the evening news and read about them in the morning paper-even if it was only for a measly three or four days. I grew up in Boston and spent most of my life there and it's only been within the last eight years that I've lived in Chicago- forced to follow the Cubs and their demise. It's been very challenging to be Red Sox fan while living here: no one gets it, and nobody cares. I'm tired of asking the bar tender if he could please put the Red Sox game on one of the t.v.'s- I usually get the small one in the corner and a lot of attitude to go along with it, whatever. Watching last years win from this far away was brutal, I longed to be in Beantown witnessing all of it up close. Just to feel the energy must have been amazing. It's not like I would have gone to the parade or anything(well maybe), but simply going to the grocery store would have been exciting enough- that city owns the Red Sox, you feel it everywhere you go. I miss it a lot.This year, all season long that customary desperate feeling of needing to win just wasn't there and what a relief that was. I didn't feel a compelling force to watch every single game that was on ESPN or follow it on my computer, It was just fun when I did. I love the Red Sox and everything they represent and this year it was so easy to be a fan- even when the White Sox had the best record in baseball all season long-it didn't seem to matter, the angst was gone. It's strange but this years defeat hurts differently than in years past. Suprisingly I actually would have rather they lost to the Yankee's instead- at least that would have had a familiar feel to it. The loss to the White Sox felt flat, almost emotionless which is how the whole series felt. We're not used to losing to these guys in the post season. I think everyone in Red Sox Nation was almost, in a way, assuming we would glide right past the White Sox, all while focusing their energy on the Yankee's and that potential heated match up. After all, that's what baseball is all about. This is an end of an era for the Red Sox and their fans, next year could be very, very different. Different guys, different energy. The team we've learned to cry with and laugh with and fight with is no more and I think we all knew that at the end of last year, but we were too busy enjoying the monumental victory to even think about it. With the loss this year I think some of that is finally settling in- and it feels sad. The second after the White Sox won on Friday night, I immediately said "well, I can't root for them and I hope the Yankee's win and blow them away". I couldn't believe what I was saying, but what I was thinking was that at least the Yankee's feel like home; they're in a bizarre way the closest entity to the Red Sox. And the Red Sox bring me to that place of bliss. Like I said, it's been very hard to live here in Chicago and be a Red Sox fan, now for some reason it feels like it's going to be even harder. I'm proud to be from Boston and can now turn my attention to the Patriots- or White Sox... obviously I haven't quite decided.I'm loving the fact that it's now cold enough to wear my Red Sox hat- it's all I got until I go home again.

Third floor sex

It starts when I notice his obnoxious, bright green nova parked outside my window. As soon as I see that thing I know what's in store for him, his girlfriend, her roommate, my partner and I, our kitten and the rest of the occupants in our building: the sounds of sex. This guy has a lot of sex and he's extremely vocal when it comes to expressing his pleasure around it. It's actually pretty funny to think about, but when I'm woken up at two in the morning because of the building shaking and the cat flying off the bed from fear it's not so funny anymore.First the thumping noises begin, which I guess is the bed hitting the wall, then the moans start up.. and continue... then the sighs... then a pause and sometimes more thumping. It's sooooo loud. Luckily it never goes on for too long, he's quick. I can't imagine the floor plan for that bedroom up there because you'd swear the guy was literally hanging out the window while the sex was happening. The bed must be huge and positioned just perfect for the release to flow out the window. Bizarre, but we never hear the girlfriend in all of this, I sure hope she's as happy as he is and just doesn't wish to share it with the neighborhood. But it would be nice to hear her every once in awhile- just to change things up a little. I only live on the first floor so what the hell is the women above me on the second floor doing when this is going on?! Maybe when she sees the car pull up she gets the ear plugs out-who knows. Anyway this guy is not only a sex machine, but he's also, believe it or not a rock star. At least that's what I've decided he is because of his hair style- or lack of, and care free attitude . I'm not sure if he plays in a band regularly or just works in the industry but whenever I see him he is never without his guitar. Along with having sex on the window sill, he jams up there as well; his voice isn't half bad and he handles the guitar like a pro. At least he's not good looking or this would be really strange.I hardly ever see the sex machine up close and personal very often, I either see him walking out to his car or I pass him on the stairs. But the other day he held the door for me while I was juggling a six pack of beer and various other items as I attempted to go for my keys. On the way in I thanked him, then turned around and said how much we enjoyed his music. (Thinking about his groans the whole time) He seemed confused, like rock stars do, as if we had no idea he even played but responded with a soft, genuine "thanks". I mentioned how we especially enjoyed his version of "Overkill" by Men at Work - it was excellent. They had just played it on "Scrubs" a week before, so when we heard it live coming from our building it was pretty cool. He asked me if I played, I said "nah, just listen". He's a very nice guy, but I can't see him without imagining him in a sexual position.It feels awkward to know the most intimate detail of someone but not even know their name. Hearing this guy have an orgasm is pretty personal stuff and seems strange that I know what it sounds like. I mean that's stuff you think about when you're interested in someone, or just curious.., but not when it's the guy on the third floor who walks outside in his pajamas and bare feet to move his car for street cleaning. He doesn't even live in the building. I suppose it's nice to know that my third floor neighbor has a good sex life- but that should really be none of my business. Luckily it's never happened where my girlfriend and I happen to be engaged in a similar act at the same time as the they are. That would just feel downright warped.

Goose Island vs Rolling Rock

Sam Adams Summer Ale still holds the slot for my favorite summertime beer. At this moment, I am enjoying a Goose Island seasonal brew and I have to admit even though I've never been a fan of the Goose Island brews, the Summertime one is o.k., so I tend to purchase this one every once in awhile. Plus the name "summertime" just says it all. In the past I always seemed to gravitate towards Pete's Wicked Summer Brew, but for some odd reason they are no longer making it, or at least I can't find it anywhere- I don't understand. Whatever. The fact that Sam Adams is brewed in Boston makes drinking it even better; gotta love Boston...I just realized I started this post on August 2 and today's date is August 22. I wasn't quite sure where I was actually going with the piece back then which is probably why I dropped it, but after some much needed time away I feel I have a different perspective on this whole "summer " beer thing. I purchased a six pack of Goose Island Summer Brew yesterday, but it was only because I had just gotten back from my summer vacation and was feeling quite angry, very sad and wanted some of that summer feel back. Wild Oats didn't have, or has ever had any Sam Adams Summer brew in stock, which is why I instinctively grabbed the Rolling Rock- strictly out of comfort. Then I noticed the Goose Island on the bottom shelf and the word "SUMMERTIME" standing out like a neon sign. I paused and stared at it for a second. At that moment, I honestly felt that if I chose the Goose Island instead of the Rolling Rock, I would be unfaithful to the part of myself that's ready to disconnect from the light and simple way of life; or the way I've been so used to living. Thinking back on it, this mini epiphany seemed like it should have paralyzed me at the time, but I was just trying to decide what beer to buy so I didn't really think anymore of it. I knew I wasn't ready to "get back to work" or re-enter an existence that has become so methodical- not yet, my summer wasn't over, even though the vacation was. It's so depressing to think that within days or weeks all of the summer brews will be wiped from the shelves and the "Octoberfest" brews will soon rule the refrigerated section. I hate that day almost as much as I love the one when I go into the store in April or May and see the Summer brews sitting there just screaming the season is coming. That has got to be the best day of the year, at least in calendar world. So anyway, here I sit in Chicago with my Goose Island Summer brew at the end of August dreading the thought of heading back to the 8:30-5 gig and falling into the daily routine, fearful I'll become too comfortable again. In my opinion, Sam Adams is the superior beer but as I say that, I'm not drinking it; so I ask myself what that says about what's going on here. Well, for starters it says Wild Oats sucks for beer, but more importantly I think what I understand is that on a much larger scale my life is not exactly where I want it to be and I'm moving at a snails pace in order to get there. I'm not necessarily talking location here more than I'm thinking about fulfillment and actually attempting to make things happen instead of hanging out- waiting for them to. The fact that I actually stand in front of the beer cooler and imagine myself engulfed in the summer sun or frozen from the winter arctic or totally zone out with the thought of a safe -regular existence just by gazing at the different labels is all just too much and actually a little silly. So I'll continue to drink whatever summer brew is available until it is no longer and hold on to that feeling of bliss for as long as I can, then it's back to stability and the ever so solid Rolling Rock. I remember where I originally thought I would be going with this subject but now it seems so trivial. I just wanted to write about how great I think the summer brews are and how they totally embody the season. I guess I got a little distracted-but that's the point.

Some Things Never Change

Thirteen years is a long time. Think about how you were at the age of fifteen, then again at the age of twenty eight- quite a change right? I have a hard time remembering all that has happened within the last thirteen years of my life, but I do know that significant things have occurred; things happened back then that not only shape who I am today, but also what kind of person I picture myself becoming in the future. Thankfully I am today a much stronger, happier, more fulfilled person than I was 13 years ago, but I know I never would be at the place I am without having experienced all that I did-good and bad.Last week when I was on vacation I met up with a friend of mine for about three hours. We had 3 beers a piece, a cup of clam chowder, a burger-some fries, exchanged small talk, laughed a bit, split the tab, walked outside and said good bye, then went our separate ways- as if we'd be seeing each other the next day. While we were hanging at the bar it certainly felt very familiar and it was as if we do this thing every week, only we hadn't actually seen each other for over thirteen years. Like I said, quite a long time. We have spoken on the phone- maybe twice within that time and drunken phone messages have been left filled with birthday greetings. There may have been two or three Christmas cards exchanged and the big connection was made when 9/11 happened- it was a simple phone call on my part confirming she hadn't been injured in the whole event. I knew she lived in New York, but that's all I knew. All in all what was once a very tight friend of mine at one time had virtually exited my life. I'm not 100% sure why we eventually lost connection over the years because after last week it didn't really feel like any negative vibes have ever got between us and I still don't believe anything energetically has.When I met her I was in my twenties, living and working on Cape Cod in the summer and if I remember correctly was kind of a little punk -in some ways. I can't recall the why's or how's of our introduction, but none of that seems important, what's significant is how well we connected on a daily basis. We worked together and hung out together. I drove and she navigated- or she drove and I hung out; whatever happened, it seemed to work and we became pretty close friends. Everything was easy- but then again I was in my twenties, it was summertime, I made great money and spent 99.9% of it on alcohol. Fifteen to twenty years ago I had no worries, no fear, sometimes no feeling, no sense of who I was or what I wanted to be, no sense of style, little or no regard for others, lots of anger, some depression which I either ignored or thought was "cool" to have, I had a high tolerance for alcohol, a carefree but probably unauthentic attitude towards life, I was quick to pass judgment, slept in my clothes, spoke without thinking and had a warped desire to find meaning in everything. I dated boys, wore sweatshirts five times too large for my body, I never showed my emotions, wasn't extremely comfortable with sex and believed being alone in life was the best way to go. I had lots of fun, seemed to love my life, never used sun screen or got my cholesterol checked and didn't really care what I looked like. I had a difficult time picturing myself in the future, but didn't see the point in that anyway.I was telling my friend the other day that I'm still the same person as I was when I knew her on those days at the beach, but at the same time thinking to myself just how amazingly different I am. Explaining that the bad stuff has disappeared allowing the good stuff to surface, isn't very easy to spell out. Plus it's hard to illustrate or talk about anything like that in a short three hour time span over a beer and a cup of chowder at 4:00 in the afternoon in the middle of vacation. I guess the obvious difference last week was the fact that my girlfriend (of 13 years) accompanied me and we only had three beers a piece, beyond that everything else was unnoticeable and probably would only be apparent if we shared a slice of life together. Not only have I matured greatly(thank god), but I smile a lot more-from the inside out. I still have an intense love for the beach and a huge love for music-much of which has stayed the same throughout the years, but I now wear clothes that fit me and I wouldn't even think about sleeping in them- no matter how tired or inebriated I may be.On the surface we could have so easily been in these exact seats doing the same exact thing fifteen years ago- only maybe looking a bit younger with plans to do a lot more for the rest of the evening. It felt strange to see my friend that day- strange but eerily comfortable as well. I didn't really want to discuss anything heavy and was unrealistically hoping to just pick up where we left off, which in a way we did. Seeing someone after so long of a time is somewhat anxiety provoking and feels a little bizzarro- plus what the hell do you talk about with each other after so much life has happened in between? It didn't feel like there was a necessity to explain everything that happened in our lives during that time span, it was kind of like it didn't matter. Our free spirit and love for Cape Cod is part of what connected us years ago and it also helped to re-connect us last week and I want to believe trust in ourselves will help us to move on from here. We did very well when we eventually hooked up that evening- it felt good to be in her presence again, but I remember feeling a bit sad the next day. As I told her in an e-mail when I returned home, I just wish it could continue.I have a lot of friends in my world now, but none from my past. I don't really like that fact , but I think it's because I don't want to remember my past. Most of my "current" friends are from the last 10 years of my life. It would have been nice to stay connected to my friends from the summers spent on Cape Cod not only because we had loads of fun but it felt like we spent important parts of our lives together and I still talk about things we did, places we went and situations we got ourselves into, they are engraved in my mind. A lot happens to us in our twenties; we learn what we want out of life and hopefully begin to become adults. It's kind of a trial and error time which is why it can be so enjoyable and torturous at the same time. I'd like to believe there was so much transition for me during those years that for some reason I had a need to disconnect from what was familiar in order to figure things out-or figure life out.The night before I left for vacation I was strangely obsessed with burning a mixed CD. The timing couldn't have been worse due to lack of time and attention needed for such a chore, but I kept telling myself I needed it for the rental car... Seven days later I ended up handing it over to my friend at the bar. A conversation came up about music and she was telling me that she still listens to some of my mixed tapes from years ago. Music and mixed tapes were always a huge part of our existence back then. I didn't even finish the CD that night, because I had to get to bed, but now I know why I felt compelled to burn it and very content to give it away. She had a long drive home to Boston and that CD was ironically perfect for the occasion. Like I said, some things never change... and I'm really glad some things do.

Just Four More Days

until I am am able to: breath a little easier, lick salt water off my lips, eat ice cream like I'm 5, endulge in seafood dinners, stroll the beach as if it went on forever, receive endless unconditional love, play with little kids and listen to the laughter coming straight from their bellies, sleep like a baby, watch Red Sox games with ease, be on "East coast" time, sleep on the same street that my parents met and enjoy a beer where they had their second date, leave the boots behind, awaken to the sound of my mom emptying the dishwasher while the coffee is "percolating", watch my dad fall asleep in the chair, listen to my sister talk...and talk...and talk..., smell unbelievable wildflowers everywhere I go, not worry about what's for dinner, drive a rental car, listen to my dad talk politics and cringe at every word, hold the hand of my girlfriend in public and feel normal (Provincetown), bask in sunlight and moon light, look up at the stars, sit on the porch first thing in the morning and last thing at night, build a sandcastle, take an outdoor shower, feel content, read magazines from the 1980's, see pictures of myself, my brother and my sister when we were little... and understand, sleep under the same roof as my parents- again, offer to go to the grocery store willingly, throw seaweed at my nephew, breath fresh air, give attention to a golden retriever, go to bed early, realize just how simple and silly reality television actually is, feel a million miles away from the real world, listen to the sounds of the waves as I drift off to sleep, get back to feeling what's important in life, be in the one space that feels completely good, walk to the beach with my mom, laugh, get inspired to do anything more than what I'm doing, be barefoot most of the day, wish I could stay where I am forever. In four more days I get to vacation on Cape Cod- the best place in my world.

New kid on the Block

I have no idea what I'm doing with this blog thing. The phenomenon feels like it has totally gotten out of hand and for some reason I refuse to join the mayhem; therefore putting myself in a position where it feels like I either need to throw in the towel and play like the other kids or leave the group all together. It is all irrational thinking, but I keep reading these random blogs where nameless, faceless people just ramble on and on... like they're the only one on the planet. I understand that this may be the point for a lot of bloggers out there- it gives them a space to let it out- safely. I used to think "blogging" was a good playground for creativity, and while I still may believe that to be true, part of me believes it's also a trap for isolation. I can't help but wonder what all of these bloggers would blog about if they were a little bit more integrated into society and a little less attached to their computers. I'm not one for talking, let alone talking about myself in a group or even face to face with another - face, so I completely understand the desire to release random thoughts, opinions and nonsense from our minds, and to be able to do this freely and in a sheltered space is quite enticing. The problem comes when we find ourselves only "blogging" and rarely communicating on an intimate level. Human to human contact is not only a lost art, but is so strangely unfamiliar with so many people I can't help but think our society would be a little more enriched if blogging never existed. Yikes, that's a pretty strong statement - I know.About 4 years ago someone suggested to me that I should think about getting a "blog" and I pretty much laughed in their face because I had just finished telling them I wanted to be a "writer". At that time I really didn't understand what it meant to be a blogger almost to the point where it felt like I could be doing something illegal if I attempted it. He continued to list off individuals, like well known rock stars and other people I only knew by name- all who had blogs. Nothing registered, I had no idea what it meant to have a blog and no desire to find out. As time went by, I continued to think about this writing thing and decided that this was how I was going to make my living. I was going to be a writer-period. How cool would it be to not have to get up and go to work everyday, but instead sit around and think, eat, drink, go running and write everyday. I still think that's cool, only now I don't think about doing it- I am doing it and it's not at all as I imagined it to be. First of all I'm not making enough money at writing so I have to continue to wake up at a certain time and get myself to the boring job that pays me; second of all while I sit around eating, drinking and thinking, it's only because I'm in such a frustrated state- it's paralyzing me. But I refuse to believe I can't have it all so the query letters will continue to get sent out and book will hopefully get finished.Three years ago my first official writing piece was accepted in a national magazine and I was so elated when I got the phone call I started screaming before I had a chance to hang up the phone... that was three years ago. I have since had a couple of small pieces published as well, but nothing as grand as that first piece. What happened? That was supposed to jump start everything- no such luck. So here I am in the Summer of 2005, so frustrated with rejection letters and callous editors that I have reduced myself to blogging. Sorry,but that's how it feels and when I continually read senseless posts that go nowhere; I get nervous that I'm going to fall into that same abyss. I'm not sure what eventually brought me to blogging but that's really not important; what is significant is that for some reason I'm becoming obsessed with it and I'm intent on making it work for me in some form. On the positive side blogging has obviously gotten me to sit at my computer and write instead of wasting time on random internet sites, and it has given me a structured space to attempt to write potential articles. Great- how boring is that. On the down side I can't think about anything to write about and I refuse to, as my friend mac likes to quote "slice a vein and splash blood on the page" for fear my writing will become sloppy and without meaning so I don't post anything.So here I sit attempting to write my forth post-and for what? So that I can go to sleep feeling like I accomplished something? Maybe in the big picture that's all I need right now. If writing a blog gets me to sit still, stay focused and begin and end something then hip hip hooray for blogging. I'll figure out how to fit into this thing somehow, but for now I guess hanging out with it will just have to do. Oh, and forgive me for saying anything negative about blogging, part of it is jealousy and part of it is struggle- and I know everyone can relate to that.

X & Y

Most of us travel through life with our minds racing and bodies flailing. Getting ourselves to feel grounded on a regular basis not only takes a lot of work, but tons of patience and focus; plus there's enough outside clatter in this world to so easily distract us from getting to that place of bliss. Thankfully, Coldplay has created an album so grounded, there's no way you'll be racing around town with this one in your possession.It is so obvious that the nation is craving some serenity with the huge success of Coldplay and the release of X&Y. Chris Martin, little Apple's "cool" daddy and front man of the band is a bona fide rock star and he seems to do it so effortlessly you'd think the guy was living in another world and in another time. He's managed to marry Gwyneth Paltrow, be in a band who's success is compared to U2 and write songs about it that turn out to be mini masterpieces. Coldplay has always carried with them the stigma of having a repetitive sound and X&Y is no exception - but this time it makes the album soar, well beyond the realm of our expectations. It feels like a large album with a very large purpose. With all thirteen tracks complimenting each other, I hate to single out any one out, but track #4 has too much energy and strength not to and if you let it, with one listen "fix you" may even bring (dare I say it) a tear to your eye... I'll leave it at that. Coldplay has a unique ability to to write songs about love and life's triumphs without sounding forlorn or desperate, and the way Martin sings them it sounds like the words are coming directly from the gut of his soul; It almost feels like we're peeking into his livingroom window watching him scribble in his notebook. X&Y has such a mesmerizing tone it seems to seep into our subconscious like some sort of spiritual subliminal recording- minus the creepiness. It commands our attention almost to a fault, being that there's no way to focus on anything but Chris's lyrics while you listen. It's simply intoxicating.Coldplay's third album stands so tall it's hard to imagine how the forth or fith one will feel; hopefully the band won't come up for air too soon. This is beautiful, goose bump provoking music-something the world needs a whole lot more of.