American Gods

(Or, why I also want to meet and befriend Neil Gaiman.)

Released from prison, Shadow finds his world turned upside down. His wife has been killed; a mysterious stranger offers him a job. But Mr. Wednesday, who knows more about Shadow than is possible, warns that a storm is coming -- a battle for the very soul of America . . . and they are in its direct path.


Some books come into our lives at the exact right moment.  I am in the middle of transition within my life, and I think our country is as well.  American Gods by Neil Gaiman is an intelligent and fascinating look into the landscape of America.  


It begins with a caveat and warning for travelers, saying that the places and geography used within the book can be found.  And "it goes without saying that all of the people living, dead or otherwise in this story are fictional or used in a fictional context.  Only the gods are real."


In the melting pot that is America, this book delves into what happens to the gods that all of the immigrants to this land have brought with them.  Gaiman obviously did tons of research into the waves of people that have come to America, from the 18th century to 14,000 BC and many points between.  And within the larger narrative arc of the book, he adds in slices of those tales and who their gods are.  


The gods of America are in a battle for the hearts and minds of Americans.  And the old gods  -a leprechaun, an African spider god, Odin, Loki, and others I had never heard of- are losing the battle to the newer gods of technology, TV, and other stuff.  Shadow, the main character is thrust into this battle and mucks his way through helping his new employer, Mr. Wednesday, and figuring out what this battle is all about.  


Gaiman's use of suspense is admirable.  It's a thick book at 588 pages and it took me a while to get through it, but his craft in storytelling is evident on each page.  His prose is lyrical, smart and sometimes funny.  


While I was reading, it brought up a lot of personal faith questions.  There's a story in the Bible which says where your treasure is, there also you will be.  And you should store your treasure in heaven (i.e. believe in Jesus), in order to go to heaven in the afterlife.  Personifying technology as a god really brought home this idea for me.  I've heard homilies (the sermon the priest gives after the Gospel, which is the selection of the Bible read to us about Jesus) a number of times about how we should not make money or stuff our 'gods' or think of them as more important than God and Jesus.  But from the book I thought how technology, and science, could also become like a 'god'.  Do we really worship our computers and iPads?  Do I?  


There's a creepy moment when Shadow is visited by the TV god.  I won't ruin it by giving away too many details, but she comments on how she is 'worshipped' by people who give her time. Again, do I worship TV because I watch too damn much of it?


Anyway, I highly recommend this novel.  It's a fabulous read and will make you think about who our/your gods are.  

Beating a Dead Horse

Okay, this isn't actually about beating anything, much less a dead horse.  I meant to post these in February, but close enough.  These poems are ones that I've written about K, a person who I have mentioned on here before, and it feels like I keep beating a dead horse by talking about it.  But it's been bothering me, so here they are:  

10/29

Ships pass in the night
   
       Now, we seem to only pass
       in the dark, unseeing

Ships graze but keep moving

       We don't stop anymore or
        at least
        you don't, to say hi or
        make eye contact

Ships almost collide

       We've had so many near misses
       so many almost-conversations
       we only almost connect, now

Ships creak

      I try to signal, to initiate
      to flag you down

Ships glide

       But you keep going
       without noticing my attempts

Ships pass in the night

       And I wonder why
       we've become ships
       passing in the night


11/23

                                            Cleanse

I wash
            my fingers
now
of this sticky
                      mess
of this
            stale
                    mate
now that you
are so
           stale
                   now
I rinse
            my mind
as far
           as I
                  can reach
even though
it's not
            all
                  gone
it will never
                     really
be gone
I detox
              my diet
of texting
                   and trying
and waiting

I clean
             you
                     from
my life


2/13

Valentines is on the brain
hearts and lovers and mushy crap

Never had a Valentine on Valentines
but whatever

I didn't need one this Valentine
I'm fine right now - or so I thought

You left your house as I arrived
a simple thing - a chance encounter

And I felt a tear deep inside
that fictional heart - that cracks in the center

You were here, you haven't completely
moved away - you see your dad

You are 50 feet away
as you back your navy Civic down the drive

A rush of feeling, instead of blood,
comes pouring from my center

As you drive away

What Do We Do Now?

I met up with M (one of my high school friends) for lunch yesterday and we had a lot of fun together. She's the kind of friend where we just get together and bitch about all manner of things- politics, music, the world in general- for hours and hours.

She's finishing up her last semester of school right now and she's in the torturous process of waiting to hear back from grad schools. She's applied to nine or so and has all ready gotten two rejection letters. Apparently one school was kind of a reach school anyway, but she's still pretty depressed about it,

This friend is really smart, she's got a 3.7 which is very decent and pretty good scores on the GRE (they changed the scoring, so I have no idea what the numbers mean) and she was really involved with student housing stuff, so she's kind of angry that it's been such a torturous process.

Basically, what the conversation came down to is how frustrated we both were that after these years of doing well in school and being involved in shit and trying to build up our resumes, we get to the end and there's no jobs. As my friend said, "I jumped through all of the hoops that you told me too. What the fuck do you want from me?"

I've been feeling that too lately, though in a different way because I am fortunate enough to have found a job and an internship (and though I do spend a good amount of time complaining about my job, I realize that it's not that bad and I'm lucky to even have one).

For me it's like this. Since high school, I've been telling people that I want to be a writer and they've always said the same thing. "Good for you! Follow your dream!" Well, I realized in college that following your dream isn't so easy, especially when your dream is an over saturated non-lucrative career. Which is fine. I came to terms with that before I left college and I know it's not going to be an easy road. I know that I'm going to have to do what it takes to pay the rent while I write.

What's pissing me off is now that when I tell people what I'm doing their first question is, "What are you going to do when your internship is over?" And when I tell them that I don't quite have that figured out yet they say something like, "Well, there's a lot of things you can do besides journalism. A lot of people have careers totally different then what they went to college for."

For fuck's sake, do we have to jump straight to assuming that I'm never going to have a career in journalism? Didn't I just tell you about how I got a degree and had two very hand-ons internships? Why have you all ready decided that I need to go back to school for something else?

It's the same when people ask if I'm going back to school and I say that I'm going to wait a couple of years before I try applying to an MFA program. They immediately say things like, "Most people that don't go back to school right away don't go back at all." Fuck you, man. I don't want to go back to school right now. Honestly, I'm not a good enough writer to go back yet. I know it's not going to be easy, hell, maybe I'll never go back. Maybe this internship will be my last job in writing and I'll spend the rest of my life in an unrelated field. Things like that happen.

But why the fuck do we have to assume failure because I'm not writing for the goddamn New York Times a mere eight or so months out of college? Shit.

I spent my whole life having people telling me that I could be a writer. Now, when I feel like I need some space and time to figure out what to do with my career, they say, "Have you ever considered being not a writer?"

So my question for every adult that has told me I would succeed if I worked hard, got into college and got an internship is, "Okay, done. What do I do now?"

I feel like the pressures of this generation are so different from that of our parents. It's like it's no longer enough to just get a job and take a few years to adjust to the real world out of college. They want a PowerPoint with a goddamn outline of my five year plan every time they ask a question.

Look, I know that I'm probably going to spend years doing completely unrelated/entry level jobs before I get anywhere in this field, if I succeed at all, but I think I'm up to the challenge. At least I'm ready to try.

Writing isn't just a passing fad for me. It's this urge, this very deep and primal thing that I can't ignore. I love writing and, more than that, I have to write. My muse is a manic and impatient being and she does not take kindly to being ignored.

I know that the four of us are going to be sexy, professional women some day with paying jobs in sexy, professional fields. It's just going to take some time.

So everybody get off my damn back, geez. I'm working on it.

I got a job

Hello,

Finally it has happened! I have been hired!!!! I cannot tell you what exactly my job is for privacy sake, but I got it through volunteering for free. The job lasts only till May 15th, but it pays well and it is a social cause that I really believe in. Unfortunately, it is 9-9 and 6 days a week, but a job is a job. If you want to know more fb message to learn more.

I wanted to share with you guys my joy!

Love,

Cylon

Laissez les bons temps rouler!

(in case you didn't take French: Let the good times roll!)

It's Mardi Gras! (again, for the non-French, Fat Tuesday)

Guess who has the largest Mardi Gras celebration after New Orleans?  That would be St. Louis.  And after Saturday's parade/debauchery/drunkenness/fabulous clothing/beads/extravaganza, I can tell you - it's the truth.

Alas I have no pictures, but let me paint it for you: my oldest cousin on my Dad's side (J, I'll call her) has been going to Mardi Gras since she was in high school.  Currently, she is 32.  So that's 16 years of honed expertise on how to do Mardi Gras well.  Naturally, I called her to get the lowdown, having been at college and unable to attend in previous years.

After preparing as per all of her suggestions (dress warm!, bring libations or pay for them here, the parade starts at 11, bring a purse for all stuff and by stuff I mean extra liquor or cigarettes, seriously wear long underwear we're gonna be outside all day, and MOST IMPORTANTLY if you're not drinking beer, bring a cup), I rock up to her house around noon.  My uncle drives us, (J, J's husband, E, and his cousin, D, and myself) because god knows none of us are driving home.

We drive towards downtown and get out of the car while still on the exit ramp.  It's time to get our drink on.  E and some of his other family are flipping a house right where all the action is, so that's where we set up all our stuff (the booze and food).  There's a Johnnie on the Spot, since the house is basically an empty shell waiting to get refurbished.  The port-a-potty is important.  You cannot quite fathom how important until you are standing in line behind 20 (drunk) people waiting for one of the john's on the street, and your (also drunk) bladder is bursting.  I paid $10 for the private port-a-potty in the fenced in backyard of the house, and that was the best, albeit the only, money I spent all day.  (Besides the .83 cent gas station cup I drank out of all day.)

If this is only the second largest Mardi Gras, I cannot imagine New Orleans.  It was packed.  It was like being in a club, but you're outside standing on a street corner with 300 other people and a heavy base is pounding a familiar song you are all singing as you're slithering through the crowd following the coat in front of you as you're trying not to lose the one who's following you, all the while scoping out the best, coolest beads and whether or not that guy is drunk enough to give you his if you just ask and scoping out the guys too because the ones that have propositioned you are just not up to your Mardi-Gras-make-out standards, or at least not yet, but maybe after you finish the drink you're holding if he hasn't disappeared to chase another tail by then.

It was like getting up to pre-game for a football game, except not quite as early and there is no stupid game to feign interest in, you're there to see the parade.  Not the actual parade, because that ended an hour ago, but the people parade: the green, purple and gold costumes; the beads that range from just colors to crawfish to duckies to boobs to plastic shot glasses to penis whistles to Jagermeister bottles; the super drunk and stumbly people; the chicks that will show their tits for beads, because they are drunk if not already stumbling; the old, wrinkly people who are partying just as hard as you; the little brown dog, who is also decorated in his finest beads...

Needless to say, by 8:30 pm, when we were picked up by my uncle at the same exit ramp we were dropped off at, we were all blitzed out of our minds.  I had copious amount of water and the best tasting Imo's pizza (it's a STL pizza place, kinda legendary) and passed out in my cousin's basement (on a bed, I wasn't that blitzed.)  And, thanks to the magical properties of Imo's pizza, I wasn't too bad in the morning.  E, my cousin's husband, passed out before the pizza arrived, and was hurting the next day.  (I did have a little headache but nothing too awful after 8 hours of partying.  The trick is to start off slow- then you can keep partying till it's dark out and not have Roxie's words to Mason running through your head (why do you do this to yourself?) the next morning).

Anyway, my purpose in telling you all this, was not to make you unbelievable jealous or ashamed that you have such a lush for a friend, but to let you know that the Saturday before Mardi Gras next year, you should join me.  Excited?

Am I a Bad Person?

So I've been thinking about Kesha recently. I know what you're thinking, "Why?" and also "Is there a recovery group we can recommend to get you to stop?" The reason I'm thinking about Kesha is because I don't like her, not as such. Sometimes I think she's what I'd be like if I was ever famous. Super trashy with no sense of class. Possibly rapping about cheese (not that she does, but I feel like if you're a Wisconsin based celebrity you just end up rapping about cheese at some point).

But even though I don't like her (at all) I've listened to her songs the way I listen to a lot of songs, over and over again. First it was just Tic Toc and I could live with that, but then it was also We R Who We Ru (by the way, I'm not looking up the real spellings of these songs, YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!) Recently, I started listening to Cannibal which I sort of love even though it's horrible, and then I started listening to Sleazy.

Hold on a second, that's four songs that I have listened to en masse from an artist that I like nothing about. I do basically the same things with Britney songs, but I don't feel bad about that because it's Britney. Even though I don't really respect or love her, I feel a strange kind of fondness because she's the sex symbol that's setting unnaturally high standards for women that I grew up with. Also, she had a rou

gh patch there, so I'll forgive her.

Kesha, on the other hand, is terrible. Just terrible. But at one point do I stop blaming the pop industry for churning out musical cocaine and start realizing that it says something about me that I have liked four Kesha songs.

Mostly, though, I just wanted to call your attention to the following photo.

This has got to be one of the least flattering photos ever taken of anyone in existence. I'm not wrong am I? Seriously, if I was going to make a movie about a modern reincarnation of the Greek Furies (super ugly mythological women, sort of like harpies) I would use this picture as a model for the costume designer. But so much effort went into making this picture look the way that it does. Why?

Kesha is, like, pretty. I mean, without the makeup and everything she looks kind of like a freckly Taylor Swift. So why? Just why? It boggles the mind.

Am I a bad person for liking four songs by this artist when most musicians can't make enough to scrape together rent? Discuss.

Masquerading as a Cinephile

Since my brother and parents visited a college, I watched 6 movies over the weekend of varying subject matter and quality.  So I thought I might review them for you all.  And yes, I am working on creative things, but they aren't finished yet.  And by 'working', I mean I have some poem ideas; and by 'aren't finished' I mean I haven't started... But I want to post anyway.

(Also, before I get started, don't forget this month's theme: NOT love.  I have my idea, do you have yours yet?!)

In the extremely random order that I watched them:

Morning Glory

Why I watched it:  Rachel McAdams is adorable and I'm still in love with Harrison Ford.
This movie is pretty cute.  And Rachel's tenacity to get a job really hit home for me.  It's a decent feel-good movie, and successfully put me in a good mood.  Though that might have been the moscato.  Fun fact: Patrick Wilson (Nite Owl/ Raoul) makes a sexy appearance.  The movie is about how neurotic and eager Rachel turns around a tanking morning news show.  But mostly it's about how wry and hilarious Harrison Ford is. For that reason alone, if you are a big fan of him, I would recommend watching it.

Midnight in Paris

Why I watched it:  Again, Rachel McAdams.
Meh.  It was an okay movie.  My favorite part was when Tom Hiddleston (Loki!) makes an appearance as F. Scott Fitzgerald, also Cathy Bates as Gertrude Stein, Adrien Brody as Salvador Dali, and the fact we see Ernest Hemingway too.  I found out I don't really care for Owen Wilson, and when Rachel McAdams plays the unlikeable bitch of a fiancee, I lose interest pretty quickly.  It's about Owen traveling to 1920s Paris magically at midnight.  I would have rather just seen all the roaring 20s fun without Owen there.  I would pass it.

50/50

Why I watched it: I love Joseph Gordon-Levitt.  And my brother said this was a good movie.
I laughed, I cried, I swooned, this was a good movie.  Joseph gets cancer (no!) and has a 50% of living.  Seth Rogan, his womanizing friend, is there to make jokes and keep his morale up.  Anna Kedrick (who is just super cute) is his therapist, and she's only had 2 patients before him.  Definitely worth seeing, though I can guarantee you'll cry.

In Time

Why I saw it: Sci-fi premise of time actually being currency, also everyone is 25, also Justin Timberlake.
I missed this movie when it came out in theaters, but I'm so glad I saw it.  You kind of have to go with the 'time is currency' thing because there are no explanations, but I love a dystopic-future sci-fi flick and this is exactly what it was.  Cillian Murphy makes a great appearance as a timekeeper (aka cop).  And who doesn't want to see Vincent Kartheiser (Pete Cambell from Mad Men) as the rich bad guy?  Fun action and so much running out of time.

Drive

Why I watched it: Ryan Gosling.  And my brother said it was good.
Ryan Gosling is so pretty.  But that wasn't quite enough to keep me engaged in this movie.  It's got action and mob violence, but I just couldn't get into it.  Maybe it was all the "let's watch the character stare at stuff as we listen to music".  I don't know.  I thought this would be right up my alley, but it failed to impress.  Gosling is still very pretty.

Crazy, Stupid, Love

Why I watched it: Again, Ryan Gosling.  And ever since Zombieland, I just love Emma Stone.  And a lady I work out with said she really liked it.
I don't usually like romantic comedies, because they are stupid.  And hey, this one says it right upfront in the title.  It was interesting because it wasn't just about Ryan and Emma getting together.  It's mostly about Steve Carrell's marriage disintegrating.  Although, let's be honest my favorite part of the entire movie was Emma and Ryan.  But because that wasn't the focus, that storyline wasn't made nauseating.  Fun fact: Annaleigh, one of the plethora of America's Next Top Model contestants, is in it and not too bad.  Also, Kevin Bacon.  So I'd recommend it if you're in a sappy romantic mood, but don't want to watch Love Actually again.

Have you seen any of these?  Do you want to now?