So after claiming that I would be posting way more often (ahem, 5 weeks ago), my internet decided to take a coma disguised as a nap. And just tonight after some magical setting configuration it is fixed (shrug). So anyway, I figured I would catch the world (that is, anybody reading this) up on life since then.
I am a massage therapist now! Well, I'm still in school but I can give a full body one hour Swedish massage that has already put many people to sleep. I have my own professional grade table that I have yet to practice on. This is not for want of test subjects; they have been lining up quite patiently. No, it's more to do with the fact that when I am not in school, I am at work. And when I'm not doing either of those, I'm usually sleeping. Or when I'm not doing that, I'm decompressing with a maximum of a few hours with friends MAYBE once a week. But I shouldn't complain. I love my instructors and classmates, I'm actually doing really well both academically and skills-wise. I actually LIKE my job, which is new for me. Yes the hours are long (which is the only reason I'm able to go to school, really) and it can be a little stressful on the feet and back (I'm moving the entire time) but the people I work with are actually intelligent and nice.
So life is good. It feels good to be able to say that after the year in the deep dark hole in the ground (as those who don't know me start to picture an actual hole in the ground with me waiting patiently inside). No, not a literal hole, but figuratively. Applying to job after job that I didn't really want. Trying to get by in a position that I was fighting deep down, until finally the light came on and the fight was over. So I really shouldn't have anything to complain about. And now that I have the internet back I can waste the hours that I would be spending NOT watching the god awful stuff they're selling as television these days surfing the world wide intertubular nets or whatever the proper geek term for them is this week.
And now, your moment of zen...
Monday, August 17, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Trailing behind the footsteps of greatness (OR a tribute to Douglas Adams)
For anyone who has ever gazed on an image or listened to the echoes of the past and wished to have been a part of it. For anyone who has ever been in awe of the genius or accomplishment of a person long dead and shed a single tear from the dual sense of loss and fulfillment that that brings. For anyone who has grasped at the shredded, waving streamers of banners once flown proudly and now all but forgotten…. I understand.
I too regularly discover previously discovered territory and suddenly need to delve into every aspect of it to find some sort of clue as to the meaning of life, the universe, and everything. I watch, read, and listen to old stories with the enthusiasm of a child, only then realizing that scores of others have probably already gleaned some sort of meaning or understanding from them. I see the same emotion in a black and white filmed face as I do in the mirror. I hear the same emotions in the early radio voices as I do in my own. And I feel the same feelings that the authors do in the books I read. I see in them the same desperate search for something beyond ourselves that seems to be universal if not timeless. And out of all this infinite information that there is to glean in the world, and perhaps beyond it, I still can’t help but suspect that it will take more than a lifetime to summarize it into one definitive and neatly edited answer. And if and when I do, I would be content, honored, and somewhat ironically amused if the answer just happened to be… 42.
I too regularly discover previously discovered territory and suddenly need to delve into every aspect of it to find some sort of clue as to the meaning of life, the universe, and everything. I watch, read, and listen to old stories with the enthusiasm of a child, only then realizing that scores of others have probably already gleaned some sort of meaning or understanding from them. I see the same emotion in a black and white filmed face as I do in the mirror. I hear the same emotions in the early radio voices as I do in my own. And I feel the same feelings that the authors do in the books I read. I see in them the same desperate search for something beyond ourselves that seems to be universal if not timeless. And out of all this infinite information that there is to glean in the world, and perhaps beyond it, I still can’t help but suspect that it will take more than a lifetime to summarize it into one definitive and neatly edited answer. And if and when I do, I would be content, honored, and somewhat ironically amused if the answer just happened to be… 42.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
The Future is in the Past
It seems to me that everywhere I go lately there is someone or something that reminds me just how much I wish I were somewhere else. That's not to say that where I am isn't perfectly fine, it's just my nature, I think, to want to be wherever I'm not. Or whenever. Or some other dimension where maybe things make a little bit of sense. Today I heard the song "The Future Has Arrived" and I couldn't help wishing I had been alive in the past, way in the past. If this is the future, then where will we be in OUR future? Can it get better from here? Can it get any worse? Probably. But hey, you're gonna get that with judgement days.
But really I mean you take almost any aspect of life today and there's something missing that I feel like the world may have had at one point. It's the something I feel when I watch Harpo Marx play his harp as if it was a long lost love. It's the way I feel when I read quotes from poets lifetimes ago who managed to put into words what I was feeling at that exact moment, as if they had had a time machine and could read my mind. I don't know exactly what it is but it seems the human race has forgotten what it means to live. We're so preoccupied with money, power, technology, guilt, health, death, ethics, celebrities, diets, politics, Shamwows, and electric toothbrushes that no one can remember the last time they heard complete and utter silence or simply sat and watched the world go by. At least no one I know can.
In the ant farm of modern life I feel like the ant in the corner, plotting away with blueprints and a little insect hard hat of a way out of here. Now, I know there are plenty of people like me. I know because I went to school with them. I see them on the streets, doing a good job of blending in but there's usually a glint in their eye that can be caught if you know what to look for. The problem is that to survive in this dog-eat-dog world ("Dog eat dog here?! George never bring Shep here, uh-uh, never.") so many of us have to put aside our wishes and daydreams, of simpler times, of worlds as of yet unexplored, of the places that will probably stay dreams forever. We have to don the dreaded nametags, enter the cubicles of doom, and tell our inner children that there is no Easter Bunny, go buy your own damn Easter candy!
I know I am not the only landlocked mental time-traveller who imagines steering a pirate ship while in bumper to bumper traffic, who tries to figure out which of the Three Stooges that idiot you have to put up with at work looks like, or who will actually do the math to figure out how much money they would have if they really did get a nickel for every time they inserted a non-sequiter movie quote into normal conversations. ($1,047.25)
So we work. We work and try to not let all of our spark disappear. It can be hard. Somewhere between texting a friend and interviewing for a job; sometime before that weird guy on the street somehow reminds me of Dr. teeth from the Muppets but after I trip over something for the tenth time in a day, it hits me that none of it matters. In 100 years people will still look back at right now with a feeling of fond nostalgia and think "Wow, that was a magical time." Well, ok, maybe the 80's were a magical time, but that was mostly the widespread cocaine, moon shoes, and David Bowie. (Who is in fact a magical creature, no matter what anybody says) But my point is that while the grass is always greener, a lot of us don't even have much grass anymore. And if we do, we're so focused on whether it's perfect (or at least better looking than the neighbors') that we don't realize how much more of it there should be. Quick, think of the smell of the grass after a rainy night! See? It doesn't come so easily anymore does it?
Every once in a while I'll get a window to the past that shows me how things might have been way back when. If you've ever walked into an antique shop, you know what history smells like. If you've ever listened to an elderly person tell stories from their life, you know what the eyes of an 80 year old child look like. If you've ever watched an old silent movie, you see the same people who walk the streets today, just in different clothes. Everything is different, yet the same. Always and never changing. These old things should be cherished, studied, and protected. Somewhere in a pile of old stuff, or in the eyes of that elderly person reliving their youth, or between the frames of those two silent actors dancing in the moonlight is the secret to living. Really living. And if we can figure it out, then maybe we can create a yesterday for future generations to really look at with wonder.
Book I'm currently reading: Peter and the Secret of Rundoon by Ridley Pearson and Dave Barrry
Last Movie I Watched: Seven Pounds
(Oh my god, Will Smith deserves an Oscar for that movie, it was phenomenal. Have a hanky ready.)
But really I mean you take almost any aspect of life today and there's something missing that I feel like the world may have had at one point. It's the something I feel when I watch Harpo Marx play his harp as if it was a long lost love. It's the way I feel when I read quotes from poets lifetimes ago who managed to put into words what I was feeling at that exact moment, as if they had had a time machine and could read my mind. I don't know exactly what it is but it seems the human race has forgotten what it means to live. We're so preoccupied with money, power, technology, guilt, health, death, ethics, celebrities, diets, politics, Shamwows, and electric toothbrushes that no one can remember the last time they heard complete and utter silence or simply sat and watched the world go by. At least no one I know can.
In the ant farm of modern life I feel like the ant in the corner, plotting away with blueprints and a little insect hard hat of a way out of here. Now, I know there are plenty of people like me. I know because I went to school with them. I see them on the streets, doing a good job of blending in but there's usually a glint in their eye that can be caught if you know what to look for. The problem is that to survive in this dog-eat-dog world ("Dog eat dog here?! George never bring Shep here, uh-uh, never.") so many of us have to put aside our wishes and daydreams, of simpler times, of worlds as of yet unexplored, of the places that will probably stay dreams forever. We have to don the dreaded nametags, enter the cubicles of doom, and tell our inner children that there is no Easter Bunny, go buy your own damn Easter candy!
I know I am not the only landlocked mental time-traveller who imagines steering a pirate ship while in bumper to bumper traffic, who tries to figure out which of the Three Stooges that idiot you have to put up with at work looks like, or who will actually do the math to figure out how much money they would have if they really did get a nickel for every time they inserted a non-sequiter movie quote into normal conversations. ($1,047.25)
So we work. We work and try to not let all of our spark disappear. It can be hard. Somewhere between texting a friend and interviewing for a job; sometime before that weird guy on the street somehow reminds me of Dr. teeth from the Muppets but after I trip over something for the tenth time in a day, it hits me that none of it matters. In 100 years people will still look back at right now with a feeling of fond nostalgia and think "Wow, that was a magical time." Well, ok, maybe the 80's were a magical time, but that was mostly the widespread cocaine, moon shoes, and David Bowie. (Who is in fact a magical creature, no matter what anybody says) But my point is that while the grass is always greener, a lot of us don't even have much grass anymore. And if we do, we're so focused on whether it's perfect (or at least better looking than the neighbors') that we don't realize how much more of it there should be. Quick, think of the smell of the grass after a rainy night! See? It doesn't come so easily anymore does it?
Every once in a while I'll get a window to the past that shows me how things might have been way back when. If you've ever walked into an antique shop, you know what history smells like. If you've ever listened to an elderly person tell stories from their life, you know what the eyes of an 80 year old child look like. If you've ever watched an old silent movie, you see the same people who walk the streets today, just in different clothes. Everything is different, yet the same. Always and never changing. These old things should be cherished, studied, and protected. Somewhere in a pile of old stuff, or in the eyes of that elderly person reliving their youth, or between the frames of those two silent actors dancing in the moonlight is the secret to living. Really living. And if we can figure it out, then maybe we can create a yesterday for future generations to really look at with wonder.
Book I'm currently reading: Peter and the Secret of Rundoon by Ridley Pearson and Dave Barrry
Last Movie I Watched: Seven Pounds
(Oh my god, Will Smith deserves an Oscar for that movie, it was phenomenal. Have a hanky ready.)
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
I've decided after a long absence from this blog to change the title and direction that the posts take. I like this logo a heck of a lot better, and I think it better suits me. I had fun making it too. "The Stationary Traveler" didn't give me a lot of leeway for posts about whatever I wanted. So I hope this will work better. I will try my hardest to write more regularly - much more regularly - and my hope is that in time I will have some people interested enough to come back for more. I like the idea of being someone with something to say. Very often I say nothing but think volumes. Getting it out may be the first step. So here's lookin' at you kid. (Yea, uh, I do that.... with the quotes... quite a lot actually. It's hard to stop!)
Look for another post soon. Over and out!
~Jillian
Book I'm currently reading: Peter and the Secret of Rundoon by Ridley Pearson and Dave Barry
Look for another post soon. Over and out!
~Jillian
Book I'm currently reading: Peter and the Secret of Rundoon by Ridley Pearson and Dave Barry
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
New York City Impressions
The amount of people still boggles my mind. Every car of every subway has people in it. Almost every seat on the train to and from NJ is full. It's hard to describe to someone who's never been there. It has to be seen to be believed. I think most tourists go straight to Times Square and immediately see this city, which is home to millions of people, all different kinds, as some kind of theme park or artificial attraction. Maybe it is somewhat. But in the few months I've been going there for work, I've become aware of more than just the glitz and glammer, which fades away rather quickly once you get into the heart of the city itself. The thing that really runs this enormous machine is the people.
From snazzy business-people to street vendors to immigrants to homeless to Park Avenue millionaires, their collective breaths make up the constant beat of the city; the inhale and exhale of every street, avenue, and park. Millions are one whole suddenly. It is an anthill instead of a mass of ants; a pointilism painting made of million of person-dots. Walking down the street, you can't possibly look at every face, take in all the endless signs and lights that you pass. No wonder that all these people eventually become robots outwardly, looking straight ahead stopping for nothing but lights and cars (usually). Outwardly they are all the same, and outwardly they are all so different. To think that behind each set of expressionless eyes is a person hiding safely inside their protective cocoon. I'd like to think that at least some of these people would like to show more emotion, personality, and their real selves. But I suppose it's easier to just turn it off when joining the masses in the grids of asphalt and cement.
It seems that most people don't talk to each other, don't make eye contact. Everyone in NY is, for at least one moment in the day, alone in a crowd. The long term effects of millions of people effectively ignoring each other in this way can be horrific to think about. The only one that matters is you, the place is where you're heading to. With that philosophy, of course there's crime. What's a murder when the other people don't matter? Why not steal when others aren't affected? But everyone is connected. everything that happens affects someone in some way. And every second of every day, millions of people are affecting each other without even knowing it, while staying in their private cocoons and thoughts. It makes small town life sound heavenly.
Of course, this is how I see the city. I don't live there, and so don't have a network of friends and neighbors to relate to. To me it is a lonely city, because everyone is always going somewhere else or with someone else, and I have my own places to go to. Maybe living there would change my perspective; of course it would. But I would much rather be among trees and grass and animals in a place where the people all know each other and there's no pressure to keep up with the flow of foot traffic or watch the street lights for the exact second that it's ok to cross the street. The suburbs are a strange mix of the two worlds, where you see some grass and trees, and know some of your neighbors, but still have to drive to the city area to get food, jobs, etc. But such is modern life.
Would I trade modern conveniences for old world community and values? I'm still not sure.
From snazzy business-people to street vendors to immigrants to homeless to Park Avenue millionaires, their collective breaths make up the constant beat of the city; the inhale and exhale of every street, avenue, and park. Millions are one whole suddenly. It is an anthill instead of a mass of ants; a pointilism painting made of million of person-dots. Walking down the street, you can't possibly look at every face, take in all the endless signs and lights that you pass. No wonder that all these people eventually become robots outwardly, looking straight ahead stopping for nothing but lights and cars (usually). Outwardly they are all the same, and outwardly they are all so different. To think that behind each set of expressionless eyes is a person hiding safely inside their protective cocoon. I'd like to think that at least some of these people would like to show more emotion, personality, and their real selves. But I suppose it's easier to just turn it off when joining the masses in the grids of asphalt and cement.
It seems that most people don't talk to each other, don't make eye contact. Everyone in NY is, for at least one moment in the day, alone in a crowd. The long term effects of millions of people effectively ignoring each other in this way can be horrific to think about. The only one that matters is you, the place is where you're heading to. With that philosophy, of course there's crime. What's a murder when the other people don't matter? Why not steal when others aren't affected? But everyone is connected. everything that happens affects someone in some way. And every second of every day, millions of people are affecting each other without even knowing it, while staying in their private cocoons and thoughts. It makes small town life sound heavenly.
Of course, this is how I see the city. I don't live there, and so don't have a network of friends and neighbors to relate to. To me it is a lonely city, because everyone is always going somewhere else or with someone else, and I have my own places to go to. Maybe living there would change my perspective; of course it would. But I would much rather be among trees and grass and animals in a place where the people all know each other and there's no pressure to keep up with the flow of foot traffic or watch the street lights for the exact second that it's ok to cross the street. The suburbs are a strange mix of the two worlds, where you see some grass and trees, and know some of your neighbors, but still have to drive to the city area to get food, jobs, etc. But such is modern life.
Would I trade modern conveniences for old world community and values? I'm still not sure.
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