tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39983332009-02-21T01:01:04.709-10:00The Displaced BostonianRandom rants, observations and literary attempts.Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886359236756674431noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3998333.post-904906252003-03-10T15:14:00.000-10:002003-03-10T15:14:48.653-10:00A recent conversation with a new friend yielded a bit of shock.. She noticed that M & I had two of the same CD in our music collection. She asked if she could have one of the copies, and I offered to burn her one instead. She thought that was odd, and asked why did we need two copies. I said, “In case we break up.” She thought this was dreadful.
The next night, over dinner, we were relaying the Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886359236756674431noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3998333.post-893254332003-02-18T10:35:00.000-10:002003-02-19T09:44:43.000-10:00Over the years, what I have found out about myself is that I am an army of one. That may sound stupid to say, or even obvious. But I have only just gotten around to articulating that in my own head.
M has told me on countless occasions that I am not a feminist (which is true), but that I am instead the product of feminism. I do not stand up for myself as a woman, but as a human. My thought was Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886359236756674431noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3998333.post-889934312003-02-12T11:31:00.000-10:002003-02-12T11:31:01.800-10:00Some aspects of adulthood are really cool. You can have pizza for breakfast and go out as you please. But no one ever tells you how uninteresting certain parts of your life are going to be. For example: refinancing your home. This is really boring. I asked my friend, A., when it was that we went from talking about guys and music to new house siding and interest rates. She just laughed.
Another Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886359236756674431noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3998333.post-888644052003-02-10T09:10:00.000-10:002003-02-10T09:10:54.476-10:00Once in a while you get the sense that there is some justice in the world. Last night was not that night. M & I watched a special on cannibalism on HBO. One of the interviews was with a Japanese man who went to study in France. There, he became obsessed with a young woman from Denmark. He shot her and proceeded to hole up in his apartment for a week snacking on this poor person. The French, of Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886359236756674431noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3998333.post-886200632003-02-05T15:01:00.000-10:002003-02-05T15:04:01.000-10:00A conversation last week about a colleague’s former job as a person who placed American school children in cultural exchange programs abroad prompted me to think of my ex. The conversation was about one young man’s experience in Brazil and realizing the truth about what real poverty looks like because of his dealings with a four year old boy who lived on the edge of a garbage dump with other Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886359236756674431noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3998333.post-883396182003-01-31T09:01:00.000-10:002003-01-31T09:01:18.066-10:00No one is ever privy to the real story between a couple. The relationship has its own story that is independent of the two people in it. The truth can never be known by telling the story because the story will always be lacking that intanglible element of the truth. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886359236756674431noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3998333.post-879264622003-01-23T14:14:00.000-10:002003-01-23T14:14:47.356-10:00I think the sure sign of eventual maturity must be that within a few minutes of being mad at your spouse for fairly insignificant (but never the less annoying) reasons, you can laugh about the grievance just as easily. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886359236756674431noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3998333.post-878692052003-01-22T14:21:00.000-10:002003-01-22T14:21:27.843-10:00Whenever you think you are done with something or someone, I think the universe enjoys slapping you around a bit.
At a wedding I attended last weekend, a nephew of the bride took a striking resemblance to what I imagine my ex looked like as a child – ears and all. I placed it right away. There are few failures I have had in life that were as inelegant as that one. That excursion with him was Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886359236756674431noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3998333.post-878543352003-01-22T09:13:00.000-10:002003-01-22T09:13:49.176-10:00Thought for the day:
Classic rock is much like your old boyfriend with whom the relationship will never work out. You know you can always go back to him for a standard good time but over the long term will drive you seriously crazy with constant reminiscing of the past.
Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886359236756674431noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3998333.post-874270682003-01-14T07:57:00.000-10:002003-02-12T11:24:48.000-10:00I have known since I was 12 that I did not want to have children of my own. I don’t know why, nor how I came to such a decision at such an early age. It was just something I knew as a fact and I didn’t question it, like having dark hair. This decision is always off-putting to other people. And people of course like to jump right on the topic and into your uterus, as if your breeding happens to Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886359236756674431noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3998333.post-871303802003-01-08T11:29:00.000-10:002003-02-11T12:16:33.000-10:00I have been thinking abut people who ask a lot of questions all the time.
Ever since I was a child, I can distinctly remember being really irritated when well-meaning but intrusive relatives would ask me, “How was school today?” or “Did you learn anything in school today?”
I suppose I have always felt an overwhelming need for privacy and space. I would inevitably respond with “Why do you wantLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886359236756674431noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3998333.post-868464052003-01-02T12:12:00.000-10:002003-01-02T12:12:28.596-10:00Ah yes, the New Year has dawned. People do seem slightly more optimistic than they did at this time last year. That’s good.
But as per usual, the event itself will always reveal itself to be a bit of a disappointment. The New Year’s I truly want I can’t ever have. Unless, of course, time travel becomes suddenly accessible. It doesn’t exist anymore but I always think of it with the same longing Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886359236756674431noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3998333.post-862477942002-12-18T16:01:00.000-10:002002-12-18T16:01:51.206-10:00The Tour
We stood in safe clusters,
so death would not touch us
on the mortuary tour.
Who takes tours of a mortuary?
And not a cookie factory
or a fruit cannery?
But we all agreed
it was good,
important to face death.
We saw the caskets:
shiny and expensive, with pastel
blues and pinks for babies.
We gathered at the crematorium window,
a long cardboard box awaiting blazes
Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886359236756674431noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3998333.post-862349252002-12-18T10:46:00.000-10:002002-12-18T10:48:05.000-10:00I think most of the time in life people are just trying to weave their way around their insecurities and try to interact with one another on some level of meaning and sometimes they just can't around themselves to do that. I try and make it policy to not my judge my friends - everyone is different and has different ideas and standards.
I don't want surround myself with people who are exactly Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886359236756674431noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3998333.post-861957642002-12-17T15:53:00.000-10:002002-12-17T15:55:11.000-10:00I have to wonder about me sometimes. I am not in the mood for so many things I am left to wonder if I am in the mood for anything at all. I was not in the mood for Thanksgiving. I am only slightly more in the mood for Christmas. I guess you have to know or have kids in order for it be truly fun. The excitement of children at Christmas is contagious, usually.
I am also not in the mood for Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886359236756674431noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3998333.post-859092762002-12-12T10:14:00.000-10:002002-12-12T10:14:43.460-10:00I was thinking last night about porn. We received a catalog in the mail from the company from which we buy our birth control. Aside from your standard items like a wide variety of inexpensive condoms and dizzying array of toys, are, of course, the videos. I like the idea of porn, but I always have had complaints about it.
1) The fake boobs are awful. They look like cartoon boobs that Wiley E. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886359236756674431noreply@blogger.com