I've recently been struck by a wave of empowerment, and I feel fantastic! I've decided to no longer indulge others' needs at the sake of my own, unless the person in need appreciates my efforts. I will no longer find myself in one sided relationships. They must be reciprocal. I will no longer apologize for my strengths. I will only devote my time to people that are capable of making me feel good about myself, and vice versa. So often recently, I've found myself devoting my time and efforts towards people that do nothing but ask me to give more and more, without expressing any sort of gratefulness for my sacrifices. I'm a wonderful, compassionate, devoted person. But from now on, I will only be this way with people that appreciate these traits in me.

It's sad to say, but people are either on your side or not. Either they give or they take far more than they give or deserve. Either they add a positive value to your life or a negative one. I've had so many people in my life that refuse to encourage me, or when they do encourage or support me it's only when they know that other people are watching. I'm really tired of being used as a device so that others can feel good about themselves. Fuck them. Every last one of them. Truly.

Poor, Pitiful Poughkeepsie

New York was crawling under my skin. I was saturated with the city's muggy, dirty, salacious atmosphere. I was being swept away with it's undercurrent of cynicism, sarcasm, and jealous ambition. And I was sure that the scampering rats that occupied the city's lower east side would have agreed with me. Brad and I decided to escape the city for a day. I would have been happy to be anywhere else for that day, and he agreed. So we trudged through the sticky, summer weather to our car and turned on the A/C full blast. Moments later, we were watching coniferous trees happily dance through the windshield as we drove aimlessly north. We were slowly shedding our New York shells.

Hours later, we had decided on our destination. Poughkeepsie, New York (pronounced poo-kip-see). For no other reason than it’s ridiculous name. We had no knowledge of the city’s history or what it had to offer us. My first impression of the little city was that it had been woefully neglected. The antique buildings were rusted over, boarded up, and forgotten. The city was like a time capsule from the seventies. The worn and tattered signs on the abandoned buildings spoke of a different time. Something had happened in the seventies that had turned this once proud town into a ghost town. The city’s occupants were sluggish. Their appearance was dated, although not as dated as the rest of the city. It was as if they had reached the early 1990’s and had given up. In fact, the atmosphere of the town reflected that exact attitude. The city, itself, had given up. While driving through the town we came across something that resembled a sculpture graveyard. It appeared that the city’s scraps had been joyfully fused together, creating colorful metal shapes that spotted the grassy null. We welcomed the sight of such inspired ingenuity. We pulled the car over to get a closer look. Close up, it was clear that these sculptures had also been neglected. The paint was peeling off in places, and spots of rust had begun to spread over these creations like a cancer. But still, the art seemed to infuse this small section of the city with a small amount of inspiration.

What had led to the town’s decay? I wondered. Brad and I discussed the phenomena intently on our way home. We deduced that something had happened in the 1970’s that had led to it’s neglect. Perhaps industry had been sent overseas, and all of the jobs had vanished, leaving only the town’s laziest or unskilled citizens to roam the streets. Whatever had happened, we were content to return to our bustling, fast-paced city. After hours of driving south, we were finally home. And my attitude about the city had drastically changed after wading through it’s antithesis. I realized that I was surrounded by the most creative, ambitious, talented, powerful people in the country. Of course, this comes at a cost. The dirty city is filled with secrets and betrayals. But at least it’s filled with something.

Phantoms and Physics

I've been reading a lot about both religion and the scientific schools of thought that refute religion. There's still something missing. And that's what I was referring to in my last post. The subject of the spirit is rarely addressed. If it is, it is usually "lumped in" with either organized religion, or disregarded by scientists as a byproduct of the mind and body. My question is, what is the spirit?

To determine what something is, we must first agree on what it's not. When I speak of the spirit I'm not referring to emotions. I'm even willing to consider the idea that emotions are an evolutionary trait that manifest themselves to warn our bodies, and keep them out of harms way. I'm not referring to ghosts, or the dualistic view that our bodies and spirits can be separated after death. I'm speaking of that barely perceivable side of us that is tapped into other living things. It's the thing that some people may refer to as "animal instinct". It's a part of us that most people don't regard, and spend their lives ignoring. I think that most people ignore it out of fear that they'll be categorized as pagan, religious, or crazy. But if you're one of the few that pay attention to it, it's hard to deny it's existence.

In August of 2003 I had the first of many experiences that led to my complete belief in the existence of the spirit. I was in an elevator reading a book. The door opened and someone entered. I was immersed in my book and didn't look up. But as I was reading, I became suddenly aware that the elevator had become full of an oppressive feeling that felt like anger. I perceived all of this as I was reading, and it was more of a passing observation because I was really enjoying my book and didn't want to be distracted from it. But in between chapters, I made a point of looking up just before the doors opened and the man exited the elevator. His facial expressions revealed that he was seething in anger. His jaw was clenched and his face was red. But he walked out of the elevator with the same calm stride that he had entered it in.

After that point, I began to become increasingly aware of these occurrences. At that time, I was also friends with a couple other people that were willing to talk about things of this nature without passing judgment on me. Since that time in my life, I don't think that I've become more sensitive to these things, just more aware of them. And because I'm a very rational person who is interested in science and evolution, these "feelings" or "sensations" tend to be simultaneously disturbing (because they're unexplainable) and interesting at the same time. So far, the scientific community has been able to explain a great deal, but the subject of the spirit is still unexplored because of the stigmas that have been forced on the subject by various institutions.

I was a Christian from ages 8-13 (or I should say the child of Christian parents). Before that, I lived with my mother who dabbled in witchcraft, tarot, and basically anything pagan. So I'd like to think I'm uniquely qualified to express an opinion on the subject of religion and spirituality. BTW, I think that both ends of the theological spectrum are equally misguided. Neither pagans nor Christians are really searching for the truth. Pagan rituals and most claims of experiences with the paranormal are equally unnecessarily grandiose to me. And it's my experiences with both radical schools of thought and my discovery of science that, up until that point in my life in 2003, had made me wary of anything having to do with spirituality. I think that most rational people probably feel the same way that I felt about the subject of spirituality.

But both the scientific and religious communities are so busy fighting with each other that they can't see the "gray area" in between. I can't wait for the day when controlled scientific experiments reveal the workings of simple day-to-day things like the maternal instinct, or true love. Until then, I guess people will have to hold on to their stories of gods, and their curious rituals to explain and categorize the human spirit.

I think that the biggest, most seemingly unsolvable dilemmas of our time could be resolved if we were able to answer this question - "what is the human spirit?". Or, to be more general - "what is the spirit?". The problem is that most scientists disavow the existence of the spirit, and most theologists feel the need to attach the concept of it's existence to religion. But I think that the answer lies somewhere in between. The problem is that there is no denying that the spirit exists. The fact that we are capable of individual thought and action proves this. So why is the scientific community so resistant of this topic? Because they don't have the answers. Why are theologists so resistant? For the same reason. People are simply uncomfortable with not knowing.

But the greatest discoveries of our time have started with the few people that were capable of saying "I don't know". Unadulterated curiosity has spawned the greatest discoveries of our time. And the mother of curiosity is self admitted ignorance. So if scientists were able to admit (or at least address) the fact that they don't know what comprises the human spirit, and what it's origins are, then they would at least be capable of beginning the search to answer this age-old question. And if the religious population had a direct answer to the question of the origin of the human spirit, then they wouldn't find the need to subscribe to a particular religion (which conveniently answers the question for them). And if religion wasn't around, there would be none of the following: suicide bombers, witch hunts, Muslim/Serb massacres, Christian Crusades, or any of the other examples of mass killings in the name of religion.

So as an advanced society, we should challenge the greatest thinkers of our time to answer the question of the human spirit and the origin of our species' capacity for original thought and free will. If they could find a way to define it, human beings may stop killing each other in the name of god, and start putting their unique capacity of original thought towards greater conquests.

Our successful plot to tie the knot

So after months of wedding and maid of honour dress and centerpiece sewing, designing, printing, cutting, cd burning, shopping, and bow-tying, the wedding happened. Being the oldest of a household of six children, and therefore a little bit of a control freak (and also broke), I handled almost all of the little details myself by hand - from the favors to the programs. Brad worked away at his computer even harder than usual to make sure that the event was paid for. And when the big day happened, all of our extra hard work made me all that much more elated to see it come together.

But it was the big efforts of all of my loved ones that made me misty. My sister spent hours slaving over a beautiful seashell themed cake. Brad's aunt was the careful and attentive photographer for the evening. His brother, sister, and father painted, planted, posted, manicured, and mowed and flower arranged in preparation for the reception at their beautiful estate-like property. I was awestruck by everyone's efforts. So when we said our "I do's" I was not only grateful to be marrying Brad, but also grateful to be marrying his family. It was a lovely and intimate affair because everyone put a piece of their heart into it's creation. Just thinking about that brings tears to my eyes.

I couldn't have asked for a more perfect day. After a week of bleak weather forecasts, and holding back tears and fears of rain, it was the most beautiful beach ceremony that we could have hoped for. And although it did rain at the reception, I think that it added an element of excitement and cooled down our guests (and the boggy bride under 8 tiers of silk) just in the knick of time. Thank goodness for the tent!

A final thanks to all of my family - new and exisiting. And to all of our friends who worked so hard and traveled so far, and for contributing to the best day of our lives.

A dash of love

Yesterday I was suddenly invaded with the spirit of inspiration. And it didn’t hit me in the way that it usually does (through art, music, design). This time I was suddenly inspired to create flavors and textures in a meal that my man could savor. What better way to express love than through the most carnal of senses...taste. I began to dream up the perfect meal. This is what I made - Pork chops with an orange, mint, and sage glaze, topped with fresh pear compote. The side that I made was mashed cauliflower with sage and goat cheese. The sage really complimented both the cauliflower and the pork, and tied the meal together beautifully. All of the flavors were unexpectedly harmonious, which is what I was hoping for. If a meal is made really well, every bite tastes a little like love. I think that this is because love is exactly that - traits that are each unique, but when combined thoughtfully they are surprisingly harmonious.

The glaze - add fresh squeezed orange juice, lemon juice, chopped sage and mint and bring to a boil. Add corn starch to thicken.

The pear compote - Dice the pear. Add nutmeg and butter. Fry in a pan until soft (but not too soft - it’s the freshness of the pear that really compliments the heavy glaze).

The mashed cauliflower - Heat up the oil and add the chopped sage. Cook just long enough for the flavor of the sage to release into the oil, but don’t burn the sage. Turn off the burner *pretty much* 30 seconds after the sage is in the pan.

Blanch (don’t steam) the cauliflower. Add the sage oil to the cauliflower and mash. Don’t puree - the texture of the cauliflower really adds to the experience, and preserves the strong flavor. Add the goat cheese and mash it until the goat cheese blends in completely. No lumps.

I put the mashed cauliflower in a glass casserole dish and baked it with the pork chops for ten minutes. Baking it makes the top a little crispy, and the extra heat allows the flavors to mingle.

The pork chops should be cooked for 20 minutes at 425 degrees. spoon the glaze on thickly and cook for ten minutes. Then turn and do the same thing. Cook on broil for the last five minutes. Top with the pear compote.

Most importantly, do all of this with a lot of love. It really adds to the flavor of the dish. Everything tastes, looks, and feels better with an open heart.

I think that my man would agree with me. At least, I’m assuming that because of the seemingly uncontollable joyful sounds that he was making as he consumed the meal! Sometimes it’s hard to express feelings in words. So it’s lovely that art, music, and even food can sometimes express the unspeakable.

At times, I am overwhelmed with a feeling of bliss. It's a feeling of surprised elation that I have made it. I'm happy on almost every level. And it always overcomes me in a sudden all encompassing wave. It's the first time in my life that I've felt this way. And I'd like to think that it's a sort of reward for every one of my struggles, and that my happiness is like a medal of valor.

The ability to find beauty in the most grim situations is a skill that very few privileged people are able to cultivate. But when you're faced with the ugliest side of human nature, it becomes necessary. It's necessary because hope is the key to survival. But the wonderful benefit of cultivating this skill is that when things are going well, and life itself provides enough innate happiness to fulfill you, your life becomes a perpetual state of bliss. The normal level of happiness that the average person feels, by comparison, feels like heaven.

I knew this guy when I was young. Dreadlocks, pierced tongue. He was the mascot for tainted youth. He was always brooding. I mean, you really don't know the meaning of the word "brooding" unless you've seen this guy. He wore eye makeup and tight, black jeans. His dreadlocks were so carefully and painstakingly maintained that he made me feel like a slob. And he was always searching, searching for a reason to be angry.

I was fascinated by him. I was captured by his mysterious and devoted efforts to appear to be troubled. I wished that I could have given him some of my natural ability to achieve the state of mind that he was endlessly searching for. And some time along the way, I think that my fascination was mistaken for a crush. Whenever I was in his presence, he would put on strange airs. He would lean towards me, with an expression that he must have considered to be sexy and mysterious. But I knew that he had practiced that same expression in the mirror numerous times. And, unbeknownst to him, I was always overwhelmed with a feeling of pity for him.

One day, while I was working on a drawing, I captured his attention. He had always considered himself to be somewhat of an artist. I had noticed that he nurtured a secret affinity for comics. Through my careful observation, I had seen him secretly sketching comic book heroes. This is something that he never would have admitted to his friends. It would have instantly destroyed the image that he had so carefully built. So when he saw me sketching, he approached me. He demanded to see my drawing. The drawing was of an angel. It was drawn on red paper, with white and dark red values. It was spookilly underlit and surprisingly powerful, considering how young and untrained I was.

"I'll never draw again", he muttered, with his usual tone of disdain. "If someone like you is good at it, what's the point".

I was hurt. He saw the look of surprised dejection on my face, and instantly assumed it was because of my assumed crush on him. But the real reason for my bruised ego was because my drawings were very close to me. He didn't understand that I wasn't creating art as a tool to build my reputation. I was creating art because it revived me. It gave me hope, propelled me, and made me happy. And unlike him, I was definitely not looking for a reason to be unhappy.

Though I've grown older and more self-confident, I still find myself experiencing that same feeling of surprise and dejection. When I'm creating art or music, it's a labor of love. The desire to create consumes me, and fulfills me. I don't do it because I need affirmation from the people that I admire. I don't do it because I'm carefully building my reputation as an artist. I just have to make stuff. But still, when I recieve the occasional sneer of dejection, I feel aweful.

I've noticed that there are certain types of people that never feel dejected when their creative endeavors are rejected. They are people that never invest anything in their art. They have a "just business" sort of attitude that protects them from rejection. But their creative endeavors always fall flat. They lack heart and ingenuity. The subject of their project always seems one dimensional and dull. Is this the price that we pay for not getting "emotionally involved" in our art?

Although I often fall short of my intentions, I resolve to put my heart into the things that I create. They may lack perspective and skill. But, dammit, they're mine.

I have a very serious pet peeve. It is when women make statements like "I'm just one of the guys", as if that is something to be proud of. Comments like this indicate that she isn't proud to be female. I love being a woman. I love that I'm allowed to express my emotions. I love spending time on my appearance. I appreciate my inherent nurturing qualities. So when I hear comments like this I find it really irritating. Every day, you hear people constantly disempowering women by portraying them as cliches. We are only allowed to fall into the following categories: doormat, bitch, or "one of the guys". So I suppose that I can't blame women for wanting to become the latter. It takes a truly strong woman to be proud of being feminine while maintaining an immovable point of view. I'm proud to say that I am good at constructing things. I have no shame in the fact that I enjoy a dirty joke every once in awhile. I'd like to think that I'm pretty good at driving, especially at paralell parking. And I know a few things about cars. But I am not "one of the guys".

At some point in our childhood, we are all shaped into what society wants us to be. As women, we aren't really encouraged to pursue certain careers and hobbies. Boys receive more encouragement to learn how to build things and make things work. We are told again and again (by the media, mostly) that most of our value rests firmly on becoming what men want us to be. Obviously, men want us to be attractive. And because they are human, they want us to acknowledge their dominance and superiority. All of that is perfectly acceptable. There is absolutely nothing wrong with wanting these things from us. However, we are suckers for believing it.

So women, don't perpetuate the problem. Be proud of being whatever you TRULY are. It isn't necessary to compare yourself to the boys. And men, (the few that may have had the interest and patience to read this to the end)thank you.