Category Archives: Chatter

You gotta have witnesses

self-flowersI saw the film Valentine’s Day the other night. It’s been in my Amazon Watchlist forever, and I thought it was time.

I had to scramble for the remote and hit the “pause” button when this line was delivered by George Lopez:

“To some people, love doesn’t exist unless you acknowledge it in front of other people.”

This is exactly what was up with all those 1-800-BOUQUET vans parked around the office buildings on Valentine’s Day, back when I worked in Manhattan. It was about validation. It was about esteem. It felt like it was about showing off, really – “Hey, I got a boyfriend, I got a boyfriend, and you don’t have one, that makes me better, nah nah nah NAH nah!”. It was like little kids boasting about having ice cream, a la an Eddie Murphy routine from long ago. The girls know the game is being played on them. The guys know they are expected to be complicit in the game, or they ain’t gettin’ any tonight. Hence the massive delivery of tributes to the office, where everyone is sure to notice that “somebody loves me”.

The game used to bother me. That was back when the idea persisted, despite having grown up in the “fish without a bicycle” era, that my worth was measured by whether or not a man wanted me, and how much or little he was willing to declare himself before the populace.

Nowadays, a tree falls in the woods and I don’t really care if there are witnesses. I need no external validation of the noise it makes. OF COURSE, it makes a noise! If I want flowers, then I just buy them myself and call it a day. And I don’t even wait for Valentine’s Day. That’s right, it’s complete anarchy here at Tinkerville. LOL!

Sometimes, though, I’ll send a picture of the flowers to Facebook. Just to let everyone know that I love me. 😉

You look mahvelous

You look mahvelous, originally uploaded by The Single Rider.

I saw this on Facebook and it made me laugh. And then, I realized that I don’t have a mirror.

The majority of women I know live with someone, typically a partner or else their kids. There is always someone in the house to help zip them up the back, fasten a bracelet, or provide a response to " How do I look?".

Me, I get to do all of that myself, and answer my own "How do I look?" type questions. I always respond a la Billy Crystal’s Fernando – "You look mahvelous, dahling!"

Actually, even if I did have a "mirror" living here with me, I am not sure that I would ever ask him how I look. I mean, what’s the poor guy going to say? "OMG, you look like shit and I don’t want to be seen with you"? Way to never get laid again as long as you live LOL ;). I would not pick a stupid guy, so he’d ALWAYS say "You look fine", which is a safe answer that gives me absolutely no useful information. They say "fine" because it is neither "like shit" nor "awesome, let’s skip the party", which is actually something that is said well before "How do I look?", if it’s true.

No, I don’t think I would ever ask. I’d wait to be invited to skip the party. If no such in invitation is forthcoming, I’d just assume that I look "fine" and leave it at that.

You REALLY know you’re single when…

You have a cold aka "the plague", but you don’t know that you are well on your way to losing your voice until someone calls! I knew I was clearing my throat and coughing a bit, but I was also singing along with something this morning, so not being able to speak clearly by 6PM-ish was something of a shock. If other people lived here, I might have found out sooner. I am not sure of what value finding out sooner would have been.

I have lots of work travel the next three weeks and this is rather inconvenient. I think it might be a Memo From The Universe but that is a different post for a different blog… Pray for me!

Passionate Practice

Passionate Practice, originally uploaded by The Single Rider.

Martha Beck (in the February 2011 O Magazine) says that to excel you have to do what you are passionate enough to practice. Well, quot;passion" and "make a living" are more often than not mutually exclusive – which illustrates how I got into this mess in the first place! The only thing I have EVER loved to practice was singing. Too bad I couldn’t make a living at it.

Not to worry – income is on the horizon now. It’s a pirate’s life… er, I mean a consultant’s life for me 😉

Sent from my Nokia N97

Photo Friday: Minimalist

Photo Friday: Minimalist

Minimalist Moon

The moon is pretty much a solitary practitioner. Oh, there are the occasional clouds that wander by, enshrouding her in mysterious aura, but for the most part, she drifts alone in the vastness of the sky, outshining her neighbors the stars. We know they are there, but we cannot see them for her brilliance. They only become visible at the time during which she sleeps.


Photo Friday: Sladder On The Floor

Photo Friday: Sladder On The Floor
Sladder on the floor

Photo Friday this week was “lines”. I haven’t done Photo Friday in a while; when I do, it’s usually on a different blog. I just saw the email reminder and I figure 2 days late is better than never. This photo has been on Flickr for at least a week, as part of a “3 for 30” challenge. It looks like a good candidate for “lines”.

I looked up from my reading one afternoon and saw these lines on the floor, made by the sunlight slanting in through the plantation shutters. I posted it with this thought: “I think maybe there’s a pretty close relationship between shadows and reflections.”

Metaphorically, one is very dark and the other is full of light, the simplistic interpretation being “evil vs. good”. But light can blind us to what really lurks beneath. Perhaps that puffy cloud, blue skies reflection in the lake conceals an alligator, waiting just under the surface for a snack to happen by.

But light is needed to make a shadow too, and shadows can be protective, providing shade during a hot summer day into which patient cows will crowd. “Protection” sounds all good, right? But “protection” can be good (shade for the cows), or bad (camouflage for the gator).

Everything is everything. Thus speaketh the fevered mind of sinus hell. Apologies to Lauren Hill.

Sent from my Nokia N97