This is a SWEET animated short from 1977 by Ishu Patel, a Gujarati artist, called “The Bead Game.” It mimics the evolution of the world through the act of destruction. Starting with a tiny cell, Patel depicts the destructive tendency of nature, as each new, greater creature destroys the last. However, this process is never ending, and as each creature gains intelligence, the destruction continues to occur. The film ends with a depiction of the atomic bomb. Patel seems to be making a commentary on the human condition– to put it plain and simple,we might be complex and intelligent and flash-forward and technologically advanced, but it doesn’t matter, we ain’t any different than that tiny cell— we’re all going to fucking die. It’s kind of bleak, but hey. I like it.

It’s just freaking awesome. Watch it, now.

I demand you!

I’m cleaning and packing for San Francisco today and tomorrow. Cleaning makes me feel like my life is in order. I like it.

On the YouTube front, I posted this video of Gwyn singing her song “Patterns” because I had it stuck in both my head and my hard drive. I miss mis amigas. Though I’m sure my infatuation with the WebCam on my computer was annoying at the time, I captured some great moments for us all to shareeeeeeeeee!

Plus, Gwyn’s so damn good, she deserves the publicity! What is this, like, my third post about her? I legitimately love her stuff, like not in that “I’m-your-friend-oh-my-gosh-that’s-good-i-love-it- but-actually-its-really-kinda-bad” way, but in the “you-are-talented-why-aren’t-you-making-money-doing-this-you-go-girl” kinda way.

So here’s Patterns, recorded one one dirty evening (evidenced by my hair) in the lovely Vining’s residence long-past of Betsy and Sarah Hargass.

M

Western PA is beautiful. If you want to join our forest-wandering club, let me know. We stream walk and discover little alcoves and I’d like to start searching for arrowheads. And Sam has a freakin’ metal detector.

Beep… BEEP… BEEP-CLICK beep.

Wish you were here.

<3,

M

It’s really important.

Really.

Life-changing, even.

You want to know what it is?

Well… alright.

I have CCDS. Chronic Car Dancer Syndrome.

I said it, people! I dance in my car, and I am not ashamed to say that—GODDAMNIT—-I am proud of it!

While grooving perhaps a bit too intensely to some Imogen Heap earlier today, I noticed that a number of passerby stared at me and narrowed their eyes, as if to say, “Calm the fuck down” or “God, the person in that red car is obnoxious.” To all of my fellow car-dancers– you know this look. The sadness, the sourness, the glare. The last time you were belting your heart out to Celine Dion on Wish 99.7, you caught the look in that Saab driver’s middle-aged eye. It says something akin to “You’re crazy”, but features a healthy dose of blind judgment regarding your IQ that really seals the deal. It has the power to instantly make you feel completely and utterly lame.

But you know what?

Unlike the skeptical drivers with whom I am sharing the road, I ENJOY my car rides. Hell, I look forward to car rides. Windows down, volume way, way up, hand swimming in the passing air, singing at the top of my lungs, wind whipping on the face, the smell of summer dirt, and of course, the dancing. A moment to appreciate, cultivating happiness, a cherished escape from real life, a refuge– that is the car dance to me.

And I will NEVER stop dancing in my car until the day I die. I will endure the disdainful facial expressions that I will inevitably draw from the citizens of Pittsburgh with my sweet moves and I will not complain. I vow always to enjoy myself, but also ask your aid in my safety, as often the music wills me into a trance, causing me to remove both hands from the steering wheel. I will do my best, and this I swear to you, oh Patron Saint of Promises residing in the blogosphere.

…

………..

..

… Ok ok… MAYBE I’ll tone it down a little bit at crowded red lights.

But when the light switches back to green, it’s on like Donkey Kong, baybeh.

Much love,
M

And moreover, I am so blessed to have been surrounded by the most wonderful people in the world– for the past four years each of you have inspired me.  I miss you, Gwyn, Lily, Betsy, and Sarah! You have been with me through thick and thin, you are my rock, and I can’t tell you how deeply unsettling it is knowing that the days of late-night rides in Sarah’s clunkmobile blasting Rockin’ Robin are over. Remember when I scratched a car in the parking lot of B with the grommets on the back pocket of my jeans while backing it up to some Soulja Boy? You were there, and I love you all for that.

This summer has been great. It’s been fantastic. It’s also almost over. And because I am a thinker, Winnie the Pooh- style (think… think… think…) I am, again, attempting to make sense of June, July, and August. What have I learned? What have I lost? What have I gained? What can I do (or not do) to make the months of September, October, and November qualitatively better than the last three?

For the first time in my life, the weather is changing and  I’m not gearing up for school. I’m not moving back to Greenville. I’m sitting on a couch eating yogurt, listening to some fabulous music on WYEP — Bhalu harmonizing on his squeaky toy beside me.

So after thinking a little… it seems that “waiting ” has been  the word for this summer. I’m waiting to hear back from AmeriCorps. I’m waiting for my dog to stop being so mischievous. I’m waiting to see Towers again. I’m waiting to move out of this house. Waiting ’til the next recipe, waiting ’til tomorrow, the next book, graduate school, the future, waiting waiting waiting.

After looking at all of this objectively, I realize that I’m being sort of lame. Writing the paragraph above, I was looking at “waiting” as a bad thing. But waiting isn’t bad at all! Remember, Ram Dass, BE HERE NOW. In allowing myself to see “waiting” as a negative activity to be participating in, I allow myself  to miss the beauty of the moment. I am swept up in WHAT IFS, and forget to “talk in present tenses”.

Waiting for AmeriCorps is a beautiful thing. My future is in their hands! I’m dangling in midair, but soon I will find out and I’ll be able to navigate accordingly. I’ll be so happy if I get it, but if I don’t, I have a whole world of possibility waiting at my beck and call. Waiting for Bhalu to stop ignoring me screaming his name while he runs across the street into the house of the Orthodox Jewish family is a beautiful thing. In no time he’ll be old and gray and have stiff knees and a bad heart and I’ll be lusting after the days when he enjoyed tearing into my favorite plants for no reason. Waiting to see Towers is a beautiful thing. Absence makes the heart grow fonder– it also (thank you Carrie Rodriguez) tells the hardest truth. Luckily, the truth is that this is going, it’s going and going, up and up and up, so I can be content waiting. Waiting to move out of the house is a beautiful thing. I really should stop—- and truly savor how lucky I am each and every time I plough into a Bonnie-bought box of Cheez-its at 1 am.

So, I say HUZZAH to waiting. What hurt is there in letting anticipation build?

Today I need to type up some recipes and send them to Sarah, who is going to write them down cutely and publish them (maybe) in a zine that’s starting up in San Francisco. Sweetness? I think so. I’m also going to exercise  my dog (not exorcise, which is surprisingly another word that applies to this summer), and thrift, HARD.  I have a few recipes to put up here, like the pesto-potato-garlic pizza I made for the fam, the homemade carrot and plum cakes I made last week.

I’m not doing anything CRAZILY productive, but I refuse to fall into a pattern of self-loathing. I’m living life and I’m being a nice person, and that’s all that I need at this very moment to feel happy with myself. I know that nothing is ever completely in focus, as we’re always striving for something more, but I think I’ve done great work this year as far as living in the moment goes.

So peace out, Worry and Fear, you guys suck. I see you slinking past my house in your stupid cars, and by not responding to your texts, I’m not playing hard-to-get, I just plain don’t like you. Take a hint. I’m hanging out with Now these days, and let me tell you, he sure knows how to make a girl happy.

Cheers,

M