Monday, September 28, 2009

It's called a jawbreaker

Wanna get me all riled up? Let's talk Roman Polanski, shall we? Can someone please explain to me who thinks that this is appropriate behavior: (a) Find 13-year-old girl (b) drug 13-year-old girl (c) rape, etc., 13-year-old girl (d) admit to doing so in a court of law (e) don't show up for sentencing because things may not exactly go your way (f) flee country and specifically avoid certain places in order to not end up back in the country to be punished for crime you have admitted to committing and fleeing from that very crime. Seriously, the guy is a pedophile who won't pay for his sins. Why are people defending him?

No, you do not get a pass because you produce art. Sorry, that's not how the system works. Does this mean if he were a mediocre director he could maybe rape an 18-year-old? Or rob a liquor store? The crappy directors, well, maybe they can beat up a guy in a bar.

And, shut up everyone who says that even the girl forgives him. No, that is not true. She wants to put it behind her, that's what she has said. And you know what might help her put it behind her? Seeing her rapist punished for his crimes. Having him serve his sentence with so it's not still news. And, frankly, what's she going to say to get him back in the country? "I want that bastard in jail for the rest of his life"? That ain't gonna get him back in the USA.

Oh, it's been 30 years? Is there a reward for getting away with something for a long period of time? Did I miss that memo? And what is the required amount of time? Was 20 years enough? 10? Oh, wait, he's 76? So what? Go. To. Jail.

And news media, I am over you referring to him as "Oscar-winner" or "award-winning director" or whatever wonderful thing you want to call him. I have yet to see one refer to him as "convicted pedophile" or "child rapist." Even the crime itself: he will have to "face justice for having sex with a 13-year-old girl" like they were on a date or something and he got caught. Yeah, it was just "having sex." Oh, and Jacek Bromski, you really need to shut up. Yeah, Polanski's career really suffered there.

This man is a pedophile. He should be in jail for the crimes he admitted to committing. I'm sorry you had a rough life, but this one you've got to own.

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Ironically, I can't think of a title for this one

The other day, a friend of mine called me creative. I said, thank you. She pointed out that not everyone would think it was a compliment. I wondered, who wouldn't think that was a compliment? Doesn't everyone want to be creative?

But then I thought about it a little bit more. Being creative is scary. It's putting yourself out there. It's saying, I'm doing things a bit different and I'm standing behind it. Or, here's something from my very own brain, I hope you like it. And, to me, that one is the scary one. Because, although I might like it, I might think that it's clever or funny or touching, someone else might see it and think, boy, I really hate that. Or maybe not think about it at all.

I guess I will accept that I am a bit creative. But I don't think I'm as creative as I could be. I know that comes from a lack of bravery, a fear of letting go. It's hard to put yourself "out there." I can't stand to watch people read anything I've written. I've distanced myself from my writing at work in order to survive those criticisms. Luckily, everyone has been nice about the writing here. But I'm still a bit shy to actually talk about it. I like that I can write here, someone else can read it miles away, and I don't have to watch or even know they are reading.

This adds to the list of one of the many ways I wish I were braver. I'm working on it, but don't expect me to waving a short story under your nose anytime soon. And, I suppose, in many ways, it may be easier to not be creative. But it's got to be kind of boring.

Saturday, September 19, 2009

But I guess I'm already there

Well, most of the boxes are unpacked, but I'm not sure if I'm completely moved in. I'm at that weird, in-between stage. That stage where everything is in places, but I'm not sure if they're in the right places. Where I have certain pictures on the wall because the hooks are already there, that picture fits, but I'm pretty sure it's not the right picture for that spot. And where should I put my bills? My receipts?

I look around and, yeah, it's my stuff, but it doesn't completely feel like it's mine. I'm still working on the rhythm of the new place. It takes a bit longer than I think it should to get ready to go every morning. Where did I put my keys? That bill I meant to pay? My book? I am getting used to having to run up and down stairs every time I need something, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.

The good news is that every little thing helps make me feel more at home. Yes, that looks better over there. That basket can be used to hold those papers. Lamps are on tables now, not on the floor. It's coming together. It should be home soon.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Not there to soothe your soul

This Thursday, I went from "getting a divorce" to "divorced." I got the phone call at work, all very casual. "Well, it's official." I'm still not sure how to react, how, exactly, to feel about all of this. I'll admit, my first reaction was to cry a little bit. Of course I knew it was coming, and, yes, it was my doing. Or at least my finishing (we're not getting into a discussion of all the details here.) But, now, it is over.

Thirteen years. That's how long we were married, almost exactly. And, poof, it is over. How do I view those years? If I say I was happy, then why did I end it? If I say I wasn't, then why did it take so long? But I was happy. And then I wasn't. But it wasn't just good/bad, yes/no. I suppose it went from one shade of grey to another. And I'm still not sure why the shade of grey became something I no longer wanted, but I know it wasn't the shade I was planning to live with the rest of my life.

I know that when I tell people I feel sad about about the whole thing, some of them wonder if I regret doing this. No, I know this was the right thing to do. But that doesn't mean I don't miss some things. That I don't have some good memories, and, yes, some of these memories are fairly recent. I hate that, in some ways, I have to pretend that those 13 years don't exist. They do exist; they are a part of me. And I'm still trying to decide what to do with those years.

Monday, September 7, 2009

3 sixty 5

I have joined a 365 club on Flickr. One photo (and only one) per day, every day. It started September 1 and I'm already surprised as to how much of a challenge it is. The first change in behavior is that I'm starting to carry my camera everywhere. Or at least I'm trying to bring it. I forgot to bring it to Sam's Club today and I immediately thought, "well, there goes some of today's possibilities."

Another change is that I find myself looking around a lot more. Looking for something interesting or specific for that day. I've resisted taking pictures of the cat although I'm sure he'll show up on a day where I've found nothing else. I have to do less looking for lucky pennies and more looking for good shots.

I have some days where there are a lot of shots. Yesterday I went to the National game (a come-from-behind win! very exciting) and there were a bunch of shots. Of course, the guys dressed as presidents won (although the Teddy shot shown here did not get the shot of the day. Abe won.) Those days you hate that you only get one picture.

I am enjoying seeing other the other pictures in the group but I see how much I need to grow as a photographer. There are some really beautiful pictures in this group. I am thinking of this amazing one of a tomato with a fork in it. So simple, yet perfect.

So, it's Day 7. Wonder what I'll see today. Maybe the trip to the grocery store will bring something.

Saturday, September 5, 2009

Mama Leone left a note on the door

Don't believe the hype: moving sucks. Even though I've been looking forward to actually getting a place to call my own and get my stuff back from Pennsylvania, I have to say that a really, really hate moving. I'm trying to put the good spin on it: at least this is "mine" (well, in 2029, it'll officially be mine!), at least I now have everything in one place, I can try to get organized, but, seriously, I'm exhausted by all of this.

I really do love the new place. Good space, good neighborhood, yep, I made the right choice. But I am really looking forward to the day where I'm not working my way around a box or two every time I go to the bathroom. Or where I can actually find everything I need when I cook a meal.

The good news is that I'm starting to feel like it's going in the right direction. The parents came out last weekend and help whip the main floor into shape. Yesterday I was able to get all the way into my closet ("oh look! There is a back wall!") The internet is up and running ("hello, my pretty.") Yeah, someday this will all be a memory.

For now, it's a little bit at a time. Every box I can get rid of is a little victory. Every trash pick-up makes me happier. I still have way too much stuff, (oh, you have no idea) but it's starting to get under control. Maybe soon I'll invite you over.