Pomp & Circumstance, Inc.

This photo encapsulates the aesthetics I most loved about the 80s.

(Yeah, there are only two of them. But it was–it is–a strong love.)

That New Romantic thing, considerably stripped down and made much hipper by Mr Cave here, on the left, and the unapologetic,  industrial-punk toughness of Mr Bargeld on the right–collectively, the best of those days.  (I was in grade school when this photo was taken, busily buying English music magazines and dressing like a freak, much to the concern of many a well-meaning adult.)

So go on, tell me: what were your favorite things about the 80s?

The Biggest Reason I Love Social Media

It’s not because social media has been the most important factor in building my business. (Although it has.)

It’s not because it levels the playing field in so many ways. (Although it does.)

And it’s not because I’m now very much in touch with the quotidian habits of people I have not seen in twenty-five  years. (It is definitely not that.)

The biggest reason I love social media so much? Because it’s okay to be affectionate.

Yeah, that’s right. Because I can tell people I admire that I think they’re great. Because I can tell people I love that I love them, and it’s not weird. (Or at least no one has called me on it.)

I’m very touchy-feely by nature. I tell my husband and kid I love them roughly eighty times a day. (I’ve never actually counted, but I say it a lot.) I’m a hugger. A cuddler. A kisser. I pat arms and heads. But only when I have no fear of being rebuffed; otherwise I’m an ice queen.

Lots of everyday things are just amazing to me, and I like to point them out. Particularly when those things are people. But it often freaks people out, in person. And sometimes it’s misinterpreted (you can’t really hug everybody, as it turns out). And yet. Online, I can yell, “I LOVE YOU!” when someone I know says something particularly witty or inspiring. I can leave a note on a blog belonging to someone on the other side of the world, letting them know that I think that person is lovely and wise and wonderful and makes the world a better place.

Why is that? Is it because it’s text, as opposed to real-time flesh and blood, and therefore less confrontational? Is it because online we have to rely on words alone, as opposed to all of the visual/socioeconomic/sexual/etc. signals that we flash at each other all day long? Maybe a combination of the two–maybe also a million other reasons, to boot.

There’s a side effect to this thing, though. I’m becoming less and less afraid of being rebuffed. Which is to say: I’m more and more affectionate in real life. I’ve all but stopped worrying that people will think I’m weird or too forward or needy (and trust me: I am all of those things). Because I work from home, because Twitter is my co-worker, I’m immersed for much of the day in a culture where building people up is–o, the humanity!–the norm. (I know! What?!) And because of it, I don’t stop to think anymore before lavishing my love upon the people I run into.

Oh, I know it sounds a bit like a cheesy inspirational novel (Twitter Emboldened Me: An Awakening of Love). But you know what? Life is like that sometimes. I’m okay with it.

Also? I LOVE YOU! You are really awesome.

Best of 2009: The best place.

[I'm participating in Gwen Bell's Best of 2009 Blog Challenge, in case you're all like, what's with the theme?]

The best place. A coffee shop? A pub? A retreat center? A cubicle? A nook?

Our condo is too small and too dark. The few windows do not let in enough light, let alone enough fresh air. The kitchen needs new countertops, new cabinets, to be stripped of its hideous wallpaper and painted. All of the carpeting needs to be replaced. All of it: it’s ancient. The termite problem is out of control, as it is with the other 499 units in the complex. And the sink is currently dripping.

But when my boys are home, I see that two of the most beautiful people God’s ever created are right here, with me. They’re intelligent, hilarious, stubborn, odd, loving, kind, strong souls. And they’re mine. And I’m theirs. And we love one another.

And they are my real home. Regardless of where we live.  They are the best place.

Not for the non-addict.

I followed a link today and wound up reading a straight-up, no-bullshit blog post written by someone who is highly intelligent, articulate, and on the very first day of a long, hard journey.  I know addiction and its alluring, tantalizing promises. It is one sexy demon. I come from two long lines of addicts, both practicing and dry. I’ve been to countless funerals necessitated by death via entanglement. And if I were to share the countless ways I keep watch, the many nights I stay up late with a fine-tooth comb and a bottle of No More Tears, spraying and combing until I can rest assured I have not developed any sultry little snares–well, the truth is I don’t want to share that with anybody. But it’s a constant upkeep. It’s just so easy for me. And I cannot afford to be distracted anymore, at this stage.

Anyway, I left a comment for the brave soul telling the truth about the wrestling match she’s just signed on for. And shortly thereafter, I heard from her. She said the comment had been helpful. Which was so, so gratifying for me. So I thought I would post my comment here, just in case it might help anyone else. And I’ll be honest: it helps me, too. To be a hand in the darkness. It keeps me grounded. It reminds me that we’re all in this thing together.

You don’t know me. But I get it. I understand this. And addiction. And, by extension, you. Make no mistake: it is a battle. To the death. To call it anything short of that is to simultaneously candy-coat and undermine one of the most difficult things a human can do. Remember that. When you find yourself knowing beyond a doubt that you absolutely, positively cannot go on without that thing that makes everything bearable–and you will find yourself there, many times, before you’re through–remember: it IS a battle. And battles DO taste an awful lot like shit. So don’t be deterred by the taste, the exhaustion, the fear. Most of all, do not be swayed by the illusion of hopelessness. Because that part is a lie. It is the biggest lie of all. You’re not hopeless. Not now, not ever. Remember that. Okay? Do it.

Attracted, intrigued, enamored.

I love this recent post of Danielle’s, and needed to do one of my own. Like, right away!

I’m attracted to… intrigued by… enamored with…

♥ Rain in the city
♥ Red lipstick
♥ Black ink
♥ Seahorses
♥ Baking
♥ The bathroom I refer to as mine: just a bathtub and a sink, two doors, no windows, totally womb-like
♥ Moody 70s bands like Crime and the City Solution
♥ Beets
♥ That whole New Romantic thing (Roxy Music, the Stranglers, etc.)
♥ Glossy magazines
♥ Roasted vegetables
♥ Overcoats
♥ Platform shoes
♥ Broad shoulders
♥ Kindness
♥ Sewing by hand
♥ Planting: getting the earth under my nails
♥ The ocean. Always, always, always.
♥ Textures in everything: clothes, furniture, food, paper
♥ Limes
♥ The moment before the film begins

Photo by zezinhaa.