The Nature of Sanctity, or, Because We Say So

My half-brother died last week. Actually, it was 2 weeks ago, of an apparent accidental drug overdose. We, the Southern California contingency of the family, found out 2 days ago that his memorial service would be hapenning yesterday morning. Sometimes communication takes a little while in Utah.

Now, I've missed 2 funerals for members of that side of my family in the past. At the time, it was clear that going just didn't make sense... first, when my cousin's suicide came in the middle of ferocious high school preparations for AP tests and the SAT, and years later, with the overdose of another cousin I'd only known decades earlier. At the time, these decisions were clear. Over time, though, I started to see myself as the kind of person who always prioritizes work over friends and family, and started to use these two examples as evidence against myself.

When Aaron's time came, and I was so moved and grateful to be able to be so present, and sharing in the grief of all of us who loved him coming together in tribute, (RIP, you hairy, level-463 wizard cookie chef, farting machine), I decided I'd never miss another friend or family funeral.

So Monday, I was stuck. My dad was actually awaiting calls from the doctors as to whether his heart was about to give out if he got on a plane (physically... dealing with a lot there), we were struggling to find flights, we're all struggling to make rent and hard a hard time conceiving of hundreds of dollars to fly away and back for one day, we didn't even know most of the small group that was planning to gather, and we were all judging ourselves as crappy family members, for noticing the facts that going just wasn't going to work out smoothly.

Then, in a bizarre coincidence, my dad and I were hit at the exact same time, with the idea to have our own memorial here. I like to think we both received the same spiritual broadcast from God, because I enjoy looking at the world that way. We juggled schedules, me and my brother fought over rearranging appointments, some of the biting effects grief can have came out, but it came together - in a lovely family lunch, and subsequent releasing processes at sunset.

Our lunch wasn't much different than any other lunch my dad, brother and I have had together. Most of our time was even spent talking business and the stock market. But sometimes a little avoidance is something people need in grieving too, and just in holding the intnetion to celebrate and release Vincent's life, our gathering had special signifcance, and subtle psychological effects, I think, for each of us.

We didn't have to fly anywhere, we didn't have to listen to some so-called religious official recite the words he's been taught about death, we didn't have to be in the presence of a no-longer-soul-containing body. We just mourned together. And our service was sacred. Because we said so.

Going From Broke #4 - How to Take a Break

Hi Guys,

I'm Heidi, and I'm a workaholic.

But, I'm in recovery. Fortunately, I was lucky enough to choose the most socially sanctioned addiction there is, but still, I wanted out. So now, help me out, please.

I'm compiling a list of fun activities to do to blow off steam, get away from work, or just enjoy life. I want a big, fat, exciting list to draw from, so if you could send me your ideas of fun and favorite things to do, I'd really appreciate it. My list so far consists mostly of driving around with the "windows down and the system up", playing at the beach, watching movies, and going out with good friends (or staying in for chocolate and ice cream ;))

Help me think bigger, will you? Oh, and smaller... little simple things too.

Thank you!!!

I am a rather Ironic Maiden...

Okay, so this won't really be ironic. Please refrain from Alanis Morriset references while pointing out flaws in my use of the proper English language. The pertinent information is that I am a thorough product of my generation.

Unlikely but fun metal head that I am (I think headbanging-hippie was a well-coined term), I take great delight in exploring a most impressive CD collection, which was left in my foster care, while its owner resides in Boise. With this joy, comes a wondering at why it has taken me so long to appreciate some of the great metal classics. I'll take this moment to stroll through a recollection of my heavy music fandom.

Indeed, an enjoyer of the metal music I've been as long as I've been grown enough to make conscious music choice. I think that happened somewhere around the time I heard my angsty teenage big brother listening to The Black Album (yes, that Black Album), and decided that was the kind of cool I wanted to be. Then, once my own teenage discomfort hit, Korn was the primary order of the day, followed by the logical metal-fusion bands of the late 90s like RATM, Limp Bizkit (how however they spelled it), SOAD, Slipknot, and The Deftones. I sincerely apologize to anyone who's refined 90's music sensibilities are offended at my including all those bands in one sweeping generalization. I acknowledge it's an oversight, but it's sufficient for my low-level of musical snobbery.

College brought an added level of sophistication, as college tends to do. My tastes deeped into more symphonic black metal like Cradle of Filth, and Dimmu Borgir. Looking back, my exposure to that genre, as cherished as it was, was mostly through one person (like I said, isn't it always a guy?), and they faded from the front of my time and consciousness as he did. Though, I should note, both those bands and that lovely man still hold huge warm places in my heart, and will always simmer like dark, macabre, potpourri in the back burners of my mental existence.

The later college years called for something more trippy, as college tends to do, and I came to cherish the ear-gasm of combining the satsfying dark crunch of heavy guitar driven riffs with the "Du-Must-Danz-Now" throbbing pulse of good psytrance. (It doesn't work unless its through a German accent.) I'm always on the lookout for artists who do this consistently - X-Dream does occaisionally, as does GMS.

Old metal, I thought, was not quite dark enough for my metal sensibilities, not quite light enough for my hippie sensibilities, just not quite me....

Until Iron Maiden became my driving companion.


Seventh Son of a Seventh Son lasts exactly as long as a drive from Santa Monica to Simi Valley in medium traffic (which I do twice a week), and hasn't left my CD player for the last several weeks. I could indulge in a rant about why its just so good, but that's been done for decades, and I'm not sure I'd have anything to add to the totality of human knowledge on that front. What I do have is an admission. An admission that, despite my attempts at cooleness, I am a kid in my 20s in 2008.


My confession is this...
.
.
.


I can't listen to Bruce Dickinson's dramatic spoken verses, without hearing Jack Black.



There, I've said it.

Maybe it's because there are some Maiden songs in contention for the title of Greatest Song in the World... No, it couldn't be that. That was just a tribute.

It's just all the joy bubbling forth under the darkness. It could be Mr. Black has simply impersonated ole lovable Bruce Bruce in his stirring musical numbers, but that would be disappointing, and no fun, because it would invalidate my coming point entirely.

I think these men LOVE metal. And while I definitely could be giving The Tenacious half of the D way too much credit for comparing him to a legend of the genre, I can't help how my ears hear it. I think the melodramatic darkness is full of such enjoyment for both these crooners, that you can't help finding yourself simultaneously wanting to stir up a cauldron of fend-off-the-inquisition, and laugh at it's silliness. I think they do too. I think under all the silliness, and blood on stairs of famous relics, there's a boyish delight that can't help but spring out of the voices of these two men.


... or, I could just be brainwashed to hear everything through the filter of my decade's music. But I like my explanation better. Do you guys ever hear songs this way too?




"Rock music should be gross: that's the fun of it. It gets up and drops its trousers. " - Mr. Dickinson

"There's nothing you can really do to prepare to rock. Do you prepare to eat a delicious meal? Are you hungry? Then you're gonna eat it. " -Mr. Black

Going From Broke #3 - Gone Overboard

I'm frikkin tired. I feel like I've been running a marathon.... and really, in my terms, I haven't been doing all that much. What I have been doing a lot of is examining my financial picture, and digging into core values and assumptions around oh, little questions like, um... only my worth as a human being.

One of my books seems to shame readers into realizing they shouldn't live on credit, spending above their means. Of course, logically I agree with this assertion by all means. However, it's only been a few months ago that I, realizing I'm trying to build a new business, and bound to see a lull in income, accepted that maybe it's okay to live a stint as young and broke, and let myself accumulate a little credit debt. Well, with my allowance from old Uncle Unemployment Insurance running out, I got scared last week, and thought maybe I should just learn how to live within my means, whatever they are at any given moment. So, I budgeted the rest of the month, and have been trying to nurse $48 to cover life in LA for 2 weeks.

Now, tired, hungry, and lonely, I say "f*c& this."

Living within my means right now would require moving back in with my parents, which would prevent me from two other financial keys in this process: 1) building a client base on the Westside, and 2) stepping into adulthood and acknowledging my real value as a human being. Neither of those things can I do from my messy childhood bedroom in Simi Valley.

So, with caution, and awareness, but a healthy-dose of much-needed self love, I say "Welcome back, citicard! I missed you!"

Rule 5 for Newbs

So its Oct 9, Game 1 of the NLCS. I've been gradually becoming a casual Dodgers fan over the past 2 1/2 years (why that amount of time?...it's always some dude, isn't it?), and it's my first time, to my knowledge, ever watching the Phillies play.

<<<--- This man made me sad. He's friggin good. Then, aforementioned "some dude" tells me Victorino was a Dodger, till he got stolen..... what? Rule 5 Draft? What's that? Upon hearing it was too complex for texting, which seems, dishearteningly, to be my primary means of communication with most people these days, I set out to find the answer for myself. And now, in terms other casual fans and those us of rocking estrogen won't mind hearing (shit, I know.. my Berkeley degree just got revoked again... it happens often... bad feminist....) here's a little rundown of

ye ole' rule 5:
1.Boy plays baseball
2.Boy is good, but young, gets recruited to minors
3. Boy shows promise, but not good enough for 40-man roster (Major league team, plus backups that can be "called up" from where they play meanwhile in the minors), he still plays minors
4. To prevent hoarding talent in the farms (where attractive young ball players are fed and watered), after a certain number of years (depending how old he was when he caught that special scout's eye), another team can take roster-less boy as their own.
5. Stealing team doesn't actually steal boy... they have to pay $50,000 for him. (Or they can do the same thing for lower-levels of their own farm, at cheaper rates). They also have to have an open space for him.
6. Boy has to be part of the major league "stealing" team (with only 24 of his partners in crime) for the whole season, or else they have to give him back, if they don't want him anymore.

Victorino, it turns out is a fascinating case.
1.Dodgers grew him, pouring water and fertilizer on the little Shane seed.
2. 3 years later, Padres rule 5 drafted him. F@ck you again, Aaron Kiefer.
3. Padres changed their minds... fickle, fickle team. Gave him back.
4. 2 years later, Phillies rule 5'ed him.
5. Our little Dodger Shane seed has grown up to kick ass for the Phillies.

This could be our grass-skirt wearing Bobblehead, LA --->

Actually, nevermind. That wouldn't be cool at all.

But I do think it's cool to make sure kids get a chance to get out there, even if it might kind of suck for the team that's cultivated them.

Meanwhile, much to Danny's chagrin, I think I'm taking a big step in my personal fan-dom.
I'm about to start following my second team, casually. The Phillies impressed me. I know I'm not allowed to say that in LA, but *Cartman voice* I do what I want!*end Cartman voice*

Yes, folks, I'm making the transition... from being a half-assed Dodger fan, to being a half-assed baseball fan. Hats off to me!

Technology Meltdown...

I, in the electronic sense, which I say because I realize how sadly my identity was wrapped up in my addiction 1s and 0s on my harddrive, have been largely erased. Virus? AVG didn't find anything. Circuit fryage? Not that I can tell. I'm bewildered.

I see this as clearing room for a fresh start. And maybe encouragement to not spend so many damn hours in front of this screen.

That said, back up your junk, kids.

Going From Broke #2: Revving Up...

So there's several posts swimming around in my head right now, but I've just been catapulted into the 2nd year of my master's degree program, and holy crap, is my life changing. Namely we have a big second year project, and I have a question for anyone who'll brave an answer: actually, a choice of questions either (1) What supportive beliefs about money have helped you bring in enough to support you in a thriving life, or (2) What limiting beliefs do you hold about money that keep you from ever having "enough"?

I'll start with one of mine... I caught myself subtly, barely detectably thinking "If I'm financially successful, I'll be alienated from the people I love." Then, I realized I kinda already have alienated myself. (When was the last time I saw you in person?) So, here's a little virtual act of reaching out in bloggy friendship.

The next year of my life is based around researching and restructuring money beliefs and practices, so let the games begin!