For Love and Chocolate: The Day I Turned Tween

I'm going to tell you about my exciting day yesterday, okay?

Well, first I went to check out the Docklands, which is an area of the city that I had yet to explore. So, I went to this cute little playground for the purpose of taking pictures for this wee video I later made using iMovie to showcase an awesome sculpture I had seen in passing on the tram the other day:

(Click on it to watch it on youtube. It's a little chopped off here.)

Cool beans, huh? So then, after much exploration and picture taking, I started a very long walk home. On Collins Street, in front of Lindt Chocolate, I came across this scene:

"What the heck are you people doing?" I ask.

"Roger Federer is inside!!" they exclaim.

I gasp.

Believe me when I tell you, I'm no celebrity stalker. Truly, I think it's pretty absurd to put people on a pedestal like that, especially just for being good-looking or rich or good at acting or sports or something. They're just people, you know. BUT for every rule there is an exception: male tennis players are the exception. There is just something indescribably sexy about a man playing tennis. Ever since I was a young girl I have had a series of crushes on male tennis players. First, it was Pete Sampras. Then, it was Patrick Rafter, followed by a very short-lived crush on Andy Roddick. (I'm sooooo over him.) Now, it's Roger Federer. When I see that sexy Swedish beast of a man sweating as he swooshes his racket, I swoon. I swoon, I tell you. So, when I realized that Roger Federer (who is in town for the upcoming Australian Open) was inside of the building I was standing outside of, my inner tween came alive.

It turns out, Roger Federer is an official global ambassador for Lindt, a Swiss company. So, alongside all the other schmucks I waited for the chance to catch a glimpse of a star. It was so very unlike me, which is one of the reasons I think I enjoyed it so much. There was a great sense of camaraderie and excitement in the air. People kept coming up, asking what all the fuss was about. The British man I was standing by and I had fun messing with people. "Arnold Schwarzenegger is inside!" "Paris Hilton is in there!" "Barack Obama is here buying chocolates for Malia, Sasha and Michelle! We swear!"

Hee. Hee. I also had a chat with this guy, who led me to believe he was Roger Federer's driver:

After some time had passed though, the whole event came to a very anti-climactic end when some official looking people came out to explain that Roger wasn't even inside anymore. He had slipped out the back! That sneaky, sexy Swedish bastard made a chump out of me! So, in the end, all I got was this lousy piece of Federer chocolate from a guy wearing make-up and a funny hat:

(Actually it was delicious and I was thrilled about it!) And furthermore, it was very much all worth it because I also got this:

a glimpse of Roger's head. Swoon.

(Who am I?)

Learn, Learn, Learn!

-quote by Jiddu Krishnamurti

Let's Not Get Carried Away With Ourselves: Ass Pimples, Assholes, and Depression

I am one of the bajillions of people who suffers from bouts of depression. Many people are surprised by this because I'm pretty good at putting on a happy face so as not to concern or bring down others. And while I have a great propensity to happiness, I'm also quite good at being sad. Yep, from time to time old man sorrow knocks on my door, and for reasons I can't explain, I not only let him in, but I nourish him, giving him free room and board. He makes himself right at home, real cozy-like. And then darkness falls. That fugly darkness fills my house and I walk around in it, lie down in it, cloaked in pitiful, pitiful sorrow. I will admit there have been times I have sat crying in the darkness for hours on end, without really knowing why. It's pretty pathetic, really. One of the main reasons I started thegoodinyou is to attempt to thwart this little devil's next scheme to sneak up on me and to blind me of my own goodness and worth and of the beauty inherent in life. But really, it's wrong of me to make my depression into some mean other, into something I don't have control over. I still don't know exactly what I think depression is or what causes it. I know when it's upon me that I am quick to call it something I can't control. No doubt the effect of depression is a physical one, a chemical imbalance, but I am inclined to think that the cause is spiritual in nature. And let's face it, we are each responsible for our own spiritual well-being. I must accept responsibility then for my depression, for I am the one opening wide the door to my own self-pity. I read the following perspective, full of humor and humility, today and wanted to share it, not only for you who may struggle the same, but also, for my future self to read, in case old man sorrow comes a knockin'.

All depression has its roots in self-pity, and all self-pity is rooted in people taking themselves too seriously."

At the time Switters had disputed her assertion. Even at seventeen, he was aware that depression could have chemical causes.

"The key word here is roots," Maestra had countered. "The roots of depression. For most people, self-awareness and self-pity blossom simultaneously in early adolescence. It's about that time that we start viewing the world as something other than a whoop-de-doo playground, we start to experience personally how threatening it can be, how cruel and unjust. At the very moment when we become, for the first time, both introspective and socially conscientious, we receive the bad news that the world, by and large, doesn't give a rat's ass. Even an old tomato like me can recall how painful, scary, and disillusioning that realization was. So, there's a tendency, then, to slip into rage and self-pity, which if indulged, can fester into bouts of depression."

"Yeah but Maestra - "

"Don't interrupt. Now, unless someone stronger and wiser - a friend, a parent, a novelist, filmmaker, teacher, or musician - can josh us out of it, can elevate us and show us how petty and pompous and monumentally useless it is to take ourselves so seriously, then depression can become a habit, which, in turn, can produce a neurological imprint. Are you with me? Gradually, our brain chemistry becomes conditioned to react to negative stimuli in a particular, predictable way. One thing'll go wrong and it'll automatically switch on its blender and mix us that black cocktail, the ol' doomsday daiquiri, and before we know it, we're soused to the gills from the inside out. Once depression has become electrochemically integrated, it can be extremely difficult to philosophically or psychologically override it; by then it's playing by physical rules, a whole different ball game. That's why Switters my dearest, every time you've shown signs of feeling sorry for yourself, I've played my blues records really loud or read to you from The Horse's Mouth. And that's why when you've exhibited the slightest tendency toward self-importance, I've reminded you that you and me - you and I: excuse me - may be every bit as important as the President or the pope or the biggest prime-time icon in Hollywood, but none of us is much more than a pimple on the ass-end of creation, so let's not get carried away with ourselves. Preventive medicine, boy. It's preventive medicine."

"But what about self-esteem?"

"Heh! Self-esteem is for sissies. Accept that you're a pimple and try to keep a lively sense of humor about it. That way lies grace - and maybe even glory."

-Tom Robbins, from Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates

So, I hope you don't mind my using this blog as a sort of preventative medicine and as a reminder of who I am in the light. This blog is, in part, my way of reminding myself: Your cup is full, fool!! Now, God forbid I should fall again into that pity pit of despair. But, just in case I do, I will have this entry to look back on, to remind myself that I am a mere pimple on the ass-end of creation, to remind myself:

And after I do, I'm sure I'll feel much better.

"Hold on to what you believe in the light

when the darkness has robbed you of all your sight."

-Mumford & Sons lyrics

Wanna hear that song?

Okay!

The rest of the lyrics are not entirely pertinent to this post,

but still, it's a good song:

"Bring me the sunset in a cup." -Emily Dickinson

A sunset in the summer in the city is a sight to behold,

a site, like your life,

which is being built and unbuilt

before your very eyes, being so freely found

and just as easily lost

e-v-e-r-y s-e-c-o-n-d

it draws closer to its death

and yet also, to its rebirth.

Don't you just want your life to unfold like that?

Like a sunset being pulled to its own end,

not with fear but with changing beauty and steadfast grace,

accepting with gladness that every last drop of color within it

is a gift which must be given back.

And so, with joy!

let us take stock of what we have,

and then spread it out like a feast.

Let go of your life every day,

like a last supper summer sunset.

Look closely

at those colorful souls around you

as if they were a sunset in a cup,

and then drink up.

-me

Good day to you all. I thought that maybe, in the bleakness of winter, you could use a little reminder of your own color and light. Love you!!!

Remember the Way You Are All Possibilities

Chrissy, this poem makes me think of you and your journey of a thousand miles, which, as you well know, begins with a single step.

Mameen

Be infinitessimal under that sky, a creature
even the sailing hawk misses, a wraith
among the rocks where the mist parts slowly.
Recall the way mere mortals are overwhelmed
by circumstance, how great reputations
dissolve with infirmity and how you,
in particular, live a hairsbreadth from losing
everyone you hold dear.

Then, look back down the path as if seeing
your past and then south over the hazy blue
coast as if present to a wide future.
Remember the way you are all possibilities
you can see and how you live best
as an appreciator of horizons,
whether you reach them or not.
Admit that once you have got up
from your chair and opened the door,
once you have walked out into the clean air
toward that edge and taken the path up high
beyond the ordinary, you have become
the privileged and the pilgrim,
the one who will tell the story
and the one, coming back
from the mountain,
who helped to make it.

-- David Whyte
from River Flow

Sibylle Baier

If you haven't already,

meet Sibylle Baier.

"In a particularly dark and moody period of her young life, Claudine, a friend of Sibylle's, dragged her out from under the bed and took her on a road trip to Strasbourg, ending up across the Alps in Genoa. Upon the return from this trip Sibylle felt her spirits renewed and she set out to write the song "Remember the Day", grateful for being alive. It was the first song she ever wrote."

(taken from here)

Sibylle, though talented in acting and music, chose not to pursue an acting or singing career. She eventually moved to America where she concentrated on raising a family.

"Sibylle is a star who chose to shine for her friends and family instead of the whole world."

Between 1970 and 1973, Sibylle recorded her songs at home on a reel-to-reel recorder. Some thirty years later, her son Robby compiled a CD from these recordings to give to family members as presents. In 2006, these songs were released by Orange Twin Records on an album called "Colour Green"

In case you want more:

http://www.sibyllebaier.com/home.html

Happy New Year From the Future/Fun With Granny Smith

Jason and I had a pretty awesome New Year's Eve which included homemade donuts, When Harry Met Sally, explosions in the sky and the making of this little video.

We are trying to learn iMovie. Jason used GarageBand to mix up two Animal Collective songs: What Would I Want? Sky and Fireworks. We hope you enjoy the video and the new year!