"Good" Friday

It's Good Friday, party people!

Actually, I could care less (no offense) about the religious thing. But I just felt like making a list of things I think are good.

Things I Think Are Good, by Emilie Cole:
-beer (except Fat Tire. Blech.)
-sarcasm
-the practice of following one's gut (by practicing the policy of following one's gut, one will inevitably learn lessons (yes, some very hard). As a result of this learning, one's gut will evolve to include more and more "right" decisions, which in turn will arm one with an even better gut to follow)
-the resulting redevelopment of Southeast DC due to the new Nationals Stadium
-saying "please" and "thank you"
-moderation (itself in moderation)
-laughing until you can't see or breathe, whichever comes first
-having bad days and hard times
-Kraft Mac-n-Cheese Spirals, preferrably with a hot dog cut up
-true alone time once in a while
-feeling exhausted from physical exercise
-Web 2.0 and Google
-extreme right- and left-wingers. Both are a beautiful part of our collective dialogue
-doing nothing sometimes
-if you have kids, to have more than just one
-Cat Stevens
-equality in marriage
-use of the serial comma
-Bush's vegetarian baked beans
-Syracuse not making the tournament (you got to earn it to own it, kiddos)
-the Classical Renaissance
-onion rings with ranch dressing
-trying new things and even retrying things you didn't like before once in a while
-The Wire
-serving in the military (I didn't)
-spending a little more for green products
-these Girl Scout cookies: Thin Mints, Samoas, and Tagalongs
-the Ten Commandments, as read secularly
-immigration
-the people in my life
-the American system of checks and balances, especially the idea of three separate branches of government
-immigration reform
-knowing how to drive manual transmission
-knowing Spanish (I don't)
-direct-service non-profit organizations and huge internationals banks
-the fact that The New Yorker just exists (I don't necessarily need to read it)
-pub appetizers, especially pub appetizer sampler plates which include lots of fried things
-bacon
-All, It's

home, spring, whatever

...And that's to say, yeah I'm leaving...But I don't have to go there.
I don't have to go to Spring Street.
Because its spring everywhere.

I thought my spring involved leaving. I was happy with my plan, and too angry to look back. Hindsight is 20/20...and I guess I'd rather eventually see 20/20, no matter how frustratingly-timed, than to never see it at all.

I thought my spring hinged on this move...on this new beginning, and the way I was raised it was ingrained in me to turn to 'new beginnings,' so I never questioned that. Now for the first time in my life I sense home, and I know where it is. And it's not where my family is, although I thought that may have been the case. And it's not where the majority of my family thinks I "should" be. And it's not "less" home because it is far from them.

And it's not the familiarity or the memories. It's not the sound of the Muni, the farmer's market, the sparkling bay on a sunny day, or the freedom to feel glum on a foggy one. It's not calling Papalote and having them know my voice, or sitting in my kitchen with the ravished spread laid out on the table and offering Karen the last bite of my rice and bean super burrito 'cause I know she wants one last bite. It's not merchants of 24th; the Fernandas or the Jules or the Joes. It's not the exhilarating thigh-burn I get when I walk anywhere, nor the fun disdain for the Marina. It's not cheering with Random Dave at the Dub on an autumn Sunday morning, or Karen hearing the homeless guy ride his shopping cart down 24th Street at 11pm and hurry up and look or we'll miss it this time. It's not the obnoxious sound-making knick-knacks lining Mission Street storefronts, or posters of leather-clad beefcakes lining Castro Street. It's not the spot on Fair Oaks where so many nicely-potted plants have been arranged by a bench and I look down toward my house and everything feels good and the sunlight peeks through to the sidewalk and I can hear the kids over at the Adda Clevenger playing during recess. It's not donuts on Christmas morning or Bart's ravioli on Thanksgiving. It's not fixed-gear bike riders, or riding my own bike across the bridge, dodging the Blazing Saddles renters, and around and then up to the tippy top of the Headlands with my calves on fire and my heart pumping and my lungs heaving, and looking back on the city and getting goosebumps.

No, all those things are just nice memories I feel lucky to have like all the other thousands I'm forced to keep in my mind from the myriad of places I've lived.

Home? Home is where the heart is.

And I want to come home.

misc. wednesday

-I can't believe it's been a year. I don't want to die without doing what makes sense. I don't want to lose important things due to stuff I could have changed. I don't want to sell myself short.

-I won't.

-Hey there...what's that in your sky
With all the pretty lights
You think I can get that high?
Hey you man, where's your motivation
And why the celebration
You've gotten nothing done here.
You wanna live until you
Die alone and will
Fly alone and will
I'm not so far below
I live beneath your sky
With tainted eyes,
I've made my mind
To live until I die
Run run run catch me if you can can can
Come and hold my hand and I'll be your biggest fan
Followers living in your hollow words
I have seen your nine to fives
Wash away your dreams