|
Love through Deployment and Back A blog of stories and feelings, while my soldier is deployed Me & Him tall, blonde, Canadian, dancer, world traveler, procrastinator, friend, nervous, awkward, self conscious, serious sweet tooth, scaredie cat, adrenaline junkie, mover and a shaker always rushing, usually late short hair, brown eyes, Canadian, smarty pants, adventurer, calm, collected, sharp shooter, serious sweet tooth, runner, adrenaline junkie, sci-fi-er never rushing, always on time My Likes my dog, music, tea, scarves, travelling, driving, ukrainian dancing, sweaters, MUSE, red heads, raspberry drops, extreme sports, Coldplay, laughing, taking pictures, tattoos, the mountains, picnics, climbing trees, lip chap, my plaid backpack, Neapolitan ice cream, black pens, snowball fights, birds, mix tapes, Canada, marmalade, farming, clothes, bluebird days, Queens of the Stone Age, colouring, reading, Biology, velvet wallpaper, cupcakes, dressing up, fresh baked bread, pointe shoes, Pink Floyd, sunshine, swinging, running, Led Zeppelin, vintage anything, classical music, concerts, playing flute, snowboarding, dirt biking, history, hockey, dinners, winter, frost on the windows, motor X, my vans, skateboarding, star gazing, flying kites, BOYS, walking, hiking, watching clouds, soup, thunderstorms, when people smell good, pie, fresh fruit, seeing new places, cherries, the colour lime, orange juice with lots of pulp, the ocean, Baba’s food, horseback riding, hugs The simple things in life Twitter It Up Tweets by @MissFildes links .Twitter .crapneto zebra.paperclip .frends .bogus .last.fm .5050bmx blog .surfrider foundation .etiquette for a lady link it up archives December 2005 August 2006 November 2006 December 2006 January 2007 April 2007 August 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 May 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009 March 2009 April 2009 June 2009 September 2009 October 2009 November 2009 May 2010 June 2010 July 2010 August 2010 September 2010 January 2011 February 2011 March 2011 July 2011 August 2011 September 2011 October 2011 December 2011 January 2012 February 2012 March 2012 July 2012 August 2012 February 2013 March 2013 July 2013 August 2013 December 2013 December 2014 credits layout designer: eloquent layout manipulator: me, using what knowledge I have of html |
|
|
date: Saturday, July 23, 2011
title: You should date a girl who reads.
time: 10:48 am
You should date a girl who reads.Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes, who has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve. Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she has found the book she wants. You see that weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a secondhand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow and worn. She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book. Buy her another cup of coffee. Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice. It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas, for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry and in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does. She has to give it a shot somehow. Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world. Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things must come to end, but that you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two. Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series. If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are. You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype. You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots. Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads. Or better yet, date a girl who writes. - Rosemarie Urquico (In Response to Charles Warnke’s You Should Date An Illiterate Girl.) date: Wednesday, July 13, 2011
title: Seeker
time: 8:00 pm
I'm looking for meYou're looking for you We're looking in at each other And we don't know what to do - The Who The Seeker date:
title: Happy
time: 11:36 am
World English Dictionary Happy (ˈhæpɪ) — adj , -pier , -piest 1. feeling, showing, or expressing joy; pleased 2. willing: I'd be happy to show you around 3. causing joy or gladness 4. fortunate; lucky: the happy position of not having to work 5. aptly expressed; appropriate: a happy turn of phrase 6. informal ( postpositive ) slightly intoxicated — interj 7. ( in combination ): happy birthday ; happy Christmas [C14: see hap 1 , -y 1 ] 'happily — adv 'happiness — n Word Origin & History Happy mid-14c., "lucky," from hap "chance, fortune" (see haphazard), sense of "very glad" first recorded late 14c. Ousted O.E. eadig (from ead "wealth, riches") and gesælig , which has become silly. O.E. bliðe "happy" survives as blithe. From Greek to Irish, a great majority of the European words for "happy" at first meant "lucky." An exception is Welsh, where the word used first meant "wise." Used in World War II and after as a suffix (e.g. bomb-happy, flak-happy ) expressing "dazed or frazzled from stress." Happy hour "early evening period of discount drinks and free hors-d'oeuvres at a bar" is first recorded 1961. Happy-go-lucky is from 1670s. Happy as a clam (1630s) was originally happy as a clam in the mud at high tide , when it can't be dug up and eaten. Online Etymology Dictionary, © 2010 Douglas Harper Well now that we have the definition of the word clarified, what is it that makes us happy? How do we lose the ability to be happy? I guess happiness is different for everyone, therefore a definition is rather pointless since it is defined individually. I know for me it can be a simple as a delicious ice cream cone or as intricate as seeing someone important to me happy. It warms the soul and brings a positive light with it. I want to be happy and haven't truly felt happy in a long time till earlier this year while I was visiting Jimmy in St. Paul and I woke up happy. It was a simple as that. Just waking up and feeling nothing but joy and happiness. I can thank Jimmy for this. He truly makes me happy. He makes me laugh. He shows me how to enjoy life and myself. He makes me smile. Now if only I could return the favour.
You cant make a man smile when he cant find a reason himself to smile.
By date:
title: Recipe
time: 9:51 am
A recipe is merely words on paper; a guideline, a starting point from which to improvise. It cannot pretend to replace the practiced hand and telling glance of a watchful cook. For that reason feel free to stir your own ideas into this dish. When you cook it once, it becomes yours, so personalize it a bit. Add more of an ingredient you like or less of something you don't like. Try substituting one ingredient for another. Remember words have no flavour; you have to add your own!-Micheal Smith Chef at Home date: Tuesday, July 12, 2011
title:
time: 10:07 am
summer is here, between the smell of sunscreen, bugspray, cut grass and the mosquitosdate: Monday, July 11, 2011
title: You should date an illiterate girl.
time: 8:54 am
You should date an illiterate girl.Date a girl who doesn’t read. Find her in the weary squalor of a Midwestern bar. Find her in the smoke, drunken sweat, and varicolored light of an upscale nightclub. Wherever you find her, find her smiling. Make sure that it lingers when the people that are talking to her look away. Engage her with unsentimental trivialities. Use pick-up lines and laugh inwardly. Take her outside when the night overstays its welcome. Ignore the palpable weight of fatigue. Kiss her in the rain under the weak glow of a streetlamp because you’ve seen it in a film. Remark at its lack of significance. Take her to your apartment. Dispatch with making love. Fuck her. Let the anxious contract you’ve unwittingly written evolve slowly and uncomfortably into a relationship. Find shared interests and common ground like sushi and folk music. Build an impenetrable bastion upon that ground. Make it sacred. Retreat into it every time the air gets stale or the evenings too long. Talk about nothing of significance. Do little thinking. Let the months pass unnoticed. Ask her to move in. Let her decorate. Get into fights about inconsequential things like how the fucking shower curtain needs to be closed so that it doesn’t fucking collect mold. Let a year pass unnoticed. Begin to notice. Figure that you should probably get married because you will have wasted a lot of time otherwise. Take her to dinner on the forty-fifth floor at a restaurant far beyond your means. Make sure there is a beautiful view of the city. Sheepishly ask a waiter to bring her a glass of champagne with a modest ring in it. When she notices, propose to her with all of the enthusiasm and sincerity you can muster. Do not be overly concerned if you feel your heart leap through a pane of sheet glass. For that matter, do not be overly concerned if you cannot feel it at all. If there is applause, let it stagnate. If she cries, smile as if you’ve never been happier. If she doesn’t, smile all the same. Let the years pass unnoticed. Get a career, not a job. Buy a house. Have two striking children. Try to raise them well. Fail frequently. Lapse into a bored indifference. Lapse into an indifferent sadness. Have a mid-life crisis. Grow old. Wonder at your lack of achievement. Feel sometimes contented, but mostly vacant and ethereal. Feel, during walks, as if you might never return or as if you might blow away on the wind. Contract a terminal illness. Die, but only after you observe that the girl who didn’t read never made your heart oscillate with any significant passion, that no one will write the story of your lives, and that she will die, too, with only a mild and tempered regret that nothing ever came of her capacity to love. Do those things, god damnit, because nothing sucks worse than a girl who reads. Do it, I say, because a life in purgatory is better than a life in hell. Do it, because a girl who reads possesses a vocabulary that can describe that amorphous discontent of a life unfulfilled—a vocabulary that parses the innate beauty of the world and makes it an accessible necessity instead of an alien wonder. A girl who reads lays claim to a vocabulary that distinguishes between the specious and soulless rhetoric of someone who cannot love her, and the inarticulate desperation of someone who loves her too much. A vocabulary, goddamnit, that makes my vacuous sophistry a cheap trick. Do it, because a girl who reads understands syntax. Literature has taught her that moments of tenderness come in sporadic but knowable intervals. A girl who reads knows that life is not planar; she knows, and rightly demands, that the ebb comes along with the flow of disappointment. A girl who has read up on her syntax senses the irregular pauses—the hesitation of breath—endemic to a lie. A girl who reads perceives the difference between a parenthetical moment of anger and the entrenched habits of someone whose bitter cynicism will run on, run on well past any point of reason, or purpose, run on far after she has packed a suitcase and said a reluctant goodbye and she has decided that I am an ellipsis and not a period and run on and run on. Syntax that knows the rhythm and cadence of a life well lived. Date a girl who doesn’t read because the girl who reads knows the importance of plot. She can trace out the demarcations of a prologue and the sharp ridges of a climax. She feels them in her skin. The girl who reads will be patient with an intermission and expedite a denouement. But of all things, the girl who reads knows most the ineluctable significance of an end. She is comfortable with them. She has bid farewell to a thousand heroes with only a twinge of sadness. Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are storytellers. You with the Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the café, you in the window of your room. You, who make my life so goddamned difficult. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold. You, the girl who reads, make me want to be everything that I am not. But I am weak and I will fail you, because you have dreamed, properly, of someone who is better than I am. You will not accept the life of which I spoke at the beginning of this piece. You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being told. So out with you, girl who reads. Take the next southbound train and take your Hemingway with you. Or, perhaps, stay and save my life. Charles Warnke |
