We were in the kitchen at a friend’s birthday party. He was cute. I was doing dishes. The conversation flows. And ends…. Well, Almost ends. Should’ve ended.

He politely says “It was so nice to meet you, What’s your name again?”

I should’ve just said “Julie” but I didn’t.

I actually listed the five previous occasions that he had “met me”.

Listed them.

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

I’m sure I wasn’t as rude as I remember it.  But I felt terrible.

I was on a mission to find him on any social networking site and he was nowhere to be found.

I had to ask forgiveness.

Danne said drop it. I couldn’t.

Months went by and Danne meets someone “who would be great” for me. She used two sentences to describe him. And I knew it was him.

I had to ask for forgiveness.

Danne said drop it. I didn’t.

Every time I saw him over the next few weeks, it was overkill.

“Hi Matt!”  ”How are you doing,Matt!” “Hey, Matt!” and he looked like a deer in headlights.

Then I felt bad for doing that.

One day I mustered up the guts to ask forgiveness, like any good christian girl should do.

“Hey, Matt…. I really need to ask for your forgiveness”

“Oh. Really? What?”
“Yeah, this one time I saw you I was really ungracious”

“Oh. Really?”

“Yeah I felt really bad”

“What happened? I am a really easy-going guy, I don’t even remember.”

“Ohhh I don’t really want to bring it back up. I just wanted to ask forgiveness”

“Don’t worry about it……..  What’s your name again?”

” (nervous irate pride killing giggle) Julie, my name is Julie”

At work I see plenty of physically attractive women, but I’m not ready to fall in love with any of them.  Physical attraction in only that.  Love is more.  To be physically attracted is to have sized up a potential sex partner, a biological imperative justifying a recreational pursuit.  Where is love?  Of course I want sex, but it isn’t the first thing I want.  It might not even be the second or third, depending on the scope of love.  Is it realistic to want love above all else? to eschew the baser needs in favor of a need that has never been satisfied?  Why not?  Let the baser needs take care of themselves.  What, then, has happened to letting love come to me?  Well, I’d leave well-enough alone if it were well enough left.  But regardless of my inability to bring love to me, my overwhelming need for it crowds out the faith that it is on its way.  So I distract myself with the shapes of women, and I don’t kid myself that it’s anything else.  I know better than to look for love in a vulgar aesthetic.  Though sex, for me, has never been a simple vulgarity or casual one-off, I have never fallen in love with an object of sex, and when I have fallen in love (if I actually ever have), physical attraction was not the reason.  If I have ever fallen in love, it was with Julie, and in all of the time I mooned over her I never considered sex with her (though, eventually, that would have been nice).  If I had not otherwise been attracted to her, there might have been no attraction at all.

So, here we have new expressions for both the inutility of vanity towards the “acquisition” of love and the futility of seeking or even preparing oneself for love.  If physical attraction cannot recognize love–and as a biological (animal) mechanism it must be singularly ignorant of any spiritual imperative–then what role of the least significance can vanity have in the attraction of anything but sex?  If that is all vanity can do, then its role is to distract one from seeking love.  But I don’t want to be distracted–from anytything.  These shapes are all nice to look at and to imagine having fun with, but as much fun as they might be, they aren’t enough.  Feeling that way, I can’t enjoy the game.  Yet there is nothing else but distraction when there’s nothing else I can do.  Nothing else is more important to me than this thing I can’t do anything about.  But as I have neither the patience to not-wait for love or the faith in not-waiting that would facilitate the patience, what’s left but to play the game? to appreciate the shapes?  Perhaps that’s all that keeps obsession at bay.

We can hardly believe we are getting to the point of having rooms and areas finished in the apartment.  We’re thinking we’ll be moving furniture in this week even!

Here is the picture of the hallway, coming into the apartment:

And here is one of the bedrooms, with the exterior pocket door to allow for more space:

Here is the same bedroom, with the painted wall.

We’re having some plumbing work done tomorrow, to install a water heater and the lines to the laundry, as well as updating the shower and faucet fixtures.  All that we’re waiting to put in is the kitchen cabinets, but those will come with time and funds!

]]> http://stunningmistake.wordpress.com/2009/11/29/well/ Sun, 29 Nov 2009 20:51:19 +0000 stunningmistake http://stunningmistake.wordpress.com/2009/11/29/well/

Every year, preparations for the 31st of December have followed the same pattern for Andy and Julie. They invite all their friends round and Julie spends the best part of a week cleaning the house from top to bottom, trying to make everything look respectable following the rigours of Christmas. By the time New Year’s Eve arrives, even the vacuum cleaner doesn’t want to cooperate, refusing point blank to pick up the Christmas tree’s fallen pine needles from the carpet. Andy goes to the off-licence to buy enough alcohol to sink a battleship, whilst Julie (by her own admission, no Delia Smith) heads for the kitchen and attempts to tackle the buffet. Many hours and scores of vol-au-vents later, Julie’s exhausted, covered in flour and a bit fed up, and there isn’t enough room in the fridge for all those chicken drumsticks. Andy can’t remember where he stored the guests’ inflatable mattresses from last year and seems to be suffering the mild depression that many of us experience at the end of the year.

On the eve itself, it’s very much an ‘open house’, a case of ‘all welcome’; the party comes and goes, but then there’s the aftermath on New Year’s Day… paper plates, half eaten sausage rolls, party poppers and streamers all over the floor… bodies littered everywhere in various stages of slumber, including one individual, curled up in the bath, wearing little more than a party hat and an apologetic grin. Eventually, their groggy guests having gone, Andy and Julie have a hearty breakfast of paracetamol and water, and set about the business of clearing up the devastation. (Did they really get through that many bottles?)

It’s going to be very different this year. Andy and Julie decide they’re going to have some time to themselves – all the fun of New Year, without the fuss. A luxury serviced apartment in West London fits the bill exactly. They’re pleasantly surprised at the cost, and booking on the Internet couldn’t be easier.

The apartment is situated at Kew, in the Borough of Richmond, just minutes away from the famous botanical gardens. From the moment they arrive, they know they’ve made the right choice. The apartment is absolutely spotless. It’s light, airy and spacious, immaculately decorated and tastefully equipped with every facility they could wish for. Neutral cream furnishings and natural warm woods give a contemporary, but homely, ‘cottage’ feel throughout. The bedroom has a sumptuous, king-size bed adorned with beautifully crisp, fresh linen and an opulent quilt, together with a hand-carved vanity unit and dressing table. The bathroom has a separate walk-in shower and huge, fluffy white towels hang invitingly on the rails. The kitchen, newly fitted in pine, has everything they could possibly need; fridge/freezer, oven, hob, microwave, dishwasher, toaster, coffee maker… and the lounge is the ultimate in comfort, with a fabulous view from the window of the tree-lined street below. There’s a huge, soft sofa to sink into, and even a great selection of books, videos and CDs to choose from, in the highly unlikely event that they need to create their own entertainment.

It’s the last day of the year, but Andy and Julie have plenty of time to take in some of the sights of London before the festivities begin. They begin with a leisurely stroll around Kew village, with its wonderful shops, and finish with a first class dinner in one of its many marvellous restaurants. Then it’s back to the apartment to freshen up with an invigorating shower and get changed into party gear. New Year in London wouldn’t be right without a visit to the London Eye, and a short taxi ride takes them there. There must be thousands of people, young and old, all soaking in the wonderful atmosphere. It’s electric. And as the big countdown starts and Big Ben strikes midnight, a mighty whoop goes up as the crowd is entertained by the most breathtaking firework display from the floodlit London Eye and the river, accompanied by the sound of countless champagne corks popping. Cries of ‘Happy New Year’ abound, as complete strangers laugh and embrace each other. It’s a truly spectacular start to a brand new year.

Happy and giggling like teenagers, Andy and Julie return to the luxury of their serviced apartment which is every bit as spick and span as when they arrived. In their absence, as if by magic, the dishwasher has been emptied and the contents tidily put away, and fresh towels have been placed in the bathroom. The clothes they wore earlier have even been folded and placed in a neat pile on the bedroom stool. Later in the morning, with not a vol-au-vent or party popper in sight, Andy and Julie laugh as they snuggle up in bed, thinking back to last New Year’s Day. It’s strange, they never did discover who the guy in the bath was…

November 27th, 2009

Julie Danaylov of A2D2 (said A[squared] D[squared]) presents us with a blog on how to plan a circus inspired event. See her recent posts featuring the stylish renderings of fellow Bizstarter, Sarah Blostein, and how to deal with difficult clients. Note those are separate posts!! They do get along well.

CLICK HERE TO VIEW

Theatrical Release:Aug 7, 2009

Meryl Streep is Julia Child and Amy Adams is Julie Powell in writer-director Nora Ephron’s adaptation of two bestselling memoirs: Powell’s Julie & Julia and My Life in France, by Julia Child with… Meryl Streep is Julia Child and Amy Adams is Julie Powell in writer-director Nora Ephron’s adaptation of two bestselling memoirs: Powell’s Julie & Julia and My Life in France, by Julia Child with Alex Prud’homme.

Based on two true stories, Julie & Julia intertwines the lives of two women who, though separated by time and space, are both at loose ends…until they discover that with the right combination of passion, fearlessness and butter, anything is possible.

Giving thanks on Thanksgiving is a somewhat artificial tradition, wherein we feel compelled by our culture to be grateful. The presumption is that without Thanksgiving, we wouldn’t remember to be grateful. This is hardly a good way to lead your life, being thankful only once a year. It’s an archaic, patriarchal philosophy. But the truth is that in times of great suffering, we hardly remember to be thankful for what we have. Thanksigiving may be a poor excuse to remember what the world has given you, but that’s what a blog is for!

I am thankful for…

The beauty, joy, and infectious relaxation that embodies North County San Diego, California

I live here

The University of Southern California, the generosity of its financial aid department, and the fact that its Admission Office believed in me

this be where i work

California State University, Fullerton, without which I would not be where I am today

The English Language and its vast, ever expanding literary canon. Most specifically, I would like to thank William Shakespeare, Mark Twain, Charles Dickens, William Wordsworth, The Brontes, William Blake, Percy Blysse Shelly, Lord Byron, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Walt Whitman, Charlotte Perkins Gillman, Jack London, James Joyce, Virginia Woolf, and TS Eliot. I’m forgetting so many. I love you guys.

The fact that I am living in a golden age of independent cinema, where quality movies can be made on an immensely low budget without any stars, and still have a chance at stardom. Because of this, mainstream movies have been forced to grow artisitically just to compete, and film has improved because of it. This year, thanks to I Love You Man, Zombieland, Inglorious Basterds, An Education, and Where the Wild Things, and here’s to the good movies within the next month!

On that note, I must honor Flower Hill Ultra Star, La Jolla Landmark, and the Hollywood Arclight

The fact that I am living in a undisputed golden age of TELEVISION. Thank you Mad Men, Lost, my new obsession Sons of Anarchy, South Park, Weeds, 30 Rock, and all the shows I listed on my previous blog. Thanks to networks like HBO for continuing to push for quality programming.

Bonnaroo and Coachella, their very existance giving me hope for the universe.

dirty hippie-tastic

The new bands that have graced my ears this year… Airbourne Toxic Event, Arcade Fire, The Flaming Lips, The Smiths, Phoenix, Metric, Bruce Springsteen, Wilco, The National. Some of these are not new bands, I’ve just never really listened to them until this year.

The Beatles forever

Sublime’s cover of Bob Marley’s “No Woman No Cry”

Sublime forever

Just… thank god for the amazing combination of a guitar, a bass guitar, a drum kit and the human voice. Thank god for rock and roll.

Good sushi, Chipotle, Roberto’s, In-N-Out, Kenny’s Korean bbq, Yogurt Land, and my mom’s beef stew. The combination of chocolate and peanut butter also deserves notation.

My health, my good skin, my unique eyes that never give away my high-ness, my good eating habits, my awesome hair (it is too)

Weed. My anti-drug. Enough said. THANK GOD FOR WEED!

I love it...

My summer job and my current job at Bovard.

LONDON NEXT SEMESTER BITCH

oh hell no

THE PEARL – my freedom

Writing, my therapy

My extended family – my dad’s side for dealing with Grandfather’s passing, on my mom’s side for always being the most consistant, reliable, loving people in my life.

My immediate family, my dad for the changes I know he’s making, my step-mom who is very sweet and will make a wonderful mother

Jessica and Melissa

My baby brudder, Ryan. Wherever we go, whatever we do, we’re gonna go through it together.

My mom, her health, her happiness, her success, and her love and trust for me.

And lastly, the greatest friends anyone can have. No individual explanations nessecary, I don’t think I can properly put into words who you all make me feel. My journey through life has been marked by extraordinary friendships, strong bonds that have shattered before my eyes. I have had a habit of surrounding myself with dishonest people, with unreliable people, with people who I desperately wanted to believe in but have no reason to. For the first time in my life, I feel so incredibly loved, genuinely and wholely. I want to raise you all up, for each and every one of you to live out your dreams, for the entire planet to love you as much as I do. You are all extraordinary, beautiful people who deserve nothing but happiness. You have given me nothing but happiness, and your presence in my life means more then you can possibly understand. I cannot write anything special for each of you to put on my blog, and this is in no particular order, but I will tell you how much I love you for hours, if that’s what you need. I love you, I thank you:

Wifey, Cheniko, Kell-eh, KBalch, Julie, Christo, Steph, Jade, the USC GLBTA, Jake, Brendan, the Bovard kids, my dearly beloved roommate Erika, Lauren Cohen, and Sam

And here’s to change, the past that will never go away, and the love that still lives in me. Memories, you are my biggest thank you.

Ben Franklin said something of the usefulness of vanity, but I don’t remember it.  Its logic, tongue-in-cheek as it may have been, didn’t fly with me and, therefore, didn’t stick.  I suppose it is, at least, useful in keeping one’s hygiene on the healthy side, but what does it otherwise do for one?  I can’t think of any way it’s been of benefit to me.  I’ve been using it to pretend I’m somebody else, and that hasn’t gotten me anything but confused.  Few of the images I’ve presented have been of my self:  “Who was that short-haired, clean-shaven dweeb?”  And, somehow, it’s easier to fool a mob than to fool one person.  I am not that person.  I fooled myself for much longer than I fooled Julie.  I try not to fool anyone now.  Vanity’s place is to make me feel good about myself, judged by my own standards.  If I find an audience in the mirror as I preen, I stop.  I hate it when Julie’s face floats up in front of mine, judging my appearance.  On many days it stops me from shaving, because if I’m not doing it for myself, I won’t do it.  My hair is my most strident display of my vanity because I know no one likes it.  Sometimes I don’t even like it, and consecutive good-hair days are a miracle.  It hasn’t been cut in a year.  It’s bushy and curly, and that’s just the way it is.

The confidence vanity might give me is an attractant itself, and being passive, attracts only what it should, as a flower does the insect to pollinate it.  The confidence is a projection of my true self.  What does it eventually attract?  The insect/flower relationshyip is sex, but of course that’s a much baser objective than that for which humans strive.  Is love the logical eventuality?  Is genuineness the attractant for that most human of needs?  Being genuine releases one from striving, from trying to discern and conform to the perceived standards of others.  It’s a crystal honesty.  Does vanity get one there?

Taas yksi viikko takana ja uudelleen tallille. Ensin vähän kuivaharjoittelua…

…ja sitten leikkimään oikeilla hepoilla:

Mä sain farmorin vaimolta, Lenalta nukkekodin! Mut siellä ei oltu tehty mitään remppaa 70-luvun jälkeen, joten joutui heti ekaks ruveta tapetoimaan.

Mut sit illan päätteeks loppui veto ennen kuin ehti hoitelemaan iltatoimet. Onneks iskä ei ehtiny laittaa keittoa lautaselle!

I hate fucking ABBA. Their music is really only appropriate in two places, at a wedding party and at a New Years Eve party. In other words when people are massively, massively, massively drunk. When our pub had a jukebox I had my own personal ban on ABBA. If one of their songs came on when the Jukebox was on random play I demanded it was skipped. I did let it play if someone had actually paid for it. I may be a dick but I’m not that much of a dick. Besides, those times were thankfully very few and far between.

Which surprised me to be honest because this film, this fucking film, did better at the box office in my hometown of Braintree, Essex than ‘The Dark Knight’ did. Apparently this town is filled with repressed ABBA fans, glad for a film to come out featuring their music so that they could sit there in the dark cinema where people might not recognise them. So yeah, thanks for that Braintree.

In fact a quick check of the internet reveals that Mamma Mia! Is the highest grossing film of all time in the UK. Yep, we had an empire that once spanned the globe and now we’re going mental for films based around the songs of a 70s Swedish pop group. Rule Britannia indeed.

Anyway, back to this movie. It basically tells the tale of a woman and her daughter who run a villa on an island for some reason. The daughter has met the boy of her dreams and intends to marry him. There’s one problem though. She’d really like her father to give her away at her wedding but because her mother was something of a slut in her youth, she has no idea who her father is. She finds her mother’s diary and sends invitations to three potential fathers, without telling her mother, and waits for them arrive. They do and shenanigans ensue.

Now, as I previously stated, I fucking hate ABBA but today I found out that I actually hate something more than their songs. It’s their songs sung by people who can’t sing. This was like watching a bunch of drunk people on a bad karaoke night. A really bad karaoke night. Except that I was watching it at work so I couldn’t drink. Dear God, I’ve never wanted a drink so bad in my life.

Well, I suppose that’s a little unfair. Meryl Streep ain’t bad. Not great but not bad. Still, the worst offender when it comes to aural raping is Pierce Brosnan. What the hell are you doing man? You were James Bond for fucks sake. You were the James Bond I grew up with, for better or for worse and now your singing ABBA songs whilst making a face that makes it look as if you’re trying to cough up a tortoise.

But it’s not just the singing that’s bad either! Some of the actors in this film are the worst I’ve seen outside of a B-Movie in many a year. In particular I’d like to say that the guy who plays Sophie’s fiancée Skye is a terrible actor. He was so wooden and insincere that I thought that he was being played by some kind of sarcastic puppet.

Oh, and another thing. Half the dialogue in this film seems to be delivered in some kind of strange, shrieking language that I’m fairly sure only women can understand. If you are going to do such a thing then you should probably have included subtitles for those poor bastards who got dragged along to see this by their wives and girlfriends.

Now, there were a couple of times when the film elicited a chuckle out of me. One was when a drill was used as a euphemism for a penis, telling me more than I wanted to know about exactly what childish level my sense of humour is at. The other was at the image of Pierce Brosnan dressed as a hippy. That was kinda funny. There was also one scene which I thought was kinda cool for a split second. The guests at the daughter’s hen party are looking over some kind of cliff ledge and a bunch of people are crawling up it. For one sweet second I thought it was some kind of zombie attack and I thought wow, people kept this twist quiet but alas, it was just the bachelor party on some kind of panty raid. I was sorely, sorely disappointed.

Perhaps the point where the movie really stretched the limit of believability was when all three potential fathers figured out the reason that they were invited out of the blue. They all came to the conclusion individually that they were the girls father and she wanted them to walk her down the aisle. However, they had all spent quite some time together at this point and they all knew that the other two had received equally mysterious invitations. How the fuck did they not realise that the other two were there for exactly the same reason and that Sophie hadn’t yet figured out who her actual father was? That’d be the first thing that came to my mind.

Perhaps the best thing about this movie is the fact that I watched Tremors directly before it. Man, Tremors is such an awesome film. Kevin Bacon is at his finest and you really believe that him and Fred Ward have worked together and been friends for quite some time. And who doesn’t love crazy survivalist Burt? And the Graboids still look fucking good even by today’s standards. Sure you can sometimes see the strings used to operate the tentacles in some scenes but it just adds to the charm of the movie. One thing that does confuse me though is the DVD cover. Seriously look it up now. I’ll wait.

Ok, you back? Right, what the fuck is that creature on the DVD cover with all the teeth and stuff? That looks nothing like the Graboids in the film. It just confuses me. Anyway, overall I’ll give Tremors four pints out of five.

Wait, what? Mamma Mia? Oh fine. I give Mamma Mia! one glass of white wine out of five. And you wanna know what the worst thing is? There is one ABBA song, one song that I can kind of stand. That song is Waterloo. Not sure why I don’t mind it. Maybe I’m just OK with songs based on historical events. Anyway, it’s not fucking in the film until the end credits. I kept thinking, oh just suffer through, at least Waterloo isn’t the worst thing in the world and they must have included it and then it turns out you have to watch the entire fucking film to get to it. And it takes place during this bizarre credit scene where Meryl Streep and her two friends yell at the audience asking if they want another song. Waterloo then follows filled with some of the most embarrassing dancing I’ve seen outside of a wedding reception… Which I guess is appropriate. Still, it well wasn’t worth it.

Fuck, this film has put me in a bad mood for the rest of the goddamn day. Still, if people like this kinda thing, and apparently they do, then it does give some hope for my planned film ‘Snooker Loopy’ featuring the music of Chas and Dave. Laterz.

Outside the practically scripted structure of the library, the rules of my game of attraction change.  There is no search of interest in widening eyes or a head-dip.  There is only one rule, really, and that is to look good, and that’s all about the hair.  Shaving happens when I feel like it, clothes cover me, and I’m in good shape.  Hair is my vanity, and I’ll pay for the extra hot water it takes to wash and condition it now that it’s grown out, and for the detangler and oil.  If I feel I look good I feel good, and I’m the opposite of celf-conscious.  I don’t swagger; I just feel good.  If there’s interest, I don’t notice.

Now that Julie’s back, outside the library is where I’d rather be.  With a weekend between us, it was easy writing that first paragraph .  Now I consider shaving the evening before the new week begins, and her face floats up before mine as the reason to shave.  So I won’t.  It didn’t stop me from washing my hair, though.  My rebellion in that arena is not having it cut.  I know no one at work likes it.  The next time someone says my hair looks good will be when I cut it short.  They can hold their collective breath.  I’ve spent enough time trying to impress the unimpressable.  It’s time I impressed myself–and anyone else who can appreciate me as I am.

The other night we went downstairs to visit our doorman’s family (see other story).  One of the girls of the family, Hibba, was having a birthday, and wanted us to come down. Due to her mom’s health, still having trouble recovering from her brain surgery, Hibba wasn’t able to have a party, but it seemed important for us to at least stop by.  It was kind of an awkward time as I think Hibba was busy doing things for her mom and she wasn’t around much.  We ended up sitting at her mom’s bedside and talking a little bit with her as she drifted in and out of sleep. 

There was one other member of the family present most of the time, and that was the four year old, youngest child and only son, Omar.  Now, if you ask Emma, she’ll probably tell you Omar is one of her friends.  He is the first child we met here at our apartment, and they have played together a few times.  He was the only child to attend her three-year old birthday party as we held that a couple weeks after moving into our apartment.  I have invited him to our apartment numerous times to play, but his whole family–sisters, mom and dad–have all said that, no, he can’t come, because he is a naughty boy… in their words, a “satan.”  (Now, this may just be a language/cultural thing that I don’t understand, but if a child is misbehaved and somewhat or very out of control, they are called “shaytaan,” which translates “devil or Satan.”  I don’t think it’s quite literal, but as one not a part of the culture, I kind of hear it as literal.) I feel bad that he has this stigma, but truthfully, I have seen it exhibited.  However, I still wish he could come to our house to play sometimes.  On the selfish side, it would be so much easier for me to be in my own place with the kids, but on the positive side, I, perhaps proudly, feel that I could handle him in our house.  I wouldn’t let him get away with things, and he would have no choice but to stay within our boundaries … or leave.  I may be naive in thinking that my “child-raising techniques” could work with him, but I guess that the challenge would be fun too.  Anyway, regardless of my lofty ambitions, his family doesn’t want him to come to our place.  This means Emma’s chance to play with him is down at his house. 

One of the things that makes it difficult for me to take the girls there is that so much of their property is outside, with lots of dust, dirt and animal droppings, not to mention miscellaneous trash that attracts Hannah’s attention.  I have a hard time sitting, drinking tea, and listening to the mom talk, while keeping one eye on Hannah and the other eye on Emma.  Now that the weather is getting cooler, it may be easier as we move inside, but that has its challenges too.  And this particular visit, the challenge was Omar. 

When we arrived at the house, the birthday girl was busy, but Omar quickly ran to some special spot outside, and retrieved a large bag of mostly broken toys and toy parts.  He seemed excited to show Emma his toys and play together.  Take note that he did play in our house during Emma’s party and enjoyed the two boxes of unbroken toys that she has.  So, at first, he took the toys out one by one and seemed to let Emma and Hannah play with them as they wished.  At one point, he pulled out a pair of binoculars and this grabbed Emma’s attention.  She asked for them, but he put them around his neck instead.  No big deal, they are his toys, he certainly doesn’t have to share.  Emma really wanted to play with the binoculars and made her request known the best she could without really speaking the same language as him.  It seemed that the more interested she was in what he had, the more he wanted to withhold things.  I think at one point, either I or his sister conviced him to let Emma hold the binoculars, but after about 10 seconds, he started to cry.  Now, I’ve seen this before with him … he is finally convinced to share something, then he starts to cry, and his sister says, “sorry Emma, I’m so sorry.”  Meaning: Omar wants something; you can’t play with it any more … give it back.  So, she gave the binoculars back at which time he put all the toys back in the big bag, and stuffed the bag under the bed as far as could reach.  Emma looked at me sadly, “why is he doing that?”  Hmmm, what to say.  “Because he’s a spoiled brat.”  “Because he is mean.”  “Because he is a bully.”  These were the responses that came to my mind immediately, but I don’t want Emma to see him as the “Satan” that people say he is.  (By the way, they call him this to his face as well, so he has a reputation to live up to.)  So, I thought about it awhile, and said, “I’m really sorry, Emma, that Omar isn’t being very kind right now.  It’s not nice to not share your toys.  But they are his toys, and he can do with them what he wants.  You know what else, his mom is very sick, and he is probably sad, but he can’t understand what’s happening.  I’m sorry it makes you sad, I would be sad too.” 

I hope that was a good answer for Emma.  I know I can’t protect her forever from getting hurt by others, but of course, I want to as long as I can.  I want her to learn from kids who aren’t nice, that it’s exactly that, “not nice.”  At least this way, it’s useful for something to interact with kids like this.  Maybe it will prevent Emma from being mean in the future.  But really, what’s most important?  I want her to see Omar as a person who isn’t perfect, but deserves our love and kindness, regardless of what he does.  Sure, that’s the ideal, but in such a simple offense, we can do that.  As Emma grows and the offenses do too, that will get harder and harder.  I pray God gives us wisdom to help Emma learn these things, as we do too.  We all have a long way to go.

Julie, who was a nurse for Amitabh Bachchan, when he was admitted in St
Philomena’s Hosiptal, after being injured during the shooting of Coolie, is now herself a
patient and has no money to buy her medicines. Julie (50) is suffering from
multiple sclerosis and is admitted in Lady Bowring hospital. The doctors have
prescribed five vials of methyl prednisolone (1 mg), but one vial costs Rs 900, which she cannot afford.

Julie got an attack of multiple sclerosis seven months ago, making her bed
ridden. She has got a demyelinating condition in the central nervous system, which has made her legs and left arm spastic. She can only mover her right arm, but cannot rise from the bed. But her vision, auditory conditions, voice and memory have not been damaged. Her husband Samraj is unemployed while her son Prasad is a house-keeping staff in a residential apartment.

Julie was a nurse at St Martha’s Hosiptal, and was working as a private nurse before falling ill. She was studying nursing is St Philomena’s Hospital, when Amitabh Bachchan was seriously injured while shooting for Coolie. “I attended to him then. I used to serve him apple juice,” she told MiD DAY. “There were many Malayali nuns working in the hospital. They made only appams. But Amitabh didn’t complain. He used to say “very nice” and eat it.”

She recalls him to be “very tall and very handsome.” She remembers to have seen many actors that time. “Shashi Kapoor and Rajnikanth had also visited him. They used to come only at night. All the actors would sit in the community hall and chat.” The crowd of fans was manageable she says. “When he was discharged, he did not go through the hospital gate. He took the back gate of the church and went away.”

Julie finds working in the hospital the most exciting. “I like to serve patients and old people, and I have been doing it. I don’t know why this has happened to me now.” Julie was an active lady and used to walk from Indiranagar to Koramangala. “To save money, I used to walk through the ring road. I want to walk again,” she said. “I will be able to walk no? I will become fine no?” she kept asking.

Julie was in Satya Sai Baba Hospital, and in NIMHANS before coming to Bowring. “The beds were full in NIMHANS, so they asked us to go to any government hospital and take the prescribed vials. So we came here,” said her husband Samraj.

The doctor taking care of her, Prof Shamaiyya said that the husband had not yet given him the case history from NIMHANS. “The vials may help her. They are not available in the hospital and have to be bought from outside. But they cannot afford it,” he said.

Julie is admitted in No 6, 4^th floor, Medical Block, Bowring Hospital. She does not have a bank account. “The minimum amount required to open a bank account is Rs 500, which we cannot afford.”

After this article appeared in MiD DAY, help poured in for Julie. Other media houses too followed the story and money was collected to meet her medical expenses. After a year, we found that her son and husband had taken all the money. She was left ailing. Now, Julie is being looked after by Humanitarian Foundation, Bangalore.

When I met her first in Bowring Hospital, no one knew that she was Amitabh Bachchan’s nurse. The credit should go to Dr Nagendra, who was then a student of Bangalore Medical College and the founder of Orkut Hospital Community. He was interning at Bowring Hospital and was moved by Julie’s condition. He then contacted if seeking help. When we enquired about her, she told her that she had been Amitabh Bachchan’s nurse. She was very casual about it and didn’t expect any great help to come through it. The journalistic fiend in me knew that only if she was projected as Amitabh Bachchan’s nurse, help would come in faster.

Moina Go
artist: Habib, Julie
Original by: Lata Mangeshkar
Music and Lyrics: Salil Chowdhury

Oo Amar Moyna GO
Oo Amar Moyna GOo
Kar Karone tumi ekela
Kar behone behone diba nishe tumi utola
She toh aashbe na
She toh firbe na, firbe na
Oo Amar Moyna GOo

Dur dur dur dur dur pane aanmone chahiya
Ki berage ragini jao ghaiya
Shobuje Shobuje vora bonanani
Gourobe fagun buje janoni
Hayre hayre buji ta janoni

Oo Amar Moyna GO
Oo Amar Moyna GOo
Kar Karone tumi ekela
Kar behone behone diba nishe tumi utola
She toh aashbe na
She toh firbe na, firbe na
Oo Amar Moyna GOo

Zor zor zor dunoyone zor zor zoraye
keno thako bishade mon bhoraye
Ja kishu haraye gelo jaak na
Neel akashe mele paakh na
Daar daar mele paakhna

Oo Amar Moyna GO
Oo Amar Moyna GOo
Kar Karone tumi ekela
Kar behone behone diba nishe tumi utola
She toh aashbe na
She toh firbe na, firbe na
Oo Amar Moyna GOo

If I were to say that my life was hollow and lonely I’d be only half right–that is, in a proprtion of each adding up to about half. I get home from work, and here I am, on the sofa. I could watch tv or read, listen to music, get on the computer, write–the same things I could do every day. I don’t want to do any of them. I run through the list like channels on the clicker. Nothing engages. I don’t even want to sit here writing this, but it’s the only thing that expresses how I feel. The other things just cover it up. Nothing much means much with no one to share it with. There’s only so much I can share with the kids that they would understand, and why would I tell them I’m lonely? Thirteen is an awkward enough age without feeling that your love isn’t enough to keep your father happy. The girls are nearly the entire portion of my life that is not hollow and lonely–that’s all they need to know. (Funny, by the time they are old enough to understand, perhaps they won’t care.) So I write and pretend I’m talking to someone who’s listening and is neither judging nor pitying me. I won’t talk to myself. I’ve heard it all before, and I’m not sympathetic or forthcoming with good advice. I don’t want a therapist, a professional listener and sympathizer with advice from books that’s been doled out to countless others before me. I want someone to be with.

Since Julie came back to work it seems my opportunities to connect with female patrons has shrivelled up, but the stress of working with Julie has simply hardened my mood and put me off my little game. Tap me with a hammer and listen to the echo. Shake me and you might hear the faint rattling of my marble of a conscience. Or is that Jiminy Cricket’s dessicated carcass? I’ve been judged and pitied at work for falling in love with Julie, so I come home to seek understanding, and all I have is pen and paper. I’d better stop writing or they’ll start pitying me, too. Now, do I watch a movie or have a drink?

Not much to blog about these days…BUT today I got my $500 Home Depot gift card in the mail which was pretty exciting!  I spent $45 to get this card that I applied for in mid-September.  Now I just have to figure out what to spend it on!?!    Again, if you are interested in how I get these, click here!

Oh, and I just finished my Christmas cards.  I won’t mail them until the second week of December, but I’ll give you a preview…

You’re interested, right? I love getting Christmas cards by the way!! Please send yours to us!  We keep them all year in a basket on our table and each night that we have family dinners, we pick one out and pray for that family. You want to be prayed for right?!?

Oh, and at this time next week, I’ll be in Las Vegas at the Bellagio!!!

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!  I’ll be at the A&M v. t.u game (which will be Rilyn’s first Aggie game!)  Pretty exciting-now if they will just pull off a victory for her first game!  Gig’Em!