Honest, Disciplined, Hopeful in 2009

So the only way I can ever ameliorate my habits is by acute peer pressure or the threat of financial ruin. That's why making a bet is the best way for me to enter a diet, ahem LIFESTYLE change. 

The first person to eat dessert, fried food, candy, or fast food owes the other two $100. That's what my brother Eames and his perma-girlfriend Kasey and I settled on during a rambling road trip this Christmas break. There's caveats, though, of course. 

1. In-N-Out doesn't count as fast food. Nor does... well, we'll call it Quick Food. Chipotle, Baja Fresh, Panera. You know what I'm talking about. Fast food for the bottled water crowd. 

2. A bite of dessert never killed anyone but the wondering what it tasted like might. So one spoonful. Just a dab. 

3.  If it would be RUDE to refuse any of the above at a social gathering (and I mean rude not frustrating), then indulge. By all means don't let your quest for thinness get in the way of your likability. No, no, no. 

4. Lastly, if you take a transatlantic flight, you should probably eat candy. Domestic flights can be survived. But don't cross an ocean without a box of junior mints or a butterfinger. That's just a different kind of bad habit. Neurosis you might say. 

So yes, this year is looking bright. Er healthy. Kasey is the only reason this little dealio will work though. Eames and I made it over six months on a whim like this once. But that was before we realized we both would rather cheat and lie to each other that earn mutual respect in friendly competition. HERE and NOW, I like Kasey too much to cheat and lie to her just yet. I would HAVE to confess if I were to stray. So I won't. I'm too cheap. The ante is juuuuust high enough for me to rather starve than pay. 

So here I am, 5 days into 2009. Honest. Self-disciplined.  Anticipating payoff. Feels like a good start to a historic year.

I'm Engaged!

I finished East of Eden. Or rather I finished my beginning with John Steinbeck. If I could marry a book I would marry East of Eden. I wouldn't even need to wait around to make sure there wasn't a better match for me in the vast vast sea/library. I would tie the knot at Town Hall tomorrow morning before work. I'm ready. I've been ready since page two hundred. Betrothed since the chapter on Timshel (translation: "Thou Mayest") when the trinity's discussed Cain and Abel, i.e. the human condition. I have never felt so committed to a book.

I guess The Diaries of Anais Nin would feel jealous if they read this. They have been my companions for six years now. I hope to never finish them. 

(Anais referring to her diary) "But I need a place where I can shout and weep. I have to be a Spanish savage at some time of the day. I record here the hysteria life causes in me. The overflow of an undisciplined extravagance. To hell with taste and art, with all contractions and polishings. Here I shout, I dance, I weep, I gnash my teeth, I go mad -- all by myself, in bad English, in chaos. It will keep me sane for the world and for art." 

And that is exactly it. I love the mystery and the turmoil still brewing in these pages. They are the perfect long distance best friend whose visits infuse my life with color and height and nuggets of insight. 

The Poisonwood Bible? Too intense and dark. Not sustainable. 

Till We Have Faces? Less hopeful. 

The Time Traveller's Wife? Less marrow.

There is no question. I have made my decision. It's me for East of Eden. Now on to The Grapes of Wrath....

Seventeen at heart.

http://www.loc.gov/poetry/180/p180-list.html

I love stumbling across free AND RELEVANT poetry anthology. Billy Collins is my hero.

Think Six

I find myself exhibiting the little shrugs and giggles and grimaces my first-grade students demonstrate for me. It’s like (while teaching them to read and write and figure) I’m taking a class on how to act like a six year old. I’m a sponge. For better; for worse.

My “What if I…” ponderings have exponentially increased in both quantity and bizarrity. Like…

What if I stuck my tongue out at the bus driver and stomped down the steps to the sidewalk when I couldn’t get my dollar to go into the payment slot?

What if I jumped off a bench into the arms of an unsuspecting passing stranger?

What if I walked around with untied shoelaces all day and didn’t trip?

What if I laughed awkwardly loud at jokes the voices in my head were telling me?

What if I ate Doritos and Nutter Butters and Ho Ho’s for lunch?

These are questions I ask myself now when no one else is asking me questions or telling me answers. The possibilities are ENDLESS when you think six. Deliciously endless.

Meeting the Relatives

So, it turns out I'm a Kennedy. I mean a Newell. Tonight's dinner party was a scene from my own very untheatrical and unmarketable version of the Princess Diaries. 

Apparently I have family in DC. Uncles and aunts and cousins and such. All over the east coast actually. They are brilliant. Witty. Friendly. Good-looking. Talented. They have golden retrievers. It's unrealistic. And I'm in the club. Just for being born. I love unfair windfalls. 

I hope they like me. And keep me. I just didn't realize I was missing out on all this loveliness!

Adaptations to DC

Kinda

I am TRYING here. Okay? 

I'm making friends. I go to Irish Times and Carolina's for happy hour Friday nights. I laugh. I tell secrets. I brush my teeth and wear deoderant. 

My eating habits are sub-par, though, I admit. And my sleep schedule is practically religious. I watch at least an hour of... TeeeeVeeee everyday, damnit. And the best part of ANY evening is a phone call or a text from The Sunshine State. 

I'm faltering. Wavering. Teeeetertottering. This is not good enough. ROOTS, I say! I need to extend ROOTS. Deep down into the concrete soil of this city- Washington, DC- if I am ever going to last. 

But I am tryyying. I promise. Kinda.