all my instincts, they return
and the grand facade, so soon will burn
without a noise, without my pride
I reach out from the inside
-- Peter Gabriel

This is me at 19 years old, my photo taken by my friend Lisa and fellow student at Parsons School of Design. It was taken in my apartment in New York City for an assignment that we had to do for our communication design program. It was before PhotoShop or any kind of accessible digital media. You can click on the picture to see a larger version. The photo is film from a SLR 35mm Fuji camera. The scratches and damage are real. I left them in because they tell a story. When we're 19, we are so uncertain and yet so cocky that we think we own the world. Simply, because we don't know enough about it yet. We think we're going to be able to maintain that level of being untouchable. We don't see the forthcoming scratches and damage that will alter our perception of ourselves.

I'm glad I have it. Digital media wouldn't reflect the passage of time. I look at this picture and remember it being taken like it was yesterday. Yet, it's completely foreign. She's completely foreign, that young little naif. I wonder what she'd think of me now. Then, I wonder if I care. I often get angry at my former self for not seeing the obstacles that caused that damage and those scratches in the paths I chose to take. Obstacles that are so obvious to me now. But, I guess that's the whole point of growing. You have to do it your damn self.

And here I am, wondering when I'll be able to look her in the eyes and tell her that I did right by her. My creativity and fire was rife then, even though I found it difficult to channel and many times that manifested in anger, rebellion and faltering in my studies. And, I had Titanic-sized anger (we all know what happened that that boat). At the people in Topeka, KS, at my parent's divorce, at a lack of feeling prepared for a creative education. For having to fight so hard to get to exactly where I was in that photo. Mostly, for not knowing how to handle it once I got there. Funny enough, when that was taken I was also working at American Ballet Theatre and had been assistant to Baryshnikov, or, was about to be that summer. I had so much to prove. I wanted my artsy New York experience right then and there.

I was lucky that my parents could afford Parsons and life in New York when I decided to win that fight. Back then, I wasn't as grateful for it because all I saw was the fight that I'd had to endure each day in Topeka against people who were clueless or discouraging regarding my goals. Which were, getting the fuck out of Topeka to New York where I could start living. It was a huge internal and external fight. There wasn't the Internet or anything that made things accessible. You were limited by what your bookstores, video stores and libraries decided to carry. And in Topeka, that wasn't much. But, I did it in spite of all that. By the time that I got into Parsons, I felt owed, almost as if I'd done enough already to just get there. I wish I hadn't felt that way, but I guess that's being 18, which I barely was when I started college.

Like today, I did have some great successes there. But, like today, they weren't consistent. I lacked the maturity to "get it." That difficulty in channeling my creativity to be productive hasn't changed to this day with many things that I do. Not due to a lack of maturity, but because of imagined or actual obstacles. But now, I have no one to blame but myself. There is no one stopping me from doing anything. I'm old enough to have learned the lessons on how to manage it. Now, it's not feeling owed, or that I own the world. It's deciding on whether I'm worth it. And, that's been the hardest thing to do in the last few years. Instead of the short-sighted dolts and limited resources in Topeka, KS, the struggle is against myself. Sure, my depression certainly plays into it. But again, I can identify that and do my best to work around it.

It's these unfinished creative goals that gnaw at me. Sometimes, I get terrified thinking that I'll never get to express that voice because I simply can't find a way around myself to do it. Even more frightening is the thought of just not caring anymore. That's the one that has risen lately and it's done two things. One, it's actually helped me in settling down and being able to create, as the pressure is off. The girl in that picture thought that everything she was rode on her creative execution and that if it didn't turn out just right it would bury her. I had to excavate myself out of a lot of self-dug holes because of that. I don't think that anymore. But, when you don't care, it's easier to well...not care and do nothing.

Thankfully, the anger and rebellion are under control. Sure, there are flare ups, but they aren't as destructive as they were back then. I can pretty much deal unless like in my last job where I was mislead about the position and subjected to insurmountable bullshit plus an intolerable working environment. I'm more raw now. A little less polite when that happens and unwilling to endure it. The scratches and damage have done their job, making me tougher when I need to be. I also have nothing to prove anymore.

The good thing is that I'm continuing to plow through. That 19-year-old wouldn't have done that. She'd have crumbled or self-destructed because she would have feared being seen as less than perfect, or not in control...or, "not knowing what she's doing." She needed a bit more wear and tear before being able to expose those imperfections in order to move to the next step. Before being able to sit down and understand that creating something unique from within yourself isn't easy or perfect. It's full of frustration, dedication, patience, flaws, moments of glory and moments of despair. It's feeling stupid, looking stupid and going into something knowing that you don't have all the answers and, that you'll be forced to find them once you've started the process. Moments of not caring, then digging deep to discover that you really do. And once you're done with that process, to keep going knowing there's going to be another one.

Lastly, understanding that even though I have the knowledge and tools to digitally correct the scratches and damage on this photograph, not feeling the need to do so.

I witnessed a spectacular display of physics tonight in the grocery store. I was standing by a woman in the beverage aisle as she took a two-liter bottle of club soda off the shelf. Apparently, the weight shift of the bottle that she took was just enough to tip a two-liter bottle of Collins mix off the shelf. It fell about six feet, landing right on the cap end. The pressure then shot the cap off and launched the bottle from the ground, propelled by the supercharged carbonated Collins mix. It made a spectacular arc in the air higher than both of our heads and lodged itself between two jugs of apple juice on the top shelf. Trapped, it shot its wad all over the aisle.

Me: Holy shit.

Her: I'm so sorry!

Me: For what? That was freakin' awesome. Totally made my trip to the grocery store worth it.

When one of the store employees came over, I told her what happened and she said, "I'm totally going to check the security video for that one."

I'll keep an eye on YouTube for it.

This is just precious. And awesome. Some of you may have seen it already, but I hadn't. I have no idea how this guy managed this, but it shows how much we all have in common, all over the world. If you don't watch it, you'll have lived a little less.


Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.

This is from the site:

Explanation: What are these humans doing? Dancing. Many humans on Earth exhibit periods of happiness, and one method of displaying happiness is dancing. Happiness and dancing transcend political boundaries and occur in practically every human society. Above, Matt Harding traveled through many nations on Earth, started dancing, and filmed the result. The video is perhaps a dramatic example that humans from all over planet Earth feel a common bond as part of a single species. Happiness is frequently contagious -- few people are able to watch the above video without smiling.

Thanks to Michael Kurcfeld for sharing it so I could share it with you. If the video won't play for you in the screen, the link is here. I think the screen is bigger there, too. Enjoy.

A lot of you have written me to ask how the girl, from whom I rescued Oliver and helped her get out from under her squalor, is doing. As far as I can tell, she's managed to keep her apartment clean. She's had several people over and even a group of friends. This is a good thing, as it means it's presentable enough to have company. And, she showed it to me a few weeks ago and it certainly was clean. She'd even bought herself a vacuum cleaner, though a small one, but hey...better than nothing. So, she's managed to stay out from underneath it, which is fantastic. However, she's been bringing in more and more stuff, such as antiques and pillows and little things from whatever thrift store that she visited that day. From what I can tell that I saw of it, she hadn't started hoarding, but actually putting the pieces up on the wall or decorating her apartment with them.

On a mental level, I still think she's in trouble. She's come over to my house a few times and has terrible body odor and doesn't wear underwear of any kind. Yes, it's obvious. While I've been known to go commando myself from time to time, there are certain clothes that you must wear underwear with. And, certainly a bra. Ladies, you have to prop the girls up. It takes years off your appearance and just looks sexier.

Also, she repeats herself a lot and sort of rambles, asking me who I think she should date or apartments that she's looked at. She also speaks as if every guy in the world is after her. This is the part that makes me sad. Especially because many people suspect she may be earning money, "the old fashioned way." I've tried to pin her down on what she does for a living but she's always very vague, saying she's starting a dress company or brokers antiques online. A couple slips of the tongue from her about her income has made me wonder if the former is true. Only earning her money in cash, and another thing that was very suspicious. If that's true, then how sad.

Another fascinating thing to me is that she has a blog, and no...you aren't going to get me to tell you the address, where she sounds completely normal. If you were to read it, you'd think that this person is living a somewhat charmed life in Los Angeles. She even posts many times about being an animal lover, which kills me. But, that's the power of denial. I think she is an animal lover, but in her mind has glossed over the cruelty that Oliver had to endure because of her neglect. But, like I said, at least she reached out to me when he got sick. I do give her credit for that instead of hiding it like she did her messy apartment. She's started to park her car in the car port, and well...it looks just like her apartment did. For some reason, her parents, whom I think are probably solidly middle class, bought her a brand new Mercedes station wagon five years ago. Probably a college graduation present. Well, the poor thing looks like it's been through the demolition derby. A huge, rusted crashed in side on the passenger side. Scratches galore, broken bumper, taped on passenger side mirror, cracked lights. All left to rust or fall off. Okay, if you have my car, that's one thing. But, a nice car like that should be fixed. I don't want to think of how the engine is being taken care of. Inside, from end to end, the car is filled with junk and trash. Yet, if you read her blog, she writes about that car as if it's her pristine baby, and that she's looking to buy a second car. An antique Mercedes. It was all I could do not to comment, "Fix the car you have first, dammit." It has several thousand dollars of damage on it. I asked her about the damage, and she had some strange story for it. Someone had hit it while it was parked, then left. However, looking at the damage, it looks like she side swiped something. I'm not buying the hit and run story. I asked her why she didn't fix it, and she said insurance didn't cover it. Well, then stop fantasizing about getting a second car. Focus on fixing what your negligence has ruined, first. Trust me on that one.

I know there's a chance she reads my blog. But, that's okay. I've been pretty blunt with her in person and haven't compromised her identity. And, a little dose of reality can't hurt when you are spending so much energy to create an alter persona. Man, just deal with what you have in front of you. You'll see how much faster that seemingly far off "person you want to be" comes and shakes hands with you if you do. And, just because she does, don't think that she doesn't carry baggage as well. As anyone knows from this blog, I've come a good long way, but there are still pot holes. I'm in the process of trudging through one now, but I'm aware of it and not trying to hide it. I'm still doing pretty ok. But, the one thing I've done is leveled with myself about who I am, and where I am emotionally even if it's not a perfect little picture. But, even so, I still haven't stopped doing the things that I love, and hate sometimes...like writing. If I create any personas, they are characters in my novel.

I do wish the best for her, and it's hard to watch her teeter so delicately on the edge. I don't know if she thinks that I and the other neighbors see it, which makes it harder. Sometimes, it's just as hard for me to pretend I don't see her cracks all the time, as it is for her to hide them.

For those of you need a dose of adorable today, may I recommend this little gem. To those of you who helped Oliver, this is especially for you. I shot this of him in a state of complete contentedness. This is something that he does, which is grab a blanket or pillow with his mouth, then knead to his heart's content. Click play. I dare you not to say "awwww."



Oliver's really been making great progress. The hair on his belly is still growing back, but every week he extends a little more trust toward me. He was always a friendly cat, but set limits. Completely understandable from what he's been through. Now, as I was typing this post he jumped up on my lap. It's a huge show of trust considering that when he first came into the house he wouldn't stay on my lap if put there. At. All. I think he'd been through so much he was afraid to let me in, for fear of once again, another change or disappointment entering his life. Or, in the case of his last home, chaos, neglect and ignorance that led to him needing the operation.

It makes me so happy to see him so comfy and at home.