Things About Me

Things about me:

I was born of California dust, Hank Williams music, sagebrush and poppies. I share a birthday with Horatio Lord Nelson and Gene Autry, which is fitting as I'm both a child of the water and one of the West. I'm positive I was a charleston-dancing, gin, jazz and man-crazed flapper. I'm pretty sure I was in my twenties when the Germans rolled into France and I'm pretty sure I had a beau or a husband that went off to fight them. I'm sure I was a hippie and loved the idea that the Age of Aquarius could be upon us in 1968. I also know that the rock era was the best we'd ever seen; genius that was transferred from mind and soul to a guitar and microphone.

What does it say about me when my password for blogger is more complicated than the one I use for my bank account?

I'm lucky to be here at all; Grandma Jewels, as a baby, almost sailed the Titanic when it left Belfast in 1912. As a poor Irish baby in steerage, there's no way she would have made it onto a lifeboat, which means, I wouldn't be here.

I love my brown leather motorcycle jacket. I miss my beloved sterling silver cuff ring, and wear a poor replacement--a silver Celtic knot on my right index finger. I love my $1 blue leather cuff bracelet which adorns and sometimes hides the kick ass scar on my left wrist bone.

I love feeling the wind in my face, though it sometimes takes my breath away. I love words and intimacy between family, friends and lovers in only the way that I can. I love Annie and Amelia. I love spark and spontaneity, Dylan McKay and his '61 black bathtub Porsche.

I love the way that mens' jeans fold and fall over the tops of their shoes. I love the smell of horses, hay and horse manure. I love foxgloves and delphiniums and roses. I love Ragtime, Big Band and Tom Petty music. I love nuzzling the crook of a man's neck and inhaling his scent. I can't wait for someone to hold my hand again, and I am eagerly anticipating the day (or night) I can draw my brand somewhere on his body.

These are things about me, but just a few because as Walt Whitman said, "I contain multitudes."

Personal (R)Evolution

I laughed as I saw what the California DMV sent me in the mail today. As I stared at a picture of my 17 year old self, complete with lizard-green tinged skin, it suddenly occurred to me that when I said "yes" to having an original DMV picture put on my new license, it was the original California photo; the one where my face was a shade of sea-sick green.

I was saddened last June when the Oregonians claimed I couldn't keep my green faced-(and first ever) driver's license issued by the Brown Bear Republic. Because I'm me, I wanted to keep my original CA driver's license if for no other reason than the picture was good but was colored amazingly badly. I looked like a sort of space alien. My skin was green, and for those who know me, in reality, my skin is somewhere between porcelain and alabaster pale. At the Oregon DMV office, as they took my CA license away the clerk offered to make me a photocopy. I shook my head as I walked out of the office because the photocopy was in black and white, so he completely missed the point.

Alas, oh my sweet California has remembered how much I missed that green faced teenager, so unsure of herself, with the shy eyes looking back at me. It's as if, in every sense of the word and in true living color, I've come full circle.

There are too many coincidences and symmetrical patterns between last spring/ summer and this spring/ summer for me not to commemorate them. I no longer believe in wallowing in full-circle personal tragedies, but I do believe in honoring those moments that struck me and made me grow.

1. 2008- April and May-I was getting ready to make a major change in my life. College was about to end and I was preparing to say goodbye to old, loved friends. I was going to move to another state and start my life. 2009- April, I left old friends in Oregon and moved to another state-California to (re)start my life.

2. 2008-May- Friends went on a cruise that we had planned the August before. We dropped the plans due to lack of money, but their graduation present was a cruise so they went. 2009-May- planned and went on a cruise with my friends. This was a cruise I did not plan on getting, but made travel arrangements only after a phone call presented me with the ability to take a free cruise. To the Bahamas.

3. 2008- May and June- Jobless, antsy, restless, depressed and terrified of remaining jobless. 2009-May and June-Jobless, antsy, restless, filled with doubt and faith (depending on which part of the day) regarding the ability to find work.

4. 2008-June- Internship at Portland Sentinel begins. 2009-April/ May-Freelance work with the Pasadena Weekly.

5. 2008-Late June- Meet someone that sparks me. Fall head over heels for him. Meet him on one of the first hot and sunny weekends of the season. Attached and involved....weeks go by. What were his words? Oh yes, I remember. "I'm a busy guy and am not interested in a relationship...." a verbal slap across the face. 2009-Late April-a record breaking weekend of heat for the season. Meet someone that sparks me. Interested. Vow to take things slowly on an emotional level but subsequently get somewhat attached...and then--"I'm attracted to you but, I don't see a future or a long term relationship for us..."

A verbal slap across the face.

It has occurred to me, though I've not loved any of the men I've been involved with, that I've been the more intersted party, and that I have not even crossed their minds as someone to love. At the end of th day I have not been a person any of them have really been into.

It is here that I would like to state that just because a pattern has been established doesn't mean it will remain so. While I would like to control my emotions with my mind and I would like to promise myself that I won't moon over this last guy for some time, I'm letting all the mind control go. I will move at my own pace and will not chide myself for feeling the way that I do. I will also believe that I'm a catch and sooner or later, another one will come along, another chance at something potentially pretty special.

I will also state that from here on out, I will not perpetuate or wish to perpetuate things simply because they've happened in the past in the same time frame. From here on out all of the possibilities are really open and I will no longer allow myself to be bound and chained to old mentalities. After all, if the only major thing that has changed is the fact that I'm a year older, this proves that this year is not the same and that there is just as much a chance that this year may be ridiculously different.

So here's to letting go of the past's chains.

Dylan Thomas once wrote

"Time held me green and dying/
Though I sang in my chains like the sea."

I will sing, but not in chains. I will sing on Phoenix wings.

After all this typing here's what I'm really trying to say: memories are and will always be with me. But I'm in the midst of a personal (r)evolution and I will move forward into the future because I believe I can.

June 10, 2009

A friendship eleven years in the making was confirmed today as Amelia and I clicked. She gave words that soothed and encouraged my spirit and for that I thank her. 

Oh if only my sensitive heart could grow to be as cold and unfeeling as stone, then maybe my nerves wouldn't feel so exposed and raw. One day perhaps, but I do find myself growing ever closer to blue hair and a shoulder tattoo of a Phoenix with a four leaved clover in its talons.

My day started with Tom Petty, moved to Dupar's with Millie, great conversation about gender studies, men, the negatives of masculinity, why men are stupid (there are sometimes that I think girls had it right at 8 when they think boys have coodies), the search for love, careers, cars (Geoffrey, one of the two males in my life that I can depend on), Kaldi, where an unexpected conversation with an attractive man named Mark apparently infused me with the knowledge that when not appreciated, I need to pack the fuck up and go off to Cartagena, Colombia. A phone call later I had some good news about a job prospect. This led to home where I planted a pineapple top in hopes it will grow into lush fruit, patting of my darling and obnoxious Aussie Pup and sweet Willie, coffee meet up and rich conversation where I was told, much to my happiness that as I age I will re-find my enthusiastic optimism and be able to talk myself up into a good mood after talking myself into a depressed one. Which means, according to Gaul that age will bring good things, instead of all of the negative things we're told it does. 

Tom Petty sings

"The waiting is the hardest part/

Everyday you see one more card/

You take it on faith, you take it to the heart/

The waiting is the hardest part"

I will wait, for as my father said, all I can do is to do the best I can. And with those words he always told me he'd be proud as long as I tried my best. So that's what I'll do and I'll place some faith in waiting. 

Judgment Day

For most of us who have grown up in the Anglo-Saxon tradition or in at least a semi-Christian household, the old biblical phrase about judgment is familiar:

"Judge not, that ye be not judged." (Matthew 7:1). We're also familiar with the concept of "let ye among you without sin be the first to cast stones," or something to that effect.

In the Bible, though there were commandments and courts of law, the idea of judging others especially in their personal lives seemed to be a moral wrong; personal judgment was seen to be God's task and that of no one else.

And yet, as Meyers and Briggs, certain historical philosophies, and countless psychologists have attested, not only are some people wired to judge more than others but that there is an actual function in the world for those who are judgmental.

There's a personality type theory called the Enneagram which traces its roots to the tradition of nomadic Muslims who incorporated bits and pieces of Buddhist and Eastern philosophy along the silk roads and caravan trails that wound themselves through Gobi desert and across mountain ranges to reach into the bastion of Western civilization.

I digress......anyway....the idea behind the Enneagram, which means "picture of nine," was to illustrate the nine types of people that form the world; no Type is any better than another and all are essential to make the world spin-- as combined-- the traits of the nine people form the face of God.

Now, Type 1 people are often called Reformers or Idealists and often live with a harsh mental critic. This mental critic not only judges others but the Idealist themself. (It is here that I will note that people like current President Obama and past President Bill Clinton are Type 1 judgers). This is not an easy thing to live with. There are many times where judgment can harm more than it helps. The fear of judgment or judgment itself can be harsh and can serve to paralyze people or spread shame and guilt in ways that are damaging to the soul.

And yet, I write this passage as a devil's advocate of sorts, on behalf of judgment. Yes, judgment can sometimes serve no better purpose but to make others feel bad, and in my book, that seems like a waste of time and a detrimental cause. But sometimes we need judgment. Social structures and institutions found themselves and differentiate themselves from others by passing judgment. This serves a critical purpose.

The problem, I think I've accuratley pinpointed, is when one takes on the judgment of others and social structures to the point that it handicaps personal thought and development. Because I went to Catholic institutions for eight years I'll use a Catholic example.

Catholic church doctrine claims that a sexual union is only an allowable expression of love when it is experienced by a man and a woman who have been married in the catholic tradition before the will of God. This husband and wife must be open to the creation of human life as a product of a sexual union, and therefore, sex without life-creating possibility is not a holy act of love, but tantamount to sin.

This whole concept is judgment. You can only do x if y is present, and z is a possibility, but if x, y or z is missing, than what you're doing is wrong.

The Church has every right to dictate how things should be done in the eyes of their God, and this sort of sexual morality sets a point by which moral attitudes regarding procreation, romance and respect between men and women should be compared. And yet, ultimately, I believe it is no other person's, institutions' or church's right to imbue me with so much judgment that I can't make a decision about my body and my emotions and my life without feeling guilt or shame. Guilt and shame should not enter an adult's picture (unless a crime is committed), and yet, judgment leads the way for these two things to infect the soul and mind.

But we need judgment too. A person should feel judged and judgment if they are fooling around with someone's spouse. People who abuse animals and humans should feel judgment. As people in the modern age we have every right to judge those who commit crimes and to a certain extent, everyone is entitled to their judging of others. For some of us, judgment is habitual because it was wired into our neuro-chemistry and our hearts. We just need to see the value of judgment, as in "I don't appreciate the way that man talks so casually about women and previous relationships" or "that guy is nothing but bad news, stay away."

So maybe in the end, judgment is not bad, but a good thing--but so is open mindedness and these two things should work together in tandem; maybe that is the right way. But who am I to judge?

------dedicated to Meals---

Meaning

Dateline---May 31, 2009

The online Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines meaning as:

Significant quality; especially; implication of a hidden or special significance.

It is not until today that I so singularly pinpoint a major theme of my life, or rather, the way I live. I invest in meaning, in things being meaningful.

Though I was thankful to have a place to go to last night, a place to hang out and commiserate with others, I did not have a great time at the party and bailed as soon as I could. I put words to feelings I've had in the past when I told Anne on the phone today that I would rather have an intimate conversation or get-together with a few friends, than go to a party with many people. I would rather connect to someone, even if it hurt, than to have a superficial and shallow conversation with someone. I invest in the power that words hold, in the fact that they can symbolize meaning to another individual. The sheer fact that words, letters that represent sounds which ring from our vocal cords, can mean something from the mind, heart and soul, makes communication a profound exercise in humanity. This is precisely why I chose Communication Studies in college; as a non-believer and intense atheist Freshman year, communication glinted with a divinity all its own.

I hate small talk. I hate shallowness. I hate ease-when it comes to people settling on easy achievements. I've never liked the idea of casual sex; it is the epitome of ease. We are biologically wired to have sex as a survival technique, which means, that it takes no thought at all, past the age of puberty, to jump on someone.

But what's the point if it doesn't mean something? What's the point of telling someone you love them if that love doesn't include all the fierceness and loyalty and depth that mean something?

A digression I suppose. But I realized that with my wiring, I'm not able to just fool around with someone or "to date and have fun." I'm not able (and am fortunate enough to not have) to take a job if I can't see it's worth somehow. Many people would say I'm uptight--and I'd agree, but only because most people live in this world where emotions, goals and ideas don't necessarily require a quality or significance. I can't bring myself to live in a world without value, without intentions and qualities and significances. I just wasn't wired that way.

My biggest curse and one of my most valued qualities is that I live in an idealist's plane of experience--there are higher meanings and purposes and values and qualities to ideas and policies and actions. This means I crash and burn from time to time. When I am torn up and lying awake at four in the morning going over every detail of what went wrong or what I hate about life or myself--do I wish that I could let it go and not take things so seriously? Absolutely. Does it worry me that I take things so seriously? YES. Does this mean that there is an extraordinary amount of pain in store for me as I wander this life. YES.

But I remember a conversation I once had with a very skilled and compassionate man; a psychologist. He said that while it may suck on an emotional level to be me, to live the way I do, people like me are needed in the world, because the natural world order is for the strong to eliminate the weak. For the world to work on sheer power and strength; feelers, empaths are needed to make the world a better place; a place where "weak" things can show their worth and brilliance as working parts of this world. We are the idealists, the ones constantly shouldering the burden because others won't. We're the ones that want to judge and create and reform and inspire others to achieve levels of potential greatness.

We are the bohemians that champion art, freedom, truth, love so that others may draw some enjoyment from these things. Because, at th end of the day, if no one else is going to support the world, they let it drop at their feet, they live an easier life but for the sake of everyone here, someone (or some people) need to be Atlas--shouldering the junk the easy people have left by the wayside.

This work means something and I'm just waiting to mean something to someone else.

Gavin DeGraw sings---

Love has a reason,
There's a meaning to the world

Why I Love South Pasadena

When I really look around I feel very lucky to live where I do. Not only have I always been able to call myself a citizen of Los Angeles, an Angeleno in the truest sense--because I've always lived within Los Angeles city limits--but because I've grown up in such an interesting place. 

The city has always laid at my feet. I was merely days old when my mom was rolled out of the hospital and both my mom and dad brought me home and laid me on their bed at our condo in Monterey Hills, a neighborhood atop a tall hill just South-East of South Pasadena. Though the lower portions of the Monterey Hills area is a bit slummy, like most of Los Angeles, the hill was a conglomeration of what makes LA so neat; a mix of city and nature as Debbs State Park resides there. 

When we left the condo on the hill and moved into the Oleander house in the summer of 1992, I found that this dichotomy of city and nature was prevalent here too. The house, on a tall hill, surrounded by acres of open land, hillside, orange trees, eucalyptus and crab-grass, it also sits in Los Angeles city limits. And, much to my surprise, my bedroom window faces South, and I can directly see the old condo in Monterey Hills where I started my life. 

I was bicycling today through my neighborhood--for the first time since I was a young teenager. As I'm crossing the York Blvd bridge into South Pasadena, I can look down and see the Arroyo I love so much; I can smell the hey from the little horse stable and I see a horse's muzzle sticking out of his stall. I feel so lucky to live in this crux of natural California; dry riverbed, fragrant arid land and city all meet up here at this crossroads. 

----------

South Pasadena is an interesting town. It has one foot rooted in the heydays of the 50s, as the corner of Fair Oaks and Mission silently attests, and the city has an eye to the future. 

A city that functions independently with its own mayor and city council, its own school district and downtown, it is a throwback to the idea that Los Angeles is a conglomeration of varied and unique cities--both micro-metropoli and smalltown USA mainstays. 

For a fairly wealthy town with longstanding high property value, and conservative political and business nature, South Pasadena's landmark Rialto has long been home to avant-garde celebrations of the unusual, iconic, and liberally bohemian midnight showing of "The Rocky Horror Picture Show." 

But contradictions make things more interesting. 

South Pasadena is apparently big enough--in its 3.4 square mile radius to sustain two different pizza parlors, only two blocks apart--pizza parlors run by the same family in competition with each other. 

------------

Thursday, May 28, 2009

This is what I love about South Pasadena--a block of city, the closest thing the city has to a town square, is being overrun by the smells of barbecuing meat and roasting corn while people talk to one another in a friendly fashion. The quiet city transforms into a bustling hub of activity on Thursday evenings for the weekly Farmer's Market. 

There is nothing unique about this S. Pas Farmer's Market--except that I just ran into Frank Fairfield- a bluegrass player I saw this last Sunday, not here, but all the way in Santa Monica at McCabe's Guitar Shop. Even stranger than him being at a S. Pas Farmer's Market is the fact that I saw this same, esoteric player hustling his banjo, his mandolin and his guitar in Old Town this Monday evening. 

To summate--he's been in the Pasadena area twice in the last week even though I didn't even know he existed before Sunday afternoon. I know what you're thinking--maybe he lives in Pasadena. But alas, he does not, as I talked to him and found that he lives on Cahuenga North of Hollywood. 

Yesterday marked the debut of this week's Pasadena Weekly, which bore my name on the cover as my story was the feature of the week. Below the picture of the cute dog pictured in its kennel is my name--Carolyn Neuhausen. Meanwhile, by the time I usually go to Kaldi's the newsstand is usually empty--but not today--today there is still a fresh stack of PWs around--as today they hit the street. My name is literally haunting Pasadena as I type this and my name stares back at me on a paper at my very own local coffeehouse. 

An interesting confluence of events--and it all happened in South Pasadena.  

Running into the Sun...

Last night I drove into the Sun. It set with orange, round fiery brilliance into the palm trees in the west. I don't know why I bring this up, only to say that it was really something quite neat.  

I made a connection with him on Monday, the very night I decided to sever it. And having started the grieving process, all I have to do is sit tight and let it burn down to ashes, which will happen eventually. It just feels really hard right now.  

Is it possible to both value your demons as much as you hate them? I hate my deeply reflective nature almost as much as I nurture it. I see value and know that true beauty lies within attachment and connection, and yet, wish with every fiber of what I am, that I could just let things come and go without caring or getting attached at all. Wishing I didn't feel pain in the depths, it is something unique about me, something that makes me truly an individual. Dare I dream and hope to find disappointment, or is it better to not hope at all? Disappointment for me is the thing that crushes. 

The world however, has opened up new possibilities even in the same way it broke some of them. I no longer believe in waiting to line ducks in a row or be this perfect version of me before searching for what it is that I want. I vow to be open to the possibility that at any given moment something really cool can happen. He could be sitting next to me in traffic or walking in the same park as I. I mean, if it happened more than once, this is only statistical proof that it will happen again, hey?

Jacob Dylan sings, 

I've got my window open wide/

I've got my window open wide/ 

....

Because I know something good this way comes