Talk about – pop music

This won’t be an essay.

I love pop music. From the 1920s backward to folk music and early music of the Renaissance and beyond to classical times, and from the 1920s forward even to some rap music, I have taken great pleasure. But I’m also a word freak and I do hear the lyrics. I was an English teacher; when Paul McCartney said in one of his rare false moves, “world in which we live in,” it grated on my ear. But what really grates on my lately is objectification of humans.

In some shop today, the lovely Watching the detectives by Elvis Costello washed over me, causing me to start to twitch to the ska beat. He was writing ABOUT objectification in a clever way, as always. Sadly, the next song was Put a ring on it (I think that’s the title) by Beyonce. What a disgusting way to describe oneself. “I am an object; if you like IT put a ring on IT.” It’s right down there with, I’m in love with your body.  I have no idea who wrote or sang it, nor do I care, but I wish they had never existed to write such a vile lyric. But, I guess people really think this way. And, yes, the truth hurts.

Sexy

The title is wrong. Sexy means something that turns you on sexually, right? Or, maybe… maybe it’s just a feeling of being alive and fluid in your body, okay with it, enjoying it. My body ain’t perfect by far. Last post I called it FatBoringOld like the Monty Python sketch of Mr. and Mrs. Git.

Sexy is the sun on your back and a breeze on your sweaty lower back, cooling, despite the sun. Feeling free and comfortable in your body, despite its gross imperfections to those concerned with such things. It’s heat and cool in best proportions.

It’s fabric that hangs or clings comfortably, and I stumbled upon this the other day.

Ridiculously, we had an old piece of nightgown fabric to block the drafts from the door. It was the bottom half of a nightgown, the bodice cut out and thrown away. So, less than half a metre of cotton fabric, with a lettuce edge. After the separation and divorce, I inherited this scrap, which had been rolled up to block the door. I washed it, thinking it’d make a good cleaning rag, being cotton.

In some moment of whimsy I tied a knot in it and made a shoulder baring top out of it.  It’s my favourite cool summer top to wear. Should take a pic and post it. I actually walked around the mall in it, one day. I saw male eyes glancing at my shoulders or perhaps the audacity of Ms. FBO Git walking around half naked.

Cool cotton, and I love the way it drapes. The folds conceal the belly bulge. The knot enhances the chest. Despite being roly-poly, none of that is in my chest, proportionally. The knot does the trick, bulging outward, competing with the belly.  If I could make this into a product, I’d make millions.  Maybe I shouldn’t post this moneymaking secret!

But I sure enjoy it. I’m wearing it now. Gonna make more like it out of other fabric. It’ll be my uniform. Bare shoulders in the breeze. Mmm.

Bike lanes

Bike lanes

So, all the hullaballoo on the street the last few nights was about painting on these new bike lanes. The bike symbol, though is not new. I donno if you can see that it’s slightly yellowish or faded compared the other other white lines, but in person it’s more obvious than in my photo.

Now the bike symbol is in a place where people are actually supposed to park. The drivers of cars int he back of the picture haven’t figured that out yet. I see my neighbour’s old truck is there, too, on the opposite side of the street. Maybe it didn’t get towe “away” last night but just out of the way – across the street. So, yeah, my interference was not needed. Hmm!

I didn’t understand the new bike lanes at first either. I thought, wow, that looks like a good way to be doored, if you cycle on the new paint. But that’s because people are parked in the bike lane.

I think this’ll function as traffic calming, too, because the road has been greatly narrowed and it’ll be less easy to go speeding through at 60 kmh, which is not uncommon. Or faster. Or maybe there’ll be more accidents now.

I’m a cyclist, and it seems like a bizarre way to make a bike lane, but maybe it’ll work. I donno.

Parking has been decreased on the street now. Since parking was already tight here much of the time, I’m sure drivers will complain, possibly blaming it on cyclists.

 

Anxiety

Anxiety

Well, I done good as my old high school principal used to say. “Ya done good,” a verbal backslap.

I’m cultivating my own peace within, on top of maintaining the body connection. Sure, I just screamed aloud at the Nth irritation here, someone who keeps walking past my window with a crying brat, which happened half a dozen times today. But other than that, I’m doing great with this hyper-alertness that has plagued me.  I recently realized it’s a form of anxiety.

There was a selfish elephant at the swimming pool this morning that joined my lane and hit and kicked me every time he passed. And other annoying behaviours, including when I confronted him on it. There was a selfish neighbour emptying her dust pan several floors up. Her balcony is the source of the sunflower seed shells I get daily, and now apparently this filth that coats my plants, also. And now apparently a boomcar parked outside my apartment. But, no! No, it was over 2 blocks away, believe it or not, a deejay at the outdoor pool. Why and WTF ever for? It was an amazingly long walk, with the ground reverberating through my shoes. And they have turned it down quite a bit. And I left a note for the landlord about the dirt-neighbour and talked to the lifeguard about the elephant-swimmer (someone who takes more than half the area within the lanes) and the swim-slob kept the lane and I got a big lane to myself over in the deep end. Didn’t know there was a lane there! Fine. I’m not scared of the deep end and no more elephants or other nonsharing selfish people joined.

But the main thing is writing that didn’t make me hotter under the collar. After confronting the boom-bass at the swimming outdoor pool, my body was not in a high state of alert, like it always has been in the past. I wasn’t trembling with anger. Apparently my week of cultivating calm, no matter what, is working. And the shitty things I’ve dredged up just now seem relatively far away, even though they all happened today. Today I focused on getting things done and not wasting time in rage and amazement at how shitty people can be.

Triumph and glory. Despite those people.

 

Gratitude

Lately, I’ve realized that despite feeling quite alone and unsupported, actually my various friends have given me quite a lot of support. One gave me a big monitor, bigger than the one I have. It’s nice, makes work easier and play a little richer. Two others let me stay at their homes while I travelled to a conference. They appreciated talking to me. They fed me. Thay had time for me! Even my ex wanted to help me.

One of them even dumped out three days of my urine and toilet paper from a chemical toilet in the camper. Now, that’s a true friend, no? Last time I made sure to empty that toilet myself. I had to ask for help how to do it. I bet usually she does it for everyone, but I felt like I should take care of my own bodily fluids, ya know?

And then today I got a chunk of good luck, a bit of freedom. My divorce papers came through. There was some technical glitch with the format, so they were refused last month, but the kind registry clerk took pity on me and resubmitted it to another judge, who ended up approving it. Whew! I’ve been hoping and hoping for that all month, because my ex got into blaming mode and didn’t want to redo the papers, even though it was all by consent. Even though I redid the papers and printed it for him. But now it’s done, and I feel numb. I never wanted to be divorced, but since that’s what he wanted, I’m glad it’s finished.

So what about gratitude? Yes, I’m grateful for the luck today and when the clerk took pity on me, but I’ve talked to people who say gratitude changed their lives. I need my life to change! I don’t want my life the way it’s been. I tried to practice gratitude, but it didn’t do much for me. I read a lot about it. I tried the exercises repeatedly. So… anyone of the very few rarified people reading here have the solution? I don’t know. Life ain’t worth living, and I’m trying to change that.

 

 

Take time to enjoy life?

That’s what the guy at the job centre said. For me, the problem isn’t time. It’s capacity to enjoy. There’s not much I really enjoy. Oh, sure, a movie is an escape. Food is great while eating it and alcohol makes the worries fade away, but both of those things are extra calories, especially the second one which has no nutritional value. At my age, I don’t need to eat much, so most every bite should be a nutritious one.

So suddenly I got the bright idea to go get a massage at the massage therapy school.  Something I’ve been planning to do for over a year. It’s only $30 for over an hour of therapeutic massage. I checked their online schedule – only one booking left for today, in 15 minutes. I had to dash down there after leaving them a phone message.

It felt great though I feel oddly stiff now as if things were stretched and I should take a hot bath and then ice my sore foot that got killed with all the activity over the past week. I had some strenuous forest hiking that overdid it for me and triggered old injuries and weak points.

So I did something nice for me that felt good. Hurrah for me!

Pizza and Marijuana

Gotta say that marijuana is all over the place up here in the Vancouver area. When I used to live on an upper floor and have my windows open all the time, I’d wake up half choking to death with a cotton mouth from the stuff coming in the windows. I’m not a smoker. I’ve smelled it when I’m driving, coming from the car in front of me. The reek blows down the street quite often. And I’ve definitely seen people smoking it at a bus stop numerous times. Pretty sure people do it at work.

So tonight I got a pizza from the grocery store. I don’t do this often, so I have to read the directions. After doing that, I’m thinking people are smoking marijuana in the pizza factory office where they make the label. It says right on there, at the bottom, “Refrigerate or discard unused portion.” Discard unused portion? Sounds like an instruction for canning liquid or epoxy resin. Who the heck ever threw out unused pizza? Okay, probably not a pothead, and maybe they were using something heavier in that office. Something that kills your appetite. Perhaps meth or crack.