If you can answer that question off the top of your head, count yourself lucky. "I'm a creative" is a sentence I've said probably a dozen times over the last six months and I'm not sure I have a response to that question that really sums up what in the hell that means when it's put in terms of actually creating.
I have to start, though, by saying that that's not my question. I wish I'd thought of it and asked you a long time ago, but I haven't allowed my brain to think that way in years. "Society stifles creativity with fear" and that fear can come in so many different forms: grey cubicle walls, smaller paychecks, being told to "sit down an shut up" (actual quote from someone who could have had a starring role in "Horrible Bosses".), having your work second-guessed because every writer has a different voice. It could be pretty much anything, and I'm willing to bet that it's silenced the vast majority of people reading this -- myself included.
Which brings me to my point:
About a year-ish ago, I had the incredible good fortune to get to know someone who struck me right away as a remarkably warm and comforting human being. His name is Jeremy Make and, as it turns out, we had more than just a vivacious friend in common: we both love film and the creative process. In fact, he loves it so much that he and his friend named Andy Raney decided to take a journey across the U.S. together and to make a movie about it. Oh, and have I mentioned that they drove in a souped-up golf cart? Well, they did, and the documentary is called "kArt Arcoss America." They met people along the way that you'd never expect to hold the jobs they do -- and to be so passionate about them. They turned their art into a living. They shared their perspectives on letting go of what you think art has to be or what the "artist" is supposed to look like. Andy and Jeremy simply asked, "What is your art?" The answers they got, and the self-discovery they seemed to drink in, were nothing short of inspiring. Plus, they're both hilarious, so there's never a dull or tedious moment in their voyage.
Those two guys turned their experiences into art. And it's really f'ing goooooood. Seriously. I can't say enough about how damn compelling and fun this movie is. And I dare anyone who sees this to walk away feeling uninspired or stifled. After a long and stressful couple of months, I now have the urge to create again because it should never be about someone else. It's about YOU and making time for whatever YOUR art happens to be. And if you can't answer the question, "What is your art?" then Sit down. Shut up. And think. and after that, never be silenced again.
As for mine, well...I'll get back to you.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Are all straight men disgusting?
I'm pretty torn about the answer to this question. On one hand: yes, absolutely. (I mean, take a shower for christ's sake!) But on the other: no. Is there anything more irresistible than a well-groomed man with a nice haircut in a suit and tie? (wait, I think I just described a page of DETAILS magazine, which is not straight at all...)
I ask this question because I recently wrapped up my time as a corporate minion at a very conservative company, where a lot of the men look like The aforementioned non-disgusting subject. Suits and ties are kind of the norm there and they pay people well enough for those to be NICE suits and ties. Almost all of the gentlemen would open and hold the door for you, and board the elevator only after all ladies were in. (Perhaps it's all of the etiquette training they have them take, in preparation for those $11,000 business dinners?) It's not without its faults, but it's a pretty civilized place.
And then there's THAT guy. I'm walking into work a few weeks ago and there's a dude about 30 feet behind me, coming from another direction. We'd made eye contact and smiled at one another. I turned around and took 3 or 4 paces when I heard the loudest belch come out of his mouth. As it's echoing off the walls of the parking garage, I hear the worst thing of all coming from him: nothing. No "Oh! Excuse me!" (even though it kind of would have been said to no one in particular.). No "Whoops-a-daisies! Pardon me." (This could have taken place in Victorian England...you don't know.) Nothing.
Now, I realize I'm not a "lady" in the strictest sense (I'm pretty sure taking on the F-word as your most favorite word ever excludes you from that category...but it's so versatile!), but I am still a GIRL. And when I'm at work, you'd probably never guess that I'm as much of a hot-mess express as I actually am. (Exception: all work buddies.) And, frankly, I do not appreciate a lack of basic manners. Maybe it's a little Colonial of me, but say "Please" and "Thank you" and "Excuse me," even when you don't necessarily need to -- and hold the door open for people...which I did not do for him because he was so blatantly rude that I was appalled and had to clutch my pearls and run in tiny steps far far away, taking care not to expose my ankles through the ruffles of my hoop skirt.
Okay, that last part didn't exactly happen that way, but I did not hold the door for such a disgusting human being (who was, actually, far enough behind me that it wasn't as rude as it sounds.). I did, however, not hold back and say, "that's nice" after he burped so rudely. My guess is that he may have heard me say something, but probably couldn't tell exactly what I said. It wasn't too loud, though I think I should have said it to his face. Something tells me his mother would have been embarrassed.
All I'm saying is this: things happen. But that's why the words "Excuse me" came along. Once you say that, it's like nothing ever happened and people don't hate you.
I ask this question because I recently wrapped up my time as a corporate minion at a very conservative company, where a lot of the men look like The aforementioned non-disgusting subject. Suits and ties are kind of the norm there and they pay people well enough for those to be NICE suits and ties. Almost all of the gentlemen would open and hold the door for you, and board the elevator only after all ladies were in. (Perhaps it's all of the etiquette training they have them take, in preparation for those $11,000 business dinners?) It's not without its faults, but it's a pretty civilized place.
And then there's THAT guy. I'm walking into work a few weeks ago and there's a dude about 30 feet behind me, coming from another direction. We'd made eye contact and smiled at one another. I turned around and took 3 or 4 paces when I heard the loudest belch come out of his mouth. As it's echoing off the walls of the parking garage, I hear the worst thing of all coming from him: nothing. No "Oh! Excuse me!" (even though it kind of would have been said to no one in particular.). No "Whoops-a-daisies! Pardon me." (This could have taken place in Victorian England...you don't know.) Nothing.
Now, I realize I'm not a "lady" in the strictest sense (I'm pretty sure taking on the F-word as your most favorite word ever excludes you from that category...but it's so versatile!), but I am still a GIRL. And when I'm at work, you'd probably never guess that I'm as much of a hot-mess express as I actually am. (Exception: all work buddies.) And, frankly, I do not appreciate a lack of basic manners. Maybe it's a little Colonial of me, but say "Please" and "Thank you" and "Excuse me," even when you don't necessarily need to -- and hold the door open for people...which I did not do for him because he was so blatantly rude that I was appalled and had to clutch my pearls and run in tiny steps far far away, taking care not to expose my ankles through the ruffles of my hoop skirt.
Okay, that last part didn't exactly happen that way, but I did not hold the door for such a disgusting human being (who was, actually, far enough behind me that it wasn't as rude as it sounds.). I did, however, not hold back and say, "that's nice" after he burped so rudely. My guess is that he may have heard me say something, but probably couldn't tell exactly what I said. It wasn't too loud, though I think I should have said it to his face. Something tells me his mother would have been embarrassed.
All I'm saying is this: things happen. But that's why the words "Excuse me" came along. Once you say that, it's like nothing ever happened and people don't hate you.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Snowpocalypse!
It's snowing -- like CRAZY snowing. We already have probably a foot, and they're expecting another 8" by the end of the day, though it could keep snowing until tomorrow morning. Schools are closed (both public and private), government offices have shutdown, many businesses are closed. And my office is open. Apparently, life insurance brochures are more important today than the safety of employees! Don't get me wrong, I have a lot of respect for the very high-up decisionmakers at this place. They repeatedly demonstrate integrity and far more intelligence than I'll ever have, even if I hired Steven Hawking to follow me around and teach me stuff for a month. I'll give the company a lot, but I won't risk life and limb to edit an announcement. It can wait until Monday.
SO, I'm on my couch, immersed in my bad TV (There's a very angry son-in-law on Hoarders. I'm very angry about his wavy ponytail and his wife's Indian headdress t-shirt, but nobody asked me...) and trying not to mess anything up in my perfect house. Since it's now officially on the market I have to pick up anything I put down, arrange anything I move, wipe up any water that drips in the sink and put everything in a cabinet or closet so it's not sitting out. It's a pain in the ass, but I can definitely see that I have some natural OCD tendencies that could maybe be all-consuming and seriously annoying to someone else who may cross my path, if I let them. Good thing I'm kind of lazy and probably wouldn't end up wanting to put in all that effort, long term...
I'm kind of hungry, but I don't think I can eat for at least a half-hour after this episode of Hoarders. It's like swimming, but in reverse.
I really don't have anything to say...I'm just killing time, and, apparently, wasting yours. So I'll leave you with some random thoughts:
-A velvet portrait of wolves in an old wooden frame is a treasure, not junk, Hoarders!
-The only thing better than an Indian headdress tee is one with an Indian AND an Eagle...especially when you clearly have no Indian heritage.
-I'm having a hard time keeping my aloe plant alive. Apparently, I'm less hospitable than a desert. (Oh how I wish that were actually my joke. It belongs to Dimitri Martin.)
-Greyhounds look really awesome in their little racing sweaters...even though I am totally not okay with animal races of any kind...except maybe armadillo and chihuahua.
That's it. Have a happy day.
SO, I'm on my couch, immersed in my bad TV (There's a very angry son-in-law on Hoarders. I'm very angry about his wavy ponytail and his wife's Indian headdress t-shirt, but nobody asked me...) and trying not to mess anything up in my perfect house. Since it's now officially on the market I have to pick up anything I put down, arrange anything I move, wipe up any water that drips in the sink and put everything in a cabinet or closet so it's not sitting out. It's a pain in the ass, but I can definitely see that I have some natural OCD tendencies that could maybe be all-consuming and seriously annoying to someone else who may cross my path, if I let them. Good thing I'm kind of lazy and probably wouldn't end up wanting to put in all that effort, long term...
I'm kind of hungry, but I don't think I can eat for at least a half-hour after this episode of Hoarders. It's like swimming, but in reverse.
I really don't have anything to say...I'm just killing time, and, apparently, wasting yours. So I'll leave you with some random thoughts:
-A velvet portrait of wolves in an old wooden frame is a treasure, not junk, Hoarders!
-The only thing better than an Indian headdress tee is one with an Indian AND an Eagle...especially when you clearly have no Indian heritage.
-I'm having a hard time keeping my aloe plant alive. Apparently, I'm less hospitable than a desert. (Oh how I wish that were actually my joke. It belongs to Dimitri Martin.)
-Greyhounds look really awesome in their little racing sweaters...even though I am totally not okay with animal races of any kind...except maybe armadillo and chihuahua.
That's it. Have a happy day.
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