Another Song

Here is another song.

Anna's Music

This is a song I wrote. The harmony I was singing is slightly sharp because I had a problem with my head set. I know...excuses excuses.

Different Side

This song is talking about the cyclical nature of relationships and life. "Doing it over and over again" is a reference to every pattern that you find yourself repeating. The comparison of life to a game is a statement that life can be quite trivial. Inward or outward it's all the same. Whether others are fully aware of our own trivialities, they still exist and we must deal with them from the inside--out.

Music

I just sat down and played a few of my songs tonight. These are some I haven't posted yet. Mostly my back is to you.

I need to catch up on your blogs this weekend.

Hope everyone is doing well.

Anna

Karl, Head of Marketing, President

Karl was Jim's right hand man.

Account Executive, Martha

Martha is a part of the marketing group at Legacy.

Marlene, Publicity Director

Marlene landed Jim an interview with the 700 Club in the first week of publishing.

Operations Management

Jeanette is the operations manager at Legacy Road, Jim's marketing group.

Airport in Texas

I'm going Home!

One Legged Man Collecting Money

No one ran him away.

Interview with Ethics Organization in Cameroon

Interview with Ethics Organization in Cameroon.

Interview with Governor of Yaounde, Cameroon

Listen Carefully

Music

I just sat down and played a few of my songs tonight. These are some I haven't posted yet. Mostly my back is to you.

I need to catch up on your blogs this weekend.

Hope everyone is doing well.

Anna

My Face To You

Just singing song over and over.

I was born to be with one person
And hang my life on dinners
And apron strings.
But I've grown to think and run
and rummage through broken things.

Had I known then
What I know now
I wouldn't change what--
But I'd know how

I want to sing for recompense
But I wasn't born with a voice
To make a dif fer ence
And my mirror on the wall
says
I'm far from the best
Of them all

So don't do me a favor
Just to convince me
you like my flavor
I've Acquired this taste
And open minds are a waste


It feels good to be alone now. But I know feelings run out. Everything is so rigid and no one understands me. The other kind of music is too loud. And when mine fades out, theirs fades in. I hate it. I want to give it all away, because I can't keep it and be happy. I loved you but only because I wanted to watch the stars with you. And now the clouds swallow up our wishes. Music is the breath of life. And your spice is drowning mine out. All I can taste are the sides of my tongue. But I eat because I'm hungry. But not as hungry as the rest of the world who never got a chance to complain.

You have to step outside of what you've been pushed into and declare your circle as your own. Stop laughing at other people's jokes when you don't get it. You owe it to yourself.

I want to sit on verandas and talk to the friend of my lover's mother. Because I just found out I won't live forever and all my plans have changed. I bought you ginger snaps because I wanted you to be where I was when it smelled like heaven. But you're just sick and look at my gift with indifference. I don't care anymore and have new objects of my affection that only exist when I want them to.

Can I sit in the back of the bus and forget the ride? Give everything away until it's almost gone. And then savour the last bite for an eternity.

Let's climax and forget it ever happened until it happens again.

pics from cameroon

off to our "honeymoon" 

Maurice and Me 

Wedding Photo--wore african clothes 

from Cameroon, Africa

update: sorry it has been so long. have been so very busy. got married. yeah. and moved to Cameroon. yeah. So below is a little account of Cameroon so far. I really really really really appreciate those of you who have dropped me notes every now and then. It amazes me that you actually think of me. I will try to respond personally to those soon. Hope you are all doing well! Anna



You've heard it before from those who were older than you. If I had only known then, what I know now. Youth carries with it a sense of naivety that can only be squelched by years of accumulated retrospect. And that gunk of out-of-date wisdom just sits there serving no purpose other than to collect mold and mildew, producing a smell that reminds you of those whose aspirations died long before yours. I cannot pray a prayer large enough to encompass all of what the world needs because my own hunger kills my well bred sense of responsibility for others. How can I believe that God will provide for me when I cannot see that God is providing for my neighbor? For it is said that God is no respecter of persons. My eyes have been opened to the dead-end of having plenty. But intentionally purging yourself of what you have, so that you can relate to the suffering of others is not a step toward enlightenment because choosing to be poor will make you a slave to those who inherited the profession of poverty. We should all wear the nakedness with which we were born, because transparency is the universal language of survival.

But we don't play nice because our tastes don't match the tastes of our loved ones. Personality is the export good here. But it takes an even better brain to steer personality in the right direction. And it is beyond comprehension why everyone is in everyone's way, when there is plenty of space to exist with leftover elbow room. This country is like the middle child who craves attention from anyone at anytime. They imitate what has been done, just to be a premature part of what aging would have naturally produced. They are their own gods, creating life from the dust of the ground. I am ashamed to look at anyone in the eye here, because I feel that I don't yet belong in a world where desperation is the most common thread. Even though I am desperate in more ways than one, being white forgives all disparity, in the eyes of those who see themselves as slaves even to their own race.

Right now my biggest, shallow regret is that I did not pack more bug spray. For some reason, bugs like me more this time, now that I am here for good. Maybe it is their idea of entertainment--fleas and mosquitoes uniting to eat my flesh and blood, when they could have just as easily had their lunch at the pork slaughterhouse on the corner. I am trying to make my repellant last, spreading it evenly over my body and the kitchen. With one spray, I saw my own helplessness in the ant's life, which quickly died at my mercy--just because I didn't want to share what little food was left. But ants still keep climbing forever; no wonder they have been proverbially overdone for centuries. Their determination, however, didn't stop Maurice from eating a piece of bread that they had already tried to claim. They had already hollowed out one end and begun to tunnel their way through the French walls of delicacy, but one strong shake from the human warrior and they fell right back to where they had started. A pinch here and a pinch there and a few more shakes, made the bread, in Maurice's estimation, edible. And this is the line over which I am not yet calloused enough to cross. The thoughts of eating even one live ant that will scurry and swim in the pool of my mouth as long as possible before I can flush it, really grosses me out. I asked Maurice if it was an annoyance that I did not want to eat the bread that in my estimation had already gone to waste. He chalked up my reaction as white man's fear and I was left to silently wonder if there was some woman out there that would have readily and willingly eaten the bread and the ants with utmost thankfulness for Maurice's provision.

And I realize that the old adage "cleanliness is next to godliness" paints an ugly, conditional picture of God's love. There is none clean here, no not one. And squeezing faith out of a God turnip isn't going to bring enough water to wash away all our dirt.

And just when I express my lack of faith--outside my window, God begins to pour down enough wind and rain to clean this country of its sins for a day. But everyone is running for shelter because the lightning scares them away from coming clean. Why did God create such a temperamental continent? Was it a part of his original plan to make "Wade in the Water" Cameroon's national anthem? Fortunately, I was always mesmerized by mud puddles, and not having grown up with a swimming pool in my backyard, it was always my dream to find a mud puddle big enough in which to take a swim. I guess dreams do come true.

There is one that I have tried to reach since, through this person, my eyes were opened to God's quirky ways. But transparency was lost at birth when the poor soul's father left temporarily for a more lucrative calling. And ever since, no one can reach inside the crib from which the wrinkled baby was never able to emerge. For this reason, at night I am haunted by dreams in which my passion is redirected as physical strength in front of large groups of people. This climax of energy was only ever misunderstood and only deals with the imaginable, excluding any realistic and sustainable existence. I am just one of many who tried and will go to my grave still pent up with unspent affections.

meandmybro.com

Competition

I never liked competition anyway. It always seemed easier said than done. And no one, not even you likes second place. There shouldn’t even be a second place--much less a third or fourth. Even the one time that I placed first, it was a tie. It doesn’t mean much to be first but it hurts real bad to come in second. People that are not as good as me make it farther than I do everyday. It’s ok. It’s just that it makes it real hard to think I’m worth anything at all. I remember my very first day of kindergarten. It was my first day of being last. My first day of putting myself last so that others could be first. And yet I never stopped wanting to be first. I don’t know if you relate to this feeling at all. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re surprised. For a really long time I was sinfully innocent and I survived by meeting everyone’s expectations that I always naively believed were for my own good. And even though I’ve since traveled dark and dirty roads that perfect people avoid, I still somehow believe I can please you because I’ll never be so good that I get to stop caring what you think. I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I am doing it. I’m doing it.

Life has a way of turning out a pattern. The longer we follow a certain pattern, the more definitive that pattern becomes. And everyone else can see what we’ve been weaving for ourselves. But we have sewn ourselves inside. In my early growing up years I was a quiet little girl with perfect blue eyes and beautiful blonde hair. I can still remember the first time I ever competed. But there was no competition. I was silent and shy. The victor. Because back then little girls won by getting in the back of the line. But at some point something changed.

I couldn’t believe the feeling I had in the moment that she told me I had missed it. I would have never missed it because missing wasn’t something I did. I had never missed anything. And I never needed to stand up and shout “pick me!” “pick me!” because I was the one doing the choosing. And I refused to believe that I was wrong. So I looked her straight in the face and said that I would not repeat the same thing the next day because I knew that I was right and she was wrong. She backed down because she knew she was already too old and shriveled up to convince me I was human just like her.

The night always came too quickly at my grandmother’s house. It hung over my head so that morning was my only comfort. Morning was bright, fresh and new. But night was dirty, stale and old. It was as if at night my grandma turned into the wolf that befriended Little Red Riding Hood. Her violent snoring scared me. But the morning always came. With the smell of bacon, eggs and biscuits. And since then I’ve always loved food. At one time I could eat four big biscuits that my grandma made especially for me. I smell my grandma now. And just because you’ve ever had a grandma doesn’t mean you smell what I smell. Her smell was never of flowers and perfume but it was a mixture of sweat, upholstery and lard.

My Bro-in-law and his brother are trying out the podcasting world. Check it out. If you want to visit their actual site you can go to http://www.meandmybro.com. Hey to everyone.


"Welcome to MeandMyBro.com
Where two brothers have a lot to say about nothing.


We're glad you found us. We don't know HOW you found us, but here you are. This is a place where "keeping it real" is the theme. And two brothers arguing about things that nobody cares about is on the menu. That's right- it's just us hangin' out saying the things that pop into our heads before we have time to filter it. We'll take you on trips that we take. We'll give you food reviews on some of our favorite foods as well as things we've never tried before. We'll tell you about movies we've seen and tell you why you should or shouldn't waste your time with it. But beware- we are brothers so we tend to argue with each other about most anything.


So if you've got the stomach for it and about 20 minutes to kill check out the first episode of our new podcast called "Me and My Bro". Once you hear the first one you'll be begging us for the next. Listen through the player we've provided below... You're welcome!"

THE MOST AWESOME MUSIC TOOL EVER

Hi Everyone,

I know it has been a while. The holidays have been really, really busy. There is a lot that I want to tell you and I will take the time later this evening probably. I also need to catch up on everyone. Hope you are all doing well. To those who have stayed in touch despite the hectic season---I really appreciate it!

This post is to thank BUD Buckley for sending me the most awesome musical invention ever. I have taken piano lessons since third grade, that is over 12 years of piano lessons-- and nothing has ever made so much theoretical musical sense to me! I can now play songs in every key and know which chords work with which chords, with a simple tool right at my finger tips. No cumbersome books, no confusing chord charts, no gobbedly gook, nerdy explanations.

This is a visual tool that helps you play the right chords instantly.

I have always had the problem of going to my grandparent's old fashioned church where they say on the cuff in a redneck accent, "let's get this in the key of Aflat major minor accidental third." Ok. That is a bit of an exaggeration. But now, I feel like I could play the piano at their church with no problem, because of this tool.

I haven't been so excited about a product since, mannn, I can't even think of something that has proven to be as beneficial as this new tool will prove to be, in my career and everyday feeling of "holding my own" in the world of music.

I would suggest that anyone reading this blog, that is into music, whether it be the playing the piano or guitar, or even if you are just a vocalist---EVERYONE, should put an order in for this product from Bud.

As soon as I get this month's paycheck, I am going to put in a order for everyone in my family.

Ok, I'll stop now. It's just that this is kind of emotional for me too. I have spent years feeling inferior for not being able to understand how "it all works." I have sat in piano lesson after piano lesson bug eyed, mindlessly shaking my head to theory lessons that I never though I would be able to use in a practical way.

This tool is what I need to do what I need to do.

Just this Sunday, my pastor asked me to transpose something that was too high for the men in the congregation to sing. NOW---I do not laugh at the idea. I am going to find a suitable key, using the tool that Bud sent.

Ok, I'll stop now. Thank you for taking the time to send your brilliant invention Bud! I will get the word out with everyone I know.

And to everyone else, thanks for listening to my spill. I am just so excited, that's all.

I will visit your blogs and catch up real soon.

Anna

Thank You

Ok. I just wrote a pretty lengthy "thank you" post and just lost it. So, here goes again. Thanks for all of your words of affirmation. It really means a lot. My love language is words of affirmation.

Some certain someone thinks that I am weak because of my need for other people's affirmation. I am sleeping on it. But point taken, I am bothered by the fact that someone else thinks that I care what people think. :-)

Anyway, thanks again for your words of encouragement. It means a lot.

Anna

Just singing song over and over.

I just sat down and played a few of my songs tonight. These are some I haven't posted yet. Mostly my back is to you. These are songs that have been buried for a while and you will tell that I'm not used to singing or playing them.

I need to catch up on your blogs this weekend.

Hope everyone is doing well.

Anna

Performing

I have a lot of performances this month. About 7, not including church stuff. It is weird how satisfaction in life can be so very subtle. How we don't realize we enjoy something until after it is over. The big concert of the season for the children's choir is at the Pikes Peak Center, pictured above. I've played there once and I wished I was singing to all of those people instead of playing. I wish my boyfriend could come to see what it is that I do. But he can't. In fact, I found out today that he will be on probation at the academy again next semester. He is doing so well on probation that they don't want to take him off--supposedly. The military academy is so anti-female. And I don't care who reads this. I am not utilitarian. I'm so tired of calling my boyfriend my boyfriend. It sounds so trivial and I get no respect with that. And then, what would it mean if he were my fiance or husband? There are no one way tickets to merryland. You know how I derive my happiness? By looking at my past and thanking God that I'm not as miserable and tragic as I once was. I'm posting really quickly--so forgive my lack of sense. And you know what else I hate? Making copies and having to be politically savvy in a position where I make a little over minimum wage, in the copy room when I have 10 billion copies to make and teachers are waiting to make theirs. I just can't concentrate while they are standing there waiting and I am trying to figure out how to work the ##### machine. And all the older women always harrass me because they think I'm a student. I go to pick up some letterhead from the front office and I get questioned like I'm an undercover piece of. Anyway, I've never been good with stuff like that. The small stuff. Why does it bother me? I hate rules. I think we have rules because there is no good will. I don't know where I fit in.

Thanksgiving and Other Things

Dear Blogging Friends:

It was nice to get a break for Thanksgiving. It is so odd how life keeps happening over and over again. I can remember all of the ups and downs from my childhood--the anticipation of Thanksgiving to the anticipation of Christmas, then to spring break then to summer, and finally the start of a whole new school year where I would be one year closer to the end of my life.

Life just keeps going and going and going.

It is ok, except for the fact that growing up is quite a shock. I always wanted to grow up, but now I am stuck between then and now. I can't quite find my place in a world where older people see youth in my face and I see youth in the face of those even younger than me.

There are so many things that flip sides so quickly. Today I judged auditions for a highschool play and remembered the weight of when I had stood before others who had already earned the power to determine a future. It was surreal.

There are so many things that I have not yet done. I feel there are things left unsaid, creativities left unborn. And I am entering a new phase of life where children start having children.

I am just like you. One day there was still time left to dream, but today--I must start acting upon being who I imagine myself to be.

I am so surprised by the number of people who have left notes saying, "where are you." I'm not even missed like that in the world outside of virtual reality. Interesting. I will visit your sites tonight and catch up.

Anna

3 New Things

Electric Blanket from my mom and dad (So I won't electrocute myself using the blowdryer under the covers to get warm)


Keyboard from my boyfriend (So that I won't keep talking about how I really really need to get a keyboard so that I can practice)


Job at a public school accompanying the choirs. This was a gift to myself.

So, you haven't seen me in a while because I've been getting used to a new job. (Oh and I started another job somewhere inbetween and quit that).

I am so happy with the 3 New Things. They are great blessings. I hope everyone is doing well. I will catch up with what is going on with you.

Parody on my writing: By My Mother

Here is a poem my mom wrote to me in 2004 as a parody of my writing. She was trying to be funny, but it made me feel good that she actually could mimic something about me and she was right on. Leave comments and I will share them with her.

Why?
Why?
Why?
Why build me up
to tear me down
and leave me
lying on the ground

Nowhere to go
Nowhere to turn
only for understanding
I did yearn.

Nothing
Making sense
Nothing
Making sense
Nothing
Nothing
In the Dark
Chasm of my soul
there are things
yet untold.

Why?
Why?
Why?

Do kids
make parent's cry
and ask the question
Why?
Why?
Why?

Dark is deep
and deep is dark
there are things
that make us weep.

Is the answer
anywhere?
anywhere?
anywhere?

Will I know
before the dawn
or is it still
the night alone?

The night alone
where I've gone
because of what
I have known?

Dear Friend

Picture of This Morning's Sky

Dear Friend,

What is wrong with me? When will I come full circle to myself? The only time I am ever happy is when I'm in my car, a few more minutes safe from where I will soon arrive. I have lost my zeal, my gumption and my earpiece. My biggest fear is rejection, of not being good enough--even at the simplest of things such as knowing how to unlock a door. I miss a note here and miss a note there and before you know it, I can't call myself a musician anymore. I'm afraid to live and to ask the most basic of questions. Because they will tell me no. The answer is always no. And even when it isn't no, I don't want to accept the favor. Live beside me forever and visit me when I die and play music and sing songs that touch my soul inside you. I just want to sit on the mountain with you and sing in my real voice to the banjo and mandolin while it echoes out across busy city life. And then I'd be happy if you would tell me to keep singing and that you'll never get tired of playing. I would rather get up early to do something I love than to sleep late in order to hang myself later. Oh friend, can I come see you and bring you your coffee and slippers and sit at your feet and listen to you make music? I will even sweep the floor while waiting for you to sing my way. I'm having wine like all of the other alcoholics before me who said they weren't what they are. My back can't bear what it's bearing anymore. I'm going to go for a long walk until I'm lost in the woods. But it will be beautiful and I will take the time to smell the cedar because I'm all alone and distracted by no one but me. I love you and who you are to me a silent anchor that keeps me in tow. Come and see me. And bring your voice, so you can tell me all I've been waiting to hear.

I'll be up.
Anna

Holy Moly

Thanks a lot Inger! I liked your results better. :-)

You Are French Food

Snobby yet ubiquitous. People act like they understand you more than they actually do.

What Kind of Food Are You?

A Mother's Mother

When I was a little girl things were so different. Even scissors were built sturdier. My grandmother had a pair that must have weighed 10 lbs, made out of wrought iron. I've been to many funerals, probably 20 in all--and each one of them were so different but were all about acceptance, accepting the death I would also one day die, even though as a child I didn't yet understand why the hands I touched were so cold and lifeless. And I can remember singing precious memories before I even knew what the past was--as a foreshadowing of a time when I would watch my mother fade away just like she mourned the slow death of her own. At one time I had been scared in the cellar where older people preserved secure tomorrows. But now when I sit down there, with rotting boxes and rusted preserves, the falling apart reminds me of how I should have held onto my childhood and asked my grandmother one more question before she went away. She was born into a strange world and died in a home that was not her own. I remember when the call came and all I could do was laugh with my older sister in childlike denial, secretly swearing life was still about eating whole bags of potato chips in one sitting. Even my parents were invincible back then and it was as if one loss was a drop in the bucket compared to all those still left living. But there is not one now that knows the difference between a weed and a flower like grandma did. She was the only woman I have known to this day, that effortlessly kept the whole family tree standing, just by leaning against it with her weight. I only came to know my grandmother past the time of any sign that she ever believed in the kind of love for which I'm still young enough to hope. She had lived way beyond the days and nights of deciding what she wanted to be when she grew up. Because she had already arrived and now lived every minute teaching me to keep walking even when the load would get too heavy to bear. Life seemed so much richer when all the layers were there and I was sandwiched somewhere between birth and the future. But now each little tear I've cried for her has formed crevices--baby wrinkles, signs of realized mortality that I earn just by living, just like her. Happy birthday mom! Please live to be a mother's mother's mother's mother. I don't ever want to lose you.

Available Balance: 1 Sticky Cent

Deposit Slips 

hair clip 
Ok. So I have this audio/video thing that is automatically debited from account monthly. Well, right now it is pending and I was going to be like 2 dollars and something short if I didn't make a deposit..then i was going to have to pay a huge fee. So I scrounged around everywhere to come up with 2 dollars and enough left over to at least cover this debit from account. So, I went to the ATM machine to make the deposit, carefully counted the change, double enveloped it so it wouldn't come out of the envelope and made my 2 dollar and something in change deposit. Thank God it fit through the slot. And then the little receipt came out and said that I was still negative 6 cents. And I'm telling you I had already gone under my car seats to look for change. But guess what...life is good....I just kept looking everywhere and guess what I found!!! My favorite hair clip (pictured above). Actually it is my only hair clip. Ok, so after I found the clip I ended up finding 7 more pennies. yesss! Soo...I made out another deposit for 7 cents. I made the deposit and I am no longer in the red and I have one penny left to my name. It wouldn't be significant if I had 2 pennies left to my name. So enjoy. You have to click on the deposit slips to see them larger.

Can you tell what this is? I drew it in macromedia flash program. 

Poor Music

The theme of my site is poorart or poormusic. So I thought I would explain a little bit about how I came up with the name. Both my mom and dad are musical and come from musical families. My mother's father could tear a piano up by ear (especially when he was drinking), my mother's sisters all sang and some played the piano and other instruments and my mom's mom sang as well. My dad's family is pretty much all musical. His father and mother both play the guitar and sing. And all of his brothers can sing and most can play instruments too (guitar, banjo, fiddle). My father's parents used to drag him out of bed at some ungodly hour in the morning (4am) to go the local radio station to play the guitar for them to sing. One of my dad's brothers used to sneak out of church and go play with his neighborhood boy band. This particular brother was a diva. There are a lot of divas on both sides of my family. And it is interesting to see the pitiful dynamics go back and forth. My dad on the other hand is the silent diva. He is shy and not as showy. He is like, "here I am, take it or leave it(this is more the way I am)." Also, even though we grew up with music my dad liked to show an outward distaste for music (I guess because of all the years he was forced to play and sing like a good little boy without ever really being in the true limelight). My mom has always wanted to be a great musician but she has always felt inferior to my dad musically (she is more of a diva). It has been a sore spot in their marriage for many, many years--an often unspoken sore spot. Then I recently found out that my dad may have always felt shadowed compared to his younger brother.

Sorry, this post is kind of jumbled because I'm just writing as it comes to me.

So, to move on to THIS generation. I have 2 older sisters and one younger brother. Even though we grew up very modestly, my mother forced us to take piano lessons from the third grade through the 12th grade. So, all through school instead of being sports children, we were music children. We competed in music competitions and it was a great source of confidence for us growing up. Also, because we grew up kind of poor it was nice to get the exposure to a "higher culture" through participating in musical events and attending concerts at the local theatre and beyond.

But how does being poor affect our music and art? Well, I think that our family has been itching to be in the limelight for at least 3-4 generations back. We have been having underground "singin's" in the basement of someone's home for so long that we're ready to finally come out. Yes, it's fun smokin' it up with all the brothers and sisters, cousins and great aunts and uncles who can "break it down" in the privacy of their own abode--but at some point it doesn't satisfy. It takes money to produce your own music or either it takes the kind of confidence that is more likely attained by at least growing up in an upper-middle class home. As a result of not having the resources to produce music and art--the quality of the music and art can suffer. (I know, I know that some of you will think this is a copout--but I'm speaking only from personal experience).

So that is a little bit of a background about poormusic.

Also, those same dynamics of brotherly and sisterly competition, play out in my immediate family. My oldest sister, Mitzi, isn't really into music that much. My other older sister, Amy, is more of a diva that went around singing ALL THE TIME as a child so that everyone could hear. She won all the competitions. She is singing now full time. She never liked piano lessons and doesn't play that much now, except when it is absolutely necessary.

Then there is me. I'm not as "in your face," which makes it hard for me to survive in the ego driven world of art and music. I have focused more on accompanying and playing the piano. I don't like to PERFORM solo on the piano or even vocally. I feel the best when I am performing with other people. Although, I do enjoy hearing the music I have created--being produced. I have a hard time getting my family to pay attention to what I do musically. My mother talks a lot about the songs my brother has written and she brags on him constantly. (Yeah....I have a complex).

Then there is my brother. He is more of a diva. The piano teacher always gave him the showy pieces for recitals. He can still remember the pieces that he memorized in high school. He tried out for the country singer competition thingy and got through a couple of levels but didn't make it to the show. He has the guts to try stuff. He is now in the air force country band in washington. Now he is feeling totally inferior to all of the other musicians. He thought he would like it but is having a really hard time with it.

So, I'm going to share some of my family's music with you below. Thanks for reading the whole spill...if you've gotten this far.

Israelites: A song my older sister wrote and is singing.


MP3 File

Average Joe: A song my younger brother wrote and is singing.


MP3 File

Shall We Gather: A song my dad is singing and playing bass on. He was 23 years of age and playing in a band of underground musicians (his relatives and distance kin. This should give you the best idea of my "roots." This is called a recitation. I love these. They make me sad.


MP3 File

Dad: He's singing lead on this one.

MP3 File

Me: Singing and playing some songs, that I wrote, for a small-time producer back in the days when I was trying to do something with music. I didn't know he was recording me.


Me and my brother singing a song I wrote about 5 years ago. It was fun to record it with my brother. The words are "he is the one that satisfies every neeD...not knee."

Women in Cameroon

I posted this video before--on another blog. But I didn't know if some of you had seen it. And I spent kind of like 80 hours putting it together--so, thought I would re-post it on this blog. This is from my trip to Cameroon this summer and the theme is "A Woman's Life in Cameroon." Hope you enjoy.

I've Got It

Inger has posted several good posts. So be sure to check them out. I love it when she posts warm and fuzzy stuff. Now, totally unrelated--I am a shower freak. I can take 2 showers a day and a bath. Usually, I don't..but that is my inclination. Well, the point is..yesterday I didn't take a shower or a bath. I didn't do anything productive. I didn't go anywhere except outside to get the newspaper where I looked only at the classifieds for a job that I could do inbetween my two part-time jobs. I didn't see any. Or maybe I did. I'll leave that up to your imagination. I got out my "Writing Fiction" book from college (that I read NONE of DURING college) and it just laid on the bed beside me all day--I still didn't read anything but a little of the preface. And then last night I had the TV on--skimming through the channels and low and behold there was a writing program on public TV. It was talking about how different writers organize their writing differently: Outlines, clustering, skeleton outlines, listing, blah blah blah blah. How about this. I write, write, write, write just like I get in my car and drive, drive, drive--without knowing exactly where I'm going. The windows are down, the music is up and having the printed directions in front of me would, trust me, screw it ALL up. Why can't our imaginations guide us with wild abandon. Why must we try to harness a masterpiece and break it all to pieces claiming we can put it back together again?

I've been thinking about going back to school to get a degree that will better serve me. But then I think--there are people who do not have a degree that can get a job in the drop of a hat because they are either very confident or very naive. So, what do I do? I could never answer the questions in kindergarten about what I wanted to be when I grew up. And now I keep growing up and things keep changing but I'm still the same insecure gradeschooler waiting for someone else to raise their hand first.

7 Things List

Ok. Dr. Deb asked if I had done this list. And even though I am horrible at these things, I will try. See? I just wasted one of my 7 cannot do's.

7 things I can do: (thinking, thinking, thinking ???)
- Read music
- Type fast
- Identify smells
- Go anywhere at the drop of a hat
- Harmonize with the vacuum cleaner
- Balance a standing broom in the palm of my hand
- Fly by pumping my arms really hard


7 things I cannot do:
- Dive
- Speak my mind (as opposed to writing my mind)
- Feel confident wearing revealing clothes
- Enjoy small talk
- Improvisational piano
- Assume that someone likes me
- Have fun on a playground


7 things that attract me to the opposite sex (this is kind of general and generic):
- Slowness of speech
- Tolerance of me and others
- Understanding
- Desire to take naps and stay up late
- Patience and persistence
- Mental and emotional strength
- Sincere eyes

7 things that I say most often:
- Are you there?
- You know what I mean?
- Love you!
- Whatever.
- You think?
- Maybe.
- O.k.

7 celebrity crushes : (These aren't really crushes....just ones I like)
Cuba Gooding Jr.
Mel Gibson (From the movie Forever Young)
Richard Gear
Morgan Freeman
Gilbert in Anne of Green Gables
Tom Hanks (In Forrest Gump)
Martin Lawrence

Dirty Money

Need I say more? Ok. If you insist. I've always had dirty money issues. I need money and yet I feel like I can do better work when I am volunteering. Yet I also wouldn't mind having lots of money so that I can buy lots of fine lotions and candles and foods. And yet there are starving children in Africa. I grew up with making sure that my dad got the biggest piece of meat and whatever was left was divided between us four kids and then my mom. So, now-a-days I do enjoy being able to eat without worrying that there will not be enough to satisfy my desire for more. (it was never a matter of REALLY being hungry) Now, I always ask before I start eating if anyone would like some of mine. That is because I can't stand the feeling that someone is just going to grab something off of my plate when I least expect it.

But I can share. I grew up sharing. It just takes a lot of self control to wait for my next bite. I think the reason I have such mixed emotions about money is because of growing up in the church. I was taught that it is more blessed to give than to receive so I've never had the raw desire to fight for a monetary raise, or the bigger piece of pie. I am always afraid to ask how I will be compensated for my trouble. Growing up on very minimal provisions while all the time giving 10 percent of what money I ever made to the church--I developed somewhat of a financial martyr complex. I have donated a lot of my time and talents freely to the church. But, the institutional church has also employed me. And this is where I feel like a hypocrite.

Because, today I was sitting in church, hearing the second sermon in a row on "giving" and I am just feeling like it is completely irrelevant (Even though by people's giving, I am paid a salary). And that really people have no moral, social, spiritual or Biblical obligation whatsoever to give money to "the church." I just can't envision Jesus stopping by the synagogue to drop off his weekly tithe. Whatever. Then everyone has to get into all the intricacies of what the "Word of God" says on the matter. Jesus also pulled money out of the mouth of a fish. I suppose THAT was an allegory.

I just came across this congregation in Texas today who was paying their pastor a salary of $200,000. There is some sort of news release on the church site that says he is not being paid that salary anymore because, he is--by his own choosing, living off of his book sales (his own money). The book is on the New York Times Best Seller list and is (by the way) advertised on every televised church service to millions of viewers (not including the 25,000 that are in the congregation). Anyway, so the whole news release is to prove that the pastor's wealth is not a result of "dirty money,"--that his owning a 2 million plus dollar home is all on the up and up.

I think it is great that 25,000 people can get together in unity and sing really nifty and uplifting praise songs. Don't get me wrong. And I know I am just sharing bitter little bits and pieces. But the main point in all of this--is that I don't know how I fit into the picture. I want to be a do-gooder, but maybe not. I just have a complex that doesn't add up. This isn't in a spirit of criticizing those who believe in what they give and what they receive. This is in the spirit of questioning my own part in the whole scheme of giving and receiving. So please don't comment with Bible verses or sermons on why people should give. I can assure you--I've been there, done that and confessed. And I'm still not ready to put my money where my mouth is.

I Promise I'll Get it Right. Don't leave me.

My solidity flashed before your eyes
and what can be true
when yesterday, happiness ruled
and today I stand before you
in tears once again?

I am not the rock
for you
I dreamed myself to be.
Fear stands between
our wholehearted
embrace.

Asking myself
how I deserve
you
to keep me from falling
everytime
just before I hit
rock bottom.

This is what I have to say
that your deepest
realization
will be upheld by me
when it means
you'll be kept from losing
yourself.

Just as you have saved me
from others
who have never really seen
who I am.

Confessions of a Fraud

So at some point, for some reason...I just started putting "writing" in the keyword search for jobs. I really don't know how or why I started with that.

But recently, someone locally, contacted me off of sologig.com for a writing gig. I went to meet with them twice. We talked, discussed. They seemed interested in me working on their writing project (ghost writing their book). I drew up a quote for the project. "Oh, no can do,(too much money)" they basically retorted.

So they instead said, "well, since you're looking for a job, i was thinking that maybe you could work here as a secretary and write for me on the side." Immediately my pride was like, no way on God's green earth will I compromise myself to do something on terms that were not originally intended or expressed upfront. I thought this was going to be a straight up gig based on what the other person perceived as my talent and experience.

However, we met again and this person said that I could work from home for a flat rate and write and that it would be on my own terms and that there would be a loose deadline for Christmas. (Which by the way is pushing it to get a 200 page book done). Ok, so---I accepted the gig, listened to a 10 hour seminar type presentation of the material. Came home with the tapes and have had them for 3 weeks.

I have only transcribed 4, as of today. Which is going a little slow and of course not 8 hours a day worth of work.

However, I am not working on an hourly basis. So I figure when I start writing, I will spend much more clock time than will be accounted for in the weekly salary and that it will all even out if the book is to be done in 3 months.

I know I know.

Anyway, this person was expecting all of the tapes to have been done already. I said, well, suspend my pay, don't pay me anymore. Let me think on this and I will get back with you tomorrow.

I lost my steam because I sent 2 of my writings, generally on the subject matter and this person did not like them at all. They freaked that I might write their book in a style which they said was too "Tolkien" and that only a handful of people appreciated that kind of writing. And that the writing needed to be accessible.

So I freaked. And was like...I can't handle this pressure. I don't even know if I WANT to do this, much less if I CAN do it.

And THAT's THAT.

Why did I start putting "writing" in the keyword search for jobs? Why didn't I put something more along the lines of "cleaning" "toilets."

I'm thinking that I will just chill on my 2 music gigs which brings in enough to cover rent and insurance and groceries.

And not stress myself like a little skitzo chipmunk trying to save for the future.
Save what?
I should save myself from today, not tomorrow.

I will be back later tonight. Because I have more to say.

Being Real

I have been reading Chase's Blog lately. She is so real. And I see a really huge difference between what she posts and what I post. I don't know if I'm becoming ultra paranoid or what---but I want to be more of THAT. I feel like I am all constricted and tied up. I am so fearful of people. Ok, but here I am talking about how I FEEL. About what I EXPERIENCE. About what I NEED and WANT. And yet I disguise myself behind some analogy or symbolism.

Why is personal transparency often mistaken for haughtiness?

I can't stop.
I feel like I'm in a really selfish place lately.
There are so many things bugging me on the inside and I feel like the shoddy hut in "The Three Little Pigs." I could be blown over just like that. Just with one huff and one puff, and I'm down.

Some people just seem like nothing ever bothers them...like they can tell someone else "you look like you've put on a little weight" as if what they are saying will have no negative impact at all--because it's the truth.

The person that HAS put on a lot of weight actually, doesn't say anything because they already feel powerless. This happens over and over again. And the person goes waddling home from landblasted self esteem.

Until one day----they've had enough!
It isn't that they never saw the flaws of the other person. It is that they never wanted to point them out, because they know what it feels like to be hurt over and over again.

But one day, this person has it UP TO HERE.

They look back at the artificial flake standing across from them and say, "Did anyone ever tell you that there is not one real bone in your body, that you could only dream for a heartfelt substance that weighs an inth as much as I do?"

The response?
"Oh, so you're fat AND sloppy! YOU need to learn how to talk to someone like ME. You need to learn that you can't just talk to someone like me, like that. You need to learn humility. Maybe you are fat because you are too prideful to admit you have a problem!"

There is no winning here.
This can turn into a really helpless situation.
So my question is, who is more right? They are both being honest! How do you deal with a situation like this? What do you think?

Scars

If you read the comments, this is a response to Ken's comment.

(This is talking about how our scars can serve as testaments of our past pain so that others can escape the same snares)

I wear these scars
so that you can learn by them.
Precisely incised
by God himself
for you to live
by looking.

And He wished me no harm
He knew
it was you
who in my future
I would save
through providence
of life's etching
on my soul.

So take these scars
revel in them
for an eternity of masses
to be silently rescued
from harm.

3-4 Year Old Emotions

You say I am so cold, but really I'm just numb.
My heart is swimming in a sea of sorrow--
losing feeling with every breathing moment. Something so hard--
yet must be done for fear of what could be or what has been--
to last forever--unhappiness. Your words hold no meaning, but of the past--for now must go on--without you....
never to return without a changed heart--forever...lost
what I had for only you to receive.
Please let me fly--you said you would--away
from hearing, remembering all the good. It was the bad--
unlivable-unbreathable-I must go. Now let me go.
Will time heal? Time must Heal.

What now? When the feelings are gone?
And you've lost all you've known.
What now?
What now? Since you've turned from your past
but memories still last.
What now?
No time to regret
the people you've met
and the things you've done
never run.
And in sadness you yearn
for something that's more
than you've known.

The Death of the Church (Edited Version)

Our zeal takes a grim turn when we fail to resuscitate the life of something that was never living. Rigor mortus has set in and no matter how much we try to move forward our actions are stiff and unnatural. Our community is a graveyard of corporate church corpses--walking hands outstretched toward anything--led by tunnel vision, empty interaction and blank expressions--with the almost silent drone of death that is often mistaken for the sound of revival on the horizons.

We have been mourning the death of our local religious institutions for years. We go through old photo albums of happy times and lively get togethers, and think, "If we could just have one more church reunion or old time revival." But He is not here, He has risen.

We stand mourning, just like Mary, looking for Jesus inside that human grave. We smell the clothes laying limp as a memory of what we once had. We brush up against communion with the living stone but can't see through the bitter tears of standing inside an empty tomb. Fill our pews. Pay our dues. Deny Him three times. Budget for His return.

Whining

I feel like I'm just one big whiner. And I am. But just as wholeheartedly as I whine I will sing your praises. And just as foolheartedly as I whine I'll love you foolishly the more. And every tear I cry for myself, I'll cry two for you. And if you let me cry on your shoulder, I'll not cry over you. I'm a whiner and I'm not apologizing.

No one can make me happy 24/7. That is why sleeping beauty slept and Cinderella's clock struck midnight.

My problem is that I think the ball is supposed to last all night.

It's past midnight and I still haven't slept.

Damn those fairy tales. Damn them.

Yours Truly,

Whiner

Makin' My Way Back To Cleveland

I'm in Cleveland.

Packed in like 10 minutes this morning.
Met Dr. Beverly Hogan on the shuttle--an extremely cool lady.
Had a shrimp/something something lasagne for dinner--was excellent.

I didn't imagine Cleveland to be this big. Ohio is just such a dull name for a state (sorry ohioians!). But I love this Kinny Chesney song that references Cleveland.

And in the morning
I’m leaving,
making my way back to Cleveland
So tonight I hope
that I will do just fine
And I don’t see
how you could ever be
anything but mine.
--------------------------------------------------
(Some thoughts from last night)
Are you completely clueless to your charm?

Is there really a shoe that fits? Is it possible for my face to feel flushed as a part of reality?

I used to be so pure in my hopes but I see how life has the tendency to cycle us down to what we can only dream about as a disjointed existence.

I feel such deep feelings.

It is like two worlds fighting against each other. I don't want to be alone....I don't want to be foolish....I don't want to gamble with the real pieces of life.

I don't feel bad for not wanting to be alone.

But I feel bad that I have some unrealistic imagination of what things are supposed to be, instead of what they are.

I feel guilty for enjoying your company. And I don't want to be a floater in life. I don't want to make flighty decisions when people's feelings and lives are at stake. It just seems like no one understands me. I want it to be ok that I love to admire flowers, taste and smell things, enjoy every little inch of what I can see, smell, feel and hear. But I feel so stunted most of the time. I don't want to feel like I am an irresponsible little girl when I take the time to feel something as deeply as is humanly and spiritually possible.

I can't keep walking with people on a shallow level. I just want to talk to people like they are real, like there is a soul inside, not like they are just a shell of humanity.

God has to love me like this in all of my muddy humanity.

My emotions are elastic.

I Love You

I love you--
floats from my mouth
like petals of a flower
sailing
downstream to you.

And nothing
can slow this journey
as love's force
gently pushes me along
even past dry banks
where others have settled down
to hope no more.

Span the distance
of admiration
where color caught your eye
and wade these waters
to hold me in your hand.

Short Term Value Meal

Only 99 cents worth of stray change will purchase enough heart burn to disturb a good night's rest and enough fat to keep local artery roto rooters in business. Before you mistake me for a self-righteous vegan or something like that, hear me out. I just finished a short term value meal from Wendy's. There is just too much temptation to go for fast food that ONLY has super short term value. I don't have a sermon for you or any cutting edge double dare diets. I just want to tell you how I feel when I eat a short term value meal. UCK. ICK. YUCK. I mean, in the moment it feels good. Especially when I load the fries, potatoes, burgers, salads--just load it all down with condiments galore. And I do. Everytime. By the way, I have learned that you will get more ketchup at the drive through by saying, "could you please give me a handful of ketchup" as opposed to "could I please have LOTS of ketchup." Anyway, start to think with me..."How would my life be better if I consistently ate long term value meals instead of #5 with cheese at Wendy's?" ps. Please don't send me accolades for choosing to think long term. This is just a fleeting thought/concept that may or may not affect my every day actions.

Task Oriented Robot

I think I have a job now--working from home for a flat salary, writing. I am supposed to start next Friday. It really seems too good to be true, so I will believe it when I get my first paycheck. I had an interview today at CBA, a Christian Trade Association. The interview process is very extensive. First I had a phone interview, then I had the interview today and there are two more interviews before they hire. I had to take a computer test, aptitude test and some kind of personality test. This is an administrative position for the marketing and communications department. For some reason I feel a degree of anxiety when thinking about the job in comparison to working from home writing. So I hope the writing/publicist position works out. I have an interview tomorrow for a music director position--the position would be traveling around to different pre-schools to teach music classes. I am still going through the interview processes because I have been looking for so long and I don't need to just drop the opportunities. I really have a dream of doing something that I love to do. I passionately want to spend my days connecting with people, in person or in writing. I really don't want to spend my days as a task oriented robot. But I understand that I am an adult so have to do whatever it takes to keep myself afloat financially. It is just that there are hopes beyond surviving. I also start a new music position that pays more than my current one--next week. This will involve me vocally leading the music and playing at the same time for a group of about 200. So the job may be a little more stressful. But musically, I am looking for something to stretch me. They have a grand piano AND organ--so that will be a fun change. I really appreciate the comments on here. It helps so much just to get some feedback about life.

Is It Just Me?

I don't know what to write tonight. The sensors in my brain have been on such overload for the past few months that I can barely get out a coherent thought. Every little thing that I experience is magnified 20 fold and it is as if I am emotionally watching the bad ending of a movie over which I have no control. Anger and frustration mark every single move I make. There is a truth inside me that I can't quite get out. And I'm not all that sure what the truth is. But I feel like I won't be happy until I speak it.

The Things I miss

It is so weird how the things we miss and the things we suffer ride the fence together. I miss very specific moments in time. And I usually hate the general chunk of time in which those very specific things happened. Sometimes it is hard to dig to the depths and pick out those small dreams that we wish we could recreate. There is also usually regret involved in identifying those flashes of joy. Because had we known that we were going to survive that chunk of hard times--we might have let ourselves experience "the moment" as more emotionally attached.

My Moments:

Going to breakfast with my mother after having emerged from an emotionally tragic time in my life.

Traveling cross country with my boyfriend during a time in which my family doubted every move I made.

Rolling my friend around NY City in a wheelchair while being distracted by an emotional addiction back home.

Spending quality time with ALL of my family in the mountains this summer while worrying about having quit my job and feeling extremely lonely and disconnected from reality.

How do I fix this? How do I settle down to now, the moment--while letting the surrounding circumstances live on their own?

New Spin on Cover Letters--Watch em bite!

Dear Aaron Walters:

Wow. It would be so cool if I could get this position. I could make like close to a 100 thousand a year. Wouldn't that be a dream come true?

Only one problem though---seeing as how your client is a dairy company and I'm lactose intolerant, the glove just doesn't fit the shoe. If you know what I mean.

But what the heck...I'll try anyway: Of all the qualifications you listed, I actually do meet some:

Excellent computer skills (Microsoft Office, AS400) (All but AS400)
Leadership/Ability to Influence: proven leadership track record (Camp counselor 2 consec. summers)Excellent oral and written communication & facilitation skills ( Especially oral)
Strong Coaching Skills: demonstrated ability to develop others (love Dr. Phil)
Teamwork: ability to work across functional boundaries (?? shouldn't it be "dysfunctional" boundaries?)
Judgment: ability to convert analytical findings into actionable recommendations (Heck Yea!)
Customer Service Orientation (Love people)
Willing to relocate for career advancement (Yeppers)

DANG it. I got all but the financial part.

Well, if you're still interested--let me know--I can tweak my resume toward the financial industry if you know what I mean.

thanks a bunch,

Anna Mason xoxoxoxoxo

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

Dearest Amy Huffman:

What is it really that you are looking for in a marketing manager? I mean--I know--I saw the "requirements" on careerbuilder.com but before long the "requirements" all start to look like the same pile of mumbo jumbo from the previous post of an employer who also copied and pasted the latest from the "7 Habits of Highly Effective Hirers." And what is it exactly that you are looking for. I am so sick of reading stale article after article on some jacked up "how to have a career" site that I don't know what to do anymore. What will really ensure that your company gets the most qualified candidate out there? How do you feel when you are interviewing possible employees? How do you gauge whether someone has excellent written and oral communication skills? How, from a resume and short "kiss ass" cover letter can you tell that someone may be a strategic thinker when they probably paid someone to write the letter for them?

What classifies someone as computer literate? How do you feel when you receive resume after resume after resume and you (or someone close to you in the food chain) gets to choose who is the best according to your moody estimation? Is it a power trip?

I think it is a mistake to prefer your marketing manager to have a degree in biological sciences. While it is important that your candidate be able to process Sciency info, the more important factor should be their intuitive marketing skills. Someone might know how to cook up some cooky agent--but that doesn't mean they will be able to persuade someone to buy it. No offense, but we all know that "science people" aren't known for their bubbling, persuasive personalities. If someone is really SMART SMART SMART enough and they are going to have any type of career in marketing, I would predict they wouldn't spend 4 years of their life on a science major.

Anyway, don't take offense--I'm just trying to add a little spice to your life.

Sue me.

And best of luck in finding ALL that you are looking for in an employee.

Sincerely,
Anna Mason

OFFICIAL PR stunt of CollegeBoard

To Whom It May Concern:

Not to be T-Totally offensive right off the bat. But THE LAST ticket to work is writing. Society is highly geared toward calculation or formulaic measure of someone's subjective abilities. (aka being graded by "trained" readers on the writing portions of standardized tests...BAH..what a load of...)

Riting: Ticket to work?
If I apply for a marketing position that requires both technical skills and writing skills--where:

Applicant A: Has great technical skills and no writing abilities.
Applicant Me: Has some technical skills and great writing abilities.

Applicant A WILL get the job. Please do not ask if I know this because of an isolated incident in my own life. The last time I checked, educated guesses were allowed.

So, I agree that there should be a writing revolution. But starting a writing revolution with the crazy, overused three "R"s thing--is a little over the top. Especially since we all know that the common spelling of "writing" WRITTEN doesn't start with the R sound, but with the silent W.

Actually, I see this as nothing more than a PR stunt so that the masses will stay quiet about whatever new educational fad "College Board" bullies onto us. And though, overall, I suppose College Board has done great things to monopolize education to the point of setting some lucrative corporate standard--THIS particular effort wreaks of flippancy and inefficiency.

It doesn't do any good to raise the Riting bar so that students can succeed in college--because there is a whole 2-3 generations of professors who can't write either. I know this is a sweeping generalization, but I swear it holds water when I have sat in a class under the tutelage of a DR. So-in-So who can't write but somehow managed to pass his boards.

In the spirit of democracy and with all due respect, my relationship with College Board is definitely one of love/hate. In order to make it through the educational system, I had to saddle my bags with you and go along for the ride whether I wanted to or not.

Sincerely,
Anna Mason

What I Wanted To Give: My boyfriend Maurice's Birthday

It seems like I find myself in this situation every year. But then again we have only been together for two years--two birthdays. But today, I couldn't even give my man what I've been getting all my life--love with the best of intentions. Growing up, we didn't have much. I can remember how my mom and dad would improvise so much on Christmas and Birthdays that you could almost feel the hurt and pain in every single gift they gave. I can remember when it was my dad's birthday--that my mom would wrap up the oddest things and present them to him at the birthday dinner she had cooked for him. I can remember how us kids, not being able to afford real birthday banners, would strew the house with toilet paper that we had carefully written happy birthday on. When my dad would come home from work--I wonder if he could feel the pain of breaking through that toilet paper banner we had put in his doorway. My mom was the saint that I will never be. Because she taught us how to love with what we had. She taught us how to make gifts out of things we could do instead of what we couldn't afford to give. Today--I hurt my boyfriend because I didn't give him a gift. I have no money right now to get him something he would really love--and my pride would not let me hang toilet paper for him because I was too selfish to feel the shame of being poor--all over again. But if he could just know that in my heart I wanted to give him the world. I wanted to give him the best things money could buy. I wanted to honor him and his birthday with his friends. I wanted him to have a beautiful birthday but instead he got nothing--not even something homemade and from my heart. What is this inside me that did not want to feel the pain of seeing him accept just a meager attempt to give him something when I have nothing good to give. Happy Birthday, Maurice.

You wouldn't believe how many interviewers have asked about my "personal life" whether I have kids or not. Geesh. I've just started making up stories about it to experiment with creating expressions on people's faces.

"Yes, I have children but my first husband watches them for me every other day so I won't have to leave work early all the time to pick them up from school. He's such a jewel. Isn't he such a jewel?"

Anyway, whatever. Women have it hard. All I know is--it scares the dickens out of me when I realize the implications of being asked such a question.

And women get a bad rap for wanting to "have it all." Oh please. Have it all? Have it all my ass. Anyway. I admire all of the women who work their fingers to the bone to help provide for their children because no one else is taking dual responsibility. And I feel sorry that their efforts are misinterpreted as trying to "have it all." To all of you who are in this boat--I wish you the best of luck and continued tenacity to survive.

This is like THE most aweful picture ever. But I was just thinking about being a whore, about prositution--the reasons that go into such a lifestyle. And then I began to think about ways in which I prostitute myself in order to survive. And it hit me--prostitution is not about fun and fleeting fancies. Prostitution is about the need to survive. And I realized that I have been a prostitute for much of my life. Participating in the crack whore training that comes cheap in congregational settings where we sell ourselves to God for nothing--nothing but a promise of future jewels. This promise is nothing less than what the street whore is promised for her sexual favors. A better future, A more fulfilled existence. Prostitution encompasses more than just sex. Here is the dictionary.com definition. Prostitution: The act or an instance of offering or devoting one's talent to an unworthy use or cause.

And then I realized that I have spent most of my life as the church whore. I have recently been looking for a full-time job (I have a part-time church music director position). I interviewed for another church music position that pays more. Long story short, they offered me the job. But because of everyone's expectation that I prostitute my services for the simple greater good of the community, I am plagued with guilt about whether I should accept the position (that pays more) or not.

Also, in the interview I was grilled about whether I would be there for the long term or not. I mustered the guts to say that, "the reason the turnover rate for church musicians is so high, is because they can't be expected to treat the job as a career position when they aren't getting career pay or career benefits."

Anyway, enough of that vent. We will see how it all turns out. I do keep praying and hoping that God will show me what to do. Perhaps, lightning would work.

Approved

Poor Wayfaring Stranger

When I was little, I used to walk around the yard with a tapeplayer and pretend I was the wayfaring stranger. And I am the wayfaring stranger. I always have been. And I think there is a wayfaring stranger in all of us. We are wandering around a place that we can't call home. When will we find our place? When will we feel like we are at home in our own skin?

Poor Wayfaring Stranger

God's Angry Children

I hate you right now. I cannot be steady. My brother says, "you have lost your mind." I think he is a bastard--a selfish bastard. When he said what he said--I was crushed and hated him. He should go to hell. But I know you would probably send me first. Why can't you save their family and everyone else who suffers like them if you are such a God of great compassion. If I were him, I wouldn't want to believe in you either. I have always been unhappy. You gave me a demon. No one can love me enough. Especially when your love is a lie and they can't admit it. What kind of sicko would send his only begotten son to the cross? The same kind of sicko that would molest his only begotten. Why didn't you hang there yourself? I can only talk like this to you because you are God--the only one who sees deep below the surface of me. Why did I run away this time? From what? Real love? I am sick and messed up. I have lost all faith and surety. Fix me. You can. So don't drag it out.

stream of consciousness--God doubts.

I am needy. I hate myself. I need him. Sometimes I don't know him. I chickened. I freaked. I'm a loser. God is too. I blame my father. He is a coward. God is too. Everyone tip-toes around the truth and then punishes a liar. I am a liar. Everyone lies. I can't trust anyone. Our time has been overall good and overall bad. Our time has been filled with deception. He is really sweet too. He has been there for me 24/7. And still is. Why can't I just be normal like my sisters? Why am I so tormented? God is a coward. God is a pyschopath. He wants to drive me into the ground. No one can love me. I want to die. And God will kill me. I am not beautiful. I am ugly. I am vulnerable. I hate you right now. I cannot be steady.

Boat

Just playing around with Macromedia. It is hard to figure out how to manipulate with the program.

Pouting Woman

I was just trying to draw something in flash. I wasn't trying to make a woman that looks like she is pouting because her man won't pay attention to her, I was trying to draw a man with curly hair. Oh well.

First painting at school. I know. You can tell. 

Fall is my favorite season. This is the next to last I painted. 

Gazeebo Painting--Last one I did 

Graduate School: To Be or Not To Be

I write to you to express hot displeasure toward one of the world’s finest institutions: the institution of education.

It is the institution of education that has made the difference between whether societies become modern and vital or remain stagnant and decrepit. Yet parody lies in today's environmental learning model that only ensures the mechanistic education of our children.

Just as cogs in the wheel are uniform to serve a purpose, the assembly lines of higher education today produce carbon copy compliant citizens of narrow opinion. Education depersonalizes society and yields graduates who then plateau at the Starbucks drive-thru where everyone is happy and having a good day, or else.

As the new school year approaches, that plastered corporate smile finds its way onto many of the students' faces despite their growing discontentment with “the system.”

Everything from piles of paperwork secretly stamped as red tape to the infamous echelon entrance exam, all the way down to the grueling placement test regimen: students wonder if they will survive the system or if the system will survive them.

The bottom line is always a student's performance rating according to someone else’s margin of benefit.

Every fiber of our society is so tightly interwoven with the fabric of the bottom line that pulling one thread would unravel our prefab costumes of care and concern. To challenge education as an ill-fitting, one-size-fits-all is to find yourself outside the institutional walls of promotion and delegation.

The spotlight on the stage of intellect is slow to shine on those homemade successes who refuse to believe that education is a fad or refuse to be institutionally delimited.

Too often, schools dictate rote responses rather than facilitate true learning. Universities require instead of inquire.

Teachers and professors divide and hide instead of guide.

And to make the grade, students flatter and chatter instead of daring to explore what really matters.

But students meekly comply with what is strictly dictated by their syllabus rather than expand their own frontier.

The only sustainable model of education is the unquenchable desire for knowledge.

An overemphasis on scoring, calculated measures of intelligence and bureaucratic protocols are at best stifling forces against those who would otherwise possess a natural desire to learn.

I am outside the clique of education, so I am more aware of education's shortcomings. But I am tired of looking from the outside, in. When I dared to improve my position by becoming a graduate student--to come closer to the front of where I wanted to be--I felt as if everyone was peering at me, secretly whispering that I was born on the wrong side of the educational tracks.

I have just recently been informed that “Although we appreciate your interest in our program, the committee does not feel that it can recommend admittance . . . . In cases such as yours, the committee looks for other indicators of potential success at the graduate level, namely high GRE scores, evidence of past success in quantitative methods or mathematics courses…”

Keep in mind that this was not a rejection from the math department.

Setting everything else aside, standardized testing is the embodiment of my dissatisfaction.

Could it be that standardized testing is only necessary to measure intelligence because individuals trapped in the system have lost the confidence to come to their own conclusions?

Could it be that standardized testing is a way in which the system’s discrimination can be disguised as haughty indignation to preserve an educational “standard of excellence?”

According to the current educational model, my above average but not outstanding test scores—my bottom line-- leave me on the outskirts of success.

But as we all know—the current model is not sustainable.

My desire for more, for sustainable learning, along with the growing unrest by others who are not in the standardized top 20 percent will inevitably challenge the system until the system finally decides to challenge itself.

Animation Try #2: Glass Falls Over

I didn't do this by an example in the book. Tried to do it from my own imagination. It was really hard to copy the butterfly concepts here. It seemed like there was always some unforeseen glitch. It doesn't seem that easy to replicate from one document to another. I know there are flaws with this. The main challenge is working with backgrounds....getting something to stay static instead of go away when you add something new. Click on the image to see the animation.

Flash Animation Try

Click on the Image to view the animation.

(You may want to sit down first)

TOO much to Learn--TOO little Time

My First Flash MX Illustration 
Lately I have been trying to figure out stuff on the web. My concentration is not that great so I keep going from one thing to another. First html and then flash and I am a toddler (if that) in both of them. I checked out some books at the library to try to learn some stuff during the hot summer months. I am reading Macromedia Flash MX Production Techniques by MD Dundon. I am also reading HTML and XHTML THE Definitive Guide by Chuck Musciano & Bill Kennedy. I am in no way a technical guru. So if I can make sense of it--you can. Ok. I can't make sense of it. But I am trying. You can probably find these books in your local library too. The flash book comes with a CD full of flash files to practice with. Enjoy.

This song is talking about the cyclical nature of relationships and life. "Doing it over and over again" is a reference to every pattern that you find yourself repeating. The comparison of life to a game is a statement that life can be quite trivial. Inward or outward it's all the same. Whether others are fully aware of our own trivialities, they still exist and we must deal with them from the inside--out.


MP3 File