The Macabre Beauty of Dying Young

In 1947 "The Most Beautiful Suicide" was published in Life Magazine. The image of a young beautiful woman seeming to lounge peacefully atop a wrecked car shook Americans with it's juxtaposition of beauty and death.
This image is in direct contrast with the normal circle-of-life happenings encountered in daily life. You're born, you grow up, start families, grow old and die. Wash and repeat. Most of us have been fortunate to know and love at least some of our grandparents and be somewhat acquainted with the wrinkles and maladies that seem to afflict our elders.
And yet, no matter how hard you work and what amount of fame you may achieve, it will eventually be contrasted with the ghost of your youth. We saw Audrey Hepburn age. We watched Ronald Reagan lose his fight to Alzheimers. And we all witnessed the lovely Elizabeth Taylor settle into a wheelchair.
In a few cultures elders are respected and revered as wise leaders. But to the majority, youth and beauty are worshipped.
When one dies young the death is usually referred to as tragic because death has not come to them in it's natural form. They were robbed of their hopes, dreams and future plans. And yet, they've also cheated the system. They've managed to drink from the mythical Fountain of Youth, even if it cost them their lives.
Would Marilyn Monroe be as universally adored today if we had watched her grow withered and old? Would Kurt Cobain and Jim Morrison have their own reality TV shows?
These martyrs for beauty paid the ultimate price but will always and forever be young and beautiful.

2012 Summer Reading

This is the first "real" summer I've had in years. I am usually working furiously through the weekends and think about the summers of yore where I actually bought a new bikini and had tan lines. But, thanks to all the hard work of the past I am finally hitting a stride at work and taking my weekends back. I not only have tan lines for the first time in years, I have multiple tan lines. This is super exciting stuff.
In addition to tan lines, books are an enormous part of my ideal summer. And I've started this summer off with a few good reads. And I'm planning my list for a few more.

First up I read "Geek Love" by Katherine Dunn.
This is the story of a carnie-owned travelling carnival. The story is told through the eyes of Ollie, an albino hunch-back dwarf who laments her lack of freakishness as compared to her other brothers and sisters. I enjoyed this book quite a bit but there was a distinct departure from the light-hearted book it began as to something very dark and twisted. I wouldn't recommend it to just anybody. The characters were all phenomenally developed but parts of the book physically made me sick to my stomach. Not for the weak of heart.
 http://www.amazon.com/Geek-Love-Abacus-Books-Katherine/dp/0349100861

After my crazy carnie ride I needed to cleanse my pallet so I picked up John Krakauer's "Where Men Win Glory."
As with every Krakauer book I've had the pleasure to read, you walk away from this action-packed book with better knowledge of not just the main subject, in this case Pat Tillman, but the war on terror, Afghanistan geography and history, professional football and the Army Rangers. I am intrigued as to why Krakauer chose some of the specific entries from Pat Tillman's diary. He works hard to paint this true picture of Pat Tillman and the diary entries seem to work against the rest of the piece. For example, according to all of Pat Tillman's comrades and close friends he was an intellectual who stood up for the underdog, or anyone at all really. Yet there is a diary entry that talks about "not throwing frenchy against the wall" when speaking of a french doorman at his hotel. You don't soon forget this antidote and it leaves a sour taste in your mouth while reading the rest of the glowing accounts of Tillman.
 http://www.amazon.com/Where-Men-Win-Glory-Odyssey/dp/0385522266

Next on the list was Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice.
Do I even need to review this book?? I could not put it down. And I also couldn't believe that I had taken so long to read such an amazing book. The witty banter between Elizabeth Bennet and her father was one of my favorite parts of this delicious book. I fully intend on watching the movie this weekend just to revisit the tale. I highly recommend this book to any woman. (For it is a tale after a woman's heart.)
http://www.amazon.com/Pride-Prejudice-Bantam-Classics-Austen/dp/0553213105

Next, I shall begin reading Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita. But first there are a few other books I must finish.
http://www.amazon.com/Lolita-Anniversary-Edition-Vladimir-Nabokov/dp/0679723161

I have simultaneously been reading Pablo Neruda's "Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair"  along with "The Letters of Ernest Hemingway, Volume 1, 1907-1922." I am savoring Neruda's 21 poems and am only reading one a night to try and eek it out as long as possible. Neruda truly evokes every sense in each of these poems and it's almost as if you can smell the dirt, the trees and the air of his native homeland.
And reading the letters of Ernest Hemingway are such a treat! Of course I am biased as Hemingway is my favorite author of all time, but it is amazing how much of his personality shines through in even his earliest years. This is an in-depth collection of his writing which includes notes passed in class and letters written home from camps. He was an incredibly witty and extraordinary writer even in his quick letters to friends.
http://www.amazon.com/Twenty-Love-Poems-Song-Despair/dp/0143039962/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1341267367&sr=8-3&keywords=pablo+neruda
http://www.amazon.com/The-Letters-Ernest-Hemingway-1907-1922/dp/0521897335

So after Lolita... then what? So many options....

A Post on the Super Hot Topic: Bullying

In the past few years an age old offense has suddenly been thrust into the spotlight: bullying. With the advent of social networking sights and youtube bullies have found new ways to humiliate their victims, and victims have found new outlets to expose their abuse.
There was a rash of teen suicides after victims had been harassed on Facebook and Myspace. And then there has been a hugely successful cyber campaign on Youtube called "It Gets Better" which has given hope to those struggling with the abuse of classmates.
Personally, although never a direct victim of bullying, I have a hyper-sensitivity to it and have always felt my heart ache when I see it happening with others. It completely breaks my heart. I remember two early instances of seeing such a cruel and frivolous disregard for someone's feelings. They both happened when I was eight and waiting at the bustop. There was a bully who lived down the street from me and he was a daily companion on our way to and from school. One early morning as we waited for the bus my first-grade neighbor approached the bus extremely happy and proudly showing off his brand new Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle shoes. The bully, his name was Ryan Triplett, immediately tore into the new shoes laughing and criticizing them, and, as bullies do, encouraging his friends to do the same. As my neighbor stood there, surrounded by older kids making fun of his new shoes, he began to cry. I loudly claimed how cool I thought they were but I was just a girl and of no match to the bullies. My neighbor ran all the way home, skipped school that day, and we never saw him wear his shoes again. The second instance involved the same bully: Ryan Triplett. Is it obvious I shall never forgive him? After returning from school one day he spit on my brother's glasses. While they were still on his face. I screamed at this bully as my brother took off his glasses and headed home. I still feel my heart bleeding when I think of the cruelty inflicted for no reason.
And this brings me to Karen the Bus Monitor.

http://www.indiegogo.com/loveforkarenhklein?c=home&a=730336

Karen is a bus monitor in Greece, New York. One day the students surrounding the seat where she was sitting relentlessly called her fat, poor and berated her for an entire 10 minutes. When she started crying they only went in harder. I couldn't watch the entire video, I actually had to build up the courage to watch any of it at all. But, after seeing an interview with her talking about the incident I felt that I should know some of what she had suffered. How these children could torture an older woman, is beyond me. I kept thinking what if someone had treated my mother like that? Or my grandmother? But this incident has a happy ending. A stranger set up this page for her trying to raise enough money for her to take a nice vacation, and show Karen how many strangers support her. So far they've raised enough money for her to retire on. The video became viral because one of the kids posted it on his Facebook page. And now Karen can retire because the video became viral. I wish there was no bullying. But, since there is, I wish it all to end this way.

On Ray Bradburry

Ray Bradbury died yesterday at the ripe old age of 91. I had only discovered the magic of his writing in the past year when I had stumbled upon "Something Wicked this Way Comes" in my favorite used book shop: The Last Bookstore.
I became immediately absorbed in the story and had an experience reading this book unlike anything before. It was as if Mr. Bradbury could read my mind and anticipate what I wanted to happen next, even though I did not know myself. In particular, when the witch is soaring above the boy's house in her hot-air balloon...I kept thinking, yes, this is perfect.
After finishing the book I immediately went out to read Fahrenheit 451 (which so happens to be the degree at which paper burns) and then start on his many short stories. I couldn't believe I had lived most of my life without knowing the joy or reading his work.
In short, Ray Bradbury affected me in a way in which I had never felt before. And he also inspired me to begin writing myself. I don't ever imagine writing anything comparable to Mr. Bradbury but he stirred the creativity within me and for that, I will forever be grateful.

Swallowed

Ed had always hated surprises.

Ever since he was a little boy he couldn't stand them.

And today's surprise was no different.

The day had started off like any normal day. Ed had gotten up at 6:00am on the dot. He had done his 10 push-ups and 20 lunges, brushed his teeth, taken a shower and sat down to his bowl of cereal.

The surprise came on his way to work.

Ed was sitting in traffic on the 101 slowly inching his way to work. He was listening to his daily Spanish lesson podcast.

But then all of a sudden, there came the surprise.

The earth started shaking. The cars were all rattling and even their slow progress across town came to a halt. All around Ed the earth began to open and his car began a slow descent underground. It appeared that only he was subject to the sinkhole forming under his car. 

Slowly, slowly Ed sunk. First 10 feet, then 20 until the light above him was eventually swallowed by the darkness.

It was hot this far underground so Ed unrolled his windows. He was satisfied with his choice  of having sprung for the electric windows and so did not have to lean across the passenger seat to manually unwind the other window.

Still, he gave a sign of annoyance. He had always hated surprises. 

Sold

The new carpet under her back felt stiff and uncomfortable as she stared up at the ceiling, paint fumes stinging her nostrils. She didn't like change.
She closed her eyes and began a mental tour through her childhood home. She walked first through the living room. Images sprang to mind of countless slumber parties, practicing cheerleading chants in front of the dining room mirror and laying out sick on the couch while her mother doted on her.
Her mind wandered into the kitchen where she and her brother tried to cook one night a week. Those nights morphed into pizza nights as the meals they churned out continued to be inedible. Through the breakfast room she floated, these memories were mainly of homework, and into her parent's bedroom.
The girl longed for the TV nights she would spend with her parents. She'd curl into the lazy boy by the side of the bed while watching the ginormous tv mounted on the wall. Was there anything more comfortable than a childhood home?
She slowly wandered up the stairs, remembering how she would have to skip the second step when she'd sneak out past curfew, for it squeaked.
At the top of the stairs lurked the air vent that her brother's pet snake had escaped to from it's cage. And turning to the first room on the right she gazed into her childhood bedroom.
Barbies, Stuffed animals, talking to her boyfriend quietly on the phone late at night. The memories washed over her. She would spend hours in that room doing everything and nothing.
The girl slowly opened her eyes. The house felt like a part of her.
And she would never see it again.

Daddy's Girl

I know his songs immediately. I'd even bet by the first note. Although he's been dead for 10 years now the radio DJs continue to play his songs continuously. He was, after all, the voice of an entire generation. To say his songs are overplayed would be a gross understatement. There are only so many times you can hear " Take me to Heaven" no matter how much you loved it. But, I never tire of listening. It's best when his songs come on when I'm alone in my car and can listen without any audience. No one stares at me awkwardly wondering if they should change the station or worse, talk through the song imagining I can focus on their petty conversation and not my dad's voice.

My father blew his brains out at the height of his fame a decade ago. Conspiracy theorists love to try and convince others that he was murdered by his jealous drummer, Danny, but I know that's not true. Danny was his best friend and devastated by his death. He was, and still is, like an uncle to me. He also helps me manage my dad's publishing rights. As for my mother, she was never in the picture.

So when his number one hit song, for there were many, plays on the local radiostation and I'm alone in my car I like to sit and imagine what things would be like if he were still alive. I always conclude that they wouldn't be much different, except for the fact that I would have a father.

Being a legend's child is not as wonderful as it sounds. But it's only- I can't say that I'm very fond of my peers. And I can never live a normal life. I didn't choose a profession that is packaged with fame. My infamy is my birthright. The spotlight is right outside my door, ready to embrace me shall Rick Stevens' daughter ever try her hand at modeling, acting or singing. But that kind of life doesn't interest me. I hate the gawkers. And wish for a simple life. I think I would have liked to been a social worker. Or maybe a Spanish teacher.

Sometimes, when I listen to "Take me to Heaven" alone in my car I close my eyes and glide. But I always open them after a moment or two.