I feel slightly less infected

I got fired yesterday.

What a place to be. I knew it was coming, and I was 'ready', but that is quite different from 'prepared'. Financially, I am a bit screwed. As in, no idea how this is gonna work.

But I am weirdly okay. I feel like I've snapped out of something.

All this and I’m not getting any.

I’ve been home sick for nearly a week. One minute I felt fine, the next it was… hhnm, this doesn’t feel quite right, a few hours later I was down for the count. Bird flu, anthrax, whatever it was Stephen King killed off everyone with (Captain Tripps, I believe). Something that makes me absolutely disgusting to be around, even if you’re just me.

Life has been utterly and completely on hold. My normal style of blogging, the personal how-Roberta-feels-about-life today, was not a’flowing. Because nothing. nothing. was occurring in my life. It did however grant me the time to craft the star-studded American Idol discourse, as well as the fat-studded… why people suck about fat people blog. It’s the only thing of any interest that I’ve experienced all week.

 

But certainly I’ve had extra-special time to get all contemplative. goody.

I can still remember how that music used to make me smile

I promise, you don’t need to have seen a single episode to keep up with this rap…

I watched my very first season of American Idol.

I willingly allowed myself to be taken in by it. I never fully caught the bug for it, although I acted in accordance with those who did. Truth is, if I happened to miss or fail to record an episode, I did not mourn for it with the same vigor with which I mourn for a show I really really care about.

There’s so much I don’t like about Idol; I think the interaction among the judges and between them and the host is inane; these ‘characters’ they have created are annoying. (And if they are not ‘characters’, it is SO much worse.) Simon, the reputed-to-be-cruel, brutally honest, full-of-his-Simonness English guy, is no less than brilliant. He unfailingly offers up an insight that cuts through everything. I’m watching a performance, and the best I can articulate is ‘meh’, and he comes in with “You’ve got quite a good voice, the problem I have is this looks to me like 10 years ago.” Yes! Wow. I had not thought it through that far, but that is exactly what was wrong/missing/short. Precisely right, almost every time. These are exciting moments for me. We love Simon.

we’re gonna try something new

Really what I like doing is commenting. You provide the topic, I'll chime in.

So I'm gonna toss out a thought, you're gonna (gonna? 3x with the gonna? is this chick for real?) respond, we're gonna kick it around.

No bagel is worth $95

Okay, so I haven’t done straight rant in quite awhile. I almost re-tackled the American Idol phenom last week, but couldn’t really get it up for it (probably this week, though).

But I invaded my sister’s blog yesterday, and she suggested I take it back to my own freaking blog (she said this much more nicely).

I was talking to a ‘friend’ in a bar last week. He is a bar buddy only; a nice enough guy and very good looking, but I’ve found out that really he is Archie Bunker in a deceptively pretty package. We’re talking, and he begins making fun of the guy in the band – the guy is morbidly obese.

Now, check this. Morbid Obesity is a medical term, and you would be amazed how not fat you have to be to qualify. I haven’t looked at the numbers in a while, but I’m pretty sure that I am considered medically Obese, (not Morbidly, but still…), which is, I’m sorry, visually ridiculous.

And so when I say that this guy is morbidly obese, it’s because… obese, the adjective, not the medical condition, is what applies here. He must be 400 + pounds. And he is vital, and adorable, and a hell of a musician. But he can barely dress himself with any decency, and there’s this… air. about him. And I was watching him at one point, and he was playing his guitar so fast that I could not see his hand, it was all a blur, and I thought

what people say is that this guy is a slob who has no self-discipline? NO SELF-DISCIPLINE? Look at those fingers go! People cannot begin to comprehend the complexity that makes a fat person a fat person…

my name is roberta these days.

All my life people have nicknamed me, sans permission. I've mostly not had a problem with the names.

And it clusters. One person will name me, and that name will be mine among an entire group of people. And it's become a funny memory trigger thing, like hearing a #1 hit from your childhood or encountering a particular scent. For awhile there, I was Berta, to a particular group that was unusually insular. And then from time to time I get a message from Hayley or Serena, who are the teenage daughters of my oldest childhood friend, and the message will start, Hey Bert. I'm thinking, where'd that come from? until I remember who their mother is. It's a quirky part of my life.

But I do feel like the Berta thing — Berta was this character. And I'm not saying that I wasn't me, but I am saying that I was slugged into a specific role among this group (the anomaly, confidante, eternal sage and keeper of all that is wisdom and bagels — I was the hub. a lot of drama focused on or rotated around me). I entirely positioned myself that way. It was a joyful place to be, and a great way to cycle energy. I am not blaming, nor am I even suggesting it was bad. I'm just observing, now, with some time and distance. I haven't been called it in awhile, and I'm glad of that, because it doesn't match me here and now. I'm not rejecting the name either, I'm… well, I'm just saying.

and the cradle will rock…

Last night.

Let's recap a second. 7 weeks ago my emotional life got kicked hard, and I have, as anyone who has been following along knows, been feeling pretty kicked. And it has been quite a ride, quite a struggle, to find my balance. To literally, at times, find my balance — I mentioned that when we finally had this encounter (and that would be exactly 7 weeks to the date of our last conversation) I had a hard time standing up straight; at one point I had to lean back against a pole or a stanchion or something.

And then I blogged about it, in the most out there and uncryptic blog to date, I believe. And I went on a myspace sabbatical (no idea what my future plans are there) and had myself a rough night's sleep.

Yesterday was still rough. No surprise there. Seeing him — all the colors come back, and there is skin and softness replacing some of the sketchier images my mind has had such a difficult time conjuring. But the anger is strong too. The sadness and hurt — he is standing right in front of me, full of love but fuller of resolve to NOT. His unwillingness to search for compromise in this — we simply could not accept each other's terms. And it is tragic, because the love was strong.

And so it goes.

So yesterday was about that, but also about continuing strengthening, and also, for the record, someone finally said — Holy Shit that is CRAZY that you ran into him, in the middle of Port Authority, exactly as you said you would, really within the timeframe that you said you would!

I guess it is. I hadn't taken that in. Neither of us was surprised. Connections; they maintain. We are both strong. We both pull hard in this universe. It was obvious we would pull to each other.

Last night I watched the series finale of Will and Grace. Uhh, yeah, I knew it would be intense for me.

It was intense for me. It spoke to so much of it. They let two years, and then 16 more, go by without speaking. Because they stopped being willing to find the compromise. Because they simply could not accept each other's terms. And it was tragic, because the love was strong.

I'm willing to respect the show because I've seen the head writer speak. He is so real, such a pudding, such a real life sweetie gay guy who has a Grace in his life who he treasures and who is his muse.

Okay enough of all that.

SO LAST NIGHT

I decided I was going to the Notch. This is a local biker bar with always-great live music. Thursday nights are good nights, and I had not been there, been out on my own, in ages. I've only stopped in a few times since I started the new job, and hadn't hit a weeknight in months. I hoped it would be a good idea, but walking into a bar alone, even one where I am so comfortable, is hit or miss.

Hit!

I’m not even gonna try and couch this

I ran into Eric tonight. It finally happened. It was bound to… it’s a small city.

I’d had another bad day at work, and I got off the subway and into Port Authority and he had spotted me. I think I saw him and he was already smiling at me and sort of approaching; I went all weak and it’s blurry… oh god I have felt okay for hours but writing this I am feeling the weakness and things are becoming hazy and

and now it’s my profile song.

I've discussed this phenomenon before. I'm not sure if I've written about it.

Last night I had a dream during which time changed places. or something.

I find dreams fascinating. I think they are everything we say they are, and more. I think they are psychic, and other-world, and psychological, and just our brains spitting out their overloaded exhaust systems.

Once when I was a kid I was in a dream, and I needed to come up with the name of an actor that I didn't know. If you had put a gun to my head in my waking life, no way could I have named this guy. But he was starring in a current film, and the commercials were running non-stop. In my dream I named him. I had to think a minute, but I pulled it out.

This showed me the limitlessness that is our mind's vault. I've heard it said that we use 10% of our brain. Is that number still what they're saying? I don't know, but that dream proved to me that I don't know shit about what I don't know. That I have a whole lot more information in here than I will ever bring forward. It also told me that dreams are powerful muscle relaxers, with the brain in the starring role as the relaxing muscle.

monday night.

Migraine today. Thank goodness a light day at work. Home by 6:45! I finally went for the narcotics. They don't do shit, and I don't enjoy them. But eventually I will pass out. If I am lucky. It's okay, I'm taping Grey's Anatomy.

Last Thursday night I saw Tim Robbins walking up 7th Avenue. So I said hello to him. Well, not really hello. It was more 'we love you', with a little yoga prayer-hands bow move. (I was feeling it as a royal 'we'. Carin was with me, but not at my side for that moment.) Oh yes, he is quite striking. Beautiful. Endlessly tall; just the whole way up to the sky. And that silly nose is so human, perfectly tempers the bluest eyes this human race has ever seen.

I am such a whore for celebrity.