jMcJohnson

Last night I started reading this:

As of right now, I have already real 191 pages. It’s practically impossible to put down. Not that I am some genius for thinking it is good (it was an Oprah pick and it won the freaking Pulitzer) but wow. One of the most engaging books I have read in ages.

The only problem is, the book leaves some of the most horrifying images you can imagine burned into your brain. It’s basically the story of a father and son on a journey to another part of the country on foot in a post-apocalyptic world. It’s hard to describe it without giving anything away, and I won’t do that because you should read it, but trust me on this: read it during the day.

That’s all I’m sayin’.

Has anyone else read this book? Did you like it? Did it haunt your dreams?

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On a side note, yesterday I:
1. Peeled and de-seeded a large butternut squash (Have you ever done this? Those suckers are tough to peel).
2. Sliced the entire thing into french fry shapes.
3. Tossed the fries in a bit of olive oil and salt
4. Baked at 450 degrees.
5. Burned the HOLY LIVING SHIT out of them.
6. Ate the mostly-charred fries anyway.

You’d think that when the smoke alarm went off after ten minutes or so in the oven I would have maybe peeked in on the fries to see how they were doing…but that would have just been silly and logical. Insyead, I pulled the screaming alarm off the wall, assumed that the little burned chunks on the bottom of my oven were causing the light (ahem-VERY light) smoke that was wafting around my kitchen and plopped back down in front of the TV to finish “How Do I Look?”, thus resulting in the burned fries.

Even though they were basically ruined, I got a general idea of how they tasted by eating around the burn-y parts. Verdict? Delicious! I recommend them highly if you have never had them before.

Just heed the warning of the smoke alarm and avoid the siren call of the Style network.

But you already knew that, right?

So, I recently got a new drivers license in MO (in July) and when they asked me if I wanted to register to vote I said “yes, please” and yet; today when I checked my registration status (after Barack so kindly sent me an email to make sure that I was, in fact, registered, I found out that I WAS NOT REGISTERED.

?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

So I’m filling out my form and mailing it in BUT, had I not been paranoid and checked it out, November 4th would have come and gone and I would have been unable to vote, which would make me cry real tears.

Now, I have no idea* why my registration did not go through, but this scares the crap out of me.

So.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE check your registration! Even if you’ve previously voted! Do it now because the cutoff for registration is drawing dangerously close! Check for your parents! Check for your siblings/friends! (unless they’re Republican in which case, eh, it can wait until tomorrow…or November 5th. Ha. I kid. But really.)

Here’s the site where you can check or just go to your local election commission website.

Why are you still reading?!?! GO CHECK!!
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*Please see the title of this post for what my idea MAY be, if I had an idea, which I do not.

Since my hair has grown out a bit from my last haircut, I knew that something was vaguely not right with it:

It looked somehow…familiar, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

Then, after watching some late afternoon television, it all started to make sense.

Dammit.

It grew into the “Rachel.”

Which would be perfect if:
1. It were 1994
or
2. I was president of the PTA

Sadly, neither of the above statements are true. Now I have to wait a little longer to get another haircut in order to get my money’s worth out of this one. Crap.

Also, since the debate was, in my opinion, not exciting enough to write about, here are a couple bonus pics of Joe as Obama and me as McCain.

(Nice hair scarf, McCain)

Wow. My last two posts were a little on the uh…let’s say “introspective” side. I really am just reflecting/figuring some shit out and am not:
1. Depressed
2. Needing compliments/ego inflation

Just wanted to clarify for new readers (and old readers who think I suck)

Really, in general, I am much more about things like this:

via icanhascheezburger.com

Also, speaking of cats, you all know that the cat that decorates this site and the whole “jamie rulzzz” and all the pink are ironic…right?

Good.

Wanted to clear that up, just in case.

Carry on.

If you know me well, you have heard this before. If you don’t want to read it, I understand. Hell, I’m tired of saying it. But it’s on my mind, so here it goes. Again.

I just got done reading a new entry on a blog I have read for a while. It’s written by a woman who has finally completed her training to be a chef, and it describes her feelings as she packs up her life from school to move to another state to start her job working as a chef in a natural food restaurant. She has put her heart and soul into her love of food and now all her hard work is paying off and she has this great job and is embarking on a new adventure in life, armed with her knowledge and passion.

Now, this is not about me wanting to become a chef (although I admit, it sounds cool). This is about living your dream. Actually, this is about having a dream that you even WANT to live. As I sit here and type this, I find myself still waiting for that dream. Or at least for a sign, for a bolt of lightening, for SOMETHING to make sense to me in terms of what I should do with my life.

I am so freaking lucky. I am healthy, I have full working use of all my body parts, I am happily married, I have great friends, we are financially comfortable (for all practical purposes). I was even able to quit my job last summer to try to “find myself” (barf) and figure out what would make me happy (yuck, how disgustingly privileged does that sound?!). I have read books on the topic (so many freaking books), I have traveled around, I have talked to other people, I have prayed, I have cried and I am still left with this…crushing emptiness inside. I feel like my talents and skills are so loose and undefined and not specific to any sort of job I have ever seen. I have had amazing jobs in the past, but (with one exception) my happiness at a job has never been tied to the job itself, but rather to the people I am with. I have always worked with the best people. Kind, funny, interesting, all-around-great people. But these jobs always run their course quickly because of the awful BOREDOM of the job that sneaks up on me just before punching me in the nose.

Even though I have SAID I am devoting my time to figuring out what I really want to do, here’s my secret: I check the want ads in the paper every day and consider applying for jobs that suck, but seem not TOO horrible. So deep is my (self-imposed) guilt over not having an actual job (thus in my mind rendering me USELESS), I consider daily putting myself right back where I struggled to leave. Why? Because I don’t know what I’m looking for; and really, how can you find what you can’t even define?

I dream every single day of having passion. Of being consumed with a love of what I do. Not just in the sense of loving a job, but being satisfied with how I am spending my days on the planet. Of being useful to other living beings. Of helping. Of making a difference, even if it is just in a small way to a few people.

I just don’t want to waste any more of my time sleepwalking through life simply settling for what would be just OK. I want my life to be extraordinary-not in the sense of being rich and famous, but just making a difference; even a small difference every day. I keep saying to myself “I just want to do the work.” Meaning I don’t want to make phone calls and send emails all day for a living. I want to get out there and do the work. I want to inspire a kid. I want to comfort an abused animal. I want to listen to what old people have to say. I want to be there for people who are all alone. I want to be tired at the end of every day because I worked my ass off. Even if it means shoveling shit for a living; I can be OK with that as long as it helps others and gives me a sense of purpose.

Theatre and writing have always been a part of my life. They definitely always will be, in some way. But I am thinking strongly that maybe my ties to that world are what is holding me back. That I always think my dream lives somewhere in that world and maybe it doesn’t.

As usual, I don’t know the answer. But I know I don’t want to spend 31 more years trying to figure it out. I have said it before and I will say it again: my heart and mind are open to all possibilities and opportunities.

I read this quote today: “It’s not what you become but what you don’t become that hurts.”

I agree.

I just wish I knew what I was supposed to be becoming.

The above title is from something that a friend I met at Squam said (Hi Sarah!) during a workshop session. She said she admired a certain person’s ability to distill their personal experiences into something written or spoken that can be easily understood by many. Everyone in the group we were in at the time really lit onto the word “distill” and we talked about it for a while. I too wish I had this ability, which is probably part of what has kept me from writing about my art retreat experience thus far. Here’s my first shot at it.
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I was scared out of my mind when we reached the lake.

Before that, on the plane and at the airport, I was actually ok. I occupied my mind with all my non-Squam anxieties in chronological order (how delightfully OCD of me!) First, I spent my time being sad about leaving Ryan right after our great St. Louis mini-vacation, and hoping he was alert as he drove back to KC at 5 AM. The next few hours were sucked up with my typical dread of flying (and extreme sleepiness). Once I got to NH, I found some of the other gals who were on the shuttle with me almost right away, and they were great-but what if everyone else was crazy? That occupied me for another couple hours. At 1 PM, we all hopped in the shuttle van to Squam Lake, where we did not crash (worry #1934) and we all had an hour or so to chat and get to know each other a bit. So far, so good. Once we arrived at the camp office, we all checked in and parted ways to get settled in our cabins. Aaaand then I was alone. In my room. By myself.

I had a single room and it was woodsy and ample and cozy…it took me all of ten minutes to unpack and I realized that I had two hours until dinner.

Did I mention I was TOTALLY ALONE?

So, what to do? Sit and read and be anti-social while everyone else mingled? No. Not an option. I could hear happy voices in the distance so I bit the bullet and went downstairs where (horror of horrors) it inexplicably seemed like everyone already knew each other. They were all chatting and laughing and unpacking giant art supply/craft-bags and I just stood there like I was made of stone. I didn’t know what to say. I did not have an art supply/ craft bag. In my silent panic I did what I always do. I escaped. I smiled a big wet umbrella-like smile and walked onto the porch and out to the road like I knew exactly where I was headed (secret time: I DID NOT) and I proceeded to panic.

What was I doing here? Who in their right mind would ever speak to me? Where in the hell was I walking to?

I have this (totally not) awesome personality trait of being simultaneously extroverted and introverted-I WANT to talk your ear off, but I am pretty sure you have already judged me unworthy of your time…so if I don’t know people I am typically very quiet at first. Either that or I accidentally say something inappropriate. I find it better to keep quiet at first.

As I slowly walked (aimlessly) down the road, I remembered where I dropped off a couple of my (extremely friendly) fellow shuttle riders so I stopped at their cabin. As I stepped onto the porch I froze before my knuckles could hit the wood. Would they remember me? (keep in mind it had been MAYBE 20 minutes since we parted ways.) And if they did remember me, did they even want to see me?

I panicked.

In my mind, I knocked on the door and they saw it was me outside and they drew the curtains and whispered “Shh! It’s HER!” as they all climbed out the window and ran screaming down the road about their crazy shuttle-mate who was STALKING them. I took a breath. I supposed that if that was the scene that played out, I could always hide under my bed until Sunday (it was only three days, after all).

I collected myself and knocked anyway.

My little mind-movie did not come to pass. Instead they said “Hey Jamie! How’s it going! Come in!”

I smiled (a real smile). I breathed. I relaxed. This would be ok.

I would share nearly every meal I ate at Squam Lake with the three women I met that day (Tracey, Sarah and Kelly) who became my “go-to” people. It’s funny to think that the first day when I met them I was almost too sacred to knock on their door and by the last day I would be staging photos of them using the fake vomit I bought at the general store (seriously)!

But that’s a story for another time.

Until then, I have posted my first batch of photos at my Flickr site
here

Lots more to say. I’ll distill a bit more and come back to it…

Kansas City to St. Louis to Atlanta to Squam Lake to Boston to NYC to Cincinnati to home sweet home.

I’m resting and digesting and will be back soon with a million pictures and thoughts.

Also, I lost my phone in New Hampshire BUT! Someone found it and is sending it to me (thank you kind stranger!) so if you need me in the very near future email is the best way for now.

Back soon…

Squam Lake, September 2008

Ryan and I are headed out today on our adventure…first St. Louis to see a Cards game, catch up with some old friends (and their new baby), and visit good ol’ Webster Groves and remember what it was like back in our Gorlock days.

Then I fly out Wednesday to NH to attend Squam Art Workshops where I know no one and will be immersed in art and creativity and possibly get to meet the fabulous Jonatha Brooke (yay!)

THEN it’s off to NYC to meet Ryan and see the famous Samaire Stiers I’ve been hearing so much about and catch up with more pals…it will be a whirlwind to be sure, but I am SUPER excited about it all!

If I have wi-fi, I am going to try to post pics and stuff as I go…I’m crossing my fingers.

Have a great week!

More Daily Show hilarity from the RNC.

Maybe it’s the PMS talking (wait-am I being sexist against myself?!) or the U2 soundtrack, but this made me tear up.

via www.dailykos.com