The PDX Experience

Could this be an arm around my waist?
Well surely the hand contains a knife…
-Morrissey, “I’m Ok By Myself”

A disturbing trend has revealed itself to me, my dear faithful internets.  I’ve been trotting along my merry way, dating here and dating there.  Gathering ye rosebuds as I may, so to speak.  Now me, I have a pretty regular pattern when navigating murky dating waters: Relationship ends.  I enter period of celibate mourning.  I feel better after a variable amount of time and commence dating, ready to find the next serious relationship.  I’m not saying it’s the best, or the most effective, or even the pattern I would choose were I able.  But it’s what works for me, and that’s pretty much that.  Every relationship I’ve had has been better, healthier than the last, and I have learned valuable lessons with each one.  Binge dating, one night stands, empty sex just have never appealed to me.  Well, not *really*.  I have my moments, I mean GOD.  I’m only human. But anyway…

This time around, there is a term that has cropped up again and again, not just in my experiences, but those of my friends as well.  I had not personally encountered this term in the past, but now it seems to be pervasive:  This thing called “emotionally unavailable”.

Now this might surprise you but
I find I’m ok by myself
And I don’t need you
Or your morality
To save me
No no no no no

My reaction to this term has always been negative.  Consider the premise upon which I function:  That a person’s natural inclination, emotional entropy, if you will, is to find that one person that completes them.  It might be for a few years, or forever.  It is generally not possible for someone to connect this deeply with more than one person at a time; they can come close, but there is the desire to have that one partner, that one companion who is above all others.  A soul mate, for lack of a better term.  The urge to create connections, to bond, is stronger than all others.

This might disturb you but
I find I’m ok by myself
And I don’t need you
Or your benevolence
To make sense
No no no no

Based on that premise, I concluded that the only reasons someone could have for claiming this state of emotional unavailability are twofold; either they are unwilling to be truthful about the real reason they don’t want to connect (“She’s just not that into you”) or they have succumbed to the fear of being hurt, and are unwilling to face that fear – a cop out, in my view.  But I had never truly investigated that stance outside my own admittedly flawed brain, and decided to start asking around.  Determine if perhaps there were other reasons, or if the reasons I had were valid.  Time for some investigative blogging!  I was surprised, somewhat, by what I discovered.

After all these years
I find I’m ok by myself
And I don’t need you
Or your homespun philosophy
No no no no

What I found during my highly unscientific in-depth investigation is that while those reasons are quite valid, there is a different way to view the second one, and a third one I had not considered.

A short word on the first one:  If you’re just using someone for the sex, or to fill time, then say so.  To do otherwise is to lead someone on, and that is never ok in the world of the human heart.  That’s all I think I need to say about that.

We have all been hurt, except for all those perfect couples of which there are OH SO VERY MANY, and perhaps some yogis sitting on a mountain in Tibet.  And I’m sure there’s been squabbles over yak milk there, too.  But I’m talking about being heartbroken – that pain is hard to risk again.  I seem to be somewhat risk immune to it, but whatever.  Not everyone is so lucky, I guess.  So saying you’re emotionally unavailable could be construed as a way of keeping the definitions vague, thereby saving us from having to make a choice.  Which is not a bad thing; sometimes we need to scope out the situation for a while.  But in this case, I maintain that the use of the term is misleading.  Instead, let’s perhaps say that ‘I’m keeping my options open’, or ‘I’m not ready to commit to anything’.  Emotionally unavailable gives the impression of being inflexible.

This might make you flop in your bed
I’m ok by myself
And I don’t need you
And I never have
I never have
No no no no no

The third reason I found were those people who have not yet recovered from that heartbreak.  The ones who are still damaged, who are going through repairs.  They cannot even contemplate any sort of emotional connection.  The difference, and probably the reason I did not consider it, is that when I am in that state I turn into a hermit.  You don’t see me.  I don’t go out.  I sit in my house and heal, I do things for myself, I hug my pets.  I do not, however, eat pints of ice cream – I’m more likely to grill up a steak.  Gotta watch that waistli…um…yeah.  I may go out and see friends occasionally, but I’d much prefer they visit me.  And I do not date anyone, see anyone, sleep with anyone.  I couldn’t comprehend the thought of someone else touching me, or me being at all interested in touching anyone else, which saves me from having to explain that at that moment, I am emotionally unavailable.  Other people embark upon a game of conquest, sleeping with everyone who catches their eye and is willing, but refusing to apply or entertain any meaning to it.  These people heal however they may, but they most certainly have no business trying to enter into another serious relationship until the damage has been healed.  They then use the term to explain the situation, which is probably its most correct usage.

The greatest thing you’ll ever learn
Is how to love and be loved in return.
-Eden Ahbez, “Nature Boy” (1948)

I guess in closing, what I’m discovering is that the term “emotionally unavailable” has become a blanket term for a host of different things, and in the case of close interpersonal relationships, I suggest that a more descriptive term of the actual situation be employed, if possible – realizing that the line between the second and third reasons are very cloudy at best.  I also think that it is not something you are, it is something you become.  It is a reaction to an external input, and as it goes against the initial premise, it is not something to be content with indefinitely.  Much as I use Morrissey’s song as an effective tool at maintaining emotional distance, it is a temporary state – behind the walls, underneath the facade, my truth is the line from Eden Ahbez.  Of course, my initial premise may be wrong, or just my own; but I find that emotionally, we are so very much alike in so many different ways.  More love, more commitment, more honesty, more passion.  These are the things I seek and treasure, and hope for everyone.

I don’t care what you call it – two thousand ten, twenty ten, or oh ten – this year has gotten off to one craaaaaazy start!  I thought I ought to share.  Because this is interesting stuff.  My life is interesting!  Or at least there’s interesting people in it.  Right?  Considering I’m spending the next few weeks watching all of Farscape from season one again, I might be exaggerating.  A little.

Anyway, here’s the rundown of the past couple weeks, which were WAY more crazy then the next two are shaping up to be.

11/29/09: My birthday!  I have a birthday party.  There’s a theme.  It’s Xanadu!  I inflict this movie on all my friends.  Mercilessly.

12/16/09: I receive numerous emails from several friends and acquaintances that the Broadway musical Xanadu was coming to Portland in January.  And the tickets went on sale on my birthday, which just SMACKS of destiny, doesn’t it?  Seriously, like 3 people all emailed me THE SAME DAY.  I guess the word kinda got out that I like Xanadu.  But for the record, I just LIKE it.  It’s not like it’s my favorite movie of all time or anything.  It’s not, you know.

12/31/09: I start working with the wonderful folks at the Portland Opera to come up with some ideas on how to drum up interest for the show via the OurPDX blog.  We come up with some AWESOME ideas…

01/03/10: I post the first blog post on OurPDX.com.  It was brilliant, of course.  Inspired, you might say.  Because I am an artiste.  Or perhaps the Muses graced my keyboard?  Whatever.

01/04/10: The first of five days of Xanadu quiz questions on the Twitters.  It was (mostly) all tagged with the hashtag #pdxanadu. Strangely, for only having 5 days of quiz questions, we had EIGHT finalists!  Because I only use the minute hand when I check who answered first.  And Friday, there were a whole gaggle of people who answered within the same minute.  Lucky!

01/07/10: I get to interview Annie Golden, who plays Calliope.  The only person I’d ever interviewed for OurPDX before this was @mediachick.  That was great, of COURSE, but I mean…she’s my friend, and we hang out, and SHE MADE ME A PIE FOR MY BIRTHDAY.  This interview was someone famous, who I never met, over the phone.  So I was a touch nervous.  But it was FABULOUS! I spend all night and part of the next day writing up the blog post.  It seemed like something I ought to get up asap, you know?

01/09/10: @camikaos and I make OurPDX blogging history!  We co-blog a hilarious post as we announce the winner of the Xanadu tickets giveaway. (Grats, @blabbey!)

01/12/09: Cami and I head out to our big night at the Keller Auditorium.  We were sparkly.  Cami wore really big earrings.  I wore a lot of glitter.  We saw all sorts of friends, like @dieselboi and @anna_v and @mizd and @chefchopper!  The show was fabulous, the company was great, and of course we went for pie afterwards.  I think.  Did we go for pie?  Maybe I don’t remember exactly.  No, I’m pretty sure there was pie.

01/13/10: Since I was super smart and took half the day off the next day, it allowed Cami and I to write our second blog post where we regale the OurPDX readers with our wild tales of glitter and glam.  Plus I was hung over.

01/15/09: I head out to my second viewing of Xanadu.  I know, you’d think once was enough, but not for me, apparently.  Truth is, I sort of told some friends I’d go see it with them before this whole OurPDX thing started.  So you know, I had to keep my commitments.  This caused several cool things to happen:  I became Mayor of the Keller Auditorium on foursquare, and I got a second chance to get a backstage tour thanks to Annie!  We weren’t on the stage for 2 minutes however, before the company manager kicked us off the stage in the most polite way I’ve ever heard, and then complemented me on my blogging.  It seems she kept the cast apprised of my online Xanadu musings.  I LOVE NEW FANS.  We ended up standing outside in the rain, chatting, my friends and Annie and I.  With an umbrella.  Dang foreigners and their umbrellas.

So there it is.  My Xanadu exploits, compiled and presented to you, dear readers.  As for me, I think I’ve had my fill of Xanadu for a while.  Or until someone wants to watch it with me.  Anyone?

Anyone?

::crickets::

I was gonna post this on the Winter Solstice, in the depth of the cold and gray…but now it’s just gray.  Not so cold.  Still…enjoy this memory of summer past and think of summer on its way.

She lounges on her back patio, her skin soaking in the last sparkling rays of sunshine as the sun makes his way to his evening engagements.  Eyes closed, she breathes in the warm late summer air, catching the faint juicy scent of the tomato plant nearby.  Small ripe yellow tomatoes the shape of tiny gourds dangle from the plant, their flesh glowing and translucent in the late afternoon sun.

Sun Tomato

She reaches an arm out and plucks a tomato, feeling its firm skin, still very warm from the heat of the day.  Holding the tomato up to the light, its veined interior glows darker against the bright yellow.  She places it in her mouth and slowly bites into the ripe flesh, the skin resisting her teeth causing a small explosion of slightly sweet, slightly tangy juice to erupt against her tongue.

I wrote this in the summertime.  I saved it for the wintertime, so I could remember what summer feels like when it’s cold and wet and rainy outside.

Something fabulous happened last night, my dear internets. It was so strange and surreal and well… Here. Read.

I’m at the Bagdad Theatre last night, watching Word to the Wise(men), a festive storytelling event full of scantily clad elves, cupcakes and music. That in and of itself is fabulous, I know. Being at the Bagdad and not running an event is kinda strange for me now, but some friends of mine were represented in this effort in various ways, and I was being a fangirl supportive.

I see a friend of mine walking over with a few other people, so naturally I go over to say hello. Thats what you do in these social situations, acknowledge people you like, right? See I thought so. Anyway, my friend introduces me to the guy with him: “Morgan, this is AGuy.  AGuy, this is Morgan.”

AGuy (sorry, can’t remember his name, it takes me a minimum of 7 times before I can remember peoples names, seriously you don’t?) anyway, he says to me as he grips my hand Very Tightly (the same hand I nearly broke on Thanksgiving, ouchouchouch): “Morgan? Like as in morganpdx?” I nod affirmative, slightly bewildered. “Oh man I LOVE reading your blog! You’re so funny and awesome and amazing and I want to have your babies!!”. At least that’s what I think he said. That’s what I heard, anyway. Which means, of course, that I’M INTERNET FAMOUS!!! I’M A FUCKIN ROCK STAR!

Funny, my chauffer hasn’t arrived in my Morgan limo yet. You get one of those when you’re Internet Famous, right? And a personal chef and personal trainer? I expect the checks will start rolling in Any Day Now.

Autumn sunshine and autumn leaves conspire to wrap my vision in blazing colors, filling the day with warmth like that of a roaring fire, a cozy wool scarf, a creamy mug of hot cocoa. As if to say yes, the heat of summer is leaving, but there is warmth in winter too. And oh by the way, here is summer’s Grand Finale! I pronounce my requisite oohs and aahs, and shop for pretty big mugs, and contemplate knitting with alpaca.

Welcome, autumn.

Shall I speak of silence?
It flows from me like an invisible tidal wave
Perfectly formed in its silent conflagration

Shall I speak of caution?
It is a paroxysmal pursuit
Couched in silence, draped in regret.

Shall I speak, then, of regret?
It flows through me with no ripple or trace
Dealing damage only realized with time

Let me speak of desire unknown
It consumes me and is consumed
Until nothing is left but glowing, ashen remembrances

Silence, caution and regret.
A stalemated, paralyzing trinity
Enemies of desire.

Be willing to ask for help.

Be willing to help when asked.

It is these small gestures of

Giving and receiving

Needing and offering

That make up a life worth living.

Balance.

Everyone loses stuff.  For starters, you probably lost a good handful of hair today.

No?  Your wallet perhaps?  Gosh I hope not.  Losing your wallet is probably one of the worst things to lose, right?

Well I’m sure you lost something today.  Maybe just a couple hairs.  Your keys.  Some time.  Your way.

Sometimes though, you lose big things.  Big, by virtue of the size or amount of stuff lost.  Or big because the stuff lost was hard, or perhaps impossible, to replace.  Stuff that makes losing your wallet kind of …well, not quite as bad.

Don’t get me wrong, losing your wallet gives you days of headaches while you replace things.  I know, I’ve done it several times.  It’s not fun.  It sucks ass, in fact.  But really, the most important thing you lose is your time.

I’ve lost a lot of stuff along the way.  Lots.  Stuff that’s hard to replace.  And frankly, I’m glad about it.  By losing all that stuff, all those times, I’ve learned acceptance, to live in the moment, to find peace.  I’ve learned not to get attached to stuff.  Because it’s just that, stuff.  In the grand scheme of things, stuff is not what we’re here to collect.  We’re here to learn, grow, and connect with each other. Losing those connections is a far bigger tragedy.  Sadly, I’ve lost many of those too.

But there is one bit of stuff that I’ve never managed to come to terms with losing.  Something I cannot ever replace.  Something that has meaning only for me.  In memory of that bit of stuff, I give you this, something I wrote long ago.

Rain.  Sun.  Spring.  Portland.

I am deeply, madly in love with this moment, with this place, with the people in it and the hope they create.

I know this is my true home.  I know, because a simple sunbreak, standing on MLK Blvd, makes my heart swell with joy and love for a place, for a name on a map.  A name that is more than the sum of its letters, much like the place is more than the sum of its residents.

Portland.  A place full of possibilities.

I love this place.

Remember a while back when I said I was creepily high on Google search for “surviving hanging”, and had an inordinate number of hits for that exact topic?  Right?  Well, not any more, my friends.   Not anymore.  Apparently web searches have gotten all cerebral and literate – or are at least making an attempt at it.  Kudos, interwebs!  Read stuff!  And I’m here to help!

Lately, many of my search hits revolve around two particular phrases which I’ve used in my blog posts.  I tend to do that occasionally, and rarely do I ever think to actually tell you from whence those particular snippets of juicy eruditeness originate.  So I thought, since people are hitting my site for this info, well, I wouldn’t want them to be disappointed, right?  I know how disappointed I’d be if say, I was searching for the lyrics to Hava Nagila, and all I could find was some blog post that said “He handed me a drink, and then I got all Hava Nagila on his ass” without any explanation of what the heck a hava nagila is, not to mention why it would get on some guy’s ass.  And I’m still lyric-less.

(And incidentally – here’s the lyrics to Hava Nagila.)

So be disappointed no more, interwebs!  Here’s the back story to the phrases:

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways…

The first one that I keep getting hits for is “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.”  I paraphrased the first line from this poem by Elizabeth Barret Browning in my Valentine’s Day Crawl post.  Appropriate, no?  Anyway, the poem is #43 from her most famous collection, Sonnets from the Portuguese.  From Wikipedia: “By far the most famous poem from this collection, with one of the most famous opening lines in the English language, is number 43″.  Hey, I have high standards.  For another one of my favourite Victorian-era love poems, I gotta go with that randy, haggis-eating Scottish chap, Robert Burns:

O my Luve’s like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June:
O my Luve’s like the melodie
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry:

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only Luve
And fare thee weel, awhile!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.

Good DAY sir.  I said GOOD DAY!

The second search I noticed pinging my humble little blog is “I said GOOD DAY SIR. GOOD DAY!”  which is the title for a blog post I wrote about being a bit miffed about some silly thing.  Now that line comes pretty much straight from Gene Wilder’s lips in Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory.  The full text:

Grandpa Joe: Mr. Wonka?
Willy Wonka: [pointedly ignoring them] I am extraordinarily busy, sir.
Grandpa Joe: [tentatively] I just wanted to ask about the chocolate – Uh, the lifetime supply of chocolate… for Charlie. When does he get it?
Willy Wonka: He doesn’t.
Grandpa Joe: Why not?
Willy Wonka: Because he broke the rules.
Grandpa Joe: What rules? We didn’t see any rules. Did we, Charlie?
Willy Wonka: [springs up from his chair, angrily] Wrong, sir! Wrong! Under section 37B of the contract signed by him, it states quite clearly that all offers shall become null and void if – and you can read it for yourself in this photostatic copy [grabs a magnifying glass and reads]
Willy Wonka: – “I, the undersigned, shall forfeit all rights, privileges, and licenses herein and herein contained,” et cetera, et cetera…”Fax mentis incendium gloria cultum,”  et cetera, et cetera…”Memo bis punitor delicatum!”
[slams the magnifying glass down, shouts]
Willy Wonka: It’s all there, black and white, clear as crystal! You stole fizzy lifting drinks. You bumped into the ceiling which now has to be washed and sterilized, so you get *NOTHING*! You lose! Good day sir!
Grandpa Joe: [shocked] You’re a crook. You’re a cheat and a swindler! That’s what you are!
[angrily]
Grandpa Joe: How could you do a thing like this, build up a little boy’s hopes and then smash all his dreams to pieces? You’re an inhuman monster!
Willy Wonka: [shouts even louder] I said “Good day!”
Grandpa Joe: Come on, Charlie, Let’s get out of here. I’ll get even with him if its the last thing I’ll ever do. If Slugworth wants a gobstopper, he’ll get one.

Yeah I switched it a little bit.  But the effect remains the same, no?

So there you have it.  All the literary references my readers have been clamoring – yes CLAMORING! – for.  Look out!  Next I’m gonna get all Shakespearean and translate into modern terms the most excellent tips Polonius imparted to his son Laertes before he went out into the big blue world.  Because you need that, right?  And don’t think I can’t!  And from now on, I’ll let you know where I gleaned my little tidbits of literary goodness, never fear.  Go read, interwebs!

What are you waiting for?  Go!!