The five movies I watch this time of year

Don’t worry- I WON’T be experimenting on this post.

I once wrote a post on how at certain times of the year I watch certain movies.  Well, being an uncreative hack, I decided to go back to that particular well for this post.

‘Tis the season of festivity, joy, yadda yadda yadda.  To get me in the proper mode, there are five movies I watch.  These are watched in a certain order that has been scientifically proven to get me through another Christmas, Honika, Kwanza, Ramadan, insert non-denominational holiday here.  (Sorry, it’s a habit I have gotten from working the public sector.)

So here we go…

5:  The Iron Giant.  Ironic (no pun intended) because while it’s the only film on this list that is not a Christmas movie, it inspires the most Christmas-y feelings in me.  Despite my cynicism, I like to believe this time of year is when we can all try to be better than we are and when my hope in humanity is (at least temporarily) renewed.  Both of these themes are perfectly captured in this film.  Its climax also happens during the first snowfall, so if it’s not exactly Christmas, at least it fits winter-wise.

4:  Scrooged.  Now some (who am I kidding?) may wonder why I chose this rather than more classic telling of ‘A Christmas Carol.’  There are two reasons.  Reason one is that his movie better portrays the main character in need of an attitude adjustment in a way that is more recognizable and connectable to the masses.  Reason two?  It’s Bill Freakin’ Murray.

3.  A Christmas Story.  No film created for this time of year has better portrayed Christmas through a child’s eyes than this one.  It always takes me back to my past when I thought I would just DIE if I didn’t get gift so and so.  Only TWO things prevent this from being completely accurate:  Randy deciding to play with the boxes instead of the toys bought… and Ralphie forgetting the gun about three days later, mesmerized by the NEW so and so.

2.  It’s a Wonderful Life.  I watch this on Christmas Eve.  While I really like the idea that one person CAN make a difference, this film actually is highly appealing to the sci-fi geek in me.  Why, you may ask?  Because this was one of the first works that I remember seeing that dealt with the ideas of alternate realities.  Because of this film, I always like to ponder what if X had happened instead of Y.  The TV show Fringe can thank this movie for me being a big fan…

1.  Bad Santa.  THE movie to cure one from all the schmaltzy sickeningly sweet crap that goes on this time of year.  Every time I start to go into diabetic shock (ironic since I now have diabetes), thoughts of Billy Bob Thornton loudly proclaiming “I’M GONNA FUCK YOU SO HARD YOU WON’T SHIT RIGHT FOR A WEEK!” while doing a fat woman in the lady’s changing room while in his Santa outfit never fails to elicit laughs from me and knock the piss out of drivel like ‘Kiss Saves Christmas.’  It’s rude, crude, and unrepentantly funny. A great laugh is what is sometimes needed, and this one delivers.

There are other films and specials I could add (the animated Grinch comes to mind) but these five are the ones I watch consistently every year.

So now I must leave you (film #4 is waiting) but I leave you with these words of wisdom:

“I carved you a wooden pickle.”

(You have to have seen film #1 to understand…)

Daze

It hits first        
                
                    the smell

                                    before the other senses are engaged.

A scent of newness
                                   of innocence
                                                       of unspoiled possibilities.

Sound is muted                                                          faded 
                         like old photographs of events long past.

Skies
             slate-gray of the dawn
                                                  to the onyx-black of evening
              go from solid                              to a design of 
        slowly                     dancing                        white         
                   polka-dots.

Slow
                                                                          graceful
                        almost purposely falling
                                                                 not little clouds
   or wisps of cotton
                                  but like stray thoughts given form.

Stepping out                                    into the great wide world
                          it coalesces around me
                                                       becoming immediate

                                     intimate.

Standing still                                     I become a snowman
                not a man made of snow
                                                                                but
  a a man one with the snow.

Barely
                     felt
                                    landings 
                                                         upon me
                        faeries of ice and dreams
                                                                 convey an epherial
               weightlessness.

As white hope blankets all
                                    remaking ugly reality
                                                                   into Wonderland.

Decades
                            fall
                                                 away
                                                                        from me
                     makes me a child again.

As the
               seconds
                                                      stretch

                                                                                languidly


                                              into



eternity
  
                            I become lost in the moment
  

                                                               in the memories



in the beauty.

The Ballad of David… and George

This is the tale of a man who I see nearly every day yet know almost nothing about.

Everyday around the same time he shuffles into my place of work.  A small older man whose skin has the look of an apple dried in the sun.  Slight, stooped, and possessing glasses with lenses that would not look out of place on the bottom of coke bottles; he enters, stopping in his journey to survey the station.  Dressed in his constant outfit of work boots, khakis, baseball cap and old faded work shirt, with the only change being if it is warm outside (light vest) or cold (bright multicolor ski jacket) he ambles up to the counter and begins talking with us.  His name is David Chase, and he is a foamer.

What is a foamer, you ask?  It’s not Chikenese, but rather a term used in my field of work.  It is used to describe an EXTREME train fanatic. These are people who build their schedules around trains.  And that is David.  Be it his daily riding of our local light rail system back and forth, his constant interest in our train line from Chicago, or many other things, he is the very model of a foamer.  In David’s life (that I know of) there is only one thing that rivals his love of trains:

His love of what he calls ‘kitties.’

He is crazy about cats.  For some time he carried a book of cat breeds with him so he could look at the pictures and show them to people.  I say look at the pictures rather than read it because it is the common thought at my work that he is illiterate.  In its own way, it’s kind of amazing that a 67 year old man can survive in this day and age with that disadvantage- but I digress.

Any day David gets to see a kitty is a good day.  Any day he gets to pet a kitty is an ecstatic day.  And the day he met George?  Well, that is a red letter day.

George was a tuxedo (black and white) cat who lived on Capitol Hill.  Big, fat, and loving attention in that unique way only cats can pull off, George was a minor celebrity around town.  And when these two met, it was love at first sight.

I remember when David first met George.  He had a bit more hustle in his shuffle and would come up and talk about how George would not only let you pet him, but would crawl onto your shoulder and perch like a parrot.  Every day he would talk of George and what they did- some days totally forgetting about trains.  He would talk of buying tuna and treats, petting him, and even getting their picture taken together.  David would laugh his distinct rapid machine gun laugh, and show off a picture he was given by George’s owners.  During this time, to try and add to his happiness, I would show him pictures of my parent’s cats- all tuxedos as well.  He really liked the picture of Pumpkin resting on my chest- it made him laugh.

One day David came in and right away you could tell something was wrong.  It wasn’t anything specific, more like the air around him was broadcasting.  He came up to us and relayed the news:  a dog had gotten free and attacked George.  When he was asked about it, David said that George was at the vets getting fixed up, and should be OK, but there were worries since he was an older kitty.  He then said that after George is released, his owners would most likely keep him inside from now on, and with that revelation, you could see how crestfallen David was.  A part of his happiness, his life was gone.  It didn’t stop David from going to check up on his progress every day and reporting it to us.

Every day we would hear that George was still at the vets, then that he was released and sent home, that he can see George looking out the window all lonely, it would go on.  Things seem to go better and David got happier.  But then he came in and reported George getting sick- pneumonia, I think. He was sent back to the vets, but this time the prognosis was not good.  George was old and weakened from the attack and was just too weak to survive.  The owners took him home to spend the time left in familiar surroundings in comfort.  They also let David play with the kitty one last time.

When George died, David just stuck with his routine.  It was all he had.  He would come in daily and talk about George’s passing, mourning him in his own way.  It just seemed he was going through the motions more than anything else.  We were his support group.

After a couple weeks of this, David came in surprisingly excited.  Without surveying the surroundings, he quickly came up to us and pulled out a small black book.  It turned out that since so many people loved George, his owners made a small picture book with pictures of George throughout his life, both by himself and with those who adored him.  There were also written memories about him throughout the book.  David opened it to show off all the pictures- two in particular.  They were of the two of them, with David smiling the biggest toothless grin I have ever seen on him.  David had his kitty back, at least in a way.  This was about 8 months ago.

David still comes in nearly every day.  It is his life, and it makes him happy… at least I guess so.  He talks about the trip he is going to be taking shortly (by train, of course) to visit his sister.  He talks about how he will never drink whiskey again.  Then he will then pull out a now slightly dog-eared black book and proceeds to show pictures of his beloved kitty.  We warn him to take care that book, and in his defense he guards it very well.  He eventually takes off, to who knows where, with his kitty in his pocket.  While it is obvious that he is still mourning George, he at least has something to give him comfort.

And for him, it seems enough.

Synchronicty- The final revelation from 20 years ago

Synchronicty:  A word coined by the 80’s band The police, taken to mean the interconnectedness of seemingly random events to a specific outcome. 

When I first started writing about the death of my grandfather and the events put into motion because of it, it was mainly to show the results of choices I made because of this loss, and their outcome.  It ultimately had what could be considered a good ending, but it wasn’t complete.  There was an important part missing that I will rectify now.  It is a tale of loss… but also much more.  It is a tribute to a truly great person.

First, a small recap:

·         In December of 1988, I did what I feel is the most horrible thing I could do to one I love when I rejected my grandfather who was dying of cancer.

·         In the first half of 1989, after he passed away, I made a choice in sadness that permanently changed the trajectory of my life completely.

·         In the latter half of 1989, I made another choice based on lust that set up friendships that continue to this day.

When Tony, Jason and I decided to go see the movie ‘Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’ I agreed to pick them up in front of the old Thriftway in West Seattle.  As I waited in the parking lot for them in my ginormous 1976 Chrysler New Yorker I drove back then, a reddish-brown 80’s sedan pulled up and Jay and tony hopped out.  Driving it was an old lady.  Her name was Alice and it was my first introduction to her.

She was small in stature, but enormous in presence.  Possessing a razor-sharp mind and wit, she could crack a joke, give you advice, or chastise you when the moment demanded it.  And was all of that desperately needed, for the entire lot of us were far from saints… particularly myself.

I don’t talk about the early 90’s much, except to the few who were there.  I was in the military, but that was the only real order I had in my life.  I was kind of in a freefall.  Like a battered wife, I tried to win my mother’s affections, in the process isolating my father and most of my family.  I had no goals, other than work enough to keep myself sheltered and oblivious on weekends.  Maybe I was living that time in denial of myself, subconsciously punishing myself for the things I would not deal with in my life.

During this time of chaos, Alice was an oasis.

Hungry?  She would cook up something for you.  Needed order?  She had PLENTY of work for you to help her with.  Needed a couple bucks?  She had PLENTY of work for you to help her with.  She took care of us all, telling us all to call her Grandma… a term I couldn’t bring myself to say for a long time, since I feel I hadn’t earned it.  Throughout that time, I would find myself going over to Tony’s place when he wasn’t around just to talk to her and help her out.  She used to send me to the old FFC to by myself a candy bar… and if I could pick up a Snickers bar for her, she wouldn’t object.  I’d go shopping for her; help her clean, do maintenance, anything to be helpful.  I realize now that she was that sense of stability and security I had been missing since my grandfather passed away.  Slowly, her care for me and all of us brought me past my potentially destructive ways.  I started calling her Gramma Alice and slowly pieced my life together into something meaningful.  My helping her out increased when Tony left for film school, making sure she was taken care of, and when he graduated, I rode up with her for the ceremony.  It was good times…

But eventually all things must end.

I honestly don’t remember when it started.  It may be me that I am too self-absorbed to have paid attention, or it could just be I didn’t want to notice it.  But Alice started getting sick.  I thought it was nothing at first, but it became bad enough that she had to go to a nursing home.  To say she was not happy with that was an understatement.  We all went to visit her, hoping it was just a temporary setback, that soon she would be back in her Laz-Z-boy, watching over all of us.  But she never went back home.  She got progressively worse, and had to be moved to a hospital.  Now if you went by my past behavior, you wouldn’t be blamed for thinking I stayed away.  But I didn’t.  I went every day I had free to go visit her, even when she was not able to tell I was there.  I would go with Tony, or by myself.  I’d like to say I was there when she left, but I wasn’t, but not because I was afraid.  At her funeral service I had the distinct honor of being one of her pallbearers, a duty I couldn’t have done years before.  And to this day I still miss her in the way I miss my grandfather.  And because of her I have not touched a Snickers bar since, which when you consider it was one of my favorite candies, is kinda actually impressive.

When I started this post I said this was about loss and yet more.  A part of me, the less rational me, would like to think that while I lost Alice, I gained a part of myself back, a part of what I lost when I denied my grandfather in his time of need.  I know I can never forgive myself for that, but just maybe, thanks to Alice, I can be at least somewhat redeemed.  And I thank her and try to honor her memory every day because of this.

Now why did I call this post Synchronicty?  Because years after her passing, Alice came to my rescue again.  While I will not reveal exactly what happened (although some people might guess some of it if you have talked to me) I can say this:  Alice was a truly great judge of character and her faith in me shown through to others in most… unexpected places. 

And for that, and a great many other things, I thank you Gramma Alice.  If I was a bit more theologically minded, I’d like to think she’s sharing Snickers bars with my grandpa.  I hope I am doing them proud.

The Death of Thinking OR ‘It’s got what plants crave!’

It doesn’t take a genius to see people are getting dumber.

At my job, I am tasked with being the main representative customers talk to prior to their trips.  I help plan itineraries, sell trips, and answer any questions they may have.  And more often than not, have to burst their bubbles.  Through years of working in this position, one phrase has risen above all others to show just how far we as humans have fallen.  More than ‘I’ve never done this before, what do I do?’  More exasperating than ‘I am going to make you repeat yourself four or more times on what I am to do because I was distracted by a bright shiny object.’  (Actually they say ‘Could you repeat that?’ several times, but it’s all in content.)  More tedious than ‘I booked for later, but can I go now?’  FAR less complimentary than ‘OH GREAT JEEBUS, you truly ARE the Personification of Greatness!!’  (OK, that one doesn’t happen, but I CAN see them wanting to say it in their eyes.)  No, the phrase I dread more than anything perfectly exemplifies what is truly wrong with humanity today:

‘Well, nobody told me!’

I could use this to go off in a myriad of ways and reasons why this phrase sets me on edge, but they all boil down to one thing:  not wanting to take responsibility for your actions.  People don’t want to take responsibility for themselves not thinking or of the consequences of this.  It is easier to abdicate responsibility to the all-powerful “Nobody’ instead of confronting the one in the mirror.  As an exercise, add ‘Well, nobody told ME-’ to the following phrases:

·         ‘-that I had to be here more than 30 seconds before departure!’

·         ‘-I need government identification to use a credit card!’

·         ‘-that I can’t strip naked in public!’

·         ‘-you have to pay for groceries!’

·         ‘-to not drink too much alcohol!’

Really, I could go all day with these examples, but I like to believe the 3 that read this are smart enough to get the point.

As I mentioned earlier, people want to give up their responsibilities of taking care of themselves and live blameless lives.  Be it to corporations, government, what have you, it’s easier to live in blameless bliss than accepting the consequences of your actions.  And when people give up responsibility for their actions, they also give up thinking.  Think about it:  if you give up all responsibility for what you do to someone else, no matter what you do you are taken care of.  Why worry about anything?  Why actually utilize your mind for anything?  Let all that difficult thinking be done by someone else.

And we slide closer and closer to a world of eating margarine and drinking Brawndo…

I wish I could end this posting with hopeful ideas to counteract our decent into Idiocracy, but I have no answers.  I will, on occasion, challenge people to defend their actions, to get them to flex the mental muscle, but there is nothing else I can really do.  I am sure I could man up and make a more concentrated effort to counteract this…

But nobody told me it would be this hard.

Misfires

Sometimes it just goes purple.

I, at any given time, have dozens of potential ideas circling through my head.  Of those many, a few are good enough to be jotted down in my idea files.  And of those, a couple were worthwhile enough to write out as blog posts.

And they fail miserably.

A lot of the time, I just roundfile them.  Once in a great while I’ll still post it, but give warning about it.  Sometimes I can figure out what went wrong and rewrite it, and then post it.  For these, I thought I would do something different.  I am going to post the titles and short synopsis of a few failed posts here, as well as why I feel they didn’t work.  It gives you, the handful who actually read this blog, a look into the thought process that I go through.  It also gives me, the author, a relatively easy posting.  So without further ado…

Star Power

Once upon a time, films garnered most of their audiences due to the main star.  Nowadays they occasionally try to return to that method to bring in more fans.  Why doesn’t it work like it once did?  (This was based on the media coverage for the movie ‘The American’.)

Talk about opening a can of worms.  I started with this idea, and while writing it, it kept evolving.  Tangents would constantly pop up, and I would run with them as well.  I added my ideas of what factors could make a popular film; be it directors, subject matter… what have you.  And when it was finally typed out, it was an unfocused mess.  Hell, my ‘Avatar’ review was more concise than this.  And in the process of seeing if this could be salvaged, I came to realize that I just didn’t give a toot about the original idea.  So here is its final resting place.  But out of this mess, there is still potential for one of the ideas that spun off from writing this.

BEHOLD THE POWER OF THE VAGINA-PINK LIGHTER!!!

Through my not-so scientific observations, I deduced that if you go to parties, the only way to ensure your lighter doesn’t get stolen is to possess one in that garish pink color offered.

This one I love because of the great title.  Unfortunately, a great title does NOT a posting make.  This post ended up being a rather silly ramble that really went nowhere.  At least I finally got to post the title…

(And why would a non-smoker carry a lighter?  To use it as an opening to talk to ladies who do, of course.)

Assumption Experiment

I propose an experiment in human stupidity where I set up a couple stanchions and proceed to stand between them like I was waiting in line. I would then film the results, which I believe would be that people would line up behind me for no better reason than that there is a line.  I would then post the results.

Some things should not be done while angry and/or frustrated.  That now includes blog postings.  I am tired of people not paying attention to their surroundings and constantly repeating their mistakes.  After cooling down and thinking it over, I realized the idea was pure shit.  No chance other than this for this idea to see the light of day.

My favorite Doctor…and Companion

Where I would talk about my favorite incarnation of The Doctor from ‘Doctor Who’ and my favorite travelling companion of his, and why they were my favorites.

A good idea in theory, but with The Doctor it all comes down to which one you first really watched.  The companion portion of this posting was far more interesting, and in fact overshadowed everything… and that became a problem for me.  So in the end, I just let it go.  (For the record, they are Jon Pertwee as the third Doctor and Catherine Tate as Donna Nobel.)

The Day I… (Title never completed)

I reveal an incident from my youth where I got a glimpse of something that I knew had great meaning to me, but didn’t know why until later in life.  It was a glimpse of what I was… gleaned from of all things, a ‘Star Blazers’ episode.

This is one of the very few topics I will most likely rewrite and post properly.  Part of the problem was that I would start to stray off the main topic (the revelation) and ramble about the incredible goodness of ‘Star Blazers’.  (Hell, this might actually become TWO different postings…)  I also need to edit the clip I have with the revelation in question, and that requires me to quit procrastinating.

Another problem is that some people may interpret what I learned in a literal way rather than symbolically like I did.  And that the revelation sounds harsher about me than I mean it to.  But it is accurate; I just need to word it better.

The final problem is that I could never figure out a decent title for this post.  While the beginning works, nothing else clicks.  Maybe the muse of inspiration will take a dump of good ideas upon my head.

(And no, I am not telling what the revelation was, or even the episode I saw it in.  As I said, I hopefully will be able to finish this to the level I would like, so why give it away early?)

A Tale of Two Coins

Hello.

In amidst all the random items found in my wallet, there are two items that stand out. I am in possession of two of the large sized ‘silver’ dollar coins: one is the bicentennial Eisenhower, the other an actual silver Liberty dollar. They are constantly falling out of my wallet, and are a constant source of worry that I will lose them. So why keep them in there, instead of someplace safer? Because of what they symbolize. Allow me to explain.

As it may (or may not) be known, at one point in my life I was not the best with handling money. I’d get a paycheck and blow it within a couple days, broke until the next paycheck. I didn’t really think of the future, living in the now. It probably wouldn’t have been a big deal if I was making a good amount of money… but that was hardly the case. Finally, one day in the late 90’s I realized that this was no way to exist. I couldn’t keep this up; I needed a plan. So I went to the local bank and acquired the Eisenhower. This dollar was the key to my new way of thinking.

I dubbed it ‘My Last Dollar’ and stuck it in my wallet. As I did that, I made a personal vow to never be so broke again that I would have to spend it. And that I would do whatever it takes to ensure I would even have to think about it. I like to think I have done quite well with this, as I have worked hard to earn and save so its value is never considered. Though wallets and other contents have changed, the coin has stayed a constant.

The second dollar has a different origin, starting similarly, but having vastly different meaning.

About a year ago, I got the brilliant idea that it might be time to upgrade the ol’ coin. I have always liked actual silver coins and thought it might just be time for a symbolic upgrade; a visual reminder that I have been doing better for myself. Of course I know absolutely nothing about coins; so after a week or so of random confused searching, I finally broke down and asked the one man I knew who collected coins: my father.

After I told him what I was looking for and why, he looked thoughtful for a couple minutes, and then told me to wait where I was. He disappeared for a few moments, then came back and handed me the silver dollar you see.

As I was studying it, he asked “You see the date?” I nodded. “You know what it signifies?” I looked harder at the date and thought hard about it. Then it hit me: 1923 was the year my Grandfather was born. I gratefully thanked him and promptly placed it in my wallet.

So now I have my actual silver dollar, but I realized I just couldn’t just get rid of the original coin. It had been with me through rough times and it just didn’t feel right to lose it when things started going pretty well. So both stay in my wallet, constant reminders to try harder with my goals-

And that it is time to buy a new wallet…

A small aside about failures

Hello.

I have been having a bit of a problem lately with topics I have thought would be good subjects to talk about that when put into writing just do not work. I started about half a dozen topics that just fizzled on me. I will be doing a posting soon about the topics: what they were about and why they just didn't work.

I just hope it doesn't go the same way...

Dream Girl

(A word before I begin: This post was actually written before the previous post, but because I felt an explanation was needed for the delay, this one is coming after ‘Summers of our Discontent’.)

Hello.

I have talked before about the value of dreams; about how I feel they sometimes are your subconscious trying to help you with what might have been missed.

This is a little… different.

I honestly don’t know how to classify this. It is a small portion of a larger dream. The rest, while a complete (albeit bizarre) tale, seemed more like my anger being released as safely as possible over what has been happening to me professionally. So amidst the tale of me being a transportation department investigator on the pursuit of serial killers who turned all their victims to meat pies (and I haven’t watched Sweeney Todd for some time), trying to stop an terrorist attacks perpetrated by talking sapient animals, and finding the secret as to why all locales the transportation dept. went to looked like Disney attractions was the following segment that seemed INCREDIBLY out of place with the rest of it…

This sequence featured me in a role similar to real life. I was working as a ticket agent for the Transportation Agency. Evidently in my dream, all major forms of transportation had been combined into one: the Transportation Agency. I was working at the main counter all by myself (no surprise there) on a slow, quiet day (BIG surprise there). I was filling out paperwork during the lull when she walked up.

She was about my age, possibly a little younger and around five and a half feet, just a bit shorter than me. Slim, but not skinny, and naturally curvy. She had pale skin that looked well maintained. But the detail that really stuck out was her hair: long and straight with the color and sheen of obsidian. I acted professional, trying not to stare at her hair, and subtly avoided looking at her eyes. (Something I tend to do in real life, never quite sure why I do it…)

She was all excited, lugging a big black suitcase behind her. I was processing her ticket and mentioned her destination: Australia. With a passion, she began telling me how she had just sold everything she owned except for the contents of her suitcase and was moving there to start a whole new life, free from the burdens of her current one. I listened as I processed her paperwork, entranced with her ideas of fresh starts and new adventures, hearing not only the enthusiasm, but the intelligence in her voice as well.

I finally finished her forms and handed her back her paperwork. As I was wishing her well on her new experiences, we both finally looked face to face, and into each other’s eyes.

And time stopped.

I really don’t know how to describe what I felt. It was like we were peering into each other’s souls, connecting down to the deepest levels. As we gazed upon each other’s naked psyche, we both realized that we were what each other had been looking for for our entire lives, the part we were missing to truly be whole… but that we had found each other too late. If we had met a month, or as little as a week earlier, the connection would have been able to have happened and things would be drastically different. But the events that were in place were already in motion, and too far gone to change, and our potential together would go unrealized.

The long timeless instant broke, she grabbed her paperwork, and left for her transport, the enthusiasm and passion seen earlier dimmed a bit by our realization. Both of us not speaking, but still connected enough to be feeling remorseful and wishing it had been different outcome other than this. As she disappeared, life around me instantly sprung back and resumed into the chaos it had been, and the dream swept me away to another surreal locale and situation as it had done before this intermission.

I woke up soon afterwards, not sad or depressed, but confused and feeling a small hint of longing. I got up, got a drink of water, and went back to sleep. There were no more dreams that night.

Normally I can find meaning in my dreams, but this one has me a bit baffled. This lady is someone I have never seen in my life. She looked like no celebrity, friend, coworker, or random person I had known or even so much as glimpsed. Was she my idealized woman? A representation of some goal I am missing? I really don’t know. I thought writing it down would help… but I still have am no closer. So I am posting this, and hope that maybe some random person might give me insight to what this can possibly mean…