Stuck in a Moment

The Artist's Way

2010-11-08T06:51:00.000-08:00

I discovered "The Artists Way" by Julia Cameron several years back. Having found a copy at Goodwill and I've attempted to go on the journey at least 3 or 4 times now. The furthest I've gotten has been Week 3. And then life gets hectic, a bit of self-sabotage creeps in, commitment falters, and I am not able to continue. All the while I feel this incredible creative energy building up inside of me and having no idea what to do with it. Depression follows close behind. Even my current creative outlet of acting, I've found since college, has not been fulfilling my needs of expression. Realizing recently that I'm stuck in spiral, blocked and not able sure how to proceed, filled with energy building up pressure beneath my skin burning me from the inside, something must be done.

And so I enter again on this path. I commit myself to the practice and in hopes of actually holding myself accountable I plan on blogging throughout. Posting findings, inspirations, and experiences as I discover my creative self. The book is organized into twelve chapters, one chapter a week.

I invite you to join me on this 12 week journey or even to just peer in every so often. Comments are welcome.

And go.

How do you measure a year in the life?

2009-11-24T11:16:00.000-08:00

One year in NYC (statistically speaking-)

As of October 20th-

The breakdown:

12+ jobs (including catering companies, NBC, census, temp work, restaurants, and teaching)
5 different shows performed
12 shows seen (4 broadway)
~15 auditions
2 apartments
3 times sick
~$10,350 in rent
~ $7,200 in food
200+ facebook friends
2 marches
3 rallies
30+ dates
1 1/2 boyfriends
4 completely random reunions/run-ins with old high school friends
~4 breakdowns
~20 scowls at tourists
4 pigeons (accidentally) kicked

Stay tuned for the analysis

The Life Left Waiting

2009-10-14T15:42:00.000-07:00

An audition today. My hands shook.
A Broadway play seen. My heart shook.
An another audition tomorrow. My world shakes.

I miss the rush. I miss the stage. What I thought easy to give up I still crave.

Such an odd feeling. Returning to a well worn path long strayed from. Forgotten and yet familiar. Where dynamic dreams lay dormant - waiting only to be reengaged and realized.

One small step upon the path and the visions instantly return. The excitement, the rush, the insecurity. What was thought given up still draws attention. And now I am disoriented and confused. An old path but a new being. I have changed since last I traveled here. Only a matter of months but the mind knows no time. Change can occur between the seconds. Or over weeks- it makes no difference.

What do I want? Is it the same as what once I wanted? I feel it too late but it never is. Perhaps with new perspective I can move about differently.

Dreams may fade and dreams may change but dreams they never die. So peculiar when the once familiar becomes strange as it changed and the original feelings thought forgotten.

But along the path I am not alone. Insecurities lurk in shadows. Demons of doubt still sit perched along the road. Waiting for my inevitable return. Luring me to the deep pits of self-sabotage, which surprisingly lay in plain site.

Personal

2009-08-30T22:32:00.000-07:00

It's nothing personal.

I understand that. And while it's difficult not to be offended I know that it's true. It's nothing personal.

And that, I've discovered is my issue with the city. Nothing is personal. And I'm just as guilty. We all have our focus, our aims, our goals. Hard to do and see everything. Hard to connect beyond the surface- without a "what can this person do for me" or "what's in it for me" thought slipping through the head.

I book two shows. One after the other. Two months straight. Free performances. No excuses. Invite my friends, but I don't push it. Beyond a quick facebook invite and subtle reference to the shows in conversation. Hoping that people might take initiative on their own. Knowing really it's just as much my fault for not selling it. Feeling, already, like people have better things to do than see me in a small part in a small show nowhere near Broadway. As I believe it- so it is and my story proves true.

I know it's nothing personal

But for once- I wish it was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Editor's note: I don't write this a guilt trip. Or a pity party. Just as expression of feeling and observation of the city life. I am incredibly grateful for those few who did make it out to see a performance and do not by any means wish to disregard or demean how much it meant to me for them to come. Thank you!

Census Man 2010

2009-04-26T17:03:00.000-07:00

Every 10 years it is required by the United States Constitution that census be taken (made? had?).

And every 10 years thousands of hard workers across the country get the door slammed in their face.

I never thought I'd work for the government. That was definitely number three on my list of things I never would do (Number one being murder, and number two shovel horse manure). But then came Census 2010.

Up to 40 hours a week.
$18.75/hour.
Moral and qualms be damned. I need to eat. And buy new clothes.

First up a bureaucratically ridiculous (is that redundant?) government (definitely redundant) one week training. The manual containing an innumerable amount of errors and inconsistencies- convenient- after it is stressed exactly how important it is that we do our job with utmost care and accuracy. Obviously our government runs on a "do as I say, not as I do" philosophy.

Class hasn't changed much since when we were kids. There still is the person who doesn't understand anything, and must ask all the obvious questions (no such thing as stupid questions, only stupid people). The giggly girls. The class clown. The guy who dozes off. Funny how we keep our roles throughout life.

I am an address canvasser. Lister Zachary. Yes. I have a title. I feel so official. And yet slightly creeped out all the same.

The first operation for the census is making sure that all addresses- or rather living quarters- are in the database, so that mailings can be mailed and interview follow ups can be made. Apparently 4 million people were missed for the 2000 census. (Wonder how they figured that number out- raise your hand if you're not here... 1, 2, 3 ...4 million). "We'll do better this time" around is our motto. Every person or place they may live must be accounted for. The man who lives in the cave up in the park. The narcotic and chemically challenged people squatting in the old abandoned building. All.

In order to do this job, I go door to door (falling at number 12 on my list of things I would never do, right after spending a day of watching a marathon of reality tv) and confirm the number of units contained within, comparing and editing with a listing on my nifty handheld computer. A computer that probably cost the government millions to produce but still can't perform a simple copy and paste job- and thus I must enter every unit separately. So a building with, oh say over 100 units= carpal tunnel syndrome.

The computer contains a nifty GPS feature, which they call a YAH (You Are Here). The government is quite fond of acronyms- LQs, OLQs and HUs oh my! This tool is for the final step in address canvasing- map spotting the location so that it can be found again. Generally I would assume this function would be more useful in a rural or non-urban setting. In the city one address, or building usually follows another. My YAH apparently gets bored with the monotonous door to door canvassing, one spot right next to another, so often goes wandering off on its own. Not the most convenient thing for a GPS signal. My fellow listers joke it actually stands for "You Aren't Here." Thus I'm left waiting outside the apartments tapping my toes until my YAH decides to come back from its travels.

One would think that for an operation that has been done every 10 years since 1790, we might have an actual idea of how to do it without too many blunders. But one would be wrong. Every day I receive a message telling me do something differently, contradicting what has been said before. Speed up. Slow down. This is the first year for the HHCs. The theory being less paper work. But halfway through the process they decided that wasn't working, so now for every address/unit added or removed we must fill out a ridiculous formal piece of paper. Thus far I've written the next great American novel. Boring as hell. But comparable in size.

All this being said, and despite all the craziness, I've actually enjoyed the job. I can set my own hours. Explore my neighborhood and work outside. Sanity is peserved with a lesson I learned months back in catering- turn off your brain. If you think too much about it you'll stress yourself out. Get all worked up over a very simple job. So I just smile and nod, and accept the changes and continue on with my work.

And this is my job.

Or was my job. As it just ended last week. 4 weeks short of the semi-promised two month work period. Somehow, despite the mess, we completed ahead of schedule. And now I'm back unemployed searching for work.

Maybe it's time I start looking for shovel...

An Actor's Life for Me

2009-02-23T17:14:00.000-08:00

A day in the life:
(ed. - from almost 4 months ago....)

WICKED: The Audition
10:00
Open Call

4:45 AM: Wake up to my alarm. It's still dark, and I've gotten less than 5 hours of sleep.

5:38 : I jump on the F Train into the city, the subway is running 7 minutes late (or perhaps 7 minutes early- gotta think positively). The car is full of sleeping people. Literally. Everyone is asleep.

6:00 I meet friend Stevie and we head to the audition together. The sky is getting lighter. I'm not used to this. It's supposed to go light to dark. Very disorientating.

6:30 Arrive at the audition. Sign an unofficial list which very well could be thrown out the minute the audition starts- we're numbers 102 and 103. People at the front of the line have been there since 4AM. The crowd looks incredibly young, many people probably still in high school. Happily no one is dressed in green. It's been known to happen. But there are plenty of short blonds in foofy dresses and curls.

7:00 We sneak out of line for breakfast- medium green tea and big bowl of oatmeal.

7:30 A man comes out and yells at us for sitting on the sidewalk. It's dangerous. We stand up

7:31 We sit back down.

8:00 Girls in WICKED hats walk up and down the line handing out green fliers. The bullet highlights: "If WICKED is something you are interested in, you should always be working on your voice so that if we do call, you will be ready!" Good to know. Thanks for that.

The best part: "Today's audition will be a cappella. Please note that there is NO ACCESS TO BATHROOMS, CHANGING ROOMS, MAKE_UP ROOMS, WARM_UP ROOMS... Thanks for coming! HAVE FUN!"

8:03 The line goes mad, crazy gnashing of teeth, high shrieking shattering windows across the street, full scale riot.

8:05 Everything is back to normal. Perhaps with a slight edge. A cappella? Good news- I can pick any key I want for my song. Bad news- I have to pick the right key for my song and not end up way too high.

9:00 The line starts moving

9:45 I enter the building. 4 lines, 4 studios. Beginning to think that oatmeal earlier was not such a good idea.

9:58 I enter the room to sing. As I open my mouth I realize I can hear the singers around me- oh god. What's my note? I sing. My high notes scratch.

9:59 I'm in the elevator and done. A minute before the audition is even supposed to start.

10:35 Back on Roosevelt Island, at the farmers market picking up produce for the week

11:00 Asleep.

Busy Doing Nothing

2008-12-30T12:36:00.000-08:00

What have I done today?

Why I'm glad you asked...

* browsed playbill.com looking for auditions and work

* sent a resume to a Broadway producer looking for a Personal Assistant.

* called, left a message, and sent a resume to an artistic director looking for a lead actor in her performance piece

* reformatted my resumes (for the 100th time- stupid resumes...)

* sent a resume to 2 recommended catering agencies

* checked my email obsessively, hoping to hear back from any of the previous catering agencies I've tried contacting

* called a temp agency and got an interview for tomorrow

And it is now almost 4pm and I am finally about to leave the apartment for the first time today. Looking for work is a full job on it's own. Yikes.

If only I could be paid for it...

Chaotic Destiny

2008-12-10T19:14:00.000-08:00

"So how do you like New York?"

I look forward to the day I'm no longer considered a recent transplant and people stop asking me this question. Though I know well intentioned, and I'm sure in a year I will be asking new blood the same, it's question often asked just to be polite and perhaps bring back remembrance of their first days in the city. A simple inquiry, with the person generally just wanting a simple answer. Of which none exists.

I feel as if I've been riding the bipolar express since arriving almost 2 months ago. Up and down, up and down. Highest highs and lowest lows. Nauseous and slightly motion sick I navigate my way through the city. Luckily the lows don't last long. If I can just make it through the storm, the next day I'll be back on top of the world. Being incredibly grateful for the opportunities that keep presenting themselves.

But who wants to hear all that? New York is full of clichés, as is most the world. And it is often hard not to fall back upon them, as they are easily accessed and often true especially at a surface glance. So that is often upon which I rely.

How do I like New York?

The quick response:

Well, it's very fast paced.
And large.

The real story. For the people of the city, they have definite destinations in mind. For me life has been moving very slowly.

What I have done:

-a few catering jobs here and there- though lost my one consistent catering job by "calling in sick" with plenty of notice, trying to be responsible in my deceit, because I got a better paying job offer (hey I gotta pay rent). For being an actor I'm terrible liar

-a couple auditions- Wicked, Hair, Awesome 80's Prom

-toured a show through some high schools -an awful musical revue about driving while intoxicated, that was written in 1983, won a couple Emmy's, and was revived, though definitely not revised- ie. "Drunk Driving - Total Bummer", briefly so the theater company could keep their educational grants

-Got hired on to teach acting to elementary school kids by a woman who loved me upon meeting me- but then basically fired me for double booking myself and having to cancel at the last minute with apparently a bad attitude (?)- lesson learned: if a person seems quick to love you, they can be just as quick to turn their affection around...

All of which may seem like a lot for less than two months, but to me it seems most my days have consisted solely of sitting at my computer constructing resumes and going to the gym.

The speed at which the city moves, I find- is not set by the pace of traffic and sneakers, but by the endless possibilities which the city provides. In a infinite chaotic universe, anything and everything that can occur- will occur, infinitely many times. Now, while New York is not a universe in itself- though many will argue differently- it is definitely much more infinite and chaotic then any other place I've been to in my travels. With millions of people, of lives, of lines, of neurons- intersecting chaotically and randomly -anything and everything is bound to happen. Including, but not limited to- the coincidence/serendipitous scenes which I have grown to love.

Fate vs. Chaotic Coincidence. Which is it that accounts for the fact that I called too late to get tickets for a show, and thus had a change of plans for the evening. That I left my house late, trekking through the falling snow, ran a block, and decided on a whim to enter onto the front of the subway train. And then two stops later a friend, of whom I haven't seen since high school, steps onto the train, we give each other odd looks and then enter into conversation. Random lives intersecting by chance or pulled together by the mystic forces of the city?

This is New York.

I'm sure it happens everywhere, but having just moved to NY the paths from one event to another are so much clearer. Similar to foot prints in fresh snow. It's easy to see how every action and leads to another. Again, is it chaos theory- butterfly flaping it's wings in Africa and Zachary ends up on Broadway making millions of dollars (Flap with all your might delicate butterfly! Flap Flap!!) or the dominoes of fate- tumbling down upon each other in intricate patterns predestined by fate or perhaps just every day cause and effect.

I make a decision to go out. A friend of a friend is met and made. A conversation had. Job opportunity presented. A new contact. And so on and so forth. The patterns and connections shine with a sliver chord connecting each and everything I do. I have trouble turning anything down, knowing that saying yes to this or that, even if it's just a coffee date, could have the great implications of changing my life. This blows my mind.

So how do I like New York?

"It's great. I love it here. So large and fast paced."

Life is for the living

2008-10-21T22:29:00.000-07:00

Arrived in NYC safe and exhausted 7:45 am (EST) Monday morning. Napped. Met up with Missoula Touring friends for lunch. And shopped at Kmart.

Only in New York have I finally begun to appreciate the idea of "one stop shopping". Three things I can no longer imagine life without- Googlemaps, Cell Phones, and Superstores. How ever did people survive?

Trying to get the idea into my head that I am living here, not vacationing. That this life long dream/idea/fantasy is actually happening. Right now.

Totally unprepared. Where was the catering 101 class in college for the acting program?

I have my first audition tomorrow for a straight (well actually... gay) play. It was that or an union audition for The Addams Family musical workshop- of which since I'm not union, I would probably have to sit around all day for chance to be seen, which isn't even guaranteed. At least with "Loaded", as it's called, I have an appointment and set time.

Audition time 10:15 tomorrow morning. It is now 1:35 am. And I have just realized that my headshot is smaller than my resume... and there is no paper cutter insight. Tried scissors and then printer- neither one was pretty.

So it looks like a trip to Staples is imminent tomorrow prior to the audition.

Suddenly NY feels real.

In closing some words of wisdom from the crazy lady in a giant red coat on the subway talking straight at me.

"Now is Now. Tomorrow is not Now. I am now."

Followed by:

"God is good. Keep him. Jesus is good. Keep him."

Wonderful.

You can never go back, never go back...

2008-10-17T01:05:00.000-07:00

You can never go home again.

I tend to overthink things.
That is an understatement.
And it is also a preface.
Of which I am very fond.
(Prefaces- not understatements)

A wedding today. Of a close friend. Finally hitting home the fact that time moves on. Even when you feel you're standing still. Such an odd disorientating sensation. Sure you glance out the window every once and a while and see that perhaps the leaves are turning, the cinema you used to frequent now a pile of rubble, fields and woods now cookie cutter condominiums. But that's all detail. Outside the bubble. Surrounded by the familiar and the comfortable, a barrier against time is formed. A spaceship traveling at light-speed. The outside world whizzing by, but those inside are seemingly unaffected. High school easily could have been yesterday and who knows, perhaps it will be tomorrow as well. So comfortable living in denial of time. Cracks may appear, as they do in any structure built against something that can not be withheld, creating suction and tension- breaking the seal. But spackle is quickly applied and the structure is once again sound.

Sara married. My best friend from middle school through high school. The gang. We're all grown up. Finally realizing that the past has past. There is no going back. High school is just a memory. It's time to move on.

New York marks a step forward. Off this circular track I've been running on for the past, who knows how many, years of my life.

Don't get me wrong. I'm beyond excited for this move. New York hold adventure, friends, and my path to the future.

But I'm currently undergoing a state of mourning. For my past. Which I must now leave behind. It hurts, but it's ok.

It's good to feel every once and a while.

Die Vampire Die

2008-10-01T11:25:00.000-07:00

It's funny the stories we tell ourselves.

Stories of how we are not good enough. How our lives are only full pain. How bad things always happen to us.

And how we believe them to be true.

Beyond belief- often we forget that they are even stories.

Mistaken for reality, we no longer even hear the little voice whispering the lies into our ear.

I like to make up stories about myself.

One of my favorites includes daring deeds of procrastination. Scandalous subterfuge useful for avoiding follow through. Exciting encounters held off due to unprecedented lateness. Can not. Instead of can do. Frustration at every turn. Why even try.

This story is told to me over and over, by a funny looking little old man riding on my back. His eyebrows angle down and center, perhaps pulled south by his thick purple rimmed glasses. These lenses rest solidly on his greasy nose which strangely lifts upward at the tip- contrary to every other drooping feature on his face. Breath smelling of decay and half eaten cheesecake he spins this story to me, in a surprisingly soothing voice. It sounds like the wind sometimes, or is mistaken for a passing car. Often it's the hum of my computer. Generally I don't even recognize him speaking to me. I've heard this story so often that it has become my reality.

It's a spiral. A mobius strip. The story feeding my action. Each action feeding the story. Ad Infinitum.

A question: Which came first? The action or the story?

A better question: What will break the cycle?

A contradiction.

To every rule an exception. (Even to that rule?)

The problem with this crazy old man on my back is that he doesn't always think things through. Sometimes he'll just spout off a story full of holes. Thinking (a story of his own perhaps) regardless I will still accept it. And much to his credit, often I do.

But I've discovered a hole in his logic, and in this novel of non-committal action: I have followed through, full heartedly, in believing that story and putting everything off, like an Olympic gold medalist. Now how is that possible? This story is true... but by being true it also proves itself false.

I imagine the little old man shrieking into the wind as he jumps off my spine and runs down the street, smoke rising billowing from his back.

Time for a new story.

Into the Woods

2008-09-14T12:30:00.000-07:00

I dreamt I finally arrived in New York.

But to get there I had to traverse the woods.
I had been told the path was straight
And I thought I remembered traveling it before.
But it was dark now.
And the trees spindly from what I could tell
With my LED flashlight shining barely two feet in front of me.
The path dividing again and again.

In literature and legend
To travel the wood,
What seems an outward journey,
Is actually a journey inward.
Into the subconscious
Through which possibilities for transformation
Present themselves.

The shadows of the wood
Representing the hidden places
Within ourselves.
The wolves and witches
Our shadow selves.
All our hidden fears and desires
Manifested.

New York is a month away
One month and 5 days.
I am no longer waiting.

From here to NY is more than just a plane ride.
It is more than waiting for the minutes, hours, days
To pass.

While the outward path is straight,
Inside- the path twists and bends.
A journey is necessary.
Torch in hand.
Exploring the woods,
Revealing what hides in the darkness.

Meditations. Affirmations.
Goals and routine.
Readying myself.
One never knows when the wolves will bite.
When witches will fly
Or paths divide.
The only thing one can do is prepare.

And that is why I have a month.

You go into the woods,
Where nothing's clear,
Where witches, ghosts
And wolves appear.
Into the woods
And through the fear,
You have to take the journey.
~ Stephen Sondheim "Into The Woods"

"The fairy tale journey may look like an outward trek across plains and mountains, through castles and forests, but the actual movement is inward, into the lands of the soul. The dark path of the fairy tale forest lies in the shadows of our imagination, the depths of our unconscious. To travel to the wood, to face its dangers, is to emerged transformed by this experience. Particularly for children whose world does not resemble the simplified world of television sit-coms ... this ability to travel inward, to face fear and transform it, is a skill they will use all their lives. We do children--and ourselves--a grave disservice by censoring the old tales, glossing over the darker passages and ambiguities..."
~Terri Windling, "White as Snow: Fairy Tales and Fantasy," in Snow White, Blood Red

Not yet a woman...

2008-09-08T12:25:00.000-07:00

I look like a girl.

This stated to me, matter-a-factly, by a persun, self-proclaimed of that very gender- age 6, who would vote John McCain if she could.

Never mind the fact that I haven't shaved in a week. It's my sunglasses.

"They are boy sunglasses," I insist.

"No they aren't," is the response, short and quick.

Since they are slightly larger than the norm apparently allowed boys (or excuse me... *ahem*... men) I am hence forth to be referred to by girl gender status for lunch recesses unto eternity.

Not that I take offense. Girls can be very pretty.

Some other kids think I look like a spy when I wear them, especially with my high neck-collar pea coat, and they have taken to calling me "Mr. Mysterious".

I have even convinced a few others that I am actually blind when I wear them, and need their assistance to monitor the playground.

"Thank you," I respond in sincerity to the impressionable youth, 3/4 body length below. She peers up at me for several seconds, with a blank stare that somehow reads with confusion and slight disgust and then skips off carelessly, her mind already moving onto other exciting prospects and more cruel remarks to share.

As girls of that age are like to do.

(an old moment pulled up fresh from the archives-April 17, 2008)

Trials of a Meditating Mind

2008-09-06T10:31:00.000-07:00

5 minutes-
I can do it.
Ready
and
Breathe.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
In.
Ou- Can I really sit here for 5 whole minutes?
That seems so long to be doing nothing.
Focus.
In.
Out
In- Wandering thoughts
Here they go.
Stomach aches
I need breakfast.
Didn't eat enough yesterday
Maybe I should get up and try again tomor-
No.
Focus on the breath.
In.
Out.
Let the thoughts go.
But what about the thoughts about the thoughts?
Or the thoughts about the thoughts about the thoughts?
Or the thoughts about the thoughts abou-
Downward spiral.
Come back.
Has it been 5 minutes yet?
Probably only two.
This isn't working.
Maybe I can write a blog about it.
No.
In- I need to learn to do this.
Out- Others do it.
In- Why can't I?
Out.
In.
Why does my head feel so big all of a sudden?
Cavernous.
Hello ('ello, 'ello, 'ello)
Anyone there? ('ere, 'ere, 'ere)
Remember the breath!
In.
O-
I have other things I need to do right now.
Maybe if I just open my eyes-
No. Stay in the moment.
In- I wonder if I'll make it to the gym today.
Out- not at this pace.
In- so hungry
Need food.
I give up.
6 minutes!

Two For The Price Of One

2008-09-05T12:33:00.000-07:00

"`Cause one is the loneliest number that you'll ever do"

I've created another blog.

Look at me being all overachievy.

This blog you are reading now will, as stated below, be used to recount instances and moments in my life.

http://yourdailydoseof.blogspot.com : shall be used to ~~waste more of my time~~... share wonderfulness that I have found on web.

Check it out :D

-Z

That's My New Philosophy

2008-09-04T17:05:00.000-07:00

Such is my life.

(3 posts in the past hour. How productive am I!?)

The Uses of Not

2008-09-04T16:55:00.000-07:00

A month back I took a "Create Your Own Performance" workshop.

The below is the end product of the 10 hour workshop. Poem and title borrowed (with much respect) from Tao Te Ching.

I'm hoping to rework it and then present it in October at an open mic type performance lab.

Waiting For Life to Begin

2008-09-04T16:30:00.000-07:00

Stuck waiting.

1 1/2 months until NY.
I sit at home. Waiting.

Waiting for a sub position to open up in the schools so that I might make some money to pay the bills out East.
Waiting for a phone call so that I can meet a friend downtown who owes me money.
Waiting for details on potential bar tending job tonight.

I postpone plans to go the gym; to be productive. Instead I wait.

No one is sick apparently.
Friend has not called.
Job falls through.

It is now 4:33 and I have done nothing today but wait.

Of course those are all just excuses. The day would have been wasted regardless. It's so hard to get out and do anything when New York sits out in the distance behind a slight golden haze. A carrot on a stick leading me forward. Except I'm headed there regardless of what I do. The ticket has been bought. The date set. So what is there to work towards? Everything I do now is just biding time until the big move.

Part of me not really believing it is actually going to happen.
Part of me terrified that it will.

In the mean time I'm in limbo. The worst place to be.

Stuck waiting.

A Slaughterhouse of Machines

2008-01-03T13:40:00.000-08:00

And what do you do for a living sir?

I kill chickens.

For New Years I went to see a stand-up comedy show. It wasn't very good. Battle of the sexes jokes, besides being so 1990, don't really apply any more. And there always has to be the gay joke. Which now, due to wonderful PCness is alway prefaced with, "Now I'm not homophobic..." and followed, hypocritically, by something completely tasteless and homophobic. And don't get me started on the five minute montage/demonstration of "How to eat-out your woman."

Bad comedy aside, one of the comedians began asking the audience (strangely asking only the males) what they do for a living (*cough cliché cough*). We had the car salesman, the blacksmith, the seller of meats, and then one man who kills chickens.

But wait- when pressed further, it turns out he doesn't actually kill chickens. He works for Foster Farms, and manages "Machines that Kill Chickens."

I feel ill. We as a society are so out of touch with death. The meat we eat is faceless and lifeless. Sure we call it pig or cow or chicken (or some variation thereof). But we don't make the connection in our heads when we are eating it- of the sacrifice that was made to bring this sustenance to our table. The brilliant life force that was extinguished so that we might eat. And not even to survive. But to gorge ourselves to an obesity of excess and apathy.

And not only are these beautiful living beings being killed for thankless thoughtless Americans, but we can't even kill them ourselves, we push the job onto machines. A Slaughterhouse of Machines. That image strikes more fear and disgust in my mind's eye than any person with a butcher block, bloody apron and axe.

My opinion on eating meat: if I could kill it- I would eat it.

I can't kill a living animal, therefore I do not eat them. If I were able to kill an animal, I would be in awe of its life. I would give thanks for its death. And I would honor it by wasting none.

But since I do not and can not. I grieve for the innocent lives wasted and butchered, by cold unfeeling metal. The pain felt and dishonor placed.

And what do you do for a living sir?

I honor the life spark and force of all living creatures.

First Post

2008-01-02T13:42:00.001-08:00

Welcome to my world, won't you please have a seat
There's no need to worry. . . I'm the only one to meet
I just wanted to express myself to you
Undiluted and with nobody else to confuse
-Jude, "I'm Sorry Now"

Foolishness can happen in the woods.
Once again, please-
Let your hesitations be hushed.
Any moment, big or small,
Is a moment, after all.
Seize the moment, skies may fall
Any moment.

Days are made of moments,
All are worth exploring.
Many kinds of moments-
None is worth ignoring.
All we have are moments,
Memories for storing.
One would be so boring...
-Stephen Sondheim, Into the Woods, "Any Moment"

This is our world. This is my blog. Full of moments- big and small. Pulled apart to see what makes them tick. Their insides and guts exposed for all the world to see and pick through. In hopes that some wisdom might be gleaned, some issue worked out, some laugh evoked, or some reaction/release created. The end result being to free oneself. Recognize each moment's singularity and wholeness and then, with a step back, see it as only a small piece of the infinite multidimensional puzzle that is our life.

Interspersed with random (sometimes) funny quips, clips, and jokes- heard, seen, shared and discovered.

See you in the moments,
-Zachary

You've got to get yourself together
You've got stuck in a moment
And you can't get out of it

Don't say that later will be better
Now you're stuck in a moment
And you can't get out of it

And if the night runs over
And if the day won't last
And if our way should falter
Along the stony pass
It's just a moment
This time will pass

-U2, "Stuck in a moment"