My problems with compassion

Being compassionate is the goal for being alive. Is this correct? Is there a goal for being alive, or is it an aimless activity like being red, or being small? If there is a goal, it is probably something hippy-dippy like being compassionate.

Someday I will die, and join in with whatever it is we do when we're not being alive. I hope it is easier than being alive. That's what people who die then come back say- that it feels like falling asleep. I love sleeping, so I'll probably be into it.

There are a few characters in my story that I have a hard time feeling compassion for. There are some people who make me feel squirmy and gross when I think of them. There are some people who make me feel sad when I think of them. There are some people who seem like cardboard cutouts; I can't imagine that an inner life propels their actions.

I went to a psychic for the first time last week, and she told me I was coming to the end of three year period where I was getting trampled on by lots of people. But all those people were going to get theirs soon.

Do I even want them to get theirs? Most of them won't realize they're getting theirs. Most of them don't think they did anything that warrants karma. I would rather they all wrote long memoirs about how realizing that they were jerks to me changed their lives for the better and thanking me for my compassion.

So maybe my desire for adulation is what's holding me back. Or maybe I'm not being held back.

Ok, well...

Right after a post about this blog getting me into trouble, I have to demonstrate why.

via Susie Bright

Tonight: fight AIDS, drink a big beer

At 9 o'clock tonight in the back of the Lincoln Restaurant we will present "Easier than Running a Marathon!" It's a standup showcase to raise money to sponsor Mary Tarullo running the AIDS Run/Walk this fall. It'll be me, CJ Toledano, Will Hines, Jeb Cadwell, and Adam Burke. It's 10 dollars. So worth it, so very worth it.

My last blog entry was pretty melodramatic. I had just had a big serious discussion with someone that necessitated a separation afterwards, and then wrote that post. I've had too many serious discussions this summer.

Another theme of this summer is this blog getting me into trouble. I was on this "radical honesty" kick for awhile, and boy, did the chickens come home to roost in July. I hope that explains the drop-off in entries.

So yeah, it has made me really not want to rant about anything, and that's what this blog was, so...?

And you know, I swear I have a life besides being angry.

I wonder if when you work with one of the girls from The Hills you need to do any work. I'm sure they don't need to. If I had to quiz one of them about the pool party their friend was throwing, I would expect the afternoon off.

I feel like my creativity gland is all plugged up.

Breakdown-o-matic

Please do not give me any responsibility. I beg you. Failure and I keep running into eachother. At parties, in record stores, walking our dogs. "Oh, Carrie, hi, how are you?"

"Oh! Oh! Failure!"

"Gosh, we are seeing a lot of each other lately!"

"Oh, yes. Yes, we must...must be on the same schedule."

"Haha, right! Well, I'm sure I'll see you soon!"

But you know, I reached my adult height awhile ago, so it's been decay ever since.

All I can do is pat myself on the back for not being on drugs. So that way when I am an addict, I can read this blog entry, and feel extra specially bad.

Look, this friday, at the Lincoln Restaurant, at 9, there's going to be a benefit comedy show called "Easier than Running a Marathon!" It's 10 bucks, and all the money will go to my room mate Mary to run the AIDS marathon in September. Please come. It will not only help AIDS research, it'll be good for my track record.

More than a little lost

Here's what I want, universe-

A partner who is:
funny
cute
thoughtful
responsible

A job which is:
engaging
challenging
helps people who need it

A home life that is:
peaceful (I have this right now)

A body that is:
healthy
quick to heal
strong (I have these things too)

I have heard for the law of attraction to work you have to be very specific with your requests to the universe. I can't get very specific because I haven't seen a lot of the world, I haven't worked most jobs, I haven't dated most people. I think this is why older people are happier. They know the specifics of what they like.

Here we are living in paradise.

I saw 'Mamma Mia' last night. It's an enjoyably bad movie. Schlocky, fun. I'll tell what's not though- The Winner Takes it All.



Which I sang at karaoke on Saturday, and if you have an imagination with a strong focus on realism, you know that I rocked it. Pummeled it. The entire bar was made very uncomfortable with this glimpse into my soul. Except for one guy up front who told me to sing it directly to him. I didn't comply.

I just saw an ad for the new Christian Slater show on NBC, in which he shoots guns, kisses women, and banters. People make lots of money off of shows like that. Amazing.

Did you know the redhead from Abba was conceived as part of a Nazi program to repopulate Europe with the offspring of S.S. officers? She didn't find out until she was an adult. What a head trip.

Dear Universe,
Here is my order for the perfect day job:
- conducting intake interviews
- with a lot of friendly coworkers
- part- time (25 to 35 hours a week would be great)
- in a plaintiff side firm
- the more this is about employment and labor law, the better

I did intake interviews for Legal Aid in Cleveland, and that was really fun. Something like that, but paid, would be great. Interviewing strangers can be pretty great if you don't have to sell them anything.

I want to give you an update

But there's nothing going on. The internet was out for two days. My friends Mike and Justin will be here in an hour. I want to entertain you, but I got nothing right now.

New Leaf!

I'm turning over a new leaf!

The past two weeks were a lacuna. They will henceforth be known as Carrie's lost last two weeks of July. As of today, I am not a ice cream addicted, watching dvd's all day, non-blogging mopester.

A blog post every week day. A haircut. Signing up with some temp agencies. Getting to bed at a normal time.

I thought without a job I could get some soul-searching done, but I looked deep down in my soul and found total blank boredom.

I got The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes from the library. Here are some poems for you:


A Christian Country

God slumbers in a back alley
With a gin bottle in His hand.
Come on, God, get up and fight
Like a man.

Mean Old Yesterday

That mean old yesterday
Keeps on following me.
The things I've said and done
Haunt me like misery.

What I did last year --
How come it matters still today?
The snow that fell last winter's
Melted away.

I thought you'd done forgotten
What happened way last week,
But when I saw you this morning,
You turned your head and would not speak.

Memory like an elephant,
Never forget a thing!
Well, if you feel like that, baby,
Gimme back my diamond ring.

But me choosing those two poems is a little misleading, because most of the poems are more along these lines:


Memo to Non-White Peoples

They will let you have dope
Because they are quite willing
To drug you or kill you.

They will let you have babies
Because they are quite willing
To pauperize you --
Or use your kids as labor boys
For army, air force, or uranium mine.

They will let you have alcohol
To make you sodden and drunk
And foolish.

They will gleefully let you
Kill your damn self any way you choose
With liquor, drugs, or whatever.

It's the same from Cairo to Chicago,
Cape Town to the Caribean,
Do you travel the Stork Club circuit
To dear old Shepherd's Hotel?
(Somebody burnt Shepherd's up.)
I'm sorry but it is
The same from Cairo to Chicago,
Cape Town to the Carib Hilton,
Exactly the same.

Mad Men

In lieu of a job I got a netflix subscription. Eventually I will watch 'The Wire,' and then time travel back to May so that I can participate in those conversations. Right now my primary relationship is with 'Mad Men,' and I'm watching 'The L Word' on the side. 'The L Word' is notable in the history of television for having both the worst theme song ever conceived of up to this point in time, and the worst theme song that ever will be conceived of until even the memory of television is erased from our earth.

The main event:
Mad Men is a work of art. It shows moments I've never seen portrayed before on tv or even in movies. It's like those problems on intelligence tests where you look at a shape, and you have to pick what you think it would look like rotated 90 degrees. I have to learn not to argue the truth. If it's the truth, just show it. Then critics can tell people how you showed it. Which is what I'm tempted to do, tell you about the moments on the show, but how about instead you rent the dvd's?

I think there are mormons knocking on doors on my block. Who else rides a bike in a shin length skirt?