Monday, July 21, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
The last few days, part 2
After my first all-day class in psychotherapy as a career option, I took BART from downtown SF to the Lake Merritt station and walked to the Oakland Museum to see Mark's KISS band in the Best of the East Bay celebration. Now I realize this sounds like nothing to those more directionally gifted among you, but I was worried about: getting on the wrong BART train; getting off at the wrong stop; and not being able to find the Oakland Museum. But none of it came true. It was one of the most competent days I've had of taking public transportation around the Bay area, given I also bussed it to the class downtown. I felt environmentally responsible and directionally sophisticated.
Mark and I had the happy experience of getting to hang out for a little while in the outdoor backstage area with Krist Novoselic, the bass player from Nirvana-- now playing bass with the band Flipper, who were the headliners at the East Bay party. He was such a kind, intelligent man, not to mention hilarious. One of the coolest parts of this experience was that rather than us tiptoeing up to him as someone whose work we admired, he approached us in an open, very friendly way to praise Destroyer's performance and tell them how well he'd thought it had gone. Knowing us, even if we'd been able to figure out who he was, we would not have gone over to fawn and swoon, I'm sure (at least I wouldn't have) because of fear of seeming obnoxious. It was very cool that he was so inviting and friendly and wanting to chat. Mark did have an opportunity to mention that it was an honor to meet him, and he was completely gracious in response. We actually had an extended chat with him, so I have to upgrade this from a "meet" or an "encounter" to a "hang out," if I may be so bold.
He had been very amused by the fact that during soundcheck, Mark's band happened to pick "Christine Sixteen" to play, at the same time as a group of prepubescent girls were doing all these acrobatic maneuvers on the lawn right in front of them. Now, don't think he had a dirty mind: the lyrics to "Christine Sixteen" are disgusting and it was impossible to watch the young girls flouncing around without being totally amazed at Destroyer's either A)chutzpah or B)shocking obliviousness. I was thinking the same thing and wondering whose idea it was. Krist Novoselic was apparently a big KISS fan when he was a boy and when we talked with him backstage he enjoyed discussing his favorite humorously filthy lyrics by KISS and also AC/DC. But we also discussed our upcoming hopes for the election of Barack Obama and the scary yet not hopeless conditions of things in our world today, and so don't think the whole conversation was lewd and lascivious.
I enjoyed being out again at night, mostly, I think. Some of the event staff gave me the job of turning women away from the ladies' room while Mark's band changed into costume in there, and that was a bit stressful for me. You can imagine how badly the ladies want to get into the ladies' room at a concert, and while I was saying, "Sorry, a KISS band is changing in there," they had a really hard time accepting their rejection gracefully. One lady demanded to know why the KISS band wasn't changing in the men's room, and my answer--that the mirrors weren't big enough--made her sorely disgruntled. Then Jonathan told me I ought to be saying, "The toilets are broken," instead of making every single woman at the concert angry at the KISS band, and that did seem to be a more effective strategy, despite it being a lie, which makes me uncomfortable in general(being a terrible liar).
I was amused by hearing one of the ladies I had turned away telling her peers in a whisper, when Destroyer took the stage: "You wouldn't believe it, but they're all actually women."
I always feel a little nervous before one of Mark's performances, anyway, and there were some things that went wrong that set the band themselves on edge-- such as Jonathan's last minute wig panic (no wig--a very serious problem when you're supposed to be Paul Stanley). Jonathan ended up having to wear Mike's wig (the drummer), so he was wigless as Peter Criss. Then, it seemed like there were a few technical difficulties at the show, such as Stone's having trouble lighting his fireball and Mark's smoke bombs falling off the gum on his guitar. And because they started late, searching for Jonathan's wig, they were made to stop their set before they got to play "Rock and Roll All Night." BUT, despite these problems, the show went really well and it was fun for me to observe, from the audience, how thoroughly the band won the crowd over, so that by the end they were screaming for one more song and audibly disappointed when it didn't happen. This band is just so much FUN, truly (not just because I'm biased).
There were a few minutes when I felt tired, and old, and not up to being a band wife anymore. But what a day I had! I was out all day at my class, from 10:30 to 5:30, then I went straight to Mark's show and didn't get home till after Daisy was in bed. (And did I mention that I hung out with Krist Novoselic backstage? Eh? EHHH?) This must be a first, I think, since Daisy's birth. I missed her, but it was exhilarating to have had such a day.
How strange to think that only a few short years ago, pre-Daisy, I used to stay out all night on a regular basis, sometimes till 5 AM. Things sure do change. Huh.
Mark and I had the happy experience of getting to hang out for a little while in the outdoor backstage area with Krist Novoselic, the bass player from Nirvana-- now playing bass with the band Flipper, who were the headliners at the East Bay party. He was such a kind, intelligent man, not to mention hilarious. One of the coolest parts of this experience was that rather than us tiptoeing up to him as someone whose work we admired, he approached us in an open, very friendly way to praise Destroyer's performance and tell them how well he'd thought it had gone. Knowing us, even if we'd been able to figure out who he was, we would not have gone over to fawn and swoon, I'm sure (at least I wouldn't have) because of fear of seeming obnoxious. It was very cool that he was so inviting and friendly and wanting to chat. Mark did have an opportunity to mention that it was an honor to meet him, and he was completely gracious in response. We actually had an extended chat with him, so I have to upgrade this from a "meet" or an "encounter" to a "hang out," if I may be so bold.
He had been very amused by the fact that during soundcheck, Mark's band happened to pick "Christine Sixteen" to play, at the same time as a group of prepubescent girls were doing all these acrobatic maneuvers on the lawn right in front of them. Now, don't think he had a dirty mind: the lyrics to "Christine Sixteen" are disgusting and it was impossible to watch the young girls flouncing around without being totally amazed at Destroyer's either A)chutzpah or B)shocking obliviousness. I was thinking the same thing and wondering whose idea it was. Krist Novoselic was apparently a big KISS fan when he was a boy and when we talked with him backstage he enjoyed discussing his favorite humorously filthy lyrics by KISS and also AC/DC. But we also discussed our upcoming hopes for the election of Barack Obama and the scary yet not hopeless conditions of things in our world today, and so don't think the whole conversation was lewd and lascivious.
I enjoyed being out again at night, mostly, I think. Some of the event staff gave me the job of turning women away from the ladies' room while Mark's band changed into costume in there, and that was a bit stressful for me. You can imagine how badly the ladies want to get into the ladies' room at a concert, and while I was saying, "Sorry, a KISS band is changing in there," they had a really hard time accepting their rejection gracefully. One lady demanded to know why the KISS band wasn't changing in the men's room, and my answer--that the mirrors weren't big enough--made her sorely disgruntled. Then Jonathan told me I ought to be saying, "The toilets are broken," instead of making every single woman at the concert angry at the KISS band, and that did seem to be a more effective strategy, despite it being a lie, which makes me uncomfortable in general(being a terrible liar).
I was amused by hearing one of the ladies I had turned away telling her peers in a whisper, when Destroyer took the stage: "You wouldn't believe it, but they're all actually women."
I always feel a little nervous before one of Mark's performances, anyway, and there were some things that went wrong that set the band themselves on edge-- such as Jonathan's last minute wig panic (no wig--a very serious problem when you're supposed to be Paul Stanley). Jonathan ended up having to wear Mike's wig (the drummer), so he was wigless as Peter Criss. Then, it seemed like there were a few technical difficulties at the show, such as Stone's having trouble lighting his fireball and Mark's smoke bombs falling off the gum on his guitar. And because they started late, searching for Jonathan's wig, they were made to stop their set before they got to play "Rock and Roll All Night." BUT, despite these problems, the show went really well and it was fun for me to observe, from the audience, how thoroughly the band won the crowd over, so that by the end they were screaming for one more song and audibly disappointed when it didn't happen. This band is just so much FUN, truly (not just because I'm biased).
There were a few minutes when I felt tired, and old, and not up to being a band wife anymore. But what a day I had! I was out all day at my class, from 10:30 to 5:30, then I went straight to Mark's show and didn't get home till after Daisy was in bed. (And did I mention that I hung out with Krist Novoselic backstage? Eh? EHHH?) This must be a first, I think, since Daisy's birth. I missed her, but it was exhilarating to have had such a day.
How strange to think that only a few short years ago, pre-Daisy, I used to stay out all night on a regular basis, sometimes till 5 AM. Things sure do change. Huh.
Some exciting days, part I
I am feeling more upbeat about my future than I have in years, and this makes me a little apprehensive to write about it. I worry that trying to pin down exactly why I am more hopeful will fix the feeling down in mundane language and kill it, somehow. Nevertheless, I really do feel like saying something about the last couple days. I am two days into my three-day class on psychotherapy as a career option, and even though the class has been a flawed one from my perspective, I just feel re-energized, somehow, by the experience of being back in there in the flow and exchange of ideas, and re-awakened by the fear and anticipation of possibly going back to school and starting a new career. All my worst fears came true: we DID have to hold hands, and we chanted sayings at each other, and drew with our left hands, and meditated, and stood in a circle making spontaneous sounds and movements. Our teacher told us she has clients try to remember their own births. On the theory that we might not have been welcomed properly into the world, hence our psychological problems, we all held hands and welcomed each other. It was kind of nice, or it would have been, if I weren't so lame and always using irony to distance myself from heartfelt emotions. I can see that there's a big following for this kind of "right brain" activating exercise, and I honestly don't mean to denigrate it, but it's just not me. I have to believe there is room in the psychotherapy world for me and my more "left brain" ways--though I also think I can learn and improve my spectrum of responses by opening up to some of these new ways.
Despite the activities that just didn't fit me, I feel, overall, more hopeful about this career path than I did before. I met a few students in the class who are more like me, and even whose stories about how they got to this class are quite startlingly similar to mine. We went around the room telling our stories, and after I told mine, one woman spoke up, saying she really felt she should go next because hers was so uncannily like mine: she had gotten a history Ph.D., had a father who was a history Ph.D. who had had a great influence on her choices, had discovered that the academic life wasn't very comfortable for her, and now has a one-and-a-half-year-old daughter and is interested in possibly embarking on a career as a therapist... and this daughter has a flower name like mine. AND: we ordered the same lunch, two days in a row, without consulting one another.
The whole experience of going to the class has been so... re-orienting for me, so bringing of new energy. I have loved getting up in the morning and going downtown on the Geary bus to the building where my class is held, and mixing and milling with all the people downtown-- so different from my usual days out here in a quiet, less populated part of the city. I have loved listening to other people, and taking notes, and thinking and feeling unexpected things-- even the uncomfortable or critical thoughts I've had have been welcome, as getting my brain moving again. I've enjoyed the lunch breaks and imagining myself part of this energetic downtown workforce, as such a different kind of life than any I've experienced. I missed Daisy, but I've also greatly enjoyed the bus ride home at the end of the day to see her again.
This experience has convinced me that whatever I end up doing, I need to do SOMEthing different. I was vaguely aware of being a little depressed, even though I do adore my time with Daisy, but I now feel much more certain that I need time devoted to cultivating my own self, as separate from Daisy. It has just brought me so much energy and hopeful feeling, and I'm sure it will make me a better mother, too-- because when she's had a hard time, I haven't felt as frustrated with her or as despondent, because there's something else going on for me that lifts me up, instead of feeling like however Daisy's feeling on a particular day completely makes me or breaks me (if she has a crabby day, then I usually feel crabby because my entire sense of self-worth is invested in how I'm doing as a mother). When she was crabby these last few days, I didn't feel so entirely cast down by it, and although I wanted to help her feel better (of course), I still felt happy because of other things that are going on in my life right now. I wasn't crabby, in other words, just because she was crabby.
And now only one burning question remains to be resolved: what should I do with my left-handed pastel drawing? I will never be able to throw it out, since it is the emblem of my "rebirth." Maybe I'll hang it on the wall next to Daisy's fingerpaintings.
Despite the activities that just didn't fit me, I feel, overall, more hopeful about this career path than I did before. I met a few students in the class who are more like me, and even whose stories about how they got to this class are quite startlingly similar to mine. We went around the room telling our stories, and after I told mine, one woman spoke up, saying she really felt she should go next because hers was so uncannily like mine: she had gotten a history Ph.D., had a father who was a history Ph.D. who had had a great influence on her choices, had discovered that the academic life wasn't very comfortable for her, and now has a one-and-a-half-year-old daughter and is interested in possibly embarking on a career as a therapist... and this daughter has a flower name like mine. AND: we ordered the same lunch, two days in a row, without consulting one another.
The whole experience of going to the class has been so... re-orienting for me, so bringing of new energy. I have loved getting up in the morning and going downtown on the Geary bus to the building where my class is held, and mixing and milling with all the people downtown-- so different from my usual days out here in a quiet, less populated part of the city. I have loved listening to other people, and taking notes, and thinking and feeling unexpected things-- even the uncomfortable or critical thoughts I've had have been welcome, as getting my brain moving again. I've enjoyed the lunch breaks and imagining myself part of this energetic downtown workforce, as such a different kind of life than any I've experienced. I missed Daisy, but I've also greatly enjoyed the bus ride home at the end of the day to see her again.
This experience has convinced me that whatever I end up doing, I need to do SOMEthing different. I was vaguely aware of being a little depressed, even though I do adore my time with Daisy, but I now feel much more certain that I need time devoted to cultivating my own self, as separate from Daisy. It has just brought me so much energy and hopeful feeling, and I'm sure it will make me a better mother, too-- because when she's had a hard time, I haven't felt as frustrated with her or as despondent, because there's something else going on for me that lifts me up, instead of feeling like however Daisy's feeling on a particular day completely makes me or breaks me (if she has a crabby day, then I usually feel crabby because my entire sense of self-worth is invested in how I'm doing as a mother). When she was crabby these last few days, I didn't feel so entirely cast down by it, and although I wanted to help her feel better (of course), I still felt happy because of other things that are going on in my life right now. I wasn't crabby, in other words, just because she was crabby.
And now only one burning question remains to be resolved: what should I do with my left-handed pastel drawing? I will never be able to throw it out, since it is the emblem of my "rebirth." Maybe I'll hang it on the wall next to Daisy's fingerpaintings.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Trying something
Well, after talking about it for many months (years?), I finally signed up for a course-- a 3-day workshop through Berkeley Extension on career options in counseling and psychotherapy. Have no idea what to expect. Am terrified by the thought of day-long sessions in which I will probably have to do major soul-searching and talk to strangers intimately. Want to recoil within myself just describing it to you. I hope we don't have to hold hands. Mine are just way too sweaty.
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