Tag Archive: punk rock

It’s all done! ❤

Tattoo accomplished! I feel complete, and at the same time…I suddenly have the desire to get a bunch more tattoos. I just saw a picture of a really cool crow tattoo and I was like “Oooooh…I could have a crow on my right arm.” It’s like that. I’ve heard many people say tattoos are like potato chips…you can’t stop at just one.

But for now I’ll enjoy my artichoke, and be glad that I finally got it done. And, as it turns out, I waited just long enough for it to be perfect timing. Everything that is happening in my life right now enhances that tattoo, gives it more meaning, provides a particular context, and makes it even more special than I thought it would be when I first had the idea to tattoo a flaming heartichoke on my arm many years ago.

That’s just how things go. We always think we know the best timing for certain things, and frequently discover that the universe (or whatever you want to call the infinite stage upon which our lives unfold) has other ideas – often better ideas – about how and when things will unfold. It’s why I’ve never put much stake in making plans and having goals. Instead, I try to pay attention to natural rhythms in my life and focus on a center based on how I feel about life. I mean, to be sure, I make plans and have goals, but I try. I try. I really try to remain open to all of those variables that tend to rearrange those plans and throw a monkeywrench into those goals.

“There is no way to suppress change […] there is only the choice between a way of living that allows constant, if gradual, alterations and a way of living that combines great control and cataclysmic upheavals. Those who panic and bind the trickster choose the latter path. It would be better to learn to play with him, better especially to develop styles (cultural, spiritual, artistic) that allow some commerce with accident, and some acceptance of the changes contingency will always engender. -Lewis Hyde (from Trickster Makes the World: How Disruptive Imagination Creates Culture.)

I have many things in my life that I am thankful for. One of which is an early exposure to Taoism, which has always allowed me to convince my frequently fraught mind that, really, none of this matters. And if I just sit still and wait patiently, a lot of times things just work themselves out. And when they don’t, I have more energy to devote to working them out because I did sit patiently the last time. And when they REALLY don’t, fuck it. In the end, it never mattered anyway.

Bird, age 12, mentioned today that he suddenly didn’t have any idea what life was all about. He said it as though he had known 5 minutes before and lost it. It was one of those moments where I thought maybe I was being called upon to Be Wise. I did my best. I looked to punk rock for the meaning of life, as I frequently do, and told him “Strive to survive, causing the least suffering possible.” I also reminded him that he’s 12, and it’s ok to just enjoy life and maybe not worry about what it means so much right now. But who am I fooling? This is the kid who, at age 2, would walk up to me and ask “Why am I alive inside this body, mom?”

My job as this child’s parent is to learn the lessons he is constantly teaching me, teach them back to him, and try to honor and welcome the trickster when our plans and goals are sidetracked or rerouted.

I always wanted to be a librarian, and now that I think of it, I kind of am. I have my library of zines and a plethora of letters and mail art from the era that I would most want to curate. Now I just need to find a way to share them.

I can share some here. I’ve spent my spare time today sorting through letters that I have in a box – mostly from around 1990-1994.

I’m pretty sure I have a box of letters that span the mid-late-80’s. At least I HOPE I do. I HOPE it didn’t get thrown away.

I will forever remember the box of mail and zines I left behind because it wouldn’t fit into my car when I moved out of the house on 49th street in a big hurry. I will always wonder what little pieces of my past remained behind in that box.

I’ve culled through letters several times, though. Tossing those that were inconsequential. Keeping those from people I really cared about. Looking back at them, I see so much I didn’t see then.

What remains is loveliness from all corners of the earth. From dear friends in IL, GA, MI, CA, CO…not to mention Finland, Denmark, England.

The perpetually-incarcerated artist/bankrobber.

The octogenarian poet from New York.

The crazy beatnik from Albuquerque who sent risque photo postcards. The shy young woman who sent artwork and poetry to me, tentatively.

The boy with a crush on me that I completely ignored due to my tendency to remain oblivious to such things. The junkie cartoonist from New York.

All, all, all committing paper to pen several times a month. So many letters that began with “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you.” and “It was great to finally hear from you!”

I had their addresses memorized. Or, at least, their zip codes. I still think about them when I hear people say they are from some obscure town that someone I once knew hailed from. Midland, Michigan. Appleton, Wisconsin. Yellow River, Ohio. Fair Oaks, California. I would grow to love the way they shaped their letters and the pattern of punctuation the way most would love a face or a particular accent.

When I was in high school, I would frequently make my mother call me in sick so I could spend the day in my pajamas, answering mail. Writing letters. Waiting waiting waiting for the thick bundle of mail to drop between the screen door and the wooden door because there was too much to fit in the mailbox.

And there was mail art. Interesting envelopes. Who knows what mail I never received because of the container that held it.

Yesterday, I was thinking that my friend P is the kind of adult I always thought was cool when I was younger. Unassuming, and cool as shit. Today, glancing through this bit of my history, I realize – I am exactly the kind of adult that I wanted to be. And THAT is pretty damn cool.

Note To Self:

...for heaven's sake BE STRONG

…for heaven’s sake BE STRONG

or…if I may borrow a quote from a picture taped to a friend’s wall…HARDEN THE FUCK UP.



In other news, first day of training for the new job. First day of a 5-week training, which is a damn good way to ease myself back into work. The last two months passed like nothing, as I thought they would, but I have gained a TON of perspective. I had some great rest; managed to completely redecorate my room (though I’m still slowly putting everything back in order & not COMPLETELY done with the painting (need to prime + paint doors and window frames and trim. Srsly considering priming door and closet doors and finding friends to paint murals on them. *bats eyes at artist friends please oh please oh pretty pretty please?* Maybe stenciling around the window frames, too. But, anyway;) spent a lot of time visiting with friends; met some new friends; put a good deal of work into getting over that damn man who broke my damn heart (&, to be honest, I’m still fighting bouts of misery over that one;) wrote a lot; made a lot of art; dreamed and schemed and gleamed a lot. Oh, and I ended my funemployment with a 10-hour marathon zine alphabetizing session (well, broken up over a couple of days & with small breaks here & there):

Librarian For the Revolution

Librarian For the Revolution

Speaking of zines – you see that big stack in the middle column of the middle shelf? Those are all Maximum Rock & Roll. There are even some in the column directly to the left of that stack. And 3/4 of the stack on the far right of the shelf right above are all Flipsides, including the issue that led me to befriend a couple of my favorite people on this eart &, really, who am I kidding, probably saved me from a life of drudgery and capitulation.  Though who really knows? Maybe I was destined to be a bit of a freak, with or without the saving grace of punk rock fanzines. I mean, I had to have already been somewhat of a freak to find punk rock fanzines in the first place, right? At any rate, it was delightful to touch each and every lovingly-created, copied, and stapled sheaf once more, regardless of the  fair amount of physical discomfort I’m suffering after sitting and sifting and sorting for hours on end and days in a row.

The stupid popcorn shit someone thought was a really good idea as a decorative or somehow functional-in-a-way-that-no-one-has-ever-been-able-to-explain-to-me feature is still up there on my ceiling. I scraped bits that were actively peeling, and now my ceiling has little islands of bareness amidst the popcorn. I actually don’t mind it all that much. I’m excited about getting the posters up on my bed so I can string colored lights all over. I realize I sound like a stereotypical hippie, but the idea of writing in my journal in my bed with the curtains drawn around it and colored lights all about makes me feel all warm and squishy. I bought myself a plant today. We’ll see how that goes. Somehow I’m certain this new journey I’m on will transform me into a green thumb, and I’ll GROW plants, rather than slowly kill them to death.
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah…the new job. Not much to say there. I’m not going to be talking about work on this blog, other than how it affects my life. I’m steadfastly refusing to allow my job to define me. However, speaking as  a critic, the trainer in me commends those who facilitated today’s training, and whoever is in charge of devising the training schedule. I’m pretty picky about that shit, and remarkably I wasn’t annoyed at all today. And you really can’t beat wearing slippers and pajamas to work. 🙂
My Uniform

My Uniformd

You know you are officially a blogger again when you have a running list of topics that you want to blog about, but you end up just blogging about random shit, instead, because that other stuff requires actual thought and research & it’s so much easier to just, well, talk about your damn self. At least in my experience.
I’ve had some interesting conversations with random people about race/class privilege and assumption. I’ve been thinking a lot about the definition of “work” and who defines what “hard work” is. During Sunday’s Immigration Reform march, there was a couple standing at the side of the road, giving the march the “thumbs down” and shouting out “LEARN THE LANGUAGE,” among other intended aspersions that I didn’t feel were appropriate to shout at a group that included many young children. So, my aim was to distract him when I walked over. To provide him the audience he seemed to desperately crave.  He was all “I have a right to express my opinion!” and I was all “That’s great. Well, I’m here. Here’s my camera. My name is Lainie Duro, would you mind giving your name before expressing your opinion?” You can probably guess what his response to that was. Hahaha. But he expressed his opinion, regardless, only on a much smaller scale. And not only did it stop him from yelling at the march, it actually provided me with a great deal of insight into what some people actually (quite wrongly) feel about immigration, and to respond to those things. Not sure if/highly doubt that I got through to this guy at all, but it was vaguely satisfying to have interrupted him, at the very least.

& you know what? Sometimes choosing a simple subgoal of the larger grand scheme is the best course of action. We all have things to work on.

It’s really my favorite thing in the world. Tonight, I listened to punk rock & the rain & wrote in my journal. All in my freshly. made. bed.

I also had this conversation with Cole:

Me (taking a picture of my food): I’m blogging again, which means every moment of my life is way more interesting than it actually is.

Cole: yeah, that’s pretty much blogging on a nutshell.


And read several items on the internet through the day:

Time Budgeting: https://medium.com/products-i-wish-existed/4f631ebb9b80 (I’ve written about this very topic here: http://choredork.blogspot.com/ and probably other places I cannot currently find. I’ll probably write more about it in the coming weeks, as I’m earnestly looking for someone(s) to help create the product that Ev is wishing existed.)

Watching Justin Timberlake and Jimmy Fallon do Barry and Andy Gibb, and cracking the fuck up: http://youtu.be/E7c44rtpzPg

Dreaming about a positive outcome for this lawsuit against the EPA being brought by beekeepers, environmentalists, and consumer groups.

Looking at pictures of yesterday’s Tent City Action taken by John Jack Anderson of the Chronicle.

Finally putting some information up on the Education Never Ends Facebook page.

Reliving Nick Cave.

Reading this article comparing Online learning to University, which I will probably opine about later, when I’ve set up the Education Never Ends blog. (Also, really guys? MOOCS of Hazard?)

…and the day began with a confirmed appointment with a mentor at SCORE.

Which really just proves that the following also applies to jobs: