dreams

a friend of mine cut me out of his life almost two years ago now. it was the weirdest thing: we had recently talked on the phone while i was in prague and he knew i was coming to the US in a few weeks. when i arrived and called him, i got his voicemail. he never returned that call or any of the other messages i left during those weeks.

i kept giving him the benefit of the doubt that he was really busy or something...but he was usually good about calling me back.

then i talked with a mutual friend, who said casually, oh, he's cut you out of his life. he did it to me. i never thought he'd do it to you.

neither did i.

in an episode of 'friends,' the subject of cutting friends out of one's life comes up. it's played out through secrets revealed, hurt feelings, reconciliation, and through it all...humor. i have to say, i haven't found any humor in this.

i've been friends with this guy for almost eleven years. he was the first high school student i met when i was in the process of going on staff with the local church youth group. he was a senior then and lived close to my parents (where i was living) and struck me as a very intelligent, savvy kid. so the youth pastor suggested he help me and another friend plan a game that was to be our big introduction to the youth group.

we were immediately buddies. there wasn't anything inappropriate about our relationship, but we were very close. we understood each other. we'd talk about his girlfriends, culture, God, the future, my desire for life in prague, everything we were going through. he'd sometimes show up at my office in san francisco. i loved that. he would never sign in at reception--he'd just walk in like he owned the place and surprise me at my cube.

he shared a lot with me about his struggles pleasing and being understood by his parents. we had a lot of long, deep conversations. like i said, we were close.

then he joined the marines. i was part of the group that went to his boot-camp graduation in san diego. we were so proud of him standing there like a post in the pouring rain, shouting back to his drill instructor.

i was with him the day he sold his little black honda prelude. he called it negrito and he was sad to sell it, but he was shipping out for hawaii. that day he gave me the drum key from his own keychain. he wasn't going to be playing the drums much anymore.

while he was in hawaii i spent about 9 months in prague--through a very cold winter and difficult work and living situations. i discovered a cheapish way to call him and we spent lots of time on the phone through those long months. we understood well each other's loneliness and separation from the life we knew. he was a lifeline for me then.

by the time he finished with the marines i had spent a year in the US and was already back in prague, living here full-time--with a great job and a good place to live. his last year in hawaii he'd become less communicative and, by the time he was done with his four years, only rumors about his whereabouts moved through the groups of people who knew him.

i, and others, completely lost track of him.

then, about 4 years ago maybe, a friend of mine heard he was working in a restaurant in the town where my mom lives. so, while i was in town, we went to the restaurant. sure enough, there he was. and happy to see us. at least i thought so. i knew i was ecstatic to finally see him again.

over the next two years, we'd get together every time i was in town. we'd go for coffee; i went to lit. class with him once (he was getting his degree on the GI bill); we'd have long philosophical conversations. during one of those visits a mutual friend killed himself. my friend and i were, like everyone we knew, shocked, and we talked a lot about it together. there were times he'd be less communicative, and i'd have to show up at his place in order to talk with him.

i knew my good friend wasn't really happy. he always seemed to be, but also sort of not, to me. his years as a marine had, naturally, changed him tremendously. he didn't see the world or people the same way he did when he went in. he didn't think about God in the same way, either. he was determined (and said this to me) to kill the person he'd once been. it wasn't who he wanted to be. this made me sad, because i had dearly loved that other person, and i still saw him in my friend--it wasn't going to be easy to erase him away.

from prague we would carry on long discussions about life, relationships, philosophical ideas. i on my balcony looking at the stars through the long night hours, he at juice bars, coffee houses, wherever. we often disagreed, but in a friendly way. even when he got freaky about something and spent some months without communicating, he'd come back, and usually share something he'd written with me.

so the cutting off came as a surprise.

the mutual friend who named what he had done theorized that things had gotten too real with me: my dad had cancer and it had really changed our relationship for the better, but it wasn't certain how he would respond to treatment. i talked with my friend about this regularly.

i thought that strange, considering our deep conversations, but let it go.

i actually think that cutting me out was part of the necessary process to killing the man he had been. i was a close reminder of that. and i kept believing he was still there and encouraged it. but that's not who he wants to be. he wants to be a man without friends (maybe a couple marine buddies still, but not the married ones)--just drinking partners, bodies to share a bed with, co-workers, whatever. not anyone close, and not anyone who knew him when.

he's an asshole and that's who he wants to be.

i ran into another mutual friend the last time i was in the US and we talked about the marine. this other friend really misses him, too. i'm going to see him and his wife when i'm in town this winter. i'm hopeful we can track the marine down again.

last night/early this morning i dreamed about him. it's slightly hazy how the dream went. i know he kept disappointing me with his actions in the dream. he was wasting his life, his talents (of which he has many), his love on unworthy things in my dream. and i was sad. finally he talked with me. wrapped his iron-like arms around me and talked with me.

i would give a lot for a moment like that: to hug him and talk with him. listen to him and love him.

and my keys are still held together by the drum key.

chocolate chips and marriage

i love the internationalness of life in prague. tonight i went to a friend's place to make christmas cookies. we made chocolate chocolate chip cookies (too sweet for me), sugar cookies (we frosted them with nutella!) and vanilla crescents, which are czech, and very similar to russian teacakes (which is what my family called them), but shaped like...crescents. delish.

the friend who hosted the evening is karla. she's costa rican. a lawyer educated at duke, she works for a multinational company and has been in prague for 9 months. she loves to text me at 8pm, asking if we can meet for a drink at 9 or 10. invariably i'm in my pajamas early that night. but i love her so i drag myself out again. and we always share some good laughs.

[this happened last night. but i had to go out anyway to pay a bill i'd neglected to pay while the regular post office was open--that's where i pay bills--so i had to go to the all-night one in the center. which put me in the two biggest squares of prague just as the mikulaš stuff was winding down. i totally forgot that the čerts (see yesterday's post) are all ratty and raggedy AND done up in a sort of crude blackface. they are scary. i waited in line for a langoše--like a funnel cake but not sweet and with garlic butter, ketchup and cheese on top; sort of a poor man's pizza: yum--behind one and i could see where the screams come from.]

anyway. it was really funny to me to hear karla rail about the lack of chocolate chips for sale in stores here. apparently she scoured her grocery store for one and was miffed that they didn't have any. honey, nobody has them here. ok, except culinaria, but their prices are highway robbery. so i told her we'd just do what everyone always does: chop up good chocolate.

the other guests were colleagues of hers. three czechs, a young woman recently arrived from the philippines, and a czech-canadian who was born here but raised in toronto. fun!

we talked about all kinds of things and someone asked my opinion on the war. i hate being asked this.

[this reminds me that i went to a new class at the high school today. great class of 15- to 16-year-olds. one student asked if i had any friends here. this is in the same breath as acknowledging that i've been here about 7 years. and i'm always incredulous when asked that question. seriously? do i have friends? where i've lived for 7 years? do you think i'm going to say no? what if i did? would that be ok with you? would you have friends if you lived in a foreign country for 7 years? yes, yes i do. i don't think i could survive without my friends. i'm ALWAYS curious at the rationale for that question. i want to scream at them for some reason. i never do. i'm always nice.]

anyway. we talked a lot about czech culture and american culture and for some reason i got defensive of the US on certain things. i think i hate when people point out the ignorance world-wise of americans without considering their own (example: most europeans have no idea what state chicago is in). we're just a bigger target, i guess. but it wasn't meant meanly or badly.

and then i was asked the question i am always asked: so, are you going to stay here forever?

this time, it was followed with the option: or do you have any plans? i like when that's there, because that's my answer: no, i don't have any plans. i figure there has to be something between 7 years and forever. if something better comes along i'll consider it. for now, i'm doing what i love....... my answer is usually something like that. maybe just in a different order.

and then.

ahhhh, one of the czechs (a married man--the only married person in the group; only male ,too) says. you want to fall in love with a man, get married and.... and here he trailed off.

no, i said firmly, there's no man in my decision-making equation.

what? exclaimed the czech-canadian with alarm, as she spun around to face me (she's engaged). you don't want to get married???

i didn't say that. i'm just not waiting to plan my life until i get married. i'm not waiting for a man so i can do something.

*sigh*

why is it that a woman--generally of a certain age, although this has been happening to me for years, and i KNOW no one in that room pegged me within 5 years of my age--can't make a comment about not basing her life and decisions around whether or not she is dating/engaged/married/looking hungrily for a mate without a cry of alarm and the nearly verbatim wide-eyed question: you don't want to get married?

*sigh*

why can't i celebrate my freedom, time, spontaneity, healthy relationships, etc., etc., while i have them as a single woman? most of my honest married friends realize they didn't enjoy their singleness as much as they wish they did. they didn't realize: they still get lonely, they can't just do what they want when they want, marriage is hard, they don't have time for things they used to have time for, etc., etc.

i have nothing against marriage. on the contrary: it's a miraculous, beautiful thing. but. i have a huge thing against the married folks who think everyone needs to be like them to be their friend. i have a huge thing against those who secretly think my singleness is my punishment for something or because i'm lacking somewhere spiritually or emotionally. i have a huge thing against anyone who doesn't realize that the relationships i have with students wouldn't really be possible if i were married with a brood of kids.

it's not that i don't want to get married. i actually find that question absurd and unanswerable. one doesn't marry in the abstract. one marries another person. the only reasonable question is: don't you want to get married to ______? or: why aren't you married to _____? when you feel confident inserting a name, we can talk. i'd be happy to tell you why i'm not married to mike. or steve. or erez.

so why not celebrate where each of us finds ourselves in life, huh?

bake some cookies and enjoy the sweetness. don't ask why the hands that made them don't have a certain ring on them.

st. mikulaš

since it got dark this evening, at around 5, i've been treated to sounds of firecrackers and shouts echoing around the walls of my sidliště.

before i continue, bear with me as i discuss this word, sidliště. it is most commonly translated as 'housing estate,' which might make sense to a person from the UK, but makes no sense to a North American. i hear the phrase 'housing estate' and i think Tara or something similar: some sprawling compound like the bushes have in kennebunkport or the kennedys have in massachusetts. or, yeah, like scarlett's home. anyway, that's not at all what sidliště means. it's the word for the groups of prefab concrete blocks of flats that mar the landscape of most central and eastern european countries. built up primarily in the 80s and 90s and touted as living utopias, many are now in major need of repair. mine's mostly fine, although the old windows let in mighty drafts and the walls tend toward major cracks. but it's standard living conditions here, and many are extremely nice inside, thanks to money poured into renovation (God bless my landlord for making mine very comfortable). but they look like the projects of North America's big cities from the outside.

don't you agree? (this is a view from my balcony...mine is a mirror of this)


anyway. it wasn't my intention to discourse about sidliště today.

the fireworks, yelling and general commotion are because today is St. Mikulaš day here in czech. i suppose i should like it, since it's the closest thing the czechs have to halloween (one of my very favorite days of the year--what's not to like about a costume and sugar OD?). but i'm not sure. this evening, all over the country, young people dressed as St. Mikulaš (looks like a pope, tall hat and everything), čert (a devil-looking character) and anděl (an angel) walk around together in their rather odd groups of three. they go to the homes of small children (usually homes of family friends, but there have been papers around advertising triplets for hire for a couple weeks), or they congregate in town or local squares (most commonly the center squares of prague).

this is where it gets fuzzy for me what exactly their purpose is. i'm pretty sure candy is given to the little ones. the čert is meant to scare them; the anděl either just looks pretty and Mikulaš gives them the candy or the other way around. i don't really know how it goes. but sometimes only Mikulaš shows up--the čert is usually pretty scary for young eyes and parents don't want to provoke screams if they can help it. (here is where i'd like to give kudos to my wonderful niece kaitlyn, who apparently wanted nothing to do with the santa claus at the mall where my mom took her. only 2, and already knows what's up.)

i mention all this because it's yet another sign that God was, at some point in the not-too-distant past in this country, a significant part of how they did things. i realize i don't know the traditions surrounding the Mikulaš stuff, but my bigger point would be: neither do the czechs i know. everyone just knows it's a time to dress up, scare a couple naughty kids, give candy to some nice ones, and maybe do a shot or two with the parents before heading to the next flat. or at least make a hundred crowns or so ($5-ish) for your trouble.

but you can't tell me that there isn't huge religious (read: Christian) significance behind a motley crew of a popish saint, a devil and an angel. no one else lumps those guys together.

like other things, the tradition has remained. bastardized though it may be, it is still recognizable in its roots.

the czechs may think they're done with God, but holding on to such traditions, secular now though they may seem, says something different to me. they might argue that point and they're welcome to it.

but God's definitely not gone, and he's definitely not done with them.

which reminds me: welcome back, jan hus! i'm glad to see the škoda screen gone, for christmas anyway. i've missed you.

so much hate!

i had a subscription to vanity fair magazine for a few years a while back. i loved the hollywood issue and lots of the fascinating articles. i still have the one from 1997 with princess diana on the cover--one of the last shoots she did before her death.

that's where i first encountered christopher hitchens. i wish i could remember examples of his articles i liked, but i can't. i'd have to do a little research for that and i don't feel like it. i do, however, know that i read enough by him to recognize his name when i saw it.

and when an article appeared in the new yorker reviewing his book God is not great, i remember having a positive initial response to seeing his name. that review, if i remember correctly (again, too lazy to hunt it down; but i would if i knew the date), didn't have a lot of nice things to say about the book. not that the new yorker is God's latest champion by any means; it was a fair and balanced (huh?) review of a book the reviewer didn't deem, well, great.

i haven't read that book. and it's not just because i happen to think God is, in fact, pretty great. i'm just not interested.

i did, however, just start reading an article by hitchens in today's slate. you can click here to read it. i admit, i didn't get very far. in fact, i got partway through and, instead of finishing, clicked on over to firefox to blog about it. and i don't think i'll finish it.

why? you ask.

i don't know what got hitchens so riled up these last few years, but he's got a serious problem with religion in general and it's getting ridiculous. i'm fine with people writing books based on their beliefs. it's healthy and promotes great discourse, in many cases. but he has reduced himself to a whiny, crabby little boy given to histrionics. he throws around words like 'supposed' and 'alleged' before pillars of the Christian, Jewish and Muslim faiths, and takes every opportunity to make unsubstantiated low blows and snarky swipes at each.

it's laughable. and i'm sorry that slate got in on the action. i'm disappointed that they would print such a poorly written piece, regardless of its author.

while i'm airing disappointments, i've been looking for frank's email address so i can complain about the porn on this week's postsecret. i don't mind nudity or sex shots when there's a profound secret involved, but the postcard he posted this week is blank. just a girl in a bra on her stomach, offering herself up (seriously!) to be taken. what's the point of that? where's the secret? it seems to me someone out there is cashing in on a bet. and instead of being let in on a secret, i'm faced with gratuitous sex, a secret not meant to be shared.

shall i keep going? i can...

lots of visitors to prague comment on the nudity and sex in advertising. after all, would home depot advertise with a topless woman on a newly tiled floor boasting, 'i did it myself!' ?

the other day i was traveling by metro to physical therapy and went through the mustek station, as usual. h&m has been buying up the wall space in the hallway of the station so i'm used to seeing models stare back at me as i walk from the trains to the street. i wasn't prepared, however, to see nearly naked ladies eyeing me coquettishly, clad only in bras and panties, as i followed the mob of commuters through the maze.

it's a victoria's secret catalogue, blown up bigger than life-size.

and, lest we think it's inappropriate, or pornographic or something prudish like that, there's a price tag next to the languidly posed beauties: the price of the bras. (the price of the panties isn't shown. which begs the question: couldn't they be wearing a little more down below?)

this frustrates, saddens, and angers me. how lovely, on a Fat Day or a Bad Hair Day (or any Crap Day) to have one's self-confidence punched down a bit lower by the sight of the heroin-thin but buxom models in the ads. and even more wonderful to feel the eyes of the men on the platform, killing time as they wait for the next train. not an appraising glance, mind you, but a wolfish up-and-down and perhaps a little linger here, and here. for some women it may truly be wonderful, but only because these women don't understand that such objects are not cherished, loved, appreciated or admired. they are savagely used without interest and discarded immediately. or maybe they've already been beaten down so far they're ok with being used. something is better than nothing, right? ...right...?

*sigh*

amazing to go from hitchens' peevish ranting to porn on the metro, but the trail is there. sad that apparently he feels there's enough in religion to prompt such spewage, while a land that wholly rejects religion glorifies such degradation. no wonder so many girls and women here, no matter what age, desire to look a way that seems to them sexy, no matter what the cost.