If there’s one thing I know about relationships, it’s that they take time and several bumpy mistakes along the way.  And when they (the mysterious experts) tell you life’s coming up roses, sometimes a girl needs a garden to prove it… but it obviously doesn’t lend to the storefront of romance, flowers or not. 

(For the record, the outfit to your left is fantastic… just my style!!!)

These long distant, text messaging, e-mailing, and phone calling moments once deemed LDR’s are now commonly referred to as the romantically challenged. 

The love handicapped or dare I say, the erogenously disadvantaged. 

So, in my near Diet Pepsi/Popsicle combination-coma, I being a writer, found time in the saga that it is my life to aesthetically unwind, reboot my mental hard drive, nurture my wanton internet compulsions, and yes of course, to stop to smell the… designer bonanza better known as Sex and the City.

Replete with the bizzarro modernization of any arbitrary (plot thin) banter happening while cruising down the freeway, this particular mission-provoking afternoon (several days ago) seemed a glimmer of the semi-unusual, which in my family, really isn’t that unusual after all. Anyway, I thought it was worthy of the blogosphere!

A:  Weather isn’t fairing well for a photo shoot. 

(She scoffs)

Me:  No…

A:  Gives me a headache.  The weather…

Me:  Yeah, I have one now, actually.

A:  In your temporal junction?

(Trust me, she’s serious.)

Me:  In my what?  Temporal junction?  Who says that?

(Laughing hysterically)

My mother’s recognition in the medical field, at times, astounds me… albeit earning my own medical degree, her over abundance of genius surpasses the likes of most.  No offense.  But in transit to our destination, this fastidious exchange prefaced the droning highway ambiance, the blaring horns, and smoggy winds that lingered just beneath a gunmetal sky… revitalizing what appeared to be something of the dreary.  

Hidden among the everyday arrangement of suburbanite ambiance and sprawling city lights, an eerie urban legend of one such Zombie Road (Glencoe) takes precedence to many.  Among this two-mile stretch of land, once housing a railroad, the truth is largely forgotten, as the ambiguity of an asylum lies deep within the sinister darkness.  Adhering to edges of fallow woodlands where Old State meets Highway 109 and the Meramec River’s unforgivable dampness swallows everything else, the infinite terrain neighboring the elements of strange and unusual grip the supernatural. 

From tales of orphaned children, unlawful deaths, a cemetery marked in numbered gravestones, and an insane asylum escapee, Zombie, whose tattered and blood-spattered clothing were reportedly the last of his remains… the otherworldly apparitions claiming the land have balanced the stories of those ambling through and thus challenging this unearthly territory.  Spine-chilling records of paranormal activity, sightings, and inexplicable images resurge the frightful aftermath of what truly walks beyond these railroad tracks.

And so I went… fulfilling (mine and my family’s) long since discovered curiosity.

This sparks me as something of the paranormal… Standing on the gravel road, I stared pointedly into the night, unable to see much of anything and snapped the image (skyward towards the treetops), so what’s the blue haze lingering in front of the trees?  It appeared in only two photographs.

My mother… searching!

The poorly documented images are extremely grainy what with the obscure midnight-ish lighting and insane humidity bouncing off the river alongside us, but that’s my older sister, and yep… we’re waiting for something freaky to happen! Dude, check out my new boots and socks… seriously for me, this is roughing it! lol! 

This last image is one of the coolest I’ve ever seen.  Upon first examination I considered the possibility that perhaps the indiscernable glowing aspect in the center of the photograph was a collaboration of dust particles catching fragments of light, or even an insect.  Albeit not enhancing/altering any of these images, I did crop/enlarge… deeming the light too distant to be dust, and that would have to be one enormous insect to illuminate in such a manner as this. So, forgive me if I’m wrong… but I think it just might be something.  I’ve had several people assess the photo and everyone seems of the same mindset, but if you have a more pragmatic explanation… let me know. Now look below, noting the center spec of light.

Up close and personal.  What is that?

There comes a time when the mind and soul affliction of saying goodbye is like an incubus dream without respite… it’s never easy, but some farewells seem to impair beyond the rest.  I’d aforementioned being in the presence of loved ones, a certain someone whom I hadn’t seen in nearly half a year, and yet the aloof time capsule that had once formed, left us unaltered as we began again from the start. 

Days later, I embark upon the early morning quietude with an aching wanderlust sentiment that appears unshakable.  The paramountcy of our days and evenings were incredibly entertaining, silly, eventful, rushed, cramped, and while we combined the actions of those words… reassurance springs to mind the dominating mood above all others.

With a gazillion photos to later document… this is my Sunday sampling.      

I received a few e-mails and inquiries concerning yesterday’s post… and virtually everyone expressed the same concerns, “Where were her parents?  This girl is underage!”

All I can say is … so much for innocence.  Type her name into a general search and it’s a continuation of scandalous behaviorisms.  Pretty scary.  For the record, and I would not begin to post them here… several ‘self-taken’ cell phone images of the scantily clad child star have already surfaced.  I mean if the girl is willing to stand in her underwear while lifting her t-shirt for her own camera, does it really matter that a professional team posh stylists and renowned photographers had her holding a sheet for a magazine spread.  Perhaps the best recourse is to move beyond it.  So who’s really behind the wheel of media exploitation?  Hollywood? Her peers?

These days, it seems the immortalized iconography of scandal is being driven more by the public than by the media affect.  The same uproar surfaced years ago, when the innocently-not-so-innocent Britney Spears posed for the cover Rolling Stones in lingerie.  And ten years from now, another celebutante will inevitably run amuck by ‘artistically’ expressing her tortured soul through the various shades of limelight.

This may be standard for the rich & famous… but I think they need some boundaries.     

Old news…  Another day, another scandal.  Well, I guess that’s
Hollywood.  

When renowned photographer, Annie Leibovitz, captured this indelicate image of child star sensation, Miley Cyrus, (a.k.a. Hannah Montana) cynicism and inquisition ran rapid.  Even worse was the scandalous repercussion once the photograph hit the glossy pages of elite fashion magazine Vanity Fair, and no doubt was there a universal collective gasp.  But there in lies the point that we can’t help but learn by example. 

So does it really mean that every other 14-year-old girl is going to strip down, drape herself in a satin sheet, and go topless for the camera?  It’s unlikely.  Rants of Disney groupies and verbal pimping spilled through the internet and all along Miley Cyrus was forced to submit a formal apology?  With a fan base of 30 million, one can only assume the message this instilled to impressionable teens everywhere.  While many, in fact, claimed this photo opportunity was simply a creative release of personal character… others devotedly proclaimed the sexually explicit connotation a wanton publicity stunt.  

Lavender Musings….

A few weeks ago on Tuesday evening, which over the years in my household has been deemed The Invention of Movie Night, I went to score the newest release, Purple Violets.  An about face, I nearly fell off the couch as a stampede of karma-esque signs and too-true-to-life scenarios flashed before my eyes, one after the other. 

All thanks to Edward Burns. 

Okay, I admit maybe I should’ve read the blurb on the back of the DVD, but with Debra Messing, Patrick Wilson, Selma Blair, and of course Edward Burns…  I knew the element of surprise and metaphoric beauty wouldn’t disappoint. 

Subsequently, I figured why not.  Within the first few minute of the film, my family began laughing in a near psychotic fit of jubilation while tossing their hands skyward with sidelong glances in my direction.  A protagonist who is none other than struggling novelist… well thankyouverymuch as I rise from the mediocrity and swallow audibly this wonderful familiarity.  Fate… even from a movie! lol

Read the synopsis here : www.purplevioletsmovie.com

Me: Did you hear anything about the outage?

N:  No power until Tuesday.

Me:  Seriously?

N:  That’s what they’re saying…

From the disquieted expression smeared across my face, obviously I was mulling the horrific concept while contemplating what the hell I was going to do for the next three days. 

Damn weather.

Damn falling trees.

Damn power lines underneath the fallen trees.

Damn hurricane.

Don’t get me wrong, I know things could always be worse, and sometimes are.  But amid the obscurity of the neighborhood that darkened all but the few flickering candle flames, the front yard he-said, she-said’s tainted the hopes of everyone.  Veiled beneath this foreboding folly, and a number of other mishaps… at the time it seemed slightly unforgivable.  And while the completely uncontrolled reprieve (!) felt more Little House on the Prairie than anything ever has, those three fright-stricken days turned into a mere seven-hour blackout.  Relief.

Definitely verified the magnanimous impact electrical appliances, including one very weary (self-important) hairdryer, have on our everyday existence.  The things we take for granted… comparatively speaking, I suppose we’re actually quite fortunate. 

Normally, I wouldn’t encroach upon this subject, only for the sheer fact that I don’t condone the (err) scandalous nature… but my god this is totally insane.  Capitalizing on virginity, I’m guessing sex really does sell and, uh, pay the collegiate bills? 

(Insert sarcastic not-so-quizzical expression)

When I received an e-mail, informing me that a 22-year-old Sacramento State grad student was auctioning off her virtuousness… the only articulated utterance was WTF!  Despite enduring controversy, an eBay rejection, mounting college tuition, and declarations of medical exams among polygraphs… this self-proclaimed Virgin Mary, who uses the pseudonym “Natalie Dylan,” will be touting the key to her chastity belt to online bidders in a consummating relationship with the Moonlight Bunny Ranch in Nevada. 

Sounds super classy, but who am I to judge… this is clearly a case of business, not pleasure.  Right? Uh-huh.  So why does it feel like Britney’s “Oops I Did It Again” should be droning the airwaves as I write?  

Reported by US Magazine, the New York Daily, foxnews.com, and a slew of others, the exponential amount of bids will, I’m sure, be arduous at best (scoff) by such an innovative offer.  So here’s the posing question.  Albeit being of legal age, sound mind, and apparently officially permitted in the state of Nevada, isn’t this still a form of neo-prostitution?

Hmmm.

So I started this bit yesterday, and I’ll bet there’s someone out there in the cyber universe who will inexplicably say, “This is deep.” 

Okay, somaybe it does have a certain subterranean value, especially for early hour musings (2:36 a.m.), but what the hell.  I get a lot flack for being a writer and working from home and applying fashion seriously and my photography and even for my use of terminology.  For example, I’ve been told on a number of instances that I simply know too many words in the English dictionary!  Is this a bad thing?  I mean chastise me for not kowtowing or kissing ass, but forcing airs of charismatic diversity, I’m thinking, present a lot of personal confusion opposed to individuality.  So should I pretend to be something I’m not?  Frankly, I’ve been guilty of this on a few occasions, and it isn’t pretty… doesn’t suit me… it just doesn’t. 

Despite knowing, many people who consider these moments of lingering self-discovery, writing, blogging, researching, ms submissions as a form of misplaced leadership, laziness, and futility…  Tolkien said it best.

“Not all who wander are lost.”

And I suppose I believe him.