“The Catcher in The Rye”
January 28, 2010
Hands down, “The Catcher in the Rye” is my favorite novel of all time.
It is the book that a special someone mailed to me from upper state New York so I could read it for the first time because he knew I’d love it. I loved it. I kept the copy safe and told everyone about it that would listen to my rambles. It is the book I loaned my boyfriend-at-the-time with the hopes that it’d touch him the way it touched me. And it is the book we had a HUGE fight over because, when things were said and done, he wouldn’t give it back to me. It is the book I had to replace. It is the book that made me smile when my sister told me she was naming her son “Holden.” It is the book that made me wonder how people could associate it with so many horrific things. It’s the book that made me really think outside of the box for the first time.
When the world would be changing in front of me and behind me and around me, I’d remember Holden talking about the museum and saying, “Certain things they should stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone. I know that’s impossible, but it’s too bad anyway.” I remember agreeing with him. I remember wanting to stick feelings and people and moments into those big glass cases.
I remember meeting certain people and thinking as Holden did: “I’m always saying ‘Glad to’ve met you’ to someone I’m not at all glad I met. If you want to stay alive, you have to say that stuff, though.” I remember smiling and saying “It’s so nice to meet you!” anyway.
But, it’s when Holden said, “What really knocks me out is a book, when you’re all done reading it, you wished the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it.“ Yeah, that’s when I knew that this book would always be on my bookshelf. No matter how many times I had to replace it.
Rest in Peace, J.D. Salinger. Thank you for Holden Caulfield and the 48 hours you let us look into the life that you created.
Girder
January 28, 2010
Poem: “Girder” by Nan Cohen, from Rope Bridge.
The simplest of bridges, a promise
that you will go forward,
that you can come back.
So you cross over.
It says you can come back.
So you go forward.
But even if you come back
then you must go forward.
I am always either going back
or coming forward. There is always
something I have to carry,
something I leave behind.
I am a figure in a logic problem,
standing on one shore
with the things I cannot leave,
looking across at what I cannot have.
Pushing Daisies
December 18, 2009
“Everything we do is a choice. Oatmeal or cereal. Highway or side streets. Kiss her or keep her. We make choices and we live with the consequences. If someone gets hurt along the way we ask for forgiveness. It’s the best anyone can do.” – Ned
Now that I’m officially a college graduate …
December 15, 2009
Now that I’m officially a college graduate … I feel somewhat compelled to figure out what I want to do … you know … as a career. I’ve spent many hours today taking “What job is right for you?” type quizzes and even looking for available jobs … curious as to if anything would catch my attention.
But, only a few things did catch my attention. And, of those few things, I’m nothing but skeptical.
I keep coming back to the words of Lloyd Dobler:
“I don’t want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don’t want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don’t want to do that.”
So … that should narrow it down a bit. Right?
Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps.
December 9, 2009
An Open Letter
December 3, 2009
Dear 2010,
I wanted to go ahead and introduce myself so we could get acquainted. You see, 2009 wasn’t that good to me. 2008 wasn’t much better. I had really high hopes for 2007, too … just as I do every year. And I want to believe that you’re going to be good to me … I really do. It’s just that I’ve been burned so many times before. I have even had catchy phrases like “2007 is gonna be heaven” and “everything’s great in 2008″ and “2009, you’re so fine.” I know, I know ... But, 2010, I had hope for them. I truly believed that something amazing and magical was going to happen each time I met each of them. Much to my dismay, all of them just seemed to skip on by me … never really offering me much.
2010, I really want this to work out between us. I want to be able to talk about you specifically for years to come. I want to say “YES, 2010 was the wonderful year when [enter amazing story that leaves everyone speechless here]!”
So, if you have any choice in the matter, if you can’t make it all amazing … could you at least go a little easier on me than the last few years did?
I really do have some high hopes for you and me. “2010, let’s try this again!”
Sincerely yours,
Marlo
p.s. If you talk to 2009 … tell him he still has about a month to redeem himself.
Gobble Gobble
November 27, 2009
What I’ll remember most about this year’s Thanksgiving:
I said, “This is the best Thanksgiving ever!” My dad said, “No, 1993 was the best one when the Dolphins beat the Cowboys.”
Then I said, “Let’s go around the table and say what we’re most thankful for.” (Please note that I was, in no way, being serious.) My dad said, “Oh! Oh! I wanna go first!” So, we all look at him with anticipation. He said, “I’ll pass.”
I love my dad.
“As she looked about …”
November 22, 2009
Toby Knows
November 20, 2009
I was going back and forth with an old friend via email. I was telling him about someone who had recently hurt my feelings. His suggestion:
“We need to get Toby Keith to write a song about him – letting him know who he’s messing with.”
Just for LBG
November 15, 2009
It’s a deep-rooted anger. Stemming from a childhood of make-believe, an adolescence of day-dreams, and an adulthood of reality.
I hate lines in grocery stores.
I hate my ex-boyfriends and almost-husbands.
I hate spaghetti.
And I’ve always had a problem with hating things. Because it happens so effortlessly.
And when it comes to things I like … or even [gasp] LOVE … I am completely in denial.
I love rainy days.
I love chili-dogs.
I love Sharpie markers (among other office supplies, a silly fetish of mine).
However, I HATE admitting that.
So, I was thinking how great and uncharacteristic of me it would be to actually tell everyone that I can stand, how much I do care. But then I looked in the mirror and noticed a small wrinkle on the side of my eye, and the truth of the matter dawned on me …
God, I hate getting older.
