Crushing Krisis

Comic Books, Drag Race, & Life in New Zealand

elise

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Elise is a Photography major, with all sorts of practical and historical knowledge to bring to bear, whereas i have never used a manual camera and still describe pictures as pretty and nice. To rectify the gap in our knowledge, i occasionally endeavor to make myself learnèd about photographers and their craft. To that end, i think i stole this fashion photography slide-show from Kottke; i liked it, and subsequently narrated it to Elise, who proclaimed something about Nan Goldin ruining everything and how gorgeous Lisa Fonssagrives looked.


The second slide in the show is by David LaChapelle who does some wonderful things with light and motion in his pictures though, we both decided after looking through his portrait collection, they are mostly souless (though i have a few favorites). And, to round out the trio of links, i love this portfolio of digital retouching, complete with before and after pictures and photoshop layers (cribbed from Metafilter, but again originally from Kottke).

I’m never introducing this Kottke guy to my girlfriend ;)

https://crushingkrisis.com/2004/01/107404139921557967/

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When was it that i learned how to tuck the corners in so deftly? This is the first year that i’ve been good enough to warrant the question; the first time that i haven’t hollered frantically for Erika to hold down the folds for me while i taped them. I remember how i used to do it not so long ago, wrapping paper around and around a box and then practically fashioning a bow out of scotch tape to hold it all down. I hated wrapping, and i hated wrapped presented. I told my mother not to bother; “Why use all that time and paper,” i said, “just so i can rip it open?”

When did i start to thrill in surprise? High school’s last Christmas Anastasia and i sat on her floor with empty shoe-boxes and packages of tissue paper trying to decide how to best obscure our killer compact discs. I taped mine down in a goloshes box and covered it with layers of tissue while she created a protective exoskelton to protect the tell-tale shape of her jewel case. Still that mass of paper, still that scotch tape bow, but i understood something about the thrill of surprise; it wasn’t enough just to buy, but to keep guessing until the last possible second.

When did i make it my own? Last Christmas i got a few excellent gifts, but i was more intent on giving. Elise helped me hunt down a wonderful list of bottle stops, DVD players, chess sets, Dr. Seuss Books, and Guiness playing cards in a whirlwind weekend while i slowly amassed her own pile of presents solo. I shopped fearlessly into late December not because i was fearless, but because i was no longer celebrating the same holiday as the people in the line in front of me. When all was said and done i had re-charged half of my credit card, but i was too happy doing it to stop. Christmas had finally stopped being a season, or an obligation — it was an excuse to give something to some of the people that i loved the most.

I almost forgot that this year, creating invisible, impractical, self-imposed timelines and deadlines for myself. Yet, as i lined up the pattern on the wrapping paper so perfectly a few minutes ago, as i cut out my own inventive little gift tags and wrote in the cards, i realized that i have come all the way around: from understanding the joy of surprise, to understanding the joy of the season, to understanding the joy of creating the surprise.

I will never submit myself to the Christmas celebrated by the people i stand in line with at the cash register. It isn’t about their idea, or my idea, or the cash register. It’s about liking the giving so much that you hardly care about what you get in return. It’s about liking it so much that you let it creep into March and September, buying things just because, so that when you look down your list sometimes you can say “i already gave them the perfect gift.”

But, it isn’t about my idea, and you’re giving me an excellent gift right now. Here’s to hoping your ideas are working out just as perfectly.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2003/12/107216091026681200/

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I’ve been holding on to this awful fear in the pit of my stomach for over a year now — that anytime the phone rings it’s going to be bad news about my grandmother. Maybe it’s why i hate the phone so much, how i always avoiding answering its ring and why i made sure to leave my cell phone safely ensconced within my old office building for the last two weeks … why i wasn’t surprised to finally pick it up only to hear a sequence a messages from my mother, each serving as a cold comfort as none quite claimed the worst.

I was caught, though, last night, live and on the line to my mother as she once again laid on this guilt, as if i know how to set aside my entire life and somehow make this all easier for her, or how to make my grandmom happier and not in so much pain, or how to do anything. The truth is that i don’t know, i can’t do anything, and every time my mother reminds me of how truly bad things are i see my grandmother and i convince myself that everything is okay.

I have finally been convinced now, though, that it is not okay. Sitting in the middle of the floor idly strumming my guitar and it all at once hit me that even though i made Elise promise to drive me over there tomorrow when her class is over that i missed out. I missed out on bringing Elise to meet her like i said i would, and on having her come to my college graduation, or even have her see me become successful or hold my children in some distant future. I realized all of that, and that maybe i have resisted dealing with it emotionally for all this time because i was hoping that somehow if i pushed it to the back of my mind and just kept working i would somehow make everything that she’s always dreamed for me come true.

What followed was a mess of tears and words and suddenly, two hours later, i’ve lost a box of tissues but gained a song so stupidly simple that i can’t help but keep crying as i have it on repeat because it encapsulates so very perfectly just how crushed this is leaving my life, and how much i just want to be able to have my college diploma and my successful life ready to bring with me tomorrow when i sit next to her bed, because i can’t think of anything else to give her (because she doesn’t really like songs all that much).

But, on the bright side, i’m a third of the way done my next Trio.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2003/10/106550775490805569/

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It occasionally comes up, between Elise and I, that we might eventually live with one another. It isn’t such a strange and alien topic: we’ve dated for a year and a half, enjoy roughly similar means of entertainment and standards of cleanliness, and both of our current leases end sometime next summer. However, similar standards do not a happy household make. And, so, I have discovered the next best way (after the Ikea catalog) to proactively predict and resolve the problems associated with co-habitation while evaluating the important similarities and differences in our styles of living.

I am, of course, speak of The Sims. It has been running on the computer-shaped-debt for more than 72-hours straight, courtesy of Karen. We each created our own pair of us as our test-pilot families, each surfed meticulously for the right clothes and balance of traits for our virtual avatars. And, without any argument, we arrived at the unspoken agreement that our collective goal was to become both rich and famous.

Our paths to have been slightly divergent. In my version of events, Elise is a successful computer programmer by night, while by day she practices in the mirror until her big break arrives. In her reality, Elise is a up-and-coming star who goes to photo shoots and hob-nobs with celebrities. Interestingly, both of our Peter’s have the same job as a lobbyist, and are currently stuck in the same mid-level position because they/we/I do not have enough networking connections (ie: Friends) to climb higher up the corporate ladder.

Our pairs mingle: the Peters are not fond of each other, but my Peter enjoys the company of her Elise — the two of them are both incredibly charismatic — funny how we focused on that trait in our own characters. My Elise is typically in need of social contact because she is busy practicing her skills, while their family has a huge nest-egg saved from my daily work and her occasional print ads. My house has been ruthlessly arranged and rearranged to maximize mood and efficiency, while hers is more aesthetically pleasing. And, notably, neither of us have had me quit my moderately-paid job to attempt to become famous.

It is at once amusing and very telling. I suspect that I only have a few more days of playing in me; only for so long can modeling my virtual life hold my attention captive from my real one. The appeal lies in the ability to see our separate ideals co-existing in the same virtual neighborhood, complete with subtle differences and less obvious similarities. However our experiment in collective house-keeping turns out, rest assured that the major points have been taken, with the chief amongst them being: No matter what you hope, wish, plan, or virtually model, you only have one chance to get it right; don’t waste it.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2003/08/106138343332725799/

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I’m a masochist, or a perfectionist, or maybe you need to be the first to be the second, i’m not sure. Basically, what i’ve done is leave the two hardest songs for last.

Now, what i would probably tell you is that they’re the two best songs, and that they deserve to be last. But, not coincidentally, they are also the two hardest of the night for me, the first one vocally and the second to play. But, here i am, all guests retreated back to their respective bedrooms or homes except for Elise, who is alternately being extremely helpful and making pissy faces at me when i don’t quite hit the notes.

Honestly, we’re past hitting the notes. I am not tired. And, it’s not as frantic or as hard as last year was. What we’re down to, honestly, is two songs that i refuse to let go of unless i can listen to them and feel what i’m singing, not just whether or not the notes are right.

Two songs, and five and a half hours to go.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2003/07/105929140637052109/