The DirtyDurty Diary

Dear Diary,

It’s January 15, 2010 at 3:45am.

I am up and cannot sleep.

Too much is on my mind and I look to work it out on paper. I’ve been looking at the images of Haiti, and I cannot stop weeping. There are few moments of relief. I see a child being rescued, reunited with a surviving parent. Or, I turn the page to see rescue teams have flown in from Mexico, Taiwan, or Italy to provide aid, rescue, and relief. I am saddened that it takes a tragedy to unite the world, but uplifted — that it does.

I’ve always been utterly aware of the brevity and the precariousness of life. One cannot lose their mother and grandfather as a young teenager without loss forever searing ones’ heart. I suppose that is why I have been accused many times of being too serious (or intense) but it’s in these images of Haiti when I remember why- all can be lost in a blink of an eye. Another reminder, to remember, what is important in life.

We concern ourselves in New York about having more— things. We looked to be in the right restaurants, get into the newest venues, to make a name for ourselves, to make our mark, or just to make more money. But to me, that isn’t so important, all of that has always been just play pretend, Acting. I would rather plan PTA meetings then parties at nightclubs. I would rather love just one man, then have many lovers, and I know after seeing a father pull his daughter out of the rubble into his arms, his tears of joy, as she was alive, that there is only one thing that matters in this life and that is love, and I wish everyone I knew had more of it, and wasn’t so frightened of it. (Especially you, my sweet Willoughby).

Beso- M

Dear Diary,

It’s January 3, 2010.

I’ve moved to Greenpoint, a mistake I believe, but one that I had very little choice in the matter of. In three short days I’ve already come to remember why I dislike Brooklyn.

I am starving. There is nothing in my refrigerator except coffee, milk, sugar, and inexplicably- relish. The three cups of coffee drank have only left my stomach feeling hollow and so I brave the twelve blocks to Enid’s restaurant through snow flurries and bitter cold. The wind chill factor of negative three degrees temperature is slapping my face over and over again as if to say, “Welcome to Brooklyn Bitch.” I go inside the restaurant to defrost only to be met by distain from the petulant bartender, “You have two minuets to order before brunch is over.” He said throwing the menus at me. It was 3:20. I didn’t know brunch ended at 3:22pm on Sunday in Brooklyn.

Brooklyn always seemed the younger dumpy sister compared to her elegant elder sister Manhattan. With Manhattan’s je ne c’est quoi, fantastic wardrobe and effortless bed head that alluded she gets laid like concrete combined with her nothing to prove attitude, Brooklyn is pissed and over compensating. “Brooklyn, We Go Hard.” No you don’t, you just go and ask your parents for more money because you’re not making enough as a part time barista, bartender, or bike messenger.

As I walk back home I stare for a moment at the liquor store. I shake my head, “No.” I say, it’s only 4pm. I don’t need to kick off the evening with a bottle of whatever by myself at the apartment, although the former tenant has left a pack of cigarettes, which I am tempted to smoke. I have been listening to far too much Billie Holiday and I feel a smoke and a bottle of vodka would go nicely with my disgruntled former Lower East Side ex-pat New York writer clique I could kick off this winter. I decide against all of it, except the Billie Holiday. Xo M

From Boyle to Barack 2009 A Year When We Needed Hope.

On April 11, 2009 a 47 year old singer from a small town in Scotland became an international phenomenon when she sang, “I Dreamed A Dream” From Le Miserables. Her name is Susan Boyle. Millions where in awe of her booming voice, her humble persona, and plain Jane looks. However, it wasn’t long before then the backlash began.  Then there is Barack Obama, who brought tears of joy from the masses, feeling that much needed change was upon us; that finally, small, underprivileged voices in our Nation and across the world be heard. Once again, the backlash has swiftly blown us back, and this Nation has once again fallen into an lamenting mood. Many are disappointed that the winds of change that were sung during the election have yet to see a ray of light. The Recession is still upon us, Health Care is still a mess, the Wars still rage, and Equal Rights are still not equal, and that’s definitely not right.  

However we needed Obama and his Hope campaign, just as we needed Boyle and the irony of those prophetic words from Le Miserables: 

“I had a dream my life would be
So different from the hell I’m living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed the dream I dreamed.”  

Her dreams did come true, at age 47. She shook and reminded us that there is no better time then the present to live your dream. I feel the same came from President Obama. Many people talk about the “promises” that Obama and his administration where suppose to deliver. However, I never looked at what he said as a promise. I took it as inspiration of what could be. That we are all responsible for creating a better future. 

It is too easy to be cynical and smug. To criticize others and to make someone feel small. Fear makes us do terrible things. Backlash usually arises because there is a fear of progress or a fear of never accomplishing ones deepest desires. However, I think we all secretly root for the underdog, because when it comes down to it, we are the underdog- no matter what race, religion, or economic background. If you have money but you hate yourself, you don’t have anything. If you believe in yourself and your acts of kindness and compassion flow freely, you are richer and freer than you will ever know.

I’m thankful for 2009. Where it was once again OK to remember hope and dreams. I hope 2010 brings more of the same and the courage and conviction to put those ideas into action. 

May you all have a safe, loving, inspired, and blessed New Year. Beso Maya