I made some things...

Anyway, I finished this 3-strand Roman glass. I like the simplicity of it, and the drama of having multiple strands of these small, ancient beads. 

Btw, anyone interested in visiting my shop (such as it is) can find it here. 

  

Also started playing around with some of the big African krobo and recycled glass. These are just on strong elastic chord, which makes them easy to wear, but for these chunkier beads I usually put them on nylon coated steel with a secure clasp. Anyway, these are mostly just "sketches," but I wear them like this quite a bit. 

I was on an endless Zoom call the other day and was just fiddling around with beads on a string while I listened. I looked up and saw I'd made this really interesting strand. The focal might be a bit too large for colors this delicate, but I'm liking the slippery, organic feel of it. We'll see...

 

This Ain't Your Taekwondo, BABY.

Am I Qigong-ing right...?

I woke up in my usual dysthymic funk, but two hours at tai chi and I walked out a different person.

Today we started with 30 minutes of Qigong that nearly broke me, which is a lot harder than it looks. After sweating like pigs doing that, we had 10 minutes to “dry our pits” as one old gal put it, and then it was right into the long form. The good news is that I started out strong: went through all my moves PERFECTLY fairly well up to where I’ve been taught (by Sifu anyway, wink, wink, I’m lookin at you, Bob) and then I belly-crawled in abject humiliation quietly made my way to the practice area. Sifu (his name is Dmitry, he’s Greek) was waiting there for me.

“Who taught you that last move?” He said.

“Which move?” I asked, locking a clear side-eye on Bob.

For twenty minutes or so, Dmitry walked me through the next steps in the form, practiced with me, corrected for balance and posture. I had a bit of a breakthrough when he said (first to me, and then more loudly to everyone because it's not already humiliating enough in a class of 15 there are about 12 of us from the same martial arts background), Dmitry said, in his Sifu voice: “Remember, those of you — this is not your taekwondo!”

It is really hard to do this in slo-mo, you guys. 

He’s been saying this for weeks, but for once it made sense. So much of what happens in taekwondo relies on momentum to carry the move through. This is not true with tai chi, where every move is very slow, very deliberate. There is momentum of a sort, but of a completely different nature.

I’ve been killing myself by tensing every muscle, by crouching too deep, by extending too far. It’s impossible to extend, crouch, tense as much as I’m doing at the slow pace of tai chi. You can’t “cheat” with forward momentum; it’s all about balance and control, baby.

Anyway, it was so much easier on my joints after that, the balance evened out and it felt really good. I’m looking forward to going on Tuesday.

The Path Must Not Be Confused For The Way

Really starting to like tai chi. Went to class this morning, saw everyone, quiet greetings all around. I did my warm ups and and started the moves off to the side by myself.

Kinda like this, but without the fog machine.

Sifu had the overhead lights off, as he usually does. It's been cool and cloudy here lately, with gusty winds. Only the watery light of the front window lit the space; the only sound was that of the wind coming in through the open door.

Cool air. A safe, quiet space with safe, quiet people. All of us there, but also not there. Not alone, but somehow, wonderfully, left alone. It's a vibe, a groove, a space.

I read a fortune cookie once that said, "The path must not be confused for the way."

I didn't know what it meant at the time, but it stuck with me. What it says to me now is that while there is a path to follow and steps to take, there is also the way in which we take those steps. I can follow the path in a way of chaos and resentment, or I can follow the path in a way of gratitude and serenity.

It has to be true, I read it somewhere.

There have been a lot of painful, humbling steps on my path to recovery and, if forced, I'll admit to my share of resistance, self pity and ego at each one. But if my path to recovery has been clear for some time, maybe tai chi is helping me find something else: my way.

How To Lose Support For Israel, John Hagee Edition

Clowns are scary.

.

Oh fer fucks sake. They've done themselves a huge disservice by letting the insufferable bigot John Hagee anywhere near it.

Anyone remember this!? 
 
Look, I get that Israel needs the continued support of American evangelicals, misguided as that may be. 

But there are better ways to reach that community than platforming malignant clowns like Hagee.
 
Having his smirking mug on this did exactly nothing to improve the optics of what's happening in Gaza.
 
Makes it worse, actually, by further alienating those who are starting to seriously question WTF Israel is hoping to accomplish by pounding more Palestinian hospitals into rubble. 

And no, I'm not saying the US did any better after the attacks of 9/11. Arguably, "our" decision to invade Iraq was at least as brutal and made even less sense. 

I guess I'm just sayin that I wish our species didn't suck so much, which seems kinda lame. 

I'm so tired of you all, and why does no one call me...!?

I don’t know what to do about my inability to engage with other people lately. I get calls. I get texts. I get emails. I can’t bring myself to respond to any of them. I haven’t responded to the former colleague who wants to have lunch. I haven’t responded to my nephew, even though yesterday was the anniversary of his father's  death from pancreatic cancer 13 years ago. It took me weeks to respond to an in-law's request, and I only did so, finally, because I’ll have to see them at Christmas. 

I’ve always been like this to some extent (would you like some Social Anxiety with your Dysthymia...?) but I seem to be getting worse with age. I simply can’t think of anyone I particularly need to talk to seem to bring myself to interact with other people these days. 

As in, like, anyone. About anything. Ever. Every day I am less and less capable of talking on the phone. At all. We can still text. For now. Maybe. 

This is perfectly normal, right?  

It doesn’t feel like anxiety. It doesn’t feel like depression. I'm on friendly terms with both, but this feels more like a simple coming to terms with the fact that everything in my life changed during Covid. Really. Everything.    

If I'm on my own for the rest of this life, then I’m also not beholden to anyone else’s agenda. For the first time in my life, I don’t have to return your fucking calls.

Here's a question: For someone who breaks out in hives from casual exposure to other humans, how am I now so popular? This week alone:

 

• Let’s have lunch to relive the former job! No. 
• Come work for us for free! No.
• Come run this zoom group for us! No.
• Come listen while I whine about my personal life choices for an hour! No.
• Come and make small talk with me until your ears bleed! No.
• Come with me to the laundromat, or while I sit in line at the DMV! No.
• Come lift this, move this, do this for me! No, no and no. 

I’m not available. I've been through some shit that I'm still trying to sort out, and I really just want to be left alone for a good long time. Maybe forever. What’s so hard about this to understand? 

The best part, of course, is that later I can feel sorry for myself that no ever calls me. 

See? It's a win-win!  

Saturday Night Blingshots

New beach bling listed in the shop today. 

I'm obsessed lately with these unusually small Krobo beads. African krobo beads are handmade and hand painted tube beads. They're usually big and bold and juicy, and everyone loves them. These are smaller, but just as bright and unique -- which makes them rather adorable IMO. 

Anyway, here a few samples: 

Navy blue & yellow African krobo with recycled glass

Multicolored African upcycled glass beads 

Stoneware blue krobo with copper patina,
amazonite tube beads, turquoise, ruby nuggets

I wasn't expecting all my feelz

I went to work yesterday for the first time in two months. As in, at my former job. I walked in expecting to be all smug and gloaty that they had finally come to their senses and realized that I alone could swoop in and save them. I was looking forward to feeling bullet proof in enemy territory. I was only supposed to be there for a couple of hours, brag about being retired, and leave.  

But then I got there and saw a bunch of tired, angry faces (things have not noticeably improved in two months) and heard the tense interactions between them, and I felt the pressure they’re under with this being the busiest time of year for the program, and now uncertainty about the grant funding being renewed. 

But I also saw something else: Relief. My former team was glad to see me, glad that I had come back (if only temporarily) to help figure out some things and help train the new kid they've hired.

Suddenly I was just so glad to see them. I’m not typically a fluffy, huggy, touchy-feely kinda guy. Too much weird touching as a kid, maybe, but I’ve never liked getting too sticky with my affections. But there we were, hugging like there’s no covid. I think there were even a few brief tears. They’ve been through a lot, my crew. Trauma may not be too strong a word, frankly. 

It took the wind out of any smug gloating over being retired. Srsly, wtf is wrong with me? I’d been there, I've felt their pain. The last thing anyone there needed was me striding in like I’m above their suffering now. 

So, no gloating, no bullshit. When our tearful reunion was over, we rolled up our sleeves and went to work. What was supposed to be a couple of hours of volunteer work stretched into the better part of a workday. When we were done, I had a sense that the mood had lifted a bit. There was a plan. Action steps. A way forward. They felt better. I felt better. 

Here’s a fact: The place still sucks, but my crew was a good crew and they're still suffering there. If the CFO of this agency is a walking, talking pile of conflicting personality disorders who lacks the skills necessary for human interaction, much less the chops to manage an organization -- well, that's not my team's fault. 

(Quick aside, the CFO there has no project, or people management skills. Zero. She should be working in the mail room, if that, and I frankly can’t wait to tell her so to her face. If I can somehow compel her to resign in a fit of bitter tears, my work there will be done.) 

Ugh. See? I can't help myself. Have I mentioned I can be a bit of a jerk? 

Pretty sure I'm a jerk.

Writing this dumb blog these last few months has revealed a few things:

• I’m kinda boring. My aspirations to become an “influencer” have been stymied by the fact that I don’t do anything. This suits me. If the rest of my days are spent stringing beads, railing at the news, and being slowly beaten to death at tai chi, I’m fine with that. But how many times can I write it? My vast readership deserve better (I think there are three of you, and I sincerely thank each of you for even your most tepid support.)

• I’m fairly odd. Again, that’s fine. I’ve made peace with it over the years, but I’m not sure how “relatable” a 61-year-old, not quite entirely cisgender obsessive gay guy with the interests of your average 16-year-old girl is to the average general-interest blog consumer? Case in point: I’m obsessed with making trifling fashion accessories of sparkly stones and a bit of string, while the world burns down around me. This is perfectly normal, right? It’s still fresh, interesting and engaging content, right? Right. 

• I’m actually kind of a jerk. I don’t say that in the affectionate, self-deprecating way. I mean it literally: Reading some of my own words here, I’ve come to realize: I can be a real prick. For someone who used to expend vast amounts of energy on being perceived as “likable,” for someone who was always a team player and all-round Swell Guy, I seem to be leaving a trail of hurt feeling and bitter tears behind me. I’m not a nice guy, there I said it. I have never been a nice guy. Sorry I coddled your feelings for so long, but I’m simply not in the appeasement business anymore. 

And, last but not least, I’m a total self-obsessed fucking narcissist. The world is ending, and all I can write about is me. 

Doing Good Things For Bad Reasons Is Still Good -- Right?

Got a call from the former gig yesterday. Look, for as disastrous as that place was is, I nevertheless really cared about my program. I spent two years at that dump trying to pull it out of a nose dive, only to have them let it crash and burn after I left. Now they're begging me to come back (pro bono, natch) to train the next batch of incoming suckers. 

They're absolutely required to do this or they'll lose about a quarter mil in grant money. I spent my last months there trying to tell them this. Now they have literally no one else to call. 

Any normal person would tell them to go pound sand.  

But here's the thing. The nobler more devious side of me wants to do it. Not to save the program -- we're way past that, I'm afraid -- but to settle old scores. 

The fact is, those bitchez made my life a living hell for two years. Now? Knowing that they desperately need me (this is actually true, and it's delicious), while also knowing I'm untouchable? That I need them like I need gum in my hair? 

Fine, I'll help them. But it turns out I have a big fat mouth and a bad attitude. I've got a few things to get off my chest and few specific people who need to hear it. 

I realize this probably isn't healthy. These aren't sound motives for becoming a volunteer for any cause. But moments of full, complete and utter vindication are rare in this life. If it makes me a smaller, meaner man to admit I'm doing a good thing for bad reasons, so be it. 

I'm going to relish every minute of it.

Cool Beads, episode #467

Jeezus, I'm never gonna finish all these listings. 

  

This blog has no focus, hey look --

 

...never mind. 

I need to find one of those online quizzes about Do I have ADHD, hey look...!

"... Just wanna write it all down, and rest for awhile."

I'm writing a book,
have I mentioned? 

Have you ever tried to tell your own story? Not just speaking your truth in the here and now, in the moment, but actually looking back and trying to weave the events of your life into some kind of cohesive narrative? 

It's like eavesdropping on your own conversation. It's like breaking into your own house. It's supremely self-conscious, in the way that all casual displays of public nudism are. It's a bit like writing a dumb, narcissistic blog about yourself, come to think of it.   

*    *    *

I’ve always had to write my thoughts down in order for them to be real. I had to get it down, to see things clearly  spelled out on paper. 

In that sense, I've always been a "writer." I was a blogger at heart before the Internet even existed. It isn’t hyperbole to say that when I was a teenager (yes children, there was a time lulz), that keeping that beat-up old paper notebook next to me was what kept me alive. Forty years later I still have most of them. 

Writing it down was how I learned to think things through. It helped me follow the rational thread forward, to stay the course, to find a way forward.

*    *    * 

 

If I haven't exactly written the next Great American Novel, I've still managed to land on the brighter side of "okay," and it was mostly the writing that propelled my careers. 

*Title reference

Writing is encoded into my DNA. Whether the words are seen by other eyes is completely irrelevant. I have digital reams of meaningless, unread drivel that I have to write myself every morning just to get out of the house. 

I write because it’s my  mechanism for thinking. It helps to still the neurotic and competing voices in my head. If I were in solitary confinement, I would probably scribble on the walls with my own blood. Not feces tho, I do have some standards and my writing isn't that bad.) 

But a book? Really? My people keep telling me it's time. 

I’m not even sure how to start. Baby steps. I have an outline; if I can’t start at the beginning, I’ll break into the story mid-stream. 

I will write this book. It’s not about publication. It’s about writing it all down while I’m here, capturing it all before I go. It doesn’t matter if this book says anything new, it doesn’t even matter if anyone reads it.

I need to write it all down. Dunno why. But write it I will.

 

 

Tai Chi Class: Can We Hurry This Up...?

Hi! 

Tai chi this morning, yay. I think it’s safe to say I’m at the “dreading it until I’m there, and then I like it” stage of this whole tai chi thing. 

Part of it is my typical social anxiety of walking into a room full of strangers and doing something badly that they’re all good at. It takes a 10-minute pep talk into my rear view mirror before I can even walk in. 

Not tai chi.

Part of it is that the classes are three fucking hours long. Is that draggy? Because it seems a little draggy after three hours, is all I'm sayin. 

But mostly it's just sheer laziness on my part. Tai chi at 9 AM, srsly…!? Savages.

  

Show Me The Money - Part Deux

Yes, it turns out.

(UPDATE: 

I can't leave everyone hanging: 

Apparently "it will arrive on the first of the month" actually means "it will arrive when we're damn good and ready" actually means it will land in your account somewhere within the first 5 days of the month. Good to know.  

But it raises an interesting point: When it's time for companies to collect money, they're right on top of it. When I signed up for Obamacare a few weeks ago, the insurance company  had my cash before we'd even hung up the phone.  When it's time for companies to pay you? Tut tut now, we can't be expected to turn it around in just 10 business days, my god man have you lost your mind!? 

Funny how that works, is all I'm sayin.)   

EARLIER: 

I’m completely freaked out mildly distressed that my first-ever 401K disbursement failed to appear in my bank account yesterday as planned. 

Hallooooo, 401K people? Did we not have an hour-long phone conversation some weeks ago setting all this in motion? WHERE MY MONEY!?!?!?!  

Needless to say, I’ll be on the horn with them the minute the sun comes up to find out where they sent my hard-earned money. My newfound life of leisure ain’t any cheaper than my life as a working stiff. It’s a sad fact that you can’t sit still in this world without hemorrhaging cash. 

I have bills to pay. Show me the money.

   

 

HaveI mentioned I hate writing Etsy listings?

 It's not them, it's me. For anyone with an attention span of longer than 8 seconds, Etsy makes it fairly painless. Anyway, I got a few things listed in the shop today: 

Mixed gemstone with 
Tibetan Copal pendant

...With Tibetan prayer wheel
charm

Lamp work focal bead...

And a few more things: 

Itallian red coral 
and seashell

I've started modeling. 

And a few more things: 

Me, modeling
2000 - 3000 year old beads!

That's seriously old, you guys.

Just doing some modeling over here. 

Roman glass ~1,000 years old

You get the drift...

I love these tiny stones! 

I'm a model, did I mention?

If you're still reading and interested in visiting the shop, you can find it here. It's a work in progress. Be kind.