an introduction to shadows

we are all drawn to darkness. it shouldn't be a mystery why.

it has, since we were children, been attached to our feet

...to dance with.

GGC

party of two, hold the crayons

brunch at Nana's - one of the few places I feel at home eating outside mine

I have a confession:

I'm afraid of dining out. In a restaurant. With the kids.

... Not because our kids aren't well-behaved. The three (yes, three) times we've taken them out to dinner with us in the seventeen months since Fable was born, they've been awesome. They ate their food and played under the table sat in their seats and Archer colored on Hal's arm and Fable ate my lipstick and it was actually kind of lovely.

Still.

Twice in seventeen months is all I'm up for, because here's the (quite embarrassing, really) thing: I care what people think.

At least, I care what people think in restaurants and coffee shops when I can feel their eyes burning holes in the back of my head. And then I get awkward and weird and spill things all over myself. And then it's not the kids I have to worry about but my own neurosis - because all of a sudden I'm apologizing to everyone I see -even when there's nothing to apologize for - just in case something happens that might offend, annoy or put them off, and pretty soon I'M the one who's spilling food all over someone's lap...

More, here.

38/100

Here's one for dancing:

38. Suffer for Fashion by: Of Montreal

P.S. If you're a fan of this blog and want to show your support, please give ten bucks to this cause. Thank you much.

GGC

The first choice isn't always the right choice

...and no matter what, a grand adventure.

When I was applying to colleges, twelve years ago (omg. wtf?) I had my heart set on one school and one, alone. NYU was the only school I could picture myself attending, the only school I toured, the only school I HAD to get into.

And of course, because life is a mysterious genius, it was the only school that rejected me. In my rejection letter, it clearly stated that the overwhelming amount of applicants had to do with what they called "The Felicity Factor." The show Felicity (which took place at a fictitious University of New York) had just premiered to smash success, thus projecting NYU's applicant numbers into what far exceeded the norm.

I was crushed. I worked my ass off to be the kind of student NYU wanted - I stayed late after school every day to produce our school television show. I took all necessary AP classes. I had, at that time, published dozens of stories in a best-selling book series. And to top it all off? I wrote a killer essay. Screw So-Cal. I was brooding and creative. I smoked clove cigarettes and did poetry slams. I made cameo appearances on MSNBC thanks to my Chicken Soup* pseudo-fame. I worshipped Woody Allen.

None of those things mattered, of course. I got shitty SAT scores and sucked at Math and Science. It was far too competitive a year to be imperfect.

"If I don't get into NYU, I don't want to go to college!" I said to my mother, before tearing open my rejection letter, spending the next hours, days, even weeks feeling like my life was over, the end.

At the time, my parents just figured I was being dramatic.

Which I was. But also? Totally serious.

And even though I moved to Los Angeles to attend Loyola Marymount University in the Fall of 1999, I only spent one day on campus before deferring my admission for six months, and then, indefinitely.

Because college was not for me. Because I had a job offer to work as a book editor. But also, and perhaps most importantly to me at the time, I only had eyes for one University and it didn't have eyes for me back.

It sounds crazy, now. And idiotic. And WTF-inducing. But back then, my feelings were real, my decision, a no-brainer.

My (extraordinarily academic) family was as supportive as they could be - all of them thoroughly disappointed in me and my decision. It was clear they thought I was delusional which was probably true. But I was also confident in my decision and passionate about utilizing my rejection and taking a new road into unknown territory. And because of that? They stood by me -- dropped me off at the airport, waited for me at the arrivals gate when I came home.

I was able to do grand things with my college years. I spent four years traveling, taking night classes on subjects that interested me - worked amazingly bizarre odd-jobs, edited three books, wrote two more and spent my summers in Europe, floating from music festival to honeymoon hot spot, as a freewheeling photojournalist, all before I turned twenty-one. I was a force to be reckoned with. And all these years later, take great pride in what I was able to accomplish on my own.

I wanted desperately for plan A to work.

Decided Plan B was not for me.

Went with Plan C instead.

And it's been a grand, grand life. Full of opportunity and love, good people, interesting things, stimulating encounters with mentors and heroes and teachers of a different kind.

All of this to preface what happened last week:

Archer didn't get into our First (and really ONLY) choice for Charter School. The school we were supposed to have first -priority when it came to acceptance. The school every one on our street got into last year and the year before that and the year before that. But this year, the school received more applicants than it ever has before. So we got the #71st slot on the waiting list.

Which means... yeah.

And so?

Plan B: We take Archer out of school and travel the world.

Just kidding.

Plan B. We move. We move a few miles west or a few miles east, to where one of two decent public schools live. We put him in music programs outside of school (which we have already planned for this summer.) We provide him with incredible life experience, nurture his strengths, carry on. Play it as it lays, Joan Didion style.

People put a lot of pressure on their kids and themselves to get them into the right schools. The right preschools and charters, private schools and Universities ... So they can be the best and brightest and have every chance at amazingness. (Because, Hello!? We're their parents. We want them to have IT ALL!!!!)

But the truth of the matter is? A great education is about so much more than school. My genius of a little brother was educated in the mediocre California public school system and is now getting his PHD at Harvard. Me? I have a high-school education with the same resume as my Yale-alum friends.

So, no, my kids won't attend the very best schools. Because we didn't make the cut. Because we can't afford to pay 25k a year for kindergarten. But that's okay. Education is only a SMALL part of one's learning. Opportunity is about SO much more. It's about love and support and books at bedtime, it's about intellectual conversations over dinner and weekend trips to art museums. It's about exposing our kids to beautiful music, and poetry -- star-gazing with them during meteor showers -- hiking with them in the back-hills behind our homes. Volunteering with them in our communities. Motivating. Inspiring. Being there.

My parents were and still are my greatest educators, nurturers ... and that has made all the difference.

So, even though Archer didn't get into our first choice for school? I know that whatever will be will be.

Speaking from experience, I can say that all plans lead to a grand adventure. And if a worst case scenario means it's up to me to lead the expedition?

Well then. Forward ho!

GGC

*I was the lead contributor (as well as spokesperson, editor and ghostwriter) to the Chicken Soup for Teenage Soul books in my late teens and early twenties, contributing dozens of stories to the series as well as defending teenagers on various news outlets because let's be honest, the media gives teenagers the shaft, and I was like, "oh, hell no, robot. The children are the future!" Because, duh -- they are.