tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17111603460298983462024-02-07T21:16:14.156-05:00360 MONTHScollected thoughts on turning 30.matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1711160346029898346.post-6916930717198643962021-04-07T08:40:00.005-04:002021-04-07T09:40:52.958-04:00480 Months: Turning 40 at the end of world (as we knew it)<p>This was supposed to be another zine. A zine, 10 years later, about turning 40. It was also going to chronicle this past decade of my life and provide a reflection on the 360 Months project, with an additional 120 months of wisdom to offer. </p><p>Part of that initial inspiration was to utilize the resources at the mostly empty office I go into on Thursdays. With the upper management and almost all of my coworkers logging on remotely these days, I would be able to print out 100 copies of my <i>480 Months</i> zine on the down low. Then I realized there would still be all the labor of assembling and distributing ahead of me. On top of that realization, things became complicated by an impending major life change as my 30's entered their final months (more on that soon). </p><p>So. In lieu of a zine you can hold in your hands on my 40th birthday, I simply offer this...</p><p style="text-align: center;">*</p><p>In March 2011, I began confronting the urgency of entering into a new decade by inviting others to share their thoughts on turning 30. I wanted to learn what my peers were experiencing and feeling on the cusp of that milestone which had no official rite of passage.<br /><br />"Many of us who are approaching the 3 decade mark are anxious about officially entering adulthood," I wrote in this invitation one month before my own birthday. "Others attempt to embrace this development. How we feel about turning 30 has a lot to do with the extent to which there is a disconnect between what our lives look like now and our own (and society's) expectations for this moment; how what we are doing measures up with what we wanted to be when we grew up."<br /><br />In less than 30 days, I received submissions of personal essays from 30 different people about turning 30. The stories and observations ranged quite a bit. While many of us focused on the innumerable challenges we had been navigating, there was still a hopeful thread connecting them all as we anticipated the some of the possibilities ahead. </p><p>But where are we now? How are we feeling about turning 40 as the world continues to reel, over 1 year into a global pandemic? </p><p>In one way, this past year has felt like a full decade. But at the same time, it just feels like April has finally arrived after the longest March ever. Spring is finally blooming again and some of us are starting to get vaccinated even as the world remains forever transformed by COVID. There is finally some hope even as we struggle to grasp the magnitude of this collective suffering and loss. </p><p>And my personal transformation which I alluded to earlier is that I am moving back to my home state! That's right, after 12 years in Philadelphia I'll be shipping up to Boston just a few weeks after my 40th birthday. I'm excited to live closer to my family in Massachusetts and to explore this city I honestly haven't spent much time in beyond bus layovers at South Station and punk shows in my youth. And I am happy to report that even though my 30's began with heartbreak they are ending full of love. I feel so much gratitude for this and for making it to 480 months in good health and with a supportive community that transcends city, state, and national borders. </p><p>So I'm feeling pretty good about turning 40 and continuing to embrace getting older. For me, it doesn't have quite the same urgency, surprisingly, as the existential dread of a decade ago. Should I be feeling anxious and deflated about being "over the hill" now? Should I feel regret for not "settling down" and starting a family? The dominant culture (shaped by systems like capitalism and hetero-patriarchy) sure would like us to all be paralyzed by such questions. </p><p>If I have learned anything from this past decade, and particularly this past year, it's how interconnected everything is and how important solidarity and mutual aid are in pointing toward a better world for us all. If we remain in our individualistic, competitive bubbles then our lives will be driven by scarcity and fear. But if we dare to build and learn with others for the common good then anything is possible. </p><p>Happy 40th to my peers and to a better future beyond the current society. š </p><p style="text-align: center;">*</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN6YHsFtI6enA-mC5BocPHx4YR1uqFJHE8IDq-Ms7LxPJI8ooOrf5GoJf3mheOET6PetroVWApbET9VDPYDQsyktkfLvl6qzf7UGQCEz05g2xSgFA5B-BWPsLAPiP2FqvJ1PpnH5qhyphenhyphenHw/s640/IMG_0175.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN6YHsFtI6enA-mC5BocPHx4YR1uqFJHE8IDq-Ms7LxPJI8ooOrf5GoJf3mheOET6PetroVWApbET9VDPYDQsyktkfLvl6qzf7UGQCEz05g2xSgFA5B-BWPsLAPiP2FqvJ1PpnH5qhyphenhyphenHw/s320/IMG_0175.jpg" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1711160346029898346.post-52561894600289960742013-04-24T12:17:00.001-04:002013-04-24T12:18:14.550-04:00360 Months: An Introduction<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtGF1eP4miE9TVch5aJBxmw7HEKkhT3LgwFcQ4dmC-A4Z3gx0mo8_wjsUf-kD-GlIFqSrlwQ0xM-JMRQ_YBYOizQ02xZ6ODbZk2Qp0FVPkNh0_EnI5ToP8drVAM9V12nvfRn42YBvA2sE/s1600/30.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtGF1eP4miE9TVch5aJBxmw7HEKkhT3LgwFcQ4dmC-A4Z3gx0mo8_wjsUf-kD-GlIFqSrlwQ0xM-JMRQ_YBYOizQ02xZ6ODbZk2Qp0FVPkNh0_EnI5ToP8drVAM9V12nvfRn42YBvA2sE/s320/30.png" width="240" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><em><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><b>A
zine about turning 30? </b></span></span></span></em><em><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">I
know. Perhaps it seems kind of trivial when placed in a global
context of war, climate change, austerity measures, and other
impending crises. How relevant would a similar book from 1981, at the
height of the Cold War, be today? I donāt know. But when I first
formed the idea of this project towards the end of 2010, every single
person I mentioned it to was enthusiastic about its potential. Our
lives matter.</span></span></span></em></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<em><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large; font-style: normal;"><br /></span></span></span></em></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><em><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Originally,
I was going to write up a short list of questions and then email them
to friends that I knew had turned 30 recently, or were going to in
the next year or so. Then I would compile the responses and have the
release of the zine as way to celebrate, and make sense of, my 30</span></span></span></em><em><span style="color: #333333;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">th</span></span></sup></span></em><em><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">
year on the planet. For months, I talked and talked and talked about
the concept, always eliciting positive feedback, andā¦just talked
some more. My birthday loomed and I was taking no concrete steps
toward make this project happen, until I realized how disappointed I
would be with myself if I didnāt go for it.</span></span></span></em></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<em><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large; font-style: normal;"><br /></span></span></span></em></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<em><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large; font-style: normal;">It
wasnāt until the beginning of March, with only one month left of my
20ās to go, that I finally did something. </span></span></span></em></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<em><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large; font-style: normal;"><br /></span></span></span></em></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><em><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Finally, I created the
360 Months blog and posted a call for submissions on March 5th: </span></span></span></em><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><i>What
is it that is most exciting or terrifying about this milestone to
you? How has the urgency of this looming birthday affected the ways
in which you have pursued your life goals, your dreams?</i></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Less
than 30 days later I had received 30 essays. How appropriate, right? </span></span>
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I
think another factor that pushed me towards actualizing the project,
beyond mere discussion, was my own personal circumstances. At the
beginning of 2011, my world was turned upside down as the
relationship that I moved to Philadelphia for 2 years prior started
to come to a close. On the cusp of 30, I was heartbroken, confused,
and prepared to move away and start overā¦well, where I came from.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">The
same week that those conversations began about going our separate
ways, a Bollywood movie was released called āTurning 30.ā It
documents the life, in a romantically comedic manner, of a 29 year
old woman in 21</span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">st</span></sup></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
Century Mumbai. She is on the path to a successful adulthood with a
solid career, an engagement, and happiness. Then, just before 30, she
loses everything only to put it all in perspective as she builds a
new life for herself. </span></span>
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">My
version of this was no doubt less comedically romantic but, despite
the heartache, my circumstances helped kick me in the butt and make
this project a reality. And in turn, the zine has helped me keep a
positive focus on new beginnings as I climb into this new era of my
life. </span></span>
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">What
you now hold in your hands owes everything to my amazing friends,
acquaintances, and mutual friends who took the time to think deeply
about what turning 30 means to them and then courageously share their
thoughts with the world. I thank you all for participating in this
experiment. I couldnāt have imagined this caliber of writing or
sincerity, humor or intelligence. You truly have made this a
successful project with your words of wisdom. </span></span>
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I
also want to thank my friends who have encouraged me along this
journey and also my family for their unconditional love. You guys
rule.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><i>360
Months</i></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
is dedicated to all of those thirty-somethings that are pushing the
boundaries. Youāre my inspiration. </span></span>
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Thanks
for reading!</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Matt
Dineen, April 2011</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1711160346029898346.post-35484720971569404312011-04-21T11:19:00.000-04:002011-04-21T11:19:44.550-04:0030 Days of 30: Sarah Berkowitz<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">Sarah Berkowitz is another one of those superheroes. Her contributions to the Wooden Shoe as treasurer, zine orderer, among other roles, have invaluably helped to make the collective what it is today. Sarah is one of the smartest and most inspiring activists I have met in Philadelphia. Hopefully one day weāll carve out some time in both of our busy schedules to finally make that Hole cover band, that weāve dreamed about for so long, become a reality.</span></i> <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"></span></i><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">---<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">This weekend I went to the Chicago Zine Fest. I left Philly around 3pm on Thursday and I drove through the night with my partner, Ryan. Iām 29 now. I have been involved in zines for about half my life. Many of the things that were important to me when I was younger are still a big part of my identity. Feminism, anarchism, veganism, social justice, reproductive rights have all been a pretty big part of my life for the past 10 years. These have been my anchors when everything else was in turmoil throughout my 20ās.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">I have been thinking about turning 30 for about a year. It is on my mind a lot. Especially because a lot of the things I am interested in attract younger folks. It feels good to have experience and to feel grounded in that experience. But sometimes I crave more peers my own age that are interested in the same projects I am interested in.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">When I was a teenager I never really thought about life after college. I had no specific goals of marriage or a full-time job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had little aspirations for life rituals. I spent a lot of my early 20ās crying and feeling sad. Things constantly felt hard- relationships, friendships, and jobs. I stayed in bad situations for too long. When I was 24 I got what I thought could be a dream job. I became manager at a Planned Parenthood surgical center. It was a nightmare. I felt lost. Every full-time job I had had after college wrecked me. I had no idea how to advocate for myself so I stayed miserable in horrible work situations. These patterns were mirrored in a lot of my personal relationships as well.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">I spent the second half of my 20s making drastic changes. I quit my job, went to therapy, traveled, spent summers biking around and swimming in fountains. I started staffing at the Wooden Shoe. I took risks, put myself out there and learned a lot of new skills. Eventually I morphed into someone that was pretty sassy and assertive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">I havenāt had a full-time job in 3 years. Iāve been taking classes to go back to school for nursing and working various part time jobs. I still feel weary about striving for a full-time career. I know that jobs are never going to be satisfying or fulfilling completely. I would choose not to work if I didnāt have to. What satisfies me the most are the projects I donāt get paid for. I like feeling connected to the things I have felt passionate for in my youth. I donāt want to give up my radical ideals. I feel a sense of pride that I am still connected to anarchism and feminism and vegetarianism. I have seen so many people give up on these things over the years. It can be really disheartening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">When I was 18, someone told me that one of the members of the band Submission Hold got a circle-A tattoo when he turned 30. I thought that was so cool! Everyone gets punk and anarchy tattoos when they first get into it but to get it when you are 30 means that you have sat with these things and let them become a part of your life. You are in it for the long haul.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">With that in mind, I have been planning to enter my thirtieth year with an event I have been calling 30 days of 30. I want to plan an event for my 30<sup>th</sup> year for 30 days around my actual birthday on Sept 28<sup>th</sup>. September tends to be a strange month and personally there have been some major losses around my birthday so I would really like to reclaim this time of year. I expect to use some of those days to get tattoos that I have been talking about getting for 10 years.</span></div><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">When I think about being 30, I finally feel like I am a grown up. I feel ready to buy a house and move in with a partner, to move across the country, and to think about having kids. When I was in college the first time I never cut class or took a lot of risks. I had a lot of insecurities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Iām an adult now, so Iām confident that cutting class to drive to Chicago for a zine fest to see a Q & A with Aaron Cometbus and Al Burian is the right thing to be doing with my weekend. Cometbus zine also turns 30 this year. It was comforting to hear Aaron Cometbus say, āSome people have kids, Iāve been doing a magazine for 30 years.ā It is ok to stick with what you know.</span>matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1711160346029898346.post-16730481262332363302011-04-20T10:57:00.001-04:002011-04-20T15:55:13.880-04:00Release: Tami Devine<i><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">The first year I lived in Northampton I used to go to the Smith College library to check my email. One day in the early fall I was sitting at one of the computers when I noticed a familiar face two monitors. Well, I wasnāt actually confident about the familiarity so I logged into Friendster (remember that?) and did a search for Tami Devine who, sure enough, had just started a grad program at UMass-Amherst. I came over and whispered a one word question: āBard?ā It was that moment that we became good friends since, although we sat in the same row at commencement with the other Dās, we never hung out in college. I miss Tami a lot. Her unique wit and elegance are almost from another era. Tami is one of a kind. </span></i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><i><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">--- </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">For those of you Class of ā99ers who are already thirty, Iām still 29, suckas! It will be that way until October, when Iāll join your pitiful ranks of over the hillers. The casual āchecking peopleās age outā and seeing where I stand has not left me. A lady on Judge Judy was a divorced mom of 3 at 22. My college buddy is a homeowner and mom at 30. My colleague is a 40 year old divorced mom looking for love on Match. My parents continue to evolve and seek enrichment in their employment and activities going on 60. These numbers, once so damning (remember the āoldā Bard students who were like, 26?), now seem such useless measurements. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Thirty meant something different to our parents, who probably had babies + a house + a wedding ring and all that jazz. Thirty seemed to be the arbitrary āIād like to married by...ā date when I was a youngster playing Barbies. In my child mind, like that would give me a whole decade to spread my wings and establish a career for myself GUFFAW!!!! The cruelty of it all, if little me could see me now! Iām Masters degreed-out now, sometimes a caricature of the overqualified & mortified crowd. Iām working similar jobs to those I worked before my fancy degree. But you all know the story. Weāre questioning it all. We want better. Some days I wonder why I didnāt go for my MRS degree ...hardy har. Like after all that angsty riot grrling, listening to PJ Harvey + reading bell hooks in coffeeshops, I like to think Iād make a pretty damn good SAHM. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">A few years ago one of the issues I was struggling with was that I didnāt feel like an āadult,ā and it was all tied up with how my parents kind of never let me be an adult. I wonāt bore you with all that now. But I kept going back to that fetal position. While my friends were spreading their wings I was like just dipping my feet in adult life through sublets and vacuous pursuit of internships. There was always a feeling of āif I fail, Iāll just move back home.ā I wasnāt really trying, I guess, the clicking life clock paralyzing me into a dull anxiety.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Well, while I wasnāt looking all that kind of Adultness happened to me. I stopped blocking my own life joy. Volleyball - Iāve loved you since age 12 - but art school and glam rock emo boyfriends made me feel like I was a dork for loving you. I got the courage to get out there + play because I LOVE IT. I got two cats, recently a dog, and all that āresponsibilityā I used to desperately dodge from, I now seem to crave. Iāve met my āKenā of sorts. That warm glow of family is hard to trade in for some of the ugliness of younger days. But I havenāt said āI doā; and maybe the absence of anything carved into marble is a relief.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">One night last summer, I pulled my car over to the side of Route 9 to remove a cat who was struck by a car to its woodsy grassy resting place. That *choice* of putting my compassion into action and experience the grief of the loss of life - whilst blocking traffic- was a poignant moment of connection to my adult self. Iāve had the mildest feeling that something pure and organic was flowing out of me - I didnāt feel like I was trying to be someone else. Iām hoping for the next decade to put that feeling of connection to my true self - and what I believe to be REAL in this world- into action less seldomly. I donāt want to be the passer-by.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">āReleaseā has been my mantra over the past year, and Iāve felt really strongly like I am shedding skin, shedding stale friendships that no longer nourish me, holding me back in their superficiality. There are those who will be left behind in a cloud of smoke, never to be seen again, except in facebook land. As will you tooāleft behind as people move on, past you.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">We couldnāt have imagined it back then, but this is what thirty looks like. I think Iām doing all right...and so are you.</span></div>matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1711160346029898346.post-3388432132184349162011-04-19T12:53:00.002-04:002012-06-09T13:39:08.862-04:00Not Too Old for the Hostel: Lia B.<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">I met Lia B. through the Wooden Shoe, but only briefly. The last time I saw her was actually on her 30<sup>th</sup> birthday in Center City Philadelphia. It was late February of this year, and I had just left a labor solidarity rally across from city hall with a couple other friends from the Shoe. We ran into Lia as she was leaving the building where she works for a much-needed break. We wished her a happy birthday and James told her about my project. Lia seems like a great person with a committed passion for both animal and human liberation, and adventure.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">I had always figured by 30 years old I would be tired of the shenanigans that defined my youth, but it seems like not only am I not tired of it, I donāt know how to out grow it. I have a somewhat serious job. I have an amazing little bulldog mix that I have miraculously kept fed and homed for 3 years, and a completely disgusting collection of travel souvenirs that I really should just get rid of (would anyone want a sand "snow" globe from morocco, or a volcanic rock from Iceland?). But while I am proud of my work ethic, alcohol tolerance, cooking skills, and dog mommy-ing abilities, does that really fit the popular conceptualization of "adult"? Somehow I doubt it...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Recently when on my 5th stay in Barcelona I wondered out loud to the friends I was traveling with, "When are you too old to stay in a hostel?" We looked around and saw young tattooed Irish guys puking into garbage pails, various Barca soccer fans - fresh off the Malaga win- running through the hostel screaming for their team, beautiful college girls from Portugal shrieking from the sight, and random fornicators making everyone feel awkward. My two friends said out loud, "Should we have just paid for a hotel?" I felt comfortable and at home in that environment, but it made me stop and think: Adults donāt stay at places like this. Am I going to be that odd 50 year old women, still going on vacation with a back pack and vans, looking for squats somewhere, carrying powdered soy milk and a stash of cliff bars? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">My parents worry about me. They ask me when I'm going to get married, constantly. They ask me when I'm going to buy a home. When am I going to "settle down"? When am I going to wear clothes that match? When am I going to look back and realize that all of this procrastinating on "growing up" has stultified my life? Donāt I want to accomplish these "goals" society/ my parents/ my peers have all accepted as the norm? Or do I want to dust off my backpack, put my sneakers on, and ride my bike around Cambodia this fall? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">30 to me, right now, is self actualization. My life has been a quirky, awkward journey, filled with music, passion, rage, food, alcohol, metrocards, passport stamps, broken bones, and soy products. I have been so lucky to be surrounded by loving friends and family at every turn. Maybe I donāt want to be the weirdo who is "too old for the hostel" but I definitely want to keep my adventurous spirit. I donāt think growing up means giving up, settling for anything, or ceasing to have fun, but I do think the expectations associated with growing up do not work for me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">At 30 I have accomplished more than I could ever imagine, and done things I have only dreamed of. I have kept my priorities of social justice and animal rights, and even while working in a capitalistic industry, I have remained true to myself and to my work, conducting business with an honest candor that might not be as commonplace as it should. I have been realizing that while I am older and hopefully wiser, I donāt have to change myself to fit my birthday. Maybe I will never "grow up" as most people imagine, but I will always be changing, learning, and enjoying as much as I can. </span></div>matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1711160346029898346.post-30951016054652176932011-04-18T10:58:00.000-04:002011-04-18T10:58:21.195-04:00Falling Short of Fourth: Kristin Bott<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">When I was in fourth grade, my (fabulous) teacher, Ms. Dearing, had a "Shine On" board, which would highlight a different student every week. Everyone in the class would write a note, scrawling something positive about you and cover it in well-intentioned crayon. You would fill up the board with important pictures and "About Me"-type worksheets.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">One of these worksheets asked you to draw a picture of you five, fifteen years from "now." In careful Crayola marker, there's a picture of me in my late 20s, which looks strikingly like the rendering of me when I was 15, which is closely related to "me now" at 10. Except: when I'm older, I am standing next to a marker-man, in front of a misshapen marker-house, and I feature a seriously pronounced butt. (Apparently I knew that girls' butts get bigger as they age. Dear fourth-grade me; they're called hips, please.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">By fourth-grade metrics - I'm quite behind on my timeline. I hit 30 next week - and unlike many of my friends and peers, I lack both house and spouse. (The hip-size predictions, though, are spot-on. We're a sturdy people...)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">It has been a bit strange to watch the rest of the pack pull away in various senses, engagements announced and houses purchased, pregnancies heralded on the book of face and pictures of little wrinkly-old-men-looking babies triumphantly shared after the big day. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">My peers have partners, kids, careers. I was always one of those kids who kept up with front of the class... and now there are days when I feel impossibly behind. All the loveable ones are married. All the serious ones have houses. All the dedicated ones have children. All the focused ones have Job Plans.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Kristin... you're doing it wrong?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">But, wait. In between donning bridesmaids dresses and making plans for sewing baby bibs, I've managed to do some things. One and a half graduate programs and some number of stints as a research scientist (field and lab, both). I've been a science educator, labor organizer, non-profit Jill-of-whatever-you-need. Four states of residence since leaving my native Idaho; in each, I've gone from knowing nothing/no one to having community and some "sense of place."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Yes, there have been some number of honest attempts at long-term committed relationships (my own mother "can't keep track of them anymore"... thanks, Mom), with n-1 that have reached the end of their best-functioning term. And, not uniquely, one of the "ends" includes a messy Saturn's return timeline; just before I turned 28, I moved in with my guy-for-life and was teaching college full-time. Six months later, I had gone through a horrendous break-up/move-out and was concurrently working four part-time jobs - it was awful. By the time I turned 29, I had settled into one full-time job and fallen in with a new, fabulous partner (who is still around and still fabulous).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">There are moments of panic, when I realize how behind I am - losing at the spouse game, the property contest, the job of producing and/or raising children, of having a single, focused career. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">But there are also moments of satisfaction, sitting in my studio apartment, looking out over my home city and over at the mountains, or brewing beer/cooking dinner/gardening/traveling with my guy - where I can't quite imagine doing this any other way.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Hello, 30. You're huge, you're looming, you are impending doom and horrible bouts of navel-gazing. You are a reminder of all of the things I Am Not Doing That I Should Be Doing.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">But... you also look suspiciously like other things I've seen before. Like other gigantic impossibilities, summiting Mt. Hood or running a half-marathon, job searching in a horrible economy or completing a difficult graduate program, that were overcome with a simple, calm, one-foot-in-front-of-the-other-with-a-sense-of-purpose approach. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Maybe you're actually just another year, and your significance is an artifact of our base-10 number system. I'm with <a href="http://360months.blogspot.com/2011/03/climbing-up-hill-pamela-roy.html">Pamela</a> on this one - there's a lot ahead, and you're just the start.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Dear 30, you don't get to make me feel behind. Dear 30, I'm doing everything exactly as I should be, including all of the rough spots and bad episodes. Dear 30, I still don't know what I'm going to be when I grow up or whether or not a house, kids, dog, spouse is/are in the plan. But, dearest 30, that's how this is going to work.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">And - dear fourth-grade me, I'm sorry to let you down. But, with all due respect, ten-year-olds have a somewhat poor track record of accurately predicting the future.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">---</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Kristin grew up in southern Idaho, a land filled with sagebrush and Republicans. She's lived, worked, and studied in western Montana, southern Arizona, and mid-Michigan, where she met Pamela Roy. When not busily failing to produce children, land a spouse, or purchase real estate, Kristin rides her bike early and often, brews beer, reads books, cooks good food, and maintains a decent garden. She works at a non-profit in Portland, where she lives with three houseplants, four bikes, and multiple rain jackets; you can find her tales of bikes, beer, and breakfast at: <a href="http://bikingpotato.blogspot.com/">http://bikingpotato.blogspot.com/</a>.</span></i></div>matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1711160346029898346.post-27867455044115999142011-04-15T09:57:00.000-04:002011-04-15T09:57:43.140-04:00Things it took me until 30 to learn: Monica Elkinton<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Two memories stick out when I think of Monica Elkinton; one during college and one from after we graduated. The first was on āPi Day,ā (3.14) 2003. In addition to being a political activist, Monica was a mathematics major at Bard and invited me to the Math Clubās Pi(e) Party that day. I delightfully ate as many pizza slices and fruit pie as my body could process. I maintained a friendly conversation with Monica as her peers looked at me with scorn as a party crasher. </span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Then the following year, Monica and I both found ourselves in Madison, Wisconsin. I had moved there to immerse myself in the cityās legacy of post-capitalist counter-institutions, while she arrived later to intern at the stateās supreme court for law school. The day after Bush was re-elected Monica invited me to see a Beasties Boys concert, to dance away the inevitable sorrows of the ensuing four years. This is all to say, thank you. She is now a public defender in Alaska, continuing to change the world.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">---</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">1. Every day is a blessing.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">2. How to buy a house. And what the heck mortgage insurance is.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">3. Turns out staying up all night debating philosophy is not a good quality in a romantic partner after all. Doing the dishes and supporting me in my decisions is way better.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">4. A taste for very dry wine.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">5. That I could be dropped in any city in the world by myself, and make a good adventure out of it. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">6. That everyone else is just as scared as I am.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">7. The best way to be a friend is to listen.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">8. The second best way to be a friend is to have been there. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">9. How to invest, and what I will need to retire. (Whoa. Yes.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">10. That if you like your job, then overtime and weekends mean nothing. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">11. There is more to you than your job or career.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">12. Email, twitter, and facebook can never make up for phone calls and visiting people in person. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">13. One-night stands don't make you feel very good.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">14. Healthy food actually does. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">15. And sleep. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">16. Greasy food and beer make your stomach hurt. Maybe that's because it's bad for you.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">17. That my parents were making it up as they went along. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">18. To buy a slightly used car: not a new one, and not a clunker.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">19. That you can try to alter your attitude with whatever chemicals you want, but the people that love you, love the sober you. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">20. Being around family is important.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">21. That joining the Board means you'll be expected to give a large donation.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">22. That I am not an athlete, and that I never will be. Some of us just can't move that way. The closest I will get is to dance. Mostly to folk music. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">23. Little kids are awesome. And that we have so much to learn from those younger than us.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">24. If making art or music is what you need to stay sane, then for God's sake, do it, even if you're not someone else's idea of āgoodā at it. If you have fun, and it colors your world, then you're good enough. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">25. That I love living in a racially diverse community. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">26. With the right time commitment, you are capable of learning any skill you want to learn. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">27. How to live on your own time frame. Your urgent doesn't have to be someone else's urgent. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">28. Sharing a meal with loved ones is simply the best thing to do. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">29. We are all human.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">30. All humans respond to a smile from another human.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1711160346029898346.post-70882647834214792272011-04-14T11:16:00.000-04:002011-04-14T11:16:53.313-04:00The 30 Gland: John Biando<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">I wish I knew John Biando better at Bard. We didnāt have any classes together or belong to any of the same student groups or anything so I had to wait until after we both moved to his hometown of Philadelphia to become friends. I recently had the pleasure of attending Johnās 30<sup>th</sup> birthday party where German cuisine and drinks were consumed in honor of this solid human being. In addition to being a creative writing Master (literally), John is a talented artist in the mediums of digital illustration (see below) and Halloween-themed food creation. </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">Check out his Philly sports blog Crying Eagles, Noble Turkeys, Red Glares at: <a href="http://nobleturkeys.blogspot.com/">http://nobleturkeys.blogspot.com/</a>.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"></span></i><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">---</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">Beautiful Josephine was the most depressed dog at the pound six months ago. I wanted a three-legged dog and Josephine had four, but after a troublingly toothy encounter with tripedal Tony, I settled on bashful and beautiful Jo. She was priced to move at three cents a pound. Some of those pounds were intestinal worms.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9o1ydXAQjZDg_yxbxe7mql_W8NYuQMxnzEzo31tztxuxDHTi8l6hD3Ds-2pBNm2tagMZn-qrYhfEMXmVJ8_nN_iCyUs1RNDk9bZNHhgW52zjJ9Ncm7q52mvT4SlmYNw3Rwag1viw6Yzk/s1600/biando%2527s+cold+discovery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9o1ydXAQjZDg_yxbxe7mql_W8NYuQMxnzEzo31tztxuxDHTi8l6hD3Ds-2pBNm2tagMZn-qrYhfEMXmVJ8_nN_iCyUs1RNDk9bZNHhgW52zjJ9Ncm7q52mvT4SlmYNw3Rwag1viw6Yzk/s320/biando%2527s+cold+discovery.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">Little sleeper cells of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">U. stenocephala</i>. They caused a lot of abdominal unrest in Beautiful Josephine. But since nobody knew about the hookworms, everyone assumed that the unrest was just Josephineās disposition, that the dog was just a farter.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">I didnāt know if I could live with Josephineās gas. I got a dog, a depressed dog, because I was depressed and I thought a depressed dog and I could help each other work things out. Her effluvium set a more or less constant dark, choking, overwhelming tone to our time together. It was embarrassing and undignified to be 29, unemployed, and struggling with an unseeable sickness. It was embarrassing and undignified to be 29, unemployed, and struggling with an ethereal emanation. This confluence of smells and feelings felt almost unconstitutional. It felt like double jeopardy.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">While we coped with Josephineās aromas, she developed another affliction. She got very itchy. She started to scratch herself raw. I took her to the shelterās veterinarian. He thought it was seasonal allergies. Allergies are just as impalpable as depression. I took her to the University of Pennsylvania Veterinary Hospital. Theyāre very thorough. I wanted a cure.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">As the Ivy League Veterinarian greased up Josephineās finger, she talked about how she swore sheād never express a dogās anal glands again when she finished Vet school. She complained that anal glands were an evolutionary dead end, that there was no reason for them anymore. She said this as she milked a juice out of Josephineās butt that made me yearn for our salad days of smothering toots. They smell of anal gland fluid is deeply wounding. It smells like a sweating metal hinge on a coffin filled with decaying possum meat.<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=1711160346029898346#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">[1]</span></span></span></span></a></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">I donāt know that anal glands are indisputably unnecessary, but it sure seems like theyāre at a wooly mammoth-meets-tarpit moment in history. Cursory internet research indicates that dogsā anal glands are used to mark territory, show fear, and help with identification. Todayās dogs donāt live a life in which a trailing scent is very important. They sleep in our beds. They have to eat diet pet food. They take Yoga classes. There just isnāt much occasion, or, at least, proper occasion, for anal gland dispersal in a dogās daily life. If we can just get dogs off anal glands and on android apps, well, I feel like there can be a pretty seamless transition from funky to 4G. Because itās untoward to anally juice up oneās own Yoga mat.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">Iām 30 today, and Iām seeing parallels between Beautiful Josephineās anal glands and what it means to enter oneās third decade. Thirty is an identifier, one so potently sensible it might as well be a glandular secretion. Culturally, 30 marks territory and is a display of fear. Thirty squirts in an upward trajectory and the display is a fearful one in that itās going to land hard and rottenly. Thirty means the pressure of getting somewhere, knowing that oneās deeds will echo in Bingo Valhalla. Thirty makes a statement. A very fetid statement.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">So I have to ask. Should 30 be going the way of Beautiful Josephineās anal glands, which should be going the way of the tin can and string? Today, on my 30<sup>th</sup> birthday, my answer is: no. I donāt want 30 to be a useless nozzle in my rectum; I want it to be important. Thatās why I prefer to think of 30 as a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mysterious</i> nozzle in my rectum. Letās leave it alone in there and let it be some kind of third eye, a pineal gland, the āseat of the soulā as Descartes might say. The 30 gland isnāt something to be expressed by a Veterinarian. No good ever comes of squeezing something dry.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">Without the outside pressure, malodorous 30 is like my Beautiful Josephine, ringing me in blithe circles when I come home to her.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">Josephineās worms are all dispatched, by the way, and her intestinal tract doubles as a life model for Master Cleanse classes. She and I enter our 30s together. Weāre working on our happy chops. Weāre letting ourselves get there. Weāre getting there.</span></div><div style="mso-element: footnote-list;"><br clear="all" /><hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" /><div id="ftn1" style="mso-element: footnote;"><div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=1711160346029898346#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Garamond", "serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">[1]</span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: x-small;"> If you ever want to experience a facsimile of canine anal gland odor, and you live in the Philadelphia Area, go to the foyer of the Target on Aramingo Avenue. Iām not sure how it happened, but it smells exactly like Josephineās anal glands.</span></div></div></div>matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1711160346029898346.post-15399316094242853512011-04-13T11:04:00.001-04:002011-04-13T11:06:36.399-04:00Otherness in a Borderless Land: Jessie Clark<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">Jessie Clark is one of those people in Philadelphia that I wish I saw more often. We do run into each other on a fairly regular basis at the Wooden Shoe, but usually just in passing. Jessie exudes that rare combination of creativity, friendliness, and intellect and after one conversation you feel like youāve known her since high school. Check out Jessieās amazing artwork and writing online at: <a href="http://thejessicaclarkshow.com/">http://thejessicaclarkshow.com/</a></span></i></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">---</span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">30 is an odd (though even) age, indeed. It is here that youthful, hope-doused exuberance meets bruise-y dark circled exhaustion, with small, well-meaning hand extended. I imagine the door to 30 stands upon a great precipice overseeing the deep & inevitable abyss that is aging, an aging of the italic, bold, underline variety. Suddenly full-fledged adolescents have sprung forth in that span of time between the not-so-long-ago & us. How could this have come to pass? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">One day a few weeks ago whilst standing with thumb extended in artistic concentration (because thatās how it works, reallyā¦) to the drab, drudging drones of National Public Radio, the speakers spat forth one shining & gold-tinged thought-nugget effectively absolving the dull pretentiousness preceding it. Kurt Anderson, host of Studio 360, was in the process of interviewing Jennifer Egan on the topic of her then-upcoming novel <i>A Visit From the Goon Squad</i>. Author and interviewer had just broached the subject of aging. According to Egan, <i>ā¦Goon Squad</i> addresses issues of age and nostalgia by way of the pop-culturally acceptable medium of music. As I have not read Eganās novel, I can neither confirm nor deny the veracity (or success) of her claim. It is a statement Egan made while referring to this particular aspect of her novel that this long-winded set-up seeks to focus upon. In youth, āoldā is seen as āOther,ā Egan says. This feeling of otherness is held well into adulthood until, one day, it realized that it might just be the case that āoldā is āOtherā no longer. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijwvkuATxmy2qUykumr9JGBQlWv9gsPYXFdCAOXuAT0mE3ctsk74ItXrTgMsyR7XNFOB2qW-T7H2fOLwj8WpQ2KvlP9p3qVIrpxEXJUX8jFsxNS5DX2gxwdmnVG39t6VVGU2HvF5MUV78/s1600/jessiepaint2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="244" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijwvkuATxmy2qUykumr9JGBQlWv9gsPYXFdCAOXuAT0mE3ctsk74ItXrTgMsyR7XNFOB2qW-T7H2fOLwj8WpQ2KvlP9p3qVIrpxEXJUX8jFsxNS5DX2gxwdmnVG39t6VVGU2HvF5MUV78/s320/jessiepaint2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">This sort of āothernessā is especially intriguing when taken in conjunction with that āOtherā of fiction, fairy-tales, and fables alike. The literary āOtherā often appears to its counterpart (the subject) as a metaphysical monstrosity. It is perceived to have dastardly designs on the unlucky & seemingly innocent twin, and so it comes to pass that the subject becomes obsessed with the elimination of this sickening and familiar wraith. Should the subject succeed in striking a mortal blow, s/he dies in turn (an unforeseen consequence). This Other effectively acts as an externalization of the Subjectās poorer qualities. Once made visible (corporeal), the Subject is sickened, wanting nothing more than to smash these personal failings made physical. However, since Subject and Other are one and the same, death for one means death for both. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">This creates a rather potent metaphor once applied to the process of aging. On one hand Old-Age stands like a camp, flaps open to all new/old-comers, a place with borders. Youth is surrendered to this blue-veined & wrinkled shelter. On the other, Youth and Age exist with simultaneity as with the Subject and its Other. Past self and Present self coalesce with little distinction and no means for escape except at oneās own peril. Perhaps a Future self is likewise in the mix, in the form of glittering possibility and/or gloomy, liver-spotted doom. In my estimation, it is this borderless land that speaks best to the age of 30. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">About two/three months after my thirtieth birthday, my sister had her first child (my first niece). As I hold her now (a 7 month old bundle of slobbery giggles), I become starkly aware of those childhood photos wherein my aunts held me in much the same posture. 31 years and far-less corduroy later, a Clark-family motion is repeated. Rather than simply accentuating my new-found-feelings of age, these photos reveal the youth of my relativesāthen and now.</span></div>matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1711160346029898346.post-72304578069869099392011-04-12T09:29:00.000-04:002011-04-12T09:29:30.803-04:00My Next Thirty Years: kelly shortandqueer<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Was it 2004? Or maybe 2005. I met kelly shortandqueer at the Madison Zine Festival the year that I lived there. I remember carrying in boxes of zines with kelly and being struck by how friendly and outgoing he was. I think the last time I saw kelly in person was a few years back now, in Boston, when he was on tour with the Tranny Road Show. Recently, we worked together to organize an event at the </span></i><a href="http://denverzinelibrary.org/"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Denver Zine Library</span></i></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> with artist Cristy Road. In addition to helping to run the zine library, kelly continues to do his long-running zine </span></i><a href="http://shortandqueer.com/zines/"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Short and Queer</span></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">. </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">One of my closest friends over the past few years is 48 years old. Heās been with me through some hard times, lending an ear and helpful feedback ā both validation and challenging me to look at my responses with a new perspective. I canāt even count the number of times heās started a sentence with, āYou probably donāt want to hear this, butā¦ā Each time, Iād have to stop him and assure him that I know heās going to give me some push back and if I didnāt want to hear it, I wouldnāt have called him. Often, the end of that sentence would relate in some way to my young age. It never felt like he was expressing ageism. On the contrary, Iāve been grateful for his willingness to share his experiences and wisdom with me. Iām conscious of my own social location in terms of identity development and figuring things out. I know itās likely that in the future, Iāll look back on where I am now, understanding a whole lot more about the world and have a different perspective of my own, yet again.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Iām turning 30 in about three months and am beyond excited. Maybe this excitement was influenced by my momās joy in aging (I remember she called 44 and 55 her power years). Maybe itās because Iāve been spending more and more time with people older than me, specifically older LGBTQ folks in square dancing and two-stepping contexts. These folks have been models for me in several ways. Many of them have created chosen families that have provided support over many years. Theyāve been through so much in their combined lifetimes that Iām continually impressed by the love and joy they share with the world despite hard times, crises and heartbreak. Itās also great to be surrounded by older folks who are confident, desirable and sexual. When I think about people who dread turning 30 (or more generally getting older), specifically around perceived attractiveness, I want to introduce them to my friends who have seemed to figure out how to age gracefully (physically, emotionally, spiritually, etc).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">A pattern, which I hope continues, is that the older Iām getting, the more things seem to be calming down. I feel more confident, comfortable and flexible. I still have adventures and late nights out dancing. Iāve found a balance between stability and spontaneity ā at least a balance that works for me right now. I think that Iāve made it through my Saturn Return in one piece and have found that the most effective nursing for those bumps and bruises along the way has been living with intention and integrity.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">As a trans guy, Iāve always looked young for my age. For years, Iāve had people constantly telling me how much Iāll appreciate it when people tell me how young I look in the future. That may be true, but Iām also excited about getting older, having my presence and looks reflect my age. I canāt wait to have eye crinkles (crowās feet) that physically demonstrate the joy I experience in life from years of smiling so much. As a sucker for salt & pepper hair, Iām excited to have some gray of my own start coming in. Since starting testosterone in 2005, my physical appearance is starting to catch up with my age and I couldnāt be happier.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">For the past year, whenever anyone has asked how old I am, my response has been, āIām 29ā¦ and turn 30 in June.ā My plan for my birthday, which I hope to pull off, is 30 days of 30. The question now is what a reasonable 30 days of celebration looks like. I think itāll include cooking with friends, lots of two-stepping, laying in grass, margaritas, slumber parties, game nights and discussions about how to create a loving community that honors age and experience and how we, as queer and trans people, will age together, learn from each other and share in each otherās lives. For now, Iāll keep listening to Tim McGrawās My Next Thirty Years and figure out what I want those years to look like in my own life.</span></div>matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1711160346029898346.post-9110898700643180842011-04-07T14:38:00.002-04:002017-02-17T16:00:13.435-05:00The Embrace of 360 Degrees: Matt Dineen<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><em>The 360 Months zine is here! Replete with the stunning cover art by my sister </em><a href="http://sarahdineen.com/"><em>Sarah Dineen</em></a>,<em> it contains 30 essays by 30 people sharing their thoughts about turning 30--in 72 pages. If you are in Philadelphia, come check out the zine release event at </em><a href="http://woodenshoebooks.com/"><em>Wooden Shoe Books</em></a><em> at 704 South Street at 7:00 pm. </em></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial";"><em></em></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial";"><em>Here is my essay from the zine in honor of today, my 30th birthday. Enjoy! Also, check back next week for the rest of the essays. I'll start posting the remainder on Tuesday. Thanks for reading!</em></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Life really does come full circle sometimes. I guess this is no surprise since our lives are not single linear journeys of constant progress. We are on a continuum that ebbs and flows and our personal histories often have the pesky tendency to repeat themselves. Our current selves are an amalgamation of all of our ups and downs, and the journey weāre on is a complex one. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On the cusp of 30, I feel like Iām 15 again. Half a lifetime ago I spent the summer washing dishes at Nonnieās Country Kitchen in Orleans, MAāmy first job. I was paid under the table, in cash, to scrape the remains of chocolate chip pancakes larger than my face, scrub lipstick stains off coffee mugs, and listen to the classic rock station that the sexist cook would sing along to all morning. It feels like yesterday. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Actually, it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i> yesterday.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I arrived at my new job to discover an envelope in the back room with my name scrawled in full-caps: <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">MATT</b>. It contained a (small) pile of 20 dollar bills for my previous week of labor. After counting the bills, I stuffed the envelope in my backpack, grabbed a glass of ice water, and squeezed into a fresh pair of bright-yellow dishwashing gloves. Something was different though. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Instead of elderly retirees filling Nonnieās counter (and inhaling her second-hand Lucky Strike smoke), there were tables full of people gazing into laptop computers, sipping lattes and eating pasta salad. Instead of AC/DC and Van Halen on the transistor radio in the back, Modest Mouse and Arcade Fire were playing on an iPod through the surround-sound speakers of the cafĆ©. Everything has changed. But as I stood in front of the industrial sink scrubbing lipstick off a coffee mug it hit me that, actually, everything has stayed the same. In one week, I will be a 30 year old dishwasher with a college degree. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">How has my life reverted to this, 15 years later? </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It would be pretty easy to wake up on the morning of my 30<sup>th</sup> birthday in despair that my life is not going anywhere; paralyzed by an internalized classism, making me feel like an utter failure of a human being. Luckily, I have dedicated a lot of my time since school to analyzing, rejecting, and documenting alternatives to the dominant culture that defines people by what they do for money, first and foremost. I have spent more than half of a decade now interviewing activists and artists about the dilemma of following their passions, doing what they truly love, while surviving in a cutthroat capitalist society. So I have thought about this stuff a lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Over the years, when people I meet ask me, āWhat do you do?ā the answer is always complicated. āWell,ā Iāll reply. āIt depends what you mean.ā We are all so much more than our wage jobs. We are complex, multidimensional creatures. And this should be celebrated. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As I approach 30, I think back to that requisite thought exercise throughout many of our childhoods: āWhat do you want to be when you grow up?ā </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Is this it? Am I grown up now? At one point, I wanted to be a professional baseball player. Apparently I told my mother (who was 29 when she had me) that I would become rich as a Major League star and buy her a house. She lovingly reminds me of this broken promise every now and then. Sorry mom! </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It has been essential for me to talk to people who have spent their lives redefining what success meansāprioritizing happiness and community over the accumulation of wealth and power. This is also true of the aging process. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In my mid- to late-20ās it was really inspiring to talk to people in their 30ās who were truly embracing getting older. Actually, I have found that if you ask people who have passed the 30 year milestone, almost across the board they will talk about how much better life is than in their 20ās. So why is it then that many twenty-somethings in our society are so scared of this moment?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I wear a pin on my jacket that reads: āGrowing up is awesome!ā The person that created (and gave me) this pin explained that it was in response to the popular subcultural slogan: āGrowing up is giving up.ā</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In a culture that fetishizes youth and perpetuates āglory daysā mythology, that teaches us to fear and misunderstand the natural cycles of life, embracing oneās 30ās is a radical act.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The vision I have for my 30ās is to actualize all of the things that I talked about doing in my 20ās. I want to take inspiration from, and further cultivate, the best aspects of my youthful past. Simultaneously, I want to learn from the mistakes Iāve made, the low points of my personal continuum. This is not to say that it will be easy or that history wonāt continue to occasionally repeat itself. My life will inevitably come full circle once again, but I am hopeful for what the next 360 degrees holds for me. Turning 30 is awesome. I am not giving up.</span></span><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Matt Dineen lives in Philadelphia, where he turned 30 on April 7, 2011.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Contact him at: passionsandsurvival(at)gmail(dot)com</span></span></span></i></div>
matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1711160346029898346.post-72187083121221815312011-04-05T09:23:00.000-04:002011-04-05T09:23:36.795-04:00The Deciding Incisor: Lauren Johnson<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">I became friends with Lauren Johnson during our final semester at Bard College. Two days after our graduation she gave me a tour of her hometown of Great Barrington, MA and the campus of Bardās baby cousin, Simonās Rock. Great Barrington just happened to be where she had returned for the summer and where I had an appointment to contest a speeding ticket. Since then, Lauren has popped back into my life while visiting a mutual friend when I lived in Northampton, and again more recently in Philadelphia. In addition to being hilariously witty (see below), Lauren is a sweet and sincere friend. If I ever need to hide underground, Iām sure she and Dan will graciously let me live in the backyard of their Jersey farmhouse with the chickens.</span></i> <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">---</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">I am sitting reclined in an aquamarine blue dental chair, waiting to be seen by a Portuguese dentist. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">I have not been to the dentist for about seven years, and all the brochures of cloud-white toothy smiles placed along the countertops are doing a marvelous job of taunting me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">For the majority of those seven years, I have led an indulgently artistic and nomadic life bereft of dental insurance throughout the Big Apple, North Carolina, and New Jersey, where, at 29 years old, I got my first flat tire on the road to perfect oral health. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">I had pretty much shrugged off going to see a dentist baring anything catastrophic, until I recently showed my husband my front tooth whose gum had been receding pretty steadily after noticing it started to look irritated. The words he spoke while painfully wincing were āHoly crap, thatās like Tales From the Crypt!ā</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">Fine. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">I signed up for an in-state no-frills dental program, picked the nearest dentist within the network, and here I amāpaper bib clipped to my collar and ready for the worst. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">The dentist comes in and we start with the x-rays. After each one, the lead cape draped over my chest feels heavier and heavier, and I imagine thick wads of (my) money being plunged down the toilet. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">Next up is the cleaning. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">Everything is going fine until she gets to The Tooth. āOoo!,ā she says, completely stopping and turning off the drill. āThat hurts me just to look at it.ā<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">She pulls off her mask, and we proceed to have a heart-to-heart. āWhy is it that you have not gotten this looked at earlier?ā she tells me in her Portuguese accent. I smile and try to explain to her how tough I am. She looks at me solemnly. āYouāre very young,ā she says. āYou have many good tooth years ahead of you, but you need to take care of this to be sure that will happen.ā She says sheāll write me a referral to a specialist (more sounds of dollars flushing), and proceeds with the cleaning. I seal the deal with myself to take her advice, wincing as the electricity shoots down my legs as she finishes polishing the base of said tooth. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">At 29, I never thought Iād have to start dealing with something so geriatric sounding as receding gums. And though I tend to laugh this sort of stuff off (along with things like gray hairs and how delicious prunes are), this time itās a bit more awakening. Itās made me nervous. Not only have I been thinking about it constantly and having dreams of my teeth falling out, Iāve also resumed one of my old nervous tics of biting the insides of my cheeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">Gross!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">When I see the specialist my dentist referred me to, what a mouth-show they will get!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">All kidding aside, the timing of this instance could not be more appropriate. I, like many other of my late-twenty-something friends, have been musing about the new decade weāre entering into, and comparing our lists of Top 10 Things to Do Before Iām Thirty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Iām pretty sure āPay Attention to your Dental Healthā will trump āLose 10 Pounds,ā and āBecome a Modelā (Quiz: How many models have a horror show host gumline? Zero!). However, I must say, as I grow longer in the tooth (sorry, had to), it will be learned moments like these that Iāll stow away to help me make more self-informed, wise, and adult decisions as I turn 30, 40, 50ā¦</span></div>matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1711160346029898346.post-9020716092954157032011-04-04T09:08:00.000-04:002011-04-04T09:08:00.889-04:00Regime Change and Rodent Control: Stephen Perry<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">If I had gone to my 10 year high school reunion, Steve Perry would have been one of the few people thereāand I know he was there because of documentation on the Internetsāthat I would have been truly happy to see. I think I will always associate Steve as the singer and guitarist of Epinephrine, who played a couple shows with my band. He was one of those creative geniuses I knew would do something interesting after graduation. Since then, our paths have crossed here and there including a one year overlap in Northampton, MA. Maybe weāll catch up again at our 20 yearāI hope it happens sooner.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">---</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">I started telling people I was thirty a couple of months before my birthday arrived on February 11th of this year (2011, Jesus, it sounds like the future). In a store, if something cost $9.95, you might as well say, "Hey it's 10 bucks," or something like that, right (even though it'll end up being like, $10.89 after tax, but whatever)? As I sit here and write this, I've been 30 years old for a month and a half (30 years plus tax), and I know not much has changed. 2/11/11 was just another day; just another flip of the Far Side calendar that sits above the toilet.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">I have a cat now. He was rescued by a friend of mine, and me and my roommates took him in. He is a good cat, with big paws, the kind that Hemingway bred on Key West. Once there were rats in my apartment, giant subway rats, big enough to trade their pelts; a dozen of them could fill in for a sled dog team. When I was 29, I would catch them with glue traps (2 of the big traps, duct taped together--yeah, giant rats). I would catch them in these traps, and I would murder them with a cast iron skillet. Now I am 30 and I don't kill anymore. I have a cat to do the dirty work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Hosni Mubarak and I are forever linked. He fled Egypt on my birthday. He had ruled Egypt for 30 years. I have ruled the equally corrupt nation of myself for 30 years plus, though I fear the big pawed cat may have plans to oust me (with CIA backing, no doubt). If Gadaffi goes soon, I will be 12 years from sliding into second place behind Castro. Yes, I think about my age as it relates to the years that dictators have ruled their respective countries. If there's something wrong with that, I'm not ready to hear it. Get back to me in a Charles Taylor (6 years).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">I will write forever if I get into politics, but I do have to remark on the current wave of protests and regime change across the Middle East. I remember watching the Iron Curtain fall across Eastern Europe as a child. Not to count the chickens before they hatch, but assuming Tunisia, Egypt (and hopefully Libya) become actual democracies, and a handful of other nations (Yemen, Jordan, Syria, etc.) enact real, meaningful reforms...I mean, just stop and think about that. In our 30 years on this planet, more humans have gained first generation human rights, than at any other time in history.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Turning 30 can highlight both the good and bad aspects of your life, which is unfair, because it's truly just another day. Honestly, I've tried not to think about it, and just focus on things that need improvement regardless of my age...Things like rodent control and democracy.</span><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif";"></span></div>matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1711160346029898346.post-49664886253716555982011-04-03T12:19:00.000-04:002011-04-03T12:19:26.112-04:00Permission Granted: Mary Tasillo<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i> <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><em>I met Mary Tasillo through our amazing mutual friend Johanna Marshall. After both growing up on Cape Cod, Johanna and I surprisingly discovered that we had become neighbors in West Philadelphia a couple years ago. I don't know Mary well, but from the various dinner parties we've shared in Johanna's kitchen I can attest that she is a genuinely good person. Mary seems to always have a really cool project going on too. I'm excited about checking out </em></span><a href="http://soapboxindependentpublishing.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><em>Soapbox</em></span></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><em>, her new independent publishing center.</em></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">--- </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was a pretty early starter on figuring out a direction in life ā not that I ever could have pictured present day Mary as 8-year-old Mary, or even 15-year-old Mary. Of course, 15-year-old Mary did not actually think she would make it past 20. She could not envision it at all. Perhaps this has freed me to feel right on target with everything I have been doing surrounding 30, since I had no notions of 30 at such a formative age.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But the pieces of me that encompass creativity, text, image-making, hand crafting, and a life surrounded by books were present early on, and coalesced after a fashion in college (by which point Iād figured out that life got better year after year and that I was definitely going to see life well past twenty). This sent me to graduate school at 24 to get an MFA in Book Arts and Printmaking. In a way this early clarity only delayed the floundering, because to pursue an arts degree is never to pursue any kind of clear career path. Which is how I found myself in and out of various jobs, interspersed with taking time off from working, throughout the latter part of my twenties, while continuing to make art, land the occasional residency, and present at arts conferences. At twenty-eight I landed a day job doing administrative work for an architect. Architects are workaholics. They donāt take any time off, and they donāt like it when you do (even though, as creative types, they like that you are an artist). By twenty-nine, I was plotting my escape from the day job for the architect. Of course, this was right after the economy tanked, and while I was very lucky to <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">still</b> have a job working for an architect, I was going to be hard pressed to get, for example, a job at an arts non-profit.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Iāve never been one to set practical goals. If I were, where would I be? You have to think about where youād like to be and point yourself towards it. Thus, while working forty hours a week at a desk, and juggling occasional teaching gigs besides, I set a goal that at 30 I would make a transition into teaching and freelancing. Also, sitting at my desk one August day, I decided to start a community print space and zine library. Iād been talking around the idea with various folks for several years now, but had lost the conviction Iād had straight out of graduate school that I could be involved in making this a reality. Iām not sure what shifted that day in the late afternoon sun, but I decided that goddammit, I was going to make it happen, however that might look.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Low and behold, a few months later I met someone else who shared the vision of the community space. āWell,ā we each thought, āIām about to turn thirty so it seems like I can do something like this.ā Permission granted. Permission granted to do big things and be taken seriously about it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So at thirty, we bought a house together and started creating the groundwork for a community space on the first floor.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That same summer, at thirty, I landed enough teaching work to launch me out of the office job into the world of adjuncting and freelance. Maybe this is backwards, in certain circles, to be leaving stability and health insurance for something more piecemeal and unfinished, a choice of process over product. But in my view, the ability to keep the support under oneās feet while walking this path is a thing of beauty (if awkward at moments). Permission granted.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thus, still early in Year 31, I find myself winding down after the inaugural event, a zine library opening and reading, for The Soapbox: Philadelphiaās Independent Publishing Center. Not even two years after that decision one August afternoon, the community print space is a reality ā even if we are not yet 100% set up for community printing. My jobs consist of a combination of editorial work, teaching, book conservation, and art cataloging. And it is not the wisdom, but the permission of 30, that allowed all this to happen. (Sure, plus some leg work I put in through my twenties. The work, experimentation, and exploration I did created momentum.) Rather than serving as a benchmark, 30 has allowed me to let go of any notions of being finished, in terms of life planning and choosing a path. What a miracle to find life still getting better year after year, when 15-year-old Mary, who was finding life as an adolescent to be more difficult each year, could not envision life past 20.</span></div>matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1711160346029898346.post-26155469455896034012011-04-02T12:55:00.000-04:002011-04-02T12:55:45.648-04:00Fork in the Road: Jared Souther<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><em>I have known Jared Souther for 17 years. We met in Mr. Bruce's 7th grade science class and quickly became good friends. We would talk on the phone for hours about music and, by our freshman year at Nauset Regional High School, we started a band together with our friend Adam Wentworth on drums that lasted into my first year of college. It would be impossible to do justice to this experience creating music with Jared, our lasting friendship, and how punk rock changed our lives, in the limitations of this space. I'll just say that all of this is completely inseparable to who I am today. Jared is one of the most talented and inspiring people I've known. He has continued to write music and play in bands all of these years, and something tells me that he won't be slowing down anytime soon.</em> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><em>Check out Jared's current band Revilers online at: </em><a href="http://revilers.net/"><em>Revilers.net</em></a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">---</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Besides the wrinkles around my eyes, the several remaining hairs on the top of my head, and the pain in my knees every morning, I feel pretty much the same as when I was a teenager. I will be turning thirty on May twenty-third of this year and other than it being a nice even number that our culture has declared a milestone, it doesn't feel much different to me than any other birthday. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I remember at the beginning of my freshman year in high school, we were asked to write a letter to ourselves that we would get back as seniors. Waiting four years seemed like a lifetime back then. After all, four years prior I was in elementary school. Oddly enough, I still have the letter today, a whopping fifteen years later. In it I wrote about looking forward to playing my first show with my first band, Generic. I wondered if I'd still be playing shows at the old age of eighteen. Back then I owned a cheap 4-track cassette recorder that I learned to make demos on. At that point I only recorded one band, but I was very concerned that I would still be involved in recording. It was also in utter importance that I had at least one tattoo. When senior year finally rolled around, I had no problem meeting such strenuous goals. Funny that nowhere in the letter did it mention college, high school, or what I wanted to be when I grew up. I was only concerned with playing in a band, recording music and getting tattooed. Oddly enough, reading this letter again at almost thirty, I am concerned with playing in a band, recording music, and giving tattoos. Oh, how I've matured so much. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Of course there are some things that have changed. Today, I find that things like quality vacuum cleaners bring me happiness. I now embrace the quiet natural beauty of Cape Cod's off season. I even have a wife (which is still a shocker to most of my friends and family). </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For me, thirty is a confusing fork in the road, representing where you're currently at in life, and where you think you're supposed to be going. Naturally, by growing up, some things change. I truly enjoy coming home to my wife and going for a walk, or having a quiet evening watching a movie, etc. But I also still like getting in a shitty, rusted van with my friends, driving to an unknown city, meeting new people and playing loud, abrasive punk rock. I see no problem living what some consider a contradictory lifestyle. In fact, it makes me extremely happy because everything feels fresh. The problem lies in the perception of others that say, "You're thirty now, it's time to get your shit together." </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Whenever one of my peers outside of the punk scene finds out that I'm in a band, the first thing they ask me is how much money I make. When I tell them that we rarely break even, they then ask why I bother doing it at all. I usually follow up by asking them how much they make golfing with their buddies and what steps they're taking towards going pro. Something happens to people in their adult years causing them to lose their passions in life. I play music because I enjoy creating, being in different places, hanging out with friends and meeting new ones that share a similar outlook. The fact that I have to explain to people that those reasons are more important to me than money, is disappointing. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When you're young you think of thirty as the time when the fun is over and you've got all your ducks in a row. But after talking to many of my peers, I've realized a lot of us don't want the fun to end and we still don't know what the hell we're doing. Is that so awful? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Still, the mental fork in the road does wear me down. As a teenager and through my twenties I always wanted to do so many things with music and art but there was a lot of trial and error along the way. It seems that now, as I approach turning thirty, I finally have a clear vision of where I want to go with my creative endeavors and exactly how to make it happen. But then I hear all these outside voices......."It's never too late to go to college"..."When are you buying a house?"..."When are you having a baby?"..."Just put it on a credit card"..."Oh, you haven't gotten over the punk phase yet?"....And just as I'm about to tell the world to fuck off and leave me alone, that I'll do whatever I want, I realize that rent is due in four days and my car has a flat tire. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Overall, I don't have a clue as to what a thirty year old is supposed to be doing, nor do I care. Maybe it's time I grew a mustache? I feel that there is no master schedule. No due date on life. But for some reason we, as a culture, put these expectations on ourselves "by the time we're thirty." The only given is death. We need to live our lives our own way, in whatever order we choose, and just except the fact that humans are a bunch of screw ups and that's OK. The serious stuff will always be there whether we want it to be or not. I'm more concerned with not forgetting what makes me happy even if what makes me happy may change as I get older. Sometimes I wonder how me as a kid would view myself today about to turn thirty. I'm guessing I wouldn't suck in my own eyes. That's good enough for me. </span>matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1711160346029898346.post-8698467721436526582011-04-01T09:46:00.000-04:002011-04-01T09:49:17.993-04:00Transporting My Dog on My Motorcycle: Brihannala Morgan<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><em><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At the height of the gloomy Bush era, one year after the invasion of Iraq was launched, I found myself living in Madison, Wisconsin. This is where I met Bria Morgan. She had recently moved back to her hometown to work on the 2004 campaign against, well let's just say, Bush's re-election. Bria was one of the most committed activists I had ever met and was one of the people in Madison that helped me make sense of both an unfamiliar city and the chaotic world we were trying to change for the better. Currently serving as the director of </span></em><a href="http://www.borneoproject.org/"><em><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Borneo Project</span></em></a><em><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, it is no surprise that Bria has continued to tirelessly sustain her political organizing work since that dark period when we first met. </span></em></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">---</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I was 22, I set out a life plan: I was going to finish college, travel and work abroad for 2 years, come back to America, get my master's degree, and go work for the <a href="http://ran.org/">Rainforest Action Network</a> in San Francisco. Strangely enough, that is almost exactly what I did. Yes, I dropped out of grad school a year early to work for the Rainforest Action Network, and yes, I traveled internationally for a year and a half instead of two years, but mostly I was right on the money. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Two things strike me now, about this plan. First, I seem to have stopped planning right around the time I was going to hit 30. Considering how detailed my plans had been up to that point, why did I stop? I wouldn't mind having that road map to follow right now. The other part is that I totally left out anything that had to do with relationships, marriage, kids, etc. And when I think about it, I have actually still only been to one wedding, and I have never been to a wedding of someone my age. Most of my good friends aren't even in long term relationships, which has to be an anomaly at my age. If I had planned a relationship into my life plan at age 22, would things be different now?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, now I am about to turn 30, and it seems like a good time to take stock. Where has following my now 8-year-old life plan gotten me? I have had an amazing career, working around the world on forest activism. I now run my own tiny non-profit which I struggle to keep above water, but which I love. I have dated a series of amazing men, but none that I ever figured I would settle down with. I have cash, which is a blessing, and no debt, which is wearing down so many folks of my generation. In general, I have succeeded in those goals that I set out when I was 22. I am also happy to say that I have only gotten more radical with age, instead of embracing compromise, which I thought might happen. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But, call it age, or Saturn returns, or whatever the bejezzus you want to call it, I actually do find my priorities changing. I have no interest in āsettling downā, but I would really like to set down roots, both in a home, a community, and in a relationship. This wasn't part of the plan at all, really, until less than a year ago. I really want a dog. But I also want to figure out a way to transport a dog on my motorcycle. Really, that is actually a perfect microcosm of where I find myself right now. I want a dog, but I want to carry my dog on my motorcycle. It's not easy to do (although it is possible... at least the in the literal sense).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wish I could set a plan out for my 30s the way I did in my early 20s, and stick to it. But I don't have the same closed-minded commitment to career and success that I did when I was 22. I do know that in my 30s I fully intend on continuing to work to save forests and protect the rights of the people who live on them. I fully intend to do whatever I can to topple capitalism, using all the tools I have, from direct actions to clothing exchanges. I know I want my 30s to be filled with dinners cooked with friends, as well as new endeavors that push me to be stronger, and more creative. I know I want to find a relationship that I can sink my teeth into, and I want a dog. And, of course, a way to transport that dog on my motorcycle. </span></div>matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1711160346029898346.post-25328712748944019332011-03-31T11:03:00.000-04:002011-03-31T11:04:30.673-04:00The Big 3-0: Melissa Reed<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><em>When I lived in Northampton, MA I had a dear friend that wouldn't come visit me at the cafe where I worked. "I don't want to see you like that. I want to see you dancing," Liz explained. When I think of Melissa Reed, who I also met in Northampton, I imagine her in that state of freedom, dancing the night away. Melissa is one of the sweetest and most honest people I know. I'm excited for her dance into a new era of life; thriving, and free. </em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">---</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I feel like Iām getting younger and wiser.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My 30<sup>th</sup> birthday is only two months away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has been weighing heavily on my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The thing is I grew up too fast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Iāve been independent for a long time (or so thatās what people tell me).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Definitely far too responsible.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I grew up in a small town in New Hampshire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My parents found God around the time I turned four. They sent me to a private Christian School from Kindergarten to 8<sup>th</sup> grade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, thanks to my sisterās learning disabilities, we both got to go to a public high school. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Since I can remember, I was required to go to church every Sunday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Missing a week was not an option. āIf youāre too sick for church, then youāre too sick to hang out with your friends,ā my parents said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I went.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didnāt always dislike church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was something we did every Sunday, just like eating dinner together as a family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But over time I started to feel like a hypocrite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didnāt want to go anymore.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Growing up, my parents never encouraged me to reach for my dreams, never encouraged me to go to college.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never even thought of it as an option.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To be honest, Iām not sure my parents even believed that I could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since I was kid, my parents have filled me with so much doubt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They never trusted me to do the right thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Throughout my adolescence, my parents taught me to fear; to fear the world, to fear people I didnāt know, above all to fear the unknown.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In high school, when I had the option of choosing my classes, I always picked the easy ones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didnāt apply myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew that I was cheating myself by taking easy classes, but what did it matter?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didnāt know what I was good at anyways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What were my passions?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didnāt know that, either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldnāt envision any kind of future for myself outside of my house, but by that time I knew I couldnāt live with my parents any longer.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At age seventeen, in my junior year of high school, I ran away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My parents had given me an ultimatum: go to church or weāll take away your car and your driverās license.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I turned in the keys to my boxy Ford Festiva and headed for Vermont.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dropping out of school wasnāt really part of my plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just needed to get away from my parents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried to enroll in a high school in Vermont, but that didnāt pan out because I was still a minor and not a tax-paying resident.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The following months were very challenging.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I survived mainly through perseverance and the kindness of strangers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried renting a room from a friend, only to have my rent money stolen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After that, I lived with my boyfriend at the time in a tent beside the Connecticut River.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(This my parents really didnāt understand; my mom said, āif you like camping so much, why donāt you set up a tent in the backyard.")<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From there, I moved around more, worked anyplace that would hire me: gas stations, pizzas joints, supermarkets.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Since I left home, I have been trying to find my way in this big scary world that my parents taught me to fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have been living in Massachusetts for the last twelve years now and working at a supermarket, whose name I wonāt mention, for eleven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hadnāt intended on staying where I am so long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It just happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I started off working third shift stocking shelves because the pay was good. Eventually I moved to days, and from there into a managerial position.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My job has it perks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have sick days, personal days, a good health insurance plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Starting next year, Iāll be up to four weeks of paid vacation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over the years, Iāve been able travel to places like New Zealand, Spain, France and Guatemala.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have a 401K.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I should be happy, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Iām on the right track.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have a silver 2005 Toyota Matrix that I bought brand new and paid off in less than four years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I probably have enough money saved for a down payment on a house.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But my job doesnāt make me happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Itās the same thing day in and day out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The work is repetitive, mind numbing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I donāt feel satisfied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to use my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Iāve been there too fucking long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel trapped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Recently, I realized that the only way to change my life is to believe in myself and make that change happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So thatās why, just shy of thirty, Iāve been putting myself out there, trying new things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Iām taking Spanish classes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned to knit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Iāve made myself a resume and looked into career counseling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Iām even seriously thinking about enrolling in a community college, which is a really, really big deal for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the first time in years, I can see a future for myself, a bright one full of hope and possibility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lots of people are intimidated about turning the big 3-0, but Iām excited!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For me, it feels like a new beginning. </span></div>matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1711160346029898346.post-80775203890603663972011-03-30T10:42:00.000-04:002011-03-30T11:20:21.851-04:00The Year of the Whale: Pooja Kanwar<div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><em><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I think anyone that knows her would agree: Pooja Kanwar has super powers. She possesses the uncanny ability to balance fun with responsibility, reckless abandon with fierce intellect, and charisma with modesty. A superhero that is also deeply human. To say that our connection was based around music would be a gross understatement. With about a dozen mixtape exchanges and a number of live shows shared together, music has become embedded in the language of my friendship with Pooja. Catching up with her always renews my faith in humanity. I could go on, but I will just let Pooja take it from here... </span></em></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">---</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyBg3Itvcu1FAMLl1inb35c7Ufs8-HIngT28FIj6wegCz1W3EEioQT_mHiw0s-DkI0mJZXipdrNbtE6hb5hD357hufyJrekyjcc_F5BykUWeyW74pWib0Lhi7vYyOOwCr-L2G2ahoRWWs/s1600/pooja+whale.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyBg3Itvcu1FAMLl1inb35c7Ufs8-HIngT28FIj6wegCz1W3EEioQT_mHiw0s-DkI0mJZXipdrNbtE6hb5hD357hufyJrekyjcc_F5BykUWeyW74pWib0Lhi7vYyOOwCr-L2G2ahoRWWs/s320/pooja+whale.JPG" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was December 27<sup>th</sup>, 2009.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I woke up perplexed by the peculiar nature of the dream that had fogged my mind over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember it as vividly today as I did that morning:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was with my good friend Rose from undergrad, and we were hiking (in legwarmers mind you) to the highest point in Burlington, Vermont.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We reached the top and from an eagle's eye view, could see Lake Champlain rapidly inundate the city of Burlington.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were waves crashing on to the land, but more importantly, there were whalesā¦so many whalesā¦everywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whales stranded on top of semi trucks, washed up into beer gardens, and many frantically swimming through minimal depths of freshwater, confined up against one another as if they were salmon spawning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a very distinct and chaotic feeling that I immediately wrote about when I woke up, posted on my Facebook and various other blogs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was during the first month of my freshly commenced PhD program at the University of Vermont. I was 28 years old. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A few hours after I had wrote out my dream and my curiosity behind such vivid imagery, my best friend Kate asked me if I had seen the latest news in New Zealand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had not and this was the link she sent me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><a href="http://news.sky.com/skynews/Home/World-News/Beached-Whales-In-New-Zealand-Rescue-Teams-Save-Two-Thirds-Of-Pilot-Whales-That-Swam-To-Shore/Article/200912415509184"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">http://news.sky.com/skynews/Home/World-News/Beached-Whales-In-New-Zealand-Rescue-Teams-Save-Two-Thirds-Of-Pilot-Whales-That-Swam-To-Shore/Article/200912415509184</span></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At this point, knowing that New Zealand is 18 hours ahead of the states, I felt pretty strange; almost as if I had seen this in my dream prior to it happening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Okay, okayā¦I know this is starting to sound like some new age touchy-feely business but bear with me...it intensifies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I mentioned, this was my first year enrolled in a PhD program. I had no idea what I was going to be researching, or why, and this was anxiety inducing to say the least.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My Bachelors and Masters degrees were both focused on India, specifically in rural water supply and rainwater harvesting practices and I had been struggling on where to go next with my research.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few months later, after contemplating switching advisors or potentially even Universities, a project was presented to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It involved working in a harbor in the North Island of New Zealand, examining ecosystem services, policy infrastructure and governance challenges.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A few days after I solidified my avenue of research, I went out and sat at a bar to have a victory beer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The woman who was sitting by me had a blue patch on her purse; it was of a Blue Whale.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, now we have the whales, and New Zealand both of which have me constantly thinking about the dream I had months before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jump back to winter break of 2009: I was visiting my home in the great state of Iowa when I had the dream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over the past few years I had developed a strong connection with my dear friend from college who has been a reoccurring, and extremely positive, force throughout various points in my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was, at the time, in a relationship with someone else and it had been in flux for a good chunk of time at this point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I see my dear friend and things, wellā¦get complicated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the chaos of love, school and the classic late twenties crisis, my best friend took me to a psychic for my 29<sup>th</sup> birthday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This woman informed me that I had a slightly open third eye and was experiencing a distinct cycle in my lifeā¦Saturn Return (I refer you now to a </span><a href="http://360months.blogspot.com/2011/03/return-of-saturn-traci-yoder.html"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">wonderful post by Traci Yoder</span></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> that can help explain what this means).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">During my 29<sup>th</sup> year I: ended a long term relationship, moved for the 12<sup>th</sup> time in 10 years, solidified my dissertation research, found the love of my life, lost friendships I by no means would have anticipated losing while being reassured of those solid and stable parts of my life that will never budge, gained incredible new family and friends, strengthened relations with my immediate family, and have the best understanding I have had yet of what works for me in my life and what does not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am now 30.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Am I married? No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do I own property?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sadly no, long live wasting money on rent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do I have a job? Nope. I have been a student for 25 of my 30 years of existence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do I even have a dog?!?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ack! I wish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do I want all these things? Well, sure. Although, I am unsure if I did have these things that I would have lived in the eight different geographical areas I have, or worked the in the nine vastly different sectors I have been employed by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I would not have obtained two degrees and started the third degree I have dreamt of having my whole life, or fallen in love the number of times I have and failedā¦ I was living, learning, failing, loving and repeating this process over and over until now, and I have found what works in a magical, motivating way and healthy way. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I believe the dream I had was the beginning of my Saturn Return. <span style="color: windowtext;">The whales in my dreams represented a time of frantic change and that of colossal magnitude.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>The disorder depicted was symbolic of the trials and tribulations that would be coming to an end as I thankfully exited my 20ās.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a time of exploration, experiencing hardships and bliss, and coming to a greater awareness for myself about what works with whom I am and who I strive to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Honestly, I feel confident that through all the sorting and filtering through my 20ās the best is definitely yet to come, and I welcome my 30ās with open arms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">[On a side note, I am about 60 days into my 30<sup>th</sup> year and I ironically find myself writing a paper about whales for a marine ecosystem services class that I am required to take to complete an Ecological Economic certification program at UVM.]</span></div>matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1711160346029898346.post-21666173740452495802011-03-29T10:51:00.000-04:002011-03-29T11:33:44.542-04:00Existential Crisis, Please Go Away: Timothy Sylvia<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><em>After being part of the Cape Cod underground music scene in the mid/late-90's, it's nice to know that there are still good people fostering the local scene and documenting its history. Tim Sylvia is one of those people. I didn't know him really well back in the day, but I can still picture him right up by the PA as my band Social Virus played our final shows at the Orleans Juice Bar. Tim was always super supportive and enthusiastic of our music and other bands we played shows with. In addition to playing in a number of bands himself over the years, Tim has been setting up shows, running a distro, and putting out records through his </em></span><a href="http://fthmedia.bandcamp.com/"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><em>From the Heart Media</em></span></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><em>. A compilation of Cape Cod bands, past and present, is currently in the works. Music communities everywhere need more Tim Sylvias.</em> </span> <br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">---</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Warning: This could get messy. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm 28, and I'll be 29 in August. At 28, my life is not what I was expecting and/or hoped for. Probably a token and reoccurring statement. Go figure. All I know is I want this existential crisis to go away. I guess that's what you call it. In the current scheme of the news and events of the world, it's hard to decipher if the doom you are experiencing is because of how scary the world is, or because you're actually experiencing a personal existential crisis. I'm having a hard time, that's all I know. If you're a young, creative, or generally just a forward-thinking person, regardless of any standard, I think you are aware of what I am saying. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Where do we go from here? What can I do? I don't need to touch on specifics. Too many thoughts, too many questions in my head all the time. Anxiety. Do you think the existential crisis 30 years ago was what it is today? It seems like mine is possibly the worst that could come out of my family history. Look at me? I can't even keep it together. What I'm trying to get at here is I have a hard time even reflecting on myself at the age of 28, because everything I'm personally thinking about is much bigger than me. Existentially I mean. I need to be more selfish, in my own head at least. I need to be more creative. I need to be less afraid. I need to try and be HAPPY! I guess I can try to reflect on myself. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Let's start with my health. I'm a 350 plus pound man with diabetes. Yeah, I know. I've got to do something about this. I really do. That one sentence, I guess... is my whole real existential crisis. If I don't do something, I may not even exist. That's definitely the most important something-to-think-about sentence in my whole life. I'm always working on it. I swear.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Love, will I ever find you? I'm already very damaged by you at 28. Every time I experience love and it goes away, I just feel more lonely the next time I find you gone. Alone and hurt. So hurt. So hurt that I'm afraid of you. I swear I'll never let this happen to me again, every time. Very cautious about you, love. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I don't consider turning 30 a milestone at all, however what one might have accomplished by the age itself. I guess the only standard for this is set by you, and anyone's opinions you value or take into consideration. Like your parents. I oftentimes think I would have taken bigger, more personally risky and controversial leaps of faith had I not worried about what my mother would have thought about what I was doing for the last 28 years. I guess that makes me a momma's boy, too regretful, and more boring than a family-less me would of been. Which are two things I doubt my mother would have wished for me. I love my family, and I love you, Mom.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Some things I want by the time of my 30th birthday are to be out of my head more often. I want to be healthy or healthier, anyhow. I want a better world to live in, with my help. To take bigger leaps. Huge leaps. Last but not least, I want to be out of this existential crisis. The keyword, and I think the general consensus and theme about turning the age of 30, is change. I need change, we need to change.</span>matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1711160346029898346.post-86448000048733587382011-03-28T11:04:00.000-04:002011-03-28T11:08:14.634-04:00The Rocking 30's: David Meek<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I don't remember the moment we met, but my first memory of Dave Meek is crashing on sleeping bags together in an empty office in Quebec City. That was 2001, and we were there with dozens of other Bard student activists to protest the dubious Free Trade Area of the Americas (FTAA) meetings that turned the city into a walled off, feudal warzone. Since then, we have shared many other memories together, at Bard and beyond, and have been close friends for a full decade now. In 2005, I introduced him to another dear friend, Jo Weaver, and two years later I was a groomsman in their wedding. I continue to cherish my friendship with both of Dave and Jo. They will always feel close by, even if they are perpetually thousands of miles away. </span></em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">---</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Having turned 30 going on two years ago now, it's interesting to reflect on what at the time seemed like an ominous and exciting milestone. I very distinctly remembered all the excitement and buildup surrounding the passing of that day (and its unsurprising but still a surprise āsurprise partyā). And all my friends joking that I was officially over the hill.....</span></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At the time, married, in the midst of a Ph.d. program, with a house, dog and mortgage, I wondered whether they were right....(was I over the hill?) and then I decided, and still believe, that the late 20's/early 30's sure feel like I'm dab smack on top of the hill. And damn the view is good!</span><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For me, this time has been one about perspective. Not so much a perspective focused on the immediate moment as perhaps those heady early 20s were, but about a longer perspective in which the present is very much valued, as the best time one has available to achieve one's dreams. To begin with, each of those previously mentioned things, which some might see as artifacts of dreaded Responsibility, including our most recent decision to have a baby while living in India, I see as choices made explicitly in the present with a longer perspective in mind (check out <a href="http://www.kidsinthefield.blogspot.com/">our blog</a> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">for critical ruminations on the intersections of family life and academia). While each of those responsibilities might be shied away from, they've all had incredibly positive aspects, such as having a house has given me the opportunity to tear up the front yard and set up a massive urban garden.</span></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu_l3FERDAIUWvJJD58wdfEcG7v4FxFMcdDM8yonPynIl3ZZf6vBbAaAmOGnEH1byCSlVhPxoq0R9RxBK3ZbLoC1LoBGNWsTRab4t-XF1EPft5_mC4EGto-FdMzzQCS5v6Tk8-BZgZfUA/s1600/dave.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu_l3FERDAIUWvJJD58wdfEcG7v4FxFMcdDM8yonPynIl3ZZf6vBbAaAmOGnEH1byCSlVhPxoq0R9RxBK3ZbLoC1LoBGNWsTRab4t-XF1EPft5_mC4EGto-FdMzzQCS5v6Tk8-BZgZfUA/s320/dave.JPG" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">From my perspective, those late 20's/early 30's have felt like a prolonged music jam session. Whether it is being semi-permanently nomadic, living in Brazil and now India as Jo and I conduct our Ph.d. research, or explore building community through urban gardening, it's been one exciting ride. Partially, these last few years have felt like an ongoing jam, because I made the decision that I was tired of wanting to learn to play music, and there was no time like the present to make good on that interest. Since going down the musical road, playing music has become an integral part of my daily life, and there is always three or four instruments within easy reach. All of those musings are to say, the top of the hill is great, but make sure you bring an instrument to provide your own theme song.</span></div>matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1711160346029898346.post-28663280309171108892011-03-27T14:29:00.000-04:002011-03-27T14:39:13.236-04:00Demobilizing at 30: Ben Webster<em><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I know Ben Webster through the <a href="http://woodenshoebooks.com/">Wooden Shoe</a>. He has been the driving force for our weekly movie night, bringing his cinematic expertise and political savvy to the series. Ben is equally friendly as he is brilliant (as you will soon discover), and I'm sure one hell of a librarian too.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">---</span></em><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is worthwhile to reflect on lifeās milestones, and when hitting the big 10-year intervals, it seems obligatory. Everyone approaching 30, as I did last month, is barraged with outside inquiries. I will pass. This personal reflection is valuable, but I have done it in private, so will try a different tack here. Perhaps a prejudice hardened over three decades is that against gratuitous public navel-gazing; I believe you used to be able to call it petty-bourgeois individualism. Instead I want to sketch a few thoughts relating the anxiety (or fascination?) of turning 30 to our particular moment in 21st century, postfordist capitalism. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">First, a common-place condition at 30 among people I know is a declining material standard of living vis a vis our parents. 30 is a convenient generational marker; it is generally the age when people are supposed to couple off, have kids, and take out a mortgage; it is often about the age our parents were when they had us. Much is made of the supposed moral failings of my generation, always referencing how many of us have boomeranged back to living in our folksā basements. This is mostly bullshit. We can look instead on the sweep of capitalist restructuring from 1981 to today, in short hand, neoliberalism. This has meant the decimation of social services, stagnation or decline in real wages, rise of debt as a means of maintaining consumer spending and worker discipline, deindustrialization in the US, and the crushing and marginalization of peopleās movements. If 30 is the new 20, it has little to do with immaturity, and everything to do with a political economy particularly harsh on young adults. Whereas stability could have been expected by a hard-working, educated 30 year old of generations past, now un(der)employment, crushing debt, and precarious living conditions are the norm. Many of my peers have desperately returned to the university or half-baked entrepreneurial gestures, usually only buying time until the next round of bills come due. The current global crisis has only tightened the screws. This obviously provokes anxiety when middle age is around the corner.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The ideological notion of 30 and of the 30 year old self may continue on autopilot, but the material content is probably gone for good. Yet the flip side (and, historically, one may argue, the root cause) of neoliberal restructuring is the expansion of alternative, autonomous strategies of social reproduction. We may include here collective and co-housing, subversion of the gendered division of labor, independent food production, alternative child-rearing, all-ages venues, etc. The left and its milieu continually elaborates and experiments with these practices, many of which insinuate within mainstream society. The barriers between age-determined divisions, ie 20's & 30's, āstudent ā or āparent,ā tend to weaken. In other words, through the autonomous delinking from capitalās ascribed practices of reproducing labor, we decalibrate age from the standards of capital. 30 as a fetishized, anxious omen- a superego threat to remain passive and isolated, ie successful in capitalās eyes- is possibly weakened by collective rejections of capitalās structuring of our psyches, bodies, and lives. The categories (child, young adult, middle age, senior, 20's, 30's, 40's, etc.) of the life cycle read about in psychology and sociology text books, I conclude, are as much positivist suggestions for subordination to capitalās domination as they are physiological/psychological realities.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So although much of the significance of turning 30 has to do with individual perception, I also feel that it has a small ideological function and material relation to the world. My specific perception of turning 30 in 2011 is inseparable from the cycle of struggle which I began contributing effort to in high school. I suspect this is true of all those coming of age in a movement. Seattle went down my first semester in college, I reached drinking age in time to drown my sorrows during the invasion of Iraq. My participation in the dynamic cycle that is now commonly called the alterglobalization or global justice movement, its evolution and waning, is inseparable from my sense of adulthood, of communal fullness and isolation, of confidence and insecurity. Calendar age loses its hold involved in a movement in close contact with senior citizens and high school kids working for common goals. The waning of a movement hurts and drains, but new expressions of resistance always emerge. Iām no longer a student activist, but now a union member spoiling for a fight, to take one example; Seattle and Iraq are hazy memories, but Egypt and Wisconsin revitalize. If aging and its milestones are associated with resignation, cynicism, and declining expectations, then vigorous collective struggle for a better world may be an elixir of youth. Perhaps my optimism wonāt hold up, but this is what I strive towards at the very least as I enter the cultural phenomenon that is oneās 30's.</span>matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1711160346029898346.post-57341172778100002602011-03-26T11:27:00.000-04:002011-03-26T11:39:52.907-04:00My Next Great Adventure: Wedge Wegman<em><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I think we all have those people in our lives that we wish we could see more of, whether they live in the same neighborhood or on the other side of the globe. Wedge Wegman is one of those people for me. I met Wedge in Philly in the Fall of 2009 when Wooden Shoe Books was moving 2 blocks down South Street to its current location. She had a pickup truck out front that a group of us loaded up with boxes of books and other remnants from the old space. Since then, Wedge and I have become friends through our mutual love of punk rock and baseball. She is one of the most generous and inspiring people I've met in Philly and since I've recently moved down the street from her, I'm hoping we'll see a lot more of each other.</span></em><br />
<br />
<em><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Check out Wedge's company Sickening Thud Productions, online at: </span><a href="http://sickeningthud.com/"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">sickeningthud.com</span></a></em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">---</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">How can I be writing about turning 30?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still feel like Iām a teenager sometimes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like Iām fresh out of high school and ready to make my own way out in the world.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But, then it hits me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Iām almost three decades old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fuckā¦.I still have anxiety dreams about forgetting my locker combination and getting lost on my way to history class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Youād think that by now the dreams would have shifted to some real life anxiety, like getting hit by a car while riding my bike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, no, my mind hasnāt wrapped itself around the idea that Iām an adult.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I cried on the night before my 13<sup>th</sup> birthday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had no desire to grow up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>NONE!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And a 12-year-old me thought that on that annual day around 6am I would magically become an adult.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time I graduated high school I figured adulthood would find me when it wanted to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I stopped worrying about it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">While I waited for that inevitable day of maturity, I started my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of fretting about the unknown, I enjoyed living.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And somewhere along the way, I forgot to be scared to grow older. Because it doesnāt mean I have to grow up.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And I absolutely refuse to grow up.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What does that mean, anyway?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>60 years ago, if you hadnāt married, spawned, and bought a house in the suburbs by 30 then people wondered what was wrong with you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But today we see more and more people living the single life, going to school for multiple degrees, traveling the world with nothing but a backpackā¦..things that would have made our great-grandparents uninvite us over for the holidays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What is the standard of maturity in our society today?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most people I know would agree that, for a HEALTHY adult, you reach maturity when you no longer rely on someone else to care for you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least Iāve accomplished THAT in my 30 years.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My mother worries about me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know she does, even though she tries to deny it, because she buys me socks and underwear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(One important lesson Iāve learned in life is to ALWAYS accept a gift of socks and/or underwear!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, I pay my bills and I keep a roof over my head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not growing up doesnāt mean that I canāt take care of myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just might not have the life that my parents think I should have built for myself by my 30<sup>th</sup> year.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Iāve kept my cat alive for 3 years now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thatās got to count for something, right?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Remember that time when anything was possible and you were gonna do EVERYTHING and go EVERYWHERE!?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I still get that way all the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thereās just so much left in the world to visit and experience.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Iām not bothered about turning 30.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fuck, if Fox Mulder was able jump on moving trains full of aliens when he was in his 30ās, then Iāve got nothing to fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>BRING IT ON!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My 30ās are just my next great adventure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next chapter in my story.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Lately, Iāve been hearing some chatter from the Evangelists on the street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems that they believe their savior is coming back to town on </span><a href="http://www.wecanknow.com/"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">May 21, 2011</span></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, Iām here to set the record straight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jeezus is not coming to take anyone up to their everlasting utopian bliss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Heās coming into Philly</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/" name="_GoBack"></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> to celebrate my 30<sup>th</sup> birthday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I invited him because he does these neat party tricks and I wonāt have to spend much on alcohol.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Itās gonna be one hell of a shindig!</span></div>matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1711160346029898346.post-61814869091116309362011-03-24T15:50:00.000-04:002011-03-24T15:50:41.515-04:00Taking the Long Way Around: Colette Hall Vander Plas (formerly Ryder-Hall)<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><em>Colette Ryder-Hall was the first person I met in high school that did a zine. I'm pretty sure I didn't know what a zine was until I met her actually.</em> <em>One early issue of</em> Looks Yellow, Taste Red<em> featured a positive review of my sloppy 9th grade punk band PME, generously comparing us to my favorite band Dead Kennedys. Colette was also the first person I knew who dropped out of school on political/ethical grounds and, through her zine, taught me about Grace Llewellyn's classic</em> The Teenage Liberation Handbook<em>. This made Colette a mentor of sorts and definitely an inspiration, whether she knew it or not.</em> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">--- </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">First, I dropped out of high school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A year later, bored and frightened of enduring another Cape Cod winter, I went to college.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After 5 years of enlightening but rather aimless higher education, at the ripe old age of 23, I graduated with a BA.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt like a prisoner being let out of prison. I was terrified and I wanted back in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I opted for a MA in creative writing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This involved moving to the middle of the country, discovering I hated teaching freshman comp and taking a job at a natural foods coop to cover the unexpected expenses of being a grad student (steep bar tabs and pricey plane tickets back home for major holidays, mainly).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the age of 25, I graduated again. I stayed at the coop job until I went insane at the age of 28 and realized I had to find a meaningful path in life (which did not involve the retail and merchandising of organic produce), or die trying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I quit my job and drove around the country in a blue Toyota Tercel for awhile, then returned to Iowa, where I went back to school (again) and got married.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is why now, at the age of 31, I find myself in the position of many 22-year-olds: about to graduate, broke and waiting on a Peace Corps application that has been in medical review for several months already. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I do feel old sometimes now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First, while most people assume I'm still in my early 20's when they meet me, I'm pretty sure they're not looking closely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have collected a lot of white hairs in the past ten years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I have officially moved past the time when wearing mini-skirts is a good idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Second, it seems that in the Midwest people tend to get married and have families younger than was the norm on the East Coast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got married at the age of 29 and while we plan on having a family, it's going to be a while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being surrounded by people in their twenties who are far more "settled down" than me is weird and it fills me with irrational fear that I've wasted my most fertile years already.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Mostly, I am grateful to have entered my thirties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While the intense emotion and creative energy of my teenage years and early twenties made for a lot of excitement and productivity, it was hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything was louder, brighter and potentially emotionally devastating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the age of 31, I don't care as much and that's okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I may not be producing a zine every five minutes or hand-crafting bizarre objects in my bedroom while listening to loud, angry music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I may not be routinely having intense heart-to-heart conversations with random people late into the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I may not be full of righteous anger and a burning desire to assert myself at all times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, I have an inner stability.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don't constantly wonder if I'm crazy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don't blame everything on myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can rest assured that things generally work out, regardless of how much or how little I worry about them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am becoming more comfortable with myself all the time. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">So maybe my situation is a blessing - a chance to experience my early years of adulthood all over again, with the added bonuses of experience, confidence and inner balance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1711160346029898346.post-3183243900997869052011-03-23T13:01:00.000-04:002011-03-23T13:08:16.848-04:00Climbing Up the Hill: Pamela Roy<style type="text/css">
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>It's funny how two people can start in different places, traveling separate routes, but occasionally end up in the same place. Twelve years ago(!), Pamela Roy and I arrived at Bard College on the same early August day. For the next 3 weeks, we were classmates in the Language & Thinking seminar for incoming freshmen. Pam was one of my favorite people I met at Bard that year. Since then, we have both lived in different parts of the Midwest and New England and, a decade after first meeting, we find ourselves both in Philadelphia trying to make sense of adulthood and life. </i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">--- </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Looking through some old family photos, I see a picture of me, age 6, with my Uncle Bill. My uncle is wearing a plaid button-down and sitting behind a cake. I am standing to his right, in a pink striped shirt, arm around him, smiling. From behind his giant eyeglass lenses, his eyes also appear to be smiling. But on top of his head, cocked at an angle, sits a black paper party hat, with white writing that garishly announces, āOver the Hillā. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It was his 30<sup>th</sup> birthday party.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Now, approaching that same mark myself, I wonder what my 30<sup>th</sup> birthday party will look like in photos, years later. It will be different from my uncleās. I will not have any nieces or nephews in the picture, an ex-wife (or husband) under my belt, or a condominium in Providence. Sometimes it is hard to tell whether or not 30 is an appropriate milestone anymore. Maybe as a whole we are slowing the rush to āsettle downā. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Turning 30 does call for reflection about how Iāve changed in my adult life. Some of this recollection is not so deep. For example, I refuse to wear clothing with holes in it anymore, no matter how cute it once was. When before I could have been convinced to be outdoors all day long in the sun with no sunblock, now I cover up and slather that stuff on like itās going out of style. There are also the bigger things. I still do not have a spouse, own a home, and have no offspring (nor blog). What do I have? A dog, a Masterās degree, and a job that is important and challenging. And, I have a clearer vision of who I am and what I want from life. Why allow myself to feel inadequate just because I am turning 30? Why does this age move us to a battle of the āhavesā and āhave-notsā?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">You know āOver the Hillā ā as in, āitās all downhill from here.ā How can it be? I am barely getting started. Perhaps this used to be and is still the case when, by 30, people have it all āfigured out.ā However, I know that even at 30, I still have many life decisions to make, some of which I will make more than once. I am not āOver the Hillā. I am still climbing up.</div>matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1711160346029898346.post-77263955726156012832011-03-22T11:50:00.000-04:002011-03-22T13:35:35.090-04:00The Return of Saturn: Traci Yoder<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><em>It is my pleasure to introduce you to one of the most solid people I know: Traci Yoder. I wish Traci was in Philly when I first moved here. It took about a year of staffing at the Wooden Shoe for our paths to finally cross, when she relocated to this city and quickly joined the collective. Traci has saved my life during a particularly difficult period recently, and this is not unusual for her. She is that superhero of a friend that a number of people in her life count on for providing sanity, support, and masterful Tarot card readings. Traci is our rock, helping us feel better about the world and ourselves. </em></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">---</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">For those who know me well, it should come as no surprise that I choose to reflect on turning 30 by writing about Saturn Return. If you pay no attention to astrology, or have never heard of the return of Saturn, a quick Google search will give you all the details. To summarize- Saturn Return refers to the time when the planet returns to the place in its orbit it occupied when a person was born. It takes approximately 28.5 years for Saturn to make a full rotation, which means that the first Saturn Return begins around the age of 28 and lasts for two years. The thirtieth birthday, therefore, falls just as Saturn Return is coming to a close, and provides a sense of culmination and completion to the astrological process that is considered to be the transition from the first phase of life into adulthood. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">Let me be frank- Saturn Return can be one of the most difficult periods in life. It forces people to define who they are, what they want to do with their lives, and to what degree their lives up until that point have reflected their own values and goals. For those lucky people who spent the years leading up to Saturn Return following a path that felt right for them, they will experience this process as one of solidification and success. For those who spent the first part of their lives following the expectations of others, this period will be less pleasant. Unfortunately, most people seem to fall in the latter category, myself included. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">Two years ago, I was living in Gainesville, FL. I had a long-term partner who I adored and owned a beautiful house. I was well on my way to finishing my PhD in Anthropology and beginning my life as a professor and researcher. I had accomplished a great deal and had the love and support of family, friends, and mentors. Everyone, including myself, thought that my life was on-course.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">And thenā¦THE RETURN OF SATURN. To be brief, the next two years went something like this: I left the Anthropology program, started another graduate program in Library Studies, got a new job in a university library, ended my five-year relationship, moved out of my house, quit my job, left Florida and moved back to my hometown, left my hometown and moved to Philadelphia to live with one of my oldest friends, started a new relationship, worked at a restaurant to pay the bills, ended the new relationship, changed roommates, left the dead-end job in favor of a slightly better job as a free-lance editor, and got back into radical organizing. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">Why did all this happen? Honestly, there was no event or stimulus from the outside world that pushed me to change my entire life. Nothing but a nagging suspicion on my part that something wasnāt rightā¦and that this feeling could not be ignored. Not everyone experiences such dramatic changes during their Saturn Return (Iāll admit I have a penchant for building and destroying things). However, my story certainly reflects how much a personās life can change in a short period of time, and how those changes (which barely make sense at the time) can lead to a radically different path. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">A few lessons I learned through Saturn Return, which hopefully will be useful to folks who are experiencing theirs at the moment:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">Youāll feel alone most of the time. Learn to appreciate solitude and enjoy your own company. It may take a while. I canāt pretend I always handled my sense of aloneness gracefully. Iām not terribly proud to say that some days during this two-year period, I hid in my room all day, watching Lost or staring blankly out the window. However, being alone forced me to face the parts of myself I didnāt like very much and led me to eventually change them (after I ran out of Lost episodes). </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">Everything will seem less fun. Drinking, drugs, sex, partyingā¦whatever it is people do to suppress their anxieties and emotions will no longer provide the same sense of comfort. I stopped drinking entirely during my Saturn Return. Being in rooms full of people no longer distracted me from my own thoughts. Focusing on relationships to avoid my own problems proved disastrous. Finally, I stopped looking for distractions and got down to working on myself and my life. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">You will have to give things up. Saturn Return is a time when it becomes necessary to leave behind anything in our lives that does not reflect who we are. This period reflects a transition from the safety and security of the past to the unknown possibilities of the future. The first response most people have is to cling to what is familiar and try to ignore the increasingly strong feelings pushing them to make changes. Donāt do that. Relationships, jobs, and situations will pass out of your life at this time. Let them go. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">During my Saturn Return, I felt like I was destroying the structures in my life with no guarantee that the future would be any better. I was exhausted, overwhelmed, and not sure any of the choices I was making were the right ones. I felt older, wiser, and not necessarily happier. Itās hard to write about Saturn Return without sounding grim, but<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I donāt want that to be what folks take away from this essay. Saturnās influence is serious, sobering, and sometimes devastating, but it serves an important purpose. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">Which brings me to my thirtieth birthday, which took place in August of last year. My Saturn Return was over, I lived in a new city, and had a new job, new home, and new projects. In hindsight, all the painful choices I had made along the way finally made sense. At 30, Iām happier than I have ever been, and can clearly see that the life I was following up until my Saturn Return had always been more about pleasing my family, friends, and teachers than about doing what I felt was worthwhile. I destroyed and recreated my entire world, and now I can see that I didnāt actually lose anything by doing soā¦</div>matt dineenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092302996963094850noreply@blogger.com3