In which Danny rambles semi-coherently.

Tonight is the AS Awards Banquet. It's a chance for all the crazy folks known as Student Employees of the Associated Students of WWU to celebrate all the hard work we've put into making this year great for all the students of Western.

It's going to be great fun.

I would rather be home working on an essay, or cuddling with my boyfriend, or as would most likely be the case, at Ritmo Latino Salsa Club dancing (it is Monday after all).

Don't get me wrong, I love recognizing people for the great work they do, and I love that our organization works to make people feel wanted and appreciated. But I don't really feel like I' ready for a banquet just yet. I have one big event on the way still: The Third Annual Condom Fashion Show. It's Thursday, and the event is kind of my baby for the school year, so I won't feel like I can truly celebrate the end of the year until it's actually over.

But rather than make this a post about how busy Danny is, because I've learned how to manage my time this year, I'm not actually as busy as I think I'm perceived to be and I know many people who are far busier than I am (busy people tend to congregate and be involved in at least one thing with each other so that we know all the other busy people).

Instead, I want to talk about stones.

I recently got a piece of amethyst when I was wandering downtown giving out donation letters.



I thought it was kind of pretty and picked it over the other pieces of amethyst.

Unless it's food, I'm not usually prone to these kind of impulse buy for myself, but I was in a store called Stone Moon and it felt right.

For the first few days that I had it, I carried it around in my pocket. I worried (2c) it in my left hand until about two days later I thought I lost it.

Did some laundry, and like magic it reappeared. I wire wrapped it and have been wearing it as a necklace ever since. I'm getting rather good at that.

Amethyst is supposed to ward off insobriety and increase psychic abilities as well as enhance dreams. I'm not completely sure how I feel about that, but it's pretty and I like wearing it.

A Well-Dressed Accordion

5/8/2012

I'm sitting in another man's bed as I write this. Not in any kind of erotic, post-carnal memoir sort of way (what do you take this for, a sex blog?), but a comfortable, hanging out kind of way, with his roommate procrastinating her homework by browsing tumblr on the other side of the room.

With everyone else I've been interested or involved with, there's been something defining that drew me to them, enough that I've been able to label them with some obscure but fitting nickname for anonymity's sake, because while this blog is personal to me, I also very much want to respect the privacy of the people I'm writing about. No matter how hard I try though, I can't come up with any kind of silly pseudonym for Ethan.

I find though that I like that.

We've been seeing each other for, gosh, a little over three weeks now, though it feels like so much longer. Buddha's shining belly, has it really been less than a month since we were first introduced?! On some level, I feel like I've known Ethan for a lot longer because I've known of him for over a year now. We have enough friends in common that Facebook, in all its nosy social media interfacing, has been suggesting him as someone I might know for months. Now that we've actually met, I'm kicking myself for not listening to it sooner.

I suppose it doesn't help that upon hearing that he and I are involved, the majority of mutual friends we have (and apparently there are quite a few of them) seem to react somewhere in a range between inarticulate excited noises that can only be described as fangirl-like squees to “Ohmygodyou'resocute!.” He and I have reached an unspoken agreement that the appropriate reaction to this phenomenon is death glares with the occasional “Shut the FUCK up” depending on who's saying it. Feeling like the center of the who's dating who rumor mill in a campus community can be exhausting, and for us at least unifying.

We met at a party the weekend after Easter that I almost didn't go to. He'd gone because of his roommate and I'd ended up going because I had made a commitment to our hostess at the Birdhouse promising her I would show up to the party.

Unsurprisingly, we were introduced in the kitchen, not because that's where the booze tends to congregate, but because at parties like this one it's the place you're most likely to be able to hold a conversation and be heard over the music/drunk people. That and I'm always drawn to kitchens,  bookshelves, or the dance floor. So when he showed up in the kitchen, I was there.

I think anyone who knew either of us at the party could see that there was something going on. Once we were introduced, I don't think we were separated once the entire night until he reluctantly left my side around two in the morning, sending me his number via his roommate. We even left the kitchen together a little later in the party, only to end up sharing a chair in the living room, casting sidelong glances at each other through our conversations with everyone around us.

I wouldn't exactly say that sparks flew when we met,  we are in Bellingham after all: the City of Subdued Excitement, but I would say that there is definitely chemistry between us, the kind of magnetic attraction you don't even notice until it's gone and all you can feel is the lingering pull.

My work in the Sexual Awareness Center has really opened me up to being very direct when approaching people I'm interested in, because I'm not sure if it was even a full twenty-four hours before I asked Ethan out on our first date. We were both busy, but agreed to coffee or ice cream the following Saturday.

We continued talking throughout the week and somehow “coffee or ice cream” turned into dinner followed by ice cream. I'd been hinting at that possibility most of the week and resigned myself to just a simple coffee date up to the point where he texted me while I was at the grocery store purchasing ingredients for dinner. Needless to say, I saved those ingredients until the next day.

I surprised him with a flower (long stem, red gerber daisy if you must know) when I met him at the Copper Hog. Though he didn't turn red exactly, Ethan blushed and looked down at the table for at least half a minute before meeting my eyes. I wanted to kiss him.

After dinner we walked downtown and I treated us to Mallards Ice Cream since I had cash and it would conveniently fill my stamp card so that the next time I came in I would get a free scoop. I invited him to my friend's Big Lebowski movie night. He told me that it was one of his favorite movies. I felt like this was a sign the universe was telling me it wanted this to happen.

At the movie night, we were relegated to sharing a beanbag chair since all other seating had been claimed. I don't think we would have complained even if we'd told we would have to sit on the floor. I felt comfortable enough in his presence that it wouldn't have mattered. I laughed quietly to myself as he quoted more than half the film. After the movie, we sat in the dark on our beanbag chair, an island of sobriety surrounded by a sea of drunk on white russians, holding hands while a Creedance Clearwater Revival playlist played in the background

Then he kissed me.

For a chaste, closed-mouth kiss that lasted less than ten seconds, damn was I seeing stars. When I walked him home an hour or so later, I couldn't help myself, I grabbed him by the tie and pulled him into another kiss.

Some time after our first date, Ethan talked with our friend Jesamie, and as she relayed the conversation to me, she'd asked what he liked about me and he'd answered that I'm the kind of guy who would bring a red rose to a first date (I would have, too, had I not been concerned about the historic and literary connotations associated with red roses). As Jesamie put it, “In other words, his Danny-ness.”

I think that's what I like most about Ethan as well. I could talk about how I think he's adorable and nerdy, or that I'm constantly amazed by his intellect and skills as a writer, or his great taste in movies (and uncanny ability to actually get me watching them) but there's something more innate than that to which I feel I'm attracted.

We haven't had any kind of formal a relationship discussion yet, on Friday so I don't now feel comfortable referring to him as my boyfriend, though given the way we interact with each other, I suppose he'd let me get away with it. For now, I'm just happy to have someone who wants to hold my hand, who randomly texts me “:]” on a Saturday afternoon when we have plans for the evening, who asks me what kind of wine I like before we meet so I can make dinner (and picks a damn good one, too), regardless of what labels we use to refer to each other.

As I sit here in his bed, a pink stuffed bunny at my side, he's sitting in the other room on his computer, working on something for one of his creative writing classes, muttering almost incoherently to himself  about the idiocy of some of his classmates. It's kind of endearing, though that may be the sleep deprivation talking.

For now, I guess I just want to say I'm content.

Listen To Your Body Tonight

 Listen to your body tonight, it's going to treat you right.

This song might be about sex, but I've always loved it for that titular line.

Listen to your body tonight. I love my body, because it tells me things. We've worked out a language of sensation. There are really only three semantic units: pleasure, pain and awareness. They're homonyms in this body language, and synonyms to a degree. You see?

You've got to listen to your body, because so far at least it's the only body you will have. When you're hungry, eat. When you hurt, change something about what you're doing.

As a dancer, runner, former rower and Kinesiology major, I also appreciate the importance of proprioception.

To feel where my body is in relation to itself is a gift, my hand distal to my elbow can find my mouth even with my eyes closed.

I've rarely experience a time when listening to my body did me wrong. Our bodies know what they need. Sometimes that isn't always what you need from them, like in an athlete's push through the pain, but that's why our bodies respond. They grow and change and adapt to what we provide them with. I can't strictly say I'm vegetarian because I recognize that my body occasionally wants or needs meat in a way that my normal diet is not able to supplement.

So do yourself a favor: Listen to your body tonight. It's going to treat you right.

Science Fiction Tale

So... I don't know exactly what I was thinking when I first wrote this, or even when I wrote this, but I found this start to a short story on my computer and thought it worth sharing.

Science Fiction Tale

A crisis filled the land of Fairytale, and all the surviving heroes, villains and creatures of the stories decided to get together to fix the problem.

Hansel, Little Red, two of the Three Little Pigs, Anansi, Cinderella, Snow White’s Prince Charming, Belle, the Beast, the Frog Prince, two or three Kings, Rumpelstiltskin, a Evil Stepmother, a Wicked Witch, a Fairy Godmother and an odd assortment of talking animals were among the only remaining inhabitants who came to the meeting.

“Where’s my sister?” Hansel whined in a small voice. He looked suspiciously at the Evil Stepmother, but she was from a different story.

“Child, I regret that we do not know, but I worry for the larger picture,” the Frog Prince said. “Her disappearance is but a symptom in a larger disease.”

“I agree with the talking French cuisine,” said the Witch. “I propose we send out a party to find the source of this weirdness and stop it. I went to visit that girl up in the tower (a dreadful brat who refuses to cut her hair, but someone has to take care of the dear), and instead found a seductive foreign man who tried to bite my neck.”

It was the same all around the circle. Someone was missing or a setting vanished or changed or there were strange new creatures prowling where there shouldn’t be.

As Prince Charming explained it, “I know this enchanted forest like the back of my hand and I’ve never seen anything like those vicious wolves who replaced my Sweet’s seven during the full moon the other night.”

Murmurs of assent came from everyone. Then Little Red spoke up.

“I realize that I may look like an innocent little girl in an unfortunately colored outfit, but I’ve been around as long as any of you. If we’re to get to the bottom of this, I say we find Jack first. By my recollection, he disappeared right around when this began. What the Witch said is right; we need to send out a party to get to the bottom of this.”

Silence fell over the group as they nodded, wondering who would be sent as a member of the search party. To their surprise, it was scared Hansel who volunteered first.

“If it helps find my big sister, I’ll go,” he said.

“That’s the spirit, oh lord of bravery and honor.” Anansi spun his praise like it was one of his stories. “I too will volunteer myself to find the discordant strand of our land and retie it so we can once again play in harmony.”

A chorus of “I’ll go”s and “Yeah, let’s restring the forest”s rang from members of the crowd.

“It’s settled then,” began Little Red, “Hansel, Anansi, the Wicked Witch, Prince Charming, Belle and–”

“NO,” roared the Beast. Turning to Belle, he placed his misshapen claw upon her shoulder with a surprisingly delicate tenderness. “You can’t go. I’ll take your place.”

“Beast, thank you for worrying about me, and you can come with us if you want, but I am not staying behind.” From the way everyone’s heart froze in their chest at the tone of her voice, there would be no arguing; Belle would accompany the group.

The seven bade their farewells to the assembly, thanking each Fairytale citizen for their wishes (and in the case of the Fairy Godmother, spell) of luck as they exited the clearing.

The night transformed the enchanted forest. Knowing that anything could be lurking around each bend was enough to keep the group silent. They jumped at the sound of a cracking twig, halted at any unfamiliar echo.

Soon they came upon another clearing similar to the one they had just left. A great tent filled the space, producing a warm and inviting light. Anansi pulled them back a pace, whispering:

“I know this place. That is the tent of the Twelve Months. Watch carefully each word you say, they take offense easily and have been known to get their dreaded revenge at the slightest insult.”

Forewarned, the party approached the tent, but jumped back when a young man dressed in shorts and t-shirt stepped out. He greeted them without words and held the flap as they proceeded past.

“Well come,” intoned the matronly August. “We’ve been expecting you. As you well know Anansi, no one finds the Twelve Months without us seeking them first.”

“I-Indeed, Ma-Madam,” stammered an Anansi as red as Little’s hood.

A small boy in a snowsuit with mittens piped up from the corner.

“Tell ‘em a’ ready, August. I can’t stan’it when the circle’s broked like this.”

Indeed, four of the Twelve Months were missing from the ring of seats around the modest campfire.

“Alright, December,” turning to the seven, she smiled. “He gets a little impatient, but what can you expect when the year’s almost over?”

“Now, I know you seek Jack–” at the look of protest on Hansel’s faced she added gently: “and Gretel. Continue down on the path you were on. It will take you out of the forest, past two castles and over a river. Keep going two pastures farther and you will find that pesky peddler who gave Jack his magic beans, more than that we don’t know.”

Come daylight, the group left down the path exactly as the Twelve Months outlined. The first castle was eerily deserted, but the second castle was the defunct kind that usually harbored a dragon guarding a room full of treasure or a tower with a princess.

No fiery roar greeted them as they approached but looking from atop Prince Charming’s shoulders, Hansel described a “terrible lizard” just on the other side of the battlements, unlike any dragon he’d ever seen.

Crossing the river, they paused when they heard soulless moaning coming from below. The Wicked Witch paled and refused to take another step.

“Necromancy.”

At the look of confusion on their faces she explained.

“Forbidden magic, controlling the dead, unstoppable, run.”

They ran, and kept running past the two pastures, all the way to the peddler’s cart. He held no clues to Jack’s whereabouts, but he did point them to the famous beanstalk.

They climbed the magic beanstalk hand over hand, all the way to the Giant’s cloud castle. Only instead of a castle, they found a glowing metal orb. As they watched, three legs unfurled from its underside, creating a fearsome tripod. It lurched in their direction and they ran until they came to the edge of the cloud’s horizon. They had a choice, jump or face the mechanized monster.

Over the edge, they landed far sooner than expected. In front of them stood a sign of the kind that usually stood outside their towns and villas.

“Welcome,” it proclaimed, “to the land of Science Fiction.”

A Open Letter on the Recent Attacks in Bellingham

Dear Western Students and/or Bellingham Community Members,

Please stop robbing/mugging people at odd hours of the morning (or any other time of day for that matter). It creates an unsafe environment for the community. 

Such actions encourage people to post and issue warnings telling friends and loved ones not to walk alone during certain hours, but telling people not to walk alone does not solve the problem. It does not stop muggers from mugging people. 

While these warnings come from a well-meaning place, and do offer valuable information about increasing safety when walking alone, they also create a culture of fear; a culture of fear that does nothing more than make people uncomfortable in their chosen home: Bellingham. This perpetuates the violence in the streets by taking it into our homes.

Sometimes walking alone is unavoidable. Sometimes walking alone is preferred. If you see someone walking alone, leave them alone. Don't mug them, don't rob them, don't rape them. I am not saying that if someone is walking alone, that they should not take reasonable precautions, but the burden of responsibility should not rest with them. It should rest in those who would attack them.

If you need help, there are all kinds of organizations and community outreach groups that can help you with this problem, from violence prevention programs to financial assistance groups. There is never a good reason  to mug someone.

The first steps to creating change in a community start with individuals. I'm asking those of you reading this as individuals to make a commitment not to hurt people, and to hold others accountable for the same.

In Solidarity,

Daniel Canham

Student, Community Member, Activist, heARTist