Greek Festival
06:36 Aug 21 2006
Times Read: 647
I have a story to tell about a recent event that happened in East Pittsburgh. Not only is it a tale of how we Americans have such a rich, diverse heritage, it is also a bit of a review of the 23rd annual Ypapanti Greek Festival on Electric Avenue in East Pittsburgh
Let me start by saying I absolutely love it when I can get out and experience diverse cultural events; events that display new forms of singing and dancing. Events where one can hear people speaking in different languages; where one is exposed to different cultural heritages, wonderful food, and where one has the fortunate ability to revel in the myths and ancient history that encapsulates the very essence of each of this culture’s decedents.
Sometimes I will become so engrossed in a native song or dance that I will get all tingly and start to feel like I am about to shed tiny tears. This has happened several times before. Once, at the first Renaissance Fair I ever attended, once at the first Native American pow-wow I ever experienced, once at an Asian Acrobatic show, once at an Indian girl's first year birthday party, once at my friend's Russian wedding, once at a traditional Japanese Cherry Blossom Festival, at my grandmother's Danish Christmas gathering, at my Father's Lithuanian Family Reunion, and now... at the 23rd annual Ypapanti Greek Festival.
For as much as I am generally nervous and uncomfortable around other people in large groups, I can feel so overwhelmingly connected to individuals when they portray such a strong sense of solidarity, solace and belonging. When I am engrossed in such an event, I feel filled with joy; perhaps I even feel a tinge of jealousy, but at the same time I feel so happy about my experience, even if by proxy, that my heart fills up with wells of un-cried tears.
My boyfriend and I were cordially invited to attend the 23rd annual Ypapanti Greek Festival in East Pittsburgh. We were invited by our neighbor, Giorgio, who owns pizza shop on the street right below us that has the incredible 3 for $9 gyro special that we order for delivery at least twice a month.
Well, we all know how life can get so darn busy sometimes. As could almost be predicted, we nearly didn’t make it to the festival at all. In fact, we waited for the very last day of the event, and that very morning we completed a substantial amount of labor on the fixer-upper house that we bought. At the end of our workday, I was inspired with the radical idea that we should close our weekend with a bang and get ourselves dressed, ready, out the door, and over to attend the Greek Festival. We were literally exhausted; but somehow it was meant to be; we made it there just in time to see the last two hours of the event.
The dancing at this festival was wonderful. It seemed as if, historically, each of the Greek islanders saved their local mythos in a form of dance almost exactly like our Native Americans did; and they passed these stories down through tale and dance from generation to generation. The dances were so beautiful - it was as if watching the dance was just like looking into a magical hourglass frozen on a past that can never die.
In one dance if you really concentrated, you could almost see the ancient secret of getting through the Minotaur's Labyrinth. Left, forward, forward, forward, right... etc. In another dance you can almost see all of the sailors who made it back from Odysseus' journey display their best feats of nautical acrobatics to attract the first women they can find when they finally landed ashore after many years away.
I even recognized a couple of those sailors' acrobatic moves (like when the men dropped to their knees and bent backwards and touched their heads and elbows to the ground) as some fancy tricks that I had woven into my own choreography way back when I was a gymnast and knew nothing of Greek culture. (How did these fancy acrobatic moves pass onto me? Well, I imagine that they must have made their way into gymnastics and dance in America long before I even got here.) In short, the dancing and traditional shows were just amazing.
The more I go and see and experience the depths of rich cultures such as these, the more I realize that every man has within him some fertile, ready to bloom, passed down seeds from thousands of years ago. We all come from such amazing, elegant, deep, yet bloody pasts. We are all rich in our own ways and we all come together in America to form one amazing smorgasbord of depth, breadth, and wealth.
Speaking of smorgasbord... we cannot forget the food. Soulvlakia, Fish Plaki, Lamb, Spanikopita, and let's not ignore the Baklava Sundae that was just to die for! (Well, it was a sundae on a Sunday, after all!) What can I say except, "My favorite kind of food, is seconds." For as tight as money is right now while we are working on reconstructing the house, my boyfriend and I purchased one platter and feasted together. And for that moment that we shared a single plate; we were very rich indeed.
Public Journal Advocacy23:39 Aug 09 2006
Times Read: 654
I've always been a writer, a person of deep thinking, a boundary tester. I've always had this way of looking at the world from a perspective which I believed was different, truly unique. And so I wrote. I wrote poetry, prose, daily musings, rants, and rambling thoughts. I spent hours defending my own belief of how I was different, special, of how my world was different than everybody else's.
I used to share these thoughts with a select few people. My mother, and my closest friends. The feedback that I got at the time, I believed was tainted. I came from a "weird family" so I must have picked up a few "weird friends" and any similarities we share must be because "like attracts like." So I continued to write, believing that the similar feeling that my friends shared were because we were the few freaks who found each other in a giant, uncaring world. I continued to write; write myself into a downward spiral.
By writing about my experiences and my universe as I saw it, I did nothing but put a magnifying glass over the littlest problems, scratch the littlest itch, and exascerbate the tiniest doubts, insecurities and negative feelings. Mostly because I wrote alone. I read alone. I reveled in my writings and did not share them to get much feedback.
During one particularly "inspired" period of my life, I wrote the following about the feedback I had received: "My mom says I've been spending too much time indoors, thinking. She says it makes for good writing; then points out that those writers typically go insane. She wants me to get out & around other people...."
Just about at that time, I had started this LJ account. I was starting to take on a few LJ friends. I was starting to get comments and feedback from others besides my closest friends and family. I was starting to read the daily musings and worries of others whom I hardly knew. But of course, I continued, as always, to write.
After three years of writing on a public forum and reading the thoughts of others, I have finally come to realize that deep down, we are truly all the same. We all have the same insecurities, the same worries, the same problems, the same feelings of emptiness and the same "YAK." We all feel that our problems are worse than others' problems. We are all consumed by our own emotions. We are all the same, and we all feel the same way. We all have happy times, and we all get depressed. Deep down inside, we all feel that we are more depressed than others. Deep down we all growl, and we all meow. It is nothing but our own isolation that makes us feel like we are different; like we are outcasts, special, lonely, and in need of medication.
It is through this revelation that I have become a great advocate of the public journal forum. There is truly no other way, besides sharing, to find that you are completely normal. Just give it a try! I ask you... whatever you feel consumes you... let it out. Read what other's feel consumes them. Realize that you are not alone. Realize that we all feel this way - together.
Calling all Palmists22:25 Aug 07 2006
Times Read: 667
Calling all palmists...
While working on the house yesterday, I caught a nail right in the center of my lifeline on my right hand. Now I have a puncture wound, just like a stigmata mark, right exactly on the lifeline, smack in the middle of the lifeline run.
Yes, well sometimes I can be a little superstitious, and a little silly.
Its on my right hand, and I'm right-handed. Its also right smack in the center of my lifeline.
So in a whiny Jerry Lewis voice, let me ask, "Oh dear me, I wonder what it meeeeans?"
My guess is that it means: "You... are... here."
So if its right smack in the middle of the run, I suppose it could be trying to tell me that my life expectancy could be reduced to about 64 because of all this dangerous stuff I like to do, and the chemicals to which I am being exposed...
LOL
;-P
*edit*
Before any of you ask....
YES, both my b/f and I got our tetanus boosters before we started working on cleaning out, gutting and rebuilding the fixxer-upper house. (click to see pics of our progress so far.)
But I would love to hear the feedback or suppositions of any amateaur or professional palmists out there....
Outer Shell04:18 Aug 03 2006
Times Read: 669
So many of us live our daily existence as an empty or nearly empty shell. Many of us recognize this emptiness and try to fill it with various vices: Food, wine, alcohol, drugs, love, excercise, labor, work, projects, crafts, Jesus etc.
But the emptiness still remains; the loneliness lingers.
I have noticed that many of us cultivate behaviours to try and get someone else to fill these holes. Many of us have accidents, bump into things, accidentally lob off fingers, purposefully open wrists, scream, shout, cry, steal, assault, rebel, dress or act provocatively, get thrown into prison... just to get recognized. Many will do anything to get their outer shell noticed. Sometimes we can become especially clumsy or sick; or tend to get injured or ill in order to fill this need for love.
In a world packed with over 6.5 billion people, each one of us is jumping up and down trying to get our head and shoulders higher than the other. Each one of us is, in our own individual way screaming, "Look at me!"
In a world packed with over 6.5 billion people, is this what reproductive competition has come to? Has it gotten so overcrowded that each one of us biologically needs to feel empty inside to prompt us to go to great lengths to get others to notice us?
Is this the terrible side-effect resultant of our success in removing ourselves from the Darwinistic cruelties of natural selection? The terrible side-effect that not a single one of us feels special and unique, and everyone feels empty inside? Or is this slightly empty feeling inside just the result of years of television commercials programming us to believe that we can never be happy in life unless we buy the product of the hour?
Why is everyone so empty? Am I wrong? I dare you to sit quiet and stare at a blank white wall for more than fifteen minutes. When you do that, let me ask you: "Do you feel slightly empty too; Do you feel like you're missing something too - or is it just me?"
Does anyone else feel like they're walking around on earth, but missing something big here?
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