Fried Chicken

In my family, when we went on a long journey by car, there was always somebody who had to pee (if its a guy, he may have had to use a pop bottle LOL *dont judge*), many childish spats ("she's touching me!"), and no matter where we were going, there was always, Always, ALWAYS a container of fried chicken and a bag of white bread.

I'm not talkin KFC or Popeyes-- I'm talkin cleanin' chicken in one side of the sink, pluckin feathers, tucking back the wing, putting it in the adjacent sink, throwin seasioning 'til you can 'smell it', double dipping in the paper bag full of flour and dropping it in the grease til your eyes are watering.

Call it stereotypical, call it cliche-- I'll call it a comforting memory of my childhood. With 8 other siblings, I was lucky to get two pieces of chicken on a 13 hour stint to Alabama, much less think about trying to stop at Mickey-Dee's; Chicken was the only option. My parents always did what they had to do; we never went without. Traveling by car has a place in most of my favorite childhood memories.

In a couple hours, we'll be on the road, Charlotte bound. I'm sitting at the dining room table (halfway) wearing my mothers robe. With my calf propped up on the table as I wait for the third of six batches of fried chicken to float in the scalding hot grease, I can hear the heavy breathing of my family in the distance, and I can't help but chuckle at how the roles have reversed.

Hope for Haiti Now

Justin Timberlake & Matt Morris' cover of Leonard Cohen "Hallelujah" Live On Hope For Haiti Now, was, so far, the jewel of the evening for me (I fell asleep and watched the playback this morning). though I haven't finished the whole show, I've had this four-minute performance on repeat for the past half hour or so.

The original song (in composition and lyrics) is brilliant in itself, but I thought the cover was an appropriate choice Timberlake and Morris blended like they had been singing together for years (Morris' tone is so smooth-- a nice, raspy blue-eyed soul-type thing going on, without sounding affected; I can understand why Timberlake has signed him and I will be googling him immediately lol) But more than that, in such an acoustic arrangement it was bare and chilling; almost ethereal.. had my broke tail about to empty my piggie bank for the third time for Haiti relief!

Whenever this performance becomes available, I will be one of the first to patronize. Whatever they charge, though, wont be enough. Not enough for this once in a lifetime live performance that, to me, created an atmosphere and captured the spirit and soul of a whole people in need, with "... the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift...."

I only wish there was more that I could do.

Fix you ≠ fix me.

Listening to: Coldplay "Fix You"

I was never handy with a hammer, as much as I wanted to be. Shop class was always an exciting disaster; the thought of creating something extravagant (read: functional) always propelled me to try, though my jewelry box looked more like a parallelogram and by the third project I secretly wished I had taken home-ec instead.

Still every now-and-then, I will pick up a power tool, at the dismay of all watching, I'm sure and instead of building something from scratch, I'll try to fix something that's broken.

What is it about me that is drawn to broken things?

Namely people (read: men) but even more-so recently, broken situations; Things that my heart longs to rectify but solutions aren't in my power. For a long time, I've attributed it to my giving nature-- wanting to help others succeed, however minuscule my efforts. In helping others, the success or failure is not my own; when they succeed I can rejoice but when they fail, it's no skin off my back. The reward is intrinsic but still results in empty hands.

And I can admit my own fear of failure had pacified me into believing that the achievements of others-- assisted by me-- is sufficient for this point in my life.

But it's not true.

There is too much greatness inside me to use it just for others. Whether I pass with flying colors or fall flat on my face with the world watching, I have to start taking chances for myself again.