kmoore's blog

Over the weekend, I was carjacked. Well, if my carjacker was laidback and gave up pretty easily, then, yes, I was carjacked. And while I don’t think my life was ever in real danger, it still was helpful to remind me of some best practices when you’re out late/in the dark/by yourself.

I was coming home from a late work event with a colleague and we pulled over on a side street to pick up some collateral marketing materials. I stayed in the car just because I had a little nagging feeling like I shouldn’t leave the car, even though I would return quickly. A man and woman walked toward the car while I was in the passenger seat. I thought about locking the doors, but didn’t want to seem rude. Then I thought, “No, I don’t care if I look rude, I’m doing it anyway. Better to be safe.” And sure enough, the man walked right up to the driver’s side window, which was rolled down, to ask if I could give them a ride. Of course, I said no, politely but firmly.

In September, my sister brought two girl kittens home from the Humane Society. They are a-DOR-able, by the way, but that's not really what this blog is about. Olive was 6 months old and about 3.5 pounds and Bebe was just 4 months old and about 4 pounds. In the following months, they've been eating all the same food, in the same quantities, at the same time. They've had similar activity habits, chasing each other around our apartment, "killing" their toys and sleeping a LOT.

Yet after three months, Bebe is now about 7 pounds and Olive is still a dainty, tiny little kitten, which reminded me that women truly have different genetic makeups.

Something I’ve really been working on lately is not being so critical of myself. As women I feel like we are just trained, wired, or both, to give ourselves such scrutiny. We are inundated with images of the ideal woman in magazines, movies, television and too often we forget how much airbrushing, makeup and lighting go toward achieving that perfection. The things I notice about myself that I don’t like, maybe my fair skin (I just plain don’t tan, it’s not in my DNA), or a pesky blemish, are the kind of things I would NEVER think about someone else. Why are we so easily caught up in tiny imperfections that no one else will even notice?

I saw RENT last night at the Keller Auditorium, and was lucky enough to see two of the original cast members, Anthony Rapp and Adam Pascal, reprise their roles in the current tour. Suffice it to say that every element of the production was fantastic. RENT follows a group of friends living in the East Village during the late 1980s as they struggle with AIDS, poverty, love and – as the title suggests - paying their rent. Throughout the show they champion the plight of the homeless, make up and break up, all while fearing the death sentence that an AIDS diagnosis guaranteed at that time. It would figure then that the show is completely life-affirming, as characters plead with the audience that all anyone really has is today, this moment, and the only way to measure your life is in love. It is beyond poetic irony that the creator of RENT died unexpectedly of an aneurysm shortly before his opus became a worldwide phenomenon, only confirming that you can never count on a tomorrow, so you might as well seize every moment you have.

My mom is 51 years old and this weekend she donned a cap and gown and walked in the Portland State University commencement ceremony. She had collected about two years of college credits 30 years ago but then came husband and then came baby and she put off finishing her degree. She began making a dent in it about four years ago, with night and online courses, a little at a time. About a year ago she bravely quit working to speed up her college career and totally immersed herself in her studies. It admittedly took her awhile to commit to her decision. Anytime we are faced with a fork in the road, the natural instinct is to waver, to hesitate. It's hard to be gung-ho about change. Hey, it's hard to even initiate it, rather than wait for it to force yourself into action. I see how happy she is with her decision, I’m proud of her for never stopping her learning, and I am grateful for the example she has set for me. Risks, when taken to improve one's self, will never become regrets.

Last night I watched a documentary called Young at Heart. Released in 2007, the film follows a choral group from Massachusetts as they begin rehearsing for a show full of new songs. Catch #1: they sing rock songs. Catch #2: they are all senior citizens. The Young at Heart chorus, led by Bob Cilman, performs songs by the likes of The Clash and The Ramones with the gusto and verve of rowdy teenagers. Cilman picks an amazing group of songs, including “Dancing in the Dark” and “I Feel Good,” that take on new meaning when sung by a group whose average age is 80 years old. At times laugh-out-loud hilarious or heartbreakingly sad, the film does a better job of showing how to truly embrace and love life than any I’ve seen in a long time. When bad things happen, and I won’t get too specific, the filmmaker asks Cilman how the group continues to perform in the face of unbearable sadness.

Last night I went to see WICKED at the Keller. It was the 2nd time I’ve seen it and just as enjoyable as the first. As a big fans of musicals in general, I can appreciate any show that is visually exciting and spectacular with catchy, bring-down-the-house musical numbers. But what really made me go back to see WICKED a 2nd time is the themes that bring its story to life. I think any woman can relate to a heroine who feels out of place, misunderstood and ugly, at least by society’s standards. Who among us hasn’t felt there was another girl out there who was just a little bit prettier, a little more graceful, a little better at getting along with everyone…a little better at getting attention from boys? For a second heroine to crumble to pressure to be well-liked and popular, even at the expense of her beliefs, well, that’s pretty realistic too. What woman hasn’t had a time where they stood by in silence while they saw wrong being done, even in the most miniscule of infractions, because they didn’t want to displease the company they kept?

After listening to Nelson and Terry’s Valentine’s Day for the CCA all day, I feel humbled. My struggles are minute and temporary, my hardships are never life-threatening. Meanwhile, there are brave kids half my age facing incredible turmoil and trial who have amazing resilience and contagious joy for life. I have never been tested in such a way, and I hope if I ever do face such a situation, I would handle it with half of the dignity, optimism and determination that the families Nelson and Terry have spoken to. And if I were supported half as much as today’s families are by the Children’s Cancer Association, well, I would certainly be blessed. Nothing like a little perspective to put you back in balance.

Anything that resonates with the public in such a huge way fascinates me. Why do some terrible TV shows have high ratings and terrific ones get canceled? I think, for the most part, when anything becomes a pop culture phenomenon it is primarily good fortune that gets it there.
Which brings me to “American Idol.” “Idol” started up again recently, as I’m sure you’re all aware. And I, like most of you, found myself parked in front of the TV for the eighth year in a row. Guilty pleasure indeed. It’s campy, ridiculous, and pretty impressed with itself, and I still can’t stop watching it.

I do love Christmas more than the next girl, and despite the occasional road difficulty it has been such a treat to see Portland blanketed in snow the past few days. So often we spend our December with nary a snowflake to be found, so I’ve enjoyed finally having my surroundings resemble a classic holiday movie.