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Sarah Grace McCandless



Last Updated: 8/1/2009

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Gender: Female
Status: Married
Age: 35
Sign: Leo

State: New York
Country: US
Signup Date: 3/19/2005

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October 31, 2009 - Saturday 
I'm sort of fascinated with the level of where things have gone to in terms of Facebook updates and Tweets. Fascinated, and just as guilty at times, in terms of feeling the need to share everything from the most mundane thoughts to some that are arguably just too personal. I'm not sure what compels the majority of us to fall into this pattern - maybe everything seems like fair game once you turn on a means of connecting, even if it's digital and subject to judgment.

So I guess you can consider this my status update, one that exceeds 140 characters. It's the eve before my favorite holiday (or "Devil's Night" as we Detroiters call it - i.e. "Light Some Shit on Fire Night"), and I am staring down the tail end of some sort of flu that was just strong enough to be annoying, but not serious enough to push me to Swine concerns. I am also staring down a bag of Halloween candy, still somehow miraculously unopened and so ridiculously out of proportion in terms of my trick-or-treaters ratio: there's got to be at least 90 pieces in this bag, and I'll get maybe 10-15 kids knocking on my door at best. Guess those little suckers are going to get a handful each, because otherwise that means leftovers and that means binge, which would be fine if I had the "purge" part down too, except I don't.

Yes, I just more or less encouraged having an eating disorder as a way of having your candy and eating it too, and this is one of the many reasons I'm not actually allowed to have kids.

I've certainly been way more sick than I am now, but regardless, I don't do "sick" well. I don't know how to relax when I'm feeling well, so you would think that sticking me with a lowered immune system might be just the trick to slow me down, but it actually makes me more nervous, because it sends my mind racing about all the stuff I should be doing. How's that for some twisted logic? I'd like to pin this on the fact that I work from home, and therefore don't really even have sick days, but even when I did report to an office and could call in, I always worried whether or not the powers that be believed me. 

That said, I've agreed to a compromise of sorts: though I have been more or less stationed on my couch for the past 48 hours, it's been with my laptop actually ON my lap, working through my various to-do lists for my clients at a reasonable (if not total A-game) pace. I even managed to make final edits to my new book proposal - just waiting on one more sample to come through, then it's all systems go in terms of my agent taking it out.

Mr. SG headed down to DC for the weekend to celebrate a friend's birthday, and at the last minute we decided Awesome-O would join him, freeing me of dog duties in order to help out in the "laying low" department. So here I am, on my second 2-liter of diet ginger ale, determined to get back on the saddle somewhat by tomorrow so I can join my friend Tim for a little Halloween dinner to celebrate as he prepares to run the New York Marathon Sunday morning.  

I haven't run to the kitchen let alone several miles in two weeks now - just wasn't feeling up to it, even prior to getting hit with this flu, but to be honest I'm not sure how much I even care about the lag. I sort of just wanted to prove that I could train myself this year to the point of doing at least one 5K, and that mission has been more than accomplished. But I've said out loud that I'm going to do another one on Thanksgiving morning, so again - the pressure to follow through, stick to my word, even though it's a word that was more or less sent into outer space and committed to no one and nothing. But it's out there, and I know it, and that's enough - so it's back to the treadmill come Monday.

By then, my beloved October will have officially come to a close. This year, it was a strange mix of deeply rewarding and incredibly rough, though I suppose that's every month, even the ones I try to protect with proclamations that they are my favorite of all.

But there's a time to be a sad Vader...


...and a time to use the force.



And right now, I'm trying to skip the boo hoo's and just focus on the boo's. Happy Halloween.
1:34 AM 
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September 11, 2009 - Friday 
*Incidentally, I love both the Placebo and Kate Bush version

Let's make something clear right off the bat: I am not a runner. I have never liked running, unless we're talking about to the wine shop or from something really scary - like a spoonful of cottage cheese. I also have a trick knee that likes to pop backwards whenever I've been forced to run in the past (High School P.E. class, I'm looking in your direction). 

However, in light of my declaration that this is the "Year of Doing Shit that Scares Me," (see also: singing lessons, tattoos), I decided to set a goal to train to the point where I could at least endure a 5k. This started about five to six months ago, and at the onset, I seriously couldn't run two minutes continuously without feeling like my insides were about to explode. Within my first two months though, I scheduled and complete not one but two 5ks - oh, not RUNNING, mind you, but hey at least I finished. I kept up with my training throughout the summer, and I don't know if I was fueled by stress, glee, anger, sadness, or a combination of all of the above, but one day I realized, "Hey. I'm running 5ks. Like, every other day as part of my regular workout routine." 


Now casting for the role of my Six Million Dollar Man/running partner

Whoa. Paging invasion of the body snatchers.

Look - I still don't like running. I really don't. But I continue to do so for a number of reasons. One, it's a necessary - emphasis on the word "necessary" - release for a worry wart like me. There's also something kind of redeeming about doing a workout where you actually not only break a sweat, but continue to pour. And there's also a part of me that keeps on keeping on just for the sheer fact that I have two arms and two legs that work - one day, I might not be so lucky.  And, despite all my self-deprecating humor that obviously has very real roots to places and moments of insecurity, there is a part of me that keeps going just to prove - or maybe remind myself - that I am indeed stronger than I realize, or ever give myself credit for. 

Tomorrow morning, I raise the ante - just slightly in terms of length (four miles,) but more so in terms of stamina (full-blown run; do not walk, do not pass GO, do not collect $200), as I join the masses in Central Park for the Fitness Magazine Mind, Body, Spirit Games. Will I run the entire length of the race? Hope so. Will I finish one way or another? Definitely.

I am a thousand different things  - a worrier, a giver, a class clown, a fast talker, a cry baby, a short fuse, sometimes sadly a doormat before I realize and it's too late. But one thing I am not is a quitter. I may sob and break down behind closed doors, but on the outside, you will never, ever see me throw in the towel. You can bank on that. 

P.S. Apparently the use of iPods is poo-poo'd by New York Road Runners, who is co-sponsoring the event. Be that as it may, I can't move an inch without one. What are you going to do? Arrest me for iPoding? 

SG's Catch Me If You Can (You Can't) Running Playlist


10:54 PM 
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September 11, 2009 - Friday 
September - FINALLY. Am I the only one who thought Summer '09 sucked the big one? Talk about the Summer o' Loss. Eesh.

But onward and upward, as they say (by the way, one of these days I'd like to share a glass of wine with the mysterious "they"so I can find out how and why they think they know so much). I challenge you to put your best foot (or heel, boot, etc.) forward this fall, and to help inspire you to do so? Check out this month's CRUSH column on Forces of Geek, dedicated to all things Joan!


Can you say, "Nummers"? I can. Nummers.

2:56 AM 
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August 20, 2009 - Thursday 
I've mentioned this before briefly, but during college, in an effort to save the about-to-be-canceled show, I made a 'zine about "My So-Called Life," the title of which was...wait for it...My So-Called 'Zine! (Awww, yeah, go on with your clever self, girl...SNAP!) I even sent a copy to ABC, who must have passed it along to the cast, because guess who sent me a really cool postcard in return? Brian Krakow, aka Devon Gummersall, who apparently is slated to appear in the season finale of Lifetime's new series "Drop Dead Diva," a show I've been meaning to check out. Now that Krakow's going to be on it? DVR set!   


I call this: "Why you should always pay attention to the nerdy boys in high school"...DELICIOUS!

And to answer the question I know you're asking, YES, I own the complete "My So-Called Life" series on DVD - the one that came with a MSCL lunch box. And I still have that postcard from Devon, somewhere, though I have yet to track down a copy of the one and only 'zine I ever made...but I remain hopeful. In the meantime, enjoy one of my all-time favorite moments from the show (despite the fact that it's sans Krakow or Jordan Catalano). When I first watched this scene, I cried and cried and cried, and it STILL gets me to this day (like, lump in throat and tears in eyes right now):

 


Friendship betrayals and break-ups, especially between girls, might be the most heartbreaking of all...not to mention this is the only time I've ever found the quintessential high school play Our Town to be even remotely interesting.
1:45 PM 
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August 19, 2009 - Wednesday 
There is an incredible thunder and lightening storm blanketing New York this evening, and I am wondering if I can get a copy of it on DVD... deleted scenes included. I keep trying to catch the lightening from my window with my camera as it cracks over the skyline, but I can't nail the timing just right, and am instead being reminded that, alas, I am not a photographer.

Regardless, a summer thunderstorm is one of my most favorite soundtracks. Well, besides the way a record needle sounds on vinyl. Speaking of, I am taking a trip down memory lane this week and reclaiming a possession (courtesy of eBay) that brought me great joy - through music - as a child.

Girl, put your records on...tell me your favorite song...

Ahh, bliss, and soon it will be back in my grubby little hands where it belongs. If only I still had all my 45s on hand, but that's what record stores are for - plus I have a super savvy stepbrother who knows all the best spots in the city for said shopping.

The orange and brown of this old school record player reminds me of the fall, and despite my love for the sound of a summer thunderstorm, I cannot wait for the arrival of crisper and cooler days. Fall has always been my favorite time of year. Back-to-school supply displays makes me giddy. The smell of burning leaves and the sight of a pumpkin patch sends me into happiness overdrive. Throw a cider mill in there, and I'm down and out for the count. I am craving little plaid skirts with tights and knee high boots, a kick ass pair of jeans, the perfect sweater, scarves, scarves, scarves, and a homecoming that is long, long overdue.

2:39 AM 
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August 18, 2009 - Tuesday 
My dear friend and fellow writer Jolene has been conducting video interviews with other writers such as Jen Lancaster (author of Pretty in Plaid, Such a Pretty Fat, Bright Lights Big Ass, Bitter is the New Black) and Stephanie Kuehnert (author of Ballads of Suburbia, I Wanna Be Your Joey Ramone), courtesy of Jolene's super cool Flip - which I've been calling the iFlip for months now...because really, doesn't EVERYTHING have a lower case "i" before it these days? Well, little "i" or no little "i," big "I" - as in moi - shall own one by month's end.

Anyhoo, Jolene has more interviews on deck, which includes plans to pose the following question (among others) to fellow artists: how DOES one get past creative blocks? So wait, I'm not the only one who has them? Whew!

One of the ways I personally get past said blocks is by drawing inspiration from those around me, be it through a fantastic book, a brilliant feature article, an amazing piece of art, a heartbreaking song, a one-of-a-kind film, or a riveting play. My most recent example of the latter item on that list? "The Boys Upstairs" penned by the genius that is Jason Mitchell. I had the privilege and pleasure of seeing a matinee of the show this past Sunday at the Soho Playhouse during its premiere as part of this month's New York International Fringe Festival. I'll share the official synopsis with you, which does a much better job of setting up the story than my ridiculous paraphrasing:

"Sex, Dating, Friendship, and all the blurry lines in between...The Boys Upstairs invites you into the fabulous living room of Josh, Seth, and Ashley. These three Hell's Kitchen Boys encounter all of the challenges, thrills, disappointments, tops and bottoms that young adult New York life has to offer. Seth is falling in love with his older boyfriend while attempting to seek approval from his single best friends. Ashley feeds on the variety, availability and accessibility of men in Manhattan. Josh finds inspiration from the antics of his two besties and his own humorously disastrous trials with dating and funnels it all into his newest writing concept. Just when these three settle into a rhythm of celebrating life and then analyzing it the next morning, they are all thrown for a loop when their incredibly hot neighbor Eric moves in below them. The "is he or isn't he" question is just one of many that these city boys ponder with style, scandal, and specialty cocktails!"



I laughed my ASS off, from the opening scene through curtain call. Everything about this show worked. The casting was so perfect you felt like you not only actually knew these characters within seconds of first meeting them, but that you'd know them your entire life. This is particularly amazing considering over 1,000 actors were submitted to be seen for this play, leading to 150 auditions for ultimately just five slots.

Before the first scene was over, I found myself digging in my purse for a pen and anything that remotely represented a blank piece of paper so I could scribble down some of the brilliant dialogue, including:

- I'm not what you'd call a "morning flower."
- I twittered you twats.
- I don't meet people like this in Hoboken.
- I hate this part... I was wrong. I'm sorry. You look great!
- Yo. Focus. ME!
- Is it really possible to find a gem at Century 21?

Bottom line? Any show that drops both a Nomi Malone and Jessica Fletcher reference within the same scene can come over to my house and share a glass of wine with me any day of the week.

For those in the New York area, you're in luck, as there are three performances still on deck this month: Tuesday August 18 at 7:00pm, Thursday August 27 at 5:00pm, and Friday August 28 at 7:00pm. Get thyself to the Soho Playhouse pronto, and for those out of range? Keep your fingers crossed that some very wise television producer picks this gem up as an ongoing series. Showtime, HBO, AMC...I'm looking in your direction.

I love a good dose of inspiration, and this play lit a much-needed, four-alarm fire under my ass. Thanks Jason Mitchell - I owe you one.
2:56 AM 
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August 15, 2009 - Saturday 
Who wakes up at 4am on a Saturday? Apparently, yours truly. I guess that sounds worse than it really is, considering I went to bed at 10:30pm or so. Or maybe not - I woke up first around midnight, then again at 1:30am. And yet again at 3:30am. I know that I actually slept at some point, because I had not one, but two dreams about being kidnapped. I don't remember if any ransom was demanded, or if so, the amount (brother, can you spare a dime?). I don't remember what my captors looked like, or going through any Stockholm Syndrome.

I do remember this: in the distance, I could see tornadoes touching down on the horizon.

I don't remember being rescued. I think I rescued myself.

Being up at this hour reminds me of my dad. Maybe it's because he's traveled so much throughout his career and grew accustom to catching flights at all hours. Or maybe he just discovered the secret early on - how, at this hour, a brewed pot of coffee somehow smells infinitely better and the news anchors sound more comforting and oddly enough dare I say even hopeful. Or how absolutely quiet it is just before the light starts to come into the sky and the world starts to move again with all its' to-do's and what if's and fingers crossed.


FYI, this is a decent representation of my view, but this was stolen from Google.
It's so early, it's not even this light out yet.
Currently listening:
Already Gone
By Kelly Clarkson
Release date: 2009-09-01
9:09 AM 
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August 15, 2009 - Saturday 
The first time I ever heard or thought about "The Pronoun Game" was through my friend Lisa, who, as a lesbian, had no choice but to not only experience it and engage in it, particularly in certain work and client situations where she was pressed about her "better half" or "significant other." This had nothing to do with being comfortable with who she was and is, or her own sexuality, but rather just a game that was necessary to play from time to time thanks to ignorance and judgment coming from the other end. I had never thought of having to dance around such specifics before, and I have always admired the way Lisa handled it and continues to do so.

Lately, though, I've been thinking about pronouns in a bit of a different way. "They's" and "we's" seem to be the easiest to deploy, because let's be honest - there is comfort in a collective, not to mention safety, particularly when it comes to taking responsibility or expressing what you truly want or desire, or how you feel. "They all love you." "We think you're great." "They understand what you meant."

Then comes the "You's" which also seem to come more naturally, be it good, bad, or otherwise. "You need to change." "You don't understand." "You aren't listening." "You did your best." But is the "you" too often abused at times as a go-to tool for seeming like you're being real, raw, and honest, and saying what's really on your mind, but maybe just a way to project and avoid what's really going on?

I remember very early on when I was making my way into the working world, shortly after graduating from Michigan State when I first moved to Portland, Oregon, I had what was essentially an entry-level job - one that quickly picked up mid-level responsibilities (with, of course, no change in compensation) for a Fortune 500 company that had just gone through one of the worst public floggings on record, thanks to EPA violations and manufacturing misfires to the tunes of billions - yes, billions - of dollars in settlements and fines. But never mind all that - the company still somehow found ways to invest a small fortune into an internal communications training program, where we were taught to say things like, "I make myself feel ____ when you ____" - so for example, "I make myself feel angry when you don't turn your reports in on time." Oh yes. It's true. Did I mention the woman running the training company was rumored to be having an affair with the then CEO? And does that really come as any surprise? Yeah - I make myself feel like an idiot when I realize the obvious.

Anyway, speaking of "I," to me this is, without question, the most difficult. It's vulnerable, risky, and carries no guarantees. "I fucked up." "I don't know what to do." "I want help." "I need you." "I love you." When you go to the "I" it's just you and like the pronoun implies, it can make you feel like you are incredibly, impossibly alone. It is the pronoun of ultimate personal exposure.

But then I - just me, real me, no quotation marks - consider the alternative: climbing up into the tree house of the collectives with the "they's" and "we's", or the courtroom of the "you's" or worse yet, not saying anything at all? Easier, maybe, but options? I don't know. I don't think so. I think for now I'll take my chances with the I's and let the chips fall where they may.
Currently watching:
Rachel Getting Married
Release date: 2009-03-10
1:37 AM 
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August 13, 2009 - Thursday 
For those needed to fill in some spots on their summer reading list, I present to you my latest CRUSH column on Forces of Geek. I realize that reading might seem a little static compared to, say, the August 16 season three premiere of "Mad Men" but authors need your love too - not just actors.
 


However, that said, in between chapters, I highly encourage everyone to "Mad Men" themselves like I did above. Look at Don, trying to charm the dress off of me. Whoops. Mission accomplished.


Currently reading:
It's Not Me, It's You: Subjective Recollections from a Terminally Optimistic, Chronically Sarcastic and Occasionally Inebriated Woman
By Stefanie Wilder-Taylor
10:15 PM 
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August 2, 2009 - Sunday 
1. Sleep until 11am for the first time in about 100 years (though the time stamp is deceiving considering I didn't go to bed until like 3:30am).

2. Send husband out for coffee ASAP. Large. Iced. With skim milk.

3.Watch "The Toy" on AMC and think about how (a) totally inappropriate it would be to make this movie today and (b) all these actors are now either dead or porn stars.


4. Wish Lance, Shawna, Chris, and Hadley a happy birthday via Facebook; wish Misty and Phil a happy birthday via email; think about how many friends have August 2 birthdays.

5. Shake head in disbelief over accuracy of impromptu psychic reading last night...laugh over still not knowing for sure if said reader was male or female. Pat? Is that you?

6. Read pile of magazines next to bed including current issues of New York, Entertainment Weekly, Poets & Writers, BUST, Bark, InStyle, and Allure.

7. Read The New York Times online and grit teeth over article highlighting a book about "nothing" - good to know what's selling these days.

8. Kiss puppy; find center again.

9. Decide to work and read from bed all day.

10. Watch and love the rain hitting the Hudson, and dream about Portland.
Currently reading:
Shelf Discovery: The Teen Classics We Never Stopped Reading
By Lizzie Skurnick
Release date: 2009-07-21
5:04 PM 
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