|Adaptations (adaptations) wrote,|
@ 2008-10-10 06:34:00
|Entry tags:||meryl streep, pb|
Examples for ristastapleton Slipping Through My Fingers (Bio)
1 - Origins
Oh boy, how could I possibly even begin to explain 59 years of living in one post? I sound so old when I put it like that, but there you have it. I'm 59 years old. I have three beautiful daughters named Louise, Emma, and Kensington. I suppose since this is an introduction I can take you through a philological explanation of their names. Then again, I failed philology. Who pays attention to the origins and the roots of words? Well, I certainly didn't. That's for damn sure. Now, with the privilege of hindsight, I wish I had paid more attention. It seems like a useful field to know. But perhaps not, seeing as it's died off by 2008. Thank god, I haven't.
As you probably guessed, I don't do this sort of...thing often. Write down my own thoughts and share them with others on the internet, I mean. I tend to ramble on in a stream of consciousness manner that makes no sense unless I'm physically speaking to you, face to face. But my kids keep nagging me to "get with the program, Mom," so here I am attempting to run with the cool kids and wondering when I ceased to be one of them - somewhere back in 1978 maybe? It might as well be the Mesozoic Era. It was that long ago. But honestly, I own an art gallery right here in New York City called, Chaos. I must be cool. I hang with the real artists and move their masterpieces around...artfully. Fear not, people, I will stumble upon a theme at some point on which I can elaborate.
So here goes. My very feeble attempt at etymology. I am Karista May Stapleton. I happen to share a last name with the wonderful deceased actress, Maureen Stapleton. Sadly, I'm of no relation. I knew from a very young age that my given name literally means "the body of Christ," and let me tell you, that was a lot to live up to. Talk about putting pressure on a child. Clearly, I've failed abysmally. I'm very proud of my three children though, even if they're not technically children anymore. Screw semantics. They'll always be my children. I had Louise back in 1977. She was named after my mother, may she rest in peace. She was a fiery old broad, and quite frankly, so is my daughter. She also was named after her father, Louis Crawford. He was quite a fiery man too, which is odd because Louise and Louis are pretty typical, non-flaming names. Surprise surprise, he was flaming. Then there's Emma, born in 1981 to Dennis Harrington III and myself. Dennis was an intellectual of privilege, but he had such amazing ideals. We would sit for hours and talk about Marx, Max Eastman, Diego Rivera, Frida Kahlo, Lenin, Trotsky, and General Mao. I named Emma after the famous anarchist and socialist, Emma Goldman. Oddly enough, Maureen Stapleton played Red Emma, as she was called, in the movie, Reds, which came out that same year. And finally Kensington Stapleton, who is named solely after her father, Keruouac Kensington. He was a hippie and a beat poet. I mean with a name like Keruouac, how could he not be? We smoked and smoked and obviously managed to have sex in between all the smoking and munching that took place in 1984. Those were the good years, and I have three amazing children to remember them all by. And there you really have it. Do with that what you will.
3 - The Importance of Hair Color
Oh god. I haven't thought about high school in decades. I try not to think about it. High school was a crazy rat race to see who could be the most popular, the most beautiful, and sleep with the most men. It was the sixties, after all. But amidst all that flower power and free love, I felt horrible about myself. I had superficial friends (you know, the cheerleader kind), and the most important thing in my life was boys. So, of course, way back in the 1600's, I discovered a secret more important than gold for a teenage girl - a peroxide bottle.
Boy, did my life ever change overnight after that. I went from being Frankenstein to Mary Shelley. All of a sudden, boys couldn't get enough of me. I was always asked to see the latest Bette Davis or Katherine Hepburn movie, to go dancing, and to eat at the local diner with Tom, Dick, Harry, Sam, John, Peter, Paul, and even Mary. Then came the biggest coup d'etat in the history of New Jersey - I was voted Homecoming Queen! All thanks to the flowing platinum tresses, mind you. Who knew that life could be so meaningful? I sure as hell didn't. But there it was, I was not only beautiful, but I was also voted "Most Likely to Succeed." In the final popularity contest, I once again stood victorious.
But what does it all mean forty years later? Well, I still have blonde hair. I still like to sleep with men, but I also pride myself on using the brain I grew in college for something more meaningful than hair or sex, like sexual politics, or politics in general, or even the legalization of marijuana. These last three are the things I would've liked my yearbook to say, obviously. It's bigger than "Hey blondie. Give me a call, (and insert phone number here)." Thank god that part of my life is over. I do not miss it at all.
7 - Faith
Well, boy, where do I begin with faith? I've never been particularly religious per se, but I've always been drawn to it. It's a fascinating subject really because it encompasses so much. Faith - it's a moving word, really. It's, to me, it's an idea, or a belief, in the possible. I'm not explaining this well.
I was raised as a "CEO (Christmas and Easter Only) Christian", and with my political beliefs, I just kind of moved away from it as time went on. Growing up in New Jersey in the 1950's, it was just what we did. My parents never forced religion down our throats, but we respected it. When I moved away to New York, I would have some really amazingly deep conversations about religion with Jewish friends and the atheists I was constantly surrounded by. If I had to stick a label on my faith today, I suppose it would be "freethinker." I have fully admitted in previous posts that I was a bit of a beatnik in my not too distant youth, and Ginsberg's words have always struck a chord with me because, I too have seen "angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection in the starry dynamo." I've been one of those hipsters even, who has "bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illumined." The beats always had a quest for spiritual enlightenment that went beyond religious dogma, and I could relate to that. I guess I look at things historically, so I can believe in a kind of secularized dispensationalism, a system of progression that is both self-revealing and ultimately saving. And, although I sound like a drugged out hipster, have faith that I have been clean since 1982...I think.
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Slipping Through My Fingers (Bio)