I'm writing a book.
I tell myself this.
It's a strange concept, to begin with just a small seed that you must nourish into a tree. God that's cliche. I'm too lazy to think of something clever.
I have a basil plant. It is small and hopefully I can use it for cooking. I've always wanted an herb garden. I have 2 children now. My basil plant Hank and my silly car Weatherford. I'm hoping I don't kill the plant. I don't know how to care for it. You wouldn't think it would be complicated. But look at a goldfish. It's the simplest animal in the world. You just feed it once or twice a day and clean the bowl, right? Well, I've killed plenty in my day, so I guess that's not right. The bigger animals I'm better with...
I'm going to Colorado this weekend. Here's hoping I don't die a terrible death on the plane. As habit predicts, I must remember to bring some Tolle and some Dyer with me, so if I panic, I can get a little peace and soothing. Also, I'll use the secret my aunt taught me, and the one my father taught me, because I am superstitious. My aunt told me to wave your hand in a rainbow in front of you, calling for your guardian angels to help. And my dad, well he's just funny, as a little girl, he told me to lift my feet as the plane took off, and to dig my heels into the ground when we landed. You know, just to give the pilot a little extra aid. All grown-up and I have to do it still.
There is loudness all around. Yelling outside, a door slamming, music beating out of a parked car.
I'm excited for Boulder. For trees and green and Coloradans and a different way of living--I won't have time to do that different way, but I'll observe it, as is my nature.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Wild West
Wild West
I was smothered
But I didn’t know until the plastic was on my face
My mouth sucking and sucking, the plastic taut
And translucent, a window into my mouth
A flailing tongue and straight, white teeth
Bleached and once braced.
There’s something about suburbia they don’t tell you
That it lives elsewhere
Breathes into apartments with the breeze
Lights up condos
That the myth will follow you, even if you don’t chase it.
The wild west, a myth they said in those school days,
I’ve got a bigger one the teacher giggled
Her desk ornate with children’s photos,
I don’t know if they were hers,
Only that there was
A husband absent.
A woman once said to me,
my mother, but a human being first,
“How strange to think who you would be, if he’d chosen to be with me.”
But he did not choose her.
Not after all that.
Still there is the supposition
And the suspicion,
Goodbye house she will say soon
And further south she will retire, with my little old father,
who did nothing but try to be good
Sometimes, when the afternoon light dims
Tranquilized by the evening breeze
My throat tightens, and I want to cry
My apartment windows are barred and blinded
They remind me of my teeth once, as a child, an adult-becoming,
I try to cry, in that soft light coming through
The blinds tilted at such an angle that I can not see out.
But I can’t cry, and don’t change the blinds to see,
And don’t open the window,
I let the air stifle and still, warm and
Wait for a distraction.
I was smothered
But I didn’t know until the plastic was on my face
My mouth sucking and sucking, the plastic taut
And translucent, a window into my mouth
A flailing tongue and straight, white teeth
Bleached and once braced.
There’s something about suburbia they don’t tell you
That it lives elsewhere
Breathes into apartments with the breeze
Lights up condos
That the myth will follow you, even if you don’t chase it.
The wild west, a myth they said in those school days,
I’ve got a bigger one the teacher giggled
Her desk ornate with children’s photos,
I don’t know if they were hers,
Only that there was
A husband absent.
A woman once said to me,
my mother, but a human being first,
“How strange to think who you would be, if he’d chosen to be with me.”
But he did not choose her.
Not after all that.
Still there is the supposition
And the suspicion,
Goodbye house she will say soon
And further south she will retire, with my little old father,
who did nothing but try to be good
Sometimes, when the afternoon light dims
Tranquilized by the evening breeze
My throat tightens, and I want to cry
My apartment windows are barred and blinded
They remind me of my teeth once, as a child, an adult-becoming,
I try to cry, in that soft light coming through
The blinds tilted at such an angle that I can not see out.
But I can’t cry, and don’t change the blinds to see,
And don’t open the window,
I let the air stifle and still, warm and
Wait for a distraction.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
The Yoga-nator
Yoga last night was fantastic torture. It's 90 minutes of dripping sweat and pain, but I love it. The class was jam packed and although the room is not heated, it feels like sauna because of all the body heat. I actually stepped in a puddle of someone else's sweat in my barefeet on the way out, but was too exhausted to care. Thinking about it now though gives me the shivers.
It's simply cleansing, in every sense. I walk out feeling lighter and freer, like I definitley left a lot of crap in that room on my mat. Clean energy, clean body. I've been yoga-ing for a year now. And I'm addicted. This was only my second time at this studio. One of the neatest parts about it is that every class is donation based. I'm utterly shocked that I'm not sore. Just a little tired, everything a little worn.
It's also good for my neuroses because you're packed in like sardines. I could feel the guy next to me breathing on me (and yoga's all about the breathing). It helps me work through it, just be comfortable, people are people are people.
Holy cow, though. Right before the class started, this black guy in a suit, stumbled in, walked on everyone's mats and lied down in the corner, on someone's yoga mat. It took the teacher and a few students like ten minutes to get him up and out. And on the way out, the teacher told him it was a yoga class he was trying to sleep in, and a goofy grin lit up his face and he said, "Yoga?!" It sounded as if he had an African accent. And then in the early moments of the class, I could hear a brief cop siren, I'm guessing they came to remove his sleeping body from the sidewalk.
He wasn't homeless, you could tell by the way he was dressed. Just drunk and confused. Unsettling.
It's simply cleansing, in every sense. I walk out feeling lighter and freer, like I definitley left a lot of crap in that room on my mat. Clean energy, clean body. I've been yoga-ing for a year now. And I'm addicted. This was only my second time at this studio. One of the neatest parts about it is that every class is donation based. I'm utterly shocked that I'm not sore. Just a little tired, everything a little worn.
It's also good for my neuroses because you're packed in like sardines. I could feel the guy next to me breathing on me (and yoga's all about the breathing). It helps me work through it, just be comfortable, people are people are people.
Holy cow, though. Right before the class started, this black guy in a suit, stumbled in, walked on everyone's mats and lied down in the corner, on someone's yoga mat. It took the teacher and a few students like ten minutes to get him up and out. And on the way out, the teacher told him it was a yoga class he was trying to sleep in, and a goofy grin lit up his face and he said, "Yoga?!" It sounded as if he had an African accent. And then in the early moments of the class, I could hear a brief cop siren, I'm guessing they came to remove his sleeping body from the sidewalk.
He wasn't homeless, you could tell by the way he was dressed. Just drunk and confused. Unsettling.
Monday, May 5, 2008
in images
Alex, what a joy to see you the other night. As always, you were hysterical and tickled me. Beef Nate too. He's got some great one liners. About the beer spilling,"Now the floor's going to be sticky" and dave quoting. It's no wonder I based some writing on you guys. Whenever we hang out, I remember the night in images. The sticky floor, rubbing our shoes on the wall, the perv and the short guy's near calamity, the couple's "tender" making out, Alaska, I LOVE HANGING OUT, and then all the strangeness happening off camera. The perv pissing himself, and somehow believing pouring cologne on himself would remedy the situation, the missing furby...I don't know. I just remember these things, and my memory is poor. And that's why they find their way into my work. Because I remember, you make me remember, how is it I remember???
I'm making a cameo in your film this weekend. Write me in. I fly in Thursday, so maybe thurs night or fri night. Are you still an all night kid? I'm up for some midnight street wandering. like we used to. unzip that sweatshirt a little. it's been a while.
And thank you for your instant wisdom. The first thing that came out of your mouth about it. It wasn't the first time I had listened to it, but it was the first time I really heard it: You don't need to go to grad school to validate yourself as a writer. You don't need another degree to write.
After visiting Palm Desert that day, it was the perfect timing to receive it.
The script is coming together. Great feedback yesterday. I think we've got something.
I bought potatoes, tangerines, and cheesy bread things at the farmer's market. i love that place. listened to the band, watched people, ate samples, perused the tables of food and color.
Highlights of Palm Desert and Palm Springs: Driving through the windmills, which looked like monstrous, white flowers. The Mexican food restaurant with refreshing margaritas. Facing that stifling mountain of dirt and rock that loomed above us. Sand overwhelming the boundaries of the streets. The heat waves rising above the street like a whisper.
I'm making a cameo in your film this weekend. Write me in. I fly in Thursday, so maybe thurs night or fri night. Are you still an all night kid? I'm up for some midnight street wandering. like we used to. unzip that sweatshirt a little. it's been a while.
And thank you for your instant wisdom. The first thing that came out of your mouth about it. It wasn't the first time I had listened to it, but it was the first time I really heard it: You don't need to go to grad school to validate yourself as a writer. You don't need another degree to write.
After visiting Palm Desert that day, it was the perfect timing to receive it.
The script is coming together. Great feedback yesterday. I think we've got something.
I bought potatoes, tangerines, and cheesy bread things at the farmer's market. i love that place. listened to the band, watched people, ate samples, perused the tables of food and color.
Highlights of Palm Desert and Palm Springs: Driving through the windmills, which looked like monstrous, white flowers. The Mexican food restaurant with refreshing margaritas. Facing that stifling mountain of dirt and rock that loomed above us. Sand overwhelming the boundaries of the streets. The heat waves rising above the street like a whisper.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
HOT
Miserable hot. I went to the UCLA book fair today, primarily to see a friend who was working there, but also to scout out all the books. I had no idea what I was in for. First off, it was a hundred degrees. Second off, it's completely overwhelming, masses of people and masses of tents. So I just zeroed in on finding my friend, which wasn't so easy in itself.
On my way journey, I was stopped by a 50-something year old man who decided that insulting me would be the best way to start a conversation.
"You know you have to read to be able to enjoy a book fair."
Who does that? Well, I was dumbstruck and unfortunately instead of walking away, I explained that I did read and I was a writer. So he goes off on a spiel about how he's a producer, gave me his card, explaining he does book deals too and that he's looking for the next hit. Then he told me I was very pretty which made me marketable because television shows would want to book me for interviews. And then he told me to call him so we could get drinks and discuss the project. Who the heck is this guy?! It was all very depressing and I got on my way asap. I'm pretty so that means that my work is marketable, I just...Oooo...I can't even begin to rant about that. I hope it's not true, I hope it was just a line to get me to get drinks with him. I hope that's not the way the world works. Maybe in Hollywood, but literature?
I found Jenn who, being the trooper that she is, had been there all day in the sun yesterday, and was back for day 2. I could barely take the hour or so I hung out with her. I didn't even see the books because the heat was so bad. But it was worth it just to catch up with her a bit!
Yesterday I was at the beach all day so I'm pretty damn done with the heat. But now how to spend my day?
Perhaps, it's time to write.
On my way journey, I was stopped by a 50-something year old man who decided that insulting me would be the best way to start a conversation.
"You know you have to read to be able to enjoy a book fair."
Who does that? Well, I was dumbstruck and unfortunately instead of walking away, I explained that I did read and I was a writer. So he goes off on a spiel about how he's a producer, gave me his card, explaining he does book deals too and that he's looking for the next hit. Then he told me I was very pretty which made me marketable because television shows would want to book me for interviews. And then he told me to call him so we could get drinks and discuss the project. Who the heck is this guy?! It was all very depressing and I got on my way asap. I'm pretty so that means that my work is marketable, I just...Oooo...I can't even begin to rant about that. I hope it's not true, I hope it was just a line to get me to get drinks with him. I hope that's not the way the world works. Maybe in Hollywood, but literature?
I found Jenn who, being the trooper that she is, had been there all day in the sun yesterday, and was back for day 2. I could barely take the hour or so I hung out with her. I didn't even see the books because the heat was so bad. But it was worth it just to catch up with her a bit!
Yesterday I was at the beach all day so I'm pretty damn done with the heat. But now how to spend my day?
Perhaps, it's time to write.
Friday, April 25, 2008
The Plan
since I keep forgetting that I have made yet another Plan, I'm putting it here so I can stop stressing every 10 minutes
Okay here it goes:
Stay in LA at least through August. June, there's Colorado for a long weekend. August is back home for a week for my cousin's wedding. September is France for 2 weeks. October may be NYC for a week or so. I still need to go to Vegas, that might be in May...So maybe through the fall, stay in LA and try to make a go of a new life here.
So it's almost May. Within the next month, I should get a new job.
Find a month to month place to live, since I don't want to be married to any location. i'm done with commitments for a while.
And then try to exhaust everything to see and do in LA, build a relationship with LA, make friends, shake hands, hug. It's been tumultuous, but I think we can work things out for a while.
If not, over and out, I'm moving come fall.
Possibilities:
SF
because i know people there and it's always had a soft spot in my heart.
but it's too close to home, too safe, too much like a return to my past.
NYC
because i know people there and it's an overwhelming city, that like LA, I think you learn alot in and sink or swim.
but it's a little too overwhelming, jam packed, expensive, and what would i do there.
OAHU
Gorgeous, gorgeous, bohemian, islander living, where I can swim in the ocean every day.
but i'd have to get a lame job serving tourists and i don't know a single person.
SOUTH AMERICA
Des will be there, a big plus, and it'd def be an adventure
but what the heck am I going to do there? My high school Spanish def won't fly.
and who wants to third wheel it with her and the boyfriend
PALM DESERT
I can get my MFA at that picnic table they have set up in the middle of the desert.
but, it's full of geriatrics, i'm skeptical about how comfortable that picnic table is going to be, and that's alot of $.
This list may be added to. As things arise. I'm waiting for the sign universe. tell me. my biggest problem is, yeah i'd live just about anywhere, but what am i going to do there and damn it, i don't want to go live somewhere alone that i have nothing to do in. oh poop.
Okay here it goes:
Stay in LA at least through August. June, there's Colorado for a long weekend. August is back home for a week for my cousin's wedding. September is France for 2 weeks. October may be NYC for a week or so. I still need to go to Vegas, that might be in May...So maybe through the fall, stay in LA and try to make a go of a new life here.
So it's almost May. Within the next month, I should get a new job.
Find a month to month place to live, since I don't want to be married to any location. i'm done with commitments for a while.
And then try to exhaust everything to see and do in LA, build a relationship with LA, make friends, shake hands, hug. It's been tumultuous, but I think we can work things out for a while.
If not, over and out, I'm moving come fall.
Possibilities:
SF
because i know people there and it's always had a soft spot in my heart.
but it's too close to home, too safe, too much like a return to my past.
NYC
because i know people there and it's an overwhelming city, that like LA, I think you learn alot in and sink or swim.
but it's a little too overwhelming, jam packed, expensive, and what would i do there.
OAHU
Gorgeous, gorgeous, bohemian, islander living, where I can swim in the ocean every day.
but i'd have to get a lame job serving tourists and i don't know a single person.
SOUTH AMERICA
Des will be there, a big plus, and it'd def be an adventure
but what the heck am I going to do there? My high school Spanish def won't fly.
and who wants to third wheel it with her and the boyfriend
PALM DESERT
I can get my MFA at that picnic table they have set up in the middle of the desert.
but, it's full of geriatrics, i'm skeptical about how comfortable that picnic table is going to be, and that's alot of $.
This list may be added to. As things arise. I'm waiting for the sign universe. tell me. my biggest problem is, yeah i'd live just about anywhere, but what am i going to do there and damn it, i don't want to go live somewhere alone that i have nothing to do in. oh poop.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Friday, April 18, 2008
My mom wants to medicate me
Not a fan.
I'm just all kinds of crazy.
I guess that sounds bad. about my mom. she and her siblings are all medicated for anxiety, ocd, etc. so she think it'll help me, like it helped her.
i just can't.
i think i'd prefer struggling with this this.
I'm just all kinds of crazy.
I guess that sounds bad. about my mom. she and her siblings are all medicated for anxiety, ocd, etc. so she think it'll help me, like it helped her.
i just can't.
i think i'd prefer struggling with this this.
last day
It's the last day of Maui and the last day to finish the second draft of the script.
Then one more revision to go.
I'm red brown. Brown with red overtones. The red should fade in a day or two.
I've been to the beach every day. In the ocean water. Cleansing my energy and relaxing and reading and wishing for sleepy far off dreams to be at my door. But, it's the other way around really. I have to be at their door. and work my bum off to get there. i never did mind working hard. it feels better that way. like i deserve it, instead of waiting for something bad to take it away.
on the beach my mother said, wouldn't it be terrible if a huge tidal wave came and swept us away. it's one of her biggest fears, but what a block to enjoying the beauty. it's a sabotage we play with ourselves. too happy, too much fun or beauty, and we swing it into the negative somehow.
I feel ill. It's having to go back.
To keep making the grown-up, informed decisions.
I miss the easy half-assed ones of childhood and high school. The life on training wheels in college.
It is that alone-ness. No one can wholly advise you. Say with certainty, this is exactly what you should do. This is the next step for you. And if you make a mistake, it is only you who is to blame and who must remedy it, if it can be remedied.
I think mistakes are my problem. I think i need to be reckless and irresponsible. I always do the right thing, but it isn't always right for me. Maybe it's right for everyone but me, or maybe it's just the thing that makes the most sense. But the best choices for ourselves aren't always the most logical.
Sow my wild oats as my parents are always saying. Take more risks. Be less level-headed.
I'm a roamer, an explorer. I won't be tied.
Then one more revision to go.
I'm red brown. Brown with red overtones. The red should fade in a day or two.
I've been to the beach every day. In the ocean water. Cleansing my energy and relaxing and reading and wishing for sleepy far off dreams to be at my door. But, it's the other way around really. I have to be at their door. and work my bum off to get there. i never did mind working hard. it feels better that way. like i deserve it, instead of waiting for something bad to take it away.
on the beach my mother said, wouldn't it be terrible if a huge tidal wave came and swept us away. it's one of her biggest fears, but what a block to enjoying the beauty. it's a sabotage we play with ourselves. too happy, too much fun or beauty, and we swing it into the negative somehow.
I feel ill. It's having to go back.
To keep making the grown-up, informed decisions.
I miss the easy half-assed ones of childhood and high school. The life on training wheels in college.
It is that alone-ness. No one can wholly advise you. Say with certainty, this is exactly what you should do. This is the next step for you. And if you make a mistake, it is only you who is to blame and who must remedy it, if it can be remedied.
I think mistakes are my problem. I think i need to be reckless and irresponsible. I always do the right thing, but it isn't always right for me. Maybe it's right for everyone but me, or maybe it's just the thing that makes the most sense. But the best choices for ourselves aren't always the most logical.
Sow my wild oats as my parents are always saying. Take more risks. Be less level-headed.
I'm a roamer, an explorer. I won't be tied.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
baileys is good on ice and in my mouth
blah blahblah wasting time and drinking baileys on ice while N reads what i wrote on the script today and then michael clayton comes on. kinda tipsy should eat something. abanana a banana no abanana is better and an egg a peanutbutter asomethingsomething i will sit with my mouth open on the lanai and wait for something to fall in. mahalo nature and the way of the world. the birds are agressive-i did it to myself, i gave them a peanut and they flocked and wanted food more of it and more always wanting, and i said No like i was talking to an unruly dog an dmy aunt laughed, and it didn't work very well, but i kept doing it, because what else can you do but stand your ground, you nasty pigeon, you really ought to let that sparrow eat once in a while. you know what i mean i say. di dyou know you can't control your feelings. at least i can't. a dangerous thing. very dangerous. and boundaries. i'm not good with those. the difference between this and that and this emotion and that emotion, it all bleeds together. i'm sure there'll be more on that. more and more until i learn it. but i don't want to learn it i just want to live and feel it all, good an dbad, not be scared though, not shy away from the bad things that make the good things better andsome of th ebest things are good and bad together- the most heightened of both all rolled into one sloppy mess. i'm good with the sloppy messes. did you know that som ebelieve that we spend our twenties creating drama and making messes of our lives. but you know what, i don tknow what, but i do that, becaus ei'm hunting fo rsomething deeper and it can be a dirty thing, a tiring thing, and some people aren't up for it. and i don't even know what i'm looking for. ever really. or where to look for it. i'm just looking around. checking it out. exploring. and living and making it worth it. i'm here, i feel lucky for my 24 years and i'm trying t omake every moment count. the baileys is watered down, my parents hate deal or no deal so do i, it is the dumbest thing ever conceived, who cares, it is a game of greed, what's the challenge in that, be a greedy asshole and keep wanting more and more of money that will not improve your life or make you happier not really not in the long run, as if happiness were measurable. and that is a strange thing, that you can't compare it either or know what this person's happiness is compared to yours or his or hers or that little guy's over there. Oh who cares. i am always comparin gthings, this person and that little lady to me, as if it tells me that i'm right or wrong or not ahead or far behind and not worthy of all the fine things, as if life were a game. oh how very dumb of me. and only me am i hard on. there is a saying and it says how do you make god laugh.
Make plans.
Make plans.
Unplugme!
I wish I could have left this darned computer behind. And my cell phone too. Unplugged for a week.
But on deadline with the script. It's due Friday. And then we'll get more notes and 2 more weeks for a finished product. So drops of spare morning moments are spent on this computer.
Fortunately, I've been waking up disturbingly early, between 5 and 7 because of the time change. So those are good morning hours of work. And then whenever else I can squeeze in a moment or 2.
I'm ready to begin some prose. but I'll hold out until this is over.
Lolita is like music.
Magic show last night. It was fantastic. All sleight of hand, none of that smoke and half-naked girl bull. This was the real, old-fashioned deal.
Today, beach. It is gorgeous. I am eager for the water.
coming home will not be easy. it will be a messy, uncomfortable affair.
But on deadline with the script. It's due Friday. And then we'll get more notes and 2 more weeks for a finished product. So drops of spare morning moments are spent on this computer.
Fortunately, I've been waking up disturbingly early, between 5 and 7 because of the time change. So those are good morning hours of work. And then whenever else I can squeeze in a moment or 2.
I'm ready to begin some prose. but I'll hold out until this is over.
Lolita is like music.
Magic show last night. It was fantastic. All sleight of hand, none of that smoke and half-naked girl bull. This was the real, old-fashioned deal.
Today, beach. It is gorgeous. I am eager for the water.
coming home will not be easy. it will be a messy, uncomfortable affair.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
my mother's words have turned cartwheels in my mind all afternoon
My mother uttered, gazing into the mirror, and unaware of my presence, "I want to be young again."
a handprint in the sand does not last. it is washed away by the stealthy tide.
a wet handprint on molten rock soon dries in the jealous sun.
the concrete imprint of my hand in my driveway waits in front of my home. But soon I will no longer see it. and it will no longer be my home. perhaps, then it will cease to exist as well. as it will be a memory, like the sandy print and the wet one, and what did any of them ever matter. it was only ever a reminder. of a moment i don't remember. of a time that's made me but is no longer who i am.
a handprint in the sand does not last. it is washed away by the stealthy tide.
a wet handprint on molten rock soon dries in the jealous sun.
the concrete imprint of my hand in my driveway waits in front of my home. But soon I will no longer see it. and it will no longer be my home. perhaps, then it will cease to exist as well. as it will be a memory, like the sandy print and the wet one, and what did any of them ever matter. it was only ever a reminder. of a moment i don't remember. of a time that's made me but is no longer who i am.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Because my blogs come in twos...
"I have half given up on my dreams of being successful. Being useful was more important."
From Thomas Awful's blog.
I met this couple in the ocean. There home is an hour and a half North of Lake Tahoe. They've lived a rural life together, but before as individuals they lived in cities, he in LA, she in the Bay Area. She raised their first son with no electricity. They are teachers. She said it was beautiful that I was a writer. There are many ways to feed yourself, she said, and if there's a choice between food and art, choose art. That even if I never have much money, I will be rich and happy within. And then we saw a sea turtle poke his head above from the ocean a few yards off and then submerge and become a black blur traveling beneath the water.
From Thomas Awful's blog.
I met this couple in the ocean. There home is an hour and a half North of Lake Tahoe. They've lived a rural life together, but before as individuals they lived in cities, he in LA, she in the Bay Area. She raised their first son with no electricity. They are teachers. She said it was beautiful that I was a writer. There are many ways to feed yourself, she said, and if there's a choice between food and art, choose art. That even if I never have much money, I will be rich and happy within. And then we saw a sea turtle poke his head above from the ocean a few yards off and then submerge and become a black blur traveling beneath the water.
In Maui
An on going conversation this vacation has been, if you lived in this beauty always, would you take it for granted. Forget to admire it. Forget that it was admirable. and instead wish for the mountains or the big city? I'm not sure. I guess you can take anything for granted. And I think we have taken everything for granted at some point.
Hm. Well the only reason I'm blogging is because the fam is golfing and I started to burn behind my knees and grew nervous about the state of my back on the beach. But now that I'm back here typing in our condo and admiring the view of the ocean and palm trees, I'm reconsidering walking back down to the beach. The water is warmer than you'd believe and is blue-green. My skin tastes of the ocean.
I noticed something else hanging out with myself today. I don't smile alone very much, even if I'm having a good time. Isn't that strange? Sure a hint of a smile here and there and even a few grins, but really very amped down compared to usual. Maybe we only smile for other people, to communicate to them that we are enjoying ourselves.
Yesterday we went to the beach and my dad did his version of body surfing "Fundy first" as he calls it. Fundy (foondy) is a word in Sicilian dialect for your butt. He was definitley using his bum for beach padding, in a rare, perhaps Dad invented sport of fundy first. I would have gotten a picture but I was floating and enjoying the waves myself. Yup with only a little trepidation I stormed into the warm water and surrendered to the sea.
My mom said on the walk to the beach, "I wish I were a bird. I would hang out in the trees all day long and sing."
My aunt has me thinking alot about alot. She's a psychic, and she reads tarot cards. She's been to divinity school and etc etc. training. I like to ask her questions about her views. She believes in guardian angels and spirit advisers and that we choose our lives before we come to Earth. That we have soul mates, and they are the people who challenge us and teach us the most and that we may have many of them. That we have free will and can choose to ask our guardian angels for help or not. That this life in the animal kingdom is all about free will and choice ("Timshel" in East of Eden by Steinbeck, one of my favorite books ever) and that after we have mastered it we move into a new kingdom with new challenges to overcome until we have learned it all. That there are other dimensions and worlds in the universe with animals like us learning and living just as we are and that sometimes in death, they choose to reincarnate into another world and are completely out of place. That she has had clients who are not of this world, have difficulty understanding time and can't seem to get a grip on their current reality. It is interesting, it makes me wonder what do we find in the divine and the justifications of our reality and how our perspectives on these two things shape our lives and the way we choose to live them.
She doesn't do much in palm reading, but she did say that if your palm is hollowed, you are shy, that your left hand is what you set out in life to do and your right is what you actually do--mine are very similar, but she said that's because i'm young and haven't had much time to screw up yet =)-- and that if the two lines descending from abov eyour thumb are roped together, you are stubborn. I am a little shy and stubborn says my palms, and those who know me well, would agree. Especially with the stubborn bit.
I am reading Lolita. I finished Less than Zero yesterday and passed it onto my dad. It is about LA, about the over-privileged and the result that is their umotivated, uninspired, lost, drug addled children who have pleasure in nothing, and seek temporary relief from the burden of wealth sickest of places and in the sickest of ways. Lolita is gorgeous in its perversion and honesty. A man, Humbert Humbert, obsessed with "nymphets." The style is impeccable and rich and it is something I store in a crevise of my brain.
The blog is continuing. It is a positive thing. It keeps me writing. Collects my thoughts in a manageable space. and that is quite a feat for someone as unorganized as myself. It is almost time to collect my memories and bind my ideas into new.
Hm. Well the only reason I'm blogging is because the fam is golfing and I started to burn behind my knees and grew nervous about the state of my back on the beach. But now that I'm back here typing in our condo and admiring the view of the ocean and palm trees, I'm reconsidering walking back down to the beach. The water is warmer than you'd believe and is blue-green. My skin tastes of the ocean.
I noticed something else hanging out with myself today. I don't smile alone very much, even if I'm having a good time. Isn't that strange? Sure a hint of a smile here and there and even a few grins, but really very amped down compared to usual. Maybe we only smile for other people, to communicate to them that we are enjoying ourselves.
Yesterday we went to the beach and my dad did his version of body surfing "Fundy first" as he calls it. Fundy (foondy) is a word in Sicilian dialect for your butt. He was definitley using his bum for beach padding, in a rare, perhaps Dad invented sport of fundy first. I would have gotten a picture but I was floating and enjoying the waves myself. Yup with only a little trepidation I stormed into the warm water and surrendered to the sea.
My mom said on the walk to the beach, "I wish I were a bird. I would hang out in the trees all day long and sing."
My aunt has me thinking alot about alot. She's a psychic, and she reads tarot cards. She's been to divinity school and etc etc. training. I like to ask her questions about her views. She believes in guardian angels and spirit advisers and that we choose our lives before we come to Earth. That we have soul mates, and they are the people who challenge us and teach us the most and that we may have many of them. That we have free will and can choose to ask our guardian angels for help or not. That this life in the animal kingdom is all about free will and choice ("Timshel" in East of Eden by Steinbeck, one of my favorite books ever) and that after we have mastered it we move into a new kingdom with new challenges to overcome until we have learned it all. That there are other dimensions and worlds in the universe with animals like us learning and living just as we are and that sometimes in death, they choose to reincarnate into another world and are completely out of place. That she has had clients who are not of this world, have difficulty understanding time and can't seem to get a grip on their current reality. It is interesting, it makes me wonder what do we find in the divine and the justifications of our reality and how our perspectives on these two things shape our lives and the way we choose to live them.
She doesn't do much in palm reading, but she did say that if your palm is hollowed, you are shy, that your left hand is what you set out in life to do and your right is what you actually do--mine are very similar, but she said that's because i'm young and haven't had much time to screw up yet =)-- and that if the two lines descending from abov eyour thumb are roped together, you are stubborn. I am a little shy and stubborn says my palms, and those who know me well, would agree. Especially with the stubborn bit.
I am reading Lolita. I finished Less than Zero yesterday and passed it onto my dad. It is about LA, about the over-privileged and the result that is their umotivated, uninspired, lost, drug addled children who have pleasure in nothing, and seek temporary relief from the burden of wealth sickest of places and in the sickest of ways. Lolita is gorgeous in its perversion and honesty. A man, Humbert Humbert, obsessed with "nymphets." The style is impeccable and rich and it is something I store in a crevise of my brain.
The blog is continuing. It is a positive thing. It keeps me writing. Collects my thoughts in a manageable space. and that is quite a feat for someone as unorganized as myself. It is almost time to collect my memories and bind my ideas into new.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Upset
For the 3rd time since I've lived in LA, my car's been screwed with. First, it was broken into: 2 windows shattered, radio stolen, and window frame bent. Second, on the freeway, something flew up and knicked my windshield. Third, happened tonight. Someone hit my parked car. Thankfully they stopped and my neighbors saw it and alerted me.
It brought out all these emotions I've been restraining the past few months.
I can't make friends here. No one actually wants to be my friend.
I hate my job(s). And haven't had any luck finding a new one.
I've never felt so alone in my life.
I got rejected from 12 grad schools. And now I get to begin answering the questions about it (beginning tomorrow in Maui with my parents and aunt and uncle). The one thing I had going for me, that I had nailed, that I knew I could do and was good at and loved. My writing. Pretty much sucks. And it's been so difficult for me to be as free with creation as I once was. Because I feel like it's all shit.
I'm beaten. Defeated
I even hate this pathetic blog. What is the point of it? No one reads it. And why would anyone want to read this stupid stuff anyways?
And when something bad happens, like tonight, I feel like there's no one I can call. I can call old friends or my parents, but I don't have anyone here I can depend on and turn to for support (outside of my aptmt). No one cares. And I think that's what hurts the most.
It brought out all these emotions I've been restraining the past few months.
I can't make friends here. No one actually wants to be my friend.
I hate my job(s). And haven't had any luck finding a new one.
I've never felt so alone in my life.
I got rejected from 12 grad schools. And now I get to begin answering the questions about it (beginning tomorrow in Maui with my parents and aunt and uncle). The one thing I had going for me, that I had nailed, that I knew I could do and was good at and loved. My writing. Pretty much sucks. And it's been so difficult for me to be as free with creation as I once was. Because I feel like it's all shit.
I'm beaten. Defeated
I even hate this pathetic blog. What is the point of it? No one reads it. And why would anyone want to read this stupid stuff anyways?
And when something bad happens, like tonight, I feel like there's no one I can call. I can call old friends or my parents, but I don't have anyone here I can depend on and turn to for support (outside of my aptmt). No one cares. And I think that's what hurts the most.
Back to Paradise
I'm still figuring out this photo add thing. It's different on my boss' blog...oh my silly job...Anyway, the last time I was in Hawaii was with Mel and her very generous family not quite 4 years ago. We had a blast and it was heaven. It was my first time in Oahu. This go around, I'm going to Maui, which is my family's favorite. I'm bringing my laptop because I have to work on the screenplay while I'm there. But since I'm going with an older crowd, it shouldn't be too hard to squeeze in a few solid work hours at night. So if I'm not feeling too lazy or am procrastinating hardcore on the screenwriting, there'll be updates and photos. Yay! I'm thinking I may not want to come back...Who knows? Crap. I still have to pack. I'm thinking bikinis and sun dresses. And that's it because I'm not planning on leaving the beach. Thursday, April 10, 2008
splendor in the grass
Part of William Wordsworth's poem "Ode on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood":
"What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind..."
Splendor in the Grass, title taken from a beautiful poem. A classic, heartaching film.
"What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind..."
Splendor in the Grass, title taken from a beautiful poem. A classic, heartaching film.
Name is censored for the protection of the sexy model
Oh my gosh, I love it! My first picture. So I used to work at Starbucks at the tail end of college and over summer with Mr. L (pictured)--which was against policy since we were roommates (we're crazy hoodlums). And B hoarded all the old expired coffee beans, just specifically so we could have a naked Starbucks coffee bean photo shoot after he quit.B stripped down, except for a sock to cover his stash, and I photographed him. Only in the most artistic of fashions of course. Let's exchange naked for nude. Nude Starbucks coffee bean photoshoot. This shot, artist and model, we had some help with. ;)
Trusting the ocean
I just realized there will be quite a few days where it's just me, the sand, and the ocean in Maui.
The ocean.
I love the water. Swimming through the waves. And there's no ocean warmer (that I've experienced). I've always been a good swimmer. We have a pool in our backyard and my shoulders are broad and strong. I used to think there wasn't a better feeling that floating with the waves, moving soothingly through you.
I go to the beach all the time, Venice or Santa Monica usually, to read or think or close my eyes and be. But It's been a few years since I've been in the ocean. This year I surprised myself when I was watching The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (Gorgeous, gorgeous French film, one of my favorites of the year), and there was a beach scene with crashing waves, and then again in the film Into the Wild-- I was alarmed. Frightened. I radiated the fear so much so that N felt it sitting next to me. I haven't gotten past my phobia.
The summer after I graduated living in San Diego, I almost drowned. I was stuck in the under current. N and I had rented surf boards. The current picked up, the waves were rolling in and building. We were getting pummeled. N took my board. We thought it would make it easier for me to swim back to shore. It was a terrible choice. I had nothing to cling to and keep me afloat, as I fought the undercurrent that tore at me, trying to pull me out to sea. The current separated N and I. And I tried to swim out of it. Overmatched. I struggled to keep my head above water, fought to get to shore. But the ocean overwhelmed me over and over again. I wanted to yell for help and had the stupidest thought that it would be embarassing. I'd never felt like I might die before, but when I felt that, I screamed with all the breath I had. No one could hear me over the roar. And I was the only one in the water. But some surfers saw me and made their way over to help. They pulled me out and I dragged my feet up the beach, pretending I was okay. Don't worry about me, I'm fine, I tried to say, but it came out it in incoherent wheezes. Once on the dry, hot sand, I collapsed, hyperventilating on my knees.
I haven't swam in the ocean since.
I refuse to have a phobia about something I love.
So ocean, here I come. Soon. Now.
Just so ya know: If you get caught in an undercurrent, you're supposed to swim away from the shore, out further into the ocean. Which is completely the opposite of instinct. But I did my research after the incident.
The ocean.
I love the water. Swimming through the waves. And there's no ocean warmer (that I've experienced). I've always been a good swimmer. We have a pool in our backyard and my shoulders are broad and strong. I used to think there wasn't a better feeling that floating with the waves, moving soothingly through you.
I go to the beach all the time, Venice or Santa Monica usually, to read or think or close my eyes and be. But It's been a few years since I've been in the ocean. This year I surprised myself when I was watching The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (Gorgeous, gorgeous French film, one of my favorites of the year), and there was a beach scene with crashing waves, and then again in the film Into the Wild-- I was alarmed. Frightened. I radiated the fear so much so that N felt it sitting next to me. I haven't gotten past my phobia.
The summer after I graduated living in San Diego, I almost drowned. I was stuck in the under current. N and I had rented surf boards. The current picked up, the waves were rolling in and building. We were getting pummeled. N took my board. We thought it would make it easier for me to swim back to shore. It was a terrible choice. I had nothing to cling to and keep me afloat, as I fought the undercurrent that tore at me, trying to pull me out to sea. The current separated N and I. And I tried to swim out of it. Overmatched. I struggled to keep my head above water, fought to get to shore. But the ocean overwhelmed me over and over again. I wanted to yell for help and had the stupidest thought that it would be embarassing. I'd never felt like I might die before, but when I felt that, I screamed with all the breath I had. No one could hear me over the roar. And I was the only one in the water. But some surfers saw me and made their way over to help. They pulled me out and I dragged my feet up the beach, pretending I was okay. Don't worry about me, I'm fine, I tried to say, but it came out it in incoherent wheezes. Once on the dry, hot sand, I collapsed, hyperventilating on my knees.
I haven't swam in the ocean since.
I refuse to have a phobia about something I love.
So ocean, here I come. Soon. Now.
Just so ya know: If you get caught in an undercurrent, you're supposed to swim away from the shore, out further into the ocean. Which is completely the opposite of instinct. But I did my research after the incident.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
"Just be simple" by Songs:Ohia
Can't get enough of this:
You never hear me talk about one day getting out
Why put a new address on the same old loneliness
Everybody knows where that is
We built that house of his
And when he's not home
Someone else you know always is
If Heaven's really coming back
I hope it has a heart attack
When they see how dangerous it is for guys like that
The night has always known when it's time to get going
When it's really been so long that it starts showing
It's always had that ghost who always almost
Tells me the Secret
How there's really no difference in who he was once
And who he's become
Everything you hated me for...
Honey there was so much more
I just didn't get busted.
But I'm not looking for an easy way out
This whole life it's been about
Try and try and try
And try and try and try
To be simple again
You never hear me talk about one day getting out
Why put a new address on the same old loneliness
Everybody knows where that is
We built that house of his
And when he's not home
Someone else you know always is
If Heaven's really coming back
I hope it has a heart attack
When they see how dangerous it is for guys like that
The night has always known when it's time to get going
When it's really been so long that it starts showing
It's always had that ghost who always almost
Tells me the Secret
How there's really no difference in who he was once
And who he's become
Everything you hated me for...
Honey there was so much more
I just didn't get busted.
But I'm not looking for an easy way out
This whole life it's been about
Try and try and try
And try and try and try
To be simple again
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
i want to be 6 again...
when all i did was imagine and create all day long. and was encouraged to do so. and was taken care of.
suspicious
i don't trust people's intentions. sometimes.
most of the time who they say they are and who they turn out to be are two different people.
maybe it's not all their fault. it's just that their perception is completely skewed as to reality. as to their own identities and traits. or they're blinded by self-absorption.
i'm quick to give my heart over, but then i slowly take it back as momentum slows and doubt seeps in.
making friends here has proven impossible.
before people would tell me that LA is fake and so is everyone living there.
i thought that was cynical. that there were good people everywhere you went.
i'm sure there are good people here. i just haven't found many. and my hope is petering out with time.
my best friend here, besides the boys, is Jenn, and we don't even see each other very often with our conflicting schedules. she's leaving in August for NYC. I'm thrilled for her, but selfishly, i can't help but think, who will be here for me then. maybe no one at all.
i don't think i can make more friends like the ones so close to me from high school and college. they live so far away, practically in another universe sometimes. when we're together again it's like we were never apart. they are family coarsing through my blood.
no one seems willing to be close and trusting. to share and to be and to just sit and think with you. i miss that. adult relationships require a once every 2 weeks meet-up, perhaps an email in between those dates, and that's about it. i miss the days spent enjoying each others company, learning from one another, not a rushed lunch and laundary list of what's happened since we last talked.
i've always made friends easily, my friend R calls me choosy about my friends, though, which is true. i am picky.
i only want the good ones. i want to find the good ones.
sometimes i wonder why i don't pack up and go live near the people i love, well the majority of them. most days, i'm not sure what i'm doing here. and even after i ask myself, i don't know how to respond.
being with those you love--isn't that what matters? loving and being loved?
yes it matters. very much so. but so does learning and experiencing and being wild.
i'm too stubborn to leave. there's more here for me. i'm not waiting for it.
i'll just keep on keeping on. being who i am. not holding back. unleashing it all. something's bound to come of it.
creatively there's a torrent pressing. it's been building up for some time now and i'm brimming with it. i don't know where it'll go yet, how i will focus it down. maybe another short story, another novella, another novel. It's too much for this screenplay. Much bigger and voracious. there will be a place for it. if it sits too long, it stews depression and angst. it's just about ripe. i will be ready for it this time. i will be ready when it is ready for me.
most of the time who they say they are and who they turn out to be are two different people.
maybe it's not all their fault. it's just that their perception is completely skewed as to reality. as to their own identities and traits. or they're blinded by self-absorption.
i'm quick to give my heart over, but then i slowly take it back as momentum slows and doubt seeps in.
making friends here has proven impossible.
before people would tell me that LA is fake and so is everyone living there.
i thought that was cynical. that there were good people everywhere you went.
i'm sure there are good people here. i just haven't found many. and my hope is petering out with time.
my best friend here, besides the boys, is Jenn, and we don't even see each other very often with our conflicting schedules. she's leaving in August for NYC. I'm thrilled for her, but selfishly, i can't help but think, who will be here for me then. maybe no one at all.
i don't think i can make more friends like the ones so close to me from high school and college. they live so far away, practically in another universe sometimes. when we're together again it's like we were never apart. they are family coarsing through my blood.
no one seems willing to be close and trusting. to share and to be and to just sit and think with you. i miss that. adult relationships require a once every 2 weeks meet-up, perhaps an email in between those dates, and that's about it. i miss the days spent enjoying each others company, learning from one another, not a rushed lunch and laundary list of what's happened since we last talked.
i've always made friends easily, my friend R calls me choosy about my friends, though, which is true. i am picky.
i only want the good ones. i want to find the good ones.
sometimes i wonder why i don't pack up and go live near the people i love, well the majority of them. most days, i'm not sure what i'm doing here. and even after i ask myself, i don't know how to respond.
being with those you love--isn't that what matters? loving and being loved?
yes it matters. very much so. but so does learning and experiencing and being wild.
i'm too stubborn to leave. there's more here for me. i'm not waiting for it.
i'll just keep on keeping on. being who i am. not holding back. unleashing it all. something's bound to come of it.
creatively there's a torrent pressing. it's been building up for some time now and i'm brimming with it. i don't know where it'll go yet, how i will focus it down. maybe another short story, another novella, another novel. It's too much for this screenplay. Much bigger and voracious. there will be a place for it. if it sits too long, it stews depression and angst. it's just about ripe. i will be ready for it this time. i will be ready when it is ready for me.
trashie
I had tater tots for dinner last night. They were the appetizer, the main course, and the dessert. I can't explain why or how. I know, I know, what could be less healthy and serve less nutritional purpose? It just happened. Maybe it's because N and I watched and studied Aliens as research for our horror movie and that scene with the alien coming out of the guy's chest really couldn't be any less appetizing.
Lucy pup comes today and is staying till Friday. She's a mini Jack Russell terrier. And I love her! She's adorable. We get out the laser pointer and she chases it all over the apartment. I'm pretty sure on some level that makes us white trash.
Wow, maybe I am trashie? Tater tots for dinner and the whole laser pointer thing...Yikes.
This is something I need to look into further.
Anyway, I'm hoping we can minimize her pee problems this time around. She has pads and we take her on walks. One moment she's fine, the next she dribbles a little, looks guilty and ducks away. What is up with that? The owner says it's because she's submissive. I don't know...any dog whisperers out there that can confirm this or remedy it?
Also, we have to make sure everything is sparkling because last time she was hoovering in the kitchen and ate a vitamin that had fallen behind something or underneath something out of our sight. And then she puked up bright green when we took her hiking and wouldn't drink her water and that was worrisome! Eek! I'd pretty much hate myself forever and ever if I killed a dog. Don't even get me started on that squirrel I unintentionally took out on my bike ten years ago. But he survived, I think. He ran away and we couldn't find him so that must be a good sign. Unless he slipped away and went somewhere to die. Egggggghfdfglin.
If you just read this blog entry, you'd definitley think I am trashie! The evidence: laser pointer dog games, tater tot meal, near squirrel death by bike.
Lucy pup comes today and is staying till Friday. She's a mini Jack Russell terrier. And I love her! She's adorable. We get out the laser pointer and she chases it all over the apartment. I'm pretty sure on some level that makes us white trash.
Wow, maybe I am trashie? Tater tots for dinner and the whole laser pointer thing...Yikes.
This is something I need to look into further.
Anyway, I'm hoping we can minimize her pee problems this time around. She has pads and we take her on walks. One moment she's fine, the next she dribbles a little, looks guilty and ducks away. What is up with that? The owner says it's because she's submissive. I don't know...any dog whisperers out there that can confirm this or remedy it?
Also, we have to make sure everything is sparkling because last time she was hoovering in the kitchen and ate a vitamin that had fallen behind something or underneath something out of our sight. And then she puked up bright green when we took her hiking and wouldn't drink her water and that was worrisome! Eek! I'd pretty much hate myself forever and ever if I killed a dog. Don't even get me started on that squirrel I unintentionally took out on my bike ten years ago. But he survived, I think. He ran away and we couldn't find him so that must be a good sign. Unless he slipped away and went somewhere to die. Egggggghfdfglin.
If you just read this blog entry, you'd definitley think I am trashie! The evidence: laser pointer dog games, tater tot meal, near squirrel death by bike.
Monday, April 7, 2008
I know it's the 3rd blog today, but I found this and needed to put it somewhere I would always have it
"Well," said Pooh, "what I like best -- " and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn't know what it was called”
Don't read if your squeamish
Okay so always have to follow up the dark blog...
Living with 2 boys is absolutely silly. They don't really talk about anything of importance to one another.
All they want to talk about with each other is poop. And the level of satisfaction they had with their poop. And if they have more poop. And pretty much everything from texture to size of it. Or if they're not pooping--I've never seen a more miserable boy then one who hasn't been pooping as much as he wants to be.
And the non-stop gas. The crop dusting farts, that's when they fart when you're walking behind them, the hitting a fart wall, when you walk into a fart. The loud trumpetting farts. The damp fart that makes me question their underwear situation. Or the ones the let rip in parking lots when they think no one is around, and a little old lady always magically appears in earshot right after. And don't even get me started on the Dutch oven farts. oh boy.
This is probably a digusting blog. But I'm not grossed out at all. In fact, I am completely desensitized to it.
Sure I fart and poop just like the next person, but I don't find any reason to bring it up or crop dust innocent individuals, if you will, unless there's something abnormal about the situation. I was going to get graphic there, but I think I'll let that one lie.
For a while the apartment discussed the shade of C's pee, when he was having kidney issues and it was as dark as Coke.
C was quick to point out to me just now that we did not talk about poop or farting over breakfast out Saturday. In fact, we discussed animal cruelty, self destructive behavior, and the food itself and the game we made up with mini creamers and sugar packets.
But you know, I secretly enjoy the poop talk, although I rarely partake, it's funny, it's entertaining and you know what, it puts everyone on the same playing field. Also, I think some of their fart shenanigans are pretty hysterical. So I guess I have the maturity of a 12 year old boy.
And they're both lactose intolerant, and neither of them alters their diet, and both of them love cheese. And since I'm le chef of le apartment, I pretty much doom myself some days.
Living with 2 boys is absolutely silly. They don't really talk about anything of importance to one another.
All they want to talk about with each other is poop. And the level of satisfaction they had with their poop. And if they have more poop. And pretty much everything from texture to size of it. Or if they're not pooping--I've never seen a more miserable boy then one who hasn't been pooping as much as he wants to be.
And the non-stop gas. The crop dusting farts, that's when they fart when you're walking behind them, the hitting a fart wall, when you walk into a fart. The loud trumpetting farts. The damp fart that makes me question their underwear situation. Or the ones the let rip in parking lots when they think no one is around, and a little old lady always magically appears in earshot right after. And don't even get me started on the Dutch oven farts. oh boy.
This is probably a digusting blog. But I'm not grossed out at all. In fact, I am completely desensitized to it.
Sure I fart and poop just like the next person, but I don't find any reason to bring it up or crop dust innocent individuals, if you will, unless there's something abnormal about the situation. I was going to get graphic there, but I think I'll let that one lie.
For a while the apartment discussed the shade of C's pee, when he was having kidney issues and it was as dark as Coke.
C was quick to point out to me just now that we did not talk about poop or farting over breakfast out Saturday. In fact, we discussed animal cruelty, self destructive behavior, and the food itself and the game we made up with mini creamers and sugar packets.
But you know, I secretly enjoy the poop talk, although I rarely partake, it's funny, it's entertaining and you know what, it puts everyone on the same playing field. Also, I think some of their fart shenanigans are pretty hysterical. So I guess I have the maturity of a 12 year old boy.
And they're both lactose intolerant, and neither of them alters their diet, and both of them love cheese. And since I'm le chef of le apartment, I pretty much doom myself some days.
as if writing it all down means anything
Monday.
Moan.
This time next week I'll be on the beach reading and sunbathing in Maui. And swimming in the warm water and breathing the beauty. Hawaii has a perfume to it, the tropical floral aromas hang in the moist, thick air. Saturday to Saturday. As long as my plane doesn't twirl out of the sky.
I had too much fun this weekend. It smarts getting back to the day to day muck.
What a terrible way to "live" life always looking forward to something else and not making the most of what's around you. Putting the best days ahead of you, with the expectations and stipulations of future plans and hopes. Same as putting them behind you, as if you've already died a thousand times since that time.
Enough of that. I've never been one to look back and long. My memory is too terrible maybe. I don't remember things long enough to be mad at anyone or say the Remember whens or even to rub something in someone's face from the past. The past eludes me and I don't think it's anymore clear to me now than it was to me before it happened. In a way, the past is a fiction. We tell ourselves this and that happened, as if we are a reliable, unbiased source. Time is a water mark on a newspaper. Blurring the words and soaking the paper into pulp. There's not much truth in the past or in the future. It's all too muddled to read.
I don't know why I'm even writing about it. Nothing ties me to the past. In large part because I grew up around someone who was desperately, still desperately clings to a memory. I was tied to the future. But that too is just a water mark. If we did tell ourselves, and we often do, that once i'm here and i have this, and i've done this, and this is what i can say about myself, i will be completely happy. That is the lie. Maybe the biggest hoax on earth. That happiness is always outside ourselves in a goal met, in an accomplishment achieved, in an acquired item. That makes me laugh. It is much simpler than that. It is in us.
If we wait for it, it will never come for longer than a visiting second and dissipate as soon as it's recognized.
These are some things I remind myself of.
Moan.
This time next week I'll be on the beach reading and sunbathing in Maui. And swimming in the warm water and breathing the beauty. Hawaii has a perfume to it, the tropical floral aromas hang in the moist, thick air. Saturday to Saturday. As long as my plane doesn't twirl out of the sky.
I had too much fun this weekend. It smarts getting back to the day to day muck.
What a terrible way to "live" life always looking forward to something else and not making the most of what's around you. Putting the best days ahead of you, with the expectations and stipulations of future plans and hopes. Same as putting them behind you, as if you've already died a thousand times since that time.
Enough of that. I've never been one to look back and long. My memory is too terrible maybe. I don't remember things long enough to be mad at anyone or say the Remember whens or even to rub something in someone's face from the past. The past eludes me and I don't think it's anymore clear to me now than it was to me before it happened. In a way, the past is a fiction. We tell ourselves this and that happened, as if we are a reliable, unbiased source. Time is a water mark on a newspaper. Blurring the words and soaking the paper into pulp. There's not much truth in the past or in the future. It's all too muddled to read.
I don't know why I'm even writing about it. Nothing ties me to the past. In large part because I grew up around someone who was desperately, still desperately clings to a memory. I was tied to the future. But that too is just a water mark. If we did tell ourselves, and we often do, that once i'm here and i have this, and i've done this, and this is what i can say about myself, i will be completely happy. That is the lie. Maybe the biggest hoax on earth. That happiness is always outside ourselves in a goal met, in an accomplishment achieved, in an acquired item. That makes me laugh. It is much simpler than that. It is in us.
If we wait for it, it will never come for longer than a visiting second and dissipate as soon as it's recognized.
These are some things I remind myself of.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
There isn't an answer.
Because no one can help
I broke it with my heel,
there isn't anything you couldn't do
Right
now you said I never loved you
not the way I said
Not without that thing, that thing
what is that thing
What is it about you
that teases my senses
Begs me to taste you, smell you, touch this, and kiss that.
You and I started small with a hand in hand
the recognition of something
missing
of something
we wanted came late
you didn't think it was so true
I tried to say it feels true,
that's not a lie
What does it mean to give it
all
To say goodbye
and walk away
There's something calling
both ways
The branch never felt so far away.
and it won't bend down for me to climb.
I have to stretch and reach, my words will not
The black and white of time never obeyed me
maybe not anyone, though some still believe
I don't know what it is
except that morning I opened the window and let in the air
and now there's no stopping it.
I'm in so many things you were not patient for
how could you be with
that dirty little marred me
I don't know the difference between love and in love.
I know when I feel it. There are things I love and there are things I am in love with. There are people and places I love and I am in love with. Sometimes I believe in love at first sight. It's not only for lovers. They are not always separate, there is overlap and there are things that can never be classified. A label doesn't matter. A feeling has truth in it. But it's not always at the root of it.
I want too much. I want it all.
I want to be honest with everyone and have that be okay. I don't lie, but hold back for self-preservation. There's always someone to save. Often it's me. Honesty, that's for me too. Even if I say it's for others. I am not so good at keeping my own secrets. Everyone else's are safe. But my own slip their way out. Gentle coaxing should do it. And if not. I will probably accidently say it in a hurricane of words without knowing I've said it until it's too late.
I broke it with my heel,
there isn't anything you couldn't do
Right
now you said I never loved you
not the way I said
Not without that thing, that thing
what is that thing
What is it about you
that teases my senses
Begs me to taste you, smell you, touch this, and kiss that.
You and I started small with a hand in hand
the recognition of something
missing
of something
we wanted came late
you didn't think it was so true
I tried to say it feels true,
that's not a lie
What does it mean to give it
all
To say goodbye
and walk away
There's something calling
both ways
The branch never felt so far away.
and it won't bend down for me to climb.
I have to stretch and reach, my words will not
The black and white of time never obeyed me
maybe not anyone, though some still believe
I don't know what it is
except that morning I opened the window and let in the air
and now there's no stopping it.
I'm in so many things you were not patient for
how could you be with
that dirty little marred me
I don't know the difference between love and in love.
I know when I feel it. There are things I love and there are things I am in love with. There are people and places I love and I am in love with. Sometimes I believe in love at first sight. It's not only for lovers. They are not always separate, there is overlap and there are things that can never be classified. A label doesn't matter. A feeling has truth in it. But it's not always at the root of it.
I want too much. I want it all.
I want to be honest with everyone and have that be okay. I don't lie, but hold back for self-preservation. There's always someone to save. Often it's me. Honesty, that's for me too. Even if I say it's for others. I am not so good at keeping my own secrets. Everyone else's are safe. But my own slip their way out. Gentle coaxing should do it. And if not. I will probably accidently say it in a hurricane of words without knowing I've said it until it's too late.
ASSSSSSSSCAT?
Fabulous day. Breakfast at noon at the Original Pancake House with the boys. It was a madhouse and we were first timers. But C and I played an invigorating game of who can get the miniature creamer container to slide closest to the edge of the table. N got the insane "Apple Pancake" which was not in any convetional sense a pancake. It was like a baked eggie custard with cinnamon and apples gooing the top. I think I just created a new verb. To Goo...Gooing. It was pretty darn good and try as he might, and try as I might to help, half of it came home with us. I had the tropical coconut waffle and Caleb had these huge paper thin pancakes. Pretty decent. Fun. It wasn't SK Donuts. Which we all had to note on the way home. Way more expensive, and well, I don't think anything could be a better sweet breakfast at this point. Maybe ever in my life. Crack donuts.
Then some errands and yada yadaing. Then dinner, I made butternut squash ravioli (well I bought them) and made a butter sage sauce to drizzle on top and lemony garlic kale. Sometimes I feel like a housewife/den mother for the boys. I even call them the boys, as if they were my children! Yikes. Scariness. So that's the food area of the blog.
For evening entertainment, we went to the ASSSCAT show and Tim Meadows of SNL fame and Mean Girls was one of the improvers of the night. I seemed to be the only one star struck by this. Not that I walk around day dreaming of Tim Meadows, but I'm just pathetically excitable about anything. And could be star struck by that second guy from the right in the obscure movie you saw 2 years ago and can't even remember the name of. If you saw him, and said,"Hey that guy kinda resembles this guy in a straight to video movie no one saw." I'd probably pee a little and hyperventilate. Okay, not really. Great show, though, very much funny.
Tomorrow, we're doing the $1 bowling and I am pumped. As possibly one of the worst bowlers ever, I still enjoy it every once in a while. Also, I'm not going to even go into the nastiness involved in wearing the bowling shoes and inserting your fingers into the bowling ball holes. Oye! Just don't think about it and enjoy. Can't let the distraction further ruin my disasterous game. I have a gutter ball aura. Anyways, I have a pretty famous stutter step move as I approach the runway and if I do say so myself, it's breathtaking and probably the reason why I suck so freaking bad. But I love it. How can I not love having no control over that strange tap dancing that slips its way into my bowling moves?
Then some errands and yada yadaing. Then dinner, I made butternut squash ravioli (well I bought them) and made a butter sage sauce to drizzle on top and lemony garlic kale. Sometimes I feel like a housewife/den mother for the boys. I even call them the boys, as if they were my children! Yikes. Scariness. So that's the food area of the blog.
For evening entertainment, we went to the ASSSCAT show and Tim Meadows of SNL fame and Mean Girls was one of the improvers of the night. I seemed to be the only one star struck by this. Not that I walk around day dreaming of Tim Meadows, but I'm just pathetically excitable about anything. And could be star struck by that second guy from the right in the obscure movie you saw 2 years ago and can't even remember the name of. If you saw him, and said,"Hey that guy kinda resembles this guy in a straight to video movie no one saw." I'd probably pee a little and hyperventilate. Okay, not really. Great show, though, very much funny.
Tomorrow, we're doing the $1 bowling and I am pumped. As possibly one of the worst bowlers ever, I still enjoy it every once in a while. Also, I'm not going to even go into the nastiness involved in wearing the bowling shoes and inserting your fingers into the bowling ball holes. Oye! Just don't think about it and enjoy. Can't let the distraction further ruin my disasterous game. I have a gutter ball aura. Anyways, I have a pretty famous stutter step move as I approach the runway and if I do say so myself, it's breathtaking and probably the reason why I suck so freaking bad. But I love it. How can I not love having no control over that strange tap dancing that slips its way into my bowling moves?
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Bizy Busy
I love being busy. I've been booked lately! But it's nice to have people to go, places to see...hmm that didn't come out right.
Tonight, dinner party with Mike and Donna, one of the rowdiest couples with the filthiest senses of humor I've ever been around. Can't Wait. We're going to a wine tasting at Soleil, which is pretty amazing. It's 4 courses paired with 4 wines for a reasonable price. And the wine flows. They just keep filling you up! It's like this massive party, where at the end no one's at their tables anymore and everyone in the restaurant is one big drunk family, bullshitting and slapping each other on the back. Love it! Last time we did it I couldn't come close to finishing the food or the wine and kept pawning it off on to N, not that he was complaining. And I did get pretty damn tipsy, I'll tell ya. But N was drunk beyond belief and made friends with a doctor and his wife and Donna and I ended up in the Borders next door since we both have an unhealthy obsession with books and book stores.
Friday night, the musical Aida with M. I heard it was decentish. Better in the second half. I can't believe we have to fill out a worksheet for our acting class as we watch it. I feel like I'm back in kindergarten. Anyways, it should be a fun night regardless. Fun company always makes for a great night, regardless of place or entertainment. And we'll do it up right. ;)
Saturday is improv show night, ASSSCAT with Upright Citizen's Brigade. So hilarious. We have a great time every time we see the show. It's actually BYOB if you can believe it. You just have to hide it until you get in, in a backpack or a big ole purse and then let it rip when you get inside. No one cares or regulates. Everyone's just drinking and laughing and having a jolly good time. I think the improvers probably like it because it gets everyone warmed up and more likely to laugh. I'm going to try to convince the crew to go early so I can check out that Scientology building across the street. Scientology Celebrity Center. It's in this gorgeous old historic building which I want to check out. But also it's my curiousity... I just gotta see what's inside!!!
Sunday, N and I have a meeting for our script with his boss and another producer so we can get notes and begin rewriting. So, that'll be intimidating, but I'm excited to start working on it again.
I'm moving on, the optimism and hope and not planning and not expecting anything has spread for me and it's a good time. It is a time of pushing and rebuilding. There is new life in the old, and joy again in the simple. And I can look above the fog to see the beauty in perspective.
Tonight, dinner party with Mike and Donna, one of the rowdiest couples with the filthiest senses of humor I've ever been around. Can't Wait. We're going to a wine tasting at Soleil, which is pretty amazing. It's 4 courses paired with 4 wines for a reasonable price. And the wine flows. They just keep filling you up! It's like this massive party, where at the end no one's at their tables anymore and everyone in the restaurant is one big drunk family, bullshitting and slapping each other on the back. Love it! Last time we did it I couldn't come close to finishing the food or the wine and kept pawning it off on to N, not that he was complaining. And I did get pretty damn tipsy, I'll tell ya. But N was drunk beyond belief and made friends with a doctor and his wife and Donna and I ended up in the Borders next door since we both have an unhealthy obsession with books and book stores.
Friday night, the musical Aida with M. I heard it was decentish. Better in the second half. I can't believe we have to fill out a worksheet for our acting class as we watch it. I feel like I'm back in kindergarten. Anyways, it should be a fun night regardless. Fun company always makes for a great night, regardless of place or entertainment. And we'll do it up right. ;)
Saturday is improv show night, ASSSCAT with Upright Citizen's Brigade. So hilarious. We have a great time every time we see the show. It's actually BYOB if you can believe it. You just have to hide it until you get in, in a backpack or a big ole purse and then let it rip when you get inside. No one cares or regulates. Everyone's just drinking and laughing and having a jolly good time. I think the improvers probably like it because it gets everyone warmed up and more likely to laugh. I'm going to try to convince the crew to go early so I can check out that Scientology building across the street. Scientology Celebrity Center. It's in this gorgeous old historic building which I want to check out. But also it's my curiousity... I just gotta see what's inside!!!
Sunday, N and I have a meeting for our script with his boss and another producer so we can get notes and begin rewriting. So, that'll be intimidating, but I'm excited to start working on it again.
I'm moving on, the optimism and hope and not planning and not expecting anything has spread for me and it's a good time. It is a time of pushing and rebuilding. There is new life in the old, and joy again in the simple. And I can look above the fog to see the beauty in perspective.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Weekend triumph with the Gond.
Sundays, when I'm not making sweet, sweet lovin' to SK donuts, I'll be at the Santa Monica farmer's market. It's so amazing. Everyone's munching on fruit samples, and corn on the cob doused in butter and spices, and plates of tamales or crepes, and carrying around bags of fresh, aromatic fruits. And there's the beat of the drum circle, and a guitar floating above it, and voices singing like fine-tuned instruments, weaving the melody together. Children, and couples and friends sitting on the grass, eating and laughing and chatting, like a community. My god there are communities here in LA.
Gondola (formerly known as Angela) came to visit for the weekend. Friday night we went to Real Food Daily, the best nachos ever (it's all about the jalapeno cashew cheese, it sounds weird, i know, but you can't beat it). Then passed out in a food coma.
Saturday, we hiked in Malibu and took in the green and the air and lizards. I feel like I could be anywhere in the world there. And like to pretend I am. Learned something new. It's hard to tell the head from the arse on a lizard without a tail. Thought I might share that with you.
Then we made dinner. A strange, random assortment of food, but such is the Gond's taste. A cheese plate, oh relish the Stilton and fig jam spread forever, and baguette. Then green curry--also fantastic, coconut creamy with a little heat and lots of veggies and tofu. And the carmelized pineapple dessert over vanilla gelato (which never happened, we were too stuffed so I'm going to have to make that tonight). And then the next day, the farmer's market. Which I LOVED, if that wasn't already obvious.
Oh boy, I'm such a foodie. This blog is turning into a food blog. Hey, not that that's a bad thing. Not at all. I just keep making myself hungry...There are some SK donuts left. Hmmm.
Gondola (formerly known as Angela) came to visit for the weekend. Friday night we went to Real Food Daily, the best nachos ever (it's all about the jalapeno cashew cheese, it sounds weird, i know, but you can't beat it). Then passed out in a food coma.
Saturday, we hiked in Malibu and took in the green and the air and lizards. I feel like I could be anywhere in the world there. And like to pretend I am. Learned something new. It's hard to tell the head from the arse on a lizard without a tail. Thought I might share that with you.
Then we made dinner. A strange, random assortment of food, but such is the Gond's taste. A cheese plate, oh relish the Stilton and fig jam spread forever, and baguette. Then green curry--also fantastic, coconut creamy with a little heat and lots of veggies and tofu. And the carmelized pineapple dessert over vanilla gelato (which never happened, we were too stuffed so I'm going to have to make that tonight). And then the next day, the farmer's market. Which I LOVED, if that wasn't already obvious.
Oh boy, I'm such a foodie. This blog is turning into a food blog. Hey, not that that's a bad thing. Not at all. I just keep making myself hungry...There are some SK donuts left. Hmmm.
SK Donuts! Go there! Now! And bring me back one!
I never loved donuts before I met SK. Our relationship was tumultuous. Fond memories revolved around the old fashioned maple donuts my dad and I used to fetch weekend mornings from time to time. But still, they were the kind of food that seemed like a good idea until the dramatic blood sugar drop off, resulting in what I like to deem, a donut hangover. Also, a downfall for me is my sensitive stomach and all that grease would make it an acidic wasteland and give me heartburn (who has these issues and is under the age of fifty?)
But then there was SK. I hadn't had a donut in years. Donuty things, certainly, croissants, cinnamon rolls, but not an actual donut. It just never seemed worth the inevitable discomfort or all the calories. Upon recommendation, I visited SK. Perusing the counters. Forming a brief, spontaneous relationship with the sights. They were familiar. Crullers, apple fritters, old fashioneds, everything very ordinary. But what would happen next was anything but typical.
I ordered an apple fritter. And melted into the light, airy donut, the fresh gooey apples, the sweet, but not disgustingly sweet, glaze. Slight hints of cinnamon and spice. It was perfection. Beauty! Art! Who was its creator? Surely I must make out with him a little, if only to taste the remnants of the last perfect donut he consumed.
Another favorite, the crullers. Like consuming a sweet cloud from heaven. And the maple bars. Ambrosia on ambrosia. Zeus food.
SK Donuts. You're delicious and don't make me feel like I'm going to have a heart attack (with a smile on my face) or wake up the next morning as a 2 ton heifer (with a smile on my snout). I'm in love with you. I'm ready to take our relationship to the next level. I'm moving in. I won't need closet space. I'm only bringing napkins and a toothbrush.
But then there was SK. I hadn't had a donut in years. Donuty things, certainly, croissants, cinnamon rolls, but not an actual donut. It just never seemed worth the inevitable discomfort or all the calories. Upon recommendation, I visited SK. Perusing the counters. Forming a brief, spontaneous relationship with the sights. They were familiar. Crullers, apple fritters, old fashioneds, everything very ordinary. But what would happen next was anything but typical.
I ordered an apple fritter. And melted into the light, airy donut, the fresh gooey apples, the sweet, but not disgustingly sweet, glaze. Slight hints of cinnamon and spice. It was perfection. Beauty! Art! Who was its creator? Surely I must make out with him a little, if only to taste the remnants of the last perfect donut he consumed.
Another favorite, the crullers. Like consuming a sweet cloud from heaven. And the maple bars. Ambrosia on ambrosia. Zeus food.
SK Donuts. You're delicious and don't make me feel like I'm going to have a heart attack (with a smile on my face) or wake up the next morning as a 2 ton heifer (with a smile on my snout). I'm in love with you. I'm ready to take our relationship to the next level. I'm moving in. I won't need closet space. I'm only bringing napkins and a toothbrush.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Happy things, a list in the making:
Cooking a scrumptious meal.
Consequently eating the scrumptious meal.
Practicing the guitar.
Yoga.
Acting.
Free writing.
Screenwriting.
Writing writing.
Reading a good book.
Hiking.
Baking goodies.
Receiving personal mail. (Oh my gosh I love it! Email is good too, but nothing beats a handwritten letter).
Meandering through, and perusing, book stores.
Playing with animals.
Painting. (Note to self: Need more canvases, brushes and paint)
Discovering an awesome band/musician and playing their music on loop.
An inspiring film that you can discuss.
Catching up with a friend (in person, I hate the phone).
Art.
A kindred spirit.
Traveling anywhere, even if it's to, like, Malibu.
Venturing somewhere I've never been before...which leads me to...
Road trip. I want to do a long ass, crazy, across the US road trip type of ordeal this summer. Anyone interested? Now taking interested folks.
I'm about 70% committed to it myself. So you could also just pretend like you want to go and tell me you're only 10% committed, which would mean it's something you like to think about but would never actually embark on. So far I've got a 10%er, one person who wants to come for a leg of the trip, and a 50%er (not bad)...
Consequently eating the scrumptious meal.
Practicing the guitar.
Yoga.
Acting.
Free writing.
Screenwriting.
Writing writing.
Reading a good book.
Hiking.
Baking goodies.
Receiving personal mail. (Oh my gosh I love it! Email is good too, but nothing beats a handwritten letter).
Meandering through, and perusing, book stores.
Playing with animals.
Painting. (Note to self: Need more canvases, brushes and paint)
Discovering an awesome band/musician and playing their music on loop.
An inspiring film that you can discuss.
Catching up with a friend (in person, I hate the phone).
Art.
A kindred spirit.
Traveling anywhere, even if it's to, like, Malibu.
Venturing somewhere I've never been before...which leads me to...
Road trip. I want to do a long ass, crazy, across the US road trip type of ordeal this summer. Anyone interested? Now taking interested folks.
I'm about 70% committed to it myself. So you could also just pretend like you want to go and tell me you're only 10% committed, which would mean it's something you like to think about but would never actually embark on. So far I've got a 10%er, one person who wants to come for a leg of the trip, and a 50%er (not bad)...
The things we tell ourselves
Everyone has the voice that tells them they are not worthy, aren't good enough. Some have better control over it than others. Mine has reared its ugly head after some dormancy because I'm getting rejected from grad school.
I will starve it with awareness until it disappears.
Let it go.
The negative thoughts don't have power unless you give it to them.
I had a good cry out last night. One I've been procrastinating against for a couple of weeks. The script was a great distraction. Going home, a comforting, joyous one. But yesterday I found myself in the middle of the darkness and couldn't get out.
Now that I have a solid sobbing hangover--not a pretty sight--and explored the depths of those feelings, I'm ready to unbury. To come back to life. There is a fight in me. Passion maybe. That forces me up, tells me they are wrong to doubt me, that I am wrong to doubt me.
I come back with more strength than before. A more solid existence with purpose and heart. I look forward to the future and garner strength from the past. But I will live in the present. Try desperately to live here and now. It is difficult to be a witness to your thoughts. To shoo them away, the good and the bad alike, to be where you are in the moment. That is the place I wish to live.
I will starve it with awareness until it disappears.
Let it go.
The negative thoughts don't have power unless you give it to them.
I had a good cry out last night. One I've been procrastinating against for a couple of weeks. The script was a great distraction. Going home, a comforting, joyous one. But yesterday I found myself in the middle of the darkness and couldn't get out.
Now that I have a solid sobbing hangover--not a pretty sight--and explored the depths of those feelings, I'm ready to unbury. To come back to life. There is a fight in me. Passion maybe. That forces me up, tells me they are wrong to doubt me, that I am wrong to doubt me.
I come back with more strength than before. A more solid existence with purpose and heart. I look forward to the future and garner strength from the past. But I will live in the present. Try desperately to live here and now. It is difficult to be a witness to your thoughts. To shoo them away, the good and the bad alike, to be where you are in the moment. That is the place I wish to live.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Learn me music.
Wow my blog is depressing. It's kind of a therapeutic cleansing maybe? I felt better after writing that last blog post this morning, so maybe so. But after reading itagain I'm posting a second, less sad, post the same day. So I guess more reading for you, but at least I'm trying to leave you on a good note.
Anyway, I brought my guitar home on the plane. My dad bought it 35 years ago to take a guitar class in hopes of meeting some hot chicks. It didn't work. But not too soon after, he did happen to meet my mom at their condo complex and hassled her until she went out with him.
Anyway, since my dad doesn't have a musical bone in his body, and hasn't touched the guitar since he attempted the class, it's now mine! I found out last night that it's a classical guitar from a friend who knows guitarey things...Now if only I knew how to play it. Anyone know anything about the guitar?
Also, I'm lusting after a ukulele. Damn Desiree for teaching me how to play that song this weekend! It's such a sweet sound.
If I had infinte amounts of time and money, I would have a music room. It would contain a cello, a guitar, a ukulele, a piano (i miss my piano!), and drums. Oh and one of those huge standing basses. Those are the instruments I wish to learn. Maybe the harmonica too. That's a cheap one. And an easy one...maybe?
Anyway, I brought my guitar home on the plane. My dad bought it 35 years ago to take a guitar class in hopes of meeting some hot chicks. It didn't work. But not too soon after, he did happen to meet my mom at their condo complex and hassled her until she went out with him.
Anyway, since my dad doesn't have a musical bone in his body, and hasn't touched the guitar since he attempted the class, it's now mine! I found out last night that it's a classical guitar from a friend who knows guitarey things...Now if only I knew how to play it. Anyone know anything about the guitar?
Also, I'm lusting after a ukulele. Damn Desiree for teaching me how to play that song this weekend! It's such a sweet sound.
If I had infinte amounts of time and money, I would have a music room. It would contain a cello, a guitar, a ukulele, a piano (i miss my piano!), and drums. Oh and one of those huge standing basses. Those are the instruments I wish to learn. Maybe the harmonica too. That's a cheap one. And an easy one...maybe?
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Home
Leaving was very difficult.
During the flight, I picked up a book I've been reading. I have a new habit of reading a novel in 2-3 days, which can get costly. Maybe it's a bad habit. I just fall in love and have to, have to keep giong. I fall in love too easily.
So I'm reading Disgrace, and it's so beautiful, painfully beautiful in one passage that I have to contain myself in the little vessel. I had even forgotten I was flying for a moment, which is a very rare thing for me to do. As often happens to me in the face of miraculous art, my eyes burned with tears in marvel and awe and wonderment. Then I looked around at all of the college kids chattering and studying for finals, their excited voices at times piercing through the jet engine. And recomposed myself.
I read the passage again. It was truth that I was reading. Simply and plainly put by Coetzee. And I wanted it for myself. To write those artful words of honest elegance of the plight of human beings. Of the simultaneous depth and simplicity of human emotion.
I didn't want to come back to LA. Waiting to be picked up at the airport found me in a sullen mood of what was to come.
In a way it is like starting again. It is a good, but it is a scary thing, N says.
Especially because those people who dwell in my heart even when I am not with them will be so far away when I begin again.
There are many decision to make, each one depending on the next. But it is the first one that is heartbreaking. It is the first one that I must make again and again every moment. And tell myself, It is for the best. Space and perspective. Wait and see what comes of it. Let time handle it. You do not have control of anything.
Control and I struggle. Me, trying to control my life. As if I had a say in all things. An obsession with the idea that everything is in my power. Not controlling other people or friends. I'm happy for them just to be who they are and do as they like. But for myself. If only I could apply the same tolerance I have for them to myself. It is a torture. It is the perfectionism. Relinquishing control and power is freedom. Perfectionism and trying to control everything, controls me.
I woke up at 4 30 in the morning and panicked. A panic attack. It had been so long, but the next thing I knew I had popped out of bed, pacing, my heart pounding, sick. It is the drastic change. The pain of the break beginning to unfold. N, in his infinite patience, helped me back to bed, helped me calm down.
It soothed me. But then I was reminded that it would not always be like this. That it would not always be this simple anymore, and it is not a simple thing. And soon it would be only me. And then I did not sleep for quite some time. Uneasy.
It is necessary, I say. It is a good, but scary thing, I agree.
I am afraid.
During the flight, I picked up a book I've been reading. I have a new habit of reading a novel in 2-3 days, which can get costly. Maybe it's a bad habit. I just fall in love and have to, have to keep giong. I fall in love too easily.
So I'm reading Disgrace, and it's so beautiful, painfully beautiful in one passage that I have to contain myself in the little vessel. I had even forgotten I was flying for a moment, which is a very rare thing for me to do. As often happens to me in the face of miraculous art, my eyes burned with tears in marvel and awe and wonderment. Then I looked around at all of the college kids chattering and studying for finals, their excited voices at times piercing through the jet engine. And recomposed myself.
I read the passage again. It was truth that I was reading. Simply and plainly put by Coetzee. And I wanted it for myself. To write those artful words of honest elegance of the plight of human beings. Of the simultaneous depth and simplicity of human emotion.
I didn't want to come back to LA. Waiting to be picked up at the airport found me in a sullen mood of what was to come.
In a way it is like starting again. It is a good, but it is a scary thing, N says.
Especially because those people who dwell in my heart even when I am not with them will be so far away when I begin again.
There are many decision to make, each one depending on the next. But it is the first one that is heartbreaking. It is the first one that I must make again and again every moment. And tell myself, It is for the best. Space and perspective. Wait and see what comes of it. Let time handle it. You do not have control of anything.
Control and I struggle. Me, trying to control my life. As if I had a say in all things. An obsession with the idea that everything is in my power. Not controlling other people or friends. I'm happy for them just to be who they are and do as they like. But for myself. If only I could apply the same tolerance I have for them to myself. It is a torture. It is the perfectionism. Relinquishing control and power is freedom. Perfectionism and trying to control everything, controls me.
I woke up at 4 30 in the morning and panicked. A panic attack. It had been so long, but the next thing I knew I had popped out of bed, pacing, my heart pounding, sick. It is the drastic change. The pain of the break beginning to unfold. N, in his infinite patience, helped me back to bed, helped me calm down.
It soothed me. But then I was reminded that it would not always be like this. That it would not always be this simple anymore, and it is not a simple thing. And soon it would be only me. And then I did not sleep for quite some time. Uneasy.
It is necessary, I say. It is a good, but scary thing, I agree.
I am afraid.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
a breath
i need a moment to breathe. to figure things out. i don't know what i'm doing. this is what it feels like to be lost. this is what it feels like to lose. i'm going to just let things come to me. the power of attraction.
a dollar cut in half is a laugh. its paper, a gum wrapper. i will believe in the power of optimism. of dreams. of making nothing into something. of illusion. that everyone says they're alright because they want to be and they don't even know what it means to be just alright.
i want to believe in the tea bag soaking, the panting dog, aching arch of sex, in good morning goodbyes, the first day of nothing matters much but it all signifies unfathomable.
save it for your recess. the recesses of your memories that give in to it all. give it in the cartoon lunch box, the note, the sweet, honeyed note, beneath the warm thermos.
it's alive, even now. it didn't happen for me. but i feel it coming in the clouds. you are my next plight.
it never meant much but it said Everything.
a dollar cut in half is a laugh. its paper, a gum wrapper. i will believe in the power of optimism. of dreams. of making nothing into something. of illusion. that everyone says they're alright because they want to be and they don't even know what it means to be just alright.
i want to believe in the tea bag soaking, the panting dog, aching arch of sex, in good morning goodbyes, the first day of nothing matters much but it all signifies unfathomable.
save it for your recess. the recesses of your memories that give in to it all. give it in the cartoon lunch box, the note, the sweet, honeyed note, beneath the warm thermos.
it's alive, even now. it didn't happen for me. but i feel it coming in the clouds. you are my next plight.
it never meant much but it said Everything.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Rejection
I'm getting rejected by 12 schools. So far it's been 9. But I feel more rejection coming.
Today, I found out I was rejected from my very toppest of schools.
Yay me.
Yay self-loathing.
How do you continue on in the face of everyone telling you your writing sucks?
"Everyone" some of the most important writers in academia?
Imagining them trying to gouge out their eyeballs with their red ink pens instead of finishing my manuscript.
How do you not believe that perhaps this is some kind of hint?
Sure friends like it, say it's page-turning. But come on, none of them are actually brutal enough to be say, This sucks, get off it!
I'm going to have to tell my 3 recommenders I was rejected. That's humiliating.
My family. Brutal.
Friends. Crushing.
And if I continue writing, I'm thinking they might believe I have sad case of denial.
I've caught a bad case of self-loathing. This much rejection makes me want to apply it to the whole mess of me. I just suck across the board. Unpretty, unsmart, untalented, un-everything. Bah!
I want to dig a hole, live in the damp little hovel, and fester.
I'll come out once a week to stretch.
Today, I found out I was rejected from my very toppest of schools.
Yay me.
Yay self-loathing.
How do you continue on in the face of everyone telling you your writing sucks?
"Everyone" some of the most important writers in academia?
Imagining them trying to gouge out their eyeballs with their red ink pens instead of finishing my manuscript.
How do you not believe that perhaps this is some kind of hint?
Sure friends like it, say it's page-turning. But come on, none of them are actually brutal enough to be say, This sucks, get off it!
I'm going to have to tell my 3 recommenders I was rejected. That's humiliating.
My family. Brutal.
Friends. Crushing.
And if I continue writing, I'm thinking they might believe I have sad case of denial.
I've caught a bad case of self-loathing. This much rejection makes me want to apply it to the whole mess of me. I just suck across the board. Unpretty, unsmart, untalented, un-everything. Bah!
I want to dig a hole, live in the damp little hovel, and fester.
I'll come out once a week to stretch.
New Creations!
So, I'm in the process of co-writing my first screenplay. It's very new and exciting and actually easy. Maybe it's because I'm co-writing it. The organization it takes to write a screenplay is something I lack. I'm just a jumble, a mess, most of the time, and I like things like that. I don't usually like to sort it all out and put it together in neat little puzzle pieces. So I spray ideas, N organizes them on the page, and we take turns typing it.
I'm ready to finish a new novel. I'm going back to about 20 or so pages I abandoned earlier, and turn it into 200 plus. Like making water into ice. It is the nature of it. Then I will make some use of the mountain of rejections I'm receiving, simply by proving to myself I can do it. Maybe pass it on to the lit agent I work for. Make some use of the connection. Even just for a few suggestions.
How do you write a novel without organization?
Ha! If I've already got it all figured out, what's the point of writing it? I love the discovery, the shock of creating it. Beauty in each word, that becomes each sentence, a paragraph, a page, an entire novel. It's amazing in process and in completion. I see life better when I'm the midst of it. Because I actually pause to see it. Inspiration and life in the smallest of things. I miss that. Out of the grad school rejection funk. Enough. What will be, will be. And right now, that's none of my business.
I'm ready to finish a new novel. I'm going back to about 20 or so pages I abandoned earlier, and turn it into 200 plus. Like making water into ice. It is the nature of it. Then I will make some use of the mountain of rejections I'm receiving, simply by proving to myself I can do it. Maybe pass it on to the lit agent I work for. Make some use of the connection. Even just for a few suggestions.
How do you write a novel without organization?
Ha! If I've already got it all figured out, what's the point of writing it? I love the discovery, the shock of creating it. Beauty in each word, that becomes each sentence, a paragraph, a page, an entire novel. It's amazing in process and in completion. I see life better when I'm the midst of it. Because I actually pause to see it. Inspiration and life in the smallest of things. I miss that. Out of the grad school rejection funk. Enough. What will be, will be. And right now, that's none of my business.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Pooling Feeling
It seems like we spend most of life avoiding uncomfortable sensations.
As a person who suffer from OCD and anxiety, I understand this desire all too well. When the anxiety grips me, my chest tightening, stomach straining, head pounding. I'll do anything to stop feeling it. For years I tried to distract myself, making up excuses, "stories" of why I was feeling the way I was feeling.
One of my dearest, oldest, wisest friends directed me on her last visit to a way of coping with the negative emotions.
All feelings are fleeting, if let them exist and accept them.
So I stopped avoiding the pain, hurt, anxiety, sadness, anger, hate that inevitably comes up in both the every day and extraordinary moments of life. I stopped telling myself why I felt that way and just allowed myself to feel it.
In the seconds before I truly faced the emotion, terror gripped me.
But as soon as I allowed myself to peer over the cliff, and into the pool of emotion. It began to dissipate.
And that's how I face my anxiety now. Head on.
That doesn't mean I don't ever feel it anymore. It just leaves on it's own after I buckle down and face it.
Perhaps in order to feel the greatest of joys, love, beauty, we must allow ourselves to feel the greatest hurt, horror, grief. Without one extreme, how can we recognize and appreciate the other.
And perhaps the dark would be just as fleeting as the light, if we'd only welcome it in our lives as part of our existence. See the beauty in the dark. It is what makes us human.
As a person who suffer from OCD and anxiety, I understand this desire all too well. When the anxiety grips me, my chest tightening, stomach straining, head pounding. I'll do anything to stop feeling it. For years I tried to distract myself, making up excuses, "stories" of why I was feeling the way I was feeling.
One of my dearest, oldest, wisest friends directed me on her last visit to a way of coping with the negative emotions.
All feelings are fleeting, if let them exist and accept them.
So I stopped avoiding the pain, hurt, anxiety, sadness, anger, hate that inevitably comes up in both the every day and extraordinary moments of life. I stopped telling myself why I felt that way and just allowed myself to feel it.
In the seconds before I truly faced the emotion, terror gripped me.
But as soon as I allowed myself to peer over the cliff, and into the pool of emotion. It began to dissipate.
And that's how I face my anxiety now. Head on.
That doesn't mean I don't ever feel it anymore. It just leaves on it's own after I buckle down and face it.
Perhaps in order to feel the greatest of joys, love, beauty, we must allow ourselves to feel the greatest hurt, horror, grief. Without one extreme, how can we recognize and appreciate the other.
And perhaps the dark would be just as fleeting as the light, if we'd only welcome it in our lives as part of our existence. See the beauty in the dark. It is what makes us human.
Friday, March 14, 2008
The highest form of self abuse is...
Perfectionism.
One of my biggest vices.
It doesn't paralyze my life. Only commentates on the things I do and who I am.
Nothing's good enough, meaning I'm not good enough.
Perfection is like infinity. You can try to approach it, but never touch it.
Perfectionism is the sick attempt to get there. To taste the end of the universe.
Then there's the search for recognition. Seeking approval and acceptance outside of yourself. As if someone else may say, "Yes, you are perfect. A wonder. A beautiful marvel." And then all will be well in your life.
All can be well, but only if I can say those things to myself. And believe them.
It is a process. Every day, a challenge. The end and beginning of the universe is in everyone. Seeing it in yourself, and the mirror of it in others is true wisdom.
One of my biggest vices.
It doesn't paralyze my life. Only commentates on the things I do and who I am.
Nothing's good enough, meaning I'm not good enough.
Perfection is like infinity. You can try to approach it, but never touch it.
Perfectionism is the sick attempt to get there. To taste the end of the universe.
Then there's the search for recognition. Seeking approval and acceptance outside of yourself. As if someone else may say, "Yes, you are perfect. A wonder. A beautiful marvel." And then all will be well in your life.
All can be well, but only if I can say those things to myself. And believe them.
It is a process. Every day, a challenge. The end and beginning of the universe is in everyone. Seeing it in yourself, and the mirror of it in others is true wisdom.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Happy Birthday, Blog. You are Born.
i love ee cummings and so i will bless my first blog post with one of my favorite poems and will write in all lower case letters:
i carry your heart with me
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
ee cummings
and here's a quote a friend delivered to me this afternoon. it's a gem.
"to be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best night and day to make you like everybody else means to fight the hardest battle any human being can fight and never stop fighting." -- e.e cummings
Grad school's a bitch. I need to think of a neat project for all of my rejection letters. Ideas? That's what I get for applying to only the top ten schools. A healthy dose of reality and humility I'll take down like a vitamin. It's good for me, I just don't know how. There's no immediate benefits.
Four more schools to hear from. I'm thinking they'll agree with the others.
Can't compete with the other writers who've actually already published, most of which are older than me and more experienced. I need to live more. an adventure to inform my work. an adventure to make me thicker, denser, richer.
Another decision I've made.
A writer. An actor. An artist. A label. It doesn't mean anything really. It's an assignment of importance. I'm just going to be for a while and see what comes of it.
i carry your heart with me
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
ee cummings
and here's a quote a friend delivered to me this afternoon. it's a gem.
"to be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best night and day to make you like everybody else means to fight the hardest battle any human being can fight and never stop fighting." -- e.e cummings
Grad school's a bitch. I need to think of a neat project for all of my rejection letters. Ideas? That's what I get for applying to only the top ten schools. A healthy dose of reality and humility I'll take down like a vitamin. It's good for me, I just don't know how. There's no immediate benefits.
Four more schools to hear from. I'm thinking they'll agree with the others.
Can't compete with the other writers who've actually already published, most of which are older than me and more experienced. I need to live more. an adventure to inform my work. an adventure to make me thicker, denser, richer.
Another decision I've made.
A writer. An actor. An artist. A label. It doesn't mean anything really. It's an assignment of importance. I'm just going to be for a while and see what comes of it.
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