MCQ-T

New Blog

2007-11-30T12:41:00.000-08:00

My Last Post

2007-04-29T08:38:00.000-07:00

Gentle Reader,
I no longer can post openly to this bliggity-blog for fear of my heartfelt information falling into the wrong hands. Also, certain images and memories contained in these posts have a way of turning my stomach now. Was it a good blog? Meh. Who knows? Was it fun for me to write it? Yes, oh, yes. Do I love you for reading it? Of course I do.

But it's not me anymore, it doesn't fit. I need a whole new life and a whole new blog, and damnit, I shall have one and let you know how to find me. When I am ready. The day will come. Believe that.

Until then, my friend...
The Blogger Formerly Known as MCQ-T

The First Person

2007-03-18T08:42:00.000-07:00

One week ago my life was
As I expected it should be.
Today, theres just nothing
Absolutely nothing
One could do to shock me.

My very last post,
Tellingly,
Did not refer to "we",
Only "I".
Did I somehow see this coming?
And if so, why?

Everything you
Have read here-
Strike that-
Much of what
I have thought and said here

For the past 9 months
Has been a tragic lie
I just did not know it
A week ago.
Today the falsehoods die.

I cannot go into details
And it would do no good
To do so.
If you hadn't heard already,
It's just that I've been
Lied to.

And now,
For better or for worse,
There's no longer any "we".
Just lil' ol
Jilted
MCQ-T.

Sayonara, Edge of the Universe

2007-03-01T21:59:00.000-08:00

Goodbye, sunset on the water. I will give up palm trees that bend in tailored rows towards the sea. The proximity of waves and seagulls. The sand between my toes in a moment's notice. A 20 minute commute to work. My bathtub. The neighbor who my cats adore. I will give them all up gladly for a small patch of land to set a hammock on, a front porch, a room for music, and the rest of the city surrounding me with art, color, noise, and Life. And most importantly, nearby loved ones. I am creeping slowly towards the center of things. I hope for the strength to embrace every fucking bit of it. Bring it.

Things I have seen - 3.5 months in pictures

2007-02-20T22:05:00.000-08:00

Let's start with Halloween.

Sam dressed up like the Purple Pieman to my Strawberry Shortcake, though he didn't know who the hell that was, having grown up in London and all. Girls were trying to smell his hat all night. My hat smelled like strawberries.

The next day, he and Aaron made beer.

I love that about them.

Beautiful Adriana made me a giant Turkey.

And David and Shawn made me laugh all night despite the coma from the giant Turkey.

Miss Mary showed me the joys of the Barcade.

I went to Jenny's X-mas party in the Burque.

Atticus is her dainty little doggy, who slept between us.

I'm not sure how. I reunited with my old kitty friend, Olivia Newton John.

Still the funniest cat of all time.

The party was a real humdinger. Some pics are too racy for bloggin.'

Derwin was in rare form that night.

And I got to see Toastie!

Damn, that guy is tall.

Sam and I saw family for the holidays. This is my nephew, his wife and their son:

And this is their daughter:

Sam and his nephew, Isaac:

Isaac was smashing chips.

We got our whole fam damilies together in Tucson. Here's my mom and sis:

After all of that, I needed a drink. Thank goodness for Tammara coming to town...

Davriana and Rothko cured my hangover.

We got a new toy and took it to the Editor in Santa Barbara.

Lookie at her little gatos!

In San Francisco, Cat indocrinated me in the school of dim summin' it:

And I reunited with Seana after 6 long years.

Yeah. That's all I'm sayin.

I got to spend time in the park with these beautiful ladies:

All because of my wonderful hosts, Gabe and Mariah.

Are they not sublime?

We found a new house to share with Maaron.

We move in a week and a half. Yikes. Why am I not packing?

We said goodbye to Gleno in the longest train of bikes I have ever seen.

And the shadows stretched quietly to the lake that day.

I came home to a cat ready to party.

Wonderful friends and karaoke madness:

A black and white birthday party to end all black and white birthday parties.

And yesterday was a relaxing day at the beach with my Jen.

Next time I promise to show pictures more frequently.
But tomorrow, I must pack.
So much has happened.
I am tired, but content.

The Shocker

2007-02-07T21:03:00.000-08:00

You may remember him as the best man at our wedding. Or perhaps as the man who invited the vegetarians to a Meat Fest in West Covina. I remember him as many things, and especially as the man who dubbed me, "The Sinner" afer only knowing me a few moments. It is the best nickname I will ever have. He was my Sam's dearest friend.

I absolutely HATE that I am posting this right now. I would give all of my limbs not to have to say this right now. Gleno McIntosh was the single most funny, loving, gregarious, open, warm and wonderful man I have ever known- next to my Sam, of course. Nobody, but nobody, met Gleno and did not immediately adore him. I remember the first time I met him and how welcoming he was to me, in the midst of a sea of burly and sometimes surly motorcyclists. He always made me feel at home and his home, at home at the race track, or at home at otherwise potentially discombobulating motorcycling events. He could barbeque like nobody's business. He loved his beautiful wife, Terri, and was never afraid to show it. He was not above singing and dancing to Alanis Morissette. We took him to his first musical, "We Will Rock you", in Vegas, and he showed such boyish enthusiasm for the show that he made us delighted with it all over again. He made us laugh- oh, how he made us laugh- with socially inappropriate comments, colloquilisms, and good old fashioned jokes more than anyone I have ever known.

He will be missed.

He will be loved forever.

Stories will be told about the legend of this man for time immemorial.

Last night, we lost our Gleno in a tragic motorcycle accident. I can only be happy for the time we knew him, for the special and often hilarious moments we shared with him, and especially for the fact that he did not die alone on the road last night.

Gleno, you silly bastard! You are gone too soon!

I know you will be smiling down on us for all time, bacskseat driving the barbeque, admonishing us whenever we miss an opening for a joke, and filling us with appreciation for the moments of good times on the Road of This Wild Life.

Rest in Peace, Dear Friend.

I cannot expess our sadness.

Our hearts go out to Terri, his children, the rest of his family, and everyone else who has ever met him.

Goddamnit.

RAW Power

2007-02-05T22:16:00.000-08:00

I just found out he left the realm on January 11th. Why the world did not weep or laugh more audibly that day is a mystery for the ages. I knew he was sick. We sent him 23.23 pounds sterling (Hail Eris) to help with medical bills a few months ago when we heard. He may have died a pauper, but at least he was never a goddamned wage slave. His books shaped the way I think, the way I try to operate in the world, my perceptions of time, space, coincidence, and "truth."

Here is (what seems to be) his last blog entry, dated January 6th:

"Various medical authorities swarm in and out of here predicting I have between two days and two months to live. I think they are guessing. I remain cheerful and unimpressed. I look forward without dogmatic optimism but without dread. I love you all and I deeply implore you to keep the lasagna flying.

Please pardon my levity, I don't see how to take death seriously. It seems absurd."

Rest in Chaos
Robert Anton Wilson
January 18, 1932- who knows?
Author, philosopher, speaker, guru, essayist, psychologist, dope-smoker, magician, space man, pope, agnostic, and all around enigmatic Coyote hero.

If you haven't already- go read Prometheus Rising.
Then stand on your head and read it again.
Then read some Tim Leary and read it again.
Fnord.

In Heaven, Everything is Fine

2007-01-22T22:49:00.000-08:00

In Heaven, Everything is Fine
In Heaven, Everything is Fine
You've Got Your Good Thing
And I've Got Mine

Sam was called away to Moscow suddenly this weekend and all of our plans went out the window, but hopefully to some future good. Providence prevailed, though, and I was gifted with many surprises. What a lovely weekend. My friend Tammara unexpectedly came down from SF and introduced me to a great new gal pal who I hope to know forever and we had some much needed shenanigans on Saturday night. And I want to forever thank Adriana and David for treating me to a Sunday beyond measure.

We went to the little MOCA extension at the Pacific Design Center to see the work of Mark Rothko. I have to admit that when I saw his work in art history books I never quite got it. Squares of color- big whoop, right? Well, no- Big Whoop. We stood in a small room with these giant canvases and I had a truly psychedelic experience with pure color. Color that spoke volumes. There was a particular painting that caused me to nearly faint multiple times- but, yes, just the top part. It was absolutely mind bending and it completely changed the way I view art and what I value in it.

If that weren’t enough, we then went to go see David Lynch and Donovan speak and perform at the Kodak theatre. Adriana talks about this more eloquently in her blog, as ever, but I just have to say that Lynch has informed my existence on this earth in such a profound way that I simply don’t know who I would be had I never been exposed to him, and to see him in person was such an honor. It was Gabe who showed me Blue Velvet and Eraserhead for the first time when I was 17. Blue Velvet remains my number one favorite film of all time, and Eraserhead continues to haunt my darkest dreams. Don’t get me started on Twin Peaks. Lynch spoke about Transcendental Meditation and creativity, answering questions read aloud by Laura Dern, who he affectionately calls “The Tidbit.” Oh, this man. And the friends who brought me to him. Oh.

He said that meditation has changed the way he holds onto emotion. That he still gets angry, but he can’t hold on to it anymore. That he can feel despair, but he can’t help but to let it go. He can’t hold it. This struck me as something very similar to a change I have been noticing in myself of late. That all I want to hold on to, all that I am able to hold onto, is the joy. He kept saying that the more you delve into the deep waters, the better and better life gets. The answers become more readily accessible, and the levels become more profound. He didn’t say these things in a superior way- he said them quite simply.

When he speaks, he holds his left hand completely still on the lectern while his right hand dances in the air, his fingers constantly playing invisible chords on a universal instrument that no one has seen but knows must exist- somewhere. He also said that there is no reason to shy away from exploring despair and pain in ones art- but that it did not mean that the artist must be in pain in order to do so- quite the contrary, in fact. And I have to thank him for that. Alot.

And then Donovan came out and sang all of his old amazing tunes like a paisleyed little hermit come down from the Hobbitsey hills and when he went into “The Hurdy Gurdy Man” I think something in my head might have exploded a little.

T-rippy. Yes.

Now With Machine Gun Mount!

2007-01-14T20:26:00.000-08:00

Sam bought us a new toy for the New Year, and boy is it a doozy. It basically looks like this:

And is the coolest thing I have ever seen. It is a Russian reproduction of a Nazi German side car, and it is called a Ural. It doesn't like to go over 55 mph, and is tricky to steer, and turning right requires me to throw my weight around like a little monkey, but it is wonderful. Even the frequent shower of small sharp rocks in the face fills me with joy.

We wear half helmets and goggles and desperately need white silk scarves for this. Wherever we go, we make new friends. Harley people love it, Vespa people love it, and a man in a convertible in Malibu that I swear was Jude Law gave us the double thumbs up on it. Even hardcore gangstas in South Central have to crack a smile at this machine.

Now if the wind would die down a bit more we could go for a longer ride. Come on, Summer! Sam is going to ship it to Russia someday and do the whole Ewan McGregor thing. Craziness.

And yes, this actually does have a machine gun mount. Someday I'd like to get one of the telescoping machine guns my dad made back in the 70's and take this out to target practice.

Yee hee hee!

Crossing Over- Way Over

2006-12-12T21:56:00.001-08:00

Yesterday my co-worker Lola got a call from a radio staion saying she won 2 tix to see John Edward- that guy from TV who talks to dead people. Knowing how much I like to talk to dead people, she kindly invited me to the Avalon. She is a medium, so she was very down to see how this guy works, too. It was a benefit for some Alzheimer's thing, I forget what it was called, and Leeza Gibbons was the host, and some terrible band played the most cliche ridden songs I have ever heard. But then, the main event.

I have to say, I have watched the show more than a few times in the past and have always been fascinated with the level of detail this guy gets into, but the tiny skeptic that lives inside me sometimes thinks the show must be heavily edited, showing only the times he actually makes a connection. I mean, there has to be times where he is just totally wrong, yes?

No.

There are no times when the man is wrong, the man is right. Always. He might be talking to the wrong person at first, but then the person behind them will say something like; "Um, when you were just talking about the guy with the J name, like John or James, who was in the Army or the Navy, well, my dad's name was John James and he was in the Amy and the Navy simultaneously. Could that be him?" Yes, it could be and it is.

The guy is 100% legitimate, and people were bawling their eyes out last night at the obscure ass details he was accessing for them. It was one of the most powerful couple of hours I have ever had. I was wondering if some of my loved ones would appear there, but after hearing the type of people who came forward, I can see whay they didn't. I don't have anyone who is gone who needs to tell me they forgive me, or that the key to their safe deposit box is taped under the sock drawer or that they are sorry for beating me as a child.

All my spirits were undoubtedly there last night, as they are here right now, and they know that we can find each other anytime we like.

If you ever get a chance to check this man out, I couldn't recommend it more. He sees through the veil, which is a rare and precious gift. And to really, irrefutably recieve the knowledge that these souls are residing with us, side by side, albeit on a different frequency, is an extremely heady and inspiring experience.

My New Obsession

2006-12-09T21:34:00.000-08:00

Sam is off to Moscow again, but he has gifted me with the most wonderful thing to pass the time on my lonesome:

It looks pretty much like this, but mine is shinier and even more beautiful. I do not know what his name is yet, but let me know if you have suggestions.

Cleave Unto Me

2006-11-14T22:10:00.000-08:00

One of the nicest parts about being a woman is that other women, especially drunk ones, will let you take pictures of their decolletage.

Thanks for the mammaries!

Chompers and Hooky

2006-11-07T19:12:00.000-08:00

Today I went to the dentist for the first time in an unspeakably long time. I knew it was going to be bad. The lecture. The poking and the scraping. The several more appointments for continuations on the poking and the scraping. But instead, they chose to poke and scrape my entire mouth in one fell swoop. Half a dozen hundreds of dollars later, I walked out of there with a swollen, numb face, lips that would not close properly, and a whole lot of mouth pain. Upon coming home to recover before going into work, I discovered that Sam was just about to leave for his daily bike ride. This encouraged me to use my dental experience as an excuse for a day off. Hey, if I am only going to go to the dentist every once in a blue moon, why not make a whole day of it?

So we took the tandem out, voted, ill advisedly rode down some stairs, and spent a few hours riding down to Venice, lunching on a grassy hill and gathering seagulls, and coming back. Today was one of the most gloriously beautiful days ever, I think. 85 degrees in November? Aww yeah, global warming.

"Warm it up, Chris(t)."
"I'm about to."
"Warm it up, Chris(t)."
"Cuz that's what I was born (again) to do"

Sorry. I'm really really sorry about that.

So my mouth is feeling a bit better, the casa is clean, the laundry is in, and the gatos are sleeping on either side of me. I have not been blogging much, not because only Adriana reads this blog, and she is busy starring in the musical Splendora at the Celebration Theatre, check check it out- but also because I have been a bit funkdefied. Sam and I are unclear on our future location and work situations, as in if we will be moving to London, or somewhere else, or staying in Sunny Sta Mo. But today, I kind of got that I have been waiting to figure out what life holds in store for me without just enjoying what life has already stocked for me, comprendez vous? And what I got in stock is Good.

Soon, I will share pictures of the Halloween Extravaganza. And other recent adventures.
I hope each and every one of you are having a beautiful 11/7.

I have 3 words for you

2006-11-03T18:20:00.000-08:00

Go. See. Borat.

Living Heroes

2006-10-14T13:35:00.000-07:00

Last night Sam and I went to see Jose Rivera's "References to Salvador Dali Make Me Hot", playing at Art/Works Theatre. Our friend Pema invited us and introduced us to Jose after the show, who she has known a long time. He was very funny and pleasant and self-effacing and I was more than a little bit star-struck. I felt the same way the night I met Mac Wellman, so many years ago in Albuquerque. These two men have had more influence on my playwriting and love of theatre than any other living writers hands-down and I feel so incredibly fortunate to have now met both. Just- wow. Thank you, Universe. And thank you, Pems!

Closed For Construction

2006-10-07T10:30:00.000-07:00

On the very first day I dragged my ass out of bed at 6 AM to start jogging (yes, I know, who AM I?) I got down to the end of Montana only to find that my ocean access has been blocked off by giant barrier walls as they do some shit or another to the area around the steps, due for completion in February of next year. What the hell? They have had the Idaho steps closed for several years. So this means the closest way down is the California St incline, which makes it about three times as long to get to the water. I just wonder if this is a sign that I should either not be running, or not be living where I am. I mean, come on- "Ocean Access Closed"? That's just not right in so many ways.

That is all.

Cease to resist, giving my goodbye

2006-09-28T19:20:00.000-07:00

Drive my car into the ocean
You think I'm dead
But I sail away
On a wave of mutilation
Wave of mutilation
Wave of mutilation
Wave Wave...

So. About Portland. And The Oregon Coast. I swear that place is the home of Swamp Thing. Although currently in a drought, and somewhat "brown" according to locals, the vegetation encroaches upon the homes and man-made constructs, threatening, if not constantly cut back at to be kept at bay, to simply swallow buildings whole, turning them into so much wooden mulch.

I have never been in a city that felt like a forest before.

On Thursday night at 11 PM, Amber met me at the airport. Mind you I had just been in Albuquerque two days prior to that, the place Amber had only recently escaped from the sandy jaws of. "You look so pissed off!" she exclaimed. I guess I just had my traveling face on. Soon I was smiling expansively, being putted to her home in her little light blue VW Bug, almost, but not quite, as cute as Amber. After libations, she ushered me in to sleep in her princess bed, so named because of the giant gauzy white curtains that envelop it. Strange dreams, and an early awakening to go surprise Brandy, the birthday girl, at a little breakfast place on Mississippi Avenue, called Gravy.

Brandy was as surprised as a psychic Virgo girl can be.

After, what else, biscuits and the best gravy I have had, gravy that makes a grown woman want to weep, Brandy and James took me to see the city from above. It was bigger than I would have thought, patches of concrete and stands of trees. So much water, and bridges everywhere. And then we were off like a shot to part 2 of Brandy's surprise, a 2 night stay at a B&B on the coast of Oregon at a place called Sand Lake. We had the 2nd floor of this adorable cottagey place, that was partially made from logs that were hauled from the crash site of a pirate ship, back in the day. Since Brandy and I come from Sir Francis Drake's family and are therefore pyratical cousins somehow of some sort, we thought that was especially cool. Possibly haunted pirate logs? "Shiver me timbers," indeed!

We asked about the ocean- where was it and how could we get there as soon as possible? Our inn keeper said the closet beach was a playground for atv's and dirtbikes. Why I didn't put together the name "Sand Lake" and "Moto-Cross Maniacs" I do not know. No really, they were only a distant occasional buzzing, like metallic flies. So we went south down the coast instead, to Cape Kiwanda, and Haystack Rock. Nice. I mean nice. The beach was beautiful- people were everywhere, but no up your ass like on Cali beaches. We had lunch, and flew kites, or tried to, in my case and enjoyed the sun all afternoon.

Birthday surprise part 3 was a bottle of absinthe Sam got for Brandy in Moscow, that I brought up there for her. The front of the bottle said something hilarious and nonsensical- like, "The look grows warm...the color expands...and the hand is delicately taken by an angel." We got duh-runk that night, and looked at things with the telescope, things that might have been stars, if our eyes could have stopped crossing. Beautiful night on the patio. Unfortunately, one of our intrepid trio, who shall remain unnamed, said that their hand was indeed delicately taken by an angel. And angel that took them straight to the toilet, for many many hours. Good times.

The next morning we picked blackberries which grow wild everywhere, and it was one of the most sensual things I have ever experienced. Plump black berries, juices. Yeah. Anyway, we head off to the beach in blissful abandon. Many trucks have parked on the sand, and since the lot is full, we try to follow suit. Soon James is not sure this is a good idea. Just then, we are stuck. People help push us forward. We keep going forward, but then realize the further we go from the hard packed dirt, the further we will have to go on the way out, and we don't really want to be stuck after sundown, because we plan to relax all day. We will have to turn around where we are, near the water's edge, get back to the hard pack, and go park elsewhere.

Well now.

We got stuck trying to do that. Our back wheels were down to the hubcars in thick wet sand. The beach people who had said that it would be ok to back up into that sand then stepped back and said, "well, now you've got problems." Then the tide, which before this moment had been going out, turned around, looked at us, laughed, and started coming in. Panic ensued. It was the most intense 6 minutes ever. We tried to push it out, and I was covered in sand from head to toe by the spinning wheel. We begged for help. A man with a big truck and a little rope came and tried to pull us out, but the rope snapped and the water got deeper. Inexplicably, both Brandy and I retrieved our purses and put them on the sand lest the ocean take those too. Because the truck was probably a goner. "You've got about 2 minutes, two minutes, " a beach guy said. I was running up the beach, waving my arms in the air, like I really did care, - oh how I cared- begging for a tow rope. Someone produced one just when I though all was lost. 6 of us lifted that truck out of the ocean like motherlovin' superheroes as the big truck pulled us out to relative safety.

"Jesus." "Jesus Christ." We kept saying. That truck got stuck about 4 more times on the way up to the parking lot. We could not believe it when we finally parked on the beautiful, beautiful asphalt. We apologized to the truck for being such imbeciles and then changed our clothes so as not to be recognized as the idiots from New Mexico who drove their truck onto the beach without 4 wheel drive. A thick fog rolled in and stayed all day, covering Haystack Rock. Amber and Sarah and the boys came to meet us on the beach, unaware of our gigantic truck eating ocean ordeal. They commiserated with us and then everyone spent time exploring the caves and rocks along the beach, or building sand castles, or in my case, exploring the inner world while lazing on a blanky. We also had lavender creme brulee made by James with a blowtorch and drinks mixed up from Amber's amazing vintage bar-in-a-small-suitcase.

That night I returned with Amber so Brandy and James could have a night alone on the coast and I could hang out with my old friend John, which was grand. Unfortunately, Amber lost her grandmother that day which she found out that night, and we had to see her off back to ABQ in the morning. It was pretty awful but she has been strong. After that, Sarah and Sampson and Alex graciously showed me around Saturday Market downtown, and it was a nice time. Brandy collected me once she and James returned home, and we had a nice night out with John again, back on Mississippi Avenue, at The Crow Bar.

Next day I had to go home. I did not really want to, except for seeing my husband and going to Europe and all. Brandy and James took me to a cool place called The Kennedy School which is run by these guys, the McMenamin brothers, that have all kinds of properties up there that they convert into these hotel/bar/movie theatre/restaurant places. Really original stuff. The Kennedy School is an old school that now has a nice restaurant and patio and several classroom bars (like the seedier Detention Room or the Non Smoking Honor Society room). You can rent out the gym and have an adult prom there. You can get a room. You can see a movie or get into the soaking pool. It is full of beautiful artwork, and murals. I loved it.

Incidentally, getting back to the encroaching vegetation idea, at another of their properties, called Edgefield, whilst hacking away the wild blackberries that had grown everywhere, they found an entire house they did not even know was on the land there. Amazing.

So after that, I read Brandy's cards in a beautiful rose garden in a beautiful park, and we talked of plays and love and plans and life and then I had to go. But I'll be back, most definitely. Next time I'll know to stay a bit further back from the waves.

Prost!

2006-09-26T07:02:00.000-07:00

That's German for "cheers"! But you have to look the your toastmate in the eye as you clink glasses. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
The rest of London was a dream. Tuesday we went to Sam's elementary school, a charming single brick building with one classroom for each grade. The headmaster was the same as when Sam was there, and he greeted him with a hearty, "Sammy Gendler!" He led us around the school, where the little boys are as polite as the Dickens, and two of Sam's old teachers tried to enumerate Sam's shenanigans. They call former students "Old Boys" and the "Little Boys" look at them like heroes. Cutetasticness. Then we shopped for Docs in Camden and it was great fun. I got a pair of more sophisticated boots there, no eyelets, just lots of straps and buckles and zippers. When my mother in law saw my new boots, she nearly stole them from my feet, so we ordered her a pair. Birthday gift resolved! That night we had dinner at the flat with some family friends and stayed up talking quite late. So we never went out for local music, but we were content. The English have a hot chocolate pudding dessert called Gu that is pretty decadent. We got our first night of almost normal sleep. Heaven.
Wednesday we helped move large furniture around in the flat and clean out the basement. They discovered a set of kitchen curtains down there that they wanted to re-hang, circa 1984. They looked like Lionel Ritchie's pants, so we had to put our collective foot down hard on that. We met the caretakers of the building who were delightful and talked about when they used to watch Sam and sometimes call into his highschool pretending he was sick so he could play hooky. Funny. Then we collected a cake from the patisserie up the street, and a card for Sandy's birthday.
We then hustled into town for dinner and Brecht at the National Theatre, which is just a mind blowing facility. Multiple stages, live music playing, a formal restaurant, several cafes, art exhibitions, just grand. The Theatre Olivier must seat a few thousand people, it is a gorgeous stage with enough lighting positions to boggle the mind. The production was fantastic, though not what I was expecting. I did not notice that the adaptation was by David Hare, who I love as a modern dramatist. But I felt he took a lot of the Brecht out of Brecht, turning it into a sort of contemporary, easily digestible play, with only a taste of the cabaret numbers and hugely theatrical moments Brecht is known for. So although it was brilliant, my favorite part was the single cabaret scene he chose to include and expand, which was truly dark and outrageous and showmanlike and enveloping. But it didn't fit with the rest of his adaptation in any way. Ah well... the play was so timely it was shocking, the church's refusal of Gallileo's theories mirroring our current administration's refusal of global warming and other issues almost exactly. Uncanny, rich stuff. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world to be there.
Thursday late morning we left for for Munich, arriving early evening and immediately consuming schnitzel. If you don't know what that is, you may not want to. The we met up with 3 of Sam's Russian engineers and his partner in crime, Chris. We had many beers at the Haufbrauhaus, which is an absolute trip. The next day we got up and I put on my dirndl. We went to Sam's office, where about 40 people were putting on rented German costumes, watching a cheezy corporate slideshow, and learning key German drinking songs. Yes, ladies, I do have pictures of Sam in lederhosen. He was very appealing in them. We proceeded to the Oktoberfest at high noon, which is kind of like a giant state fair with rides and beer tents. Our tent was called Hippodrom, though I am not sure why. It was big and yellow and filled with picnic tables, of which we filled four. I had many many very large beers over the course of the next 5 hours, and some traditional German food. Then we all stumbled out to ride rides. Oh, it was great fun. Drunk bumper cars were especially good. Sam got hit on constantly all day, and I was approached a few times until I realized I had my apron strings tied on the incorrect side, indicating I was available. After I switched it, all was well. But a side note is that German men actually do "catcall", making little kitty gathering kissy sounds at women as they pass. Disconcerting. Anyway, Sam won me several cute toys at German shooting games and we were at our hotel, passed out before midnight. Crazy.
Some of the company then went on a 4 hour hike at 7 am the next day, but we were not among them. On our single day alone together of the whole vacation, we spent much of it in bed, which was so lovely. Then we shopped at a place called Marianplatz, and ate ice cream and good things like that. That night we had Mexican food (HA!) with the Russians, and explained things like taco shells and other English words for lady's breasts. The waitress felt Sam up on the way out (I'm telling you, I needed a stick) and we found our way home. I had to get up three hours later to go to the airport, and had a 20 hour long traveling day on Sunday. Yes, I am home. It is strange and good, and I feel replenished. Next time, I promise to talk about the Portland trip, which was full of strange and sometimes wonderful things, too.

More theatre, vicar?

2006-09-19T03:53:00.001-07:00

Hi. Where were we? I am losing count of the things already. The end of last week is a bit blurry. We went to Future City, an exhibit at the Barbican, a looming monstrosity of a museum. This show was about architects and designers as far back as the 20's trying to create futuristic home and building styles for the utopia to come. It was pretty funny. There were designs from the LSD days that really took the cake- one was called "Instant City", which consisted of a blimp, which would hover over a city dropping down components to modernize the place, like a giant stage for a disco/discussion room, and other hippy notions. Most of the other places just looked wickedly uncomfortable. That night we went back to our favorite pub in Highgate, which was quite the party.

I think that was Thursday. Yes. Friday we slept in and had a long lunch, then Sam's mom came in from Arizona and we talked and had dinner and a walk. Somehow this took the whole day.

Saturday was marathon shopping with Sam's parents. Sam opted out of this somehow. Sam's mom is fantastic, but exhausting to shop with. We scoured every major department store on Oxford Street for bed linens, towels, cutlery, dishes, et all. By the time we were done, we barely fit into the taxi with out haul. Of course, it was any girl's wet shopping dream come true, except with housewares instead of frocks. Saturday night we went to see A Moon For The Misbegotten by O'Neill, at the Old Vic, starring Kevin Spacey, who is AD there, and Colm Meaney, who were brilliant. Eve Best was a fantastic Josie, if a bit too thin for the role, and other that the fact that the theatre was boiling hot, it was an exemplary evening of theatre. But seriously, Kevin needs to talk to his board about getting some AC up in that Mofo. I had to remove my leather boots to keep from fainting. Afterwards we roamed West End Lane, gathering chocolates and other late night treats. Very good, indeed.

Sunday Sam and I did a bit of shopping, which actually was a wash as the entire street I wanted to shop was closed, so we ended up going for a quick peek at St. Paul's Cathedral (they are not kidding around with this church. It is right monumental) and then on to the Tate Modern (just across the Milennium Bridge) to see the Kandinsky exhibit, who we both love alot. It was interesting- mostly his early work leading up to his work in abstraction. It also happened to be the Thames Festival, so we walked around the public dancing, trapeze acts, great smelling foods, vendors, and everything else set up along the river. It was pretty grand. We walked by The Globe Theatre, but did not have a tour as it was during intermission for a show. I do want to go there, but don't relish the idea of standing up for a whole performance of something like Antony and Cleopatra or Troilus & Cressida, even if it does have Patrick Stuart in it. Lazy American, perhaps, but I'm not up for it yet. And after all that, we went to see The Queen, the movie with Helen Mirren. Sam found it to be Labour Party propaganda, but since I'm not too versed in UK politics, I thought it was pretty great.

Yesterday was Monday. Sam miraculously took me to Harrods. Oh, ladies. This is where all good ladies should go when they die. At least for those of us who like to shop. You name the designer, they are there. You name the item, it is there, but only the very highest quality example of it. Rooms of pianos, guitars, old maps, art, furniture, clothing, jewels, candy, scarves. Missoni hosiery, That's all I am saying. Missoni hosiery. Apparently you can buy exotic animals there somehow, to donate to zoos and such. Outrageous and fabulous, lots of Egyptian stylings, since it is owned by the Fayed family (I think Dodi's dad), and there is the most hilarious statue I have ever seen of Dodi and Di done up in bronze, hands outstretched holding a dove, the words "Innocent Victims" emblazoned at their feet. Oh, the tremendously rich... After Harrods, (where Sam lucked out as all I bought were some soaps for gifts) we went to a few more places and came home to meet the folks before going to the Hampstead Theatre. There we saw a great production of Everything is Illuminated, by Jonathan Safran Foer, one of our favorite writers. It was adapted by SImon Block, pretty successfully, and the guy playing Alex was spot-on. A great theatre, very nearby, very modernised and somehow supported by local government. Can you even imagine?

Ok, Sam is clamoring for the computer, and then we are off to find his mom a birthday present, and some Doc Martin's for Sam. Tonight we may try to take in some local music. Tomorrow is our last full London day, during which we will see Brecht at the National Theatre, which makes me shiver with delight, then on to Oktoberfest. Do I really have to ever come home? You all need to start making plans to come out here in the next year or so. Seriously.

Can I get a wot, wot?

2006-09-13T14:06:00.000-07:00

I am in London, in ye olde in-law's flat, sipping 16 year old Lagavulin, luxuriating after a fine Italian dinner during which my husband nearly set the table on fire. Ah, it was raining lightly as we walked home, just glorious. I think we just may have to move here. The flat is a bit run down, so I have been polishing brass and helping Alan to clean a bit, but mostly Sam and I have been exploring the city. Let's see... first we went to Camden Market, simply the most amazing amalgamation of humanity I have ever seen. Punk rockers and grandmas, tattoos and antiques. Much fun was had, and a bit o' shopping, too. The sweaters! The socks! The scarves! Oh, my! Then we saw the city from Primrose Hill, London's only truly elevated point. Lovely. Unseasonably warm. Sunday we went to the Tower of London, which was the coolest site I have been to, for sure. Plus I just read a book about Elizabeth I and am quite obsessed with her reign, her imprisonment, the Earl of Essex, et all. And, unlike American parks and museums, you can just sit around on the grounds for as long as you want. And I got to see the crown jewels, which satisfies my inner magpie.

Yesterday we went to seedy Kilburn and had the best Schwerma ever, and last night we went our friends' new pub in Highgate, full of beautiful old homes and curving streets. The cobbles! The pub is called The Princess Alexandria, and we got to sit at a table of locals and close the place down, talking of politics, and traveling, and the wonders of the world. We took a cab home in the rain- which is disconcerting being on the wrong side of the street the whole time- you don't notice it as much on buses, and we have spent most of our journeying time on the Tube, of course, so- whoa. Today we went to see Wicked, which sucks the royal arsehole, for sure. Do not go see this pap. I heard the book was pretty good, and it seemed like a fun concept, but lord, have mercy, did it ever bite the wax tadpoe. Oh, yes, it did. All Andrew Lloyd Webberfied, as Sam likes to put it, and saccharine and predictable, and sentimental, and trite. Blech. But tomorrow is another day, and I think we will go to the Barbican to see Future City, which I will tell you all about. And maybe a 900 year old pub.

And so much more is in store. I just had to pop in to log a bit of the trip, before there is too much to say. And I know I have not even mentioned the amazing things that happened up in Portland, and I will. Soon. But first, I must move forward through this particular adventure, and the Munich Madness...

Ease My Teabags...

2006-08-29T15:51:00.000-07:00

Most of you who ever read this blog already know what that means, and the few of you who don't will find out soon enough. It's kind of hard to talk about these past 5 days, hard to know where to begin. My life is forever changed, I know that much. Albuquerque is a truly amazing place, full of tragedy and triumph, and this weekend was no exception.

The Loose Women show was better than I could have ever thought. There were pieces that were absolutely bring the house down funny, and pieces that made me sob. The audience was full of most of my best friends and family members in the universe, who converged upon the town, resulting in one hell of an emotionally overwhelming experience. I love each and every one of you and cannot believe we finally all got together and got to spend so much precious time discussing love, life, art and tea bags. My goodness.

Open Channels. Every single one of us were just drinking in the circle of incredible faces, some of which we had not seen for 5 years. If I could have whisked us all away to an island, I would have. There would be a few more of you out there to grab, of course, but it was a Cavalcade of Enchantment the likes of which the world may never know again. Except that we decided to all get together once a year and do a show. Unbelievably, we pulled the location from a hat, and it looks like next year we are going to The City of Light. How appropriate and frightening and inspiring and gigantic.

Other things that happened: My Sam met my brother and it was a lovely thing to witness. My dad's car was vandalized outside the show. There were mishaps and tragedies and collisions on multiple levels. The sunsets were breathtaking. There was a 5 minute hailstorm when I arrived. I saw people I did not expect to see in the Ghetto Smiths, which always happens. I ate lots of green chile. The show got a pretty horrible review, which is unfortunate because the ladies all worked so hard and I truly believe the show was quite game, and has much promise. Hopefully the cast will not let the opinion of one man stand in the way of thier good time- which was the whole point of the show to begin with. I met a glass blower and his jeweler wife in Madrid, who showed us such hospitality we stayed all day, playing with their impossibly cute dogs. And I met an amazing 63 year old lady on the plane today and we talked non-stop all the way to LA and are determined to visit each other as soon as possible.

Other things happened, surely, and it all just So Much I can't decipher it all. I will show photographic evidence soon- after a long, much needed nap. Viva la Teabags!

Please interpret

2006-08-11T08:00:00.000-07:00

I dreamt I had grown a garden of lillies in a vast mysterious swamp which was my backyard. In my garden was a racoon, who came to me when I called and promtly turned into a feral human boy, who was hungry for cheese. So I fed him from my refrigerator, in which I was also storing the severed head of a recently departed neighbor, as a favor, who I had never met but was adored by all. The racoon boy also mourned this neigbor, and sang for her plaintively while eating small containers of brie and havarti, wrappings and all. Oh, and I was wearing denim overalls without a shirt the whole time.

Sam found me the data cable...

2006-08-06T11:02:00.000-07:00

Click on any for larger views.

This is Sheila:

Who is beautiful and thriving in the SF theatre scene.

Lovely Leeann:

Who is kicking ass with her new jewelry line.

Gabe's first act at Amoebapalooza:

He sang in Japanese, and also "MacArthur Park", one of the strangest songs of all times. He kicked ass.

Then he seemed to form a cult:

I really dug this strange thing and wanted to join whatever religion they were creating up there- strange sounds, indeed.

Gabe in his Melvins tribute band, looking absorbed:

Stevil and Josh rocking out- sorry about the plant:

These guys induced much whiplash.

Mona and Mariah, looking cuteiful as always:

Sheila and I and Tammara,

Who would be mad if I put in the great one I have of her with her panties showing.

And the Amazing Lisa, who forgave me the next morning for being a bit hung over:

She is doing beautifully in SF, which warms the cockles of my heart.

And that's the cream of the crop.

"San Francisco- you got my wallet but I got your gun...

2006-08-01T20:57:00.000-07:00

Back in Chicago- that was the last time we had any fun- are you still alive?"

Sorry- Bobby Conn moment.

So, I had one of the best weekends of my lifetime just now. I'd hook you up with some pictures, but I seem to have dislocated my data cable thingie. Soon, I promise. Well, in 3 weeks or so when my husband comes home and shows me where it lives.

Anyway- I did not know just how much I missed SF until I was being shuttled into the city. The cool air was welcome although I was foolishly ill prepared. Somehow I though the heat wave would continue, but it was not to be. It forced me into wearing my single pair of jeans for three days straight, by the end of which they were marinated blissfully in whiskey, smoke, and mole sauce. But I was able to buy a nice 40's coat exactly 1 block away from Gabe's house immediately upon arrival. Just one of the lovely things about that city- whatever you need is very close at hand, if not in hand already.

Gabe is a great host. He and Mariah ensured that I was perfectly inebriated at all times, and fed me the best Indian food ever, where I also got to see Sheila and Joe and then Sheila suggested a great place for drinks downtown where we collided with a few other friends. Lots o' kismet, always in that place.

The next day was about as cool as it can get- I was able to conversate and celebrate with three of my lady touchstones: Sheila, Leeann, and Tammara. It was healing and illuminating and just pure joy all day long. And the night! My goodness. Amoebapalooza was better than ever, with Gabe performing in 3 different acts, each incredible and incredibly different. I got to see a lot more kind folks I have not seen in nigh on 18 months or so, and a good time was had by all.

Sunday I spent the morning with my other SF starchild, Lisa, and it was more positivity-yes. Afternoon with my hosts and lots of crazy videos, including some of Gabe's recent brilliant collage work, and all topped off with tamales.

And then it was time to go. I was decidedly unhappy to return to my empty apartment in sunny Santa Monica. I'm not saying it's not great here- it's got its own charms, and the pull of the warm sand, etc., etc. And it's a vast improvement on Santa Barbara. And I'm not saying I neccessarily want to live in San Fran again. It's just that it's a seductively charming town, full of memories, and peace, and easy people, and it lightened my heart tremendously.

Ahhhhhhhhhhh.........

Well, its the Verbal Herman Munster

2006-07-25T00:26:00.000-07:00

The Word Enhancer
I'm Sick of Phony Mobsters
Controllin' the Dance Floor-

Do you know what I'm talkin' about? Tonight was J5 MC- Jurassic 5, at The House of Blues. Hail Eris! Sam took me to my favoritest rap act, and even if we were practically the oldest folks out there, at least we were there. Does anyone have an opinion as to why this band, and any other slightly political/progressive rap acts have a predominately white audience?

Anyway- it has been an extended weekend of high entertainment. Besides the inimitable J5, we participated in some alternately bad (me) and good (Sam) karaoke stylings for Mary's Birthday last night somewhere in or near Korea Town. The night before we went to the Comedy Store and saw 57 comics in a row. OK, so it was morelike 11 ish. They would not stop trying to make jokes about how hot it was. It's not all that hot- it's just global warming. Get used to it. But the joke of the night was as follows:

"I've been in LA a long time. And I can tell you something: people here are a combination of two things- inflated ego and low self esteem. The motto? "I may not be much, but I'm all I ever think about." So true.

And before that, mid-week, we saw a show costumed by a dear friend (Mary) and directed by an old-school compadre (Joe) that was, well- the costumes and direction were stellar.

What is next in this whirlwind of fun? Well, my poor hubs is off to the former Soviet Union for 3 weeks, and I am going to SF to see my friend Gabe perform not once, not twice, but thrice, in Amoebapalooza, and to catch up with the girly girls I have not seen since December 2004. Wait, is that right? I guess so. Must have San Francisco Treats.

After that will be hi-jinks in Albuquerque, London, and Munich. Yes, we are doing theatre. Yes, we are seeing theatre. And, oh yes, we are wearing a Dirndl and drinking beer. Lots of beer.

Viva La Fiesta!

Jenny Jen Jen

2006-07-05T21:35:00.000-07:00

I got to hang out with Jen- my wonderful ladyfriend! In my own town! And on the sand and in the ocean and shoppety shopping and drinking mass quantities and getting sunburns and watching fireworks and sitting at a swanky hotel pool with cool Miss Mary and listening to boardwalk prophets and eating sushi and doing tequila shots in a gay bar with midgets. And the Editor and Max came, too. And and and and. And.

And now I am sad because they all went home and my husband has to stay in Moscow for 5 more days and I just wish we could all be in one place at the same time. But that will happen in August for a few days, which makes me super excited, too. I am happily nostalgic for things that have been, and some that have not yet been.

Oh, and the Sarah Silverman movie- "Jesus is Magic". See it. Be it. She is my new hero, for sure...

I hope everyone had a sparkletastic fourth and then some.

Bread and Circuses

2006-06-18T20:43:00.000-07:00

You know, it's been kind of a strange week. The show I directed went up, for its one night, and went pretty well. I was thankful for that, and thankful we made it through without any major catastrophes. I kind of knew when it was over, I would need to go into a bit of a creative coma, and I have. So this week, Sam and I have had the time to see a few movies and watch some tv, which has been variously inspiring, infuriating and/or disheartening.

An Inconvenient Truth. If you have not seen it, please go see it. I don't think I have been as affected by a movie since Bowling for Columbine. I thought I knew what was going on in terms of global warming, but I was actually pretty underinformed. I know I'm preaching to the choir, but after seeing that movie Sam and I started talking about ways we can decrease our CO2 contributions and I have just been seeing the American Way of Life through extremely smog colored glasses. If the globe was a cartoon by Charlez Schulz, the USA would be Pig Pen, but not as nice. Like a grown up sociopathic Pig Pen wearing an Armani suit. I feel profoundly dirty, and not in a good way.

Our post movie talk led to discussion of an independent movie about 911 called Loose Change that everyone should also be watching. Here it is. It's about 90 minutes long, so be prepared.

You all know I'm pretty susceptible to conspiracy theories, but this one has got some pretty compelling science behind it. And if it is true, or partially true that our government engineered the events of that day, there is a deeper evil at work there than I had ever suspected before. I always have said I'd never put anything past our government, but good godamn. This is the kind of movie that really makes me want to head for the hills and bunker down with some semi-automatics.

And then there was the incredibly incensing Rolling Stone article that makes a strong case for major election fraud in 2004, something that I was already convinced of at the time, and even more so now. Read it, if you haven't yet.

In the midst of all this, there is an interesting and effective bit of television we have been catching this week- a series about drug use in the US and it's effects on our culture as a whole. Very well done and absolutely fascinating. Feed your head.

The government has been trying to keep us from expanding our minds since about the 1920's, and the cyclical nature of widespread drug use in our culture shows that it is an absolutely human impetus to expand conciousness, to go beyond the veil, to break on through to the other side, as it were. And we are now in the midst of a different type of drug use, the widespread use of prescription anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds.

Gee- why are so many Americans depressed? Perhaps it because their government is poisoning the planet, killing innocents, spiraling exponentially out of control, and does not trust its own citizens to think for themselves, vote their will, or to choose and use non pharmecuetical drugs without the threat of being thrown in jail for it. There is a reason why the governmet considered Tim Leary the most dangerous man in America. Because he wanted us to tap into a part of our minds that cannot be legislated, cannot be predicted, and has the power to throw a proverbial monkey wrench into the giant cog of so-called progress. To go deeper and to find a better way.

Who will be our Leary now? Where is the new drug we need for people to open their eyes and see that we are rushing headlong towards disaster? At the very least, I propose a mass sodium penathol dosing of the White House, with a press conference to follow. But at this point, can we even handle the truth? Or distinguish it, if we saw it?

Probably not. We ended our week of dark theories, frightening science, and maddening politics by going to see Nacho Libre. We thought it could cleanse our palates, maybe. Not really that funny. And yet we go in droves. Is it from habit, or from fear?

We are the Hollow Men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw...

Sorry for the vitriol. Sometimes a girl can't help herself.

Can I get a what, what?

2006-06-04T11:55:00.000-07:00

Last weekend Sam and I went to San Diego. I had never been there, but had heard nice things about it. We stayed in a good hotel in the Gas Lamp District, which is the "hip" part of town. Lo and behold, we happened to arrive in the midst of a "Smooth Jazz" festival. Yes, all night we strove to escape the Kenny G like tones playing smoothly all around us. But we had a nice Indian dinner and decided to follow it up with a nightcap in a Dueling Piano Bar. We thought it would be, well, Dueling Pianos. Unfortunately, we did not notice that it was a "Shout Along Dueling Piano Bar." What this entailed, as far as we were willing to witness, was two guys who seemed awfully tired of their gig, with two pianos, singing songs like Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville and encouraging the audience (who needed no encouragement) to shout along in a sort of escalatory gender war that eventually built into something like this:

Piano Guys: Some people claim that there's a woman to blame...
Rowdy Bar Women: Bullshit!
Drunken Bar Men: Fuck You!
Rowdy Bar Women: Kiss My Ass!
Drunken Bar Men: Suck My Dick!
Rowdy Bar Women: It's Too Small!
Drunken Bar Men: Your Mom Didn't Think So!

No, really. That's really what went on. And the place was packed. We slammed our drinks and escaped to the comfort of room service.

The next day we decided to go to Sea World. This was not well thought out. One of the busiest days of the year. The strollers. The exorbitant costs. The herding. The strollers. We didn't even try to see Shamu. We left pretty quickly, again for the oasis of our hotel until which time we needed to go to The Old Globe to see a play called The Violet Hour, which I read last year and is now in my old theatre's next season because it is just so good. We decide to take a human powered taxi. Not a good idea. We were running out of time and the guy was running out of steam, so we thought we'd hop out and hail a regular cab. Not so. We were caught in a seedy part of San Diego with no relief in sight. But just then, a nice young man in a sports car saw our looks of distress and gave us a ride into Balboa Rark, dpopping us off at what we thought was the back of the theatre. Nuht-uh. We couldn't find the damn thing due to 3 sets of conflicting directions but finally did arrive, sweating and out of breath. They seated us after putting us in a strange glassed in booth for a few minutes. Served us right.

The show was rolling along quite nicely, although we had a somewhat vocal audience member behind us, who seemed to be at his very first play. When it got to the scene where the young white publisher character reveals his ongoing affair with the older black jazz singer character by running to her and putting his head in her, well, crotch- the boy behind us went ballistic.

He just started asking, "What?" "What?" And shouting things like, "Get it to go!" at the actors. Yeah, it was great. Luckily he left at intermission, thanking one of the ushers for getting him the tickets, but he had to "take off to another show, yo, but it was good, it was real good!" Very strange. The rest of the show was quite good, and we went to a dessert place that had the longest line known to mankind and while the desserts were good, they were not "Extraordinary" as claimed in the name of the establishment. When it came time to get a cab back, we found that that was pretty much impossible. Eventually, we got out hotel to flag one down and send it across town to us. Ridiculousness.

So we were pretty happy to leave San Diego, although I wish we could have brought our mattress with us. That's some comfy shit, yo! Get it to go!

The Accidental Director

2006-05-14T18:13:00.000-07:00

Click the title above to see what I've been up to this past week or so.

My lovely friend Pema, who is a brilliant writer among other things, let me know her LA friend was looking for a sort of co-creator/director for her impending one woman show. I figured I did not have anything to lose, might as well meet this lady, right?

Well, so I did. And the next thing you know, she is telling me her compelling true life story of moving west to be with a cowboy and we're suddenly talking set, lights and sound cues- before I'd even read a word. She's a hell of a story teller. But, you see, the script was not quite completed at that point. Katie had reams of journal entries, poetry, and short stories she had created to be part of the show, but they were just not- assembled.

Ok, so how much did I love getting the opportunity to string them together? Alot! And how much am I loving the fact that this woman trusts me to do it? Alot! And we are having a blast working together and the show goes up, for one night only, in less than a month.

Is this a bit scary? It would be if I wasn't confident that my actress has some serious chops- besides being great with memorization, she can sing, dance, and probably adlib her way out of a sealed body bag. I'm so excited to get to work with her, and am looking at this as great experience to apply to mounting my own one woman show someday.

To top it off, my dear friend Tash has been helping me choose monologues for my repetoire and her help has been absolutely invaluable. I think it is not out of the realm of possibility that I might even get new headshots in the not too distant future, and, well, maybe even get an agent. Katie has been kind enough to offer to put me in touch with hers.

So yeah, I am feeling generally excited artistically.

Did I mention my eye is almost healed, to boot?

Good times.

23 days

2006-04-27T22:39:00.000-07:00

Has it been that long since I posted? Wow. Hail Eris. Is it only because I have so little to report? Let's see- what has gone on? I officially made my last payment on the debt I'd been chipping away at since about 2001, so that was good. Brandy and I are wrapping up work on Loose Women of Low Character, which is also a nice thing. I had the chance to see Mary and Aaron working on David Adriana's new video in a crazy haunted mansion in Pasadena, which was also really special. And I went to my first yoga class in eons and had a completely enlightening experience and am determined to make it a habit.

Less fantastical is my right eye. I discovered I have somehow wreaked havoc upon my cornea and must wear glasses and pray it normalizes and my vision goes back to "normal" which for me still translates to pretty much blind, but not as blind as I am right now. So that's been a drag, but on the grand scale of calamities befalling other people in the world, eh, not so bad. Plus my sexy librarian glasses are kind of fun.

I have been undertaking geneological research on some branches of my family that have always been a great mystery, and the process has been painstaking but very interesting so far. I hope someday to be able to tell my parents where in the world we hail from. It's quickly becoming an obsession. Census records are strangely fascinating.

My sweet Sam is in Russia, which makes me super lonely, but he comes back for almost two weeks on Monday and we will get to be together for our 2nd anniversary, so that makes me happy. And the sun is starting to shine more here. I have a serious craving for the desert, though. My body longs to be not just tepid or warm, but downright toasty. Hot, even. I never would have guessed how much I would come to miss New Mexican weather. Seasons are a good thing, I think.

Spooktastic

2006-04-04T15:45:00.000-07:00

I got to go make a little presentation at this place for my work. Located in downtown LA, it's called the Jonathan Club, and the building dates from the 1920's. The staff dresses traditionally and there is a strict dress code for admittance. I even wore pantyhose. Eww. It's a ridiculously gorgeous building, and the club manager was quite nice. We've designed many interior areas of the club and now we're to redo the grill room, and it will be lovely. Unfortunately, we have to leave the club member caricatures up on the otherwise classy wood paneling. Each one features a balding white man with silver hair, clutching a golf club or behatted with a jaunty nautical cap. Quite ridiculous, if you ask me.

Interestingly enough, there is an associated beach club a few blocks from my house that I've often walked by and wished I could lounge at, behind the glistening glass walls. No can do, without a member sponsorship. And something tells me I simply will not come to know any of its golf loving white bred members, nor would I want to. While there, I got the quick and dirty tour of the ballrooms filled with creepy portraits of republican presidents, gigantic oil paintings of the SoCal coast, and magnificent chandeliers.

Just as I thought that it was the perfect place for a haunting, and it was odd that it felt so blank, I was shown the library. As we stood at the door, my guide and I were reflected in a giant mirror across the room. He drew in a breath and said, "My ghost is back." He pointed to the chandelier nearest us. "See?" He was quite serious, and the light began going on and off, as if trying to communicate in Morse code. I would have thought he was pulling my leg if he had not had such a serious look about him. "Say hello," he said. After I did, more light blinking ensues. "He likes you. Go ahead and go in."

Something told me I should pass on it, but I didn't. As I went in, the lanky bespectacled library attendant, looking like something from a Sandman comic, slithered out of the room as if he did not want to be there for this one. As soon as I was in the room, the atmosphere felt completely different from the outside rooms. And I kind of felt like I walked into someone's space. Like they were standing in front of me and I walked INTO them. I was embarrassed, actually. So I just took a step back and then headed back into the corridor. All I could say was "Interesting." And then we dropped the subject and talked about the new carpets and upholstery.

Strange.

His Royal Badness

2006-03-22T23:03:00.000-08:00

Sam found this:

-----
"Prince, who has a new album, "3121," out on Tuesday, has been renting
the mansion in West Hollywood from NBA star Carlos Boozer, a Utah Jazz
forward, since October, and is planning to host a private concert
there for lucky buyers of the new album who find a purple ticket in
their CD case, à la Willy Wonka." (The Smoking Gun)
-----

Say what? Someone is named "Boozer?" And Prince rented his crib to throw a party? How many cases of Prince CD's should we buy? I'm all about a purple ticket. I had a purple ticket once before, in Albuquerque, NM. I don't remember the circumstances under which I obtained said ticket, but it allowed me in2 "The Purple Circle"- the sort of orchestra pit, if U will, of the acoustically challenged Tingley Colliseum. For ABQ, that's still a big time thrill. Imagine my excitement!

So, I'm wearing my purple dress. It's the break after the opening act, and I decide it is very important 2 have a beer. I leave my seat to C Prince standing on the sound station mid-colliseum, dressed 2 the 9s in a camel tone suit, hat and matching shoes. He is making sure the sound guys have their shit 2gether. As much as they could in Albuquerque, anyway. I was 5 feet away from him, staring up at this wee man, this icon, and I just thought that was so cool. But what do U do at a moment like that? Yell, "Hey, Prince! U rule!"? No, not cool enough, So I stood dumbfounded for a moment, and went 2 get my beer.

I come back 2 my seat, and my seat mates tell me tht just after I walked away, Prince came down from the sound station, sashayed through the crowd, and then walked down our row 2 my chair, stood upon my chair, and danced.

Now, had I still been there, he wouldn't have stood on my seat, at least I don't think so. It is hard to be sure. But he probably would have danced on someone's chair nearby. And maybe I would have gotten 2 see that.

Oh, well. I think it means I am destined to receive this purple ticket, so I will buy my CD. Maybe a couple. Unless U all want to go in on a large quantity. Then, if we win, we can all sit in a room together like that insidious- sounding new gameshow and have to convince each other unanimously that we are the one who deserves the ticket most. And the winner would have 2 take a video camera 2 the show. As if His Mighty Purpleness would allow that!

But I digress. Back to the matter of the rented mansion. Read on:

------
"According to a report on the Smoking Gun website, Boozer filed a complaint against the rock star for allegedly performing an extreme makeover on the NBA star's West Hollywood home, which Prince is renting for $70,000 a month.
Boozer originally filed suit in January, alleging that Prince violated terms of his eight-month lease by making unauthorized home improvements, including "painting the exterior of the (house) with purple striping, 'Prince symbol,' and numbers 3121."

The significance of those digits? That would be the title of Prince's latest album, which was released Tuesday.

Other unwanted renovations included installing purple monogrammed carpet in the master bedroom and the excavation of a large hole for the presumed purpose of a private beauty salon.

Boozer has reportedly since dropped the lawsuit, but could refile the suit under the same claims if Prince makes any other changes to the home.

Of course, Prince may already have vacated the premises by then. The rental agreement include an addendum that states the lease may be canceled with 45 days notice "should the weather conditions of the Los Angeles rainy season ... prohibit enjoyment of the property."
----

I really want that ticket!

His Lavender Funkyness is not going 2 vacate before this event, unless there is a mudslide or something. And really, what the hell would U expect if you rented UR mansion to The Purple One? Of course he is going to install a beauty salon and throw up some purple paint and throw down some purple rugs. He has 2! He's Prince, for fuck's sake! He needs purple around him at all times!

And the whole 3121 thing? Click on the title of this post to see the numerological ramifications. And of course, the number contains 23, Hail Eris. And add the 2 ones- that's 7, baby. And that =s magical purple goodness.

Mega

2006-03-21T21:49:00.000-08:00

Sam took me to the La Brea tarpits the weekend before last and it was such a cool time. Not at all how I had imagined, though. The city is all around it, and it is not a steamy jungle full of lush plants and exotic sounds like I'd always imagined. There are chain link fences around the pits, which is a good idea, I suppose, but I still wanted to see for myself what would happen if I stuck a foot in there. Someone had recently thrown a tennis shoe into one of the tarpits. Ah well, someone will dig it out eventually. Another layer of history.

We saw employees behind the glassed-in workstations picking through grains of sand with metal toothpicks, finding tiny shells, bone slivers, and other minute eye-ruining things. And awesomely bad movies about the rich men who donated the pits and the museum, and cartoon re-enactments of sabertooth cats attacking giant ground sloths- so cool. We geeked out over the place. Sam used to get to play there alot as a little kid. Lucky, I tell ya.

We got to talking about what future Earth inhabitants might think when they come upon the pits and see the stange museums around them. I wonder if they'll think that we had built an elaborate altar to the Tar Pit Gods and had a strange fascination with reassembling bones. And then maybe they will reassemble our bones. Hmm.

And, we saw two kick ass movies: The Libertine, with Johnny Depp. Best performance ever, if you ask me. See it- it's shamefully randy and mianthropic at the same time. And for those of you who are particularly twisted, go go go see the Borat movie as soon as it comes out. Sacha Baron Cohen is a genius, and this is the funniest movie I have seen since- well, ever. We got to go to a screening, so alot of what we saw may only be in the uncut version someday, but it should still be absurdly amusing.

My husband is in Moscow this week and will hopefully take some cool pictures of Red Square for me. He just missed Brandy and James's brief but lovely stop on their way to Portland. That was a nice weekend, too. The rain held off and gave us a clear bright day, not too cold, to hang out on the beach. We got to make some writing plans and have some well needed catch-up time. The water is good- I cannot wait for it to warm up some more and for the days to get longer. More light. It's coming.

Psychic Cats

2006-03-03T22:37:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was a bit of a trip. My work is by a production company, or maybe several, and one was casting for something that apparently required three things: blond bimbos, hot young Asian men, and a wide, wide variety of identical twins. So every 5 minutes or so, another member or members of this delightful parade walked by my window to the world. I saw hip young Asian men, bouncy boobs on blondes, slightly geeky young Asian men, young twins with afros, modeltastic young Asian men, ugly twins, more boobs, gay male twins in matching velvet blazers, boobs on stilts, and twins with their stage moms. To name a few.

None of this was as good as randomly seeing William H. Macy walking on the street like a normal person, and not the acting god that he is, during an errand in Beverly Hills that afternoon. And none of that was as good as riding two up on Sam's one person electric scooter, traveling somewhat sluggishly, but still more quickly and more amusingly than walking, to a party at his work last night. The party was actually for Tagworld, who are upstairs from him, and it was full of marketing people, so we couldn't stand if for long.

But that's when the most entertaining part of the day unexpectedly arrived. Walking home on the Promenade, we ran into the famed Santa Monica Psychic Cats. That's right. So I sit down with the cat handler, this sort of smelly foreign man, while my husband probably thinks I'm crazy, and I proceed to have a feline psychic reading.

What this entailed was first being shown several pieces of documentation proving that cats have psychic powers, such as a picture of a cat on a book about Egypt, a short story about a cat that did something I could not figure out because the laminated card cut off the end of the tale, no pun intended, I was told to disregard that, not important, not important. Cats are psychic, always have been. Especailly Siamese cats. It is well known. Yes? Yes. Then I looked briefly at a story about how one former president's favorite psychic claims that her cat is psychic, too! Good enough for me!

Meanwhile, the two psychic cats- Siamese, of course, rested underneath a kitty blanket, side by side, looking anything but pleased. The next step was selecting the subject I wanted to ask a question about from a laminated book the man provided. Then we turned to the appropriate page for me to pick one of a number of questions about the chosen subject. All of the questions were absolutely hilarious, but the one that caught my eye was, "What is going to happen to me?" I went with that one.

Then the man pulled a card and asked if I had children, which I don't, and don't really think I want, but he said, "It's children, yes, it's children. That is what. Very good, very happy, very good family. Lucky. Everything good." Ok, here's where the cats come in. The man says the cats will now choose my fortune. He uncovers them to reveal they are both wrapped in what look like strips of old sweaters. The effect is somewhat pathetic, and mummyish. He gives one cat a small piece of tuna while he makes little prompting noises at it, and then produces a very strange ceramic monkey that holds a bowl full of small scrolls. The cat, once given enough tuna, pushes the monkey's arm down, which grabs a scroll for me. The cat takes the csroll from the monkey, I take the scroll from the cat. Much ado is made of this, and the other cat seems non plussed.

The scroll reads as follows: "You should be rich, your time will come. Take advantage of it. Your social life will pick up considerably. Use all that could be instrumental towards your good fortune. Let's shake hands.- Psychic Cat, Los Angeles"

OK, then. At this point the original cat does the same thing with the tuna, but now grabs a little card that I also take from its paws, which is even better: "All outbursts will happen around you and give you valuable opportunities. Reward is just about due. Finances will improve within three weeks. You are at your glamorous best now. I kiss you....your psychic cat." and the other side has a picture of one of the cats, who is holding a scroll and wearing lots of jewelry. It also has the word "Wizard" on it, which I think is the name of the main cat.

I'm wondering what the point is of the 2nd cat, or if it is a psychic cat in training. But when it came time to pay the 2nd cat also ate some tuna in exchange for taking my payment out of my hand. So maybe only that first one is psychic and the 2nd one is the treasurer.

It was rad.

Warm Home

2006-02-20T16:44:00.000-08:00

Supreme Niceness. On Thursday my dear old pal Gabe came to town, with his lady Mariah and we got to spend a couple of days together which was sweet, indeed. On Friday my dear hubby came back from Munich despite the fuck-up-ed-ness of his flight reservations and was not strip searched by Germans this time, which is a bonus. On Saturday we celebrated our birthdays and Aaron's birthday and a housewarming with lots of lovely friends and silly decorations. I made green chile pinwheels and Mary made bright red cupcakes so powerful that they infiltrated my dreams. Now our house is full of magical friend goodness and feels almost fully inaugurated. Gabe and Mariah and I rode the Ferris Wheel at Santa Monica Pier, which is possibly the best Ferris Wheel ever, as it extends over the Pacific. Thanks to all of you who could make it, and I wish all of you out of towners could have been here, too. When you gonna visit? On the cupcake front, Sam says red food dye is made of crushed up beetles. I guess I like me some crushed up beetles. I mean, really like them, in a serious way.

Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

2006-02-06T16:39:00.000-08:00

The clouds have finally parted! Today I was offered a position that does not blatantly suck and I took it, oh yes, I did. I'll be the office manager for a small company that does interior design for cool boutique hotels like the W. And since former administrators have gone on to become design assistants for the company, I may get to learn a few things about that whole world, which pleases me. The money is decent and it is not too far away and customers do not even physically come into the office! And did I mention that Fridays are half-days? Plus I just clicked with the head designer/owner right off the bat. She's this glamorous jet setting badass type and I think I will learn alot from her.

Of course, last week I balked at quitting the gallery until I had another offer in hand, so I still have to give my notice tomorrow and try not to feel that ridiculous guilt I always seem to dredge up whenever I do something that -shudder- inconveniences someone. Oh well, it is for the best. She needs to hire someone who is just less... opinionated, I think.

And this does not mean I won't go to the three interviews I have set for Wednesday. Well, maybe not all three. But it never hurts to explore other possibilities. I am learning that, slowly but surely. But yes, I am content right now, at his moment, for the first time in awhile. Yesterday I went to the ocean and wrote, and asked the universe (as hippyish as that sounds, I still did it, so don't make fun) to just give me some kind of resolution today. And it did. Whew! Thank you, universe. Good job.

Insert Title Here

2006-01-29T11:47:00.000-08:00

Yup. Still here, just haven't had much to report. The sense of calm of my last post evaporated quickly into extreme boredom and a sense of personal worthlessness, a lack of identity without having a J.O.B. to categorize myself under. Sick and sad, but true. I started job hunting with more of a vengeance. I can't even count how many places I have applied to.

So far I have interviewed/am interviewing for the following positions: art school office manager, writing camp project coordinator, ISP administrative assistant, real estate agent assistant, eye wear sales and marketing person, environmental consulting agency executive assistant, financial consultant, and luxury hotel design firm office manager. Is there any rhyme or reason to that list? No, not really. Has it all been very interesting? Oh, yes. My, my. What a big city full of terrible things to do! No, actually, I liked the ISP and am hoping that they call me after our pleasant 2 1/2 hour interview.

Stupidly, I accepted a part time job the day before at a "wearable art" gallery, ie. psychotic jewelry and pointy clothing items, up the street because I felt I wasn't getting alot of interviews, and the gallery was desperate to have me. As is always the case, I then got a flood of interview calls and am now trying to balance the two. The gallery is terrible- the owner is on an ego-trip, totally disorganized and somehow micro-managing at the same time. I could stay and fix her business for her and get her organized and stuff, but there's nothing in it for me, other than its location, which is within stumbling range.

I am waiting until the girl I was hired to replace has her last day on Tuesday and then I will break the news and ruin this woman's social calendar for several weeks as she tries to find a replacement replacement. The girl who is leaving is cool as hell, though obviously emotionally exhausted from her 8 month stint as this woman's gallery slave. Now she is running away to work in fashion design, which she wil be brilliant at. I think the only reason I ended up in that place was to make her aquaintance. That seems to happen to me alot. When I moved to SF, I took a job in an art gallery for two weeks and met my friend Tammara, who I am still in touch with. We move in circles and those circles move, no?

What else? Sam is coming home from Munich tonight, it has been awfully lonely without him and I cannot wait. In two weeks, he will go back. Then onto Moscow the following month, perhaps? He is a very fancy travellin' man. Perhaps I can accompany him on one of these jaunts eventually. I'm hoping for the spring, though. Freezing temperatures + foreign city + husband stuck in steely office all day = not much fun.

Even in Southern California, which is not exactly cold, I am hoping for the spring to somehow come early. Moving in winter, as mild as winter is here, has somehow made me feel like my soul has been trekking through a chilly Siberian expanse. I long for golden rays of sun and naps on the sand. Barbeques and sunsets and drinks with umbrellas! Liquid sunshine! Sweaters be damned!

Ah, maybe I'll just have a mimosa...

Busy Doing Nothing

2006-01-10T16:56:00.000-08:00

Here I am. Hoping you are all having as good of a New Year as I have. The move from SB to Santa Monica was suprisingly smooth. The nesting process is pretty much complete. The apartment is cute, my husband is wonderful, the cats are calming down, the neighbors are characters, the water is near.

I have been detoxing from the theatre. Rummaging around in my brain looking for remnants of who I am and what I want. Constructing my stories from old postcards and forgotten mementos. Reminding myself of where I have been. Today I went running to the water, something I have been promising myself for weeks, months. It was just as good as I had envisioned. I'm going to do it again and again.

Sleep has claimed much of my new year. Recharging. Hanging pictures, draping scarves, building a bed, buying lampshades. If only life's efforts were all so immediately rewarding, the results as readily apparent. Maybe I should be an interior designer, and then I could be constantly asthetically fulfilled.

Hey, do you all remember when I was trying to figure out what I wanted to be and decided I wanted to be a journalist? I was wrong about that. I didn't really want it, and I didn't really try to do it, once I figured out the niggling logistics of it all. It just sounded good at the time. I am reminded of that looming "what am I going to do with my life?" question again as I try to reinvent myself with minimal detriment.

I am applying for jobs of various and sundry descriptions. But for the first time in my life, I'm not stressing it much. I'll find one, I'll do it, I'll love it or hate it. It doesn't much matter, as long as I don't let it eat me up like the last place. And frankly, I don't see what is really left for a job to consume. Only because I've learned now put it away in a special box, and lock it. I may only access it for making art or to give to those I love- a promise to me from me. My resolution. (That and losing 20 lbs.)

Because you only get so much spark, so much talent, so much inspiration, you get a non-infinitite number of ideas. At least, I do. I'm not so sure about all of you. And a little bit of all of those things is all I've got, at least at the moment, and I've got to make what I have last for many years to come. I've got to stretch it out, without putting so many holes in it. Holes made from following other peoples' vision, and other likewise unworthy pursuits.

Does this make any sense to you?

Your holiday gift

2005-12-22T21:59:00.000-08:00

Hey,click on the link above!

Sam sent me that, and it's the best thing I have seen online, all year long.

I have exactly 4 more days of work, and one more week in Santa Barbara. The news of my departure has been fully disseminated- I have nothing left to fear from fleeing employees, angry donors, frightened board members, or scheming reporters. They now all know, and will do with that information whatever it is they will do. My to-do list is shrinking, day by day, and the stress is finally breaking. Hurrah!

Last weekend, I went to see my hubby in Santa Monica, and we hung curtains, (ie I organized the hardware while Sam used the power tools) painted, and installed a washer and dryer. We also went to see Cat on a Hot Tin Roof at the Geffen, which was a giant turd. It was supposed to have John Goodman as Big Daddy, but he must have called in ashamed or something. The man replacing him was just fine, that was the least of the problems. Maggie and Brick were just terribly cast, horrifically boring, and I wanted to set the place on fire. It was nice to see an acquaintance of mine up there in a bit part, but nothing could keep Sam and I from leaving after the 2nd act.

So we went home, where our building was having a holiday party, and we joined in for the next three hours, which felt like 20 minutes or so. Our building manager is a nice old surfer/singer/songwriter guy and was an excellent host. Somehow he managed to get Sam to play guitar with him, which Sam had not really done in years. I knew my husband was a phenomenal keyboard man, and that he could play guitar and bass to some degree, but had no idea what a total musical genius he was. He can play along with anything and everyone was awed, especially me. A very wonderful evening- it is nice to have cool neighbors for once. The next day Sam and I walked along the beach and I just cannot wait to spend more time there.

Happy holidays, my friends. Looking forward to a new year...

Transition Time

2005-12-04T20:23:00.000-08:00

So what else is new? T'was a weekend of momentous events. Sam sold his old couch, the very first couch he ever bought for himself, today. It was a wonderful comfy thing, but the cats had had thier way with it and it was time to move on. It went away with a nice young redheaded business student boy to Isla Vista, where with any luck it will be burned in the streets a few years from now in one of this country's greatest collegiate Halloween rituals.

I drove all the way home from Santa Monica to Santa Barbara, a few hours ago. Those of you who know my fear of driving and freeways will appreciate that small feat. I did not die. It was actually kind of fun.

And I finally integrated my CD collection with Sam's. As I told my sister on the phone as I was sorting, I take that as a sign of the true permanence of our marriage. Now my weirdo music is rubbing shoulders with jazz and dreadful jam bands. And that is ok by me. It's really rather sweet.

Moving Day is December 29th. I still have people to inform of this, which makes my stomach turn alot. But the Editor has created a work mantra for me which I am trying desperately to embrace: "In a few weeks, it's not my problem anymore." Oh, the glorious nature of December 29th! I cannot wait. Sam and I will have New Years in a new place, and Santa Barbara can kiss my bountiful Anglo ass. Oh yes, it can.

New Digs

2005-11-10T21:15:00.000-08:00

Click on the title above to see pics of our new place. Click on the map below to see where it be.

Map of
6th St At Montana Ave
Santa Monica, CA 90403

It is also 6 blocks away from Sam's work. Now all I have to do is survive the next 6 weeks of work hell and being without my sweet hubbie all the time. And then I will get to go live in this cute little place and sit on the beach and reflect/refuel.

Can't wait for all of you to come and visit...

let's see

2005-11-06T09:38:00.000-08:00

Today I sit with my insides in a knot, waiting to find out if and when Sam will be starting work in Santa Monica. He is scheduled to start in San Francisco tomorrow, but it looks like a better offer from a company down south will be formally presented to him today. What all this means is that I need to create an exit strategy for my job and a relocation for us both within as litlle as a month. Maybe two months.

My job is shite and I cannot take it much longer, so this transition does not pain me. In fact, it is a ray of light. Non profits are rough, and the bigger the budget, it seems the rougher the ride. I finally got rid of the evil woman who was creating an atmosphere of hell in my office, but that doesn't fix the financial problems, and frankly, I do not know what will. Up the creek we are. My sense of guilt is overwhelming, but not guilt for the position the place is in, just for those who will have to carry on when I go. Or not, there could just as easily be a mass exodus. If I'm not very lucky, there could be an exodus when I announce I am to go, which will leave me in a world of hurt for a month or so. Holy hell.

There have been many times in my life I have wished for a crystal ball, but none more than right now. The Santa Monica job could lead to a relocation to Munich for us, or London, or Munich and then London. The San Francisco job could lead to...putting us right back where we were a year ago. Not the worst place in the world, just a place we have seen already.

I realize that much of this blog relates to plans that never quite work out the way we think they will. But I guess that is exactly like life. As ever, I am grateful to have a husband who has the capablity to whisk me away from unsavory situations whenever they appear. I'm looking forward to something different very soon.

Happy Halloweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen!!!!!!

2005-10-31T08:00:00.000-08:00

Had a great time with Maaron and the Rozes- note to self: you can no longer walk in 5 inch heels- stop trying. Mary and Aaron have a cute new house and it was nice to sleep in on Sunday- big props to that extra hour. The sacred fools Gorey Stories show was fun and the best costumes we saw were a couple wearing a tux and an evening gown, who each had one giant bloodshot eyeball for a head. Quite excellent.

So, as today is the big H day, I hope that whatever it is you have to do, you do it spookily. I am going to get a very scary x-ray, write a horrifying annual appeal letter, work on a horrifying budget, and see my Evil Chiropractor. And yes, I am wearing my Halloween socks throughout it all. Mwahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

Thriller

2005-10-21T18:04:00.000-07:00

The most amazing thing happened. My best friend from when I was 8 years old, and living in Pekin, IL, found me online from her home in Ireland. Andrea and I sure tore that town up. My mother had a penchent for purchasing matching outfits for my older sister and I. Of course, my older sister and I did not really want to wear matching outfits, but it was really cool if my best friend and I did, especially at the roller rink. And yes, the roller rink was called, "The Chink Rink" after our highschool mascot, "The Pekin Chink." Most of you know this story.

So anyway, Andy and I loved our matching hot pink pedal pushers and striped tank tops. We loved Michael Jackson. We loved laughing like maniacs. And apparently, as evidenced by the photo below, we loved to dress up like Zombies. Andrea just sent me this, and it is freaking fantastic.

How is it that I have no recollection of this? It is astounding to me how many memories have slipped away, though new ones bubble up all the time. Although we lost contact for so long, we both ended up wanderering theatre girls. And stayed silly. Next weekend I dress up like Wednesday Addams, complete with a headless doll I just made a costume for. Some things never change.

Tickled I am, I tell ya.

A rock and a hard place

2005-10-16T11:02:00.000-07:00

Hi everyone. Miss Berry, I miss you, too! Let's see- it has been a rough two weeks. I have been working many 14 hour days and stressing about some gnarly work situations and their possible remedies. Sam is also embroiled in a gnarly work situation, even worse than mine, I think.

Yet somehow, I got myself clear enough to relax this weekend. Sam is off racing his motorcycle around a track and so I am solo. Yesterday I woke up and actually felt somehow like myself, and I hadn't really felt that way for awhile. I took a nice walk and noticed all of the charming things about this little city- if only I had more time to enjoy them. Then I went out with the Editor for a well deserved drinking session and we had a damn nice time. And I got a tiny bit of writing done.

Our trip a couple weekends ago to Cambria was pretty nice- good food, good massage, much sleep even though the bed was hard as nails. Hearst Castle was a rip-off. It's a tremendous place but they break it down into five sepearate tours to see it all and each tour costs $20 and includes interminable stories about each of the features of the place. But, damn, that's a nice view up there...

Halloween approaches and that makes me happy. I wonder how many more seasons will pass for us in this semi-idyllic backwater. Did you know the phrase in the title of this blog originally comes from the Odyssey? When Odyseuss had to travel between Scylla and Charybidis? That's what this next few weeks or months may be like, in many ways. Trying to find the strength to pass through alive.

must...leave...town

2005-10-01T00:25:00.000-07:00

These are the things I want for the weekend:

My loving, precious husband.
Cambria by motorcycle.
Swedish massage.
Copious local wines with dinner.
Cheesecake with muscat glaze for desert.
Blissful forest views.
magical bauble purchasing.
Hearst Castle, finally.
Ignorance.
Staring at the sea for at least one hour.
My delicious new Allende novel.

Notice this does not include such popular favorites as:

Psycho Development Directors.
Their weird teenage daughters who hang around all the fucking time.
Power outages mid-performance.
Quibbling co-workers.
Uncontrollable weeping by myself and those I love.
Intimidating business luncheons.
Radio interviews with blowhard hosts.
Ceaseless nightmares about work.
All other earthly cares.
Hippies.

That last item is not actually something I have been experiencing alot of lately, but I just don't like hippies.

See you Monday.

Unless we run away forever.

That sounds pretty damn good, have to say...

haikus from recent experience

2005-09-25T19:12:00.000-07:00

work this week was bad
the weekend glowed with promise
far too far away

in our cabinet-
a forgotten bottle of
my favorite scotch

fashion alley trip
three purses for twelve dollars
how can you beat that?

maron's party fun-
falling down on sawdust floor
spilling small red cups

quiet drive north once more
up the coast with Ed and Max
hate those oil rigs

came home to find a
giant monarch butterfly
half dead on the floor

The Little Town Club

2005-09-18T22:26:00.000-07:00

Yes, yes. The first lunch with the Board President, some 30+ years my senior. She used to play tennis all the time but she currently plays golf. Do I play? Oh, there is a wonderful ladies golf club I could join, she said, if I could find the time, but, no, of course I probably could not find it now. The time, that is.

This is the Little Town club at 12:15. Never noticed this place before, set along the fairly busy street. A private club dating back to about a century ago, for elite Santa Barbarian females. A nice place to stop for lunch in between shopping, on thier visits from Montecito. Not much has changed.

Heavy wood beams on the ceiling, beautifully hand painted, as are the panels in the great room. Palm fronds and such, carefully restored. The glass panes in the windows wave, as old glass is wont to do. Now this is a special room, she tells me reverently, the ladies' room, replete with fainting couches. I'd give my left breast to just be alone there for a nap. I wonder what they call the restroom? I hope it is the Powder Room, of course.

A thousand withered society ghosts observe me curiously. Whatever is she doing here?

The lunch conversation is perfectly controlled, as is the service. Until a few years ago, I'm told, the waitresses wore little blue and white uniforms, you know. Too many godamned utensils to choose from. The first plate is a fried tomato salad, with three perfect slices; one orange, one red, one green. So so. The entree is too small, but lovely. We exchange rigid conversation and perfect posture in the garden, at a table with a placard bearig her husband's name. The fingerbowls are brought out before dessert. You don't have to use them, of course. Oh, aren't we having some fun now?

I do believe I committed a faux pas by thanking our server. It is all about the tradition in this place. The sun beamed down on the crystal. Lanky women in neutral power suits floated betwixt the formal rooms. So very nice, we'll have to do this again soon. If only I could fill this place with my fantastic girlfriends, and copious glasses of red wine. Sigh.

I've never been happier to breathe car exhaust, upon my exit. Or to get out of my stockings that night. Now I understand why men tear off their neckties at the end of the day.

Such amusing monkeys, are we not?

Hocseega

2005-09-09T19:45:00.000-07:00

was her Winnebago name. She was absolutely fierce, incredibly gifted, and one of the funniest women I have ever known. I met her about five years ago. We sold jewelry together, at a place she liked to call "ABI", for "Absolute Bitch Incorporated", a reference to either the owner or manager, depending on the day. Together with Amanda P., we cracked wise about everything we possibly could. We sometimes went to her beautiful home and had dinner and wine together, and those are some of the most illuminating evenings I have ever spent. She gave us, a couple of white chicks, actual Winnebago names, which is a beautiful thing. My name means, "She Who Dances on the Wood", in tribute to my time on the stage. And she was such a dancer, and an artist! Such a fantastic painter. I gave her my oils immediately, because she would put them to far better use. She even came to our haunted house and performed a verified smudging ceremony. and she scared the hell out of some of those ghosts. Just look at her...
So beautiful, so strong. She made me a talisman to keep me safe in New York, and that worked, too. The last time I saw her was in San Francisco, when she was on her way home to Arizona from the Pacific Northwest, after having visited her daughter. We only had an hour or two, so we went to the Japanese Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park and had a really nice talk. I remember being so stunned that she found our apartment with virtually no directions and even found a parking place only 2 blocks away. It turned out that she had blocked someone's garage to do it, who had left her a nasty note that said "How Dare you Block My Garage?". Eileen laughed as she crumpled the note and threw it in the street. I watched her drive away and wondered when I would ever see her again. Tonight I found out she has died. I don't know the details. I will try to reach her family tomorrow. She had battled and beaten breast cancer over 10 years ago. It was only a few years back, just after I saw her in SF, that the pernicious shit returned, this time higher up. She would never really say how bad she felt. I'm so sorry you never got to meet her. I'm so sorry I didn't get more time with her, that she didn't get more time with her loved ones, and her art, and her animals, and...everything.

I love you, Eileen, wherever you are.

I just worked a 13 hour day

2005-09-07T23:38:00.000-07:00

I don't think I've done that since I used to hold down a 40 hour a week job and try to run a theatre in my "spare" time.

Yesterday, in addition to 3 staff meetings, I wrote up contracts and set up payroll for twelve artists, cut checks, attended first rehearsal, and generated a mountain of associated paperwork for and gathered program materials from said artists. Total hours-12.

Today I completed the materials for the playbill of our upcoming show, attended a three hour budget meeting during which we got through the first 2 pages of my 18 page budget, and helped write a last-minute grant for a play reading series that showcases local and underrepresented voices. That lasted until 20 minutes ago.

Tomorrow, after various and sundry other meetings, the board votes on whether to promote me to top banana. Exciting, yes, but if this turns out, as trends would indicate, to be a 14 hour day...I will not pass go, I will go directly and immediately to the fetal position and remain there through the weekend.

Oh, except for that damned meeting on Friday...

Per the advice of my Editor, I may attend it with blankie in tow. I've never had a blankie, but now just might be the perfect time to procure one.

William Blake rides again...

2005-09-05T18:26:00.000-07:00

Those of you who know my past know that for a number of years, I was morbidly fascinated with pre-millenial anxiety, the Book of Revelations, and all things apocalyptic. So much so that I created plays about them, which served as demon-exorcism for me in many ways. I grew up gradually, or so I thought, and began to think less of things like this. By the time terrorism became a househoId word, I had no energy to be paranoid about it. Hell, I knew so much about emerging killer diseases and environmental dangers that I had to actually stop thinking about them, and terrorism just seemed another thing to add to the list of bad things I'd had to lock away. It finally sunk in that worry would do no good, there was nothing to be done but to live life as best I could. It was freeing, in the long run.

I even moved to places that were likely terrorist targets, and places that were ripe for natural disasters. With my adventurous husband, I court alot more danger than I would have ever though myself willing to court. And I'm not going to stop. But what has happened in the Gulf states has activated that latent part of my brain that makes conspiracy theories, that makes predictions, that spins the goddamned web again. And I can't help but think that this is the true beginning of the end of America as we know it, and maybe the world. Nothing can be the same now. We are clearly all just one disaster away from anarchy, from kill-or-be-killed, from inept martial law enforcement, from the pale horse and rider rearing their ugly heads. We are helpless babies, crying in the dark, waiting to suckle the great teat of America, who is already half starved. I read a Christian website that said God has removed his great protective hand from this country. I don't believe in that God, really, but can feel a hole growing up there, somewhere. And it ain't just ozone, my friends.

My Last Blog has a Very Unfortunate Title

2005-09-01T08:42:00.000-07:00

Sorry about that. Coincidence abounds.

It seems there is no one I know who doesn't have a dislocated loved one in the great expanse of the watery waste that was once several of our southern states. Some amount of heart can be taken in that many are "merely" refugees without access to the means to communicate with those who worry about them. But what about people like my co-worker's mother with Alzheimers, who was living in a nursing home? If there was ever an opportunity for a person like that to become truly lost, this is it. How many more aged and/or disabled people are floating from overcrowded camp to overcrowded camp, complicating the trail further with each move? Their caretakers may remember their names, if they can keep track of them all, but family records? So much has washed away.

Double fuck this nation for not defending our people against something they knew would eventually come. New Orleans has been a disaster waiting to happen for a long time. Once again, the poor get screwed. The rich move to higher ground, as ever.

My heart bleeds for everyone there- the people stranded without cars to evacuate, the invincible ones who refused to go, the rescuers, the looters, and the drowned.

Like a Bloodstained Hurricane!

2005-08-23T19:48:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm back in SB after an absolutely amazing trip to the Burque which included such hits as, "ladyslipper Pretty Much Rocking", "Party at the Press Club", "Missy had a Baby", "My Mom hit 70", "Hangin' with the In-Laws", "Pathetic Poetry Slam", "Dr. Trucker and the Volcano", "Bob's Burger Heaven", "Marrying Dad Off", "Running into the Ol' Mod Squad", "Moonrise in the Mountains with Girlfriends and Coyotes", and last but not least, "Sunset on the Sandias". Not to mention home cooked meals, incredible hospitality, mucho vino, loads of love and fun and talks with my lady friends. I definitely needed the break, and even as eventful as it was, I finally managed to relax.

Actually, I am still relaxed. I wonder if it will wear off. I am going to try to milk it for every sigh of comfort that I can squeeze out of it, as the next break may be a long time coming. I may extrapolate on the above popular hits, or link to some pics eventually. But for now, I will just be here on the couch, smiling.

Que Linda!

2005-08-10T19:52:00.000-07:00

I personally hate interviewing for jobs even more than I hate to audition. Watching auditions, as you have learned, is pretty surreal. But no audition tops the interview my boss and I held today with a woman we'll call "Linda".

Linda arrives 20 minutes late- had trouble finding parking. She blusters in eventually- she's here for the development director position. At first glance she seems mostly normal. Mid 50's, nice beige silk blouse, her hair is done. Wait- what's that? Purple eyeshadow? A little aggressive with the blush? We shake hands, she sits. Yes, the makeup is a bit heavy. But she's an actor, too you know, and a singer. Just a dramatic person, overall. Could be useful in theatre development...

We talk for awhile. Everything is fine. She maybe doesn't have all the skills we asked for, but she has others that could be useful. Blah, blah, blah. We start shooting around ideas. This could be good, maybe. We'll pass her resume along to the board. We ask if she has any questions about the theater. She has a few typical ones. Yes, yes, good enough, we'll be in touch. But oh, no, wait for it, she has one more question:

Linda: "I am a Christian woman. I need to know whether or not your theatre produces plays that promote- homosexuality."
George: "Excuse me?"
Linda: "I could not be a part of-"
George: "'Promote', did you say?"
Me: "We do a variety of plays-"
George: "That reflect the world around us-"
Linda: "You see, I go to church every Sunday. And I am also a gospel singer. And it would be very difficult for me to stand up in church every Sunday while promoting the type of work, and I can tell by the way you are looking at me and by what you just said, that it is the type of work you do, I mean it is, isn't it? The type of work that you do? "
George: "Homosexual, you mean? I'm sure we have."
Me: "And we certainly would never exclude it."
Linda: "I mean, I don't mind some types of adult situations, of course. just not those kinds of situations-"
George: "Homosexual, yes. I see. If you have issues with certain types of 'language' you will also find difficulty-"
Linda: "That's so sad. that's just so sad. I really LIKED the two of you. I knew from just shaking your hands. But I had to bring it up because-"
Me: "We would never ask anyone to do something outside of their belief system."
Linda: "Because I couldn't. I couldn't promote something that goes against the doctrine of the Scriptures."
George: "Of course. Well-"
Linda: "Well, that pretty much seals the deal, then, doesn't it?"
Me: "It's good you brought it up."
Linda: "Because I believe that your theatre should be doing family programming. Something that all ages can enjoy. I believe that you should do the type of work that the lord-"
George: "Thank you so much for coming in."
Me: "It was so nice to meet you."
Linda: "You too. Do you have auditions?"
Me: "Yes. But I'm not sure whether you would be interested in the type of work-"
Linda: "Oh, some things can be adapted. Some directors are very understanding-"
George: "Yes, well-"
Me: "Take care now."
Exit Linda
George: "Do you think she's going home to masturbate?"

And then we laughed like the evil, homo-loving, shit-talking hedonists that we are. Mwah ha ha ha ha ha ha haaaaaaaaaa!

If any of you see any Satan worshipping Development Directors loping around your local graveyard, tell them we'd love to discuss an employment opportunity with them, ok?

Future digs?

2005-08-04T18:30:00.000-07:00

What do you think about this place? Should we move there, say, next June? Sam seems to think it is a good idea. His folks havea 4 bedroom flat there in need of renovation, and we are in need of a year away from George Dubuhyuh and other stupid American things. Anyone want to come visit London? I will make you some lovely tea!

The Nobel Prize

2005-07-27T20:21:00.000-07:00

Wowza. Equity auditions on Sunday were quite the experience. 90 actors in 6 hours, with only the smallest whisper of a break in between each, and no time for lunch. It was strange to be on the other side of the stage. Yes, I've held auditions before, but when you pay, people actually come in droves, all trying desperately to make an impression. And impress they did. Oh, did they! One sexy young than even sent me a card today so full of innuendo it could barely stay in its envelope...

My personal favorite was a 6 foot tall woman named "Velvet" who came loping on stage about a third of the way through. She handed over her head shot, which included several "character" shots where she had mostly just put on slightly different tacky outfits. In one of the shots, she was wearing a wife beater and a trucker hat a la Roadside Crack-Ho, which seemed the most realistic casting possibility for Miss Velvet.

She proceeded to make awkward and odd small talk with us while setting up a stool onstage, upon which she carefully placed a stack of papers and an upside down plastic cup she had gotten from the lobby. Around the cup was stretched a gold lame hair tie. She told us she would be giving us a monologue from an ORIGINAL PLAY (emphasis hers) about the life of Madame Curie, which was created from ACTUAL EXCERPTS (again with the emphasis) from Madame Curie's own writings.

Then she goes behind the curtain in the back, twisting her hair up into a bun- you know, for DRAMATIC EFFECT, and comes back out, completely tranformed. Ok, well, her hair was up at least. She begins speaking in what I think she thought was French, expertly shifting into what was possibly English delivered in just the most terrible French accent EVER. Turns out the stool is her Podium as she is accepting her Nobel Peace Prize, which is, yes, you guessed it, the plastic cup with the golden scrunchie, which she actually picked up as means of demonstrating for us that it was indeed the Prize of which she spoke, not once, not twice, but three times in 2 minutes.

Oh, yeah. I did not hear a word she said, because my brain was shocked, absolutely frozen in perplexity.

Velvet was not the only monstrosity, far from it, just the most memorable. There was talent, for sure, and it was all entertaining, if sometimes painful. There was a woman who had understudied Uta Hagen, and had trained with everyone who was anyone for the last 20 years, who was just dull as toast. There were people who clearly had turned to acting to be able to express an inner rage, who you wouldn't want to meet in a crowded alley, and wished would just get a therapist instead. The black actors were almost to the person more vital, more edgy, and more honest than the white actors.

There were soap actors and commercial talents, young girls from Portland and 75 year old men who struggled to remember who and where they were, let alone the lines. In the words of our Artistic Director, who we threw a big anniversary party for on Monday, and who is 70 next year, "They don't want to stop. No one ever wants to stop."

Auditions

2005-07-21T21:15:00.000-07:00

Hey, short notice but better than no notice. I'll be in NoHo all day on Sunday, helping to run my theatre's Equity auditions for the season. If you're an Equity actor friend who wants to try out, you can make an appointment throug AEA. If you are not Equity, we may still be able to work you in- so anyone interested should let me know. 2 minute monologue, anyone? Should be fun. And if notice is too short, we'll host other auditions soon.

My Right Foot

2005-07-09T23:16:00.000-07:00

Tonight I was watching 6 Feet Under (season 3, episode 7) trying to catch the Editor up so we can watch the rest of the current season together. It was the one where the lady gets a nose bleed and dies. Just as the blood was pouring out, I got a call from the theatre- the housemanager was stranded, the ushers had not shown, I had to suddenly go in. In my rush to get dressed, I put my right leg through my pants and straight down onto a razor sharp piece of metal on the corner of the bed. The phone rings again- the housemanager had shown up, so I don't need to come in. "Good," I say, "cause I just sliced my foot pretty bad."

The blood suddenly just poured out of my foot. There is something perversely fascinating about the sound of a large amount of one's own blood pouring onto a hard surface. Sounds just exactly like any other liquid hitting hard wood, but it came out of my godamned foot, and pooled, all dark and shiny. "Sam," I yelled, "I need help!" He came in and said we were going to the emergency room. He and the Ed wrapped my foot and got me out to the car. I guess I went white and shockey for a bit. Sam took me to the ER, wher I sat for an hour with many many people ahead of me, until the guy who triaged me said that the ER in Goleta was much less busy. If I stayed there it would be another three hours.

He wrapped up my foot and told me it was basically a vertical laceration with a flap of skin as thick as his index finger that I had managed to partially disengage from the rest of my foot. Nice. Sam took me to the other hospital, where they promptly cleaned it and dressed it, but would not stitch it, fearing infection. It sho did hurt to clean it. Wugga. But Sam is a very good hospital partner, and made me laugh. While I was there I saw 3 other people who had also fucked up their right foot/leg. Cosmic significance? Dunno, but now I get to keep mmy foot elevated for 48 hours and pop a couple of Darvosets.

All in all, I actually had a pretty good Saturday night.

The Holey Spirit

2005-06-28T20:39:00.000-07:00

I got to marry off my friends this weekend. Amanda and Mike, who I was lucky to know when they first met, and am lucky to know still. Performing a ceremony is nerve-wracking. Such an important event, and all sorts or expectations, or lack thereof, are handed to you when you are not a "real" minister. But somehow, none of that matters once you are up standing up there, with people you love looking to you to seal their pact, to start them off together with honesty, and nobility, and care. I did my best, and it probably would not have mattered if I was speaking in tongues. The congregation gave the most heartfelt applause I have ever heard, because the union was blessed no matter what the words.

The rain that threatened all day finally began to fall for a few moments right as we signed the license, just a few soft drops, and then a double rainbow materialized for them, framed by the Sandia mountains at dusk. Little crying Greek women drew me aside to tell me that it was the most moving ceremony they had ever been to, that it was my calling, and a colorful mountain hippy girl told me she would like to hire me to be the permanent minister in the ancient church she is renovating on South 14. An aging queen with giant ear piercings told me he heard every word. I said I was glad the mic had worked. "No, " he said,"I. Heard. Every. Word." Ah. I danced and drank and laughed with these two wonderful families and thier crazy friends until the sun was about to rise, and I have never seen a happier bunch.

In fact, every friend I I saw this weekend, and even my own eccentric relatives, are all happier that I have ever seen them, no matter what changes they are facing, no matter what hardships have fallen upon them to get them to where they are.

And as for whether I have found my calling, it doesn't seem so yet. I told the Editor that I wished it was as simple as just settling on one thing that I liked and just doing that thing. The response?

"Now, why in the world would you have to do that?"

Kan-don't!

2005-06-16T21:25:00.000-07:00

There have been a few things I've seen on television lately that I simply cannot keep to myself.

One is a show about a young man who had a terrible disease, and apparently died. It is narrated by a young boy, presumably undead, and merely pretending to be the dead boy, who says something along the lines of; "Hi, my name is Tyler. That's me in the box. This is my story..." The box he refers to is his own small coffin. That's right. Eventually, we get the show title: "THE BOY WHOSE SKIN FELL OFF." Is this a joke I don't understand, or an attempt to jerk at my heart strings?

Perhaps my heart strings unravelled some time ago, but my reaction is actually to laugh maniacly, and then want to retch a little.

THEN, tonight, I see an advertisement for a new product, described as some sort of pre-moistened disposable potty wipe, targeted at toilet-trainees and the women who swab them. The name of this glorified kleenex? The "Kan-doo." I kid you not.

Don't get me started on the chick in the boat who plugs its leaking hole (!) with her trusty Tampax, either.

Too far, it's all gone far too far...

Built For Two

2005-06-12T18:48:00.000-07:00

El Conquistador de Montanas. That is the name of our new tandem bicycle. (We did not name it this, the company did, but it is quite hilarious.) It is bright green, and can go very fast, and take us to the ocean, as it did yesterday, or to the next town, as it did today. My shoes clip onto the pedals, and make clippity cloppity sounds when I walk around in them. The seat is supposedly designed to be kind to the ladies, but I remain unconvinced thus far. But I am exquisitely pleased to ride around with my sweet husband, as ever. Only now we may actually get in shape while we are at it.

Couplings intesify on many other levels. Last week or so, I found out that Jen and Mike are engaged, This is a wonderful thing. In around two weeks I will perform the ceremony for the wedding of my friends, Amanda and Mike, in Albuquerque, also astoundingly good. This next bit, however, threw me for a complete and utter loop-

Dad called me yesterday and left a message that I should call him back . He said he had good news. I had a feeling, but you never know with dad. Words cannot express my pleasured surprise at finding out that my 69 year old father, my eternally optimistic and hilariously quirky father, has finally met his match and will also be getting married, in about two months. The woman is named Wanona, part Cherokee, and nearly his age. For those of you who know my father, the last bit is particulary novel. And yes, I will perform that ceremony, too, right after the play opens.

Tickled, tickled pink I am, I tell ya. Consistently about to burst into fits of weeping giggling with the silly touchingness of it all. Is 'touchingness" a word, you ask? It is now.

redorgreen?

2005-06-05T00:15:00.000-07:00

I want to open up a resturant called 'redorgreen?' Only New Mexicans know what this means, but I think the rest of the world has been deprived long enough. My chile seedlings are about 3" tall and the Editor is going to help me transplant them tomorrow. I hope I get some sustainable plants out of this lot. Sam thinks I am obsessed, like he gets with his beer brewing. I say, 'yes.' And why not? Last night I dreamed of a red chile cheese baked potato dish. So I made it today, along with green chile enchiladas, refried beans, and sopapillas. That's right. Life is good. The potatoes are really quite fantastic. I could see them on the menu in the restaurant.

The only other time I dreamed of yet-uncreated food was in Albany. I also dreamed of chile and potatoes. Green chile cheese mashed potatoes. So I got up and made them. My roomates were proud. I remember Brandy bragged to people, "These green chile mashed potatoes have absolutely no butter in them. It's just cheese and sour cream." Oh yeah, that's decadent stuff. Not for the weak of artery.

Dreaming up food and then making it is good. If only I could learn to manifest other tangibles within my dreams. Ever since I was young, I had dreams that I could fly, if you want to call them dreams. A number of years ago, they abated abruptly. Today during a nap today, I had my first one in probably 5 years. I couldn't go very far, and something was pushing my head back towards the earth, but goddamit, fly I did.

Behold the power of chile potato dreams.

1,2,3,4

2005-05-31T21:34:00.000-07:00

Things that I like:

One o' my best girls getting engaged. Hee hee hee, it's fabulous.

Two person hammock now swinging slightly in our backyard. Santa Barbara just got a lot more idylic.

Three day weekend with Mary and Aaron. I like when my friends from LA come to visit (Cough, cough, David and Adriana.)

Four historical female writers inspiring actors in ABQ to come out of the woodwork. Brandy tells me that our auditions went well. People showed up with prepared pieces written by some of the characters, even. It's a nice thing to hear that it will be hard to cast, because there are too few roles for all of the talent that has surfaced. Excitement!

I can also think of four things that I don't like, of course, but what would be the point in even bringing those things up? Everything is so fleeting, only the good is worth wringing the juice from.

Torrey, Utah

2005-05-24T23:03:00.000-07:00

There's nothing quite like speeding through the desert for so long that you think there is nothing in the world but knotty wood formations that can't decide whether they are trees or whether they are cactus, and they bend to the ground in shame because of it. These endless armies of twisted forms then give way to red rocks and mountains whose geological layers have been forced nearly vertical in grand ancient movements, showing you every stripe of their history, naked and violent.

Nothing can be small in this sort of landscape. Even a tiny town creates sweeping dramas from tiny events, or maybe its that with so little to happen, every thing that does is rendered all the more dramatic. We stayed in a town where our relatively small gathering outnumbered the townspeople, and within one night we seemed to know all that had happened there for the last ten years.

The locals told me of a secret cove, where spirits of the Anasazi and other tribes still roam. Petroglyphs and wandering souls scattershot throughout the valleys. The ghost of an Indian woman and her baby in the place where we stayed. Had I lived there before, I wouldn't want to go anywhere else either. These frontier folk and native people worked too hard to give up what they found and brought to fruit in these unforgiving landscapes.

A dream I'd had many years ago came back to me, in which I picked abook from a shelf and as I read it the text constantly changed. The only word that would stand still was "Zion." Someone from our group told me that I should have a look at the nearby park, also called Zion. When I asked him to describe it, he said, "We don't have words for things like that."

I later spoke with a local man who told me he did not believe in god, because no loving god would have taken his wife from him last year. Deep in his cups, he told me of AA meetings where they instruct you to find your higher power, and that an inordinate amount of people found their higher power within an object- most usually a couch. For him, though- it was the trees.

"Aspen, ponderosa, oak, birch and pine. That's what I believe in. That is all that I believe."

Sour Kraut

2005-05-18T19:52:00.000-07:00

Suddenly, every single solitary piece of spam I get is in German. For the last week or so. Is anyone else experiencing this?

Sabado gigante

2005-05-08T16:58:00.000-07:00

B-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-ah-ha-ha-hayyyyyyyyyyyyyyiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!

What a week and weekending it has been! And a year ending, too, as Sam and I have been married for one glorious year as of today.

On Thursday, my sister let us know she and her husband Juan had decided last-minute to go out to SoCal for a family wedding, and wanted to know if we were close enough to visit, or to take a trip down. So we took a trip down yesterday to Pico Rivera and came back today. I expected to hang out with my sis and her hubby for a few hours in the evening perhaps, after his niece's wedding, which was at noon. The family generously invited us to the whole shebang, but the ceremony was a bit early for us, and we figured the recepton would be around 2, so we might go to that. Well, the wedding and pictures lasted until 3:30, and the reception didn't start until 5, it turned out.

Aforementioned recpeption lasted until 3:30 this morning. Can we say Catholic ceremony? Can we say big assed Mexican family? Oh, my. For every adult present, there were literally 6 children. Sam and I stayed at the cheap hotel the reception was at, which I don't think we realized would be quite so close to the Mariachi band and dance floor all night, but we slept eventually. It was a much livelier wedding than I'd seen in a long, long time.

I have to say, the Mexican culture is so much more fun than whatever vestige of Caucasian culture I was granted. (What is Caucasian culture, exactly? Hotdogs and the NRA? Isolationism and Twinkie twin-packs?) This family was created out of three different marriages from a single busy gentleman, and 3 very fertile ladies. I'd say there were 200 people there, and that was probably about a third of the complete family. Half the family were law enforcers, and the other half (they joked) were law-breakers. They were warm people, inexhaustible dancers, and although children were everywhere, the children were actually incredibly well behaved. It did not matter to them one whit where the reception was held, or who got how drunk, or how much money there was to spend on it. They just loved each other, and weren't afraid to show it.

One of the young men there had just gotten back from Iraq, and I got to see the Purple Heart he was awarded. 19 years old, I think. The family was proud of him and it was clearly something that elevated his status. I've never been around military families, so this was really striking. The whole experience was eye-opening, and expanding, and being able to hang out with my sister for 9 hours was fantastic.

Much better even than the standing ovation at the opening night at my theatre on Friday for the first show that I have fully produced there.

Much more amusing than the family of skunks that I discovered have a burrow in my backyard on Saturday morning. 4 or 5 of them, and my cats happily hanging out with them a few feet away. I have to figure out what to do about that...

Not half as good as Sam and my's decision to actively pursue the NY possibility, though. We decided this weekend that we aren't getting younger, and there's no time like the present to try an experiment to see whether either one of us can stand for/benefit from further education.

And nothing compares to completing the first of many many happy years with my great love.

All in all, a most satisfying weekend.

scarlet begonias and green chile

2005-04-30T17:56:00.000-07:00

I just planted some of these. This is momentous, as I have never planted anything before. I think the begonias will be happy, let's hope that the chile can grow out here in California. Feeling a little homesick for New Mexico these days. I'll be there sooner than I know it, in June for my friends' wedding, which I will be performing the cermony for, then again in August for the opening of Brandy and I's play. We just finished the 2nd draft, which will be the working script for the production. Already, Sam's folks and some relatives will join us out there, and we are going to take the Editor with us, so a good time shall be had by all, I think.

A season of growing, and pains. Work has been challenging. It is difficult to produce art that is not one's own sometimes. I am writing when I can, working on a ghostly sort of coming of age story, about the First street house in Albuquerque. I have about 30 pages now, and it it's good work, when I can manage it. The play about Dorothy Parker is not yet begun, but I am itching to get started soon. No word on the New York possibility, but for now it seems far away.

Don't worry, I planted the chile in tranportable planters, just in case. This is advice from Sheila, who was out here last weekend. We had a pretty fab time at the local Earth Day festival, treating ourselves to some girl time, and out in the wine country with Sam. Sam and I are going to start riding a tandem bicycle in the mountains around here, and I finally ventured into my gym, a mere two months after joining.

All of these things are neccessary, and good. I think I finally realized that my sanity depends upon taking care of myself, and making things that I love start to grow again. Life is too short to let the days go by working only for others, and not for myself and for those I care for the most.

I can feel Mercury coming out of retrograde, finally. I think all things started now have a stronger chance to come to fruition without constant backwards attention and reworking. It is high time to push on through.

walking nightmare

2005-04-15T23:13:00.000-07:00

When I lived in the Burque, near the main post office, I would occassionally end up caught in the April 15th tax line traffic and think of what suckers those people were. I mean, how could you wait until the last possibe minute to file your taxes?Just the thought of it drove me to the edge of panic.

This year, Sam did our taxes, about a month ago. I handed him my W-2's, and he went to town, dealing with all of the anomolous things that happened in a year when we got married, moved, and all other fun sorts of tax stuff went on.

So, today, we were due to get a visitor, and I decided to clean up a pile of my play submission stuff. You know, tidy up.

Well, shock and awe were mine when I found a W-2 of mine in that godammned pile. Yes, you heard me. I found a mother humping W-2- just sitting there as big as you please. Which one, do you ask? With great embarrassment, I must confess it was the one from MY CURRENT MOTHERHUMPING JOB.

Yes. So, my poor sweetie and I called my ex CPA sister in a panic, wondering what we could do to amend this. "Send in an amended form. Just use the Tax Cut software you used." Well, the goatsucking software wouldn't let us do that, and the version we had sent in was inaccessible. So, in the midst of having to pick up our guest at the airport and prepare for his stay, Sam had to somehow reconstruct the numbers and do the whole messy thing over again. He somehow managed to get it done by about 9:30, but the program wouldn't compute what we now owed, so we couldn't submit it electronically. So then I went into my office and printed the damn things and compiled all of the shit and ended up in the line of losers at the post office at 11 or so.

Yes, the local news was there, and I'm sure I'm on it, desperately affixing stamps and singing the praises of the fat middle-aged women who were attending the mailboxes. I could have kissed them.

Mostly, I'm going to kiss my husband. He gets whatever he wants for a long, long time.

Sheesh.

Sam does remind me that it could have been worse- I could have found it tomorrow, right?

Harx.

Look ma, I got a new 'puter!

2005-04-11T22:15:00.000-07:00

That's computer, to you non Appalachians...My old 'puter was malfunctory. I seem to have this problem with power cords. Anyway, I was having to hold in the power cord with one hand while typing with the other (yes, I know, you're playing the world's smallest violin between your index finger and your thumb, yes, yes, but!) and then the damn thing made some sparks and the cord kind of melted and I just couldn't use it no' mo.

So my hubbysand done got me a iBOOK, yo. A pretty, pristine, 14" white powerbook that I can typity type away on to my heart's content. It's light as a cracker, and I love it alot. So maybe I'll be inspired to blog more. It makes such pleasing little clackity key nosies, after all. Soon I will have an IM thingamabob going so I can talk to my hub, and maybe to you, if you have it too?

Lemme know if you do!

Lovely virgin white laptop, whatever shall I name you?

Perhaps it will be a soothing name, like "Gail". Yes, something like that...

movie magic

2005-04-04T20:38:00.000-07:00

That's what this weekend was. After my fairly recent hilariously bad experience with low budget filming, I was prepared for just about anything when I went to LA to play a small part in a movie that my friends Mary and Aaron have concocted, along with a some writing finesse from Mike M. Now, I knew it was going to be pretty organized, and deliciously odd-ball and fun, but little did I know just how healing and inspiring it would be for me to take part.

It's been a long time since I have worked on a project with friends, and people who are all of a like mind. All I can say is that everyone there wanted to be there, everyone there was talented as hell, and people were willing to work thier asses off towards a common goal. Multi-talented and professional young people just kicking some major ass, and having a damn fine time doing it.

I would be most content if I could make art with these folks and the rest of my fine friends for the rest of my days. Come on, colony!

I think this crazy movie is going to turn out really well, and it felt good to act again for a minute. I didn't realize how much I missed that outlet, and I am thankful they thought of me. It was also tremendously uplifting to be away from the demands of my job for a weekend, and to help out with something I felt I could make a bit of a difference in.

Just as I was thinking how fine it would be to move further south to pursue more film
opportunities, Sam was in a meeting up north with Columbia math big-wigs, being presented with a possible offer to pursue an advanced degree there, subsidized by his current company, who are opening up a NY office where he would also work. Could this mean Brooklyn in the fall? Tifanie goes back to school for writing, maybe? I dunno if it is going to happen, but I'll keep you all posted.

In the meantime, I'll be slaving at the theatre, but now I have a few other things to daydream about... It's going to be an interesting next few months, fo' sho'.

little ole me

2005-03-29T22:01:00.000-08:00

Tonight Sam spilled 5 gallons of water on the kitchen floor whilst brewing beer. We have never seen the place so clean, we remarked, while mopping it up with towels. A fitting ending to an unfitting day.
Can I get a "woot woot" for all the people out there with too much to handle right now?
Can anyone else relate to an eleven hour workday in a string of eleven hour workdays spannings the course of several weeks with no days off?
Can anyone commisserate with a pile of retrograde work that is thicker than mud, trying to work one's self out ass backwards from a heap of troubles and by opposing end them?
I knew that you could.
What is this backwards bullshit of late? If it's planetary, it needs to move on into another phase, that's all I'm sayin'.
Thank Eris that the Editor rescued me from my loft of madness today for raspberry chocolate martinis and quesadillas before I spent all night locked in the tower.
Today my boss and mentor gave me a book of rules for sanity. #1 is that nothing matters. #2 is that no one else is thinking about me. They are thinking about them. Tonight I am thinking about you. All of you.
Are your floors as clean as mine, due to unexpected calamity? Is the light at the end of the tunel visible?
Can I get a witness?

meowzahoot!

2005-03-26T20:51:00.000-08:00

Sam showed me this and now I am going to have nightmares. The first ones are kind of cute, but as you scroll down you get into some pretty disturbing images. Ah, the power of photoshop wielded by sick
minds- is there no end to the madness?

Enjoy! I like the tigerowl, myself...

gaping crevasse

2005-03-14T21:19:00.000-08:00

Yes, Adriana, there is a Grand Canyon...

Whenever I saw it in my mind, I envisioned an arid desert of brown with a few straggly shrubs littering the landscape, and a slight incline up to a dramatic, sheer drop. A jagged mouth appearing suddenly from nothing, stretching as far as the eye could see from one corner of the horizon to the other, with the desert visible on the other side. The walls of the canyon would slope in somewhat, but it would be a steep and dust choked climb to the bottom, full of rattlesnakes and cowboy skeletons. Old West. Nothing to drink but Cactus Juice. The sense of perilous death looming large.

But as my sweetie and I rode up, there were nothing but trees, trees, trees. No desert at all. Everything was lush and green after the record rainy season in the West this year. The road curved up to a civilized lookout point, and I started to glimpse the Canyon before we got to the protruding viewing areas. My heart almost stopped. It wasn't brown at all! There were a few layers of earth toned strata, of course, and an odd beige rock or two, but there were shades of blue and green and greyish lavender, and ochre, and colors without names. There was snow nestling in places. A crow glided by, right on cue. An oasis of green sprung up with little buildings on the bottom, the Phantom Ranch, aptly named. I must go there someday.

The trails snaking through this lush canyon astounded me, and the fact that it is only a mile down. But it goes on forever, it goes on into other dimensions. The areas jutting out like fingers into the canyon are beautiful- like platform to eternity. I was awed and moved and incredibly happy to be there. The urge to climb down was immense. A river had cut this path somehow. The determination was inspiring.

I have seen some amazing things. With Sam, I have seen the Alps, the Gorges du Verdon in France, impossible cathedrals built on needle-like hills, terra-formed villages stepping tentatively down to the sea, and a myriad of other amazements. With Jen Sunshine I saw something that I thought I would never top- a lookout point where the Gila and Black Mountain ranges come together in NM, where mountains swell and rise in either direction to infinity. But the Canyon is even more majestic, the Canyon is alive, and it beckons.

Sam takes me tho the most wonderful places.

Anyone want to plan a stay at the Phantom Ranch? I hear they are booked three years in advance, but that should be the type of commitment a few of us could actually handle!

A mere 15 minute stop on our trip, but etched in me forever. A necklace of ancient stones...

instant karma's gonna get you?

2005-03-13T12:16:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I helped the Editor move for 10 hours. We had quite a time of it. During the packing process, everything fit easily where it needed to fit. Loading the truck was like a breezy game of tetris, effortless and compact perfection with almost no forethought. While driving over to drop off the first load we saw a couple of kids who were recklessley skateboarding in the middle of the street, not cognizant of traffic, and we contemplated just running them over because they were physically in our way. We did not. However, when we drove back for the next load, those kids and their parents were on the curb, being ticketed by a cop. We laughed at our evident powers of manifestation.

We worked hard until about 10:30, arranging furniture, books, and clothing like mad. The editor's rather lackadasical attitude towards organization activated my OCD trigger, and once I got going, it was it was hard to stop for either of us. But stop we did and I went home, after we discussed morality and guilt and the subconcious for awhile on the porch of the Editor's new digs. I was explaining how even though I pretty much just took my former bosses' job, I did not feel guilty about it because of what a wretched bitch she is. A sidenote is that the Editor's new place is an old Victorian, about as haunted as it gets, and no one contests this fact. It was giving me hard-core flashbacks to the home in lived in NM for 8 years, not to mention almost incessant hiccups.

So I get home. I am immediateley sore- my shoulders and arms are burning like, well, fire. I take a hot bath, which helps the shoulders a bit. Me sweet Sam gives me a rubdown. Somehow I manage to then run one foot under the couch while simultaneously standing up on it, in order to lay down next to my love, thus damaging the top of my foot which begins to swell immediately. Sam ices my foot while my forearms continue to burn. Can all of this be from moving? Am I that old? For the next 5 or 6 hours, I move from couch to bed to massage tool to Tiger Balm to Valium, unable to rest, and getting more and more strung out about it. Sam tells me I am having a panic attack.

A panic attack? I panick further. What am I panicking about? The base truth of the matter is that my arms hurt so bad no position I put them in is going to allow me to sleep. I try and try, practicing breathing techniques. I try to rationalize. But everythime I almost relax, I now find myself thinking about work. Maybe I do feel guilty about my old boss. I certainly feel overwhelmed. As General Manager, I am suddenly in the middle of tax audits, complicated insurance issues, the pressure of hiring and training 2 new employees in the next two weeks, press deadlines, and generally trying to figure out how I am going to get the knowledge I need in order not to run this place into the ground directly.

These thought coupled with the pain drove me over the edge of reason. Somehow I slept eventually and awoke to almost equal pain, but not as much worry.

Am I about to lose it, or have a major shift in what I allow to affect me? Does anyone else worry like this? Does anyone have a remedy for possible tendon damage?

Blarglarglraglhargleharghhhhhhhhhhhhh...

Ding dong, the witch is dead

2005-03-03T16:04:00.000-08:00

Which old witch?

My former boss, y'all!

After tense negotiations with the board, the new exec director of my theatre managed to convince them to get rid of the evil seed before she brought the entire theatre down with her. She and her husband, the ex- exec, have been helping to generate bad press and bad feelings all around, and lately she has been spending her days making employees do groundwork for the new theatre they plan to begin, rather than doing her job. So today, after not knowing from one hour to the next whether to run away in terror or dig in deeper, the blessed hour finally arrived.

I had had to work with her on and off all today and yesterday to ensure that the finances were in a less disastrous state and her final check was ready early, all under false pretences, which somehow worked.

As she was being given her severance package across the street, I was lerxing away from the theatre to meet my Sam. And now we go to Arizona for a long weekend. And as I was driving to Sam's office, where I sit now, my cell phone rang. Knowing it was her, I did not answer. Cowardly? Sure it is. I expected a livid message. But apparently she still has no idea that I am to replace her.

Furthermore, word id that the box office will not be relocated after all, so my coworker's job is safe, and calamity has been avoided at least in that area.

So starting Tuesday, upon my return, I get to dive headfirst into the fracas, with a new exec, a new development director, and
a new job title and salary.

It's been crazy, and it will continue to be. But at least the environment will be bearable, and the compensation better.
Indescribable satisfaction right now.

As for the trip, Sam is taking me to see the Grand Canyon- my first time, and to attend a dinner being held in his mother's honor. She has been named Distinguished Investigator of the Year for her work through the Mayo Clinic.

Equally good news is that my friend Jessica finally got her Peace Corps assignment. She will be spending about two years in paradise-the Cape Verde Islands, off the African coast. Beautiful beaches, wonderful music, and fresh fish and avocadoes- 70-80 degrees all year round. How's that for worth the wait?

Congratulations all around.

thank you

2005-02-26T12:04:00.000-08:00

I am so fortunate to have such stellar friends as yourselves. My birthday was lovely, thank you for all of the kind wishes. I am still enjoying the cake Sam made. Pure chocolate genius, I tell you.

On the other end of the stick, my job environment continues to worsen and decompose. Now that I have worked my ass of to resolve 90% of the hairball customer and system issues, persistent rumors indicate that the Board of Directors is in negotiation to contract with a nearby theatre for them to take over our box office. With not so much as a meeting with our staff first. In fact, I still haven't met most of this board. While we might still employ one person to man the booth for shows, we currently have a staff of 3 in the box office, thus leaving two of us most likely up shit creek, and one of us with really shitty hours on nights and weekends.

My friend Pema, who wasn't born yesterday, already gave notice and is going to go work with Sam. I am interviewing on Monday to perhaps go work with the Editor.

But am very very torn, as I had envisioned being able to grow with this theatre. Too bad the board has no concept of how a theatre should be run, and too bad my evil boss is still there, despite the fact that her husband was fired. If even one of those two conditions could be remedied I would find a way to persist there.

Any suggestions, other than strangling my boss with my scarf or pumping Anthrax through the ventilation system at the next board meeting?

Yes, I've been fantasizing as usual.

Happy birthday to me

2005-02-22T23:42:00.000-08:00

Happy birthday to me,
Happy birthday, dear me-oh,
Happy birthday to me.

I have 18 minutes until I am no longer merely 30, but "in my thirties."

That calls for another glass of wine, I think.

I'm not naming names

2005-02-19T18:16:00.000-08:00

But some of you bloggity friends are not producing sufficient amusement for me of late. What is this sudden Sahara among my fertile-minded brethren? Why does it always happen in waves, and what is the trigger to start up the engines again? I mean, a single comment (Thank you, Mary!) to my posting of the "Go Fug Yourself" link? Have zombies taken over Los Angeles, Albuquerque, and Lincoln, Nebraska? If so, they are surely on the way. I am going to have to ask the Editor how to fortify my domicile against these insidious, slow-moving but brain-eating zombies.

Or could it be something worse than zombies? Something like malaise? Discontent with the socio-economico-politico-something or other? What, what?

Delicious Bitterness

2005-02-16T23:52:00.000-08:00

Thanks to the Editor for turning me onto the world of fug. Click the "fugly" link in my blogs list. Do yourselves a favor. It's a permanent link. The co-creators of this blog are absolutely the most wonderfully evil observers of fashion don'ts that I have ever seen. I worship them, and kind of want to stalk them.

Loveylovelove

2005-02-14T23:02:00.000-08:00

Happy Valentine's day, you wonderful people. Sam and I celebrated our first V-day as a married couple today. How sweet it is! We had a luscious evening and a decadent dinner, and in one hour, it will roll right into my sweet man's birthday. Happy Happy Birthday to Samuel Dov- my Aquarian King and Man of my Dreams. I know it sounds trite, but I truly am the luckiest lady alive. Eris, I hail you once more.

Turn and face the strange

2005-02-12T18:02:00.000-08:00

ch-ch-chan-ge-es.

1) Play has been read aloud and- run time is 2 hours without intermission or scene changes. It now needs a 2nd draft including hefty cuts and cleaning up. This is expected, and should be the teeniest bit painful, but mostly fun.

2) My theatre is either falling to ruin, or it could be improving. The executive director was fired on Monday, and his micro-managing wife will probably leave in good time. Members of the board lerx about, and many rumours circulate like persistent mosquitoes. My own job security remains in question, and 2 out of three shows in our season are probably out the window now. That will be fun to explain to our 2200 sunscribers.

3) The first of my close-knit sister-girlfrinds is going to have a baby! She and her hubby are going to be wonderful parents. It makes me realize that I am one of a whole clatch of women whose biological clocks are starting to tick, or perhaps "should" be starting. I think there are little green gremlins in my system who are holding the pendulum to one side, snickering and gossiping about when, if ever, to let it fly.

4) Sam and I are starting to think that we might be able to buy a house in California sooner than we thought, and are considering North Hollywood as a possibly affordable place to start. Though a commute would likely be involved for both of us, I think we are beggining to see that we need a bit more variety in closer reach to us.

5) Arthur Miller died, and when I heard the news I realized I hadn't realized he was even still alive.

Time lurches forward. Or as Colette would say, "Life moves in one direction, and one direction only."

Somehow today I do not find this surprising, or the tiniest bit frightening.

Your driver

2005-02-06T20:20:00.000-08:00

It has taken awhile. I've tried to bury this one, but it keeps popping up. Yes, it's high time to tell the story of what happened when yours truly, my intrepid husband, and my unsuspecting gal-pal Brandy went on a wine-tour in September, 2004.

We all like the vino. We all like Napa and Sonoma. Brandy, one of the most passionate conniseurs of both wine and the Bay area was coming out- no reason not to treat ourselves to nice chauffered van tour of said wine-country, right? Sam and I had done one once, and it was a grand old time. I spent some time picking out what seemed a reputable and affordable service. All we had to do was show up at Fisherman's Wharf, in Frisco, at 9:00 AM. This tour would include a stop at Muir Woods, a lunch stop in Sonoma, and 4 or 5 wineries. Done and Done.

So, the three of us rise and attempt to shine and head down to the Wharf. Now, that's not a great place to go unless you are a witless tourist, but that's where we were to meet our fearless driver. We find the small company, and all seems fairly well. Sharing the van will be an older couple from Scotland, which is nice. We meet our driver. He seems a bit- rough around the edges. Sort of salt-of the-earth, maybe? Whatever, get in the van.

As we are traversing the Wharf, our driver begins to regale us with what at first seems to be typical patter for the tourists. Telling us about Ghiradelli Square, for instance, and how you can do a tour and they will make you a personalized chocolate bar. He then explains that the chocolate bar will run you eight bucks, which makes no sense as you can go and get the same kind of chocolate at the gas station for 75 cents.

Seemed kind of a curious thing to say, but it turned out to be only the first example wherein he bashed local establishments and restaurants for their high prices and unworthy products. Without coaxing, he eventually came out with it. He happened to know of a terrific restaurant, they served the best food around, where he happened to be employed at at one time and was still associated with somehow. Actually, he says, it's a good cause too, because they help alot of people who are down and out in the community. Fine, fine. Onto the drinking!

I think we were going over the Golden Gate bridge, when he told us how he came to work at this extablishment. "You know those people you see on the streets with the shopping carts? Well, about 5 years ago, I was one of them. But I was lucky to find this program, and get a job at the restaurant, and get out of all that mess, and now, here I am, driving for you. I don't do it all the time, but they call me now and again." Ok, now I'm really starting to wish this guy would shut the fuck up and let us look out the windows in peace.

But he just keeps going on about this wonderful restaurant. The air in the van became palpable. Brandy looked a bit concerned. I believe we tried to change the subject. The next thing you know, we're out at Muir Woods, for a little walk. Our driver seemed nervous, wanted us all back at a certain time, we were running a bit behind. Gotta hurry. He chain smokes, we see big trees, next thing you know we're back in the van. This time I get a closer look at him. He's really quite shifty, isn't he? Oh well, on with the ride.

He begins to tell us a bit about the woods, and the scenery. Just where the road begins to get more steep and winding, he lets loose with this: "Now's the time in the tour that I like to tell you about your driver." We're all thinking the same thing. I bet you know what it is. It starts with an 'n' and ends with an 'o'. He keeps on. "Remember how I told you about the shopping cart thing? Well, see, I'd come out to San Fran about a year before all that, and ran into some trouble because I liked vodka a little too much. I happened to find a roommate who did, too. The next thing I know, we're out one night and ended up holding a knife to a cabbie's throut for about eighteen dollars."

No, no no no no no no. "I ended doin' some time. So that's one reason, besides the driving part, why your driver won't be drinking today. Or any day." Ok, now we all feel really weird. He proceeds to tell us about what it's like to look out of your window in San Quentin, and a bit about the colorful prison life he led. At one point he asks if he is scaring us. "Yes," I sort of whimper. He tells us how his life is so much better now, how the program with the restaurant place really turned his life around. He goes into further detail about his hardships, which I have now blocke d out. The kind Scottish woman says something placating, like "Well, that's all in the past now."

Finally, he moves on to the topic of how he wants to be a park ranger in Alaska or something and is going to go check it out with a couple of young attractive girls, who he begins to talk about fairly lasciviously. Finally we pull up to a winery. Now I am sort of afraid to drink. We're obviously in the hands of a madman. Should I call his employer? Should I have a little talk with him? My co-horts determine that I should not under any circumstances do either. The only thing to do is drink, and try not to make any sudden movements.

So we somehow make it though the day, and he eventually seems to get the picture to shut the fuck up about San Quentin, his personal struggles with alcohol, and the nubile breasts he hopes to see in the wilderness. On the way home in SF, he turns the wrong way down a one-way into an oncoming cop, who tails him briefly but does not pull him over. I have never seen a man so frightened, and then so immensely relieved.

The overall impression was of being locked in a cage with a barely domesticated jungle beast. With a driver's license. And did we report any of this to his employer? No, of course not. The guy obviously had had a hard enough time, and why rain on the one-horse parade of the nearly hopeless? Most certainly he had taken others on the same journey, told others the same story, and still had his job. Some people can simply never be made to understand what is socially appropriate. I suppose he is in Alaska now, freaking out people on a salmon boat, or something.

We never did try out his restaurant. I bet the Scots didn't either.

No E-Mail!

2005-02-02T20:33:00.000-08:00

Chaaaaappppy! So if you are waiting for an e-mail from me, I'm not trying to be rude, Yahoo is having some sort of issues. I'll write you all hopefully soon.

Last night when I was having a little Scotch session with the lovely Editor and our charming pycologist, I likened the tricked-out-lerx-speak-fade-out-musical-type blogs of the younger generation to my generation's sticker books. Remember those? Somehow I was able to locate my actual sticker book circa 1986 (yes, I was into stickers and unicorns at 12- jealous?) and show it to my co-horts.

I have to say, it's a pretty bitching collection of not one, but three sticker books. One general, one medievalish, and one devoted entirely to the mystical unicorn! Yes, indeedy! I was able to stroll down memory lane through those pages- the google-eyed puffy comb sticker! What a treasure. Ah, the silky unicorns studded with sparkles! The fuzzy fuzzy brown bear sticker- yah fuckin' hoo! The Jackson Family in space! I'm tellin you, they are just chock full of amazing retro wonders.

But the one sticker that kind of snuck under my radar was on that Sam noticed. A puffy plastic rainbow target complete with rifle! What the? I'm still trying to work that one out.

I think they were much impressed. Later tonight I might relive one of my childhood pleasures and see which scratch and sniffs are still smelly. I hear the pickle still works a bit. Yes!

recharging

2005-01-31T21:05:00.000-08:00

This was a wonderful weekend. Sam and I were able to escape to LA. We saw Mary and Aaron, Adriana and David, a few other old friends at Amoeba, and met a few new friends who we will see more of soon. I cannot begin to say how healing and inspiring it is to connect with these stellar people, all creating these original works of art, and pursuing what makes them happy in the brief windows of time they can snatch from the ether.

I don't know why people get so down on Los Angeles. Other than the traffic, I really like it there. It has this wackiness to it, and this lightness that I find refreshing. Sam and I went to a new theatre space that I may do some work for in North Hollywood, and found that area somehow comforting and familiar. Oddly beckoning.

Sam's company is opening a 2nd office near UCLA in about a month, and I wouldn't be terribly surprised if we moved down there eventually. Not for a while, seeing as we just moved here and have this fascinating little backyard we need to enjoy for at least a few more seasons, and more to explore in our immediate surroundings. But yeah, I could see it being possible someday.

If we keep moving south at this rate we will be in South America pretty soon.

And I did not have to work today, so I had time to recover from all of the fun we had this weekend. Lucky lady that I am.

Today I decided that I am finally going to try to write the screenplay that's been rattling around my brain for about 5 years. This should be interesting...

Herx

2005-01-26T19:29:00.000-08:00

Ok kids, a brief pause from the cool new words to ask for some clarification. E. Worthington (check out her blog, you fools!) has discovered a new language which she has expoused upon in her blog lately, and last night, doing a little searching of my own, I found another blogged example of this particular kind of language. It is as follows:
______________________________

SuAY AHx..
Todae ish mi suayest dae... I lost mi whole homework file lohx... mati liaox lahx... sure one... all mi hw all inside lohx... sum more i go bac oso cant find liaox... tml sure kena scolding fm all e chers one... die le... die le... tats e end of mi... attend mi funeral... haix... die le... die le... dun feel lyk going to sch anymore... haix... scared teacher scold... i m really scared lohx... i die liaox....................................

Posted at 03:21 am by dreamkeeper

_______________________________

So, um, what the hell do things like lohx, haix, liaox (and lerx, though not cited here) MEAN? What do they mean?

We have supposed that lolx could stand for "lough out loud-exclamation point" but just don't get the rest of this shit. Seems to be occur mostly with 15 year olds from China?

Help!

futlick

2005-01-25T21:01:00.000-08:00

You heard me. This term truly was created by my friend Toast, aka Kevin. The way his friends, Itchyballs and the Brain, told it was that they were playing a normal game of b-ball after going the rounds with a few big dudes.* Eating a bucket of chicken.*
(*both codes for smoking the evil weed) and well, Toastie just had just about enough from the two of them out there on the court. It's hard to imagine Itchy and the Brain besting him, considering he is nearly 7 feet tall, but apparently, they were getting to him out there. They say the taller the person, the slower the responses. I don't know if that's true. All I know is that in a moment of sweaty, chicken-inspired frustruation, Toaster called one of them, or perhaps both of them, a "futlick."

We still aren't sure what two words he was trying to combine. We know what one of the words was, but the "lick" part, we still aren't sure. So the next time you need to call someone something really really bad, and there are perhaps children or old ladies in the room, and you happen to give a shit about those losers, you should definitely call tham a "futlick."

At the very least, they'll be surprised.

enough rope

2005-01-22T19:06:00.000-08:00

Just found out that SolArts in Albuquerque loves the script and is giving us a three week production in August. I am really overwhelmed by it, and grateful, and just- happy. That's it. So Sam and I will go to the boiling Burque for opening night- anybody care to meet up there? Albuquerque in August? Come on, those summer nights, people...green chile and cold beers and homey backyards of friends...I'm already there in my mind.

As promised, the next phrase to help put into the rotation- (but first, how many of you, besides Missy and Worthy have embraced "chappy" to its proper level of embraceability? I'm tellin' ya, it's really good.)- is "rope pusher."

Brandy reminded me of the term the other day, as her husband wants my permission to use it in a movie- probably a zombie movie, which is really funny, once you know what it means. The term comes 2nd hand to me, as I first heard it from an ex-flame of my friend Gabe. She is a totally saucy and irreverent punk goddess type who used to throw spam from the roof of her Mission apartment in Frisco onto unsuspecting yuppies trying to capitalize on the Mission's special brand of colorful and diverse nightlife. Slummin' it but gentrifying it at the same time.

Again, I digress.

Now, "rope pusher" is a bit beyond what some people consider to be in the realm of polite conversation. Its meaning should not be relayed directly, but is better demonstrated by example. So, ladies, you've probably been there. You've gotten all the way home with your hot date, or at least a member of the male tribe who seems to have a pulse, and things of a steamy nature are progressing. Perhaps all night he has been intimating that there are certain things he wants to do with you and to you once he gets you alone. Now you're alone. Fumbling ensues. Yes, he's been drinking, and you probably have as well. Suddenly, you are faced with something limp trying to be inserted into a place where limpness is unacceptable.

Hence, the term "rope pusher" was born.

chappy

2005-01-19T22:23:00.000-08:00

"Chappy" is a word that my good friend Toast (or was it Gabe?) came up with years ago while we worked at a horrendously mismanaged media store in the Burque. Of course, we were part of management, so yeah, there you go. We had a pretty good time, all in all. But when something went wrong, there was only one thing to say. "Chappy." Incidentally, it was at this store that I "managed" Steve-O of Jackass fame. Steve-O probably learned the word "chappy" too, but he had his own sort of lexicon of amusing terms like "crucial", "I claimed it" and "I totally dominated it." But I digress.

"Chappy" can be said with as many inflections as the word "dude", but it has none of the positve connotations.
I've been thinking about this word lately, and that it should reach a wider audience. So, you three or four people who read this, please help me take "chappy" to the next level.
Here are some examples:
1)You witness your boss dump a load of work off on a co-worker. Your proper response is the statement: "Chappy." In this case, you should tinge the word with just a hint of a "better you than me" vibe.
2)You drop your milkshake on the floor you just got done mopping five minutes ago. "Chappy!" should be exclaimed, in a sort of "why me, god, why?" tenor.
3)Your friend tells you a tale of how they were wronged, or bad-talked by another: "Chaaaapy." is all you can possibly say.

The worse the situation is, the longer you can draw out the "a" in the word.
The reason I've been thinking about it so much? It's my damn job again.
"Chaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaappy."

Next time: "rope-pusher"
That one has to get more play, too.

Other usage examples for "chappy" are most welcome.

I've already nearly forgotten how I had a migraine so bad at work on Tuesday that I had a throw-down with my bosses and came home and threw up!

2005-01-14T22:54:00.000-08:00

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...
Yesterday I became Dorothy in the Emerald City. Cut, polished, rubbed, scrubbed, wrapped, toasted, and detailed. You name it, I had it. See, my husband Sam is the smartest and most wonderful man, and got me a day at the spa for my holiday gift. I left work at 1:30, strolled to the most lovely place to collect on my good fortune, and had an experience I will not soon forget.

Firstly, I had an awesome haircut and then a nourishing mask was placed on my hair and a little cap, which I wore for the next 5, yes, 5 hours of spa treatments. It began with me donning a fluffy white robe and some nubbly spa slippers that make one's feet feel just wonderful when walking around- like a mini-massage. I met my pedicurist in the sort of zen garden lounge and got a mug of exotic tea before an aromatherapy pedicure- minty and soothing. Nice. Back to the lounge to be collected by the lovely woman who gave me a hot stone massage that had me recollecting memories I had stored in unlikely places, forgetting who, what, and where I was, and sometimes falling asleep, and often drooling. Oh yeah, and strange visions of countless smiling Buddhist monks for some reason. I could barely walk when I got out of there.

Back to the lounge for some of the most refreshing lemony orangety water ever. Then another wonderful lady gathered me up and took me to a shower where I exfoliated with the most crazily good smelling concotion. Then I lay down on a soft, heated table where she slathereed my body in a tingling detoxifying mud, buttoned me up in a thermal cocoon, and I sweated and melted happily while she game me a facial massage and entertained me (not like that!)with advice, stories, and restaurant recommendations. Then she helped me to shower off all of the mud, then get back to the warm table to be covered with more ridiculously good smelling things. I eventually found my way to another esthetician who gave me a lovely lovely facial, with steam and little whirring sandpapery things and more fun stories.

Then out to dinner with my honey. How happy, happy, happy I am, and relaxed as all get out.

Did I mention this spa has a yoga studio attached? And they do all sorts of cool Eastern treatments like pouring a stream of warm oil over your third eye? And Reiki?
And, and, and?

Sam said he was scared to get me the gift because then I'd become an addict. But I figure that occassional spa therapy might be a very good alternative to actual therapy for me, and probably much more fun.

Plus it makes me feel like a pretty princess and all.

I hope each and every one of you gets to do something relaxing or decadent very very soon...

Right on, right on...

2005-01-10T19:44:00.000-08:00

The play is getting a public reading in New Mexico in February, at SolArts, and a possible production there later this year! It's nice when things happen quickly. Thanks to everyone for thier support and feedback. Now comes the sending of many scripts to many theatres and contests and (oh please oh please oh please) maybe even a retreat to develop the series. I'm thinkin' upstate New York, Fallish...There's a place up there called Yadoo that takes playwriting teams, and another place that happens to be where Edna Millay lived for many years, and is named after her, so, yeah- I'll be doing some heavy mailings for a while. And I'm already itching to get started with the Dorothy Parker play. Hope is my favoritest thing.

bueller?

2005-01-07T17:57:00.000-08:00

You've had the play for a week.
You know who you are, people...
Gimme some comments.
Any comments.
Really.

misheard

2005-01-04T01:35:00.000-08:00

This morning on the way to work I was feeling rather effusive. Is that the right word? I was feeling like starting out on a new year, reinventing the disgruntled theatre employee into emerging playwright and creative hopefull. In the nick of time, as music often does, a song came on that didn't send me into the pits of despair-,not at all. It was a Depeche Mode song I rather like in a vague and nostalgic way (nostalgia not from me having actually been into DM, just having heard it rattling around in my mind somewhere in the random recollections of youth file)and I started to sing along. And it went a little somethin' like this-

"I don’t want to start any blasphemous rumours
But I think that god’s got a-"

and that's when it hit me. The lyric that I always silently sang as
"sixth sense of you"

is in all actuality-

"sick sense of humor"

The rest remains the same-

"And when I die I expect to find him laughing"

It really set the mood for the rest of my day, even though I'm pretty much an athiest/Discordian.

All I can say is "Hail Eris."

Welcome, 2005. I expect you to keep me much more amused that 2004.
Unless I heard you wrong.

a good thing

2004-12-21T01:12:00.000-08:00

I've decided that I have been complaining entirely too much in this blog, and in my life. So here's something that makes me smile- the play Brandy and I have been concocting will be done by New Years. I'm taking volunteers to read it and give feedback- any takers? Happy Holidays to everyone, and much love.

work rant

2004-12-12T13:56:00.000-08:00

Work is stressing me out. What I thought would be a nice part-time job has turned into an unofficial full-time clusterfuck. I won't bore you with all of the details, but basically:

1) The box office manager is leaving in two weeks and I can't blame her. No one knows how the ticket system is set up, and there will be no forseeable time for her to train anyone fully, as we have a very popular show up right now, with its own set of difficulties. I'm afraid they are suspecting I (or my lovely co-worker, hired the same day as I) will step into her job, which includes nights and weekends.

2) Besides helping out in the box office and learning payroll and accounts payable, I have been handed the task of researching, fixing, and placating a list of subscribers whose subscriptions and method of payments have been lost in the ether, and are understandably pissed off. Fun times.

3) The development director is also leaving in two weeks, and I don't think anybody really knows how she has organized her office, or the extent of the work she does. She has been there 3 years or so and knows everyone in the community. Hard to fill her shoes, and her shoes fill our bank accounts.

4) Within the new two weeks I am supposed to help change over our accounting system software, which will include re-entering every single employee and vendor file, and all of our accounts and other fianancial info.

5)The two people who seem to think that everything will work out fine (read: they are either blissfully ignorant, or far more insane than they actually appear) are (recently) married to one another. And they are both born in the Year of The Monkey. Yeah, that's what I'm saying.

Suffice it to say, I am a wreck. I thought I had some kind of kidney infection, because of a strange pain I have in my back, etc. and got on antibiotics for it. Now they aren't seeming to work and I wonder if it is actually a pinched nerve. Either way, I blame the theatre. I look back on the days when I used to work as a volunteer board memeber for a non-profit theatre, as well as work full-time in sales. Sure I was busy, and it could be stressful. Some times I resented the fact thet all of my creativity was going into other people's productions. But I could shelve that, considering I also put up my own productions there, too, and had the opportunity to design, to act, to direct, to mentor, to....make art.

And now, I suppose I am still helping to make art, but I am not using any of my creativity in it. All of these niggling details just suck, but they are teaching me alot about how to set things up in a theatre. I am going to grit my teeth and deal with it for as long as I can. Thank god I have a play to work on right now, and maybe the fact that I am not using my imagination during the daytime makes me all the more apt to use it in my writing.

Deep breath......

look what i can do

2004-12-08T01:18:00.000-08:00

My honey showed me how to put links on my blogsie. Actually, he did it all, and I watched. But anyway, now I can show you a nice lady who found me in this strange land: Tammy You should look up her art gallery, and check it out! Also, the regular band of misfits are now included under my "Blogsies" list. Woo hoo!

frenchfrydippedinvodka-yeah!

2004-12-07T21:37:00.000-08:00

The following discussion has been reconstructed from several e-mails. MM is the source of this fascinating topic. TM is yours truly, and ML is known as the Tater Tot Queen of Ohio. Feel free to contribute your thoughts on this fascinating topic in your comments.

--------

MM: I have a very important thing I need your insight on concerning rock
and the western world. It has been said that France has never produced
a great rock band. You and I may have discussed this in the past. I
continue to ponder this deep question and need your guidance and
mentorship in my ruminations-- some things have come up:

TM: Ok, I’ll do my best.

ML: Always keep in mind that everyone else in the world has some sort of inferiority complex when it comes to France. Everything France has done is ignored and what they haven't done (or seem not to have done) is made fun of. Not that I'm some sort of rabid francophile, I'm just trying to throw out some perspective on the situation.

A. can Sterolab be considered French?

TM: Their label is UK. But that could just be a cover, considering the whole stigma with France and popular music and all. I'd probably do the same, if I were French and trying to make music.

ML:You know, I think they're from Quebec or Montreal, so that depends on yr view. They'd probably say yep, we're french, but the rest of the world would say give it up, yr canadian. Can we consider them french for this argument? Sure, fine by me!

A1. if so, Sterolab is great but, as great as the Beatles or U2 or
Sonic Youth or the Velvet Underground or The Stone Roses? Eh...? There
are doubts.

TM:Yeah, they are cool as all get out, but they're not tremendously accessible. I think, in most cases, to rock one needs to be understood by a larger audience. For instance, Bobby Conn often rocks out, but for such a select audience, that he and the Glass Gypsies cannot technically be construed as "rockers." I think.

ML:Hmmm, that's a good argument. In my opinion, there are several types ofrock music": Beatles rock (pop rock), Rolling Stones rock(blues-influenced pop rock), Black Sabbath rock (blues-influenced "heavy"rock), and Velvet Underground rock (avant-garde "noise" rock). In order of rocking (with the first rocking the least and last rocking the most), I'd rate them as Velvet Underground, Beatles, Rolling Stones, Black Sabbath. Sure, there are plenty of times that these all morph, and the lines aren't super clean, but in general, that's how I look at the world of "rock". So to answer, I'd say that Stereolab is a great band in the VelvetUnderground/Beatles rock morphed line that really makes quality music(inventive, interesting, creative, and melodical), but that no, they'renot as good as the above 4. They haven't altered the face of rock music in the same way as the above 4.

A2. Also, if Stereolab were qualified as great, arguably it is not so
because they _rock_ but because their music is pretty. So would it
really count?

TM: Nope. See above.

ML:Well, that's true. Since Stereolab doesn't fall into a seriously “rocking" category, I don't think they really count as a rocking band. Oh, and I'm counting "rocking" as generally being played with typical instruments (guitar, bass, drums), all of which are played with a lot of oomph. Makes you want to bang yr head, reaches some primal instinct, makes you want to grab the lead singer (or bassist, or guitarist, or drummer, whatever your pick is at that moment) and get down and dirty. That's rock in my book.Stereolab, while super awesome, does not make you want to do any of that. Sure, the girls are cutie pies, but they don't drive you insane with raw desire, ya know?

B. my new coworker Amanda noted that Italy has never produced a great
rock band either. (I countered that they produced Sophia Loren, which
is the equivalent, but she rightly pointed out that Ms Loren does not
and has never to our knowledge publicly strapped on a a guitar and
leather pants and produced the earsplitting sonic glory that comprises
"rock.")

TM:http://www.scaruffi.com/history/italian.html There are no Italian rockers of note, as demonstrated by this website. At least no one in the US knows about them. No one anywhere. I'd like to hear some Italian punk rock. It should be pretty hilarious- and probably really misogynistic. Whee!

ML:Although the Sophia Loren counter was a good one (that lady is so gorgeous and hot, nobody else even comes close. Well, except maybe Anjelica Huston, but she's gotten hotter as she's gotten older and Sophia has just stayed hot. But that's another topic for another day.) it's true that Italy doesn't really rock. Maybe France & Italy have spent so much attention to gorgeous art/architecture/etc that they haven't had time to rock?

B1. Concerning France and perhaps also Italy: could it be that there
is an inverse relationship between the rockingness of a country and
its food and wine quality? (for more discussion on this point see
section C, subsection 2)

TM:I think you’re on to something here.

ML:This is a great theory. In fact, I think there might be some truth to that. Rock doesn't make you want to drink fancy wine, it makes you want to drink whiskey right from the bottle. Or the flask you snuck into the show with you. (Ah the good old days!) Maybe we can say that the better your food, the less you need to seduce with rocking music?

C. Perhaps the real issue at hand is obscured by the perspective from
which it is considered. Maybe the pith of it is not so much which
European countries "cannot" rock, but rather, we could focus on the
disproportionality of the solid rocking in the US, the UK, and
Ireland. And, ok, occasionally Canada. What accounts for the
disproportionality?

TM:Perhaps it has something to do with genetics, or lifestyle. Or perchance vodka? More on potatoes and derivatives of them later.

ML:Again, I'm going to throw the food card. For example, Italy, France, and Spain have fucking awesome food and wine, but don't seem to rock. And The eastern block countries don't seem to have much good food or rock (vodka aside, of course, when was the last time you had a killer eastern block country meal or drink?), so maybe that adds to the theory.

C1. Concerning Canada: Some may argue that Alanis Morisette, Celine
Dion, and Bryan Adams negate any claim to Canadian Rockability, but
my own contention would be that America too would have its Rock
Quotient severely lowered if we were deducting points for unrocking
acts. We all know that America, for all its other flaws---and perhaps
because of those flaws--- rocks indubitably, and therefore I argue, a
system of measuring rockingness which deducts for de-meritorious
faux-rock is invalid in determining the rockingness, absolute or
relative, of a country.

TM:http://www.canadianbands.com/bios_1d.html Go here- the music is- something. So, Neil Young is from Canada, which is good. But he doesn't always rock. Same for The Bare Naked Ladies. Same for RUSH, although they did attempt to. I've thought about it for a minute, and I think that the artists you mention above really do negate much of Canada's rockworthiness- in my estimation. And when you add Anne Murray to the scales, the balance is forever tipped. While your theory would hold true if Canada had even a single undeniably rocking band ever come out of it, as far as I can tell, it hasn't. Oh, and- um-Supertramp. That's all I'm saying. But you should run this all past Leeann (our token Canadian friend, who does rock.)

ML:Celine Dion ruins all music, so I think it's perfectly okay to claim That she ruins Canada's claims on rock. I mean, I saw her cover AC/DC at some VH-1 show last year, and it was so un-rocking it hurt. How the hell can you make AC/DC not rock? Well, she did it. And with that, she took away any balls with which Canada had to rock. There you have it: Celine Dion castrated Canada.

C2. Considering the question from the perspective proposed above, one
notices certain cultural ties of western countries which seem,
consistently, to rock. Notably: the presence of the English language
as the dominant language, democracy and a roughly two-party system,
and a high incidence of beer over wine drinking. In addition, it seems
that the countries which rock most have abominable diets consisting
largely of fried, greasy, bland foods, and lots of potatoes.

TM:All true, all true. (But I still think genetics may be at play. After all, many Canadians are French, and have a hard time rocking.) I think perhaps grease, hops, potatoes, and vodka may have untold effect on our rockers. Perhaps it is a chain reaction. The 2 party system breeds complacency, which prohibits culinary experimentation. Bland food then causes whiteys to drink until they pass out. Upon awakening, only grease and more alcohol will take away the hangover. A sense of futility and frustration ensues, causing the need to rock. In other European countries, dinner is varied, celebrated, and late. There is no time or need to rock.

ML:This is an interesting argument. I think you might have something here. Maybe we can carry that theory even further and say that the more refined your food choices (wine, cheese, pastries), the less you need to rely on the primal instincts that rock drives out to seduce? Because pretty much everything boils down to sex: you join a band to get laid, and you serve a tasty meal to get laid. So maybe the better your food, the less you need music to reel 'em in.

Tifanie, I have never been to Europe, so, can you contribute any
insight from what you've experienced there? Also, is there any insight
to be gained by widening the scope of the analysis to non-western
countries which seem to rock, or are starting to show promising signs
of rock, such as Japan, Mexico, India, and the states formerly known
as the USSR? My hunch is that English will not much longer be the
language of rock and that there is no link between rockingess and the
language spoken by the populace (though spoken German, clearly unfit
for music of any kind, may be a possible anomaly or outlier. Also, it
seems to me that Germans do actually rock in spite of this fact).

TM:Well, there was no rocking going on in Italy or France. People like local electronic dance music, or the same American pop that pervades our airwaves over here. Pop saturation. There are a lot of local ballads, and a lot of electronic music in malls and elevators. They seem more willing to let genres rub shoulders with one another. I did not witness any French mullets, or other examples of music influenced fashion, except for hip-hop. Hip-hop is everywhere, along with baggy pants. French rap is funny. I know nothing of Mexican Rock, or states formerly know as the USSR rock. But I have a feeling that Russians could rock- potato factor- and the same for the Germans. Does strife = rock? Is rock only born of struggle? Maybe, but so was reggae. Hmm. African revolutionary music is still quite melodic and beautiful. This is obviously a cultural difference, because their music is very participatory, especially vocally. As for Japan, I have heard some kick ass rock, but a good deal of it is in English. I think that Japanese rock, and much of Japanese culture, is so heavily influenced by the states that English will continue to dominate in it. I think until Americans start learning other languages as often as people from other countries do, a lot of foreign rock will still be performed in English.

ML:From what I know, there are actually a lot of super-rock (type 4) bandsfrom Germany and the USSR areas. I think one of the only actual satanic metal bands in the world is from Germany (I can't remember their name, but I know they were banned from playing for a while because of some murders or something, it was pretty gross and bizarre), and I know that there's a metal band from the USSR area that's pretty big in some circles. Maybe warmer climates (Mexico, India) aren't as conducive to rock? And again, Mexican and Indian cuisine is fucking tasty, so that might further thegood-food-trumps-rock theory.

I am intrigued by the pervasiveness hops, potatoes, and grease in
countries which rock, coupled with the relatively low consumption of
alcoholic beverages derived from grapes... India and the former Soviet
states also consume a lot of potatoes, I believe. The Japanese eat
potatoes as well, though I am not sure they are a staple of the diet
there... do you think this "beer/vodka and fries/chips" idea is a
promising direction to explore? Vodka is derived from potatoes...

TM:I do think it hold promise. But I think there could be some kind of genetic thing going, too.

ML:Okay, so I think maybe the potato is the key! Potatoes = rock. There just isn't any other explanation. Of course, if we throw rap and hip-hop into the mix, what will we find? I'm not sure I have the concentration to think about that right now, but it's a good one to ponder.

el mano

2004-12-02T16:41:00.000-08:00

I was driving home a different way then I usually do, and it made me think of my friend Gabe, who is in Japan and who I miss lots. He and I had a talk once about how the first thing he likes to do when he moves somewhere is to drive absolutely everywhere to see how everything connects. While I think that is cool as hell, I am totally different. The way I expand into my environment is incremental, and on a need to know basis. My mental map of my location is sketchy at best, with a few fingers of knowledge jutting out from the palm of my homebase. Large black areas surround these points of experience, and I guess I like it that way. When I light up a few more points on the grid, it is good, but I enjoy the mystery of unknown possibilities. I am sure Gabe is mapping every nook and cranny in Japan that he can, and it makes me smile to think on it.

Speaking of hands, driving and smiling, I am not smiling about the fact that my friend Brandy had a stupid NM driver get airborne in her immediate vicinity, breaking bones in her right hand and wrist, not to mention totalling her vehicle. To break one's right hand is not good, especially for a journalist and my play writing partner, but I am glad she is not more seriously hurt. When she and I lived in NY state, she accidentally put that same hand through a window, and has scars in the same places she reinjured. I told her I think her hand is trying to save her life somehow. Please think warm thoughts for her quick recovery.

justification for a mistake

2004-11-29T19:28:00.003-08:00

Mine is not a mind for
Things that make sense
The mathematic equation,
Or steps to a dance, let’s say
If given a chance to choose right or left
I can’t help but to flip the wrong way
If my intuition is counter-intuitive
Well, I can’t find a person to blame.

Mine is not a head for
Numbers and plans
And I never got much past 2-D
If I can put it on backwards, I will
But sometimes it looks better to me
So if I can’t make the same recipe twice
Next time will still turn out
More or less nice.

Mine is not the temper
For symbols and code.

But my own secret language
Is precious
And old.

food coma

2004-11-28T19:53:00.000-08:00

That's what I entered this weekend. I just might not come out of it. We had houseguests, and made our first Thanksgiving meal. It wasn't very hard, actually, and everything was muy delicioso. Plus german spice cookies and pumpkin pie for dessert. Friday was New Mexican for lunch (just before Terri and I went to the top of the courthouse for a look at the city. I don't think I've ever seen a more gorgeous Mediterranean stlye view. 70 degrees in November, to boot) and fresh seafood by the water for dinner. Yesterday we all went to Goleta, which is a ridiculous little Danish style town a bit north of here, where it rained while I had ableskiver with rasberry jam and sausages, and then we all had some totally uneccessary walnut fudge, and went wine tasting in the Santa Ynez Valley. Last night was this kick-ass Santa Barbara restaurant called The Palace, where I indulged further in crawfish etouffee and some cajun cocktails. This afternoon, Sam and I went for another round of the turkey and trimmings. And I'm hungry again. Burrito time. I am the picture of gluttony, and I like it. Can anyone top my list of indulgences? I'd love to hear about your holiday treats.

I survived Horror Camp 2004!

2004-11-23T15:20:00.000-08:00

I call it "Horror Camp" for several reasons:

1) It involved cabins.

2) Said cabins were part of numerous horror movies.
http://www.zacalakeretreat.com/history.htm

3) The experience was both hilarious and horrible, but mostly the latter.

About two weeks ago, I saw an ad for tv interns, including actors. However, when I called, they didn't need any more actors, they needed costume help, PA's, and grips. I offered to help wherever needed, but figured I'd end up in costumes, especially since they were going to film in 2 weeks and had only JUST gotten a costumer. This should have been my first clue that all was not quite right with this "production".

My 2nd clue should have been the 2 rehearsals I attended- both of which were in smelly hospital conference rooms, by the way. I was told I should watch a rehearsal, but was then unable to due to the fact that the poor costumer and I had to hang out in the hallway cutting and sewing costume pieces all night. The costumer was supplying a number of pre-made costumes, and the director had some, but neither the costumer nor I were ever given a cast of characters or a real list of who was wearing what or when. Or a script, for that matter. Nada. Ok, let's sew some shit.

3rd clue- the PM was 15 years old. It was her first time being a production manager and although ambitious, she had no idea what we were about to embark upon. I don't think any of us did. From what the producer told me briefly, the production company was founded on the idea of getting Santa Barbara area actors a vehicle where they could be showcased. The vehicle in question is a fantasy tv series (ala LOTR, but not any good, I think) that they hope to shop around. The actors paid a very reasonable fee for acting lessons along the way, which partially would fund the production. The actors and mostly volunteer crew would earn points which would translate to cash if the series got picked up. Not a terrible idea, right?

Now, trust me, I have been a part of some very very low budget productions before, and I have worked with many disorganized creative types. Heck, sometimes I'm even one of them. But this, this was to be an epic clusterfuck.

Saturday morning, I'm supposed to get a ride to be at the 2nd day of shooting for a 6:30 AM crew call. There's no way I want to drive from location to location in unfamiliar mountain terrain, especially with my terrible night-blindness-thingie. But I never get a call from the PM, the director, or the producer. Ok, maybe I'm off the hook. Perhaps in the chaos I have simply been forgotten? Nope. At about 10:30 AM, the director calls me, saying she has found me a ride, and can I please come up and do makeup as well as costumes, as their make-up person flaked?

Cool, sure. I was hoping to learn how to do some grip work, but whatever. I ride up with a nice young actor named Ryan to the first location, off of Paradise Road. We are at the director's boyfriend's home, filming a few scenes in his backyard, which is lovely. But I find out that the costumer is not going to be present at the affair until Monday, and that I am the only person doing costumes and make-up for the next two days. Should be interesting.

I ascertain that the 15 year old PM went home in frustration the night before, after taking the brunt of the justifiable abuse from 15 extras at Knapp's Castle, who were not fed, and had no shelter from the wicked cold. Kind of explained why she never found me a ride, I guess. The shooting was apparently 6 hours behind schedule the first night, and the Producer's van broke down on Highway 154 with most of the costumes inside it. Which means I don't have all of the costumes I need for the scenes scheduled to shoot, and the Producer is AWOL. Ok, now I am wishing I had driven after all, because I would have turned my ass around at this point.

Several hours later, after dressing and applying make-up to several actors, including the director's lovely but cranky children, who were being used in the episode, the Producer finally arrives with the costumes. We have about 10 minutes to dress a fairy and a wood nymph. I got to do the fairy, and did what I could with the materials at hand. She looked pretty good. Suddenly the wood nymph says,
"Ow, that's getting in my eye!" I look over and the Producer is applying green glitter craft glue to the poor girl's eye area. Ok. I step in and do what I can, and the scene gets shot. The poor wood nymph is "dressed" in skimpy panties, chemise, and some garlands of flowers, and the sun is going down. Yeah, a little cold. Plus all of the guys were unabashedly ogling her butt. At about 7, they finally bring out a bit of food, but not everyone is able to eat before we are heading off to Zaca Lake, for some night shots.

I won't get too into it, but the road was full of giant water filled ruts and numerous bears, one of which we nearly ran over. The shoot went on until about 3 AM in the dark and cold, with not even coffee or water for the cast and crew. The PM showed back up and did her best, but there was no prop master or set up crew or script advisor or Anything, so she and the director couldn't do much to get things set up in a timely manner. The tech crew mostly quit the project that night, as well as the leading actor and the PM. The arguments between those remaining went on until 6 AM. In my cabin, by the way, which I was also sharing with the director, her sick and surly kids, the producer, the PM, and one of the actors. Good times.

But it wasn't over. Suprisingly, the lead actor decided to stay until the next day, 1/2 of the crew came back, and the producer made sure we got some adequate food this time. The shooting only went onto 9:30 because other guests and the management required us to stop. The night before we had perhaps disrupted a few people's sleep, it seems. Although conditions still sucked, the main crisis was over. People started actually talking to each other, instead of just screaming. After the shoot, I helped Ryan celebrate his 21st B-day with some much needed vodka, and later talked with the Director and Producer in our cabin until about 2 AM. They were actually both good people, just terribly disorganized. I got to learn way too much personal information about both of them that night, as well as all of the dirt on the crew and actors. As ever, I was Camp Counselor.

They next day I pretty much filled in as PM for the Director, and we went back to the original location to finish up a few shots. I rode with the director and she and I did nearly everything, as the Producer could not get out of bed, and the poor crew and actors needed some rest. It was still cold, the food wasn't great, and people were tired. The extras waited around for hours. There were sound equipment problems. Since we had lost most of our equipment when the crew bailed, we didn't have enough lights to do all of the scenes we needed, so a number of the actors wasted thier entire weekend. I got out of there about 7 last night, and have never in my life been so happy to leave somewhere.

But I learned alot about what not to do on a shoot this weekend. That a little appreciation goes a long way. That creature comforts can make or break a crew. I also learned that with little knowledge or resources, you actually can convince people to go into the woods and make a movie- for free! And maybe, just maybe, if you can get all of the elements together and talk a pretty game, you can make something decent that might go somewhere.

Will I work with any of them again? Maybe. But I'd need to be in charge, and it would have to be a script I wrote. I think this weekend also made me realize how much I miss wearing many artistic and organizational hats. And that maybe, I don't need to get pigeonholed in one area for the rest of my life. There are inept people everywhere that need my help, after all!

But first, I'll need a bit of sleep.