Monday, July 31, 2006

per our conversation, enclosed please find


For a long time it had seemed to me that life was about to begin — real life. But there was always some obstacle in the way. Something to be got through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid. Then life would begin. At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life.
- Fr. Alfred D'Souza

Saturday, July 29, 2006

technology is a funny thing


Have you ever had a moment where you flip through your own Flickr stream and think, "Hmm. I have a good life."?

It strikes me that I massacred the punctuation of that little note, but I'm not nerd enough to go MLAing for it right this moment - anyway, there's fresh-made tortilla chips in the oven and I've whipped up a batch of avocado salsa, so I'm not hangin' 'round.

Mm. Beer.

I miss you guys.

Thursday, July 27, 2006

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

I have GOT to get out of town.

It's been, now, officially, years since I've left the country. Yes. A plural of 'year'.

I. Have. Got. To. Go. Now.

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

no traveler returns


Today, I had another little reminder - I am going to die.

I don't want to. And it's not that undiscovered country that I'm afeared of - it's all the other undiscovered countries, within and outside of myself, that I don't want to miss.

It's the fear of a slow and steady decline. It's the fear of losing my physical faculties while my mind remains intact. It's the fear of becoming a burden - and then, suddenly, discovering that I can't take care of myself and that nobody else wants to do it. And that I won't want them to do it, either.

It's fear of pain that keeps going and going and nothing stops it.

It's fear that I will have put important, meaningful, necessary, dreamed-about things off for silly reasons, only to abruptly realize that the window to do those things has closed.

Fear of resentment, basically. Fear of the monumental beast that is my own resentment.

For now, my body is more or less whole. But I feel my own fragility today, like a tiny baby bird in cupped hands.

Monday, July 24, 2006

the week ends, the week begins


I.

Saturday found me in Santa Clarita, hangin' 'round Bear's feature set on Sable Ranch, an unimaginably crappy shooting ranch in Santa Clarita. His call time was 1pm, but it remained heart-stoppingly hot until after the sun went down. I chased some horses, traded stories with the crew, choked down some catering, and poked around the landscape for diversions.

I love the fact that everything that I do contributes to my work. Chasing Bear around town to his sets, exploring LA, seeing art, going to shows - it's all a contribution to my professional development.

But it's easy to forget how I'm quickly I'm professionally developing when I'm sitting on a lift gate, watching a showy sunset with a hand on my knee, swinging my feet above the dirt road, my senses full of warm-grass smells and walkie murmurs.

II.

Sunday started at Auntie Em's - there's nothing like farmer's-market scrambled eggs and cavernous-bebubbled toasts and endless mugs of organic coffee to start a fabulous weekend day. Suitably satisfied, we ambled over to bring carrots to my homeboy Minnesota at TES (as is becoming a weekendly habit) and picked up an accessory at the tack store that Bear ended up joyfully wielding for the rest of the day (leading to a bevy of raised eyebrows in a supermarket and at least one Starbucks.)

Then I learned how to smoke a cigar, emptied a bottle of excellent red wine, and dedicated the rest of the day to tandem langorousness.

They're just incomparably sweet, these moments that whizz by.

III.

He's swimming under a wide night sky and I'm perched at the edge of the pool, my submerged feet moving with the wave-borne rhythm of his strokes. With each perfect butterfly, a rivulet of silvery water pulls together between his shoulderblades, tracing the strong channel of his backbone along precisely the same line that I love to run my fingers.

He is a never-ending discovery; he is as fresh as that first nerve-stinging handshake even as he enfolds me with familiarity.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

This is not turning into a media review blog.


But, y'know, when something this good happens in the world of music video, I've just gotta share.

Not that you haven't seen it already, if you pay one lick of attention to the world of music video.

But nobody pays attention to the world of music video.

That's why I'm so comfortable here.

Yep.


A Softer World tickled my thinky bone this morning.

I do not feel well.

This is really too bad, since things are going really well and I'd love to be present in the moment to appreciate it. But whenever I return to the moment, I return to the headache and the iffy tummy.

Bleargh.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Monday, July 17, 2006

open your heart, catch my disease


I.

Yep, there are roadblocks. And speedbumps. And traffic. And, this weekend, sortof a police barricade. But somehow, with him, it's all just part of the adventure.

This is bragging, but hell. I mean, he sent me a postcard. At work. From our apartment, five miles away.

He comes with me to witness really, really atrocious Shakespeare in the Park. I mean, Shakespeare so terrible that everyone is wearing a different period costume (from Civil War to 1920's plaid, no joke) - and one dude is even wearing a laptop case on stage. But we're under a blanket and he's hand-feeding me sushi and uproariously MST3King the whole thing to the point I can hardly bite the laughter back. So we give up on it after we finish the bottle of Hatcher Tempranillo and trundle across the lawn to look out over the water, and I'm tucked away again in those immense arms as the ("matches-my-hair") orange sun slides back into the ocean.

II.

So I'm reviewing this weekend's crop of promotional CD's, and I found a gem in an utterly unlikely place - the soundtrack for John Tucker Must Die, which is by all appearences yet another 30-year-olds-playing-18-year-old-high-school-douchebags-on-the-prowl-for-validation-and-sex-not-necessarily-in-that-order piece of atrociously-written schlock. There, tucked away in the middle tracks, appears a Ben Lee cover of Modest Mouse's 'Float On'. And it's great - playful and brainy and lovable, right down to the hiccup at the bridge.

I'm becoming a bigger and bigger fan of Ben Lee (a fella I once knew only as "that funny-lookin' guy who used to date the My So-Called Life chick.") This love affair began, for all intents and purposes, as a direct response to this dare-you-not-to-smile music video. He's continued to win me over with the way he never fails to wrap a little envelope of humour around his lyrics before he delivers them. Really, the new record is quite worth a listen.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

i'm a real live girl.


...and i've finally decided to enjoy it. Less jeans, more skirts. Less clogs, more heels.

I picked up the perfect scootering-though-northern-Italy skirt at Buffalo Exchange this weekend, which is inspiring me to do just that.

And, when I've managed to square a few things, I'm fairly sure that I'll be finding this and some of these in my future.

cold, wet, and barely legal


I.

Last night, we explored our new playground - our city, under a mantle of harvest moon, all twinkly and full of treats.

We somehow ended up facing the formidable Dorothy Chandler Pavilion fountain, and I said we ought to come back some night in our bathing suits - to which Bear responded, "Um, are you wearing anything particularly valuable right now?"

Before I know it, I'm squealing bloody murder as we're racing through the spray with all our clothes on, getting soaked to the bone under the disinterested gaze of a bicycle cop.

Every moment is important.

II.

I'm making a conscious effort to own my actions - to own my motivations and speak to them, because when I externalize those impulses and point elsewhere, I always end up feeling unfulfilled.

There's somebody inside of me that I'm trying to get to know better, 'cause she's great. She's above the posturing; she's above the flashing teeth. She understands that her needs are simpler than the world insists. She's enveloped by a sense of trust - not out of blindness, either, but out of confidence and fierce love. She takes care of herself in a way that eliminates resentment. She knows that toughness and strength are not the same thing.

She's sorta hard to pin down, but I've left word and am hoping to hear back soon.

I never get what I want when I don't swallow my bullshit and just spit out what's really going on, no matter how I'm judging myself for the feeling.

And I want you to know how deeply grateful I am that you stand willing to accept my truth, though I blush and stammer, just as you take my hand and put it firmly in yours when I'm reeling off the leash.

Monday, July 10, 2006

a lot of love and compliance


I.

I'm not sure where this falls on the brave/stupid spectrum, but I did something very out-of-comfort-zone yesterday. I drove out to Zuma Canyon and did the entire route on my own - complete with scrambling, grappling, leaping, wading, and sometimes swinging from rock to rock.

I was very nervous about this. There are a lot of variables out there. It's miles off-trail. The creek - and its shore, where there is one - was teeming with watersnakes and big ol' honkin' spiders (I am a fairly dedicated arachnophobe) and poison plants, and the rocks themselves are none too safe to go scrambling around on without someone to count on. I told one person where I was, but he's never been there; there are no real landmarks, and it'd take forever to find me if I needed it.

But I did it anyway.

And it was good.

I mean, I banged up my knee a bit - but it was worth it to see just how fast I could go (quite admirably fast, I'm happy to report). And to hang out with a many-spotted bullfrog, which was the size of a kitten and flirted amiably as it swam around the choice real estate of its beautiful little waterfall.

II.

I'd have an easier time finding the rhythm of my own proprietary space if everyone hadn't disappeared so fast, I think. I didn't have time to make peace with my own company. But I'm beginning to. And building anew. Again. Like breadmaking - you have to let it rise, or it comes out all flat at the end and you're sorry you didn't take the time to do it correctly.

Soon, I believe I will find ways of dealing with the sound of my own thoughts that don't involve taking four NyQuil and tucking myself in at 9pm.