Ode to the Forgotten

At my internship about 15% of the work is copying or printing out galleys (basically, the book printed on 11x17 paper), filling out a form, and sending both to the Library of Congress - where the information will be registered. You know that page at the beginning of books that lists something like ISBN 978-1185733498. Travel > United States > Arizona > Grand Canyon. That's where they get that information to print in the book and keep on their files. Yesterday I printed out the galley for a book called Night Vision by Troy Paiva. It's a fascinating photography book of abandoned places in the Southwest. Check out the link to his website, Lost America under my links. Apparently Mr. Paiva is a leader in a movement called UrbEx, or Urban Exploration. These explorers seek out the forgotten, the deserted, the hauntingly decrepit places that were once full of life, but now lie silent. I became completely immersed in the book and read nearly the entire thing. The photographs were achingly lonely and made me want to steal a nice SLR and join the Urban Explorers pronto. It's so fascinating how nature reclaims these structures - left to their own devices like weeds. Plus, the idea of trespassing appeals to me. I remember when I was little reading in something like (but not necessarily) National Geographic, a story of the Salton Sea. It boomed as a lake resort in the '50s, but once it began to dry up, motels and gas stations were abandoned. The photographs gave me chills.

And so the mission to visit the Salton Sea, Bodie Ghost Town, etc, begins...once I get my camera, that is...

The Cave Mouth Shines by Pure Force of Will

In between paying off my student loan (Freudian slip - mistyped that as "load") and trying to find a gym (again, mistyped that as "guy") and applying to jobs, I forgot to be heartbroken. I don't know why I'm not sadder about breaking up with my first semi-serious boyfriend and constant companion since I moved here, but I'm not going to question it. I feel great, but there's also an overshadowing hesitancy that this could all come crashing down on my head at any moment. In the meantime, I will walk alone and explore and work at a radio station and maybe audition for a play and get a real job. Chronicle Books is hiring a publicity assistant and a marketing assistant and I'm going to apply for both this weekend.

This place is weird. I see transvestites and pimps (legit ones, if you can call pimps legit - not just frat boys dressing up for Halloween. I never knew people really dressed in those calf-length fur coats with a red-plumed hat) and human waste on the sidewalk walking back from work. Then again, today was strange in general. Once I got off the Muni the streets were nearly deserted compared to the normal 8:45am rush. Everyone is still savoring the plush glow of Christmas, I suppose, wrapped in a blanket watching new dvds or reheating a feast of leftovers that bloom deliciously from tinfoil buds.

I Wish My Smile Was Your Favourite Kind of Smile

There's a new trend, or maybe not so new trend, in English singers affecting a cockney London accent to appear more "common." I don't know if Kate Nash's is real or not, but I'm starting to love her. She's just so open and needy. I completely identify with it. Fine, I'm needy. I don't care. She looks like Jenny Lewis and is way cooler than Lily Allen. Take the following lyrics to "The Nicest Thing" - currently playing on repeat on my itunes. Isn't this exactly what every girl thinks? Some of us (unfortunately not me) are too grown up for sentimentality, but you know if you were thirteen you'd be listening to this and crying.

Kate Nash, The Nicest Thing

All I know is that you're so nice.
You're the nicest thing I've seen.
I wish that we could give it a go,
See if we could be something.

I wish I was your favourite girl.
I wish you thought I was the reason you are in the world.
I wish my smile was your favourite kind of smile.
I wish the way that I dressed was your favourite kind of style.

I wish you couldn't figure me out.
But you always wanna know what I was about.
I wish you'd hold my hand when I was upset.
I wish you'd never forget the look on my face when we first met.

I wish you had a favourite beauty spot
That you loved secretly
'Cause it was on a hidden bit
That nobody else could see.

Basically, I wish that you loved me.
I wish that you needed me.
I wish that you knew when I said two sugars,
Actually I meant three.

I wish that without me your heart would break.
I wish that without me you'd be spending the rest of your nights awake.
I wish that without me you couldn't eat.
I wish I was the last thing on your mind before you went to sleep.

Look, all I know is that you're the nicest thing I've ever seen
And I wish that we could see if we could be something.
Yeah I wish that we could see if we could be something.

The Luminous and the Dark

Are you what is called a lucky man? Well, you are sad every day. Each day has its great grief or its little care. Yesterday you were trembling for the health of one who is dear to you, today you fear for your own; tomorrow it will be anxiety about money, the next day the slanders of a caluminator, the day after the misfortune of a friend; then the weather, then something broken or lost, then a pleasure for which you are reproached by your conscience or your vertebral column; another time, the course of public affairs. Not to mention heartaches. And so on. One cloud is dissipated, another gathers. Hardly one day in a hundred of unbroken joy and sunshine. And you are of that small number who are lucky! As for other men, stagnant night is upon them...

The true division of humanity is this: the luminous and the dark.

- Victor Hugo, Les Miserables

Gingerbread Outhouse

Laura, a former intern at Chronicle Books where I'm interning, invited me to a gingerbread decorating party today at the apartment of a friend of a friend. At first it sounded fun. Then, we were instructed to buy a gingerbread-house making kit and assemble it at home the night before. The kit I found was produced by the Wonka candy company (a corporation whose products, no matter how good, can't help being a set up for disappointment. The everlasting gobstoppers are not everlasting! Where's the soda that makes you float? Where's the tasty wallpaper?) and failed to include one of the walls. In an act that would impress any Cal Poly architecture major I moved the pieces around and improvised until I had constructed something that looked a little like a house and could stand on its own while the icing dried. George called it a gingerbread outhouse.

I'm a bit surprised how popular these parties are. This is the third gingerbread house decorating party I've gone to since I started college, but nothing prepared me for the lengths Becky, the girl hosting the party had gone. She had her apartment completely decorated, with a Christmas tree and a holiday collar on her cat. A video of a crackling fire was playing on her tv, and she had made dozens of different snacks (like bacon wraps, spinach filo puffs, sausage and cheese biscuits, crackers, and cookies). She offered us a choice of eggnog, mimosas, champagne, or hot apple cider. Even the tables were decorated with different gingerbread house photos she'd printed out glued to the tablecloths.

And everyone loved the gingerbread outhouse.

The World, in its Cold Way, Started Coming Alive

I know I'm supposed to post a new Christmas song today to keep things neat and orderly. I like neat and orderly - everything as it should be and out of mind. But I just can't. I don't feel neat and orderly. I feel dead and worn down. And I'm not even taking finals like most people I know. My roommate/landlord just sent me an email for a $112 utility bill this month, NOT split, and now that the anger has passed (I'm really only here half the week, while he sits here with all the lights on all day) I just want to lie on my bed and be emo and listen to The Mountain Goats. This music heals me in an inexplicable way. I know John Darnielle's voice is whiney and more talking than singing anyway. It's the way he lets small things touch his heart. I need people and influences in my life like that.

I miss having friends.
I miss George.
I miss Sarah.
I miss Emily.
I miss Brittany.
I miss Eric.
I miss riding my bike.
I miss $585 rent.
I miss Amy.
I miss Faith.
I miss Lana.
I miss Stephen.
I miss Arlo.
I miss my family and anyone I didn't mention yet, except for ex-boyfriends.
I miss feeling comfortable.

The Mountain Goats, "Woke Up New"

The Countdown Continues

As badly as I wanted the Liza Minneli / Alan Cumming version of "Baby, It's Cold Outside" for today's song, all the links to said song are disabled. You can still go listen to a sample on itunes, but I'm afraid that's as good as it's going to get (and oh, that would have been good, my friends).

In lieu of that treat, I have Jack Johnson's version of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. I actually really like this - Jack's bouncy, easy guitar works great with the tune, and he even adds another verse where the other reindeer apologize to Rudolph for not letting him play their reindeer games. Perfect.

It Don't Snow Here, It Stays Pretty Green

Today I realized it's the second day in December, and remembered that years and years ago I would have been opening the second little door in my cardboard advent calendar. They were the ones filled with tiny chocolates in vague Christmas shapes, like an elf or a boot. Those three weeks saw me waking up and rushing downstairs each day to check what the shape for the day would be. As more and more cardboard flaps opened, Christmas inched closer at an aggravating speed.

In honor of those days, I have a sort of musical advent calendar for you. Each day I'll try to post a new Christmas song (two today to catch up). Parents: to listen to the song, click the link. To save it to your computer, right click on the link and hit "save target as."

December 1: I'm starting off with my favorite so far. I discovered this beautiful Feist cover of "Lo, How a Rose E'er Blooming" and I can't stop listening to it. It's not one of those classic "get you in the holiday mood" songs, but it's so pure, and Leslie Feist's voice is perfect.

December 2: Another more sombre track, but this one I simply must include because of my undying affection for Meg Ryan's character in "You've Got Mail." In one scene she writes, "It’s coming on Christmas. They’re cutting down trees. Do you know that Joni Mitchell song? 'I wish I had a river I could skate away on'? Such a sad song! And not really about Christmas at all, but I was thinking about it tonight as I was decorating my Christmas tree, unwrapping funky ornaments made of Popsicle sticks..."