Every Time a Bell Rings...

My sister is downstairs poking out "Joy the the World" on the piano keys and I can hear my dad growling in his best Jimmy Stewart voice, "Does she have to keep playing that over and over?" Right on cue my sister wails, "Oh Daddy!"


Love 'em.

Currently To Read:

Two Years Before the Mast, R. H. Dana
Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov
Proust and the Squid, Maryanne Wolf
The Stranger, Albert Camus
The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck

Travels in Europe

Lately I've come to think Rick Steves may just be the perfect man.

Yes, Rick Steves of the khaki shorts and huge glasses - who nasally imparts travel wisdom like "packing light is essential for happy travel" and "to get away from all the tourists, simply walk the back streets."

Think about it: he'd probably pay your airfare, teach you all kinds of money-saving tips, know all the best attractions, and introduce you to someone in every country.

Plus, those big ol' glasses are unfortunately back in style.

Nice Thanksgiving playing with the last few Polaroid exposures and mauling the bambino.

Isn't my sister glamourous?

Playing hide-and-seek with his dad.

Ghost Town

It's raining in San Luis Obispo.

I got caught in it trying to walk downtown from Emily's house in De Talosa. At first it was just a few drops speckling my coat as I walked along Madonna, but by the time I'd reached South Higuera, water was dripping off my bangs onto my glasses - turning the traffic lights into festive smears of red and green. I finally reached my destination soaking wet, ringing out my scarf as the good folks as Linnaea's warmed my heart with espresso. Coffee shops were made for days like this; groups of friends chatting over tea lattes while the rain pours down on the grey city and Frank Sinatra croons over the speakers.

I can't help wondering when I'll be back here. But the town is different now, emptier - although I know the void is a lack of friendship and not a lack of humans. Everywhere I see shiny young faces, boring in their unfamiliarity. Driving at midnight the streets are empty.

This empty shell of a town isn't mine anymore, and like Mary Poppins would say, that's as it should be.

I Hate You, Urban Outfitters

It was just a matter of time before word of my (one time) unique necklace reached the head honchos over at Urban Outfitters...


boo.

No matter where I am or what I'm doing, every once in a while I remember, we have a new President. And I can't help smiling.

One of the French guys who own the wine-tasting business next to my work had a baby on the 4th. "I don't know which I cried harder for," he says, "my son, or the election." A new country, a new child, a new life for Luc.

Our regulars have been especially lovely lately. A man offered to nurse our poor bald orchid back to health today. After he had a triple by-pass surgery recently, everyone sent him orchids and he found that the notoriously finicky plants flourished under his care. The secret, he tells me, is to avoid watering it too much. "They don't like standing water."

Honestly, I may miss these people more than a little. The familiar faces break up the workday and provide a short respite from the fake customer service shtick. There's Stan, the lonely middle-aged man with a bull-ring piercing, whose lifelong partner died ten years ago, leaving him a priceless art collection and rare Marlene Dietrich memorabilia; Jonnie, who calls me sweetie and brings me flowers from her community garden plot; and who could forget Charlie, the early 40-something chainsmoking poet with the soul of an ADD five-year-old who works as a clerk in an office to pay for his $400/month shared room but who lives to somehow involve himself in everything else in the city, from radio to making anthologies, to acting in independent movies.

What an interesting time we live in.

A Hell of a Town

I'm in Chelsea, in New York, in a hostel, eating a Whole Foods salad (in which I kind of wish I hadn't included dried cranberries), with five minutes and fifteen...fourteen seconds left of internet time left.

Today I:

Saw the Statue of Liberty from the subway (how is that possible? It goes over a bridge to Brooklyln).

Fell in love with Brooklyn brownstone neighborhoods, with pumpkins on the front steps and leaves piled up on the sidewalks.

Went to a Brooklyn flea market and found the cowboy boots I've been searching for for years (for $25! No one here wears them).

With just a minute left (I'm slow), I'll just say that I'm off to the Upright Citizen Brigade show tonight (impov w/ Amy Poehler!). Love you.

Pearls of Wisdom

"Take my advice: don't do heroine.
Just smoke pot,
and beat off about three times a week."
--Toothless middle-aged man chugging champagne on the Muni.

It's no argument that San Francisco is one of the weirdest places I have ever been. My roommate and I attribute the strange behavior we see to the lack of peer judgement. Everyone is so out there that after a while, you stop listening to the old man screaming "Fuck you all! I'm going to kill you all!" on the Muni and don't bat an eye when a middle-aged drag queen with sequins stuck to her face asks you where she can buy pot. And so life goes on; and people continue limping through the daily races. It should be liberating to know you can do anything (and I mean anything) and not be judged, but it's not; it's heart-achingly lonely.

Happy Birthday To Me!

Twenty-four.

Here's something that made me smile this morning:

Ok, "smile" is a bit euphemistic. "Squeal, laugh, and say 'awwww!!!!'" is more like it. My cousin's baby already has a Halloween costume; I need to get thinking of one for when I'm in New York! All my good ideas involve me in drag (Marty McFly, anyone?). Why are boys' costumes so much cooler? I refuse to be a slutty nurse/red riding hood/maid/bumble bee...

I had some deep birthday thoughts this morning, but they have unfortunately been replaced by thoughts of PANCAKES (my roommate is taking me out for brunch).

Much love.

Hard Candy Christmas

Like the geese, I'm heading South for the winter.

Hey, maybe I'll dye my hair

Maybe I'll move somewhere

Maybe I'll get a car

Maybe I'll drive so far

They'll all lose track.

Me, I'll bounce right back

Maybe I'll sleep real late

Maybe I'll lose some weight

Maybe I'll clear my junk

Maybe I'll just get drunk on apple wine.

Me, I'll be just

Fine and dandy

Lord, it's like a hard candy Christmas

I'm barely getting through tomorrow

But still I wont let

Sorrow bring me way down

Hey, maybe I'll learn to sew

Maybe I'll just lie low

Maybe I'll hit the bars

Maybe I'll count the stars until dawn

Me, I will go on

Maybe I'll settle down

Maybe I'll just leave town

Maybe I'll have some fun

Maybe I'll meet someone

And make him mine.

Can you tell I've been listening to the 8-album Dolly Parton CD my co-worker made for me? Good times.

Poetry Friday

You Reading This, Be Ready

Starting here, what do you want to remember?
How sunlight creeps along a shining floor?
What scent of old wood hovers, what softened
sound from outside fills the air?

Will you ever bring a better gift for the world
than the breathing respect that you carry
wherever you go right now? Are you waiting
for time to show you some better thoughts?

When you turn around, starting here, lift this
new glimpse that you found; carry into evening
all that you want from this day. This interval you spent
reading or hearing this, keep it for life -

What can anyone give you greater than now,
starting here, right in this room, when you turn around?

- William Stafford

A Query

Is it possible to think about exes without getting physically sick to your stomach?
Tell me, what's the secret? I'd really like to know...

And in unrelated news, I've finally found a church I can believe in:
http://www.theway.org/Current/Mar07/Mar07Flash4.htm
They know the way to my heart is jazz squares and catchy showtunes.

Bright Lights, Big Hair

It's like in a Hitchcock movie, you know,

where they tie you up in a rubber bag

and throw you in the trunk of a car.

You find people.

--Corky St. Clair, "Waiting for Guffman"

A couple weeks ago, a random customer came into my work and asked me if I wanted to be a hair model for her senior show. When I agreed, I didn't know it was going to be a runway show with costumes, professional makeup, etc.

...and look what they did to my hair! It was HUGE!

This Little Piggy Went Shopping

Ugh. I just threw up a little. Hello, PETA? I'm guessing this is some type of commentary on designer brands and greed / Western consumerism / blah blah. Conveying a message through "art" is fine, but dang, let these little piggies stay home!

Get Me Away from Here, I'm Dying

With a winning smile, / The boy with naivety succeeds / At the final moment, I cry / I always cry at endings.

Generation Gap

I think old people are full of shit.

Shit = cliches. Don't get me wrong, I like old people more than most. I'm obsessed with the lifestyle and intricacies of their past. I love their stories, their homespun grit, the way they go to restaurants as a couple and always order the same thing. But I've never heard anything ground-breaking from their wrinkled lips. I love and respect them, but sometimes respect means smiling and nodding your head at a piece of advice so cliched it's become meaningless.

Marriage advice: "Don't go to bed mad!" / "Keep a sense of humor!"
Occupational advice: "Find something you love!" / "Never give up!"
Life advice: "Learning is a lifelong pursuit!" / "Never give up!"

Today was my favorite day of the month: free museum day. Former first Tuesdays have found me scrutinising Frida Kahlo's unibrow at SFMOMA and gaping over Dale Chihuly's candy-like glass sculptures at the de Young, but until today I had never been to The Legion of Honor way out in the very far Northwest corner of San Francisco.

"It's a miniature Louvre!" I thought to myself as I walked into the courtyard. The architecture, the miniature glass pyramid in the courtyard, all echoed the Parisian museum. Gorgeous. My sentiments were echoed by an elderly self-described "Latin American" gentleman who approached me as I was gazing at a 17th century armoir.

"Are you French?" he asked me out of the blue. I was very flattered, but soon my mind wandered when with no encouragement he started bragging about his son (architect, Harvard, Columbia, blah blah blah). I tilted my head and widened my eyes and said "wow" and other appropriate remarks. "I tell my son, 'Learning is a lifelong pursuit,'" he nodded, "Like this - this is learning, this is history." No shit, old man. When his soliloquy turned to politics ("Obama is a good speaker, but I don't think he has what it takes to run this country. But McCain is even worse! And if he dies that lady he chose will be president...") I bowed out as politely as possible. This is why I don't talk to strangers!

My point is that the only advice I've ever heard from the elderly are the things most people figure out by the time they're twelve. Maybe their words are more full of meaning than we hear, and they just have a limited vocabulary to express their wisdom. Or maybe we're just learning more at a younger age. I do believe "The Greatest Generation" (those who grew up during the depression and WWII) were the last decent generation, but their problems were simpler in those days. Makes me long for a time when a cliche could help me.

Full of Things I Want to Set on Fire

I'm gonna hopefully forget you
And quit those nightmares I've been having
Every night, every day, it's the same, so hard to explain
A million pounds won't be enough to make me stare back at your face
That's what I left behind.

CCS, "Left Behind"

(Photo credit: Kotama Bouabane)

At the desk where the boy sat, he sees the Chicago River.

It raises its hand.

It asks if a metaphor should burn.

--Bob Hicok, from "In Michael Robins's class minus one"