I forgot to include something in yesterday’s rant.
Without fail, all of the “non-real” jobs I’ve held in the past felt pretty fucking real to me.
From corporate coffee slinger to film executive, I’ve had my share of work experience over the course of my journey on the artist’s path.
I think as we ‘climb the ranks’ (in the working environment) we somehow forget that all jobs have their difficulties, their stresses, their unreasonable demands, hardships, and discomforts.
I observe. A lot.
I watch how we treat each other. I watch how suits treat baristas, servers, cashiers. I watch how executives treat executive assistants. I watch how management treats the workerbees.
I watch the dueling egos.
Most of the indie coffee houses out here now have a “no cell phone” policy. In other words, “If you’re too busy, too important, too 'above me', that you can't exude the common courtesy to look me in the eye and speak to me, then I’m not going to make your fucking 2% short vanilla latte.”
Good!
So, to conclude this “Real Job” morning-after breath, I invite you all to reexamine the way that you treat others in regards to your interactions with them while they are in their work environment (and of equal importance, I invite you to observe how others treat you while you are in your work environment. How do the two compare?)
Remember, we’re all just trying our best to survive.
And what we do to “make our living” is not how we live our lives, is not who we are.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
The "Real Job"
“The Real Job”: how I’ve grown to loathe this phrase.
Again, I intended to blog about something else today, but these three words have been surfacing a lot recently and I’ve gotta get em’ outta my system. Purge. Purge. Purge.
(I’ll do my best to not bare my fangs.)
I first started noticing it during our tenure with Front Row Productions. Our typical schedule had us flying around the country and working about 10-12 days a month. (This left plenty of time for writing.) However, in the busier stretches, as many of you know, we would be home in Seattle 4-5 days a month if we were lucky.
----------------------------
A snapshot:
-18 to 20-hour production days in a fast-paced, high-stress environment
- 500 lbs of equipment to haul all over the country: airports, cabs, shuttles, hotel elevators, ballrooms
- consumption largely based around energy bars (it’s not easy being a vegetarian in Las Vegas, Orange County, or any of the other atrocious geographical locations we find ourselves in
-and you wanna talk about project management & multi-tasking….there’s nothing quite like production coordinating in a live environment to show you just how capable you truly are.
- this remains, as of yet, the job that I made the most money at. (I sometimes look back at the money we were making and am utterly amazed. “Even with the miserable conditions, how the hell did we walk away from that?” It was affecting our health, that’s how.)
-------------------------------
Adam and I share a strong work ethic: whatever, wherever we find ourselves, we give it our all. We perform to the best of our ability.
This has crushed me on several occasions in the past: whenever I’ve delivered a product to an employer that was even a fraction askew of perfect, it weighed on me heavily. I couldn’t let go of delivering something that wasn’t 100%.
Working this hard, fighting to get ahead, we marched forward.
And then we’d hear it from family and the occasional friend, “Maybe it’s time for you guys to find real jobs.”
“If only you guys could find real jobs.”
(In their defense, I would slip into the illusion on occasion and utter the very same words.)
Sunday night at a movie, a good friend who I have a lot of respect for, a friend who constantly reflects the “real job paradigm” back at me, ran into an old friend and her new boyfriend.
(This friend of ours is the collage artist who works in corporate advertising (i.e. the “real job”).
“So, are you still at XYZ (restaurant)?” she inquired.
“Ah, hell no. Haven’t been there in a couple years. Doin’ the “real job” thing now. Kinda scary,” he replied.
I cringed.
Then last night, reading a comment on an acquaintance’s personal survey: he said something along the lines of, “life will be good once I can leave XYZ and get a ‘real job’”.
Aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
I also encounter the “real job” conversation when I tell people that I’m a writer, artist, etc.
“So. What’s your real job?” (i.e. How do you make your money?)
As Americans we sure are obsessed with defining ourselves by how we make our money. (More money = more consumerism = better, newer, slicker gadgets = better self-worth.)
Sorry. I refuse to enroll in that.
Parked dutifully alongside “Real Job” is “Real Education”.
We define ourselves by our degrees, by our jobs: Doctorate trumps Master’s. Master’s trumps Bachelor’s. (“You only have a Bachelor’s? God, what can you even do with a Bachelor’s anymore?”)
And anything less than a Bachelor’s leaves you at the ‘not quite a civilized member of society’ status.
I ask you, how does this fairly equate to the continuously escalating costs of higher education? How do we, as Americans, compare to European nations offer continuing education on a tier-based pricing system (or at no cost whatsoever)?
Are we really so crass as to think that we are better than another person because we have a “Real Education”, or a “Real Job”?
Part of my 2006 meltdown centered around me denying myself: my desires, my ambitions, my core. I was ashamed and full of fear that ‘everybody was passing me by’.
I wanted to relate to others. I wanted my parents to be proud of my choice to pursue a communicative, artistic path. I wanted to feel like I wasn’t disappointing everybody who always thought I could “be so much more”.
A wise and intuitive friend commented during that period that she was sometimes concerned for me/us. She said something along the lines of, “Sometimes I think that you’re afraid of mingling with ‘normal’ people, with ‘average’ people. Like you get comfortable holed up in your adorable little safe apartment and don’t want to enter the real world.”
(Good friends don’t hold back. That comment hit home and hit hard and I continue to examine it to this day.)
“Real Job.”
“Real Education.”
“Real World.”
I tried to conform myself and sought out the “real job”. I even considered going back to school.
And then I almost died.
----------------------------------------
We are not our jobs.
We are not our degrees.
We are not our titles.
We are all connected, loving, creative beings of light that are continuously living and growing and participating within our own individual journeys.
-----------------------------------------
Again, I intended to blog about something else today, but these three words have been surfacing a lot recently and I’ve gotta get em’ outta my system. Purge. Purge. Purge.
(I’ll do my best to not bare my fangs.)
I first started noticing it during our tenure with Front Row Productions. Our typical schedule had us flying around the country and working about 10-12 days a month. (This left plenty of time for writing.) However, in the busier stretches, as many of you know, we would be home in Seattle 4-5 days a month if we were lucky.
----------------------------
A snapshot:
-18 to 20-hour production days in a fast-paced, high-stress environment
- 500 lbs of equipment to haul all over the country: airports, cabs, shuttles, hotel elevators, ballrooms
- consumption largely based around energy bars (it’s not easy being a vegetarian in Las Vegas, Orange County, or any of the other atrocious geographical locations we find ourselves in
-and you wanna talk about project management & multi-tasking….there’s nothing quite like production coordinating in a live environment to show you just how capable you truly are.
- this remains, as of yet, the job that I made the most money at. (I sometimes look back at the money we were making and am utterly amazed. “Even with the miserable conditions, how the hell did we walk away from that?” It was affecting our health, that’s how.)
-------------------------------
Adam and I share a strong work ethic: whatever, wherever we find ourselves, we give it our all. We perform to the best of our ability.
This has crushed me on several occasions in the past: whenever I’ve delivered a product to an employer that was even a fraction askew of perfect, it weighed on me heavily. I couldn’t let go of delivering something that wasn’t 100%.
Working this hard, fighting to get ahead, we marched forward.
And then we’d hear it from family and the occasional friend, “Maybe it’s time for you guys to find real jobs.”
“If only you guys could find real jobs.”
(In their defense, I would slip into the illusion on occasion and utter the very same words.)
Sunday night at a movie, a good friend who I have a lot of respect for, a friend who constantly reflects the “real job paradigm” back at me, ran into an old friend and her new boyfriend.
(This friend of ours is the collage artist who works in corporate advertising (i.e. the “real job”).
“So, are you still at XYZ (restaurant)?” she inquired.
“Ah, hell no. Haven’t been there in a couple years. Doin’ the “real job” thing now. Kinda scary,” he replied.
I cringed.
Then last night, reading a comment on an acquaintance’s personal survey: he said something along the lines of, “life will be good once I can leave XYZ and get a ‘real job’”.
Aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
I also encounter the “real job” conversation when I tell people that I’m a writer, artist, etc.
“So. What’s your real job?” (i.e. How do you make your money?)
As Americans we sure are obsessed with defining ourselves by how we make our money. (More money = more consumerism = better, newer, slicker gadgets = better self-worth.)
Sorry. I refuse to enroll in that.
Parked dutifully alongside “Real Job” is “Real Education”.
We define ourselves by our degrees, by our jobs: Doctorate trumps Master’s. Master’s trumps Bachelor’s. (“You only have a Bachelor’s? God, what can you even do with a Bachelor’s anymore?”)
And anything less than a Bachelor’s leaves you at the ‘not quite a civilized member of society’ status.
I ask you, how does this fairly equate to the continuously escalating costs of higher education? How do we, as Americans, compare to European nations offer continuing education on a tier-based pricing system (or at no cost whatsoever)?
Are we really so crass as to think that we are better than another person because we have a “Real Education”, or a “Real Job”?
Part of my 2006 meltdown centered around me denying myself: my desires, my ambitions, my core. I was ashamed and full of fear that ‘everybody was passing me by’.
I wanted to relate to others. I wanted my parents to be proud of my choice to pursue a communicative, artistic path. I wanted to feel like I wasn’t disappointing everybody who always thought I could “be so much more”.
A wise and intuitive friend commented during that period that she was sometimes concerned for me/us. She said something along the lines of, “Sometimes I think that you’re afraid of mingling with ‘normal’ people, with ‘average’ people. Like you get comfortable holed up in your adorable little safe apartment and don’t want to enter the real world.”
(Good friends don’t hold back. That comment hit home and hit hard and I continue to examine it to this day.)
“Real Job.”
“Real Education.”
“Real World.”
I tried to conform myself and sought out the “real job”. I even considered going back to school.
And then I almost died.
----------------------------------------
We are not our jobs.
We are not our degrees.
We are not our titles.
We are all connected, loving, creative beings of light that are continuously living and growing and participating within our own individual journeys.
-----------------------------------------
Monday, January 29, 2007
Survival if You Please
Last week was a lucid one to say the very least. I seemingly managed to take all the pressure that’s been building and transform it creatively.
Am I finally reaching a place where I’m implementing positive release?
Not only is it working, but it’s multiplying exponentially.
Time to take it to the next level and try and steer it back in the direction of forward motion with the show. Adam always brings up a valid point when it feels as though things have grown stagnant.
“Just because you can’t see it moving forward doesn’t mean that it isn’t,” he’s quick to clarify.
I know that I’m the driving force behind this particular machine (show). The challenging part for me is orchestrating the forward cooperation of all parties involved without stepping on anyone’s toes.
I’ll figure it out.
I have to.
A girl can’t survive off of writing, blogging, photography & painting alone.
Damn! Did you catch that? (You see how the engrained “you can’t survive as an artist” mantra likes to sneak its way into the frontal lobes even when I’ve sworn that I’ve restructured that thought pattern once and for all.)
Allow me to correct that statement: I absolutely can survive on any and all of these things.
It’s simply a matter of figuring out the how.
Time to get to work.
Am I finally reaching a place where I’m implementing positive release?
Not only is it working, but it’s multiplying exponentially.
Time to take it to the next level and try and steer it back in the direction of forward motion with the show. Adam always brings up a valid point when it feels as though things have grown stagnant.
“Just because you can’t see it moving forward doesn’t mean that it isn’t,” he’s quick to clarify.
I know that I’m the driving force behind this particular machine (show). The challenging part for me is orchestrating the forward cooperation of all parties involved without stepping on anyone’s toes.
I’ll figure it out.
I have to.
A girl can’t survive off of writing, blogging, photography & painting alone.
Damn! Did you catch that? (You see how the engrained “you can’t survive as an artist” mantra likes to sneak its way into the frontal lobes even when I’ve sworn that I’ve restructured that thought pattern once and for all.)
Allow me to correct that statement: I absolutely can survive on any and all of these things.
It’s simply a matter of figuring out the how.
Time to get to work.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
(No) Pontification if You Please
Something I’m very wary of with my blogging, is to avoid pontification.
My goal is to share my observations, my experiences and my beliefs with friends and strangers alike. I have a tendency to get overly energetic when it comes to the realm of communication and I’m leery of coming off as though I’m preaching from atop a soapbox.
I am, by no means, trying to claim that what I share is “truth” or “right” or better than anyone else’s thoughts, beliefs, or opinions, etc.
Rather, I’m simply exercising a little word play.
As an adolescent and a teen, I was known amongst my friends as the storyteller, the exaggerator. I was always taking little chapters from my everyday life and injecting them with hues of fiction, eager to portray a colorful, entertaining story. I loved making people laugh and was naive and gullible enough to generate plenty of original material.
From my mid to late teens, I was a loud mouth. I was that annoying person who had no understanding or comprehension of keeping my voice at a tolerable level. At restaurants, movies, whatever, my friends were always telling me to “bring it down a little”.
Acting was, from a very young age, the artistic platform of my desire. I did a few plays in high school, but nothing major. I went to film school and moved to LA with hopes of working the production side of the industry, networking, and then using my contacts to start auditioning.
I was too scared to ever really go for it. I guess the impending fear of rejection was too much for me to face at the time. In addition, living in LA, I quickly realized that I was in no way, shape or form, fitting into the model that casting directors were looking for.
I like manipulating my body too much: tattoos, piercings, body modifications, hair colors, I’d be an agent’s worst nightmare.
My English teachers throughout high school urged me to follow communications. I knew then that I loved words, composition, storytelling, but I thought I wanted to be in the spotlight.
As I’ve aged, I’ve lost my desire to be the center of attention. I’m much happier on the sidelines, observing, absorbing, processing.
I recently defined myself as an aspiring extrovert who got comfortable in the role of writer-introvert.
I also examine the relationships between pontification and our first two feature screenplays.
The baby, “Modern Wreckage” is a mind bendy piece wherein the lines between fiction and reality blur as the main character uses self-inflicted violence as a coping mechanism.
I am brought back to a pitch meeting we had with the film division of the biggest (industry) player in town.
I won’t share the name of the gentleman we met with, but let’s just say he was a friend of a friend and that’s the only reason we got the meeting.
He was sure to remind us of this no less than three times throughout our hour-long stand off.
He didn’t like us. He didn’t like our screenplay and he didn’t think we could write.
In hindsight, damn it was an early draft that we took to him; too early. However, the part that bothered me the most from that meeting was the fact that he didn’t believe it was a fictional piece. He was convinced that our lead character was really Adam. Adam’s life story.
Granted, writers pull from their life experiences. But then we explore, we research, we integrate. We create a world that did not exist beforehand.
“Let me guess. If I were to ask you to roll up your sleeves, I’d see a bunch of scars from you cutting yourself,” he fired.
Nope. Not a one. Asshole.
But, hey thanks for your vote of confidence.
And, by the way, all the movies you’ve produced are shitty. You wanna talk about talking heads dialogue and flat characters…………
I digress.
All in all, it was a good learning experience and, looking back, I’m certain the friend of ours knew she was throwing us into the lion’s den.
And I thought there would be less rejection with writing then there was with acting.
Ha. Ha. Ha.
Our second feature examines evolution and how, ultimately, peace overcomes violence.
He didn’t like that one either.
So as a screenwriter, as a blogger, as a painter, as a photographer, as a friend, lover, wife, daughter, sister, (you get the point) I’m constantly working on conveying my messages in a manner that is pleasing, comprehensive, and entertaining to the recipient.
It excites me to know that this will be an ongoing journey throughout my life as a communicative vessel.
My goal is to share my observations, my experiences and my beliefs with friends and strangers alike. I have a tendency to get overly energetic when it comes to the realm of communication and I’m leery of coming off as though I’m preaching from atop a soapbox.
I am, by no means, trying to claim that what I share is “truth” or “right” or better than anyone else’s thoughts, beliefs, or opinions, etc.
Rather, I’m simply exercising a little word play.
As an adolescent and a teen, I was known amongst my friends as the storyteller, the exaggerator. I was always taking little chapters from my everyday life and injecting them with hues of fiction, eager to portray a colorful, entertaining story. I loved making people laugh and was naive and gullible enough to generate plenty of original material.
From my mid to late teens, I was a loud mouth. I was that annoying person who had no understanding or comprehension of keeping my voice at a tolerable level. At restaurants, movies, whatever, my friends were always telling me to “bring it down a little”.
Acting was, from a very young age, the artistic platform of my desire. I did a few plays in high school, but nothing major. I went to film school and moved to LA with hopes of working the production side of the industry, networking, and then using my contacts to start auditioning.
I was too scared to ever really go for it. I guess the impending fear of rejection was too much for me to face at the time. In addition, living in LA, I quickly realized that I was in no way, shape or form, fitting into the model that casting directors were looking for.
I like manipulating my body too much: tattoos, piercings, body modifications, hair colors, I’d be an agent’s worst nightmare.
My English teachers throughout high school urged me to follow communications. I knew then that I loved words, composition, storytelling, but I thought I wanted to be in the spotlight.
As I’ve aged, I’ve lost my desire to be the center of attention. I’m much happier on the sidelines, observing, absorbing, processing.
I recently defined myself as an aspiring extrovert who got comfortable in the role of writer-introvert.
I also examine the relationships between pontification and our first two feature screenplays.
The baby, “Modern Wreckage” is a mind bendy piece wherein the lines between fiction and reality blur as the main character uses self-inflicted violence as a coping mechanism.
I am brought back to a pitch meeting we had with the film division of the biggest (industry) player in town.
I won’t share the name of the gentleman we met with, but let’s just say he was a friend of a friend and that’s the only reason we got the meeting.
He was sure to remind us of this no less than three times throughout our hour-long stand off.
He didn’t like us. He didn’t like our screenplay and he didn’t think we could write.
In hindsight, damn it was an early draft that we took to him; too early. However, the part that bothered me the most from that meeting was the fact that he didn’t believe it was a fictional piece. He was convinced that our lead character was really Adam. Adam’s life story.
Granted, writers pull from their life experiences. But then we explore, we research, we integrate. We create a world that did not exist beforehand.
“Let me guess. If I were to ask you to roll up your sleeves, I’d see a bunch of scars from you cutting yourself,” he fired.
Nope. Not a one. Asshole.
But, hey thanks for your vote of confidence.
And, by the way, all the movies you’ve produced are shitty. You wanna talk about talking heads dialogue and flat characters…………
I digress.
All in all, it was a good learning experience and, looking back, I’m certain the friend of ours knew she was throwing us into the lion’s den.
And I thought there would be less rejection with writing then there was with acting.
Ha. Ha. Ha.
Our second feature examines evolution and how, ultimately, peace overcomes violence.
He didn’t like that one either.
So as a screenwriter, as a blogger, as a painter, as a photographer, as a friend, lover, wife, daughter, sister, (you get the point) I’m constantly working on conveying my messages in a manner that is pleasing, comprehensive, and entertaining to the recipient.
It excites me to know that this will be an ongoing journey throughout my life as a communicative vessel.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Mad World Makes an Encore
Yesterday morning I had a two-egg, swiss cheese & avocado sandwich for breakfast. (I’m quite certain breakfasts like this will only aide in dropping the last 10 lbs!)
I found the “Mad World” remix that haunted me for a couple months. Although this version is on the “Donnie Darko” soundtrack, where it dug its claws into me was as a part of a marketing piece for a relatively new war video game.
First of all, who knew that Tears for Fears could write decent lyrics? But more importantly, how did this song get chosen to market a bloody & violent war video game (especially, the slowed-down, melancholy remix)? Initially, I thought, “What an weird fucking choice for a war game.” Lyrical insert:
All around me are familiar faces,
Worn out places,
Worn out faces,
Bright and early for the daily races,
Going nowhere,
Going nowhere,
Their tears are filling up their glasses,
No expression,
No expression,
Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow,
No tomorrow,
No tomorrow,
And I find it kind of funny,
I find it kinda sad,
The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had
I find it hard to tell you,
I find it hard to take,
When people run in circles,
It’s a very very,
Mad World……..
Now, I haven’t written down lyrics like this probably since I was a teenager. So why now? What is it about this song? This remix?
When this war videogame commercial was airing, it was around the time that we had gotten cable. Our first 2 and ¾ years in Seattle, we went without. It was great. In all honesty, we got it again for The Daily Show & The Colbert Report. (The YouTube clips just weren’t proving satisfying enough.)
For the first couple months, we dove in a bit deep. We got sucked into the escapism vortex. I was going thru a period where I wasn’t sleeping well, so I’d sit up at all hours of the night alone with the TV colors bouncing off the walls.
And this damn commercial would come on all the time. It was on a pretty heavy rotation for a while.
I continued to be amazed at how this song got partnered with this video game. The lyrics literally reference how when we run in circles, the world is in a sad state.
War is not a means to peace.
But how? Why is it working? And then I realized that “Mad World” was near constantly streaming thru my mind, bringing up the imagery of that commercial.
“Damn. They’re good.”
Speaking of things on heavy rotation, it comes as no surprise that circular patterns have been making regular appearances lately, viewable on the pull-down menu of my third eye.
I am infatuated with circles and spheres. They represent all things that are connected. Round. Voluptuous. Never-ending.
I guess the key is to recognize these symbols for the beauty that they represent, but to not get stuck in their negative-vortex possibilities.
On a totally irrelevant note, I just discovered yesterday that I’ve been spelling the word ‘weird’ wrong for, oh, my entire life.
Weird. (Damn you “i before e except after c” – you liar, you traitor.)
I found the “Mad World” remix that haunted me for a couple months. Although this version is on the “Donnie Darko” soundtrack, where it dug its claws into me was as a part of a marketing piece for a relatively new war video game.
First of all, who knew that Tears for Fears could write decent lyrics? But more importantly, how did this song get chosen to market a bloody & violent war video game (especially, the slowed-down, melancholy remix)? Initially, I thought, “What an weird fucking choice for a war game.” Lyrical insert:
All around me are familiar faces,
Worn out places,
Worn out faces,
Bright and early for the daily races,
Going nowhere,
Going nowhere,
Their tears are filling up their glasses,
No expression,
No expression,
Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow,
No tomorrow,
No tomorrow,
And I find it kind of funny,
I find it kinda sad,
The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had
I find it hard to tell you,
I find it hard to take,
When people run in circles,
It’s a very very,
Mad World……..
Now, I haven’t written down lyrics like this probably since I was a teenager. So why now? What is it about this song? This remix?
When this war videogame commercial was airing, it was around the time that we had gotten cable. Our first 2 and ¾ years in Seattle, we went without. It was great. In all honesty, we got it again for The Daily Show & The Colbert Report. (The YouTube clips just weren’t proving satisfying enough.)
For the first couple months, we dove in a bit deep. We got sucked into the escapism vortex. I was going thru a period where I wasn’t sleeping well, so I’d sit up at all hours of the night alone with the TV colors bouncing off the walls.
And this damn commercial would come on all the time. It was on a pretty heavy rotation for a while.
I continued to be amazed at how this song got partnered with this video game. The lyrics literally reference how when we run in circles, the world is in a sad state.
War is not a means to peace.
But how? Why is it working? And then I realized that “Mad World” was near constantly streaming thru my mind, bringing up the imagery of that commercial.
“Damn. They’re good.”
Speaking of things on heavy rotation, it comes as no surprise that circular patterns have been making regular appearances lately, viewable on the pull-down menu of my third eye.
I am infatuated with circles and spheres. They represent all things that are connected. Round. Voluptuous. Never-ending.
I guess the key is to recognize these symbols for the beauty that they represent, but to not get stuck in their negative-vortex possibilities.
On a totally irrelevant note, I just discovered yesterday that I’ve been spelling the word ‘weird’ wrong for, oh, my entire life.
Weird. (Damn you “i before e except after c” – you liar, you traitor.)
Friday, January 26, 2007
Composition if You Please
So I don’t know what exactly it was about yesterday, but everywhere I looked I saw composition.
Maybe it was the Ray Johnson “How to draw a Bunny” documentary I saw the night before. Or maybe it was the over-infiltration of paint fumes from a kitchen-cabinet facelift.
Whatever it was, I took the best pictures of my life yesterday.
As much as I love to do the backstroke thru paint on canvas, I adore photography. I think it feels like a ‘safer’ medium to me.
It’s where I can capture the world
as I see it
(instead of)
creating a world I imagine
from vast white space (writing, painting).
And we’re all familiar with the age-old saying, “A picture’s worth a thousand words.” As my blog entries tend to weigh in around the 1000 word mark, I can’t help but to wonder if through photography I can master brevity.
I think I might be done with my latest painting. I’m questioning whether I wanna go ‘busier’ with it, but I think, for the time being I’m gonna leave it.
I’ve got to get on to Sicily. I think I stumbled upon my Sicilian inspiration yesterday. I photographed several variations of the image that I aim to try and paint.
Will I be able to transfer it as I imagine? My sources say, “probably not”.
But my gut says, “What if you can?’
Maybe it was the Ray Johnson “How to draw a Bunny” documentary I saw the night before. Or maybe it was the over-infiltration of paint fumes from a kitchen-cabinet facelift.
Whatever it was, I took the best pictures of my life yesterday.
As much as I love to do the backstroke thru paint on canvas, I adore photography. I think it feels like a ‘safer’ medium to me.
It’s where I can capture the world
as I see it
(instead of)
creating a world I imagine
from vast white space (writing, painting).
And we’re all familiar with the age-old saying, “A picture’s worth a thousand words.” As my blog entries tend to weigh in around the 1000 word mark, I can’t help but to wonder if through photography I can master brevity.
I think I might be done with my latest painting. I’m questioning whether I wanna go ‘busier’ with it, but I think, for the time being I’m gonna leave it.
I’ve got to get on to Sicily. I think I stumbled upon my Sicilian inspiration yesterday. I photographed several variations of the image that I aim to try and paint.
Will I be able to transfer it as I imagine? My sources say, “probably not”.
But my gut says, “What if you can?’
Comfort Resists Change (cont'd)
I must give credit where credit is due.
In my “New Moment’s” blog, I talked a little bit about ‘comfort resists change’ (even when comfort is misery).
This was a concept that was introduced to me thru a character’s monologue that Adam had written some four years ago. Herein is a snippet from said piece:
I was told to report what I saw. That’s what I’ve done. And I continue to report what I see, exactly as I see it. Call me a manipulated puppet, molded to express the concerns of a rebel voice, but I’m no marionette. I know Truth when it slaps my cheek.
We now sit at the lip of change. Evolution continues. Never stops. We must evolve. Will evolve.
The human race is infantile as a species, a toddler at best. Earth, our terrestrial mother, must decide where to cut the cord. We were born with enough fat to survive, but now will grow, consequently shedding surplus.
We get comfortable nursing from Earth, but Mother wishes to wean us from her breast. And we’re learning to walk.
The comfort resists change. The comfort resists progression. The comfort can be desperately persuasive. Some of us see this. We’re cutting our teeth and becoming irritable.
The comfort has become a tumor. If we succumb to its sickness we’ll die a fattened weakling.
The comfort tumor must be removed from power of the body.
Only then will we thrive.
As you can see, I’ve been blessed with a very talented writing partner.
(In fact, if we’re getting microscopic, he’s a pretty damn good partner in about as many aspects as my mind can wrap itself around.)
In my “New Moment’s” blog, I talked a little bit about ‘comfort resists change’ (even when comfort is misery).
This was a concept that was introduced to me thru a character’s monologue that Adam had written some four years ago. Herein is a snippet from said piece:
I was told to report what I saw. That’s what I’ve done. And I continue to report what I see, exactly as I see it. Call me a manipulated puppet, molded to express the concerns of a rebel voice, but I’m no marionette. I know Truth when it slaps my cheek.
We now sit at the lip of change. Evolution continues. Never stops. We must evolve. Will evolve.
The human race is infantile as a species, a toddler at best. Earth, our terrestrial mother, must decide where to cut the cord. We were born with enough fat to survive, but now will grow, consequently shedding surplus.
We get comfortable nursing from Earth, but Mother wishes to wean us from her breast. And we’re learning to walk.
The comfort resists change. The comfort resists progression. The comfort can be desperately persuasive. Some of us see this. We’re cutting our teeth and becoming irritable.
The comfort has become a tumor. If we succumb to its sickness we’ll die a fattened weakling.
The comfort tumor must be removed from power of the body.
Only then will we thrive.
As you can see, I’ve been blessed with a very talented writing partner.
(In fact, if we’re getting microscopic, he’s a pretty damn good partner in about as many aspects as my mind can wrap itself around.)
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Nurturing the Garden Space
I was going to blog today about love’s energetic opposite (fear), but my aching body is requesting I write about it instead.
Yesterday I reached that point where I was restless and it surely wasn’t out of lack of things to do. Several deadlines were staring me down.
But it was gorgeous outside. I grabbed the camera and went for a walk. This resulted in me deciding it was far too beautiful a day to get lost in project files and pitch writing.
I’d had a outside project that got put on hold once the snow started falling: the ‘garden area’.
Being that our building sits on a rather steep incline, we have two main entrances: the Belmont side (1st floor) and the Boylston side (3rd floor). The Boylston exit sports a canopy that houses the garbage and recycling. For the first few years that we were here, it was known as one of the ‘it’ spots on the hill for the homeless to get their fix: private and dry.
More times than not, I’d encounter people shooting up, cooking up. One time someone was even passed out, blood trickling down from the limp needle stuck in his arm.
Nice.
I’m not a fan of fences. (Abolish boundaries, remember?) However, when it bleeds over and starts to threaten my safety and the safety of those around me, I draw the line.
On the outskirts of the garbage/recycling area is a little piece of land that the tenants refer to as the ‘garden area’. Years ago it was a garden. Over time, it morphed into the ‘fix spot’ and then homeless addicts started living back there: cardboard boxes, human waste, used needles.
They even started getting up onto the roof of the building to get high.
I couldn’t necessarily blame them. The view’s incredible from up top. But if they could get on the roof, they then could get onto the balconies. Definitely not cool.
Always up for new visual material, I started photographing all the used needles that were piling up out back and emailing them to the owners of the building (who are really friendly, witty, cooperative, hands on people, I gotta say).
Overtime, an elaborate fencing system was born. After it went up, the building got tagged. No big surprise there. But the whole energy of that back space shifted. It’s now safe, clean. Tenants don’t have to wonder what’s lurking around the corner anymore.
Coordinating the back area with the owners segued into Adam and I taking over as building managers. The last manager, a good friend, is repeatedly swamped with work and was ready to pass the torch.
I get off on keeping things clean and safe and was happy to assume the role of Bel Baines Motherly Hen.
For a while the garden area became the catch all for yard waste. Branches, twigs and leaves overtook the space. One of the owners did a dump run a couple weeks ago and yesterday I grabbed some sturdy metal rakes and 4 large trash bags and proceeded to rake the living hell out of a good 4 to 6 inches of, what I guess I can label, ‘top soil’.
At first I was counting the plastic needle toppers, the little white baggies.
“Let’s see how many I can get.”
As the numbers began to multiply, I decided to stop counting. It wasn’t long before it went from amusing to sad.
We’re in talks to put in either a bike shed, adding to the ‘pro-transportation-ness’ of the building. (Flexcar on premises – coming soon!).
The other possibility is a barbeque pit. Plants, benches, a grill. A communal place to gather on summer and fall nights. I love it.
Yesterday it felt so good to be working that soil, removing all the waste, all the old negative drug-induced dead space, knowing it was going to receive a rebirth.
It felt good to be clearing out a space of addiction.
In the fall of 2005, a good friend of ours flew out for a visit. He sandwiched his stay around a shoot that we had. Actually we did that with a few friends. They’d fly in and we’d hang out for a day or two, orient them with the city and then fly out, leaving them with a fully furnished place to stay.
Anyway, we got back from the shoot exhausted and malnourished as per the norm, and he had picked up a little bag of ‘pick me up’.
Two hours in, I was immediately asking him to call ‘the guy’.
“This is too good. We HAVE TO get more.”
Ah yes, my addictions, always ready and willing to run the full distance.
We didn’t hook up with more, thank God. The amount we had left the three of us debating a trip to the ER for a good solid couple of hours the next morning.
Walking as much as we do, we often find drugs on the street.
Spying that occasional little bag of white powder, we’re left to wonder, “Why hello. Are you a good methamphetamine or a bad methamphetamine?”
(The answer is always, “Doesn’t matter. Don’t fucking pick it up.”)
After a year and a half I sometimes still wonder if the friend of ours still has the number to ‘the guy’. But I know that I will never allow myself ask. Period.
I know that I love to experiment, to explore in whatever way, and I know that I have to set certain limitations for myself.
This is why I prefer to stick with the more natural, organic elements.
Speaking of which, it pays to have good friends around, too.
The other night one of em’ casually mentioned, “I’ve kinda been going easy lately. I was getting clouded and needed a break. Some clarity. It’s good to do that every once in awhile, let the tolerance drop back.”
I smirked.
(Thanks for the gentle nudging.)
So, it was a good afternoon in the ‘garden space’. But man, can I feel it today.
Yesterday I reached that point where I was restless and it surely wasn’t out of lack of things to do. Several deadlines were staring me down.
But it was gorgeous outside. I grabbed the camera and went for a walk. This resulted in me deciding it was far too beautiful a day to get lost in project files and pitch writing.
I’d had a outside project that got put on hold once the snow started falling: the ‘garden area’.
Being that our building sits on a rather steep incline, we have two main entrances: the Belmont side (1st floor) and the Boylston side (3rd floor). The Boylston exit sports a canopy that houses the garbage and recycling. For the first few years that we were here, it was known as one of the ‘it’ spots on the hill for the homeless to get their fix: private and dry.
More times than not, I’d encounter people shooting up, cooking up. One time someone was even passed out, blood trickling down from the limp needle stuck in his arm.
Nice.
I’m not a fan of fences. (Abolish boundaries, remember?) However, when it bleeds over and starts to threaten my safety and the safety of those around me, I draw the line.
On the outskirts of the garbage/recycling area is a little piece of land that the tenants refer to as the ‘garden area’. Years ago it was a garden. Over time, it morphed into the ‘fix spot’ and then homeless addicts started living back there: cardboard boxes, human waste, used needles.
They even started getting up onto the roof of the building to get high.
I couldn’t necessarily blame them. The view’s incredible from up top. But if they could get on the roof, they then could get onto the balconies. Definitely not cool.
Always up for new visual material, I started photographing all the used needles that were piling up out back and emailing them to the owners of the building (who are really friendly, witty, cooperative, hands on people, I gotta say).
Overtime, an elaborate fencing system was born. After it went up, the building got tagged. No big surprise there. But the whole energy of that back space shifted. It’s now safe, clean. Tenants don’t have to wonder what’s lurking around the corner anymore.
Coordinating the back area with the owners segued into Adam and I taking over as building managers. The last manager, a good friend, is repeatedly swamped with work and was ready to pass the torch.
I get off on keeping things clean and safe and was happy to assume the role of Bel Baines Motherly Hen.
For a while the garden area became the catch all for yard waste. Branches, twigs and leaves overtook the space. One of the owners did a dump run a couple weeks ago and yesterday I grabbed some sturdy metal rakes and 4 large trash bags and proceeded to rake the living hell out of a good 4 to 6 inches of, what I guess I can label, ‘top soil’.
At first I was counting the plastic needle toppers, the little white baggies.
“Let’s see how many I can get.”
As the numbers began to multiply, I decided to stop counting. It wasn’t long before it went from amusing to sad.
We’re in talks to put in either a bike shed, adding to the ‘pro-transportation-ness’ of the building. (Flexcar on premises – coming soon!).
The other possibility is a barbeque pit. Plants, benches, a grill. A communal place to gather on summer and fall nights. I love it.
Yesterday it felt so good to be working that soil, removing all the waste, all the old negative drug-induced dead space, knowing it was going to receive a rebirth.
It felt good to be clearing out a space of addiction.
In the fall of 2005, a good friend of ours flew out for a visit. He sandwiched his stay around a shoot that we had. Actually we did that with a few friends. They’d fly in and we’d hang out for a day or two, orient them with the city and then fly out, leaving them with a fully furnished place to stay.
Anyway, we got back from the shoot exhausted and malnourished as per the norm, and he had picked up a little bag of ‘pick me up’.
Two hours in, I was immediately asking him to call ‘the guy’.
“This is too good. We HAVE TO get more.”
Ah yes, my addictions, always ready and willing to run the full distance.
We didn’t hook up with more, thank God. The amount we had left the three of us debating a trip to the ER for a good solid couple of hours the next morning.
Walking as much as we do, we often find drugs on the street.
Spying that occasional little bag of white powder, we’re left to wonder, “Why hello. Are you a good methamphetamine or a bad methamphetamine?”
(The answer is always, “Doesn’t matter. Don’t fucking pick it up.”)
After a year and a half I sometimes still wonder if the friend of ours still has the number to ‘the guy’. But I know that I will never allow myself ask. Period.
I know that I love to experiment, to explore in whatever way, and I know that I have to set certain limitations for myself.
This is why I prefer to stick with the more natural, organic elements.
Speaking of which, it pays to have good friends around, too.
The other night one of em’ casually mentioned, “I’ve kinda been going easy lately. I was getting clouded and needed a break. Some clarity. It’s good to do that every once in awhile, let the tolerance drop back.”
I smirked.
(Thanks for the gentle nudging.)
So, it was a good afternoon in the ‘garden space’. But man, can I feel it today.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
New Year’s vs. New Moment’s Resolutions
My 2007 “To Manifest” list is perched front and center in my daily planner. I choose to keep it close to me, to see it daily. This helps to remind me everyday of the reality I want to create for myself. It forces me to dissect the goals and formulate action steps that can be divided into quarters, months, weeks, and days.
It’s funny, the whole New Year’s Resolution-setting phenomena. That first week of January, everybody is full of excitement and resolve. By the end of the month, the diets are shot, the cutting back on spending, drinking, smoking, etc., has all been recklessly abandoned.
A slip-up occurs and the entire commitment is dropped. A return to the old cycle, the old pattern, the old self ensues.
People underestimate their ability to change. (Giving up is familiar and comfort resists change – even when the comfort is misery.) It’s easier for us to deny our power than it is for us to stand in, and manipulate, our pulsating bright, white light.
As Marianne Williamson states, “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.”
It’s okay to forgive yourself for a slip-up, pick up the pieces, and try again. Isn’t that what this plane is all about? Continuing to pick yourself up and stumble forward, preferably making the time and space for some dancing & laughter along the way?
Changing patterns takes work. It takes dedication and forgiveness.
I’m embracing the concept of “New Moment’s Resolutions”.
This takes the whole, “Well, I fucked up. See, I knew I couldn’t change,” element out of the equation and shifts it to, “Damn I fucked up. I did it again. Okay, that’s okay. Because as time streamlines forward I am now in a new moment. A new beginning.”
Life is always going to pitch another chance. We have the choice to keep swinging the bat in hopes that eventually the connection will occur all the while knowing that the possibility exists to get pelted by a wild pitch.
This thinkology also helps me to be an active participant in the present more. Every day I’m working with creating healthier, more positive actions and reactions. When painful or difficult situations arise, I immediately recognize the negative pattern sliding into gear.
“Maybe she won’t notice. Maybe she’ll just go with it.”
I acknowledge it’s presence and I release it.
And I create something better.
It’s a damn shame that most people gather the strength to try and consciously commit to change only once a year.
It’s funny, the whole New Year’s Resolution-setting phenomena. That first week of January, everybody is full of excitement and resolve. By the end of the month, the diets are shot, the cutting back on spending, drinking, smoking, etc., has all been recklessly abandoned.
A slip-up occurs and the entire commitment is dropped. A return to the old cycle, the old pattern, the old self ensues.
People underestimate their ability to change. (Giving up is familiar and comfort resists change – even when the comfort is misery.) It’s easier for us to deny our power than it is for us to stand in, and manipulate, our pulsating bright, white light.
As Marianne Williamson states, “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.”
It’s okay to forgive yourself for a slip-up, pick up the pieces, and try again. Isn’t that what this plane is all about? Continuing to pick yourself up and stumble forward, preferably making the time and space for some dancing & laughter along the way?
Changing patterns takes work. It takes dedication and forgiveness.
I’m embracing the concept of “New Moment’s Resolutions”.
This takes the whole, “Well, I fucked up. See, I knew I couldn’t change,” element out of the equation and shifts it to, “Damn I fucked up. I did it again. Okay, that’s okay. Because as time streamlines forward I am now in a new moment. A new beginning.”
Life is always going to pitch another chance. We have the choice to keep swinging the bat in hopes that eventually the connection will occur all the while knowing that the possibility exists to get pelted by a wild pitch.
This thinkology also helps me to be an active participant in the present more. Every day I’m working with creating healthier, more positive actions and reactions. When painful or difficult situations arise, I immediately recognize the negative pattern sliding into gear.
“Maybe she won’t notice. Maybe she’ll just go with it.”
I acknowledge it’s presence and I release it.
And I create something better.
It’s a damn shame that most people gather the strength to try and consciously commit to change only once a year.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
More of the Same (but bigger)
It occurred to me yesterday that along with a top ten for things I’m grateful for about Seattle/Cap Hill, that I should widen the perspective a bit and acknowledge other things that I’m grateful for.
10. Our Winter (so far)
Damn. Right out of the gates and I’m back on Seattle. Forget it, though. It’s sticking. It’s been a beautiful winter thus far. Sure we’ve had our windstorms and the snow, but it has yet to rain for 43 days straight like it did last winter.
The sun is making a regular appearance.
9. Nancy Pelosi & the Democratic Congress
I’m trying to reign in my excitement a bit and not get too carried away. Most democrats are still severely right of where I stand, but I will take what I can get. Last year I spent a significant amount of time searching for my way out of this country. (Run. Run. Run.)
But I’ve always secretly hungered to be here to witness the fall of the empire. (I am in no means implying that the democrats are going to expedite the fall of the American Corporate Empire.)
But until that day comes, it’s just good entertainment to watch Bush get a collective finger waving. (“No! That’s a BAD, BAD boy!”)
8. Dennis Kucinich
The man deserves his own blog entry (coming soon!). For the time being, again, if you don’t know who he is:
www.kucinich.us
He has returned my faith in our ability to successfully govern ourselves in a humane and loving manner.
7. The Evolution of Communicative Technology
I often rant about how frustrated I am in regards to how despite our great leaps in technology, we’re still not communicating about the things that are most important.
However, I understand this takes time. (Say it with me, now, “Pa-tience.”)
I love what it’s doing as far as helping artists to experiment, connect, and gain exposure.
Where it’ll get really good, is when the international community starts over-stepping the boundaries of our borders and governments and begins to form a true global community.
(Damn. I AM a utopian hippie!)
6. Independent Film
This sort of ties into technology, but I feel as though indie film has continuously been attracting a wider (American) audience over the past decade.
Thank God.
5. The Age of Aquarius
Usher in the brotherly love and humanitarianism!
Coming out of the 2000-year Piscean Age, astrologers predict that within the Age of Aquarius the concept of individual nations will fade and that mankind will join together as one people rather than be separated by nationality.
No borders. World peace.
(Hmm. Maybe my utopian hippie desires are in tune with the evolution of universal order?)
It is also predicted that there will be a greater emphasis on the common man and that special privilege for people of higher birth or wealth will die out.
No more class war? Food, shelter, clothing, education, health care and transportation for all? Sure, dish me up some of that.
Astrologers hope that in the Aquarian Age, we will build on past knowledge to discover new truths. (Aquarius is the truth seeker.)
4. Family & Friends
I have a tendency to not share myself well with others. I spend a lot of time in my head. I don’t let a lot of people in. And when I do let people in, I turn up the intimacy volume, often too much, too fast.
I’m trying to find a healthier balance, although I no longer apologize for the fact that I am a super-Cancer. I’m a feeler, a nurturer, and a lover. I get intimate and I’m not ashamed of that.
I’d like to acknowledge the friends and family that tolerate my intense emotions and continue to love and support me, even when the volume gets deafening.
3. Converging with Enlightened Souls
This segues nicely from ‘Friends & Family’. I am proud of myself for continuing to interact with people who are awake and on the forward path of conscious enlightenment.
I don’t need to name names. You know who you are.
(Note: All of us will eventually find ourselves on this list.)
2. Discovering & Living Art Therapy
I’m doing my best to write everyday.
I’m doing my best to photograph everyday.
I’m painting regularly.
Last night I took 45 pics on my walk back from the market.
It doesn’t take that much time and effort to integrate creativity into our daily lives, and the results are so worth it.
1. Realizing, Embracing & Integrating the concept that We Manifest our Experience
This has, by far, been one of my greatest achievements/breakthroughs in this life (and I’ve barely begun to truly experiment with it).
I plan to blog more about this as I learn and live thru more of it.
Thematic Overview: A Return of Hope
There seems to be an overall connection throughout this list: hope.
We all have our struggles and pain, our lessons to live through. We wouldn’t be here otherwise.
The key to staying involved in the game is to maintain a level of hope; a desire to be a part of growth, of making things better. For a good while, I abandoned all hope and that, my friends, was the closest thing I’ve ever felt to death.
It’s good to be alive again.
10. Our Winter (so far)
Damn. Right out of the gates and I’m back on Seattle. Forget it, though. It’s sticking. It’s been a beautiful winter thus far. Sure we’ve had our windstorms and the snow, but it has yet to rain for 43 days straight like it did last winter.
The sun is making a regular appearance.
9. Nancy Pelosi & the Democratic Congress
I’m trying to reign in my excitement a bit and not get too carried away. Most democrats are still severely right of where I stand, but I will take what I can get. Last year I spent a significant amount of time searching for my way out of this country. (Run. Run. Run.)
But I’ve always secretly hungered to be here to witness the fall of the empire. (I am in no means implying that the democrats are going to expedite the fall of the American Corporate Empire.)
But until that day comes, it’s just good entertainment to watch Bush get a collective finger waving. (“No! That’s a BAD, BAD boy!”)
8. Dennis Kucinich
The man deserves his own blog entry (coming soon!). For the time being, again, if you don’t know who he is:
www.kucinich.us
He has returned my faith in our ability to successfully govern ourselves in a humane and loving manner.
7. The Evolution of Communicative Technology
I often rant about how frustrated I am in regards to how despite our great leaps in technology, we’re still not communicating about the things that are most important.
However, I understand this takes time. (Say it with me, now, “Pa-tience.”)
I love what it’s doing as far as helping artists to experiment, connect, and gain exposure.
Where it’ll get really good, is when the international community starts over-stepping the boundaries of our borders and governments and begins to form a true global community.
(Damn. I AM a utopian hippie!)
6. Independent Film
This sort of ties into technology, but I feel as though indie film has continuously been attracting a wider (American) audience over the past decade.
Thank God.
5. The Age of Aquarius
Usher in the brotherly love and humanitarianism!
Coming out of the 2000-year Piscean Age, astrologers predict that within the Age of Aquarius the concept of individual nations will fade and that mankind will join together as one people rather than be separated by nationality.
No borders. World peace.
(Hmm. Maybe my utopian hippie desires are in tune with the evolution of universal order?)
It is also predicted that there will be a greater emphasis on the common man and that special privilege for people of higher birth or wealth will die out.
No more class war? Food, shelter, clothing, education, health care and transportation for all? Sure, dish me up some of that.
Astrologers hope that in the Aquarian Age, we will build on past knowledge to discover new truths. (Aquarius is the truth seeker.)
4. Family & Friends
I have a tendency to not share myself well with others. I spend a lot of time in my head. I don’t let a lot of people in. And when I do let people in, I turn up the intimacy volume, often too much, too fast.
I’m trying to find a healthier balance, although I no longer apologize for the fact that I am a super-Cancer. I’m a feeler, a nurturer, and a lover. I get intimate and I’m not ashamed of that.
I’d like to acknowledge the friends and family that tolerate my intense emotions and continue to love and support me, even when the volume gets deafening.
3. Converging with Enlightened Souls
This segues nicely from ‘Friends & Family’. I am proud of myself for continuing to interact with people who are awake and on the forward path of conscious enlightenment.
I don’t need to name names. You know who you are.
(Note: All of us will eventually find ourselves on this list.)
2. Discovering & Living Art Therapy
I’m doing my best to write everyday.
I’m doing my best to photograph everyday.
I’m painting regularly.
Last night I took 45 pics on my walk back from the market.
It doesn’t take that much time and effort to integrate creativity into our daily lives, and the results are so worth it.
1. Realizing, Embracing & Integrating the concept that We Manifest our Experience
This has, by far, been one of my greatest achievements/breakthroughs in this life (and I’ve barely begun to truly experiment with it).
I plan to blog more about this as I learn and live thru more of it.
Thematic Overview: A Return of Hope
There seems to be an overall connection throughout this list: hope.
We all have our struggles and pain, our lessons to live through. We wouldn’t be here otherwise.
The key to staying involved in the game is to maintain a level of hope; a desire to be a part of growth, of making things better. For a good while, I abandoned all hope and that, my friends, was the closest thing I’ve ever felt to death.
It’s good to be alive again.
Monday, January 22, 2007
More of the Same
For the easy-on-the eyes factor paired with the slight climatic resolve of the top ten list genre, herein is my
Ten things I am grateful for about living in Seattle & in Capitol Hill:
10. The View
I know I’ve been pulled in the Pioneer Square direction a lot lately, but hot damn, do I love Capitol Hill. The views are killer and they continue to melt my heart and humble my perspective on a daily basis.
9. The Food
Hana (for sushi)
Queen Sheeba (Ehiopian)
Jai Thai & Siam on Broadway (Thai)
India Express (Indian)
Gyro World & Ali Baba (Gyros & Palestinian)
Than Brothers (Vietnamese)
Baguette Box (Tofu Ban Mi & Fries)
Piecora’s & Toscana (for the best pizza you’ve ever encountered)
Teapot Vegetarian House (self-explanatory)
Madison Market (all organic produce and a great deli section: soups, salads, sandwiches, it’s all good)
Vivace (nobody does espresso better)
Victrola (nobody does drip coffee & ambience better -- on the hill)
Top Pot (doughnuts baby)
Stumbling Monk (Belgian beers with the proximity of stumbling home)
Summit Public House ((good for pints and football (Euro & American))
Emerald City (damn good smoothies)
8. The other Convenience Factors
Although I hate the uber-corporation-ness of it, I must confess that I like having a 3-tier monolith grocery store a block and a half away. A vast beer and wine selection, toilet paper, cat litter and an ice-cream display that can easily consume 45 minutes of an evening. And Madison Market is a 10-15 minute jaunt further up the hill for all of my real-consumption needs.
Bank, post office, Kinkos, pet store and vet all within a handful of blocks.
Atlas, Crossroads, and on occasion Value Village.
Utrecht (for art supplies)
7. Close Proximity to Theatres
Harvard Exit is 2-3 blocks away; cozy and good flicks.
The Egyptian is a short jaunt and is a stunning theatre.
The biggies are just downtown for the occasional hype films (ala Borat).
The Paramount (a stunning venue. Interpol stated that it was, by far, the most beautiful venue they have yet to perform in).
The Moore (not as pretty as the Paramount, but small & intimate)
6. The GreenSpace
Volunteer Park
Cal Anderson Park
Freeway Park
Snoqualmie Falls (sightseeing & simple hike to the base)
Mount Rainier (hiking)
The Passes (I don’t use these as me on skis or a snowboard = pain & danger but I very much like living around mountains)
5. Transportation
Although Seattle is experiencing severe growing pains, it’s still the best city I’ve lived in as far as options are concerned. (Orlando was deplorable and don’t even get me started on LA.)
I can and do walk everywhere I have to or want to go.
I can bike.
Flexcar. Flexcar. Flexcar.
Metro seems to be a pretty decent system.
SeaTac is, overall, a pretty decent airport.
Light Rail is in the works.
Ferries are fun.
Amtrak is always an option.
4. Culture & Art
Yeah, we’re not NY or San Francisco, but we’re pretty art positive.
3. The Politics
Again, we’re not San Francisco, but we’re pretty progressive. Sometimes it can get overbearing and annoying. (There’s a fine line btw. being a progressive and being a close-minded asshole…..The key is to not cross the line or all of your points become instantly invalid.)
2. Bel to the Baines
This little 13-unit apartment complex houses the nicest grouping of neighbors that I’ve ever had. Seriously, good, generous, loving, respectful, smart, & creative people. I absolutely love it here.
1. Finding a Home
Adam and I usually experience the 18-month itch. The desire to pick up and move to a new city. Start over. Start fresh. (Run.) We had our flare-up with Seattle. We thought Portland. We thought Vancouver, BC. We swing with our lust-bouts of NYC, but are realistic. I flirt with San Francisco, but again prefer to visit. I pray that work doesn’t drag us back to LA. We know there’s gonna be a real pull to Europe once we’re finally able to visit.
But, all in all, Seattle has embraced us as our home. Do we intend to continue to travel a lot? Of course. But I think Seattle will continue to be the home base. It’s the geographical location where I realized & accepted the fact that I had to stop running. It’s the city that I decided to start living more in. It’s the city that inspires & demands that I push myself as an artist, as a person. I will always love it for that.
For this life, for this lesson, for this journey, I have found my home.
Ten things I am grateful for about living in Seattle & in Capitol Hill:
10. The View
I know I’ve been pulled in the Pioneer Square direction a lot lately, but hot damn, do I love Capitol Hill. The views are killer and they continue to melt my heart and humble my perspective on a daily basis.
9. The Food
Hana (for sushi)
Queen Sheeba (Ehiopian)
Jai Thai & Siam on Broadway (Thai)
India Express (Indian)
Gyro World & Ali Baba (Gyros & Palestinian)
Than Brothers (Vietnamese)
Baguette Box (Tofu Ban Mi & Fries)
Piecora’s & Toscana (for the best pizza you’ve ever encountered)
Teapot Vegetarian House (self-explanatory)
Madison Market (all organic produce and a great deli section: soups, salads, sandwiches, it’s all good)
Vivace (nobody does espresso better)
Victrola (nobody does drip coffee & ambience better -- on the hill)
Top Pot (doughnuts baby)
Stumbling Monk (Belgian beers with the proximity of stumbling home)
Summit Public House ((good for pints and football (Euro & American))
Emerald City (damn good smoothies)
8. The other Convenience Factors
Although I hate the uber-corporation-ness of it, I must confess that I like having a 3-tier monolith grocery store a block and a half away. A vast beer and wine selection, toilet paper, cat litter and an ice-cream display that can easily consume 45 minutes of an evening. And Madison Market is a 10-15 minute jaunt further up the hill for all of my real-consumption needs.
Bank, post office, Kinkos, pet store and vet all within a handful of blocks.
Atlas, Crossroads, and on occasion Value Village.
Utrecht (for art supplies)
7. Close Proximity to Theatres
Harvard Exit is 2-3 blocks away; cozy and good flicks.
The Egyptian is a short jaunt and is a stunning theatre.
The biggies are just downtown for the occasional hype films (ala Borat).
The Paramount (a stunning venue. Interpol stated that it was, by far, the most beautiful venue they have yet to perform in).
The Moore (not as pretty as the Paramount, but small & intimate)
6. The GreenSpace
Volunteer Park
Cal Anderson Park
Freeway Park
Snoqualmie Falls (sightseeing & simple hike to the base)
Mount Rainier (hiking)
The Passes (I don’t use these as me on skis or a snowboard = pain & danger but I very much like living around mountains)
5. Transportation
Although Seattle is experiencing severe growing pains, it’s still the best city I’ve lived in as far as options are concerned. (Orlando was deplorable and don’t even get me started on LA.)
I can and do walk everywhere I have to or want to go.
I can bike.
Flexcar. Flexcar. Flexcar.
Metro seems to be a pretty decent system.
SeaTac is, overall, a pretty decent airport.
Light Rail is in the works.
Ferries are fun.
Amtrak is always an option.
4. Culture & Art
Yeah, we’re not NY or San Francisco, but we’re pretty art positive.
3. The Politics
Again, we’re not San Francisco, but we’re pretty progressive. Sometimes it can get overbearing and annoying. (There’s a fine line btw. being a progressive and being a close-minded asshole…..The key is to not cross the line or all of your points become instantly invalid.)
2. Bel to the Baines
This little 13-unit apartment complex houses the nicest grouping of neighbors that I’ve ever had. Seriously, good, generous, loving, respectful, smart, & creative people. I absolutely love it here.
1. Finding a Home
Adam and I usually experience the 18-month itch. The desire to pick up and move to a new city. Start over. Start fresh. (Run.) We had our flare-up with Seattle. We thought Portland. We thought Vancouver, BC. We swing with our lust-bouts of NYC, but are realistic. I flirt with San Francisco, but again prefer to visit. I pray that work doesn’t drag us back to LA. We know there’s gonna be a real pull to Europe once we’re finally able to visit.
But, all in all, Seattle has embraced us as our home. Do we intend to continue to travel a lot? Of course. But I think Seattle will continue to be the home base. It’s the geographical location where I realized & accepted the fact that I had to stop running. It’s the city that I decided to start living more in. It’s the city that inspires & demands that I push myself as an artist, as a person. I will always love it for that.
For this life, for this lesson, for this journey, I have found my home.
Laughing thru Limbo
So I’m in an interesting place.
I’m in a state of perpetual exhaustion and my body is in near-constant pain: shoulders, neck, back, legs, feet. It all hurts.
I’m sleeping solidly through the night and getting a healthy quantity: not too much, not too little. I’m trying to pace my working state: I’m going from about 7:30am till 9 or 10pm, breaking for meals and walks.
I try coffee. It doesn’t work. I still feel tired. So I’ve been plowing thru all this work as is, and I’m still accomplishing a lot, but I can’t help but to yearn for a state of higher energy.
Then there’s the flip side.
I can’t seem to fully relax. My usual relax-inducing enablers aren’t quite delivering.
Interesting connection/counter-balance: I feel as though I can’t quite grab hold and I can’t quite let go. Sounds like limbo. But not quite, because I’m getting a lot done.
I know what the solution is. I’m still not allocating the essential “me time”. I’ve gotta start giving myself the 1-2 hours a day to chant and do yoga. I have to. No more diving into work right away in the morning. No exaggeration: I walk from my bed to my computer. After an hour or so I backtrack to the kitchen in order to make coffee.
If I’m serious about remaining healthy and progressing to a higher state of health, then I have to make myself a priority. Everything else will only benefit.
Friday afternoon I went down to Zeitgeist with the intent of eeking out a few hours of creative time. I’ve been working from home for almost three weeks straight and needed to come up for some air.
Not long after I settled into my spot, did two mid to late 20s girls sit next to me. They were grad students in psychology and proceeded to psychoanalyze one another for a good solid two hours.
The more excited they got about their conversation, the louder they became. Their voices would crescendo to the extent that I would wince, sigh, shift, roll my eyes, etc. and they would apologize and bring it back down to a tolerable decibel.
Although it provided for entertaining eavesdropping, I couldn’t help but conclude, “I’m so freaking glad I decided against studying psychology.”
As we all know far too well, I’ve already got the analyzing down, thank you very much.
So instead of writing, I proceeded to reorganize the laptop’s desktop. I restructured and alphabetized all of the bookmarks. I did a bunch of nothingness, really. Aesthetic cleaning.
We had a great weekend: hung out with friends and laughed. A lot.
This morning I feel better.
I’m in a state of perpetual exhaustion and my body is in near-constant pain: shoulders, neck, back, legs, feet. It all hurts.
I’m sleeping solidly through the night and getting a healthy quantity: not too much, not too little. I’m trying to pace my working state: I’m going from about 7:30am till 9 or 10pm, breaking for meals and walks.
I try coffee. It doesn’t work. I still feel tired. So I’ve been plowing thru all this work as is, and I’m still accomplishing a lot, but I can’t help but to yearn for a state of higher energy.
Then there’s the flip side.
I can’t seem to fully relax. My usual relax-inducing enablers aren’t quite delivering.
Interesting connection/counter-balance: I feel as though I can’t quite grab hold and I can’t quite let go. Sounds like limbo. But not quite, because I’m getting a lot done.
I know what the solution is. I’m still not allocating the essential “me time”. I’ve gotta start giving myself the 1-2 hours a day to chant and do yoga. I have to. No more diving into work right away in the morning. No exaggeration: I walk from my bed to my computer. After an hour or so I backtrack to the kitchen in order to make coffee.
If I’m serious about remaining healthy and progressing to a higher state of health, then I have to make myself a priority. Everything else will only benefit.
Friday afternoon I went down to Zeitgeist with the intent of eeking out a few hours of creative time. I’ve been working from home for almost three weeks straight and needed to come up for some air.
Not long after I settled into my spot, did two mid to late 20s girls sit next to me. They were grad students in psychology and proceeded to psychoanalyze one another for a good solid two hours.
The more excited they got about their conversation, the louder they became. Their voices would crescendo to the extent that I would wince, sigh, shift, roll my eyes, etc. and they would apologize and bring it back down to a tolerable decibel.
Although it provided for entertaining eavesdropping, I couldn’t help but conclude, “I’m so freaking glad I decided against studying psychology.”
As we all know far too well, I’ve already got the analyzing down, thank you very much.
So instead of writing, I proceeded to reorganize the laptop’s desktop. I restructured and alphabetized all of the bookmarks. I did a bunch of nothingness, really. Aesthetic cleaning.
We had a great weekend: hung out with friends and laughed. A lot.
This morning I feel better.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Random Non Sequiturs
1. Is there anything worse than paper cutting your tongue whilst licking an envelope?
2. Have you ever misspelled your name while signing something? What is that about? I do it all the time. Do I not know who I am?
“I’m sorry. Can we start again, please? I spelled my name wrong.”
3. How is it that I consistently pick the wrong line?
4. Is it any coincidence that depressants that induce violence and aggression are legal (alcohol) whereas natural euphorics (marijuana, mushrooms) that induce relaxation, bountiful love and an expanded mindset are not?
5. Why does BushCo get to bury us with a $1.2 Trillion burden? Who is heading up the Guarantor Committee of this clusterfuck? Somebody needs to be calling the White House every 15 minutes to remind them that they’ve overextended THEIR credit!!!!!!
(Note how the list morphs from light and funny to political ire…….Perhaps I’ll reign it back in a bit.)
6. I love my Mac Widgets. Especially the dictionary/thesaurus and the worldview that displays what’s light and what’s dark.
7. My cat hasn’t vomited once yet today. God really is on my side. ☺
2. Have you ever misspelled your name while signing something? What is that about? I do it all the time. Do I not know who I am?
“I’m sorry. Can we start again, please? I spelled my name wrong.”
3. How is it that I consistently pick the wrong line?
4. Is it any coincidence that depressants that induce violence and aggression are legal (alcohol) whereas natural euphorics (marijuana, mushrooms) that induce relaxation, bountiful love and an expanded mindset are not?
5. Why does BushCo get to bury us with a $1.2 Trillion burden? Who is heading up the Guarantor Committee of this clusterfuck? Somebody needs to be calling the White House every 15 minutes to remind them that they’ve overextended THEIR credit!!!!!!
(Note how the list morphs from light and funny to political ire…….Perhaps I’ll reign it back in a bit.)
6. I love my Mac Widgets. Especially the dictionary/thesaurus and the worldview that displays what’s light and what’s dark.
7. My cat hasn’t vomited once yet today. God really is on my side. ☺
Monday, January 15, 2007
Farewell to the January Fast
Sometimes doing the right thing means listening to your intuition and going in the direction that is opposite of what you want.
I had a great fast to end 2006 and I wanted to have a great fast to begin 2007.
I had a pretty good 3-day ramp in. My first day and a half of actual fasting were pure hell. I was freezing (the body naturally loses temperature when it is metabolizing less). That on top of the below freezing weather was proving a difficult feat even for the thickest of wool sweaters and socks.
It wasn’t really the cold, though; so much as it was the exhaustion. Saturday, I was useless. I kept falling asleep and just couldn’t get motivated. The 48-hour splitting headache didn’t help. By Sunday afternoon, I was in tears.
“I know you don’t wanna hear this, but I don’t think this is a good time for you to be fasting,” Adam gently offered.
I played tug-of-war with it for a couple of hours, but I knew he was right. I’m working far too hard to be fasting right now.
“But I need this now. It’s helps me find my balance.”
“You don’t need to fast to find balance. You can do that anytime. You know you can.”
Damn it.
So I made a pact with myself recently that I couldn’t start any new paintings until I had finished all of my ‘works-in-progress’. You see, with art, it’s easy and safe to label something unfinished. It protects you from any critiquing and even helps you deflect any compliments. For example:
“Nice work.”
“What? This? Oh, yeah it’s not finished yet.”
The problem with coming back to a painting, in particular, after a period of time is that it can prove a challenge to find and match up the color scheme. Paints may have run out or dried up. I got myself into trouble with one of my favorites. I ran out of one of the original colors and couldn’t find it in town anywhere and ended up schlepping up a portion of the painting in lieu of the fact.
Lesson? Be careful not to let things slide for too long as the original components may not stick around long enough for you to capture what you originally intended.
A friend, a fellow visual artist, was over Friday night. I had been painting when an impromptu visit occurred. He’s a talented artist that specializes in bottle cap portraits and makes a comfortable living in corporate advertising. His work can be seen here:
www.randallstatler.com
A popular restaurant that he worked at in his early Seattle days changes its menu quarterly to different regional fares. They showcase local art that corresponds to the particular regional menu. In a couple of weeks, the menu changes to Italy.
“If you’ve got any paintings that say ‘Italy’, you should totally get em’ up there. Seriously. Stuff sells up there. If it’s decently priced and easy on the eyes, it’ll sell.”
I shifted and tried to change the conversation.
He steered me back.
During the Christmas 2005 party we attended in LA, I met an artist and she told me the story of the first piece of art she sold. I confessed to her that I had a fear of letting go of my art.
“I’m a selfish artist,” I hushed. “I don’t wanna let go of any of it.”
She told me she understood and that it gets easier over time. She told me there’s nothing like the joy of watching somebody else enjoy and love something that you’ve created.
A friend recently commented on one of my blogs about how parents don’t let go of their children. They hold on tight and, in doing so, prevent them from prospering, from intermingling with the world, from reaching their true potential.
“The same can be true for art, I suppose.”
That hit a nerve. A 2006 goal for mine was a show. It didn’t happen and it might’ve been too aggressive a leap. But to start entering a piece or two here and there is a good start.
To truly be willing to release the screenplays would be another good start.
And I realized that a major reason why selling this show is moving along so easily for me is because I don’t love it like I love our scripts. Yeah, it’s a killer concept, a great package, but it doesn’t have characters that I’ve grown to love like members of my own family.
It’s time to start letting go. (It’s time to start sharing my art, myself, with others.)
And it rises to the surface from all directions. This is all connected.
Excuses sprint their way to the front of my mind. My paintbrushes are tattered and worn. I’m out of my favorite paints. What the hell do I know about Italy?
But this is something I’d like to try. I owe it to myself to try.
So readers, I ask for your input with this one.
What comes to mind when you think of Italy? What would you like to see in the realm of acrylic on canvas in regards to Italy?
I’m open to any and all suggestions. Thanks!
I had a great fast to end 2006 and I wanted to have a great fast to begin 2007.
I had a pretty good 3-day ramp in. My first day and a half of actual fasting were pure hell. I was freezing (the body naturally loses temperature when it is metabolizing less). That on top of the below freezing weather was proving a difficult feat even for the thickest of wool sweaters and socks.
It wasn’t really the cold, though; so much as it was the exhaustion. Saturday, I was useless. I kept falling asleep and just couldn’t get motivated. The 48-hour splitting headache didn’t help. By Sunday afternoon, I was in tears.
“I know you don’t wanna hear this, but I don’t think this is a good time for you to be fasting,” Adam gently offered.
I played tug-of-war with it for a couple of hours, but I knew he was right. I’m working far too hard to be fasting right now.
“But I need this now. It’s helps me find my balance.”
“You don’t need to fast to find balance. You can do that anytime. You know you can.”
Damn it.
So I made a pact with myself recently that I couldn’t start any new paintings until I had finished all of my ‘works-in-progress’. You see, with art, it’s easy and safe to label something unfinished. It protects you from any critiquing and even helps you deflect any compliments. For example:
“Nice work.”
“What? This? Oh, yeah it’s not finished yet.”
The problem with coming back to a painting, in particular, after a period of time is that it can prove a challenge to find and match up the color scheme. Paints may have run out or dried up. I got myself into trouble with one of my favorites. I ran out of one of the original colors and couldn’t find it in town anywhere and ended up schlepping up a portion of the painting in lieu of the fact.
Lesson? Be careful not to let things slide for too long as the original components may not stick around long enough for you to capture what you originally intended.
A friend, a fellow visual artist, was over Friday night. I had been painting when an impromptu visit occurred. He’s a talented artist that specializes in bottle cap portraits and makes a comfortable living in corporate advertising. His work can be seen here:
www.randallstatler.com
A popular restaurant that he worked at in his early Seattle days changes its menu quarterly to different regional fares. They showcase local art that corresponds to the particular regional menu. In a couple of weeks, the menu changes to Italy.
“If you’ve got any paintings that say ‘Italy’, you should totally get em’ up there. Seriously. Stuff sells up there. If it’s decently priced and easy on the eyes, it’ll sell.”
I shifted and tried to change the conversation.
He steered me back.
During the Christmas 2005 party we attended in LA, I met an artist and she told me the story of the first piece of art she sold. I confessed to her that I had a fear of letting go of my art.
“I’m a selfish artist,” I hushed. “I don’t wanna let go of any of it.”
She told me she understood and that it gets easier over time. She told me there’s nothing like the joy of watching somebody else enjoy and love something that you’ve created.
A friend recently commented on one of my blogs about how parents don’t let go of their children. They hold on tight and, in doing so, prevent them from prospering, from intermingling with the world, from reaching their true potential.
“The same can be true for art, I suppose.”
That hit a nerve. A 2006 goal for mine was a show. It didn’t happen and it might’ve been too aggressive a leap. But to start entering a piece or two here and there is a good start.
To truly be willing to release the screenplays would be another good start.
And I realized that a major reason why selling this show is moving along so easily for me is because I don’t love it like I love our scripts. Yeah, it’s a killer concept, a great package, but it doesn’t have characters that I’ve grown to love like members of my own family.
It’s time to start letting go. (It’s time to start sharing my art, myself, with others.)
And it rises to the surface from all directions. This is all connected.
Excuses sprint their way to the front of my mind. My paintbrushes are tattered and worn. I’m out of my favorite paints. What the hell do I know about Italy?
But this is something I’d like to try. I owe it to myself to try.
So readers, I ask for your input with this one.
What comes to mind when you think of Italy? What would you like to see in the realm of acrylic on canvas in regards to Italy?
I’m open to any and all suggestions. Thanks!
Friday, January 12, 2007
“If I Were Anymore Backwards, I’d Be Going Forwards”
I can whole-heartedly guarantee that I was the only fool walking through Capitol Hill today with a smoothie in hand. Damn, it’s cold. The snow has stayed for two days now. I’ll repeat that:
The snow is sticking to the ground. It’s not melting. Snow never stays on the ground in the city.
“Rejuvenator. All soy with spirulina and echinacea, please.”
“Oh, thank God you’re here.”
“Dead day?”
“Uh, yeah. Your throat still hurt?”
“Mmm hmm.”
Yesterday’s smoothie was such a sweet delight: a frozen French kiss on my fiery throat.
The smoothie boys and girls have gotten to know me pretty well as smoothies are a regular part of my ramp ins and ramp outs. This girl in particular has really cool energy. She used to live in the building next to ours.
“Sometimes when I’m sneaking a cigarette out the window, I watch you taking out your garbage,” she once confessed.
I wasn’t sure how to respond.
Anyway I was en route to Madison to load up on carrots, apples and ginger. It was so cold that my toes and fingers hurt by the time I made it up the hill; by far the coldest I felt in my 4 years in Seattle.
This walk reminded me that I want to reference my last blog about the notion of ‘time running out’.
In order to do so, a preface:
The cool thing about walking thru this neighborhood is that it’s full of a lot of artists: people who get off on expressing themselves. This comes in several forms. For example, the guy on the end of the block has a tree in his yard that has a ton of empty beer bottles on it that hang from fishing wire.
He also has a lot of big, fat happy cats and is really cool.
But a lot of people display stuff in their windows. Of course, there’s a fair amount of political stuff. One guy has an ad for the psychiatric center that he was hospitalized in scotch-taped and facing outward for everyone to see.
Now, I ask you, does one really wanna advertise that?
But, en route to Madison Market, is this one window that for months had a small rectangular yellow piece of paper taped to it that said, “I love you.”
I interpreted it as a kind, loving gesture sent out to all the passersby and it gave me a little warm fuzzy every time I passed it.
Then about a month ago, it changed. It now reads, “I love you. Where are you?”
The once all-loving gesture transformed into one of desperate longing. (I no longer feel the warm fuzzy.)
This brings me back to ‘time is running out’.
First of all, what an ass-backwards idea. It is an utmost impossibility as 1) everything goes on forever and 2) time doesn’t exist.
Now, keeping this in mind, the other day whilst on a stroll thru the neighborhood, the internal conversation of my mind was along the very lines of, “Pick up the pace, time is running out.”
Work harder. Do more. Make money faster. The walls are closing in. The vultures aren’t just circling: they’re starting to swoop. Etc. Etc.
I literally said out loud, “Time is not running out. I define my own relationship with time.”
What happened next is no bullshit. For whatever reason I turned my head to the right and taped to a window were the words:
“Time is Running Out.”
I came to a rather abrupt halt and stood in front of the window, mouth agape.
“Did I just step inside my own conversation?”
A chill ran up my spine. I smirked and continued onward.
Again, I glanced to the right and taped on the third window down were the words:
“You’re not listening. I SAID Time is Running Out!”
At this point, the smirk faded a bit.
And then it crept back.
The snow is sticking to the ground. It’s not melting. Snow never stays on the ground in the city.
“Rejuvenator. All soy with spirulina and echinacea, please.”
“Oh, thank God you’re here.”
“Dead day?”
“Uh, yeah. Your throat still hurt?”
“Mmm hmm.”
Yesterday’s smoothie was such a sweet delight: a frozen French kiss on my fiery throat.
The smoothie boys and girls have gotten to know me pretty well as smoothies are a regular part of my ramp ins and ramp outs. This girl in particular has really cool energy. She used to live in the building next to ours.
“Sometimes when I’m sneaking a cigarette out the window, I watch you taking out your garbage,” she once confessed.
I wasn’t sure how to respond.
Anyway I was en route to Madison to load up on carrots, apples and ginger. It was so cold that my toes and fingers hurt by the time I made it up the hill; by far the coldest I felt in my 4 years in Seattle.
This walk reminded me that I want to reference my last blog about the notion of ‘time running out’.
In order to do so, a preface:
The cool thing about walking thru this neighborhood is that it’s full of a lot of artists: people who get off on expressing themselves. This comes in several forms. For example, the guy on the end of the block has a tree in his yard that has a ton of empty beer bottles on it that hang from fishing wire.
He also has a lot of big, fat happy cats and is really cool.
But a lot of people display stuff in their windows. Of course, there’s a fair amount of political stuff. One guy has an ad for the psychiatric center that he was hospitalized in scotch-taped and facing outward for everyone to see.
Now, I ask you, does one really wanna advertise that?
But, en route to Madison Market, is this one window that for months had a small rectangular yellow piece of paper taped to it that said, “I love you.”
I interpreted it as a kind, loving gesture sent out to all the passersby and it gave me a little warm fuzzy every time I passed it.
Then about a month ago, it changed. It now reads, “I love you. Where are you?”
The once all-loving gesture transformed into one of desperate longing. (I no longer feel the warm fuzzy.)
This brings me back to ‘time is running out’.
First of all, what an ass-backwards idea. It is an utmost impossibility as 1) everything goes on forever and 2) time doesn’t exist.
Now, keeping this in mind, the other day whilst on a stroll thru the neighborhood, the internal conversation of my mind was along the very lines of, “Pick up the pace, time is running out.”
Work harder. Do more. Make money faster. The walls are closing in. The vultures aren’t just circling: they’re starting to swoop. Etc. Etc.
I literally said out loud, “Time is not running out. I define my own relationship with time.”
What happened next is no bullshit. For whatever reason I turned my head to the right and taped to a window were the words:
“Time is Running Out.”
I came to a rather abrupt halt and stood in front of the window, mouth agape.
“Did I just step inside my own conversation?”
A chill ran up my spine. I smirked and continued onward.
Again, I glanced to the right and taped on the third window down were the words:
“You’re not listening. I SAID Time is Running Out!”
At this point, the smirk faded a bit.
And then it crept back.
Hiking thru my Mind
I walk alone through a winding dark cave. Carrying a small light of sorts, I eagerly try to find my way out.
The light flickers and panic ignites.
I shake it. I rattle it. The flicker recedes and a full beam of light returns.
“Pick up the pace, time’s running out.”
In an instant, the light dies and leaves me stranded.
I stand frozen, not knowing which way to turn. Hands outstretched, I cautiously inch my way to a wall of the cave and use it for guidance.
After walking for what feels like an eternity, I realize that in my attempts to find my way out, I have been walking in repeated circles.
In defeat, I slide to the ground and allow the blackness to consume me.
I whimper. I sob.
(It makes no difference.)
The tears subside as I begin to accept my situation.
The sound of my circular breaths fills the space.
I am at one with myself alone in the dark. Hours pass.
Day breaks and a tiny crevice of light crawls inside the cave.
I follow the ray and exit.
A vibrant, lush new world awaits.
The light flickers and panic ignites.
I shake it. I rattle it. The flicker recedes and a full beam of light returns.
“Pick up the pace, time’s running out.”
In an instant, the light dies and leaves me stranded.
I stand frozen, not knowing which way to turn. Hands outstretched, I cautiously inch my way to a wall of the cave and use it for guidance.
After walking for what feels like an eternity, I realize that in my attempts to find my way out, I have been walking in repeated circles.
In defeat, I slide to the ground and allow the blackness to consume me.
I whimper. I sob.
(It makes no difference.)
The tears subside as I begin to accept my situation.
The sound of my circular breaths fills the space.
I am at one with myself alone in the dark. Hours pass.
Day breaks and a tiny crevice of light crawls inside the cave.
I follow the ray and exit.
A vibrant, lush new world awaits.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
This Blog Lacks a Title
Yesterday was one of those days that just kept tugging at my sleeve, trying to pull me down. Nothing particularly bad happened, it was just one of those days.
I did well though: kept shaking it off and moving forward. I ended up getting a lot accomplished.
Today “Soak” saw it first hit since it went back on the market: another international interest. I like very much that our work gets respect by the international community.
It’s been on the market for less then a week. “Soak” is our little cheerleader, our little flag trying to wave over interest.
“Go, Soak, go.”
Day Two of the ramp is in full swing, and this time I’m ready. This time I’m excited to be fasting again, which is always a good thing. Tuesday I came in contact with three people who were recovering from laryngitis. (It took me four attempts to spell that properly!)
“Don’t worry, I’m no longer contagious.”
Wouldn’t you know it, yesterday my throat started hurting. Not really hurting, but burning.
No, no, no, no! Not right now. I need to have my voice right now. It has been statistically proven that pitches have a far greater success rate when the ‘pitchee’ has an audible voice.
I did a little Reiki last night, tried to focus healing energy on it and today it feels more like a smoldering ember.
And the pitch meeting hasn’t been solidified yet, so I think I’ve got time. I’m doing my best to be patient with this one. Past patterns have me wanting to force, force, force it faster. But everyday it’s moving forward and it’s doing that thing that projects do: they get their own life force; they take on their own energetic field.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I love creating. To take something from idea and work it until it becomes its own entity and then it starts to attract the energy of others and synergy forms. I love being a part of, and witnessing, this process.
I would imagine parents feel similar about their children: creating something and then setting it free to intermingle with the world.
And I can’t count the number of times that I’ve referred to projects as my/our ‘babies’.
And art is easier than real babies: no sleepless nights or shitty, poopy messiness to clean up after.
Hmm. Okay well art clearly has both of those things.
I’m getting off track. Or am I getting on track?
Speaking of transportation, doesn’t look like we’ll be trying out our new bikes this weekend: we’ve got snow again. It’s beautiful. It’s bitterly cold. It isn’t supposed to be like this here.
And three cheers for 20k more troops! Bush’s policy with this whole Iraq quagmire reminds me of the neighbors that used to live below us. Bless their young hearts, the kids could not light a grill to save their lives. But, oh, did they try. They would douse that damn thing with lighter fluid and smoke the entire building out: not once, not twice, but nearly every day of the summer.
It got to the point where Adam and I considered stealing their grill and abandoning it in some dark alley: never to be heard from again.
So, go ahead, keep pouring more lighter fluid, Bush. After all, wasn’t the goal to “smoke em’ outta their caves”? Oh, shit, never mind that was Bin Laden that ‘attacked’ us.
January 18th, mark your calendars, palm pilots, blackberries and TiVos: Colbert and O’Reilley are facing off on each others shows. Good times!
I did well though: kept shaking it off and moving forward. I ended up getting a lot accomplished.
Today “Soak” saw it first hit since it went back on the market: another international interest. I like very much that our work gets respect by the international community.
It’s been on the market for less then a week. “Soak” is our little cheerleader, our little flag trying to wave over interest.
“Go, Soak, go.”
Day Two of the ramp is in full swing, and this time I’m ready. This time I’m excited to be fasting again, which is always a good thing. Tuesday I came in contact with three people who were recovering from laryngitis. (It took me four attempts to spell that properly!)
“Don’t worry, I’m no longer contagious.”
Wouldn’t you know it, yesterday my throat started hurting. Not really hurting, but burning.
No, no, no, no! Not right now. I need to have my voice right now. It has been statistically proven that pitches have a far greater success rate when the ‘pitchee’ has an audible voice.
I did a little Reiki last night, tried to focus healing energy on it and today it feels more like a smoldering ember.
And the pitch meeting hasn’t been solidified yet, so I think I’ve got time. I’m doing my best to be patient with this one. Past patterns have me wanting to force, force, force it faster. But everyday it’s moving forward and it’s doing that thing that projects do: they get their own life force; they take on their own energetic field.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I love creating. To take something from idea and work it until it becomes its own entity and then it starts to attract the energy of others and synergy forms. I love being a part of, and witnessing, this process.
I would imagine parents feel similar about their children: creating something and then setting it free to intermingle with the world.
And I can’t count the number of times that I’ve referred to projects as my/our ‘babies’.
And art is easier than real babies: no sleepless nights or shitty, poopy messiness to clean up after.
Hmm. Okay well art clearly has both of those things.
I’m getting off track. Or am I getting on track?
Speaking of transportation, doesn’t look like we’ll be trying out our new bikes this weekend: we’ve got snow again. It’s beautiful. It’s bitterly cold. It isn’t supposed to be like this here.
And three cheers for 20k more troops! Bush’s policy with this whole Iraq quagmire reminds me of the neighbors that used to live below us. Bless their young hearts, the kids could not light a grill to save their lives. But, oh, did they try. They would douse that damn thing with lighter fluid and smoke the entire building out: not once, not twice, but nearly every day of the summer.
It got to the point where Adam and I considered stealing their grill and abandoning it in some dark alley: never to be heard from again.
So, go ahead, keep pouring more lighter fluid, Bush. After all, wasn’t the goal to “smoke em’ outta their caves”? Oh, shit, never mind that was Bin Laden that ‘attacked’ us.
January 18th, mark your calendars, palm pilots, blackberries and TiVos: Colbert and O’Reilley are facing off on each others shows. Good times!
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
I Surrender
I finally gave in and joined myspace. I have resisted for a long time. I thought it would fade out. I thought I was too old for it. I thought it was campy. I was being stubborn. Everybody’s on it. So fine. I give in already. ;)
I can be found at:
myspace.com/jennadg07
I think I’ll continue to blog at both sites as I like the idea of a blog space that’s words only.
Ironically enough, I’m gonna cut this entry short as I wanna get down to Left Bank Books @ the market to pick up some stickers for our new (refurbished) bikes. There’s another windstorm rolling in and I hope to beat it.
Cheers.
Oh, yeah, and Day One of the Ramp was shot by 2:00PM when I had to have a cup of coffee. I was, literally, falling asleep at my desk. This was later followed by red wine and painting until 3:00AM, which required coffee this morning.
So, uh, new ramp in begins tomorrow. (This happens almost every time I start to enter a fast.) As soon as I tell myself I can’t have something I want it even more.
Surprise, surprise.
I can be found at:
myspace.com/jennadg07
I think I’ll continue to blog at both sites as I like the idea of a blog space that’s words only.
Ironically enough, I’m gonna cut this entry short as I wanna get down to Left Bank Books @ the market to pick up some stickers for our new (refurbished) bikes. There’s another windstorm rolling in and I hope to beat it.
Cheers.
Oh, yeah, and Day One of the Ramp was shot by 2:00PM when I had to have a cup of coffee. I was, literally, falling asleep at my desk. This was later followed by red wine and painting until 3:00AM, which required coffee this morning.
So, uh, new ramp in begins tomorrow. (This happens almost every time I start to enter a fast.) As soon as I tell myself I can’t have something I want it even more.
Surprise, surprise.
Monday, January 8, 2007
Turn on the Bright LIghts
It’s gotta happen. I’ve got to get some better lighting in this apartment. In September, we moved across the hall and down a level: bigger apartment and a porch that provides a snapshot of the Olympics.
Trouble is, I haven’t got enough lights to fill the space and it is imperative to have sufficient lighting for Seattle’s doom-and-gloom winters.
I made my way to Value Village today to check out a light a friend saw there. It turned out to be cute but was too heavy and wobbly for my taste.
I swung by the men’s department to look for jeans for Adam. I swung by the belts. Therein I encountered a man who was trying to pick out a tie.
I immediately picked up on his fragile state and felt concern. He must’ve tuned into my frequency.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry to bother you. I know your time is just as valuable as anyone’s but can you help me with this?” he asked holding two ties to a suit.
I hesitated.
“It’s just that my son was killed Saturday morning. Freak car accident. I haven’t slept since.”
I took in his red watery eyes.
“You know after all the arrangements, I just can’t make anymore decisions. I just can’t.”
“It’s okay. I understand.”
“You know if you’ve got a husband or a boyfriend or anything…..I don’t wanna upset anybody. It’s not like that. I just don’t wanna be alone right now.”
“I know.”
I took five minutes and helped him pick out a decent tie from a swarm of deplorable contenders.
“I don’t own any ties. I hate ties.”
“Me too.”
After we put together the best ensemble we could manage, I wished him well, told him to try and rest a little.
He gave genuine thanks.
--------------------------
Sometimes life gives us the opportunity to truly ‘be there’ for another individual, even if that person is a stranger.
A spark of desperate need ignites.
An understanding soul steps in and reminds them that the house is not, in fact, burning to the ground.
The immediate panic resides.
The understanding soul abandons everything but for a few moments and gives her full attention to the person in need.
The two part ways and the person in need feels reassurance that we are all, in fact, connected and that, somehow, everything is gonna be okay.
(It’s good to get out of your own head a pay attention to the needs of those around you.)
Trouble is, I haven’t got enough lights to fill the space and it is imperative to have sufficient lighting for Seattle’s doom-and-gloom winters.
I made my way to Value Village today to check out a light a friend saw there. It turned out to be cute but was too heavy and wobbly for my taste.
I swung by the men’s department to look for jeans for Adam. I swung by the belts. Therein I encountered a man who was trying to pick out a tie.
I immediately picked up on his fragile state and felt concern. He must’ve tuned into my frequency.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry to bother you. I know your time is just as valuable as anyone’s but can you help me with this?” he asked holding two ties to a suit.
I hesitated.
“It’s just that my son was killed Saturday morning. Freak car accident. I haven’t slept since.”
I took in his red watery eyes.
“You know after all the arrangements, I just can’t make anymore decisions. I just can’t.”
“It’s okay. I understand.”
“You know if you’ve got a husband or a boyfriend or anything…..I don’t wanna upset anybody. It’s not like that. I just don’t wanna be alone right now.”
“I know.”
I took five minutes and helped him pick out a decent tie from a swarm of deplorable contenders.
“I don’t own any ties. I hate ties.”
“Me too.”
After we put together the best ensemble we could manage, I wished him well, told him to try and rest a little.
He gave genuine thanks.
--------------------------
Sometimes life gives us the opportunity to truly ‘be there’ for another individual, even if that person is a stranger.
A spark of desperate need ignites.
An understanding soul steps in and reminds them that the house is not, in fact, burning to the ground.
The immediate panic resides.
The understanding soul abandons everything but for a few moments and gives her full attention to the person in need.
The two part ways and the person in need feels reassurance that we are all, in fact, connected and that, somehow, everything is gonna be okay.
(It’s good to get out of your own head a pay attention to the needs of those around you.)
Energy if You Please
I’m really feeling the toll of all the work I’ve been doing lately.
I am tired in an overextended sort of way.
Yesterday I began to feel it and today I’m really having to coax myself into gear.
I’ve got this continual sinking feeling that something still isn’t physically well. I could go into detail, but I would rather not focus my energy there. I’ve been working very hard on putting my energy in the other direction, in fact, and it has been helping.
I know I need to be patient.
I know that healing takes time and dedication.
Instead I have committed to another fast. Today is the first day of ramping in. My being is telling me it needs more ‘down time’ and I understand. I started to feel so much better with the last one and wanted to stay in longer but came out for the holidays.
I’ve been drinking a ton of water, too. And even with all the water I’m drinking, I near constantly feel dehydrated. It’s odd.
So I submit to you, once again, intuition.
As well, we’re getting into delivery time with the show and fasting provides a platform for me to integrate with universal harmony.
I need to be in that place.
And I recognize that it is 100% possible to be in that space every moment.
I don’t need to fast to attain ultimate balance.
But, for the time being, I do.
I am tired in an overextended sort of way.
Yesterday I began to feel it and today I’m really having to coax myself into gear.
I’ve got this continual sinking feeling that something still isn’t physically well. I could go into detail, but I would rather not focus my energy there. I’ve been working very hard on putting my energy in the other direction, in fact, and it has been helping.
I know I need to be patient.
I know that healing takes time and dedication.
Instead I have committed to another fast. Today is the first day of ramping in. My being is telling me it needs more ‘down time’ and I understand. I started to feel so much better with the last one and wanted to stay in longer but came out for the holidays.
I’ve been drinking a ton of water, too. And even with all the water I’m drinking, I near constantly feel dehydrated. It’s odd.
So I submit to you, once again, intuition.
As well, we’re getting into delivery time with the show and fasting provides a platform for me to integrate with universal harmony.
I need to be in that place.
And I recognize that it is 100% possible to be in that space every moment.
I don’t need to fast to attain ultimate balance.
But, for the time being, I do.
Sunday, January 7, 2007
Avocado Goals
The good thing about a blinking cursor is that eventually keystrokes overtake the repetition. Slow at first, they find their cadence and the blank page fills with letters, words, sentences, and paragraphs. An image unfolds.
Color forms, literally from black and white components.
Yesterday was an insanely busy day for a Saturday. Adam had to get up for work at 6AM, so I did the honorable thing and got up with him. I had previously offered to help one of the building owners with a dump run. I had a team of Comcast technicians en route for some heavy maintenance on our building’s tower. I had a good five hours of filing to accomplish. And I had two lingering writing deadlines.
I have a friend that I don’t see very often. We met at what I guess I can label ‘college’. It was sort of a college. She and I have a similar drive and, I suspect, are equally hard on ourselves. Although we don’t connect that much, I recognize her, perhaps from other lives.
She commented yesterday on my ‘2007 To Manifest List’ that it was “ambitious and specific”.
This initially resulted in me laughing out loud. I felt a little embarrassed too, like I was being foolish for setting such lofty goals.
At the film production company that I worked at in LA, I was in a constant downward spiral: always falling behind. It was an extremely ‘goal oriented’ environment.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I fully support setting goals.
The key, though, is to set attainable goals and to recognize that Armageddon isn’t on the horizon if a goal isn’t met.
We even had ‘daily track sheets’ that we had to turn in to prove that we were moving forward in every possible way.
“Really? I haven’t done this since grade school.”
The reason this system failed, in my opinion, is that for starters, we set entirely way too many goals. Secondly, we were treated like incompetent imbeciles if a goal wasn’t met. There was a constant presence of “I don’t fully trust you” in the air from the higher ups.
Everybody fell behind on every project. Everyone was miserable. Employees cried regularly.
But, most importantly, we didn’t need to be operating under such a harsh set of guidelines. We were a small but extremely smart and talented group of individuals. We were creative and overly proactive and hard working as it was.
Operating under the ‘teacher always looking over your shoulder’ mentality backfired. We began to resent our work and each other. And it’s a shame. Had we been allowed more freedom, I think that we would’ve organically prospered immensely.
So I take what I learned there and apply it to my current state. I recognize that I set a lot of goals. I do well with structure. But I’m also cognizant of letting the incomplete goals roll over into a more realistic time frame. It’s about flexibility. It’s about balance.
And it’s imperative to take time off, even when you’re behind. (Knowing & accepting that you’re always gonna be behind helps, too.)
Yesterday, after working for 11 hours, we enjoyed the Seahawks game. What a good game! We got in a short visit with some friends. We played music and soaked in a hot bath.
I’m failing to find the slick transition that takes us from goals to avocados, so I’ll bypass the segue and just dive right in.
I’m going through a weird food phase where I’m constantly craving eggs and avocados: rich buttery protein.
One of my favorite meals of the moment is layered in the following manner (from bottom to top):
Essential Bakery Olive Bread
(unbleached wheat flour, organic whole-wheat flour,
organic rye flour, water, sea salt, atalanti and kalamata
olives, fresh organic rosemary and dried thyme)
Fresh Goat Cheese
Organic Cheddar Cheese
Organic Avocado
Well, its noon. Coffee’s gone, breakfast is up and I need a shower.
Color forms, literally from black and white components.
Yesterday was an insanely busy day for a Saturday. Adam had to get up for work at 6AM, so I did the honorable thing and got up with him. I had previously offered to help one of the building owners with a dump run. I had a team of Comcast technicians en route for some heavy maintenance on our building’s tower. I had a good five hours of filing to accomplish. And I had two lingering writing deadlines.
I have a friend that I don’t see very often. We met at what I guess I can label ‘college’. It was sort of a college. She and I have a similar drive and, I suspect, are equally hard on ourselves. Although we don’t connect that much, I recognize her, perhaps from other lives.
She commented yesterday on my ‘2007 To Manifest List’ that it was “ambitious and specific”.
This initially resulted in me laughing out loud. I felt a little embarrassed too, like I was being foolish for setting such lofty goals.
At the film production company that I worked at in LA, I was in a constant downward spiral: always falling behind. It was an extremely ‘goal oriented’ environment.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I fully support setting goals.
The key, though, is to set attainable goals and to recognize that Armageddon isn’t on the horizon if a goal isn’t met.
We even had ‘daily track sheets’ that we had to turn in to prove that we were moving forward in every possible way.
“Really? I haven’t done this since grade school.”
The reason this system failed, in my opinion, is that for starters, we set entirely way too many goals. Secondly, we were treated like incompetent imbeciles if a goal wasn’t met. There was a constant presence of “I don’t fully trust you” in the air from the higher ups.
Everybody fell behind on every project. Everyone was miserable. Employees cried regularly.
But, most importantly, we didn’t need to be operating under such a harsh set of guidelines. We were a small but extremely smart and talented group of individuals. We were creative and overly proactive and hard working as it was.
Operating under the ‘teacher always looking over your shoulder’ mentality backfired. We began to resent our work and each other. And it’s a shame. Had we been allowed more freedom, I think that we would’ve organically prospered immensely.
So I take what I learned there and apply it to my current state. I recognize that I set a lot of goals. I do well with structure. But I’m also cognizant of letting the incomplete goals roll over into a more realistic time frame. It’s about flexibility. It’s about balance.
And it’s imperative to take time off, even when you’re behind. (Knowing & accepting that you’re always gonna be behind helps, too.)
Yesterday, after working for 11 hours, we enjoyed the Seahawks game. What a good game! We got in a short visit with some friends. We played music and soaked in a hot bath.
I’m failing to find the slick transition that takes us from goals to avocados, so I’ll bypass the segue and just dive right in.
I’m going through a weird food phase where I’m constantly craving eggs and avocados: rich buttery protein.
One of my favorite meals of the moment is layered in the following manner (from bottom to top):
Essential Bakery Olive Bread
(unbleached wheat flour, organic whole-wheat flour,
organic rye flour, water, sea salt, atalanti and kalamata
olives, fresh organic rosemary and dried thyme)
Fresh Goat Cheese
Organic Cheddar Cheese
Organic Avocado
Well, its noon. Coffee’s gone, breakfast is up and I need a shower.
Saturday, January 6, 2007
Pulse Pulse Pulse
For the record, there’s nothing more annoying than a blinking cursor on a blank synopsis page.
Friday, January 5, 2007
Sometimes it's the Simple Things
Forget driving with two hands on the wheel.
Apparently Seattle’s effects of global warming equate to regular violent windstorms. The rain is fine. I’ve adapted to the rain. But, as a pedestrian commuter, a girl can only buy so many freaking umbrellas.
And I’ve learned over the past few weeks the importance of keeping both hands on the umbrella. This has proven to greatly reduce the likelihood of bashing my face in with the metal stem.
Fellow readers, I urge you to heed this valuable lesson:
Umbrellas can and will leave bruises.
Apparently Seattle’s effects of global warming equate to regular violent windstorms. The rain is fine. I’ve adapted to the rain. But, as a pedestrian commuter, a girl can only buy so many freaking umbrellas.
And I’ve learned over the past few weeks the importance of keeping both hands on the umbrella. This has proven to greatly reduce the likelihood of bashing my face in with the metal stem.
Fellow readers, I urge you to heed this valuable lesson:
Umbrellas can and will leave bruises.
Putty Holes & Black Dildos
I seem to be falling back into a pattern of abundant productivity. The “me” me. Although, like an innocent bystander, a part of myself watches from the sidelines.
“Careful.”
“I know. I’m watching out.”
Yesterday was one of my errand days. I had a gazillion errands, personal and work-related, that I was stashing up for the weekend. They started dribbling out like a leaking faucet and by late afternoon they were flooding like our city has done so often lately.
We had a really wicked hailstorm yesterday, too. I had just finished painting over some graffiti on the exterior of the building. It was a heavy, steady white down pour for a good, long while. And afterwards the Olympics were a majestic, solemn blue.
Beautiful.
So I’m back to working 15-16 hour days.
Higher Self waves her finger.
“You said you wouldn’t rock the pendulum so heavily.”
“I know, I know. I already told you, I’m paying attention.”
And it’s working. I’m working. Better to be over-productive then under, right?
I realized last night, though, that essentially what I do is about every week or so, I take a day off from writing and plow through hours of side projects.
I’m giving my right-brain a breather, letting the left drive the machine. As an artist I was ashamed of my heavy left-brain capabilities for the longest time. Not anymore. I’ve grown to appreciate its strengths. It keeps me together. It’s like the parental guardian of my brain, stepping in when the right begins to spin out.
I think that’s where my love for balance truly comes into play.
Anyway, today it’s back to the drawing board. I’ve been working from the home office all week and I absolutely have to finish up some filing this morning, but then I think I’ll head to Zeitgeist for the afternoon. I’ve got two huge deadlines and it’s imperative I hammer them out.
Oh, and another thing I learned about myself yesterday: I can’t putty a whole in the wall to save my freaking life. In my defense, I substituted a ruler for the putty knife. But alas, I think it was all user-error. The more I tried, the worse it became. I finally gave in and painted over the awkward lump.
“Technically, it’s no longer a hole.”
I shared my non-feat with the cute, but not quite my type, lesbian cashier up at Madison Market. I had her and everyone in line laughing at my account. (It feels good to be entertaining others again.)
“Look on the bright side,” she said. “At least you’re not, like, an apartment manager or anything.”
“Exactly! I AM the apartment manger for our little 13-unit complex.”
Greater laughter erupted.
I’ll wrap up this little delight with some conversation that I lifted on my way back from the market.
I was passing a triad: two girls and a guy. Quite obviously, they were a ‘triad’ triad. The guy walked in the middle.
“So what was it you didn’t like about the giant black dildo? Too delicious?” he asked the girl to his left.
First off, the fact that anyone would use the term 'delicious' to describe a dildo is nothing short of a gift to my ears. Hell, I'd even put a bow on top.
And as luck would have it, it was right at ‘delicious’ that the four of us crossed paths.
A ridiculous smirk paraded across my face.
The three of them returned the smile.
“Sorry. Good ear candy.”
I love this neighborhood.
“Careful.”
“I know. I’m watching out.”
Yesterday was one of my errand days. I had a gazillion errands, personal and work-related, that I was stashing up for the weekend. They started dribbling out like a leaking faucet and by late afternoon they were flooding like our city has done so often lately.
We had a really wicked hailstorm yesterday, too. I had just finished painting over some graffiti on the exterior of the building. It was a heavy, steady white down pour for a good, long while. And afterwards the Olympics were a majestic, solemn blue.
Beautiful.
So I’m back to working 15-16 hour days.
Higher Self waves her finger.
“You said you wouldn’t rock the pendulum so heavily.”
“I know, I know. I already told you, I’m paying attention.”
And it’s working. I’m working. Better to be over-productive then under, right?
I realized last night, though, that essentially what I do is about every week or so, I take a day off from writing and plow through hours of side projects.
I’m giving my right-brain a breather, letting the left drive the machine. As an artist I was ashamed of my heavy left-brain capabilities for the longest time. Not anymore. I’ve grown to appreciate its strengths. It keeps me together. It’s like the parental guardian of my brain, stepping in when the right begins to spin out.
I think that’s where my love for balance truly comes into play.
Anyway, today it’s back to the drawing board. I’ve been working from the home office all week and I absolutely have to finish up some filing this morning, but then I think I’ll head to Zeitgeist for the afternoon. I’ve got two huge deadlines and it’s imperative I hammer them out.
Oh, and another thing I learned about myself yesterday: I can’t putty a whole in the wall to save my freaking life. In my defense, I substituted a ruler for the putty knife. But alas, I think it was all user-error. The more I tried, the worse it became. I finally gave in and painted over the awkward lump.
“Technically, it’s no longer a hole.”
I shared my non-feat with the cute, but not quite my type, lesbian cashier up at Madison Market. I had her and everyone in line laughing at my account. (It feels good to be entertaining others again.)
“Look on the bright side,” she said. “At least you’re not, like, an apartment manager or anything.”
“Exactly! I AM the apartment manger for our little 13-unit complex.”
Greater laughter erupted.
I’ll wrap up this little delight with some conversation that I lifted on my way back from the market.
I was passing a triad: two girls and a guy. Quite obviously, they were a ‘triad’ triad. The guy walked in the middle.
“So what was it you didn’t like about the giant black dildo? Too delicious?” he asked the girl to his left.
First off, the fact that anyone would use the term 'delicious' to describe a dildo is nothing short of a gift to my ears. Hell, I'd even put a bow on top.
And as luck would have it, it was right at ‘delicious’ that the four of us crossed paths.
A ridiculous smirk paraded across my face.
The three of them returned the smile.
“Sorry. Good ear candy.”
I love this neighborhood.
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
Thee New Year's List
What good is a New Year's list if you don't lay yourself on the line and expose yourself?
----------------------------------
2007
To Manifest
The following, in no particular order, are things I think of when I think of how I want my life to be.
They are beliefs of things that I want. It is my goal to positively bring these things into the reality of my life by manifesting them through my beliefs.
Accept myself fully as an artist.
Accept myself fully as everything else.
Sell “Soak” (again)
Sell “Ballroom Underground”
Settle Debt
Start taking a regular yoga class
Chant daily
Stop all self-injury
Read at least 3 nights a week
Compile the screenplay collection. Print and read one script every week.
Complete “Story” by February
Write a new short script by March
Complete “A People’s History”
Sell "MyDemoWorld"
Sell "Permagrin Pies"
Discover & Implement the next major writing project (be it an individual or collective project).
One painting per month.
Complete Avatar through the Master’s level
Sell "Modern Wreckage" (again)
Sell "disIntegrate"
Blog goal of 4 days per week
Buy a loft in Pioneer Square
Take photography classes
A good digital camera
A good digital HD video camera
Passports for Adam and I
Transition into the living artist lifestyle. Every day creating. Every day open to personal development, growth and expression.
New Mac laptops for Adam and I.
Adam’s home studio. The G5, large monitor, Pro Tools. Whatever he needs.
Transition musical library onto external HD and iPods.
A comfortable wardrobe for both of us.
Dental & Eye care.
More tattoos.
A kitten.
Volunteer.
More Friends. I’ve got to start sharing my life with others. Yoga & Avatar should help.
Take a cooking class. I want to start creating with food more.
Reach and maintain ideal body weight of 130-135 lbs. (only 10 lbs to go!)
-----------
A tall order? Perhaps. And yes, I recognize the fact that it is quite sad to have 'more friends' on a list. (Sad and funny, depending on how you look at it.)
As well, having dental and eye care on a 'to manifest list' is quite representative of the fact that I am an artist! ;)
But this is about being honest and accepting where I'm at and what I desire. If I can't accept these things and believe in them enough to share them with others......then I'm not taking accountability for truly creating them am I?
----------------------------------
2007
To Manifest
The following, in no particular order, are things I think of when I think of how I want my life to be.
They are beliefs of things that I want. It is my goal to positively bring these things into the reality of my life by manifesting them through my beliefs.
Accept myself fully as an artist.
Accept myself fully as everything else.
Sell “Soak” (again)
Sell “Ballroom Underground”
Settle Debt
Start taking a regular yoga class
Chant daily
Stop all self-injury
Read at least 3 nights a week
Compile the screenplay collection. Print and read one script every week.
Complete “Story” by February
Write a new short script by March
Complete “A People’s History”
Sell "MyDemoWorld"
Sell "Permagrin Pies"
Discover & Implement the next major writing project (be it an individual or collective project).
One painting per month.
Complete Avatar through the Master’s level
Sell "Modern Wreckage" (again)
Sell "disIntegrate"
Blog goal of 4 days per week
Buy a loft in Pioneer Square
Take photography classes
A good digital camera
A good digital HD video camera
Passports for Adam and I
Transition into the living artist lifestyle. Every day creating. Every day open to personal development, growth and expression.
New Mac laptops for Adam and I.
Adam’s home studio. The G5, large monitor, Pro Tools. Whatever he needs.
Transition musical library onto external HD and iPods.
A comfortable wardrobe for both of us.
Dental & Eye care.
More tattoos.
A kitten.
Volunteer.
More Friends. I’ve got to start sharing my life with others. Yoga & Avatar should help.
Take a cooking class. I want to start creating with food more.
Reach and maintain ideal body weight of 130-135 lbs. (only 10 lbs to go!)
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A tall order? Perhaps. And yes, I recognize the fact that it is quite sad to have 'more friends' on a list. (Sad and funny, depending on how you look at it.)
As well, having dental and eye care on a 'to manifest list' is quite representative of the fact that I am an artist! ;)
But this is about being honest and accepting where I'm at and what I desire. If I can't accept these things and believe in them enough to share them with others......then I'm not taking accountability for truly creating them am I?
Beefing Up on Balance
“It breaks when you don’t force it.
It breaks when you don’t try.”
The above are lyrics from the “Editors” song “Munich” and it’s spinning through my mind on constant rotation.
This band definitely ranks in the “Interpol”/”Radiohead” category of my musical lovers.
And it’s timing couldn’t be more perfect as I try as best as I can to claim my newfound space of harmony, to balance in that sweet spot of reality.
The key is to not force things to their breaking point.
The key is to make bountiful efforts.
The magic happens when the energy glides and hovers in between the two: the perfect balance of belief and effort.
I’ve always had a huge attraction to balance. It really began to present itself in my paintings and, of course, it’s a huge element of story structure. It presents itself in the tattoos and piercings that I put on my body, the glasses and clothes I wear, the manner in which I decorate my living space.
And I can see through the physical, tangible items that I create, I am reflecting back to myself an example of energetic balance.
“Bring it inside and integrate it into your every waking moment.”
It breaks when you don’t try.”
The above are lyrics from the “Editors” song “Munich” and it’s spinning through my mind on constant rotation.
This band definitely ranks in the “Interpol”/”Radiohead” category of my musical lovers.
And it’s timing couldn’t be more perfect as I try as best as I can to claim my newfound space of harmony, to balance in that sweet spot of reality.
The key is to not force things to their breaking point.
The key is to make bountiful efforts.
The magic happens when the energy glides and hovers in between the two: the perfect balance of belief and effort.
I’ve always had a huge attraction to balance. It really began to present itself in my paintings and, of course, it’s a huge element of story structure. It presents itself in the tattoos and piercings that I put on my body, the glasses and clothes I wear, the manner in which I decorate my living space.
And I can see through the physical, tangible items that I create, I am reflecting back to myself an example of energetic balance.
“Bring it inside and integrate it into your every waking moment.”
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
So This is the New Year
Hallelujah. We’re back in an odd numbered year. 2007. It even has two circles and a 7 in it (two of my favorite symbols).
“2007. The year of resolve and rewards,” Adam claimed last night.
I couldn’t agree more.
We had a great New Year’s Eve. Low key, nothing major. It was just the two of us as the few friends we have were all out of town. I found myself a tad disappointed that we were not celebrating with others, but I couldn’t deny that it made sense after the year we’d had.
I worked on a painting that has been bothering me for months. It bothers me less now. We toasted champagne as the clock struck midnight and we watched the space needle’s fireworks display from our porch. It was nice.
It had the feeling of sun on the horizon again. New Year’s Eve day itself had been another one of Seattle’s crisp blue, beautiful days.
Then came January 1st: dark, dark, dark. The sun never even attempted to make an appearance. We got a call from our partner on the show that resulted in some of the details shifting. The shifting of the details, although they came as a bit of a blow, resulted in the show’s sale becoming even more realistic.
I was disheartened to discover that I felt disappointment. Initially I tried to place the let down on the shifting of the details. As a writer, as a creative collaborator, you’ve got to be flexible.
You’ve got to be able to kill your babies.
But Higher Self wasn’t going to let me off that easily.
“The disappointment that you feel is mourning.”
The negating emotions of the past sniffed out an opening and ran like hell to the surface of my being.
“Fuck it. Drop it. It’s not going to work. I told you.”
They threw punches for a good portion of the day. They needed to, I guess. They’re not accustomed to being squandered for such extensive periods of time.
Layered beneath that surface was the overwhelming amount of work that’s left to be done: on the show, on our other projects, on our personal finances, on everything really.
Higher Self was right. I was mourning over the realization that these underlying negative emotions are always at arm’s length away, ever ready to leap into action.
And I realized I was tired, really tired. Ever since coming back off the fast, I’ve felt physically exhausted.
By the time evening rolled around, I was able to rework my perspective.
The show is still on track to pitch mid-January.
We just regained the rights back to a short film that had been optioned for a year. It had been picked up by an Australian producer and was integrated into a feature film that was composed of ten shorts.
This feature was to be shot by ten different filmmaking teams around the world: truly an international collaboration. Our script was the opening and ending of the feature and our characters were the main characters that weaved throughout the other shorts.
Coordinating talent and crews to texturize ten global locations proved to exceed the budget. And the feature script itself needed a lot of work. A plethora of kinks present themselves when ten short screenplays are smooshed together.
It was a great concept that proved timely and costly to execute.
I’d already decided that I was going to approach the producer about requesting the rights back in early January. But I didn’t have to: he voluntarily released all rights back for the New Year.
I’m thrilled. At the time we signed this option agreement, we had three separate offers on the table. This script is an easy sell.
On top of that, we’re sprucing up our other two features. And we have two Intellectual Properties that I’m going to do my best to unload. One is industry-related and one is not. The industry-related one is a ‘highly stealable’ concept that I’ve been advised against trying to sell because of this fact.
We’ve gone out to a couple buyers already with some near hits.
I’m tired of fear. I’m tired of not moving forward on something because it might get stolen. If something does get stolen, so what? Big fucking deal. At least I tried. And at least the project will see the light of day. That’s part of the game. If I had the resources to produce these things myself, I would. But until that day arises I have to gamble. I have to try and sell my products to persons that do have the resources.
I realized that January 1st served up a big dish of everything that I have to face, everything that I’ve vowed to overcome.
Higher Self corrects, “The mourning you feel is at the loss of yourself. You are growing and while doing so, old patterns of your former self are left behind.”
Again, identifying elements within my life, within myself that I’d like to change are one thing. Implementing them takes great strength and discipline.
I’ll close with one of my favorite quotes from Erich Fromm. It states:
“Man’s main task is to give birth to himself.”
“2007. The year of resolve and rewards,” Adam claimed last night.
I couldn’t agree more.
We had a great New Year’s Eve. Low key, nothing major. It was just the two of us as the few friends we have were all out of town. I found myself a tad disappointed that we were not celebrating with others, but I couldn’t deny that it made sense after the year we’d had.
I worked on a painting that has been bothering me for months. It bothers me less now. We toasted champagne as the clock struck midnight and we watched the space needle’s fireworks display from our porch. It was nice.
It had the feeling of sun on the horizon again. New Year’s Eve day itself had been another one of Seattle’s crisp blue, beautiful days.
Then came January 1st: dark, dark, dark. The sun never even attempted to make an appearance. We got a call from our partner on the show that resulted in some of the details shifting. The shifting of the details, although they came as a bit of a blow, resulted in the show’s sale becoming even more realistic.
I was disheartened to discover that I felt disappointment. Initially I tried to place the let down on the shifting of the details. As a writer, as a creative collaborator, you’ve got to be flexible.
You’ve got to be able to kill your babies.
But Higher Self wasn’t going to let me off that easily.
“The disappointment that you feel is mourning.”
The negating emotions of the past sniffed out an opening and ran like hell to the surface of my being.
“Fuck it. Drop it. It’s not going to work. I told you.”
They threw punches for a good portion of the day. They needed to, I guess. They’re not accustomed to being squandered for such extensive periods of time.
Layered beneath that surface was the overwhelming amount of work that’s left to be done: on the show, on our other projects, on our personal finances, on everything really.
Higher Self was right. I was mourning over the realization that these underlying negative emotions are always at arm’s length away, ever ready to leap into action.
And I realized I was tired, really tired. Ever since coming back off the fast, I’ve felt physically exhausted.
By the time evening rolled around, I was able to rework my perspective.
The show is still on track to pitch mid-January.
We just regained the rights back to a short film that had been optioned for a year. It had been picked up by an Australian producer and was integrated into a feature film that was composed of ten shorts.
This feature was to be shot by ten different filmmaking teams around the world: truly an international collaboration. Our script was the opening and ending of the feature and our characters were the main characters that weaved throughout the other shorts.
Coordinating talent and crews to texturize ten global locations proved to exceed the budget. And the feature script itself needed a lot of work. A plethora of kinks present themselves when ten short screenplays are smooshed together.
It was a great concept that proved timely and costly to execute.
I’d already decided that I was going to approach the producer about requesting the rights back in early January. But I didn’t have to: he voluntarily released all rights back for the New Year.
I’m thrilled. At the time we signed this option agreement, we had three separate offers on the table. This script is an easy sell.
On top of that, we’re sprucing up our other two features. And we have two Intellectual Properties that I’m going to do my best to unload. One is industry-related and one is not. The industry-related one is a ‘highly stealable’ concept that I’ve been advised against trying to sell because of this fact.
We’ve gone out to a couple buyers already with some near hits.
I’m tired of fear. I’m tired of not moving forward on something because it might get stolen. If something does get stolen, so what? Big fucking deal. At least I tried. And at least the project will see the light of day. That’s part of the game. If I had the resources to produce these things myself, I would. But until that day arises I have to gamble. I have to try and sell my products to persons that do have the resources.
I realized that January 1st served up a big dish of everything that I have to face, everything that I’ve vowed to overcome.
Higher Self corrects, “The mourning you feel is at the loss of yourself. You are growing and while doing so, old patterns of your former self are left behind.”
Again, identifying elements within my life, within myself that I’d like to change are one thing. Implementing them takes great strength and discipline.
I’ll close with one of my favorite quotes from Erich Fromm. It states:
“Man’s main task is to give birth to himself.”
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