Participation if You Please

myspace.com/jennadg07

2007-03-16T06:36:00.000-07:00

Hi everyone!!!

so time is only allowing for me to blog on one site and, for the time being, MySpace wins...

i'll catch this one up -- at some point...

best,
jenna

Universal Health Care if you please

2007-03-09T09:07:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I got asked out by another drummer: for those of you keeping score at home – that’s four drummers in two weeks (to clarify – this excludes anyone from the past – I have developed the ability to be a good girl and maintain boundaries with friends and acquaintances. Yes, me of all people, has learned to be respectful and to make healthy decisions).

And setting up my bass lessons down in Fairfax, the bassist says, “Are you sure you’re not a drummer?”

“Why, whattaya mean?”

“Well, for one, your energy is all over the place. And then you’ve got the whole left-brain/right-brain thing….I think maybe your place is behind the skins.”

“Um, yeah, so I kinda have this theory about drummers and that theory goes along the lines of: drummers are fucking crazy.”

He smiled.

“I’d like to stick with the bass.”

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The biggest revelation that’s came out of the past few days is the fact that I think I may find myself transitioning into a cinematographer.

Think about it:

Cinematographers are the liaisons between the director and the lighting & camera departments. They are the communicators, the composition connoisseurs.

In yesterday’s meeting with the Producer, I was showing him some of my Pioneer Square shots that I thought could pass as London.

“You took all these pictures?”

“Yup.”

I told him my theory on me maybe taking a crack at shadowing a DP at some point…

Yes.
Yes.
Yes.

I had an amazing county hospital experience yesterday. What a ride. What a range of emotions. What a blatant demonstration and reminder of why I swore I would never buy a piece of property in this country.

I
Can’t
Wait
To
Get
To
Europe.

And, lucky me: London’s calling.

The blood of filmmakers

2007-03-08T11:10:00.000-08:00

I realized something lately. I realized that the people I relate most to, the people that I feel most comfortable around; the people that I am insanely attracted to are the crazy artists.

Filmmakers.
Musicians. (especially drummers – damn them and their rhythmic tendencies…)
Painters.
Photographers.
Actors.
Visual Artists.
Tattoo Artists.

Adam said it best the other day, “Face it, you’re always gonna be attracted to the fidgety geniuses.”

I – fucking – love – artists.

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The last time I was producing for film, I thought I would never be able to enjoy watching a movie – ever – again.

I lost my ability to sit back and enjoy watching a film. My detail-oriented mind was too busy processing what was going on behind the scenes, behind the camera. I saw the continuity issues everywhere, mismatched props and lines that were 1/10th of a second out of sync with the print.

I saw the extras and the PAs. I saw the always-disappointing craft services. I saw the long production days and all the shots that were lost due to time, due to lighting, due to budget.

I saw the everyday process that is entering the thinktank and trying to figure out how to salvage the beautiful story that’s trying to unfold.

I saw, everyday, walking into an amazing adventure. Everyday on set is full of unlimited possibilities, crazy encounters.

I saw the masterful art that is the collaborative climactic chaos of filmmaking.

I love being on a film set: the charge, the excitement, the whole “capturing what feels real, what feels present.”

I love making it happen.

I can’t wait to be on set again.

What can I say?

Filmmaking is in my blood and my veins are:
pumping, pulsating and thirsty.

--------------------------------

On the side:

Speaking of pumping, pulsating and thirsty:

It comes as no surprise that I scared off the ridiculously cute ex-mormon writer/religious studies virgo boy from the san fran trip. He’s 24 and full of artsy-angst.. We met on the flight and then ended up sitting right next to each other on the 45 minute BART-ride.

We talked empirical fall-out and the abolishment of religion.

He asked me out.

“Do you know that with all the 30 to 35-year-olds that I’m head over heels for right now, you’re the first boy who’s had the courage to ask me out?”

He smiled wide.

“Is that a yes?”

“That is most definitely a yes.”

We agreed to coffee at SFO before the return flight. I arrived on crutches and he helped me navigate and we had stellas.

We agreed to a second date this week and then I had to open my mouth. I had to use my words and using my words gets me into trouble.

“So you’re a virgo and an ex-mormon…I’m guessing that means you’ve got a lot of pent-up sexual energy that needs releasing.”

He swallowed. Hard.

“Sorry. I’ve been accused of coming on a bit strong lately.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry. Still wanna go out again?”

His smile morphed into a sly smirk and he slowly nodded yes.

“Attaya boy.”

(He hasn’t called.)

Damn.
Damn.
Damn.

------------------------------

Speaking of blood:

I’ve gotta hit up the hospital tonight – it simply has to happen.

I’ve been really good about listening to signs lately and in the past couple days, I’ve had 5 different people tell me that the whole bruising and swelling migrating up to my knee is indicative of blood clotting and that, in severe cases, I could be at risk of a stroke.

And if my blood is clotting, I need to know as I’m getting a lot of tattoo work done right now. So. After today’s meeting, a cab ride up to Harborview has gotta happen: nothing says kickin’ Thursday night quite like a county emergency waiting room.

Nice.

--------------------------------

Speaking of meetings:

I’m four hours away from the follow-up with the Producer and, for the life of me, I can’t seem to find my notebook from the meeting with Original Writer. I think I might’ve left it in Fairfax.

Son
Of
A
Bitch.

Oh well. I don’t really need it anyway – I can remember most of it…I think.

--------------------------------

Speaking of Fairfax:

Thanks to Dave for letting me interrupt his work-day so that I could get the naked “blood & ink” iPhoto CD out of this damnable laptop = that’s a BAD Cilantro.

Lesson learned: no more naked pix on the laptop. Period.

---------------------------

Lastly:

Thanks to 303 for the movie last night. We may not have watched much of it, but it was exactly what the doctor ordered.

And, truly, thanks for the pitch deadline.

That is the one thing that I really

Have
To
Make
Happen.

------------------------------

Mobility if you please

2007-03-06T08:19:00.000-08:00

It’s decided: I’m not getting out of my pajamas today.

Fuck it.

I can’t very easily leave the house anyway.

There’s that word: house. Yes, the house. What to do about the house?

Yesterday, I found my house. It’s perfect. It’s so me, it’s ridiculous. It’s mine if I want it. I have to decide w/in the next four hours.

The house is in Fairfax, CA, a sleepy little hippie town that’s an easy 30-minute commute into the city (San Francisco). It’s two blocks down from my friends/family.

I had one of the best weekends of my life. It was glorious.

But do I commit to a rent of this magnitude?
Am I jumping the gun?
Am I resisting if I don’t go for it?

------------------

As a fun & added bonus, I’m on crutches now.
I need to stop moving now.
I need to get centered now.
I need to take care of myself now.
I need to write this TV pitch now.

I’m meeting with (new feature) Producer on thurs to download everything from meeting with Original Writer.

I have a huge series of calls on the TV Show this week: huge calls.

I have a photo shoot for MoveOn on Wednesday.

After a few days of over-exertion on a sprained ankle topped off with a not-exactly-easy travel day, I can barely stand up on my own.

Hmmm, how am I going to hold onto my camera? Damn it. I need to get a higher res camera.

---------------------

Oooh!!! So I do have to leave the house today: new Air & Arcade fire. Sorry foot/ankle, it’s just gotta happen.

------------------------------

And then there’s the walking. Walking is a ginormous part of my writing.

Walking is a huge part of my decision making process.

I have to write this pitch this week.

I have to decide on this house today.

And I am immobilized.

--------------------

Clever move, Universe…

Love if you please

2007-03-03T07:38:00.001-08:00

This morning as I lie awake and look outside at the rolling northern California hills, I am at peace.

I think of my Writing Partner and how well he’s gonna fit into this project.

I think of how happy I am for him that he’s found his chill Gypsy Traveling Girl.

I think of my Kansas City Boys and how they always make me laugh.

I think of my 303 Ethical Slut Partner in crime & how grateful I am to have found him.

I think of the reconnection with Tattoo Artist & how grateful I am to have found him.

I think of Apple Boy & how much fun we have together.

I think of NY Filmmaker Boy & how grateful I am to have reconnected with him – I can’t wait to be in NY again. I can’t wait to see him again.

I think of my LA Soul Sister & how Joshua Tree is just around the corner.

I think of my North Carolina Parallel Life Path Partner & how he and I are gonna put together one amazing fucking shoot this July.

I think of the Stone Family & how very much I love them.

I think of my amazing Brother, Dad & Mom whom have remained loving & as supportive as they can be as I take this Artist’s Journey.

I think of the reconnection with my cool as hell cousin & how I hope we can unwind in Hawaii together.

I think of my British War Bride & how much she’s taught me about strength & struggle.

I think of my two Amazing Mentors and how blessed I am for their guidance.

I think of my Cape Coral Girl & how I can’t wait to show her the city that saved me.

I think of my Fairfax Family & how our lives have so seamlessly merged.

I think of Seattle, San Francisco, LA, Las Vegas, Nashville, NY, Hawaii…I think of all the travels and all the great people I’m gonna meet along the way.

I think of my photography, my book, bass lessons, creating the tattoo works in preparation for the shoot, the screenplay, the TV show.

I think of my New Sagittarius Writing Partner & how our paths have so easily merged.

I think of the love & joy & bliss that is emanating out of me, that is bleeding out of my soul.

And I smile long and hard.

For, at the moment, I may not have someone as close to me as I’m used to having, but this Saturday morning as I prepare for this meeting, my friends, I am far from alone.

-------------------------

On the side:

I agree with Dave, I don’t think the foot is broken, but I also don’t think I’ll be hiking the mountain tomorrow with him either. Looks like MOMA’s back on – or we’re thinking of a chill picnic somewhere w/the family and photography – sounds perfect.

I can walk, but it’s not with out throbbing, intense pain.

-------------------------

Tonight is “Little Miss Sunshine” with the family. The Academy Award winning Screenwriter of this little jewel just transitioned his working life with that of Pixar…

It just so happens that I happen to have a Pixar connection…

Nice. Nice. Nice.

(This is all good.)

San Francisco if you please

2007-03-03T00:19:00.000-08:00

At this moment, I am exactly where I need to be right now…

Intuition told me that the trip down to San Francisco was going to up the frequencies of the synchronicity-laced vibrations…I knew it was only logical…

But I continue to find myself in a state of sheer and utter disbelief regarding the volume and magnitude…

I’d love to relay it all right here, right now…but I’m still processing.

I’m still adjusting.

I’m still trying to breathe.

-----------------

After a killer breakfast with a great friend, I had gone maybe the 100 or so feet from his truck to the check in counter at SeaTac.

I made it that far before the first thing happened.

------------------

And it’s all just so beautiful.

And bittersweet.

I can see so many things right now that are bright & exciting & full of hope & prosperity and then I swing my head & my heart northward to the city I love filled with the people that I love and desire….

And I realize that I am standing in the center of this waterfall…

Alone.

It’s okay to be alone.

An entire year of severe depression taught me what isolation is.

And now I get to see singularity from the complete 180. This is what it’s like to be fully immersed in pure creative pulsating light – alone.

And don’t get me wrong = I love it.

But this uber loving cancer girl who loves to spread the love is looking for someone to share this with…it truly is such an amazing ride.

----------------

There’s much, much more to come – but not tonight. I could easily write for a few hours, but I’ve got to try and get some sleep.

On the side:

The extreme pain in my chest, courtesy of the folks @ Apocalypse, has been replaced by the debilitating pain in my right foot.

“I can’t f@cking believe this. I make it this far and I’m gonna miss the meeting tomorrow b/c we’re gonna have to go to the hospital in the morning b/c my g@d damn foot is broken.”

“I don’t think it’s broken, but I can totally drive you to the meeting tomorrow if you can’t walk on it – all you have to do is make it thru the day.”

-----------------

Here’s to hoping the pain is tolerable enough to make it thru the next 24 hours…

(good time to revert to semi-newfound mantra: i can do this.)

Divorce if you please

2007-02-28T18:38:00.000-08:00

All right. Fine.

This blog has gotta happen.
It’s gotta happen before this weekend.
It’s gotta happen before tomorrow’s tattoo session wherein I’m transforming the “eternal” wedding band.

Sorry everything else: this takes precedence.

Thematic overtone: it’s not that things can’t last forever, but we must do our best to remain flexible and adaptable. We must be willing to accept and have the courage to evolve within our relationships when changes present themselves.

For those of you keeping score at home, I’m talking about my marriage: more accurately I’m talking about the dissolution of my marriage.

Hey, boys & girls, we made it nine years = a hell of a lot longer than the bets were waging!!!

It all ties into the whole:

Having made the pact with myself to stop letting fear dictate my decisions and to stop waiting until I’m “not poor anymore” before I feel “comfortable enough” to be an artist.

As many of you know, the implementation of this theory has been working out for me quite well.

And it ushered in even more change.

The “Adam + Jenna” relationship has shifted.

On Valentine’s Day Adam and I decided we were finally ready to part ways.

We’ve known for a solid couple of years now that we were far better writing partners and best friends than we were lovers and spouses.

And we knew that we were making ourselves nothing short of miserable by trying to force everything else around it.

We’ve been discussing separation for quite some time now, but never moved forward (fear, isolation, poverty….)

I came to the realization/revelation that we can absolutely go our separate ways. And it doesn’t have to be full of drama and pain. If we recognize that we’ll both likely be happier either alone or with others….than what’s the hold up?

I just decided that we could figure out a way to work out the details.

And we have been.

So, we decided to focus on what works for us when it comes to maintaining a relationship: the creative writing partnership. Granted, we’re both doing individual projects, but after 5+ years of writing together, we’ve definitely got our “bouncing board”/ editing thing down.

And major things are happening with our projects.

-----------------------

So, yea, the saga of Sleep Deprivation Society continues….and is growing rapidly. And not only with the projects. I finally got the domain name and am in the process of compiling the layout & content for the site. Agent meetings are in the works. (Lots of amazing things are in the works.)

And then there’s everything else.

There’s been a magical renewal in Adam and I’s relationship – such a weight has been lifted. We love each other enough to say, “Let’s stop just sustaining and set one another free to live, love & explore (but hang onto the stuff that works really, really well).”

Our friends keep saying, “My God, you guys are having the best divorce.”

It’s true. We are.

And we’re hanging out with others a lot and fucking enjoying ourselves.

Damn, why didn’t we do this earlier?

Because we had to live thru all of the shit that we’ve been thru, I guess.

-----------------------

It’s been a wild ride – and it’s only getting better by every – single – waking – moment.

Meet the Producer

2007-02-28T14:35:00.000-08:00

Two Sundays ago I sought solution from composition. I went out and took a few hundred photographs.

My initial goal was to hit King Street Station and, although I did eventually make it down there, I had several stops along the way.

I ended up at Pike Place Market thinking, “Why am I here? I don’t really have that much of an emotional attachment to this place.”

I ended up at a local artist’s jewelry stand. She’s had the same location for 35 years. I was immediately drawn to an amber rectangular ring.

She laughed.

“Amber brings you peace and calm. You need this right now.”

I paused.

“You have big things on the horizon and you can do it. You need to relax, though.”

“Okay. You have my attention and you’re obviously a damn good salesman.”

Chuckles. Giggles.

“Just an old lady who knows what she sees.”

I bought the ring – a going away gift to myself.

--------------------------

Then I ended up at Elliot Bay Book Company. I immediately started taking pictures: books, lines, and words.

I noticed this guy watching me, smirking. He didn’t have the “I’m going to hit on you energy” more arty-hippy-laid back kinda “gets it” energy.

He approached me.

“May I ask what you’re photographing?”

“Everything actually. It started a couple weeks ago – I just started seeing composition everywhere and I can’t stop capturing it. And I’m a writer so to be in a bookstore taking pictures is kinda like my best afternoon ever.”

Cut to: the fact that he’s a local producer who needs a solid screenwriter for a feature rewrite.

Cut to: him totally understanding the creative oasis that I’m in right now.

Cut to: him attaching me to the project.

Cut to: me flying down to San Francisco this weekend to get some quality face time with the original writer.

Cut to: an ETA of preproduction rolling out (in Seattle) six months from now: September. September is when the TV show wraps production.

Cut to: bliss.

------------------------------

Here’s where it gets crazy.

That night after dumping the 300 pix, Adam pulled up an ottoman and we hit play to see the virginal, pre-edit capture.

And then it rolled by.

“Whoa. Did you see that?” he asked.

He stopped the eloquent iPhoto display and clicked on a singular image. And there it was: captured above the main entrance to Pike Place Market was a giant green banner that read “Meet the Producer.”

I never saw it. (It’s posted under my myspace pics.)

------------------------------

Initially I saw it as the quirky premonition that I was about to meet this local producer.

Then I realized it might have been about meeting myself. It looks as though there’s a strong chance that I might be able to get a D.P friend of mine attached to the feature. I’ve immediately gravitated towards more responsibility with the project.

And then, of course, is the TV show.

Cut to: me realizing that I’m evolving – not only into a writer, but into a producer, too.

----------------------------

On the side:

My Oscar party was a total bust. Original Writer called beforehand and I ended up working thru most of the night. It was great actually. We barely watched the Oscars b/c we were both too busy writing. (adam & I were too busy writing – each on our own projects = this is a good thing!)

That, and a lot of our friends are currently, what I’m calling, “afraid of us.” Sometimes it’s hard for me to relate to the fact that not everybody understands.

On the side II:

I’m finding that my favorite thing to write in is part pajamas/part outerwear like a stocking hat or a scarf.

On the side III:

I’m drowning in post its.

On the side IV:

Sasquatch line-up includes: Interpol, Arcade Fire, Dandy Warhols, I would assume Death Cab will be there…

This year, man I think I can make it – I think I may actually find myself in town – but I gotta say, I won’t be a bit disappointed if I happen to find myself elsewhere…

On the side V:

My Bel to the Baines lease expires at the end of March. wow & damn. I can truly say that I am going to miss the living hell outta living in this building.

A final On the side:

Happier pic of me coming soon – had to put “exhausted & determined” up for awhile. By this weekend I predict “relaxed & full of laughter.”

--------------------

Catching up with all the rest

2007-02-24T08:06:00.001-08:00

This weekend it’s gotta happen. The following 3 blogs have got to get written:

1. Meet the Producer
2. Divorce if you please
3. Surrender if you please

This week was, again, unrelenting & amazing:

I fly down the coast on Friday afternoon for a Saturday meeting with the original screenwriter of the new feature project that I am now a part of.

I’m doing a photographic portfolio submission for Moveon.org (can you imagine – me getting paid to shoot rallies & protests??? Have I created heaven on earth or what???).

And I found a place to display three of my top acrylics – for sale – at very nice prices.

(For those of you keeping score at home – I’m in need of a little “start over” fund.)

And I committed to modeling for a photo shoot over the weekend of my birthday. (Think pin-up girl meets tattoos.) I’ve wanted to model for this particular organization for a couple years now….and it presented itself, so I figured, “fuck it – my does well try the shoot out and see what the outcome is.”

The shoot is my 29th birthday present to myself so I’ve got a good 4 months to get heavily into Bikram Yoga and finish up some tattoo work.

------------------------------

So yea, by Friday:

I get to see my incredibly awesome friends = god, I can’t wait to see them. I can’t wait to get into Fairfax again, to get in the city again.

As totally 100% in love as I am with Seattle, I can’t wait to get the fuck outta this city, for a minute at least.

But for the moment, I have a tremendously important deadline that I missed yesterday and I’ve got until noon to wrap it up and get it out the door. And I’m making breakfast for a friend at 9:30am before I have an 11:00am meeting. So that gives me 2 hours…..guess it’s time to stop blogging.

It looks like I am in no way, whatsoever, going to get any time off this weekend, and well, no(s) across the board for next weekend too….

Hmmmm.

Perhaps I need a vacation weekend. A non-work related weekend. I’ve been craving & aching for Hawaii ever since I left – methinks it’s time for a long weekend…

But now, it’s time to write.

----------------------

On the side:

Thanks to Rj for the post-massage outing: good laughs + good Mac products. What more could a girl ask for?

(Well for starters, a smoother evening would’ve been accepted. Guess I can’t manifest everything that I want….at least for now…and that’s okay – I’m already pretty blissed out with what I’ve got!)

All right seriously. I have to get to work.

Circles if you please: part II

2007-02-19T08:45:00.001-08:00

I can see how blogging came into my life at the precise time I needed it to. Again, I realize I may one day regret putting it all “out there,” but it’s proving a good channel for management and release. (Methinks I’m gonna need all the management & release aid I can get…)

-------------------

Yesterday’s tattoo session was so exactly what I needed.

I hadn’t seen Tattoo Artist since fall of 2005 (2006 was a bit on the broke and miserable side.) As soon as he recognized me he said, “It is you. You look like a totally different person.”

“I am a totally different person.”

As we settled into his space, I was honest from the get go, “I’m so sorry to do this to you, to purge, but I’ve got a shit ton of stuff that I have to vent about.”

He waved me off and replied, “I tell people that my job is these 3 things in this exact order:

1. Therapist
2. EMT
3. Artist

But, please, purge away. Let’s get caught up.”

It’s been an incredible couple of weeks, but I had just spent the weekend telling immediate family and close friends about the divorce. I was emotionally 100% exhausted.

(Note: “Divorce if you please” is in the works, so for those of you that we haven’t explained it to yet…please bear with us as we’re doing our best to tell people in as timely and as comfortable of a time as we can muster.)

After catching up, we got back into our old swing.

Tattoo Artist and I have a connection of understanding. We get together and talk the basics: music, film, photography, art, travel. But we always find our way to the good stuff: stolen elections, conspiracy theories, assassination attempts, revolution, and riots.

Yes, this boy and I connect on the stage of our socio-political frustrations; i.e. let’s evolve faster/why aren’t we there yet -- fire and anger.

“Whattaya thinks gonna happen in 08?” he asked.

“There’s not gonna be an election. We’ll be at war with Iran and God knows who else. Bush’ll declare martial law and abolish Congress. They’re not gonna give up now, not after they’ve come so far.”

“Are you gonna stay to watch the empire fall?”

“I dunno. I really want to. I really crave it. I wanna see the corporations crumble. I wanna see class war. (It’s true, I do.) Not so pacifisty, is it? “But I also am at a place of peace, acceptance and creation.”

“You could always watch it fall from Europe. All you’ll have to do is turn on the BBC. You’re not gonna wanna come back, you know. I’m telling you, you, are going to fall madly in love with Europe.”

“I know.”

It was really good timing to see Tattoo Artist again. I desperately needed some release and he and I needed to come full circle from our last encounter. Things got a little outta hand with the over-the-top flirtation, likely my fault (but partly the fault of the tattoo).

Yesterday as I arrived, I was not 10 feet inside the shop when he blurted out, “Just so you know, I’m seeing someone.”

“O-kay. Well, just so you know, I’m only here to get some work done.”

Wide smiles were exchanged.

Re: my continued stress management --

He suggested I look into Bikram Yoga, which I had already done and plan on starting classes in San Francisco.

We talked tattoo artists that are in San Fran & LA and I decided that I think I still wanna try and come back to Cap Hill every 6 or 8 weeks. Fly in for a few days, get some work done, see my friends & loved ones. (I don’t have to live here, but I can visit for Christ’s sake!)

I told Tattoo Artist, “I need this. You understand, right?”

He was working around my wrist at the time, lots of bone. He laid on a little added pressure and I gasped ever so slightly.

He smirked.

Yes, he gets it.

----------------------

This morning, I’m running back down to King Street Station. I’ve got some train tracks to capture. Very fitting this series of transportation, because if there’s one thing that spot on, it’s that movement is on the horizon.

Circles if you please

2007-02-18T19:40:00.001-08:00

In celebration of the synchronicity & uber inner-connectedness of energy that has blanketed my past two weeks, my present, and my future, please check out my latest pix from today’s tattoo session.

(myspace.com/jdg07)

Thanks, Jack…

A place to live if you please: part II

2007-02-18T09:59:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I bought the first piece of furniture for my new apartment: a kick-ass wooden bench. Walking by the garage sale, it popped and I immediately wanted it.

The guy selling it said, “I fucking love this bench…but it’s from a past relationship, and I have to move on. I just do.”

“I totally understand. How much?”

“Forty.”

“I’ll take it.”

I smiled so wide when I realized I had just purchased my first piece of furniture. Never mind the fact that I no longer have a place to live! It’s not really that immediate of a rush…it’s gonna take a few months to settle the debt and iron out the kinks…but still.

I need to be where I’m not gonna be distracted for the next couple of months. Bouncing between LA and Las Vegas, I’m going to have pockets of “time off.” And I need to decide where that’s gonna be.

The three options are:

Seattle.
Joshua tree.
San Francisco.

My plan for the whole “let’s go figure out where to call ‘home’ for the next couple months” was an afternoon of photography. My intent was to get swallowed in composition. (Let the answers surface thru the lines, shapes and colors.)

(Bench) on the side:

Buying the new bench, I couldn’t help but to question the whole wedding shower phenomenon. What about divorce showers? That’s when people need shit!

It’s decided: in a few months, once I figure out what city I’ll be residing in (still feeling the NY pull) I’m throwing myself a “divorce shower.”

---------------------

So I got lost in the city for a good four hours: took some amazing pictures as part of my “transportation” series.

When I left Bel Baines, my head was throbbing with unanswered questions. I wasn’t really stressed but I was very aware that I had some major decisions to make to say the very least.

I started walking and for four hours – didn’t stop taking pictures.

Three weeks is what I’ve got left– three weeks to say my farewell to the city I’ve grown to love so very, very much.

Seattle:
The city I finally decided to stop running in.
The city that I found acceptance in.

Not to mention all of my favorite perkity perks:

Vivace
Zeitgeist
Victrola
Hana
Ali baba
Madison
Baguette Box
Stumbling Monk
Summit

(Notice the order: caffeine, then food, then alcohol, then friends…. ;))

Adam
Kevin
Randall
Ben
Shaun
Margaret
The Rivelands
Kim
Buskha
My paintings
My home
The neighborhood
Cal Anderson – especially when Mt. Rainier is visible
The Olympics
The sunsets
The charge in the air
The city that I lost everything in…
The city that I found so much more…

---------------

By this morning, I had my answer… I know where the “time off” pockets will be.

---------------

I stopped at Zeitgeist yesterday for a pick me up. There’s a new photo series on display: pretty decent stuff, but nothing that wowed me. I checked out the prices…

And I remembered my half-joking concept of putting together a 3.2 pixel show. I suspect it won’t be that long before I’m able to upgrade to a higher res camera. But remembering the 3.2 show, and having recently started the portfolio binder, the printing.

Two new creative endeavors have born as of late that I wanna try and complete by the year’s end:

1. The Book
2. The Photography show

Now…if I can only settle down long enough to focus on the show. (Oh, yeah, the show = remember that?)

-----------------

On the side:

Irony (def.): deciding to tattoo the Chinese symbol for “eternity” on the back of your neck in lieu of a wedding band.

Non Sequitur:

Yesterday a friend reminded me what I have to do on Tuesday in order to get the passport rolling.

Five hours later, my calendar had hinted that I may have some true down time at the year’s end and then a call came in: I had an invite from a very dear friend (and fellow photographer) to go to Europe during that window of time.

Just like that.

-----------------

A place to live if you please

2007-02-17T08:12:00.001-08:00

One of my favorite things that came out of the Seattle Public Library series was the “it’s good to have…series”:

“It’s good to have living room.”
“It’s good to have a place to write.”

Suddenly those phrases bear new meaning.

Yesterday my “3-weeks left” timeline hit me. I found myself photographing my apartment into the early hours of the morning: capturing, remembering. After being a depressive energy-vampire for almost an entire year, I’ve been doing my best to not only clean up my own personal living space, but that of the building around me.

I’ve been trying to perk up the place. i.e. “Hey everybody. Sorry I was an ass for a year. Here’s some cool shit.”

Flexcar.
Bike Storage.
A groovy circular fire pit/garden area.

And I feel like all of that is slipping away – dissolving before my very eyes.

--------------------------

I’ve been feeling a pretty immense pull towards the desert. Odd for me, the heavy water sign who dehydrates beyond belief in the desert. But then again, I will be bouncing btw. Las Vegas & LA for a good chunk of time.

A friend has a friend who lives two hours outside of LA – the desert oasis. Joshua tree, Jacuzzi under the stars – the full package. I’ve been checking out the calendar & trying to figure out a hiatus before this pitching frenzy ensues.

--------------------------

Due to the massive changes that’ve recently occurred, yesterday left me questioning if I’d be able to remain at Bel Baines whilst intermittently hopping back into Seattle.

And I found myself wishing that I had somewhere else to go. For a minute, when I thought West Seattle Tattoo Artist girl was still here, I thought about crashing with her. Last I heard, she was looking at houses.

Now, of course, last I heard, she’s no longer in WA state.

Damn.

Then it came in yesterday:

The friend of the friend in the desert is looking for a tenant. Here’s a snippet from the email:

“Ok, here is an interesting prospect I will throw out there, not REALLY knowing what is going with you and what you want/need at the moment, my friend Jeanne, in the desert, is looking for a tenant (the one she had lasted only a few days -- I'll tell you that story) . . . only 2 hours from LA, quiet place to work. The energy can be really powerful, overwhelming even, there. Anyway . . . if you find you need to be in the area more but don't want to be in LA . . .”

----------------------------------

So. What to do? I’ve been trying to locate the answer via analysis and that isn’t getting me anywhere but head spun.

Where will I be less distracted and more able to focus on what I need to be concentrating on?

Here?
By myself, alone in the desert under the stars?

I’ve got a couple of incomplete paintings that’ve been calling and I’m doing a King Street Station & Metro “transportation” shoot today.

Perhaps the answers will surface thru lines and colors.

----------------------------

On the side:

I’ve had my cell phones under the maintenance/insurance plans for, well, forever – up until recently. I upgraded and thought, “Why exactly do I pay $5/month on insurance that I’ve never once had to use?” So I dropped it.

Addendum to on the side:

I fucking hate how there’s regulation on insurance and how it relates to us having to insure the material things that we own but not our own health.

This was one of the main reasons why I sold our car. It drove me insane to be paying auto insurance when I couldn’t afford to go to the doctor.

Anyway.

Cut to: yesterday.

Now with the sans insurance on the newish phone – I dropped it; not once but twice.

And it shattered my display screen. (The image behind the display screen is a painting I did of Adam and I.)

(Thanks for the jab.)

Tattoos if you please

2007-02-16T19:44:00.000-08:00

So far when it comes to artistic output I’d say that I feel most comfortable with writing & photography.

Painting has a tendency to get me into trouble.

Painting has a tendency to embarrass the living shit outta me.

I think I had reached a place recently where I decided against blogging about this, but it really is too damn funny not to share. And it’s coming full circle, so I figured what the hell.

You see, there’s this painting. It originated from a vision I had while meditating. The vision bore the message of, “give birth to yourself.” Visually, I saw a being that was being transported thru an orb of light.

I painted it and it meant so much to me that I had it tattooed on my right calf.

Cut to: Seattle – fall of 2005. I decided to have it touched up. My tattoo artist turned out to be a really cool guy that used to run with an anarchist pack in Europe. We bitched about the U.S., we laughed our asses off – we really got along.

“So what exactly is this on your leg? Explain it to me again.”

I did.

He smirked and the artist next to us chuckled.

“What”

“Do you think that maybe it looks like something else?”

More laughter.

“Oh you mean the pussy thing? Well, yeah – I mean, technically that is a channel of rebirth, a portal, right?”

So the funny thing about this goddamned tattoo is that I never saw it – EVER – as resembling a pussy – not until numerous quantities of humans started pointing it out to me.

Now that it’s tattooed on my body (rather largely I might add) – now I see it.

Son of a bitch.

So, that day, an array of pussy jokes painted my tattoo session – so much so that we had to keep stopping b/c we were laughing so hard. And suddenly, as he colored into the lines of my orbish-painting, it felt immensely more intimate.
The laughter and pot-shots diminished and the tattoo was nearly completed.

At the time, their award-winning Asian artist was just arriving back from a stint in Japan. The space was excited in anticipation of his arrival. He got back while I was being worked on….walked into the room, looked down at my leg and grinned, ear-to-ear and exclaimed, “Nice pussy.”

Again, more laughter erupted.

That session ended with the tattoo artist asking me out. At the time, I told him I didn’t think it was a possibility but agreed that we certainly hit it off.

Cut to: yesterday.

Thru a friend I had reestablished a connection to a really cool girl, the tattoo artist who originated the “pussy” tattoo. She was supposedly living in West Seattle now.

Turns out she’s already moved again and is now living out-of-state.

Damn. I’m craving some work.

Cut to: today.

I decided what I wanted next and went back into the shop to make an appointment.

-----------------------

This time it’s circles only – no more orby ellipses -- no more things that can resemble any vaginal-related jokes whatsoever.

And for those of you that have regular access to my acrylics, I challenge you to seek out the volume of “orbs” that present themselves... I swear, it’s always behind my conscious knowledge….

That’s what makes it so damned funny….

Angels if you please

2007-02-16T11:38:00.001-08:00

I forgot to include this in my earlier blog and it’s a classic demonstration of my newfound relationship with synchronicity.

Yesterday as I was examining my dwindling checkbook and absorbing the extreme changes that are currently taking place, fear tapped on my shoulder.

“Are you sure you can handle this? You asked for the intensity. Remember?”

All things considered, I feel like I’m managing remarkably well. I’m smiling and laughing and hanging out with others more than I have in a very long time. And for the past two weeks, it’s been raining messages of, “It’s okay. You’re in a safe place and are going to be taken care of. Keep moving forward.”

So yesterday right after fear was knocking I heard a voice, plain as day, say, “Angels are watching over you.”

Immediately afterwards I slipped downstairs to pick up the mail and I had a package: a used book that I had ordered off of Amazon.

Here’s the kicker.

Out from the front cover of the book slips a card. Guess what’s on the cover: an angel. Inside it says, “Jenna – happy Valentine’s Day” – smiley face/wink.

(This from a complete stranger, mind you.)

-------------------------

And then in the afternoon, it started to sprinkle bliss again.

Clarity

2007-02-16T08:53:00.000-08:00

Valentine’s Day brought monumental change to the DeLacey-Gillick household.

It has been an amazing and much needed blessing.

And everything else is shifting rapidly.

My 4 and ½ week window that I thought I had just regained to prepare for the pitches is now cut down to 3 weeks and once that period hits, I’m going to find myself traveling a lot.

I’m so very thirsty for it.

Next week the passport has gotta happen – there’s just too many good things manifesting right now and I wanna put some energy in the direction of international travel.

My instincts tell me that over the course of the next few months, I’m going to find myself being truly tested – let’s see just how flexible, adaptable & strong I can really be.

-------------------------------

On the side:

Reconnected with my uber-cool west seattle girly tattoo artist yesterday. I let her know that regular work is on my horizon – I need my grounding tools to help me make it thru this.

------------------------------

And I had to google “how to boil an egg” for the second time last night. ;)

www.ehow.com/how_1163_boil_egg.html

Am I fucking crazy? I can hold all this shit together and make incredible things happen, but at 28, I have to re-google “how to boil an egg.”

He he.

Change is on the horizon

2007-02-15T09:17:00.001-08:00

Last night, exhaustipated beyond recognition, I fell asleep in the bathtub.

Two important things to remember when falling asleep in the tub:

1. Keep your head above water.
2. Be prepared for the shear hell that is waking up 1 and ½ hours later pruned & shivering.

----------------------

Yesterday I nearly found myself in southern California for a week. The momentum on this show is pulling me forward faster than even I can keep up with. It was a roller coaster of a day and it verified two things:

1. There’s a lot of interest generating around this show.
2. I’m going to be taken care of until it sells.

----------------------

In closing craziness, this damn book won’t leave me alone. By 1am last night I had outlined what I guess can be best described as the table of contents – all 50 elements and I realized that I’m probably gonna have to increase the volume by about 50%. I highly doubt this will be a problem.

I’m dying to dive into it. I’m dying to get out and work on my Feb photo series, but if there’s one thing I learned yesterday, I need to buckle down and hammer out the sweetest pitch I’ve ever put together.

------------------------

Finally, my office is shrinking. Computers, files, projects, drafts and imagery are blanketing me (and making it very hard to find either one of my phones when they ring).

I’m loving it, but man, I need a bigger office. (I suspect this will happen soon.)

One last gift before the night is thru

2007-02-15T01:09:00.000-08:00

Starting last Monday, it began sprinkling bliss.

By tonight it was an unrelenting downpour.

Swimming through this newfound sea of immersion, somehow we have found the clarity that has been fogging the shores of our containment.

--------------------------

The key is to put energy into the parts of a relationship that work, and to allow the release of the parts that work no longer.

Every day for the past nine has been nothing short of miraculous.

Again, I could get used to this.

Love & Goals

2007-02-14T09:42:00.000-08:00

As usual I have a hundred thousand other things I should be doing other than blogging, but fuck it.

As the Universe aptly timed, I intended on today’s blog being “Polyamory if you please.”

But, to be honest, I just don’t have it in me to concentrate. I’ve got a room full of ticking clocks and their alarms are all about to start ringing.

--------------------------

That being said, last night while reviewing my 2007 To Manifest List, I was chicken-scratch updating it with the progress I have and haven’t made and in the spirit of sharing and being on display here’s what it looks like:

Accept myself fully as an artist. -- yes. i think I’m there
Accept myself fully as everything else. --yes. quite close

Sell “Soak” -- working on it
Sell “Ballroom Underground” -- so, so working on it
Settle Debt -- working on it

Start taking a regular yoga class -- nope
Chant daily -- nope
Stop all self-injury -- doing pretty well with this, overall

Read at least 3 nights a week -- not even close
Compile the screenplay collection. Print and read one script every week. -- started, yes

Complete “Story” by February -- not even close
Write a new short script by March -- hmmmm

Complete “A People’s History” -- haven’t touched it

Sell MyDemoWorld -- know where I wanna go…but haven’t moved on it yet
Sell Permagrin Pies -- haven’t done anything with this

Discover & implement what the next major writing project is (be it an individual or collective project). – yes! this has been a major one

One painting per month. -- yup, so far

Complete Avatar through the Master’s level -- working on & towards

Sell Modern Wreckage -- yes, working on
Sell disintegrate -- yes, working on

Blog goal of 4 days per week -- i don’t think I needed to set a goal for this ;)

Buy a loft in Pioneer Square -- no longer a desire of mine
Take photography classes -- no classes but I am shooting, editing, & printing

A good digital camera -- doing okay with what I’ve got for now
A good digital HD video camera -- yes, working on it

Obtain Passports for Adam and I -- haven’t done anything for this yet

Transition into the living artist lifestyle. Every day creating. Every day open to personal development, growth and expression. -- yes, most definitely

New Mac laptops for Adam and I. -- refurbished iBook “Cilantro” has joined the
family

Adam’s home studio. The G5, large monitor, Pro Tools. Whatever he needs.
--working towards ProTools

Transition musical library onto external HD and iPods. -- yes, working on

A comfortable wardrobe for both of us. -- whatever

Dental & Eye care. -- ha ha ha

More tattoos. -- craving them, yes

A kitten. -- not yet

Volunteer. -- when exactly….?

Friends. I’ve got to start sharing my life with others. Yoga & Avatar should help. -- yes

Take a cooking class. I want to start creating with food more. -- no cooking classes yet, but I am semi-preparing halfish meals

Reach and maintain ideal body weight of 130-135 lbs. -- almost there

--------------------

The show has been flourishing.

I was able to define my new major writing project and was not all that surprised to discover that it is a book. I’ve already got the first 2/3 outlined. It’s just pouring out, connecting and making sense.

I miss screenwriting, and am wanting to somehow find some more time for it, but perhaps the Universe is telling me to practice on the craft a little more…you know, actually finishing “Story” would be a good thing. And my “rewrite your heroes” thing seems to be working for me pretty well.

The other major thing has been the photography. Along with the goal of a monthly series, I just recently started printing up a few of the favs, which lead to frames, which lead to the birth of the portfolio binder.

Good times.

--------------------

So, I feel like, for perhaps the first time in my life, I’ve been truly loving my inner artist child. (She is grateful.) And that, my friends, is the best damn Valentine’s Day gift I could give myself or anyone else.

----------------------

May this day bring you laughter and love.

Tuesday night

2007-02-13T22:27:00.000-08:00

Tonight I discovered what is soon to be a frequent occurrence for me:

1 part lawn(ish) chair
1 part ottoman
1 part balcony
7 parts candles
1 part incense
1 part bowl
1 part glass of red wine
1 part laptop

I could get used to this.

Organization if you please

2007-02-13T09:39:00.000-08:00

Yesterday as I was plotting out my upcoming workweek I got overwhelmed.

“It is inhumanly impossible for one person to accomplish all of this in seven days (five if I intend to give myself a weekend off which hasn’t happened for quite some time).

It’s okay though. The productivity will help get me thru the stress (I think).

Anyway, I was thinking, “I need a reward. I need the Universe to give me a little something that says, “It’ll be okay, here’s a little treat.”

As do all things in my life, I was almost instantly rewarded in threes.

First was an audio CD that my mentor in LA recommended as a tool to help me out with the development of the verbal pitches.

Then I received a book that was highly recommended by a friend.

Then I received a pretty fine ass refurbished and fully loaded iBook from my neighbor across the hall. It was one of those decisions that had to happen. I had to make the gamble and invest in it b/c I’m going to need my own laptop desperately in the upcoming months.

It’s amazing, though. Things that I need: tools, laughter, resources, they’re all just floating into my space, falling into my lap (which I am very, very grateful for).

Hmm. How far can I go with this I wonder?

----------------------

So here I sit, daily, surrounded by my overflowing tools of organization:

Two computers
Laser Jet printer
Digital camera
Two phones
Palm pilot
Hard copy binder of daily, weekly, and monthly goals
Seven notebooks
Two inboxes
Three separate filing trays
And oh do I get lost in the post its

I gotta admit that I absolutely thrive in controlled chaos.

I love deadlines. I love the procrastination and the mad dash to the finish line. I love delivering.

---------------------

Yup. Still sounding like a producer.

2007: The Year of "Let's make it Happen"

2007-02-13T00:51:00.000-08:00

2007: The Year of “Let’s make it Happen”

The thing about resistance is once you’re able to release it; you’re amazed at how smoothly things flow.

I feel like so many of us live inside this bubble world of how we envision, how we imagine, our lives to be, regardless of the category of desire: career, lover, geographical home-base, social life, friend base.

We want to travel. We want to explore. We don’t want to be tied down to jobs we loathe. We want to be better, more productive artists.

We want to be more of whom we allow ourselves to be when we’re alone with ourselves in our heads.

Overtime, somehow, we convince ourselves that the utopian reality we imagine our lives to be “one day” is never something that’s really attainable.

Fantasy.
Dreamland.
(“Get your head outta the clouds. It’s time to grow up already and join the ‘real world.’”)

I’ve written about this before, but I’ll say it again:

We create our own versions of reality.

So take that first step towards the place that you desperately want to be – even if it scares the living hell out of you.

You’ll find that it’s not so bad. It’s manageable. It’s exciting. (The Universe will reward you and illuminate the next step.)

Before you know it you’re closer to the utopian reality than you are to your old reality.

--------------------

The phrase “let’s make it happen” has been on a relatively constant recycle for the past couple of years. It’s a regular in a friend’s vocabulary.

I’ve recently started noticing it more, for it’s obvious simplicity.

For example:

“Let’s make it happen.”
“We should make it happen.”
“We gotta make it happen.”

Words. Sentences. Composition. Language. How often do we actually process words for their literal meanings?

A good friend of mine, going four or five years back now, had a Japanese foreign exchange student staying with him. The student and I were conversing, practicing “real” American English. I described a (then) recent experience as “crazy” and my story was lost in translation.

“What does she mean, crazy?” she asked, eyebrow forked.

“She didn’t literally mean crazy. She’s being lazy. She calls herself a writer but is really being quite lazy with her vocabulary,” my friend replied.

Ouch. (He had a point.)

--------------------------

It’s no secret. I’ve always had a really hard time placing money alongside art.

And I rather recently recognized that this likely has a rather substantial correlation to the fact that I haven’t made any at it.

(I think I’m finally ready to start collecting.)

--------------------------

Creativity is flowing all around me. It’s flowing for a lot of people right now that I care very deeply about.

And for those of you that it’s not flowing for, the only thing that’s holding you back is the belief that what you desire is unattainable.

--------------------------

So, whattaya say, everybody? Here’s to 2007 being the year that we all “make it happen.”

It's happening

2007-02-11T11:24:00.001-08:00

This all comes back to New Orleans. It all started that night that I was magnetized to the innards of that dive blues bar. Meeting some locals and hearing their stories, all with the beauteous backdrop of the live, warm, vibrational wavelengths of the blues.

I was blessed with a substantial amount of downtime on that shoot and had a lot of time to explore. I drank in all the artists, pouring their hearts out on the streets, open and on display.

And something happened. The part of me that had given up on everything ignited. The part of me that swore I’d never stop fighting, regardless of the difficulties and circumstances, surfaced.

I remember calling Adam that night after leaving the blues bar and all I could do was cry. I was sitting in some dark alley off of Bourbon Street sobbing uncontrollably for what felt like an eternity.

“I’m wasting my life. I’m holding back. These people have lost everything and they’re singing in the streets.”

The following night a co-worker took me out on a bender.
And I made a pact with the Universe that I wanted another shot.
The following day I was approached to develop the show.

--------------------

LA has been flooding my memory bank lately and I can’t help but to take it as a sign that production offices will be out of LA (and not NY). It makes sense: I need to come full circle with my LA experience.

During my tenure at Production Company Hell (let’s call it PCH, shall we? Actually the offices where just off of the PCH), I flourished…up until the point where I crashed.

I was the first intern to get hired into the company and quickly took on more and more responsibilities. At one point the CEO sat me down and said, “Okay. Rule number one is you don’t tell anyone your age (I was 19). Rule number two is you don’t tell anybody about your education (or lack thereof). I had a swarm of interns underneath me that had their masters and doctorate degrees from the UCLA and USC film programs for Christ’s sake.

As time passed I started hearing a lot of, “You’re going to make one helluva producer one day.”

I giggled. I blushed. I ate it up.

As more time passed and it continued to consume more and more of my time, my life, my responses morphed into, “No I’m not. There’s no way in hell that I’m gonna do this with the rest of my life. Absolutely not.”

Cut to: now.

The messages that keep coming my way re: the show are, “They’re likely gonna want you to stay on board, at least for the pilot season, as a producer…you know, to get it off the ground.”

“But I’m not a producer. I’m a writer.”

“Uh-huh, right. But this is your project. You are the nucleus of this thing. Who else is gonna steer the ship?”

Then it hit me.

We now have two LLCs under us: Sleep Deprivation Society, which houses the screenplays and now the show.

This is the third TV show we’ve created. The first one we were hired to develop and the second one was a parallel development to a new Spielberg/Burnett show that’s debuting soon.

We’ve written four screenplays, two of which have been optioned.

We’re currently shopping around an entertainment industry-based website concept (no. 1 on the list is the Spielberg/Burnett team that beat us to the punch with the show’s counterpart).

“Holy shit. I’m producing. Son of a bitch. They were right.”

-----------------------------

Last week while en route to Madison Market I had to stop at Vivace on Denny: I had an “aha” moment (it’s been raining these) and I had to write it down. Scribbling on a napkin, grinning ear-to-ear, I couldn’t help but to think, “It’s totally happening. I’m turning into this crazy writer that’s ducking into anywhere she can find a napkin.”

No bullshit: I currently have seven notebooks going, broken down by various content. Three of them have to be with me at all times.

The countdown is on: the pitches roll out in six weeks. And I’m going alone. I have the show pretty much set. What’s gotta happen now is the composition of the verbal pitch, the rehearsal and memorization, and then being able to deliver it w/out it feeling rehearsed and memorized.

And I have to work on reigning my energy in a bit. (Thank you to all the friends that have been putting up with my uber high-energyness.)

------------------------------

So – it’s on. It’s happening. And this time my head is truly in the game. This time I’m not gonna walk away, no matter how intense it gets...

When it rains, it pours

2007-02-10T09:58:00.001-08:00

I cannot even begin an attempt at accurately capturing the mind-bending oddities that have been this first week of February.

Channels, gateways & portals have all opened up and energy has been flowing & vibrating around me from all directions.

It has been incredibly intense and I can’t help but to wonder how long it will continue.

Perhaps this is my “new reality.”

--------------------------

Traffic

2007-02-08T08:50:00.000-08:00

Next on the rewrite your heroes list is Stephen Gaghan’s “Traffic.”

144 pages.

Ouch.

I started off by spell-checking the thing.

Most frequent words that spell check didn’t recognize:

Cokehead
Methhead
Clusterfuck
-------------------

Nice.

I can't quite tell what's happening

2007-02-08T00:00:00.000-08:00

For once, I am at a loss for words.

Today was full of more synchronicities than I thought was possible to experience.

This week’s surrealistic elements continue to multiply as the hours roll past.

I want to try and express some of the things that have been happening and I don’t even know where to begin.

It’s been a wild couple of weeks…..and for the life of me, I can’t stop smiling.

Mental Health Days

2007-02-07T10:05:00.001-08:00

Growing up, Adam’s mom allowed for what she defined as “mental health days.” Whenever life got too overbearing, Adam was able to stay home from school and veg out, recover.

I thought this was such a brilliant concept. Although, in hindsight, I likely would’ve never graduated had I taken such liberties. Every other day would’ve been a mental health day.

After Gray Monday, I surrendered to the fact that my Tuesday was primed and lubed for nothing less. For the record, it’s really hard for me to give myself time off, but I’m learning that if I don’t, things get worse -- fast.

So yesterday was nothing more than painting, picking up a gift for a friend’s newborn and talking with several friends that are peppered across the country.

I had to sacrifice another day’s forward progress in order to prevent a mild mental disconnect. And it was so worth it.

I made it until about 2:00pm before the pain in my right ear had me nearly vomiting. I pondered a trip to the hospital. This is, by far, the most physical pain I’ve experienced in quite some time. Instead, I consumed what was left of my share of the brownies, resulting in about 2 and ½ hours of alleviation.

I also swallowed as many homeopathies as I thought could apply to my situation. I haven’t been able to eat or sleep for about 4 days now.

Last night, I got out for a cool stroll around the neighborhood: it was cool and foggy and gorgeous outside.

For the past couple weeks while the show’s LLC paperwork has been processing, I’ve been trying to formulate the exact pitching plan of attack. Something’s been missing and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but the solution has been marinating and percolating on my mind’s peripherals.

Last night on the walk, the solution surfaced, just like that. The answer was right in front of me.

And so, once again, I recognized the fact that I needed to ease up on trying to force things forward. I took a day off and by the day’s end had the answer to the question that’s been plaguing me for weeks.

---------------------------------

On the side:

I have an email rule and that rule is: no emails after consuming more than 2 drinks. I doubt I have to explain this rule any further….

The thing with this rule that’s been snagging me up recently is the fact that the limit has a variable reaction to the amount of food that is consumed before the drinks. As I said I haven’t been eating and at night have been having a glass of wine to try and help me to sleep.

I get overly loving and esoteric when I drink (which is far better than the old aggressive and unrelenting predator that used to come out).

Luckily, my friends are understanding enough to forgive any correspondences that may find themselves the result of my experiments.

This drinking rule also heavily applies to blogging. Sometimes I read over a blog and think, “ What the fuck am I doing? Am I crazy to put this shit out there?”

But what do I care? I recognize that it has the potential to come back and bite me in the ass, but for the time being, I’m having fun. I was able last night to define my blogging as theatrical voyeurism. (And here I was just thinking that I had gotten past the whole wanting to be the center of attention….) ;)

What can I say? I’m a storyteller.

----------------------------------

Gray Monday

2007-02-06T11:49:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, the fog never lifted. It was beautiful. It was reminiscent of January 2006 when we were getting heavy into the no sunshine for weeks phase.

It was appropriate.

My week started off with an intervention for my dying neighbor. I’ve been doing my best to help her with meds, groceries, cooking, cleaning, etc., but she’s been continuously deteriorating. Knowing I’ve got travel on the horizon, I went to the owners.

“I need help. I’m getting in over my head here.”

It ended up being this amazing morning of lucid, intimate conversation, just the three of us women. The owner and I realized rather quickly that we’re were going to have to be vulnerable and share ourselves in order to get the old lady to open up to the fact that she needs some professional help.

It was emotionally draining.

Then around four, a call came in from a lesbian friend of mine. We’ll call her Fremont (neighborhood she lives in). A quick history of Fremont and I: we share mutual friends from Florida and met thru them. The second time I met Fremont, was summer of 06 when I was deep in the trenches. I was ragingly pissed off and depressed and I was looking into finding a way out of the U.S. for a couple of years.

She also dances with depression from time to time and has an admitted drinking problem.

That second meeting was at the Saloon, a pub in Pioneer Square. We ranted and bitched over five, count em’ five, pitchers. Ouch. I got lost trying to find my way home that night. (Navigating the trek from Pioneer Square to Capitol Hill is not exactly rocket science.) Finally finding Belmont Ave., Adam was kind enough to not harass me and even fed me. I passed out -- hard.

For the record, this is why I do my best to not socialize with alcoholics. The inner-saboteur, bloody pissed off budding revolutionary likes to come out and play, and she doesn’t get to steer anymore.

We’ve hung out a few times since then under the guise of, “hey let’s get together and drink less then we did that one time.”

The last time we hung out we were both in bright, positive places and we had a remarkably good time. She had just started dating someone new and had the whole “new infatuation” thing going on: can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t do anything but think about the next time you’re going to see the person again, checking your email every 25 minutes to see if the new object of desire has sent anything..

That place is such an intoxicating place to be. I sat back and allowed her to gush.

Back to yesterday’s call.

“Hey, what’re you up to? I’m in Capitol Hill. Wanna meet for a couple pitchers?”

God, did I.

“I really can’t. Rough day and as much as I’d love to wash it down, methinks that isn’t the best course of action for me at the moment. Everything okay?”

“Girlfriend cheated on me Friday night. I finally decide to start dating again after 4ish years and, right outta the gates, man.”

“I’m so sorry.”

When they started dating, New Girlfriend told Fremont that she was dating other people and that she was, in no way, willing to explore exclusivity. It was an open relationship.

“Wait a second. Did you say she cheated on you? I thought she was upfront about the fact that she was already seeing other people?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“But what?”

Silence.

“You fell in love with her and wanted her for yourself.”

“I thought I could handle it, but it’s really hard.”

“I know. You also knew from the start that she was a game player and loved being the center of attention. You identified the fact that this girl was likely gonna hurt you.”

I know this place. I used to be attracted to only the guys that would hurt me. I think it was spun out of my need to take care of/save/rescue others, which stemmed from me doing a hefty amount of the raising of my younger brother.

The brother and I were comrades. He’s hearing impaired and I was always so over-protective of him. Both parents were alcoholics. Both parents were always with abusive partners. I had my work cut out for me. He ended up being a wildly popular and quite talented basketball player.

He’s currently finishing up grad school and married a stunningly beautiful and bright girl in August of 2005. At the reception, my uncle (and Godfather) and my Grandfather both took the time to let me know what a good job I had done raising him.

I’d never sought out any thanks; he was my brother, of course I was gonna look out for him. But it was a really loving gesture they both made on that day.

I lost a good couple of years in my late teens to a lost soul that I was trying to rescue. He was older and took me for a pretty bad ride. Restraining orders were involved.

Then in college, I paired up for awhile with a drummer who was a loud mouth and liked to be the entertaining heart of every party. I knew from the get go that he was going to hurt me, but I didn’t care. I was really into him, far more than he was ever into me.

He was hilarious and he was angry and he was the extrovert party favor that I was at the time.

He told me from the very beginning that he was never gonna “let me in.” Our relationship was never gonna be anything more than just-for-fun.

I fell in love.

That Christmas I flew up to Minnesota and drove my car back down to Florida. He was with his family in Missouri and I stopped in for what was supposed to be a few days.

We met up with two of his friends (boys) that night and started bar hopping. I was 18 and had a not-so-convincing fake i.d. We landed at a stip club and, no shit, all these strippers excitedly made their ways over to greet him.

I turned to one of his friends, “Oh, it’s like that.”

“Yup.”

His two friends were really cool, much nicer than he was, so I decided that I was gonna hang out with them more so than the boyfriend.

Boyfriend caught on and ordered me a lap dance.

“You’re not into this, are you honey?” asked the over-sized DD cups.

“Sorry. Fake tits just don’t do it for me.”

She dismounted and strutted away. I smiled, thinking, “I always wanted to say that to a stripper.”

We changed up venues and continued to drink our way across town. I eventually got thrown out for the fake i.d.

Back at his parent’s house, he had passed out somewhere and the two friends and I were scavenging for food.

One of them glided his hand down my arm.

“So, Boyfriend said that he’s cool sharing you with us.”

“He said WHAT? Where is he?”

I started packing my things. They apologized, halted my departure and talked me into sobering up first.

The next day, his mother told me that she thought I was too nice for him.

Boyfriend and I got the house to ourselves and I proceeded to tie him up to a bed. That was during my “I like to tie up boys phase.” My intent was simple: disrobe, tie, excite, and leave.

Somewhere between excite and leave, I decided that maybe I could leave a couple hours later. I knew this was likely going to be our last time together.

Returning back in Florida three days early, my stranger-than-fiction roommate asked why I was back so soon.

“I realized Boyfriend is a complete and total asshole.”

“You JUST realized that?”

Then I thought I was pregnant (from Boyfriend). I told him. He was honorable enough to go to the doctor with me: false alarm -- we were not pregnant.

He never spoke to me again.

Shortly afterwards, I totaled out my car in a drunk driving accident.

Then I met Adam and was introduced into the pot-smoking art crowd. Thank fucking God.

Adam and I are now going on nine years. Nine years. That blows my mind. We were damn kids when we got married, had no idea what we were in for. And, I think, as we’ve grown, if we were both single, we would possibly not entertain the idea of marriage. Marriage creates obvious boundaries and borders. I can see how this could come off as ironical, but we’re both big fans of not closing ourselves off to others…

Life is all about relationships, sharing lessons & laughter with others.

Several years back, I was the one who was really pushing for us to open ourselves up to others, and I was the one that struggled with the jealousy at first.

In 2005 & 2006, when we were working & living together 24/7, it got pretty insufferable. We noticed that everybody started to referring to us as a singular entity. I remember correcting somebody on it one time.

“We are actually separate individuals, you know.”

“Well, yeah, you are, but it’s also kinda like you’re not, you know?”

Back to Fremont: I apologized for not meeting for drinks and told her to take some time with the situation.

“Let’s reconvene next week and have a pint or two instead of a pitcher or two.”

I hung up and got outside for some air. Turning the corner, I ran into a guy who was sobbing. A friend approached him from the opposite side of the street.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” the friend inquired.

“Grey fucking Monday,” was the response.

“I couldn’t agree more,” I offered.

Can I just say how great it is to be in a place in life where I don’t allow myself to get entangled with people who (I know) are gonna hurt me?

John August and the Eternal Sunshine edit

2007-02-05T15:37:00.000-08:00

I have something very embarrassing, and very funny, to write about. However, I’m trying to decide if it’s something I really wanna blog about. I think I do, as it’s not something that I’m not doing a very good job of hiding as it is…..and, as do all pesterly things that demand my attention, it keeps on surfacing all around me….in more ways than I can deny.

And it is really funny.

It’s one of those things that’s very much falling under the category of “just go with it.”

But it’s not really a Monday morning blog. It’s a little more along the lines of a “gearing up into the weekend” blog.

So for today, I’ll share my love for John August & my recent experience with the Eternal Sunshine edit.

John August came into my radar ala “Go.” I feel like a lot of my friends assume that I’m only into dark, arty films. But I love anything that’s clever, entertaining, well written and well executed. I love “Go.”

One of the most often heard pieces of advice that I’ve received over the years as far as screenwriting goes is, “Get your hands on spec scripts. Read as many of them as you possibly can.”

This was easy as hell when I was in the industry. Covering scripts was part of my job. Although I didn’t get to do it as much as I wanted to. I was too busy coordinating with the studios, with the agents, with all the other executive assistants in town. I was too busy deciphering complex legal documents and trying to translate them. I hated it (and the knowledge I attained through my tenure has continued to benefit me to this day.)

I’d always bring armloads of scripts home to cover on nights and weekends and then I’d end up in the office well into the nights & over the weekends and Adam would read and cover the scripts for me. ( (To those screenwriters, I apologize….you had (at the time) a Sound Effects Editor telling our story department to “pass.” ))

Anyway, our VP of Development (who was an uber cool guy) would always usher me over to the enormous pile of incoming scripts and say, “Here. You wanna learn about screenwriting? Read these. This is how NOT to write.”

Nine and a half times out of ten, the writing was deplorable.

That VP of Development had an entire wall of specs. I loved it. He and I shared an unspoken understanding of how fucked up the environment was that we worked in. Countless times throughout the day make I would make my way into his office, the only space that had even a remote hint of chill energy. I would kneel by him and let the wall of scripts overtake my field of vision.

“This place sucks,” I would bitch.

“Yeah. Wanna get the hell outta here and go get me a falafel sandwich?”

“Yes. Anything.”

We would always escape in each other’s shared smirks whenever we’d get lost under the weight of the hell that was that damn production company.

I’ve lost touch with him over the years, but would love nothing more than to reconnect with him...

After leaving LA, I noticed how difficult it is to get your hands on good spec scripts. Most things to be found online are shooting scripts. And for the ones I am able to scavenge, I can never really be sure of the draft date that is listed. In other words, how many times has the draft I’m reading already been rewritten?

Give me the original. I want the original.

Ever since the VP’s wall of scripts, it has been a desire of my to create my own. I always let the cost stand in my way: that’s a lot of paper and toner cartridges. But I’m tired of excuses and I’m tired of succumbing to my false belief that “there’s not enough” money.

So three weeks ago I downloaded Kaufman’s “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.”

Only my Screenwriter software was not agreeing with the Final Draft version that was available. This meant I had a lot of editing to do.

So along with downloading and reading a script a week, I started reading screenwriter’s blogs. I love how observant writers are. They’re always listening for that next great piece of dialogue to snag. They’re always on the hunt for a clever pairing of words, for the key that unlocks the mystery of the not-quite-there-scene. They’re always capturing and regurgitating the backwards-ass ironies of every day life.

And, for the most part, they can be fucking hilarious when they’re not holing themselves up during their cavernous isolationist periods.

I highly recommend the following two of August’s (non-industry-related) blogs:

1. A message to Dr. Phil

http://johnaugust.com/archives/2005/a-message-to-dr-phil

A lot of the blog comments are pretty good on this one, too.

2. Don’t panic as you hit the panic button

http://johnaugust.com/archives/2005/dont-panic-as-you-hit-the-panic-button

For the panic button, be sure and read the text first and then click on the picture of the sign so that you can read, line for line, exactly what it says.

Anyway, I don’t think it was August’s advice (for the life of me, I can’t remember who said this) but it was a screenwriter and his advice was to type word-for-word your favorite scripts. The whole follow what you love mentality. Get into the rhythms of your idols: their structure, their set up, description, dialogue.

The stubborn pioneer that wants to pave her own way has always felt this path to be too time consuming, too laborious.

“Damn. That sounds like work.”

And then it happened kind of by accident. I was proofing the Eternal Sunshine download and I started to notice a lot of the description had dialogue in it. So I combed the entirety of the script, reading only the description and I shifted the occasional dialogue hiccup that was in the wrong place.

Then I combed the entirety of the script reading the dialogue only and I found that a lot of the dialogue had description in it.

Obviously some software formula glitch. I tried, for a while, to find the quick-key fix. (It wasn’t meant to be found.)

This resulted in my reading, editing and polishing Charlie Kaufman’s nearly original script (twice). It also allowed me the perspective of reading the story from the perspectives of: description only and then dialogue only.

I got a feel for his cadence, the “realness” of his dialogue.

I found out that the original script was a lot heavier than what ended up on screen.

The last ten pages, literally, had me shivering.

“Damn. That Charlie is one dark motherfucker.”

And I laugh at all the passes we’ve gotten. Not to pat ourselves on the back or anything, but we’ve been blessed with some detailed and bountiful praise. But the catch is always that it’s just “a little too dark.” (Really. Like darker than “Requiem for a Dream”, “Boys Don’t Cry”, or “Happiness?” Darker than Kaufman’s original of “Eternal Sunshine?”)

Tangent. Steering it back to conclusion crossing.

I have a clean, hard ESOTSM copy that I can read as an all-inclusive piece. And I have restarted the project that was born years ago: the wall of scripts.

Flirtation if You Please

2007-02-03T15:24:00.001-08:00

I’ve already blogged about the importance of art therapy and laughter, both positive forms of release. Flirtation knocks on the door, “Aren’t you forgetting someone?”

In my mid-to-late teens I was an outrageous, over-the-top, excessively embarrassing in hindsight flirt, but not in the positive form of release sort of way. I used my sexuality as a tool for manipulation. It was all about mind games. I don’t know what I liked more: the boys or fucking with their heads. (Okay. I do know what I liked more.)

Yes. I was “that” girl.

My junior year of high school I paired up with a gorgeous, equally sexually charged senior girl. Our friendship was centered on our love of male mind fucking.

My only collegiate experience was in a recording arts based environment. Lots of techie musician boys with a disproportionate male-to-female ratio. I was in heaven.

After Adam and I left LA and landed back in Central Florida, an amazing girl came into our lives and, for a short time, naturally blended into the relationship that was previously “Adam & Jenna.”

Over time, her father and her father’s (now) wife became my/our spiritual advisors. I’ll never forget the first time I met her father. I showed up for a group “breath work” session.

Branching off to further explain:

(a snippet from his website)

Breath of Life, Breath of Fire, Conscious Connected Breathing, Circular Breathing and Rebirthing are all variations of an ancient breath technique…

When you arrived on this planet, independent from your mother, you took your first breath almost immediately. It was vital that you learn to breathe before all else. The Buddhists call the moment of birth “The Great Forgetting.” Rebirthing is a breath process one could easily call “Discarding Forgetfulness.”

(Out of respect for their anonymity, I am not naming names or any of that goodness. If you would like to find out more about Rebirthing, please email me and I will provide their web information – with their permission.)

Back to the first time I met him:

I was the only person that showed up that night for the group session. After a rather uncomfortable silence, he inquired, “So. You and your husband are involved in a ménage a trois with my daughter?”

“Uh, yeah. I gotta get the fuck outta here,” said the voice in my head.

I didn’t know how to respond, so he dove right in.

“Nobody else is showed up tonight. You created this you know.”

“Excuse me?”

“You created this so that we could be alone and talk.”

[Granted, I may consume my fair portion of mind-bending initiators, but I swear to you, my trippiest experiences to date have occurred when I’m completely sober.]

That night became the first of many spiritual therapy sessions. Having never met the man, he started off with, “Now, to set the record straight, your sexuality is not going to get you anywhere this time. Your parlor tricks won’t work here. Not with me.”

I shivered and felt as though he had picked me up and pinned me against the wall.

How did he know about my old patterns (or what I had thought were old patterns)?

Note: the girl that liked the manipulative mind-fuckyness of flirtation is also the same girl that wanted to be the front-and-center-of-attention actress.

I can look back at her now and can laugh. I remember how jealous she would become when her partners would flirt with other people and can easily call her out on her hypocritical insecurities.
----------------------------

At 28, I’m in a place now where I can appreciate the art of flirtation for the positive pure release that it is. It’s a good stress-reliever. It’s sets the stage for smirks, smiles and laughter. And, of course, it’s important to connect with others, again, regardless of our titles or boundaries.

I like that what I’m attracted to now are the intellectual, expanded-mind, arty folks. I love stepping into a place of calculated strategy & wordplay with said individuals and I can only hope that Adam takes the same comforts & liberties.

-----------------------------

On the side:

Today, on one of Seattle’s signature grey & drizzly days, nestled under a tree in the middle of barren Cal Anderson Park, this girl was playing this remorseful melody on her trumpet.

It was so beautiful.

Also, after a round of antibiotics, my right ear is still in tremendous pain. So, I pull my perspective back and say, “Okay, so energetically-speaking, what is it that I’m currently hearing that is causing me pain?”

Or

“What am I not listening to, what am I ignoring to listen to, that is causing me pain?”

Damn it.
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Laughter is the Best Medicine

2007-02-02T06:17:00.000-08:00

Laughter has gotten me through this week. Caring for my dying neighbor, I have needed it.

To everyone who did his or her best to get me giggling and guffawing, here’s a couple back your way on this beautiful Friday morning:

1. Google

Last night while preparing dinner, I had to google “how to boil an egg.”

It was for an all-organic Spinach Salad:
Spinach
3 boiled eggs
Red onion
Fresh grated Parmasean cheese
Honey Mustard Vinaigrette
(simple & delicious)

It was paired with a loaf of Essential Bakery Pugliese bread, Swiss, Gouda, and Cheddar cheeses, and organic Spaghetti & non-meatballs.

Toss in a little red wine and candlelight and it made for a lovely Thursday night with my cute-as-a-button husband.

I am left to ponder…where was I before Google?

2. Orange Pudding

This one comes courtesy of the latest Stranger:

Hot Tipper Bryan visited a downtown T-Mobile outlet, where he was promptly assaulted by stink. Its source: a little girl, who’d reportedly plunged a hand down her pants and come back with poo, which she happily hucked onto the carpet, the rolling waves of stench instigating what Hot Tipper Bryan described as “ a minor stampede to the exit.”

“But here’s the best part,” writes Bryan, who lyrically characterized the toddler’s output as “orange pudding.”

“As her parents attacked the carpet with wads of napkins, the little girl wandered around picking up floor-model cell phones with her poopy hand, exclaiming with total seriousness, ‘Mommy, it’s time to phone home.’”

Rising to the Surface

2007-02-01T10:20:00.000-08:00

So, along with “real job”, I thought I’d share some other words that are surfacing a lot lately:

Vortex
Manifest
Belief/Believe
Understand/Understanding
Grateful
Consume/Consumption
Illusion
Implement
Patience

I’ve also been photographing a lot and imagery that keeps showing up in my composition include:

Stairs
Lines
Lines
Lines
Design/Shape/Form
Cold Temperature “feeling imagery”

I’m defining an acrylic series for 2007. My paintings have started to develop similar elements naturally and I feel ready to take it to the next level. I’m tossing around ideas, but I’m fitting it into my “one painting per month goal” which should give me a 12-piece series by the year’s end.

As well, I’m going to do the same with photography, only more. I’m gonna do a series a month. January broke down into two series that were both familiar territory: Freeway Park & the Seattle Public Library (Central). Looking over these pictures, some of them damn good, I can’t help but to think, “Well no shit they’re good pictures. How hard can in be to capture beauty in those places?”

February’s photographic theme is transportation. King Street Station has recently received a pretty major facelift: I think that’ll be a good place to start.

Pedestrians. Metro. Cabs. Bicyclists. Monorail. Light Rail construction. I-5 Congestion. And it’s looking as though February and March will present frequent use of SeaTac again. I miss flying. I love flying. Being in the air, above the clouds with all the light and colors bouncing around: I love it. And it’s time to pitch this show. (I can do this.)

Other than that, the deadline for Sicily is tomorrow (they’re willing to extend late entries till Monday, Feb 5th). If there’s one thing I’m consistent with, it’s being late.

The four blank canvases that are waiting for Sicily to find them stare at me now as I write.

“Fine. I’m coming.”

The "Real Job" Part II

2007-01-31T09:33:00.000-08:00

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.

The "Real Job"

2007-01-30T11:51:00.000-08:00

“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.

-----------------------------------------

Survival if You Please

2007-01-29T11:25:00.000-08:00

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.

(No) Pontification if You Please

2007-01-28T13:15:00.000-08:00

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.

Mad World Makes an Encore

2007-01-27T11:01:00.000-08:00

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.)

Composition if You Please

2007-01-26T09:31:00.000-08:00

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?’

Comfort Resists Change (cont'd)

2007-01-26T08:45:00.000-08:00

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.)

Nurturing the Garden Space

2007-01-25T12:06:00.000-08:00

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.

New Year’s vs. New Moment’s Resolutions

2007-01-24T10:32:00.001-08:00

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.

More of the Same (but bigger)

2007-01-23T12:58:00.000-08:00

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.

More of the Same

2007-01-22T11:07:00.000-08:00

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.

Laughing thru Limbo

2007-01-22T09:37:00.000-08:00

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.

Random Non Sequiturs

2007-01-17T09:48:00.000-08:00

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. ☺

Farewell to the January Fast

2007-01-15T13:48:00.000-08:00

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!

“If I Were Anymore Backwards, I’d Be Going Forwards”

2007-01-12T17:21:00.000-08:00

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.

Hiking thru my Mind

2007-01-12T14:53:00.001-08:00

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.

This Blog Lacks a Title

2007-01-11T09:54:00.000-08:00

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 Surrender

2007-01-09T13:59:00.000-08:00

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.

Turn on the Bright LIghts

2007-01-08T21:53:00.000-08:00

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.)

Energy if You Please

2007-01-08T11:48:00.000-08:00

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.

Avocado Goals

2007-01-07T12:02:00.000-08:00

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.

Pulse Pulse Pulse

2007-01-06T21:55:00.000-08:00

For the record, there’s nothing more annoying than a blinking cursor on a blank synopsis page.

Sometimes it's the Simple Things

2007-01-05T17:18:00.000-08:00

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.

Putty Holes & Black Dildos

2007-01-05T10:14:00.000-08:00

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.

Thee New Year's List

2007-01-03T14:22:00.000-08:00

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?

Beefing Up on Balance

2007-01-03T10:29:00.000-08:00

“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.”

So This is the New Year

2007-01-02T14:05:00.000-08:00

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.”

Pay Attention if You Please

2006-12-30T13:31:00.000-08:00

I was saddened to hear of yesterday’s execution of Saddam. As an American it fills me with shame. I don’t like the fact that we’re waving our ignorant machismo aggressive killing power in everyone’s face.

I don’t like 24-hour coverage on the news of his death. Where’s the coverage on the following atrocities:

US Military Deaths (Iraq): 2,997
US Military Wounded (Iraq): 22,235
Iraqi Civilian Deaths (Minimum): 52,139
Excess Iraqi Deaths: 655,000

(Source: michaelmoore.com)

For a great visual representation of these numbers go here:
http://www.michaelmoore.com/takeaction/deaths.php

here:
http://www.michaelmoore.com/takeaction/wounded.php

and here:
http://www.michaelmoore.com/takeaction/iraqi_deaths.php

To all the naysayers, I urge you, “Don’t be afraid of the truth.”

It’s painful, I know, but we cannot continue to deny who and what we are. We have to accept our history. We have to accept our present and we have to ask ourselves, “Haven’t we evolved pass this?”

I don’t like living in a country that invents wars for profit. I don’t like being part of the global corporate empire. I don’t like living in one of the top technologically advanced countries, yet none of it matters when we can’t even hold valid elections. I mean, really, could it be any more ironic that we’re the ones trying to ‘spread democracy’?

Along with ensuring secure elections (sorry Diebold) how about tossing out for-profit Health Care and for-profit Continuing Education?

How about instead of spending billions on death and destruction, we educate ourselves? How about setting up a system that guarantees health care for everyone (even infants and the elderly!)?

How about following Presidential hopeful Dennis Kucinich’s lead and establishing a Department of Peace? (Please, I beg of you, check out: www.kucinich.us)

What if the US federal government decided to play with the other boys and girls and sign onto the Kyoto Protocol? Hell, then they could even play with the 353 mayors representing 54 million Americans that have taken Seattle Mayor Greg Nickels lead and agreed to take local action to help reduce global warming. (cityofseattle.gov/mayor/climate)

How about reigning in the pharmaceutical industry, the auto industry and mega-agribusiness and implementing more holistic health care and mass transit across the board? What if all Americans had affordable access to healthy organic food?

I made a pact with myself when I decided to start blogging that I wouldn’t be overtly angry politically. I know that I have a tendency to wear my political frustrations on my sleeve and my intent is to communicate, not turn people off with my rants.

I know that it’s easier to look the other way.
I know it feels better to inform less and consume more.

But I’ve decided that I have to continuously work towards finding a way to communicate effectively and inspire others to take an active interest.

Yesterday an ice shelf the size of Manhattan (41 square miles) broke off of an island in the Canadian Arctic.

Where is this news story? Not in the mainstream news media, that’s for damn sure.

Good thing Saddam was executed on the very same day. Funny how coincidences like that occur, isn’t it? The death of a politically decapitated and non-threatening ex-leader far exceeds the importance of undeniable evidence that global warming is in full effect.

It’s such a great show and we’ve all got the best seats. We watch as the pot of chaos boils over: climate change, war, corporate greed, and the battle over diminishing resources.

We haven’t seen anything yet.

Wait until the weather patterns lock up. Wait until the major ice caps start melting and flood the planet.

We’re fools if we think evolution isn’t going to force us into harmony.

Unfortunately the oligarchy is going to fight and resist as hard and long as they possibly can.

The clock is ticking boys, so go ahead: scavenge as much as you possibly can.

Thing is, you haven’t got much time left. The wheels of a major shift in the collective consciousness are a spinning and not even your power can match it.

Everything in its Right Place (thanks, Thom)

2006-12-28T10:44:00.000-08:00

Last night while working on our sale options proposal down at Zeitgeist, I found myself sitting between a speechwriter for Rudy Giuliani and a genius who spent seven years working on his dissertation on raising the collective consciousness.

This is why I love living here.

LA. all I ever heard anyone talking about was the Industry. In Orlando it was the service industry. However, in L.A.’s defense our world was the Industry, that’s why we were there, so it is likely that my perceptions were tuned into such frequencies. Last year we traveled to LA to celebrate Christmas with friends and the day after, hung over as hell, we were dining at our old favorite breakfast café in West Hollywood. Everyone was talking film: auditions, pitches, agents, you name it.

Heads throbbing, hands quivering, I couldn’t help but to laugh in astonishment. “I had forgotten how Industry LA is.”

“More coffee, please.”

And in Orlando’s defense, we did meet some amazing people there, people who’ve had an incredible influence on my life.

But, on a whole, I’ve gotta say, Seattle home. Capitol Hill, our neighborhood, is becoming increasingly gentrified. And it’s full of hipster fashionistas, which gets more and more old the older I become.

Our new passion is Pioneer Square. Old brick buildings and streets, bountiful galleries and independent shops and cafes, blocks from downtown and the market, and an older, intellectual crowd. It seems to be where the working artists are living. It feels like our thirties.

At times I find myself intimidated by those who surround me. Most people around me are well educated, make more money, are well traveled, are living their lives in progressive manners.

But isn’t that the point? Isn’t it better to surround ourselves with people who challenge our intellect? Isn’t it better to involve ourselves in stimulating conversation, even if we feel as though we are the weakest link?

I’m proud of where I’m at at 28. It’s been a rocky journey, filled with ups and downs. But I knew I wanted to challenge myself in this life. I knew I wanted to leave a conservative upbringing for a more progressive lifestyle. I knew that as much as I crave security, that I was nowhere near living a life of conformity.

It’s not easy living against the grain. Most people don’t understand or support my actions, my choices. But that’s okay. We’re all on our own paths of self-realization.

Last night at Zeitgeist, the speechwriter picked up right away on the fact that I could hold my own within the context of a political conversation.

The PhD Consciousness genius didn’t need to verbally confirm that he could tell that I was on a conscious path of awakening.

The three of us shared space for over an hour discussing US International policy and laying bets as to if enough Americans will wake up before its too late.

Communication is man’s greatest gift. What gets me excited about living is the idea that, as humans, we’re just on the very brink of starting to really utilize our abilities to communicate effectively. At least, that’s my opinion.

I desire to be part of the team that leads the pack. Again, I can’t see exactly what shape this realm takes, but every day I try to focus my attention in that direction with hopes that it will become increasingly illuminated.

And, as you know from earlier postings, I practice this manifestation process, if you will, with projects that are more tangibly available.

Speaking of which, today I am finishing up the Sales Option Sheet and compiling research on our Target Production Companies and Networks. I aim to have the entire pitch package completed by the week’s end. Next Tuesday we incorporate. Then I spend the first two weeks of January writing and rehearsing the verbal pitch, along with any additional research that I feel is necessary.

Mid-January we go out to our first buyer.

Yesterday my mind-body suggested that I return to a fast (after having already laid claim to the fact that I would not re-enter an all-out fast). Perhaps I was pre-denying a request that I knew was on the horizon. Truth be told, I was doing really well on the fast; mentally and physically. My body really got into it. I was tired by the time I started to ramp out and I do think it was wise to come up for a refresher, but I’m really craving a return to it now.

I’ll give it a few days and see I still feel the same, but I suspect that I will. I’d like to do another 14 days, but this time drink a lot more water and incorporate chanting and yoga daily. My intuition tells me that this is precisely what I need to help prepare and balance me for delivering a wonderfully, positively charged pitch.

This time, I can see myself in this place of light presenting this project in the way that is true to my power. I’m ready to go to this place.

In the meantime, I have to deal with a lot of clean up. Ten months worth of giving up leaves quite the nasty ring around the old toilet bowl. Again, though, I’m managing with an entirely different approach. I’m removing the fear and approaching with a peaceful perspective and creating a space of resolution.

I understand that these things are cropping up as obstacles and challenging me as I step into a place of power.

This time they’re not going to beat me.

Buckle Down, Girl

2006-12-26T14:02:00.000-08:00

Christmas was full of simplicity and beauty this year. Mother nature blessed us and served up one of Seattle’s signature bright sunny days. The air was crisp and cool, the piercing blue sky above, and not a drop of rain to be found.

This was our first year together when we didn’t exchange gifts, not even a card went out, not to anyone. I don’t know how to explain it other than to say it just didn’t seem to matter this year. Maybe we had been through too much and trying to put significance behind gifts and cards just didn’t add up.

And something really interesting happened. I ended up feeling like I was surrounded by abundance, swimming in it even.

Nobody around, no commercialism-hype and yet everything felt full.

We didn’t end up doing a whole lot over the course of the three-day weekend: a handful of projects around the house and building. Adam had a pretty major breakthrough on one of our past screenplays. It’s been on the market for most of 2006 without any major bites and he unlocked some back-story ‘contexty’ goodness that will really help add sustenance.

One night his fingers got moving on the laptop as he was inserting notes into the script and it was so good to hear the apartment fill with the sounds of his keystrokes.

Outside of that, though, not a whole lot of work happened over the weekend. I barely touched the show, although I did dream about it here and there. I didn’t read and update Modern Wreckage either.

Modern Wreckage is our baby, our first feature. It’s a good little low budget indie: small cast, small set, good characters and dialogue. But there is an element that runs the entirety of the story that reeks of an amateur.

The unfortunate thing about it is it reads like a first feature.

And we’ve worked that project to death. It’s the story we taught ourselves structure with. There’s a big part of me that wants to just let it go, let it sit on the shelf and rest in peace.

But this nagging voice inside tells me that if I would just take one more pass at it and replace that one freshman element, it would sell and I could truly set those characters free.

I think I’ll read it tonight and take a look at it. It’s been a long time since I’ve even read it.

However, before playing with my filmic narratives, I’ve got far bigger fish to fry.

This morning the rain returned.

As if God was saying, “Snap to it boys and girls, time to get back to the grind.”

I’m full, really full. My round belly swollen, replacing its ‘pro-juice’ flattened predecessor. I’m feeling a little sluggish, but I equate it to the literal fact that my body is back to digesting again.

I’m excited about the work ahead of me. It’s a lot, a huge under-taking and when the package itself is ready, I’ll be walking it into a space that I’ve never gone before.

It’s a great end to this year and a great beginning to the next.

I aim to slim things down consumption-wise again for the next few weeks as I plow through the trenches. I was working really well that way; my mind and body both responded well. I’m not talking a return to the full fast, but I think I’ll keep a juice a day in the mix and surround that by yogurt, fruits and veggies, and fresh bread, salads and soups.

Yoga and chanting have got to find their ways into the mix. That’s the one key ingredient that I have to, have to, incorporate. I need positive stress-management to support me through this.

This one sells. This one sells.

This one sells because this time I’m not believing in anything less.

I’m actually finding it challenging because I can see this one going so much so that my mind wants to place my reality in a post-sale place, exploring all of the new exciting possibilities that exist there. And I have to reign myself back in.

There are a lot of steps to cover between here and there and it’s all about buckling down and continuing to plow forward.

Each step forward is a bridge to the next.

Now, time to get back to the drawing board. I’ve got a lot of ‘filling in the blanks’ ahead of me.

Lead the way trusty chalk.

Our Third Anniversary in Seattle

2006-12-24T20:00:00.000-08:00

It was bound to happen.

It was only a matter of time.

I was kidding myself to think that I could avoid the unavoidable.

Tonight, on Christmas Eve, it happened. I broke my ramp-out to have a Christmas cookie. In my defense it was a fresh wheat germ cookie. This is thee best cookie to be found in town. So mind-bendingly good, it’s a little twisted.

It is possible that I might’ve also had a cup of a certain black caffeinated beverage that shall remain nameless with said cookie.

It’s Christmas Eve. I mean, come on. Really. Thirteen, fourteen hours isn’t gonna make that much of a difference.

We’re now entering year four in Seattle, and I still find myself amazed at all the good food we have access to: local bakeries, local organic dairy farmers, fresh fish, lots and lots of organic produce and a plethora of vegetarian friendly groceries and restaurants. Farmers markets. Amazing coffee. Local breweries. Dive bars that serve up cheap beer and no attitude.

On top of that, we don’t need a car.

We have mountains to the west and mountains to the east. We have water.

We have a lot of green space.

We have volcanoes and earthquakes. (This is a pro on my list. I like the charge of nature-based elemental uncertainties.)

We’re a progressive city that flashes a lot of independence but plays big with the corporations.

We’re very, very close to Canada.

We came to Seattle to be artists, to live as artists. Something I’ve learned in my hopscotching across the country is that geography doesn’t matter. You can create from anywhere. You can be in bliss anywhere. You can be miserable beyond belief anywhere.

And I will match your ying and raise your yang with this little diddy: geography makes all the difference.

I remember when we visited four years ago to attend a film festival. We immediately tapped into the crisp vitality of the energy. “This feels like home.”

That wasn’t my first time in Seattle. In fact I had lived here before, briefly. Both times, I was running. At 18, I was just running away whereas at 25 I was running towards something. I’ve always had a desire to tackle growth and my intuition told me that Seattle had a lot to teach me.

So far it hasn’t let me down.

All new places have that initial romanticism to them. It usually wears off once familiarity and routine take their hold.

Somehow, Seattle avoids this. It continues to impress me with its contrast: the continuous dark, rainy days that echo perseverance occasionally to be broken up like a morning last week where the sky was such a beautiful vibrant bluish-silver and the mountains were a powdery puffy ornament.

Layer on top of that tall city skyscrapers, bustling development. Then there’s the arts: used books stores, indie theatres (we have three within walking distance plus two megaplexes), museums, galleries, local art work on display nearly everywhere you turn.

The people all smattered and swirling together in this increasingly tight urban living space: the races, the sexes, the suits, the artists, the wanna-be artists, the yuppies, the hipsters, the homeless, the tweakers and everyone in between.

Walking, working, traveling, living, day in and day out side by side.

I don’t know how to explain it any other way then to say that, as a home base, Seattle feels like it will continue to gingerly nudge me along, keeping me on the path towards the person that I wish to become.

Weather or not this personal evolution would be happening regardless of where I was geographically located, I’ll never know. Again, it all matters and nothing matters. I feel like I have all the answers. I know nothing. I want it all. I have no desires.

A lot of my ‘pro-Seattle’ content feels repetitive. Those of you reading this have likely heard it before. But what can I say? We worked hard to find a place that felt like home: a place where we could be comfortable in our skin.

We found the place and it’s everything we want it to be.

Now comes the settling into the skin.

And there, finally, comes the ‘a-ha’ moment. (I was beginning to question its appearance in tonight’s lineup.)

For me, Seattle has set up all the physical, environmental elements that I desire.

“No more excuses, you’ve got all you asked for. Isn’t it beautiful?

Now. Become who you said you were gonna become if you could only just get here.”

Persevering with Progress

2006-12-21T13:12:00.000-08:00

I had another extremely productive day yesterday with the show. I was able to successfully integrate the new formatting changes that I thought were going to present some major issues.

And it fits together so much better now.

Then at the night’s closing while standing in the shower, in a flash, I was told the answer to a problem that’s been road-blocking me for several weeks. I simply heard the solution calmly spoken in my mind.

This whole not trying to force things is really working for me. In the past when it came to new projects, all the seemingly insurmountable obstacles would overwhelm me. I would get angry and my anger would block any smooth, forward progress.

This time I’m simply acknowledging everything that has to be solved: I created their very own little document so that I’m sure not to forget them, and this way I’m not carrying them around in my brain constantly. I’m not having to stare them in the eye every minute of every day, constantly thwarting my attention from their nagging.

“Yes, I see you. Yes, I know you’re huge. No I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do about you yet.”

Then I work on the things that I do know how to solve. I develop them. I write them. I edit them.

I progress.

And then, somehow, the next step is illuminated. Or a solution is handed to me.

This takes effort. Every day the panic knocks, taps me on the shoulder. Every day doubt, my most reliable companion, tries to bring me down again.

Every day the negative chaotic elements that are circling all around me hiss and spit, swipe and claw, bare their white, gleaming fangs.

And every day I shake it off. This time, I don’t give in. I don’t give up. I shake it off and I try to create something brighter.

Every day the negative chaotic energy transforms into swirling positive energy: the kind of energy that makes a person glow, the kind of energy that lights up a room.

The kind of energy that turns beliefs into reality.

The real beauty in this formula is that I’m maintaining my consistency with it. I’m remaining persistent. This is huge.

Again in the past, I’ve flocked to positive streaks, be it creative endeavors or new spiritual tools gained, like a moth to the light. I’m incredibly intense for brief interludes and then I fade out. I lose my interest in the light and fly back into the darkness.

But a person can only fly alone in the dark for so long before she starts to wonder what it would be like to live in the light for fragments of time that are longer than just coming up for air.

Committing to living in the light takes an extreme effort on my part (as it does for everyone).

But I know now that the stakes are quite high. There’s no longer any room in my life for the pendulum to rock as powerfully back and forth as it has. I have to work daily with my energy. It’s just like any pattern: the more I do it, the easier it becomes.

And the key this time is to not drop it.

No more dropping it.

Herbal Tea & Dead Debris

2006-12-20T01:19:00.000-08:00

Well, today is Day Nine of the fast, and I’ve gotta say, it’s going really well. My desire for food has yet to return which has me a little concerned. Usually on a fast, I go in waves of craving food so deeply. Walking the neighborhood I peer longingly at patrons of various restaurants as they sumptuously bite into their meals. Grocery stores? Forget it, pure torture.

This time I’m getting mild flashes of hunger late at night, but no cravings. I’ve even been able to continue grocery shopping for Adam without batting an eyelash.

And I can’t help but wonder, “Will I ever be truly hungry again?”

Last night was the first night I felt worn out from the fast. I had done a lot of physical labor throughout the day and was a cranky goose by the end of it.

Today I did even more laborious tasks and I feel fine. It’s funny; they say that you’re supposed to keep things to a minimal while fasting, but I went in reverse this time. All of this physical and mental energy has just been pouring out of me.

I’m supposed to start ramping out on Friday if I want to be able to eat for Christmas. My body, my instinct, is telling me not to stop. I only have two more days left! Honestly, I feel like I could easily go until the end of the year. But I don’t want to push my luck. Better to bow out with a good 14-day fast, then push it and try for longer. And I don’t want to do that to Adam either. We’re already alone for Christmas this year. I don’t want him to have to eat alone, too.

Onto brighter things, literally, part of my aforementioned labor has been bringing light back to Bel Baines, the apartment complex that Adam and I manage. It began a couple of days ago when I replaced a burnt out bulb. That led to a lighting inventory and I was horrified to discover that a majority of the building’s lights were burnt out. (I ended up replacing 17 light fixtures in total.)

“In celebration of the winter solstice, I’m bringing light back to Bel Baines,” I jokingly thought. Although, throughout the process which ended up taking two days and two trips to the hardware store, I couldn’t help but to see that I was literally bringing light back into my living space.

I also washed the coverings of the light fixtures. Some of them had so much dead debris inside that barely any light shown through. (Metaphor me this, metaphor me that.)

Today I did a monster sweep of the exterior and hauled a nasty box spring that has been rotting alongside the front of the building for months now.

I’ve been trying to paint over graffiti for a couple weeks now, but the temperature is continuously too cold for the paint to dry.

Apartment managing. I don’t mind it, really. I like doing little projects around the place and there couldn’t be a better time for us to have a break in rent.

Plus, physical labor is a huge part of my writing equation. Cleaning, maintenance, any basic project that’s left-brained, task-oriented. It ramps me up. It gets me into problem solving, creative-inducing mode. Shooting video with Front Row worked really well in this context for both Adam and I. Something about the easiness of it, the repetition, it filled the left-brain and sparked the right.

And it worked again today. Tonight, working on the show, I was able to smoothly identify my next steps and literally, in a flash, I had a major break through: something to incorporate into the formatting that I hadn’t seen before.

I guess I’ll bookend this little nugget with a return to the fast.

One thing I have confirmed in the past nine days is that I don’t like herbal teas. I try. I know they’re better for me than their caffeinated counter-parts. But they’re gross. One of them tastes like body odor smells, leaving me with the after-taste of vomit.

Miss food? Nah.

Miss coffee?

Christmas morning, baby, I’ve got a date with my love, my muddy black, pupil-widening delicatessen.

Climbing Past the Christmas Lights

2006-12-16T21:21:00.000-08:00

Thursday night, Seattle experienced severe weather. Violent, torrential winds and heavy, pounding rain overtook the city. Qwest field, playing host to the Seahawks/49ers game, flooded. Several streets, homes and businesses flooded. Major interstates and bridges shut down. Tens of thousands of customers lost power.

I sat inside my warm apartment and watched as the bamboo stalks just off my porch arched under duress, a purring wide-eyed kitty in my lap.

Friday morning I emerged and made my way down to Pioneer Square to prepare for a Saturday conference call. The city felt tired, beaten and worn. “I understand.” And en route, it happened: the majestic Olympics were visible, stoic and full of grace. A spark of light and beauty, a brighter day. I felt a glimmering spasm of desire. Appetite!

At Zeitgeist (my current favorite coffeehouse) I reviewed the project and made some notes on issues I wanted to address.

I made a ‘to do’ list of things that I wanted to complete before the end of the year.

I made a ‘to manifest’ list for things that I will create into my reality for 2007. (The 2007 list was far more ‘fun and exciting’ than the 2006 one might I add.)

Arriving back home, Adam was exhausted from a long week at work. I went out for an evening walk and was amazed to find much of our neighborhood still without power. Blocks upon blocks of total darkness, silence. Far in the distance I spotted a sea of colorful Christmas lights.

A light at the end of the tunnel.

There was something peaceful, something comforting, about walking by myself through the darkness. Arriving at the Christmas light display, I stood and marveled in its beauty.

This morning’s call lasted a little under an hour. It was good, productive, positive. The project continues to blossom, each day sprouting new branches that carry us into un-chartered areas of possibility. New problems to solve. Having conquered the level that we were at, we rise and discover a whole new, higher, level.

Things we hadn’t thought of before are suddenly illuminated.

This is why I love creating.

Our partner in the project comments, “You know, I’m experiencing such highs with this project, times where I’m believing in it so much, and then I look at all the unanswered milestones we have to solve and I get panic attacks. Well, not panic attacks, but I panic.”

I laugh (knowingly) and reply, “The pendulum swings back and forth.”

I explain that the way I’m approaching this is that I know there are greater milestones out there that we will encounter and have to overcome. But I am moving forward in every way that I can with confidence that the answers will present themselves when we need them to.

So far it’s working.

So far we’re tentatively aiming at a mid-January pitch to our first potential buyer. (We’re extremely confident that he’ll buy.)

And I realize that ever since I decided that this time I was ready to fully believe in this project (in our ability to sell it)(in myself), it’s becoming real. I realize that this experiment is really fun. The fear, somehow, isn’t so bad.

And I think how much more comfortable it is for me to experiment in the fictional world than it is in my reality life. “But look,” I counter. “The two are merging.”

The two are merging.

I stopped fighting. I stopped being angry. The fear is dissipating.

My inner artist smiles.

Higher Self smiles.

I smile.

The two are merging.

Now comes the management of the merging of the two. The next thirty days I’m going to be fully immersed in this project. The kind of fully immersed where I can no longer differentiate between what’s on the page or what’s in my head.

How does a ‘things to complete before the end of the year’ list compete with that?

Damn lists. To think I was only recently giving you praise.

Tonight we tried to treat ourselves to “Babel”, but missed it. We failed to account for all the extra holiday human traffic. Back in Capitol Hill, we ventured a few blocks north. Sure enough, the power was still out for several blocks.

We walked together, peacefully, through the darkness and in the distance we spotted a sea of colorful lights.

Our light at the end of the tunnel.

It’s been a long couple of weeks (within this long year), and the incline will only grow steeper before we’re allowed to reach the peak. I’m tired. We’re tired.

But, man does it feel good to be climbing again.

Fasting & the Gift of Appetite

2006-12-14T18:44:00.000-08:00

Ah, the fast. The gift to myself that I love to hate. I discovered fasting in early 2005. Looking back, I can’t quite recall where that initial seedling of interest sprang from, but spring it did.

Our first fast was the May-June period of 2005. May-June because there was little to no freelance work during that time of the year. Which is good, because doing things that are physically and mentally demanding can prove to be rather challenging while on a fast. Makes sense right?

I also thought it would be a great way to save money. I was wrong. To clarify we were juice fasting, although we did water fast for a couple days in the middle. If you’re serious about cleansing your body, it is imperative to use all organic ingredients. Otherwise, you’re literally trying to cleanse with pesticides. And although this may work on your bathroom floor, I don’t recommend in on your physical body.

Three times a day, the Breville juicer and I danced our dance. I really enjoy the process of juicing. I wash and chop my ingredients, turn on the machine and then I transform solids into liquids.

No pasteurization, no preservatives, just fresh, clean, pure, organic juice. I was intrigued to learn that when you make juice fresh, a layer of foam forms at the top. Who knew juice had foam?

So good.

That first fast, we mixed it up and tried a handful of juices. I’m a mono-juicer now though, a Carrot-Apple girl (occasionally adding some fresh ginger).

By the way, making fresh organic juice at home has forever turned me off of store-bought pasteurized juice. It’s a falsity that anything good is to be found in it. I now view store-bought juice in the same light as soda. Really. It’s all just empty consumption (or worse than empty). The one exception to this rule is the Odwalla (or Naked) Green Machine. That stuff is like candy to me (weird, I know).

This means I drink less juice on the whole, but I justify it by the fact that the little juice I do consume is at least juice and not pasteurized high fructose corn syrup junk.

So why fast? The surface answer is for the physical body. Our bodies get backed up. We feed and we feed and we feed ourselves and our bodies can’t keep up. As Americans, especially, we consume way more than we need to. Every day. Fasting halts this process and allows our bodies to start chipping away at all the back up. (I could go into great, gruesome, detail here, but I’ll spare you the literal description.)

The detoxification that ensues can vary, depending on the amount of toxins you regularly consume. I am a caffeine addict and I drink alcohol. This equates to a splitting near-migraine status headache for the first 48 to 60 hours. When we did our May-June 2005 fast, Adam was doing okay until we entered a 48 hour water fast (centered within the juice fast). He got violently ill, was throwing up, dry heaving. It’s amazing to see a person’s body trying to purge when its taken in so little. Literally, his bodying was purging years worth of toxins.

I swore I would never fast while living in Capitol Hill again. We’re surrounded by an insane amount of restaurants. Particularly hard in the summers when they open their doors and windows and the smells linger with every step.

Hmm, so far I’m not selling you on fasting, am I?

Aside from the physical purifying reasons, fasting is a great mental/emotional and spiritual cleanser as well. For starters it requires great will power. It’s a very ‘against the grain’ type of thing to do. Nearly all outside feedback I receive while fasting is, “You’re crazy. It’s not healthy. I could never do it.” So, it proves to be a good lesson in following your inner voice regardless of what everyone else says: a real test in perseverance.

Secondly, I’m big fan of perspective. Fasting takes away all of the things I’m used to. It takes away the routine of eating. It makes me appreciate all of the great food stuff that I have easy access to. It simplifies things.

Thirdly, fasting has a way of lifting the veil from something that I didn’t know was hidden.

During my first fast I was amazed to discover that it wasn’t the hunger that bothered me (the hunger crests and passes usually by day four). Rather I missed the reward of food. Make it through a tough day? Accomplish something that you’ve been putting off? Have dinner at your favorite Sushi place. Grab a short soy vanilla latte from Vivace and stroll through the neighborhood.

I realized how partnered work and consumption are for me. Especially when it comes to caffeine. Coffee, the (legal) drug love-of-my-life. Whether writing from home, or more often than not, at a coffeehouse, coffee is an integral part of the equation.

It was a real eye-opener to acknowledge how much of my day I spent thinking about consumption.

And this year I lost my appetite for everything. My body has been begging me for this fast since spring time, and I have denied myself out of lack of will. I tried a handful of times to enter one and kept giving up a day or two in. A couple of times, I didn’t even make it through the first day.

This time I was able to slide right into it though. My local co-op market even had a wicked sale on all of the ingredients I needed, so I bought in bulk and saved a ton.

I’m not sure what I’m looking for this time, but I know I had to stop saying “no” to my body. It has something that it needs the strength to work on healing and it needs me to stop shoveling food in it so that it has the time and space to do so.

I think, secretly, I’m hoping to regain my appetite from this. Having lost it this year, my eating habits have been pretty shotty and irregular. This has led to me forcing myself to eat on more times than I’ve admitted and to, almost always, eating when I’m not hungry.

On all levels (physical, mental/emotional, spiritual), I think I’m searching for appetite. Hoping somehow I can regain the gift of appetite, the desire to be alive and to be a part of something. I’ve been getting flickers of it recently like a candle’s wick that’s trying to hold its flame, but the dead weight keeps pulling at my ankles, tugging and begging for me to come down, just a little lower, just a little longer.

I can’t go any lower. I can’t go any longer. This has to end.

Isn’t it ironic that in order to try and re-stimulate appetite, we must first go in the opposite direction? There’s a lesson hidden in that message, I’m sure of it.

I started the fast on Monday, December 11th. My goal is to be ramping out (reintegrating the body to solids) by the end of next week. As timing would have it, this would have me ready to re-enter a ‘normal’ diet on Christmas Day.

So while everyone’s busy stuffing themselves with holiday cheer, I’m going in the other direction. I can’t explain it any other way than to say, “This is what I need. I can’t put it off any longer.”

It really doesn’t feel at all like Christmas this year. Maybe its part of growing older, but I don’t think so. We’re not in a purchasing place (not that my definition of Christmas equates with commercial consumption) and we’re really so worn out that we have very little of ourselves to offer anyone. That is what Christmas is to me, sharing laugher and love, not miniscule gifts or cards with empty greetings.

So to all of my family and friends, know that this holiday season, this winter solstice, I am working hard towards giving myself back the gift of appetite. This is the greatest gift I can think of to give myself and to give any and all of you.

Buzz Off Vultures

2006-12-08T17:28:00.000-08:00

Okay, so this blogging is beginning to become a bit of an addiction. There are far worse addictions to have, mind you. In fact ‘addictions’ have already found their place in line on the blog list.

I’m going to have to find a way to manage my blogging. As you recall, I started as a means to get me writing again. But now, blogging always seems more appealing than completing anything with a deadline attached to it. I know. Blogs can be the reward: a little slice of company at the end of the day, just me and the clicking of the keys.

This blog-reward system will promptly be implemented tomorrow. Today I blog first because today I need to rant.

Today I got a ticket for jaywalking.

The first thing you need to understand is that everyone jaywalks. It’s an overcrowded city. We’re busting at the seams and our transportation options are limited and failing.

I’ve been fully ‘ped’ for 18 months now, having signed off cars for good in July of 2005. No more financing something that loses value everyday, no more insuring a piece of metal when I can’t even afford to insure my own health, no more surprise repairs that pop up at the most inconvenient of times, no more car accidents. Oh yea, and no more gas. The whole gas gouging phase totally flew over my head. For once, I couldn’t relate to the ass-raping that virtually all of my car-dependent friends and family were struggling through. Getting rid of the auto lifestyle was one of the best things I ever did.

I’m fortunate enough to live in a city that allows me that option. Everything I need I can walk to. If I ever have the desire to hit the suburbs (Target is, on occasion the only thing I miss, and honestly, I can find socks and underwear elsewhere) there’s Flexcar. If you don’t know what Flexcar is, I urge you to check them out (www.flexcar.com).

I’ve always loved walking, so its no surprise that I turned into a ped. As a ped commuter, you learn the shortcuts, the routes that have the less-grueling inclines. You learn how to flow with all of the competing traffic (peds battle the cars, cars hate the peds and the bicyclists hate everyone). And everyone, everyone, jaywalks. If the lights red and there’s nothing coming from cross-traffic, you walk. Common knowledge.

I’ve been working out of the apartment lately. I used to be able to work from home easier, but that hasn’t been the case lately. Part of it is that working in public forces me to be on display.

“I can’t just sit here for hours, I need to look like I’m doing something. Damn, guess I’d better work.”

So every morning since I decided to start living again, it’s the same routine. Wake up. Shake off all the fear and anger and self-loathing. Forgive myself. Put myself in a positive place, create spaces for the present and the future that are creative, healthy, bountiful.

To the laymen, or the stubborn, it sounds campy. It sounds like after-school program cognitive therapy bullshit.

But it isn’t.

It works. Our minds are our most powerful tools. And we spend too much time thinking that we can’t strengthen and shape them the way we do other parts of our bodies.

So. I’m at my bliss point of the day, ready to get working. En route to a coffee house, I escort my elderly neighbor to the bus station. She’s old and dying. Her eyesight is bad, her heart is bad, her back is bad. She only has the use of one hand, the other one simply decided it was done, it didn’t want to function anymore. She doesn’t sleep at night from all the meds she’s on, all the speed she’s on to help with the depression of dying alone. She’s the sweetest thing.

I hit the bank. I hit the post office. I’m running later than I intended. I hit the intersection of Broadway and Denny. The light is red. No cross traffic in either direction. I proceed as do several others.

My second heel hasn’t fully touched the curb on the opposite corner before two cops on bikes stop me. One quickly moves to another ped. The officer asks for my i.d. He asks if its current. I tell him yes. (It is not.) He informs me that he stopped me because he’s trying to protect me and I walked when the blinking sign read, “Don’t walk.”

“Oh. I must’ve been looking at the mountains. They get me every time.”

The mountains are snowcapped and stunning on clear days. I feel a strange comradery with the Olympics, like somehow they’re here to protect me. (Apparently not today.)

He’s scribbling away on a pad and I assume he’s issuing me a warning. Several passersby stop to watch me and my fellow ped. You can tell their curiosity is piqued. “They don’t look like tweekers.”

From his pad, I get the green copy. White is his. Yellow goes to the city. What I thought was a warning turned out to be a $46.00 citation. Forty-six dollars. Holy shit. I can’t afford this right now.

He rides off and a group of students that had been watching ask me what the ticket is for. “Forty-six dollars. Jaywalking. Careful boys and girls, the city’s sniffing out extra revenue.” Everybody’s sympathetic.

“We were walking right behind you. But they didn’t stop us. They stopped you,” one student offered.

“Guess it’s my lucky day.”

“No. You look like you could afford to pay it. We’re just some poor ass students. But he looked at you and figured you could take the hit.”

He figured wrong. Just because I’m carrying a briefcase and wearing all black doesn’t mean I have anymore money in my pocket than then next guy.

“Notice how all the drunk, methed-out tweekers never get stopped for jaywalking,” another offers.

On my way to Pioneer Square I count the number of cars that run red lights, the number of cars that snake their ways through the crosswalks that I have the right of way for, the number of cars that almost hit me. I count the number of people that jaywalk diagonally. For the record, this never helps the situation.

I rewind and replay, rewind and replay. I kick myself in the ass. “Man, I didn’t even fight him on it.” I could’ve asked for a warning. I didn’t even try to fight it. Maybe I should’ve told him that it had been 48 hours since I last thought of killing myself and now I have to start from zero again.

“Stop being so dramatic. And don’t be ugly. He’s just doing his job. And technically, you did jaywalk.” I didn’t fight it because I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of fighting everyone and everything.

I think of how the cop said he was doing this for my protection and my mind skips back to an image a month or so ago: a messy accident in the neighborhood. A ped got hit in the middle of the crosswalk. By the time we passed it, all that was left was a stray, widowed tennis shoe, mangled in the middle of the street.

If I may offer the city a word of advice: it’s not the peds that are the problem. We know how to navigate the streets. The trouble is all of the bottle-necked cars racing to make their way through the next yellow light.

My winding walk downtown leads me past the homeless addicts, passed out in doorway crevices. I am reminded that I have absolutely nothing to be upset about. I shake it off, little by little, and notice that an overwhelming majority of the people I pass are serving up a generous supply of smiles.

“How do they know I need their smiles today?”

I remove myself from the sting of the surface value. “What is the underlying message from this?,” I ponder.

Three simple answers arise.

Watch where you’re going. Be wary of what you’re walking into.
Don’t force things. Be patient, there’s no need to rush.

And last, but never least.

Watch out for the vultures that are circling overhead.

Happy Birthday

2006-12-07T19:54:00.000-08:00

December 7th. Today is Adam’s birthday.

Last year he got a beautiful new blue acoustic guitar for his birthday. Last year was his big 3-0, the gateway into adulthood. That guitar has been a godsend. His old guitar, bless its heart, couldn’t cough out another chord if it wanted to. But the new blue one fills the apartment with its warm, melancholy hues.

Last year we flew into Las Vegas on his birthday. To most people, this sounds exciting, like a treat even. People intentionally go there to vacation. But we are not mostpeople.

For those of you that know me well, you know that I took this testament to the extreme, tattooing across my forearm ‘mostpeople are a dying race’. The sentence is a part of a larger expression: “most people prefer blindness but mostpeople are a dying race”.

This bold representation about the upcoming age of enlightenment, the grand awakening of humankind inspired me greatly and so I put it on my body in hopes of invoking inquires from strangers. It back-fired. Sure a few people got it for its pure intention and I was able to share a handful of intimate understanding connections with people who were merely strangers before discussing the meaning of the tattoo.

But mostly, I felt it isolated me even more from others.

I realized that instead of bringing me a feeling of power, I felt shame. I realized that I put it on my body more so as a slap in the face to everyone who wasn’t ‘as awakened’ as I. Instead of invoking a sense of unity, I was literally saying, “This is where I am and you are not.” I realized I was being an egotistical asshole instead of an inviting being of light.

I covered up the tattoo.

So let me rephrase. Although most people may think of a Las Vegas birthday as a damn good time, we do not share that belief with most people. Never mind the fact that we were there to shoot what felt like the millionth ballroom dance competition. But let’s face it, Las Vegas is the white-trash tourist destination. Filled with insurmountable clouds of cigarette smoke, never-ending sing-song chimes from the slot machines, and a plethora of all you can eat meaty-meatster buffets, Las Vegas just isn’t our cup of tea.

To top it off, due to an organizational snafu, our regular room at the Luxor was unavailable and we ended up in a nasty, scary, down-and-dirty dive across the strip. Ugh.

We met up that night with an old friend of Adam’s: a beautiful girl, another Cancer. (Poor guy. The last thing he needs in his life is another female Cancer. Technically, though, if we’re being linear, I’m the other Cancer. She precedes me.)

Anyway, she couldn’t get a sitter, so we ended up at a shitty bar at some casino that had a ‘kid play’ center. Not quite how I envisioned celebrating his entrance into adulthood.

We ended up having a pretty damn good time, though. Drank way too much. (“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas!” And let’s not forget, “Vegas, baby!” I could go the whole rest of my life and never having to hear either of those two sayings again would make me the happiest girl. To clarify: we did not on that night, nor have we ever, slur-yelled either of these phrases. Rather, my disgust for them comes from the countless time I have heard them.)

The drinking way too much led to me being an insecure baby and running my insecure baby mouth off. (Note: Saying you’re totally able to be in an openly loving relationship and living that existence are two totally different things. I’m growing up, though, and getting better with the concept of sharing in general.)

We showed up the next morning for the start of a twenty-hour shoot still drunk.

“Look on the bright side. At least we’re not hung over.”

This is what I do with birthdays. I use them as reference points, ear-marked pages in the chapters of the novels of our lives. Where were you last year at this time? How have you grown in the course of this year? (We’re always growing. Even when things seem stagnant, even when the wheels of our personal transportational devices seem to be rotating in reverse, we are growing. )

But birthdays share a greater importance. Literally they are the day that we chose to enter our current incarnation. The time, place and conditions we’re born into greatly impact and shape our life experience.

Birthdays are a time to love yourself and appreciate yourself for agreeing to take on the challenges, the lessons, the evolutionary course that you agree to with your Higher Self.

A time to smile and pay homage to the fact that, “I’m still here.” It may not always be comfortable, it may not always be pleasurable, but it sure is one hell of a ride.

I haven’t got anything special planned to celebrate 31. Sure I could place blame on the lack of funds, but it’s not like that’s a new factor in our entertainment equation. Truth be told, I don’t know what to do.

“What do you wanna do for your birthday this year?”

“I dunno.”

“Yea. I dunno either.”

It’s like this year kept gripping us around the neck and slamming us repeatedly into the wall. Harder. Harder. Harder. Each time the shit-eating grin that says, “Thank you, sir, I’d like another” fades a little bit more.

What exactly was being beaten out of us?
Who’s hands were those around our necks?

My gut replies, “They were your own hands. You were beating the anger out of yourselves.”

Finally, the grip was releases. We slowly slither our way down the wall. Collapsing on the floor, everything feels – hollow. Empty.

What the hell happened? Where am I? Who am I? Who are you? All these things I thought I had answers for have somehow evaporated.

Have I evaporated?

To be perfectly honest, having survived the past year seems like celebration enough.

So, alas, I have no tangible gift to offer you. I can’t even figure out where to bring you for dinner.

But know that this night, in honor of the 31st year of your existence in this life, on this level, that I love you. I am so grateful to be walking through this maze with you by my side. And I’m learning what it is to love and to be loved. I wish you the best in this next year of your life and I vow to do whatever I can to help aide you in your journey, for as long as I am welcomed by your side.

Happy Birthday, sweetheart.

The Blog List

2006-12-07T17:15:00.001-08:00

I couldn’t help but to laugh at myself when I realized that a flicker of excitement flashed through my body at the revelation that I need to create a blog list. You know. Items that I’d like to blog about that I may forget wanting to blog about if I don’t put them on a list.

Ah, lists. Continually infatuating me with their alluringly reliable format.

I like lists. I always have. I must embarrassingly admit that I am one of those people who truly enjoys going to Office Depot. I really, really find happiness within the process of organizing information, categorizing thoughts. (This allows me the freedom to paint with words.)

I think I’m finally beginning to understand how my left-brain acts as a support system for the right. Organizing information in a literal manner and storing it in a tangible ‘thought box’ (not to be confused with ‘lock box’) allows me to then explore that space (and its contents) in new and invigorating ways.

As a communicator, I like gathering different wavelengths of data, shaking them up like a snow globe and then sitting back and watching as the fragments float back down to Earth. Gliding across the skating rink, paintbrush in hand, I retrieve the shattered fragments and begin to piece them back together. New wavelengths emerge, similar in content, but dancing to a slightly different cadence.

And sometimes while swimming within the brush-strokes, I forget exactly what it is that I am painting.

Lists serve as my guides, my maps. Reminders that, although I may not know my final destination, somewhere along the road Higher Self told me I want to be exploring ‘this way’.

Note to self: maybe I should create a list about figuring out how to survive or how to fit it or how to…..

No, I like the blog list better.

I have no idea if these blogs will lead to anything more or anything less. But intuition kept tapping me on the shoulder until I finally responded.

Paintbrush clamped between my teeth, it feels good to be skating again. The words kick up at my heels as I sail across the ice. Gathering speed and strength, my legs pump harder.

Higher Self smiles from above watching as I repeatedly skate figure-eights across the rink of this plane.

A History Lesson

2006-12-07T16:06:00.000-08:00

Time to tackle a subject other than self-analysis. Time to start taking some of the nagging fragments that interrupt me throughout my daily attempts at finding the next step, and forming them into something more than thoughts that weave in and out, intertwining and twisting throughout the flaps of my brain. You’re still with me, I hope.

Good. Let’s talk history.

I’ve tried a couple of times to read Howard Zinn’s “A People’s History of the United States.” It’s one of those books that I feel ashamed of for having not yet read. “A person of my progressive belief system needs to have this book in my catalog,” I keep telling myself. But time and time again, it finds itself in the ever-growing pile beside my bed.

I get angry. I get pissed off and I drop it.

It’s no grand secret that Americans, on the whole, aren’t exactly beacons of bountiful knowledge when it comes to history. American history, world history, doesn’t matter. We don’t know a whole helluva lot about any of it really.

Here are a few of my observations and beliefs as to why this is the case.

First off is the way history is taught (at least in the public school systems). It’s all date-based and memorization. When things occurred. All of the intestines, the gooey, savory innards get skimmed over. Why did this event happen? Who exactly was involved (in all arenas)? What was going on in other parts of the city, country, international community that could’ve influenced this event? What was the outcome? What could’ve prevented this? What could be done to prevent this in the future?

What’s missing from history is story.

The same holds true for geography. It’s all memorization: color-coded maps and flash-card tactics to pass the next exam. History and geography should be taught together. Give some context to the lessons. Give me format. Give me subtext. Give me plot points and climaxes. Give me sustenance to fill the hunger that numbers don’t satisfy.

As a storyteller, I can see where one might wag a finger at me, declaring bias. But we all love story. And the lines between fact and fiction are often more blurred than we are truly willing to embrace. (Although this can be a very dangerous concept, it excites me. I get off on it. But again, fiction is my playground.)

Secondly, I believe that the powers that be don’t want us to know our true history. (Keep ‘em ignorant and purchasing.) This is what attracted me to “A People’s History” in the first place. I had memorized Victories Version of American History. (Maybe that’s why it never stuck for me! Maybe I never absorbed and stored the school-taught version of American History because I didn’t believe it.)

Something about Zinn’s historical representation feels more real. Zinn tells history from the perspective of the people who were on the losing side of this country’s growing pains: hence, the people’s history. Our history. Intuition hums a warm room tone, “Warmer. You’re getting warmer.”

Really it’s better for the folks at the helm that our knowledge of World History is fuzzy around the edges, too. I mean if more Americans had an inkling of familiarity about what happens to Empires that grow too powerful, too greedy, to grand. If more Americans had a greater relationship with the families of fascism, I can’t help but to wonder.

Could things be different? Would it be possible to stop this train wreck of a corporate-capitalist implosion before it fully manifests? Or does it have to happen?

How much longer until we stop living through the same painful lessons?

Part of me wants it to happen. Maybe it’s the whole ‘destruction breeds creation’ process that’s got me salivating for the big fall. Or maybe I just want to see them suffer, squirm, kick and bleed through the nose like the selfish, heartless, gutless pigs that they are.

(And for those of you keeping score, you can clearly see I’ve still got a long way to go on this path of enlightenment.)

And perhaps, then, I’ve answered my own question. The same painful lessons will continue to recreate themselves until all of humanity is willing to release the desire to see our enemies suffer. We must evolve to the state of being wherein we no longer seek revenge on those who have wronged us. Until that day blissfully arrives:

History repeats itself. Cycles repeat themselves.

And I can see how my anger at the process of acquiring the true knowledge of my country’s history is related to the anger I have towards myself. Like a layering of concentric circles, exposure to the truth requires acceptance of the truth. Just as I must accept myself, I must accept the true factual atrocities that, not only decorate, but are the foundation of this country.

As Americans, we all must do this. We all have to make this commitment, take this responsibility. We have to. If we want to move forward, if we want to be a better country, if we want the respect, support and cooperation from the international community, if we want to survive, we have to.

So, whattaya say, fellow Americans?

Are you willing to step up to the plate and commit to self-discipline? Stop running. Stop making excuses. Educate one’s self. Accept our history. Accept our current, ripping at the seams, swirling down the drain non-sustainable state of disarray?

Are you willingly to actively participate in the collective creation of a brighter community?

I acknowledge it’s a tall order to fill. But isn’t it the preferred path to total devastation?

Won’t it be interesting to see which outcome happens first?

The Art of Conforming to Myself

2006-12-02T16:21:00.000-08:00

I’m not sure what to write about today, but I feel like I need to get something out before I continue working on the show.

Ah yes, the show. There’s a new show concept in the making. Something with a strong foundation, something with legs, something that already fully exists in real life (as does the audience). All that’s missing is the capturing, the packaging, the presentation.

I feel like the majority of our family members, and perhaps some of our friends, are eagerly awaiting the day that we give up on our artistic pursuits. Throw in the towel once and for all. “Conform. Grow up. Get your head out of the clouds. Join the ‘real world’.” (I have a special fondness for this last one. It’s such a common saying, but so utterly abstract. My real world is different from your real world is different from everybody else’s real world. We’re all living in our own versions of reality.)

I spent the better part of this year exploring what my life ‘could be like’ if I stopped pursuing an artist’s path in this life. I tried to place myself in other career possibilities, tried to imagine what I would go back to school for. What kept surfacing were other artistic desires. And the more I tried to shut them out, the sicker I became. The more I shut off any belief in the outward manifestation of my creations, the less I wanted to live.

And everything, everything, stopped.

I’m extremely hard on myself, always have been. But this year has been extremely hard on those who love me, too. I’ve pushed a lot of people away through this process of conforming to myself, through this journey of denying myself, through this process of revealing myself to myself. Countless times, I turned to others for help, to ease my pain, to give me answers. There was some alleviation, but my appetite for aide was too ravenous and it became increasingly unfair to those I was seeking relief from, to those I was draining. So I closed more doors, and I sat with myself.

Of course, nobody can every truly ease your darkest hour.

In their defense I can understand where they’re coming from. They love us. They want us to be happy. They want us to cover all of our basic needs. They want us to prosper. But it isn’t the artistic path that is preventing these thing from happening. It was our own inability to truly believe in ourselves as successful artists that was tripping the circuit.

It’s not the art that’s causing me pain; it’s my resistance, my hesitance, my fear.

For the record, it’s not the easiest lesson to digest: the fact that my own uncertainties are what’s put the penetrating break-through in limbo. By mid-summer I had solved the equation right before the answer was written on every blackboard in the classroom of my mind. “Oh, God. What if the only thing holding our projects back is the fact that we don’t fully believe they’re worth it?”

Worth. Value. Substance.

It was easier at first to place the focus of the belief on the projects. But it was only a matter of time before I realized that all I had to do in order to see the full imagery was to replace the word ‘project’ with ‘myself’.

Son of a bitch.

Higher-self chuckles through the clouds of a recent snowy hail storm and says, “You asked for it. You drew up the contract. Remember?”

Yeah, I remember.

So, battered, beaten (self-inflicted) and worn, I emerge from my cavernous hibernation. I start writing again and the Universe rewards me by dropping another project in my lap. I’m wounded and full of discomfort, but find the alleviation through creation.

So I graciously accept the challenge of the new project. It grows, it develops. It gains momentum and interest.

Higher-self inquires, “Now, are you ready to believe?”

This is What Believing Looks Like

2006-11-28T14:10:00.000-08:00

Doubt taps me on the shoulder and whispers in my ear that I’m a fool for thinking things can really be different. “Look at your past experiences. Look at all the failures. What makes you think things are going to be any different this time around?”

When I was younger and less ‘experienced’ with the results of my actions, I followed my beliefs easier. If there was something I wanted, I went after it. I literally couldn’t see the fear or doubt reflected from those around me. I just didn’t see it, because all I could see was what I believed I was about to create for myself.

The things I thought I wanted changed and I interpreted the shifting of my desires as failures of my original goals. But, in fact, in hindsight, I’ve always achieved everything I wanted to try. It’s just that the destinations that I thought would be final opened new doors, leading me in new directions.

With the studying I’ve been doing lately on the relationships between belief and experience, I’ve come to realize that one of my stronger beliefs is that this life is going to be one that’s full of struggle. The artist’s path is one of hardship. This belief has, as all beliefs do, manifested itself into fruition quite successfully.

Another one of my core beliefs that I’ve suckled from quite hungrily for the past couple years is that this physical plane itself is one of suffering. I took solace in this belief, feeling it enabled me reason for my own personal misery. “I’m getting the full experience of this level.”

Time and time again I’ve completed full circle examples, repeated patterns of pain, loss, heart ache, let downs. Cycles birthing cycles birthing cycles. Only I believed that my experiences were cementing my beliefs. Gathering up pebbles of misery to build a mound of proof in my basket of belief.

And then my higher-self taps my other shoulder and says, “Do you remember what it’s like to play?” The channel of my internal playlist flickers to recognition, the one that believes anything is possible. It looks like laughter. It looks like smiles. It looks like coloring and writing and making music. It looks like sharing myself with others. It looks like being the source of my very own present moment. It looks like living.

And I realize that if I’m going to be able to be a successful communicator, a successful artist, a successful creator, than I have to lead by example. I have to live by example. I have to first create my life of living as a pure creative channel; full of bliss and bounty.

And the only thing I have to do in order to create this space for myself is to believe in it. Creating this place in my mind and believing in it (100%; this place allows for no grey areas) will lead to its utmost manifestation on the physical plane. It’s not that I no longer believe that this physical plane isn’t one of suffering. It’s just that I’ve been reminded that my (our) primary goal is to continually try to create a better experience on whatever level I’m (we’re) on.

This is what believing looks like,

Lessons from New Orleans

2006-11-28T14:08:00.000-08:00

I was blessed with the opportunity to pick up a shoot in New Orleans a couple of weeks ago; my first time. Although I was a little disappointed that I didn’t have a previous basis for comparison, I was looking forward to having my first experience with the city in its post-Katrina element.

Planted in the center of the French Quarter, I didn’t anticipate that I would see a whole lot of ‘damage’. After all, the media’s been reporting that the French Quarter is basically up and running. Good as new.

The first night I ambled my way down Bourbon Street. Me and my stellar sense of direction: I didn’t realize that I was on Bourbon Street, and was baffled as to why everyone was drinking smoothies at 11:00PM. “I didn’t realize New Orleans was such a smoothie mecca.” Ahhh,, I’m on Bourbon Street. Those aren’t smoothies! (This inner gullibility has yet to run its course. Me thinks it’s with me for the long haul.)

Anyhow, I don’t have much of a relationship with blues music. I don’t like it. I don’t dislike it. I simply haven’t listened to that much. And I have no idea the name of the place; some little whole in the wall (my favorites), but the vibrations, the feel, the eloquent wavelengths that were pouring out of this place literally drew me in like a magnet. I had no intentions of drinking, but ended up at the bar so that I could hang around for the next set.

I ended up alongside a demolition crew from Atlanta and Alabama. “Yup. Back home, the KKK still marches in our Christmas parade,” laughed the thin, weathered Alabamian. “That’s why I don’t live there anymore.”

“Good for you,” I replied.

Their workday starts at 4:30am and every day they tear down people’s houses. That day had been a particularly hard one on the crew. The house belonged to an African American WWII vet. He came back to the house to watch the demolition; showed the crew his battle wounds, the scars that patterned his body. He held onto a few pictures that he had managed to salvage. And he stood in what used to be his front yard and cried for four hours while his house was laid to rest.

“Now the thing for you to understand is that this man was not just cryin’ for hisself or for his house. This man was crying for this country,” the crew leader explained as his dark brown eyes disappeared into the straw that he twisted through his drink.

And the blues band strummed in for the start of set number three. My call time was a mere five hours away, but I was nowhere near ready to leave.

The shoot itself was moderately busy. I was able to get out for a couple more snippets. I managed a walk down to Café Du Monde for a beignet and a café au lait. Yummy. I observed a lot of empty restaurants, empty bars, empty shops. Every other block or so I’d stumble across a storefront covered by a bright neon sign declaring “another victim of Katrina”. How are these people making a living I kept wondering?

I saw a lot of sadness in New Orleans, but I saw a lot more perseverance. From the tarot readers perched out on their folding chairs to the artists selling their work on the streets. These people can really teach me something about acceptance.

Heading back to the hotel, I encountered another blues group. This one was much younger and they were singing in the streets. Worn, tired, and hungry, they poured out not anger and frustration, but amazingly beautiful performance art.

Damn. These kids have got it right.

Thank you, New Orleans.

The Clouds are Calling Me

2006-11-28T14:07:00.000-08:00

One thing this freelance gig has done for me over the years is to implant a great love of travel. Certainly, I’ve always been one to get off on new spaces. But, man, there’s just something about getting above the clouds that feels like home. Leg one of today’s travel hosted a range of ultra white billoughy puffs. Leg two was the golden hour. Mmhhm. Sunsets above the clouds are the best. Purples and oranges nuzzling away at another day’s passing.

Something about the expansiveness of the sky has a soothing effect on my mind. Almost as though my perception feels closer to my higher self, I feel like I’m able to be more comfortable in wider ranges of perspective. (Makes sense, right? Being on the ground feels, well, feels more grounded.)

And for those of you keeping score, as much as I like to think of myself as a grounded individual (and I can be in certain arenas) I’ve always played at the top of my game with my head in the clouds!

I’m at a crossroads now, and have been resisting the movement through it to the furthest possible extent, wherein I have to blend my head-in-the-clouds possibility reality with the grounded reality. And I think I’ve been going at it in the wrong way (trying to bring the grounded to the sky instead of bringing the magic, the creative power, the bliss down to the grounded level).

That’s why the success has, on many occasions, just ever so slightly slipped through my grasp. (Of course, this all depends on how one defines success.) I can see so clearly that I am exactly where I am supposed to be, right now. And I don’t want to turn away,

I realized something quite profound today. I realized that the whole me isn’t dying. I realized that the parts of me that are dying are the parts that can no longer be a part of me in order for me to grow and evolve in the way that I chose before my birth. Thus far, it has been my experience to grieve this process, to grieve for my loss. And I’ve been hanging on to the grieving portion because I’ve been afraid to let go.

But the fear is dissipating. And a new, fresh hunger is emerging. This expanded consciousness is demanding a much grander participation in all arenas, really.

As much as I love to observe, to contemplate, to analyze, the passivity of it all has grown extremely uncomfortable. The results-oriented side of me has grown restless. The extrovert, bludgeoned and bloodied, is still asking to re-emerge, but in a more humbled state.

And I’m working on opening up my arenas of possibility when it comes to communicative opportunities. For so long I operated on such a narrow path as to what was creatively acceptable. And I’m learning not to judge the path or the projects that literally fall in my lap. Any outward exertion is pure experience, is something greater than what was here before.

Everything is a bridge to the next step.

Reading over some more Avatar stuff today, I was reminded of two very important things:

1. Our beliefs determine our experience (not the other way around). Careful now, boys and girls, this can get mind-bending. This also brings personal responsibility to a whole new level.

2. Our present is our source. The present is our real-“time”, stream lining truth. The past is only created in thought forms from the present (as is any ideas, notions, fantasies, fears, etc. about the future).

I can’t deny this ‘new-agey’ side of me any longer. Perception, consciousness, reality, sanity, unity, solidarity, self-awareness, cosmic consciousness, godhead, the relationships we have with our higher selves, it’s where my interest has always been this time around.

It expresses itself (easiest) through the visual elements. Thus far, through painting mostly. But the attraction to photography and, obviously, film is always calling. And lately, music has been really nagging at me. I miss the discipline, and the intimate bond that forms with an instrument.

And, of course, writing has been my biggest attraction. Like a moth to a fluorescent porch light, I will keep coming back until the one day where the contact with the light source results in nirvana.

Film is still my greatest love: the merging of the written and visual arts. I believe that it will continue to be my ultimate creative goal, but in the meantime, I want to start allowing for the birth and development of everything else.

Everything is a bridge to the next step.

And I mean, really, one can only collect so many charred moth corpses.

I wish to actively pursue this path. I will heal myself and become healthy again.

I will cultivate success on the communicative path. And I’m going to take steps forward even though the path in not fully lit, knowing that illumination will follow.

Illumination will follow.

Is that not the definition of faith?

Dodging the Pendulum

2006-11-28T14:02:00.000-08:00

I’ve got to eek a little bit out for Christ’s sake. It’s 6:20 in the evening and the best I have to show for the day’s accomplishments are a freshly shaven body.

You see this is the year that everything stopped fitting for me. Do you understand? Everything stopped fitting. Shoes, clothes, hair, everything became uncomfortable. Everything grew dirtier, the grays became more gray. I know most of this probably sounds totally foreign to most people. I know I wouldn’t understand it have I not been struggling to live through it. (Struggling against living through it would describe my actions better.)

Somewhere, somehow after having a pretty decent end of the year in 2005, 2006 something (everything) inside of me decided it didn’t wanna play anymore. And I stopped trying. I gave up. I caved in. I got tired of fighting and surrendered to slumber. And slumber I have. Hiding under the warm, dark covers I find the closest thing to comfort. But it’s temporary and it hurts me later on when another hour, another day, another month has passed.

And now I’m even weaker than I was before.

This life has been one of self-punishment. I’ve got a strong inner-saboteur that the masochist in me gets along with very well. Truth is for as long as I can remember I’ve felt like a complete outsider this time ‘round. Always observing what others have and praying that the Universe will care for me while I flounder and flap around on the wet pavement like a fish out of sea.

And I have been taken care of. Blessed many times over by money and love. Much of which I probably haven’t deserved. Much of which has been running out for some time now.

So I get that the reason that everything stopped fitting for me on the physical plane is because I haven’t allowed myself to start working on things higher up the ladder. My spiritual plane, my mental/emotional plane. I’m resisting. You see I made a pact with myself that this life I was gonna dive deep. I wanted to observe, explore: this life was to be one of great personal evolution for me.

So what’s the hold up?

It’s not for lack of knowledge, tools, or support. I’ve met some amazing people that have provided me with great insight. And depending on perspective, there isn’t a hold up at all. I am seeing, living, breathing through things I never before imagined. This IS extreme growth; it’s just not as comfortable as I’d imagined it to be.

Thus far it’s been a rather solitary existence. It’s like I’ve been waiting for something before I’m willing to share myself with others. What is it that I’m so afraid of? Am I afraid of what people will see in me? Afraid of the pieces of myself that I will see in them? I’ve got to overcome this, and soon. It’s debilitating. It’s suffocating. It’s killing me.

Every day all I want is to find the answer. I think I’m looking too hard, but don’t want to stop looking when I feel like all I’ve gained from the time spent searching is loss.

I thought I would be in a better place by now. I thought my career would’ve had a substantial foundation by now. I thought I’d be managing my debt better by now. I thought I’d be keeping up with the Jones’ better by now. (I thought I would’ve accepted and embraced the notion that it’s not at all about keeping up with the Jones’ by now.) I thought I’d have a healthier marriage by now. I yearned to have surrounded myself with more friends by now.

I want to be a better person. Now.

What I’m facing here is my ultimate meeting with faith: faith in myself, this Universe, this level. You see, I thought I had it, and I did have a relatively strong portion of it. But the doubt(s) that were lurking beneath the surface swelled and swelled and I allowed them to swoosh me out to sea.

I’m a good person with a huge, loving heart. I’m smart, dedicated and loyal. I have a work ethic that knows no limits. When I allow these elements of myself to freefall, it’s a beautiful thing. Then for reasons I have yet to fully define, I build a dam.

A mentor, a dear friend of mine paid me a compliment recently. (It came under the preface of, “I’m not one who hands out many compliments.”) He said, “Jenna, I’ve watched you very closely over the years and when you’re on, I – am - in - awe of you. There’s nothing you can’t accomplish. But when you go off, you go way off.”

And it’s true. This pendulum swings back and forth, back and forth. I’ve taken it much further this time. The pendulum entered the darkness and stopped. Suspended. Choked.

How do I convince myself that everything’s going to be okay when I ache all over? My body feels weak and I am ill. I’ve suffered extensive hair loss and some internal functions have begun to shut down. (A shame we only start really paying attention to breakdowns once they are to the level of physical manifestation.) I try to mask my discomfort, but see it reflected in those around me. Instead of exuding glowing white energy, I become an energy vampire. And the cycle repeats.

I’ve been examining choice lately. The fear that’s been poisoning this reality has been based around the ‘fact’ that I feel as though my thoughts, words, actions get high-jacked. At times I feel as though my body is only along for the ride. There have been several instances this year when I have literally blurted out the realization, “I’m fucking crazy.”

“I’ve gone crazy.” So this is what insanity feels like.

Truth is, though, we choose. We decide. I spun out because somewhere, on some level, I chose to. And I know myself well enough to know I like a good challenge. I mean for Christ’s sake, I’ve spent the past few years trying to sell independent art house scripts to Hollywood. I’ve been trying to push socio-political revolution through Hollywood. Obviously, I get off on overcoming seemingly insurmountable obstacles! (For those of you keeping score at home, the options we have had, the serious interest we have obtained has been from the international film community.)

To review, playing rock-paper-scissors with my higher-self out there in the ether circa 1977, I throw some dice on the craps table and say, “How about a communicator, an artist, writer, painter. Toss in some serious security issues. And plant me in the middle of the biggest fascist capitalist regime you can find. Higher-self grunts, chuckles and replies, “Ah, you’re good.”

One of my spiritual advisors nailed it when he brought to the surface the reminder that this was going to be a very difficult life for me. “You’re incredibly open and sensitive. Like a sponge, you absorb the pain of those around you, those of the world. And the world is going to go through a very difficult period.”

I try to place my anger on the ugly elements that infiltrate my consciousness. BushCo, voter fraud, the death of Habeas Corpus, war, genocide, for profit health care, poor public education, lack of access to affordable (or FREE) continuing education, global warming, global dominance………….

But what I am really angry at is myself. I am angry for deciding to experience such a no-holds-barred, blindingly naked view of the harsh realities of reality. I’m angry with myself for wishing back the ignorance. And I’m angry because I now realize that although ignorance is bliss, true bliss is to be found by learning how to adapt and emit pure love and happiness despite the dissolution of the ignorance.

I’m angry with myself for not managing my awakening better.

I can do better than this.

I have to try.

I have to try.

Time to Stop Observing & Start Participating

2006-11-28T13:59:00.000-08:00

A very dear friend of mine told me that there are three things we need in order to survive:

1. The air that we breathe.
2. The food and water that we consume.
3. Experience.

Without the continual consumption of these three main components we are only bystanders on this merry-go-round. Observers of our own lives passing us by.

2006. This is the year that everything stopped. Or is it the year that everything’s starting? Fuck, I can’t tell. It’s been one of those periods (more than a comma for those of you following Bush’s eloquent analogies) where somewhere, somehow, everything that I was firmly holding onto, EVERYTHING, I dropped. Let go of. Released. Surrendered. And I don’t know why. And I don’t know how. But holy shit am I suspended, free-falling into, and throughout, a level of consciousness that I swore I was ready for.

And I find myself, arms swinging, grabbing, reaching, stretching, rapping on the Consciousness Customer Service Counter asking for, not a full refund, but perhaps maybe, just maybe, we could slow things down a bit.

Writing. Ah, yes, writing. That’s something I know. That’s something I can hold onto.

This is something I have to come back to.

Hello. And welcome to my very first blog. Mhhm. I can feel your excitement. Knees quivering. That slight sweat forming that you know will pass in fourteen, fifteen seconds.

So, for those of you that are close to me, those of you that I’ve actually let peek inside, some of this may resemble familiar territory. (My fingers kept trying to type terrortory. Likely no slip. High five BushCo, you’re literally on the tips of everyone’s fingers. Trouble is its all surface. The fear only goes skin deep for most of us. And most of us are waiting, just waiting, for you to try and go deeper. Please, go deeper.)

I’m side stepping. Of course, I’m sidestepping. This whole fucking year has been a sidestep. God has this been an awful fucking gut wrenchingly painful year. I can’t scream about it anymore. I can’t reach out to the open air anymore. I can’t push anyone else away. 2006 has been a rough-fucking-year.

I hate even years. I flourish in the odds, but the evens really stick it to me. Stab. Slice. Beat. Grind. Rip. Penetrate. Bleed. I’ve always been polar-opposites with the evens, and not in the good way. Hurry 2007, a girl can only dog paddle for so-freaking-long. Not to mention that the remaining comrades stopped treading a long time ago. Just me, barely kicking. Just me, not quite swimming.

Just me. Alone in a crowd.

I know I’ve already asked a lot. But, alas it wouldn’t quite be me if I didn’t ask for a little more. I need you to bear with me. The first while of this is going to be the dark, black poison. The darkness that’s infiltrated my entire world for the past 10 months. It’s gotta come out. It’s gotta go somewhere. I sure as hell can’t hide it anymore and I can’t analyze it anymore. So read it, don’t read it. I don’t care. I just have to start letting it out. I’m suffocating myself and, truth is, I’m not ready to stop breathing. Not just yet.

I’d like to promise the following blogs will be shorter in nature, but it’s me. I’m infatuated with words. (Insight: I need to work on brevity.) I’m tired of brevity. The scripts get brevity; this place is mine. Don’t get me wrong: I get off on editing other people’s stuff, but stand on guard around my own winding branches.

Fucking Seattle. This city kills me. It lures you in with its enticingly piercing blue summer skies (you’ve never disappeared like you do in a Seattle summer sky; very humbling), the way the mountains become purple against the pungent orange sunsets and then BLAM! Seven to eight weeks straight of no sun, NO LIGHT, no ‘come up for some air’ relief from the solid, steady rain. As if the city is teasing you, luring you, slurring the words, “You think you know depression? I’ll show you depression.” Sure it’s cool, it’s alter-native for the first couple two, three weeks. The fourth week you start feeling like you haven’t been dry in months. Week five brings more Interpol, Failure and Godspeed into the mix. Week six you skip the coffee and go straight for the red wine. Week seven is when you feel the first gunshot fire two blocks away at 2:17 in the morning.

And I know. I’ve finally found my home.

Minnesota. How the motherly hell was I born into Minnesota? Don’t get me wrong. I know we choose all of this. I know. But damn, what kind of a (uber-progressive, mind you) masochist chooses MN for the first 18? This is not to say that I don’t cherish (some) of my family members, and that I didn’t have amazing friends. But damn.

Then we’ll add a splash of Orlando; whisk up a little dash of LA. Sick to your stomach yet? You will be soon.

Fact of the matter is I’m 28 (like that means anything, it’s only numbers). I thought I could manage at a pseudo-mildly mannered artisan level. I’ve co-authored four screenplays, two of which have been optioned. I paint, but have never shown anything. I bought a bass guitar three, eek – four years ago, that I have yet to teach myself to play.

I’m resisting. I’m holding back.

At 28 I’ve realized that I’ve been holding back my whole life. Observing over participating.

Observing over participating.

And I realize. This is the life of acceptance. This is the life that I have to stop running. But I like running. I like new places. I’m a home-body natured Cancerian who loves, loves, loves to travel. I’m a security freak artist. I came to a crossroads wherein I had let go of one or the other. I let go of the security, and I let go of a little (majority) of the sanity in the process. So why hold back now? What’s the purpose in hiding any further? What’s left to fear? Ah, there she is. Fear. Nice of you to join us. Ya big tease, waiting till word 996 to join us. Ah, but you were present nonetheless, hiding beneath the surface, like ya do.

I suppose the time has arisen for me to make an attempt at forging a summarizing closure to a body of work that I have yet to classify.

This is not to say that I couldn’t continue forging onward (as I’m guessing you’ve grasped at this point), but I feel your batting, drooping eyelids. I know. I understand. Our attention spans are no longer meant for such long bouts on the ole treadmill of thought.

In the past few years I’ve learned the following:

I love Seattle. It kills me at times but never fails to win me over in its beauty. I’ve never seen more people sharing laughter over coffee, never seen more people openly crying in the streets. (Never seen more people openly shitting in the streets, for that matter. Coincidence? I think not.)

I love, love, love the energy of NYC and Hawaii. How does one love both? One just does. Period. (Again, I bypass the comma.) I wish to one day spend more lengthy moments in time in both places.

We’re all connected and we’re all alone. When it comes down to base, fundamental elements, we are responsible for our own health, be it physical, mental/emotional, or spiritual. We can share our lives with loved ones, but we have to take care of ourselves. NOBODY else will do this for us (and nobody should). Question is, do you care enough to care for yourself? And the answer is: you can’t care for others (well) unless you care for yourself first. And that sucks. Because what I do is care for others. I could give a shit less about caring for myself………………………Other people first, then me.

Aha. The breakdown.

Life never stops hurling lessons in our direction. Once we choose to commit to a life of awareness, there’s no turning back. There is no, “Sorry, I decided I’d rather be ignorant.” Too bad, too late. You’ve got insight now. Whattaya gonna do with it?

And the answer is: something. I have to do something with it. I can’t hide behind this any longer. Before I was ever able to form a single word of literate conversation in this life, I knew that my purpose this time around was as a vessel of communication. Simple as black and white.

But I’ve resisted. I’ve held back, because I’ve never had the path as comfortably illuminated as I’d like. I like foundation. I like plans, goals, deadlines, visual representations of anything, really. Which makes this socialist artisan revolutionary path that I can’t deny, I can’t shut out, I can’t withhold any longer a real fucking pain in my ass!

And I’ve got to accept it. I really, really can’t deny it any more. No more hiding behind the left-brainy production coordinating safety net lines. I’ve got to commit. Even if I can’t see what the path looks like ten feet ahead, I’ve got to take the next nine steps in faith that the tenth will become illuminated.

And there I am: 1572 words. I’ll try and be less in the blogs to come, but likely more will leak out between the seams.

By the way, I’m finding it hard to believe that I’m putting all of this out ‘there’, but then again, to be honest, I’m finding all of this hard to believe. And why not put it all out there if all of this is nothing more than a manifestation of my own beliefs?

Upside down and all around. Upside down and all around.

Observe, sure. Participate? You’ve got to.

(By the way; ending word count 1666. How appropriate. Bastardly word count.)