Things I Haven't Said Yet

Pearl S. Buck on being creative:
"The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: a human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive. To him a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create – so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create, just pour out creating. By some strange, inward urgency, he is not really alive unless he is creating."

Now for some things I forgot to say or haven't said yet.
Things I forgot to say about plants:
The shrubs in the Arroyo Canyon showed me something about myself. Many of the same plants that flourish in Seattle would quickly shrivel and die in the southern California heat. But by the same token, some of the plants doing so well in LA would rot and grow black mold in the damp air of the Pacific Northwest. I am no shrinking violet, hiding from life in the shade. I am not an evergreen, either. I generally dislike the cold and I avoid winter sports. I am not a rose bush, requiring excessive pampering in order to thrive, though I'll take it when I can get it. I am a Heather. I will grow where I am planted. Each transplant takes something out of me but leads to new growth.

Things I never said about Maryland:
We moved to a farm in southern Maryland. I was eight and nine years old and I rode my bike down country lanes, past the farm where the Amish father drove a three horse team, past the other farm with the Brown Swiss cows looking forlorn with their liquid eyes. It was hot there in the summer, and the roads were dusty and dry. I rode through the inches of red dust, avoiding copperheads and crossing over culverts, to visit Little Jim and the other horses that livednearby. However, even though I liked dreaming and playing outside by myself, I also got a lot out of playing with other kids. I liked hosting events even then. Each summer I had my July birthday party, featuring hot dogs and hamburgers, ice cream cakes, and movies shown in our cool, dim basement. I always liked some boy. (Then, it was Scott. I was the only girl he invited to his birthday party. I got a bad sunburn because we all swam like crazy and played Marco Polo and I was very fair-skinned). I still nearly always like some boy but they are distracting and I have to watch out or they'll pull my hair.

Things I never said about Mississippi:
We moved back to southern Mississippi (a fun state to spell and to live in) to a part of the Gulf Coast that has since been completely destroyed by Katrina. My old house doesn't exist anymore. Back then, when I was ten years old, there was an old estate that had been abandoned after the plantation mansion blew down during Hurricane Camille. The lot was overgrown and then it seemed vast and mysterious. Daffodils still sprouted up in the spring, because no one told them that the garden was no more. In the sweltering heat, I climbed magnolias, had my feet stung by fireants, and scratched bites left by a million mosquitoes. I dreamed of the family that used to live there and their charmed life in the mansion.

And I still loved boys. I fell for Paul Gardener, who played Alexander Graham Bell in the school play. He sang this song that went "Dot-Dash-Dash-Dot" and he was a born star. I bet years later he went on tour with members of Wire. So ahead of his time.

My favorite pasttime was going down to the gulf and wading out for what seemed to be miles on the soft golden sand, the water barely reaching my knees some days.

Things I never said about Montana:
We moved to Montana when I was 11. We owned some 200 acres of land up in the mountains. I didn't really like the other kids at my school, so I retreated more and more into books and writing and making up elaborate fantasies about how amazing my life was going to be someday. I thought about it while I rode horses around in the fields. I took a million melancholy walks through the aspen-filled western section of the forest. (All those things people say about the cathedral of the forest, well, it felt like God was hiding everywhere.) I would wander around for hours and dream and dream. Sometimes I thought I would marry the beautiful Jamie Boyer from up north in Eureka (unfortunately, he was an Aries, so it was destined for failure), and resign myself to life in a small town. Or I'd marry Pat Triplett, a local cowboy who was too old for me, and we'd travel across the country togetherm and he'd be the 1 champion rodeo man in the country, which would somehow help me become a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader and a Doctor.

My favorite story for a long time was about Steve Howe from the band GTR. At the time, I was really into prog rock like Yes, Asia, Toto, and GTR (which featured members of my then-favorite Yes). Never mind the fact that he was already 40 years old or so and I was 12. I developed some pretty elaborate schemes for how I was going to meet Steve; I would win some national photography competition and get sent to New York, where I'd meet someone whose mom worked in the music business and she'd get us backstage passes to GTR, and then I'd meet this guy and he'd undoubtedly realize that we were meant to be together, and we'd agree that we would need to wait to get married until I was legally able to have sex with him.

That's the way I thought: if you can dream it, it could happen. It might need a bizarrely convoluted plot to get you there, but it could happen. (To tell you how much I liked this guy, I actually wanted to get my hair thinned so it would look like his. Now that's devotion.)

Lastly:
Here is something you may want to know about me: I still love being outside by myself, and my fantasy life is still AMAZING.

Los Angeles, I'm Yours

I have the above-titled Decemberists song stuck in my head. That song is actually not a celebration of Los Angeles, but a sort of ironically melancholy lovesong. But here in Seattle, exhausted and... grey-feeling, I sing it, meaning it, without irony. It's raining and cold and grey and miserable and damp, and it reminds me of that September when I first moved here eleven years ago, and it rained for months on end. What a terrible winter that was. None have been that bad since, but winter in Seattle is just not a good thing. So Los Angeles was a welcome change. The sun shone in soft golden rays that actually warmed me up, unlike the pathetically weak grayish rays that suffice as "sunshine" in wintertime Seattle.

Should I just say I had a great time in L.A.? O.k., I had a great time. But maybe you're more detail-oriented than that. Maybe you want to know exactly what went down. I'm going to tell you. Everything. (You already know that's a lie, don't you? I have many secrets…) I'm going to give you the PG version, o.k.? Read between the lines or don't, up to you.

Tuesday, Wednesday (South Pasadena):
My first night: warm air and car fumes waiting for the shuttle to EZ Rental. I could feel excitement shimmying down the cement pylons and up my spine, adventures waiting to happen. L.A. is waiting for me to live it.

I had my first experience driving the L.A. freeways, going from LAX to Pasadena at night. I was so thoroughly freaked out at the prospect of driving that I found it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be.

Dave Stone's house is in South Pasadena. The night was much quieter than where I live in West Seattle, and palm trees swayed in time with orange-scented breezes, dancing with their deciduous partners. Dave's room is cozy and dry, nestled in a rooftop, and featured a couple of great Beatles posters. We had delicious noodles at a place in Chinatown… I wish I could remember the name of it. We went back to Dave's place. I like Tosh; he's a fancy Japanese dog. I think Lily is maybe an Aries; I know she's part Chow and she scares me because she barks a lot and stinks. Dogs are fun, but they are very smelly and dirty. I was talking with a friend in L.A. about how I'm going to write a book called, "The Problem with Dogs." It was really funny at the time.

Anyway, the next day, we drove back to Chinatown and looked around. We checked out a cool artsy shop called Ooga Booga. We went to Old Town Pasadena. It's got an H&M, where I did a little damage. I seem to be powerless over jewel tones. This season it's sapphire and teal. Last season it was violet and plum. What next? Don't worry; I won't do something horrible, like wear yellow.

Griffith Park: Just as cool as I remember from before, except that I'm not a 26 year old idiot (I'm a wizened 29 now, of course), and they've dug out two whole floors underneath the observatory. There are some really cool new exhibits, including one where you can simulate what would happen if an asteroid, comet, or other object were to hit the earth (hint: sometimes the world blows up!).

The night ended with me not getting to hang out with Daniel House because I had to meet up with these other people that Dave and I know. It was imperative and hopefully Daniel House doesn't think I'm a complete douche.

Thursday (Downtown, Santa Monica)
I went running at the Arroyo Seco, which is a huge gorge in Pasadena. My run originated at a horse ranch, led me next to the L.A. River and under the graceful curves of the Colorado Street Bridge, and I finally turned back at the Rose Bowl. As I ran in the shadow of the bridge, the song "Everything in its Right Place" by Radiohead came up on my iPod, and my runner's high kicked in. Need I tell you it was a transcendental experience? It was genuine and empowering, unlike the acid I dropped on my last visit to L.A., which was exciting but also left me frightened and vulnerable and feeling a million miles from myself and everyone else on the planet.

Later Dave and I hit Scoops, this amazing ice cream place. I had the Brown Bread flavor. I know, it sounds disgusting, but actually, it was incredible! It was mostly sweet and carmeley with crunchy bits, reminiscent of brown bread without tasting like a glob of raw dough as I had feared. Dave had the Sesame Ginger. Spicy and refreshing, sweet but not cloying. (Just like me, right?)

Before I knew it, it was time to go to Downtown. For some reason, "going Downtown" seemed almost as intimidating as "driving on L.A. freeways," so Dave was kind enough to lead me to the very exit I needed, and then I forged ahead on my own. I looked about, wide-eyed, at what appeared to be a bunch of road construction and old factories, and nothing that possibly looked like it could be a place anyone would ever deem "home." Donihue (the second of my L.A. Daves, as I like to call them) didn't pick up his phone. I tried again. "Dave, it's me. I'm here. Where are you?" Sent a text. "I'm here. Where u at?" And again, ring, ring, no answer. Panicked, I drove in circles, going down increasingly sketchy streets, and occasionally completely ignoring road signs (such as No U-Turn, Stop, and speed limit signs of all stripe). Finally I gave up and parked next to the side of the road, with the engine on and in drive, hands on the wheel and right foot on the gas, just in case. I later found out that the place I parked was in EAST L.A. That's right, folks; I've been to East L.A. and I lived to tell the tale! Though I guess these days, people are moving there. Soon it'll be the new Los Feliz.

Finally I heard from Donihue and we met up. He lives in a really cool loft, or maybe I should say lived, because he was in the process of moving out. I hung out while he frantically dealt with issues involving trailers and European releases and situations in India and what seemed to be a million different time obligations. The combination of the moving-related chaos in his house plus all the work he so obviously had to do informed me that despite his generous offer, to stay there would be to get in his way. So, we went to Japantown and had sushi and sesame chicken. L.A. has such great restaurants. After, I walked down the street, my fuschia dress flapping in the breeze and me daintily holding it down, while Mexican construction worker dudes gave my self-esteem a big boost.

We walked back to my car, and Dave gave me one of the best hugs ever. Awww… Dave Donihue! He's the best! Such a friend. A joke, told by Donihue: "So I was dating this girl and she was smart, and funny, and drop-dead gorgeous, but I had to break up with her. I told her, 'I just don't want to be in a long distance relationship, you know? I mean, I live here in Downtown and you're all the way in Santa Monica. That's like seven miles from here!'" I told everyone that joke. Hee.

Off to Santa Monica. I was not excited to drive west to Santa Monica in rush hour traffic, but it wasn’t that bad. Of course, going from west to east must have taken those poor people an hour and a half to get home. Ridiculous. I wended my way through the wall-to-wall traffic and eventually saw the exit to Santa Monica. I like the road directions to Santa Monica… it's basically like this: "Drive west. When you get to the Pacific Ocean, turn right and park."

Time to meet Jamie and watch the sunset. I put my bags at his place and together we walked the across the street to Santa Monica Pier (yeah that's right. He's oceanfront…. Hot!). I went and tried to get perfect sunset pictures with seagulls flying in the camera's path. The whole Jonathan Livingston Seagull look, you know? I would've settled for some Christian inspirational card look, but the light was no good for that. But I got a couple of nice pictures of the ferris wheel and the octopus thing and Jamie.
They have these outdoor movies at the pier and lucky us, they were screening Roman Holiday that night. Of course it was freezing right on the waterfront, and even with all those layers, it wasn't warm enough, so we watched it back at Jamie's. Lovely film, that.

Friday, Saturday (all over)
Friday morning, I had a headache and so I laid there for two hours waiting for the storm to pass. Bad, bad headache. After that, I felt much better and so went for a run from Santa Monica to Venice Beach and back. Some wonderful views and some, well, hmm. I saw a lot of things, like a beautiful young woman who seemed to think it was a great idea to wear orange spandex stretch pants with a pink and purple tie-dyed spandex top, and her hair in a pink and orange scrunchie on top of her head. Awesome! Venice Beach is full of all kind of fat tourists and lean locals being awesome at beach sports. Hot guys spiking volleyballs, abs and pecs gleaming copper in the high noon sun, while chubby Midwesterners shot pictures of real, live Californians. I saw some of the best skateboarding of my life, one guy with that low key casual "who me? Oh yeah, I guess I sorta do rock" kind of thing, another who was more overt about his skatergod status, punishing the pavement like a dom disciplining her Bellevue businessman.
After running I had to go back and hot myself up for the super-special behind the scenes tour of Paramount. It was really fun but it would probably not be as interesting to read about as it was to go to. Let's just say that I'm now tight with Jesus the security guard, I know Jamie's boss secretly wants to give me his extra (yeah, extra) plum-colored Vespa, and I know where Lucille Ball liked to kick it back in the day. And maybe, just maybe, when I was on my way from Astroburger back to Paramount to get my car… maybe I saw a three name celeb. But I couldn't tell you about it, because that's not very L.A. cool to do so, now is it? So I won't tell you about illy ob ornton and his ig eesey-ass grin at me. I guess even big old stars still think a purdy girl is purdy. Well, at least I'd know he's not phobic about making a lifelong commitment – he's done it a few times now!

I hung out again with Dave Stone and our mutual friends in Los Feliz that night. Our friends rock. I thought I lost my shawl that's 90% knitted (that's taken me nearly a year to work on so far) and had to invoke the good old Catholic standby, the prayer to St. Anthony to intercede in helping find lost things. I found it! St. Tony is such a badass, awesome saint.

Afterwards I met Jamie and his friend Mary at Birds, this trendy place in Hollywood that film industry people like to hang out at. The best part was when it started raining and all the starlet wannabes and trendsters had to crowd under umbrellas, while their Uggs (yeah, people still wear 'em. Seriously, ladies. What's up with that?) got soaked and their make-up became mussed.

The next day, Jamie and I had delicious crepes in Santa Monica at the aptly named Café Crepe. Is there anyone out there who can make the case that the nutella/banana combo is NOT the best crepe ever? I think not.
Afterwards, it was raining. WTF?? In fact, it was raining so hard that the streets flooded. See, since it rarely (not never) rains in Southern California, they don't put drains in the streets. So, just crossing the street, my jeans were wet to the knee and my shoes full of water. Thus, we did the only sensible thing to do: we went shopping. At Planet Funk I got a really cute Tokidoki shirt which features all kinds of insanity, like little dudes in cow costumes with Tommy guns, and evil milk cartons with horns. Double awesome! High school kids go into seizures of jealousy when they see it. I also checked out the new Sarah Jessica Parker (hint: shop carefully. The clothes are inexpensive, but some of them feel even cheaper than they are).

Later, I met up with Ashley. The rain had stopped and we enjoyed a coffee and a walk and a talk. She so rules. I'm sure she's going to be a hugely successful photographer someday. Next I went to Benihana. I had the lobster and the fillet mignon. But then, so did he.

Grabbed Ashley in Hollywood and raced downtown to some gallery show with Dave Donihue and his friend, and unfortunately we were only able to stay for about 15 mins because it was getting late and we were late for Dash Snow's show in Chinatown, and the galleries there close at 10 p.m. We only got to be there for a few minutes as it was, but the cool thing was this. The entire gallery space was one huge lightbox with his photos lined up against it. Everyone except for me was wearing black and seemed to have darker hair. I had on this fairly hot teal dress and you know what my hair is like. It was an ultravividscene moment.

I had fun hanging out with my friend Melissa's cousin Steven and his cousin Shari. We watched The Thrones with a sinking realization that we were wasting a lot of hearing damage on something unpleasant to listen to. But we really wanted to stay for Abe Vigoda. Ashley was amazing when she pointed out that they were not, in fact, Jade Pagoda, which is what I was calling them. It's just easier to say, o.k.? So, they were these fun, noisy kids having a great time on stage. Reasonably listenable and unreasonably cute.

Sunday (western L.A. and beyond)
My last day. Met up with Dave at some place and ordered from the kid's menu (you can do that without raising eyebrows in L.A. Everyone's on some kind of diet. I love that.) Then we drove all over the western parts of L.A. so that I could start to learn more about some of the neighborhoods. If I could afford it, I'd like to live in the west. Santa Monica would probably be my first choice, but it's pricey… maybe I can come up with some sort of deal? We'll see.

In the meantime, I'm here. I'm working some overtime, selling everything I can, trying to save up money. I'm culling needless people and activities and expenses and time sucks from my life. Sorry if you don't hear from me. I still love you. I'm just busy trying to do something with my life. I'm writing again and I'll be doing even more soon. This is a difficult thing about writing and friends: I kinda have to be alone to do it, unless you want to get together with me for coffee and writing. In that case, we’ll avoid speaking to each other, listen to our iPods, and occasionally look up over our laptops like we're playing Battleship (thanks, Shawn).

I think I gotta leave. I love Seattle. You know that. But I'll write about that some other time. For now, know this: as much as I love it, I need to move on. I need to shelve my past and the future that I dreamed about that can't happen. I need to have new dreams, new dramas, hell, even new disappointments. A future of sunshine and smog.

Bumbershot!: A Recap of Seattle’s Best Music Festival

Let me preface this by saying: I LOVE BUMBERSHOOT! I go nearly every year. This year was as good as always: the talent, the Indie Mart, Flatstock, and my friends. Good job, everybody!

Day One: Saturday
I got there late so I missed Crowded House. And I heard they were great. Crud. So, got there when I got there and met up with my friend Jamie from LA and we watched the Shins. With those guys, you might as well just put on their CD. They threw a pretty dull live show, but they sounded perfect. We were starving, so we got a huge brick of undercooked curly fries and a Polish dog that was mostly bun. As usual, Bumberfood bumbersucks. There was a lull in the action after the Shins; it was unbelievably crowded and there was nothing I was dying to see, so we went and hung out by the fountains and laid in the grass. So peaceful and relaxing, that is, until some moronic hippie girl ran into me while trying to play hackey sack. Hackey sack? Really? Still? Give it a rest, stinky hippie douchebags.

After having dealt with the unwashed masses for a little too long, we went to the Starbucks VIP area. Yeah, you may not have known this about me, but I'm a Starbucks VIP. I signed up to be a Bumberfan (sigh) on the internet and you get some spiffy things like this. It was set up next to this outdoor stage, so we listened to the Avett Brothers (a so-so alt country outfit) and had free drinks, sitting in the shade. I went back to the VIP area a few times over the weekend and got some free beverages, so right now I am a big fan of Starbucks.

Next I went to The Moth: Sex, Drugs, & Rock 'n Roll stories. SO awesome. Dan Kennedy, a McSweeney's writer, was HILARIOUS about rock 'n roll and "not selling out," and Dan Savage had one of the funniest acid trip stories I've ever heard (and I have heard a LOT of them). Another great thing about The Moth show is that it was in Bagley Wright Theater. Fabulous venue to check out during the sometimes taxing Bumbershoot: it's cool, dark, and the sensory input is limited to the show in front of you. Highly recommended.

Next, Jamie and I met up with Julissa.* We went to a Phucket Thai; the Phad See Ew (sp?) was tasty but nothing special, but the bathroom was incongruously brilliant, with a tv playing sports and soft mood lighting and candles and cool Thai decorations. I give the food a 6 but the restroom knocks the overall experience up to a 7.

The last show of the night was Gogol Bordello, which was by far the high point of Saturday. High energy Gypsy rock 'n roll craziness. How fun! The only downside is the people doing that yucky ska pogo dance thing. Eww. Oh yeah, and the homoerotic heiney dance that these frat boys were doing right in front of us was awful to behold. Not hot. So not hot.

After that, Julissa and I hung out at an Irish bar (McMinemans?), where the bartender sweetly made sure that my club soda never ran out. Aww!

Day Two: Sunday
Started off with the last half of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. BRMC delivered the goods though they're a bit slow and droney for an afternoon out in the sunshine. I think of them as more of a nightclub band, but they're great and I'll never turn down a chance to see them live. After they finished, for some reason the jerkoffs at the mainstage decided to hose everyone in the audience. It was so freaking lame. It wasn't even that hot, and the crowd wasn't thick or unruly. There was absolutely no reason for them to do it, and it ruined my hairdo and got my suede boots wet. Jerks.

Kings of Leon came on the mainstage next. I was excited to see them, because I'd heard such good things, and then when they came out onstage, I was even more excited, because those guys are really cute. But then they started playing and it was this southern-fried blandly icky rock, and so we left. Kings of Leon, you may have a cool name, but you're no Fountains of Wayne.
Next we went to the Fucking Eagles. This Tacoma-based garage band seem like really nice guys, the kind of guys I'd like to go to a car show with. Their first song was really good, but then they played it again two more times. Or maybe their songs are all similar sounding. Hey Fucking Eagles, thought of doing covers? I bet this band would rock with some good songs.

So, I went to Stars of Track and Field by myself and they were one of my favorite bands at Bumbershoot. They are three guys, doing amazingly rich swirly pop, with beautiful harmonies – absolutely the perfect Bumbershoot show. Lazy, hazy sunshine music. I'm smiling just remembering it.

Then I saw my good friend Barbara and we hung out and waited in the sun for the Apples in Stereo. Talk about fun summer music! One of the best parts of this show was watching all the really young kids dancing energetically and getting really into it. I remember seeing these guys years ago; it's great to watch a new generation of kids feeling their psych pop vibe.

I cut out of Bumbershoot early; so lucky because Alex was passing through so he gave Barbara and me a ride home in his yellow Mustang. I know it's silly but riding in hot cars gives me a cheap thrill. Yeeeoowww!

That night, I went to a really great party thrown by Sound magazine at Solo. Nick from Death Cab was one of the DJs, and there were a lot of fancy people whose names you'd recognize. I'll not bore you by listing them, because that would be silly. Anyway, great party, great magazine. The only drag was that Heinekens were free for people…. But my drink, Red Bull, cost $3.50. Not fair! Word to the wise: if you want Heather Rogers at your party, please, make sure Red Bull or Rock Star is one of your valued sponsors. Got that?

Day Three: Monday
Time to do other stuff… Getting a little Bumbered out. But, I can't stay away 100% because I have VIP tickets…. Real ones, not just Starbucks VIP. So I got a late start, caught a few minutes of Lyrics Born, and took a good look around Flatstock. Great artists this year. I bought a fantastic Danny Danger print made for a Silversun Pickups concert. I got lucky, finding affordable artwork I love by an east coast artist, featuring a band I'm really into. Yay!
Then I ran into the Ice Cream Man and got free ice cream! I love you, Ice Cream Man. You and your tasty, cold, ice-creamy goodness.

Then, the band that I think wins the Bumbershoot 2007 Most Inspirational Award: The Frames. The Frames is this amazing alt band from Dublin that apparently everyone else in the universe knew about except me, but then I saw the stellar movie Once which features the lead singer/guitarist of the Frames, and now I'm a big fan. I say The Frames were Most Inspirational not only because of their moving music and lyrics, but also the way they had a woman in the audience sing their big hit "Falling Slowly" and it worked out so beautifully. It was one of the most affecting musical performances I've seen in a long, long time. If you're too cool or too hard for this music, well, fuck you. What a wonderful band.

Next was Steve Earle. Steve Earle is allegedly an alt country favorite. Why then were most of the audience fat white trash? Isn't the main difference between alt country and good ol' regular country that the fans of the former are hipsters and the fans of the latter are stupid people? Apparently I'm missing something, but I thought it was crap. Oh, sorry. I'm being mean again. I meant, "not my cup of tea."

The last thing I saw was a couple of songs by an experimental band, My Brightest Diamond. That was awesome. And then I went to the Indie Mart, which was closing up shop for the night and I got a copy of a back issue of McSweeney's for only $6! Yay. I Heart McSweeney's.
Monday was a bit bittersweet because it had that "circus is leaving town" melancholy feel. Also sad was the fact that I had to miss Miranda July (too crowded) and Wu Tang Clan (too late).

In all, Bumbershoot was awesome, like always. There are certain facts about Bumbershoot that have been true every single year since I've started going ten years ago. Follow these rules and you will be fine.
Bumberrules
1) You will not get to see everything you want to see.
2) Expect some physical discomfort (rain, heat, footwear issues, some asshole hackeysacking into your head).
3) The food is crappy and expensive.
4) Take the bus or get a ride. Parking's a bitch.
5) Check out some things you haven't heard of. The point is to check out new things without already knowing you like them. Every year, I do this and every year, I get into a new band as a result. Some good examples of this for me are Brazilian Girls, Gogol Bordello, Cat Power. Before Bumbershoot, I hadn't heard them and now I'm a fan.
6) Wear layers and sunblock!
7) Have fun.
8) It's all happening for a reason.

Until next year, I'll just be happy with the great memories. Bye-bye Bumbershoot!
*Funny story. Saturday morning, Julissa jokingly wailed over the phone about her clothes and shoes that she'd look like Enid from Ghost World. I said, "Oh, don't worry… I look like her friend, the blonde." She said, "Oh, you mean SCARLETT JOHANSSON!??" So funny. I forgot she was Thora Birch's friend in that film. Some comfort I am! Anyway, Julissa ROCKS and she's a huge part of why Bumbershoot was so fun for me this year.

Movie Reviews: Before Sunrise, Children of Heaven, SherryBaby & The Science of Sleep

Yes, it's time for more movie reviews. Not movies that are new necessarily, but just ones that I've recently seen.

Please do continue to send me your suggestions for movies to see and review. Of course, it may take me awhile to watch your suggestion, given that if I watch one netflix movie a week, it will take me -- let me just get out a pen to jot down the figures -- a year to get through them all. Yeah, 'cause there's fifty-two movies on my queue. And fifty-two weeks in a year. See, I can do word problems! Take that, Mr. Nord! (Lower level math educators... bless 'em!) Anyway, I digress... but if you're read me before, you're used to it, right? Ok. Movie. Reviews. NOW!

Before Sunrise (1995)
Before Sunrise chronicles the short-but-sweet romance of a young American named Jesse (Ethan Hawke) who falls for a French student, Celine (Julie Delpy), on a train ride to Vienna. They spend the night before he has to return to the US walking, talking, and falling in love. This is a great example of a dialogue-based movie that actually works and does not bore. Often dialogue-heavy films do not hold my interest (sorry, I am just not into Clerks), but in this movie the dialogue was beautiful and engaging, and worked well against these lovely Viennese backdrops. If you have not yet seen it, now would be a great time, because Julie Delpy has a new movie coming out that she wrote, directed, and stars in, called 2 Days in Paris. It's supposed to be great. So check out her early work and see what you think. I'm definitely watching 2 Days and also the sequel to Before Sunrise, aptly titled Before Sunset. Look for that reviewed here soon.

Also, just for fun, I'm going to quote Jesse from Before Sunrise: "You know what's the worst thing about somebody breaking up with you? Is when you remember how little you thought about the people you broke up with and you realize that is how little they're thinking of you. You know, you'd like to think that you're both in all this pain but they're just like 'Hey, I'm glad you're gone.'" True that.

And for good measure, here's one from Celine: "I believe if there's any kind of God it wouldn't be in any of us, not you or me but just this little space in between. If there's any kind of magic in this world it must be in the attempt of someone sharing something. I know, it's almost impossible to succeed but who cares really? The answer must be in the attempt." Solid A

SherryBaby (2006)
Relentlessly depressing, bleak movie about the difficulties of a woman recovering from a life of abuse, crime, and addiction. Maggie Gyllenhaal plays a recently paroled Sherry, just out of the New Jersey pen after a three-year stint. Amazing part of this movie was how real it seemed; as a public defender, I've seen many a drug-addicted client. This movie documents well the broken coping mechanisms that female addicts often use to deal with their lives. Maggie Gyllenhaal's acting was right on the money, but the plot never really went anywhere and many scenes seemed to woefully lack purpose and direction. For some, the fact that there are a lot of nude scenes with a white-trashy hot Mags will be a plus, but honestly, the situations were so depressing that the sex was really not very sexy. C+

Children of Heaven (Iran, 1997)
I don't know if I've ever seen an Iranian movie before, but if this isn't the best one, I would be shocked. What an amazing movie! The story: Ali loses his little sister Zohre's shoes. His family is too poor for new shoes, so they concoct an ingenious plan: they take turns going to school in Ali's shoes, until Ali gets an even better plan. He will compete in a long-distance race where the prize for third place is a pair of shoes. This movie is sweet and affecting without being syrupy or trite. However, I need to cut this review short so that I can find an Iranian man to give me beautiful, wonderful children like these. Solid A

The Science of Sleep (France/Italy 2006)
Stephàne, played by gorgeous man Gael Garcia Bernal, moves to France to be closer to his mother after his father's death, takes a boring job at a calendar company, and then dreams, a lot. Most fascinating to me was the exploration between dreams and art, and the art was so darned cool. I truly loved the felt pony and the cellophane ocean and the cardboard car and the paper towel roll city. But as the film goes on, it seems Stephàne's "dreaming" is interfering with his "reality" a bit too much, and maybe he's just "completely fucking nuts." And like most crazy people, Stephàne is really annoying, especially when he hurts the girl he loves with all his crazy artist dude antics. The object of his affection, Stephànie, played by the um… interesting-looking Charlotte Gainsbourg, is one of the better aspects of the film.

So, on the plus side: interesting premise, good acting, cool art. On the downside: twee Velvet Underground cover, annoying lead character, disjointed plot, and a pretty big what's-the-point-of-all-this-anyway factor. For some, the Urban Outfitter aesthetic might be a bit much too take. It's no Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. But it also doesn't suck and you should probably give it a chance. B-

Travel: Croatia & Prague

Croatia
We made it to the Istria Peninsula of Croatia as the sun began to set. As we entered Rijeka, we got lost in a very intimidating industrial district and had to ask for directions from a security guard. I'm not sure what language Robert spoke to the guy in; apparently the Croatian and Polish languages share some words, though not so many as Czech and Polish. My terror was unjustified; imposing looks notwithstanding, the guard gave us good directions and we arrived at our hotel, the Jadran, in time for nightfall. Our room was directly over the sea, where the Kvarner and Kvarneric* branches of the Adriatic meet. The sea comes right up to the foundations of the building, and I could hear it gently lapping below. It was a warm, still night, and a soft salty smell wafted up to me. The moon shone in a long milky track on the dark, silken sea. I sat on the balcony and realized that I might never be so content again, so I savored each moment. I felt I could taste the moon melting on the sea, hear the stars tinkling like far away bells.

The next morning, we enjoyed a wonderful and fresh breakfast, eaten on a balcony overlooking the sea. Everything at the Jadran was amazing except their farmer's cheese, which, compared to the cheese in Italy, reminded me of what happens if you leave thin sliced cheddar out on a table overnight and then eat it the next day. It was chewy and grainy and it just wasn't that great. But the baked goods and the fresh fruits and the coffee with milk… oh! So fabulous. We bustled out, and decided to check out the beach down on the island of Krk. Robert insisted on stopping at some small-town grocery, I think it was in a place called Njivice. I waited in the car and watched a pot-bellied old man standing around in a year by the store, wearing nothing but a saggy pair of white briefs. It was a hot day, and even the local goats just stood there, focusing on moving as little as possible. Then a piercing "whoop, whoop, whoop" sounded from the car and its lights started flashing on and off for no ascertainable reason. Something is wrong with the security system in Robert's parents' car, and the alarm started going off full-blast. Try as I might, I couldn't turn it off. The old man ran into a house and the goats scattered. As people left the grocery, they glared at me and looked even more annoyed than the average Croatian. I still have no idea how it eventually turned off. Nothing we did seemed to have any effect whatsoever.

We got to the beach at Baska. It was punishingly hot, and I already had a rash on my hands from sun exposure, so I knew our time at the beach would be limited, but I had enough time to memorize the fantastic views. It's not surprising to me why some people call Croatia part of the "Balkan Riveria." A number of tourists of different European nationalities were taking advantage of the relaxing vistas – the rare turquoise water and the sunbathers on the gravelly beach (which was very hard on the feet. I was glad I had sandals with me). When I went for a swim, I was shocked at the salt taste in my mouth. I've never tasted water that salty in my life. So after you get out, your skin is all dry and salty and you start to heat up in the sun, and it's no wonder so many of those large German women looked like big, overcooked sausages. On the contrary, I might have been the palest person there, but I'm so glad I went running a lot before my vacation. I have never felt so relaxed at a beach as I did then – it really helps to feel comfortable in your own skin (if a little salty and tight). In any case, if you want a beautiful European beach experience that's not nearly so expensive as the French Riviera, I can't recommend a better place than Croatia.

Next we drove west to Pula, which is an ancient Roman town. We visited the grand Colliseum that used to hold about 23,000 people in its heyday. It's still a viable performance venue, though its capacity is now limited to 5000. The coolest (in both senses) part of the Colliseum was the underground section, where you could see the areas that they used to hold the gladiators and animals between matches. You could also see the enormous person-sized jugs that contained wine and ale. It's very interesting to me to compare the ways we are still so much like the ancient Romans. Many consider sporting events to be the highlight of their existence, but in no way complete without an overpriced, lukewarm, flat cup of beer. And if we think we're so enlightened as to be above pitting one creature against each other, well, that's debatable. We've got illegal fights between roosters and pitbulls, and we have legally sanctioned boxing and ultimate fighting which is just a step removed from pitting gladiators against each other. It's just wild to me to see how incredibly influential the Romans were on the modern world, and how much their mark remains.

I realized with a sinking feeling that we really only had one day, two nights in Croatia. We'd have to leave promptly first thing in the morning to get to Prague by nightfall. We only had a limited amount of time left, and it was my turn to pick what to do. For some reason I was incredibly drawn to these ruins in Dvidgrad, which was not even on out maps. There was a one-paragraph description in the guide book, saying only that it was "about 10 km from Svetvincenat." We drove up and down the roads trying to find the castle, making some wrong turns into villages that looked like something out of a movie. Chickens plucked unseen treasures out of the dirt roads, scattering upon our approach. Villagers ran from their cottages to see who on earth was driving up their one lane road. We got the sense that everyone in the village would have already known if someone else in the village were expecting guests. Eventually, we drove almost at random, going back towards Rijeka and saw a tiny sign saying "Dvidgrad" pointing down a narrow, windy road. We decided to check it out. That late summer day golden glow hung on every single thing, lighting up dust motes and making the entire scene almost mystical. Crickets chirped their sad songs to each other. We walked in the leftover footprints of peoples' lives, trying and failing to understand what it was like so many years ago. What had been one of the biggest cities in Europe until the 800s was no more as of the 1600s, due to the plague, malaria, and finally, sacking by the Uskoks. The experience of going to the castle left a huge impression on me, and it even provided some of the inspiration for the screenplay I've been working on.

We spent the evening in Reijka, but honestly, it's not worth much space here. It's an o.k. city, very beautiful, especially because it's right on the water. However, the experience was nothing that special. We had mediocre pizza at some forgettable place. The service was terrible. The waiter was grumpy and horrible and tried to overcharge us. And I realized that most of the people I saw were scowling. Perhaps historical events form the character of the people. Croatia has held out for centuries immemorial against warring factions. A less noble explanation is that it's still the mid-90s in Croatia. The music still seemed to be heavily grunge influenced, and the kids there are just getting into baby tees and belly shirts. Lots of muffin tops there. Croatia more than anywhere else I went on this trip "feels" Eastern European. People were usually very friendly but their surly expressions make me wonder what's really going on.

Slovenia, Austria, Slovakia
We left Croatia going north, and quickly hit Slovenia. Beautiful rolling hills with forests gave way to picturesque fields of wildflowers. The houses were small and tidy and had beautiful, colorful flowers growing in front patches and windowboxes. We continued north, going through Austria, then Slovakia. The funniest thing that happened that day was in Slovakia, when we had to stop to use restrooms. While I was in the bathroom I noticed a big chocolate stain on my right on my ass. NICE. So, I used some water to try to get it out, and one of the towels. The towels, unfortunately, were treated with some green dye that got all over my khaki skirt. I tried to rinse it out, and that part of my skirt got soaked. It looked so bad with the huge wet spot that I just put the whole thing in the sink and soaked it. I went out to the car to find something else to change into, and there were these four Slovakian army guys sitting right outside the bathroom. They saw me and just started laughing, without any attempts to hide it. I changed into a different skirt, and that raised some eyebrows as well. Just call me Grace.

I guess maybe Slovakia's just not my lucky place, because we had a problem at the Slovakian border. The border official said that we didn't have a vignette, which is something you have to buy in order to travel across roads in certain countries. Austria, for instance, has a vignette; Italy and Slovenia do not, and charge a toll instead. (Wouldn't that be a good idea here? How about charging the people who use the roads the most more for road upkeep?) I didn't even know we needed to have one, but no matter, we had to change money to get Slovakian currency and then bribe the official in cash in order to pass. Meanwhile, as I stood outside waiting for this to happen, the wind and rain started picking up and it got decidedly chilly. The sky turned a dark yellowish bruise color. The uber-cute Czech border guards giggled a bit at me as my filmy summer skirt and top quickly got soaked and flapped like old rags in the rising wind. It proceeded to rain harder than I have ever seen it rain anywhere, in my life. It was coming down so hard that it was almost impossible to see the road. Much impeded, we lumbered along to Prague.

Prague, Czech Republic
It is so hard for me to write about Prague. Maybe you'll understand someday, later, when you're in love, and you have to leave your lover behind. But maybe you'll have the good sense to fall in love with a person, not a place, and maybe that's a totally different experience. In fact, I'm sure it is. Here's the thing: I dream about Prague all the time. I constantly think: how can I get back to there? What is going on there right now? Oh, I dream of it and I wonder, can a city dream? In my conception of the universe, Prague dreams of me too. It dreams of my rubber-heeled purple Campers roving on its cobbled streets like a shiatsu massage, my platform stilettos striking it like staccato hammers, driving the patterned cobblestones into the ground an infinitesimally small amount downward with each step. Prague feels my eyes roam all over it, taking it all in and loving what I see.

I have this theory that Prague and I are meant to be together. I'm part Czech, after all – my great-grandmother and great-grandfather were Bohemian, the part of the CR where Prague is located. Is it possible that I'm genetically predisposed to feel like I belong there? What if I'm right? I need to go back.

So, Prague, in the more, here's-what-it's-like, tourist-friendly fashion: Prague is a remarkable example of a glorious old European city wasn't bombed to high hell during WWII. Praha, as they call it there, is an amazing place, with many wonderful historical sights. I'm going to omit descriptions of most of them, because if you want a guide book, I suppose you'll just go buy one. For me the best part of all that was simply to see so many eras of history layered upon each other. One of my favorite parts of the city is called New Town, built in the 19th century. I love it, that that's "new" there.

We stayed at the Jeleni dvur,* which is in this wonderful, quiet part of Prague called Hradcany* behind the grand Prague Castle. The room was tiny but had windows overlooking the Castle walls. We had a great starting point for our excursions, just a few blocks from everything. One of my favorite excursions was to the Toy Museum in Prague. There was a myriad of wonderful old toys, and one couldn't help but feel sentimental for a seemingly simpler time. And then they had to bring on the Barbies: they had a Barbie exhibit which included all the old school Barbies and then all the new, crazy weirdass couture Barbies.

We had lunch at this old school Czech restaurant, where the menu was entirely in Czech, and the waiter spoke only Czech. I had a dish that was exactly the same as my mom used to make, some tender roasted pork with potato dumplings and other roasted veggies. I wonder if she learned it from her grandmother. Everyone talks about how bad the food is in the Czech Republic, but I think that's because they're eating at tourist traps. Anyway, I loved it.

An added bonus? There was an outdoor music festival going on by the Vltava River, and different areas up and down the river had wonderful music playing, all different genres: hardcore Czech rock groups, folk music, indie. My favorite stage was the one playing hip-hop. These girls were doing a fabulously good job dancing to Nelly's beloved "Hot in Here" song, and then a jester hopped up on the stage and began doing the exact dance they were doing. Perfectly. Every single move. A jester. In the US, the closest thing to jesters you get are acne-pocked teens at Magic the Gathering festivals who love Staind, Fatboy Slim, and Disney showtunes, who feel rebellious because they wear a jester cap that they got at Hot Topic. In contrast, this jester managed to be a jester and still be so completely fucking rock and roll at the same time. In between sets, he got on his razr and texted people. It was amazing.

I wound up making some friends in Prague, which was unexpected and
wonderful. I had such a fun night, wandering around the city, having cappuccino and cake, enjoying the way the lights play on the dark river, trekking through the silent courtyards around Prague Castle, empty of their tourists. I also went to a 100% weird club that was three levels and featured strippers on the bottom floor. I practiced my very few words of Czech, supplemented by my only marginally less few words of Polish. I loved being on my own on a Saturday night in this truly world-class city.

My last day in Prague, I went to mass in Czech at St. Vitus's Cathedral by the Palace, and saw the door where St. Wenceslas was rumored to have been murdered. We had lunch, and then all too soon, it was time to go. We drove back to Zurich through Austria and Germany. My last night there, we went to look for a traditional Swiss restaurant. Where the place had been, the restaurant was no longer, so we went to the next closest place, which happened to serve Thai and "pan Asian." Word to the wise: stick to cheese and chocolate and yogurt in Switzerland. (I'm spoiled, of course. I've heard people say that there's better Thai food in Seattle than there is in Thailand.) I picked up a last few boxes of Sprungli for Marcus and it was time to go to bed. My plane left early the next morning.

Post Script
Blogging about my experiences in Europe has been an interesting process for me. I realize that part of me doesn't want to finish this blog, because that means it's really over. It's over a month since I got back. Time for me to stop talking about it, dreaming about it – at least not so relentlessly, right? Maybe finishing this is exactly what I need to do to get "back in the swing of things." Maybe I've been waiting until I have another trip coming up to finish this series, because I fear my life might feel bland or boring without something to look forward to. No worries: today I booked my tickets for Los Angeles.

*I don't have the characters on my computer to spell some words properly. This is the closest approximation I could make.

A Night in the Life

This blog post begins with my office life, takes a trip to my night life, and then tucks me in.

Things are heating up as I prepare to leave for my trip to Europe. Yesterday I had a number of appointments in the morning, and when I got to my office, the amount of work was utterly overwhelming and bewildering. I just started hammering away at it. I stayed a couple hours after people usually leave on Friday (usually 4:00 at the latest on Fridays), and once the incessant interoffice pages stopped and all the people who come to my office to interrupt me left, I got a lot done. I went through all 52 of my voicemails, got a lot of tasks dealt with, wrote an affidavit for an old case that is now a problem, and did a little bit of filing. It was amazing how productive I became. I thought I'd have to go to the office all weekend, but it turns out, all I really have to do is write this reply brief. Don't get me wrong -- that won't be fun, but I think I can do it from home and won't have to go in to the office.

After my hard day of work, I went to the "Venus" art opening at Roq la Rue, celebrating the portrayal of the female form in art. See www.roqlarue.com What a scene! Very well attended by some of the more attractive "art people" I've seen, the show featured DJ Vodka Twist (you can see him with me of his Vespa if you go to my pics), along with his co-dj, Barbarella (what a charming, gorgeous creature she is!). They played the best stuff; I must ask for the playlist. I recognized a Cibo Matto song in there.... and of course they played some groovy soul, and some French ye ye. I don't know what it all was. Anyway, the art show was so good.

Oh my God. I totally want to start collecting art prints, And even some of the original pieces were only just a leettle bit out o' my reach. Such as this AMAZINGLY cool portrait of a girl by Joseph Parker, called "There Is A Light That Will Never Go Out." http://www.roqlarue.com/showpages/Venus/gallery/gallery_petker2_det.jpg When you are a distance away from it, it looks like an old, faded cover of a gothic pulp fiction novel. But once you get up close, it is a modern pop technicolor dream, where the girl becomes this collection of wild streaks, smears, and globs of beautiful, glorious color. So awesome. Unfortunately, it was $850, which I don't have, what with the trip to Europe and all. The jpg on the website does no justice to this piece whatsoever. I can't believe no one bought it. Can someone please buy it for me? I must have it. I tried to convince Marcus to invest in some good art. Work by artists showing at Roq la Rue have generally been increasing in value, besides looking great on your walls. However, Marcus was unconvinced, and our walls shall remain unadorned for the time being. My friend and art collector Anne Wallace was in attendance. She has great taste in art. I am so glad for her that she got to purchase three of the most fabulous pieces in the show: both of the Chris Reccardi pieces, which are angular, cigarette-slim, vaguely alien-looking women loungeing in their space age bachlorette pads. So hip. Better still, she got the Lynne Naylor "Venus Rising" which is a portrait of a modish, stylized, buxom babe in a teal dress and long black gloves, who seems to be looking over our shoulders at some sexy man approaching with a martini glass and a rakish grin. The other Lynne Naylor piece "Cashmere," did not sell yet, which surprises me. This one is in shades of magenta, purple, and salmon (three of my absolute favorite colors for clothing this season, in case you care), and features a beautiful dark-haired beauty, knee raised in a come hither fashion, as she drops her handkerchief on the purple backdrop. It's fabulous. And it's only 2 Gs. Will someone please buy me that? I'm serious. I deserve good art.

Afterwards, Marcus and I went to Clark Humphrey's birthday party. See www.MISCmedia.com for who Clark is. What a fun time that was! Gillian Garr was there, and we had fun talking about this wild night we had with Krist Novacelic, and Kim Thayil, and Leaf Garrett. I also told her my going-to-a-strip-club-with-the-White-Stripes story. Nice to see Dean (aka DJ EZ Action). And Kurt, who owns Cafe Racer and wants me to do a mod night down at his scooter club in the Sodo. There was a fruit and cream cheese custard cake there; it was said to be delicious. So I'm told; I'm not really eating cake right now because I need to look hot in my bikini when I'm in the Balkan Riviera. Plus I'm saving room for all the chocolate and cheese I'm going to eat in Switzerland.It was a fun, happening night. Wish you could've been there (unless you were, and then it was great to see you!) After the night ended, I cuddled in bed with Romeo. He purrs so loud that it's like having a white noise maker. I slept a long time and I'm doing to go bang out that fawking brief now and pack. Maybe I'll go out again tonight.... we shall see. Maybe I'll see you out there. Hope so!

Shopping for Books

If I don't stop shopping for books on amazon, I won't have time to actually read, write about, or even talk about books.

Consumption is its own weird kind of inaction, though I suppose that reading books is its own type of consumption. Reading books, however, is they type of consumption that frequently satisfies. I've noticed a satiated feeling after I've just read something really good. The better it is, the longer it lasts. For instance, after I read Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, I found it hard to even think about reading anthing for awhile. Then, for a plane ride, I unfortunately selected Sabine, a gothy vampire lesbian novel that somehow manages to be strangely non-sensual. The plot drug on, especially for such a short book. Anyway, after Jonathan Strange, it felt like eating stale nachos after having consumed an elegant seven course meal at Le Gourmand not long before. It was so bad that I actually read the in-flight magazine and then left the book in the seat pocket (in hopes that someone overly young, old. or fundamentalist would find it and be shocked.)

So, I'm going to go ahead and place my order. I don't know what I think I'm doing. I have so many books that I need to read. Maybe I should just procrastinate on this order. Yet, I want these books so badly. Part of the order is composed of books I loved in my childhood, including the hauntingly creepy Blackbriar and Susan Cooper's Dark Is Rising sequence, infused with Celtic and Welsh myths and just so very beautiful. I also am getting The Bell Jar as I've never read any Sylvia Plath and have intended to do so for a long time. So I have a huge list of books to read that I may never get to. Is this some sort of mortality-avoidance attempt? You can't take me yet, Death.... I've got so many more books to get through before I can sleep.

And with that I think I will have a short sleep, not the eternal type, hopefully.