does anyone smell a skunk?

My holiday was filled with divorce, seafood, tears, uncomfortable moments, and skunk (the game and the animal). I can't decide which moment was the lowest: My brother insisting men become distinguished but women just get old, or my niece declaring that the Angels are going to war with the Muslims on New Year's day and if they win there will be 30,000 years of peace, but if they lose all the people that did not go to mass will die(?!hello creepy catholic school!?), or when the Dept. of Homeland Security unwrapped my presents and then RE-WRAPPED them, taping them up with Dept. of Homeland Security seals. Atleast I won the game of skunk and I'm back to my normal existence sans relatives.

socks on trees

It gets so cold here that someone knitted socks for the trees.

jingle bells

I'll be happy when the holidays are over.

snow sounds

The snow makes a crunch sound when I walk on it. It reminds me of a film we watched in elementary school about Eskimos. The soundtrack had a lot of walking-on-the-tundra sound, which amazingly sounds the same as walking on the Chicago sidewalk. Could be the work of a foley artist. Still, I keep thinking "I'm walking on the tundra." I guess aural memories are just as strong as scent memories. Atleast it takes my mind off of my numb hands.

more snow pictures

snow!

clear lake christmas

The lake was a big mirror of blueness. It smelled like new and the Northern California air was just the right chill. Above the lake, we walked with scarves wrapped tight on the dirt trail winding through scarred pines. We walked with running noses, and got cold. Back in the cabin with the fiber optic Christmas tree, we cooked enchiladas and pie and ate and ate some more. On the TV played a silly movie. Later, me and Sarah drove until we found a Chinese restaurant with a bar. We drank our beers under the tinsel and surrounded by locals. You girls aren't from around here, they said. We watched big families make holiday toasts. When our glasses were empty, we drove the station wagon around the edges of the silent lake. Back in the cabin snug and warm, we giggled about Harbin hot springs and fell asleep on Christmas eve. In the morning, the fiber optic tree twinkled at us as we closed the door to check out.

co-optable co-ops

Back in Chicago. Again reminded of the vacant american dream. Bewildered by the difficulty of finding Newman-Os and organic tofu in a city this size. Feeling the passage of my San Francisco days. No tofurkey this year. Even North Carolina has Coops.

a life lived under the ocean

Communion is my job. It has been said, to watch a person play is to see his soul. A life lived under the ocean in silent murky sound. A musician’s brain performs strange mathematical somersaults. With prodding, concentration and discipline, music comes. Up top in the air is where the rest of life vibrates. Choosing to rap myself in velvet water so the world can listen. If she sticks her head in for long enough.

life lesson #12,784

Never trust someone who says they hate onions.

train goodbyes

It is foggy in Chicago. Today the trees were framed in the train window like a painting. Bare tree limbs in the gray mist with just a few yellowish leaves barely hanging on. My mind drifted in a roundabout way as I thought about my old car, then my wine colored rug, and then to my ex-boyfriends family, and finally to rest with Maria. I remembered how I ran into Maria on the BART train one morning unexpectedly, because she lived in Sacramento. Surprised to see me, she asked me how I was and what I was reading. I don't remember the book I had on my lap, but I do remember chatting with Maria for a few minutes before reaching my stop and I remember how warm she was, and how motherly. I stepped off the train thinking what an amazing woman. About a month later, I got a call that Maria had died of cancer, and i felt how strange and lucky it was that I ran into her on the train and was able to say goodbye.

headline of the day

"Productivity Slows to a Standstill"

when chicagoans say chicago

The job was a bust. But travelling across Chicago everyday allowed me to feel a part of the city. I studied the different faces, ethnicities, and fashion while riding the trains. I passed through a lot of neighborhoods: Wicker Park, Downtown, Belmont, Uptown, Lakeview, Roger's Park. I don't feel like I stick out so much anymore. I have a sense of the geography and the landscape; brick buildings, tall lamp posts, and sweeping skies that hint at the giant lake not far away. I watched the leaves turn from green to bright yellow, and now I watch them fall. I'm beginning to understand why when Chicagoans say "Chicago" I hear tenderness, defeat, familiarity, and stubborn hope stuffed in that one word like a plump grape ready to burst.

o in chicago

costumes

I thought I wanted to be a pirate. Then, I realized I just want to be Johnny Depp. Today, I thought maybe I could be a sting ray. Most likely, I will not dress up and then be really sad and cranky on halloween because I don't have a costume. Although, I do have a back up princess dress in the closet. Then again, maybe I can be a trucker. A scary trucker. A ghosty princess dead trucker that was killed by a stingray.

public transit oh so gross

Today on the train, the man sitting behind me was coughing this phlegmy, mucous-filled raspy cough that made me (and I imagine everyone else within ear shot) feel like I had a throat full of phleghmy mucous too, even though I didn't. He was better than the man from last week who had the looooong finger nails and was drinking pickle juice out of a jar, and just when I was thinking, "Well, atleast he isn't eating the pickles" he sticks his loooong pointy finger-nailed fingers inside the pickle jar and pulls one out and starts chomping. It's hard to describe how gross this is while barreling through Chicago on a train; Try to imagine pickle smell everywhere. I haven't even mentioned the mystery substance smeared all over the floors of Chicago trains. Dark brown in color. What is up Chicago!?

the chicago years

Today I felt as if I had been dropped inside a movie, or maybe it's more like a mini-series; I like to call it "The Chicago Years". Surrounded by people I don't really know, yet everything and everyone seems so familiar. This is proof that there is commonality between life in different cities for people that have similar interests, often to a somewhat scary degree. The bad part is that sometimes I feel divorced from the action, as if I am watching a scene play out on screen. I think this surrealism will continue until I feel more rooted. And particularly until people around me have a sense of who I am and how I can be useful. I have lost some confidence due to this sense of "not being known". Its the trick of being certain of who you are without the old smoke and mirrors to help your presentation. Without any context I'm left by myself in the middle of all these new people that look and sound so much like the people I left behind.

yellow

The trees in Chicago turn yellow in the fall.

conspiracy anyone

Every time I turn on the TV I see women tied up, tortured, and killed via numerous popular crime shows. In the context of all the girls that have been murdered in the past month, why isn't anyone objecting to these images? Doesn't anyone see how wrong it is to display torture as nightly entertainment?

low tide on cape cod

This is First Encounter Beach where apparently a bronze marker commemorates the first encounter between local Native Americans and passengers from the Mayflower. This is bay side, so it is a nice place to watch the sunset and quite the pilgrim pickup spot.

before we were grown up

You look so grown up in your picture. And when we talk on the phone we both sound so grown up. I remember when the look on your face wasn't calm self-assurance; It was only confused growing pains and just plain old pain. I also remember you had a look of amusement when you said that many years later we will laugh at all this. And now we are older and stronger and I'm happy that we can talk on the phone and just laugh.

happy to be back

I've returned from my yearly trip to Cape Cod. This time we saw the cheesy part of the Cape; the part that hasn't been refreshing since the early 70s when I'm sure it was the place to party. Iceberg lettuce salads, old dirty salty types serving surprisingly fresh seafood, and a beer they've christened "Nobska Light." We stayed in a cheap motel with low cardboard ceilings and a metal tree figurine hung on the wall above the bed.

We also saw beautiful stretches of beach that rivaled Southern California. I had never seen the National Seashore before, it runs along the wilder ocean side of Cape Cod with huge orange sandy dunes and rough (for the cape) waves. There were even surfers in wetsuits in the water. We also visited probably the best library in America: The Wellfleet Library. It has an adorable logo of two mermaids reading a book, free internet, a great selection of books, and a warm lefty population of older artsy people which hosted me and "We Interrupt This Empire" several years ago. Also, Wellfleet has a place called "Box Turtle Woods" - yes, a wild box turtle habitat! Check out the Wellfleet box turtles here. I heart Wellfleet.

As much as I love the Cape and all it's weirdness, this is the first time I've felt so happy to be back in Chicago.

commuting sucks ass

I was chilled today waiting at the bus stop for over 30 minutes. I wondered how I will survive the commute when actual winter hits. There is no bus shelter or bench. You are forced to stand on the windy corner with no protection. Usually the busses run more regularly at rush hour, but sometimes they bunch up and 4 come at the same time and if you miss those you gotta wait for a loooong time. Most sucky Chicago things are often attributed to the city corruption which lands slacker people in important jobs as part of the patronage system. I don't know how true that is. But it kinda would make anyone hate government theifs. I'm reading "Prison Memoirs of an Anarchist" which will make anyone feel cozy and warm in contrast to poor Berkman's long prison sentence. I honestly don't remember if he gets out early or not. I kind of remember from Emma's memoirs that he does the whole time, but I might be wrong. We leave for the Cape tomorrow, so look for some good pictures when I get back.

fresh veggies!

scare fest

Hows about that scare fest on TV today? I have to admit I watched the complete docudrama. Scary. Especially all those shakey camera shots. I'd like to see a blair witch version of 911. Right after I finish my big foot remake. This past weekend I successfully celebrated my freedom by attending an outdoor music fest and a White Sox game (I ate a HOT DOG WITH ONIONS!). It was all very American. Topping it off with a mini-series that did successfully scare me. Good job ABC. It was almost as scary as Couric's interview with the prez.

My favorite part:

COURIC: I know we're almost out of time, Mr. President, and you have a very busy day ahead. But one philosophical question that many have that I'd like you to respond to, if you could, is that US policy, vis-à-vis Iraq, and the United States' close alliance with Israel, certainly highlighted in recent events between Israel and Lebanon, has galvanized terrorists worldwide. In other words, these policies have created more terrorists than they have eliminated.

BUSH: Yeah.

COURIC: How do you respond to that?

BUSH: Well – the first thing I would tell people that – we weren't in Iraq on September the 11th, 2001, when 19 killers killed 3,000 Americans in the most brutal attack on our – on our soil – ever.

COURIC: But they were from Saudi Arabia.

antidote for cynicism

I never thought I'd say this, but I am starting to miss the college students I used to work with at Berkeley. They were always full of anticipation, exhilirated by the possibilties of life that lay before them. They were all much more diligent than I was in college. They studied hard and were smart cookies. They embodied a mix of neediness and independence that was sometimes adorable and at other times insufferable. Often I felt old, dumbfounded, and annoyed in their presence. Sometimes I was horrified by their ignorance, for example when I overheard two young women say they would NEVER call themselves feminists, I think one of them actually said "ew!" Other times I was touched by their sentimentality and ability to quickly form community and accept others. Most of all, I miss the way their hopefulness and uncynicism rubbed off on me no matter how hard I tried to avoid it.

life's too short

Check out the picture, life is too short. If you don't slow down you'll miss the hotdog man doing a little dance. Just another weird Chicago thing I passed on the street lately. The biggest lesson I am learning from having left the Bay Area is how to let go. Even though that has been impressed upon me by several people who left me before I wanted them to, there is nothing like choosing to take off yourself. Forced disengagement. In the process of letting go, bits of memories come crashing through, several each day actually. Little snippets of conversations, disagreements, protests, meetings, drunken nights, embarassing moments, big parties; scenes that unravel into complicated situations that sometimes I don't want to remember. I don't know why these rememberances come back to me so vividly and suddenly like they do. Staring out the bus window, I take a deep breath and push them aside for a while. At some point, I think I will need to put it into context; a narrative I can understand. One thing is certain; the past decade has been filled with life and interesting situations. But tonight, tonight, here in Chicago I rode a tandem bicycle with A. home from D's house. Weaving in and out through the cold night air. I never rode a tandem bicycle in the Bay. Not even once.

mornings and coffee poem #134

I love mornings and coffee
because I feel as if I could do anything.
Mornings and coffee, even if it is bad coffee,
go so well together
I am productive when it is the morning
and I'm drinking coffee
A pair like beer and whiskey
Mornings and coffee

a city that is crisp and clear

One nice thing about being far away is that it allows me to look back at San Francisco from a distance. In my memory things are crisp and the air is clear. Billowy fog rolls over twin peaks. The city is small and compact. Streets are familiar. Friends are full of energy and excitement with ideas and news bubbling out of their mouths. A hint of fall chill is in the air with sun reflecting off the victorian houses and the bay glittering in the background. Small crooked bookstores and big cavernous warehouses hold a mix of interesting people. Middle Eastern music wafts out of my rooommate's room and everyone is planning their halloween costume. Is it possible to live in the past and the present? That isn't the most recent San Francisco in my memory. This sparkly recollection of the city describes when everything was my own version of Tales of the City. When coincidence was everywhere and anything was possible. That is not the San Francisco I left. But, maybe it will be the one I go back to.

outfoxing the hawk

When the weather starts turning cold the true nature of this city emerges. The fortified brick buildings, the double-paned windows, and the gritty grimy grayness. Old signs adorn old store fronts. Coldness and darkness will soon take over the green growing landscape of summer. People bundling up as if it were a natural reflex with shoulders hunched forward. Glowing windows in thick buildings, neon lights inviting you to come inside and have a drink. Resignation of the bus riders. I look forward to the extremity of winter, as if it were an extreme sport, to see if I can survive "the hawk's" assault. Hoping the the inside-time will expose some great internal answers. As I am often told here, "You have to be crazy to move here from California." And it is not even fall yet.

just a crow's fly

Sitting on a porch and rocking in a rocking chair is what I've been doing. North Carolina has wispy tall pines and a lovely beach. People in the South say things like, "It was just a crow's fly away." They eat chipped beef. Big front porches on the old houses look quaint combined with the clapboard shutters. I witnessed an entire golf game – the game does have it's charm. And I think the sign that said "Beware of the alligators" was for real, but I'm not sure. Cable TV, Ms. Pacman, and snack food is comforting. I feel like navel gazing lately, whether I'm in North Carolina or Illinois. All introspection is what is going on. Describing the outside of things is much easier than describing the inside.

pre-teen

Two men next door are busy tonight putting in a brick patio, I can hear them hammering. I can also hear the music they are blasting. They are listening to the cheesiest love songs sung by I don't know who, but she has a very high pitched voice. It is worse than songs I listened to when I was 12. Speaking of being 12, lately I have been having that adolescent feeling of cringing at being noticed in public and hoping no one on the bus gives you a look or says anything. In general, I feel more exposed here in Chicago as a female. I don't like men looking at me or whistling. I just don't. And if I were braver I would tell them to fuck off. I think this adolescent feeling is about more than the unwanted public attention but it is not bloggable material, although it is funny that I feel 12 again as I am getting gray hair.

big city of dreams

Like most cities, Chicago is full of contradictions. Daisies packed in dirt strain towards the sun leaving me wondering who plants hundreds of daisies in a Walgreen's parking lot. A young girl randomly yells at me, "I'll kick your ass if you don't give me my money!" Water drops off the ceiling and onto passenger's heads, which seems to be a phenomenon of Chicago buses along with cockroaches. Yard sale signs crowd the utility poles, advertising, "There's something for everyone! Really great stuff!". The girls upstairs have a "Three Friends Lemonade Stand" one weekend. There are really good avocados at Stanleys vegetable store which enables A. to make really good guacamole. A young guy runs through my front yard with a gun which means the gang boundaries may have moved over to my block.

from beirut to those who love us

My friend in Beirut replied with a video. I couldn't find the video online, so I have transcribed the text for you to read:

From Beirut to those who love us.
July 21, 2006

(woman singing):
One of whom are dear to us
Great those who used to care for us
Tell them whatever may happen

(sound of bombs interrupts her singing)

"I can't go on"
"Repeat, repeat"

(sound of bombs)

(Narration:)
We are around 4 million people
So far, 150,000 of them have left the country
And we were hit by 16,000 missiles
Israeli missiles
At first we disagreed on how to address you
Do we speak to you as Arab viewers?
Or as Europeans?
In the end
We agreed that it is irrelevant
No one is listening anyway
No one heard about a half million displaced
Half a million displaced
More than 300 martyrs
And 1000 injured
Did you hear of a town called Marwahin?
Marwahin?
Srifa?
Qana and Al Mansouri?
Sabra and Chatila?
Dir Yassin?
Kifr Qassim?
Massacre!
Massacre.
Massacre.
A moment of silence..

Now, listen well
We are besieged
And the smell of gunpowder is in the air.
Gunpowder, and the world is watching..
We are beseiged because the world is watching
What matters is
We still have a bit of food and water
And pride
And dignity
And love
We are 4 million people
4 million and one
One who was born today in a school under seige
We are here
Where are you?

One of whom are dear to us
Great those who used to care for us
Tell them whatever may happen
Don't forget to care for us

what to say

It is hard to imagine Chicago being cold. It was 98 today. I can't say that it is a pleasureable hot. The lack of an ocean breeze has become evident (and no the lake doesn't quite cut it.) Everyone prespires all the time. But, I do like that the hot weather forces you to interact with the elements. Unless you never leave an air-conditioned apartment, you will be affected by the heat. It is a forced equalization in a way.

I finally emailed my friend who was living in Beirut (Or atleast last time I heard, he could be anywhere really.) And again faced with the dilemma of what to say. What I feel is that I am horrified by what Israel is doing. But it is distant to my life. Beyond trying to empathize by following the news, reading over friends of friends emails, and imagining what it must be like, I don't really know. I haven't been touched by war directly. I feel so lucky for that. The immensity of that knowledge, the unfairness paralyzes me when I butt up against the undeniable fact that I benefit from U.S. imperialism. I don't want to wallow in guilt which plagues much of the left, but I know that I need to acknowledge it. Despite the tongue-tiedness, I still want to send a message. I want to communicate that I am worried to someone I care about. So I just end up saying, "I hope you are okay." and hope that suffices. I haven't heard back yet.

baby, lets have a baby – before bush do something crazy

It's hot again here in Chicago.

I heard that SF is having a summer. I remember the last summer SF had, I think it was a few years ago. I know SF is just doing this to annoy me.

I saw The Coup play again last weekend. Why is this the summer of The Coup? I went years in the Bay Area not seeing them play (except at that FNB fundraiser in Dolores Park). I think I had a mental block about liking them for several different reasons. It seems safe to like them now.

Also saw SHB play his country music to a weird club full of weird Chicagoans. He was good. Typical SHB, "If you don't like country music, you can kiss my ass, suck my dick, and get the hell out!" Since we do like country music we stayed. True to form, I drank too much and almost fell off my bike on the ride home. That's to be expected.

normalizing

Beth says that when you get hit by lightning your body fundamentally changes, so that lightning is drawn to you. People hit by lightning are more apt to get hit by lightning again and again.

My body is slowly becoming accustomed to the Chicago elements. I am starting to shed the slight uncomfortableness of being in a new place. My allergies are completely gone, which seems miracle enough. Although I find the city noise and bustle to be unpleasant and I have begun to yearn for the country.l I do enjoy the weather and the dramatic changes it takes throughout the day. The lightning/thunder last night was brutal. I think the garage beside my bedroom wall was struck by lightning.

When I glance down at my feet I momentarily startle because they do not look like my own. They are a pleasant toasted brown color as a result of being on the beach for four days. I had forgotten what a different shade my skin becomes when exposed to sunshine and it adds a strange oldness to the newness of becoming normalized.

dunes

I went to Lake Michigan. It is a huge lake. Look at that picture. It is huge. And it was this carribean blue color. I didn't want to swim in a murky dark mess of a lake. I didn't have to. The water was clear and seemed to be clean, although that may be a questionable assumption when dealing with Lake Michigan.

We looked at the stars by the fire near the lapping waves. We learned to make fires efficiently. I left sandy dirty and relaxed all around. We caught the headlines in town of Beirut in flames. It is alarming yet seems so far away. I wonder about my friend that was living there and if he is okay, or if he had left the city. When the big blood orange slice of moon rises over the horizon and we sing silly camp songs to keep the cougars away it seems like a good thing to stay away from the noisy places. Until you read the details of destruction and then feel like we have to stop this craziness in the world. Then it is time to go home and clean the sand out of my ears.

dancing in september

The sun has set and the skies of Chicago are alive with fireworks. The constant pops and crackles and booms will last most of the night. It is hot, but in a way that is soft, relaxing, and moist, tempered by a semi-cool breeze. I am obssessed with weather conditions. I imagine being 80 and sitting on a front porch talking about the weather for hours on end. Assuming there still is weather when I am 80. Actually, I'd be happy doing that as my main occupation when I hit 40.

Most (all?) members of Earth, Wind, and Fire grew up in the Henry Horner Homes here in Chicago. Henry Horner is a project that was erected in the mid-50s when a bunch of federal $ was allocated for housing. And then was neglected for decades in this segregated ghetto-ridden city. It was all meant to happen that way – no accident there. And it is one of the buildings that will be demolished under Chicago Housing Authority's new plan to tear down all the public housing.

Back to Earth, Wind, And Fire. I was in the grocery store and "September" came on over the store sound system. And people could not help boogie-ing in the aisles. Almost everyone was doing a little dance. Some thinking no one was watching, others just blatantly shaking their booty. We were seriously one beat away from having a spontanteous choreographed musical moment. Really, you have to be inhuman to resist Earth, Wind, And Fire.

Do you remember the 21st night of september?
Love was changing the minds of pretenders
While chasing the clouds away

Our hearts were ringing
In the key that our souls were singing.
As we danced in the night,
Remember how the stars stole the night away

Say do you remember
Dancing in September
Never was a cloudy day

yeah.

When I left the Bay the sky looked empty. Here the sky is windy, big, leafy, and lately full of fireworks (Chicago celebrates the 4th for a whole week). When it is really hot, you can't really do anything until around 11pm which is problematic when you have nothing to do.

Sometimes some people make you feel like you have to do something though. Like write your book, make your movie, take your trip, or sing your song. You know what I mean. Usually it is someone that is writing his book, making his movie, taking his trip or singing his song. (replace "his" with "her" if appropriate). Sum this up with a 3AM text message I received from S: "OMG Bjork is so F-ing HOT!!!"

random chicago observance

If you order a sandwich in this town there is a 95% chance that you will get a dill pickle served with it.

living in the country

Someone came over to my new apartment and exclaimed, "It's like living in the country!" It's not really like living in the country, but my neighborhood is pretty mellow for a city. Berkeley is more bustling than Logan Square for sure. People plant these really nice little flower gardens on the corners of streets. Old brick buildings have pretty trees in front and "For Rent" signs in the windows. New condos sit empty and latino families have moving out yard sales on the weekends.

I am busy watching lightning storms and painting walls bright colors. I've been drinking a beer a day, watching fake Russian cosmonauts at the Gene Siskel, reading about "The Machine", and talking about neoliberalism in the book club, and of course being bored out of my mind working. When when when when when?

fireflies

Okay, so I am being really bad and blogging during work .

Fireflies are amazing. They flew low and heavy over A's garden yesterday at dusk. I got to study them up close. They are flying lanterns. I had assumed they were mythical animals that existed only in my childhoood. But, they actually exist. I don't understand how people can see these magical little splashes of light without experiencing complete awe. It is like being able to watch a shooting star up close.

weekend

My new neighborhood farmer's market had two stands set up today. One selling bread and one selling apple butter. No vegetables were for sale. One guy at a stand said that it was slow because of father's day and usually there are 5 or 6 stands.

Yesterday was Puerto Rican pride day. And it was super windy yet warm. I slept with the windows open and you could hear the raucous crowds and police sirens all night. My cat was uneasy by all the commotion and whined all night long. Fun. Today he fell asleep in the closet on top of a back pack.

I noticed this weekend that there are a lot of yuppies in Chicago and that it is best to avoid them.

mr. happy

I've been too tired to write in this blog. I've only been living here for 2 weeks now, so I guess my slackness is forgiveable.

Turns out that my chiropractor is zany. He told me a story about one of his patients discovering that chiropractic treatment solved his impotence problem. While telling this story, my chiropractor referred to the penis as "Mr. Happy." I don't make this stuff up kids.

But hey, my back feels a lot better.

update

What Chicago looks like:
There are a lot of different kinds of bricks in Chicago. Brick is everywhere.

How I feel:
I feel like I need a vacation, like I have been operating on overdrive for months. I am actually looking forward to going to the chiropractor. Usually I hate going to see doctors of any kind. I am trying a place called "The Wellness Center", doesn't that sound nice? Oh and St. John's Wart is a wonderful substance. I love it.

How I am getting new stuff:
My books are all showing up busting out of their boxes. I am scouring Craigslist for bookshelves. I have never used Craigslist to acquire things before this move, now I am addicted. I look at anything posted that looks remotely interesting usually "purple" or "vintage" are words that indicate an interesting post.

The status of my cat's cat food:
I am also on the lookout for the special kind of cat food that my cat eats. I have a half a bag left, things are getting desperate. He is a puker. So, I know if I am forced to switch brands I will have a lot of puke to look forward to.

What I did tonight:
I went to the first meeting of the book club tonight with some smarty pants people. We discussed the book "A Brief History of Neoreolism".

hello chicago

I'm in Chicago now. With a need to have things in place so I can think. My body is not right. I have plans to go to the Chicago Wellness Center very soon. The pain has been a major impediment the past few weeks. I hope it is just temporary. I had so many things to write about. Now that I have internet I can't remember them. I did go the local movie theater the other night. $3 movie. Can't beat it. And the candy was cheap too. My bike is yellow and is named "Scout" and it has a seat that looks like a saddle. There are good things going on.

desire

I'm afraid of leaving the theater. I remember sitting in a darkened theater years ago and experiencing an intense longing. The hush of the audience as the lights go down. The first splash of light on the screen. When I am away from it I miss it, but unknowingly. I am afraid to leave the theater because I will have to carry that longing around.

I experience the same feeling when I am on a Cape Cod ferry. A desire for a place that is impossible to satisfy. It will overtake my heart at surprising moments. When I see a certain shade of blue or catch a wiff of salt air. I've been wondering lately if I am gravitating towards the Cape. Am I being pulled towards the place I was born in some inescapable circle? Why am I also pulled towards a movie screen? People's inside wiring is such a mystery. Everyone's desire is triggered differently.

uptown blues

My entire body is aching. My back is one big muscle spasm. The chiropractor told me not to lift anything heavy. Ha ha. Funny because she must not know about the 8 boxes of books sitting in my living room waiting to go to the post office.

My going away party is over with. It was fun with a bit of a 'this is your life' feel to it. Or as someone put it, it's like having your funeral while you are still alive. (And look, people DID show up - whew!) Things are shaping up and coming to nice little packaged endings. Seems that I can still be a belligerent drunk idiot in my car and my good friends still talk to me. Although I'm not taking those friends with me to Chicago. Probably new people won't be so forgiving. People said I seem happy. I think I seem happy. Someone asked me if I'm sad to leave. And I'm just not.

The Uptown however I will miss. It's a place you can always go and find someone you know. A place where more than once I've stayed until the lights came on and we all got kicked out. A place to sit on comfy sofas and have a surprisingly hearfelt conversation with someone, or an irrelevant name-dropping chat, or an analytical political debate. A place where silly things happen. And it turns out it is named after a Chicago neighborhood. Who knew.

back in the bay

I am back in the bay to tie up some strings. I immediately felt constricted and stressed upon debarking the plane. It's amazing that I really am truly ready to leave.

I actually miss Chicago even though I just left this morning. I miss the oldness, and the brick, and the trees and the calmness I feel when I'm there. And I found this crazy apartment to live in. It's big and it is all mine.

I try to squeeze the new people I meet into the molds of old familiar people. For example Susie reminds me of a combination of friend x and friend y. And Rhonda is the spitting image of friend z. I think that might be my mind trying to make sense of all the newness.

This weekend I have a few days in the bay with old familiar friends. I need to fill up since these days need to carry me through a bunch of no-one-knows-me days. Which can be as frustrating as they are liberating. This weekend is also my last chance to bellyache about the bay area. Because once I am firmly planted in Chicago I will start bellyaching about that town.

big trees big city

Today the tall leafy trees were swaying wildly in the wind. The trees tower over everything. When riding the train I notice how the trees often dwarf the houses. Big trees is a nice feature for a city, it can take some of the coldness out of it. Everything is in motion and things are progressing. It is too late to stop it now (Not that I want to). I hear Hotel California in the subway every morning which gives an eerie sadness to the start of the day. There are some good street musicians here although their repertoire could be bigger. I overheard a phone conversation on the train as I was coming home from work tonight. The guy was mired in a mucky yucky life. Trying to renegotiate the rent at his apartment and simultaneously defending his depressed girlfriend. Damn, I have escaped my mucky yucky situations. Now things are new. But that can be hard too.

first times

Tomorrow I start my new job. Soon, I won't live in California anymore. Nobody knows me here, except for one very cute person. I will be meeting my co-workers for the first time. I have never been to the neighborhood where I will be working before. I haven't found a place to live yet.

proof

This picture is proof that a wild parrot lives in my neighborhood. He nestles in the palm tree in front of my house. After months of hearing his lonely call and only catching glimpses of him from far away, TODAY he appears right in front of us, squaks and seems to pose for the camera. Is it a send off?

A parrot sighting helped me get through this trying day of Uhauls and dumping old sofas. We also had a Jim Jones Jr. sighting inside the Uhaul store. Then we passed a group of witches leaving the farmer's market. California is kooky, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. I finished off my day with a screening of Bunuel's The Phantom of Liberty which is seriously absurd followed by some very hot food from S's kitchen.

I will miss my days at the theater. I can feel the audience in the theater when I am in the other room. It is a difficult sensation to describe; it's like they are sleeping. A big group of people sleeping together. They are all sitting in the dark experiencing their own separate filmic sensations. I feel protective of them as if they are helplessly suspended in vats. Film is so addictive. I need to continue feeding it.

edge

In the past 24 hours I have been at a ridiculous film schmooze party, a box turtle refuge, and the edge of the pacific. My belongings are dwindling. I have shed pounds of material goods every day this week.

I have a chance to start over I think to myself as I stand in the middle of the ridiculous film party. When beginnings happen it seems that you can do everything over again and be a better person. I can make those changes I've always wanted to make. I can start doing yoga. Eat better. And be more patient. Of course the beginning will become a middle and then eventually another end. But still, at the beginning of the beginning there are all sorts of possibilities. And as I walk to the car with one of S's high heels on one foot and one of my leather boots on the other, I think I don't have to see any of these people for a very long time.

separation anxiety

I feel a little bit lighter with each piece of furniture that disappears. Leaving is becoming more and more of a reality. It is funny how people say goodbye. Some people surprise me with niceness and others walk away as their cell phone rings. And I am left wondering why are you not devastated by my departure? My sentimentality factor is way out of hand as I get separation anxiety about people I barely know. On the upside, I am getting rid of a lot of stuff that I don't need. Including the huge down jacket I've kept only because I thought if I ever had to sleep on the streets it could save my life from the cold. It would be good for everyday wintertime use in Chicago except that it has 80s shoulder pads. Bad wintertime fashion is not the way to make friends in a new city. I shudder to think that my wardrobe will scream "I'm from California!"

birthday cake buildings

I may have ridden the 22 Filmore for the last time as a Bay Area resident today. I passed by the red victorian with glitter strewn steps, I waved at my chiropractor, and I looked at the flower murals painted on the sunshine-filled San Francisco flats. Michelle Tea called them buildings that look like birthday cakes and it is how I always think of them. I have always wanted to photograph San Francisco bay windows glowing from the inside during crisp Christmas-time nights. I will miss not knowing people and not being known.

bitter taste

There have been a bunch of freak accidents this week. A car wreck and subsequent gasoline fire in front of the Castro theater killing one man who was sitting in his parked car when the errant car crashed into him. Another man was killed eating dinner in a crowded restaurant; robbers entered and began collecting wallets, the man asked if he could keep his ID and he was shot dead. And an older woman was killed driving to work on the UC campus by a garbage truck.

I don't like clusters of meaningless deaths happening all at once. I am aware that meaningless deaths happen all the time, but it is unsettling that my attention keeps being drawn to them by the people around me or by a flapping newspaper on the ground. I don't like it. The bay area seems safe on the surface, and most of the streets seem quiet. But there is rage and ugliness beneath things and a seeping meaninglessness too.

Luckily, I am currently safe in my bed (for now) drinking a beer – ensuring my bitter quota for the day. J. pointed out that our culture undervalues bitterness in contrast to sweetness. Tip for the day: appreciate bitter taste because it is good for you. Makes your stomach fiery.

heart of the world

Growing old makes me feel vulnerable, yet capable. It took so long for me to start visibly aging. It is now happening. My first grey hair. Wrinkles. I know I am hyper sensitive, well, because I am a woman and this society has successfully f***ed with my brain. If you have women in your life, you must understand that our culture makes women crazy on purpose with worrying about how we look. I don't know any woman who hasn't been greatly damaged by this stupid stupid worry. The worry is distracting us all.

\\change of subject here\\

What if the world was having a heart attack? Would you jump in its clogged artery to save it? Guy Maddin is just so imaginative it is silly. I like him most because he is not self-important. I totally admire modesty.

\\change of subject here\\

California is lonely. Someone reminded me of this today. I walked into the darkened room and I could see the woman with long hair sitting with him, yet we did not speak of her. I remember always feeling that everyone has someone. Now I have someone too. But not in California.

mix-tape memories

It is official. I will actually be saying goodbye to California soon. I'm going through all my stuff and trying to eliminate unnecessaries. Now I am listening to mix-tapes various friends have made for me over the years. The strange thing is, even though I have been living in California for many years now, I have gone through a lot of incarnations. My life has dramatically changed at regular intervals. There are many people that were in my daily life that I never see anymore. Important people too. People that made a humongous difference in my life. Man, life is so weird. Although, I have to say, the people that have joined my life in the last few years may be staying in my life. There is some sort of tribe/clique thing happening. Just a hunch.

Currently playing from "Lisa's Mega-Mix" tape created by the fabulous Bertha:
"Loyalty" by Me'shell Ndegeocello

don't breath yet

It is as if I were building a house of cards and putting the last few cards on top and I can't even breath or anything because I've already built five prior houses of cards and each and every one has come tumbling down just at this point.

bunny cake

One good thing about California is that some of my relatives live here. Having dinner with my cousins today and eating ham (i know, but sometimes it is good), and breaded eggplant like you have never tasted, and bunny cake, well I can't complain. And one of my cousins just became a fire chief. She is rad and very strong. Do people say rad outside of California? Will I always be cursed with a healthy dose of 80s valley girl vernacular?

patriarchy poem #1

Big Fire Men
Bossey
Order Everyone Around
Young Woman
Fainted
Told What To Do

i think it's called xenophobia

I was watching a film about Iran in which women were being chastised for not asking permission from the man in the family before going out or answering the phone and I had an icky feeling. Then after the film I heard an outraged man in response say something like, "How can they be like that." which gave me an equally icky feeling.

space

I'm back from outer space. Back to my job under the full moon. My boss is really unhappy, she tells me this all the time. Today, she gave me chocolates shaped like yellow baby chicks. I have an interview tomorrow. How to convince people that I am the perfect person for the job? I really am too. Except for my hatred of office-y environments, excel, and authority. Besides those things, I am perfect for it. If you missed the strange news about the SPACE ICE that fell in Oakland the other day, well, too bad for you.

cat 5 baby

Two lawyers in suits took me and my friend J. out to lunch today. It made me feel really important. The restaurant we went to features naughty pictures on the ceiling of people having sex, like the kamasutra or something. I think it adds to the dining experience. I also got rid of some junk by donating it to the center for creative reuse. Man they have a bunch of stuff there, if you need big birthday candles or a stranger's old photographs that is the place to go.

Then, I went to CompUSA to buy an ethernet cable which I was dreading. I have made several cables in the past few years and they are just so expensive to buy, so I was not looking forward to dropping a few twenties for a stupid cable I can make myself. I am standing in line and someone taps me on the shoulder, and it is this guy that I work with. He asks me what I'm buying and I say "ethernet cable". And he says "how much do you need I can just give you some." Hello, that was perfect. So, I happily put the stupid over-priced cable back. It is turning out to be a not-so-bad day, but we'll see I don't want to jinx it. Things have been so crappy lately I am afraid to think they might be okay.

give me marshmallows

The thing about having a blog is that you are hyper sensitive to other people's blogs. Suddenly, I feel a responsibility to be up on a number of random blogs for no real reason. I don't even know you blogger people. Who are you? Because your blogs don't really tell me much.

Okay, I am in the kind of pissed off mood which causes me to be inside my room, door closed with DeBarge blasting on the stereo. It is part of the slow jam show "Between the Sheets", which was the unplanned soundtrack to my dramatic past only because it would come on the car stereo at significant moments of drama. Now I just want to blast these slow jams real loud because I feel pissed off in a cuddly kind of way. If I had some marshmallows I would chuck them in someone's face.

If I could only live by myself, maybe with my cat if he could learn to be quiet, out in a meadow free and alone and happy. Alone. Alone. Alone. Seule.

Did I ever tell you that me and two of my friends were going to perform as Exposé in the school air band competition but we all chickened out? See how much you learn about someone when you read their blog. Don't tell anyone that though because it is embarrassing. Thanks.

fool for you

Yeah so I got punk'd today. It was funny. And I totally forgot it was April fools day. Oddly, I had just been watching punk'd on mtv. But my punk'd did not involve movie stars like Ashton Kutcher. (Note to reader: I am very proud of the pop culture reference I just made, yes, I have been watching cable television, AND I figured out who "Nick & Jessica" are too, okay I am trying to get with the decade people.)

Movies, film, ah ah ah mesmerizing. When I was in the middle of my love affair with film I could watch movies all day, one after another. I have been slowly weaning myself back onto the celluloid. The romance, the drama, the music. It is a whole other world. The tragic ironic twists some plots have. So romantic. The beautiful actors and actresses, lovely, lovely it is all so lovely. I do understand why people are compelled to watch night after night the light playing on the screen, because it is so much more, so richer and if you are lucky it reminds you of the beauty in your own life. And if you are unlucky it reminds you of that too. But it also gives you an alternative and an invitation into a different world if only for 90 minutes.

the joys of my weird job

The problem with a stranger that only knows you from your place of employment while you are in your somewhat public persona calling you by your name is that a) he doesn't know you! b) he only knows your name because he overheard someone else call your name, not because you ever told him your name c) you don't know his name and don't want to know his name.

Don't you hate it when someone hands you a big bag of freshly baked cookies, that she baked for someone else and says "It's alright if you eat some." But, looks at you suspiciously as if the minute she walks away you are going scarf the entire bag. I mean really, don't give me the cookies if you are just going to make me feel guilty! Hey, wait, is this a trick? I swear this happened to me today. And in case you didn't know, chocolate chip cookies are my most favorite food in the world. Is this like a candid camera kind of thing?

celebrate the knee socks

I celebrate my hot pink knee socks because, together as a pair, hiding under my pants, they are my most favorite thing in the world – because they are hot pink and they are knee socks. My least favorite things in the world are excel spread sheets. Persistent is apparently a very good thing to be. All the successful people on the radio talk shows say so. When asked why they are so successful and what they would say to people that are not as successful as they are, they say, "Persistency pays off." I am putting faith in this concept since most other concepts have failed me recently. Hooray for persistency and pink knee socks; together they can't be beat.

creepy

A quote from the NY Times, that unrelenting source of entertainment and offensive comments:

"As you're well aware, today he surged," acknowledged Maj. Gen. Rick Lynch, the military spokesman, using his preferred pronoun to describe the amorphous insurgency. "He still has that capability."

ancient and unfun

I am rescinding the work is fun comment I made yesterday. Work is not fun. Today there was a cobwebby fog binding me to my chair rooting me in unpleasantness. I felt especially not charming and not clever. I did however feel old. Very old. So old that the sleater kinney song was mocking me.

fun fun fun

We almost had the tuna melt and french fries. Instead we opted for the healthy vegi chinese food. It was bland and soggy. And Vegi chinese food does not come with french fries. I hate making bad dining decisions.

I missed the event I was looking forward to attending tonight because it actually happened last night. I am having trouble keeping track of the days. Instead I got some work done with my partner in crime. And I reminded myself that it is fun working on projects with other people. It is.

my guitar teacher

Back when I was in love with San Francisco, I took classical guitar lessons from a very cool teacher that lived near twin peaks. This was back when everything was significant and coincidental for me. My teacher had an advanced degree in theology and we spent half of every lesson talking about life and death. In the middle of one lesson he took a phone call, which was a very unusual thing for him to do. He came back into the room teary eyed and told me that a friend of his had just died. Rather than send me home, he insisted on continuing the lesson. I wish I could remember what we talked about. I do remember that he blurted out at one point "Maybe I'm not the teacher for you, here I spend most of the lesson talking" to which I replied, "You are definitely the teacher for me." Driving home from the lesson I saw San Francisco from above and its jewel-like glittery lights all layed out below in this fantastic city scape. I literally always had to take a deep breath as I descended from twin peaks and made my way to my room in the drafty victorian.

pretty flowers

Today as I was listening to a woman decry one-sided unobjective support of Venezuela I realized how marginalized the leftist movements are in this country. It made me want to leave for somewhere else. I feel my interactions with real people in the bay area are almost non-existent, so I may have a warped view. Why does everyone seem unreal? I still don't understand how most people don't see the serious flaws in our culture. Maybe it's because the flowers here are so pretty.

little trouble makers

I came upon the best reason ever to have children. Apparently, in Victorian literary families it was a common practice for children to write a family newspaper or magazine for one's family. Harper's magazine published a few of Virginia Woolf's articles she wrote for her family newspaper when she was only 10; they were wonderfully funny. Theoretically, if I had a few little ones I could put them to work writing pithy articles for my entertainment. I love this idea.

wish i was taller, wish i was..

It seems that the fates are having a little fun with my life. Rolling around all the options and keeping me in suspense or more accurately suspended. Occasionally a person can twirl up some action, but not right now. No, now we must wait. On a brighter note, a person in my life has the ability to annoy me to an obscene degree. Her whiny voice rakes the insides of my ears and reflects the vapid emptiness of her lobes. What is the bright part you may ask? Well, she ain't gonna be around for a while.

I was standing on my bed today to look in the mirror (logistics problem with my room, honest, I do this very rarely) and it struck me what it would be like to be taller. It could be very powerful. Although you might start to get a false sense of untouchability. Think I'll stick with a special someone giving me piggy-back rides.

step off buddhist

I had an experience particular to california the other day. A white buddhist lady got all condescending on me. As in spiritually condescending. There is nothing more annoying than encountering the self-righteousness of the new agey. I could just see the bubble thoughts above her head rife with pity for my un-buddha-like nature, for my un-bodhisattva-ness. If she could see my bubble thoughts they would've been saying: You are not Tibetan lady! I don't care how many prayer flags you hang on your porch. Bring it on, I bet I could meditate you under the table!

*note: I have defended buddhism many times to fellow anti-authoritarians, this post in no way questions buddhist practice only new agey obnoxious buddhist practice (the same could be said for any beliefs that bind themselves with judgement – veganism, yoga, smoking, nonsmoking, anarchism, liberalism, on and on and on.)

whiskey

It is really cold. I live in a dark room. Working so much leaves me little time for thinking or strategizing. When I am not working I want to sit in one place and stare at the wall while under the covers and wish someone was around to get drunk with.

Back to the V for Vendetta question as to get it out of my head. There is one review that sums up pretty accurately what I think here. To add to it, the problems I see are thus:

1) No actual values or ideals are articulated.
2) You know its gonna be one of those typical mainstream movies when you hear Natalie Portman's opening voice-over, which is emblematic of such a formulaic movie, which causes me to wonder, who is greenlighting these movies? Isn't anyone watching these and saying, uh it could be a lot better *before* releasing it to the world. Obviously it is not for a lack of funding. Have people forgotten what good movies are? Or maybe no one cares.
3) Okay this goes with number 2, but the acting/script/believability of the characters was lame-o.
4) Making homosexuality the target of repression may pull on your heartstrings, but does not make for a nuanced reflection of the repression people really face under their governments, including co-opting indentity politics making everyone an equal opportunity cog whatever your gender/race/sexual orientation.
5) V says near the beginning "I've never forgotten the power of words" or something close to that. And this is the particularly disturbing part of the movie to me – manipulation. V embodies a charismatic manipulative character, this to me is antithetical to anarchism and really one of the grave dangers I see especially within anarchist cliques. So unfortunately maybe this is the part that most accurately reflects anarchist communities in the u.s. (oh say it isn't so!)
6) Evey says she misses the man and the script blunders on about this romantic relationship between Evey and V (which does not work at all), although one of the central tenets of the movie is that it is not about an individual rather an idea. This goes into the wishwashy-what-the-hell-is-this-movie-trying-to-say category that the review I link to does well in explaining.
7) I couldn't help wondering if Natalie Portman was gonna f-up her fake english accent and whether she was okay with her pronounced nipples in the ridiculous dancing scene. What up with that. In case you are wondering, Berkeley audiences did giggle when V uttered the Emma Goldman line. But alas, Emma he was not. Emma actually had ideals and was able to articulate them brilliantly.

Okay so a few positive things:
1) It was entertaining in the posh hollywood way, although it must be said that I am easily entertained. It was even a little exciting to see a movie grappling with hinting at an interesting idea yet never figuring out what that idea is.
2) If anyone has been hiding under a rock for the past 6 years in the U.S. and still does not understand how blowing something up has culturally symbolic meaning and can change reality, well this movie touches on that.
3) If anyone has been hiding under a rock for the past 6 years and has not figured out the government is fear-mongering as an excuse to get rid of those pesky civil liberties we used to enjoy but take for granted, this movie touches on that.
4) Cool knife-slashing sound effects.

Back to staring at the wall wishing for whiskey and a person to drink it with.

serious problem

I think I've forgotten how to have fun. How do you solve such a problem? I told so many people "no" tonight that my head hurts.

pink is not red and black

Imagine you are expecting to bring home lox schmear for your bagels, but instead you open the container only to encounter strawberry schmear. My disappointment in V for Vendetta is something like this feeling. Mostly I had high hopes because i liked the posters which is embarrassing enough to admit. But, there are more reasons for my disappointment that I feel compelled to outline shortly.

escape

Sometimes the energy around us changes. Three little earthquakes occured in the East Bay today. Things feel uneasy. Events occur that have no explanation. I have lived in 8 different residences since I moved to the Bay Area. I have experienced a number of unpleasant things; ghosts, rats, stalkers, pit bulls, and now a rock thrower. But when these things occur there always seems to be a deeper meaning.

Luckily people and cats tend to keep me grounded. There is no need to send me your sawed off arm after writing on it "i really like you". Consistency is much better than that. I will also accept cookies as a show of affection. On another disconcerting note, V for Vendetta was not about anarchism. I was so disappointed. There was no actual expression of 'the ideal' that was talked about in the movie. The hero seemed to be mostly about vengeance and only higher ideals were very subtly hinted at. Again Sophie Scholl: The Last Days did a much better job of professing a different vision of society. Long live freedom!

change of topic

Was anyone else bothered by the message of "The Hero"? It seems sort of uncool to promote conquering other lands to 'unite' all people. And to argue that it is okay to use militaristic forced means in order to do so. But then again I do not know my history. Perhaps it was very dark times in the other lands. Either way though having one all powerful emperor is not the way to go. Although I did like the message that says a true warrior is someone that picks up a sword for the sole reason of being able to put it down. Most anti-authoritarians will dismiss the whole concept of 'hero'. I can't say that it isn't attractive to me. Not that one person is so special, but more like anyone can be one. I think it is very helpful to have examples.

not feeling safe in your house sucks.

Not feeling safe in your house sucks.

Whether it is earthquakes, serial killers, stalkers, or rock throwers, california is ripe with unsafe house feelings.

wtf

I don't know how to say this metaphorically, so I'll just say it. Some fucker threw a rock through my roommate's bedroom window tonight. It was a huge window and a large rock. She was sitting in bed when it happened; Luckily she is okay. The only people that read this blog are close friends, so I'm sure you will hear details soon. And Miss J., I know you are probably not reading this, but in case you are, I was really really upset when I got your message today and probably did not communicate that very vividly.

future room

My future room will be painted with warm bright clean colors. There will be a desk where I will write down clear incisive thoughts and there will be a hard drive on which I will work on video. It will have a lot of light, you will be able to see tree leaves from the window, and perhaps watch the seasons change (?). I will have a real bed. My annoying cat will run around the aparment and my non-annoying roommate will pet him.

cookies make things better

How many Newman-o's is it healthy to eat in one day? Probably removing them from my bedroom may help me stay below the recommended daily allowance.

Heirarchy, academia, privileged space, oh my god sometimes I just don't want to be told what to do. It boggles my mind how some people think hierarchy and status are a good idea, of course it is *always* the people on top of the heap that feel this way (and people who think they will be on top soon). And the university industry is something else. I had no idea when I was in college what an ass I was.

Really I need to keep my bitterness in check. Maybe I should go to the "BF" and stop my belly-aching about the scene. Because to be honest it wasn't that bad the other night, in fact it was kind of comforting even though someone did call me comrade.

winter in bezerkeley (without heat)

A true friend is someone who will watch me stick my head in a laundry basket full of fresh-out-of-the-dryer clothes for warmth, laugh at me, and then try it herself only to exclaim, "It is warm!"

don't call me comrade

I am experiencing fatigue. Fatigue so bad that I thought I might fall asleep eating breakfast, fall asleep on bart, fall asleep eating lunch, fall asleep at the grocery store, you get the idea. I even drank a bunch of oj and had a multi-vitamin but that just made me sleepy.

What I want to talk about today, despite my fatigue, is my inability to really get at what I am trying to say.

For example, my last post about my first friend in California really was about more than what I wrote. I have been thinking about the "us" vs. "them" mentality and how naturally people form groups. And how do you know if your group is correct. This begs the question of identity. And do the people that claim me, or insist on being my friend are they creating my identity for me? Am I just a victim of suggestion?

A few things enter into this contemplation. Did you read that article about the popular sleeping drug that causes people to rise from their beds in the middle of the night and ravenously sleep-eat? These people, apparently driven by their animal instinct, devour whatever is in their kitchen in a very unhuman like way, ripping apart packages and cramming food into their mouths. The people that experienced this "eating disorder" (as the drug co. likes to call it) were so ashamed of their behaviour most of them did not accept they were doing this.

The other part of this contemplation comes to us from R.D. Laing and a study he did concerning therapeutic communities that showed a pattern that emerges from group living. First a group sense of euphoria abounds, then ultimately people turn against each other, especially against the leader, and ultimately the leader is ousted from the group and must leave.

It is disturbing that human behaviour is predictable; If our actions are predictable, then where does our identity reside? If we can do things while asleep (even if under the influence of a drug) that we would never do awake, is that really us, if it is not, then who is acting out? A new movie about an amnesiac (Unknown White Male) grapples with some of these questions of identity.

Sophie Scholl: The Last Days, a movie I saw recently, plays into this puzzle as well. The Nazi group-think got a hold of people. The intense pressure of conforming to the majority even though your personal moral compass may tell you the majority is wrong. But then perhaps it is very easy for people to have their moral compass hi-jacked. Indeed some people may not even have one to begin with, or they may use other values as its mores (superiority? hatred? fear?).

So, where does all this contemplation lead us? Is identity constructed by the people and things that surround you rather than from your inside?

I think this is all surfacing for me this week because a group I consider myself a part of is convening in San Francisco. I am not attending. I am boycotting. Mostly because the ideals that speak to my heart are not lived for real by a lot of these people. And I am practicing being something without other people telling me that is what I am.

my first friend in california

Occasionally people claim me as their own. They say, "You are one of us." Sometimes they arrogantly add on, "You may not know it yet." More often than not it seems to be true, but maybe I am open to manipulation. My first friend in California was an 11 year old Vietnamese-American girl. She insisted on becoming my friend whether I liked it or not. She knocked and knocked on the wall of fear and bigotry I had built up until it finally broke down. With her thick glasses and pony tail down to her knees, she insisted that we were to be friends. And she was right, we became the best of friends. Is it that people recognize a kindred spirit, a connection that I am slow to grasp? I often resist, and unfortunately I am sometimes careless with people that have chosen me with such certainty.

hopeful things

I've been working to make money. I am tired. This is why I will leave two hopeful events here instead of writing because I have no energy at the moment. I only have enough energy to longingly wait for summertime to come in a future city-home. If you haven't heard, there is no summer here. San Francisco is a city without a summer.

Hopeful thing #1:
Mass feminist demonstrations in Italy have returned to the streets and piazzas thirty years after their earlier wave - taking on Berlusconi and Benedict to defend abortion rights and fight social regression. In Milan, on 14 January 2006, some 250,000 demonstrators, mainly women, took to the streets, to defend law 194, the 1978 law decriminalising abortion, and the principle of women's reproductive, social and economic self-determination.

Hopeful thing #2:
Chicago IL - Upwards of 200,000 people marched through downtown Chicago, March 10, chanting, "Si, se puede!," meaning, "Yes we can!" defeat the Sensenbrenner bill. This legislation, HR (House Resolution) 4437, was passed in December by the U.S. House of Representatives and looks ready to move quickly through the Senate. If passed, it would make it a crime for organizations or individuals to assist undocumented immigrants.

when light hits emulsion

What do you say to someone that captures moments so beautifully that you wonder if he has a special kind of eyes that see light, patterns and forms in ways that you can't? What do you say to someone who has an immense talent and does the thing you want to do but better than you will ever do it? And what does this person see when he looks at you?

know your enemy

I want to write a profound entry about how the state controls us with the threat of imprisonmment. And how having over 2 million people in prison has a devastating effect on our development as people. And how we were all born under this system and it stymies each and every one of us. But, I can't really do that topic justice.

I can reminisce about Los Angeles. A city I love and hate. A Rage Against the Machine song came on the radio today and it brought me back to the DNC and their live performance outside the staples center. Towards the end of the concert the police rioted and for the first time in my life I ran in the streets with hundreds of other people; running from fear of being beaten or shot with rubber bullets. Downtown LA was desolate that night. Except for the eery spotlights shining between the buildings making it look like a movie set. When you turned the wrong corner you caught a glimpse of line after line of shiny LA riot police in formation like an army. Helicopters, spotlights, metallic buildings, riot police and people running. Reconvening with my friends later, one of us had a broken shoulder, broken by a cop on a horse. If you can envision a fully plated riot policeman on a horse using a baton to beat a girl holding a camera. WTF. RATM never sounded so good.

head for the hills

Last week in a bar, I asked the person next to me, "What urls do you own?" and he answered with a baffled look. Until that moment, I assumed everyone owned atleast one url. Apparently, this is a falsity culled from living through the 'dot com boom' in the bay area.

I have owned several pieces of "web real estate" since the mid 90s.
I wonder how else I am scarred from the boom besides my url collection and having become normalized to outrageous rents. Back in the day when the internet was a baby, I mostly used email to write poetry. I kid you not. I found filling out the "subject" field a continous source of creative titillation and irony. Me and a friend would send each other email haikus back and forth to each other daily. Poetry seemed to be the most natural form for an email to take. Now it seems silly. Although perhaps no sillier than a blog.

If you were in San Francisco in the late 90s you probably participated somehow in the yuppie eradication project. Whether it was keying an SUV or something more dangerous most people acted out against the dot com invasion, unless you were part of it. If you were part of it, you were 22 fresh out of college and making 100k a year. Yeah. Many people got rich quick. Then when it all crashed they were able to live off their earnings unemployed for a few years. Kinda like a gold rush for sure. Other people got displaced from their homes and/or did some creative actions against the encroachment. Its fun to have someone drunkenly confess some crazy thing they did against the dot com boomers in the 90s. There has been speculation lately about whether a new dot com boom is beginning. Our favorite uncrowded local watering hole is becoming crowded and the patronage is looking suspiciously well dressed.

dolly we understand

Yesterday, two separate people were crossing the street, each of them talking to the air. One was saying "No, I can tell you it ain't that way!" and the other saying "Yes, I told you that is what happened!" One person was talking on their cell phone and the other was raving mad. Apparently, behaviour that was considered unacceptable is now perfectly acceptable. That may be a small comfort if I'm ever at the point of having make-believe conversations with myself.

In observation of International Women's day, I met and had dinner with some fabulous women. Lots of things were discussed, only one of which being Dolly Parton's appearance at the oscars and whether women in the spotlight should be called out for having cosmetic surgery (a la pink's new video). Do they have a responsibility as public figures? Or if we should not criticize, but have compassion for these women and the immense pressure they are under to be (and stay) in the public spotlight; and instead concentrate on changing the system that makes them feel they need to do that in order to stay in the public eye. I have to say I am on the fence. I dig the compassion for other women thing, but especially in my private life I try to stay away from people that choose to perpetuate the patriarchy, and that includes women that insist on having competitive critical relationships with other women; don't need it. But does that make me critical and then perpetuating the patriarchy by not supporting those other women? Eh, I don't think so.

The best quote from the women's day dinner was, "He had a dick the size of a burritto." We were in the mission, so you know, it makes sense.

movies that make you cry

Go see Sophie Scholl - The Final Days. What a terrific depiction of a strong young woman. And the movie was really about her. It wasn't about her relationship to a man. It was about her inner turmoil and unwavering belief in an ideal. She stood up for her beliefs and did not rat out her friends in order to save herself. How many would be so brave. This movie is very relevant for things going on now that I will not get into here, except to mention that the fight for human dignity and freedom is one that spans our entire human history and continues to this day. This movie really contrasts with the simplified depiction of Pocahontas in The New World. I hate to break it to you, but young girl as a metaphor for virgin territory is not original and is not interesting. More complex women characters please.

doesn't mean nothing

I hate when people say "J School". Mostly I hate when people going to "J School" say "J School".

yo

Cherish the friends surrounding you. Dear moments were had tonight; remembering one particular person that did a drive-by whirlwind passing-through of our lives briefly, yet made a significant mark. There are no words to sum up the feeling of precariousness being human curses you with or the weight that signifies the work that still needs to be done when we are all dead and buried. Why does the heart open up. Who the fuck knows. And when do you put the mask down and be real or make the call.

not wallowing

In an attempt to not wallow in the death and sadness theme I present a list of a few things I appreciated today in no particular order: Really good falafel, antibiotic ointment, my nondescript shoes, a really cute boy in Chicago, the fact that I am not the homeless woman I see all the time that is exactly my age, hershey's kisses, my lack of chronic pain, avocado green sauce, not getting another rejection letter, and moss.

outraged

When someone dies "before their time" (whatever that means) or really when someone dies at any time I feel a sense of outrage at the loss of life. What is even more outrageous is that the world keeps going on. People don't notice that someone died unless you tell them. There is no rip in the time space continuum. There is no bright banner in the sky. Everything keeps functioning. A person can exist one minute and not exist the next minute. That last sentence is enough to mull over for a lifetime.

mercury goes retrograde

My cat always gets super sweet and cuddly when he is in pain. Maybe it is a natural instinct for a person, um, I mean CAT, to get close to the person who makes them feel safe when they feel bad. Although, that instinct often competes with the urge to retract and hide behind an inner fortress separate and alone. I mean, If you have an inner fortress you may as well use it. And if you don't have an inner fortress I suggest building one right away. Hiding under the bed until it is constructed is an option too. Hm, this sounds like a horoscope.

May I point out: Mercury goes retrograde March 1 and stays that way until the 25th.

Okay, maybe San Francisco is the only city that Michelle Tea writes horoscopes for, but maybe I won't need tiny messages full of made-up significance and implied meaning in a new city. That's right.

fried chicken

Earthquakes are not fun. It is one reason that I want to leave California. There have been several small earthquakes in the past week, which puts everyone on edge. Is it good that the fault is letting out pressure or does it mean the big one is coming? I think about earthquakes a lot, where I am, what would happen if the building I was in collapsed, would I have enough time to get under something or outside. What would it be like to be in bart – Nobody wants to die on bart, especially after paying the ridiculously high fare (expensive public transportation = another reason to leave the bay area). Or everytime I cross the bridge in a car (the same bridge that collapsed in the last big earthquake... why is it taking them so long to build the new bridge!). The worst thing about earthquakes is that they are a constant source of stress, even if you are not actively thinking about it, the possibility of them occuring at any moment hangs out in the recesses of your mind. I'm sure there is some new-agey argument for bad 'energies' emanating from the fault lines.

Not that I am obssessed about uncontrollable things ... although I am planning on trying Bake Sale Bettie's fried chicken sandwich before the bird flu gets out of hand.

performing ritual

Trinh T. Minh-ha - damn. I almost walked out becaue you were incomprehensible. But, the woman next to me said that it takes a while to set in, it is a lecture in poetry. The Fourth Dimension, an essay film about Japan, was worth the wait. Apparently, I love essay films. It was every bit as wonderful as I remember Reassemblage being. The tempo of the images, the drums, the themes of 'performing gender', the digital realm, ritual, the 'choreography of everyday life' and so many other things you touch upon – the shots of the women trustfully sound asleep on the train – it was all delicious. And then I found this essay, which make me like you even more. I guess the Bay Area gets one point for having you as a professor.

"Silence is so commonly set in opposition with speech. Silence as a will not to say or a will to unsay and as a language of its own has barely been explored."

– excerpt from the Trinh T. Minh-ha essay, Not You/Like You: Post-Colonial Women and the Interlocking Questions of Identity and Difference

currency tv

My brain stopped as the Louis Armstrong song played, and I felt forced to stop reading. I had to just listen.

I was reminded of a musician friend who listens to music (anything he can get his hands on, any genre from any time), with eyes closed, intently, unable to do anything else but listen. I can tell he is receiving a huge amount of information that I am not. He tilts his head and says "Hmmm" and "Ah" and "Ohh". I struggle to hear what he is hearing, but he is sensing the music more than just listening to it.

On a totally different topic, I think the most interesting thing about the movie The New World is the depiction of the moment of first contact between the peoples. I have thought about quite a bit, like a lot of people, what the exact moment may have been like when Native Americans and Europeans encountered each other for the first time. This film is gratifying in a way because it depicts the moment, whether historically accurate or not, I have no idea (I did poke around on the internet though, and the costumes do seem to be somewhat historically accurate - if you can trust the internet for that kind of thing). The period of colonization and plundering of the Americas, and the wealth that was shuttled back to Europe, is what made capitalism really possible. And those pustule-laden gross English kids in the movie is the new face of capitalism - ew!. The whole idea of currency is such a f-ing trip. Why did some people decide that gold and silver was so damn valuable? Why not something else?

v is for voltairine

"Good-natured satirists often remark that 'the best way to cure an anarchist is to give him a fortune.' Substituting 'corrupt' for 'cure,' I would subscribe to this; and believing myself to be no better than the rest of men, I earnestly hope that as so far it has been my lot to work, and work hard, and for no fortune, so I may continue to the end; for let me keep the intensity of my soul, with all the limitations of my material conditions, rather than become the spineless and idealless creation of material needs." – Voltairine deCleyre, excerpted from The Making of an Anarchist

Oh, to be as steadfast as Voltairine. To have an amulet made up of the intensity of my soul to ward off the electric blanket temptation.

hold on to your heart

The best thing about the Berkeley farmer's market (besides blue bottle coffee) is the view of the hills between the buildings. It allows you to imagine you are any place besides Berkeley. Sometimes it looks like Japan and sometimes it looks like a city in South America. It helps to have never been to Japan or South America. The second best thing is the fiddlers. The third best thing is the joke you can buy for a dollar. The fourth best thing is the cinnamon donuts. The vegetables and fruit are good too, but mostly I just go for the coffee and the view of the hills.

california magic

Stephen was holding a flower in his hands when I ran into him one evening outside his house. He said that he had gone to Santa Cruz on his motorbike, but never reached his destination because his bike had broken down on the way. I exclaimed, "Oh how terrible!" But then I realized he had a huge grin on his face and was radiating magic, as sometimes Stephen could do. He said, "No Lisa, I had the most amazing time." When his bike broke down, he pulled over, and then for some unknown reason walked off the side of the road and into a meadow. In the meadow was a beautiful girl picking flowers, as if she was awaiting him. Stephen stayed in the meadow with the girl the entire afternoon.

Stephen told me this story many years ago. He was one of my favorite people I have met here. He transformed space, time, and moments into new things. He died very young, which was a great loss to many people. He is influential in my experience of the west coast and what can be made possible with the intersection of art and space (and a little magic).

anticipating nostalgia

Nostalgia for a place before leaving it. There must be a word for this feeling. Lately, however, I mostly desire to flee california as soon as possible.

As I was walking through the Presidio on a beautiful cloudless day with a view of the Golden Gate bridge, while busy nonprofit workers bustled around full of purpose, I got the feeling of not belonging here. As if I had expired sometime in the past few years, and a ghosty person that looks like me now floats around pretending to be real. I've already moved on, existing in a kind of waiting space. Sometimes I think people notice. It seems the purposeful nonprofit workers can tell that I am no longer purposeful.