So I'm not the best blogger in the world, by far. I'm an avid taker and I don't give back. My 'puter's broke & I haven't figgurd a solution yet. Thankfully, there isn't much that needs to be reported on, other than my new decision to be vocal about how irritating it is to listen to people's racist and sexist comments. I swear, it is a constant in my daily life, and I guess that if people feel comfortable speaking that way around me, I'm gonna feel comfortable saying that I think it's stupid.
I'm at work and this behavior is highly illegal, so I'll sign off for now. Until next time, try this: walk somewhere instead of driving and count how many wonderful things you notice that you would have missed in the car. (This is directed at myself, but if you want to try, go ahead.) TTFN
29.9.07
23.9.07
San Diego, part 2
I thought that it was fortuitous to see a play called "San Diego" on the eve of our departure to that city, especially considering that it was my firtst time. Going to San Diego, I mean.
I found a hotel that was really cheap, and instead of thinking that that indicated a "to-good-to-be-true" situation, I truly believed that the world of travel had finally evolved to give me a no-frills, clean, modern, chic, option. The web site promised me these things, and the gentleman on the other end of the line seemed to promise them as well.
We started our journey in a leisurely fashion, and, thouroughly enjoying the idea of not having an agenda, we took the pretty way. Stopped off in Encinitas for a little surfing and music at the roxy jam, then dipped ourselves in the ocean for a quick pick-me-up. I found out that my shiny lame (avec un accent grave) bathing suit doesn't work when wet and showed some skin to the yokles, much to Bri's enjoyment. I mean chagrin.
We arrrived at the hotel, and found that they had misplaced a letter. S. The newly renovated historical building did boast some glorious architecture, and a colorful blend of traveling students, crazy old women, recently single middle-aged men, and recently released criminals. "Didn't I tell you about the shared bathrooms on the phone?" innocently quested the "concierge". No. "So this is really like a hoStel?" I smiled back at him sweetly.
I quickly placed the bf on the bed and ran to the corner market for a bottle of wine and some appetizers.
We drank, we nibbled, we were going to be ok.
We got hotted up and left the building. At the front desk, my same "Guy" told us where we could catch the trolly. After scaring the bejeezums out of us about ending up in "the wrong part of town", a place that he couldn't actually locate on my map, we found the trolly and made our way to the Gaslamp district.
The Gaslamp district is party central! There were so many resaraunts and bars and people just spilling out everywhere. We finally found an inviting thai place and continued to drink and eat. It was really good, but I think Georges Thai Bistro in my hood might be better. Then we went to the oldest bar in San Diego, formerly owned and operated by Wyatt Earp, complete with brothel upstairs. We switched to liquor and I smoked a cigarette. I'm beginning to realise that I can tell if I've had too much to drink if I think it's a good idea to smoke. We hobbled back to our luxury suite.
This morning, Bri needed breakfast fast, and somehow we convinced ourselves that it was okay to go to the cafe attached to our hostel. It was very good! Yay! Then we walked down to the ocean and looked at the boats, it was cool. Then we went to little Italy, and that area is very hip.
Then, we went to Old Town. This was a big highlight for me, because I love old stuff. We walked around and looked, we had margaritas ay the Cosmopolitan, we bouight shot glasses in anticipation of my b-day. I found a little shop that had dip your own candles! I made an owl. We had dinner at this amazing restarant I had a chile relleno that knocked my socks off.
A wonderful, adventurous weekend! I will definately go back to San Diego, but next time we're staying at the W.
I found a hotel that was really cheap, and instead of thinking that that indicated a "to-good-to-be-true" situation, I truly believed that the world of travel had finally evolved to give me a no-frills, clean, modern, chic, option. The web site promised me these things, and the gentleman on the other end of the line seemed to promise them as well.
We started our journey in a leisurely fashion, and, thouroughly enjoying the idea of not having an agenda, we took the pretty way. Stopped off in Encinitas for a little surfing and music at the roxy jam, then dipped ourselves in the ocean for a quick pick-me-up. I found out that my shiny lame (avec un accent grave) bathing suit doesn't work when wet and showed some skin to the yokles, much to Bri's enjoyment. I mean chagrin.
We arrrived at the hotel, and found that they had misplaced a letter. S. The newly renovated historical building did boast some glorious architecture, and a colorful blend of traveling students, crazy old women, recently single middle-aged men, and recently released criminals. "Didn't I tell you about the shared bathrooms on the phone?" innocently quested the "concierge". No. "So this is really like a hoStel?" I smiled back at him sweetly.
I quickly placed the bf on the bed and ran to the corner market for a bottle of wine and some appetizers.
We drank, we nibbled, we were going to be ok.
We got hotted up and left the building. At the front desk, my same "Guy" told us where we could catch the trolly. After scaring the bejeezums out of us about ending up in "the wrong part of town", a place that he couldn't actually locate on my map, we found the trolly and made our way to the Gaslamp district.
The Gaslamp district is party central! There were so many resaraunts and bars and people just spilling out everywhere. We finally found an inviting thai place and continued to drink and eat. It was really good, but I think Georges Thai Bistro in my hood might be better. Then we went to the oldest bar in San Diego, formerly owned and operated by Wyatt Earp, complete with brothel upstairs. We switched to liquor and I smoked a cigarette. I'm beginning to realise that I can tell if I've had too much to drink if I think it's a good idea to smoke. We hobbled back to our luxury suite.
This morning, Bri needed breakfast fast, and somehow we convinced ourselves that it was okay to go to the cafe attached to our hostel. It was very good! Yay! Then we walked down to the ocean and looked at the boats, it was cool. Then we went to little Italy, and that area is very hip.
Then, we went to Old Town. This was a big highlight for me, because I love old stuff. We walked around and looked, we had margaritas ay the Cosmopolitan, we bouight shot glasses in anticipation of my b-day. I found a little shop that had dip your own candles! I made an owl. We had dinner at this amazing restarant I had a chile relleno that knocked my socks off.
A wonderful, adventurous weekend! I will definately go back to San Diego, but next time we're staying at the W.
21.9.07
Standing Ovations
I went to see a play last night at the Rude Guerrilla Theatre. It is right up the road in the historic arts district of Santa Ana, and in my mind, this is my town's answer to the much missed and irreplaceable Shoe Box Theatre at 135 Pearl in Btown.
I have only been to one other play since I've been here. (I know, I'm rapping my knuckles with a switch as I write.) It was Hamlet, at the South Coast Repertory. And that was amazing! Big money, big acting, big architecture it was very very big. We drank champagne out of flutes in the reception area and everyone was fabulous.
But this was different. This was subversive, offensive, and made no apologies for any of it. The play is called "San Diego". The actors were invested, some more than others, but all enough that I was IN it. That is one of the best things about small theatre. You are within feet of the action. You are a part of it. The subtle nuances of expression that are lost in a large theatre, they are right there for you.
A quick review: The play begins with a sort of acting exercise; a physical and emotional run-through with no dialogue for about three minutes. Then begins the author's tale of a traveler in San Diego and some of the people he comes into contact with. There are many themes that are touched upon: small comforts, coincidence and synchronicity, the way people treat strangers and loved ones, what family means, what crazy means, and over all what it means to reach for god/love/a sense of wholeness. The rhythm of the play has a soap opera feel in the timing of the scenes and how quickly you are moved back and forth between them. This worked well for me, mostly because I am unaccustomed to that style, and the play was long, 2.5 hrs. It would have dragged without that speed. There were some characters that seemed extraneous, and the play would benefit from their removal. Namely, the scene and characters from the airline company. The concept was interesting, but didn't have enough to do with the rest of the play, and only seemed to serve the purpose of drawing obvious lines for the observer. But this was a beautiful play, executed with love and fervour. I thoroughly enjoyed it all.
At the end, the applause was enthusiastic, but there was no ovation. I thought that the actors deserved an ovation. I think that most performances do. But the thing about ovations is that they are a lemming-like action. Someone has to start it, and then the fire catches and slowly others stand. Granted, an ovation is an expression of movement, how the experience affected you and compels you to stand and shout "BRAVO!" But actors work so hard, directors, lighting people, sound. They slave for peanuts, mostly, and give so much of themselves, that's why I think we should stand for every performance. And in this day and age, there is so little real spirit in entertainment. More reason to ovate.
I have only been to one other play since I've been here. (I know, I'm rapping my knuckles with a switch as I write.) It was Hamlet, at the South Coast Repertory. And that was amazing! Big money, big acting, big architecture it was very very big. We drank champagne out of flutes in the reception area and everyone was fabulous.
But this was different. This was subversive, offensive, and made no apologies for any of it. The play is called "San Diego". The actors were invested, some more than others, but all enough that I was IN it. That is one of the best things about small theatre. You are within feet of the action. You are a part of it. The subtle nuances of expression that are lost in a large theatre, they are right there for you.
A quick review: The play begins with a sort of acting exercise; a physical and emotional run-through with no dialogue for about three minutes. Then begins the author's tale of a traveler in San Diego and some of the people he comes into contact with. There are many themes that are touched upon: small comforts, coincidence and synchronicity, the way people treat strangers and loved ones, what family means, what crazy means, and over all what it means to reach for god/love/a sense of wholeness. The rhythm of the play has a soap opera feel in the timing of the scenes and how quickly you are moved back and forth between them. This worked well for me, mostly because I am unaccustomed to that style, and the play was long, 2.5 hrs. It would have dragged without that speed. There were some characters that seemed extraneous, and the play would benefit from their removal. Namely, the scene and characters from the airline company. The concept was interesting, but didn't have enough to do with the rest of the play, and only seemed to serve the purpose of drawing obvious lines for the observer. But this was a beautiful play, executed with love and fervour. I thoroughly enjoyed it all.
At the end, the applause was enthusiastic, but there was no ovation. I thought that the actors deserved an ovation. I think that most performances do. But the thing about ovations is that they are a lemming-like action. Someone has to start it, and then the fire catches and slowly others stand. Granted, an ovation is an expression of movement, how the experience affected you and compels you to stand and shout "BRAVO!" But actors work so hard, directors, lighting people, sound. They slave for peanuts, mostly, and give so much of themselves, that's why I think we should stand for every performance. And in this day and age, there is so little real spirit in entertainment. More reason to ovate.
16.9.07
First Show
Last night I had my first show in California. It felt really good. There were a few minor mishaps, but they didn't interfere with the amazing feeling I get from being able to play my music. And some very special people showed up to support, it was a great time.
I'm really excited to get electric again, we've been playing all the songs accoustic for this show because Bass Mike was gone. But I want to add some synth and try some new things now that the songs are written. I really busted my butt to get them out, it was good to have a fire lit and put my nose to the grindstone. Usually I'm so all about letting things happen naturally and not forcing things out that aren't ready. But it's nice to see that there is a lot there that is ready when I need it.
Next step too is doing a myspace page. Dear God.
I'm really excited to get electric again, we've been playing all the songs accoustic for this show because Bass Mike was gone. But I want to add some synth and try some new things now that the songs are written. I really busted my butt to get them out, it was good to have a fire lit and put my nose to the grindstone. Usually I'm so all about letting things happen naturally and not forcing things out that aren't ready. But it's nice to see that there is a lot there that is ready when I need it.
Next step too is doing a myspace page. Dear God.
14.9.07
I've been writing. Just not here. I've been writing lyrics and poems and sorting through prejudice in my written journal that Hurricane gave me ten thousand years ago. Soe just posted about the fall, and believe it or not, I can feel it here as well. I was still in my bikini all day yesterday, but there was a cool breeze blowing through our little hood, and the color of the sky seemed crisper.
I pulled one of my tomatoes, and replaced it with an avocado that's been shooting on the windowsill. I have some sprouting purple potatoes that are next in line, I'm letting them shoot inside and hopefully the last two tomatoes will be finished bearing by the time they're ready to go in the soil. Mummy said to just put them in the dirt, but I'm not ready and I want to try this experiment, we'll see...
The other day I stepped onto the back patio and I saw something dark writhing on the tile. Upon closer inspection, I found that it was actually a mouse being devoured by an army of carnivorous ants. The mouse looked like Swiss cheese, it had so many holes in it, and there was a strange halo of grey fur all around it, as if it were floating on a cloud of the remnants of it's own demise. I'm sure Mister was the initial killer, but this event has caused me to pause and look even closer at the activity of the ants in and around our house. I've found that they have become alarmingly aggressive, and numerous. Yesterday I saw that there is a veritable superhighway leading from an inconspicuous crack in the garden wall to the trash bin, a length of fifty feet, and at least thirty ants deep. Caroline and I named the forks at the end after some busy highways that surround our neighborhood, and had a good laugh about it, although the mirth was colored by a minor uneasiness.
For the ants are not confined to the outside, oh no. I came home the other night to a drunken swarm of them lusting over the crusty drops around the rim of a bottle of Southern Comfort. A bottle that has not been moved, touched or opened all summer, I might add. Why the sudden interest? Do ants hibernate? Or have a storing season? They've even been at the lemons that fall on the ground. Natalie suggested that we might wake in the dead of night to find ourselves being carried away and shoved down some hole out back. I slept restlessly last night.
I pulled one of my tomatoes, and replaced it with an avocado that's been shooting on the windowsill. I have some sprouting purple potatoes that are next in line, I'm letting them shoot inside and hopefully the last two tomatoes will be finished bearing by the time they're ready to go in the soil. Mummy said to just put them in the dirt, but I'm not ready and I want to try this experiment, we'll see...
The other day I stepped onto the back patio and I saw something dark writhing on the tile. Upon closer inspection, I found that it was actually a mouse being devoured by an army of carnivorous ants. The mouse looked like Swiss cheese, it had so many holes in it, and there was a strange halo of grey fur all around it, as if it were floating on a cloud of the remnants of it's own demise. I'm sure Mister was the initial killer, but this event has caused me to pause and look even closer at the activity of the ants in and around our house. I've found that they have become alarmingly aggressive, and numerous. Yesterday I saw that there is a veritable superhighway leading from an inconspicuous crack in the garden wall to the trash bin, a length of fifty feet, and at least thirty ants deep. Caroline and I named the forks at the end after some busy highways that surround our neighborhood, and had a good laugh about it, although the mirth was colored by a minor uneasiness.
For the ants are not confined to the outside, oh no. I came home the other night to a drunken swarm of them lusting over the crusty drops around the rim of a bottle of Southern Comfort. A bottle that has not been moved, touched or opened all summer, I might add. Why the sudden interest? Do ants hibernate? Or have a storing season? They've even been at the lemons that fall on the ground. Natalie suggested that we might wake in the dead of night to find ourselves being carried away and shoved down some hole out back. I slept restlessly last night.
6.9.07
I Miss You
I really miss my friends and family this week. Not that I didn't miss them before, but it wasn't as pervasive as how I feel this week. I'm painfully aware that I've made no effort to meet new people, and I've convinced myself that no one will ever be as good as the ones I already have. Stupid, I know. And I've also realised that I am actually not a good candidate for the hermit life. It is good for me in small doses, but not as a rule. Funny I would come to suburbia to see that.... there is a little theory growing, that people actually go to the city to get away from other people, to wrap themselves in anonymity, to feel closeness without connecting. And people go to the country to become part of a community. Everyone knows who you are. Period. The only city that I've been to that seems to have little neighborhood communities is New York. I guess I need to explore some more to disprove my theory.
I wish I could go to the Art Hop this weekend. That was always one of my favorite events in Btown. And now Wasuck is presiding over a paintball blasthole, will someone shoot a print and send it to me? xo
I wish I could go to the Art Hop this weekend. That was always one of my favorite events in Btown. And now Wasuck is presiding over a paintball blasthole, will someone shoot a print and send it to me? xo
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