thank you, marley 12/31/07

"dov? dov, listen to the song we wrote. it's really amazing.
i might be drunk."

Right click-me mom, hit "save as" and enjoy my first hit single! :)

far as the smoke flies
far as the eagle cries
far as the lake lies across the land
far as a mother opens her arms
far as the lamb lays down

open your voice
open your underhanded
understanding

far as the garden grows
far as the tugboat pulls
just when you think you have it all
far as the water falls

just when you think you know
that's when it's time to go
that's when it's time to know
just when you think know

The Car

PEMA: We're here to-- Do you have a-- What were we telling them?

KURT: That we, uh, that...

KHAN is listening intently in the huddle we created, waiting for one of us to finish a sentence.

KURT: Our friend and colleague parked his car here before Christmas and then died in a plane crash and we're here to pick up his car.

KHAN blanches.

KHAN: I'm, my gosh, I'm--

We are blocks away from LAX. In KHAN's eyes, you can see him calculating, trying to recall news briefs, flipping through imaginary etiquette books, while we all stand in this circle in the parking garage wondering what to do next.

At the counter, I pull out the death certificate from my notebook. I pull out my ID.

The longer I wait for the people to find the key, to type in the date Michael parked, to find the car in the lot, to call each other on the intercom and disappear and reappear and give me more forms to fill out, the more closed-in my vision gets. My breath is shallower by the moment and my fuse is short. I see only a wall of keys on the valet board behind the counter. The very large lips of the young woman helping me. The piercing in the side of her lip, like a metallic beauty mark. The people on either side of her looking forlorn and unsure of what to say or do. I am stoic against the tears that want to come, in waves.

I get the keys. Valets have pulled the car out front. Kurt and I hug. We cry. I get in.

How do I start it?? The radio comes on with the car and plays a commercial of a new show Michael invested in. I get out and tell Kurt the synchronicity. I go back to the Mini, and I can't figure out how to adjust the seat or see the odometer or open the windows. My brain is too fogged from the black interior, the tears on the reverse slide down the back of my throat, the impossibility of mental focus on these simplest of mechanics to get me out of this garage.

I am finally out, I pull into the sunlight. And immediately I drive to the side of the road. The tears are heavy and my breath is jagged. Fucker. Jerk. Dammit. This is *not* my drive. This is his view and his scent. The performance hum under my ass and my feet is HIS ride, his familiarity.

The wheel under my hands is glossy wood and a paper-smooth leather. Its contours cradle my grip. There is life here all around me and under me. I am breathing it and applying myself to it, and moving with it.

I drive fast. Fast in his fast little car. Change the radio when I hear music he wouldn't like. Dance wildly in the driver's seat. Absorb the man in his absence.

The Bus Ride

I used to ride the bus to work and wish that on the 20-minute Express, I could muster the courage to stir up an exciting collective debate, about politics, our community, current issues. Instead of opening a book or staring out the window, the newest rider would lean in and ask what we were talking about today.

This memory popped into my head in the recent days since my friend died. Our journey through life is like a bus ride. Some people get on when you're already in progress, and sometime later they get off; but in that ride you've been changed. You've participated in a rousing discussion, you've engaged in fearless dialogue, you've provoked the social experiment that lies in you and everyone waiting to play with you if you're courageous enough to just play. You've utilized those spare 20 minutes. For good! And learned something you never knew about yourself and the person next to you and the person next to that one. And before you know it, all those 20 minutes are stacked into days and weeks, a lifetime; and the bus door opens, and a passenger waves goodbye, and he gets off at his stop, while the buzz he stirred in your bus continues, and your journey, continues.

Real Emotions Have Curves

So tired.
13 hour day today.
Slow parabola of emotion.
It's actually shaped like thisbut I like the word parabola.
Many emails from friends of long ago contact helped throughout the day.
Many laughing moments with Michael on my mind. Jerk has us working our asses off.
Much love for a bright light. Two very bright lights.
Remind me to tell you about the bus ride.
I'm serious. Remind me or I'll forget. And it's good.
G'night.

1 Survivor

The miracle is Francesca Lewis, 12 years old. She survived a plane crash in the jungle and the three days it took to find her. Francesca, bless her, is the only survivor. My friend Michael, 37, and his daughter, Talia, 13, did not survive. The pilot was also lost. Search crews found the plane this afternoon in mountainous terrain in Panama.

One Survivor, Three Dead in Panama Plane Crash

Thank you all for your prayers and good thoughts and love you sent their way. Their families can still use them if you have more in you.

PRAY hard PRAY now

My boss and his daughter and two others are missing after their plane was spotted flying low over a forested area of Panama.

Even if you don't believe, fake it and pray. Send positive images as you open presents, send love as you share dinner with your families. Give Christmas another miracle.
Panama searches for missing plane, 3 American passengers

Hard to Swallow

Today's turkey sandwich
The bad service at the restaurant from where today's turkey sandwich came.
Obese pallid unhappy-looking people.
Obese pallid unhappy-looking people with stringy hair hovering at poverty level in the town from where I come.
The town from where I come.
Consumerism.
Which is to say, the status of the dollar.
Rather, the status of dollars plural.
Meth...
Crumbling the edges of the town from where I come.
Privilege
And striving for it.
Holidays sometimes.

Guest Blogger--Lisa

Ok...so we recently got kittens. If you've been hanging out at Pema's park bench, you know that Pema has already posted about this, as has her friend Nico. I am borderline a crazy-cat lady, therefore another kitten-post. They are now officially named: Zola and Brie. After cheeses (Zola is short for gorgonzola). Anyhoo, this two kitties had two sisters, and Pema and Tania had to hold me back from getting all four. I was told by many that the rule is that you can have one cat per person in your house. Any more, and you fit the categorical definition of crazy-cat-lady. FINE. Someday I will be, but for now, I will express it in the form of photos.

Law Abiding

I think I learned an unspoken physical law of the universe. I was reading my bitch book when it finally occurred to me that this coy peek-a-boo of a mating ritual we adult humans dance is indeed real. As much as I have abhorred reading this tripe, I suddenly got that I am dancing it too, with my feathers and foot-stamps and fluttery fa la la.

Oh, but it's true.

During this long dating run (who said you had to train for a marathon--this marathon IS the training), I've found it curious that the people I really liked cut out early. And those I didn't have feelings for thought I was the coolest most amazing fabulation conflagration.

There was a guy who swooned, actually swooned, when we kissed (that I wasn't swooning wasn't okay). There was a guy who professed his effulgent heart maybe three weeks in. Then there are the immediate WE-talkers..."We'll have to do that someday..." said, like, on the first date. All of these people had WE-talk in common. I raise an eyebrow at immediate WE-talk.

So here I am reading about how to bump up my bitch and I realize that everything the author's been telling us in this book about MEN is true for ME. She's saying, "play it cool and they'll come running." And it's not that I have played it hot or urgent or needy with the folks I've liked. But I haven't played it COY. And if MY attraction habits are any indication of the rule, it's the COY we go after! Naturally, the guys I've had less interest in have met with the long arm of not-so-fast-there-mister. And they've gone crazy for me. Yet the guys I've thought were cool enough to open up with were the ones who sang sayonara as they escaped out the back. Interesting. F'ing ridiculous, but intriguing if you're willing to let it.

Alright. Now. Who can I ignore? Ah yes, the new guy. Who cares if he likes the damn purse.

Family Rocks

Rob & Sue the groovy two.

Revolutionary Food

If you squint, you can find peace in this picture.
I had it for lunch at the Indian buffet and it was peaceful indeed. "Green Peace and Potatoes"

Introducing the LIP-HUG

I worked my arse off to plan the office holiday party. Six weeks of invite lists, elusive venue managers, plans that fell through, strings that got pulled, deciding sit-down dinner or all-night appetizers, stylish desserts... or...or...are these people gonna be happy?? I stress about throwing a good party. I really like a good party.

So it happened that after weeks of planning--and working--my ass off, the night of the party I drank off the rest of what was left of it.

This is a rare--rare--occurrence.

Let me introduce a rarer occurrence: the lip hug. Playing steadfast (er, drunk) ear to the drunk and emotional wife of my colleague, I was rapt audience to Erica as she cried and talked. We bonded. We were like, tight. Sisters by this point.

Fast forward to the car ride home in a black stretch SUV. There were three of us couples, including Erica and her husband, another colleague and wife, and Phil, my date. Music blared and the chatting never ceased. We were there for each other, Erica and me. We had each other's backs. And then we reached Erica and her husband's house, the first stop; and in the goodbye, the kiss-and-hug Erica and I meant to exchange, turned into a k-i-s-s and quick hug. It was like a five-second exchange. Right there between my date and my colleague, the loud music and Erica's man.

In my state, I was vaguely aware of this extended kiss goodbye. It was nothing goopy; imagine instead a long, joyous squeeze of a hug where you even squeal a little, but this hug took place between our lips! When the vagueness finally cleared and my brain registered that our lips were still touching, I gave her a quick squeeze and cheerfully hugged her husband goodbye. Nothing to see here people! Nothing strange at all about that extended goodbye where time slowed down and everybody stopped talking to wonder at it.

Then I promptly forgot about it.

Until the next morning, as the sun filtered into my room, along with images from a pickled night before, and bam, the memory of...the lip hug goodbye.

Folly Lolly Laa La La La Laa

'Tis the season to be spendyBreak the bank and pray to trendy

like BALL PARK franks

they PLUMP when you cook'em.

Performance Enhancers

Saved by the Beauty

After I pushed the crosswalk button, I did something not rare to my nature but rare in my work rush. The winter sun hit the street in such a way, down the few blocks that head toward the ocean, that I got caught up in the pretty view and my gratitude for living in such a beautiful place. A certain peace washed over me. Without looking, I knew the signal light was turning green--I know the timing. But I was held up in that moment. Till I let it go and stepped into the street and watched a car drive right through the crosswalk. She didn't even see her light turn red. If I had walked with the light three seconds earlier, I'd be, as the kids say, all up in her grille. Thank you, beauty.

Seriously, What's the Difference?

"Former US Senator George Mitchell has outed some of the biggest names in baseball in his long awaited report on steroid usage in Major League Baseball.
...Barry Bonds, Jason Giambi, Gary Sheffield, Eric Gagne, Miguel Tejada, David Justice, Chuck Knoblauch and Andy Pettitte.
...So pervasive was the use of the substances, Mr Mitchell warned that 'hundreds of thousands of children' were also using steroids to get ahead in the sport."

VERSUS

"PAMELA ANDERSON has been named TV's Sexiest Woman Ever."
HELLO BOOBS ON STEROIDS, LIPS ON JUICE
But wait, what? You're a female over the age of 12 and you haven't considered medi-spa-ing into the silicon, collagen, better-than-botox, lipo-sucked new frontiers of beauty? I'm sorry. You don't exist.

Who's shouting about the hundreds of thousands of girls and women starving and carving to get ahead in the "sport" of their lives? It's open season on the human body, people. Get it. Or don't buy in.

Uhhmm...

Is it possible? That I can rattle off my boss's address and phone number when the phone rep asks, but when she asks my name....my r.e.c.a.l.l...f.a.i.l.s.
Um, Uuhh, P-, Pema. Heh. Right.

thank you nico!

moar funny pictures

Introducing...!!!

Zola!


and Brie!
...short for Gorgonzola and Brie&Honey, because Lisa and Tania are such HUGE cheese fans. The names of course are pending until purchased, subject to change or alteration, unstable at the moment as a dollar arm-wrestling a Euro. Lisa likes to refer to them as Gorgonzola Maureen Shazam Willow, and BrianneHoney Isis Buffy, or some such string of all the kitty name possibilities. Tania likes to try on Honey instead of Brie. Whoever they are, right now there are eight little furry feet flying around the corners upstairs making kitty rumble noises overhead. So cute. And surely there will be more pix to come. Here's Lisa's blog so you can see more now...

Ella & Aunty!!

mixin it up meow-like

We got kittens! (pictures to come)
Apparently there is a kitten season, which it currently is not. So our new little fuzz flips, who arrived during this week of Hannukah--aka the miracle of light--are being referred to as our little miracles of Hannukah.

They are as yet unnamed, but some monikers in the meow mix are these:

Personal faves - Shazam and Isis

the rest:
Gilda and Lucy
Zola and Roxie
Cricket and Daisy
Emily and Charlotte
Rocket and Cherry
Bugsy and Bo-Peep

and about a hundred other silly options. No doubt they will have one thousand and six nicknames once their real names surface. But for now, we focus on the real ones.

They're SO cute! And they're hilarious. Tania has been kitten-drunk for two days. Her favorite word to chirp is "kittens!"

Poetextry

A+
:)
BTW, my mom and Will think you are awesome (so do I, but u already know that). Sorry we screwed up your date with Lee.
U KICK ASS!!!
Hello heather Ella and i r up now does 1030 or 11 sound ok what Hotel r u at?
You? Yes. Always...
Okay, perhaps you affected my brain, because I could never really think straight...But it always started with the shiver I'd get from being close to u.
No, only if YOU got close to me...
Hey, I've seen 2 ladies in the past couple of dayz, that resemble u alot...Making me think of how unnerving ur beauty is...!! In any case, howd your boss enjoy Pace?
Hey Pems! A student in my acting class is producing a monologue festival. Call him if you want to submit some material. Crister 4155554764 Tania
NYC is a better place when ur here. Can't wait to lunch tomorrow.
305e87#9LW
Have a good evening:-) --Troy--
Brandy just sang hallelujah!
Darling.. It's your very favorite whore.. :)
Thought of you today. Several times. We need to talk. At the strip club now but feel free to text.
Would U like to go with me to SOHO Thur? Tommy Castro Band! 9:00pm
Hey-this is Tifanie's new cell number.
Fwd: Hey pema! Wishing you a very Happy New year for 2007!! -van
Fernando new num.please save
(RE:)Jetscott@yahoo.com
Matthewsiwiggins@hotmail.com
81 west st 2n nyc 10006
Teo says hi. He throws a big fluffy pillow at u. Have a wonderful day, pemicita!
Pema! I looove you! My email is indigocoffeebean@earthlink.net

The Book

it is so hard to stand behind my inner bitch.

The Exchange

My boss got his braces off, so today I brought him an apple.

Then he gave me a book called, Why Men Marry BITCHES.

It says that. BITCHES in all caps.

Being unmarried, I took back the apple.

Have you Teetered Today?