To Blog

I told Tania, who is visiting, that I need to write down a list of blog topics, as they have been adding up. She suggested I blog the blog topics. So here they are, in no particular order.

Coming to a blog near you...

- Racial Profiling
- He really does resemble your dad!
- Portland Snot!
- Actually, that was a typo. Should say Portland Snow!
- Tania's visit

What U Did Last Summer

Don't you hate when it comes back to haunt you? Need an exorcism? This one's FREE!

Dolla Dolla Bill Y'all

Hey folks, KISS MY FACE offered you all 30% off at their webstore:

The promo code is at the end of this article I mentioned them in...you may remember it. If you already read it, snoop around elsewhere on the CarrieAndDanielle.com site for cool stuff to read. :-) You won't have to look too far.

P.S. I LOVE Kiss My Face. Fabulous products.

Meditation is for Meditators

Talking is for do-ers.
Just saying....
(Click to see me latest on CarrieandDanielle.com)

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Portland Gold

Sponge Breakfast

CAUTION: Breakfast making and bath tub cleaning don't mix. Just ask Gina, who was making French toast and handing the sponge to Regina. Oh sad fate of the naked bread, never to be bathed in its French Toast future.

It wasn't fun cleaning the tub with cinnamon egg yolk either.

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Antibiotics Kill Even Pride

REGINA: Pema, do you have acidophilus?

PEMA: No but I have fixyourpussilous.

(Mama said there'd be days like this. Be prepared, with these two supplements in the herb cabinet: 1. Oregano oil capsules, and 2. Cell Food trace minerals.)

Love School

Maybe to a degree we teach people how to love us. If love fails, is it we, personally, who have failed to teach our partner how to best love us?

If we are not loved the way we want to be loved, should we not take it upon ourselves to teach our partner how to love us?

And if they fail, do we call it a personal failure because they have not learned from the best person to have taught them?

Do we take any accountability for that?

No doubt, it takes a willing student. But I've always found that a student's capacity to thrive increases with the enthusiasm, commitment, creativity and drive of the teacher.

As a chronic single person who finds plenty of reasons not to date people past a certain knowledge of them (something to the effect of: we'd never get along, that would drive me crazy about him, no, no, that's dangerous, and i would never want to deal with that the rest of my life...), I wonder if it is a matter of picking an apt candidate and teaching like my love depended on it.

How to Be Sesame Street

Remember that little Sesame Street guy who is learning to read? Big and bold on the board in front of him is the word he is learning. He sounds out each of the letters and slowly--with so much suspense!!--pulls the sounds together to say the word:

BLOG

Buh Ll Ah Guh

BLl Ah Guh

((Meanwhile you're pinging in your seat, "blog! blog! it's blog! say BLOG!!!"))

BLl AhG

((BLOG! BLOG!! SAY IT!! (boing! boing! boing!))

BLOG. BLOG? BLOG!

And then he's pleasant and pleased and you, whew, are spent and relieved.

((Blog, I told you.))


The suspense of learning has really worn me out over the years, and my doctor suggested I do something regular to balance it out. So I turned to my pen and decided to share some tips of my own, sneak over to the teaching side a little while.

Take a peek at today's post on CarrieAndDanielle.com: Five Unexpected Tips to Get You Writing. Go ahead. Sound it out slowly. You'll be pleasant and pleased, like on Sesame Street, richer for your knowledge, like on Main Street, and maybe even a bit surprised, like on Wall Street.

SAVE THE DATE - Jan 30, 2009

No, I'm not getting married on that date. One of my characters is!

Come visit me in Portland, OR, on January 30, where my new play TALKING DOGS will get its first public reading.

Taking place at Portland's poshest digs for theatre, Portland Center Stage's The Armory, you can grab a cocktail and pull up a chair to a wedding reception featuring five men facing various stages of divorce and dispossession, all while discovering love they never noticed, and possibilities they didn't know they possessed.

TALKING DOGS is a COMEDY. A farce. A run-around-naked good time. Oh wait, that's the honeymoon. I haven't written that scene yet.

Drop what you're doing and come play with me this winter at the first ever FERTILE GROUND FESTIVAL. I'll promise you a rose city.

Lovin' Feeling

Wanna date on the cheap without looking like a cheap date? Allow me to show you how...Check out my latest on C&D.com.

Gut Feeling

If you pardon the typos, you might like my new post on trusting your intuition at C&D.com. I know...you knew I was going to say that.

Coffeeshop Overheard

Man: I'm not a germ phobe or anything, but--eww.

Woman: I'm not borrowing a swim suit. It's a yoga mat!

Woman (cont.): Do you have those tiny spoons? I love a good cappucino with a tiny spoon.

(Man hands her a cappucino)

Woman (cont.): That's not a really tiny spoon, FYI.

Man: Maybe you should get back to yoga and get a little more zenned out.

Other Man: Or have one of these white chocolate chip yummy cookies with coconut and cranberries...

Woman: You lost me at white chocolate.

Eateritas

On Alberta Street in Portland, I dropped into La Sirenita to bring home dinner. The Mexican restaurant sits in between two others, La Bonita and La Playita, all on the same block.

I haven't eaten at the others, but have wondered about them. While waiting for my food, I got confirmation I was in the right place. A woman wearing a black apron that had a red embroidered "La Bonita" on it came in, got in line and placed her order.

Dinner break? Good thing she works so close to a good Mexican joint.

In the Name of Research

I ate grasshoppers last night.

Served sun dried in a bowl with chili flakes and lime. Garnished with salsas, cilantro, and corn tortillas.

I resisted temptation to wash it down with a shot of tequila. I was on a date, after all.

The bigger story is that I'm doing research for a story that involves entomophagy. The grasshoppers were listed on the menu as appetizers, under "pre-hispanic" food. With the opportunity right there in front of me, I didn't know how I could rightly refuse it. Granted, I wouldn't kill anyone if I were writing about murder. But...I felt a little guilty thinking I would pass up such accessible research. I felt the draw of exotic adventure. And I felt curious enough, both, to say I tried them, and have an excuse to be so bold as to order grasshoppers on a date.

They were less crunchy than I thought they would be. Not a lot of taste. They felt scratchy in my mouth. They were indeed little carcasses. I couldn't bring myself to pick one up and eat it by itself, or any part of it that had fallen off in the bowl. Actually, there was a moment there, as I sat and chatted with my date, grasshopper-stuffed tortilla rolled in my hand, that I glimpsed in my peripheral vision a bug sticking out of my food!! I jumped. Then realized I just hadn't taken that bite yet. I tucked it back in the taco and took a deep breath, allowing myself only a half second to wonder what the HELL I was doing.

As we left the restaurant, my date joked, "Ah, grasshoppa-eater, you have come so far."

Gray Skies All Day

The thing about Portland is that it's morning all day long. At least that's what my history in SoCal tells me, where coolness and clouds clear out by 9am.

Under the perpetual morning skies of Portland, I have no indicator of time passing. Now that I work from home, I am prone to wake-and-work--I fire up the laptop before getting out of bed in the morning. I eventually move the work down to my basement office, but somewhere along the way, I forget to change out of my pajamas. And pink slippers.

You'd think when it's 9pm and nearing bedtime again, I would be happy for being that much closer to ready for it. Truth is, it's jarring. "Dark outside? But I'm still in my P.J.'s. Bedtime? I just got out of bed."

Today, I put on a bra and called it progress.


Photo Credit

Addiction

Sometimes the substance is a person and abuse feels nothing like the word.

Sound Play

I had a funny experience. Actually, I had a fun experience and parenthetically encountered a funny one. Portland hosts a literary festival called, Wordstock. It's a weekend of readings by authors from all over the country. Before I moved to town two months ago, I signed up to volunteer. I'm a word nerd.

Last minute, I got a call to pick up an author at the airport. It was Stefan Fatsis, book author, writer for Wall Street Journal and New York Times, but more importantly, to me, NPR commentator. I'm a radio junkie.

Back story, I have better aural recognition than visual. So when I picked up Mr. Fatsis and accompanied him to baggage claim, I couldn't help but laugh at the ten years of radio listening that stood up in my memory on hearing him speak.

Better, when I sat at dinner and asked him about his latest book, in which he, a sports writer, plays on an NFL football team in order to write about the experience, I reverted to the memories that began the evening, but with a slight Alice in Wonderland twist: I was now sucked INTO the radio, one of the radio hosts, interviewing Stefan Fatsis, sports writer and NPR contributor, who diligently, dispassionately answered questions in the clipped and animated way I had heard from OUTSIDE my radio for years.

God that can warp a person's brain.

Shortly, I forgot the man was Stefan Fatsis, and he became some cool guy again, who'd flown into town to talk at the literary festival.

But the funniest part came this morning, when I called Mr. Fatsis to let him know Regina and I were on the way. Regina sits on the Wordstock board, and we were taking him to breakfast. If you've heard the man's radio segments, you know he is always in conversation with the host of the show. You know that his inflections are all over the sound map, making for an interesting listen. And if you're at all like me, you notice the way he gets off the air...like the thing is over and he's had enough, already. His sign offs are unmistakably complete: "BYE, BOB." He'll say it with a flat directness. I love these goodbyes. They always make me laugh.

Our brief phone conversation ended this morning. Stefan Fatsis signed off...and there I was spinning in ten years of radio again, but this time they were distilled into my phone: "BYE, PEMA."

Content of A Man's Character

Gina heard this on the radio today, paraphrased. An African-American man was interviewed out on the street in his town, in response to yesterday's landslide vote to elect Barack Obama President of the United States:

"This election was the biggest event since Abraham Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation. That piece of paper was supposed to free us. But we weren't free that day. We were sent out of slavery with nothing. No jobs. No property. No rights. Some of us no families. We weren't free that day. We were freed YESTERDAY. Nothing this significant has happened since the Emancipation Proclamation."

Can't help but hear MLK's voice: "Free at last, free at last. Free at last."

And Obama's acceptance speech last night: "Because of what we did on this day, in this election, on this defining moment, change has come to America."

Dr. Henry Louis Gates, Jr., Harvard Professor of African-American Studies, was on Oprah today, and repeated what his 95 year-old father said to him over the phone: "This is the greatest day in the history of the Negro and I am glad to see it."

Everybody's Doing It

I love election day! I love that I can fill in the bubbles on my ballot (which I am doing right now!) knowing millions of people all over the nation are doing the same thing today. Our nation has football and baseball games that bring fans together in hope and drive. We send athletes to Olympic games that pull our heartstrings in solidarity, and serve to expand our collective minds about regular folk all over the world. We have holidays that bring us closer to our families and help us reflect on feelings of love throughout the world. And we have election day...every four years the opportunity to cast our individual votes, raise our hands to be counted in a great and prosperous democracy. It is a perfect reflection of individuals coming together to form the community that is our United States. No matter how our opinions and passions differ, we vote together, to make our aspirations for our country a reality. Today, regardless of our differences, we are a community. Get out there and feel it today! It inspires!

Prop H8te

"Religions and their believers are free to define marriage as they please; they are free to consider homosexuality a sin. But they are not free to impose their definitions of morality on the state. Proposition 8 proponents know this, which is why they have misdirected the debate with highly colored illusions about homosexuals trying to take away the rights of religious Californians. Since May, when the state Supreme Court overturned a proposed ban on same-sex marriage as unconstitutional, more than 16,000 devoted gay and lesbian couples have celebrated the creation of stable, loving households, of equal legal stature with other households. Their happiness in no way diminishes the rights or happiness of others."

LA Times Editorial 11.2.08

Traffic

This has been a week of traffic. Two weeks of traffic. Pink vapory joy on the road of life, so, good traffic, like a line of drivers on laughing gas, but traffic nonetheless, of opportunity and ideas and possibility, riding down the road bumper to bumper, passing and weaving through lanes of friends and writing gigs and bright ideas.

Election season doesn't hurt. Nor the transformation in the air. Had lunch with Suzy today, who never fails to make me laugh. When talking about caustic political email forwards she had received from a few family members, she marveled at whether they realized who they were forwarding them to, and said: Can you guys please vote NO on Prop 8, so I have at least the same opportunity as every other person in my family to get divorced twice??

Full

Fire in the fireplace, kitty on the chair in front of it, lights dim, night late, day long and so full I stopped capturing its marvels long ago and just let them wash over me.

It's good to be back in Santa Barbara a spell.

Strange Fellows

People think holidays are a stressful time for families. But Can we hear it for ELECTION season? Geez.

I heard it from a source who heard it from another source that I am voting for Obama this year because he has a pretty face and straight teeth.

Before that, I got some craaazzzyyy emails from a different family member, farther removed, telling me what I have read, whom I believe, what I have studied politically and what I haven't, and what a follower I am, based on these things I am allegedly reading, not reading, doing, and not doing.

A pretty face and straight teeth. Yep. Sorry folks, to confess to you that despite a life committed to learning, I have educated myself no further in these my 37 years than a smiling charisma. That my patriotism and passions for my countrymen and women, my beliefs and understandings about my employment and my taxes, my body of wealth and the body I live in, eek only from the vain terrain of a hormonal brain, and the vapid recesses of my blankness. Sorry, guys. Just give me the pretty.

If I were voting pretty, I'd vote Palin, 'cause McCain's gonna kick the bucket, and THEN we'd better stake politics on straight teeth, or we're doomed.

I *have* wondered the size of the pretty vote that Palin will command. McCain seems to surround himself with fine-featured women--his Senior Policy Advisor, his wife, his ex-wife, his Playmate, I mean, running mate. How many Joe Six-pacs will that pull in automatically, for pure viewing pleasure?

Then God Made IKEA

The New "U-Go"?








Photo Credit
Photo Credit 2

Exponents

My mind is TIRED from the long day of learning I had today. I'm in a workshop to learn how to teach kids financial literacy. Money's never been so fun.

BUT I've been thinking this thought all day, so I'll leave you with it:

People affect people exponentially. Would you agree? How many of you have someone in your life that has inspired you to change or grow the way you live or think or love?

How many of you learned from someone something that you have valued and incorporated to your life?

This is YOU to the power of that person.

If you get something from this blog post, that is YOU to the power of ME.
If my brother is changed by something my dad taught him, he is CHRISTIAAN to the power of JIM.

Do you get it? We are TANIA to the power of OBAMA to the power of the NATION.
We are our US to the power of our TEACHERS to the power of THEIR FAMILIES.
We walk through this world exponentially changed by each other.

Make your change for the good.


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Squeezed?? G I V E

Hey everyone, take a look at my new article on CarrieandDanielle.com.
You'll laugh you'll cry. It's warm like Christmas and sharp like a financial drop off a cliff.

HOW TO LIVE RICH IN A RECESSION


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Getting to Know You

MAN: Pema, that's an unusual name. Any special meaning or origin?

WOMAN: Pema means lotus flower in Tibetan. Also means compassion.

MAN: That's cool. Kevin means white guy with no rhythm in Gaelic. ;-)

WOMAN: Sorry about your rhythm.

MAN: I'm looking for a good rhythm coach, so I can forward you an application?

WOMAN: They say it's inborn. But in rare cases it's like the Tin Man. Little grease for the joints, little beat from the heart and suddenly Billie Jean is not your lover.

Curious Questions

You may have seen this in your inbox. If not, cue up your considerations.

WHAT IF...?

Obama/Biden vs McCain/Palin. What if things were switched around? Would the country's collective point of view be different?....think about it.

Ponder the following:

What if the Obamas had walked five children across the stage, including a three month old infant and an unwed, pregnant teenage daughter?

What if John McCain was a former president of the Harvard Law Review?

What if Barack Obama finished fifth from the bottom of his graduating class?

What if McCain had married once, and Obama was a divorcee?

What if Obama had left his first wife after a severe car accident disfigured her?

What if Obama met his second wife in a bar and had a long affair while he was still married?

What if Michelle Obama was the candidate's wife who became addicted to painkillers and acquired them illegally through her charitable organization?

What if Cindy McCain graduated from Harvard?

What if Obama had been a member of the Keating Five? (The Keating Five were five United States Senators accused of corruption in 1989, igniting a major political scandal as part of the larger Savings and Loan crisis of the late 1980s and early 1990s.)

What if McCain were a charismatic, eloquent speaker and Obama couldn't read from a teleprompter?

What if Obama were the candidate whose military experience included discipline problems and a record of crashing seven planes?

What if Obama were the candidate known to display publicly a serious anger management problem?

What if Michelle Obama's family had made their money from beer distribution?

What if the Obamas had adopted a white child?

If these questions reflected reality, do you believe the election numbers would be as close as they are?

Could racism be the culprit?

Racism covers up, rationalizes and minimizes positive qualities in one candidate and emphasizes negative qualities in another when there is a color difference.

Consider educational backgrounds, and the opinions they might effect, were the switch to continue.

Barack Obama -
Columbia University - B.A. Political Science with a Specialization in International Relations.
Harvard - Juris Doctor (J.D.) Magna Cum Laude (that means "top of class")

Joseph Biden -
University of Delaware - B.A. in History and B.A. in Political Science.
Syracuse University College of Law - Juris Doctor (J.D.)


John McCain - United States Naval Academy
Class rank: 894 of 899

Sarah Palin -
Hawaii Pacific University - 1 semester
North Idaho College - 2 semesters - general study
University of Idaho - 2 semesters -journalism
Matanuska-Susitna College - 1 semester
University of Idaho - 3 semesters - B.A. in Journalism

Blooming

As a little kid, I saw a tiny yellow blossom sprout open on a scrubby stem. It was in the field behind the house of my mom's friend. It seemed impossible to begin with, to watch a flower bloom. Flowers are much more discreet than to jump out all in the open. And it happened so fast I doubted I had seen it. So I sat and watched the plant to see if any more would pop open before my eyes. They didn't. Just a yellow stain on my mind of a tiny yellow blossom.

Years later in college, I bought iris spears at the farmers market. They would bloom into big purple beauties in a day or two. I put them at the foot of my bed, where the lamp was sitting, clicked off the lamp and laid down to sleep. It was black in my room, not even light enough to see my hand in front of my face. Lying there in the stillness, I heard a faint rustle. I couldn't figure out what it was. So I turned on the lamp, and there in its light were the irises, bloomed. I had heard the irises blooming.

Years after that, I went on a walk with a date at the Douglas Preserve in Santa Barbara. It was dusk, and there were low-growing green plants that looked like pools of green leaves. There were white flower buds all over them, and as the sun set deeper, the buds began to unfold. We sat on our haunches and watched them all open, whispering to talk.

Pre-Historic Hardware

Gina and I were putting together a dresser from IKEA yesterday. If you are not privy to the IKEA experience, imagine finding the perfect piece of furniture, plucking the service tag to pick it up and take it home, and receiving not the piece you saw, but two heavy, flat boxes that can't possibly serve your purpose.

I'm pretty sure "IKEA" in English means "U-BUILD."

There were at least 200 pieces of assorted hardware.

GINA: I'm surprised there's no glue.

PEMA: Noah didn't have glue I'm guessing.

(We were listening to public radio. A bluegrass devotional was playing: "I heard a voice, must be the Lord's.")

GINA: Noah didn't have IKEA.

Snarky Home Remedy Suggestions

Think holistic home remedy types have nice things to say to each other? Read what commenters have to say about gas remedies. Maybe gas makes you cranky.

(Submitted at 2006-04-27 22:42:31 from 24.98.150.15)
1. Lie flat on the ground on your back. While inhaling, lift your left foot towards your chest very slowly.
2. Hold your foot to your chest with your hands for 10 seconds (hold your breath).
3. Slowly release the foot while exhaling.
4. Repeat steps 1-2 with the other foot.
You will keep passing gas while doing the above.

(Submitted at 2006-12-27 16:41:08 from 129.71.94.254)
Is it even possible to hold your foot to your stomach? This must be a joke.

(Submitted at 2007-01-21 08:04:33 from 72.195.150.126)
the above poster is clearly a moron. no your foot doesn't literally touch your chest, but that's what you're trying to do by doing these 'bicycle' movements. Haven't you ever seen this done at an aerobics class or gym? sheesh. . .

(Submitted by gassy at 2007-07-21 23:31:19 from 74.167.250.161)
maybe this person is a midget and her foot can touch her chest.

(Submitted at 2007-07-30 18:25:31 from 24.109.2.196)
I don't think you guys understand the directions. I think s/he's saying to pull your foot in towards your chest.. like bending your knee grabbing your foot and pulling it towards you, not up in the air. Like, keeping the bottom of your foot parallel with the ground still... If you understand what Im talking about.

(Submitted at 2007-10-23 15:19:42 from 72.159.40.249)
No, I think they meant literally hold your foot to your chest. Look at step number 2, '2. Hold your foot to your chest with your hands for 10 seconds (hold your breath'.

(Submitted by Sri.. at 2007-10-29 11:30:17 from 58.2.236.143)
Hi. Fold the leg and try to take the knee towards chest. During this process ur feet also moves towards chest but in feet base perpendicular to Hip & stomach.

Do the same with both the legs fold and bend the fore head towards ur folded knee... This pressuraise the gas in stomach and releaved from bottom hole.

(Submitted by Brad at 2008-06-14 08:06:09 from 76.104.202.109)
You hold your knee to your chest. I just tried it and it worked for me. Even burped a little afterward.

(Submitted by Varinder at 2008-07-15 22:54:29 from 76.30.159.31)
What he meant to say was bend your knee. Hold your knees with clasped hand and bring your knee closer to the chest. While you do this with one leg, you can raise the other leg straight ahead at 45 angle and then reverse with the other leg.

Learning to Age

Regina and I leave the theater after seeing the film, The Women. I wash my hands in the restroom while Regina waits for me outside. The light is bright in there, and fluorescent.

"Damn!" I run my hands over my hair and through it. "I just got it cut!"

I catch up with Regina and we're cruising down the street in search of libation and ambiance. I say to her, completing the thought I had in the bathroom:

"Who does your hair? I think I need another haircut." I touch my hair again, surprised I would consider such a thing only two weeks after a really great cut. It usually lasts months.

Then I realize. "Oh."

I drop my hands. "It's not my hair."

I walk ahead and think back to the mirror I was just looking into in the bathroom.

"It's my face!"

Baby Naming

Eleven weeks till due-date, and Jack and Linda are down to a few. Ryder and Cyrus are Jack's faves.


LINDA: What do you think of the name Chad?

JACK: The Chad. I could never take the name Chad serious.

LINDA: And you could take Ryder serious?

JACK: Touche.

(beat)

JACK (cont.): I could take Cyrus serious.

Palin Invasion

Linda is pregnant. Jack is the dad and husband. I've come to up to Seattle to help with some baby prep. We talk about events of the day, the world, our personal lives. I suggest that Sarah Palin is invading the psyches of women, and tell them what happened in my job interview last week:

Half way through, I stopped talking, because I caught glimpse of my hands, gesticulating in concert with the sound of my words losing track of my thoughts...and I got stuck seeing Sarah Palin in interview with Katie Couric, over and over in my mind. "Crap," I thought. "I can't sound like Sarah Palin talking to Katie Couric in a job interview!! Save yourself, woman!" Fortunately, the kind people interviewing me fell out laughing when I told them what happened.

...Do you see Sarah in every brunette with her hair pulled on top of her head? Surely behind every set of snappy glasses, say it, you do. The first night I was here, Linda had a sex dream about Sarah Palin.

Her invasion of our psyches has got to be that not only is Sarah Palin being Sarah Palin on every T.V. screen that can capture her. But Tina Fey is being Sarah Palin after every substantial appearance Sarah makes. So we get a Palin echo, like John Malkovich walking through a room of John Malkoviches.

Yesterday after dinner, the following conversation ensued:

JACK: I'm turning into my father.

PEMA: I'm turning into Sarah Palin.

LINDA: I'm having sex with Sarah Palin.

Who cares?

PEMA: Lisa, do you know when--? How do you--? Do you say "whom do you love?" or "who do you love?"

LISA: Whom cares, Pema?

(Then Lisa looked it up, because she is someone WHO cares after all.)

he = who
him = whom

(Repeat that a few times and see if you can say it without smiling. Or feeling sexy like an owl.)

This Is Your Oregon on Tired

I am Californian. Fan of the Romans, I morph fairly easily to my surroundings. But I was born, raised, conditioned, and teenage-tanned in California.

California is not necessarily super fast paced anywhere. Even San Francisco lopes along behind New York's exhaust. But Cali's no slow-poke joke neither.

Oregon. It's slow here. It's calm. The speed limit is 30mph. People go home from work at 5pm, and as a general population, are more wont to eat blackberries than be chained to them.

I got here and loved it. Love it, but I'm telling you a story, so it's past tense. Loved it.
"How nice," I thought. "I don't have to rush."
"How nice, I can go slowly enough to see the street signs and don't have to worry about ticking people off behind me."
"How absolutely lovely. The customer service at coffee shops and grocery stores includes the cashier asking you genuinely about your day and taking time to feel the weight and heft of each spaghetti sauce jar, the smoothness of each ripe apple. Isn't that...refreshing?...If you can let go of the fear that the people behind you hate you for every last item in your laden cart?"

It is refreshing. Until you don't sleep but three winks the night before. And you don't nap the following day because...you can't seem to fall asleep no matter how much you try...and you finally give in and go to the grocery store on this sleepy rainy day of no sleep, to buy popcorn because it comforts you, and you stand in a "line" of one person with three items, TOTALLY STOKED because you'll barely have to open your mouth to say hello, and you'll be out the door and into your warm car and sitting on your warm couch eating your favorite, popcorn, in front of Oprah in NO TIME FLAT...

...

Right? ...Please God, RIGHT?????

(cue the sound of God laughing)

I am Roman in Rome. I am Oregonian in Portland. Until I am Californian when tired in Oregon.


Photo Credit

Anonymous

David Duchovny, star of "Californication" and formerly of "X-Files" apparently entered a re-hab facility recently for a problem. Regina sums it up here.

He had to go to sex anonymous?
Addicts anonymous?
Clearly it wasn't anonymous if everybody knows about it.
Poor dude.

Givin’ and Gettin’: How to Solve All Your Money Problems Forever

This article went live on Wednesday. Ever wonder how mystery, sexuality, and money mix in your life? Read how it mixed for me on Carrie and Danielle.

Enjoy!

$ Tank

Jeez Louise, go sit in the forest a couple of days and pop goes the world! Check out this idea for an economic bailout by Birk T. J. Birkenmeier!

Hi Pals,

I'm against the $85,000,000,000.00 bailout of AIG. Instead, I'm in favor of giving $85,000,000,000 to America in a We Deserve It Dividend.

To make the math simple, let's assume there are 200,000,000 bonafide U.S. Citizens 18+. Our population is about 301,000,000 +/- counting every man, woman and child. So 200,000,000 might be a fair stab at adults 18 and up. So divide 200 million adults 18+ into $85 billon that equals $425,000.00.

My plan is to give $425,000 to every person 18+ as a We Deserve It Dividend. Of course, it would NOT be tax free. So let's assume a tax rate of 30%. Every individual 18+ has to pay $127,500.00 in taxes. That sends $25,500,000,000 right back to Uncle Sam. But it means that every adult 18+ has $297,500.00 in their pocket.

A husband and wife has $595,000.00. What would you do with $297,500.00 to $595,000.00 in your family? Pay off your mortgage - housing crisis solved. Repay college loans - what a great boost to new grads Put away money for college - it'll be there Saved in a bank - create money to loan to entrepreneurs.

Buy a new car - create jobs

Invest in the market - capital drives growth

Pay for your parent's medical insurance - health care improves

Enable Deadbeat Dads to come clean - or else

Remember this is for every adult US Citizen 18+ including the folks who lost their jobs at Lehman Brothers and every other company that is cutting back.

And of course, for those serving in our Armed Forces.

If we're going to re-distribute wealth let's really do it...instead of trickling out a puny $1000.00 ("vote buy") economic incentive that is being proposed by one of our candidates for President.

If we're going to do an $85 billion bailout, let's bail out every adult US Citizen 18+! As for AIG - liquidate it. Sell off its parts. Let American General go back to being American General. Sell off the real estate. Let the private sector bargain hunters cut it up and clean it up. Here's my rationale. We deserve it and AIG doesn't. Sure it's a crazy idea that can "never work."

But can you imagine the Coast-To-Coast Block Party! How do you spell Economic Boom? I trust my fellow adult Americans to know how to use the $85 Billion We Deserve It Dividend more than I do the geniuses at AIG or in Washington DC. And remember, The Birk plan only really costs $59.5 Billion because $25.5 Billion is returned instantly in taxes to Uncle Sam.

Ahhh...I feel so much better getting that off my chest. Kindest personal regards, Birk T. J. Birkenmeier, A Creative Guy & Citizen of the Republic

P.S. Feel free to pass this along to your pals as it's either good for a laugh or a tear or a very sobering thought on how to best use $85 Billion.

Breitenbush Hot Springs

This is where I was the past two days. Hangin' at a cool hippie joint in Oregon miles away from anywhere. Got a lot of reading and writing and thinking done. My fiction client will be happy to hear that. :)

Photo Credit

Love Stretches Out

PEMA: i'm sorry you're sad
PEMA: i was really sad when you left too
PEMA: that was a weird void

LAURA: i didn't like feeling jealous of you
LAURA: not jealous of you
LAURA: of your new friends, is what i mean to say
LAURA: and yeah, it made me wonder if people felt that when i left

PEMA: new friends are like new views, maybe.
PEMA: they may turn out to be pretty and inspiring, but they're never the ones you leave back home

LAURA: aww
LAURA: this weekend was the twins next door's birthday
LAURA: so i was telling them after the party how much we loved them and loved sharing their growing up together, etc.

PEMA: that's really sweet

LAURA: and sophia got really sad and wouldn't say why

PEMA: oh no, did she ever say?

LAURA: finally she fessed that she was sad because i said such nice things to the boys and that i don't say that to her

PEMA: omg, that girl is articulate

LAURA: so i had this conversation with her that love is not like cookies
LAURA: a plate of cookies, every time you eat one, you have less cookies
LAURA: but with love, every time you love someone new, you only have more love to give, your heart gets bigger
LAURA: you can love more
LAURA: so anyway, here i was talking that talk, but not walking it when it came to you
LAURA: i was feeling like someone else was nibbling on my cookie
LAURA: you
LAURA: silly me

PEMA: i'm a bake oven
PEMA: not just a cookie plate.

LAURA: new friends could never be more sexy, exciting, new and shiny than your old friends, right?

PEMA: what does ani say?
PEMA: there's nothing like seeing your own history in the faces of your friends?

LAURA: yeah
LAURA: she also says f*ck you a lot
LAURA: was glad that wasn't your quote

PEMA: hehe

LAURA: ani quote time

PEMA: f*ck you?

LAURA: when i look down, i miss all the good stuff. when i look up, i just trip over things

PEMA: that's great

LAURA: its ani

PEMA: are you still feeling sad?

LAURA: better to talk to you

PEMA: can i blog that sweet cookie talk?

LAURA: yeah.

Party Tableau

a thousand words


.

Party Prep

Regina loves a party. She loves a party so much that she loves party prep and party clean up. She loves a party so much that even the yard work leading up to the party is a rockin' good time, weeding, edging, raking, sweeping, power mowing. I got enlisted to mow the lawn while she walked the dog. She was excited when, out in the garage, smell of gasoline in the air, she gripped the handle bar of the mower and instructed me on how to start the thing up. "You'll feel so butch," she said. "It's totally fun." Soon, I'm sure, you'll see a picture of Regina, tiny, curvaceous, fabulous-haired Regina, and you'll understand how funny that is.

Mmnllewup shlaagrrnepsh

That's me talking when my mouth's not awake yet.
Late night.

Welcome to Portland Party today! More later. Like pix n stuff. :-)

Heads Up

Hey, so I quit my job in finance to move to Portland and get paid to write.

I now live in Portland and I'm getting published on Friday.

Check out www.CarrieandDanielle.com today to nose around the site for context, and then on Friday...go there again to read my article! I promise it will titillate.

Things You Say But Don't Mean

Having moved just over a week ago, I am still organizing notes and files. Usually in stacks of creased and crumpled receipts, I find stray post-its penciled with found dialogue--which means somebody says it, I scribble it down. Thanks to my heterosexual friend, Steve, for these inadvertently generous bits.

"Man, my ass took a pounding today."
(After a full day Harley ride)

"I'm gonna go get poked."
(On the way out the door to an acupuncture appointment)

The sound of sadness

Okay, I'm not dejected or depressed or morose. Or bummed out or sad to be here or thinking I made the wrong move. On the contrary, I'm happy for the change. But I have been silent. And slow to action. And loathe to email. And even further afield from making phone calls. Feh. (And let's tip-toe right over that word "Daily" emblazoned on my blog moniker, shall we?).

For me silence is the sound of sadness. I have dramatic tendencies in conversation (ask Lisa if she likes beets), and when finding humor in situations, and in my playwriting. But I am less emotive out in the world. Less ready to say, "hey look at me, I feel like crying! Hey, you know what? I miss my friends! I miss those damned kittens that drove me crazy and then grew up to be cute and friendly and around all the time! I'm sad I missed meeting Twilight's new baby because he was being born while I was driving to my new state." Nope that's not me, not my words, not even my awareness. My awareness, instead, is lack. Like a lobotomy. Not a lot of talking. A whole lot of busy (had some deadlines this week). And a whole lot of moving slow. (Isn't it weird the kitchen ALWAYS needs cleaning?)

I'm in the land of disconnect...where I am no longer where I was, and not fully materialized into where I am.

I'm in an in-between world, like waking up from a nap, not quite out of dream world. That might explain prolific dreaming since I've been here.

I'm looking forward to some solidity, so I can call my friends and talk and tell them all is well. And thank Tania for the little sauce pan. And everyone else for the going-away love.

Only today did the weather turn to gray, from spectacular sunshine. I'm really happy about that, because I've been down in the basement working all day the past week, and the weather change makes me feel less guilty about missing the sun for the sake of work. (I made a little office in the basement.)

So that you don't think it's all bad, here are a couple of bits of word lint I picked up in recent days:

I went on a bike ride with a nice guy whose house I looked at to rent. We took a spectacular path all around the river and then along it. We stopped after several miles to rest at the end of a little wooden dock, jutting out into water, surrounded by hills and evergreens and Portland bridges. We talked and stretched. He got up at one point, and bent at the waist to stretch his hamstrings. He looked through his legs upside down and commented, "Wow, the view between my legs is really cool!"

A few days later, Gina brought home burritos.

GINA: I didn't know what kind of salsa you like, red or green, so I brought both.

ME: I like both. I'm bi-salsa identified.

I realize I need to update the cast of characters on the side of my blog, but I'm not quite ready for that. When I defrag into Portland more fully, I'll do it.

Portland is Good Today

This is my new house on a warm Portland day (today).

I hear the rain will come next week, but we won't talk about that yet.

This is where I rode my bike today.

Garden Extraordinaire

We canned tomatoes yesterday!!

Hello Mother, Hello Mother

Readers will remember "Pema Has Four Mommies." That joke lasted, and made leaving Santa Barbara particularly sad on move day. ...by way of keeping my move news posted, here's the letter I wrote to Lisa, Tania, Kate and Kara yesterday.

Dear Mommies,
Camp Portland is cool but I miss you. After we got here on Monday night, I met up with my two counselors, Gina and Regina. Funny names, huh? They made a bunk for me that is up some stairs in their house. That’s the way it works here. You stay in your counselor’s house until you get your own cabin. I was kind of sad to leave my new friend who I met on the ride to camp, but he had to stay at his counselor’s house, too. He is 23 and traveled all around Russia and Scandanavia before going to Camp Portland, so he told lots of cool stories. His name is Ted. His brother chases eclipses! They went on a long hike with some other people to find the best place to watch an eclipse in Russia. They rode trains for longer than 24 hours sometimes! Going to some place that used to be called Siberia I guess.

It was really pretty when we got here. It was dark but the lights were twinkling when we drove over the river. It was finally not hot anymore. All day long on our drive we were very hot and all the farms and fields all around us were dry and brown. Oh, and we drove through a forest that was on fire! I probably shouldn’t tell you that ‘cause you’ll worry. But it’s alright, I’m here now.

My favorite part of the drive was when we were almost here. It was nighttime and the windows were down. We couldn’t see where we were because it was dark, but every few minutes we could SMELL what we were driving past. We smelled green onions, and then hay, and then cow poop (yuck), and something else I can’t remember. Then we got to Camp Portland and we smelled flowers.

Since coming to camp I have slept a lot and yesterday we took all my boxes and things out of the moving truck. Then I went around town to find my cabin. It is kind of weird because at other camps they already have a cabin and bunkmates set up when I get there. But “Cabin Hunt” is one of the activities at Camp Portland, and it’s not so bad. I met some interesting campers yesterday who live in a style of cabin called “Old Portland.” I guess they built it in the Olden Days. We went in the basement and it smelled like it. My counselors told me I could stay in my room up the stairs as long as I want and that “Cabin Hunt” is meant to go on during a lot of other activities, too. They said the prize for that activity is the cabin itself. Weird camp. But that’s okay. They said there are other activities I can get a Camp Portland blue ribbon for. Like cooking, and making friends, and picking vegetables from the garden, and good citizenship on rainy days.

I hope you can come visit me at camp soon. I miss you a lot and love you more.

Love,
Pema

Park Bench Portland

See it?



Photo: Tim Hanson

The Future's Open Wide

Hit play and listen to this in the background as you scroll down and read on...



Made it into Portland tonight. Driving over the Ross Island Bridge, building lights were shining off the water. Windows were down and our speed whipped the dark blue cool into the car. So beautiful after a hot 11-hour drive. Dido was playing some wah-wah song on the radio. I said to Ted, my passenger, we need an anthem for this arrival, not this whiny Dido. Ted moved to Portland today, too. We shared the ride from Oakland, CA (thank you Craigslist) and bumped fists when we crossed from California into Oregon. Ted turned the station and immediately found "Melt With You." (Modern English 1982! Perfect anthem.) Nothing like iconic 80s pop for nostalgia in the making. It filled the car and diffused on the wind as we drove over the bridge into our new town, night fragrant, air soft, and futures open wide.


Photo: Hisashiburi


Photo: Phoenixtx

In transit

Hi, it's Tania. Pema said I could guestblog, so here I am. Pema's on the road to her new home. The setting and cast of characters are changing (soap opera voiceover: "now playing the role of Pema's housemates are Gina and Regina"). It was sad saying goodbye to Pema, so I wrote songs. In case you missed the fabulous group performance at Pema's going away party, here they are...

So Long, Pema
(to the tune of “So Long, Farewell” from “The Sound of Music”)

There’s a sad sort of singing in Santa Barbara
And your friends are all feeling blue
And we think you must be crazy to leave us
Just a little bit coo-coo (coo-coo coo-coo)
Regretfully you tell us (coo-coo)
But firmly you compel us (coo-coo)
To say goodbye
To you…

So long farewell, auf weidersehen, goodnight
Despite the rain, your future will be bright

So long farewell, goodbye, auf weidersehen
Without you here, life will be so mundane

So long farewell, auf weidersehen adieu
We love you so with friendship tried and true

So long farewell, auf weidersehen and ciao
Brie and Zola say “meow meow meow meow meow”

So long farewell, you head to the Northwest
You’ve touched us all; with Pema we’ve been blessed

You have to go, we cannot change your mind
But don’t forget the friends you left behind

Your bags are packed; it’s time to wave and cry

So long farewell, auf weidersehen, goodbye
Goodbye...
Goodbye....
Goodbye....
Goodbye...


Pema’s Leaving
(to the tune of “Babe, I’m Leaving” by the most excellent 80’s band, Styx)

Pema’s leaving
She must be on her way
It’s almost time to go
Portland’s gaining a writer and a friend
Who’ll keep them on their toes
But we’ll be lonely without you
We’ll read your blog when we feel blue
Thanks so much for enriching all our lives
We’ll be missing you

You know it’s Pema
When you’ve had a bad day and you need a hug
She’s like cheerful drug
Oh, yes, it’s Pema
Knowing you can always call on Ms. Teeter
To go to the theater
Yes, it’s true
Pems, we’ll miss you

Pema’s leaving
This is our final verse
And then we’ll have to part
We’ll keep you close despite the long distance
Right here in our hearts
But we’ll be lonely without you
We’ll read your blog when we feel blue
Thanks so much for enriching all our lives
We’ll be missing you
Pems, we love you.

Truth is in the Timing

What's true?
That's up for grabs a lot, depending on who is telling the story.

Opinion, on the other hand, we can agree by definition that opinion is in the mouth of the beholder. But when that mouth keeps moving and the story changes before your ears, who do you believe? How are you persuaded?

I got it! Truth is in the timing. Take a (hilarious) look:

oink

Pigs keep crossing my path. Not actual pigs, but pictures of them, and pigs, strangely, have been coming up in conversation. Look at this smiley guy. I found him this morning while traversing the google fields.

So I looked up "Pig Totem," and this is what it says:
Pig: symbol of Wealth, Prosperity and Luck

The pig moves swiftly and with determination. It intuitively knows the best reaction to various situations. If the pig is your personal totem, learn from its determination and swift motion to take the right actions in your life.

The Greek earth fertility goddess, Demeter, kept a sacred pig which became a symbol of fertility.

Native American Indians recognize the pig as a symbol of the abundance of daily life and believe that it teaches us to celebrate life and share it with others.

The pig is a strong symbol of luck. If you need more luck in financial matters, the pig provides prosperity in abundance.

Manannan, the Celtic God of the Sea, kept a magical herd of pigs (which renewed itself as soon as any were eaten). Manannan hosted a great annual "Feast of Age", where the gods acquired the ever-renewing qualities of the pigs, and thus never grew old.


...Good timing. Because, tomorrow's my going away party and the day after that is me going away! Wealth, prosperity and luck are welcome to come along.

Photo: My Little Space

chirp

I wonder if birds get songs stuck in each others' heads.

list

Hi.
I know.
I have been
starkly absent from the
bench. I am sorry. It
seems to be all I can
do to move through the house and
move things around, and open boxes, take things
out, move them around, close the boxes, and move
through the house. Today, however, I got the car
serviced, ix-nayed the ew-nay ires-tay, got new
speakers, and got the car washed. I
also got a massage and
went to the chiropractor.
Because, ouch, I
hurt my
back.

if
this
continues
this
lethargy
this
pallor
this
pain
then
each
day
i
will
write
a
list
just
to
write
something
until
the
funk
moves
on
to
some
other
neighborbood.
as
it
stands
(while
i
sit)
i
am
guessing
this
move
to
portland
is
bigger
than
i
expected
and
i
am
feeling
it
accordingly.

tick tock

It's Wednesday.
I finished a triathlon four days ago.
Tania is a delegate at the Democratic National Convention.
Lisa is thriving in her new director-level position at work.
Twilight is about to have a baby.
Her due date is one day before...
...I pick up and move out of state...
...in 11 days.
Michelle is in love and sad about it.
The boy I loved before I knew what love was (we're talking kid-age) is now designing my business logo.
Suzy is back in Santa Barbara because of a break up.
And she's a psychotherapist.
My little brother has a one-year-old.
Classmates from high school keep contacting me on Facebook.
Our 20th reunion is coming up.
Time, in its infinite tramp, makes life's rollercoaster rides sound pedestrian sometimes.

Spirit Finds You

Yesterday just before my swim, I nearly walked into a young woman (about 13) who looked remarkably like Talia, my late boss' daughter who died with him in the plane crash. At the time, I wondered what she had to tell me...in such a way that I felt visited by Talia at that moment. It was more than the girl's look, it was her presence, the look in her eyes, and we were inches away from one another, face to face before stepping out of each other's way.

I was nervous for the ocean swim, it being packed with people and all, and I worried about being able to breathe through all the excitement and exertion.

Then today, recuperating from the triathlon, I remembered that I have a wonderful ocean memory of Talia. Several of us were floating in the waves in Panama, but we were all a little anxious because we were waiting for a boat to come pick us up from this tiny island we were on...and we couldn't relax on the shore because the flies were biting. Time stretched on as we waited for the boat. The sun got lower in the sky and our skin pickled. But Talia and her friend, Caroline, about 11 and 12, stood in the waves and performed hilarious comedy routines, sang funny songs, and played interactive games with us. We floated out in the swells, and laughed and laughed. They kept us light till the boat arrived.

With the entrance of that memory, I understood Talia's appearance yesterday, right before my swim in the ocean and my dip into my dream to do the triathlon. Today I still feel the calm I felt yesterday as I cruised through the water, and the ease I felt that day Talia and Caroline made us laugh in the waves.

It occurs to me only now that I went alone to the triathlon. I didn't invite any friends to the crack-of-dawn athletic event which requires a lot of waiting and a lot of roaming around for spectators. I felt a little lonely, seeing people's friends and family cheering them on. It was kind of like showing up at the airport and your loved ones aren't there to greet you. The tri was a big deal for me, but I didn't set it up in a way for my friends to be there. But you know who was there? Greg, Michael's ranch manager. He runs the event and I saw him throughout the triathlon weekend. He even discovered an error I had made in my set-up and fixed it before I started.

And Talia, it turns out.

So...I guess I didn't run it by myself after all. :-)

388

Today....I completed my first triathlon!
It was a sprint -- 500 yard swim, 6 mile bike and 2 mile run. The Santa Barbara Triathlon has been on my radar for about ten years now. A keen desire I longed to fulfill but for some reason or another never did. I once trained for a marathon accidentally, trying to gear up for a triathlon without a bike or a nearby body of water. I spent two summers, first getting over my fear of cold ocean water, and then strengthening my swim. And this year, this weekend, today! I finally did it! And guess what was my strongest leg of the race...the swim!

It was certainly nerve-wracking. And I have a way of getting into a deep deep focus so that not a whole lot exists outside the inner workings of my head and the brief snapshots of what my senses are feeding me.

I started the swim in the back of the pack, to elude the kicks and swats of the crowd all splashing toward the course exit. Also because it takes me a little time to get used to the water and the swell, to get through the jagged breathing and nerves hitting full tilt. But I made it out to the first buoy and started my stroke in earnest. There were only about 6 people behind me just before I started it. And when I did I was still a little nervous. But then my breathing evened out and I was stretching into my stroke, all in an effort to relax...and before I knew it, I was cruising by swimmers left and right. I was movin'! It was such a cool feeling. I was getting somewhere.

The water was green-blue in my goggle-view, there were tiny bubbles rising to the surface from the splash of my hands, there were pink feet first ahead of me then drifting behind me, then another pair. There was the sound and the feel of my breath, in, then out in a an unleashing of bubbles, then sucking in, then face in the water again, lungs working it out, all the while flashes of white swim caps, bobbing against the view of mountains, and sky, then that green-blue, and the bubbles and the breathing. It was hypnotic. I was cruising along in my focus when from the corner of my eye, face in the water, I saw the black felt-marker number on my shoulder: 388. And I realized...I'm doing a triathlon!!! I'm swimming in the triathlon! And my speed picked up another notch.

Already Always Listening, OR...Right, what SHE said.

Felicia and Emily are over for dinner. They tell us they recently took advantage of the new California law allowing same-sex couples to marry.

LISA: How did you two meet?

FELICIA: Sex club.

EMILY: Shut up. (punch in the arm)

Then they tell us the story of that answer...

Felicia's Mom sits in the corner of the living room knitting. Felicia's COUSIN, FELICIA herself, and EMILY stand nearby in the dining room.

COUSIN: How did you two meet?

EMILY: The internet.

COUSIN: A Sex Club??

FELICIA: THE INTERNET.

EMILY: It's a good place for singles.

COUSIN: The place is called FINGERS??

.

Gramcrackers

Back in L.A. Back in the land of NOW. Back to the landscape of flatscreens in bars with Olympics on them late into the night, to the corner of the key lime pie colored room that means for me INTERNET INTERNET INTERNET!! I can't drink it in fast enough! Must...slake...my thirst!!!

I've been in San Diego at Grandma's. Frequent occurrence of late, I know. She's 97 and blind and living alone because she's so derned independent, she'd rather totter around on fossil-frail legs in a macular degenerated fog than give up her digs. She's also waiting for the welcome from the part of the family that will take her in when her bones won't hold her up anymore [Cue hold music] ... Considering those bones are creeping up on a century that should be any minute now [More hold music]...

...Okay, we're just going to let that line hold while we continue with the rest of the program. So, Grandma has lived in the same retirement village for 31 years. I remember the night she and Grandpa moved in. It was rainy. I was 6. And tired. I remember sitting on the couch that had just been set down. 31 years later, I am prone to napping on the "couch" that has replaced it, this one short enough that my legs hang off of it (you shrink when you get to be 97--couch is Grandma-sized).

Since Grams is blind and has been getting that way for years, there is no internet connection. Her last memory of modern data entry is of the Word Processor. So I explain the internet by saying it's like magazine pages inside a Word Processor. And you can send the pages as if they were themselves on a phone call, and the receiving phone is another "Word Processor" where the message you wrote or the page you sent pops up. And you can "sift" through the many millions of pages stored on the "phone lines" like you can flip through a phone book, looking at all the ads...but the pages are glossy and pretty like magazine pages. ...How she translates the tactile experiences of paper, ink, heavy dial-phones, and the sounds that go with them, to a purely intellectual chain of events, I long to see what this looks like in her imagination.

Point is, at Grandma's there is no internet. And I no longer have my Blackberry from my office job. So I am completely without access to any brief little hop to the outside world and I consider claustrophobia, for, oh, let's say just a few moments, because it's sweltering hot in the empty bedroom, can't go in there, and the T.V. is blaring in the tiny living room--did I mention her hearing ain't what it used to be? I SAID, DID I MENTION HER HEARING AIN'T WHAT IT USED TO BE?? And it's nighttime, to which my Grandma is allergic, and she can smell it on me and immediately begin choking and wheezing in a feverish contact high, so God Forbid I Go Outside Where the Criminals and Rapists wait just outside the door.

It's near 8:30, though. Bedtime for Grandma. And I wait to pounce on the T.V. to find the Olympics. Grand display of amazing feats are on for two weeks, inspiring and heartwrenching stories unfolding in time-delayed real time. In a country far far away. THAT will take me farther than even the 6 o'clock news and I can fantasize about being connected to the outside world late into the night. Grandma has said she doesn't get that channel but I don't believe her. How can you not get the Olympics? Why, that's unamerican, and Grandma is most certainly card-carrying.

She doesn't get that channel. Criminy! Now SHE's in the tiny bedroom, sweltering or not, the place is locked down like Fort Knox, and I am sitting in Grandma's chair, not one foot away from the television (placed there so she can "see" it and hear it) and I am devolving into the caverns of my mind, collapsing in on itself. ... ... ... I realize that this is what Grandma does every day. ... ...

I get up and make a freezer waffle and eat four Oreo's when that is not enough. It takes me all of ten minutes from start to finish. It takes Grandma ten minutes to get the waffles from the freezer into the toaster (but she'd sooner bury me than not make breakfast for me, so she starts early). I turn off the T.V. and work on my play...thanking God I have the faculties to at least map this manic imagination, or distract it, in the absence of internet and the Olympics.

My Play on Stage in San Diego

Hey folks,
Tania reminded me that I didn't tell the blogosphere that a play of mine is getting produced in San Diego this month.

Here are the details:

GOD SAID QUIET is playing at

The Fritz Blitz - "Best of the Blitz"
(A selection of the best of 15 years at the Fritz Blitz Festival of New Plays)

WHERE: Lyceum Space Theatre, located at 79 Horton Plaza in downtown San Diego.
DATES: Performances run August 14 to August 18, 2008
TIMES: Thursday - Saturday at 8pm and Sundays at 3pm.

Tickets are $18 general admission, $15 for students/seniors/military/AASD.
A Fritz Blitz Pass to see all plays is only $49.

For information (press only) call (818) 633 5468.

For tickets (public) call Lyceum box office (619) 544 1000.

Passes available at www.fritztheatre.com

Shake Down Wake Up

"I think it may take an earth shaking an event like the end of humanity to bring people to their senses.”

- My friend Roy

Peace Is Personal

I realized something profound today: I realized that peace is personal. And that world peace is attained when each individual knows peace within.

Too woo woo for you? Read on.

Breaking it down, I realized that what brings me peace is the physical sensation I get when I know that I am loved. I know peace when I know that I am loved or have been loved. When I remember this, I am filled with a sensation, the presence of which makes anxiety, fear, impulse go out the window. They are canceled out by the exquisite calm I feel. The negative feelings have no bearing. They don't matter when I know this peace.

Other people, I imagine, come to peace in a variety of ways and experiences. What brings you peace? What slows everything down, brings an ease to your chest, breath to your lungs, and slack to your shoulders when you encounter it? What makes you warm and quiet and grateful, lacking absolutely nothing in that moment? This is peace. Your peace.

Imagine if you made every decision in your life from this experience, standing right in the middle of this sensation. Imagine if world leaders, community leaders, individuals in each family and community spoke and acted from their personal peace. Would there be any harm, any foul? Ever?

If peace is personal, then world peace is personal. If it only takes healing and exploration to recognize our individual answers to "What is Peace?" then what are we waiting for? Dive in, folks. Visualize personal peace. Wholeness is its own reward.

Priceless Park Bench Story

This is WAY better than the park bench pix I've posted in the past.
Thanks to Lo Smithie for the link.
Caution if you're squeamish.

Man Almost Loses Penis Humping Steel Bench | Weird Asia News

The Debate Continues

My friend's 9-yr-old, Ryan, picked an apple today and bit into it. I sniffed it and the following conversation ensued:

PEMA: Mmm. Smells like the kind you dip in caramel.

RYAN: What the heck is caramel?

PEMA: ...Caramel...you know, it's, like, a candy...it's soft?...brown...square...

RYAN: You mean CAR-muhl?

Infinity x 3 = Infinity

It's 8/8/8 !!

Jingle What?

It's 86 degrees in Los Angeles. We're baking in the heat. There's no breeze. In the refuge of the coffee shop, there is air conditioning, thank God. And CHRISTMAS SONGS?? Cute young cookie behind the counter thinks it's quaint. Personally, it's messing with my wiring, so I lean back, look at the ceiling for a stretch between "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" and "What Child is This?" and stare at the pull-cords that dangle under the spinning ceiling fan. What's that on the pull-cord? I watch it till it makes a full revolution and I can see what it is. Oy, me brain. It's a tiny wooden pine tree and a tiny reindeer above it. I give in. Deck the halls. At least I'm wearing red.

Lovin' Summer, Havin' a Blast

I've been in the no-internet zone of Grandma's the last few days.
I've been jobless the last 6 days.
It's summer and hot and lazy out.
I don't have 24/7 access to the internet with a Blackberry anymore--it went the way of my day job.

Can I just say it's felt more like a high school summer evening and long stretch of days than any since? Nothing pressing to do. Lazy socializing depending on who's under the shade. Chats with Grandma. Warm SoCal nighttimes and sleeping when tired. Waking without alarm. The only thing to move toward is curiosity.

Deelicious.

The Non-Woman

First off, let me just say that "The Non-Woman" is absolutely the wrong title for this. Just because you can't see something or someone doesn't mean it or s/he doesn't exist. You couldn't see the Wizard of Oz. But he existed behind his light show. You can't see Wonder Woman inside her invisible plane, but she's in there! All of her wonderful self is in there, unseen and fighting the forces of evil.

But this morning, I got out of the ocean after a swim. Wet and tired but energized, slick in my Speedo, I walked up the beach with my swimming partner, Dov. At the parking lot were a couple of guys kicking around a soccer ball, and a tiny little dude, probably not yet two, standing bow-legged between them, gripping the ground with his feet. Santa Barbara has been spilling over with overseas tourists this summer. America is on sale, after all, with the dollar weak as it is. These guys wore the soccer jerseys, cropped hair, slim builds and fine features of folks from a far-flung place.

Then from a nearby car came a billow of black cloth toward the child. A woman in a full length black garment, head cloth, face piece over her nose mouth and neck. She wore gold-rimmed glasses that covered her eyes. She wore bulky blue tennis shoes. And bulky black gloves. She wore gloves. There was no part of her exposed. It was as if I was watching a film and her presence in the film was not cut out, but inked out by a permanent marker--especially in contrast to the contemporarily-dressed men kicking the soccer ball. And suddenly, my natural half-nakedness at the beach after a swim in the ocean in training for a triathlon felt gauche and exposed as I walked past the men with the soccer ball and the tiny two-year-old boy who turned to watch Dov and me walk by. What an affront, right? Me in my skin tight suit, ambling by the little boy and the men with the ball? I toiled with this contrast a while, and finally heard myself say to myself sternly: I'm in my own country. I can dress like this when I go into the ocean.

The only identifying element that came from behind the black cloth, besides maybe the blue shoes, was her voice, which called out to the little boy. It was sweet and light and clear, young-ish, "Yusef!"

I have seen covered women before. But never in such stark contrast, to first the men who accompanied her, and then me, near-naked me. She wore gloves.

I couldn't help the thoughts that rushed in: Where is she in there? Where does she go to be who she is inside? Where can she be exposed? Expressed? What do these men think of their woman (because automatically I assume she is "theirs," my mind associating the full coverage with ownership of her ways), their woman, at the beach, with nearly naked westerners and her little boy exposed to them? I realize these are western thoughts applied to a non-western culture.

Oh, am I aware of my lack of education here and my assumptions and perhaps prejudices. But I can't get the image from my mind, of the billowing black cloth at the beach, early morning in a West Coast American town, and the notion of being blacked out of a part of existence.

Dream Progress

I had one of those ridiculous anxiety dreams this morning, you know those? The ones where you show up late to an important meeting, wearing the wrong thing (or nothing), holding the wrong material (or your tooth brush), and you have only minutes to make it right, but each attempt you make to get back to where you should be gets trammeled by some silly obstacle, like the company toilet overflows but the closest towel is across a field and around a bend, etc...

My dreams like this usually involve distance that increases rapidly as I try to gain. My running slows, no matter how much I focus on my technique to make me faster. And somehow, that weird distance between me and where I want to be, gapes open.

Last night's dream was one of those, but first I showed up to an important meeting wearing a short, red-checked waitress uniform, complete with cute apron and white hat. The meeting was to find out whether I was good enough to get hired on the writing team for this new client. My prospective boss was infuriated, because his new big time client was about to get off the phone and join us. I had just minutes to make my outfit right. As it happened, I'd had a morning restaurant job and forgot to change before I came to the meeting.

So the anxiety unfolded, the toilet did overflow, the distance did open wide (home was far away), my clothing was all wrong...but with each frustration came a modicum of success. As I chased my tail trying to find the right clothes and get back to the meeting on time, I heard in my head how confident in me the boss was. I heard how well he liked my resume, and how talented I would be on this project. Turns out, shoes that I didn't expect but that worked for the occasion showed up where I least expected them. Somehow I found myself in jeans, and that cute red-check dress tucked into the jeans to make quite a hip-looking top.

Maybe I should have turned the apron into a cape, because I made it to the meeting! And in it heard these words: small, break it down, the new client will be into this if you package the project in small pieces, comprehensible and tangible, doable. He likes you. You relate easily. You know how to do it a piece at a time.

I wake up from the dream taking mental notes. Because later this morning, I have a first meeting with a prospective client. :-)

And I Feel Fine...

Today was my last day at work.
Tomorrow I swim, go to the spa to INDULGE in my near-unemployed status, get some of my own work done, then go on a date.
Sounds like a damn'd fine dayyyheehee indeed.

Pill for That?

Laura called me as she was waking up, thinking that maybe a conversation would help get her brain back in motion. She sounded drugged, and definitely not awake, even as the conversation progressed. But being that it's Laura's MENSA-grade brain we're talking about here, she managed to describe her sleep-grog thusly:

LAURA: You think they make a little blue pill for waking up? I suffer from Erectile Dysfunction of the Brain.

Science Lesson

My friend Sophia is 5. Her reasoning is this:

SOPHIA: Fish are not mammals because they don't breathe air. Boys are not mammals because they don't carry babies in their bellies, and they don't nurse their young.

New parts

Had a date last night. I've known the guy a long time in a work context but that's it. Told Britt and Chris about it today...

ME: I kissed a boy last night.

BRITT: Oo!

CHRIS: Is this a new guy?

ME: New to my lips anyway.

"Everyone's Got One"

You know what I mean. Now there's a clinical term for it. It's called:

Adult Onset Opinion Formation

Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha

Every once in a while, a comment graduates to Bench-status.

Matteo Norteno said...

Ha!

That's right! She's ours. Portland wins, one-to-nothin'.
Can't wait for you to be up here, Pema. If you need anything, lemme know.

Oh yeah, and Santa Barbara, if you were a little nicer and maybe a little less arrogant, you could've kept her. Oh, but Santa Barbara, if you're not seeing anyone... call me!

July 21, 2008 8:30 PM

News

I'm moving to Portland, Oregon.
I leave end August, early September.
I'm a little bit happy about it and a whole lot petrified right now.
Petrified: immovable, stuck, holding my breath. I feel like I'm at an intersection, all trucks facing each other waiting for someone else to budge. So much information. Where will it go?
I gave notice at work.
I have a week left there.
I have money saved to focus on writing in Portland when I get there, and not get a job right away.
But I'm loathe to spend all my money, and not know where the end is to this leap.
Transition (a la David Bowie).
I do have a public reading scheduled there already, however!
Meanwhile, in SB, I'm scheduling a table reading for my play, "Talking Dogs." Collecting actors.
It's dark blue outside right now with a moon that was full just last night.
There's a cool breeze drifting in the open window. Crickets and night bugs chirp in surround-sound outside. Someone's wind chime sounds nearby.
It's beautiful here.

Chicken Sweaters

After work happy hour conversations:

Scott went to Westpoint Military Academy. Eugen served in the military in Romania after high school.

EUGEN: If Westpoint wants to go green, they should make biodegradable bullets. The lead used to make bullets is really bad for the environment.
*

Steve said that chicken growers figured out how to breed featherless chickens, to require less work to pluck them in the processing. But the growers discovered that the chickens were too cold, and it would cost more to try to keep them warm and alive than it would to pluck the feathers in the processing.

STEVE: They could have made chicken sweaters. Can you see it? Employing a bunch of little old ladies to knit little chicken sweaters.

Why We Love Ms. Brindle

KARA: We won an Indian dinner and you two are invited!

SUSAN: Ooo!

ME: Can we wear saris?

KATE: Is that like a sarong?

KARA: Kind of.

ME: Have you ever worn a sari?

SUSAN: No

ME: Have you ever been sari?

SUSAN: No, but I've been sarong.



.

Overheard

Fascinating phrases I heard this weekend:

Babycakes
Stooped to canned beans
Painted her poodle pink
Mouth full of noises

I admit, the last one started in my head. But then I heard myself say it.

And "babycakes" isn't exactly original, I know, but when you stop and consider it as an adult, it's a strange word to call your loved one.

Flowers and Virgins

TANIA: I've never deflowered a virgin. How come I never got to deflower a virgin? I've always wanted to deflower a virgin.

PEMA: (channeling Lisa) That's okay. You're good at other things.

TANIA: Now I'm too old. If I want to deflower a virgin I have to be a Mrs. Robinson.

KARA: That's too bad! You're a professor! You're the perfect archetype for deflowering virgins.

PEMA: You deflower young minds!

TANIA: Oh my God that's right I do deflower virgins!

Stir Crazy in Yellowstone

So I fly into Jackson Hole, Wyoming, over the arresting and jagged Grand Teton Mountains, capped with snow and peaked like meringue, and I imagine the camping that will soon follow. Majestic wilderness, peace unfolding under the solitude of tree canopies and the sound of a creek rushing by. Flowers and butterflies floating on a summer br---eerrrtt!! That's the sound of the record scratching off its track. Imagine this five minute polaroid of camping life instead:

Setting: an R.V. park crammed with aluminum hulls on wheels and spilling with strangers and folding chairs and bicycles, electrical cords and hoses that hook up to running water. Just outside the edges of the park, which you can't really see because of the crammed nature of the people-in-parking-spaces carved out of the wilderness...is wilderness...of expansive grass and in the distance, roiling clouds in a limitless sky and those jagged jagged mountains.

Action: My sister-in-law, her daughter and two sons, and my brother, crammed into the camper playing cards, and laughing so hard that my niece pees her pants. That makes everybody laugh harder, but no one realizes till she gets up that Allie has left a mark on the couch! So Joyce has to take a picture of the spot, but she's laughing so hard, she can hardly stand straight to push the button. She keeps swaying and kind of falling over. She finally gets the shot while Allie is changing her clothes in the tiny camper crapper, and shortly it is time for bed. I'm on my laptop when the bigger of the two chihuauas, Chili, bounds over to me and barfs on my keyboard. Of course I flip out and attack the barf with wet Q-tips where it has seeped between the keys. Barely has the barf cleared, Q-tips still in hand, when the teacup chihuaua, Coco, pees at my feet, and Joyce's nose starts bleeding in the back of the R.V. Allie is by this time in the loft in her bed, laughing and laughing, and waiting for something else to happen.

Joyce says it's what happens when we're all in one small spot together for so long. I for one, liked it.

Kittymail

LISA: The kitties check their kitty litter like we check our email. "What's going on in here? (sniff sniff) Any messages?"

Temp Drops

Gap Fire is 30% contained and people are moving back into their houses. Fog has rolled in the last few nights. Threat is not gone, but we're not breathing as much ash as we were in recent days.

Last year a fire started in the back country on July 4 and burned for three months.

Gap Fire

I'm back. By that I mean from the Yellowstone vacation and the sickness I brought home with me. I've been in bed sleeping the last two days.

Before I hit the bed, I flew into Santa Barbara close to midnight, over the black night and orange flames of the Gap Fire. You could smell the smoke in the plane before we came in for landing. You could see the flames spread over the hills out the window, orange and smoky.

(Here is a panoramic my friend, Daniel Girard took of the Gap Fire late on 7/3/08. That's the fire to the right and town to the left.)

My roommates and I climbed the hill behind our house to take a look at the flames across town. It was about 12-15 miles away from where we stood, in the front country, city lights just below it. Our friends, Britt and Chris were evacuated (and are still staying downtown at Geoff and Henry's) and others of our friends have been in and out of their house on voluntary evacuations. They're here this morning for breakfast to get away from the heavy smoke at their house.

News last night said the fire was 24% contained and evening winds that fueled the fires earlier in the week had subsided.

I also heard on the news there are 300 fires burning in California right now. Wow.

Charming and Clever

Hi. It's Tania. I'm actually going to take an active role in blogsitting today. I decided to write about writers -- charming and clever writers, to be exact. It's a theme blog. But perhaps they all are. I love how blogging allows me a departure from my typically bone dry research article writing so I can write sentences that start with "but."

But I digress.

The first writer of the day is Stephen Sondheim. You read Pema's review of "Company." What you may not know is that I forced her to watch two of the songs from Act 2 because I thought that the play might be redeemed in her eyes if she heard "Being Alive." Also, she had to hear "The Ladies Who Lunch." Just because it was such a good performance and so over-the-top cynical. She went out of town, so I had to watch the interview with Stephen Sondheim all by myself (while doing yoga and pilates 'cause was trying to make the most of my Sunday afternoon). Anyway, he was certainly charming and clever, and the fact that he started as a lyricist was particularly inspiring for me as I like to make up new words to borrowed melodies, which is, I think what lyricists do.

Next, is a playwright who wrote a play based on Stephen Sondheim's "Sweeney Todd." His adaptation is set in San Francisco, and it's called "Sweetie Tanya - The Demon Barista of Valencia Street." Yes, that's right Dan Wilson, I'm writing about you! Pema had gone to see the play, and I was very excited to see a musical set in SF with my name in the title. It turned out to be everything I could have hoped for -- it was funny and the songs were catchy and clever and it was wonderfully feminist. Here's a review of the play from the SF Weekly.

I became a fan of the third featured writer when I heard him singing songs he made up on NPR. In the short time period since this piece aired, I made Lisa and Pema listen to the clip, I googled him, I sent him fan mail (with some of my songs, since clearly he was someone who would appreciate them), I heard back from him (as, indeed, he did appreciate my songs), I wrote a song about him (which also received a positive response), I read his entire blog (which makes me laugh out loud), and I bought both of his books on amazon. Of course, I'm talking about the charming and clever Marc Acito.

Finally, I want to pay homage to charming and clever Pema. In particular, I want to say how much I enjoyed the 10-minute play she wrote that was produced as part of a 10-minute play festival at our local community college. Here's what impressed me most about her play -- I would think that in 10-minutes you would want to fit in as many words as possible to communicate the context, characters, narrative arc, etc. But that's not what Pema did. I think all the lines in the play could have been read in about 45 seconds, and yet she managed to engage the audience, build suspense, convey development of characters and their relationship, and find resolution. She's good! And charming? Well, if you know Pema, either through her blog or in person, there's no question.

So that's my blog entry. I hope it provides sufficient substance, amusement, and brown nosing the blog owner that I will be forgiven for the sporadic nature of my blogsitting activities. Of course, if the blog licked my face at 5am, I might remember to feed it daily.

Oh, and props to anyone who knows the play about a writer that inspired the title of today's blog.