Geek out

For the first time in my life I spent $60 on a video game. It's called Little Big Planet and its my favorite game of all time. (yes, even cooler than Mario). It has an ING rating of 9.5

I'm one of those people that throws around the work creative a lot. It's a word hard to define on the fly, and a word often associated with art (which might play a part in that difficult abstract definition). Little Big Planet is creativity in all it's forms. It plays on a platform bulging with unique design and original concepts. Full of imagination and fun, it's a lot like playing in a child's dream or on a puppet stage with wooden animals and felt characters. Who wouldn't love that?! The game is whimsical, visually phenomenal and the soundtrack is very hip. So far I'm only on level 3 and having a blast running through this maze of creativity. Checkout the video!

Nutty Neighbor

I was out for an evening walk the other day when I heard someone panting behind me. A middle-aged woman wearing a Bohemian skirt and sneakers was quickly at my side, walking in stride with me - beat for beat. I'll call her Jean. "Those balloons are so ugly," she said in an agitated tone pointing to the 4 white balloons tied to the For Rent sign in front of our apartment complex. "I called the office to complain. You know, some Mexican puts them out every day. I see them do it. They must be celebrating some Mexican holiday 'cause they always use Mexican colors. Uck. Why don't they put out pink ones on Valentines day? Something festive to mix it up. They always choose the ugliest colors. I'm Canadian. I guess I'm just not use to them."

Them? Was she referring to the balloons or the Mexicans?

The second time I encountered Jean was in the parking garage. She was unloading groceries out of her suburban when she saw me step out of my car. She glanced over at me, "Don't buy Arrowhead water at Safeway. It tastes like pond water. You know, I took it right back."

"Thanks for the tip," I said.

Now I see Jean walking often. I think she walks about 5 laps around the block every night. I assume this because once she simply hollered at me. "One more to go!" Sometimes I avoid her when I'm out walking too, casually slipping to the other side of the street or just turning around. Tonight she was headed right for me and we caught eyes before I could shift my direction. "Someone ought to move that. Someone's gonna trip over it." She was talking about the large blue postal box on the corner of the sidewalk. "I was out just before dark and wasn't paying attention and almost tripped," she huffed and continued walking past me, not waiting for my response, as usual. I turned to watch her, just for a second, and imagined her out there, right before dark, sidestepping acorns and blaming the squirrels.

Dems Fightin' Birds

I've been keeping a short list of blog topics on a notepad. One says "Dems Fightin' birds" which is something I chuckled to myself the other morning when I was walking to my car and saw 2 robins ferociously chasing a black squirrel out of the bushes. I mean, the pour guy was running for his life.

I've been noticing all the stuff in the air this spring: From pollen to planes. And lots of birds. We're lucky in that our apartment complex has beautiful gardens and lots of tall trees, which are atwitter with hundreds of birds. There's a cute pair of finches that steal strands of moss lining from a hanging pot on my balcony. Every morning there out there foraging for nesting materials. I think it's moss. It looks more like dried straw or grass. A pair of blue birds were here in April doing the same thing, but they were a little more friendly and tried to hop in the house. They even try to pull out blue strings from the rug.

Drawing on the shower door

Call it a compulsion. Like Neanderthals etching their memoirs on a cave wall. Well, maybe it’s not like that. But my impulse to draw on the shower door feels primal, like an itch. It’s there so I scratch. I draw and doodle the most simple forms: waves, circles, tulips or hearts. On some level it feels rebellious. Maybe because as kids we got in trouble for writing on the foggy school bus windows: “Jana smells” or “I ♥ X” which was code for “I love Chris”.

This morning I tried to write out Roman Numerals on the glass shower door, just to see how far I could get: I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII …I got stuck at 9. Then remembered to start subtracting: IX (10 minus 1) not VIIII (5 plus 4). How juvenile, I thought to myself. But then it turned into a fun quiz once I remembered the pattern. I wrote XXVII and XIX and XXXVIII. I don’t know about you, but I feel guilty doing math in the shower. Here I am, going back in time like an ancient scholar writing an outline for a scroll while the hot water carelessly goes down the drain.

And I can’t help but think that while we do these doodles all the time, rarely do we appreciate our urge and our ability to create something from nothing. Whether you’re a Neandethal or scholar or Buddhist sitting on a rock next to a waterfall drawing a lotus flower on a piece of rice paper.

Earth Day

At first, I sat down to write this and thought, "I don't get Earth Day." Arrogantly thinking that I appreciate our blue planet every day and so should everyone else. Why do we need to set aside a special holiday? But then I thought about the education and innovation and goal setting that happens today. Okay okay...I get it. A lot of citizens in this great country of ours don't pay attention to conservation everyday. It's good to have Earth Day as a reminder to the un-eco. I think it's great that we have this day of awareness (let's just hope it doesn't turn into a day or remembrance!)

Nugget: Did you know Earth Day was founded by U.S. Senator Gaylord Nelson?

I'm no extreme green advocate, but I do my part and appreciate nature more than your average city dweller. On the scale of greeness I'd say I'm a honeydew shade (I throw away sandwhich bags and need a new muffler).

Here are five things I did for the environment today:

1. Ate a vegetarian sandwhich
2. Purchased Green Works Natural Dishwashing Liquid
3. Recycled cardboard boxes, a Coke Zero bottle, copy paper, and my old cell phone
4. Turned off my computer monitor at work before I left the office
5. Cooked with fresh parsley and basil from my patio garden
   

Kick the Habit

My TV habit started when I was in the fourth grade, with Disney Afternoon’s kid-targeted lineup of Ducktails, Gummi Bears, Chip and Dales Rescue Rangers, and Talespin. The cartoons aired from 3:00-5:00 p.m. until our parents got home to direct us to our homework and make us dinner. In those two hours we lived like queens, like Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone. That year, almost everyday after school, my neighborhood friends and I ate Eggo waffles soaked in Mrs. Butterworth on the floor in front of the TV. And so it began. It became almost robotic the way I walked into the house, threw down my backpack and turned on the tube. Twenty years later, I’m stuck in the same habit.

Television really is the best companion when you’re home alone, but it’s also the worst time filler. I hate admitting that I can easily waste a rainy Saturday watching Dirty Jobs, E! True Hollywood Story, and a movie on TBS I’ve already seen eight times. Besides the characters I’m attached to on The Office, Greys Anatomy and Lost, I really enjoy the educational stuff on Discovery, PBS, TLC, or History. I do! Friends make fun of my gusto for nature shows. I’m not a sucker for Meercat Manor, but if a Planet Earth marathon is on, you bet I’m gonna ooh and ahh all day. I also like Ace of Cakes on the Food Network and half a dozen design shows on HGTV. But in the past 2 years I’ve switched to the Internet for most of the regular programs. They only have 30 seconds of commercials and are free! Sometimes when I go to bed I’ll even set the laptop on my belly and watch an episode of 30 Rock before I go to sleep.

So, we’re canceling the cable and saving $70/month. The habitual TV set has been abolished. ...In a way. I’ll still catch up on my shows online and fill a few hours on weekends with Netflix on demand movies. Just think of all the free time I’ll have now after work. I’ll throw down my satchel and turn on my creativity. And attempt to engage this brain of mine.

Flossed lately?

I don’t throw out hate very often. And I don’t hate my dentist. I wouldn’t say that. Hell, I don’t even hate going to the dentist. It’s dental procedures that I hate. And that might just be an understatement. Ever since I was a kid I’ve had problems with the teeth. I blame weak enamel from defective genes. And sugar. Like most kids I devoured handfuls of sour patch kids like they were going out of style. I was so proud one adolescent year when I told my dentist I was off soda. Then he asked if I drank juice and I said smugly, “Like a fish” knowing that I was gaining his approval because of my vitamin intake from my oj or cranberry or berry blast. And he said “That’s a no-no, because juices are loaded with just as much sugar as soda.” It seems like that happens all the time. We think we’re doing something wise then some expert comes along and tells us to knock it off.

The procedure was to replace a crown; the porcelain had developed a small fracture with a sharp edge that was cutting up my curious and wandering tongue. (We just can’t leave it alone, can we? If we feel our bodies change: One tiny bump, one little scab, one cracked tooth… we just keep picking at it. Like a dog with fleas.) The original crown was done about 10 years ago, when I was in college and had my wisdom teeth out, a root canal, and 9 silver fillings replaced with 9 pearly white ones. That year they threw in professional whitening for free, for all the business I had given them. Needless to say, I’m no stranger to nitrous oxide. And I was a little pissed that my new dentist didn’t have any.

There I was, a brave little soldier, numbed up with a topical ointment waiting for the dreaded injection that would soon turn my nerves to jello, dragging down the entire right side of my face. Needles always sound (and look) worse than they feel. And when you imagine a needle stabbing your tender gums it’s not pleasant. But it actually felt okay this time. I mean, I barely felt the sharp prick Dr. Chu warned me about (Yes, I know, his name is brilliant). The Novacain and Epinephrine go to work on my nerves and Dr. Chu starts up the drill and goes to town on that molar.

Ah, the sound of drilling in the morning, there’s nothing quite like it. Wads of gauze are tucked into my cheeks, water is squirting, someone has a hand on my chin, the drill is shaving down that tooth, and the doctor’s headlamp keeps flashing through my closed eyelids. You’ve’ been there. It’s utter torture. I’ve got my mouth open for an hour, thinking all the while This sucks. This sucks. This sucks.

“Suction.” The dentist says to the hygienist. And she shoves the vacuum under my tongue. And I can’t help but think about the chuckles I’d release if I had a little nitrous right about now. I’m numb. I feel the pressure. And then the pain free maneuvering breaks loose with a synching pinch pinch pinch on my cheek. Holy shit. This hurts. Be tough, I say to myself. Count to ten. It’s not so bad. It’s hard to pin point the pain, my nerves are so confused (or dormant at the moment) and I’m not sure if it’s suppose to hurt this bad. Just when I’m about to raise my hand to surrender, it stops.

What was scheduled as an hour procedure turned out to be two. And after Dr. Chu wrapped up, and I rinsed, I was impatient and eager to get out of there. “You’ll notice a little bubble on your cheek from my tools,” Dr. Chu says as I depart. “Just be careful not to bite down on it.” No big deal, I think. I’ve bitten my cheek plenty of times; it hurts but it heals in a day or two.

Once inside my car I let out a whimper (I admit it). My head has been traumatized and I feel awful. I lower the visor mirror and inspect this little bubble the dentist warned me about. Picture an average sized bubble gum bubble. That’s what I’ve got stuck to the inside of my right cheek: A swollen red bruise bubbling with a white scab. I look like I’ve been punched in the face. (…And then I feel kind of badass.)

My paralysis lasts throughout the day and when I’m back at work I eat cherry jello and check email, avoiding any drooling conversations. For dinner I have chicken broth. For breakfast the next morning it’s yogurt. More soup and a V8 for lunch. I don’t know how deep this wound is, but I think I’ll be eating liquids for the rest of the week. Keep away the OJ and bring on the ice cream!

Where would you wish to wakeup tomorrow?

My best friend Becky, who's always asking the philosophical questions about the human condition, sent this fresh video to me:




Fifty People, One Question: Brooklyn from Crush + Lovely on Vimeo.

I would wake up outdoors in the sweet summer air next to a mountain stream...in a 65 degree, partly cloudy day, the sun already warming the rocks as I climb out of the sleeping bag and put on my socks. I wake up alone, in Gods country, with the busy birds. Bath in the river. Sunbath on a log. And in the afternoon I'll meet up with a friend for some fried trout, sweet apples and huckleberry wine.

What about you?

Six Word Memoirs

Try it. Here are a few I came up with (although, I think the assignment is to sum up your life in just 1. Mine tend to encapsulate time periods). p.s. I apologize for using the word "encapsulate". What am I? 19? p.s.s. And they seem to be rhyming...ugh.

• Flunked math, aced love, graduated intoxicated
• Cursed Washington rain; Praised California rays
• Wear skinny jeans; sleep hefty dreams
• Blocked writer watching TV at night

A few of my favorites from Smith Magazine's 6 Word Memoirs:

• I've survived a bunch of Thursdays.
• Hold on, I'm coming, you're screaming.
• Wish I had a long fuse.
  

Morning Commute

I’m driving down Foothill Expressway this morning, as I do most mornings on my way to work, in the ‘97 Civic I have maintained for 10+ years. It’s a pleasant drive lined with trees and bike lanes, winding along the backside of Stanford. I’m completely mellowed out. I mean, I’m a pretty laid back lady, but this morning the sun is shining, I’m listening to folk singer Brett Dennon, and my head isn’t cramped with stress. I roll up to a red light and watch a few cyclists whiz past me in their bright colored jerseys… when I look in my rear view mirror at the car behind me: silver BMW, driven by a blue toothed motor mouth. She’s bitching at someone on the phone, waving her hands in disbelief in that I can’t believe your so daft and ugly cold-hearted way. She’s so into her conversation that I cautiously keep watching her, in case her foot slips off the break and her Beamer kisses my car. It’s a huge complaint, whatever she’s carrying on about, full of emotion and disgust. She looks to her lap, aggressively puts on her sunglasses and lowers her visor, then opens her sunroof with the push of a button; her mouth doesn’t skip a beat. I imagine the person on the other end: maybe a moronic apprentice who mistakenly brought her decaf. Or maybe she’s just pissed at her disobedient dog and the dog trainer on the other end has to hear about his bogus credentials. I can almost read her lips…wait, there it is: “Are you fucking kidding me?!" She darts her head to the passenger seat but no one is there. She’s talking so fast. I mean, she’s really into it. I can’t help but laugh at the show. There’s something hilarious about seeing people talk to themselves so passionately, especially on this sun-drenched quiet morning.

Ever since California passed the hands-free law, I imagine there’s even more of these schizophrenic-like commuters, waving their hands in vain to a person they can’t see. I know you see them; maybe you’re one of them. I saw your cool new Bluetooth headset ;) After all, the business day starts in the car, not in the office, with conference calls on I-5 and appointment re-scheduling with the personal secretary or nanny. The woman behind me purses her lips and pauses just for a moment. She’s gotten herself all worked up, and over what? I can’t help but wonder how people can get so flustered in their daily routines. And why waste energy on such high volume complaints? But that’s me. Happy go lucky. Easy and breezy. Content to watch the birds and bikes as I travel the road.

Resolutions

In short: Exercising my muscles and creativity.

I won't be joining a gym this year, but will put more effort into walking down to the clubhouse at my complex where a dusty elliptical is waiting for me. I always talk about joining a Yoga/Fitness class to get motivated with other out-of-shape ladies, so that one is on the '09 agenda as well.

Creatively, I'm blogging again (aren't you lucky). And will be exchanging creative writing drafts with some other writer friends this year, hopefully establishing a prompt schedule. I plan to participate in NaNoWriMo again in November. I'm updating my online portfolio (stay tuned!). Plan to take an oil painting class, finally frame those cool photos I've been taking, and the usual "make more time for creativity" that yearns to transpire every year.

This morning my boyfriend and I are laying in bed. We're chatting our "good morning" chat, lazy eyed and tired with our faces almost touching. How sweet, I am thinking. Then he says, "You know what you look like?"
I hesitate..."what?"
"A Dr. Seuss character," he says.
"How so?" I ask.
Apparently they are cute and I am cute. My features, especially the way my cute little nose turns up and my little smirky smile. The curve of my nose looks like a cartoon. Great. Great! This, from the man I love. I can't help but wonder which character he meant?

NaNoWriMo

I participated in NaNoWriMo for the first time this year. (National Novel Writing Month). Basically, from Nov 1-30 you attempt to write 175 pages. A few friends of mine and I set a more realistic goal of 20 pages and attempted to write something substantial for the first time in years. It was a big assignment. One of the best things about being a writer is having support from fellow writers and the online community at NaNoWriMo was helpful for this project. They send you about 3 pep talks a week during the month of November; helping you through the process of character development, plot, getting blocked, and pushing through the dead weeds. It felt really good to work on a serious project, and to start thinking like a writer again.

I'll definitely participate next year...and I'm recruiting you too!

I wrote 17 pages in the month of November. The character is a smart 15 year old girl. Scenes are set in the classroom of a Geology professor, on various geological digs, and flashacks to childhood. Themes include "coming of age", solitude, time/history, family, and the disovery of love and other rare gems. My plot has not been developed but there are enough metaphors for 20 poems.

Writing exercise...and possible essay idea

I shivered, and concentrated on the rhythm of breath pushing and sucking through my snorkel. The fish dropped their apprehension every so often, one at a time, like children warming up to a stranger’s interest. Their black eyes weary of predators and eager for a nibble of frozen peas. The reef grew up from the seabed and formed a shallow island, which we were instructed to stay off because our fins would damage the polyps. I pumped my legs around the cliff and stared through my mask at the surrounding blue. ~ There are places we remember for the burning color they leave on our memory. Not the images reflected by rods and cones, but the washed over sensations of swimming alone in the wide-open ever-flowing sea. This is what I remember from The Great Barrier Reef.

Looking for Career Advice

A friend once brought me to the bookstore for answers. She said that whatever section I spent the most time in would reveal my career interests.
“You keep looking at those art books,” she said. But all I really wanted to do was cut out the glossy prints and frame them for my bathroom wall. Plus, I often feel jealous and overwhelmed when I look at art books, because I want to paint like that; that looks easy. But every time I try it looks like mud.

Truth is, I (and most of us) probably spend the most time self-loathing in the self-help section or mindlessly thumbing through the terraced racks of magazines. And often we’ll take a trip to the travel aisle and stare at a world map, close our eyes and point to the dreamy location of our next escapade. “Tangier, Morocco!” Excellent.

My friend and I wandered toward the dessert cookbooks. “Oh yeah? Maybe catering?” she submitted.
“Let’s go to the Metro Cafe for those lemon tarts,” I said.
My friend slid Delicate Cakes back on the shelf and we walked out the front door.

Are authors' blogs censored by their publishers?

Censorship always generates a lot of great discussion. Especially among my writer friends. I love that blogs are a great marketing tool for a lot of recent authors. But I wonder if any of that marketing is censored by publishers? Granted, a crazed fan might be deleted for stalking behavior and bad language. And maybe all the nasty reviews get the boot. If an author writes a blog about their book, at what point does the "deletion of objectionable information" leave the authors hand? Or is there any censorship at all?

What do you think?

Side Note: I've been reading about blogs and censorship on The Meaning of Blogger's Flag , which is a forum that discusses flagging blogs on Google's blogging tool: Blogger

Martha steals all my ideas

How many more brands is Martha Stewart going to create? I just saw her (new?) magazine Blueprint. It's the "fresh fun guide to personal style". hmmmm... I kind of like it. dammit.

Citrus Winter

Citrus Winter - a poem

I’ve been peeling a box of satsumas and my skin
smells like mandarins. The sticky oil has
stained my finger tips yellow and seeps
through my pores like garlic does
when you’ve eaten too much Italian.

Unexpected sweetness in December, when the gray sky
drops orange globes of fruit, I’m reminded of childhood
zing and the welcome of sunburst on my tongue.


Author Comments: I've been looking for another word for "welcome". Any thoughts?

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay

I'm currently reading Michael Chapbon's Pulitzer Prize winning novel The Amazing Adventure of Kavalier & Clay

Has anyone else read this? What did you like/dis-like about the story and characters?

Shout Out to the original WWU cast

I was just sifting through my folder of old college homework and came across an anthology that was pieced together from my English 354 Class from Fall, 2002 at Western Washington University-- “Coda: a Collection of Creative Nonfiction”. And I have to give a quick shout out to the professor, Brenda Miller, and the students, because this was the best and most significant class of my undergrad experience. Cheers! to the following writers: Mike Anderson, Rebecca Collins, Megan Cooley, Kris Drake, Megan Fitzpatrick, Gina Gately, Heather Hintz, Hollie Huthman, Tammy Kelso, Mary Lohnes, Beth Louon, Denise Mickelson, Nathan Nelson, Jon Perez, Erik Peterson, Sara Rowley, Nathaniel Shepard, Katie Stephens, and Jody Tice.

I really wish I had the syllabus from this class. The theme of the course was personal historical essays. And I recall doing a lot of brainstorming and discussion about how we define "creative nonfiction", "truth" and "memory". We were thirsty guinna pigs for information and assignments, which Brenda (and co-author Susan Paola) supplied in their drafts of "Telling it Slant: Writing and Shaping Creative Nondiction". The class was historical for all of us because this was the first college course of the year, after 9/11/02. Brenda asked us: What does it mean to be a writer in the face of a tragedy that renders us mute? What is our role as writers? Why bother? During the 10 week class we helped each other see that we write because we must give voice to what it means to be human. We write because we're trying to make sense of ourselves and our place in this world.