escape artist

the other night over a glass of Gewurtztramminer at À Côté we talked about the importance of escape. he had run away, in the past, to another country; and returned a year later to recast his life in a different mold. i have run away too - run inside. i didn't answer my phone, didn't return emails, i turned up the music and inserted a game and ran away into the world in my eyes.

"but you can't run forever," he observed. i agreed. but i added, "sometimes it's okay to beat a strategic retreat. to recollect and come back another time. sometimes you need the space to think and work things out."

on saturday, i played Dungeons and Dragons with my gaming group. it had been a long time. we had nearly died - twice - last session. we were beleagered, demoralized, clearly outclassed by our enemies.

we found the book that completed our mission. but the book spoke of greater evils. we would have to face them sooner or later. and there they were, in the next room - a scorpion knight with a poison tail and a chain-wielding devil. from the initial clash we knew this would be a difficult fight. the scorpion king immediately dropped a wall of ice behind us, cutting off our retreat. our weapons could barely hit them, and when they did, they seemed to do little damage. the devils, on the other hand, swatted us around like cats playing with half-dead mice. in the middle of the room was a glowing sword we knew to be Sunraiser, because it was also written in the book we found. as are so many things in D&D, it could be trapped, or cursed. still, we had little choice - it was either run to the ice wall or fight on. so my character ran to the sword and picked it up.

immediately it glowed brighter in her hand. the tide of battle did not turn just then but clearly the glowing sword was a point in our favor. still, there were moments when i suggested we try to melt the ice wall and run. we persevered, the monster fell, and i had in my hand a treasure. we all gained a level.

you must not be afraid to beat a strategic retreat, but there are times when it is best to stand your ground. it is knowing the difference that's perhaps the most valuable skill.

mao music

this i gotta hear.

happy day after

my entire MT backend seems to be fried on GameGirlAdvance. strangely enough, this was prefigured in a dream i had last night.

oh, it's going to be a long weekend.

hacker

i dreamt that one of the annoying people on gamegirladvance pissed me off so much i sent him a letter. i wrote, "thank you for your comments. i appreciate that you're contributing to the dialogue. however, there are times when your valid points become submerged under your penchant for personal attacks, unneccesarily snarky jibes, and reactionary language. this isn't the sort of communication i'd like to foster at gamegirladvance, and as editor it's my job to moderate the tone where possible. i would like to keep gga censorship-free - however, it's also my duty to elevate the terms of the dialogue. i would like to invite you to participate more deeply and thoughtfully."

and in my dream he got so pissed off he hacked the site, putting up his own . i woke up anxious and depressed.

strong enough

Sugar-glazed buttered yams just came out of the oven, and the kitchen is warm with an overpowering sweetness. The salad fixings wait fresh and crisp in the refrigerator. I've polished the bathroom and cleaned the annoying comments out of my websites. I've answered emails, I've chatted with friends near and far, I've even won a little more money in SSX 3. And now I'm sitting, listening to Roxy Music before I head out to dinner and a movie.

Is your love strong enough? Bryan Ferry asks in that haunting and melancholy voice.

This year I've felt weak and weepy, and like I wanted to disappear off the face of the earth and erase myself from the memories of everyone I love. I wanted to end up on the cutting room floor. I wanted just - to end. It didn't matter any more.

But. Now. I don't know what happened. I see love all around me, and it flows from my fingertips and from the feathery ends of my hair, it runs through me rushing and pushing me on to the next thing. I'm starting an independent publication. I'm discovering new skills and talents I didn't know I had. I'm invoking friendships old and new. I'm in constant contact with others, and with myself, and with my environment. Love wraps around me and launches me out into the world.

Whether it's sickly sweet yams or a new magazine, it is sheer joy to be creating.

Is my love strong enough? I don't know that yet, and maybe I will never know. But it's getting stronger every moment. I'm burning with it, glowing with it. Aflame.

This is the year of my incandescence.

The Secret to Success

This past year, I think I've discovered it. The secret to success. And it's not what I thought - it's not hard work, or discipline, or perseverance, or even knowing what you want to do. The secret is Rock.

Let me explain.

Or rather, maybe I should let Souris explain, because she does it eloquently. Souris has been my teacher this year. "Be your own cheerleader," she often says, "Because no one else will be." And she often also says, "Believe in yourself, because otherwise no one else will."

In fact, she has been my cheerleader when I've been unsure; she has urged me on to my dream, convinced me to believe in myself, to drop my doubt and fear. And I've learned enough from her now that I can do it not only for myself, but also for others.

I was also very fortunate to meet and spend time with Justin. Although we ended up not being compatible, for now, in our approaches to work and life and ourselves, he taught me so much about going for what you believe in, for simply doing it, without analysis. Sure, I've made a lot of mistakes - so have we all. But mistakes are very useful, and as bad as they might be, you have the power to make them worse or better. You can learn, or you can wallow. Learning is better.

Then what does this have to do with rock? I was thinking about rock today, after seeing the excellent band Pretty Girls Make Graves Friday night. They rock. It's not the musical genre which is so important so much as the passion they pour into what they do. And because of that my third guru is Andrew W.K.

I first encountered the party evangelist last summer at our recording studio. We had just finished our recording session, and we were relaxing, getting ready to go home, listening to music. Our engineer and producer Guy Higbey, who used to be in the band Epidemic, had the new album. He played this song for us: "When it's time to party we will party hard."

We were amazed. I had never heard anything like this, not since the glam rock days: just pure straightforward sentiment. It was thrilling, but a little off-putting, and confusing, since I didn't know what to do with that much sincerity. My music world up until then had been founded on holding back, on detachment, on being careful of what you express. So very rarified, really. So precious. And, in the end, so elitist.

I suppose it was only a matter of time before I'd get tired of that. There's only so much self-alienation you can do before it wears you out. I was tired of copping attitude. I was open to Andrew W.K.'s message, once it was propounded to me by Pepito Pea, intellectual punk rocker.

The message of Andrew W.K. is the same as the message of Souris and Justin: "Do all the things that you love. Never let down. Don't stop living in the red." Go for what you believe in, trust in yourself, and just do what you love, to the ultimate of your ability. Otherwise there's no point to life at all.

And that is the essence of Rock. As I wrote in my rant, Rock is not merely a musical genre. It is an approach to life. When you ROCK, you throw yourself body and soul into whatever it is you've chosen to do. It doesn't matter what that is, along as you believe.

And quality rises. Passion confirms. Never bow to trends or public opinion, because those are fickle products of our modern society. Trust in yourself. And be open to a different idea of success than the one fed you by happy televised images or ambitious parents. Find your own success.

The only thing that can truly guide you - is you. And when you have that, success will simply come to you as naturally as rain to the earth.

is it so wrong?

to have a simultaneous crush on five guys at once? i mean, they would fulfill all my needs.

oh, um, except the one, i guess.

can't sleep and

i need to play with colors.

i miss painting.

(i think maybe i got sick because i wore a very impractical outfit the other night. the leg warmers may not have been quite leg-warming enough.)

party pooper

what was intended as a twenty-minute disco nap turned into a five-hour deep sleep and i consequently missed the party.

i woke up with a nasty feeling in my throat, elevated temperature, and an ache in my bones. signs of impending illness? i should make some tea and go back to bed.

TORQUE

jason, knowing that i would like this in an unironic way, sent me this [Quicktime req'd].

man, i am such a sucker. yes, i will go see this movie. and no, not for kitsch value. for real.

perks

so i didn't have tickets to the show last night, but we were headed there anyway. if it didn't work out, we could always just have a drink with jee before she left for her trip. but just on the off-chance i could work it somehow, i very uncharacteristically called the owner of Bottom of the Hill. i almost never do something like this, because i'm sure that no one remembers who i am. i have the opposite of "do you know who i am?" syndrome. but since she once made me a cake for my birthday when dealership played her club, i figured if she couldn't leave me those tickets she would at least tell me "no" nicely.

i left a message around 4 pm, and didn't hear back. on the bridge around 7:30 pm my phone rang. it was lynn who works at the club, and she had tickets for me. "you don't have to wait in line, just go in when you want!"

so we had dinner at chez maman (delicious seafood! and jesse ordered in french, which was trés charmant) and then met jee and her friend rebecca for a quick drink at lingba, and then headed to the show around 10:30 pm. i was so happy that it all worked out that in a raving fit of bonhomie i gave to the club staff two bottles of Veuve that i had in my trunk.

why, yes, i *do* drive around with champagne in the trunk of my car. you NEVER know when you might need some champagne. emergency celebration could hit at any time. préparez-vous!

bubbly

p.s. Veuve Clicquot Brut Carte Jaune on sale at andy's for $23.99!!

girl night 3

this time, with writing! i was a total wimp and didn't bring anything. right now, i hate everything i write. i mean, that isn't for the websites.

adrienne was on a roll last night! among the topics she brought up: sex with pants (?? i'm still figuring out this one), midgets who step on your feet, and - oh god! i forgot the last one! i even wrote it down so i'd remember but i lost that paper! rats, it was so good.

okay, you can tell i was a little wasted last night. it wasn't the drinking so much, but i was just so damn TIRED not having slept much the night before, waking up early, doing a lot of stuff. but how wonderful to have confirmation (again) of the talents of my friends. i'm definitely bringing something to read next time - i just have to figure out what, exactly.

unfortunately i was too tired to make it to the Hemlock, though. i heard the band was pretty good. tonight: pretty girls make graves! hope i can get tickets!

if not, i'll just have a drink with jee who leaves for Chicago/Costa Rica tomorrow. and that'll be a very fine evening, too!

hey! can you tell i just had coffee!?! yes!

my advice

IM with MJ:

i was kidding! kidding, i assure you.

although you have to admit there is a certain logic to that thinking...

liebe lied

lying in bed this morning Brahms came into my head.*

i was very surprised that i could remember and sing all the words. i don't know why people say german is an ugly language. i find it beautiful and supple, not as wetly romantic as french or as open-hearted as italian, but with a modest, even dignified passion. singing in german does wonderful things to my voice, somehow - the delicate complexity of the consonants, the sweetly tortured vowels produce a light, clear tone which i don't get when singing in other languages.

if only i could speak it! but i can't. so i just sing it.

*the song was Heimliche Liebe

Kein Feuer, keine Kohle kann brennen so heiß
Als heimliche Liebe, von der niemand nicht weiß.

Keine Rose, keine Nelke kann blühen so schön,
Als wenn zwei verliebte Seelen beieinander tun stehn.

Setz du einen Spiegel ins Herz mir hinein,
Damit du kannst sehen, wie so treu ich es mein'!

you know who you are

you have the latest iPod. you have the latest Nokia mobile phone, with the pretty camera. you fetishize your G5. everything in your house gleams. you think carbon fibre is sexier than silk. you probably masturbated to the all is full of love video.

well, it looks as though there will soon be a place for you.

(and i'll be there too. with my pink gba sp. oh my god... we could link up! ooh baby - *shiver with pleasure*)

[via jeethang]

Robinblog

my gal pal robin's got her own blog now! it's so pretty. i hope she writes a lot so i can read it every day and see how she's doing. we IMed last night for a little while about boy problems and stuff, and it was nice, because it didn't feel like she was a couple thousand miles away.

of course there's nothing quite like actually seeing, hearing, and being able to hug the person you miss, but a surprising amount of warmth and love can be conveyed through the humble medium of scrolling IM.

see? technology *does* make our lives better!

wish

i kinda wish it would rain. i feel like listening to classic rock alone at home with rain on the roof - a solitary dance in my threadbare underwear banging my head to Journey and raising the sign of MegaRock to an imaginary audience.

aw yeah, that would be sweet,

but i can't do it if it's sunny. 'twouldn't be the right mood, not at all.

Heartfelt

That's Jason's new video for a lovely song from Her Space Holiday. When I saw it I got shivers up my spine. This boy is too damn talented for his own good! Soon he will be a huge superstar directing Cameron Diaz in a movie and we can go tell all our secrets about him to the Star.

What do The Smiths say? "We hate it when our friends become successful." No way. I love my talented friends! It's so exciting to see them do what they do so well. Exhilerating and thrilling. And inspiring.

Be inspired! Go forth and create!

[Thanks to Lisa for the reminder, by the way. Another talented friend of mine!]

Sweet Music

I'm working here, listening to DNTL and the Postal Service. I never get tired of Ben Gibbard's voice. I swoon every time.

There are so many great shows this month, and I won't be able to go to many because my calendar fills up so quickly - and also, I do need to get some work done. On Thursday I have a writer's group meeting, but I may cut out to head over to the Hemlock with Adrienne around 11. Broken Social Scene is also playing that night at the Great American. But I don't think I'll make that this time....

Friday I'm meeting Heather for Matmos and Blevin and Lesser at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, part of the 10-year anniversary celebration for the institution. That's during the day from 2 to 5 pm. That night at Bottom of the Hill: Pretty Girls Make Graves - are tickets still available? I'm afraid it may be close to sold out, as they recently got signed to Matador. Also, they got their equipment stolen in Seattle!

And tomorrow, Jesse plays his debut in Hawaiian Getaway at the Stork Club! So you should all go and make faces or throw articles of clothing at him to make him nervous, because he's so cute when he's embarrassed. And then sit down for a drink with me at the fabulous bar, with its backdrop of collectible Barbie dolls. It's truly a bizarre and wonderful Oakland institution. And, it's Christmas all the year round at the Stork Club! So feel free to bring me a present.*

*Not really. I would have to carry it home and then find a place for it, so don't. Unless, maybe, it can be consumed on the spot.

Home Again

An extremely busy weekend makes me happy to be at home at last. And how strangely have I traveled the last three nights! I feel peaceful now. A great deal of time with girls, with gamers, and some welcome attention from good-looking gentlemen soothed injuries, calmed nerves, stroked ego, and fanned flames.

Name names? Ladies don't.*

Good night!

*I know. I pretend to be a lady when it's convenient.

Late Night

I come home reeking of soju and kimchee and garlic and a splash of cheap beer (literally, on my jacket). The musty smell of a boxing gym lingers in my nostrils. Thwarted flirting, derailed pick-up lines, a guy I worked with long ago in another life, and more hoochie mamas in one place than I've ever seen before.

A pretty good night, all in all!

What?

Could I really be 77% hipster?

I've just been in the scene too long I suppose. I know a lot of hipstery things and I have some hipstery items, perhaps even hipstery tendencies, but I am far too geeky to be a real hipster.

Not to mention I fucking hate the trucker cap thing which I cannot BELIEVE I still see around town.

I'm post-hipster.

Secret Smiles

i sat in my train seat this morning and suddenly found myself smiling at the memory of a goodbye kiss. across the way a young man spontaneously smiled back, with a slightly startled expression.

i turned away to avoid confusion and smiled out the window.

i wonder what he was smiling at? did he have a sweet secret too?

Sore

My neck has been bothering me for weeks. Anyone know a good massage therapist in the Bay Area?

Fire and Ice

I dreamt I was attending a huge concert at a stadium with my sister. We walked in and found ourselves in a very large industrial kitchen. The workers there greeted us kindly. "Yeah, just go through the kitchen to get to the seats," they told us.

Anne was fascinated by the kitchen, and we took our time going through it. There were all kinds of tools and devices and ovens and pots and pans. There was one skinny guy chopping at the end of the table. He had large dark eyes with a sleepy look and long curly hair reminiscent of Prince's Purple Rain 'do. He said hello, and we stopped to talk to him.

He started giving us advice about sex. I can't remember exactly what he said, but it annoyed me just a little. "There's a lot of heat in sexuality, but you have to control it," he was saying. "And sometimes the only way to do that is through abstinence."

At one point I said something like, "Listen, I'm having sex, and it's GREAT." "I'm sure it is," he said dismissively, and handed me a small book. It had his photo on the cover. "This is my book," he said. "It'll help you." The title was Fire and Ice and it was about abstinence as a cure for something - again, I can't really remember the details!

I looked at the cover photo, then the name - Richard Ritchie. "Oh my god, you're Lionel Ritchie's son!" I said.

He smiled. "Yes I am. The title of the book comes from one of my dad's songs."

Anne and I finally made it to our seats and the concert began. I couldn't take my eyes off the cover of the strange little sex advice book written by Lionel Ritchie's son.

The Dating Thing

Lunch with Lisa, and we spend some time mired in talking about dramatic social upheaval in our little circle. (Do boys go through this? I can't really imagine a couple of boys sitting down and having the same kind of talk: "How's Joe doing... do you think he's upset about that? How's his girlfriend? Is she still mad about that time? And how's Tom? Have you heard from Matt? He seems depressed lately.")

But then the talk turns to sunnier matters, and my plans for the week. Another outing with a boy, and Lisa asks me again if it's a date. "I don't know," I say, honestly. Because I don't. She smiles. "Hm," is all she says about that. I think she likes to live vicariously through me, just a little, to taste what it's like to be single.

What is a date, anyway? I don't think I've ever really "dated" before. I've been out on a few formal dates with people I barely knew and those were mostly not very fun. Usually I just end up hanging out with someone I like, or falling for someone who's already a friend. Mostly I find friendships first, and sometimes if the friendship gets romantic, then that's what happens, and I deal with that then. A "date" usually carries too many expectations. Pressure to perform, or abstain from performing; feeling on display, or feeling the need to constantly evaluate what's being said, what's being implied, and what's being conveyed oh so subtly through body language. What a lot of work!

But then again, I am warming up to the idea. It has the charm of the novel to me, novice dater that I am. I think I like being able to say, "Oh, I've got a date." I like thinking about what I'll wear and where we'll go and whether there will be a kiss at the end of the evening. Mmm, yes, I think I could get into this whole "dating" thing. I think I'm still figuring out how it works.

Clearly, what I need is more practice.

Fantasy Getaway

I get offers from United in my mailbox every day. This morning: San Francisco to Sao Paulo for $509.00 if I book during the 17th to the 24th. My schedule is open so far after the 24th... it's summer in Brazil now... and who wants to come with?

Trace

I dreamt about my mother last night. I woke up feeling a trace of her presence, as if she had only gone on a short trip and would be right back.

Somehow that feeling comforted me.

The Tao of Shopping

There is a boy I know who doesn't like to shop. Like many boys, if he doesn't find exactly what he needs in a few minutes he gets frustrated and slightly claustrophobic. He loses his inspiration and retreats, defeated.

What boys often don't understand is that shopping requires as much dedication, stamina, and concentration as any serious activity. This is especially true when engaging in the difficult but rewarding task of thrifting. You must be prepared to swiftly browse through miles of hideous polyester to find that vintage Saks Fifth Avenue silk. Your judgment must be finely honed to be able to decide instantly whether to grab the item off the rack or pass it over. Efficiency like this will save you hours of standing on tired feet. You must have a hand for fine fabric and an eye for cut, and most importantly, you must know your own body and taste so intimately so as to be able to envision the item integrated into your wardrobe. What shoes will you wear with it? What accessories will enhance it? How will it make you feel while you wear it? An experienced shopper with a catalogue of her clothing already in mind will be able to answer these questions without thinking.

On the other hand, you must also keep an open mind - sometimes great finds exist in unpredictable places. For this reason, do not necessarily shun Goodwill or Ross. While the chances of finding rare items are low, there are times when you can let yourself be guided into these stores for a purpose - that pair of chocolate BCBG mules sitting all alone on the end of the rack, for instance. Fortune rewards the whimsical as well as the persistent. Be prepared also to consider the potential of an unusual piece - it may subtly change your existing look for the better. Every new piece is a step in your fashion evolution. If you like something - if you really like it - do not fall into the trap of saying "But I'll never wear it." If you like it, you will find a way to wear it - in fact you must find a way. Color too bright? Take a shot of whiskey before heading out in it. Skirt too short? Layer it over pants, opaque hosiery, or another skirt. Style "not you"? That's for you to determine. Life is too short for boring clothing. Wear something you love *every* day.

When you achieve this state of understanding, you will effortlessly find the pieces you didn't know you were looking for. And you will develop a unique style that is comfortable to you and therefore, admirable to others. Nothing is as stylish or as beautiful as serene self-confidence.

Last night I dreamt that I went on a marathon shopping trip with my reluctant shopper. I was trying gently to teach him the Way, pointing out things he'd overlooked, suggesting replacements for items that didn't entirely suit. I don't remember many details, but there is one vivid scene of a brightly-lit, enormous shoe store, where rows and rows of boxed sneakers marched implacably before our eyes. He despaired, but I put a hand on his arm to guide him through. It's not necessary to look at every shoe, I told him, but to see the pattern of them. To feel that an element speaks to you. Color, for example, or style. Walk down the aisle of shoes and just stay open to what you notice. The right shoes - if they exist here - will not be ignored.

And if they don't exist in the store, it is fruitless to look at other close matches, shoes which might be good, which are almost likable. Quit the store and move on. Save buying them for another day. Money's too precious to waste on clothes you don't love.

I thnk he understood me in the dream. But I woke up before he found that perfect pair of shoes.

Trouble

Wrestling with a personal dillemma: what do you do when you feel betrayed by one you once trusted?

How difficult not to rewrite the last several years, wondering if behind each instance of friendliness there didn't lurk an opportunism, a motive so deep I still can't see it? But it's fruitless to pick over the past like that. The question is really, what happens tomorrow?

That's what I'm trying to figure out.

Je Rap

I dreamt we were sitting in a casual restaurant, sunlight glancing off white walls, on pale wooden chairs. Two boys and a girl at the table next to ours were discussing a French hard-core rap song - from what I could make out, the artist was some sort of French Eminem. They were laughing uproariously. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, and the chorus goes something like this -" and the girl quoted a part of the song, which I didn't understand,

But my date blushed. "I know those words," he explained. "I know that song - it goes like this." And he recited more of it for me.

"What does it mean?"

But he wouldn't explain. I got very concerned about the time, since we were running late to a movie I wanted to see. And then I had to go to the bathroom.

I woke up feeling late for something. As well as needing to pee.

Get to Work!

It's November first - time for National Novel Writing Month.

So get to typing, writers all!