Reviving the art of the blog

Walking into work today, a pink box of doughnuts sat on the sink-area counter.

Me: "What's with the doughnuts?"

Co-worker Jeremiah: "Well, you eat them, and then they go straight to your hips. Or maybe that's just me. . ."

It's time to revive my ocassional blogging. It's a whole new world these days--I've been dating vegetarian Bacon for almost a year, I had my 31st birthday a couple weeks ago (bowling and karaoke), and the Democrats are back!

Some things remain the same, though. I'm still working with Sally and Jeremiah and Eli (my boss' new pseudonym--I'm sure he'll love it the day HR alerts him to my blog and I'm dismissed from the office), and my cat Ferdinand's health is holding steady. He just kissed me this morning, before I emptied a can of Science Diet into his ceramic bowl. I think if an animal with whiskers and a wet nose sniffs you on the lips, you can legitimately say you've been smooched.

I listed my 5 favorite movie scenes back in the day, but I want to take a moment to list my Top 5 movies of 2006:

1. Half Nelson.


2. Little Children


3. 49 Up


4. Pan's Labyrinth


5. Volver



Also, here's my favorite scene from 2006: Clive Owen stopping a war for 90 seconds in Children of Men.

(I could devote an entire blog to Children of Men. In November, I was so excited for its Xmas release that I would go home and watch the trailer on youtube. In December, I saw it and was disappointed in its cinematic overreaching. But now it's January, and damned if that movie hasn't won the battle for my heart and mind. It may be the best movie of the year. For now, it's only the best scene of the year.) Check out below.

By the way, this is a huge 10-minute spoiler. Don't watch if you haven't seen it in the theater.

Jenny Lewis, through a cloud of nostalgia

It's been nearly two months since I saw Jenny Lewis at Spaceland. A minute ago I tried to download a photo that showed how beautiful and melancholic she looked. But blogspot refuses to download. You'll have to make do with the image I will masterfully paint using words.

At 6 pm, Thursday night in late June, I stood in line outside Spaceland, reading a zine called "Nostalgia: the Zine for Lame Hipsters"--an ironic title, and thus the only way to get hipsters to read it. My ex-girlfriend (I'll call her X) joined me after she parked. We were buying tickets for our lollygagging friends--Beatriz, and the vegetarian Bacon--but it turned out tickets were not physical tickets; they were happy face stamps. You weren't present, you didn't get in. And then we were two.

Marked with the sign of the happy face, we made it inside. I'll skip the part where X and I waited forever, eating Thai food smuggled in from a local restaurant, enduring a bad opening singer and a cute, queer opening comedian. (She was adorable, actually--I'm sorry she had to put up with angry hipster faces staring at her. Jenny Lewis fans are the big drawback of a Jenny Lewis show; I kid, but kind of don't. I think I'm getting too old to mix with hipster white kids these days.) X, in a fit of exhaustion, actually took off right after Jenny Lewis came out.

So I was alone at a concert, a first for me. It was great, actually. I felt strangely adult, like those divorcees who take vacations alone to Paris to demonstrate that they're totally fine with being alone! It freed me up to listen to the music and voices and to people-watch with abandon.

She opened with the gospel "Run Devil Run," a capella with the Watson Twins, then "The Big Guns," which are the opening cuts to her solo album, Rabbit Fur Coat. You can listen to bits of it here and here. She performed a great set, very similar to the show I saw at the Orpheum Theater in April, and finished with "Born Secular" again.

Here's her signature good-bye: Playing "Born Secular," a piano chord-based song about religion and its absence, Jenny starts out playing a keyboard alone. Gradually her bandmates for the tour join her on their instruments, the song meanders and climaxes, and a bandmate sits down next to her and takes over the piano chords. She stands up, waves, blows a kiss to the crowd, and exits through the red velvet curtain. Slightly cheesy, but simultaneously sweet, like an old friend saying so long. I look forward to seeing Rilo Kiley in their fully formed state again.

Blogger's cooperating again. Here's a close facsimile of what the Spaceland show looked like. Go, retro-country!

I saw Jenny Lewis at Spaceland last night

More to come.

six feet and rising

I'm feeling tired and not that interesting, despite the fact that in the last few days
1) I rode in a police department helicopter (300 feet up, 75 miles an hour, no door on my side and not-as-windy-as-you'd-think) and
2) I lied to my therapist (I wasn't in the mood to see him on Tuesday).

Let's see if any of these favorite Six Feet Under quotes get me going:

Margaret: [on having sex with other people] You can't fuck my friends, I can't fuck yours. No fucking of mutual friends. Never in Hawaii. Never in a hotel that costs more than $300 a night. And never in a hotel that's under $75 a night. Not on holidays. And there are others, I just can't remember all of them at the moment.

I'm not going to be fucking other people any time soon. The vegetarian Bacon is a winner on several fronts--all of her quirks are charming, from her love of sweet alcoholic drinks to her nervousness that she's boring me ("I must be totally boring you...") every time she speaks for longer than 8 seconds. She can small-talk just about anyone, with an edge of shyness that endears her to all, and her My Little Pony trivia knowledge is endless. Also, whenever I start to make a thumping electronica sound with my mouth, she lifts her ams up and does a semi-sincere parody of a teenage dancer at a rave. I was going to say that I'm smiling just typing this, but that's not exactly true--my facial expression is stoic, but my heart sings.

Ruth: Thank you. I've had the best time coming to this funny little restaurant and having you yell at me in the bathroom.

A vice-president took out my department for lunch today, as a thank-you for some extra work we accomplished three months ago. I ended up sitting at the corner of the table with Sally and Jeremiah. Sometimes rattlesnakes invade the parking lot where we work, so the vice-prez told us a few stories about security guards picking up baby rattlers with their bare hands.

By the time we walked back from the restaurant, Sally was talking about the time she camped with friends. They needed to scare away a circle of hungry-for-their-BBQ'd-chicken wolves. It involved lots of shouting and singing of "White Rabbit."

"So we crouched down with our backs to them and turned around and lifted up our arms and shouted, Yaaaaaaaa!" In demonstration, she turned her back to us and spun slowly around and raised both arms, ha ya! I almost took off for the hills.

Maggie Sibley: I know that if you think life's a vending machine where you put in virtue and take out happiness, then you're going to be disappointed.

I'm done. I almost deleted this post. But I kept it, because I want to remember my thoughts about the veg Bacon on this day, the longest of the year.

we're here, we're queer, we want more beer

Last weekend was pride (uh, Pride, but I suspect only San Francisco should be allowed to capitalize theirs). The official agenda: Love. Equality. Pride. The real agenda: Hot queers. Equal access to drugs. Yelling "woo-hoo!" as the Bangles play the opening chords of "Hero Takes a Fall." I steered clear of the drugs but couldn't avoid the Bangles, a brief concert I attended with veg Bacon and a couple of gay ladyfriends.

We weren't particularly queer that night, even when we were drinking at a Silverlake leather bar after the Dyke March. Pride is not a particularly queer event, a term which implies progressive politics and challenged gender roles and leather wrist cuffs. Queer itself has many variations--the gay punk Latino high school kid, with fake ID and nervous Robert Smith hand motions, or the hipster dyke with slim hips and emo hair, or the straight-laced, athletic, cubicle-lurking FTM--and the variations continue with gay (Ambercrombie & Fitch boy? entertainment industry lesbian with Ellen-style sneakers? homeowners with 1 dog and 2 adopted kids?). But queer and gay just barely cross in the Venn diagram.

I like to think of myself as queer--it stays out later, it frequents cooler clubs and better concerts. But sometimes I am so, so gay. I work an office job complete with cubicle, work email, health benefits, and professional dress code. I own a cat and attend a gay-friendly Episcopal church. I shop at Trader Joe's.

That was Saturday. On Sunday, disgusted with the whole enterprise, I sat at Panini's off Santa Monica Blvd. with my gay-married friends Wilder and Oscar (get it?) . With three other queers, we drank pitchers of hefeweizen, smoked clove cigarettes, and watched the world go by. It was a long, drunk, happy day.

the bitch is back!

I had that phrase run through my head recently; I was trying to recall where it originated, and I settled on the ad campaign for Alien³. In Aliens, Ripley uttered the famous "Get away from her, you bitch!" Which would make "the bitch is back" a perfect tag line for Alien³--even though imdb lists Alien³'s first tag line as the incomprehensible, In 1979, we discovered in space no one can hear you scream. In 1992, we will discover, on Earth, EVERYONE can hear you scream. Um...what!?

But I'm back, after an extended leave of absence. I know my 1-2 readers will be thrilled by my return to the internet stage. I'm somewhat delicate these days; my feline friend Ferdinand (let's call him F³) has been ill, with a mysterious malady.

The vet, who seems smart to me because he has a brusque manner, ruled out the all the usual suspects of feline AIDS, leukemia, diabetes, etc. We know from blood tests that F³ is anemic. We know from X-rays that F³ has a slightly enlarged heart. (Awww! He's got a big hawt!) What we don't know is why he became listless, lost 2 lbs., and developed a fever a few days ago.

Right now he's lounging around at home, meowing at the slightest mood change, getting picked up and cuddled every six seconds, and basically doing all but ringing a bell and ordering me and my roommate around the house. He's on the mend, folks! God bless 'im.

I could be delicate for other reasons. I've cried twice in front of the vegetarian Bacon--once thinking about the fact that her mother died two years ago, and is never coming back; and once on Tuesday night, when F³ had been admitted overnight to the brusque vet's office. Both times vegetarian Bacon ended up comforting me and, the time about her mother, giving me some kleenex. Maybe I'm just sensitive. Call me Jewel.

no particular reason

It just occurred to me to do a Top 5.

Top 5 Movie Scenes of All Time

1. Jules' speech at the end of Pulp Fiction

"There's a passage I got memorized. Ezekiel 25:17. The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you.

I been sayin' that shit for years. And if you ever heard it, it meant your ass. I never really questioned what it meant. I thought it was just a cold-blooded thing to say to a motherfucker before you popped a cap in his ass. But I saw some shit this mornin' made me think twice. Now I'm thinkin': it could mean you're the evil man. And I'm the righteous man. And Mr. 9mm here, he's the shepherd protecting my righteous ass in the valley of darkness. Or it could be you're the righteous man and I'm the shepherd and it's the world that's evil and selfish. I'd like that.

But that shit ain't the truth. The truth is you're the weak. And I'm the tyranny of evil men. But I'm tryin', Ringo. I'm tryin' real hard to be a shepherd."

2. The moment the boat breaks in half in Titanic.

That scene took the breath out of the theater every time I saw an advertising trailer for it. A phenomenal fucking scene.

3. Trinity running from the agents at the beginning of The Matrix.

Just a gorgeous scene like nothing you'd ever seen before.

4. The campfire scene in My Own Private Idaho

Scott Favor (Keanue Reeves) : I only have sex with a guy for money.

Mike Waters (River Phoenix) : Yeah, I know.

Scott Favor: And two guys can't love each other.

Mike Waters: Yeah. Well, I don't know. I mean... I mean, for me, I could love someone even if I, you know, wasn't paid for it... I love you, and... you don't pay me.

Scott Favor: Mike...

Mike Waters: I really wanna kiss you, man... Well goodnight, man... I love you though... You know that... I do love you.

5. The walk down the sidewalk in You and Me and Everyone We Know.

A typical quote from the movie:

Richard (John Fawkes) : I don't want to have to do this living. I just walk around. I want to be swept off my feet, you know? I want my children to have magical powers. I am prepared for amazing things to happen. I can handle it.

Honorable mention:

Any conversation from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

Clementine: This is it, Joel. It's going to be gone soon.
Joel: I know.
Clementine: What do we do?
Joel: Enjoy it.

song for a melancholy moment

The 40-Year-Old Waitress game that my coworker Sally used to play deserves its own blog entry.

In December, I was feeling rather melancholy--mostly due to a girl, who had allowed me to kiss her and crush out on her before she realized she wasn't into me. Such things happen. It was a Friday night and I had nothing to do, so I invited myself into Sally's car to go see our student art show. An hour later, I sat outside, smoking a cigarette and looking beaten-down. "I feel melancholy," I said. I think I was trying to look like this:
"You know what you're doing," Sally replied. "You're playing 40-Year-Old Divorced Waitress." Hmmmm? "Sure, I used to play that when I was a kid. I was a waitress, divorced, living alone, coming home to my empty apartment. I used to struggle at the door with my keys...that was important, the struggling and rattling with my keys...then I'd come in, take off my shoes, rub my feet. Smoke a cigarette. A fake one, like a crayon or something. And I'd feel sad about my lonely life."

"You played this as a kid?"

"I was about nine. Ten. I still play it sometimes. My friend will give me a call at night, and I'll answer the phone with a pathetic voice--'yeeees?'--and she'll say, 'You're playing 40-Year-Old Waitress again, aren't you?' She always catches me. So that's what you're doing."

We paused, while I smoked.

"When you're melancholy, I say revel in it! It's so freeing. Claim the moment."

Feeling faintly ridiculous now, I ditched the cigarette, and we walked back inside.

Sally gave me a burned CD for Xmas--Peggy Lee. She labeled it with a black permanent marker: Songs for a Melancholy Moment. Of course, for about a week after that, I was completely crushed out on Sally. I got over it when she started ordering me around the office again. I still play that CD, though. Revel in it!

workaday

At work today, I approached Sally Pseudonym's cubicle to ask her a question. She has a charcoal sketch pinned to the outside wall of her cubicle--we are an art school, after all--and in leaning down to talk to her, I inadvertently pressed my palm against the sketch.

"Aaarrghhh...ahhhh...." I said, slapping my hands together to get the dust off. I looked at her and explained the clapping: "I put my hand on the drawing."

"Oh," she said, "I thought maybe you were, you know, hearing the beat."

Sally shouldn't act so non-neurotic. She's the first-born in her family (hence our office manager, ordering folks around with abandon), and she used to call her parents "Ma" and "Pa" due to the Little House on the Prairie books. Also, she used to play a game called 40-year-old waitress that involved rubbing her feet and smoking fake cigarettes; she was nine.

Anyway, the nude sketch above is not the drawing that I sullied. It is one of my favorite pieces, though, from a class we're holding in South Los Angeles for youth age 14-24. The students are all Latino or African-American, almost all local public school kids from Crenshaw High School or Washington Prep, and I'm proud of the class. I'm proud of what we're trying to achieve in southern California.

Posted below is a piece from a high school illustration class. These kids are good. I may post more, just to satisfy my pride in them. Our students are quick, witty, and rather modest, considering their abilities.

My co-workers are also very funny, if not a little too focused for my slacker INFP self. Especially Jeremiah, who once told me this story:

"So I go up to this guy [at an Armenian fast-food joint] and give him a twenty. He looks at it, trying to figure out the denomination, you know, so I say to him, 'It's a twenty.' He goes [Armenian accent], 'No waaay! You must be kiddin' me! It's a twenty! Hey, Shant, you ever seen one o'these before? It's a twenty!' So I tell him, 'Oh, yeah, I got a whole wallet full of 'em. You want me to sign it?' and he says, 'Oh yeah, sign it for me!'. I ask him for a pen and he gives it to me and I scribble on it, then give it to him, y'know--'There ya go. Keep it, I got a bunch of 'em.' He's like, 'Thanks so much!' and gives me my change. Asshole."

"You're crazy, Jeremiah," I told him.

"Fuck him and his wise-ass remarks. I'll sign the goddam twenty for him every day of the week. Twice on Sundays."

That's my office right there--quick, helpful, sarcastic, won't give an inch. I'm doing my best to fit in.