End of the Year, or End of the World!

So it's New Year's Eve. I popped over to my favorite store, Trader Joe's, to pick up a few tidbits to get me through the next day. As I passed from aisle to aisle, I couldn't help but notice the frenzied energy zipping up and down the walkways. Yes, they will be closed tomorrow, so it's good to stock up on essentials, but really people! I'd have thought the stores were never opening again, that we were facing a crisis of uncertain proportions. Everything will be fine, they will open again in a few days and we can all get our steel cut oats.

Nature's Battleaxe

Growing up I always heard the word brussel sprout, it was synonymous with healthy, therefore bad tasting food. Funny thing is I'd never had or seen one. Then my world was turned upside down. My roommate is quite the health buff, in food and physique. She's recently been eating these mystical sprouts. Hmm, not what I was expecting. Little balls of coiled leaves. They taste green with a slight bitterness but that can be covered with spices. What I had yet to discover was the true nature of how one gained nutrients from this plant.
The other day, my roommate came home with a scary looking weapon, it was a brussel sprout stalk. Yes, the unassuming health food actually grows on battleaxes. Apparently to get the full benefits you must swing the stalk in attack on others around you. Once you draw blood, their life source is soaked into the spheres of well being, which you later consume. No wonder she's bursting with muscles!
Though this seems like a lot of effort for a handful of fine fettle. I think I'd prefer buying the them prepackaged and ready to go.

You Know You're an Art Nerd When...

Ah Halloween. That special time of year when people can dress as their favorite movie character or fictional monster. It's also, oddly enough, a time when people can dress scantily clad.
My good friend Jabba the Hut was having a birthday party and guests were invited to wear costumes considering it was so close to everyone's favorite haunted holiday. What to wear? I was at a loss. I visited my local seasonal costume shop. As I surveyed the walls covered in barely there costumes, I was uninspired. Sure I could dress like Little Miss Slutty Nurse or Pirate Wench but I didn't want to pay exorbitant prices for small rectangles of cloth. Hmm, maybe I could dress as someone from history, maybe an artist I like. That got me thinking, 'Why stop at artist? Why not art piece?' And so it was. I decided to dress as Yoko Ono's Cut Piece. Who doesn't love an interactive costume?
I headed to my favorite thrift store and found a black dress and white slip similar to the ones in photos documenting her first performances of the work. I hung some scissors (safety ones, mind you) around my neck and a tag stating 'Performance Artist'. I initiated a few cuts to my garb and let my roommates have a go. Then off we went to Jabba's!
At the shindig, a few people were confused by my wardrobe which I expected. I explained the piece if they insisted but otherwise merely asked them if they'd like to cut my clothing and take a piece. Some guests were enthusiastic and others concerned which I suppose was the point. Anyway, it was fun and different and I wonder what I'll do next year. A living painting perhaps. Any ideas?

In a Beach House with a Grizzly Bear

I recently discovered a band that I just love, love, love. A friend has passed on to me this amazing fan video for a band I hadn't heard. After that I gathered up what music from them I could find like a little squirrel storing for winter. I realized they were coming through SD and kept meaning to get tickets. Finally I clicked over to the Belly Up's website to purchase my way into heaven, but I was too slow on the draw. Sold out!
After a week of brooding, I received an email notification from Sezio. They were having a contest to win tickets. This was it. My big chance. All I had to do was make a collage with the following items: grizzly bear, beach house, belly, me and a poodle (just because). A fervor took over me as I set out on my mission. I finished and hit send. Then I waited. The day of reckoning came and I'd assumed I didn't win the prize. There was so much more I could've done with it! Much to my pleasant surprise I did win. Yes! I'd secured a night of musical delight!
A delight it was. Aside from the milling in and out of the extremely crammed front audience area by douchebags holding glasses of douche juice, Shangri-la had descended upon us. Beach House sang sweet lullubies then Grizzly Bear ended their tour with enchanting melodies. Ahhhh.

I Think it Finally Stopped

Remember when car alarms first entered into our lives? That array of annoying sounds meant to scare off would be carjackers or alert car owners their precious vehicles were in danger. Were they ever useful? They've at least changed over the years to a simple honking. Regardless I still question their usefulness. Does anyone stop and take notice anymore if they hear one go off? No. Most of the time a triggered alarm happens because a bird landed on the roof, or another car drove by too fast. So why do we still have them?
Last night a car in the immediate area was sounding off. Yep, it was one of those older ones that followed the pattern of irritating buzzes and sirens. It went on. And on. And on. And on. Finally it stopped and I thought I'd be able to sleep. No. It was merely a brief pause in the pattern. It continued like this through the entire night. Don't they turn off at some point? By morning I was begging for someone to take the car, steal it, do whatever, just stop the friggin' alarm!
When I eventually got myself out of bed to face the world, my roommate was in the kitchen with the same sleep deprived angry face I had. I was not alone. This comforted me. We discussed our belief that only people with old cars no one would actually steal use that alarm, so they are in fact pointless. Just then, it started, AGAIN.
I screamed out, startling my roommate who hadn't even noticed the aggravating cacophony resumed she'd grown so accustomed to it. I began muttering and looking about for a bat to take with me as I planned to find the source of this fracas and take care of it myself. Well, someone must've heard me because, believe it or not, it finally stopped. Peace. Quiet. Sigh. Though at any moment I almost expect to hear the din start again.

Magic 8 Ball is for Suckas!

That's right, I said it. Don't get me wrong, over the years I've counted on it for some decisions I just couldn't make but was it really helping, or just toying with me in an absurd pun? I've never owned a Magic 8 Ball. Instead I had a rip called The Magic Orb (if I remember correctly). It was prettier, a lovely lavender with the same concrete yet simultaniously vague answers. And that's where my dilemma with the sphere of jumbled predictions comes in. You ask a question and it gives either a 'yes' or 'no', but more often a 'reply hazy' or my favorite to hate 'ask again later'. If Magic 8 Ball and it's clones really wanted to help out they'd offer up info on things we might not know but would be beneficial to us.
Case in point, a few years ago I lived in Canada. I happen to live within walking distance of Second City's Toronto location. At the time I wasn't involved with comedy improv, but I am now and am DYING that I didn't take classes while I lived so conveniently close. You think my little Magic Orb could've helped me out a bit by saying "Hey, you know, Second City is just over on Mercer. Why don't you go try some classes? I think you'd like it." If these arrogant globes of wisdom were so all knowing, they'd know that I'd eventually start doing improv and could've helped lead me in the right direction.
Imagine all the things your Magic whatever circular thing could have helped you out on. Instead of it giving you the 'yes' to go out with Jimmy, it could've said "Yes, go out with Jimmy if you like guys that date mutiple girls for short periods of time. Have fun!" Or "No, don't go on that expensive yet absolutely amazing trip that will change the rest of your life." Sometimes just a yes or no suffices, and sometimes we just need a 'maybe' to get us thinking about things a little more, but man would it be great to just have a wee bit more information.

You're Never Too Old for Hello Kitty

Last night I was online perusing current exhibits at art galleries I might saunter into during Ray@Night. I happen to be checking out what's on display at The Rubber Rose (yes it's a sex shop and yes they have an art gallery), when I stumbled onto their 'toys' page. I giggled as I glanced over the silly shaped devices when one in particular caught my eye. It was a Hello Kitty vibrator. Wow. Well there's a double entendre if I ever saw one. Really? Who are they marketing? Young girls? Older women who haven't grown up? Then I began to think about all the Hello Kitty paraphernalia that's available: credit cards, laptops, Fender guitars, rice cookers, Zippo lighters, even a house. Why not adult toys? I suppose it makes sense, she is 35 after all.
Then I thought of what a great thing this is. She's such a happy little kitty that you can't help but smile when you see her. Wouldn't it be great if there were Hello Kitty services and products for the unpleasant things in life: bail bonds, divorce lawyers, caskets. Gee, those things just wouldn't seem so bad after all. What would you like to see Hello Kitty on?

It's Still Glock'n Roll to Me

So recently I've been wanting to get back into singing and songwriting, and more over, to actually perform. My dilemma has been that I'm slow with guitar. There's no way I'd be able to get up on a stage and play while trying to sing. It's torture that I wouldn't want to put anyone through, and I'm thinking of myself when I say that. I tried learning piano keyboard last semester. Didn't do too bad but I really want something simple and also easy to cart around for open mics since I'm solo on this.
I don't know how it came to me but it did. Why not glockenspiel? You don't see that too often. The more I think about it the more it makes sense. I looked online and found a small, cheap, portable one that has good reviews on sound. Hmm, this might actually work. I can already hear the light echos of chimes ringing in the background as I rock out. Or should I say glock out. That's the other thing. The plethora of sayings I could use are endless: Glock'n Roll, Glock Rock, I'm gonna rock out with my glock out, let me glock you baby, and so on and so forth (for any of you tempted to nab my little gem phrases, I'm already in the process of copyrighting them so don't bother!)
That's it. I'm making the purchase. Soon you'll hear me talk about glock music.

To Pick or Not To Pick

It was the last leg of my flight home to SD from my PacNorWest outing. I sat by the window watching for my suitcase. I'd barely made the flight and was told there was a possibility my luggage wouldn't make it on time and would have to be sent on the next flight. Distracted by the girl in the process of sitting in the aisle seat, I weighed the probability of the middle seat staying vacant. Looking good. Sometime later, in an aisle across from us I noticed a cute guy. Luckily my aisle mate was quite robust so I used her as a shield for my spying. Hmm, he was looking better and better. Then it happened. He went in for the dig. I couldn't believe it. Right there in the middle of a nearly full airplane, he picked his nose. I sat back in disbelief, then I had to look again to make sure I saw what I thought I saw. Oh! Now he was on to the other side! And these weren't discreet mining ventures, no. These were full on excavations. Everybody picks, it's an unspoken given. But most people do it in privacy like a deep dark secret. My immediate thought was, he must be foreign. And that's not meant to be a 'dig' (pardon the pun) at foreigners. Through my travels I've noticed that Americans (like myself) tend to be way more uptight about bodily functions than people in other countries. I can only imagine the freedom from self-consciousness to be able to pluck away without worry. But would I still do it in public? Um, that's a resounding no.

Tour de Portland

Many friends have told me of the majestic wonders of Portland. So I decide to stop there on my way to grad school and one of my schoolmate's was generous enough to let me sojourn with her. It's been an interesting trip. Every area reminds of some other city whether it's Downtown Montreal, The Annex in Toronto, some streets in San Jose, or buildings in Chicago. It's certainly not lacking in art or friendliness. Get this, people actually slow down for pedestrians crossing the street. Crazy, huh?
I thought I'd share a bit of what I've seen. The first treat I encountered were the signs on the bus asking me to "Respect the Ride." We made up stories to follow the cartoon scenarios. Next was Powell's Bookstore. The place is huge, an entire building huge. While walking around I window shopped for more than just books. Not bad. They do have selection. I set about picking my favorite book titles. It was a tie between Gay Wicca and God's Middle Finger. I have GOT to film something here.
From there we wandered to different neighborhoods like NW 21st and 23rd Street. We stopped at a trendy thrift store where I had my first encounter with a purse that had a wedgy. From there we walked around and ate at Muu Muu's which was cool but had a strange semi-nautical-eclectic-but not over done theme to it. We also passed a person in what I'll assume was a cartoon like bear outfit, playing the guitar. Ahhhh, I love this town. FYI - they're now screening The Room (look it up).
On the way back we dropped into one of my favorite stores, Trader Joe's. I mention this because a friend of mine makes fun of me for how often I go there. While inside I notice a guy working the tasty samples booth. Man did he look familiar, like I've seen him at one of the stores back home. I'm too embarrassed to ask so we continue shopping. We come back to the booth as he's closing and I finally ask. Turns out he worked not at the store in Hillcrest like I thought but at the one in Escondido that I went to while he worked there. Hmm, maybe I do go to Trader Joe's too much.
Today was dedicated to getting with old friends. I had breakfast with a buddy from high school at Bertie Lou's Cafe which served the 'best mediocre breakfast' in Portland. It was nice to catch up and hearing of her adventures. Later I was back in downtown with my schoolmate picking up a journal at the art store. We ran into another person from school in pleasant wonderment. Later I met with friends from undergrad. We realized how old we're getting as we reminisced about the fun days. Sigh.
Though a short trip, it's been charming and full of delightful surprises. I will be back Portland.

I'll Have the Child Hamburger

Yesterday, one of my friends was celebrating her birthday at a fine Mexican restaurant in lovely Old Town. As we scanned the menu for our meal choices, we came across the option of a Child Hamburger. We were taken aback by this. Not only did they offer a hamburger made from child but they had a photo of a child similar to the one you'd receive in your meal.
We were curious about this selection that sounded repulsive and yet somewhat appetizing. We inquired with our server and she told us that the meat was grade A, free range and organic. They didn't use invitro children. Hmm, good to know. When we mentioned the oddness of the menu item she quickly assured us that it was actually quite a delicacy and served primarily at 4 star restaurants.
I'm sure you're asking yourself, "But where do you get the children?" We wondered the same thing. But do you really care? If it's that tasty do you really want to know? In fact no one actually does know.
According to our waitress, there's speculation they only use children that are delinquents. It helps lower the costs of juvenile facilities. There's also rumor that the higher end restaurants consider child hamburger made from celebrity children quite the bonne bouche. They prepare it using methods from Escoffier's lost cookbook on, you guessed it, cooking children.
After all this we were ready to order hamburger d'enfant but as chance would have it, they were clean out. Damn. Next time.

Going For a Ride

The other day I was headed southbound on the 15, tra-la-laing to myself (as in singing and in no way related to this) when in my rearview mirror I noticed a man riding a motorcycle. The fact that he was riding a motorcycle was nothing of interest but the fact that he was riding a motorcycle wearing a marigold silk shirt, brown plaid shorts and no shoes caught me as peculiar. Now that I'm thinking about it, he may not have been wearing a helmet, but perhaps he was as it's law in CA. Well, back to his clothes and lack of footwear, I couldn't help but think "Hmm, maybe there's a reason he's dressed that way. Oooo! Maybe there's some crazy story à la The Hangover!?" I considered waving him down off the freeway and shaking it out of him, but I had an engagement to get to. Instead I came up with a story for him. So here for your entertainment I've posted the abridged version of Will's Weekend.
There was no doubt about it. Will was fully engrossed in a zombie state induced by excessive overtime at 'We Suck the Life out of You' mortgage company. In a plea for him to rejoin the living by his friend Marcus, Will departed to San Diego for a nice weekend getaway. At first the pair were enjoying the many choice establishments America's finest city had to offer, including the women. But like any story, when things are going so right, something has to go so wrong.
Her name was Talulah. You'd think a name like that would be warning enough, but apparently these 'in the moment' men weren't thinking far enough ahead. The trio met at the Del Mar Racetrack. She bumped into Will in that "Oh I'm so sensual and you want me" way people do in really bad movies. He smiled but for the last time this weekend. From there seriously crazy stuff happened involving stealing cars, loosing clothes, being drugged, memory loss, witty dialogue, some kind of sex because that has to be in there somewhere even if it's off screen, and life changes (hey I said this was the abridged version).
Shoeless on a motorcycle, Will headed southbound on the 15 towards the airport, towards his way back to his simple life. His frantic mind paused momentarily as he noticed a cute girl driving alongside him, looking at him quizzically. He grinned and rolled on.
The End!

Mannequin Madness

The other night a few friends and myself were enjoying an evening in the lovely North Park neighborhood. On our walk back to the car, we dawdled outside The Office so one of my friend's could pop in for a short spell. Tarrying on the sidewalk, we peered into the large windows of the establishment next door. Bubbling with excitement at the new clothing store, we studied the mannequins' garb for possible future purchases. I noticed that the mannequins were all male and sporting large, suggestive mustaches. That's not all they were suggesting. They had rather endowed crotch regions. We turned to look at each other at this synchronized realization. Hmmm. If the cropped mesh top didn't give it away, the name of the store surely did. I don't recall the full name but the second part of it was skin. What I do recall is thinking, "Why don't they just call it Foreskin?" It seemed a pleasantly fitting name.
For some reason I kept brooding over the mannequins and their mustaches and crotches. Are other male mannequins jealous of their endowment or the prospect of giving a serious mustache ride? The Crypt has a female mannequin in the corner window I used to pass on occasion when going for my morning walk. She had the equivalent of porn star implants. I didn't know that was possible, but hey why not?! I always wondered if at night the other B cup mannequins would sit and talk trash while all the males partied with Porn Star until the shop opening hours.
I suppose the big question is, do mannequins face self-esteem issues and how are they handling it? With mannequin plastic surgery or counseling? Also, do they face gender preference issues? Discuss!

Super Martian Robots and Other Musings

Finally dragging my butt out of bed and going outside for my morning jaunt after birthday festivities the previous night was no easy task. Debating on continuing with the long walk I had planned and curtailing it for some food and more sleep, I pass the playground area of a preschool. At first all I hear is screaming and a little boy crying. Tuning out as I'm about to pass the end of the caged area of wild beasts I hear a little voice in the midst of his fantasy role playing, "We're super martian robots!" And off he blasts. Hmmm, that sounds like a catchy band name. What kind of band would that be? Trying to imagine the costumes and sound my imaginary band would produce while rounding the corner and turning up the street, I thought how much easier it'd be to have the ability to record the music that plays in my head, than trying to clumsily recreate it with my unskilled hands. There's been so many times when I've had a dream and I hear awesome music, entire songs even. And I'm totally not exaggerating, seriously, awesome, and when I wake up I only remember a fragment of a melody and a few lyrics here and there. What if we could download the songs and the movies we see in our heads, straight from our brains onto our computers. How many more people would actually create since knowing how to render an animated object over a layer of video or patching an electronic fife through the NNXT sampler wouldn't be necessary? Rounding another corner to head home, the squawks from a flock of parrots pulls me out of my futuristic musings. Didn't know we had wild parrots. Huh. Sigh. I suppose I'll just have to keep doing things the old fashioned way until some science genius develops the right technology to capture our creative visions. Somebody wanna get on that?

Another Birthday

Today is my birthday. Somehow I survived my first year of thirty. Phew! I've been promised that this decade is supposed to be the best of my life, so I'm holding those who made that promise accountable if I'm dissatisfied and want my money back.
Why is it when your birthday comes 'round, you always end of thinking of things you've done, or more likely, haven't done? I couldn't sleep last night as my brain kept firing off thought after thought. There's so much I want to accomplish and have yet to do.
So today I'm taking that little step to get off my procrastinating artist ass and starting this blog. My goal is to capture some of those interesting (and hopefully funny) moments that happen everyday in our lives.