Sometimes you just need to let go. You need to take a moment and breath. Be creative. Do something silly. Wave your hands and jump around like the kid in Big Daddy singing "Kangaroo Song kangaroo song". So I did. I let go for a small bit today and it felt good.
some films my company has made, just thrown together.
here is what i came up with:
THE BLOW...
...otherwise known as the (Washinton State's own might I add) multi talented, magnetic, lovely and delightful Khaela Maricich.
The audience of The Great American Music Hall nearly fell asleep last night while Mirah gave a beautiful yet unfitting performance co-headlining with the act that was about to follow. Performing without her counterpart by her side, Khaela gave a large but also intimate show. She exceeded my expectations as an artist, singer, entertainer and overall storyteller. Plus. her white pants were kick-ass.
I have no complaints about the show. Which has nothing to do with the fact that I got to experience the evening for free b/c my friend works for the place. So, these next few lines are not directed to anyone but the large man that almost stood in front of me.
Dear Larger Guy w/ the Blue Shirt on:
I did not stand for an hour straight through music I wasn't all that in to so you could come in right at the last second and take my wonderful view away from me. Why insist on standing practically on top of me, when there is about five feet of open space to the right of us. Not to mention you are about five inches taller than I am, as well as about everyone in this vicinity. It would be no problem for you to view Khalela's awesome antics standing almost about anywhere in the crowd. All us shorter folks, mainly women, were grouped together to the left of the stage. Our chi was feeling good, then you came in. Forced your way through our perfect human puzzle and with your garden rake tore us up. Please don't do that again.
Signed,
Dedicated to Making a Viewing System at Concerts in Terms of Height
p.s. You have an enormous neck!
The audience of The Great American Music Hall nearly fell asleep last night while Mirah gave a beautiful yet unfitting performance co-headlining with the act that was about to follow. Performing without her counterpart by her side, Khaela gave a large but also intimate show. She exceeded my expectations as an artist, singer, entertainer and overall storyteller. Plus. her white pants were kick-ass.
I have no complaints about the show. Which has nothing to do with the fact that I got to experience the evening for free b/c my friend works for the place. So, these next few lines are not directed to anyone but the large man that almost stood in front of me.
Dear Larger Guy w/ the Blue Shirt on:
I did not stand for an hour straight through music I wasn't all that in to so you could come in right at the last second and take my wonderful view away from me. Why insist on standing practically on top of me, when there is about five feet of open space to the right of us. Not to mention you are about five inches taller than I am, as well as about everyone in this vicinity. It would be no problem for you to view Khalela's awesome antics standing almost about anywhere in the crowd. All us shorter folks, mainly women, were grouped together to the left of the stage. Our chi was feeling good, then you came in. Forced your way through our perfect human puzzle and with your garden rake tore us up. Please don't do that again.
Signed,
Dedicated to Making a Viewing System at Concerts in Terms of Height
p.s. You have an enormous neck!
when nice guys really are nice guys
I used to have a very egocentric roommate. I moved into his room when he peaced out. He left spotches of putty on the walls, boxes of wire coathangers that just get in the way, and dark sticky marks from his bong on what im sure used to be a nice wooden floor. All is forgiven though when his Details Magazine arrives every month. Full of poised sexy young men. I oogle page after page, rarely reading the articles. Except for last months article titled something like, "Are you turning your son into a dueche bag?" Don't quote me on that.
Let me pause for a moment and just tell you that my office is FUCKING COLD! My fingers are going to fall off.
This months issue arrived with Zac Efron on the cover. Even though I have never seen an episode of High School Musical, or really even know anything about it. Being online all day and aware of pop culture, it's hard not to know who this kid is. Starring me down with those baby blues, and looking like a tortured and deep souled rockstar, my friend commented that she can't help but find Zac attractive. That is not what came to my mind. Instead I saw someone younger than I am, probably richer than I will every be, and appears to be certain in his path and direction in life. This feeling I had can be boiled down simply, to jealousy. Jealous that "I can do that" or, "I could have done that". Act that is. But of course I didn't and I never really wanted to. The only reason I would have wanted to be an actor is so that I could have done all the cool things 'regular' people rarely get the chance to or can afford to do. Such as soaring through the air on wires, or flying a fighter jet. Maybe I should have just become a stuntman.
It was 7am on a Saturday morning and I was bored. Not tired, because Ive always been an morning person, but bored. I could have opened one of the four books Ive been trying to finish for what seems like ever now. Whenever I'm at a quaint little book store I for whatever reason feel obligated to buy one. Obligated by my own interests, curiosity, and desire to expand my mind, rather than obligation to the store. But instead of taking one off of my shelf and finding the dog ear, I picked up Mr. Efron.
The article was surprisingly short for how many pages was dedicated the the guy. Those were filled with pictures of him on a tattered sofa, junk food spread about. Somehow making the couch potato look doable and sexy. The author wrote about a guy trying to understand and coming to terms with his fame, while still just wanting to do what he's always wanted to do; perform. It was a nice little article about what seems like a very nice guy. Dance on Zac, dance on.
Let me pause for a moment and just tell you that my office is FUCKING COLD! My fingers are going to fall off.
This months issue arrived with Zac Efron on the cover. Even though I have never seen an episode of High School Musical, or really even know anything about it. Being online all day and aware of pop culture, it's hard not to know who this kid is. Starring me down with those baby blues, and looking like a tortured and deep souled rockstar, my friend commented that she can't help but find Zac attractive. That is not what came to my mind. Instead I saw someone younger than I am, probably richer than I will every be, and appears to be certain in his path and direction in life. This feeling I had can be boiled down simply, to jealousy. Jealous that "I can do that" or, "I could have done that". Act that is. But of course I didn't and I never really wanted to. The only reason I would have wanted to be an actor is so that I could have done all the cool things 'regular' people rarely get the chance to or can afford to do. Such as soaring through the air on wires, or flying a fighter jet. Maybe I should have just become a stuntman.
It was 7am on a Saturday morning and I was bored. Not tired, because Ive always been an morning person, but bored. I could have opened one of the four books Ive been trying to finish for what seems like ever now. Whenever I'm at a quaint little book store I for whatever reason feel obligated to buy one. Obligated by my own interests, curiosity, and desire to expand my mind, rather than obligation to the store. But instead of taking one off of my shelf and finding the dog ear, I picked up Mr. Efron.
The article was surprisingly short for how many pages was dedicated the the guy. Those were filled with pictures of him on a tattered sofa, junk food spread about. Somehow making the couch potato look doable and sexy. The author wrote about a guy trying to understand and coming to terms with his fame, while still just wanting to do what he's always wanted to do; perform. It was a nice little article about what seems like a very nice guy. Dance on Zac, dance on.
am I going to get a Staph infection?
Staphylococcus Aureus actually, and its all the talk. No one seems to want it, while also not avoiding the places likely to catch it. Catch it sounds wierd when associated with a Staph infection. That word makes it sound like one is catching a cold.
Truly, ive become paranoid about it. The bar last night freaked me out. The dollar bills getting handed to the scantily clad men dancing on the tables. Not so much handed, as tucked into every knook and cranny. The dollar bills were all up in their business!!! And those dollar bills are going to be spent one way or another. Going back into the hands of the public. The people who make my sandwhiches at lunch, and the bartender who is about to make me a Redbull Vodka. Then touch the straw, which will go in my mouth at any moment. It's rather appalling. Which brings me back to the fact that I have become completely paranoid. Washing my face before and after everything I do. I am convinced I am going to catch this wonderful infection as i'm walking down the street or buying groceries. It's freaking me out man!
I really have no idea what a Staph Infection is. Rather than risk sounding like an idiot for the next several weeks, trying to discuss this yucky phenomenon, I thought I'd look it up. Im sure you are interested as well, so I took the liberty to lay out the facts, knitty gritty. The details I'd rather not copy and paste are HERE.
"Staphylococcus is group of bacteria, familiarly known as Staph (pronounced "staff"), that can cause a multitude of diseases as a result of infection of various tissues of the body. Staph bacteria can cause illness not only directly by infection (such as in the skin), but also indirectly by producing toxins responsible for food poisoning and toxic shock syndrome. Staph-related illness can range from mild and requiring no treatment to severe and potentially fatal."
"Staphylococcal disease of the skin usually results in a localized collection of pus, known as an abscess, boil, or furuncle. The affected area may be red, swollen, and painful. Drainage or pus is common."
Truly, ive become paranoid about it. The bar last night freaked me out. The dollar bills getting handed to the scantily clad men dancing on the tables. Not so much handed, as tucked into every knook and cranny. The dollar bills were all up in their business!!! And those dollar bills are going to be spent one way or another. Going back into the hands of the public. The people who make my sandwhiches at lunch, and the bartender who is about to make me a Redbull Vodka. Then touch the straw, which will go in my mouth at any moment. It's rather appalling. Which brings me back to the fact that I have become completely paranoid. Washing my face before and after everything I do. I am convinced I am going to catch this wonderful infection as i'm walking down the street or buying groceries. It's freaking me out man!
I really have no idea what a Staph Infection is. Rather than risk sounding like an idiot for the next several weeks, trying to discuss this yucky phenomenon, I thought I'd look it up. Im sure you are interested as well, so I took the liberty to lay out the facts, knitty gritty. The details I'd rather not copy and paste are HERE.
"Staphylococcus is group of bacteria, familiarly known as Staph (pronounced "staff"), that can cause a multitude of diseases as a result of infection of various tissues of the body. Staph bacteria can cause illness not only directly by infection (such as in the skin), but also indirectly by producing toxins responsible for food poisoning and toxic shock syndrome. Staph-related illness can range from mild and requiring no treatment to severe and potentially fatal."
"Staphylococcal disease of the skin usually results in a localized collection of pus, known as an abscess, boil, or furuncle. The affected area may be red, swollen, and painful. Drainage or pus is common."
Ikedas - look it up
I’m not sure whether it was the red velvet pants, sequined jacket, or eerily close resemblance to that blonde girl in Napoleon Dynamite (ya know, the one he has a crush on, draws a picture of, and who happens to be Hillary Duff’s unknown older sister), but she kept drawing us back. We never found out her name. We never actually found out the name of the band she was lead singing for. We never found out how she ended up in Crystal Bay, NV blaring her lungs out for punks like us. Punks like the sloshed post frat house boys and married couple rolling on something illegal.
I think she grew up in this town. Well, at the bar/casino/hotel to be exact. She grew up being accosted by drunk unmotivated older men. Influenced by the leather faced waitresses, she started smoking at the age of eleven and didn’t look back. The four African American grooving, styling, talented musicians were driving through when their van broke down. The owner of the bar/casino/hotel, also the father of the lead singer, snagged the group, convinced them to let his daughter sing, and The Breeze Lounge house band was born. Of course that is just my version of the story. I’m sure so close to the truth.
In reality and completely sincerely the band was actually awesome. I’m not sure how long they studied the Karaoke Box Set’s 1967-2007, but they knew every word, every beat, everything about every song. If their voices would have been disappointing they would have made it up with their outfits. Shimmering and tacky. Just what you would expect from any sort of entertainment in Nevada (I have a video on my phone and if I ever upload it it's worth a look see). The entertainment matched the décor. Mirrored ceilings, gold specked tile floor, a bartender named Nicky who served the best Jose Cuervo on this side of the...the…Mississippi? Which isn’t hard when it is a free Jose Cuervo. Promoted by the enormous blinking sign outside Jim Kelly's Nugget. “Free drink when presenting lift ticket”. Hell yeah!!!
There is so much more about this weekend I would love to share. Like almost getting hit by a Tow Truck going way too fast and disregarding this thing called a turn lane. We almost died. The friendly Peruvian barista. Or hitting the pow with no one in sight. If you don't understand or appreciate how awesome fresh pow is then stop reading now. If I continue any further I might end up leaving too many good things out, so I'll just add that It was a great few days, with infinite characters that gave me more of a sociology study I could ever ask for. Cheers Crystal Bay. Oh how I miss you…and the $1.99 breakfast that you serve 24hrs a day.
I think she grew up in this town. Well, at the bar/casino/hotel to be exact. She grew up being accosted by drunk unmotivated older men. Influenced by the leather faced waitresses, she started smoking at the age of eleven and didn’t look back. The four African American grooving, styling, talented musicians were driving through when their van broke down. The owner of the bar/casino/hotel, also the father of the lead singer, snagged the group, convinced them to let his daughter sing, and The Breeze Lounge house band was born. Of course that is just my version of the story. I’m sure so close to the truth.
In reality and completely sincerely the band was actually awesome. I’m not sure how long they studied the Karaoke Box Set’s 1967-2007, but they knew every word, every beat, everything about every song. If their voices would have been disappointing they would have made it up with their outfits. Shimmering and tacky. Just what you would expect from any sort of entertainment in Nevada (I have a video on my phone and if I ever upload it it's worth a look see). The entertainment matched the décor. Mirrored ceilings, gold specked tile floor, a bartender named Nicky who served the best Jose Cuervo on this side of the...the…Mississippi? Which isn’t hard when it is a free Jose Cuervo. Promoted by the enormous blinking sign outside Jim Kelly's Nugget. “Free drink when presenting lift ticket”. Hell yeah!!!
There is so much more about this weekend I would love to share. Like almost getting hit by a Tow Truck going way too fast and disregarding this thing called a turn lane. We almost died. The friendly Peruvian barista. Or hitting the pow with no one in sight. If you don't understand or appreciate how awesome fresh pow is then stop reading now. If I continue any further I might end up leaving too many good things out, so I'll just add that It was a great few days, with infinite characters that gave me more of a sociology study I could ever ask for. Cheers Crystal Bay. Oh how I miss you…and the $1.99 breakfast that you serve 24hrs a day.
The elevator in my building - part 2
I GOT KEY!!!!!! Yep, I got a key to the stairs. I haven't taken the elevator once since I got this key. Well, only once to take the recycling out. Im excited.
Other things I am excited about:
-Tahoe this weekend
-The Blow concert
-Getting a NF Latte from Ritual this afternoon
-Did I mention snowboarding?
-Finishing transferring all the work cd's into Itunes - its more annoying than you think
-Taking the crap I wrote down last night and putting it into effect (you'll just have to wait and see)
-Attempting to understand why I can't stay in one place for too long - I think its time I see a therapist
Other things I am excited about:
-Tahoe this weekend
-The Blow concert
-Getting a NF Latte from Ritual this afternoon
-Did I mention snowboarding?
-Finishing transferring all the work cd's into Itunes - its more annoying than you think
-Taking the crap I wrote down last night and putting it into effect (you'll just have to wait and see)
-Attempting to understand why I can't stay in one place for too long - I think its time I see a therapist
a little something to ponder
I suggest everyone takes a glance at and read THIS POST. It uplifted me when ive been pretty down lately. Mainly regarding how ive been spending the majority of my day, and why it took me so long to change that. I have taken steps towards self motivation and have been much more proactive towards how I want to spend my day, my job, which is essentially MY LIFE! It's mine, and if somethings off somethings not right, I am the only person who can change it.
I know I am not living up to my full potential, and that upsets me. I need to change that, and want to change that. If for only the fact that I feel like I will slowly die if I stay the same.
Am I being a downer?
7 on 7
It was a rainy windy Saturday morning. The past week had been a few solid days of destruction. Power out. Trees down. Bridge's closed. Some called it the end of San Francisco. San Francisco women are tough cookies though, and Sports 4 Good decided that if the turf field was in tact, soccer would indeed go on! Waking up, un-prepared to find the area of the city known as Bayview, my internet out, I bothered my roommate to find a map to the field. Not knowing what bus to take, again, being unprepared, I luckily had pumped up my bike tire a few days before, and hopped on the red rider and flew down to the field. Well, didn't fly as so much as rode past the homeless and their shopping carts, trying to get over, around and under 101. Successfully I came upon Cesar Chavez and followed it to 3rd street. Through rain, and wind, and hard rain, and more wind, and broken branches, and rocks, and broken umbrellas, and torn up jackets, and flat tires, and enormous freight trucks I found myself lost. A bus stop seemed to appear out of no where, and harmlessly sneaking up on a woman fiddling with something in front of her and mumbling what sounded like she was upset with me, I glanced at a map and saw I was not far from the Youngblood soccer field. With hope and ten minutes left until game time I peddled and peddled, looking for any sign of a field. A fence, tall lights, goals, yelling and screaming, and ahh! Too my right there it was. Just past the potholes, gravel sidewalk, and broken down cars, the field! I could see red shirts too. A glimpse that my other , no doubt more prepared teammates, had arrived on time. With a few minutes remaining I threw on my cleats and ran on the field. We were down one, but that was ok. With a game of 7 on 7, and a small indoor like field, and teeny nets resembling hockey goals, being down a player could be excused. Mid-way through the first half, which could have been anywhere from twenty minutes to forty-five, I couldn't really tell and still don't know much of the rules, our seventh and final player came. The game ended with a 1-1 tie. Not bad for a thrown together team. Megan was nice enough to offer me and my bike a ride home. I showered and headed to my mom's house for eleven, yes count em', eleven hours of sitting on the couch watching football, trashy tv, and a movie that wasn't much to talk about.
Good Morning
I am lucky enough, or so I believe, to live about 1/2 a block away from a BART station. Its so convenient that it makes it hard to ever want to stay at someone elses house. The thought of having to walk more than a block to catch a suitable form of public transportation seems ridiculous. This is coming from my prior 8 months of living in a location that required nothing less than a 10 minute walk to get anywhere. After which the wait for the bus can take awhile. Due to the fact that the stop was the last/first destination on the buses route, which made it acceptable to the drivers for them to take a quick shut eye.
It's really fascinating how much can happen during my 1/2 block walk from my front door to the bart door. Cracked out drunk couples fighting. Yes, at 8am. Entertainers singing Johhny Cash, bums pissing in the alley, chinese food and pastries being cooked consecutively in the same place. It may not sound that odd, but just think about it for a moment. Its just as wierd when I saw the first Taco Bell and Burger King combined in the same building. Ok, it may have been a Jack In The Box, or an Arby's, but it was still an odd thing to see. It just seems wrong. The walk isn't all dirt and grime, and musty gross air, or trash covered sidewalks. There is a crossing guard who gets completely ignored but who is also completely endearing. A man doing some sort of cross stitch thing I would never have the patience for. And the crew that hangs out in the little shop where the sign boasts a breakfast bagel and a cup of joe for like $2.50. Ok maybe its $2.80.
The walk from my house would be more annoying if the BART wasn't so close, but its a short distance and I can handle it. I use the word annoying because really, the last thing I want in the morning on my way to work are people spitting up in front of my face, loud noises, and the smell of trash. Am I a bitch? That's what I get with living in The Mission some would say, and I agree. Athough I do divert from it by more often than not walking Valencia. Which just one street over is cleaner and quieter. That is SF for ya though. Two blocks can be completely different from the two next to it.
A few streets from Mission the other way is Shotwell st. where I spend a majority of my time. The walk from Shotwell to Mission street in the morning is one of the worst walks in the city. It is awful for one reason and one reason only. The fried chicken place on the corner. To me morning is associated with pastries, coffee, cleanliness, and a fresh new start to the day. Not the smell of fried chicken. Which, admittedly my prejudice, I immediatly associate with greese, and fat, and mice running around licking up the crispy skin remnants forgotten in the corners of the floor. I'm sorry, I'm awful, I'm a horrible person for thinking these thoughts. I just can't get over it. Is it bad that I don't appreciate getting greeted in the morning by the scent of rotisserie?
I can have pancakes and eggs for dinner any day, but the smell of fried chicken in the morning makes me want to puke. I think it has to do with association. My friend told me about this exhibit at the Exploratorium that played with the same sort of thing. She said there was a water fountain that happened to be coming out of what looked like a toilet bowl. She found it hard to take a sip.
Whatever it may be that causes my stomach to turn every time I pass this corner in the morning I don't think I'll ever get over it. Maybe I should stay at my place more often.
It's really fascinating how much can happen during my 1/2 block walk from my front door to the bart door. Cracked out drunk couples fighting. Yes, at 8am. Entertainers singing Johhny Cash, bums pissing in the alley, chinese food and pastries being cooked consecutively in the same place. It may not sound that odd, but just think about it for a moment. Its just as wierd when I saw the first Taco Bell and Burger King combined in the same building. Ok, it may have been a Jack In The Box, or an Arby's, but it was still an odd thing to see. It just seems wrong. The walk isn't all dirt and grime, and musty gross air, or trash covered sidewalks. There is a crossing guard who gets completely ignored but who is also completely endearing. A man doing some sort of cross stitch thing I would never have the patience for. And the crew that hangs out in the little shop where the sign boasts a breakfast bagel and a cup of joe for like $2.50. Ok maybe its $2.80.
The walk from my house would be more annoying if the BART wasn't so close, but its a short distance and I can handle it. I use the word annoying because really, the last thing I want in the morning on my way to work are people spitting up in front of my face, loud noises, and the smell of trash. Am I a bitch? That's what I get with living in The Mission some would say, and I agree. Athough I do divert from it by more often than not walking Valencia. Which just one street over is cleaner and quieter. That is SF for ya though. Two blocks can be completely different from the two next to it.
A few streets from Mission the other way is Shotwell st. where I spend a majority of my time. The walk from Shotwell to Mission street in the morning is one of the worst walks in the city. It is awful for one reason and one reason only. The fried chicken place on the corner. To me morning is associated with pastries, coffee, cleanliness, and a fresh new start to the day. Not the smell of fried chicken. Which, admittedly my prejudice, I immediatly associate with greese, and fat, and mice running around licking up the crispy skin remnants forgotten in the corners of the floor. I'm sorry, I'm awful, I'm a horrible person for thinking these thoughts. I just can't get over it. Is it bad that I don't appreciate getting greeted in the morning by the scent of rotisserie?
I can have pancakes and eggs for dinner any day, but the smell of fried chicken in the morning makes me want to puke. I think it has to do with association. My friend told me about this exhibit at the Exploratorium that played with the same sort of thing. She said there was a water fountain that happened to be coming out of what looked like a toilet bowl. She found it hard to take a sip.
Whatever it may be that causes my stomach to turn every time I pass this corner in the morning I don't think I'll ever get over it. Maybe I should stay at my place more often.
Happy New Year!!!!
Let's begin with resolutions. Last year I was living in the Presidio, didn't know many people, well, didn't have many friends, and spent the first day of 2007 alone in my house, napping for the most part. One of my resolutions for last year was to run everyday. Run a mile, run 10, just run. I put post it's on my wall saying RUN goddamnit (when I make it one word im not taking his name in vain right?). I was motivated, I was broken hearted, and I was lonely. Running everyday seemed plausible. It lasted for 10 days. 10 measly days. Pathetic.
This year, I woke up the first day of 2008 sick but relaxed from practically 2 weeks of no work. I was thankful for the people I have met over the year, the adventures ive been on, the way ive grown and changed. I also woke up with a feeling of complete disapointment in the things I failed to acomplish the last 365 days, but held a sense of hope that 2008 would be different. I cleared the crust from my eyes, stretched and yawned with no resolution. I brushed my teeth, walked to the kitchen, and popped a miniture Milky Way in my mouth. I enjoyed every chewy caramel chocolate bite, with absolutely no plans to run it off.
I would like the rock hard abs, and I would like the ass you can bounce a quater off of, and I would like the sexy built arms that I find so damn attractive on other people. I would like a massage at this current moment. I would like to have a million dollars, tax free. I would like a new laptop, because this one is slow and clunky. I would like to understand what the heck I want to do with my life. I would like to be more understanding, and patient, and thoughtful. I would like to be more carefree and not be so influenced by other people. I want to be healthy and I want to be honest. No more unrealistic goals. No more selective hearing. No more neglecting responsibilties. No more making excuses. No more!!!!!! Ok, maybe I'll start running tomorrow.
This year, I woke up the first day of 2008 sick but relaxed from practically 2 weeks of no work. I was thankful for the people I have met over the year, the adventures ive been on, the way ive grown and changed. I also woke up with a feeling of complete disapointment in the things I failed to acomplish the last 365 days, but held a sense of hope that 2008 would be different. I cleared the crust from my eyes, stretched and yawned with no resolution. I brushed my teeth, walked to the kitchen, and popped a miniture Milky Way in my mouth. I enjoyed every chewy caramel chocolate bite, with absolutely no plans to run it off.
I would like the rock hard abs, and I would like the ass you can bounce a quater off of, and I would like the sexy built arms that I find so damn attractive on other people. I would like a massage at this current moment. I would like to have a million dollars, tax free. I would like a new laptop, because this one is slow and clunky. I would like to understand what the heck I want to do with my life. I would like to be more understanding, and patient, and thoughtful. I would like to be more carefree and not be so influenced by other people. I want to be healthy and I want to be honest. No more unrealistic goals. No more selective hearing. No more neglecting responsibilties. No more making excuses. No more!!!!!! Ok, maybe I'll start running tomorrow.
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