Juneau, Alaska is a special place. Anyone who knows me knows how strongly I feel that way--but when the rain falls in October and November, it falls constantly and it falls sideways, and even I can forget how great this place can be. Today, with the orangey colors and below-freezing air that somehow manages to feel warm, is the exception. Today is a reminder of the importance of the beauty in nature to the well-being of the soul (and other cheesy lines of bullshit). In short, I love it here. The end.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
The most useless poetic waxing about home.
It is a bluebird day here in the rain-forest. At noon this morning (er, afternoon), I cracked my eyes just the tiniest bit to see the sun beaming through the crack between my bedroom curtains. My room was cold and I could smell the crisp air as if I were outside. The whole thing made me smile, and the sun ultimately woke me up. That, and the fact that my cat, Popsicle was doing this thing where she crawls all over me and tries to rub her anus in my face. What the fuck?
Friday, April 8, 2011
The Color of my Skin
For the first time in about four months, I wrote a poem. It's a bit naughty, and probably unfinished, but I thought I'd post it. It's called "The Color of my Skin."
Coffee tastes best when it is the color of my skin;
gets that way with a dollop of half 'n half.
There is no place for non-fat.
And a man tastes best when there is sweat on his skin;
gets that way when his body begins to writhe,
percolates desire.
So much desire spills over the brim,
like a bitter cup of half 'n half coffee, smooth,
sweet,
the color of my skin.
Coffee tastes best when it is the color of my skin;
gets that way with a dollop of half 'n half.
There is no place for non-fat.
And a man tastes best when there is sweat on his skin;
gets that way when his body begins to writhe,
percolates desire.
So much desire spills over the brim,
like a bitter cup of half 'n half coffee, smooth,
sweet,
the color of my skin.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Oh, holidays...
Despite the fact that I created this blog for a semester-long creative writing class that is now complete, and every single thing I've written in here up until now has been for a grade, I've decided that I might as well continue writing in this thing--mostly so that I don't become a rusty writer, but also because blogging, like journaling, is kind of fun in a pensive, narcissistic sort of way.
Anywho, I should probably mention something about Christmas and New Year: they were both good. I could go on about all of the wonderful gifts I received on Christmas, and all of the alcohol I consumed on New Year, but I don't think I will, because Christmas presents and New-Year-booze are really just holiday fringe benefits.
At the heart of the holiday season, it isn't about what you get, it's about who you connect with (yeah, I know how goddamn cheesy that sounds, but you know I'm right). I mean, think about it. People stress the fuck out during the holidays. They spend all of their money on gifts and honey ham, they eat their weight in chocolate, and they dress up for parties they don't want to go to. It can be torturous and overwhemling, but all of the stress is met with reward on Christmas morning.
What I love most about the morning of December 25th is that rare, distraction-free connection I have with my family. With the television turned off, and cell phones and computers tucked away, we are all able to focus on our shared happiness and togetherness. It is the one time during the year when the delight of giving and receiving overpowers all of the other shit that comes with being human. It's pure, it's simple, it's cliche as hell--but I fucking love Christmas. The same can be said of celebrating the New Year, too. Just replace family with friends and gifts with alcohol and voila! An excuse to celebrate and be together.
Some New Year togetherness.
Anywho, I should probably mention something about Christmas and New Year: they were both good. I could go on about all of the wonderful gifts I received on Christmas, and all of the alcohol I consumed on New Year, but I don't think I will, because Christmas presents and New-Year-booze are really just holiday fringe benefits.
At the heart of the holiday season, it isn't about what you get, it's about who you connect with (yeah, I know how goddamn cheesy that sounds, but you know I'm right). I mean, think about it. People stress the fuck out during the holidays. They spend all of their money on gifts and honey ham, they eat their weight in chocolate, and they dress up for parties they don't want to go to. It can be torturous and overwhemling, but all of the stress is met with reward on Christmas morning.
What I love most about the morning of December 25th is that rare, distraction-free connection I have with my family. With the television turned off, and cell phones and computers tucked away, we are all able to focus on our shared happiness and togetherness. It is the one time during the year when the delight of giving and receiving overpowers all of the other shit that comes with being human. It's pure, it's simple, it's cliche as hell--but I fucking love Christmas. The same can be said of celebrating the New Year, too. Just replace family with friends and gifts with alcohol and voila! An excuse to celebrate and be together.
Some New Year togetherness.Sunday, December 5, 2010
Shake That Booty
One of the many benefits of having a boyfriend who works for Hearthside Books is the big little perk of complimentary tickets to various events. Since I'm going to assume that every single reader of this blog lives in Juneau, I don't have to tell you that Hearthside sells tickets for just about every show in town. At the very least, every show that the Juneau Arts and Humanities Council puts on. So on Thursday night, Danny and I went to see John Lee Hooker Jr. play at the Rendezvous *for free.* We enlisted a couple of friends to go with us, and it was generally a very fun night of heavy dancing and light drinking--until I had to shake my booty.
John Lee Hooker Jr. played a lot of really enjoyable music on Thursday night. Save for a cover or two of his father's songs, all of the music was new to me--but that didn't matter. I got down on the dance floor and had a really good time. At one point near the end of the evening, there were very few people dancing. I was the only woman on the dance floor, and that was the moment when JLH Jr. decided to announce a 'booty shaking contest.' As he was announcing the contest, his eyes were locked on me. He pointed at me, and smiled.
Now, those of you who know me at ALL know that I'm not the type of person to draw attention to myself in a public setting (unless I'm like, really drunk). I prefer to fade into the background and do a whole lot of observing others. Normally, at the announcement of a booty shaking contest, I would have literally bolted toward my seat in the audience, but this situation seemed abnormal. He was looking right at me, pointing at me! It seemed that the only logical option was to shove my neurosis into the back of my mind, and do the damn thing.
Three other girls (one of whom being a friend I brought, who I kinda sorta pressured into joining in) hopped on stage, one at a time, and shook their asses, but I didn't pay any attention to the girl who went before me, or the two who went after me--I was kind of preoccupied with my own, somewhat mortifying, experience.
Here's how it happened: Girl #1 gets on stage, drops it like it's hot (or whatever the young people are saying these days), people clap. I get up on the stage, JLH Jr. puts his arm around me, tells me what is going to happen, fondles my butt a little (seriously, ew), music plays and I dance with my backside toward the audience. All the while, the look on JLH Jr.'s face is one of utter satisfaction (again, eaw--this guy is nearly 60). After the music stopped and I got off the stage, he threw out a few derogatory compliments and it was over.
Despite my hesitations about shaking my ass on stage, I've never been terribly concerned about my dancing ability. Even when I look like a complete dumbass, I have a lot of fun. And when it comes to booty shaking, there is a certain amount of genetic ability that comes into the mix. That said, I did not win the booty shaking contest. A really drunk, horny girl did--and it was for the best.
At home that evening, I think I asked Danny about twenty times if I looked like an idiot on stage. His biased, boyfriend-response was "no. no. NO." He tried to convince me that I shouldn't feel so dirty about the whole experience by saying that I should stop thinking like a prude and start thinking like a "1990s feminist and own your sexuality, like 'I am Woman, hear me roar'"--whatever that means. The embarrassment is difficult to shake (no pun intended), but I guess I'll have to get over it. I stepped out of my introverted bubble, got a little bit objectified, and survived the whole experience. Things could definitely be worse.
John Lee Hooker Jr. played a lot of really enjoyable music on Thursday night. Save for a cover or two of his father's songs, all of the music was new to me--but that didn't matter. I got down on the dance floor and had a really good time. At one point near the end of the evening, there were very few people dancing. I was the only woman on the dance floor, and that was the moment when JLH Jr. decided to announce a 'booty shaking contest.' As he was announcing the contest, his eyes were locked on me. He pointed at me, and smiled.
Now, those of you who know me at ALL know that I'm not the type of person to draw attention to myself in a public setting (unless I'm like, really drunk). I prefer to fade into the background and do a whole lot of observing others. Normally, at the announcement of a booty shaking contest, I would have literally bolted toward my seat in the audience, but this situation seemed abnormal. He was looking right at me, pointing at me! It seemed that the only logical option was to shove my neurosis into the back of my mind, and do the damn thing.
Three other girls (one of whom being a friend I brought, who I kinda sorta pressured into joining in) hopped on stage, one at a time, and shook their asses, but I didn't pay any attention to the girl who went before me, or the two who went after me--I was kind of preoccupied with my own, somewhat mortifying, experience.
Here's how it happened: Girl #1 gets on stage, drops it like it's hot (or whatever the young people are saying these days), people clap. I get up on the stage, JLH Jr. puts his arm around me, tells me what is going to happen, fondles my butt a little (seriously, ew), music plays and I dance with my backside toward the audience. All the while, the look on JLH Jr.'s face is one of utter satisfaction (again, eaw--this guy is nearly 60). After the music stopped and I got off the stage, he threw out a few derogatory compliments and it was over.
Despite my hesitations about shaking my ass on stage, I've never been terribly concerned about my dancing ability. Even when I look like a complete dumbass, I have a lot of fun. And when it comes to booty shaking, there is a certain amount of genetic ability that comes into the mix. That said, I did not win the booty shaking contest. A really drunk, horny girl did--and it was for the best.
At home that evening, I think I asked Danny about twenty times if I looked like an idiot on stage. His biased, boyfriend-response was "no. no. NO." He tried to convince me that I shouldn't feel so dirty about the whole experience by saying that I should stop thinking like a prude and start thinking like a "1990s feminist and own your sexuality, like 'I am Woman, hear me roar'"--whatever that means. The embarrassment is difficult to shake (no pun intended), but I guess I'll have to get over it. I stepped out of my introverted bubble, got a little bit objectified, and survived the whole experience. Things could definitely be worse.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Learning to cope
I've recently been slapped across the face by mortality.
One of my very good friends passed away six days ago and the event has sent me on a journey that I wasn't ready for. I've been contemplating writing about it here since I found out this past Thursday, but I think I was trying really hard to ignore what was going on. Denial is a powerful stage of grief, and I kept thinking that if I didn't write about it, didn't cry about it, Mike's death would go away. But it hasn't, and I think I am finally beginning to understand that.
I do not believe that all deaths are tragedies, but Mike's is. In a way, I feel as if his life has been reduced to a piece of gossip. I have been receiving texts, calls and Facebook messages from people who didn't even know him. These people don't care about the impact he made in life, they are focused on the details of his death. They ask me if I know what happened or why he did it, and the truth is I don't know all of the details--but at this point I don't care. Mike was pretty adamant about his hatred of gossip and he always told me I did too much of it. I never understood what the big deal was until now. When you're hurting, gossip is toxic. Mike knew that, but he knew just about everything.
Grief has me all fucked up in my heart and in my brain, and I know that I'm not getting the worst of it. Mike had a lot of good lifelong friends and a very solid, loving family. I cannot and do not want to imagine what those people are going through. What I do know, though, is that Mike was my co-worker and true friend for only three years, and his death is having a profound impact on me.
One of my very good friends passed away six days ago and the event has sent me on a journey that I wasn't ready for. I've been contemplating writing about it here since I found out this past Thursday, but I think I was trying really hard to ignore what was going on. Denial is a powerful stage of grief, and I kept thinking that if I didn't write about it, didn't cry about it, Mike's death would go away. But it hasn't, and I think I am finally beginning to understand that.
I do not believe that all deaths are tragedies, but Mike's is. In a way, I feel as if his life has been reduced to a piece of gossip. I have been receiving texts, calls and Facebook messages from people who didn't even know him. These people don't care about the impact he made in life, they are focused on the details of his death. They ask me if I know what happened or why he did it, and the truth is I don't know all of the details--but at this point I don't care. Mike was pretty adamant about his hatred of gossip and he always told me I did too much of it. I never understood what the big deal was until now. When you're hurting, gossip is toxic. Mike knew that, but he knew just about everything.
Grief has me all fucked up in my heart and in my brain, and I know that I'm not getting the worst of it. Mike had a lot of good lifelong friends and a very solid, loving family. I cannot and do not want to imagine what those people are going through. What I do know, though, is that Mike was my co-worker and true friend for only three years, and his death is having a profound impact on me.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Into the WILD
I went camping with some friends on Friday night. You may remember the weather on Friday being less than desirable, and if you don't, I'll remind you. The weather on Friday was less than desirable. Typical Juneau wetness has a tendency to make even my bones feel soggy. But we hiked out to Cowee Meadow Cabin anyway. Once there, the five of us began eating and drinking—a lot. Darkness fell before 7pm, and I remember thinking to myself “this would be perfect if it were three months earlier.” It was the severity of the blackness outside that kept us from building a campfire, roasting marshmallows and exploring the meadow. In fact, the only trips that anyone took outside the cabin involved peeing—quickly. October darkness is just creepy, I guess.
Now, this is not to say that I didn't have fun in the cabin. I did. With good friends, fun comes naturally (even though “someone” may have thrown up in the bunk next to me, making the entire cabin smell like vomit) but I will say that I was very pleased in the morning to see daylight once again. I could finally appreciate my surroundings. On the hike back from the cabin, I realized that the problem with camping in the dark is the barrier that forms between us and nature.
The entire reason people go camping is to feel close to nature; to understand wildness by being in it, observing it. But when I can't see nature, I have a hard time feeling present in the wilderness, and thus the reason for camping becomes lost in the darkness. That is exactly what happened Friday night. Nothing was particularly captivating because nothing was visually available, and feelings of comfort with my surroundings were replaced with uncomfortable uncertainty. Were there any bears around that I couldn't see? Was a porcupine gonna get my ass while I was peeing? What about zombies? Vampires? Darkness kept me on edge and prevented me from feeling the breeze, smelling the trees and enhancing my understanding of the wild. I learned that to get the most out of a camping trip, it is a good idea to make sure I can see my surroundings. Otherwise, I might just end up a little tipsy and paranoid--with no visual or emotional connection to the wilderness that I love.
Monday, October 11, 2010
No coffee?!
Okay, so I made a vow not to write in my blog unless I'm drinking coffee. I wanted to stay true to the vow, I really did--but it's inching towards midnight right now and I can't sleep. So I'm blogging, and consequently breaking the coffee vow. Meh...
The reason I can't sleep is because I slept in until noon today, which is honestly pretty typical for a Sunday. What else is there to do? I'm a kidless, jobless, full time college student. We tend to be sleepers; and I am no exception to that rule.
I just realized that I don't have anything else to say about sleeping. Perhaps it is because I am sleepy. Regardless, it's time for a subject change...so I'm going to write about an amazing movie I saw last night. It is called "A Single Man." Allow me to gush...
Different movies affect people differently. "Inception" rocked the socks off of nearly everyone I know, but I personally thought it was only alright. Different strokes for different folks, I guess. So I don't expect the entire world to go nuts over "A Single Man," but I sure did. The film (2009) was the directorial debut of Tom Ford, who is (get this!) a fashion designer. Every single frame in the film was a piece of art; it was truly astounding. But honestly, the sheer gorgeousness of the movie was just icing on cake. The real beauty, the part that tugged on my heartstrings in a way few things can, was the story.
"A Single Man" is based off of a book of the same name by Christopher Isherwood, and at its most simple level, it's the story of a man dealing with grief. The entire film is set within one fateful day, and is a fascinating look at how death and love can profoundly affect someone. I won't go into more detail than that because I don't want to bore you with a plot summary, but I really appreciated this movie. It was visually amazing, contextually fascinating and Colin Firth is just so dreamy (what is it about average looking British men that I find so attractive? I'll never know). As soon as I can pencil in some time for "fun" reading, I'm going to devour the book. It is movies like "A Single Man" that make me glad I broke it off with Jennifer Aniston when I did.
The reason I can't sleep is because I slept in until noon today, which is honestly pretty typical for a Sunday. What else is there to do? I'm a kidless, jobless, full time college student. We tend to be sleepers; and I am no exception to that rule.
I just realized that I don't have anything else to say about sleeping. Perhaps it is because I am sleepy. Regardless, it's time for a subject change...so I'm going to write about an amazing movie I saw last night. It is called "A Single Man." Allow me to gush...
Different movies affect people differently. "Inception" rocked the socks off of nearly everyone I know, but I personally thought it was only alright. Different strokes for different folks, I guess. So I don't expect the entire world to go nuts over "A Single Man," but I sure did. The film (2009) was the directorial debut of Tom Ford, who is (get this!) a fashion designer. Every single frame in the film was a piece of art; it was truly astounding. But honestly, the sheer gorgeousness of the movie was just icing on cake. The real beauty, the part that tugged on my heartstrings in a way few things can, was the story.
"A Single Man" is based off of a book of the same name by Christopher Isherwood, and at its most simple level, it's the story of a man dealing with grief. The entire film is set within one fateful day, and is a fascinating look at how death and love can profoundly affect someone. I won't go into more detail than that because I don't want to bore you with a plot summary, but I really appreciated this movie. It was visually amazing, contextually fascinating and Colin Firth is just so dreamy (what is it about average looking British men that I find so attractive? I'll never know). As soon as I can pencil in some time for "fun" reading, I'm going to devour the book. It is movies like "A Single Man" that make me glad I broke it off with Jennifer Aniston when I did.
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