2000 Miles

So that last post was written on the road. I made it home in one piece, and even enjoyed the rest of the drive. Not too bad. I could probably be a truck driver, even.

I got home at 330 on Wednesday, and bathed and clothed myself, and then I rode my bike to work because I didn't have the cash to take the bus. It was gorgeous out, and I couldn't help smiling on the way to work, happy to be out and that I didn't even need a jacket. Wonderful, unpredictable Denver weather.

So then I got off work at 1030 and went back out to the street to get my bike, which I had carefully locked up and taken the seat inside. And it was gone. Nothing remained but the little velcro tie that wound my masterlock up and stowed it away in the pouch under my bike seat, which I clutched to my breast as I sat down on the dirty street corner and just cried. I know it could have been worse, I know I could have gotten mugged, or raped, or killed, but I loved that bike. And I won't be able to afford to replace it for a long time.

So! If any of you silent readers are in the Denver area, or happen to check out ebay a lot or anything/anywhere else anyone would pawn a bike, here is the description, and I'd love the help looking.

4-5 year old Trek 4300, in near perfect condition. Cobalt blue/silver/red, shimano components, missing a seat. 19.5" frame. Lamp on the handlebars, no water bottle. It has a sticker on the body, just under where the water bottle would be, from a bike shop in Mishawaka, Indiana, where it was purchased by the original owner I bought it off of two years ago.

So, thanks for your help, everybody. Hope everyone has a good new year.

Singing Songs About Myself

I find that I stay awake much better on the road if I work on stories. So, I flesh out characters, think up surprising plot twists, and arrange marriages and murders in my head. Not only is it incredibly satisfying to get all this pseudo-work done, it also makes the miles melt in nothing flat.

So we had Swart Christmas today, and Jericho came over for it. Tami and my mom guffawed again about big ass ham, a joke that never gets old; a dog the size of a horse came and galloped around and around on my grandparents wood floors. Money was literally thrown at me, and I ate some of the best cheesecake of my life. My aunt and uncle invited me up to live with them in Grand Haven this year, which honestly is incredibly tempting. My four hours in the mitten was incredibly involved.

And the best part of my whole day is right now. I am sitting in a Steak and Shake off of I-80, just over the Iowa state line. And I am eating a frisco melt, and having a vanilla malt, and I am dangerous. I forgot how great this tasted. Steak and Shake is my husband. And new rule for life- don’t stop at the gas station and ask the little attendant from India where the Steak and Shake is. They’re vegetarian, they never eat here, and they probably give you wrong directions on purpose.

VIVA FRISCO!

1001 Nights

Idea #21 (Not Too Late)
words and music: Detweiler
recording: OHIO

Till we lay these weapons at your feet, Lord
How long, how long
Till we call all hatred obsolete, Lord
How long, how long

Till we walk like lovers thru Bethlehem
How long, how long
Till the lion lies down with the lamb, Lord
How long, how long

Too late
I know it's not too late
To wrestle with this angel
Higher and higher
Don't let go
Higher and higher
Before we know
How does it end
How does it end
We're all riding on the last train
Trying to find our way home again

Till we wash the blood from the hands of our fathers
How long
We're all sisters and brothers, sons and daughters
How long, how long
Our eyes all shine in different colors we cry, Lord
How long
Our dreams our tears are all the same by and by, Lord
How long, how long

Too late
I know it's not too late
To climb up Jacob's ladder
Higher and higher
Don't let go
Higher and higher
Before we know
How does it end
How does it end
We're all riding on the last train
Trying to find our way home again

It's not too late
****

Christmastime is here, happiness and cheer...
And I find myself in the midwest again, with more than my mindset. The last few days have been spent in balmy Indianapolis, and good grief it is different from Denver. I arrived on the 22nd, after 15.25 hours in the troops (support!), via I-70. And let me say, it was a short day, solstice buddies. The longest night of the year, even.

Tomorrow I will go to the mitten, as McDavid refers to it now. Dan and I bought cheap gifts today, and I gave a massage to Eunice. I've been playing video games, and laughing with my bro, and eating a lot. And attending extended family Christmas parties, where I get pelted in the neck by John Hay Jr.'s wrapping paper attacks. There are lots of children, and fudge, and divinity, and loud people yelling and being way too close to each other. My family doesn't know how to interact in any other way. And there are entirely too many of us. And oddly enough, there was no caroling this year.

I had this whole thing planned up about Gene Autry and Elvis and how ridiculous some things are, but what it comes down to is that I just want Christ to come. In the same way that he came in a manger, almost 2010 years ago now. I want him to come in this moment, then again tomorrow and finally at the end of all things, the beginning of all things. Perhaps, like the greek epics, even en media res. The creation, the advent, the consummation and the eschaton thundering together in mighty chorus, telling the old old story. Telling my story, where trees grow on both sides of the river, and hold forbidden fruit. The story that starts in a garden and ends in a city. And I am there, and God is there, and he is the only light. The light of the world.

Young Astronauts

So, if you'll remember a while back in my post about Xena and Gabrielle, which can be found here, I was talking about planets and names and such. I made a vague threat about what might happen if the next object was named Buffy, in an allusion to the TV show Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Well, it has happened, my friends. Don't believe? CHECK IT OUT.

http://www.usatoday.com/tech/science/space/2005-12-19-strange-solar-system_x.htm

And, for the piece of resistance, the inconclusive evidence to end all inconclusive evidence, the man behind the mayhem, Caltech's Dr. Mike Brown, is a Creationist. Hats off to you, sir! Hoist that Bible and pop in the 10th Anniversary Collector's Edition DVD set of Xena: Warrior Princess. I'm right behind you with the chips and my plastic chakram.

let me share you with myself

I just discovered, via my other blog that I share with a lot of friends (Midwest Mindset) that two dear friends of mine from college are now engaged. If you are interested in the Fox-Coon adventure, you can check it out here, complete with a photojournal of the event.

In other news, my friend McDavid kills me. Really. To see the greatest picture of all time, go here.

And finally, for a bit of my own sharing...

I applied to graduate school this week. How do I feel? Excited, well, excited and scared, to quote little red. But most of all happy. I have to believe I am capable of more than low end jobs for major corporations. Not that I am complaining currently, I in fact really enjoy B&N so far. I love being downtown, and watching people on the bus, and working with the people I work with. Micheal and I are planning a wedding (for tax purposes only) and I make sculptures with the dried milk on the steam wands in the morning and I like looking at Julia's ears after she comes in from the cold with all of her 28 piercings hanging from them. I'm happy. But I believe that there is more than this.

Also, as many of you frequently ask about this arena of my life (no, I don't have a boyfriend, not that arena) I played the guitar last night. And I liked it.

friends near and far

As I move about in life, I make friends, and then they move about. I've been corresponding lately with my very dear friend Emily, whom I had the pleasure of getting to know while I lived in Indy. She is part of a unit that has been mobilized in Iraq; as a member of the National Guard, her job is to send up little weather balloons that tell ballistics people how far to aim their weapons. I am grateful for the time in which I live- even though this war wouldn't be possible in this capacity 200 years ago, I also wouldn't be able to keep in touch on a daily basis like I can now, either.

More than ever, I am convinced of the journey, and not the destination. Though we should try to learn from mistakes, I'm quickly seeing that regrets are pretty much useless. That I may be appreciative of whatever time I have left is all I desire, and that I shall keep my wick trimmed and my lamp full of oil is all that I hope for myself. This is but a blink of an eye, and in an instant we shall all be changed.

business checking accounts make me want to barf

ok, so I was about to start this off differently, but there is a tall, skinny blond chick with a maroon suede jacket and a leather satchel standing 2 feet away from me, swaying/jerking her hips to the trashy 80's music. Only in capitol hill...

Speaking of which, I'm down at Diedrich, looking like sporty spice, sippin' the mate, and until about 20 minutes ago I was the only lady in the joint. About 15 men, ranging in age from kinderqueer to uncle fag, were scattered about, a few in couples but mostly solitary. But apparently 9 pm on Friday is go time down here.

I'm trying to study for my business class but blah blah business. That's all I have to say about that.

I pretty much got my portfolio compiled tonight for fuller, though, and buddy burned my discs so the tunes are all ready as well. Now I just have to go down to office max and pay 20 bucks to print off a jillion bits of my creative life thus far. Looking at in en masse, I realize how much I've really written. And question it, and feel a tiny bit good about it all. Some of it is bad, but some I honestly can't believe I did, because I like it.

So do I have what it takes to be a grad girl? Only time will tell. I was thinking tonight about why people are bigger now than ever. I mean, maybe we're programming ourselves to be bigger. All of our food is packed with chemicals to make it bigger, so we will buy it instead of some other food. Now we are bigger, and who will buy us?

Every va-halley shall be exah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ahlted

So I've been listening to Handel's Messiah all day, reminiscing about my performances (3 years worth) of the masterpiece at good old HC. Here are some of the highlights, as I remember them:

1. Ben Kendall singing the tenor solo; the subject line for this posting will always be burned into my memory with his clear tone.
2. Dr. Fulbright directing my freshman year and throwing the baton during the performance- twice- over her shoulder into the audience when things moved into the allegro stage of the game.
3. The year Dr. Killian directed, because he would speed up "Refiner's Fire" until Janice K. turned purple and almost passed out. The smile on his lips and the gleam in his eye was priceless.
4. Remembering, even now, our cues to stand- "the glory of the Loo-(stand)-oord, is risen upon thee" booming from the contralto.
5. The fact that I still remember about 98 percent of the words and melody lines.
6. Realizing in that sacred, dark space, as the chamber orchestra coaxed the Pastoral Symphony from their wood and strings, how lucky I was to be in this company of people, singing this music to end all music, preparing for the arrival to end all arrivals.

RVHS Drama Club Presents....

I've been thinking about my theatrics lately. High school and college stage events, on and off- somewhat sparked by my late observance of the current film adaptation of the Broadway hit "Rent," but further encouraged by my friend Jericho's blog.

I highly recommend you read some of the highlights of my HS theatre career, courtesy of one who knew it best, here.

Other mishaps that weren't included, but are equally priceless, would be my attempts at assisting direction on middle school productions the latter three years of high school. All I have to say is, "Tok, tok, tok..." followed by hasty shoving, flipping of lots of fire-hazardous fuses, and cursing when the 5000 year old curtains got caught on some piece of set and ripped further.

And never let Sully behind stage during the production. Micah camp almost broke his neck in Seven Brides, and my kneecap is the one mentioned in the above link. She moves things.

it felt like Christmastime

Hello. Welcome to December.

Today I found myself in Manitou, walking Flower in the chill of the early morning, talking to Elahav and Zaccai over the creek as they leaned out the window. Some moments capture rightness so much that it's downright blasphemous to talk about them.

I loved this town. I still do. Being in Manitou fills me with the best of the bittersweet, at the close of one chapter and start of another. I just hope I always have this place to come back to, this dog to fall asleep on my feet, this trust of walking home after dark.

I hope this Advent that I'm really ready for everything that is born.

hold me closer, Tony Danza

This year, I think I'm really going to feel Christmas in my bones, and not let it pass me by.

I've been listening to lots of good music, mostly the Postal Service lately, cranked loud enough to deafen me in my still-wearing-an-old-starter troops. I feel like a little gay boy, like all I need is a white Jetta and to be cruising around some metro some where, answering a vibrating cell phone and smoking menthol cigarettes. But I've also been listening to James Blunt, who kind of sounds like elton john and t-rex's love child, in the best way possible. And I listened to that one song I hate this morning, the one about "goodbye my lover" or some such trash, and I didn't hate it at all. I even sang along. And speaking of singing along, I bought Rachmaninov's Vespers and have been listening to Bogoroditse Devo at all levels of volume, remembering when Katie was alive and we all sang it together and you could palpably feel the Spirit of God descending on us all.

I got really scared last Sunday when I thought about Miss Kobelski for a minute and couldn't remember what she looked like. It almost made me cry, I think if I had been a crier I would have. I don't want to forget what she looks like, ever. I want to remember every little detail about her face and hugs and voice and how she walked and her laugh and the way she died. But already how her hair was cut and very specific things get fuzzy in my mind, and it makes me a little sick.

***

At the moment when you stop holding on to things is sometimes the right moment for you to let them go, or the right moment for them to come back to you. And you can never really tell which one it is until after you've stopped holding, and it all actually happens. But I am okay with taking it as it comes for a while, and seeing what happens. What happens with work, and Buddy, and my car, and Mr. Reilly. It's all good to me.

jumping out, standing up, sitting still

Happy belated thanksgiving!

Well, mine was good, bad, and ugly. I should have known just to go back to bed following what will hereafter be known as the Einstein incident of 2005. I went in to pick up an application for temporary work, and the dude-with-bad-teeth behind the counter asked if the app was for me. I looked at him dumbly and said yes. And he said, well, he wasn't sure because a lot of women had been coming in for applications for their kids.

I AM 23 YEARS OLD.

So even if I had turned into a fornication station at the first available opportunity, I'd have a nine year old applying to sell toasted bagels on the corner of 9th and Ogden. NO! Idiots.

SO that was how the whole thing took off. And then there was eating, and uninvited trips to DIA, and trucks once again failing to start, and drunken fights, and getting hit on by irish dudes, and lots of ruined broccoli salad eaten by wild dogs. On the whole, it was a pretty legendary holiday.

Other good things include finding out finally that it is really my starter that is bad. Really, Brakes Plus. You had the car for a whole 24 hours and all you can do is pick your nose and tell me you don't know what's wrong with it. And I go out and bang on the starter with my tire iron and drive it down to Advance Auto Parts on east Colfax and they bring their little grocery-cart tester out to the troops and tell me in 5 MINUTES that it's the starter. And they were free. And then I paid 144 dollars for a starter. And Stephanie's Jason is going to come install it Sunday, compliments of a couple of massages from me. Cheap city, people! And I am the mayor. And the key to my truck is the key to the city. cheap, cheap, cheap. I sound like a baby chicken!

And, even though I thought I was going to sell tools for a living, turns out maybe I'm just going to be a massage therapist. Wild Oats wants me, and so does Duane and Tatum and Enrique. And Matt (irish dude) is starting up a non profit, and you better believe he wants me. (*wink*) maybe things are starting to look up after all.

Only in the mitten

This is when I remember why I love Michigan. The following was pulled from Yahoo! News.


High School Student Sworn in as Mayor

HILLSDALE, Mich. - Michael Sessions began talking about running for mayor when he was a sophomore in high school. He realized that dream before he got his diploma.
Sessions, an 18-year-old senior, became the city's youngest mayor on Monday when he took the oath of office. The crowd included city residents, photographers and dozens of video cameras — some from news agencies as far away as Russia and Japan.
"The first couple of days are going to be rough, I think, on me. I've just got to get acquainted with the job," Sessions said earlier Monday as he took reporters on a tour of the city, which has a population of 8,200 and is located about 100 miles southwest of Detroit. "My confidence is gaining a lot each day."
Sessions beat Mayor Doug Ingles, 51, by two votes in the Nov. 8 election despite Sessions' status as a write-in candidate.
Sessions, who used $700 from a summer job to fund his race, already has appeared on the "Late Show with David Letterman" to read the Top Ten list titled "Good Things About Being an 18-year-old Mayor."
Richard Moore says the national spotlight on Sessions means more exposure for the community.
"I think people at first were like `What's going on here?' but I think as people got to know Mike, they realized he's not your average high school senior," Moore said. "It takes a special person to run for office at any age."

jonathan

Time does nothing to change this.

Every time I look into those eyes I see another part of who I am- like I am graced with a reflection, not identical, but complimentary. And when that smile is aimed at me, I am really gone. I listen to friends and trusted advisors- those who know us well, but not as well as I. Walk away, they tell me. Perhaps I alone know differently, or perhaps I am the only one blinded to the truth. But I can no more get away from this than I can get away from myself. There is something about us that is bound up together and out of my control. And I cannot help but love, and I don’t mind. But I will accept this for what it is, good and bad, treasured and terrible, beautiful and barren. Seventy times seven, and this is unity- that I not turn away when things are hard, but draw close. And love even as He has loved us, without reserve, not in spite of our shortcomings, but because of them.

A Jonathan is all I hope to be, a source of comfort and laughter.

what if they mated

I just saw a totally gay, skinny version of Brian Simms pass me on the sidewalk. Not even kidding, like if Charlie and Brian had a baby this would be it. Put Brian's face on Charlie's body. That was unreal.

Well, I'm sitting here on the streetcorner at 9th and Corona, in a fine example of what John Hay, Jr. would call new urbanism. I live one block away, and I am waiting on my laundry whilst sitting outside and stealing some free wireless. On this corner are the following establishments: a framing shop, a salon, a real estate company, an Einstein's, a King Soopers (Kroger to all you midwesterners), an ancient building housing an elementary school, a liquor store and an ace hardware. I like this corner a lot. And my laundromat is in the alley. And one block over, wireless can also be had in the neighborhood coffee shop, but I'm not thirsty.

So, speaking of this ace, I applied/interviewed there this morning. Am I cut out to sell tools? It's a real possibility, friends. And in other news, I need a starter for my troops. WOOHOO.

Until next time, here's wishing clean sheets to you.

Purple, I mean white, majesties

Hello all!

Well, this morning I find myself with a spectacular, no, I say legendary for you Scott, view of the mountain here in Breckenridge. My aunt and uncle are generous beyond measure, and have invited me up for the weekend.

We watched Luther last night after going to some sort of steakhouse for dinner; I was talking to them about Church history and how important I think it is for Christians to know about - just the history of our faith, and what it's taken for us to get to where we are today. You know, with churches the size of airports and all. So I was telling them about this film comissioned by the Lutherans that's only about a year old, called (how surprisingly) Luther, about the reformation in general but mostly this remarkable man. Watching films like this puts everything into perspective for me- when I feel like the church is floundering, it has, in truth, floundered much more than this before. At least people can read now.

What it comes down to is this: I am convinced that the truth will endure the corruption that is married to it in this world. At every last moment when it seems that all is lost, the Spirit in all her glory will rise up those who are committed, even with their very lives, to her and to the true body and to the person of Jesus Christ. And what does not kill us, friends, makes us stronger. To carry around in us this death until His return will transform our very souls into that pure, blameless Bride. Keep the oil in your lamps and the wick trimmed, for He will come, and there will be noise; there will be glad. And a perfect bed.

someone saved my life tonight, sugarbabe

Friends! Romans. Plebes.

What does it mean? What does it mean when everywhere I go I see Mandie Sanders look alikes? I feel like I am being stalked by a figment of my own imagination. But seriously. She is at Walmart, she is at church, she is at the coffeeshop. She is everywhere. I wonder where she is, really.

So then there's an update on my troops. I no longer want to kill myself, or support my troops, or do anything but kill my troops. After 24 hours at the shop and much angst, it was given a clean bill of health and a sound spanking. Apparently, there is nothing wrong with my car. It is simply afraid of the dark. It maybe thinks there are zombies lurking, perhaps. Car! Get over yourself. Zombies don't exist. Well, maybe.

And the final news is that I am uncontrollably stuck on Elton John these days. And I am going to Breck this weekend. And apparently, Brian did want to date me after all.

Until next time! Support! Reconsider! Unite!

well well well then

Friends,
I hereby solemnly swear that I will not take my kids to a coffeeshop and believe that the rest of the public there is responsible for babysitting them because I a. want to use the internet or b. just don't feel like dealing with them right now.

I will also not name my kids Ritalin ( I really think that's what she just called this kid) nor will I say inane things to them like, "You don't really want to be jumping on other people's furniture, do you?" because actually, yes, this kid absolutely does.

I think I'm going to keep living in Colorado for a while. Or at least not move away in the winter. It's the best time to be here. I also want to kill myself a little with rockclimbing and stuff like that before I leave, or how can I ever prove I was here? I also think I'm ready to get a real job. I'm just about done with all these fake jobs.

Love
Liza

i want to thank you

A couple of nights ago, I read the creation account in Eugene Peterson's The Message. I never cease to be taken in by the awe of those first few chapters of Genesis. I mean, really. THe creation of the world was spectacular.
Afterwards, even though I should have absolutely been sleeping, I had to get out of bed and find my Children of Eden highlights and listen to "Let There Be." I will say that no matter what the theological point of view of the listening party, this song captures that spark, that beginning of beginnings.

STORYTELLERS
In the beginning...
In the begininng,
God created the Heaven and Earth
Without form--void--darkness.
And God said:

FATHER
Let there be!

STORYTELLERS
Light!

FATHER
I woke up from a curious dream
I dreamed a perfect garden
And there were whirling shapes
And swirling sounds
And I wasn't lonely anymore
I woke up from a wonderful dream
Woke, full of energy and hunger
And now this hunger will be stilled
And my emptiness be filled
As I set about to build
My dream

Let there be, let there be
Morning
Let there be
Evening, day
Let there be
Let there be

STORYTELLERS
Let there be
FATHER
Waters, weathers, winters, wonders

STORYTELLERS AND FATHER
Let there be
Land and

FATHER
Speeding comets with hearts of ice!
Spinning planets with rings of fire!

STORYTELLERS AND FATHER
Cosmic sparks
And quasars and quarks
And suns convulsing
Pulsars pulsing

STORYTELLERS
Let there be

FATHER
Let there be

STORYTELLERS AND FATHER
Let there be

FATHER
Whales!Snails!Sharks!Larks!
Apples trees with dappled barks!
And granite mountains and flaxen plains
Giant lizards with tiny brains
Flourescent fish and crescent worms
And a million bugs and trillion germs

STORYTELLERS
Let there be

FATHER
Let there be

STORYTELLERS AND FATHER
Let there be
(And God saw, it was good, it was good)
Let there be, let there be

FATHER
It's not enough!
It's still not enough.
There was something more in my dream
Something could see it and share it
What was it, though?
I only know I wasn't lonely anymore
There is one more thing to build
One more void that must be filled
I'll make creatures I'll call children
Shaped like me!

FATHER AND STORYTELLERS
Let there be, let there be

FATHER
Something, someone
Small and skinny
Clawless, furless
Finless, fangless

FATHER AND STORYTELLERS
Let there be
Man who can

FATHER
Wander over my flaxen plains
Wonder up at my granite mountains
Count the stars and wish for wings
And hold a tool and think of things
And search for answers he cannot see

STORYTELLERS
And dream of glory

FATHER
And worship me!

STORYTELLERS
Let there be

FATHER
Let there be

STORYTELLERS AND FATHER
Let there be
(And God saw, it was good, it was good)

FATHER
Let there be

STORYTELLERS
Let there be

FATHER AND STORYTELLERS
Let there be

STORYTELLERS (AND FATHER)
And the father breathed into his children the breath of life
(let...)
And the children became living souls
(there...)
And the father gave to his children a garden
And called the garden...
Eden
(be...)

STORYTELLERS AND FATHER
Let there be!

I am invited! I am cool!

Friends,

I have recently joined up with some other buddies on the following blog:

Midwest Mindset

I went to school with many of these friends, and it is sure to be a good time,
so go congratulate her!

super trooper

my car makes me want to kill myself in the following way: park it at the top of a hill, put it in neutral, then get out really fast and run and throw myself down in front of it.
fortunately, I know nice men, men with MS or extra unneeded cell phones or huge beautiful hair (or mustaches) that have answers for me before I even ask the questions, or the ability just to make me laugh, even if it is only for three seconds.

Why is it that I can be so lonely on a Friday night, but on a Sunday my life is so busy with sociality that I can't even talk to New York through my Jabra (r) headset? And then, at random times, the totally wrong person comes up and hits on you, and you almost drop your laptop in surprise. I am looking for my knight on his white horse, but somehow I always end up with Don Quixote. (Have I ever mentioned how much I hate Cervantes?)

In times of tearing down, there are also times of building up. And I doubt I would notice how nice the blanket is if I wasn't cold. And I will continue to be redeemed, not in spite of my failure, but because of it. It's nice to know that some things don't change, but just get better.

Very little is clear to me right now, but it all seems good.

hidden dragon

"I want to be the best singer songwriter to come out of Denver."

Yes, you do;

I will be crouching all the while
At the grate in my bathroom floor,
studying muscle and sinew and joint,
listening to you
four
floors
below
making it happen.

a new month begins, and I am called old

Hello friends.

There are several topics at hand, and I feel the need to share them all, in no particular order.

Last Thursday, my favorite buddy played at The Soiled Dove in Denver. She was fabulous. I'm telling you people, the fact that I love this kid has nothing to do with how great she is. Ok, maybe 1%. But seriously, she means business, and she means it seriously. Check out www.katelaurelsmith.com or www.myspace.com/katelaurelsmith. I took the picture below of her, and it is one of my faves.



So that is another, more minor subject- I really like taking pictures right now. But I don't really have time to do it. I mostly just use buddy's camera phone. Perhaps I will post a retrospect of them all on here soon. But no expectations!

I am getting all kinds of crap ready for my grad school application. It should be a really nice portfolio of all of my kinds of creativity by the time I'm done. I'm including a tape of "The Lesson," the show I directed my junior year at Huntington, along with the production book from that show, my creative writing portfolio, and an eleven track disc I am currently recording in my apartment with Buddy's equipment. It's "Living with Ghosts" kind of rough, but probably won't be half as good. I don't care. I like making up 80's BGVs and playing the harmonica badly. I occasionally wish I had a pet, the kind that would make soft sounds in the background during the outtro. I felt like including some of my creative writing here:

Zen Dentist


I think it’s when you
weren’t quite sure what to do with your tea-
If you should sit it down or
If you should hold onto it
while we stood talking-
I think that might have been when it started.

You always seemed to want to devour me
whenever you came through the door-
I was at work and so we could only talk
for brief snatches of time
but believe me, I wanted to be eaten.

I would study the back of your neck
while I worked on restocking retail
glass cups, soy milk, chai concentrate-
You were studying teeth
And suddenly I began to worry I might have a fang—
But I wasn’t really worried, because
you never stared at my teeth
or my chest when you were talking to me—

Only my eyes.

And we could talk about whatever,
Asia or music or whatever,
and it didn’t really matter because we
weren’t talking to talk, really-
we were just talking to be talking to each other.

And every night alone in my bed
I’d lie awake and dream
of Zen, and teeth, and you.

****

In other, more political news:

Rosa Parks died. That makes me sad in a very selfish way- she definitely deserved to go, she was 92. However, I would have really liked to talk with that woman. Even for like 20 minutes. I mean, good grief. She was Rosa Parks. Seriously.

Charles and Camilla are evidently hanging out in NY today with other, cooler peeps. Americans don't really care. Here is some galluping I found in the Yahoo! news that literally made me laugh out loud about the royal visit and idiotic Yankees:
British papers took note of a USA Today/CNN/Gallup Poll, which found 59 percent of respondents saying they were "not at all interested" in the visit, 22 percent were "not too interested," 13 percent were "somewhat interested" and 6 percent were "very interested."

I wonder who the six percent are.

Halloweening this year included pumpkin carving, tofu dinner, pumpkin seed roasting, passing out of candy and watching Susan Sarandon in "The Hunger" with Brooke and Stephanie. We took some killer photos with Beth's camera- hopefully at some point in life I will have access to those images, in which case I will certainly post them all for you viewers at home. Let me say, "The Hunger" is a wack movie. Brooke went down to her dungeon/apartment to get some scary videos for us to watch, and she came back with this early 80's vampire flick and Tori Amos' videos from '91 to '98. Honestly, I can't tell you which was creepier. All in all, the tofu and the pumpkin seeds were the best parts of the night.

Well, time to end this enormous mother of a blog. Everyone everywhere enjoy your Noviembre. El dia de los muertos! Fiesta!

Strong Enough

This one's for Joe.

This time of year makes me think about you, and driving in the truck, and Roanoke, and Sheryl Crow. It reminds me of the Kings of Convenience, and remember that one time when Jonny and a whole bunch of people were over and we went to Jason and Tiff's apartment and watched Dawn of the Dead? And we laughed and laughed. Good old zombies.

Remember that time when you went out to the reservoir to run, and you sat down and had a zen moment and then the sun went down and you were lost? You came home and were so freaked out, and then you made me watch Mulholland Drive even though I didn't want to, that one part where the swamp man jumps out from behind the building and the guy just dies. And you took me to Henry's on my birthday. Joe, I loved that moment, I loved you then. I remember sitting in the bed of your truck, looking up at the stars, and talking about nothing out at that same reservoir. No, it wasn't nothing. You told me you wondered what the stars looked like in China, or Brazil, or Greece. How you wanted to see them, to get out of our dusty town in Indiana, and really do something great. Or maybe you should move to Jim's old place, where your aunt lives, and help her with the swampy alligators. Or move to Denver with me and Annie Zeller and live above a coffeeshop.

You know, I loved it when you came over and told me we were going somewhere. I loved you barging in my life, taking me to Coffee D'Vine, or Steak and shake, or the Seven Eleven to get mountain dew. And that one time when you brought me a slushy because I was sick, and loaned me CKY2K, because it was the best ever because it started out with a guy taking a crap. I loved when you came over, when I was sad and poor and lonely after Katie left, and started moving my stuff down to your apartment. And then two days later, when you sat on our sofa and laughed and laughed at me because I had to live with YOU now, and I couldn't go back to my old place because it wasn't my place anymore, and I was trapped with you. I loved being trapped with you. Do you still have our vacuum cleaner?

I loved laying in bed at night and talking with you across the room. Listening to you talk about books, or Tong Soo Doo, or God, or Nascar, or beer. It was all good. And waking up in the morning, hearing you across the distance on your mattress in the corner, farting and turning off your alarm. And the maps you colored and hung on the walls. And using the walk in closet to change. And getting mad at all of Matt's stuff all over the place. And believing in me, no matter how out there I got, because you got me. You understood when I needed to be pushed, and when I needed to be let go, and when I just needed to drive around in the dark and listen to Sheryl.

Last Tuesday I was driving home to Denver, and looking out at the stars. They look great out here, Joe. And "Strong Enough" still makes me think of you, and cry and smile all at the same time.

Liza needs

First of all, props to It's A Grind for playing "It's too late" from the latest Ben Folds release. This song always just about brings me to tears.

Ok, people, so I've heard about this little google game going around (ohh! alliteration station!), and I decided to try it out. Apparently, you plug your name plus the word needs into a search engine, and see what kind of good things pop up. Here are some of my faves.

1. Liza needs to be with her daughter, at home.
2. Liza needs to get a life and a new face, her time is over and doesn't she realise that?
3. Liza needs a storyline but with something new like the fashion industry.
4. Liza needs to recover from trauma.
5. Liza needs TIME OFF from relationships.
6. Like all Border Collies, Liza needs a job to do.
7. Come on, big boy. Have some sex with old Liza. Liza needs the boom-boom. (!!!)
8. Liza needs some pointers about being assertive.
9. Liza needs to be fed and put in bed.
10.Liza needs time to work on her old Mustang and play with the pets.

I promise I did not alter any of the above, but found them all in their exact glory while googling. Good grief, I have not laughed this hard in a long time.

groceries and nepotism and all that stuff

well, well. I always feel like there is a lot to say, and then I realize that there isn't. Some small items of note-

I bought groceries yesterday, and my home feels real. It feels homey and there's food in the cabinets and tp in the can. I've been reading lots of Tolkien at home lately, and have a strange urge to occasionally speak archaicly, as if an elf will suddenly appear in mithril and approve of my middle-earth vocabulary and impeccable diction. In addition to that, I have been taking baths. And drinking green tea. On the whole, I like being in my attic.

Other things include my feeling that the Bush presidency is just hitting rock bottom. I mean, seriously, people. You can just nominate people for all sorts of things they've never even done before, just because they're your friends. And it's not like nominating someone to the homecoming committee because they're your friend. Homecoming committees only decide what color the float will be and who's house the weinie roast will be at. And sometimes there's a tailgater where they beat up old cars with sledgehammers, and sneak beer. But how big of a deal is that? Not really. What I'm talking about is the Supreme Court. I don't really think it is ever a good idea to trust Mr. Bush. In fact, isn't that just about the only thing we have learned in the last six years? You know, friends, the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again but expecting a different result. When will we get that he simply isn't going to stop pulling one over on us all?

On a parting note, friends,
Sometimes it is really good to be alive. To recognize each moment, and realize that pain is valuable. To cry if we want, because it isn't all okay all of the time. And that is okay. To love without expectation or hesitation, and to not be afraid to lose everything before it is all over.

Rest in my arms, sleep in my bed; there's a design to what I did and said.

xena and gabrielle- the seventh season

ok, people, I'll admit. I have a closet, well... obsession. Last year whilst living with my folks for a few weeks after college, I got into the habit of waking up around nine, stumbling out into the living room, flopping down on the sofa, and turning on the TV. I had lived without a TV for months prior, and have not had one for the better part of a year since. However, at this time, I was unemployed, living off the fat of the land, and well, didn't have that much better to do. Ok, excuses aside- I got hooked on Xena: Warrior Princess. I know! I know. It's dumb, it's campy, it's poorly written TV schlack. But it started to be so funny to me. The way they played with timelines, my intense hatred of Joxer, and Gabrielle's clumsiness in early episodes would leave me rolling. Add in a beautiful New Zealand background in the hour-long show, Renee O'Connor's fantastic acting, and chicks beating up guys, and I was totally hooked. After I moved out of my parents' place, it started with an innocent rental of season one on DVD from my local Blockbuster. Soon this was not enough. I needed more! People, I needed more.

Feed me, said the Xena plant inside me, that I had created by simply not changing the TV off of the Oxygen channel.

Dang it.

So now I own all six seasons on DVD. Cringe! When I think how many Ramen packets I could have bought with that money... oh well. I will be poor and feminist and happy. So, friends, you can not believe my surprise when I discovered news, news about a tenth planet. That has been named Xena. And she has a moon! OH, wait for it, wait for it- the moon is named Gabrielle. What a weird feeling, when suddenly the object of an obsession you desperately try to keep private is suddenly exposed to the world. But I secretly wonder- who would do this?

Taken from http://www.tenthplanet.info:
Dr [Michael] Brown and his team have christened the planet, Xena, after the warrior princess in the old television series, "...because we always wanted to name something Xena."

[On a side note, whilst looking for quoteable quotes from Dr. Brown, I discovered he has a new daughter named Lilah. Xena fans everywhere already know this, but to you lay people I inform: Lilah was Gabrielle's younger sister on the show. We must have quite the fanatic here. How exciting!]

Dr. Brown, I applaud you. Thank you for having the courage, as a male astronomer, to choose the name of a feminist, butt-kicking, often ridiculed television character, as the name of our tenth planet. Of course she would have Gabrielle, twirling along by her side. Perhaps we can expand this whole thing, an annoying asteroid charging in and messing things up could be Joxer. A second moon might be Argo, Xena's faithful horse. Perhaps major areas of debris in the Kuiper belt (where Xena was discovered) might be nicknamed the Amazons.

I'm not sure where this current trend is heading, folks, and being a Xena fan myself, I'm going to bend on this one. But if they name the next planet Buffy, I'm going to emigrate to another solar system.



For actual, credible news on this, check out http://www.cnn.com/2005/TECH/space/10/01/new.planet.moon.ap/index.html?section=cnn_latest

tripping

a list of things about my trip that I hope to cover more in depth in upcoming days:

lost south american rodents
dead deer
crazy people in market st. station
jeff zike
sufjan stevens
losing bus tickets
my brother's girlfriend
copious amounts of lasagna
six week old babies (ah! I want one!)
jocelyn henjum
family heirlooms
hacking coughs
bus rides
chair massage
new knit caps
holding hands
forgetting important things
FINDING MY BIRTH CERTIFICATE!!! woohoo.

ok, so that's all for now. it has been a fabulous trip. back to denver we fly.

denver, early fall

Friends.

It is chilly today, and there is a pumpkin on my doorstep, and leaves are falling. I am wearing a maroon sweater, and the Indigo Girls are playing at Einstein's, where I am mooching internet. There is a lightness in my step on this day that has not been present for a while- I am poor with no end in sight, but I am happy.

I have learned that when the exercise (swiss) ball rolls away, determinedly away from you down the street at almost midnight while you are packing your life into a 15 year old gas guzzler, it is time to laugh. And oh, laugh I did. It may turn the corner, it may roll completely out of sight. But, it will always be there, waiting dustily for you in front of the Cliff House, no matter when you leave.

Riding my bike to work has been a distinct pleasure the last few days. I've only almost gotten killed a few times, but it's free! I'm not sure what will happen when it starts snowing. Maybe I'll dogsled. I need to get some tights, all I have are these little bike shorts that leave all of my leg quite pink. At least the legs then match my little pink ears. I really like my new apartment. And the bathtub, claw feet people. Not that you people have claw feet. Maybe you do. But I'm talking about the tub. Oh so nice, until I have to switch positions, and then I feel like a big, awkward kid. But then I smile, and remember that is exactly what I am.

***

I'm gonna clear my head, I'm gonna drink that sun-
I'm gonna love you good and long while our love is good and young.

fifty twenty five twenty three

oh what a large and small year.

I'm realizing that growing up entails mostly just little disappointments adding up, until you get over everything enough to not care enough to be disappointed after all.


why do I still feel sad?


I must confess, I just want to be loved until I don't remember how to open my eyes. And not worry about anything, and recognize beauty in every moment set before me.

happy last twenty two.

within, without...or perhaps breathing out, and breathing in

So in the great cosmic pulse, I once again pull up roots. Somewhere in the background OTR plays a melancholy song, and the sun shines brightly enough for me to take off my tattered brown sweater. We are all doing what we do best.

Leaving Manitou is at once harder and easier than I expected. Yashah and I talked for a long time down at the Maté, about my being humble and submitting. Sometimes I wish I was a different person, and that I could just give in and join cultish groups like it was nothing. More often though, I am glad I am me. I am glad that I can surprise people by seeing good in the world; it becomes an alien concept, that there is anything good. But I know it is true. I know art and beauty are true just as surely, and I cannot turn my back on them. God created me to see, to hear, to hurt and sing and cry and grow wide eyed in wonder at everything. And live with a broken heart. And I am so glad to be alive.

To all those that read this, and even those that don't, know this. I am growing, hopefully not just up, but out as well, and I am not scared of what comes next. The joy is in living each day of this divine adventure, keeping fingertips lightly pressed to this great cosmic pulse and at once to my own. I am at peace with my maker and my world.

thieving

I've gotten to be an expert at pilfering these last few days.

I can go without eating for some time, the only drawback being a sickness to the stomach/other gastrointestinal unpleasantries when food is suddenly abundant and I gorge myself. I house sit, I house squat, being a visitor of varying degrees of welcomeness in my attempt to try to get a paying job rolling and a new place to live. I sneak granola bars, perhaps a package of ramen noodles from an unfamiliar pantry. These are items easily overlooked- the owner can't remember how many Nature Valley Oats & Honeys they had in the first place. I use other people's shower supplies because I can't afford to buy new for myself, should my own dwindling shampoo stashes run out completely. I offer massage constantly, hoping a trade or a meal or a couple of bucks will turn up. I thought breifly the other day of panhandling on the sixteenth street mall, but for now that idea remains a back up plan.

In all of this, I am not dejected. There is a sort of frayed desperation of coming-of-age about it all, as if this were my right of passage, and now I could perhaps be an artist again. I take long showers in borrowed bathrooms, and think about characters, and rape, and plotlines twisting away into oblivion. Perhaps I can write a collection of short stories about everything I haven't thought of yet, while I am penniless and unemployed and it will perhaps be better because I have been so. Nobody I know is any better off. I'll probably try to hock my mixing board for next month's rent and deposit, and everything will be ok until the next string of bills is due. There is something desperate and wonderful about being alive right now. I oscillate between wanting to stay inside and read all day, and wanting to just go outside and look at everything. Or write about everything. Or listen to the spinning disc in my box, shaking and shaking and shaking.

Every little thing is going to be all right, as Bob Marley would say. No, woman. No cry.

I go up and feed the dying cat, and then I leave, to parts unknown. And always, I travel west.

bam chicka bam bam

So while I've been in Denver, I've mostly been sleeping at Beth's apartment. Beth is this awesome chica, best friends with Brooke, who lives across from Buddy and whom I also hang out with on almost a daily basis anymore. Beth lives in the same building as everybody, and she is out house sitting forever, so she's letting me sleep in her place because Buddy's place is about 5 inches big. And now Stephanie, Brooke's girlfriend, is moving in to the front apartment of the building. And I am moving into the attic. And the other apartment, occupied by the building manager, contains a middle aged lady, her smelly cat (it's not your fault! you're old and rotting!) and dozens upon dozens of trinkets. Chris, as this lady is called, is a dream analyst. I am house sitting for her this weekend, but I think I will continue to sleep in Beth's place, because the cat is so gross.

So after I pulled in tonight, I came upon the house right at the same time that Brooke was getting home. She told me Chris was throwing crap away from the storage area in the garage, and so I gleefully went out to the trash can area with Brooke to see what kind of goodies I could find. (After the move I will once again basically be furnitureless.) I am now the proud owner of a rather dirty, quite used Black and Decker toaster oven/broiler. I was going to leave it be, because it looks a little skank, when Brooke thrust it into my hands and said, "It's free, g-d. It will clean up. Besides, I totally knew the chick that owned this. Yeah, I'm pretty sure it was hers, and she's totally not shady." I didn't really protest too much, but investigated the other trash halfheartedly, not finding anything of use. The entire time, Brooke was on the phone with Stephanie, who is currently in Michigan for some weeks, and saying, "No, I'm totally talking to you.... look in that can over there.... oh, nothing, what did you say?"

On a parting note, I will transcribe verbatim here a typed (as in old school typewriter) message/song that has been laying on Beth's computer desk next to the keyboard all week as I internet. I never cease to be amused.

Tonight I will meet my true love
He will be wearing a pink mustache and have o
light green tube socks I an very haaaapppy
Bam chicka bam bam
V

Scum

Hello friends.

I am just tying up another sojourn to Denver, which will soon enough be my home if everything keeps rolling. I think I am going to really like living here. I know I alluded to that in my previous post, but its getting into my skin and I'm ready for a new beginning. A new favorite.
The move should be easy enough. One trip should do it- I have to remember that I fit everything into Al not so very long ago, and it is certainly possible in my big white box. It looks like I'm going to be moving into the attic in Buddy's building, which is delightful, has a gas stove and a claw footed tub. I think those are going to be two requirements for me on my journey that I can never live without. Plus! There is this great fire escape. Now I can be just like McDavid, and look out the window onto my fire escape, and down the three stories into the backyard garden. I really need to break down and buy a digital camera (if I ever had more than six dollars) and take pictures of all this crap so I could just show it. I suppose I will have to continue on with my thousand words, however, for now.

SO I went to this great church here in Denver Sunday night, called Scum of the Earth. It reminded me so much of Ft. Wayne's very own Come to Go that it was unreal. The same soup-kitchen concept, the same posses of homeless people and hipsters shuffling around. It was an unusual service, due to the fact that it was an ordination service, but I kind of liked it- it was like I got to see them in action performing a liturgical function, and they weren't trying to win me over because it was all about something else. I definitely felt the Spirit there. I want to go back on a "regular" Sunday night and see what its like; however, unless it is drastically different than it appears to be, I think I have found a spiritual home of sorts here. I am interested in checking out Light & Life over in Lakewood some Sunday morning, and then Dean Cowles' church down in Littleton sometime after that. It'd be nice to finally put a face with a name- Dean and I have spoken since I've been out here, he tried to help me get a job with Compassion International, which never hired me. Dean is good friends with my spiritual mentor, John Hay Jr., so naturally he must be nails as well.

Well, that's about it for now, friends. Keep your eyes open- I have been blessed so much this weekend by simply taking what is offered, and reacting to the situation presented to me. Don't get too busy.

bolder boulder bowlder

So dudes I totally got a job! That's right, goodbye medicaid. Joking there, don't have any medical insurance actually, government funded or otherwise. But I was for real hired last Friday, picked up by this totally swank massage place, called Body Massage Center. Go here to check it out.

In other news, I've spent the majority of the last couple of days lonering it; driving around, riding my bike metro style (my troops has a new yakima hat), reading The Hobbit, hanging out with lesbian massage therapists, and spending time in that mecca of Colorado, Boulder. I've been doing chair massage on the Pearl Street Mall, and while it is not quite as lucrative as I'd like, it really has been great. The weather has been stellar, and I've talked to quite a few street musicians, homeless guys and hare krishnas. Occasionally I give massages, and in the spare time I read Paul Theroux' The Happy Isles of Oceania. Today I pondered at how easy it might be to be a transient, and hated on all the crocs I saw on stumbling little kids, their parents pushing their physical safety in pursuit of FASHION! HOW'D YOU KNOW!

In general the Pearl Street experience, and the last couple of days in general have been great. My nerves are going to be taxed soon- I can feel it coming on, and am trying to beat it back, just like Gandalf weilding Glamdring against the Goblins in the Misty Mountains. I like being nomadic, to a point. I'm spending lots of time alone, and it's good- I almost wish there was more of it, because I'm just randomly crashing on people's couches while they're out with chads, you know, living it up and all. And I wish I had my very own little hole, or attic, or whatever, where I could really live without fear of leaving or forgetting to make sure the window is shut quite tightly. My mind has already moved out of Manitou, or I might be sad about leaving it. I will miss the Mate and Shelly and Joanne and Draco and the mountains.

But I get the city in return, and oh, I love the city.

my, my, we're looking thin today

So! I've totally been snobbed an average of 4 times today because of my crappy old Jr. Park Ranger Dell Laptop. Ok, I'll admit, it's my fault. I spilled chai into it about a month ago, and since then it's had intermittent issues. But now, the fan is loud. I mean loud, people. Like, could that be mistaken for a passing helicopter loud. And nearby mac users, confident in their superiority over my klitschy blue number here, look around the room, then down their noses at me briefly, before making an announcement to all: "What is that noise?"

I am confident in my mediocrity.

HEJ! HEJ! HEJ! So I got a phone call today! and some spa on the 16th St. Mall and Welton wants to interview/recieve a massage from me Friday morning at 10 am. I'm pumped like it's 2005 and I'm unemployed.

Lastly, but certainly of most import, this gay guy with two little lap-dog type dogs came and parked his dogs near me, and his name is Lynn. I know him from previous encounters outside Buddy's starbucks (where I am now) using some free rogue wireless. He is very delicate and ties up his dogs' hair over their eyes with little plastic strips, because rubber bands would pull their hair out. He looked at my computer and said, "At first I thought that sound was clippers."

Support the arts- kiss a musician

So I saw the subject line for this post on a passing car this morning, and I thought I would insert a musiciany picture of myself here.



What's up, my employed friends? Maybe some of you are also unemployed. Buddy. McDavid. Sorry to generalize.

The last day has been interesting. I'm enjoying being able to work out again- I've switched to running up here in the Denver hizouse because I don't have the bike rack installed on my trooper yet. So the trek stays in Manitou. I'm feelin' good in the neighborhood- Buddy's neighborhood has this park with really nice dirt trails that are mostly shaded, and a kind of parthenon in the middle of it all. It's called Cheesman Park and is just a couple of blocks from her house, down past the King Soopers (grocery store, for all you scads of midwestern kids that read this). So I go running in the morning, for about a half an hour or so, then I come home and take a shower and make some pancakes and clean the place up a bit. After all, I'm not working, so it's not really like I'm on a schedule or anything.

I passed out about 6 resumes yesterday. One place definitely had an opening/wanted to hire me, but they really need me Tuesdays, until about 6 pm. Unfortunately, my class at CIMT starts at 5:30, meaning the absolute latest I could leave at that time of day would be 4pm. And that would be cutting it really close. People, I-25 is a NIGHTMARE. Let me never speak badly of Indy's 465 again- that thing is a breeze compared to the only north/south interstate in the entire state of Colorado. It connects all the major cities on the front range, and is only two lanes in some places, and all of Denver is perpetually under construction. A one hour trip can easily turn in to two if you get trapped on 25 at the wrong time of day. Anyway, enough of that.

So, yeah, resumes. Then last night I stopped back by the apt. and changed clothes into a dark ensemble and went and hung out at Barnes and Noble for like 3 hours. I read this really cool book called "How to survive a Zombie attack." I need to get some firearms, a Japanese Katana (a type of sword used by samurai), and get really proficient with Molotov cocktails. You never know when a member of the undead may be ready to eat, eat, eat your flesh, and this book brought my attention to that. Are you ready, people? You had better be ready.

jumping through the window

I am currently unemployed. Yesterday I was "let go" from Adam's for reasons that still seem a bit murky to me. While this came as a huge shock, and definitely shook me up for most of the day, 24 hours later I am already turning the corner.

I talked with Jericho briefly yesterday, and she told me this was going to be another adventure, which I apparently enjoy. This is true. Supposedly, adventure is what I'm all about. And at the danger of getting too comfortable at Adam's, I thought that was where I was going to stay until I left CO. Apparently I was wrong. The let down of being fired is the only thing eating at me- I like the challenge and excitement of figuring out what will happen next. People are already falling all over themselves trying to get me jobs, places to live for nothing or next to nothing, offering to lend me money or anything I need. This feels really good- to know I'm wanted in some capacity. Losing my job is not an experience I've ever had before. But perhaps in one more way I am being molded to become all things to all men/women/womyn. (ha.)

I had to fight back the momentary attack of depression yesterday, being suddenly found so unemployable a week after being found so undateable. But then the truth of who I am rises up, and I know beyond everything else I am a child of God, and he will bring all things together for my good. In the meantime, I ride my bike for 5 hours a day and make phone calls for another 3, and try to be patient and hopeful and full of perseverance. I will get over this- I will not move home, nor will I wire my parents for money.

As far as tentative plans, for any of you that read this, I have a couple. One is to go back to the bux. They want me back, my manager from Colorado & 31st told me yesterday, and she's going to do everything she can for me. I want this to be a last resort, however. LAST resort. But it's still good to know it's there. (By the way, as a conclusion to the previous post, after the worst night at Starbucks in buddy's history, she quit.)

Also, I stopped by my school, and found out I can get a certificate for the number of hours I have completed in the program, well over 500 at this point. Denver only requires 500 hours to practice, so I made a bunch of phone calls yesterday afternoon, and found at least 5 spas/clinics that want my resume, are hiring, and want to meet with me. So, that is the more viable option at this point of anything I have been presented with. It would require a commute, probably twice a week for school from Denver as opposed to 4 times a week from Colorado Springs for work. Buddy has offered to let me stay with her as many nights a week as I need to for work, while keeping my official living status down here. It would be good for her, too, to have help with shows, booking, etc. to have another person around. I don't know what's going to happen yet, not at all. I just want to have an openness to all that is placed before me.

In all things I will rejoice. I will say it again. I will rejoice.
God is good, all the time.

holy smokes

people, my buddy is losing it. I'm hanging out in Denver at her Starbucks compiling college radio mailing lists, and she's going to go postal. Really. She's on the edge of punching everyone from teenyboppers with cellphones to old homeless ladies. It's time to get out of the bux.

This week has been a doozy. Doosey? Anyway, it seems like it was about 500 years long. I've ridden the crazy roller coaster of love, and ended up nauseus when I got off, vowing to never even get near the midway again. It ended up being more of a tilt-a-whirl of ambivalence, anyway. Last night I wanted to go out and a) drink b) smoke an entire pack of cigarettes c) track down that Jennifer girl from the Mariner and see if she was still interested. But, then, I realized I'm not a lush, I don't smoke, and I'm straight. So I ended up going to see "The Constant Gardener" at Kimball's Twin Peak with Shelley, who for once pulled through in a pinch.

Let me say, let me say I really liked this film. There was beautiful love and naked pregnant women and death and african children fading into the dust of a UN relief plane. The music was gorgeous. The plotline was heartbreaking, most likely because it is probably true. It made me hate the civilised world all over again, as if I don't already. I did look at my white, white skin differently this morning at church, and wondered how other people see me. And wondered about how I see other people. What a small and huge amount of difference it all makes.

AIC was great again this morning. Messaging on 2 Corinthians again and being found in Christ was a delicious pastry to my soul. I am finally allowing myself to feel again in church, after years of caustically stabbing everything that got near to my heart. It wasn't even awkward with Circus Boy there, like I was afraid it was going to be. It was chill, I was chill, everybody worshipped and we went home. As I listened to Sufjan on my way to Denver, I realized the kiddie song I learned so long ago whilst playing with a felt-board Jesus is totally, fundamentally, organically true. Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness, and all these things will be added unto you.

Alleluia.

open letter from the maté factor

To my fellow Americans-
To my fellow Christians-
To my fellow humans, spread out in vast innumerable ways across the globe-

My mindset is far too small. After 9/11 I became jaded with the way my country was run. Here we find ourselves again on the shoreline of our understanding, with reality crashing all around us, breaking down the levees long after the flashpoint of the storm has blown through. I do not now intend to claim perfection, but instead come to this: I know very little. Being born a child of privilege by virtue of my citizenship and socioeconomic bracket and even the color of my skin came to me as anything else might. Not that any of these make me superior-- indeed, I am low in this world, among many who are more noble in spirit than I could ever be. But in trying to not think of myself more highly than I ought, I have been throwing away the vastness of who I am, with an equally vast outlook to all that I find around me.
We are not all wrong, though some of our thinking is. My perception of the way things are must be soft, must be open, before I can expect change from anything with which I am dissatisfied. I must believe in the inherent desire for good in all men. Not the ability, but the desire. I must acknowledge that we are all yet redeemable. All of us. And we are even through this process being redeemed.
May I have eyes to see, and ears to hear, and a mind to understand; especially in these, our darkest hours.

Peace be with you.
Liza

finishing certain things, starting certain others

I'm taking a break from completing massage homework. I intend to re-begin this finishing in about 6 minutes.

Other things I've been in the business of finishing as of late are things like David Sedaris' Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, which I really enjoyed. Laughing at someone else's satirical writing about what at times amounts to be an impossibly sad life is comforting in a detatched-sadistic way. It reminds me that other people are as odd as I am, and I will grow to be more so as I get older. Knowing that somehow there is still art imbedded in this stark ugliness of humanity is one of the more beautiful parts of being alive at all.

I'm also about 20 pages off from finishing Uncle Jack's On the Road, which I should have read long ago. I feel like a long lost neice, following in the footsteps of a man I never knew, but share genetics with, of the mental sort. How many times I have lost myself in those pages! With the whole world creaking and shaking in the mad glory of the Denver or San Fransisco night, I find myself entranced, if only sitting on the silent porch swing preferring his words to the mountain view set before me. In discovering Kerouac, I discover myself.

As to beginning things, my life with IAC is definitely off and running. I attended again yesterday morning, and enjoyed an hour long sermon that seemed to only take about 10 mintues. This time the ceremony was held at an outside botanical gardens on the west side of the Springs, facing the mountains. Though I may love them, stained glass windows had nothing on our backdrop yesterday morning. I feel so blessed to find truth in an intellectual setting, this is the marriage of my two natures that I long for. Not the black and the white, but the heart and the mind.



Other beginnings include a torrid love affair with Mr. Sufjan (SOOF-yan) Stevens, with whom I am beginning a low-level obsession. Yes, I know I've already written about him, but there is so much good going on here BEYOND BELIEF that I feel the need to yawp a little more. I plan on buying a couple more of his albums today. I really need to save money, but I keep buying books and music. They're just so important.

I feel stupid and contagious

There's this massive hurricane coming in to eat the Big Easy for lunch. It sounds like a McDonald's commercial, but no. Many people will probably be killed, and up to a million could be homeless. I don't understand numbers like a million when it comes to people. It's too many. We're going to start understanding in a fractional way what the tsunami was like, or how it feels to live in a war zone.
The worst part of this situation is that we created much of the problem ourselves- the levees meant to keep the city dry have eroded the land by keeping valuable silt out of the marshes. In conjunction with this, a vast system of pipelines that is responsible for pumping oil out of the Gulf has robbed the coastline of over a million acres of land which would have acted as a buffer against the storm surges and headwinds. These might not have helped that much, but we will never know now- all that remains to be seen is how powerful this storm is really going to be when it hits land early tomorrow morning.



When I was a kid, shortly after moving to Charleston, South Carolina, a category 4 storm called Hurricane Hugo slammed the coastline of my new state. It had top winds of 160 miles per hour, and my family elected to stay in our home due to advice given to us by several Carolina lifers in the neighborhood. My parents, 34 and 31 at the time, and my brother and I, five and six respectively, barricaded ourselves in a windowless, interior hallway of our single-story house with a transistor radio, oil (hurricane! ha!) lamps, and blankets. I think we may have also had peanut butter sandwiches, and maybe some bananas.
I remember my parents arguing as the night wore on, long after we lost any kind of radio signal, about my father going outside. He wanted to go out of our big double front doors, he could swear he heard a woman screaming. My mom was pleading with him, saying it was only the wind, and everyone knew she was right, but he was going nuts. And then the wind stopped, and it was the eye, and we went across the street to our friends the Mackey's house, where several other families were gathering, and I remember my father carried me and there were already a couple of feet of standing water out in the yard and in the street.
The next day this kitten was out in the front yard of their house, walking in circles, meowing at nothing. It stayed crazy forever. We were out of school for two weeks, and I turned seven during that time, which was the best because I had a party in the middle of the day with all the neighbor kids when we should have been at school. Chainsaws cost 500 dollars, generators 2000. People tried to steal our coleman lanterns, and there were maggots on the garage floor because there was no garbage service for weeks. All in all, it was pretty cool, and there was lots of wood to play with everywhere, and dangerous diseases to catch in contaminated water.

The horror and the grace

Yesterday I went to church with my friend Jocelyn. We attended the International Anglican Church at Shove Chapel on the CC campus, downtown in the Springs. To all of you who have watched my struggle throughout this year to find a church with some authenticity, some relevancy, some redemption present, my search is over. This is going to be my new home.

The church is huge, old, stone, and beautiful. Think cathedral, beautiful and mystical and awe inspiring. Not co-multipurpose room with folding chairs. This was God's house. The music was beautiful and understated, a couple of acoustic guitars, a djembe, a mandolin and (egad!) a harmonica. The message talked about Gideon, understanding the gravity of the sin problem, and the gravity of the cross. The horror of our black hearts, the grace of a God who went to death for our sakes. Then we celebrated the eucharist, and sang some more, and the service was over. It lasted 2 hours and felt like 10 minutes, and the people were all very welcoming. This is where I want to stay.

Impossible Dream

This woman is one of the best singer/songwriters alive, period. Yesterday I saw her for the second time, at the Folks Festival in Lyons, Colorado. Good grief. You would have thought someone from the stage offered free pot to the crowd when she came out, the response was so enthusiastic. She only played for an hour and 15 minutes, too; the perfect length of time to get us all hopelessly lost in her wonderfulness, and then have the reality of time punch us in the nuts. She played several of my faves, though I would have outright died if she had graced us with "Mother of God" or "Moses." I would have to say "Useless Desires" from the Impossible Dream album was my favorite of the set, but they were all great.

I saw mate buddies (aka the cult kids) at the festival, let me tell you I was surprised to see Yaqar and Tommim there. They gave me free chai mate several times. We also ate gyros and chinese yum yums, we meaning McDavid and Buddy. Speaking of the latter, it was a great day for she and I. Definitely some miscommunication going on there lately, and while the situations have not changed, my mindset on much of it has.

It was a day full of greatness, glory, and guts. There is nothing nicer than reclining at the southern edge of the Rocky Mountain National Park and listening to fabulous bits of sound as they waft over you. Even when the plumbing got turned off and we had to use port-o-johns it was still ok, there were purell dispensers in them. Buddy bought a leather skirt. I looked at some stuff, and McDavid got a funnel cake. The best moment of the day was a quintessential life completeness/contentment moment, that surrounds your whole torso with warmth and then goes out and sits in your palms. There's just something about being physically connected with people you love with your whole heart while listening to amazing art transcend individual humanity. Mmm. It reminds me of apple crisp, but like your whole body is a mouth eating it.

Well, on that note, I'd better go back to the workshop CIMT is presenting today and learn more about infectious skin diseases. Peace out, and listen to some Patty today.

flatulent cats

Dear friends. Dear, dear friends.

Well, I think it is safe to say that I'm actually pretty depressed in life right now. Having, what you might call, a dark night of the soul should only be done occasionally. I'm moving on, though- sunlight is flooding my room, and cats are jumping through the open window. Trying to decide about next steps can be tough, but I am officially emailing my pseudo-aunt Arlene about Pasadena accomodations, and shopping for airline tickets. I feel good about this Fuller thing, even when I don't feel good about anything else.

Rediscovering the blackness of my heart has been sobering, but I believe it will be good for me in the long run. The truth is, I get jealous. I say hurtful things. I think hurtful thoughts, towards myself and others and the Godhead. I have dastardly priorities and dubious emphases. And above it all, I have to come face to face with the man in the mirror (oh yeah) and know I always will. Or woman in the mirror, as my own personal case would have it.

I have decided that I really have an appropriate name- my last name means Black, and I have to remember that's where I am. That I always be, and no good lives within me. But I am also consecrated to God, and there is a hidden Joy that I even often forget about. But it is there. Always, always, always when I am convinced it is over, there is something good remaining. This morning Shelly left a note outside my door, requesting that we start spending a lot more time together. Friends, that is perfectly ok by me. It's not like I'm trying to fill a void with people where God should be (sick that sounds like a crappy Christian lyric) but more like God knows the desires of my heart. I hate being alone. God is good, all the time. I am not, ever. As only LoCurto could say at Adams, "Praise the Lujah!"

On a parting note, I picked up Draco tonight, and he farted. No wonder he's been squirrely all day and clawing at things. Gas always makes me cranky, too.

two by two

I think my two favorite feelings in the world are as follows:

1. Reconciliation

2. That feeling right after you pee when you can totally relax all of your bladder muscles because you're completely empty

... and so, as to show a contrast, here are two things I really don't like:

1. Looking at dead baby anythings

2. That pukey feeling you get in the back of your throat when you are really worried about something so you gag a little occasionally

Sufjan Shirt

I have discovered a new favorite. I feel like I'm in Paco Michelson's head when I listen to this music. It makes me happy and weird, and I'll confess, I have danced to it in the art gallery.

I love falling in love all over again for the first time. I'm glad sound was created- palpable, yet ineffable. I wish I could touch it and make clothes out of it. I would wear this music every day of the week.

old songs found, but never written

Last night- 6-6-04

I remember the last night you were in town
You came in after I was sleeping and you laid down
Oh I remember that night
Like it was last night

I used to hate the puddles in the john
After you had showered, dressed, and gone
Now all I want to feel
Socks wet from toe to heel

And if there’s any doubt in anybody’s mind
Let me set the record straight- set the record straight
If there’s any doubt in anybody’s mind
I miss you tonight, like it’s the last night of my life

I want you to know
I’ve been fine since the day I watched you go
I went out and made for myself
Riches in friends if not in wealth

I enjoy having my own place
Just three rooms that can be my own space
But that doesn’t mean
I don’t want you here with me

And if there’s any doubt in anybody’s mind
Let me set the record straight- set the record straight
If there’s any doubt in anybody’s mind
I miss you tonight, like it’s the last night of my life

I can continue to live without you
I will continue to thrive without you
But that doesn’t mean
By any means
That I’d like to go on without you

And if there’s any doubt in anybody’s mind
Let me set the record straight- set the record straight
If there’s any doubt in anybody’s mind
I miss you tonight, like it’s the last night of my life

Goodbye Uncle Peter

Peter Jennings died today of lung cancer. He was 67.

In reading the obit posted on Yahoo! news, I found out some cool stuff about Peter, like that he never graduated from high school or attended college, and that he had dual citizenship in Canada, where his family was from, and the United States. Also that he had his first Saturday morning radio show when he was nine.

My most memorable moment with Peter was during one of the more significant days I have ever experienced. On September 11th, 2001, I found myself in the late morning crammed into the upper floor of the HUB at Huntington College, with about 700 other students, glued to the huge projection screen. We were eager for anything that fell from anybody's lips about the greatest attack on U.S. civilians on our soil that we had ever experienced as a nation. Peter sat there, good old Peter, somebody we could trust. His shirt sleeves were unbuttoned and rolled up and his tie and collar were undone and pulled away from his throat. He was sitting there, staring at us just like we were staring at him. And then Peter said it all for us.

"We're just trying to figure out what the hell is going on."



Rest well, you who have kept us in the know so many years. May you find answers we did not.

play-doh, mcdavid, benfolds, and the unimaginable rift

First of all, dudes, let me say how pleased with myself I am at the ease with which I use HTML. Or at least that image-posting tag. Professor Lehman back at good 'ol HC (or HU... what a dumb acronym) would be proud. If he only knew I was reading emails and looking at sound equipment for 90% of his class... when I showed up. Too bad college is over; good times, good times.

I bought play-doh with Brian last weekend, because I wanted it and he encourages me in trivialities. I went over to McDavid's house and we played with it and I made a snowman with a dog. My favorite part are the scarves. I brought her a little tubbie of it, too, as a party favor, and she just made oddly-shaped lumps. This is why I like McDavid. Just when I need it, she lets me feel smart.

I'm hanging out in Kinfolks, an establishment on Manitou Ave just above the creek (which I can hear in the darkness due to open windows- ahh). It is incredibly Manitou. There is live music, beer, hiking shoes, outdoor gear, a bicycle repair area, and dogs are definitely allowed. The only non-alcoholic beverage they have available is french-pressed coffee, which I hate, but I am drinking because it is cold outside. It will also keep me awake until a late hour- a good thing at this point in time. I feel like being up late because I DON'T HAVE TO WORK TOMORROW!

***

So as to add another review on in this time, I'm going to talk about Ben Folds' most recent album, Songs For Silverman. Man, this man is genius. I love people that get better with time, till they just open their mouths and it's like drops of gilded butter fall out onto the floor in a beautiful tableau. UGH! I just accidentally drank coffee without sugar in it. Bad idea. So this album, this album is the first one I have that is a CD on one side and a DVD on the other. It makes me nervous. I don't mean to be but I am really hard on discs, and I'm sure it's going to get ruined in one way or another. The first track starts off and it's like pre-rubber soul Beatles, and then by the middle of the album it's like the Beach Boys and Chicago got married, and maybe Darren Jesse was the best man at the wedding. There are little chunks of time where I can hear all of the other stuff, from the self-titled Five album to Fear of Pop Vol. 1 to the EPs. And everything in between. His stuff is so melodic and poppy yet well-developed while being understated; it's like a buffet in a lunchbox. It is a CD that needs to be played really loud, and often. The one song that almost makes me cry, not because it is the best song on the album, but because I conjecture it's for Elliot Smith. The song is called "Too Late," and whether it's for Smith or not I don't know, but it's really intimate and says a lot of things the speaker was never able to say to the intended party. I remember being really blown away by the first page that appeared at BenFolds.com for months after Smith's suicide. I like thinking about amazing famous people being good friends in real life. And I think Smith's death was probably hard on Ben; I feel like this song lets me sit in on the living room floor and hear about it. Ok, so I just read the actual words, and it says, "Elliot, man you played a fine guitar/and some dirty basketball" so it's totally about him. It just makes me feel sad and clear and good all at the same time.

This album spans the gamut of styles- country, pop, jazz, rock. Al Yankovic sings BGV's. It is a musician's cd- Ben is a musician's musician. It makes me happy there are sounds like this out there.

****

In other news, I feel disconnect from a lot of things, and look out over the realm of disconnectedness and see limitless possibilities. All my life, I have placed other people before myself. Experiences, memories, people make you who you are. Do you ever get to the point where you can venture out and just do crap as a completed person? What happens when you are on a different page of reality from everybody that used to matter to you? People are totally crushing, totally getting engaged and having babies and getting married, and I just want to sit on a floor in a darkened room and listen to the spinning disc. Or wander around and do nothing really but everything, and write about it. I feel less cohesive and more coherent than ever. There are several times a day where I am just looking at things and all of the sudden things shift in my mind, like when you flip the hourglass over, and the sand is the same, but coming through backwards, and a new something or other is visible. It's like I look and it changes, becomes more real, but it just the same to everyone else. I really liked waiting tables today, and it was odd to me. I don't want to get drunk, even though it would be easier sometimes to blur through everything, show up to work high and go on just like everyone else. But this bigger part of me wants to feel everything while it is happening, even if it hurts like a little cut on your hand filled with lemon juice. I know that there are more nerve endings in your lips than anywhere else on your body, and I have never kissed anyone. This is the irony of my life, and I am resigned to go through with utter clarity; for what purpose I don't know. But it seems more right than anything else I can find.

Santa Fe- Are you there? Do you swear you won't forget me?

So last weekend I went to Santa Fe with my friend Brian from Denver. The whole week leading up to the event, I had that Newsies song in my head, but I couldn't remember any more than the "Santa Fe" part of the words. I forgot until I grabbed this picture how cute all those newsies were.

We went down because a cousin of mine was getting married, one I rarely see, and hardly any of my family was going to be there. Oddly enough, this compelled me to go more than less; I felt somehow obligated due to our lack of connection. My aunt called me nine days out and asked me if I would play the guitar for the ceremony, which was to be held outdoors in some sort of ruined church. After a half hour of deliberation, I said yes, and ended up playing last Saturday with approximately an hour total in practice time. Thankfully the guitar is like a horse or a bicycle, and even though my fingertips felt like knives were slicing them, I managed to hold on just long enough.

The wedding was at Pecos National Historic Park, and the ruins turned out to be pretty cool, a sun-baked mud-brick sort of structure that had an open roof and back, but the front and sides were mostly intact. The wedding party was small, the attendence was sparse, and the ceremony was short. My favorite kind of wedding. Brian liked it because there was beer at the reception, and he got to say the word "horno" about 97,000 times. [There was a little display type thing set up just across the road from the ruins, with a native type of stove, called a horno, that was used to bake bread.] The ceremony itself was performed by some kind of priestess, who talked about the four sacred elements, and I kind of felt like Captian Planet might come barreling down the aisle at any given moment. I found out later that Lauren (my cousin) had become Wiccan, and so this answered a few of my immediate questions, but quickly brought up more pertinent ones.

So, on to post-wedding activities: Brian and I checked into our Red Roof Inn accomodations prior to the reception, and promptly both felt too tired to go back out like we had planned. So we watched Tommy Boy on TBS and fell asleep. The next morning we went downtown and had breakfast, and walked around a little. Then we stumbled onto the Plaza and the annual Spanish Festival. It was actually really great, and ended up being my favorite thing about the whole trip. We walked around for a couple of hours, looking at art, sculpture, hearing music, viewing beautiful handmade jewelry, smelling foods, and watching live performers of several different genres. We met up briefly with my family to say goodbye before they headed to the airport in Albequerque, and then took a spin around the old and beautiful Cathedral of St. Francis. Then we walked back to the car, making a pit stop at a Cold Stone Creamery, and finally headed in an easterly direction on I-25.

The car ride back was great- a little napping, a lot of reading of Harry Potter, some eating of Swedish Fish. The best, most epiphinal moment for me of the entire weekend was when we got north of Pueblo and I saw the Peak and began to recognize finer points of the geography. I said it out loud before I even realized it to myself; "Finally, I'm home." And I realized it was true- this little hippie, gay, backwoods town has really become my home, as far as I am able to claim one. And I was honestly glad it was true. Santa Fe was nice, but I could care less if it remembers me or not, because for now I'm a Colorado Kid.

Charlie and the Michael Jackson Freakshow

I went out and saw Charlie and the Chocolate Factory last Friday night with my friend McDavid. Now, McDavid is a student of dramatic literature, so I was going to throw out any criticisms she might have had, almost immediately, because she is coming from a different land than most conscious beings. I liked the film, though I will have to say careful post-watching reflection has brought certain flaws to the forefront for me. I'm just going to talk about everything all at once, though.

First of all, Charlie is a cute, cute kid. His teeth are just starting to show that handsome/grotesque English badness. He is abominably good. He sleeps in a room in the top of the house, and his window is really an open hole in the roof. I didn't get why he didn't freeze to death, but perhaps it was just one of those things I was supposed to accept and not question. Charlie appears to just kind of hang out, and doesn't really go to school or anything. We find out towards the end that he might be a shoe shiner, but I have no idea if this is a one time stint or an ongoing occupation, because there is no through-line on the subject.
Also, Grandpa Joe is the same old skinny actor from Waking Ned Divine, a film I absolutely loved. And Charlie's mother is Helena Bonham Carter. Gorgeous. The other great casting plus (aside from Johnny, who I will get to in a minute) is the character of Mike TV, who almost uncannily resembled the original actor of the 1970's classic.

The moment Johnny Depp stepped onto the screen, I almost screamed. The guy is Michael Jackson. I wonder if stage directions sounded like this. "Ok, Johnny, now in this scene, I want you to act like Michael Jackson. Ok, great. Now, in this next scene, act like Michael Jackson. Ok, here just act bored and make fun of the kids. Ok, now act like Michael Jackson." I mean, the guy must have been watching the trial or something, because he had it down. Really pasty skin, bad hair, weird clothes, said really bizarre stuff, and acted creepy around kids. He was like a MJ clone.

This is where McDavid took the low road, but I hightailed it and beat her to Scotland. She felt like things were overdone, and a bit perefunctory at times. The latter part I might concede to on occasion, but definitely not the former. The original "Charlie" film was groundbreaking in its time. Roald Dahl was an irreverent genius of kiddie lit. This is the curse disguised as a blessing for those wishing to remake such a classic film.
How can the original impact of the film be felt when so many have seen it, have a certain set of expectations, and are also familiar with the written work? Well, just enough has to change- Violet's parent becomes a mom, Mike TV's parent is a dad. There is no Slugworth. Emphasis is put on background- we learn Charlie's dad is a toothpaste factory worker, and Willy's was a dentist. There is thought here- mere coincidence that both boys will grow up to be choclatiers?
The bar also has to be raised with the extremity of the film. Willy goes from a somewhat passive stance towards the children in the original, to an occasionally aggressive, antagonistic bully. His impotence to overcome his situation is nearly crippling to him, only being discovered in a therapy session with an oompa loompa. The film had to be taken to the next level to have the same impact on today's audience, in a louder, more caustic world, that the original had on its intended audience.

But don't take my word for it, Levar Burton. I definitely recommend a personal viewing, along with a large popcorn and some sweettarts. Not even this film could get me near the chocolate.

demon baby

My small cousins were in Michigan this week, and apparently went over to visit my grandparents who live there. Jim is addicted to his digital camera, shooting everything from collapsed lean-tos to plates of his uneaten dinner. They send me reams of photos all the time, and the picture above came from the latest batch, received today.

I love this little girl, Claire Emma Ferguson. She is almost exactly 20 years my junior, my youngest cousin. However, when I saw this picture, all I could do was scream.

Look out for the flaming massage oil!

So, last week when my family came out to visit me in my hippie/lesbian/wiccan town, I gave my mom and aunt massages. I have to insert a bit of history here, and tell you all that my mother is first of all an RN and skeptical of massage therapy, but also has chronically dry skin. So, I was excited to show her what massage can do. Let me say my statement about her skin is actually quite lacking- she has excema pretty much covering her body. 90 + percent, in fact.

She ended up really enjoying the massage, especially how moisturized she felt after I was done rubbing a massage gel blend of apricot, grapeseed and sesame oils into her very dry skin. So, I told her she could take the 2/3 of the jug of gel that I had left home with her. This is where Homeland Security steps in.

My mom was stopped at the conveyor belt while checking her carry on-where she decided to stash the gel, hoping it would be less likely to explode or come open than if it was in her suitcase. The dude at the monitor thought he saw what looked like a bleach jug and called her over to search her bag. Upon finding the offending gel, he seemed momentarily unconcerned, but was then shocked to find "highly flammable" in the fine print on the label. Well, duh. It's oil. He reported to his supervisor, who then reported to his supervisor. After thoroughly questioning my mother, cross-referencing her story with her flaking arms and cracked knuckles and the fact that she did say her daughter was in massage school, they agreed to let her board the flight, with her gel.

I'm glad we have these security checks- you never know what a wacko with a jug of massage gel could do.