At No Additional Cost!

Another day here in Southern California. The FIRST day here where I haven't had a stressful conversation on the phone with one family member or another. I love that I've been in California a week and haven't seen A SINGLE FAMILY MEMBER. Finally, I am happy to report, I have A PLAN. Monday, I am going BACK to San Diego, to see Janae and my little bro and sis and the rest of my extended Pierre family for a couple of days. THEN, I am flying to San Jose to see dad and friends before I fly back to New York.

I've been feeling better. Every day it has gotten a little better. Plus, the digital camera has helped A LOT. I don't think it has helped Graham at all, because now I take pictures of everything from my socks to his armpits, and then I INSIST on showing him EVERYTHING that I take pictures of. Literally, the response to me and that little silver box has gone from "Oh, there she goes, with the camera again!" to "Dear God, no..." in only a matter of 36 hours! But I can't HELP IT! Having spent years with 35 mm, disc cameras, polaroids, and cameras made out of cardboard boxes and a sheet of photographic paper, the digital camera is a sort of REVOLUTION for me. I don't have to worry about the amount of exposures I take! There will be NO PROCESSING TIME! There is NO ADDITIONAL COST! I can see the picture INSTANTLY! AND I am LOVING the visual affects that digital has to offer. Check out what a candle looks like when I MOVE IT:



SO ARTY! SO FINE!

OR I can do CRAZY self-portraits that make me look like I am witnessing a UFO landing:



I LOVE IT!

You people who have had their fingers on the pulse of technology, and got their digital cameras YEARS AGO, are probably rolling your eyes and saying, oh, look at the little CAVE GIRL, she's discovered FIRE, isn't that QUAINT. But I don't care if I am late to the party. Not when I can take pictures of things I love, like this:

Somehow I Don't Think This Is What Graham's Sister Was Thinking When She Gave Us Their Old Digital Camera

Fun with my hair! Oh, SO MUCH MORE TO COME!

It Could be Worse

Well, I finally made it somewhere--I'm in Santa Barbara! Home of Graham's folks. Home to Turkey Vultures and soft breezes and clear highways. It's an interesting place, this Santa Barbara. As I was in the backseat of Graham's mother's car, listening to the murmuring talk in the front seat, and watching the incredible sunny weather and palm trees fly by, it occured to me, nay, SHOCKED me that I was liking the Southern California landscape. I'm not a big fan of Southern California normally. The beautiful weather aside, I can't get beyond the overload of highways and the strip malls. Also, I like texture and weather in a climate. I am not one of those who goes for 70 degree weather 24/7.

But today, it hit me why it is so good to go away from your home state. When you visit some place, you are able to see and appreciate THE VERY BEST that a place has to offer. I could love the t-shirt weather today. I could also almost PASS OUT with bliis at the BEAUTIFUL, RIPE avocados i had on my omelette. After five months in New York, it all seemed EXOTIC.

I have to tell you that even though I am struggling, I am so glad not to be in New York, where the subways and buses are shut down. Since graham and I live FAR OUT in Brooklyn, the transportation issue might have DONE ME IN. Being trapped in a crummy neighborhood, with neighbors that have mistaken violent yelling for attempts at emotional intimacy, would have maybe brought me to a similar state that I am in now--without the lovely weather and the good company to distract me. So there you have it--the FREAKN SILVER LINING. It ALWAYS could be worse, and yes, in this case, it could. So I am thankful for mobility, for good company, for avocados, and for seeing the best in circumstances.

Temple of Doom

I've been avoiding writing in here, because some developments have taken place on my trip that are just too painful for me to write about. I am still in San Diego and still have no idea where I'll be next week, and so goes the nature of this trip, which is unfolding in a way that not only I didn't expect, but that I am having to recover from.

If I am being vague, please forgive. I was thinking about writing in here all day, but this is when the nature of the blog gets funny--not in a ha-ha sort of way, but in a this-may-or-may-not-be the place sort of way. Also, I am embarrassed by how bad I feel right now, how sad and devastated, when no one has died. I make a point to write in here about arty stuff, funny stuff, and usually I can be glib or sarcastic about the bad parts (sometimes not). Today, I am so demolished that I can't see any silver lining or "plan" or lemonade through these lemons. I can't see a lesson. I feel shocked, screwed over, and shafted.

It isn't just that this trip is not remotely what I planned it to be, it's that it seems that it has been specifically designed to demolish me, to bring up my most deepest wounds, and beliefs in my life, in how I function and fit (or don't fit) with my family. It isn't just a disappointment, it has become a MAJOR BLOW and you know what? I don't FREAKN'NEED IT!

When you're feeling this bad, it's easy to shut out the person RIGHT NEXT TO YOU, holding you, telling you that you are important and are loved. And last night I found myself blocking out Graham, because I was so focused on the people who weren't there. It was a moment of absolute grace that I could turn to him and take in his support. I have a great partner, folks, and he and his family have been a life saver to me the last couple of days. Also, it's pretty hard to not feel lifted by a baby smiling and happy to see you upon entering a room. Graham's niece, Lauren, is like the sweetest salve. As always, you pick up the found money and keep going.

I hope Your Holiday Visits are Going a Lot Smoother

Here was the original plan:

Fly from New York to San Diego to attend Graham's brother's wedding. 3 days later, fly to Seattle, meet with brother and sister-in-law and drive up to Nanaimo, British Columbia. Spend a week with family. The day after Christmas, fly back to San Diego and join dad and family for Pierre family reunion. Fly to San Jose for New Years' and then go back to New York.

Here is what is currently happening:

A week before I leave my dad cancels his attendance of the family reunion. I start plans to divert my travels from Canada into San Jose.

Graham and I fly to San Diego. The wedding is gorgeous. The bride and groom say their vows on the beach, against the setting sun. Graham gives insightful, funny, and tender toast as the best man.

Last night I get a call from my folks up in Canada and am informed that a major ice storm has hit and that my brother and sister-in-law are stranded in Portland, Oregon and may not be able to pick me up at the airport tomorrow morning (today). Upon looking at the weather channel, I am informed that this is the FIRST of THREE storms hitting the northwest. If we are lucky, we couldn't get to Nanaimo until THURSDAY. After a couple phonecalls, the trip is cancelled. Much sadness sets in, but at least I can spend Christmas with Graham.

This morning, at 7:00am, the phone rings. It's Janae, my dad's wife, informing me that SHE and the KIDS are going to the family reunion in San Diego, and what are my plans?

At this point, I can honestly say, I don't have a f*%#@ing clue.

No Loss

Greetings from San Diego, California!

It's beautiful here. The light is soft and I cannot get over how QUIET everything is. Right now, all I hear is the whir of the computer running its quiet engines. In New York, I'd either be besieged by car alarms, or our neighbors having their morning screaming match. I look outside and I literally see a palm tree. I have been coming to San Diego and Coronado my whole life and everytime I am overwhelmed with feelings at the sight of the light and the military bases, and the 1930's architecture. Last night, during the wedding rehearsal, I walked along the Hotel Del Coronado--probably one of the most beautiful hotels anywhere and I thought about my grandmother who used to give me history lessons about Coronado, and how I still know things about that island that she told me on long evening walks through the neighborhoods and by the Del. I wanted to write it all down, but I didn't have anything with me. Part of me wonders if this is good sometimes, to just experience something for what it is in that moment, as opposed to my constant need to record, to put down, to CAPTURE moments that mean something to me. So instead, I walked along the beach path, and stopped to watch the sunset, and drank in that peaceful gloaming. I saw to my left the distant lights of Mexico, and to my right the lights of the jet runway for the Airforce Base. I watched the wedding party far down the beach try rehearse their parts for the wedding tonight. They looked not unlike the flocks of seagulls that gather on the beach and disperse, only to gather again.

It's ironic to me that I have met a man that has family in San Diego too. As a result, I've been here more in the last two years than I had in the 6 years beforehand. I am struck every time I come, by the echo of all the times I would come here and be with my cousins, and what remains now. When I am standing on that beach, I could swear to you that my grandmother is still alive, only a few blocks away, in reach. And yet, as I passed the old honeymoon cottage of the Duke and Duchess of Windsor, relocated from the quiet street blocks away, and remodeled as part of the Hotel Del, I know that time has gone on, and that my history has been uprooted as well, and changed with time.

It was so hard for me to just stand there and take all of that in, without making it into something, that I can take with me, like a drawing, or a journal entry. Yet, this is necessary too--to just be quiet with it all and feel it all pass through , and know I haven't lost anything.

Shop is Closed and I'm On a Jet Plane

collage
Originally uploaded by summerpierre.

I am sitting at Kinko's awaiting the third attempt at trying to get the last of the calendars out. Looks like some are coming with me to California to be mailed, as the Post Office is closing their door imminently. Remind me to do a post about the pitfalls and high ideals that it takes to put out a calendar like this. It's FFILLED with lessons and CAUTIONARY TALES. Until then, what better way to spend time, waiting at Kinko's, but to scan in an image or two from ye olde journal? This is a collage I did the other night--one of three. One is too big for the scanner, so you get this one--calendar scraps, old paintings, pages of an old geology book from 1936, Japanese paper, and hemp string (a gift from hippie parents)! SO FUN!

Too much to tell about today--especially at .45 cents a minute, but I just want to thank everyone who bought the calendars--you RULE! You really really DO! Please let me know what you think. People can still order the calendar, but the shop is officially closed until January 3rd.

As for me, I'm on a plane at 6:00am tomorrow morning. I'll be writing when I can from my travels North of the Mexican border and North of the U.S./Canadian border, on the seaside of Vancouver Island and everything in between.

Until then, I bid you all a good weekend.

The World Is Interesting

I am at that point before a big trip where everything is at hyper velocity. I leave the day after tomorrow for 2 weeks of California, British Columbia, and California again. Graham is cramming his final papers and getting nervous because he may have to make a toast at his brother's wedding. I told him, that was the LEAST of his worries. Just follow this simple formula and there won't be a dry eye in the house:

Funny Story about Brother + Connecting to an affirming observation of how bride fits with brother + make reference to their friendship and partnership + add beautiful quote (like Love is Friendship on Fire)+ raising a glass to brother and bride = TEARS AND SIGHS ABOUND!

He said, "You're a genius."

I am working today, which is a nice bonus, but also managing the last of the Great Gal orders. If you ordered one in the last 3 days, I've had to get more made--so yours will go out tomorrow, fresh from the presses! Among it all, I've been reading the writer/actor/monologist Spalding Gray. It occurred to me while I was on the train that Spalding Gray would have been a FANTASTIC blogger, had the medium taken off before his horrible accident, which led to his depression, and then suicide last year. His monologues kind of read like blog entries--little stories, not much narrative description, but punchlines GALORE! I laughed out loud when he was talking about the birth of his son Theo, who they all were convinced was a girl. When he came out after 12 hours of labor, Spalding said, "Wow, look at the balls on that girl!"

Spalding has touched upon an idea of blogging that I think about. We are in a time where there has been more interested in real human lives than ever before. There are drawbacks to this--Reality TV shows and a decline in published fiction. There are huge bonuses too--an increase in published memoirs and millions of blogs everywhere, people spilling their guts, their art, their stories out, and people reading and responding. I like that blogging skips the middleman of publishing--you do it yourself and everyone is accessible. Freedom of expression is so vital, so important, and we all want more!

Spalding reminds me that everyday life is funny and sometimes the best story you have is your own and that's TOTALLY OKAY. He died by his own hand last year, after some years of struggle. The greatest loss to the public is his voice. When I read about his funny Manhattan, I kind of hope I'll run into him, but then remember he's not here anymore and then it's terribly terribly sad. But then I think about what his writing says to me: Let's face it, the world is interesting. Write it down. Let's hear about it.

Never Underestimate Your Importance

Janae, my dad's wife, called me last week to have me listen to my little sister (who's almost 3) sing along with my CD. Janae was driving listening to Bob Dylan and Lily said, "No mommy, off! Off! Summer ON!"

It's nice to know that somewhere in the world, I kick Bob Dylan's ass.

Last Days

February
Originally uploaded by summerpierre.

Just a gentle reminder that Wednesday (as in the day after TOMORROW) as in December 14, is the last day to get your order in for the Great Gal 2006 Calendar in time for Christmas, Haunnaka, and the New Year. All orders done after that will be processed after January 2.

What's in it for you? Amazing, CRAZY, ART 365 days of the week. Previous purchaser's have said:
"Wow, this must take you a long time to do."

Indeed it does!

and

"Oh, wow, my birthday is shared with JOAN OF ARC!"

Good for YOU!

12 Portraits and bios! HUNDREDS of birthdays! All for $18!

Just press "Buy NOW" button on the sidepanel and it is YOURS!

Yes, Please, When Can We Do It Again?

I had a good day today. It started with a forced ejection from a warm bed, out into the cold world for our weekly Sunday morning in Central Park. Every time I go to Central Park, I am renewed. Let's face it folks, sometimes New York can be relentless--people, noise, activity, smells, you name it, it's here, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. It can get a sensitive gal like me either REALLY EXCITED or REALLY GRUMPY. Walking in Central Park early in the morning on Sundays is like a jump start to that place in me that feels at one with everything. Dare I say that vague and yet often uttered, new-age word? Yes, it CENTERS me. I love the trees, the inexplicable quiet, the beauty of it all. I especially love the dogs. They have become the surprise delight in New York. They KILL me. I love seeing all the stiff and uptight people with these dogs that are just so HAPPY and GOOFY and filled GLEE. I never thought I was particularly a dog person, but they've won me over since moving to the Big Apple. They crack me up and make me unbuckle all the grown up shackles that I put on during the week with all their infectious energy. Thank heavens for dogs in New York!

After our walk, we went out to breakfast and then Graham walked me to the Natural History Museum, where I was joining Danny Gregory's sketchcrawl. On the way there, I got that scared, first day at a new school feeling. Graham pointed out that it was doing one of my favorite things (drawing) at one of my favorite places in New York (the museum), with one of my favorite bloggers (Danny). It was kinda dumb to not take part. So I breezed in only half thinking that I was sure everyone would think I was a FREAK.

After waiting in line, I was a few minutes late, so everyone at the sketchcrawl was already seated in the Hall of North American Mammals, drawing either a bison or a moose. Without a word, I took my seat and began drawing the bison. I got out the markers and began sketching wildly with red and blue. When Danny Gregory came over to see what I was doing, it was like the REALLY COOL kid suddenly noticing that you exist. Inside I was thinking, STAY COOL, LOOK AT THE BISON, not at the guy who has the new, strange honor of being an INTERNET CELEBRITY. Although we didn't visit all that much, I would say that Danny Gregory seems JUST LIKE YOU AND ME. I know, AMAZING! He seems nice and funny and I like that he draws on pages that he has washed with watercolors. Very cool.

At the sketchcrawl, not only did I get to draw in public with a number of people, meet an internet celeb, but I got to meet members of a very inspiring family, who's example inspired me to go down into the subway last week to play music. It was great to meet them (Hi Rick, Brenda, Shepard, and Pearl!)and to be able to show them where the fishes were.

Later, after lunch, I tried to find where the sketchcrawl was regrouping, but never could locate anyone, but a very nice British guy named Nigel. So we sat down at opposite ends of the room and I drew the Mule Elk and he drew a Brown Bear. Do you want to know why I remember that I was drawing not just a mere deer, but a Mule Elk? Because about 5000 people came around the corner and looked at the case and said, "Oh, Mule Elk." It's true. EVERY TIME. I didn't even need to look at the plaque.

I asked Danny if he was going to make the sketchcrawl a regular thing and he said, "I don't know, do you think I should?" I think I said some rather dumb, inadequate things at the time, because I was nervous and wanted him to like me. So let me say what I really think: YES, PLEASE, WHEN CAN WE DO IT AGAIN?

As It Turned Out

what is a hero?
--a silent indian
--a uranian guerilla
--a hard and heartless abstract expressionist
--or a little girl with glasses
-Patti Smith

Nothing exciting to say, since I've had a horrible bout of the stomach flu, and a sort of regression--I chickened out AGAIN about going to the subway. Here I was SO BRAVE and EXCITED and then I chickened out. Well, the waves go in and the waves go out.

And just as the waves were going out, the waves came in again: When I was hemming and hawing over going down into the subway on Wednesday, Patti Smith came on the radio, being interviewed about her new book of poems. This was thrilling for me, because I she's a hero of mine and it seemed perfect timing, as I've been listening to her a lot lately. As it turned out, she was reading THAT NIGHT at Barnes & Noble in Union Square--a 20 minute direct subway ride for me. I couldn't believe it!

Of course, by the time evening rolled around, I was already talking myself out of it. It's cold, I'm tired, it's late, it will be too crowded, wah wah wah. Then a bigger voice said, ARE YOU KIDDING ME? It's PATTI SMITH! You've never seen her before--are you going to ignore this chance?? Even though it was later than I wanted to get there, knowing how New York crowds could be, I went, grumbling anyway. You can imagine my shock, when I ended up in the SECOND ROW! It was one of the coldest nights we've had here in New York, which apparently kept a lot of people away. I am SO GLAD that it didn't keep me away!

When she walked in, she was funny and nerdy and answered a lot of questions from questionable people. When a guy said, "Could you look over here when you read, because we can't see your face as well and that's how you did it at St. Marks." She grinned and said, "Believe me, you ain't missing much." Then she said, "Well, how 'bout I do this?" And she walked from one side of the stage to the other, with her hands on her hips, saying,"Get a good look! Here you go!"

My favorite parts are when she sang some of her old poems--the whole room sat up with electricity. She told funny stories about moments with Bob Dylan and the Dalai Lama, which seems to me a good way to describe the breadth of her artistic territory.

When I was about to go get my two books signed, the guy next to me informed me that she was only signing her new book. Since I was not buying her new book, I was sorely saddened, but then at the last minute I decided to get in line anyway. And AS IT TURNED OUT, because of the lower turn out, she was signing all her other books. Yippee! When I got up there, she had thick glasses on and was barely interacting with anyone. She looked at the name on the sticky note, wrote it down, said thank you and that was it. I thought, I better make THIS GOOD. So when she was scribbling my name I told her that her work inspires me to keep going in my art and thank you for that. She stopped and grinned with all her big teeth and her old lady mustache and said, "What a WONDERFUL compliment. Thank you SO MUCH!"

I'm amazed ALL THE TIME at the OBVIOUS things that the negative voices try to get me not to do. Again and again, I say, if we can just squeeze past them, those monkeys, those dragons, there are untold riches just waiting for us take hold, and seize them up.

$12.40 Made, Experience Priceless

I did it! I did it! I did it! If you were waiting for a train at 72nd, you might have seen me strumming and singing my heart out. Maybe you threw a quarter or even a dollar—for that, I salute you!

It felt GREAT! I will admit that Graham came with me for the initial set-up, but left amid the first song. He said later that he hoped I didn’t mind, but he felt he was cramping my style. He said, “When you’re playing the subway, you don’t want your graduate student boyfriend hanging around drinking coffee from Starbucks.” I appreciated him leaving, just because I know I needed to be solo—I just needed help getting down there. At first, all the best case scenarios took place. I was connecting and people were shelling out money. In the first 15 minutes, a man dumped out all his change, went back to his bag and found MORE and dumped it all into my case. The policeman on duty came up to me, and put his hand on my back saying, “We’re going to have to check your guitar at the door next time.” A little unsure of myself (HA! That’s an UNDERSTATEMENT), I asked him why. He said, “Because it’s a Martin—it’s TOO GOOD.” We laughed and he continued on. A teenage girl across the track grinned at me and boogied down, while her boyfriend kind of smirked and hid his head in his hand. You got to love the teenage girls—when they are in their element, embarrassed boyfriends be damned, the world is a place to PARTY.

After awhile, the initial dream-like state wore off. First of all, playing in the subway is hard, but not hard in the way you might expect. It’s hard physically—my arms and wrists are TIRED today, having got a good work out from trying to be heard over the sound of trains and echoing acoustics. Same goes for my voice. Next time, I am bringing a bottle of water or some tea to soothe the stretched to the limit voice. To be honest, I lasted just over an hour. I need to pace myself I think. There were boring lulls of activity. Plus, after the first half hour, the more crowded it got, the less people tipped. I made $12.40—which isn’t exactly rolling in it, but even so, this was a HUGE success.

Here are some more things I didn’t expect: I felt more connected to this city than I ever have. As they say about New York, I want to be apart of it—but sometimes it’s easier sang then done. For a place that house 10 million people, you can feel more alone than connected. Playing in the subway made me feel part of it somehow. I was IN the world, doing something, connecting. I also felt more ALIVE than I have musically in awhile. I took a huge chance—a leap out of my safety zone. I didn’t know how badly I needed that. Also, after fretting so much and feeling out of control with the job and financial thing, I felt a sense of empowerment. I was doing something IMMEDIATE and on my own behalf. I can do anything!

On my way home, I was in the BEST mood. I smiled at other subway musicians and said hello. I think it comes down to this: what are you willing to risk? I hadn’t understood how safe I’d been playing it, until I was faced with doing something I was totally called to do, but resisting out of total fear. You can do it, folks! You can! You can! I feel like the playing field has somehow been leveled. ANYTHING really is possible!

A New View

"You must do the thing you think you cannot do." -Eleanor Roosevelt

Yesterday, I had an interview for a job at Columbia University in the African American Studies department. While interviewing with the director, he asked me,"How do you see this job helping you to be where you want to be in the next five years?" Part of what I answered was like a little dance that you do for interviews, but part of it was a naked truth. I told him art was ultimately what my passion was. Administrative work is not my passion in the slightest, but I have experience in that area, and I am good at it, so why not do it a place that you can derive meaning from? His immediate response was, "I am a firm believer that no one has to work at anything that doesn't give meaning to his life." This is a man who I came to believe during our half hour meeting that has an ideal life. He not only does the work that he derives the most meaning from, but as a result is filled with love and respect for people's lives and culture. He is a man of both power--power to do what he most wants to do in this world and of service--service to his community and to the world.

Regardless, if I get the job or not, I felt I was in the presence of a great teacher and a person of example. I went home with some of his light glowing in me. More and more, I feel that if we do not do the thing we are most wanting to do or called to do, we are leaching the world of resource and not giving back to it.

I've been struggling with this subject, in one way or another, my whole life--how to make a life I love, not just from 5am to 8am and 5pm to 10pm, but all day, every day. I was taught early on that my art was great, but it wasn't "real work." This was also coupled by the belief system that it was selfish or unattractive to want anything.

In my twenties, I just assumed I would never be an artist full-time--that was an artist's plight in life. You have your day job, and then the rest is up to you. The people who were doing art full-time were "lucky" or beyond my talent range or were freaks of nature. I never believed that perhaps I could be that lucky, or have that much talent, or be one of the "freaks." So I never learned how to believe and build anything. I've gone from job to job, always doing art on the side. And because the job wasn't my "true work" and because I was also taught that it was selfish to have any money, I've always worked at poor-paying jobs. So, I have been spending my life undernourished. I think I need a new set of glasses to see a different perspective. I want to maybe think that what is emerging here in New York, is perhaps not just a new city to live in, but a new way of life.

And what if, suddenly, this one way I know how to make a living, vanished? What if I couldn't do administrative work ever again? Then what?

I was upset this morning, because the temp job way of making money has dried up considerably and I was scared. When Graham suggested playing music in the subway, I got hysterical. I said, "I don't want to do it! It's a step up from begging! It's scary! It's COLD!" I should have just said, "I'm AFRAID I'm AFRAID I'm AFRAID." I don't know about you, but I seem to have the knack for avoiding the BEST THING I could possibly do. When he left, I did yoga and then looked at the guitar. Suddenly, I remembered the feeling of walking in New York with the guitar last week--how I felt strong and more myself than ever. And wouldn't you know it--the minute I decided to pack up the guitar, I got this electric feeling all over my body. I am DOING IT.

After I finish typing this, I am heading down into the subway. I am putting on a new pair of glasses and I am going to do something that has meaning for me, that I am good at, and that yes, might lead me towards a new way of seeing.

Rainbows in My Book

After reading Felicia's amazing and brutal post about her childhood yesterday, I went to page and began writing ferociously about a time in my childhood that was bleak and lonely. Suddenly what came was a song, more formed than any song has been in awhile--which isn't saying much, but when the hat fits, you friggn' wear it (and say thank you). The chorus came to me whole. It's very simple, but as soon as I sang the words, I began to well up. It reads this way:

Still I drew rainbows in my books,
I don't know where I learned it;
Don't know how I found them,
or how they found me.

What little girl didn't go though a drawing rainbows phase or horses for that matter? Where does that come from?

When I was 9 years old my mother moved us an hour and a half north from where I had been living all my life. I'd already had a pretty rocky childhood having lived in several different houses, with different parties. I think the thing that saved me was the school I went to. I'd been with the same group of people since I was three years old. Peninsula School was the only real constant in my life. When my mother decided to relocate and take me with her to Fairfax, it was nothing short of traumatic. For the first time I was in public school with a HORRID teacher (I still HATE her) that couldn't handle an emotionally whacked out kid, who cried easily and had a hard time concentrating. It was the first time I had ever dealt with bullies--boys would wait for me after school and try to push me off my bike. Every ride home after school was a mixture of relief and terror. I was relieved to be out of school, but I had to face another battle, before I could get home. My mother worked an hour away, across the Bay, and often wasn't home until 8 at night. We had very little money and sometimes as a result, very little food. More than a few times the power or the phone was shut off. I sometimes skipped school or made up illnesses. Like usual, I drew pictures, but drawing became increasingly more important to me. I think that's when I began to live mostly in my imagination, because I was alone and didn't have any choices.

When I wrote the words "Still I drew rainbows in my books," it hit that deep truth in me that art has literally saved my life. Like for so many people, it was a way out, it was a way to hope, or to literally CREATE something different for myself. There are people in my family who didn't have something like that and are struggling deeply with life, in ways that I don't. So when people find out the whole of my experience, they always ask me, "So how'd you make it?" Truly, I think of two things--Peninsula School (which I returned to for the last 3 months of that school year and remained until I graduated fom 8th grade) and art. As it happens, I am still very close with many of my friends from Peninsula School, and art continues to be the red thread through my days, tugging me forward, keeping me going.

And I still draw rainbows--the ultimate metephor for something magical and beautiful. It's how nature makes lemonade out of lemons. It takes the downpour and mixes it with sun to create something beautiful. No one taught me that and I don't know where it came from, but it got me through a lot and everyday I am grateful.

This Day in History: A Psychedelic Warrior Was Born Today

Gary and Summer in Palo Alto in 1976!
Last night was all about the quality of the audience and not the quantity--it was the HIGHEST quality. I had such a good time last night at Micky's Blue Room. It was a long walk through the wonder that is the East Village. Why do I feel like a somebody when I am walking down the street with my guitar? It's true--a good reminder for me. I felt more myself as I made my way down the cold streets, lugging my heavy case and taking in the beautiful nightlife of this city.

Today is the birthday of my friend and record label colleague Coppelia--she turns 30! Welcome to the fold, I say! I think the 30's kick ass personally. The 20's THINK they have it going on, but the real secret is that the thirties is when you GET IT going on.

It is ALSO the birthday of my stepdad Gary. Gary has been in my life since we were both half naked babes on a commune in 1974. Difference was, I was a toddler and he was a young man who had already lived a lifetime of experiences, including (but not exclusive to) dodging the draft, actively protesting the war while on the lamb, and then doing time for not going to Vietnam.

I could tell you some very catchy things about him like how he went to high school in Connecticut and as a result got to hear Robert Kennedy speak, and visit the Andy Warhol factory as a field trip. Or, during his protest days and being on the lamb, he called himself a psychedelic warrior! Such descriptions lit up my imagination like a firework display on the fourth of July!

Gary is one of the most passionate people I'll ever meet. When he has an opinion IT WILL NOT BEND. He's not afraid to cry during movies, and I got to say, I like that in a guy. I love it that he calls me up to say, "Have you heard the new Madonna album? It's supposedly great--she's back to her pop roots."

His amazing life experiences could fill a book, and hearing about them as I grew up is one of the reasons I wanted to become a writer. I think all of us think on some level or at one point that unless we are "successful" or "famous" our lives don't mean nearly as much to the world. I can say with all honesty that Gary's life has made an impression on me--and he is ALREADY a living legend.

Happy BIRTHDAY Gary, our very own Psychedelic Warrior.