My Latest Obsession

Lotte Lenya, German crooner, icon.

My new favorite place in the whole world might be Gotham Book Mart. I passed it once by accident, and it seemed old and intriguing. Good thing I felt crummy enough to go on Thursday, because it was EXACTLY what the doctor ordered. Instead of the Gotham Book Mart, I think it should be called, Summer's Idea of Heaven. It's such an amazing place, it made refer to myself IN THE THIRD PERSON. Basically, all it is is an old new and used bookstore/literary landmark/gallery/home to all things literary and wonderful. I decided to go there because I had read that Henry Miller sold Tropic of Cancer and Tropic of Capricorn there for the first time in the U.S. (albeit illegally). Turns out D.H. Lawrence and James Joyce did the same thing. Upon entering the store, you can view the pay stub made out to DH Lawrence for some of his booksales.

It's three floors of books, with the hugest orange cat I'd ever seen roaming the shelves. Upstairs I found a shelving system after my own heart, where entire shelves are dedicated to one author. Collette's shelf extends to all her books, diaries, letters, and biographies--both rare and out of print. Not only did I find rare books on Sylvia Plath (my secret fetish), but FIRST EDITIONS of Truman Capote, Ernest Hemmingway, Gore Vidal, etc.--all on the same shelves as every other book. You can imagine my surprise, combing through the shelves, when I came upon a first edition of For Whom The Bell Tolls, right there, accessible! Erica Jong's first book of poems, Fruits & Vegetables, long out of print, was found there, inscribed to her neighbor!

Above the new poetry section (easily the best poetry selection I've seen in years), is a framed SIGNED picture of Carson McCullers. I thought I was going to PASS OUT. Not only that, the staff is FRIENDLY, and they don't care if you're there for an HOUR AND A HALF and don't buy anything! One of the men upstairs finally said to me: "Well, you're really taking it all in!" I said, "I've never been here before, and I think this may be my favorite place on the planet!" As an employee, what are you going to say to that? Not much, but he did show me where the memoir section was and the Susan Sontag shelf was located.

I saw an old biography of the German entertainer, Lotte Lenya. I'd seen the book before, but the picture totally captivated me. Sometimes my life can be altered by a single picture, and this photograph of her sent me reeling. When I left the bookstore, I raced back to work to find a copy of it on the internet. Since then, I've been seeking out her recordings. Her voice GIVES ME SHIVERS. I've said this before, that sometimes artists and places come to you at the right time and place. I feel my imagination and inspiration doing CARTWHEELS at these two discoveries.

Illuminated

I had a frickn' fantastic time at the Small Sprial Notebook 5th Anniversary Party (otherwise known as Felicia kicks total b-hind bash) last night. Good writing, funky people, and people liked me. Good combo, if you ask me. I hate to say it, but sometimes social situations come down to one thing: do people like me? Like everyone else, I get social anxiety, though I hide it by asking TONS of questions, so people will feel more comfortable and making them laugh. It's scary meeting new people, but when you are new in town, THAT'S ALL THERE IS--new people, new situations.

Also, coming from three years in Santa Cruz, where many people stop at the mere IDEA of doing something--instead of actually DOING IT, it's strange to be in a town where it's all about GETTING THINGS DONE. People come to New York, to live their intentions, not just talk about them, and it's a little awe inspiring at the GO GO GO attitude of so many artists here, none the least are writers. I sat with a couple last night that are both writers, and editors by profession, as well as partners in running their own literary journal. I asked, when did they get their writing done? They said at 5:30 in the morning. Then, when did they get their literary journal put togther? "Evenings." They both replied. I couldn't believe they had time to eat food, much less be at this shindig.

I was REALLY NERVOUS being the only musician at a literary event, and as it happened, I was last to go on, so I had LOTS OF TIME TO QUIETLY FREAK OUT. I hadn't practiced, no sound check, and nobody knew who I was. I went outside to tune and to warm up and enjoyed a street show of LIFE IN NEW YORK, where lots of run-by performances were happening unawares to the players. A man walked by screaming obscenities, another woman walked out in sparkling short-skirt attire, looking like she'd been transported from Studio 54, an old Chinese man swept his doorway. Then, as I was strumming the chords of "High Hopes," the doorman started singing, making up words, about having to watch the door, and letting people come in. I laughed outloud and immediately felt better. Of course, it went fine. I had thoughts that I was a total jerk, but I knew that Graham would say to me afterward that I did well. So I told myself that no matter how it FELT, a whole other reality was happening in the audience--and I was right.

I've been feeling so crummy this week, but like every single time I live my purpose and my dream outloud, I feel illuminated. This morning I am full of ideas: I want to go on a tour, I want to be playing out more, I want to join a writing group, I want to assemble some of the art I've been doing into a book, I want to finish my novel, and do cover art for it. It's the weekend. I have plans. The weather will be beautiful. Good thing I am in the right place, at the right time.

A Quick Reminder

TONIGHT!

I am playing three sweet songs in Small Spiral Notebook's FIFTH ANNIVERSARY PARTY TONIGHT. Also happening at the event: Readings by Elissa Schappell, Todd Zuniga, Joshua Mandelbaum, Idra Novey, Joan Biddle & Michelle Wildgen! Art by Michael Paige Glover! Music by me!

Thursday, April 27th, 7:00-10:00pm
$10 admission --and you get your very own copy of SSN (have it and it RULZ)
Small Spiral Notebook 5th Anniversary Party
Readings, Art, & Music
HAPPY ENDING LOUNGE
302 BROOME STREET
(B/D to Grand, J/M/Z to Bowery, F to Delancey)
212-334-9676

A Tree Grows on Park Avenue

Things to do when you feel crummy:

1. Read your favorite children's book. I highly recommend: Max Makes a Million, Blueberries For Sal, or The Little Island.

2. Draw a picture of something in front of you: your shoes, paper clips, a pair of scissors, coffee cup (you get the idea).

3. Treat yourself to a delicious beverage: smoothie, coffee, tea, or hot chocolate (with extra whipped cream).

4. Go for a walk and discover something new.

5. Hold a purring cat. I wish I could purr--seriously, how satisfying would that be?

6. Call in healthy to work.

7. Pay a bill you have been neglecting. (Sometimes taking care of business, seriously frees up some good energy)

8. Make your bed. It feels so good to get into a made bed at the end of the day.

9. Play your favorite song over and over again.

10. Make a card for someone and send it out--sometimes it helps to get over your bad self and extend the love outward.

For extra credit:

Buy YOURSELF something from your Amazon wish list. Seriously, why leave it to somebody else to get your heart's desire?

Write this list down and then TEAR IT UP. Sometimes it feels good just to say SUCK IT to a list of things to do.

Tricky Business

I'm not in a good place today. The messages in my head are like hampsters on the loose--they are making a mess of the place, chewing up all order and crapping wherever they want. I've been feeling it creeping in on me for the last couple of days. I am prone to shame, jealousy, and overall feelings of helplessness and vulnerability. It's funny, how you can make so much progress, and then suddenly slip on the banana peel and fall FLAT ON YOUR ASS.

I always know I am not doing well when I have an idea, a project I'm about to launch, or am in the beginning stages of something, and the loud, obnoxious scenerios that my ego creates in my mind are fanatsies of such rediculous grandeur. They are almost worse than criticisms, because they are so pleasant to watch that they sing you into compliance. Like yesterday, I was walking down the street, and I began to think of the most WONDERFUL scenerio of doing a book reading, where I am cracking up the audience, winning friends with my amazing wit. Who's in the audience? Famous people. Movie stars, well-known authors, people who up to a moment ago, had only heard the WHISPER of my name, but after my INCREDIBLY ENTERTAINING AND DEEP presentation all want to be my BEST FRIEND.

You're probably thinking: Is this gal CRACKED? Totally.

The truth is, I'm up against the part in me that is afraid to change, to grow beyond what is known and comfortable. I want a different way of life--a life of meaning and authenticity. I want to get some shizzle done. But the neurotic side of me says, HEY! What do you want to change for? We've got a system here and the SYSTEM WORKS. When I step over it, it yells at me that my life is a total waste. When THAT doesn't work, or I get close to something that will eradicate the STATUS-QUO it shows me movies of all the glory that I will reap, when I do all the things I am setting out to do. I stop, and drop what I am doing, dazzled by the view. It's a TRICKY BUSINESS.

I should probably take it as a sign that I am on to something--and I do, but today I am EXHAUSTED by trying to navigate this circus. I'll be okay. I've been through this SO MANY TIMES and it always passes. It's just that dang DRAGON AT THE GATE AGAIN. I must be getting too close to the gold--something he can't ever use--but has infinite value to me.

Funny, Unexpected Reunion

Summer, Emile, & Brendan in Alumni Hall, NYU

I got a call on Friday night that informed me my old schoolmate and pal, Emile, was in town from Michigan for the weekend. That's another thing about New York that is different than any other place I've lived--PEOPLE COME HERE. The same can't be said for Santa Cruz, California, which seemed like the a SUNNY SIBERIA to my friends who lived 30 miles away, or even Boston, MA--the shorter New York. New York is a place that people BREEZE in or WANT to go to.

I met Emile in the sandbox of Nursery Blue, at our old school, Peninsula. Although I don't remember the particulars, I think it's safe to assume we were probably two partially clothed 3 year olds, badly in need of baths, given that it was 1975, and we were products of hippies, and it was the SPIRIT OF THE TIMES. Emile has since grown up to don clothes and prove himself to be LIKE, TOTALLY SMART. He's currently studying brain science at the U. of Michigan. And normally, my own brain would shut down at the words BRAIN SCIENCE, but he is smart enough to make it totally interesting and exciting. He also has this WEIRD desire to GO TO THE LIMIT physically. He literally started out telling me about his next trip to California this way: "I am going to compete in a triathalon with a friend of mine. He has a pilot's license, so we are going to pack our bikes and FLY to a campground, ride our bikes the THIRTY MILES to the race, do the triathalon, and then ride our bikes BACK the thirty miles."

My words? "I'm tired."

It turned out that Emile was also seeking out another Peninsula School alumnus, Brendan Bellomo, who is studying film at NYU as an undergrad. I almost YELPED when I heard Brendan's name because I hadn't seen him since his eighth grade graduation 6 years ago. I knew Brendan from when I went back to my old school and did some project work with the fifth grade class, my first year out of college. It was a TOTAL BLAST and I fell in love with all the students and cried when I left. Brendan was one of the students I worked with. Because it is a total progressive school, and everyone is completely an individual, and very cool on their own, you're not supposed to have favorites, but I did have a favorite. Brendan was my favorite. He was one of those kids that is just funny and creative and totally smart. Then I moved to Boston and we lost touch--except for the 8th grade graduaion, which I had promised the class I'd return to celebrate with them. As it turns out, Emile tutored Brendan in sciences in high school, so THEY HAD HIT IT OFF. So here we were having this funny, unexpected reunion in New York City!

I met Emile wandering the streets aimlessly on Sunday. He explained that Brendan is a film student, as in an ARTY film student, which meant that he didn't get up BEFORE TWO IN THE AFTERNOON. I had completely forgotten this part of college existence. I myself had been up since 8:00--I was beginning to feel very old indeed. So Emile and I got lunch, waiting for Mr. Bellomo to take a shower and join us. When he did arrive, I was amazed to find that despite the three extra feet in height, and the funky eyeglasses he looked EXACTLY THE SAME. He is still a total goof, amazingly creative, and a smarty pants. I tried my best not to STARE at him like some FREAKY OLDER RELATIVE, but it was hard. I remember when he was making inventive, maze-like computer games with his best friend Japhy. Now he makes invetive ARTY music videos and short films with his best friend Japhy. (By the way, I could write a WHOLE OTHER blog entry on Japhy--who is a creative genius and part elf, but that will have to wait for another time.)

Brendan took us back to his dorm room, and upon enering the dorm building, we were hit immdeiately with STUDENT LIFE. The entrance way was crowded with fliers and announcements. There was some sort of crazy event happenning with handspun cotton candy being made and a buffet of mac and cheese, Indian food. A girl saw us and said, "Have some!" Then when we went up to Brendan's room, it made me laugh becuase it was SUCH a dorm room. It was crammed to the hilt with dirty dishes, projects in various stages, filming equipment, postcards, and occasionally, you spied a small stack of books. He showed us some of his short films that he had been working on. They were amazing, of course. Mostly animated, highly imaginative, funny, with a science fiction twist. Not unlike the director himself.

When Emile and I walked out, we both were in a daze. Emile said, "Wow. That was incredible." I said, "His films are amazing. I can't believe it, but he's exactly the same!" Emile said, "Still so full of energy and enthusiasm. It's really infectious."
"And inspiring."
"Yes."

When we got down to the lobby, all that remained were the remnants of mac and cheese. The cotton candy had been spirited away and there wasn't a trace of it left.

I'm going! I am going! I am going!

Good morning--this weekend was filled with such strange surprises. Among them that I had been granted a generous partial scholarship (thank you Maria!)to STUDY WITH LYNDA BARRY THIS SUMMER! As many of you know, this was a pained goal of mine. With the scholarship, money made from a successful show at the Sidewalk cafe, and two donations, I am going to study with MY HERO for FIVE WHOLE DAYS at Omega in July! YIPPPPPEEEEEEEE!!!! I can't thank you all enough for all your suggestions and support. It helped me extend myself beyond the normal reaches of what I believed I could have. Now a three year dream is going to be fulfilled. This is SO DANG EXCITING!

The cool thing about doing what seemed so hard to attain, is that my perspective has been shifted. I literally thought that I would never be able to "afford" this class, and yet, I really really wanted to go. Now I can't believe it, BUT I AM GOING. It may not seem like a big deal to some, but for me, a recovering poverty addict, it was hard enough to admit that I wanted something, but to risk being vulnerable and asking for help in seeing a new perspective WAS A HUGE LEAP.

We want change, but so few of us are willing to look outside the box of what we know for new solutions. These last number of months, have been a continual practice in trying on new things, looking from different angles, challenging myself to RISK LOOKING LIKE A COMPLETE IMBICILE. It feels like I am making tiny tiny steps, but if I really look, I can see that I've made progress towards the things that matter most to me. As someone who feels so often discouraged and frustrated, it's so good for me to REALLY SEE that so much has ALREADY shifted and COME TRUE. I always wanted to take a writing class, and I've been a HUGE FAN of Lynda Barry's work since I was sixteen. Her work has been urging me on, keeping me inspired, and spoken to so many parts of my life. I feel so honored that I will get to learn from her directly.

Thank you to you all for your ideas and enthusiasm, for helping me learn NEW WAYS OF THINKING. My hands my hands my hands to you.

Belief

But spiritual experiences are cumulative. They gather like waves and result in breakthroughs. Creative life does not proceed by accumulating anthills of "facts." Rather there is a slow accretion of experience, of learning one's craft, of growing spiritually, until suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, one soars to a new level. If you've experienced it, you believe. If you haven't, you disbelieve.

-Erica Jong on Henry Miller

The! Event! of! The! Season!

Next THURSDAY I am participating in the most excellent exciting event that NEW YORK HAS EVER SEEN THE LIKES OF! Yes, it's TRUE! Small Spiral Notebook's FIFTH ANNIVERSARY. We're talkn' LITERARY ROYALTY here folks! It's kind of like jumping in the pages of Small Spiral Notebook, with MUSIC! Readings by Elissa Schappell, Todd Zuniga, Joshua Mandelbaum, Idra Novey, Joan Biddle & Michelle Wildgen! Art by Michael Paige Glover! Music by me! It's a PARTY, people, to celebrate Felicia Sullivan's blood, sweat & tears of five whole years. Five years takes a literary journal-that-could and makes it into a LITERARY-JOURNAL-THAT-CAN! Won't you come?

Thursday, April 27th, 7:00-10:00pm
$10 admission --and you get your very own copy of SSN (have it and it RULZ)
Small Spiral Notebook 5th Anniversary Party
Readings, Art, & Music
HAPPY ENDING LOUNGE
302 BROOME STREET
(B/D to Grand, J/M/Z to Bowery, F to Delancey)
212-334-9676

Fearlessly, Erica Jong (and Henry Miller)

On Tuesday night I went to the Strand bookstore and saw Erica Jong discuss her new book, Seducing the Demon: Writing for My Life. I'm going to out myself right now: I am a CONFLICTED Erica Jong reader. I secretly LOVE her, but feel TOTALLY GUILTY about it. She's so flashy and cheesy in so many ways and yet, she LOVES writing and writers and is a total romantic. I relate to and am inspired by her love of letters and so that is the reason why I keep going back to her.

At the Strand, Jong was gregarious, attractive, charming, opinionated, and open. All the things that her writing paints her to be. There were a number of things she addressed as a creative that really resonated for me. For example, how blocks are psychological blocks--once you can move through what is blocking you psychologically, you can move through artistically. Also, that success is just another block. You must always begin as a beginner and not buy into your own crappy ideas of what is "good." And also, how when she avoids her writing, because she is afraid, she knows she is on to something. (I almost LEAPT out of my seat on that one.)

She talked about how when she wrote and published her famous novel, Fear of Flying, she was trying to break the mold of the "successful woman writer"-- that she must suffer, create genius, and then die. She said, "There are only FIRST ACTS in American success stories. After that, you're supposed to die so that we can say, 'Oh, wasn't Sylvia Plath a wonderful writer' or 'oh wasn't Anne Sexton a wonderful writer.'" She went on to say that she looked at the work and life of Colette for an example of a woman, who lived and kept going. Some of her works were best-sellers, some of them were not--but she KEPT GOING. That is always the point--to keep going.

Later, as I waited in line I had the usual book-signing jitters. How was I going to MAKE THIS GOOD? I felt embarrassed that I only had one book with me. I had intended on bringing all my books by her, including Seducing the Demon, but instead I had forgot, and was left with the one I happened to be reading, her book on Henry Miller, The Devil at Large. Pam gave me this book for Christmas in 1993, and although I have enjoyed its thick, red presence on my bookshelf, I'd never read it. As it turns out, after all the books I've read by Jong, THIS ONE IS MY FAVORITE. It is utterly inspiring to someone who is considering a leap into art full-time. I've heard Henry Miller quoted many times around the creative circles, but had never read him.

After seeing the girl in front of me almost start crying in the presence of her "Total hero and inspiration," I thought I was going to lose it. Instead, I explained in a quick breath how I was very sorry, I meant to bring more books, but this is the one I am reading, and I think it is my favorite book and thank you so much. Oh, yeah, and it is TOTALLY INSPIRING. She said, "Well, it's about complete surrender to the creative life."
Me: "I Know!"
Erica Jong: "I mean, that is what Henry GAVE ME. Permission to do it and be happy."
Me: (Thinking--OH MY GOD THAT's RIGHT--she KNEW Henry Miller) "I know!"
Erica Jong: "And it's about joy."
Me: "I know! I love--"
Erica Jong: (interrupting) "I think that's why everybody HATED him--he was TOO GODDAMN HAPPY!"
Me: "I KNOW!" and just as Erica Jong was about to launch into another thought, I interrupted her and said, "Well, THIS book gives me a lot of joy and so does your work. THANK YOU." and she smiled and said thank you and that was all she wrote.

She signed her book to me: "To Summer. Fearlessly, Erica Jong." I know she signs all her books this way, but somehow it felt totally RIGHT for me at that moment and with this book. Do you ever feel that things like books and artists find you at particular times in your life, when it is JUST RIGHT? That is how I feel about this book and about Henry Miller. I feel a sense of daring, a little nudge from the world that says GO.

Welcome to a World of Your Chosing

My dearest friend, Jenny Sue (a.k.a. "Greta Sue"), is about to leave her job of several years to work for PETA. I can't tell you how many e-mails, conversations, phonecalls I've had with Jen over what we like to call "Our Calling" or better yet "Our Purpose." Like so many people out there in the world, we weren't exactly satisfied with our jobs, but didn't know what to do next. It turns out, what I did next was move to New York. Jen, on a lark, applied for a job at PETA and was BEGGED to take it. She dallied a little about it, because non-profit money isn't as GRAND as corporate money, and also she was thinking about nursing as another idea for a career. But when something is right, often the world will part its waters for you to show you that the path is clear. PETA came back with another offer and a whole OTHER JOB, and Jen took it.

I can't tell you how many times Jen has said to me that wants more MEANING in her work. Also, working with or for animals was one of her many ideas she bounced around. So this is kind of a DREAM COME TRUE in many ways. She said recently that this feels like her first GROWN UP job--a job that she CHOSE. This is nothing short of a MIRACLE in these times. But here's the thing with change that not a SINGLE PERSON seems to get--no matter how many times you have experienced change--it's GREAT in the idea stage, but HARD in the launching stage. People don't ever anticipate the GRIEF that can come over you. I HATED my last job. It brought me one of the more important friendships I've had in years, but the job itself filled me with daily waves of boredom and rage and yet, when I left, I BAWLED MY EYES OUT. It was the END OF AN ERA.

For Jen's part, the job she is leaving is FILLED with people that she whole heartedly enjoys. It has MANY benefits that are wonderful and fulfilling to her life. Our friend (and her co-worker) Don P.(who has done an INCREDIBLE TRIBUTE to Jen on his blog), sent me the invite for her going away party, with this stickie note drawing I did of her awhile back and brought to her work. Jen forwarded the message to me with a note: "I'm SAAAAAAAAAAD."

I'm sure that today, her last day, will be a day of tears and sadness, filled with last minute meaningful messages and heart to hearts. But here's something that Jen already knows: She signed up for this change for a reason. I would like to be the ambassador of change for Jenny Sue, to give her a message from THE OTHER SIDE OF CHANGE. Don't look too hard at the door that is closing, because on the other side is a NEW WORLD. I say, Welcome! WELCOME TO A LIFE OF YOUR CHOSING. I AM PROUD OF YOU and SO IS EVERYBODY ELSE.

How Alive Are You Willing to Be?

HELLO PEOPLE! I was THINKING of taking a smallish break from blogging, but hadn't INTENDED to do it SO SOON. It's amazing how our thoughts become realities for us. Will you forgive me, if I indulge in a list of reaons? First, there was the fact that work got crazy again. then there was the visit from Garham's sister and baby niece. Then there were internet issues and then, well, the WEEKEND and then, (ahem) a migraine. I still have the migraine by the way, and the screen looks all WOOZY, but I just COULDN'T STAY AWAY.

Our first morning alone, without our houseguests, was eerily quiet. It was like the day after a slumber party. You look around your room and ask, WHERE ARE MY PEOPLE? Graham and I got up early and went for a walk in Central Park--something we had been doing once a week, but subway construction, coupled with Graham's total bummer of graduate school work wouldn't let us have it for a number of weeks. On this day, it was sheer perfection. The reservoir was smooth as glass, and the air was soft. The trees were blossoming in fat pink and white blossoms. We literally both teared up at how happy we suddenly were. Earlier, as we walked towards the park, I told Graham how the writer Henry Miller had grown up in our funky neighborhood fo Brooklyn. He said, "You see? I love living here. I mean, Henry Miller grew up in BUSHWICK? Hot damn!"

In the park, I was having one of those moments where I felt suddenly that EVERYTHING WAS RIGHT IN THE WORLD. I didn't yearn for anything, I was with the person I most wanted to be with, and in the place I most wanted be. I didn't have to struggle. Spaulding Gray calls this "the perfect moment." In those moments, it is SO IMPORTANT just to stop and TAKE IT IN. I complain and worry and am frustrated so much of the time, but I have to admit that since I've moved to New York, a lot of things have also slipped into place. I am more artistically free than I've been in years. I'm in a relationship that just TICKLES me every day. When you're not desperate or in survival mode, you're able to let in EXPERIENCES more fully. It's been a slow, gradual move towards this place, and I am still learning and still wanting more, but I loved to see that the daffodils were like starry eggs on stems, that the sun filled me up gloriously. I don't often feel pretty and I felt VERY PRETTY. Nothing needed to be changed.

Do I need to tell you that when I got up that morning, I didn't FEEL like going to Central Park? It was a LONG WAY and I was starting to get a migraine, but when I stepped out into the sunny streets of the Upper East Side, I was GLAD. If I had listened to that voice in me, I would have missed out on a PERFECT MOMENT. So much of life is getting up and wondering which voice to go with--the one that is a GRUMPY wet blanket or the one that says C'MON, let's GO. In truth, BOTH voices are asking the same thing: HOW ALIVE ARE YOU WILLING TO BE? I am grateful when I can step over the grump and out into the light. I always find, I am the person I always wanted to be.

Pam

I am beginning to feel a bit like the Writer's Almanac, except it's The Summer's Almanac. I am celebrating all the people I love's birthdays. Well it's my blog and I can party if I want to! And besides, it's PAM'S BIRTHDAY!

I cannot adequately describe Pam's relationship to me. I used to call her in passing as "My sorta step-mom," but that would indicate that she had been or is sorta married to my father, AND that can't be farther from the truth. She is married to my mom's second husband, Gary, who is also the father of my younger brother, Blake (still with me?). If you surmise that she is of no legal or blood relation to me, YOU SURMISE CORRECTLY. That is why, it is all the more PUZZLING and UNUSUAL and WONDERFUL that she took me in as one of her kids, when I was 8. If you know Pam, this is not quite unusual behavior. She has a habit of taking in strays. Nearly all her cats historically have come to her in this way. Not only that, she takes them in and feeds them TURKEY and HALF & HALF.

I can tell you, as one of her early strays I DID NOT get turkey & half & half--but I did get some of the best meals I'd gotten in any home. When I was 8 years old, she came by one morning, with my brother, to give me a ride to school. When I didn't come out, she sent Blake, my 4 year old brother, to come get me. When I appeared in a soiled, wrinkled dress that had been picked up off the floor, my hair in knots, with a rotten grapefruit for lunch, she made a decision. Instead of taking me to school, she took me home and brushed my hair and made me a lunch. From that point on, she made sure I had a lunch. I remember those lunches CLEARLY. They had peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwiches, grannysmith apples, crackers, and a thermos filled with cold OVALTINE. I WAS IN HEAVEN. It's a story that still makes me cry with appreciation, and sincerely it is only the TIP OF THE ICEBERG of what she has provided for me.

There are a million things I could go on and on about in regards to Pam. She is GOOD AT EVERYTHING SHE DOES. She's the kind of person that just seems to KNOW EVERYTHING. How do you fix some crumbling stairs? She knows. How do you tell if a cat is pregnant? Believe me, she KNOWS. She is an incredible cook, sewer, artist, craftsman, carpenter, you-need-it-done-she-knows-how-to-do-it-person. She made EVERY SINGLE NAPKIN for her son, Josh's wedding, so that the tables could be COLOR CODED by NAPKIN. She also is the most RUTHLESS Scrabble player you'll ever be up against(beware, people). She taught me the love of books, quiet walks on beaches, and the beauty of shells and driftwood. Her homes have always been filled with incredible collections of everything from toys, masks, thriving plantlife, and cool antiques. Oh yes, and jars of CANDY. Basically, if the shizzle goes down, I am going to PAM and GARY'S house, because why not greet THE APOCALYPSE with chocolate in your mouth and a good book?

She is also a very private person and doesn't like A LOT OF ATTENTION (hi Pam!), so I am sure she is SQUIRMING IN HER SEAT as she reads this and sees her PHOTOGRAPH UP FOR ALL THE WORLD TO SEE. There is a joke in our family that if you want a photo of Pam, we always have to catch her UNAWARES. That's why for years the only images we had of her was turning around at the sound of her name being called. Not exactly the best images to have for posterity. That is one of the reasons I love this picture. It was taken in Max's Opera Cafe, in San Francisco, after one of those perfect days where it's good weather and everything is delightful. When I took this picture, I had the feeling that I was AT LAST getting a VERY RARE and GOOD LOOK at an otherwise shy creature of the wild. I took it quickly and QUIETLY. It is STILL my favorite picture of her and it reminds me of a perfect day we had together and how many days are great when you spend them with Pam.

Happy Birthday.

Um, is anybody else scared by this image?

This is one giant ass bunny. His name is Herman. If I were that guy holding him, I'd be afraid. Apparently, the bigger they are, the cuter they ain't. The bunny's head is THE SAME SIZE as his owner's. Look at the size of those EARS, Batman! Those back paws? Size fives. I think Herman may be larger than my KID BROTHER. Here's another image, just in case you DIDN'T BELIEVE YOUR EYES the first time (I didn't):
If I were that rabbit I'd be thinking "The minute this guy puts me down, it's my BACK PAW to his BACKSIDE and guess who's winning?"

Journal #74 & Blog Entry #200

journal #74
Originally uploaded by summerpierre.

This is my third attempt at at blog entry today. I've started them, but then thought better of it, and put them in 'save as draft' folder. Sometimes I think it would be interesting to assemble all the drafted but not published blog entries. It would be an unruly, incoherent, and probably more raw and emotional in some places assemblage.

A friend once asked me what is the difference between my journal and my blog. In a word: PLENTY. They are not the same creatures to me at all. They both serve a purpose, but the journal and I go WAY BACK. We're sort of a marriage that I won't ever break off. I can't quite equate it to any other relationship that goes in human realms, even though journaling is SO HUMAN. It's just that journaling for me is so messy, explicit, intimate, boring, fascinating, and PRIVATE. The blog is just a sort of place where I have an idea and so I let it slip. It's more like a collection of chatty episodes, whereas the journal, as Sylvia Plath called hers, is "My Sargasso." It's a deep sea of ideas and beliefs and messy episodes in paint, pen and pencil. I don't see them as linked at at all.

I was realizing yesterday, perusing all my books--(sometimes I go visit my books and pull out the ones that I have read a million times, or examine ones that I've been meaning to get to)--that I am at the end of a longstanding phase of reading the published personal works of artists. My library is FULL of such books: diaries by Anais Nin, May Sarton, Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf; Letters by Vanessa Bell, Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf, Georgia O'keeffe, & Anne Sexton. For awhile, I preferred these works to the original published works by these artists. I loved the life process. I still do, but lately, I have had this exciting feeling of liking the art and appreciating the art, beyond the artist. I think it's because I no longer depend on them to tell me how to live. I wanted a *CLUE* how to have anrtist life, but in reality I just lived vicariously, which is not really living authentically atall. It's a new phase for me, which is also changing how I journal. My journals have always been visual, but lately, because my work is more visual, I want to fill my pages with more art and collage and EVIDENCE of what my days are like. I like collaging for the PHYSICAL things that they are created from, because they are also a little time capsule. They speak of physical gestures, and pieces of living and ideas. Paint strokes speak to me more now than a letter in a book. I think that is one of the reasons I will always love seeing a Van Gogh in person--you stand there looking at the wildness and the thickness of his paint and you see EVERY GESTURE that the man made. You stand before his work, keenly aware that he stood just where you are, jabbing at the color to make what you see now.

I want my journals to express the gestures of my life. I want my journals to be a happy place to turn to, even when I am miserable. The blog is a tap dance I do, even among all the mess that I express--it's still a paragraph that ends neatly. Both serve a wonderful purpose, but there's no confusing the two. With the blog, I might write something that feels too naked and too raw--and not publish it. The journal is not a place to consider such things. It only knows where you are in that moment and it considers nothing but the guts it catches as you sling it on its pages.

Some Thoughts after a Year of Blogging

1. I am always ALWAYS tempted to talk about work and sometimes relationships, but if you can't say it someone's face, you can't say it here.

2. Blog writing is a very different form of writing--it's got its OWN THING going on. Like take the ALL CAPS. It's somehow satisfying and it RELATES something that I enjoy, but unless I am John Irving and have a character named Owen Meany, I can't write fiction or essays in ALL CAPS.

3. Without meaning to, you repeat yourself. I see one of my friends and say, "Hey, the funniest thing happened, I went to go get ice cream..." and they'll stop me and say, "I know, I read it on your blog." DOH!

4. If you don't want to be found out by past friends, relatives, old lovers, bosses, co-workers, your postman, or local gas attendant, than blogging is not for you.

5. Blogging creates a whole new set of problems that you didn't anticipate, among them a strange cyber social structure, that you unwillingly participate in. Once a friend asked me on the phone, "I noticed you took So-and-so off your links. Did something happened between you?" I was like, HUH??? I quickly explained, NOTHING had happened, I just use that list as a way to check blogs every day, and they weren't updating enough to warrant every day checkage. Also, I get insecure about MY popularity. I have a remedy for blog-insecurity now. Every time I feel insecure about the number of people reading/or not reading my blog, all I have to do is go and visit Dooce. She got over 1000 comments and I just looked on her flickr site and saw that a single picture of hers has been looked at almost SEVEN THOUSAND times. I kinda have to laugh at myself. I remember my shrink asking me years ago: Do you want to be Madonna, or do you want to be Lucy Kaplansky--who has a small, but a DEVOUT following (my shrink was a huge fan)? I said I wanted to be like Lucy Kaplansky. I don't know if I'll ever be Lucy Kaplansky, but I think Dooce may be the blog world's Madonna.

6. Sometimes I want to quit writing the blog and then I get scared to do it, and then THAT is a scary feeling.

7. It's unbelievably addictive. Especially when you are on a roll and feel particularly smart-assy and arty or have a FUNNY STORY you are bursting to tell.

8. I have always "had a sense of humor" but never have been able to put that down in my writing. I've always been a very SERIOUS writer. There is something about blogging that allows me to CRACK JOKES and MAKE FUN OF MYSELF and be A DORK and I LOVE IT.

9. There are some great people out there in the blog world. There are also people who take it WAY TOO SERIOUSLY. Years of therapy have led me to conclude that I am the former and a year of blogging had taught me I am also the latter.

10. I hate anonymous comments.

[PS (because I just can't HELP myself.) I've read in various places that some people believe the blog world is too accessible, meaning anyone and everyone can do it. Therefor, it has become overcrowded and watered down. I tell you simply this is impossible. Also, the blogging world is SORELY lacking a few people I know to be very brilliant with stories to tell and wonderful points of view. I would like to salute the would-be bloggers, who if I cow them into submission, by publicly outing them, might be persuaded to join the fold: Judy, Boreas, George, Ted Serious, Pete, Steve, and Rico. Until your words and life illuminate the blogosphere, I say: Shine on you crazy diamonds.]

One Year

I Cut My Hair

I feel funny.

Another Riveting Series of Dialogues in the Pierre-Parsons Household

Graham and I are avid movie watchers. We don't have TV, but we do have a laptop with a DVD port. So we watch a steady stream of movies that Netflix (otheriwse known as the BEST IDEA on the PLANET) provides about twice a week. We usually stick to calssics, independents, and documentaries. Once Graham had a lapse moment and rented Shakespeare In Love, and was SHOCKED when he discovered it was a RUN OF THE MILL HOLLYWOOD PRODUCTION. I said, "It was starring Gwenyth Paltrow AND BEN AFFLECK! What did you EXPECT?"

Awhile back Graham came home and said, "So, I've got something I need to talk to you about." I froze, thinking OH NO. I don't know why I got scared, since last time he said, "There's something I need to tell you" it was followed with "I like Bernie Mac." Yet, I braced myself for A BIG TALK. He continued, "I was looking at our Netflix Que and saw that MY DATE WITH DREW was on it."

After I lost about twenty pounds from letting out a HUGE BREATH OF RELIEF, I shrugged and said, "Yes?"

"Is there something you want to explain to me?"

When we first moved to New York one of the movie posters that was plastered everywhere was for a movie called My Date With Drew--a low budget documentary about a guy that has something like $1000 and a dream to get a date with Drew Barrymore. We found the poster awful, with the wind blown Drew Barrymore looking sheepishly over her shoulder, while "the Regular Joe" stared up at her with a windsom smile, holding a gerber daisy. Often we would mock it and laugh.

Then my friend Jenny Sue saw the movie and said it was really inspiring and recommended it to me. I thought, maybe, just to maybe LIGHTEN IT UP A LITTLE I'd throw it in our Netflix que. The great thing about Netflix is that it is TOTALLY NO PRESSURE. You're not spending $10.50 to see a movie, and there are no late fees or anything involved, so if you don't like it, you send it back, knowing there is more where that came from. What could it hurt if we didn't watch a movie for once that wasn't in a foreign language, or dated around 1940, or somehow DEEPLY PROFOUND? I mean, it's called entertainment for a reason, right?

I explained all this to Graham, who finally conceded, when he realized I wasn't taking it SERIOUSLY, that I was trying just to HAVE SOME FUN. He still won't let me rent Oprah's 20th Anniversary special, but I am willing to pick my battles.

Since this conversation, I'd say that My Date With Drew was one of the most eagerly anticipated films in our little household. We'd look at our list of movies and say, "Guess what is coming next?"
"My Date with Drew?"
"Well, first we have The Women starring Joan Crawford and Norma Shearer and the heartbreaking and devestating film on Iraqi children, Turtles Can Fly. THEN we have...MY DATE WITH DREW!"
Finally last week I was able to say to Graham: "Oh look waht came in the mail! Stanley Kubrick's Lolita and...yep, you guessed it..MY DATE WITH DREW!"

So it was with great anticipation that we turned on the ol' laptop and put in the disc with the sheepish Drew and the windsom Regular Guy on the top and LET THE GOODTIMES ROLL.

I won't give you a review of the film. I don't want to ruin it for you. I will tell you that my sick mind of strange 80's celebrity trivia made me think: I bet you Corey Feldman's in this film. As it happened, I was RIGHT ON THE MONEY. Also, that the best part of the movie for me was when I discovered there are other people in the world who love Grease 2 (the best worst movie on the planet). I will also just say that Graham was kind at the end not to say, "What did you EXPECT? It was about a guy trying to get a date with DREW BARRYMORE." I know he was thinking it, and so I appreciate the restraint. Seriously, what a guy.

The Ancient Battle Between Good and Evil: Sleater-Kitty vs. The Black Glove of Death!

First our hero goes into a deep zen/Jedi knight/Ghandi-esque meditation to summon all her super power strength.

Then, just when the Black Glove of Death LEAST EXPECTS IT, Sleater-Kitty MAKES HER MOVE!

This is going to be a battle TO THE DEATH!

"I will get thee knuckle!" Cries Sleater-Kitty as she goes into the Black Glove of Death's BARE BONES.


Through the mountains and the valleys below, the villagers could hear the OUTCRY of NEAR VICTORY...


...as Sleater-Kitty makes the Black Glove of Death SAY UNCLE!