Mistakes & Regret

I woke up this morning with this sense of doom. I felt like something bad was going to happen or was happening, and yet nothing I KNEW came to mind. A number of people I know are going through probably THE HARDEST things you can go through in this life. I got an e-mail from one, and checked in with the other, and everything was all clear.

Then I pulled this card and thought OH, GREAT.

We have all made mistakes. The big mistakes take time to be made. They are almost like targets, giant bull'seyes awaiting our contact. If we'd only look up, we might be able to DODGE that end point, but we often don't look up until we go SPLAT. I have mistakes that have shaped my life profoundly. I am who I am today because of them. If I was a more EVOLVED person, I'd thank these mistakes, but they just don't FEEL THAT GOOD TO REMEMBER. As time goes on, however, I avoid remembering less and less, and this is comforting. It means, I can go back to places that mean something to me. It means, I can face myself a little more head on.

My whole life I've seen how regret over mistakes has shaped lives. If you avoid facing the regret, it leaves you with a life malformed, sometimes halfbaked. Regret hurts. There are people I still wish I could say I am sorry to, and others I wish I could kick in the nuts (like I should have done so long ago). But it's the not facing our choices that hurts us the most. Eventually, regret will get us one way or another. Like a bill collector, it will find us and make us pay WITH INTEREST.

Today, as I write this down, the regret fills me with all the memories of mistakes I still hurt over. It won't kill me, but it sure ACHES. My regret is just a place in me that needs a little more light and time. Okay, I say, here it is.

Days 14 & 15

Back from Boston

Oh. My. Goodness. I went to Boston for a gig last night with the excellent Girlyman and I just got back. That's a lot of chinatown express bus in a short period of time, folks. I don't recommend it. You tend to eat the food that you stop for, which falls in the category of CRAP. I don't usually eat that kind of category, but when you haven't had anything to eat since yesterday, the arm gets twisted and the crap gets eaten.

The show went fine for me, GREAT for the Girlyman, which is as it should be. I've got to say though that no matter HOW GOOD the show seems, when you step off the stage, you feel like an asshole. I saw Ty and Doris in the greenroom and they said, "How do you feel?" and I said, "I'm at the part of the show where I feel like an asshole." and they laughed and said, "OH YES. I feel like an asshole AFTER EVERY SHOW." These are people who tour nationally and who had to turn away a line out the door last night. People, it don't matter where you are in this big ANT HILL TO THE STARS, you are always going to feel the *TWINGE*.

I'm tired. Did I mention I'm tired? I am. Tired, that is. No sleep last night on the TPS headquarters' couch. I just couldn't muster it. But now I am back, and do you think I stopped doing my SOMETHING, AN ANYTHING project? Nope. I am having scanning issues and hope to be up and running shortly. Look forward to such exciting topics as: TRUCKS and FLOODING.

I also want to say that after a year and a half of birthday tributes to ever family memeber and friend that will have me, my dad honored ME with a birthday tribute. I feel so TOUCHED.

Also, while I am plugging for blogs, my fiends Judy and Alida have started blogs. Yes! Two friends in ONE WEEK! Judy has long been known as the WRY SAGE of our group fo friends. People will often go to her for both witty observations and for great haircuts. I am so GLAD she finally has graced the larger world with her humor and wisdom (and for photographs of her often beautiful hairdos).

Alida, is one of my favorite painters, and she lives a life that includes Estonia, Paris, Idaho, and California. I am hoping that her blog will not only display her fantastic paintings and photography, but also her insights on how to live without the word *NO* in her mind. She is a REAL adventurer.

Watch OUT internet!

Happy Birthday To Me

Hey there gang--it's raining buckets here in New York. If I stretch my neck, I can see the big hypodermic needle of the Empire State Building, rubbed out in the rain clouds. It's my favorite kind of weather.

Saturday was my birthday--HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME--and I had such a great day. You know you've shacked up with the right person, when he brings you cupcakes, flowers, presents, and coffee in bed. Thanks to Graham, who made the whole day DELICIOUS. I got lots of wonderful presents, among them some excellent books to read and drool over . I rediscovered one of my favorite illustrators, Sara Fanelli. I think her work is AMAZING--a collage Maira Kalman. I got lots of good music. I ate brunch in Central Park, and basked in the 72 degree weather! As we were walking in Central park, I said to Graham, "It's happened--I'm in love with the city ALL OVER AGAIN." He said, "Yeah, it's because of the WEATHER." The summer in New York is a real D-R-A-G, and then suddenly the temperature goes down, and it's all MAGICAL all over again.

Then we had dinner at an Indian restaurant with my friends Matt & Anne, and I have come to believe that chickpeas may be my new favorite food on the planet. I am not a vegetarian, but if all I ate was Indian and Mexican food, it would be NO PROBLEM whatsoever.

Friday I took off rather spontaneously, because Graham had given me new bookshelves and they were being delivered and G, relaized he couldn't be there. Thankfully, they came in the morning, and I spent THIRTEEN HOURS putting together bookshelves, unpacking books, moving bookshelves, and organizing my studio and the livingroom. I was so exhausted, but I love organizing these things. Maybe it's the virgo in me. I'm giving myself the gift of re-doing the studio, and the new shelves were a first step. I finally have all my art books, children's books, comics, poetry, and other books that inspre me in my studio with me, and it's HEAVEN. I kept going in and just STARING at the shelves of all the colorful books.

I'm almost half way through these 30 days of flyers and I am already having seperation anxiety. I don't want to stop doing them! My favorite of the last few days is "sunburn." I had completely forgotten about putting glue on my nose and making it peel. I love how this excersize feels so unknown. It's part of its magic. I have no idea what word I am pulling, and I have no idea where it will take me. I am often surprised at the memories that rise up, like they'd been waiting their turn this whole time. I am glad that some of you seem to be enjoying them--they make me feel alive in such a surprising and quiet way. Art has the tendancy to remind me that no time has been wasted. I have indeed lived.

Tattoo

Walks

Sunburn

I think This May Be The First Time I've Drawn a Vacuum

In case all of you are doubting it, all these flyers are 100% true. I went to a private hippie school, Peninsula School, starting in nursery school and on through eighth grade. I consider it my hometown in a way. In addition to calling a number of my classmates close friends after so much time, it STILL has a huge impact on my life today. I have an all school photograph taken in 1984, hanging on my studio wall, and when someone asked me what it was, and I told them, Graham immediately followed with, "Peninsula is a big part of knowing Summer."

Like all private schools, it wasn't cheap. I'm not sure how my parents paid for it up until fifth grade, given that having a home was sometimes precarious, much less independent schooling. I do, however, know that at one point, it looked like I wasn't going to be able to stay due to finances. Things were pretty bleak, and my dad did what he could to make sure that I could stay there. Every sunday, he would go to Peninsula and do janitorial duties so that I could stay as a student.

Of course, in the beginning, he made me do it with him. Looking back on it, why wouldn't he? As a ten year old, who had a sketchy homelife (which included an even sketchier relationship with parents), and who didn't quite understand that my dad was providing a privelaged experience in the only way he could, I wasn't gracious about going with him. I was FURIOUS about it. I akinned it to a popularity contest with my step mom, who went once with us and then never "had to" go again. I thought he was MEAN and UNFAIR. I didn't get it and wouldn't for a long time.

There's a lot of dirty laundry in my history with my parents, but my dad deserves to be acknowleged for providing the one safe place, where I felt at home, where I was building some of the most important connections of my life, and which continues as a driving foundation for my life today.

I'm sorry I was such a brat, dad. Thanks for knowing me enough to know I needed that place, and for making sure it was there. I love & salute you!

The Friend that Got Away

Last year a book called The Friend Who Got Away came out. It was a compilation of essays that came out about women and their friendships that for one reason or another, fell apart, or went away. It had a big response--lots of publicity, but in my life, it had a direct response: I had three old girlfriends contact me because of that book. I was touched by these contacts and happy to hear from them all. When I happily responded to all three, only one ever contacted me again. At first, I was confused by this (and a little mad). I mean, why go out of your way to send a heartfelt note to someone, as a way of reaching through the years of distance, if you don't want to reconnect? In one case, that was pretty par the course for that friendship, and it was a relief to remember that, and let it go. I realized that it was a small gift for what it was--just an acknowledgement that I was important to them at one point. I am happy to still be connected to one of the women who wrote, and to rekindle a more mature friendship than I think each of us was capable of at the point we lost touch.

I think part of the huge response to this book was that friendships ending is a part of life, but it doesn't ever get talked about in a direct way. I feel ashamed to admit that any of my friendships have ended. It feels more like a failure than a romantic relationship ending somehow. And yet, it happens. We don't talk about it, and somehow there doesn't seem to be a place for this to exist as a real part of life, like break ups.

When I pulled today's index card, I didn't want to do it. In fact, I threw the card in the garbage, but then reconsidered, and retrieved it out. The rules of these 30 days is that I HAVE TO DO what the card shows up. So I did it, and it was fun, but there was a whole other tragic opera playing in my head while I did it. It was the story I didn't want to touch upon.

I am in the throws of grieving what seems to be the end of a very long and important friendship. For years I considered her my best friend. Although there are good reasons--on both ends--for this change, it's still hard. It was a long standing relationship--one of my longest--and no matter what it felt like towards the end, I still loved her deeply (I still LOVE her deeply). I still appreciate very much who she is, and all that we shared and it's sad. I don't really have any words for it. And yet, by the same token, I know in letting this relationship go, and the dynamic that came with it, I have made room for her to have growth and strength where I was taking up space, in the same way that letting it go has left room for me to grow.

I may be taking a huge chance in writing about this, but it's a loss that is no small potatoes and sometimes when you have no guidebook, you have to make your own way. I wish there was a known process for this, but there isn't--so I go with what is there: grief, regret, relief, and letting go. I pick it out ofthe garbage, avoid it, and then tell the story anyway.

Big Skies

This morning I was taken back to my first fall in Boston--what I considered my first time living in a BIG CITY. I was determined that every new experience I had, whether moving to a new city, or having a new job was to be MATERIAL for any writing. I was 24. Sylvia Plath was still my model for what a writer does. She lives and records EVERYTHING. She volunteers for things because it will give her material.

I was living in a small aprtment with my boyfriend at the time. When I say small, I mean a TWO ROOM studio. For two pwople, that's a little much. I was serious about getting up every morning to write. The first morning I got up to sit by myself and drink coffee and write, my boyfriend, a very enthusiastic sort, felt inspired to do the SAME and came into the kitchen to CHAT. Apparently, he hadn't gotten the MEMO that I got up at 5:00, because there was usually a guarantee that NO ONE ELSE WAS UP? I was young and very selfish. I got mad. I was HUFFY. Didn't he GET that I was a SERIOUS ARTIST and needed to be ALONE to be so SERIOUS?

So I tried somethig else. I walked in the dark early hours to the subway, and then I got into work by 6:30. I had an hour and half before my job began. It was HEAVEN. The corporate building I worked in had giant windows that overlooked the rooftops of Cambridge. I'd get the horrid coffee that spewed out of a machine, and then sit and watch the light change. It was magnificent. Some of the best sunrises I've ever seen came in over the sleeping university town of Cambridge. It seemed like bigger skies than I'd even seen in Texas an Wyoming. Then I'd turn around and with one lamp lit, I'd write.

It was a ritual that lasted for about 4 months, until my new boss, a transplant from Ohio, came in at 6:45am, discovered I was there, and began spewing a list of things he wanted done. I had to explain to him that it was MIGHTY EARLY, I wasn't on the clock yet, and that I came here to write. He seemed very confused. I knew then I needed a new ritual and a new job. Corpoarte world wasn't for me. Any place that spawns people who come to work before 7:00am BY CHOICE, and who don't notice that IT IS EARLY FOR ANYBODY is not a place for me. I won't do airline reservations before 8:00am. I just won't do it.

I still look back at those mornings with RIPE NOSTALGIA. I may try it again, now that I am in a new city, with a new office that looks out through large windows at a wide sky. I liked the world I discovered at that hour, and during that time. Rich material indeed.

Back to Boston

I am opening for my friends and the extrememly EXCELLENT Girlyman NEXT TUESDAY in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Yep, I am sailing back to the bookish town to play in one of my favorite clubs, The Lizard Lounge.

Girlyman has toured with Dar Williams, The Indigo Girls, and Catie Cutis. They have amazing harmonies, great songs and frankly, THEY GLOW. Come see us all have a good time.

Summer Pierre
Opening for Girlyman
Tuesday, August 29th @ 8:00pm
The Lizard Lounge
1667 Massachusetts Ave.
Cambridge, MA

The Color of Toothpaste

When I got this word today, I felt stumped. Then I made a list and came up with a memory I had all but forgotten. I actually STILL love the color of mouthwash and Aim toothpaste, and for that matter, one of the stripes of Aquafresh!

I was telling Graham this morning of my new word and he said, "When I think of toothpaste now, I think of terrorists." I said excitedly, "SEE! Without even trying, you have conjured up AN IMAGE!!!"

I went into work today, a little happier. I'm LOVING the daily practice of doing these flyers. Listen folks, I've said it here a million times, you've heard it elsewhere from every creative guru, blogger, zen master, but it REALLY HELPS having a daily practice! It don't matter what it is--it could be 20 minutes of knitting, reading a book, talking a walk, I think doing something, the same thing, every day really helps! It helos me live consciously and it makes my mind click on and HUM. I had forgotten this, by getting out of the practice and staying out of the practice. I'm out of shape, but the minute I created something this morning I felt a pulse on the body of my life once more. PHEW!


Of course, my mind is already asking: What are you going to do with this? This HAS to be SOMETHING. To which I say, there there little EGO, this is already something. A something that keeps me in line, wakes me up, and is reminding me: I like to do stuff! I had forgotten.

I can't wait to see what happens next!

Judy & Elvis

Cigarette

She Wore Green Velvet

I've been wanting a new dress lately. I haven't been a "dress wearer" for some years now, but some days you just want to slip on ONE GARMENT and feel instantly good and ready to go.

When I was writing this quick synopsis on my favorite dress in high school, it occured to me that there used to be a time that I could find something to wear and it would make me feel FANTASTIC. In particular, dresses. I felt PRETTY in dresses. I cannot remember the last time I felt that pretty or that comfortable. I can remember the dress I graduated in high school in, and the dress I graduated college in. The college dress may be the last dress I felt COOL and POWERFUL and attractive in. After that, it's ALL DOWN HILL. Why, I wonder? Pobably, because over the years, I've become increasingly more CHEAP when it comes to clothes and I HATE shopping, like nobody's business. I also have NO SENSE OF STYLE OR THE PATIENCE for Goodwill and Salvation Army combing. My friend Jen can find the COOLEST THINGS on the planet at used places. I'm always asking: Where in the heck did you find THAT COOL outfit? She'll name some used clothing store and the entire thing cost $5! If I buy anything, having AGONIZED over a $1.50 purchase, I come home with a skirt I don't feel comfortable in and will never wear.

I am amazed at all the craft bloggers out there who go out and find the coolest most retro fabulous things at the cheapest prices. This is a GIFT, I tell you! A gift, I don't seem to posess. Plus, I live in New York, which turns out to have the MOST EXPENSIVE used places in the world. Seriously, I went to the Salvation Army to buy some pots and pans and there wasn't anything cheaper than $15! That seems a liitle steep for a BURNED OUT pot, don't you think?

I think back to the girl in the velvet dress, so ON HER WAY to being a little more SCREWED UP than she was at that moment. Things seemed a bit simpler in a sense. You had a boyfriend and a pretty dress. Behind it were other, deeper, less obvious things, of course. Still, I wouldn't go back to that boyfriend in a million years, but to find a dress (oh, to find a dress!) that made me feel like a MILLION BUCKS, that is something to return to.

Instructions on IMAGES and today's word: PLAYGROUND

If you could tell your life story listing ten playgrounds what would that story look like?

For those of you who are interested in the "images" process (hi Amanda!)--here's a VERY basic run down.

1. To make it simple, you can use the images (a.k.a words) that I use here. Using the example of "playground," in 3 minutes write down a list of 10 playgrounds of your life. At the end of the 3 minutes, pick one that has a certain "buzz" to it. If you don't feel a buzz, just pick #4.

2. Turn to a new sheet of paper and draw an X across the ENTIRE PAGE. Then write at the top of the page, the title of your playground. Ask yourself and write down the answers to teh following questions:

Where am I? What is to my right? What is to my left? What is above me? What is below me? Is someone with me or is someone coming or have they just left? What time of day is it? What tells me that? What time of year is it? What tells me that?

3.Turn to a new page and beginning with the words "I am" start writing for 5 minutes.

I have a selection of nouns that I created on a pile of index cards. I also have a selection created for me from a fellow classmate, who I traded with. That's where today's "playground" came from. The nouns were collected from a week of doing the following:

Everyday, in 3 minutes, write down a list of 10 memories you have from the previous day. Lynda Barry explained that your memory is very selective. Often when we go on vacation, we don't have memories like snapshots of the more important monuments we might have gone to see. If we've gone to Paris, we might not remember the Eiffel tower, but instead a wrapper of gum in the street, or the black beret of a man we saw walking. For a week, make a "list journal" of your days, and DON'T LOOK at them until the week has passed, then go ahead and find EVERY NOUN (including names) and write a list of them. Those are your images.

THE DISCLAIMER: I am doing things VERY DIFFERENTLY here, by limiting myself to one page and creating a drawing from it. I've also chosen to go without the "I am..." part--BUT the process of pulling a word and making a list is VERY POWERFUL and FUN. I DO do this part and then I turn the page and let whatever image is waiting for me COME UP.

By the way, in case anyone is afraid I am stealing Lynda Barry's THUNDER (which is totally impossible), she said we hoped that we would pass this on to others. It's a cool way to LIVE. I get excited everytime I do it. I encourage others to try it!

A Something, An Anything for 30 Days

It's time, homies.

I have long been inspired by arty bloggers out there who TAKE TO THE PAGE and challenge themselves a daily piece of art work. I've felt a bit stymied lately (a.k.a. unable to get over my LAZY ASS), and so I have decide to PROPOSE TO MYSELF A DAILY CHALLENGE! Do A SOMETHING, AN ANYTHING for 30 days straight.

In the Lynda Barry class I took last month, I learned to use what she calls "images"--single words that evoke a list of memories. For example, if you picked the word "CAR" you would make a list of ten cars of your life. Usually, if you pick one item from your list of ten, and you start asking yourself questions like, "are you inside or outside of the car?" or "Is it day or night out?" despite what you may first think, you have a very definitive memory around this IMAGE of the car. It's kind of magical and fun.

I've been liking the sort of one page fliers that I do here occasionally. They are done on 8.5" x 11" copy paper, with a delicious felt tip pen. They are quick and fun and I can usually find time in my day to do them. So I thought about Lynda Barry's images and decided to try to do a flier a day, based on the image word that I picked off a stack of cards I've made.

Yesterday I picked the word "Babysitters" and quickly assembled what you see here. We'll see how it goes, but I NEED A CHALLENGE badly. I feel lazy and stuck in that laziness. I need a little trickery to keep myslef going, to keep that slothful feeling of I AM BORED from getting TOO COMFORTABLE in my senses. You know what I'm sayn'?

My scanner situation is a little tricky, but I'm hoping for the next 30 days to post the SOMETHING ANYTHING every day.

wish me luck!

Music, Baby

Eddy Dyer at CBGBs Gallery

I will be in the Boston area, promoting and playing in support of my dear friend Eddy Dyer's CD re-release of his 1999 debut, Explosion Alone. It's cool, there's a lot of other acts besides me to celebrate this acoustic punk-folk gem into the world. I did the artwork so long ago! If you're in Boston, come on down:

Eddy Dyer's CD Release of Explosion Alone
with Summer Pierre, Pragnus Gray, Jah Sun Berube, and Black Wednesday
Saturday, August 19th, 7-10pm
$5 Cover
at the Lily Pad
Inman Square
1353 Cambridge Street
Cambridge, MA


I also just learned that my CD is NOW AVAILABLE at amazon and CD Baby, OH YEAH!

Friends, Migraines, and Blogging

I had a relatively great weeekend. This last week I had been UBER SOCIAL--literally, seeing someone every night. This was after Graham and I sat down at a cafe last sunday and made a potential wedding invite list. We realized that there are only about three people on that list that are in our New York life. The rest are all in California. It was one of those moments where you ask, "What am I doing here?" Nearly all the people we love and treasure are not just away, but FAR AWAY. Being that it was sunday evening, potentially one of the most LONELY times of the week, we sat there with the list and looked at eachother like two castaways on a deserted island. Almost as if the world was eavesdropping, some friend would call up or e-mail and say, "Hey, what are you doing later?" It turned out to be PACKED. The 3 New York friends called, and then two new ones, and then old friends who just moved here beckoned, and it was GREAT. The weather was GLORIOUS and I got to go to areas I never go, like the Bronx and all the way through (and back again) to Prospect Park. I got to go to two of my favorite New York spots. More than that, I got to talk beyond politics and weather. I got to listen and really HEAR about what people are up to, what they are thinking these days, what is exciting to them. It's exciting to me too. I even got GOOD MAIL. In one day I received a card from my best friend Jenny Sue and a novel manuscript from my friend Rico. The world was outstreching its eely tenticles and saying, WE KNOW YOU ARE HERE!

It was MUCH needed.

And then...the waves come in and the waves go out...

I was down for two days with a raging migraine sunday and yesterday, with no relief. Yesterday was the worst. I kept twisting and turning in bed trying to get SOME relief, and then when I couldn't find ANY, and I would just cry from the horrendous pain on the right side of my brain. I am fragile and a little weepy today, due to a migraine hangover. It seems now I don't get migraines as often as I used to, but when I do: WATCH OUT! I am grateful to be up and out today, but when I almost started crying out of frustration at the late and crowded subway, I knew that my chemicals were still trying to assemble themselves and regroup after the storm.

I was asked recently WHY BLOG? Lately, it's been a question on a lot of people's minds. Today, as I chart the greatness and the low levels of the last few days, i see why. I had FORGOTEEN ALREADY all the joy I experienced right up until Saturday night. The memory of it had been obliterated by all the pain and illeness--but writing it down here was like putting the pieces back together. I like being able to witness ALL OF IT. Don't you? So often we write down the lessons--for me, it's writing down the WHOLE OF IT, so that I may look back and see how I haven't lost anything. By writing it down, the truth of it remains. It's good to taste the sweetness of so much company, and not have it lost in the hangover, which will evaporate anyway. I don't mind seeing THAT go. I do mind forgetting all the riches that came my way.

Some Things I've Been Thinking

Have a GREAT WEEKEND!

This Just In...

A quick update to No Trespassing: the party that appropriated the artwork, wrote me a huge apologetic e-mail and was very nice and asked if there was some way we could work something out. I feel SO MUCH BETTER! Now I am HAPPY to help with their artwork. He also said he TOTALLY UNDERSTOOD as a fellow artist. Yay for fellow artist understanding! PHEW! I have *RENEWED* FAITH in HUMANITY! HOORAY!

No Trespassing

Here's a question: Has anyone been lambasted with hate mail or had their artwork appropriated from their blogs?

These are two new experiences in blogging I've had recently. I know there's a part of that I should feel somehow good about--like I am on to something, and people are reacting to it, but I just don't like it. They are the two things that have made me want to quit having a blog.

I don't mind telling my story--given that it's a PARTICULAR part of my story. I don't mind people from out of the blue finding me out. That part doesn't bother me. I will admit that when people I know say out of the blue "I see from your blog you're not around this weekend." THAT'S a little weird, when I didn't know they knew about my blog. Other issues are people believing they are IN TOUCH with me by reading my blog, and therefor having a whole relationship to the blog that I am not privy to. That's been a problem a couple of times. On the whole, though, my friends and enemies and ex-boyfriends and old college cronies and whoever might give a hoot want to read my little musings, GO AHEAD. I write in public and I can't control who reads it.

Turns out I also can't control how people react to it.

Recently I had someone write to me and say they had found a piece of my artwork by Googling, and they were using it for their product. Could I send them a better quality scan of the image? Whatever happened to asking FOR THE IMAGE FIRST? I would have had a totally different response if they had said, hey I found this, and it’s totally cool, could we use it? I would have been PSYCHED. I told them as much, but there hasn't been any response and as far as I can tell they are still using it. This is more than a little troublesome to me. Since they are artists themselves, I wondered how THEY would feel if their art was just snapped up and used for whatever thing someone else wanted. I appealed to this part in them. Apparently, that doesn't move them.

Then there is the hate mail, which is strange and ugly. Nothing says FRESH MEAT like anonymity and the internet. People will say some of the most inhumane things because they can do it without responsibility. I don't like anonymous comments because even though there are a wide variety of people commenting under the name 'anonymous'--it seems like just one, schizophrenic person. Anonymous is one voice. People feel freer to say what they want in anonymity, but I'd rather they made up a name than did it anonymously. If you say something nice, do you want to be grouped in with people who want to kill dogs and call people names? Seriously, that's who you're buddying up with. I open up Anonymous comments with my breath held. Will it be something thoughtful or a cow pie in the face?

There are a lot of good reasons for blogging: connecting to a larger world, witnessing your own process, and your own life, getting your voice out there, and a daily practice of writing. This is why I still do it. Yet, these new developments disturb me and make me want to run for the hills. I must admit that.

What is sacred? On the internet, not much. It's like the New West, we are trying to establish and figure out. There's a lot of good and promise and then you come up against the people who just like to wreak havoc because they can. In the grand scheme of things, and even in the internet, my blog really doesn't mean that much. It does however, mean something to me--and so does my artwork and so do my feelings. I am asking how do I withstand, in my SMALL CAPACITY, the vulnerability that it creates? And then, as an artist, knowing once you let something out into the world, it has a life of its own--how do I make peace with that? Do I shut up, fold up camp and head back where I came from? I don't want to, and I doubt I will, but it's weird. And further more, what can I do for my own behalf? On my little plot of land, in this big bad New West, I can set up rules and notices and then do my best and hope my best is good enough.

The Tyranny of Something Fun

Graham has been working weekend evenings as a catering waiter. It's mostly for weddings, although he recently worked a sweet sixteen party that was so over the top that it resembled a 1970's variety show in scope and SCALE. Because we don't see each other on Fridays at all or in the evenings on Saturdays, Sundays seem to have this looming importance. Yesterday Graham said the dreaded words, "I want to do something FUN with you." Oh, the tyranny of "SOMETHING FUN"!

The words made me immediately grumpy because I am just shit out of fun lately. I've discovered that summertime in New York is worse than any winter I've ever experienced. This includes winters in Vermont, which starts in October and lasts until May and sometimes reaches as low as 14 below zero. I feel trapped by the discomfort and the crowds. I can't do much artwork, because my studio is about the right temperature to singe the meringue of a BAKED ALASKA. Ditto for the rest of my apartment, except the bedroom, which is where the AC resides. Unfortunately, the bedroom (which I am beginning to think of as our home, within our home)is starting to resemble a campground after Labor Day weekend. There are scraps of existence like a mote around the bed: Empty water glasses, books, the torn off flaps of Netflix envelopes, DVDs, notebooks, pieces of paper shredded by the cats, etc. It's like the bed of a mono patient, only we are quite well (at least physically).

You can see why Graham wanted to do something fun, but when you proclaim an intention of fun, I think it's best to have an idea for said desired fun. Of course, he had no ideas and neither did I and so we went for the readily accessible: We decided on the Metropolitan Museum of Art, because it was air-conditioned and it was SOMETHING READILY TO DO on a BUDGET.

Upon entering the Met, a security guard pushed his way through the line muttering angrily, "Get the F%$K out of my way." Which made me feel so welcomed and glad to be there. Then there was the realization--the TRUE realization--that it was Sunday at noon and we were in one of the largest tourist traps in town. Not only that, we didn't really have a plan and when visiting the Met, it's best to have a plan because it is big and confusing and you have to do a lot map searching and navigating through LARGE CROWDS. These days, navigating through large crowds is my absolute FAVORITE thing to do (insert sarcasm here).

We didn't last forever. We saw van Gogh and Degas and all the greatest hits of art. I knew that I wasn't in a good space, when the art seemed as flat to me as a poster on a wall. I kept thinking: It's ART! It's YOUR THING! Dang it, WHY CAN'T YOU FEEL SOMETHING? It's FUN! When I saw the Georgia O'Keeffe's--something that usually moves me to no end--and all I wanted to do was take a nap on the padded benches, I knew it was time to call it a day. I think Graham was feeling similarly, because he usually outpaces me, given that his legs are a good foot longer than mine, but he kept DRAGGING.

We went to Central Park, found some shade, and lay down. It was the best idea we've had in a month. It wasn't necessarily FUN, but it was quiet, and outside, two things we've been missing. And when the wind picked up, and we felt a SOFT BREEZE, you could feel the whole city just breathe a big sigh of collective relief.

Heatstroke

Nothing exciting to report here in the land of New York, other than to join the chorus across the nation that is crying out: IT'S FRIGGN' HOT! It will hit 105 today, and whith humidity, it will FEEL like 115. Either way, one knows they are UTTERLY SCREWED when it is 85 degress at 6am.

First thing to note about New York: you can escape the heat and you can escape the crowds, but you can't DO BOTH. EVERYONE has the same ideas. Every single large, public space with air conditioning is JAM PACKED. I went to see a couple of movies this weekend, only to discover them MOBBED and every movie SOLD OUT. People were buying tickets for Woody Allen's Scoop, a movie that was headlined as "'Scoop' is Poop" in a recent review, by the handful, that's how much they wanted to be out of the heat.

I remember this sort of behavior happening when I lived in Boston. One very hot summer, my friend Rob and I would go see the CRAPPIEST movies just for air conditioning. Once, we went to see Lake Placid, in the middle of the day, only to discover the theater was packed and that the show was completely sold out. I would never in a million years have seen that movie, unless I was DESPERATE. Believe me, when you see Betty White, playing a sweet faced grandma with the most unbelievable potty mouth, you know you are seeing a movie that was made for DESPERATION. I used to believe that summer blockbusters were made for the kids and the vacationers. What they are really made for are REFUGEES from their sweltering apartments.

I've recently discovered I am prone to heatstroke, having got it twice in the last month, and I want to make it clear to everyone that a movie theater in New York is the LAST PLACE ON EARTH you want to be when your heatstroke peaks. I thought a movie theater was the BEST place for me--it was dark and COLD. I forgot that I had to first buy the tickets, which means buddying up with a ton of hot people in an un air conditioned area first. It also means, making your way in the river of man to the theater, where the darkness and the cold may take place. Then there is the fact that when you have heatstroke and are feeling like you're going to, well, DIE, you don't want to navigate through THOUSANDS of people. You pretty much want to lay down and close your eyes and never wake up. I was sitting, trying to watch The Devil Wears Prada, when it hit me that underneath my raging headache, I was about to throw up. Not in that, "I feel sort of nauseas," but in that way of "GANG WAY! GANG WAY! It's COMING UP!" It was a blessid miracle that there wasn't a line the length of the The Great Wall of China in the bathroom, like there usually is. For those of you who have thrown up in a public place, you know for better and for worse, that you've somehow left a PART OF YOURSELF there and it will NEVER BE THE SAME.

Graham and I put on a movie last night that showed a different New York. It was a New York in November and I said, "Lookee! Remember that? They are wearing SWEATERS!" It seemed so EXOTIC, like a foreign land that only shows up in OUR DREAMS. Was it ever like that? Could it ever be like that again? Do I DARE to dream it? Then I went outside our one air conditioned room, our bedroom, and was slammed by the stiflingheat outside the door. The humidity came over me like an amnesia, and I thought, HOGWASH. I'll never be able to wear anything long sleeve EVER AGAIN. Or got the movie theater in Union Square, for that matter. The stall in the back. To the right.

One Year Ago Today...

Clouds Over New York
Originally uploaded by summerpierre.

Today is the one year anniversary of me MOVING TO NEW YORK and shacking up with Graham. Hallelujah! It has been quite an unbelievable year. Usually, the first year anywhere totally blows, and I've had my down moments, but on all honesty I can say that my first year in New York has been overall REALLY FANTASTIC. It's been an incredible year of change, looking outside the box, and serious GROWTH.

On the way to work this morning, I was thinking about what my first impressions were of actually living here. I was thinking about the 10:00pm taxi drive, getting lost, and looking out at the warm, black night. I've made that drive a number of times since then, but it isn't the same drive. What I passed on that first night was totally alien. Now, it is all familiar. I remember how we met up with our super, Tony, who let us into an empty apartment. We ate ice cream and slept on the floor and watched Dirty Dancing on Graham's laptop. The floor was hard as a ROCK. I looked around the blank apartment and wondered, how would this ever be my home? And, of course, it is.

Highlights of the last year include: meeting the wonderful Felicia (my first New York friend--bless you!), going on tour for the first time in 5 years, playing shows, painting, meeting the illustration chair at SVA, playing in the subway, writing new songs for the first time in 3 years, being taken out to the Boathouse by my wonderful friends and co-workers, adopting a cat, meeting Erica Jong & Patti Smith, taking a class by Lynda Barry, sketchcrawls with Danny Gregory, meeting the inspiring Beerhorsts, writing at the Alqonquin, reconnecting with my friends Nate and Michael, and so so much more.

I am amazed at what this last year has produced for me. I feel very changed, indeed. On a day like today, when the heat will reach up to over 100 degrees, and it's gross out, and the people are grumpy on the subway, it's easy to forget the magic that can occur here on a daily basis. But it's TRUE! I love this crazy crazy place and I am amazed with how quickly it has become home.