My Brother Teaches Me the Beauty of Digital Cameras With Their Unlimited Photographs and Instant Delete Capabilities

Today At the Park I Remember the Joy of the California Sun and the Singing Voice of My Little Sister Lily

The Flavor of Love

Well, folks we landed in the sweet scented southern reaches of San Diego late Wednesday night. It was the first time I've taken an afternoon flight , so I had time in the earlier part of the day to totally FREAK myself out by doing things hugely important at the last minute, like picking up calendars and mailing out the last of them, before I weepily said goodbye to my cats and got on a plane. Let me tell you, in case you were doubting it, that this was a DUMB thing to do. Kinko's is good when you have no pressure. When you have the TIGHTEST of deadlines, you might as well expect EVERYTHING to go wrong. It did. They "misunderstood" me and didn't print ANY, even though I had called a couple of days prior to follow up and see if they could squeeze in two more, so my, um, MOTHER could have one. No dice. Basically, after I used STRONG TONES, they made me two that very morning so I could fill a last order that had been waiting ever so patiently, but none of my family is getting them until the New Year (sorry guys!).

For anyone who has flown Jet Blue, you know that two things happen: you get snacks, like a big chewy chocolate chip cookie or blue chips and they have CONSTANT STREAMING of cable TV. I had high hopes that I would stave off the cable TV demon, and read my new book that I had been saving for the flight. Since I don't own a TV and yet have an INSTANT ADDICTION to it, the minute I see those pictures moving, this proved almost impossible. I thought, "Oh, I'll just watch as we are taking off..." but once I came across a marathon of the reality series The Flavor of Love, I WAS A GONNER.

In case you don't know, The Flavor of Love, stars the giant clock wearing "mascot" of Public Enemy, Flavor Flave. 20 women with desperation tattooed across many body parts compete for the love of Flavor Flave. I came in at the last 6 (thank the sweet stars). Like most low budget reality series, showing on VH1, it was a CAR WRECK, that I couldn't stop watching. Flavor Flave speaks in the third person and usually appears like a strange Rumplestilsken character, who speaks in gibberish through his gold teeth. I came in on one of the women, weeping, saying, "I know I truly love, Flave. He is such...an amazing person." REALLY?

There were cat fights that included LOOGIES. There were shameless plugs for products. There were meetings with nightmarish parents. There were shower scenes that should have been reserved for Snoop Dogg's next home video project. There was Briget Nielson in all her AMAZON glory. There were costume chanages. There were MOMENTS of TRUTH. There was strange displays of delusional thinking.

I couldn't STOP watching. Even when I grew bored and mildly angry, feeling the soft pull of my SOUL being SUCKED OUT THROUGH MY NOSE. I had to keep watching because I needed to find out: who would win Flave's love? Would it be Hoops or New York???

I did end up reading some of my book, but by the time I got off the plane, I had that very distinct TV hangover, where I feel depressed and under the belief system that the world is coming to an end. Why go on, when the world looks like a bunch of young women, who look already USED UP, competing actively for a man who wears a viking hat on a regular basis? Why believe in anything when this is how people FIND MEANING?

Then, we got off the plane, and we were picked up by Graham's sister, and I looked out at the lights of neighborhoods, and listened to the sound of Graham and Coreen's voices fill with warmth, and I thought, OH THANK THE SWEET STARS. I have returned to the world I love and all its reality.

On My List of Things to Do

I am crazily getting ready to leave for California he day after tomorrow. Frankly, I can't wait, but before then laundry and packing and negotiating the FOUR cat sitters that will be watching our cats (thanks guys!), last minute christmas shopping and the last of the orders for Great Gals before Christmas and the New Year. As of RIGHT THIS SECOND I am now accepting orders for mailing AFTER January 5. The shop is CLOSED until then (thanks everyone!). Today, FIVE WOMEN of GREATNESS were born, and before I rush off to Kinko's and the post office and the kitty store and everything else, I want to wish them a HAPPY BIRTHDAY:

I have known Kirstin Sego, since she was 8 years old, wearing braids and glasses and was named Kirstin Cruikshank. I went to her house and her mother served this CRAZY dessert called flan, which was CREAMY and sweet. From then on, I thought Kirstin and her parents were TOTALLY SOPHISTICATED. Actually, I still think this. She has a wonderful appetite for life, for tavel, for food. One of the greatest inspirations I had a couple of years ago, was seeing Kirstin as a new mom. You think you know somebody and then something happens which takes them to a WHOLE NEW LEVEL. Sure, it didn't hurt that her son Griffin was adorable, funny as heck, and totally good natured--but to see your friend look at her son and just well, GLOW, it kind of melts your heart for them. You know something really essential and GOOD has happened. How can you not be moved by that? She also has one of the best laughs--full body, so you want to crack up with her as often as possible. And don't tell anyone, but she is secretly a WONDERFUL painter.

Felicia Sullivan, writer-extraordinaire, lover of pound cake, recent photo muse of Marion Ettlinger, and soon-to-be FAMOUS memoirist was born today. I had the pleasure of making my first ever fruit tart for her birthday party on Saturday. I was nervous as hell because Felicia is a horder of cook books and is a lover of baked goods and refined TREATS. Can I tell you how HAPPY I was when she SQUEALED at the sight of my tart.? One thing I love about Felicia is that when she likes something, not only do you know about it, but so do the neighbors THREE DOORS DOWN. She honestly celebrates people, and when I saw her tear up out of pride when her friend handed her the hardbound copy of that friend's new book, I almost teared up. Felicia is a tough, funny, smart, and BEAUTIFUL heart. I look forward to celebrating her further throgh the year, when her DEBUT book comes out.

A Birthday shout out to Doris-you hot mama! and to Victoria, science writer, wearer of purple, and beautiful adventurer! And Ramya Swaminathan! Professional! New mom! Maker of DELICIOUS INDIAN FOOD!

I celebrate you all!

I Played The Christmas Party and All I Got Was this Lousy T-Shirt

After more than a year of temping for a company, I got asked to be the entertainment for their Holiday Party EXTRAVAGANZA.

Why are Holiday parties SO LOADED? Seriously. I asked various people the innocent question of, "So, you coming to the Holiday party?" Which was another way of asking, "So, you coming to my gig on Thursday night?" and nearly all the responses were an essay on the pros and cons of going, or in some cases, just the cons. It was never just a "Yep! See you there!" or a "Nope! Gotta run!" It was a very complicated affair, with histories and strong opinions and editorials and speeches best made on the peaks of mountains. Staff members were very CONFLICTED indeed. Yet, as I listened, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if they suddenly announced that this year they had decided to go without, there would have been RIOTING in the HALLWAYS.

I remember the last company I worked at in California, very similar feelings erupted around the Holiday Party, which was held at the Coconut Grove, the CHARO of event spaces. It was one of those events, where most of us felt that we DESERVED A FREE MEAL, but the rest of the ceremony was considered at best a theater production to be dissected and ridiculed later. The awards part of the evening was filled with bitter controversies and editorials, that were so fuming and filled with acrid insights, they could be used to remove paint. Something dramatic and emberasing always happened after hours in the bar across the street, which was also a kareoke bar, connected to a bowling alley. They served margaritas with BLUE SALT. Yet, it was OURS. Nobody missed it. Nobody was going to skip out on dancing to "We Are Family" or "Oh What a Night". Nobody was going to miss going to something as close to a prom as a shabby distribution company could get.

This is what I was expecting last night, as I walked in to the Roosevelt Hotel, in my new dress, with roses in my hair. I thought, this is an office party, but don't we ALL DESERVE all little food and drink, in nice clothes? HELL YES. I was surprised by how STIFF it was and how people, who even in an office setting, can be warm and funny, were now formal and stuffy. As we filed into the dining room, and I saw the mic stand in the middle of the dance floor, awaiting a certain temp to pick up her guitar and sing to a room of people who were not exactly looking like they were partying, I thought, I JUST MIGHT BE SCREWED.

And you know, for about five or six minutes, it was like that. I was face to face with the table that had the President and his wife, and VPs, and they looked bored and only vaguely curious. I made some jokes, and they ruffled through a couple of the tables, but then sunk in some black hole. I kept thinking, I know these people, and DON'T THEY KNOW ME?

Then the best thing happened. The "office" part of the entertainment happened. My co-worker Jose, and I had come up with a couple of songs based on life at the office. Can I tell you that the one thing that these things always seem to miss are INSIDE JOKES? I feel that the very CORE of office life are inside jokes. This is the thing that I always MISS in the speeches that are made and in the floor show at office events. Things that make people recognize themselves, LAUGH at themselves, and say YES THAT IS SO TRUE.

It was the golden key that unlocked the gates. People LAUGHED. OUT LOUD. They cheered when they heard their names or references to events and activities that happen. It was a relief. I suddenly felt as if we were ALL IN ON SOMETHING. And isn't that what holiday parties are truly about--to say, hey, we work hard, and we're in this together.

Then later, I danced to "Celebrate" and yes, "We Are Family" and everybody clapped and laughed and looked good.

PS the president gave me a hug when I got off stage.

Happy Birthday to Emily Carr

You will have to experiment and try things out for yourself and you will not be sure of what you are doing. That's all right, you are feeling your way to the thing.
-Emily Carr

Happy Birthday to an incredible writer and painter. She shocked everybody by refusing to ride side saddle. She shocked Victoria's society by walking through town with a pet monkey and a gaggle of dogs. Again and again I go to her work to remember the spirit of nature, of creating, and of working TO KNOW your world and what you love. Happy Birthday, brave spirit. Thank you for your great effort.

I Had The Time of My Life

This picture was taken in 1988! I remember when my boyfriend picked me up for the date, we went back to his parents’ house and they gave us a copy of Dirty Dancing, which had just come out on excellent VHS! So CUTTING EDGE! SO FINE! Believe me, we DID have the time of our lives.

The dress I am wearing is featured in my “Velvet” flyer,I did a couple of months ago. I loved that dress. I wore it to another dance, with another boy, at a different school, but THIS WAS THE NIGHT when I couldn’t wait to wear it. This was the night I had pined for and shopped for with all my babysitting money, stashed in a jar. This was the night that I COULDN’T WAIT FOR, and I used to take out the dress and finger its dark green velvet, thinking IT’S COMING. I had matching black velvet pumps and nylons, two things I don’t think I’ve worn in years. I remember when that made sense to me: nylons and pumps. Other things made sense to me then too, like wearing Guess Jeans as a form of social success, and believing that if given the chance, I might have a shot at making George Michael love me. Looking back, such things, of course, don’t make ANY SENSE AT ALL.

This guy in the picture was the first boy who loved me. It was a MESSY and torrid relationship. Well, it was messy. I think he wanted it to be torrid, but I was TOO UPTIGHT. Last year, I was going through my stuff and found the stack of letters he wrote to me during our 5 month courtship, and our 8 month relationship. The relationship didn't end well. Adolescent love burns BRIGHT and SCARY. Now I read his letters and think, in his own way he was trying to make sense of A LOT. His letters are emotional and heartfelt and yes, in some places, not so HEALTHY, but SENSITIVE none the less. I think back to that 16 year old boy and think, wow, you had a lot going on, and you did your best. I hope, dear God, that you know I was too.

He’s married now. A mutual friend showed me his wedding pictures. Some people you can’t shake, even if you want to. I thank him for introducing me to the Violent Femmes. I still listen to that album and I remember him every time. Like I said, some people you can’t shake, even if you want to.

Fun at the Office

Let Us Now Praise Great Gals

I finished Noria Jablonski's book, Human Oddities, on Thursday. It has revved up my craving for shorter fiction, a craving that has been dormant for a long time. I am re-reading Dan Chaon's fine collection, and next up I might delve into Mary Gaitskill. Jablonski's work also made me (SHHHH! DON'T TELL!) write my first COMPLETED short story in a long time.

I've been weathering a couple hard things happening on the family front, but yesterday I woke up grateful for coffee, and my funny cats, and my hunky groom, and the ability to create and draw and read books. Graham and I took a long walk in Central Park, and I realized it's been a LONG time since I just ambled. Sometimes physical activity can change EVERYTHING. What a relief!

This is the last week to order one of my Great Gals Calendars for before Christmas Delivery. The shop will be closed as of 5pm EDT on Monday, December 18!

Do I Know It's Christmas?

I’m flying out to California to spend the first part of Christmas in California in two weeks, and it occurs to me that it’s that time of the year known to many as CHRISTMAS TIME (in all caps). In theory, I love CHRISTMAS TIME. I love the colors and the creativity it implies and the glitter and the baked goods and the smells of Christmas trees and sweets that fill the home. Except, there is this really funny thing that happens almost every year. It’s a tradition of sorts. The tradition of I DON’T FEEL LIKE IT’S CHRISTMAS TIME. Maybe it’s because I don’t have TV, so I miss out on all the beloved Christmas specials like Rudolph, and best of all, A Charlie Brown Christmas and let us not forget the Grinch. Maybe it’s because the last few years I’ve procrastinated on gifts and felt too broke to buy them, so I didn’t get to experience the whole gift giving thing to the hilt, which always makes me feel in the mood.

Sometimes I am not sure WHY I actually love Christmas, because historically it has been nothing but an emotionally fractured time between family members, and stressful for the bank account and the sense of time. Last year was a practice in emotional rubberbanding and soul searching of why and how I do things when it comes to family and the holidays. This year is turning out no different, with an astounding number of real and serious crisis looming in SEVERAL branches of my family and community. When I think about getting on the plane, I feel a little bit like that cowboy who rides the bomb to its explosive destination in Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove. YEEHAW!

And yet, YET, I am also excited to see people and eat my favorite foods. My little brother Luke, aged 6, has finally acknowledged me as his big sister, instead of just a BIG PLAYMATE that makes Rusty the train come to life. Janae, his mother, told me he was telling one of his classmates, “My big sister is FORTY-FOUR.” Cut that by ten years and he’d be right on the money, but WHO CARES? Luke and my little sister Lily are like a GIANT MAGNET of love and affection and funny relating that PULL ME IN. And then there’s California, that odd state I will always be equally HUNGRY to go to, and HAPPY to flee. I can’t wait for Mexican Food and the Pacific Ocean, and memories and colors that flood me and make me know who I am in the strangest way. And maybe that’s what Christmas is for me. It’s a time to gather together and to travel through the places I have come from—whether familial or in geography. It’s a time to check-in, and to whether the things that make me and everyone else I know human and humbled. And it’s a time for presents. Let us never forget the gifts we bring to those who take us in, and the gifts they bring to us. I think I just felt the first tingle of CHRISTMAS TIME.

Alternative Gift Ideas

Are you tired of the same old gift ideas? Want to ROCK SOMEBODY'S PARTY this Holiday Season? Feeling like there is a PURPOSE OUT THERE SOMEWHERE and you want in on the GROUND FLOOR? LOOK NO FURTHER:

Jen Faith Buley, gifted artist and niece to my bestest ladycat Jenny Sue Ziegler is embarking on an AMAZING sea voyage with her boyfriend, Ulf in January. She is in the process of getting rid of all her things and selling art in order to pay for the voyage. You can read more about this amazing endeavor here and then buy Jen's art here.

Original art makes good Christmas presents!!

So does GIVING:

Sanved is an AMAZING orginization that helps young girls who are victims of violence and human trafficking through the art of dance. My friend Mindy has seen first hand how they help these girls and transform lives. There are many ways to help besides money, if you're interested.

Dreams accomplished! Healing abounding! What a great way to greet a NEW YEAR!

Painting Windows On the Walls

I am thinking of th writer Kay Boyle this morning. She was a girl from Cincinnatti, Ohio who knew SOMEHOW she was detsined for something GREAT, something BOHEMIAN. So she went to art school in New York, but she had a dream of PARIS. So she married the first Frenchman she met and moved to France. It wasn't Paris, but it was France. Only, he was a tire salesman and they lived in a WINDOWLESS room.

What's a girl to do when she is dreaming of the City of Lights and living in a room with no view, both metaphorically and literally? PAINT WINDOWS on the walls. She literally painted a view on her walls, and wrote stories and wrote to every author she knew was living in Paris. Eventually, she divorced the tire salesman and ran off to Paris, into the welcoming Bohemian life she had dreamed of and literally created a VIEW OF.

As I sit in an office today, I am imaging that I am painting a view on the wall. Every time I sit down to write a story or draw a picture or write a letter to somebody, I am creating a window where there was none before. I met two wonderful writers on Friday, when I least expected it. I am reading one of their books today, and not only is it enveloping me in its INCREDIBLE WORLD, I like knowing the author and imagining her writing this down. It makes me feel like I am not alone, that I am in a world with other people who write, who create views from nothing.

This is more inspiring and motivating than anything else I've experienced in awhile.
If you could look out a window and see your city of lights, what would that look like? Who would it be filled with? Then sit down and create it.

A World Gone White and Wet

photo by Gary Starkweather

My folks up in the nether regions of Vancouver Island are getting PUMMELED with weather fronts that include inches and inches of snow. They were told before they moved there two years ago that it NEVER snows in Nanaimo. Both winters have had record amounts of snowfall and ice storms! This morning, I heard on the news of everyone in the midwest getting a good dose of blizzards. Meanwhile in New York City, it's going to be SEVENTY FRIGGN' DEGREES. So much for not enough "proof" that global warming actually exists!

Gouda (pictured above), is probably one of the most neurotic cats I've ever met (and people, I've met some feline FREAKS). When she isn't killing bunnies with her one remaining fang, she meows anxiously, as if the world is coming to an end. Having spent most of her life in the temperate climate of California, I can only IMAGINE what she must be thinking, staring out at this world gone white and wet.