Disneyland

Where to even begin?

Disneyland is a TRIP and a HALF. It’s a bit like New York—crowded, great architecture, and expensive as hell. On the other hand, it’s also much WHITER (or should I say PINKER) than New York City, and the people there are unbelievably nice and helpful, and they keep the place clean.

In case you forgot for even a second that you were in an ENCHANTING place, they pumped chiming orchestrated music everywhere you went. I wouldn’t have minded this, but I lost my cell phone the first night we were there, and I was HAUNTED by what I thought was my cell phone ringing from the dead. I kept lurching to get it, and then catching myself.

Also, since I’d been there, they had taken the mouse ears to a WHOLE NEW LEVEL. They now had such exciting themes as Captain Jack Sparrow mouse ears, with an earring in the ear, and brown ropes of dreadlocks hanging from the rim of the cap. There were pink princess sparkly cone ears for all those princesses out there (I was traveling with one of them). I stood in line at Star Tours and saw a six-foot man, with lobstered skin and red hair, with a Rastafarian pair of mouse ears. This particular pair was colored red, yellow, and green, and had fake dreadlocks hanging from the cap. He kept shaking the dreads at his friends as if to say, “Don’t I look CRAZY?” I felt like saying, yes, you do look crazy, and don’t let me get started on how many rules of esthetic decency you are breaking. Alas, it was just ANOTHER example of how I needed to check my UPTIGHT artistic sensibilities at the gate. Disneyland wasn’t just a vacation for some, it was a WAY OF LIFE.

But I am being just a smart aleck. I was taken in MANY TIMES by the joy that this place can facilitate. I was shocked by how moved I was by seeing Lily hug people in costumes. Upon hearing that she was going to Disneyland, Lily had said, “Oh, Minnie will be so HAPPY to see me!” I almost started bawling when Lily curled her little body up against Minnie, with such shy delight. It was so sweet and so full of love.

Also, I thought I had lived until I rode Star Tours with my six-year-old brother Luke, who gave a thumbs up when the pilot robot came on screen and then proceeded to hoot and holler at ever dip and dive of the ship. He gave the usher a high five as we passed him on our second run. It was more fun than I had in ages.

Other highlights include riding It’s a Small World ride, and getting to experience the GORGEOUS designs of illustrator Mary Blair in a whole new way. Since researching her and really loving her work, the design of this ride was breathtaking. It was like being INSIDE a giant Mary Blair illustration.

We waited in line for a private audience with Mickey mouse, which ended up delighting Janae I think more than the kids. She loved Mickey! She couldn’t get enough of him! Afterwards she just kept saying “Wow! That was SOMETHING!”

I STILL think Pirates of the Caribbean is the BEST RIDE—even with the additions and changes made by the film. When we passed the scene where the prisoners are trying to tempt the dog with the keys in his mouth, a kid behind me, who’s voice hadn’t changed yet, chirped: “Hey! I remember that from the movie!” When I saw the Johnny Depp with eyeliner robot, I wondered how many years it would take for a kid to stumble along the movie and say, “Hey, I remember that guy from the ride at Disneyland!” If Disney has anything to say about it, probably not in my lifetime.

In Case You Were Wondering, We Had a Good Time

Summer Pierre, you have survived two nights of no heat, a cat's illness, and countless moments of existential crisis, now what are you going to do?

I am going to Disneyland!

It's hard to believe that next week at this time I will be in the (hopefully) warm climate of Anaheim, California, running around with my little brother and sister and their mom, Janae, at the HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH. That's right people, I am going to Disneyland.

This is something that Janae mentioned doing when Luke was just a few evolutionary steps away from being a grub, and Lily wasn't even a twinkle in the eye yet. My dad had said something in response like NO WAY IN HECK WILL YOU CATCH ME THERE, and I had said, TAKE ME! TAKE ME! Here we are six years and an additional child later, and we have our airplane tickets booked, our motel reservations in place, and our three day passes in hand.

The "cool person" in me would roll my eyes at the thought of partaking in a place synonymous with blatant commercialism, but I learned long ago that it is impossible to maintain that cool persona around my little brother and sister. Nothing says, TAKE ME TAKE ME like the thought of doing something so FREE and SPAZZY like a weekend with them at the ultimate playground. Plus, I get to be reunited with such rides like the Jungle Boat and Pirate of the Caribbean.

The last time I was there was 17 years ago, and I was milking the last strands of whatever "childhood" remained, with my grandmother. At 17, I knew I was already too old, but I wanted to go anyway--kind of like when you are 13 and you go trick-or-treating (not like I know what that's like or anything). You know it's your last possible chance to say, "Hey grandma, will you take me to Disneyland?" and still get away with it. I wanted to go and experience a ride that nobody seems to have any memory of, but I loved, called The Incredible Shrinking Machine. It was one of the original rides, so it still had the 60's feel to it. You sat in a blue car and a voice narrated the process of you being shot by a ray that would cause you to "shrink". Suddenly, snowflakes got larger, and molecules started appearing. My favorite part was when you saw a GIANT BLUE EYE looking down at you from what was supposed to be the lens of a microscope. It was COOL and FREAKY. Unfortunately, like my own innocence, it had been RIPPED OUT and replaced with a much more UPDATED invention.

I remember I waited an hour and a half for the submarine, just so I could pretend for a moment that mermaids were real (something I often fantasized about). I also waited an hour to go on the then-new Star Tours ride. While I waited in line, a blond kid from Missouri struck up a conversation with me, and took my picture with his Kodak Disc Camera. Somewhere in Missouri, a grainy picture of me in a captain's hat and a Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt exists.

As of right now Luke and Lily have NO IDEA that not only will they be going to Disneyland, but I will be joining them. Janae is going to wait until the last minute to tell them so she only hears "When are we going?" for at least 24-48 hours. Sometimes I feel like crank calling her and saying those exact words over and over again.

I can't wait.

Two Pieces of String

I have written in here before that me and my mom have one of those classic mother-daughter realtionships, where we drive each other NUTS. I'd like to blame it all on her, but sometimes I catch how unbelievably ADOLESCENT I get when I am around her. I all but roll my eyes dramatically and cry out "SHU 'UP!" Like every California teenage girl of the 1980's.

When I was in my twenties, I was so busy being wronged and tormented by her that I neglected to notice how much I tormented her. Now we are like that old image of two porcupines trying to embrace. We do it carefully.

Today, I sent her this postcard because it's an old joke between us. The joke itself is one of those jokes that is so bad you don't laugh. I cannot remember how it started, but years ago, when I was in high school, and I would call her and swear the world was coming to an end, my mom would quietly start telling this joke. It would make me CRINGE and then I would roll my eyes and say SHU'UP!

Now, this joke has taken on a life of its own. I've said it to my brother in moments of crisis and so has she, and it makes us all WRIGGLE and WRITHE so much that we can't help but laugh and feel better. Each of us likes to pull it out when everyone least expects it. So today I sent one to each of them. I didn't sign it, but somehow, I think they'll get the joke.

Reunions

30 years ago, my stepfather, Gary, my mother, Bee, and my father, Jake, and I all lived (in various combinations) on a commune called (with some subtlety) THE LAND. It has been a bookmark in all of our personal histories--more so of my parents, of course, who have memories that are steeped with such misty-eyed nostalgia, that the moment you heard the words, "When we were living on THE LAND..." you could swear there was the smell of reefer and incense in the air, and a dim soundtrack of Joni Mitchell singing: "And we've got to get ourselves back to the garden..."

On Sunday, during my weekly conversation with my parental units, Pam and Gary, Gary said rather excitedly, "I just filled your e-mail box." With what, I wanted to know. It turns out that through the easy access of the internet and e-mail, a reunion chain has been spawned for the far flung members of The Land. Gary included me on the correspondence. I thought, "Oh how cool." Some people I have only made up memories of through the various purple haze stories I have heard through the years, and others, who I remember very clearly from my childhood. It seemed to me a very interesting cultural example--where are all these people now?

I go off line 4 days a week--partly because I don't have easy internet access outside the office, but I also FEEL better when I am not constantly logging on, checking on things, and scanning the interactive TV that is the internet. I am used to a small collection of e-mails awaiting my response, but was not prepared for the NINETY-SIX forwarded e-mails from this little reunion chain that could! GEEZ LOUISE! Retired hippies can e-mail, people!

I haven't had time to read through everything, but from what I have read, it's been interesting to see where people have scattered to since 1977. Some are documentary filmmakers, some are editors, some went to prison, some are dead, some are in Canada, some are grandparents. I am very curious to see what happened to the other kids that were affiliated. I guess I'll have to wade through the FIFTY or SO remaining e-mails. One thing that seems evident just from the limited reading I did, is that no matter how diverse the paths of these people are, all of them have been through it, all of them are still making their lives by hand--something that drew them all to The Land in the first place.

Reunions are weird things--they can either be welcomed events filled with connection and recognition or they can be prickly, inasive, painful things. Either way, they are filled with stories. I can't wait to hear them all.

Happy Bear-th Day

Polaroid from the Natural History Museum. More pictures here.

As usual, there are a great deal of things I could wax philosophically on today, but I will have to settle on the day's most IMPORTANT EVENT: 34 years ago, my step-brother or brother or hippie patchwork sibling, James Joshua Snodgrass came wailing into the world--with a black eye. Apparently, his head was too big, so they got out the ol' baby pliers and while trying to pull him free, jabbed him in the eye. It's probably good that he doesn't remember it, because we can all chuckle at the black and white newborn snapshot, that has him sneering and weathering a real bruiser. He looks like a real gangster.

Josh and I met at his sixth birthday party, when my step dad, later to be HIS step dad (you do the math), dropped me off at his birthday party. Predictably, I don't remember the birthday boy at all, but I DO remember the choo choo train made of different birthday cakes. I had chocolate chip, with chocolate chip ice cream. Later, when we were both eight, and I DO remember meeting him, I would learn that he was a MASTER at marbles, quickly dispatching with all my good marbles, and a lover of hotdogs and mustard, matchbox cars, and all things Star Wars.

I think I can speak for both Josh and I, when I say that growing up in the same house with someone your age can be both good and bad. The bad part is that you have to weather the same high school, but with no sort of alliance. We were both REJECTS, but rejects of a DIFFERENT SORT. I was a reject, who was quietly developing what I considered my DEPTH. Josh was the sort that liked bikes, and SCIENCE, and the same neighborhood pals that he had grown up with. He was the sort that would eventually go on to enjoy studying how people die, what histories bones have to tell us, and the exciting world of forensic anthropology (who KNEW?). The good part is that when we got older, we could actually have something in common and enjoy it. I think of our college years as something sort of miraculous in our family: we all went our different ways and somehow cameback friends.

A couple of things to downright love about Josh: Sometimes he'll eat brown sugar STRAIGHT. He gets excited about Christmas. EVERY CHRISTMAS he'll get up at 6:00am and say, "Gee, I'm not tired. I don't know why, but I am just not tired. Does anyone want to open presents? I mean, I'm just thinking, we're all up, we might as well get started on stockings." He was THIRTY-ONE the last time I heard him say those words.

Josh and his lovely wife Heather (Hi Heather!) recently moved from Chicago to Eugene, Oregon, so that Josh could accept a professorship at U. of Oregon. When they were moving into their new house, and trying to set up the plumbing, they discovered what looked like a dead cat under their house. It turns out that PG & E won't go under your house if you have a rotting carcass lying there. In order to have a washing machine, they were going to have to remove it QUICK. It must have been slighlty ironic (if not downright ANNOYING as all GET OUT) to Heather, when your husband, who has a background in digging up mass graves in Bosnia to do war crime reports for the UN, and countless other dead-body related work, was OUT OF TOWN and was not AVAILABLE to dispatch of what turned out to be a DEAD POSSUM. This is how I know they are a good match. He said to her over the phone, "I know you can do it." and she did.

I was going to post a picture of Josh sitting in the kitchen of our old house, in his Return of the Jedi pajamas, but I know from fact that he gives the worst ARM BURNS on the planet. So I am posting this Polaroid I took at the Natural History Museum, a place he and I both love. There's something about this bear that reminds me of him. He's got this enormous presence, but inside, he's really just a creature who likes to eat and to sleep and to be left on his own to do his work out in the world.

Happy Birthday, Joshy.

George

I grew up in many different households and none of them were religious. I went to church twice in my childhood, and they were with relatives. The closest I ever got to discussions of faith, was my mother telling me about her Guardian Angel, named George. George, according to her, had gotten her out of more scrapes than she could count. I didn’t take too much stock in George, as the name seemed too 1940’s movie starring Jimmy Stewart soaked. Also, my mother has been someone who has lived her life on the edge (so to speak) and has sustained tragedies and nights in the darkest places. Her “near scrapes” would seem like amputations to some. I wondered at George’s track record, and what exactly he had saved her from.

So this is the part when I tell you that over New Years this year, my mother lost her house and about 90% of her belongings to the floods in Sonoma County in Northern California.

I haven’t talked about this for a number of reasons. One mainly is that you could say my mother and I have a diffucult, at best, relationship. Up until the flood, she and I hadn’t been in touch in almost six months. But when you read a headline and see that the worst of the damage was at the intersection where your mom lives, difficulties and six months aside, you call and see if she is okay. Since then, we’ve talked about 5 times a week, while she deals with the aftermath of what is nothing short of devastating circumstances. She was out of town when it happened and when she got home, her house was under four feet of water. After it was drained, she found the remains of her home scattered all around her property.

She fortunately took care of herself and has both homeowner’s insurance and flood insurance, which will eventually cover the cost of reconstructing her home. Until then, she is dealing with the clean-up and living in a trailer on her mud soaked property, without running water.

As in all occasions of crisis, a lot of miracles have occurred. A friend that owns a restaurant in town has fed her on several occasions. Friends have offered showers. And then there is Sal. I am not entirely clear where Sal came from or how she knows him, but he has been the true lifesaver. He comes with coffee every day and stays with her until night, working on all that is entailed of salvaging a home destroyed by water. She never has to doubt whether or not he will be there and just hearing his voice every day as he arrives, calling “Good morning!” sustains her. She says, when she hits a wall and can’t think of an answer, Sal will look at her and say, with palms open to a shrug, “What can we do?” It makes her laugh and able to continue on.

Last night, we were on the phone and she was talking about the amazing things that have occurred in the wake of this situation. She talked about Sal, and all that he provided for her. Then it hit me:“You know who sent him? George did.” She started to cry. Thinking I was mocking her, she protested, “No, he DID send him!”

“I know!” I said. “I’m not kidding!”

I realized that was what George did all these years. He was just with her. He was with her in the aftermath of all her natural disasters. Just the idea of him has helped her through the years. When I hung up the phone, I knew that he was with her in that moment, in her small temporary trailer, with her two dogs, saying, “It’s okay, Bee. Sal’s coming tomorrow, and there will be coffee, and me too.”

Thanks, George.

Luke Pierre: A Portrait

Welcome to the world of partying with my five-year old brother:

This Day in History: A Psychedelic Warrior Was Born Today

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy BIRTHDAY Gary, our very own Psychedelic Warrior.

Reunions

THIS IS MY 100th POST! CAKE for EVERYONE!

Okay, this week is already SO MUCH BETTER than last week. So far, I will be employed all week and maybe next week too. This not only helps my morale, but my pocketbook as well. Not a bad combination!

Also, I just solidified plans to spend Christmas with a leg of my family contingent that moved in the last year to Nanaimo, British Columbia. This is very exciting indeed! It's a zig-zag sort of couple weeks. Graham and I are flying to San Diego a week before Christmas, to attend his brother's wedding. Then I fly a plane to Seattle, where I jump into the driving car of my brother Josh and his golden wife Heather, where we cross the border and get on a boat. A week and three more flights later, I return to San Diego (and to Graham)and we meet up with the Pierres for a rare family reunion. After that, I somehow have to figure a way back to New York--but that is the LEAST of my worries.

My Pierre grandparents called me last weekend to ask if I was still coming to the reunion. I took the opportunity to ask my grandfather how his SIXTY-FIFTH highschool reunion went. I asked him if there was anybody left. He said, only eight people showed up--which was just fine with him, because the event people did such a good job, it wasn't an issue. Wow, that is some GIFTED event planning! I didn't tell him that I didn't even attend my TENTH year reunion, so I can't imagine at 82 wanting to attend my sixty-fifth!

Grandpa Pierre is not one to talk much, because he's also an arty type (a.k.a socially moody), and also because his hearing is bad, so it was a real treat to get him on the phone. My dad had told him that I was really interested in the family history, so he wanted to shoot off what he knew--which he maintained wasn't much. What wasn't 'much' kept unfurling to such great depths as, I apparently have a great great great great uncle, who was a general in Napoleon's army, and my great great grandfather made instruments and played in the San Francisco Orchestra. One of his drums was featured in the Guiness Book of World Records as the largest drum in the world. I like knowing that I come from such GREAT STOCK as this.

My gradma Pat got on the phone and wanted to know if I was interested in the Lawrence Welk show, because she was buying tickets for everyone. "Or maybe you'd like to go to Sea World instead?"

Yep, it's going to be a real grab bag of a Christmas. A wedding, half a dozen airplane rides, a new country, distant descendants of a Belgian General, and Shamu. I tell you, I CANNOT wait.

You Plan for Rain and Then Out Comes the Sun

Well, you plan for rain and you get the sun.

After all that pooh-bahing, anxiety, and having a moment of subconscious block, where I realized at the last minute I was planning on leaving for the airport about 45 minutes later than I should be, I ended up having a GREAT time with my family in Chicago.

I loved Josh's place in Evenston. On the first afternoon I was there, I got a rare treat of going on a long walk with Josh through the town and the Northwestern campus. No small talk to be found! It was like the universe was conspiring to give me exactly all the pieces that I craved with my family. I was the only family member to stay with Josh and his wife, Heather, which meant lots of late night talking over a delicious gin and tonic. And then more early morning talking over coffee. There wasn't any skirting the issue or verbal postcards from life. There were moments of real disclosure.

During the PhD graduation, I sat next to Josh's mom, Pam(my sorta stepmom), who surprised me by bawling through the ceremony. Apparently, I am not the ONLY emotional one after all! I then surprised myself by beaming with absolute, genuine pride, watching my stepbrother go through the final step of an amazing accomplishment. It took him eight years of hard work to get here, and as I watched his advisor Bill proudly hood him with the purple velvet strip of fabric, I was so grateful I could be there to witness it.

Other highlights of the trip included the best bbq I've ever had outside my folks' backyard; going on an amazing architectual tour of Chicago on a river boat, and seeing some of my favorite Georgia O'Keefe paintings, and one of my favorite Edward Hopper paintings.

At dinner on Saturday night, we sat with the four people Josh has become really close to--his colleage Sharon, and her husband Dan; His advisor Bill, and his wife Marcia. All were anthropoligists, and all regailed amazing, funny stories about being in other countries doing research. Amazing stories about emergency flights from villages in a helicopter and flights to Moscow from Siberia, and how an intense amount of vodka saved Josh from food poisoning. As he laughed, retelling yet another story of his life, all the people around him laughing and beaming, I realized that he has a good life. I also realized that this is the most I would want for anyone I loved.

When I left I said good bye to Pam and started crying. "Oh, don't do that!" She said and shooed at me before hugging me goodbye. I didn't feel so dumb or emberassed, because she was tearing up too, that ol' softy.

I flew home excited to see Graham, one of the many things that make me know that I have a good life too.