"I pray every day that God will watch over you"

grandaddy died in 2000. before that he was my constant inspiration for creativity, and care for fellow humans.

tonight, while looking for something as mundane as new checks in one of my many "supplies" drawers, i came across a card that he wrote me sometime in the 80s. he told me of his selling 175 leather belts, plus some watch bands, purses, and stone jewelry that he had made. he told me, "Lou, hobbies can be profitable. Keep making jewelry. If you keep working hard, you can have anything you want, and do anything you want."

then he wrote me, "I pray every day for God to watch over you."

i lost it. tears poured out of my eyes and i kissed the card, and i said out loud to him, "I am being watched over. Every day." and i listened for his voice, the way i do for him, my grandmama and now bio-dad. and i heard his voice, the way it used to sound, not like the way it did towards the end. and i told him again, "I am being watched over."

then i went downstairs, poured a glass of two buck chuck and went on the deck for a smoke. that's when guy called. he said, "i'm coming up the hill, are you home?" and then he arrived and yelled to me up at the deck, "i have great news!"

and then he sat down and told me that his boss just gave us our wedding present of $2000 to spend on airline tickets so we can go anywhere we want on our honeymoon. guy's eyes were red. i said, Are you crying? Were you crying? he said, Yes, because I am so happy.

and then, as we sat on our beautiful deck overlooking the beautiful marin hills, in front of our beautiful house, i said again to my grandaddy, I Am Being Watched Over. I Am.

and i told guy, See? I knew when we joined forces it would be explosive.

Teen Spirit

the interview today pretty much sucked. i went to see about a copywriting job at a marketing firm in marin county, not far from home. i was extremely hopeful since getting it would mean no more commuting to the city. as it turned out, getting this job would also mean hating myself to the core.

i interviewed with two people. the first was a young woman who works on the eBay account as the only writer, and needs help. she was nice, although a little awkward, kind of nerdy and shy. she liked me enough to give me a test, so that's positive. the writing would be fairly creative. i'm hardly excited about it though. maybe it was the atmosphere. all cubicles and not much of a creative-feeling environment. the building is like what you see in an office park, but stands on its own by the bay. there's nowhere to go for lunch or anything to see there if you need to get away except some rotting seaweed and mucky muck. this is the kind of place you end up ONLY working at. you don't do anything there but work. you don't run to walgreens to get advil, you don't take a break and go peruse fresh cut flowers at the high-end florist down the street and you certainly do not have extraneous fun while on the job.

after the ebay lady, a guy came in to interview me for a horrible horrible project about teen leadership in the form of a conference for high schoolers. it made me cringe. i didn't know what to say about it, or what the interview man wanted me to say. he seemed to be waiting for some kind of reaction. i asked a couple of questions and he told me how enthusiastic the kids are about "leading." i couldn't think of anything to say about that, since it's the complete opposite of me or the pot-smoking, rock music-listening teenager i was. i told him i like teenagers and bond well with them and i have a strong understanding of youth culture, which really has nothing to do with a project of this nature. it was so weird. the guy was strange, very business-like with a strained way of talking. i left feeling gross. i knew, as i exited the building, that i would be rolling a cigarette upon entering the car, and driving while smoking for the first time.

As soon as i pulled away, Smells Like Teen Spirit came on the radio. i felt sick to my stomach at the thought of having to work on something like teen leadership, when i'm way more into Teen Spirit. As i rolled through marin county hills behind mercedes' and beemers, i heard kurt scream, A Denial A Denial A Denial!! i thought,

My God, What Have I Become? WHAT WOULD KURT THINK?!

Lesley Arfin

Dear Diary is one of my favorite books in recent memory. author lesley arfin is associated with the craziest of outsider magazines Vice (not entirely work safe usually). She had a column in it and was good friends with the founders, 3 really smart and smart-ass guys.

besides the fact that i had a very similar book idea a couple of years ago, ran it by my friends, who loved it, and then filed it in my "never gonna happen" file and forgot about it...i can't help but love this book. it's really well done. funny and honest are the two writing traits i most aspire to, and are perhaps the most important ones.

here are some of the best lines in the book:

"Coming down from meth is like a bad acid trip meets chemo meets watching your parents die in a car crash."

"Heroin was never like 'ten thousand orgasms' to me. It's more like the very few seconds after an orgasm. The gentle tide that drifts you out to sea and carries you off to sleep. It hits you hard and lasts for hours. It's the tide that hits you in the ocean of Sunday-morning back scratches. Try to imagine how it'd feel to be a melting candle or a poured drink. Imagine if you were a sweater and the boy you liked wore you all day long..."

"Love doesn't always 'save the day' or whatever. But I do think it might make the world go 'round."



more diary entries from her here.

i think lesley's writing is kind of one of my new obsessions.

the whisper

...is revealed.

(one of my favorite movies of all time)
(with one of the best endings ever with the best ending song ever, and maybe the best script ever this side of woody allen and quentin tarantino.) (and that is fact.)



*thanks to j. for forwarding this life-shattering info.

Wonder Woman

it all started with what to wear. the night before an interview i get really heartburn-y and frantic about outfit and personal presentation. fortunately with writing, unlike with design, i don't have to remake my portfolio everytime. maybe that's because what's in there is all i got. ha ha.

so, what to wear to an interview with a creative agency that can place me in some cool companies that can totally make my life easier with lots of good pay? hmmm. it's pretty great that agencies exist. they work their butts off to find artists' jobs. for this, they take almost half the pay, but it's worth it when you're scared of meeting bill deadlines and rent.

for some unknown reason, my instinct told me i needed to look sort of fashionista-like and pretty hip. the black t-shirt dress, long necklace W. made me, and short black boots felt right. only problem is, i wore that, like a week ago. i can't wear that to work again. it's too memorable, people commented etc. so i hatch a plan to wear the black t-shirt dress, but in two ways. for this, i drove today. also, fyi, this interview was at 10am, is a 10-minute walk away from my jobbie, and i didn't arrive at work until 9:20.

it went like this: drive into garage, park. get out in black t-shirt dress with belt around waist, short black socks, red plaid high-top sneakers, long red neckace and red leather cuff bracelet. it's a little rock-n-roll, it's definitely casual and looks significantly different than the styling of fashionista t-shirt dress w/ boots. get in elevator, make appearance at work, check an email or two, leave cell phone and sunglasses on desk to indicate i am around, run back down to garage (also where portfolio is stashed). get in car, take off belt, change plaid sneaks into short black leather boots, take off red leather cuff bracelet and red necklace, put on long W. necklace, grab portfolio and purse and walk very quickly to interview.

have great interview. agent has purple hair and a long metal spike through her nose. she's intelligent and no-bullshit. she laughs uproariously at my rock-n-roll journalism stories of meeting rock stars and getting in fights with them. she likes me. this spurs me on and turns on my inner "animated" button. my stories get funnier and funnier. fantastic. she's gonna find me a great job and i won't go penniless at all. probably.

leave interview, walk quickly back to car in garage, noticing that it's been 50 minutes since i left. get in car, change out of leather boots, into plaid sneaks, take off long W. necklace, put on long red necklace, grab red leather cuff bracelet, belt the t-shirt dress, jump out, get in elevator, get to desk. no one notices me walk in, and probably didn't notice my absence. i am flush with a feeling of exhilaration over what i pulled off (and on) in one hour.

mission, made even more impossible than it needed to be, accomplished.
phew.

Time wounds all heels

john lennon being interviewed after he won his immigration case:

reporter: "so do you hold a grudge against the strom thurmonds?"
JL: "no, i believe time wounds all heels."

-from the US vs. John Lennon

In cars

Some Things I Love About Driving (having a car, in my case).

singing loudly.
i've always been afraid of the sound of my voice singing. it's not bad, it's just untrained and lacks confidence. i think i could be taught how to sing. i was in choir from 4th grade until 9th, but it was a huge choir and i wasn't afraid to sing out. i also might not have sounded so great. who could tell one voice among a 100. driving down the freeway, i have discovered to great delight, that i can crank the stereo and sing very very very loudly and no one can hear me, and it's insanely fun.

no one can tell me what i'm doing on any given day.
getting rides and depending on mass transit for 36 years wasn't easy. especially for someone like me who likes to have a lot going on, a lot of places to go, a lot of things to do. i also happen to hate being told what to do, so depending on others to get to where i wanted to go unleashed torrents of frustration that is BAM! out of my life. suddenly, that part of my personality is totally gone. thank god. it was the 15-year-old still inside me and boy, was she an angry kid.

control of the stereo.
even if guy is in the car with me, i get to listen to boss hog yell or perry farrell scream, until he says he's had enough, just like i had to listen to news of people dying in baghdad morning after morning after morning when i was riding with him. before guy, i was still at the mercy of whoever was driving. and this is especially tough for someone as picky, and as emotionally and physically affected by sound as i am.

being alone.
it's funny how hard it is to be alone in the City. if you're not at home, you have no chance of being alone. even in a bathroom stall, you're so not alone. and if you happen to catch an empty bathroom, guess what, it won't last long. having a car gives me a place where i can cry if i need to. i've never had this before. and i cry a lot. when i return to the car after work, where i have been bombarded by people all day, i get in, close the door and feel the still silence all the way to my bones. it's so peaceful. i sit still for a second and let it sink in. i sigh. i turn the key. i have entered my world and no one can touch me or affect me or bug me there. it's miraculous! it's a mini-home that moves around. genius!

*picture at top is me in my new car with a mexican wrestler mask on.

Radiohead, but back!

record is being mastered. should be out soon. can barely wait.
been 4 years!!

my ex-boss told me about when she met thom yorke at an after-party. she's a fan, she's smart and cool, she went up to him and said, "Hey!!! Want to go upstairs and get some cookies?!"

she said this for two reasons:
1) she loves thom yorke and was nervous
2) she's been sober for like three years and looks for good substitutes all the time

she did tell the story from the point of view of, "how embarrassing. this is what i said to thom yorke."

supposedly, he just looked at her and went somewhere else.

We're in the Top 10!

uh-oh, spoon is in the top ten (and have a new record out). this could be a bad sign. the butthole surfers reached the top ten once. didn't do much for 'em, but then again their name is The Butthole Surfers. they are so awesome for not being shy.

paul leary is now a worm farmer. i love this fact. i also love listening to gibby haynes on 101X in Austin on the butthole radio.

Marin Hot Tub Spa Hourly

my sister and i went for a hot tub once. we paid $20 for an hour and got a little room and a hot tub by ourselves, in noe valley in the City.

this is what i found when i tried to find a hot tub place (the clean kind) in marin:

NOTHING. at all. no hot tub rentals in marin county. and now why would that be.

Don't say "Hand-feel"

i really can't stand fashion language. "look at this sweater. it's just so easy, it has a great hand-feel."

"You obviously don't understand life"

from an interview with Thurston Moore in the online Rolling Stone:

When people come up to you and say, “Hey, I don’t understand noise rock,” what is your response?

"That’s not the way to approach any kind of music, to say you don’t understand it. There’s nothing to understand. Any kind of music, it already kind of transcends understanding. It’s a sensual art form. You obviously don’t understand life because noise music, for me, is the noise of life, in a way. It’s so much more akin to the human condition. The human condition is not a song, it’s not an organized composition, this is more the natural music of our lives."

(yeah, that's what i was talking about)

Hurty

pretty small, eh?
all that fuss, and this is the only proof.

i told my doctor in my post-op appointment that "these little buggers sure are hurty," as i pointed to my surgical incisions that were glued shut. he laughed and said, "oh my god. i have all these women who have this surgery and they come out and they're healthy like you and they're very happy about it. then you come in and tell me it hurts! lou!" i told him, "but it's real!" he laughed, said "Here, let me give you a hug. you're a sweetheart."

then after my pelvic exam that made him tell me i could have sex now, that i'm all healed up and good, he took off the rubber gloves, handed me some tissues and i started to ask him a question when he said, "oh no. we can't talk while you're naked. i'll leave, you get dressed, we'll talk. if we were in france we could talk naked. in the US, we cannot." he's a funny guy. did i mention i adore this doctor and think he's amazing?

after getting dressed behind the curtain, my doc came back in and we started talking. he asked what guy's name is again. i told him. he said, "Well, i think he likes you." i started to say, "well, he must..." and doctor d. finished my sentence with "...because you're one high-maintenance broad!" we laughed and he continued, "but i think he sees potential in you." we laughed some more and he told me about how great my surgery went and showed me pictures of my insides. he showed me how my fallopian tubes are clear, and ready for an egg to pass through. he ran this test by pouring a black inky fluid through them, and then took a picture of what the ink looks like when it comes out the other end! it was so cool. i saw my liver, asked him how that was and was highly relieved to hear that it's totally healthy.

after all was said and done, i tried to tell him i was grateful, but i started to cry, i couldn't do it without freakin' crying and as i walked away, down the hall, doctor d. said, "oh no, don't cry on me." and i just threw my hand up in the air and gave him a backwards wave without looking. "BYYYYYE!"

"See you in SIX MONTHS miss jones!"




ps. my belly button doesn't really look like a butterfly. i did that using my new trick.

Good Tears for Polly

guy says he doesn't know what good tears are, but he's kiddin' around. any musician knows what good tears are. these good tears are coming with the news of pj harvey's new record and it's release date of September 24 (3 weeks after my birthday = awesome)...but mostly the good tears come when you hear this, her first single off the new record, her amazing soul-wrenching voice, her passion, her bare, gut-churning honesty...


whenever i see her live, i am in the company of someone i understand. i am in the company of a woman possessed of more energy than her little body can give. i am in the company of a woman perhaps crazier than i. polly jean is the real thing. i mean, she is more completely present and more completely giving when she plays her music right in front of you than any other artist i have ever seen, and that is a fucking lot.