Sonic Threat

SONIC BUMMER: not able to go.

(thanks to BH for sending this to me.)

Fashion Agate

fashion theme this week is grandaddy jewelry. today, it's the very large agate piece. he cut it, but didn't polish this one. sort of raw that way...ribbons of color squirrel all through it. he loved buying geodes and cutting them open to find the beauty inside. or not. "You never know!" he used to say.

ain't it the truth.

Sea Bean Sentiment

know what this is?
"it's a symbol of my individuality and belief in personal freedom."

my granddaddy made this bracelet for me out of sea beans. since he had a cabin on the gulf coast, they were readily available for his collection. he then shined 'em up pretty for jewelry like this. back in his youth he was a shoes and accessories designer and had his own store. pretty pretty pretty pretty cool.

details of the bracelet show a feminine touch with the ribbon attached, even closer detail shows my grandmama's careful ribbon trimming. to this day i never leave a tied ribbon without the little cutouts on the ends. "that way it's finished," she used to say. it's a compulsion. it's unavoidable.

my grandparents taught me a million trillion beautiful things.

like always inscribe books you give as gifts.
like bite your tongue, don't be ugly.
like poetry.
like how to plait.
like how to fix stuff yourself.
like how men can cry and women can lead.
like how to honor people on their birthdays with a song.
like the peace that can be had in just holding hands.
like how poverty is never reason enough to not give a gift.
like always write thank you notes.
like self-expression is exciting and nothing to be shy or embarrassed about.
like how to spot and respect well-made clothing, shoes and jewelry.
like journaling.
like traveling and going and adventuring as much as possible, no matter how old you are, or if it hurts your legs/hands/feet/heart.
like how to put others' welfare before your own.
like how to keep a garden.
like how to love and respect animals.
like photography.
like how fun it is to collect.
like being out-of-doors as the place to be.
like how to butter the edges of a pop tart first, and then a little on the frosting.

that love hurts.
that beauty hurts.
and that gain and loss can be simultaneous.

The deal with Steve Jobs

turns out i was right. there was something really bad wrong with him! was it general knowledge that he had cancer? i hope the boy genius stops aging and feels better too.

Injury Log #5: the final chapter

since general practioner turtle-man doctor prescribed me steroids that i could not take without being the biggest downer of all time, i got an emergency appointment with a dermatologist today. the rash was spreading and getting taller. making a fist with my hand felt like i was folding a piece of felt in half. thick.

and it was itching more. it was becoming a stephen king story plot.

"Hand and Foot Eczema" (dermatologist) is the name of my "dermatological anomoly with a vascular id" (general practioner).

let's hope there is no such case of "Vagina Eczema."

and then the little old man from germany said, "severe hand and foot eczema." he gave me some cream that will fix it right up and a generous refill of 6. he said it comes and goes once you get it. he said stress causes. "ms. jones, did you have a tremendous amount of stress when this started, four months ago?"

i said, how about a huge wedding debt, a new marriage and unemployment?

he looked at me sideways and nodded, "this will help." and he wrote a script for "Vanos."

i was surprised he didn't add valium.

UPDATE: it is now 24 hours since applying the cream to my hands and they're worse. my mac is incapable of photographing detail. parts of them are getting better, but my hands are now changing shape. the fingers are developing decks and the webbing in between my thumbs and pointer fingers are growing diving platforms. i wish could shrink down and hang out in there. out here it's incredibly irritating. every little seed bead is an itch rising from it's core, every movement creates an itch that would orgasmic to scratch and completely destructive of tissue and perhaps even the beauty that i once felt my hands possessed. part of the upset i am sure is vanity, but what a mess. these hands are bordering on becoming too sick to look at. i'm so happy that i'll have gross, diseased hands in three weeks just in time for the hand-shaking extravaganza that my 20th high school reunion will be.

In The Garden

the garden is something i love and attend to every day. there is always something new and beautiful to see – like your favorite show airing a new episode every night...i come home from work excited to see how it's doing. every other day is watering day.

one day checking it out a song came into my head. it's a song from church of all things; i thought i remembered nothing from that time. but the lyrics came to me easily and suddenly.

In The Garden
i walk in the garden alone while the dew is still on the roses
and the voice i hear singing in my ear, the son of god discloses

and he walks with me and he talks with me
and he tells me i am his own
And the joy we share as we tarry there
No one has ever known

there were some good songs sung in church...i totally forgot. this was one of them.

how weird...someone else's life. so long ago...

The opposite of Chaka Khan!

my ex-boss from 15 years ago is upstairs from my studio and now i can't relax.

what a coincidence. the studio in front of our house was rented to a woman named P. upon seeing her last name on some mail that ended up in our box, i put it together that she is the wife of the man who was my boss at the grateful dead merchandising company where i worked when i was 23 years old. this was confirmed when i looked him up, emailed him and he said, "confirmed. that's my wife."

i just heard them ascend the staircase. now i'm afraid of making noise and prompting him to come say hello. this is a problem with an uninsulated studio. there are sound cracks everywhere. and smoke cracks.

how horrible. an ex-boss in my private world.

which reminds me. my new way of saying "great!" is "chaka khan!" so far i have expressed it only in emails or text messages.

this is the opposite of Chaka Khan.

there's a story of course.

i was 23. i worked in a head shop that sold grateful dead stuff, duh. one of our suppliers is a guy who owned one of the companies. when i quit the head shop, he recruited me. his only other employee was a guy named...um...um...um...um...B. that's right. B. anyway, B's girlfriend was the manager and my immediate boss at the head shop. doesn't seem problematic until he started coming on to me. he was 10 years older than me. 33. at the time, to me, that was full-blown old adult. ha. due to a flaw in my personality, clearly, i sort of went along with whatever he suggested and we ended up having sex. twice. both times, horrible. and not because he had the tiniest penis ever possible. like the size of my pinky, but smaller. or was it because of that? i'll admit, since then i have wondered if he was a transsexual. it was that small. anyway, i stopped any progression of the relationship and he retaliated in an unspeakable manner at work. plus he was a speed freak. and i smoked some with him. ew. ew. ew. ew.

his reaction was to scream at me and corner me while screaming at me. it got so bad that i had to tell the boss that i was going to quit. it came out that it was because i refused an affair with B. and B. was being abusive in response.

not something you want your boss to have anything to do with! not something you want to have anything to do with!

so i quit.

and i never saw either of them again, until 1997 when i ran into B. at the Hole/Marily Manson tour at the Cow Palace. it was a quick, hello, goodbye.

oh my god, i just saw my old boss through a crack in the wall. oh my god.

(silence now.)

anyway. when i was desperate for work during the dot com crash in 2001, i looked up this old boss and asked for work. there wasn't anything for me. then, i ran into him this year, 2008 at trader joe's (15 years!) in san rafael. he was really happy to see me. i'm glad he didn't have bad feelings about me screwing his man main who was on speed, and for then quitting.

thank god it's not dark, when they would be able to see a light under my garage/studio door. i've got to fix this place up. it's not nearly as underground as it needs to be.

i can't believe this coincidence. i am SO GLAD i already went upstairs to go pee.

shhhhhhhh. i have to step away from the computer now, i'm afraid he'll see me through the crack.

Spider Country

yellow spiders that build webs in front of doorways, in cars and across pathways come out to play in june. i don't recall when they went away last year, but i'm guessing september. now that we've lived in our country house for a year, there is a full picture of exactly how much my spider phobia problem will be challenged. and when. and by whom.

arriving in september are black and white striped and brown and white striped and yellow and white striped spiders who get fat and huge and fast. they buy up real estate in more secluded places than their little yellow friends, although i did run into one face first last year while exiting the house through the front door. it was big enough to firmly grab with my hand, feel it's spiny body break like midget wooden matchsticks and hear it hit the plynl when i threw it down.

these mean, fat striped guys leave sometime in december. then it gets too cold and they go away.

until may. may brings wolf spider-sized tar-black octopeds filled with evil. they want to eat me, they can consume my flesh, they are too large to crush. i usually just run from them or throw heavy objects on top of them. like my hardcover copy of IT.

who knew there were spider seasons? not this city girl.

Q: isn't it just the funniest joke that this jumpy uncontrollable arachnaphobe bought a car without a roof, thereby unimaginably inviting her biggest phobia to reveal itself during the most inconvenient time ever?

A: no.

so hello little yellow spider season, so glad to have you back. in my eyes. in my mouth. in my hair. in my shoes. in my plants. in my rattan.

on my cat.



(picture immediately above by "P.S., baby you know it.")

Power Tool

Word to yr motha

picked up some powerful words at the fairfax festival last weekend.