Nativity Scenes

Normally, I have zero interest in nativity displays; who needs more glorified white faces? But leave it to fair trade gift store Ten Thousand Villages to carry nativity sets that actually caught my eye. Post-holiday sale going on now, 50% off, locations nationwide.

NFF: Central Ave Post Office

Location: Post office on Central Ave, ABQ, 2 weeks before Christmas

There were eleven people waiting for one clerk when I walked through the doors of the post office one late afternoon. They all seemed to have agreeably accepted the fact that they'd be waiting for a while. "It's like Black Friday," joked an older woman wrapped in numerous dark-colored layers to the man in front of her. A second woman, farther back in line, complained in return, "Those Walmart employees, they don't know where anything is."

A man wondered aloud, "What do I get as gifts for spoiled, yuppie grandchildren?" "Athletic equipment," suggested the Walmart-aggrieved woman. "iTunes gift cards," I offered. "Yeah, but then they'll want newer devices to play their music on," grumbled the grandfather. 

We fell momentarily silent, perhaps thinking about people in our own lives for whom it is hard to choose gifts. I got my turn at the window and was told I needed a different form than the one I'd filled out because my package was 6 ounces over a designated limit. I headed back to the end of the line to work on my new form.

Suddenly, the grandfather was yelling at the postal clerk. "How about if I write to the Postmaster General and tell him about how you refused to help me with my problem?" 

I looked up, startled at the sudden change in mood. I didn't understand what the grandfather wanted. He'd shaken several sheets of stamps out of a large envelope onto the counter and continued to talk loudly over the clerk, who was patiently attempting to give the man an explanation. Finally the grandfather scooped up his stamps, threw out his last indignant words, and exited the room.

I approached the clerk for the second time. "Sorry about all that," I said.

"It's ok," he replied. "That guy had a problem when he came in, and he had a problem when he left."

The grandfather started yelling again, just outside the door. "So now he's talking about customers behind their backs!"

"He wasn't talking about you behind your back," a woman yelled back at him.

"Hope your day gets better," I told the clerk, as he stamped my forms. 

"It already is," he said. "You can't let that stuff get to you, or else it'll drag you down. That guy already has problems, but I don't have to let his problems become my problems."

Shit gets real deep at the post office. 

12.5.2001

Suo Gan, a Welsh lullaby

Chanticleer singing it in Welsh: "Suo Gan"

English lyrics:

Hush, my dear one,
Sleep serenely,
Now, my lovely,
Slumber deep.

Mother rocks you,
Humming lowly,
Close your eyes now,
Go to sleep.

Angels hover, 
Ever nearer,
Looking on your
Smiling Face

I will hold you,
Close enfold you,
Close your eyes now,
Go to sleep.

We Love You, Ms. Watson

luminarias in honor of Melissa Watson,
teacher, Valle Vista Elementary, ABQ, NM

we entered the school gates bearing the necessities for mourning: kleenex, candles, crock pots, krispy kreme donuts. the sun set and we huddled around a candle-lit heart shape outlined on the ground outside of the fifth grade classrooms. the candle in my hand burned steadily, an outrageously obscene contrast to the hope in my heart that had been so recently extinguished, that was now no more than a thread of smoke drifting towards the sky. most of us stayed quiet, subdued in our shock, though a woman sang "this little light of mine" in an irritatingly forceful, raspy voice that maybe was comforting to her. outside of our cluster, small children hopped, stabbing the gravel with their rubber-clad toes, their spirited, squeaky high voices clashing with our general hush. i felt jealous of how lightly they moved, free of grief's weight; i envied the bliss of their ignorance of our monumental loss- of a compassionate educator, a beloved colleague, a supportive friend, a committed mother.  

OOJ: Orange Series

orange clothes i've bought in the past 4 months
(l to r) dress, dress, cardigan, sweater, skirt, hoodie

Financial Advice from a 10-Year-Old

"Tell your mom you only have half of how much money you really have so she'll pay for the rest of what you're buying. That's how you save money."

OOJ: Farmers Market Jewels

seen at downtown growers' market, ABQ, NM. i think they're tomatoes?

How to Profile Passengers on Your Southwest Flight

somewhere along the ABQ-LAS flight path

i've been flying on Southwest Airlines (SWA) since the '00's, when it was the scrappy upstart airline and i could buy a ticket home from Chicago for a sweet $39. These days, SWA is known for its entertaining flight attendants (they sing or tell jokes, depending on who you get), low(ish) fares, and its infamous open seating policy. 

For those of you who either refuse to fly or use your own private jets, open seating means you are not assigned a designated seat when you buy your ticket. Instead, you are placed in groups with the other passengers based on when you check in. You then board with your group and choose your seat from any seat in the cabin that is still available when you enter the plane. Basically, it's no different than boarding a bus or train.

Over the years, i've advanced beyond basic window vs. aisle questions (window to snap photos or sleep, aisle for frequent bathroom access) to a list of rules that helps me decide who i'll sit with by making snap judgments about people based solely on their appearances. In other words, i profile the other passengers in hopes of securing myself my ideal flight experience: quiet (noise level) and undisturbed (by other passengers). The following are my rules. I even made an acronym out of them: W.A.L.K. (Women, Activity, Layers, Kids). If you board these flights hoping to find your new best friend/soul mate, do the exact opposite of what i say here.

somewhere along OAK-ABQ flight path

1. Sit with WOMEN. No need for entitled masculine energy clouding my trip. In my experience, men are more likely to push jovial small talk on me (are they bored or do they just really love the sound of their voices?) Their bodies invade my already cramped space, elbows spilling over my arm rest, knees spreading wide as if repelled by each other. If you do have to sit with men, try to follow Rule #2.

2. Look for someone who's brought a long-term ACTIVITY: books good, magazines/newspapers bad. Inflight magazine/Skymall, extra bad- they're desperate for entertainment. Choose someone already plugged in- headphones, tablet, e-reader, other electronic gadget- they're not interested in chit chat. Portable battery pack- jackpot!

3. Consider smells, like body odor and foods. People dressed in LAYERS are your best bet for covering up B.O. Men in tank tops are the worst. Avoid passengers with fast food bags or large drinks that can spill all over everything (remember when plane seats had cupholders?).

4. Stay away from KIDS. (I say this with a heart full of love and compassion for my friends with kids. You are all wonderful parents, and when your kids act up on the airplane, it is not an indication of the quality of your parenting.) Give yourself at least a couple rows of distance from small kids; kids sitting behind you kick your seat, and kids in front of you can be squirmy, jostling your tray table or knocking their seat back into your head as you bend down to get something from your bag. Multiple kids in the same row often fight or whine. Bless their little hearts. On flights, i prefer babies to kids- there's a good chance they'll fall asleep and be a quiet lump for most of the flight. 

OOJ: North Bay

view from my seat on an OAK-ABQ Southwest flight last weekend

OOJ: Waffles and Chocolate

new and improved breakfast! trader joe's dark chocolate mint creams on top of a whole grain frozen waffle- minty chocolate goodness in every bite. be jealous.

OOJ: Dried Rose

Zozobra 2014

Zozobra 2014, Santa Fe, NM 

it's pretty brilliant, actually. choose someone to accuse of being the source of an entire community's anxieties and problems, and immediately, poof: relief. no need for self-reflection or accountability, just burn a poor mofo at the stake and rejoice. so simple, so clean. too bad for me that i am that chosen one.

whoever came up with the idea is a marketing genius. first, they renamed me: Old Man Gloom, Zozobra- by now, i doubt anyone remembers my real name. then they created an entire celebration out of the burning of me: kettle corn, lemonade, firecrackers, live music, a parade. come one, come all, pack a picnic and bring the entire family out to watch a man go up in flames!

i get it, i see the appeal. life is much simpler with a living, breathing (though soon i'll have neither of these qualities) villain- that's me. people are overwhelmed by their fractured lives, their competing passions and responsibilities. they exist in a constant state of uncertainty, guessing at the "right" decisions, clumsily making plans for the future when no one of us is even guaranteed a future to begin with. add on top of that the daily tragedies that show no sign of ceasing- accidental death, paralysis, an unexpected diagnosis with a timeline- and it's easy to see how the troubles can pile up. in many of these situations, there is no obvious villain, which makes it all even harder to swallow. 

that's where i come in. because even a fictitious reason like me is preferable to the truth: that more often than not, things simply happen, with terrible results. call it what you will- fate, bad timing, natural consequences, some higher being's fucking Plan- but i have nothing to do with any of it. i'm just the guy they picked, the one who never fit in to begin with, and who therefore was an easy sell. pin your troubles on me and send them up in flames.

the crowd has been gathering for hours, the last rays of daylight fleeing the scene. a man in a suit appears and, like a bad actor, melodramatically bellows a list of accusations against me, ending with the predictable outcome: "GUILTY!" he repeats it too many times (hey buddy, less is more). the crowd screams; the people look joyful. beachballs are unleashed above their heads. a woman in glittering red spandex with feathers sprouting out of her head dances on the stairs in front of me as the band resumes their festive beat. from my vantage point, i can see everything: kids on shoulders, couples taking selfies, the vendors, the hooded figures carrying torches making their way towards me, and the infinite darkness beyond them all. 

SOD: J. Cole, "Be Free"

It's been a summer of sorrow for both ABQ and the U.S. that has once again forced us to recognize that residents in this country are not equally safe and protected. Michael Brown's death in Ferguson, MO, has been feeding the news crawl for weeks now, but here in ABQ, public attention has been on violence against homeless individuals. In June, Nancy Myers was killed by a driver who appeared to have aimed his truck straight for her while she was sleeping on the sidewalk at night. Then, in July, two local teens beat to death Allison Gorman and Kee Thompson, two homeless men sleeping in an empty lot, while a third teen stood watch. Both incidents seem to have been unplanned, triggered merely by the sight of people sleeping outside and a twitchy impulse to harm another being. 

Last night, i walked under a bridge near the train station at around 10:40 pm in downtown ABQ. i passed two individuals curled up in sleeping bags on the far side of the street, their heads tucked down out of sight. i believe that people who live on the streets have tremendous internal strength, resiliency, and ability to mobilize resources, but from where i stood, at that hour, they looked soft and vulnerable. It's incomprehensible how someone could make the decision to attack another who posed absolutely zero threat.

Just as it is incomprehensible when police shoot individuals who pose no more threat beyond the color of their skin. Here is today's Song of the Day, J. Cole's "Be Free", written in tribute to Michael Brown.

Postcard from Taos

view of Rio Grande Gorge from the trail to
Manby Hot Springs (Arroyo Hondo, NM)

three weeks into my Taos Ski Valley "residency", and i have disappointingly little to show for it. i've barely touched the many pens, blank paper, art supplies, and music scores that i brought. so far, this is all i've learned:

1. i don't like living in a place that has only one way in/out; i feel surprisingly trapped. though TSV is undeniably beautiful in the way that ski resorts are in the summer, it's a curvy 30-minute ride down the one road into town, and if anything happens on that road to block it, you're stuck on one side or the other until the block is cleared. TSV itself (in the summer) features one bar; one tiny cafe; one tinier "grocery" store named 'Bumps' (quotes around the word "grocery" because it's basically a liquor store with junk food and a couple lonely apples rolling around in a basket); one coffee stand; and a couple ski shops (why are they even open now???). which means that any time i get a break longer than 3 hours, i'm flying down that one road off the mountain like a bat out of hell. 

2. nature is not inherently enlightening. as someone who was raised among shopping malls and fast food chains (and who now prefers living amid the pavement, people, and commotion of cities), i've always thought there was something mystically superior about people who lived "in nature". i suspected that their decision to live in remote areas indicated a more highly developed sense of being, in the same way that i suspect that people who only read The Economist and listen to NPR podcasts must be superior to me, with my love of British fashion mags and commercial pop/R+B music (even though i know it kills my brain cells). i now realize this is complete bullshit. people who live in TSV all year round are as ridiculous as any fool off of any city street. 

3. because nature is not inherently enlightening, i have not become a more evolved human after living here for a few weeks. i have not solved any of my own problems, much less society's. i haven't had any revelations. i am not more patient and kind to others. i am as judgmental as i was before i arrived (see my comment on ppl who live in TSV). at first, i was disappointed with my lack of self-improvement. but now i'm content to admire the trees (which i swear are closing in on us, inch by inch); enjoy the thunderstorms; and thank the universe for DirectTV. 

OOJ: Guillermo Ochoa

very few things or people can hold my attention for 90 minutes, but one who succeeds at doing this is Guillermo Francisco Ochoa, goalie for the Mexican national team in this year's World Cup in Brazil, who has definitely established himself as the star and savior of the Mexican team this year (no thanks to you, Rafa). this 28-yr-old native of Guadalajara (where i lived for a few months!) debuted with Club América a few years ago and spent his last year playing for a French team and is now a free agent. Ochoa punched out, hugged, and blocked countless goal attempts while looking cool as an otter pop straight from the cooler. Mexico sadly hit the end of their World Cup run today after two successful penalty shots by the Netherlands, but hopefully Ochoa's performance this summer will bring him more opportunities in the international arena.  

POD: Antonio Machado

it's been forever since my last Poem/Poet of the Day (POD). here are a few lines by Antonio Machado, a Spanish poet (1875-1939). i "found" the first few lines in Helen Oyeyemi's novel, Boy, Snow, Bird, and looked up the rest; i think i've found my next tattoo. they were later incorporated into a song by Joan Manuel Serrat, a Spanish singer, in 1969, whose music is pretty sixties-fabulous. so you get a song too today- buy one, get one!

Caminante son tus huellas
El camino nada más;
caminante no hay camino
se hace camino al andar.
Al andar se hace camino
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar.
Caminante, no hay camino
sino estelas sobre el mar.

Traveller, the path is your tracks
And nothing more.
Traveller, there is no path
The path is made by walking.
By walking you make a path
And turning, you look back
At a way you will never tread again
Traveller, there is no road
Only wakes in the sea.

Edible OOJ

deep-fried ritz/taro sandwiches, danshui, taiwan

these days, when i travel, i could care less about seeing "the sights". all i want to do is eat local food and see inspiring art (preferably not housed in museums). in taiwan, you seemingly can't go wrong with eating (nor art). its street food is famously stomach happy-making. here on the left is a pic of my favorite find: slightly sweet taro paste sandwiched between 2 ritz crackers, and then- of course, because it's street food- deep fried. 

clockwise from top left corner: squids on sticks, ready to be deep fried; fried
tiny bird eggs; crispy noodles; a stand selling tubes of fried dough with
ice cream jammed through it; various tropical fruits

surprisingly, my stomach has had a hard time adjusting back to my U.S. food routine of turkey sandwiches and granola/yogurt. it's a shame you can't record a taste or smell memory the way you can take a photo of something visual.

3:30 a.m.

Ximen district, Taipei, Taiwan

typically, i am mad at the world if i find myself still awake when i want to be sleeping. i also know i'm supposed to be trying to sleep all night in order to readjust back to MST after 9 days in taiwan. this morning, however, a part of me perversely enjoys being up when everyone else around me is asleep- the downstairs family is finally quiet, their TV silenced; no honking cars outside; i can't even hear the zoo animals from their caged homes 3 blocks down the road. when i'm alone in my apartment at night, i can pretend i am no longer in ABQ, but anywhere in the world. 

the transition back to the U.S. has not been easy, as if i'd been living on the moon for months. i'm heartsick for taipei and wondering why i still live in the U.S., a place where i've rarely felt i belonged, and where Americans have often spoken to me and about me as if i didn't belong. tomorrow i plan to go to the gym (i ate constantly while in taiwan), but i will tread lightly when i enter this large, loud room of sweaty Americans. i will carry myself carefully, no longer desiring to force myself into their world in order to prove that i, too, am American, just like them. though i am U.S.-born, i am starting to accept that i am a foreigner after all, a suspicion that i have fought all my life, but am now relieved to embrace as reality. as a foreigner, i will hold myself inwards and simply observe the people around me, like a watchful child in an unsafe place, eyes and ears big, body made small.

OOJ: Packing Snacks

when it comes to life's simple pleasures (cotton sheets, cloud formations, clean underwear), packing snacks for a trip has been one of my favorites since i was little. whether it's a 45 min. drive to santa fe or an 11 hour plane ride to taiwan, i'm a little happier knowing i have treats in my bag. here's what i'm taking on my trip to taiwan (believe it or not, i really have been trying to cut down on refined sugar):

• trader joe's dried berry blend (golden raisins, cherries, cranberries, blueberries)
• theo 70% dark chocolate w/coconut
• nature valley granola bars
• lindt extra dark chocolate truffle balls
• assorted werther's caramel (hard + soft)
• 3 starbursts
• ziploc baggie of skittles
• reese's peanut butter cup from halloween

Pocket-sized Puberty

everything you need for a female puberty lesson on a 4x6 card, artistically rendered with a rainbow pencil. note the awkwardly drawn, anatomically misplaced uterus featuring an egg dropping down; the crazily arching fallopian tubes; the sperm swimming on this poor woman's thigh (you, too, kids, can prevent sperm on your thigh by using a condom!). let's not forget all the exciting body changes, which can be mostly summarized by stinky body hair (see the stink waves coming out of the armpits?). when you see it like this, who wouldn't want to start puberty??

SOD: Imogen Heap, "Hide and Seek"

boulder, CO (april 2014)

"oily marks appear on walls
where pleasure moments hung before the takeover,
the sweeping insensitivity of this still life"

i first listened to today's SOD (song of the day), "hide and seek", about 4 years ago when a snippet of it was co-opted into a radio r+b hit by meh singer jason derulo ("whatcha say"). back in 2010, it didn't make much of an impression, but recently i revisited the original version and haven't been able to stop listening to it since. somehow, hearing it at this point in my life, its lyrics and melody envelop and embed themselves in the fibers in my heart muscle in a way that makes me glad to be alive to experience this music. if someone can create something this beautiful out of hurt, surely there must be more beauty ahead for all of us. 

OOJ: Thin Mint Spa Day

i don't like dip: guacamole, ranch dressing, liquid orange cheese. i do, however, love dipping stuff in things: roast beef au jus, giant sourdough pretzels in crunchy peanut butter, bite-sized chunks of filet mignon in mashed potatoes. behold, my newest dipping masterpiece: Girl Scouts thin mint cookies in a tub of chocolate pudding. you're welcome.

Don't Be Surprised That People Still Say Racist Things

Donald Sterling (left) and V. Stiviano (right), forbes.com

lots of publicity this week for racist people. Donald Sterling, owner of the L.A. Clippers, was banned for life from the N.B.A., by the N.B.A., after a tape recording surfaced of a conversation in which Sterling made some impressively racist comments ("N.B.A. Bans Donald Sterling"). 

"BANNED FOR LIFE"- i love that phrase! it has an absolute, unyielding gravitas, like a royal decree issued forth from a throne in booming, echoing tones. am i surprised an 81-year-old white billionaire makes racist comments? child, please. "Don't be surprised that people still say racist things." am i surprised he was publicly punished for it by a group of other (mostly) white billionaires? yes!!!! (note to President Obama and Ed. Secretary Arne Duncan: can we raise funds for public education by fining someone every time they say something racist? the money would not stop flowing in for decades.) 

i realize that the N.B.A.'s decision was mostly financially motivated. Sterling hadn't exactly tried to hide his feelings towards people of color in the past; he already had a history of lawsuits against him alleging housing discrimination towards black and Latino tenants. the difference this time was the potential for monetary loss at stake- sponsors were fleeing the Clippers; other N.B.A. teams were threatening to boycott future games; and all this during playoff season. Sterling was fined $2.5 million- a slap on the pinky. the guy is worth $2 billion; now that he has to sell the team to someone else, he stands to make at least $575 million (as valued by Forbes). he's not exactly hurting for cash. 

but wait, it gets weirder. Sterling's personal assistant, V. Stiviano (a 31-year-old woman who identifies herself as mixed-race, black and Mexican), agreed to be interviewed by none other than Barbara Walters. she was the one who Sterling had been talking to in his damning recorded statements; he had told her to stop "taking pictures with minorities" and posting them on Instagram. in the interview, Stiviano defends Sterling and insists he is not racist. (she also denies being his mistress, and instead calls herself his "silly rabbit"; i'm not even going to touch that one.)

“I think Mr. Sterling is from a different generation than from the one I am. I think he was brought up to believe those things … segregation, whites and blacks,” said Stiviano.

(by the way, her statement checks two out of three boxes from my list of top 3 most annoying excuses for racist comments.)

in social work school, i learned a phrase called "cognitive dissonance". it describes the discomfort a person might experience when that person holds two conflicting beliefs at the same time. i stretch the meaning to include people who quite comfortably hold two conflicting beliefs simultaneously, whether they are aware of it or not.

both Sterling and Stiviano are fascinatingly depressing examples of cognitive dissonance when it comes to racism and oppression. both individuals chose to change their last names: Donald Sterling used to be Donald Tokowitz, son of a Jewish family. Stiviano's original family name was Perez. now i can't say for sure why each changed his/her family names, but i do know that, for hundreds of years, people living in the U.S. have changed their family names in order to blend in more smoothly with white dominant culture. in other words, if you change your last name to something that sounds less- god forbid- foreign, you just might have a better chance of succeeding with white people (who control most of the money, power, etc. in this country). 

i can only wonder at the self-hate that both Sterling and Stiviano have internalized, which is now so publicly manifesting itself as hate towards people of color. both of them insist they are not racist. "I love black people," says Sterling at one point in the recorded conversation. yet they both go on to present a perfect capsule of race relations in this country, as they discuss Stiviano's skin color. "Do you know that I'm mixed?" she asks him. later, Sterling tells her, "You're supposed to be... a delicate Latina girl (italics mine, from outrage)." NYT columnist Charles Blow has already parsed the "antebellum-level coloristic thinking" of their dialogue, so i won't press the issue. my point is this: cognitive dissonance, y'all: racism has fucked us marginalized people over so badly that we can simultaneously carry hate for ourselves (which we've absorbed as a result of white oppression), and also continue to perpetuate this oppression by passively accepting/making excuses for it (Stiviano) or committing racist acts (Sterling) on others around us.

OOJ: Family Therapy

today's OOJ is a transcription of a family session i did today with two siblings.

scene: me and two siblings- kid A, 8 years old, and kid B, 7 years old- discuss a problem they've been having at home. we're practicing "i statements".

me: ok, kid A, are you ready? (prompting him) 'i feel...'

kid A: i feel sad when you lock me out of your room but let everyone else [the other siblings] go in.

me: kid B, what did he say?

kid B: he feels sad when i lock him out of my room.

me: good job! do you want to say something back to him? 'i feel...'

kid B: i feel mad when you throw farts in my room.

me: (thinking to myself) "throw farts"? is that a phrase???

kid A: but our brother farts in your room!!

kid B: he stops when i tell him to!

me: kid A, is there something you can do differently?

kid a: i can run to the bathroom and fart in there.

me: ok... are you able to control your farts?

kid a: (sadly) no.

me: kid A, what happens if he can't run to the bathroom fast enough and farts in your room?

kid b: that's ok if he makes a mistake.

OOJ: John Legend, live!

google images

tonight i got to watch john legend perform to a sold out crowd at Isleta Casino (ABQ). his velvety voice sounded even better than the last time i heard him live, at the greek theatre (berkeley, ca), about 6 years ago. tonight's production was stripped down, just the way i like it: nothing more than a beautiful man at a piano with occasional backup from a string quartet + acoustic guitar. here's his latest single, "all of me".

Instagram Envy

if you have to be stuck in the suburbs on a business trip, you can't ask for more than an H-Mart right next to your hotel. an oasis in a desert of chain store blandness, H-Mart offers riches such as over 20 different varieties of frozen noodles (spinach, buckwheat, sweet potato, vermicelli), fresh kim chi in quart-size deli containers to go, and a gazillion asian sodas (what's jujube???). for my dinner of champions, i selected a frozen jabchae entree (better than my lean cuisines at home) and a japanese red bean rice cake (that one not so good, i didn't finish it), paired with a cup of ginger tea. H-Mart, see you again tomorrow night!

OOJ: Lead Pencil Tricks

another verbal OOJ from work today:

kid: (pulling off the eraser on his lead pencil) i can do a trick with my lead pencil!

me: (in a fit of bravado) i know all the tricks one can do with a lead pencil!

kid: do you know how to put it under your arm and make fart noises?

me: (pause) no i do not know how to put it under my arm and make fart noises.

kid: you said you knew all the tricks!

me: i guess you proved me wrong.

OOJ: Office in the Sky

recently the universe gifted me with the best flight i've had in a long time, on southwest airlines from MDW to ABQ. the flight wasn't full, so i was able to snag a window seat near the front with an empty middle seat between me and the snoozing guy with the kindle in the aisle seat, giving me extra space to curl up my legs and spread out my stuff. i spent a near blissful 2.5 hours alternately reading magazines (NYT), practicing drum patterns on my lap ("Basic Rock [Variations for Bass Drum]" p. 10), and gazing out the window into the inky night sky. at 30k ft in the air with the constant engine drone as my soundtrack, i felt like i could write a book, compose a song- create anything. instead, i let my mind meander the mundane: how long can i wait until my next haircut (i got one last week)? what will i wear to work tomorrow? what will i search for on ebay when i get home (rebecca minkoff studded crossbody clutch)? up there, i had no idea where i physically was in space, and the absence of a geographical orientation somehow freed my brain- i hadn't realized how much energy i spend thinking about where do i need to be next, and after that, and after that. my day is a chain of place-hopping, so i'm constantly thinking forward. this flight allowed me to simply be. 

OOJ: Soup Mug

someday when i stop city-hopping, i will fill my home with pottery from new mexico. not delicate gilt porcelain, but solid, earth-toned pieces that look as if they were dug straight out of the ground. this soup mug is my newest find; i love not only its weight and texture, but also where i found it, at Hanselmann Pottery, a studio in Corrales, NM. the studio is open all the time, 24/7- i can walk in any time of day or night, pick out a piece of pottery, drop my payment in the locked box, and take it home. i can't wait to try this out at 2 a.m. someday. 

Happy Valentine's Day to Me!

i'm not a traditional person, but somehow i felt compelled to gift myself chocolate, perfume, and lacy red underwear this year. the funny thing is, i didn't plan this; i didn't realize i'd given myself the Valentine's trifecta until i was reviewing my purchases from this past week (though, to be fair, chocolate is a regular purchase for me). guess i do a good job at romancing myself :) 

OOJ: A Kid's Take on Eminem's "Monster"

here's me sitting next to a 4th grader, listening to Eminem's "Monster". the kid turns to me.

kid: who do you think the monster is in his song?

me (surprised by this insightful question about a lyric metaphor): well, i don't know, maybe 
it's his anger issues that he's struggled with his whole life.

kid: i think it's rihanna, because she screams a lot in this song.

Poem of the Day: Sherman Alexie, "Psalm Like It Hot"

i haven't had a POD in a while, but this one was just sent out by one of my favorite authors, Sherman Alexie. He's a Spokane/Coeur d'Alene Indian now living in Seattle who- i think but i'm not sure- used to be a construction worker by day while cranking out fiction at night. i have this image of a guy walking into his apartment around 8pm, grunting a little, throwing down his hard hat on the floor with grimy fingers, and settling down at a typewriter with a beer at his side. that's how i picture Mr. Alexie 20 years ago. 

Psalm Like it Hot

I wanted to write "churning   water" but typed "churching"   instead. The water churches.   The water churched. The water   Will church again tomorrow.   I'm sure this typo has happened   To other people but has anyone   Ever called it a prayer?   I don't believe in God   But I talk to God anyway.   So, yes, I belong to the Assembly   Of the Hypocritical.   Come join us. Open   The hymn book and sing   To the (un)holy trio   Of the Farther, Sun.   And Holy Goat.

Happy Super Bowl Sunday!

pork sausage at meat counter at sprouts on academy, ABQ

it's my second favorite holiday (after the fall moon festival). no family obligations, just lots of snacks, friends, and football- perfect. except the game this year was ridonkadonk!

OOJ: Luminara Unduli

i've found an image to guide me into the new year.

i felt drawn to this figure as soon as i saw her on the shelf. after some googling, i found out her name: luminara unduli, a jedi master from star wars the clone wars. according to her wiki page, she was really good with her light saber, but died in battle.

"Her lightsaber skills were impressive. In battle, her movements were focused and precise, flowing from one to the other. All Jedi are my brothers and sisters, but only with a few, like Luminara Unduli, do you intuitively mesh."

―Quinlan Vos, on Luminara Unduli's skills

which way does it go?

art for the new year! the bottom pic is the way i initially drew it, then i decided i liked it better turned around. interpretations, anyone?

OOJ: Paper Carving

seen on display at Two Hands Paperie, Boulder, CO

OOJ: "I'm thankful for my mammals"

yeah, i'm thankful for my lunch too, and, um, my mammals.

second grader, valle vista elem., ABQ