SixSixSix

Friends, family, strangers - six months. We have six months remaining in 2011. We have six months to continue pursuing the year's goals. We have six months to turn our lives around and dream big. Six months. It's actually a nice chunk of time. Summer is alive and lightening spirits across much of the globe. Following the warmer months, which will indeed pass too quickly, comes fall, introducing a touch of chill to the air and some of the best fashion trends. Then there's winter. Dreaded winter. Seems far off, right? It is. Take this time to reconnect with your resolutions and strive to be that better woman or man. It's never too late. You're never too old, or fat, or skinny, or ugly, or pretty, or weak, or single, or married, or broke, or child-rearing, or depressed or happy to lift that chin higher and open a few windows.

2011 has been a year of windows for me. It began with a blessing and a curse - a broken foot. While healing, I practiced some serious soul-searching. What I found motivated me to elevate myself on all levels. I've never been happier or healthier in my twenties, and I'm turning 28 in a month. My love for Hudson, my manfriend of 4.5 years, has grown immensely after experiencing his selflessness and willing to be my slave while bedridden. I've lost 30 pounds since January 1st, and I intend to lose 30 more. I abandoned practicality once again and left my secure job at JibJab to follow my dreams of becoming a writer. Freelancing has proved challenging but creatively fulfilling, and I was just offered a full-time position as an editor for LAist, an L.A.-centric blog which I've been volunteering with since January. Perseverance paid off, and I am so pumped to join the team. Did I mention I get to work from home? Tres cool. Loads of other positive happenings have occurred this year, and I can't wait to see what's next.

Speaking of next, I'm gearing up for a red-eye flight to St. Thomas (with a stop in Miami) for Hudson's Dirty Thirty Birthday Adventure. Along with his jet-setter parents and aunt, we're chartering a private 42-foot catamaran and sailing the seas of the Virgin Islands - U.S. and British. I can hardly believe the trip is here, tonight, departing in 20 minutes for LAX.

Take care, dear readers, and I wish you the best of times.

Los Angeles, Je T'Aime

We love to complain about Los Angeles -- traffic, smog, industry, deluded mindsets, pretentious psyches. But I think underneath it all, most of us really love the sprawl. The action is here. And if you're tired of it, you can easily slip away to a quaint beach town or secluded mountain top for a weekend.

Enjoying my recent trip back east, I had zero time to grow L.A.sick, racing around to visit as many family members and friends as possible. After a hellish United flight home, I sunk into my couch, fondling the fibers, missing its touch. (I spend a lot of time on my couch as a freelancer.) I smiled at my bamboo plant sitting on my living room table, my desert succulents sunbathing on my kitchen sink windowsill, my everlasting yellow daisies swimming in their blue vase on my kitchen table, the roaring Venice Boulevard. The realization of how at home I feel in Venice shocked me slightly, though a tinge of SoYoCosickness stabbed my stomach.

The events of my first day home delighted me. Without planning, I found myself at places I had missed after just one week. Revolution Fitness in Venice, Wednesday's Santa Monica Farmer's Market, Trader Joe's, Firefly on Abbot Kinney to buy my fancy French soap and Intelligentsia for a heavenly cappuccino topped with a frothy heart. Each of these stops made me incredibly happy, hugging my heart, thanking me for returning to a land which I once loved, then loathed and now love once again.

Though I may not reside in L.A. forever, California has stolen my heart and soul, just as I knew it would years before I uprooted and moved my life to an unknown, coveted coast.

Ladies & Gentlemen, This Is Your Captain Speaking

Traveling enlightens the mind and soul. I love traveling. It's my spending priority aside from food, green products and rent. I've developed a routine before traveling which varies depending on my destination/s. Tonight I'm braving a red-eye flight from LAX to BWI with a final destination of York, PA. Sounds exciting, doesn't it? It's not. But the people I meet (new nephew!) and visit (friends and family!) are. In my usual fashion of needing to escape my hometown after one day, I'll be strapping myself into my step-dad's mother's hefty Chevy Lumina and driving about 100 miles to Philadelphia, my beloved stomping ground from 2001-2006.

So what's this routine of mine?

A standard stream of musings flood my mind a couple weeks before a hometown trip. Here's a taste of the scatter.

• What kinds of treats should I request be fully stocked in my mom's kitchen upon my arrival?

• Did I buy treats for the niece and nephew?

• Who do I want to see?

• Who do I need to see?

• Who can I avoid?

• Who will undoubtedly message me to hang out that I must avoid at all costs?

• How can I avoid attending any bars?

• How can I avoid the mall?

• How can I avoid the grocery store?

• Which one of my friends will host Lloydpalooza this time?

• How will I continue my diet and exercise regimen while away from home? (That answer is easy: I won't. I will return a few pounds heavier and need to spin every day, twice, to undo the horrors I've done to my body in one week.)

• Will Grandpa Denzil remember me?

• If Grandpa Denzil doesn't remember me, who should I pretend to be?

• How will I handle humidity? 

Tasty. After those important queries, I ponder packing. Then I start making lists.

Obviously, I'm only carrying-on luggage. I refuse to: 1) Pay to check my luggage. 2) Wait in line to check my bags. 3) Wait in line to retrieve my bags.

• How many pairs of underwear should I pack? Will I need extras? It is going to be humid...

• How many pairs of leggins should I bring?

• Sleepwear? Jeans? Dresses? Shirts? Shoes? Sandals? Socks? Jewelry?

• Workout wear? (I typically bring two outfits which I may use during the first day or two of my trip. I don't see them again until I'm packing to leave.)

• Should I bring my own all-natural, toxin-free toiletries or brave those supplied to me?

My list becomes very detailed, identifying the exact number of everything I should bring, right down to the undergarments. It's helpful, organized and responsible. And maybe a little overkill.

On the day of my flight, like today, I begin dreading the possible monstrosities I may encounter on the plane. The Farter. The Crier. The Back of Seat Kicker. The Vomiter. The Constant Pee'er. The Talker. The Fatty. The Shower Hater. The Active Sleeper. Which one will I enjoy tonight and into tomorrow morning?

Fingers, toes and eyes crossed that tonight, as my window seat beckons my heavy head, the seat to my left is empty, the air a comfortable temperature and free of human stink, sleep consumes me and I awaken just as we touch ground to be greeted by my brother and niece.

Judy Garland Makes We Wonder...

I would've never known had Tribeca Film Festival not posted about it on Facebook, asking their followers, "How many times have you seen the Wizard of Oz?" This prompted me to wonder why we continue to celebrate the birthdays of those who have passed.

My father passed away 19 years ago, yet I still pay homage to him every November 27, just 22 days after the anniversary of his death, which I not so much celebrate but mourn. As a member of the DDC - Dead Dads Club - I've healed and feel comfortable making awkward jokes about my loss. I'm fairly certain my Nana and aunt (his mother and sister) continue to gift his grave with fresh flowers every November 27, too.

Is it odd to celebrate birthdays of the dead? Feed me more examples, please.

I'm Judging You

Remember when the human race fell victim to a harsh deity judgment and some of us went along with Sir Divine and others with Sergeant Hell? Oh right, that never happened. These hyped up rapture events always seem silly to me, but when OnlineRock asked me to cover Saint Motel's Judgment Day event at The Roxy on May 21, I couldn't resist. Reverend Childs, the "boss" behind Project Caravan, preached the momentous occasion until bewilderment set-in as the clock struck midnight. I wish his reaction would have been more dramatic, but it was amusing watching him sweat. 

While the event failed to impress me due to press overhype, the music absolutely did. I missed Queen Caveat due to sluggish service at Hugo's, but The Hundred Days, Vanaprasta and the headliner - Saint Motel - killed it. My companion, Nita, and I snapped as many photos as possible. The show offered exceptional practice shooting action in low light. Check out some of my photos here. And give my OnlineRock article a read here if you're interested in finding out what went down on that not-so-fateful night in May.

So when is the next Judgment Day? I've seen October 21, 2011, and of course the well-known December 21, 2012. We either have 5 months or 19 months. Hopefully more events like this will ring-in the rapture. 

Lessons in Humanity

Be nice. Be polite. Be fair. Put yourself in his/her shoes. I believe if you follow these morals and those similar, you will live a happy life and also make others happy. This year I'm focusing on being more selfless and just being nice in general. I'm a nice person. However, we all have our moments. I am trying not to have these moments. (Though the gypsy Tarot card/palm reader on Venice Beach did call me out on bossing around Hudson...) I'm trying. And my efforts paid off. Literally.

I broke my foot on the first day of this new year. It was a blessing and a curse. A blessing as it forced upon me healthy eating habits and productivity. The curse portion is obvious. I won't go into detail. I left my full-time job mid-January to pursue a career more focused on editorial opportunities. And with that freedom went my health insurance. COBRA proved ludicrously expensive. Blue Cross denied me due to my pre-existing condition. I, of course, blogged about that experience here. Luckily my orthopedist would continue to see me, and luckily I met Josie. Josie works in the accounting department and is an angel. With my tail between my legs, I smiled and explained my situation. She understood. And with each check-up she shaved a few more dollars off my bill. While her scornful job-related comments convinced me that she enjoys nothing about her job, she always remained polite and pleasant. And apparently I did, too.

My last appointment was Wednesday, May 25. Confident that my foot was healed, I hopped onto the x-ray table, laughing at the technician's usual joke before he snapped a shot: "Smile!" The doctor entered my room with a smile, and I, resisting the urge to put down my People magazine, returned his expression. My foot was healed. I could hop. I could jump. I could run. I just had to ease into it. I skipped towards the exit, turning right into Josie's open-wall "office" and told her the good news. I thanked her again for all of her help over the last few months. I wished her a great rest of her week. She told me she'd mail me the check, as usual.

When I called Josie to pay my final installment of "The Metatarsal Trust," I thanked her again. And she said something like this. "You are always so polite and pleasant. I don't help everyone, but when someone is as nice as you, I am happy to reciprocate." That felt good. That felt great. That felt phenomenal. She made my day, my week and possibly my year.

So there you have it. Be nice.

Cupcakes & Comedy

I know. This combo sounds too incredible to not be merely imagined. Thankfully, it is real. This show, created by Adria Baratta, hosts its second installment next Sunday, June 5, at, you'll never guess... A BAKE SHOP! Sweet E's Bake Shop, no less. After Adria approached me to cover the event, I, an indulger of cupcakes, lover of comedy and supporter of talented ladies, quickly agreed.

I will regrettably miss the show, as I'm retreating into the mountains to focus on creative writing (and a book review). A few much needed days away from the wonderful hubbub of the sprawl can prove wonderfully productive.

But back to C & C... Learn more about this event by reading my article here. Mangez bien!

Underbellies

There's something amazing about photographs of sharks in their natural habitats. Never would you have the chance to view the underbelly of a tiger shark unless provided by a talented, fearless photojournalist like, say, Brian Skerry. And if you happen to score this view without the help of underwater snapshots, that most likely means you're swimming under one of these monsters and are going to die. It's funny how deathly afraid so many of us are of sharks. Yes, they are ocean predators. Yes, they have been known to bite and kill humans. But hey, we're on their turf. If you saw a shark flopping along the sidewalk, what would you do? Welcome it into your home? Imagine it thinly sliced and snugly wrapped in cute little sushi rolls? You might throw your latte at it. Maybe chuck your keys at its face? You would defend yourself. Or if you're one of the few who are not afraid, you might pet it then run for help because it's surely going to die.

My most recent LAist story posted this morning and details an amazing photography exhibit currently displaying at my favorite gallery, The G2 Gallery. Brian Skerry's work in Ocean Wild will pry open your jaw and weigh it down to the floor with very little effort. I experienced his collection yesterday at the gallery, inspired by his talent and ability to showcase the vulnerability of marine life. Jazz music hummed softly in the background, making for a wonderful visit, as always. G2 is an absolute must-see on Abbot Kinney in Venice. The gift shop downstairs is perfect for unique prezzies, too.

Find out more about Ocean Wild by reading my article. Click here.

New CSA Location On Abbot Kinney

first CSA California bag & meal, August 2010

We did it! No, I'm not referring to surviving "Judgment Day." Gaby, friend and writing partner, and I organized a CSA pickup location at The G2 Gallery on Abbot Kinney Boulevard in conjunction with CSA California! After months of developing and coordinating this project, it has finally grown to be an actual event! Well, almost. Now we just need at least 40 participants in order to "activate" our location. With the help of G2's newsletter plus Gaby and I's social media persistence, I think we'll have our group secured in no time. And if that does not suffice, we'll hop right into the Venice community, possibly with fliers in hand. Who doesn't want to enjoy fresh, local, seasonal fruits and vegetables at a great price? Anyone who does not, please bring them to me so I can explain the numerous benefits of enjoying such treats and supporting local farmers.

A quick lesson in CSAs in case you're unfamiliar. CSA stands for Community Supported Agriculture. It gives people the chance to buy seasonal produce directly from a farmer. Local Harvest offers helpful information on this topic here.

If you're interested in joining our pickup location, you may sign up here. If you're not a Venetian but care about our cause, please help spread the word! Next time I see you, I'll buy you a locally grown veggie or fruit of your choice. Promise.

Lessons in Humanity

One of my 2011 resolutions is to be the most positive person I can be. Naturally optimistic, this isn't the most challenging feat, but it is a quality that I want to improve. And I have. And I want everyone out there to join me. I've grown tired of hearing the complaints, the whining, the claims that "the universe is against me" and "I've tried everything to lose weight, but I just can't." Don't blame your metabolism. Chances are it's completely normal. We are ultimately responsible for our happiness. Outside factors affect us, no doubt, but if there is something wrong in our lives, we can change it. Hate your job? Quit. Tired of America? Move. Sick of tugging on those love handles, muffin tops, grandma arms and flabby inner thighs? Eat healthy, decrease your portions and exercise. It's all very simple. But for some reason we choose to complicate things. We live outside of our means. We choose the fancy car instead of the sensible option that will allow us to enjoy life instead of work to support our possessions. It's fine if you want to own fancy things. But don't sink yourself into debt and cry about it. That's your fault. Deal with it. Work harder. Do more. Think.

My solutions are as follows: Live a simple life, speak with reason, embrace a cause or dozens, follow your dreams, live your life and find something to be thankful for every day. Trust me, I'm not a doctor or a politician. Today I am thankful for the ability to spend the morning writing with my writing partner at a cafe in Santa Monica. It's afternoon, and I'm still here, pounding away at my thoughts and keyboard. Yesterday I was thankful to celebrate the birthday of one of my favorite ladies. Wednesday I enjoyed an hour-long facial in the early afternoon. My skin is thankful, and I think I'll indulge more often rather than go several years sans facial pampering.

Perhaps we should think in the grand scheme of things before letting the corners of our mouths sag. Will a certain moment matter tomorrow? Maybe not. Distressed about an upcoming event? Just think about it in terms of time. It's just a tiny chunk out of your entire life. It's going to be ok. It will pass. Have a bad day at work? That's ok. There are 225 days remaining in 2011. Surely those days can and will be better.

Look up, friends. It's warm and sunny up here.

Alexander Calder, My Homie

"Bird" by Alexander Calder. Image courtesy of OCMA.

I cannot pinpoint the exact year when I was first introduced to Alexander Calder, though it was during my high school days. English, French, Psychology and Art were my most favored subjects. Oh, and lunch. Mind you, I do not excel in visual creation. My creations form within my imagination and bleed through my fingertips in the form of words. I loved his work, not just the famous mobiles - all of it - the stabiles and sculptures, too. Mesmerized by his dedication to handwork and mastery of balance, my heart gladly skipped a few beats whenever I experienced a new piece. His 34-foot white mobile, "Ghost," stretches across the ceiling at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. In college, while studying English and Filmmaking at Temple, I'd visit every so often, quite possibly just to watch this creation rotate slowly in the air. Hence, I jumped at the opportunity to write a review of his current exhibit at Orange County Museum of Art for OC Arts & Culture. You must check out this exhibit if you are an L.A. or OC local. And you must read my review here then shower me with compliments. Merci!

Buying Local & Taboo Tales

There's nothing taboo about buying local. Unique LA is the largest independent show of its kind in the country, and it conveniently takes place right here in L.A. I interviewed Sonja Rasula, Unique LA's fabulous founder, and crafted an LAist post to help promote the event. Though I was watering flowers, ripping moldy bathtub tiles from the walls, sucking up cobwebs and spider corpses, birdwatching and hiking in Running Springs all weekend, I still felt like I was a tiny part of the event. You can read my coverage here.

Now let's talk taboo. What's taboo to you? We all posses embarrassing feelings towards certain topics; those which we never discuss with others, that make us cringe, that we feel are beyond conversation or mention. My friend and fellow writer, Laurenne Sala, along with Corey Podell, a writer and comedian, founded Taboo Tales last year as a safe haven to approach these subjects with a heavy dose of comedy. I attended my first Taboo Tales in March and am stoked for tomorrow night's show. The event is effective. I laughed as a woman, healed from her horrific past, described her childhood memories of being raped by her alcoholic father. Yes, I laughed. Why? Because she made me. With her comedic writing, timing, wit and impressive presentation, I could not help but laugh with her, though at some points, I definitely felt uncomfortable. After the show a feeling of liberation warmed me. I felt like I could discuss any and everything with those around me. Checkout my coverage here. And most importantly, checkout a show! You will not regret it. If you experience a similar elation as I, you might just be inspired. And that's a wonderful feeling. Run with it.

Recent Reviews

Coachella rocked on so many levels--mind-blowing musical performances, the chance to see as many bands as you could handle in three days, interesting artwork erected throughout the venue, booze, friends, strangers--I felt like a kid again. But instead of running around in the grass playing games, I danced around in the grass enjoying some of my favorite bands, allowing the magic of live music to soak my soul. I've never felt better, more alive, happier to be alive, finally LIVING. It's hard to explain, and soon I may possibly try to explain it in a personal essay. Music affects. It's addicting. And it feeds something inside of you that begs for fulfillment and enrichment. I cannot wait for Coachella 2012. I will be there, but perhaps I'll shell out the extra hundreds of dollars for a hotel room instead of braving desert camping. Though that was an essential part of my amazing experience this past April. We'll see how free-spirited I remain at 28.

Another Coachella bonus was the opportunity to write reviews for three of my favorite bands to be posted on OnlineRock's blog. And they're up! Checkout my reviews for !!!, Delta Spirit, Arcade Fire and Mumford & Sons.

In other review news, last week I attended ST Residential's opening of their Marina del Rey Gallery Lofts. You can read my LAist review of the event here.

Mama Earth

Last Friday, April 22, the world celebrated Earth Day. One day out of three-hundred-sixty-five when we are asked to recognize our planet's selflessness, our selfishness and to act on our own selflessness. I hugged a tree. I recycled. I walked into town instead of driving. I planted four different types of perennials: Lavender, Georgia Blue, Coreopsis 'Early Sunrise' and Jackanapes. While digging in the dirt and apologizing to various underground bugs for disrupting their afternoons, I wondered why we only recognize the earth once a year. It's wonderful that we do, but why can't we celebrate monthly? We should be giving back to the environment on our own every day, and many of us do. We purchase reusable bags and beam while telling the cashier at Trader Joe's, "I brought my own bag." We participate in trash pickups. We volunteer to clean beaches on Saturday mornings. We leave our cars parked and ride our bicycles. We carpool. We take public transportation. We compost. We recycle. We use cloth rags instead of wipes and paper towels. We drink from canteens instead of buying cases of bottled water. We turn off the water while brushing our teeth. We use energy-saver light bulbs. We install solar lights along our home's exterior pathways. We do what we can to reduce waste and reverse enviro-damage. But we can all do more.

Lavender

I'm an Angeleno. I've been one for the past 4.5 years. While I still fantasize about living in Paris, writing at quaint sidewalk cafes on Boulevard Saint-Germain, I do love my current city, especially the west side, specifically Venice. But like the rest of the sprawl's 9.9 million inhabitants, I'm tired of the smog. I'm tired of looking out on my city after a hike and being blinded by that disgusting brown blanket. This is not every day, but when the temperature's high and the winds are wrong, this is the typical scene. L.A. is the fourth most polluted U.S. city by short-term particle pollution, the third most polluted U.S. city by year-round particle pollution and THE most polluted U.S. city by ozone pollution, according to the State of the Air 2010, a report conducted by the American Lung Association.

In honor of Earth Day, I have pledged to do more for Mama Earth every day. I also urge Angelenos to do more throughout the entire summer in my latest LAist post. You can read it here. After researching numerous local green events, I rounded up the ten most interesting finds.

Jackanapes, Coreopsis 'Early Sunrise' and Georgia Blue. And solar light.

Embrace your inner treehugger. There's nothing wrong with taking responsibility for your planet. There's everything right about it.

Edward Scissorhands

The number of times I watched this film eludes me. It released when I was seven, and though I cannot recall how old I was when I first experienced it, I can tell you the entire film, from start to finish, from every snip of Edward's scissors, is unforgettable. One of my best friends, Bubba, and I had a habit of constantly watching the same batch of "favorites" while devouring "Italian" offerings from our local Dominos. Sure, the weather may have been just right for play, but we had cinematic worlds to explore. Plus we'd probably already been outside for most of the morning and afternoon, poking around in the neighboring creeks, practicing field hockey passes in the backyard (once accidentally hitting my collie's frail ankle with the ball), throwing sticks onto Powder Mill Road and exploding with joy as cars crushed them with their wheels at a safe, suburban 40 miles per hour, turning over rocks, stalking my brother and his "hot" older friends or rolling tea cigarettes. FACT: York, PA offers an abundance of activities for minors. FACT: York, PA offers an equally impressive list of things to do for adults. HONEST FACT: I escaped as soon as I finished high school and will never move back.

Justin Parpan: Coming Home

My recent LAist coverage details an upcoming exhibition which features artworks based on the film, some of which were submitted to Sebastien Mesnard's Scissorhands 20th blog. I highly recommend following to receive updates on all amazing submissions. Unfortunately pour moi, the opening reception takes place this Saturday while I'll be roasting in the California desert at Coachella, but I cannot wait to visit Gallery Nucleus upon recovery to be transported by the 50+ pieces in the show.

One other reason for my excitement about this particular project is that my good buddy, Justin Parpan, created a piece for it. See the image to the right. Spectacular, oui? Justin is an immensely talented illustrator enamored by creatures - monsters, Bigfoot, reptiles, dinosaurs - you name it.  Remember the late-eighties movie, The Wizard, starring Fred Savage and Jenny Lewis? Remember the scene when they're in the desert with a giant dinosaur? That dinosaur still stands in Cabazon, CA, about 25 miles from San Jacinto, Justin's hometown. Understand his fascination now? If you ever have the privilege of meeting Justin, ask to see the tattoo on his wrist and ask him any dinosaur queries you may have. I'm 99% certain he'll have an answer for you.

Shoe Awareness & Mindful Manners

My two most recent LAist posts are very different and provided much insight on two awareness topics - shoes and etiquette.

I did a quick 10+ minute phone interview with Blake Mycoskie, Founder and Chief Shoe Giver of TOMS Shoes - very laid back and brilliant fella. While I was unable to participate in One Day Without Shoes last Tuesday, April 5, due to my still healing broken foot (I'm not taking any chances, people), I still feel very close to the cause. Checkout my coverage here.

On Thursday I participated in the Hammer Museum's Greeting Committee, an interactive experiment teaching guests lessons in etiquette. I can now give the perfect handshake. Come see me, I'll show you. If interested, you still have today & tomorrow to experience this project. Read my article here.

Look What the MySpace Dragged In...

Upon returning from my second weekend of Cabin de Wise fixin' uppin', I failed to muster up enough brain power to be truly productive. Tomorrow. So instead I decided tonight is the night to cancel my MySpace membership. Why? Because I haven't used it in years, and it just seems silly to leave it out there, floating online. But before I laid to rest that impressive profile I'd spent so many hours perfecting, finding the perfect layout and most relevant song for that time in my life, I had to backup all of my photos. And then I decided I had to read all of Hudson and I's conversations, since our relationship began on MySpace (special thanks to Mortek). I giggled at our early stages of courting one another, sometimes sounding like we do currently, though sometimes sounding like completely different people. After 4.5 years, we both are very different people. But we're still together. We do not, however, flirt with each other via social networks any longer. What a shame. We should resume. As I backed up those earlier chapters of my life, I couldn't help but read through my MySpace blog posts, minimal in their content and number. One of them really hit me, effective in its honesty and sense of self-actualization. My skin grew cool, and I shivered, remembering that feeling of true independence and happiness.

Dated December 9, 2006...

"Capacity Perceptions"

So I've discovered a way to gauge if I'm ready for a move, for a new city, for a green land. One day in Philly I was driving along the Schuylkill, and I looked over at the skyline and suddenly felt bigger than the city. Its capacity no longer overwhelmed me, no longer left me curious about its inhabitants, its contents. I could map it out in my head, picture the streets, any mystery had been replaced by familiarity and almost a warm sense of boredom. It's nice to feel comfortable in a place, to know every corner and crack. But the feeling that encompasses me as I drive to work every morning and stare to my left at the Downtown LA skyline is thrilling. I feel small and overwhelmed, almost minute, and I fucking love it. I have no clue what lies in between those buildings. I have some clue of the surrounding LA/Hollywood/Beverly Hills land, but not enough. That feeling rushes back to me when I drive home from work and the Long Beach skyline appears. It's refreshing. It's awakening. It has made me feel alive again, young but more mature, affected, affecting, genuinely ecstatic about my life in California. And the best part is, I'm never bored. There's just too much that remains unknown, could keep me occupied for years...

Overmation Neglect

While scanning my daily Upod digest yesterday, I spotted a message sharing this stirring quotation: "We systematically overestimate the value of access to information & underestimate the value of access to each other." - Clay Shirky at SXSW 2011. Who is this Shirky fellow, you ask? And why does he have the privilege of making such astute, honest and perceptive statements? The Internet's effect on society is his bailiwick, that's why. Check out his creds here. 

Quilled Fail Whale by @allthingspaper

I read over his remark several times, each time agreeing with it more, despite a lack of context. 

A limitless amount of information is at our calloused fingertips (and carpal tunneled wrists). Past generations referred to more limited but perhaps higher quality sources of information, like encyclopedias (remember those?!) and people (remember them?!?!). If I want to learn something, I grab my MacBook, iPhone or sometimes iPad and ask Google. Google is a noun and also a verb. "Google it." Voila! Thousands of results! But which ones contain accurate information? Which ones can I trust? With so much animosity buzzing around so-called content farms these days, I'm beginning to raise an eyebrow on what I read on my screens. Yet when I open up a book or magazine, I trust that information. There is hardly a shred of doubt in my mind that the world's greatest editor hasn't fact-checked the information multiple times. The sources in those publications are surely legit. And of course I trust accredited information sites alike. 

What is Shirky really commenting on when he says "access to each other?" Should we confide in our neighbors more often? Maybe we should listen more intently during conversations? Perhaps when my mother, who's been a nurse for thirty-five years, suggests a remedy, I should obey. Maybe he's more so referring to our neglect of the people in our lives. Our loved one walks in the door after a long, draining day of being an adult, and we barely look up from our electronic world to greet. I am absolutely guilty of excess QT with the laptop and not enough with the BF.

So tonight, my friends, unplug and snuggle up next to the PEOPLE in your lives. I promise you will  meet not a fail whale but open arms.

*Note: I experienced an instance today (4/3/11) where I overestimated Google and underestimated a person. Seated at a breakfast joint in Running Springs, we wondered what the "adobada" sauce was. Instead of asking our waitress, I reached for my iPhone. Tsk-tsk.

Philanthropic Parlour

This Sunday's tribute to crafty women sings to my inner feminist. Yes! Let's celebrate creative women! Yes! An event dedicated to the handmade scene! Yes! Smart lady hands! The Pink Parlour Festival, for its third year in a row, takes place in Arcadia, CA from 11am-7pm. Want more details? Of course you do. Checkout my article here.

Last week I had the pleasure of chatting with Seth Borden, the event's co-producer. Andrea Perez is the female half of this truly selfless duo. Both philanthropists with an incredible passion for the arts, they dedicate the bulk of their year planning for this event. Once the annual festival does turn a profit, their mission is to donate to various nonprofits, the City of Hope and the Children's Hospital of Orange County. What a man. What a woman. What a mighty good team.

A reminder, dear friends, to do good.

Sore Throat

Since I was 9 - an age where the reality of life swooped me into its cold grasp, turning my world and I upside down and shaking us violently, for years, until coping with losing my father became bearable - writing has been my outlet and therapy. I rarely confided in family or friends to discuss my feelings. I bottled them up inside then spilled them onto inviting pages of scrap paper and word processors, exhausting my emotions and hands. Today I still practice this technique. And today I am angry and brimming with questions.

What good is your voice if no one listens? Do you continue to shout? Or do you admit defeat and accept silence? How do you force someone to listen, to care, to respect your advice? How do you not feel insignificant when you are ignored? How do you not become angry? Why do some people always trust the advice of their parents and no one else? Why care?

Because I cannot stand being ignored. And though I pose these questions, I know that silence is never the answer. Keep shouting. Keep screaming. Keep singing. Gather any and all ears, dig deep into your belly and bellow until it hurts. Only stop when you're physically unable to continue. Exhaust yourself for the sake of yourself. Only then can you say you did everything you could. Fight the good fight (with your mind, not your fists). Tell surrender to fuck off.