Sunday, November 21, 2010

Friday, November 19, 2010

Robert Smith

Sometimes I forget that The Cure exists. Then when I remember it is wonderful.

They always make me think of a couple things:
1. My adolescence in New Orleans. (That is a lot of things.)
2. Kids smoking clove cigarettes at The Neutral Ground.
3. Seeing The Cure in concert at The Saenger.
4. I used to know someone who saw Robert Smith upchuck.


In other news, I got my hair did today. My stylist thinks it is good that I stopped washing my hair with shampoo. You should go to Sparrow.

On one final note, how great would it have been to walk past this?

One of my favorite writers, Neil Gaiman, had a flash wedding with Amanda Palmer from The Dresden Dolls. Jackson Square is my favorite place in the world.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Friday, November 12, 2010

Minding the Past.

This is the season for creative nonfiction, which in all honesty, intimidates me a tad. It has always been my plan to write on my parents' storied pasts (because there are just so many stories to not to), but lately I have been tasked with the job of doing this with my own life.

In looking back through all the pictures I have taken just from the past six years or so, and thinking to all those waterlogged photo albums stinking of mold waiting back at home, there is just so much to sift through. According to Flickr, I have 12,923 items on my account. Which in of itself is not a horrible thing.

What is horrible, is thinking of myself as a character - the protagonist - it's enough to make you puke in your soup. I have a mental shelf filled with heroes and role-models aplenty. Fictional and real, they embody certain characteristics I would like to have for myself, but alas, not there or near that.

I am listening to various folk artists as self-assigned homework. They tend to put the ugly parts of themselves with pretty melodies. I think it is all a matter of doing the same with language. Both serve as the sugary reprieve from bitter medicines/ truths.

Luckily, I'm just a bit player in this story:


One final note - get a load of my kin. I could not be prouder.

Sunday, November 07, 2010

Peer Pressure

My inspiring, delightful teacher made a rousing speech in class the other day. It was on the four components he believes one needs to become a successful writer. (And I would contend that one would also need these attributes to be a successful human being.)

One of these elements on his list struck me as curious. To paraphrase, it was a matter of selecting a solid, decent, and motivated group of people to call your friends. Selecting makes the whole process sound like making groceries, but I have found over the years, that pruning certain people out of your life as a necessary part of maturation and growth. You want friends that bring the best out of you and vice versa. (I am sure that I have been pruned, in addition to being the pruner.)
As of right now, I have a righteous group of friends - two of them I have already mentioned on this here blog. I met Robin when I was fifteen in Australia on a YFU exchange program. And I met Lauren through the Craigslist gods when looking for a roommate.

First off, it is extremely difficult to find non-cheesecake images of Super Heroines. With that said, my friends are indeed Super Heroes. Seriously, these two are both over 5'10'' and look like they could take on any neerdowell that comes their way. So, I'll just go with this Frank Quitely New X-Men panel that illustrates how cool I think they are.

Which leads me to what I did yesterday. I ran 9.3 miles, 15 kilometers in the Hot Chocolate Race. I did not keep up with my training schedule before the run. It was freezing cold yesterday. And I ranged over a million and two reasons to ditch the race. But, Lauren and Robin, the super heroes that they are, were all ready to go. So I ran the race. All because I felt pressured by their example. Today, I feel sore and achy and like I was dropped onto concrete. Not at all like a Super Hero. But, I also feel accomplished and really glad I did not blow it off. If I hadn't run, I am sure I would feel like a guilty pile right now. Now to go walk like an old lady.