California Fever

who i am

chronicles

if the chronicles of
my life thus
far were to fall off
the shelf would it
fall open to the drinking
years the blackouts
and laughs and adventures
in the night or would
it land in an early
chapter in the isolation
of a lonely childhood
held together by
a strict observance
to rules and regimen
as a way to hold myself
together as everything
around me fell apart
or would the pages
flutter open to my
restless twenties when
i shuttled myself
about like a woman
on the run from what
i didn't know just
that i had to keep
going or would the
weight of comfort cause
the book to expose
itself to the settled years
when the sharp edges
softened by love
made me feel in
tired moments as if
all my essence had been
in the edges until i hit
the road alone forcing
myself to travel lonely
highways as the only
surefire way to find my
way back to my self or
would the chronicles land
face down so as not to
expose the blank pages
in the second half of
the book the part still
being woven together
from the threads of
all those other
chapters?

More "chronicles" at Sunday Scribblings.

Paul Reddy

As J would say (after a particularly good laugh), "Awww...shit." via his blog

Why I Love Poetry

Liz Elayne came up with this week's Poetry Thursday prompt:  "Why I Love Poetry."  Of course, if you'd asked me a year ago, I would have said I didn't particularly even like poetry, let alone love it.  It's not that I had anything against it, really--it was just that it intimidated me.  I thought poetry was designed to make me feel inadequate or dense or shallow or unworthy.  After all, that's why you write poetry, isn't it?  To make other people feel like shit?  ;)  Poetry can be intimidating for a smarty-pants who's had very little exposure to it.  Because I'm supposed to get it.  And if I don't instantly get it, it couldn't possibly mean that I haven't found the right poets for me--that I haven't found work that resonates with me, that I can relate to, that bears personal meaning for me.  No, it couldn't be that.  It had to be because I was inadequate.

Of course, I went through my Bukowski phase back in the 80's.  Loved me some Charlie Bukowski.  But, hell, that wasn't about poetry (he just happened to work in that form)--that was about drinking.

From The Blackbirds Are Rough Today by Charles Bukowski:

the blackbirds are rough today
like
ingrown toenails
in an overnight
jail---
wine wine whine,
the blackbirds run around and
fly around
harping about
Spanish melodies and bones.

Poetry I wasn't sure about...drinking I understood.

And then I met Liz.  I don't mean 'met online'--that had already happened.  I mean her bright, beaming, sweet, adorable self walked into Doug Fir in Portland one Sunday morning last April where she joined Laini and Stephanie and me for breakfast.  And Poetry Thursday was new.  And I thought, "How am I gonna explain to Liz that as much as I adore her, I can't participate at Poetry Thursday."  I simply didn't think it was possible.  Because at that point, I wasn't sure I could even find poems written by others that I'd feel comfortable posting here because...well...what if I had to explain them?  Or say why I liked them?  Then what?!

But Liz, being Liz, wasn't about to clobber anyone over the head with her love of poetry.  She simply talked about why she liked it and about her new Poetry Thursday venture.  I don't remember her exact words--I just remember leaving that breakfast feeling a little less intimiated by the mere mention of the word. 

I went to my archives this morning and found my first entry for Poetry Thursday.  It was on May 4th (right after that breakfast), and in honor of the Latino kids at my school who were preparing their Latino Cultural Assembly, I posted a link to The Concrete River by Luis J. Rodriguez. I continued to post poetry by others (in either written or video form) until June 22nd, when I wrote a poem for the first time.  It was called clothesline:

i
you
us
them
those people

wouldn’t it be lovely
if one could
live
in a constant state
of we?

some of the most
commonplace
words
can be some of the biggest
dividers

they

what if there was
no they?
what if there
was only
us?

if words could be seen
as they floated out
of our mouths
would we feel no
shame
as they passed beyond
our lips?

if we were to string
our words
on a communal clothesline
would we feel proud
as our thoughts
flapped in the
breeze?

Until this moment, I had no memory of that being the first poem I wrote for Poetry Thursday.  I'm working with two of our teachers at school to help the kids plan activities for Unity Week in March.  The three of us had a planning meeting at lunchtime on Tuesday.  Right before that meeting, I suddenly remembered this poem...and got an idea.  I hurriedly jumped online, went into Typepad to search for the post containing this poem, copied it into a Word document and printed copies for the three of us. I shared the poem with my colleagues and told them that although I didn't write it for Unity Week, it spoke of the concepts we were trying to convey.  And that I thought it might be a cool visual representation of unity to have cutouts--one for each student--clipped to clotheslines that we could hang from the rafters in our indoor commons.  We first tried to think of a cut-out symbol, but then decided it would be more powerful to have the outline of a person, with arms and hands outstretched--so that strung together, the hands would be touching.  We're going to leave it up to the kids to decide what students should write on their cut-out...maybe a "If you really knew me, you'd know..." statement.  Maybe they could decorate them. 

Yesterday morning, we met with our student organizing committee.  And at the request of the teachers, I gave copies of my clothesline poem to the students.  At one point, one of the teachers and a 7th grade boy read it aloud--taking turns with the lines.  It was the first time I've ever heard anyone (outside the voice in my head) read one of my poems. 

Last year there was a meme about blogging floating around.  One of the questions was something about the effect of blogging on one's life.  My response was along the lines of, "You mean other than completely and totally changing the landscape of my life?!"  The same could be said for poetry.  In less than a year, I've gone from nearly breaking out in a cold sweat when someone just mentions it...to sharing my poetry with others in a very public way.  And once again, I feel transformed.  Because it's not just about writing words.  It's about the shifts that had to occur--the layers I had to be willing to expose--to get to a place where I could do that.  To let go of expectations.  To just keep writing regardless of whether or not you, or even I, liked it.  To be willing to let it be crap (because to find little nuggets you have to sift through a lot of crap).  To be willing to let go of the notion that poetry wasn't for me.  And I have Liz to thank for that.

And that, my friends, is why I love poetry.

guerrilla promotion

I present, for your viewing pleasure...the Anti-Christ...

(via Poet with a Day Job) 

There are many things I still hope to witness in this lifetime.  Watching Celine Dion channel the stage moves of Chuck Berry is not one of them.

(I'm going to let Portland gal Meredith Brooks slide for her appearance in this video...although high-fiving Celine borders on the unforgivable.)

I realize many of you are "American Idol" fans.  (As is my mother--she's been a rabid one from day one of season one.)  I just don't know if I can make myself sit through any more of it.  Think about it--winning "American Idol" puts you on a career path to end up like Celine.  Becoming so lost in your megalomania that you actually think it's a wise career move to cover an AC/DC song while doing bad Elvis pelvic thrusts.  (And, I'm sorry, but anyone married to someone born in 1812 is forbidden to use the term "girlfriend.")

How about this for an alternative?  Go listen to some live music!  SFGate's Culture Blog has come up with Adopt-A-Musician.  In lieu of pimping "American Idol," they're going to spotlight local music artists.  Their inaugural pick this week is Victoria George.  (And if you're in the Bay Area, check out her show dates in their blog post.) 

So here's my challenge to all of you...  Don't panic, I'm not going to challenge you to go to a live show.  Maybe you can't afford it, or can't swing a babysitter, or have to get up early for work, or whatever.  But what I am challenging you to do is TELL US about one of your favorite music acts in YOUR area.  C'mon, people, let's do a little guerilla marketing for our poor, underpaid performing artists! 

Okay, Sacramento area folks, check out your boys in D'Baba Project. Music samples are here.

And because he just came up on one of my Pandora stations...  For all of you living in our old city of Portland, check out Jerry Joseph (sometimes solo, sometimes with the Jackmormons).  His website's here...MySpace is here.  (He's on the road--the itinerary is on the MySpace page.)

Give a shout-out to your local favorites in the comments so we can all check them out.

On a serious note, kudos to Keith Urban for putting this video message to his fans up on his site.  I say that not because he's a musician, but because he's a fellow person in recovery. 

One last thing...  I'd read about a gabillion blogs this morning in my Bloglines before I even noticed a feed from this blog...look who posted.  ;)

Oscars nominations!

OhmyGOOOOOD!  I just watched the Oscar nominations being announced LIVE on CNN's "Pipeline" video  service.  It started off fine, but then suddenly the camera moved so that Salma Hayek and Sid Ganis (the announcers...and he lives in West Marin, so there was a big story on him in yesterday's S.F. Chronicle) were out of the shot--the camera was focused on an empty stage.  And Salma's and Sid's voices suddenly got very dim...and all you could hear was some chick (at least it sounded like a woman) furiously flipping a notepad and SNIFFLING.  Constantly!  Someone hand that woman a Kleenex!  There was a bit of whispering, "Thank you."  Did someone else finally reach a breaking point with the snot-sucking and hand her one?!  And then a male voice suddenly whispered, "Oh...shit!"...and then the camera was righted and there were Salma and Sid again...and the audio returned to normal volume.  Oh, the joys of live television.  And in this day and age of super-packaged, inauthentic news, I took great delight in it.  :)

J's pal Todd Field's film, "Little Children," scored three nominations--Best Adapted Screenplay for Todd and the book's author, Tom Perrotta, Best Actress for Kate Winslet and Best Supporting Actor for Jackie Earle Haley.  We haven't seen it yet (it hasn't shown here yet), but I'm so happy for Jackie Earle Haley!  What an amazing story his life is...from "Bad News Bears" and stardom in his youth...to falling on such hard times that at one point he was delivering pizzas.  Sean Penn gave him the first break, casting him in "All the King's Men" (also with Kate Winslet).  "Little Children" is his follow-up film.  Yet one more affirmation from the universe:  Don't give up on your dreams!!

And while I was typing this, I was listening to ambient noise in the room where they announced the nominations...paparazzi:  "Salma!  Over here!  Salma!  This way, honey!"  Then just the sounds of talking and people bustling and moving about.  And then "Pipeline" went dark.  It'll be interesting to see what kind of slick little video package CNN puts together from that embarrassing gaffe this morning.  ;)

The OSCAR NOMINATIONS announced by SALMA HAYEK.  Michelle must be in pig heaven...  :P

There's a fun video at the Oscars site, with 'regular' folks saying famous movie lines.  You can watch it here.  Got a favorite movie line?  Leave it in the comments. 

(My brother's best movie line?  "The name's Bond.  Bail Bond.")

lewis taylor

Nearly a year ago, I read about Lewis Taylor (can't remember where now)...listened to "Stoned, Pt. I"...and was instantly smitten.  A few days ago, I got an email from someone at Lewis' label saying, "Glad to see that you're digging on Lewis..." and letting me know that he's got a new album dropping on the 30th.  I thought, "Ooooh, yeah, Lewis..."  This time I went searching for him on YouTube.  Not much there, but the video that for that utterly fabulous song is.  Lewis' MySpace page is here.  The video features Esthero. This is yet another example of the mystery of how musicians can be crazily talented...and in the big scheme of things, mostly unknown.  (Not that that hits close to home or anything...)  ;)

One of the things I vowed for 2007 was to start listening to music again.  I live with a musician, for god's sake.  Last year was a tough one...and I guess I used other coping skills.  But music's always played a big role in my life...and I wanna get back to it.  So hip an old broad to some good shit, wouldja?  Leave me some suggestions in the comments!

Have a good Monday. And if the post immediately following this one makes you too sad, hit the next one...it's nothing but silliness.

Safe Passage

I know you probably get tired of reading about sad news and tragedies here, but I have to mention this.  I've been reading Solbeam's blog for quite awhile and I can recall reading about Hanley Denning's work with children at the Guatamala City dump in previous posts.  Hanley Denning (the "Angel of the Garbage Dump") was killed in a car accident a few days ago.  The story in her hometown newspaper in Maine is here.  Solbeam's beautiful, eloquent tribute to her friend is here.  Hanley's organization, Safe Passage, works to educate children who survive by foraging in the Guatamala City dump.  If you'd like to make a contribution to Safe Passage in her memory to see that work continue, the site is here.

fantasy

Today's prompt at Sunday Scribblings is "fantasy." I thought it might be fun to craft a poem from various search strings that have brought people to this site.  In the heat of their search, they might fantasize that I can magically provide the information or answer they're looking for. Here then is...

fantasy

in 70's california i searched
for a picture of cold
wind for a germaphobe
coworker whose secret self
said i don't want a
job

stores in marin county
held a treasure map found
only by the thinnest wallet
roebuck had spiritual
meaning and one A&W rude
customer

fever bicycles at lou adler's
house in malibu hold my
desire and male celebs with
the letters "s" in their name
wearing starlight room cute
swimsuits

oswald's ghost at magens
bay had funky fashion coats
and the rapper's delight
club sewed bell bottoms for
marlo thomas' fan club at
mono lake

i like going to shows by
myself with flora fauna and
merryweather if the luggage
allowed on an airplane rollover
doesn't lead to ugly betty
tickling

mississippi music broke down
when the levees broke and
barista pictures screamed don't
date george clooney on cheap
upholstery in portland
oregon

freeway tragedy

When Jeffrey arrived home late Saturday night, he asked if I'd heard about the accident--about how I-80 had been closed.  I hadn't. I hadn't seen the news--I'd been watching movies.  (I can't believe he didn't call all that time he was stuck in traffic!  Maybe because I'd stayed in my pajamas all day he figured I'd fall asleep as soon as he left.)  It took him 3 hours to get to Mill Vallley (normally an hour's drive).  Here's what happened.  Horrifying.