I'll be your bird

I laughed, I cried...

2010-04-07T13:50:00.000-07:00

The Colbert Report

Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c

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Political Humor

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Family night

2010-03-15T23:06:00.000-07:00

First we watched Gentlemen Broncos.

Then we watched this:

And then we went through the mail and found our census questionnaire. Maybe you wouldn't think it sounds like the best night ever, but let me tell you IT TOTALLY WAS.

This too shall pass

2010-03-03T15:37:00.000-08:00

My job right now feels like this, minus the careful choreography and applauding spectators.

I know you've already seen this all over the interwebs, but this here blog was feeling a little shabby and underappreciated so I thought I'd borrow some pep.

I can't believe my wedding was the best night of my life

2009-11-16T22:15:00.000-08:00

Years ago while working as an events manager, I watched a bride mop up puddles of beer and salsa after all her wedding guests had left. A princess tiara sparkled over her brow while the train of her gown dragged through the muck.

Any girlish dreams I had about weddings died that day.

So imagine my surprise as I sit here, scanning these pictures over and over again only to realize that our wedding was the best night of my life. Really and truly. And I never ever expected that. Not even when we booked my favorite restaurant for the reception. Not even when people from all over America told us they'd be there, including what seemed like half of every ward Cameron and I have ever lived in (o, how we love you all!). Not even when my mom said I could end the agony of dress shopping and just have the H-ing thing made. And somehow not even when Cameron asked, mere hours after a shockingly unexpected proposal of marriage, if I thought we could book live band karaoke for the reception.

Not even then.

(My favorites are the ones where everyone looks really stupid. I want to wallpaper my apartment walls with them.)

When it was over, we could hear "o-lay-o-lay-o-lay-o-lay" drifting into the cool distance as Cameron and I drove away from a teeming crowd of maniacs who happened to be our best friends, and I have absolutely never in my whole life been happier than in that moment.

The world series

2009-11-01T21:29:00.000-08:00

Post season has lost a good deal of its lustre...

1. LA and its environs have been enjoying the sunshine while those East Coast yahoos fight it out in the freezing rain (hmmf).

2. Our adorable Cabot cheddar commercials have disappeared, making way for the shameless promotion of some cinematic monstrosity having nothing whatsoever to do with the Great American Pastime (I will neither name it, nor link to it). Worse than commercials, they actually mixed this movie's footage with the narrative of the previous games as the official intro to tonight's game. Fox is ugly.

3. Cameron has been fighting the good fight with the DVR, which refuses to record a complete game. I'm not sure we've seen any sixth innings.

4. Daylight Savings Time: all sunshine for the next six months will be witnessed from my office chair. So sad, but at least I'm lucky enough to have a glass wall (remind me sometime to tell you about the greatest office I will probably ever have in my entire career).

5. I discovered I would have to publish the wedding pics in three installments rather than two. And I promise what you all will really want to see is Part Three: in which our loved ones impress the very seasoned members of Mr. Mister Miyagi. But tonight, I must instead give you the slightly less glamorous Part Two: in which we take many many posed pictures. They're lovely, of course, and many thanks and credit are given to our photographer Michael Negrete, who was endlessly patient and low key--very important for us that day--and who, after producing a lot of beautiful traditional images for us, was totally game for the party pics we really wanted.

Best birthday cake ever

2009-10-29T14:04:00.000-07:00

Baked Alaska from Ici (mine looked a bit bloodier inside--inner layer: raspberry rose, outside layer: strawberry--so I clipped this from the website). It was so much better than I had even dared to dream! Thank you, husband, for listening and remembering when I talk about the things I love. You're the berries.

Post Season

2009-10-11T23:57:00.001-07:00

Major League Baseball's post season has brought with it many sudden gifts...

1. a victorious Los Angeles, and its environs

2. this Cabot cheddar commercial

3. a slightly less attentive husband (not all gifts are good)

4. ample TV time with which to upload the dreaded wedding pics

And by dreaded, I hope you know I really mean beloved. So heartily beloved, in fact, that their absence from this blog has given me great pain and kept me from moving on to less weighty matters of posting, such as the lemon icebox pie I made this weekend and my opinion of twitter. I mean, it's been 6 months! Nobody cares anymore! But I can't let it go, so here in short order is Part One: in which our hero Cameron Cunningham goes from sleepless completion of a midterm lab write-up, to wedded bliss on the lawn of the Los Angeles LDS Temple. Photos courtesy* of Jorge Ambrocio and Barbara Cunningham (much love to them both).

*I know there were more of you taking pictures that day. We'd love to see them sometime!

Wanna see some cute pictures of my nieces?

2009-08-29T00:15:00.001-07:00

No, I didn't think you did (unless of course you are my Mom).

I'm watching the Giants/Rockies game with Cameron, rooting for San Francisco--which feels very unnatural (but it'll keep Colorado further from my Dodgers' slowly eroding place at the top)--and since Cameron's laptop is sitting close by on the couch, I thought I'd root through his picture folder to see if I could find something provocative to post.

Success

Nice to know his previous roommate was on the other end of that camera.

You have to start somewhere

2009-05-31T18:55:00.000-07:00

I thought I'd show you the best one first.

This may not be for everyone.

2009-05-06T21:28:00.000-07:00

Some of you may be acquainted with my deep distrust if not frank dislike of serious messages delivered through electronic media. Don't flirt over text. Don't break up over facebook. Don't bicker over blog. To me it seems undignified.

But today, distance and situational impotence provoke me to turn here--a corner of the interwebs I'm sure hardly anyone visits anymore except in the hopes of seeing wedding pictures (which I promise will come one day)--to tell you what I can about my parents.

First. They're the kind of parents who said swears even when we were young. They're the kind who told us at young ages that they were deviant kids, and who described to us with a glimmer in their eyes (sometimes a wink, sometimes a tear) their forms of rebellion. They're the kind who really really couldn't wait to give us the sex talk because more than anything they loved to watch us squirm. They're the kind who didn't leave the room to have a fight. And I start with all this because I think it's important to point out that they are flawed, but in that rare way where they never expected us to think that they weren't.

Second. The most important thing they've taught me: they would always love me, more than anything, no matter what.

Third. Some key things I've learned about them (by watching and testing, as all kids do...)

They're honest--more honest than the vast majority of people I believe I've met in my adult life.

They mean harm to no one. Not a soul. Ever.

They're learning as they go.

They believe, above most things (but not all), in the inherent humor of all situations.

Behind those big mouths, they feel things very very deeply, both for themselves and for others.

Fourth. The most important thing I think I can say to them right now: I believe in you.

Since there's nothing I can do to stop the hurting, I thought I would at least stand for the truth and declare the unassailable fact that John and Lynn Forester have only ever tried to do what they truly thought was right, and when they've failed (as all do) it's been the result of all-too-common human frailty, rather than malicious and selfish plotting. I've never been more proud and grateful than in this moment to have been lucky enough to be their daughter.

Looking good!

2009-04-16T14:56:00.000-07:00

Grandma, I hope you're around for another thirty years. But when you die, I call dibs on the muumuu collection.

Z is for Zoë, that's good enough for me

2009-01-27T17:39:00.000-08:00

The summer Tyler and Leah got married I dated a guy whose best friend had just published his first book, Breeding Between the Lines: Why Interracial People are Healthier and More Attractive. Clearly my first niece proves his thesis.

And so, on the eve (hopefully--she's 8 days over now) of the birth of Rachel & Jorge's daughter, I say huzzah for immigrants and adoption and hope and endurance and the clash and mixing of cultures. It's a big beautiful feathery colorful skyfilled world, and somehow it seems to keep creating more things in it for me to love.

The TV fairy strikes again...

2009-01-23T13:34:00.001-08:00

Still no jetpack.

My Everest

2008-12-12T19:51:00.000-08:00

Dearest reader, I have some good news and some bad news. Which would you like to hear first...

The good news, did you say? Well alright then, you're the boss.

On March 21st, I'm marrying this guy:

Yikes! Maybe he isn't making the best impression. Let's try that again...

OK, still a little weird. I guess he's just a little shy of strangers. Let's give him one more try...

Aww, that's better. Say hi to Cameron--you may remember him from such posts as Thanks for your concern, Time Out, and that old favorite Singing Solves Everything, Part Two. Oh, and say hi to Caroline, too (she's just hangin'). So maybe we're a little slouchy, but we're in love and hope you will all see fit to share in our joy despite our poor posture. Now for the bad news...

I have to purchase a wedding dress. THIS IS MY EVEREST. There is so much I could tell you about the many horrors I've been subjected to during my brief foray into the bridal industry---it's cold, it's sheeny (not shiny--shiny is good, sheeny is very very bad), it's self-entitled, and most of all it's overpriced---but as I have come to find there are many, many, MANY blogs dedicated to these subjects alone, I will spare you and instead share the one bright light in the mists. Behold:

I could get married in Alexis Carrington's wedding dress. OMH!

Lovely #5

2008-12-04T16:06:00.000-08:00

I wish J-wood would work on this instead of robots that are destined to one day destroy us all (thanks digg)...

Lovely #4

2008-11-13T11:14:00.000-08:00

Really, though, I found this while I was doing actual research work. I swear. I am no longer trolling for political web content. Cross my heart.

It's just been raining on my face

2008-11-04T21:48:00.000-08:00

Rather than betray how much I cared about today, I offer you a few items of little consequence:

1. I heart Jim Lehrer. For awhile I feared he was going a bit senile, but now I just think he's begun drinking during work hours. Tonight he "dazzled" me with his electoral map (his words) and went on for 45 seconds about Missour-ee vs. Missour-uh.

2. Somebody already stole my "New New Deal" line.

3. Apparently J. Peterman just won a House seat in New York.

Oh, and yes we can.

Thanks for your concern

2008-11-02T18:20:00.000-08:00

Dear 63,

No, Cameron and I did not break up. Who could break up with a guy that does this to his birthday pinata?

Besides, in the past week alone we've made seven pumpkin pies, seen Jenny Lewis and Beachwood Sparks, fretted over Halloween costumes, taken two midterms (him), asked for and received a new project at work (me), and gotten all fancy for SF Opera's Idomeneo. In other words, we've been much too busy for drama.

Sometimes girls just cry on the phone with their moms because they miss their old roommate, or they don't like any of their clothes anymore, or they can't find that "old faithful" recipe for Quiche Lorraine. I can't imagine this is all news to a man whose former girlfriend once got mad and locked herself in his dad's pizza place bathroom in the middle of a New Year's Eve party only to blow town in the morning without a word to anyone.

I also, for the record, can't imagine ever announcing a break up over the internet--that's just bad manners.

But thanks for asking. And I promise to set up the voice mail soon.

Hugs and Kisses, Cobb

Time out

2008-09-23T22:09:00.001-07:00

You know when you call your Mom on a Saturday afternoon sobbing uncontrollably--to the point of hiccups and shaking--and she puts you on Time Out (always a high point)?

Then you'll also remember how you thought the Time Out was a really good idea so you say to your friends and colleagues all the time, "Sorry, I can't, I'm on Time Out. My mom said." But everyone just thinks it's a joke and so doesn't take it seriously, and after a week goes by where you spent just as little time at home and breathing as the one before, you realize that there really aren't that many things you are at liberty to cut out of your schedule because said friends and colleagues are depending upon you all the time.

And in the end, dear reader, you recall why it was the principle of the thing that mattered. And principles being what they are in this modern age, you'll understand why Time Out was no match for free tickets to fancy seats at a Giants game (still hate 'em...) with Tim Lincecum on the mound (...even though he's like an adorable little elf and their win actually helped the Dodgers).

Nor did Time Out stand a chance against Chihuly or his eye patch at the deYoung.

Mmmmmm. Glossy. Sparkly. Shiny. If I had stuff like that at home, Time Out might be more successful.

I love Rachel & Jorge

2008-09-20T13:13:00.000-07:00

Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to present to you Mr. and Mrs. Jorge and Rachel Ambrocio:

Here you see them sporting the wedding gifts Drew, Alica and I won for them the night before the ceremony when we hit some skee ball in preparation for the big day.

Here you will see some more dignified (yawn) pictures of the event. Actually, they're quite lovely (that's their photographers' blog and, so far, Michael is my favorite of all siblings' weddings' photographers). Welcome Jorge--you're the berries! I hope you can learn to like pinochle and Silverado.

The Phoenix

2008-09-20T11:32:00.001-07:00

Rising from the ashes of a stolen purse...behold its shining and impenetrable glory!

Isn't it pretty?

Back in June I was so charmed and amazed after seeing Wall-E that I left my purse in the newly restored Alameda movie palace (that second link is horrible--I suggest you don't watch it). By the time I returned, it had been nicked. Unfortunate yes, but as Reverend Mother says, when God closes a door he sometimes gives you an apple device. Since the 3G launch was moments away, buying the iPhone was actually the economical choice when confronted with replacing both cell phone and pod at the same time, coupled with the fact that Verizon has never once managed to give me service in the confines of my home, and Alisa always appeared to do fine with AT&T in our place (so am I, by the way--feel free to throw away the land line number if you've got it). Anyway, what I really want to talk about are the free applications.

I have the complete works of Shakespeare on my phone FOR FREE.

I have the complete LDS standard works of scripture on my phone FOR FREE.

I have Pandora on my phone FOR FREE.

I have the BART schedule on my phone FOR FREE.

I have a kitchen units converter on my phone FOR FREE.

I get beautiful glossy runway photos from the latest fashion shows on my phone FOR FREE.

I can shake my phone, which rolls three slot machine wheels, which when they stop will tell me what nearby restaurant I should eat at FOR FREE (the shaking thing is free, not the eating).

And these are just my favorites. I'm giddy as a schoolgirl! The Shakespeare will come in handy tonight when I can read along to Pericles in the park FOR FREE (both that time).

Maybe it's not enough

2008-08-27T19:27:00.000-07:00

So I know I'm a big fat liar, and I haven't written in ages, and you all hate me hate me hate me. But I am actually sitting on my couch. Right now. Alone. Watching Big Jim's DNC coverage, and can I just say...

Beau Biden? Foxy.

What's that you say, Beau? Want me to hold your little donkey while you're away? Well, ok, I'll take it.

Lovely #3

2008-07-14T11:33:00.000-07:00

First, a pledge: I will, by week's end, supply details of some sort in regard to my prolonged absence from this cozy little corner of the webernet I've carved out as my own. You impatient lot can find clues here and here.

In the meantime, I offer this little gem of post-modern ingenuity...something I found on Web Urbanist (thank you Digg! for keeping me unproductive at work).

Tell me...

2008-05-29T10:29:00.000-07:00

...is less actually more?

Lovely #2

2008-05-05T18:07:00.000-07:00

La Dolce Vespa offers up an inspired essay on driving in LA. Her truest point: LA drivers get it done, and they do so by exhibiting a great deal of communal heart. This is the kind of thing I'd blog about if I had more than 7 minutes' worth of attention to give any one topic. Thank goodness other people do, or I wouldn't have any books to read and then where would we be?

Lovely #1

2008-04-30T21:21:00.000-07:00

Things for sale at http://davidhorvitz.com/if/.

I was about to buy an apology letter, but I saw how many have already been purchased and am worried that at this point all the really juicy apologies have been given, so now I'm trying to decide between an MFA donation and a cookie give-away. I'm also really tempted to spend part of my rebate check to buy the PO box, though I'd like to go on record as being morally opposed to the rebate (doesn't mean I'm not going to cash it).

My newest gmail category: Awesome

2008-04-30T19:21:00.000-07:00

Like trips to Utah, I've noticed that blog posts are best when both short and sweet. I've also noticed that, like trips to Utah, blog posts are more often than not prompted by life events (read: funerals) and familial demands (read: blind dates). Hoping to roll all this that I've learned into a more efficient system of yourbird blogging I bring you, dear reader, the new Awesome post. These posts will contain things I think are Awesome. They will offer little explanation in the hopes that you will follow the accompanying link to said Awesomeness. Before launch, a brief discussion of the word 'Awesome'...

I feel this is one of those words that has been phased out and made to be uncool, much like 'groovy' and 'tubular' and 'tight'. Kind readers who have chosen to forget this blogger's age might find themselves suddenly wondering why a hip and savvy urbanite is using such outmoded forms of expression (by the by--'hip' and 'savvy' are surely on this list as well). Why not 'hot' or 'heckof' or 'fierce' (from Christian's lips to Ugly Betty's first night back from the strike. Oy--for more on how I feel about this word, please read paragraph 2 here). Others of you will have expected a more refined and Empire-sounding adjective from a blog whose reading level is high school. But would 'scrumptious' or 'delightful' or 'spot on' really have ended up anywhere but on the same list? I think not. So I give you Awesome. Because that's the first word that comes to my mind when I see something I really like.

Scratch that. I just realized the first word that really comes to mind when I see something I really like is 'Lovely' and so said new posts will be called Lovely, followed by a numerical marking. I'm suddenly looking forward to the opportunity of referring to them in the plural as Lovelies. I was about to delete all that above, but then I thought, "Eh. Full disclosure. This is how I roll."

Participatory Art

2008-04-16T23:44:00.001-07:00

Give that Play button a click to listen and vote for my favorite Larry's remix of Radiohead's Nude. Can I tell you how much I love the world wide webernet and online 2.0 creative community thinking for making projects like this so accessible to shmos like you and me?

Should there be a 'c' in 'shmo'? And maybe an 'e'?

Regardless, bless you Radiohead--in a world brimming with proprietary entitlement, you share your deep black well of grooving sadness freely with us all and even encourage us to participate. Let Bono fight poverty--you guys just keep breaking down the wall.

Earth Hour

2008-03-27T16:20:00.000-07:00

Turn off the lights this Saturday, March 29th from 8-9pm...find out why here: Earth Hour. Things you can do with friends in the dark:

make no-bake cookies from memory
play murder in the dark
tell scary stories
get into the business of trading secrets
play pin-the-tail-on-the-amigo
sing songs in the cave
take a night hike (this option makes me want to turn on my big TV and bag the whole thing)

What's more American than a big TV?

2008-03-25T21:22:00.000-07:00

I've held out from buying a TV for a long time now, and yet I have only experienced a single period in my life without one, and even that lasted only about 3 weeks (one of the college roomies finally buckled and rented one for the semester... I know, who rents a TV, right?). For years my Dad has been begging to buy me a television just because he loves buying televisions and his home has maxed out at 3--including one so big they had to take the doors off the beautiful entertainment center it was intended for just so it would fit. I have firmly resisted his offers in the hopes that one magical day I would live in a TVfree home filled with productivity and reasonable bed times.

About two years ago I thought that Great Age of Recreational Reading was upon me when Outgoing Roommate packed up her TV before leaving to get married and Incoming Roommate had none coming with her. Hopes were dashed, dear reader, when I came home to find Outgoing Roommate had replaced her own TV with another one that seemed to have appeared out of thin air--we kept expecting her to come pick it up, but she never did. Was it meant as a gift? Outgoing Roommate--you never knew me at all.

Since then Alisa and I have lived on a strict diet of ultra-basic cable and netflix on this ten-inch screen, and we've done quite nicely, thank you very much, despite the inevitable "Hey, that's a big TV you've got there, yuk yuk," we get from 9 out of 10 male visitors to the apartment. Apparently one of our neighbors has shared their sentiment and taken pity on us...when I came home last night from a 10 minute burrito run, this is what I found:

Surely he must have seen us huddling our friends around the tiny screen on the right and found his conscience wouldn't allow it to happen again on his watch, by golly, so now that he's moving out he offered us this giant black box that, as you can see, hardly fits our rolling TV stand. Surely he meant it as a kindness, but I tell you no lie when I say I'm going to miss rolling the stand closer to the couch when I need to see the subtitles. Strangely, I think I'll also miss hauling Cameron's equally giant TV up and down his steps every year when he insists we borrow it for our Oscar party.

But now I'm wondering...what other things can I repeatedly refuse to buy that will eventually end up falling into my lap? Let it be known, dear reader: I refuse to buy this cool rolling planter. And an iPhone. And I especially, above all things, refuse to buy this spectacular jetpack:

fugigglefit

2008-03-13T13:34:00.000-07:00

Oh how I love

the fug girls

...enough to blog at work, even. Which I guess leads you to deduce that I was fugging at work as well. Oh H! Now you know all my secrets.

Consider this an endorsement

2008-03-05T15:58:00.000-08:00

In regards to the woman on the right--do you think her seat buddies were partying it up in the cockpit? I see absolutely no need for six recording devices.

The Gang (TM) in our nation's capitol

2008-02-28T18:42:00.000-08:00

A couple of weeks ago Shawn here...

...got hisself hitched in Washington DC, so The Gang (TM) got out their quart-sized toiletry baggies and started a phone tree to address whether or not we'd be bringing jackets and if we were going to get something to eat, while Diego, stretching his arms behind his head, said to us, "Naw, you guys go ahead. I think I'm just gonna stay in the room. No really, you guys go ahead." So we headed to our nation's capitol.

Apparently I'm not allowed to call this the Friends Trip (TM) , because apparently the Friends Trip (TM) entails certain unquantifiable elements that make it the Friends Trip (TM). But from my point of view, this trip contained all the things we like.

Love

Food

Novelty Photography

and Smiles

Why you gotta fight a good thing, Chippy?

If you're having trouble with the big words...

2008-02-05T22:17:00.000-08:00

Now I'm wondering if there's a site that will give me a MPAA rating.

Your Default Song

2008-02-02T13:51:00.000-08:00

Work buddy Adam comes to my side of the wall yesterday to tell me what song is in his head (Sheena Easton's "Morning Train"--brutal), I then tell him what song is in my head ("Get Me to the Church on Time"--no joke!), and this all leads to a conversation I can't believe I've never had before: default songs.

Adam asked if there was one particular song that most often comes into my head whenever I try to think of a song to sing to myself, or for something to drown out other noises, voices, thoughts, songs, etc...and the answer is ABSOLUTELY! I've thought about the weirdness of this several times, but I don't think I've ever verbalized it or heard it from someone else. Before I reveal my default song, dear reader, let me make clear that I do not have an affinity for said tune and I can't for the life of me figure out why in a life filled with music this is the one song that makes the most recurring and uninvited appearance.

This has been going on for almost two decades:

Welcome to my nightmare: "Walk of Life" by Dire Straits (seeing it in video form makes it even worse). All the time, friends. All the time. So if you've ever thought to yourself "What's her problem?!" well, now you know.

I hope I'm not betraying Adam when I tell you that his default song is "You Are My Special Angel" by Bobby Helms (and Adam: you HAVE to read the note from Bobby's daughter on the youtube page--she'd be so happy this is your default!).

Care to share your default song with the world? It feels good to get it off your chest--just hit that handy "comments" link...

My Dad just wants us to be little again...

2008-01-17T22:02:00.000-08:00

Thank goodness Leah is preggers.

Jump into 2008

2008-01-14T21:11:00.000-08:00

Blogfolk, I return with glad tidings of a happy new year and jumping pictures!

Long a staple here, here and here, I have finally succumbed to posting some of my own jumping pics because this one of me in front of Sleeping Beauty's castle is GLORIOUS (look at that shadow behind my arm--how did that even happen?!?! Good work LXIII)! I could not be more pleased with the way the new year began, rung in by 63, Ashley and I--with a little early help from Renee--at Disneyland (don't judge me; do click that link). A few more disney jumps...

I was supposed to send this last one to Renee so she could blog it, but you saw it here first--that's right, folks, a Your Bird exclusive. Sorry Crusty Dusty--but you do look amazing! I know what you're thinking, dear reader: "Where did you find time to ride rides what with so much jumping" --and you know jumping pictures take time. Eventually our calves needed a break and I opted to bring back a former photographic passion: blurring lights.

Just so you know for the next time you see me, this is what I look like in 2008. Don't be afraid.

Singing Solves Everything, Part Two (still working backwards)

2007-10-28T21:50:00.000-07:00

And we're back. When we left off I was crossing the Richmond Bridge on the way to my very own private deck in heaven (Mendocino). I was full of energy having slept very late to recover from the previous evening's festivities, which included...

Karaoke. I mean, what did you expect? You know what I like. Here you can see Marcus reaching deep into his core to wail "Today!" better than Neil ever could.

Alisa, Marcus and I ended up embracing a couple of lurkers when we stepped up for "You're the Inspiration," which was a total hit--the whole bar was singing along (except, apparently, for the girl in the foreground of this photo). We even gained a couple of groupies who trailed us the rest of the night--you can see one of them behind us (I figure she's either bowing to show her allegiance, or casting a very powerful spell).

Encore Karaoke is easily the greatest karaoke joint I've ever been to (which statement does NOT put it in competition with Live Band Karaoke, since that is a completely different animal). Above, you will see Cameron and I giving Beck's "Sexx Laws" a sizzling treatment--I mean, what other karaoke book has "Sexx Laws"? Someone knew what they were doing. It was a great sing, especially about a third of the way through the first verse when our eyes locked in the simultaneous realization that this song is even dirtier in print than it sounds when you listen to the record--we then had no choice but to sing louder. I'm glad that every time we take out sweet little Cameron, liquor and smut seem to dominate (here's hoping he hasn't linked his mom to this blog).

If Gnu looks tired, it's probably because Encore wasn't our first stop. Oh no, dear reader, Alisa planned the kind of birthday-night-out every little pill of a girl dreams about. And believe me, I had been a pill about the whole thing--unable to get excited or contribute anything productive to the planning of my birthday (which might let you in on why I thought it best to go away by myself) I washed my hands of all decision-making and left it in her able hands. What a sweetheart she is! Before the karaoke dive, we hit the tony Top of the Mark on Nob Hill.

With the help of a first-class wedding band, we boogied down with all the elderly and foreigners the city's nightlife had to offer. There was a middle-aged woman in a white suit doing pole dance moves without the pole; a very old man cutting a serious rug with his young-enough-to-be-his-granddaughter date; an aging greek gentleman, shirt unbuttoned to his navel and at least 7 lbs of gold chain around his neck; and, everyone's favorite, an Asian lady who would turn you around on the dance floor, shove jazz hands in your direction, squeal samurai style, then lock fingers with you for a quick sweep of the dance floor (in her excitement she stabbed one of her heels through my right middle toe--but I bear you no ill will, sweet woman...you were an absolute treat).

The desserts were delish, but don't get the virgin strawberry daiquiri because you'll regret it all night.

The apron I'm wearing here (which I love love love) was hand sewn by Ashley, and was the first of two aprons I received for my birthday--I opened Alisa's lovely full length next (which I also love love love). Funny thing is the Bakers had also meant to buy me an apron, but talked to Alisa first and settled on a Williams Sonoma gift card. I don't know what it implies about me that three (actually four--Amy apparently thought about it too) people thought I'd like nothing better than an apron, and that they happened to be right. Now that I'm thinking about it, I'm reminded of the family Christmas letter my Mom wrote a couple of years ago in which she illustrated very factually what my year had been like and it made me sound like a 60 year old spinster minus the cats (I believe knitting, Relief Society and City Hall were involved). Maybe in my thirties I should embark on some hipper hobbies--you know, like turn-tabling and krump dancing. Or maybe improv...

The gift basket in the photo is the aforementioned "getaway" basket from Mackenzie (with contributions by Amy and Vicky). It was so lovely--I ate through it the next two days and soaked in some of it on Saturday night. You are all so thoughtful.

And that's it, dear reader. My 30th birthday, finish to start. Believe it or not, one of the best birthdays I can remember. Maybe some time soon I'll tell you about what a relief it is to have it over with, but for now I'll leave you with some parting hotness (nothing is sexier than a banjo and a refrigerator)...

Singing Solves Everything, Part One (working backwards)

2007-10-28T18:33:00.000-07:00

I don't want to do this but I know I have to, so I guess I better just get it over with: this post and the post following are about the weekend of my 30th birthday. It was grand. But just because it was grand doesn't mean I want to talk about it (does anyone get that?). However, the grandness of which I speak is largely due to the extreme love and generosity of my friends and parents and so I feel obliged to prove my unending gratitude with heaps of pictures, most of which I'm certain will bore you, dear reader, to tears. Nevertheless...

Part One (Working Backwards--in order to keep things at least a touch interesting, I'll begin with the latest events and work my way back toward when it all began; also, I haven't yet received Friday night's pictures):

Arriving back in the East Bay, I thought to myself, "What next?"

Towards the end of my trip, I finally got a halfway decent shot of a stand of eucalyptus trees (I'd been trying for one all weekend). There is something so California about a windbreak of Eucalyptus--it makes my heart melt (which is weird because Eucalyptus are non-native, and because whose heart melts over stuff like that?).

*Note: most highway shots were taken while driving by raising my right arm, camera in hand, through the sun roof. You may find I've not yet mastered the technique.

Here on my hillside perch above the mighty Pacific I'll tell you a bit about what I'd been doing. When I took this arm's length self-portrait, two turkey vultures were occassionaly swooping over my head. I was watching the tide, listening to the break, and splitting segments of dried sea grass into a pile in front of my feet. It was a fab break from my ride down the 1. I left the hotel at noon and stopped here a bit north of Bodega Bay . I'm not sure how much time I spent in this semi-catatonic state, but I emerged thoroughly relieved of the minor dread that had been building in my stomach since leaving Mendocino, and felt ready to enjoy the remaining 4 hours it took to drive Shoreline Highway all the way to Muir Beach, where I then turned home to Alameda. The next few pictures should help explain the minor dread...

I mean, who would want to leave this place? Above you can witness the view from my private deck.

If I look on the verge of happy tears, it's probably because I was. I got to The Heritage House Saturday afternoon, armed with a fluffy bathrobe, a brimming getaway basket (thanks to Mackenzie, Amy, and Vicky--more on this later) and a heart full of song (thanks to the new "Playlist 30" on my pod). I pretty much holed up on this deck and in my room the whole time, except when exploring the grounds. I don't have much to say about it. It was just perfect.

The inland drive to Mendocino was equally wonderful. I purchased a sack of Pink Ladies and a jar of fresh applesauce here at Gowan's Oak Tree, just before entering a redwood forest. Don't be surprised if one day soon you hear from a mutual friend that I've given it all up to sell apples on the roadside. I could do it, too--I could totally be happy as an apple farmer (I really hope you'll follow that link and click "OK" when the dialog box pops up--especially if you're Sarah. Think of it as a bleated birthday present to me).

Admittedly I'm not as enthusiastic about grapes as I am about apples, but man is October a good time for photographing vineyards. It reminded me of the ivy covered house at 5th North and 3rd East where I lived my last year of undergrad--in the fall, the leaves would turn all golden and deep red and I felt like the luckiest girl in the world (even though most of my roomates there fell into the category of a. narcissistic, b. "creative"--read "actress", or c. bulemic). And maybe I could enjoy life as a vintner. I mean, they get into some crazy stuff...

Folks, they cleared the manger scene out of this creche to fill it with Halloween ghoulies. Talk about post-modern.

I didn't get any decipherable shots of the coastal dairies I drove by, but the air was thick with cheese and I'm perfectly convinced that I could happily live with the stench of manure if it meant I got to live at the beach with my cheese cows. Grandpa F. would be so proud--I'm sure it would be enough to undo the painful tears Larry provoked when he heartlessly told a dying old rancher that a young man like himself wouldn't ever be a farmer (you asked for a blog, so I even gave you a shout out!).

Not pictured here are the 170-something songs I whistled, hummed, sang, or emoted through all the time I was driving. There is for sure no better medicine for any ailment than singing--can anyone else relate to that? I've known this about myself for a long time, but it's starting to become a stronger fact the more I think about it. If I had any doubts about spending my 30th birthday completely alone (which I guess I hadn't yet mentioned was the whole intent of this trip), they quickly and finally dissipated when, shortly after leaving the 101, this song popped up. No way could I have felt better in any moment than right then and there.

Big Doings

2007-09-06T21:21:00.000-07:00

I was about to say that the last couple of weeks have been crazy busy with work and fun, but looking back now, they seem to hold steady with a past year that I can only consider "balls to the wall" in character. Had I time, visual aids, and wit enough in my pocket, dear reader, to lay all my adventures at your feet I would. I'd write of Portland and Wilco, of Hwy 1 and Vacation Wonderland. I'd tell tales of the Mola Mola; sing songs of the Tiki Lounge. I'd weave you my new sweater. I'd help you paint your new room. I'd root for the Cubs and plan your next party. I'd hurl curses at hay. I'd send you an evite.

But I won't, because I'm exhausted.

All things shall be revealed

2007-08-28T17:22:00.000-07:00

Disc #6 revealed its shiny face this morning, and boy is it a goodie: Keep It Like a Secret, by Built To Spill. I should have known for two reasons:

Beyond being one of my all-time faves (and I do mean ALL TIME--I don't like being boxed into any "top ten" corners, but I can almost guarantee that if someone put a razor to my throat this would end up on the list), the album's first track "The Plan" is the best way to start, well, anything--but especially a daytrip to Santa Barbara.
After spending quite a long time wondering "what the H happened to that album?!", my friend Cameron burned me a copy a mere 3 weeks ago. Of course.

With this cd changer thing all wrapped up like a Scooby Doo ending, I guess I'm back down to two Great Life Mysteries.

Matchmaker, Matchmaker

2007-08-25T10:03:00.000-07:00

A couple of weekends ago my friend Ashley and I were rocking the Best of the Bay party at the DeYoung (hooray for Nan Kempner and paper flowers) when we were hit on by the woman to the left of this text (and if you click no other link in this post, click that one). While I waited in line behind her to pay the parking machine she chatted me up about the event, thinking that it was an exclusive deal put on by the SF Bay Guardian for their customers ("I used to advertise with them"), and seemed sorry to find that it was actually open to the unwashed masses. She starts asking me pointed questions and, by the time Ashley came around with the car, she had a camera out to take our pictures. Why?

She runs a professional matchmaking service. And she had a client in mind for me.

Now I'm not here to discuss the merits of dating, or internet dating, or executive offline matchmaking, or blind dating, or speed dating, or mail-order brides. But I would like to discuss how I got into the position of letting a complete and totally sketchy stranger who wanted to set me up with older asian men take my picture. MORMON GIRLS ARE NICE. Perhaps too nice. Now maybe you're a Mormon boy who would care to take issue with this statement, but I'll leave you to that offline. All I know is I couldn't put off this woman, who was essentially a stand in for some awkward man out there, without feeling like a total jerk, so I gave her my least-favorite email address and let her take my picture. So did Ashley. I can't explain it.

I've been trying to imagine the potentially humiliating things that might result from this encounter and the list has gotten uncomfortably long. Do me a favor: if you find my picture in one of those ghastly "where is she now?" classmates.com pop-ups, please let me know.

It's all coming back to me now

2007-08-15T16:50:00.000-07:00

It's been almost 3 years since my sister broke the CD changer in my car. It was midway through a day trip to Santa Barbara to go kayaking, and we were heading over to the Paseo to catch this new movie Garden State that everybody had been buzzing about (spawning the fun new adjective "brafftastic") when Rachel attempted to slip in a new CD and the whole thing went kaput. I never doubted the changer would break--CD changers ALWAYS break (there has to be some inherent design flaw), and I only have one because I bought my car used and the previous owner was lame enough to pay extra for it. After a short but painful period during which I was forced to rely upon radio in the car, I obtained a new iPod + FM adaptor and I've never looked back.

Fast forward to last Monday...

I get in my car to go to work and, upon ignition, notice a noise coming from the changer. It's the sound of the carousel scooting around to find out where it's holding discs, a sound the poor little H hasn't made for years. When it's through, I look at the display and notice that numbers 1-6 are lit up, indicating that the thing holds CDs. Of course I know it's holding CDs--they're the same 6 CDs that were ripped from my life 3 years ago, but the display hasn't recognized them since a couple of months after the changer first broke. Just for funzies I hit eject (and yes, I used to try this all the time, but gave it up after a year or so of no effect), select a spot and, Braff-be-praised, out shoots a disc! I hit eject again, and out comes another! Holy H! I end up getting 3 of the 6 CDs out that morning, but the rest remain stubbornly locked in changer purgatory.

Wait, though...the next morning, I get in my car and without even so much as looking at the CD player, out pop 2 more. Can you believe that?! WTH?!

What's most fun about this whole thing is remembering that the changer-breaking episode occurred shortly after a trip to Rhino where I had purchased several new albums. I'd listened to them each maybe once before I lost them to the changer's inevitable demise. I could remember what 2 of them were, but the other 4 have remained a mystery. Until now.

This all has a very time capsule feeling to it, so I now present to you the albums I was listening to back when Garden State was in the theaters:

Early Recordings, Quasi
Veni Vidi Vicious, The Hives
a burned Black Eyed Peas album I lifted from my brother
Want One, Rufus Wainwright
A Ghost is Born, Wilco
?

That's right. All but one disc came out and I can't for the life of me remember what it is. And it's still in there. Any guesses what it might be, faithful blog reader? Point your mouse over to the comment section and let's hear it...

Potty Mouth

2007-07-29T22:36:00.000-07:00

There's a line from "Meet Me in St Louis" that goes a little something like this: "There's the H to pay if my family ever finds out I called long distance."
What's that?
"I said, there's the H to pay if my family ever finds out I called long distance!"

In an attempt to curb our potty mouths, Alisa and I are inserting "H" for all swears. Allow me to illustrate:

H, man.
What the H?!
That's H'ed up the H.
Holy H.
You H H.
H no!
You H'in H H'er, you H'ed my H!!

I think it's been pretty effective so far. Feel free to give it a spin.

Shorty McShort Short

2007-07-28T22:15:00.000-07:00

One recent Saturday I arose mid-morning to pay bills and watch a mix of cartoons and cooking shows. Since I'm only willing to pay for the very lowliest basic cable (which includes local channels 2-13, two redundant espn's, a Christian network, TBS, TNT, and about half a dozen foreign language stations) I have to settle for PBS cooking shows instead of their flashier Food Network rivals--truth be told I actually prefer Jacques Pepin to Rachel Ray, but to each their own. Anyway, at the tail end of Lidia's couscous episode, I was assaulted by this totally wretched Gloria Estefan PBS ad. I felt simultaneously betrayed and physically ill, and decided I wanted to share with my faithful readers (thanks Mom for reading this aloud to the rest of the fam--that makes about 9 then...) PBS' previously grand tradition of outstanding ads.

I spent many hours back in KBYU's master control watching a spot we called Shorty McShort Short (at one point the big whigs in Springville actually had to tell us to stop inserting it into the on-air interstitials). I want you to see it--I myself am aching to watch it right now--but it's nowhere to be found. I spent some serious time on this and am tremendously disappointed, but I won't cheapen it with a flawed description. May I please offer this in its place (a close runner up for what I inserted most into the playlist--I dare you to watch the pregnant mother and daughter, about 50 seconds from the end, at 3 in the morning when you're cold and alone and not cry your own eyes out).

Rock and Roll

2007-07-22T22:30:00.000-07:00

It's been awhile and there's lots to talk about, but I don't want to waste any time with civilities so I'm just going to get to it...the second greatest moment of my life occurred two weeks ago: LIVE BAND ROCK AND ROLL KARAOKE!!! While I was down home for the 4th of July (what's more American than Claremont? Nothing. Nothing.) I found out from my friend Ben that this was going down at a bar in Long Beach while I was in town, so 63, Dale and I went to check it out. Hopes were high, and I was in no way disappointed. Here I am, somewhere in the middle of my performance of "Borderline" (I can think of only one other time when I've been caught anywhere close to this happy on film, and that was my second day in Italy, eating gelato on a street median near the Vatican--did you know they let you choose three kinds!?!?). Ben--the blond head in the bottom right corner--sang a smashing "Jump" (no matter what he thinks, I jumped every time), and Dale used his patented manyell to rock "Sister Christian" (motorin'!). 63, poor dear, had some decision-making issues and ran out of time, but life is full of second chances and I look forward to hearing his "Where the Streets Have No Name" one day soon. LIVE BAND KARAOKE is so awesome that writing about it makes me have to pee my pants a little. Here are the ways it tops your mom's karaoke:

the band is so loud you can't hear yourself, so when it's over you have no idea whether you were on tune--you only know that you rocked.
if you lose the rhythm or don't know when to come in, a member of the band will help you out for a bit.
you still have all the words in front of you, but they're on paper so no one has to watch them go by with a cheery but incongruous digital background that says "Happy Birthday!" or "Aloha!"
you're on stage with a whole band (Mr. Mister Miyagi was a 5-piece) so you don't have to worry about being the focal point.
it's like seeing a live band, so everyone is on their feet singing along instead of sitting at tables and casually appraising you, and...
it fulfills all your rock'n'roll fantasies.

I can't stress to you enough, dear reader, how fab this felt. As much as I love regular karaoke, I always have lingering feelings of foolishness and regret after an appearance--but LIVE BAND KARAOKE only left me feeling like the prettiest and rockin'est girl at the party. If you're in LA, please go (and tell me about it later). For those of you in the Bay, I've been doing some research and may have found a karaoke band in the Mission that plays every second Saturday--I'll pass along the info when I've got it. For now, go forth and rock.

BEST SUMMER EVER

2007-07-02T19:36:00.000-07:00

I have a new policy.

I spent last summer in LA doing an internship at the California Science Center (where you can experience my handiwork right now). Before I began, however, I drove cross country with my friend Corby to move him to upstate New York where he is--even now, as you read this--mowing several acres of lawn for Academy Award winner Timothy Hutton. Sometime on our second run through Tennessee (we had to backtrack three hours from Nashville to Memphis in order to see Graceland--totally worth it) I got a call from my bumbling and irate landlord informing me that the girl I had found to sublet my place was certainly NOT allowed to live there, meaning I had to pay rent all summer for a place I wasn't living in. Poo. (By the by, Norman just sold the place...may the golden era of parking in the driveway and laundry after 9pm begin!).

When I got to LA, Renee, Joey, and Sandra graciously allowed me to stay on their couch for free during the weekdays (bless you all! i wish you much joy with the new season of SYTYCD--may it get better each time you rewatch it). Renee and I, finding ourselves under the same roof for the first time in six years, had decided that summer 2006 would undoubtedly be the BEST SUMMER EVER.

I can't speak for Renee, but I think summer 2006 certainly holds up with the best of them. And in the spirit of its success, I've decided on a new policy. Every summer shall henceforth be referred to as the BEST SUMMER EVER. Now, I know all you nitpickers and "best-of" listmakers out there will shudder at the thought of equally weighting all summers, but that's just not the case. Does it wrongfully diminish past summers to endow current summer with expectancy and hopefulness? I think not. The BEST SUMMER EVER is the summer you're in, and I'm in summer 2007 which, eleven days in, is indeed the BEST SUMMER EVER. My cruiser agrees, and she urges you to do the same.

Over and over and over again

2007-06-28T01:03:00.000-07:00

I just finished watching the lovely film Gosford Park for probably the 37th time and I can't quite put my finger on why it is I never get tired of it. "It's a Robert Altman masterpiece," you tell me in a knowing tone, "of course you don't get sick of it. The layered dialogue, the brilliant acting, the elegant staging, hot hot hot Clive Owen (holy crap, I can't even talk about it)--there's so much to digest!" True, to be sure. The problem with all that is it doesn't quite explain away my ability to watch the following list of films over and over and over again:

Breathtaking, right? I absolutely could watch any one of these movies any time of any day and be completely content--try me sometime. You may have heard me refer to these four in particular as "Forester Family Favorites". Granted, I do have some more worthy selections in this over and over and over again category, like:

...but still, I can't come up with a common theme. I wouldn't call any of these "all time" favorites (actually, that was a lie--two of them are definitely on that list), yet there's something sweet and comforting and constantly renewable about them. Do other people have these? I think I can guess what Renee's is:

Miss Noel's House of Dreams

2007-06-27T18:12:00.000-07:00

I'm not one for pomp and circumstance, but I do enjoy a good festivity now and again. Graduation at the Paramount Theater was all well and good, but what was really getting me through as I sweated over page 106 of my thesis was the after party I had planned with my family and friends at this pink anomaly:

T.J.s Ginger Bread House

I've been driving past this place on my way to the Webster tube for almost two years now and until three weeks ago it lived only in my dreams, shrouded in myth. What was a baby pink, heart-covered Victorian claiming to be a cajun restaurant doing wedged underneath the BART tracks and 880 south a mere stone's throw from blighted West Oakland? After a year of timid drive-bys I was tempted to drop in, but then a little birdie told me that besides needing a reservation waaaaaay in advance, you need to order your food ahead of time...what was this place?!

I knew wondrous things must be waiting for me inside, so I decided I'd wait and book an inaugural visit in honor of my graduation. A couple weeks before the date I called the number and spoke with a lovely woman who turned out to be Miss Noel (emphasis on the "Miss"): our hostess, server, quizmaster, entertainer and confidante for the evening. She asked me to come in as soon as possible to pick up menus (no place could be less online) so I could get everyone's order in ahead of time. I would have asked why this was necessary (out of curiosity--not contrariness) but she had just mentioned that she'd give me a cookie and a lemonade when I picked them up, so I hardly had time to hang up the phone before the screen door hit my bum on the way out to the car. I didn't get a cookie--but I did get a hug from Miss Noel and something that looked like this:

That's my sister holding a plate of "sassy" cornbread smothered in what can only be described as movie-theatre popcorn butter. Sensational.

Miss Noel and I quickly bonded and set our date for the 16th of June. It was one of the great events of my life--we were treated to fruit salad and fruit punch, games of chance and skill, and tips on life and love from Miss Noel herself. At one point she pulled a knife out of her apron--no joke!-- to show us how she protects a pretty little bit of a thing like herself. Here she is pulling out another recommendation:

Germs are nothing to kid about.

Miss Noel was one of those sweet people that talk like they've known you forever, which is very touching and sweet until you start to feel really awkward about nodding your head so much while they go on and on. Eventually you realize that you have nothing to say in return because you're not one of those people, so you just blather on with "thank you so much!" and "so true!" and my favorite: thhe upward sliding "ahhhh." The whole evening was this on-your-toes mix of being put at your ease without ever feeling easy. The highlights (sponsored by Ted on the Web, the West Coast's expert on "awkward") included a rope puzzle that kept Gnu and Alisa literally tied up for much longer than was entertaining for anyone (I won't post the pictures because I'm pretty sure Alisa and/or Whitney would kill me), and a 15 minute lecture Erica received extolling personal safety for the single woman. Also, there's this gem:

My pop ended up willingly posing for a picture with a flower in his hair (I told you wondrous things were waiting inside). We also snapped what is maybe the greatest ever photo of the grandmas:

A glorious time was had by all.

Victory

2007-06-21T18:49:00.001-07:00

I graduated with my masters in museum studies last Saturday. Joy. May I never know the misery of a thesis project ever again.

I've not been myself since I started writing this thing last fall...and to prove it, here is a list of things I've lost in the last 10 months:

1. 12 lbs.

2. the screw that used to hold on the rear fender of my car (and paint in three places)

3. $40K

4. a Some Crust Bakery travel mug

5. my patience

Of course, I've gained some things as well. I tried to list them, but it wasn't funny--so let me just say this: I feel very blessed. Very loved. Very supported, encouraged and believed in. Thanks to anyone who has listened to me talk about learning theory or community collaboration or exhibition design. Thanks to everyone who came to the Europa show. Thanks to anyone who touched a cockroach at the Science Center last summer. Thanks to anyone who admitted they'd never heard of the Oakland Museum even though they've lived in the East Bay all their life. Thanks to the La Brea tarpits and the Hall of Health and the subway car they displayed at LACMA when I was a kid. Thanks to farmers' markets. Thanks to whoever organized the public pillow fight on Valentine's Day.

And more personally...thanks to my parents and their social liberalism (which is surprisingly not at odds with their moral conservativism). Thanks to my blind grandmas and my work-weary grandpas. Thanks to my stylish sister, and thanks to my ADD brothers. Everything I've learned has its source in all of you.

I love my job.

Have a cookie

2007-06-07T19:47:00.000-07:00

And here's a post about cookies--never let it be said that I don't keep a promise...

I made them special, just for you. And because I love you so much, I've posted the recipe below (show a blog reader a cookie, and they wish they were at your place; show them a recipe, and they'll still wish they were at your place because most people are too lazy to make their own G D cookies). It comes from one of the several super-old crusty cookbooks my mom keeps for just the one recipe inside that we actually use. Snickerdoodles 1/2 cup butter 1/2 cup shortening 1 1/2 cup sugar 2 eggs 2 1/4 cups flour 2 tsp cream of tartar 1 tsp baking soda 1/4 tsp salt plus... 2 Tbsp sugar 2 tsp cinnamon Cream butter, shortening, sugar and eggs together. Add flour, cream of tartar, baking soda and salt, and mix until combined. In a separate bowl, mix together cinnamon sugar. Roll dough into balls in the palm of your hand, then roll each one through the cinnamon sugar to completely coat. Bake cookies at 400 degrees for 8-10 minutes. In 8th grade I had to get all my teachers to sign a slip so I could be in the annual bike-a-thon because my midterm grades were prohibitively low (which was not uncommon for me, but was, as usual, a complete surprise to most of my teachers). US History teacher Mr. Bunte said he would sign the slip if I did some extra credit. This extra credit consisted of making snickerdoodles, which he told me were George Washington's favorite cookies, and he wanted me to try to make them on a barbeque so they'd be more authentic. When I came home and told my mom, she said, "Washington's favorite my ass--sounds like snickerdoodles are Mr. Bunte's favorite. Use the oven--your teacher's an idiot."

Welcome Welcome

2007-06-06T10:13:00.000-07:00

I thought I'd begin this blog with a little trip to an art opening in the hopes of coming off as much more cultured than I deserve to have a reputation for. In reality, I watch far too much television to be considered truly cultured--and I hate ballet. This is an installation shot of my friend Casey's solo show "There Is No End To Matter" showing at Swarm in Jack London Square until June 17th.

Casey calls himself a Mormon artist (not "LDS") and I like this so much about him. The pieces have all these spiritual and cultural elements woven together that speak about how we don't compartmentalize this stuff (or at least I don't). Spirit and matter, art and life, religion and culture, purity and filth...it's all in this pot of mortality where every bit is touching every other bit. His artist's statement is rad:

1. The artist is tired of "Mormon Art" that is illustrative, didactic, manipulative, saccharine, and poorly executed; and 2. The artist is tired of "Contemporary Art", that is didactic, elitist, text-heavy, political, far-left-leaning, spiritually void, unattractive, pornographic, anti-religion, soul-less, and poorly executed.

Ya feeling that? I feel like he's created this aesthetic that I can relate to on a very contemporary and personal level. I was thrilled by what I saw--occassionally moved, and entirely stimulated. I like when audiences are encouraged to reject constructed dichotomy.

Aw crap. I blew it, didn't I? I said "dichotomy" in my first blog entry--now you'll never come back, right?! I'm sorry! I'll make it up to you, I swear! My next entry will be about puppies or kites or cookies, I promise. Anyway, this is me looking very happy to be so close to a collage of Book of Mormon illustrations (a la the primary felt storyboard).

I also want to mention the sad departure of Ali, who has gone off to teach art to the unschooled barbarian tribes of the mountain west. Bon voyage, and good luck. FYI--Ali actually touched one of the artworks--I saw it with my own eyes! It was appalling! Here she is keeping a respectful distance for appearance sake:

She is standing in front of a collection of Casey's church drawings, which I highly recommend you take a look at--they represent years of drawing in sacrament meeting and various assorted auxiliary meetings. They are fabulous: http://www.caseyjexsmith.com/drawings/drawings.htm

And here is Mackenzie, who also seemed to have it out for the art:

Being proud of ourselves for spending a very urban-chic evening out, we ended the evening at mine and Alisa's favorite ever Indian restaurant, Breads of India. I ordered chicken tikki masala. It's the only thing I ever order there; it's the only thing I will ever order there. It was a big table because, though urban-chic, we are still very mormon.

(Check out images from the show at http://www.swarmstudios.net/gallery/exhibitions/smith.htm)