I spent Christmas with my family for the first time in four years this week.  To make it even more jarring, this was the first Christmas in probably seven years we celebrated in Seattle.

It's difficult for me to describe exactly how and why this was a weird holiday, but it really was.  The best way I can think to describe my mental state, behavior, and general temperament is to tell you that I reverted to my 17 year old self.  Any self-respecting adult among you has experienced the same thing.  Don't lie to yourselves.

I found myself doing things like slouching moodily in front of the open refrigerator staring at nothing.  Rather than buying the foods I wasn't finding in my parents (really full) fridge I just scrounged around.  I justified myself saying I wasn't going to be staying there every night, so I didn't want to buy something and waste it.  But would it really have been that difficult to buy some plain yogurt and a bag of arugula?

I also slept an average of eleven hours a night.  I even woke up after one ten hour sleep only to return to bed for a two hour nap.  You could say that I obviously needed it; I certainly push myself harder and sleep less in LA.  But is twelve hours honestly necessary three out of four nights?

And when my friends dropped me off at 1am (come on, that's early!) I realized I'd have to go in through the garage, probably waking my parents.  Immediately I imagined my mom meeting me at the top of the stairs, giving me the sniff-n-hug, which caused a huge twinge of anxiety.

Observing these behaviors in myself, I missed my autonomy.  It's like I wasn't able to take up an adult space in my parents house.  Through no fault of theirs, I became an emotional, antisocial, contrary little bitch, rather than asserting myself as a grownup individual.

And I missed LA.  When I thought about coming back here to my unattached single life, for the first time I felt really okay about floating free.  Maybe that's selfish, or childish, or escapist, but I am really enjoying it.  In my little world I can get as weird as I want, and when I'm pouting in front of the refrigerator I have only myself to blame.

Holy shit I'm a finalist!

Hey friends!  The music video I shot in October is a finalist in the Original iPhone Film Festival!  Hurray!  We need to collect votes to win.  If you follow the link you can watch the videos and vote by liking it.  Our video is called "Vessel", it's the second one.  Thanks for the support!

http://originaliphonefilmfest.com/show.html

A Starving Artist's Guide to Shopping

Christmas is upon us (because having "last Christmas, I gave you my heart" stuck in your head didn't make that obvious) and once again I find myself finally getting into the black.  So it's obviously a great time for me to buy a bunch of expensive shit no one needs and spend a lot to ship it across the country.  Normally this makes me feel tense and agitated, leading me to stop working out and subsist only on red wine and chocolate for the duration of December.

This year, however, I'm not as anxious.  Any gifts I give this year will be used or (re)created or both.  Because I will be looking in thrift stores for gifts, I'm not able to go out and buy exactly that one thing that my mom doesn't need.  It's definitely limiting.  However, thrifting for gifts also gives me a special freedom.  Knowing that I probably won't be able to find something specific, I've released from the big idea of The Perfect Gift and am open to spontaneous gift inspiration.

It feels pretty good.  For whatever reason I've been able to let go of the stress of buying.  Maybe it's also because I'm not going to malls and big box stores, being assaulted by advertising and frantic music and overwhelming displays and screaming kids and a the same three colors over and over.

So let me tell you where I'll be shopping this year:

Out of The Closet on Glendale Blvd in Atwater Village.  This thrift store is new to me since I've moved to the new hood, and I got to say, I'm here at least once a week.  It is by far the best in the Out of the Closet chain I've found.  I've bought furnishings and art and also jewelry and clothes.  Usually I find it's one or the other with a donation based store, but this location obviously has some great folks donating.  Oh yeah, and lots of books.  Lots.

Crossroads Trading Company on Hyperion and Griffith Park Blvd in Silverlake.  I can walk to this store.  So obviously I spend too much money there.  I justify it because I'm getting a LOT more for my money, and still spending less than those who buy new.  For those of you who aren't familiar with this genre of resale boutique,  the clothes are all in fashion, and generally in great condition.  It's possible to find designer items there, but it's also totally possible to get things for less than $10.  As with all thrift stores, I recommend going in with a loose list of items you might like to find, then keeping an open mind.  Who knows what you'll find?

National Council of Jewish Women Thrift Shop on Ventura in Studio City.  I used to come to this place weekly when I lived in the neighborhood, and I still make excuses to go there whenever I'm in the area.  It's great.  I typically find lots of books, as well as really great furniture and art.  I haven't shopped much for the clothes, but I think that's because I have a preconceived idea that I won't find anything.  In reality, I think it's like most thrift stores: you have to be willing to sift through a bunch of crap to find a gem.

Mercer Island Youth and Family Services Thrift Shop in my hometown.  I have to throw a shoutout to this place.  I've been shopping there for 15 years, and it's consistently awesome.  Great clothes, great books, great everything.  When we were kids we used to go in there and find sequined sweaters and pilfer the 10 cent tee-shirt bin (as my friend Devin said recently, "10 cent tee-shirts was my jam").  I still have an awesome tee-ball shirt from those days.  I make a point to visit it every time I'm in Seattle.  Usually more than once.

Check these places out.  Chances are you'll find something cool and unusual, and it feels like finding buried treasure.  Who wouldn't like that?

Gaslighting and Fat Asses

Recently the internet was blowing up over the picture/article/phenomena of "plus size" model Lizzie Miller and her un-airbrushed belly roll;  I'm a few days late here but I wanted to weigh in anyway (pun intended).

This girl had her photo in Glamour magazine and everyone flipped because she's so natural looking.  I mean that people are flipping in a good way.  This photo is, as the article states, the type of candid photo your boyfriend might capture.  I love it, she looks vibrant and beautiful and like someone you'd meet in your everyday life.  Apparently women everywhere have been flooding Glamour with positive feedback because they like seeing attainable standards of beauty in the media.

So what's the deal with airbrushing?  Why does it happen to even the most beautiful celebrities?  Why are slim-hipped boyish 14 year olds still setting the standard for designers?  I mean, I don't pay a ton of attention to the media or what is considered in right now, so sometimes I allow myself to think that the cliches are no longer in power, but that's clearly not true.  What shadow force is it that's airbrushing our photos behind our backs, even when that's not what we want to look at?

Oh, maybe it's men.  Okay, we're going full on weird here.  But it occurred to me as I was dishing up a giant bowl of (brown rice) pasta and cheese (Thanksgiving week is evidently an excuse to eat massive amounts of cheese) that another article caught my eye recently.  It's about gaslighting, which is a tactic used (often unconsciously) by men to make women feel crazy, thereby negating what they're saying or feeling.  Come on, we've all felt it, right girls?  So see if you can follow this.  As men get older their beards go silver, their hair salt and pepper, and their pates bald.  And women eat it up, because men get better looking as they age.  Women, on the other hand, are told that their post baby bodies are unattractive, that their gray hair dulls their eyes or complexions, and that they aren't as pretty as they used to be.  

And let's be honest, who controls the media?  I don't know, and I haven't done any research, but I'm sure it's men.  So airbrush all the models: the Kate Winslets and the Keira Knightleys.  Keep women straining after unrealistic standards of beauty and they won't wake up and realize that they have options.

Okay, so this is a totally convoluted theory here; I'm really flying by the seat of my pants.  But tell me I'm crazy and hear me cry, "Gaslighting!"  And I know that I don't have much to complain about in this category.  I have my beautiful parents to thank for a fast metabolism and a lucky physique.  But when I get older I'll be aging naturally.  And I celebrate my right to enjoy a glass of wine and not worry as I move into my 30's (as one of my managers pointed out this is the start of my 30th year.  Thank you so much) that it'll land more firmly on my ass.  Get fat, ass! That's it.  Now excuse me, but I've got a giant bowl of pasta to finish up.

Nothing New Photo Shoot

I promised photos of the used items I've acquired recently, and here they are.  Casey Gates graciously allowed me to use her photographic skills for an hour or so last night...

This might be a good time for me to mention that if you were planning to buy me a birthday or Christmas gift (yeah, my birthday is in less than a week, I'm a little late to the game here) I would prefer if it were used, just to keep up with my project.  I'm not expecting any of you to buy me anything (clearly I acquire enough on my own), but I just wanted to throw that out there.

These items were acquired at favorite thrift stores, a clothing swap with my girlfriends, from a couple of friends who moved out of town and purged all their stuff.  Some items were found and others were given to me by people who no longer wanted them.  Check back in the next couple weeks for my shopping guide! Enjoy.

Earrings: one of my regulars at work (they're "too young" for her)
Scarf: Lost and Found (is it yours?)
Shirt: Sharon Combs, moving purge
Undershirt: Sharon Combs, moving purge
Skirt: Aubree Bowen, The Swap
Tights: Garage Sale (they were in excellent condition, and of course I washed them)
Shoes: Crossroads Trading Company
Print: Out of the Closet (I talked them down from $15 to $5.  I didn't $15 like it)
Toothbrush: Obviously I'm not going to buy a used toothbrush.  Besides, I already blogged about it.

Earrings: my manager at work, pregnancy purge
Necklace: Out of the Closet (still had the tags on)
Sweater: Nicole Brock, The Swap
Jeans: Casey Gates, The Swap
Flipflops: Casey Gates, The Swap
Book: Garage Sale
Chair: Neil Stevens, moving purge
Japanese Lady Poster: curbside find
Zaphod: "Free Kittens" sign at the Jackson Hole library

Hair ornament: manager at work, pregnancy purge (originally meant as a pin)
Glasses: Tin Box Boutique
Scarf: my Mom's neighbor
Shirt: Sharon Combs, moving purge
Undershirt: Casey Gates, The Swap
Leggings: Crossroads Trading Company
Coach Bag: Ashley Garland, from the goodness of her heart
Table: Neil Stevens, moving purge
Rolling Chair: Neil Stevens, moving purge

I guess you could say I'm anti-consumerism, but I certainly still have materialist tendencies... :/

Performance Art at MOCA!

Ok first of all I'd just like to point out that I now have 14 followers and 1407 page views.  Thanks for reading y'all.  *love

Now that I've taken care of my shoutout maybe you'd like to hear about my weekend?  Instead of working at the restaurant this weekend I performed at the MOCA gala.  I love getting paid to do what I love!

So this was a really interesting gig.  Marina Abramovic was hired as artist director of the gala.  She is one of the most famous performance artists in the world, and has been working consistently for probably 40 years.  I think she's more well-known in the art world than in the industry, but she is also based in New York and never comes to LA.  Last year she had a retrospective of her work at MOMA in NY, with younger performance artists recreating her pieces.  The retrospective lasted three months, and during that period she performed a new piece called The Artist is Present in which she sat at a table across from an empty chair, and members of the public could come sit across from her.  Every day for three months she sat while person after person sat down across from her and communicated non-verbally.  I read that she knew it was the right idea because the thought of it made her nauseous.

That was the basis for what I was doing at this gala.  My head was basically a centerpiece for a dinner table.  I sat on a little lazy Susan underneath a table with my head through a hole and stared at the dinner guests in turn.  The idea was to create a charismatic space, and for the guests to actually participate in art rather than just viewing it.

This was a tough gig, because I had to sit there for the whole dinner.  It was a rectangular table, so there were people pretty darn close to me.  I mean, I was pretty much breathing on two people's water glasses.  I knew it would be tough when I auditioned (the casting notice specified that you needed to be fit, asked you to list any martial arts or yoga training, and called for strength and focus) but I was unnerved on Thursday night when I learned that people were denouncing this event. All I read all over the internet was that I was being exploited by a celebrity artist; I would be paid a minimal amount for rich people to humiliate, fondle and torture me.

When I took the gig I decided to do it because I like Marina Abramovic.  I only learned about her work a few months ago, but I find her really compelling.  She has been working consistently for forty years.  She maintains (this is me paraphrasing) that within the context of performance you can push yourself much further than you ever would in your normal daily life; it's a matter of focus.  I have found this to be true.  Some of the most profound experiences I have had in theatre have been when I was pushing myself as hard as I knew how on a piece, mind and body.  

I have to say though, reading all that negative buzz made me think twice about being involved.  Would I be fucked with?  Would it be a terrible thing?  Could I do it?  I think it's that last question that kept me in.  I accepted the role because I wanted to challenge myself.  I knew it would be difficult.  I knew it would be uncomfortable.  But the discomfort is part of the experience.  I didn't want to look back and have to admit that I pussed out.

So yes, it was very uncomfortable.  But I am so glad I did it.  I had probably been seated underneath the table for 20 minutes when the dining room started to really fill up.  As the guests wandered in I rotated slowly on my lazy Susan, stopping to stare at people by my table.  They were very unnerved at first.  I was sitting in half lotus, and my legs started to ache, but I made myself stay with it because I knew that once I changed position it would never end, and I had three and a half hours to go.

There was this one lady who arrived first to the table; she wouldn't sit, and she wouldn't look at me.  Whenever I turned away I'd hear her babbling to passersby about how I was staring.  When everyone was there they all stood up around my table for an unusually long time, reluctant to sit.  Then it got really interesting.  Some people would make eye contact briefly and then ignore me.  Some gave themselves away by their refusal to look at me, trying so hard to seem natural.  And a few really engaged with me.  It was wild.  Here I was, head level with their dinner plates, having moment after moment with total strangers.  It was amazing to me the things that can pass between you without speech.  It's scary to look in someone's eyes, especially someone you don't know, but it can really blow you away when they open up to you like that.

At one point I was staring at this guy for a several minutes.  He was looking back at me, but he couldn't maintain constant eye contact.  We were having this beautiful moment, and he wife reached across the table and took his hand.  It seemed like she was watching this and just totally fell in love with him again.  Later on he did the same with her.  It was a beautiful moment that I was allowed to be part of; I feel like I added to it in some way.

As the evening wore on I got really uncomfortable.  My legs fell asleep, and I had to change position.  The muscles on either side of my middle spine flared up, and I couldn't sit still.  Sometimes I was looking up at these people completely in pain, but still trying to connect.  Then my temperature went weird.  I had to put on some fingerless mittens I had with me (remember they can only see my head).  Then the mittens came off and I pushed my sleeves up.  Then I had chills all down my back, like a cold sweat, and the mittens went back on.  Then I uncrossed my legs and brought my knees in front of me.  Then I recrossed and sat up straight, bringing my head farther above the hole.  And the mittens off again and my legs to my side.  Could they tell how much I was moving around?  But this was all part of it.

Marina said that eventually if you breathed into the discomfort and accepted it you'd reach a pleasurable place.  I don't know if I'd say I reached pleasure, but I definitely found something.  I was very connected to my body, but able to acknowledge that it was flipping out and go on creating (trying at least) this charismatic space with my gaze.  

I don't want to make this too long (it already is) but there were some other interesting things at the event.  A few tables were round, and had a naked girl with a skeleton on top of her as the centerpiece, also rotating.  This was a recreation of another of Marina's pieces, Nude with Skeleton.  Listening to the guests at my table was really interesting.  "Did you see the vagina?" "Is it real" "It's a corpse" "The head is real but the rest is fake." "Go find out." "Did you see vagina?  It's coming around again."

Also, everyone was wearing lab coats.  One lady spilled wine on herself, and when they tried to get a waiter they couldn't tell who was MOCA staff or a waiter or a performer or a guest.  Imagine all these ladies in their couture wear and their jewels (my god, their jewels!) being forced to wear lab coats.  And yes, I scored one.  Cause it's used!  And who knows when I may need one!

Still hot

Also, Debbie Harry (you know, Blondie) performed.  What an awesome lady.  She's old, but she's still really cool.  And at the end of the evening they brought out two cakes shaped like Debbie and Marina, and they cut them up with giant gleaming knives.

I am so grateful I got to be part of this event.  I wish I had pushed myself further.  I wish that I had held eye contact further past the point of discomfort.  I wish that when Marina's assistants told me I could get up that I had waited until the guests at my table had totally left the tent.  I wish that I could do this sort of work all the time.

Me and Marina.  She said I'm always so serious....

Vessel video!

I have so much that I have been meaning to share, but unfortunately I've gotten kind of lax about updating lately.  So be prepared for a flurry of blog posts!  First off:  I was in a music video in October that I'm really proud of.  It was directed by Eryc Tramonn and produced by Rob Miller for their friends' band: Bad Lamps.  I had an amazing time shooting with these guys.  They have a crew of friends who've been collaborating for years on the side, and most of them are involved in the industry as well.  We shot this video over two days, in about four hours collective shooting time.  The coolest part was that the entire thing was shot on the new iPhone for a contest.  I'm really pleased with the quality, I had a great experience working with some really professional people, and I really like the song.  So enjoy!

Once again, I'm unable to embed it-one day I won't be so challenged.  But in the meantime here is the link:

http://youtu.be/DOx0PIqsplc

xoxox

Confession

Okay, I'm going to tell you a secret.  I go through Lost and Found bins, and sometimes I take things that I didn't lose.  I feel a little better getting that off my chest.  Here's the thing.  I'm really careful of my possessions. I wash my clothes carefully.  I get my shoes repaired.  I mend things.  And I also know that, for the most part, if I lose something or it breaks or wears out, it can't be replaced.  It's one of a kind.  If I went to big box stores and bought lots of interchangeable stuff all the time I might value my possessions less, but that's not how I work.  So when I lose something, I go back and look for it.  For example, I have two water bottles.  One I from Starbucks that I got with a gift card several years ago, and one big silver metal one that Lindsay left in my rental car in Boston, which used to belong to her ex-boyfriend.  I take one with me everywhere, and I can't tell you how often I leave them places.  Just this week at the yoga studio, in fact.  And often I'll leave one at the theatre.  But I always think about where they are and go looking for them.  Which is how come I might be browsing through lost and found bins, noticing that some of this stuff was here the last time I lost my bottle.  So obviously someone has forgotten about it and won't be bothered if I take it.  But don't you think that if individual items had more personal meaning to us we would be more careful of them, and less likely to misplace or break them?  Don't get me wrong, one of these days those bottles will go the way of the world, and I'll have to replace them or go without.  And that's fine; as much as I love collecting things I also try not to be too attached.  But in the meantime I will make them last as long as possible.  And if you happen to see me wearing a scarf that you recognize, yes, it probably is yours.

Wanty-wanty

For whatever reason I went to Hollywood and Highland center three times in a week.  Once to meet a friend, once for an audition (classy) and once to buy some foundation for a shoot.  Makeup falls under my toiletries caveat as far as used things only, especially since it was for filming.

It was interesting observing the mall from the point of view of buying nothing new.  I've never been a big mall shopper obviously, but before I made the conscious decision to buy only used items I would've given in to the feeling I had when I was surrounded by Bebe and Lucky and... the rest of the forgettable stores at the mall.  A feeling of wantingness.  A feeling like what I have or what I am is not enough.  A feeling created by that little voice in the back of my head who sees a window display and says, "Go check out the sale rack.  Just to see what's there."

I didn't need anything at the mall.  I accumulate new (to me) things all the time, regardless of buying used things only.  But this time I was able to observe that wanty little Golem in my stomach and say, "No.  You don't need those shiny things.  Get over it."

And let's be honest, in some ways this nothing new thing has just given me an excuse to shop the thrift stores more.  Because when you can get things new you have to be looking all the time.  I don't go intending to buy one hard and fast item.  I have a shifting list of things I'm looking for, and if I don't find them it's not the end of the world.

I'm thinking about extending this thing to a year.  So far six months doesn't seem that tough.  I do feel like I've been a bit lax about documenting it lately, but I'm not sure people want that many boring details...  Check back and I'll post some photos of some of the used stuff I've picked up lately.

First and Last Date

"Sometimes," she said as she reached across me and took the lemon wedge off my glass, "I don't clean my ears for a couple of weeks." She squeezed my lemon into her water, and then she squeezed her own as well.  "That way, when I finally do clean them out, the q-tip is like, really gross." She mixed five packets of sugar into her water.  "You know, it's kind of exciting, like an accomplishment." She stirred vigorously.  "Ta-da!  Lemonade!  And you don't have to pay four dollars for it."  I didn't say anything.  "You don't mind, do you?  You weren't using it, so I thought..."

"No, I don't mind." I paused.  "You don't have many friends, do you?"

Traveling Boutique!!

I'm planning a pretty awesome blog post for the holiday season (which also happens to be my birthday season, FYI).  But this weekend I became compelled to give you all a little sneak peek.  So without further ado I give you:

the Nothing New Guide to Shopping: Chatty Cathy Goes Thrift Wild!
Okay, maybe that title is a bit much.  Whatever.

Anyway, I was leaving yoga on Sunday and saw a small moving van parked by the farmers market across the street, and had to go in.

What is this??

Who wouldn't want to shop here?  Well I wouldn't want to be friends with someone who wouldn't want to shop here.

 This adorable store is called Tin Box of Curious Artifacts (tra-vel-ing bou-tique).  They sell mainly vintage items, and a few new things.  I was so charmed I felt absolutely compelled to purchase something.  There was an old school Parcheesi game that particularly caught my eye, but in end these amazing Sophia Loren glasses came home with me.

Looking good.

Not that they're my prescription.  Not that I really need glasses.  Not that I'll wear them frequently.  $10 totally well spent.  Oh yeah, did I mention that Tin Box is very affordable?  All the clothes are in great condition, they're perfect for hipsters, and everything was priced surprisingly low.  If you see this store I urge you to check it out.  It's really cool.

Clowning around

A couple of years ago my Locke took a few photos of me wearing this clown nose.  He gave me a sweater to hold as a prop, had me face the wall for a moment, and started shooting when I turned around.  This was the middle of a several year period during which he took photos of everyone who came over, all wearing the nose.  Now he's having an art show. It opens on Friday, and I'm really honored to be a part of it.

Putting on that nose transported me to the summer of 2004, when I was working with a theatre company 30 hours a week, doing physical theatre, viewpoints, and a lot of mask work.  I love the physical transformation you go through-if you're open to it, when you put on a costume or an outrageous outfit.  Or even something as simple as holding a sweater and wearing a nose.

And I also love seeing my friend take this random thing he did and turn it in to a public event.  I love seeing him follow through on something he has been doing for years.  And I love that I was able to participate, along with countless other of his friends.  Very proud of you, friend.

Please check out Locke's work.  Please go see his art show.  I will be at the opening on Friday (after work, of course), but it runs for two weeks.  Don't be square.  And besides, going to look at photos in an art gallery is FREE!

It's October. Let's get dark.

Take a bone saw
and cut through my breast bone.
Peel back all the skin and muscle
and crack open my ribs;
Spread them to the side
like wings
And you have me
standing there
trying to give myself to you.
All of me, open and unprotected.

Then painfully close up
my ribs
And sew everything up
with giant Frankenstein stitches
And you have me
achy and broken
with an ugly suture up my front.
Damaged goods.


It's October, Let's Get Dark by Catherine Frances Weiss is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License.

Squirrel Man

It's almost Halloween (well, it's almost October.  I get excited-shoot me), so I thought I'd take a little time out and tell you a horror story.  Whoooo-ooooh! (That's me doing a scary sound).  So let me tell you about Squirrel Man.  A truly fearsome individual.

Okay, so this one time I went to the park to go running.  (What?  Horror stories start like this: full on normal-world mundanity. ) So anyway, I obviously needed to stretch first, because that's what they say you should do.  And I'm a follower.  So I walked up to this big tree by the path and leaned on it while I stretched my hammies. You know, I'm just hanging out, maybe imagining actor things, ankle in hand, stretching whatever that muscle is.

Now, I had noticed, when I first approached the tree, that there was a little squirrel kind of heading my direction, but I thought nothing of it.  Maybe it had a nest in my hamstring-stretching-balance-tree.  So what?  Wait, squirrel.  Me first.  But then right around the time I switched legs I noticed that my little buddy had a friend.

Okay, picture this: He's super tan.  Like, that kind of tan like you're outside all the time because you don't have a home-you're maybe homeless.  And I could tell how tan he was because he wasn't wearing a shirt.  I think it might've been hanging from the back pocket of his very oversized jeans, but that really wasn't my focal point.  This intense young (old?  He was actually kind of ageless, maybe he was a weird immortal like in the Sandman, or a mutant....) man observed me from underneath his head scarf, and I realized he was originally coming to my tree, but I beat him to the punch.  You snooze you lose, guy!

What was weird about this dude though (as if he wasn't weird enough already-although, in fairness, people work out at that park...  Maybe that's why he was shirtless.) was that he had a jar of peanut butter and a butter knife.  Now, I know you were wondering about his relationship and interaction with that little squirrel, so let me drop the bomb on you:

He was feeding the squirrel.  He was using his butter knife to spread peanut butter on the tree next to mine.  I realized at this point, that I was using his peanut-butter-squirrel-tree to stretch.  Whoops.  So he's buttering the tree, and the squirrel is eating peanut butter upside down off the tree, and Squirrel Man is crouching by his pal,  watching me watching him. Whoops again. Caught staring.  Then he offered the knife to the squirrel; feeding it directly off the knife.  He looked at me again, and as we made eye contact he took the knife and licked it himself.

Ewwwwwwwww!  Gross!  Squirrels are rodents!  Rabies!  Ewwww!

And then I ran away.  Seriously, I started running around the park.  And the Squirrel Man faded into the night (morning) to haunt the dreams of children (joggers.  Me) forever.  So whatever you do  watch out of the Squirrel Man!

Nothing New: the bike post

What is up my 9 followers?  You are some of my favorite people on the internet, just sayin.

I have to go imagine some things for acting class tonight, so I'll keep this brief.  I just wanted to let you know how Nothing New is going:

GREAT.  Yeah, so that bike that my neighbor gave me is sweet.  The guys at the Bicycle Kitchen were really helpful.  For $22 dollars they showed me how to change the tires, hooked me up with a couple of used tires in good condition, straightened the rims and oiled the chain.  Go there.  I will definitely be back.  And then yesterday I went for a ride in Griffith Park.  It was kind of an ambitious ride, but I saw so much of the park, it's definitely the way to experience Griffith.

I'm really jazzed about biking; I'm so tired of my car.  But now I need a lock and a helmet.  The lock I will definitely be purchasing used.  If anyone has one let me know.  As for the helmet, if I can find a pre-owned but not really used one that would be ideal.  However, if necessary I will buy a new one.  I know it's not really that cool to where a helmet, but let's face it, I have a history of accidents.

Also, you'll be interested to know that I purchased remanufactured ink cartridges for my printer.  They've always been wonderful in the past, this time I had the misfortune to be sent an empty black cartridge, but hopefully they'll replace it.  And I can send my old ones back to be reused.  Hurrah!

As for that other thing...  Nothing to report, let's just leave it at that.

Begging for it: An exercise in asking for what I want

"I think there's a jump some people have to make, sometimes, and if they don't do it, then they're stuck good... Some jumps you have to decide on for yourself.  Just figure there's something better waiting for you somewhere..."
                     - Count Zero, William Gibson


I've been thinking about the lesson I learned in asking the universe for a bike.  I voiced my desire for a bicycle out loud, on Facebook.  And then, having admitted and asked for what I wanted, I realized that there was someone specific who might be able to help me, and I voiced what I wanted to that person.  And surprise, he gave me a bike, and it was easier than I had thought it would ever be.

So I'm going to put it all out there right now:

I want to be a working actor.  I want a new agent, commercial and theatrical.  I want a manager.  I am not in the union, but I am a great actor, and I am confident in my ability.  If anyone can get me a referral I will do something special for you.  It will be tailored to you, I might take you to lunch or I might make you something or who knows (requests can be made).

I want to work.  I want to create art and collaborate and have people see it.

So I'm going to do it.  And yes, I did just quote William Gibson.  Because he's really cool.  And I'm a big nerd.

Nothing new-1st update!

Unintentionally it is exactly 4 weeks since my first post about not buying anything new.  Allow me to clarify one thing about this idea:  I am allowed to buy used things.  I am not allowed to buy anything that hasn't already been owned, with a few exceptions: shoes, underwear, food, toiletries, art by artists I wish to support financially.

It's interesting to me that almost a month has passed and this really hasn't been a stretch for me.  Of course, I have always been a garage-saler/go-through-your-curbside-leftovers/thrift store shopper.  I like used stuff.  So I'm not terribly surprised.

So far the main shift in my thinking is about plastics.  For example, when I moved back in March I decided to reuse my Ziploc bags.  They're really expensive, and sometimes they were barely used at all, and I'd just throw them away.  So I started washing them with the rest of my dishes and drying them on my dish rack.  Since I've started this project, however, I've avoided using my Ziploc bags completely.  I still have some in my drawer, but why put half an avocado in a Ziploc bag when I could use a piece of Tupperware?  Incidentally, I only have two pieces of store-bought Tupperware.  I also have an abundance of clean sour cream containers and mustard jars in my cupboard.  It's basically the same thing as Tupperware, and totally reusable.  And I'm recycling more.  I have to confess, I wasn't great about it before I started doing this.  It wasn't totally convenient to me because I didn't have a container for it, and my apartment complex doesn't have recycling bins.  But the two buildings next door to me do have recycling bins out most days of the week, and I took the bucket I was using for dirty dishtowels for my recycling.  Voila.  I was just being lazy before.  Cause here's the thing.  I figured what's the point of consuming less if I'm still throwing away bottles?  This is a no-brainer, but I just needed to really think about it, and then start doing it.  FYI, I also stopped using paper towels.  I use rags instead when I need to clean-usually it's cat vomit I'm picking up.

Through the magic of asking the universe for what I want I came by a bike.  I put it out there on Facebook that I wanted a used bike.  Then I asked my neighbor if he knew where I could get one, and he gave me one that he's not using.  It needs new rims and tires.  His stipulation was that I fix it, and then ride with them.  Pretty good deal!

And I'm pleased with the fact that I made it happen by asking for it.  I could use that lesson in my career in a big way.  In fact, that's kind of the lesson of the blog.  So I haven't gotten the new rims yet, but I plan to take it to the Bike Kitchen this weekend, where they'll teach you to work on it yourself and might have used parts.  So that's cool, I'll be sure to update.  Riding it is a scary prospect (lest you forget I chipped my two front teeth in a bike accident), but I'll cross that bridge (hopefully on my bike) when I come to it.

I was rather puzzled recently about getting a new toothbrush.  I used to have a Sonicare, but it wore out.  It seems like a good idea because it lasts so long, but I'm not really into gadgets.  And I'm not the type to go out and buy one.  Trader Joe's supplied me with a toothbrush recycled from yogurt cups though!  And the packaging can be used to return it to be recycled!  

I also scored a razor by the same brand at Whole Foods.

I was in Boston this week, and got a pair of earrings made by my friend's roommate Nicole.  Luckily this falls under supporting fellow artists, because it didn't cross my mind not to get a pair.  

She made these earrings by hand, and I love them.  She's a super talented artist, her room is filled with all sort of interesting hanging pieces, and prints and beautiful mounted insects.  I encourage you all to check out her website: www.nicolecolella.com.  Buy her jewelry!

I did have a moment or two of distress at the airport when I questioned whether I really wanted to read the books I'd brought, but I just didn't go in the bookstores.  Those books are overpriced, and I don't need them.  Suck it up!

Okay, so for those of you who have made it this far, this is where it gets interesting.  I have a dilemma: I want a vibrator.  I haven't had one for a long time, but now I kind of need one.  (Sorry if you're reading this Mom, I don't mean to embarrass you.)  So I can't decide if this falls under toiletries?  It seems like I ought to try to find one made of recyclable materials, but that seems kind of gross, right?  And yet, recycled products like plastic bottles have to be sterilized or whatever, so is it really that different?  Obviously a straight-up used dildo is out of the question (ew).  I have also considered the fact that I've made it this far without one... I guess it bears research.  

I'm just being me here, folks.  Keep it respectful.  xoxox

This is for my friend

I don't know if it makes a difference to know that a piece of your sadness is being carried around all the way over here on the West Coast, but I've been bearing your pain all day. A marvelous light burnt out tonight. Nothing can replace it or make it better.

I had a vision of her shooting up into the sky like a rocket. Blindingly bright. She burned faster and brighter all night and when she finally burned out her ashes dispersed peppering the sky with stars.

This is all nonsense. Nothing I say can give you back what you lost. But I want you to know that my heart really hurts for you. And you should be comforted knowing that her wonderful light isn't extinguished, it burns in you. You're a piece of her. It might sound like a cliche, but it's the truth. It's immortality.

Fuck all the outside noise: you're my friend for the rest of my life. Your pain is my pain, your loss is my loss. You're not hurting alone.  My heart breaks for you.  I'm sorry friend.

Nothing New

I was standing in Borders Books in Seattle last week looking at the shelves, wondering why anyone would spend full price on these books when you can get them for half the price, maybe less, on the internet or in thrift stores.

This was a slightly fucked up thought, because I was also feeling sad about Borders closing.  I was spinning on chain bookstores closing, and little independant bookstores closing and mom and pop shops closing and even video stores closing, and how sad it all is.  This phrase, "democratization of culture" keeps popping in my head.  I don't know if it means what I think it means, but to me it's how everything is getting more general, less unique, more mass produced, made with less care.

I just looked it up.  Well, I half-heartedly looked it up.  I don't think it's inappropriate.  What gets me down is the idea that everyone is becoming so insulated in their little worlds eventually no one will experience anything really new or real.  Everything will be purchased on the internet and shipped to your home.  Your relationships will be most meaningful in cyberspace, and your consumption of art or culture or life will happen through a screen, rather than with other people in the world.  The meaningful part of loaning someone a book will be lost, because no one will read books anymore.  You won't borrow my dog-eared copy of Ender's Game, you won't feel in your hand that I must've read it at least six times, and wonder about who else I've loaned it to.  You won't see where I folded down the pages to go to sleep at night, and my underlinings won't cause you to go back to reread a section you might've skimmed otherwise.

You won't go out and exhaust yourself dancing all night in a sweaty bar with your friends, you won't go experience live dance or theatre with all their flaws and gems, you won't take in your neighbor's garden while you walk to the store.

Some where out of this spin came the idea that I shouldn't buy anything new for a six months.  I realize that it seems a bit counterintuitive when I've just been talking about bookstores closing.  And I also realize that for me this is not an unthinkable task.  I like other people's used things.  I have a reputation for it, in fact.  I guess this is motivated by a number of factors.  Our throwaway culture is one part of it.  People buy things and get rid of them without a second thought.  If everything is replaceable then nothing is special.  I am sort of a pack rat, but I think there's virtue in my hoarding.  I remember who gave me these earrings, or passed this tee shirt on to me.  I remember who I was with when I got this bag, or the store and maybe even the day where I bought this book.  I think about those people or those times when I hold that item.  Things shouldn't just be thrown away.  Our world is cluttered and full of trash.

I am also financially motivated.  Obviously times are tough, and this will make me look at whether or not I really need something.  And if I can't find something used, it will force me to be inventive and to use my imagination.  Not a bad thing.

There are exceptions though: food (obvi), undergarments (obvi), shoes.  Also, I will make targeted exceptions in cases where I specifically want to support something.  An author, for example.  Admittedly, I don't buy a lot of new books anyway, but there have been times when I specifically purchased a book new because I wanted to support that author.  Artists have got to look out for each other after all.

So I'm starting now.

7 cups of coffee

Thursday morning I walked down the carpeted stairs of my parent's house their old dog woofed quietly up at me, calling my mom to come down for his morning walk.  I went out with them through the neighborhood where I grew up, checking out the changes of the past ten years, waiting for an old dog to catch up with us.  When we got back Mom made half-caff as a compromise.  I added one and a half spoons of sugar, a liberal dose of my Dad's ever-present half and half (he doesn't drink coffee though; he puts it on his cereal), and took it into the living room for some quiet time.  Quiet time was interrupted a little black and white cat sucking on my hair, purring loudly in my ear.

Friday morning I wandered into my brother Eric's kitchen, where he informed me that I was making my coffee wrong.  The Coffee Mate should be added to the cup before pouring the coffee in.  "You make your own choices," he said.  He went off to work, and I went to hot yoga with Ivy.  When we came back his great Danes were sleeping on my bed.  Naughty dogs.

Saturday morning I woke up in a little hole of a bedroom in Alicia's basement.  I had slept very soundly.  I went up two flights of creaky steps to the communal bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth.  No one was awake, so I walked down the hill to Roy's Coffee and Tea and ordered a soy hazelnut latte.  I sat on a bench and read The Stranger.  A woman arranged two stuffed animals on the table next to me and walked away.  When I got back Alicia informed me that  Roy's is a Starbucks.  Go figure.

Sunday morning I woke up in the same dark hole at Alicia's.  Upstairs I roused Colin from the couch.  Whiteloaf wandered up from another couch, and we started tidying the party's aftermath.  When everyone was all assembled we went to Brian's (George's).  We drank champagne and ate cheese.  When I tried making coffee in the unfamiliar coffee maker it started spilling all over the counter, but I took the lid off the carafe and wiped it up.  When it was ready I put in sugar and rice milk.   I drank it out of a giant mug.  Then I had a bloody Mary.  Breakfast!

Monday morning Matt's dog, Bella, stuck her nose in my crotch as soon as I opened the door.  When I came out of the bathroom she was laying down on my futon.  Matt made us coffee, but he didn't have any sugar.  Just skim milk.  Joy had green tea.  Then she and I took Bella for a long walk on the beach.  We looked at Washington's mountains floating on the horizon, and found jelly fish melting on the rocks.  The air was fresh.

Tuesday morning my mom peeked in early. "What time is it?" "About a quarter to seven." "Okay," I rolled over and went back to sleep.  When I got up later I threw on whatever clothes I had brought that were still clean so I could do laundry before going.  In the kitchen I found my mother and brother.  She offered coffee and I took it, wondering if it was caffeinated or not, but not asking.  Again: sugar and half and half.

This morning my very affectionate cat stuck his little claws lovingly into my chin.  He missed me.  I pushed snooze for an hour.  When I finally got out of bed I stumbled around my apartment, gaining my bearings after my week away.  I made my coffee and doctored it with my usual sugar and almond milk.  My favorite mug greeted me from the dish drainer, right where it always is.

Art in the Streets!

  Sharon and I went to the Art in the Streets exhibit at the Geffen on Monday.  It was free courtesy of Banksy (thanks!), and we squeaked in on the last day.  It was an awesome experience.  There was almost too much art to take in; it makes me wish I had gone sooner, so that I could have gone more than once.  I knew that it would feature graffiti (obvi), but I didn't really appreciate great a scope that could have, and also how many other forms of expression could qualify as street art.

   My idea of "what is art" was totally challenged.  Art can be anything, and it can be made anywhere.  It doesn't have to be something beautiful and pristine on a wall painted by a dead guy 200 years ago, it can be something tangible and raw right here, now.  The bags from the gift shop said, "you can touch things".  We didn't buy anything, but I almost would've just to get one of those bags.  Of course, this is ironic since we got in trouble three times for touching the art.  One time Sharon was spoken sharply to for standing too near the wall. 

That's right.  She wasn't even touching it.  She was just having her photo made.  So much for that "you can touch" thing.

   One of my favorite portions was a section of lost pet posters collected from Beverly Hills.  The artist, whose names escapes me, said he was moved by them because they were an unpretentious, unselfconscious expression of someone's raw emotion, condensed into an image and some text.  That really hit me, because I have been there, papering the neighborhood with "Have you seen me?" fliers, my heart on my sleeve, worrying about my cat.  No photo, sorry. 

       Another artist said of her photography that she was moved to take pictures because what if it would never be like this again.  I love that.  There were clips of graffiti films from all over the world-my favorite being a German film where a crew painted an entire subway car in the 5 minutes it was stopped.  There were instruments set up that anyone could be a musician.

   I am not doing justice to this exhibit.  Here are the rest of my photos-I'll let them speak for themselves.



Plenty to look at waiting to get in





Banksy stencil on a wooden door.  I love the collage aspect of his work.

Strange hall of mirrors.  I certainly know what it's like to look in the mirror and feel crazy though.

There were a lot of awesome murals.  I don't know why I didn't take pictures of all my favorite stuff though... 

This kid personifies punk rock for me, he really brought those photos to life.  I stole his picture.

Anything can be made into art

More Banksy!

Ironically I got in trouble right before this. 

Awesome light installation by artist Swoon.  It was housed in a sort of tent, so that the walls of the room were part of the piece.  I felt like my brain clicked into place when I realized that.  Again, art challenging my ideas of how it should be viewed or what it is.

Later in Echo Park I was much more aware of the street art all around me.  I dig this cityscape.

Tempted to try stenciling...



Curious Museums of LA

I've found a new website to haunt: http://www.rentfoodbroke.com/.  Take a wild guess what it's about. They have an awesome calendar with events around the city that cost $0 to $10.  It's pretty awesome.  It drew my attention to the Museum of Jurassic Technology.  I had heard about this place before, and it's only a $5 suggested donation, so my friend Pra and I went to check it out this weekend.

Pra enjoying a snack before going in.

The museum has an unassuming facade on Venice Boulevard in Culver City, so I was sort of surprised when it was PACKED inside.  I was bumping asses and elbows with all sorts of strangers.  Fun.

As far as the content of the museum, I am hard pressed to capture it all.  My best advice for all five of my readers (don't think I didn't notice my two new followers!) is to go experience it yourself.  Except that you can't because you all live in other states.  So since you're begging for it I'll give you my two cents (I'm not that broke).

Readers of Neal Stephenson, China Mieville, and Neil Gaiman would love this place.  MJT poses as a historical and educational facility, but it's pretty much all fantasy.  The exhibits and collections supposedly date from the Jurassic through the present.

I have no idea what this is supposed to be, but Athanasius Kircher designed it.

An exhibit devoted to Athanasius Kircher, some sort of medieval super-genius included a giant magnetic sundial of some sort, lots of models like those in a 7th grade science fair showing things like water systems of Earth with holograms projected on them, and-most importantly, a 3D movie translated from German.

Caption to an engraving

There were micro-mosaics you viewed through a microscope (duh) of floral arrangements created from fragments of butterfly wings.  There were lots of random engravings and paintings and whatnot.
There was a pretty awesome reading room, where Pra and I wrote some book spine poetry.  I got the idea from Rainn Wilson's website, Soul Pancake (http://www.soulpancake.com/post/1519/book-spine-poem.html).  Our poem was not very awesome, and the picture was not very clear, but I will include it anyway:

For a handful of feathers,
the gold of Troy,
British biscuit tins
Time Detectives
Q.E.D.
zone
gladiators at Pompeii

I was pretty upset when I realized we'd skipped right past a book called "Catapulting" but oh well.

There was also an entire section devoted to archaic remedies, with some really weird visuals.  My favorite was a model of a child with a duck's bill in it's mouth.  Apparently the duck's cold breath was supposed to cure thrush or something.  Ew.  In this area I discovered this gem, "Mouse pie when eaten with regularity serves as a remedy for children who stammer." 

 One section had handheld viewing glasses, which made only the most minimal differences to the vectographs on display.  

Another room was devoted to collections found in Los Angeles trailers, complete with scale models of mobile homes.  


After a while my brain lost it's ability to try to make sense of anything I was looking at; I could only sit back and let the experience hit me in waves.  I'm pretty sure that's part of the point.  We try to so hard to be adults, to get things right, that we forget to play.  We have so little sense of wonder anymore that we need places like the Museum of Jurassic Technology to get us out of our heads.


Upstairs behind a door marked, "Fairly safely venture" Pra and I played cat's cradle for ten minutes.  Peppered throughout the museum were phone receivers and buttons, 90% of which did nothing.  I can only assume it was 100% intentional.  And to finish our visit we enjoyed tea and cookies in the tea room!  Actually I didn't eat any cookies; they had no gluten-free refreshments.  The nerve.


Like my visit to the Psychiatry: an Industry of Death Museum, I left MJT feeling bewildered.  This time though I felt more bemused at my confusion, rather than depressed and in need of a drink.  I am not sure what I was supposed to get from it, but maybe that's not the point.  

Summer Reading part 2

After reading all those fabulous books by awesome lady authors I ran out of women on my to read shelf by my bed.  So I looked at what I had:

I chose Lady Chatterly's Lover by D.H. Lawrence (not pictured here).  I wanted something kind of sexy, and that still fired up the feminist in me, and nothing else there really fit the bill.

Boy was I in for a disappointment!  I have looked forward to reading this book for a while.  I take pride in being well-read.  Not just in quantity, but also in a variety of time periods and genres, so this seemed like a classic that must be attended to.  But frankly I kind of feel like I wasted my time.  Lawrence spends a lot of time showing how most people are not connected to their bodies, how they leave the physical out.  This is an idea I can get behind.  It's something I have struggled with in my acting, and I feel like it's true in a larger sense for many people.  Ironically though, I found myself skimming through the end of the book because I didn't care for all the chitchat and higher ideas being discussed in the book.  It was too heady; it didn't tug at my core-where I feel my soul.  Check out the link to read my review on Goodreads.

http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/186554294

Field Trip!

It's summer, and money is tight.  So I have been looking around for affordable (read free) things to do.  The other day I came across a coupon on the LA Weekly website for free admission to the Pyschiatry: An Industry of Death Museum.  It was eight pm on a Tuesday night, and this place just happens to be open until 10pm (weird hours, right?) so obviously I downloaded the coupon onto my phone and took myself to Hollywood!

I have walked by this place a number of times and thought to myself, "What is up with that place?  What kind of a name is that for a museum?  And what kind of hole does this fill in the public consciousness?" Time to find out!

So, turns out I didn't need the coupon, because the museum is ALWAYS free.  Okay, interesting.  My friend and I went in, and as the docent is giving us the history of the museum she mentions that it's affiliated with Scientology.  Ding ding ding!  Weird hours, unnecessary coupons, and unwieldy name all starting to add up here.  Clearly I am great at mental math.

The museum is basically a loop, and they start you out in a small room with padded walls to watch a movie.  The padded walls were a really nice touch; I guess I should expect great production value from anything associated with Scientology.  The movie had testimonials from lots of psychiatrists saying that there's no medical proof for most of psychology, and then it showed that they were the authors of books like "Mad in America", so they're obviously reputable sources.  The movie also showed shots of lots of really unhappy looking people, and interviews with their families about how their lives were ruined by psychiatry.  Finally, once we were totally depressed, we were turned loose into the museum.

The museum was like a combination of Universal Studios, Ripley's Believe It or Not Museum, and the Holocaust Museum in Normandy.  It was basically a parade of Atrocities Everyone Loves to Hate, beefed up  with weird visual aids: examples of medieval torture devices, bloodletting knives or primitive electroshock chairs, realistic looking mummified heads made of wax, photos of bone thin patients locked in "cage beds", etc.  Every six feet or so there were large monitors showing video segments (now I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that I should NEVER submit myself for an in-house Scientology project).  The exhibits are organized somewhat chronologically, and concern the Holocaust, racism, Hollywood icons, school shootings, insurance fraud and TERRORISM to name a few.  This was all accompanied by a bunch of arguments that really stretched to show that all of psychiatry is a conspiracy with big pharma.  

Don't get me wrong.  I think that people, especially kids, are over medicated.  I believe that there are lots of people out there who want a quick diagnosis, or who want to put other people's inexplicable behavior into an easy to understand box.  But I also believe that sometimes we can become emotionally unbalanced, and need more than someone to talk to.  There is a time a place for chemical aid.

When we left the museum we passed through a room whose walls were COVERED with pamphlets.  A sign politely informed us that each guest was permitted to choose one pamphlet free, but that additional pamphlets can be purchased for $1.50.  I was tempted to take the one titled Raped by Psychology, but I restrained myself.

I couldn't leave without checking out the gift shop.  Sure enough, right there on the shelves were copies of "Mad in America" and all the other books whose authors were quoted favorably in the introductory video.  What a surprise.  There was also a book that had a giant tag line saying, "Tom Cruise was right!!!"; I forget the title though, because I was so mesmerized by that.  There were also some really awesome tee-shirts.  My favorite was a bubblegum pink one that said, "Psych drugs turn kids into killers."  'Killers' had a gun superimposed over it.

We rushed out of the museum.  Luckily there were some teenagers foolish enough to talk to the docents, so we avoided being cornered by Scientologists.  We felt thoroughly depressed and in need of chemical aid after my trip through that weird, sterile space-it was like a carnival ride from the most depressing circle of hell-so we headed over to Mercantile for a glass of wine.