We’ve had some really heavy rain yesterday that cleared up by afternoon to create these gorgeous clouds as I left work in Redondo Beach. We don’t get clouds like this much. That was something I love about London; I was always looking up.
poofy and moody and magnificent
Even when it didn’t rain, the sky was just beautiful. I wish we could have clouds like this all the time. Below is the view from my balcony as of Monday afternoon.
sunshine and electrical wires
How could I have forgotten about this? I can’t believe I let Easter come and go without posting this. I was totally hypnotized by this video and it’s haunting music when I first found it.
Have a look at the Lernert & Sander website for other simple-yet-awesome videos. They do really weird, fun stuff.
faith's all, CHILL, I GOT THIS
What I love (read: despise) about religion is that it claims to be the only cure for a problem it creates. That’s like stealing everyone’s light bulbs, then “helpfully” selling them flashlights.
Leave it to the Flemish painters of the 16th century to illustrate this idea perfectly. Check out this drawing by Maarten van Heemskerck, entitled “Man Protected By the Shield of Faith.”
As if the devil (whose penis is a forked tongue, and knees are capped with beast heads, because being the devil isn’t enough, apparently you really have to illustrate it with messed up genitalia and patellas) isn’t a fabrication of the very faith that claims to protect man from him. Without religion, faith and the devil disappear, and this illustration becomes a drawing of a man playing a game of “If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands.”
But then, without the talent of Flemish artists to freak us out, and religion to freak them out, we wouldn’t have paintings like this one by Joos van Cleve, where Jesus is totally ripped and wearing a Superman cape while squashing some poor fat putti (tiny pudgy angel kids). I recall from my art history classes (which I loved) that Jesus is often depicted as physically fit when placed in a Last Judgement scene, which this is. Still hilarious, though. “He died for your sins, then went to Gold’s gym to pump iron and check out the ladies on the treadmills.”
meanwhile, everyone in the foreground is all, WTF WHY DID WE BRING OUR BED SHEETS TO THE APOCALYPSE FML
magnificent
Diminutive Roommate had a medical scare recently, and was super stressed about it. Teacher Roommate offered to do a puppet show to cheer her up, and she took the offer seriously. I decided we should do a musical, and the first song that came to mind was “Knights of the Round Table” from Monty Python’s Quest for the Holy Grail.
Teacher Roommate is quite the artist, so she was on sock puppet duty. I learned the basic chords on the ukulele to play the song so we had some instrumental to sing along with. The guy who got us into ukulele came to play with me, and another friend came to play the king puppet and one of the little knight puppets. We needed a castle to use for Camelot, so Teacher Roommate got her postcard from Harry Potter World and propped it up in front of the pot we used for the bridge where people’s helmets get banged on with a wooden spoon.
It was… total chaos, but Diminutive Roommate was super pleased. We had a blast, ate some strawberries, drank some beer, and humiliated ourselves to put on a ridiculous show for a friend. Worth it.
the bureau made for a fine stage
This collection of pro-gay marriage protest signs made me smile today. Nothing like a sense of humor to invigorate your cause.
My personal favorites:
LMAO
"get back in the car, honey."
finally, irrefutable evidence
A meeting I organize every other month went well yesterday, and as usual, we had a ton of food left over from the catering. We did what we usually do: we took it back to the office to feed the starving students. Sometimes people don’t understand that food left on the counter in the small kitchen area we have in the office is free-for-all, so I was sure to make a sign everyone would understand, and, more than that, would flood the onlooker with warmth and a sense that this food really was meant for general human consumption, devoid of any financial commitment.
mission accomplished
When I was a student, I used to get a calzone and salad with a drink almost every day I had class for at least a year. The line was obscenely long around the lunch hour, so one day, since I was in a hurry, I just walked out. I was in a hurry, and almost broke anyway, so I figured what the hell? If anyone stopped me, I would say I was just saying hi to a friend, and jump back in line.
I ended up getting away with it, only to discover that stolen food tastes better than food I’ve exchanged for currency. This is not a fluke; every item of food I’ve ever stolen has always tasted better than when I pay for it. How fucked up is that? But I didn’t make the rules. These are FACTS. I’m just acutely aware of them.
I had the inexplicable urge to see The Phantom of the Opera today. I had such a craving to hear “Think of Me” that I found it on YouTube and played it at my desk at work. I’m listening to it right now. What a voice. Holy shit.
I saw the play when it was at the Ahmanson Theater downtown as a child. Of course I remember the part where the chandelier goes over the audience, but more vividly I recall when the phantom loses his mask, and the woman he has captured picks it up and offers it to him. I was struck by her kindness in the face of his… well, obvious lunacy (and, let’s be honest, hideousness). I recall the moment with perfect clarity; her extending the mask to him with her right hand in a pale, overflowing gown, him crouched on the floor, hiding his face in shame.
It’s playing in Las Vegas. I might have to make a weekend out of it (if I had a weekend). MIGHT HAVE TO QUIT KARATE JOB ANOTHER WEEK EARLY MUAHAHAHA.
My ukulele case arrived!
on our brand new couch/giant chair
It’s so cute and soft, and it does an excellent job of holding my ukulele for me. It came all the way from Thailand via Etsy! It has a shoulder strap that I’ll use when I ride my bike to the beach to play my ukulele on the sand, in the sun. It arrived in a brown paper package tied up with string. I shit you not. See?
Maria was right after all
It’s much better than the cardboard box it was delivered in, although I must admit, I will miss it a little. I even decorated it a little 🙂
look at how pleased armless me is
he knows me by sight, and hunts without rest
I’m mostly pleased with my imagination; its power to entertain me when I’m bored could power a small yacht. Like most kids, I had the occasional super horrifying nightmare. One has stuck with me, popping into my head occasionally for no good reason.
I’m running away, but have run straight into a very narrow, dark alley. It’s perfectly clean. This is one of my very few black and white dreams. I back against the back wall of the alley, and squat down against the floor, attempting to become as small as possible. I shut my mouth so they won’t see my teeth, and I want to shut my eyes, but that way I won’t be able to see them coming. At the open end of the alley, the population walks by purposefully, going to work, going home, running errands. They are all identical (see picture). One of them stops and its head snaps toward me, and the panic sets in. He’s the one who’s been looking for me. He’s after me in a second and I have nowhere to run. I start to get up from my crouch, my hands touch the walls behind me, searching for an escape. I only have seconds, and I know I’m trapped. I wake up before he can reach me, feeling like a cornered animal.
Today I took La Cienega home, and reached a revelation. There was construction that forced three lanes down to one, allowing (forcing) me to appreciate the view, and there they were: pumpjacks (oil pumps).
I slow to a stop and gawk. My mouth hangs open as I stare out the open window of my tiny, shiny car at one of the worst nightmares from my childhood. My eyes drag across the landscape. There were more of them, dozens, peppered across the small dry hills I’d driven past hundreds (thousands?) of times. My dad used to take this exact route to drive my mom to LAX for business trips, and sometimes Sister and I came along for the ride. What else do children do but stare out the window? The memory comes back to me with enough force to stop my breath. I force myself to exhale and examine the rest of them.
we'll be overrun by sunset
They ignore me like they always have (I hope), and keep hard at work, bowing and saying, “Yes, very nice to meet you, thank you very much, yes indeed.” But for once my imagination is silent, and they say nothing at all. They are no longer amusing. I am frozen in my seat when the blue and yellow taxi that’s been tailgating me lets out an unhealthy blast from its horn. I let off the brake slowly, watching the machines at work, waiting for them to spring to life and finally catch me.
what was I stressing about back then...?
I used to talk in my sleep all the time. As a kid, I would get up, walk into my parents room and stand over my mother, breathing and staring, eyes wide open, dead asleep. I once woke her up with an insistent, “MOM. MOM. MOM.” When she awoke, she said, “What is it?” I said, “…HI.” She was creeped out and asked my dad to put me back to bed.
More recently, when I was working at Real Estate job (for two years), I wasn’t happy. It was a boring job with a bad boss. I didn’t even have anyone to relate to; it was just me and him in this little real estate consultation company. I was desperately needed, quietly loathed, totally trapped, and very alone. This is around the time when Boyfriend and I got together. He would regale me with tales of my night-talks on a semi-daily basis.
After two years, I realized how unhappy I was and decided to leave. I finally quit Real Estate Job and started working at Office Job where my coworkers are kind, the work is manageable, and my boss appreciates me and gives me clear instructions when I make a mistake. I stopped talking in my sleep literally overnight. Boyfriend and I have come to the realization that I talk in my sleep when I’m stressed out.
When I got too hot, I have always stripped off my pj’s until a comfortable temperature is reached (this happened again just two nights ago). But talking in my sleep is something that seems to happen only when my mind has been particularly stimulated by a book, or movie, some fascinating conversation, or (most likely) stress. Last Thursday, Boyfriend and I had a fight about a camera, of all things. He told me when we first started dating that he would love to do a photo shoot with me. I thought, “Wow, my handsome, film industry boyfriend wants to use me as a model in a photo shoot. And it would be so fun to see him in action and create something with him.” That’ll be a fun couples activity, I thought. Almost four years later, and we still haven’t done it, regardless of my sporadic hint-dropping and semi-serious nagging.
the culprit
Then he bought a camera, and as we were driving home, he said, “Wanna take some photos with me?” I said, “Sure, come back in four years, I’ll be happy to.” This launched a fight about how I thought we were going to create something together, not break in a new toy, that I thought he wanted to take my photo because he loved me and thought I was pretty, not because he needed a warm body in front of a lens. I could not have been more wrong, apparently. After some bickering, he said he proposed the original photo shoot because, “…y’know, I knew you’d be… around.” I said, “So, because I’m convenient.” He said, “Essentially, yes. The photos are for me.”
So that kinda broke my heart. We spent the rest of the day avoiding each other, driving to a movie, fighting in the car, fighting more after the movie on the drive home, then fighting more at home. I cried a bunch.
That night I did more than talk in my sleep; I almost assaulted him.
Here’s the IM from the next day:
Boyfriend: hewo
Me: ohai
Boyfriend: do u remember what weird thing u did while u were dreaming?
Me: ?
I did a weird thing?
Boyfriend: very.
u grabbed my head
and u thought it was one of your obstacle course blocks [the items I use to build games for the kids at the dojo]
and u told your class to go put it away
Me: um wtf?
that’s fucking creepy
Boyfriend: yes!
and i woke up and said, whaaa
huh?
Me: i’m going to need a demonstration
tonight
Boyfriend: for sure i will
it was kinda scary
Me: then what happened?
Boyfriend: i was vaguely hoping u wouldn’t like rip my head off
i think u said “no more playing, time to put it away”
or something like that
Me: wow
that’s just… fucked up.
Boyfriend: and then u let my head go, thank god.
i would’ve been jolted awake if i wasn’t so tired
the creepiest part is that u sat up
and then grabbed my head
which i was semi-conscious of
Me: yikes
so… sorry?
Boyfriend: haha
i guess it’s ok?
Me: I haven’t done something dynamic like that in my sleep in a while.
Boyfriend: yeah
Me: I think our fight stressed me out.
Boyfriend: i assumed that’s what happened
I haven’t acted out in my sleep like this in months, so for me to treat Boyfriend’s head like it’s filled with plastic stuffing of some kind the night following a particularly painful fight (for which he is 100% to blame, btw) was just too perfect. We almost never fight, so when we do it’s usually because he’s being a weirdo (according to him, a model has no interest in the photographs she helps to create), or we had a miscommunication (like confusing convenience with love). I was super stressed about it because we fight so rarely, so naturally, my sleeping-self had something to say.
We get over our fights in record time, though. We hate being mad at each other, it feels so unnatural. We spend so much time in direct physical contact (holding hands, curling up next to each other on a couch, a long spontaneous hug) that it feels weird to be apart. We have whole short conversations while holding each other. He touches my hands, I scratch his head. He squeezes my legs, I pet his stomach. We live so harmoniously the vast majority of the time that when we fight I find it pretty distressing.
Be Random, Be Clear 