No Time To Rest. I'm Gonna Find Me a Life, Baby, Way Out West

Somehow, today feels a bit like a sad day, the day all my stuff arrives to my house from London. Like it wasn't officially over until now. Like I might go back, or like maybe all my stuff was still back in the UK waiting for me. But it's here in Los Angeles. In my perfect little apartment. 

And even though I feel better sitting at this big, sturdy desk, looking out my windows while I write than just about anywhere, today, my time as a gypsy and world traveler feels over. 

I don't feel like this all the time. But some songs, some shows, when the weather is chilly and damp and grey like it is today. And my house is cold because I can't figure out where the heat is in this LA apartment-- hadn't really seemed like a big priority to ask my landlord. 

But there's no time to be sad. No time to rest. I'm gonna find me a life, baby, way out west. 

In any case, here are your links:

- Downton just sort of makes me sad. 
- This is one of the most amazing ideas ever. 
- Boom. 
- Love the Matildas. One of my favorite shows ever. 
- I want this jacket. 
- This insignia jewelry is purrrrty.
- Gray Malin in Hollywood.
- One of the prettiest single malt bottles I've ever seen. Wonder if Balblair is tasty. Anyone? 
- Just in case. This still feels relevant. 

Time Traveling - Hollywood Tower

Radio people have always been my people. Makes me think of a time before television. Before I moved to NYC, I used to spend hours in the studio laughing maniacally with DJs from Mix 94.1, most especially, my darling Kade. We talked about Buddhism and life and had funny alter egos I'm sure no one found as funny as we did. I'm so happy to be reunited with him here in Los Angeles. His radio station, 98.7, permanently occupies the rooftop penthouse at the Hollywood Tower, and last night, we partook of its splendor for some Saint Motel and The Walking Dead. All of that was fun (minus the blase LA crowd-- whatelseisnew?) but I was mostly just happy to be surrounded by art decor on all sides. 

Hollywood Tower was built in 1929 with an eye towards entertainment type inhabitants. Or, as the plaque on the door says, "Sophisticated Living for film luminaries during the Golden Era of Hollywood." The bathrooms, the elevators alone... le sigh. I'd live there, that's for sure. 

One day, I want to make a coffee table book consisting of nothing other than dreamy photos of me draped with the ennui of the aristocracy on fabulous couches all over the world. You'd be amazed at how many I already have....

Reclaiming the Birthright Friday Links

One week from today, I'll be leaving on a jetplane for Los Angeles and whatever my new life will be there. I'm a bit more excited about it than I feel is prudent-- especially considering my track record with moves panning out the way I envisioned them. A part of me feels like I can't spaz out; I just have to keep my head down in solemn gratitude that I have the freedom to reconfigure the way I do. 

Although, it was really just the one move that feels... tender. And even though this was not the time for me and London, I don't regret it at all. (Much.) And some of those other whimsical, determined, seeking or free-spirited moves turned out better than I envisioned, so perhaps I'm even.  

Ah, but California. California is different. Los Angeles, with all its many peccadillos, is different. A promise is made to you by the city you're born in. It says, no matter your opinion of it, or how far you may wander, you can always come back there and feel brand new. Here is where you came into this world. And where I came into the world is a major artery on an oceanside highway that never ends. A place where the sun shines almost all the time and a place that respects itself enough to never take itself too seriously-- or care if anyone else takes it seriously either. California, in one week, I'm coming for my birthright. I hope you're ready for me. 

And I hope you, dear readers, are ready for your links:

- The Stranger shows us our Country. California. Mascot: Tom Hanks. Motto: "You're Fat!"
- My friend Dave Elzer's new musical opens in LA. Justin Love!
- You guys, I think the Les Miz movie is gonna be amazing-- whole-heartedly approve of the approach. 
- The Top 50 Most Romantic photos of all time

It's International Book Week, in honor of that, check out Give A Book charity. A very cool organization that gets books to the people who need them. You get to pick the books though. Check it out. I'm a big fan! Like them on facebook too!

Some Mitt Shit:
- Amy Davidson in New Yorker
- Fine. David Brooks. 
- A Buddhist perspective on Romney's gaff.

- A West Wing Reunion for a cause
- The Soul of Scotland in pictures
- A beautiful essay on traveling
- Women speak 75% less when surrounded by dudes...

- NYC vs. LA and the winner is.... 

A throwback for you all.

Your Local 5 Star Gas Station - Saxapahaw General Store

Since my return from abroad, I've been working a lot on retaining that British/European sensibility I genuinely identify with now that I'm back in the States (for now). But I also recognized that it's important to be where you are and love where you are. So I've been on a bit of a mission to fall in love with America again. I got a little answer to my prayers on a five day road trip through some of my favorite parts of the South (largely the hippie parts) with my family. 

Some of the best time I ever spend I spend with my Godmother Lucie-- wherever we are, but especially in North Carolina. Saxpahaw is close enough to university towns to have that feel, but out of the way enough to have small Southern town charm with a hippie soft edge. 

Saxapahaw might be the middle of nowhere, but it is the nexus of all things to love about small hippie Southern artists' towns. Our first stop was the SXPHW General Store where we feasted on brisket sandwiches and local grown vegetables, local cheeses and beers. If I had been travelling with anything more than a small backback, I would have taken a whole lot of that home (Home? Where?) with me. 

We sat in the sunshine while the vegetable garden grew all around us. There, Lucie and I plotted the artist colony in repurposed mill condos we'll start next summer... To Be Continued...

Frank Ocean & John Mayer - My New Favorite Odd Couple

My new favorite random-ass celebrity friendship is Frank Ocean and John Mayer. I mean, John did some sweet guitar work on Channel Orange, but lately, they seem to be inseparable. Frank just announces last minute that John will be joining him on SNL and then most of each song, John just stands there watching Frank sing it until it's his turn for a solo. Then, while John's playing, Frank goes to one of the several Pac Man machines and just starts playing video games, framed beautifully in profile against John playing guitar... it was wild. I love it. 

I'm glad John found something productive and not-too-talky to do while he's on hiatus from singing. (And consequently, saying fewer ridiculous statements in public.) Either way, I'm sort of rooting for this friendship. I sometimes wonder if John remembers me. (I'm guessing not.) And I want to be friends with Frank Ocean anyway, so I'd sort of like to be a fly on the wall when these two go out. Do you think John tries to wingman for Frank with hot guys? Probably not. More likely, I'd guess, Frank is helping John with the ladies. 

Check out the amazing vid for the full length version (featuring an extended, new guitar solo from JM) of Pyramids. Also check out the live versions from the SNL premiere I was mentioning. 

frank ocean [pyramids] from christopher francis ocean on Vimeo.

Americana, Man

One week ago, my dad and his surrogate (my surrogate) family, in addition to some culture-shocked Scots, were rocking out to Steamboat Springs at the Myrtle Beach Depot. There was free New South Beer (Red Ale = delicious) and Red Velvet cake and brisket and pretty much everything amazing. 

Dad rocked out in all ways, as usual, but most especially, Statesboro Blues. And I got a little teary, as I always do, when they played Music Man in honor of Jeff. His son Hunter is practically a man now, and I hope a few more of these concerts and we'll have that college fund of his taken care of. 

My family's never quite been the same since my Grandfather died. It's hard to know what to rally around. But these gatherings somehow always clear up the confusion for me. I am enormously grateful for them. And for all the effort of so many people to make it happen. 

I'm not sure that my Scottish friends really appreciated what was going on. Perhaps its kind of an inside joke. But for some just off the boat Scots (And one who's reluctantly heading back) I can guarantee they witnessed some some m-f-in' Americana, Man. 

Battleborn, Or Be My Friend, Claire Vaye Watkins

Comparison is the thief of Joy. It's a lesson I've always had to learn the hard way. I'm hard on myself. Always. So I stack myself up against others all the time. I transfer my own judgement of myself onto my dealings with my family-- and make them the people who are disappointed in me, when really I am the one. It's me. I'm comparing me to others. Not them. 

In college, my friend Parisa had this great rule we always tried to follow whenever that feeling crept up on us about other women. Whenever you feel tempted to feel jealous or envious of another girl, you should immediately become their friend. Nothing will kill that jealousy faster than becoming friends. It really works and I've done it a lot. Some of my best friends came from The Parisa Method. 

It's also the inspiration for the series I do on this blog: "Be My Friend, So & So." I've talked about Liz Merriwether, Liz Gilbert, Allie Brosch and others.  So here's a new one in honor of Nevada writer, Claire Vaye Watkins' new collection of short stories, Battleborn. 

If you know your state mottoes, you'll see right away that these are short stories about our shared (ambivalently felt, in my case; less so, in hers) home state of Nevada. Drifters, wanderers, that washed-out old photo feeling that comes from the place... that's Battleborn. I'm only one story in, but that was pretty much enough. I'm sold. 

She has lots of interesting things to say about writing and the Battleborn State (NV was admitted to Union in 1863 during the height of the Civil War, thus the moniker) on this Granta podcast. The sound is rather low, so crank up that volume.

One of the things I like best about Claire is the free writers workshop she's put together for rural Nevada teens, The Mohave School. It took me a long time to own where I'm from (or at least accept it and love it as one of the places I'm from) but now that I've arrived in that mental state, I'd love to get involved in her endeavors there. The thing I could always say is that there are far more stories in Nevada than anyone would think at first guess. FOR EXAMPLE, in Claire's case, this little teeny tiny bio detail. My most extensive experience with Charles Manson was playing Squeaky Fromme in Assassins where I sang a love duet to him (while John Hinckley Jr. sang to Jodie Foster.)

Perhaps because that song is called "Unworthy of Your Love," that detail feels simultaneously like a joke and also massively significant. I suppose, I think it's interesting to look at the parallels and the diversions between any two people. Like me, Claire was born in California and thereafter moved to Nevada (Pahrump in her case.) Like me, she had an alcoholic mother (she describes her mother as "this incredible dynamo; a great bullshitter.") My father is the opposite of Charlie Manson's right hand man. Unlike me, she stayed in Nevada and went to UNR. We both did postgrad writing programs in places you might not expect.  

Bringing this back home to the beginning of this post, and in my continued effort to get really seriously real with myself and you on this blog,  I suppose I want to say this. (In addition to "Be My Friend, Claire Vaye Watkins.)

I want to say that Claire is two years younger than me and has been published in all manner of places I envy. The Paris Review. Granta. She gets compared to Cormac McCarthy and Annie Proulx and Joan Didion. My teeth hurt, I am so envious. But here's my confession: I don't even send my stories out anymore. I have been propped up and pared down so many times now, I don't know what to think. I don't send any fiction out into the world, save on this blog. I both know and don't know why that is at the moment. I have been hoarding. I have been waiting for people to ask. And when people finally ask-- and mean it; not just as a courtesy-- it feels like my heart is going to explode. I cry on the spot. 

I am trying to work through this unworthiness I feel-- with my family and with myself. And in the odd manner in which I choose and sometimes choose not to share my work with others. 

All photos from the author's (really beautiful) website

For Alyson & Dion, On Their Wedding

It was my great honor, this past Sunday, to stand under the chuppah with my best friends and say a few words-- some mine, some Don Paterson's-- about their great love and our shared experiences together over the last seven years. The two of them remain constant sources of inspiration to me to stay patient, to enjoy it all, and that loyalty to those you love really is its own reward. Here's what I said. It was a really beautiful day and I'm so grateful I could be a part of it. More from the wedding to come. 

For Aly & Dion

August 5, 2012

I spend a lot of time thinking about geography. So I'd like to say a little bit today about finding your way.  

There's a kind of emotional geography to these readings-- what you'll write and what you'll say-- in that, the spot on the map you're aiming for is the sentiment that is equally true of the bride and groom's relationship as it is of your personal feelings about them. That's why I'd like to start in New York City and end in Scotland, both old and new. 

New York is the kind of place where serendipity doesn't hide. It's right around every corner, on every subway platform, in every artistic partnership formed at a bar, in every answered craigslist ad. This is how we all came to be together today. Even though New York is on a grid system, it can still be remarkably easy to feel lost on occasion. It's the kind of place that serves as a proving ground that we are capable of making our way in the world alone....

But also that it is easier... and sweeter... when we go together. The way any number of people can see off the light of a single candle... and how that candle loses nothing by lighting others from its flame.  This is the best way I can think of describe both Aly and Dion. What they represent to me, to each of us here, and to each other. 

I'd like to quote my friend, the great Scottish poet (and rockstar!) Don Paterson: "And the true path was as lost to me as ever, when you cut in front and lit it as you ran. See how the true gift never leaves the giver; returned and redelivered."

For me (especially for me) and for each other, you have served as beacons-- lighting the path in front with your glowing, inimitable 'Aly&Dion-ness,' providing unparalleled comfort & relief, and signaling the way home. Which perhaps has never been a spot on the map at all-- never here nor there-- but which has always been together. 

Living With the Force & Joy of Ben Horne

Sometime on Friday, I noticed that all my Rice friends seemed to be posting the same request for a private plane in Peru. I shook it off, the whole thing sounding like a typical wacky Rice stunt. Finally, one of the posts had enough details for me to realize what terrible thing was actually happening: a Rice alum, a good friend to most everyone I know from Rice, including myself, had been missing in the Andes for over five days along with a fellow climber friend, Gil Weiss. 


Another friend, Shay, heads a technology/crowd sourcing company, Tom Nod and thought he could track them if he had a plane. Eventually, the effort attracted international news. The effort expended by everyone was truly impressive and I know it brought a lot of people together.... Even after the bodies were eventually discovered on Saturday, after an apparent 1,000 foot fall from one of the ice-capped peaks of Mt. Palcaraju while on their way back down from the Summit. This detail-- that they had reached the pinnacle and were on their way down-- this felt somehow comforting. I'll tell you why. 

The news of Ben's death knocked the wind out of me, even though I hadn't talked to him in years. Ben was the kind of person who leaves a lasting impression. He had perhaps the bluest eyes I've ever seen. He never seemed to do anything the way anyone else did. I had some of the most challenging conversations of my life with him during my years at Rice. 


He didn't take anything at face value. He pushed back against everything. He always pushed to look at things from a more interesting, more compassionate, and more challenging perspective. I thought I was really pretty enlightened when I was in college. But every time I talked to Ben, I felt like a spoiled kid-- someone who could be doing a lot more in the world than what I was currently allowing to be acceptable. I didn't feel judged. Simply that I had resources I wasn't using. He had a kind of integrity it was easy to be in awe of and occasionally confounded by. He was always thinking about ways to live that were more pure, or less rooted in consumerism. I remember when he was freegan, when he joined the Peace Corps and of course, his eternal fight to save the beloved KTRU. He was always doing stuff like that. 


Another friend, Josh Katz said, "No one lived with the force and joy of Ben Horne." But we should, shouldn't we?

The words of Ben himself tell you much about the man. This from back when we were all trying-- and failing (which, again, somehow feels tangled up in Ben's whole story-- Ben was KTRU: 'defiant, unique as ever') to save KTRU one last time before it was sold. I echo you & Plato, Ben: ideas rule the world. 



I am a PHD Candidate in economics. 
The basic premise is that money rules the world, and people are motivated by it.
Plato had a different idea. He said ideas rule the world.
KTRU is an idea.
A philosophy.
KTRU is not just a club. It is a cause.
KTRU is, even, possibly a religion.
Do you believe in God? 
If you do, you will probably agree that KTRU is the station that God listens to. 
It’s the #1 preset on the dial.
God doesn’t care about money. KTRU doesn’t care about money. 
It may just be a coincidence.
KTRU allows ideas to be heard that do not have the express purpose of making money. This is normal for kids. Kids create art for the joy of it. This indifference to material greed is not normal for adults.
Bob Dylan sang “There’s no success like failure. And failure’s no success at all”
Read his full text here.


And to further echo Josh, the world is poorer place for Ben's absence. 


From the moment I met Ben, he seemed to have a larger-looming sense of destiny than others. Ever since I was very young, I've gotten strange feelings about people-- not everyone-- just some people. A kind of gravitational force. And I've always been drawn towards the stories of people who die young and why. As a kid, I'd always ask to visit cemeteries (I know, I know) and I'd look for stories on the tombstones. And I suppose I've always felt my own sense of weird, dangerous destiny I could never explain to people. Or, maybe more so, that it was a dangerous thing to live true to yourself in this day and age. That the stakes were high. That living your dreams always might be something you might actually die from. But also, that you would be utterly alive up until the very moment it killed you. 


I first read the bad news from another friend Jeff Bishop while I was in Rome this weekend-- basking in the sun, and the glory of what humans are capable of, and feeling like I was fully participating in my life. And Bish's call to arms was this: "In honor of their memory, please go do something you love this weekend." Ben & Gil died doing what they loved. Earlier this year, Ben gave this interview with the UCSD paper (where he was at work on a PhD in economics) where he said, “For me it’s almost a religious experience. The mountains are a way for me to understand God, or at least, glimpse a little bit of God.”

The Paulo Coelho quote from The Alchemist gets thrown around a lot, but not without good cause, and I find it especially appropriate now:

“Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every second of the search is a second's encounter with God and with eternity.” 

For some people, it seems as though their whole lives were really leading to a certain apex. I like to take time to remember my friend David Aoyama and how, in a way, I think it was his job to be on Flight 11 when it hit the first tower, so he could be there, chanting for everyone on board. I reflect on him in that moment often. It comforts me. I stood on the top of a great mountain once myself, and said a prayer for David while looking out across Japan from Mt. Fuji's 12,000 feet. It was indeed breathtaking and spiritual. So I can relate to Ben's feelings. Which is why it comforts me to know that for Ben, this apex he was moving towards-- his last act in this life-- was to look out over the Earth from the celestial heights of  20,000 feet. What he must have seen...

Monday Music - Summer Mixes from my Brother

London's weather is nothing short of a miracle at the moment. For that, I send up a hallelujah. When the sun comes out, I simply must have a buffet of music to celebrate it. Luckily, this summer is full of great music. I'm not just talking about Milo Greene, Frank Ocean and Passion Pit, etc etc etc... I could really just go on and on... I'm also talking about the mixes my bro has been posting on his soundcloud page. 


It's wild and heartwarming to discover how respected my brother is in his industry. I'm feeling pretty proud. And I am counting down the days until I get to see him in action. The last time I saw him, he looked like this. Although, I think it's safe to say we both still look scarily similar to how we looked when we were ten, his real life face twenty years later is gonna look pretty good to me. In the meantime, I'll enjoy his skills via the internet and share them with you. I hope wherever you are, you're feeling that Summer feeling-- that it's sunny and filled with music. 

Announcement - Relief

Kay Ryan earned a forever-spot in my heart on Friday when she said the following: "I would like to install among the great emotions of the world, relief. More reliable than, say, love or others perhaps because it comes at the end."

I am standing in deep relief (and also some sadness) at the end of one of the greatest, happiest, hardest chapters of my life. After two years and three cities, as of August 2, I'll no longer be calling the UK home. 


There's no one reason for this decision. It's crept up in various ways and whispered in my ear since the beginning of 2012. The past six months have been really weird and hard. And because I was really calm through at least the first four months of that strangeness, I ended up in a kind of denial about how bored I was, how lonely I was, and what I really wanted. I did not feel like myself. And just like every other time in my life where I was struggling, I've had a hard time really convincing people that I needed more support than usual. I didn't know where to begin. I felt ungrateful. And I felt like a burden.


But my wonderful friend Haviland encouraged me to be honest right here about all the isolation and panic attacks that have chipped away at my desire to remain here. So I'm going to isolate some of the issues in future posts, but I want to start today by explaining my reasons for heading back to the US. And thanking everyone for the really nice notes you've been sending me. 


1. I don't like to go on record to complain about anything, but I'm massively disappointed in St Andrews as far as this phd goes. My guidance has swung between overkill and non-existent, they withheld my loans and my ability to support myself for 5 months and showed very little urgency in addressing the matter, they keep raising my tuition, there's no opportunities to teach. They seem like they could take me or leave me. And that feeling is now mutual. 


2. The UK job market/post graduation visa likelihood. I'm not sure I've ever questioned my actual ability to do any job I set my mind to before coming to the UK, where specialization and a weird kind of specificity snobbery seems to rule the day. I know the economy is bad, but skill sets are transferrable. I will never concede that nearly a decade of Broadway experience shouldn't earn one equivalent respect on the West End. Four months of being told I'm too American got pretty old, pretty quick. 


3. Based on the choices I've already made in my life, it's not possible for me to have all the people I love around me at one time. But man, I miss so many people. The older I get, the harder it is to miss them that much. 


4. I've probably never felt more isolated than I have living in London these past few months. The nature of my work is solitary, and I'm comfortable with and in fact require a certain amount of solitary time for my work. But I also need a balance of a really consistent community and work for a cause that is bigger than myself. 


I finally just had to ask myself, why am I fighting so hard to stay here? At the end of the day, I am happy and excited to think of what might await me both in NYC and LA-- both stops I'm making before I make a decision on which one of those places I want to be. But there's also things I'm leaving still without having done, places not explored. 


In truth  (and I'm going to get more honest about this in a bit) I came here looking for something I fear we've scared or shamed or "cool"ed ourselves out of admitting that we want-- in fact, it seems we're not even allowed to want it anymore. I came around the world for love. To shake myself out of the rut I had worked myself into in New York. And the nagging, persistent ideas about myself that rooted themselves when I was a kid and a teenager. In a way, I did find some of that love, even though none of it went how I planned. 


But the people I'm leaving behind are some of the most precious and loyal friends I've ever had. They, more than perhaps any other set of people, made me believe that I could be appreciated just for myself-- without having to sing for my supper, or tap dance, or always say the right thing, or what I could do for them. It is the most relieving thing, right there, to be loved for yourself. 


I'm looking to install that in my life from now on. 

Love Will Stay at Lincoln Center

All my life, I've been someone almost pathologically interested in holding on to everything. I attached everything to myself; every one. Even if they left. Even if they were never really there. And I took everything with me, no matter where I went. 


As I've gotten older, I've retrained myself to be less attached, less obsessed with forever and with keeping things. Luckily, I still get to excise my feelings about that early desire to make everything last forever by writing songs. 


This song was a gift in that way. I'm not sure I would have ever let myself write a song where the central idea was as basic as "Love Will Stay." I would have tried to say it some more clever way. Something newer. And that would have been a mistake. But instead, I inherited the really solid bones of one of the most beautiful songs I'd ever heard. I remember re-working this song like a puzzle on bus, coasting through up state New York. 


I wasn't about to die, like Alix knows she is, but I knew how she felt. And in the end, the song also got to ask the central questions that Nicholas & Alexandra asks as a whole: what lives on after something dies? What remains after we are gone? What stays? Your work? What if it was your work that got you into trouble in the first place? So then it's love, right? It was for Alix. I hope it will be for me too. 


Here's Janet Dacal, singing a military-march/pop mix of the song we're still selling loads of sheet music for (thanks, guys) from the Lincoln Center concert, one week ago. 

Photo by Pete Roessler

Celebrating at the Cosmopolitan

From the first time I visited semi-recent addition to the Strip, Cosmopolitan, it became a favorite. That made it easy when I was planning my big birthday night out. I knew Cosmo had pretty much everything I wanted and all in a pretty convenient package. 


We started at Comme Ça, the David Myers French Brasserie upstairs for a girls dinner. It was good to have an intimate dinner like that. Let's just say Em and McC are a pretty vivacious combo. We feasted on delicious artichoke salads and flatbreads and then McC and I decided to get crazy. Comme Ça offers a Beef Wellington for two, served with a kind of black-eyed peas and kale succotash and peppercorn sauce. I conquered that Beef Wellington. McC was defeated by its girth. It's hard to blame her though. It was some serious Beef Wellington. 

Next, we moved on to the dessert course. I picked the Beignet au Chocolat, satisfying McC's love of bananas foster and Emily's love of chocolate. Our waiter, Nick, had them write me a birthday message in chocolate and since he had been so kind as to recommend some delicious espresso cocktails to go with dessert, I took his additional recommendation that I lick the plate. (Apparently, he'd been trying to get someone to do that for ages and I was the only one to oblige.) 

The meal was such a success, we thought, why end it there? So McC may or may not have slipped Nick her phone number and he may or may not have joined the party downstairs in the Chandelier Bar.


Corraling large groups makes me anxious, so I was happy once I found everyone and felt like I could relax with my London Summer cocktail. It was great to see everyone-- old high school and Buddhist friends, my old buddies from the newspaper-- some people I hadn't seen in years. People who taught me how to drive, people I won a State Championship with, people who taught me how write something like this blog right here.


And the ambience at Chandelier (excepting the truly tragic girl one level above us who kept leaning over the bar in the shortest dress ever to reveal to us she was not wearing any panties) is divine. If you want good photos from an evening, go there. 

Finally, as we all started to turn into pumpkins, we went to see our friend go-go dance at Bond. There, almost got in a fight with a tranny and danced to an oddly nineties mix of music, recalling our days of teenage glory when we'd drive around like good-hearted brats in Gia's BMW. Those were the days. And so are these. 

Four Days of Fabulous February

Back from snowy London-- my body is a little worse for wear after taking several spills on slippery hills in Hampstead, but my spirits are soaring. It's awesome when you can start to see your new life taking shape and on each of my scouting expeditions so far, I feel like I can see it more and more. Look at this beautiful city! For every disappointment, there's another friend or chance waiting as a reminder of how awesome it feels to make decisions are be true to yourself. 


From Hampstead Heath to Southbank, and even in crappy eastjet Hotels in Earls Court, there's something to love in every neighborhood. Even Edinburgh is a bit brighter today. Thanks to everyone who made this weekend fab. I'm going back to resting my bruised left side and prepping for the next big adventure. 

A First Aid Kit for Nostalgia

Somewhat inexplicably, I get nostalgic for sections of my childhood. I'm, of course, very selective about which pieces to be nostalgic about... I suppose that's part of the nature of nostalgia in the first place. 


You never remember all of it; the way it really was. You only remember the blue bug convertibles and the dusty amps and the way a steel guitar can echo beyond the tent, and through the coves at Disneyland Ranch while you dance with wind-blown hair on the waterfront, on a make-shift parque dance floor. The way it was otherworldly, like your memories themselves. Certainly not from any real world you lived in then. 


But still, you remember them. The summers at your grandparents beach house. The mosquitoes and the loneliness, but the kind you relished. You're nostalgic for that. And even for your mom, when she'd play Emmylou Harris and sing along through her cloud of smoke. 

Check out First Aid Kit's new album, The Lion's Roar You'll never believe they're Swedish

Welcome Baby Nathan!

Dear Baby Nathan,


It's probably been a really intense 24 hours for you, huh? Well, just in case you're already on the internet (I hear babies have a really serious affinity for touch screens these days) it's your aunt Ryann here to tell you a few things. 


1. You have an unbelievably cool mom. She will make you feel at ease all your life. I know this for a fact because she's been making it cool for me to be myself for 20 years now. 
2. Even though I'm far away, I feel like I already know you. I felt the same way about your brother. 
3. You came at such an interesting time. I really & truly feel like you're a good omen. And a sign of excellent things to come. 
4. Going back to your mom, just pay attention to how good she looks up there...right after having given birth to you. I'm telling you, girlfriend has a gift. 
5. Know that whenever I am blue, or feel bad about myself, about the world we live in-- whenever I feel like certain things are futile, or...what is point of anything?... I remind myself how you exist. I remind myself of the way friendships echo off each other and result in.... you. 


One day, we will meet and I will be really weird and probably really loud. You'll think I am your weird Aunt Ryann, but I won't mind and I will tell you the story that started with a blind date neither of your parents really wanted to go on and a text message to my pink phone the next day: "I heart Joel." 


In the meantime, here's the lullaby I'd sing you if I were in Texas. It's the song I'd sing to my own kids. So tonight, it's for you. I wish I was there, but James Taylor does an okay job too. 

Christmas Eve Eve Links

Being around all my friends' adorable kids is pretty much the best Christmas time present I could imagine. (And thanks to my new lens-- it's so pretty!-- I can photograph the living daylights out of them without needing actual daylight!) The side bonus is that I also see these kids' parents & the rest of the folks I've been pal-ing around with for the past 20 ish years. It's a brilliant, warm feeling to be around the people you never have to explain anything to. It's my favorite part of the holidays. Class of 2000 annual Christmas reunion, Commence. 


But if you're bored, waiting for your own holiday reunion to commence (so much down time around the holidays. Sigh.) here are some links for you. 


- The really overwhelmingly nice article about Steven & I in Rice Magazine. We're page 47-48.
- World's Weirdest Hotels
- a thought-provoking article about ideas of modesty
- last minute Christmas List update: subscription to Upper Case Magazine
- this Art Heist thing is pretty sweet. I love stuff like this.
- I'm into clever ideas
- Beautiful photos, travelling on the Orient Express

Here's to you, Vegas, Forever in the 90s

Here's a little confession: whenever I'm homesick (or, for that matter, can't sleep... so let's just say, this is a common occurrence) I watch CSI. A part of me feels a little silly for doing it, knowing that, except for the occasional obligatory shot of Nick Stokes on the Strip, it isn't filmed here. 


But they get almost all of the details right. From the street names & intersections, to which neighborhoods are bad and which are posh... they even use local newscasters when they show news clips. (Most often Paula Francis.) This is mostly due to creator (and my teenage speech & debate patron) Anthony Zuiker. 


And it's that texture, even more so than my belief that Nick Stokes is the perfect man (I love when he flips that shovel in the opening sequence. Bam!), or the increasingly preposterous (and/or recycled! They rely on 10-12 years of distance for you not to remember certain actors coming back [such as the actor who plays Henry, who originally played the baddie in a zoo animal smuggling case that got a man killed. He couldn't be Henry! He got sent prison.]) plot ideas (like the whole Strangers on a Train idea. They've done that one three times now). Even more than my loose personal connection, which somehow feels less than loose. 


Everything about Vegas, even CSI, loops back around to the 90s. The show didn't start until 2000, the year I graduated and left Las Vegas, but everything about it feels fixed in the 90s, just like Vegas. It's willingness to strip, repurpose and reassemble pieces-- actors, plot lines, you name it. 


I can't stress the truth of this to you enough. And can you blame Vegas? (The dream of the 90 is alive in more places than just Portland!) The 90s were a golden decade. The 90s were good to Vegas. Good to America, in fact. It started with the Mirage in '89, and then the Excalibur and the Rio in '90, the Las Vegas Bowl in '92. In '93 we sold and imploded the Dunes to make way for the Bellagio and built the one billion dollar MGM Grand. (In the spot of the old Marina Hotel. That wing still smells like fish to me.)


'94 - Luxor opens with a light beam you "can see from space."
'95 - Fremont Street Experience built, Hard Rock Hotel opens, Landmark imploded. 
'96 - Stratosphere opens. The iconic Sands is closed and imploded on November 26
'98 - Aladdin imploded, rebuilt. Bellagio opens featuring Las Vegas's first fine art museum


We've never been as good as we were then. But we keep trying. And I'm certainly not the only fan of nostalgia around here. The radio stations still have the same DJs. Mark & Mercedes are still playing almost exclusively 90s music. Paula Francis is still rocking the news on Channel 8.  It's comforting.


It took me a long time-- nearly 20 years-- to come to appreciate, or even understand, this weird and sort of wonderful place where I spent my formative years. While the 90s weren't an especially "good" decade for me, those years are echoing and reverberating back through everything I've done since. A part of me has always tried to deny to myself that this is where I came from-- it's not intellectual or cerebral, Vegas doesn't appreciate art or culture, etc etc etc, I have waxed on to myself, as I toured the world, and tried on different versions of myself for size. And oddly, moving abroad has actually enabled me to be here more often and more fully than I have ever before. 


Vegas is always destroying and regenerating-- we have no sentiment. We rip it down. Anything that isn't working anymore-- it comes down in artful implosions. But a part of it is fixed resolutely somewhere in the 90s. And I'm glad of it. It makes sure I can't let myself off the hook. Any temptation I might have to forget the fluke of my identity is evaporated driving down the many many freeways to the tune of one of those 90s jams. They can start calling Barbary Coast "Bill's" but Drais is still there and so is Battista's Hole in the Wall with world's oldest living accordion player. And Green Valley Parkway is a bit bleaker than it was in my day-- we're no longer dying the grass green-- but drive down Windmill & turn on Glacier, and my old house is still there, along with the Willow tree my dad and I planted in the front yard in 1994. It's taken over the whole yard. You'd hardly know you were in the desert.