Dear Haiti,

Two friends. One with you already. One on her way to help.

Please handle with care.

Sincerely,

Bond

Keep the Christmas spirit going

Recently a friend described a Christmas shopping horror story:

After circling South Center Mall's lot for over half an hour (I didn't ask why she was there; she was upset enough), she finally found a parking space. Seeing a man enter his car and turn on his lights, and then his reverse lights, she waited. And waited. And waited. She wasn't giving up on the prize, even though cars were piling up in line behind her -- other drivers no doubt boring holes into her rear windshield with their eyes. Finally, the slow-poke car began to reverse and my friend began to inch into spot when all of a sudden...

You think I'm going to write that another car took her space, but it's so much worse than that...

The man driving the slow-poke car stopped once again, opened the driver's-side door and emptied a bottle of liquid onto the ground.

Not just any liquid!

But urine. Urine. My friend had patiently waited for this parking space while this man relieved himself in his own, portable, driver's console-ready toilet.

When my friend finally pulled into the space, she says she had to sit for a minute and collect herself. The stress of looking for parking, dealing with people in general and, finally, being unfortunate enough to witness the...less dignified aspects of our neighbors, was a little too much. She wanted to go home and write the whole Christmas thing off.

I empathize. Whether you celebrate Christmas or not, this time of year inflicts pressure to be better than your every day self. To give more, to share more, to make more time for more people. To sing; maybe to wear printed sweaters and scarves. To attend parties and eat food piled with superfluous ingredients. To, inevitably, wind up at the mall. And because this all occurs, usually, in a frenzied rush (because you're doing all of it on top of your usual lifestyle) while so many others are rushing to do the same thing, it's common for us to step on each other's toes. And before we know, we're rushing to honk the horn and curse the person in the car in front of us (all in the name of "Christmas spirit").

As a partial solution, I'm writing to remind myself to remember to give to one person I tend to forget at this time of the year: me.

I need Christmas spirit. Be it evergreen tree related or not. I need the heartwarming benefits of twinkly lights, soft music, good food, warm atmosphere and good company. And so do you. It's the only way to kick the new year off strong.

Here's to starting a new decade with a new approach: Christmas every day.

Xmas keeps on giving

Thanks, Dad. xoxoxo

How Xmas should be

A few of the great gifts I received from my AWESOME friends and family this year:

DIY cardboard owl sculpture

Self-explanatory:

Best chocolate bars ever:

Extra battery for my movie camera
(to avoid future embarrassing battery-outages during interviews)

Sexy knitware for make hands toasty

Beautiful bedspread (on backorder)

Delicious homemade plum jam

Air popper!

Map of 1836 New York on a hankercheif (of course)

Merry Christmas to me. (I say that, because no one reads this blog).

Blogs, blogs, blogs

On the plane ride to Las Vegas (Vegas, baby, Vegas!) this weekend, I read an article in the Atlantic about all things blogs.  One section of the piece argued that what sets a "successful" blog apart from others is constant updates.  I believe the writer said something along the lines of: "if a blog stops paddling, it will sink."

That got me awash with guilt, being that I blog about once every seven months.  Granted, I do not aspire to be a professional blogger.  But I think blogs are good for you--like sit ups.  Which is probably why I only do them as often as I can guilt myself into it.

Anyway, the second point that hit home for me was that blogs have to be short.  People on the internet don't log onto the internet to read 3,000 word diatribes on what I ate for lunch today.

That set me awash again, as I usually compose posts no less long than the average introduction to a thesis.  And I usually write about issues and events that really only matter in my very narrow circle of existence.

Anyway, the article made some strong points and has me reevaluating what this outlet should be.  So I'm going to try to go in a new, more appealing direction with this blog, starting today.

Hello to myself from Texas

This weekend I came back to Texas to help my sister (currently pregnant with twins!) get her home and life into some semblance of order.  And also just to visit.  

Now it's my last night in town, so, without the strength to vacuum one more rug or rearrange one more group of furniture, I'm going to reflect in the form of a blog.

5 Things I notice Seattle has that Houston doesn't:

1) Recycling as a function of society--instead of tourism.

2) Water.  With boats on it.
3) People riding bicycles.
4) People moving around outside of cars in general.
5) More than 5 native plant species.

5 Things I know Houston has that Seattle doesn't:

1) Miles and miles and miles and miles and miles and miles of unobstructed sun.  All day long.
2) Neighbors who exclaim proudly: "Girl, I tell you I got a PhD in drunks!:
3) Alligators and basset hounds coexisting in the same general terrain.
4) Gasoline under $3.50 a gallon.
5) Armadillos.  (I got tired of thinking of things.  That one was Maya's idea.)

Off the bike

So as soon as my teaching gig at NSCC ended, I stopped riding my bike.  Without a place to go, it's really just not a way I enjoy spending my time.  It's also a lot harder than I expected it to be.  What a wimp.  I know.  But so be it.  In the meantime, I've been staying active in the arts (even if it means sitting) and I've seen lots of great things around the city that I feel like reflecting on here.  

First Washington Ensemble Theatre (WET)'s production of Mr. Marmalade blew me away...in more ways than one.  I have yet to be disappointed by this troupe.  They're smart, edgy, resourceful and damn funny.  The comedic timing in this play was flawless--even if the plot didn't always "make sense."  Call me crazy, but sometimes art shouldn't make sense.  If it did, it wouldn't be art.  It would be a pet licensing depot (weird metaphor..must come from my hoping to adopt a dog soon).  Highlights from the performance: a dildo that flew out of a suitcase and almost hit me (giving new meaning to the phrase "splash zone" for those folks that like to sit in the front row), a leaf blower used to sweep the stage of its garbage, and a personal assistant in a bowler.  

Second, Pacific Northwest Ballet's Director's Choice was a fantastic performance.  I'm not a connoisseur of dance, so I really don't know what I'm talking about.  But I found this mix of classical poise and weird contemporary chaos really refreshing.  Made me want to get into a dance class--just to have a chance to stomp my feet and thrust my head back once in a while.  Not something you get away with in the office.   Performance highlights: music by Phillip Glass (awesome), shimmery black tights on tight shimmering men, and rad use of veterinary exam tables.

Also, Photography by Mary Randlett at Tacoma Art Museum.  What I thought might be passable, sentimental graphs of NW nature scenes ended up being haunting, disembodied ghosts that resemble nature.  Many pieces appeared more like block prints than photographs.  She does amazing things with black and white photography--and she doesn't do it to sentimentalize.  Beautiful scenes of mountains are juxtaposed against stark clear-cuts, reminding me of that ever deepening footprint I leave.

Finally, "Introductions" at the SAM Gallery had a nice collection of works that didn't thrill me--but did intrigue me.  And whatever.  Being around young artists doing well is always energizing. My favorite: one painter that seemed especially interested in replicating crocodile skins in paint.  If only I had $3000 dollars.  I would be able to describe it in better detail right now.

On the calendar for this week (before I head out to Houston to visit my pregnant sister):  Karaoke Bingo at the neighboring Senior Center.  And maybe finally watching No Country for Old Men, which has been sitting in its Netflix sleeve on my coffee table for a week.  Not everything can be high art.