Settling Into Winter

Today is the 2nd anniversary of my arrival in Seattle. It’s been a wild ride, and I don’t think I ever imagined that moving to a new city would change my life so much. To this day, I marvel at all the changes that happened because of that move. Since I’m not really religious any more, or believe in that woojie stuff that makes things go — like fate or destiny — it’s still rather wonderful that my life has fallen into place in such a short period of time.

Winter means rain in the Pacific Northwest. Rain and darkness, a great bit of time to pursue angst and bitterness as a hobby, and use those favorite drugs of caffeine in the form of our famous coffee, and alcohol in the form of our hoppiest beers to drive the winter blues away and ease our weary spirits.

As for me, I’m settling into nearly a year at my current job, already finding it not as challenging as it was when I first started. I love a good challenge, and I love “wowing” people. I think this is why I love customer service — almost as much as I hate it.

My hopes for this winter start with a change of dwelling — a brand, spanking new place nearby that will offer a bit more space for the two of us. I’m also hoping, ironically, to find that social energy that I’ve been lacking with my hectic schedule. I’ve settled into the state-working drone persona, and now I’m longing for something with a bit more pizazz. This includes friends, associates, and other amusing types that are outside of my realms of work. The virtual friendships lodged within these Internets are simply not enough. I worry I’m growing stagnate, and I long for professional and personal development.

And a sexy pair of shoes, but that’s another story altogether. I want to look, feel and be fabulous. It’s not just an effort to lose weight, it’s an effort to be powerful and healthy — the kind of person that can climb a mountain, or maybe just climb the hills in Seattle without stopping for breath. The kind of person that doesn’t cower, with lungs aching, at climbing the tower in Volunteer Park. The kind of person that will revel next spring in exploring the great outdoors of this fine state with the only survival questions being those of mosquito and tick fighting, not out-running a bear. Well, I think even a perfectly fit person might have a problem with that, but you see where I’m going, I hope.

Incidentally, as the holidays come up — along with my birthday — please take note of the following —

I like jewelry (necklaces, rings (size 7 or 8, depending what finger it will go on) from Tiffany’s
Macy’s and Aveda are places I commonly shop.
Coldwater Creek, Eddie Bauer and Land’s End are a few catalogs I gawk at.
Coach makes the handbags I just absolutely love

I’m also wanting picture books of Mucha.

Gift certificates are always welcome. 🙂

And with that, I end this rambling blog post.

Here’s to a great winter!

Shortbus – Opening Night of the Seattle Lesbian and Gay Film Festival

Jon got back from Japan on Friday morning, so he was able to come with me to see Shortbus at Cinerama. The place was packed, and it was a good time, all in all.

After talking to Jon about Shortbus over Septieme burgers yesterday afternoon, I came to the conclusion that some of the shortcomings of the movie, such as having on-screen heterosexual sex, but no penetrative gay sex, an estrangement from the female characters and being generally self-congratulatory in nature, were merely a byproduct of the process by which the film was made. For those of you who don’t know, this whole film was a product of open auditions for an unnamed, unwritten script that was workshopped with the actors and John Cameron Mitchell into what ultimately became the film. It reminds me of what I learned in art school about performance art (I really did love the performance department, though it was truly impractical for a major.)

In my performance classes, it wasn’t enough to do an improv. If you were going to do an improv, with a base scene, you NEEDED to have an artifact. I suppose that once you get so famous that people pay you for your improv, you don’t need an artifact, but for us lowly types, we needed some kind of prop– a set, an installation, a video (of the performance, to be shown again, or as a backdrop), slides, a sculpture, something — as long as there was something that echoed the creation of the improv. You created a space with the improv, and when you left, you would have this piece left for people to look upon as visual art.

Shortbus is an artifact of a process that is more artistic, challenging, and risky than the end result. All the footage, the workshopping, the inevitable improv that gets created into a script, the lives of the actors, the extras, the sexual heat that occured between the players of the film are where the art are, not in the film itself. The true risk was in the buds of creation, not in the end product, which as been sanitized for your protection (and to perhaps skirt any obscenity issues). Shortbus ultimately doesn’t take the huge risk that would make it a true catalyst of change in the hearts and minds of those who would see it, or even hear it’s name. It stands alone as a rather banal piece of work. Beautiful to watch in many ways, but banal and accessible to even the more prudish of movie goers. It’s sexy like a Victoria’s Secret catalog, which isn’t enough to challenge us cosmopolitans.

Perhaps it’s all money motivated — how do you sell a film like this to the theatres and the public? How do you prepare for the inevitable DVD sales, matching soundtrack, etc. You make something that is sanitized for global appeal, so in the very least, the self-congratulatory hipsters, LGBTQIAXYZ’s, art critics and sexual libertarians will want to consume it, and tell their more prudish friends to consume it to a positive end. It’s as close as you can get to a sure thing that will have more instantaneous monetary rewards vs. becoming revolutionary in retrospect 30 years later. It seems that no one wants to take a risk in media any more — Broadway is all rehashed movies, best-selling book adaptations and revivals of successful shows of the past. The most controversial visual experience I’ve heard about has been the plastination of human bodies touring in exhibits all over the world. If you’ve heard of other more controversial visual experiences in the past 3-5 yrs, please let me know.

I like Shortbus as a souvineir or an artifact of an event. I think, though, I’d prefer a documentary of the making of the film to the actual film itself.

Conventionaly Accepted Body Mod

About a month ago, I went into a local nail salon to get a set of gel nails. What I ended up with, was a set of acrylics. I partially blame this on a language barrier, the other part I blame on myself for not being more assertive. It seems that it has become standard for nail shops to use a Dremel to abrade/sand/polish the nails, and if it wasn’t amazingly obvious, a Dremel against natural nail can burn and hurt. It didn’t take me long to remember why I swore off acrylic nails in the first place — back in Chicago I had gotten a full set of acrylic nails and had decided to get them removed. What also got removed — with the Dremel — was most of the surface of my nail, leaving my nails to be so flims and flexible that I could likely puncture the top of my nail with a dull pin. It was extremely painful, and I ended up obsessively loading polish on my nails for a month in order to give added strength and protection. (My nails were so flimsy that I had to reapply because the flexibility of my nails would cause the polish to flake off in a jiffy.)

I come to find out from a friend of mine that those in the salon business scoff at using a Dremel for nails. Well, DUH. Dremels in nail care are probably a new thing — the old standard being the sand-papery nail files that offer more control to the beautician and less of a chance of seriously injuring the person being nailed. And if injury weren’t enough, what about cross contamination? While many of the metal tools can be autoclaved, the dremel and the little rotory attachments cannot. ACK!

This reminded me of some of the other DUHS of conventionally accepted body modification such as ear piercing. I had 8 holes in my ear lobes by the time I was in the 8th grade, all of them courtesy of the mall piercing experts, Claires and Piercing Pagoda. Both of these establishments use the piercing gun, which uses pointed (and theoretically sharp) studs, forced through the flesh like a punch tool. From what I understand, this little invention came about as a means of tagging cattle, and among it’s more charming attributes, causes more trauma to the human being than a straight, clean needle would. And, the real kicker is that the gun itself cannot be sterilized, and has been credited by some to spread Hepatitis. Yuck!

When I talked to some of my coworkers about the virtues of going to a professional piercer that uses a needle, many of them moaned about the extra cost of getting a professional piercing versus the mall piercers. I would think that comfort and professionalism alone would be important, not to mention the decrease in chance for Hepatitis. The thing is, though, with my nails it was a similar decision. I could have gone to the Spa located in University Village, pay about $50-75 for my nails and likely have gotten a safer, more pampering, less painful and more professional set of nails. I, instead, chose to pay $25 and have a painful experience on par to torture, and walk out with the fear of having these nails come off if only because I know I have little to no natural nail left.

I think that sometimes it’s worth to just not get something done if you can’t get it done right.

Next time, I’ll be a little more discerning.

The Necessities for Travel (as a Femme)

Who would have thought 5 yrs ago, with my bright blue hair, chopped off just an inch from my scalp and my newly decreed no-make-up face and shapeless tanks and t-shirts with jeans that I would transform from what an old friend termed a “diesel dyke” appearance to two years later, an all black wearing goth barista to now, a cutely coiffed, white and pink shirt with khaki pants wearing professional social worker.

Starting around the time I was 16 and taking trips w/ my mom to New Jersey/NYC every year, I decided that a smart girl in the city didn’t carry a purse. I started out with chain wallets and never wearing anything without pockets. Now my daily wear doesn’t include pockets, and I’ve had to adjust. Plus, even though some women’s pants are made with pockets, I assure you, they don’t mean for you to use them. So here I am, buying a wallet that’s too big for my pants pocket. And then a purse to contain that wallet. But then I’m traveling far, so I need a purse large enough to carry what I need. And then I’m spending $300 on a Coach bag. But it’s the perfect bag, in lavender and white and OH so cute.

And now I’m planning a few weekends out of town. One coming up in Chicago, and then one a month from now in LA. This means I need to upgrade my usual carry on, which is this ridiculously bulky Timberland backpack that got me through 2 yrs of grad school and then some. It’s not exactly made for a laptop, but it’s kind of worked for awhile. After looking over the OH so cute options at REI yesterday, my husband and I conferred and realized that a less cute, but dramatically handy TimBuk2 bag in coral. And then a small cute lavender bag.

I am taken aback by my need to accessorize in not only a utilitarian, but fashionable way. This costs money, because of course you want quality and usefulness, not to mention something you want to be seen with. That can be pricey, but in the end it’s cheaper than buying something you hate for cheap, and later by something that you kinda hate less, and then going back and getting exactly what you wanted/needed in the first place.

With my new accessories, I can only hope that my friends in Chicago will recognize me, bright happy pink femme and all.

Realization: Goodfellas and Boogie Nights

I just saw GoodFellas for the first time last night. It turns out, after having seen Boogie Nights just a few months ago, that I really think that Goodfellas and Boogie Nights are the same movie. They start w/ the main character as a teenager, getting involved in seedy business, moving on into the big leagues, seeing what happens to their friends and compatriots around them, there’s guns, drugs (and some moralistic overtones) and we follow it straight through to the 1980’s.

This begs for a double feature.