she's alive!

Where do I even start? I realize I haven't posted in a while and that would be because I've been hacking up a lung. Well, that's not entirely accurate. I've only been coughing a little. I've been sick. Bleh. Sick.

And I am not the type to run to the doctor for every runny nose or dry cough. Not me. You've got to understand, I was raised by a first class hypochondriac who would rush me to the doctor for every tiny thing. Don't get me started on her own "illnesses," but for all of my life, the only positive attention I got from her was when I was sick. You might think that would breed a second generation hypochondriac, but instead it's given me an aversion to needless medicine. I'll go when it's necessary, but I'm a big believer that it's usually not necessary.

Anyway, I'll climb off my soapbox now. The point being is that if I go to a doctor, it's for a good damn reason. Thursday I felt pretty damn sick and left work a smidge early and even after sleeping like 16 hours, I still felt crappy Friday morning so I took the morning off. I had some work stuff that I had to do on Friday though, a couple of deadline type things that I could only do from my work computer so I drug my ass to work after lunch. I know what you all are thinking. Swine Flu! Swine Flu! Run for your lives! She WENT TO WORK with SWINE FLU! Ok, did you get that out of your system? Better now? Okay, then shut up. First of all, I did not have Swine Flu symptoms. Secondly, shut up.

Moving on.

By midday through the afternoon, not only had my cold symptoms persisted, I felt more exhausted than I had after a ten mile hike and my head was throbbing with the power of ten thousand suns (points if you get that reference) and my neck was feeling sore.

Okay, so at this point, I'm bummed. Not because I'm sick, but because I had been planning to go to this Happy Hour thing that a bunch of my friends were going to. This had been planned for a while and I was super stoked to go. But I knew that not only was I not going, but that I'd rather tear off my feet, cook them in a stew, and feed them to geese before I was going to stand up for a few hours, laugh with other humans and possibly consume some sort of alcoholic beverage. I felt so crappy that I couldn't even consider the scenario with club soda in my hand (and I love club soda). I really just wanted to go home and die.

And the sore neck really concerned me. I'd normally try to ride out a cold or flu and let me immune system do its job and strengthen itself in the process, but the neck thing really concerned me. I knew a guy who had a bad cold one day and the next had died from Meningitis. It's a really serious disease and is really checked out because it mimics a cold. Except for a sore neck. That's the tell.

So I called my pops to see what he thought I should do. I should mention that not only do I trust my dad completely, but he's a former Fire Captain/EMT and I trust his judgement of medical whoseewhatsit questions. Plus he's not a hypochondriac. He was very concerned and jumped in his car right away and drove the hour to my house to take me to the Urgent Care. Cue: AW. Isn't my dad great?

At this point, I'm worried. And I just want to get checked. Make sure it's not something life threatening. And go home. That's the plan.

So. Urgent Care. Long story short, we get there about 45 minutes before closing time and they rush me to the nurse, who is concerned, but my HMO (stupid effing HMO) hasn't gotten back to approve seeing the doctor and there's a 50/50 chance I'll get stuck with the entire bill just for seeing the doc, let alone if I have something that requires more care. I opt to fuck that shit and leave, so my dad then takes me to the ER, which, btw, in my fuzzy state, I couldn't remember how to find even though it's right near my house.

Half an hour longer than it takes, we arrive at the ER where two very nice nurses take me in before a long ass line of people (must be my winning smile), a loverly doctor nicely checks me out and pronounces that I will not die. At least not yet. I have a respiratory infection. If I had meningitis, I'd be in a lot worse shape (good to know, cuz I felt pretty damn bad. still do), and gives me a prescription for pain meds for my massive headache (which is causing the neck pain) and a decongestant. I also love that she didn't throw antibiotics at me. I'd like to see my immune system try its hardest first.

I'd also like to point out that she started reassuring me that I didn't have the flu without me even asking. I said that I wasn't concerned about that and she looked me dead in the eye, cocked an eyebrow, and in serious sarcasm font said, They always are. Every runny nostril and they're worried about H1N1. Good god I love that doctor. Made my whole damn day.

After that, my wonderful pops drove me to get my scripts and he took care of me this morning too. I still feel pretty damn shitty, but I'm coughing less and the motrin keeps the headache/fever at bay. I'm just so damn exhausted though! I've just been vegging all afternoon, watching my Hulu (sweet, sweet Hulu. how I love you.), and resting my sick ass.

Side note: thanks to all of the incredibly sweet friends of mine who have wished me well. I despise being sick and you make me feel better. ♥

I've really been wanting to write about the most delicious conversation that I had with Mo the other day too. And at the risk of giving away a most wonderful and new inside joke, I think I'll have to. Another day though. I'll give you this: there's a geisha. Oh yeah! Now you're intrigued.

Photo of the Day: Painted Lady

I took this in San Diego at a Bontacial Garden. I wish you could see the center more clearly, because there's water and little living things in there. But mostly I love that this plant is all sex. All lipstick and a mouth just begging for it. I could also give a more vulgar reference here a la Georgia O'Keefe, but I'll leave that to you. Go here to see a bigger version.

Photo of the Day: Stark Beauty

I took this shot this last summer in Yosemite. It was my first time there and I absolutely fell in love with the park. I took hundreds of photos, felt like Ansel Adams himself, but this one is my very favorite. In fact, if you come to my house, you'll find this framed on the wall. I love the contrasts of dead branch twisting against the bright blue sky. For the record, this isn't manipulated. The sky really was that blue. God I can't wait to go again.

wild things

I had an unexpected early day today (thanks, boss) so what was I gonna do with myself? I could do errands or get some cleaning done, but that's boring. I mean, when was the last time I had an afternoon off right? So I took my ass to the movies to see Where the Wild Things Are.

I had really, really been wanting to see it. Had been really intrigued by the mixed reviews and really wanted to do some judging for myself. Plus I love to go to the movies by myself and hadn't done that in a long time. Of course I was raised on the children's book by Maurice Sendak but I heard that the film was much darker. Resolved to have no expectations, I bought my ticket, my box of raisinettes, and settled in for an enjoyable afternoon.

First off, at the movie theater in my small town, there is this older man who takes tickets occasionally. And he is a sweet old lascivious old man, a shameless flatterer, a total flirt. It's sweet though. If he were any younger, it would be dirty and disturbing, but instead it just makes a girl feel giggly. It was a nice ego boost. Thanks, old movie theater guy!

Secondly, I get in the theater and it is empty. Hoorah! I love that. I love having my pick of the theater. Except what's that I see at the back of the room? A teeny tiny head with two pom pom pigtails and two big eyes peeking just barely over the seat in front of her. This little girl all by herself is standing alone in the theater, holding a box of popcorn and not sitting because she can't maneuver the seat while holding the box. Poor kid. And what was she doing by herself anyway? That, Internet, is a kidnapper's dream come true. Needless to say, softie that I am, I helped her into her seat and waited with her until her mom got there. Most disturbing moment, when a Twilight promo flashed on the screen, she announced to me that she had seen that! Wasn't it scary, I asked her. Nope. No it wasn't. What? She seemed about 5, if that. Uh huh.

Now it is at this moment that I remember that the film we are about to watch is not really a kid's movie. It's based on a children's book and it's about a child, but it is not for children. Seriosuly, do people not research a film before taking their child?

After the film started, two more families with VERY small children came in. One of which settled right in front of me. Seriously? There is a WHOLE big empty theater and you have to sit your three year old right in front of me? Your young child who screams at the scary parts and says mommy about 57 times a minute? That was your best option?

Despite the young children who were watching a movie that was not meant for children, I truly enjoyed the film. But it is not for kids. I might take an older child, but little kids? Nope. It's dark and emotionally violent. What I absolutely loved was the psychological realism. The film making itself was violent to reflect the turmoil of the characters. Story and acting aside, this film is truly a piece of art. The style at moments is incredibly quiet and reflective and quite beautiful and then next it is raucous and moving and you get sucked into the physicality of the action.

And of course the story is quite poignant and smart. It's extremely psychological and I could see how someone who doesn't appreciate the psychological perspective would not appreciate this film. But I just got lost in it. Despite the magical landscape of the film, the characters are incredibly relatable and realistic, adult in their voices but childlike in their cocoons of issues and neuroses. I absolutely enjoyed it and I can't wait to buy it and make it mine.

And of course, that leaves the best part. The soundtrack was absolutely delicious! I wanted to jump into the soundtrack and start choreographing. I was disappointed to find two different soundtracks available on iTunes from the different collaborators, but I may just have to buy them both.

Here's a great song from the film from Karen O and the Kids:

All is love. I love that. ♥

confessions of a white girl

There is an issue that has been weighing on me of late, for most of my life really, but this is something I have to get off my chest. Racism. I don't understand it. Now, I don't understand all sorts of bigotry and hatred, but the one on the table today is racism. And racism is as diverse as the victims of it, but it pains me in all its forms.

As I listen to NPR on the drive home or read news story after news story about Fort Hood, I can't but hurt for the tragedy, of course, but I also hurt for the racist implications which are bound to come from this. Religious discrimination aside, and the realities of who Hasan is and his motives aside (because no one really knows yet and that's not the subject right now anyway. I'll let authorities worry about that.), my concern is the impact this will have on those of any Middle Eastern decent.

It is an age-old tale that racism is consistently used as a tool of propaganda to fuel national support. Look at the Japanese concentration camps of the forties. Even look at the north-south racist propaganda of the Civil War. Ask my dad about the plethora of derogatory terms against anyone of Vietnamese decent, or any Asian decent for that matter. It's an important element of the war machine to hate the other side with such passionate vehemence that no one could object. They must despise them.

So we're in a war right now. And I am not going to preach about the war and I know that there are people who educate themselves about this war. However, for most Americans, the average person doesn't know the differences between Muslim nations, let alone ethnic differences and dialects. Over here, whether you come from and Arab nation or anything East of Africa (forgetting of course all of the Muslim African nations), you're just brown. You're a caricature of a whole region. Never mind the incredibly different nuances throughout such a huge region. What matters is that we must hate anyone east right now.

But to get into that I'd have to start quoting Orientalism and I don't have time for that. Nor do you want to read a dissertation. But I do recommend it. It's not only profound, it's timeless and relevant.

But who am I, you ask, to spout such lofty ideals? Who am I to climb on a soapbox? I'm no one, really, just a blogger. Just a white girl who grew up with open eyes, eyes that saw the evils in this world and couldn't accept that. And I hate that white privilege that bestows its understanding and grace upon all those discriminated against. I hate that. If white people aren't taking the power, they (we) assume its theirs (ours) to give. If we aren't the racists, then we still sit on white privilege and claim to understand the evils of racism. Right? Well that's the norm. And I buy that.

But I (and please don't kill me here) can't help that I'm white any more than anyone else can help the pigment in their skin. I've done my best in my life to live with an open mind and not buy into the racism machine. I've seen it first hand. I grew up witnessing the pain of some very close Mexican friends and I knew that it was not good to be white. White was bad. White was the Man. So I prayed every night that I would wake up and be beautiful like my best friend Tawnya. What am I saying? I am saying that I learned something from that. That it is okay to witness another perspective.

So I've just tried to keep on learning, studying the roots of racism, keeping an open mind. I've learned much about racism in its different forms from its colonial roots to slave trades and this is what I think (now, what I think doesn't really matter, but here it is anyway).

What I think is that the new-agey colorblind let's all just get along rainbow kids method doesn't work. And it doesn't work because we're not a colorblind utopian society on mars. We're humans and we have centuries of human history that just can't be ignored. Centuries of conquering and domination. We can't just sweep all that under the rug and pretend it didn't happen. It did.

Also, this argument of it's not me, it was my grandparents or great grandparents, etc. just does not hold up. For some, the kind of violent racism that you read in books is still happening. There are still nooses in Illinois and it's still dangerous to drive while black or fly while brown. It's not the past; it is still today. For others, it was their childhoods. My parents' generation WAS the civil rights generation and that violence is still palpable for many people, like PTSD. It wasn't so long ago. And slavery in America happened just over a hundred years ago. For most nations, that's a minute. America is young and we shouldn't just pretend that our entire childhood and adolescence wasn't spent in dominance and abuse of others.

Instead of erasing the past or the present wrong, instead of stepping blindly into a future built on a rocky past, I say we confront these realities. We delve into them. I don't necessarily buy into nationalism but I do know that if we expect to resolve a national consciousness and heal these deep racist wounds, we have to confront it. I don't care if it's not you, if you're not a racist. And I don't care if your great grandmother helped in the underground railroad. I don't even care if you've never been a victim of racism and can't empathise. Swim in these realities. Read slave narratives. Read current accounts of hate crimes and don't just read once, read three times or until you feel for these victims. Cry for them. Cry for yourself because this is your (our) culture. We need to all face the stark and graphic truths of racism at its worst, the worst of our past and the worst of our present.

And then we can mourn. Truly mourn. We can mourn for the transgressions of our ancestors and for others' ancestors. We can mourn for the travesties enacted against our parents and grandparents and great grandparents and their grandparents. We can mourn the history we deserve but don't have, the one based on heroism and great acts. We can mourn that that history is tainted with the skeletons of hatred and bigotry. We can sob in the streets for that which hateful Americans have robbed us of. We can shed tears for those brutalized and imprisoned and treated like animals.

But then we have to be adults again. We have to pick ourselves back up and wipe away the tears and realize that even though our fathers failed us, we now need to parent ourselves. We are responsible for our future actions. We have to be our own moral compass. No more blaming others and no more hiding behind others' mistakes. We all have to move forward consciously and without naivete, always questioning our actions and motives, actively checking our behavior and teaching our children to exude understanding and coexistence.

That's what I think anyway. But what do I know? I'm just a white girl from Southern California.

Photo of the Day: Installation Jungle

I took this photo at LACMA and what I love about this installation is that it is ripe with photographic possibilities. I have about 30 shots from this piece and all from different angles. It truly is a streetlamp jungle.

beep beep yeah

Have I mentioned that my car is still in the shop? Still. In. The. Shop. Still. I took it in 2 weeks ago! Want to hear the story? Of course you do. Why do I even ask?

So, I got a call from Tiffany at the body shop (very nice gal) the Wednesday after I took the car in. She said they found more damage and told my insurance (who will remain nameless unless I get my car back soon) and she was waiting on approval in order to move forward. That's fine. Normal. Good so far.

And I think it was Friday morning that Tiffany called me again saying that my insurance adjuster finally called her back. Finally? Turns out they found the extra damage on Monday and had been calling my adjuster every day for a week. Seriously? Oh yes. And I guess my adjuster, let's call her Amy because that's her name, tried to claim that she never got the messages. All 5 of them. Uh huh. Sure. That's believable. Should've just gone with the too busy to call you back excuse. Works every time. Anywayyyy, so at this point Tiffany says that she's spoken with Amy and Amy wants to send a guy out to inspect the extra damage and approve the new estimate before they start any body work.

Fine. No problemo. It sucks that it had been a week thus far, but I can roll with it.

Sooo, Tuesday rolls around and Tiffany (I love Tiffany) calls me again saying that the guy (neither of us knows who this dude is or what his job title is) has yet to come out and my car is just sitting there waiting for my insurance to wave their little magic wand and approve the damn work. At this point, I can no longer be nice (to the insurance). I thank Tiffany and tell her I'm calling Amy to see if I can't get things rolling. I leave Amy a polite yet firm message and didn't hear back at all on Tuesday.

Thursday morning. Magical Thursday morning, I get a call from a guy called Jimmy (the mystery insurance guy) saying he'd approved the estimate and is sending the body shop a check. Thank you jebus finally! FINALLY! I guess I just needed to make that call, but DUDE, I shouldn't have to. My insurance should do its job. They're getting my money. They're paying for my rental. You'd think they'd want to save some money there, right? Lame.

And while I am glad this is finally working out, the fact remains that my car has been sitting, lonely and alone and cold, in the body shop. Just sitting there for 2 damn weeks. Just waiting for the work to get started. I took it in 2 weeks ago and the work just began yesterday! For serious. And of course I don't blame the body shop. They've been nothing but professional and kind. I went through them because I took my car there last year when she was totaled (I'm sure I told you that story) and they were very nice. They were also very comforting and understanding when I needed to grieve the loss of Darla, my very best and most reliable car. Not only did they not laugh, but one gave me a hug while another got me a coffee. They are very nice people. I might be a tad over dramatic and loony tunes, but they are very nice over there. If you live near me and ever need a good body shop, I can recommend a good one.

Needless to say, I am ready to get my car back. Obviously nothing will happen this weekend, but I'm really hoping for early next week.

Arg