Design a site like this with
Get started

Sing It

Mood: Oh So Busy
Drinking: Morning Cuppa

They say “time flies” but they lie. Because you can watch things fly — birds, planes, men in tights. But time? Time moves so fast, it just melts away and you don’t even notice until another month has disappeared and a new picture appears on the calendar.

Sometimes I can’t believe how much of the year is gone already. It certainly didn’t wait around for me to get my bearings.

And there is so much going on here, so much to do. I’m in the midst of editing cinepoem #13, planning the shoot for cinepoem #14, and trying to pry open my brain and pour thoughts into ink for a big “talk” I’m giving in a few months in Alabama. (So much to say, but how do I say it?)

Then there’s the quick (and much-needed!) girlfriend vacation I’m taking with S and the longer, bigger trip to Europe (Italy, Switzerland, France) with Boy. My sister is moving up north (hooray!), LeeLoo needs her bordatella vaccine, and there are no less than seven unfinished poems sitting on my desktop.

And in the middle of all this, K and I are working, working, working on Book Number Two, with chapter one nailed down and chapters two, three and four in the works. We are determined to finish it by Christmas, but I look at the calendar now and, my god! Christmas is well within reach — any day now they’ll be hanging holly and red in the windows of downtown department stores and the California Santas will be ringing their bells on street corners whilst wearing fake beards and shorts.

It’s all going by so fast, so fast.

So instead of finishing a poem or that pile of freelance writing that’s sitting over there on the dining room table, instead of even combing my hair and peeling off my pajamas, here I am sitting in the morning sun with the Loo sleeping on one side and my half-finished peanut butter toast waiting on the other, blogging (yes, I’ve admitted it now) about nothing, really. Nothing that will change the revolution of the earth, but it feels good to bang on the keyboard, anyway.

So here’s my bit of nothing on this gorgeous October morning while November breathes down my neck and December starts cracking her candy cane knuckles:

The soundtrack of my life. Yes. Silly. Inane. But such a great time-taker-upper. I saw it first on my sister-in-law’s blog, and decided to try it for fun. The results were uncanny and sometimes astonishing, but above all, entertaining and so here it is…

The list of life “events” was provided. As instructed, I opened my iTunes, set it to shuffle, and then wrote down the first heading as a song began to play. Then I moved on to the next heading during the next song. It’s all random, you see, as you let your iTunes score the soundtrack — and my iTunes, at least, turned out to be pretty damn good at the song-picking thing, as you can see from the snippets of lyrics I’m providing, just to prove my point. Here we go…

OPENING CREDITS: Medication by Garbage (Version 2.0)
“I’ve got to make a point these days to extricate myself.”
[I think it’s quite appropriate that Shirley gets the opening credits. Love. Her.]

WAKING UP: Strange Little Girl by Tori Amos (Strange Little Girls)
“One day you see a strange little girl feeling blue.”
[Tori always gets it right.]

FIRST DAY AT SCHOOL: You Stick It In Me by I Am X (Kiss + Swallow)
“I have blood, so hurt me.”
[Isn’t that the mantra for nerds and weirdos everywhere?]

FALLING IN LOVE: The Fragile by Nine Inch Nails (The Fragile)
“We’ll find the perfect place to go where we can run and hide. I’ll build a wall and we can keep them on the other side.”
[Actually, the song right before this on the album (We’re In This Together) was played at my wedding reception. Long live NIN!]

FIGHT SONG: All the Rage by Massivivid (Dressed to the Nines, Armed to the Teeth)
“You think you’re all the rage, ‘cuz mine can’t be contained. But at least I’ll make a few dollars from my pain.”
[Massivivid was my old friend Franky‘s band, and this song was actually written about a particular person who caused quite a few fights in my life, so it’s rather creepy with the appropo!]

BREAKING UP: Limp by Fiona Apple (When the Pawn…)
“You fondle my trigger then you blame my gun.”
[One of my favorite lyrics ever, and very true when it comes to infighting in relationships.]

PROM: Breath Control by Recoil feat. Nicole Blackman (Liquid)
“Every woman has an itch and every nice girl secretly wants to switch.”
[Funny that a poem about kinky sex is the trax for “prom”.]

LIFE: Long Hard Road out of Hell by Marilyn Manson (Spawn Soundtrack)
“To be this young I’m oh so scared. I wanna live, I wanna love, but its a long hard road out of hell.”
[I once knew a girl who would play AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” every morning on her way to work. Not a great way to start your day, really.]

CAREER: An Angel Went Up in Flames by The Gas Band (Brokeback Mountain Soundtrack)
no lyrics…just noise
[One of my favorite movies…and an odd song to show b/c I *hate* country music. But this is all fiddlin’ and foot stompin’, which is much like my job, so that’s ok.]

MENTAL BREAKDOWN: I Go Crazy by Flesh for Lulu (Dome Room trax)
“This city’s mad in the head and sick in the soul.”
[Every time I hear this song, I think of Melvyn flailing about the dance floor at the Dome Room, back in the day.]

DRIVING: Stars by Lacuna Coil (HalfLife EP)
“We’ll take our hearts outside, leave our lives behind, I’ll watch the stars go out…”
[My fave Italian band, always good for road tripping.]

FLASHBACK: Always by Erasure (I Say I Say I Say)
“Am I here in vain? Hold on to the night. There will be no shame.”
[Of course, there must be an 80s song for the flashback!]

GETTING BACK TOGETHER: Come As You Are by Nirvana (Nevermind)
“Come as you are, as you were, as I want you to be.”
[‘Cuz isn’t that what getting back together is all about?]

WEDDING: Song for You by Katie Yearick (Demo)
“You feel like home when I’ve got no place else to run to. You occupy the vacancy behind my smile.”
[Wow. That’s weird. A long time ago, my friend Katie wrote this song for her sister, my sister, and me. And she sang it at my wedding!]

BIRTH OF A CHILD: One Day by Bjork (Debut)
“One day it will happen, one day it’ll all come true.”
[One day, indeed.]

MIDLIFE CRISIS: Spark by Tori Amos (From the Choirgirl Hotel)
“She’s addicted to nicotine patches. She’s afraid of a light in the dark. 6:58 are you sure where my spark is?”
[Tori wrote this song about her miscarriage. Hope that’s not what my midlife crisis will be about.]

FINAL BATTLE: Golgotha Tenement Blues by Machines of Loving Grace (The Crow Soundtrack)
“I am the city. I am the park. I am glow in the motherfucking dark.”
[In the midst of battle, it’s good to have the Crow on your side.]

DEATH SCENE: A Pain That I’m Used To by Depeche Mode (Playing the Angel)
“I’m not sure what I’m looking for anymore. I just know that I’m harder to console.”
[No soundtrack of my life would be complete without the Mode.]

FUNERAL SCENE: Like You by Evanescence (The Open Door)
“I long to be like you, lie cold in the ground like you. There’s room inside for two and I’m not grieving for you. I’m coming for you.”
[There she is! I was wondering when Amy would show up, and she comes at the end with the best song.]

That was fun. Now I have to put some real clothes on and extricate myself from the Internet. Au revoir.

-Lo, who likes to sing the theme song to Weeds — “Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes made of ticky tacky…”

Have a Pleasant Stalking…

Mood: Yawney
Drinking: Straight-up caffeine

For all of you bored at work, and all of you Internet stalkers, you’ll be pleased to know there’s an official MySpace page for cinepoetry. Check out This Blank Page Productions.

MySpace. Not just for drunken teenagers.

In other news, it was a super-crazy weekend. Boy’s birthday was on Friday, as was the awards ceremony at the Berkeley Film Fest. (A photo of the shiny award we received is on the pics page at the aforementioned MySpace spot.)

Then Saturday, in addition to being the silver screen debut day for “TwoFaced”, was also the day that Yoda went to meet Jesus. So it was a very rollercoaster sort of happy/sad day. I was torn between being completely freaked out to see my face all volkswagen-sized in the theater (with popcorn in hand) and being completely teary-eyed imagining Yoda frolicking about marshmallow meadows amongst the hamburger trees up in dog heaven.

Then on Sunday, because us cinepoetry chicks are gluttons for punishment, we shot our 13th cinepoem, “Delusions of Daedalus”. (Thanks to Angela for lending us her rooftop, her snake, and her camera skills. And thanks to the Tates for the hair-fixin’ and craft services.) Yes, I said “snake”. You’ll have to be patient to see that one, but you won’t be disappointed. (Unless you’re thinking of Anaconda, then you’ll definitely be disappointed, ‘cuz this snake was significantly smaller and more ladylike.)

All-in-all, it was a gorgeous, thrilling, jam-packed, emotional weekend and I am ready to sleep for a week.

-Lo, who agrees with Caroline that dog heaven also has king-sized beds made of cupcakes. You know, so you can eat AND sleep at the same time. Enjoy, Yodes. Enjoy.

Cross your heart and…

Mood: Whimsical
Drinking: Tea

…hope to die

I’m very pleased to introduce a new cinepoem to you. Her name is Die Pretty, and I’m very proud of her.

She’s an old-fashioned kind of gal, inspired by a sculpture in Mendocino (featured in the title sequence), and is dedicated to two of my best girls.

We only have the Quicktime version for now. The Windows version is coming soon.

So don’t be shy. Go. Say hello.

-Lo, who would like to thank J. Alfred Prufrock for his love song.

Cool and the Gang

Mood: Daydreamy
Drinking: Sweet Green Tea

I’m really not all that cool. There have been a few people, recently, who seem to think I register rather high scores on the coolness meter, but they would be very mistaken.

It’s true that I have hidden sometimes behind a shiny cool veneer, but it’s just for show. The slickness is only skin deep, and it doesn’t last long. Peel it away and you’d find a bona fide dork hiding beneath.

I’m fine with it. Having accepted my innate lack of cool, I’m much more at ease than I used to be, back when I thought coolness actually counted for something. Back when I thought I might be able to do more than fake it.

In high school (because that’s where it really gets embedded, doesn’t it?), I was well known for my lack of anything even remotely resembling cool. I had the wrong clothes (from second-hand stores), the wrong hair (bangs weren’t poofy enough), the wrong hobbies (I rode horses instead of boys), the wrong attitude (I turned term papers in early), the wrong everything. But the beauty of it was that back then, I was too clueless to care.

I spent most of my time daydreaming about being an Olympic-level equestrian, flying over fences on my thoroughbred steed. (In reality, my “steed” was a second-rate Quarter Horse named Fantasia with blue eyes and a penchant for biting.) When I wasn’t thinking up four-legged fantasies, I was hiding up on the roof by the chimney or behind the big chair in the living room, nose buried in a book, ignoring my mother calling me to dinner.

I spent so many hours reading, my mom called me “Bookworm”, although she said it with equal parts pride and exasperation. When my sister and I were little tots, mom was the one who took us on weekly trips to the Dixon Public Library. We would fill up an apple box with books, only to return the next week and exchange them for more. By the time I hit junior high, I was sure that I had read every single book in the children’s section at least twice. So I moved upstairs to the big “adult” books.

I got good grades, I studied hard, I won essay-writing and speech-giving contests, and I never went on any dates. By the time I graduated high school at age 17 (wearing tafetta and green eyeshadow), it was just starting to dawn on me that maybe I should be paying a little bit of attention to boys. Or my hair. Or something besides my horse. (What is it about girls and horses, anyway?)

I made a little progress in college. Mastered the art of mascara. Purchased my first pair of non-hand-me-down jeans (at WalMart). Actually ventured out to a bar once in awhile. But I stuck to my tried-and-true formula: Keep your head down, study hard, get good grades, graduate. I did manage to move on from horses to boys, but I was extremely gunshy. There was a boy in my poetry class who asked me out for “coffee” so we could talk about “poetry”, but I was so scared of the prospect of sitting across the table from a guy I didn’t know, alone (horrors!), that I turned him down and scurried away, hair in my face and eyes on the ground. (I can’t remember his name, but always wonder what would have happened if I had said yes.)

I could take you through the whole excruciating evolution from farm girl to gothling to potty-mouthed poet, but the point is… (what is the point? I thought I was going to write a post about kids today and how they don’t read enough books, but now I’m stuck on the cool train.) The point is that I’m not cool.

Cool is the girls who could flirt effortlessly. The girls who knew how to french inhale. The girls who giggled at my granny panties because they had been wearing leopard-print thongs since sixth grade. The girls who shaved their eyebrows off and then drew them back on, flawlessly,with charcoal pencils. Cool is equal parts confidence and cruelty, beauty and bully, rebellion and reason. Cool is completely put together without giving a shit. Effortless perfection. Brazen misdirection.

Cool is the people I was fascinated by but couldn’t stand: the cheerleaders, the mall rats, the guitar players, and Linda Mocklin, who won every trophy at every horse show, her dark hair perfectly in place, while I trotted behind, sweaty and disheveled, hoping Fantasia wouldn’t buck me off this time.

Cool is the people I wanted to be: the purple-haired punks, the waifish ballet dancers, the girl at the Green Mill Slam who recited her poem, eyes closed, two perfect nipples poking through her threadbare white tank top, and Star Le, who always looked like a diminuitive goddess come down to earth, her ink black hair falling just so, dainty wrists bent at all the right angles, her porcelain skin glowing against the dark.

I have gotten lucky and fooled a few people along the way, although the deception is no longer premeditated. But I’m really, really, really not cool. I’m a nerd. A dork. A misfit. A wallflower… I love to dance, but prefer long nights at home reading a book. I love to get dressed up, but I never look perfect. I love to buck fashion trends and do my own thing, but I leave no Gwennabes in my wake. I love to write, but have no bestsellers. I love to rebel, but start no revolutions. I love to smoke, but I never inhale.

You can only be cool if you’re not really trying. You can only be cool if you don’t really care.

And though I don’t try, and I don’t care, and so for the first time have an actual shot at it, being cool is no longer relevant. I’ve discovered something far better and more satisfying…

Just being me.

-Lo, who attended high school football games to stare at the cheerleaders.