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It’s the breathing that matters…

Mood: barenaked
Drinking: in a minute

I’ve been keeping a little cinépoem in my pocket. Because sometimes life intervenes and ties our schedule in knots — it’s a volunteer operation, after all. So in this interim while my partner-in-video has been buried with 1,000 other pressing duties, I’ve been keeping cinépoem #11 on hold so I’d have something to drop into the void just when you started thinking it’s been awhile between new shows.

And it’s been awhile.

So on this listless Labor Day, wander on over to the cinépoems page and let a little poem called “Yin” wash over you.

She’s a special story written back in the last decade before Boy, before California, before all of this. But back then there was a special someone. And this poem is dedicated to that person. (You know who you are.)

And to that person, I say this…
I don’t have enough fingers to count the number of times you have saved my life. You have been there in the thick and the thin. You’ve seen the storms and the light. You’ve heard the good and the ugly. And you’re still here.

It goes beyond blood, this bond we have. It goes beyond sisterhood and salvation. You are a part of me, and I’m a part of you, and honestly I would have it no other way. Whatever may come our way, whatever trials and triumphs, I will be here. For you. We may not always see the world in the same way, through the same lens, with the same intensity, but what matters most is not our sameness but our togetherness.

I am on your side. Nobody’s ever going to change that. This might be the sappiest thing I’ve ever written on this site, but I want the world to know that I love you. That I’m proud of you. In awe of you, actually. And that you’ll always be my beanhead.

This one is for you.

-Lo, who can’t even remember how that nickname came to be.

Seeing Red

Mood: 100% Concentrated
Drinking: Iced Tea with 12 Sugars

I find it strange and slightly amusing that when I have the most going on in my life, I have the least to say about it. Could be a factor of time — more specifically, the lack thereof.

Or it could just be that I’m lazy and I prefer to write when I have absolutely nothing else to do.

What’s all the fuss about, you ask? Well, it’s been a busy pair of weeks since I last sent word to the Internet. There was the 4th of July, of course, with all the attendant banging hullabaloo. Boy and I took advantage of the long weekend to visit his family (including his 101-year-old Grandma!) in the Valley, and then we foolishly made our way into the mountains to Yosemite to hang out with my sister and her SO.

And I say “foolishly” not because of the sister hang-time, which is always too short, but because of my aversion to crowds and to other people in general, and the corresponding record-breaking number of people swarming the Yosemite Valley on that fine holiday weekend.

Nothing like hiking to a waterfall with 1200 babbling strangers.

And then there was the heat. I don’t do well in heat. That’s why I live in Fog City. Put me in the sun with the mercury rising over 91, and I’m a melty puddle of whiny incompetence. I’m absolutely worthless. LeeLoo is, too. So that’s why in the middle of the afternoon at Boy’s parent’s house, the Loon and I were laying helplessly on the living room floor, tongues hanging out, while the rest of the family went about their business like actual human beings.

You’d think I’d have a higher tolerance for such things, having grown up in 100-degrees-plus-humidity, but apparently I left my heat-endurance-ability (HEA) packed up in a box with my plaid school uniform, pennyloafers and Trapper Keepers, somewhere in my mom’s attic.

The one happy ending to the heat index…when Boy and I were driving back home into the city across the Bay Bridge, I looked over to the west to check on the fog status and nearly teared up when I saw the familiar opaque haze hanging over my neck of the woods. Fog! Bless the Inner Sunset!

But lest you think I’m a complete baby bitch, whining about hot holidays (which I am, but that’s beside the point), there have been many other contributions to the calendar to keep me on my toes lately…

I now have a much-needed volunteer agent, who’s keeping me busy with requests for publicity materials and potential reading dates and all kinds of ambitious plans.

I have continuing wrist therapy, twice a week, with the fabulous K. The end is in sight, now that I’m back on my motorcycle and squeezing the clutch with comparative ease. (Yes, back on the horse! Celebrations were had.) But I still have some bendy issues, so the therapy continues…

I went south to Mountain View this past weekend to catch the last stop on the 2006 Nine Inch Nails tour. Trent was in fine form (although honestly? I prefer him pale and pasty instead of buff and beefy.) tearing up the stage, and the ever-glamorous Peter Murphy opened the show with Bauhaus. Oh, goth glory days! Actually, Peaches opened the show, but I find her ridiculous and paid no attention until she and her crotch-high boots exited stage right.

My favorite quote of the evening came courtesy of Mr. Murphy and was instantly texted to a few choice friends — (this only works if you say it in a British accent whilst wearing a cape): “It’s exhausting being marvelous!”

Speaking of choice friends, our dear G (which stands for Genius) is flying out from Chi-town to visit us this weekend. We are extremely excited to see him and I’m busy trying to figure out which are the *best* sites to show him in SF and which are the sorta cool, but not really all that awesome things that should wait for another time. I must make sure my city makes the best impression, after all — it’s his first visit to San Francisco!

July is turning out to be a big month for visitors…I get to see my sister again in a few weeks when she and the other J drive up from LA for a short stay. They’re bringing along my nephew-hound, Yoda, and I’m eagerly anticipating all the Yoda-LeeLoo antics that shall ensue.

In less happy news, I also have a friend who is very ill and nearly died just this past weekend. Which is a situation that doesn’t really make me any busier, but does occupy a large space of my brain with the worrying.

How to keep from worrying? Stay busy… This week I’m editing cinepoem #11. Yes! Eleven. Her name is “Yin”, and she’s very sweet (and shows off a great deal of that magical fog I’m so taken with). And then we’re shooting #12 (“Die Pretty”) up in Mendocino in two weeks with the Lovely L.

Which brings me to the big news about cinepoem #10, Alter Ego, she of the multiple personalities and the infamous “death star”. Alter Ego is ready to see you now.

We shot #10 just before Memorial Day at The Hotel Utah Saloon, with the help of a few fine ladies who deserve a little mention here: My usual partners in cinematic crime, Michelle Brown and Misha Hutchings, were there. Kathy Azada was there too, minus the White Rabbit costume this time. And Angela Primavera, Katie Motta, and Amanda Henderson joined in the fun and smoked up a storm. Well, Angela didn’t smoke…she was running our second camera. But they all were smokin’ in the fabulous sense of the word.

Anyway. Alter Ego. Go. Watch. Learn.

-Lo, who does not believe wearing in short shorts.

The Season of Objects

Mood: Stuffy
Drinking: Liquids

I haven’t celebrated Christmas at “home” for five years. That’s mostly because Boy and I have been busy making a home of our own here in San Francisco. So every Christmas we do the present thing and then throw the Loo in the Jeep and drive up (or down, depending on our mood) the coast to see what we can see.

Christmas at the beach. It’s better than snow.

But this year, we’re breaking with our little tradition and heading back into snow country…all the way back to Illinois. We’re going to spend the season with my parents, assorted grandparents and friends, and my most favorite sister.

See, said sister (who is also a Californian now) has been husband-less for over a year, since right after her wedding when her brand-new-husband was shipped off to Iraq. He won’t be home until next year, so we’re all going to attempt to make up for his absence by doing the big family Christmas gathering thing.

Truth be told, I’m excited to see a little snow. Not so excited about the accompanying cold (which I got my fill of in New York a couple of weeks ago), but everything else will make up for it.

Not one to break with tradition, I’ve managed to come down with my usual stuffy nose, sore throat, and hacking cough just in time to return to the homestead. (This happens *every* time I go back to Illinois.) So I’m celebrating the season with pocket packs of Kleenex and steaming mugs of TheraFlu. ‘Tis the season, after all.

And speaking of seasons of glitter and giving, I have a little something for my Internet world. A shiny new present that will be waiting for you all on Christmas Day, not under a tree, but here on this site.

M and I just finished editing our 6th cinepoem, “Object”, late last night. So it will be up in time for Christmas, on the cinepoems page.

So after you’re done with your stockings and cheer on Sunday, come visit me here. I promise you won’t have to wear any red sweaters or take any photos with a leering “Uncle” Bob under the mistletoe.

Just sit back with your ‘nog and watch a little “Object” in action.

-Lo,who thinks sugarplums dancing in anyone’s head is just kind of weird.

First Five Friends

Mood: Business-like
Drinking: Morning Caffeine

I tend to be a klepto, so it’s no surprise that I’ve stolen this little post right off Daphne Gottlieb’s livejournal. Modified slightly to avoid charges of plagiarism, of course. Do you think I learned nothing in college?

So here’s the deal. The first five people to reply will get seven (hopefully) witty answers from me. Obviously, this only works really well if I actually know who you are. So if you’re pretty sure that I don’t know who you are, you’re probably right…give me a hand with some incriminating details and a link to your blog/site/dirty pictures/whatever.

And don’t be all, “Your blog is weird and doesn’t have the normal comment section so how the hell am i supposed to respond to you?” Yeah. I did that on purpose. All you gotta do to respond is click on that link in the nav up there that says “Says You” and you’re golden. Okay? Ready? Go!

Here’s what you’ll get:
1. Reply with your name and I’ll respond with a random statement about you.
2. I’ll tell you what song and/or movie reminds me of you.
3. I’ll pick a flavor of soup in which I’d like to wrestle with you.
4. I’ll tell you what you should legally change your name to.
5. I’ll tell you either my first or my favorite memory of you.
6. I’ll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7. I’ll ask you something that I’ve always wondered about you.

Your turn. I’ll be here. Waitin’.

-Lo, whose sister is making her dinner tonight. You should be so lucky.

Leavin’ on a Jet Plane


I’m going home.

Or rather, going back to the place that used to be home. I’m attending a conference in Chicago next week for a couple of days and am leaving early so I can spend the weekend with my parents and celebrate my Dad’s birthday with movie popcorn and Star Wars. (He took me to see all of the original Star Wars movies when I was little. We had a mutual affection for R2D2.)

I don’t get back to Illinois that often. And this time I get to see both my hometown AND downtown Chicago. Love ’em both. Although I’ve been warned that it’s very hot and sticky there. And coming from Fog City, I’m not so good with the hot and the sticky anymore.

I get to see a few old friends while I’m back, but since I’m only there for a few days and much of my time is taken up with the conference, I don’t get to see everybody. So if I’m there and I miss you, I’ll take a rain check for next time.

I find that each time I go back, I’ve forgotten one more detail. The name of a freeway. Directions to a friend’s house. How to survive the humidity. The details get fuzzy from disuse.

Everything looks smaller, too. The school I spent 13 years in is so shabby and miniscule! It’s difficult to believe how much time I spent within those walls.

I find myself hoping that I’ll run into people I used to know. And that they’ll have a hard time recognizing me. Sometimes I hang out at the Super Walmart (small town social center) a bit longer than is really necessary, just in case I recognize an old face. There’s a certain ex I would LOVE to run into, just for curiosity’s sake. I haven’t seen him since we broke up, oh, seven years ago or so. It would be interesting. Or maybe just horrifying.

But whatever happens, I’m determined to get my fill of Dairy Queen (they don’t have DQ in San Francisco) and some real Chicago pizza (West Coast pizza is very sadly lacking). I’m hoping to catch a good midwestern, too. (They don’t have thunderstorms in San Francisco, either.) Rain, yes, but without the bright violence of lightning and the shuddering rumble of thunder.

My dad and I used to sit in the swing on the front porch and watch the rain move in across the fields. Count the beats between the flash and the roar.

Sometimes my sister and I would run screaming through puddles, lifting our faces to the weeping sky and shrieking, fiercely, with the simple joy of being alive, being young, being completely soaking wet.

Just a few of the details that have not yet gone fuzzy.

-Lo, who knows how to make the ice cream curl on a Dairy Queen cone. Years of practice.