violent perfumes

A Monster Calls

2012-02-08T11:28:00.000-08:00

On Monday I posted the following comment to Patrick Ness's "Visitors" page (www.patrickness.com).

Dear Mr. Ness,

Thank you for diving into your spiritual guts to write "A Monster Calls." Last weekend I was in my favorite local bookstore (Green Bean Books) here in Portland, Oregon, to pick up a book I'd ordered. I saw "A Monster Calls" sitting out on the "Recommended" shelf and was immediately drawn to it. First, I trust the store owner's picks, but second, I was struck by the beautiful similarity in tone and illustration to Clyde Robert Bulla's "The Ghost of Windy Hill." Have you read -- and were you and Jim Kay inspired by -- this children's book? The illustrations by Don Bolognese are shadowy doppelgangers to the work you've both lovingly done here, and as I read your book this weekend I was transported back to a time and place in childhood that is hard to capture.

I teared up at the end of the book, and started telling my boyfriend how touched I was by the work you and Mr. Kay have done. Because of my relationship with my own mother -- who introduced "The Ghost of Windy Hill" to me -- and because I'm a writer too, I felt a pure kinship with this novel. After finishing it, I felt cracked open with faith and truth and melancholic longing and the strength of spirit and the purity of letting go when it's most important.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for being brave, and for honoring Siobhan Dowd. You have a modern day classic on your hands, and I'm appreciative of the opportunity to now call myself a fan.

Warmly,
Nathan Buck

Pure Joy & Laughter

2012-02-03T08:41:00.000-08:00

Who doesn't want and need a good dose of pure joy and laughter? And who better to bring it to you than Kristen Bell, aka Veronica Mars? Many of you know that Veronica Mars is one of my favorite shows of all time (and should be one of yours too). And Kristen Bell is one of my favorite actresses. (She, Neve Campbell, and Keri Russell form my Holy Trinity.)

Here's Kristen at her finest. You've been warned: you may shed a (joyful) tear or two!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t5jw3T3Jy70

(p.s. One of these days I'm going to have someone show me how to "embed" the clips themselves -- so all you have to do is click "Play" and watch them right on my blog. I haven't mastered that technology yet!)

Happy New Year from the Gang!

2012-01-03T06:43:00.001-08:00

Here we come, Year of the Dragon!

The New Year Is for the Birds (Literally)

2011-12-30T07:10:00.000-08:00

A couple months ago my friend Julie and I were walking her dog through Irving Park, and right as we headed underneath a huge tree I noticed a flutter of gray wings, looked up, and spotted an owl. Seeing an owl in the wild has been on my "bucket list" for years -- up at the Audubon Society, I love nothing more than to visit Hazel and Julio, but I've longed to catch sight of one of my soul creatures unexpectedly, an offering from the Universe, a convergence of elements that lets me know everything is happening just as it should. Many, many times I dream of owls. I even think of them more as visions; colors burn bright in my dreams, the smells linger, and I wake feeling like I'd stepped into a different dimension more than I'd entered a dream. Always, I wake a touch disappointed; the dreams are beautiful and powerful, yes, crackling with energy, but they aren't the real thing -- at least in this dimension. However, back in late October or early November, there the gray owl perched in the tree, looking down at me. And this wasn't a quick glimpse either. I was able to follow the owl as it swooped from tree to tree in the park; it settled onto different branches, watching me watching it; at one point it landed in a low-hanging branch and I was only about ten feet away and near eye level with it. What a special moment, and to share it with such a wonderful friend. I kept pinching myself, and I even wrote to Julie the next morning, "This sounds strange, but I wondered if it was only a dream, like all the other dreams." (She wrote back with her dry sense of humor: "It better have been real! We were talking about me falling in love on our walk!")

This good omen, this owl sighting, has stayed with me as I've moved toward the end of 2011. Both beautiful and sad things have been happening these past few weeks. Buddy, my roommate Lisa's dog, died unexpectedly of complications from cancer; my brother Jordan and I have been able to spend some wonderful weekend time together, strengthening our relationship; my brother Aaron visited for Christmas; my mother continues to have her ups-and-downs on both the home and work front and I want nothing more than to make it all better, even though I know only she can do that; Gus and I headed up to Seattle to see Tori Amos in concert, following up our trip with stints as extras on the TV show "Grimm," which films here in Portland (we played cops!); my search for a literary agent keeps me in the bad habit of biting my nails; I've been plugging away at book two in my trilogy and loving what weird stuff I'm getting down on the page; Gus is looking for work after being part of the unfortunate Powell's layoffs and our relationship grows stronger even as he navigates the turbulent waters of doubt and change and growth (and good for him for getting out there and working on his Human Resources certification and diving into this next phase with gusto and an open heart); my reconnection with my estranged father continues to prove both challenging and rewarding; and so much more.

How wonderful to come back to those mind's snapshots of the owl, that first flutter of wings I noticed. When I look back, I seem to always have had a "bird theme" in my life. Over the Christmas weekend, Mom yanked out a box of old VHS tapes so we could dig for home movies, and I stumbled upon my copy of Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds, in pristine shape. See, back in Lemont, Illinois, where my family lived until I was twelve, I always used to frequent Four Star Video: how I loved that place, its magical feeling at the time, that whole world of movies opening up to my friend A.J. Beckert and me, how we'd pluck the coded tags off the hooks and swap them for our next horror movie viewings. The video store was run by a lovely woman named Diane (Diana?), who took a liking to us; she always seemed amused at our choices in films; I fondly remember her curly black hair and kind voice. One day I inquired about buying The Birds but decided my allowance wouldn't cut it. She accidentally ordered it anyway, and the next time I came into the store Diane beckoned me over with a smile, reached under the counter, and pulled out the tape. "It's for you," she said. "It's a gift." I thanked her, filled with such warmth and gratitude. And while I won't write a movie review here, I will say that The Birds is essential viewing -- it's mysterious, creepy, sad, and tense, with complicated characters and a sense of dread that gets under your skin in some romantic gothic way. Not everything is explained -- not much is explained at all, really -- and you're left to wonder if the attacking birds are doing so out of nature's revenge, or some supernatural force fueled by the hinted-at-incest between Rod Taylor's character and his mother ("Is his younger sister really his daughter?").

Over the years I've become more and more fascinated by birds -- owls, of course, and lately, hummingbirds, which seem to find me on a regular basis -- and things with wings have woven themselves into my novels: birds, angels. Yes, I can't seem to escape my love of things that soar over the land and view & experience things from sky angles. There's something about the sky, about its symbolic representation of heaven even, that tugs at my imagination and orders me to explore, in my writing, how they (and I, you, we) fit into the greater scheme of things.

Happy New Year, everyone. And everything (with wings). This one's for you.

Always,
Nathan

Passage of the Day

2011-12-20T09:02:00.000-08:00

"After a while Manny started up again, talking to himself, plotting, saying, 'What we gotta do is, we gotta figure out a way to reverse gravity, so that we fall upward, through the clouds and sky, all the way to heaven,' and as he said the words, the picture formed in my mind: my brothers and me, flailing our arms, rising, the world telescoping away, falling up past the stars, through space and blackness, floating upward, until we were safe as seed wrapped up in the fist of God."

--From Justin Torres' We the Animals

Quote of the Day

2011-12-09T13:00:00.001-08:00

"Living well has something to do with the spirituality of wholeheartedness, of seeing life more as a grace than as a penance, as time to be lived with eager expectation of its goodness, not in dread of its challenges."

~ Joan Chittister
(The Gift of Years: Growing Older Gracefully)

Passage of the Day

2011-12-06T15:52:00.001-08:00

"...the Fall of Man was multidimensional. The ancestral primates fell out of the trees; then they fell from vegetarianism into meat-eating. Then they fell from instinct into reason, and thus into technology; from simple signals into complex grammar, and thus into humanity; from firelessness into fire, and thence into weaponry; and from seasonal mating into an incessant sexual twitching. Then they fell from a joyous life in the moment into the anxious contemplation of the vanished past and the distant future."

-- Margaret Atwood, The Year of the Flood

Can't wait for Friday, April 13th

2011-12-03T11:01:00.001-08:00

Current Obsessions in One Sentence

2011-11-22T12:44:00.000-08:00

Hey folks,

Here’s what I’ve been obsessed with lately in the world of pop culture. As an experiment, I’ve decided to sum up these newly minted favorites in one sentence. Enjoy!

AMERICAN HORROR STORY

This fast-paced haunted house tale had me at “hello” – or, more accurately, “hello” to creepy dolls, fractured families, basement dwelling he-demons, rubber-dressed ghosts, blood, guts, Dylan McDermott’s through-the-roof hotness factor, and my crush (!) on Connie Britton.

ERIN MORGENSTERN’S THE NIGHT CIRCUS

Sometimes a writer comes along who spins delicious sentences together like cotton candy or giant salted pretzels of the soul: Erin Morgenstern does just that in this story of a young man and woman with magical powers who are raised as rivals in a mystical circus yet end up falling in love and changing the course of (supposed) fate.

FLORENCE + THE MACHINE’S CEREMONIALS

Witchy, melancholic, empowering, and tribal, Florence + the Machine’s sophomore effort will make you want to: attend a masquerade ball as your spirit animal; climb trees and scratch through clouds for heaven; join a gypsy caravan and flee to shadowed lands; light candles in a Catholic church than confess your s(k)ins through dancing & echoes; and lie on freshly mown grass with your eyes closed as breezes and neighborhood sounds seduce you.

2010 Obsession that Lingers:
PAOLO GIORDANO’S THE SOLITUDE OF PRIME NUMBERS

Each chapter of Mattia and Alice’s “love story” – spanning almost thirty epic-like years – ends with you biting your nails, muttering to yourself, “Please don’t do/say that!”, and then flipping eagerly to the next page to find out what achingly sad (yet beautifully written) event has transpired to fuel the regret, loneliness, hope, and unique connection of these Italian, modern-day Hansel & Gretel-esque protagonists.

Quote of the Day

2011-11-22T10:29:00.001-08:00

From a Sarah Fimm interview re: her video for "Everything Becomes Whole" off of Near Infinite Possibility.

We spent days gathering authentic, creepy, broken dolls and other props from all over. I remember how hard it was to locate older dolls specifically made from porcelain...We wanted it to feel as real as possible. I will never forget watching them drag a bathtub into the river while I was trying to unfreeze a dead crow. You just don't forget these things.

And you can watch the amazing video here:

http://www.sarahfimm.com/video

Blessing of the Day (in honor of All Saints Day)

2011-11-01T09:41:00.000-07:00

Willing to experience aloneness,
I discover connection everywhere;

Turning to face my fear,
I meet the warrior who lives within me;

Opening to my loss and pain and ignorance,
I remember who I am and what I'm here for.

Surrendering into emptiness,
I find fullness without end.

Each condition I flee from pursues me,
Each condition I welcome transforms me

and becomes itself transformed
into the blessing it always was.

-- Jennifer Welwood

Happy Halloween!

2011-10-31T09:01:00.001-07:00

Here's to the thinning of the veil....

The Carousel of Happiness

2011-10-06T11:33:00.000-07:00

Hi there readers,

This post is long overdue -- and was written a month ago, when we got back from our trip. But Mr. Chris is having trouble uploading the photos, so you're just going to have to use your imaginations! Enjoy.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Every now and then the Universe plunks something down into our laps; It offers up to us a glimpse of beauty and hope and human decency so intense that our hearts get seared and changed forever. Chris and I experienced this during our recent trip to Colorado to visit his family and friend Lori. About two-thirds of the way through our visit we headed from his hometown of Arvada (outside Denver) to Nederland, a tiny mountain town outside Boulder. Lori was working, but she and her husband Paul had told us about The Carousel of Happiness. You can read the full story here (www.carouselofhappiness.org), but here's the scoop: Scott Harrison was a Marine in Vietnam and he lost friends during the war. During his service, he was sustained by daydreams of building a carousel in the mountains. He wanted to give back to the world that sense of childlike wonder and awe and pure goodness that can be so difficult to find. Over 26 years after the war, Harrison carved dozens of animals and then opened The Carousel of Happiness, with some of the proceeds from the rides (and gift shop) going to local charities. Chris and I rode The Carousel of Happiness (I chose the ostrich), chatted with the kind volunteers, watched this little girl fall in love with the mermaid she rode, and watched a ride or two from the observation "deck" on the second floor, where there also was a puppet theatre. You just can't believe how detailed this ride is -- carved foxes and skunks hang from beams; fairy dolls dangle and perch in windows and on the walls; carved children smile next to mirrors along the top of the ride. We walked out feeling recharged; we were like little kids. Not since my experiences with Wisconsin's House on the Rock have I been so in love with a carousel and the wonder it can bring to you.

The rest of our day crackled with perfection: we sipped coffee and ate quiche at Blue Owl Books (and took pictures with the mannequin "sentinel"); walked by the waterfront and watched a loon dive for lunch; and teared up at a famous Eleanor Roosevelt quote on a bench by the covered bridge. Then we headed back to Lori's horse farm for another yummy home-cooked meal, and hung out with her and Paul and the dogs and horses. Before we jumped in the car to head back to Arvada, I made sure to sniff deep the smell of the hay bales in the barn and was instantly transported back to Serendipity, the farm my family used to visit every summer in my childhood. My brothers and I -- along with the Russo kids -- would ride the rope swing and play with the kittens and tumble down the bales onto the barn floor.

I'm in love with Chris's family, and I feel incredibly lucky and blessed to have "in-laws" that are so open and accepting and kind. Chris and I joked that I got the "sampler platter" of Denver and his childhood during our 10 days there. At first he felt a little goofy taking me around his neighborhood (i.e "Here's my elementary school" and "This is where we went to church"), but those were some of my favorite moments. It wasn't hard for me to picture him amongst the Rocky Mountain landscapes, trekking down Pierce Street to make his classes on time. Donna and Cliff, his parents, are cute as buttons; I just wanted to bottle them up and sell them at the local Farmers Market. I'd make zillions. In many ways, the Ohmans are different from the Bucks -- they're quieter and more reserved. But in other ways we're the same: our sense of family and connection, for instance. I'm already looking forward to the next time I get to see them, get to know them that much more. On our last night -- which happened to be Chris's birthday -- Donna, Chris, and I headed out for ice cream at Sonic and took a detour to the Arvada Center; there's this amazing playground there with Squiggles the Dragon -- he's quite a site to behold. I mean, the artistry that must've went into making this humongous dragon that weaved in and out and around the playground, accompanied by fellow comrades such as the Wooly Mammoth!

The Ohmans made sure I was well taken care of, and we definitely did the "touristy stuff" too: the amusement park Elitch's; the botanical gardens; our day trip up through Trail Ridge, with a stop to hike around Bear Lake and another stop for lunch; and much more. Chris and I each made a new BFF -- at Elitch's we decided to enjoy Shipwreck Falls, a water ride, and we ended up in the front next to this adorable 10-year-old chatterbox who wouldn't stop telling Chris all about the ins-and-outs of the rides. She'd say things to him like, "Now be careful, there's a bump at the top of this ride" and "Make sure to stand on the bridge afterwards, so you get soaking wet!" She even ended up behind us in line for our final outing on the Twister, a rollercoaster. She couldn't wait the whole time because her and her friend's parents were about to leave, but I'll never get over how she waved goodbye at us, like all she wanted in the world was to hang out and chat with Chris forever. As for my new BFF, I met her on the plane ride home. I'd dozed off during the flight, and in typical class act mode not only snored but ended up with a trail of drool on my chin! After I woke up, this girl across the aisle who was maybe two kept pointing at me, saying, "Night-Night!" Her mother told me she was fascinated by watching me sleep -- she kept pointing at me the whole flight, saying "Night-Night." Chris has informed me this is one of my new nicknames. Lucky me! (Though I not-so-secretly like it.)

Our entire vacation was, indeed, a Carousel of Happiness. And now I'm home and about to walk up to my mother's house and give her a huge hug and spend time with her and the dogs. I'm going to tell her all about my trip and also tell her how much I missed her. I now have two wonderful families. What more could I ask for?

American Horror Story - Poster #2

2011-09-26T16:01:00.000-07:00

Quote of the Day

2011-09-26T16:00:00.000-07:00

"Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves."

-- Henry David Thoreau

Beautiful Moment

2011-09-22T09:49:00.000-07:00

I'm still waiting for Chris to send me pics from our recent trip to Colorado (ahem!) so I can post them along with my blog entry, but until then, here's a recent email I sent to him. I use his nickname, "Gus," here -- FYI so there's no confusion!

Gus,

So I just got back from lunch in the graveyard after a good stopping point in my book. I stood up from the bench right as one of Lone Fir Cemetery’s workers came by to water some flowers, her son in tow. She leaned down to water something, and he dashed across a stretch of grass and slant of sunlight to join her. He was holding his teddy bear upside down, and the bear jiggled as the boy ran. I got emotional, just lost in the beauty of this moment. I moved a touch further – and maybe ten seconds had gone by – and then this falcon swoops up right in front of me on the path and lands on a tree branch. I watched it for a minute and then it flew down and landed on top of a tombstone for a while before heading up into a fir tree and out of sight.

Thought I would share.

Love,
Nathan

American Horror Story

2011-08-20T12:11:00.001-07:00

I can't wait for this show, debuting this fall. Here's the cool new poster:

And here's the teaser trailer:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JOugYXSfNow

And just because, here's the trailer for next year's The Woman in Black. I thought I'd keep with today's theme!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7lReemWmO5o

New Romance (Not for the Squeamish)

2011-08-13T11:24:00.000-07:00

No, this post isn't about my love life but about Miles Fisher's new song & video. I gave up on the Final Destination films a long time ago, but this Saved by the Bell inspired homage stars the cast of FD5 -- and it couldn't be any more sick, hilarious, or up my alley.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_lNEQAXX43g

Quote of the Day

2011-08-13T11:22:00.001-07:00

"The man who does not believe in miracles surely makes it certain that he will never take part in one."

~ William Blake

Quote of the Day

2011-08-06T11:45:00.001-07:00

"The very least you can do in your life is to figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope. Not admire it from a distance but live right in it, under its roof."

~ Barbara Kingsolver ~

Rainbows & Long Sleeves

2011-07-27T12:06:00.000-07:00

Lately I’ve been thinking back to my one-year anniversary getaway with Chris. (Yes, I started calling him by his birth name versus his nickname, “Gus”.) We headed down to McKenzie Bridge, Oregon, and on that Sunday at high noon we decided to warm up under the sun by the bonfire pit. Chris and I were sitting there, basking delightfully, and suddenly we looked up to witness the strangest phenomenon, something I’d never seen – or even heard of – before: Fully circling the sun, thick and bright and vibrant, was a rainbow! I mean, it just closed in the sun in the most beautiful way – and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. Between the rainbow and sun the sky itself was actually darker, almost the color of an eclipse – this darkness “filled in” every space of the circle. The phenomenon lasted for maybe a half hour or so. When we came in a bit later from lunch, the rainbow had dissipated, leaving the sun alone in all its glory.

This good omen has stuck with me these past few weeks, guiding me, especially last week when it seemed like the Universe wanted to shake things up a bit by ushering in a rattle of death and sickness. Within maybe a ten day period, here’s the news:

*C’s aunt passed away – she was a bitter woman who wreaked havoc in her will, greatly saddening her brother and his wife.
*J got rushed to the emergency room after extreme pain in her abdomen, plus some scary bleeding. I met J at the hospital, and held her hand, and thought about Life and Death and God, so surprised at my calmness. It wasn’t until the doctor came in, saying it was a urinary tract infection and she “just” needed to take these antibiotics, that I let out my breath and realized everything I’d been holding in for that hour or so.
*L, an old friend and coworker from Wisconsin, wrote to a group of us to let us know that her beloved dog of fifteen years, Eva, had passed away.
*M’s stepfather died of pneumonia. She’d just been back east a few weeks ago visiting her family – it was a pretty tough and draining visit – and then her stepfather died so quickly and unexpectedly. She flew back at the end of last week for the funeral, filled with many complicated feelings.
*My roommate headed to California this past weekend for the wedding of one of her best friends. The bride’s father died of a heart attack – twenty-four hours before the wedding. They went through with the wedding, and were able to embrace the balance of life and death and bring a celebration of his life into the ceremony. What strength!
*T passed away here at work. He’d lived here for many years. I was able to say goodbye to him about an hour and a half before he left us. I went into his room and held his hand and listened to his rattling breath. He’s at peace now, free and floating.

So there you have it – quite an intense several days, to say the least. But the balance was able to sift through me and claim me. It almost felt like I was watching myself objectively, stepping outside myself – like I was standing on the edge of a big, beautiful ring. Which brings me back to that phenomenon in the sky last month. How mysterious and breathtaking and awe-inspiring Life is!

I’ll end with this anecdote: yesterday, some of that calmness had started to leave me. I was starting to feel overwhelmed with what’s going on with our government, with wondering how cold family members can sometimes be. (I just heard from someone close to me that her sister gathered a box of pictures to be shown at her memorial service someday after she’s cremated; her sister – angry and bitter toward her children – chose to cut and tear the faces of her children out of the pictures so, when she died, they’d find their faceless selves in this box, then aware of “what they mean to her.”) In addition, C is crazed at work, J and J are sometimes going head-to-head on the home front, and the list goes on. When C and I chatted last night, we just vented – in a healthy, therapeutic way – about the state of this country, of the world, and about the skewed priorities of so, so many people. Why, you ask, am I sharing this? Because it ends on an optimistic note, one that brings me back to the yin-and-yang nature of things (and reminds me of the yin-and-yang tattoo on T’s arm that I noticed for the first time when saying my goodbye). See, I woke up this morning and after writing decided to go for a power walk. There I was, speeding along, and I passed this recently renovated apartment building that I’ve been impressed with. Right as I walked by the door, this young girl bopped out, dressed in bright pink and wearing arm stockings. She was about three, maybe four. I had my headphones on, but I saw she was talking to me so I took them off and turned around. “It’s chilly today,” she said, “and you’re wearing short sleeves. You should be wearing long sleeves like me.” She held out her arms, revealing the striped pattern on her arm warmers. “That sounds good,” I said. “I didn’t know it was chilly before I left the house, but I’ll put on long sleeves for work.” She nodded then repeated in a sweet and concerned tone, “You really should be wearing a different shirt. Learn from me. I’m helping!” I answered, “Thank you – I appreciate that. It means a lot you’re helping me out. Have a nice day!” Then I turned around and started down the sidewalk. She called to me one last time, “Make sure to stay warm!” and I shouted a final acknowledgment and headed home.

See, there are people out there who have our back, who want us to stay warm on chilly mornings. There are children dressed in bright pink who make us marvel at innocence. There are beautiful skies and weird rainbows and people to comfort you when you are dying, or grieving, or feeling lost. There is balance. Everything is part of a circle, a cycle.

No one on the planet is more excited than me for August 9th --

2011-07-23T11:56:00.001-07:00

Passage of the Day

2011-07-08T14:13:00.000-07:00

"What did Time smell like? Like dust and clocks and people. And if you wondered what Time sounded like it sounded like water running in a dark cave and voices crying and dirt dropping down upon hollow box lids, and rain. And, going further, what did Time look like? Time looked like snow dropping silently into a black room or it looked like a silent film in an ancient theater, one hundred billion faces falling like those New Year balloons, down and down into nothing. That was how Time smelled and looked and sounded. And tonight...you could almost touch time."

Ray Bradbury, The Martian Chronicles

Night of Hunters

2011-06-28T21:49:00.000-07:00

Coming our way this September! You just know I'm geeking out about this....

Quote of the Night

2011-06-28T21:40:00.000-07:00

"We live in a society bloated with data but starved for wisdom."

- Elizabeth Lindsey

Quote of the Day

2011-06-18T13:15:00.000-07:00

"I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear."

~Joan Didion, American journalist

The Tree of Life

2011-06-17T14:01:00.000-07:00

Below you'll find the amazing Willamette Week review of The Tree of Life (just click on the review to make it bigger and read), followed by my response to the writer. Do note there are a couple spoilers.

Dear Mr. Mesh:

Thank you for writing such a thoughtful and beautiful review of Terrence Malick's The Tree of Life. I've been wanting to watch this film ever since I first saw the trailer a few months ago; the images in the trailer have haunted me, and I've found myself returning time and again to my curiosity surrounding this story. Last December my mother, brother, and I drove to Aurora outside of Portland to go antiquing and we stopped off at a '50s-style diner for lunch. We sat in a booth across from the soda fountain-esque counter, where an elderly gentleman and a young man -- maybe in his late teens or early twenties -- were discussing quantum physics. The young man brought up The Tree of Life and how he thought the film would end up commenting on God, parallel universes, the meaning of time. Admittedly, I found myself eavesdropping, but lovingly so.

Your review was a rare treat: not only was it a movie review but a mini-essay, a piece of artistic commentary. You took a chance with your words and really dove into the Bigger Questions without fear. You wrote, "[This film] doesn't know life's answers but it knows how the questions feel" -- how raw and poetic of you. And while I might have preferred you didn't reveal details re: a grown-up Jack in the final sequence or the final shot of the bird "flitting through towers and bridges" -- some of us haven't seen the film yet -- I appreciate and understand your attempt at carving meaning and painting a full cycle of exploration of your post-viewing impressions.

I plan on seeing The Tree of Life this Sunday and am looking forward to letting my own impressions settle in. I'm left with the same type of anticipation I felt right before I saw American Beauty, one of my favorite films. Have you seen Tarsem's The Fall, John Duigan's Lawn Dogs, and Henry Bromell's Panic? I'd place these in your viewing queue if you haven't had the pleasure yet.

Thank you for the goose bumps -- I've always respected Willamette Week but I think this was my first experience where I wanted to cut out the review, tuck it in a journal, and preserve it so that I could pull it out from time to time and reflect. In fact, I'm going to do just that. Well done.

Warm Regards,

Nathan Buck

Quote of the Day

2011-06-09T10:38:00.000-07:00

"Don't ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive,
and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have
come alive."

~Howard Thurman

Quote of the Day

2011-05-24T07:58:00.001-07:00

"The universe is made of stories, not atoms."

—Muriel Rukeyser

Mother's Day at the Rhododendron Gardens!

2011-05-09T10:40:00.000-07:00

Mom, Jordan, Gus, and Me:

Double Trouble

2011-05-06T10:13:00.000-07:00

For those who want a little extra horror tossed into their Donnie Darko mix, give Heartless a try. And for those who have been waiting for a Grimm Brothers fairy tale that channels Run Lola Run and is set to a Chemical Brothers score, look no further than Hanna. These are two of the best movies I've seen in a long time, and I saw them on two consecutive days this week. It was a good week for movies in Nathan Land!

The Awesome Response from the Librarian at Big Foot

2011-05-04T05:36:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,

Thanks to Len Shapiro's suggestion -- which gave me just the boost of needed confidence -- I phoned Big Foot High School's librarian, Sally Watson. (See my blog post dated Monday, May 2nd -- this is the "sequel" post.) And guess what? She was just terrific. She hadn't even received the email I'd forwarded her, the one originally sent to my old English teacher Elizabeth Lochner; it must have been sent to Sally's spam filter.

Sally was enthusiastic and kind, and told me to plunk It Gets Better in the mail and she'd gladly put it on the shelves. She told me she was just doing some "upkeep" of various shelves & sections and recently updated the LGBT section. She asked if I'd have the time to peruse Big Foot's library selection online and then make suggestions for future purchases for LGBT material for Big Foot.

See, goodness and rightness and lightness shine over us all the time, unexpectedly. And this was a good lesson for me too: rather than pondering the worst (the email being deleted with disdain) I could ponder the best possible situation. We all have our hurts that linger, those threads that wrap around us like marionette strings.

Here's what I sent Ms. Watson today:

Hi Sally,

Thanks for the chat today, your willingness to be open hearted and listen, and your offer for me to peek at your library selection and make suggestions for LGBT teens. I will do just that and be in touch.

And in the meantime, I'm mailing you a copy of It Gets Better. It will be wonderful to have this book on your shelves at Big Foot.

All my best to you this Wednesday,
Nathan

Passage of the Day

2011-05-03T09:20:00.000-07:00

“…Sempere had not set foot in a church since the funeral of his wife, Diana, to whose side we bring him today so that they might lie next to each other forever. Perhaps for that reason people assumed he was an atheist, but he was truly a man of faith. He believed in his friends, in the truth of things, and in something to which he didn’t dare put a name or a face because he said as priests that was our job. Senor Sempere believed that we are all a part of something and that when we leave this world our memories and our desires are not lost but go on to become the memories and desires of those who take our place. He didn’t know whether we created God in our image or whether God created us without quite knowing what he was doing. He believed that God, or whatever brought us here, lives in each of our deeds, in each of our words, and manifests himself daily in all those things that show us to be more than mere figures of clay. Senor Sempere believed that God lives, to a smaller or greater extent, in books, and that is why he devoted his life to sharing them, to protecting them, and to making sure their pages, like our memories and our desires, are never lost. He believed, and he made me believe it too, that as long as there is one person left in the world who is capable of reading them and experiencing them, a small piece of God, or of life, will remain. I know that my friend would not have liked us to say our farewells to him with prayers and hymns. I know that it would have been enough for him to realize that his friends, many of whom have come here today to say goodbye, will never forget him. I have no doubt that the Lord, even though old Sempere was not expecting it, will receive our dear friend at his side, and I know that he will live forever in the hearts of all those who are here today, all those who have discovered the magic of books thanks to him, and all those who, without even knowing him, will one day go through the door of his little bookshop, where, as he liked to say, the story has only just begun…”

From The Angel’s Game, Carlos Ruiz Zafon

It Gets Better

2011-05-02T16:34:00.000-07:00

So I shot this email off a week and a half ago, and have subsequently forwarded it to the librarian at Big Foot. No response yet. What shall I do, faithful readers? Send the book anyway? Call them up? Let it go? Hmm.....I just want to make sure it gets into the right hands.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ms. Lochner,

It's Nathan Buck here, your former student and fellow bookworm. I'm currently living in Portland, OR -- came out here to get my MFA in Creative Writing almost 8 years ago and decided to stick around afterwards. I work as a Development & Volunteer Coordinator at Our House, a residential facility for people living with HIV/AIDS who also live below the poverty line, but also continue on with my secret double agent life as a fiction writer. Yep, I get up at 5:00am Monday through Friday to plug away at my fiction, and just finished a novel that I've started sending out to literary agents. Keep your fingers crossed.

Life is pretty grand these days, overall: my mother moved out here a few years ago, and Jordan -- one of my younger brothers -- is moving out to Portland next week after stints in Alaska and the Lake Tahoe area. Aaron lives with his girlfriend in NYC, and I jokingly refer to them as a New York "power couple" -- they both have great jobs in the fashion industry, live in Park Slope, and have two really cute pugs. As for me, I'm involved with a wonderful man, Gus, who is in the book industry -- thus, there's plenty of fodder for discussion. And tons of books on our shelves.

Have you heard of the It Gets Better project? (http://www.itgetsbetter.org/). You can read about it on the website to gather more info., but it was jumpstarted by advice columnist Dan Savage and his partner Terry Miller after the string of gay teen suicides last year, prompted by bullying. The movement has taken off like a storm, and there are just thousands of great videos to watch. They are stories from LGBT men and women from all walks of life, talking to queer teens and telling them that life does, indeed, get better after high school (and even during, with the right confidence and encouragement). Mr. Savage and Mr. Miller were giving a talk and Q&A at Powell's, the famous independent bookstore here in Portland you may have heard of, and I was so touched by their words and insights, as well as by the questions and comments from the crowd. See, these two men have taken some of the videos as well as brand new essays and compiled them in a book, also entitled It Gets Better. The videos/essays they shared were filled with heart, darkness, warmth, bravery, humor, wisdom, and empathy. At one point during the evening, the men encouraged audience members to buy a copy and send it to their high schools.

Which brings me to why I'm writing: I purchased a copy of the book and would like to send it to Big Foot to be included in your library (and more power to you all if you already have a copy, or copies, in stock). Growing up gay is so, so tough, especially in small towns like Walworth and Lake Geneva. As a gay man, I look back at my memories of Big Foot and -- while I won't share too many details here -- I will say that I was bullied and harassed on a daily basis for four years with little or no support from teachers or the rest of the administrative staff. In fact, I even had certain staff members tell me that I was bringing it on myself and that "if I didn't act that way, the other kids won't pick on you." I never seriously contemplated suicide, but I did go to many dark places inside myself and it took me leaving that small town and moving to college to really start to understand who I was, and that I wasn't alone. In fact, there was a whole world and community of kindred souls for me to be a part of. How freeing! What a rush of hope and love!

I haven't kept up with Big Foot over the years, and maybe I'd be surprised -- and touched -- by all the changes and policies in place to ensure that LGBT teens of today's generations don't have to suffer and go through what I experienced back in the '90s. That being said, I want to do my part to be part of this change, and as stated I would like to send a copy of It Gets Better your way. I thought of reaching out to you first, since you and Ann Addie were two of my biggest inspirations, and I still think back so fondly of you both. I did take a peek at Big Foot's website and have noted that Sally Watson is the librarian. Would it make sense for me to contact her directly, or would you like me to send the book to your attention and then you could pass it along along to Ms. Watson? Let me know best to proceed so I can get this essential and potentially life-changing book in the right hands.

Be well, and thank you for some great memories of English classes. I look forward to hearing from you, and you have my permission to share this email with others if you'd like.

Warm Regards,
Nathan Buck

Nathan's "Scream 4" Review

2011-04-21T11:26:00.000-07:00

*CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS; YOU'VE BEEN WARNED!*

When discussing the Scream films, everybody talks about the tongue-in-cheek humor, meta horror constructs, and slice-of-life deaths. These are valid and inspired reasons to fall in love with this genre-changing horror series. For me, however, what I’ve always loved is Scream’s heart (and I don’t just mean the one stabbed and left to bleed in the final reel). When Scream opens and Drew Barrymore is killed – shocking us all that first time we watched it – we were actually saddened because Barrymore is a well-known actress, and one known for her Good Girl status of more recent years. As Scream moves past its opening sequence, and we get to know Sidney Prescott, Gale Weathers, Dewey Riley, and the rest of the Woodsboro gang, we are not only pulled into a mystery but into a slasher movie setting filled, oddly, with heart and soul. Neve Campbell has always been one of my favorite actresses, ever since her Party of Five days; she’s uniquely pretty, down to earth, and almost unassuming. Yet she’s a strong, talented, dramatic actress who also has the physical prowess to take center stage when fighting off knife-hungry maniacs out for Greek tragedy worthy revenge. (Heck, Wes Craven and Kevin Williamson even played with this concept in Scream 2, when Sidney personifies the goddess Cassandra in her college play.)

Speaking of Scream 2, don’t tell me I’m the only one who felt a(n emotional) stab in their gut when Randy bites it in Act Two. I was pleased that Craven, Williamson, and the producers took a chance and killed off one of the series’ regulars – this helped ground us in that trippy meta feeling, “Are they inside a movie or not?” – but I was also heartbroken that the geek nerd who understood all the movie rules couldn’t save himself in the end. In fact, my friend Jennifer who attended the S2 sneak preview with me got angry at Randy’s death, and my friend Karin told me she lost interest in watching any more Scream films after that – she cared about Randy that much. Now Scream 3 is a different story – and a much weaker entry in the saga – but even I have to give kudos to the Cotton Weary-heavy opening. It left me going: if one of the regulars dies right off the bat – and if the series flips things on its head by having a male lead be the focus of the pre-credit kills rather than a female lead – then maybe I’ll be able to ride this rollercoaster and continue to dig my nails into my palms. I’ll stay surprised, curious, on edge – as we should be in life (and death).

This brings me to Scream 4. I had high hopes. Watching the trailer 50 times? Check. Original Scream trilogy marathon the weekend before 4’s release? Check. Eleven years in-between films and Kevin Williamson’s return to the writing table? Check and check. And I do have to say that the opening sequence(s) – Lucy Hale and Shenae Grimes dying inside Stab 6, being watched by Anna Paquin and Kristen Bell in Stab 7, who are being watched by Aimee Teegarden and Brittany Robertson in Scream 4 – got me giddy and diving into my box of Snow Caps like nobody’s business. I looked over at my boyfriend and mom, my fellow viewers, with pure glee. “Now we’re onto something,” I thought. “I’m going to be rocked and rolled.” And who couldn’t smile, geeky Randy style, at the return of Sidney, Gale, and Dewey, not to mention the return of Woodsboro as the setting? I felt edgy, dicey Greek tragedy on the horizon; I felt ready to care again about what happens to these people.

But then things got messy, and I’m not talking about Sidney’s publicist’s blood being smeared on the parking garage wall. Who of you – I really want to know – can say we got to know or care about most of the new characters introduced for this intended second trilogy? One, the dialogue imposed on them by Kevin Williamson (and fellow scribe Ehren Kruger) felt forced and way too meta/cheeky for its own good, taking me out of the story. Two, none of them garnered enough screen time save for Emma Roberts and Hayden Panettiere to say we have a true sense of their personality or depth. Three, all the teens died! Every single one! Who’s going to steer the next two films for this “next generation” of fans, as proclaimed in the trailer? In addition, Courtney Cox and David Arquette – still full of great on-screen chemistry – didn’t have much to play with in their roles. Only Neve Campbell’s Sidney truly shone. Sidney returned with a vengeance, so to speak: she’s scarred but healed; looked great; and championed the mother/protector role of the younger cast in the same way Heather Langenkamp’s Nancy Thompson did in A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors. That being said, this next comment might sound strange and even deranged. I’ll accept that. I was hoping that Sidney was going to die in this film. You heard me. I wanted her to pass the torch to a new heroine, who would carry the film series for another entry or two; I wanted something real to be at stake, like her life, so that not only was this film a commentary on the horror genre but a true commentary on who pays the price when society and pop culture are mingled into an American bloodbath of spotlights and fame-seekers. I wanted to be stunned, saddened, and even angry that Ghostface killed Sid – because I wanted to know that the filmmakers were taking chances and creating waves of raw emotion for us to ride.

In the end, I’ll leave you with this final question (and it’s not “What’s your favorite scary movie?”): Who of you thought the final edit of this film felt cobbled together? I can just picture the Special Edition being released on DVD and Blue-ray with 20 extra minutes or something. And while that doesn’t always guarantee a better version of a film, maybe it will indeed be the case with Scream 4. Scenes didn’t flow smoothly from one to the next, and many famous actors – chiefly Mary McDonnell – were sinfully underutilized. I mean, is there a whole storyline involving Sidney’s aunt that got chopped and left on the cutting room floor? Here I thought that Aunt Kate would turn out, yep, to be Sidney’s birth mother and that this revelation would play a huge role in the third act, and ground us in what’s been at stake for Sid all along: a sense of family, belonging, and purpose. Instead, we get an inane plot involving Cousin Jill that – while admittedly fresh in its exploration of heroines versus villains – was stale in its execution and logic. I didn’t buy her reasoning, or the whole ending of the film, for even a second. In one pivotal scene before the end credits, Sidney, Gale, and the killer face off and share a “Clear” moment in a hospital room. Woefully, while diehard fans shouldn’t steer “clear,” per say, of checking out Scream 4, they should remain (Cotton) weary of their expectations. I walked out of the theater not digging my nails into my palms, but shrugging. What a buzz kill.

*2 out of 5 stars*

For other opinions, check out three reviews at Camp Blood:

http://campblood.org/Newblog/

or Fangoria's review at:

http://www.fangoria.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=4142:scream-4-film-review&catid=50:movies-tv&Itemid=181

"Dear Audrey"

2011-04-20T11:58:00.000-07:00

Two days ago, on my lunch break, I was talking on the phone with my brother Aaron. While chatting, I came across two loose-leaf pieces of notebook paper on the sidewalk, wet and streaked with dirt. Being the curiosity maestro I am, I picked them up and flipped them over and saw that they were two handwritten letters, by two different people, to an Audrey. After reading them -- and from the shapes of the block letters -- I gathered middle-schoolers must've written them. Had they come from two brothers whose mother had told them to thank Audrey? Were they two friends or classmates in school?

I asked Aaron's advice: take them with me so I could study them, be amused by them, and ponder them and even write about them on this blog, or leave them there in case they hadn't been handed over to Audrey yet or in case Audrey accidentally lost them in a gust of wind while walking to her car or something? Aaron's answer: leave them. The writers or recipient might be back. So I tucked them in against a tree trunk with some low-hanging branches and pressed them flat and hoped they'd find their way to their rightful place.

I talked about the letters with Gus, my boyfriend, and how touched by them I was. He also loved the mystery of it all. Who the heck was this Audrey anyway? Who wrote them and why?

Yesterday, I decided I'd go back to that same spot and see if they were still there. If they were, I was going to snag them and record Audrey's "story" and immortalize her on this blog. But when I got to the tree they were no longer where I'd tucked them. Had they blown down? Had someone indeed come and claimed them? Had another nosy passer-by snagged them, curious about the same things? So I peeked around for a minute, and -- lo and behold -- scattered on the sidewalk and in a pile of wet leaves and in the street were not only the two letters I'd seen the day before but an additional four letters, all to Audrey, all thanking her for the books.

Here they are -- Audrey, whoever you are, I hope you stumble upon this someday. And keep in mind, dear readers, that these letters were written in big block letters and filled up the notebook pages. I also left all spelling, grammar, syntax, you name it, as is.

Dear Audrey,

Thank you for the books. It was really nice of you to give us money so we can read more. At frist we had no good books to read untill you gave us money to buy new and better books so now I have good books to read.

Sincerely Jerard

Dear Audrey,

I wanted to take the time to thank you very much for the money you donated to my English class. In my class we read for half an hour every day, some of the students read more in the first semester of school this year then they have in their entire life. It really means a lot to me to have variety in the books we read, sometimes our school library doesn't have the best selection. I really appreciated your help. Getting new books for my school is a privilege. We don't have the most money. Thank you very much!

Sincerely,
Gabby

March 30th, 2011

Dear Audrey,

Thanks for the generous and thoughtful donation of money to our prodject. My english class really appreciates your help because of you we have multiple choices of books to read from rather than the small selection we had before. My reading has advanced from constantly reading new books, my knowledge and perseptions of things have broadened. You are a very respective, bold individual. Thanks for your curtacy.

Sincerely,
Angeleesha

Dear Audrey,

Thank you very much for donating money for the betterment of our education. A lot of kids didn't have the opportunity to read and buy books. We got a lot of books for our classroom and we have got a really great reading program going for us. We read at least half an hour a day in class and even more at home. I've already read over fifteen books this year. It's been a great school year and we really appreciate the donations.

Sincerely,
Desiree'

Dear Audrey, thank you for giving us the books there were a few books I like but some of them were boring but it was still a good thing to give us because before this I really never read books before we got all of these so I say thank you.

Sincerely, Austin

Dear Audrey,

Thank you for donating money to buy books for our english class. Mr. C was so happy to get the books for our class. I read waiting for normal and I really enjoied that book. I enjoied how in that book the girl over came alot of problems by herself. I havent had a chance to read any other books but im sure that I would enjoy them.

Sincerely,
Chaquira

And now my turn: thank you, Audrey, for what you've done for these kids. Thank you for inspiring them to read and for giving them the opportunity to engage in a dying art form. And thank you to all of you students for showing your gratitude, and to the teacher or teachers whom inspired and prompted their students to express appreciation.

My heart is very touched by all of this!

passage of the day

2011-04-19T09:42:00.000-07:00

"What Smoky liked about his girls' growing up was that, though they moved away from him, they did so (it seemed to him) less from any distaste or boredom than simply to accommodate a growth in their own lives: when they were kids, their lives and concerns -- Tacey's rabbits and music, Lily's bird-nests and boy-friends, Lucy's bewilderments -- could all fit within the compass of his life, which was then replete; and then as they grew up and out, they no longer fit, they needed room, their concerns multiplied, lovers and then children had to be fitted in, he could no longer contain them unless he expanded too, and so he did, and so his own life got larger as theirs did, and he felt them to be no further from him than ever, and he liked that. What he didn't like about their growing up was the same thing: that it forced him to grow, to enlarge, sometimes beyond what he felt the character he had come over the years to be encased in could stand."

--From Little, Big by John Crowley

I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream 4 Next Friday....

2011-04-08T11:43:00.001-07:00

Coyoteville

2011-04-07T07:00:00.000-07:00

A week ago today, I was driving to work and saw movement to my right, in my peripheral vision. I was in Northeast Portland, the Alameda neighborhood to be exact -- beautiful homes, well-kept gardens, and white picket fences. You get the picture. So I glanced down the side street and saw what I thought was a dog dashing across someone's front lawn onto the sidewalk. But then I noticed the unique arch of the back and the smooth, prancing gait: it was a coyote. I just saw it for a second -- my car zoomed forward down the block -- but I was struck by the strangeness, the raw beauty, of the moment. I mean, I know Portland has coyotes roaming the city; they even make it onto the news sometimes. But to actually see one, and so unexpectedly, was quite a treat. I'd considered turning around, retracing my steps, so I could catch another look. But the oddly graceful creature had probably already disappeared from plain sight again. I also considered calling the authorities: what if the coyote went after someone's chicken coop or cat or dog? But I resisted these urges and made my way to work.

Moments like that really crack something open -- we get to see a sliver of other worlds, the way nature and suburbia collide, creating a collage. We can tend to our gardens, slap that extra coat of paint on our pickets, sweep our sidewalks and fix our porch lights and clean our roofs. But nature continually fights back and lets us know she's in it for the long haul. Weeds burst up through soil. Tree roots crack through sidewalks. Birds build nests in our gutters, and raccoons take shelter in our attics, and ants and mice scurry on our counters and in our cupboards. For those of you who know me, you're aware I'm always searching for meaning in everything, almost to a fault. But I couldn't help but take my role as witness as anything but a good omen, a blessing, something to shake up my routine and expectations. Seeing the coyote rattled me in the best of ways that morning, and that comforting feeling has stayed with me this past week.

Nature, after all, is reaching her pinnacle here in Portland; the amazing pink, yellow, white, red blossoms are taking over tree branches and crowding over streets and cascading down into soft beds on all the sidewalks. This is the time of year when I go on my long walks, and collect stray petals, and tuck them in my pockets.

Nature: she's a keeper.

passage of the day

2011-04-06T06:15:00.000-07:00

"It wasn't until Auberon was past seven years old that his Lilac went away, though long before that he stopped mentioning her existence to anyone. When he was grown up he would sometimes wonder if most children who have imaginary friends have them for longer than they admit. After a child has stopped insisting that a place be set for his friend at dinner, that people not sit in chairs his friend is sitting in, does he usually go on having some intercourse with him? And does the usual imaginary friend fade only slowly, lingering on more and more spectrally as the real world becomes realer, or is it usually the case that on one specific day he disappears, never to be seen again -- as Lilac did? The people he questioned said they remembered nothing about it at all. But Auberon thought they might still be harboring the old small ghosts, perhaps ashamed. Why after all should he alone remember so vividly?"

- from Little, Big by John Crowley

passage of the day

2011-03-08T09:01:00.000-08:00

"Heaven would be a comfy armchair, Kiwi decided...beige and golden upholstery, beige and golden wallpaper (what he was actually picturing here, he realized, was the pattern of his mother's brown rosettes on their curtains). You'd get a great, private phonograph, and all of eternity to listen to your life's melody. You could isolate your one life out of the cacophonous galaxy -- the a cappella version -- or you could play it back with its accompaniment, embedded in the brass and strings of mothers, fathers, sisters, windfalls and failures, percussive cities of strangers. You could play it forward or backward, back and back, and listen to the future of your past. You could lift the needle at whim, defeating Time."

-- Karen Russell, Swamplandia!

Getting pretty darned excited....

2011-02-16T10:26:00.001-08:00

And have you checked out the preview yet? What are you waiting for?! :

http://www.scream-4.com/

The 8

2011-02-03T11:38:00.000-08:00

I was perusing Alie's blog (www.aliesyearoflivingsimpler.blogspot.com), and I thought I'd rip this from her post and plunk it here.

The Eight Worldly Concerns, according to Buddhism:

1. Attachment to getting and keeping material things.
2. Aversion to not getting material things or being separated from them.
3. Attachment to praise, hearing nice words, and feeling encouraged.
4. Aversion to getting blamed, ridiculed, and criticized.
5. Attachment to having a good reputation.
6. Aversion to having a bad reputation.
7. Attachment to sense pleasures in general.
8. Aversion to unpleasant experiences.

quote of the day

2011-02-02T16:39:00.000-08:00

"Experience is never limited, and it is never complete; it is an immense sensibility, a kind of huge spider-web of the finest silken threads suspended in the chamber of consciousness, and catching every air-borne particle in its tissue."

-- Henry James

Layers of Wolves, Ice Sculptures, & Soup

2011-01-28T07:06:00.000-08:00

Last Saturday, Mom, Gus, and I headed to Tenino, WA -- outside Olympia -- to visit Wolf Haven International, a wolf sanctuary:

http://www.wolfhaven.org/

Mom heard about the sanctuary from a co-worker, and Gus had been sweet and suggested we spoil Mom with a road trip. So we jumped in Chloe, my Saturn, and headed out under a blue sky and lots of sun. In some ways, the three of us were quiet, at least on the outside. Talking with both of them after the fact, I know that were we were all going through our own internal storms. I was lost in a world of my writing and the conversation the day before with my father. Mom was filled with insecurities and doubts about certain people in her life and the strange rituals of dating (or lack thereof). Gus was lost in thoughts of work.

The tour guide through the sanctuary couldn't have been nicer. She educated us on different wolf populations: Great Gray Wolves, White Wolves, Mexican Red Wolves, and many more. We learned about eating habits, which wolves are endangered and where, how the sanctuary workers & volunteers take care of them, and details on the quirks and personalities of each of the individual wolves (whom all live in pairs, as mates, and get a third to half an acre of land per "couple" on the property). We even got to watch the wolves eat lunch, since we were on the noon-hour tour; fascinating to watch the woman throw the dead de-feathered chickens over the fences, then watch the wolves bit into them, crunching past bone, swallowing everything. One of my favorite wolves, of course, was Ladyhawk because of the film Ladyhawke. (Don't get the reference? Well, folks, run out and rent this '80s classic starring Michelle Pfeiffer, Rutger Hauer, and Matthew Broderick).

I felt very present and grounded that day. The sun and gentle cold couldn't have been more perfect against my cheeks, that mix between crispness and warmth. Plus, after the tour we walked through the Wolf Cemetery in a different part of the sanctuary. I loved reading the names of all the wolves on the tombstones. There was this huge Douglas Fir tree -- one of the most majestic and humongous trees I've seen -- and it was a delight to stand underneath it and stare up through the branches to the glimpses of blue sky above.

Still, something nagged at me all day. It nagged at me on the drive home, in the '50s-style diner where we grabbed lunch, all the next day as gray clouds rolled into Portland and Meagan and I watched Blue Valentine and ate popcorn together. What was I missing? Why did I feel a sense of restlessness, like I'd misplaced my car keys or wallet? Gus and I had discussed our feelings about the sanctuary, and I thought this might be part of a sadness I felt. After all, it was hard to hear about the abuse some of these wolves had endured before they were rescued. One wolf was kept in a small cage underneath a porch for several years, and his paws had never felt grass before he was rescued and taken to Wolf Haven International. So, yes, this certainly added to my malaise.

But then it hit me Monday morning, that extra level that had been eluding me:

Back when I was in seventh or eighth grade and living in Lake Geneva, WI, while Mom, Jordan, Aaron, and I were licking our wounds after my dad left, Mom loaded us up in the car one winter day and shuffled us off to the Milwaukee zoo. There was an ice sculpture contest, and I want to say (though I'm not sure) that the contest was held in the zoo's parking lot. I remember being in awe of the ice sculptures -- and how Lake Geneva itself held a world-famous ice sculpture contest each year -- and then heading into the zoo. There was a special "wolf exhibit" that winter. I remember walking down wooden paths, through groves of trees, and catching sight of the wolves. The day stood out so much to me. It was this day filled with love and family and sun. We even stopped at this cute diner on the way home, and I ate some yummy chicken-and-rice soup. I can picture the tables and curtains in the diner, what table we sat at. Over the years I've gone back to this memory, enveloped myself in its perfectness, but the memory always held melancholy too, because under the perfect day was the loss of a father, the sadness of a mother, the fretting about money and paying bills. So all the good stuff and the sad stuff got mixed together.

So I have this theory. I think, subconsciously, as Mom and Gus and I spent the day together there was this layer of me that was dropping back to that teenage memory and connecting the past and present. My heart was being opened to beautiful and sad things then and now. It all got mixed and stirred into this unique experience this past Saturday. And isn't it interesting how memories are like doors in a maze in some carnival? You open one door, and then it leads to another door, and then another. Because I can keep connecting these memories and sensations like spiderwebs. Take the Lake Geneva ice sculpture contests, for instance. I often return to those world-famous contests, Mom and I bundling up and heading to the lakefront and weaving in and out of the masterpieces and commenting on them. Seriously, my heart aches and breaks with those memories sometimes. So here you have it: a day with my mother and boyfriend that also is about my father, and about me as a kid, and about my mom and I huddling together against literal and metaphorical blizzards. Maybe I'm overanalyzing this; maybe I think too much. Gosh, I've certainly been accused of that and there's truth to it, I'm sure! But I do think it's important to be true to ourselves and be present with why certain emotions are flooding over us.

quote of the day

2011-01-23T12:50:00.000-08:00

"The fact is, that to do anything in the world worth doing, we must not stand back shivering and thinking of the cold and danger, but jump in and scramble through as well as we can."

-- Richard Cushing

can't wait

2011-01-20T09:04:00.000-08:00

quote of the day

2011-01-12T06:32:00.001-08:00

"Forgiveness means giving up all hope for a better past."

--Comedian Lily Tomlin

Happy New Year

2010-12-31T09:14:00.000-08:00

May 2011 be filled with taking chances and dancing to tribal rhythms of the heart.

"Turtle"

2010-12-31T08:58:00.000-08:00

Sometimes we hear something about our own history that triggers a revelation, even if that revelation is tiny to the outside observer. For instance, Mom, Aaron, Gus, and I were sitting around the living room the other day -- Aaron had flown in from NYC to surprise Mom and me for Christmas; he and Gus set the whole thing up -- and for whatever reason we started talking about babies. Babies' first words, more specifically. And then my mom starts telling us about me:

"Nathan started talking really early. He would say 'Mama' and 'Dada' and 'Milk'. He even said 'Turtle' early on." And then she told us that I stopped talking abruptly, a bit after a year old, and wouldn't talk very much again until I was about four. And then I talked and talked and talked.

I knew about the gap in my speech development, but I hadn't known that one of my first words was "Turtle". This really stuck with me as we kept on with the conversation and moved on to other topics. Turtles play a special part in the novel I just wrote, and I've long gone back to turtles in my thoughts, in my heart. I sure don't know what would inspire me to say that at such a young age! Had Mom read me a picture book? Had I spotted a turtle in a pet store and it stuck in my subconscious? Whatever the case may be, something clicked -- something about me and maybe what I was writing *toward* in some of the scenes of my novel. A mystery I'm enjoying unraveling.

It's a Boy!

2010-12-27T14:06:00.000-08:00

Alanis Morissette gave birth to a baby boy, Ever Imre, on Christmas Day. Congratulations, Alanis!

May your holidays be filled with SCREAMS of delight!

2010-12-23T11:47:00.001-08:00

Return to Sender

2010-12-21T18:09:00.000-08:00

The Christmas card I sent Helen Molnar got sent back to me. I was sitting at home in the living room Saturday, and I heard the metallic clink, followed by the whoosh of air, as the mailman dropped the mail through the slot. As usual, everything scattered in a hush on the hardwood floor. I jumped up -- excited as always to check the mail, but I'm even more of a maniac at the holidays -- and I recognized the envelope right away. I picked up it, saw "Return to Sender" on one of those rectangular yellow stickers, and took a moment of silence as I read Helen Molnar's name in my handwriting. Did she move? Had I written the address down wrong? Had she, indeed, passed away? So yesterday before work, I tucked the envelope in a larger envelope, sent it to Helen's old address by my grandfather's house, and wrote "Please Forward if Address Has Changed" next to her Alleghan Road address. Will this letter get sent back to me again? If so, I'll know that she's passed on.

I never really knew Helen very well: she lived two doors down from Grandpa John in Saugatuck, MI, and my family would usually stop by for a chat with her when we were in town. She was pushing 75 or 80 by that point, and cranky, and often negative, and she loved to gossip about everybody who lived on Silver Lake. We'd stop in to see her -- her home was nestled amidst a landscape of rusted car parts and overgrown weeds, right past the grove of pines -- and I was always in awe of her near-hoarder tendencies. Piles of newspapers kept you from maneuvering easily. Tons of household knickknacks -- from pens to coffee cups to Hummels -- were scattered over the counters and tabletops. And there was this old lady smell in the air, something like moth balls-meets-crinkly old dresses. But I loved it in there, the mix of shadows and loneliness and comfort and love. When my brothers and I were quite young -- I was maybe ten, eleven -- Helen would let us fish with her on her rickety pier that rested on the buoys. There was this unsafe little wooden walkway to get to the pier/dock/raft, and Helen had red metal chairs to sit on. I can still feel them against my skin in summer, rusty flakes sticking to my arms and the backs of my legs. We'd sit and fish with her, or sometimes we'd go down (with or without her permission) and fish on our own.

For many years, Helen sent Mom a Christmas card. She usually complained in it ("my son isn't taking care of me the way I want," "no one who lives on the lake is friendly anymore," "I sure do miss your grandpa down the road, even though he was such a grumpy fella"). I looked forward to seeing her scribbled writing, that trace of her smell on the card when Mom passed it to me to read. Something about Helen caught my heart, something about her hermit-witch life and something outside her that -- whenever we'd hear from her -- brought me back to the Saugatuck before Grandpa passed away and Mom and her sister had to sell the house, brought me back to the lake and swimming in summer and walking downtown and dashing into our favorite shops like the Old Post Office and stopping at Marro's for pizza. Helen brought me back to Grandpa John's house: the spiral staircase with the fan right there that sometimes nipped your skull, the upstairs balcony, Aunt Joyce's bedroom with the newspaper-style wallpaper, Grandpa's red saloon-style bar with the heart-shaped chairs, weird and sad clown pictures on the walls, so much more.

Over time, Helen's letters siphoned off then stopped arriving. And for a long time, she slipped past my radar. Years went by. Then, two years ago, she just bopped back into my brain like a bolt of lightning. I was in a lonely phase of life myself, and I got to thinking -- not in an unhealthy way, just a curious way -- what it's actually like to be in your 80s and to live alone in a house in the woods and to feel lonely and to wonder why your son doesn't visit. It made me sad in some ways, but as an adult I also admired her tenacity and her quirkiness and her strength to keep plugging along. Helen hadn't had an easy life, after all. What sticks out to me is her husband's illness -- I can't remember if it was cancer or something else -- and how he had to have both legs amputated, and how Helen took care of him until he died. So, two years ago, I asked Mom to dig in her old address book for Helen's address, and I wrote her out a card. I can't remember if it was Christmastime or not, but I do remember thinking, "Will she even remember who I am?" A couple weeks later I got a card back from her; there was her familiar handwriting, her cranky words about everything, her surprise and gratitude that I wrote. She was now living in Grand Rapids with her son since she wasn't able to manage on her own anymore. Last year, I sent Helen another card -- at Christmas time, for sure -- and she wrote me another letter back with her usual but endearing grievances.

This brings us to 2010. I sent a card, wondering as I have the last two years, how old is Helen now? Will she be alive to receive this card? And, as you now know, the card got sent back to me. I'm waiting to see if my second attempt this holiday makes any difference. I think I know the answer, but I'm curious every time I check the mailbox in this rush of holiday madness. I'll even give it a few extra days since the post office is swamped and it may take awhile.

But do know this, Helen Molnar, wherever you are: you are remembered. You are thought of still. You are a piece of others' history. You were complicated like all of us, and you will always be to me like a beloved character in a favorite book, someone to cherish and think about from time to time with fondness.

quote of the day

2010-12-21T17:01:00.001-08:00

"Books are mirrors: you only see in them what you already have inside you."

--Carlos Ruiz Zafon, The Shadow of the Wind

The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer

2010-12-03T10:13:00.000-08:00

Gosh, I haven't been on Goodreads in forever. (I get these occasional emails saying things like, "Nathan, you've been reading Swiftly Tilting Planet for 9,999,999 days -- what else are you reading these days?") Well, lots, I swear! I just kind of fell off the Goodreads bandwagon through no fault of theirs. In any case, someone recently commented on there that they liked my review of Jennifer Lynch's The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer. Perfect timing, too, since Gus is watching it with me and we're thick in the middle of the Donna Hayward-Harold Smith plot-line, arguably my favorite in the show.

Here's my review from a couple years ago (yes, I was in e.e. cummings' mode and wrote this all in lowercase):

Recommended for: fans of Go Ask Alice and/or The Perks of Being a Wallflower

the secret diary of laura palmer, written by jennifer lynch (david lynch's daughter), follows the life of a young girl from the ages of 12 until 17 as she experiments with sex, drugs, and giving into our most base -- and sometimes worst -- impulses. laura transforms from a curious seeker of truths who loves cats and bakes cookies with her mom to a cocaine-using pet-killer who has sex with strangers. laura's relationships with her family and friends either disintegrate or get transformed into surface conversations and superficial interactions. laura can't find a way to pull herself out of the darkness.

the most upsetting & disturbing part of the book is laura's nightly encounters with BOB, a scraggly-haired and wicked man who crawls in her bedroom window and molests her, taunts her, cuts her, makes her see her worst thoughts.

this "diary" is a companion to the tv series, twin peaks, about a young town's unraveling as their local homecoming queen, laura palmer, washes up on the shore, dead and wrapped in plastic, filled with secrets, filled with seedy connections to too many of twin peaks' residents. david lynch, co-creator of twin peaks, whispered the name of laura's killer in his daughter's ear so that she could write the book with that knowledge guiding her. the killer's name, naturally, is never revealed (the last entry is written just days before her death) so there are no worries, Dear Readers, that this would give anything away from watching the brilliant, sad, spiritual, quirkily funny cult favorite. if you haven't seen it, the gold box set is just waiting for your indulgence. (just make sure you don't ruin anything by watching the extras before the show, and choose the "regular tv version" for the pilot, not the "international version," because you don't want to spoil any secrets before their time.)

quote of the day

2010-12-03T08:54:00.000-08:00

"Sacrifice is not about giving something up, it's about
making something sacred."

--Michael Klein

Light Beneath Ferns

2010-12-02T09:16:00.001-08:00

Here's a review for Anne Spollen's Light Beneath Ferns. (*I just submitted this review to Amazon.com and Powells.com*) I read her debut novel, The Shape of Water, this summer and just finished up her second book this week.
*****
The quirky, macabre lovechild of Shirley Jackson and Ray Bradbury, Anne Spollen casts a spell of hopes, haunts, and hurts in her second coming-of-age novel, Light Beneath Ferns. Eliza Rayne, our fourteen-year-old protagonist, experiences an adolescence both familiar and foreign. Her gambler father has abandoned her and her mother, other girls bully her at a slumber party, and a popular boy doesn’t understand her but tries to kiss her anyway. But where other girls may keep diaries, Eliza creates jewelry from bird bones and studies graves in the cemetery that borders her home. One day Elizah finds a human jawbone in the river, and her whole world – and perception of it – shifts. Soon she’s tangled in a romance with Nathaniel, who may or may not be a ghost. Nathaniel takes her on rides down the river in the middle of the night and walks her through a village where reflections linger longer than they should in mirrors. What’s most impressive about Spollen’s novel – besides her sharp, poetic prose – is her ability to break our hearts for Eliza not because she may be caught in a mystery between life and death but because we can all relate to her struggle for both self-identity and kinship. Her mother wants her to try harder to be “normal” and her guidance counselor pushes her to get more involved in “typical” school activities, but Elizah Rayne insists – through strength of spirit – on holding out for people and places that are aligned with her own beliefs and values. Even if those people are literal spirits – and those places are ghost-villages long gone save for rubble, memories, and dashes of magic.

William, Meagan's son, on Halloween (a.k.a. one of the cutest pictures ever)

2010-11-09T14:19:00.001-08:00

October Reclaimed

2010-10-29T10:51:00.001-07:00

October is one of my favorite months, if not my favorite: growing up I couldn’t stop obsessing about crunchy autumn leaves, the soles of my shoes cracking through their veins and crumbling the leaves into piles of orange, brown, yellow, red. Some of my favorite memories involve diving into raked leaf piles, burying myself or being buried in them, their edges gently scratching my face and neck. Here in Portland autumn holds a different kind of beauty, and admittedly one that’s harder for me to latch onto fondly. The days get short, really short, and really quickly. Plus, your bones start to feel damp and instead of crunchy leaves you most often find yourself walking on sloppy, wet goop that used to resemble leaves! That being said, autumn is autumn, and the moon seems bigger and more haunting here, landscaped against the mountains. The Pacific Northwest has a certain haunted quality year-round, actually, some mystery living in the snowcapped mountains you can see outside Portland. This mystery almost echoes from the ocean just a couple hours west of here. Finally, Halloween is just around the corner, and I find myself just as excited to watch scary movies and dress up as to pass out candy to kids, pass some torch and ritual and phase of life onto them.

Last October kicked off a pretty intense (read: dark) period in my personal life, much of which I didn’t (and don’t) feel comfortable putting on this blog. I will say that I’m feeling better and stronger than ever, and that I couldn’t have reached this place unless I decided to face my own demons and ghosts and take a stance and exorcise some unhealthy ways of living my life, most especially inside my own heart. The last couple months, as with the rest of this year, have offered up plenty of surprises and chance encounters. Two of my new neighbors, A and T, have really stood out lately in my thoughts. About two weeks ago I was headed out to my car to go to work, and I saw A struggling to help T stand upright. T is about fourteen, and I could tell right away (his thin frail body, some psychic energy he was projecting) that he was sick, that he had some medical condition. His mom was trying to help him into the car. They decided to take a break, and T leaned against the picket fence and A stood by the car, her wiry gray hair poking out every which way from the clips. Instead of heading right to my car I decided to stop by and introduce myself. We ended up talking for five minutes or so, and I found out T was trying to feel stable enough so that he could go to school and not miss any more classes. He’s in the eighth grade. He and A moved here recently from Durango, Colorado, and they made the move because there would be better doctors and medical opportunities and hopefully breakthroughs to offer T some help and hope. (I don’t actually know at this point what T is sick with.) I felt an immediate connection with this mother-son team, and I’m sure it’s partly because I’m so close with my own mother, and here was this family who – so plainly and nakedly in front of their community – was struggling, literally, to make it through their day. Last week I saw them again; T was sitting up on the porch and A was in the garden. I stopped by and A was frustrated because the teachers weren’t being as accommodating to their needs as she’d hoped, and T was missing more school (he can’t use a wheelchair because the building doesn’t have an elevator and the classrooms are up on the second floor). A started talking with a fellow neighbor, something about gardening, I believe, so I sat on the porch steps next to T and he showed me his new “pet” slug, which A had rescued. The slug was resting on a bumpy rock. T seemed to think fondly of this slug, and we talked for a bit before I headed on my way. I look forward to more talks with both of them.

I’m grateful I’ve been able to embrace so much beauty this month. I feared, after last year, I might shy away from October – force its essence away, even – but I’ve been pretty darned good about tackling it with grace, directly. I visited Aaron and Stephenie in NYC, and we hiked on Bear Mountain in the Hudson Valley, where we met this spiritual young woman in a hoodie, who reminded me of some guardian angel or keeper of the gates. We also attended a puppet show at PuppetWorks, the marionettes for “Beauty and the Beast” almost dancing across the stage, the performers wowing us with their kindness and magic in that old theatre of lost arts, the puppets dangling on their strings all over the walls, fairy tale characters shadowed and loved. Back here in Portland, Gus and I were lucky enough to be invited to Meagan’s in-laws' beekeeping farm in Colton; so many kids dashed around and ate rice krispie treats and laughed, and Gus and I hiked out past the bees through the thicket of trees, and the whole group picked pumpkins in the patch so we could take them home, carve them, display them for the holiday. And there are a few fun things in store this weekend: a Day of the Dead belly dancing performance on Alberta Street tonight, The Thirteenth Door haunted house tomorrow night, scary movies and pizza and passing out candy to trick-r-treaters on Sunday. As for these stills from Scream 4, it’s A) in honor of the holiday season, and B) my way of saying, “I’m so excited for Scream 4 in April!”

quote of the day

2010-09-16T15:06:00.001-07:00

"I was beginning to get the sense that his mind was like a jukebox and his emotions were plastic sleeves that displayed states of being instead of albums. I could almost hear the plastic slapping sound as his emotional catalog browsed itself, found nothing, and began to backtrack."

--Nick Burd, The Vast Fields of Ordinary

Sperm Donors, House Keys, Deadbeat Dads, & (Technological) Breakdowns: Coming Soon to a Blog Post Near You

2010-09-09T10:50:00.000-07:00

....and here we are.

I've been MIA way longer than intended on this blog (at least in terms of a personal post). Are you still out there, faithful readers? I was also MIA in late 2009, but while that was for darker reasons, this latest blip in the blog-o-sphere is because of happier, more life-affirming things. Strange how we can go from one of the darkest periods of our lives to one of the most beautiful and strong; I know -- without a doubt -- that both are connected in a yin-yang sort of way. The lessons lie in the blurring, the joining, of the two. On that same note, while I feel showered with blessings from the Universe in 2010, I know I've also done lots of hard work this past year or so to get here.

I've missed you -- though I do struggle with how to convey what's been going on in my life without getting too personal. (*I also fear I'll be bland or white-wash things too much and thus won't get personal enough.) But I'm going to take more of a chance today, let slip some of the details. Vulnerability can release power.

To start, let's look at my wacky life in the past week:
*My brother Jordan called to tell me his friend wants him to donate his sperm so she can have a baby. He'd have no financial obligation to the child, but the one "requirement" is that -- when the child is old enough -- s/he gets to know who her/his father is. Lots for Jordan to consider!
*My estranged father called my brother Aaron to jump-start a new phase of the family dynamic. This, after my reunion with our father last May (which I don't think I blogged about). Aaron and Dad talked for an hour and a half last night; Aaron was direct, honest, and open-minded.
*Gus gave me a key to his place, which warmed my heart. The key is colored in red roses and jumps out at me from its place on the key chain. ("Who the heck is Gus?" you're asking? Well, folks, he's my new fella.)
*Gus and I headed to Astoria, and to the North Bend and Cape Disappointment lighthouses. At Cape Disappointment, within fifteen minutes: a snake slithered across the trail; a bunny examined us calmly then hopped away; hundreds of dragonflies flew around us in droves as we stared out at the ocean, the near-sunset casting strong rays onto the water; two does grazed off the path leading back to the car; and a bald eagle flew over our heads then circled the area.
*After seven years, my computer -- Mischa -- has decided to tell me she's about had it, and that I either have to A) get her life support (a.k.a. an external hard-drive) or B) let her rest in peace and reincarnate her in a new iBook life form.
*Gus and I visited the Audubon Society, and he got to meet Hazel, my wide-eyed owl friend with the soft and loving gaze.
*I learned that my step-grandmother, whom I haven't seen in years, passed away. I always really liked Lee -- her zest for life, her zany, gutsy truths and "Hey Darlin's" pronounced in that raspy, Demi Moore-like, Midwestern accent.
*Helped Karla find a wedding dress.
*Had a spontaneous get-together with Lizzy, and walked through Pier Park (what a Portland gem!). After we departed I stopped into a thrift store, some homespun magic land of secondhand shirts and windup toys and sad, misfit dolls. The young woman -- she reminded me of a witch and fairy godmother combined, with a splash of hippie granola -- and I chatted about dolls, about giving them homes, and Pip came back with me. Pip is now in the good hands of a coworker who needed a pick-me-up.

If we open up the discussion to the couple weeks preceding that, I'd have to mention: my dear friend Anya contacting me from the Ukraine and writing me a beautiful, heartfelt letter after years of us not being in touch; Mom falling out of a raft and almost breaking her foot on a rock in some Northern California rapids; my "National Roommate Day" with Lisa, our time at the sauna; Julie moving back to the East Coast, and our melancholic but pure-friendship goodbye at the airport. And the list goes on.

This has been my best summer in Oregon since I've moved here. Winter to Summer, Dark to Light, Heartbreak to Falling in Love. Funny, much of what I intended to write about didn't even show up here -- this is what poured out instead. So there we have it.

~N.

"I'm Here. I'm Queer. What the Hell Do I Read?"

2010-09-06T15:58:00.000-07:00

Here's a great new blog I stumbled upon. Focused on LGBTQ lit for teens, it's entitled:

"I'm Here. I'm Queer. What the Hell Do I Read?"

http://www.leewind.org/

Rock on, Mr. Wind!

quote of the day

2010-09-06T10:35:00.000-07:00

"Some things have to be believed to be seen."

--Ralph Hodgson

quote of the day

2010-08-31T13:05:00.000-07:00

"The question of evil refers primarily to the anaesthetized heart, the heart that has no reaction to what it faces, thereby turning the variegated sensuous face of the world into monotony, sameness, oneness."

--James Hillman, The Thought of the Heart and Soul of the World

Bumper Sticker & Passage of the Day

2010-08-26T12:47:00.000-07:00

Saw this great bumper sticker on my way to work today:

Yesterday*History
Tomorrow*A Mystery
Today*A Present

Speaking of, I love this passage:

"It is in the nature of things to change. Nothing can last beyond its given time. And I think that instinctively we know what that time is. What is it that makes us know when the summer turns? The smallest shift in the light? The slightest hint of chill in the morning air? A certain rustling of the leaves of the birches? This is how it is -- suddenly, in the midst of the summer heat, you are overcome by a tightening of your heart. The realization that it will all come to an end. And that brings a new intensity to everything: the colors, the smells, the feeling of sunshine on your arm."

--Linda Olsson, Astrid & Veronika

passage of the day

2010-08-20T11:58:00.000-07:00

"Mattia deliberately made all his movements as silently as he could. He knew that the chaos of the world would only increase, that the background noise would grow until it covered every coherent signal, but he was convinced that by carefully measuring his every gesture he would be less guilty of that slow ruin."

--Paolo Giordano, The Solitude of Prime Numbers

Blinded by the Light (or, "Nathan Mimics Luna, His One-Eyed Jack Russell Terrier")

2010-08-19T11:02:00.000-07:00

"Love the Way You Lie" (*Hate the Way I Love This Song)

2010-08-18T11:55:00.000-07:00

Why do I love this song? Does this mean I've gone over to the dark side by embracing an Eminem number? Is it because Rihanna reveals a sultry, sad vulnerability? Or because Dominic Monaghan and Megan Fox heat up the screen -- literally and figuratively -- during their physically and spiritually tortured romance? Has Eminem let us catch a glimpse of a powerful sense of insecurity and loss that I hadn't previously given him credit for? Are these all excuses because I love the catchiness of the song and the way the video strikes my heart and pulse? Do I resist the urge to watch this over and over to stay "true" to my politics and my indignation at so much of what Eminem stands for in my mind?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uelHwf8o7_U

p.s. an hour and a half later --

Below are M's comments once I forwarded her this blog post, curious about her thoughts. I agree with what she says -- consciously thought all this myself -- and it's nice to see my concerns reiterated articulately and to the point.

Here you have it:
"Ummmmm…..my take is that it is about a domestic abuse/abuse cycle relationship which ends in murder and makes me like him even LESS, when I didn’t really give a sh*t before: and he seems less interesting/deep/feeling, not more so. It just sounded like a lot of excuses/justifications about why it is okay to beat the shit out of your girlfriend with whom you are in a dysfunctional relationship. It also makes me wonder what the hell Rihanna is doing in this video given her hx, especially since she is singing, “It’s okay because I like the way it hurts,”….WTF? Really? Is she really that stupid? Am I totally missing the point here? Maybe if proceeds from the song were going to a domestic shelter or something, but otherwise – YUK.

Maybe you like it because it is sexy! sexy! and the thing about those sexy, intense, dysfunctional relationships is that they are like a drug – so intense and exciting and thrilling, and they feel so meaningful at the time (and the sex is always AMAZING). Plus, stylizing it made the ugly reality of it easy to overlook/ignore."

Right on, M! And I will say -- in Rihanna's defense, at least -- that she's well aware of how those lyrics are being taken, the irony and lesson behind her words.

p.p.s. another fifteen minutes later --

M's last comment:
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! What have you done to me?! I can’t stop watching it now! Dammit! It is addictive and they are just fun to watch –- that is why they are moving stars."

And you all, fellow readers? Thoughts?

passage of the day

2010-08-13T13:37:00.000-07:00

"He thought now how it had always been for him, ever since he was a boy sitting on the edge of a chair in the living room listening to his parents' friends -- a divorced woman whose hands shook slightly in her lap as she told him with great excitement about the vacation she was to take, or the man whose son Frank saw teased relentlessly at school, talking of how happy his boy was -- the unsaid visible in their gestures, filling the air around them, pressing on Frank. And later in college, at a party, drink in hand, standing by a bookcase, chatting with a slightly heavy girl hanging back from the crowd, tracked into every shift of her eyes, every tense little smile, as if the nerves in her body were the nerves in his, her every attempt to disguise her awkwardness raising its pitch in him."

"The Good Doctor," from You Are Not a Stranger Here -- Adam Haslett

"Bear-Backing", Anyone?

2010-08-12T16:32:00.000-07:00

This is an actual poster for a kid's movie. Um, did the graphic (!) designers do this on purpose, with fingers crossed that it would get past the "censors"? Or are they just that oblivious to certain potential aspects of the proverbial gay lifestyle? And check out the tagline!

p.s. You all know what a "bear" is in gay lingo, right?!

Thirst & Moonvoid

2010-08-11T11:33:00.000-07:00

Well, for those of you keeping tabs, I'm quite stoked about the release of Christopher Pike's Thirst: No. 3 (Thirst 1 and 2 are repackaged compilations of the original Last Vampire series). October 5th, can't wait for you to get here!

I posted a link a while back about the film version being released of the first novel (undoubtedly inspired by the Twilight phenomenon). I've been peeking around online, and I found a fellow fan's commentary on a message board. Moonvoid is his or her name, and I must say, Moonvoid, I have these same questions, curiosities, fears, and hopes about how the story will translate from page to screen. Here's what our moon pal wrote:
****
Wow! As much as I would love to see The Last Vampire go to the big screen, I have no idea how this will be pulled off and made for a PG-13 rating. Even though I did find myself enjoying the Twilight series on some level, The Last Vampire blows Twilight out of the water. It seems this story will be more difficult to pitch to the masses as there are no "sparkly vampires" here. Here are just some of the things TLV, now called the Thirst series, deals with:

Religion - Hinduism plays a major role in this series; as those who have read know, the main character Sita refers to "Krishna's grace" and calls him her Lord several times through the book. The book also delves heavily into Christianity, The Temple of Set, general Mysticism and Satanism. This here should tell you right off the bat that this series is far deeper than any ground Twilight touches.

Sex - Though Pike never gets too detailed, there is plenty of times where Sita has sex or refers to having sex throughout the book.

Bisexuality - Sita refers to herself as having a few female lovers in her lifetime as well as countless men.

Violence - There is VERY descriptive violence in these books, ie: Sita: "Leaping toward her, giving her almost no time to react, I thrust my left hand deep into her chest, smashing through her white gown and her pale ribs. Yet for a fraction of a second, she knows what I am going to do. She feels the absolute horror of the ritual execution. That is what Landulf wants, what he needs, to activate his black sorcery. The battery of the bastard is tied to perversity and pain. The girl's heart is in my hand. I feel its life and still I yank it from her chest and leap towards the circle. Out of the corner of my eye I see her staring at me, and understand the betrayal she is feeling deep in my soul. Her eyes are as blue as mine. Even in death, they could be mine."

Action - So much action in this book. It will take a large budget to pull this off. Everything from hand combat to helicopters and nuclear plant explosions, etc.

Character development - Sita, as well as others, are VERY developed characters. No blank slate Bella for audiences to insert themselves into. Sita is a complex character and throughout the book her character is very contemplative. I do not use this word lightly.

Some other themes include: Diseases such as AIDS and leprosy, time travel, reincarnation, and pregnancy, to name a few.

It is truly surprising to me that so much of this went on in a teen novel. Pike was and still is way ahead of his time with his teen writing. Whereas the Twilight saga is a good fun story, the Thirst series (aka The Last Vampire series) is moving and has high potential to get audiences (both young and older) to actively engage themselves in a story that will undoubtedly invite them to open their eyes and minds to some type of soul searching and self reflection.

I can only hope that the movie maintains some of the essence of the books.
****
So there you have it! Thanks, Moonvoid!

poem of the day (from D, for G)

2010-08-11T10:21:00.000-07:00

LOVE AFTER LOVE

The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door,
in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other's welcome
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread.
Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

-- Derek Walcott

Florence + the Machine (*my newest musical obsession)

2010-08-05T15:40:00.000-07:00

Check out their video for "Cosmic Love." Whoa.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2EIeUlvHAiM&feature=av2e

This little piggy....

2010-08-04T14:47:00.000-07:00

Adorable beyond belief:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8F_G2zp-opg

quotes of the day

2010-07-22T14:21:00.000-07:00

"A kiss about apple pie a la mode with the vanilla creaminess melting in the pie heat. A kiss about chocolate, when you haven't eaten chocolate in a year. A kiss about palm trees speeding by, trailing pink clouds when you drive down the Strip sizzling with champagne. A kiss about spotlights fanning the sky and the swollen sea spilling like tears all over your legs."

"Their bodies clung together like warriors fighting out the pain in each other."

--Weetzie Bat, Francesca Lia Block

Goldilocks and the Four Bears

2010-07-15T17:33:00.000-07:00

Okay, when my hair grows longer it's still brown -- though it does turn into ringlets -- and there are four bears on the loose instead of three, but hey. I'm going for dramatic effect. Currently in Truckee, outside of Lake Tahoe, on my last day of visiting Jordan. And what a trip it's been! Each day has spilled into the next effortlessly and lazily, with sleeping and waking taking their time -- or, more accurately, I'm taking my time with sleeping and waking rather than going in my rush-rush fashion I can become way too accustomed to. The above-mentioned Goldilocks reference pertains to a family of bears -- a mom and three cubs -- that has been growing bold and going into people yards, cars, and homes for food. Jordan and I were joking today: is this bear family some kind of urban legend? He's not sure he's buying it, Neighborhood Watch and how-to-protect-yourself pamphlet distribution be damned.

I couldn't ask for a much better vacation or for a chance to spend time with my brother one-on-one. And today was the perfect send-off. Katie, Adam, Jordan, and I woke up early to head to this cute-as-pie diner that looks like it got snatched up from the town of Twin Peaks in a tornado and plunked onto the shore of Donner Lake. (Yes, Donner Lake, as in Donner Pass, as in Donner Family that ate each other when trapped in that freezing winter all those years ago? Don't worry -- I didn't ask where my bacon came from.) After breakfast, we drove outside of Grass Valley to an area called Emerald Pools. I was picturing some short jaunt down a path to a circular, frothy hot spring type of place where we could slip into the water and swim around. But no. Even better actually, in the end -- we had to work for it. We hiked over some pretty rough terrain, cliff sides and plateaus and harsh desert landscapes, all the while following a river until the cliffs dropped down into a mixture of rapids and still pools for swimming. We found a rock "beach" and stripped down to our bathing suits and....well....I want to say I dived right in without a second thought, but I had to work up my courage. The water was freezing! But one by one we all jumped in -- imagine: direct icy line to the heart, a breath of almost too fresh air -- and after I swam around a bit (to say I did) I decided on time on the beach with my Alice Hoffman book and a nice smooth rock for reading. Jordan, Katie, and Adam opted to go exploring, and for a while I was left to think and meditate and listen to the sounds of nature. I even got risky/frisky for a moment and decided to dry off in the open air since no one was around, so I stripped and just walked around the rocks naked and soaked up the sun. Later in the day, we all hiked back, sunburned but happy. It was tough for me to hug Adam and Katie goodbye; it's their anniversary today and they're off for a romantic night outside of town.

This was just one example of the Buck Brothers' Adventures. On Monday, Jordan and I grabbed a drink in Downieville, which may be the cutest town on the earth, no hyperbole. I almost wanted to make evil-small-town-curse jokes or Deliverance jokes, but the Amish-like feel of Downieville -- a village where I'm sure pixies and faeries vacation -- couldn't be much more open, vibrant, and alive with goodness and strong energy. On Tuesday, Jordan, Katie, and I headed to Emerald Bay, which I've been wanting to check out since the mid 90s; Christopher Pike -- one of my fave novelists -- sets an important scene in the tea house on Emerald Bay, and I'd like to say it was just my excitement, but I could really feel why he chose that location. A mystic power hangs over the bay -- it's like these veils are lifted, leaving only a crisp oxygen where you get to breathe in possibility and strength. We ended up taking another longer and more challenging hike than expected, though it was worth it. There was a chunk of time where we were just breathing and grabbing hold of the rocks, and climbing and working in tune, and it felt like a song of feet and breath and hands.

Of course, no trip out this way would be complete without a stop in a casino. On Sunday night, after catching a showing of Eclipse, we headed to the Peppermill Casino. Me: a margarita on the rocks with salt. Jordan: a Long Island iced tea. Both of us: busting out our daredevil side and gambling, like, $20 bucks in the coin slots before making our way home. Slightly more daredevil is all this time in the sun! Can't say I'm complaining after our cloudy (and chilly) Portland spring and summer thus far. Yesterday we headed to Hidden Beach, and swam in Lake Tahoe and played beer pong (!), and chatted away the afternoon on beach blankets. We've taken Two Step and Brooklyn, Jordan's dogs, out on plenty of walks as well. Finally, I've had a couple nice moments out on the back porch, reading, sipping coffee, watching morning stretch and waken.

Jordan -- you have quite the comfortable home. I'm glad I got to meet Kaitlyn (she rocks!), get to know Katie and Adam better, and spend time with the dogs, Mew-Mew the cat, and Heddy the Hedgehog. That one night, when I slipped out the living room window late at night and sat on your roof and looked up at the sky? I'm still reeling. The stars were out, so many splashes of constellations I thought there were clouds. There were not. There was just clarity.

quote of the day

2010-07-09T15:30:00.001-07:00

"There are three things we cry for in life -- things that are lost, things that are found, and things that are magnificent."

--Girlfriend in a Coma, Douglas Coupland

The Rocking Horse Tree

2010-07-05T14:13:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been thinking about the little moments in 2010 that have captured my heart and painted this year into its breathtaking light. One moment when I knew everything was going to be okay -- when I needed a concrete sign from the Universe -- was the day after I moved in with Lisa. I was on the phone with Jordan, crying a little about letting go, and I wandered down from my home to Irving Park. A light rain scattered drops here and there, and I was trying to shield my phone from water damage, and I walked by this line of trees before you step off the path and onto the fields. Looking up I saw a rocking horse, one of those plastic ones that usually rests on metal springs for children to bounce around on in their youth while they pretend they're cowboys & cowgirls. Mom, remember when I was maybe two, and you'd put on "Birds of Prey" by Uriah Heep and I'd ride that rocking horse in Lemont like nobody's business? This horse looked a lot like that one. Someone had dangled it by wires from a thick and sturdy branch, and the horse was turned upside down, and I had no idea how long it had been there. Was this some kind of prank -- had some teens stolen it from a family's porch and jokingly strung it up for show? Or was this some artist's statement, some commentary on lost youth and rusting innocence? No matter what the case, it was beautiful and odd and so out of place yet so perfect. So I talked to Jordan and I sat against the tree trunk, only mildly anxious the horse would tear free from the wires and come crashing down on me. It was worth it. Back home, I told Lisa about the anointed Rocking Horse Tree and said we should do a photo shoot with one of her old Polaroid cameras; we both got so excited at the thought; I knew she'd find it beautiful like me. And so over the next couple weeks, as I got acquainted with my new neighborhood and learned my favorite walking routes, I made sure to always include The Rocking Horse Tree somewhere in the mix. And then one day, lo and behold, it wasn't there anymore; just wire remained, coiled and lonely; someone (park rangers?) had taken the horse down. Sure, objectively it makes sense that it could be a hazard or seen as some kind of "objectionable" piece of randomness that was tainting the park's serenity. But I found it to be a weird and wonderful quirk, an imprint of creativity, this big old tree joining forces with a childhood staple, granted one tarnished by rain and dirt and use. In the end, though, I can only hold fond thoughts of my Rocking Horse Tree. And while that's all they'll ever be -- thoughts, memories -- I can still hold it in my heart. I still walk by the tree and stare up at the wire, wondering where the horse went, if it ended up back on someone's porch, or in a garbage dump, or part of some new artist project.

mood of the day

2010-07-01T13:45:00.001-07:00

quote of the day

2010-07-01T13:40:00.000-07:00

"I am not good at noticing when I'm happy, except in retrospect. My gift, or fatal flaw, is for nostalgia. I have sometimes been accused of demanding perfection, of rejecting heart's desires as soon as I get close enough that the mysterious impressionistic gloss disperses into plain solid dots, but the truth is less simplistic than that. I know very well that perfection is made up of frayed, off-struck mundanities. I suppose you could say my real weakness is a kind of long-sightedness: usually it is only at a distance, and much too late, that I can see the pattern."

--Tana French, In the Woods

The war continues....

2010-06-10T15:35:00.000-07:00

"I've told you time and again -- Nathan is mine."

"No bloodsucking way, you punk ass wolf-boy."

Gay Friendly McDonald's Ad

2010-06-03T16:52:00.000-07:00

Go Mickey D's!:

http://buzz.yahoo.com/buzzlog/93724?fp=1

Half-Life (*one of the best films I've ever seen)

2010-05-31T10:31:00.000-07:00

Hi everybody,

Have any of you heard of Half-Life, directed by Jennifer Phang? I plucked it off the shelf at Video-rama this weekend, popped it in the DVD player, and couldn't tear my eyes away. This film is for those who love their Donnie Darko, American Beauty, Lawn Dogs, The Fall, Paperhouse, and Where the Wild Things Are mixed together with 100% originality and vision by director Phang. I've long been obsessed with stories -- books, movies, visual art -- that capture that magical place between reality and fantasy. Growing up, I was a nerdy bookworm who -- to deal with my parents' divorce, kids bullying me at school, my emerging sense of being gay -- lost himself in realms of the supernatural. At my own making. I think. What's so beautiful about this film is not only the stunning cinematography and editing, the tightly written and profoundly sad story, nor the naturally gifted cast whom work perfectly together as an ensemble, but this sense that sometimes we really don't know where reality ends and fantasy begins. We make up stories to capture meaning, to imbue everyday circumstances with mystery and a connect-the-dots way of thinking. But what if -- mixed somewhere in with all this -- is true magic? Whole other parallel universes and ideas that tie in with ours, that are maybe even drawn to our own realities because of the way we personally see the world?

Half-Life -- a deeply spiritual film -- asks these kinds of questions. Tim, our young protagonist, seeks to understand why his father left and why his mother, Saura, has gotten involved with the handsome yet manipulative Wendell. Tim and his teenage sister, Pamela, struggle with loneliness, friendships, sexuality, trust, and the meaning of family as they fall more and more into the tangled web of Wendell's desire to control theirs. At once haunting, melancholy, hopeful, whimsical, bleak, fresh, and daring, Half-Life is the kind of film that not only tells an amazing story but captures that story through a revitalized and unique vision by its director. This movie is personal. It takes chances. It dares to let you inside Jennifer Phang's mind -- and even more importantly, her heart.

Here's a link to the film:

www.halflifemovie.com

You should watch this. Now.

The Thunder Rock

2010-05-31T07:23:00.000-07:00

Sometimes magic sweeps us up in its grip, catching us unawares but keeping things delicate and safe. Saturday was pure magic for me -- every song I listened to, every alley I took in NE Portland during my walk, every chance encounter with a stranger. I just kept riding this wave of pixie dust and faith and laughter. Thank you, Universe, for offering up an exquisite day-long moment on the unofficial first day of summer.

I woke up earlier than usual -- about 6:30 a.m. -- and felt ready to take on the day. After whipping up some eggs and toast, feeding Ollie and Luna (my adorable pups), and downing a few cups of yummy coffee, I headed over to the Convention Center to watch part of the International Gay Men's Volleyball tournament. I mean, A) it's in Portland, B) it's free admission, and C) all the volleyball players are GAY. Gay men. Gay hot men. How could I not go? So, admittedly, I was a total happy camper there in the bleachers, watching the team "Beaches" play some other team. (I decided to have a "crush" on Beaches Player No. 1, so I don't even remember what the other team was called....) There was something freeing, relaxing, and totally goofy about being at a sports tournament at 9:00 a.m. on a Saturday and enjoying myself. I looked around at all the folks soaking in competition, community, cutie-pies.

After a couple hours -- and when the sun started to peek out, giving Portland a breather from all this rain -- I took a drive out to the Rhododendron Gardens in SE. Julie, thanks so much for mentioning these gardens to me! Of course I got lost at first (is anyone worse with directions than me?), but once I found the gardens I was in a little slice of heaven. I wove up and down the paths, took breaks on the benches to soak in all the flowers -- some still clinging to trees, many petals fallen down into soft and colorful beds on the gravel -- and even stopped in a horde (yes, horde) of ducks who showed absolutely no fear. Some parents and their children were feeding the ducks, and there were also geese, and the sound of quacking and flapping wings filled the air with a kind of poetry.

Later in the day, two more beautiful things happened: I was in my mom's backyard, having just mown the lawn (I loved the feel of the freshly mown grass against my fingertips as I loaded it into the yard debris bin), and I heard this chirping (baby birds, I knew right away) and I looked up at the cowboy boot-turned-birdhouse in the dogwood tree. A mom or dad finch (?) was peeking its head out the hole, and I heard all the chicks inside, eating and frolicking, and all of a sudden I just started laughing with pure joy and light. Something felt so close to me, a heavy presence of Goodness. Then I decided to walk up to Alberta Street to grab a couple slices of pizza and to rent movies. On my way home, balancing my pizza box, sauce, and newspapers, I was distracted from the music in my headphones by two sisters sitting on their porch step. I stopped and looked over, pulling my headphones down and shutting off my disc-man. The sisters were maybe 3 and 4, and sitting there in cute dresses like they were ready to go to church or their grandmother's house, and there was a picnic basket between them. I couldn't see what was inside, but I did notice there was a white-and-red checkered cloth covering the inside. The little sister -- with her bangs and wide eyes -- remained quiet the whole time. Her older sis did all the talking. "We're selling rocks," she said. "Would you like to buy one?" "Why are you selling rocks?" I asked from my place on the sidewalk; I didn't want to scare them and move in too close. She shrugged. "We just want to sell them," she said. "They're from the zoo. We're selling them for three." "Three or free?" I asked, amused. "Free. We're selling them for free. Would you like one?" I replied right away, "Of course I would!" and I moved in closer as she started rummaging around in the picnic basket. The girls' father came to the screen door, understandably; he stood on the other side of it, and we exchanged greetings. The older sister pulled a jagged, white-gray rock from the basket. "This is the biggest one," she said. "It's from a Thunder Rock. The Thunder Rock hit the ground and broke into a bunch of pieces." She reached out and I took the rock, thanking her. "It's real," she added. I said, "I'll make sure I put it on my writing desk next to other real things." Then we said our goodbyes, and I headed home, the pizza goodies in one hand while I gripped my new Thunder Rock in the other.

So here I sit, on Memorial Day, writing this passage, thankful for Saturday and its bookends, Friday and Sunday. I've been noticing that I'm smiling at weird times, and starting to feel lighter and lighter. Something beautiful is unraveling inside me, letting go.

I've got a chip on my shoulder.

2010-05-24T15:36:00.000-07:00

quote of the day

2010-05-24T15:04:00.000-07:00

"It used to be that when I saw people on TV discussing how they found inner peace, I would get annoyed. Perhaps I was jealous, I don't know. But I always felt that whatever they were saying should be kept private. Now I'm just like them. Not that I go around lecturing and preaching. I remember Sati's advice about becoming a martyr. But when I'm at the store getting groceries, and the clerk asks me how I'm doing, I smile and say 'Great.' I know I used to do that, but at least now I mean it.

“I want to be serious, but it’s hard. I’m like the little kid who plays outside all day and has all the fun in the world, but only because he knows his mother is at home waiting for him. That’s what it’s like to be still inside. Mother is at home. Everything will eventually work out. Everything is inevitable. She is always at home. My thoughts do not support my inner silence; it is just there. It doesn’t even go away when I sleep. I doubt it will when I die.

“By no means does this mean I have arrived at the state that Sati described as enlightenment. As before, I have my ups and downs. But I would also have to say that more and more I find myself watching my sorrows. They are there, they are real; they just don’t affect me as they did before. Now, the average person might call this the growth of apathy, or worse, schizophrenia. All I can say is that I have never felt more sensitive or sane. My friends have noticed the same thing in their own lives. Even Fred.

“Sati’s prediction has come true – I no longer dwell on Linda. I contemplate my blue-eyed friend instead. She made me happy when she was here. She makes me happy now. I miss her, true, but I also feel she is not far away.

“Occasionally I run into someone who attended her meetings. A few ask what became of her. Most appear content to remember her in the company of someone else who had met her. The word is spreading around town, on the wind perhaps, about who was here. I wouldn’t be surprised if years from now her name is known in every corner of the globe.

“Was Sati God? When she was here, that question was important to me. I still don’t know the answer to it. And now, I don’t care to know.

“She was wonderful. She had grace and beauty, love and power. Nothing could hurt her or drag her down. The insults thrown at her from strangers, the doubts dumped on her from friends – they flowed off her like water poured over the back of a swan. Her compassion for those who suffered was outweighed only by her complete unattachment to them. Some might say she was indifferent. I know now her ocean of joy was simply too vast to be disturbed by any wave. Even her own death made her laugh.

“Mother Sati.

“If she wasn’t God, she was everything God should be.”

--Sati, Christopher Pike

Can't Wait for June 22nd

2010-05-20T10:06:00.001-07:00

Life Is Good.

2010-05-14T08:45:00.000-07:00

http://christopherpikefanclub.com/Christopher_Pike_Fanclub/News/Entries/2010/3/22_FilmNation_sinks_teeth_into_The_Last_Vampire.html

Ladyhawke

2010-05-14T08:28:00.000-07:00

Over the past month or so -- thanks to Lisa, my new roommie and friend -- I've become obsessed with the musical artist Ladyhawke. She's a New Zealand artist with Asperger's syndrome who (yep) named "herself"/her band after the amazing '80s flick starring Michelle Pfeiffer, Rutger Hauer, and Matthew Broderick. It's hard to describe her style of music -- I'd say she's the beautifully weird love child of Eurythmics and Bat for Lashes?

Check out these two videos. (*note her ode to early MTV!*)

Magic:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ccbj0A6NJI

My Delirium:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X_bFO1SNRZg

Who's Geeking Out? Me.

2010-05-13T16:28:00.000-07:00

TT Photos

2010-05-12T15:46:00.000-07:00

You want 'em? You got 'em! Here are some photos, courtesy of both Karla and myself, from our trip to Trinidad & Tobago.
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The West Indies

2010-04-13T16:35:00.000-07:00

I know these types of entries are way better with pictures, but it may be a couple more weeks before I get them all sorted and downloaded. I've been back for a month, so I figured it's time to get this bad boy up on the blog! Pictures to follow, promise.
************************************
Ladies and Gentlemen,

Karla and I returned from the West Indies a few weeks ago, where we stayed with her relatives in Trinidad (and also took a couple days to ourselves in Tobago). I pretty much knew how to spell ‘Trinidad” and that’s about it before my jaunt over there. Karla’s father was born in Trinidad, and though he passed away many years ago, she’s still made several trips over to the TT Republic to visit her relatives and connect with her roots. I was honored and touched that she invited me along, especially since she hadn’t been back in 13 years. And so much can change in that amount of time – people, places, memories, our perspective and take on things. I knew she was looking forward to some time to herself – to spend in her father’s room, to hold those cherished conversations with aunts and cousins – but I also knew she wanted to share that piece of herself with me. Some of you know that our friendship goes back a few years, and that we met in the hospital room of a mutual beloved friend about to pass away. I remember being so touched by her soothing voice, her gentle touch with Dwight, and it makes sense that we would share this Caribbean adventure and dive into blood and history and ancestry. Something about it rang true, raw.

Where to start? Karla and I spent lots of time….walking. We were joking that we both slacked on working out the entire time we were over there, but we more than made up for it with the several miles we put in by foot most days. The sun would beat down upon us – about 93 degrees Fahrenheit consistently – and we just chugged along with our water bottles, sunglasses, and slathered layers of sunscreen. I was thankful for all the delicious hours spent under that unique, beating sun: our day at Maracas Beach, for instance, maybe my favorite beach moment ever. We strode out into the thick, salty water and let the crashing waves deliver us back to shore. How fun body surfing is! I’m terrified of sharks (phobic about it, actually); I was assured there weren’t many sharks in that neck of the Caribbean so I took a chance – I know, big deal! – and swum out past where my feet touched. The bartenders at the hut-shack had great 80’s music playing. Who doesn’t want to hear Michael Jackson letting loose while you’re enjoying a magnificent moment next to locals and other tourists in that great expanse of blue-green?

Karla and I went to two bird sanctuaries, one in Trinidad and one in Tobago. Through a fluke (we thought we were going to the forest preserve part of the Trinidad sanctuary), we ended up at the Caroni Swamp on one of their boat tours. About twenty passengers and the guide took the motorized boat down the swamp, and we were witness to a caiman (alligator), boa constrictors in the trees, crabs climbing up vines, and the national bird – the Scarlet Ibis – settling into the branches and dashing across the sky like a phoenix. In mangroves of trees at sunset, at certain times of year, the Ibises flock down (note to PDXers: similar to the swifts at Chapman Elementary) and perch in the trees for the night. As dusk thickens, more and more Ibises flood the mangroves, and even after they’re settled they’ll readjust themselves, thus looking like giant flowers that are rippling with magic. The Tobago sanctuary was more modest in comparison, but the story goes that the same gentleman has been feeding the various species at 8:00am and 4:00pm everyday for something like 25 years. His true love passed away, and he picked up where she left off with carrying on this tradition on the island.

Side note: this lovely Canadian couple in maybe their 70’s gave us a ride to the Tobago sanctuary after we stopped into a resort for directions, curious how much longer we had to walk. They said to us, “We’ve been coming here for twenty-five years! We know right where that sanctuary is.” And just like that we hopped in the back of their rental car, and they told us Mennonite jokes (and they are Mennonites). Want to hear one? “What does every Mennonite woman want?” Answer: “Two men a night!” After the husband told this joke, the wife – wearing a hat with huge plume feathers – decked him in the shoulder hard but lovingly. Lots of people on the islands make extra cash by being “cabbies” in their spare time; we were told which kinds of license plates to look for, how to make sure we weren’t being overcharged, etc. One of my favorite memories of taking a “private taxi” is when Karla and I left Argyle Falls, this beautiful waterfall and trail in the forests of Tobago. We’d just had a delightful venture up into the forest, biting into this sugarcane a local gave us, chatting with locals and taking pictures and watching fish dive for breadcrumbs in the shallow pools of the waterfall. Tired and hot – and wondering if we’d missed the bus back to our hostel – we got a private taxi to drive us. We squeezed in next to uniformed school kids and watched the cliffs, all those slivers of the Caribbean peeking through as we wound around the twisty turns. I felt like I was in a game of Super Mario Bros. or something: Watch out for falling rocks! Don’t take the turn too quickly because of oncoming traffic! Don’t get too close to the side rail or you’ll plunge into the water! Make sure you don’t run over that chicken or goat in the road or you’ll lose all your gold coins!

We relied so heavily on the kindness of both family and strangers during our visit:
*Karla’s cousins and their spouses who (for only one of a million examples) took us our first night for coconut water, where you watch the guy or gal at the cart chop off the top of the coconut with a machete, and then you drink the juice and scoop out the jelly inside for a snack
*Mahendra, Kathleen, Sacha, their dogs Pepsi, Bruce Li, Jet Li, and their cat Pancakes, whom we stayed with – I adore you all and so appreciate your hospitality, our chats, the Roti and doubles, our Scrabble game out on the patio!
*The almost mystical woman who hailed us that private taxi in Tobago
*The hilarious family who ran the hostel, and the teen girl blasting Dirty Dancing’s “I’ve Had the Time of My Life” and singing along (and, yes, I sang along – and danced – too!)
*The middle-aged Trinidadian woman at the waterfall who chatted with me about New York, where she used to be a nanny, after she offered me portugals (orange-like fruit) for “me and my wife”
*So many more

One of Karla’s cousins has an amazing spouse, K, whose brother passed away from an ulcer complication while we were visiting. It struck home – so unexpected – and we’d just been spending time with K for our first couple days. She and D (and their daughter S) were the ones who picked us up at the airport and got us settled right off the bat. Karla and I attended the funeral, which was a Hindu service. I’ve always been fascinated by India, and pyres, and different ways of grieving and seeing our loved ones on to the next chapter, whatever that may be. How heartbreaking – and beautiful and culturally awe-inspiring – to be witness to this, to not only offer support but to stand outside of it all and take in the differences (watching someone burned vs. watching someone lowered into a ground in a cemetery in a Catholic service) and also take in how much more connected I felt to this type of grieving. The family members were active participants in “releasing” him, his body & soul. After the personal family ceremony and prayer rituals back at the family home in the country, the brothers placed him in the hearse, after which we all followed in our cars, much like many religions do here in the U.S. He was adorned in garlands of flowers over his white robe. At the pyre grounds – essentially a picnic looking area, with a huge parking lot, stream, benches, and roofed area with extra seats – the brothers lowered him next to the pyre. The pyre itself was wood blocks built up on four sides, with room for him to be put inside at the proper time. A sheet of wood, with a bonfire-looking collection of logs, was placed on top of the structure. The family said more prayers, and there was chanting in Hindi, with people playing drums and other instruments, and at the appointed time the brothers picked him up, placed him inside the pyre, and took turns lighting the corners of it with the torch. The family stood closest to the pyre, with other mourners standing behind them. The music crescendoed as the flames took hold. Soon everything went up, turning into a roaring fire to see him off. I had questions: Did they purposefully build the pyre this way so you can’t really see him actually going up in flames inside? Will the smell of burning flesh ripple over the crowd? (Answer: No. But I’m not sure if it’s because of a chemical they may have had in the pyre or because the wind was blowing in the opposite direction that day.) People soon started filtering away, getting back in their cars. The family stayed, crying and holding one another; one sister even got so hysterical that she fainted into another family member’s arms. Karla and I waited for D, S, and the others that were riding with us. Then we all went back to the family home, where before we could step foot inside for the “wake,” we had to perform a certain ritual. A family member greeted us, poured water on our hands from a jar, and we had to wash our hands then touch several of his belongings on this chair – a knife, a plate, certain kinds of powder that looked like sage. Then we bent down and touched a piece of the wood used in the pyre, and then washed our hands again. Then we were offered a sip of this juice – thick, nectar-like, tasting like peaches or apricots – and finally we could step inside and share stories, dinner, card games. What a blessing (I hope that doesn’t sound weird and is taken in the right vein) to be able to share in something so profound, humbling, and true to the way I view grieving, loss, and passage.

Throughout my time in the West Indies, I couldn’t help but think back to my last big traveling adventure, Alaska, and draw comparisons. What I came to is that my soul feels more in tune with Alaska – I have a kindred connection to its mountains, wild life, people that is more “me” – but how going to Trinidad & Tobago was needed. Traveling there helped me step outside my comfort zone and experience a shadow-self that was necessary. For one, Caucasians are in the minority (maybe 5%-ish), with most of the citizens being of East Indian or African descent. For another – and I can say this easily now only because nothing bad happened – I’ve never been so hyper-aware of my surrounding because of the high crime rate. Most of the murders in “TT” are gang-related, though there’s some god-forsaken percentage of white American tourists that are mugged that makes roaming through NYC’s Central Park in the dead of night look like the safest thing on the planet. There were a couple instances where I was discriminated against for being white and American. One was in a pizza parlor where everyone in front of me was waited on by the guy at the register, but when it came to my turn he barely acknowledged my presence and his coworkers gave me apologetic looks and took my order. Then he purposefully charged me for things (so I believe) but didn’t give them to me, etc. Interesting – and essential – to experience what so many races experience here in the U.S.! I’ve been discriminated plenty for being gay throughout my life, but I don’t know if I’ve ever been so blatantly discriminated against for my race. Finally, I must mention how much I loved the juxtaposition and clashing of cultures and religions – Spanish, British, French influences and architecture and languages, Hindi temples next to Christian churches, giant billboards all over with “REPENT SINNER – JESUS DIED FOR YOU” type lingo next to carts selling statues of Krishna, Vishnu, Shiva. Though I felt overall more in tune with Alaska, the flipside is that I also feel aligned with Hinduism maybe more than any other organized religion. Thus, my last two Big Adventures are Yin and Yang to one another, completing some kind of intangible whole.

Karla, thank you for such an amazing adventure. I’m blessed to call you a friend. I’m so glad we found Turtle Beach, where you traveled with your family all those many years ago, where we waded in the water along the shoreline, took pictures of pelicans diving for fish, and you got to hang out with the Rastas as the sun set. And I love that we went to the panyards in St. James/Woodbrook, and how that kind gentleman let us in for free to the private party for the football [soccer] convention! That was a perfect Saturday night: listening to the band play the steel drums, partaking of free drinks and dinner, enjoying one another’s company surrounded by good energy and frivolity and hospitality. Here’s to you, Karla, and to your father, the rest of your family, and our amazing trip together!

Love to All,
Nathan

quotes/moods of the day

2010-03-09T14:23:00.001-08:00

Fragmentary Pop

2010-02-17T11:18:00.000-08:00

Alas, I never had a chance to finish my 2009: A Pop Culture Year in Review -- and it doesn't look like I'll be getting to it anytime soon. I had all these grandiose visions of books, movies, TV shows making their way on here, but I've decided to publish this partial post I wrote up around the end of December. Enjoy.
********************
I love this kind of stuff. Making lists. Capturing a year through art, pop culture. Finding meaning in our lives through stepping stones—visual, musical, you name it – that bring us back to certain experiences and life lessons. As time goes on, I’m always fascinated by how my connections to certain songs, movies, TV shows, etc. change based on where I am – and who I am – and even whom I’m with at given moments; in other words, how I feel may change radically as my personality changes and thus what I’m drawn to in art. (Forrest Gump? Used to love you back in ’94. Now I find you to be more cloying and forced in your emotions, except for the scenes with Jenny and Major Dan, which still ring true and raw and sad and hopeful).

But isn’t there also something special, say, about a film we go back to and find we still love, and maybe even more so? With a more matured perspective we can appreciate something about it we hadn’t before; this new angle actually deepens our relationship with the artist’s vision. (Case in point: Poltergeist. Always thought you were a scary mother-fucker, but re-watching you – many times now – as a grownup I’m impressed by your layered commentary on suburbia, family values, facing our fears, American consumerism. And I see you more as a drama than a horror film; I care about that darned Freeling family and really want them to pull through together!)

So here’s my “Best of 2009” list. I’d love to hear from you – got your own list waiting in the wings? Bring it on!

BEST MUSIC RELEASE

White Birds – Sarah Fimm

This six-song EP, clocking in somewhere around 27 minutes, packs quite a punch of melody and melancholy. I can just picture Sarah Fimm sculpting each song to perfection, making sure that the layered vocals and instruments were tuned to a frequency of loss and healing. Standout track: “Tamara Song” (but really, all six songs are 100% thumbs up material). I cry A LOT when listening to this song, but in a cathartic way. Perfect for taking a walk through a park under the sun, driving in your car with the window down, or playing for a grieving friend. I’ve emailed a bit with Sarah Fimm, and while I’ll keep our exchanges about this song private, I will say that she writes from a place of working her way through the death of a loved one.

Runner-up: Two Suns – Bat for Lashes. This takes second place by default; White Birds entered my life on a very special day and thus takes the cake. Who doesn’t love that frontwoman Natasha Khan records wind through trees and layers them through some songs, or that they play live on a stage filled with angel dolls, stuffed crows, a howling-wolf-against-the-moon backdrop, Jesus Christ statuette, and glitters and stars and strobe lights? Standout track: “Daniel” (and you get bonus points if you youtube the “Daniel” video). Perfect for Halloween, waiting for flights in airports and people watching, walks through graveyards, sitting on a beach and looking at ocean waves and thinking about dolphins and sharks, and/or trying to save your true love from black dressed specters who want to hitchhike their way to stealing and warping your loyalty (again, watch that video!).

Honorable Mentions (*in no particular order): Abnormally Attracted to Sin – Tori Amos, New Moon soundtrack, Ellipse – Imogen Heap, Bomb in a Birdcage – A Fine Frenzy, 500 Days of Summer soundtrack, Other Lives (self-titled debut album)

BEST MOVIE RELEASE

Where the Wild Things Are – Directed by Spike Jonze

Sometimes a movie comes along that taps us into our childhood like a bolt of lighting while at the same time tethering us to our adulthood, where we look back and see the elusive, indefinable bridge connecting the phases of our lives. Where the Wild Things Are is one such movie. A big part of this is because I relate so intrinsically with the protagonist Max; I feel like the opening and closing scenes with his family and neighborhood kids could’ve been yanked right from my own life. Those scenes between Max and his mom, played perfectly by Catherine Keener? Heartbreaking. Poignant. As for the time spent with the Wild Things, I can’t say that my fantasy worlds (or are they fantasy?) held such creatures: mine were more along the lines of unicorns and mermaids, harpies and dragons. Still, I was drawn into the sad, lesson-filled woods where Max (emotionally) grew up as he deepened his relationships with those giant furry folks. And what’s even more beautiful about Jonze’s vision is that he didn’t create some cookie-cutter, sanitized version to appeal to the masses. He took a chance, went deep and adult, and stayed true to author Maurice Sendak’s haunted, nostalgic, mystical children’s book (that isn’t just for children). I left the movie theatre on opening weekend and had to find a quiet spot in the parking lot so I could cry and let out everything this film stirred up in me.

quote of the day

2010-02-15T14:40:00.000-08:00

"We are all in the gutter...but some of us are looking at the stars."

--Oscar Wilde

Exhibits A & B

2010-02-05T10:27:00.001-08:00

Hey everybody. I know I haven’t written in a while – Life has been quite the whirlwind. But I started thinking to myself, “These ‘quotes of the day’ just aren’t cutting it anymore. Let’s roll up our sleeves and get down to business.” Part of my absence has been that the last couple months of 2009 were intense in that kind of way that feels more…appropriate for a diary than a blog. I contemplated (and contemplate still) jotting down my thoughts & experiences from then, but the verdict’s still out. Instead, I’m going the figurative science project or court trial route, and will provide you all with exhibits of what 2010 has held in store thus far.

Let’s begin:

Exhibit A: MOVING

I spent all of January looking for new digs. For the longest time I’ve wanted to have a place for just little ol’ me – I’ve held these fantasies of where to put this piece of furniture or that one, how I’ll sit in some bay window and gaze at the sunrise while sipping my coffee – but with my budget realized I’d probably have to sell all my furniture to pay rent and that bay window would instead be that tiny kind you find in basements – or prisons. So I began that mysterious, exciting, and sometimes baffling experience calling “shared housing.” Yes, I put feelers out to friends and also went on Craigslist looking for an ideal living situation. Gosh, did I want to have one room/housemate or two or more? Which neighborhood was down-to-earth, artsy, reasonably priced, and more or less free of gang warfare? What if children were in the picture? What about cats, or dogs, or…chickens? (I’m quite fond of all of them.) I’m lucky in that I have mostly positive things to say about meeting with the people I did. It’s pretty strange, though: you are on an interview, after all. In fact, you’re interviewing each other. Feeling their vibe. Wondering if they’re a complete slob or too much of a neat freak. Making sure they’re not an axe murderer. All that fun stuff. In a couple of the places, I just walked in and felt, hmm, sadness or edginess. It’s like this veil of crackling negative personality hovered through the rooms. I politely waited until it wouldn’t seem rude before I excused myself. My most entertaining experience was when one couple showed me their room for rent in their home; the room was still rented from somebody else not there at the moment; and the room was a disaster – bed sheets tossed all over, dirty underwear on the floor. I mean, I don’t need it to look perfect, but before I come over double check for no skid marks, please!

Ironically and fittingly, I am now going to be living at one of the places I looked at in the beginning. It just seemed almost too easy: are we really this great of a fit? Do we really have such similar aesthetics? Am I dreaming here? Let’s just say that Lisa likes pictures of bug-eyed children, and owls, and has electric candelabra coming out of her walls. I’m in heaven.

{Side note to both “She with the Cat Named Stevie Nicks” and “She Who Rides a Dark Horse”. It was such a pleasure meeting you; you’re great! And Kelly – I’m thankful Julie brought us together as friends. Fig is a gem, and he really, really looks like Fizzgig from The Dark Crystal – but gentler, and with far less sharp teeth.}

Exhibit B: DATING

I’ve been single for way too long and have almost forgotten what a date feels like. After B and I broke up, I made the mistake of getting out there too soon. I suppose it was good for me to test the waters, but after I broke G’s heart – and realized I wasn’t over B yet – I needed to take a step back and figure some things out about men, what I wanted from future relationships, and what I could work on in myself after taking a long, hard look in the mirror. And then I pondered. And then I cocooned some more. And then I pondered yet again. And finally: wait, has it really been this long since I’ve gone out on a date? I almost felt scared to get out there again – and that’s when I knew it was now or never, baby.

I’m not embarrassed to admit I’m taking the online dating approach. What’s there to be embarrassed about? We sometimes meet people in bars, or through friends & coworkers, or at the bus stop, and sometimes we can drink our morning coffee (bay window or no bay window) and peek online to see who might be out there. It’s all about balance. Being a bar fly or shutting ourselves off in our rooms with just our computers are too extremes we should avoid. So yep, I’ve done it before and I’ve done it again; I’m out there meeting people with log-in names like “BearMaster69”, “SecretAnget13”, and “Luv_U_Back4ever”. (*I made those all up – but feel free to steal them.*) There are the usual, stereotypical creeps who send you near-naked pictures of themselves with messages like, “Ur hot. Want to meat up?” [sic] And then there are the insecure fellas. My heart goes out to them; don’t we all have our insecure sides, that part that wonders about soulmates and if we’re going to make a connection with another guy, whether that’s in cyberspace or a coffee shop? But it’s pretty funny – I got this one message along the lines of, “You sound really great in your profile. Too great. Are you actually this nice or will you disappointment me like all the other guys in my life have?” Hmm. Would you respond to him? No, me neither.

Had a wonderful date with J a couple weeks ago. But as it turns out, J and I are just too darned alike for there to be much mystery/tension/intrigue. We started out writing each other these long, eloquent emails peppered with anecdotes about our Midwestern roots, writing, the Universal Spirit, and streetlights that happen to burn out as soon as we walk or bike or drive under them. The connections just kept coming: we both lived in Madison for a while, both got our MFAs in Creative Writing, both are Volunteer Coordinators for non-profits here in Portland. Thing is, we met and….no spark. Immediately I felt like J and I had met in a past life, had been comrades in arms against some enemy. I feel a deep sense of trust with him, something that is both intuitive and spiritual, something that started long before our current incarnations. So because of our date – and our talks afterwards – we knew we were on the same page and that we’d found a fellow friends-only tribesman, if you will. Hey, I’ll take it! J, thanks for the great time. Loved our talk over beers. I do, indeed, “remember” you. And welcome back to Portland.

As for future dates, soulmate possibilities, potential friendships, and maybe a mind-blowing goodnight kiss (or two), I’m open to any of it. Have a date with L tomorrow, which I’m looking forward to. The world of dating is strange and beautiful and sometimes sad and often frustrating. In theory, I’d like to be able to go out with a few different guys, get to know them over time, and just stay relaxed through the whole process – while also being open to swept-off-my-feet potential if I click with somebody right off the bat. I think connection can happen like that – in a split second – or it can grow organically over time. We shall see what happens. As long as I’m honest with myself and others, I think I’m on the right track.

There are future exhibits to display. For now, A & B must suffice. Thanks for stopping by my science project. Blue ribbons, everyone.

Warmly,
N

quote of the day

2010-02-03T08:43:00.001-08:00

"Life is made up, not of great sacrifices or duties, but of little things, in which smiles, and kindnesses, and small obligations, given habitually, are what win and preserve the heart and secure comfort."

--Sir Humphrey Davy (1778-1829)

quote of the day

2010-01-25T13:54:00.000-08:00

"It's not the blowing of the wind that determines the outcome, but the set of the sail."

--Jim Rohn

quote of the day

2010-01-10T17:57:00.000-08:00

"Fearless is an interesting word, for in fact, in being fearless you are not without fear, rather you are withstanding fear. You are moving forward in spite of it...."

--Meredith Pignon

Happy New Year to One and All!

2010-01-01T16:17:00.000-08:00

Hi everybody,

Wow, I've really been out of commission lately, haven't I?

I'll be back soon with regularity, fingers crossed. But I wanted to wish you all a Happy New Year, and my warmest of regards for a new decade filled with hope, abundance, and possibility. I sense an awakening, don't you?

Much love,
Nathan (and Santa)