harry potter vs. the record collection

i don't have the patience to read harry potter, but i have all the time in the world to sit and read simon and garfunkel lyrics off the back of the record jacket.

I admit it's upsetting on at least a couple levels.

a. harry potter is light reading. seriously-- considering the kind of texts i've been reading for grad school, I should be soaking this stuff up like a sponge.

b. it's harry potter, which is legendary for bewitching our culture, (pun intended.) and if i'm not hooked by harry potter, then God help me.

I really wish I were more into books. I really do. some of my favorite people read and read and read. I love their minds-- how they engage narrative. I try to pretend. I watch movies and television shows that were adapted from books. Even enter conversations and know the difference between what's in the text and what's on the screen. I own a lot of books, hoping one day to finally get around to reading them. (my goodness, this feels like confession, especially as I know a particular librarian who is reading this.)

At some point, I got real with myself and I decided that i wouldn't buy another book until I read a collection of short stories by dylan thomas. Why? It's the last book I bought, and I still haven't read even one short story. I love dylan thomas. (and not just because Bob Dylan swiped his name.) I know I like him because my friend Brie read a short story out loud to me once, and I was hooked. So I bought the book. But I think I preferred dylan thomas with Brie reading it out-loud.

So I thought I'd have my hand at Harry. "H. P." as many so lovingly refer. It's been my bedside book. Unfortunately, I'll read two pages before I fall asleep. "Ah!" you may say, "read it when you not tired!" But that's the thing. Also next to my bed is my record player, and below it my record collection. The pattern is this: intend to read harry potter, put on a record, read lyrics instead, and write in my music journal. yes, a music journal. a place to write my many pervasive thoughts that accompany my music. after-which, I usually feel about ready to fall asleep, realizing once again I didn't get around to reading HP.

but hey, i've already watched the movie...

(I'm not that big of an idiot)

"b" is more interesting than "a."

i've returned from the cycling tour with my mom.

a. details:

day 1: edmonds to sequim. 55.2 miles.

day 2: sequim to victoria. 32.55 miles.

day 3. victoria to anacortes. 31.55 miles.

day 4. anacortes to coupeville. 33.45 miles.

b. reflections:

i had forgotten what it was like to be pushed beyond what you thought you could accomplish. (that was day one. although that's nothing compared to the 120 miles they rode today in the tour de france. ho-ly!)

i do believe that the southern part of vancouver island is the most beautiful stretch of land i've ever ridden. (and there was a time I would ride the valleys of the austrian alps.)

never underestimate the power of water. and a good night's rest.

i'd like to do this again-- and I think that the destination, Victoria, is a fantastic place to go. Weekend trip anybody? drive to anacortes, ride to victoria? most of it is trail.

unfortunately i fell ill halfway through the trip, but managed to finish and to finish well. that feels good.

Back to real life.

THE CYCLISTS' PRAYER

By Fr. Picx

the Cycling Priest

As we bike through the city streets, the highways and mountain trails
Protect us Lord from
spills and crashes
trucks and cars whose drivers do not recognize our right to use the roads
dogs who like to bite our shapely legs
potholes, cracks and sharp objects that flatten our tires
thieves and bikenappers who lust after our bikes
the rains and thunders
and all kind of nasty accidents.
Give us the energy and strength
to wake up in the morning and go for a bike ride
to keep us from bonking
to ride up the hills and mountains
to reach our destination.
Grant us the courage
to descend rapidly down the hills
to ride through the rain
to join and finish races even if we know we will never win.
May we experience the joy and the ecstasy
as we are moved by the beauty of nature
as the sun and the wind caress our face
as we feel one with the bike and the road and forget about the time
as we get in touch with the child within us
as we enjoy each others' company
as we feel we could bike forever.
May we continue biking even as we grow old and up to the day we die.
And may you allow us to continue biking in heaven, forever and ever.
Amen!

(I leave now from my house in Edmonds for Victoria, B.C. See you on July 3rd at the Fireworks in Freeland!)

Mike and Caroline.

I am so happy to have been asked to be the photographer for these dear friends. You might not believe it-- but these were taken in freezing temperatures... YES, there was snow on the ground. there really is nothing like natural light :) I just LOVE the vintage look this wedding had. Isn't Caroline just darling?

i love shooting friend's weddings.

some brief reflections on the last couple weeks:

a. "ouch."

b. "you guys, i'm kinda in love with a boy."

c. "woah, magic."

d. "wasn't the first time, won't be the last."

e. "thank God."

f. "what would i do without you?"

g. "omg."

a. i fell. it wasn't my fault, i swear-- I was walking my dogs down to the beach and baloo went nuts over this other dog, and pulled me down while he went tearing towards it. unfortunately, I think I lost my keys in the process. When I went back to see if I could find my keys, there was a homeless gentleman standing RIGHT where I had fallen. (shopping cart and all... certainly a rare sight to see in Edmonds, and even rarer on my suburbia dead-end street.) When I asked if he had seen them, he said "no." I wish I wasn't so preoccupied about the keys because I would've asked him his name. maybe he'll be there tomorrow.

b. yeah right! like i'd gush over my deepest darkest secrets... the boy i'm talking about is mr. finn collins. since his parents are currently in greece, I've been able to hang out with him this whole week, while finn's bff (aka, grandpa) is at work. we play "where's finn?", hang out in my car for hours, jump on pillows, fix bikes, go for walks, draw trains, watch movies, and turn 'on' and 'off' my cd player, record player, and dvd player. he likes buttons. a lot.

c. one word. craigslist. (or two words? craig's. list. ...huh.) i sold the loft bunk bed that i put up on craigslist last night, and it was hauled away at 10:30 this morning. magic.

d. While Beyonce's 'all the single ladies' was bumpin' -- I caught the bouquet at Amy and Joe's wedding. I've only ever caught the bouquet one other time, but this time, it wasn't rigged. That's right, I have deliberately been thrown the bouquet. does that mean this time is more legit? Is this where I say, "If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it"?

e. Brie's back. In Wenatchee, but that's a heck a lot better than Dubai.

f. My LBC co-director, stephanie. Literally. She knows how to work it. She is a creative genius on wheels. I am DRIPPING with anticipation for lakeside. I spent like 2 and half hours in archie mcphees today (which, btw, has relocated to 45th and Stone in wallingford.)

g. In response to MJ's death (via text). oh, all the ambivalence I have towards that man-- but utter devotion I have to his music. HAVE I TOLD THE STORY of sunday afternoons at Alfy's pizza? My parents thought they were giving me quarters to play video games, then wondered why Michael Jackson's "heal the world" (circa 1991) played over and over and over and over again, week after week. (ah, the juke box in the entryway that everyone thought was for 'show' ...but me.)

goodbye, seattle. for now.

thaaaats right. As of July 1st, I'm officially out of my apartment in the u-district, and back to edmonds we go! Before I started the moving process, i took a few shots to remember what once was:















man i'm gonna miss that couch.  it's officially at goodwill, which I'm glad my dad did-- because I don't think I could have parted with it.  i'm slowly trying to create my own space, which proves to be a tough thing in the bedroom of your childhood.  First thing to go:  the "bunny" light switch cover.

I wish I could write poetry like my friend jake.

(jake's on the right, aka, the penguin)

his poetry is usually humorous and theological, but always unpretentious.

anytime you see him on the blog roll having updated, check it out.

that's all.

hello joe, hello amy

it seems just like yesterday that we were saying goodbye to Joe as he left for seminary, (also the last two years of Amy's undergrad)  Now they're both back, as of this month.  And today, they're getting married.  (woot woot!) it feels good to have them back. really good.

seven things i love.

so i didn't jump on the 25 things bandwagon that hit like a networking tidal wave in january, but i thought I'd have my hand at this one.

1. metaphor.

(this is from runaway bunny.)

2. road trippin'

particularly, the music, the sights, and what's at the end of the trip.  (usually disneyland, the mountains, or bonnie)

3. art history.

particularly, marc chagall's biblical paintings, picasso's blue period, and van gogh's letters.

4. the beatles. 

particularly abbey road.

5. maps.

i still have maps from every country i visited in europe. I used to line the streets with ink, never wanting to walk along the same stretch twice. and not knowing what direction i'm facing drives me nuts.  (i'm facing south right now.)

6. showing people seattle.

this week, i took my parents to the best Thai in Seattle --Thai Toms.  Unfortunately there were cockroaches on the walls and... on my dad's napkin!

7. storytelling.  

(preferably around a bonfire, table, or with a group of girls about to sleep at camp)  I've got standards-- ones that actually get requested.

danny and angela (top 20)

what a beautiful couple! i feel so priviledged to have been part of danny and angela's big day. it was absolutely perfect. the weather, the music, these two souls, and the friends and family who surrounded them. somehow i narrowed down the top 20...

...ok, top 21. couldn't resist that last one!

i dig music

I'm a drummer.  I usually don't make that public because people usually assume that girl drummers "suck."  (and, unfortunately, they often do.) but alas, not only is it uber therapeutic for me, but I get to have quality time with my dad because we're in a band together.  (He plays bass.)

I wanted to invite everyone to come see us at this years edmonds art festival... (i highly suggest going, it is so choice... it did get voted best street fair in western washington.)

We're playing on the main stage on fathers day which is pretty special because the band is comprised of two dads and their daughters. (hence why we're called Fadadada.)  The other two in the band are my friend Brittany on vocals and her dad on keys.  We play jazz, blues, and funk.

Sunday, June 21, 2pm.   FREE!

Blogging & Spirituality

I recently was asked to be a guest writer for Mars Hill Graduate School's new site for prospective students.  It was a first for me to write anything of that nature, and although I was asked to write it as a blog post, it became a long and laborious process.

writing for an audience other than my own, being a face for the school that I so dearly love-- i find a tad overwhelming.  i was asked to be honest, and to be honest is to be vulnerable, and so I think inherent in the post one can hear my own struggle with where i was in the process of being a guest writer.  and that is, the value of my own voice.

when the rough draft was done, i sent it to two friends, asking for help.  Along with encouragement, in both their responses, i heard, "it's perfect, I don't see what needs fixing."

So, rough draft, final draft... here's the article... "in process."

I am astonished by the pages upon pages I’ve written for school papers that only one pair of eyes usually ends up seeing.

One time in my undergraduate, after writing a 15 page research paper, I randomly inserted a sentence two-thirds in that said, “If you’re actually still reading this, can you make note of it at the end?” To my amusement, (and embarrassment,) sure enough, the professor wrote, “nice try, I read it all.”

My desire to know that someone is actually reading what I write gets to a core human issue of futility: Does anything I do really matter? If I write myself onto a page, will I be engaged? Will I move anyone? Do I trust that if I’m real when I write, readers will actually enjoy what I have to say?

I sometimes buy into a myth that suggests that everyone else’s lives are invariably sexier and more purposeful than my own. Who would want to read about my life? Speaking from my own experience, to share my own story, no matter how tragic, mundane, or uncool it is– it’s risky, to say the least. Of course there are others who can write, review, and photograph better than me. And yet, I believe that offering small portions of my life to those who desire to read, shows us something of our dignity, humanity, and value.

I have an artist friend who puts her “in process” and unfinished artwork on her blog. Some galleries prefer that their artists don’t present their work in this medium, because in their eyes, it creates a diluted version of the real thing. Which leaves me asking: “what is the real thing?”

I think my artist friend is on to something: it’s about where we are in the process of this thing we call life– When I blog, what I offer is raw, unpolished, and in progress. This is what I’ve found: people are moved.

i climb mt. si in the morning

but before i go to bed, there's something i'd like to say:

i watched marley and me tonight, and unlike almost everyone else, i didn't cry. lucy agreed, we didn't feel particularly attached to marley.* maybe it was the soundtrack.

but here, hero lies beside me as i am about to lay my head down to sleep. and although mt. si might have been nothing for her just a few years ago, tonight she could hardly get up on the bed. she's nearing the end.

there's an awful amount of emotion attached to it, but then again, i've conveniently got sleep to worry about. goodnight.

*or maybe we just didn't want to feel attached because we knew what was coming

let me tell you a little story called,

"today was 84 degrees."

i had my friend smruti over to chill by the pool today. luckily i wasn't too scantily clad because it looks like whole parts of me were dipped in a vat of boiling oil.

geez, sun. what the heck were you thinking? (i'm a projection machine)

spiro: "hey smrut, do you ever wear sunblock?"
smruti: "nope, i don't have to."
spiro: "have you ever been burned?"
smruti: "no... actually, maybe once. do you burn?"
spiro: "yes."

an hour later....

smruti: "i think i'm burned."
spiro: "wow, crazy!"

now you'd think that at this point i'd walk 10 feet to pick up the bottle of sunblock to apply to at least my shoulders... but no. instead, my skin persevered in direct sunlight unprotected for hours. hours i'm telling you. ouch.

in other news, my favorite band of all time is coming out with their exclusive rock band game of 45 of their songs.

yes.
please.

crop.

it's amazing how much a face can change in a moment, isn't it?