The Selby

Don't you love this website? The Selby features photographs, paintings and videos by todd selby of interesting people and their creative spaces













These photos make me realize how I wish I had some kind of successful & lucrative creative career & the money to fund this magical bohemian lifestyle they represent. Also, though, it's kind of inspiring & makes me wonder about saving the money I'm spending now on a jam space & fund it toward creating a beautiful magical place to live (although, i do really like my apartment).

This is the building I'm trying to get into in my next move. 1300 square feet of open space. It's like a blank canvas with some much inspirational/fun potential. Can you imagine the dance parties?

This could only happen to me.

I have spent the past week or two being sick on the couch watching movies. I even missed the show of friends Casey and Brian, who I met in Seattle before they abandoned the rain for San Francisco, although I have plans to go down to the bay area soon. Between that & trying to save up for moving, I haven't gone out too much.

The other night, at the East End, I went with friends to see two of my favourite Portl
and bands: Explode Into Colors and Fist Fite . Explode Into Colors is a super fun band to see with a lot of recent buzz surrounding them, and I wouldn't be surprised if they were the next band to emerge from the Portland scene into more widespread popularity.

There is a door in the East End basement, by the bathrooms, that is always closed, that has "do not enter this is a studio" graffitied onto it.

When we were hanging around outside, a man with crazy white hair poked his head out and said, "hey girls, do you want to come see my art?" Being me, I shrugged my shoulders and followed him inside. He was shaking with the faint tremors like someone who has been drinking and drugging for 40 odd years, and his basement lair housed an astonishing collection of paintings, books, photographs, old furniture, and art supplies. At first we were a little skeptical, but then I started to enjoy myself.

One conversation:

Crazy old man: I suppose you won't like my work, will you, I don't want to offend you I draw a lot of ----. I just think they're beautiful.

Me: Hey, there's nothing wrong with that. that's all Georgia O'Keefe drew.

Crazy old man: Yes! *His arms are in the air and he jumps up and down* Beautiful flower ----!

At this point he hugged me.

He put on Leonard Cohen and he showed us lots of photos and we talked about the Native American goddess figure and the mythology of the "goddess", residential schools, Sauvie Island, Vietnam draft dodgers, local artists, how he thought the "harvest" in Mendocino compared to the Pacific Northwest and Vancouver Island. All sorts of things. After I told him I was Canadian, I could basically do no wrong, and he told me about smoking pot in Stanley Park in the 1960s......"I remember a place, where there were totem poles. And lots of people. Did I dream the totem poles?"

I can't even explain in a blog how amusing and surreal this was. At first, I thought he was a crazy drug addict, not that he's not, but then, gradually, when he showed us advertisements for gallery shows of his work, and I realized he was actually legitimate. Then, before we were leaving, he asked is we wanted "a book". We said sure, and he brought out books and signed them for us (and wrote down his phone number).

Anyways, it turns out he's the author, Walt Curtis, the book was "Mala Noche", an autobiographical book released in the 1970s, which inspired Gus Van Sant's first film, which in turn set the stage for a lot of the New Queer cinema of the 1980s and 1990s. Curtis is friends with Gus Van Sant, and we talked about his new film "Milk" which he absolutely loved, and I'm desperate to see.

In 1984 film director Gus Van Sant (Drugstore Cowboy and Good Will Hunting) began his career with a small, black-and-white independent movie called Mala Noche. Van Sant's film, a gritty look at a gay man's relationship to Latino teenagers in Portland, Oregon's Little Mexico, was based on a novella by Walt Curtis, a street poet with a cult following among experimental writers and audiences. Curtis's small chapbook has never been widely available but is reprinted here with more material by him and an introduction by Van Sant. Curtis's authentic voice sounds like a cross between Allen Ginsberg and the over-narration on a travelogue about inner-city life. He is unstinting in his self-revelation, and the energy and love he has for his characters is palpable (the city of Portland is as much of a person here as his fellow humans). Mala Noche will be a revelation for anyone who loves Van Sant's film, and a fine introduction for those who have yet to watch it.

An underground literary legend associated with Ken Kesey, William Burroughs, and Allen Ginsberg, Curtis has been called Portland, Oregon's, unofficial street poet. "Mala Noche" first appeared in 1977 as a chapbook and was later made into an award-winning film by Gus Van Sant. It is a vividly homoerotic account of Curtis's passionate and mostly unrequited love for several Mexican street youths who come to Oregon seeking jobs and money. The powerful imagery is reminiscent of Jean Genet and of other Beat Generation writers. There is great sadness in the lives of these lost young men but also great beauty and dignity, which Curtis effectively captures. Illustrated with the author's photos and drawings and accompanied by several essays and poems, this book deserves a place in both Hispanic and gay literature collections, though libraries should beware of the graphic language and situations.

Anyways. This better explains my surreal, sort of amazing experience:





And the trailer for Mala Noche:

The Shock Doctrine

Love her or hate her, Naomi Klein's book "The Shock Doctrine", published a year ago, is a pretty amazing read. I adored "No Logo" when it came out, and have since read a number of blistering attacks on her hypotheses from her detractors, politicians, and economists. Regardless of whether or not you agree with her theses or believe she sensationalizes and simplifies ideas for personal profit, her work is fascinating and provocative.

It is an attack on free-market fundamentalism and the global profiteers who benefit from recent wars and catastrophes. Here are two papers that attempt to discredit her thesis from The Cato Institue and The New Republic.

You can listen to her discuss the bailout profiteers here on "Democracy Now"


Excerpt from the book:

Having been part of the movement against ballooning corporate power that made its global debut in Seattle in 1999, I was accustomed to seeing business-friendly policies imposed through arm-twisting at WTO summits, or as the conditions attached to loans from the IMF.

As I dug deeper into the history of how this market model had swept the globe, I discovered that the idea of exploiting crisis and disaster has been the modus operandi of Friedman's movement from the very beginning - this fundamentalist form of capitalism has always needed disasters to advance. What was happening in Iraq and New Orleans was not a post-September 11 invention. Rather, these bold experiments in crisis exploitation were the culmination of three decades of strict adherence to the shock doctrine.

Seen through the lens of this doctrine, the past 35 years look very different. Some of the most infamous human rights violations of this era, which have tended to be viewed as sadistic acts carried out by anti-democratic regimes, were in fact either committed with the intent of terrorising the public or actively harnessed to prepare the ground for radical free-market "reforms". In China in 1989, it was the shock of the Tiananmen Square massacre and the arrests of tens of thousands that freed the Communist party to convert much of the country into a sprawling export zone, staffed with workers too terrified to demand their rights. The Falklands war in 1982 served a similar purpose for Margaret Thatcher: the disorder resulting from the war allowed her to crush the striking miners and to launch the first privatisation frenzy in a western democracy.

The bottom line is that, for economic shock therapy to be applied without restraint, some sort of additional collective trauma has always been required. Friedman's economic model is capable of being partially imposed under democracy - the US under Reagan being the best example - but for the vision to be implemented in its complete form, authoritarian or quasi-authoritarian conditions are required.

Until recently, these conditions did not exist in the US. What happened on September 11 2001 is that an ideology hatched in American universities and fortified in Washington institutions finally had its chance to come home. The Bush administration, packed with Friedman's disciples, including his close friend Donald Rumsfeld, seized upon the fear generated to launch the "war on terror" and to ensure that it is an almost completely for-profit venture, a booming new industry that has breathed new life into the faltering US economy. Best understood as a "disaster capitalism complex", it is a global war fought on every level by private companies whose involvement is paid for with public money, with the unending mandate of protecting the US homeland in perpetuity while eliminating all "evil" abroad.

In a few short years, the complex has already expanded its market reach from fighting terrorism to international peacekeeping, to municipal policing, to responding to increasingly frequent natural disasters. The ultimate goal for the corporations at the centre of the complex is to bring the model of for-profit government, which advances so rapidly in extraordinary circumstances, into the ordinary functioning of the state - in effect, to privatise the government.

In scale, the disaster capitalism complex is on a par with the "emerging market" and IT booms of the 90s. It is dominated by US firms, but is global, with British companies bringing their experience in security cameras, Israeli firms their expertise in building hi-tech fences and walls. Combined with soaring insurance industry profits as well as super profits for the oil industry, the disaster economy may well have saved the world market from the full-blown recession it was facing on the eve of 9/11.

In the torrent of words written in eulogy to Milton Friedman, the role of shocks and crises to advance his world view received barely a mention. Instead, the economist's passing, in November 2006, provided an occasion for a retelling of the official story of how his brand of radical capitalism became government orthodoxy in almost every corner of the globe. It is a fairytale history, scrubbed clean of the violence so intimately entwined with this crusade.

It is time for this to change. Since the collapse of the Soviet Union, there has been a powerful reckoning with the crimes committed in the name of communism. But what of the crusade to liberate world markets?

I am not arguing that all forms of market systems require large-scale violence. It is eminently possible to have a market-based economy that demands no such brutality or ideological purity. A free market in consumer products can coexist with free public health care, with public schools, with a large segment of the economy - such as a national oil company - held in state hands. It's equally possible to require corporations to pay decent wages, to respect the right of workers to form unions, and for governments to tax and redistribute wealth so that the sharp inequalities that mark the corporatist state are reduced. Markets need not be fundamentalist.

John Maynard Keynes proposed just that kind of mixed, regulated economy after the Great Depression. It was that system of compromises, checks and balances that Friedman's counter-revolution was launched to dismantle in country after country. Seen in that light, Chicago School capitalism has something in common with other fundamentalist ideologies: the signature desire for unattainable purity.

This desire for godlike powers of creation is precisely why free-market ideologues are so drawn to crises and disasters. Non-apocalyptic reality is simply not hospitable to their ambitions. For 35 years, what has animated Friedman's counter-revolution is an attraction to a kind of freedom available only in times of cataclysmic change - when people, with their stubborn habits and insistent demands, are blasted out of the way - moments when democracy seems a practical impossibility. Believers in the shock doctrine are convinced that only a great rupture - a flood, a war, a terrorist attack - can generate the kind of vast, clean canvases they crave. It is in these malleable moments, when we are psychologically unmoored and physically uprooted, that these artists of the real plunge in their hands and begin their work of remaking the world.

I got a brand new house on the roadside made from rattlesnake hide I got a brand new chimney made on top made out of human skull

Excuse the watermark, I stole the image from an apartment site I was looking at.

Sometimes I wonder why I pay so much to live where I live. I have lived in 6 different apartments/houses since I moved out of my parents' house, and in each of them I lived in a trendy and accessible neighbourhood. If, say, I wanted to move to a place that was a 10 minute drive outside of town, I could have that whole house pictured above, to myself. Meanwhile, I'm in a cute & trendy 1 bedroom condo while, while cool, has no counter or storage space to speak of. I'm so urbanized, that in Austin, Texas last year, I was completely dumbfounded that there wasn't always a coffee shop within sight. Growing up in Vancouver, I became accustomed to being able to look up on any city street and see 2 or 3 coffee shops within my eyeline. In Austin, however, I had to occasionally walk 5 blocks without seeing one.

I love that I am half a block from bars, restaurants, and a grocery store. In fact, at every single place I've lived, there have been 3 grocery stores within a 5 minute walk. Although I never talk to any of these people, seeing people surround me on the pavement everytime I step outside makes me feel a kind of camaraderie with my fellow human population. I feel less alienated, I feel like I'm part of something. Even though I may never have the cash to spend at the trendy boutiques lining the sidewalks of my neighbourhood, I feel oddly comforted that they're there. Even though I never talk to these people, I like that I see them everyday. When I feel too alone in my apartment, sometimes I take walks and go to coffee shops for some inexplicable urge to be surrounded by human life.

I have a 15 minute commute by foot to my work in the morning and a 4 minute commute by transit. I love this. But, sometimes I wonder how little my life would be affected by, say, a 10 minute move Eastward. I could then afford a house and a garden and a big porch. However, that location wouldn't afford me the social cache of living in a "trendy" neighbourhood. I read an article by an economist recently that calculated that, since he paid 200 thousand more for the convenience downtown digs than he would've out in the suburbs, the privilege of walking to work rather than commuting cost him around 100 dollars a day. For me, I think a move out to the suburbs is associated with settling down and becoming, god forbid, responsible. Because, clearly, it is an irresponsible, irrational decision to waste a few hundred dollars extra a month for the privilege of being surrounded by people I never talk to, stores I never shop at, and bars I never frequent. Oh and, lest we forget, the theater which hosts plays I never attend, and the concert hall I never patronize.

In a way, I think the fact that Vancouver real estate prices are astronomical anywhere I'd want to live has contributed to my resistance to returning there. I don't know if I'll ever have the cash to buy a home (and it's looking more and more like a pipe dream, based on my current working class paycheque-paycheque existence), but I like to know that it's a future possibility, however remote.

Of course, there are significant environmental benefits to living downtown and car-free. Really, none of us deserves to be taking up the room that a house and yard consumes. Still, though, I love the idea of space. I think this is why I am reluctant to move to New York, a city that I absolutely adore. I just can't imagine being constricted by walls and boundaries that are closer in than those I have now. I know some people want a house to fill a family with, but I really just want space to cook big dinners, and a room to write in, a studio to jam in, a darkroom to develop photos in, and a dancefloor for my friends to party on.

I wonder how it will affect peoples' sense of nationalism as, due to changes in lending policies following the mortgage crisis, so few of us are able to own homes. It is a very American idea that we are each entitled to our own piece of land. And now, as relative salaries diminish, this American ideal is inaccessible to most of the population. Can we feel as tied to a country if we are unable to own our own piece of it? The importance of ownership is a central tenet of capitalism, and I wonder how capitalism will change as space diminishes and ownership becomes out-of-reach for many as the middle-class continues to erode. But, I can't help but feel that the space that surrounds me affects my sense of self immeasurably.

When I think about the meaning of space, I can't help but think of Gaston Bachelard's text "The Poetics of Space": "to sleep well we do not need to sleep in a large room and to work well we do not have to work in a den. But to dream of a poem, then write it, we need both....Thus the dream house must possess every virtue. However spacious, it must also be a cottage, a dove-cote, a nest, a chrysalis. Intimacy needs the heart of a nest."

A house is tied to our pasts, our future: "a great many of our memories are housed, and if the house is a bit elaborate, if it has a cellar and a garret, nooks and corridors, our memories have refuges that are all the more clearly delineated...if one were to give an account of all the doors one has closed and opened, of all the doors one would like to re-openm one would have to tell the story of one's entire life."

There are countless metaphors that equate the interiors of our home with the interiors of our mind. The places we inhabit can be imbued with many emotions and memories: they can remind us of lost loves, haunt us about unfinished projects, and annoy us about the emptiness in our lives.
The houses and spaces we have inhabited are intertwined with our memories and our past, and I often wonder what it does to someone's psyche to be rootless, or, even, homeless. As soon as I go to my cabin at Sakinaw or to my mom and dad's house, I feel that I have returned "Home". I have many friends whose parents have split up and moved to small apartments and they really have nowhere that represents their childhood home to them. It is funny, I have never felt that anywhere I've lived has been a real "home". To me, the idea of a "home" is associated with stability and a kind of permanence, and all of my homes have been definitively temporary. Lately, I think it would be nice to impose my vision of an ideal home onto a place I live. It would be nice to feel that kind of connection and that kind of intent to stay put. But, of course, knowing me, as soon as I renovated things to my liking, I would probably freak out at the lack of adventure in my life and leave to discover unknown places.

There is a dichotomy in my mind between my urge to carve out a beautiful life and a beautiful space in one city and house and make it my home and the desire to unburden myself of my belongings and attachments and set out on another adventure with only a backpack to my name. Humans are horders. It's why we shop, why we want our own piece of the pie, why our ancestors traveled to North America to seize land from the Native Peoples. It comforts us to have something all to ourselves. But, what does that do to our psyche when variable interests rates can take what we have away so easily? We have all read countless studies of the link between pervasive poverty and extreme political views, but what does it do to our political future when an entire generation grows up unable to get their own piece of the proverbial pie? What happens when we graduate from school with an average student loan debt of 30,000, credit card debt of 3,000, and are unlikely to ever own a home? 30 years ago, you could've obtained a decent job after University. Now, University grads (well, okay, us, that is me, who majored in Creative Writing and English Literature, with a Minor in Russian Literature in Translation) are lucky to be making 12 dollars an hour. We are not in the middle class. We are not about to achieve the American (Pipe) Dream. We are the working class. We are poor and getting poorer. In a way though, there is a kind of strange comfort in knowing how to be poor. The economy doesn't really affect me personally, at least so far. I've never had any extra money, so nothing has changed. No wonder I find socialism so attractive. I have nothing to lose and nothing to tie me down. So, where do we go from here?

Flowers are essentially tarts; prostitutes for the bees.

Although I didn't have the cash to front for Deerhunter or Gang Gang Dance , who respectively put out two of my (and everyone else's) favourite albums of the year, I managed to take in some more fiscally-accessible (hah) shows.


Fist Fite at Plan B



Last weekend, I saw The Mint Chicks, Lickity, and Fist Fite at Plan B.


The Mint Chicks are a noise pop band that moved from New Zealand to Portland. I like noise and discord in an accessible, fun context, and that's why The Mint Chicks are really fun to watch.

Lickity is a synth punk project backed by the drummer of the seminal L.A. punk band "Fear". They have these epic shows where the frontman wraps his head in tape, screams a lot, and makes all the fifty-something ex-punkers rock out. It's a definite experience.


Bald spots surrounded me as Lickity played
Fist Fite is gaining a lot of popularity. They backed the Klaxons on tour and they're super fun to watch (if anyone wants a visual, the frontwoman had a thing with Vancouver's Garrett. I didn't want to know that either). I love the bar Plan B, because they make the strongest drinks I've ever tasted. My drink was nine-tenths gin, one-tenth tonic.

When my dad came down to visit me, he told me that I should give walking tours of Portland bars since he told me that, in two months, I've been to more bars in Portland than he's been to his lifetime in Vancouver. For a relatively small town, there are some super rad bars here.



Last week, at Backspace, I saw Hecuba, Pit er Pat, and Lucky Dragons on tour together. They're from Chicago and L.A. and all play experimental electronic music which encapsulates performance art and music.

The documentary on Luke Fishbeck, aka Lucky Dragons, "make a baby" project.



This weekend, I saw the Portland band Starfucker play with my friend's band Flaspar at the Someday Lounge. Starfucker (the frontman's former band was Sexton Blake) has gotten a ton of buzz lately, which isn't surprising considering that they're cute boys in tight pants who write accessible indie pop with cheeky lyrics.

The recording isn't much to listen to, and, despite our world-weary cynical comments during the early part of the set list that "this is music I'd like to wash my dishes to and not stay up late at a bar for," their set gradually became more exciting. The songs "Florida" and "German Love" are irresistibly fun, and by the end, I found myself shaking off my music-snob preconceptions and enjoying myself. Being a child of the 1990s, I am a sucker for a little lo-fi pop now and then. They're a tight, enjoyable band that really excited the mixed crowd of hipsters and the bridge and tunnel ilk. I'd see them again live, but I wouldn't buy them on vinyl. That being said, if I was 16, they'd be plastered all over my locker.

Flaspar is an electro-dance project of Keil's, and he's also in the other dance project Guidance Counselor, which is appropriately titled considering their effect on teenage girls.



Guidance Counselor: why do all the bands wear animal masks now?

I have been having too much fun lately. Too much fun, not enough photogenic-ness.

Also, I really need a haircut, but I am paralyzed by indecision (aren't we all?). I've really let myself go to the point where I actually lost my blowdryer since I hadn't used it in 3 months. My beauty routine for the past three years takes about 3 minutes: wake up, shake my hair so it gets even bigger, put on way more eyeliner than is socially acceptable, and walk out the door. The only thing that's separating me from a suburban soccer mom is the short skirts and obsessive skincare regimen. Clearly, I'll never lasso a husband unless I put more effort into looking hot and less effort into being a nerdy hermit.

We Gotta Get Outta This Place

It will be interesting/frighten to see what happens over the next few weeks:

George W. used the last-minute timing of Clinton's "midnight hour" law changes at the end of his term as justification for contesting those laws; however, he like other presidents is doing the same thing.

The article "So Little Time, So Much Damage" appeared in The Times a few weeks ago, and a related article. "Midnight Hour" was printed in this week's New Yorker.

Speaking of The New Yorker, there is an interesting article on "new liberalism" here.

At least, it feels like I'm in the thick of something, living in these equally scary and exciting country. The stores are big here. The cars are big here. The weapons are big here. And the fuck ups are huge.

Everyday, I speak to impoverished people who are desperate for work. I speak to people with families to support who are eager to accept 10 dollars an hour. I speak to people who are 64 without any retirement savings. I see resume after resume from people liberal arts degrees but lack "real-world" experience. I don't think I've ever seen economic desperation like this.

The problem is is that so many of these laid-off and down-sized people don't have any transferable skills. Due to the continued de-industrialization of North America, they find themselves unemployed after 30 years working in a manufacturing plant. These people had the "American Dream" and lost it due to variable rate mortgages and lost investments and vanquished retirement plans. They grew up in a world where stability was the goal. However, in this volatile economy, it is important to have flexibility and possess transferable and marketable skills.

I also see impressive resumes from many downsized educated and experienced people who have found themselves competing in a tough marketplace with many other unemployed over-qualified candidates.

At least it makes me happy to be able to offer some people work and be able to hire my friends for decently paying jobs. I feel impoverished, but I know I'm lucky to have a dependable salary, benefits, and 3 weeks of vacation to start. But, I still feel like I'm always playing catch-up. I guess, right now, there is a kind of solidarity in being perpetually broke.

Lately, I've been reevaluating my values. I've never really valued financial success: I always privileged travel and life experience over savings and stock options. But, I don't want to spend my life encumbered by debt. I just want enough money to have as much fun as possible. The one silver lining to the fact that I haven't ever saved enough for a mortgage on a condo is that, if I had, I'd be paying for it right now.

I've always dated similarly laid-back people to me, too, and I am realizing that that's probably not the most solid financial plan. I can't help it though, it's like I have this innate resistance to conformity and popular culture that I am unable to overcome. The lawyers and business people who work in my building all seem perfectly nice, but I am totally unable to be attracted to them without some kind of indication that they have some sub-cultural/dance night/dive bar learnings. Of course, the only people I have eyes for are the 20-24 year old recent college grad interviewees and bike messengers that come into my office.

Then again, I have a problem with dating people who fit the physical and cultural profile, but are pretty pretentious. Sometimes I wonder if something in my brain chemistry is masochistic and subconsciously attracted to people who will sneer when I tell them I prefer to listen to Lil Wayne or Hot Chip than prog rock, anyday. Perhaps my Id is at war with my Superego. They've ended the cease-fire. I think I'm just going to contract out my life decisions from now on. I'm going to go the way of the economy and outsource my life decisions. The contract's up for bidding.

Learning to Love you More

I sort of love Miranda July, I think "Me and You and Everyone You Know" was an amazing book/movie/art project.

And this website that she's a part of, Learning to Love you More , is one of my favourite internet projects to waste time looking at. You've probably seen it, but if you haven't, there are a number of assignments that visitors to the website accept, complete and document. The idea is that, as a collective, we're making an art project, and I think it's a neat thing to take part in. Often, creativity comes out of structure, as anyone who has struggled with writer's block, overwhelmed by the number possibilities, can understand. I sort of hated school, but the fact that it forces you to create all of these ideas and projects is kind of great, and we generally lack that after we leave school.

"Learning to Love You More is both a web site and series of non-web presentations comprised of work made by the general public in response to assignments given by artists Miranda July and Harrell Fletcher. Yuri Ono designs and manages the web site.
Participants accept an assignment, complete it by following the simple but specific instructions, send in the required report (photograph, text, video, etc), and see their work posted on-line. Like a recipe, meditation practice, or familiar song, the prescriptive nature of these assignments is intended to guide people towards their own experience.

Since Learning To Love You More is also an ever-changing series of exhibitions, screenings and radio broadcasts presented all over the world, participant's documentation is also their submission for possible inclusion in one of these presentations. Past presentations have taken place at venues that include The Whitney Museum in NYC, Rhodes College in Memphis, TN, Aurora Picture Show in Houston, TX, The Seattle Art Museum in Seattle, WA, the Wattis Institute in San Francisco CA, among others.
Since LTLYM inception in 2002 over 5000 people have participated in the project."

"The best art and writing is almost like an assignment; it is so vibrant that you feel compelled to make something in response. Suddenly it is clear what you have to do. For a brief moment it seems wonderfully easy to live and love and create breathtaking things. In this section we have archived some of the work that has commanded us in this way. In a sense, these are assignments -- in the same way that the ocean gives the assignment of breathing deeply, and kissing instructs us to stop thinking."


Assignment #30
Take a picture of strangers holding hands.
Kara Smith

Assignment #30
Take a picture of strangers holding hands.
Anthony Mehlhaff
Los Angeles, California USA



Assignment #55
Photograph a significant outfit.
"I wore this outfit the day that my girlfriend said she liked my friend, and after we broke up, I ended up kissing her sister and realized I don't like girls."
Karin Bunch
St. Petersburg, Florida USA

"I was wearing this the night I went to the Daft Punk concert."
Rafael Medeiros
Rio de Janeiro, BRAZIL

"What I was wearing the night he and I ended up dancing in the street at 6 AM"
Alba Mayol
Barcelona, SPAIN


Assignment #51
Describe what to do with your body when you die.
Caroline Knueppel
Milwaukee, Wisconsin USA


After I die i would like to donate my body to science under the condition that my skeleton, in it's entirety, will be cleaned up and displayed as my Final Self-Portrait.

Andrew Anthony Harrison
Wrexham, WALES


I wish my body to be shaved, every last hair to be removed. Then I want body art, the ones that raise the skin and create them weird ridges and horns put under my skin. Then I wish to have my body tattooed all over in the style of red and green scaly skin. Then, still naked, be put into a tank of formaldehyde, methanol, ethanol mix to preserve my body for as long as possible. The I wish the tank to be taken to public places all around the world and left there for as long as possible.

Melanie Harris
Toronto, Ontario CANADA


When I die, I would like for no one to be sad. I hate when people die, and I hate how long it takes for the sadness to go away. So, my wish is that everyone gathers together and stays happy. My body can be put in a box and cremated right away so I don't get all nasty. Then everyone can gather around my ashes and my parents will cook some foods for all my loved ones.
Everyone will drink French red wine from 2003, and eat a selection of cheeses chosen by my mother and father, together. There will be olives, and pastis, and absinthe, and some proscuitto on breadsticks. There will be no main course because my parents will be sad, and I don't want to burden them with having to cook all this shit for me if I'm not going to be there to eat it. I don't want my dead body around the food. Make sure my cat is there also, so that everyone can give him all the love he needs, and make sure my friend Laura takes Randy home with her, because I want him in good hands, and I know Randy likes gingers, so Monster can be a friend for him. Grumble too. Desert will be carrot cake, with the plastic people that my mom use to hide in the Easter loaf when we were kids. Whoever ends up with the plastic person (I think it was a king) will win a prize, I would say that the prize is all my stuff.... that person can go through my shit and take everything they want (Excepting Randy).

After the food, everyone can go to the room where my ashes are, and do their thing. Say whatever you feel like about me...the good and the bad; cause there will be lots of both.

After all this, my sister Alexia will have to bring my ashes to Switzerland. I want her to take me as carry-on luggage; I'm NOT going with the cargo. She can spread my ashes above Vevey, in Mt. Pelerin, or Signal de Bougy. Her choice. Tell everyone I am sorry for dying but don't be sad because it was my time to go.

Michael M.
Odenton, Maryland USA

I would simply like to be buried, completely intact, along with my gaming controllers that I have.

Assignment #37
Write down a recent argument.
Jeffrey Yamaguchi
Brooklyn, New York USA


Me: "You're not a real fan."
Wife: "I'm not a real fan? I'm not a real fan? What are you talking about?"
Me: "You're not a real fan."
Wife: "I was watching basketball way before you."
Me: "But you're not a real fan."
Wife: "I got you into basketball. I'm the real fan."
Me: "I'm the one who goes now. I go on just regular ol' nights and watch the games."
Wife: "You didn't even want to stay last night and watch the end of that Spurs game."
Me: "Yeah, but you only want to watch the playoffs
You're a playoff fan. Not a real fan. A playoff fan is the worst kind of fan."
Wife: "I wanted to stay last night."
Me: "I go all the time, though. See, I like to go and just hang out and drink beer and eat chicken wings."
Wife: "That's because you like the chicken wings."
Me: "It's because I'm a real fan."
Wife: "Yeah, you're a real fan
A real fan of chicken wings."

Assignment #37
Write down a recent argument.
Gemma Hamilton
Edinburgh, SCOTLAND


At my brother's apartment in Austin, Tx.
The guest toilet becomes blocked and water pours over the rim. My brother is in another room.
Siste
Brother comes running: What?
Sister: It won't stop. It's blocked.
Brother: Well turn it off.
Sister: How? I don't know how.
(Water is rapidly covering the bathroom floor).
Brother: Just turn it off.
Sister: How?! Tell me!
Brother: (agitated) Christ, you really are a retard. What on earth did you do to it? Ew, my feet are getting wet!
Sister: (shouting) Well then turn it off!
Brother: Cretin.
(Reaches the valve and finally stops the flow.)
Look at this place! How much paper did you use?
Sister: What? I didn't do it deliberately.
Brother: You just turn the valve to stop the flow.
Sister: Well I didn't know. My toilet at home doesn't have one.
Brother: They all have one. God, this is disgusting.
Sister: Mine's concealed, how was I supposed to know?
Brother: It's not bloody hard. Only you could do this.
Sister: Don't yell at me. These American toilets are weird, they block easily.
(Surveying the inch of water on the floor.) We need to clean this up. Do you have a mop and plunger?
Brother: No
Sister: Why?
Brother: 'Cause I don't go around blocking toilets. Christ. I don't even know a place that would sell one at this time.
Sister: HEB.
Brother: We've just come from there. Argh.
Sister: Look, we'll just drive back and pick up a mop, plunger and some bleach.
Brother: Right, that won't look dodgy in the slightest.
Sister: God, I'll fix it. OK?
(Brother leaves room).
Dick.




Assignment #37
Write down a recent argument.
Cindy
Seattle, Washington USA


Nick: Next time why don't you just give me a deadline for when you want me to reply!
Me: There is no deadline. It's just that I thought you were too busy to reply until I saw that you had time to make several postings on your blog. And what's worse is that one of your more elaborate postings contained a picture of some groceries you bought and a lengthy description of your purchases: "I got this mango, detergent and sponge for only 5NT!" Seriously? It's nice to know that I rank behind the oh-so-important sponge blog.
Nick: I'm not interested in fighting with you. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings but I'm afraid that I will do it again.
Me: No, you won't.

Assignment #63
Make an encouraging banner.
Ashley Rose
Fullerton, California USA




Assignment #63
Make an encouraging banner.
Verena Matuschek
Nordrhein-Westfalen, Muenster GERMANY


>

Write your life story in less than a day.
Anonymous
San Francisco, California USA


I was born in 1972, the day after my parents got married while stoned at the same church that Ron and Nancy Reagan were married. My parents and my half brother (who is 14 years older than me) lived in various apartment buildings in North Hollywood and then finally a house. I was a more or less happy, albeit very shy, child. The atmosphere in my house was one of extremes. Feast or famine, happy or sad, yelling or silence. My parents fought a lot and separated constantly. My mother was an alcoholic, my dad and brother, potheads. They were loving to me but not so much to each other.

When I was 10 we moved deeper into the San Fernando Valley. My mom stopped drinking. I had no friends and was miserable, until I met one friend and then another, who remains my best friend to this day. Countless days were spent trolling the hills and abandoned houses, looking for secret places to hide. My friends and I fantasized about meeting Duran Duran and covered our walls with posters. I started junior high right around the time my parents divorced and my dad moved out. He remarried soon after. I cried in the car when my mother told me.

In high school I met a group of people that I still know and who became my best friends throughout my teenage years. We did lots of drugs and spent summers driving through the Southwest, through Native American reservations, repairing houses, making out with each other, dropping acid. I hated school and ditched whenever possible, usually with my friend L, an artist with whom I would drive to downtown Los Angeles at every chance we got. I started hanging out at a café on 6th and La Brea and was introduced to artists, drag queens, dilettantes, drug addicts. My people. I fell in real super love with a guy and began a tortuous three year relationship with him in which we screwed around a lot but never committed to each other. It was very dramatic. I wrote about him a lot.

After barely graduating high school I went to community college and tried to become a beatnik. Met my first real official boyfriend and had sex for the first time, under the influence of muscle relaxants and rum and cokes. I was living back in the city with my mom, and things were good as she finally had a steady job. We made it through the LA riots. I went to lots of Jane's Addiction shows. I took a jazz appreciation class and started seeing jazz shows. The boyfriend dumped me once, and then again, after a bad mushroom trip. I started having anxiety attacks. I couldn't sleep until the sun came up. I couldn't be in a public place without feeling like I was going to drop dead or do something crazy. I filled up a big journal almost monthly. I thought I was possessed. I went a little insane. I smoked and drank a lot. Eventually, it passed.

I fell in love again. It was unrequited, but I didn't care. I just loved him. We took lots of road trips up and down the coast from SF to LA. I moved to Santa Cruz to go to college. Had a falling out with guy I loved. My mom lost her job, my dad lost his wife/; both had nervous breakdowns. My grandmother died. I lived with hippies. Hated SC. Discovered I wanted to be a writer. Didn't make it into the program. Barely ever went to class. Still suffered from anxiety attacks. Met a boy. Drank a lot with him. Started doing crystal methadrine. Got dumped by boy. Spent a summer in LA, working at the coffee shop I used to frequent as a teen. Had weird, random, glamorous in that druggie sort of way hook ups. Went back to SC and met another boy. Was dirt poor. Stupidly moved in with him. He didn't like me to leave the house. Slept on the kitchen floor a lot. Left him and went back to LA.
Went back to SC to finish college. Met a good boy. Loved him madly. Graduated with a degree in American Literature and moved up to Berkeley the next day. Stopped doing crystal methadrine. Worked at a French deli and at a film organization. Hated Berkeley. Moved back to SC. Lived with boyfriend then got my own place. Everyone was doing heroin except me. Moved to San Francisco.

Worked at a weekly newspaper in the personal ad department. Met two women who would become great friends. Quit smoking. Lost 40 pounds. Got another job at a book publisher. Had an alcoholic boss who slept with all her authors. Vowed to get out of corporate publishing. Worked in a local literary legend's living room for a year. Went insane and left there, too. Got some money from my great aunt and decided to drive to NY and back to clear my head.

Came back and fell into a random corporate job. Moved in with boyfriend. Broke up with boyfriend. Started smoking again. Gained back 20 pounds. Went out a lot. Met some fantastic people. Met some pretty stupid people. Met X. Became inseparable from her. Met a group of guys. She married one; I fell in and out of love with one. Went a little crazy. Started a magazine. Started playing drums. Joined a band. Met M. Became inseparable from him. Joined his band. Stopped hanging out with stupid people. Stopped drinking so much. Stopped doing things I don't like to do so much. Moved into my own place. And that's where I reside now.

This American Life

So, I asked for responsibility, and I got it. I have 28 things on my afternoon to do list. I have 300 resumes to go through and choose who to conduct interviews with, 3 ads to write, and 40 invoices and checks to reconcile today, among a million other calls and emails to write and return. Yesterday, the day I got to fire someone for the first time (maybe a little too overly apologetic on my part), I received 7 emails between 5 and 5:30 (my end time) each asking me to take care of something by the end of the day. Ugh. All I could do is come home and crash and zone out in front of a movie. But I do really like being busy all day long, it's so much better than watching the clock.

My parents came to town and were so nice and bought me furniture and we ate good food and I got to show them around my new favourite city. It made me miss them and Vancouver even more. I will actually be in Vancouver in December.

Although I love Portland, if everything goes to plan, I may be jumping ship and moving to a sunnier climate 2009. Possibly. Settling down is way overrated, apparently. If I think back to where I thought I'd be at my old very advanced age when I was 15, to be truthful, I thought I'd be an internationally published writer living in New York or Paris in love with a man about 6 feet tall with dark hair and an accent. Ideally someone who could both appreciate arthouse films and who could also help me move. I also thought that this career thing would be all sorted out by now. But, funny thing happens, time passes much faster than I mature. And my age doesn't feel as old as I thought it would be. And funnier, life doesn't turn out how you think it will.

But, there are some upsides to my life. I've had a lot of adventures and made a lot of lemonade out of all of the proverbial lemons. For example, I know am handy with a screwdriver and wrench, thanks to my habit of dating musicians who aren't so inclined toward manual labour. I may have to carry my own groceries, but, yes, I am quite self-sufficient. We take it for granted now, but when you think about all those post-feminist years, it is actually somewhat gratifying to know that I am self-sufficient and could be for the rest of my life. I do like that I can pay my own bills and know how to change an oil can.


I could be moving to one of 8 cities in 3 countries in the upcoming year. But, you know, that's all dependent on people not turning down my school applications. Applying to grad school is kind of stressful, because you know your whole life is on hold and up in the air until they say yes. But....it's also kind of exciting.

But I do get easily excited.

Right now, I'm excited about my imminent sewing lessons, which will hopefully improve my imperfect technique, and I'm also really excited about signing up for a running club and road races. One of the more surprising things about me, if you haven't known me in that venue, is that I'm fairly competitive. It's just how I was raised by my Dad. I grew up with the mentality that you could never miss practice or games because of illness and that you should train, basically, until you were on the verge of collapse. If I'm training with someone else I'll basically kill myself rather than give up since I hate losing. When I start a workout regime, I workout obsessively until I can barely move my body and basically stop eating anything other than tofu, nuts, fruits, quinoa, and vegetables. I'm just starting to throw myself into another period of training. It's compulsive. Man, I'm such a dork.

When Paul came snowboarding with me last year for the first time, I think he was a bit shocked by the fact that I was better and stronger than him. I spent my entire life playing sports competitively, before the past few years, and I do miss that aspect of my life. Although I've kept fairly active since then, I'm never really motivated unless there's some kind of competition to motivate me, so I think I'm going to start training for road racing. I've also considered triathlons, except I'd have to seriously work on the cycling speed.

I love nights where I get to nerd out and drink chamomile tea and listen to Billie Holiday, Sam Cooke, and Francoise Hardy.



As much as I like going out, I love being alone. I don't know if I can ever get married. I see a long future for myself living alone with a huge library with rolling ladders.

As happy as I was following the election of Barack Obama, I can't help but be disappointed following the result of the Prop 8 vote.

52% of California voters supported overturning the legalization of same sex marriage. The courts may still overturn the results of the vote, but it has left all of the recently married gay couples in legal limbo. It seems ridiculous that we're still talking about this in 2008. I think I tend to shelter myself in cliques of like-minded people. For instance, I don't think I could be friends with someone who was against gay marriage, pro-life, or voted for McCain. I'd rather not know, because that would mean they opposed everything I stand for.

I do actually understand the urge to be "fiscally conservative", but, in America especially, tight-fisted economic policies always seemed to be coupled with puritanical, bible-thumping, flyover-country values. I do understand the widespread frustration with people on welfare, especially since there are so many people who make up the working-poor.

But, after handling calls for the government on "welfare Wednesdays" in BC, I can tell you that most of those people are too overcome with mental illness to ever fully support themselves. Some people might be able to go through job-training, but so many just need social support. Anyone who signs up for the meager support offered by government programs, which pales in comparison to the earnings from full-time employment, must really need it, for whatever reason. I probably will never rely on the social welfare offered by Canada, but I like that it's there for others I could talk for hours on the welfare reform begun by the Clinton administration that was manipulated and changed in order to garner enough Republican support to pass (I am one of those losers who reads 300 page releases from political think takes on government policy- which is why I probably be cold and alone 25 years from now), but I won't

Although the Republican party makes it sound like the funding of social programs equals higher taxes, only 1% of last year's budget was devoted to social welfare. Most of it was, of course, devoted to the war. I have to say that the counties I've lived in, thus far, in America, have seemed really progressive. For example, Multnomah county offers free HIV testing and counselling in gay bars monthly.

Practically everyone I know is left-leaning, and, in a way, it's dangerous that I've sequestered myself in that way, since I'm somewhat ignorant of the amount of ignorance and prejudice that still exists in our society. I basically have blinders on when it comes to certain aspects of North American culture. I might nerd out and read reports on American foreign policy or have listened to the new Deerhunter record be up on the most exciting releases on the film festival circuit, but I have no concept of what music dominates the popular airwaves or who is winning on Dancing with the Stars. I couldn't even name the pro or college sports teams in Seattle or Portland (after a year of living in Seattle and eating vegetarian food in the University district, my Dad had to tell me the name of the University of Washington sports teams.....the Huskies). I'm always shocked when people tell me that one in ten people are gay, because in the circles I run in, it seems like it's more like 4 out of 10. My friends and I have lamented more than once that it's hard to find a cute straight man out there. In short, I have forgotten that there's this rightist segment of the population, and it's incredible to me that 52% of the Californian voters are anti gay marriage. It's hard to believe that there are so many ignorant and hateful people out there.

As much as I love some aspects of this country's culture, I hate the puritanical values that are still prevalent in American culture. The large Catholic and Mormon support for Prop 8 just reinforces my resistance to organized religion (there are many great things about Christianity and all religions, I just think it's unfortunate that these close-minded people use religious rhetoric to discriminate against others). Although I am not religious, I don't think there's anything wrong with having faith and I don't think there's anything wrong with most of the teachings of Christianity, I just hate when certain people cherry-pick religious teachings to endorse their own close-minded beliefs. It's shameful that, in 2008, a large contingent of the population is still denied the right to marry whomever they want.

There are exceptions to this. Once, I went to a wedding of two lesbians in an Anglican church in the west end of Vancouver, and the minister gave an inspiring sermon on the acceptance inherent in God's love for humans and humans love for each other, and it was amazing to see someone use religious rhetoric, so often manipulated for the sake of condemnation, to argue for the acceptance of others.

I do feel proud of Canada for, rightly, legalizing same-sex marriage (although that should've occurred years earlier, as well). One of my friends in Seattle, an Australian lesbian who fell in love with an American, isn't even allowed to work or, go to school in this country since she is not allowed to marry her partner of seven years. Instead, she keeps paying to extend her "pleasure visa" and will have to choose between pursuing graduate studies or staying here with her girlfriend.

On a more positive note, I am so happy that my Uncle was able to marry his partner of 20 years and that they were both able to move from New York to Vancouver.

Anyway, if anyone reading this is from Vancouver, my Uncle Sean is in the midst of running for city council and doing some pretty amazing things. You can read about it here . I know I was always woefully ignorant about civil politics, despite living within city limits for a number of years, but I think it's really critical to vote to maintain and protect the diverse and exciting culture of Vancouver. So, do read about it and vote!

Election night here was a pretty amazing thing to experience. It's pretty cool to stand in a room full of jaded kids all cheering and unabashedly crying. It made me really happy and filled me with such hope. I'm sure I mentioned this before but, after watching stock footage from protests and speeches from 1968, I said that I couldn't imagine my generation being filled with such optimism rather than pervasive apathy. But skepticism and activism often follow each other, and it's pretty overwhelming to see this kind of camraderie over shared political ideals. I was talking to another non-American about how this country displays both the best and worst aspects of culture,and, suddenly I feel like my faith in people is renewed. It doesn't mean I'm planning on staying away from my home forever, though.

I'm really nervous/excited about work next week, 3 weeks after working there, I've suddenly been given more responsibility than I've ever had in a workplace.

It's hilarious, all last week the head people at the company had me take a battery of psychological and SAT-type tests (with lots of questions like if Steve sold more than Bob, and Bob sold more than Alex and James than who sold....), but, at the end they told me I did "really, really" well, whatever that means, and told me I'm going to be being groomed for a new position as of next week.

A part of me misses a fun job where I'm surrounded by people my own age- no one I work with is below 40- and I find myself gossiping with the baristas and bike messengers as a relief from having to act so grown up and, in ways, older than I am.

I am not yet getting paid more, but I have my first salary negotiations in 30 days, so we'll see.

Although I am making enough to be okay and pay rent at my cute apartment there are certain things I want, desperately. After not having much money for awhile, it takes a while to catch up. I tell myself that I don't care much about money, and I don't, really, but every so often, I start to yearn for things I can't afford. I can't even remember the last time I spent over 12 dollars on a piece of clothing (thank god for thrift stores). Lately I feel horrendously frumpy and stuck-in-a-rut and unfashionable. And this whole move-starting-over thing has really messed up my budget, especially since I was just getting settled in Seattle. This has been exacerbated by my recent selling off of most of my wardrobe (I shouldn't complain, there's more than enough left) to fund my life. So far I've resisted selling my favourite things that I've unearthed, like my battered vintage Chanel and Dior bags, and Sass & Bide jeans, and Marc Jacobs flats. I'm trying to convince myself that I don't need material goods, but sometimes I just want them so badly.

But, these are the things I really, really want:

A digital SLR
A bass guitar + amp
A new laptop
Lots of records
A motorcycle (I already tried to buy one, but my Mom and Dad told me that if I bought one, I'd be financially cut off forever and I wimped out at the thought of paying for grad school by myself. Also, I thought I should probably wait for my health insurance to kick in before I dumped my bike all over town).
A vintage armchair
A kitchen table
A fast road bike.
A new Snowboard jacket.
On that note, a season pass to Mt. Hood.
A Marc Jacobs Purse.
Pattern making classes so I can learn to design my own sewing patterns.

But, of course, I tend to spent most of my cash on travel and moving.

I guess, in my life, as they say, the only constant is change. I've been working for about 10 years now, and have never stayed at a job longer than a year. I have never stayed living in one place for longer than a year, either, since I've left high school.

I change plans almost as often as I change outfits. I am never happier than during the departure for a move or vacation....the hum of the motor of the car or plane fills me with such anticipation. I love looking out a plane window and watching the houses below shrink in diameter until they become obscured by distance.

Often, the anticipation is the best part.

I don't know what I've been searching for...maybe I'm just waiting for one place to feel like home or one job to feel like a career or....etc.

Almost as exciting is when a film is enthralling enough to lend the viewer a similar sense of escapism and adventure.

One visually exciting film I saw last week, is the Hong Kong film "2046". It is written and directed by Wong Kar-wai and is a loose sequel (accompaniment?) to "In the Mood for Love" and "Days of Being Wild"

Glenn Kenny, of Premiere Magazine wrote that the film's

"Insanely evocative ’60s-style landscapes and settings share screen space with claustrophobic futuristic CGI metropolises; everyone smokes and drinks too much; musical themes repeat as characters get stuck in their own self-defeating modes of eternal return. A puzzle, a valentine, a sacred hymn to beauty (particularly that of Ziyi Zhang, almost preternaturally gorgeous and delivering an ineffable performance), and a cynical shrug of the shoulders at the damned impermanence of it all, 2046 is a movie to live in."

And Ty Burr of the Boston Globe wrote that

"Is it worth the challenge? Of course it is. Wong stands as the leading heir to the great directors of post-WWII Europe: His work combines the playfulness and disenchantment of Godard, the visual fantasias of Fellini, the chic existentialism of Antonioni, and Bergman's brooding uncertainties."

The visual style of the film, which combines early 60's glamour with futuristic science fiction elements, is absolutely stunning. I thought it was sort of amazing.

I just read Vladimir Nabokov's "The Real Life of Sebastian Knight". I can't believe I haven't read it until now; I agree with the critic michael dirda's assertion that "questions lie at the heart of nabakovian fiction, a fiction full of ambiguity, traps for the unwary, camoflaged clues, tongue-in cheek parody, and dizzying paradoxes". This was his first novel written in English. With Nabakov, nothing is ever as it first appears, but what really kills me is the beauty of his language: "possibly underappreciated, are the novel's atmospheric vignettes: scenes of old Russia, romantic Paris between the wars, rain- swept Cambridge.These imbue "The Real Life of Sebastoan Knight" with a distinct period feel, one reminiscent of so many grainy, shadowy 1930s black-and-white films".

Tonight I was let in free too see Glass Candy, Farah, Nite Jewel and more at Rotture, a bar that has good dance nights every weekend and a rad soul night on Thursdays. Next to Holoscene, it's my favourite PDx venue for dance nights.

And, next week at work, I get to start writing ad copy. I mean, it's not exactly the equivalent of publishing an essay in McSweeneys, but nonetheless, it is nice to have my boss think I'm a good writer capable of writing ads (that being said, writing ads does feel a little weird after allow those years spent supporting adbusters, but.....).

Also, I always feel a little shy about people I don't know that well reading this (and for some reason, I know people are) because I do worry that I must come off as more emotional, self- centered, and neurotic than the relatively happy and fun girl I am in real life, but.......oh well, that's what I guess happens when I update this while drinking wine all alone in my apartment late at night: even a girl as prickly as a porcupine and as impervious (impenetrable?) as.....a rain jacket ( that's so cheesy) lets her guard down and becomes a little sensitive.

I just read Vladimir Nabokov's "The Real Life of Sebastian Knight". I can't believe I haven't read it until now; I agree with the critic michael dirda's assertion that "questions lie at the heart of nabakovian fiction, a fiction full of ambiguity, traps for the unwary, camoflaged clues, tongue-in cheek parody, and dizzying paradoxes". This was his first novel written in English. With Nabakov, nothing is ever as it first appears, but what really kills me is the beauty of his language: "possibly underappreciated, are the novel's atmospheric vignettes: scenes of old Russia, romantic Paris between the wars, rain- swept Cambridge.These imbue "The Real Life of Sebastoan Knight" with a distinct period feel, one reminiscent of so many grainy, shadowy 1930s black-and-white films".

Tonight I was let in free too see Glass Candy, Farah, Nite Jewel and more at Rotture, a bar that has good dance nights every weekend and a rad soul night on Thursdays. Next to Holoscene, it's my favourite PDx venue for dance nights.

And, next week at work, I get to start writing ad copy. I mean, it's not exactly the equivalent of publishing an essay in McSweeneys, but nonetheless, it is nice to have my boss think I'm a good writer capable of writing ads (that being said, writing ads does feel a little weird after allow those years spent supporting adbusters, but.....).

Also, I always feel a little shy about people I don't know that well reading this (and for some reason, I know people are) because I do worry that I must come off as more emotional, self- centered, and neurotic than the relatively happy and fun girl I am in real life, but.......oh well, that's what I guess happens when I update this while drinking wine all alone in my apartment late at night: even a girl as prickly as a porcupine and as impervious (impenetrable?) as.....a rain jacket ( that's so cheesy) lets her guard down and becomes a little sensitive.

My belly's still full from last night's dinner at The Farm Cafe , a lovely restaurant in an old house that focuses on locally-sourced fresh food. We drank Pinot Noir and gorged ourselves on rosemary roasted hazelnuts, baked Brie, herb crusted tofu with mushroom Marsala sauce, and goat cheese ravioli with fresh basil, pecorino, and hazelnuts. It's funny, I hate packaged junk food, but I'm happy to indulge on really good fresh food and wine. It was just such a charming place to celebrate the 28th birthday of the boy I'm dating. After that we drank pumpkin ale and watched The Pineapple Express at the 3 dollar theatre.

I love night's filled with good people and good food. It is undeniably nice to have someone who wants to celebrate their birthday on a date with me.

Despite what people say about getting old and boring, I think each year just gets more and more fun. You know, I think right now is a pretty amazing time in life.

Don't fall in love with the autograph

Another Friday night spent on the couch drinking wine and reading Nabakov. Sometimes, I think these are my favourite kinds of Friday nights.

Although I do really like going out too. I actually think I'm starting a 1990s dance night (it was their idea, I just talked my way in) with 3 others and I have to come up with a DJ name. I guess girl DJs are always somewhat marketable?

If anyone has any ideas....

It's funny, I got really mad today, and I don't usually. But, and I think this is characteristic of women in the post-feminist era, I hate not being taken seriously. I always feel like I'm in kind of a dilemma, because obviously, I want to be considered attractive, but I also want to be heard.

I always feel like, in relationships, at some point, boyfriends abandon all pretense at intelligent conversation and begin talking to me like I'm some kind of wriggly puppy. Nothing makes me grouchier than being genuinely upset about something and having someone grab my cheeks, make a face, and say "you look so cute when you're mad."

Sometimes I feel like I'm some kind of accessory. And I'm not saying that I think this happens because I'm unusually attractive, but I think, sometimes, my love for dresses and vintage things and old jewelry and silver tea trays and sleepovers and picnics and vegan cupcakes, in other words "cute and pretty things" distracts people from the fact that I'm a person with, if maybe the not the most revelatory, valid things to say. I just have always believed that life, at least for us in (relatively) democratic nations, doesn't have to be a struggle. It isn't frivolous or superficial to want things to be beautiful and lovely. What's the point if you're not having fun? Sometimes, I think that people who are so serious about being a serious artist and intellectual must harbor some insecurities. Many of the most intelligent people I know are also the silliest.

Maybe this condescension is characteristic of people who consider themselves "artists" or amateur philosophes. Or maybe, this problem isn't gender-specific.

As frustrating as it is, it also is really, simply, incredibly boring to have someone talk about how cute they think your expressions are for hours.

Why do we share our excitement about life and interests with people we just meet for the first time, but not for the people we've known for years? Or maybe, it's hard to let people who know you so well see your new aspirations and ideas, because we fear criticism? Why is it so hard to find someone fascinating once you know all of their quirks? Do you think we're more ourselves with people we meet for the first time or people we see everyday? On the one hand, when we meet someone new, we're unburdened by any kind of attachment, expectations, or baggage. We are, essentially, free to create and invent a new sense of ourselves in the eyes of this person. There is a certain kind of freedom. And, maybe, that's partly what's so attractive about new people. There is also something indescribably amazing about connecting with anyone, be it friend or crush, for the first time. I, at least, love the intoxicating feeling of having a really really good conversation with someone for the first time. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it's really good. Maybe it's just refreshing, in the age of fast food relationships, to meet genuine people and get to know them beyond their Facebook interests or the social capital they flaunt. I do wonder, from time to time, what happened to the people I've spent hours talking to at different points in my life that I lost along the way. One time, I met a boy at a party when I was 17, and we talked all night, and forgot to exchange numbers before leaving. About 5 years later, we met at a party, sort of stared at each other all night, and finally, begrudgingly admitted that we had both recognized the other, instantly.

Maybe that's part of the reason that we move and travel, to momentarily gain freedom from the shackles of our past. Everytime I've broken up with someone or had a really bad week, I've been tempted to cut ties and take off from my life.

But maybe, who we are is who we are with the people we've known for years or see everyday before we've prettied our insides and outsides for public consumption. Maybe none of the pretensions we adopt or the bullshit we bat around really matter. Maybe who we are is once we're disarmed of this struggle to impress, our fairy glamour, if you will.

Do you think everyone finds everyone silly and boring after a while?

Can't someone be frivolous and intelligent?


What was the point of this again? I lost my fucking thesis.

Some kind of English major I am. Finding a point in my posts is like finding a...... clean needle on East Hastings.

I am too depressed about the state of the world in the wake of that the re-election of that wanker, Stephen Harper.

I can't even talk about it.

I hope everyone voted against Stephen Harper....poll day was today, wasn't it? I don't even know- the US news never really covers Canada. I voted by proxy.

It's crazy....

you know how you could be single for ages (an astute person could, at this point, gently suggest that I've never been single for ages)....and you only meet loser after loser, and then, once you finally land on a good boy and snap him up, suddenly cute and charming boy after boy emerges from the proverbial woodwork?

Well, same thing with jobs. I finally take a job I like, and employers keep calling.....it does make me wonder a little if it's reprehensible to quit a job for a better opportunity a week after your start date? I once read an article that said that, on average, a person will change their career 7 times before the age of 30. At the time, I was shocked, but then I realized it was only because I never equated my "day jobs" with "careers". Probably a symptom of my female version of the Peter Pan syndrome.

But, I like my current job so far. It's kind of cool that I get to review resumes for openings throughout the pacific northwest and deal with payroll/employee issues from portland, seattle and spokane, and everywhere in between. In the future, I will be taking business trips to- wait for it- Spokane, Seattle, and Vancouver, BC. So, maybe not the most exciting locations for a business trip for me, personally, but it will be kind of cool if I get to work out of Seattle and Vancouver and visit people there.

For some reason, my employers think I have a future in "sales"- I have to say, it's nothing I've ever imagined myself in, but, it can't be that hard to charm a bunch of old men in suits at business dinners, right? I do sort of wish that the VP of sales hadn't spent the entire business meeting today staring at my legs under the table, but hey, whatever.

This weekend was pretty mellow...but I did see a couple of good shows.

I did see Ponytail , who erupted from the emerging Baltimore music scene and High Places (I think out of Brooklyn?) and they're both pretty rad bands.



High Places photo by Pitchfork



Ponytail photo by Pitchfork

I also went to see "The Oh Sees" from the Bay area at a neighbourhood bar....it was a really good show, too. I think they're somehow associated with Seattle's "The Intelligence", who are very Seattle band that everyone I knew made fun of (I really have to stop hanging out with anarchist noise punks, it makes me so easily impressed by people who are nice) but I actually liked.

On Sunday, I went to a benefit for the Portland Radio Authority, an internet radio station at the East End. I recently wrote a long-winded article about the challenges that independent radio faces, and it's become increasingly important to keep these media outlets open and operating.

Also, I watched the film "The Painted Veil" and I thought it was stunning and perfectly subtle...although the boy that fell asleep on the couch beside me might disagree. I never saw the original film, which starred (I believe) Greta Garbo, but I read the novel by W. Somerset Maugham ages ago.