Toy Story 3

Oh Pixar, why are you so great?

I've loved you since the beginning Pixar, long before you got so cool with your little lamp hopping in 3-d. I got how brilliant and talented and amazing you were long before you did this on again off again romance with Disney. I mean, I get it - that mouse is cute in those red pants and who doesn't love a castle? But if you wanted to be with someone really devoted, you'd be with me.

JESUSAGECHRIST this is an awesome movie! Anyone else see it? Since my mom has left town movies out are no longer really part of the plan, unless one of us sneaks off while the other one hangs at home. As it was tonight. We've had a wicked rough couple of days that involve, uh, well - that involve stuff that can't be discussed on the internet much - let's just say it's a combo platter of wrenching anxiety mixed with crushing disappointment and some betrayal thrown in the mix. Delightful.

So I took myself out tonight. Dammit, that's what I did.

First stop - sushi dinner. Perfect alone meal, me and the sushi chefs laughing and relating while I throw back some Sake and beer and delicious fish. Or it might have looked a little more like me relating with my iPhone, some perrier with lemon and a very annoyed sushi chef enduring my 'handroll no rice' order.

Sushi chef:  Everything okay?
Me: Yea, sure. Thanks!
Sushi chef: Yea but everything okay?
Me: (confused)
Random person next to me:  He wants to know if you don't want rice on everything.
Me: Yes please. No rice.
Sushi chef: No rice on everything.
Me: Please. No rice. Thank you so much.

Me: looking like asshole because I didn't understand him.
Him: Annoyed.

How did I get okay from no rice? Jeasus.

Next stop, therapy~! Hooray! I do enjoy beating the crap out of the couch and screaming my head off. It's seriously good times.

Last and final - Toy Story 3 for some laughing and crying (not kidding) and delicious popcorn at the Arclight where they use real butter don't you know. Those people at the Pixar really know how to tell a story and they have the technoweenie wizardry to back them up. Luckily there were some good laughers there in the late night showing, so I didn't feel alone in my belly laughing or the sniffling.

That is - my friends - one of the best g'damn movies I've seen in a long time. Screw the animation category, they should win it all next year at the Oscars.

Here are some pictures that have absolutely nothing to do with this post. It's an argument for taking the kid out to dinner though, he was a blast this day at a Thai restaurant where he pounded vegetable curry and cucumber salad. He's a fantastic eater and I'm gloating while I can. I know, karma works fast.

Your friend in the appreciation business,


PS - Thanks for your comments about my lil' green facelift - appreciate it! I'm probably going to be fancing this place up somemore soon, stay tuned.

Midnight Cowboy

Ugh.

I so relate to this blogger who recently pulled her blog down (I panicked because I love her blog) and then put it back up and just had herself a little existential crisis about it. I truly get that.

Recently I've had so much crushing uncertainty and strangeness mixed with the euphoria of possibilities back to plummeting panic (all with regards to the move) that I think..."Who wants to read about that? Who really cares?"  Plus what can I ACTUALLY talk about without either getting into trouble with someone or over-sharing or just hovering in this in-between space that is clearly boring because without detail, what the hell can you read about?

Nada.

So you've noticed.

We might not move. At least right now. It's still unclear and we're supposed to leave in a month. This has been the weirdest chunk of a life I tell you, it's crazy, wacky, nutty times. Long story short - some of the facts shifted, an opportunity opened here - a job went away there - and while that seems like enough information to make it obvious what we should do, it just isn't.

I repeat, ugh.

So let's talk about the short film, shall we?

It's almost done!

Our editor is here right now at 12:30 am and he's finishing the cut before he leaves the country for three weeks. He's been such a ridiculous gift of a person...Cheerful. Kind. Talented. He comes to us and works out of our home so we can be productive and be parents. How lucky, right?
Through a friend we found an amazing motion graphics person who just kicked ass and made us an amazing opening title sequence.
Our composer also killed it.

Three talented guys! Rushing alongside us and our ridiculously cute one year old toward the goal of completion!

So inside of these three (ok six) months of Are we moving? Are we staying? What can be done? What should be done? Should we do the financial program of that Christian dude who's got those nice white people going 'I'm debt free'? Should we go back to relying on the Secret? Why is the weather so great here?


This film has been a beacon of sweet and sanity and good. And it's almost done. And hopefully along with it's completion will also come a new place of knowingness and clarity for our little family. We can only hope.

Producers as Performers, Director - your bloggess, Writer as Cow

Yours in sweet confusion that only 70 degree weather can make ok,

Kickass

So if you're like me, you occasionally need a break from your existence. And if you're like me, you don't drink. (not likely...but quick shout out to my girls in the hot chics who drink perrier club!) So if you're anything like me, you'd think sneaking off to go see a movie with friends on a Wednesday night would be just the thing.

But here's where the trouble starts.

beloved friend: we're going to see Kickass at the 3 dollar theatre.
me: Oh that looks good. But. I just read on flixter that it's pretty gratuitous in the violence department.
beloved friend: oh I haven't heard that.
my inner voice: don't do it, not worth it.
me: Cool - sure, sounds good.
inner voice: go see How to Train Your Dragon! Hubs would never watch it with you. You love animation. You can't WAIT to see Toystory 3. Why risk it?
me: what time does it play?

I hate violent movies. I violently hate violent movies. I can't watch the murderous mayhem, it churns my guts and makes me just shake. So thanks to my unfortunate ignoring of the very articulate and clear inner voice, tonight I landed myself at an incredibly violent movie.

And I'm still shaking.

There was a ton of redeeming stuff about it, in terms of production value, ideas, acting even. The parts I watched anyway, most was watched from behind my hands or with averted eyes. Perhaps it was a very good movie, but I  hated it with every cell in my overly sensitive body. Afterwards I went into the badly lit pink bathroom of the 2nd run theatre and had a good cry.

I cannot reconcile this experience sometimes, I don't know how to do this. How do you raise a kid in a world where we think it's funny or charming or fun to watch an 10 year old girl kickass with every weapon known to human kind? And I"m a fan of dark comedy, I get that, but I'm still just blown away (bazooka to the chest) that our society thinks it's neat to make a super action killer character out of a little girl. It's disgusting. And, y'all know me, I'm not one of those Mom's who wants to censor the world or what not - but SERIOUSLY - how is this okay?

One of the scenes played just like a video game, I lost track of the body count. To which I say, video games harumph. I don't play them. I don't want the boy to play them. Ever. Certainly not the gun-ee or goreee ones. How can I protect him from that? It's so ubiquitous. I'm so screwed here people. In fact today there was a war of sorts just beyond the sweetness of our font porch. Seven kids ranging in age from 4-9 were battling it out with orange and green machine guns. Foam pellets flying. The sweet 8 year old girl who comes by to walk brown dog was at the forefront with her big, creepy, cute colored gun. And what's even more upsetting? She looks like she knows how to carry the damn thing. As if I know what that looks like.

As we drove home I thought about his sweet blonde head asleep in the crib. The sound of the ocean plays in his room and tiny little butt is pushed up in the air under a crocheted blanket his grandmother made for him. In the morning we will pick him up and he will smile his blindingly sweet smile at us. His white soft arms will wrap around us, he may touch my cheek with an open palm as he's done lately. We'll read him books about a little red barn with all of the animals, nothing about the genetically modified crops in the fields or the terrible slaughtering practices in the other barn. Or the killing going on in theatre's nationwide. I don't know how to reconcile the worlds.

But on the porch I saw the battle going by while the little one joyfully yelped and barked the sounds of learning a language. At least I could just inhale his sweet baby skin and dream of the billions I could make if there was some way to bottle his smell.

(what I see when I am lying on the padded porch with the BHB - this is sorta cliche California, right?)

sweet faced dude 

Here are some sun-soaked porch pictures. Today was the first day I saw him successfully stack the legos himself. Clearly the kid is a genius.

And I prayed he didn't notice the guns, no doubt he'll ask me for one soon.

Yours in-between worlds,

Do The Right Thing

Everytime I think - 'Ok, it's time. It's time to let go of the naming the posts after movies thing' a BRILLIANT title of a post appears in my mind that happens to be the name of a movie. And in this case a great movie. Boy there are too things at work there. Humility and a dastardly misspelling. Of course I meant two, not too. Jesus!

OK!

I'm in a 'do the right thing' kinda moment. And I'm going to be honest, I'm not really having fun.

Today I was changing BHB on the changing table - which is hard to do because he likes to squirm and crawl away making it completely precarious and frightening due to the 3 feet above the ground thing. And annoying! Especially where there is poo involved. So we've tried several solutions including moving the whole operation to a safe distance from the floor - ie; the floor. Or reasoning with him. (which is going great, thanks!) Or just telling him 'tough kid, lay still' - which usually makes him do the terrorist scream. You know the one? It's the 'someone is trying to kill me' scream that we often hear around PJ time. I expect child services to show up at our door any day, I'm sure our neighbors have the number on speed dial.

So I've taken a new tack. I tell him firmly and with a smile that he has to lay still for this part (the diaper part) but then I am more game for him moving around for the clothing part. That way the poo situation is mildly under control and he can 'help' me put his clothes on. I'm not saying this is completely successful yet, far from it. It's just the plan. (go ahead - laugh). But it's worked like twice and so I'm a believer. Especially if I can have any sense of humor at all about it, he is much more amenable to it.

Wait! I'm getting to my point. Here it comes.

So I was trying this new system and saying something to him along the lines of....

"Sometimes things in life aren't fun but its non-negotiable. This is one of those things. Like Mommy has to clean the bathroom. She doesn't want to, but she does it. And so you will lie still during diaper time little dude, and I hear that you are frustrated. I HEAR THAT YOU ARE FRUSTRATED! I"M SORRY YOU ARE FRUSTRATED BUT SOME THINGS ARE NON-NEGOTIABLE..."
(obviously he is screaming so I have to bring up my empathy to a higher volume)

And I thought, oh crap. Now I have to clean the bathroom.
But then I did it. And I felt better!

But to that end it's time to start packing without doing the wah-wah poor me terrorist scream. This move is 'the right thing' for so many reasons. We need to be near family. We need to lower our costs. The boy needs to know his grandmother (cute hubs mom), and she needs to know him. It's the right thing! And no I'm not comparing moving out of LA to cleaning to the bathroom, but I'm guessing I will feel better when it's done.

Moving date: August 1. Now all I need is some good 'moving' themed movie titles for future blog posts. Oh and any advice on the whole diaper-scream-change time would be awesome too.

Yours in 'the A word' (acceptance),



PS - In case you are wondering, I am reading all kinds of inspirational and uplifting 'change is good, accept all to be free, what you resist, persists' kind of . It still doesn't change that I LOVE the house we are living in and I love this damn town. I'm just sayin'.

PPS - Sorry for the re-run from FB but omg I love this misty morning photo. It's total crap quality from my iPhone and likely the tiny grubby fingers pushing the lens is what created this effect but, yea. It really makes me happy...

Bewitched

So.

Today I went to a super bitchin' coffee shop here in the LA area called Swork. There is an umlaut. I do not know how to create an umlaut. If you're curious, I linked you up, follow at will. If you didn't, just imagine the two dots adorning the w. Which is weird, right? Don't umlaut's usually live on vowel's? The exciting part about Swork is not it's odd lil' name, it's that it features a sweet little play area for shorties. Complete with endless blocks and other goodies, it's pure awesome I tell you. But I digress, as I often do.

So I'm walking into this place to meet a dear, dear friend and her almost 3 year old dude and I'm doing the purse/diaper bag/22 pound baby juggle so I'm a little out of breath and off kilter. Not that it's a good excuse, but there it is.

I see this dude on a go-cart scooting up the sidewalk. He's on a go-cart! Going 20! On the sidewalk! But what's more interesting is that the dude is like 45. But not an interesting 45, more like a frat boy all growed up 45. So I'm thinking something like this....

"OK dude, you are WAAAAYYY too old to be driving a go-cart".

I mean, wouldn't you?

But that's the problem. It was kind of a mean spirited (ok quite) thought and I'm not usually such a person as this. But there I was all juggley and judgey and I swear to you the following happened. As I walked by the guy said to me:

"I know, I'm too old".

Drat!
So busted!

So I sorta laugh and turn toward him and I'm about to apologize for what I said except that I quickly realize that I didn't actually say anything so instead I offer a halfhearted apology in the form of a laugh-turn-and-acknowledge as I stumble by with the unreasonable load of crap and cute hanging off my shoulders and arms.

I ask you - is nothing sacred? Is my bad mood private thinking no longer an option? If every thought I think is out for public consumption (um hello, the fact that I'm putting this on a blog is not lost on me, I know I'm ridiculous) I'm seriously in trouble.

I'm going to try to live tomorrow as a transparent mind. It will be a delightful experiment and I will share the results. But here is a little sampling from today:

• "This June gloom matches my mood beautifully. Sure I hate everyone and everything but at least this diffused lighting is flattering on all of us."
• "I love my friends, they are ridiculously great. I'm annoyed at their greatness. Will I ever find new friends this great?"
• "Good grief this is a cute kid. I love his soft white limbs, they are like white bread. Umm, white bread."

and other hits.

And finally, I'll leave you with the reason I love facebook. Today I posted this quote from The Prophet by Kahil Gilbran.


“Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain. And could you keep in your heart the miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy. And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields. And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief."

and got this response.

To proceed very far through the desert, you must be willing to meet existential suffering and work it through. In order to do this, the attitude toward pain has to change. This happens when we accept the fact that everything that happens to us has been designed for our spiritual growth.— M. Scott Peck

And two things happened. I thought, how weird! I'm moving to the desert. And then I thought. And there must be a higher reason. But you probably knew that's what I was thinking.

Cloak and Derwood,

PS - Here is a little spot of joy from my afternoon yesterday.

7 Year Itch

The longest I've ever lived in one spot is 8 years. 1st grade through 8th grade I lived in Texas. Houston, y'all, it was awesome.

Runner up? Seattle for 7 years. Next runner up? This current beautiful and ridiculous city for 7 years. Perhaps the constant movement of my childhood has set up this little timer in my gut that goes off and rattles my brain and my life and off I go. 

St Louis, 6. San Diego, 5. And then there was that Florida adventure - 6. I'm not saying when what happened but I think what I'm really missing when you look at the US map is the northeast. 

My foot n' shadow. Perceptions aren't always accurate. Something to think about...

The move from Houston to Florida was the hardest. I had finally gotten to be one of the cool kids, finally shook off my uncool-fat-kid-rep and was sorta popular. FINALLY for effin' sake, why would parents move a little girl out of such a precarious spot as the teetering of actual popularity? And then make her to go to a filled-in swamp for high school and start over? Oh sure, Houston was a swamp too, that's an interesting thing to note. They promised to buy me a horse. They didn't do it. But bribe's work man - not that I had a choice.

Anyway, I'm feeling a lot like that little 13 year old girl right now. I mean, we are finally making some headway with our dream here - (our film is coming along swimmingly, thanks for asking) and I have many dear friends that I love so much it hurts my heart to even pack a box. I've had a headache for two days from too much crying. (or perhaps it's caffeine issues, can't be sure)

But the bets are going down now for how long we can stay away. The shortest I've heard is 6 months, someone else suggested a year. I predict we'll come back in 5-6 years, but you know, what the hell do I know? I'm just the one renting the moving truck.

I just want to be settled when BHB gets to school age. It's only fair.

13 going on 39,

sweet dreams

I want to be good. I want to be layered with subtext and make tiny choices with big consequences. I want to be inspirational to smaller girls and lucid old people with twinkling eyes. I want to do something extraordinary - really extreme. Like those crazy Olympians. Yet I want to do it in a small ordinary way.

I think of the filmmakers who made Once. Have you seen that movie? It was a small undertaking that turned into an extraordinary thing. It's magical, and the title track to the soundtrack makes me sob without fail.

Like a David Whyte poem. Like this poem.
I pasted it below too....

I don't need need fancy dresses, I dress like a teenage boy in real life, why pretend and wear other people's dresses? (I'm thinking of the Oscar's of course). I just want to be grace and love and magic personified. I want to drop all of my bad habits, negative thinking and random bullshit that y'all have surely noticed over the last 3/4 year but have granted me pardon because I'm funny at times or my kid is too cute to pass up. I'm guessing anyway. Is that it?

Can you tell I'm working in a 'dream board' this week? I'll have to scan it and share it like a big old geeky crafty scrapbooker when I'm done.

I've got to get some vision back into this picture as it's gotten a dangerously dark and gloomy around the edges. As it is, that big ol' life change I've been threatening to dish about has finally come to pass in an official way. Our tenure in Los Angeles is coming to a close, this little family is moving east to be near cute hubs family. So the thing in the box over there to the left? About leaving LA for free babysitters? It's happening.

We're moving to Utah. I hope the saints are nicer to outsider's in 2010 than they were in the 1840's.  Hub's family is delightful and not a part of that scene (for the most part), but that part of the equation is an x factor that makes me uncomfortable. I'm reading Under the Banner of Heaven, which it turns out, isn't a great idea. But it is a great book.

I love LA in an unreasonable way, mostly because of the people who I love here. And the sun I love here. And the way people dream big here.

For the record I'm going to keep dreaming big up there in the valley near Park City, I just have to do it in the snow. (shudder)

So for now I'll leave you with this poem that a dear friend of mine sent me in an email six years ago. She didn't stick around the planet for long after she sent it to me, I think this kind of living is hard to do. But I love this poem and her memory in the same fierce way.

Heavy hearted-ly yours,




Self Portrait

It doesn't interest me if there is one God
or many gods.
I want to know if you belong or feel
abandoned.
If you know despair or can see it in others.
I want to know
if you are prepared to live in the world
with its harsh need
to change you. If you can look back
with firm eyes
saying this is where I stand. I want to know
if you know
how to melt into that fierce heat of living
falling toward
the center of your longing. I want to know
if you are willing
to live, day by day, with the consequence of love
and the bitter
unwanted passion of your sure defeat.

I have heard, in that fierce embrace, even
the gods speak of God.

-- David Whyte
      from Fire in the Earth 
      ©1992 Many Rivers Press