Not Dead Yet

Before we do this, let’s listen to this. TRIBE 4EVAH y’all.

Ok. So I made a list of 50 pop cultures that I loved in 2016, but before I tell you about them, let’s close out this ball-kicker of a year right quick.

There was this one time, when my dad was still alive but very sick, where I talked to him on the phone and I said, with concern: how are you? And he said, in an unexpected sort of joke: NOT DEAD YET! And we laughed hard, kind of surprised. It was so not funny, but yet, jeez louise, it was. It may have been the last truly hearty laugh we shared, pops to kiddo, kiddo to pops.

In the time since he’s been gone, there are a few things that have changed about me. For one, my sense of urgency has gone way, way up. I want my days to be as full, my eyes as open, my mind as awake as can be (insert Morgan Freeman voice get-busy-livin quote here). Life is so, so short, y’all. Time is ticking and we are in a sprint. No dicking around! And now, with the world all fucked up and on fire like it is, my shit is even more ramped up in the urgency department. So, now is the time to say the things I want to say, hear the things I need to hear, do the things that are right to do, find the joy, see the art, create, be a good friend, face the painful stuff, listen, make justice happen, organize, and love: truly and deeply and persistently.

My sweetheart and I will sometimes clink glasses and say to each other, as my dad said to me: “NOT DEAD YET!” like, instead of “cheers.” It’s still funny. And not. I look at that beautiful, kind, steadfast partner of mine and feel deep down in my gut how many years we have been together (it’s a lot of years), how fucking great he is, how short it all seems already, how much I want time to stop for us, and how much it can’t. We have things to do, all the things. So let’s get doing.


50 Pieces of Art That Gave Me Joy in 2016

Lizzo Coconut Oil EP is perfect.

And speaking of perfect: Moonlight.

Atlanta! Donald Glover is the only Donald I want to deal with, honestly. See also: Have Some Love, Childish Gambino.

Blk Girl Soldier by Jamila Woods is the kind of song that makes me feel better about the world, which maybe you need right now too, just guessing?

Insecure. Watch the first season and then let’s fight about how we thought things should have turned out.

Your Best American Girl, Mitski. “Your mother wouldn’t approve of how my mother raised me, but I do, I finally do.”

Queen Sugar is beautiful on so many levels but I will just say this: is there a finer man than Ralph-Angel? Good god. FOINE.

Kiss the Sky by Jason Derulo is like, primo wedding reception dancing music. Your kid brother and your grandma will love it.

The night I went from big fan to rabid Beyhive was during the Formation concert tour.

Nadiyah Hussein from Great British Baking Show, I JUST LOVE HER, thas all.

Cranes in the Sky: is there a Solangehive because I would like to join that also.

Two Dope Queens. Your dream BFFs. Or mine, anyway.

I am so Sorry the Beebs makes bangers but we have to stop fronting like he don’t.

Sooo Many White Guys podcast. I may have a medium-to-heavy obsession with Phoebe Robinson.

All We Got, Chance the Rapper. Actually the whole dang album, front to back. Hiphop artists are really bringing the concept of a cohesive album back.

There are so many ways our shit is broken and most of them intersect in OJ: Made in America.

Too Good, Drake ft Rihanna. Work-chair head-bob dancing, wut wut.

I saw Ghostbusters in a movie theater full of 13 year olds, which was kind of the best way to see it.

My parents came from tiny places and did things outside of power structure expectations. Queen of Katwe made me think about that.

Lie 2 My Face. Kari Faux takes me to a very JJ Fadd place, and I love that place. I could live in that place.

Mainstream American Comic, Hari Kondabolu. “Some people ask me why, when I do impressions of my parents, I don’t do their accents, and the answer of course, is ‘fuck you, that’s why.'”

If you said goodbye to some people in your life this year, like I did, Alaska by Maggie Rogers fits the bill.

SJP is so great at being horrible in Divorce. Actually everyone in this show: GARBAGE. Plus the 70s soundtrack is to die.

All Night, SG Lewis. On repeat.

Hunt for the Wilderpeople. THIS KID.

Who’s a muhfucking Starboy? Me.

Loving. This basically happened five minutes ago, history-wise, and we better not forget it.

Spotify science tells me that I listened to Into You by Ariana Grande a lot, and I can’t argue with that. I apologize in advance to those who go to karaoke with me in the future.

Don’t Think Twice. Or as I like to think of it: “I regret everything, party of one.”

Hotline Bling, covered by Ceresia. This was my walk-into-work-from-busstop-song for a few solid months.

Sister Wives. I CAN GIVE YOU A CLASS ON WHY THIS IS A GREAT SHOW BUT YOU WON’T BELIEVE ME SO JUST FORGET IT.

What am I doing Here is a universal feeling sometimes, amiright.

Weiner. Ugh, this guy. But also, ugh, this system. And also, ugh, us, all of us.

Southside with You. People of color don’t get a lot of movies that just show us just dating, romancing, or talking about things as the main plot points.

Death, Sex, and Money are things we should talk about more.

There are lots of things to criticize the Kardashians about, but most people focus on the wrong ones entirely. I hold all the knowledge on this, trust me.

This is cheating because although I Am Not Your Negro was in limited release in 2016 I will not see it until its wider release in 2017 but I CANNOT WAIT.

13th. As an American, this is devastating, required watching.

Kendrick Lamar and Beyonce on BET awards. HOOOOO LORDY

Luke Cage. Bulletproof hoodie-wearing black man superhero? HECK YES.

Get all your cathartic rant needs met via Full Frontal w Samantha Bee and Last Week Tonight with John Oliver.

Please watch The Fits so I have someone to talk about it with.

Judge John Hodgman is usually right about everything, is the thing, and while always funny, is also often moving in his wisdom.

I Can’t Give Everything Away, David Bowie. *sob*

And this wasn’t released in 2016 but Sometimes It Snows In April. *double sob*

Two days after the election my friends and I had a religious experience dancing to Freedom 90 where George Michael convinced us for a few minutes that we would maybe be ok. *triple sob STOP DYING, CHILDHOOD*

Another Round podcast. If you haven’t listened to these, I am jealous that you get to start.

Lion ALL OF THE TISSUES IN THE WORLD HAVE BEEN USED BY ME BECAUSE OF THIS MOVIE AND MY FACE HAS LEAKED OFF COMPLETELY

Would you like some joy? Here’s some joy. Down by the Singing Sea video by Walter Martin.

Hey, everyone, I guess this is in question these days but SCIENCE IS A THING, LIKE A REAL THING. Listen to Story Collider for stories about it.

2016 out, 2017 in.

Consumables #158 Watching: Gilmore Girls Revival

I have been so busy being preoccupied with, you know, the world coming to an end, that I neglected to talk to you about the Gilmore Girls revival. If you haven’t seen it yet, I may be about to do some mild spoilering, so hold onto your butts. I have thoughts that I just cannot hold inside. Jerry, I’m BUSTING! (Two 90s references right off the bat, for some reason. UH DOUBLE UP UH UH! Oops, there’s another one. My inner Gilmore is showing itself).

Because the interwebs have already chewed up most angles (Emily turns out to be the best Gilmore, Jess OF ALL PEOPLE turns out to be among the most likable, Logan’s rich douchey steampunk friend group is truly insufferable, etc.), I shall spare you my play-by-play although trust me it’s on the tip of my tongue and I pity the foo’ who I corner at an upcoming social gathering because odds are high that I will get into it, all of it.

The thing that bothered me the most about the Gilmore Girls revival is that it suffered from a thing I call Takedown of Uppity Ladies (TOUL). This is when a tv show gives us smart, witty, confident women and then the writers do everything they can do to bring them low. To teach them a lesson for thinking they are so smart. And, by extension I suppose, teach us a lesson too. Let me give you a prime example of TOUL: Sex and the City. Four confident women, successful in their careers, sexually liberated, in control! But, not so fast. Over the course of the six seasons, each woman learns that everything she defined about herself was wrong, because ladies, pshht, what do we know? Independent Miranda thought putting herself first in life was the core of who she was? NAH all she needed was to move to Brooklyn, a place she has always despised, and devote her life to caregiving for everyone, including her cheating ass husband, and put herself last. Bless her heart for thinking that she wanted something different; what did she know? What did any of them know? NOTHING, BC LADIES BE DUMB Y’ALL, ESPECIALLY THE SMART ONES. Good thing the writers are here to set them all straight.

This is different than a character having flaws, or a character learning and growing. Leslie Knope learns how to navigate her job, how to deal with being an intense person, how to collaborate better. She is not perfect. But, the writers never try to convince us that she isn’t as smart as she knows she is. Even characters as warped as Liz Lemon or Alicia Florrick get to stumble around making mistakes, but the point of their story arcs isn’t to show us how much they aren’t as accomplished as they know themselves to be.

Which brings me back to the ladies on the Gilmore Girls. We loved Lorelai because she was scrappy and opinionated and she dumped her rich parents to work her way up to being her own boss in her own career. Except, it turns out, none of those things. None of her coworkers want to work with her anymore, apparently, and she doesn’t know anything about anything in her life: how should she save her business? Is she happy with the love of her life? Does she want to have a baby? Does she want to go hiking? NOTHING SHE KNOWS NOTHING. Plus, she’s mean. She is mean to the other Wild ladies. She fat shames at the pool. The cool mom is, we find out, so deeply uncool.

And then there’s Rory. Ok, sure, she was a little Special Snowflakey as a teen, and also a little lost in a teenagery way, but we rooted for her because she was a brainiac- at least, book smart, and working on the other kinds of smart. All the nerdy ladies in the audience loved that she read books and thought school was important ansd wanted to get a great education. Except now none of it has born any fruit. She is terribly spolied (just expecting her fam to put her up indefinitely), and doesn’t seem to know anything about her career (showing up to a job meeting with no pitch ideas?), and is rude to the town that she used to love so much (“I’M NOT BACK!”), and is still sleeping with LOGAN just because she doesn’t know what else to do.

And do not get me started about how Paris is left to pathetically have a meltdown about a high school boyfriend and how Lane is trapped in a marriage to a man who refers to their children as having “Korean vitriol” because my NOPES are so giant that you will surely be crushed by the weight of them as they fall out of my mouth.

If you would have said that a thing I would see in the Gilmore Girls revival was misogyny, I would not have believed it. This show is about women who love each other, love their town, and for all their misadventures, are smart and competent. We want them to continue to be smart and competent. My question is: why weren’t they allowed to be? It felt like the writers were trying to punish them for something. And by taking them down a notch, I felt diminished as well.

PS EMILY WAS GREAT THO

IDGAFsgiving

I had a cold all last week, but it was not bad enough for me to miss work or slow down really, which, what is the point of getting a cold then even. I am feeling better now and I am thinking that I need a few hours based solely in the IDGAF area of my brain. I declared that to my friends in a text earlier today only I said that I needed some IDAF time which made me think the time was already upon me because IDGAF so hard that IDGAF about including all the letters in IDGAF.

So, before I get on with my IDGAFness, let’s have a little check in about this here blogtimes. There have been lots of times where I have thought to myself BLOG, HAH, WHAT IS IT GOOD FOR, ABSOLUTELY NOTHIN, SAY IT AGAIN! I have written posts before about how the ritual of writing my dumb little posts helps me work on things like being less self-conscious about my writing and by extension, myself. I don’t think before my posts, I just write and click publish and there is something that I gain from that practice, like letting go of control, and the idea of being polished, and the idea that people will think I am vapid and silly. And you know what? It works. IDGAF if people think I am vapid and silly. Thanks, bloggie! I am pretty much good on that score.

What else does my blog do for me? Well, in recent years, and forgive me for maybe being a little dramatic, it helps me to connect with joy, if I am being perfectly honest. IRL, I am, at my core, a joyful person. I count that as one of my main strengths in life, if not the main one. Around that core, though, I am a person engaged in many things (as we all are, I suppose) that can pull me away from that core. And so, as I have adulted, I have gathered up practices that keep that joy-fire burning. I shall spare you all the ways, but blogging has become one of those practices. There are so many times when I have no idea what to say when some shiznit is going on in my day that makes it feel like OH LAWD I AM SRSLY GOING TO BLOG MY NONSENSES RN? But I open the blog, and I do it, and like a muscle, it connects me back to my unselfconscious self. I believe that the things I want present in my life: hope, joy, love, happen because I practice. It is the dancer mindset in me, I think. You have to do your goddamn tendus every effing day no matter what and you do them until your mind and body can’t not do them every day. For me, so it goes with joy. Practice, practice, practice.

So, lately, I have not much felt like blogging. Things feel so serious now, and they are. But just like I wrote in my last post, where I karaoke’d, and I saw some dance, and I cried at the movies, we gotta keep that practice of joyfulness going, even when things feel dark. Especially when things feel dark.

This blog post is mostly a pep talk for me, can you tell?

Anyway, I’m going to keep blogging my nonsenses here, is all I am saying. I don’t know if the tone will strike you as glib in non-glib times. That’s not what this is about though. It’s about remembering this part of myself, and not letting that go. To me, that feels like a radical act. Not going to become joyless. IDGAF.

All We Have To Do Now

Remember when we used to write about pop culture and artsy farts and stuff? Those were good times. Are we ready to do that again? I say yes, because here’s the thing. This weekend, I had all these plans that I had made before the election, and on Wednesday I was thinking about all those plans and my soul felt like a little kid who has had enough of their day and just decides to go limp. You know how they do that? Just, wilt sag nope I am done I can’t oh the humanity. But many of those plans were with other people, and I didn’t want to be wilty cancellation lady, so I did all the plans. And it didn’t make me all the way better, but this is what it did do.

On Thursday night, I went out for karaoke, and I mean to tell you my ass was dragging all the way there, as grumpy as could be. But my friends and a whole slew of strangers had a religious experience to the tune of You’re So Vain and My Prerogative and Footloose and so many more. Strangers were hugging after songs, everyone was dancing to every song, and there was a point during Freedom 90 by George Michael where we were all throwing up our arms into the air, throwing our heads back and shout-singing ALL WE HAVE TO DO NOW, IS TAKE THESE LIES AND MAKE THEM TRUE SOMEHOW, ALL WE HAVE TO SEE, IS THAT I DON’T BELONG TO YOU, AND YOU DON’T BELONG TO ME, FREEDOMMMMM YOU’VE GOT TO GIVE WHAT YOU TAKE and I felt like maybe things would be ok if there were people like these just out here in the world, and I almost cried.

On Friday I went to see a performance of several Jessica Lang Dance Company pieces. One of the pieces was based off of interviews and artwork that was done by a group of veterans and another one was danced to a set of Shakespeare sonnets and they were the kinds of dances that I just wanted to go on and on and live inside of. When each dance ended and the lights went down, the audience would let out a soft, collective “oh!” My dear Delium said “It’s as if we all got gut punched at the same moment.” True, true, true. Didn’t we just, though?

On Saturday my dude and I went to see Moonlight, and it was so beautiful, and sad, and loving, and cruel, and kind, and delicate, and majestic, and stunning that I started crying fifteen minutes in and I didn’t stop all the way through, not even when the lights came up or when we walked out of the theater. We wrapped our arms around each other and went home, holding on tightly. That movie reminded me of everything that is important, and I am not kidding.

Time to get back to it, everyone. In all the ways.

Freedom 90, George Michael

What we wonder, what we know

Well.

This is a difficult one. What to say. What a weird feeling, to simultaneously feel the urge to speak and yet have no words. Shall we stream of consciousness it? Why not.

I have been engaged in thinking about race and social justice on some level for literally my whole life. First of all, I was raised by parents who not only had lived experience in this arena, but talked about it a lot. We were a talk-about-politics-around-the-kitchen-table family. It was just a part of what I was expected to know about, and I was not protected from the grown up conversations about injustice or empowerment. What we think politically, I was taught, is part and parcel of who we are. I can tell you who my parents’ political influences are, very specifically, and why, and it seems strange to me that other people can’t do the same with their parents. As I got older, I worked for an arts organizations and academic departments centered on race and social justice. It is a huge part of my current work, that I talk about pretty much every day. I say all of these things not to proclaim myself any sort of expert, but only to make the point that I am not new to the idea that our country struggles with these issues. I know that we try and often fail to be inclusive. I know the stats. I can quote the research. Racism, both personal and institutional, is not news to me. Like many other people of color, the embodiment of virulent racism that was being expressed in the presidential campaign was not shocking to me. I knew this was here, living and breathing, in our country. I just figured I was watching it being given a clear, loud, narcissistic voice.

And yet. This outcome is…well, shocking is the wrong word. Surprising is not the right word. What is the right word? I have not found that yet.

If you are a white person reading this, I am going to tell you a secret. It is a deep, choking secret that it pains me to think about overtly and pains me even more to tell you. For most of us of the brown persuasion, because of the things we have seen, the things we know, our history, data, research, everything about our lived experience, it is hard to trust. We (and forgive me for speaking for all POC so I will stop that now although I am confident about what I am saying)… I see something racist happen, let’s say in the news, or in a movie or tv show. Some depiction of us as less than human, as a caricature. And it’s hard for me not to look around at my white peers, my colleagues, even a lot of my friends, and wonder: Is that what they think of us? Deep down, in their hearts, is that what they think of me? That I am lesser than them? That I do not deserve what they have? And a lot of the time, these questions remain unresolved. There is literally no way to know, especially with nice people, with polite people. People who would never say that they have these thoughts or indeed even understand that they are having them, they are so ingrained. So many times I sit through terrible racism in pop culture and when I point it out, I see that they have not seen it at all. What could that mean? It could mean that those images, so obviously terrible to me, are not terrible to them because that is what they think of us, in their hearts. And so I try to make a conscious decision at times to just trust, to hope, to believe, that people are not thinking those things, even while knowing that some must be. With some people I build trust to the point where I never have that doubt again, like that beloved dude of mine. But not as many people as I would like. Not as many as there should be. Truth be told, when I consider how many people I know, hardly any at all.

And so, in this lifetime of doubt, we come to Tuesday. And when the results started pouring in, it was not a surprise. It was like a terrible awakening. I recognized it right away. Ah, I thought, there it is. Millions and millions of votes for our current president elect. Each of those votes, as clear as a bell, saying to me: this IS what we think of you, after all. You are lesser than us. No wondering necessary, no shadow of doubt. All that speculation that I have had over the years, that many of us have had, confirmed by millions of people, all in one night.

Imagine sitting in a room and looking around and wondering if anyone in the room had qualms about your basic humanity. Imagine wondering if anyone in that room had dehumanizing thoughts about you without them even knowing it, it was so normalized to them. I have been in that room. I am so often in that room. And on Tuesday, that room was our country. And I did not have to wonder. Sixty million people, individually, told me.

I have known this issue to be a reality for my whole life. I guess I just never knew it quite this way, on such a scale.

It’s taking me a while to take that in. I don’t know that I ever will.

Presidential Suspensial

I understand why having voting day be a holiday is a good thing for all the social justice type reasons and the get-out-the-vote type reasons but this year, the reason I am wishing for that to be the case is for the I AM FREAKING OUT reasons. Ugh, so much anxiety, y’all. Can’t we all just use the day to vote and then sit down and breathe? Well, if you are lucky enough to be able to slice it up that way, which maybe you are not because you live in a disenfranchised area whereby you apparently have to stand in lines that are hours long to vote. Anyway, I am stressed out, is all I am saying. Not just at what the results may be, but also about what happens after the results. I feel like some very scary things have become normalized, and by scary I mostly mean things in the racisms and the sexisms family, among other isms of which I am not a fan. These are not isms that should be normalized and increased. We should instead be increasing the feminisms and the anti-racisms. WE ARE NOT DOING GREAT WITH THE CORRECT ISMS IS WHAT I MEAN I KNOW IT’S NOT ARTICULATE BUT DID I MENTION ANXIETY IS HAPPENING.

Not to expand upon the bummerness, but I really wish that my dad was here to vote for a lady prez. He would have been so excited to do that and I would have been so excited to talk to him about it. My parents grew up in a non-democracy situation (LOL what a way to describe colonialism A NON DEMOCRACY SITCH) and when the Brits first started letting us brown people hold local elected office, my dad ran and won in his town, becoming the first democratically elected mayor of that town and among the first in the country. Voting was never taken for granted by him. Add in my mom, a dynamo in her own right, kicking patriarchy’s ass and taking names, and I came up in a politically engaged family where the isms were in the right place. There is something about growing up with a feminist mom and there is a different something about growing up with a feminist dad, and I am so happy I had both. And I wish he was here for this. Then again, I wish he was here for everything.

I have voted in several presidential elections thus far in my life, and here are some snapshot memories I have of them. Ready? Ok.

  1. When I was in elementary school there was a mock vote and I remember that some of the kids were running around saying that the democrats would make us all go to school on weekends so don’t vote for them. THIRD GRADE PROPAGANDA MACHINE, Y’ALL.
  2. There was a vote for prime minister in Fiji one year and we were there that summer and I asked my older cousin who she was voting for and she WENT OFF. Apparently there it is truly a secret vote in that people don’t ask each other who they are voting for. People talk a lot about politics and are engaged, don’t get me wrong. But asking someone how they will vote? DO NOT EVEN.
  3. Maybe my all-time favorite election moment was the year I was watching the Democratic National Convention and everyone in the crowd was doing the Macarena (democratically uncool is how I vote on that) and lo and behold THERE WAS MY FRIEND ALLISON’S MOTHER MACARENAING HER HEART OUT.
  4. The first time Obama was elected all of my neighbors ran out into the street to celebrate in spontaneous joy and the kid directly across the street from me was about 8 years old and he busted out his trumpet and played Twinkle Twinkle Little Star in a very wobbly but loud and jubilant fashion. (That kid is pretty much grown up now HOW DID THE TIME PASS SO FAST)
  5. My parents used to take me to the polls with them when I was a kid. I loved the old ladies that staffed the polling places. I loved that my parents dressed up to vote. I loved hearing them talk about it with each other. I had no idea what they were really voting about but I just loved the feeling of voting day.

The voting part is a big thing. The bigger thing, especially this time around, is all the work we need to do after the voting is done, no matter what happens. Let’s stay excited about the voting thing for today though. A lady could be president tomorrow. A LADY COULD BE PRESIDENT TOMORROW. Just think! And the thing is, my Dad would have loved to see it, but more than seeing it himself, he would have wanted me to see it. So I’m going to see it, and know it, and let that fill me up. Pretty great, right Dad?

Everybody Dance Now

Oh hai. I have not been to blog town for a little while because my computer went kaputs. I have had that dang thing since grad school so it was clearly ready to go to ‘puter heaven, but RATS  NOW DO I HAVE TO BUY ANOTHER COMPUTER? I do not wish to. Both because I don’t want to drop them hundos, but also because I really don’t need that extra thing in my life, do I? I can sit here and type on my little teensy tablet screen, right? I do not need several devices that basically do the same thing like I’m a gee dee Rockefeller/Roc-a-Fella. I mean, sucka please.

The things that I have been occupying my time with these days are a deep sense of foreboding that never quite goes away (thanks, presidential election!), and…actually that’s about it. I punctuate that with as much fun as I can pack in around the constant checking of Nate Silver’s website, but the site checking is solidly in the center. BUT LET US NOT DWELL ON THE APOCALYPSE BEING NIGH BECAUSE THAT AIN’T WHY YOUS COME HERE. Instead, let’s talk about that other stuff.

I went dancing the other week, which is something I would do every damn night if I could if not for two things: one, I have other things like snoozy responsibilities to take care of in life, and two, places with dancing are also places where dudes hang out who implicitly want to rub their weiners on you later in the evening and will try to buy you drinks or dance with you as a way to open the door to said weiner rub. I used to think that the solution to that last one was to only dance in gay-based venues, but it turns out that many of the places that I know of are now being infiltrated by heteros which: boooo! (Feel free to Alanis Morrissette me –ISN’T IT IRONIC– for being mad that there are too many hets in gay clubs because I want to go there myself as a dumb het. NOTED).

The thing that I would like to pitch is this: just as we now have karaoke joints that consist of renting rooms whereby you can warble in front of your handpicked auditory victims rather than a room full of strangers, why can we not have the same deal for dance times? Rent a room for you and your closest pals to go on down to get-down-town. Entrepeneurs of America (preferably the greater Seattle metro area); please make this happen. My friends and I would be most grateful customers. And think of something good to call it. “Private dancing” doesn’t have the right, well, ring to it, if you get my drift.

To recap: I will not spend my money on a new computer. I will happily spend my money on dancing with my friends in comfort. Sounds about right.

(Y’all what is happening in this vid?) Tina Turner, Private Dancer

Days off

Whenever I have a day off/weekend, I have a friend at work who says, when I come back, because it’s what you say if you are polite and have had good home-training: “How was your day off?” The other day, when I replied, she said: “can I ask you what the HECK you are doing on your days off? Because every time I ask you, you are all ‘IT WAS THE BEST DAY OFF EVER OMG SO GREAT.'”

Homies, I was mortified. I am being tres obnoksh about my days off! But the thing is, the love, it is real. I DO love my days off, and rock them hard like a, like a, I don’t know, a Day Off Rocker. This is how I rock a weekend day off. I am not saying it is for everyone, I mean, you do you, but for me, it works so well that I scare my co-workers with enthusiasm and wet-eyed nostalgia when I return to work. I challenge you to make a list of items that make your days off perfect, and then recreate. Self care, y’all.  Here’s mine.

  1. I do not sleep in. I KNOW I KNOW I HAVE LOST YOU ALREADY. I do have an inner Chris Traeger sometimes, and I acknowledge it can be annoying. But if you wake up you can cram more fun in, is the thing.
  2. Ok so I wake up early, but I lollygag in the bed. Reading in bed on a day off morning is the best and worth waking up for. Also, if one has a bed-mate, you know, one could snuggle them or something. I’m just saying, I don’t know, have some adult touching time. I feel like you are getting uncomfortable with this part so MOVING ON.
  3. There is a spot in my living room that catches the sunlight just right on a cold, crisp morning. This is where I have my morning tea. If it is gloomy and raining, I have a corner section of my couch where I can park it. In the summer, I go outside on the deck. I know where I am parking my butt for morning tea according to weather, is I guess what I am saying.
  4. I love a fancy breakfast on a day off! Make some pancakes, do up an egg sandy, go out to a breakfast joint.
  5. I make some space to do something productive, but I BOOKEND IT. Need to do house chores? Go to the grocery store? I set aside a specific couple of hours and KNOCK IT OUT AND THEN I AM DONE. I do not spread it out or let it hang over my head. Just do it, fast and scheduled in a block.
  6. Speaking of household chores, I couple that up with some audiobook/podcast time. Makes folding the laundry something I actually want to do.
  7. Make a social plan. I am a solid ambivert. I like to be around people, and I also like my solo time. This means I try to make space for both. For me, two social plans with friends per weekend is a chill minimum amount. Plus one outing of some sort with the dude. (My dude, not The Dude).
  8. Take a walk, read a book, stare out the window. Gots to have the unstructured solo time. So luxurious.
  9. 30 minute nap! More than one of you want! This helps if you, like me, stay up late and wake up early. Warning: more than an hour nap and I risk feeling like a groggy froggy.
  10. If at all possible, (I know, sometimes you gotta, but) DON’T DO WORK WORK. ESPECIALLY EMAILS.

This is my own personal recipe for a great weekend, according to me. A Me-kend. Y’ALL I JUST SAID ME-KEND. I should go now. Ok, going now. Bye.

From Sun to Sog

Whereas Hayden’s love for the city of LA might be described as Meg Ryan in You’ve Got Mail where she is like “I really do not like you, Tom Hanks, except wait, what is happening, now I am up close and OMG I LOVE YOU,” my love for LA is more along the lines of Maria in West Side Story, being all in from the get go, just “My hands are cold, you’re so warm, so beautiful…TONIGHT, TONIGHT LET’S MAKE THIS ENDLESS DAY ENDLESS NAAAAAAAAAAHT” Yeah, I know those are New York movies, whatever.

I had a gorgeous, beautiful, perfect birthday in LA. To sum it up, for my birthday dinner I got a gigundo plate of potato/mushroom tacos for five bucks while a dj spun a re-mixed “I’m Free” by Kenny Loggins, and my dude was there, and my dearest Hayden and her beauteous fam and some new friends and I was wearing a sundress and sandals in October. I VOTE YES ON THIS EXPERIENCE.

Now, we are back in Seattle and it is like someone is wringing a gigantic wet sponge over the entire city and the sunlight has been turned off. So. A little contrast, you might say. Plus it is really hard on my no-gortex fashion policy. I probably shouldn’t joke, since we keep hearing that shit could go really bad for us over the weekend, like 100 mile an hour winds and stuff? Sheeeeeeeeeeeet. Wish us luck.

IRCM: Travel Edition

Rekha can plan the hell out of a travel day, you guys.

I just got to go to LA with her. I have only been to LA a handful of times, and every time, before I go, I think, “I am probably not going to like this.” LA seems like the kind of place I wouldn’t be into: I don’t like cars and driving very much, really hate strip malls, and although I do love the sun, I can only be out in it for a few minutes at a time without more or less bursting into flames.

But you know what? LA is awesome. It’s strange and silly, and even the strip malls are filled with cool shit. Rekha planned the itinerary below.

Santa Monica Pier

 

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Photo taken from atop the ferris wheel, natch.

A good example of the FABULOUS CHEESINESS that is the greater LA area. I love a ridiculous miniature amusement park in any setting, but put it on a beach and I am SO in.

 

Also it was 90 degrees the day we were there, so it it was nice to stick our feet in the water after wandering the pier.

Also it is possible that my family discovered that this pier is lousy with Pokemon.

 

The Gettygetty

Whoa this place is awesome.

First of all, it’s FREE (what??) except for parking. We didn’t even make it to the amazing art collections – there’s a beautiful garden, a sculpture park, great views, lots of fancy architecture.

Next time I go to LA, this place is getting a full day.

 

Griffith Park Observatoryimg_4632

LOOK AT THIS SCIENCE EXHIBIT. Behold, for it is a timeline of the universe displayed in BROOCHES AND OTHER COSTUME JEWELRY.

LA IS AWESOME CASE CLOSED.

 

And in that way, it is very similar to Rekha.

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Hooray for Hollywoo