my heroes have always been cowboys

this post is dedicated to the cowboys who moseyed their way into my life, out of my life, and are still somewhere in between. and then there's that cowboy who gave me life, too.

old man's birthday part II

Met my dad for lunch at The Tides, and he spontaneously decides that he'd like to celebrate his birthday again, though we'd already birthday lunched on his actual birthday earlier this month. No problem, boss. I sing on cue for M&M cake anytime.





























Whipping cream, sugar, and vanilla into frosting with an old fashioned beater. It's not vintage kitsch that he's after, my dad just prefers not to upgrade his belongings if they still work.



















Also "noodled around" on his new keyboard. Like his belongings, my dad is also fond of holding on to his old sayings. But since today was his "birthday again", I indulged him on his "yowzas" "gozzits" and "noodlings" without rolling my eyes too much (when they were open). Played a little strat to wrap up the afternoon and finally tried out the new amp that he's been talking about. You know, my old man can be cool to hang with. Fun day.

inked

I was just thinking the other day, digging around for a color pencil set in my room, that the pens and pencils that I've amassed over the years are actually tokens from various stages in my life. For some people it's record albums and CD covers, or movie posters. But for me, I guess it's the medium of writing utensils, literally, that chronicles my coming of age.

I collected them for a while when I was younger - in the days when pencils, along with pencil sharpeners and erasers, were actually used. I don't know, do kids use pencils these days? Can they even write anymore? Penmanship is a dying art. Each one of these pens and pencils triggers a memory of some point in my life. Some collections are valuable to other people, but I think this one is just for me. If this house ever burns down, at least I'll have recorded a memory of them here.




Starting with back row, upright pencils inside pencil holder (L to R):
-Princeton Review pencil: For taking these classes, I should have had higher SATs.
-Pacific Science Center 4-color pencil: One of my favorite places to go on the weekends between age 6-10. Part of the fun is you never which color you'll be writing with next, but I always tried to control the situation and spent too much time deciding which color/angle I would use for "a" and "e" etc. Frustrating.
-"Save Me" Whale pencil: Def morbid. I can almost hear the little whale squeaking its motto, "Save Me." I got this sometime during the days when whales were closer to extinction. "Save Me" is too direct a message, not ironic enough for our times. I don't think they would re-produce this pencil today.
-"Ham It Up" Pig pencil: It looks like I got this at the same time as the whale pencil. I probably didn't get the joke back then and just bought it because a.) it's pink, which was my favorite color, and b.) I probably thought the pig and pearl necklace was pretty.
-Wellesley College pencil: I think this came with one of my welcome folders. I wouldn't have bought a pencil by then.
-Bunch of pencils from stationary stores in Japan: There was a period when my Japanese relatives would send me pencil and letter paper gift packet. I didn't get the hint that they wanted me to write. I just thought they liked giving me presents.

Middle of picture, on top of pencil holer (back to front):
-Bischofberger Violin pencil: I must have stolen this at some point when I took my cello or bow in for repairs, bought rosin etc. The smell of antique wood, varnish, and rosin dust. Stained glass windows. The violin maker with a mustache wearing an apron.
-Cardinals pencil: It's well used, not because I liked it but because I didn't like it as much as my other special pencils, which I wanted to last a long time. Funny that this is the one that ended up lasting. I think it wrote well, too. And I didn't care about football then, or now. Cardinals is football, right?
-Pentech "Sizzler" irridescent pink pencil: The logo printed on the pencil has a copyright dated 1988. Like I said, I loved pink. Love, loved, loved it when I was 8 because my aunt and I watched Steal Magnolias together as we ate Easter colored M&Ms from a crystal bowl, and there was a line in the movie when Shelby says, "Pink is my signature cu-luh".
-University Bookstore pencil: My favorite bookstore when I was growing up. Purple and yellow still makes me think "Huskies" whenever I see that color combination and, therefore, I will never wear those two colors together.
-One of those pencils with a throw-away plastic/graphite tip at the end and refill tips that are stacked inside the body of the pencil. Better picture above.
-Pink personalized pencil: My aunt bought me about 100 of these from a mail-order company once for my birthday. The lead always broke, so I still have about 95 of them left in my desk drawer.

Right side, on top of inkwell (L to R):
-Burgundy Montblanc fountain pen: Graduation present from my dad. It was my first fountain pen, just like my dad's. A big deal then. Also came along with the ink, which dried up before I used much of it.
-Brown roller-point pen: Our sweet and cute, but frustratingly dumb, Beagle chewed up this pen once when she was bored. That dog...brings back so many mixed feelings.


Foreground (back to front):
-Black marker pen: From kindergarten in Japan. We all had matching pen sets that our mom's labeled with our names. I suppose it's the same principal as uniforms, so you don't feel left out because someone else brought snazzier pens to school.
-Pink splatter painted Bic pen: Bartells, 2 weeks before 5th grade, jelly shoes, pink cotton tank top and shorts, butterflies in my stomach. These made me feel so cool and ready for school.
-Green Totoro mechanical pencil: Not really my favorite pencil at the time, but definitely one of my all-time favorite movies. Totoro!
-poseur mechanical pencil: You know, one of those looks-like-a-pencil but it's actually a mechanical pencil that you can never refill. There was a time when these were so new and cool because you didn't have to sharpen them and you didn't have to do the tedious refill thing - you just threw it away and used a new one when it ran out.
-Magic Ink yellow felt-tipped pen: Japan's equivalent to the Sharpie, the Magic Ink pen. This pen came with my mom and I from Japan when we moved here in the mid 80's.


Oh, and I almost forgot the leather Tweety bird pencil case and 70's navy mechanical pencil that has a faded "Whitey" logo on it. "Whitey" as in "Writey"? I have a suspicion that the Japanese manufacturer meant to say "Writey" but messed up the pronunciation and it all resulted in a pen called "Whitey." Sounds like a possible Engrish error. These items predate me as they belonged to my Mom when she was in her twenties. I wonder what she was thinking during this time in her life.

the moss of me: story of a mossy muse.

I love moss. Fresh, green, dirt and rain-scented moss. I missed my Northwest moss when I lived in a dry, arid climate down south. And with the coming of Spring, and Spring showers, I see electric green carpets of newborn moss sprouting up on rocks, trees, sidewalks, fences, and even traffic poles everywhere I go.







































And sometimes, it comes with a friend:



































When moss gets old and its days are numbered, it turns a muted gray-green and exists in this state only a little while longer before it takes its last breaths, shrivels up, and disintegrates into earth. The end.

2 Lexington Ave

Gramercy Park Hotel. I happened upon the documentary, Hotel Gramercy Park, on the Sundance channel the other day, and it got me interested in seeing the legendary hotel while I'm in NYC? The film takes place during the transition fromtraces the history of the hotel , and all of the glamorous, and infamous, guests who have stayed there, lived there, and gotten high there through the decades. The central character in the film is the grandson of the previous owner of the hotel, who returns to pack up his belongings and, often, intense memories of growing up in the Gramercy before it's turned over to the new owner, developer Ian Schrager.














The hotel is located across the street from Gramercy Park, which is the only private, gated park in Manhattan. As I looked through the iron bars into the garden, I kept thinking back to the part in the documentary when someone comments on how elitist - in a British, birth-right way - the area surrounding the park still is today. I noticed how quiet it was on this block, so surprisingly still and austere compared to the commotion on 5th ave just a couple blocks away.
















Since it was raining today, I decided against tromping into the frou-frou lobby in my drenched state of squeaking rainboots, dripping hair, and mascara streaks down my face. But I got some shots from the outside, and the GPH site gave me a starting place for imagining the uncomfortableness that is the remodeled modern medieval interior.

Hotel Gramercy Park, directed by Douglas Keeve.

NYC

View from the top

This is the view that I've been living with for the last week. The flowers are what remain of the V-day bouquet. Life sucks...big time... sike ;)

Visual Acoustics

The ironic little title of today's blogpost happens to be the title of a documentary that I saw a couple nights ago at Northwest Film Forum.

Here's the trailer:





The topic of Visual Acoustics is Julius Shulman, the man credited as being the founder Architectural Photography. I never gave much thought to the photographers who document houses/buildings for publications, but, as the film explains, they play a huge role in portraying the "story" of a structure and our understanding of how it would look and feel if we were standing next to or inside of it. In setting up the documentary, the narrartor (Dustin Hoffman) says something like "a few people may actually have the opportunity to stand inside a structure designed by an architect, but 10, 000 will eventually see the structure in print," and, therefore, the job of the photographer is to depict it for this mass audience. A HUGE responsibility, and one that could be approached with a sensitivity to the "feel" of a building and a desire to communicate it to a larger audience, or not. As the film progresses, it describes Julius Shulman's professional relationship with the Modern architects Richard Neutra and Rudolf Schindler early on in his career and how they shaped his approach towards architectural photography. One of the most well-known of Julius Shulman's images is the one he took of Case House #22. As Shulman says in the film, the two women in the image were girlfriends of the architects who designed the house who happened to be sitting and talking in the corner of the living room. I love everything about his picture. The warm glow from inside the house juxtaposed against the night sky, the transparency between outside and inside, how the lights of Los Angeles almost look like they're twinkling below, the dynamic angle of the photograph that makes the house appear to cantalever over the cliff, and, most of the all, I like the romanticized way the image depicts the good life in LA in the early 60's.





















I was blown away by the evocative images of buildings - buildings that looked like they were living, breathing things - that Schulman had taken, but I was moved even more by the indivisual himself. At the ripe age of 98, he was still so full of optimism and passion for nature, architecture, the environment, and the beauty of everyday life. He would marvel at the beauty of the lush, natural "jungle" that had become of his backyard, and exclaim how wonderful the orange blossoms smelled. He payed attention to everything with enthusiasm. Actually, his attitude towards the everyday things reminded me of something that Grace Coddington, the creative director at Vogue and another one that I think the world of, said in the September Issue. It was something to the effect of, "...pay attention to everything. Because if you fall asleep while you're in the car or take your eyes away from what's going on around you, you may miss something beautiful and wonderful." I don't think it's just a coincidence that both of these people have been responsible for bringing beautiful images to the world. Both of them harnessed the visual beauty or emotion that they noticed in something - whether architecture or fashion - and found a way of communicating it to a wider audience.

In the film, Schulman goes around visiting architects and clients of architects that he worked with in the past. In one of the segments, he has a lively and hilarious exchange with another wisecrack 90-something-year-old, an architect, which literally brought tears to my eyes. As they shuffle towards eachother to say hello and sit down to discuss their past collaborations for the camera, there's a black and white photograph of a bride, taken in the 30's or 40's, who must have been the architect's wife, sitting in a silver frame on the table beside the architect. Something about that scene - two ancient, yet lively men talking about the good old times in the presence of a treasured photograph of a woman from another time - tugged at my heartstrings.

After the film, I went home and Googled Julius Schulman, only to realize that he had just passed away last year, before the film was released. Having just watched this lively, sharp, warm, and hopeful human being on the screen for an hour an half, I genuinely felt that the world had lost a great individual. His optimism and relish for life reminded me of my grandfather, who's been a big inspiration to me and passed away a couple years ago. But, even though these guys are no longer physically around, their spirit lives on. And I'll think of them when I need a reminder to pay attention to life and find the beauty that exists in almost everything.

Bruno Beltrao - Grupo de Rua

Went to see the Brazilian hip hop dance company Grupo de Rua perform "H3" at On the Boards last night. Here's a description of the choreographer, Bruno Beltrao, and the dance company from On the Boards:

Stripped of the posturing and booming bass associated with hip hop, Bruno Beltrão’s H3 mines the movement vocabulary of the streets of Rio de Janeiro without the usual cultural baggage. The Brazilian choreographer’s company Grupa de Rua features 9 male dancers performing hypnotizing solos, duets and group work while incorporating elements of krumping, popping and floor-spins against a sparse electronic soundtrack ranging from classical music to sampled loops of the dancer’s screeching shoes.

The first 20 minutes of "H3" showcased the incredible physical mastery, artistry, and athleticism of 3 of the company's dancers. The number was untraditional in all respects. The movements were a combination of hip hop and modern dance. It was set to the sound of Rio's streets - mostly the "white noise" of daily life, cars whooshing by, intermittent honking - rather than conventional instrumental tracks. The dancers wore street clothes consisting of crumpled polos and pumas. It appeared that the dancers were making some social commentary through their movements, but I couldn't identify what exactly. Was it oppression? Assimilation? Race, or politics? As the performance continued, they incorporated unique lighting techniques and more music/beats. Actually, I really started to enjoy the performance more with the music. The movements incorporated high-velocity running (forward & backward) and what looked somewhat like capoeira "sparring" between 2 dancers, and also more ground spins and b-boy moves. As the 9 men shuffled quickly across the floor on all fours, my mother compared their moves to those of the iguanas that inhabit the Galapagos. Hm, maybe. The performance lasted 1 hour total. Shorter than I expected, but it was also a jammed-pack hour of movement.

Grupo de Rua will be performing at On the Boards in Seattle through the weekend, then at White Bird Dance in Portland from 2/3/10 - 2/7/10.

Here is a video clip of Grupo de Rua performing "H3":

Dear Auntie: Thank you for the dog neck warmer that you gave me for Thanksgiving/Christmas/NY. Even though its butt lands right where my nose & mouth happen to be, it smells magically like lavender. It also has a heat pad in it that burned my neck, but I'll be careful. Japanese people sure make useful things. I'll wear it everyday to remind myself. From (what I mean is "Love", but of course we never actually say that word) Ak.Ward. ♥

Letter from Port-au-Prince

Just one more post for today - this is worth it. Listen to this audio letter out of Port-au-Prince from reporter Amelia de Sousa. Honest, heart-wrenching. For those who are criticizing the delay in delivering aid to people of the wrecked city, it's certainly not for lack of trying. This should give you a better perspective:

World Vision Report - Week of January 23, 2010 - Letter From Port-au-Prince

Boots on the Go

Man, I love me some boots. Here are my favorites for this winter season...in action.

The Tretorns. Smartest, most practical buy yet. Makes me wonder why I didn't consider getting rain boots before? Seattle-ites owe the fashion trend-setters a big "thank you, honey!" for bringing rubber boots into fashion, and making them less honkin big and bulky. They have been a godsend in one of the rainiest of Seattle winters that I can recall. Simple, black, rain boots.


The City Boots. My favorite city boots for getting around town, driving (which I do more these days now that I'm in Seattle), and riding light rail (which I try to do as often as possible). Flat, gray, mid-shin height, riding boots. Found at Urban Outfitters, which had a great selection of boots online. Worn with leg warmers for a little extra somethin somethin peeking out over the edge. Here they are - riding light rail.

Trampoline Gym

Just learned about Emerald City Trapeze Arts via Daily Candy. If this isn't a way to live my Cirque du Soleil and Big Top Pee Wee fantasies, I don't know what is. The trampoline class sounds like it's up my alley, more so than the flying trapeze. They also have "aerial conditioning", which basically sounds like an answer to my workout prayers, but we'll have to see. I've always had a thing for jumping, flopping, about on a big piece of elastic mesh held by thin wire coils. That, and those inflatable funhouses. This just reminded me of what I want to do on my birthday. A funhouse. Or a day in my own private funhouse. No waiting in line. Hop in, bounce out.

Fear of Flying

As anyone who has had the task of sitting next to me on a flight knows, I have an unshakable, verging-on-methodical, fear of flying. My train of thought before and during a flight is a checklist of somewhat plausible to infinitesimally unlikely theories of how all 270 of us on board the death rocket will perish together in our identical rows of chafe-inducing, pretzel-crumb flecked, polyester seats with broken arm rests. I've considered wearing a parachute, but when I thought about the concern that might cause my fellow travelers, I studied wikiHow's instructions on how to survive a fall from 25,000 ft (note: it's the impact with the ground that's really the problem, not the fall). After reading about studies proving that sitting in the back of the plane increases your chances of surviving a plane crash, I've always booked my seat in one of the last few rows (which conveniently puts you closer to an emergency exit). As if mechanical, human, and weather-induced errors weren't bad enough, the (perceived) increase in terror threats has upped the number of potential plot lines and disaster clips reeling through my head. This is why I was particularly interested in reading a couple articles recently related to terrorism in the air.

In an article in the NYT, Liesl Schillinger raises a good point in saying the heightened focus on terrorism on flights has robbed people of their sense of freedom, and discouraged them from traveling to distant places and enriching their lives with the experiences that come with travel. Her solution is to simply stop "minding" the perceived terror threats that we believe to be lurking around us constantly. Other obvious effects the hassles and long-waits that come with "improved" airport security. An article on the Israelification of airport security takes an alternative look at the ways we could improve airport security and make our system more efficient by borrowing techniques from a country that has been dealing with similar issues for the last few decades. Looking for behavior that might be out of the ordinary - rather than liquids in bottles or devices stuffed into shoes - and training airport security officers to talk to passangers are methods that the Israelis have employed successfully to combat terror. I see the value in these techniques, butI wonder if preventing a passenger from boarding a plane due to "odd behavior" would fly - so to speak - in the U.S. How will "behavioral profiling" fit into a context where "racial profiling" has been such a sensitive issue?