An e-mail I recieved at work

Subject: In honor of Administrative Professionals Day - everyone wins!

In honor of Administrative Professionals Day, denim day will be in effect for tomorrow.

Be sure to thank your fellow admin co-workers (and ____ _____, in particular) for this wonderful privilege.

My soul then folded in on itself from sheer lack of hope for the world.

Sleater-Kinney is totally the best.

I have decided that Sleater-Kinney are probably my most favorite band ever. A lot of rock critics have written really interesting and wonderful things about them, but I'm just going to tell you that this is the music that I put on headphones at work when I am disillusioned with just about everything, and also the music that plays in my head when I'm skateboarding, the sidewalk gliding beneath my feet and the future rushing up joyously around me. Exuberant angst? Angsty exuberance?

I was going to share a bunch of songs and videos, but I think I'll limit it to one tonight, with more possibly to come. This one has a little bit of Patti Smith in it, a great line about tree climbing, a KILLER guitar groove and "aaaaaah GET UP!" The video has people walking through fields and a mystical purple circle. I don't really know what is supposed to be going on. But what are music videos if not obtuse? The song is from like 1999 I think, and truthfully it's a little artsy and pretentious, but there's enough good stuff in there that I don't even care!

Get Up


Oh man they are a great band.
PS -- here is a live version of the same song, which shreds nearly all the artiness and pretense and basically just rocks. Track is via rbally, a music blog from Boston that includes posts about a few of my friends right there along with the established greats.

Playing with Google maps . . .

The world looks better right side up . . .



My apartment complex. Ridgewood Village. I used to think that the name was stupid because it wasn't on the ridge of anything. Then I realized that we are in fact just on the ridge of the freeway. A small concrete stream with no water runs between us and the power plant to the north.




The Black Hills, South Dakota. Mount Rushmore is less than a mile southwest of this picture, but it was cover by clouds, and the view in this direction was always my favorite anyway. I can point out secret spots in these hills that wouldn't mean much to just about anybody.




Hometown. Dallas, Oregon. Of all the pictures, this one looks the most plain to me, which I suppose is appropriate. My house is in the lefthand corner.




Fishing village on the northern Italian coast. You could see the bay from our hostel window, and google doesn't even have images of the path we hiked the next day, which was filled with more beauty than could fit into a year.




La Alhambra, since it seemed a crime to not include it. What strange geometry builds up over the centuries!




The Columbia River gorge which divides Oregon and Washington is so, so, so green. There's nothing more inviting than flying home over this landscape. I cannot wait to be in the midst of it all, but if I must wait, just watching this pass beneath me is not bad at all.




This one is zoomed out farther than the others, but I had to include it because: Venice looks like a little boot, attatched to an umbilical cord (the road to the left-hand corner) to its mommy, Italy the big boot! Who knew??




It's technically called the Orange Plaza, but come on -- it's clearly the Orange Circle, which is what everyone calls it, smack dab in the center of Orange, a central Orange County, California town. I guess the historic look and feel of the area was only preserved due to the fluke confluence of a bunch of antique stores in the same place, which somehow seems appropriate.




Minneapolis. A city built like a puzzle out of skybridges and shadows.




I never realized that Kenosha, Wisconsin was so close to the tiny ocean that is Lake Michigan. Erin told me she sometimes dreamt of flooding, and now I know why.




Granada's Parque Garcia Lorca was one of the last places I revisited before taking a bus to the airport to catch a plane to London, to Dublin, back to London again and finally to Oregon, away from Spain. My host family lived in an apartment in or close to this picture, as did many of my friends' families. I've walked those streets so many times I can see it up close if I just close my eyes.


"All the wild world is beautiful, and it matters but little where we go, to highlands or lowlands, woods or plains, on the sea or land or down among the crystals of waves or high in a balloon in the sky; through all the climates, hot or cold, storms and calms, everywhere and always we are in God's eternal beauty and love. So universally true is this, the spot where we chance to be always seems the best." ~ John Muir

Writing is work!

I gave up reading about the comic book industry for Lent, which sounds really lame, but it was taking up at least an hour of my day, every day, and for the most part completely unnecessay. I wasn't surprised to find that I hadn't missed much when I checked back after Easter. The only really worthwhile bit I found was in this interview with comic book scribe Brian K. Vaughan. He mostly talks about the books he's writing and movie deals, typical blah blah blah stuff, but I really appreciated this insight into the writing process:

Q: How do you maintain that productivity? What’s your secret?

Vaughan: I guess the secret is that it’s not very hard. It’s not working in the coal mines; I’ve had other jobs that are horrendous. Jobs are hard. Even if you’re going into an office and answering phones, jobs are unpleasant. But I work at home. I roll out of bed in my boxers – sorry to put that image in your head – and I sit down and write about people punching each other and kissing each other. It is a joy.
When you have to write 22 pages a week it’s not a lot. I’m lucky enough to have ideas; I’ve never had writer’s block before. I’ve always had something I’ve wanted to say.

Q: Do you believe in writer’s block? I know some writers who have never been blocked who just don’t believe it’s a real thing.

Vaughan: It sounds sort of… I imagine that if I had had writer’s block before I would feel that any writer who says that it’s a fiction is a douche. I’m reluctant to be like, ‘No, it doesn’t exist.’ But I’m lucky enough that I never had it before. The closest thing I’ve had to approximating writer’s block is X-Box, in that is fun and it is sitting there and it is easy to do and writing is hard and complicated and lonely. I think writer’s block is a way of being, ‘Why isn’t writing fun right now?’ But I’ve been doing it long enough that I don’t think writing is ever fun, it’s a drag. It’s not hard, but it’s not fun either. Finishing something and being done with is fun, and it’s thrilling, and it’s worth fighting for.

....

I guess I just thought it was nice to see someone admit that while writing can be the greatest job in the world, that doesn't mean it's fun all the time or not hard. Like anything worthwhile, it takes dedication and sacrifice, but I sometimes get discouraged because I have a very flighty muse and my interest in a project often doesn't last long after the initial burst of inspiration. It may be strange, but I'm glad to be reminded that writing isn't always fun!