Monday, March 19, 2018

3 memoirs: a review

I've been reading quite a few memoirs, courtesy of the Seattle Public Library. I want to write one, as you know, so I've been absolutely housing through them. Check out my take:

Saturday, March 17, 2018

new muzik

My Youtube searches yesterday brought me to Kenyan hiphop, and Dandora Music, and this song, Back in the Day, with Noni Mugera. It's good stuff--sweet beats and even though my Kiswahili is limited, the rhymes have a smooth vibe. Peep it!

The same group also produced an anti-domestic violence video, Unbreakable. Powerful. Hard to watch, but watch we must.

Saturday, March 10, 2018

dog:trix

Boyeee--I been learning some thangs.
(Not spelling or grammar, apparently.)
(Hi, Mom.)
Priorities!
New ways of playing with numbers and visualizations (Tableau). Analyzing complicated spreadsheets packed with data. Trying new things with WeVideo (robot voice). Memoir as told in short-short chapters (a la Roxane Gay). Brainstorming new projects with pals.
*
Magical words: what if we---? Or maybe we could--?
The more I learn, the more there is to learn.
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Today's soundtrack--relaxation for my troubled brain.

Tuesday, March 6, 2018

fashun

Style is on my mind a lot these days.
I don't know why.
The world is a raging dumpster fire and I'm intrigued by a sparkly bracelet?
And yet.
There is an undeniable power in clothing, particularly women's clothes.
And I've gotten a lot of mileage out of provoking, with my attire.
Not in a sexualized sense.
More in testing the boundaries of appropriateness.
One of my earliest successes was when I was a teenager. My father arrived at the Bellingham Public Library to pick me up, took one look at my fedora and tan corduroy skirt and plaid madras shirt, and send me right back out to the sidewalk. You look so--seedy. He drove off in whatever secondhand sedan we possessed at the time, and I was left to walk the 1.5 miles back to the house.
I felt bad, for the first few blocks.
And then I realized: I hadn't had to say anything. My look had said it for me. And my know-it-all abusive father hadn't liked it one bit.

Sunday, March 4, 2018

animated

I checked out a couple of animated movies recently. Some friends shared a copy of Daft Punk's 2003 Interstella 5555. The animation/anime was sufficiently trippy and fun, but the story dragged a bit, especially at the end (which the soundtrack "Too Long" underscored for me). Still, reviewers love it and it was a fun hour reminiscing the French band's greatest hits.


Another trip down memory lane: Sita Sings the Blues, a 2008 triumph of animation that layers several doomed romances, one illustrated in wobbly line, the other, The Ramayana told "Drunk History" style, and all of it featuring the beautifully haunting 1920's songs of Annette Hanshaw.

It's Oscar's Sunday--and do I care? I'll be turning these two offerings over in my head for a few days to come. Although I am eagerly anticipating Wes Anderson's Isle of Dogs, forthcoming soon, I hope.

Friday, March 2, 2018

city lyfe

It's been an odd forty-eight hours.
I caught a bus to West Seattle Wednesday evening during a cold winter downpour. The bus smelled like ass and was maybe 3/4 full. It cleared out downtown, and some of the swamp crotch smell departed with one de-busing guy at 3rd and Pine. Down towards Main Street, a guy got on and cracked a PBR at the other end of our bench seat. Against the law, Metro frowns on it, but who am I to judge? He wasn't bothering anyone. Two more guys got on by the stadiums, with bulky bags, from which they proceeded to withdraw knives. A dozen at least, most in store packaging, with menacing blades. By the time we hit the West Seattle Bridge I was in full-on panic. The guy nearest me, still wearing sunglasses at 7pm, was demonstrating his best stabbing motions, with a knife in each hand. I tried to breathe and stay calm. Around me, other passengers were casting wary glances. When my stop came, I got up and walked between the two knuckleheads, who very politely said "Excuse us," and temporarily stopped with the stabby-stabby.
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Later that evening I somehow grabbed a buddy's debit card, as we were settling up after Talarico's trivia. Unfortunately, I didn't discover the error til the next morning, when the ATM I was at kept asking me to re-enter my PIN. As a bonus, my buddy didn't notice it either. He even bought coffee with my card. I hope he didn't leave an exorbitant tip. We realized the error and made a swap yesterday afternoon.
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While I waited for my bus Thursday morning near Seattle Center, the sweetest little robin perched at a tree outside Agave restaurant and tweeted its heart out. What a delightful sound.
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And speaking of non-delightful sounds, I went for a massage after work. The massage therapist was great--the jaw massage changed my life--but her sound machine crapped out about 10 minutes in. Instead of restful gongs and birdsong, we spent the next 40 minutes listening to the hustle and bustle of east Pine Street--bro's congregating and talking on the corner, car engines revving, clomping boot-steps, a crying child. I tried to summon some mental white noise and tune out, just for a few moments, the late afternoon aural gyrations.

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