bloop!

This brought me joy today: bloopers from old Hollywood. There's something lovely and humanizing about watching screen idols crack up--including Bette Davis, Carole Lombard, Humphrey Bogart, Jimmy Stewart (and for some reason, Dick van Dyke).

doing the most

I was making my weekly stop at my favorite coffee window and the owner was drizzling chocolate over oatmeal cookies. We traded pleasantries about last week's snow, and then she straightened. "Who are all these people eating in restaurants? Don't they realize how dangerous it is for servers?"

King County is in phase 2 and yes, I'm alarmed by the packed restaurants and bars, too. Just because we're Ameri-cans, doesn't mean we Ameri-should. The coffee shop owner long ago closed off the entrance door and merrily serves coffee, pastries and a lively chatter from behind a Plexiglass window.

She added, "Well, now you know a lot more about your friends."

It's true. I guess they know more about me, too.

I'm still declining offers of backyard BBQs and sidewalk cafe beers. It's just not worth the risk.

I'm keeping up a weekly takeout rotation, trying to tip well and be forgiving even when things go awry. One restaurant who shall remain nameless completely missed my order on a very cold morning last week. I went for a 20 minute walk while they pulled it together.

My boss keeps talking about a return to normal, but I don't want to go back. I want to reinvent. I want to do better and not just for myself.

read! attica! locke!

I've delighted in reading Attica Locke's Texas Ranger Darren Mathews series, and now here's an interview between her and Granite Noir/Aberdeen Scotland. 

Read! Attica! Locke! She's a goddamn national treasure.

ALT and the chiffon trenches

Thanks to SPL I just finished reading Andre Leon Talley's "The Chiffon Trenches."

It's an engaging heart breaker. While I adored the photographs and the stories, I wished so much that ALT had been treated with the love and respect he so clearly deserves. What monsters Wintour and Lagerfeld are and were. I know ALT raves over their largesse, but this Black man who speaks fluent French and lives for a divine sleeve and has encyclopedic knowledge of and adoration for the history of fashion deserves far better than petty slights, scoldings about his weight, and ignominious dumping from his livelihood at Vogue. 

By chance, I heard his mellifluous cackle on NPR the other night, and in turn was pointed to this video of ALT in conversation Diane von Furstenburg and the curator of the Art Gallery of Ontario. The topic was Studio 54, and it was such a treat, hearing and seeing about Carolina Herrera and Halston and Grace Jones. But even more, I loved the gentle caring friendship between ALT and DVF. 

True icons, both of them.

never again is now

I think about this mural in the CID a lot. 

This second impeachment trial has made it clear--if there was any doubt!--that the baddies are still determined to have their way. Losing the presidency and the Senate is only a temporary setback for them. Once they're back in power, they won't leave. I don't see that progressives are determined or united enough to stop them. I still think it's time to go. But where?

*

Prolonged isolation is getting to me. I don't feel good about my job, or my relationship, or many of my friendships. Getting through each day feels like an accomplishment. I'm down to the basics: get up, get some exercise, put in my work hours, and write. Sometimes there's a friend or family Zoom, or an online event. I delay sleep as long as I can, dreading the long cold hours of tossing and turning. 

What does paragraph one have to do with paragraph two? 

My desire to change my dynamic is becoming overwhelming. I want to hit the road. I want to go see the people I care about and write and live life and hear music and see art and drink cocktails and laugh. Stasis is killing me.

snowpocalypse 2021

Wild excitement in the PNW: we woke up to a winter wonderland of snow. Even my scroogey old heart felt a flutter, looking at the smooth, snowy hillocks. I put on my Docs and started a long trudge around the neighborhood.

Two articulated Metro buses got stuck on an uphill in short order. The usual yahoos in trucks spun out. Lots of confused-looking dogs. Delirious kids. 

It's been cold the past few days--in the thirties. There was a half inch or so of snow and ice on the ground from Thursday, when my block also suffered an 8 hour power outage. I lit candles, uncorked the bourbon and fired up my solar generator to keep my phone charged and heating pad warm, but it was still a very dark and chilly night. I awoke to see my clock radio blinking and sprang out of bed to fire up the heat.

Let's hope there won't be a part deux.

*

Updated: later Saturday I walked up Thomas, and then Denny, both of which were closed to cars, dodging snowboarders, skiers and sleds. At the park, DJs had set up human-sized speakers bumping dance music. People stood on mostly distant clumps, mostly masked, as snow continued to fall. Dogs in little coats ran around, chasing each other. A shirtless guy rolled in the snow.  It was a moment of joy.

 

stfu friday

Pot Brothers tip of the day. Worth a re-watch. Today and erryday.

 

sorry about your wall

 

seen near the Capitol Hill Goodwill

the nap ministry

The disconnect between brain and emotion continues, writ large at work especially. Two colleagues confided to me this week that they don't know why they're feeling so tired and unfocused and can't sleep. 

UM...2020 would like a word. 

2020 being shorthand for: pandemic, racial justice protests, work disruption, no social life with friends, no family holidays, daily gaslighting from the federal government for 4 years, nearly seeing congress executed on live video, the vicious treadmill of capitalism, money worries, constant existential dread---am I missing anything?

For everyone who grew up not knowing what PTSD feels like, well I commend you, and welcome to hell. It's not linear. Some days you feel good. Some days you feel nothing. Some days you feel like you're climbing out of a well wearing a blindfold and shoes coated in vegetable oil. One word, one smell, one emotion, can send you into a spiral of remembering and feeling. 

The feeling is the worst part. 

So please: be kind to yourself. Hydrate. Rest when you can. Watch Real Housewives. Listen to 90's hip hop. Read a trashy novel. Be kind to others, especially if they're front line workers like baristas and grocery clerks and takeout staff. 

If you're on Twitter, follow the Nap Ministry. They believe rest is a form of resistance and reparations. And since it's Black History Month, find a way each day to learn and contribute and support.