astronaut wisdom

"We learned a lot about the Moon, but what we really learned was about the Earth. The fact that just from the distance of the Moon, you can put your thumb up, and you can hide the Earth behind your thumb. Everything that you have ever known, your loved ones, your business, the problems of the Earth itself, all behind your thumb. And how insignificant we really all are. But then how fortunate we are to have this body, and to be able to enjoy living here amongst the beauty of the Earth itself."

~Jim Lovell, Apollo 13

if you like beautiful 60's footage of space travel and astronaut wisdom, I suggest you get your eyes on In the Shadow of the Moon, an amazing documentary by David Sington where science is stranger than fiction. I was like a bright-eyed child amazed by what a miracle this experience we call life on earth really is. we forget easily, but watching this film is a nice reminder. look at life through the shiny eyes of those who have seen it from the moon and lived to talk about it. significantly more than 2 thumbs up.

spoon at the bowl

6 friends (jessica, jamie, keirin, jeremy, jg, and b)
3 bands (beck, spoon, and mgmt)
lots of food (cheese, salami, bread, hummus, carrots, beets, pickles, and more)
and some kitchen sink drinks (gin, club soda, lime, basil, cucumbers, and granny smith apples - yummers)
all in all, the hollywood bowl was nice and the bands were good, but the friends, food and cocktails won out.

missing michael

I miss michael phelps. that man was a big part of my evenings for a few magical days and I want those days back. watching someone who worked so hard and believed so much. someone who ate 12,000 calories a day and still had a six hundred pack. he was my modern day hero. I mean, the dude does wear tights. michael made me ask myself what 8 gold medals I would like to win? he reminded me that maybe I'm not supposed to eat a pound of pasta for lunch and be the fastest swimmer in the world, but I am supposed to put everything I've got into becoming the holder of the most gold medals in the history of me. into the pool of potential I must dive and butterfly myself to the other side. now if you'll excuse me, I better shave my legs.

be all that you can be in the LACC

who knew the treasures waiting for my shovel. in the mail a promise - "make new friends" the cover reads. in my hands the key to my unlocked potential - the los angeles city college fall catalog.

let the friend making begin.

but how does one choose which friends they would like to meet? what types take "BE YOUR OWN PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR" or "QUICK AND DIRTY SELF DEFENSE"? is a "BALLOON WORKSHOP" just full of class clowns? and should I be nervous in a classroom full of people studying "HOW TO GET A U.S. POST OFFICE JOB"? would I connect with the folks in the course that teaches you to "READ ALL DAY & GET PAID FOR IT!"? or would "SCREENWRITING WARRIORS" or "FRUIT & VEGETABLE CARVING" offer a more promising group of pupils?

as I read I realize that with a few hours time and hundred bucks or less, I could become anyone or do anything. "YOU'VE WRITTEN A SONG, NOW WHAT?" you mean for $30 you can tell me in one Saturday what I've been trying to figure out for over a decade? and after all the stuggle, in six days I can finally have "GUITAR MADE EASY" for only 70 bucks? and after all these years spent throwing money away on cramped city apartments, it only takes three simple thursdays and $95 to finally "LIVE - RENT FREE!!!"

the options, my friends, are limitless. who do you want to meet? who do you want to become? I suggest you grab your community college catalog and start registering for the future!

and then

and then for three long days we woke in the dark and spread out the substance of my family's discarded past and we sold it to our neighbors. good friends came over and helped and we rewarded them with donuts and mimosas. we drank, a lot, and we talked with strangers holding things we had once wanted. buying clothes we had once worn. skimming through books we had once read. we sold everything for pennies. thousands and thousands of pennies.

a 22 foot truck full of stuff

and after all the stuff was collected, we loaded it into a big yellow truck and we drove 1383 miles back to LA. 'cause we're crazy like that.

mining for memories

these are the times that make me wish I were a better writer, or at least a mad scientist who could make a time machine and transport myself into the future where I finally am. I want to express the whirlwind and the heat and the exhaustion caused by frustration and the frustration caused by exhaustion. I am still tired. days later. I am still trying to return from the deep.

it is times like these that no one, except for the monkey on your back, can attest to the craziness and the epic quality of such feats. in written form it all seems simple, and I sound guilty of over-dramatizing something rather mundane. but this, my fair reader, is where you must trust me. this shit was karazy.

it all seemed easy enough as we talked about it over lunch. jG and I would fly to Idaho to help my parents get rid of all the junk filling up my childhood home. a beautiful home built to house my two parents and their 4 children. enough toilets for each behind. enough square footage for a circus. but the clock ticked and eventually the rooms vacated. until this september when all that was left in the big space were my parents and a mountain of unclaimed stuff. enter in the super heroes wearing sweat pants and unwashed faces. for five uninterrupted days, we sifted - mining the memories from the mountains of excess. so much stuff.

what do you get when you have money to spend and space to fill? - shit to get rid of.

so that is what we did, for five full days of early mornings and late nights. we got rid of a lot of stuff. so much stuff. the house grew bigger and my parents grew taller. and it felt good. getting rid of things that were no more and tastes that had changed and opinions that had matured. cleansing the house of who they had been, who we had been, and leaving open cupboards to be filled with new ideas. we are not supposed to stay the same, why would we keep all the same stuff? why would we spend our days tripping over all the old junk that's filling up our lives when we could make room for the new? yes, it is nothing short of epic to let go and move on, but that old t-shirt you swear you can't live without will prove you wrong. it will go and you will stay and you will be okay. and you will find a new and better t-shirt, one that you will eventually, hopefully let go of. your grandmother's dishes don't love you back. the children's books you used to read to your now grown children are dusty and there are children being born that need them more than your shelves. let go. give it all away and watch what you get in return.

the 33-year-old frosting rose

I am currently in idaho because I am a good and selfless daughter. ok, so maybe there are other, less laura ingalls wilder reasons. like, I can't help but want to go through every square inch of my parents 3300 square foot home with countless closets and crannies (otherwise known as crammies) saying to my mother, "really, you want to keep this? I mean, it's ugly and out-dated and serves no purpose past or present and certainly won't serve any future purpose other than sitting on this overstuffed shelf." and so continues the hours and the days. closet after closet, cupboard after cupboard. you try having 4 children, and being raised by obsessive compulsive religiously guilt ridden, frugal as f*@# parents from the depression and not having a house full of shit you don't need.

examples: warranty manuals for a cassette deck purchased in 1983, wrapping paper from every birthday gift ever received and opened, carefully removed and then folded up and put away for future birthdays, 46 (I counted) unburned candles, a sears christmas catalog from 1988, one small lumpy unrecognizable item I could not identify until my mom informed me was a decorative edible rose from their wedding cake, shoved in their collective faces almost 33 YEARS AGO. a 33 year-old frosting rose.

now of course there are other awesome finds like my dad's banjo picks that I remember putting on the small of my childhood fingers, and the porcelain grape tea set that my mom and I would tea party together with, and oh, the soft and lovely floral of the sheets that covered my mother's 16-year-old bed.

today is only day 2. one day down and pounds and pounds of garbage thrown. but also, good times spent with my mom, and happy memories remembered. and the bad memories? put in their proper place - the city dump.

and another reason

why I love LA #813

family history

in the process of going through some old photos, I came across this gem. my family circa 1893 as told by 1993. frozen in a time both real and imagined. a fake setting capturing some real love.
(click on the pic for maximum viewing pleasure.)

bowl a mile in my shoes

in times like these, when everything is uncertain -- friends (not friend, but friendS) moving out of your fair city, rent yet to be payed one week into the month, the weight of all life's glorious possibilities lying heavy on your chest -- there is only one thing to do... go bowling. drink gin and tonics with dirty limes. eat lumpy nachos and cheesy pizza. wipe the grease on your jeans before you stick those faithful digits of yours into the mysteries of a public bowling ball. laugh at how good or how bad you are. keep your mind in and your ball out of the gutter. enjoy the sound of a strike and the bright of florescence shining on polished wood. it is here that we can revel in the sight of another man bowling in our shoes. look around. we are not alone.

we all do

eventually, our siblings will marry and our friends with get pregnant, and we will be forced to realize that we are no longer children. our families will expand and our friends will become parents. this crazy fact is both beautiful and alarming. and as we watch our brothers say I do, we think of our own weddings. and as we watch our friends change their daughter's diaper, we think of our own plans.

my brother just got married. it was a simple wedding set in the woods of north idaho. the bride wore flip flops and the groom wore a tuxedo t-shirt. the wedding party was comprised of their three children. it was truly a beautiful ceremony that made even the mountain men shiny-eyed.

our family was together.

when you see your family grow as the vows are made, you realize how complicated such a thing as family can be. if you're lucky you will like all the additions, but that doesn't always happen, and then what? do you love your sibling less for the mess of a partner they choose? and what if your friend bears and then raises a bratty child? will their choices drive you apart? life is this shifting thing that we are always wanting to hold still. but the calm we seek would make us crazy. life and love and family and friendship are complicated things, but we partake in them because the alternative is so quiet. we fill our lives with the things that make music. sometimes it is beautiful music and sometimes it just sounds like noise. but the absence of this music would break every experience. and so we keep surrounding ourselves with the sound and complication of love and we dance when it moves us and accept all the other times when we want to plug our ears. the lonely of quiet keeps us listening to the music of life.

home. away from home.

sometimes it's a long way home. sometimes it's 1383 miles of quiet highways that leads you there. sometimes it's right next door but you're too afraid to knock. sometimes it's in the chair you're sitting in. like now, where I am - home - in idaho sitting in the chair of my childhood. all at once, I am home and away from home. I have made a new one, with a lot of time and work and loneliness and confusion, I have settled my own homestead 1383 miles away from the world I left a long time ago. I am happy there, in my new home and sometimes I am sad there - that it takes so many miles to sit here in this chair laughing with my family.

when I am here I realize all the little things I miss out on. phone call updates can't share with you all of life's little inside jokes. it is the boring and uneventful moments that you share that often ties you to another. while I am here I focus on that, the little things. the way my father tells a story, the way my mother wraps a gift, the way my sister and her boyfriend make each other smile. the way we fight about stupid shit and annoy each other at a steady pace. the way we always know that despite the spat, we will always find our way back to the table to share a meal. family is this strange force that pushes you away and pulls you in over and over for the length of your beautiful life. I don't want to live in this town anymore, but I want to watch my family live here. fortunately it only takes two days and several cups of coffee and one long audio book to get me here. home. away from home.

putting the do in donut

you are not seeing things. those are donuts. that is a donut shop. an amazing donut shop I might add. just a lovely jaunt down the 210 from the heart of los angeles and you too can have fresh strawberry donuts made by jim. located on historic route 66 in glendora, ca, the donut man is a sweet stop worth making. the fresh strawberry donuts, for which the place is famous, are nothing short of amazing - big juicy and fresh summer strawberries bursting out of a fluffy glazed donut. sara, jg and I ate ours dancing with the delight of a scrumdidilyumptious sugar high. 

now I know there is speculation that donuts are not actually "good for us", but I would argue that what is good for the spirit is good for us. driving with friends, talking about life, only to be rewarded with a donut along the way is so very good for us and something we probably don't do nearly enough. I've been thinking a lot about what we don't do nearly enough of in light of the recent news that sara kaye is moving. not to a downtown loft or a hillside house, but moving moving, as in far away and no longer within walking distance. man oh man will she be missed. the endless adventures, the constant squeezing of the juices of life, she is a master. if you are lucky, as we have been lucky, your path will intersect with hers and most likely you will learn a whole lot about how very much living we are actually capable of. while I am sad for los angeles in losing her, I am excited for the world. I am also excited for the places we will get to visit her. onward and upward my friend, onward and upward.

a reverse lullaby

I was singing in my sleep last night. it woke jg up. he said he woke to the sound of a melody. a reverse lullaby. my melody being sung in the dark. this morning my jaw hurt something fierce. I must have been singing all night. what song I was singing he couldn't say, only that it was clear and lovely. this shows my current commitment to making beautiful music. I am in the process of securing all the gadgets and gizmos necessary to turn our lovely little palace into our home sweet recording studio.

entering into the realm of tech forums is daunting if you know as much about technology as you do about lithuanian history. not much. not much at all. here's what I do know. I know that if I don't get my music "out there" I will start to shrivel like a grape in the sun. I know that I feel more excited about recording my simple little tunes than I can remember being in too long. I know that having this sense of purpose gives me a focus my spectacles couldn't fix. I can see clearly. I need this. oh, and I also need an audio interface, a condenser mic, and an e-mu xboard 49. here's to doing what you want most and therefore fear most. may my reverse lullaby wake me from the dark slumber of fear.

we came, we saw, we ate hot dogs

Every day is a new opportunity. You can build on yesterday's success or put its failures behind and start over again. That's the way life is, with a new game every day, and that's the way baseball is.

~Bob Feller

halfway through the baseball season, I pause and reflect on my dodger's sportsfandom. I can now tell which player is which all the way from the top deck simply by reading the subtle gestures they each make. I know the people sitting behind me (tony and steve) and all about their history as dodger's fans. I know that within one game of baseball lies a metaphor for an entire lifetime - the ups and downs, the long pauses and the bursts of excitement, the devastating injuries as well as the surprising victories. I know that it can be very loud and very quiet depending on the score on the board. I know that the ice cream vendor never comes when I need him too and that one dodger dog makes me feel great and two, make me feel awful. I know that sitting between sara and jg and jumping up for joy together and giving each other sloppy high fives when our team scores a run, makes the long walk up the hill from echo park more than worth it. ultimately, I know that baseball games are about a whole lot more than just baseball and I'm glad I've discovered that whole lot more.

it only takes a sliver

it only takes a sliver to illuminate this room
but I'd gladly take more
if more were willing
~me, 8/5/2005

a sliver can hurt. a sliver can give you a glimpse into a secret world. a sliver can give you enough light to see in the dark. a sliver of glass. a sliver of light. a sliver of time. a sliver of hope. at first glance the word itself reads as the metal that forms many things, from coins to mirrors to jewelry to the processing of photographs. swap the l with the i and you have another word full of possibilities. shiny bright possibilities.

it only takes a sliver - to cut the flesh, to reveal the truth, to see the light.

I like pulling slivers out of jG's hands, such a tiny thing that can't be ignored. something unseen that causes pain. I can remove the perpetrator with the white curves of my fingernails. a simple comforting act. love is like that. taking someone's pain and disposing of it with your hands. little acts of love. enough slivers of love and we could illuminate the world. it only takes a sliver - but I'd gladly take more, if more were willing.

for more musings on slivers, read my short short story sliver.

quitting is cool

Quit Your Job Advice Show from kayekilla on Vimeo.

I'm a quitter. an avid quitter. I've quit so many times, I've lost count - my job that is. when it's something I'm passionate and excited about, I always see it through to the end - jobs however, I quit like samantha quits her boyfriends. and I don't stop there, I actively encourage others to quit their jobs as well. name your problem, and I'll tell you the solution - quit your job.

now understand, I wholeheartedly believe there are jobs worth keeping, it's just that there are so many jobs kept that should be abandoned like a rabid raccoon in the woods. and yet, people cling and complain away the days of their misery. people make up excuses for why they can't quit, none of which ever satisfy me.

call me crazy (because in this "sane" world, crazy is a compliment), but it seems to me that if you're not happy you should do what it takes to be happy. if your job makes you unhappy - quit. period. leave the puritans to their misery. create your own rules for existence. suffering is so last century. get your joy on. quit your job.

if you are reading this from a job you hate, perhaps this helpful and informational video by sara kaye (staring the masterful miss jamie masters and myself) will be the final push you need. enjoy.

a fine rejection

from	The Believer
to		bethany toews
date		Tue, Jun 10, 2008 at 10:33 AM
subject		Re: believer seeks magazine by same title to publish her poetry

Dear Bethany Toews,

Thank you for the opportunity to look over these poems. I think there is some fine work here, maybe especially “lizard tails,” but unfortunately I am unable to accept any. I wish you the best of luck placing them elsewhere.

All the best,
Dominic

--
Dominic Luxford
Poetry Editor
The Believer

On 5/28/08 7:43 PM, "bethany toews" <writebethanymore@gmail.com> wrote:

I'm scared. I'm scared that you'll be mad at me for not capitalizing the appropriate letters. it's not out of disrespect nor is it some outgrown punk-rock rebellion. I must confess, I am lazy. the time it takes to know what should and should not be capitalized is what kept me from writing for years until I finally realized that I could make my own rules (thanks largely in part to the mcsweeney's establishment where rules are beautifully broken on a regular basis). ever since that momentous moment, I have battled it out with microsoft, word throwing green squiggles under everything I write. I know, I say, but I just don't care. I care about a great many things - cloud shapes and pudding cups and echoing laughter and honest mistakes but proper capitalization of a famous president or an unknown town - I just can't be bothered. anyway, if you're not mad at me, please read my poetry. perhaps perhaps you will think it worth your while...

I posted this because I thought it was awesome. what was awesome was that it came exactly one day after a huge talk about rejection with my dear friend jamie. we are both writers, and creators in general, and we often find ourselves delving into all the complications of such endeavors.

rejection is obviously a big part of being an artist, that and free wine that gives you a narsty headache.

no one, not even van gogh or michael jackson or jesus christ, can win the hearts of everyone. most often you're lucky to get your mother's praise. if you create everything with the intention of pleasing everyone, you might want to consider a different path, one that involves cubicles and a lot of fluorescent lighting. being an artist involves more rejection, or at least indifference, than it does attention and love. but the point is that it doesn't feel like an option otherwise. so why not get over what everyone else thinks (you're crazy, you suck, you're unoriginal, you're not right for the part, publication, so on and so forth) and sign up for your own fan club prepared to be the only member. what I'm a fan of is seeing people believe in themselves, because whether or not someone else does, you're still out there doing it and that in itself, is a beautiful work of art. the world my friends, can never have too much art.

trying to tame a wild zebra

Death Valley Montage From The Heart from kayekilla on Vimeo.

that sara kaye, I tell you what, trying to keep up with her and all her doings is like trying to tame a wild zebra - not easy. and yet we are blessed with the world wide web and access to her montage magic. this video is of our spontaneous trip to death valley we took a few months back. good times. and now you too can be there with us. sit back, relax and enjoy sara's mad camera skills, my vocal stylings and purple mountain majesty.