blowing your own cover

photographer, bartender, bar attender, model, graphic designer, ramblin' woman, waitress, shop girl, ice cream sandwich enthusiast, chinese translator, commercial actor and hesitant blogger-- just a few of my occupations, otherwise known as distractions, for the past few years. thinly veiled as jobs, hobbies, or even passions, I know that in truth, they were just clever little distractions I had devised to keep me from what I really wanted, music. well, after a long drawn-out battle between my head and my heart, and after some serendipitous stumblings and after only a few practices, I will be playing in a newly formed band with some seriously talented musicians. this sunday at hotel cafe, the temporarily misnamed ben pringle and the bros--ben pringle, jeremy burgan, ry sarmiento and myself (the least bro of the bros)--will be rock and rolling it. our musical magic will be taking place at 8:00pm sharpish. music for a good cause--that's hard to beat.
beat beat go the drums. beat beat goes my heart.

monkey hearts pigeon

the abandoned monkey finds hope in the embrace of a white pigeon. I will no longer look at my neighborhood pigeons, wobble-drinking-gutter-water-eating-trash, the same. a reminder, love comes in all kinds of wrapping, but is always, red bow or not, a gift. open every present with a open heart. oh, and give give give.

jam on it!

I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work the more I live.

~George Bernard Shaw~


my left fingers are numb as I type this. no I have not been gripping an ice cold suicide slurpee. no I did not drive through the alps with my hand roller coaster riding the wind out the window. no I did not give bare-handed ice-fishing a try. my fingertips are numb because I am in the midst of learning to play the bass in two weeks.
my friend ben pringle has asked me to play in his upcoming show at hotel cafe. catch is, he asked me to play an instrument that up until 5 days ago, I had never even touched. it feels amazing. at the end of practice I feel ravenous like I have hiked for miles up a mountain. I've been living on a diet of burgers and pork roast and fried chicken. protein. memories are made up of proteins--perhaps memorizing all this music is depleting my protein supply at an unusual rate? either way, I'm happy as can be. I feel simultaneously more worn out and more energized than I've been in years. purpose. life is made up of finding a purpose to excite you, to inspire action that takes your baby soft hands and covers them with calluses. I have been blessed with this challenge and although I've lost feeling in my fingertips, my whole being feels more alive than ever.
jam on it!

happy martyred saint valentine's day

"Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it." ~Rumi

my friend alisa ochoa took this picture of a romantic potato at a flea market in new york. it wasn't valentine's day, it was just a day like any day. love doesn't need a holiday for us to celebrate it...or to think long and hard about how we feel about it, how we go about giving it, or seeking, or keeping, or destroying it. love may not be blind, but it is easy to be blind in the overwhelming process of loving.

tom robbins said, "we waste time looking for the perfect lover, instead of creating the perfect love." I have a feeling that may have something to do with the fact that creating a perfect love is something we can't rely on anyone else for - it's easier having someone else to blame when our aim misses its mark and rips our chest wide open. it hurts much too much to hurt and to have to realize that you're the one holding the bow and arrow. pat said, or sang, it best - love is a battlefield, but when you raise your white flag from the trenches and peek out to see green pastures do you finally realize the only war you were fighting was in your head? is it then that you stop the resistance? you are your own medic, and the only cure for a wounded heart is plenty of love. today, and everyday.

life and death valley

wandering and wondering through death valley, I was filled to the bursting point with life. earth pushed up and turned inside out all around me, exposing itself unabashedly. buildings bleached by the sun stood crumbling and bare. even box springs laid scattered, stripped of their fabric. everything was naked. I felt silly in my clothes.



it seemed simple enough. sara kaye would pick me up at 9 and we would head east. the california sky knows so well how to be blue and the open road moved against its horizon effortlessly. in no time we were there, in baker, filling up on gas and gas station snacks about to turn down the 127. this was a first, and it seemed unusual that it was so easy to leave the usual of los angeles living to enter into the vast space of death valley. but there we were, and there it was - purple mountain majesty, and orange and red and green and gold mountain majesty too.



death valley is a land of extremes. it is the hottest and driest of the national parks as well as the largest outside of alaska. it also contains the second-lowest point in the western hemisphere at badwater basin, which is 282 feet below sea level. standing at this point you can imagine yourself deep underwater - the stillness makes you feel more like a fish in the ocean or an astronaut on the moon than a person holding a camera in a park. the air feels different and the sun sets in a way hollywood can only dream about. I stood there astounded, how brilliant the sky and how loud the silence.



surrounded by so much space, your mind is left to fill in the blanks. we bury ourselves with too many distractions. in our endless journey to get somewhere, we forget the substance of where we come from. the desert is a powerful place, it forces us to remember all the things the city has forgotten. being out there, unprotected, I wondered what it was I needed protection from? we are only afraid of the moment right before we understand what we fear. what feels like a giant leap is really only a small step - a small step well worth taking.

the not-so-lonesome highway

Each friend represents a world in us, a world of possibility not born until they arrived, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born. ~Anais Nin

I know one of the biggest reasons I met her is because she shares my love for daily discoveries. whether it is a hidden library or a desert highway, skl is good at getting me out of the house and into the world. from dodger's stadium to death valley--she inspires the will and provides the way. it is because of her that I spent saturday, along with my right hand man and my sister, driving down the pearblossom highway. the landscape made a special attempt that day to astound us with its beauty. the mountain were whitened with snow and then wrapped in the gauze of slow moving clouds. the sun made a grand exit, splashing golds and magentas across the cyan sky. we drove along, licking on lollypops, laughing and enjoying the shift we felt. with every new day, a new experience and with each new experience, the shift. sometimes subtle, sometimes explosive. small or large, the shift sets your feet on new ground, your view is altered and your head and heart grow as they adjust to the change. we are here to shift, tirelessly and openly. driving through the desert with my three companions, this much was clear.

a cure for what!? ails you

currently in bed with the croup, or at least that's what I've diagnosed it as. not having health insurance means becoming your own doctor with a degree from the world wide web. well, given my difficulty breathing and my barking seal of a cough, I have decided it must be laryngotracheobronchitis, then again, I am not between the ages of 3 months and 3 years, so maybe, it is something else...

I have deduced that I am suffering from a lower respiratory infection, rather than the more common upper respiratory variety. I also think it's more likely that the infection is in my bronchial tubes, than in my lungs, meaning I most likely have bronchitis and not pneumonia. according to web md, I should seek medical attention immediately. I think I'll just lay in bed and let bob ross soothe me with his landscapes. it's nothing a diet of generic drugs and green tea can't cure.

okay, I definitely have acute bronchitis, which is not to be confused with chronic bronchitis. no I did not get a chest x-ray, I simply did my research. the good news is that I'm not going to die, the bad news is that it generally takes several weeks, if not months, to clear up. so swollen bronchial tubes, excessive mucus, wheezing, difficulty breathing, hoarseness and a general state of pain and discomfort until march?, at least it's not SARS, or is it?...

better early than never

Each indecision brings its own delays and days are lost lamenting over lost days... What you can do or think you can do, begin it. For boldness has magic, power, and genius in it. ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

how many times will we say that we want to do things differently until the sameness of our days is finally knocked off course enough to change? yesterday started off the same. slept in late enough to make my internal organs ache. went to the bean with my man to ride the brown serpent. but despite the predictability of the day, something was different--a friend, mr. ben pringle was there too. he was talking all about the allure of making a schedule and (here is the important part) sticking to it...for 30 days. doing something or somethings every day for 30 days and seeing where the magic carpet ride of dedication and persistence takes you. for me, a whole new world.

and then, later that night, the sealer of the deal, sara kaye, stopped by and we discussed the earlier discussion. it was clear, we are all very aware of the infinite potential lying within, and we also know that not nearly as much as could be accomplished, is. and we're also smart enough, thank big bearded guy in the sky, to know that no one is going to accomplish it for us. so... in enters the making of a list.

Reduce your plan to writing. The moment you complete this, you will have definitely given concrete form to the intangible desire. ~Napoleon Hill

ahh, intangible desires--a six pack, a best selling novel, your house on mtv cribs. the only thing standing in the way of today and our tomorrow dreams is time and action. get to work I say. make a list of the things you would like to commit to doing everyday for 30 days. do them, for 30 days. see what happens. exactly how many crunches stand between you and your abs of steel? helen keller said, "we can do anything we want as long as we stick to it long enough." I'm pretty sure she was an authority on the matter. imagine all the possibilities...

and who knows, maybe, just maybe, after the 30 days are up, you'll just keep on going.


Even if you are on the right track, you will get run over if you just sit there. ~Will Rogers

new year's evolutions

ev·o·lu·tion (ěv'ə-lōō'shən, ē'və-) n.

A gradual process in which something changes into a different and usually more complex or better form.

pa·tience (pā'shəns) n.

an ability or willingness to suppress restlessness or annoyance when confronted with delay.


There are no shortcuts in evolution. ~Louis D. Brandeis


instant gratification isn't all that gratifying when you think about it. the satisfaction of a moment is fleeting, but the gradual, arduous and oftentimes painful process of growth and change is the fat that really sticks to our bones. being able to look at our yearbooks and laugh means a great deal more than it did to get our prom pictures back in an hour. look how far we've come. look how much we've figured out. and then, of course, the realization that the fresh kicks on our feet now, will one day be as dismissible as the double-laced BK's of yore.

with the new year already shedding days, I find myself mixing a sense of satisfaction with a pinch of panic. I am pleased with who I have become and yet I am overwhelmed by my endless list of all that I have yet to. new year's resolutions are often whittled down to the peeps of easter, but they can be something much more lasting and profound. they can be an engagement ring of sorts we give to ourselves--a reminder that we are committed to a lasting relationship, one that strives to extract all the beauty and potential that made us fall in love in the first place. a catalog of yeses and no's. a record of failed successes and successful failures. a reminder of our all too oft forgotten raison d'être. a taking stock of what it is we intend to do with this whirling dervish of a life--reflecting on its progress and making plans for more.

I have always made lists of resolutions, not only at the first of the year, but throughout. more than anything, it is a progress report, a sign of awareness--both an acknowledgment of our faults and of our desire to evolve into a higher expression of being. this year I am resolving to be more patient in the endless process of evolution. looking back on the year and on a life lived thus far, I see that patience isn't so much about enduring as it is about believing that everything you need is happening all around you, you just might not know it for a while.

happy new year and every year thereafter.

where angelenos fear to tread

The danger of an adventure is worth a thousand days of ease and comfort. ~Paulo Coelho

a mysterious underground tunnel in the lax airport. despite the desolation and the creeping feeling that we were doing something we shouldn't, we left terminal 5 in search of coffee. we risked so many things--exposure to noxious gases, the risk of being trapped by a cantankerous steel cage, the possibility of never finding our way back.

despite our fears, we arrived safely on the other side, in terminal 6. we were rewarded for our bravery with a tall cup of joe and a bonus bag of jelly beans. we took our time getting back. mixing bitter beans with sweet, noticing another taste buzzing on our tongues; a sense of possibility. what other tunnels would there be? what tunnels had we passed out of fear? what other rewards were waiting for us on the other side of an adventure? we boarded the plane looking forward to finding out. with great risks come great discoveries and with each great discovery we draw closer to finding our truth.

joystick to the world

nothing brings you together for the holidays quite like virtual reality. I spent this christmas with my family drinking a mishmash of alcoholic beverages and staying up until the wee hours of the morning playing wii. I watched my parents play each other at tennis, the carpet their court. along with my siblings, I transformed the living room into a bowling alley and then a stage. my boyfriend played lead, while I played bass for the stones. I watched my brother and sister head out into the wild to shoot at tin cans and alien space ships--all while sitting next to the warmth of the fire place. we spent hours swinging at invisible things and jamming on fake plastic guitars until we laughed ourselves to sleep, sometimes well past 4 in the morning (the parentals included).















I am now back home with a stiff shoulder and a newfound appreciation for video games. it doesn't matter if you are wrapping gifts or singing carols, all that matters at christmas is that you are spreading joy with the ones you love. I beat that level and then some.

merry and bright

a toews family tradition continues.

merry everything!

dissecting your dinner

after a five-year stint as a vegetarian, I found myself dissecting my dinner this holiday season. atop my plate, a cute little bird was bending over in front of me. I was sad, and curious. Hungry, and a bit disgusted too. I soldiered on, determined to experience a new thing, in this case, a cornish game hen. the truth is, I preferred the potatoes and the warm buttered rolls. the stuffing stayed in its bowl as it always has when it was passed to me--soggy baked bread crumbs have never tempted my pallet. but after it was all done, the dishes washed, desert set out; I was glad to have shared in this experiment with my family. I looked around the table at all the smiling faces that resembled my own and I ate my mother's cherry and pistachio pudding pie with a very merry heart.

ho ho ho down

oh come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant, to deck the halls with bows of holly, there are chestnuts roasting on an open fire, and in the lane, snow is glistening, the stars are brightly shining, it is the night of rudolph the red-nose reindeer, frosty the snowman, jolly old saint nicholas, the little lord jesus, good king wenceslas and santa baby, oh holy night walking in a winter wonderland, all I want for christmas is my two front teeth, I mean, you.

fudge and his fully functioning follicles

this is fudge.
fudge thinks he is too hairy.
fudge thinks he should get laser surgery.
fudge thinks his abundance of body hair is the reason he's single.

fudge is single for the same reason as everyone else, he hasn't met the right person yet.

I told fudge that the right woman will love fudge and all his fully functioning follicles.

I also told fudge that the right woman isn't looking for a hairless man, but rather a man comfortable with himself. there is really nothing sexier than self-acceptance. and besides, people like all types. hairy, bald, thin, fat, tall, short, cross-eyed, chip-toothed, big-nosed, beady-eyed. there are all kinds to love all kinds. in the meantime, we've got to love ourselves so when someone else does come along, we can show them how to love all of the facets of our beautifully idiosyncratic selves. we can only be loved as much as we love ourselves.

what's up now dr. phil?

this universal bulb

apple dumpling gangs up on me
I am choking on the sticky sick sad of grandma's peach cobbler
I am turning on the mat of trailer park shag
I am tossing out reminders of microwaved meatloaf

I am missing the movie
the smiling monkey and the frowning man sing and dance without me

inside cinder blocked

outside this arena of corrugated metal someone is shouting my story
I will hear it when I die

a song that teaches feet to dance

it/I/my story will increase the wattage of this universal bulb
darkness cannot hide from my light
I know because I have tried

unfinished fiction, part 2

He woke up. The ceiling had a gentle bubble forming next to a naked bulb. It looked like a milky tit hoping for a mouth. How had he never noticed the needs of the ceiling above his head? A smell tiptoed its way to his nose, welcoming the new day with the essence of old sweat, bad dreams and lonely handshakes with the stranger between his legs. To start by washing the sheets.

He rose from his ten-year nap, stumbling on his tangled beard, and began to strip the bed. The upper left corner of the fitted sheet resisted, and let out a tiny whimper as he tore a small hole in it. Perhaps he would buy new sheets today? The old ones hadn't started out yellow. He took the wrinkled old sheets, like a pile of dead skin stripped from the tired body of his bed and threw them in the garbage on his way to the bathroom. Turning on the light he noticed that of the three bulbs in the fixture only one had not given up on shining, though it looked to be contemplating the point.

He walked to the kitchen, noticing for the first time the extent of its neglect. A crusted microwave and a rusting tea kettle watched him open and close empty cupboards. He found scissors he didn't remember placing in a drawer where one would look for scissors. The drawer where one would also go looking for double A batteries and old rubber bands removed from newspapers never read. He found bulbs he didn't remember buying next to a mop that was still in its package. He stood there in the pantry thinking of the boy that had intended to keep his floors clean.

He returned to the bathroom with his scissors and his bulbs and lit the space to reveal a man he had remembered a boy. As he cut, he watched the dead fibers of days neglected fall from his face. He found a razor where one would look for a razor, next to the escaped hairs curling and clinging to the soggy bar of soap. He steadied his shaking hand and scraped at the face he did not yet understand. He was astonished at the strength of his jaw, the confidence of its lines. It was as if his jaw had remembered his integrity while the rest of him forgot. He was suddenly struck with the question, "What colors are my eyes?" Not what color, but what colors? Not green, but aquamarine and gold with tiny flecks of burnt orange and a blue-gray line drawing a circle all around this unique firework that was lighting the sky of this face. His face. A face not disappointing in its beauty.

to be continued...

unfinished fiction

To start by stopping, that is what he had decided to do. First he would need to stop working for the airline. Then he figured it would probably be best if he stopped spending all his money on $20 drinks and one-sided lap love. After all that, he knew he would need to stop beating off to Internet porn pop-ups as well, maybe even find a girl who wanted him back. And then, finally, he would stop imagining a better life and start living one. Up until this point, he had been under the impression that he was not only incapable of living a better life, but unworthy of one, as if all the happy people had some special skill he lacked. And now, as his sleepy eyes blinked open, all around him he saw signs of things he would need to stop doing. His ragged nubs where fingernails should be, reminded him to stop eating his nails for breakfast. His large and brightly painted ceramic ashtray, intended for an army of smokers, reminded him to stop smoking. The shit taste in his mouth reminded him to stop forgetting to brush his teeth before bed.

He was used to being wrong so it didn't really upset him when he realized that this error on his part had cost him almost a decade of his life. As a child he had been happy, even hopeful, but somewhere along "the way" he had given up completely. Perhaps it had been the job; jobs so often can do this to the hopeful. He had started working for the airline, lured by the promise of travel vouchers. A job that paid not only in steady paychecks, but in new horizons and free adventures. He had imagined very little about the fluorescent lighting or the angry passengers. He certainly hadn't imagined the thinly veiled "promotion" to Lost Baggage Control Specialist, nor had he been able to imagine the utter loss of hope that would come with such a daily dose of hatred and undeserved blame. He had, however, on multiple occasions, imagined meeting some lovely and lonely traveler also waiting on standby. Making conversation as a welcome diversion from the anticipation and anxiety of connections possibly missed, or made. "I like your backpack." He might have said to the big-brown-eyed traveler. "Thanks, it used to be my grandmother's," she might have replied; a strand of hair ignored in the making of a haphazard ponytail sticking to her lips, moving with her mouth as she spoke. The trip and the travelers forever changed by the exchange.

He had imagined all the possibilities to the point that imagining was all he could do anymore. He imagined himself into the corner where the red glow of an EXIT sign did not reach. He had backed himself into the darkness of sleepwalking wide-awake. Wake up, that is what he had decided to do. Every word from an angry traveler became an alarm buzzing in his head. WAKE UP! Every flickering fluorescent bulb, the shifting numbers of an alarm clock. WAKE UP! Every changing traffic light, every smiling stranger, every speeding train, every crying baby, every waking moment of his sleeping life was alarming. WAKE UP! To start by stopping, that is what he decided he had to do...

to be continued...

rose is a rose is a rose is a rose

roses want to grow
so why do we resist it so
why is a step oft seen with a fall
how do the roses grow so tall

a stranger is no stranger than you

There are no strangers here; Only friends you haven't yet met.
~William Butler Yeats

I love this photo. I took it in austin waiting under a bridge for a great mass of beady-eyed bats to emerge for their nightly feasting. a hundred or so people were there with me, waiting to observe this nightly ritual. dragonflies the size of small planes dare-deviled around our heads. children chased after them laughing.

I love when strangers gather in close spaces, sharing in the intimacy of a moment. all of these people, stopping on the bridge, bringing with them their separated days to share in this coming of night. I imagine conversations being held, new things being taught and learned, recipes being shared, jokes being told, phone numbers being exchanged. this photo leaves out all the divisions, all the differences. on this bridge, strangers exchange strangeness for connection and they walk away as friends.