major mega update.

ok, ok, i admit i have been a little m.i.a.

stop writing me emails and leaving messages on my phone, i'm ok and alive and have just been a little bit busy. or actually, a lot busy.

but i am here now. and i have several things to share.

i only realized late this afternoon that today is leap day, or however you refer to it, and oh, that must be a sign of some sort, or involve a superstition, but really, in my world, it means that i get to go around shouting "happy leap day!" in inexplicable volumes to some poor sods.

so here goes, in no particular order:

exhibit 1: wherein the title character finds her first non-college roommate somehow transported from brooklyn to asheville and meets at a little bakery where they speak for a length of time whilst drinking orangina. and roommate falls asleep.just kidding. that was some poor photography on my part. and roommate will remain nameless to retain her innocence, although her picture has now been emblazoned on the inter-net. forgive me.in reality though, it was a lesson in adulthood. seeing each other many years later, what our lives have become, and where they are going, was infinitely interesting. and that they intersected at a point further down the line makes you wonder what else is in store.

exhibit 2: my romantic valentine's date, below.
exhibit 3: my poorly executed photo in the middle of the night and far away, from last wednesday's eclipse.

exhibit 4: unaccompanied by a photograph, a wonderful story was recounted to me this week about a very romantic (read: as in the sense of a novel, and not in the sense of love) chance meeting between sister and norwegian pop singer, subtle, and real, and sweet. both tired, echoing each other's statements, speaking in the third person. latter wearing a gigantic fur hat. these are the mystical stories that ny is made of and which i can love from afar. am convinced that the encounter will end up on said singer's blog, am coercing sister to document this in the way only she can.

exhibit 5, final exhibit: finally, finally. yesterday evening attended a figure drawing session for the first time in almost exactly 10 years. had feelings of extreme intimidation and have to admit that committing to sitting in the same place for long stretches of time was extremely difficult, almost painful at times, as was focusing and being a patient and diligent observer. but it's something i wish to do and i must perservere and practice and actually put my mind to something, one thing, as opposed to letting it flit back and forth, never stopping. and in the effort to break myself from the extreme fear of criticism am putting up my last 15 minute sketch, which took me approximately 11 minutes to draw, and 4 minutes to sit uncomfortably still.

you asked for it, you got it. my whole life's story.

p.s., postcript, for you: "oh pointy birds, o pointy, pointy."

The Dodos - Fools

This was the beat that drove me through my long haul on Saturday the 23rd.

shout and feel it.

It was my Gram who first introduced me to jazz. She was a grand person, that's why we called her Gram, the title suited her perfectly--a woman who had perfect posture and smoked and drank dry brandy Manhattans with olives and brought us to restaurants with live music, the kind of fancy places where most people looked down upon children's presence (we had to mind our manners of course, and when we were very good were allowed to put dollars in the piano man's jar to request songs). She would tell us stories of our step-grandfather, of all the big band records he collected and their nights out on the town dancing. Ella became a familiar name before i can remember her not being so, and she exerted her presence constantly throughout the house from her proper domain--the record player. With the addition of wooden spoons, we became part of her entourage. I only found out later, that my proper Gram had moonlighted as a lounge singer briefly, top-of-piano-sitting and all.

At age thirteen i fell for a boy and through connecting circumstances fell in love with swing as well, devouring fragments of words and melodies; one artist, one song, leading to the next. Django became my main man then; some people still wonder how it is that an 80s baby, someone who doesn't even play guitar, could become so obsessive over a 1930s gypsy. My answer remains: just listen and you'll know.

My piano teacher never allowed me to play this kind of music, she was from the old old school and probably would have slapped my fingers with a ruler if she knew i thought of anything other than Mozart and Schubert. I never knew that flat-finger playing existed, nor that it could sound so wonderful and dischordant at the same time. Nor that you could still properly play a piano while doing so. These truths i've only learned very recently. (and i know i have a lot more to learn).

Another more important boy cemented my relationship with jazz, turned what i knew upside down and inside out, topsy turvy and all around. For a introverted girl who intellectualizes everything, feels the comfort in memorizing exact layouts and pieces, it was a little much at times, letting loose and letting the music lead you. But it is that freedom and that beauty that still draws me to it.

And the fact that there's always more to hear. And that every time, i'll hear something different.

in a sentimental mood.

the world sits alone at night and all goes quiet. the wind raps a screen against the stone foundation of the veranda and, in the distance, car doors slam and music grows lesser in volume, the dying out of a late night get-together. being that there are no metropolis lights to compete for the attention of the sky, the stars steal the show, shining brightly from above in a navy black sky. orion travels eastward. the clouds are barely visible, sluggishly completing their journey as only shadows. the darkness sways above all like a jazz piece in a minor key.

into the stillness, silent whispers of secrets and longing echo as most prepare for bed, wading through the brief blackness until the world again opens into the uninhibited technicolor of their dreams. a few still sit under lights, throwing contrast into rooms that should otherwise be dark. they sit and think and work and fight off the idea of putting their bodies to rest because either they can not or they will not. the energy of the day slowly dissipates until even the unresting eventually can go no longer and give up to the seductive music of the night. they gently pull away from their thoughts, bid them a good evening, and plunge headlong into the darkness.

nada.

my mind is a complete blank.

Beirut - Elephant Gun

Just a bit of upscale frivolity to start off the week.

i talk out loud like you're still around.

god my hair was long. and orange.
we used to drive by the dairy queen on hwy 61 all the time, because, it just happened that you couldn't get to the high school or menards or the cities without passing it. and it was impossible not to have your eye drawn to the giant "foot long 99 cents" sign (never any punctuation), which hasn't changed over the course of the last 30 years, with the exception of the occasional addition of chili or cheese fries. even when the rest of it was boarded up for the winter. you would have to think that running an ice cream shop in mn would be a perilous occupation.
this week i dove head first into a long neglected rubbermaid full of photos. the original idea was to find maija some pictures of my surprise trip to london in 2001 (alas, i found the negatives, but no prints). but, of course, upon launching in like a puppy with a stuffed animal, i started to go through every single one, piles surrounding my bed, sorting, fervently analyzing the details and harkening back to the day, the smell, the feel. there were those that made me smile, silly ventures down the brooklyn streets wearing tights and sneakers in the middle of winter (take that, lily allen). of friends caught unawares, turning around and getting memorialized. and there were those with lost friends, harkening back to the time that we spent together, cherishing the short, beautiful moments we had. still, there were those full of warmth--family and friends, huddled together, you sleeping on the couch, arm cocked back behind your head pushing your neck forward at such an odd angle. filmstrips replaying in my head with choppy dialogue, better recollections of the touch and feel associated with that particular time.
all in all, a cathartic experience, one that, although rooted in the past, riled to project me forward.