Looking Up

I discovered that I like to stroll, preferrably on tree lined streets, while listening to jazz and gazing at anything up above, so that I can't possibly know where I'm going. Here are examples of what you don't always see.



Does that make me a daydreamer? I sincerely hope not. I like to keep that sort of thing under wraps.

All In The Shoes

I bought professional flamenco shoes for last night's show. I can't believe it took me this long. It's not that they made all the difference, preventing any mishaps on stage, but those darn black, stitched, leather Menkes shoes from Spain held everything together. My entire life, so that I could make mistakes without falling hard or giving up.

Char & Rice were there. I was elated. Then there were flowers that Char gave me for, you know, my "brilliant performance," blueberry beer at Canterbury, and a full moon. All I remember. It's early.

Michael and Me

I invited Michael and her beautiful mommy to my company picnic. Mommy needed a break, so I pretty much took over for most of the outing. We sat on a boat and sailed around the Peconic River. Considering what's around the bend, a great big bay, the trip was tiny like my 3 year old guest. He sat on my lap and I pointed at the different birds. All I really knew were swans, Canadian geese, and the osprey, but even then I couldn't tell the latter from a hawk. I glimpsed at the kind of mami (espanol) I would be. I know I'd be intense in the way they should be. Anything for the little ones - a duck and her duckies in single file. Oh, and we saw them, too. Being close to Michael, or anyone (shorter) who calls me "Aunt B," is strange. That includes Ricky and Lucy, my sisters doggies :) I feel loved and a desire to protect, but I don't necessarily feel the need to bear. I'm not sure what that's about... or maybe I do.

We watched all kinds of fish swimming with sharks in the Atlantis aquarium. I wondered where their mommies were. Maybe they were all just adults and wondering.

Telenovela

I'm trapped in a g*d damn spanish soap opera! I mean I've got at least 3 good books in me & yes, one of them features Fabio on the cover. Maybe I was a f*cking prairie dog in my past life.

Ok, I'm done venting.

Friday the 13th Fun

I bought 3 new plants. Is there a name for my addiction? I spent almost 50 bucks. The sad part is that no matter how much attention I give, many of them wilt. They must be male. Anyway, my latest flower pot is covered in the most beautiful, blue chinese characters. It's for the new pilea, which supposedly doesn't need direct sunlight. I got plenty of low light spots here, so we'll see about that. After dropping my new friends off, I headed to the 42nd Street Pier. I actually danced on a boat (!) to this amazing tropical, tribal, garage house music while sailing around the island. Little Louie Vega, a hero of the Nuyoricans, was the MC and spun a delightful set. It had been so long since I went out dancing that I people watched mostly. I tried taking a picture of Lady Liberty, but it was difficult as the sun had already disappeared into the river. By 11ish, we headed back and the buildings did their creeping up toward the sky. Randomly lit windows formed patterns that seemed to flash like something you'd find at the brains of a computer... like maybe where the memory is. I never thought the Hudson could turn into silk, but it did. I got home at 2am. Early for some of my crazy friends. I was glad to be home, though, and pretty much disappeared under cotton sheets.

I just finished repotting my plants (today) and took care of the older ones. Miles is fed, too. Now I wait for Char, so we can be so lucky.

Dancing with a Darcy

You've bewitched me body and soul, Mr Darcy. Oh, Char knows just how deeply. We decided last night that hearing violins when we dance with a Darcy is not too much to ask. It's simply part of being completely, perfectly, and incandescently happy.

The American Dream

The American Dream - suburbia - is a farce, enslavement, creating an environment of repetition. Like a caged lion at the San Diego Zoo whose latest and last learned behavior is to pace instead of prowl. There is more to life than manicured lawns.

Bits and pieces of a conversation I had with P that I didn't want to forget. There was more to it, so no disrespect to anyone with any dream.

Meet Miles...

Davis -

another temperamental male in my life. Miles refuses to eat. Perhaps he's protesting his new home. Notice his face in the shade? Well, it took me forever to take the picture because he wouldn't swim to the sunnier side, the dirty rat... I mean fish.

I love him :)

Sound

It's not much of a photograph, but after last week's debacle where the words from someone I cared for felt like and were meant to be daggers, this weekend I searched for silence. What I found was sound.


The Long Island Sound on June 24, 2007

Drama Mama

I don't know why life has been dramatic these last few weeks, but maybe... I just like drama! Da da daaaahhh


Ok, seriously, I don't. Chipmunks (or prairie dogs?) on the other hand...

Cycle 5

Technically, I've been out since the last "Cycle" post, but can't remember how many times. I'm keeping the numerical order online. If it's a memorable bike ride, I'll write about it. Today, I rode with the Lithuanian for about 2 hours. We broke rules and hit the Forest Park horse trails. We even encountered a few horses along the way. One brown, two spotted, a couple of grays, black, etc... I wish I knew their names. The super fine gravel that makes it easy on hooves was not so good for tires. I kept sinking and sliding. It was quite a workout. I'm not ready for a mountain, but am starting to feel better about the uphill.

-->-@

Octavio's dying and it rains outside.

Junebug

I used to be an artist. Not a very good one. None the less everything I needed to say was on canvas, a sketchpad, or on print. Walking away from all that was easy, too easy, I think because the process got easy. There was no struggle anymore. And maybe that was also my laziness... falling in love, moving, falling in love again, moving, music... whatever it was that took over. Then it was fear. Forgetting how to hold a brush for instance. So I'm making a concerted effort. A brilliant photographer friend of mine is giving me a crash course. Photography 101. We are just walking and shooting. Not sure where yet. I'm pushing for Willyburg to start. If I crash, there's always Thai & beer.



I took this pic on my trip to Montauk 3 months ago. Camp Hero. Not bad for a shotty camera.

Last One

A list, my last one for spring cleaning, of what I should have given up ages ago:

soleares
the blue note
klimt
afterlife
magnolia

Most of you know I take comfort in ambiguity. In other words, the list doesn't mean anything to anyone, but me... unless you read minds, which I believe some of you do, so shshsh.

I'm excited about the prospect of turning ghosts into buried treasure and wonder how I'll ever sleep. Ah, to dream in blank canvases with fresh tubes of paint!

My Kisses....

are so hot, I can make a guy bleed from his nose.

Mustapha dared me to write that, so I apologize to my loyal readers, who expect really mature, errr emotional... somewhat funny.... totally confusing... silly... random blog entries. Oh waaaait a second....

Paisanas

I just found out that my mom never made it to high school. Neither did Mamita A. In those days it was common for Paisa girls to drop out. They'd go find work as seamstresses, cooks, or picked beans in the fields. You can imagine why. At 13, Mamita A said they were lucky to have learned how to read and write. I suppose I knew this, but wasn't prepared to handle the admission. I can't.

A silver lining. Mamita A used to write secret love notes on fruits like mangos to Papito M when they were 13ish. I do believe my mom met my dad around the same age and there were notes.

Mamita

Mamita (Colombian slang for grandma) Adela is in town. She's staying at my uncle's apt 10 blocks away, so of course I went over there to eat. After a fan-f*cking-tastic dinner, my uncle and I asked how she became such a fine cook. Long story short, my great grandfather wasn't around much to care for them financially. A local baker took pity on my great grandmother, Sofia (who I had the distinct honor of meeting again at 14). He commissioned her for some bread, "parba," and patties, "empanadas." Earning quite a reputation that increased orders, Mamita Adela had no choice but to get up at 2am everyday to help prepare food. By Jr high, she mastered all the Zapata secret recipes. Luckily, the nuns loved her, so she was able to get away with cat naps during class. My Mamita is a self-proclaimed spitfire (hot pink hello), even then. I imagine she took over Mamita Sofia's kitchen in no time. Same way she does now-a-days, where ever she goes... We just nod & lick our plates clean.

I

was told last night that I don't commit. That my writing is good and I'm one of their favorites (major shocker), but that I'm holding back. Why am I hiding? So there you have it folks. I can't commit even when undressed.

For P.W.

My friend is addicted to sex. It always "finds her," so she happily accepts this fate. I listen in admiration, and a dash of envy, to tales of wild escapades with one man, usually, for a short period. There are moments I swear she springs from a cloud. Speaking so freely I can't tell what color her eyes really are. Maybe that's the part I admire. The freeness, in spite of the plan. Long hours of excavation. Sometime when dusk and dawn are the same. Hell-women go blind down there. Nobody keeping watch. My friend knows this, that clever girl. Breathing good, unadulterated fire while she has off. And in the right light, her eyes are green.

isn't she lovely

happy earth day