Fancy Free
Ryan Gosling's new band, Dead Man's Bones, is my new, not-so-guilty pleasure. Here's my reasoning: http://vimeo.com/3996103
Last night after dinner at Arrivederci- best Italian food in San Diego, as proclaimed by Elio, the Italian glass maestro- Chris, Lana and I visited my glass teacher Kathleen's house. Pinkberry and chatting before the Gates of Hell, K's latest creation. Lana laughed so hard/was genuinely excited when I welcomed her to the family as we left. K's house is so badass- it's just below the fatty mansions on Banker's Hill, but just before the ghetto, as K puts it. The bathroom is 1950 jade green and salmon-pink applianced. Each room is filled with glass from K, Italian masters, and American up-comers. Her husband Rich does metal work, so the house has a lot of fusion-art. The living room has a postcard-picture view of downtown at night; there's a lampworking studio in the garage, and a fucking foundry in the backyard. I hope to one day have a similar badass bohemian lifestyle with a view.
I'm lucky in that I have many people who mother me, who are mother-like figures. I like to be nurtured I guess, but I've realized recently that I'm friends with a lot of middle-aged women. I get along with them really well, and with people like Lana- a grandma who wears a lot of cardigans, lace, and is a Hebrew-Sunday-school teacher. I couldn't even begin to list all my father, grandpa, and brother-like figures. I'm not saying I'm this legit by any means, but in my African-American lit class we discussed the large family-like communities that slaves formed since they were often separated from their parents at early age. I've got a huge extended family, and as a free woman with the itch to travel, the next relation is just around the curve in the bend. I want to go north. North and east. I'm done with the west I guess. Last night I dreamt of returning to Spain without baggage. I don't know whether to take it metaphorically or nomadic.
Last night after dinner at Arrivederci- best Italian food in San Diego, as proclaimed by Elio, the Italian glass maestro- Chris, Lana and I visited my glass teacher Kathleen's house. Pinkberry and chatting before the Gates of Hell, K's latest creation. Lana laughed so hard/was genuinely excited when I welcomed her to the family as we left. K's house is so badass- it's just below the fatty mansions on Banker's Hill, but just before the ghetto, as K puts it. The bathroom is 1950 jade green and salmon-pink applianced. Each room is filled with glass from K, Italian masters, and American up-comers. Her husband Rich does metal work, so the house has a lot of fusion-art. The living room has a postcard-picture view of downtown at night; there's a lampworking studio in the garage, and a fucking foundry in the backyard. I hope to one day have a similar badass bohemian lifestyle with a view.
I'm lucky in that I have many people who mother me, who are mother-like figures. I like to be nurtured I guess, but I've realized recently that I'm friends with a lot of middle-aged women. I get along with them really well, and with people like Lana- a grandma who wears a lot of cardigans, lace, and is a Hebrew-Sunday-school teacher. I couldn't even begin to list all my father, grandpa, and brother-like figures. I'm not saying I'm this legit by any means, but in my African-American lit class we discussed the large family-like communities that slaves formed since they were often separated from their parents at early age. I've got a huge extended family, and as a free woman with the itch to travel, the next relation is just around the curve in the bend. I want to go north. North and east. I'm done with the west I guess. Last night I dreamt of returning to Spain without baggage. I don't know whether to take it metaphorically or nomadic.