Greener
Gosh. What a month it's been.
The San Francisco shows went beautifully- words can't express how thankful I feel that so many friends and family showed up. My parent's friends, who I hadn't seen in probably 10 years, drove two hours from Sonoma to see it. Rudy freaking flew from L.A. to see it. My boss came to see it. And, of course, the amazing people who have to put up with me every damn day and listen to me pouring out my woes without the crutch of a theatrical device came to see it. Which is awesome. I love you all.
And, we got it on film! Oh, snap!
Paul invited Olympia Dukakis to come. She didn't. But she was invited.
The weather has been getting sunnier and sunnier. Afternoons find Royce and I cooking like baked beans in our little greenhouse of an optometry office. Instead of spending my lunch at the computer in the back, I sit on the grassy median in front of the Cheese Board, and read, and listen to music, and toast my bare shoulders.
Parker is spending spring break in New Hampshire with a school friend. Also staying with his girlfriend, who is from Brooklyn. Her name is Allie. Hilarious. My cousin Anne's wedding is in April; we're flying out to Philly, and I hope to see some East Coasterlings while I'm out there. There are some seriously good ones in New York. Parker. Jojo. Christy. Erika. Starr. J. Fleit. Brent. Sometimes I just want to migrate.
Jordan sent me an Oberon's mug, with that devilishly enticing logo on it. The photo that the logo was based on hangs in a frame on my wall; one of my very, very favorites. A strange feeling, to be somewhat more removed from his dreams; I watch them take shape, watch him struggle with the twists along the road, and feel relieved, and sad, and full of love, and sad, and wanting to help but glad the burden is not mine, but isn't it? And sad. And safe. And sad. I talked to him today. You don't write, he said, meaning here. I'm your biggest fan. That much, anyway, is true- you always could reach the shelves I couldn't. Don't forget to dust up there- just because you're the only one that can see up there doesn't mean it shouldn't be clean.
Got a call from Shan this morning while I was opening the office. Back in Boulder at last after so much traveling, he plans to move to Chicago in the fall. Is that what I need? To get away? A change of scene? I spoke to him, clumsily, and the urge to go out and visit him- them-all of it- tugged at me. A drive to the mountains, I think, is in store. I was eighteen the last time I was there. And such a fool. No less a fool, now, probably, but older at least.
Need a car first, though. Gonzo can make it to Berkeley and back on a good day, and I wouldn't ask more of him.
This is getting loopy. Time to go to bed.
The San Francisco shows went beautifully- words can't express how thankful I feel that so many friends and family showed up. My parent's friends, who I hadn't seen in probably 10 years, drove two hours from Sonoma to see it. Rudy freaking flew from L.A. to see it. My boss came to see it. And, of course, the amazing people who have to put up with me every damn day and listen to me pouring out my woes without the crutch of a theatrical device came to see it. Which is awesome. I love you all.
And, we got it on film! Oh, snap!
Paul invited Olympia Dukakis to come. She didn't. But she was invited.
The weather has been getting sunnier and sunnier. Afternoons find Royce and I cooking like baked beans in our little greenhouse of an optometry office. Instead of spending my lunch at the computer in the back, I sit on the grassy median in front of the Cheese Board, and read, and listen to music, and toast my bare shoulders.
Parker is spending spring break in New Hampshire with a school friend. Also staying with his girlfriend, who is from Brooklyn. Her name is Allie. Hilarious. My cousin Anne's wedding is in April; we're flying out to Philly, and I hope to see some East Coasterlings while I'm out there. There are some seriously good ones in New York. Parker. Jojo. Christy. Erika. Starr. J. Fleit. Brent. Sometimes I just want to migrate.
Jordan sent me an Oberon's mug, with that devilishly enticing logo on it. The photo that the logo was based on hangs in a frame on my wall; one of my very, very favorites. A strange feeling, to be somewhat more removed from his dreams; I watch them take shape, watch him struggle with the twists along the road, and feel relieved, and sad, and full of love, and sad, and wanting to help but glad the burden is not mine, but isn't it? And sad. And safe. And sad. I talked to him today. You don't write, he said, meaning here. I'm your biggest fan. That much, anyway, is true- you always could reach the shelves I couldn't. Don't forget to dust up there- just because you're the only one that can see up there doesn't mean it shouldn't be clean.
Got a call from Shan this morning while I was opening the office. Back in Boulder at last after so much traveling, he plans to move to Chicago in the fall. Is that what I need? To get away? A change of scene? I spoke to him, clumsily, and the urge to go out and visit him- them-all of it- tugged at me. A drive to the mountains, I think, is in store. I was eighteen the last time I was there. And such a fool. No less a fool, now, probably, but older at least.
Need a car first, though. Gonzo can make it to Berkeley and back on a good day, and I wouldn't ask more of him.
This is getting loopy. Time to go to bed.