adam yauch + a humble reminder

Hearing the news of Adam Yauch’s death hit me in an unexpected way today. Seeing a facebook post that read “RIP MCA” led me to investigate and sure enough the twitter and tumblr-sphere were alive with RIP’s and condolences. I would say my fan cred lies in that grey area between die-hard and clueless, probably just like most people within my age demographic. I know all their hits and most serve as anthems for one life phase or other. The Beasties were a staple of suburban teenage-dom and discovering them was a rite of passage for any white kid trying to make amends with their rebellious streak. I remember thinking the music video for “Sabotage” was brilliant because it was a music video but it also pretended to look like a movie (how clever!), and it was campy, self-aware and bad-ass. I think that was the first video my friends and I recreated once we got our grubby little hands on a video camera, donning hipster moustaches before they were a thing. Anyway, having one of your adolescent idols pass away is inevitable and not all that uncommon. I remember the day Kurt Cobain died. I cried, and for months was scribbling “K.C.R.I.P.” on all my notebooks. The sadness and disillusionment with life came with the teenaged territory and we wallowed in our esteemed rockstars’ woes. Meanwhile we saved our lunch money for concert tickets and used our creative energy to make fashion statements out of safety pins and try not to care too much when our purple hair dye washed out and made it look grey.

So what does this have to do with the Beastie Boys and Adam Yauch’s death? The Beasties were different. They were positive and empowered. They were smart and worldly. Admittedly they had their misguided attempts in the world of role-model-dom, but they weren’t famous for their struggles. They were famous for being fucking rad, knowing how to party and having sick rhymes. And just like they didn’t live for their struggles, Adam didn’t die by his. He died from something that can happen to any of us. He died from something that happens to distant relatives and friends from high school’s parents. Or our heroes.

Obviously I’m not the same age as Adam, but sometimes sharing an imagined identity forms a much stronger connection than how long you’ve been alive. I can relate way more with the Beasties and their frame of mind than I can with a lot of people who share my graduation date or who watched the same after-school specials. I feel deeply saddened by his death. I feel humbled by the reality that no amount of external anything - fame, fortune, friendship or fly beats - can keep us from the inevitable. Adam’s death is a reminder of that; that thing we all know, but conveniently avoid as we put things off or fail to tell our fellow humans we love them. I hope he was able to be with the people he loved during his final days, and reflected on his life believing he’d done alright. I truly believe we all do our best, but allowing ourselves to embrace that truth can be the hardest of all. In the end, we all just gotta fight… for our right… well, you know. Peace and love in the next world Adam.

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be nice to your _______ (self)

I just re-read the very first interview I did ever. I’m collecting press for my visa application and it’s proved a special kind of challenge—reading about yourself and the things you’ve written. A pressure mounts gradually, fuelled by petty fears and insecurities. A type of pressure typically only relieved by hearty belly laughs between friends, or a cathartic cry over the helpless nature of it all. In this case, I did both. And then I read the interview. Whatever judgments lingered were quickly dissolved when I read the part where I said my age: 21. That’s seven years ago. A quarter of my life ago. I was a baby. My words were laced with innocence and I read on with the curiosity of a mother reading her child’s poetry. No need for perfection, only subtle cues indicating where I was at, how I was feeling and what makes me me. It ended up being a really cool experience. I felt like I could accept a part of myself I’ve always avoided looking at. The innocent part. The part that really wants to do well, sound smart, have people like me, whatever. But that’s not who I am. Who I am is in my decision to even share myself in that way, my desire to make meaningful connections and continue questioning what I’m doing and why. I thought it was a sweet interview in the end. And it inspired me to think about why it takes seven years to be able to feel compassion for my journey, to not need to meet some ridiculous standard. Why not look at what I did a year ago, a month ago, a minute ago, with the same acceptance and understanding? It’s said that time helps put things in perspective, but how much time? By the time we even become aware of our experience, it’s already in the past, so we always have a choice of how you want to feel about it—with light-hearted curiosity or the fear-driven control of an over-protective mother. Whether it’s an important presentation or a macaroni necklace, we’re all doing our best to find ourselves and create meaningful expressions. So be nice. I’m certainly going to try.

If you’re curious, you can read my interview here.

"It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye." - Antoine Saint-Exupery

resolutions are my friend and i love them

New Year’s resolutions. I don’t know, I find the term overused to the point of mutilation these days. Often more referenced as a mockery than any serious act of commitment, my upper lip unwittingly snarls at the mere mention of it. And it’s not that I haven’t tried! Last year I sat myself down and expressed my desires for the approaching year—how I wanted to live better, do better and ultimately be better. I was actually a little nervous to go back and read it. Both because I’m always nervous to go back and read my writing for fear that I sound like an arrogant a-hole, but mostly because I was concerned I had been a total failure. Despite my hesitation, I dug it up and was actually pleasantly surprised. I don’t think I sound too arrogant, and I’ve made progress in all the areas I wrote about. Sure, there have been failures, but I’ve been far more consistent in my commitments, focused on building better relationships and have even developed a practice of doing things I’m not amazing at, and enjoying it even! Last year I performed a song onstage, something I never thought I could do. And I even read a whole chapter book! (Kidding, sorta.) So I actually feel pretty good about the little wins, as well as some other breakthroughs I’ve had throughout out the year. Still, the whole notion of making “resolutions” at New Year’s launches me into depressed teenager mode, shrugging at the dinner table when asked about my day. “I dunno.” I went to one of my favorite yoga studios for a special two-hour class today. I figured it would be a good way to start the year—to connect, reflect, feel strong and push myself. I love this particular teacher too, she has a way of dropping pearls of ancient wisdom mixed with her own experiences in the most humble and accessible way. However, as you can imagine with any yoga class that adds spiritual and philosophical teachings to the physical practice, it was only a matter of time before “New Year’s resolutions” came into play. In my head I was like, “nooo, you can’t make me.” But I’m also the type of person who, when I engage in something, I want to do it full on. My mantra is typically to save the judging for later and just go with it; which, upon reflection, has lent itself to some pretty interesting stories, but that’s another day. So I reluctantly picked an “intention” for the new year, came up with some random words that seemed sufficient for the occasion. I was even feeling a little self-righteous about my active participation until she suddenly announced what we were going to do next: “partner work.” *Gasp* And I was doing so well. To me, this is akin to attending a poetry reading and being told you have to get onstage. Like, I didn’t sign up for this.

I’m not even sure what’s at the root of my resistance to it, but I’m sure it’s mostly to do with social anxieties and the awkwardness of touching someone’s sweaty yoga body as they put themselves in vulnerable positions, in your face. Usually, I’m scanning the room in my head for my most preferable candidate, all the while judging myself for being so superficial. But this time we were automatically partnered with the person across from us. For me, this meant a shaggy haired middle-aged man with a sort of stoner vibe and an oddly endearing boyish awkwardness. I tried to make eye contact with him to show him I was totally cool with it, but he never looked at me, at least not when I was looking. So it came time for us to touch and stretch each other and I stubbornly forced myself to embrace the experience. And that’s when it hit me: none of the shit that’s going on in my head is actually happening! I let go of my insecurities, squeezed his sweaty palm, breathed deeply and embraced him affectionately as if we were old friends. It felt great! Not only did I “get through” the thing I don’t like, I actually learned to enjoy it, maybe even love it  little. I love doing partner work! Haha. This is a revelation, because at the end of the day, it’s just better to love shit.

So I’ve discovered my New Year’s resolution. As with most things in my life, not without great resistance, but I come by it honestly. My resolution this year is to embrace the things I fear and learn to love them. It’s not enough just to grit your teeth and get it over with. You need to open yourself and find a way to love what frightens you, make peace with it, invite it into your home, serve it tea, give it a massage, you get the idea. Only then can it seize to have any power. I think sometimes we aren’t even aware of what scares us because we’ve developed such incredible strategies to avoid the discomfort. Whether it’s certain types of people, environments, activities, abilities, we have lists of excuses to keep us safe in our comfort zone and give our fears the nourishment to smother our experience of love, and of life. Kinda makes me want to take my inner teenager out for pizza, aaaw.

I recently watched the film Another Earth. It’s a spectacular film and I highly recommend it, but there’s one particular scene that really stood out for me. The main character tells a story about a Russian cosmonaut who... well, you should watch it. It demonstrates what I’m trying to express quite beautifully. (Also, the dude kinda looks like the guy from yoga. Weird!) Find what you resist, and learn to love it. Become friends with your fears and you will gain ultimate freedom. Happy New Year friends!

(i'm glad) some things never change

I've always loved looking at photos of my friends when they were wee little munchkins. Last year for my birthday, I asked my friends to bring along their favorite kid pictures to my party and it was even more fun than I imagined. My favorite part (besides the typically awesome fashion) is noticing the subtle qualities and attributes that are so uniquely “them;" that even twenty or thirty, or forty, years later, they still curl their lip on one side or squint that one eye, or have that expression as if they're waiting for mom to say it's okay to dig in to dessert. You know, those indescribable nuances that allow you to recognize them in a crowd or at a great distance—the way they walk, the way they slouch, they way they flick their hair (even if they no longer have any). There’s a certain innocence to existence I think we often forget, or mistakenly think we lose. We all start out as these little lumps of flesh and love, and then we grow up, and somehow we believe we’re supposed to know stuff, have stuff, do stuff... But deep down, we’re that same little child who stared in awe out the car window, endlessly fascinated with every movement, every smell, every sound. This, I believe, is our nature—this curiosity and joyfulness. I love that photos from our past can be a reminder of that. I was inspired to write about this because I discovered an amazing photo project by Irina Werning. She's been recreating people’s childhood photos at their current age. This is what she says about it:

"I love old photos. I admit being a nosey photographer. As soon as I step into someone else’s house, I start sniffing for them. Most of us are fascinated by their retro look but to me, it’s imagining how people would feel and look like if they were to reenact them today... A few months ago, I decided to actually do this. So, with my camera, I started inviting people to go back to their future."

Quite literally, she takes my fascination to a whole new level. Check them out, I’m sure you’ll love them. Here are a few of my favorites...

Happy Valentine's Day Mom!

This may seem strange, but my fondest memories associated with Valentine's Day are the treats and cards my mom used to give me on this otherwise benign and commercial holiday. She'd send me to school with a brown paper bag filled with goodies like chocolate covered almonds (my favorite) and a hand-written post-it note. I guess she never really stopped, just this morning she sent me a text saying "Good morning angel...happy valentine's day! I love you to the sky...lynda says hi:-*" (Lynda is her long-time friend visiting from out of town.) My mom is a really loving and caring person and has always made holidays a special occasion worth celebrating. So while I don't really buy into the greeting card mania or obligatory celebrations, I'm happy my mom made these days a little extra special, especially because now they make me think of her and how proud I am to be her daughter. Happy Valentine's Day Mom!!!

because it's just true

i only picked up this book from the library yesterday (getting books you've put on hold and forgotten about is like christmas!), so i'm not too deep into yet.. still, i can't get this sentiment out of my head. so simple, honest, revealing and true.

“If you can think of times in your life that you’ve treated people with extraordinary decency and love, and pure uninterested concern, just because they were valuable as human beings. The ability to do that with ourselves. To treat ourselves the way we would treat a really good, precious friend. Or a tiny child of ours that we absolutely loved more than life itself. And I think it’s probably possible to achieve that. I think part of the job we’re here for is to learn how to do it. I know that sounds a little pious.”

– David Foster Wallace

a flower is worth a 1000 words

I wrote this in the summertime and for some reason never shared it.  But I’d like to share it now: i arrived at my car today to find two little pink flowers pressed delicately into my driver’s side window.  with surprise and curiosity i instinctively searched the empty parking lot for a giggling onlooker.  there was none.  as i casually placed the flowers on my dashboard, i made an index in my head of all the possible culprits, filtering for the most likely... and the most desirable.  as i scanned my brain for potential perpetrators, i realized i may be missing the point: someone in my life thought enough about me in a single moment to pick a flower and place it in my sight, for me to smile and reflect upon.  presumably, he or she imagined what i would experience upon such an encounter and was generous enough to want create that experience for me.  i was uniquely moved by this anonymous act of caring; as well i enjoyed my own projection of being the one to carry out such a covert operation.  whether the person did it impulsively, strategically or by accident (my care is pretty generic), i am grateful for the thoughts and feelings it inspired.  i began to reflect on what it means to ben in someone’s life, in his or her experience of existence.  it is quite an honor and should be treasured as such.  we are momentously more potent than we believe or could even begin to understand; and in those moments of awe and connection, we have an opportunity to create a better world.  i suppose i wanted to share to emphasize the importance of every choice we make, anonymous or otherwise, and how awareness can be infectious if we only took the time.  after all, how we treat others is the way we treat ourselves and since ultimately we’re all we have, why not be nice?

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comic-con-versation

finally home from some exciting travels, i realize it's a little late for a comic-con wrap up, but a brief one you shall receive nonetheless.  there were several highlights amidst the chaotic explosion of genuine fandom, sundance-esque celebrity hype, and thinly veiled car salesman-like consumerism.  as per usual, connecting with my beloved castmates was the bestest, but i would be remiss if i didn't express the honor, astonishment and pure love i felt watching the Battlestar Orchestra perform at the House of Blues Friday night.  i've always emphasized the integral role music plays in backing the emotional fortitude of a story, but it's often taken for granted.  engrossed in a characters' strife and struggle, seldom do we step outside to say, "wow, what an incredible score."  not only did the live performance provide such an opportunity, but it brought life this otherwise mysterious side of the production process.  what moved me most was witnessing the relentless and beautiful life force driving each instrument, each person's essence expressed through his or her contribution to the greater experience.  it was wonderful.  however, between the smiles there were also tears, as we paid tribute and celebrated the life of Harvey Frand.  i don't believe this is the place to share my personal feelings on his passing, but i will say he is in our hearts and will forever be an essential part of the battlestar family.  i was grateful we could all be together to celebrate his life and how he enriched each of ours. Visit bear mccreary's blog for an awesome account of the whole weekend's festivities and shows.

battlestar orchestra

other highlights included hanging with matt pizzolo and the rest of the Halo-8 crew doing Godkiller signings and other fun shenanigans, complimenting someone on her "cally" costume to which she replied, "thank you" and kept on walking, and watching Michelle Forbes watch the Mighty Boosh - i can't say i fully understand or appreciate their humor, but watching the pure delight she derived from their performance made it all worthwhile.

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As the poems go

as the poems go into the thousands you
realize that you've created very
little.
it comes down to the rain, the sunlight,
the traffic, the nights and the days of the
years, the faces.
leaving this will be easier than living
it, typing one more line now as
a man plays a piano through the radio,
the best writers have said very
little
and the worst,
far too much.
-charles bukowski