NPR Live in Concert, I love you.
Current jam: "Carousel Ride," by Rubblebucket.
Writings in the Raw
NPR Live in Concert, I love you.
Current jam: "Carousel Ride," by Rubblebucket.
Doodle themes include: jumpsuits (again), construction (still), Seattle, Adirondack chairs.
The building where I work is surrounded in a sea of construction, which makes the bike ride to work a little more challenging. From my bicycle I can see the way these changes affect the local wildlife.
Today is the first day of spring. As of this week, we have some exciting new developments in the world of Play On Words. That, and I'm finally well enough to bike to work again, which makes my whole body sing.
When a car reaches 100,000 miles, don't you expect confetti to pop out of its tires?
Eight weeks in to my doodle experiment, I realized I don't really know how to draw.
Totally not intended as a phallic symbol, and yet:
Today's doodle: Kleenex vs. the forces of gravity. That, and I just realized today would have been my grandmother Alice's 89th birthday.
I biked through a rainbow this week. The days are getting longer. In my dreams I travel: to the coast, to Europe, to the moon.
Lizards, ducks, greenery abounds.
I suspect that the orchids on the windowsill are more than friends.
I had a moment of cultural panic last night at the airport.
February, you month of months, has truly started to look up. Here are some doodles from this week:
There were no doodles last week because Ryan and I were busy snorkeling, hiking, eating delicious Chinese and Hawaiian food, and enjoying time with my brother, sister-in-law and family on Oahu. Here are a few snippets:
A week in doodles. In drawing these I am tempted to spill secrets, but that's not the point here. The point is showing the quotidian; the important tiny discoveries that happen every day.
Amah would have loved the image: her great-great-grand-niece holding a bouquet of pink roses, standing in the middle of her piano room.
A storm is brewing. It is the earliest, most vulnerable time of spring. Sometimes I catch narcissus hiding out behind dumpsters.
February is always a month of memories. Maybe it's because it's so sleepy out. I've been dreaming of Schubert and butterflies.
People are not vaccinating their kids. [gulp] There's a storm coming. This weekend we memorialize Amah. Work is...well, it exists, so that's good. This week the main goal is to breathe.
Dear Sugar tells me to "write like a motherfucker." I can't stop thinking of the snow in New York. I went running on my lunch break in shorts and a t-shirt. I am dreaming of snow.
I have been dreaming of leaving the country. It's all versions of the same dream I've had since 2007, the day I returned to American soil after a year away. The dream evolves over time. Now I'm dreaming of a bustling, vibrant place, somewhere I can walk for hours, then hole up and write it all down: all the smells, all the colors, all the sounds. Today's doodle is inspired by that.
I write.
I doodle.
I'm at work on my first book, a collection of linked short stories that follows a community of expatriates living on the southern coast of Spain.
I care about stuff. Like curing type 1 diabetes. And marriage equality. And rights for immigrants. And public radio. And espanol. And Frank O'Hara and Jennifer Egan and Federico Garcia Lorca and Tony Kushner. You know, cool stuff.
I make postcards that are also stories.
Sometimes I read stories and poems out loud.
Sometimes I go to conferences.
You can find my short stories, essays, poems and flash fictio in a variety of places in print and online. If you Google really hard, you might find the two short radio pieces I produced on a badass NPR affiliate in San Francisco.
This is where you can go to find out who I am.