Checking In

ZOELAB DAY 63

It’s a new month, (my favorite) and the beginning of a new season. The busy-ness is upon me. Weddings and such. I wish I had more time to commune, relax, create, share on here. But in the spirit of keeping up, and not letting perfection get in my way, here is a list that sums up last month for me:

discovered new (for me) art form : 

illustrations using watercolor or gauche and fine pen!

discovered other new art form:

(photographic chronological autobiography)

got through summer and am enjoying early fall weather

Didn’t get any sewing done

Got to re-connect with old friends through internet

Discovered some amazing blogs

Found new ways to bring new readers to this blog

(through my grad school)

Received encouraging comments

Gave up sugar

Got sick and recovered twice

Experiencing the full circle contagion of inspiration

Is this daily project of ZOELAB increasing my happiness and creativity and connection to self and others?

YES

Is it creating a challenge with my relationship

with my family and housework?

YES

Is it worth it?

YES

Dia de los Muertos

ZOELAB DAY 62

It’s the first day of November. It’s also Dia de los Muertos. A day whereMexicans honor the dead. The two most recently deceased beings I know are Bashi, our friend Bruce’s white german shepard, and Da Sol, our friend Omar’s blue healer. Bashi died on Tuesday, October 23rd of old age, and complications arising from that old age. In the last year of her life, Bashi’s two hind legs no longer worked, but she was still able, miraculously, to swim and walk around by dragging her legs behind her. Da Sol, who was also quite old, died a few weeks ago shortly after receiving a hard kick from the neighborhood donkey, Einstein. Lucas and his sister, Emilia buried Bashi in the dark, on our land. Her owner was in Vera Cruz making his yearly pilgrimage to traditional parts of mainland Mexico to capture the enigmatically beautiful Dia de Los Muertos festivities. He owns the plot of land next to us, but the land was undiggable there, so she is resting very close to her home.

Because he is respectful, and speaks excellent spanish, Bruce has been given access to the some intimate moments of the reverent and ancient practices of honoring the dead. Some day, I would like to go with Bruce to witness the traditional Dia de Los Muertos celebrations. In the meantime, I can look at his vast collection of colorful and solemnly dignified images, which I had the privilege of working with closely when I designed his website. For our wedding present, Bruce gave us a large photo depicting hundreds of observers of the holiday in Chiapas. See below.

Day of the Dead, San Juan Camula, Chiapas by Bruce Herman

Getting Sugared Up on Halloween

ZOELAB DAY 61

We took Emilio to a Halloween party for kids at a local bar/cafe. Lucas had found a very official-looking NASA space suit at a thrift store in California--it just happened to fit Emilio perfectly. After we already had the suit, he said he wanted to be Spiderman, but we had no time to make him a Spiderman costume, so he had to be spaceman instead. It took a little cajoling (with the sweet sweet promise of sweet, sweet candy) to get him to wear it. But once it was on, it didn’t seem to bother him as he had many more important things on his mind. As Emilio is only three, and has not been in day care or preschool, he is still not used to large crowds of people. His normal super gregarious and expressive self shuts down and he becomes extremely shy. When he feels nervous he tends to put a finger in his nose, or mouth. It issomehow utterly heart breaking to watch this shy, sweet, innocent Emilio emerge amidst the sugar-driven chaos of Halloween. We witnessed the same thing, which was even more hectic last year, when we spent Halloween with some friends in Los Angeles.

The photo above depicts a game all the children were playing called freeze, where all the kids dance to music, and when they turn the music off, the kids are supposed to be still. If they move, then they are called out. Emilio did quite well at this game, as he did not move the entire time they played. He just stood quietly in his spaceman suit, with his finger in his mouth.

Now, let me explain that all that I have described above is pre-candy. Then the trick-or-treating happened. The adults at the party were given bags of candy to offer to the children who approached them. (No stoops and ringing doorbells like we had in Brooklyn). Once Emilio had gathered his loot, he was allowed to eat three pieces of candy. Within minutes of a few pieces gummy candy and a lollypop, Emilio brightened considerably. His eyes became wild and he was suddenly chatting it up with strangers about the robot boy he saw. Then he noticed that cartoons (vintage Scooby Doo) were being projected on a screen. For the rest of the evening, he sat, sucker in mouth, eyes glued to the soundless screen. During the car ride home, as he continued to suck on his lollypop (it took him the better part of an hour to finish it) came the question of whether there was gum in the center. As he is still too young to have gum, due to potential choking hazards, we were concerned about it. He refused to let me take the tiny bits of gum away from him, but eventually he spit them on the floor. Now, the issue of gum has special significance to Emilio. Because it the only treat he knows of that we never allow him to have, it has come to symbolize all that is good and great in the world of being older. He has often said, “If I grow up, maybe I can have some gum.” When Lucas and I repeat this line to each other, and he hears, he says: “hey that’s my question!” We didn’t realize it was a question, but I can see now, how it is.

After years of making a big effort to avoid giving anything sweet to Emilio, except for rare special occasions, we have come to a place with parentingwhere his asking for treats is a constant occurrence, and our giving in is much more than we would like. How I miss the days when he ate only plain yogurt, didn’t drink juice, and never asked for treats. Now, the first thing he says when he wakes up is: I want something sweet. We never give him candy (except for this Halloween) and we don’t keep any treats in the house. But now he’s wised up to the sweet things available at home and he will ask for honey, with yogurt. (Yes, in that order.) It’s a little scary how it has come to this. It is difficult in a country where strangers give sweets to Emilio every where we go. Sweets and children seem synonymous. Now, I can’t go blaming Mexico, but I know I must not be the only parent who struggles with issue of sweets (as well as video watching). These two things are some of the most addictive substances in the world, are unhealthy and have psychoactive effects. Yet... they are so hard to resist, bring such joy, and make great bargaining tools. A daily parental dilemma for sure.

One of the benefits of my recent two week long intestinal bug, is that it got me to stop eating anything with sugar. Now I am not as much of a sweet tooth as some people, so it wasn’t that difficult to give up. But, what I did notice, is how beneficial giving up sugar has been for my mood and for regulating my blood sugar. Due to tiniest fluctuations in my blood sugar levels, I am susceptible to dramatic mood swings. Cutting out sugar has stabilized me more than any other trick I’ve tried (5 small meals a day, eating nuts, whole grains, etc.) I am going to really stick with this. Now I have to find a way to break Emilio from his obsession.

Happy Halloween!

Links to Poetic Truths of Animals, Communication & Health

ZOELAB DAY 60

In writing classes that I’ve taught and taken, we have sometimes used prompts, small pieces of writing by others to get the juices flowing. In this case, I am offering pieces of random news as possible prompts for ideas and for interest. Many of these were found on a blog called shines like gold by Imp Kerr, “an insightful fiend living in New York City” that compiles interesting news on the new inquiry.

A breast cancer detecting bra

Research shows that secrets can be beneficial

A small collection of items about dropped and bounced cats

A Whale learns to speak English and an elephant learns to speak Korean

As we watched tiny yellow butterflies gathering pollen around the yard, Emilio exclaimed, as if offended: “Mamma, they’re not talking!” At first I told him that butterflies don’t talk, and then after a moment of consideration I said, “well maybe they do, they just talk to each other in a language we don’t understand.” Of course he expect animals to talk because they do in his books and movies.

I will end with some beautiful words from the writer and naturalist, Henry Beston:

“For the animal shall not be measured by man. In a world older and more complete than ours they move finished and complete, gifted with extensions of the senses we have lost or never attained, living by voices we shall never hear. They are not brethren, they are not underlings; they are other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time, fellow prisoners of the splendour and travail of the earth.”

Storm

ZOELAB DAY 59

With the east coast of the United States on my mind, I remember a poem I wrote in 2001 when a hurricane hit New York. It is strange to now be the one far away from the storm. I fear for my friends and family and all people under the monster storm. Sending love...

The invisible signs of summer

Switch me over to September style.

There was a hurricane in

New York City last night.

It knocked upon my window panes.

It murdered seven people.

It made me late.

It made me cry.

It created a space in heaven

for the insane

(which today includes the nearly-sane).

At night,

that’s what I become:

terrifyingly frozen in time.

Nearly hit by storms.

Nearly Sane.

On Television, Part Three: The Office

ZOELAB DAY 58

After a year in San Francisco, we moved to Oakland, and had inherited Lucas’ grandmother’s tv. We used it only for watching DVD’s because it didn’t receive a signal, and we didn’t want to have to pay for cable. But then, one day, miraculously, cable appeared. We suddenly had cable television and we hadn’t ordered it and didn’t have to pay for it. I was still in graduate school, and still liked having an escape. I didn’t exactly get hooked, I just couldn’t afford to because I always had schoolwork to do, but I developed a watching pattern. As soon as I had finished my work, I would turn on the tv and watch until it was time for bed. This is the year that The Office (American) came out. I just happened to catch the pilot. I was immediately intrigued. I had seen the British version, and had admired it, but I had found it too squirmy and painful to watch. It had a sort of relentless quality, which is what so many love about it. But the American Office felt different. It was uncomfortable, but there was something else to relieve this discomfort—heart. And it was funny. Our cable went on for about six months, and I happily enjoyed watching my prime time slot. And then one day, as mysteriously as it had appeared in our lives, the cable disappeared. And that was the end of watching the office. For a while. It was not until I was pregnant and living in Mexico that I got to watch it again. The Office got me through the last long days of pregnancy and the first painful months of motherhood.

It is hard and strange to write about a show that I have spent so much time watching. (I have watched most of the episodes from season 1-7 dozens of times.) So what is it about The Office? What makes it my favorite sitcom of all time? Mostly it’s the characters—what makes them so lovable or at least watchable? As with the other shows mentioned in this ongoing piece, they are deeply flawed, and unlikable if you knew them in real life. How can it be that this group of people, each with their own brand of unfavorable human trait, working in an ugly office of cubicles under florescent lighting, for a failing paper supply company in a two bit town, be so appealing? I would say it is the same thing that makes all sitcoms appealing. It is precisely that familiarity, that we recognize our shadow selves in them. We have all worked at ugly offices doing jobs that were not particularly enlivening with people who could be terribly annoying or mean, or shallow, or petty, and occasionally charming.

Of the many jobs that I have held in my life, I had one particular job that was not at all glamorous, but, because it was the longest held job of my life (almost 3 years), I have a special fondness for it in my heart. From August 2001 to March 2004, I was the publications coordinator at the headquarters of a children’s social services agency in the Wall Street area of Manhattan. I have referred to this job here before (Eleven Years, Focus, Job List). I developed a real fondness for the people I worked with—each was a unique character, and each had a distinct role in the office. A sitcom could have definitely been made about this office, as one could about any office, if you studied it carefully enough. The experience of being part of something, a borrowed family that is given to you at random, that you have shared experiences with day after day after day--that is the material for sitcoms. Going to this job was a great comfort to me, because it provided a stable place while the rest of my life was in perpetual flux. The three years I was there spanned over different relationships and career choices: I started the job when I still pursuing acting because it was flexible and part time, and then I went into my rock band phase and then, finally there was my applying to grad school phase. I got to experience asking for a raise, and getting it, adding skills (I learned Quark and became the in house graphic designer), new employees, I took on volunteer work (there was a volunteer tutoring program within the office). I grew as the agency grew. At the office, our private lives commingle with our work lives. And as the years pass, we find ourselves interconnected with the people we work with. After all, if we work full time in an office, we spend more time with the people we work with than the people we live with.

Now, this brings me back to The Office. I believe the self conscious, narcissistic, petty, insecure, pathetic, invasive, power hungry, and yet somehow, lovable Michael Scott, who I believe is the greatest television character of all time, would agree with me. As the boss (for the first seven seasons), his raison d'être is to make the office like a home, and the people in it like a family. He will stop at nothing to make this so. He wants to not only know the personal lives of all of his employees, he wants to be the central figure in them--as best friend, father, son, nephew. He abuses his power as Manager not so that he can be above everyone, but so that he can use it as leverage to get closer to everyone. Everyone, that is, except for his nemeses Toby, from Human Resources. Toby’s job is to bring rationality, rules and boundaries to Michael’s exploits, so naturally Michael hates him with a fervor and disgust that I have not witnessed in any other sitcom. Most of his employees, with the exception of Dwight and Andy (who have their own competitive power struggle) resist his efforts for intimacy, but as the seasons go on, there is a loosening of their resistance. Some of the characters, especially Jim and Pam, develop a real caring for Michael. The moments when Jim or Pam make gestures of real kindness to Michael, is if he were their embarrassing yet beloved kid brother, are very subtle and deeply moving.

During my time studying and performing improvisation, there were several rules and guidelines that we played by. One of them was the idea of heightening. It is important to take a joke or an idea to the most extreme place you can, while at the same time, staying true to your character. The reason The Office is so funny is because it does just that. The situations and events that occur on the show are absolutely absurd if you were to write them down: Michael sleeps with Pam’s, his receptionist’s, mother at her wedding; the office members have a funeral for a dead bird in the parking lot; Michael hosts a café disco in the empty office space that was the office space he used when he quit Dunder Mifflin and started up his own paper company. However unreal those scenarios may seem, they are always believable because they all emerge out of the needs of the character.

When I was an actor in NY, I took a class called Mask, where I learned about the first improvisers and comedians—Commedia dell'arte all'improvviso of 16th Century Italy. They were traveling troupes of performers who wore masks, and performed improvised comedy based on sketches. These troupes also featured the first actresses (before then, female characters were played by men). In my mask class we learned that all comic characters from situation comedies emerge from this first group of stock characters. One of the central themes of these stock characters was the two lovers and the elders who got in their way, and the servants (fools) who helped them reconnect. The basic scenario of lovers torn apart, is at the heart of many modern sitcoms. Of course this was one of the central themes of The Office for the first three seasons between Jim and Pam. It is often said a sitcom is ruined once the two main love interests (who love each other from afar) get together. But The Office has gotten around this pitfall by having an exceptional ensemble cast to choose additional love stories from after the union of Jim and Pam.  Angela and Dwight, Ryan and Kelly, Erin and Andy, and then Michael and Holly.

Another important element of acting that I learned from studying and performing improvisation is playing with status. Status, which is either high or low, is an interesting way to convey a character’s relationship to another character. There are certain physical ways to express status. For example, high status people don’t look other people in the eye, but look slightly above, they take up a lot of space and tend to move and talk more slowly. Conversely, low status characters tend to take up little space, look people in the eye, or down, move and talk quickly, and keep their hands close to their body. Status play is a key dynamic of character interaction in The Office. Within the office each character is clearly high or low status, though for many, his or her status changes depending on who he or she is interacting with. For example, Dwight is high status with his cousin Mose, and with at times with some of his co-workers, but with Michael, he is low status. His competitive and contentious relationship with Jim is a constant game of status, with Jim always winning. But then it is so fun to watch when the smug and cool Jim has his status lowered when Charles Minor, the new boss (for a few episodes) does not see his charm or appreciate his low work ethic. And Michael, he has status purely because he is the boss, but his high status is so precarious, so thin, that he is continually finding ways to distract people from seeing how little status he really has. The moment he has the opportunity for a status boost, he gives his low opinion of himself away be becoming overly excited about it.

The other aspect of The Office that makes it so special and satisfying to watch is the wide story arc of the characters. Of course, over eight years (it has just started its ninth and final season) the characters have to develop. And yet, with most long running sitcoms the characters don’t change all that much. Sure the characters’ hairstyles are updated to match the current styles (thank god for Jerry Seinfeld), and their relationships with each other change and grow, but each character usually ends up basically the same as where they started. This is not so in The Office, not at least with its main characters. As the years pass, Michael becomes more sweet and less desperate, Jim becomes less self satisfied, Dwight’s character doesn’t change overall, but, as mentioned earlier, his character can be quite changeable depending on what is happening and who he is relating to. Pam’s story arc is the most compelling and palpable. Pam starts out as a very timid, mousy receptionist with badly permed hair who doesn’t stand up for herself. As the show progresses, not only does her hairstyle become slick and her makeup become thick, but she starts to develop a voice for herself. She blossoms creatively, she speaks up for herself, she sticks up for Michael, to the point of quitting her job so that she can join his new paper company. She goes from receptionist, to sales person, and finally (in an ingenious plan of manipulating her coworkers) to self-appointed Office Manager. It is such fun to watch Pam shed her meek self and become who she really is, which is partly because she allows herself to love who she really loves.

I know that I can go on a lot longer, but I will stop here to say that really at the bottom of it all, The Office is full of heart. Not only is it the funniest, most realistic, most absurd sitcom of all time, with incredibly talented actors playing fleshed out characters, it is also the most loving. Even though the episodes are rife with animosity, horrific offensiveness and embarrassment, there are equal amounts of love and heartbreak. In the end (at least at the end of Michel’s reign) Michael gets what he had wanted all along: a family. And as I write this, I realize that essentially that is what all these television shows are about: family.

Addendum: I so far have watched and own most of Seasons 1-7. There are two seasons left to see, the one from last year and the one currently showing on primetime. Even though Michael Scott is not in them, I will definitely be watching the next two seasons. It will be a sad day when it is all over. But not really so much, because I will be continuingmy own personal syndication, by watching the episodes over and over on my computer.

Expressive Arts Therapy: Making Art Out of Trouble

ZOELAB DAY 57

For three years I went to graduate school for counseling psychology, focusing on Expressive Arts Therapy. Outside the field of psychology, expressive arts therapy is the natural impulse to transform our suffering by turning it into art. I have witnessed this impulse in the work of famous artists, outsider artists, and children. For people who don’t discover this process on their own, there are expressive arts therapists, who are trained to help people to develop a new relationship to their troubles, and to make use of their inner resource of creativity for healing, transformation and growth.

In Freudian terms, this is the use of the mature psychological defense called sublimation. We sublimate or channel the sexual and aggressive drives of the id into something constructive. It is a positive use of psychic energy.

Jung thought Freud got it wrong, he saw sublimation as a mystical alchemical process of transformation: “Sublimation is part of the royal art where the true gold is made... This is just about the opposite of what Freud understands by sublimation. It is not a voluntary and forcible channeling of instinct into a spurious field of application, but an alchemical transformation for which fire and prima materia are needed. Sublimatio is a great mystery.”

Sanford Meisner, the great acting teacher, whose methods I studied for several years, put it this way: “All of us have two barrels inside us. The first barrel is the one that contains all of the juices which are exuded by our troubles. That’s the neurotic barrel. But right next to it stands the second barrel, and by a process of seepage like osmosis, some of the troubles in the first barrel get into the second, and by a miracle that nobody fully understands, those juices have been transformed into the ability to paint, to compose, to write, to play music and the ability to act. So essentially our talent is made up out of our transformed troubles…. I’d always thought that two of the luckiest, happiest people I could imagine were Shakespeare and Beethoven, but the doctor to whom I told this parable said, ‘No, no. Shakespeare had plenty of trouble—that is, neurosis—and so did Beethoven,’ and he pointed out some of their more obvious troubles. This proved to me that the osmosis between the barrels doesn’t work completely. There is always some juice in the trouble barrel, no matter how full the talent barrel is. The trouble cannot transpose itself into talent without leaving some residue behind, even in the most talented of human beings.”

This is how I would put it: the deepest wounds in us, the ones that show up for us in every day in a myriad of ways, leave a longing to be healed, and they can only be healed by us. We can have guidance and help, of course, from a counselor, friends, family, but only we can truly heal ourselves. This is why I teach the expressive arts. I teach people how to heal themselves, instead of thinking that I can heal them. And we heal ourselves through our creativity, through our interactions with our world, through being present, curious and compassionate. The arts lend themselves so beautifully to cultivating these very qualities, the conditions for healing. We have been created brilliantly, with the tools for healing built into us. When we use these inner resourses while engaging with the most elemental forms of human expression: dance, song, storytelling & drawing, we enter a new relationship with ourselves, where we allow ourselves to feel more, and see that we have choice in how we respond to our pain.

Why all of these arts and not just one?

Because each art form represents a certain part of us. Music calls in our sense of hearing. Dance tunes us into our body. Visual art awakens imagination and sight. Storytelling or writing creates meaning, illuminating our human purpose. Drama shows us new ways of being in the world, gives us access to our different selves.  We can also build on these basic art forms with digital arts, film and theater. There are also many other art forms that could be added to this list: gardening, martial arts, cooking, etc. The ones I work with are considered “the expressive arts,” which means they are designed for human expression. We can express ourselves in any art form, but the expressive arts are the most elemental, the most hard-wired into the human system. With the expressive arts, we need only a few external tools: a pencil and a piece of paper, or maybe a musical instrument, but most of all we are working with ourselves: our body, our soul, our mind and our heart. Through contacting our own humanity we magically remake our wounds into art.

To end this post, I want to share a list of my favorite films that illustrate the power of art to heal while at the same time transform suffering into something beautiful and true. If you have one to add to the list please add it in the comments section.

Inspiring Films about the Transformation of Suffering into Art

Rize

(about youth discovering dance (crumping and clowning)

to rise above social and economic oppression)

Born into Brothels

(about the children of Indian prostitutes

using photography to create beauty out of their lives.)

Frida

(about the power of painting to transform

a woman’s emotional and physical suffering)

American Splendor

(about the power of comic book making to

transform a man’s emotional and physical suffering)

Slam

(about the power of spoken word poetry to rise above

social and economic hardship)

Her Master's Voice

(about a female ventriloquist's journey towards her self)

This is what we touched or where we stood and when

ZOELAB DAY 53

It’s so difficult to draw hands and feet, yet so easy to photograph them.

You don’t really know someone until you can picture their hands and feet in your head.

To be continued...

How did it get this way?

ZOELAB DAY 52

The freedom is inside, the outside is a mess. The life I see before me is not the life I ever imagined. It surprises me daily with its fiction, its ability to tell stories.

Don’t worry about me. I’m okay. I still have nothing. And that’s everything. Embracing what I don’t like is a new exercise that brings the same kind of comfort that rocks bring.

A transformation from city mouse to country mouse where the city mouse lives inside the country mouse. And this little mouse is busying herself. She is still making her nest. She’s surprised at how long it takes, by how far she has to go to find the right materials. She busies herself and then she rests. She rests for days. And after the dreaming, she is back at it again.

How strange to have lived a life so far away now. How beautiful to be suspended between memory and newness. How comforting to rediscover beauty.

It is said that deliverance is dead. I say let death deliver us.

Let us be delivered. Let us be returned to our own hearts who cannot hear unless they are heard. And cannot be heard unless they hear.

Instead of Television

ZOELAB DAY 51

For almost two weeks, I have been suffering from a lower intestinal infection of some variety of bacteria or protozoa. Don’t worry, I won’t give the intimate details, but the point is I haven’t been feeling well. I have been powering through it, trying to keep on living as always. The last few days I have tried to changing my eating habits (eating only simple foods and absolutely no sugar) hoping not to encourage the beasts inside, which has alleviated the pain and urgency, but has brought on a different sensation that I am not fond of: hunger. I don’t do well with hunger, I become testy, unfunny, and spacey. It is very hard to write, let alone think, in such conditions.

Through much of this I have been trying to write this seemingly endless manifesto on my relationship with television, which I am taking a break from for a moment, but plan to continue later today. I was unable to write last night (and every day I am catching up on the post from the day before.) Yes, I recognize that in the big picture, if I break my commitment to make a post one day there will be no real consequences. I have a very small readership, and most of my readers don’t read every day. But still, I am a woman of my word. And if I say I’m going to do something, I’m going to do it. However, my health is adversely affecting my ability to keep up with ZOELAB at the level that I would like. Additionally, the organization of the household, my job, my parenting, my physical self-care—all are faltering. In other words, I feel pressured and overwhelmed. And the worst part is, the pressure is self-generated, so I can’t blame anyone but myself.

This morning I wanted to spend some quality time with Emilio before Lucas whisked him off for the day so that I can spend some time catching up and unwinding myself. I told Emilio we could do anything he wanted (except watch a show, which was the thing he most wanted). He chose to make watercolors together. After we got our paper out, he asked, as he often does, what I was going to paint.

[I was just interrupted by our neighbor who wanted to find out if we knew of anyone interested in buying the land he has for sale. See post in reference to this land. He told me if someone is interested, he will knock 15,000 pesos off the price. About $1,200 dollars]

I told him I didn’t know. Usually my desire is to paint something abstract, with no plan at all. But pressured myself into painting something figurative so I painted a picture of a woman with my hairstyle. It was flat and lifeless. Then I let myself paint the painting I really wanted to make. This is improvisational painting, when I get to have fun with paint, experimenting with different layers of translucency and colors and forms. I layered and layered and layered and then I looked at my painting and I knew what I had painted. It was an image of the infestation of single celled organisms living in my intestine. This is a great example of accidental expressive arts therapy. My unconscious gave me this image as a reminder to go easy on myself, to not push myself beyond what I can reasonably do. To write this post instead of pushing ahead with what I woke up at 6:30 to write this morning about--The Office. Instead of writing last night, I fell asleep while doing “research” (watching episodes of The Office). Once again, I am reminded: Start from where you are. That which hinders your task is your task.

This reminds me of what was more present with me last month, if you are a parent, and want to be creatively productive and happy, organization is key. I find that I sometimes get ahead of myself, wanting to “do” before I am ready, before I am organized. I often find myself struggling in the balance between organization and creation. Creation is usually the messy, expressive side of the duality. Organization is the mental, linear part. Both are necessary if you are trying to achieve something difficult. I have so many things I want to do, and sometimes I jump into them before I am ready. During those times what I really need is to take a breath first, and actually plan and organize first. Hence, I become a listmaker. But a list is not always enough. Because the lists pile up and then the lists need to be categorized, prioritized. Then the list becomes creation in itself, and I get lost. It becomes a vicious cycle. Listmaking can sometimes increase the overwhelming feelings, and the only way to feel better is to take a deep breath, and just start doing something. Anything. What helps to ward off the overwhelm is to stay present in the doing. If I’m washing dishes, for example, I focus my attention to the senses: the feeling of the water and soap on my hands, the view out the window. And try to ignore the grumbling monologue in my head “I hate washing dishes. I just washed all the dishes yesterday. It’s endless. Just endless. I can never get ahead. I can never get ahead with everything. Really what I need to be doing right now is make that phone call for work. But I don’t have the phone number…” That monologue is always there, but we don’t always have to give it attention. We can put our attention in the physical realm, the realm of the senses. This is a way of focusing my attention. Another way of saying it is, presence. Being in the present moment. Slowing down enough to feel the floor under my feet and the breeze on my skin. This creates space in me and around me. So the task before today is to breathe, slow down, and focus on one thing at a time. I’ll let you know how it goes.

On Television: Part Two

ZOELAB DAY 50

It’s a new day. And now, as I write, Emilio, Georgie (4) and Vinnie (6) (another Friday night sleepover) are getting a special Saturday morning treat: they are watching The Muppets. The new one that came out in 2011. I love this film—as a Muppet fan, I find, in its sincere and hearty goofiness, that it stays true to the original Muppet credo. The music, in particular, is great, because it includes both the original classics from the show: Rainbow Connection, The Muppet Show theme song, and then some new tracks written by the wonderful Brett Mackenzie, (another one of my major crushes) who is one half of Flight of the Conchords, “the fourth most popular folk rock parody band in New Zealand” and the television show of the same name.  (I will write more on FOTC later.) Vinnie just grabbed Emilio’s stuffed Ernie toy and asked me if he was a muppet. I thought about if for a moment, and then said: “Yes, in fact, he is a muppet!” When the movie was over, all the boys asked me to draw a picture of their favorite muppet for them. Of course, I do believe your favorite muppet is really the muppet that you most identify with. This is a question I have asked people many times in my life: “which muppet are you?”. Georgie chose “animal,” which is spot on. Vinnie chose “Kermit,” also spot on. And Emilio chose “Walter” (the new muppet character from the film). An interesting choice, that I don’t quite understand. Walter is sort of a bland character, who doesn’t really know what he wants, but he is, in fact, the world’s biggest muppet fan.

So, yesterday I was describing my period of syndicated sitcom serial monogamy. There is one other show that should be mentioned: Will and Grace. Although I found the princessy normalcy of the two title characters a little annoying at times, I do believe Debra Messing, who played Grace, is a great comedienne and is a dead ringer for Lucille Ball. In my opinion, a great comedienne, even if she is naturally beautiful, has to be willing to be both ugly and foolish. Both Lucille Ball and Debra Messing are able and willing to do that. However, the funniest stuff of the show comes from the fabulousness of the two supporting characters: Karen (played by Megan Mullally) and Jack (played by Sean Hayes). Their dancing, their singing, their dramatic entrances are absolute genius. They help us remember that a sitcom (a classic multi-camera one) is not just a television show. It is a live performance in front of an audience. They were magically able to take the utmost in obnoxiousness and turn it into unmitigated charm. Like many of the funniest sitcom characters, they represent the people we don’t want to be, but fear we secretly are. And the best part is, in all their glorified pettiness, they make no apologies for it. Of course it must be mentioned that the show was groundbreaking in its normalizing of gay men.

This period of sitcom watching came to an end around the same time that I quit acting, and decided to pursue my dream of starting a rock band.  Instead of falling asleep to sitcoms every night, I would take out my guitar and write songs until bedtime. The experience of choosing a creative act over a passive act was a very healthy shift for me. In fact, the period of being in a band was one of the three (along with performing improv and ZOELAB) most fulfilling creative endeavors I have engaged in.

It was not until graduate school in San Francisco that I became addicted to television again. Graduate school was an incredibly enriching, but emotionally difficult experience, and I really needed to have an escape in the evenings. I had nicknamed grad school emotional boot camp. We had to be in therapy, talk personally about ourselves in class, and write essays and make art about our personal histories, fears, traumas, while at the same integrating a lot of theory. My escape from having to think about myself became a project that I embarked on with Lucas—watching the entire 5 seasons of Six Feet Under. I had already seen some of the show and knew that I loved it, but we wanted to get through the whole thing. We would receive 3 DVD’s at a time from Netflix. We didn’t want to watch them all at the same time, so we would scatter them through out the year with other shows and movies. We would often not put a DVD on until 11 at night. (That same syndicated time slot). I always had reading to do and papers to write first. Each DVD had 2 or 3 episodes, and even though, when we first put the show on, we would say we are only watching one tonight, we knew were fooling ourselves, because we really knew that there was no way we could resist watching every episode on the disc. Six Feet Under is the only series I am writing about that is not a comedy. It is my favorite dramatic television series of all time. First of all, I love that is about death. And not in a glorified or inhumane way as are so many other popular dramatic series. I think our denial of death (and of aging) is one of the most destructive things about American culture. The process of facing my own mortality has been one of the most enlivening things I have ever done (and am still doing). I love Six Feet Under because it feels real and human. All the characters are so deeply flawed, and all, each in their own way, are trying to find happiness. They are stumbling through the mess of their lives, as we all do. The acting, also, is incredible. Every single actor on the show acts his and her heart out—each is peculiar and funny and sad and selfish all at once. I agree with the critics that the show fell apart a little in the later seasons, and became melodramatic. And I was not a fan of the last episode. But, still, the show deserves much credit for its courageous writing, and its incredible characters.

The Six Feet Under project was actually a painful experience for me. I cared so deeply about the characters that I felt like they were part of my family. I even dreamed about them. If something bad happened to one of the Fishers (and something bad was always happening to one of the Fishers) I was devastated. If something good happened to one of them, I was elated. And I would become enraged at the show for its unbelievably dramatic cliffhangers. But the most painful moment was when the last episode of the DVD ended, and the knowing that I would have to wait a few days before I could watch it again. There was a dark pit of emptiness that followed.

Another show that I must also mention here is Freaks and Geeks. Sadly, Freaks and Geeks did not get the many seasons it deserved. The plug was pulled only after two. I suppose Freaks and Geeks would be most aptly called a dramedy. It had the format of a dramatic series--one hour, one camera, with a filmic production value and serious themes, but it was also incredibly funny. As with all my favorite things in life, this show had major heart. It centered on two groups of high schoolers--the freaks (who were in the upper grades) and the geeks (who were in the lower grades)—and their families. Another example of a show with great characters because of their realness, and their flaws. In this case, the flaws centered around the group you belonged to. I also deeply related to this show, and recognized myself, and people I knew growing up. The cast, was also incredible. The geeks really looked like geeks and the freaks really looked like freaks.

On Television: Part One

ZOELAB DAY 49

I have a confession to make:

The main, if not totally conscious, reason I chose to do this project of blogging 365 days for a year, was to knock myself out of the indelible, lifelong habit of whiling away the evening (the most precious free time of the day, especially for a parent) watching television. We don’t actually have a television in this phase of our lives, but we do have computers where we watch shows that were once on television. This is the habit of western culture at large. Watching TV (in whatever form of screen) before you go to bed. How many of us have spent a lifetime doing this? TV watching is the most addicting habit I know—or at least within the context of the time after dinner, before bed. There have been a few periods of life that I  was able to break this habit, which involved either a creative project that I was really excited about, or lack of access. Please understand, I love television. Well, I love some television. It has provided such pleasure to me for much of my life. At its best, it provides a unique balm to the troubled soul living in an uncertain world.  A kind of home that doesn’t quite belong to you, but gives you the illusion that it does. At different times in my life, I have fallen in love with: The Mary Tyler Moore Show, I Love Lucy, Freaks and Geeks, Alfred Hitchcock Presents, Arrested Development, 30 Rock, Flight of the Conchords, The Magic Garden, The Muppet Show, Saturday Night Live, Six Feet Under, Kids in the Hall, Taxi, The Office (yes, the American version), and most recently, Girls.

When I was living in Brooklyn and pursuing my acting/ screenwriting/filmmaking career, I had the habit (as many urbanites do) of going home late after a full and tiring day pursuing my dreams or at least trying to survive in an expensive and energetic city, picking up take out on the way home, and then watching syndicated sitcoms until it was time to go to sleep. This was the period of my life when I was a syndicated sitcom serial monogamist. I went from favorite sitcom to favorite sitcom, based on what was syndicated at the right time: 10:00, 10:30, 11:00, and 11:30 at night. Two hours of time (equivalent to a feature length film.) There were some sitcoms that I thought I’d never watch, because I hated them at first, most especially: Seinfeld and Friends. Friends was extremely popular when I was in college. I didn’t watch any TV while I was in college, except during visits home, and when I lived in China for a semester. I lived in a foreign student dorm (which was really a hotel) and each room had its own television. American syndicated sitcoms were a welcome friend. Anyway, back to Friends. I had a deep disdain for it. Maybe my disdain was on principal because it was so popular. But somehow, when I moved back to New York, and started watching it in its syndicated time slot, its charm warmed its way into my heart.  And then it became one of my ten, and ten thirty favorites. I particularly loved Lisa Kudrow’s portrayal of Phoebe. I suppose I most related to her character. Lisa Kudrow was brilliant and funny in the roll. I loved how her character was almost dumb, but not quite. It was a subtly different take on the ditzy blonde. Phoebe had edge and she was always a little bit surprising. Which reminds me of my personal definition of comedy: the truth delivered in surprising package. Seinfeld I also hated at the beginning. I found Jerry so whiney and his hair so terrible, that I had to turn away. But, the show’s undeniable funniness lured me back in, and I became an ardent fan. I remember watching it on Thursdays during its Prime Time slot and then again, later, and every night, during its syndicated slot. I even tearfully watched the last episode.

There were two other sitcoms I had love affairs with during this phase that were both because the show was great, but also because I had developed an awful crush on the male star of each of them. Those sitcoms were: That 70’s Show, the crush being on: Topher Grace (Eric). Were you thinking it was Ashton Kutcher? I know you weren’t thinking that. Maybe you were thinking it was Danny Masterson? Who definitely was crushable. But no, it was Topher Grace. His boyish charm with just a hint of cockiness, which, somehow, always got teased out of him. It was also his laugh, because when he laughed he seemed like he was breaking character--it felt so real. It is said in the acting world, and I agree with this, that laughing (far more than tears), is the hardest thing to “act”. And the other sitcom? Newsradio. And the crush? Dave Foley. Dave Foley’s character Dave, had a very similar appeal to Topher Grace’s Eric. Actually, now that I think about it, they were very, very similar. In looks, in the boyish charm, with that touch of cockiness that got teased out of him. And in the very sincere laugh where you feel like you are seeing just the person. Hmmm.

This essay will have to be continued over the next day or two. I have a lot more to say on this subject, and I can’t stay up all night writing. After all, I still want to watch a little something before bed.

One more thing. A behind the scene irony:

Just today a video projector and screen came into our possession (how it came into our possession is a story in itself that I will tell at another time). As I write this, Lucas, who has hooked up the projector and screen, is watching Boardwalk Empire. The screen is set up just a few feet away from where I sit, at the painted ivory table (which I use as a background to many ZOELAB images). I can see only the back of the screen. Only just yesterday we received a bunch of shows and movies that we had ordered. Perhaps this is not at all ironic, but rather, writing this is helping me to resist the temptation to melt back into the couch with him to be blissfully entertained by new content in a new form.

Meta Lab

ZOELAB DAY 48

We survived the hurricane. It didn’t really hit us directly, it was a spin off storm that hit us. That’s what Part Two of that poem was about (in case it wasn’t clear). My desk and all my books had to be moved, and are still in disarray so I have became a bit disoriented, ungrounded. We had no internet, no cell service for a few days as well.

So, now what?

Well, I’ve been working on the back end of the creative organization of this site. It takes time, and I hope it will be done by the end of the month. Also, I’ve been working on bring new readers here. I am discovering, when you put yourself out there, in whatever capacity, when you don’t get a positive response or any response at all, it is far more pleasant and encouraging, to think of the lack of response not as rejection, but that you just haven’t found your people yet. Don’t worry, I tell myself. They’re out there. If you build it, they will come. The truth is, with the exception of a few friends and family who have written to me, I have no idea who is reading this. It is a wildly risky feeling.

That being said, I did receive some encouraging and heartwarming comments recently that I would like to share. I am going to start creating comment pages in response to particular posts. Because this blog is independent, I don’t have the automatic comment buttons that blogs created from blog sites have. Everything I build I build from scratch. Well, virtual scratch. Also, I don’t want to send out group emails or lean on advertising, so the only way to spread the word is individual by individual. It is time-consuming, but it is also deeply rewarding, as I am opening connections with people, and hoping to engage in dialogues about the creative process, parenting, inspiration, happiness, or anything else that feels mutually important.

I feel deeply heartened, as well, because a dear friend of mine sent me his novel, which I have started to read with great enthusiasm. I was so honored and felt, maybe, in some tiny way, that what I am doing here had given him the en(courage)ment to send it to me. Another reader had written about risking failure, and his participation in a music contest. Another reader wrote how the post about empowerment affected her posture that day. These comments will be added soon. And I welcome more comments, and more readers. They say it takes a village to raise a child, and I do believe it takes a community to make an artist.

Three Days: A Poem in Three Parts, Part Three

ZOELAB DAY 47

The valley welcomes a new calm.

Outside, the air lets the sun shine through.

The wind is a welcome friend.

But, what happened to all the caterpillars?

The rain has chased them out of their homes.

As it has with the scorpions and snakes and beetles.

I find one, curled up on a leaf.

I find another one, eating our bougainvillea.

Then, I see them:

Tiny, yellow, fluttering.

I try to capture them

with my camera,

The weather thief.

The question remains:

Which butterfly belonged to which caterpillar?

Three Days: A Poem in Three Parts, Part Two

ZOELAB DAY 46

The next day, the rain came, again.
Every few minutes, a new sound,
A new amount:
A sheet, a bucket, a drop, a blanket.

And inside our house,
the rain came too.
Honey brown stripes down
our 6 month old walls.
Pools collecting on the orange plastic
covering my desk.

Watercolors painted,
Paper soaking
muddy stains.

The wind was next.
With its power
mostly suggested.

Loud because of a tarp on our roof
Ineffectively flapping about.

The fear of destruction
Waking us up at dawn.

The light so dim,
Not from earliness
But from clouds.

The day is given up on
For anything related to production
Or radio waves.
It is time for
mopping and sopping.
Watching and snacking.

Telepathically transmitting:
We are okay.
We are a little bit wet.

The house has been overtaken
By chaos.

A storm within created by
Retreat.

Three Days: A Poem in Three Parts, Part One

ZOELAB DAY 45

Three Days

Day One

Sneaking out of the house,
before little eyes see me.
I walk up the mountain,
which I have come to realize
is really a hill,
and along the way I counted
128 caterpillars.
Each one, clinging quietly
to a blade of grass,
appearing very much like a cattail
but green, and speckled, and shiny.

One hundred and twenty eight
for my two miles of walking
a straight-ish line.
My view, a few feet wide.
Imagine,
for a moment,
all the other caterpillars in the valley
unseen by my eyes.
Seen, only barely,
as hot air balloons
by the busy ants.
Or as finger snacks
By the hawks.
I did not stop for one caterpillar,
Only taking notes and numbers
With my eyes.
Trying, not that hard,
not to step on them.

Poems on a Theme

ZOELAB 365:  DAY 44

To continue on yesterday’s themes, I want to share three poems.

The first is very well known, and written by the spiritual activist and writer, Marianne Williamson, but is often wrongly attributed to Nelson Mandela as part of his inauguration speech. I was first introduced to this poem by one of my acting teachers many years ago. It spoke to a part of me that had never been spoken to before and has inspired me countless times since. The second is a poem I wrote in response to that poem. The title comes from a women’s artist collective and website called Spun Sugar that I initiated many years ago in NYC, but never came to fruition. The third poem is a poem I wrote while in graduate school that dares  the other (and myself) to not fall for the illusion (a false self) of disempowerment. The latter two poems became lyrics to songs that are as of yet, unfinished.

I made the drawing above while exploring Jungian theory in graduate school. It depicts the feminine archetype that becomes empowered through her connection with nature. By reclaiming the parts of her that were in shadow: her power/animus (the lion), her groundedness/earthiness (the tree), and her femininity/sexuality (the moon) she becomes an integrated, embodied and empowered woman, and therefore: whole.

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same. As we're liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

Song for a Spun Sugar Sister

Planes go high in the sky,

red-winged red birds pass me by.

But, me on them,

me seeing them

makes me large & upwards &

cross-moving.

makes me Chinese-happy,
& sunshine eyes.

My tragic stomach

flittering,

ticking the blood up to my heart.

Don’t be afraid,

in the smoke-stacked circumference

of a tiny world

on tiny hinges

to be great,

to let out the largeness of you.

Don’t be afraid

to put forth

kind & bouncy words

for those ears you care for.

Don’t be afraid

to talk of your unique bible:

soulful & aesthetic

human & genetic.

Don’t be afraid

within the shameful state of things

to be embarrassed

to hold yourself,

to wink at unseen things.

Cuz it’s not what we can swallow,

but what we can chew-on

that gives us acceleration

and initiation.

So, be large, as Marianne says.

Be huge in your dollhouse

and soon you will see

that even those who’ve made you shrink

will suddenly swell.

Don’t Believe

Don’t believe

this face

this ease

this voice.

Don’t believe

this overt tenderness

which caresses you

and mends

your discomfort

with your presence.

I need for you

not to believe

that this is all I am.

I need for you

to pry me out.
I need for you

to know how I have left me.

That there’s a fierceness inside

that aches.

There’s rhythm

in this body.

But not the rhythm you think.

Don’t believe

My voice you hear.

It’s on top of another thing:

A rumbling.

A torn creature.
A fire.

Listen harder

And be bold with me.

Blood bold.

Don’t believe

my fragile escape.

Even this,

I can fake.

Inspiration from Fresh Air: Comedy, Rock-n-Roll & Feminism

Last night I wasn’t feeling well, so I retired early with out doing my post. Today I needed to catch up. (I have been allowing myself the option to sometimes skip my post as long as I catch up the next day. This allows a little space when problems with technology or illness get in the way of blogging.) Instead, I lay on the bed for hours drifting in and out of sleep, listening to downloaded pod casts of fresh air on my ipod. I listened to an interview with Jack Black talking about his new movie directed by Richard Linklater (one of my favorite directors), Louis C.K. and how he brings experiences and emotions from his actual life into his sitcom, which I have never seen, but would like to, Chris Rock, and how his comedy has changed since becoming wealthy, and Jimmy Fallon and his hilarious and spot-on impersonations of Neil Young and Bob Dylan singing covers by musicians of other genres. Then I heard an interview with Caitlin Moran, where she talked about her book How to Be a Woman. I had never heard of her or her book before, but apparently she is a very big deal. She’s a high profile journalist and rock critic from the UK, and talks with a speed, intelligence and humor that is very impressive, and juxtaposes hilariously with her British accent. (Her r’s are not pronounced, and she says the word “very” quite often.) How to Be a Woman is a call to feminism. Or a recall to feminism. She speaks boldly about how feminism gets a bad rap, and that all women are feminists, or should be.

From How to Be a Woman:

“We need to reclaim the word feminism. We need to reclaim the word feminism real bad. When statistics come in saying that only 29% of American women would describe themselves as feminist and only 42% of British women, I used to think: what do you think feminism is, ladies? What part of liberation for women is NOT for you? Is it the freedom to vote? The right not to be owned by the man that you marry? The campaign for equal pay? Vogue by Madonna? Jeans? Did all that stuff just get on your nerves or were you just drunk at the time of survey? These days, however, I am much calmer since I realized that it’s actually technically impossible for a woman to argue against feminism. Without feminism you wouldn’t be allowed to have a debate on a woman’s place in society. You’d be too busy giving birth on the kitchen floor, biting down on a wooden spoon so as not to disturb the men’s card game before going back to hoeing the rutabaga field.“

It was inspiring to be reminded of the importance of feminism. I was suddenly made aware of the fact that the term feminist has gone into the shadows. Of course the issue of abortion is on everyone’s minds right now, and Ms. Moran discusses this issue personally and frankly. However, many of us have become afraid of being seen as feminist, as if a feminist is an ugly, terrifying, man-hating monster who no one wants to look at or listen to. As if there are no longer feminist issues to bring light to. As if female empowerment is not something that needs to be encouraged and embraced.

Empowerment, and women’s empowerment in particular, has been a central issue to me, both in my personal development and in the work I do with people. To me, empowerment means being congruent—-who we are is inside is expressed by how we are. It means being full of oneself. Not in the in the egotistical sense, but rather in the sense of being psychologically present in one’s body. Empowerment means feeling you have the right to be heard and seen. Believing you have the same rights as everyone around you. Women spend a lot of energy protecting men’s egos, but we don’t protect our own. Often we pretend we don’t have an ego, we don’t allow ourselves be ambitious and smart, we tell ourselves not to need or want things, to not feel we deserve to have success beyond our traditional roles, as mothers or wives. Sometimes, a woman’s biggest secret is how powerful she is.

The eventual evolutionary goal is to be egoless, or to no longer be identified with the ego. But the first step is acknowledging and seeing how we are identified with the ego. As women we have a tendency to identify with a negative self image (or ego). So we become less conscious of our egos, more likely to live an inauthentic self. This has been true of me, anyway. This is an aspect of disempowerment. It is a way of disconnecting, turning away from our power, not seeing who we really are; living only as a shell of a person, with no sense of reality or aliveness. I’ve often had the experience of living under this kind of spell, and art or connection to other people is what most often brings me out of it. For me it always comes down to art and love. Loving art, and art-ing love. The two forms of expression that are most empowering for me are (improv) comedy and rock-n-roll. Both expressions require a brazen truth telling. This is congruence in a very active sense. From experience, I know that both rock-n-roll and comedy are boy’s clubs. It takes a strong woman to prevail. It takes a stubborn woman. (See post On Inspiration.) And, believe it or not, it takes letting go of our need to be perfect. There are myths that are still told that women aren’t funny, or women can’t rock. It’s just not true. But a funny, expressive, empowered woman can be a very threatening thing. Certain people have investment in keeping women silent, it keeps their egos in tact.

When I was first introduced to the term feminism as an adolescent, I instantly identified with being a feminist. Just the idea of it was empowering to me. Influenced in high school by Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own, I decided that I was a feminist with an androgynous mind--a mind that possesses both feminine and masculine qualities. This brand of feminism holds great empathy for men and the plight of masculine expectation. This kind of feminism recognizes society’s unconscious rejection, not always of women, but of attributes that are associated with femininity (as well as the right side of the brain): intuitiveness, emotion, nurturing, vulnerability, receptivity. The Taoist yin-yang symbol (as well as other spiritual traditions and Jung’s concept of anima/animus) represents how polar opposites, such as shadow and light, that exist in nature are not in opposition to each other, but are interconnected and interdependent, working in harmony with each other--both parts of a whole. A society, such as ours, that only embraces rationality, action, linear thought is out of balance with nature.

During the Jack Black interview, Terry Gross asked him if it’s hard to be overweight in show business, he replied that in general, if you’re not sexy like Brad Pitt, you have to work much harder in order to be likable. In his stand up act, Chris Rock talks about how it feels to be rich and black. He talks about his wealthy neighborhood, and how there are only four black people living there,  and these four black people happen to be among the most famous and talented artists in the world, but all the white people are just average people with regular jobs. When she speaks to Terry Gross, Moran talks about how, as an adolescent, she was overweight and felt she wasn’t attractive enough to become a proper woman, so she decided to work on her personality instead. I believe that this is true in general for women (as well as for anyone with systems of power working against them). We have come to believe if we want to succeed at something we better be pretty fucking good. Better than a man. I say: let us be who we are. Let us embrace all of our qualities and polarities, masculine and feminine, darkness and light, active and passive, emotional and rational. Let us not be the judge of ourselves and hide in the shadows. Let us tell our truths and be heard. Let us go beyond expectation. Let us rock out and be funny.

GROOVETROTTERS

ZOELAB 365  DAY 42

We had Georgie and Vinnie over for a sleepover last night, who are still here, while the Groovetrotters (their older brothers and dad) performed their regular gig last night at a Pan Asian restaurant. I had done a photoshoot with the Groovetrotters the day before. They will use one of the photos for their new ad for their Friday night gigs at the restaurant, which will be displayed on a huge billboard on the way into Todos Santos.  This will be my largest and most seen display of photography. Here are a few of my favorites from the shoot:

This last one above is my personal favorite. By an act of coincidental artistic grace, a school bus just happened to slowly pass by while we were shooting. I want to re-shoot it so that the bus is going in the same direction as the boys, (if we can find another school bus) which would be towards Todos Santos, where their performance is. If I can set up the shot right, it could be a great first album cover. The ironic is thing is all these boys are being home schooled by their parents, but I love the idea that they are trying  to hitchhike a ride on a school bus to their gig. This is pure coincidence, that I was inadvertently designing record covers, focusing on rock-n-roll in my blog, and then was asked to do this photo shoot. Eventually we will shoot a music video for them in the desert.

For the photo shoot, I accepted a trade of mangos and meat. In addition to being a musician with many other talents, Ben is also a butcher, and had a successful meat business--raising and butchering his own animals (free range, organic.) But for now he is focusing on being a professional musician, and the meat is for his family, and for occasional trades. Yesterday, we made smoothies from the mangoes and Lucas cooked up the pork chops he gave us. I didn’t eat them because I was feeling sick, but I heard they were delicious!

Non-Linear Journal Entry: Dry Erase

ZOELAB DAY 41