the blankets were the stairs

One of my friends reminded me of Sunny Day Real Estate today when we were talking about formative high school years albums. And then a copy of Blankets crossed my desk at work and I was reminded once again of younger years and emotions that I thought I understood but didn't experience until much later.

A guy I went to Kent with who dropped out to move back to Pittsburgh to write comics and play in grindcore bands told me I'd love it. I did, and it also somewhat broke my heart because it was so familiar to me. The awfulness of youth group retreats, being the weird kid with spiritual doubts. It made me sad that by the end he'd lost his faith and his first love but oh goodness the artwork was so beautiful, every page so intensely rendered.

I had a conversation with a friend this weekend in regards to the science/religion binary that's been annoying the hell out of me the past couple weeks. We're on complete opposite sides of the fence when it comes to the culture wars, him being out and proud and skeptical and me being a self described bleeding heart hetero fundie, but neither of us want to fight those battles, because it's way nicer to just not be a jerk and assess people on their decency as humans rather than what sky-god they worship. Besides, we're too busy being good neighbors, eating dinner together, drinking Genessee and listening to punk rock. He said the other day that even though he believes in nothing, there's few things more devastating than watching believing people lose their faith. I'm inclined to agree with him.

now it's over and I'm coming home

so I've been back almost a week from Californistan. It's amazing how fifteen years go by and yet there's some people that you reconnect with instantly. I haven't seen the girls since they were preschoolers and by the end of the five days I felt like I had younger cousins or somesuch because we got along so well.

They picked me up at the airport where the warmth felt almost unreal on my Decembered skin, and we got Mexican food and then drove to Los Angeles (how weird is it to have the girls you used to babysit driving you through one of the biggest cities in the country while rocking out to Bikini Kill?) where we had a heck of a time finding parking in Hollywood and watched their cousin's one-woman show that was really, really good and then stayed at her house in Santa Monica where I promptly fell asleep given my body being accustomed to a different time zone.

Her cousin cooked us amazing breakfast and then we walked down through Santa Monica, which I fell in love with, with its beautiful pastel buildings, palm trees, and flowers everywhere even though I know I couldn't afford to live there, and I finally got to dip my feet in the cold Pacific ocean and we walked around eating fresh mandarin oranges and pomegranates which were a whole new kind of delicious before driving back inland, making a stop at the Cabazon dinosaurs for giggling tourist trap purposes.

We went to Joshua Tree the next day, and while I would have loved to get up there earlier than we did, it was incredible to see, those iconic trees, the rocks everywhere that are a completely different landscape, the cactus garden beneath the sunset sky, with the moon rising over the mountains on the other side. We were only here about four hours but I could spend four days here. We drove back through the dark mountains with the luminous moon as jackrabbits darted across the road and I felt damn near euphoric surrounded by all this stark beauty. This was the soundtrack theme for pretty much the entire trip.

The next morning we took awhile to wake up but me and the oldest went out to Whitewater to hike around because I am a Kyuss fangirl and wanted to see the landscape documented in one of my favorite songs. Of course it was desolate and beautiful, with the mountains rising up on either side, the stream running through, the scrubby terrain and the dead century plants. Of course I could have spent longer here too. I don't know why this landscape has such a hold on me even though I could only live near lots of water.

The last day we spent in downtown Palm Springs before heading to the airport and I understand Coupland's generational rage so much more after seeing a town full of rich retirees spending their childrens' inheritance on $20 salads, golf courses in the desert, crystal healings, and cubic zirconia pins spelling out titles like "Queen Bitch" "Pageant Mom," and "Cosmetics Lady." Most of the women had obviously gone through Botox injections and various plastic surgeries and it's surreal to see this other part of America that's so different from your hometown where people eat lots of stick-to-yer-ribs food and it shows.

The plane ride back was full of golf guys coming from some convention, I was still happy to be home even though it was cold and icy, because the hearts in my city are still warm. My body still hasn't adjusted to the time change, my holidays went by in a blur, but now there's a week off and possible new musical opportunities on the horizon with some friends who dig Bad Brains and Faith No More, and the snow makes all things quiet and beautiful. 

coming separate

I forget how hard and complicated being in a band can be, especially in the embryonic stages, and every project I've ever done has been stillborn or aborted. I don't know what this is, and maybe it's too early to tell, the last few times have been with relative strangers so it was easier to bow out early. They've got other projects, this is my only one and I want it to be something I love, I wonder if this is selfish sometimes, but I can't play what I can't believe in.

four days back

I'm pretending I'm not still jetlagged, my mom asked me if I felt any warm patriotic feelings upon reentering the united states and I said no, because I had to go through customs and TSA and Bloomberg's Fiefdom. But I'm glad to be back here, because despite the insatiable curiosity, I'm still a bit of a midwestern provincial homebody who misses the conversations that I've come to love and the camaraderie of the familiar.

I fell back into the routine quickly, because ultimately I like structure with wiggle room. My apartment's still in need of some rearranging which probably won't happen for another month thanks to housesitting and wanting to use the hours post-work for way more enjoyable things like catching up with folks and taking advantage of free soccer tickets to watch Team America get schooled by Belgium, somewhat enjoying the beauty of sheer athleticism coupled with the enjoyment of watching red-white-and-bros get bummed, because the USA! USA! chants just make me depressed, just like I don't sing the national anthem because I don't see the need to make a small deity out of a piece of cloth made in China. So I wasn't bummed when the score was 4-2 Belgium at the end of the night, if only because it deflated that microcosm of ego and exceptionalism that I don't subscribe to.

Despite my plans of wheeliebussing it back to the west side, one of my friends picked me up and and we chilled at K's new place around the corner from me. With the exception of her five months in Niger after our stint as roommates, we've since lived within a few streets of each other for the last five years after meeting a decade ago as next-door dorm neighbors. I was tired but I haven't seen him in too long and there's such a comfortable familiarity there as we slack together in the first warm summer night. These are the things that I miss when I'm away.

Anyways, here's a few pictures. I had a giant memory card in my dinky pointandclick, so I ended up with something like 700 pictures, mostly of cathedrals and whatnot but here.

Nuremberg

 St. Sebald's Church

Former rally grounds next to the stadium. Now a locale for tourist photos, tailgating Ultras, and Antifa activists with spray paint cans.

Green smoke from the Werder Bremen side. They lost 3-2.

Unfinished Congresshalle, this massive colusseum-looking thing now houses the local orchestra and a museum.

Olympic Park in Munich, the rolling hills are rubble now covered with grass and trees.

Nymphenburg Palace was pretty absurd in its ostentation.

Town Hall in Munich, which had loads of awesome gothic architecture buttresses and steeples and such.

Sunset over Prague.

portion of the Mucha window at St. Vitus.

The very cool Astronomical Clock in Old Town that every tourist has a picture of.

St. George's Basilica is almost a thousand years old.

 

Vysehrad was the favorite haunt of the expats, locals, and grade school field trips, a huge park where a giant fortress complex once stood, ancient fortification walls, with a church whose interior reminded me of an Ivan Bilibin painting inside, a cemetery full of national heroes enshrined beautifully, and some pretty badass Slavic statuary.  

Strahov Monastery's library made me jealous of Jesuit monks who could hang out with 10th century tomes and swank items of science and whatnot. 

Alchemy Museum tourist trap ruled, if only to go down into some spooky noochie tunnels. 

The Spanish Synagogue was gorgeous, oh my goodness.

I took a ton more pictures but I don't want to bore you and all. Every building in Prague was gorgeous, Nuremberg was lovely, I would have liked to see more of Munich, but here is where I always need to come home to. 

icy grey

Two times this weekend, when the weather warmed up slightly and the cabin fever became too much, I got outside and wandered on the deserted shore of Clevelandia. Sleep can wait, naps can be taken later, I love the beach at all seasons, but especially now, when there are skeletal driftwood trees washed up on the shore, the surf crystallized crunches under my shoes, and the water gleams silver under winter sun.

 

 And then yesterday I went out with my camera on a drive, which I haven't done in awhile but there's something that stirs me about the rust-colored palette under grey skies. I would have gone under the railroad trestle to shoot what would have undoubtedly been good graffiti, but I was alone, and occasionally I've come across men sleeping and starving feral dogs so I slowed down, turned the music low, and shot what I could from the side of the car.

 

 

The Flats were quiet as anything, and I got out by the bridges and walked down by the old warehouses and wished I had the bigger camera with me. Still, I'm happy enough with these shots.

 

 

And then I went down to the park on the other side, and the breakers must have caused the piles of ice that were everywhere, these broken sheets piled up against the shoreline, swirling out into the lake all Goldsworthy. There were a lot of people down there, maybe the warmer weather, maybe the cabin fever. Some guy dressed as Mario in tights with pompoms, a bunch of The Kids, including a big Moroccan contingent, mugging for the their iPhone cameras with the pastel sky and sheets of ice behind them, young Muslim couples and old men.

I'm sure with the sun out and the forty degrees, this has all melted, but to catch that transient moment at its most beautiful feels like some kind of little accomplishment.

quinta da regaleira

Esoteric straungeness, opulent yet airy architecture, and lush mossy grounds and grottoes, in other words, everything awesome. Dammit, Portugal, why do you have to be so awesome. Oh I want to go here so badly.

stanislaw wyspanski

Author, playwright, artist, designer, wish I could do at least one of those well enough to be somewhat memorable.