Showing posts with label lalage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lalage. Show all posts

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

before summer ends to-do list


provo experimental music night.  
i just started planning classes for fall, which made me realize i have only about a month of summer break left.  we've done some fun things this year.  nothing major, but lots of little things and lots of festivities with family and friends.

lalage at an experimental music night in slc last saturday.  ingrid called my outfit "miss vampisham."  i said yes to this gig though i really wanted to stay home.  i'm practicing "yes" more.
because of doing the artist's way, i've been trying to live more. . . festively.  to not limit what i do so much, so i've been saying yes to a lot of things, and trying to get out of my natural introverted state and out of the house more.

anna's new shoes right after a summer rain storm at provo bicycle collective.
here's what i want to do before summer ends and ingrid returns to college:

1.  hike mt. timpanogas.

2. go tubing on the provo river.

3.  road trip to southern utah.

4. fancy back yard italian dinner with candles.

5.  grill more corn and peaches.

6. buy a new pioneer bonnet.



Friday, June 1, 2012

mourning in jet city


"a foul-mouthed clown", pictured right

on the way to our show tonight, we passed cafe racer, site of senseless loss, of  a tragedy of shakespearean proportions.  a group of about ten mourners stood on the sidewalk weeping.

one of the victims, who portrayed a "foul-mouthed clown" in a vaudeville/burlesque show, was a booker at the cafe known to many of the seattle musicians we've collaborated with since the nineties.  greg, who played with us tonight, had a regular gig there.

when we walked into the chapel performance space, the stage was festooned with two large bouquets of flowers (one bunch contained my favorite flower, the pink peony).  after we teched and warmed up, tari nelson-zagar, a violinist we've known for years, handed us two bags of short bread cookies.  "these and the flowers are from kat.  she thought we needed them tonight." 

before the concert, we held a minute of silence to honor the deaths. 

 it was good to see friends in the chapel tonight, to end a sad day with something hopeful:  music performed and created for love, not money, and a community of people who put others ahead of themselves. 

the love was strong tonight, and i felt so lucky to be there, to be here still

in every sense,

on a thursday night, making music in seattle. 

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

give her some




worked on revising my exam lists today (item number one on my utterly ridiculous list).  it took three hours, rather than the projected one hour.  but i ran into this poet, who i don't know well but who's on my list.

my lists are organized around gender, performativity, and experimentation.  every text on the list has to be relevant to at least two of the three themes or it gets cut. 

i'm particularly interested in performance and poetry, one of the reasons eva gave me the poems of kabir sung. 

what happens when the importance of sound in poetry recedes, gives ground to the written word?

what's the relationship between the way the poem looks and the way the poem sounds?

what are the advantages of an orally conveyed poem over a poem conveyed on the page?

since some of my work resides in the sound category, particularly with lalage*, this area of the exams is personal and important.  also something that comes more and more to the foreground in the work i want to do in the future.

(i forgot to put on my summer to-do list:  get you tube channel)

i look forward to learning more about morris, and to this aspect of my exam lists in general.  here's the text of tracie morris' piece:

She's the one. Give her some. Under fire. Smoking
gun. Of which songs
are sung, raps are spun, bells are rung, rocked, pistols
cocked, unwanted
advances blocked, well stacked she's jock. It's all about
you girl. You go
on. Don't you dare stop.



*lalage performs next week in seattle on the wayward music series: 

Thursday 31 May 2012
8 pm
Chapel Performance Space
4th Floor of the Good Shepherd Center
4649 Sunnyside Ave. N, Seattle (at 50th, Wallingford)
$5 - $15 suggested donation

legwear:  none

inspiration:  poetry in the air rather than on the page

looking forward:  what to expect when you're expecting with eva tonight/ingrid's return

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Lara!



This is the first time I'd seen Lara and Christian's duo, Lalage

Lara, where are you?

Come back!

Lara's in the air and I miss her already.  Lara's trip was packed tight but I managed to show up and tag along here and there, which was such a treat for me.  (The highlight for me?  Walking the High Line with Lara on Friday night, the rising up city luminous.)

I rarely get to Utah; she rarely gets to New York.

We will once again meet only on the blog.  

Lalage fans
Lalage played with veteran experimental musicians, Andrew Drury and Dafna Naphtali (who happens to be a parent at my kid's school!).

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Good Thing List

Lara's Eva, on her way
1.  It was raining, but not too hard.

2.  After months and months of intermittent toil, I finished my Crime Fiction LibGuide at work.

3.  I headed uptown to attend Eva's graduation party in her dorm common room and sample Lara's toothsome carmelized onion dip.

4.  While there, I enjoyed talking to Christian about the reggae influences inherent in "Hotel California."  Lara and Christian leave on Thursday.  I will miss conversations like these.

5.  Eva wore an amazing dress.  So did Lara.

6.  Taking three trains, I arrived on the other end of Manhattan to pick up S from school on time.

7.  Basking in the afterglow of having all of my grades turned in.

8.  Basking in the afterglow of Lara's carmelized onion dip.

9.  Looking forward to Lara and Christian performing as Lalage in Brooklyn tomorrow night.

Sunday, April 29, 2012

game on: the locust salon

lalage performing at karnatic lab in amsterdam--with pre-show dutch yahoos & steven ricks

woke up this morning & cooked.

it felt good.

here's what i made:

lemon tart (from the chez panisse dessert cookbook given to me by me dear friend and kitchen mentor, the artist alice dubiel)

red lentil dal

cucumber raita

hummus & hand made pita

this is all in honor of tonight's locust salon.  i wanted to go all out because

c. has composed a set of the most beautiful bassas which he's playing tonight with drummer jesse quebbeman-turley & bassist zoe jorgenson,

our piano's tuned,

we have some new lalage sounds,

& it's spring time.

every change of season sends me to the kitchen to cook & the notebook for new poems.

that's my inspiration for today.

tonight's outfit is yet to be determined.

Friday, April 20, 2012

bare bones & parking lot chic

muse music in provo=totally rad & what we used to call punk back in the day for it's minimalist bare bones vibe
one of the cool things about living in provo is how unexploited it is.  whereas in julie's town (which is truly my favorite town in the world--look at the amazing things she gets to do/the amazing fashion she sees in just one day in this post alone), every last inch has already been discovered, gentrified, and jacked through the roof, provo has plenty of space,  and it's cheap.  so what provo artists might miss from a super energetic art scene, we might be able to gain in contemplative space, an unhurried pace, and lack of interruption.

while i do think we need to make the effort get out and about to the bigger cities to guard against isolation and unexamined provincialism, i find living here to be akin to a lifetime artist retreat because of the amount of uninterrupted meditative space the open and relaxed and beautiful environment fosters.

tonight for instance, which is date night even for married couples here in utah valley, for mere pennies, c. and i went to yoga and ate hot dogs and chili cheese fries at tommy's burger.  this bare-bones shack of a restaurant is a provo institution that's been around for decades.  it's new york tiny inside and a one-dude operation (always the same dude).  only about six people at a time can squeeze in to order at the counter, and all eating takes place in a big, empty parking lot full of chipped fire-engine red picnic tables.  unless you want to eat standing up whilst reading today's usa today open under two banks of plexiglass on the wall of the building so you can move from left to right and read the entire paper while consuming a bacon burger or a chili dog, standing up, at a twelve-inch wide red counter. (also, in between the two banks of news papers is a wall-mounted paper towel dispenser like you'd find in a restroom instead of a napkin dispenser.  so by the time the chili's dripping down your arm and you're almost to the sports section, you can grab a paper towel.  how efficient!  how industrial!  love it!)

notice the newspapers, changed daily, on the side of the building
tonight we sat in early evening sun and sweet little breeze, at about 75 degrees, and looked at the beautiful mountains, which is the other thing about this place:  whatever parking lot you're in has the such astoundingly magnificent views of the mountains that you feel like you're living in a resort.

last night we played at muse music with lalage. muse is another example of the kind of unexploited  resource a burgeoning (or even more established) artist might find in provo.

what i love about muse is this:  total bare bones, totally cheap, and totally accessible.  their menu of services includes a six dollar cover charge for four bands, a 25-dollar-an-hour recording studio (would anyone do anything in nyc for 25 bucks an hour, julie?), and 2 bucks for a cup of tea or hot chocolate.

so there it is.

two more reasons for people in a tight place, artists in a tight place, girls in a tight place, to dig downtown provo.

legwear:  first half of the day=nightgown legs, second half=yoga pants

looking forward:  to 80 degrees tomorrow/ spring cleaning and taking a bunch of stuff to DI


inspiration:  cool parking lots


p.s.--GITP supports pete ashdown!

Thursday, April 19, 2012

schadenfreude: 10 poets who are more flagrantly irresponsible/off balance than girl in tights

watermelon picnic basket carrying work lunch=a toothy smile in a tight day


girl in tight place,

nestled, snuggled, firmly ensconced

or, on some (ummm, many?) days, tightly wedged

& stuck

in the crevice of the bourgeousie

& in a place 

where the college loans, credit card debt,

mortgage payment, lawn care, house renovation mania (in which i refuse/am unable to participate),

& the hoards of seemingly perfect children

who are neatly groomed & consistently do all their homework

close in on me

like the walls of the giant garbage compactor in star wars episode IV: a new hope

that almost crushes luke, leia, han solo, and chewy.

like last night,

around 2 a.m.

i'm lying on the couch

wide awake

alternating between plans

to become a more fit citizen of such a neighborhood

& a way to get a jet pack to blast the hell outta here.

call it schadenfruede, call it cold comfort, but it makes me

feel a little better to know there were (& are) poets who were even worse

than i at managing the details of life, who screwed up &

acted like bigger douchebags than me--as if my floundering

& haplessness might be a sign of genius,

as if majorly screwing up, as if profligacy, could make one

a poetic genius

(fallacy: ad hoc, ergo propter hoc).

as in: it could be worse.  as if, through juxtaposition,

i could look real good.

check these folks out, and congratulate yourself for your good behavior or
decide that maybe your bad behavior can be forgiven (unless otherwise noted, the link on the 
poet's name will take you to the website the italicized quote is taken from):

1.  christopher smart 

In spite of having a wife and family to support, Smart continued as thriftless as ever in the 1750s, spending freely on clothes and entertainment and borrowing from Newbery when he got into difficulties. Hunter describes him as "friendly, affectionate, and liberal to excess," but so regardless of practicalities that according to his wife he often invited company to dinner when there was not enough in the house to provide a meal even for themselves.

2. anne sexton

one of my favorite poets, i'm hesitant to say that mental illness is bad behavior, but who knows where on the continuum of drug abuse, personal betrayal, & instablility the responsibility for her actions lies.  here's a an exceprt from her bio at modern poetry that's a little salacious:   

Estranged from many of her former friends, Sexton became difficult for her maturing daughters to deal with. Aware that many of her readers did not like the religious poetry that she had recently begun writing with her more personal themes, Sexton became nervous about her poetry. Readings had always terrified her, but now she employed a rock group to back up her performances. She forced herself to be an entertainer, while her poems grew more and more privately sacral. In 1972 she published The Book of Folly and, in 1974, the ominously titled The Death Notebooks. Later that year, she completed The Awful Rowing toward God, published posthumously in 1975. Divorced and living by herself, Sexton was lonely and seemed to be searching for compassion through love affairs. She continued to be in psychotherapy, from which she evidently gained little solace. In October 1974, after having lunched with Maxine Kumin, Sexton asphyxiated herself with carbon monoxide in her garage in Boston.

3.  allen ginsberg 

so obvious i hardly need to put him on the list, but here's a tidbit i didn't know before today, when i began seeking information on the foibles of others in order to soothe myself:


Known for their unconventional views, and frequently rambunctious behavior, Ginsberg and his friends also experimented with drugs. On one occasion, Ginsberg used his college dorm room to store stolen goods acquired by an acquaintance. Faced with prosecution, Ginsberg decided to plead insanity and subsequently spent several months in a mental institution.

4.  ezra pound 

duh.

the new york times puts it mildly in this article about poetry magazine  & pound's relationship with the editor of poetry, harriet monroe:

Pound kept badgering Monroe over the years, while she indulged his bad temper and seemingly limitless capacity for self-pity. Before long, he was living in Rapallo and praising Fascists, and his letters appear less frequently and then vanish as he disappeared into propaganda and madness. But before he turned political, Pound was poetry's No. 1 nut, and when he leaves the pages of ''Dear Editor,'' much of the fun does, too. 

5. derek walcott

i wanted to study with him as an undergraduate.  the gossip pegs him as a philanderer, and in my own investigation, a playwright friend of mine who studied with him apparently did not get sexually harrassed by him, but did tell me the following, "he was always drunk.  and he has a.d.d.  so i learned a lot from him because i had to work so hard to keep his attention.  the minute he got bored he would quit reading your work and giving you feedback."

remember the 2002 scandal about him, wherein two poets behaved badly, the little "contretemps" between ruth padel and derek walcott?  here's a little excerpt from the guardian article:

There is something a bit grubby and commercial in Walcott's behaviour, certainly according to the claims made against him, in the 80s and 90s, that the grades he gave reflected the fact he'd been sexually rejected, in the first instance, and in the second, that he wanted sex in return for help producing a play. You'd want a poet to have more soul, wouldn't you? Sure, fall in love with a student, the heart wants what it wants – the poet's heart (I guess) doubly so. But don't measure out your love in half-hours and end-of-term grades. What would TS Eliot say?

 6. lord byron

In June 1813 Byron began an affair with his twenty-nine-year-old half sister, Augusta. Married since 1807 to her spendthrift cousin, Colonel George Leigh, she had three daughters and lived at Six Mile Bottom, near Cambridge. With his mother’s death in 1811, Augusta became Byron’s sole remaining close relative, a situation which doubtless increased his sense of identity with her. While no legal proof exists, the circumstantial evidence in Byron’s letters dating from August 1813 to his horrified confidante Lady Melbourne strongly suggests an incestuous connection with Augusta.

In the midst of this relationship, Byron received a letter from Annabella Milbanke, who confessed her mistake in rejecting his proposal and cautiously sought to renew their friendship. Correspondence ensued. He later wrote Lady Melbourne that Augusta wished him "much to marry—because it was the only chance of redemption for two persons."


7. samuel taylor coleridge

from wikipedia

Dorothy Wordsworth was shocked at his condition upon his return. From 1807 to 1808, Coleridge returned to Malta and then travelled in Sicily and Italy, in the hope that leaving Britain's damp climate would improve his health and thus enable him to reduce his consumption of opium. Thomas de Quincey alleges in his Recollections of the Lakes and the Lake Poets that it was during this period that Coleridge became a full-blown opium addict, using the drug as a substitute for the lost vigour and creativity of his youth. It has been suggested, however, that this reflects de Quincey's own experiences more than Coleridge's.
 
His opium addiction (he was using as much as two quarts of laudanum a week) now began to take over his life: he separated from his wife Sarah in 1808, quarrelled with Wordsworth in 1810, lost part of his annuity in 1811, and put himself under the care of Dr. Daniel in 1814.

8. sylvia plath


i can scarce bring myself to add her to the list as her behavior is not so much "bad" as the behavior of one severely, fatally afflicted by mental illness.  her suicide during her children's nap time leads one to believe that the woman had truly run out of hope, options, and her last ounce of strength.

nonetheless, i think about her when times get tough.  a troubled life can also contain transcendent goodness and beauty.  the exploration of darkness can also guide us to the light.


9.  charles bukowski

from the poetry foundation:

Ending up near death in Los Angeles, Bukowski started writing again, though he would continue to drink and cultivate his reputation as a hard-living poet.

&

“Published by small, underground presses and ephemeral mimeographed little magazines,” described Jay Dougherty in Contemporary Novelists, “Bukowski has gained popularity, in a sense, through word of mouth.” “The main character in his poems and short stories, which are largely autobiographical, is usually a down-and-out writer [Henry Chinaski] who spends his time working at marginal jobs (and getting fired from them), getting drunk and making love with a succession of bimbos and floozies,” related Ciotti. “Otherwise, he hangs out with fellow losers—whores, pimps, alcoholics, drifters.”


10. George Crabbe

from wikipedia

He continued to rack up debts that he had no way of paying, and his creditors pressed him. He later told Walter Scott and John Gibson Lockhart that "during many months when he was toiling in early life in London he hardly ever tasted butchermeat except on a Sunday, when he dined usually with a tradesman's family, and thought their leg of mutton, baked in the pan, the perfection of luxury." In early 1781 he wrote a letter to Edmund Burke asking for help, in which he included samples of his poetry. Burke was swayed by Crabbe's letter and a subsequent meeting with him, giving him a gift of money to relieve his immediate wants, and assuring him that he would do all in his power to further Crabbe's literary career. Among the samples that Crabbe had sent to Burke were pieces of his poems The Library and The Village.[15][16]

A short time after their first meeting Burke told his friend Sir Joshua Reynolds that he had "the mind and feelings of a gentleman." Burke gave Crabbe the footing of a friend, admitting him to his family circle at Beaconsfield. There he was given an apartment, supplied with books, and made a member of the family. The time he spent with Burke and his family helped in enlarging his knowledge and ideas, and introducing him to many new and valuable friends including Charles James Fox and Samuel Johnson. He completed his unfinished poems and revised others with the help Burke's criticism. Burke helped him have his poem, The Library, published anonymously in June 1781, by a publisher that had previously refused some of his work. The Library was greeted with a small amount of praise from critics, and only slight public appreciation.[17]

 
 a few questions arise from the very preliminary research i did today for this post, thinking about the poets who were gamblers, addicts, insane, philanderers, divas, narcissists, & fools:

1) where are all the bad girl poets?

2) why do the biographers of more than half of the ten poets listed attribute the emotional instability of the poet's mother as a factor in that poet's subsequent bad behavior?  (plath's problems are famously attributed to her father, but ultimately rest on her mother who was too weak to protect her.)

3) i know this question is sort of passé, but does the poet seek trouble as artistic material or does the troubled being seek art as transcendence from a troubled life?

4) there must be a million other cool, badly behavaed poets out there.  who are they, and what did they do?

legwear: black lace leggings à la madonna circa 1983 (see picture above)

inspired by: poetic output in the midst of starvation, abuse, depression, and illness


looking forward to:  performance with lalage at muse music tonight


Wednesday, April 18, 2012

the list & pink tights

lalage in seattle--tomorrow night, provo.  wish my pink tights were still alive.

all this talk of lists got me writing this prompt for my wednesday guest spot at book balloon:

(if you've missed the other prompts, let the table speak is here and a missive, a supplication is here.)

No method is better at reminding the poet of the power of juxtaposition and letting the white space do the talking than the list (also known as the catalogue) poem.  No method is better at freeing you from the constraint or pressure of forcing unity into your poem, something those of us trained on the sonnet might feel from time to time. 

It’s also one of my favorites for getting out of a rut, which maybe a few of us are feeling after a month of trying to keep up with all this intense thinkin’ and poetry writin’.  Try a list poem to get yourself over the mid-national poetry month hump:  when it’s too hard to make the connections, leave them out.  If you’ve been thinking too hard, stop.  The list can be spontaneous, absurd, profound, funny, lyrical or, in its best incarnation, all of those things at once.

*

I keep a lot of lists—and my lists are so far flung and various that it’s almost absurd.  Here’s an actual list I found from an old notebook eight years ago when I had a baby with respiratory illness and was working on Ph.d, teaching, raising 3 older children, feeding a vegetarian teen, buying a house, trying to write and publish a book of poetry, and basically juggling a lot of different sizes and shapes of balls:

1)    Order more tender grips from IHC.
2)    Make baba ganoush.
3)    Find copy of out of print Spicer book.
4)    Write Baudelaire paper.
5)    L’s reading assessment appointment.
6)    Buy dry erase markers.
7)    Find phone charger.
8)    Change oil.
9)    Soup to Grandma Beth.
10)    Write Daniel’s grant.

That list isn’t particularly poignant or profound, funny, absurd, or lyrical on it’s own, but if I fleshed it out just a tiny bit more for you, it would be.

Here’s a list poem I wrote in the early ‘90’s.  I’m only sharing it with you to show you an example of the poem, not because I’m particularly proud of it (though it has some okay moments):

I Will Write Ten Poems About What Happened to Me in Prison

I rested my cheek against a cool bar.

I dreamt of my scented mother, her sweet warm milk fed to me with a breast slipped
between the bars of my prison.  I was saddened to think the bars might chill her.

I quietly, embarrassingly, crying all the while, used the toilet.

I designed a gown that was later actualized by Donna Karan.

I pretended my enclosure was a crib for babies, and that I would soon be lifted from it.

Out of hunger, fear, and compulsiveness, I ate the inside of my mouth.

I asked that all bullets fired at 10:57 turn toward me, enter me like they were all my man, and release me at once from my body, far worse than any jail.

I vowed to become more ladylike.

I questioned my former disregard of Catholic mysticism.

My body kept telling me to run, but my mind quietly insisted that I stay put.


*

If you really want a catalogue tour de force, invest 20 minutes and read Christopher Smart’s Jubilate Agno.  (that link I trust a bit more because it's from poetry foundation, but this link has the full text and gives a better sense of the list/repetitive qualities of the poem.) Holy crap, it’s good & pretty crazy under the surface.  Notice the repetition at each line’s beginning and then the long shifts from “bless” to “praise” to “rejoice”.

The list poem can be a lot of things, and ideally, all things exist and co-exist without any need to justify, explain, or force a monolithic meaning out of the beautiful and absurd disparity that makes up a human life.  So don’t force—flow. 

Here are a few lists you might try making into poems.  Bon chance!

1)    grocery list
2)    imperative list—second person
3)    list of books
4)    to do list
5)    “I will. . .” list
6)    a list of favorite dresses, actors, plays, shoes, etc.
7)    a list of medications
8)    list of things you love/hate about____________
9)    a list of America
10)  a list of ten things you see from wherever it is you’re sitting



legwear:  grey herringbone tights to match the grey weather

inspiration:  radiohead "in rainbow" and c.'s "how to be spring"

looking forward:  performing in tomorrow night's show at muse with lalage

Sunday, January 8, 2012

that greeny flower


i spent a couple of hours with william carlos williams' poem "asphodel, that greeny flower" this morning (one hour of this study time was during church this morning, testimony meeting, which my hilarious daughter lovingly calls 'open mic night.')

it's a beautiful confessional love poem, about gardens, love, forgiveness, death, the sea, hell, and the way in which the atom bomb changed love, forgiveness, and the poetic line forever.

"I bring you/ a last flower. Don't think// that because I say this/ in a poem/ it can be treated lightly// or that the facts will not uphold it./ Are not facts flowers/ and flowers facts// or poems flowers/ or all works of the imagination,/ interchangeable?"

williams asks his wife's forgiveness for his infidelity and his inattention to her because of the time he spent living two lives crammed into one. you want to think he's a d-bag (he's always asking forgiveness--remember the plums? i always thought the speaker in that poem was a little d-baggy), but he manages to come across as so honest and vulnerable and broken that we forgive him, and in the end, she forgives him, too. he writes from the winter time, but imagines spring, and her forgiveness enables a sort of new flowering, albeit by a pale and odorless flower, for williams at the end of his life.

"after a lifetime,/ it is as if// a sweet-scented flower/ were poised/ and for me did open."

this took me to new years, the snow outside, a very faint glimmer of spring at the edges of my imagination. i always go through the same process at new year's time:

1) i vow to not make any resolutions
2) then i vow to only make one resolution
3) then i vow to make only three resolutions
4) then i make a whole complicated list
5) the next year i realize that i sort of did one or two things on the list
6) i repeat the process, often including some of the resolutions that i've made year after year and not even been moderately successful in keeping

so.

here's my long and unwieldy list, which i probably won't keep, but is at least an expression of intent:

MUSIC

this year i did less music than in almost any year of my life. sad. maybe that's why i feel empty? thus i want to:

*take voice lessons
*sing in church choir
*rehearse once a week with lalage
*start a youtube channel for lalage

POETRY

i have a chapbook and two complete manuscripts of poems pretty much ready to go, but lacked the wherewithal to send to publishers, etc. last year. am toying with the idea of publishing them under christian's record label, and circumventing the vast amount of time and money it takes to get a "real" publisher to put them out (i spent two years and probably 1500 bucks on submission fees and mailing fees getting Alburnum published). would love to hear other poets' thoughts. i know it totally de-legitimizes your work to self-publish in the eyes of certain people, but if you look carefully, it's pretty much a racket. and hey, william blake did it.

but, as i've said before on my other blog, one of my rules is no work on publication unless i'm spending a certain amount of time writing.

*continue daily poetic practice
*publish a physic at the table--chapbook
*publish gentian weaves her fringes--full length book
*revise and send out four windows with flamboyant tracery--full length book

HEALTH

*get outside more (this is one i make every year and NEVER do. i can't explain my aversion to the outdoors. could it be agoraphobia?)
*continue yoga practice
*drink more water
*limit screen time

SCREENWRITING

two screenplays i want to write, and i'll just give their code names below in case someone decides to steal my amazing ideas and make millions off of them.

*alice
*francesca

SPIRITUAL/EMOTIONAL

*judge less (another every year res--i think i got a little better on this one this year, even if only i can tell)
*pay attention more

i really, really love new year's resolutions, i have to say. i have a penchant for starting over. my therapist once told me, "you're good at beginnings. we have to figure out how to make the middles more fun for you."

a good thought. i'm working on it.

but i figure it's totally legit to start over again in january, so here i am.

where are you?

p.s. legwear: leopard tights. and i wore my new pearl colored h&m dress. i spotted women at church wearing: black tights, grey woolen tights, blue striped tights, houndstooth tights. it's tights season here in utah. i spotted younger girls in red tights, mustard tights, sparkly tights, black tights and white tights. it's a festival of legwear.