Bloom

Bloom
—noun. 1) The flower of a plant. 2) A healthy condition; the time or period of greatest beauty. 3) The glossy, well-kept appearance of the coat of an animal.
—verb. 1) To produce or yield blossoms. 2) To flourish or thrive. 3) To be in or achieve a state of vigor.

Something changed this weekend. Perhaps it was the rain, which we haven't seen much of in the past two months. (This is Seattle, right?) Maybe it was having visitors from California. Not entirely sure. But the difficulty I've been feeling recently is slowly receding, making me less anxious and feeling less hopeless.

Spring is almost here. Buds are sprouting up everywhere, and it's been easy to forget that it's supposed to be green around here. The trees are barren, the bushes are dark and muddy. It's strange to think that in another month or so, the trees on the street will be so full that I'll hardly be able to make out the buildings.

But right now it's just some sprouts, and they sprang up virtually over night. The presence of sunshine and now the little bit of rain we're being blessed with is going to mean lots of bloomage. Color and light, rather than black dirt and wet sludge.


Tulips and daffodils seem to be the late-winter-in-Seattle flower of choice; they are outside almost every apartment building in First Hill, growing like weeds along the walkway. Perhaps it's because they can survive the freezing cold, and thrive despite constant downpour and cloud cover. Like Seattleites.

Considering it's only the first week of March, if this bit of bloomage is any sign of what's to come in April and May, our daily walks may actually got longer and more enjoyable. From what I hear, there's no place like Seattle in the spring.

Posts for these last few winter weeks have been a bit dull, and I apologize. But it's cold, people! And I'm still working for peanuts, so going places is difficult. I'm already doing my research on fantastic places for Ennis and I to go in the next few months.

Patience. The cold will end sometime.

The Ultimate Conversation Starter

Moving to a new city has not been easy for me. The combination of knowing nobody (besides my two roommates) and not having a serious job has made it almost unbearable at times. It gets lonely. And I love Ennis, but my dog can only comfort me so much. Human interaction is not only desired, it's necessary to my very survival here.

I admit: I'm not very brave. Meeting strangers doesn't come easily to me. I can go to the movies, a play, shopping, the library—all by myself. But bars? Restaurants? Not likely.

This is where the dog park has been my ultimate savior. Because what better conversation starter is there than to talk to someone about their dog? I mean, c'mon... everyone loves talking about their dogs, because it usually leads to them talking about themselves. People like that.

The important thing for me is to remember the human's name. I never have trouble remembering a dog's name. I still remember all of the puppies' names from my PetSmart Puppy Class, but never ONCE learned their owners' names. The same is true for almost every dog I've met. Sad. But I'm making a point not to be forgetful this time. So far it's paying off.

Ennis has made lots of friends, and I've definitely started good talks with people. Puppy play date, anyone?



This is Ennis and Barnaby. Seeing Barnaby at the park was a bit of a trip, and I got a tad over-excited. I love Aussies (obviously) and, well... he looks like a certain someone I also kind of like. His owner Ann was nice enough to take this and send it to me. Hopefully I'll see him again once it's sunny more.

Up top is the apple of little Ennis' eye: Holly. Her owners Tom and Nicole are really amazing, and we've agreed that our pups are pretty madly in love. Ennis is a bit of a player, with girlfriends all up the West Coast, from Malibu to Fremont to Oakland to Arcata... But Holly can hold her own.

Plymouth Pillars has some frequent visitors, and Ennis is lucky enough to see many of them regularly when the weather is good. Sarah with Harlow (um... Whippet mix?), Tony with Baxter (Burnese/Border Collie mix), Lou with Foxy and Bear (Shiba Inus), Chris with Rupert (Bassett Hound)—lots of people with precious dogs, all of whom seem just as eager to meet fellow dog lovers as I am.

In a city with nearly 45% more dogs than children, it would behoove a new Seattlite to pony up the bucks and get a pooch to help him/her mingle. Especially in Capitol Hill, where so many young people are getting their footing in the world and building up their sense of responsibility. What better way to do that—to help learn your place in this busy, complicated world—than with a warm smile and a friendly, "Wow, your dog is beautiful. Boy or girl?"

Dog Park: Plymouth Pillars

I thank my gods every day that there is a "dog park" within easy walking distance of my apartment. As most locals describe it, it's more like "a glorified dog run", but it doesn't make any difference to me. Two things matter: I can take Ennis' leash off, and he can run. Bonus point: With other dogs.

Obviously this is the point of a dog park. But when you're talking about an area of Seattle that is less than one mile NE of Pike Place Market and amidst the apartment complex mayhem of South Capitol Hill, you'll be grateful for any amount of off-leash time your dog can get, particularly if you don't have a car to drive to the 9 acres that Magnuson has to offer.

There is no grass and no dirt at Plymouth Pillars. It's kind of like an English beach: pebbles and rocks, dusty and dirty. Some larger rocks surround a little hill that the little dogs especially love. Many complain about the rocks—"They hurt my dog's feet!"—but I assure you, they're harmless. I know Ennis loves them, and he has little feet. They give when he maneuvers, and I think he enjoys that. But who knows.


Online reviews have said that no one ever comes to this park, but as someone who has been coming every single afternoon that the sun is out (which has been quite frequently lately), there is always at least one person/dog, if not a dozen or more of them. The great thing is that almost everyone is in their 20's and 30's—and everyone lives nearby. The dogs are all well-behaved for the most part, clearly excited and thankful to be running free outside of their small apartment walls. Ennis is among these happy frolickers.

The guy who maintains the park, which has gone through major transformations in the last two years, is around almost every afternoon, snapping pictures of the dogs and sometimes their owners. Yours truly and her faithful pooch were snapped several times: 1, 2, 3 and 4.

What a stud.

Between the fence and the freeway is a little hill that currently has sunflowers planted. There are sticks along the fence with a dog's name on each one. Each stick has a sunflower. So come spring, I can pick mine! It's a very nice idea, and it'll be beautiful once they all bloom. Just imagine the view from the freeway! I can't wait.

Plymouth Pillars isn't much in terms of space, or to look at, and there is the occasional drug dealer or flagrant hanging around. But there really is a sense of community with the people who bring their dogs. Not a lot of stuck up people with prissy, designer dogs, which is nice if you actually want to strike up a good conversation.

No judging each other. I like that. Kind of like being a dog.

Plymouth Pillars Park
Boren Ave. at Pike St.
Seattle, WA 98101
map it!

Travel Sickness

After a bit of a drastic hiatus from writing—everything, not just this blog—I feel as though I’ve finally gotten my life together enough that I can once again start on a writing schedule I can actually stick to. Plus, it’ll give me added reason to get out in my new city and explore, which is entirely the point anyway.

I’ve been in Seattle for almost a month now, and I’d like to think that given my limitations (it's winter, people!), I’ve been pretty good about getting out with Ennis. Sure, walks could certainly be longer, and maybe I should be working on his training more thoroughly (he’s so close to playing dead!), but the guy is taken care of. He is, really. But distractions happen, and that’s life.

Traveling did not suit Ennis well. He is used to long car rides, having gone back and forth from Livermore to Santa Barbara, then to Malibu, and from the Bay Area to Arcata several times—the kid is familiar with the car. But at the same time he never has been quite comfortable in the passenger’s seat, unless he’s sitting on someone’s lap (preferably mine, but any ol’ comfy lap will do). He’ll sit there with his mouth agape, shaking ever-so-slightly, looking tired but refusing to lie down. As a result, his head will just hang slack. He also gets car sick, which is worrisome if you are the only one in the car. I’ve become strangely adept at sensing his oncoming hurls and catching it with something in the nick of time.

But Livermore to Seattle was different. The car ride was sensational. He was quiet and slept like a baby most of the time. He was curious, his head poking out the window when I would open it, but most just watching Kait as she drove. Yes, it was actually quite lovely. Little did I know that trouble was brewing inside my little one’s stomach.

Because he is nervous in the car, Ennis refuses to eat or drink. This is fine, normally, but apparently not when it’s a 12-hour car ride. Also, it probably didn’t help that I changed his food upon arriving in Seattle. What resulted was about a week and a half of chronic diarrhea, which happened without much warning at all.

And so began my exploration of the neighborhood with my pup, as he squirted his way along the streets of First Hill.

Those first days could have been worse, I guess. Sure, it was rainy and wet—even snowy!—and it takes a good 2.5 minutes to put all of my necessary pieces of clothing on in order to take my whining, pooping pup outside to do his business. But at least I wasn't employed! Therefore I could dedicate 100% of my time to making sure Ennis got better—good for him, but mentally draining and unsettling for me. Did I not just spend the last six months doing nothing but looking after this dog? Now he has to go and get the shits on me? Fantastic. What a jerk.

But he came out of it alright, thanks to my savvy internet searches on home-based cures for diarrhea, 'cause like hell I was gonna go find a vet and pay to get the little bugger fixed. Within two days, he was good as new.

Do-It-Yourself Doggie Diarrhea Remedy

First, cut off food (not water) for an entire day. Nothing goes in.

Then (if your pup is small, like mine) follow these instructions. Increase proportionally if your dog is bigger.

- 1/3 cup cooked chicken (try Kirkland brand, canned chicken)
- 1/4 cup cottage cheese
- 1/4 brown rice
- LOTS of water (separate bowl, obviously)

The key is nutrition. Don't worry so much about getting your dog to have solid poops. If he has diarrhea, it's probably because of a lack of water or something unsettling the pup ate. All of the above food is fully digestible, so your dog may not be pooping much at all as a result.

After two days, minimize the amount of fancy food slightly, and add a bit of your dog's kibble. Continue this for a couple days.

This cleared Ennis' diarrhea completely. If it doesn't for your dog, seek a vet's opinion. It's worth doling out the money if it means keeping your dog's runny poops off of your roommate's bed sheets.

8

I'm taking a break from my normal fare to touch on something very, very important.

With a little less than a month before the election, my attention is slowly being drawn away from defaming television ads, political femme fatales like Sarah "Wink 'Cause I'm An Idiot" Palin and Cindy "The Position of Satan Was Already Filled" McCain who talk so seemlessly out of their asses, and, of course, McCain and all his bullshiting glory.

I absolutely hate doing what I'm about to do because I absolutely believe in jinxing, and I'll never feel completely confident until it actual happens, but I'm just gonna say it:

Barack Obama will be the next president of the United States of America.

But James Carville said it best. "Call in the dogs, piss on the fire, the hunt is over." Or something like that. And it's true. End of story. *insert feeling of uncertainty here*

What worries me now is the threat of Proposition 8. This, of course, is the prop that wishes to overturn the California ruling that legalized Gay Marriage. To vote YES on this prop is to take away this right.

I'm suddenly afraid that people aren't really seeing this as a serious threat. According to various articles, some about Mormons and others about sad sad sad young people, there are huge movements underway to see that this prop passes. It frightens me to no end that something so great for gays and lesbians can all of a sudden be turned over and thrown back in their faces like they are nothing, like their lives and loves mean nothing.

It's been a long time since I've been actively involved in gay and lesbian rights; I feel a little detached from the community in the last couple years because my gay friends have gone off for other things. And even though there are only a few people who read this, for some reason I feel it's necessary for me to reach out and plead that everyone VOTE NO ON PROP 8!!

Tell your friends. Remember to vote. There is a very, very real possibility that this will pass. That cannot happen. It cannot. We can't let this state -- this country -- take another step back, as a result of hate and fear.

Elections must stop being driven by people who are afraid and who judge others.

Remember: Vote NO.

The Host — Stephenie Meyer

Leave it to Stephenie Meyer to write something that forces me out of my book review slump. It's been months, and around ten books have gone uncriticized. Hopefully, with summer approaching, this will change.

But back to business. Meyer's first book outside of her unfathomably successful (and addicting) Twilight saga, as well as her first novel geared toward adults, has immediately found what I assume will be a lasting home on the New York Times bestseller list. People are unabashedly drawn to this Mormon housewife's thrilling narratives, and it's getting less and less embarrassing to admit it. Stephenie Meyer is taking over the world.

The Host branches away from mere fantasy fluff and into the more socially relevant realm of science fiction: aliens, space ships, a struggle for humans to survive. What sounds like regular, run-of-the-mill 60's Sci-Fi movie plot devices are actually a basis for one of the most interesting and emotional stories about love and loyalty that I've ever come across in modern fiction—fantasy or otherwise.

The plot is as such: An alien race known as Souls come to Earth and take over the human race, using the bodies as hosts. The human minds are extinguished while the Souls—an entirely "non-violent" race—live to rid the world of all violence and sickness. Wanderer, a Soul living her 9th life, but first one on Earth, finds that her host, Melanie Stryder, is unwilling to fade away; Melanie remains as a voice in Wanderer's head, reliving her memories and emotions, forcing Wanderer to develop passionate and unnerving feelings about a past that was never hers. She "remembers" Jamie, Melanie's younger brother, and Jared, the love of of Melanie's life. Wanderer and Melanie become unwilling allies, yearning for the same man, and inevitably Wanderer consents to allow Melanie to lead her in a search for the family she knows are still in hiding.

And that's just the first 100 pages or so. And that is a simplified explanation. The next 500 pages reveal more remarkable characters, along with painfully conflicting kinds of love and loss that make this an intensely thought-provoking book. The Host, essentially, is an ode to the complexity of the human condition. The power of emotions, the strength of family bonds, and the irony of a fight for peace.

The strength of Stephenie Meyer's writing, aside from her ability to tell damn good stories, is how she enables the reader to feel exactly how the narrator does, every step of the way. When Wanderer is in pain, in love, feeling sadness or joy, we are right there along with her, and the confusion in her heart is reflected in ours.

And if you are a woman and you can actually read the last line of page 605 without shedding a single tear, you may not be human. I'm just warning you. I cried, and in the best way possible.

The first part of the novel is a bit slow, as Wanderer and Melanie spend most of the time "alone." And if you're an obsessive fan of Twilight and Bella and Edward, you may be a little anxious for a devotion of that same magnitude to creep out of the pages. Rest assured, it will come, but in a much more profound and human way. The writing really is pretty spectacular throughout—far more advanced than her previous three books, which were clearly aimed towards young and new readers—so I urge you to barrel on through the exposition. As Meyer has said, she "can't tell a short story." This is evident here, but well worth the time. After 200 pages, you won't put it down.

I loved this book. It shows love in a different, more complicated, less black-and-white light than Twilight does (though Eclipse comes close). Read this book and, like me, you'll begin an eager wait for the sequels.

****/*****

Meditate

I don't pretend as though Oprah and the things she presents to the world don't affect me. I love her (though, and I won't go into it now, I do have my issues with her), and even though she needs to stop acting like Eckhart Tolle's A New Earth is some sort of new concept, I have come to love Eckhart too. (I don't blame him -- how can I? He's ego-less!)

In the Week 5 class for A New Earth, Oprah read this. It's beautiful. Thought I'd share.

"Lost" by David Wagoner
Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you,
If you leave it you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.

It sounds a little like the monologues in my plays. But maybe that's cause the word "listen" is its own sentence. Not sure.

Road Trip Pictures

Just for those interested (and without Facebooks), here are links to all the road trip albums.

Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI

I have nothing entertaining to say with this post. Just sorry. I promise there won't be another mention of this road trip. Ever.

On the Road, Part V: God Balls! She Was Driving Him Mad!

This is late by about three weeks. During that three weeks, I've pretty much put off writing about anything else going on in my life because I knew I had this stupid, last Road Trip post to finish. I shouldn't be in charge of reporting anything, much less things from my stupid life.

Anyway.

Luckily this last account of our travels up to the Pacific NW involves one straight shoot down the coast and some embarrassingly fan-girl stops along the way (not just for Twilight this time). On our way out of Seattle and down through Tacoma, after eight years of dreaming of it, Kim finally got to see Stadium High (aka. The Brown Castle), where 10 Things I Hate About You was filmed. If I were a teacher, this is where I'd want to teach. DAMN, the world is unfair!

Once again, here we are loitering outside of a high school, THIS time while class is in session. The best part was how, while attempting to find a road around the school, Avaryl spotted two chairs near the dumpster and decided it was necessary—nay, non-negotiable—that she take one home. She wants to get a start on her "Friends"-inspired dining room table.

And all I could think was how Heath Ledger was once here, singing to Julia Stiles across a sea of bleachers. ='(

Moving on. Along the 5, near the border of Oregon, we felt it would behoove us to make one more loitering-stop: Kalama Middle High School—filming location for Forks High in the Twilight movie. And, according to their website, filming was set for that day. So we hauled ass.

Luckily or unluckily for us (take your pick), filming was NOT happening that day. But school was in session, which made us fear for our untarnished criminal records again. Luckily we made it through totally clean, only losing small portions of our dignity.

(I won't even let myself get started on the freak-out sessions that have occurred in the past weeks over the development of this movie... God save me from the Hell I know will befall me come December 12...)

Next, we hit up my dearest friend, Jenn Wood, in Eugene with the intention of staying the night. We had lunch, then got a long-overdue tour of Jenn's home for the past 4 years. But then, given numerous circumstances and realizing that we had a significant amount of time before the day ended, we decided to head further down south to make traveling easier later on. Then, instead of stopping in Ashland like we planned, we made another irrational-yet-in-the-end-very-wise decision to just haul ass home to Livermore.

What followed? Long drive. Loud music. Crappy food. LOTS of coffee. We're just incredibly impatient, is all.

Oh. And how could I forget? The world's greatest (::cough::dreadful::cough::) piece of literature ever: Taming the Barbarian, the romance novel that got us [comically] through our time together. Kim certainly picked a doozy! Considering that the reason to read such novels is for the hilarious, yet hopefully scrumptious, sex, we were certain it would litter the pages from beginning to end. Little did we know that God hates us and our girlie libidos, for the "sexy Scotsman" was just a big pussy pants with an embarrassing inability to make an effing move.

But what did we expect? Eventually we found it was more enjoyable to read the terrible writing and daunting number of similes than actually read about his pathetic, stirring erection—and little good it did him, quite frankly.

I've decided, when I'm making millions writing children's novels, I'm going to write pornographic 'literature' on the side and give it to my friends and family at Christmas time, bound in pink, perfumed paper and tied together with gold pantyhose. Maybe a once-a-year thing, just to keep me occupied. Obviously there are only a few simple rules that need be followed: 1) Use as many similes and metaphors as possible, no less than 10 per page; 2) Set the story in ANY time period that is not the "present"—otherwise known as The Real World; 3) Make the heroine as sexually frustrated as possible; and 4) Never fully deliver.

God balls, I could make a lot of money doing this! I'm an expert already!

With the book finished, our caffeine high waining, and our up-beat music getting slower and slower, we pulled into home, well before midnight, to our disbelief.

And then we passed the shit out.

On the Road, Part IV: The House of Yes I'll Take a Restraining Order With That Lemon Meringue Pie

We'd had pretty excellent luck on our road trip by the time we'd reached Seattle. We got free lodging and a show in Ashland, a rain-free, comfortable stay in Forks and Twilight-filled goodness, and a money-saving ferry ride o' fun.

OK. It would be unfair to say our luck ran out in Seattle: we still got free lodging (for two whole nights) and were hosted by mostly entertaining folks (whom I'm pretty sure live on another planet, but that is neither here nor there at this juncture)...

Basically, Avaryl's cousin John (or is it Jawn? who knows...) graciously housed us during our time there (albeit, in a cold basement on couch cushions), and he is kind of like people I knew in high school, x10. He and his friend, Tom, make authentic (I think?) costumes ranging from Japanese samurai pants to leather battle hats to big-sleeved tunics that smell like chivalry from... Make Believe Land? They were preparing to sell their stuff at a Comicon-like event in Seattle, so stress was bouncing off the walls. Plus, loads of eccentricity and dorkiness and philosophizing about various video games. It was certainly an experience.

[This picture is Marcus, Tom and John... in the sewing room... possibly unsure that Avaryl is carrying a picture-taking device.] Like I said: Dorks just like my friends, but multitudes stranger.

But then there was the issue of, well, Richard.

I won't go in to what was wrong with this Richard, but we'll just leave it at this: Creeper. Already awkward people just shouldn't be allowed to drink, especially when it's obvious they aren't around girls very often. It's like, "I'm fine without another hug, thanksamuch, and no, I don't want to take a shower in your shower with the broken door." I'm just glad that Av, Kim and I could all agree on him. By the time we did, and our nervousness at this man's presence (and bedroom not 25 feet from where our girl-bodies slept) had been established, we remained focused on the festive-attitude in the house. And John's effin-incredible lemon meringue pie.

We spent our entire one full day in Seattle downtown exploring. Mostly Pike Street Market, which was rockin' awesome. Too much shopping. Too much food. Too much standing around, looking at fish, which, I guess, is the entire point of the Market in general.

I didn't know fish could have tongues the size of pillows. The world is full of surprises.

Not sure what to say about the Market... it involved walking, talking with the nicest vendors on earth (they don't hassle you or anything!), and looking at things we couldn't afford and buying things we didn't need. At one point Avaryl and I banned ourselves from entering anymore used bookstores. They're just unhealthy environments, is what it comes down to.

We had plans to go to the aquarium ('cause, octopuses yo!), but they charged $15. Who has $15 to spend on seeing animals when it can otherwise be spent on coffee? We used aquarium-time to sit around and soak up the rarely-seen-by-Seattle-folk sunlight. And to paint each other's nails.

We knew we should have gone to actually do things in the city, but Tully's Coffee looked so inviting, and coffee sounded so good, and there was a fire inside, guys! So we relaxed and read instead.

The only regrettable part of the day was paying $21 for 6 hours of parking. It hurts just thinking about it, so I'm moving on...

Going to the big places as the last stop on a long trip usually results in driving by the various sights and refusing to get out and pay to experience them like normal tourists. So, with the help of our trusty TomTom, we navigated ourselves around the city, through Capitol Hill (the only place I can fathom living -- realistically -- in Seattle), then around the Space Needle, through Queen Anne and back to John's house. I'd like to think we saw all there was to see.

Except for the bookstores. Oh I love books...

Seattle was nice, but given our lack of direction and the unfathomable size of the city in relation to our time there, we can't say it was worth leaving Forks for. I mean, it was, but Forks... well, we loved Forks. Unfortunately, most of our driving-around-Seattle consisted of us saying "I miss Forks"... though, that could have been as a result of the extreme shift in sleeping arrangements.

Damn, I slept well in the Temperpedic bed in Forks... *sigh* How different it is in the freezing cold floor of a Seattle basement during the butt crack of early Spring.
Seattle is a great city, but it is, well... a city: good parts, bad parts, all that hoodlum, overpriced fun. I'm still considering moving there (I know I will someday), but for now I'm feeling certain a plan of some kind will be necessary before uprooting my poor, jobless ass two states north with no support group of any kind and an already health-threatening addiction to coffee and books.

And I'm too lazy and shy to live alone in a city. I'll become a hermit, despite all hopes to the contrary, and wind up like.... Lyssa! (Don't even ask -- we'll just say that she's the tenured professor of Depressing 101 that acts as the "mother" of John's house of men.)

Anyway. I'm fairly certain we were all looking forward to the long, loooong, looooooooong drive home that was set for the next day.

This is a road trip, after all.