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>Two Posts in One

February 9, 2011


It’s come to my attention lately that most of my friends “back home” (now I sound like I’m from the boonies…”Mah fry-ends bay-ack hoome be missin’ me”) use this blog as a way to keep up with my life here on the West Coast. SO…in an effort to not bore the bollocks out of the rest of you who don’t care about my guacamole and kale diet (just kidding, I can, like, totally, eat more than that), I’ll direct you to the second half of this post. For those of you who went to high school or college with me and had the pleasure of knowing me when I was twenty pounds heavier and eighty-seven times more likely to erupt in beer tears on any given week night, please read all of this, not that you owe me anything else at this point. I honestly can’t believe we’re still friends after all I’ve put you through. Gosh, I’ve been a self-absorbed prick for many of these years, haven’t I? Wait, here I am, assuming (and sometimes using force to ensure) that you read this regularly enough to care about every minute detail of my life. I haven’t changed.

Anyway, who cares, I’d read your blog if you had one. So…I’ve officially started working at the restaurant (no more training) and damn, does it feel good to be gainfully employed. I even got a haircut today to celebrate not being broke anymore. And then I made dinner. I know that bragging about one’s cooking isn’t thrilling for others to hear about, especially without photographic proof, but honestly, we ate it so quickly that I couldn’t take pictures. I made Red Pepper, Garlic Bruschetta on sprouted grain bread, Baked Thyme Sweet Potato Fries, Rosemary Eggplant Fries, and Lemon Artichokes. I should end the post here. I’m salivating again. All this stuff is on my diet. Jealous?

PART TWO: The negative space

…the air between lyrics, between chords. The pregnant pauses, the moment after the crack of the burning log. The stasis of a flying hawk’s wings and the clouds leaning over the horizon, and the emptiness in the separation of the ocean’s waves. The calm, the peaceful and the moment when the last guest has left the party and the echo of the door closing has evaporated. The house settles and we breathe, negative space.

We crave a place where the is no accelerator, no brake, no roof, no power windows, and no space bar–the great, departed nothing. A land of silence and lavender, cloaked in sunshine and non-specific breezes. A place neither over, nor under the rainbow, not beyond, not in the abyss, but here. The familiar, only stripped of convenience and choice. A land left to its self. A people devoid of influence.

2/6/11-echo park, LA, photo by Adria    
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