All posts in friends

the wall.

By On August 12, 2010 In friends, music, travel With 2 Comments Permanent Link to the wall.Permalink

we went late, at least we though it was.

to the underground storytale that was yesterday’s Paris,

with it’s old walls

and red couches

photos on the wall

of people who probably had no idea someday we’d be sighing at them.

will someone ever see a photo of us on the stinky floor

with the photos behind us,

or were we too late?

I think we were.

they played Count Basie

and we drank things fashionable back then.

I don’t even like Pernod.

but boy, watch them dance

the ones that can

the older black man

with the stubby white woman

he has to duck to get under his own twirl

and her little legs move so thickly

on little feet

but boy, they can move.

we clapped when we were told to

as if someone were watching us from tomorrow.

and the stubby lady kept dancing

I don’t think she gets to much

probably from being stubby

but at least she’s out there

while we watch and drink

dream and clap

all of us were tired

and no one wanted to go home before the stubby lady.

I think she’s probably still there.

next to the photos.

and the stink.

how we wish we could be.

the friday cinco 10 – luke st. germain [author, bell-ringer]

By On July 28, 2010 In books, friends, life, people, the friday cinco With No Comments Permanent Link to the friday cinco 10 – luke st. germain [author, bell-ringer]Permalink

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[I want to tell you of the story about how I met Luke, but he already did... in the form of a novel - so I won't tell you about that. what I will tell you is that Luke has a certain air about him that tells you he's already succeeding at whatever it is you think he'd be good at. and he's a nice boy. so read his book. and find yourself stuck inbetween the hell of going door-to-door selling paper, and, well, the hell of believing that it's about to make all your wildest dreams come true. well done, old friend. and thanks for the mention]

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okay… as annoying as this has probably already become – what is the book about?

The book is about how a beach bum in San Diego became a door-to-door sales cult leader.

and at what point in this ‘career’ did you realize the absurd comedic value, even, book-worthy, of it?

The absurdity is evident on day one, of course- that’s the only way to describe barging into quiet offices and cracking horrible icebreakers. But the deeper into “the biz” you get, the more absurd it becomes, until one day you’re living with twelve strangers in a house with no furniture.

you might cover this in the book, but did you ever find yourself believing the promises of, well, all things promised? a team? riches? nice cars?

I thought I would be a millionaire by the time I was thirty- that I would own multiple houses, and expensive cars, and be able pay off my student loans. In retrospect I was a lethal combination of naivete and ambition.

what was the breaking point?

The breaking point was watching the snow fall through a window and feeling depressed, because it mean that people would quit the next day. Then I realized that I didn’t want to be the kind of person who was depressed watching the snow fall.

poetic. and symbolic. but c’mon – surely it was something said, something you witnessed that made you realize that this might not be all that was promised?

Yeah, that’s the melodramatic answer. It was a gradual decision, though, not one specific event. I saw plenty of problems in the biz, but the real problem was realizing that I didn’t want that lifestyle anymore.

take us back to your prime in ‘the biz’ – were you good? did you make any money, or, as the book echoes – ‘ring the bell’?

Hey, you saw me ring the bell, baby! But yeah, I was good. Killed it in the field, but gave away a ton of money to my team- I made about 25k as a rep. Of course, the real money was supposed to come in management, and there’s the rub. There is no red sports car waiting for you. I made about 55k the year I was nominated for Rookie Manager of the Year.

describe one of the more ludicrous experiences you had while working there.

I gave this guy  in the San Diego office a ride home, and it turned out he lived on a boat. We had some wine on the boat, then I had to drive through the gate of the marina to get out. The next day I went out and rang the bell. Of course.

it was my Uncle’s boat. and your destruction of the marina property got me kicked off. anyway – which is your favorite passage, line or chapter of the book?

My favorite chapter is probably the one that describes one business type after another in the field. I always thought a good book would be “tales from the field,” just interview everyone and put all their best stories together. You never know what you’ll find out there.

so, published author. what’s next? please tell us it still involves writing.

Next is writing scripts (feature length and shorts) and working on the Rapture Club site.

any backlash?

No real backlash to speak of, surprisingly. One person asked me to change her name. So far the only feedback I’ve gotten from everyone is “Yep, that’s what happened all right.”  But who knows, maybe no one has even read the thing yet.

how can people get the book?

Right now it’s only available as an e-book. Either barnesandnoble.com or smashwords.com.

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r.i.p.s.b.

By On July 8, 2010 In family, friends With 4 Comments Permanent Link to r.i.p.s.b.Permalink

boat_31

this is the sad story of a boat gone too soon.

christened ‘scuffboat’, the name coming from the neglected home she came from – abused. cast aside. abandoned. if boat-abuse was a movement, this poor soul would have been pictured on a print ad in the rain, with a soft ‘why???’ as a caption at the bottom followed by a toll-free number. she was basically given to us for free [read: given to us for free]. it wasn’t a good place she came from.

but that all changed when we adopted her. told her she was special and different from other dinghys. and I think she even believed us. we cleaned her up, put some wood on the side and her dirty bottom and voila! a new boat arose from the ashes of a hard English Winter. she was the first boat to take me to my bigger boat. a family of misplaced orphans we were. I took her out when I was blue and she nicely tipped over to make me realize just how important things like ‘getting wet’, ‘being broke’ and ‘falling out of love’ were.

she knew.

and she didn’t deserve to… well, see, this is where it gets hard. not emotionally – I mean, yes, emotionally, but hard in the sense of I don’t exactly know what happened to her.

I lost her.

as in – I lost a boat.

thought my boarding the wrong plane was impressive? yeah – me too.

but, well… she’s gone.

I tied her up one day out on the mooring to go sailing and decided to – seeing how some bad weather was on the way –  tie up next to the boatyard – one of my favorite places in England. came back the next day and headed back out the next morning.

there was no scuffboat. no ropes. nothing.

some say she blew away.

other’s say she sank.

I prefer to think she, like the rest of her family, fancied an adventure.

and went to have one.

or, that’s what I’ll tell myself.

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boat_105

there’s a new tender now.

‘scuffboat II – the revenge’

we lover her. a good boat. could possibly be even better…

but, much like The Godfather Part I and II – even though the latter might be a better film, you can still never like it more.

the eldest sibling in me would like to assume this is how the birth-order works as well.

and this is not the first scuffboat.

that’s why my mentor has a more solemn look in the second photo.

shit got real.

such is our predicament.

-

Nick bought me a big book of knot-tying the other day… I tried not to take offense.

trippin’

By On July 8, 2010 In family, friends, life, my nephew, people, travel With 3 Comments Permanent Link to trippin’Permalink

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I have lots to catch-up on. lots, I tell ya. stories of Venice. stories of England. loads of interviews for the friday cinco. life. grubcrawling™. the-girl-with-the-great-name. and how I managed to lose a boat.

but all I can think about is the big trip. if I believed in writing in capital letters, the big trip would be capitalized. it’s going to be a very, very big trip.

now, yes. any scan through this little site of my hopes-and-dreams and what happens when I plan will tell you it ain’t gonna end up like this – but keep in mind, that was before. I was young. misguided. unaware. without direction. and without boat.

at least now I have a boat.

see, this time next year, I’ll be a few months into the big trip [seriously, feel free to capitalize it in your mind]. and brother, what a trip it will be.

can I at least list the highlights?

thanks.

may-ish, we take off – I say ‘we’ because I’ll be following Mel-and-Nick’s journey. pretty much crashing their party. but hey, when you squat in their homes for the better part of a decade, what’s one more annoyance? they did front me the money for the boat – it’s the least I can do to thank them.

okay, yes – the path. the plan. the Bi… ah, see how excited I am? damn near went against all of my grammatical beliefs there.

the big trip.

[may-ish. but I've said that. I'm on fire.]

- leave the UK for France [Mt. St. Michel - maybe?! have been trying for years]; spend a month or so making our way down the coast to…

- the Bay of Biscay; hopefully stopping in/around San Sebastian, which is one of my favorite cities in the world.

- from there, it’s down around to Portugal, where hopefully someone can tell me what my tattoo means.

- and then across to The Azores. I’d never even heard of these islands before, but the fact that a large number of ‘scholars’ think it to be part of Atlantis is enough for me. and they’re gorgeous.

- then, the second-to-longest stretch, down to The Canaries. have a peek. good stuff.

- Mel and Nick will stay here for a few months, I’m going to grab a flight [not a sail, mind you - have been warned] to Morocco for a month or so.

- …and then. the Atlantic Crossing. 40+ days at sea*. just me and my little red boat.

- ending up in The Caribbean. not sure exactly where, but I’m not fussy when it comes to The Caribbean.

… and that’s it, the big trip. the very big trip. should be about 13-15 months in total. a lot needs to be done by then, saving some pennies [shockingly cheap, when you consider everything - 6 grand for the whole year], fixing up the boat [she's getting prettier by the day. except for the day when I had her tied up against a big stone wall and a storm came and slapped her around. but we're not talking about my negligent parenting right now]. and oh yeah, learning how to properly sail. I’m slowly getting better at that as well… slowly.

so – I leave the U.K. around the middle of September. head home for a few weeks to see the fam and my brand-new nephew. and then back to Oregon, as I miss my closest friends, the O’Sisneys. and they’re going to speak to the entire city about finding me some work. this is also the time when the book will be completed [tired of hearing that? me too. thus - a real deadline. more on that in a bit]. I’ll stay there until late winter/early spring, when I’ll come back here and have a few months to work on Absurdity and then…

well…

away we go.

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*I could talk ad nauseum about how much a 40-day solo voyage excites me. in all seriousness, there’s not a lot of sailing, per say, going on. the Trade Winds blow you and, funnily enough, the people I’ve spoken to who’ve done the trip say ‘boredom’ is the biggest challenge. that, and having to wake up every 15 minutes to check the horizon. but I’ll be taking no booze, no ciggies, no Facebook [!], no music, no one. on a very tiny boat. they psychology of this entire thing fascinates me. of course, I say this, but have never been alone for so long, not to mention with no vices. might get out there and find some stuff out I don’t want to. which would be funny… in time. but I want to do stuff – fish. read. shoot off messages in bottles with my information and then promise to visit whoever finds it. and find the humor in making twosies in a bucket. etc.

[I'm also going to try and find a sponsor who'll foot the bill for a satellite phone so I can send little Twitter updates along the way - I think that'd be a good read.]

so, you know. stuff like this.

adventure is out there!

or… so I hear.

tuesdays with tara – volume fourteen

By On July 5, 2010 In family, friends, life, music, people, tuesdays with tara With 5 Comments Permanent Link to tuesdays with tara – volume fourteenPermalink

I am at what I believe to be a distinct crossroads in my life at the moment. I’ve come home and it doesn’t get more literal than that.  But even more, I think I am attempting to finally grow the hell up, quite honestly.  I have come to a place where I am no longer content to be self-absorbed; where I want to honestly give myself to a truer listening instead of running my mouth all the time.  God knows I have talked and  been listened to.  I want to now give my ears and my heart to others in a much more meaningful way.

I have always been a compassionate person – I was raised that way.  My parents have taken in so many lost souls over the years. When I was growing up, it wasn’t uncommon for my parents to be sheltering one of our friends from school or a wayward cousin.  To this day, my parents run into people who thank them for helping out their child at a time when they needed it.  So I was raised that you open your heart to other people and reap the benefits of a richer life because of it.

I have always tried to be a good sounding board for my friends.  I am often the go-to person when someone needs a good kick in the butt.  I am known to be a straight shooter, doling out the ugly truth.  I am no sugar coater and people who aren’t ready to face the facts avoid sharing their problems with me.  It’s a role that I am happy to play. I think we ass-kickers have our place in the world.

But there were times in my life when helping other people proved to be problematic.  For the longest time, for example, I gave to others with the expectation that something would be returned.  And in a perfect world, that would be the case.  I don’t need to tell you that it is not only naïve, but just the wrong motivation altogether.  Inevitably with this attitude, you are bound for heartache.  People will often disappoint us or take advantage of our kindness.  This is a risk that you run when you offer to help others. Better to be pleasantly surprised when a kindness is extended to you in return one day.

Another misguided attitude of mine was becoming a bit of a compassion junkie.  I’ll admit it: fixing other peoples’ problems, lending an ear, being sought out for advice, all of it became a way for me to get high.  Even when people weren’t coming to me directly, I was always on the lookout for a wounded bird; someone I could repair; a place to put all of my energy [instead of doing  something boring like dealing with my own life].

I think one of the benefits of getting older is the ability to have this sort of perspective about ourselves.  I know I have done a lot of soul searching in the past few years.  I have managed to see both things I love about myself and things that I would really like to dig out, or at least tame.  You have to look at yourself as honestly as possible before you can get down to this kind of deconstruction.

I’m not going to lie to you: this process is often painful and uncomfortable.  While it may be rewarding, you are going to end up with some bruises.  There will even be days when you don’t like yourself very much.  There may well be tears and silent apologies into your pillow.

In the end, I think all we can do is keep our eye on the prize and that, for me, is knowing that by investing in the cultivation of our higher selves, we will one day reap the benefits of a much fuller, happier life.  As far as carrots on sticks are concerned, that one’s not half bad.

Bon Iver – Talk To Me

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Tara. now officially brilliant in two countries.


something from a friend.

By On June 10, 2010 In friends With 3 Comments Permanent Link to something from a friend.Permalink

[I got this email today. have you ever had a poem written for, and about, you? I haven't. until today. it meant a lot. thought I'd share.]

Sometimes you meet people or a blessed to find a person that you think you know. It is easy and natural and kind in it’s smoothness. This is what I think I know of you:

You fall in love too easily like Sarah Vaughn,
You fall in love too fast.
You fall in love too hard like Billie Holiday,
For it to ever last.
You fall in love with the swoop of a curve,
The sound of a voice,
The beauty in the etchings of time.
Fall deeply for the strum of an instrument at a master’s fingers,
The newness of a life beginning,
The dirtiness of things survived time and man.
Fickle like the wind your attention drawn to find the beauty in what many deem the mundane.
Soft and hard, molded after Zephyr, coming in from the west- curious and fervent and bold.
You touch everything you see,
You taste everything you smell
You grasp everything that appeals to your ears.
Childlike you wonder and are filled with wonder.
The world is your palace and you explore it with the appetite of the gods- savoring each moment and never completely filled- desiring more and more.
Even when your bones are weary and your mind restless you still yearn for what other magics and marvels and miracles are yet to be opened up to you.
Search and find, search and find, search and find.
You find and still search for what? You do not know,
But it is a drug,
And you are a junkie,
Looking for your next fix.
You find it in the arms of a woman- supple and soft
You find it in the spices of a new culture- overwhelming spices that make your eyes water and your nostrils flare and your mouth salivate
You find it in the small moments- cool grass between your toes, the wind in your hair, the sun kissing your skin when no one is there
But it’s fleeting and lonely and beautiful.
Search and find, search and find, and search and search and search.
You smile and are seemingly content.
But in the quietness of the hours,
When the stars shine down on you,
When your belly is full of the richness the earth provides,
When your head is nestled in it’s pillow,
Your heart screams to the heavens-
Fill me full,
Gorge me with wisdoms and secrets,
Show me the darkest darkness
The brightest light
The most stunning beauty
The bitterest heartache
The sweetest kindness
Never contented because you only content in the moment.

I won’t finish this because I don’t want it to seem like I truly know you and may perhaps offend you. This is just something that I see in you and I could be completely wrong.

[Kimberly Barteau]

the days of your.

By On June 1, 2010 In family, friends, life, my nephew, people, photos With 3 Comments Permanent Link to the days of your.Permalink

I can’t tell you how much I love this shot – it was sent to me today, after talking with the few friends still left in China.

Don Yap, photographer, named it ‘The Last Supper?’ and you can kind of see why.

this was every night.

of every day.

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there will be a time when I hope my nephew asks ‘what was it like?’ and I’ll show him this.

it was like this, nephew; drinks and smokes and sex surrounded by writers and producers and thinkers and cocktails… movie-makers and musicians that could talk backwards, artists and dancers with food piled high, high, high. we had no tomorrow, I can’t seem to remember one. late-nights were the nights, nephew, I didn’t see all that much of the a.m., and that probably is what kept us somewhat sane. there were no consequences, or so we all told ourselves, none there, at least – maybe later on. and there was love… maybe not the real kind, but it was there anyway. people were doing, people were doing – it’s something I think we all miss, the people who do. this magazine and that fashion line and this recipe – some failed, some didn’t, but that didn’t matter, because we were doing.

it might have all been too much, nephew – but this shot seems to sum it up.

we were there, before it all went crazy.

when they wanted us in.

and let us do what we wanted.

this was Shanghai, circa 2006.

and nephew-of-mine, someday I’ll tell you all a few of the stories.

’cause this, this…

was our sixties.

boyfriends.

By On June 1, 2010 In friends, music With 3 Comments Permanent Link to boyfriends.Permalink

I love boys.

take that however you wish.

the boys I love are not the manliest of men – apologies to those who think they are.

not that they’re girly [well - most of them aren't]. if they play softball, no doubt it’s to impress their kids. and if you find them fixing anything mechanical, rest assured it’s something that doesn’t belong to them.

but my guys, my boyfriends… I love ‘em.

after a lifetime of trying to impress, to be cool and know things others don’t – but should, I’m finally resting comfortably in what I love.

my boys bein’ one of them.

most nights, I take lots of time making dinner, pick a bottle of wine and walk upstairs to a hard drive full of Boston Legal. see, that’s a show about men-loving-men, and there’s not a night on the balcony when I don’t wish for being able to do that with my friend Tim, drinking and laughing about things others might find not funny. the occasional discussion about girls, religion or the adverse affects of Tramadol. a nightly celebration of friendship.

a long, long time ago, there were 3 friends, friends I loved so much that I had no problem walking in-between them holding onto their arms. I liked it. I think they did too – save for the few weeks I had a sarong-fetish.

even Ryan, my high-school b.f.f. and I, seemed to be hugging in every photo as well – when we weren’t running around naked… raise an eyebrow if you will, but I love any male friend who doesn’t mind dropping normal guidelines we’re meant to follow.

[eyes still straight-ahead when making a public #1 though - man's got to have some sort of principles]

but boys.

my boys.

boys like Tim and the 2 former pals and Ryan

… I love my boys.

this morning, I was blue. it doesn’t happen much. but sometimes it does. another boyfriend of mine, Adam, had, a few days prior, sent me an email with some questions about some things. I didn’t have time to write him back then, but this morning, as Leonard Cohen tried to convince me that even guys like him have problems, I wrote Adam back. my answers had nothing to do with his questions. it had nothing to do with my blues. it really just had to do with Leonard.

see, had it been a girl I was writing, my admittance of listening to Leonard might earn me an ‘awwwww, honey’ or ‘how sweet’ or something that could be said during hugging or need to be italicized… which is nice.

but it wasn’t what I needed today.

Adam, on the other hand, will know exactly what I’m going through by my early-morning admittance of having Leonard Cohen on. I don’t need to tell him it’s ‘Ten New Songs’, because, well, he could probably know that by the hour of the email I sent him. he might write me back about me, him, the blues, Leonard or something entirely different… it doesn’t really matter – not when you reach out to the boys.

these boys of mine are hand-picked. and they’re good. they’re my boys.

so, go ahead with your high-fives and tequila shots, your quotes from The Hangover and button-up shirts. if that’s where you find your need during the random blues, but me – I’m gonna go love on my boys.

putting my and Tim’s face on Denny Crane and Alan Shore.

and responding to Adam’s questions with album answers.

stuff like that.

’cause, let’s be honest…

Leonard never wrote a song about light beer.

dogs

By On May 19, 2010 In films, friends, music, people, work With 4 Comments Permanent Link to dogsPermalink

I occasionally get asked to take part in some strange things.

for example, during a 6-month period in 2009, I was a consultant for a Swiss Bank. honest-engine. didn’t talk about it because of obvious reasons. I was also asked to produce an adult film back-in-the-day [behind the lens, thankfully - as porn 'shorts' have yet to take off], which I did, but then was asked to destroy the tape a few weeks later. this is also 100% true. and recently, I was asked to write a few hundred words for an upcoming exhibition in Las Vegas on ‘marketing for the social media generation’. me. writing something about ‘marketing’. the guy who bought his degree from a site called ‘phony diploma’.

anyway.

I thought long-and-hard for 2 minutes – a reoccurring time with me [see above] and came up with nothing at all. sorry about that, guys. if there’s a q-and-a for clever adult film titles ['late for rent'], then I’m your man. but ‘marketing’? no.

I went upstairs and showered.

and then it hit me.

Jon Garrou.

now – having already written of a slightly illegal/sinful employment past, the admittance to thinking about an old high school chum while lathered in a body wash called ‘strawberry milkshake’ should tell you I have no business writing any sort of guidelines for any sort of people who pay to get into a conference, but stay with me here.

Jon Garrou knew, at the age of 16, how to market something properly. he was kind of a visionary anyway, being the first to introduce us to The Lemonheads [again - best album to come out of the 90's] and phrases that borderlined the absurd, but somehow worked [they escape me now - but trust they were ground-breaking].

one day, after a basketball game, he forever planted himself in my daily life.

think about that – I knew the guy for 4 years, haven’t seen him since. and yet, I think about him every time I shower.

see, we had a friend named Gregg, he had big feet. they were often [debatable] dirty. someone commented to Gregg he should ‘wash his dirty feet’ and Jon pointed out that, in fact, said suggestion was asinine, as ‘feet pretty much washed themselves’.

I didn’t think much about that until I got into the shower that evening.

‘feet wash themselves’.

soap ends up on the shower floor. feet move around. feet do wash themselves.

brilliant.

and now you see why he comes to mind every time I’m naked and wet.

see, Jon Garrou knew something about marketing – find an everyday happening, and quickly come up with truncated catchy statement – one that will forever resonate.

this post will make slight sense to you, I know. until the next time you get into the shower. you’ll wash everything, make your way to the feets and will, undoubtedly, think of a man you’ve most likely never met.

and with that, Jon Garrou joins another in the shower.

well done.

-

disclaimer – I realize the dangerous edge of blasphemy I walk, putting a photo up of Christ in a post that includes porn, illegal banking acts and naked men, but after searching ‘dirty feet’, I came upon a fetish I had no idea existed. and decided to put the Almighty up instead of some hooker with no shoes. I hope you understand.

the friday cinco 11 – [anonymous] [artist]

By On April 30, 2010 In friends, people, the friday cinco With 4 Comments Permanent Link to the friday cinco 11 – [anonymous] [artist]Permalink

it’s a conundrum.

well… it was.

see, I have a friend and, over the past few weeks, we’ve been exchanging emails about her work. I had planned on taking the nonchalant questions and making them into a little interview of sorts and then putting it up here and emailing her with a ‘surprise!’ but yesterday, she mentioned valuing her anonymity – which, in turn, meant that ‘surprise!’ idea might be a ‘bad!’ idea.

but then I thought about it and realized that she lives in [deleted], many miles from me. and I don’t see her that much… meaning I went ahead and, well, did it anyway.

good intentions!!

it’s work that the second I saw it, I was moved. and I’m not going to act like I know a lot about art – but I know what’s good. we all do. it’s like music. or food. we might not be able to make it, but we can tell if it’s palatable. [deleted]‘s touch-to-canvas is moving. it’s soulful. it’s sad. and it’s ridiculously good, as you will see below – interspersed with things she thought, and things she said.

[deleted], please don’t be mad. and if so, please forgive me. I didn’t have permission for any of this, but did it hoping you’d realize that there’s a whole lot of people who want to see – and that gifted artists whose work is kept dusty only become big post-mortem, and we certainly don’t want that.

the world is full of loud, of the next Damien Hirsts – as Ginsberg so fantastically put it - ‘…waving genitals and manuscripts’…

let them be anonymous, anonymous. let them be quiet.

-

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I sucked at school, couldn’t remember anything, had double vision and numb hands and as a visual arts major that’s bad. I found out I had multiple sclerosis and eventually got great drugs for it, but by that time the thought of going back to school was nightmarish.  And I still have a horrible memory.

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I am mainly self taught, have no reputable background or story..  and I like anonymity!

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Artists I admire are Daniel Sprick, Hans Holbein, Graydon Parrish (he is overwhelming real though) and I adhere to most of Daniell Kunitz’s concepts concerning the state of art and what it should be.

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I make art because its one of the only things in life I am fairly good at, which can be consoling after being a flop at most everything else.

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I am tired of showboating, shocking, envelope pushing, nontalents scribbling their way to fame… I have Stella Vine in mind when I say that.

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