Actual Status Updates #4

Holly finds she feels far less lonely when she can be completely alone without interruption.
Holly is overwhelmed by sadness and wonder and anticipation and knowing that relief is so close only makes it more intense.
Holly knows she is being unnecessarily obtuse and that this is an act of cowardess.
Holly misses normal sleep.
Holly is harder on herself in this blog than she is in general. She kicked ass today. Huge ass.

Full Circle

Going to see Tegan and Sara at the Music Box tomorrow with Braden and Caleb and Jason. Almost exactly one year later. More prestigious venue--four sold out nights. What a difference a year has made--for you lovely ladies and for me. Am I right, girls? Good job. I like to think your success is still based on the strength of that last album and not the Grey's Anatomy factor.

I never did post my pictures. Goddamn iPhoto. I will defeat you this time with mobile uploads.

More actual Status Updates

Holly talks to herself out loud. A lot. Oops.
Holly's infected tooth has been hollowed out and so has Holly.
Holly's tooth antibiotics make her poop a lot, which seems medically backwards.
Holly is having a "Crying on the floor of the shower until she's basted in pruny self-martyrdom" kind of day.
Holly is wearing "Pirate of Death" socks under her boots. They were a gift from her brother, who thinks she likes ridiculous socks. She does.

What my Facebook Status Updates should actually have read over the last several days

Holly is barely keeping it together, folks!
Holly knows she shouldn't keep checking, but it's so hard not to.
Holly thinks her ass looks pretty good in jeans these days but goddamn this fucking cellulite.
Holly is prone to getting lost in the lyrics in new and different ways.
Holly's cat agrees that she is a fucking saint, but they both realize it's a joke.
Holly is mustering everything she has to not take one for the team on this one.
Holly is getting older, and therefore knows a little more about knowing nothing at all.
Holly needs to make time to write.
Holly can't focus, so please lower your expectations for the foreseeable future.
Holly wishes.
Holly keeps thinking about that Gauguin painting of Jacob wrestling with the angel. Is it Gauguin or Cezanne?
Holly checked wikipedia. It's Gauguin. Somehow she forgot about all the Mennonite women in the forground. Are they Mennonite?
Holly googled "Jacob wrestling the angel Gauguin". They are Breton women.
Holly wants to run and run and run but sooner or later her hip will give out, so she should probably go to work.
Holly is tired of being her own planetary system at work. A planetary system without sunlight because she doesn't rank high enough for an office with an exterior window.
Holly wonders why letting go of something painful always hurts more than the pain itself?
Holly can't help feeling a twinge of satisfaction about skipping two meals today even though she knows everything that is wrong with this.
Holly is vamping like crazy behind closed teeth. Mental jazz hands. Sleight of mind.
Holly is a salamander.

Holly needs more of you in her life. You, reading this. Yes, you.

Holly could have done more to help that dog this morning.

Americana, Americana

Photo by Ken Hively, The Los Angeles Times



Americana at Brand is a "mixed use" development that recently opened in Glendale, a suburb of L.A. Americana is an ultra-high end, open-air retail center, wrapped around a perfectly manicured "Green" with a standing clock, a showy fountain and statuary, traversed by an old-timey trolley, and capped by several storeys of luxury apartments. I could go on about these "new urban" faux environments which are popping up all over L.A. and the country for that matter. But for now, let's dwell on Americana. Here's a higher vantage shot to give you a better idea of the, uh, "grandeur":

Photo by Carlos Chavez, The Los Angeles Times

Last week I went with some friends to see the Pixar film WALL-E at the Pacific Theatre at Americana. WALL-E is about an endearing robot whose purpose is to clean up the (literally) mountains of garbage left by humans over centuries of wasteful and unsustainable consumption before they abandoned the Earth entirely. As we stepped out of the spectacularly over-air-conditioned theatre into the "street" where tour-i-dents photographed each other by the dancing fountain, the air was as thick with irony as it was with the canned refrains of various Greatest Generation crooners.

Ah, Americana. Why is there a little Eiffel Tower perched atop your cute steampunk elevator shaft? Was it a gift from the people of France to the people of Glendale? If I climb up to the top, will I have better cell reception? And how should I characterize your style, you coy jewel of the San Fernando? Is it that you bring to mind the faux Belle Epoque charm of that other tres jolie gem of the desert, the Bellagio, or that you remind me of Japan's idea of pre-World War II Europe, as I've so often seen it imagined in anime films? Or are you, perhaps most evidently, the wet dream-come-true of that empire-building cartoonist who lived and died not far from where your fake turn-of-the-century street lamps now stand sentry in the somewhat dark night...at least until 10p.m.?

Taco Truck Night Re-cap!

Taco Truck Night!
Originally uploaded by hollywhat

While I indicated I'd be less infrequent with my posts, I never said I'd be prompt. So one week later, here's the post-script to "Taco Truck Night!", complete with pics on Flickr.
When we rolled up, it was apparent that the word about Taco Truck Night had spread... there were an awful lot of people in line for 8pm on a Thursday night .
While we waited a little while for our order (two tacos de suadero, two tacos al pastor, one taco carnitas and 1 suadero quesadilla), I took an informal poll of the people around me to see what they were eating and what they recommended. The group of three small, skinny dudes in tapered-leg girl jeans and completely unironic vintage t-shirts were obviously regulars (more so than those of us who only show up after Dodger games or boozing it up in Echo Park or K-Town), so I chatted them up. They collectively agreed that Taco Zone is the best truck "outside of East Los, or at least this side of the river" and crowed approvingly and knowingly when I told them we had ordered the suadero. One of the Dudes was experimenting with being a vegetarian and was excited about trying the new Veggie taco, but his review was mixed. "It's pretty good, except I'd probably leave out the beans next time. And the rice." I looked at his taco, which seemed to consist of a tortilla, beans, rice, and cilantro, so either it was really good cilantro or he was being extremely generous.
There was no fist-pumping, no battle cries, but about 5 minutes after we got our food, a guy taped this homemade sign to the window of the truck:


Fight the power, Dudes.

of gates, locks, barricades and dams

More than one friend has accused me of never crying. I wish they could look inside my head and see the impressive machinery of titanium gears and locks I’ve constructed to keep the tsunami at bay. I’m saving us all from the epic swell of my emotions. Global economies could be destroyed, people. Or I could be. At least I have some idea that that’s why I needed to build it in the first place.

Shit happens to all of us when we’re kids, and we build our various fortifications and machines accordingly--which is pretty ingenious of children if you think about it--but the thing about how a kid’s brain works is that function follows design. We build our edifices out of the best materials and make them bigger, stronger, higher than is necessary. And when we no longer need them, they remain as monuments to our past. I am deconstructing mine. Some days I get a blowtorch and some days I get a chisel, so I’m asking everyone to bare with me.


***
I do cry, by the way.


***
As I get older I recognize more and more the importance of letting people in, of sharing, especially with people I love, so I am trying harder. The effort can be disorienting, overwhelming, mentally/physically/emotionally exhausting and it scares the shit out of me. But that’s okay. I’m not getting out of this alive, impressive machinery or no, and neither are you. Right now the main point for me is to do right by myself and the people I love, and to recognize, be okay with, and ultimately enjoy the fact that I don't have any answers.

Taco Truck Night!

To honor and protect East L.A.'s favorite indiginous animal, the newly endangered taco truck, tonight we're taking it to the streets! At 8:00, B and C and I will make our way to the Taco Zone truck on Alvarado, where we will stand united with other taco-lovers, pumping our carne asada and al pastor laden fists heavenward with a defiant cry of, "Viva la taqueros! Viva la resistance! Don't fuck with taco trucks!" You will know us by our greasy fingernails, and you shall tremble, L.A., you shall tremble...

This is just to say...

I've been remiss in keeping up this blog. It seems all but abandoned. I'm ashamed to say there is a fine layer of silt over this blog and that it's starting to smell funny. But I'm ready to start fresh again. I was recently re-found by a good friend after a tragically long absence. And I learned that, in spite of not having seen me in -- years, this person, who posts his own very funny/sad/insightful/nakedly honest musings online, read my entire blog, such as it is. It's hard to explain but this simple act really moved me and has inspired me to shake off the dust. More posts coming soon, including a few older drafts that for one reason or another I didn't finish or just forgot to post and then they just felt too outdated. But I think I like the idea of being on record about something, even if it's about something that's no longer relevant. Some things can be isolated in time, some can't but in the grand scheme of things, it's all snapshots in a shoebox. It's late and this is starting to feel too precious and possibly unintelligible. Fuck Bush! Here's my mea culpa:

This is just to say...

I got lazy
or distracted
whatever
The point is
I am back
to write pithy observations
and possibly
semi-coherent rants
forgive me
you will have to deal
until I get distracted again
or lazy
whatever