Wraptease

It's December. You know what that means, don't you? Yes, children, it's almost time for Bree's Year-End Wrap, coming soon to a blog near you. This blog, specifically. Meantime, why don't you study the last several years of Bree's life? (Because I know you have more important things to do, and I like providing distraction.)

2008, 2007, 2006, 2005, 2004, 2003

Now can you grasp the magnitude of the task at hand? Look for the Wrap on 2009 sometime 'round January/February, depending on the intervening factors of life.

Kisses!
Bree

Thanksgiving at the Compound

Can't believe I haven't told you about the Family Compound yet! It's apropos now, since we had our first Thanksgiving there yesterday. Here's the deal: the vast majority of my immediate family has moved into a condo complex together in the thriving pseudo-metropolis of Campbell, California, home of, among other things great and small, the Pruneyard Shopping Center.

It's not like a kibbutz or like Jonestown; it's actually five discrete condos in an upscaley complex, initial purchase made possible by some shifting around of real estate and assets by my sister C. & brother-in-law Sid. The population of the compound includes both my sisters, my brother-in-law, my nephew Joey and his wife D., my niece Halina and her husband M., and my niece Ursula and nephew Zach. And five cats. The family thus far makes up approximately 25% of the sold units in the building, which means my brood will utterly dominate the HoA. The family-bearing units in the Compound are distributed thusly:

Unit 1 - C. & Sid's place: three-bedrooms, and the likely hub of many future family gatherings.


Unit 2 - My sister J.'s place: two bedrooms, one filled floor-to-ceiling with skeins of yarn (I should know; I helped her unpack it). Locus of crocheting and creative fiction writing frenzies to come. Also home to two kitties.



Unit 3 - My niece Halina & hubby M.'s place: three bedrooms, a laundry room, and likely site of much newlywed bliss. One cat.


Unit 4 - My niece Ursula & nephew Zach's place: two bedrooms, a sweet loft, and likely home of many poker games and Buffy re-viewings. Urse and Zach are cousins, and had been sharing a place together before the Compound was hatched up. Zach has a new kitty named after a maneuver in a popular video game.

Unit 5 - My nephew Joey & wife D.'s place: two bedrooms, an enormous veranda, and likely scene of many future Rock Band games. Hopefully also a hot tub, when the family rules the HoA and does away with the hot tub ban. Oh, yeah, and they've got a cat, too.

The married young couples are taking over paying the mortgages; the others, pretty much renting from C & Sid. It's more complex than that, but that is the pertinent gist. The only close family members not living in the Compound are Mom, happy in her own place for now, and Astrid and I, who are still attempting to eek out a living in San Francisco. I guess if we'd wanted to live in the South Bay, a glistening new unit may have been ours as well. I tried to convince the above players to pack up and move to the City, but it was a no-go.

What's fantastic about this whole thing is that all the twenty-somethings seem to be completely on board: everyone actually wants to live in such close proximity to their parental-types. I dig my family. But yes, they're weird. Present company included.

* Yes, I'm using the highly-gendered bathroom icons knowingly.

Dorrie

Wow. Astrid's coming home from her parents' house with a dog! Her name is Dorrie, and she's about eight months old, a mix of some sort, maybe pit and terrier. Cute, right? She reminds me of my dog when I was a kid, Biskit, who was also a black and white terrier mutt. Looks as if Dorrie is a bit smaller, and she's got shorter hair. I'm really excited, more so than I thought I'd be - the whole thing is completely unexpected. I didn't even know Astrid's family had a dog they wanted to give away. Seems Dorrie is a real city pooch: she tries to dig her way out of the huge yards she's been given to roam in the high desert, and longs to be with the two-legged creatures on the inside. It's a good deal: she's already housebroken, spayed, has her shots, and reportedly she's a real sweetheart.I've always been really ambivalent about owning pets, and to stretch the metaphor, about having kids. They seem like similar inconveniences to me, kids obviously the more labor-intensive of the two. I could easily live with never owning a pet, and therefore not having to deal with scooping poop, veterinary and care costs, the smell of dog in my carpet, the extra responsibility, the unknowns of their behavior--from potentially whiny bleats to the eventuality of all my shit getting chewed into pulpy sog. But my biggest fear is having to pay another being attention when I want my time to be my own. I live a somewhat solitary and often self-gratifying life. I'm glued to the internet. I contemplate about adult, human concepts. I write. I play with friends, adult, human kind of play. I come and go as I please. Will my self-indulgent life be altered irrevocably? Will I feel guilty if I ignore the dog while I'm doing my thing? Will I resent her for her neediness and be forever frustrated by her lack of sentience? (A crucial distinction if it were kids we were talking about and not dogs.)
I think there will be some benefits to having a lil pooch. It'll get me out for walks every day, which will no doubt be good for exercise, invigoration, anxiety reduction, and for accessing more outward social energy, and it'll be nice one-on-one-on-dog time for Astrid and I. And I think it'll also get us visiting with our friends-with-dogs more. So I think it might be a good way to get me out of my self-imposed shell more frequently. So I'm excited, if cautiously. I wonder how Dorrie will impact my sense of space and home. I wonder how co-parenting a dog will fit for Astrid and I. And I wonder about my threshold for dog slobber.

Bathroom

The office building where I bookkeep on Wednesdays isn't in a glamorous location. It's south of Market, next door to a detox shelter, down the street from the only food vendor in the neighborhood: a donut shop that also makes sandwiches. Still, I love the view from the bathroom, and I often gaze outside after peeing just to give myself a little repose during the work day.

This is facing north toward downtown. If I had a better camera, it would capture more depth, the tall buildings in the background would look crisper. I enjoy the corrugated metal roofs of the offices in the foreground. The view puts me in touch with the collective consciousness of cubicle workers everywhere who have nothing but carpeted grey walls to stare at all day.

Every time I use the bathroom in this building, I have to laugh at the idea of gender. As if it's not enough that the universal symbol for "ladies' room" is a silhouette of a skirt-wearing person, the actual key I use to get into the bathroom is printed with a floral pattern. I don't work for a particularly conservative company; it's just the way it is, no questions asked. Never mind that I haven't worn a skirt since approximately 2002 (at a dead celebrity party for which I was dressed as Dorothy Parker, martini in hand) and before that probably during George H.W. Bush's administration.

Inappropriate Therapy Dream

Dreamt that I was in a therapy session, which was also a performance review, with my client and my supervisor. My client was my ex-girlfriend N. She reported to us that the therapy had been enjoyable and productive so far, to her surprise. Relieved at this news, I then proceeded to tell my client/ex that it was time for us to start talking about termination, since it's clear that I should no longer be her therapist. I was nervous about "breaking up" with her in this way, and she was a little upset, but nothing unmanageable.

After she left the office, my supervisor and I chatted lightly and she revealed that she had previously done therapy with N.'s current partner. She then showed me cards she'd received for her birthday, a card from my friend Mag with pressed, dried sunflowers in it, and a card from my friend B. with pressed, dried tulips in it. As many of you no doubt are aware, Mag and B. themselves are a long-ago broken up ex-couple. And, as you can imagine, neither of them know my supervisor in "real life."

Venture some interpretations, dear readers?

I've had a productive couple weeks, attending to a long list of to-dos I'd been avoiding for ages. I applied for deferments, forbearances, and other sorts of formal pleading with my lenders to get my student loan debt dealt with, at least for the time-being. I wrote ad copy for my listing on the Psychology Today website. I went through a huge stack of paperwork, billing statements, and receipts that had been sitting around for months waiting to be processed, paid, recycled, or otherwise dealt with. In fact, I went through about four such stacks. I cleared out from my files any financial records more than seven years old.(Fascinating, the kinds of relics you find when you clear out old files. I happened upon the above bank statement from when I was a member of the Santa Cruz Community Credit Union a decade ago, announcing the local area code change from 408 to 831, devastating to me, a lifelong denizen of the 408 until then.)

Hmm, what else did I manage to do? Ooh, I thoroughly dusted Astrid's bedroom, since she's been sneezy lately, and cleared out a junk drawer to help make more room for her voluminous t-shirt collection. Next major project will be counting up my therapy hours for the BBS, a chore I will continue to dread periodically for the next two or four years.

I have no idea where this sudden spurt of organizational energy has come from. Maybe it's related to eating healthier? It feels really great to get all that shit taken care of though, putting things in order that have been chaotic for months, years. I like paring down the details, and therefore the amount of worrying I do about said details. Makes life a little more peaceful.

Food, Glorious Food!

It's been three months since my last update claiming I was going to commit to a new eating regimen, the regimen I've been thinking about for years. But I've actually been doing it for a week now, and it's starting to feel really good. I've cut way down on meat and the use of oils for cooking, I've totally eliminated dairy, refined sugar,* and alcohol, and seriously increased the amount of fiber and complex carbs in my diet. So I've basically been eating legumes, nuts, brown rice, fresh veggies, fresh fruit, multigrain breads and cereals. Tonight I had my first meat in about six days, some chicken breast that I poached instead of adding oil for pan-frying. I don't want to be this acetic all the time, but I'm trying to do two weeks of this sort of cleanse, and then introduce some cheese back in, and some weekend-only alcohol. I've been having digestive icks with some kinds of dairy, and I'm trying to be sparing with it. But it seems like cheese is way less the culprit than ice cream.

I've noticed a couple cool things over the last week: eating less, but healthier, food seems to be satisfying my appetite more than my usual food, without making me feel uncomfortably full. Specifically, I gather that the higher-fiber, less calorie-dense foods are filling me up and keeping me pretty happy about not eating as much as I normally do. This is the first time, maybe ever, that I've noticed this.

The other totally cool thing I realized today is that, even though it was an emotionally hard day for me (money stress and an intense supervision session that completely wrecked me for most of the afternoon) I retained the distinct feeling of not wanting to put unhealthy things in my body. Normally I would've dove into a burger on a day like today, or gotten Chinese food, heavy on the traife meats, but I stuck with my snack of almonds, walnuts, and raw cauliflower and I was fine. Don't know how long this'll last, but it's feeling good.

I will say, though, that whole wheat tortillas can suck it.

______________________________________
*Had one lapse: my tea at a fancy tea place was sweetened with natch evaporated cane sugar. But it sure was yummy. Thanks Mag!

Viva Ambivalence!

The blog formerly known as Ambivalent Fat Girl is in process of a friendly merger with Toothpick Labeling. Apologies to all who follow me on RSS feeds or aggregators or whatever the heck those are, because you're probably about to see that I've updated the blog about thirty times. I'm actually incorporating all the AFG entries here at T-Lab for two reasons I'm rather satisfied with:

1. I feel weird about compartmentalizing my blog topics, as if health, food, and fatness issues shouldn't be mentioned in the primary blog where I'm sharing my personal narrative.

2. I've got too fricking many blogs, and I need to downsize. Since AFG & T-Lab are published under the same blognonymous moniker, it's easy enough to merge them. And I haven't been posting much at AFG anyway.

If you'd like to read any archived Ambivalent Fat Girl entries, just click on AFG in the label cloud to your right. I should have all the backdated posts up and running here pretty soon.

Enjoy!
Bree

Spaceship

I dreamt that a huge spaceship, not unlike the mothership in District 9, was hovering over the cityscape. I felt excited and terrified beyond measure: would the aliens invade? Would they be friendly? I had the vivid feeling that everything that I knew was about to change dramatically.

Aside from the take-home message that marketing works (see the bus shelter posters, the write-ups in EW, the constant buzz in the blogo-twitter-facebooksphere) the dream perfectly captured that threshold between the amazing possibility and terror I'm feeling as I start my private therapy practice. My life is going to be altered in ways I can't quite imagine.

Keys

Had a dream that my old friend Ives, who I haven't been in contact with for years, created a mechanical gadget that he wanted to show me. I don't remember the purpose of the thing, but it managed to distract my attention from a pile of valuable possessions of mine. When I got back to my stuff, it had been messed with, but nothing material was stolen. I found the key to my apartment and the key to my new office bent and unusable.

I just received the key to the office from my supervisor a few days ago. When I left the office, I'd had a momentary pang of anxiety because I hadn't checked it on the door to make sure it worked. The dream emphasized this fear. It's as if I feel like I don't belong in either my home or my profession. Or I'm distracted by shiny things, by connections to the past, and not tending to my life and work. This isn't entirely true of course, but it's the feeling I was left with.

Blue, Part Two

Today's been difficult, a confluence of sadness and irritation, plummeting self-confidence and escalating fear. I've felt insecure with Astrid, who for her part has been cranky with me since yesterday, ornery 'cause she feels like she has no space and time for herself, especially since her summer work schedule has been so hellish. I've in turn been pouty and needy and self-involved to the nth. We had planned to go to a queer tango event, and at the last minute I said I felt ambivalent about going. And I was ambivalent, am almost always ambivalent about going dancing, because it touches so many tender spots for me: it makes me feel clumsy, self-conscious of my body and doubtful of my capacity to learn new things, to be open to change, to be open to what Astrid needs. I want to be able to shut off my symbolic thinking, focus on the moment, the dancing, the feeling of being in Astrid's arms as she leads me on the floor, but every misstep, every blunder feels like failure, feels like I'm not good enough, I'll never be good enough.

And then I get even more angry at myself and withdrawn, because I've heard this all before. This internal monologue of punishment is so fucking old and tired and old and old and old. And then I remember that this is exactly what I'm not supposed to do, what I tell my therapy clients all the time: feel your feelings of sadness, of fear, but don't pile self-hatred on top of it. Be kind to yourself. Feeling fear, feeling grief, is okay. It's not going to disintegrate you. Neediness is not going to drive your lover away. Be gentle to yourself. Be curious about your feelings. Breathe.

Too many good byes of late, and too much imminent uncertainty. P.'s death just two weeks ago, still reeling internally from ending my two years at the clinic, saying good-bye to my supervisor and to my colleagues. And I'm mourning my changing relationship with Minoba, and missing her. It's all weighing heavily. And then there's this craziness of starting my own therapy practice. Who the fuck is gonna pay me $90 to listen to them for fifty minutes, for christ's sake?

I did end up tangoing today. I'm glad I did, though it wasn't free from the above anxiety and sadness. I had fun; I always enjoy it more than I think I will going into it. And Astrid was glad I came, I guess. She said so, anyway, and she's good on her word. Just wish I believed it today.

Blue

Saying good bye to the clinic, to my co-workers, to my supervisor, to the organization that's been such a big part of my life the last two years. It's tough. I'm feeling melancholy. At the same time, I'm beginning my new private practice psychotherapy internship, which is so much more anxiogenic right now than exciting. I have no idea when I will actually start making an income.

I'm also feeling unsure about where I'm at with the person formerly known as Myna and heretofore known as Minoba.* We're wrapping up at the clinic next week, and then we'll have a couple days together before she leaves on a summer adventure to the craggy shores of an unnamed island in the north Atlantic. We've been enjoying each other, and it's been close between us, hot as always, but I'm feeling confused about what might be next. I don't want my presence in her life to inhibit her from putting energy into finding a person to connect with as a more full partner. It seems questionable at this point if Minoba can really embrace being in my life in a more "secondary" way, always for lack of a better term for this. I fear it will be too triggering emotionally for her to carry on this way, and on my end, it saddens me that she seems to feel reticent to become part of my life more fully, connect with Astrid more deeply, and accept my situation as not indicting in any way of her or of my care for her. There aren't any easy answers; I think it's just a wait-and-see thing, something that will unfold with more time and experience between us. I'm just curious and anxious about how much time there will be to allow it to unfold.

____________________

* I'm in a quandary, 'cause I'm not liking the pseudonym "Myna" at all. I hadn't thought about the bird connotation, and that just doesn't seem fitting. I've decided to go with a version of her original suggestion which was Gertrude Minoba, but I'll just use Minoba for short. Sorry if I'm confusing anyone. So, you heard it here first, folks: the amorous friend of Bree's formerly known as Myna is now Minoba. New and improved.

Where's Che?

For a good couple years now, Astrid, DJ, and I have been playing a game called "Punch Che," in which we get to hit each other in the arm whenever we come across someone wearing the iconic image of Che Guevara. It's basically like "Slug Bug" 'cept the entire point is mocking people for buying into the unintentionally ironic marketing frenzy around one of history's most notorious leftist revolutionaries. I'm not a Che-hater, though being a pacifist, it's hard to get me behind the tactics of guerilla warfare (okay, a punching game doesn't count as violent; we're all consenting to being slugged.) It's not a criticism of Che, it's a game making fun of the absurdity of all the lily-white hippy kids who have no fucking idea what Che did or what he stood for wearing his image. Extra points for Che-wearing white kids with dreadlocks.

OK, so, on Sunday, during the insanity of Pride on Market Street right outside the posh Zuni Café, where Astrid, Giddy Girl, and I stopped for a very bougie bloody mary, and after running into my high school English teacher, who is a dyke, no less, at the bar, I spotted someone in a run of the mill Che t-shirt, and got to punch Astrid.

Then not five minutes later, another dude walks by with a Che t-shirt, this time the Argentine agitator emblazoned, tattoo-style, on the bicep of the equally recognizable popculture icon Homer Simpson. My brain broke, and I burst out in uncontrolled, tearful laughter at the sight of it. I'm sure many of you have seen Che's image mashed up with Homer before, but I guess I'd been under a rock. The brilliance of that many layers of irony packed together into a gimmicky t-shirt was just overwhelming to me.

Sigh

I ate everything in sight last night. What was in sight, you ask?

- steak
- fried potatoes
- fresh strawberry pie
- cheese cake. Need I go on?

My bike is in the shop. Once I have it back, I'm gonna ride that thing like there's no tomorrow. I'm thinking there might be no way to change permanently the way I eat. But I can always incorporate more physical activity into my life. We'll see how this fares.

Regimen Anew!

Alright. Back to the drawing board again. I weighed myself this morning, and I'm now 227 pounds, a full 7 more than when I started this blog, and about 12 pounds more than my top reasonably-comfortable weight of 215. Still not the heaviest I've ever been (which would be 235) but way too much, nonetheless. I'm bursting out of all me britches, and this can't stand. So today, I start fresh. No judgments, no guilt, just a healthier plan for eating and upping the weekly biking/walking mileage. I'm still really ambivalent about giving up the gym membership, even though I haven't been regularly using it for months. Mainly, the excercize is going to continue to come from biking, which means more miles from commuting and pleasure rides. Now that summer's gearing up, I really have no excuses for not doing it.

So, the food. Repetative as this is, I need to re-articulate, to myself and the world, I guess, what my regimen will be:

* Less meat - particularly less fatty and cured meats. Lean meats and fatty fish are fine. In fact, I'm trying to get better about Omega-3 fish oil supplements as well. Fish is the protein source I've been shortchanging myself on the most since Astrid became a vegetarian, and I'm not sure why. Need to eat more of it.

* Less eggs and cheese - though not total elimination. Mostly, I want to reduce the number of egg yolks I eat in a week.

* Indefinite moratorium on deep-fried foods (good bye chicken strips and french fries, for now at least)

* Way more fresh veggies and fruit

* Way less simple refined carbs (white breads, pastries, et al)

* Less refined sugars, or almost total elimination. I may continue a regular small square of dark chocolate, but otherwise, gotta ween.

* More whole grains to replace refined carbs.

* Slightly less alcohol, but not too concerned about this one, as my drinking is pretty controlled already.

* More agua.

A very Santa Cruz weekend

Ah, Santa Cruz. I miss it so, but it's always such a treat to get down there for a day or two. It was a fairly spontaneous plan. My old friend Vnes, who I hadn't seen in at least a couple years, was celebrating her 40th birthday, and I decided getting down there for the party would be a good excuse to make a weekend of it in the old stomping ground. Astrid and I met up with V and friends at Coaster's, a music/karaoke bar inside the Boardwalk Bowl where the ticket included three bands: Santa Cruz locals Beaver Fever and Fainting Goats, and the SF-based Slow Trucks. We rolled into town at 11:30pm, so only caught the Slow Trucks, who I really enjoyed - they've got an indy, Pixies-ish appeal, and the girl drummer had a charmingly removed-concentration that made the dykes in the house all swoony. It was priceless to see V's face when we arrived - a really lovely birthday surprise.

Astrid and I then went to Exene's new digs to spend the night, where we were joined by other San Francisco interlopers, Raquel and Juju. The next morning, we all met up with V for the mandatory breakfast at Zachary's (sourdough pancakes! artichoke frittata!) and then Astrid and I had some relaxed alone time. Strolled around Pacific Avenue, got a nibble at the Bagelry and then went for a soak at the Well Within. Saturday with Astrid was the second monthly "Luxuriate Day" in which we are committing to a full day of intentional, relaxing alone time together, an unplugging from the internets and the daily grind and a turning on to only nourishing, de-stressing, and healthful activities for our bodies/minds and togetherness. Hot tubs most definitely fit into all the above categories. Astrid's back was feeling particularly tweaked as well, so she scheduled a massage directly after our tub, during which time I walked back up to Exene's and lounged with the ladies on the upstairs deck, where they had arranged a mid-afternoon snack of olives, gouda and manchego, rice crackers, almonds, and tequila for sipping. I opted for water at this juncture, but alcohol was to figure prominently in the evening hours to come.

After break time with the girls, I drove back downtown and picked up Astrid, and we set a course for West Cliff Drive* for a more brisk walk filled with sea air and beautiful vistas. We hung out at a couple special spots on the cliffs, holding each other and appreciating the hell out of our amazingly connected and yet freeing relationship. It was a perfect cap to the Luxuriate portion of the day. Time to party with the ladies and meet Exene's new beau, Caleb.

So we got back to Casa Exene, and Caleb was dude-ifying at the Weber, in the most non-dudely dude way. Juju was in close tow, making sure the grilling operations were running smoothly. We grilled veggie skewers with onions, red bell pepper, and crimini mushrooms; huge portobellos brushed with olive oil and a little s&p, zucchini, fresh corn, and various varieties of chicken and turkey sausage. For sweets, we had brandied cherries, and we grilled up some pineapple slices and halved peaches, serving 'em up with Raquel's hand-whipped cream. The word is decadent.

All the while, the lot of us were getting nice and sauced on various drinks of choice. Exene's housemate Fela blended up fresh-frozen strawberry margaritas, which were as tasty as they sound, but several of us, including yours truly, opted for the icey comforts of locally-distilled Sarticious gin. There may have been some wacky tobacky involved, but I'm not naming names. And as it happens when in the company of wonderful friends old and new, fantastic food and drink, and a bit of stoney energy, the evening and conversation eventually devolved into glorious and giggly repartée, covering any number of topics from singing-drummers to trying to articulate to each other, drunkenly, our personal most passionately geeky areas of interest. The population of the room, being filled with both academically-oriented geeks as well as students of the live-life-to-the-fullest school, came up with personal-project callings as related and disparate as sex and polyamory, to memory and the operation of narrative and story, to death anxiety, to semiotics, to literature, to Looney Tunes. And then the weekend concluded with a lovely brunch with old pal Oliver at the Other Must-Go Santa Cruz breakfast eatery, Café Brasil, where I devoured perfectly poached eggs on a bed of sautéed spinach and mushrooms, covered in a rich brown cocota sauce. My mantra for the weekend: good shit.

* West Cliff photo by Astrid; Link goes to Scott Haefner's site for some awesome coastal shots.

Light Speed and yet Glacial

It's been just about three weeks since this mutual crush was revealed between Myna and me. Over this three weeks, we've managed to spend time together, dream of one another, and continue to hold off on the kissing, on the sex, but the groping is something else entirely. There is something both glaringly wrong with, and completely organic to, our situation in all the grabbing, holding, hair pulling, nuzzling, clawing, intense squeezing, very nearly humping that we're doing together without having kissed on the lips, without removing a shred of clothing. It feels complete in itself, and also unfinished. We agreed this week that we are doing something very odd and awkward in a space that falls somewhere between friendship and dating. I wonder if calling it "dating" would make some sort of psychic difference, as I'm finding it hard to capture, and in essence, to comprehend what this is that we're doing. I asked her if I could call her my "potential future-lover and current clit-tease" and she was game. It's now morphed into just "clit-tease" for brevity's sake.

Why don't we get it over with and fuck, you ask (knowing as you do that Ms. Bree never holds off if it can be helped)? There are two reasons at present for us to be cautious, even though heavy groping is not really the most cautious m.o. on the books. One is that we know each other professionally. Our working relationship will end in about two and a half months, so that won't be a problem for much longer. The other, much more salient factor is that Myna is attempting to sit with the concept that I have a main squeeze, and that I'm not available for a full partnership with her. She doesn't have any experience with open relationships, though she's keen at the very least on talking about it, perhaps reading about it, and mulling over what this might be like for her. Meanwhile, Astrid has been completely amazing in holding all this, and our communication has been excellent—sticky in moments, but once we get to talking about real feelings that are emerging, we are tender and real with one another, and we give each other the spaciousness to work through it all. Although Astrid and Myna have met briefly a couple times, they haven't spent any time together since all this energy has coalesced and been revealed between us, so that will probably be one of the next steps that we pursue. Exciting, anxiety-inducing, and compelling, all.

Nipple-portrait of Lincoln

Wanda Sykes at the White House Correspondents' Association Dinner. Some pretty great material. It's interesting to notice the moments when the audience is really uncomfortable. The crowd bristles at the idea that she would encourage her kids to ride in a car with a stranger instead of Dick Cheney since he's such an avid defender of torture tactics. She's right on the mark.

Milkshake

I've been craving a nice, thick chocolate milkshake for days and days. Today, as I walked home through the Castro, I couldn't get it out of my mind. I was going to stop at Burgermeister and order one. They make their shakes with Mitchell's ice cream and they are fucking good. I imagined myself sipping it slowly on the last block of my walk, savoring the cold, sweet velvet on my tongue. And then I imagined the inevitable stomach cramp and feeling like shit about myself for eating something I really, truly do not need. I managed to pass by the burger joint, climb my stairs, and pour myself a tall glass of ice water. Yay me.

Eyes and Hugs

We are eye contact and vivid embraces and desire. As awkward as it is to hug someone intently while embracing over the emergency brake, somehow it's working. We're holding off for now, from kissing, from groping, from fucking. But the gazing at one another, the hugs; it's like we're lovers already.

Writing With Eyes Closed

I wrote these short pieces in two sittings. I've spellchecked since then, though.

Part One

As an exercise, I guess I'll just begin typing and see what happens. Nothing in particular is emerging yet, but I'm sure that's because I know what it is I have to write, and I'm simply afraid to write it. I'm afraid that I am selfish. I want to use people for my own purposes, which are not noble. They are base at worst and trivial at best, or maybe trivial at worst and base at best.

For no reason, at least that I can discern, it felt like the right time to begin a new paragraph. The drone of commercial television is filtering through the window to my right. I've noticed in the last couple days that the neighbors are listening to the television louder than usual, or I've noticed maybe for the first time that they actually watch television. I've wondered if there is a new housemate, or maybe the neighbor went deaf in the last two days, and now has to listen at full volume. I wonder how many typos I'm making. I wonder whether it matters.

There will be more time to write again. That is, if I make it. "If I make time," as if time were a product I could shape from raw materials.

Part Two

Okay, so I'm selfish. We all are. This simply means that I have needs. I have desires that I blame society for squelching, but I'm doing the squelching all on my own. Whether it's the internalized Father of Freudian mythology, or the paternal imago of Jung, or the conscience or the soul or God or Rama or Krishna or Moses or my mom or my sisters or my guilt, it's all of these, none of these, it's me. It's me, it's me. I am my own superego, I am my own stumbling block, and I guess it all comes back to "it's my fault." And who's blaming the victim now?...oh yeah, it's me.

Andy Hallett, In Memoriam

Andy Hallett, who played Lorne, part of the Angel Investigations team, died on March 29, 2009. He was only 33 years old. He'd had known heart disease since the series wrapped, and he hadn't been acting much in the last five years. Check out the Boston Globe obituary. Rest in peace, Andy.

Joss Whedon with Andy Hallett as Lorne.

Insatiable...in our dreams

Astrid and I woke up this morning feeling all cuddly, and eventually shared timid morning breath kisses and groped each other until our sleeping clothes came off. She told me about the dream she'd just had, a gorgeously smutty dream in which she was having sex with a current crush boy of hers among the throngs at a sort of pride parade for perverts. I told her about my dream in which I'd been making out with one of my current crush girls. My entire body seized with desire when she told me about fucking her boy in the dream, and I wanted her so badly. After we groped and kissed more, Astrid's urge to get on with the day superseded the urge to get it on, and so she left bed to make us a glorious frittata with eggs, greens, shallots, and garlic. I stayed in bed and got myself off three times. Not a bad way to start the day.

Biting The Hand, Part Three

Yesterday was awful. After only two days at the new sales gig (selling a noble package of reading programs) I bailed. It's been two months since I got laid off from the last bookkeeping gig, and the sales job was commission-only. After another day of only making $20.00, I felt too stressed out to continue. Every rejection yesterday was like swallowing acid; I was crying after every call ended without a sale. Given doing psychotherapy is such an emotionally intense process, and I've been able to develop a reasonably thick skin in containing other people's often wrenching emotional states, it's strange that someone on the phone in Kennebunk or Charlotte telling me they have to check with their husband first could inflict so much damage.

My shame about money is huge. I'm 36 years old, a masters graduate, and I've never made more than $28K in a year of working. And that $28K was years ago—I'll be lucky if I cleared $10K in '08. Granted, I had student loans til August, but due to the implosion of my grad program, I went without my loan check for four months from December '07 to April of last year. And now I've been unemployed for four out of the seven months since graduation. The recession ain't my fault, I'm aware, and it's certainly not my fault that asshat fired me in the disgusting manner he did. But still I lash at myself: why don't you have any savings? Why couldn't you have made better decisions this year? Why are you repellent to money? After quitting yesterday, I made an appointment with my therapist who I haven't been able to afford to see in the last six months. I went on a bike ride to clear my head, landed at a diner where I ordered, you guessed it, chicken strips, and then had my therapy session, which my shrink provided gratis, bless his soul. I felt like shit all day and into the evening; my eyes were puffy and scratchy from crying. When Astrid came home from work, we had a difficult but emotionally connecting conversation.

Today is much better. I woke up early and embarked on the job search anew. I've eaten healthy food in reasonable amounts, I went to the gym, and made contact with a job lead. I did the dishes, mopped the kitchen floor. Did some blog promo work. Had a brief but grounding afternoon visit with Magna, who shared some almonds and dried apricots with me. I'm feeling confident I'll get some income soon. It can't come soon enough, though.

2008 Wrap

Finally! This is an unwieldy one. Read at your own peril.

The Stuff of 2008

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* Astrid and I celebrated our first Shack-Up-iversary in February of '08, which really means we just celebrated the 2nd one at the time of this publication. Life is good.

* My school year continued to be put on hold through January…February…and clear into March.

* I became stupidly hooked on Facebook. Someone sucker-punch me quick.

* I launched a new blog about fat, food, and health. It's called Ambivalent Fat Girl.

* Rumors began to surface that we would have to move from our beloved TriBeSa apartment.

* Due to the crisis at my school and their failure to give me my financial aid check, I had to get myself a part-time bookkeeping gig to stay afloat while finishing up my master's program.

* Went camping with Calisto & Dave at the beautiful Bodega Dunes campsite. Had an amazing conversation with Calisto about the emergence of religion out of the death anxiety. I had a lot of conversations this year about death anxiety, owing to my lifelong obsession and its culmination in my thesis project.

Bree, out in the perilous and wonderful natural environs.

* With some diligent student organizing efforts, my graduate psychology program was able to transfer to another university in March and thus we began the process of completing our studies.

* Despite the relief of starting classes again after a four-month hiatus, the stress continued as I waited for my student loans til the end of April.

* My bike broke.

* Entertained Astrid's mom and aunt on a rare trip they took north to visit us in our fair City of Sin. In preparation, we cleared out the questionable material from our bookshelves in a shameful exercise in self-censorship. We did manage to take them to a lesbian wedding, which was quite an incredible experience (mazel tov, B & C!)

* The California Supreme Court ruled in favor of same-gender marriage! And in a hope-inducing move, the Court blocked a stay of the decision in order to ensure that marriages could commence.

* Saw DJ graduate from UC Berkeley amid a lot of pomp and circumstance, and, eventually, whiskey. I was hoping that the keynote address by Ishmael Reed was going to be really excellent, but it turns out that even brilliant authors become dumb fountains of "us vs. them" polemics when given a graduation gig.

* Continued to waste a mess of time and accumulate an uncalled for level of stress and anxiety in not writing my thesis. Yep, pretty much two-thirds of 2008 was consumed by thesis anxiety.

* Joined a gym and started "working out" as the yuppies say.

* Participated in the 21st annual San Francisco AIDS Walk.

* I finished my thesis. I. Finished. My. Thesis.

* In August, I graduated from motherfucking grad school! I am now the holder of a Masters degree in Counseling Psychology. Why am I still broke?


* Also in August, I unveiled Vintage Bree, a new feature at Toothpick Labeling, showcasing classic old anecdotes that otherwise might not enter my personal blogosphere.

* Entered my second year of interning at the clinic, learning ever so slightly more about being a psychotherapist.

* Bought a new bike with the help of many kind and generous friends! Humble thanks, folks!

* My nephew Joey got married to his lovely girlfriend D. I cried, happily, through the entire ceremony. Even being someone not drawn to getting married myself, I am continually amazed at how moved I am at weddings. And this one was downright staggering because I've known Joey his whole life, and he is so dear to me. In 2009, I'll also be seeing my niece Halina get hitched to her beau, M.

* Started looking for jobs.

* Vacationed with Astrid in Seattle and the Olympic Peninsula for my dear friend Callie's wedding.

*Freaked out about being unemployed, and then, after a long two months of searching, got a bookkeeping gig at CompuTrap.

* Began an illicit blog promotion campaign, with a reach as far north as Ontario, thanks to Killsbury!

* Proposition 8 passed in California, taking away the all-too recently earned right of queer couples to marry. Fuck you, Church of Latter Day Saints. Fuck you right-wing Christians. You've let your mythology seep into public policy.

* Attended a small reunion BBQ where I got to hang out with folks from my Jewish youth group days, some of whom I hadn't seen for 20 years. Glad to report we're all aging fairly gracefully. And I guess I'm actually getting some use out of Facebook.

* Astrid and I made the stuffing for my family's Thanksgiving celebration!

*Astrid's bike got stolen! From right outside our house. Fuckers!

*Visited Astrid's family for xmas for the second year. Feeling more and more connected and like a part of the family. It's pretty wonderful. At the same time, it's hard to be there for several days during which time it is tacitly, and sometimes glaringly, obvious that many people in Astrid's immediate family think that homosexuality is a sin and that we're going to Hell-in-a-hand basket. While I loved our visit, it was also a joy to come back home to San Francisco, the most abnormal place on Earth, where I feel normal.

The Annual Pop/Culture Reviews:

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Obligatory overview of my patented two-pronged rating system:

Prong Numero Uno: The Star System - to convey my idea of the "objective merit" of a piece of work (i.e. if I were a professional critic, these are the ratings I'd give the thing). Wherein…

* = fucking awful
** = a few redeemable moments
*** = worthwhile, with some reservations
**** = exceptional
***** = a rare masterpiece

Prong Nummer Zwei: Ranked-order – in each category, I will rank from top to bottom the book or film or show or album or what have you that I enjoyed most to least. This is how I would justify ranking Howard Jones' Dream Into Action (***) above Nirvana's Nevermind (****). Deal with it!



Books

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The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger (2003) **** If you haven't come across this novel yet, it comes with my strong recommendation. You may at first be put off if you're not into "sci-fi" or "romance," but the novel transcends or at least expands the concept of both categories. Henry has a genetic abnormality that throws him into the past and the future against his will, where he winds up naked, nauseous, and fiercely hungry. Clare meets Henry in his time travels and grows up with him from childhood as he fits and starts into middle age, having known her all along. Niffenegger weaves the story through a chronology that is craftily structured around pivotal emotional events in the lives of the characters, just as we weave our consciousness around mental, if not physical, travels to past and future.

Love's Executioner by Irvin Yalom (1989) **** This master of existential and interpersonal psychotherapy shares ten detailed vignettes of therapy work with clients who are grappling with dilemmas that Yalom sees as stemming from "existence anxiety" or the terror of death. Beautifully written and meaningful to lay people as well as shrinks, Yalom is always brutally honest and even fearless in conveying the sometimes very ugly side of his own countertransference or feeling states aroused by clients. In the case of his work with a very fat woman, for example, his fatphobia is hard to take in, but his ultimate ability to be accountable with his client about his own blind spots is the richest tool he gives his readers.

A General Theory of Love by Thomas Lewis, Fari Amini, and Richard Lannon (2000) ***½ Absorbing book on the neuroscience of emotions, written in an accessible language for anyone interested in the intersection between the mysterious alchemy of love and the physical brain processes that propel it. I would like to give this book five stars, but I have two major critiques. The language and therefore the concepts the authors keep coming back to are very gendered. For virtually every example given, the subject is assumed male, and male pronouns are used. The caretakers in examples about babies' brain development are always female.
I can't believe we're in the Aughts, and intelligent writers who are challenging the traditions in their field are still using stale old masculinist language. It was so obvious that I actually felt alienated reading it, and I have a pretty high threshold for this sort of thing normally. I will also say that the authors made short shrift of the complexities of emotional trauma when reaching conclusions about how the structure of the brain impacts our psychology. Otherwise, I have to say that this basic explanation about our limbic brains and the bonding we do with one another as a result is really informing my thinking about what is curative about psychotherapy, and why we are so entrenched in the sorts of emotional patterns we find ourselves in.

The Fermata by Nicholson Baker (1994) ***½ Like the musical notation of the title, Arno Strine can stop time in an elongated holding pattern. And what does he do with this extraordinary ability? He doesn't strategize some brilliant plan to conquer or to save the world, he doesn't steal mountains of money, he doesn't interrupt injustice or bring hope to the oppressed. Obsessively detailed and morally ambiguous, Arno Strine stops time and uses the frozen world as his personal masturbatory funhouse. I think Arno would enjoy knowing I was hot and heavy for most of the read; I think Nicholson Baker would enjoy knowing I was hot and bothered.

The Gift of Therapy: An Open Letter to a New Generation of Therapists and Their Patients by Irvin Yalom (2002) ***½ More general and accessible than Love's Executioner, but considerably less emotionally gripping. Yalom's eloquent, bite-sized aphorisms about psychotherapeutic technique read like a sort of Tao Te Ching of what heals in therapy.

Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger (1961) ***½
I had read this in my early twenties, and probably would've given it four stars then. On second read, it is still easy to become immersed in Salinger's precise language and the portrait he paints of the mid-century privileged and neurotic Glass family, characters he developed in several stories during his productive writing years. This time, though, a more mature reading allowed me to absorb the heavy-handedness of the author's spiritual bents, making me realize that my teenage love affair with Salinger (beginning, as is the case with most fans, with The Catcher in the Rye) had been a little doe-eyed. Perhaps there is something intentional in the way Franny and Zooey struggle to live under the strident spiritual mantras of their older brothers Seymour and Buddy, leaving the reader similarly oppressed. If you're interested in reading more of Salinger's oeuvre, including unpublished works, check out this wonderful online collection.

Psychoanalytic Case Formulation by Nancy McWilliams (1999) **** Not a book I'd recommend for laypeople, but a fascinating and useful guide to conceptualizing psychotherapeutic treatment for clinicians. McWilliams provides a way to understand patients' symptoms from a psychological framework for structuring therapeutic interventions, rather than looking at clusters of symptoms simply as ways to justify psychotropic meds. My single critique of the book is that McWilliams could use some consultation around issues of oppression, cultural diversity, and sexual orientation, and therefore improve the usefulness of her otherwise thorough text.

Everybody Into The Pool by Beth Lisick (2005) *** The Bay Area's own Lisick delivers an amusing memoir that juxtaposes her wholesome suburban middle class upbringing in Sunnyvale with her coming of age in decrepit punk warehouses in San Francisco. Some stories hit the mark with emotional depth and specificity (for example, finding a pubic hair from last night's trick between your teeth at the holiday brunch of a family friend) and some stories are merely Mission-hipster clever.

Among Other Things, I've Taken Up Smoking by Aoibheann Sweeney (2007) **½ A Mainer comes of age in New York City with a surrogate family of gay men who were once friends and colleagues of her father's. The realizations she makes about her own life and sexuality and that of her father's come painfully slowly after many predictable turns of plot. It's just interesting enough to pick up for a quick read (maybe on an airplane), and might make a good after-school special on network TV, but the characters and story are never fully realized.

Herland by Charlotte Perkins Gilman (1915) **½ I'd wanted to read this early feminist utopian novel for several years, ever since my days of hanging out at the wonderful eponymous bookstore/café in Santa Cruz back in the day (may it rest in peace). The novel is remarkably prescient in its feminist-socialist philosophy, but the writing is super-pedagogic and almost anthropological in style. It has value as an historical piece, but the story is just silly.

Films in the Theater

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There Will Be Blood (2007) ***** It is a tall order for most actors and most directors to create a fully realized, relatable character that is greedy to an archetypal level, and as black-hearted as the oil that makes him wealthy. Daniel Day Lewis and director Paul Thomas Anderson accomplish this in Daniel Plainview. Anderson also creates such a precise narrative and visual design of fictitious California desert town Little Boston in the early 1900's that he is able to capture something profound, if not essential, about our cultural and economic oil-dependent fate in 21st century America. Gripping and elegant.

Milk (2008) ***½ This film was right time and right place enough for me to weep almost from start to finish at the screening we caught at the Castro Theatre.

In the wake of the passage of California's Proposition 8, this biopic about slain San Francisco supervisor Harvey Milk could only have come at a better time if its release had actually preceded the election and swayed some votes. It is deftly acted by Sean Penn as Milk and Josh Brolin as his fellow supervisor and assassin, Dan White. I'm taking some points off for a screenplay that relies too heavily on voice-over/flashback narration, an easy pitfall from first-time screenwriter Dustin Lance Black (who, as of this writing, won the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay anyway. Certainly deserved it more than Juno from '07.)

The Dark Knight (2008) **** Since everyone on the planet has seen this movie, judging by its box office gross, and on top of that, I'm just about hitting my annual movie-reviewing threshold, I'm not gonna devote much ink here. I'll say that it was certainly one of the best films of 2008, arguably the best, and that's coming from a body normally not at all interested in the comic book superhero genre. Yay Christopher Nolan. Rest in peace, Heath.

Wall-E (2008) ***½ The first half hour plays as starkly as a Kubrick film, with its bleak post-environmental apocalypse narrative conveyed mostly though physical action, soundtrack, and the occasional beeps and squawks of the R2-D2ish title character. Definitely one of the most visionary of all mainstream animated films, with a firm but skillfully woven message about corporate-driven over consumption and environmental devastation. It was hard for me when I saw the film to reconcile the fatphobic forward-projection of humans in their adopted outer space habitat aboard the starship Axiom. There have been several articles on this topic, of note this one from slate making the case that Wall-E's themes suggest obesity is being demonized as part and parcel of mass consumption and of environmental degradation. And here's a counter argument at the expandrive blog that takes exception to slate's premise.

The Diving Bell and The Butterfly (2007) **** Film adaptation of Jean-Dominique Bauby's 1997 memoir. The book had been scribed by an assistant while Bauby, paralyzed by a stroke, dictated by blinking his left eyelid. An amazing story beautifully rendered for the screen by Julian Schnabel.

The Polymath, Or the Life and Opinions of Samuel R. Delany, Gentleman (2007) ** Probably one of the worst documentaries I've seen in terms of production quality and narrative structure; nevertheless, Samuel Delany, prolific sci-fi writer (one of Astrid's favorites) and outspoken gay African American savant is so charming and knowledgeable about the slice of history he embodies that it's satisfying just to listen to him spin his yarns.

Superbad (2007) *** You're about to read three reviews in a row featuring the huggably nerdy Michael Cera. Of the three, I found Superbad to be the most fun, owing much to Cera's grounded sincerity juxtaposed with the gruff immaturity of Jonah Hill's Seth and the newfound prowess of McLovin:


I went in expecting not much more than Porky's for Generation Y, but got both a rollicking party and ultimately earnest story about friendship instead.

Here marks the sharp drop off in enjoyment

Juno (2007) **½ Someone, I don't recall who, said this about Juno: it's a great indie movie for people who don't normally see indie movies. Since it came out in '07, and pretty much everyone saw it and everyone buzzed about it, I'm not gonna add much here you don't already know. I liked Ellen Page's performance, and I always like Mr. Cera. I liked the concept of a movie dealing with a teen pregnancy in a somewhat realistic way, and I also liked the concept of an underdog one-time stripper, first-time screenwriter penning what went on to be an Oscar-winning script, but it shouldn't have been Juno. The always-snarky dialogue, the pat treatment of the option of abortion and of the complexity of emotion that this situation incurs are just a few reasons that Diablo Cody should have lost the Best Original Screenplay award to either Tamara Jenkins for The Savages or Nancy Oliver for Lars and the Real Girl.

Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist (2008) **½ Mr. Cera again plays the same nebbishy sweet geek here that he's played in the other two films reviewed above, and as much as I was disappointed by Juno, at least that film had a story to tell. What Nick and Norah deliver is an updated version of the guy-searching-for-girl all nighter we've seen in countless other forms. This version has more gay visibility (Nick is the token straight guy in a (horrible!) homocore band) and a slightly more realized female lead (played sulky-brainy by Kat Dennings).

Knocked Up (2007) **½ I'm all for a film tackling the male point of view in an accidental pregnancy story. But in this one, the women are shrews and the men are schlubs, and the audience is decidedly laughing with the schlubs and at the shrews. Some funny moments, but not worthy of the hype it got alongside Superbad, the better Judd Apatow production of 2007. Even further than Juno's taboo treatment, the idea of abortion is anathema to the players in Knocked Up, to the point that the word can't even be uttered (a conversation ensues in which a character calls it a "shmashmortion.") See Katha Pollitt's great article from last year for more on this topic.

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (2008) **½ – Bugs! Snakes! CGI gophers! Evil Russians! Aggressive Tribal people! You get the idea – it was all predictable Indiana Jones tropes, but fun to look at, and fun to mock. And no one mocks (or socks…ahem) movies better than the Sock Tubers!



Ultimately, it was a hammy, poorly-written and usually boring $158 million Hollywood flick. I think Spielberg and Lucas should take a continuing education workshop with Christopher Nolan before either of them produces another action flick.

The X-Files: I Want to Believe (2008) ** Sadly, this was a major disappointment on all fronts. The plot is dull, the motivation for the characters to engage in the action is nonexistent, and the paranormal elements are about as mystifying as pleather. Mulder and Scully share some tender moments, but with such a scant plot, their relationship remains flat. And without giving away too much of the plot, let me just say that villains should always be gay Russians – très de rigueur!

TV Shows (mostly on DVD)

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Swingtown, Season One (of One) (2008) *** - the first TV series I've watched during its original run since maybe the last season of Friends. Spotty writing at times, but a fantastic premise, memorable characters, and really fine acting. See my write up here for more juice on this, one of the only TV shows to deal matter-of-factly with open relationships (sadly, destined not to last.)

Angel, Season Five **** The last season of the series was possibly the best in terms of dramatic narrative, putting the Angel Investigations crew in the Wolfram-and-Heart of the beast.

Freaks and Geeks, Season One (of One) ***½ Let's leave it to Bill Haverchuck to tell us what's what:



A weird comedy with deep dramatic leanings, or a drama with a sense of humor too odd for mainstream TV success, Freaks and Geeks gave one season of life and a multitude of dimensions to the kinds of characters that have been routinely stereotyped in Hollywood productions. Perhaps it would have fared better with a refinement of its sometimes awkward meshing of the two elements, but what is the high school experience if not awkward?

Firefly, Season One (of One) ***½ Joss Whedon does it again, this time inventing a world where the Great West meets outer space. No aliens in this 'verse, just a rag tag group of outlaws lookin' for gold in all the wrong places. A bit too quirky to score the ratings, the series was pulled before it got a chance to hit its stride.

30 Rock, Season One **** The much-acclaimed wacky workplace sitcom written and exec-produced by Tina Fey gets off to a frenetic start.

The L Word, Season Four ***½ A lot of good stuff this season: Shane getting serious with Paige while parenting her brother Shay is pretty great. Jenny gets even crazier by exacting an outlandish revenge on Stacy Merkin (quirky Welcome To The Dollhouse star Heather Matarazzo) the critic who panned her book at Curve Mag. Cybill Shepherd is very funny as Bette's newly-deflowered lesbian boss. The Papi and Helena storylines were kind of meh, particularly the tiresome basketball game. The Bette/Jodi thing was hot 'n' cold – I liked that Jodi challenged Bette's anality, but that routine was wash-rinse-repeated a few too many times.

The L Word, Season Five ** Best of season: Dawn Denbo and her lover Cindy; worst: ludicrous romance between Jenny and Nikki.





Documentaries on DVD

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The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters (2007) **** If you haven't seen this documentary about the epic battle of Donkey Kong champions, run out right now and rent it. Seriously. There has doubtful ever been a more dramatically rendered story about a subject so trivial.

The Times of Harvey Milk (1984) ***** Rented this in preparation for seeing Gus Van Sant's Milk later in the year. This is an essential documentary and a crucial piece of LGBT and social justice history. Can't believe I hadn't seen it before.

The Devil and Daniel Johnston (2005) **** Beautiful and disturbing portrait of Daniel Johnston, a forever underground, bi-polar aesthete who is arguably either a brilliant or awful musician and artist, depending on your tastes.

Who Killed The Electric Car? (2006) *** Illuminating doc about the politics behind the campaign literally to scrap the electric vehicles produced in the 1990s and early Aughts.

Red Without Blue (2007) **½ This doc has a compelling premise, about twins in their twenties from Montana, one of whom is a gay man and one of whom transitions to become female. The story of their lives clearly has a richness and depth that feels somehow untapped in the film. Perhaps there isn't enough perspective on the life experiences of these siblings and their family to put together a narrative about them just yet. This speaks to a Seven-Up! style longitudinal study about this family, and maybe a better film could be made about them 14 or 21 years from now.

Narrative Films on DVD

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Lars and the Real Girl (2007) **** A troubled loner's love for his blow-up doll girlfriend triggers a range of emotions from hilarity to tangible grief, thanks to first-rate direction from Craig Gillespe, afore-mentioned screenwriting by Nancy Oliver, and acting by Ryan Gosling and the exquisite supporting cast [Patricia Clarkson (who it seems I mention in every Wrap because I loooove her), Emily Mortimer, and Paul Schneider].

Persepolis (2007) **** Animated film based on Iranian-French graphic novelist Marjane Satrapi's autobiographical book of the same name. Gorgeous and lush in vision and narrative, this comic book revision's specificity in telling young Marjanes' story of growing up during the Iranian revolution ensures an emotionally evocative and affecting film that bests many of the live-action dramas in theaters in '07.

The Darjeeling Limited (2007) **** For me, this Tennenbaums-reminiscent story of a trio of blind-to-their-privilege brothers attempting to overcome their mutual estrangement (played pitch-perfectly by Owen Wilson, Adrian Brody, and Jason Schwartzman) marks a return to form for writer/director Wes Anderson.

The Savages (2007) **** I'll write here just what you'd expect me to write: Laura Linney and PSH were excellent, and, as noted above, Tamara Jenkin's script and direction were just shy of spot-on. I am a sucker for the right amalgam of drama and understated comedy; this is the stuff of life (and death.)

I've Heard the Mermaids Singing (1987) *** If you're a fan of the Miranda July quirk-fest Me and You and Everyone We Know (and I am) I'd recommend checking out this similarly odd indie film about an eccentric artist finding bliss in life's minutiae, which presaged July's film by nearly twenty years. (Thanks for the tip, Mag.)

I'm Not There (2007) **** Todd Haynes' gorgeous, impressionistic biopic about Bob Dylan, in which six actors play incarnations of the iconic singer/songwriter. To be honest, I was pretty lost during the "Billy the Kid" segment with Richard Gere, but that was the only Haynesian reality-departure, among many in the film, that didn't move me. Otherwise, stunning.

Zodiac (2007) **** David Fincher does an amazing job at crafting a thriller/procedural drama that keeps the viewer on edge while immersing us in the tiny details that make this story human.

The Visitor (2008) ***½ Walter, a depleted Connecticut econ professor (Richard Jenkins) goes back to his NYC apartment for a conference and finds people living in it. The couple, illegal immigrants from Syria and Senegal (Tarek, played by Haaz Sleiman and Zainab, played by Danai Jekesai Gurira) are victims of a housing scam and have nowhere to go, and Walter, apparently uncharacteristically, allows them to stay while they look for another place. A sensitively rendered story both about the current political and bureaucratic climate around immigration and about Walter's journey to rediscover life, I found it less emotionally evocative than the fraught narrative would suggest, but still a strong and engaging film.

Once (2007) ***½ - musicians inspire each other and decide not to fall in love. This rich and understated independent movie achieved such word of mouth success, they made made over $14 million on a film with a budget of $160,000, and scored an Academy Award for Best Original Song in a Motion Picture for Falling Slowly.)

A Clockwork Orange (1971) ***** There is no doubt that this is an artful, influential, and fascinating film, an achievement well above most great films. And, it's disturbing as all get-out. So while the ethical and psychological issues around violence, conformity, and "reforming" criminals by making aggression physically aversive are all immensely compelling and brilliantly drawn, I can't say that I wholeheartedly "enjoyed" watching the movie.

Kamikaze Girls [Shimotsuma monogatari] (2005) **½ - Japanese comedy about the unlikely pairing of two teenage girls—one obsessed with frills and Rococo, the other a surly biker chick head-butting her way through the world.

Half Nelson ***½ A fascinating, realistic film about a high school teacher and junkie (Ryan Gosling) who forges an important connection with a student (Shareeka Epps), through sordid circumstances. The film wrestles with its own self-awareness of moral ambiguity, even as it hands us some contrived moral lessons.

Batman Begins *** (2005) The first of Chris Nolan's revamp of the Batman franchise, and worth seeing, but pales in comparison to its 2008 sequel.

Matewan (1987) ***½ –John Sayles's exceptional film about the 1920 Battle of Matewan, West Virginia, in which a dispute between unionizing coal miners, local police, and detectives hired by the mining company to break up the union erupted in gunfire and resulted in the death of ten men. Rich performances by Chris Cooper and James Earl Jones, and Sayles delivers a narrative that balances the complexity of the relationship between Matewan's poor white and black coal miners in drawing out what is at stake in organizing for better working and living conditions for all.

Barbarella (1968, rerun) **½ – I always have fun watching this movie, which I estimate having seen more than a dozen but less than 20 times. I think this time around, though, I was perhaps the most sober I've ever been while watching the young, nubile Jane Fonda chastely "loving" her way through the galaxy and engaging in countless sexy-astronomatrix wardrobe changes while battling the evil Durand Durand.



And watching this campy sci-fi flick sober means being painfully aware of how ridiculous it is. A must-see if you've never, and do bring the wacky tobacky!

Serenity (2005) **½ - being that I wasn't a hardcore Firefly fan while the series was actually on the air, I wasn't privy to the fan-driven campaign to get the studio to agree to make a feature length movie based on the prematurely-yanked Joss Whedon TV series. So, in light of that, and even as a fan of the show, I probably have more to be critical about than a fan who was in the thick of the excitement that this movie actually got made. It was pretty disappointing.

Girlfight (2000) *** - A girl from the projects wants to box. Michelle Rodriguez, in her first role, delivers a strong performance, and the sensitive, realistic narrative is handled deftly by writer/director Karyn Kusama.

The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999, rerun) ***½ It's rather disturbing that this film made it onto the EW Sexiest Movies Ever list. Sure, Jude Law is easy on the eyes, but it's not terribly sexy to see him get brained by Matt Damon in a rowboat.

Pink Flamingos (1972, rerun) *** You've seen it, and if you haven't, just be prepared for both hilarity and nausea. This may have been the 20th time I've seen the movie, and (dare I say) perhaps it was the last.

Black Sheep (2006) ** – genetically mutated sheep take over the New Zealand countryside and start feeding on human flesh!

This Is England (2006) *** – A young boy falls in with skinheads in a small English town in 1983. Really nice, and by "nice" I mean disturbing, acting job by the young Thomas Turgoose, who'll be one to watch for in the coming years.

Flight of the Navigator (1986) ** Having never seen the movie before, I had zero nostalgia to bring into my adult revival experience; from this perspective, it's not so hot.

Cloverfield (2008) **½ – It's like The Blair Witch Project meets-Godzilla-meets-young NYC douche bags. I was shocked by the ending of the movie, not by the scary monster, but by the abrupt ending to the doomed love story, frozen in the rubble under a bridge in "US-447, area formerly known as Central Park."

Yuppies roam the streets of New York

While the protagonist's film-long search for his longtime friend and recent lover was cliché, there was something satisfying about the kind of nihilistic statement the film seems to be making that in the end it's impossible to redeem oneself through love. Meditating on this, I gave the movie that extra half star.

Michael Clayton (2007) *** – I found this Clooney legal thriller to be substantially less than the hype it got. Tom Wilkinson did deliver a wonderful performance as a brilliant lawyer who freaks out in equal parts from going off his bipolar meds and from his own gnawing conscience. Tilda Swinton was great, but I was surprised that her limited role actually won the supporting actress Oscar. Aside from those performances, the movie was predictable and geriatricly paced.

Midnight Madness (1980, rerun) ** I once loved this wacky college comedy about an all-night scavenger hunt through the streets of L.A., featuring a 13 year-old Michael J. Fox, Archetypal Hollywood Nerd Eddie Deezen and a brief cameo from Paul Reubens as a disgruntled arcade proprietor. The premise and the atmosphere of the movie are really fun, but it certainly doesn't hold up over time, particularly due to the very cheap "laugh at the fat kid" humor and the god-awfully formulaic dialogue.

Whole New Thing (2005) **½ - a precocious 13 year old Canadian boy who looks like a lanky Harry Potter has a crush on his 40-something male English teacher. I wanted this movie to be good, but it's pretty tedious.

Sex And the City – The Movie (2008) ** What a stinker. And for this, all the hype about "women's power at the box office."

Deep Throat (1972) ** – Our viewing was prompted by an early episode of Swingtown, in which the main character, Susan, goes to a private screening of the infamous porn movie in support of star Harry Reems's legal defense fund. The infamous "art"-porn movie is pretty bizarre to watch, full of big-dick face-fucking ("deep throat" provided by Linda Lovelace) to the sound of random background burbling. Sorta psychedelic, always hokey.

One Missed Call (2008) * – good god, this was a bad movie. A horror flick with such a flatness of emotion and nonsensical plot that absolutely no suspense was created. The principle character, played by Shannyn Sossamon had exactly two emotional expressions: predictable fear and bored bafflement. Bored and baffled, indeed, was my feeling by the picture's end. Wouldn't even recommend it under the "so bad it's good" ironic viewing category. Pretty much just bad.

The Playlist

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Maybe a few words here and there, otherwise, just ranked.
New Releases:


Magnetic Fields - Distortion (2008) **** Key words: indie; ironic humor; gay; fuzzy guitars; alcohol; Stephin Merritt.

New Pornographers Challengers (2008) ***½ Key words: indie pop; power pop; supergroups; quirky lyrics.

Sloan - Parallel Play (2008) *** Key words: indie pop; power pop; Canada; nerd rock.


R.E.M. Accelerate (2008) *** I agree with the fanfare that this is R.E.M.'s best new album in a decade, but even so, I found Accelerate to be just north of okay, with about three great tracks. See this review by George at MIOHHS for a good summary.

R.E.M. with their new drummer, Stephen Colbert.

Mountain Goats Heretic Pride (2008) *** - also, a couple fantastic tracks, like this one:



…but mostly just kinda okay, which is always a bummer from one of your favorite acts. Key words: indie; low-fi; folk; literary.

Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks Real Emotional Trash (2008) *** Key words: indie-meets classic rock; Pavement; ironic humor.

Releases New to Me:

Electrelane - The Power Out (2004) ***** - this has quickly become one of my favorite albums of all time. Keywords: post-rock; Stereolab-influenced; Velvet Underground-influenced; Brighton; women artists; shoegaze; alt rock.

Magnetic Fields - 69 Love Songs, Vol. 1 (1999) **** Key words: melancholy lyrics; ironic humor; synth; 80's-influenced; indie rock.

Stereolab - Switched On (1992) **** Key words: shoegaze; alt rock; French; Velvet Underground-influenced; electronic; female vocals.

X Los Angeles (1980) **** - I'm so glad to have X finally in my life, after years of not getting around to listening to them. Cheers, Exene & Jon! Key words: L.A. punk; roots rock; literary; play it loud!

Pavement - Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain (1994) **** Key words: indie; alt; noise; punk-influenced; ironic humor.

Magnetic Fields - Get Lost (1995) ****

Stephen Malkmus - Stephen Malkmus (2001) ****

Pavement - Slanted and Enchanted (1992) ****

Mekons Fear and Whiskey (1985) ***½ Great middle-period album from the band if you're interested in checking them out. Key words: Leeds; punk; post-punk; roots/country rock; alcohol; progressive politics.

Arcade Fire - Funeral (2004) ***½ Key words: indie/alt; art rock; Talking Heads-influenced; Modest Mouse-influenced; dirgy; Montreal.

Grandaddy - Under the Western Free Way (1997) ***½ Key words: Modesto; post rock; synth; indie.

All Natural Lemon and Lime Flavors – Straight Blue Line (2000) ***½ Key words: shoegaze; Stereolab-influenced; My Bloody Valentine-influenced.

New York Dolls - New York Dolls (1973) ***1/2 Key words: punk; pre-punk; CBGB; cross dressing.

Mojave 3 - Spoon and Rafter (2003) ***½ Key words: indie-pop; shoegaze; low-fi.

Other music I acquired in 2008; not really ranked, 'cept stars.

Radiohead – Hail To the Thief (2003) ***1/2
Pavement - Wowie Zowie (1995) ***
X Wild Gift (1981) ***
TV On The Radio (2004) *** - Desperate Youth, Blood Thirsty Babes
King Crimson Beat (1982) ***
TV On The Radio (2003) Young Liars (EP) **
TV On The Radio (2006) (n/r) Return To Cookie Mountain
X (1982) (n/r) Under the Big Black Sun

Live Shows

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Magnetic Fields, 2/29/08 - Herbst Theatre ***** - one of the most gorgeous shows I've ever attended.

Patton Oswalt, 8/10/08 – Cobb's Comedy Club ***½

Sondre Lerche, 8/26/08 – The Great American Music Hall ***½

Certified Blues Band, 3/8/08 – Rockit Room *** From Santa Cruz – good stuff.

Mountain Goats, 3/1/08 – The Independent *** - hyper arrangements, obnoxious audience members, too many Noise Pop bands resulted in a short performance. I've seen 'em under better conditions, and they're amazing. Also, one of their openers, David Dondero, was just embarrassing. He has a decent voice and guitar picking style, but his songwriting is really horrid.

Oh my god. I think I'm done!