April 2005 Archives

Apologies to anyone who read my "2 Months Later" post yesterday. I took it off because it was nonsense. I thought posting some of my break-up insecurities would free me of them, but it just made me feel silly. Blogging lesson learned!

I recently joined the Portland Teacher's Credit Union, and every part of that statement makes me proud. Portland. Teacher's. Credit Union. It makes me swell up, just typing the words! And now I get to finally close my US Bank account, which has given me nothing but grief over the years. My advice to you out there in blogger land: Learn a trade. Then find a credit union that has your trade in it's name. Then open an account there. It will make you feel great. (Liz, perhaps you could join the Literary Agent Credit Union. Heather, the Flower Shop Workers of America Credit Union. Honestly, look into it!)

Have a great weekend everyone!
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Well, i just found out that I didn't get the $3000 scholarship I applied for. Grad programs for teachers are really stingy. It's like they want to you to get used to having no money, so they don't offer any grants or scholarships really. The consequence is that there are like, 50 applicants for one stupid $3000 scholarship for a program that costs 22 thousand, just for tuition. Grrr. If anyone is interested in being my patron, I'm taking applications now. Here are the requirements:

1) You pay my tuition, and put me up in a sweet apartment. Oh, and buy me a car. (It doesn't have to be new or anything.)
2) You live in some other city, but fly in from time to time to lavish me with praise and take me out to delicious dinners.
3) You expect nothing from me but brilliance. (This is not a sexy patronage. Unless you are young and handsome. Then we can renegotiate.)
4) You use your fabulous connections to find me the prefect job at the perfect school upon graduation.

If you meet any or all of these qualifications, please contact me immediately. Thank you.
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It was everything I dreamed of and more. Last night I went to see the premiere of Miranda July's new film, "Me and You and Everyone We Know." Here's how it went down:

Nicole, her boyfriend Beau, and I showed up at the Guild theater an hour before showtime. There was a line of people around the corner waiting to buy tickets, though there was a limited amount available. The folks with passes had priority, so the odds didn't seem good that we would get in. Beau and Nicole wanted to bail, but I cajoled them in to sticking around, just in case. We were standing in line, talking about America's Next Top Model, when Adam Forkner walked by, looking for Calvin. We chatted for a moment. A while later, Calvin himself came by. You might ask yourself, "Did Calvin save the day?" The answer, of course, is "yes." Turns out he had two extra tickets that he was going to sell to Khaela's friend. (Some background, Khaela is a local musician/performance artist who NEVER. FUCKING. REMEMBERS. MY NAME. We've met about twenty times.) At this point Calvin and I are walking together to find Adam, holding hands, when Khaela comes rushing up to us with her friend in tow. She vaguely acknowledges me, then says to Calvin, "This is James, they guy who's gonna buy your tickets." Calvin coolly replies, "Actually, I just sold them to Willow." She gave me the first of many filthy looks she would direct at me as the evening wore on, but I didn't care! I was in! Nicole and I left Beau in line, and sat right in the third row with Calvin and his friend Jason. Miranda July herself was only a few seats away. Oh, and don't worry about Beau. He eventually got in too, and as we had saved hime a seat just in case, everything was a-ok.

Looking around the theater I felt like I had been transplanted into the final scene in Rushmore (please excuse this second Wes Anderson reference in a week). It was in slow motion, everyone I'd ever met, sitting in unlikely combinations, conversing animatedly, waving at me as I looked their way. The room was glowing with good will, and I was happier that I've been forever. Miranda stood up to introduce her film, and it was clear that she felt it too. She said that this was the moment that would make it all real for her. Not Sundance, not Robert Ebert singing her praises (as he did last week), but here, at the Guild theater, in Portland, Oregon, her old home, with us. She said that after this screening she would finally be able to sleep.

And then the film began, and it was perfect. I don't want to give anything away, because it needs to be discovered. I will say that the feeling I got watching it was the same as when I saw "Lost in Translation," or "Bottle Rocket" (ref. #3) for the first times. New. Beautiful. Human. Funny. It will open in NY and LA in the next few weeks, and I'm sure it will get good distribution eventually. If you have the chance, by God, you must see it.

There was an after party. ALERT! ALERT! WILLOW MAKES A GIANT ASS OF HERSELF IN FRONT OF HER NEW HERO, MIRANDA JULY! READ NO FURTHER IF YOU ARE FAINT OF HEART!! THIS IS REALLY BAD, FOLKS!!
The party was at this new sushi restaurant downtown. I walked over with Calvin and Jason. I had my digital camera in my purse. One of the assignments on "Learning to Love you More" is to take pictures of strangers holding hands. I had this brilliant idea that I would ask Miranda if I could take her photo holding hands with someone. She would instantly know what I was referencing, and we would share a secret smile as the flash went off. Then she would invite me to be in her next film, telling me she was always on the lookout for clever, pretty girls to play her misanthropic kid sister, or something. Of course, I could have asked Calving to introduce me. Or I could've just tapped her on the shoulder and told her I liked her movie. But I was smart. I was bold. I was a fool. After a few false starts, I worked up my nerve. She was sitting with my friend Jona and "dirty look" Khaela when I approached her. Here is a transcript of my mortification:

WW: (interrupting her conversation with some girl) Sorry to bother you, but I was wondering? If maybe? I could take your picture holding hands with this girl?
MJ: (Secret smile! YES!) But I know her. She's not a stranger.
WW: Oh. But you're strangers to me.
MJ: I'm afraid I didn't make myself clear on the website. The subjects of the photos are meant to be strangers to each other.
WW: Oh. (I tap the shoulder of the girl at the next table) Excuse me? Would you hold hands with Miranda July while I take your picture?
MJ: Actually, I know her too.
WW: Oh. Well, is there anyone in radius that you don't know?
MJ: I don't really want my picture on the website.
WW: Oh. (mumble mumble) Um, I really liked your movie. (WW flees.)

Sigh. I am an asshole. But Jill, who I met recently, and is a big Miranda fan made me feel better. She pointed out that since Miranda is a performance artist, she's probably embarassed herself millions of times. And since she's ultimately a humanist, she probably didn't hold it against me. So despite the humiliation, it was a great night. Jill, Ryan, Ethan and I finished out the evening at the Virginia Cafe, trying to define "Expirimental," as it pertains to film, and swapping other embarassing stories.

I finally felt like myself again, like I live in my skin again. It's great to be back.
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Welcome to Willow's Celebrity Weekend, featuring Sarah Vowell and Miranda July. That's right folks, Willow can be found rubbing elbows, hob-nobbing, and making casual conversation with these dazzling starlets all weekend long.

Okay, that's a lie. I did go to the Oregon Convention Center for WordStock, a mega-event featuring over 200 writers ranging from Norman Mailer right on down to the girls scribbling poetry beside you at the bus stop. I planned on seeing Sarah Vowell, Charles D'Ambrosia, and Ursula LeGuin read. I lost my enthusiasm when I showed up at the Convention Center yesterday fully caffinated, fed, and ready to rock, only to realize that I had misread the website, and all of the authors I wished to see were in fact reading today. Balls. Luckily my friend Shannon, who had generously agreed to accompany me, despite a moderate hangover, forgave my flakiness, and came with me again today for Take Two. This time I was less than jazzed about being in the giant, flourescent, cement exhibition hall for six hours, so we decided to just listen to Sarah Vowell and split.

Folks, she was radical. Most recently famous for being the voice of Violet in The Incredibles, Vowell has been a favorite This American Life personality for years. She read from her new book "Assasination Vacation," which is all about the strange coincidences surrounding presidential assasinations, and her epic pilgramages to all places relating to murdered presidents. The reading was free, crowded, and rivetting. Vowell seemed less than impressed with the Convention Center, comparing it at various times to a reading she did long ago in a food court, and an imagined reading at a monster truck rally. But she was a good sport, and recieved a standing ovation. She spoke very admiringly of Abraham Lincoln, and I was actually touched to hear someone so dry and ironic speak so sincerely about a former American President. How long has it been since even the cynics among us could rally behind a great leader? Or more aptly, when did our leaders stop being great? In any case, she made me proud to be a nerdy girl.

Tonight I am going to see a sneak preview of Miranda July's first feature film. That's right, July is staying true to her North West roots, and premiering her film here in Portland before even New York and LA. Miranda July is this amazing feminist artist, who works in nearly every medium, but is most acclaimed for her film and video work. This new film won "Best Original Film" or something at Sundance, and I'm pee-my-pants excited to see it. NIcole and I are going an hour early to get tickets. Hopefully we'll get in!

Miranda July has a great web-based art installation called Learning to Love you More. Basically she and another artist give you assignments like "Take a photo of strangers holding hands," and as long as you follow the directions, they post your submission on the site. Then July uses parts of it for other art installations, and people all over the world participate. I don't know if I'm doing this project justice here, so just check out the site yourself dudes, and see if you get as hooked as I am.

I'll report tomorrow on the opening.

As ever, etc..
Willow Wonder
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Okay, so my friend Rob (who has secured a permanent spot at the top of my crush chart over the years!) has requested that I do a "favorite bands" posting. I've been reluctant to follow through on this because I'm afraid my music knowledge has plateaued. In college I was involved in our campus radio station, first as a DJ then as the music director. I listened to a lot of bands and went to a lot of shows. I developed a fondness for nearly every band on K Records and even after moving to NYC I went to K shows religiously. But then... I don't know. I moved to Ireland with about 50 of my favorite albums, and listened to those pretty much exclusively for the five months I lived there. (I wanted more variety, but CDs cost like one million euros there, which is the equivilent of about 600 million dollars.) At the same timemy exposure to new music was waning, my appreciation of classic American bands was skyrocketting. So with that in mind, here is a list of my current favorite bands:

*Bruce Springstein* Not just in that Indy "oh 'Nebraska' is a pretty cool album, I guess" way. I'm talking "Born in the USA." I'm talking "Darkness on the Edge of Town." The Boss truly is the voice of middle class America. He sings about driving trucks and working crap jobs, but he makes it sound noble and epic. Plus he is dead sexy. Bruce Springstein = The Boss of my heart.

*Joni Mitchell* "Blue" is one of my top five favorite albums. She lets art and romance, destruction and longing fill her to the brim, and when she lets it out it fills you too. Seductive. Reckless. Brilliant.

*Little Wings* This is a band that I mention so often when asked about favorites that I'm pretty sure everyone who is reading this has heard me expound on them ad nauseum. But that won't stop me from doing it some more! Kyle Field, alone and in collaboration, is Little Wings. He is also a prophet, a pied piper, a potential cult leader. He is a poet. (I heart alliteration.) Each album is both sparser and richer than the one that came before. I sang his song "Faith Children" at Joey's wedding, and I meant every word. I've seen Kyle play in a phony beard with a tiny guitar, and it was still one of the most honest performances I've witnessed.

*The Shins* I was a Jonny-come-lately when it comes to this band. My Denver and Santa Fe friends were telling me about them for ages, but I didn't get on board until I lived in Ireland. Liz had burned me a copy of their second album, and after listening to Yo La Tengo and Modest Mouse for two or three months, I needed a break. I popped in the Shins and have been sold on them ever since. I actually saw them perform in Dublin and was blown away. They were meticulous performers. Each song sounded full and perfect.

*Bob Dylan* I don't have to say. You know.

*Dear Nora* Full disclosure, Jake sometimes plays in this band. But it is really the child of Katy Davidson who has branded her music "Mountain Rock." It's great. She sings about nature, feeling uncomfortable at parties, complicated break-ups, and best friends. She is breathtakingly honest about her feelings. Some of her melodies sound like they were written by ghosts.

This is becoming a reallly long post, so I'll wrap it up. But not before mentioning Beachwood Sparks, Otis Redding, Velvet Underground, The Ramones, The Microphones, Dirty Projectors (I couldn't define them if I wanted to. Jake's bro's band defies description.), and Quasi.

This list might seem terribly obvious to some of you, and I humbly submit to your judgement.

Music is Beautiful.
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Justin gave me this DIY craft book for my birthday. I was flipping through it today and found a recipe for moisturizer whose main ingredient is margarine. That's right. Just smear that Parkay all over your face, girlfriends. So refreshing, I Can't Believe it's not Butter!
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Okay. I'll cut right to the chase here. I went on a date on Saturday night. Aaandrew came to my house, we drank champagne (it was the only booze I had in the house), then hit up the party around the corner. We kept referencing the fact that we were on a date, which was very funny. There would be an inevitable awkward pause, and he would announce, "okay, this date is over." At the party I went up to everyone I knew, with him in tow, and said, "Hi! This is Andrew! We're on a date!" At one point we walked past these two random girls, and Andrew heard one say, "They're on their first date." Hilarious. Anyway, party led to drinking, led to flirting, led to kissing, led to sleepover (Rated PG), led to hungover breakfast together, led to afternoon spent watching "Bottle Rocket" in bed. Oh yes, friends. We're talking 18 hour date here. Needless to say I had a lot of fun. Dating is actually not as soul-destroying as I remember it. Anyway, my old-maid fears are shrinking fast.

So I think it's actually heart-hunting season. My good friend Travis Eliot just got dumped by his girlfriend of a year and a half. It's insane. Travis is like, the catch of the century, so I don't know what this girl's deal is. Isn't Spring supposed to be the season to fall in love? Isn't your heart supposed to be sledge-hammered around the Christmas holidays? I don't understand. Apparently, Spring is also the season of having your shit stolen (see Liz and Kelly). Sigh. The cherry blossoms and daylight savings time are really gonna have to work overtime to compensate for this bullshit.

PS Do I overuse parenthasis and hyphens? I'd hate to be a punctuation whore!
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I have two pieces of good news to report.

1. I got a $141 parking ticket.
2. I got a date.

Number 1 may not seem like good news, so let me explain. I got caught by one of those photo radar vans going 31mph in a 20 zone. It was a school zone, so the fine is super high. And since I'm not the technical owner of my car, the ticket got sent to my boss. Still not sounding like good news? Well, there is a loophole in the photo radar system. Since Kathy is the owner of my Volvo, and she was clearly not the driver in the photo they sent, she only has to fill out a "Contention of Innocence" form, and they dismiss the ticket! So while i did have to endure Jordan et al hooting with laughter at my criminal photo/behavior, I did not have to pay a big fat ticket. I can speed past schools all day and night, pegging any child unlucky enough to step off the curb, and there will be no reprecussions! Wha ha ha! Okay, the real reason I'm happy about all of this is that I've had such bad money luck in the past year that avoiding a $141 fine feels like a turning point. It feels like a sign that my luck may be changing. (Of course putting this naiive hope in print will probably curse me for another year.)

Number 2 is arguably the bigger news item of this entry, but I won't know until tomorrow. Here is the scoop.

I went to see my friend Zac's band (((girls))) (pronounced "The Parenthetical Girls) at Nocturnal on Thursday night. But first I met Suzy and Thea for drinks at the Martini House. I was somewhat inebriated. When we got to the venue we learned that we had missed (((girls))). But Deerhoof was playing soon, and they were supposed to be very good, so we went downstairs to the bar for a while. My ever-loving roomates have been pressuring me to "get back out there," so they had me choose a table of boys for us to go sit with. I considered for a while, then pointed at two reasonably cute lads near the door. Suzy was like, "Oh! That's Aaandrew! I used to have a crush on him!" We joined him and his friend, and it turned out that Aaandrew was indeed crush-worthy. Witty, cute, we bonded over a mutual hatred of Henry Rollins and Tater-tots. In my intoxicated state I nearly asked him on a date. But then after the show he asked how I liked Deerhoof, and I said they were so-so, and he seemed so appalled (turns out they're like, his favorite band) that I chickened out and ran away without saying goodbye.

The story may have ended there, if not for our dear friend, Friendster. In the morning I checked my account, and lo there was a Friend Request and a Message from Aaandrew waiting for me! The subject line was "Prompt Friendliness." Cute, right? He didn't say much, just talked about the show. Emboldened, I wrote back, inviting him to a party at my neighbor's house. I included this P.S. "I nearly asked you on a date last night, so I guess this is the wimpy-girl substitute." He wrote back immediately with a message that began "Blush... You're asking me out?" And ended with "I'm not a wimp. You're cute!"

So he's coming to my house tonight, and we're going to have a drink, then go over to the party together. He reminds me of Mr. Darcy (Jane's, not Bridget's). This is all probably too soon, a big rebound mistake, blah blah blah. But I tell you, it feels great. And it's been a long time since I felt the anticipation of imminent smooches with a new fella. I hope he doesn't find my blog! (Expect a report tomorrow!)
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My 7 year old ward is very concerned about my personal life. He really liked Jake, and was sad when I explained the break up. We've been having these intense Wes Anderson moments ever since. Like the day after Jake left me, I told Jordan that my heart literally felt broken, and he stared at me for a while before laying his hand on my arm. Or the other day in the car out of the blue he asked, "Do you miss Jake?" I said yes. He said, "Well, he's going to have to graduate to being your friend. And that's very very hard."

Today I was folding my laundry and he advised me to get a new boyfriend. I asked where I was supposed to meet this boyfriend. "At the coffee shop. You just go up to him and say, 'Hi, my boyfriend doesn't want to be my boyfriend anymore. Would you like to be be my boyfriend?' Oh, but make sure he's handsome. He should have a good haircut, like me."

Now the appropriateness of discussing my love life with a 1st Grader aside, he makes a good point. I'm starting to nurture some around-town crushes. None of them really set my heart a-flutter, but they are distracting, at least. Here is a list of my half-hearted crushes:
-A gymnastics coach at Jordan's gym
-A fellow patron at the Fresh Pot
-The Stumptown coffee delivery man (he is an alumni crush from 2002, when he worked at the flower stand by my house)
-The video store boy
-Reed Harkness (who is in a relationship, I think.)

Today was the first day in three weeks I didn't wake up feeling like I would vomit. This is a good thing.
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When I was in 9th grade I was in this melodrama at my high school. I don't remember what it was called, and I was only in the chorus. (I was an Old West showgirl. I did a dance.) The catch phrase of the play, which was repeated ad nauseum was "Our strength will be the strength of ten, if but our hearts are pure." I spent most of my time at rehearsal flirting with the "sailors" and gossiping with the other showgirls, generally zoning out everything that was happening on the stage. But that line, repeated so constantly, must have worn a canyon into my brain and somehow co-mingled with my presonal ethics. Because it was around that time that I began to be consumed with the idea of the pure heart (or what I now refer to as Perfect Heart). I began to define and aspire to Perfect Heart. Here is my general definition:

To have a Perfect Heart you must first have a clear conscience. Guilt erodes all good intentions, so you must conduct yourself in a way that is virtuous (whatever that means to you) and confess your transgressions to those who are affected. A Perfect Heart contains an infinite quantity of forgiveness and apology. Jealousy is discarded as soon as it is discovered, and Trust is distributed perhaps too liberally, but knowingly so. Now the tricky part: a Perfect Heart remains light, even when burdened. It is not a harbour for self-pity or ill-will. It embraces and releases hurt, refusing to scar or shrink. All of the old adages fit in:

Pure Heart
Open Heart
Warm Heart
Stout Heart
Big Heart
Soft Heart
Giving Heart
Brave Heart
Strong Heart
Good Heart
Good Heart

Perfect Heart.

I think in trying hard to live up to this model I forgot that others might not be as concerned. My lover built a barricade around his heart, and let my love slide down off of it. Maybe my pursuit of Perfect Heart is futile, since I cannot influence the hearts of others. Maybe I should have stuck with softball, and avoided melodrama altogether. The fate of the ingenue is always in the hands of villians and heros.
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Broken Heart Status: Mending

You know what helps a person with a shattered heart? Flying 3,500 miles east to visit her bestest lady-friends. They will cheer her up. They will take her shopping. They will make her cookies and pesto pizza. They will rent Fame and Flashdance and imitate cool moves for her amusement. They will come up with a hilarious game called "Sleepy Eggs" wherein the three friends find themselves fake-sleeping in absurd places and photographing it. The car will break down, and Miss Heartbreak will gleefully hitchike to help her friend make her train, then hitch back to the car solo. They will administer tough-love, reminding her that at 25 she's got a lotta lovin' ahead of her. They will not be too hard on the heartbreaker, but won't let him off the hook either. Miss Heartbreak will return to the West Coast feeling much more confident and optimistic. She will Google old flames and strike up a flirtation with a man at the coffeeshop. She will still feel the loss of her lover, especially in the mornings. And just before falling asleep. And in the car. But it's not as bad as before.
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As a frequent flier, I've developed a list of questions that consume me while on the plane, and which I promptly forget as soon as I disembark. But for highly scientific blogging purposes, I've tried to retain my ponderings. Here is a list:
*Does everyone think of death when they fly?
*Do flight attendants think about death more than I do, in general?
*Do flight attendants develop a finer appreciation of the view from the sky, or do they become immune to it's beauty after a while?
*How do pilots fly directly toward the sun?
*What is happening down there?
*If the plane were about to crash, would the pilot tell us, if he knew, or spare us the knowledge of our doom?
*Which would I prefer?
*Do people ever survive plane crashes?
*Are the people around me traveling to their home or away from it?
*Who gets to use this shared armrest?
*Isn't it weird that we all act naturally when we are in fact FLYING through the air?
*Why are some of those fields down there circular? Is that really space efficient?
*What state are we over?
*Who would choose peanuts as a snack? Honestly, who sits around eating peanuts when not in the air?
*What mountains/lake/river/desert/plain/bay is that?
*Can people recognize specific landscapes from the air?
*Are pilots good at predicting weather?
*How do they know when we're "coming up on some turbulence?" Do they see it? Isn't it just air?

When I fly there is a part of me that is sure I'll never land. Time seems to stop in the air (Einstein says time slows down for a body in motion anyway). Suspended 40,000 feet above the earth, a village of strangers lingers each over their own thoughts: work, faces, anticipations, reunions, farewells, the inevitible, the possible. Even if we don't crash, I'm certain we'll never land. Time races away in both directions, expanding the pause until it feels infinate. Sometimes the stillness is tedious, but mostly it's just strange. Then we descend, land, collect our belongings, report that the flight was fine, but shudder nonetheless. There is a great Jets to Brazil song about being an air passenger. It captures that idea of lingering very well, "If I forgot to say, I love you every day, know that I'm keeping track, in my quiet way... I'll be thinking of you, when the plane goes down."

I'll write more about my trip out East tomorrow. I'm feeling much stronger and my heart is lighter. I think I'm through the worst of it.
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