There is a wild pack of kids that runs through our neighborhood, day and night. They are all under the age of 10, and use the profanity like you’ve never heard. On Sunday I saw three of them striding down the street eating bananas. One kid was wearing a Scream mask. He had to sort of shove his banana under the mask in order to take a bite. It was a bright, sunny afternoon. They paused in front of the Baptist church across the street from my house, and it was the oddest sight you ever saw- these wild banana boys standing in a sunbeam wearing scary masks. So weird.

Well loyal reader(s), I have entered the Big Time. This is actually true on many levels- educational, emotional, artistic- but in this case “The Big Time” refers to “The Ultimate Blogger” reality blog competition. That’s right folks, I am stepping up to join the honorable ranks of Reality Icons. The good folks at UrbanHonking have put together this competition, and out of 300 applicants, I, Willow Wonder, have recieved the nod, and am now a member of the esteemed 12. Here is a basic run-down:
12 contestants will participate in two challenges a week for 6 weeks. The winner of each challenge will be granted immnity from that week’s judgement. 2 contestants will be voted off each week, and the last lady standing will be crowned Ultimate Blogger and recieve an $500 prize package. You can moniter/discuss the competition at the official Ultimate Blogger site.
I am really excited about this project, and I can only hope that my loyal fan(s) will rally around me, posting comments in my favor on the official site, and talking trash the other contestants around your respective water coolers. My strategy is to go below the radar for as long as possible. There are some intense instigators in this competition, and I want to let them duke it out as I slip through each round unscathed. (What? Do I hear a chorus of “Fat Chance?”) What’s weird is that Perfect Heart is referenced in my bio, which means that random dudes/bloodthirsty rivals can peruse at their leisure. With this expanded readership in mind, I considered removing some of my more emo entries. (Normally I have like, 1-12 readers, and I know all of them.) Ultimately I’ve decided to let my blog stand as it is, and hope for a clean fight.
Ultimate Blogger aside, my weekend was deliciously busy. I rode my bike all over the place, enjoying the fine weather. I spent an afternoon with my friend Guy, filming a short movie that I am going to enter in this One Minute Film Festival later in the month. My friends Adam and Honey (aka “World”) are going to make a one minute song to score my film, which is about riding my bicycle.
I also participated in a Ladies Poker Night at the home of my friend and coworker, The Other Liz. She put an ad on Craig’s List for lady poker buddies, got some nice responses, and Saturday night I joined the motley crew for SIX HOURS of Texas Hold’em. There was a lot of potential for this event to be incredible awkward, but Liz is a master hostess, and it went swimmingly. Turns out poker is fun, once you actually learn how to play! (None of us understood the game very well at first, but a few library books and “Poker for Dummies” playing cards got us right on board. Now we are champs!) We ate snacks, drank Bicardi Breezers, and worked on our betting strategies. We are going to make it a bi-weekly event.
I think the sun is making me wicked. I keep having the alarming impulse to lean forward and kiss whoever I’m talking to at the moment. Some cute friend imight be going on about his job, and I’m thinking about planting my lips on his mid-sentance. (It’s probably not a coincidence that I’ve been running into past/potential crushes all weekend.) It’s not sexual really, just friendly. I want to know what his beard would feel like on my chin, or her eyelashes on my cheek. Is this weird? Some people can’t see a knife without imagining stabbing someone. Kissing fantasies can’t be that bad, right? Right, guys? Guys?

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!

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.

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.

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

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.

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!

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!

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!)