Memorial Day weekend, Films, and other suc

I actually did manage to get in a BBQ this weekend. I was talking to my few friends here trying to see who was having a BBQ. I mean that's what you do - go to parades, BBQ, play kick ball, have fun. (Sometimes I'm so American it's kind of gross - like too much cotton candy.) But no one was doing BBQs. I heard a couple good excuses "Michelle, have you ever been in Seattle over Memorial Day?" No. "It rains. It only really rains. Your first BBQ isn't until 4th of July." Oh. And it did rain - all weekend. The sun peaked out Monday afternoon though and I did end up having BBQ with Kelly, Heidi (a different one) and some of their friends which was great fun. I love BBQs. I love it too when they have yards.

Though the majority of this rainy weekend was spend volunteering at the Seattle International Film Festival, I did manage to see some shorts but pretty much put my time in at the merchandise office and as a lead usher dealing with crazy people - which are not just a special phenomum to film festivals to "the public at large." I proved myself so compident that I was offered a job - which started me wishing that I was independently wealthy spending my days as volunteer and philanthropist.

Now we're back to the work week and of course, the sunshine had come out, and it's been a lovely Tuesday and Wednesday. But it always happens that way.

A conflict, a festival.

This weekend is Memorial Day weekend. You that time when we're supposed to celebrate those who have served in our armed forces and squashed evil in the world, like our grandparents' generation truly did. There have been questionable wars since, and they get more and more questionable, it seems, as they go along.

An article I read last week about a solider who doesn't even get asked about his service and an anti-war protester who doesn't have much support anymore. They're both confused at the apathy and the other issues that seem to raise to the top. Then you hear of the Phelps, a Kansas minister who protests, yes, protests funerals of American soldiers because he believes God is punshing the US for accepting homosexuality - by allowing soldiers to die. The only hope that comes out of this is the biker group Patriots Guard who goes to the funerals, anywhere, all over, to protect the families from these awful people. War doesn't bring out the best in people - if it clearly brings out anything at all.

On another note, the festival has started, which is where my Memorial Day weekend will find me voluteering most of the time. A weekend summary will show up sometime soon, I'm sure. Because there are plenty of crazy people out watching films.

Funny, some things never change... there's always something to b*tch about and the weather is such a good one...

(from the Seattle Post Intelligencer, May 21st.)

We all gain independence from someone...

Wednesday I scooted out of work about 20 minutes early so I could go to the Norwegian Constitution Day celebrated in my lovely neighborhood of Ballard (I did tell you all the Seattle was formerly a sleepy fishing village). Syttende Mai celebrates Norway's independence from Sweden (damn them). Who doesn't love a parade? They throw candy at the children who scramble after it like a cat after fish; you get to hear the school bands and see your neighbors who you haven't seen all winter. (A lot of people poop-pooped the parade when I was trying to find someone to go with me, but it was completely their loss.)

The parade started at 6 p.m. with the Seattle Police Department motorcycle drill team doing tricks on their bikes, followed by the Ballard Highschool Marching Band and Drill Team. The sun was shining (in your eyes) as it was nearly 85 degrees out. I was standing next to this Ethopian man and his two children - his son dancing and completely into the parade; the younger daughter was begging to go to the library (that was funny).

There were children on unicycles and kids jumping jump ropes. There were middle school bands and drill teams from as far south at Olympia (85 miles away) and as far north as British Columbia (150+ miles). There were the Seattle Public Library employees pushing their red shelving carts in loops much like the motorcycle drill team. There was every possible Sons/Daughter of Norway club represented by mostly elderly women and men and their little grandchildren.

Little blond haired girls ran around in traditional costume while the Greenwood Middle drill team, without a blond hair among them, performed down the street. Seven foot Vikings (very tall men) and tiny children tolls were sprinkled between bands. There was a young man who was a part of high school drill team - with shorts instead of a skirt, no tassels on his boots, very proudly performing with the rest of the group (and this quite honestly nearly made me cry.) There was a parade of classic cars with nearly classic people driving them. There were Viking boats floats that had smoke (pressurized oxygen) fire out of their noses and a Olympic View Middle School had the largest marching band I've ever seen with the most enthusiasm ever - with girls awkwardly tall and boys awkwardly short. Spanish sword performers, Leif Eriksen lodges, dogs on leashes and children too (but not on leashes).

One of the things that struck me were the drill team costumes - all of them had some kind of fancy hat - cowboy like hats, sailor type hats - boots with tassels and stiff polyester skirts. Swedish Hospital gave out Swedish fish (yum) and frisbees (fun). There was a small group of Norwegian women carrying signs that said "Immigration rights are human rights." And though it was the Norwegian parade - the variety of people and families just made you so happy that all of these people had come out to help them celebrate their independence which seems to be a running theme in history.

They LOVE their Dogs...

"Seattlelites love their pets. I mean they really love their pets." Pygmy told me once a couple of years ago. I agreed that pets are an important part of our lives. But boy, she really did have a point. Seattlelites LOVE their pets, especially their dogs. There are organic food stores, day spas for dogs, dog parks, professional dog walkers, specialized care for your pet- there is a bar on every corner in Wisconsin and a pet store on every corner in Seattle. You'll see them at protests and curled around the feet of their homeless human friend.

There was an interesting article in the Pacific Northwest Magazine about dogs and Seattlelites' love for dogs. One of the interesting points they brought up was that their love dogs here might be a response to the difficulty it is to maintain human relationships in this city. (See Feb 13th blog entry.) There might be a bit of truth here. And don't get me wrong - I like dogs ok. My friends have dogs and I like their dogs. They eat your wedding shoes and your green couch. They protect your house and your family and dig up your garden. They're an excuse to get more exercise and a snuggle buddy when watching a film. They poop like nothing else. They lick your face. They love it when you come home. So you can see why people LOVE their dogs and in a city with this much money, they're willing to spend it on them too.

Musicians wanted, something about long lines, no cupcakes for me

Happy Mother's Day! To all mothers - in the extended definition - it really does take a village. My older brother and Margie came up to Cleveland to surprise mom with a visit from the girls! Warbie was really surprised and had a good time while my brothers and father painted a bedroom for her, she hung out with the grandkids. Awwwwww.

My college Anne invited me to a "musical gathering" of artsy folks in Queen Anne on Friday. It turned out that the 15 people who had RSVPed on evite turned out to be just about 7 of us, including a friend of mine who decided to come after a fun little social afterwork with some colleagues. It was kind of like an open-mic of music and musicians, which I'm not. I read a poem I wrote, drank a glass of wine and skipped home to Ballard. Musicians wanted.

Saturday found us back at Tiger Mountain, this time with Pygmy in tow. It was a much easier hike the second time around - probably because we knew what was coming and we didn't run up the Mountain but did a better job pacing ourselves. Though I was still a little sore this morning, I excitedly went over to Pacific Place Mall downtown to volunteer for the Seattle International Film Festival. One of the many jobs I signed up for was "merchandise". Not that I necessarily want to sell stuff - I just want to work with the crowd. I want to meet people; get to know the city better; the film junkies who attend and those who come from other cities. (I can't wait! I love the film festival!
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So, today was the first day of ticket sales to the public (members were able to purchase tickets the two days before - I bought 5 on Friday with a goal of seeing many films but earning as many volunteers hours as I could so that I could see more film for free!) I sold merchandise - shirts, hats, lunchboxes (!), guide books and such. I took two items, walking down the line of people that curled around the 2nd floor of the mall, I would tell them other ways to support the festival and try to get them as excited about it. I wouldn't talk to the same group twice and sometimes just had to wait until new folks came along. Of course I had fun.

However, there is the phenomenon that I've mentioned before in this crazy town and it's "standing in lines." I asked some other volunteers, that if you had a ticket to a film, how early did you need to get in line? "At least 1/2 before the film starts." What?! I mean you have the ticket. Really? "Well, we really suggest an hour". I guess I'm a bit perplexed by this whole standing in line thing. Desmond Tutu spoke this week at St. Mark's and they were saying on the radio to start lining up at 2 p.m. - he was speaking at 7 p.m. When I go to free screenings, even when I get there an hour early, I'm the 45 person in line. I don't understand why this is. Is it the "free" aspect? Did I always have to stand in lines before and never noticed? Did I just know the right people and get to sneak to the front? I really am perplexed at this and am going to have research this whole "standing in line business" - probably while I'm standing in line. Too bad I can't just put a rock on the ground to hold my spot like I could in Cote d'Ivoire.

Tonight, after running a few errands, I wanted to have a cupcake at my favorite coffee shop. I've been doing a fantastic job eating well, more organic, blad de blah and I thought I deserved a cupcake. After all, I was a "mother" to many young children in Cote d'Ivoire and since they're not here to take me out for a cupcake, I thought I would go out for one myself. They were out of cupcakes. Clearly, everyone had the same idea.

Now Accepting Resumes

is what the sign says in the window. I'm completely baffled at first when I come to realize what they really mean to say is "Help Wanted". Now Accepting Resumes - it cracks me up - but it's everywhere. And they mean it.

"I applied for a job at Madison Market (food co-op) and it was four pages long. They wanted four professional references. Three volunteer references and three personal references and I didn't even get a call back!" One of our interns exclaimed. "It just follows the attitude of this city." Granted she was sort of upset when she said it because as a freshly mented college graduate she can't find a job in Seattle "Even Baristas, yes, the people who serve you coffee, need three years experience. Three years." A friend of mine looking for a bartending job, whose been to bartending school, had the same experience and he was just looking for a way to suppliment his income.

Part of it probably has to do with the fact that this city is highly educated, well read, etc., that retrailers, coffee shops, heck even people looking for volunteers can ask for so much. (Kind of like how the housing market is such a sellers market that they can ask you to wave the inspection.)

But it is still kind of funny, to see the new agey, incent, candle, dream catcher, metaphysical book store next to the bus stop advertise "Accepting Resumes, 5 years experience in retail, 2 specifically metaphysical require". The sign has been up since January.

Sleeping, sleeping, sleeping...

The cold I had been fighting all week finally caught me and tackled me right to the ground. I've spend the last three days (since Thursday night) in bed, up for about 2 hours at a time before finding myself needing to take a nap - usually a 5-10 hour nap. I don't think I've been this ill in ages. My head was hurting so bad last night that I swore I had malaria which was an easy thought since my dreams were clouded with deserts, revolutions and the CIA (I had just finished reading a book about Iran).

Sleeping is what kitty friends do best. Having spent this much time with them, they're experts at it. They sleep with me for a while, get up, run around and sleep some more. I guess when you have no real predators you can sleep... plus they don't have to pay rent or buy their catfood.

In the midst of this groggy weekend, I did manage to go to the worlds largest video store, Scarecrow right in University District. It was incredible - more than 70,000 DVDs - you could find just about any film you've every wanted to watch. They had them stored by genres, countries, directors, festivals... at the same time, I wonder if you could find anything.

Semi-sunny, mostly cloudy, it was an ideal weekend to be ill, if there is such a thing.

Writing, writing, writing...

I had a house in Africa, at the foot of the hill that was Dabakala. The water ran downhill creating a baffon of stagnant water where the mosquitoe orchestra played around my ankles each night.

That is how we're going to start the book we're writing about our Peace Corps experience - Pygmy and I. Bryan Mealer's article about the Congo in April's Harper's Magazine was a tough story. It wasn't romantic. It wasn't this simpleton Africa but this really, really honest account of a country that's completely and utterly screwed. However, it was the other depiction of Africa - of hopeless and despair. And I think there is another story that needs to be told. Pygmy and I are going to write a story about our experiences in Cote d'Ivoire - and it's going to be hilarious! And heartbreaking, fun, witty and honest. It's going to show you that we're realy all the same people - and we really all want the same things.

Of course, now that we're livin' in the same stinkin' city - we can't manage to find much time to hang out. Typical.

While I've been working to get back into my writing, I picked up an anthology of 20th Century American Poetry, spending the evening with a glass of wine and reading, mostly, the poets' biographies. Suicidal group those poets. So I wrote a response to Ginsberg's Howl and I thought I would share:

Howl (reprise)

Today
I have a bruise on my thigh
from clipping a table
One on my foot
from a Saturday night Stiletto
I feel like an old woman
easily bruising
I am so aware of my age
great years I'm told making better decisions in your 30's than your 20's
(which I'm not)
nor 47, I've been told jaded.
I still don't take no for an answer
Finding there are so many yeses to be stolen, snatch away
like a 15 year-old-shoplifting a trashy romance novel from the dollar isle of the Walgreens.

(Youaresooptimistic mumbled with admiring distain, screwyou I exhale quietly)

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
Compliancy
Apathy
Greed
a TV in every bedroom and a myspace neighborhood more interesting than my own,

That's too harsh - tha's not my generation

Who came to the Great Cocktail Party called America to find that they were 25 minutes too late, the hors d'ouevres of crab and pumpernickel were dry,
the wine was gone and the cheese on the tray was shiny.

Who joined Peace Corps, AmeriCorps and Vista reaching out to their fellow humans who not only shared the same limited oxygen but a desire for a better future for their children only to find that poverty is in great demand keeping USAID and the World Bank in business

Who protested at WTO and School of the Americas
and sat a Canadian jail for two months
because someone changed the rules when they weren't looking

Who were Latch-Key kids, off spring of the 70's and 80's phenomenon called divorce and wondered if this thing called marriage meant anything at all when at five we dreamt of beautiful white weddings with Barbie and Ken or Barbie and Strawberry Shortcake
who had a rather large head

Who were told that we were apathetic, lazy, irresponsible and weren't going to amount to anything by all of the people who had raised us on nurture vs. nature
and we were left wondering how it was our entire fault.

Who left budding careers as teachers, publishers, academics, lawyers and musicians to repave the information super highway with the likes of Amazon, MySpace, and a blog at every dinner conversation.

Who grew up with AIDS - when Sex was still dressed in bell bottoms and disco shirts of the exploratory 70's; She came home from the cocaine-after-party to found a punitive father of an unforgiving God they somehow didn't meet in Temple or Sunday School.

Who joined radical and no-so-radical political groups seeking social justice (because an injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere) and were rolled over by an Israeli bulldozer or were Rhoads Scholar victims of mob mentality in the newly release yet Apartheid-stricken South Africa

Who chewed on candied pacifiers because the ecstasy they raged with caused them to grind their orthodon-trick teeth as the electronic music went underground into warehouses, art houses, studios that you had to know someone in order to get to.

Who were murdered in a war they didn't vote for by a people who were supposed to greet them with roses and kisses in a land that use to host the beginnings of what we know as civilization.

Who educate, matriculate onto higher levels of degrees and learning, with jobs and later welcoming Sophie, Aisha, Caitlin, Aiden, Owen and Will into the world but still can't afford a decent home with out at least two incomes because some one forgot to raise the living wage in 1978

Who were also taught during an age of intense white-guilt and political correctness, establishing rules that did everything except tell them that the black/Hispanic/Asian/white American person sitting next to them was actually another human being.


X marks spot where the book was found on my neatly made bed
While the walls were licked greedily, truly, with brilliant orange flames.

You should be dead
The fire chief said to the soot mask known as my face without a single trace of tears
Screwyou I exhaled
Grabbing his affirmation from under his fireman's hat, behind his fire chief's badge,
to find my place at the table.

A very expensive cake, a little bit of sun and I blinked.

I was a guest at two very different and fun auctions this week - one benefiting Women's Funding Alliance "Art of Dining" and the other was for Northwest Film Forum. They were run in much of the usual fashion of live auctions, up for bid were vacations to the San Juan Islands, locally made purses and bags, she-she spa packages, film software, a week in a Paris apartment (black out dates from May til Sept but still), a long weekend in Vail, and many other lovely things including cakes. I love cakes. I thought, heck, I can afford a cake. It's a brilliant concept really - don't serve the guests dessert and let them bid on chocolate torte, coconut cream pie, cupcakes (!), pecan pie, and other similar tasty treats. They average $20 - $50 - even if they're going to be used in the live auction, how much will people pay for the cake? The correct answer would be $1,200 for a chocolate cake. $1,200. I didn't get any cake. (But one of the guests at my table went across the street to the drug store and bought some Robin Eggs Easter candy that was on sale for half-price and we had that for dessert instead.)

Sunday was a perfect day for a picnic - two actually. After our morning walk around Greenlake I met up with my friend Anne from college. I got to meet her boyfriend she met on eharmony and another friend whose boyfriend is rowing across the Atlantic Ocean to England with about 15 other boats internationally. Holy cow. We got to visit their boat and chat with one of them for a bit. Then I popped off to hang out with Annika and her friends, also have a BBQ/picnic in a park in North Seattle. We played some kickball and when the sun got low, we took the gathering back to one of the friend's house... ending the evening with more wine and playing the game Apples to Apples. Good times in the sun.

But I blinked at some point over this weekend and all of the green leaves on the trees appeared out of nowhere. They dropped their pink fury coats for vibrant green. I blinked and a house about half way down the block from where I lived was demolished (undoubtedly to make way for more condos). I blinked and got lost three different times (and I'm not one to get lost, but boy, I'm doing a good job of it here.) I blinked and it was Monday morning and I had a meeting in Tacoma.