Shanghai Sunday morning, July 27, 2014 / Seattle late Saturday afternoon, July 26, 2014. She’s always ahead of me. :)
‘Genius’ by Inara George is my new jam.
This would make an excellent Muppet number. Already done?
Mom’s doc is named Peter Wolfe and she greets him thus: “Are you Peter or the wolf today?” #LA
After “The Vandenberg, Life Below the Surface” and “Stavronikita Project“, here is the new project of the Austrian photographer Andreas Franke, the third part of his series “The Sinking World“. This new series of photographs entitled “Mohawk Project“, uses, as the previous two, remnants of a submarine warship, here the USS Mohawk CGC, to give birth to surreal and aquatic life scenes, mixing with talent underwater photography and digital retouching. The highlight of the show: Andreas Franke then displays his amazing compositions under water, using the shipwreck as an amazing art gallery, only accessible to divers. A fascinating project!
Mom’s in the ICU. Congestive heart stuff. She’ll probably be ok. Going to LA on Wednesday.
I turned forty-five this week. I remember my mom telling me that turning forty was rough—she hated it.
I loved turning forty; the age fit me. The actual year was the shittiest I’ve banked—put Bob in the ground before I’d made it around the sun once more, but that had nothing to do with forty and everything to do with cancer being a fucking cunt.
I stopped apologizing in my forties—I don’t mean I stopped saying I was sorry when I meant it. I mean I stopped giving out insincere apologies, and I stopped apologizing for being myself.
I watched my grandmother wait until she was well into her eighties before the tongue she’d been biting her entire life grew back and formed words.
I wondered how different the generations before and after would have been if all that passive aggression hadn’t been forced to seep out around pursed lips and gritted teeth. Childhoods and marriages, all paved in eggshells.
I chose a man who helped me sweep those eggshells away. He taught me to see my true self—not what I’d learned, but who I am. One of the last gifts he gave me was teaching me how to love *and* let go—for them, for you—and that you will absolutely be okay.
I’ve relived that lesson many times in the past few years, and I expect it will continue to go that way. That’s how this ride works.
And I woke up on my birthday thinking, FUCKYEAH! I’m halfway to ninety! Let’s do this!
‘Living Life’ by Ben Kweller is my new jam.I’m repeating myself. P.S. If I could change the image up there, I would, but I cannot. So there it is, a crotch and some wolves and a pretty song.