Entries Tagged 'Virgin Territory' ↓

• Learn to french braid hair
• Get a glimpse of the Great Wall
• Write a letter in calligraphy
• Sit near a snail and watch it
• Show a child a shooting star
• Learn how to do the worm
• Ride a mechanical bull
• Get really excellent at chess
• Scale the side of a cliff
• Knit a whole something. Anything.
• Slow dance with my father
• Put my three pairs of tap shoes back into use
• Shave my legs with a straight razor
• Write an elaborate play never meant to be staged
• Be someone’s secret admirer
• Skydive
• Dig my toes into the sand in search of other toes on the beaches of Costa Rica
• Hold a stranger as they grieve
• Fast
• Learn to read braille
• Drink absinthe with someone seasoned at it
• Sleep with a cat in a hammock
• Hike until I collapse
• Send a postcard to PostSecret
• Write my memoir
• Learn to make sushi
• Throw a fancy black tie party
• Learn to throw a football
• Spend the night in a tree house
• Host all day Lynch film fest
• Visit Snoqualmie Falls
• Grow my own food
• Ice skate at Rockefeller Center
• Learn a burlesque routine
• Scream in an empty canyon
• Look over a shoulder on the back of a motorcycle racing up the coastline
• Deep sea diving
• Love my body 100%
• Write a will
• Leave a favorite book to be found with a note that says so
• Learn a foreign language fluently
• Chart my genealogy
• Tell on him
• Serve on a jury
• Jump on a train with a notebook and a pen and no plans
• Act as a monster in a haunted house
• Have my portrait painted
• Watch a live birth
• Have dessert at the restaurant first
• Put down onto paper how much my Mom means to me, then give it to her

So, some shit went down. You probably gathered that from the cryptic post and change in tone around here. (However, if you are following me on Twitter you are probably catching on to plenty.) Things, to categorize the situation sloppily, are different around here. And they are continuing to change.

My job is the same (and I’m very happy there), but my personal life is in transition in many facets. I may be moving soon, away from Berkeley and into the city of San Francisco. If not soon, it will be as soon as the lease is up. I will live alone. The very, very short of it is I fucked up, made some hard decisions, hurt some people, got some courage and went out on all sorts of tiny, fragile limbs.

Despite all that, and in part because of it, I’m flying where I have always wanted to go, on to fulfilling lifelong imaginings. Oh, the things I would do differently, but I’ve never been more primed and ready to steer this singular life I’ve been given into one that is fully realized. Whatever that means. I’m going to fucking find out.

There are some people whom I love dearly who may never speak to me again. Meanwhile I’m meeting some of the most fascinating and generous people I’ve ever encountered, people who make me feel more alive than I have felt in recent memory. Everything is a blur. Almost all of it. Since moving I experience air, food, faces so intensely and fully that I can’t make heads or tails of anything.

It’s been four months since I left Tennessee for the Bay Area, and this crazy parrot-having place I landed in could not be more different than where I lived for the entirety of three decades. When I think of trying to put down into words how it makes me feel to be walking the dogs in the morning just as the sun is pulling itself over the crests of the Berkeley Hills, to see a palm tree in my peripheral vision, I go numb. Which is insane, it’s just a palm tree. What could be so fabulous and compelling about it that I cannot manage to convey its impact in writing? The issue isn’t the tree itself, it’s the unexpectedness of it. It’s purely foreign to me. A palm tree, to a girl who always lived in Tennessee, is an exotic thing. It is a large, looming figure of otherness; an iconic beast that exists in postcards and at the movies and on vacation. Never when you are walking the dog. So, when I see it out of the corner of one eye my chest brims with the thrill of not just something new, but a regular something new. Something different from what always was, and I can see it whenever I want. I just walk outside.

I am still experiencing culture shock a third of a year later. Today as I rounded the corner to take the stairs down at the Embarcadero BART I got stuck behind two older gentlemen, one of which walked with the aid of a cane. They slowly ambled forward at a pace just quick enough to prevent me from easily slipping around them. Side by side they walked down each step at an exceedingly slow pace making it impossible for me, or anyone, to pass.

Initially this annoyed me. I thought about walking too closely on the heels of the man not assisted by a cane to not-so-subtly imply I wanted to pass on the left, which is standard operating procedure. The thought quickly dissipated, and I decided instead to enjoy the leisurely trip down the stairs while I gave thanks for my youth and my healthy, able legs.

Moments later, over the roar of mp3s in my ears, I heard a hostile voice. “Move it. Move over! You can’t take up the whole fucking staircase!”

My immediate thought was that the loud voice I heard was a friend or acquaintance of the older gentlemen, and that he was teasing the men somehow. It became quickly apparent this wasn’t the case. Music was playing at a substantial volume in my ears - in part so I can avoid these situations, mind you - but I heard one or both of the older men say something in response to the guy yelling. And it wasn’t friendly banter, I can tell you that much. It was then that a man with long hair shoved under a baseball cap pushed past my left shoulder, and the men blocking the stairwell while yelling, “I don’t care how old you are!”

Stunned, I took the opportunity to follow the screaming man into the gap he so forcefully made for us and past the two bewildered men. I let the interaction wash over me as I scrambled down the left side of the escalator, which happened to be clear.

Had the yelling man not forced his way past the amblers I would have missed the Richmond train. My wait would have been another six minutes.

Once on the train car I found a place to hang on since all the seats were taken. I let the previous few minutes run over in my mind and I stood, mouth agape, at how I was in such a different place where the dynamics of daily interactions are played out in ways fully foreign to me. Frankly, I think if people rode mass transit in any significant numbers in Tennessee and that had happened, rude dude might have gotten a beat down, cowboy-boot-in-his-ass style. Or at least the serious threat of one. You just don’t curse seniors like that in public without someone calling your ass on it. At least, I think I’m right about that. It’s been a while since I’ve been home.

Anyway, I want to tell you, favorite reader, about my adventures in this fantastic place where every red cent I pay in rent is worth it because I love my life more than ever. I want to chronicle all the newfound fascinations I find in The Big City at every turn. I’m just too mired in the wonderfulness of it all to know how just yet.

It’s coming.

I’m no fan of Bill Hobbs*, but I try to give props where they are due, so here goes nothing. Hobbs left a comment at the farewell post at Volunteer Voters that deserves praise on a couple of levels. First, I’ll make with what he said:

It’s been a week, and I’ve come to a conclusion about the demise of VolunteerVoters.com. It’s not a big loss. It’s a MAMMOTHLY HUGE loss. There is a giant hole in the media fabric in Tennessee when it comes to political news. VV was the indispensable go-to source for all things political involving Tennessee, and provided depth and context that the various disparate news outlets often lack.

Additionally, while MSM outlets mention or quote from press releases and documents and such, VV often uploaded the whole thing, or gave readers a link to it - making it a far more valuable resource than any single MSM outlet for politics junkies.

It’s a damned shame that WKRN couldn’t figure out how to monetize the single most valuable political news property in the state. Here’s hoping that some other news outlet, one which understands the new media - and the new media consumer - and wants to be an information portal for its readers rather than just an information destination, decides it wants to take over VV, or at least hire Kleinheider to build a VV replacement for them.

This comment from Hobbs is about as close to how I feel about the situation as it can be. That site was special. It did something no other site does, at least not on the same level (hard for those with other jobs to compete with a full-time, paid blogger), which is streamline local and related national political news and opinion for an influential and sizable audience. Nashville editors, Tennessee senators and journalists all over the country logged in on a daily basis to read what Kleinheider brought. Surely someone with some smarts and a little vision can turn that into a profitable endeavor, at least in the long term. Bill’s dead on with that statement.

Here’s what also deserved recognition, and what prompted me to write this post: Kleinheider gave Hobbs hell. I mean, he deserved it, but VV was relentless when it came to the GOP blogger who is, no matter how you slice it, a force to be reckoned with. And yet, Hobbs comes to one of his biggest critic’s defense because what Volunteer Voters gave to its readers was bigger than all that. Cheers to Bill for being a big man. At least about that.

*Oh hai, understatement.

I almost broke my face from smiling so hard:

JBelle to her father:

“I want Clinton to win…wait, no I want Obama to win!”

“Why’s that?” he asks.

“Because I want to be the first girl president!”

I cried softly in the dark, slumped in a faded neon green t-shirt, guzzling orange soda. A Boyz II Men ballad blaring through fuzzy-sounding speakers flooded the tinsel strewn cafeteria. Tables were pushed along the wall, the mint and pink stool seats clashing with the decorations selected by a select committee of my classmates. I would like to have been on this homecoming dance planning committee, but I had no idea when those kids were chosen. It was the way those things would often go. Cool things like dance planning or group outings to the teacher’s house on the 4th of July would occur, always with the same rich kids in attendance, and none of the rest of us would be informed.

I cried, but no one noticed in the dark. I hated the slow songs. Even still, when I heard the tempo slow I’d nonchalantly walk around the handful of boys in my classes who might ask me to sway face-to-face with them, trying to catch their eye. They craned their necks to see over my head to the girls who weren’t growing out a short, botched haircut. Eventually I retreated to a chair after purchasing the soda, then sat and watched an 8th grade couple dance really close, chest to chest and crotch to crotch, deeply kissing for minutes with their tongues. They were out of sight of the chaperones, not that they cared. They were staring one another down when they didn’t have their mouths mashed together. He held her head in his hands as he kissed her on the dance floor.

I decided through my tears that a boy would kiss me like that some day, not like a prince kisses his bride and not like the kisses I saw on television, but like that couple who didn’t care if they got caught.

[Inspired by Sarah Brown]

UPDATE: Decided on a place, but the date has changed to SUNDAY, the 28th. Invitations to follow shortly.

Okay, so I want to throw a party for myself. That’s right, on October 28th I’m going to be entering my third decade and soon after moving all the way across the country, and I want to celebrate both those things with friends. I’ve never reserved a private room at a restaurant for a party before, so I’m seeking suggestions.

I’d like to invite about 35 or so people (I think), assuming that 25 will show. I’d like it to be in a not-too-fancy place where everyone would feel comfortable, but not a dive either. The service must be top-notch, because nothing puts a damper on a party more quickly than lack of adult beverages. I’d like for people to be able to move around and mingle easily, but also allow for entree eating for those so inclined. I’m thinking of throwing the party on Saturday, October 27th, around 6 p.m.

Any suggestion on a good place to throw such a party? My house, by then packed up in boxes, is not gonna cut it.

More on Flickr.

• I never heard that line, “This is the 80s, and I’m down wit the ladies,” in “Funky Cold Medina” before. I love it! I’m going to start using that line to reply to questions I don’t know the answer to.
• Every time I see an “I ♥ My Wife” bumper sticker I assume the wife bought it for him and made him put it on his vehicle.

Should I vote in the Nashville mayoral election if I am moving to San Francisco before the end of this year? That is the question I face on this gray and rainy day. I prefer Karl Dean to Roberto Clemente, but is it fair to vote for either if I’m just going to be living in the Bay Area inside 3 months? I’m not sure that it is. I’d really like to see Megan Barry win a seat on the Council, though, so I’m going to cast my ballot anyway. I’ve always enjoyed the Barrys. Plus, I think she’d make a great progressive addition to the World’s Largest City Council. I’ve lived in Nashville for nearly 30 years of my life, so I think the city owes me one last say in the matter. Besides, I’ll be back to visit.

You see, I’ve taken a job with the local CBS affiliate in San Francisco, California, the land of godless liberals who have gay sex on the streets while shooting up. The kind folks at KPIX (whose website was voted best in the state by the Associated Press) recruited me to run a blog aggregator much like the one I used to run at WKRN here in Nashville. I took them up on their offer to fly out for two days to interview, and after some negotiating I agreed to take them up on a full-time position. I’ll be working from within the newsroom Monday through Friday combing through all the blogs updated daily in the Bay Area, highlighting posts I find funny or provocative or insightful or informative. There will also be an automatic aggregator. Many of you may be familiar with the concept.

If you are wondering why I said I wasn’t cut out for moderating a community blog site, only to take this job 8 weeks later, you likely aren’t the only one. I asked myself that question many times in determining whether to pack up The Boyfriend and the dogs and move 800+ miles to one of the most expensive places in the country. But, luckily, I learned from my very public mistakes made at NiT, and I’ve taken them to heart. This new venture will be less about me. I’m not that interesting anyway. What I mean to say, though, is that I will put less of myself “out there” and concentrate more on building a vibrant blogging community in what is already one of the most wired places on earth. Also, there were some behind-the-scenes issues going on at the old station that I never felt the need to air publicly that had a lot to do with my decision to leave. I denied it at the time, because the pain from The Situation was so overwhelming that that was easy to do. But it was a factor. Also, the area out there is just different. My “radical liberalism” that makes me, according to the locals, “as far left as you’ll find on the internet” would not raise an eyebrow where I’m going. Crusades by blogging GOP mouthpieces when I dare state that Gitmo detainees might not be guilty (of what they were never charged with) won’t set off a firestorm. I’ve always been a liberal in a Republican oasis, but now I’ll be more conservative than most just be virtue of my home state. I relish the thought.

But that site isn’t about politics. It’s about the people of the Bay Area. It’s about mothers and strippers and activists and students. It’s going to be what San Franciscans are talking about, so to speak. I’m thrilled at the idea of getting back into the newsroom. There is a hum in the newsroom, a sense of urgency and excitement that comes with daily turns and breaking news. This one happens to be filled with smart, engaging people who seem excited about the new media possibilities that await them. (Or, the ones I met at least.)

And I’m so excited about living in my favorite place on earth. The weather is phenomenal all year long, the people are diverse, the art scene is incredible (indie and foreign films in the theatre ’til my heart’s content!) and the opportunities are endless. There is a magic to that place, and I’m about to become a part of it. It hasn’t exactly been easy to absorb.

I’m going to miss my friends and family like crazy. I’ve lived here my entire life, so all my roots are here. But I’ve always wanted this. I used to drive down the long stretches of bending roads in Ashland City dreaming of taking the subway. The BART is close enough (and now I’m going to sell my car!). Long ago my “about page” on this blog said that I’d be moving to the Big City very soon. It was up there forever then I took it down one day, resigned that it would never happen. It’s back now and better than ever.

We haven’t decided yet on the timing, but I’m leaving no sooner than 6 weeks from now. I want to get together with many of you before I go for drinks and hugs. And mailing addresses. I’ll be 30 in October and everything I have ever known is here. I’m going to be homesick for a while I’m sure. But I can’t think of a place I’d rather be homesick in.

P.S. In the time since leaving WKRN I have been working as a copy writer at Magazines.com. I just want to take this space to thank the generous and jovial people who make up that great place. They took me on as one of the family–even if I was the black sheep–and made me feel very appreciated. And I learned so much in my time there. I’d recommend it as an awesome place to work for any copy writer in the area who wanted to earn a competitive salary while building what will be a world-class brand one day. It’s an exciting place to work, so if you are interested in doing that, please let me know.

In a previous episode I told you about Almost Home Pet Farm, where Tootie and Cooper lived while we were away. We called the house this morning from Denver to get directions once again to the rather remote doggie destination, when the assistant answered the phone. She kindly gave me directions, and told me that “Tootie is just a little snugglebunny.” They both slept next to her, one nearly atop the other.

When we got there she had all the other dogs in the house but ours. We pulled up the long gravel drive to see them both paws up, looking over the deck. The assistant quickly came out to greet us, along with one slick little escape artist named Seamus who bounded over the gate like a bunny. We ignored the ignore rule (as usual) and gave them lots of lovin’ right on the face. Tootie about busted my lip she kissed me so hard.

We hit the car to head back home, finally, and within minutes they were both dead asleep. They came home, and immediately hit the hay. Cooper has apparently had too much social interaction because he was all, “See ya later, I’m gonna nap where y’all aren’t.” Tootie managed to stir a bit ago, maybe for some water, after which she slowly wandered back where I was. I was sitting in the floor, so I called her over to me for a rub. Usually it can be a struggle to keep her from climbing all over me when I get down on her level like that (The assistant said, “Man, she is all elbows.”) Tonight she just walked over and pressed her head against my chest. She stood there, practically sleeping standing up. I pushed her into her crate, and we haven’t heard a peep from either of them since.

Mission accomplished with the kickass dog boarding place, but I’m a little bummed that they are out of commission. I missed them so much, I wouldn’t mind a little elbow right about now.