I go to school at Hogwarts.

This is Gabriel, one of the better friends to have. By the way, I'm not really at Hogwarts. After all, this is Iowa, not England! However, I do think it's probably the closest thing. I mean we ARE getting the finest education in things like witchcraft and wizardry, at least by the standards of many small minded folks out there. We meditate twice a day, we eat vegetarian, organic, local'er-than-local food, we listen to pretty music in class that enhances our brain power, we go to yoga class with school mates, friends, and local business owners, we party just enough to keep the flavor, and we all treat each other fairly well, not because we're being threatened or paid to, but because we want to. Most everyone here is too interesting, amazing, or friendly to be lame towards, so it would be a big ol' waste of energy anyway. I'm doing the one thing I've avoided for years and years, and that thing is college. Decidedly in it to win it, getting my major in Sustainable Living, writing this from a dorm room...though, it's probably not what you're imagining as a standard dorm. This big room is just for one single me and my ipod. I can listen to Teenage Fanclub pretty loud because the walls are made of massive brick, and nobody else is here to tell me to turn it down so they can study. A bed, two desks, huge closet, bookshelves, and a just-fine view from my window, all to enjoy by my not-so-lonesome. There's a huge tree outside turning deep shades of golden orange, and around 5:30 the sun does the prettiest dance all over the leaves. I'm in a class called Physiology is Consciousness, and I'm learning how the brain functions. What class are you in?

Sympathy For the Devil

When I watch movies, 99% of the time I usually end up siding with the "bad guy." It's so funny how it always works out that the savior or hero is, at least in my mind, kind of an asshole most of the time. Of course this isn't always the case, but it's become so casually routine that I basically don't expect any good or bad anymore. The Batman stories and the villains involved actually made me question my morals as a very young girl, so much in fact that I've dubbed this chronic mental state as the Mr. Freeze Syndrome. He's the perfect image of a loving, devoted human being who is suddenly set on the wrong course through actions out of his power. All he ever wanted to do was save his wife. It just so happens that in order to accomplish this, he has to steal diamonds to feed the machine keeping her alive. Tough break, right? There isn't really an easy way out of this dilemma. Walking up to the authorities and calmly explaining the situation probably wouldn't get you anywhere when you need a down payment for the entire stock of Tiffany's on a weekly basis, so he breaks the law, over and over and over. There is a point when you have to really analyze a situation and say "all right man, looks like your wife isn't coming back," which is hard but then again, that's life. The only difference between villains and the rest of us is that they refuse to accept that life will simply go on. They don't give up, and sometimes it's not the best idea to keep pushing luck like that, so they get themselves into trouble. Isn't there a part in you that gets a little bummed when the bad guy is defeated (generally speaking, this is usually a more p.c. word for "murdered", which is another word for "justice")? Even Elmer Fudd started crying every time he thought he'd succeeded in the demise of Bugs Bunny. Heroes are not pure beings, should they be throwing stones? In the end everyone is just learning about who they are and how to do the right thing in order to get by. If this means helping the world because there is hope, or caring less because people suck, it's all a matter of perspective. Good thing there's usually enough balance to back the other up.

Hold On to Your Friends

Today I starting thinking about the New York Dolls, mostly brought upon by the desire to see an interview with Morrissey that I hadn't seen before. So before I knew it, I was at the video store and was shocked that they actually had a copy of their documentary. I forgot how much I like their music, and also hadn't realized that David Johansen was in Scrooged! He's a pretty scary looking guy, fit for the part even when he was young. If you've seen this documentary, I think you'd either love it or leave it. My reaction was very emotional. Faith is such an important thing for people, and to see it develop in someone who may otherwise seem unlikely, well it's all the more beautiful. Like when your friend who's always the last to leave the party confides in you that they might be ready to calm down and start a family. It's not a bad thing to be a part of. But back to the movie, New York Doll, it drags you just far enough to feel a relationship with Arthur Kane, only to leave you alone in the end. When you think about it, the suggestion really completed the message of the film. Morrissey, in semi-confidence, tells us that Arthur was not a happy man. This makes me want to understand him even more, and then to find that he's since passed only made it more powerful. He wanted to be a good Christian, and somewhere in my soul I believe that his faith kept him alive and well until the few weeks after the Dolls' reunion, when he was diagnosed and, two hours later, died of leukemia. Morrissey calls the band cursed. Every time something positive happens for them, something tragic then follows, almost routinely. However, I don't understand this in the same way. To me it seems that it would have been truly tragic if he died before indulging on the stage one last time, but he was...can I say, "allowed" the chance, from what power, who knows. God, perhaps. Fate, maybe. Coincidence, possible. But to us it doesn't matter, it was his life, and to him, it was completely personal. I'm grateful for what Arthur 'Killer' Kane represented, and I'm very happy to know that he will be remembered for what he truly was.

If I could bring you to my hood

Have you ever seen someone dance so hard that their hands combusted into a bloody mess? There are a variety of responses one could have to witnessing something like this. It's a symbol of violent, passionate severe love, and I felt it too, because it couldn't help but spread through the crowd. The 24-odd people who stood around the venue got more than they asked for. I met one person there who had heard of The Tough Alliance, everyone else seemed to be there more or less for beer and a place to be on a Saturday night. Once the music started, the crowd was swept away forever. The tornado effect. Once they were done, most everyone left, a few girls with long hair and tall drinks danced together on the sticky floor, and the rest stood by the bar to get their last sips in. I stood there too, wondering how I was going to get home (which was 6 hours away), and got my phone out to call a cab to get to the greyhound station. Before I could get my call in, I was distracted by a couple of drunk "dudes" slapping the back of Eric Berglund, yelling things like "holy fucking shit, man!" and "keep it up dude, that was fucking insane!" I didn't know what to do, and I really didn't expect to feel the gut-dropping sensation of being star-strucked. I mean, there were about 8 people there, and I was nervous all the sudden. He looked over at me and I focused all my attention on the floor. When I looked up he said in his scratchy english, "people say things...I do not know..." and scratched his neck. "Are you okay?" I asked, indicating to his bloody hands. "Why would I not be?" he said. More directly, I pointed. Looking down at them he said, "Oh! I suppose not...how the fuck...?" Henning Furst made himself known which I figured was their cue to take off. I didn't have much time to think, so I grabbed Eric, made some noise about how I felt about everything in the moment, and got outa there fast. Little did I know that was only the beginning of my adventure. I got home the next day, though it felt like much longer. I was almost put in a similar place that Eric must have been in while his hands went on smashing themselves without his knowing.

Beaches and places to mosey.

Anyone who says they "hate LA" is selling something I'm not about to buy. I believe that most of these individuals have personal problems with the place because they haven't spent enough time in it, or have overbooked their stay. There are also those who haven't actually been there, but insist that "driving through it" counts. It doesn't. If you did not visit a beach, have a decent meal, or say the word "sunset" during your visit, then you weren't actually there and haven't given it a fair trial. In fact, I'd say that the city of Los Angeles wins because you were absent from the hearing. There is a magic in LA that creates a sense of a hyper-world, America on pills, and surprise excitement, like oxygen being pumped through casinos. It's just there. The dark side is just as important as the good stuff, because it's the thing that reminds us when it's time to either slow down or leave the building. It's Vegas meets New York. You just gotta take it for what it is. And next time you go, take your favorite outfit, THEN tell me you didn't have a good time. See, now you want to go. Ha.

Title Track

Welcome, this is it. When I'm not writing, sleeping, drinking, or watching a movie, this is where I come to think. These boys are some yungguns I met on the bus in Los Angeles, on my way back from the beach one beautiful evening. You know how it can be in LA. Do you see that? Dude is totally playing N64 from around kids neck. The little one was probably no older than 13, and I felt intimidated by how relaxed and comfortable they were, and it made me think about the concept of "person" as a definition. Then figured that it probably is just whatever you make of yourself depending on your circumstances and upbringing. These guys were too cool for a Webster. I encourage all of you to say NO to dictionary specifications while describing or creating yourself. And take the bus every now and then, you can meet some awesome people.