NOT KEEPING SCORE

The house is being painted. It is time to purge.

While tossing out old boxes, I uncover this little gem: an old “plan” of mine titled: “Life Plan.” Written: Summer 2002 (21 years old). Reads as follows (verbatim):
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Time is money.
And as it stands to reason: money=time.

Spending most of my day, these days, working and burning the midnight oil, I again come up against that age-old question — how much is my time worth? And… do I really want to sell it?

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Oh, who am I kidding-

There is no Robot-Lego FlashDance going on — I don’t even own legos. [Read more →]

Running around like a chicken with her head cut off, your author neglects (temporarily!) to post new material on NKS… but trust that it is all leading to bigger and better things. You can’t stop this girl from writing; she loves it like breath.

[[-End tedious 3rd person narrative-]] I’m doing another poetry reading this Thursday, working on putting together a chapbook, in the editing (finally!) phase of my grandfather’s memoir, writing mad-hot copy for [confidential!] client, and making headway to return to my other love: Vietnam

And just in case you think I’ve turned soft on you — worry not. I am only a Sonoma County yippie-poet part time. The rest of the week I still perform the Robot-Lego FlashDance that you all know and love.

…Hang Tight.

Returning home from Turkey has been a mild culture shock I still don’t think I’m over; whereas before I did yoga twice a day, ate fresh vegetarian meals, and my most difficult decision consisted of whether to read in the hammock or swim in the Mediterranean — I have come home to an avalanche of work, raging forest fires, and my cat bleeding from the head*[1]
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I’m doing another performance for Mortified Live SF, where people stand up on stage and read edited material from their childhood / teenage years. I am once again reading a series of diary entries of when I was in Junior High and took a militaristic approach to making my crush fall in love with me… (didn’t work). But I got some good embarassing material out of it, which is what counts in life.

And my mug seems to have made the Mortified website (far right, wincing - that wince is for you, Aaron!) Come witness my humiliation Friday, June 27 and Saturday, June 28 at the Make Out Room (Google Map) in San Francisco at 8pm.

I leave the country for three weeks, and I come back to discover Hill has dropped out of the race, gas is over $4 a gallon, and this is what passes for viable music subjects:

 
Kid Sister ft. Kanye West - “Pro Nails” from Ruben Fleischer on Vimeo.

Mani-Pedis? Oh, Kanye… And to think, I was just making headway in Arab-American relations.

Not known for her camerawork, your humble author still manages to capture a moment of what makes Turkey so spellbinding.

(Blue Mosque)

I am sitting in a hostel cum internet cafe, on the terrace over-looking Istanbul’s Bosphorus. I am drinking a small hourglass-shaped glass of Turkish tea, no sugar, as the air turns fuzzy with dusk. I am over-hearing snippets of hip, young, international travelers with tattoos and square thick-rimmed glasses and white cardigans, and beer. They are speaking of their tactics for world travel. How to navigate the bazaar. How to avoid the tourist-traps. I am glad I am not them.
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