An Astronomer In Hollywood

New Blog

noreply@blogger.com (sea dot) — Fri, 22 Feb 2008 19:42:00 +0000

In order to keep things a little more organized in my life, I've made my own WordPress blog on my website. I will no longer be posting to this address. Please go to:

The Cutting Room Floor

Slusho Zoom!!!

noreply@blogger.com (sea dot) — Mon, 07 Jan 2008 23:28:00 +0000

What I've been up to for the past few weeks:

This is my official entry to the Slusho!! commercial contest. It is a fictional commercial for a fictional drink that may or may not somehow play into the new film "Cloverfield," produced by J.J. Abrams.

Or doesn't it?

For those of you who think that sounds vague, let me explain:

It is.

Last summer, the movie "Transformers" opened in theatres across the U.S. (yeah, I loved it, so sue me). Immediately after the first East Coast screenings let out, Google began getting hit with thousands of searches for things like "mystery jj abrams trailer transformers" and "transformers trailer monster movie" and "1-18-08" and "free porn." With the exception of the last search, all of this was seriously pleasing the folks over at Bad Robot productions. Why? Before "Transformers," audiences were treated to a movie trailer (or "preview," if you will) consisting of a sort of first person video clip of what appeared to be a monster attack on New York City. It began with the taping of a surprise going away party and ended with the severed head of the Statue of Liberty skidding down a SoHo street. Vague bits of dialog like "I saw it! It's alive! It's huge!" could be heard through the chaos of the crowded streets below, as the party-goers evacuate their apartment and attempt to glean more information. The audience was given nothing more than the name of the producers ("Lost" creator J.J. Abrams and his parent companies, Bad Robot and Paramount Pictures), and what seemed to be a release date of 1-18-08. A wave of "what the f*@$?!" spread across the crowd. A massive viral marketing campaign was born...

Youtube was soon inundated with pirated copies of the trailer, the web world was abuzz with "what's it all about" speculation, Paramount pictures was "denying" involvement in this titleless production, and geeks and "Lost" fans like myself were salivating over having a new way to waste precious time.

Fine. What the hell does this have to do with some slushy drink thing? Honestly, no one knows! The drink was first mentioned in an episode of "Alias" (also created by Abrams, also a show that I love). Additionally, in the original trailer, one of the characters from the film was wearing a slusho! shirt. It didn't take web geeks like myself long to find the slusho! web site, where even more oddness was revealed (like a donkey swimming underwater while thinking of a blue oven mitt and a bizarre story about some "secret" deep sea ingredient that is evidentially used in the manufacture of slusho).

Now it appears that some company called "Tagruato Corp." has been harvesting this slusho ingredient (?) using off shore oil rigs, one of which (according to foreign "news sources" whose videos are available on YouTube) was just destroyed this last weekend, as the monster makes its way to New York City. Also, the main character from the movie trailer, Rob, has announced on "his" MySpace page that he is going to go work for this company...

This kind of realtime buildup to movies and alternate reality gaming is fascinating to me. The Internet is becoming an increasingly collaborative and accessible space for the human race.

I'm really looking forward to the film. At this point, I have an almost scientific fascination with it. I'll only be disappointed if, like so many other movies this year, this turns out to be yet another zombie movie...

Snowbird on Cable

noreply@blogger.com (sea dot) — Fri, 04 Jan 2008 20:19:00 +0000

The title of this post sounds like a casual observation. Birds are frequently found perched on cables when it's snowing.

While that is very true, that's not what this post is about. Ahem.

My film is going to be on the IFC three times (that's thrice) this month:

Tue 01/08/08 02:50PM
Tue 01/15/08 12:50AM
Mon 01/28/08 10:50AM

All times are Eastern Standard. Check it out if you haven't already. Chances are, if you read this blog, you have already seen this film. You've never seen it on cable, though! Think about it...

If you haven't seen it and don't have cable but would like to see it and don't have cable so you can't see it on cable, you can watch it online here: Snowbird on IFC

I'm in a bit of an idiotic mood...

Cheering for Phil!

noreply@blogger.com (sea dot) — Wed, 31 Oct 2007 22:05:00 +0000

Yesterday, I got a call from a police officer. He didn't identify himself as such immediately. He mentioned that he had gotten my phone number from my friend Phil Rowe, who is a fellow filmmaker. He staggered through his first few sentences while I waited for him to ask me for a favor. Perhaps he needed an editor, a 3D animator, or someone to do some web video thing. This is what I have grown to expect from conversations that start with "I got your number from..."

This would have been great. I could use the extra cash these days. I'm saving up for something big. Actually, anything other than what followed his awkward introduction would have been great: "Are you related to Phil?"

I wasn't prepared to answer that question. Something inside of me said that the answer he wanted to hear was "yes," but my hesitation caused him to inform me that he was a police officer and that my friend had been involved in a car accident. The gravity of this situation gave me the sudden urge to tell the truth. I was not related. But I gave him information on how to find a relative (his daughter). After that, I couldn't get any information out of him, other than the fact that he was in Boulder. I offered to help in any way that I could and let him know that I was close, if they needed anything. He simply told me that he had my information and would have the hospital get back to me if there was any news.

And with that, he left me hanging. I contacted Carl, who is also very close to Phil, and told him what had happened. He called the emergency room. They told him Phil was discharged. What a relief! Seemed like our friend was involved in a minor accident and walked right out the door! I spent the next four hours in this blissful and ignorant state of mind.

We got home that night and were somewhat concerned that we still could not get in touch with Phil. I called the emergency room back, telling them that I was just confirming that he had been discharged and that I was trying to get more information about what had happened.

"Rowe? No. He was not discharged. I'm sorry someone told you that. He is in surgery right now- in Intensive Care. His condition is listed as critical." My stomach dropped as my world got slightly smaller and blurred. How could this be? How could they mistakenly list someone in critical condition as "discharged," which is the opposite of said state?

I couldn't think to ask any more questions. I poked and prodded as much as I could, but the person with whom I was speaking admitted that she did not know any details. I hung up and told Carl the news.

We quickly made phone calls to see if any of our other friends had any information, but it was the first anyone else had heard about the situation. Not knowing the details was killing us, so we called back and asked to be transferred to someone who knew what was going on.

The story pieces came together: Phil had experienced a massive heart attack while driving and ran his car into a tree. He was undergoing heart surgery that was expected to last six hours.

Carl and I drove to the hospital. We knew that we could not see Phil while he was in surgery, but we wanted to try to get as much information as we possibly could and to have a "presence" there. Luckily, Carl is a much better liar than I am and when asked what his relation to Phil was, he quickly and simply answered: "adopted son."

"I'm with him," I grinned, stupidly. It worked. We are now officially family, which made things easier until his daughter arrived today. We were given the whole story. Turned out our dear friend needed a one inch tear in his heart fixed as well as a triple bypass surgery.

"It's a miracle he's alive," the surgeon informed us.
"That's interesting," I replied. "Yesterday I got a fortune cookie that said 'You will soon bear witness to a miracle.'"

She showed me the goosebumps on her arm.

After hearing the details and bonding a bit, we all agreed that Phil was quite fortunate, and had a good, strong heart.

The next day, we visited our groggy friend. We quickly informed him of his adoption of Carl, lest we be kicked out of the recovery room. He smiled and nodded at the news, clearly glad to have a son. Incidentally, his daughter is happy to have a brother.

I had been working on a costume for Halloween. I was going to go as the indestructible cheerleader from "Heroes." I had studied her costume and made it from scratch. I was prepared to singe it and put some fake blood on it to make it look like her famous train wreck adventure. I never got the chance to do this. I also never made it to the party I was supposed to attend.

Not wanting the costume to go to waste, I decided to give it a purpose. I post a picture here. Cheers for Phil! I wish him a speedy R-E-C-O-V-E-R-Y!!!

update: this post was delayed in publishing. I've had very little free time. For a couple of weeks, recovery was difficult for our friend. I am happy to report, however, that, as of 11/30, he should REALLY be discharged in just a few short days! This past month has been... interesting. I've exchanged glances and short words with so many different people at the hospital. We all share a bond. It's a bond that we should, perhaps, remember to carry with us beyond the doors of the hospital. No matter what happens in between, we are all bound to birth and death. Hospitals remind us of this humanness and the emotions I have encountered have run the gamut of human capacity- from the frazzled woman I witnessed yelling about the "incompetence" of the hospital to Carl, who along with the nurses and doctors make up the most amazingly patient and helpful people on the Earth. With this, I am filled with a renewed desire to experience life to its fullest. And also to never smoke a cigarette again in my life...

Views From Views

noreply@blogger.com (sea dot) — Mon, 29 Oct 2007 21:38:00 +0000

The world of experimental film has become a very interesting place for me lately. More words on that later. First, I wanted to post some pictures that I took at my screening, which took place on October 7th.

The setting: The Walter Reade Theater. This is where the Views from the Avant-Garde portion of the New York film festival plays. Before the programs start, we all gather in the gallery. I was very pleased to see that the program in which my film was playing was sold out:

I recognized a few faces, but as I said, I feel that I have become estranged from this world. A group in which I once felt so at home and seemed so welcoming to me seems at once elitist and alienating to me now. So I did what any normal person would do. I went to the bathroom with my iPhone to do some quick e-mails and take photos of my fish purse:

What? Wouldn't you do that?

After bonding with my fish, I decided the two of us needed to get to the theatre before the films started:

So yeah. Then the films started and I stopped taking photos and playing with my toys. Great program. Great films, all around, actually. I've exhausted all of my past strength to write detailed critiques about avant-garde films, though. I might write about a couple yet... It just always took a great deal of effort to write about these works and I kind of felt that the energy was lost. Again, more on that later.

I was kind of surprised by how many of these works were digital this year. Much of the experimental film world has been fairly "anti-video" for a while. With the exception of the occasional hiss at the video projector (yes, someone actually hissed), it seems like this "rule" might be beginning to bend (this is the avant-garde, after all- we're supposed to be all about bending the rules). Though I have been doing a lot of video work lately, my film was shown on 16mm. Unfortunately, the 16mm projector bulb was having "issues" which resulted in my already dark film being projected MUCH too dim. I've grown out of my "artist throwing a fit" stage and have accepted the uncertainties of working in the medium I have chosen. Besides finding it somewhat unfortunate, I simply let it go.

Besides, there was a director's party to get to and wine to be had:

Lots and lots and lots of wine!!

I really didn't drink all that much wine. I just liked the way my phone's camera handles reflected light in low-light situations. Now, for stars (the movie kind that don't emit their own light making them actually uninteresting subjects for my camera phone):

Jason Schwartzman!

Not really. I thought it was him, but I'm really bad at the whole "identifying people" thing. But I swear this is Wes Anderson:

Huh? Huh?! Forget it. I have no real pictures in this category. They actually kicked us out rather early, but this being New York, we just moved to a new bar.

Most of these folks are filmmakers whose films were in the Avant-Garde program, but I will spare them from being identified by my text here (that makes it Googleable and, let's face it, some people don't want a fuzzy strangely-lit picture of themselves popping up on the Internet when stalkers Google their name).

Finally, I snapped a couple of photos of graffiti outside of the restaraunt. A friend of mine asked me to snap a couple of shots because she thought it was beautiful. I agreed:

These Little Town Blues... and Nicole Kidman!

noreply@blogger.com (sea dot) — Sat, 20 Oct 2007 16:42:00 +0000

I love New York. I wish I could live there again, but I know better. Living in that city really took its toll on me. I might live there if I didn't have to make a living there, but as it stands right now, that's not happening.

A friend of mine had put the movie "Ghostbusters" in my head, so I was taking pictures of the various places in the film:

Ray: "Symmetrical book stacking. Just like the Philadelphia mass turbulence of 1947."
Venkman: "You're right, no... human being... would stack books like this."

Gozer? Who's Gozer? And what's he doing in MY ice box?!"

"Ray, when someone asks you if you're a god, you say 'YES'!!!"

I arrived at the festival office to collect my credentials, hoping to see a film or two (because, you know, film festival). It turned out that I wouldn't be able to see most of the feature films. The films that were playing over the weekend we were there were the so-called "popular" films, with stars like Nicole Kidman:
Oh, wait. What? Was that actually Nicole Kidman? Gee, I don't know, let's get a closer look:

Why, I think that was, in fact, her. Better look again, just to make sure.
Okay, these pictures kind of suck. I mean, I think the bluriness is kind of cool, but not when you're trying to prove someone's identity. That was Nicole, just take my word for it (yeah, we're on a first-name basis now because she walked in front of me). Yes, she is beautiful in real life. Also, she smells like roses. No, not like rose perfume, but like a bouquet of roses. It was a little surreal.

Earlier, I had to squeeze by John Turturro on my way out the door (who does not smell like roses). We had not reached the level of fame required to stay in the press room for the photo ops. I said, "screw that" and made our own little photo op:

Courtney Hoskins, director of "Snowbird" and "Gossamer Conglomerate" at the 2007 New York Film Festival for the premiere of her latest film "The Counter Girl Trilogy."

Carl Fuerman, director of "The Box" and "Oft Not" in attendance at the 2007 New York Film Festival.

And then we were really kicked out.

The press conference was for Noah Baumbach's new film "Margot at the Wedding," starring, obviously, Nicole Kidman and John Turturro, but also Jack Black (who wasn't there, but I've already "met" him, so whatever), Flora Cross (of "Bee Season," which was an excellent movie based on an even excellenter* book), and Jennifer Jason Leigh. There are others, I'm sure, but I didn't see the film, so I don't know much about it other than what was posted there. I'm sorry I missed it at the festival, but I'm looking forward to it.

Incidentally, Jennifer Jason Leigh and I must have similar-looking hair. Perhaps we even look a bit alike. When I exited the building, there was a brief moment of excitement resulting in a couple of pictures, but that passed as soon as it was determined that I was no one. And I KNOW they didn't think that I was Nicole Kidman- the only other famous female at the conference.

In all, quite a first day in the City!

*new, real, legitimate word

Air travel joys

noreply@blogger.com (sea dot) — Thu, 18 Oct 2007 21:47:00 +0000

I had a nice hotel room with a big, fluffy bed in Chicago, so I was a bit sad to leave it, knowing I would be crashing at a friend's apartment soon, imposing myself on their lives like any good former New Yorker would.

Sigh. I quickly got over it, though. I was, after all, heading to New York- a city dear to my heart and always full of excitement. I was also heading there to attend the New York Film Festival, where my latest film was going to be screened. I could get over the loss of a fluffy bed and pool.

Nothing, however, could ever make me happy about Chicago O'Hare (well, except for the UFO sighting (a video here), but that's neither here nor there- oh yes, puns intended).

Traffic to the airport was awful. For some reason, the cab driver seemed to believe that if you alternately slam your foot on the brake and gas pedals, the car would either fly over the offending vehicles, vaporize them, or somehow alter the spacetime continuum, making it possible to get to where you were going on time. Needless to say, none of those things happened. I got to the airport only an hour before my flight, though they "recommend" two.

I quickly learned that in the world of overbooking, "recommend" translates to "require." I was too late to check in and was bumped to a later flight, flying standby. Still, I flew out, eventually, and the trip out of the city was at least visually interesting.

Arriving at Newark airport turned out to be a mistake, however. $85 to get to Brooklyn? Ouch...

The Rest of Chicago

noreply@blogger.com (sea dot) — Tue, 16 Oct 2007 16:11:00 +0000

After three days of the Adobe MAX conference, I started craving art for art's sake, rather than art that is design which is supposed to maximize profits and provide a better, faster, and slicker "user experience." I didn't have time to go to the Art Institute of Chicago, which is unfortunate. I've been there once and wanted to return to the Joseph Cornell collection. I did get a picture of it from the outside, however:

I also got to walk around the city a little bit. Alone with my iPhone full of great music and its little camera, I was inspired by many city scenes:

I fell in love with that mirrored sculpture. I love photographing reflections:

This is a really cool water sculpture. The face towers are actually video images (that's my one complaint with my iPhone- no video) lit by little LEDs within glass or plastic bricks of some sort (see the bottom photo):

I really like Chicago. I think it's a beautiful city. I wish I'd been able to see more of it on my trip (as well as visit some of the folks I know who live out there)!

The User Experience

noreply@blogger.com (sea dot) — Mon, 15 Oct 2007 22:10:00 +0000

The title of this blog is one of many phrases I got sick of hearing while attending the Adobe MAX conference in Chicago earlier this month. Others included "integration" (mixed with a variety of other words), "client-side," "runtime," and "Adobe is the king of the world."

Okay, I didn't actually hear that last one, but that was the general point of the conference, so I "sensed" it enough. In fact, many of the workshops and lectures I attended seemed to offer more of that sentiment than actual "information," but some of them offered some new tricks and tips that I have been able to use in my job and my creative life.

One of several Adobe pep rallies- this one was the unveiling of new products to the crowd of eager geeks (of which I was one- when I learned that Flash may start "integrating" inverse kinematics tools in their product, the animation nerd in me got all choked up).

I got so bored in one of my morning workshops that I encrypted my notes to keep from dozing off:

Indeed, I am a geek among geeks.

I also got a little sick of filling out surveys every half hour (that is NOT an exaggeration) and eating potatoes. The potato thing got so bad that one of the parties featured potatoes in a martini glass. Them's fancy taters!

To be fair, I won a great book on Flash video and learned how to shave time off of some of my projects. Mostly, though, I just received confirmation that I do things right. Oh, and I also got to attend an over-the-top party, the theme of which, from what I could gather, was "80's pop/geek culture and stuff that makes you go, 'oh yeah, I remember that!'"

BMX bikers and skateboarders show the crowd what can be done when you are not sitting in front of a computer all day:

A giant game of "Operation" (oh yeah, I remember that!):

Oh yeah! I had one of these:

And these (things are cooler when they are big):

Remember this movie (I was deemed too intoxicated to go back to the future)?

And the Fusion engine from the sequel (beer make car go fast):

This conference really was just kind of over-the-top for the most part. The conference center employees revealed to me that it cost half a million dollars just to unveil the new products to the crowd- I can't imagine how much the party cost. Shareholders take note. Ahem.

I had fun, though:

Arriving at the party.

Preparing for the Segway obstacle course

The band. I actually like these guys. They did a swing version of the Spongebob Squarepants theme song and "Smells Like Teen Spirit" by Nirvana.

Jell-O shots. Without alcohol. Still pretty, though.

This was a huge virtual graffiti wall connected to Wii remotes. You worked with another player to create your wall and then a picture of the wall was sent to flickr. But I took my own picture:

iPhone, iSlack

noreply@blogger.com (sea dot) — Mon, 01 Oct 2007 15:02:00 +0000

I've been so neglectful of my blog lately.

I jumped the gun on the technology bandwagon and got myself an iPhone before I really had the time to learn how to use it to write blog entries. I figured out how to do it technologically, but the actual writing threw me off.

Don't get me wrong, the iPhone has an excellent keyboard. It's actually very easy to write. What it's not easy to do is edit! I've basically become addicted to cut and paste. It allows me to write fluidly and then go back and make edits after I've thought about how I want to communicate an idea. So far, I have not figured out how to do this with an iPhone, or any other mobile device.

Until then, I'll have to just play catch up when I have the chance to sit at a computer and type. Or, I'll have to learn how to hack the iPhone to get a text editing program on it. Or, I can figure out the best way to post photos directly from my iPhone because the thing takes gorgeous pictures!

(it's always important to test a cell phone camera with a self-portrait first)

(flowers)

(fungus)

(the soap on my windshield at the car wash)

I recently took my little phone with me on a trip to Chicago and then New York. I plan to post pictures and stories from those trips this week.

I do love my iPhone. I had my music on me at all times and could take a photo whenever I was inspired to do so. I was able to watch movies on the airplane and share my own films with interested parties. I could check my e-mail from the road. I could wander through the cities with my phone, search for a place, get directions or go to the website or call them directly... I'm not going into the details here. You can go to the apple web site to see all of the tricks it does. It really is a magical little device! I've never owned an iPod or anything "Mac." I'm very impressed!

Okay, I'm slacking

noreply@blogger.com (sea dot) — Thu, 27 Sep 2007 21:15:00 +0000

So I've been working on this incredible independent film by Pericles Lewnes. I haven't been able to say much about it because it's all been top secret, but I'm really excited that I might not have to be quiet too much longer.

Pericles is the quintessential independent filmmaker. Whenever I start a job for someone, I always get a little nervous when it comes time to actually watch the movie. I hope for the best, but I'm often... a bit let down when it comes to "quality." People often overrate their abilities as filmmakers (or underrate the difficulty of the jobs people on productions have) and try to act, write, direct, edit, sing, fly... on their own, usually ending up exploiting me or whoever else they have suckered into working on their production. However, this was not the case with "LOOP." I was blown away by the quality of the production, the acting, the...

I still can't go into details here, but I wanted to give a little shout out. Pericles has been a great person to work with. I met him participating in the "On the Lot" competition. "LOOP" is premiering at FAIF on October 31st at 7:30 PM at the AMC Downtown Disney 12 Theaters in Los Angeles. I highly recommend anyone who is going to be there to go see this film. At least check it out online at:

http://faif2007.bside.com/?_view=_filmdetails&filmId=32395578

Additionally, if you want to hear a little true independent spirit, he was on blogtalkradio, interviewed by Jon Moody for "The Independent Corner." I had wanted to get this blog up before his live interview last night, but the wireless in my house was acting up and I haven't mastered my new iPhone quite yet (more on that later). Click on "The Pericles Lewnes Show:"

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/JonathanMoody

The poster below will take you to the the site for the film.

The Counter Girl Trilogy at The New York Film Festival

noreply@blogger.com (sea dot) — Fri, 21 Sep 2007 16:03:00 +0000

I'm proud to announce that my short film series "The Counter Girl Trilogy" is being included in this year's official selection at the New York Film Festival. This is its U.S. debut (it's world debut was in London a little over a year ago).

It will be included in the "Views from the Avant-Garde" series in a program called "Bits and Pieces (Make up to Break Up)." The screening is at 6:15 pm on Sunday, October 7th at the Lincoln Center (Walter Reade Theatre) and I couldn't be happier with the company in which it will be shown! Some links are below:

The Bits and Pieces Program

The Entire Views from the Avant-Garde Series

The New York Film Festival Home Page

I've had the honor of seeing my films on this enormous screen before, so I'm really looking forward to being there. Also, due to the fact that Kodachrome has been discontinued, this might be one of my last Kodachrome prints!

Living with a Star

noreply@blogger.com (sea dot) — Wed, 19 Sep 2007 17:06:00 +0000

This could be a shocking expose about life with a celebrity.

It's not.

It's actually the name of a group that studies the interactions between the sun and life on Earth, or space weather. Furthermore, it's a cool way for me to show you something... cool. Well, cool relative to the rest of its surroundings, anyway. It's actually pretty hot! The below movie clip is footage of a sunspot captured by the Japanese-launched Hinode (Sunrise) international spacecraft.

Sunspots are areas of relatively cool temperature on the surface of the sun. This is caused by intense magnetic activity, which inhibits convection (that up and down swirliness that you see in soup and coffee- among other things, I'm just kind of hungry right now). The exact details of how and why they happen is still an area of intense research in Physics.

Some have said that the footage looks like trilobites. Others have said it looks like cells. According to the article (if you click on the title to this blog, it will take you there- all of the titles of my blog entries are links, incidentally): "This movie is a magnetogram— a dynamic map tracing the sunspot's intense magnetism," Physicist Lika Guhathakurta explains. "Black represents negative (S) polarity, and white represents positive (N)."

I just think it's pretty cool! Enjoy!

To eat or not to eat...

noreply@blogger.com (sea dot) — Fri, 31 Aug 2007 22:36:00 +0000

So, I've had a few people comment on/ask about my eating habits recently. Eating is one of those strange rituals we have as humans. It's an act that is necessary to our survival, yet we seem to take it to another level- it's social, it's a statement, and sometimes, it's even art. As Remy the rat (above) says in "Ratatouille," humans "don't just survive, they discover, they create...I mean, just look at what they do with food!"*

The first food question I get asked quite a bit is "you're vegetarian?" I'm often taken aback by how this surprises or bothers some people, but first, I shall italicize the inflections, because this can actually be three different questions:

"You're a vegetarian?" The "v" word. To many people, this is a bad thing. As if I am putting my life at risk by not eating the corpse of a rotting animal three times a day. Indeed, I am probably putting the lives of others at risk and keeping the entire American economy teetering because beef is not what's for dinner. Furthermore, I'm probably vocally political and annoying. Most likely, I will lecture you about the evils of Nike, scold you for having a goldfish bowl, or make you feel bad for liking "Transformers," rather than delighting in an obscure, heavily depressing documentary about how bad you should feel every day of your life for even existing.

In other words:

"You're a vegetarian?" As if I should "know better" or I just generally have a "meat eating" look about me.

In other words:

"You are a vegetarian?" Which brings me more to my point. This is asked by people who swear they have seen me eat meat at some point in time. Didn't I, that one time, eat a piece of steak? And didn't I, that other time, enjoy a bowl of steamed mussels with saffron sauce?

In other words:

Why yes, I did. In fact, when asked if I'm a vegetarian (which usually comes up only because I've ordered something with tofu or have asked someone to leave the ubiquitous "chicken" off of whatever dish), my answer is usually: no. I don't typically eat meat, but I "can." For the most part, I don't like it. It just doesn't appeal to me. It's not a black and white "decision" or a "statement." I also don’t care for cooked green bell peppers, but this doesn’t bother people as much as my distaste for pork.

(And for the record, while I do find that there are better shoe brands to choose from and do occasionally enjoy the obscure, depressing documentary, I loved "Trasformers" and have two fish bowls.)

This all began for me while I was living in Paris. I'd often see "beef" on the menu. Just like that- in quotes. "Steak" frites, for example. When I asked why this was the case in the less expensive restaurants, I was told that "beef" or "steak" usually meant "horse." I had a horse. I adored him. I also had a rabbit, which someone tried to force feed me at a fancy Parisian restaurant. Once, when my rabbit was cornered by my dog, it screamed. Yes, rabbits scream, and I remember it vividly. To me, eating horse or rabbit is the equivalent of eating my cats. Now, eating cat is generally thought to be taboo, but all of this made me wonder, why?

Why is it okay for us to abuse and cruelly slaughter one kind of animal and not another? When we hear about someone kicking a cat or beating a dog, most of us are horrified- indeed there are laws against it. The kind of cruelty animals raised for meat endure is unimaginable. They are usually malnourished or force-fed and many of them never even see the light of day. Chickens have their beaks broken off so that they don't fight in their close quarters, employees of slaughterhouses have been caught many times "playing" with the animals before boiling (to de-feather) and skinning them alive. Some of them aren’t even well enough to stand by the time they are brought to the slaughter house. If the image of a skinned, sick or crippled cow covered in blood and writhing in pain is not enough to make you think twice about that hamburger...

And that's all I ever ask anyone to do: think. If you're fine with all of that, so be it. As long as you have a reason other than "the commercials/news/my dad told me," I respect it whether I agree or not. We learn to tune so much out simply because it makes us uncomfortable. We in turn numb ourselves by overindulging in what we think makes us happy or getting angry at others for shattering our illusions. Our culture has a special place reserved on every plate for chicken, beef, or pork, but I don't think it always needs to be that way. I think the "fake" chicken nuggets taste just as good, if not better, than the dead ones. If everyone replaced that meat spot on their plate with a substitute just once a week, it would have a major impact on the environment and their health.

On that note, the other question I get asked is “how do you stay so thin?” Usually, this question is asked of me because I am eating French fries or chocolate cake.

That’s a far simpler answer than the vegetarian thing: I never diet. That being said, I also don't eat those things all the time. I think the best way to set yourself up for failure is to tell yourself you can’t do something. It turns that thing into something else... something "tempting" and "forbidden." Once it becomes that forbidden thing, it’s hard to get out of the habit of seeing food as a part of a battle. Then when we "give in," we give in good! We go way too far, eat way too much, and do it while feeling guilty or convincing ourselves that it’s what we really, really want or need to be happy. But what’s the point of eating, then, if it’s either mindless or torture? Just like with the vegetarian thing, I "can" eat French fries every day, but I find that I don’t actually want to. In the words of Anton Ego (yes, I’m quoting this film a lot- I adored it and it's about food, so back off!!!!) I stay thin because:

"I don’t like food, I love it. If I don’t love it, I don’t swallow!"

I simply try to make consuming food something I enjoy and savor rather than something that is easy, fast, indulgent, or can occupy my hands while I’m watching television or working. Last night, I ate a huge salad consisting of things that were grown right in my yard- fresh leaves of lettuce, green beans, bok choi, fresh herbs. It was more than food, it was an experience! It took me back to planting the seeds months ago and watching them sprout and grow.

(Peaches from a friend's peach tree)

When it comes to the food that I put in my body, I don't like just gulping something down mindlessly. I love to cook, I love flavor and ritual. To quote Remy again: "If you are what you eat, then I only want to eat the good stuff! " Whether that includes meat or French fries or not...

*If you have not seen this film, you are not allowed to read my blog until you do.

Brad Pitt's Secret Life

noreply@blogger.com (sea dot) — Tue, 14 Aug 2007 14:35:00 +0000

Oh boy! Juicy Hollywood gossip! There's been talk lately about tensions arising between Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. Much speculation exists over why this might be happening to this couple we know absolutely nothing about but who look cool and get their pictures taken wherever they go. Some of the theories are as follows: they fight over which democratic candidates they should support, which charity to donate money to, which horrific disease one of them has, who is cheating on whom, etc. (no, I didn't make any of those up.)

I'd like to propose a new theory. I have discovered that Brad Pitt has secretly been directing my favorite films:

When I first read this and saw the photo, I thought, "wow, that Brad Pitt is a pretty smart guy when it comes to animation!" Of course, everything made sense when I saw that it was not Brad PITT who said this, but Brad BIRD (who looks like this):

(Also known as "the one who won the Oscar," no offense, Mr. Pitt.)

I also feel that I should point out that Brad Bird neither directed nor wrote "Finding Nemo." That honor goes to Andrew Stanton. I got to "meet" both of these heroes of mine in L.A. last year when I drove out for the Screenwriter's Expo.

"Ratatouille" is quite easily the best film of the year, so far. That's my humble opinion and that only includes films that I have seen, but I have seen a lot, so... take that! Incidentally, if you are wondering what the worst is, in my opinion, I would have to give that award to "The Number 23."

Brad Bird has a habit of directing films that I love (damn him). He directed "The Iron Giant," which I've seen about a million times, and "The Incredibles" (see previous comment). He also worked on "The Simpsons" and created "Family Dog." Does anyone remember seeing "Family Dog?" If you do (and have fond memories of doing so), we should get ice cream. I loved that show.

I should start writing about films again. Ratatouille deserves more than just a blanket "it's awesome" review. Plus, I like coercing people into seeing movies that I love without resorting to "go rent 'The Iron Giant' or the bunny gets it!"

American Quilt Part 9- A Richley Woven Tapestry

noreply@blogger.com (sea dot) — Mon, 16 Jul 2007 22:06:00 +0000

I concluded my story with a contemplative trip to the ghost town of St. Elmo. The drive there offered spectacular views of the collegiate peaks. I'm not sure which one was Mt. Princeton, but I imagine that one of them had to have been!

The ghost town itself had that essence of Americana that I actually enjoy, and I was glad to have visited.

This little town actually reminded me of Lars von Trier's film "Dogville." Luckily, there were no gangsters or crooked townsfolk (though the place is reportedly haunted by a crazy woman nicknamed "Dirty Annie"). Also, all of the buildings were real, not just chalk drawings on the floor. Incidentally, that was an excellent film. I was able to imagine the setting despite the film's lack of an actual set. It was an emotionally difficult film to watch, but brilliant (with a most satisfying ending).

I was amazed that people actually survived here in 1878. The place made me reflect upon the richness of the history of this country. I'm not talking about Abraham Lincoln and George Washington and other more obvious "patriotic" choices, but this seemed like the kind of spot Jack London would write about. This led my mind to weaving literary threads of Mark Twain, Herman Melville, Zora Neale Hurston, J.D. Salinger, Gertrude Stein (this list could go on for a while and I'd never be satisfied with it). I let my mind wander into the visual realms of American painters and filmmakers, photographers and sculptors... This is MY American history, the part of the culture that fascinates and fuels me. Unfortunately, it is the part that, without commercial zest, sports appeal, or military might, is marginalized by society.

I thought back on my adventures at the springs. I wondered if any of my subjects were aware that the strange, quiet girl sitting in the corner with her meatless meal and oddly-titled book was finding art, poetry, and comedy in their colorful vacation world.

American Quilt Part 8- Lloyd's Place

noreply@blogger.com (sea dot) — Fri, 06 Jul 2007 21:32:00 +0000

I write this conclusion shortly after the July 4th festivities of this country. Traditionally, we gather in groups to celebrate our "freedom" by eating potato salad and hot dogs cooked over an open flame, drinking carbonated malt beverages, and then lighting explosives while inebriated.

For some reason, I wasn't in a festive mood. Perhaps it was the recent commutation of Scooter Libby's "unfair" punishment of a couple of years in prison (why did we freak out when Paris Hilton was allowed to serve the remainder of her sentence from home, resulting in her being thrown back in the slammer, yet this is somehow excusable- driving on a revoked driver's license is, I suppose, somehow more punishable than outing a CIA agent). Or maybe it was a friend's recent experience of having his Internet access at work censored, despite the fact that he is a web developer and needs access to such risqué sites as CNN and Google.

My point is that I can sometimes get irritated at the goings-on in this country that I call home. I get upset when "I'm an American" begins conjuring images of people behaving badly and loudly in restaurants and foreign countries, certain that only here can we drink beer and coke, buy a car and/or gun, vote, drag our country's flag behind our trucks, and not give a damn about any other place in the world that might not like these things. This results in the criticizing from behind a curtain of "patriotism" any citizen who finds this behavior appalling. "If you don't like it, leave," I've heard, as if disagreeing with the government is now unpatriotic, rather than the backbone of the Bill of Rights, or as if your home is akin to a football team that either kicks ass or loses and if you don't like they way they play you should uproot your entire way of life so that you don't spoil the fun of the game. This was the feeling I got from Mt. Princeton Hot Springs.

There are, however, times when "I'm an American" can actually mean something to me beyond what I say to the customs agent when traveling abroad. Arriving at Lloyd's Bed and Breakfast was one of those times.

My initial feelings about the place were mixed. I was looking forward to quiet. It seemed very small and peaceful. However, it came across as an odd mix of "military compound" and "vacation spot." The property was surrounded by a tall, unflattering chain-link fence and contained a man-made pond upon which sat a large plastic paddleboat shaped like a swan. A spotlight illuminated an American flag at the front entrance (reassuring me that I hadn't driven to Mexico or Peru- I was, in fact, still Stateside).

Despite the odd outside decor, I knew I was at least going to get some sleep. I parked my car and beeped the alarm, securing my chips and soda. To my surprise, I was immediately greeted by a smiling man in his slippers. He was soon joined by a woman in her bathrobe. Both of them welcomed me with open arms and offered to take my bags.

I was led through the entryway. It became clear that I was to be given the customary tour so that I could offer my approval of the place before accepting the room. This amused me. Quite frankly, a cot would have satisfied me at this point. I was, however, happy for the tour.

The hallway was decorated with oil paintings of Native Americans, black and white photos of trains, mining towns, and post offices, and various rusted tools that, unlike the random bits of junk that decorated the walls of the Mt. Princeton Resort Restaurant, seemed infused with history and importance. Of course, there were still dead animals on the wall, but they had a sternness to them. There was no faux happiness on their faces and their presence seemed purposefully haunting. These animals were hunted by the person who owned the place, not purchased at a flea market to fill an empty space on a wall.

I was led through the common room where the family sharing the bed and breakfast with me was playing a board game by the fireplace. I was introduced to my fellow vacationers who welcomed me and greeted me warmly.

"She says there were too many spring breakers down the street," the woman explained. My new housemates shook their heads. "Oh, that's too bad! What a way to ruin a vacation. We promise to be quiet, though."

I was led into my room. It was decorated with old furniture and smelled of fabric softener. I had two large widows, one with a view of the swan pond military compound, and the other with a breathtaking view of the collegiate peaks, which I was sure would light up as if they were on fire at sunrise. Most importantly, it had a large, clean, soft bed.

"Well? What do you think? I can give you the same rate as the place down the street if you want it for the night."

"For the night? I'll take it for the next three days!"

American Quilt Part 7- The Parting

noreply@blogger.com (sea dot) — Mon, 18 Jun 2007 14:40:00 +0000

We now return to our regularly scheduled program:

I do not like being mean to people, but I will be, if necessary. Several times in my life, this has resulted in my being taken advantage of until I have had enough and scream at someone. This comes as such a shock to the people taking advantage that I am immediately labeled as a "bitch." As in, "man, I thought she was nice. Then she yelled at me for repeatedly hitting her in the head, even though that was fine last week. What a bitch, that bitch." And so forth.

Unfortunately, the one woman capable of giving me a refund was the only person who had been kind to me at all: Unfinished Sentences Woman. I tried to hold back my true feelings, knowing full well that she was not the one to blame, and having sobered up entirely from my earlier pint of wine. Still, I was very unhappy. When I approached the front desk, she was all smiles.

"Oh..." she happily began, clearly expecting me to praise the springs.
"Yeah, hi," I curtly replied. "Um... what are the chances of my checking out now and getting a refund?"
"Oh... are... um... oh...."
"This just isn't what I expected."
"Oh... I'm sorry... I... oh..."
"I was just expecting something a little more relaxing. It's like Mardi Gras down there."
"Oh... yes... it is spring break."
"Oh? I wasn't aware that this was a popular spring break destination."
"Oh... I... sure... I'm very sorry. Yes... we can give you a refund."

The fretting on her part continued, replacing my irritation at the situation with stomach turning guilt. Although I assured her that I would be fine to travel back to Boulder, she insisted on setting me up somewhere else in the vicinity. I just wanted to leave Mount Princeton as far behind me as possible, despite the fact that heading back to Boulder would involve my driving through the night. However, sleep did sound tempting and I could tell that it meant a lot to her to try to right the situation, so I let her.

She called Lloyd's Bed and Breakfast down the street. They just happened to have one open room, which they agreed to give me at a discount. After much apologizing, "umming" and "ohing," I parted ways with Unfinished Sentences woman and headed to Lloyd's. Well, I headed about two miles in the wrong direction. Then I headed to Lloyd's.

As I passed Mt. Princeton Hot Springs resort, I had to slow down and swerve around an object in the middle of the road. As my headlights illuminated the dark shape, I recognized it as a pair of swimming trunks. Somewhere on Mount Princeton, a naked teenager was streaking through the forest.

Why Haven't You Blogged?

noreply@blogger.com (sea dot) — Tue, 05 Jun 2007 21:57:00 +0000

I'm asked. It's not that I don't want to. It's not that I don't care. I do. I think about blogging. I've just been working day and night on a new video project. More details later.

While I enjoy working on my films and videos, you know you have a problem when the last time you remember bathing, it was for a shot you needed:

Good thing blogs are scentless (though I did have the good scents (sic) to bathe recently).

And now, a series of behind-the-scenes candids shot by my talented neighbor, Geneva (who is working on a story with NPR about a time capsule car that she helped bury in 1957- it will be unearthed on the 15th of June):

Setting up the blue screen.

My partner, Carl Fuermann graciously filming me instead of working on his own video. Thanks, Twigs!

Everybody was Kung-Fu fighting! Okay, only me.

Then everybody was Kung-Fu stepping-on-a-rock-and-injuring-their-foot (soon to be a popular song)

So everybody was Kung-Fu dancing (because that doesn't involve pointy objects)!

I'm clearly Kung-Fu worried about something here, but I have no clue what that could be. Oh yeah:

"I shall fight this Pteradactyl flying down at me!" (or, "crap, the cat is in the tree again!")

Gratuitous action shot. Please note that none of this has anything to do with "real" Kung-Fu, which would be an embarrassment to the entire art form! I was just looking for "shapes" in front of the blue screen.

I do apologize that all of this came up in the middle of an epic tale- there are more hot springs antics to share...

In the meantime, here is a great blog to read:

The Heliocentric Pantheon: An Interview with Walter Murch

(Many thanks to Sam for sending this link to me.)

An American Quilt, Part 6- The Springs

noreply@blogger.com (sea dot) — Fri, 18 May 2007 17:10:00 +0000

For those of you who might not be familiar with what a hot springs pool is, let me elucidate:

A spring is basically water that flows from the ground. Well a hot spring is just a spring that is produced by the emergence of geothermally-heated groundwater from the earth's crust. And a hot springs pool is just a collection of said water. Thank you, wikipedia.

What's the big deal? First of all, they are warm. It's kind of neat to sit outside in hot water when it's snowing. Secondly, they are thought to have healing powers. Because they are warm, they can hold a variety of dissolved minerals and elements, from lithium (mmm... mind bending) to sulfur (mmm... smelly). There's quite a bit of evidence to suggest that soaking in this mineral water can help with a variety of ailments, from stress (my ailment) to arthritis.

Even a monkey knows that!

To be fair, they can also hold a variety of bad things, such as the naegleria fowleri amoeba, which lives in warm waters and soils worldwide and can be a cause of meningitis. Several deaths have been attributed to this amoeba, which enters the brain through the nasal passages. Thanks again, wikipedia.

While the above is an extreme example, hot springs do kind of contain their own ecosystems. Time almost seems to stand still around them. Not only do the seasons not matter- I once watched a snake sunbathe in the dead of winter- but neither, it seems, does evolution. Ants the size of nickels march around the edges of the pools and dragonflies as big as grapefruits flit from palm frond to palm frond (and palms don't grow in Colorado). I digress.

I've had some great experiences with hot springs. Several times, I've visited the Orvis hot springs in Ridgeway, Colorado (a good ten hour drive). This is a "clothing-optional" facility (read: "nudy") where the water is perfectly warm and does not smell sulfurous and is chock-full of calming, soothing lithium. Massages are given in yurts and health is the word of the day.

And then there is Mount Princeton.

I was told that there were two options for hot springs soaking. The first option was the man-made pool, which I could see was crowded with children. The second option was to actually sit in the creek that ran alongside the resort. This was the option that appealed to me. There was something romantic about the idea of sitting in a warm river at the foot of the mountain. Plus, there was enough light for me to continue reading "Naked." Plus, I was still kind of drunk and was romanticizing just about everything.

I think "hillbilly" describes the situation more than "romantic." It suddenly dawned on me that I was essentially sitting in a warm, dirty puddle. This epiphany came about the same time that I realized that this place was apparently a hot spot (pun intended) for spring breakers (boy, this is just full of double entendres). I found this somewhat ironic, since it was also spring break at the university where I worked and the last thing I wanted to do was actually follow the students to a place where they felt they could be even louder than they are on campus.

Sex-crazed college students chased each other through the water (splashing, of course, my book). A group of guys was having a contest to see how far they could throw large boulders into the creek (splashing, of course, my book).

I decided to head to the man-made pool.

Let me take a moment to say here that I love kids. I adore them. But when a twelve year old does a belly flop five inches from my face and then emerges from the water to say "holy shit, ma! Did you see that belly flop I did?" To which "ma" replies, "yes, honey." I begin to find them less endearing.

The kids were on crack! They were kicking strangers, running around the pool, cannonballing everyone in the water, and ma did nothing while pa just rolled his eyes. I'm guessing that "yes, honey" might be a common response for ma.

"Ma! I have head lice."
"Yes, honey."

"Ma! Can I light the baby's diaper bag on fire?"
"Yes, honey."

Sitting in warm water in a pool full of kids makes one cringe a little. My idealism began sobering up. I decided to head back to the room and attempt to sleep. On my way back, I stopped by the front desk to ask if there is any chlorine in the water, wondering if it mattered one way or another. I stood by the desk and waited to ask my question. I waited. And I waited. You see, the towel boy was busy making out with his girlfriend.

I could empathize with my fellow travelers, sure. Yes, we like to party in America. We like to eat steak and drink beer and sit in restaurants with fake and/or dead versions of things stapled to the wall. We like to drive SUVs, RVs, wear stupid hats, have things our way and...

You know, I live here too! It was time for me to join in. I decided to exercise my right as an American to demand a refund...

We interrupt this story...

noreply@blogger.com (sea dot) — Fri, 18 May 2007 16:46:00 +0000

...to bring you some sweet springtime images. The geese who live next to my office had babies recently. There's a family of four little goslings and one of an only child. These photos were all taken with the high end camera we just got (click on the images for the full-sized versions):

Ain't they just the cutest?
And a macro image of a flower, for good measure:

American Quilt, Part 5- Fine Dining

noreply@blogger.com (sea dot) — Mon, 14 May 2007 17:23:00 +0000

A bad sign: "Do Not Play the Piano!"

I've hated this sign all my life- hated the fact that it is usually hanging on a piano. What else is a piano for, if not to play? They ought to stick a different sign on it: "Reduced to Furniture." This was the first thing I saw upon entering the restaurant.

The second thing I saw was a series of grotesque, stuffed animal carcasses, all of which were posed to look tame and smiling. I stood by the brass "Please Wait to be Seated" plaque and waited, staring at their vacant expressions. And I waited to be seated. And waited...

I finally grabbed my own menu and sat myself at the bar. Most menu items contained one or more forms of beef and cost $15 or more a plate, so I settled on a wine dinner. I asked for a wine list. Of course, there was no wine list. The waitress pointed at the bottles on the bar.

Now, I'm fine with cheap wine. Some cheap wines are very good. I try not to be a snob about such things, but when the fanciest wine on the menu is Kendall Jackson, you know you will not be drinking anything spectacular (and the dinner prices had given me false hopes). I pointed at "red" and she poured me a glass. And I mean a "glass." Think of a glass of water. Take the water out. Replace it with wine. It was a good 16 ounces of cheap, red wine! I'd never had a pint of wine before (though I can no longer say that). I happily lapped it up in an attempt to calm myself. I cracked open my new book and began reading.

David Sedaris is an amazing writer. He has a way of turning any awkward situation into a humorous, thoughtful, and touching story. Like I said- a perfect traveling companion for a vacation like this. My mind was in tune with his long before I opened the book. Opening the book helped, though. As did the wine.

Suddenly, I found my situation... charming. The smiling mountain lion on the mantle, propped (quite unnaturally) next to a fake fern was... sweet. The elk head, turned in a gaping smile, tongue wagging was... quaint. Why, even the curling iron plugged in by the cash register behind the bar made a quirky sort of sense! "Of course," I thought, "what better place to curl one's hair?"

My fellow diners with their screaming children suddenly endeared themselves to me. These people probably worked very hard for their vacation. We all work hard here in the U.S. of A. After we work hard and earn our vacations, we just want to go someplace where we can eat a fancy steak, let our kids run wild, and sit under the gazing eyes of a murdered animal. Not exactly my idea of "vacation," but I was happy for my fellow travelers. They seemed very satisfied (though to be fair, they probably weren't staying in one of the six remaining so-called poolside rooms). The family in front of me found it somehow... cultured to pass around the plastic toothpick dispenser after their meal. Their children crawled on the floor, moving from table to table in search of... something.

"Up, Mitchell! Up!" the mother commanded brightly, as if Mitchell was a pup in training.

High on wine and compassion, I walked out to the lobby where I would simply inform the woman behind the desk that my phone didn't work. She began every sentence by trailing off as if she'd hoped they would finish themselves.

"Oh! Oh... I'm... oh... so sorry... um..."
"Not a problem! I was just calling to complain about the dog next door..."
"Oh...oh..."
"No, no. It's okay, but I also wanted to book a massage. Can I do that from here?"
"Oh, yes! Yes, by all means. Oh..."

She offered me the phone. I smiled and took it from her, feeling guilty that I had mentioned the dog (she was clearly concerned), and called down to book my massage. The woman on the other line asked me if I wanted Carol or Sue. I said that I knew neither, but I'm sure that they were both just fine.

"But which one do you want?" she insisted. "I have to put you down for one or the other!"
"But all I know about them is their names," I replied, defensively.
"Fine. Nine A.M. with Carol."

And with that, she hung up. Just another odd employee, I'd guessed. In the back of my mind, I was somewhat fearful of what a massage was, if "customer service" was such a foreign concept. But I couldn't be bothered by that now. I was heading out to do what I came here for: soak in the hot springs! Surely that would melt away all of the day's headaches...

American Quilt, Part 4- The Arrival

noreply@blogger.com (sea dot) — Fri, 11 May 2007 16:00:00 +0000

Tired and sore, I turned onto the winding road leading to the hot springs resort, eager for a nice, hot soak. My first view of the place took my breath away. Not because it was awe-inspiringly beautiful, but because I almost passed it, thinking it was a construction site. Actually, it kind of was.

A bit hesitant (I am NOT up to date on my tetanus shots), I exited my red Chevy... car thing, pushed the remote control buttons to announce to everyone that my car was LOCKED, so don't even think about stealing my snack foods, and approached the check-in desk.

The woman at the desk was very friendly and animated:

"Oh! Hi there. Checking in? How exciting! Oh! Let's see. Hmm. Oh. So, I see... you are upgrading to our cliff side room on Sunday? Oh. Um. Oh. Okay. That will be nice. The pool side rooms haven't... really ... been upgraded yet. It's too bad you can't stay in our cliff side room all weekend. The pool side rooms really aren't as nice. You will love it, though! Oh, and check out time is eleven o'clock, but you won't be able to check back in until three, but I'm sure you can find something to do for that time. So. Okay!"

I signed some papers, followed her finger across the map (ice machine, pools, rooms, restaurant...), and collected my room key. I returned to my car and drove to my room.

I wouldn't exactly place this getaway spot in the "spa resort" category. I would place it more in the "motel" category. In a further sub-category, I would identify it as "the kind where bad things happen to people." I've been to spas. You get to walk around in a bathrobe and slippers all day and breathe in the scents of eucalyptus and chamomile. I've also been to crappy motels. You sleep fully clothed and hold your breath when walking past certain "stained" parts of the room so as not to breathe in the toxic mold spores. This was clearly the latter.

Although I had requested a non-smoking room, I could tell that "no smoking" was a fairly recent rule, enforced, perhaps, sometime in the eighties. I determined this from the scent and color of the 1950's wallpaper that was peeling off of the wall. "You're here for the hot springs," I reminded myself, "not the room."

I'm a pretty happy-go-lucky gal, so I let it go. I began unpacking my bags and said hello to my neighbors who were on their way out. I actually found the motel to be somewhat charming- one of those old "Americana" type places sprung straight from the pages of "Lolita" or the frames of "Psycho." You know, a family place? My neighbors even had an old hound dog in their room...

...who immediately began baying when its owners drove off.

"Okay, okay," I thought. "This is not a problem. You brought your entire MP3 collection with in-the-ear headphones and foam ear plugs for sleeping." My getaway had suddenly degraded from "relaxing at a hot springs spa resort getaway" to "hiding in a dirty motel room with crap stuffed in my ears." I tried watching the television (the only nice thing in the room) to drown out the noise. Despite the fact that I was watching one of the loudest scenes from "Zathura" (very good movie), I could still hear the dog. I turned the television off.

"I'll schedule a massage," I thought. "And while I'm at it, I will inform the front desk of the dog." I picked up the phone and dialed the front desk. Nothing. I hung up. Picked it up again. No dial tone. I did the "trick" (which never seems to work) of rapidly pushing the little button that hangs the phone up. Nothing. No phone.

Okay. Fine. I will just drive back down to the main desk. I was eager to begin a new book ("Naked" by David Sedaris, which turned out to be perfect for this trip) and have a glass of wine, so I figured I would just grab dinner while I was down there. I opened the door to leave my room, and for the first time, really took in my surroundings:

Kids ran wildly around the campground, music blasted from most of the rooms, construction workers yelled on cell phones (very spotty service up there at 12,000 feet), and the water slide that the happy young lad surfed down on the web site was in pieces, all of which were strewn about in a field in front of my room. The pool (which my room was apparently "aside") was just a concrete hole. I held out hope that the cliff side room would be better.

"You're here for the hot springs... You're here for the hot springs..."

American Quilt, Part 3- Pit Stop in South Park

noreply@blogger.com (sea dot) — Thu, 10 May 2007 15:56:00 +0000

I drove through South Park to get to the hot springs. This is neither as cool nor as funny as one might imagine. There is nothing particularly exciting about the real-life town aside from its name, and most of its inhabitants (from what I could tell) weren't very geometrical or funny and didn't speak in strange voices.

In fact, I took a photo, but was driving through rather quickly, so I didn't get a chance to focus on anything. Still, I've looked at it and I see nothing strange, funny, or copyright infringing about it (click to enlarge):

American Quilt, Part 2- Getting There

noreply@blogger.com (sea dot) — Wed, 09 May 2007 17:37:00 +0000

(in stupid blog style- part one is beneath this post, so scroll down if you haven't read it)

Because I am a member of Mensa, I get a significant discount on car rentals. I'm not sure exactly how this relationship works, but I'll take it. Mount Princeton is a good two and a half hour drive from Boulder and I didn't want to leave my significant other without a car for the weekend.

I arrived at the Millennium Harvest House Hotel, eager to pick up my car. There is something exhilarating about renting a car. It is one small way a person like myself, who would spend $20,000 on film stock before buying a new car, can participate in the excitement of American consumerism. For a mere $40, I get an entire weekend of "owning" a new car, with all of its smells and none of its monthly payments. To boot, they even gave me an American car! A red one with a remote control to lock the doors, beep the horn and flash the lights!

But before I got my car, I got a little sidetracked at the hotel. The signage for the car rental company led me to a dead end. I had to make my way back to the front lobby. I suddenly found myself at the annual regional sewage conference (ahem, I mean water and wastewater plant operations conference). As if this wasn't funny enough in and of itself, it just so happened that I had helped design their web site just a month prior. While it was tempting to sit in on "Why Chlorine?" "Biosolids," "Advanced Activated Sludge," and the other tantalizing classes I had fantasized about while updating their web content, I had a date with a swanky hot spring resort and didn't want to sully it with memories of sewage (for those who have never been to a hot spring, most of them smell like sulfur).

I eventually found the car rental booth, and before I could say "limited liability," I was on the road. I made a brief stop at a local Target to buy an adapter for my MP3 player (the radio doesn't work very well in the mountains), fully intending to exchange it for a set of knives upon my return. "It didn't work," I'd lie, "but I do need a new set of kitchen knives."

About 15 minutes into my trip, I sadly realized that I would not have to lie. It didn't work. It worked better than the radio, but it wasn't the experience I had been hoping for. Without the music to drown out my voice, it became painfully obvious to me that I knew very few of the lyrics to Beck's new album. "When the in-for-mation comes you'll know from the bacon!" is most likely not what he's singing.

This was not the road trip of my dreams. It wasn't even as pleasant as the road trips of my past. My bag of chips exploded due to the change in altitude, causing me to scream and swerve before realizing that I had neither a flat tire nor a gunman in the back seat (but pathetically, this almost ALWAYS happens to me on road trips- someday I will learn to open all of the bags before ascending). Despite the slick sexiness of my brand new car, I never seemed to be going fast enough to satisfy the other drivers on the road. Junk food and cans of Red Bull were flying through my car with every dangerous mountain turn, but my fellow drivers were still passing me left and right. There must be some unknown law of Physics that I do not grasp. Or maybe they were just using cup holders.

One thing was certain: they all had big cars. Vacationers like myself stuck out like a sore thumb here in rancher country. We were all driving cars, minivans or VW buses. The locals had SUVs and trucks. "Heavy duty" and "super duty" were two silver decals I saw passing me on many occasions. Saying "super duty" out loud always makes me giggle and consider proposing a new course for the wastewater conference. But I'd never tell them that...