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Kat and I went back to Sea Ranch today.
We got up early, leaving Berkeley by seven. We drove off through the rain and the mist, crossing over the Richmond Bridge, hanging suspended in the ghosty fog.
As we went up - through San Rafael, through Novato, through Petaluma - the landscape began to change. Off the 101, we drove through lush, green farmland, with rolling hills that reminded us of Ireland, occasionally punctuated with very un-Ireland-like palm trees. The light filtering into the car was soft and lovely. Wooden signs nailed to fenceposts implored landowners to fight against a local quarry.
"I hope this weather clears up soon," Kat said, as the tires slipped a little on a tight curve.
"Hopefully," I said.
Then, the sun found us.
We rolled the windows down and took a deep breath, the ocean air making me feel slightly giddy. "Can you smell that?" I asked her.
She nodded.
We turned a corner.
Storms from the night before had stirred up the sea, and she was like nothing I had ever seen. Massive white waves surged up from the depths and crashed back down into the blue, blasting against rocks and sending white foam fifty feet in the air.
As I picked up jaw up from my lap I cried "PULL THE CAR OVER PULL THE CAR OVER."
She did, and I was out the door with my camera, getting as close to the edge of the sheer cliff as I dared.
"Fuck," I breathed.
The air couldn't have been any clearer, and the ocean any more fiercer. I had never seen waves so large, tides so massive.
Further along, we discovered a tiny beach without a single footprint on it. We were the first people to walk there that morning, crunching through the pebbles, touching the brightly colored kelp and smooth shells and jagged rocks.
A sign warned us about "sleepers" - large waves that come up quickly and carry away unsuspecting beachgoers. We kept a safe distance, sitting on a rock and watching them crest and surge. They came down so quickly they left a misty trail in the air, refracting the sunlight into a soft rainbow that hovered over the blue.
We kept going.
The Sonoma coast is like something from another universe. We traveled for hours, hugging her shoreline. We went up dizzyingly high, red cliffs and found ourselves looking along a hundred miles of coastline, only to dip down into a dense, green forest that Kat dubbed "Ferngully." We saw the Russian River emptying into the sea. Then we were among trees that had been burnt in a forest fire, where tiny, pale shoots emerged from blackened bark. Then a small coastal town, then thick kelp beds, and then flat, tan fields of feathery grass where shaggy brown cows grazed, overlooking the immense ocean. I felt so staggeringly small, the hugeness of my emotions and problems and words and self swallowed up by this gorgeous place. We were nothing but ions, free radicals floating through space.
I cried.
And now, back in my apartment, in my PJs and my monkey slippers, with a great big dog snoring beside me and a big day tomorrow, I sleep.
Goodnight, California.How Are You Feeling Woah ooh Woah:  sleepy |
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How Are You Feeling Woah ooh Woah:  tired |
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How Are You Feeling Woah ooh Woah:  content |
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Dec. 25th, 2009 @ 10:14 pm
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Brunch at Leslie's (complete with orgasmic french toast), and then a lazy day of food and TV with ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) rebellibrarian and bigmeaniejerk and their pups = a very nice Christmas.How Are You Feeling Woah ooh Woah: content My Eardrums Are Vibrating To: the soup - e |
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My wonderful marnanel found this poem and sent it to me. I actually started crying when I read it, because it just... I don't know. It hit me somewhere tender, I guess.
THIS POEM ENTITLES THE BEARER
by Bill Noble
It does. It entitles the bearer
to one (or more) of those long languid mornings in bed
where everything she’s wanted to talk about
for weeks and weeks
gets talked about, where we’re so entangled
she has to slip a hand under the covers
to tell whose legs are whose.
It entitles the bearer to sex.
Not just any old sex, but exactly the sex she wants,
exactly when and how she wants it.
And then it entitles her to turn the tables.
This poem brings with it a bottle of champagne,
a dinner so good that the bearer’s mouth begins to water
just reading this poem,
and a dessert that shall be left to the bearer’s imagination.
This poem permits—even encourages—asking.
This poem grants long walks in beautiful places
and short walks for the succulence of enchiladas.
This poem dispenses celebration—
for the life the bearer is creating for herself,
and the right to remember the joy and power of that
any time she wants. It crooks a finger
to welcome her to that new life,
which is already here.
This poem entitles the bearer
to love. And it is a permanent reminder that love
is both a noun and a verb,
transitive and intransitive,
reflexive, or not, whether proclaimed teetering on the Matterhorn
of passion or breathed at the feathery edge of sleep.
This poem entitles the bearer to everything she deserves.
And a few things she hasn’t even imagined
yet.How Are You Feeling Woah ooh Woah: tired |
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Dec. 25th, 2009 @ 10:21 am
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For those who celebrate it, Merry Christmas.
And if you don't... have an awesome day, anyway.How Are You Feeling Woah ooh Woah:  awake |
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My coworker Kat and I went on an adventure today. She needed to take a client up to Sea Ranch for the holidays, and I didn't want her to drive alone, so we ended up going up together.
Now, I had a rotten day yesterday, and I was still in a grouchy mood when I woke up. I was also still sort of cranky as we drove to pick up her client.
But I stopped being grouchy when, having not even left Berkeley, we came across a man walking three goats. Not one goat, not two goats. Three goats.
I jumped out and asked if I could take his picture. He grinned, and said yes. When I asked him why he was walking goats, he said "Well, they need exercise, too!"
You can hardly argue with that.
We kept driving. It was a gorgeous, perfect day, and the drive was absolutely stunning. We kept coming upon these little hidden beaches and gorgeous coves. The sun was glittering on the ocean. Outlets emptying into the Pacific created surging, writhing undercurrents with white frothy peaks that I could see even from the road hundreds of feet above.
After dropping the client off, we began the meandering drive home. Along the way, we stopped and watched the sunset. And took some pictures. Because we are amazing people.
I started off the day feeling awful, but now I feel on top of the universe. Nothing like a California adventure to take your mind off life.How Are You Feeling Woah ooh Woah: tired |
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Okay, f-list. I need ideas and/or suggestions.
Two beloved friends of mine have invited me to stay with them in Vancouver for Christmas. I'd be on that 14-hour road trip in a heartbeat, except for Mister Oliver, who cannot come with but needs to be taken care of.
Normally, I'd ask the lady who lives in the white house to take care of him, but she's out of town for Christmas. I'd ask my other pitbull-loving friend Leslie to do it, but she has a broken leg. I'd take him to be boarded, except a.) I'm guess most places are full up at this point, and b.) Oliver hasn't had one of the vaccines that you're supposed to give dogs if they're being boarded (for kennel cough or something), and you have to get it at least a week in advance.
So: does anyone have any creative ideas? I realize that it's probably not going to happen, but I figured I'd put it out there just in case.How Are You Feeling Woah ooh Woah:  sad |
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I think it's really interesting that the two reoccurring images in this video are cameras and guns. It reminds me of a bunch of photographic theory that I had to read in college where we talked about the concept of photographer/videographer as predator.
Did I mention that in addition to being in love with Lady Gaga, I'm in love with Beyoncé as well? They're both so fierce.How Are You Feeling Woah ooh Woah: tired |
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How Are You Feeling Woah ooh Woah: tired |
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Lady Gaga barbie dolls. So much win.How Are You Feeling Woah ooh Woah: sleepy |
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How Are You Feeling Woah ooh Woah: tired |
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SO MUCH LOVE for Amanda Palmer right now.
Bonus Video: Amanda Palmer's "Leeds United"
How Are You Feeling Woah ooh Woah: tired |
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How Are You Feeling Woah ooh Woah:  happy |
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Is anyone looking for a job in the San Francisco area? If so, comment or PM me with your email address - my friend's office has some job opening information that I can pass along.How Are You Feeling Woah ooh Woah: happy |
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Dec. 16th, 2009 @ 10:07 pm
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GODDAMN YOU JOSS WHEDON WHY DO YOU MANIPULATE ME AND MAKE ME CRY
I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I LOVE YOU
How Are You Feeling Woah ooh Woah: tired |
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