Introducing Josie

Our family just got bigger. We adopted a puppy from a rescue organization this weekend. Big D found her on petfinder.com on Sunday and we passed our house inspection later that afternoon and then drove down to Carlsbad that evening to pick her up from her foster family.

She is part golden retriever/part German Shepherd. Although, that is just what they tell us and I secretly suspect she might be part horse. Needless to say, she is going to be a big dog. She has a sweet submissive personality and wants to please.

Inner City Pressure

Vacation All I Ever Wanted Vacation Had To Get Away

I was up in Pismo for a few days. Getting a little respite from Los Angeles was long overdue as you may have noticed from some of my recent blog entries. I love the Central Coast for it's laid back beachiness and lack of the SoCal attitude. Two days wasn't long enough. A true summer vacation should be a least seven days but it gave me a taste of relaxation and it was much needed.

You can see more pics over at my flickr site.

And Now We're Ten Years On...

in Los Angeles. The U-Haul puttered in on the 10 from Vegas ten years ago on the Fourth. Big D always seemed to find that symbolic. I never got it. Still not sure what it all means or if it even should. But I thought it worthwhile enough to mention, so there you have it. Never thought I'd still be here. If you asked me ten years ago as I was unpacking into my bungalow in Los Feliz where I would be today I would have said, or at least thought, some mud hut in Africa or a houseboat on the Huong River.

You Can Always Blame the Parents

Despite her immense wealth and privilege, I feel bad for Paris Hilton. She is not entirely a monster of her own making. Certainly, she contributed to her persona, but her parents are there every step of the way. Did they cut off her monthly check when the sex tape surfaced or the tape of her getting high and using the big N? Oh hell no they didn't. And you know why? They are participants in her celebrity. They feed off of it as much as the paparazzi and you and me. Did you see how her daddy jumped the seat of the SUV when she was released from jail so Paris could have the good tabloid view or how her mother rolled down the window so all the sleazy photographers could get their shot in?

An acquaintance of mine taught Paris in middle school. She told to me that at one point during the year, she called Kathy Hilton into a conference because Paris was not doing any work required for the class. She said that Kathy responded that Paris would be making money off her looks and not her brains. And then, at sixteen her parents apparently condoned her moving to NY to be a model. So I believe Paris when she says she wants to drop the dumb blonde act. The problem is that behind the dumb blonde is just another dumb blonde--and she can thank her parents for that.

Two Confessions

I hate the Fourth of July. I hate everything about it. I particularly hate fireworks, stars and stripes paper tableclothes and napkins from Walmart, not to mention red, white, and blue cups, paper plates, and plastic utensils. In fact, the Fourth of July reminds me of Walmart. I hate Walmart. Driving by Walmart gives me a panic attack. Walmart reminds me of the Fourth of July. Crappy beer, crappy bbq, crappy chips, and crappy desserts. I just hate them both-Walmart and The Fourth of July. Does that make me a bad person? A bad American? So be it. I have to be me.

That's Wack!

WACK! closes July 16 so if you haven't seen it yet, you should stop by the Geffen Contemporary in Little Tokyo and see this important exhibition of feminist art during the late 1960's and '70's. I had been meaning to see Wack! since it opened in March but finally had some time off from work (not by choice but by circumstance) and used one of the afternoons off to see this incredible collection of feminist art. I came of age in the period following this group of second wave feminists and looked at these works as ground, the foothold that supports female artists today. In school, we studied these works. We used their language but we questioned and even poked fun at the anger and the frustration--how quaint those pre-global, pre-internet (pre-photoshop) times were! We were the Gen-X third wave feminists tip-toeing across the millennium and we could love our whore just as much as our Madonna because these foremothers had punished themselves enough for all of us and now we were all cleansed and Amen.

But seeing the exhibit and these works as a whole movement rather than selected female pieces was awe-inspiring, difficult, powerful, thought-provoking, and joyful and wrought with pain. This is life and art and the personal was, and I think still is, political. This exhibit argues that these female artists not only influence current female artists but contribute in a profound way to the foundation for all contemporary art, period. No pun intended.

If you can't see the exhibit, you can check out the website:
http://www.moca.org/wack/

The only thing that was weird was the high-anxiety guards in the Geffen. They have at least one posted at every corner of the space and they follow you around and kinda stand next to you when you are viewing the work like they are guarding a prison and you are the prisoner who might revolt. It added a very strange touch to seeing this exhibit.