Flying Lotus – Kill Your Co-Workers from beeple on Vimeo.
You are welcome.
I was craving those warm, salty, crunchy seeds of awesome on a crispy fall afternoon; there is no greater thing than a freshly roasted pumpkin seed. Thus, the first pumpkin of the season became impaled on my knife. There will be more. Oh yes, there will be more.
In life news, I’m trying to breathe through the chaos. It is rewarding being so busy, in a totally masochistic way, but I can’t help but feel like I’m doing everything a little less perfectly than I would like because of I am overextended. This too shall pass.
Also, I think I know what I want to be when I grow up. It feels good to be coming to peace with my ambitions during my last quarter of school. Just in time, I ‘spose.
Things are looking pretty fun in my neighborhood.
I have my marching orders for the design internship. Mock-ups and photo archives and Adobe InDesign, oh my! (Preemptively speaking, unpaid design work is more fun than paid desk work.)
I have an entire week off, staring on Wednesday. My agenda is:
This, for me, is living in the most hedonistic and Utopian way.
And last, but certainly not least, I’ll be starting my last quarter as an undergraduate at the end of this month. Exciting! I’ll be taking 20th Century Architecture and Indigenous Film. Just thinking about this crossroads makes me a little weepy (and confused and scared and excited and grateful). I’ll conjure up something far more eloquent and touching once I am actually done, but it wasn’t that long ago that I had my friend Kevin editing my admissions essay and I spent a few months daydreaming about studying abroad. Life: it moves fast.
Key Bands: Bikini Kill, Bratmobile, Heavens to Betsy, Huggy Bear, Excuse 17, Team Dresch.
Supporting document: The Riot Grrrl Manifesto
The riot grrrl movement was an important clash of third wave feminism, punk rock, DIY politics (and aesthetics), and youth culture in the early nineties. Twenty-something women wanted to play their guitars loudly and be heard; they were tired of being sidelined through patriarchal musical standards and business; they wanted to reconstruct femininity and make it tough. The isolated clusters of pissed off college educated (mostly) white women located in Washington D.C. and Olympia eventually spread into a little feminist army, resembling to consciousness raising groups of the second wave feminist movement. Loud punk music with nationwide tours combined with ‘zine distribution and mainstream press coverage to give salience to their message.
And for the first time, mainstream media took notice of these women taking music production and cultural revolution into their own hands. Soon, publicity ranged from sincere Sassy profiles to hilariously patronizing television exposes, rich with “look at how these cute girls are destroying their dresses and yelling and spitting and smearing their lipstick.” Consumption culture cast the death spell on the movement, because once riot grrrl mentality was being sold back to the suburban girls in the form of pseudo-feminist role model Courtney Love and the latest scent of Teen Spirit deodorant, the cultural movement was a joke. Maybe the movement was destined to peril with the insistence of decentralization and social democracy. Maybe we can only rage so long. Who knows.
Regardless of the inevitable death of the movement, evidence from its relevance still exists. Everything from the Spice Girls and the bubblegum “girl power” moment of the late 90s to Lady Gaga of the current moment highlight how the path for independence and feminist politics was paved by these Olympia and D.C. bands in the early to mid 90s. Riot grrrl was a true a cultural and political revolution.
For my daily art project, I did a photo essay. I wanted the day to be one of those dreadfully mundane work days, which feel endless and repeating. Below is the slideshow from the set. Try to not cry from boredom.
1. Project Runway, season 8.
Why, oh why, does this hot mess of a show draw me in every season? Historically, I swear and curse and facepalm my way through a season to declare that I WILL NEVER WASTE MY TIME AGAIN. And then months pass without Tim Gunn or Santino Rice wannabes (NO ONE works a soundbite like those men do), and I get sucked in again. Thus far, this season is a snorefest.
2. Pacific Science Center.
The last time I went to Seattle Center’s interactive Pacific Science Center, I was probably wearing my favorite purple Guess Jeans and those rad L.A. Gear with silver sparkles in the shoelaces. I probably harbored a crush on Kasey Gunderson (the first boy I danced with) and most certainly had a thing for Jordan Knight (NKOTB RULES!).
Only time will tell if my fashion sense has improved, but I had as much fun at the science center as a 31 year old that I did as a 12 year old. My nerdlove for science will never die. And who knew that exhibit curators have a sense of humor? The photo below was from the amazing Circus exhibit, where people could wiggle their sexy selves into a harness and walk a tight rope or long rope.

3. Plants.
Despite my brown-black thumb, I’m trying to grow green stuff in my apartment again. I’m not sure how successful I’ll be, but I’ve convinced myself that I am getting high from all the extra oxygen in my apartment. Plus, I’m pretty sure they love the new Scissor Sisters album as much as I do.
4. Reel Grrls.
I’m really excited to start my Design and Marketing internship with this group next month. The organization teaches young women how to shoot and edit their own films. It’s a perfect pairing of my political and creative ambitions, so wish me luck!
5. Lupin cherries from Broadway Farmers Market.
I could eat pounds of fresh cherries, especially when they come from Martin Family Orchards. Seriously, every varietal of cherry I have had from their stand has been mind-blowing.
I’m working on an art project. Well, maybe less of an art project; it’s more of a kick-start-my-creativity project. My goal is simple. Each day I want to create something. So far it has been rewarding. I have re-learned to prioritize my off-time. So far, it has worked out like this:
That big purple part is my creating time. It’s a large chunk. It feels good, even if it has come at the expense of my Assassin’s Creed re-play.
The point of this post isn’t to brag though. I want to share the fruits of my project with you all. Shoot me an email at radioheadluv [at] gmail dot com with your mailing address. I’ll make sure and surprise on some random day with a gift soaked in grand intentions (and maybe low in actual talent).
As you probably know, the venerable Scott Pilgrim series is now over.
(If you are perplexed as to why this is transitioning into a mourning post since the movie and the video game are about to be released, get thee to Neighborhood Comic Shoppe. Buy each volume. Return when you are done. )
I am uncomfortably sad. Not because the sixth volume let me down, but because this is an end of an era.
The last six years of reading Scott Pilgrim have been monumental. The series had wild and unpredictable arcs that mirrored my own crazy years. I cycled through apartments, moved across state and country lines, fell in love a couple of times, and through all the ups and downs somehow still developed into a functional adult. The development of Scott’s character mirrors my own changes, probably because creator Bryan Lee O’Malley is the same age as I am. This may be a reach, but I feel like the maturation in art and tone and direction from O’Malley (and by extension, Scott Pilgrim) reflect the same journey of improvement and challenges that I have taken on. It’s as if we were all on this wild ride of our twenties together and we have all the missteps and bad decisions and weird lettering patterns to show for it. Now the ride is over.
I won’t even attempt to review volume 6. For one thing, it’s been reviewed all over the internet. But most importantly, I am not sure how critical I can be of the book. I will say this though – it was a lovely ending.
Of course I’ll see the movie and I’ll buy the video game. But honestly, there is nothing that means more to me than looking at my bookshelf to see my autographed and nowhere near mint condition copy of volume 1 that shows the wear that only six years of re-reads and loans and moves can make. It reminds me that there was a time when Bryan was so unknown that I ordered my copy directly from him (this makes me excited for my own future success). It reminds me of the person that got me into the series. It reminds me of all the friends that I have forced to read it.
Scott P. and I…well…we’ve been through a lot. It’s been a fun six years.
The scene:
A mild, mid-70s late July day in the Pacific Northwest. The air is crisp and clean. Smiles are freely shared on the street, as these folks know these days of sunshine and shorts are numbered (and are all chasing those afternoon delights).
Zoom into our hero; a female with her headphones on. Nothing about her appearance is particularly noteworthy until a passerby sees a slight smile on her face that is angled down towards the ground. He searches her face, but can’t find any clue. It appears that she is having a happy moment with herself.
Cue:
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A calm July would make me nervous; birthday months are for tumult and upheaval, right?
A much-needed reunion with my much-beloved friend who has known me longer than anyone else became my grounding strip, the thing that plants my feet back on the ground.

Our reunion started with a late night Denny’s trip to reconnect to our awkward 17 year old selves on those restless Albuquerque nights where the only thing we could legally do at midnight was drink too much coffee at Village Inn and talk about new loves.
Our 31 year old selves on a quiet Portland night blended talk of work and life and dreams and history, with yawns as a reminder that we are not as sprightly as we once were. It was perfect. There is nothing more refreshing than spending time who remembers what you were like as an angry 15 year old kid, stomping around awkward high school halls with everything to prove and nothing to lose.
And now, after a whirlwind trip, a renewed clarity brings a spring to my step. I won’t pretend to know where I am headed, but I know I have my people behind me. I love my people. You all are my breath and my grounding strips and my blood and the thing that I think about in those moments of panic.
Thank you.