nashville is a dog?
it is a wonderful world when you have a brand new friend who calls you on the phone at work and reads entire amy hempel stories aloud to you.

and he'll also tell you that it's okay if you keep saying "mm hmm," or "uh huh," in case your coworkers wonder why you're sitting silently on the phone for so long.

however, when you instead say things like, "oh wow, i like that part," and "oooh!" and "wait, read that sentence again," and have the occasional little chuckle, it's probably quite obvious that you're not doing any work.

there are very few things more comforting than being read a story out loud.

bad sign
i think it's the broken commenting system that's making me completely unmotivated to blog today.

i didn't realize how much i crave affirmation.

so much to say
because there's just too much excitement in my life these days, here's a pretty list:

my car is apparantly officially a sucker. she has never ever hit anything herself (yet), but she has been hit by other evil cars far too many times. last night, some idiot (in a bright blue BMW much less) decided we weren't rolling fast enough in traffic. poor Little Car. it's okay, shhhh. i promise i'll get you those new tires soon to make you feel better. maybe i'll even clean all that extra stuff out of the trunk.

i had forgotten how much i love baseball. last night, america's finest baseball team kicked some rockie ass and came back to win in the ninth. looks like our usual distant last place in the NL west won't be quite as distant.

i like my pitchers inconsistent. with their socks on the outside. looks like i've found a new young buck to replace matt clement's pity spot in my heart. it also helps if they try really hard to act badass. like with badass facial hair. and badass "at-bat" songs.

when i found out today that my favorite girl at the coffeeshop is six weeks pregnant, and she said "i can't believe i haven't told you," for a split second, i really couldn't believe it either! because, high on the list of people you announce your pregnancy to (presumably right after immediate family) are strangers who come into your coffeeshop. strangers who might not even know your name. but damn it, she always gets my drink right. congratulations, favorite-girl-at-coffeeshop.

there's no better feeling of accomplishment than making up an excuse to postpone a meeting when really, you just want to enjoy your latte while it's hot.

tonight, i'm going to the aveda store with my always-beautiful and never-tackily-made-up lovely friend sarah. we're going to get to work on the great Making Julia Look Bridal Project of 2003. it's in full swing, if you haven't noticed. i'm growing out my hair for the vah-deeng, for crying out loud. (note to self, every sentence with "vah-deeng" in it will henceforth end with "for crying out loud.")

that's pretty much it. i wish my life were as organized as these bulleted blog posts. sorry about the lack of commenting though. send me an email. and i'll post your comments. in bulleted lists.

this is kind of like how he has no idea how old i am
what's funny is when you edit a technical paper for your super smart dad, and he sends you the following email back:

Thanks a lot Julia!
I've had a look at the first stuff you sent earlier and I'm more than happy with your suggestions/editing. Some of the words like frontend and backend are accepted in the industry without the dashes, so I'll pick and choose what to change and what not to - but most of your editing will be incorporated.
I'll do all the adjusting this evening and get the paper submitted - too much other stuff to do during the day.
Thanks again - you should do this type of work independently! I'm quite impressed.
Do you want a full copy of the paper?
Love.
Dad.

why is this funny, you ask?
mostly because i do do this type of work. i'm a technical writer, for the love of god.
let's give my sweet well-meaning dad the benefit of the doubt. he might think i'm so important and so good at my job that i have a peon editor working underneath me doing the grunt proof-reading work.

wedding favors
really, it's a commercial racket.

and guess who's going to have them anyway.

yes. me.

we're thinking about going the responsible route, and having tree saplings. we'd also have a basket at the door for people who didn't want to plant the trees themselves. erik and i would deal with it.

but now i'm thinking decor. those Hideous Plastic Bags in which the tree saplings arrive would ruin the wedding. they'd ruin, as dave barry would say, my Special Day. they'd ruin, as goingbridal would say, my Special Daaaaaaaaaaaay. being environmentally friendly is just so passé. and thus begins the Great Burlap Pouch Search.

i feel a little sick. i feel like a bride. i feel like a hoser.
but who cares about that - our place settings will look fantastic.

sell out, with me tonight
so i'm not sure if it's because i have a particularly prominent love-hate relationship with jewel, or if she's just the topic of discussion with anyone these days, but it seems like everyone i know has been going out of their way to ask me if i've seen the new jewel video! or heard her new song!

no! neither!

however, i think at this critical point in her career, i think i need to speak up.

eight or so years ago, someone bought for the object of his affection -- a certain orthodontia-ed sweet sixteen-er -- a copy of jewel's "pieces of you" cd. i had heard her perform live around san diego (which she has since FORSAKEN!), and was hooked. i wanted to be friends with her.

i wanted to be her.

the famous 1987 champaign beige ford escort station wagon only had a tape deck, and cd-player-to-tape-deck transfer technology wasn't as stunning as it is today. so what did i do? i taped over a copy of my all-state honor band oboe audition tape so i could listen to her cd in my car. i even used white-out on the box. to this day, i revel at the urgency i must have felt. i needed it in my car STAT. there was no time to buy a new set of blank tapes. whenever i hear any song from that cd, or even think of them, i close my eyes and i'm driving around revelle college at UCSD again. i smell the ocean and the eucalyptus groves. i hear people complaining about o-chem or humanities and the walk from york hall to warren lecture hall.

my freshman year of college, i bought a guitar for about a hundred bucks. again, this was Step 2 or so of the Great Become Jewel Plan of 1996. i never really learned to play any jewel songs. i should probably get around to that someday if i want to keep my former-jewel-fan street cred. as soon as i taught myself how to play, i wrote songs. they weren't very good, due mostly to the fact that i just put my favorite chords next to each other, disrespectful of any laws of music or harmony.

several years later, jewel released "spirit." i thought it was good. the 1987 champaign-beige ford escort station wagon has since died, and no replacement made. there was no way of listening to "spirit" whilst riding a bike, though the eucalyptusy ocean air seemed a bit stronger.

for the most part, her songwriting was less raw and edgy in "spirit." it was ethereal. beautiful. romantic. with a capital R. more specifically, she waxed ethereal. she waxed beautiful. she waxed romantic. she may have been ethereal / beautiful / romantic, but all i heard was wax. muslin strips being painfully torn from a first-timer's bikini line.

one chorus sticks with me, however, from "enter from the east":

my heart has four empty rooms
three wait for lightening
and one waits for you

yup. total wax.

all said and done, she kicked ass. however, i became increasingly ashamed of this. jewel was the quintessential singer-songwriter guitar-slinging hippie chick. not so much a unique aspiration as it used to be. i might have even bad-mouthed her a bit in the dark late-90s/early 00s.

i still bought "joy," her christmas cd. bwahaha. the scatty mother-daughter version of "rudolph the red-nosed reindeer" is really embarassing, if you ask me. the rest of the album festively finds it's way into my family's stereo every christmas, programmed to automatically skip song #8.

i haven't bought another jewel cd since.

i fell out of love. someday san diego's prodigal daughter will come back to us and play a show with steve poltz at the new java joes. and then maybe we'll take her back.

i still wouldn't have minded being jewel. i would stick with the sexy bohemian poet image, though. leather corsets and fishnets are totally not my style.

aw
this weekend, my good friends got engaged. i always think "got engaged" is kind of harsh sounding. and accidental. like, "oops, we got engaged."



aren't they so cute together? every picture i've taken of either of them involves pulling faces or striking poses as such.
i've never looked forward to seeing anyone's wedding pictures so much.

i love my job.
something someone actually said to me today when discussing updates to an installation guide i'm writing:

"they have to bag the female connector with the heat shrink tubing."

i really wish my job were as exciting as the language might suggest.

hell yes.
today, i got a mix CD in the mail from the lovely jason killingsworth.

sure, sure, he created the "compilation" to woo another woman. and just burned an extra copy to send to me. but this actual piece of metal says "songs for jules" in big sharpie'd lettering on the front. it's mine, i tell you! all mine!

in the world of electronic file sharing and mp3 gadgetry, the ancient art of calculating the exact arrangement of songs to fit on the mix tape is a distant memory. and by calculating, i really do mean using a calculator. too much silence at the end of either side was the mark of a shoddy mix tape.

thank you, jason. thank you. it's a beautiful lost art.

now i need to hurry up and listen to it.

focus on the road
things in my head while driving yesterday afternoon, riveted for your pleasure:

why does your shiny BMW require a shiny license plate holder that specifies it's for a BMW? the rear license plate is about 3 inches below the little BMW sign on the car. that's just about enough logo-age for me. get over yourself.

ten bucks says erik will be late to our meeting. [he was, by a hair. but not as late as the catering coordinator.]

the autumns really kick ass.

i love the way the noise of the southbound 163 briefly changes right there, as you pass the home depot expo and kelly's unfinished furniture. it always makes me think of my dad, without fail. he pointed it out first.

if you're going to splurge on a mercedes CLK 430 (430!), dude, use it. don't make me tailgate. for the love of god, i'm driving a ford.

all of this hassle, all of this stress, all of this planning, and i really still have no idea if our wedding is going to be lame.

my car is momentarily satiated with some new air in her old tires. perhaps i'll buy her some new shoes tomorrow.

i hope erik gets a job soon. soon. especially that park ranger job, so i can be a park ranger wife. and then we'll live in a log cabin, and i'll make friends with the mama bears.

i really don't remember driving for the last 15 minutes. how did i get here?

this is totally the reason we're getting married:
in 45 minutes, we're meeting with the caterer for a TASTING.

hell yes!



of course, that's not the only reason. there's the prospect of an espresso machine. and the inherit-able house in cambria that i'm marrying into.

late afternoon


i love the way the light dances with our souls when the sun is burning at eye level and the children are running in for dinner and the workers have all gone home.
the grasses and the flowers and the trees and the bugs and the shadows come out to play.

i checked my feet. they're actually hot and sweaty.
the other day, i found out a really good friend (in fact, one of my best friends) is most likely going to be marrying another really good friend. they're scoping out wedding dates and diamonds like good little future-fiances.

my first thought was total elation. they are very much so meant to be together. they're the kind of couple that you just love surrounding yourself with.

then came my second thought: "oh crap. what if i'm supposed to be with him?!?!?!"



in my perfect little world of marriage, i never thought you could ever say anything along the lines of "sure, i could see myself marrying someone else." but i'm saying that right now. does this make erik less of a soul mate? does this make us less meant to be together? not at all. not at all. if there were no other likely suitors out there, wouldn't marrying erik just be settling for the lowest common denominator? marriage is a choice. i choo-choo-choose erik.

i've released a little tension about this on my secret-haven-no-boys-allowed-bridal-message-board, and have been assured it's utterly normal. more normal, in fact, than i'm used to being. of course i don't want to marry this guy.
i want to marry erik.
i love erik with every ounce of my being. i want to spend the rest of my life with him. i'm going to. i'm the luckiest person in the world for having someone like erik to wake up to and kiss my nose and call me treacle and tell me i'm his most favoritest thing in the whole wide world and fold my laundry into a rainbow of panties. i get that for the rest of my life. sweet.

maybe i can picture being married to someone else. but the best part is this: the picture i see more clearly is erik and i growing old together, hanging out with our two married friends who we love surrounding ourselves with... staying up late and eating good food and drinking good cheap wine and playing tipsy games of simpsons trivia.

ch-ch-change
i have a question for you bloggers:

is there a way of preserving all past comments for posterity if i switch to a new commenting service? i'm not having much luck with the current version.

AND, you're most likely going to have to refresh a few times to even be able to comment and tell me what to do here.

thanks. you all rock like things that rock a lot. a whole lot.

i promise, we're not normal. i wore converse all-stars in middle school! with no socks!
erik and i spent saturday evening trying to act as un-banana republic as possible. while looking pretty much as banana republic as possible. in fact, yes, i think we were wearing a few pieces each.

ultimately, a good time was had by all. barbeque and badminton and trampolines and epic poetry and complex philosophy and obscure bands.

but there's nothing like surrounding yourself with a bunch of ironic indie rock people to realize how un-indie you are.
we're so fucking bourgeois.

at least my curtains are pretty
something i totally did NOT say today, i promise: "you say it like there's something wrong with being a complete Pottery Barn-phile."

my night as a rock* star
*=not so much "rock," as "folkish."
my evening was interesting and intimidating. this recap will be neither. however, it will be bulleted. does that make it riveting?

we show up to the coffeehouse, guitar in hand. i always feel like such a poser walking into a coffee shop with a guitar.

it turns out they double booked the music, so they had the songwriter's showcase go next door to this huge brand new theater type room claire-de-lune's just bought. think masonic temple. gianticness. huge throne like chairs. i felt dirty being in there, like the walls were still soaked in hundreds of years of secrets and private handshakes and songs. well, perhaps the songs were just in that simpsons episode... i digress.

SO, all of a sudden, i'm not playing in this cozy hip little coffeeshop. i'm playing in this vast theater. of course, this changes the vibe of the audience, too. take your average coffeeshop-bound music lover, but spread them out across a giant room, and not let them mingle and drink coffee as they would lounged on the claire-de-lune couches. it's a little awkward for all parties involved. they're here to listen to julia and do nothing else, so i'd better be good.

so next was the issue with my guitar. my darling has faulty wiring! but i was totally preoccupied with the fact that my guitar is broken. and with the masonic secrets. i wonder if there are tunnels running beneath this building?

also, the sound guy was totally rushing me, because his watch was ten minutes fast. what does this say about his personality-type, kids?
i had planned 3 songs, and was going to finish with my strongest, happiest song.
however, after two songs, he stopped me and said thank you! give it up for julia! eventually someone told the sound guy about his timing issues, and they announced that the second guy would have time for two additional songs. i had two songs. two depressing songs. he had four. FOUR! total rip off. he was very good, though, so i stopped minding after a while. he had this amazing song with the word "seabreeze" in it.

overall, it was a lot of fun, despite being pre-occupied. i got a few nice compliments afterwards. it was also cool to be the first performer to play in claire's new theater venue. it's exciting, because it's really going to put the coffeehouse on the map as a larger-music venue. devastatingly hip.

listen. sleep. watch for the cars.
neil halstead. sleeping on roads.

i wrote you a song, cause i love the way you are.

she's wild
next month, my darling little car turns four years old.
so do her tires.

yes, i know. i'm a horrible parent. she needs new tires. how can i depend so much on the little car and not take care of her?

however, this was going to be the month i'd spend a fortune on my new toy.

i am an adult. i need to make responsible decisions.
OR, i could embrace this whole thing as a rite of passage. buy the phone, live dangerously for a while... making it my Last. Reckless. Act as an unmarried girl.

and when the hell did buying a PDA/cell phone combo organizational device become a reckless act?

the honey and the moon
we're planning a tour of grand teton and yellowstone.

this is going to be overwhelmingly amazing. eight days of bated breath.

late september.
summer bleeding into autumn.
hazy, soft, late afternoon sunlight casting warmth and shadows and yellowness.
big, big sky lighting one of the most beautiful patches of land in america. vast, pure, ancient, ours.
bison slowly moving into our peripheral vision.
elk swishing by behind us.
dry grass scratching our feet.
mountain reflections invading still lakes.
wildlife and rustling trees punctuating silence and nothingness and everythingness.

our banded fingers intertwining as we practice saying the words "husband" and "wife".

call her green for the children who've made her
i always feel there's something melancholy about tuesdays.

it's all painted green today. a weak, soft, tint of green enshrouds my landscape, my brain, my fears, my stuff, my prayers.
it's not cold, just sort of tuesdayish.

tea, green. eyes, green. sky, green. heart, green. regret, green. breasts, green. painkillers, green. love, green. radio, green. asphalt, green. womb, green. hope, green. god, green. tuesday, green.

melancholy lends itself well to lethargy. i could fall into a lull, knowing that today will soon end, the night will blot out all this green, and tomorrow will be wednesday.
not today. not tonight. i'm going to finish this tea and make yellow and blue.

little green, have a happy ending.

thanks, i think.
there's a hip old-ish man at church who talks very frequently about "my daughter lisa," with much fondness and nostalgia. he brings her up constantly. i feel bad for his other daughter, frankly. if there is another daughter. but regardless, lisa gets all the father-pride time.

yesterday, richard said to me, "you know, julia, you remind me a lot of my daughter lisa--"

i was momentarily overwhelmed by how highly he must think of me. anecdotes i'd heard over and over again flashed through my mind... "you know my daughter lisa, when she was your age back in the seventies..." "my daugher lisa was really involved with this young adult ministry stuff back in the seventies," "my daughter lisa..."

maybe i have the same kind of laugh. maybe i have the same spirit. maybe i keep eye contact during the course of a conversation like lisa. maybe she's always hopeful and wistful too. maybe we're both devastatingly witty.

maybe i make people happy the same way she does.

but then richard finished his sentence: "--you know, she's stopped buying leather completely."

so much for making people happy.

nice dream
the cars didn't leave the starting line together. they met on the road, going at different speeds, she was a few miles from home, he was just leaving.
she turned onto the main street just before him. soon enough, they were neck-and-neck. 40 mph. every glance, every moment signalling quickening heart beats, quickening desire.

they love me like i was a brother
they protect me
listen to me

this feels right, he thought.
this feels amazing, she thought.

they dug me my very own garden
gave me sunshine
made me happy

they wanted more. they sped up. 45 mph. she tightened her grip on the steering wheel and unfastened her shirt. windows down, quiet music playing loudly. he sunk into his seat and blasted his music so the whole world could hear it, but he only thought of her.

nice dream

still not enough. 60 mph. red lights streaking above them. it's too fast, too dark, now, to get a good look at each other. nothing but a memory emblazoned into the underside of their eyelids. it's a nice memory. perfect, unscathed by reality. they like it. she closes her eyes first so she can see it. he follows.

nice dream

70 mph. life around them has ceased. the world and the streets are empty from behind their dreaming eyelids. they can read each other's thoughts. hear each other's voices. see each other naked. touch each other's hair. she runs her hand down his spine while he covers her eyes with his soft, shaking hand.

nice dream
nice dream

seatbelts off. 85 mph. louder. faster. she raises her arms and arches her back, lifting her head upwards and backwards. she laughs loudly. he loves her recklessness. he no longer wants her, he needs her.

i call up my friend the good angel
but she's out with her ansaphone
she says that she would love to come help but
the sea would electrocute us all

the cars are moving, steering, speeding up by themselves. 95 mph. she leans completely back feeling a new, strange pulse that overcomes her entire body, her fingertips, her stomach, her lips, her toes. she is dizzy, she is laughing. he feels her pulse like a voo doo needle. 100 mph.

nice dream

their eyes open slowly to see tall thick trees surrounding them on all sides. the cars blast forward as if they'd whisk through the forests like hippie beads dangling from a doorway... like a runner popping open the finishline tape. 115 mph. she puts her hands on the wheel again and closes her eyes. he smiles.

nice dream

120 mph. a scent breezes through their windows. rainfall steams on the hot asphalt. everything moves slowly around them. she wants to feel his hands in her's. she wants to have felt them all along. 125 mph.

nice dream
nice dream

silence. darkness. warmth. together. pulses, weakening. sweat, chilling. arms, surrounding.

if you think that you're strong enough
if you think you belong enough

activism + music + night-blooming jasmine
i had a remarkable evening last night. it all started at 2:45 when i left work. (i could really just stop there, couldn't i?)

i didn't eat anything all night except for a boulder bar. i pretty much had a constant rush of blood to my head.

i listened to coldplay's soundcheck, practically alone in the arena with a few techies and a few oxfam volunteers.

chris martin's cell phone rang during the soundcheck, and he has that annoying nokia ringtone that everyone has. he lost some street cred with me there.

when high-fiving the weird 91x employee, he made me lift my arm up even higher than the usual high-five level.
"no, HIIIIIGH five."
"alright, weird 91x guy! whatever you say. up waaaaay high."

i ran into more people i know than i probably would at my high school reunion. granted, i stuck out a little with my oxfam-issue giant green equal sign t-shirt, but come on! did everyone in san diego come to this concert?

only one person turned their nose up at me, saying "i work in international trade."

our main table was right between the aforementioned 91x tent and the beer line. loud pseudopunkemo music. drunk people getting more to drink. say no more.

i pretty much lost my voice, and i'm so happy about it.

i had a mostly-drunk guy tell me i had a beautiful heart.

and then, as i walked the brief distance from my car to my door through the still after-midnight air, the warm infusion of jasmine made me remember what it means to be alive, to feel, to care, to do something that matters... to have a beautiful heart.

making trade fair in the name of free music
tonight i'm volunteering with oxfam's make trade fair campaign.

i really hold fair trade and fair employment conditions as paramount to a happy planet. i can't wait to share something i'm so passionate about with random coldplay fans tonight. i'm a little nervous, but i think i'll be okay. chances are, people will only pick up some propaganda, and hopefully sign the big noise postcards. then there'll be the token radicals (both sides of the issue) that will keep us from getting bored. good times, good times.

also, i'm hoping chris martin and gwyneth paltrow come by and personally thank all the oxfam volunteers. you've got nothing to worry about, gwyneth, i'm taken.

talk me down
this is the new object of my desire:
the Kyocera 7135 Smartphone



somebody tell me what they know about this phone.