The time i saw two rainbows

It was even better than one.

Crash

Crash will never, ever get old. Since it came out two years ago, I have seen it about 30 times. (This is a very flattering fact as I can rarely sit still for the duration of a movie and if I do sit down I promptly take a nap.) The movie intertwines the lives of twenty unrelated individuals in Los Angeles. It is harsh, beautiful, sad, and so hopeful, all at the same time. Each character is forced to interact with someone who they would never typically consider a friend and each interaction brings with it a new understanding. As I watched, I couldn't help but think how relevant each character and each lesson is to all of us.

Everyone in the film seemed to have a second chance to right a wrong or the opportunity to forgive someone later. Life is not always like this. We usually are only given one chance, the first chance, in all that we experience. We will never have the power to control the world around us, but we can choose how we react to the situations we are faced with. We will never entirely understand someone else's circumstance but how we treat another person will have an affect on them. Crash reminds me that there is still hope in a world full of imperfect people. While we have all passed judgment on someone else, we also have the astonishing capacity to accept someone else with compassion.

First, we must remind ourselves that how we act towards others IS significant, no matter how minute a relationship may seem. We could impact the rest of their day, their life, and the chain reaction of events that happens on this earth if we wanted to. Then, we must accept the actions of others and attempt to understand what they may be feeling. We must believe that what they do stems from a deep, shared, greater good. And finally, we must hope that these harsh, beautiful collisions continue to happen because without them life would be mundane. Movies would not be made, songs may never be written and stories never told. Human interaction is a powerful and creative force. On that note, I believe we have some people to meet...

Soul, Soul, Soul, and Music All Around...

The best thing about live music is definitely the opportunity it gives you to dance. When else can you sway, spin, and shake with total strangers in perfect, blissful synchronization? And what better place to do so than in the middle of Central Park on a sunny, August day?
The band Galactic, of New Orleans, brought their smooth, funky jazz to the Summer Stage yesterday afternoon. New Yorkers seized this occasion to throw of their shoes and dance all around to Galactic's deep, soulful, and fun sound. With very few lyrics, it didn't matter if the crowd knew the words or not. Everyone could feel the beat and the energy radiating from the performers and audience. Many let go completely, allowing the melodies of the sax or guitar to posses their bodies and be translated into movement. The performance was spiced up with numerous guests from the Soul Rebel Brass Band, the Golden Eagle Mardi Gras Indians and the sexy sounds of John Cleary on the sax.

No New Orleans Celebration would be complete without feathers and beads, so to conclude, Galactic welcomed three, larger-than-life, colorful birds on stage to jam with the already bouncing crowd. All and all, great day, fun people and hot, hot music. - L

Anchor

I never formally introduced myself. I use that cliche only in hopes that it serves as some sort of intro, as blogs seem to be the most informal form of expression today, and I am still getting used to how they work. I do realize that any attempt I make to describe myself here will seem like little more than what I want you to think about me but I will say that I value openness and honesty above any other qualities. Assuming that you ever read this, I think you may get to know me better through my candid posts, but I would like to explain a bit about what this is before you go on to read my rambling critiques of the world around me.

When embarking on our quest to review the many forms of culture that surround us everyday, we did so hoping that it would give us an opportunity to write for fun, something I haven't had a chance to do since middle school. And to pretend, that we, in some ways, are like William in Almost Famous, bright-eyed and truth-speaking.

However, I now see potential in this writing to build and anchor. A place to save my experiences forever in a world that is changing around me always. Like living on an escalator, change does not come at us unexpectedly, but it does come quickly and entirely. I am used to living in anticipation. Preparing for what comes next without valuing what is happening. I refuse to admit that this is the "time of my life" but I do think it's a pretty good, mostly great, time and I want to be HERE as it happens. (Well not sitting at this computer, but all present in what goes on around me.) I think that people change as much as their surroundings and I am making a change now. I will record and reflect the nougats of life that intrigue me and save them for a rainy day.

I warn you now that I may not have the best spelling or grammar, and use far to many commas, but I am entrusting my best friend to be my life-long editor. We think quite alike on most things, so at times, it may be difficult to decipher who is talking, but I hope you will find us entertaining, and maybe even insightful. She is one person who has not changed in my life over the past three years. This, to me, is a very long time.

Which leads me to our final reason in writing the Keuka Files: we will grow and change and learn a lot a long the way, but no matter what, we will always have a place to share.

The Problem with Road Trips...

The problem with road trips is the food. Driving along deserted interstate 8 West on the way to San Diego, I felt a humbly rumbly in my tumbly. Not to mention the gas meter shows less than a quarter of a tank left (and after too many hours of overexposure to the scorching Arizona sun we are 3/4 empty, not 1/4 full). We're at least halfway to our Pacific beach destination, and neither of us wants to stop because hours feel like years when you're staring at sand dunes and splattering bugs on the windshield. Good thing we don't really have a choice.

Finding a gas station on this lonely excuse for a highway is like finding an armadillo on the streets of New York. Lucky for us, the desert has opened up into something spectacular, something amazing, something we haven't seen in over three hours... a Chevron station! Not only could we fill the little red's gas tank for thirty dollars, we could also stock up on delicious snacks. I choose a small bag of Smartfood and a bottle of water after staring at the Doritos, Chex Mix, Sobe drinks, and gummy Lifesavers, all of which are delicious, but have too many unnecessary calories. It wasn't even 6:00 pm, and we had dinner reservations for later that night, but we didn't want to cancel them and stop for a real meal. Even if we did, we would not have been able to find anything besides Mama's Authentic Mexican Cafe where no one could even speak English. So Chevron Gourmet it was. The man in my life chooses a large can of Red Bull, a bottle of Coke, a big bag of jerky, two different types of fruity candy, and a Twix bar. All I could think of was how glad I was to not be paying for this horrific vat of junk, and how ridiculous the sugar rush/crash would be.

At least we had each other. It was his bobbling artificially sweetened head and my inability to decline a good wad of high fructose corn syrup that kept us awake for the remainder of our journey.

Three hours later we were entering downtown San Diego with sugar-hangovers strong enough to punch through a 50 foot mountain of sand, but we made it to our fabulous Best Western in northern San Diego and practically crashed against the pillows. That's what we get for having no money and forgetting to pack snacks.

The flamingos and gorillas the next day made all the traveling worth it. As did the thirty-minute conversation with a cop on a bike. And I'm not talking about a motor bike, I'm talking about an actual road bike. I've seen this of course, but it's really hard to take those guys seriously, especially when they are stopping people for smoking a cigarette on the sidewalk next to the beach. You could drink alcohol in the ocean (as long as it was in cans not glass bottles) but you couldn't smoke a cig on the boardwalk. Not that I wanted to see or smell anyone smoking, but it just didn't make much sense. After a few margaritas and Adios Mothaf*ckas (a blue or sometimes green cheap alcohol infused drink they apparently only serve on the western side of the U.S.) on the beach, it was time to get the car from the $5 an hour parking lot down the street. We were paying so much to park the car that we couldn't afford to order a better quality alcohol or a less fried version of seafood for dinner.

After a night of tasting the pacific beaches, I was up with the roosters in the morning, if San Diego had roosters. Really it was the sounds of suitcase wheels on the bumpy pavement outside our hotel window that sounded like hurricane Bob that woke me. I wanted to get out of the room before the obnoxious cleaning ladies came by and pounded on room 318 like their life depended on it, so I rolled the boy out from under the covers, packed up our junk, and drove little red down I-5 to Mission Beach. It was relatively quiet when we got there, and the surfers were everywhere even though I found the waves to be less than impressive. I guess anyone will have their surfing time and eat it too, at least until 11:00 am when they have to move to the other side of the checkered flag.

The highlight of the day, besides the salad from 7-11 (even more fabulous road trip food), was the cutest little kid in a yellow and black jump suit. His brilliant blue eyes were bigger and more vibrant than anything I've ever seen and he just could not stop bouncing and smiling! His little round face made the early wake up call worth it.

Even though we got pulled over for blowing an invisible stop sign, ended up in Mexico because I took the wrong highway out of San Diego, and had to eat Taco Bell for dinner, the road trip to San Diego was enlightening and culturally stimulating for everyone, even Freddy, who had never been out of the country before.

~j

Disclaimer.

So, I never thought I would fall prey to world of blogs. I will admit I once had a livejournal, but after I couldn't even get myself to reveal the details of my silly nightmares to the livejournal (a cyber diary that I didn't tell anyone about so no one would ever read it), I realized that 'diaries' were meant for padlocked notebooks, not the web. Unfortunately, web logging has taken over our online universe, and I am repeatedly asked to search blogs for content at my job! How absurd. What makes the next Bud Light sipping fool any smarter or more worldly than myself? Apparently, nothing. Yet we still believe the rambling words of millions of bloggers every single day.

Of course none of this matters now, as I am sitting in front of a fifteen inch monitor sipping Pinot Noir and rambling myself. (At least I am working on my speedy typing skills.) Alas! I am at the unmerciful grubby virtual hands of the tens of millions of web users who surf the net every second!

Whatever will I do?

Continue typing of course, and listen to the (truly) idealistic words of my loyal roommate that this is indeed a good idea. And I watch movies with subtitles so I am forced to stay focused. And I hope that I can handle the harsh criticism of everyone who also thinks that I am just another boozing stupid blogger.

And so it goes...


~j

Cleavage

Summer in the City
Means cleavage, cleavage, cleavage
And I start to miss you, baby, sometimes
I've been staying up, and drinking, in a late night establishment
Telling strangers personal things.
- Regina Spektor

This song has been stuck in my head for over a week now, except the only line I actually knew was "Cleavage, cleavage...", which is not exactly something you can sing out loud on repeat. Its funny how your brain kinda just fills in the blanks when you crave to know something, no matter how far off the thought that you think of to fill it in may be. Some may say its lying or exaggerating but i kinda like to think of it as filling in the holes. Explaining something temporarily until you can learn more.

What made me want to learn more was an article about going to the MoMA to see Roy Lichtenstien's "Girl with Ball." This is a very fun painting and I recommend looking at it whenever you feel sad or wintery. - L


photo: http://www.nytimes.com/2007/07/27/arts/27moma.html?_r=1&oref=slogin

Testing testing 1 2 3

Yay! our first blog entry!

and it's even in garamond!