Category Archives: Life’s Work

The More Things Change… Writings from Los Angeles circa 2002

Recently I purchased a floppy, yes FLOPPY disc drive in order to permanently archive things I wrote on a Frankensteined Mac my L.A boyfriend had cobbled together for me back in the early 2000s, and later on an iMac I bought used when I lived in Detroit and kept till the very last moment I could in 2010.  

Some of what I recovered is depressing, and I’m not sure I can even read it. Some is embarrassing, and some is the kind of stuff I spent $17 on the floppy drive for in hopes I could read and keep forever.  Like this.  

Yes, this is a fantasy interview with someone interviewing me, as if I was a starlet and not a receptionist.  I’m shocked how self-aware I sound to the level of my post Marfa, post losing a parent thirty seven year old self – though I was nosing up to the worst mistakes I would make in my young life, ones that unfortunately got me quite off track from making a writing career start then, which would have been a great fucking time to start it.  At this very moment I was full of joy and ambition, was writing a movie script an acquaintance had optioned from me, and felt I was headed for Spike Jonze level success and fame (the level of fame I’m ok with). 

I can’t believe, honestly, how good my writing was then.   And I can’t believe… that I mention minimalism.  This just shows, at least I don’t change that much!  Though, I get better.  

Jean Jacket 

“I’ll be honest,” the tall brunette admitted sheepishly, “Things weren’t going very well.”

It’s hard to imagine this cheerful twenty-three year old in hard times. With her sunny exterior and healthy carriage, Massachusetts-grown Katie J. is the kind of person you see on the street that makes you think “she must have it so easy!” But nothing has been handed to this determined young girl on a platter. Her optimism is the result of hard work, perseverance, and a never-failing belief in herself… along with the help of one vintage Lee jean jacket.

“I was having a lot of financial problems, and my landlord was a real jerk,” this sincere young lady tells me. “I’ve made mistakes in my life, but I’ve always been honest. I never deserved the treatment I was getting.”

To make matters worse for Katie, her wardrobe was not at all on a par with what it had been during her previous incarnation as a spoiled girl who worked at the mall and lived at home. “I didn’t realize how lucky I had been!” she laughs.

“When you’re in such an emotionally trying situation, it’s hard to feel good about yourself. I had to realize that the person shining through the clothes was what really mattered.”

So where does the jean jacket come in?

“Well, I finally got out of my bad living situation and moved into Hollywood. The thing was, it was getting kind of cold. I lived in New York for a while before L.A., and before I left my parents’ house, I got rid of all my clothes, thinking I would replace them with new things from all the cool downtown boutiques.”

So, the story gets more interesting. What happened next?

“Well, in New York I learned to be somewhat of a minimalist and wear the same things all the time. But here I was in L.A. – new climate, new people, and no clothes! But there’s a lot of great vintage shopping out here.”

Okay, so when did you meet your jean jacket? I’ve got to know!

“Okay…” she smiles mischievously, “I was shopping in Jet Rag one day. Carnie Wilson was there; she’s lost a lot of weight, have you seen her? Anyway, I was looking through the racks and… there it was.”

“It” was a vintage Lee jean jacket in just the right size complete with a charming worn elbow and a darker spot where once a patch had made its home.

“I had wanted a Lee jean jacket ever since Madonna’s “Ray of Light” video. Plus, this makeup artist I knew in New York had one. Here name was Evelyne. She was French and became my style idol in 1999, and really remains so to this day.”

Despite her charm and obvious intelligence, I had to ask this fair damsel to get to the point.

How did the jean jacket change your life?

Her face suddenly looks grave. “Well, this jean jacket went with everything!” Her voice grows softer. “I mean, absolutely everything became complete with the jacket. I felt cute again! I’d put it on with this five dollar red scarf I bought on the street in San Francisco, and I looked hip. I didn’t need money or a lot of options. I had the jacket. It was true and sincere and it was all I needed to get by.”

So what you’re saying, Katie, is that the jacket became sort of a metaphor for who you had become?

“Exactly,” she sighed. “I had been through so much, and my life was being affected by other people so negatively. Finally I realized that I had control. My fate was in my own hands. I was the one to depend on in my life – I’m a survivor, just like my jacket! And like my jean jacket, my sincere heart and mind are all I need to be rewarded with happiness, good people, and satisfaction in my life. We’re presenting an honest picture here, something we can be proud of – ourselves. Like my wardrobe became suddenly complete with the jacket, my life, though sparse in terms of material things, and completely unsettled in the popular sense… you know, no boyfriend, no money, new in town, no friends, really. My life became complete when I realized the valuable person I was. I just needed that one thing, that one jacket: it was me! I look great with everything!”

I was tearing up at this point, and choked out that I definitely got the “what you see is what you get” vibe from Katie and the jacket. Something about them says “I’m honest, I’ve got a lot to offer, and I’m strong. So, by the way, don’t mess with me.”

Katie smiled and took my hand when I told her this. Then she appropriately lightened the mood. “Plus,” she quipped, do you know how cheap twenty-four dollars is for a vintage Lee jacket? You could never find that price in New York!”

Yeah, L.A. really is the city of dreams come true.

photo

Yes, this is not the first time THAT JACKET has been mentioned in this blog.  I ruined it by putting some stupid iron on patch on it that I then couldn’t remove without making holes in the jacket.  And Evelyne – I’ve actually seen her in several magazines and on TV since I worked with her in 1999.  Here she is with Jessica Alba.  A quick google search shows she also worked on “American Hustle”.  

Evelyne+Noraz+Inside+Designing+Women+Awards+TTYwm3QNHvYl

Source: Larry Busacca/Getty Images North America 

The Trouble with Facebook

How the FUCK do you get off Facebook?

I thought I could do this.  Today.  I thought:

1) I can figure out a way to just make my blog Facebook my Facebook existence, and re-friend all the friends and potential party invites I will need in the future from my blog.  I’ll make a new personal Facebook that exists only to be the blog admin, and maybe this will actually help me get more traction for the blog!  (Right now Facebook does NOTHING for this blog, and honestly I think people are going to start leaving Facebook in droves to the point where I shouldn’t even start now.)

2) Or – I can keep my personal Facebook and just hide or unfriend everyone I don’t really want to see and make sure I go through all my friends again and shut down all the people who I don’t want to see my posts when I actually do post.  Yeah, this sounds like a fucking great time.

And then, as I logged in to somehow figure out this conundrum,  I got a Facebook friend request from a guy I was virginally in love with from afar my freshman year of high school.  Let’s discuss how serious this was.  A soccer teammate arranged a meeting of me and him after school by the gym.  I was carrying a bunch of discarded flowers that had been dropped near my locker as well as my school books and clothing, and was walking barefoot in my soccer uniform like some kind of disheveled pageant queen.  The friend gesticulated and made some kind of introduction and I basically rolled my eyes and said “hi…” and didn’t even stop walking, I was so embarrassed.  At some point I found a Latin test of his near his locker and made the discovery that he was a poor speller in English and Latin.  Later on I was almost beat up, several times, because his girlfriend (that he got after the one time we spoke) found out 1) that I noted how hot he was in the cafeteria and 2) that I spread some rumor I’d heard about discarded condoms in the backseat of her car.  I mean this guy was it for me at least for 1991 and part of 1992.  So as disgusted I’ve been at the multiplying high school friend requests I had to say yes and at least check out his pictures before I deactivated my account.

Yes, I deactivated, I didn’t delete.  I need some time to think about this.  I just couldn’t handle it today though it’s on my list of minimalist tasks.  Instead, I cleaned out both my hotmail and gmail inboxes and made some startling discoveries there. For example, realizing the amount of odd online memberships I have (today I deleted Flickr, Classmates.com, and tried to get off of some other weird alumni thing and Mandy.com – a site for production people like me), as well as finding emails about a car insurance medical claim (what?) I don’t remember and have no other evidence of.  Where else do I exist online as a random login from 2005 before Facebook took over and started controlling everything?

I remember when I first had access to online and email and chat rooms where I could talk with people across the globe, or connect with people obsessed with the same bands.  It was so exciting!  I met a woman in Boulder who had slept with my very favorite rock star from Spacehog (I later met him at the start of my minimalist awakening in Marfa, Texas – see “Non-Marfa Bullshit”).  I didn’t realize these things were following me around, as I deposited little pieces of myself all over computer networks where they would never go away.

This isn’t the first time I’ve gone through something like this.  In January of 2008, I got off myspace.  I did this because of an ex-boyfriend.  By April I had moved to Colorado, was living with my parents as I worked to re-settle, and was so lonely I joined Facebook to connect with my felllow Detroiters (especially the co-workers I’d been so close with) as well as my new friends in Denver.  I didn’t know it was going to turn into groups and photos and tagging and untagging (it was a real mess the first time I found out what untagging was) and Facebook stalking and high school friends out of the woodwork (including one I didn’t remember who asked to crash on my couch on a cross-country trip) and conversations on Monday mornings at work revolving around what we all saw on Facebook over the weekend and my god, this shit is exhausting.  On the downhill slope for me, those shopping sites that seem so tantalizing, and then require more logins, more passwords… and then finally, not only does Facebook show me things that people I don’t know post because it involves someone I know (I still don’t care), but, THE ADS.  Did we really think this wasn’t coming?

I have been so frustrated by what I see every time I log in, like a drooling dog for distraction, by 90% of what is posted by friends and advertisers on Facebook that I quickly drafted a pros/cons list to help me figure this one out, realizing it was an urgent situation.

Pro – Keep up with family.

Con – Family keeps up with me: my Aunt and Mom both got terribly confused by a post I somehow didn’t block them from, advertising a blog post and featuring a ELEVEN YEAR OLD photo of me, the resulting conversations were awkward and unpleasant.  The photo wasn’t racy at all, so imagine what happens if they read the blog!

Pro – Party invites.

Con – Too many party invites, even from people in different countries (the equivalent of Facebook spam!).

Pro – Sometimes cool stuff is posted.

Con – When this happens, I feel like I should read it or get distracted by fun jokey Facebook wall conversations.

Pro – Sometimes I have fun jokey Facebook conversations.

Con – So much more annoying, anger-inducing stuff is posted, you literally can be unfollowing shit all day.

No matter how many things I tell Facebook I don’t like and don’t want to see, it still keeps asking me, like when my Mom pushes extra helpings on me and I’m already full.

Paradoxically (thanks to a friend for this word), I followed a link from theminimalists.com to a Facebook minimalists group and posted something on the wall about how I wanted to talk to other people about how to deal with technology.  What the fuck was I thinking?  Do I really need to join a minimalists group, let alone one that discusses things on the epicenter of everything not minimalist?  Like, is that really going to simplify my life?

In the hour or so that I’ve been deactivated and cleaning out my inbox, I’ve had a few moments of wanting to quickly type facebook.com in my browser window as I do several times a day.  I often gasp at the number of notifications despite how frequently I unsubscribe from people.  How can you not have 25 notifications per half day when you have 600 friends including people you don’t remember from high school?

But how can I disconnect from something that will show me that guy from high school?

Facebook, I fucking hate you Facebook.  I do not know what to do with you.  I am in your grip, and just like you wanted, you kind of own me.

I guess I could get off and start over and do it “right” this time.  But how can I?  The high school friends will start coming back, the guilt will come back.

Deactivate is all I can handle right now, and I look forward to a lack of distraction for as long as I can take it.

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