Pleasure Notes

via Daniel Semper and Aeromental / flickr

I just saw Salt. My girl crush on Angelina Jolie continues unabated and unrequited. And I’ve just spent the last hour fantasizing about taking a kick-boxing class and jumping on top of moving vehicles… Once I can comfortably touch my nose to my knees, that is. Which will happen right after I dump George Clooney for not taking our relationship seriously.

In addition to Salt, here’s a list of movies I recommend that may be at a theatre near you:

• Inception. Not nearly as confusing as some people claim, a great conversation piece and much better than Memento.
• I Am Love. Cinema as art.
• The Kids Are All Right. Capturing all the best aspects of indie film-making – emotion, integrity, simplicity, honesty and joy. Plus, Ruffalo is hot.

Now that you know my top movie picks of the moment, my work here is done. I will now go consider what evasive moves I must master as I sleep, on the off chance a Russian spy intercepts me on my way to work in the morning.

This post may or may not self-destruct in the next five seconds…

by Voyageur Solitaire-mladjenovic_n / flickr

Is this the bench onto which an old couple crumbles,
To rest their battered soles?

Does a disgruntled girl stub out her red-rimmed filters
On its fine ironwork,
Her cloak of hostility
An affront to its delicacy?

How many passers-by shrug away to avoid stains of rust,
Oblivious as their dogs
Relieve themselves
At its feet?

Have there been more proposals than ultimatums here?
More stolen kisses than forgotten mittens?

Beyond the decay,
Through the decay,
In the decay –
Love.

The bench was just one of many, in its newest, shiny state.
Only now, scarred by time, does it reveal its uniqueness.
Who are we to walk by without seeing what it has to offer?

What would happen if we sat down,
Still,
And stayed for a while?

As I was writing yesterday’s rant, I started hunting through that delightfully fertile creative ground commonly known as Flickr for a suitable image of a cow. I discovered that many, MANY people like taking pictures of cows. I also discovered the artistry of a Serb living in France who has chosen the ridiculously long “Voyageur Solitaire-mladjenovic_n” as his handle. I will forgive him for creating this headache because he also creates such stunning photographs.

The picture that first caught my attention stars a quartet of cows, of course.

"306 Cows 2"

Then, I delved deeper into his collection, and I lost my ability to breathe – in a good way.

"014 Red Rose 2"

I am a sucker for flowers, as you know, but seriously… Anyone who can capture so many facets of nature in one shot should be lauded, in my opinion. Don’t you agree?

"218 Blue Sky"

If you’re inspired, I encourage you to do two things:

1. Go explore the dude’s portfolio for yourself.
2. Pick up your own camera and capture a bit of the world you see.

Everyone has a right to be an artist. Everyone IS an artist.

Share how you see the world.

I guarantee someone will be struck by the beauty of what you see. It will surprise them. It might even surprise you.

And it won’t be a waste of time.

If one can be convinced of cows’ majestic beauty, just think what else is possible!

Los Angeles may be a fairly new city in the grand scheme, but it has its share of landmarks. I’ve lived here for fourteen years, and I’ve visiting an alarmingly small number of them. But I can now say I’ve been to Watts Towers, and it was well worth the trip.

Watts Towers

What is it about living in a city that makes one less curious to explore?

When I travel to other cities, whether in the U.S. or abroad, I wouldn’t dream of missing their highlights. But when it’s home, there’s always tomorrow, or a self-conscious “cheese” factor, or the comfort of routine that keeps me from pulling out my map and my camera.

I’d heard talk of Watts Towers from the very first day I arrived in L.A. It’s the story with which people juxtapose that of the Watts Riots, to illustrate how this town is complicated and surprising. The riots of 1965 were a violent manifestation of fear, a push-back against hatred, intolerance and injustice. The towers, constructed from 1921 through 1955, were an artistic expression of peace, possibility and beauty. Quite a contrast. One I wanted to see. Or so I kept telling myself. But I never got around to it.

patterns

Then, three things happened.

1. I created my Intentions list at the end of 2009 – a huge long list of random activities I dreamily professed to want to experience. Suddenly it was all on paper, in front of me.
2. Then, I made it public by posting it here – that made, and makes, me feel oh-so-much-more accountable than those thousand-and-one lists I’d always scrawled in random notebooks or the back pages of my journals. I’m no longer the only one who knows how much I sit on my ass and talk big. Still, though, it took an outside force to get me driving across town on a Sunday afternoon.
3. If the ever enthusiastic Dian hadn’t read my list, seen my intention to visit Watts Towers and spontaneously agreed to join me on my venture, I’d still probably have no idea how inspiring broken bottles can be.

Simon Rodia spent 34 years collecting broken things, the stuff others see as junk, to create a vision.

DO SOMETHING BIG.

That was his dream.

perspective

He didn’t become a millionaire. He didn’t cure polio. He didn’t advance technology.

He constructed beauty out of trash.

broken bits

He’d never trained as an artist. He was a construction worker.

He didn’t seek or gain fame (at least not in his lifetime). He had a failed marriage. His neighbors thought he was crazy, and that he was designing a hazardous blight on the landscape.

He had a day job.

vision in pieces

And every single day, for 34 years, he came home and built these towers. At night, after an exhausting day of physical labor. On the weekends, when others were going to BBQs or the beach. He hand-selected every single piece of broken bottle, chipped china, shattered glass, and discarded tile. He had no architectural drawings, sketches or plans to consult.

It was all in his head.

How’s that for commitment, for faith, for trust?

dreaming big

Do you have a dream that strong and clear?

To be honest, I’m not sure I do.

But I’m working on it. Are you?

First, I must mention how grateful I am for all the feedback these last few days – here, on Twitter and in person – regarding the design changes with which I’ve been playing. It’s been an interesting process, and I’m a little surprised by the outcome upon which I’ve settled. If you are reading this on the homepage, you’ll notice I’ve returned to my original theme for Pleasure Notes.

Why?

I guess I’m not quite as ready for change as I thought. Or perhaps, more accurately, I do not have the funds or css/html knowledge to create my vision in a new template with any greater satisfaction than that I find with the original.

And change simply for the sake of change is not my objective.

After countless hours – truly a ridiculously alarming number too large to share – of scrolling through the hundreds of free themes out there, I selected a couple that I thought might maintain elements of my original design while also lightening things up a bit to reflect the shift I’m trying to make in my life.

I tweaked the first option as best I could, but there were a few elements – the yellow highlighting and the chartreuse floral – that I truly despised, and which seemed to be locked in to the theme.

First New Look

Then, a trusted friend and loyal reader informed me that the theme showed up broken in her browser. There was no question, then, that it must be rejected forthwith.

Yes, I said FORTHWITH. I watched Lost In Austen last night on Netflix – feeling very anglophile today.

On to the second option.

Second New Look

I tweaked this one as well, also within the limitations of my html knowledge and patience. It was fine. Very readable.

But SO FUCKING BORING!

It just felt plain, plain, PLAIN. The simplicity of it seemed devoid of character.

For me.

I know a blog is about the words. But I’m never just about the words. I want to enfold you in an experience. I want this to be place you can sink into or dance through, depending on your mood and mine, but mostly I want you to FEEL and THINK and BE.

And I didn’t feel anything when I looked at that design. I felt entirely objective and ambivalent, like when I glance at the LA Times while in line for my egg sandwich at Starbucks. I wasn’t curious. I wasn’t invested. I wasn’t drawn in and made to feel present.

Now, I realize that you may feel none of these things anyway when you visit Pleasure Notes. But I do. And, after this little experiment, I’ve realized I don’t need to change the dressing on Pleasure Notes any more than I need a boob job or liposuction to reflect better self-esteem. Not that I’m equating the significance of a change in blog design with that of plastic surgery, but I’m hoping you get the picture. So for the time being, I’m opting out of change.

At least change of the cosmetic sort.