Keep on the Beach

Yesterday, on the sunniest day of the duration of my California trip, I got to spend my time running around on secluded beach in Malibu with some awesome girls and boy. A friend of mine, whom I had shot a film with a few years ago, asked me to participate in a commercial web spot she's directing for SoCal shoe company Keep Shoes.

So, Tati and her boyfriend, photographer Dave Potes picked me up in a car full of rad girls and drove us out to the coast. We each put on a pair of Keeps (these were mine!) and we climbed down rocky cliffs, jumped over rocks, raced in the sand, and laughed a whole lot.



We also poked at sea anemones (eek!), gazed at starfish, and avoided knocking into any of the ubiquitous mussel colonies. Unfortunately, I didn't have my camera for this leg of the trip, but the Snail and the Cyclops just posted photos from her seaside trip in Monterey Bay that are replicas of what I saw, so I'll post hers instead!



The most breathtaking part of the day came while we were standing idly in between takes facing the water. I had been noticing the profuse amount of seaweed in the waves for the entire day. All of a sudden, I saw a fin break through the surface about 15 feet away from the shore and I screamed "SHARK!" Seconds later, I saw another fin pop up and then said, "Or... DOLPHINS!" And surely enough, with our eyes glued to the water's surface, we watched a pod of dolphins swim merely feet away from us down the coastline. It was like witnessing nature's miracle. Unfortunately, I don't have any pictures. I was too stunned, we all were. And if you're a reader here, you know how I feel about dolphins.

All in all, a great day. I'll keep you posted about the spot when it's completed.

P.S. On our ascent through rocky cliffs back up to the car, we heard a rustling in the sage bushes beside us and saw a little bunny rabbit!

Ricky Gervais

This is for my boyfriend. (He loves Elmo.)

Blue Moon

There's going to be a blue moon this New Year's Eve. That only happens on New Year's once every 19 years. Check it and learn why a blue moon ain't really blue:

Cameron

What my dreams are made of:

Cameron's House from Ferris Bueller





On sale for $1.8 mil. Via excavation by spoonfuls

Isis

Was researching this calendar company, The Wild Unknown, after purchasing one of their items as a gift for a friend. This is the entrance image on their website. Right after my own heart. My 2nd favorite Dylan song. This blog is also named after that song.

Get Me Outta Here!

Friends! I present to you an article on Improv School at the Upright Citizen's Brigade from Los Angeles Magazine (paltry beside my beloved New York.)

"An eighth-grade wiseass, now grown up (if that's possible), goes to improv school at the Upright Citizens Brigade and discovers a sobering truth: being funny is not as easy as it looks..."

High School Poetry

photo by Olivia Bee

Oy vey. I let nostalgia get the best of me. I really do. Whenever I come home to L.A., I instinctively dig through my childhood memorabilia, going through videos and photo albums. Today I found some high school yearbooks and I just ate up all the little notes my friends had written me. Apparently, I was everybody's coolest, funniest, and best friend. Leaning on those yearbooks were some old, battered literary journals. And oh man, did I find some old poems. Let's just hope you're lucky enough for me to keep posting these.

"the seaman"

his eyes swollen with memory disbelief
and drink, shadows clouding them from within,
devoured me and he lifted me to dance
pressed his fur against my cheek and gripped me
dangerously,
and laughing into my shy eyes
(who went into hiding as my prophecy grew true,)
he went on a journey,
his nose nuzzling my sacred skin like my cat
searching for a lover
his wife and his mother
his anxious eyes closed
with generations of fury
and desirous palms pressed
most gently against my eager back
his wanton eyes tamed by youth
ensconced and reprieved in this return
through the sweat he lay upon me
in his fingers gripping mine
a harem laced between them

and the captains pulled us apart
his cold eyes stabbing
wounds of memory into mine

and a parallel world grew
between us
where his wet palms prevailed
and found me
and his body sank into mine
to the tune of all men finding their mermaids
lingering in the harbors, singing
ready to take them home
and my fingers crawled along his skull
reeling him into my past
wordlessly
convinced he had taken me with him
back to sea,
together

floating further than his fingers
swimming deeper than his thighs
walking alongside seashells
my hand caught like a jewel in his.

p.s. The title of this post reminded me that I wrote my college admissions essay about bad high school poetry.