Breathe easy! I'm still safe from marital bliss

Thanks to all who came to the Anti-Prom Saturday night! It was so much fun that @lollyrae didn't notice I wasn't auctioned off for gawd knows what. This was a relief because there were no suitable boyz there anyway. I know this because none of them climbed the hippie patchwork stage curtains and screamed over Tiger House's music, "Hey! When are we going to get to bid on the super tall chick wearing the tiara?" Dodged a bullet, I did!

Since it was @lollyrae and her man @chimpchampion's show, my job was to just show up and look pretty. I think I did that fairly well. My tweeties @camikaos, @drnormal, @missburrows and @betsywhim showed up looking gorgeous. Doc Normal managed to get John Borroz, master jazz man, to fork up his five bucks and revisit his prom night. My flesh friends (isn't that phrase deliciously horrible?) were all there dressed to the nines (I'd link to them here but they don't read my blogs anyway...stoopid flesh). I again successfully avoided conversations with those I didn't know. (I have stellar networking skillz.) We were all on our best behavior.

I the drank various substances handed to me in bottles and flasks and ate as much homemade cheesy/oniony/hambergery chip dip as possible. A couple of bands played, one with secret identities. They played a short set and then came back out dressed as furries. I don't know their name, but I was very curious about the band's attraction to stuffed animals and whether I'd get a *special* kinda show if I trailed them back to their van after their last set. In the end, I remembered I can't get too far out of @lollyrae's sight, lest she come looking for her pink leather flask (which coincidently, or maybe not, matched my outfit).

There was dancing, some sort of mosh pit thingy, enough beer and eats for everyone, and really great prom attire. My two wives got to see each other, which is much more rare than it should be. (Yes, I have a thing for redheads. Why do you ask?) But, most importantly, my dear @lollyrae was happy with the way it all came about in the end. For that alone, I am very grateful. Thanks to all who attended!

Now, go check out the rest of the Anti-Prom photos!

Let's go steady!

Anti-Prom Night is Freaking Me Out

Sorry, I know my post title is a bit alarmist. But you see...I was just sitting here thinking and having a minor freak out about my pledge to compete in the upcoming Twitter Pie-Off on Saturday. Then suddenly I started freaking out about someone else's freak out, someone's who's having a big event on the same day later that night: @lollyrae's Anti-Prom fund raiser. Between the two of us? Lots of freaking out.

You know about the Anti-Prom, right? It's a benefit dance to raise funds for Luke Dorf's Safe Haven, which provides services for those with mental health issues. Money raised will also be donated to the Anti-Prom venue Liberty Hall, a cool community-run space in North Portland. These are really worthwhile causes that deserve your $5 prom admission.

No matter what the story, it seems many of us have a prom-shaped hole inside. But going to the Anti-Prom isn't just about helping others or setting the past straight. Oh, no. It's about wearing our finest thrift store prom apparel and goofing off like a bunch of morons. As we point to each other and shriek, "OMG! You look GREAT!" we'll really mean "that's so hideous! I'm jealous I didn't find that for myself!" Going to the Anti-Prom also means openly drinking alcohol wearing a lacy poof dress in total defiance of the watchful eye of the chaperones. (Take that, Algrebra II teacher who's name escapes me at this moment!) And, lets be honest. How many more years are you going to be able to fit into that ruffled tuxedo shirt before your girth strains your buttons? I mean, to the point of it actually being a danger to others? Like if a button pops off with such velocity you take someone's eye out? Think about it.

Even with prom night mere days away @lollyrae still needs some help making things happen. I know this because of the aforementioned "she is freaking out." First and foremost on her mind is the DJ/band situation. That situation being that she needs them. The main requirements: they have to be special, not expect any money or a grope, and possess a flair for spinning tunes for grown-ups dressed like members of an 1980s wedding party. And second...you guys know this is a fund raiser, right? Well the organizations this event will support mean a lot to her, so she's feeling stressed about doing her best with no budget at all. (I know! Wow!) So remember: if you can swing it it's BYOB. And hell, throw in some cheesy poofs, too.

Oh. And apparently I will be auctioned off. (Here's where my freak out intersects with @lollyrae's.) My dear @lollyrae has not told me what exactly the @mediaChick #antiprom "package" is. Here's a conversation I just had with the pushy Irish lass via IM about this:

me: I need to know what the hell you're auction me off for. What's the mediachick "package"
h: a drink and a dance
some light banter
kind of escort style
but I'm setting Benjamin as a watchdog
for those hands
me: Uh. No.
h: you'll like it
I"ll pay you in wine and rice crispy treats
me: Uh, no.

This could get ugly. I hope to see you at the Anti-Prom on Saturday night, August 30th, for whatever reason you decide. So go RSVP right now, 'foo! And bring me some cheesy poofs!

Let's go steady!

I'm a Writer, Thank You for Noticing

About a year ago I was dating someone I thought I'd be with for the rest of my life. It was a very hard yet worthwhile relationship. I was sure we could make our partnership work, and that together we would create the kind of life that inspires heart wrenching Academy Award-winning films and articles in The New Yorker. Instead we crashed and burned in spectacular fashion. "Disappointed" or "devastated" does not even begin to describe the months that followed our parting.

Prior to my meeting him, for years and years, my focus was only to survive and to figure out how to provide for my little family. Dating just wasn't on the agenda, which is just as well. I would've been no good to any man of quality. I was working as a freelance videography when video cameras became affordable to the average consumer, which dried up the market for my expertise. I lost my house and my car and my young son and I moved in with my Pops. We slept on the floor, with most of my son's toys and my dishes and such in someone's garage for safe-keeping. You can imagine what these kind of things might do to a sensitive girl's self-esteem, especially one who is supposed to be head of household.

Eventually I got a part-time job that I managed to make full-time. I saved all my money and kept my mouth shut when my dear friends told me I was a good person. I found a cheap duplex to rent and by sheer luck my name was called in the Section 8 low-income housing lottery the month after I signed my month-to-month lease. This made rent cheap enough that I could go back to school and still eat and pay for electricity and childcare. In the beginning I studied marketing but switched to multimedia production when I took an elective credit in video, for old time's sake. I finished Portland Community College's intensive 60-hour Multimedia program on the Dean's List. This was not easy, with each class 3-4 credit hours and only 6-8 weeks long. Each semester I generally took 21-28 credit hours of classes, not including hours of required lab time, while working full-time and raising my son by myself. I wore my Academic Honors sash during graduation with a dreamy disbelief.

It's been years since this dark period in my life, but I still carry it with me. It has shaped my perspective who I am. My new credentials led me to a job that has allowed me to buy a house and a car and buy my son things that he wants, not just things he needs. I continue to hold fast the realization that things could go all to hell at any time. I am still shell shocked and wary. I lost my way, with eyes pried opened to face reality. I will never forget that life throws shit around indiscriminately.

This man that I thought I'd be with forever is an artist and a teacher. In the time we were together, I allowed myself to think of myself as creative for the first time in many, many years. It amazed me how words and pictures and ideas flowed from him. Good ones that made me admire him and want to see him succeed. With him I saw that I hadn't been writing things down anymore, my stories. I hadn't read for pleasure in a long time. Any inspiration I did have felt a waste of time. I was stuck in the time when all my energy was spent on doing something productive, for survival, instead. All the videos I'd done, or programing I'd produced, any writing I'd done, all of it really belonged to someone else. They weren't mine.

I made this man a promise that I would write again, become a writer like I've always wanted to be. I promised that I would write a book, and that's what I aim to do ... despite him, or because of him. It doesn't really matter as long as I am doing it. The things that have happened to me, that have led me to the place I am now, all the signs point to now being the time to do it. I've met some wonderful writers whose opinions I greatly respect, who genuinely want to see me succeed. This writing thing is not easy. It's from the heart, gut churning, soul baring and extremely personal stuff that scares me silly to share. But I need to. I need to tell my stories.

It's difficult to disengage the survival mode of my brain, to let go of the idea that I need to be on "high alert" in case something terrible happens again and I have to start all over, but I am learning.And, in the meantime, I am writing my little heart out and looking for job opportunities that won't make me feel like I'm lying when I say "I'm a writer." I could certainly fail, but I think I might not. But if I do I know I can crawl myself out of that hole again, with a big "fuck you" to those who say I can't.

Let's go steady!

Too Much Information? Nah

I don't know about you, but my Sunday afternoons are pretty much the same as this guy's:

See more Jon Lajoie videos at Funny or Die

Let's go steady!

See? St. Johns is Awesome!

Today was the 13th annual Providence Bridge Pedal. This is when cyclists descend upon my sleepy St. Johns neighborhood and take over the downtown area. We don't mind. At all. Why? It's good to have folks from the "outside" take a look around and see how cool our community is!

I walked (wheezed, is more accurate) my way down to the town square to see all the action. Along the way I took some photos of things that caught my eye. Once there, I took some more. Take a look!

I heart St. Johns!

Let's go steady!

Who Loves You, Baby?

Last night I spent a couple of hours at Beer and Blog, a weekly get-together for those of us in Portland, Oregon. The premise: Bloggers helping bloggers over beer. We usually meet at the Green Dragon (who love us). Sometimes we work together, and sometimes there is a specific (and tasty) topic of discussion. Suffice to say, it's a popular event among local bloggers, and when you have a popular local blogger/author/startup entrepreneur leading the discussion you can be sure lots of people will show up.

Melissa Lion, author of Swollen and Upstream (which has been optioned for a movie, whoo-hoo!), book critic, creative writing teacher, Recovering Californian, and one of the brains behind the delicious storytelling startup Back Fence PDX, talked to a very crowded room about narratives techniques in blogs. Any blog. Now, Beer and Blog is an eclectic group of creatives, techies, ad peeps, and the in-between (that's me). A lot of us are on twitter. (You've heard of twitter.com, right?) We're a nice cross-section of the kind of professionals that Portland attracts. And, unlike other West Coast tech-focused cities (*cough*San Fransisco*cough*Seattle*) we adore tooting each other's horns. Loudly. (Kinda like I'm doing now.)

When I began tweeting last year I didn't really "get it." You know this story: I heard about it, was intrigued, signed up, but initially didn't see the value of sharing the events of my mundane life. The fact that I got bacon juice on my new Victoria Secret ass-enhancing slacks or that my green pepper plant had finally sprouted a pepper, only to be devoured by some bug, seemed trivial. Then suddenly people started to reply to my tweets. And following me. Some of the earliest followers of mediaChick were Rick Turoczy, Melissa Lion and Marshall Kirkpatrick of Read Write Web. (I've never seen Marshall at a Beer and Blog; I'm mentioning him in this post because he is awesome and a poster child for the Portland way of being both uber talented and so generous with his knowledge of geeky things. Seriously, go read his bloggie.)

So, I checked out Rick and Melissa and Marshall and slowly it dawned on me that I had been blessed with an audience of people who rawked it. Hard. And lived HERE. I had these insane thoughts like "Wouldn't it be cool if I met Rick and he wanted me to guest blog on his brilliant blog Silicon Florist?" (I swear I'm half done with it, Rick!) And, "Dang, it would blow my mind if Melissa published!" (She did, on Back Fence PDX!) You see where I'm going with this? Eventually I caught the attention of Miss Burrows and Cami Kaos and Banana Lee Fishbones and a huge number of local folks who let little ol' me sit at the cool kids table. Every week I meet more talented, funny, helpful, encouraging folks. (See us ladies huddled around Rick? Left to right: mediaChick, Rick, Miss Burrows, Cami Kaos and Banana Lee Fishbones. Lots of love there!)

Many of my tweeties showed up to hear Melissa at Beer and Blog explain that blog narrative is important, no matter what you write about. She talked about plot arcs and characters and why linking to and commenting on other blogs is super important. She also said "the best blogs update every day."(I'm pretty sure she was looking at me when she said that. Ahem.) I'm reluctant to show favoritism, but damn if this Beer and Blog wasn't the best one yet.

Bravo, and thank you to all the participants of Beer and Blog. Justin Kistner, the man behind the curtain, should be immortalized somehow for his tenacity in pulling this off weekly. I met a lot of new tweeties that I've had my eye on for some time. I look forward to seeing them again and talking blogs over beer. And we can't forget: this kind of collaborative love fest wouldn't work well in any other city. Portland, me loves you!

(By the way, thanks also to those "get well soon" messages. Recently I've had some asthma flair ups and I almost didn't make it to Beer and Blog. Also, thanks for not staring when I puffed away at my inhaler. Sooo not sexy! Also, sorry if I've offended anyone from San Francisco or Seattle. Just a little barb for laughs!)

Let's go steady!

Easy as Pie

I've made lots of yummy pies, muffins, breads, cakes, scones and fancy cookies over the years. I enjoy baking immensely, and find it a very relaxing thing to occupy my hands with while I am deep in thought. But once upon a time, for years and years, I only made oatmeal raisin cookies using a basic (but tasty) Betty Crocker recipe. Dependable and safe.

My fear of doing any more than that (and maybe you can relate) was acerbated by my perfectionism: I can't make a pie because it might not be perfect (meaning edible). This is a common theme for me, my struggle to let go. To trust the world won't come to a screeching, embarrassing halt if things go wrong. Coupled with this is an innate desire to be rational and level-headed.

I was like deer mesmerized by the lights of certain vehicular slaughter. Freaking ridiculous, really. All eyes on me, fingers pointed, cruel laughter for making a stinker of a pie? The reality is that, in the case of making a decent pie, one must consider the evidence. Since the dawn of the pie's ancient Greek and Egyptian beginnings, hundreds of thousands of ordinary everyday people have made perfectly divine pies of every possible variation that didn't suck. Of course it was possible. But still...pie crusts are tricky. I've made pies that ruined pie plates. Pies so bad one might advise the pie-maker to stick to safe, dependable Betty Crocker cookies. Pie crust FAIL.

Now, here is the bottom line about making pies that don't suck: It doesn't matter what recipe or filling you use, or whether your crust is shortening, butter or lard based. Making a pie requires just three things: a zen-like state of acceptance of what may come, respect for (and unwavering belief in) science, and ice cold water.

Baking is all science, you know, with its formulas and measuring and various temperatures and critical timing. A "this ain't no big deal" frame of mind and a good recipe followed to the t(easpoon) using very, very cold water will bring crust success every time. And when that first pie comes out of the oven looking just like the picture, something wonderful happens: you get confident. You start to understand why certain ingredients in certain amounts are used in a certain order to make pies that don't suck. You start to improvise here and there to see what happens. Does it suck? Try something else. Does it rock? Experiment some more or move on to that tasty cheese cake recipe you've got your eye on or the awesome scones your twitter friend shared. Pie crust FTW!

My pies started not sucking when a friend of mine, the lovely and most talent Jaisy, sat down with me and told me that it wasn't all that big of deal. The secret, she confided, is in following the recipe exactly. Pies are just flour and fat and ice cold water wrapped in "let it be." "You can do this," she said. She wrote out her mother's pie crust recipe and sent me home, inspired and calm. From then on, my pies didn't suck.

I'm planning to join the Twitter Pie-Off on August 30th in Washington Park. I will be up against some professionals for a good old fashioned baking competition. I don't know what to expect, but rest assured I will not be bringing a pie that sucks. (By the way, later that night I'll be at @lollyrae's Anti-Prom, a fund raiser benefiting the Luke Dorf healing community and Liberty Hall. Maybe I'll even be wearing a Twitter Pie-Off prize ribbon!)

Let's go steady!