Color

(c) 2014 L Keane

It's been a really long time since I've drawn anything. Last week, my friend Becky asked me to draw her D&D character, a cleric of the Raven Queen named Penny Dreadful. It's Penny's sad fate to remain alive to spread the good word about death to the living. As such, she is a cheerful goth chick.

I know it's silly, but I am hugely, inordinately proud of myself. I've always been pretty bad at coloring things; in school my primary art medium was pencil or charcoal. Shadows and light make sense to me, but color has always been messy.

At any rate, I'm happy with how this turned out. I always find myself a little in love with the characters I draw. This one is the same. I think it's because I managed to capture some kindness in her expression, with a hint of wry, self-deprecating humor. Also, I gave her freckles, and I've always been a sucker for freckles. She seems to be a lot of contradictions - goth and sweet, angular and full, luxurious and austere, soft and sharp, kind and severe. She seems like someone I want to get to know.

People often talk about their art coming to life on their own. Despite how many characters I've written and how many pictures I've drawn, this is the first one that ended up surprising me.

I love that feeling.

I need to start creating more. I also need to collaborate more with Becky, because clearly our visions combine into excellent things.






On my trip to Vegas, I got to play music. Like, with other people who play music. It's been such a long time since I've gotten to just sit and indulge in a boring musician's jam session. Taking turns playing songs, following along with chords you don't know, humming when you don't remember the words. The kind of thing that would be desperately dull for anyone not actively participating.

I miss that. Becky and Molly and Meghan and I used to do this all the time, figuring out a new Decemberists song, or four part harmony to something we loved from the 90s, or just messing around on our guitars.

Playing music on your own can be right, exactly what you need - just you and the keys, just you and your vocal chords, losing yourself to the song, shedding embarrassment, silencing the internal critic for just a little while. I miss the practice rooms in the music building at my college. I'd head over there at midnight, have the security guard let me in. I'd find an empty practice room and sit down at the piano bench, surrounded by plywood pegboard walls that were painted a dispirited bluish grey, and I'd run my fingers along the smooth, cool keys, and I'd put the stress or heartache or worry or anger of the week into the instrument. I would play until I was falling asleep over the keys, hands getting numb with cold, the hum of the empty building the perfect white noise to drown out the circular internal monologue. I'd play until I'd bled off whatever extra emotions had been pressing on the inside of my ribs, hammering them into something beautiful as they escaped.

But college was also a time to play music with people - not polished, tight melodies. Just messy togetherness. No technique, just joy or heartbreak. Twining your voice around someone else's, peeled and raw, not worried about sounding great or being impressive. Just sharing.

It's true that musicians can be self-absorbed. I'm speaking as a musician here. It's true that we're showoffs and vain and competitive. But there are times - just sometimes - when you just close your eyes and abandon the ego, when the music is more important than who's making it and the only thing real is being a part of it.

I miss being able to make the space for those moments to happen in.

I think I've been starving the artist in me for too long. I have to remember to take the time to put on the admittedly-sometimes-pretentious glasses (metaphorical ones, of course) and to see the world and myself like an artist.

A good influence

 I know I've been referencing my old college blog a lot lately. I promise to produce some fresh material soon.

In the meantime, a recent conversation with Becky and Austin reminded me of something I'd written back in 2008.

Sweat in my eyes. I don't really care. 

I'm sweaty right now. I just ran a mile and did some sit ups and some push ups and core exercises. It hurt. It was great. I can't do the splits anymore. At least, I can get all the way down, but it hurts like hell. But there's still hope. 

My iPod died halfway through, but I didn't notice for a while, and when I did, it didn't really matter. It was nice being completely mindless for a while.

It struck me, as I was walking along an uneven sidewalk early this afternoon, that I no longer care. I've spent my life identifying myself as weird or nerdy or, most recently, awkward. And while I may be all of these things, I think I'm done with categories. It's the cheap way out. An excuse. A reason to avoid taking risks. A reason to run away.

If I act, I want it to be my own action - not the inevitable result of fate. And I want to stop labeling things as awkward. They are what they are. I've let too many things go by, left a lot of things unsaid or undone, or have said or done too much, because of a word. Because of awkward. 

It's stupid to let a word govern my life. 

I realize that being awkward has been a shield. I've held it between myself and everyone else the way some people hide behind their hair, or behind the excuse of alcohol, or whatever other guards we manifest to take the blame instead of us when we fuck up. I've used the excuse before - even recently - saying with a shrug, "I'm awkward," which really means "I can't be held accountable, it's fate, it isn't my fault."
But I think, now, I want it to be my fault. 

My actions, or lack of actions, my words, my thoughts, and doubts, hesitations, recklessness, caution, wins, are my own. When I succeed, I want it to be by my own hand. When I fail, I want it to be me failing. Without grace, without frills or excuses, just me alone. Responsible. 

Austin had mentioned that "awkward is a state of mind". I went back and reread my post and was gratified to realize that, although I've forgotten to keep a weather eye out for self-limiting labels, I've done a decent job of living without them. (Maybe I've gotten a little too self-congratulatory instead.)

At any rate, I hope I can take more risks, live a little more open, let the definition of who I am gain a little more depth, a few more colors.

As maudlin and self-important as my teenaged self might have sometimes been, she was also pretty perceptive. Gotta remember to let her have a good influence on me now.

#VEGASMEGABIRTHDAYWOW

I made these for my two best friends:

An old writing adage for Becky.

And a classy piece of art for Meghan.

Becky and Meghan are born two days apart and have always thrown absurd, wonderful joint birthday parties. This year, we lived it up in Las Vegas (where Becky's getting her MFA).

It was ... absurdly fun. And I know fun usually implies something vapid or forced, but I genuinely had a wonderful, memorable time. I know this is one of those memories that'll be savored, one that will acquire a hazy syrupy glow of nostalgia and fondness.

Needless to say, being with Becky and Meg was right. When you've been friends for as long as we have, being together feels like the universe coming back into focus. I also got to spend time with the inestimable Felipe and Alex! Love those fellas.

I also got to spend time with Becky's Vegas friends, and I can now pretty confidently count many of them as my friends, too.

There were shenanigans which included alcoholic milkshakes, a giant metal praying mantis that shot fireballs out of her antennae, Truth or Dare, an unexpectedly fancy whiskey attic, spontaneous indoor rock climbing, the cheesiest diner I've ever seen, and even a writing craft lecture.

It's okay - I'd be jealous, too.

Okay, confession:
I was a little anxious about the trip before I left. I have a history of being deeply and painfully socially awkward. I've mostly grown out of it, but there's still a part of me that doesn't really believe that I'm no longer the wallflower I used to be.

A lot of my middle school awkwardness stayed with me through college (instead of dissipating, as it does for most people, as I understand it) because most of my peers were excessively cool. They were these unbelievably witty, esoteric, insightful artists and writers. They practically bled that weird brand of raggedy insouciant sophistication that's so unique to privileged but-trying-so-hard-to-not-seem-privileged college kids.

All of them seemed so Together. Like, they had things Figured Out. They had opinions and knew the difference between a syrah and a merlot. They lounged around and talked in these scornful, beautiful, careless voices. Compared to them, I felt like a dorky, too-earnest, naive kid, struggling to keep up with the grown ups. I was completely in awe of them, and completely intimidated by them. I always felt that I had to prove myself, that I had to earn my way into their exclusive circle.

Someone would crack a joke that hinged on an obscure piece of literature I hadn't read, and I would hear, "Impress me - then maybe we can be friends."

Someone would disinterestedly dismiss a comment I'd made and I would kick myself for being so stupid.

And, perversely, instead of becoming disgusted by the whole thing, it just made me try even harder, scrutinize myself even more. I have a problem with confrontation - my Asian heritage shows up in the form of accommodation and acquiescence, I guess - so instead of realizing that the reason I'd never live up to their expectations was that their standards were unreasonably high, I just accepted that I wasn't good enough.

Even as an adult, I've believed that - when getting to know people - I can't let anyone know what a total and complete dorkasaurus I am. I can't get loud or enthusiastic. Just play it cool, okay? Stop bouncing around, stop trying so hard, give people some room, geez.

I was worried, before I flew out for the birthday weekend, that I'd fall back into my old awkwardness. And then, while journaling at the airport, it suddenly hit me. I'll never be as good at cool as that one kid I went to school with. I'll never be as fun as that one girl I know. But, damnit, I am the best at being Leta. There is no one who is better at it.

And I'm rad. I know it's not cool to be all braggy-self-lovey, but I don't care. I'm awesome. A dork, yes. Over-excitable? Definitely. I am absolutely an unforgivable know-it-all (who doesn't even know that much about anything in particular), and I do get awkward and shy sometimes. But I also meet people with the expectation that I'll like them - I don't need people to impress me before I'll admit them into my life. I laugh really hard at stupid things. I like board games and staying at home sometimes, and I read books over and over, and I haven't read Faulkner or much TC Boyle, and I don't like a lot of music I probably should like, and I prefer cider over liquor and plain old apple juice over cider, and I give amazing high fives and I love hugs and am a terrible dancer and I don't really know what's cool, and that's okay with me.

What the hell. I don't need cool.

And I had a fucking blast in Vegas with everyone! There were probably people who don't think much of me, who think I'm a boring so-what with boring so-what thoughts. But I like most everyone I met, and I don't care if they know that I like them. I don't care if they know what a spaz I can be, or how nerdy I can get, or how earnest and eager and - sure - naive I am about some things. I don't care if they know how much I loved it. There seems to be this weird taboo against talking about or showing or admitting how much you really like something, and I've decided that this is foolish.

I loved it. The whole trip. Everything.

I loved meeting everyone and getting to know people and making friends. I loved being myself with my two best friends in the world. I loved seeing how much everyone loves Becky. I loved being wholehearted and holding nothing back. I loved that there were people who have only known me like this - trying to be no one else but myself.

It's a shift that's been coming on for a long time. I don't need to be cool and superior. I can afford to expose my own ignorance, because how else do you remedy it? I can afford to not hold back, even if I end up going too far, because what's the use of anything you do by halves?

I know I had a point with this post, but I've forgotten what it was I was trying to say.

This just turned into an indulgent, self-congratulatory pep talk for me. But I couldn't write this post without going into all the personal revelations that accompanied the trip.

I don't have a good way to end this, so I'll just wrap up by saying that I can't wait to go back.

Smooooooooooooooth

The days keep getting longer, the temperature keeps rising, and it's turning into smoothie season.

Nick and I have been playing with smoothie recipes. Smoothies with oatmeal. Smoothies with peanut butter. And now - smoothies with spinach!

Get the recipe (and more delicious, pretty pictures) after the jump!

new new new

So the new job is going pretty well. At this point, the volunteers I manage still know more than I do, so that's a bit awkward. Hello, I'm doing the same job as you, but less well, and I'm getting paid to do it!

I'm sure it'll get better.

My laptop has decided to stop working. Or rather, the keyboard quit and the ability to detect and connect to wifi signals followed suit shortly thereafter. SO I got a Chromebook.

I know it's just a netbook, but honestly, pretty much everything I do is online anyway. Word processing, video watching, music listening, etc. It's all done on the internetz. And I use google products almost exclusively.

So far, I'm digging the experience. It's taking a bit to get used to the Chrome OS, but for someone who's used gmail and the like for a decade, it's a pretty easy learning curve.

I just recorded a video with it. Not astonishing quality, but it doesn't need to be. I have my handheld pocket camcorder for better quality videos.

It's been nice having a stable job. I don't feel guilty about doing silly, unproductive things with my free time anymore.

For example:



Yep. Completely useful and grown up, I know.