Girl In A Band

Can't wait to read this!

I'm not much of an idolizer, but as mentioned elsewhere, Kim Gordon from Sonic Youth is totally my feminist hero. Talented. Complex. Both cool and hot—plus, she crafted this legacy as a rock-and-roll icon without ever really sexualizing herself.

"When you listen to old R&B records, the women on them sang in a fierce, kick-ass way. In general, though, women aren’t really allowed to be kick-ass. I refused to play the game," says she.

Truth: It's a man's world. Fierce and independent isn't the easiest way to walk through it as a woman. Kim, girl, I'm with you and I love you!

Eugene-Ing

I believe in everyday fun.

Also, our pal Derek's birthday is tomorrow.

In honor of this stuff, not one but two carloads of people drove to Eugene this weekend. Despite the occurrence of "heavy rain," our intention was very much to skate that new park of theirs. Luckily, there's a big bridge in Eugene, and this bridge shelters the big skatepark. Unluckily, the wind blows quiet veils of rain into unsuspecting corners. At a certain point, Derek, the birthday boy, slipped on wet cement and smacked is head. Our new intention quickly became pizza.

The below picture may lead you to believe that I was stuck on a road trip with a bunch of dudes, but that's only partly true, because my dearest friend Kelly lives in Eugene, and so she was around to give me a wee break from all that questionable facial hair.

Anyway, we skated long enough to break a sweat, ate incendiary pizza at Pizza Research Institute, ditched our cars, and then went to what must've been every bar in Eugene. Drop shots. Men in drag. A metal show I think? It all ended at a fancy hipster bar where the staff looked on worriedly as the guys tore their shirts off and we turned the place into a giant dance party. Thanks for having us, Eugene, and sorry.

Above par vegetarian hangover breakfast at Morning Glory.

Three Things

Houndstooth: A nice band from Portland I've been listening to lately. Saw them play at Sloan's a few weeks ago. Her voice is cool—it haunts. And his guitar—it sounds so damn good, really warm, dazzling even. Notes drip out like honey. Is it the guy? Is it the guitar? I'm a little bit in love with both.

Free Coffee: I did some writing for a rad indie coffee roaster and in return I'm getting two-pound monthly deliveries for the next few. Work trades are where it's at! Future you forgets all about the work past you did and so whatever you get in return feels totally free, a gift, faerie magic.

Curb Cut: The skateboard journal I'm helping run is throwing a flash-mob-style high ollie contest tonight down by the Southwest waterfront. Cuz it's summer in March. Cuz it's light out till 7 and it'll be like 70 degrees so don't you wanna come hang with your friends and stunt skate for cash before we all get kicked out by security guards?

Not Doing

I've been into this thing where I work really hard during the week and then kinda dissolve into the weekend. Hedonism. It's awesome. I don't do anything I don't want to do. And it's okay that my house is a mess, that i haven't pulled a weed since August last year. The lawn is not my enemy ... let it grow.

This kind of thing leaves space for all these real moments of quality, I'm finding. Like:

•Not showering once on Saturday. Instead, perching on a front porch with a bunch of people that you like very much watching the light fall. What is it about front porches? They're better than back porches.

•Not going to the grocery store. Instead, skating a mini ramp under a weeping cherry tree that's crazy in bloom like some scene straight off a  Japanese kimono.

•Not taking the dog to the park first thing. Instead, wandering down Alberta Street in search of coffee, and then sitting on the sidewalk with your back against a warm brick wall to drink it. Talking. Waving at friends in their cars who don't see you but that's okay—you just let ’em drive on by.

•Not going home on Sunday night even though you're spent. Instead, staying out late to watch Trash Island play. Feeling them play, really—the show being so fucking loud that it rattles through your rib cage.

Best Laid Plans

Fresh starts are the best thing on earth. Burn it all down. Reemerge all phoenix like. You need an occasion for them, though. New Years? That shit's as arbitrary as the next.

I like to start a new psychic cycle when I set up a fresh skateboard. It doesn't happen that often—I'm not out there breaking boards, ya know. But when it does, I look at that old deck and can summon all the crap that went down over the course of me riding it. Trips I went on. People I fell for. Laughs I had. Ways I got my ass handed to me. Life's a mystery. We don't know what's going on here. All we can do is grip a new board and throw another penny in the well.